By My Sword Alone by David Black (ebook reader ink TXT) 📕

do her bidding. Not she to do mine.’ James paused to give her one of his smiles, ‘After all, we lesser mortals cannot presume to know what forces govern the thoughts and wishes of princesses.’

Heipke loved it when James casually threw in such enticing little words like ‘we’ when he talked to her. So she was too busy basking in the effect of that last one to notice James was looking at her in a new way; as if measuring her height and build, noticing her blonde braids, far more golden than Clementina’s, but no matter. By the time her hair was revealed, all would have been decided.

James had been at first surprised, and then dismayed by how little natural reluctance he’d felt when it came to subverting and then manipulating the poor girl.

‘Heipke?’

‘Yes, M’sieur James?’

‘Do you know the story of Persinette?’

A squeal of delight. ‘Yes! Of course. The beautiful maiden, with her long golden hair. Innocent, shielded from the evils of the world in a secret tower, by a fairy. But she’s really a prisoner too. And then when her prince comes and …’

Heipke’s eyes had gone so wide James feared they would pop out. She immediately shifted sideways, so her body blocked James, where he sat at his table, from the view of any prying eye; as if keeping him all for herself. Looking down on him, her face had been suffused with a confusing mixture of wonder and loss, as she’d mouthed, ‘You are the prince … come to …?’

James realised it was the notion that she might be in a real-life fairy-tale that must have gripped her so intensely, there seemed a possibility of her swooning.

He’d given her a deliberately furtive, confiding, sideways look. ‘No, Heipke, I’m not a prince … but I am a prince’s emissary. Sit down, here.’

Heipke, her eyes never moving from his, did as she was told.

‘The princess is here against her will,’ whispered James. ‘You must never tell you know that.’

Heipke shook her head vigorously.

‘Her prince should be here to take her away himself, but he cannot. It is too dangerous. For him … for her. So he has sent me, to lead her to safety … to his arms …’

Heipke gasped.

‘But they guard her closely, Heipke. The emperor’s men. There is such high politics, and low motives involved, to thwart the lovers’ dreams. That is why I must cut through all the intrigues that surround them with the blade of my sword, to bring the two lovers finally together. But I need an ally, Heipke. A friend I can trust. Can I trust you, Heipke? Will you be my ally? I cannot deceive you, Heipke, there will be danger …’

But Heipke hadn’t bothered listening to his final words. ‘M’sieur James! Command me!’

And it had been as easy as that.

*

Early evening in Innsbruck city, and the sky is dense with rain clouds. The stolid white stucco bluffs of the tenement blocks are all in shadow, and the few people in the streets all seem to be hurrying.

The Comte de Cernez’ man has gone into the Kaiserhof to inquire about rooms for the night for his master’s party. The coach idles in a side alley. The man, as he waits for service, does not acknowledge the passing of the red-uniformed French cavalry officer as he strides past him and into the back public rooms. There is nothing at all to attract the attention of the two Austrian officers lounging in the foyer; both men are imperial cuirassiers, and quite ludicrously, are all buckled up in the bulky metal breastplates and huge heavy cavalry top boots their full field uniform requires – uniforms more suited for a battlefield than the front of house in a fashionable inn.

James, once out of sight of the imperial officers, slips down the servants’ passage and goes directly to where Heipke is stacking clean sheets before carrying them upstairs. With his eyebrows he gestures her to follow.

‘It is tonight,’ he whispers. ‘Collect your cloak, place it in the sheets and follow me.’

Heipke, eyes now bright with excitement, obeys. They climb the back stairs to the princess’ suite. ‘I only managed to finish her hair this afternoon,’ Heipke breathes, ‘but it is perfect, M’sieur James.’

‘Heipke. You are a marvel,’ says James.

The only guards Princess Clementina has been assigned to mind her person are the two cuirassier officers downstairs. The feldmarschall had ruled some time ago that a full detachment would be too obvious, too oppressive. After all, no-one is threatening her. And the thought she might try to escape is ludicrous. So no soldier stands before her door. James doesn’t bother to knock; he has purloined a copy of the key.

When she hears the door opening, Clementina hurriedly reaches for her cotton cap, sliding beneath the blankets to pull it on. She has been in bed, not to be disturbed, for two days now; it is a chill, she says, that she does not want to become something worse. So she has been seeing no-one. The cap is to hide the ornate braiding Heipke has been secretly applying to her long, flowing hair over those two days; it has been a time-consuming task, carried out bit by bit, every opportunity she’s had to sneak up here from her duties. The braids are part of James’ deception plan. For no gentlewoman would ever suffer to have her hair braided like a peasant girl; which is why Clementina is trying to hide it from whoever is about to barge in.

Clementina stifles her petulance when she sees who it is; her father’s strict instructions to obey this young oaf have dictated her every move these past weeks, and she must swallow it.

Whispered instructions, and then James briefly absents himself as the ladies change clothes, and Clementina dons Heipke’s cape. Heipke, her own hair under