The Rose and the Thorn

CHAPTER 11

Reuben walked through the castle feeling conspicuous. He wore his new tunic, chain, helm, and sword. He grimaced when it came time to put the helmet on. The cuts still hurt from the last one he had worn. But his new helm felt nothing like that. He had no wadding, no need to stuff rags around his head. It fit snug, felt good, and lacked the narrow visor that had left him nearly blind. His new uniform gave him confidence. So did the sword, now that he knew at least enough not to look stupid whenever he drew it. He was not about to win any Wintertide ribbons, but he might make someone think twice before taking a swing. And he suspected that was the majority of a guard’s job-intimidation. He wondered if he could get Mauvin to show him more. He liked to think the Pickerings, if not the prince himself, genuinely liked him, but Reuben liked to think a lot of things.

He wanted to think there was nothing strange going on and that his father had a perfectly reasonable explanation for being drunk in the middle of the day-the day of a major castle event, when all guards were expected to be at their finest. He wanted to think that Rose was no longer in danger, that his father had picked his uniform off the floor and was, at that very minute, taking action to apprehend the assassins plotting to kill the king. He also liked to believe the squires would no longer bother him, now that he was a full-fledged Essendon castle guard, or if that wasn’t the case, that his new training, and new friends, would help keep him safe. He liked to think he would now command respect from everyone, including his father. And he liked to think-

He saw a flash of burgundy gown and paused at the stairs next to the fancy suits of armor. Turning, he saw it was only Lady Drundiline, the queen’s secretary. He should have realized. The princess would be in her chambers, still dressing up the way she always did for celebrations. Her hair piled, showing her long neck, and she would have a new gown he guessed. She almost always did, and recently the queen had allowed her to wear lower necklines. Nothing like what Rose came dressed in, but less childlike than she used to wear. The king and queen were starting to show off their daughter, positioning her for the eventual marriage that would be arranged.

Reuben liked to pretend that Arista wouldn’t be forced to wed. That she wasn’t going to leave Medford for some far-off castle where he would never see her again, but she was almost thirteen. It wouldn’t be long now. Just thinking of it hurt, and that one thought stole all the happiness that his uniform and new prince-gifted sword had granted. All the dread he had unloaded when he told his father about Rose was replaced with what felt like a pending execution date. Vague and hazy, it loomed in front of him. Except death was far too indefinable to truly fear. Reuben couldn’t imagine being dead, but he could imagine walking those halls knowing there was no chance at all of seeing a glimpse of her. When they sent Arista away, they would banish his dream as well. He had foolish dreams, insane thoughts, but as long as she was there, as long as she had not married, there was always hope. And with so little to sustain him, that thin strand of promise was how he convinced himself that breathing was still a good thing.

Reuben liked to think that one day he would hold Arista in his arms and that he would feel her trembling stop because he was there. That one day, when they were both older, he would know what it was like to kiss her lips.

Reuben sighed.

He liked to think a lot of things, just nothing useful.

He waited until no one was watching and slipped down the steps into the lower corridors that led to the dungeon. Panic seized him as he noticed the bales of straw. The party decorations were all over the castle: bales of straw, bundles of corn stalks, pumpkins, and squash.

But why would someone put them down here? Maybe they had too much? More importantly, had they found Rose?

He raced to the last cell and, pulling a lantern from the ceiling, yanked open the door and peered in. He held his breath and his heart raced until he saw movement in the corner. He stepped in, raising the lantern higher. Two big brown eyes blinked at him.

“Reuben?” Rose said anxiously. “Is it time? Can I go now?”

He relaxed and breathed again. “No, not yet. How are you?”

“Scared.” She was kneeling on the stone, her arms pulled in tight. One side of her hair was out of place, pushed up with bits of straw in it. “Did you tell your father yet?”

“Yes, and he’s going to take care of everything. He said it was actually good you stayed here.” Reuben paused. “Anyway, my dad will clear it all up.”

“Are you sure?” Her eyes were red and deep with shadows. She had been crying.

“I told you-my father is a member of the king’s bodyguard. It’s his job to protect the royal family. Trust me, he’ll take care of this.”

“I don’t like it in here. It’s cold and the floor is hard and I haven’t done anything.” She looked at the floor. “I was just here for a party. Just doing what I was asked.” She glanced toward the exit and gestured with her hand. “Earlier someone came down. I saw a light outside the door and heard some men. I was terrified.”

“I know.” Reuben smiled, then hung the lantern from the claw in the ceiling and went back into the corridor. He grabbed a couple bales of straw and hauled them in. “There, you can sit on these or spread them out and lie down. Straw is plenty soft and it will make you warmer by keeping you off the stone. I’m about to go on duty, so I can’t stay long. You’ll probably only have to spend one more night.” He said this as gently as he could.

She moved to sit on the straw bale and nodded. What else could she do? Cry, he supposed, maybe scream. He was glad she didn’t. “I wish I had a light at least. It’s frightening not to see anything. I try to sleep, but you can only sleep so much, you know?”

“I could get you a candle, but it really would be best if you stayed in the dark. No one is supposed to be down here, and if you’d had a light earlier, those men who brought the straw bales would have seen it. I know this must be awful for you, but it’s just another day-just a night really, and it’s better to be safe, don’t you think?”

She sucked in her lower lip and nodded, looking defeated.

He felt terrible.

“Hey, what do you think of my new uniform? Handsome, aren’t I?” He meant it as a joke-anything to lighten the mood, to cheer her up. Anyone else would have picked up on his insincerity. Reuben’s humor was almost always self-deprecating.

“You look nice,” she said. “Even more dashing than usual.”

Reuben was stunned. She thought he was serious. The urge to correct her flared-no one had ever called Reuben dashing before, and he had certainly never felt that way. He straightened his back a tad. As he did, he noticed again the extremely tight waist of her bodice and her breasts shining bright and smooth in the flicker of the lantern light.

“I just took my oath to serve the king a few minutes ago.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Reuben realized she was the first person to tell him that-ever. Imagining the path his life would likely take, he guessed she would be the only one. “Well, I should get going. I just wanted to stop in before my shift and let you know I talked to my father.”

“Do you have to leave?” she asked. “Or can you sit and keep me company awhile? You’d be surprised how unexciting it is to sit in a dark cell. All I do is listen to myself breathe.”

He smiled, thinking she was making a joke, then felt self-conscious after realizing it wasn’t. He cringed, but she smiled back. She had such big eyes-large and dark. They reminded him of the horses in the stable-friendly eyes.

He sat down and she immediately moved next to him, shifting her hips until she pressed against his side. “Cold,” she said.

“Maybe I should see if I can get you another blanket. I could-”

“Don’t go.” She grabbed hold of his arm and hugged.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just don’t want to be alone anymore.” He felt her rubbing his arm, petting it. “Tell me what it’s like to live in a castle?”

Reuben laughed. “I don’t know. I live in a tiny room in the barracks with my father and a bunch of other grumpy men. I’m only in the castle when delivering wood or buckets of water or hauling out ash. I spend most of my time in the courtyard.”

“You’re not out there when it rains, are you?”

“I go in the stables then. Especially if it’s cold. The horses keep the stables toasty. And if it’s really cold, I stand between them and watch as they make these huge clouds with their breath. I brush and talk to them. They seem to like having me there.”

“If they are anything like me, they do.” She gave his arm a light squeeze and stared at him with those big eyes.

“Maybe I should bring a brush when I come back.”

He meant it as a joke-another poor attempt at being funny. Not until he heard the words did he realize he’d just compared her to a horse. Now he expected her to push him away and take offense. Instead she laid her head against his shoulder.

“I’d love to have you brush my hair.” She nuzzled him. He guessed she was pretending to be a horse now, just being playful, making a joke out of his joke perhaps. But it didn’t feel that way. It felt nice. Really nice. Warm, comforting, and exciting. Girls were never so kind, so … friendly. “You’re not like other men I know.”

His mind caught on the word men. Most people referred to him as a boy or worse. Even the princess, who was only twelve, called him a boy. Hearing Rose say it made him feel better than he would have imagined-better than putting on a new uniform, better than wearing a fine sword. “How would you know? We only just met.”

She laughed. It was a sad laugh. “I’ve known you longer than I’ve known most men.”

“Oh, right,” he muttered. He’d forgotten. With the exception of her dress, nothing about Rose made him think she was anything other than a pretty girl. Now that most of the makeup was gone, he found a cuteness about her, an open quality he liked. Reuben didn’t feel he had to be on guard around her the way he was with everyone else. When he made mistakes, she didn’t mock him. She had yet to laugh or ridicule him. He could be himself-relaxed-the way he had previously only felt in the company of chopped wood or horses. Rose was incredibly nice, and it was hard to think of her as a-“So what’s life like for you?”

She smiled up at him. “See, right there. You’re very odd.”

If anyone else had said this, Reuben would have cringed, but he could tell by the tone of her voice and the look on her face that Rose meant it as a compliment.

“I am?” he asked.

“Yes. It’s as if you actually want to know.”

“I do. I want to know what it’s like being … well … you.”

She looked at him, and he stared back. Her smile faded then and a sadness filled her face.

He’d done something wrong, said an awful thing. He just couldn’t figure out … “What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me. What is it?”

She looked away, letting her hair cover her face. “You didn’t say whore.”

He sat not knowing how to respond, not knowing if he should say anything.

“Why not? Why didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “It didn’t seem … I don’t know … nice, I guess.”

Her face came up again, and her cheeks were wet so that some of the strands of her hair stuck to them. “See!” she said a bit too loudly, her voice cracking so that she paused to cough. “Other men never have a problem saying it, and very few have ever been concerned about being nice to me. It’s always been my job to be nice to them. You don’t have to be nice when you pay. You don’t have to be thoughtful, or even gentle. And no one wants to talk, and if they do, they want to talk at you. They don’t want to hear you say anything, or if they do, they want you to say awful things, and they absolutely don’t want to hear the sob story of some poor girl.” She laughed again, a nervous, miserable laugh that sounded and looked more like crying.

“I do.”

“No, you don’t. I don’t even want to hear it. It’s depressing.”

She bent over and covered her face with her hands. Her body shook with sobs. Reuben didn’t know what to do. He reached out and thought to pat her shoulder, but that didn’t feel right. Instead, he just laid a hand on her arm, giving a light-and what he hoped was a comforting-squeeze. She responded by turning in to him and pressing her face to his chest. He let his arms circle and hug her. They sat under the flickering lantern for several minutes. He wanted her to feel better, but part of him didn’t-holding her was wonderful, and if she felt better, she would pull away.

“Thank you,” she said in a voice muffled by his tabard.

“For what?”

“For being different. For listening to me. For keeping me safe.”

“You don’t have to thank people for that. Anyone would-”

She was shaking her head. “No man I’ve ever known would, or has. I honestly didn’t think you existed.”

“Me?”

Rose pulled away then, breathing deep and wiping her eyes clear. “Well, a man like you. Strong, handsome, all dressed up and shining like one of those knights I hear about in fairy tales.”

“I’m a lowborn guard. I can’t ever be a knight.”

“I think you’re a knight. At least what a knight should be. I’ve actually known several real knights. They all look the same without their armor. None of them have ever been noble.”

She took his face in her hands, leaned in, and kissed him. She was gentle. A light touch. Her lips the softest thing he’d ever felt. Her fingers drifted down from his cheek along the length of his neck. Pulling away just enough to speak, still so close he felt her words, she said, “If you don’t want to dirty your new uniform, we can fold it up and set it on the other straw bale.”

“Rose,” he said, not certain where the air to speak came from, as she had just stolen every bit he had. He gained a moment by taking hold of her hands. “I can’t.”

“It’s your first day. How upset will they be if you’re a little late?”

“It’s not that. It’s … not right.”

She smiled, trying not to laugh. “No, it’s okay. Honestly. This is the first time I’ve ever really wanted to. And I’ll be able to sleep afterward-it will help. Really.”

She kissed him again, and he pulled back.

“What’s wrong?”

“I really can’t.”

“If you’re afraid-if it’s your first time-that’s okay. I like that. I’ll get to feel special.”

“That’s just it. This would be special, and that’s why I can’t.”

She stared at him, confused; then slowly she pulled back, letting her hands fall to her sides, an understanding dawning on her face. “She must be an amazing woman.”

“She is.”

“How long have you been in love with her?”

“All my life, although I only met her three years ago,” he said, realizing he’d never told that to another living soul.

Rose looked down and he thought she might start crying again. Instead she sucked in a breath and forced a stiff smile. “You’re a good kisser. Did she teach you that?”

“No, but thank you.”

Rose reached out and let her fingers brush along his cheek. She had a sad, wistful look in her eyes. “I hope she knows how lucky she is.”

Reuben looked away, closed his eyes, and bit the inside of his mouth.

How much of a fool am I?

Reuben came out of the dungeons into the whirl of celebration. Like surfacing after a dive, reality felt too bright, too loud. Lights were everywhere-illuminated pumpkins carved with faces, lanterns, torches, and candles that sat on shelves, hung from the ceiling, or were mounted on poles. The sound of flutes and fiddles rang through the stone corridors, being muffled by the patter of shoes as hosts rushed, guests arrived, and servants trotted.

Such a marvelous world. Such sights and sounds. Such beauty that they kept locked away, hidden from those who chummed with horses on cold winter nights. Reuben paused at the entrance for a moment, looking through the sweep and majesty of gowns and cloaks, wondering if he would see her. What would she be wearing for such a grand event? What might she think of his new uniform? Would he be suddenly dashing in her eyes too?

He knew the truth of it. If the princess saw him now, she wouldn’t notice. Her sight would glance off him as if he were the surface of a still pond. He was just another guard-as interesting as a table or pillar.

He turned and walked toward the big doors. He didn’t want to see her. He didn’t want to prove himself right-not after speaking with Rose. What would she have thought if he had told her? What might she have said? How could he explain? No one could ever understand; even he struggled at times.

There was almost as much commotion out in the courtyard as inside. Servants with buckets and bundles ran with their deliveries. For years Reuben had watched the parties from the roof of the woodshed, or in winter from the windows of the stable. In the shadows he would sit for hours marveling at the capes, hats, walking sticks, feathers, and furs. All the parties started like a parade, a traveling show put on just for him. That day, however, he was working the parade.

“You’re late!” Lieutenant Wylin was at the front gate along with Grisham and Bale. Bale looked irritated and gave him a reproachful stare. “You can take your leave now, Bale.”

“Yes, sir,” Bale said, still glaring at Reuben. “ ’Bout bloody time.”

“When you fail to do your job properly, Hilfred,” Wylin spoke sternly, “your fellows suffer. Remember that. You’re part of a team now. Trust me, you don’t want to be the weak link in this chain. The castle guard has a way of solving its own problems.”

Reuben found it strange that Wylin called him by his surname. He never had before, and it sounded odd, as if he were speaking to his father.

“Grisham here will show you what’s to be done. Do as he says, and I’ll be back later.” He paused and then almost as if reading his mind added, “Your father spent many years attaching respect and dignity to the name of Hilfred. Watch yourself, do your duty with honor and courage, fulfill your vow to protect His Majesty and his family, and you’ll make your father proud. Then perhaps one day you’ll find yourself as a sergeant at arms like him.”

Wylin nodded briskly at Grisham and then marched off.

“So what do I do?” Reuben asked.

“Nothing,” Grisham replied. “Think you can handle that?”

“Then why was it so important that I get here on time?”

“ ’Cause Bale’s feet hurt, and he was hungry. You’re gonna stand in that spot for six hours. You’ll see.”

“I really just stand here?”

“That’s the outgoing side,” Grisham said, then pointed across the bridge at the central square of the Gentry Quarter, where a long line of coaches waited, wrapping in a circle around the statue of Tolin Essendon. “See the carriages? They come up on my side. I check their invitations and wave them through. Then they roll to the front door, drop off the guests, and the driver goes back out on your side. The king don’t care about empty coaches leaving his castle. So you just stand there and wave them through. Even you ought to be able to handle that, right?”

“What if they don’t have an invitation?”

“Then we tell them to leave.”

“What if they don’t?”

Grisham smiled. “We never get that lucky. The only fun we ever have is watching the drunks at night. Sometimes they get surly and if they’re merchants, you can give them a kick to the backside. But be sure you aren’t kicking a noble. If they’re really drunk, they might not remember, but if they do, you’ll lose that foot.”

A pair of trumpets played a fanfare from the battlements and the lead carriage rolled forward. On top was the typical driver in heavy black robes and the traditional soft hat. He pulled the pair of mismatched black and white horses to a stop.

“Invitation, please.” He heard Grisham’s voice on the far side.

A boy in a high-collared doublet and fur hat looked out the window at Reuben with an expression of disdain. He rotated a silver dagger with a handle shaped like a dragon through his fingers like a coin trick.

“Welcome to Essendon Castle,” Grisham announced a minute or two later, and the carriage rolled in.

As it did, another pulled up in its place. Across the bridge, Reuben watched the line move and more carriages appeared in Gentry Square from various side streets. Most were open coaches, many of which looked identical to one another. These each had candle-lanterns mounted on the four corners hanging from ornamental iron arms that curled like vines near the top. He wondered if all the identical carriages were hired from the city liveries, as all of those were pulled by a single horse and came equipped with the same retractable top, which could be unfurled like a lady’s fan. That night, being clear and not yet cold, few had them up. Reuben guessed it was just as important to be seen visiting the castle as it was to get invited in the first place. Some of the carriages were drawn by pairs of horses. The more horses the more money, Reuben guessed. The truly rich had no need for hired carriages, and each of theirs was unique, larger, and well decorated. Reuben noticed that Grisham passed these through the gate faster and with more formality.

After the bulk of the parade had passed, as gaps began to form and the flood slowed to a drip, Grisham called him over.

“You take the next one. I may need to piss at some point.”

They switched sides and Reuben waited as the next carriage rolled up. It was one of the open-tops, pulled by a single horse. Riding in back were two men dressed in high-collared cloaks-one heavy, one thin.

The carriage halted at the gate. “Invitation, please,” Reuben asked in the same monotone voice he had heard Grisham use.

The heavy man handed over a folded parchment with white-gloved hands.

Reuben opened it and glanced at the contents. He had no idea what it said-he couldn’t read. He was fairly certain Grisham couldn’t either. Still, it was the same-looking document that all the others had, and the royal seal was all he was really looking for. This was the first time he saw the writing, however, and he marveled at the beautiful lines.

He handed the invitation back. “And your invitation, sir?” He reached out to the thin man.

“This is Viscount Albert Winslow,” the heavy man said. “He is my guest this evening.”

Dozens of carriages had passed the gate and none ever said this. Reuben began to sweat as he wondered what he should do. Feeling foolish, knowing he failed, Reuben took a step to the side to make eye contact with Grisham.

The older guard nodded.

“Ah … thank you. Welcome to Essendon Castle,” Reuben said, then waved them through.

Grisham chuckled as they switched sides again but didn’t say anything.

Soon the carriages stopped coming and Grisham had him close the little gates, swinging the iron bars around and locking them in place with the big crank. This gave them something to lean on, but Grisham warned not to get caught doing so. The sergeants might let it slide, but Wylin and Lawrence didn’t like it, and after the unexpected death of Sergeant Barnes, who used to supervise the guards at the front gate, Wylin would be by more likely to check on them.

“The easy work is done,” Grisham told him. “Now comes the long hours of boredom. We just stand here and open the gate when people leave.”

“Won’t the carriages return?”

“Yeah, but they have to park out on the street for now. There’s no room for all of them in the yard.” Grisham looked up at the castle and then back out at the city. “Okay, I’ve got to hit the privy. It might take me a while-things been backed up, if you know what I mean. You all right to just stand here and not get both of us in trouble?”

Reuben nodded.

“Nothing should happen for the next few hours anyhow. Not out here. Just try not to stab anyone or let an enemy army in, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Good boy.” Grisham walked off toward the barracks.

Reuben stared out of the gate across the bridge at the city, but he wasn’t seeing it. Instead he was remembering the feel of Rose’s hands on his arm, the shift of her hips as she moved against him, and the look of her face. No one had ever looked at him like that before. There was admiration, even awe in those wide eyes, as if he were someone important. It felt dishonest to let her look at him that way, to allow her to think he was something other than what he was. Reuben wondered what it was like for her. How awful must it be to sleep with men for money? Part of him was angry. He wanted to protect her. To save her from what he imagined was a horror. She should not be doing that. Whores were supposed to be ugly, dirty, vile women with no morals, no kindness-they were not Rose. This got him thinking that maybe he had no idea about anything. She was a whore, and he was a new castle guard, but in the broader scope of things, Rose was more worthy of respect. She had seen the world and survived on her own. She was free to do what she wanted and as such he imagined she had experienced much more. He admired her and supposed she would be surprised to learn that.

Still, it was nice to be looked at that way-to be noticed, to be seen as something more than a tree, or a door, or a pair of hands. It was outright thrilling to be thought of as a man. That title he was certain was premature, but it sounded wonderful coming from those soft lips. There was more to it than that, more than simple recognition. When she had congratulated him on his success, he felt both happy and empty. Never having known such admiration, or even the support of a real friend, it was as if he’d only realized he was hungry after smelling food.

He liked Rose. Yes, he did.

The idea settled in his head as if it had been flying around the corners of his sight. When he actually bothered to really look, the idea gained substance and became unmistakably solid. He liked Rose a lot. She felt like a friend. Having never had one before, he wasn’t completely sure, but he couldn’t imagine her giving him a helmet and then beating him with wooden swords or getting drunk and punching his face. She was better than that-better than them. When he first spotted her coming out of that window, he thought she was a ghost, but now he thought that perhaps he was the ghost-a ghost that only she could see.

Rose. Is it just a coincidence that she has my mother’s name? That she climbed out of that same window?

“Hilfred!”

Reuben looked up to see the prince and the Pickerings riding horses toward him.

“Hurry. Get the gate open.”

Reuben did not bother with the bow. He grabbed the hand crank and lifted the catch until he could swing the gate back out of the way.

The prince was dressed in heavy wool, a thick cloak with his hood up. Mauvin and Fanen followed suit, each appearing as night riders or mounted monks. They had packs that bulged-a picnic stolen from the castle kitchens or the party tables, perhaps? Reuben wondered how long they planned to stay out and hoped they wouldn’t be as long as their bags suggested. If anything did happen to them, how could he excuse it? And if the sun came up and they weren’t back, what then?

“Back to Edgar’s Swamp?” he asked. Best to be certain he knew where to send the search party before they dragged him to the gallows.

“Yeah, it’s getting cold. Tonight might be my last chance to beat Mauvin and become the new frog-hunting champ so we plan to spend the whole night. When snows set in, we’ll be able to hold races in the castle. Maybe sucker the squires into doing a little betting. Now remember, don’t tell anyone we left. Even if they beat you with whips or set hot tongs to your feet.”

“Yeah, with all that’s going on, they’ll think we’re just off in some remote part of the castle doing something stupid,” Mauvin said.

“Not like chasing frogs in a wet pond in the middle of a cold autumn night,” Fanen said with a smirk.

“Right!” Mauvin grinned.

“Wish you could come, Hilfred,” the prince said.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“C’mon, slowpokes!” Alric jabbed his heels into the sides of his horse and raced out into the Gentry Quarter followed by the two brothers, their horses’ hooves clattering on the brick.

Reuben closed the gate once more and watched them go, wishing he were with them, disappearing into the night with frog bags flapping.