New Stories: Affynshire Rallies to its Queen (Cut)

This story was never even completed.

On the original story: I want to get this war story over with so I can go on to the next.. the next to last as it happens... storyline of the book. So I will post narratives instead of dramatized stories for the rest of or most of the rest of the Affynshire war storyline. Then we'll get vack to storytelling with the usurping of Christenlande's throne. Have I used the word "story" often enough so far?]

art II The Villages

Narrative only.

The King sent word immediately to the commanders in the encampment at Ratherwood to be on the lookout for Malcolm’s men disguised as the King’s. The cousins of the King’s wife met with him and other present commanders to discuss a strategy. The King elected to accompany Earl Ruallauh to some of the villages that had been sacked to see the damage for himself and to try to assure the villagers that his forces were not in fact behind the attacks.

In the meantime Cingen set out to visit Celtic chieftains to convince them that Lawrence was not committing the atrocities. Even Modron set out to visit with some of the closer neighbors. It was hoped that Ioruert, the youngest brother, would be in touch so he could be informed of the attacks and how to handle the situation as he continued to visit with western lords.

At the first village that the King and the Earl visited the scene was devastating. All the cottages and out buildings were burned to the ground. There were dead villagers and their animals both in the lane and visible in the cottages. Only the priest in the tiny chapel remained alive. He told the party at the Earl’s request of how the raiders had come in, torched the buildings, all except for the church which, itself a wattle construction, nevertheless had lost some of its outbuildings. The people though unsure of their own loyalties having been secretly holding for the Queen were horrified to see men ride in on horses that wore the Crísliclandian badge of a sword in front of a sunburst. Animals were stolen, people killed, women raped and then killed, everything destroyed or damaged.

All the while the priest talked he kept his eyes carefully averted from Lawrence’s except for one contemptuous glance that made Lawrence wince and brought a chastisement from the Earl who informed the priest that the villagers had been duped. The priest when asked by Ruallauh if he had ever had complaint of the King, said that he had no cause to praise either. Lawrence turned firmly and turned his horse and started to shout to men in his guard to begin to help the priest bury their dead.

At the next village one cottage was still burning. The men leapt off their horses to try to help the few survivors with the buckets of water. Someone shouted that a child was still left inside the cottage, hiding and refusing to come out. The King tried to enter the cottage but at that point the thatch collapsed and he heard the child scream. He tried again to go in but failed. When the fire was down to smoldering ruin he found the shrunken burned body of the child and lifted it, held it in his arms and silently and privately wept as he brought it to its mother’s arms.

The villagers, having watched the King try to rescue the child, now crowded around him and several told their tales of the attack.

Now angrier than ever the King told Ruallauh to continue to visit the villages and help where he and his soldiers could. He also sent soldiers to local religious houses to bring out more help. He in the meantime would return to the encampment at Ratherwood and begin the planning to finish the siege of the fortress.

Ruallauh suggested that they call a meeting of the chieftains and lords at Ratherwood to present the truth to them and urge them to rally again for their Queen. Lawrence quietly commented that he does not even yet know if she is alive and with their children. Ruallauh reminded him that Ioruert was looking for her and will get word to him, and that the dishonor to the Queen could only help strengthen their cause.

The King left and the Earl set in motion the relief of the villages and started on his visits to British chieftains and lords to bring them back over to his side.

Next: Part 3 - The Council Meeting

New Stories: Affynshire Rallies to its Queen, Part I (Cut)

A shortened version of the Celtic tribes return to allegiance appears in the book. Lawrence did not, after all, go to Keito Uxello.

art I: Keito Uxello

The stealthy advance towards the walls of the small fortress of Keito Uxello was through dense forest so the King's small party missed the exeunt of Elerde's force almost entirely. What little the scout saw was reckoned to be of little more significance than the movement back and forth of troops. It came as a surprise then when the advance scout sent to determine the numbers holding the fortress and the condition of rebuilt walls had mystifying news that none of the Breton's men could be seen.

Lawrence himself addressed the scout sharply. "But you saw O'Donnell's men instead?"

"My liege, aye, but…"

"But what?!" the King pursued irritably.

"My liege, I saw them.. a few of them, but they were in.. a stockade."

"A stockade!" Lawrence roared, causing Ruallauh and other officers to look about in case he had been heard by any enemies.

Cowering, the scout nodded. "Aye, lord. And guarded by men with his banner."

Lawrence looked at the man, glanced where he was indicating, and asked more calmly, "His? Whose?"

"The earl's, sire."

Earl Ruallauh responded, "Mine?"

The scout nodded. He waited for the commanders to continue any questions and was relieved when the King waved a dismissal. "Go get some food and rest. I thank you."

"Is it a trap of some sort? A ruse?" he asked the earl.

"Mayhap. Though to what end, I cannot tell, my lord. I should know the men if they are truly mine. I should go to see." Josephine's eldest cousin showed signs of wishing to hasten a departure. "Your majesty, may I have your leave?"

"You have it, but I am coming with you," the King answered.

Outside the very wall that months before the musician Rory had gotten himself captured the King, the earl and several men at arms listened to the sounds from within the fort.

"Can it be?" Ruallauh pondered.

"The woman's voice?" the King inquired.

"Aye, 'tis certës my lady mother. And she sounds not at all in distress. Wait.." He cocked an ear, then abruptly left the King and his men behind as he circled the wall to a point where he could boost himself to take a short look within. "It is!" he cried as he landed hard again on his feet. "My brother!"

"Wait, Ruallauh," the King called to him as he turned and rushed further along in the direction of the gate. Lawrence gestured to his guard to follow him as he made his way more cautiously after the earl.

Ruallauh startled the guards, men he had known since a child, as he came around the corner and faced them. He quickly removed his helm as they leveled spears at him, startled into action but not speech.

"My lord!" one of the men cried.

"Aye, Huwal, 'tis I! And how come you to be guarding my mother this fine day?" The earl had come to the men and had one hand on the shoulder of each.

"Lord," the other guard, fairer of hair and of greater height of the British Huwal explained, "the Breton lord has gone and taken his men away."

Hearing Ruallauh's companionable speech with the men the King looked about the corner of the wall flanked by his guard. "Your majesty, 'tis safe. These are indeed my men," the earl called, smiling broadly.

Huwal hissed at his partner, "Brennus, down. 'Tis the very King!" The two men were on their knees instantly.

Lawrence came forward hesitantly, but as he saw Ruallauh's face and the men on their knees, he hitched up his belt and commanded, "Up. What has happened here?"

Huwal looked up tentatively, then dragged himself to his feet with Brennus helping arm. "My liege, if it pleases you, the Breton has left and only my lord Earl's men are here now."

Brennus added, "Nay, there are some of the O'Donnell's men =.."

"But they are prisoners, sire. If it pleases you," Huwal repeated.

"It pleases me passing much," the King laughed. He looked to the earl. "Methinks we need to learn more of this. Where is the late earl's lady, guard?"

Ruallauh answered for the man, "Let's see if she is within," and without a second thought headed through the gate into the courtyard. In the moments before the King and his party followed, Lawrence heard the shouts of surprise and joy that came from the courtyard. He commented to an officer, "Well, 'tis a good thing only friendly forces are within, or we should have heard quite another reception."

Lawrence's entrance did not register on those within at first. He looked about, seeing so much change in a place, understandable in all the years since he had first visited, but much of the damage was clearly of recent vintage. The fortress had been declining for years, with the rise of other powers in the formerly Celtic kingdom, and for that Lawrence felt a pang of responsibility. Had he been a better steward and brought the two peoples together better, the whole collapse of Affynshire, the slow ebb and the sudden breakdown, might have been prevented. That this happened to his own wife's family brought him up short. Then he could see beyond the deterioration of unrepaired walls and dilapidated outbuildings to the more violent evidence of occupation by armed men. The paucity of livestock, the damage to fence posts from being used to practice with spears and swords, the filth left behind only now being disposed of, the general look of things being stripped. And no young girls, no young women anywhere about. He frowned, then looked back to where Ruallauh had turned from his mother and brother Cingen back to him.

As soon as the two had recognized the King, they went to their knees. Ruallauh helped support his aged mother as she dipped. Others in the courtyard, men at arms, servants, all but the men held in the small stockade, doffed caps and fell to their knees as well. Before them, though in modest clothing and no particular indication from his armor other than its quality that he was King, was a man no person could have mistaken for anything else. Over the years Lawrence had left behind callow youth and now stood tall and confident, his body well filled out and his chest, back and arms muscular, standing above and outside the common. His face was care worn and rather distant with nonetheless piercing blue eyes that caught anyone who was the object of their gaze up short, Even the prisoners recognized who he must be and many started to jeer only to be silenced by their guards.

Lawrence covered the ground between himself and Lady Modron in a few strides and reached to lift her to her feet. "My lady, my kinswoman, stand. You honour me with your courtesy. Better let me greet you and thank you for receiving us into your home." He lifted her hands together to his lips. "My deepest sorrow for the death of the earl your husband. I rejoice that my lady, the Queen, could have time with you all ere he passed."

The old woman's eyes sparkled with moisture, but she smiled. "Your majesty, 'twas indeed a treasure to see my niece, for both Ceretic and myself. It meant a great deal to him. She and her Irishmen gave him much comfort e'en to the end."

"Ah, you speak of McGuinness who I believe made an unplanned second visit here."

Cingen, who had risen to h is feet, responded, "Aye, and was taken prisoner. He was with O'Donnell and Elerde when they found the Queen." He looked at his older brother realizing the King would already know about this. "My brother would have told you of that odd exchange. Have you word, my liege, of our cousin?"

Lawrence looked grave. "Aye, she made it to our camp at Ratherwood with your brother Ioruert but then disappeared when heading back to Críslicland. There is no word as of yet. In fact, 'tis Ioruert who has gone to find her as he travels speak to the Celtic chieftains and lords."

Modron, seeing the man's pained expression, came forward and put a hand on his arm. "My poor lamb, what troubles and fears you have had. Come in now and tell us the story and we shall tell you ours." She looked into his eyes frankly. "Your Queen is strong and brave and extremely clever. You need not worry for her.. she will be in touch when she can."

Lawrence nodded gratefully and followed her inside.

By late evening the company had shared all the news they had to share of the old earl's death, the occupation of Keito Uxello both by Elerde, whose men had been under control, and O'Donnell, who had not. The King shared news of the war, of Josephine, of Ioruert and of Shannon O'Neill. He could see in Cingen's face that Ruallauh had shared O'Neill's explanation of O'Donnell's odd choice with him. They did not speak of it before their old mother.

It was around the firepit as eyelids became heavy that the first plans for how to proved with taking back the usurped country was on the lips of the men, Modron having retired to her chamber.

"I cannot understand how Malcolm persuaded so many of our country men to cast their lots in with him," said Cingen.

Lawrence did not reply.

Ruallauh spoke instead. "'Tis the old rivalry and resentment. Though their Queen is one of them, at least by half, they are easily led to resent a Saxon King." He looked sharply at Lawrence. "Begging your pardon, sire."

Lawrence waved the look away. "I fear that I have been too slow to understand the needs of this land. I put into position a governor general who had no interest whatever in the nature of it and more than acceptable interest in his own benefit. Oddly the best thing I had done for this country was sending the Breton, though that seems to have come back to haunt me that I did."

The two men looked uncomfortably at their hands as they sat hunched forward in the dim light. They looked at each other with scarcely hidden relief when Lawrence went on, "I should like to have your help, all of you in the family, so that the interests of this land can be assured. If you will agree, I shall make you governor general .. nay, King, subject to Críslicland, of Affynshire, Ruallauh. I do not think your relationship to me will be an impediment. Your people love you, all of you. I have seen that for myself oftimes."

He seemed to think for a while, then turned to Cingen. "Your brother Ioruert has been speaking to those who have been led to oppose me by Malcolm and continues to do so. Declaring Ruallauh King is this land's due and should not, methinks, appear as anything but a just choice on my part. Your cousins have a prior claim, so you shall be under my rule, but you shall also be under my support and protection. We are family, I should not compromise you and your reign in any way."

Cingen's face had lit up with pleasure. He clapped his brother on the shoulder and said, "King Ruallauh! I like the sound of that!"

In the morning the entire company was at breaking its fast when hoofbeats were heard coming fast up the road to the gate. An almost breathless rider came down fast from a lathered horse and was taken immediately to the King, whom he had not expected to see and before whom he hastily knelt.

"What is it, man?" the King demanded.

"Villages, sire, burned. Many, and wrecked and the people killed and raped and stock taken. And the horses.. sire, I don't know.. they were in your livery, sire."

Ruallauh turned sharply to Lawrence. "My lord, this cannot be. You could not have…"

Lawrence shot back an angry look. "Nay, of course not! 'Tis the enemy with the horses they took from us on the road to Lincoln. God and all his saints damn them."

Next: The Villages

New Stories: Shannon Falls Apart, Part II (Cut)

See note on yesterday's post.

fter nightfall when others had gone to their beds Josephine was just starting to gather up her work and head for her own chamber, having sent her women all to their own pallets, when she heard Shannon take in a gulp of air all at once. She set down her spindle and wool and leaned her forearms on her knees to look closely at him on the floor. It was chilly in the Hall in spite of the firepit. She had a shawl tight around her shoulders. She had listened to the whine of the wind in the thatch high above her and the occasional bark of a palace dog, but her attention had been focused on the Irishman's raspy breathing.

Shannon groaned and looked up, bleary eyed and unable to discern where he was for a moment. He muttered something like "Gerda?" then tried to sit up. He held his head in his hands as the pain struck inside his head. Josephine just watched and waited as he came to himself.

He finally pulled his hands from his eyes and squinted up at her. "Where the hell am I?" he said irritably.

"You are in the Great Hall, my dear friend."

His eyes widened when he realized who had spoken to him. "Jo? Me lady?" He looked around, then down at himself. "I be that much of a mess," he said without a hint of humor in his voice.

"That you are, Shan. How do you think Rory would feel o know that you made such a misery of yourself on account of him?" Josephine's eyes were soft but her face was stern.

Shannon flared. "Dinnae tell me how to grieve for my friend. What do you know of any of it?"

Josephine did not react to his show of temper. She let him sit glaring at her until his face relaxed and he gazed down at his hands sadly. "I be that sorry, me lady. I have not been meself."

The Queen thought to herself, "I wonder…" but kept her doubt to herself. "Shannon, I need your help. That's why I sat up with you, hoping you would be awake when we were alone. I cannot turn to any other but you."

Shannon's attention was caught, his eyes cleared somewhat, and he looked at her with hesitant concern. "Me lady, what is it? What is wrong?"

She looked about them, causing him to do the same, then leaned in and said bery quietly, "I do not know what it is, but something is not right here in the palace. 'Tis like I went away and came back twenty years hence. So many people are gone, so many new faces. Mostly those around Duke Gaylorde. I may be imagining things, or I may just not be able to put what I feel into words. I am afraid, Shannon."

Shannon's eyes filled then with sympathy. "I havenae been here, so I kennae what ye mean..." he began.

"But you are the one person I can think of here now who can see the same things I do and tell me what you think. I cannot tell my brother. He would insist on looking into it, and something tells me that would be the wrong thing to do. Shannon, I need you. I need your sharp wits. I need to know you are here keeping an eye for me and the children. You can learn things I cannot." She reached for his hand. "Please, Shannon, won't you help me? You know that is what Rory would ask you to do as well. And Lawrence."

Shannon gazed at her, working his jaw as he thought. "Aye. Aye, Jo, that I shall."

The look of relief was genuine on her face. "I need you to promise me that you will stay sober enough to help me, to be vigilant. You most certainly can do as you will, but passed out or gone from the palace will not help me..."

Shannon's eyes flashed with anger. "So that be what this is about.."

"Nay, Shan. I shall be honest, I do want to kkeep you from destroying yourself, but I also need your help. I am terribly anxious about this. I am sincere in wanting your help above all others'."

He looked at her considering for a time, then nodded. "I shall do just as ye ask."

The Queen smiled, then squeezed his shoulder. Then her look became serious again. hesitated, then went on, "You know about Heather, I suppose?"

A flash of anger crossed the man's face again. "Aye" he assented desultorily.

"I am most heartily sorry for that, dear Shannon. I pray she comes to her senses and returns to you."

Shannon looked to one side. "She took Seamus!"

Josephine leaned forward again and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I know. I have sent a small party to find out whatever they can so you at least will know he is safe."

Shannon looked back at her face this time clearly surprised. "You did that, me lady? For me?"

Her smile was warm. "Of course I did, my dear. I pray 'tis not long ere we have news."

Shannon looked abstracted again for a few minutes, as he ingested this information, this kindness, this concern. A look of realization touched his face and he put his palms flat on the floor on either side of his hips. "And the King? And the war? They are…?"

Josephine looked grim. "The King is alive and as far as I know well. The army has taken some setbacks. But we are confident that we can recoup the losses."

Shannon frowned and asked, impulsively, "And O'Donnell, that fuckin' bastard? Is he also alive?"

Josephine sat up with a stern look at him for his language. But when she replied she said, "Still alive as well, again, as far as I know."

Shannon looked abashed but said through gritted teeth, "May he die a horrible death and roast in hell."

Josephine sighed. "I cannot pray for that.. but I can wish it."

Shannon looked at her with new eyes. "Ye will?"

"Aye. Here is a little ale to help you clear your head. Now lie back down and get some more sleep." She stood and stretched stiff muscles.

Shannon sipped the proffered ale gratefully, then looked up from the cup and asked, "How long have you been sitting watching me?"

"My lady," she chided.

Shannon grinned his old familiar lopsided grin. "Me lady. I beg your pardon."

Josephine smiled back. "Quite a long time, really. Now do as you are told and sleep." She stifled a yawn behind her hand. "I am off to my own slumber." She looked at him again seriously. "I mean it, Shannon. You are not to leave the palisades. You may do as you wish within them, I shall not interfere within reason." Her voice was firm but not chiding. "I shall not permit you to destroy yourself. That is all."

Shannon offered her a mock flourish as a salute and she nodded quickly and left him to curl up in his blanket again and sleep.

He watched her go. "That is one hell of a woman. If she wasnae a Queen…" he thought. Then he shook his head and lay down.

Next: Something Is Rotten in Lawrencium

New Stories: Shannon Falls Apart, Part I (Cut)

The general idea of this story remains in the novel, but with no heather, much of the action here is cut.

he Irishman veered away from the royal party as it headed into the fortress cheered by the returning Queen's adoring subjects. Afoot he passed through the crowd. Occasionally someone called his name or slapped him on the back as greeting. He nodded and smiled but said nothing, leaving the crowd behind to climb the hill west of the town. He trudged through the damp grass to a favorite spot, a copse on the hilltop overlooking the north road where he and Rory often went to sit and talk and play music.

Once there he leaned his back on a tree trunk and crossed his arms over his chest. He sighed deeply and bowed his head. Staring blankly at the ground, he said aloud in Irish, "Och, lad. How could ye go and leave me like that?" He smiled grimly. "I am supposing you were not given much choice. I cannot bear to think of ye like that, such a beautiful man. But I know ye are in God's Heaven now, for never was there such an angel." The tears overflowed and he let himself slide down the tree to sit at its base. He covered his face with his hands and wept.

Some hours later he stood on the crest of the hill looking down on the town. The crowd was long gone. The fires were burning in all the cooking pits and ovens in the palace, judging from the plumes of smoke straining into the sky when he glanced up and over to its ramparts. He was cried out, numb. Of course, a feast of celebration. He wondered if he had a place in either the palace or the town any more.

Then he thought of Heather. "Och, at the very least I can see me lad. And mayhap the woman will want to share my grief." He stretched his back muscles and arms and started down to the town.

As he walked he began to hope for a fortunate reunion with his family. When he arrived at the town gate he was hailed cheerfully by the gatekeeper. "Well met," he called in return. "Cannae stop for I be goin' to see me wife and son!"

He did not hear the gatekeeper's call, "But Shan, wait! She's…"

Their little house, the one he had leased to make heather happy, was on the far end of town. His lute bouncing on his back, he trotted through the houses and other buildings, shops, the church, store buildings and animal sheds, waving to those he knew. It was clear that he was racing to a reunion, but people just stood and watched, not knowing what to say.

He dashed around a curve and stopped still. The house was there, of course, and there was a child playing in the dirt in the late afternoon sun. But the child was not Seamus. He kept walking towards the house until a woman stepped out of the open doorway to call the child in to wash for supper. It was not Heather. Then he saw all the other changes, the bench and table in the dooryard gone, leather window coverings instead of the oiled parchment he had put in to please his wife. The thin patch of thatch on the roof he kept promising to fix was now amply supplied with straw. Toys that were far poorer and simpler than Seamus's given to him by the King and Queen littered the yard.

The woman looked at him. "Shannon?" she asked hesitantly.

He recognized her as one of the family of Celts of different origins who met regularly at the master metalsmith's house in the town. "Where are Heather and Seamus then?" he asked without greeting or other pleasantries.

"You didn't know? They moved. They went north the same day you left with the Queen. " She looked past him. "And where might Rory be? Ah, I suppose he is celebrating with the rest at the palace. And why be you not joining them yourself?"

Shannon stood mutely staring at her. He could not believe that Heather had just up and left without a hint. He knew she had been angry with him, thinking she had finally caught him trysting with some wench, but he never thought that she would go away. Worse yet, she took his son, his -- not hers-- with her.

"Did she say where she was after goin"?"

The woman looked sympathetically at him. Not that I know of, dear. You might ask the priests."

Shannon's face screwed into a wry grimace. "Aye, if anyone knew our business it would be the priests." He turned without a word and walked away back into town.

Each step was a painful memory of Rory, of Heather, of his son Seamus. He saw clearly that he was completely alone now. "I should leave and go back to Ireland, as we planned," he thought to himself. But the torpor stealing over him robbed him of volition. He stopped in the town square by the cross and gazed at the ground. He did not hear or see the people who greeted him. He was numb to the point of being frozen in place.

At last he looked up and saw the Blue Lady Tavern down the high street just beyond the square. He headed straight to its door and went in.

--

After the jubilation of the day before, the morning dawned on two subdued societies, the palace and the town. Once Josephine had seen her children and Shannon had strolled into the tavern the news they imparted of Rory's execution had spread. Everywhere his many friends and acquaintances were numb with shock. Rory dead was tragic enough, but executed? It seemed impossible.

Josephine herself set the tone for the palace. She asked for a mass in Rory's memory and arranged for regular prayers for the peace of his soul by the monks at the monastery outside of Lawrencium. She attended the memorial mass, bringing her children with her, and sat solemn but composed. In her heart she was weeping and longing for Lawrence to hold her and comfort her but outwardly demonstrated dignified grace. Others in the palace well knew that she was setting the example of attending to the business at hand and were grateful to her for it. The pain was al most too much to bear.

One thing that disturbed the Queen greatly was that when she sent a messenger to look for Shannon so he would know about the mass, the boy could not find him. She then sent a guard who was a friend of the Irishman's who found him at the tavern but in no shape to talk. Josephine wanted to go to him herself, but she could not. At the memorial mass Peter happened to see Shannon hovering in the door of the church and told his mother, but by the time she had turned to look at him, he was gone. She ached for his pain, knowing it to be more profound than even hers could be. Now he was so alone.

Shannon had blurt out to the others in the tavern the first night he was back how Rory had died, though he kept the real reason to himself. He drank himself stupid but not before pouring out his grief sloppily in song and lament. Those in the tavern who were natives of the town were shocked and dismayed. Others from the community of Britons, Welsh, Cornish, Scots and Irish in the town streamed into the tavern once the news had spread like a wildfire. Shannon was barely conscious of their arrival. One of the serving wenches cleaned up his vomit and covered him with a blanket where he had fallen to the floor and slept.

He had arisen groggily and painfully in the morning as the maids cleaned the alehouse and stumbled outside to a town of mourners. He was shepherded to Cedric's and coddled there. He was put to bed in the married niece's room and looked after by the women of the family. He tried to join the others who gathered that evening for music and stories and speeches in honor of Rory, but he simply could not bear it and stumbled out into the street and back into the tavern.

It was the bell of the church that drew him to the memorial mass. He stood in the shadows in the doorway and listened. He saw Peter's flaxen head turn to him, saw the lad point and speak to his mother, and slipped out and away before the Queen could turn around.

--

Josephine sat in her husband's accustomed seat at the council table with the Witan made up of the thegns of Críslicland who were not themselves at war. Some were too old to fight and had sent sons and grandsons. Others had been specifically asked to stay available for Witan service by the King before he left. Her brother, Duke Lorin, sat at her right hand, his usual place, not at all unhappy with giving up the seat she now occupied. He was a loyal henchman and happiest in that role. Besides he was preoccupied by being in love for the first time. It did not affect his duty to the Queen, but it made him happy he did not have to be in charge of everything. He had a great respect for his sister and knew if she needed help or advice she was sensible enough to ask for it.

On her left the King's cousin, Duke Gaylorde sat, alternating between looking bored and looking superior. The Queen did not try to like the man. That was unnecessary in her position. But she wanted at least for her skin not to crawl when he looked at her. She was not sure why he caused this reaction in her, but she was not a woman to worry such things unduly so she just treated him civilly and in a authoritative manner. He seemed to respond amused as much as anything. Lorin her brother, was too well occupied with his own thoughts to notice it.

The business of the Witan was to report to the Queen first about the war in Affynshire and how the armies were being supplied. She learned of the skirmish that lost the army many of its horses and assigned providing new ones to the palace guard's leader, Duke Gaylorde. The threat on the Lincoln Road to Ratherwood made supply parties risky and prone to raid, but they had no other option. Unless Hucknall in the southeast fell, the Lincoln Road was the only avenue for carts and large groups of mounted and marching men. Josephine asked an older man from Earl Jehan's household warriors to plan alternate means of supplying the army.

Josephine ignored the patronizing tone of some of the thegns. She reminded herself that she unlike anyone there but her brother was of royal blood, was the heir of a king who was himself the son of a king.. and that she was Lawrence's proxy now. She used as her main measure of what she must do the many hours she had sat and listened to Lawrence himself in Witan or in moot court or any other council. She knew that while her brother was a more than able administrator, he did not have quite the keen mind the King had, nor could he deal with issues that required a firm, even brutal hand. Lawrence was King in more than just position. He was born to it, lived and breathed it, and the very thought of him suffused her with his own strength and courage as a ruler. She learned more and more about why he was so loved and respected and yet also feared.

Josephine had ordered that the King's chamber be made ready for occupation again and had moved into it herself. It not only comforted her to feel so much of her husband around her in that room, it seemed to comfort their children as well. The first time they came in from her own chamber to find her in the large curtained bed they all smiled and ran to join her. She was glad, for Rory's death had hit them hard, especially the girls.

The time came however that no matter how precious her time with the twins and their brothers was to her or how important her role as sovereign was, she had to think about Shannon and how to help him. The same guard who had found him in the tavern found him again and with another man literally carried him stuporous into the palace. They put him on the rushes on the floor of the Great Hall, where the unmarried men of the palace also slept, and laid his lute gently beside him. Josephine took a stool to near where he lay and sat in the torchlight spinning while he slept. Servants came in and out of the Hall and glanced at the two, but no one disturbed them.

This storyr continues tomorrow.

New Stories: Shannon and Heather Come Apart Entirely, Part 2 (Cut)

Continues from yesterday's post.

769

ory and Shannon brought up how to find a cottage when they next joined the Celtic gathering at the metalsmith's home in the town. After the usual barrage of ribald remarks, one of the other local craftsmen spoke up. "In fact, I have just such a place on the edge of town. I have been cleaning it out in order to lease it. I should be honored to have ye and your goodwife live there."

Heather was overwhelmed with how quickly her husband had pursued her wish and how quickly something had come available. They set out the next day to look at the cottage and talk to the craftsman.

The cottage was on the outskirts of Lawrencium on the road that led south past the harbor. It had a view of the sea just as Heather's cottage in Ayr had. It was not large nor in the best of condition, but it was in better shape than hers had been before she had met Shannon and he had made her fall in love with him while he was repairing it.

While Heather went about the cottage, in and out, Shannon just strolled aimlessly smiling happily. He too was remembering their first months together, how quiet and simple and sweet life had been. He wanted that back as much as she did. But then he had a thought that made him stop. He found her looking at the small kitchen garden behind the cottage, planning how she might clear it out and replant. "Heather, darlin'.." he began.

She looked up somewhat distractedly. He went on. "Ye do know I shall continue to sing and play at the court, do ye not?"

She considered for a moment and replied, "Well I suppose, close as we are, there is no reason ye cannot. But ye will sleep here and help me with the animals and garden and the cottage, will ye not?"

Shannon put his arms around her. "I shall most certainly do all that. Heather, I think we can be happy again."

Her eyes filled with tears. "Oh Shannon, ye want that too?" She settled into his chest and let him hold her and sing to her.

A few weeks later Heather gathered up little Seamus from the nursery and she and Shannon set up housekeeping in the little cottage.

At first and for some weeks to come their lives together returned to a semblance of what they had once had. Shannon feasted on waking up every morning with Heather beside him and Seamus behind his curtain in his small bed. Heather enjoyed the simple fact of being a family. She worked alongside Shannon making repairs to the cottage where needed and digging up the long abandoned garden to prepare it for planting n the spring. Shannon built a pen and delighted Heather.. and Seamus.. one day by coming back from an errand in the town with a nanny goat. Heather found a neighbor with hens she could buy. That Shannon left every evening to go perform his duties at court made Heather long for him to sit at home with her before the fire, but the solitude with him more than made up for it. Most of all she loved the walks along the sand by the seashore with him carrying Seamus, the sea breeze tousling their matching mops of red hair, their identical smiles and eyes turned to each other and h er. Heather was happy, almost for the first time in her life.

One evening after Shannon had come home a little later than usual from court she asked him, "Shan, do ye still have that little room over the tavern?"

She did not like the way he then responded. He looked at her startled, then averted his face and said, "I dinnae know ye knew about it."

Heather fought her impulse to start accusing. Instead she went to him and took his chin in her hand and turned his face to hers. He looked worried. "I knew.. there are no secrets at court, and Rory told me why ye took it.."

He smiled sardonically. "He did, did he, the darlin' man? He was not the one who told ye was he?"

She shook her head. "Nay, I told him I knew and he told me how you were feelin' about sleepin' in the Hall.."

Shannon looked annoyed. "I would be after preferin' he did not share me secrets."

"'Tis true, though, is it not?" She started to feel alarmed. Secrets? What secrets? From herself?

"What, that I dinnae cherish the ridicule of those who say I cannae keep me wife happy? Aye, 'tis true and I should have rather ye dinnae know that I felt that way.. 'tis not manly." He shook his head. "Nay, I have not given up the room.. I forgot all about it. I suppose once the landlord asked for me rent I should have remembered."

"Do ye have anything there?" Heather asked.

He thought a moment. "I dinnae think so. I just slept there.. there might be a chamber pot. If I left anything, it dinnae matter." He looked at her considering. "Ye are not angry with me then?" His face was reflecting sincere concern.

She leaned and kissed him. "Nay, I am not. Ye should let the landlord know ye dinnae need it any more, though."

He did not answer, as he was kissing her back now, and starting to caress her.

Heather went to find the room the next day, to see to it that Shannon would not have access to it anymore. She spoke with the landlord of the tavern, who looked at her astonished and not a little uncertain. "Good woman," he explained. "I shall have to hear this from the man himself."

Irritated Heather went around to the alley to look for the rickety stairs that Rory had described. They were the only stairs there and led to what was no more than a small loft with access from the alley. She pushed open the unlatched door.

When her eyes adjusted to the little light she stood frozen. Her first reaction was to the bareness of the room. It had only one piece of furniture, a hard wooden bench that Shannon, not a tall man, could not stretch out on without his feet hanging over the end. It had but the one small window which had no covering. Even in the morning the noises from the few guests in the tavern resounded up here. It smelled of an unemptied chamber pot. She saw it under the bench, nothing more than a cooking pot. As she knelt to withdraw it and take it to empty it, she noticed a bundle under the bench. She shook her head, "Nothing left here, eh, me love?" she sighed.

After taking the pot out and dumping it with its contents into a trash heap she went back up to retrieve the bundle. She sat on the bench and pulled it open. It was just one of his scarves and an old shirt. She held them to her nose to breathe in his smell.. and detected something that did not belong, something sweeter. Then she saw it. a woman's glove. Her blood froze in her veins. She stared at the thing, lifted and smelled the scent. She could not imagine any woman better than a bawd coming up here with Shannon, but the evidence was in her own hands. She put the offensive item back in the bundle and shoved it back under the bench. She sat a moment and seethed. "I might have known. So Rory says he is true. I think not."

As she walked home she thought about the past few happy weeks. It occurred to her that Shannon had been awfully quick to agree to the idea of the cottage. She had been fooled into thinking he wanted to regain the happiness they had had in her cottage in Scotland. Now she wondered if he had just wanted to avoid the humiliation of being locked out by her by being beyond the scrutiny of the other men at the castle. Or worse yet, perhaps he wanted to keep her away from the castle, from the goings on at court and rumors that might put her onto his latest dalliance. Or might there even be a woman at court he was bedding? How convenient to have his wife out of the way in a little cottage away from the castle.

When Shannon came home later that day from Cedric the metalsmith's house to dress for court and his nightly performance, he found Heather sitting at their table glaring at him. He stopped, the smile he had had for her frozen on his face. Heather said, "Seamus, go out and pet the goat." The little boy looked from his stepmother to his father, then dashed out the open doorway.

"Heather, what is it?" Shannon asked with foreboding.

"Who is she? Or are there too many to know all their names then?" Heather hissed.

Shannon stood dumbstruck. "Who is who, pray tell?"

"I have been to your love nest and seen that a woman has been there," she answered coldly.

"Me.. me love nest? What are you talkin' about, darlin'?" He stared at her. She just glared at him, refusing to answer. "Heather, there is no one but ye, I promise, I swear to ye." His eyes beseeched her. "Please, believe me.. there is no one."

She stood up and lifted the bundle she had made up of his things and brought them to him. She shoved them into his arms. She turned and lifted his lute from where it lay and shoved that at him as well. "Ye thought if ye got me out here to the edge of town I would be easier to fool. Well, ye have shown your true colors. I want ye to leave tonight and not come back here."

Shannon pleaded with her. He swore that he was faithful. He entreated her to explain what she meant by having evidence of a woman in a love nest. He could not imagine the bleak room over the tavern could possibly be what she meant. Slowly his despair in the face of her intransigence turned into hurt pride and anger. When she adamantly refused to speak, he cast a furious look at her and snapped, "Why have I wasted me love on ye all this time… petty suspicious woman." He turn and stalked out the door.

Heather was rooted to where she stood. He had never been this angry with her, not to be so insulting. She finally sank down onto the bench at the table and started to weep miserably. Seamus's head came in at the door. "Mama, Mama," he cried. "Dinnae weep. " He put his little arms around her and held her.

Next: The Queen Goes to Affynshire

New Stories: Shannon and Heather Come Apart Entirely, Part 1 (Cut)

The one part in the book I felt especially bad about was writing Heather out of it. I've decided to move her to the sequel, with a more authentic name. I am still looking for the girl I roped into playing"The Story" with me. Her name is Linda laaksonen, she lives in Sacramento, Calififornia, and probably has no idea her wonderful drawings are appearing on the web. If by some m iracle you know her, please let her know.

Winter 769

Shannon O'Neill sat miserably in the cold dark barren room he had taken over the Blue Lady Tavern. He was chilled to the bone in spite of plenty to drink. The chill was robbing him of the one consolation he had, the numbness of being drunk. He tried to think how this could have come to pass, that he, of all men, was sitting on the floor alone and quite sober in a room so cheerless the whole building collapsing would have improved his mood.

"Shut that.. 'tis freezin' in here already," he shot at the figure opening the door. He had heard the steps on the rickety staircase up to his room, entirely disinterested in who it was who was bent on disturbing him.

"Shannon, why are ye sittin' in the dark?" came his friend Rory's voice.

Shannon grumbled, "Because I have no candles."

He heard and felt Rory come over to sit on the bench against which he was sitting. "Well then, come on back to the Hall and keep warm and share the company." When Shannon did not answer, Rory prodded, "Now then, what is it that is after makin' ye come out here into this icy room?"

Shannon snorted. "What is it ever, me fine friend? Heather threw me out."

Rory inquired, "What for?"

Shannon almost snarled, "What for? How the hell should I be knowin' the answer to that one? These days she dinnae even tell me.. She just gives me one of her, 'Ye know full well' looks and slams the chamber door."

Rory thought a moment. "Well, what do ye think it was?"

Shannon thought. "There be so many thhings I do she dinnae like, 'twould be easier to say what it was not." He sat for a few minutes, then spoke again with no irritation or anger in his voice but a genuine sorrow. "Och, Rory, I dinnae know how much longer I can take this. I know that in her mind and mayhap in truth I have wronged her.. but I have e'er been faithful to her in body. She dinnae believe me, but I have." The last word doubled as a sob.

Rory scooted down onto the floor next to his friend. He put his arm around his shoulders and pulled him to himself. "Shhh, shhh," he soothed. "That's a darlin' man, there there now."

He heard Shannon in the dark sniffle and wipe his nose on his shirt sleeve. "Rory," the man sobbed, "I cannae tell what to do. I told her who I was when I asked her to be me wife, and she said that would do. I have e'en kept me promise that I was after tellin' her I couldnae, to be true. But I am so lonely,. Rory, and so damned hard up."

"Do ye want me to have a talk with her, Shan?" Rory offered.

"And what would that be accomplishin?" the weeping man asked.

"I dinnae know.. but 'tis worth a try." Rory was full of concern and care for his friend. He did not really think Heather would confide in him, but he already had a fair idea what the problem was. These two people could not live together. Whatever they had had in the beginning, if anything at all, had not survived the years together. Shannon was selfish and thoughtless. Heather was demanding and perpetually unhappy. It would take a miracle to make this marriage work, and neither of the pair was likely to attract that sort of saintly intervention.

"I will try," Rory assured his friend.

And he did. The very next morning he went to the room she shared with her husband. She was up and dressed and preparing for her duties in the nursery. She looked at him suspiciously. "Out carousing all night with O'Neill?"

"Will ye sit a while so we can talk about that?" he asked, trying to look less irritated than he felt.

She frowned. "I cannot imagine what there could be to talk about. He was out all night again."

Rory stood patiently waiting for Heather to assent to sit and talk. She stared at him a while and then sat with a look of frustration. He sat down as well. "Heather, Shan was out all night because ye latched the door against him."

She shot a sharp look at Rory. "I knew ye were here to make his case for him. Why comes he not himself to make it?"

Rory kept his tone even. "He says ye dinnae listen to him."

"So he asked ye to speak for him?" she demanded.

"Nay, he dinnae ask.. I offered and after a while he agreed. He dinnae think ye shall listen to me either. But Heather, ye know I am a man who speaks straight, do ye not?"

She would not reply at first, then she said, "Ye are a good man, McGuinness, but ye have a bad friend. Ye cannae defend him."

Rory reached to take her hand. She withdrew it. He sighed and spoke, "I can tell ye what I know to be the truth because I was after seein' it with me own eyes. Ye think he was with a woman, do ye not, all last night?"

"Or drunk somewhere," she sniffed.

"He was neither. I was with him and there was no woman there and he was not drunk. He was sitting on the floor in his little room weepin' over how he loves and misses ye and fears he cannae please ye."

"I thought he had a room in town.. I have looked at night and not seen him among ye in the Hall. Convenient to have a private room, over a tavern I would think." Her face was a heartbreaking blend of pain and triumph.

Rory shook his head. "Och, Heather, if ye would just see it.. 'tis not a place fit for much carousin'. 'Tis a tiny room with a window that is not shuttered and a hard wooden bench to sleep on. Why when I go in there to see him I almost cannae find a place to put me legs… and it is up stairs that may fall at any moment."

"Good, I hope he breaks his neck," she retorted, but he could see she was taking what he said in.

"Ye dinnae mean that, Heather. I know ye love him. And I also know.." he moved his head so she had to look into his face, "that he is true to ye.. I know it. I know Shan better than any man and I know when he is tellin' the truth."

Heather sat sulking, not wanting Rory to convince her, but something inside her made her listen, made her want to believe. She gave him two or three speculative and hopeful looks. "Why did he take that room, Rory? Why does he not sleep on the floor with the unmarried men?"

Heather let him take her hands now. "Because he would be shamed and humiliated. The men in the Great Hall would make grand sport of him.. they do anyway, even if they just see him walkin' dejectedly away from your rooms. He is ashamed that his wife is so angry with him. He knows he has hurt ye.. he dinnae know how to prove that he is not after hurtin' ye the way ye think though."

She looked at him frankly. "Aye?"

He nodded. "Aye."

She sighed. "Will ye tell him to come see me?"

He lifted one of her hands and kissed it, smiling.

Rory then went to find Lady Jocelyn, a close friend of the Queen's and someone he thought he could talk to. He asked her bluntly, "Me lady, can ye tell me, what could Shannon give is wife as a peace offerin'?"

Jocelyn stopped what she was doing and just stared at him a moment. "Oh," she said, then put her fingertip to her chin to think. She nodded confidently and said, "The other day in the nursery Heather was saying she feels self-conscious about not having gowns more suitable to court life. Would you like me to select some fabric at the drapers?"

Rory smiled broadly, "Och, would ye? But take Shan along so he knows why ye choose as ye do. Here is money to pay for it.. take as much as is needed."

He held out several silver pennies. Jocelyn picked out two. "This should be enough. 'Tis just as well he did not go on his own.. the draper should have cheated him for certain.

Lady Jocelyn came back with a grinning Shannon and four yards of a fine soft forest green wool.

Shannon opened the door of the chamber he shared with his wife very slowly and carefully. When he had it wide enough to put in his head, he saw Heather standing glaring at him with her arms folded over her chest. Shannon came all the way in and stood and stared back at her. "Now. Love, what is it this time?"

She did not reply, continuing to glare.

"I wish ye would just tell me what 'tis I have been after doin' that I dinnae know I was doin'.."

The only response he got was Heather putting her hands on her hips.

"Ye have that 'ye know perfectly well what ye did, Shan' look." He mocked her voice with its Scots accent. This irritated her immensely, and she started to turn away.

He cleared the distance between them in a flash, and put one arm around her waist. She lifted her hand to slap him, but he deftly raised the fabric so that her hand hit it, then clutched it. She stared at it, then at him. "A wee gift for the woman I love, who is the most beautiful woman in all of the kingdom."

Heather could not help herself. "What a beautiful green it is," she exclaimed.

Shannon fairly purred, "And would I not be knowin' what color sets off your beautiful nut brown hair?" He put both arms around her.

Heather stroked the pile of the fabric. "'Tis so soft and warm."

"And would I not be knowing how it would feel against your soft, warm skin?" He nuzzled her neck and was rewarded with a slight shudder.

She shook out the cloth to gauge its length. "And it looks as if it is just right for a dress for me."

"And have I not held and caressed ye enough times to know the size and shape of ye?" He pulled her tighter and drew her face to his.

"Oh Shannon," she sighed, and let him guide her to the bed. He lay down next to her and said in her ear, "Heather, I do love ye so very much."

Whatever their problems, when they made love Heather and her minstrel were perfectly in tune.

Lying in Shannon's arms Heather toyed with the sparse hair on his chest, which was as red as the hair on his head. He was lying still with his eyes closed and a most contented look on his face. "Shannon, darlin'?" she said quietly.

"Mmm?" he purred.

Heather paused a moment and then ventured, "Do ye think we could find a small cottage to live in together, away from court?"

He opened his eyes and looked thoughtful. "I dinnae see why not.. 'tis a fine idea. I can ask Cedric the metalsmith how to go about it."

Heather looked up at him. "Truly? Ye like the idea?"

Shannon leaned his head to kiss her. "Aye, I do indeed. I want ye to be happy and I wish to have ye all to meself." His heart reveled in the happy look she gave him.

Next: Part 2

New Stories: The Sword Challenge (Cut)

awrence leaned in the door to the Queen's chamber as she was get ready for the day.

"My lady, I shall be occupied with council all morning, but mayhap you would like to join me in sword practice after midday?"

Josephine turned quickly on her stool. "Aye, my lord!" She added, "With you, my lord?"

He smiled. "Aye, with me. And bring your sword." He slipped back through the doorway, an affectionate grin on his face.

Josephine was animated throughout the morning. She spent almost every morning in the nursery with her small children. Peter was now nearly two and a half years old. The twins were fourteen months, and their adopted son Tavish was seventeen months. The Queen would help bathe and dress them, play with them and simply spend as much time with them as she could. As often as possible Lawrence would steal time away to join her.

Peter was a stout young boy with pale hair and large blue eyes. He was a happy child, energetic but also inclined to be serious and thoughtful. "Where's Papa?" he asked this morning.

His mother was pulling his small tunic over his head. "He is busy this morn, my love, I am sorry. He must meet with his ministers."

The boy accepted the explanation. He brightened when the Queen assured him that his father would see him later that day.

After a midday meal in the nursery, Josephine went to her chamber to dress for the practice. It was a chill December afternoon but the swordplay would make her too warm, so she made sure she was well covered but able to take off layers as she warmed up and that her movement would not be hampered by cloaks or other loose clothing.

Then she went to the chest where her sword was stored. She opened the lid and reached in for the long wrapped article. She lifted it reverently, unwrapped the cloth, and took the hilt of the beautiful instrument in her right hand. "Why has my lord asked me to bring my sword, I wonder? And will he have his own? Surely he does not plan to spar with me this day," she thought.

When she reached the practice area in the courtyard Lawrence was there already, turned away from her, stretching his arm and back muscles. She admired the look of him as she advanced to meet him. Rory and Shannon and one of the young knights had gathered to spectate. They all made short bows to her as she approached, the young knight, Lucullus, greeting her with a respectful, "My lady."

Lawrence turned to face her with a look of welcome. "Dearest, you are here. You look well bundled up. 'Tis a chill day, but not windy." He went to her and kissed her lightly on the lips.

From their viewpoint, Shannon cast a sidelong look at Rory, who returned one that was chiding. He did not appreciate Shannon's constant attention to his own affectionate regard for the Queen.

Josephine looked up at her husband's face. "What is it to be them, my lord? Am I not to practice with Rory?"

Lawrence grinned. "Nay my lady, with me. 'Tis important that you spar with different opponents so that you know the many ways you might be approached. Rory, I know, has held back. He is not primarily a swordsman, but he is skilled enough to best you at this point in your training. You shall continue to practice with him, though I have commanded him to make his best effort. But I have also asked Lucullus to spar with you from time to time, and I shall myself when I can take the time. They, however, shall not use steel.. I draw the line there. But I shall."

"With your leave, sir, I must say there is no better teacher than you," Rory spoke up meaning no flattery.

The King just nodded to him, turning back to his wife. "And I think 'tis time you became used to the heft of your sword. So that is why I asked you to bring it this day."

The Queen nodded, her face serious. "Aye, my lord."

Lawrence looked at her earnestly. "I know that you know I am not intending to discourage you in any way. It does you no good, ultimately, if you are not challenged. You know you must practice long and hard.. the merest squire spends years at this."

"And knights continue to learn for all their lives," young Lucullus added.

"I do understand, my lords, and agree that I shall have to face constant defeat to learn. But 'tis my wish to learn to move and think like a swordsman and to defend myself. I shall not be facing an enemy in war."

Lawrence nodded. "God be praised." He went to the various weapons the armorer Uthred had brought out. "Shall we start by warming up with a short match with you, Lucullus? My lady, watch and practice alone." He picked up a helm. Once that was on his head, he drew "My Honour" from his side.

"Sire, are ye not usin' the grand new sword that the smith made for you then?" Shannon asked. He was without his lute as the chill air would be damaging. He sat instead with his arms crossed, caught between interest and boredom.

"Nay, this sword has served me well for many years. She and I shall keep faith, methinks."

Lucullus had also donned a helm and stepped to face the King, his own sword drawn. "Call it, Rory," the King commanded.

With the sign to begin, the young knight crouched and held his sword in plow ward. Josephine carefully attended to this and the King's answering side ward. Neither was using a shield, she saw. The younger man stepped forward to make a jab at the King's side. The King blocked the blow with his own sword, pushing Lucullus back a step. Then the King swept his sword in a clockwise arc and made as if to bring it down on Lucullus' left shoulder. The young man deftly blocked the blow by raising his sword and clanging it hard against the King's.

Josephine had been watching and trying to match the men's moves with her own body and sword. Rory stood and come around the combatants to stand by her. Shannon appeared to be losing whatever interest he had had.

"Why no shields, Rory?" Josephine asked.

"They are just after warmin' themselves up then" he replied.

Josephine made a sound of affirmation, continuing to watch and imitate what the men did. Then the King said, "Enough." She noticed that while the younger knight was breathing more rapidly, the King was relaxed. She firmed her resolve to give this challenge her all.

The Queen went to get a helm, sliding it down over her golden hair which she was wearing in one long plait down her back. The nose guard was too long for her, the bottom end extending over her mouth. "No matter," Lawrence had said, unless you want a helm made. This one is for training only. I should think you shall not be wearing one in your daily travels."

He stood now before her. Her own heart beat faster. This was not a position either of them would have imagined for themselves just months before. He still held his sword "My Honour" and she wondered that he would risk using it on her. She thought, "He must be that good that he can make blows and know they will not draw blood."

Then the King answered her unspoken question. "For now I shall only defend myself. I want you to make every effort to wound me, my lady. Do you understand?" His voice was stern, but not critical.

The Queen replied, "Aye, my lord, I shall." She hoped she could bring herself to.

Lawrence took a defensive stance. Josephine observed him carefully. She was glad to see how serious he was about this. She had long worried that he would either forbid her or would not understand or respect why she meant to gain this skill. She now learned that though he may have been taken aback, he was intent on her getting the very best from the training.

Josephine lifted her sword high and advanced on her royal husband rapidly. He blocked her blow but did not return the attack. She followed her high cut with a sweep of the sword to her left, then down at an angle to his chest. The difference in their heights was not new.. Rory was even taller than the King and she had learned her current skills with him. The King knocked her sword away with a practiced sweep of his sword.

The practice went on like this for several minutes, the Queen making attempts to strike her husband. Her inability to make any contact tired and frustrated her, so any concern she had about hurting Lawrence was replaced with a desire to prove herself. That was just what he had intended. "That is it, that is good.. do not hold your hand, my lady," he coached.

"So this is fruitless," Shannon complained from the sidelines.

Lawrence looked over at him. "Not entirely so, but we shall go on to something else."

"Really, Shannon, I am learning. I am learning that everything I do has a defense. And that like as not I shall e'er face a superior opponent."

Shannon chuckled, "Aye, then, ye are that dauntin' a foe to me. I should not be after likin' to come upon ye on a lonely road."

Lawrence, who had sheathed his sword and gone over to where the weapons were, laughed. "And that is her second lesson.. oftimes 'tis of more use to look threatening than actually to be so."

Shannon replied, "Och, and me lord, 'tis a fine talent ye have.. I am always terrified of ye."

Lawrence looked at him squarely, his expression saying, "'Tis just as I intend." Rory turned away to hide a smile.

Josephine saw that Lawrence had taken up a wooden sword. "My lord, shall I change swords as well?"

"Nay," he said as he came back to position. ""Though we shall spar in earnest, I would you had more time for gauging the feel of the steel." He had picked up two shields and handed her one.

This time it was the King who made the first attack. He smiled when Josephine blocked the blow with her shield. "Excellent," he said with pride. She came back at him with a blow that he deflected as well. It was not long before a block from the Queen's sword made her right side vulnerable. The King spun and brought the "blade" of the practice sword down on her right shoulder where it joined the neck. She cried out with surprise as much as pain, though Lawrence had not hit her hard.

Rory started forward but stopped at a look from her. "Nay, Rory. I am all right."

The royal husband and wife of course had drawn quite an audience. They were themselves so intent on their challenge that they did not notice the murmuring and amusement when the group first gathered around, nor the "ahs" of admiration for many of the Queen's moves. The crowd had gone dead silent when the King had struck Josephine on the shoulder, but then murmured in approval when she had taken the blow bravely.

The Queen was never able to break through the King's defenses. One blow from her sword however did connect with the King's hand as he blocked a clow, slicing his leather glove and drawing blood. This almost stopped the battle, as Josephine had been surprised and alarmed, but she recalled the King's words about "that is what blades do" and determined to not let it deter her. She did however finally call a halt to the practice.

"My lord, I am sorry, but I am exhausted. Methinks you could continue all day and into the night.. but I cannot as of yet, if ever."

Lawrence took off his helm, handed it to Lucullus who had quickly moved to take it, then handed the young man the shield.

"Aye, it does you no good to fight too tired.. that will be something I hope you shall never have to do." Lawrence sheathed his sword, then made a low, smiling bow to her. "You do me honor, my lady, to fight so well."

The Queen could not help a delighted smile. She made her own curtsy. "And you do me the greatest of honor, sire," she said.

As the two walked back to the keep arm in arm, Shannon, who had stood and come to stand with Rory, observed, "Now I should be after likin' to see their arguments now that both man and wife have steel."

Rory glanced at him, "Och, nay, so they dinnae fight."

Shannon considered him, "Aye? And how is it that ye are knowin' this?"

"I just know."

Shannon stared at him a moment, then shook his head. "I hope, me darlin' man, that ye marry someday so ye can learn the truth of man and woman." Shannon shrugged, "Well, methinks I shall go not fight with me own wife now.. "

Rory smiled at his friend's retreating back.

Next: Mischief Afoot in Affynshire

New Stories: Shannon and heather Start to Unravel (Cut)

Remember this event. It will be meaningful in the future.

“Och, ‘tis a pretty little farm,” Shannon O’Neill remarked as he led his small son y the hand up the road to the house. “Look, Seamus, they have the tables and all set up over there in the field.. are ye hungry then?”

The little boy nodded and looked up at his mother. Heather smiled thinly and nodded. “Go on, Seamus.. but do not wander away.” The boy smiled happily, loosened his hand from his father’s hand tore off towards where several children were playing.

Shannon’s friend Rory McGuinness asked Heather, “Lass, ye seem tired from the walkin’. Would ye not like to sit for a while?”

Shannon responded for her, “Aye, ye two go find a shady spot to sit a while. I must find the uncle of the bride to see where and when ‘tis I shall be wanted.” He leaned to kiss his wife, who deftly swerved to avoid it. He shrugged, made a defeated look in Rory’s direction, and took off towards the big house.

Rory had learned long ago to stay out of these exchanges between husband and wife. He just knew Heather was unhappy about something and Shannon did not have a clue what it was. Come to think of it, that was how things went most days between them. He let her choose a place to sit and came to sit with her.

Heather was glancing around at the farm buildings visible from the spot, then over at the people starting to gather by the tables. “’Tis a bonny wee croft,” she remarked.

Rory nodded. “Is it much like your own in Ayrshire?”

Heather shook her head. “Nay, ‘tis bigger and much nicer.. me own was not in good repair, even after all the work Shannon did on it..” Her look turned nostalgic and sad.

Rory looked down at his feet. “Ye miss it.”

She sighed, “Aye, and I miss that Shannon I knew.” She turned away from him, and he knew he must let her sit in silence.

Heather’s and Rory’s relationship was fragile. He tried to be her friend, but she would not allow it. She saw him as Shannon’s ally, and, in spite of many opportunities to judge his worth, she always assumed he would color the truth to Shannon’s advantage. Further she was completely intolerant of his professed romantic love for the Queen. “”Tis childish and obstinate,” she told her husband.

Rory regretted Heather’s distrust of him. He knew Shannon better than anyone else and knew that Shannon, though meaning well, was a rather obtuse fellow when it came to how to treat his wife. She was difficult, but Shannon worsened not assuaged that characteristic in her. He was full of himself – wasn’t that part of his charm? And he tended to assume that anything he enjoyed so would others. His outgoing nature was also at odds with his wife’s shyness.

At length Heather remarked, “I might have known there would be no one of my acquaintance here..”

Rory looked about. “I see many from Cedric’s and Gitta’s..” he began.

Heather shot him a look. “Those are your friends, yours and Shan’s, not mine.”

Rory did not reply. He knew that while Heather complained of loneliness, she refused to join the gatherings at Cedric the master metalsmith’s large house. She alternately complained that the gatherings were to coarse and boisterous and that the metalsmith’s family were too grand for the likes of her. Shannon had given up trying to get her to come meet the other Celts, who would include Scots like herself, and he went anyway,. Leaving her back in their chambers at the castle, coming in late and sometimes drunk to a very angry wife.

Shannon came ambling up after a short time. He looked over and saw his son playing happily with a six year old girl and assorted boys, none of whom he recognized. He smiled over at the children. Then he looked at Heather and saw her expression. His resigned look spoke volumes in Rory’s mind. “I shan’t have to sing for some time, love. Shall we join the others and get something to eat and drink?” He reached for her arm, but she just stood and walked away from him towards the tables.

When she had given them some distance, Shannon asked his friend, “Did she offer ye any clues as to why she is vexed with me this time?”

Rory hesitated. He did not like getting involved in his friend’s marital strife. But he relented. “She does not know anyone.”

Shannon just raised one eyebrow and shook his head. For once he said nothing.

Later, as the feasting was well underway, Shannon gestured in the direction of the lead table with his cup of ale. “Och, look at that, the pity. Such a fine lookin’ young British lass marryin’ that great lummox of a Sassenach.”

Rory looked over at him amused. “Celtic ladies have been known to marry Saxons..” he commented, thinking of his beloved Queen.

Shannon replied, “I be just after sayin’ ‘tis a pity.”

Rory looked at the bride and groom. He was a strongly built fellow with long fair hair and bright blue eyes. He was smiling and festive, while the young girl at his side, who had brown hair done in braids, a beautifully embroidered bodice sat looking happy but uncomfortable. “Her name.. ‘tis Ceridwen, nay?”

“Shannon nodded, “Aye, Cedric’s niece, an orphan I hear. The man’s name I ken not.. something guttural and Saxon no doubt.

“She dinnae look like she much enjoys the festivities,” Rory remarked.

Heather interjected, “I do not blame her. These things always get out of hand.”

Cedric came up at that point and leaned to Shannon. “’Tis time, my friend.”

Shannon took a gulp of his ale and nodded. He slung his lute on his back and got up. This time he outsmarted his wife and managed a kiss on her cheek. “Cheer up, darlin’, it willnae go on forever.”

Shannon was not the only one to perform at the wedding feast but he was clearly the favorite. He sang and played several songs, some funny, some romantic, some ballads. One of the love songs he sang directly to the bride and groom, with his right foot up on a bench and the lute on his knee as he gazed into the bride’s eyes. She looked pleased but embarrassed.

Inevitably Shannon, warming to his theme, started to stroll among the guests. He flirted shamelessly. When he got to heather he flirted with her as well, but she would not look at him. She brushed away the kiss he landed on her cheek again.

They had to stay the night since the walk back to Lawrencium would take several hours and they were tired. Fortunately the house had plenty of room for the women. The m en and children slept out in the barn and stable. Seamus, who had developed a crush on the six year old girl he had been playing with, whose name was Hilda, found the whole thing to be a lark. Shannon was a bit tight and was asleep and snoring in no time. Rory lay back on the hay in the loft and laced his fingers behind his head. He lay with his eyes open, thinking of the Queen. Just before he dozed off he thought, “I could be happy in a place like this, so quiet and peaceful…”

Next: The Sword Challenge

Imahe: Heather, by Linda Laaksonen, about 1967.

New Stories: Queen of the Angles (Cut)

The Germanic peoples of Lincolnshire, at least before the Danes started to stream in in the late 9th century, were more likely to be Angles than Saxons. It's a terrible reason, I know, but "Saxon" just sounded smoother to me. Nevertheless, "Angles" worked better for Shannon's Song. The rhymes alone show why.

768

"Och, and are ye not the prettiest boy I have e'er seen?" laughed Shannon as he saw the Queen coming toward him, dressed in a shorter gown and leg wrappings. She had put her long hair into a knot as well, wanting to have as much freedom of movement for her sword lessons with Rory as possible.

Josephine smiled at him, but did not say anything, her eyes scanning the courtyard for her new teacher.

Shannon smiled, "He shall be here with ye momentarily, me lady. He did ask me to escort ye to the field of honor." He put out an elbow, but Josephine just started walking next to him to the area the King and knights used for swordplay.

Rory was already there, wearing a helm and a leather brigantine with metal sunbursts spaced all over it. The Queen could see he was testing the weight of some wooden swords. She had her own new sword sheathed at her side. "Well met, Rory," she called. "Are we not going to use real swords?"

Shannon had gone over the low fence that demarcated the fighting area and sat. "Och, me lady, if ye use real swords, ye might be cut, and I am thinkin' the King wouldnae be too pleased about that."

Josephine fool wed the comment with a counter suggestion. "Then what if you use a wooden sword, and I use my real sword?"

At Rory's look Shannon burst into laughter and almost fell over backward on the fence. "Nay, for ye might harm him! That it seems is his true purpose, I am thinkin'!"

Rory gave his friend an indulgent look. "Nay, beggin'' your pardon, me lady, but 'tis better to learn with a wooden sword first and master all the cuts and wards, then move on to lethal weapons. Believe me, we all learned this way, e'en the King I'll warrant."

Josephine accepted the explanation. "I can guess what a cut is, but what is a 'ward'?"

Rory came towards her, handed her a wooden sword and then took a firm stance. "A ward is the position ye take to be after gaugin' your opponent but not make yourself vulnerable to his blows. We shall work more with those when we add a shield." He gestured to his posture. "First, me lady, let us work on your stance. Try standin' as am I."

Josephine carefully examined how Rory was standing. She spread her feet for better stability then placed one slightly back and sideways. She bent forward at her hips and held her arms out and forward, the wooden sword in her right hand. Rory grinned. "Excellent, me lady!"

Rory came towards her. "I shall, if ye will forgive me, try to push you over." He saw her look of determination and proceeded. He moved to her side quickly and gave her a shove with both hands on her shoulder. She staggered sideways and almost fell. Shannon was back on his perch and smiling.

Rory said, "Now ye see what can happen. Ye must learn to stand even more stoutly. In many ways, a strong stance is the best defense.. and offense."

The Queen took another stance. "How is it an offensive advantage?"

Rory was looking at her feet and moving them with his own, tapping to indicate he wanted her to move slightly. "Ye must strive both to resist the force of the other man.. fighter, I am meanin'.. but also to be able to move quickly, either in offense or defense."

Josephine nodded. "I see."

Rory gave her a push again and this time she stumbled only slightly. "Much better. Much better. Keep practicing that, me lady."

"Now?" she asked.

"Now and forever," he answered.

Shannon had swung his lute off his back and was picking out a tune and some variations.

Rory proceeded to show the Queen several sword actions.

"A high cut, to split the skull" he stated and stood with his legs apart and his right arm straight up from his shoulder and the sword tip back. Josephine copied the stance. She mimicked the downward sweep of his arm.

Rory then moved his arm across his chest but still held the sword with the point up and back. "This cut is for hacking into the neck to remove the opponent's head." This time Josephine, her expression set firmly, followed Rory's slice forward and down, a backhanded blow.

"This one may be more difficult for ye, me lady, until ye develop the best stance." She watched as Rory pointed the sword straight at her midsection and lunged forward. "Ye can do damage from the shoulder to the thigh." Josephine followed suit.

Shannon spoke from where he was still composing a jaunty melody. "Show the Queen the cut that kills generations."

"Generations?" she inquired.

"Come over here, ye grand joker, so I can demonstrate on ye then," Rory laughed. Shannon reluctantly set down his lute and came over. He stood with his arms limp at his side, a long suffering look on his face. Rory laughed again, "Then mayhap in future ye shall keep your mouth shut." Rory let his sword hand drop, then stepped forward with the sword aimed right at Shannon's groin. "The low rising cut," he announced.

The Queen laughed. "I see… no more generations."

Rory nodded, and Shannon pretended to stagger away, his hands covering his groin. "Fé amae! Am trú-sa trá!"* he moaned. Then he went back to his melody.

Rory had the Queen practice the various cuts and jabs, first on an invisible opponent, then on a straw filled dummy hung from a crossbeam. She put all her energy into the moves, growing hot and sweaty, but making obvious progress. Rory was beaming at how fast she learned.

Shannon mostly concentrated on his composition, but he did look up from time to time to watch the Queen practice. When Rory suggested they break off and continue another day, Shannon observed, "Congratulations, your grace, ye can now kill a straw dummy."

Rory quipped, "Or Shannon."

Queen of the Angles

Fall 768

2

The King was not at all surprised at his wife's persistence in learning the use of a sword from the former Irish soldier. He knew her better than anyone, saving her own brother of course, and knew how seriously she took anything she saw as important. She was stubborn, yes, but it was a stubbornness born of commitment, not contrariness. He admired how she practiced every day that she could, and sometimes he observed her secretly.

Josephine had, with Rory's help and Shannon's wry encouragement, advanced quickly in steadying her stance and perfecting the various cuts and jabs she had learned. Now she was mastering holding a stout but not overheavy shield in different positions to test their usefulness in deflecting an opponent's blows.

As she waited for Rory and Shannon in the practice area one cool late October morning she examined the shield she was using. She could not say what it was about it, but the shield fascinated her. It was made of lime tree wood with an iron boss in the middle. Rory had explained that the protruding boss was itself a potential weapon, though its primary use was to hold a firm metal grip on the user's side. She held that grip now in her thickly gloved hand. She thought perhaps what caught her interest was the damage to this shield, the nicks and dents in the wood and even one good scrape on the boss. Had this shield been used only in practice, or might it have saved some soldier's life at some time. She did not know. She did not ask. She wanted to wonder.

She saw Rory and Shannon coming towards her, the latter carrying his constant companion, his lute. He had continued his composing, leaving to practice words to a song he was writing. She and Rory were going to have to wait to hear the song until it was done and he was satisfied, as was his custom. They knew it would be well worth the wait.

"Me lady, well met!" Rory cast his sunlit smile at her. "Today we will fight with shield and sword!"

Josephine greeted her friends and the news with excitement. "Aye?! " She hurried to pick up the wooden sword she had been using.

When she returned to face Rory, Shannon had already taken his accustomed place on the fence. He had been so much happier of late than when he and Heather lived in the castle. Their small cottage on the edge of town had smoothed so many of the sharp edges of their marriage. Josephine knew that nothing could smooth them all, Heather being Heather and Shannon being Shannon, but it was nice to see them smiling at each other and to hear Heather singing quietly to herself in Scots as she worked around her home and played with Seamus. The Queen hoped and prayed this contentment would last.

When the Queen had advanced well enough with the shield positions, she had been surprised when the next time Rory handed her a helm to put on. She had to redo her hair in a lower bun to allow it to settled firmly on her head. She found the thing quite uncomfortable, but she resolutely bore the discomfort. She knew as soon as she saw the helm that they had come to the point when Rory was going to provide her with real cuts to ward off. Her excitement was almost palpable.

And she was not disappointed. Although cautious at first, Rory soon challenged her with quick and difficult blows to deflect. She had taken many bruises to her arms and legs but had done all she could to ignore her husband's worried and sometimes reproachful looks. The one time he had remarked on a large bruise on her hip, she had recalled what he himself had said when in demonstrating sword against gallowglass he had cut Rory. She paraphrased those words, ""Aye.. that's what wooden swords do." He had stared, then, remembering, smiled and she had smiled back.

She was ready to move on today, anxious to learn new skills. Rory had donned his own sword and shield. "Now we are getting serious," Josephine thought to herself.

He had her review all the cuts she had learned, all the while holding the shield in place. Then he had her show him the various ways of holding the shield at different angles, inside, outside, high and low.. describing the pros and cons of each. He had her practice moving the shield as if she was warding of multiple blows. She was learning fast as she went through this catechism that coordinating sword and shield would be her greatest challenge to date.

"Now, me lady, your lesson on wards," Rory grinned. "Wards are your approach to an opponent and combines what ye have learned so far."

"And sure and I have no 'wards' to describe it," Shannon punned, not even looking up from his lute.

After showing her the high ward, which was just the high cut with the shield ready but out of the way, Rory went on to show her the ox ward, with the sword held over the head, almost parallel to the ground. "Like an ox horn," Rory explained.

"One very odd looking ox, methinks," came the inevitable response from Shannon.

The side ward was simply holding one's sword a-ready at one's side pointing either up or down and bending the opposite knee for a lunge.

"This is the plow ward," Rory explained, as he held his sword at waist height towards her with its tip raised.

"Why is it called that?" the Queen asked. So used were they to Shannon's running commentary, that Rory and she just turned and looked at him. He looked up from his lute, gazing at them from under his eyebrows with a mischievous smile on his lips. "Me lady, it is called that because once ye have seen someone comin' at ye like that, ye will drop your sword and go back to your plow." They rewarded him with a delighted laugh.

This demonstration and a short practice was just a prelude to the real excitement for Rory then announced, "Ye cannae learn wards just by posing in them, but only by practicing against an attacker."

He had Josephine take her stance, choosing her shield and sword position, and then placed himself facing her . "Try out wards to see which gives ye the best judgment as to how I might be after attackin' ye.. then tell me which felt best." He proceeded to make cuts, jabs and other moves, including feints, towards her.

She found her heart racing as they engaged. The energy flowing through her reminded her of how she felt when riding a galloping horse. Her color was high, her breathing rapid.

"Och, so much violence," Shannon sighed melodramatically, "I shall go commune with the Muse in private to heal me tattered soul." Rory rolled his eyes, but he smiled and nodded as his friend took his leave.

"I think he has been composing a song about all this," Josephine suggested. "Heaven help us."

Rory laughed.

Through the rest of this day's lesson and through many a day of practice after, the Queen tried numerous combinations of shield, sword, stance and motion, slowly developing an instinct for gauging Rory's intent and finding her own advantage. He added to her knowledge that outsmarting an opponent with a feint can open up vulnerable spots. She laughed, "Mayhap 'tis good Shannon is occupied.. I can just see him 'fainting' to demonstrate a 'feint'". If anything their time together strengthened her and Rory's lifelong friendship.

The Queen had been able to tell that quickly Rory was not holding back, and she appreciated this and knew he was carefully enhancing her real skill. She was certain Lawrence could never have let himself make any actual blows. Choosing Rory had been the right decision. Rory had the sense to know she would learn nothing otherwise, and then someday if she needed the new skills she developed, she would be placed in the way of harm. Rory was protecting her by teaching her well to protect herself.

One day near the Winter Solstice, the days quite short and the air cold and crisp, Rory announced. "Me lady, 'tis time to fight in earnest."

"With real swords?" she asked.

He gave her a humorous smile. "That will come, but for now 'twill not be a lesson, but a true battle. I shall not hold back, and me lady, nor should ye." He looked at her in all seriousness.

The Queen nodded, her breath already becoming quick. "Calm, calm, calm," she chanted to herself. She took her stance, shield inside and sword at side ward. Rory stood before her, gauging her stance as he himself held his shield low and his sword in ox ward. She made the first move.

Lunging forward, Josephine moved to jab at Rory under his shield. He deftly stepped aside and swung his sword forward and down. She raised her shield and caught the blow on it, pushing with it against his sword with all her strength. She thrust upward with her sword, trying to beat off Rory's own. He jumped back, and her sword cut nothing but the air between them. Instinctively, Josephine let the sword continue to go up, moving into a high ward and stepped forward to make a high cut. Rory raised his shield to defend his head, and Josephine completed the feint by stepping quickly to Rory's shield side and sweeping her sword down to the left to aim a blow at his exposed legs.

"Ho!" came the King's voice from behind and slightly to the right of the Queen. "Bravely done! Bravely done, my lady!"

Josephine dropped her sword to her side and turned to look at him amazed. "My lord, I did not know you were there!"

He glanced at Rory and made a gesture that said, "Be my guest" and before Josephine realized what it had meant, she found Rory's wooden sword coming down on the top of her helm, just hard enough to make a clang.

Lawrence walked up and putting his hands on his hips, he grinned at her.

"I know, I know, never turn your back on your enemy," she smiled.

He stood to attention and struck his chest with his fist in a sign of respect. "My lady, McGuinness told me you would be at your most impressive today. He was right."

Josephine looked at Rory, who had put down his sword and shield. "I wish you would have told me the King would be watching."

Rory smiled. "Nay, ye dinnae want to know.. 'twould have dampened your ferocity."

"Ferocity, 'tis just the word, I will warrant," Lawrence remarked. There was no mockery in his voice.

Josephine handed Rory her sword and shield, took off the helm, and handed it to him as well. She took her husband's arm and started walking with him towards the keep. "My lord, be honest. What do you think I must next work on? What are my weaknesses." She continued to pepper him with questions.

He answered as best he could. "I shall need to see you in more battles to say for certain, but I think I can give ye some tips." He was beaming,. He cast a happy look back at Rory, who bowed and looked satisfied.

Part 3

The Queen noticed how her royal gowns fit her differently now she had toned muscles in her arms and shoulders. The King seemed to like her this way. As the only man who saw her bare, he looked her over and nodded with approval. "This becomes you greatly, my love. Not the bruises, but they will fade."

She had settled into him as they stood and remarked, "I rather like it when you come to me bruised. It tells me you do not brook hesitation in your opponents." The comment had delighted him.

The evening of the day of the demonstration Rory had set up for the King, the feasting had been at least as merry as it have ever been. Josephine basked in the King's look of pride at her. It held something more as well, she thought, then realized that it was.. respect. The realization made her so happy she leaned and kissed him right in front of the entire court.

The royal couple was smiling and laughing with each other when Shannon appeared for his nightly songs and stories. All turned to listen.

"Sure and I have a special song for ye this night, me lords and ladies." He sat on the stool, one leg bent and the foot on one of the rungs, took his lute in his arms and strummed a few notes. Then he said, "This is for her grace the Queen."

He began to sing "Queen of the Angles".

Melody

"In some kingdoms I know the queens sit and sew And dream of their jewels and gold bangles, But in Linnis there be a sight ye should see, The sword-wielding Queen of the Angles!"

Josephine laughed and put her hands on her cheeks. She heard Lawrence laughing delightedly as well.

Shannon went on singing, softening his voice for lines referring to the Queen's beauty, but then shifting to a heroic tone when her fighting skill was described.

"Her stature is small but she gives it her all This sword-wielding Queen of the Angles. Her eyes blue and soft, 'til her sword is aloft And her enemy's shield wall she mangles!

"Her voice it is sweet, but bent on defeat, The enemy's war cry she strangles. She stands straight and square, with long golden hair, The sword-wielding Queen of the Angles.

"Warlords strong, stout and brave will she send to their grave, This sword-wielding Queen of the Angles. Their surrender demands while from one dainty hand Their very existence she dangles.

"With a weapon mysterious making foes quite delirious She leaves them with limbs all in tangles.. The fair lady I sing won the heart of a King She's the sword-wielding Queen of the Angles."

* Old Irish, "Woe indeed. I am a dead man for sure!"

Next: Shannon and Heather Start to Unravel

"Och, and are ye not the prettiest boy I have e'er seen?" laughed Shannon as he saw the Queen coming toward him, dressed in a shorter gown and leg wrappings. She had put her long hair into a knot as well, wanting to have as much freedom of movement for her sword lessons with Rory as possible.

Josephine smiled at him, but did not say anything, her eyes scanning the courtyard for her new teacher.

Shannon smiled, "He shall be here with ye momentarily, me lady. He did ask me to escort ye to the field of honor." He put out an elbow, but Josephine just started walking next to him to the area the King and knights used for swordplay.

Rory was already there, wearing a helm and a leather brigantine with metal sunbursts spaced all over it. The Queen could see he was testing the weight of some wooden swords. She had her own new sword sheathed at her side. "Well met, Rory," she called. "Are we not going to use real swords?"

Shannon had gone over the low fence that demarcated the fighting area and sat. "Och, me lady, if ye use real swords, ye might be cut, and I am thinkin' the King wouldnae be too pleased about that."

Josephine fool wed the comment with a counter suggestion. "Then what if you use a wooden sword, and I use my real sword?"

At Rory's look Shannon burst into laughter and almost fell over backward on the fence. "Nay, for ye might harm him! That it seems is his true purpose, I am thinkin'!"

Rory gave his friend an indulgent look. "Nay, beggin'' your pardon, me lady, but 'tis better to learn with a wooden sword first and master all the cuts and wards, then move on to lethal weapons. Believe me, we all learned this way, e'en the King I'll warrant."

Josephine accepted the explanation. "I can guess what a cut is, but what is a 'ward'?"

Rory came towards her, handed her a wooden sword and then took a firm stance. "A ward is the position ye take to be after gaugin' your opponent but not make yourself vulnerable to his blows. We shall work more with those when we add a shield." He gestured to his posture. "First, me lady, let us work on your stance. Try standin' as am I."

Josephine carefully examined how Rory was standing. She spread her feet for better stability then placed one slightly back and sideways. She bent forward at her hips and held her arms out and forward, the wooden sword in her right hand. Rory grinned. "Excellent, me lady!"

Rory came towards her. "I shall, if ye will forgive me, try to push you over." He saw her look of determination and proceeded. He moved to her side quickly and gave her a shove with both hands on her shoulder. She staggered sideways and almost fell. Shannon was back on his perch and smiling.

Rory said, "Now ye see what can happen. Ye must learn to stand even more stoutly. In many ways, a strong stance is the best defense.. and offense."

The Queen took another stance. "How is it an offensive advantage?"

Rory was looking at her feet and moving them with his own, tapping to indicate he wanted her to move slightly. "Ye must strive both to resist the force of the other man.. fighter, I am meanin'.. but also to be able to move quickly, either in offense or defense."

Josephine nodded. "I see."

Rory gave her a push again and this time she stumbled only slightly. "Much better. Much better. Keep practicing that, me lady."

"Now?" she asked.

"Now and forever," he answered.

Shannon had swung his lute off his back and was picking out a tune and some variations.

Rory proceeded to show the Queen several sword actions.

"A high cut, to split the skull" he stated and stood with his legs apart and his right arm straight up from his shoulder and the sword tip back. Josephine copied the stance. She mimicked the downward sweep of his arm.

Rory then moved his arm across his chest but still held the sword with the point up and back. "This cut is for hacking into the neck to remove the opponent's head." This time Josephine, her expression set firmly, followed Rory's slice forward and down, a backhanded blow.

"This one may be more difficult for ye, me lady, until ye develop the best stance." She watched as Rory pointed the sword straight at her midsection and lunged forward. "Ye can do damage from the shoulder to the thigh." Josephine followed suit.

Shannon spoke from where he was still composing a jaunty melody. "Show the Queen the cut that kills generations."

"Generations?" she inquired.

"Come over here, ye grand joker, so I can demonstrate on ye then," Rory laughed. Shannon reluctantly set down his lute and came over. He stood with his arms limp at his side, a long suffering look on his face. Rory laughed again, "Then mayhap in future ye shall keep your mouth shut." Rory let his sword hand drop, then stepped forward with the sword aimed right at Shannon's groin. "The low rising cut," he announced.

The Queen laughed. "I see… no more generations."

Rory nodded, and Shannon pretended to stagger away, his hands covering his groin. "Fé amae! Am trú-sa trá!"* he moaned. Then he went back to his melody.

Rory had the Queen practice the various cuts and jabs, first on an invisible opponent, then on a straw filled dummy hung from a crossbeam. She put all her energy into the moves, growing hot and sweaty, but making obvious progress. Rory was beaming at how fast she learned.

Shannon mostly concentrated on his composition, but he did look up from time to time to watch the Queen practice. When Rory suggested they break off and continue another day, Shannon observed, "Congratulations, your grace, ye can now kill a straw dummy."

Rory quipped, "Or Shannon."


The King was not at all surprised at his wife's persistence in learning the use of a sword from the former Irish soldier. He knew her better than anyone, saving her own brother of course, and knew how seriously she took anything she saw as important. She was stubborn, yes, but it was a stubbornness born of commitment, not contrariness. He admired how she practiced every day that she could, and sometimes he observed her secretly.

Josephine had, with Rory's help and Shannon's wry encouragement, advanced quickly in steadying her stance and perfecting the various cuts and jabs she had learned. Now she was mastering holding a stout but not overheavy shield in different positions to test their usefulness in deflecting an opponent's blows.

As she waited for Rory and Shannon in the practice area one cool late October morning she examined the shield she was using. She could not say what it was about it, but the shield fascinated her. It was made of lime tree wood with an iron boss in the middle. Rory had explained that the protruding boss was itself a potential weapon, though its primary use was to hold a firm metal grip on the user's side. She held that grip now in her thickly gloved hand. She thought perhaps what caught her interest was the damage to this shield, the nicks and dents in the wood and even one good scrape on the boss. Had this shield been used only in practice, or might it have saved some soldier's life at some time. She did not know. She did not ask. She wanted to wonder.

She saw Rory and Shannon coming towards her, the latter carrying his constant companion, his lute. He had continued his composing, leaving to practice words to a song he was writing. She and Rory were going to have to wait to hear the song until it was done and he was satisfied, as was his custom. They knew it would be well worth the wait.

"Me lady, well met!" Rory cast his sunlit smile at her. "Today we will fight with shield and sword!"

Josephine greeted her friends and the news with excitement. "Aye?! " She hurried to pick up the wooden sword she had been using.

When she returned to face Rory, Shannon had already taken his accustomed place on the fence. He had been so much happier of late than when he and Heather lived in the castle. Their small cottage on the edge of town had smoothed so many of the sharp edges of their marriage. Josephine knew that nothing could smooth them all, Heather being Heather and Shannon being Shannon, but it was nice to see them smiling at each other and to hear Heather singing quietly to herself in Scots as she worked around her home and played with Seamus. The Queen hoped and prayed this contentment would last.

When the Queen had advanced well enough with the shield positions, she had been surprised when the next time Rory handed her a helm to put on. She had to redo her hair in a lower bun to allow it to settled firmly on her head. She found the thing quite uncomfortable, but she resolutely bore the discomfort. She knew as soon as she saw the helm that they had come to the point when Rory was going to provide her with real cuts to ward off. Her excitement was almost palpable.

And she was not disappointed. Although cautious at first, Rory soon challenged her with quick and difficult blows to deflect. She had taken many bruises to her arms and legs but had done all she could to ignore her husband's worried and sometimes reproachful looks. The one time he had remarked on a large bruise on her hip, she had recalled what he himself had said when in demonstrating sword against gallowglass he had cut Rory. She paraphrased those words, ""Aye.. that's what wooden swords do." He had stared, then, remembering, smiled and she had smiled back.

She was ready to move on today, anxious to learn new skills. Rory had donned his own sword and shield. "Now we are getting serious," Josephine thought to herself.

He had her review all the cuts she had learned, all the while holding the shield in place. Then he had her show him the various ways of holding the shield at different angles, inside, outside, high and low.. describing the pros and cons of each. He had her practice moving the shield as if she was warding of multiple blows. She was learning fast as she went through this catechism that coordinating sword and shield would be her greatest challenge to date.

"Now, me lady, your lesson on wards," Rory grinned. "Wards are your approach to an opponent and combines what ye have learned so far."

"And sure and I have no 'wards' to describe it," Shannon punned, not even looking up from his lute.

After showing her the high ward, which was just the high cut with the shield ready but out of the way, Rory went on to show her the ox ward, with the sword held over the head, almost parallel to the ground. "Like an ox horn," Rory explained.

"One very odd looking ox, methinks," came the inevitable response from Shannon.

The side ward was simply holding one's sword a-ready at one's side pointing either up or down and bending the opposite knee for a lunge.

"This is the plow ward," Rory explained, as he held his sword at waist height towards her with its tip raised.

"Why is it called that?" the Queen asked. So used were they to Shannon's running commentary, that Rory and she just turned and looked at him. He looked up from his lute, gazing at them from under his eyebrows with a mischievous smile on his lips. "Me lady, it is called that because once ye have seen someone comin' at ye like that, ye will drop your sword and go back to your plow." They rewarded him with a delighted laugh.

This demonstration and a short practice was just a prelude to the real excitement for Rory then announced, "Ye cannae learn wards just by posing in them, but only by practicing against an attacker."

He had Josephine take her stance, choosing her shield and sword position, and then placed himself facing her . "Try out wards to see which gives ye the best judgment as to how I might be after attackin' ye.. then tell me which felt best." He proceeded to make cuts, jabs and other moves, including feints, towards her.

She found her heart racing as they engaged. The energy flowing through her reminded her of how she felt when riding a galloping horse. Her color was high, her breathing rapid.

"Och, so much violence," Shannon sighed melodramatically, "I shall go commune with the Muse in private to heal me tattered soul." Rory rolled his eyes, but he smiled and nodded as his friend took his leave.

"I think he has been composing a song about all this," Josephine suggested. "Heaven help us."

Rory laughed.

Through the rest of this day's lesson and through many a day of practice after, the Queen tried numerous combinations of shield, sword, stance and motion, slowly developing an instinct for gauging Rory's intent and finding her own advantage. He added to her knowledge that outsmarting an opponent with a feint can open up vulnerable spots. She laughed, "Mayhap 'tis good Shannon is occupied.. I can just see him 'fainting' to demonstrate a 'feint'". If anything their time together strengthened her and Rory's lifelong friendship.

The Queen had been able to tell that quickly Rory was not holding back, and she appreciated this and knew he was carefully enhancing her real skill. She was certain Lawrence could never have let himself make any actual blows. Choosing Rory had been the right decision. Rory had the sense to know she would learn nothing otherwise, and then someday if she needed the new skills she developed, she would be placed in the way of harm. Rory was protecting her by teaching her well to protect herself.

One day near the Winter Solstice, the days quite short and the air cold and crisp, Rory announced. "Me lady, 'tis time to fight in earnest."

"With real swords?" she asked.

He gave her a humorous smile. "That will come, but for now 'twill not be a lesson, but a true battle. I shall not hold back, and me lady, nor should ye." He looked at her in all seriousness.

The Queen nodded, her breath already becoming quick. "Calm, calm, calm," she chanted to herself. She took her stance, shield inside and sword at side ward. Rory stood before her, gauging her stance as he himself held his shield low and his sword in ox ward. She made the first move.

Lunging forward, Josephine moved to jab at Rory under his shield. He deftly stepped aside and swung his sword forward and down. She raised her shield and caught the blow on it, pushing with it against his sword with all her strength. She thrust upward with her sword, trying to beat off Rory's own. He jumped back, and her sword cut nothing but the air between them. Instinctively, Josephine let the sword continue to go up, moving into a high ward and stepped forward to make a high cut. Rory raised his shield to defend his head, and Josephine completed the feint by stepping quickly to Rory's shield side and sweeping her sword down to the left to aim a blow at his exposed legs.

"Ho!" came the King's voice from behind and slightly to the right of the Queen. "Bravely done! Bravely done, my lady!"

Josephine dropped her sword to her side and turned to look at him amazed. "My lord, I did not know you were there!"

He glanced at Rory and made a gesture that said, "Be my guest" and before Josephine realized what it had meant, she found Rory's wooden sword coming down on the top of her helm, just hard enough to make a clang.

Lawrence walked up and putting his hands on his hips, he grinned at her.

"I know, I know, never turn your back on your enemy," she smiled.

He stood to attention and struck his chest with his fist in a sign of respect. "My lady, McGuinness told me you would be at your most impressive today. He was right."

Josephine looked at Rory, who had put down his sword and shield. "I wish you would have told me the King would be watching."

Rory smiled. "Nay, ye dinnae want to know.. 'twould have dampened your ferocity."

"Ferocity, 'tis just the word, I will warrant," Lawrence remarked. There was no mockery in his voice.

Josephine handed Rory her sword and shield, took off the helm, and handed it to him as well. She took her husband's arm and started walking with him towards the keep. "My lord, be honest. What do you think I must next work on? What are my weaknesses." She continued to pepper him with questions.

He answered as best he could. "I shall need to see you in more battles to say for certain, but I think I can give ye some tips." He was beaming,. He cast a happy look back at Rory, who bowed and looked satisfied.

Part 3

The Queen noticed how her royal gowns fit her differently now she had toned muscles in her arms and shoulders. The King seemed to like her this way. As the only man who saw her bare, he looked her over and nodded with approval. "This becomes you greatly, my love. Not the bruises, but they will fade."

She had settled into him as they stood and remarked, "I rather like it when you come to me bruised. It tells me you do not brook hesitation in your opponents." The comment had delighted him.

The evening of the day of the demonstration Rory had set up for the King, the feasting had been at least as merry as it have ever been. Josephine basked in the King's look of pride at her. It held something more as well, she thought, then realized that it was.. respect. The realization made her so happy she leaned and kissed him right in front of the entire court.

The royal couple was smiling and laughing with each other when Shannon appeared for his nightly songs and stories. All turned to listen.

"Sure and I have a special song for ye this night, me lords and ladies." He sat on the stool, one leg bent and the foot on one of the rungs, took his lute in his arms and strummed a few notes. Then he said, "This is for her grace the Queen."

He began to sing "Queen of the Angles".

"In some kingdoms I know the queens sit and sew And dream of their jewels and gold bangles, But in Linnis there be a sight ye should see, The sword-wielding Queen of the Angles!"

Josephine laughed and put her hands on her cheeks. She heard Lawrence laughing delightedly as well.

Shannon went on singing, softening his voice for lines referring to the Queen's beauty, but then shifting to a heroic tone when her fighting skill was described.

"Her stature is small but she gives it her all This sword-wielding Queen of the Angles. Her eyes blue and soft, 'til her sword is aloft And her enemy's shield wall she mangles!

"Her voice it is sweet, but bent on defeat, The enemy's war cry she strangles. She stands straight and square, with long golden hair, The sword-wielding Queen of the Angles.

"Warlords strong, stout and brave will she send to their grave, This sword-wielding Queen of the Angles. Their surrender demands while from one dainty hand Their very existence she dangles.

"With a weapon mysterious making foes quite delirious She leaves them with limbs all in tangles.. The fair lady I sing won the heart of a King She's the sword-wielding Queen of the Angles."

* Old Irish, "Woe indeed. I am a dead man for sure!"

Next: Shannon and Heather Start to Unravel