graciemobile

But right now if you were to ask him even what the time was he would have growled and snapped like a wounded lion. He had been searching for hours for the flown captives, and he had already been run into a branch, thrown when a squirrel sprang out and frightened his horse, and cut his hand on a bramble. Knowing this his men were very quiet, and the usual chatter that went on among them was gone.

They were getting ready to cross another hill when Berbon held his hand up for a halt. Then pointed forward.

“Look yonder! Do you all see smoke rising? Perhaps it is those raiders that have been coming in occasionally from the forest of Trent. Let us now ride down and see if such has happened. The Count will be furious when he hears of this, for this is the fifth time in the last month that they have ravaged the province.”

Now you may be wondering why such an evil man as the Count would care what happens to his people, but in those days your tenants and people were your livelihood. They payed you dues and fees, they brought you a certain fraction of their crops, they provided wood, they were your soldiers when you were called out to join the king for battle. So to have them made poor by raiders was a thing to take care of.

Cresting the hill Berbon and his troop looked down upon the same village that Paul and Elise had looked upon before. All appeared to be normal except for the fact that the men were tearing down burnt cottages instead of working in the fields.

Berbon rode down stopped his horse near where several maidens were picking wildflowers that grew upon the side of the hill. There were about five of them, all were rosy cheeked and pretty in their peasant way, one had a baby in a sling on her back.

“Pretty damsels, I ask you, what has happened to your fair village? And why do you stand here picking flowers rather than doing your churning and spinning?”

One girl, a pretty dark damsel looked modestly up with tears in her eyes.

“Good sir, we were attacked by the raiders just last night, they killed at least three of our men, and burned half a dozen of our cottages. So we are now gathering flowers to lay on their graves.”

“My dear, how sorry I am. The Count will see to it that these men are kept away, for we wouldn’t want all of our pretty village girls like you to live in constant fear.”

The girl blushed rosily, and then turned away to continue her gathering. The other girls were arranging their flowers in bunches. The one with the baby was putting her little hat on straight to keep the sun from harming her sensitive eyes. Berbon looked at her and said,

“Difficult times my girl to be raising little ones. Good day!” And he turned his horse to ride back to the castle and make his report to the Count.

All of the girls burst into merry laughter as he rode away. And Elise, for it was her holding the baby, did a very unprincess like thing. She stuck her tongue out at the retreating horsemen’s forms. Of course this made them laugh all the merrier as they tripped down with their baskets of flowers.

A hardy group of village men were working on clearing away the debris from the fires. One young man in particular seemed to be getting a lot done. His thick muscles were rippling as he lifted the heavy timbers and stones. Elise looked fondly at him, thinking what a handsome picture he made.

Paul was tall, broad, and slightly tanned. He had thick, almost wavy brown hair, and his eyes were a deep brown. He had a boyish face, but a wise one. He was a righteous man, who fought to defend the weak and the just. And would readily lay his life down for anyone if the need be. Paul was a simple knight yes, but had the heart of king.  Elise couldn’t help comparing him to Darren, who though a gallant man, lacked the passion and spirit that so animated Paul.

She tripped up to him and he turned round with a smile.

“So Elise, you have been playing peasant girl, and it has worked I see, for the men have turned around without a second glance. What would the Count do if he could but know how closely he had you in his grasp and still you wiggled out?”

They both laughed heartily over this, as did all the villagers. To see their own crafty count fooled by these clever newcomers was a treat indeed.

Miles away, in the land of Baton a man dressed as a merchant made his way quietly to the walls. Wound about his waist under his doublet was a rope some thirty feet long and two inches thick.

When he arrived at the wall he walked along it for a time, until he came to door of a tower that was on the side facing the sea he took out a great key, and opened the door, re-locking it behind him. Mounting to the top he opened another door and walked out onto the turret.

There he unwound the rope, and fastened it to some bars that blocked a window. The other end he tied about his own waist, and then he let himself over the wall, using his hands and feet to gradually walk downward.

When he reached the water the man silently untied himself, and then swam along underneath the wall. He was in the shadow, and an excellent swimmer, so the sentries above hadn’t the slightest clue what was sneaking beneath them.

The merchant swam until he reached a small finger of land that jutted out into the sea. Pulling himself up he crawled into a clump of bushes near the water’s edge and settled down to wait for night.

When night came a small rowboat made its way slowly towards the finger of land. When it reached the shore the man who had arrived earlier sprang into the boat and was then rowed out to sea. The boat continued its way on through the vast armada of ships until it reached one that was slightly larger and more picturesque than the other ships.

The boat was brought up to the side, and the man ascended the ladder. One deck he was greeted by the captain who escorted him to a large cabin door. The man entered and bowed deeply to a young man seated on a lounge.

That young man was none other than Prince Nettle!

Tall, suave an smooth was the way to describe this messenger of evil. Cool as a cucumber and brave as a lion. He was dark and handsome, with black hair and eyes. Many a foolish ladies would have loved to be loved by this individual, yet those with a wise heart trembled at his very name.

The Prince’s face lit up as he saw the man that entered, and he cordially greeted him, saying,

“Ah, Mercend, so good to see you. I trust that you made your exit of the city unobserved?”

“Yes your majesty, all went as desired. And I have a full report to make to your highness.”

“Yes, good, good. Tell me though my good man, before we get into all of the boring buisness of battlements and breaches, how is my future bride, the Princess Elise taking all of this?”

Mercend shuffled his feet uncomfortably, then he looked up and said hesitantly,

“That is the one problem your highness. The Princess Elise has been sent away to her Uncle Frederick’s court. She has been gone for almost a fortnight.”

Nettle started up to his feet is surprise and rage. He usually handled bad news well, thinking the situation over philosophically, but this! To have his prize beauty love gone from the very place he hoped to catch her was beyond the normal disturbance. All of his arrangements, all of his planning, wasted! But wait, what of that letter he had received from the Count of Jugo. It said something about help. Nettle turned back to a nervous Mercend.

“Calm yourself my man, it was not your fault. How did it happen that the Princess was sent away at this precise time? My spies told me that she was to be engaged to the Count of Comingbridge?”

“Great Prince, it was said that the Princess had a vision of you coming, as real as life. The Duke Harold paid heed to her requests to leave, and sent her away.”

Nettle paced the cabin for sometime, then a thought struck him.

“If the Princess had made it to Frederick’s court, would not we have had his armies already at our heels?”

The Prince stood in thought a moment more, then he walked hastily over to his desk and rummaged through some documents. When he found the desired one, he opened it, and read through the lines. It read,

“My Dear Prince,

Certain dispatches intercepted from the knight Sir Paul of Baton, have informed me of the fact that you intend to surprise the favored Duke Harold of Baton, take his lands and his daughter, the beauteous Elise, for your prizes. I have long awaited a chance to strike at this adversary of mine, who is highly favored by the king his brother. Sir Paul is now in my dungeons, and could be of some use to us. If you desired my aid please reply as soon as it is convenient, so that I might be of service.

Nobly yours,

Count Augusto.”

“I wonder Mercend, if this Count meant all of this in good stead. Perhaps he was planning to cut in ahead and take the Princess for himself. And he mentioned a Sir Paul, I have heard of such a knight, and it is said that he is the truest and most valiant of all the young knights in the kingdom. It would be interesting to know Mercend if perhaps the Count has been doing some scheming of his own.”

“That is a possibility Your Highness. And the thought that she has not reached King Frederick’s court is a likely one. Let us see, she would have to tarry through the province of Jugo in order to reach the capital of Goodenburg, so mayhap the Count has intercepted her.”

The Prince smiled deviously.

“Well then, somehow I have an idea that Sir Count Augusto will be having visitors very shortly hereafter.”

The Count Augusto paced his bedchamber floor furiously while the recently returned Berbon stood in attention nervously. He had just made his report considering his fruitless search and the recent raid on the village nearby.

“Confound her pretty and clever brain! And Sir Paul’s wise counsel and strong arm! A Count was never more disturbed and outwitted than I! Not to mention these raiders and vagabonds who dare to enter my region. Tell me Berbon, where indeed did you loose their horse’s tracks?”

“Near the village sir, they might have ridden on through before the raid. If they had I could not have told, for the hoof prints of near fifty horsemen must be scattered about on the path.”

The Count turned suddenly like a snake caught unawares.

“WHAT did you say?!?!” Berbon fairly quaked as he responded.

“I said Sir Count, that the prints of near fifty horsemen must have been scattered about on the path that led to the crest of the hill overlooking the village.” Count Augusto turned red, purple, and white all in succession at these words.

“You fool! And you did not tell me at once! Why you should have read the sign, and come back as swiftly as your horses could carry you! Do you not realize that this means either Harold of Baton, the Prince Nettle, or maybe even King Frederick himself could be at our doors any moment?!?!”

Berbon opened his mouth to reply, but was silenced by a great din that suddenly arose within the castle. Count Augusto swept up his sword and shield, and then rushed to lock the door. He then, with Berbon’s help, barred it and stacked heavy articles of furniture against it. Then they both turned back and began pushing the Count’s large bed away from the wall.

In those days castles always had some secret entrance or exit from which the owner could come or depart unnoticed. A tunnel was dug beneath the castle and a passage created that wound about for a couple of miles until it reached some secreted spot in the woods or marshes. The exits were covered with foliage and bushes so that the enemy might search for days and still the entrance wouldn’t be spotted. Some of the more cruel knights or barons would even murder the masons who built these passages so that their secret might never be known.

One such passage was hidden in the wall behind the Count’s bed.

The Count and Berbon strained with all of their might to push the bed, but for some reason it would not budge. What they didn’t know was that a strong velvet hanging that covered the headboard had caught on something on the wall and was holding the bed in place. I personally believe that hanging was being held in place by something more powerful than a velvet curtain, something that was personally charged with the job of giving Count Augusto’s just desserts!

The invaders were pounding on the door with some large heavy object now, and it was nearly ready to give way. The Count and Berbon gave one desperate shove, and finally! The bed moved! But it was to late, for the door burst open at that moment, and Prince Nettle himself leading his men charged in.

Augusto drew his sword and stood in the defense. Nettle held his hand up to stay his men and said laughingly,

“Ah, the coward and fool himself will try me. Stand back friends, while I teach this Count a lesson in politics!”

So saying he lunged forward with his sword and steel clanged with steel. Count Augusto circled around him and spread his feet apart for better balance. Nettle thrust again, only to be barred with a skillful block of Augusto’s sword. Nettle thrust forward again, and again, Augusto parrying all of the blows.

Now Augusto took the offensive, he lunged at Nettle’s left side which was exposed, Nettle tried to block the thrust but was just to late, he was early enough however to redirect the blade to enter his shoulder rather than his side. Nettle stepped back with a bleeding shoulder, and perspiration was beginning to drip down his face.

He still had a cool smile on his lips even so, for he was a seasoned swordsmen, and this was not the first contest that he had participated in when it at first looked like he would lose. His men were cheering him on, and Berbon simply stood there and watched dumbly.

Augusto continued to rain blows upon the Prince, and he continued to block them with his shield and sword. Suddenly, quicker than lightning, the Prince thrust is sword forward at a moment when the Count’s shield and sword were raised! The blade thrust lightly into his right side.

The wound was not deep, but it bled badly, and before long Augusto was in a deep swoon upon the floor. Nettle raised his hand as the champion, then motioned his men to take the wounded count where he could be bandaged, then down to his own dungeon.

Once the Count was safely stowed away and Nettle had had a drink and his arm was put in a sling, he sent for Berbon. Berbon arrived and bowed before the Prince.

“I have called you here my man for information. I want to know where the Princess Elise is, and why the Count tried to deceive me.” Berbon was open mouthed for a moment, shocked that the Prince knew so much. But with a deep breath, he told all that had happened. Elise’s arrival, her escape, the search for her, the Count’s rage, her and Sir Paul’s escape, and the fruitless search that ensued from it.

The Prince listened quietly to the tale, but in his brain the wheels were turning rapidly. When Berbon had finished the narrative the Prince said,

“Well my good man, I believe you. The Princess Elise is resourceful full and clever, and Sir Paul is said to be the best knight in the land. And now, tell me carefully again, what the horse prints looked like atop that hill?”

Berbon was puzzled, but he again told with detail how they had looked. When he was silent, the Prince smiled happily.

“So I thought fellow. Perhaps had you been more experienced in warfare you would have recognized the hoof prints not to be made by a band of men, but one horse dragging a branch. It is an old trick used by one party to convince the opposing one that there are more of their enemy then at first supposed. And as no word has come of the King marching to his brother’s aid, it would seem to me that it is likely that the Princess Elise is still in the village that was recently raided. Now captain, I think that you would make a good henchman, so to that position I will appoint you. I now order you to take about thirty of our men, and quietly surround that village within the hills nearby. Not close enough so that the villagers become suspicious, but close enough to stop anyone coming or going just a mile or so out on the road. I will accompany you tomorrow morning and we will post an ambush. There is a great chance that Sir Paul and Elise will be leaving the village at that time.”

Elise and Paul were sheltered again that night at the village, then the next morning they prepared to depart. The villagers had presented them with a cart and horse in gratitude for what they had done. The fugitives changed their disguises to a farmer and his wife with their little girl. For yes, Elise and Paul had become so attached to the baby, whom Elise had named Genevieve, that they decided to take her along.

With the wishes of Godspeed from the villagers at their departure, Paul and Elise set out along the road riding in the cart. Elise breathed deeply, it felt good to be out and to be free!

Suddenly, from the bushes sprang at least a dozen armed men, two leaped forward and grabbed the startled horse’s bridle. Paul pulled back on the reins to calm the horse, then he surveyed the situation. Turning to Elise he said,

“What madness is this wife! Why you would think that we were rich king and queen with chests of gold. Instead we are but a poor farmer family and still these men try to attack us?”

“I am afraid that ruse will not work for you this time Sir Paul.” Said a voice nearby. Elise turned paler than a ghost at that voice.

Prince Nettle emerged from bushes and sauntered up casually to the side of the cart. Paul stood up on the step board. Nettle walked forward and pulled the scarf from around Elise’s head so that her long golden brown hair was loose and flowing.

“Men, I give you my future bride and your future queen, the Princess Elise!” Shouted Prince Nettle triumphantly. Sir Paul’s face turned beet red.

“Sir I tell you, if you dare touch one single hair of this lady that dread punishment will descend upon you like a swarm of locusts!” So saying he leaped lightly over the wheel, and struck the Prince full in the face.

Genevieve laughed merrily, causing some of the soldiers to half smile. But they quickly became solemn and stern faced again as their monarch rose from the ground and hit back at Paul.

“Stop it at once!” Shrieked Elise, and gathering Genevieve up she sprang down out of the cart, walking straight up in between both men she looked Prince Nettle square in the eye.

“Prince, I had given you my previous answer to your proposal through my father before. You have not taken it like a man and now return to force me into an unhappy marriage like a coward. Well, for now you have succeeded, but I warn you, if word of this ever comes to any of my friends that you will be blessed if you are not wiped out from the face of the earth!”

Turning back to Paul, she said softly, more with her tear filled eyes rather than her voice,

“Paul, you are a brave and true friend, but desist from your blows, for they are about as useful to us as wet wood is to a man attempting to build a fire. Perhaps better days will come.”

Nettle gnashed his teeth impatiently, then he turned Elise towards him, haughtily saying,

“Come now my darling, for we must now go back to my recently occupied castle. But first get rid of that baby, she is obviously not yours, and we will soon have many of our own children.” Elise clutched Genevieve to her heart so tightly the little one squeaked.

“No Prince, I will go with you as I have no other choice, but I will not if you take Genevieve from me.”

Lifting Genevieve up to her shoulder she held her in a strong grasp. The baby’s small fists flung in the air, and one gave Prince Nettle a little blow to the face. Paul bit his lip to keep from laughing aloud.

Nettle laughed aloud himself, then took Elise’s arm and led her to his horse. He mounted her up, then turned to his men.

“Bind Sir Paul fast, then come along behind us to the castle!” Then he put his spur to his horse and galloped away with Elise.

Many miles away a handsomely mounted stranger pulled his horse up along the side of the road, something glittering had caught his eye. He was dressed in royal blue and gold. Dismounting, he reached down and picked up a small golden chain with a heart attached to it. Mounted in the heart were rubies. Studying it a minute, the man’s face changed to one of surprise and alarm, and remounting his horse he galloped away the way he came.