Chapter Six

Bryce hasn't spoken to me for five days now.

We are on the road, traveling at a snail's pace towards London. The baggage train makes

progress slow, and the roads are deeply muddied from the non-stop rains from the prior year to

the end of this winter. At this rate, we will make London by Christmas!

The heavily loaded baggage carts were constantly trapped in the mud. Every mile or so,

we had to stop to pull a cart out. We passed by many empty villages; the poor starving peasants

were on the road. They looked so wretched and pitiful my heart ached for them. When I could, I

would sneak a piece of bread or cheese to a passing family.

The rains hit the English people hard, decimating their crop yields, and there is a disease

running rampant within the livestock. Bloated, decaying bodies of cows and sheep were strewn

about in the fields, carcasses of wild dogs were lying on the side of the road. I believe the

situation is just the beginning of people's suffering.

We also had to worry about bandits.

Sir Hubert expressed some concern about the highway robbers but felt that our large

numbers would be a deterrent. Still, when we made camp at night, Sir Hubert posted guards

around the perimeter, the men watching in two-hour shifts.

My duties hadn't changed, although riding a horse for hours on end when my leg muscles

were not used to this new exercise exhausted me faster.

For the first few days, I could barely sit the saddle, my legs sore in unimaginable places,

and I dreaded the next day's ride. Plus, I had to deal with the chafing from the seat itself, the

woolen hose rubbing against my sensitive skin. Kill me already!

The Duke watched and studied me. A lot. There is a quizzical expression on his face, and

I think he knows I am a female, but I am not going to be the one to tell him.

39

On the fifth night, the first time I am not in a world of pain, the Duke approaches me

while I am eating my dinner near the mess tent. From the way, he's stalking through the dark

campsite, a sense of foreboding drops like a stone in my stomach. This cannot be good!

"When you're finished, Page, come to the tent. I want to show you something." I swallow

loudly enough for him to hear the noise.

"Yes, my lord," I mumble, the tasty venison now turning into sand in my mouth. I've lost

my appetite, handing my bowl to another page, and the youth gives me a grateful smile. I am

allowed better cuts of meat due to my position as the Duke's servant. Lucky me!

I trudge to the only satin tent in the middle of the circled linen tents, not looking forward

to what the Duke has to "show" me. I'm so lost in thought that I hardly recognize the change of

texture beneath my feet--a sign informing me that I've entered the place of my doom.

The floor of the tent is an oriental carpet that took the bearers many minutes to roll out.

Too bad I have to tromp in the mud to dirty the beautiful designs. A few candles are lit around the

tent, chasing away the night, but were creating long shadows. Bryce is sitting in the center where

the lighting is best, with a table in front of him.

On the table, a chess game was laid out, ready for play. Uh. What?

"Sit, Jesse," Bryce points to the empty chair on the other side of the table. Heart in my

throat, I do as he bids and sit, examining the exquisite metal chess pieces in front of me. The cost

of the board must have been staggering! Wait! Did he call me by my "boy" name?

Bryce has never used my first name since I told him what it was over a week ago. Why is

he suddenly using it now? Trepidation fills my gut as I keep staring at the board game.

"Do you know how to play?" He questions.

"Yes, my lord."

"Good. You may go first."

40

"Thank you," and I move my pawn, praying the rules haven't changed much in the last

couple of centuries. Bryce makes his move, and then I make mine, the fear of being found out

that I am a woman slowly ebbing away.

I concentrate on the game, using tactics and strategies my father showed me. I am no

Bobby Fischer, but I can play a decent set of chess. Bryce, however, is a master strategist, and I

don't realize how badly he cornered me until he took my Queen.

"Funny," he begins speaking for the first time since we started. "The most powerful piece

on the board is a woman," he snorts with derision.

"Technically, my lord," I interject. "The King is the dominant piece because the game is

lost when he dies."

"True enough, Page. And checkmate," Bryce states when he knocks over my King.

Dammit!

I begin to hand over his lost pieces, our fingers brushing, and a current shoots through my

arm, causing me to pause. My heart speeds up, and desire sweeps through me, but I force myself

to keep returning the chess pieces. I avoid his ever-watchful blue-green eyes when he says, "Is

there anything you want to tell me, boy?" Oh shit!

My heart is pounding in my ears. I'm sure that Bryce can detect the rhythmic thundering.

"My lord?" I ask, trying to keep my tone smooth.

"You are an extremely unusual and bright person, Page. For someone who comes from a

lower-class family, I am surprised at the amount of knowledge you contain in your tiny body.

Why didn't your family send you to a cloister?" Double shit!

I hate lying, but I have to survive, and I think of the only thing that can pass as truth at

this time. "I was supposed to attend a monastery, my lord," I begin. "But my family fell into

desperate times with my father and two older brothers dying. I could not provide for my mother

and my younger sisters living as a monk. So I took my oldest brother's place." I dare not glimpse

into Bryce Plantagenet's eyes, fearing he will see through my lie.

41

A few heartbeats pass, with me holding my breath and praying that he accepts my story.

"Very well, Page," the Duke sighs. I stifle my sigh of relief as I glance up at him. He is still

closely examining me but turns away when he cannot observe past the expressionless mask I put

on my face. "Time for bed."

We make it to London in a terrible time. Although, the Duke had the foresight of the road

conditions, giving him added days to rest and recover before the tournament started.

Now, I was forewarned about the conditions of London through a lot of reading, but the

shock of the state of the city broke all of my expectations. London was a stinky, filthy, muddy,

shit-filled cesspool, filled to the brim with peasants and the wealthy.

The streets were overcrowded, too narrow to barely pass with wooden buildings higher

than two-stories arching overhead as if the structures were about to collapse to the road. The

houses were also thatched with straw, making the city a tinderbox. Which thankfully doesn't

happen until the 17th Century!

As a member of the royal family, the Duke and his entourage were housed at The Tower.

Yes, the same notorious Tower of London, but during the Middle Ages, The Tower was one of

the many royal residences of the King of England and his family.

We entered through the street gate, winding our way to the White Tower, the main royal

building. I remember visiting the White Tower in the 21st Century to view the royal jewels. The

exterior is still the same, but the surrounding area is much different from my first excursion.

We dismount, and a royal retainer in red robes bows and greets the Duke, showing us the

way to the King's audience chamber. I am excited to meet the English monarch and to assuage

my nagging fear of my current placement in time. I am praying that I came fifty-years after King

Edward III.

"Your Grace! Presenting the Duke of Cambridge!" The King's herald booms in the vast

room. The audience chamber was packed with many nobles wanting to kiss the King's ass to

42

extract favors to make them more prosperous and more influential. Everyone stops talking and

turns to watch when we approach the dais, with the King sitting on his throne.

We walk down the center of the room and stop, bowing low before the King. When the

Duke rises, we follow suit, and I get my chance to glimpse the King of England.

The man is wearing a satin hose of ruby color, with a long satin tunic with intricate floral

designs that reach past his knees. He has an expensive ring on each hand, the royal signet, and

perhaps a wedding ring? The King sports a long, dirty blond beard, and his hair flows to his

shoulders. His eyes are light blue and extremely sharp, exuding intelligence as he studies us. His

gaze lands on me, and I glance down, finding a sudden interest in my muddy shoes.

"Welcome, my cousin." The King's voice is loud yet tender.

"Thank you, your grace."

"How was the road?"

"Difficult, your grace."

"God has plagued us with non-stop rains for the past two seasons. I'm glad he has given

my country a respite for the past few weeks," the King states wearily. "I look forward to

watching you in my joust, cousin. I am betting heavily on you to win."

"Thank you, your grace."

"Please, join the festivities. Your cousin, Princess Joan, will be happy to play a round of

chess with you." OH FUCK ME SIDEWAYS!

Blood is draining from my face, and I'm starting to feel dizzy. The pounding of my heart

has flooded my ears, drowning out the Duke's reply. FUCKING FAIRIES!

I catch the Duke's movement of bowing to the King, and I do the same as we are

dismissed for mingling with the King's guests. But I am too preoccupied at the moment because

you see, I now know where I am in time.

"Page!" The Duke's call breaks my concentration, and I dart my eyes to the man, quickly

bowing.

43

"Yes, my lord."

"Wine," he directs. I bow again, rushing to a sideboard where a bottle of wine and empty

metal cups are sitting. I dash the wine back to the waiting Duke, trying to get over the fact that I

am about a few months away from one of the worst pandemics in the whole of human history.

Yep, you got it! The fucking fairies placed me at the beginning of The Black Death.

I am so fucked!

"What is it, Jesse?" Bryce inquires when we enter the Duke's assigned rooms within the

palace. How can I answer his question? I opt to play dumb.

"I do not know what you mean, my lord?" Not turning to meet the man's gaze.

A steady hand grabs my arm and roughly yanks me into the bedroom. Doors slam shut

behind us as I'm pushed forward. I stumble, catching myself from falling forward, my anger

rising to the surface.

My body twisted to face the man, my face filled with fury. Bryce's dark expression

reflected my rage with a fire in his blue-green eyes.

"I do not tolerate liars in my service, boy," spitting out the word, "boy." I stare him down

until reason once again takes over my brain. I have nowhere to go.

"I was scared, my lord," I sigh out. It is somewhat the truth.

"Scared of what?" He demands.

"I've never seen so much nobility in one room, including the King. It was

overwhelming," the lie rolling smoothly off my tongue. Guilt swelled up in me. I don't want to

lie, but my survival instinct took over. I can't afford to be discovered since I have no family to

protect me. I would be burned as a witch if I began to spout about upcoming events.

The Duke stares at me intently. I stare back, unflinching, almost challenging him to call

me out on my bullshit. He's the first to break eye contact, and the shame swells inside me again.

Damn you conscience!

"Ready my wardrobe for tonight," Bryce sighs in defeat.

44

"Yes, my lord."

We enter the King's dining hall, with all the country's nobility packed at the long tables

on either side of the room. The royal family is sitting at the head table with the King and his

Queen sitting on his right. The heir apparent, the teenage Prince of Wales, Edward, on his left.

The rest of the King's children were stretched on both sides of the banquet table.

The young woman sitting next to the Queen must be Princess Joan. She has a small

golden cap on her head, her blond hair cascading past her shoulders, a symbol of purity. Her face

is plump and full of life, and there is an aura surrounding Princess Joan, making her a brilliant

light in the King's household.

She is about the same age as her older brother, Prince Edward, and her face lights up

when she sees the Duke. I can perceive the admiration in her blue eyes; an expression of hero-

worship fills her features. Like a younger sister admiring an older brother.

We formally bow to the royal table, and the Duke takes his assigned seat at one of the

side tables. As the Duke's servant, I stand behind him, watching for the signal to refill his wine

cup or whatever else he may need. The Duke's seating position is close to the royal table, an

indication of Bryce's status within the English nobility. But I catch some dark stares coming from

the nobles sitting near the other end of the table.

Particularly from a man who is scowling at the Duke. His eyes were shadowed, and there

was a cruel twist to the stranger's lips. My neck hairs stand, a sense of apprehension crushes my

chest.

"Page," Bryce's impatient voice interrupting my study of the mean-looking stranger. The

Duke has his wine cup lifted.

"Sorry, my lord," I tell him as I refill the cup.

"What caught your attention, boy?"

"The villain at the end of the table," I whisper. The Duke snorts at my conspiratorial tone.

45

"Ah, yes. Lord Geoffrey of Winstone. He's still upset that I beat him in the tourney last

season, winning the title of The King's Champion for the year. Again."

"Yes, my lord," I chuckle.

A clanging sound fills the hall, and we all turn our attention to the source of the noise.

The King is hitting his cup with a knife and stands when the room quiets.

"Lords and ladies of the court," King Edward III's loud voice fills the room. "I welcome

you all to my annual tournament." The King pauses at soft clapping from the crowd. "This year, I

added a bonus to the winner of the tourney. Whoever wins as The King's Champion will escort

my lovely daughter, Princess Joan, to her betrothed, Prince Pedro of Castile, after the tournament

ends." Oh double-shit fuck! We are weeks instead of months away from The Black Death!

I tune out the rest of the King's speech, needing to begin devising a plan to avoid the

upcoming catastrophe!