Eight

 

When Rosamond awoke the next morning, she couldn't smell breakfast.

"Monika?" she murmured, but received no answer. Perhaps it was too early and the maid was still preparing it. Rising, Rosamond decided to begin making herself presentable for the day. There was still a jug of water half full from last night, so she used that to wash before hunting for a comb to untangle her night-mussed hair.

A terribly unladylike snore made her stop, for it came from Monika's pallet. Surely the maid had not allowed a guardsman to sleep in her mistress's pavilion? She would soon feel the rough edge of Rosamond's tongue if she had. Wait until the queen heard about it.

Rosamond marched over to Monika's bed and wrenched the coverlet aside. Monika herself lay there alone, breathing so laboriously that it sounded like snoring.

"Monika, wake up. I need breakfast," Rosamond ordered.

The maid slept on.

Angrily, Rosamond shook the woman, but Monika simply fell back to her pallet, as limp as one of the rag dolls Rosamond had once played with as a child. She seemed unusually warm to the touch, too.

Feeling fear for the first time, Rosamond cupped Monika's cheek so she could gaze upon her face. The maid's eyes were closed, but her skin had the same waxy sheen as Melitta.

Rosamond tore her hands away from Monika and stumbled out of the tent as fast as she could. "It's Monika! She won't wake. She won't wake!" she shouted.

Strong hands fastened around her shoulders, spinning her around to face Sir Warin. "What's this about Monika?" he asked, his eyes filled with concern.

"She didn't wake. She usually wakes before me. I called her. I even shook her, but she won't wake!" Rosamond babbled, shaking her head. "She is ill. The same ailment as the weaver's daughter, I know it!"

Sir Warin gestured to the nearest guard. "Is anyone else ill?"

The man shook his head. "I don't think so, sir. I'll go check the other men." He returned a few minutes later, still shaking his head. "No, sir. Not a single man still abed, seeing as the sun is so high in the sky and all. If the princess had risen earlier, as is her usual habit, maybe one or two might have been but..." He coughed. "I'll go help saddle the horses, sir."

"Monika usually wakes me," Rosamond said. "I don't understand. If she is so ill, why am I not ailing? She rarely leaves my side."

Sir Warin's eyes narrowed. "What has she done that you have not since we left the city?"

Rosamond spread her arms wide. "Everything." Princesses did not do things for themselves, Monika and her mother had told her so many times it had become a habit. "She cooks for me, packs my things, brings water to wash with, sets out my clothes and helps me dress, even mends my clothes when I tear them. When we get home, she says I must have new gowns made with the queen's gifts, because my travel-stained dresses will not be fit for anything more than rags. Those new velvets will be perfect for court..." She might have prattled on for longer, but Sir Warin held up a hand to silence her.

"You said the weaver's daughter was ill, and Monika has the same ailment?" he asked.

Rosamond nodded.

"Did you touch the cloth the queen gave you?"

Rosamond's mouth seemed suddenly too dry. "I...no. It came in so many chests, and you were angry, so Monika said...she said she would load them onto the packhorses. The weaver's daughter unpacked those chests when they arrived, at about the same time we did, but no one else had touched them..." She stopped dead, clapping her hand to her horrified mouth. "You don't think Queen Margareta gave us cursed cloth?"

"Mayhap the queen herself did not know. Whether she did or no, the curse is undoubtedly real. We cannot take it home." Warin pointed at four guardsmen. "You! Fetch more wood. We must have a bonfire before we leave this spot."

The men obeyed, piling wood beside the small morning cookfire. They coaxed the cheerful flames into a roaring blaze under Warin's watchful eye, until he nodded and strode off.

"Where are you going?" Rosamond demanded, following him.

"To the picket lines, where the packhorses' burdens are piled, to fetch the cursed cloth. I will do what I must to protect you and the kingdom." He marched grimly to the pile of bags, seizing several before heading back to camp. When he reached the fire, he unfastened one of the sacks, reached inside, and tossed the bundle of cloth onto the flames.

"No!" Rosamond shouted. "You can't burn the queen's gifts. They are gifts. To do so would start a war." She seized the next bundle of cloth before Sir Warin could throw it into the fire. "You can't!"

Warin wrenched it out of her grip. "Do not touch the cursed stuff, Princess. What the queen does not see, she will never know. Unless you know how to remove curses, we must destroy it with fire. Can you break curses, Princess?"

Rosamond wrapped her arms around herself as tears sprang to her eyes. No one had ever spoken so roughly to her before. "No. I am a healer, and I help plants. Only a powerful enchantress – "

"Then let me do my job, Princess, which is protecting you." Another bundle of bright-coloured cloth landed in the fire, sending up a shower of sparks, followed by two more.

Realisation dawned. "If she was cursed by merely touching the cloth, then so are you." Rosamond gulped. "So am I."

"I pray that you are not, Princess." Warin would not meet her eyes. He turned and cupped his hands to his mouth, shouting for the attention of his men. "Ride for the capital. Tell the king we were taken ill on the road. God willing, we will be but a day behind you." He gave Rosamond a hard look. "You should go with them, Princess. Monika and I are cursed, but you are surely free of such evil spells."

Rosamond's fingers itched where she'd touched the velvet. "No, I cannot. What if you are wrong, and it is not a curse, but some plague that others can catch from me? I dare not bring it home."

"Go with them, Princess," Warin said through gritted teeth. "They will keep you safe. When this illness takes hold, I know that I cannot."

She lifted her chin as she glared at him. "Who will keep them safe from me if you are wrong? I am a Princess and a healer, and they will be no help to me when they are dead." She swallowed. "Or if I am dead, for surely the disease will take me first." She closed her eyes in horror. She didn't want to die. She didn't want him to die. Or Monika. Or anyone.

"Can you heal it?" Warin demanded.

Rosamond thought of Melitta. "Yes, perhaps. But it may take some time. We can't stay here beside the road, where any traveller might happen upon us, lest they be afflicted, too. We will need shelter while I try to heal you."

"Heal all three of us," Warin corrected, surrendering the last piece of cloth to the flames. "First Monika, then yourself, and if you have the energy and I still live, you can heal me."

Rosamond did not know how to heal herself, but she didn't tell Sir Warin that. She drew herself up. "Find us shelter, and I shall."

He nodded. "There is an old convent near here that I know of. It is one of the best spots in the kingdom for hawking, but as the king and queen are not fond of falcons, we should be safe."

"What about the nuns?" Rosamond demanded, horrified. "Their faith will not save them from whatever disease we are carrying, or a curse."

Warin flashed a bleak smile. "The convent has stood empty for my lifetime, Princess, and that of my father. The order who built it left, and did not come back. At least if we die there, it will be on hallowed ground."

Rosamond did not want to die, but she saw no other choice. "Help me with Monika. We must get her to this convent you speak of so that I may heal her." Before it was too late, she thought but didn't say.