The High Road (On Hold)

Chapter Seventeen

          A sudden question came to Princess Christelle:

Where is Madewin?

Her eyes fluttered about, looking for her lady-in-waiting. The pair of them had fled the carriage after an arrow had almost struck Christelle, but they were separated when she saw the man towering over captain Stéaphan. She ran behind the carriage and looked towards the treeline. There, among the bushes just past the threshold of the woods, laid a body dressed in a courtly gown, face downturned into the grass.

Christelle rushed to the body and felt its back. It was warm to the touch. She pushed over Madewin's body chest-up and saw the gown ripped at the chest.

"Captain! Captain come quick!" Christelle cried.

A moment later, Stéaphan appeared, rushing towards the scene. He ran onto one knee and looked over Madewin's still body. Christelle felt a bead of cold sweat run down her back as anxiety covered her. Stéaphan placed the side of his head against Madewin's upper chest, listening for a heartbeat.

"She lives," he said quickly. "She has only had her wits shaken from her. This happens to soldiers sometimes during a fight. She'll wake soon."

Christelle breathed a sigh of relief. For a brief moment, she was worried she had lost her oldest friend.

Stéaphan called to his men: "Two of you take these ladies into their carriage. They will not leave it again until we reach Edinburgh. The rest of you lads form up. We've work to do."

Christelle's face turned down at this. As much as she didn't want to spend the rest of their sojourn in the carriage, she understood the captain's concern and respected it.

Two English soldiers hoisted Madewin up by her legs and shoulders and carried her to the carriage. As Christelle walked with them, she scanned the ground and saw the true aftermath of medieval war. A body laid just behind the carriage, slumped over, with two arrows jutting out from its chest. A large mass of bloodied bodies were strewn not far from the road; this was the battle line.

Just past the door was the man she killed. Christelle did not mean for the blade to pierce his back so deeply, she meant only to wound him greatly enough to get him away from Stéaphan. As she stepped into the carriage, a wave of emotion fell upon her. Never had the Princess shed the blood of another, let alone killed a man. She had seen prisoners executed by her father's order. Often had she seen men hanged or had their heads lopped off for crimes against the Crown. Despite this, she often wondered if the poor souls truly deserved so severe a punishment. But now she, not her father, was the dealer of death.

After the knights had gently placed Madewin onto the carriage seat, Christelle sat beside her friend and began to soft the black hair of her head. Outside the window Christelle could hear Stéaphan's voice yelling to his men. She kneeled down and peered out the window, taking care not to hit the arrowhead of the shaft sticking out from the wooden carriage wall.

The soldiers were forming up. Two guards, her own knights, posted on either side of the door, stalwartly guarding the Princess from any further assault. The right guard was the officer of her unit and noticed Christelle's head in the window. He spoke:

"I do greatly apologize for this event, milady. Placing these heathen Scots in command was a grave mistake. I pray no harm befell you."

"None, good sir," she said. "My lady and I are well enough off."

"I am gladdened to hear that, milady." He turned back forwards.

Stéaphan's unit was gathered together in formation. Tired men with grave faces stood ranked and filed amidst the Scottish cold. The captain began to call out to his troops.

"Alright lads, we'll need a head count. Call 'here' when yer name is heard. Symon Dancourt!

"Here!" yelled a voice from the group.

"Alexander Cawdor!"

No one spoke.

"Alexander Cawdor!" Stéaphan called again.

Still no voice was heard. On the edge of the formation a man cupped his hand to his face and began to silently weep, tears wetting his hand and eyes.

The captain nodded and scribbled on the parchment he held posted to a wooden board. This continued for some time. Every so often there would be no response after a name was called. Christelle looked out towards the mass of bloodied, lifeless bodies whenever this occurred.

The Princess sat back down on her seat. Her muscles ached and her head began to throb. She grabbed her woolen cloak and pulled it around her. She picked her feet up into fetal position to warm her body up. She felt as if the northern cold had sucked the warmth from her blood and left her barren. Christelle wanted sleep. She longed for the enveloping embrace of the linen sheets of her London bed. She grew tired of the jostling of the carriage that rocked her ceaselessly. Her eyes slowly closed.

Christelle opened her eyes. Madewin was gone and there was no more noise of activity from outside. She abruptly stood up and looked out the window. All bodies, living or dead, had disappeared. She opened the door and slowly crept out of the carriage. She stepped away several paces, examining the forest around her. The environment had not changed; the forest was silent and still as glass. Christelle looked back towards the carriage. The handle of the door was dark red, dripping with blood. Christelle gasped and felt her heart rate increase. She brought up her hands. They too were coated in thick, dark blood.

Horrified, Christelle stepped backwards, edging away from the carriage. She felt the back of her foot hit something and she tripped, falling backwards to the ground. Her head struck the dirt first, sending throbbing pain throughout her body. Clutching the back of her head, she looked over to see what had caused her fall.

She had tripped over the lifeless body of a tall, muscular man. A small steel dagger, stained red with blood, laid still on the ground next to him. A seeping wound was cut into his back, severing the spine.

Christelle jumped backwards, staggering on the pommels of her hands and the heels of her feet. She wanted to run, to sprint away as fast as her legs would carry her. She turned her body over on her knees, readying to run. Something was holding her back.

The dead man's icy fingers were firmly wrapped around Christelle's ankle. She turned back to find what was preventing her from fleeing. His head turned up and his sullen, blackened eyes met hers. She screamed and shut her eyes tight.

Christelle opened her eyes. Madewin still laid silent, unconscious. She rushed to the window and peered out. The Scottish soldiers were at work lining up the bodies of the dead soldiers. A pile of various weapons stood off to the side of the activity. The bodies of the attackers were heaped into a mass of tangled limbs and bloody armor. Several soldiers were rifling through the pockets of their once-living foes, searching for anything of value. Stéaphan and Meriadoc stood a ways off from the grouping, backs turned to their men. They appeared to be discussing a private matter, for they took care not to attract attention.

"I've just had the most awful dream," said a voice from behind. Madewin was now awake and conscious. She rubbed her head as she spoke again: "I dreamed we were attacked while on our journey by brigands."

"It was no dream," said Christelle gravely, motioning towards the window. Madewin stood up and joined her friend.

"Dear God," said Madewin with a face of astonishment. She looked at the rip in her gown and began to fiddle with the frayed fibers, remembering what had happened. "We ran from the carriage. You ran to the battle and I away. One of the attackers tried to grab my dress and drag me into the forest, but a knight ran him through. I was thrown to the ground and I struck my head on a tree as I fell. Now I wake here and the battle is over."

Christelle stared at Madewin, expressionless.

"Why did you go to the battle?" asked Madewin.

The Princess's eyes turned down. In a low voice she said, "Captain Stéaphan was in trouble. He would have been killed."

Madewin stood silent, but her eyes continued to question the Princess.

At last, Christelle spoke again:

"I killed someone."