His brow furrows. He appears uncomfortable, ill at ease despite our resounding success in seizing this castle. “She does well enough, in the circumstances.”
I recall the impassioned pleas of my bride-to-be. However wrong-headed, Natalia is convinced of the princess’s innocence. I reflect that there will be few others likely to raise a voice in her defence, and perhaps there may be some room for mitigation.
“Natalia—Lady de Chapelle—is adamant that the princess bears little responsibility for the events here over recent years. She insists that Lord Eberhard is solely to blame, and that Princess Susanna is as much a victim of his tyranny as anyone else.”
Gerhard pours himself another glass of wine and stares into its ruby depths before responding. “I find that hard to accept. Don’t you?”
I shrug. “Mayhap. The trial should establish the truth of this matter though.”
We exchange a glance. I suspect that neither of us can envisage any circumstance in which the princess will escape blame, however sympathetic her accusers. And they will not be sympathetic. Someone will be required to answer for the crimes of Hohenzollern, and as its ruler it will be she. And rightly so. Meanwhile, we have further work to do here.
“I learned, also from Lady Natalia, that the children of the royal household had sought sanctuary in the castle chapel.”
“I see. They are still there?”
“No, not any longer. I have taken the liberty of removing them from the chapel and making arrangements for their safe transport to Vienna. I am intending that they join the convoy taking the prisoners to the imperial court.”
“Good. The convoy will be well guarded so their safety should be assured.” Gerhard smiles, the matter settled. “Now, compliant you say, this Natalia of yours. I hope it is so. She should suit you very well then.”
I groan. Despite my best efforts Gerhard was not to be deflected from the object of his interest for long. I need to make myself scarce, or be prepared to satisfy his curiosity. I down the remainder of my wine. “I have every expectation of her complete suitability. Now, if you will excuse me, sir, I will complete my duties. I am hoping to leave for Richtenholst in the morning.”
My commander barely has a moment to nod his assent before a commotion in the entrance to the tent arrests our attention. There is a murmur of voices outside, growing louder. Karl enters. He looks uncommonly flustered. My heart sinks.
“Your grace. It is Lady Natalia, she is gone.”
Chapter Three
The tent flap drops behind the duke of Richtenholst, leaving me alone with his hulking manservant. Despite his ferocious appearance the man—Karl—does indeed seem gentle enough. And polite. He offers me a bow, then follows his liege from the tent, to return a few minutes later with a tray of food. Simple fare, just bread and cheese, some slices of cooked meat that I identify as rabbit, and a mug of ale. I had not realised I was hungry, would have refused the food had it been offered. But as soon as Karl sets down the tray and retires again to attend to whatever duties are calling him, I help myself to a slice of the cold meat.
It is surprisingly good, and I have soon cleared the contents of the tray. Thus fortified, I begin to take in the details of my surroundings. The tent is rectangular in shape, quite large, and better furnished than I might have expected. Not that I can claim vast experience of the finer details of such accommodations. The first thing that I notice is that it is warm in here, courtesy of a pile of hot stones deposited in a small pit in the centre of the tent. These were replenished by Karl whilst I ate, encouraging me to remove my cloak. There is a bed, ample size for one but perhaps a little small for two. I prefer not to dwell on that detail. There is also the table that bears what is left of my repast, and two chairs, one of which I am presently occupying. A large bowl of clean water has been set on a stool in one corner, and beside it a jug. I assume these to be intended for the duke’s ablutions. There is no provision for what I might consider more private functions, but I daresay in the masculine environment of a military camp, such necessities are dealt with as and when they arise. There is a large chest against one of the walls, where I imagine the duke’s possessions are held secure.
My own possessions, and those of the rest of my family I do not doubt, are by now in the hands of the soldiers who will have looted the defeated castle.
Exhausted, I lie down on the bed to contemplate my new circumstances, and those of the people close to me.
I fear for Princess Susanna but I know she is beyond my help. I can but hope that the duke will convey the information I supplied to those who are holding her, but I have little optimism on that matter. He did not believe me. He remained convinced of Susanna’s culpability, so why would he argue in her defence?
That leaves Sophia, as far as I am aware still safely ensconced in the sanctuary offered by the chapel. Dear lord, I hope it is so. And I thank God that I was able to see her safe there before encountering the duke of Richtenholst. If he had seen her, identified her as the child of his old enemy… There is little in the way of family resemblance that I have ever discerned, but even so. The duke might be inclined to disregard my connection to the count de Chapelle, but he would not ignore Sophia, a direct descendent. He as good as said so. He told me that were he minded to seek revenge, he would direct his vengeance toward those more directly related to the dead count. I cannot but be convinced that his old enemy’s only surviving child would be the prime target.
The duke seems to be a man of honour and as such should not harm an innocent child. But these are desperate, violent times, and husband or not I hardly know him. I will not take that risk.
Thank the good lord that Sophia is safe. I have every confidence that Annis will take care of her to the best of her ability, and of the other little ones. Surely the imperial armies will respect their claim to the protection of the church.
But what if they don’t? Will Annis be sufficiently assertive to establish their claim? Will she possess the required fortitude? Might she even desert her charges? I doubt that, but once the notion has occurred to me it takes root. My head is soon awhirl with any number of dire possibilities, a host of catastrophic outcomes. The upshot is, Sophia needs me. The children need me, and it is my duty to see to their safety if I am able.
The duke instructed me to stay within his tent. If I knew he planned to return soon I would do so, and rely upon being able to convince him to use his authority to ensure the wellbeing of the children. I can protect Sophia’s identity, she could leave with the rest. He was not specific as to his movements, but I had the impression he would be gone for some time. I cannot risk waiting for him, especially as there is no guarantee he will aid me.
That leaves but one course of action for me. I must return to the chapel to help press the claim for safe passage for the little ones. I have no doubt that the duke will find me there and he will be angry at my disobedience, but I might even be able to claim sanctuary myself. So much for his insistence upon becoming my third husband, and for that sham of a marriage ceremony.
I roll from the bed, entertaining the very real hope that I may not be called upon to occupy it again. My aspiration to take the veil and live out my life in quiet seclusion might not after all be a forlorn one. If I can just elude Karland the other troops surrounding the tent…
I step to the entrance and peep out. Karl is just outside, no more than a few feet from me. He is supervising the labours of a young lad aged perhaps fourteen who is intent upon his task of polishing a pair of stout leather boots. Neither of them looks up. I duck back inside. There will be no escape by that route.
I cross to the opposite side of the tent and drop to my knees. The canvas walls are firmly secured to the hard earth, pegged there by sharp iron stakes that have been driven into the earth, no doubt by the formidable Karl. There is sufficient gap beneath the edge of the canvas to slip my hand under and grasp the nearest stake. I take a firm grip, but cannot shift it so much as an inch.
I sit back on my haunches, disappointed and frustrated, but my determination is undiminished. Iwillbe free. Iwillreturn to see Sophia to safety.
I recollect the remains of my meal, and in particular the small dagger which Karl supplied to enable me to cut up my bread and cheese. I scramble back across the tent and find the implement still on the table, discarded with the now empty trencher. I turn it over in my hand. The knife is far too tiny to be of much use as a weapon, but as a tool it will pass muster. I can carve out a slit in the canvas wall and slip out of the rear of the tent.
