The minstrel and the scullion

The entrance steps to the Citadel were an imposing feat of architecture. Each spanned the length of a dozen grown horses and each rose a foot into the air. There were fifty of them, made of pink marble, veined and majestic. Centuries of use had worn depressions into their centre, giving the flight of steps a warped appearance even at a distance. Adding to the aura of grandeur were two matching columns standing at either side of the stairwell. Despite supporting nothing but air, they caused a great impression, framing the entryway to the most spectacular building in the realm.

At the foot of the structure stood a young man bearing a shabby satchel and a lute. He clutched both of them tightly as he looked up at the stairs in awe. Poor though he surely was, he wore a clean woollen tunic and sandals. His curly locks fell across a handsome beardless face, no older than twenty. He had spent most of the morning in the square facing the steps, while a silent struggle raged on inside him. The two sentries stationed beside each column exchanged sniggers whenever he looked as though he might attempt the climb, but still the youth had not found it in himself to march up the steps.

Mia had worked in the Citadel's kitchens for two years now. At first she had been certain she would end up in the streets whence she had come. But months of the cook's bossiness had worked some efficiency into her: she no longer dropped the royal pans or soiled the royal floor by spilling the royal juice. In all, she had come to love her life in the kitchens. Though she worked endlessly at the most menial tasks, she now had a bed and daily meals. Besides, her main concern, which had been that of having to expose her blatant rough manners to the court, had dissipated within the first few weeks, as she had discovered the kitchens were seldom visited by anyone important.

She only had one friend inside the Citadel, her roommate Clara, daughter of the king's armorer, but that didn't bother her; one friend and a job were far better than no friends and the streets. Nevertheless, she did miss her brother. Her brother, who had always cared for her, had made sure she got a place in the kitchens when she turned sixteen to save her from winding up in a city brothel. They hadn't seen each other since.

‘Mia, have you seen the new singer?’ her friend asked her as they scrubbed tiles on their knees. ‘Singer? There's a new singer?’ ‘You obviously haven't,’ Clara sighed. ‘He arrived this morning and he's gorgeous!’ She arched her eyebrows for effect. ‘But he forbade it.’ Mia said. ‘Yes, yes I know.’ Her roommate rolled her eyes. ‘Apparently the princess requested permission for a personal bard, and he's allowed her to choose one. Not that many have auditioned, actually. They must be terrified of him.’

The queen had always made sure the Citadel's halls were filled with music. She used to sing herself, often. Her husband had banned musicians from the court the previous year, when she died. He called it “mourning” and “respect”, but everyone in the castle knew that music reminded him painfully of his late wife. Their teenage daughter, who had inherited the queen's taste for tunes, missed it sorely.

‘Will he stay?’ Mia asked, now excited as well. ‘I think so. Let's hope the king's patience holds.’ ‘Oh, I hope he does. I'd like to hear some music in the castle again.’ Mia was secretly thinking of her brother, who had always dreamed of becoming a musician. He used to sing when they begged in the streets, but he could never have afforded an instrument. Clara gave her a roguish smile. ‘And I'd like to see myself some fresh meat; all the kitchen boys have gone stale!’ They chortled and continued scrubbing.

Theo tried to quell his anxiety by thinking about his sister. If he stayed at the Citadel he'd be able to visit the kitchens now and again to see her. All he had to do was perform. That was the difficult bit: performing. Gifted though he was, he had only been playing the lute for a year, and he feared his voice would crack from the nerves. The princess seemed to have liked him, but he wasn't sure that would be enough to guarantee him a future within the Citadel's walls.

He fidgeted with his laces in front of a long mirror. He'd been given a set of gaudy clothes to replace his tunic for the dinner entertainment, and was having trouble dressing in the layered outfit; he had never owned such outlandish raiment.

A while later, Theo played his best at the Citadel's Small Dining Hall. He had been instructed to provide instrumental background music during dinner and only to start singing when the king and his daughter had finished eating. From a corner of the Hall, he played for the two most distinguished people in the realm. Theo tried to avoid the king's gaze, which didn't prove difficult since the man was making quite a good effort himself pretending the minstrel wasn't there. His daughter, however, would not stop looking at him. She caught his eye more than once, smiling, and the musician feared he'd strum a false chord.

When they finished eating, the king took his leave and left the princess alone to enjoy the bard's music. She requested her songs, and Theo found he was nowhere near as nervous as he had been in her father's presence. She seemed playful and welcoming. When he sang, she looked at him in appreciation as she hummed to herself, stroking her red hair.

Later that night Theo returned to his dormitory with a smile upon his lips. He was aware of the dark stains under his armpits as he undressed, and hoped the princess hadn't noticed. Satisfied with his first day, he climbed into bed, looking forward to seeing Mia the following morning. As he closed his eyes, there came a soft knock to his door. This struck Theo as odd. After all, he hadn't had time to meet anyone who would want to visit him at his chambers in the Citadel yet.

Mia sprinted up the tower. She had never been to this part of the castle, but Clara's instructions had been quite straightforward. She stopped before the door to the minstrel's bedroom, her heart thumping against her chest. Clara had said he was called Theo and that his hair was black and curly. There could be no doubt: her brother had come to the Citadel. How he had managed Mia could not guess. She knew him to be a resourceful person; had he not got her a job and a new life in the kitchens? Nevertheless, gaining access to the royal seat himself only two years later was a sign of even greater determination and sagacity.

She knocked four times. No-one answered. Unable to wait any longer, she opened the door. The room was modest, by the Citadel's standards. A plain bed with a pallet occupied one corner, morning light spilling onto the unmade bedding. Opposite was a full body mirror and a chest of drawers. The singer's clothes lay in an untidy pile on the floor, next to a small chamber pot and his lute. Mia's heart sank. The musician had obviously left the room early, and if it had been her brother she knew the first place he would have visited would've been the kitchens.

She was turning to leave when a redheaded young lady with a tearful face walked into the room. She looked up and, noticing she wasn't alone, tried to arrange her features into a stern look of authority. Mia skipped a heartbeat. Standing in front of her was princess Myriam. She had only seen her once or twice, coming into the keep, but there was no mistaking that fabled ginger mane.

Mia wasn't sure of the protocol, since she had never had to deal with highborns in the kitchen, but she hastened to curtsy like she had seen other people do in Myriam's presence. ‘Who are you?’ the princess demanded. ‘I'm one of the kitchen girls,’ Mia said. ‘A scullion? Then what are you doing up here?’ Mia considered briefly before answering. Gathering she was in enough trouble already, she decided she'd go with the truth. ‘I… erm… I was hoping to see my brother, but I think I've made a mistake. I'll get back to my post now. Sorry.’ She looked fleetingly at the door, hoping that would be enough. However, Myriam did not dismiss her. ‘And why would you have a brother up here?’ The princess seemed more intrigued than angry, which was probably a good sign, but Mia was reluctant to admit that she had hoped her homeless brother was the court’s new singer. ‘I… I heard a man named Theo had arrived and… well my brother is called Theo, and I haven't seen him in two years so… so I thought it might be him,’ she confessed, turning a violent shade of red. Myriam's reaction was surprising: her face softened, reflecting a shadow of pain, and she grasped Mia by the shoulders. ‘You must be Mia,’ she said in a sharp whisper. ‘I… er… yes, I am.’ Mia was taken aback. ‘Oh I'm so sorry Mia, I'm so sorry…’ Suddenly she seemed the teenage girl she was, all authority draining from her voice. ‘Come Mia, come. Your brother would want to see you.’ And with that she carried her from the room, anguish clear upon her face.

         The cell was small and dank. There was nothing in it save the prisoner, who sat with his back against the wall farthest from the iron bars. He sang softly to himself, too despondent to think. Footsteps approached. They sounded urgent and surreptitious. He got to his feet and pressed his face against the cold metal to see the newcomers approach.

         When the girl farthest from the cell was close enough to recognise him, she ran up to the bars. ‘Theo! What are you doing here!?’ Mia cried. The princess seemed alarmed at her carelessness. ‘Shhh! Keep your voice down Mia!’ she urged. Theo grasped his sister’s hands from between the bars and kissed them tenderly. ‘It's all right Mia, it's all right.’ ‘No, it's not all right!’ she replied. ‘Why are you locked up?’ She looked close to tears. Theo turned slowly to look at Myriam, who had stayed behind and was watching the scene in doleful silence. He gave her an inquiring glance. She shook her head and they shared a look of deep understanding.

        

         At that moment, a pair of guards with blades at their belts appeared. Ignoring the two girls, they opened the door to the cell and dragged Theo outside. Myriam remained still, tears streaming down her cheeks. Mia grabbed one of her brother's captors. He slapped her across the face and, without saying a word, he and his companion frog-marched Theo out of the corridor, leaving them staring at their backs, helpless.

         Theo blinked as he was pushed into the open. He had been brought to a beautiful arcade, made of marble like that of the Citadel's entrance steps. Sunlight streamed from the courtyard where a sculpted fountain burbled. They walked under an arch and Theo saw the king standing next to the fountain, a burly man holding a longsword at his side. “There is my accuser,” Theo thought, “and there is my executioner.” He had surmised as much when he'd been locked in his cell, not three hours ago. He felt angry that his actions were considered criminal and angry that the fault was attributed to him alone, but a crime he had committed and for his crime he would be punished.

         The king gave him a hard look. Theo had never seen so much loathing impressed into a pair of eyes before. Speaking to the guards, the man said: ‘Where is my daughter? I want her to see this.’ ‘I'm here,’ Myriam spoke, stepping into the courtyard resolutely. Theo discovered Mia trailing behind, another guard holding her by the arm. ‘Good,’ the king said in his commanding voice. Then, turning to Theo: ‘You stand guilty of rape and are therefore sentenced to death.’

         Mia gasped, staring from her brother to the monarch and his headsman. She turned to look into Myriam's eyes. ‘I'm so sorry…’ the princess said, ‘I… he… he didn't really…’ she broke off. “He's going to die,” Mia thought miserably. “All he has done he has done for me and I've never had the chance to do anything back. And now I'm going to watch him die.”

‘Do you have anything to say?’ Theo's accuser added. ‘Yes. Myriam doesn't deserve your bitterness. And neither does the realm.’ A flash of silent fury crossed the king's face. Both soldiers forced Theo to his knees and pushed his face against the block. The executioner grasped the hilt with both hands and swung it in a high arc. Theo gazed onward to see Mia for the last time and found she had somehow relieved her keeper from his dagger and was holding it tightly against the princess's throat.

‘Stop!’ she screamed. Too late. The longsword struck and Theo's head rolled to the ground. Mia's mind emptied as she pressed the stolen blade to Myriam's neck. The princess's blood gushed out in a splutter, spraying the guards crimson. Mia was only vaguely aware of the king's howl as she dropped the knife.

She ran as she had never run before. She ran not from the guards or from the king, but from the nightmarish scene that played back in her mind's eye. She ran from her brother's sudden death, which hadn't quite sunk in. She ran from Myriam's corpse, which she didn't recall making. She ran from the Citadel, she ran from the city, she ran from the realm.

Dazzling sunlight brought Mia back to her senses as she burst through the main doorway. She stopped, looking down at the fifty steps. They seemed blurred in the midday sun. First she noticed cold spreading through her abdomen, then the arrowhead protruding from her belly. Mia caught sight of a stable boy tending to a horse's hooves before she collapsed on the regal steps.