The Princess Who Rode on a Mule by Sheela Word Page B

candles to the tower each morn. She had not yet come this
day, however. Nearly five hours had passed since cockcrow.
    “We
shall starve, methinks,” said Princess Ingrid. “Or worse.”
    But at
last they heard the turning of the key, and Mistress Susannah came in with a
light step. She set her basket by the hearth, as was her wont, then stood with
her arms akimbo, and peered into each of their faces with a gleaming eye.
    “Speak,
I pray thee,” said the Queen, while Ingrid uncovered the basket with a quick
movement of one slim hand. “What wouldst thou say?”
    “Naught
of consequence,” said Susannah, shaking her curly head, with its round
lace-trimmed cap. “And yet….I’ll be bound he shall na’ wed her.”
    “Shall
not wed her?”
    “Nay.
He hath seen her and cried ‘foul.’ She were a comely wench, but now she seems
to have the dropsy. A kerchief rims her face from ear to ear, and her jaw be
slack, and her face as cold and pallid as a turnip. And the babe is a red and
peevish little imp that none would wish to own.”
    “Poor
Jenny,” said Ingrid, biting into a custard tart. “The babe ails too, you say?”
    “Mayhap.
But methinks my lord Steward hath had a hand in this.”
    “What
can be thy meaning?” asked Joan. “Of a surety, Master Cope did not make them
ill!”
    “I know
naught about it,” said Susannah, laughing. “His Majesty shall have you back
again anon, and then you may look to your pots of paint and powder. But be not
over-careful in your counting—”
    “—Listen!”
said Joan suddenly, and when the others stopped speaking, they heard it too—a
strange and piercing, ceaseless cry.
    “’Tis
murder!” cried Susannah, her blue eyes round as saucers.
    The cry
ended with a “Haw! Haw!” of a sudden, and then there was silence.
    “’Tis my mule,”
said Hadley, who was still at the casement. She turned and smiled at the
others. “Master Cope hath led her through the garden, I know not why.”
    ~~~~
    Master
Cope was prodigiously large. He stood, mayhap, twenty hands high and weighed
eighteen stone or more. His feet resembled two loaves of bread, and when he
walked, he rolled from side to side like a sailor.
    None
could remember precisely how long he had been at Court, but ‘twas said that
during the battle with Dunclyden, some ten years past, he had been captured
from the enemy and held for ransom. He was a lad of fourteen, then, and his
father was reputed to be a valorous knight, who (alas!) fell in the field ere
he could redeem his boy. The youth was soon pressed into service at the Palace
of Glerny, and if he longed for his kith and kin, he did not show it, but was
ever cheerful, bold, and easy. While he was young, he was naught but “Robin,”
for he styled himself so, and did not give a surname; but when he was made
Steward, the King said he must be called “Cope” after the Steward who had come
before.
    Master
Cope had always been a favorite of his Majesty, and he in turn was loyal to his
liege, and did not regard his humors, nor the sharp words or blows that
sometimes fell, but endeavored to do all that was asked of him.
    But now
as he led Princess Hadley’s mule through the kitchen garden, out into the
courtyard, and back again, his thoughts were troubled. “For I know not how it
shall be in the end. Tho’ today they be reconciled, mayhap tomorrow he shall
cast them off again....Zounds! What a noise it makes!”
    After
the mule had been taken thrice past the large bay window fronting the Great
Hall, the King came out into the courtyard, confronted his Steward, and
demanded to know what he was about.
    “’Tis a
puny creature,” said Robin. “Yet strong in voice. Mayhap you have heard its
cries, Sire.”
    “Aye!
And been affronted by them!” said the King.
    “In
truth, it mourns loudly. The groom upbraids it for affrighting the horses. But
I pity the beast. ‘Tis worthy when its mistress is nigh. But now that she is
gone, its spirits are much