Finally, my fingers circled around a curved and splintered board. With a prayer somewhere in my mind, I kept hold of the board as it did its job and kept me afloat while the relentless waves crashed over, under, and around me.

Seawater shot up my nose and burned with its frothy saltiness. I struggled to spit it out, but as soon as I did, more filled my mouth. Is this what it’s like to drown? Am I dying here? Today?

Thoughts of my unborn child popped into my mind like tiny bubbles. His tiny whimpers, his bright smile. No doubt, his would mirror Jean’s. He would have my stubborn will and question all that was told to him. Unless—

Unless he was a she.

She would be comfortable in all settings, be it with aristocrats or the poorest of the poor among Londoners. Beautiful would be just the beginning of words to describe her. Her personality, looks, and spirit—and still it would fail to adequately capture her essence.

Another wave pushed me down beneath the swirling surface. I flailed my arms and legs with reckless abandon, but my board of salvation was gone. A bed of rocks from the shallow sea floor jutted up and caught my leg. The blood billowed out in a scarlet veil as their knifelike edges sliced into my calf.

When the waves rolled back, I grabbed for the exposed rocks. In a welcome show of mercy, these beach rocks were round and smooth, in sharp contrast to their underwater counterparts. Like an accidentally-buried drunk emerging from a shallow grave, I pulled myself to the shore.

Barks from bloodhounds, punctuated by men’s shouts, bounced off the trees and echoed all around.

Are there really that many?

I shook off a shudder and dragged myself onto the pebbly beach. Blood oozed from my leg and trailed me across the wet sand. My head still spun from the brandy and adrenaline, which made the world whirl around me.

The cover of the woods. I must get under the cover of the woods.

Finally, I reached the tree line. My leg burned and stung. I moved considerably slower than I envisioned myself moving.

Only this time, Jean isn’t waiting in the woods to save me.

The barking dogs and shouting men grew nearer still. Again, I was the hopeless hare. A sharp pain in my leg made me stumble as I attempted to dash through the woods at a frighteningly slow pace. I gripped my belly and prayed for my unborn child and the man I killed to get here.

God forgive me. In Nominae Patris, et Fili, et Spiritus...

Something hit my back. Time slowed to a crawl as I fell and fell. The men’s chatter and barking dogs were all around. I protected my belly, but failed to protect my head. The ground rose up, fast and hard. After a burst of golden stars, my vision went black.

†††

I awoke to a world that was fuzzy and dark. Light entered the black through slats that sliced the light into stripes which then fell across the darkness in pale fingers.

Where am I?

Horses whinnied and stomped. A whip snapped. Men voices congealed in my head but failed to make sense. I struggled to sit up, but couldn’t. The chains that bound my hands and feet clinked together and ground into my flesh.

I tried to speak, only a groan escaped. “Uhhhhhhh.”

A masculine voice spoke clearly in the darkness. “Ah, The Great Escapist. You won’t escape now.”

My stomach churned, and I choked back nausea. “Where am I?”

He sounded as though he was chewing on something. He spat. “You’re going to stand trial for treason at Dover Castle.”

†††

The iron gate ground against its hinges before they opened the back of my buggy. My captor heaved a mighty groan as he exited first. “Come on, out with you.”

I allowed him to help me out, and for the first time, fully experienced the extent of my bonds. My head and leg throbbed, and my hands and feet were wrapped in chains. By Grace alone, my belly was left untouched.

Thank you, God.

“Into the dungeon with you.”

Dungeon?

I squinted against the fading sunlight. Sure enough, it was everything that I envisioned in my most vivid of nightmares. And we weren’t even inside yet.

A woman with hair askew and her head and hands fastened in a board, as though she was holding a fiddle before her, danced in the doorway. Her grin was akin to that which was worn by Lady Rochford. I began to wonder why she didn’t simply run out the open gate, but then noticed the chain which kept her bound to the wall by her ankle.

“Once you go in, won’t come out,” the big man guffawed. “And remember, we’re always watching.”

My gaze followed the direction of his pointed finger, and I gasped. A wretched, severed head stared down at me through eyeless sockets from a spike above the gate. Long black hair concealed the gender, but the mouth was contorted in a gruesome way that must have been a scream in life.

I wrinkled my nose and tried not to show any fear as they led me into hell.

When we arrived at my cell, my captor unlocked my chains. I almost thanked them, but caught myself. Instead, I rubbed my aching wrists and glanced around at the accommodations. Nothing. Nothing except a wet mound of straw scattered in the corner and a rock privy in the corner.

I stepped over to examine it. When I lifted the lid, I was shocked to see that the hole over which one relieved herself emptied directly into the rushing river below. The momentary thought of escape, by prying some of the surrounding rocks away until one might fit through the privy hole, rushed through my mind.

You could do it, Bridget. But the fall into the river would kill you. Or kill the baby.

Peering through the hole, I tried to gauge how deep the river was.

If I hit the river bottom and failed to die, it would be the torture chamber with utmost certainty.

I eased the lid back down and exhaled. Fleeting dreams of escape rushed on down the river to their demise. My eyelids fluttered and exhaustion thankfully overtook me as I stumbled across the floor to my makeshift bed. Happy to be alive, I slept soundly with the rats in my very own mound of rotting straw.

†††

The next day dawned dismal. At least, I assumed it was dawn. Seeing as how I had no window, the gentle rays of sun failed to awaken me. It was the moaning howls and terrified shrieks of my dungeon-mates that did their job instead. I pulled my aching frame from the pile of hay.

My leg had stiffened considerably overnight, and the crust of blood had proven to be a delicious snack to my furry cellmates. Fresh trails streaked scarlet down my leg and onto my bare foot. I hobbled to the door and pushed myself onto my tiptoes.

A pair of King Henry’s men, armed with steel blades and covered in armor, strode purposefully down the dank hall toward me, then slowed as they approached my cell.

“The traitor wench goes on trial this morning. We’ll take her the long way, through the torture chamber.”

I jumped back against the wall. My pulse drummed in my ears. They were coming for me.

An Unjustly Trial

“B

ridget, you should have tried escaping through the privy,” I admonished myself as the iron keys jangled in the lock. My hands, still sore and slightly discolored from being bound in the boat, trembled as I clutched my baby in my belly. We would have had a fighting chance that way. Now, we are as good as dead.