Mermaid_ A Twist on the Classic Tale - Carolyn Turgeon [41]
“You are back in the world now, too, my princess,” Edele said. “I know there are many gentlemanly eyes that have missed the sight of you.”
Margrethe started, embarrassed, as if Edele had been reading her thoughts. “I hardly care about such things,” she said, lifting her head and turning to all three ladies. “I am ready now.”
They led her down the austere old halls, lined with portraits of the past kings. The smell of roast pheasant wafted from the banquet hall, making her mouth water. The sound of voices drunk with wine. The stomping of feet on the old wooden floors. The pleasures of court life.
“It smells like heaven,” Edele said. “I wish I’d made my dress looser …” She put her palms at her waist and grimaced.
They all laughed, then quieted as they approached the door. The ladies stood back, according to custom, and Margrethe entered the banquet hall before them. The entire room broke out in cheers, and she smiled, nodded serenely, immediately slipping into the courtly style. She was a princess. This was what she knew how to do. Her father sat at the head of the table, with Pieter and Gregor flanking him, dressed in fur capes, while the rest of the court sat down the length of the table covered with platters of roast pheasant and soup and bread. Along the walls bright torches burned, reflecting in the silver and gold that decorated each place setting.
Immediately the king stood and raised his glass, and everyone else followed suit.
“To war!” he called out, his voice booming.
“To Margrethe!”
She curtsied the way she had since she was a girl, accepting the court’s toast with a princess’s grace. But a sick feeling moved through her. She remembered the boy drawing a mermaid with a stick in the ground, living in squalor while here there was such abundance. How much worse would it get for him? How many more children were there spread throughout her father’s land, her land, like him? Suddenly the smell of meat suffocated her.
“Welcome home, my daughter,” the king said, as the room quieted. “We all thank the glory of God for your safe return.”
“Thank you, Father,” she said. She walked up to the platform and took her seat, which Gregor quickly exchanged for the next chair down, beside her father. Calm and elegant, though every part of her wanted to stand up and shout what she had seen, what she knew.
In front of her, a servant spread a lavish meal: roasted meat, spiced rice, thick bread. Just a few months ago, she would have been content to sit here and dine on pheasant and cake, accept the young courtiers’ attentions, clap as the court musicians played. The talk of war would have made her feel safe and strong.
When I rule this kingdom, she thought now, her heart hammering in her chest, a great change will come.
She pushed her plate away as the king continued. “It is only through God’s glory and His love for us, His people, that no harm came to my daughter, though she was within the enemy’s grasp. We will not let the South make fools of us. We will not let the prince’s disrespect for the North go unpunished.”
All the nobles in the room raised their glasses and cheered as the servants scurried in and out, bringing more wine, more meat.
“To war!”
Margrethe forced herself not to flinch, not to show any emotion, when all she wanted to do was stand up and scream at all of them.
The men stomped their feet and clanged their silverware against their plates.
“Marte,” Gregor said softly, using his old nickname for her and taking her hand in his.
She turned to him, grasping his hand gratefully, and felt comforted, instantly, by his touch. He was a brilliant man, learned in the ways of the skies and stars, the ocean and earth, literature and the arts. He’d been schooled, long ago, in the East, and brought from one of the universities to teach her