Chapter 3: The Encampment

Little waves lapping against the shore, blurry greyish-blue dawn lightening ever so slightly, something prodding my shoulder. I tried to wave it away, but it grabbed and shook me. “Wake up! Who are you, soldier? What contingent?”

My eyes opened to a man wearing chainmail, hand on my shoulder, shaking me. Beyond him were a group of soldiers dressed similarly. “Uh, I’m, I am . . .” I stared at my hands, an odd sensation of knowing they weren’t mine but being mine overcame me. Small, slender, and now damp, dirty. Light olive skin tones where it wasn’t dirty. For some reason, the dirt under my nails bothered me more than the armed men and my gaze fixated on them. I tried to find the pixels.

“She is your princess,” bellowed out the wizard from behind. Somehow, I’d gotten to the front of the boat. “Straighten up, address us properly and take us to your encampment.”

The soldier stared at the wizard for a few moments before straightening up, adjusting his armor, and saying, “Yes, Grand Magister. I apologize, we . . . could not tell it was yourself and Her Royal Highness.”

“Of course, the state we’re in.”

Tread was staring at me, stunned. I gave him the ‘Yeah, so, I didn’t tell you everything’ look.

The soldier offered his hand and I took it. “Your Highness.” He helped me to my feet and out of the rowboat. His eyes met mine for a second then he quickly looked down. He asked, directing his voice to the wizard, “And the soldier with you?”

“Is a deserter and to be hanged.”

“No!” I said, turning away from the soldier, “He helped us escape and you gave him your word.”

“My word?”

“You promised him amnesty and five years’ worth of wages.”

He glared at me, “Your father always dealt with traitors and cowards harshly.”

“He also didn’t lie to his men.” I snapped back, hoping the bluff was close to accurate. The wizard said nothing further, annoyance in his face, so I turned to the waiting soldier, “This young man aided our escape and is to be honored. You will not hang him.” I then gave the wizard a nasty glare.

He bowed, “As my lady wills.” To my surprise, the soldiers helped Tread up with similar reverence to what they’d shown me. A good sign. Perhaps I had an ounce of power here in this foreign realm.

***

The main encampment was surprisingly not far. I guess they wanted to guard that bridge. The soldiers brought us horses, but I took one look at them and declined, saying I needed to stretch my legs. I’d never ridden a horse, didn’t have the first clue how to, and they were huge. Bigger than I thought. Some of the soldiers looked surprised at that, so it had been expected that I’d ride.

How long it would be until someone realized I wasn’t their princess? I’d have to learn the customs quickly. Looking at the wizard, I doubted I could confide in him. That little stunt with the deserter spoke volumes.

The problem was, if this transformation was a magical one, I’d need a wizard on my side. Ugh. Assuming magic actually existed. He hadn’t done anything nonmundane. It could just be a title. But people were afraid of him.

One of the men rode ahead of us toward camp. It seemed like a ways away, but the wind shifted and the smell hit me like a boxer. “Oh my god.”

“What is it, Your Highness?” asked the wizard.

“That awful stench. Damn.”

“We must be downwind from the latrines.”

“Let’s get upwind quickly!”

“You’ll adjust soon enough. You’ve never been on a military campaign before.”

“I really haven’t.” I didn’t want to voice this out loud, but it wasn’t just the latrines. Garlicky, musty sweat, animals, shit, something reminiscent of putrid oil, the list went on and on and then some. It was all I could do to retain my composure. If this was a game, the end quest must be building working sewage systems. Challenge accepted!

I’d watched documentaries of Greek, Roman, and medieval wars, and this was my first time in a real war encampment. Well, voluntarily and in the daytime. Something seemed like it was missing. Yes, we came upon tents – rows and rows of tents and campfires, they were even organized. Lots of people sitting or standing, some walking briskly from here to there, others slowly. But something just wasn’t right.

As we made our way through the camp, it began to differentiate into recognizable human activities. Off in the distance was a pen for horses. Over here, a forge for making new weapons. A place that I can only describe as a large kitchen, dolling out food to a long line of men. Chickens ran around underfoot, the baying of sheep, barking of dogs. Even a pen with cattle. The encampment was full of life and bustle, it was as if an entire city decided to go roughing it.

Sometime later, I could hear screams and cries. “What are those?” I feared the answer was going to be torturing prisoners.

“The hospital, Your Highness.”

“Ah. I see.” Imagining the medical conditions here made me very much not want to visit the hospital. Yet a dark part of me wouldn’t stop being curious. How did they handle injuries, infections? Did they know what soap was? A memory from ‘intro to global history’ popped up, some large percentage of soldiers died from disease, not combat. Disease, of course, could infect bystanders like camp followers. Maybe myself. Although I wasn’t really a bystander, the opposing army seemed pretty bent on acquiring my person. Another ugh.

That got me thinking – how did armies here work? Baggage trains? And if we just lost our king and our castle, maybe even the city, why were we camped so close to the enemy?

“May I ask a question?” said the wizard.

“For sure.” I was startled to find that he had vibrant blue eyes. Not something I could ask him about, and it made me curious about the eyes this body had.

“Why did we not choose to ride in? We’d have made much quicker time and less men would be made aware of your presence.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Only if we have spies.”

“Well, they can report that I’m safe and sound, surrounded by an army.”

“That’s what I’m worried about. Assassins do not fear armies.”

“Ah.” Great, now I wouldn’t be sleeping at night. I was thinking of asking him some of my own questions, like what the hell was going on, why were we – well, the side I found myself on – fighting the other guys, when a rider emerged from the center of the encampment, heading toward us at a gallop. A very large man slowed his enormous horse in front of us, jumped off midstride and ran directly toward me.

“Sister! You are alive!” He had long, curly blond hair and lighter skin than mine, bright blue eyes, the very model of perfection for a face and was a giant of man, picking me up easily and giving me a long, strong embrace.

I could barely get out the words, “Brother!” not knowing his name and “I am overjoyed by your presence.” Damn. Surely a brother would know his sister and I’d be in trouble soon.

He set me down, knelt down to my level and once again his bright blue eyes held mine, “Our parents? Were you with them?”

“Uh, I . . . I . . .” had no idea what to tell him. I wondered what they’d do to me once they find out that I was an imposter. Hopefully not send me to their hospital.

Eyes falling into sadness, his enormous arms embraced me again, “You and I are all that is left, I fear. We lost young Turin yesterday and our sister, she . . . she was seen falling from the tower.”

“Oh!” I didn’t know her, nor what to say. I hugged him more tightly. He was feeling loss. I was lost. Hadn’t had a moment to think, to figure out what was going on, aside from the trite consideration this might be an MMO game or something. What if it wasn’t? It was more real than realistic.

The wizard saved me with, “The princess, Your Highness, is in shock. Come, bring us to the command tent and let me fill you in on the unfortunate details.”

“Magister Tye!” My brother stood up, towering over him, and clapped his shoulders, smiling and nodding wisely, “I am so gladdened you are returned to us.” Then, looking at his forearms, “Come, let us remove those vile instruments from your wrists. You must be in pain. And you Cayce! You need rest and recuperation. A bath, something to eat.”

Case? My name was Case? I wondered if there’d be a Buckle. Perhaps a cook named Luggage.

The prince took my hand and led me to his horse where he laughed, lifted me up and sat me side-saddle atop it. “And my dear sister, we have to get you out of those filthy rags. A bath will lighten up your spirits and do wonders for you.”

He took the reins and led the horse, thankfully. The beast was warm, its muscles rippling with each step and jolting me ever so slightly. Side saddle seemed a terribly precarious way to ride such a powerful animal. I found myself reaching for something to grab onto, but there was no horn. The saddle had four posts leaning toward me, almost hugging me. I held onto the far one tightly, but it was leather and bent inward. Though it held and I didn’t fall off.

The horse was foreign to an urbanite like me. Everything was foreign – being a princess, a girl, among royalty, this ancient technology. I was totally lost. I didn’t know this prince’s name, didn’t know how to address him. Do I also call him ‘Your Highness?’ Or would ‘brother’ do? Since he started with sister, I probably could, too. What the hell was I going to do?

That’s when it dawned on me, what was bugging me. This encampment. It had no fortifications whatsoever. I knew from those hour-long documentaries that all armies, when they paused, dug trenches, placed sharp sticks, made barriers, all to provide some protection against sudden attack. Why had this army built none?

“Brother, what is the current situation?”

“You let the men figure that out. All you need do now is relax. You’re safe at last! I’ll come see you after the bath and we’ll have a talk.”

“No, I mean, we just escaped from the enemy army and it’s not far from here at all.”

“I can see that! And what a glorious escape you made indeed!”

The wizard chimed in, “Actually, Princess Cayce was instrumental in our escape. She freed herself and then freed me and is solely responsible for us surviving capture.”

The big man turned from the wizard to me, eyes full of praise and wonder, “What a marvel to hear! You will have to tell me all about it. Come, let’s get you cleaned and refreshed, and get those irons off of you.”

He was happy, that’s for sure, the prince. Eyeing him, he looked around six foot eight, wide shoulders, massive arms and an easy stride. I could not see this man losing a fight. He dwarfed everyone and moved with ease. The sword he had hanging off his back was taller than me and probably half as heavy.

His bodily perfection made me wonder if I was in a video game again. The prince in shining armor, none more manly! Big sword! That got me thinking. What would be the signs that I was in a video game? I started to make a list:

1.        The regular tropes of a fantasy story. We’ve got some of them: the wizard, the prince, me as the princess. Was I helpless? I didn’t feel helpless. I may have killed one man already and managed to escape from an entire army. That line of reasoning led me to:

2.        Easily acquired skills. If I could pick up skills easily – let’s call them proficiencies just to stay in the genre. If they came easily, well then, I was likely in a game. Regarding me:

3.        If no one notices that I am not the Princess everyone thinks I am. And that made me curse myself. What a moron I was to play girls in every game! Especially one as realistic as this, with attempted rapes and murders. I should seriously have chosen the big, strong prince as my character. What else?

4.        Quick healing. If I could take damage – if player characters or main characters could take damage without losing limbs and heal quickly, to fight again too soon, I was in a game.

Conversely, what if I was in an alternative universe? If I’d somehow been magicked into this girl? Then:

1.        I’d be fighting constantly against the apparent sexism here

2.        Skills would be hard to learn. Horse riding and swordsmanship would be a challenge. I decided that, starting today, I’d begin learning these. Partly to test the theory, but also to fit in, gain some measure of self defense

3.        I could be killed or damaged severely with no hope of recovery. Yeah, great thinking there. Easy to test! I’ll just cut off my arm. If it doesn’t grow back, I know this is real. Ugh

4.        Someone will soon figure out I’m wiser than any 14-year-old out there and not the cute, little princess. Or would they? What if this place was steeped in sexism and no one really noticed my body’s personality before? After all, my brother over here was tossing me to the bath almost as soon as he hugged me. No ‘tell me everything!’ and ‘oh my god, sis, can you believe our parents were just murdered and our home burned to the ground!’ If everyone was this indifferent, I could be ok

On the evidence, this really seemed like a game. But if it was one, it wouldn’t let me exit. I had to play it, I guess. Everything was so real! I could smell the shit, the musky horse that I was riding, the vibrations as it stepped running up my spine, taste the dirt and dust of the camp, made worse as we ambled along. Let’s say it is a game, though. What possessed me to choose an adolescent girl in such a nasty, awful game? I must have been drunk. Or held at gunpoint.

Yet something bothered me. If this is a game, my goal is to ‘win’ it. What was the goal? Since I’d been dropped in the middle of a war, the easy guess would be to win the war, retake the kingdom, gain resources, take over everything. A strategy game? I’d have to think about what winning meant.

Though, if this was not a game, then I was stuck in a girl’s body and facing a princess’s problems. That thought was disturbing. Marriage, producing babies. What else did princesses do? Well, some of them become Catherine the Great and Queen Victoria. It seemed that my options were the same, game or no game. I was here to rule. The alternative was horrifying.

And then we arrived at some colorful tents. They boasted vibrant blues and reds, even purples in areas, and were clearly thicker than the soldier’s tents. We were royalty after all.

“My dear and darling sister,” he said while lifting me off the horse as you would lift a baby, placing his massive hands under my arms, and gently lowering me to the ground. “You are ragged and wretched now, and I imagine, your ladies in waiting are desperately missing you. Go and bathe and return to me here and we shall talk. I must engage the generals and Grand Magister with our plan of action.”

“I would very much like to be part of that discussion.”

“Hahaha!” He threw his head back and laughed at the sheer absurdity of my suggestion, “Go and bathe and we shall talk. Eat something! You must be famished.” He turned to the wizard, put his large hand on his back and propelled him forward, “Come, grand one, we must remove those shackles. And then morning tea for you too, I think.” His horse eyed me for a moment, jerked its head up regally, then followed after the prince.

I was left standing in the dirt by this enormous series of colorful tents made of heavy fabric. I guess these were mine. The boy Tread was beside me, and a couple of other soldiers. After the wizard proclaimed him a deserter, I just knew that the soldiers would beat, maybe even kill him. Treat him nicely in front of the princess, for sure, wink-wink, a welcome-to-hell later.

For some reason, that bothered me, even if he was an NPC. I turned to him, “You are now my bodyguard, come.” I was royalty after all! But he was a scrawny bodyguard, and a deserter, thus a cowardly one. Maybe that made him shrewd and clever. God, I needed someone clever on my side.

As we entered the tent, an elderly woman’s voice yelled at us, “Just who do you think you are? Coming in here! Get out!”

I froze, unsure of what to say, “Uh, I was directed here . . .”

“My lady, may I present Her Royal Highness, Princess Cayce!” bellowed out my new bodyguard, stunning me and I think even himself.

“You two hooligans are going to be in real troub-” she paused mid rant, “oh, lords above! It is you!” The elderly woman curtsied, then took me in her surprisingly strong arms. “We feared you were dead!”

“I was captured but escaped.”

“And who is this . . . boy?” She asked, darkly eyeing him.

Fuck it, I thought, be the princess. Take charge. “My new bodyguard, Tread. He’ll need a bath, a change of clothes and weapons befitting his station.”

“I’ll have the master armorer take his fitting.” She continued eyeing him suspiciously, “But isn’t he a little scrawny to be a princess’s guard?”

“He’ll grow into the role.” Then, thinking of potential assassins, added, “Though, yeah, I’ll need a few more.”

She narrowed and rolled her eyes as only elderly women can, called for servants who then took the boy away. Good luck, Tread. Hope they take the spikes off the clubs when they beat you.

“Well, now that we’ve got that settled, we have to see about you.” The elderly lady walked over with a steady, strong gait. She took hold of my hands, turning them over, inspecting. “Those rope burns look awful. These clothes stink. You need a bath before reassuring the troops and visiting the duke and generals.”

“That sounds lovely.”

The elderly lady took me to yet another tent that had as its central feature, a bath. Two baths. One was filled with dirty water, the other had some coals under it.

“Alright, take those rags off of you,” demanded the woman.

I’d never been a girl. A woman. Well, this body was young, probably a teenager, it’s safe to call her a girl. I didn’t want to take my clothes off in front of a stranger – I’d never even been naked before! As I was literally born yesterday into this body, I felt some alone time was a fair ask. And, no, not like that. Just to work out the details. Hell, even in our own bodies, the ones we’re born with, you learn something new about them every day.

Yet there she was, just standing and staring and waiting.

“Uh, could I get a little privacy?”

“Ha! Imagine a princess asking such a question. Ladies!” She clapped her hands and four girls around my age poured in, grabbing hold of my clothes, preparing to disrobe me.

A red headed girl ran up and hugged me tightly, “Cayce!” The other three girls gathered close and were jumping up and down as only young, gleeful girls can. I didn’t know these people, so tried not to move too much. “We thought you were gone forever!”

“Ah, well, I got away from the bad guys.”

“Your wrists! Did they hurt you?”

“Not as such, no.”

“You have to tell us all about it! How did you escape? Did the wizard save you with his magic?”

The old lady’s voice stopped all the girl-prancing, “Alright, ladies! Calm down. You’ll get that information out of her later. She’s alive, let’s make her well. Princess Cayce requires a bath immediately.”

They were suddenly tugging on my sleeves, lifting my shirt up to pull over my head, undoing the rope around my waste. I dropped into a fighting stance. Slapped away a girl’s hand. And that spooked them. The girls backed away as if I were rabid. “Listen, just, god damnit, let me take my own fucking clothes off!”

“Young lady! Watch your mouth or we’ll have to wash it out, too.” She’d raised a backhand.

I shifted weight onto my back leg, knees bent, arms up, hands open, fingers together. Do I deck the old woman or reason with her? One, two, three, deep breath, four. I calmed down and frantically searched for an excuse to give her. “Ma’am, I apologize for my language, but you have to understand, I spent the night tied to a tree and was nearly raped. I killed a man. I am not ok with being touched right now.”

She stepped toward me and I changed my mind, tensing. I’d curbstomp the bitch and deal with the consequences later.

Then she softened up, “Ladies, out!” The girls left, I relaxed. “You’ve had a rough go at it, I understand. The soap is here. Wash behind your ears. And comb your hair out. Or there’ll be hell to pay.” The woman walked toward the entrance, then turned and said, “And toss those filthy rags into a pile where they’re easy to fetch. I’ll have appropriate clothing brought in. Then, dear, you and I are going to have a discussion.”

A princess. I was a goddamned princess! I released the breath I didn’t even know I was holding. Shook my head. On to the hard part.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re a guy suddenly in a girl’s body and there’s a mirror, a bath, and you’re all alone. We’ve all been asked that question as guys and we’ve all given the standard, dumb answer.

But, no, that’s not even close to how I was feeling. It’s confusing, it sucks, everything is the wrong size – everything is bigger! The bath was huge. It would have been medium before, at best. This small body!

I turned my back to the mirror. Stripped. Looked at the dirty water. It was obviously for soaping down, the other bath for relaxing. Stepped into the dirty water. It was cold. I shivered and the shivers forced me to look at my arms, really look at them. Long and slender and hairless, goosebumps now. Slightly olive colored skin. Delicate fingers, long nails, some of them broken.

“Damnit, I broke a nail!” Gallows humor. I didn’t have much, but I had my mind. As far as I could tell.

Sliding further into the bath, the water stung the rope burns around my wrists, the many small cuts I now discovered and decided these needed soaping. Who knows what medicines they have here? Probably not antibiotics. I bathed, soaped, lathered, ran it all over my dirty body, cuts and all, and yes, I did my best to not pay attention. If this is a video game, I wanted the skip button. Yeah, I’m straight, but you don’t just change bodies and get instantly curious, trust me on this. You do your best to avoid the panic, the terror that comes with not being in your body and you try and try to ignore all the wrongness of it all.

Scrubbing the cuts over and over was painful but thinking about this as a game lead to a curious detachment, the pain becoming an afterthought, meditative. It was only the welling of fresh blood that alerted me to stop. I watched it trickle down my wrists, drip off my elbows, fade into the water. My arms and legs were alight with bright red scratches. It dawned on me that maybe I shouldn’t be sitting in dirty water with open cuts.

I stood, soaped one more time, wincing a little, shivering a little, and rinsed off quickly, jumped out and got into the other, heated bath – how did they regulate the temperature using coals? – a serving girl came in carrying a glass of red liquid.

“Wine, Your Highness,” she said without looking at me.

“Thank you.” She curtseyed and left.

Wine? As a teenager? Not bad! I had a sip and quickly spit it out – way too sweet. And oddly metallic. Disgusting.

“Hey!” I shouted at the girl. She returned after a few moments, “This is awful. Do you have anything else? Water? Tea? Unsweetened wine?”

She stared at me for a long time, curtseyed again, “I will bring you a selection, Your Highness.”

“Good, thank you.” Then I paused. Wine for breakfast? Why did I ask for that? They probably don’t have coffee, which is going to suck.

Soon, the girl re-entered with a tray. A teapot, wine glass and a mug. Beside these was a glass jar with red crystals in it, a little spoon beside.

“Thanks. What are these?” I asked, pointing at the crystals.

She looked a little shocked, as if I’d asked her what wood was made out of. “Lead sugar, my lady.”

“Lead . . . sugar?” I was horrified. That must have been what they’d put into the wine!

“Yes, my lady. The dowager regent says you need to have some, to fortify your stamina.”

“What drugs is she on that she thinks lead is food?”

“My lady?”

“Nothing, thanks. Did you put any of that, ah, sugar into the tea here?”

“No, Your Highness, I did not.”

“Good girl, thank you.” She curtseyed and left. I poured the tea into the cup and tried it. Hot, tea-like, with only a hint of something unpleasant. I tried the wine, just to check. Unsweetened, it tasted like ok wine. Not top shelf, mind you, but not awful. A little weak.

What are these people thinking? Consuming lead! Maybe I should be asking for some tasty asbestos treats. You know, for cardio.

In a macabre sense, I suddenly wanted to visit the hospital we passed. I wondered if their physicians washed their hands with soap. I couldn’t remember when that became a thing in history. It was Pasteur who proved something about bacteria – or maybe yeast, given his name – and he lived sometime in the 1800s? 1700s? My crown for Wikipedia.

So, what’d they do before soap was widely used? I remembered something about midwives being popular because doctors, with their unclean hands, were more likely to kill the delivering mothers. But that was all I could remember.

I sighed. Life is going to suck without the Internet.

And then it hit me: what if this were a nation building game? I could invent all kinds of stuff. And improve society by doing so. Except that I couldn’t. I mean, I know about the germ theory of disease and penicillin and antivirals, but how do you make that stuff? I doubt injecting bread mold is how it works. Or creating gunpowder – yeah, I know how gunpowder works and vaguely remember that it’s composed of three different things – sulfur? But had no idea what the other two were. If sulfur really was one of them. Well, I could invent matches with sulfur. I’d settle for matches.

Ok, so, I was going to have to work with what was available. If these people had invented fireworks, then gunpowder was on the table. If not, well that’s a long science experiment for another day. And penicillin? Probably not. That probably requires a microscope and various chemical extractants, which I also had very little idea how to make. Might be able to pull off a microscope, though. Possibly even make solvents with distillation. And then . . . experiment, I guess.

Another girl came in, carrying a bundle of colorful clothing. Pink and blues and reds. She curtsied, dropped off the bundle and took the rags out with her.

I’d been in the bath long enough. I got out, found a towel and dried myself off. Hairless, slender legs, slender arms, small stomach, and other stuff. I didn’t pay attention, or check closely, but I will tell you that I wasn’t too endowed, thankfully. That would make learning how to swordfight easier and would hopefully, I really, really was hopeful here, prevent the interest of boys.

Then a terrifying thought struck. If this was a game, someone was watching.

Never mind those lines of thinking! I dried everything. Didn’t want to catch athlete’s foot here, ‘cause there probably wasn’t any treatment. Unless, you know, lead worked.

Oh, right. It was coming back to me vaguely. Arsenic. They used to treat any number of diseases, mainly STDs, with arsenic. I couldn’t remember the reasoning for it or how well it worked, but perhaps it was that if arsenic made you feel sick, it was worse for the disease. Since we drink lead here for stamina, I was curious what poisons we’d be using as medicine.

All toweled off and dry. The clothing was on a chair in front of the mirror. Sigh. I didn’t want to, but curiosity. I looked in the mirror.

Long, dark black hair, slightly wavy, shining from the moisture, with ever so slight blue, even white highlights scattered throughout. My eyes were a pale lavender – mesmerizing, I’d never seen anything like them before. A light purple against the clean, white eyeballs only the young possess. Dark eyebrows, long, delicate eyelashes and full, full and pouty lips and the supple skin of youth. I looked about right for my age, not quite on the womanly side of the teenage years. Slender and . . . I shut my eyes and turned around.

Hats off to the art team! I’d buy them a beer when I got out. The dev team, on the other hand, they were getting a beating.

Yet something was off. The mirror drew me back and I touched my face, watched me lightly touch my cheek, draw my fingertip down, around my pink lips, past my chin, off. For a moment, I felt normal. As if this was me, this young child, and as if my last body also was and wasn’t me. Was there a body before that one? I couldn’t remember, but knew the answer wasn’t ‘no.’ The lack of memory, of definitive answer, wasn’t just worrisome, it was infectious. In those lavender eyes, wide and ringed with dark eyelashes, the memories of me before me were sinking.

A shiver grabbed my attention, goosebumps along my skin, and I decided clothing was in order. Upon a nearby chair was a gorgeous, huge, billowing dress with a bunch of layers and frills and other garments. What the hell? I was in an army encampment! I wanted comfortable pants, a light t-shirt and track shoes. Not this maze of a dress. There were so many parts to putting this on, I didn’t know where to start and began to rifle through them, sorting into piles. One pile to leggings, something that looked like a slip or a light summer dress in another, something that tied around the waist like a vest over there, and the main dress here. I couldn’t find any underwear or panties or a bra. Ugh, a bra. I was trying not to think about it.

Tossing on the slip and the leggings, I went in search of more comfortable clothing. Several gasps as I exited the tent.

“Young lady, what on earth are you doing?” Covering her hand with her mouth, the elderly woman seemed stricken with horror.

“Uh, looking for more comfortable clothing.  Appropriate for a military campaign. And underwear – all I could find were these.”

“Those are your undergarments! How disgraceful!” She grabbed my shoulders, turned me around, and marched me back into the tent. “You’re the princess and letting people see you like this!”

“Ok, calm down, these cover me almost entirely.”

“In all my days, I have never seen such a brazen act – and in a camp filled with men!”

“Look, can I just get some pants? Some kind of light shirt?”

“Pants? Do you mean pantaloons, like the laborers wear? What has gotten into you, child?”

I had no idea what pantaloons were. “Slacks. I don’t know,” I tried to remember what my grandparents had called pants, “trousers! Yes, those would be acceptable.”

“Heavens, no! Young lady, you will act appropriate to your station. I understand that you’ve had a rough few days, but so have we all. You must wear this dress if not for yourself, then for your troops. They must see Your Royal Highness in proper attire. It will aid their morale.”

I just stared at her, barely understanding her meaning. And tried to figure out a compromise. “The problem with wearing such a large and beautiful dress is that,” I held my fingers out, like you would do at a meeting in an office to mark off points, “one, it’s hot and dusty outside. Two, this dress restricts my body such that I won’t be able to exercise, and three, it’s going to get very dirty. And four! It will declare who I am to all, including the assassins likely in our army. Fifth, if we are overrun, the attackers will easily catch me, again.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, then clapped her hands. “Girls, dress the princess.” They must have been waiting outside, because they rushed in, started grabbing at clothing, formed up and began to layer it on me, despite my protests. They looked to be about the same age as this body. I just realized that these might be my only companions. Seriously, this was going to drive me insane. I couldn’t even remember what we talked about when I was this young, but it wasn’t interesting, I’ll tell you that much.

“Cayce,” the blond girl whispered into my ear while pulling my arm through a puffy sleeve, “Sapphire had a long and good cry over your return!”

The ginger jumped in, loudly whispering, “I certainly did not! Well,” she winked at me, “a tiny bit, maybe,” she pushed the vest-thing against me, wrapping her arms around my waist and somehow tightening the straps behind my back, “maybe a single tear.”

The other three girls laughed.

“There,” said the brunette, “this corset improves your womanly figure just so!”

A corset! Not a vest, like I’d thought. I’d never seen one before. And no wonder women gave these up. I could breathe but was constricted. It pushed up my, well, it acted like a bra and explained why there wasn’t one. Not that it really mattered in this little body.

After one last tug on the corset that felt like the Heimlich maneuver, they pulled my arms up, slid yet another fabric in the shape of a dress, put my arms down, put my arms up, pinned some cloth here, pinned other cloth there, pulled loose stockings up my legs, belted these in place just below the knee, soft leather shoes that buckled on, then onto headwear.

I sort of stood there, frozen smile like a doll caught sneaking away from the house in a horror movie.

“It’s just for a little while,” said the girl just named Sapphire. She had bright red hair, almost golden at the tips in the sunlight streaming into the tent and green, green eyes, freckles all over her slim but pouty, cute face. Her perfection increased, in my mind, the likelihood that I was in a video game. From my waist, she looked up, saying, “It’s just for a little while. You’ll get to change out of this dress soon, but they want to parade you around to show that we didn’t lose the battles. Didn’t lose so badly, I mean.” She cast her eyes down as she, and another girl, fixed something at my back.

If this is a game, if my friends tossed me in it as a joke . . . there will be hell to pay. And battles? How badly were we losing?

After the dress was fully on, and I had become a doll, they sat me down and began doing my long, dark hair. Combing and combing. A couple pulls, I might have flinched but didn’t say anything. It appeared naturally wavy, frumpy, but they seemed to want it straightened.

Sapphire said to the blond, “El, aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Oh!” She disappeared from view briefly, then at my arms with long, white gloves. “Sorry about that, always forgetting the gloves,” and tugged them onto each arm.

“Your hair is so lovely, princess,” said the other, slightly darker blond-haired girl. She was fiddling with one side of my hair, maybe braiding it, I don’t know. It was oddly relaxing, almost like a massage, to have so much physical attention focused on my person.

I probably fell asleep because my eyes opened to powder being applied to my face and lemon-scented perfume being sprayed around my neck. “Ok, ok, that’s enough. Damnit, I’m already a lemon!” The girls giggled.

“We’re so glad to have you back!” The brunette broke ranks and gave me a long hug, then the others joined in. Breathing was difficult in all these clothes and the tight corset. Now the group hug. Crushed to death by little girls. Didn’t see that one coming.

My turn to say something, I guess. “I missed you all . . . so very much.” As much enthusiasm as I could muster. It’d really help if they had nametags.