The Princess Spy

“Help me!” he cried in English. “I do not belong in this dungeon. Lord Claybrook is trying to — ”

 

 

Claybrook’s guard cuffed his ear, making his head ring and stars dance before his eyes. But at least his use of English, a foreign language to the gaoler, had caught his attention and, Colin hoped, awakened his suspicions even more.

 

The gaoler shook his head, then mumbled grumpily and grabbed Colin’s arm. To Colin’s great disappointment, he helped the guards fasten an iron band around each of Colin’s wrists.

 

“Priester! Please, I need to speak to the priester!”

 

He found himself chained to the wall in the dark, smoky dungeon. The gaoler looked at him curiously but walked away behind Claybrook’s guards, taking the torch and the only source of light with him. Colin was left in darkness.

 

Colin pulled hard on his chains, but they held fast. What now? He sank to the floor, his arm chains just long enough to allow him to sit on the cold stone.

 

To his surprise, the bob of the flickering torch came into view as the gaoler walked silently back down the steps and came to stand and stare at him.

 

Colin jumped to his feet amid the clanging of his chains. “Hilf mir.” Help me was one of the phrases he had learned from the priest. “Priester speaks English. English. You understand?” Would the grizzled old gaoler comprehend and help him?

 

He looked sharp. “Sie ein Engl?nder?”

 

“Ja! Engl?nder. Can you go get the priest? Priester? For the sake of Hagenheim and all that’s holy!” If only he knew a few more words!

 

The gaoler unknit his bushy white eyebrows and grunted. “Ja.” He turned and walked away.

 

There was nothing for Colin to do but wait — and pray the gaoler intended to bring the priest back with him.

 

 

 

Margaretha wandered about the room, peeking at the guard every so often out of the corner of her eye. Gradually, she made her way to the silver candlesticks stored on a small shelf near the windows facing the courtyard. With her back to the guard, and Anne still clinging to her arm, she fingered a small but heavy candlestick just before lifting it and stuffing it into her voluminous sleeve, where she had a hidden pocket.

 

Anne’s eyes widened. She let go of Margaretha’s arm. In a burst of familial loyalty and generosity, Margaretha whispered, “If you wish to get out of here, you’d better stay close to me.”

 

Her eyes still enormous and round, Anne took hold of Margaretha’s arm again — her left arm, thankfully, since she needed her right hand free.

 

Margaretha wandered back toward the guard, who only occasionally turned his eyes on Margaretha and Anne. He even yawned just before he perceived her coming toward him.

 

“You look like an understanding person,” she began. “As you can see, my cousin and I are not dangerous. If you could only allow us a few minutes in the garderobe, we would be so grateful.” She smiled up at him.

 

“I am not to allow you out of my sight.” His eyes and voice were hard. He was obviously unmoved by her smile.

 

She switched tactics. “If you do not allow us a few minutes in the garderobe, I’m afraid you will have a mess on your hands that you will not enjoy explaining to the other soldiers in your ranks, nor the servants who will be forced to clean it up.” Margaretha placed her hand on her hip, raised her brows, and frowned up at him.

 

Anne’s face turned slightly green and she put her hand over her mouth. Was she really about to heave her stomach’s contents onto the floor? Whether she was or only looked like she might, it was the perfect complement to Margaretha’s insinuations.

 

“Come, then,” the guard ordered, his voice louder than necessary as he glared down at them.

 

Margaretha scurried through the door, Anne sticking close to her side, with a second guard following behind. Margaretha headed straight for the garderobe and glanced behind her as she and Anne dashed into the dim, small space designed to allow the ladies of the castle to relieve themselves.

 

Margaretha whispered to Anne, “You aren’t sick, are you?”

 

“Only terrified.” Anne looked at Margaretha as if she was a lunatic. “What are you planning to do? These guards mean to kill us. It’s just like what happened at Witten Schloss to my mother’s cousins. Their castle was taken over by the Earl of Hildesbaden and they were murdered, run through before they even knew they were in danger.”

 

Anne’s voice grew shrill. “I don’t want to die.” Her eyes filled with tears as she clung all the harder to Margaretha’s arm.

 

“Stop it, Anne,” Margaretha whispered. “You must listen to me. We shall get through this and nothing bad shall happen to us.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

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