Virtue and Venom
Note: I took a poll as to what I should write for the HA fandom once Missing was finished, and the votes were overwhelmingly in favour of ye olde medieval romance. That's not to say I won't end up writing the other option eventually, but for now this is my project. Although it is quite heavily inspired by Ever After, it is very much its own egg. Also, the language used will be deliberately anachronistic, because writing in old/middle english is a step too far even for me (unless you have a strong desire to see 'Helge, wilt þū mid mē sealtian?' in which case, you may write your own fanfic and I will likely read it.)
Also, I would like to mention that I now have original work freely available on my archive.
…..
Dawn had already broken by the time Helga woke up, the smoke from the mostly-dead fire suddenly bringing on a cough. Blinking sleepily in the dim light of the morning, she wondered why the cockerel hadn't crowed to wake her up.
Oh yeah...
She'd sold him.
With a groan, she got up from the floor she'd inadvertently fallen asleep on. Her smock was covered in blotches from the ash of the fireplace, and the one that was hung to dry in the pantry was still slightly damp. Still, she peeled off the soiled one and tugged the damp one on, lit a new fire in the stove and put on some water to boil. It would be a good two hours before anyone else in the house woke up, but there was no harm in getting things started early.
Her kirtle and robe hung by the door and she put them on, but didn't bother with a farthingale or even stockings and shoes. The morning air was just about warm enough, and it wasn't like anyone would see her walking around barefoot. No-one important anyway.
The Pataki estate was vast, even though it was clearly in a state of decay. As Helga walked the trail down to the hermitage, she took note of all the things that needed fixing.
Four fenceposts down.
Ragwort on the tilling soil.
Rotten oak tree near the barn.
New holes in the barn roof, probably rats.
"Hi!"
The cheery greeting came from just outside the hermitage. It shouldn't have surprised Helga that Phoebe would be up early, with or without a cockerel to rouse her.
"Hey Pheebs," she said with a bone-tired wave.
"Do you need the rent today?" Phoebe asked with a little worried frown she tried to hide.
"No, no," Helga said, waving her off. "Just bread, if you have any."
"Of course," Phoebe agreed, beckoning her into the hermitage.
It was crude, but Phoebe and her mother had managed to make it look homely in their own way. The cave was divided into three separate chambers by thick curtains and their old stove sat in a hollow near the entrance so that the smoke wouldn't billow around their living space. The sleeping pallets were stacked up in a corner with their pillows and blankets, and their looms along with the fabrics they wove took up most of the space during the day.
Phoebe reached into the stove and took out two loaves of bread.
"I churned some butter, too, if you want it," she offered.
"No, it's wasted on them," Helga declined. "Sell it, or eat it yourself."
"You should take a little, for yourself," Phoebe's mother called from her spot at the loom. "You're too thin."
"If I had some, I'd have to explain where I got it," Helga said. "Seriously, keep it."
They insisted she take two eggs with her, and by the time she got back to the kitchen Helga could hear her father making noises from upstairs. She dropped the eggs into the boiling water along with a shank of ham and set about fixing her hair.
…..
"Where's your coif?" Olga asked when she finally made it down to the breakfast table.
"I have no idea," Helga retorted.
"You're sixteen, you can't go out with your hair loose like that," her sister moaned. "What will people say?"
"I don't think anyone will care that much."
"She's right, Olga," her father growled over a mouthful of ham. "You have to look respectable."
Inwardly, she seethed. Somehow they were still under the impression that their breakfast had been delivered to them by servants they no longer had, and didn't raise any objections when Helga had been the one to bring them water for washing and help them dress, but suddenly they were concerned that she wasn't covering her head.
She had worn her hair tied up in two long tails since she was a child, and saw no reason to stop. The coif was itchy, and she wasn't a married woman so there was no real reason to cover her head when nobody stopped by the estate anymore anyway.
"I'll find it after breakfast," she said, with no intention to actually do it.
"I think we should have duck this evening," her mother said vaguely. "Tell the cook, won't you?"
Where am I going to get a duck at this time of year?
"Sure," Helga mumbled.
Miriam would probably forget by noon in any case. They had one scrawny chicken in the larder, and lots of vegetables to stretch it out with. As if any of them could even tell the difference between chicken and duck once it was on a plate...
"I am to be introduced a week from now," Olga announced over a dainty sip of her water. "My old friend Jane Pomfrey...she's Lady Jane Westbourne now...her husband has a friend who is not betrothed."
"Oh, that's wonderful dear!" Miriam exclaimed with more enthusiasm than she'd been able to muster all month.
"Who is this guy?" Bob asked. "What's his title?"
"Lord Henry Barker," Olga proclaimed proudly. "He's the second son of Lord Edward Barker."
"Is he rich?" Helga asked.
"Helga! What a thing to ask!" Olga scolded, as though they weren't all thinking it.
She rolled her eyes as the rest of her family gushed over this latest possible fancy marriage in a long line of fancy possible marriages Olga had talked about since her debut at court. Helga occupied herself by mentally calculating how much she'd get if she sold off the candlesticks.
…..
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
Arnold was staring at the portrait as if it was the second coming of Venus. Gerald tilted his head and squinted; as far as he could see it was an average portrait of a pleasant-looking young girl dressed in an austere black gown. Her hair was curled and pinned out to the sides in the usual Spanish style. The rather large white crucifix she wore was the key focal point of the portrait.
"It's nice," Gerald agreed blandly. "But...that's a really big cross. Just sayin'."
"I know, but she probably has to wear it for portraits," Arnold reasoned.
Gerald sighed. Arnold had an unfortunate blind spot when it came to situations like this. First that entirely unsuitable Portuguese princess and now Infanta Lila of Spain, a girl who was notorious for turning down proposals from protestants. Supposedly she was so pious she wore a hair shirt to bed every night.
"She did write back," Arnold said. "Almost all of my letters got a response."
Arnold's optimism tended to cloud his judgment, 'almost all' likely meant the Infanta probably wrote back twice. All the same, that same optimism let Arnold's subjects accept Gerald himself as a close friend of the prince, despite his Moorish ancestry. Very few people could deny the prince something he wanted.
He was not going to get this princess, though. That was for damn sure.
"The commandant told me we can cross the border at the eastern vale," Arnold told him. "After that it's not far to the abbey. She's going to be there for another week at least."
"Arnold, no," Gerald sighed. "Just no. She's going to scream if you just turn up at her door, and then all her ladies will scream too, and if we manage to make it back over the border the Spanish will turn it into a story about how you tried to kidnap her and compromised her virtue."
"Oh, come on," Arnold moaned. "I'm not going to creep in the window or anything...I'll keep a respectful distance."
"No," Gerald said, point blank.
…..
"So remember when I said this was never going to work?" Gerald hissed over at Arnold.
"Yeah," Arnold admitted mournfully.
They hadn't even made it past the border before bandits on the trail picked up on two young men traveling together, one of them a Moor, both of them richly attired. Now they were tramping across the countryside, hands tied behind their backs, robbed of everything but the clothes on their backs.
"Okay look," Gerald whispered. "They're going to stop soon, and when they do I'm going to make a break for it. While they're trying to figure out who goes after me, you run the opposite way. Then once you've ditched them, find somewhere to hide. I'll bring back some men to find you."
It was a good plan; Gerald was well-known for having the speed and endurance of a horse, the same qualities that made his father such a renowned warrior. Arnold did not have these gifts, and was grateful that Gerald had taken his shortcomings into account.
Their bandit kidnappers were clearly unused to having prisoners, luckily for them. They didn't even think to tie them to a tree or something when they did stop, and so when Gerald made a run for it they panicked. While they were arguing, Arnold broke away too and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Behind him he could hear the shouting of the men chasing him, and in his haste he tripped and tumbled down a hill.
When he finally lurched to a halt, he was staring up at the baffled blue eyes of a young girl. He'd fallen right at her feet.
"What the..." she exclaimed, before being cut off by his pursuers bursting through the undergrowth.
"Please help me?" Arnold begged, though how exactly he expected her to help him he didn't know.
To his surprise, she nodded.
In a movement that was astonishingly graceful, she crouched to pull him to his feet while simultaneously picking up a large rock and hurling it at one of the bandits. It caught the man right in the middle of his forehead, knocking him on his back. Arnold was barely standing before another rock went hurtling towards the other man, catching him in the stomach and bringing him to his knees.
"This way," the girl hissed at Arnold, dragging him off towards the forest.
He let himself be dragged over a seemingly random expanse of hillocks, forest, streams and marsh. The hem of the girl's gown and his own breeches were soaked and covered in mud by the time she judged it safe for them to stop and catch their breath. Arnold sank down onto a tree stump, gasping for air.
"The forest is a maze beyond the valley," the girl told him. "They won't be able to follow us without getting lost."
"Yes," Arnold gasped. "Thank you...I owe you my life."
"Yes, you do," she replied, flipping one of her long pigtails over her shoulder. "And who are you?"
Despite himself, he grinned. He hadn't seen anyone with that hairstyle, or indeed uncovered hair, that wasn't a child. It was oddly charming.
He supposed she was a peasant girl, going by her familiarity with the land. Her gown was a faded pink, mended with patches and darns, and her kirtle peeked out over the gaps in the lacing. The skirt was shapeless, betraying that she didn't wear a farthingale underneath.
He hesitated to tell her who he was. If she knew he was the prince (and it was clear that she hadn't recognized him so she couldn't be a member of the court) she might turn up at the palace demanding repayment, and then Arnold's grandparents would find out what he'd been trying to do.
"I'm...Lord Arnold," he said. His full title was His Royal Highness Prince Augustus Philip Joseph Arnold the Fourth, but there was no need to tell her that. "And how should I address you?"
"Helga," she shrugged.
"All right, Lady Helga..."
"What were you doing out here?" she said, her eyes narrowed. "The borders are teeming with bandits, everyone knows that."
Obviously not everyone.
"I was on my way to visit someone when my companion and I were taken," Arnold explained. "He ran off in the other direction to raise the alarm. What were you doing out here, if this place is so dangerous?"
"It's common land," she said with a scowl. "I've been walking it for years. Even the bandits know to stay out of the forest."
"Well, Lady Helga, if you would be so kind I would ask you not to speak of this to anyone," Arnold asked.
"Fine," she shrugged. "It's none of my business anyway."
He could have been insulted, but instead Arnold found himself feeling intrigued. At court the women fawned all over him and it was off-putting. It was refreshing to be around somebody who couldn't care less about who he was. Not to mention she had an excellent throwing arm.
"Well then, I'll be off. Thank you for your help, once again."
He turned and walked in the direction he thought was north, only for her to call back to him.
"Do you know where you're going?"
Cursing under his breath, and with his back still turned, he shook his head.
"Fine, I'll lead you out," she sighed.