New Stories: Homecoming (Happened)

It was almost Yuletide, and the air was cold and water frozen where it pooled in the courtyard. There was no snow as of yet. The king stood in the Great Hall watching servants put holly and evergreen boughs on the rafters. he stood easy, his hands clasped behind his back. He had regained his spirits, was trying to enjoy the holy season though it would be without his family, for the sake of his people who had looked to him as a sort of symbol of renewal and hope.

He felt the gust of chill air as the Hall’s main door was opened. He looked to see the bard Shannon come in. He was swathed in a woolen cloak his hair was damp and his shoulders dusted with snowflakes. He rubbed his hands together and blew into them as he came over to Lawrence. With his accustomed insolence he neglected to bend a knee, to bow or even to nod to his sovereign. he was too busy trying to warm his bright red nose and cheeks.

“The world be that full of madmen,” he said without preamble.

Lawrence laughed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Shannon shrugged. There be a boat rounding’ into the harbor.. in this weather me lord.”

Lawrence’s heart leaped, but he cautioned himself that the same thing had happened every time a ship had been seen coming in to the mouth of the Humber estuary. “Could you see any insignia?” he asked calmly.

Shannon shook his head and walked over to the firepit to warm himself. Lawrence wondered why Shannon had gone out into the cold at all. He went back to watching the servants.

He was about to turn away to go get some work done when he heard the commotion outside. A servant tore open the Hall door and shouted breathlessly, “She’s here! The queen is returned!”

Lawrence nearly jumped out of his own skin. Without a thought to his lack of a cloak, he made the distance between himself and the door in a few strides, ran to the stables and fidgeted wildly as his groom brought out his horse, a quiet rowan mare who was more suited to time of peace than War-Brother. He lost patience as the groom was hoisting out the saddle on his shoulder, took some of the mare’s mane in his fist and leaped upon her back. Using his knees he urged her forward. The gates were open, no threat on the horizon, and he drove the mare as fast as she could go down the road, through the town, and out the Seagate.

Others were flocking there behind him. He was not the first by any means to arrive and see the long low and shallow ship with the brilliantly colored sail being guided to the shore. But the crowd gathering parted to let him through. He stayed mounted to see better and farther. It was not long before he could see a tiny figure in the prow jumping up and down and waving her arms. “Josie!” he breathed, then jumped to the ground. He went to the water’s edge and danced his impatience in the rising tide.

Josephine’s heart had started singing as soon as they turned around Spur head into the estuary. It was snowing lightly so the shore where the town and fortress would be was obscured. Her children clustered about her under the watchful eye of Rory. Brother Willihad stood at the Queen’s shoulder as she stood straight as a sentinel waiting to catch her first glimpse of her home.

When she had finally seen the ghostly form of the fortress on the bluff she had clapped her hands, turned to Rory and the children and said, “There it is ! There’s the Palace of Sunshine.” As if by prearrangement the clouds separated and a shaft of sunlight hit the peak of the hall. She sighed, “They will be decorating the hall for Yule about now.”

When they were close enough to identify small figures, a whole throng of them, on the shore, she peered until she saw the mounted figure coming forward. She put her hands over her mouth, then turned and smiled joyfully at all who stood near her on the deck. She turned back and jumped up and down, waving her hands. “There he is, your father. Lawrence! Lawrence!” she shouted to him.

She saw him jump off his horse and run down to the water’s edge. She laughed as she saw him running back and forth in the edge of the tide like a puppy itching to get out of a pen. She waved and giggled.

Rory scaned the crowd as well. He thought he saw bright red hair casually making its way through the mob. He shone his sunlit smile and whispered, “Shan,. ma croidhe.”

Lawrence met the ship before it beached, striding out into the water to his knees. He felt nothing of the cold. Someone in the crowd had come forward and thrown a thick woolen cloak over his shoulders. He did not even know it. He grabbed the rail of the long ship and beamed at his beloved. “Silly, we’ll be on shore in a moment,” she chided him. But she knelt at the railing and reached out to stroke his hair. He caught her hand in his and put his lips to it. The feel of his beard on her skin filled her with joy. “Oh my love,” she sighed. Her lips curled up on the ends with a precious smile.

All around her the children were chanting “Papa! Papa!” Lawrence hung his upper torso over the rail and accepted kisses and neck hugs from the little boys and girls. he did not see Rory. He only had eyes for the little ones and their mother.

When at last the ship slipped up on the beach and a boy jumped out with a rope to secure it to a post, Lawrence reached up to Josephine. She came to him, fell into his raised arms. He stepped back and held her in his arms, spinning her around in the water. Her kirtle was trailing in the waves. He reached to pick her up in both his arms. They looked into each other’s eyes and their faces came together. He kissed her and held her and the throng cheered, whistled and made whatever noise they could with whatever they had at hand. The king finally pulled away, went back for another short kiss, then said, “The children?”

Josephine nodded. “Rory and Brother Willihad will bring them.”

He nodded, then did a double take. “Did you say Rory?” He looked up an saw the familiar smile, the familiar dark red hair. “What, how?” His words were silenced with her lips. Still kissing, he carried her up and set her gently on the ground.

He looked wonderingly at her. “Oh my love, my love. Are you real?”

She nodded. “Aye, my darling, I am here. I will never let us be separated for so long again.”

A man of short stature stood frozen on the beach. His eyes were wide with disbelief. His arms hung down and away from his sides. Under his cropped red hair his mouth hung open.

The tall man he recognized gave him a loving smile. He raised one finger to indicate, “One moment.” He jumped nimbly into the water, helped the old monk climb down, then reached for the little girls. He put one into the crook of each of the monk’s arms, then turned to bring out the two boys himself. He came through the water onto the beach and set the two boys at the feet of their parents who were now each holding a girl and covering them and each other with kisses.

Rory turned to Shannon and came up to him with his recognizable easy rolling hait.

“R-Rory.. can it be? But you were hanged. They told me in Hucknall.”

Rory rubbed his neck. “Aye, they did. Ye were in Hucknall?”

“Aye, terrible place.”

“Och aye, ‘tis.”

Rory looked down into Shannon’s face, and Shannon up into his lifelong friend’s. he leant into the resurrected man’s chest and Rory put his arms around him, Shannon’s arms went around Rory’s body and they stood amid the well wishing and greetings, in each others’ arms, until the royal party, arm in arm and followed by Brother Willihad walked together, eyes never leaving each other’s faces, on the muddy trek through the town and up to their home.

Next: Epilogue

New Stories :Rory Finds the Queen (Happened)

To his great relief, Rory’s odd performance on the banks of the Humber brought about just the effect he wanted. Not only did the two Saxon Benedictines avoid him as if he had leprosy, so had the crew. He wanted to be alone, to think. He stayed apart from the others on the ship and huddled into his cassock, a blanket around his shoulders, staring forward towards their destination in the north.

Lindisfarne did not have a place for ships to dock, preferring to use the causeway that flooded with the tides to be the only access to the Holy Isle. The ship put in therefore at Bamburgh. Rory disembarked and watched with contentment as the other two men dressed as monks set their feet on a path heading to the abbey. He wanted to make inquiries in the town first.

The captain eyed him as he started out. “Not a mad Irish monk then? You seem quite the opposite now. The act was for the benefit of the good brothers then.”

Rory shot him a wicked grin. “Och, nay, I am Irish.” He pulled off his cassock revealing his usual clothes, stained and torn here and there from his beating at O’Donnell’s command. he tossed the cassock to the captain. “See if ye can be after findin’ some monk who needs a good wool robe for the winter.” He looked up and about the sky and sighed. “Looks like snow, it does.”

The captain laughed and waved him on his way.

Rory walked the short distance into the town proper looking for a church or an inn where he might learn of a noblewoman traveling with children. he spotted an alehouse, went in and found a place at a rickety trestle table. The serving girl came over to him immediately.

“What’ll ye have, good sir?” she said with the accent of the north.

He smiled his sunlit smile at her and replied, “Three things, my lass. A smile, a bowl of ale, and some information, in that order.”

She shrugged and offered a wan smile. He put his drinking bowl which had hung on his belt on the table and she filled it from the pitcher she carried. “What d’ye want to know?”

“Has a great lady and her children traveled through here not long ago?”

She looked around the premises. “Does this look like the sort of place noblewomen visit?” Rory started to be disappointed when she went on. “The lord from Leon and his lieutenants are the highest born I have e’er seen cross our threshold.”

Rory reached out and grasped her wrist. “A lord of Leon? Black hair, beard? Huge muscles?” He had let her wrist go and held up both his arms bent up at the elbow, illustrating strength.

“Aye, that’s the man. A bonny man, that.” She eyed Rory. “As are you, sir, in spite of your scars.” If anything, she thought, the scars made him more attractive.

“Is he here now?” Rory persisted.

“Nay, but he just left. He and his men went to collect their soldiers and leave.”

Rory’s mind was racing. “To the sea?” he said, mostly to himself. He was thinking that the ship he had come in on was not one that could take fighting men and horses.”

“Oh, nay,” she said in her slightly nasal voice. “They went inland. I heard him talking to one of his officers in their strange, songlike language, and one word sounded like Scotland and another like ‘Vikings’. I heard travelers saying that Fergus mac Eochaid , the kinsman of the old, old king, was calling for swords to fight the raiders.”

Rory stood, reached into his scrip for a coin, and dropped it on the table. “Did a woman with four children leave with him?”

“But sir, you have not drunk a drop of the ale. You don’t need to pay for it. And I told you, I saw no woman and children.”

Rory leaned and gave her a loud kiss on her cheek. “Now there’s that smile I ordered, and worth every farthing.” He smiled and ran out of the alehouse.

Rory tried not to hope too hard that he could run fast enough to catch up with a body of men on horseback. If it was true that Josephine was not with him, Elerde could make good time. But it was no more than an hour and he was becoming winded when he saw them ahead.

The hindmost riders shouted at him as he dashed up to the fore. Lagu turned his horse to block Rory from reaching Elerde. Lagu drew his sword, a gleeful look on his face, when Elerde uttered an order in their language. Lagu sheathed his sword and let Rory approach.

“So you are not dead,” Elerde said to him flatly.

“Where be she? What did you do with the queen?” Rory demanded furiously.

Elerde looked at him. “She is on the Holy Isle. Go to her.” He eyed Rory coolly. he made a half hearted salute, and called to his men to get moving again. Rory stood on the road, the well armored horses passing him on both sides, staring after the mercenary lord. Once the long line of warriors, masterless men one and all, had passed him, with hoots and jibes and the odd but not painful blow, he found himself standing in the road staring after them.

He turned and tore off in the direction from which he came.


Josephine had pulled herself together when Willihad had joined her. She did not look to see Elerde again. Willihad had offered his cassocked chest to lean against, to weep, but Josephine shook her head. She thanked him quietly, then went her own way, seeking out her children. She found them in the guest quarters playing some game with a youthful monk. She sat down and watched, her face impassive.

At one or another time one of the children would glance up at her. They had seen her somber often enough of late that they let their questioning gaze fall from her at last and went on with their amusement.

The next morning, she walked with Brother Willihad to the gates of the abbey. He was leaving. “I must not linger when the King I serve, as I serve God, wishes me to make haste to Frisia to bring the heathens to Our Lord.”

Josephine nodded. She put a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Brother, for all your kindnesses and your wisdom. I cannot think how I could have faced the task I needs must have done without you.”

He took her hands in his and smiled at her. “Daughter, you have more strength than you give yourself credit for. Praise God for the indomitable spirit that is yours. I just helped you look at yourself and see what truly mattered to you.”

She smiled up at him. “Oh, that was never in doubt. I just needed to make someone else see it.”

He made the sign of the cross over her. “God bless you, your grace.”

“And you, Brother.”

She stepped back and he went to the mule he had been loaned to ride to Bamburgh and led it out of the gate.

Josephine sighed and crossed her arms in front of her belly. What was she to do now? Just wait, she supposed, and talk with every traveler who entered at the gates. She would ask each one of Críslicland and its king and how the realm stood in the midst of all its sorrow. She would have to be patient, enduring the waiting. She would pray, meditate, and safeguard her children. Turning back she thought of Bishop Cynewulf and his poetry and smiled.

She settled down to learn a new routine, the observances the abbey required of her, the work she would volunteer to do to make recompense for their care of her and her children. She would spend time with God, with St. Cuthbert and St. Aidan.


A few days later Josephine crossed to the guesthouse from the church with an armful of altar cloths and other items she had convinced the monks she could mend and embellish. She heard the bell at the porter’s gate but did not look up. Pilgrims of all classes and from all directions of the compass came to the Holy Isle almost daily. She reached the guest house and went into a chamber set aside for the common use of the guests. She and her children were the only ones there at this time, as clerics were housed with the monks in their dortoir and there were no lay visitors at the time.

She set to work on repairing a hem on a white linen altar cloth. She enjoyed the quiet steady work, fell into a sort of meditative state. She hardly noticed when the door open and one of the brothers softly called, “Your grace” in a thick northern accent. It took her a moment to come out of her dream. The brother was saying, “My lady, you have a visitor.”

She looked up now with interest. A visitor? Oh no, had Elerde come back? Then she caught sight of the dark red hair of the very tall slight man grinning at her from over the monk’s shoulder. She was stunned and dropped the altar cloth and needle and thread onto the rush strewn floor. “Oh!” she exclaimed and quickly picked it all up, pricking her thumb with the sharp needle. She set the altar cloth next to her on the settle and stood up, putting her bleeding thumb in her mouth. She stared unbelieving at the man who had come in and was standing before her.

“Your grace, I be that joyful to see ye again.”

“Rory! ‘Tis truly you? You are alive?” She stared as he nodded, smiling. Then she exclaimed with happiness and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh Rory, Rory! This is the happiest day of my life!” This time the tears came, but they ran down her cheeks into her wide, glorious smile.

Rory wrapped his arms around her, unaware of the uncomfortable glances of the monk still behind him. He put his face down on the top of her head and breathed in the fragrance of her hair. He parted his lips to speak, but instead he let the words form in his mind. “Oh my love, my love.”


The queen and Rory spent hours talking, catching up, laughing together and playing with her children together. On long walks about the abbey grounds they held hands, sat in companionable silence together, and had difficulty tearing themselves apart when it was time to retire for the night.

Some of the monks complained about their behaviour to Bishop Cynewulf, but he had shook his head. “You do not understand, they are like little children together. Let them be.” he was not blind to Rory’s devotion, but he recognized it as one that bordered on worship. He made a mental note to find time to caution the boy about idolatry. He knew Rory held his love out away from the bodily, not unmindful of the attraction but pouring all that energy into serving his lady and love.

There were sorrowful times as well. Rory took her hands as they stood in the cloisters, out of the lightly falling snow, and looked into her eyes all the way to her soul. “Me lady, I am deeply grieved for your loss.”

She looked up at him and stated simply and clearly, “I have had no loss. Lawrence is alive.”

Rory looked at her, unsure whether to smile. “He is? Ye have heard from him?”

She shook her head. “Nay, but I never believed he was gone. ‘Tis but a matter of time until word will come.” With a playful smile she added, "You are not the only one who can rise from the dead you know." They saw a passing monk cast them a disapproving smile. They were able to let him get well past them before they broke into giggles.

Neither mentioned Elerde, how he had been at lawrencium, how he helped her brother and then her escape, how she had sent him away, neither how Rory had found him and heard him say gently, “Go to her” in a voice that surpassed any and every tragic love song and tale Rory had ever performed for his dinner.

She asked him, “Rory, forgive me, but does Shannon know you are alive?”

Rory dropped his gaze and shook his head sadly. “Nay. I had no time to find him in Lawrencium.”

She reached up and put a hand on his cheek. “He was not there, Rory. He had gone east to join Lawrence after helping my brother escape.”

He nodded solemnly. “My lady, I am so sorry for the grief I caused ye and Shannon and others.”

“What have you to fault yourself for? You did not sentence yourself to hang.”

He looked at her. “But I have been alive all this time. And I did not get word to ye.”

She shook her head. “How could you have, with a war raging all about you?”

“Me lady, I did not e’en try. I chose to keep silent.”

Josephine was shocked. “Why, Rory? Why?”

He grimaced, and turned and looked away. “After what happened, after I recovered, I thought about all I had done to… all I felt about.. what wrong I was doin’. Oh Christ help me, I don't know how to say it. I thought both ye and me darlin’ Shannon would have been better off thinkin’ me no longer in the world.”

“Rory!” the queen cried. “How could that ever be? Thinking you were dead almost killed Shannon. And my heart was broken as well.”

Rory looked at her with an unfathomable expression of speculation. To survive the moment both fell into their old patterns. He went silent, and she chose to bury her knowledge of how he loved her. As long as they did not talk about it, they would not be hurt by it.

“But Rory, Shannon?” she persisted. he nodded but he said not another word.

Josephine looked out at the snow. “I wonder if Brother Willihad was able to set sail before this storm?”

At that very moment they heard the porter’s bell ringing as if someone chased by devils wanted sanctuary within the walls of the abbey desperately. They looked over and saw several monks running to the gate and being stopped by the brother Porter who clearly wanted them to calm themselves and behave in a dignified, respectful way. He turned to the gate and opened the peephole. Then he stepped back and opened the gate with all haste.

The next thing they knew Brother Willihad was in the gate and looking around wildly. He followed one of the younger brothers pointing finger to where she stood undercover with Rory beside her. With no hesitation Brother Willihad ran to her, his cassock billowing out behind him. He slipped in the snow on the cobbles but caught himself. He came up to Josephine and smiled into her puzzled face. He took her hands in his and said, “Your grace. You were right. Your faith was well founded as it is steadfast. Your husband the king is alive!”

Josephine staggered back and was caught by Rory. “Lawrence? Lawrence is alive? How? What tidings?” She seemed to be unwilling to hear what he was saying.

Willihad looked up at the Irishman quizzically. Rory answered his unspoken question, “Brother, I be a bard in that self same king’s household and a longtime servant of this high lady here.”

Willihad smiled and nodded. Then he turned his attention back to Josephine. “My daughter, you might guess that once I was in Bamburgh and ready to embark on the ship that was promised me the first storm came up and we were required to wait on God’s blessing. While we waited in the house of the priest there, out of the snow and storm came a small ship that docked near my own. On it was a man who was a messenger by his clothing. I sent a young boy to inquire from whence he came. The boy returned and told me ‘Críslicland, from the king, who is seeking his wife who had fled the usurper.’ I took myself out to find the man and question him. ‘Tis true. Your lord lives and has retaken his rightful place as God's anointed him as king. He has sent messengers to all ports and throughout the land to carry the glad tidings and to find you and tell you ‘tis safe to return home. I did fear ‘twas some trick of the usurper, but he showed me his safe passage. It bore your lord’s seal and his signature.”

At that he drew from his cassock a large folded piece of vellum hung with braid and sealing wax. He held it to her. Josephine took it in trembling hands and opened it. She read the document with awe, rubbed her thumb lovingly over the place where Lawrence had signed his name, “Laurentius Rex”. Then she looked up at Rory and then Willihad and burst into peals of glorious laughter.

“But Brother, have you not missed your passage by coming back here?” she finally asked him as he held her two hands and laughed along with her.

“I have, but ‘twas worth it to bring the news to you myself, dear lady. Perhaps I may accompany you to Lawrencium?”

Josephine nodded excitedly. “I must go tell the children!”

As she darted away Rory smiled at Brother Willihad. “Thank ye, holy brother. There is no greater happiness you could possibly have given the dear lady.”

Willihad nodded gratified and happy himself.

Next: Homecoming

New Stories: Lawrence Faces an Eptry Hearth (Happened)

Lawrence stood in the queen’s bedchamber as the servants put it to rights. He stood hangdog, staring at the bed, His eyes were haunted. His spirit was down about his heels.

He felt a gentle hand on his sleeve. “My lord, they will find her.”

It was Larisa, the betrothed of Duke Lorin. He cast a look sideways at her. “But can they? And will she come?”

With eyes brimming with compassion, she dropped her formality. “Oh, aye, Lawrence, darling. She loves you above all things. Never in all the time she was apart from you did her thoughts stray far. We had hours and hours with nothing to do but talk. She talked about you constantly, told me wonderful stories, sweet stories.”

The king’s face lost some of its dourness. He smiled thinly. “I do know that. I do.” He looked at Larisa hopefully. “And she knows how I love her?”

Larisa smiled, nodded and went on tiptoe to plant a warm kiss on his cheek. he put his arm around her and gave her an affectionate squeeze.

Behind them Lorin came in, limping, supported by a staff. He caught Larisa’s eye. His own look asked the question, “Is he all right?” She shook her head but smiled. With a tilt of her head she communicated to him that he must talk to the king.

“My liege, might you have a moment to speak with me?” Lorin said, with a look of thanks at his beloved.

Lawrence turned and looked at him. “Aye, if you need me. I am of little use here.” he cast another look around the chamber, then followed Lorin out into the antechamber and further into the corridor. There he stopped and waited for Lorin to lead him somewhere. For days the king had struggled to stay on as even a keel as he could, but in moments like this his volition was nonexistent. He could have been told to stand on his head in the middens and he most likely would have obeyed without a second thought.

“Shall we go into your work chamber?” Lorin prompted.

Lawrence nodded. His wife’s brother saw him glance up at the door of the children’s chamber.

“Right in here, my brother,” Lorin urged gently.

Mercifully as they entered the king’s own antechamber the door to his bedchamber was closed. It was taking much scrubbing to remove the bloodstains from the clay floor. The rushes had been taken out, one carpet was challenging the laundrywomen, and the king had not slept in the room since he had butchered his traitorous cousin in it. The morning after conquest of the fortress Lorin had started to direct the reestablishment of order and then gone looking for the king. He had found the man sitting on one of the children’s pallets, clearly having slept there. He had a lost look. Lorin had taken charge of him.

In the work chamber all vestiges of Gaylorde had been removed. New rushes on the floor, a good cleaning and the room was Lawrence’s again. Where Larisa had found flowers in November to put in a bowl on the table confounded Lorin, but though they were not fragrant, the dried rosemary and calendula scattered among the rushes were.

Lawrence mechanically took his place at the work table, staring disinterestedly at the flowers. Lorin waited to be given leave to sit, saw it would not be forthcoming and with difficulty pulled over one of the Roman chairs with arms and sat down on it.

Lorin’s exertion with its resulting pain brought Lawrence to the here and now. “Your ribs… they still hurt?” he asked his chancellor.

Lorin grimaced, “Aye, my lord, they do that. They gave me a right good beating, they did. But I am just grateful to be here, with my lord king, with all semblance of sanity returning.”

Lawrence looked aggrieved. “Save for the fact that the queen, the atheling and the other royal children are God knows where.”

Lorin nodded sadly, looked with infinite sympathy at his dearest friend. He hesitated, searching for words, then said, leaning towards the man. “Lawrence, after all this time, it truly is just a short delay. We will find her and tell her it is safe to return, and that you are here alive waiting for her.”

Lawrence seemed to be searching his wife’s brother’s eyes for evidence that he truly believed what he said. “I suppose you are right. Then why do I feel so lost, so bereft?”

It was strange hearing these words, this plea for assurance from the man who sat across from Lorin. Lorin had never met a man so formidable, so strong, capable and confident. Yes, he had seen Lawrence’s emotions before. But they had been rich, hearty, as strong as the man was. He realized just how much the war and the struggle to regain his crown had been on him. Though a young man, still in his twenties, the king had thin streaks of gray in his beard. Then the long separation from his family, replete with periods of fear and uncertainty. When men went to war they usually did not have to worry about their family back at home. They would be safe, even his own life was constantly threatened. But Lawrence had had to cope with Josephine’s being caught behind the lines when Affynshire fell to the traitors and then again in greater peril under the dangerous control of the half mad Gaylorde.

If what Horsa told him was true, Lorin knew Lawrence had stayed completely faithful to his wife in body as well s heart. None would have seen the least fault in his taking women to his bed. It was likely if he had he would have been able to bear up better under the many other strains he was subject to. But he had not, seeing his promise to be true in body to his beloved as a sacred oath. Understanding this made Lorin more in awe of the man’s strength than ever.

“Lawrence, ‘tis the disappointment. At long last all the obstacles were cleared. You at last were back in control, able to reclaim your life and go on with all the plans and dreams shattered when you had to go to war. But it was an empty victory. You are the king, my dear friend, but first and foremost you are a husband and a father.” He looked with compassion at the pleading look in the piercing blue eyes. “My lord, you must never let the mystique of kingship, of blood and of nobility allow you to undervalue what is truly of meaning. You love my sister, she loves you, and your children are the fruit of that bond.”

Lawrence considered him for a time, then said in an admiring voice, “You know that better than anyone, do you not? That you put aside your own kingship to pursue a life more fit for you… In so many ways you are my better by far. I think sometimes I wish I had your courage and strength, to choose to follow what you see as your real duty, not just the arbitrary duty others would impose on you.”

Lorin was frankly amazed. “Your better? Never, my lord. Never your better.” He reached across the table to put his hand on the big man’s arm. “I serve you, my lord, because I believe in you with every part of me. My greatest joy is having the chance to help you make real all you seek to do for justice and good.”

The two men looked into each others face for sometime, an unseen communication, a reaffirmation of vows made years before. Finally Lawrence’s face took on a grin that was actually irreverent. “Your greatest joy? That good woman cleaning the queen’s chamber is not?”

Lorin opened his mouth to say something, realized he had no idea what it would have been, and his eyes filled with happily satisfaction, and not a little wonder. “Larisa,” he said, the word almost sung like a prayer. “I always envied you and my sister that pairing of souls. Now I know just what it feels like.”

Lawrence smiled at him. “She has stuck with you throughout all this Hell. She is a rare one. Anyone who questions her worth for her modest blood is blind, deaf, and a fool.”

Lorin’s face was suffused with light. “I adored her before, but now.. I do not think there is a word that says the love and gratitude I feel for her.”

Lawrence’s face crinkled with the happy look it held. He stayed like that for some minutes, the took an audible breath, clamped his hands down hard on the wooden arms of his chair, and said, “Well!” He stood, pushing the chair back from the table. “Methinks ‘tis time to rejoin the living. I want a tour of the fortress and an inventory of what we need to do and get.”

At the door in to the antechamber he stopped and looked down at the darker, shorter man. “Just promise me this. Just promise that he has not taken her too far away for her to return.”

Lorin looked at him frankly. “Josephine would never permit it. You know what a bulwark she is when she will have none of it.”

Lawrence laughed, “So do I! The woman is as hard as a well trained battle horse.”

“I’ll be sure to pass the compliment on when she is here.”

Lawrence adopted a look of mock outrage Then he said, “That cannot be too soon.”

Next: Rory Finds the Queen

New Stories: Josephine Sends Elerde Away (happened)

Josephine felt his presence in the doorway of the little chapel. She felt her own back muscles stiffen and realized she was actually afraid of the confrontation she and Lord Elerde were about to have. She finished her prayers, made the sign of the cross over her breast, kissed the junction of the cross made from her own finger and thumb, and slowly rose and turned to him.

He was there, though in silhouette with the bright light of day behind him and the faint light of the few candles ,within between him and herself. His form was unmistakable. Tall, muscular, with the outline of his curly black hair and of the armor that made his shoulders look the more stalwart. She could finally admit it to herself without obfuscating. He took her breath away and made her tremble inside.

“My lord, I thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” Her voice was soft as she avoided stronger tones that might betray her feelings.

She saw the stiffening of his posture. “Josephina, of course I would come to… meet with you. Could you doubt it?”

He walked towards her, towards the figure draped in a simple mantle pulled up to cover her hair. She looked like a Madonna, standing there before the altar. A Madonna, and like a bride. Somehow he knew that joining was not to be, that blessing was the best he could hope for. The man who had fought in dozens of battles, often besting those with whom the odds lay, who had seen the worst of war, the misery and squalor of unchecked death, felt his knees weaken ever so slightly.

“Nay, I shall come outside. We can talk there.”

He stopped, made a polite bow, and offered her his arm as she came towards him. She swept past without touching him, without accepting his arm. He had seen the look in her eyes, though she looked down. She was struggling to hold her composure, conflicted about what she had to say, frightened.

He followed her outside, then came up beside her as she stopped just without the chapel. She still did not look up at him. He waited, watching her cast about for a meeting place. “Over there, in the garden?” Her voice had started strong, but the uplift in her voice on the last words turned them into a question. He nodded, though she could not have seen it, and followed her to where she sat on a bench near a plot of flowers that had long since seen the last of summer vitality. He waited to be invited, then sat next to her, close but not touching. She moved away on her end of the bench.

“My lord,” she began unsteadily. She cleared her throat and turned her pale blue eyes up into his striving to meet his eyes with candor. “My lord…”

She stopped as the mercenary lord reached to her face and lifted the mantle over her hair. He pushed it back and down the silken gold hair to rest on her shoulder. He let his fingers rest lightly there, feeling her stiffen under his touch. He did not take his hands away immediately, but seeing a plea blossom in her eyes, he drew back his hands and put one on his thigh and the other where the hilt of his sword would have been had he not had to surrender it upon passing the abbey gates.

Seeing Elerde’s eyes register a fleeting pain, Josephine hurried to reassure him. “My lord, I am sorry. This is very difficult for me. But I must tell you, my dearest friend… that this must be finished.”

“Finished? What finished?” His face was suddenly guarded.

Josephine looked at him with deep concern. “Us. You and me. We must part ways.. forever.” These five words were perhaps the hardest she had ever had to utter.

His head came back almost as if he had been slapped. “Part ways?! My lady.. Josephina.. I cannot.. you cannot…” He gazed into her face, his lips parted. Then he shut them, worked his jaw back and forth a few times to firm it, and said in a steadier voice, “Jo, I will never stop loving you, together, apart, alive, dead, hopeful or hopeless. You are part of my very soul. Without that part, I will die.”

He saw anguish in her eyes, then watched as she stood and walked several paces away from him. After several moments, she said without turning back to look at him, “My lord, I think back to the time when you and I became acquainted. I has always thought of that sweet time as the beginning of our… friendship.” The last word was spoken apart, given emphasis. “I have tried to deny this to myself, but I now realize how much I needed someone like you then, to take my mind off my troubles, to let me have one last summer as a girl. We read Roman poetry together, we took wild rides away from the fortress and all the people expecting so much of me. We talked and laughed. I was lonely. I wondered if I had lost the love of the king.” She thought but did not say aloud, “And I wanted you, no matter how much I denied it to myself. I wanted your arms around me, your kisses all over my face and neck, and I wanted you to love me.” Aloud she continued, “And though I tried to blind my heart to it, I saw that you were falling in love with me. Just then I needed to feel loved like that.”

She started as he rose and said passionately, “Josephina, I love you with all my heart, all my spirit, and all my body. I can give you all of that and more..”

She spun and put her hand out to stop his advance. “Nay, Elerde, I beg you. Let me have my say.”

He stopped, his eager, hopeful look subsiding. He composed himself, nodded, and said softly, “Go on, please.”

She gave him a grateful look, then redirected the look away and down. With her lips parted she walked to a bare rose bush and reached a hand to touch its topmost stem. “Here on the Holy Isle among the gentle servants of God I have had time to meditate and to pray. And to think. I have thought about the past years, how much you have come to mean to me, and how, in spite of all your seeming betrayals, I knew that in your way you were doing what you thought you had to do.. out of love for me.” She lifted a hand palm towards him sensing that he was about to affirm her conclusion. “There is more.”

Elerde shut his mouth on the words he had been about to say. He saw Josephine look down and bring her hands up to clasp them under her chin, as if in prayer.

“I have finally recognized how much I have contributed to this relationship growing beyond what is healthy, advisable, permissible.. desirable.” She glanced at him upon speaking the last word. She saw now that his eyes were down, brooding, as intensely compelling as ever they could be.

Pausing briefly, seeing that he did not meet her eyes, she went on. “All this time I thought I was making clear to you that your love was misplaced, moreover hopeless. But I know now that I not only failed to discourage you, I nurtured your love for me. I accepted it, welcomed it, took advantage of it, took it somehow as my due.” She turned fully towards where he stood dejected but did not look into his face. “And I have not hurt only you with that insensitive and selfish behavior. Now I think I understand that look I sometimes see in my dear love’s eyes, pain, doubt, fear of abandonment. Poor man. He deserves so much better.”

Josephine looked up just in time to see anger flash in the mercenary lord’s eyes. “Do not blame Lawrence. I am responsible. I am the one who led you, albeit unwittingly, to hope that someday, somehow you could… have me.”

Now he looked up. She was horrified by the despair she saw in his dark eyes. “I cannot?” he said “Never? Even if he is.. gone?”

Remorse broke over her features like an enormous wave on a promontory. “Oh, Elerde! Nay, nay, you cannot. Never. Even if it is true that he is dead, I will never love another. Not as I love Lawrence, with all my soul and spirit and body. That part of your soul you say is me.. I understand that. Lawrence is all of mine. I will be true to him in life, and in death. That will never change.”

She watched him look back at her with a suggestion of suspicion, doubt. Though struggling to control himself, he stood, his arms limp at his sides, his mouth twisted with pain.

Her desire to go to him, to put her arms around him and comfort him like an unhappy child was strong. Her hands unclasped and started forward to reach out to him of their own accord. But she made them stop. She flexed her fingers, and let her hands drop to hold each other before her body. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and said, “Elerde, look at me.”

He did, and seeing her own resolute posture, pulled himself together as much as he could. “Aye… my lady?” His voice had broken on “aye” and he cleared his throat, finishing his response more steadily. His face had gone stiff, hard, unyielding. His grief was behind a fortress wall now.

Josephine said in a steady voice tinged with steel, “I am not going farther with you. I shall part with you now and perhaps we shall never meet again in this life. I feel that I owe it to you to share with you what I have felt about you, for surely it is true that you have not played a small part in my life.”

Elerde’s expression was unchanged as he continued to look straight into her eyes. She continued with the same candor, “I have thought back to the time that I met you and realized only now how strongly I was attracted to you. It is not only your physical appearance... It is that I have never met another mind that I regarded so highly or that I felt could understand me as well and as quickly.” Her face softened and she told him with a rueful smile, “The intensity with which you pursue that which you want; this also attracts me.” With a hint of wistfulness, she said more quietly, “If I had not already been deeply in love with my husband, I would surely have fallen in love with you.”

He took an unexpected step toward her, nearly crossing the entire distance between them with that one stride. He reached out to her on an impulse that surprised him as much as it startled her. “My dearest love..”

“Stop!” Josephine held out her hand to hold him back. Her palm braced against his chest, he had his arms almost around her. “Don’t do it!” she said forcefully.

He stood frozen, looking down into eyes gone blue gray. He held her glare for several moments, then returned her earlier rueful smile and stepped back, dropping his arms again.

“Methinks one of the things I love most about you, my.. “ He chided himself for the word, “Josephina is how you can go from a dove to a hawk with the speed of thought.”

“But I am deeply in love with my husband. It is a love that will endure beyond the grave. I will never love another. And I think in your heart you know that as well as do I.”

His eyes flashed. He asserted in a hard even condemning voice, “That you must repeat yourself, your grace, makes me wonder if you do. The way I see it I have albeit ineptly done everything I could do to make you hate me. If you love that man so much, then why do you keep forgiving everything I have done that betrays him, puts his life in jeopardy, would destroy him?. You say I understand you. Methinks I understand you better than you do yourself.”

The queen wanted to lash out, to sting him with angry words, with aggrieved denials. But she counseled herself to understanding of his pain, his regrets, his quite justified anger. “Nay, my lord, you are wrong. I know I have done wrong by you, grievous wrong, and I pray to God for forgiveness, his and your own.”

He glared at her until at last his own anger fell away. “Of course I forgive you. In fact, I thank you. Even the false hope of your ever loving me, of my possessing you, was a treasure I never hoped for in my life. No matter what, for all my remaining days, and I pray they are not many, I will hold precious those moments when I thought.. you would be mine.”

Josephine’s eyes had widened on his expressed wish not to have to live too long with his heartbreak. With more emotion than she wanted to convey, she begged, “Please don’t say such things. And please do not think of me as cold, unfeeling. I pray sincerely that everything wonderful in this life will be yours; that you will find happiness. I will think of you all of my life. And I will never, ever, forget what you have done for me. And for my children.”

Even as she said it, an intuition came to her that her hopes for the man before her would never be so, and she had to fight the tears that threatened all the more.

Elerde stood, looking in her direction but seeing nothing. He was overwhelmed with despair, a far more immobilizing feeling than any terror in battle. He could not speak, he could not stir.

The queen had to fight all the more to resist her strong desire to go to him. She shut her eyes and deliberately conjured a scene of Lawrence smiling at her with that look of wonder he often had as he held her in his arms after they had made love. She bit her lip and turned her back on him. “That is all I have to say, my lord.”

Elerde came to himself and stared at her. “May I at least see the children before I go?”

Josephine happened to look up and see Brother Willihad looking at her from the side of the cloisters. he had seen the impulse in her to turn and tell the mercenary lord, “Well, of course, I will take you to them.” His cautioning look made her realize that it was time to end it. “My lord, I do not think that would be a good idea.”

She heard his sharp intake of breath that was as much like the prelude to a sharp rebuke as it was to a sob. He seemed to hover, then she heard him turn and walk away. She wanted to cry, scream, call to him to come back, to catch up to him and stop him. She wanted at least to say, “God go with you,” but her paralyzed throat would not let her. Through blurring vision she saw gratefully that Willihad was coming towards her.

After collecting his weapons from the Brother Porter, Elerde stiffly and with dignity sheathed his sword, reclaimed his horse, and went out of the gate. As they closed behind him, he stroked his horse’s mane and put his cheek to the side of its face. It leaned its head against him and made a soft nickering sound. He shut his eyes tight and felt pain surge through his entire body. He fought as hard as he ever had in his life to keep from crying out with despair. His body trembled.

When he had finally got himself fully under control, he pulled his cheek from his horse’s own and spoke softly into its ear. “Well, my friend, I suppose it is time to find a battle so fierce and savage that at worst it will occupy my whole mind or at best put me out of my misery.” he patted the horse, then putting his foot in the stirrup, swung up and onto the saddle. Without a look back at the abbey he made a clicking sound with his tongue against his teeth and rode away.

Next: Anticlimax in Lawrencium

New Stories: The Death of Gaylorde (Happened with Changes)

In the stinking cave Lawrence in a muted voice commanded one of the men to stay behind and listen for Gaylorde’s men in the main passage. “Take one of the torches and the tinder box. Don’t light it unless you absolutely have to. Understand?”

He told the rest of his men to follow him carefully as the remaining torch was still unlit. “This way. Take care of the bumps on the floor.” He continued to whisper cautions as they followed him blindly, feeling with their booted toes for sudden drops and for things that could trip them up, and with their hands to feel for the walls. Not a few wondered if they would suddenly hear the king ahead of them fall down into a deep pit, and prayers were silently uttered.

“Stop here,” the king’s voice called. “Light the torch.” In the dark and confusion the man with the tinder box and the man holding the torch found each other. A sigh escaped from every man there as they found themselves in the illuminated cave looking at a king who stood with his hands on his hips, sporting a wide smile as he looked up and around at the cave. “I had almost forgotten about this passage. This one was my idea.”

“Where does it lead, your grace?” came a voice.

“You’ll see. Come.”

The sound of water cascading down a wall came from ahead, the stench growing sharper. The king led the men through a variety of widths and heights of passages a short distance until they came to a place where the cave widened. A rivulet of water poured down the wall some feet before them, and the wall it ran down was caked with God knew what. The torches spluttered, growing and wavering in turns. The floor of the cave was thick with offal and other indeterminate things discarded there. The king pointed to a ladder on the wall to the left.

“That goes up to the middens pit behind the stables. The one that is next to the waste water well.”

The men looked with wonder. None had had any idea they had been throwing refuse down into a cave. They just knew that there was running water down further than one could see and assumed an underground brook carried the stinking trash away.”

“Take a good quick look and get your bearings. If we keep the torches lit there is a chance someone taking a piss will notice the bottom of the pit is glowing.” The king chuckled. “We are all climbing that ladder. Would that God has kept it whole all these years in the damp and worse.”

The torches were extinguished and all there was was dark and stink.

“Oh God, I am glad I cannot see what I just stepped in,” a man said as he and the rest squelched through the ordure on the floor.

“Just imagine you are walking along a Eorforwic lane at night,” another man jibed winning chuckles.

“I hope that fellow up there doesn’t piss on me as we’re climbing up.”

The king’s voice replied, “Not likely, and you will see why later. Now all, of you, shut the fuck up.”

Lawrence reached the ladder, putting his hands on a rung that was slimy but seemed fairly solid. He whispered, “All right, here I go.” He started to climb rung by rung, heard the others behind him taking the climb cautiously, repressing comments and probably even shudders and gags. The ladder was stoutly enough crafted that though it had been soaked for some years the damage had not yet weakened it. It held the weight of several men at a time.

The king reached the top of the ladder and climbed off it onto a ledge on the side of the pit. From there he could look into the well itself illuminated by the insufficient waning moon. He whispered to the man who came up behind him, “Pass along the line that we cannot all fit on this ledge. I will lead the way out of the pit but those still on the ladder should wait there.”

The king felt something under his boot as he moved aside. "What is this?" He picked it up. It was what felt like metal pieces tied up in a piece of linen. It was dry. "This hasn't been here long, but it feels like jewelry. Ouch!" He put the thumb that had found the pin of a brooch the hard way into his mouth. He spat as he tasted blood and much more. Shoving the packet into his brigantine carefully so as not to poke himself again, he looked up. Wiping his hands ineffectually on his mail shirt, he pulled his cheek guards into place across his face. He reached for an iron rod in the wall and found it with only a little scrabbling about. The men behind him could just see his form start to rise up and up out of sight. They could hear water dripping into water somewhere.

Lawrence emerged from the pit after popping his head up to make certain the coast was clear and climbed over the short barrier around it that kept small children and livestock from stumbling in and falling to their death. The men who climbed up after him followed his hiss to the wall in the back of the stables and crouched with him there until every man was accounted for.

“Sceftwine, take five men and see to the gates. Here, take the torch and tinder. Send one of your men up the palisade of the outer wall overlooking the plain and light and toss the torch over so Lord Botopher sees the signal. The rest of you come with me.”

He thought as he made his stealthy way from shadowed spot to shadowed spot how strange it was to be home, in shouting distance of Josephine, but having to sneak around like Shannon slipping out on Heather to partake of the pleasures of the Blue Lady, the alehouse in the town. He made for the hall, his men behind him. They could hear the alarm being called over and over from the bluffside walls and feet and voices rushing away from them and towards the sound. “Pede, come with me. You others stand guard.”
The king led the soldier Pede around the side of the Hall and into the tiny garden the queen had put in front of the privy chambers she and her husband used as their quarters and the children’s nursery. At a narrow door they slipped into the wing of the hall and Lawrence, peering around a corner, frowned. There were no guards posted at all. Why was not the queen’s door under guard? He gestured in its direction with a jerk of his head, led Pede down the short corridor to the door. He tried it, found it unlatched, and slid in. Pede closed the heavy door behind him. They crossed the small antechamber and went through an open door to the queen’s bedchamber.

Lawrence stood in the chamber in the dark, smelling dust and the familiar smells of Josephine, her candles, her perfume, long dead flowers. He went by memory to a table, found a candle and tinder and lit the candle. It showed him a room devoid of life, the bed he had shared with her. Everything was thick with many months of neglected dust. Cobwebs stretched in the corners, between the angles of the bedposts and the rails that held the heavy curtains. Those curtains were pulled and tied back. With a pang Lawrence remembered the last time he had lain with his wife in that bed, the night before she had left for Affynshire. More than a year and a half ago… a lifetime, or so it felt.

His eyes settled on one spot on the edge of the bed that was less dusty. Had someone sat there? Had she? Or, he thought to himself bitterly, had Elerde? Clearly Josephine had not slept in the room for some time, probably since the usurping.

He shook himself. “No matter, she would be in the nursery. Wait here a minute.” He blew out the candle, puzzling Pede, who then heard the king fumbling with the tapestry draping the wall across from the door. He heard the scrape of wood on the hard clay floor.

Lawrence walked as quietly as he could to the door of his own chamber, through the narrow hidden corridor that on a whim he had had built into the back wall of their two bedchambers. He had put it there so he had not had to go through his work chamber and the other room that insulated him from those without and into the corridor to visit the queen. He had called it their privy passage, their respite from having to conduct their private lives publicly.

When he reached the door he stood utterly still and silent, listening for any sound within his own chamber. He was about to turn and go back to where Pede waited when he heard an odd sound. it was a voice, but whether a man, a woman, or a child he was not sure at first. The voice was mumbling, raving. With a start he realized it was his cousin, the usurper, Gaylorde. His hand was at the knife on his belt, tightening on its hilt until the knuckles were white. His jaws clenched, the anger rising and in danger of spilling over. He reached for the door handle. Then he froze. This was useless. He could slip in and kill Gaylorde with the littlest bit of effort, but how would that help Josephine and the children? He had to get to them first, protect them from Gaylorde’s men, from the mercenary lord.

He went back quietly through the familiar dark passage and slipped back into the queen’s chamber. “He told Pede “Gaylorde is in my chamber, but I believe he is alone. We must make haste to the nursery. Can you make it out of here without light?”

He did not wait for assent but passed by the man and through the anteroom. He listened briefly at the heavy door, then slipped out into the dimly lit corridor. Turning towards his own chambers, he passed the door to them and went through the door on the far end without listening first. Pede nervously followed him, sword drawn and ready.

When the door shut behind them the two stood just inside in the same pitch dark as the other rooms. They waited, listened, then Lawrence called softly, “Jo? Are you there? Peter? Tavish? Girls?” With no response, Lawrence felt around for something to light, knocking over bottles and other unseen items. he had just crouched to see if one of the things that had fallen on the floor was a candle when the two men heard a sudden burst of noise from the direction of the fortress’s double gates. It rose up so loud that any of the clamor before it was like silence in comparison. “The gates have been opened. Our men are coming through. It is as good as over.” Pede could here the scrape of metal in leather as Lawrence stood, drew his own seaxa and said more to himself than to his companion, “They aren’t here. Where are they? God help me.” Pede felt him brush past. Lawrence flung the door open. He strode with broad steps to his own chamber door and tried the handle. “Locked, god damn the man,” he said aloud. He forgot the soldier with him altogether and went to the queen’s chamber and went in, not bothering to shut the door. He went straight for the tapestry he had pushed aside before, able to see it in the faint light from the corridor. He tore it off the wall with one mighty tug. He felt for the latch hidden in the wall that opened the door that looked part of the wall and nearly took it off its hinges tearing it open.

At the door into his own chamber, he pulled with all his might on the handle. He had not needed that much effort, and the latched snapped in half as the door swung open. He took a fistful of the tapestry that covered it and yanked it down, shoving it to the side onto the floor. He stood seething in the doorway, glaring with intense hatred at the man cowering on the floor.

Gaylorde had been kneeling in front of a chest packing it with gold and silver items. He had whipped around at the violence done to the door he had not known about behind the tapestry, then let out a whimper of fear when the tapestry bunched itself in the middle, then came down, revealing a familiar figure in male and helm. “Lawrence, God, nay, don’t kill me!” The crouching man’s eyes darted to for a weapon. Before he could stand and dash for the sword on the chest some distance from him, Lawrence was on him.

Lawrence had grabbed his cousin with a viselike grip on his arm. Holding his seaxa so it pointed straight at the man’s throat, he growled through clenched teeth, “Get on your knees, traitor!”

Gaylorde sunk rather than knelt, shaking with terror. Lawrence kept the seaxa on his throat. With his free hand, the king loosed his helm’s straps and pulled it off. Gaylorde shuddered at the face revealed. Lawrence was known for the violence of his rages, but the king he looked at now was as possessed, his face was so contorted. The eyes so distinctly almost eerily blue eyes were such narrow slits that Gayloorde could not discern the color, a deep, dark and foreboding cobalt.

“Where are they?” he hissed. “What have you done with them?”

“They are not here, cousin,” the man replied, crumpled into an unnatural position on the floor.

“I can see that, you miserable son of a bitch. Where are they? The difference between a quick death and a long slow terrible one depends on your answer.” Lawrence pushed the point of his blade into the skin of the terrorized man’s throat, causing a trickle of blood to run down into his tunic.

“Th-they left.. they escaped.. like her brother… “

“How? Where?” The blade went in and nicked the outside of his windpipe.

“With Elerde. I know not where. When we heard you had been killed. They fled. With the man’s whole force, damn him.”

“You expect me to believe that, you scoundrel?!”

“It’s true, it’s true. I swear it.”

Lawrence stepped back. Gaylorde watched him. Some surge of his own mad fury went through him and he dared to say in a strangled voice. “I hope he raped her. I hop she and the filthy brats are dead. You killed my father. I hope you…”

He never finished his curse for Lawrence reached for his sword in the scabbard on his back and in one swift and beautiful motion, drew it in an arc down and then sideways. It struck Gaylorde neatly on the side of his neck, sliced through and flung the head so that it lay several feet away from his body. Blood poured out of the severed neck and pooled on the floor.

Behind him Pede stood watching the king stand over his cousin’s body, breathing hard as if he had run fast and far. His sword was at his side, the tip almost touch the floor, likewise staining the rush strewn clay surface with rich, red blood.

Outside the packed earth of the courtyard was dyed the same color as Botopher’s and Horsa’s soldiers decimated the few remaining traitors.

Next:

New Stories: Shannon and Lorin Rejoin the King's Forces (Happened with Changes)

“Where be the king, for all the saints?” Shannon shouted as he came into the encampment drawing a horse by the lead behind him. Mounted on the horse was a still badly injured Lorin.

Men shouted and pointed to where the king’s command tent was and went on preparing for the assault on the fortress gates.

Only Horsa was in the tent, giving orders to his captains and pointing to a rough map of the assault side of the fortress. He looked up when the Irishman came in breathing hard. “Shannon! Did you find the duke?”

“Aye,” Shannon all but gasped, and someone handed him a cup with wine. He looked at it a moment, then drank it down. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he went on. “He be outside. Och, still in bad shape he is, poor man. But he is here. he will be after needin’ help getting’ down off that infernal beast.”

Horsa gestured to a captain who dashed out to help the duke. He himself went out after him, followed by the others. Shannon looked longingly at the pitcher of wine, but turned and followed as well.

The older man stepped quickly to help the captain as Lorin as much as slid off the horse. He had one arm in a sling and was wincing as the men caught him around the chest. The bruises on his face were now faded, but there were stitches on cuts on his cheek and forehead.

“Your grace, we are sorry to see you so injured, but also glad to see you here,” Horsa said in a gentle voice.

Lorin looked up as he was set on his feet where he swayed but put up a hand to refuse any further help. “I am healing, and I am here.. where is the king? We had heard that he was dead.”

Horsa smiled grimly. “Everyone thought he was dead, everyone but himself and Lord Jehan.” At Lorin’s puzzled look, he said, “That is a story for another time. The king is leading a small band to your hidden escape route in the wall.”

Lorin looked startled. “He is? Is that even still there?” He lowered himself painfully to a log. “Is that why you are preparing for an assault? Is he going to open the gates?”

“Aye, that,” responded the commander. “And to find the queen and their children before the assault, your grace.”

Lorin and Shannon exchange quick glances.

“The queen, is it? He doesn't know then?” Shannon blurted.

Lorin answered Horsa’s puzzled look. “The queen my sister is not there. She escaped. The children as well.”

Dumbfounded, Horsa stared at him.

Shannon filled in one of the details Lorin had not, “She and Elerde and his mercenaries just rode out of the gate and headed north.”

The tall robust commander made the sign of the cross. “To the River Humber?”

Lorin shook his head, “We know not. And even if so, whether they continued into Northumbria or took ship east or west we cannot tell.”

“No one said anything in the town, your grace. We had no idea.” Horsa sighed. “But then the king has been in such a rage methinks they were loath to give him any tidings, no less bad.”

“’Tis not necessarily bad. It means she and the children are alive and out of Gaylorde’s reach.”

One of the captains asked, “My lord, then you trust the mercenary lord?”

Lorin’s smile was wry. “Nay, I do not, but however changeable his loyalties are methinks my kinswoman and the children will e’er be safe with him. And, after all, he did save my life.”

“Shannon told us the tale, but methinks the king is not so confident in Elerde’s trustworthiness.”

Shannon shook his head and said to Horsa. “Och, aye, he is. He would not care to admit it but he knows the bastard loves his queen at least as much as he himself does, God rot the mercenary lord.”

Horsa nodded sadly. “I fear what will happen when he goes to find her in the fortress and she and the children are gone."

Next:

New Stories: Sneaking In (happened)

The thin sliver of the Blot Month moon cast only the faintest light on the party of hand-picked men that slid along the bluff wall that looked out over the North Sea just south of the River Humber estuary. Reaching the small cave entrance cloaked by planted bushes the king made one of the pre-arranged hand signals so he could silently give his orders. Two of his men crouched and slid through the small opening, used steel and tinder to light their torches, then one stuck his head out and nodded to the king. He waved the rest of the men forward, preceding them into the cave. One of the torches was passed to the end of the line so that they had llight at the fore and the aft, available to change positions and either lead or follow if a retreat was called for.
The cave was no easy climb as it rose and twisted, made tight bends and sometimes required the men to go sideways and single file. This was not a place to be if you had to flee quickly. Lawrence had numbered his party accordingly, at twelve besides himself, and jokingly dubbed them “the Apostles”. Only he made as sure as he could there was no Judas in the company.

At the top of the passage just under the top of the bluff Lawrence signaled the torches to be put out. He listened, then signaled he and two of the men at the fore would go out to assess whether the secret escape route was still passable. As quietly as men in mail could do so, they left the cave, went out on the ledge, then looked up at the fortress wall of vertical timbers.

This part of the wall was lightly manned. There was no point in keeping lookouts posted to watch for ships in the dark of night. That duty was only needed in the light. The edge of the cliff was sheer and narrow there, Even narrower than when the fortress was built as the bluff slowly eroded down into the narrow strip of beach. Some effort was made to shore up the bluff there, but it was a losing battle.

Still Lawrence knew it was possible that the secret of the optical illusion in the wall that Shannon used to help Lorin escape with Larisa could have been discovered afterwards by Gaylorde. They would have sealed it up, but they also would have posted more men on that side of the fortress in case someone who knew about the cave made use of it to come up the bluff. He held still and listened more. he could hear the faint sound of booted feet and the odd exchange of voices. He waited until he discerned a pattern, then used one of the regular gaps to motion the two men to follow him.

Lawrence put his dagger in his teeth as he needed both hands to climb the five feet from the ledge to the bluff top. It was hard going as the vertical side of the hill was loose earth with hazardous roots a man could catch a toe in. He managed to put the roots to use like steps, only breaking a couple, and soon he and the men were crouching against the outer fortress wall.

Lawrence began to sidle to his right, his back against the timbers, until he at last reached the spot where the hidden gap had been. He turned to face it and feel around it in the near black of the night, and managed to stifle his sigh of disappointment when he felt that a door of some sort had been put in. He pushed, but the door clanked against its own latch.

From directly behind the door they heard a shout, a man calling to his mates that someone had tried to push open the door. Lawrence quickly signaled the other two men to make their way back to the ledge at the upper cave entrance. he himself stayed a moment to see if anyone acted on the man’s alarm.

He smiled as he heard the muffled conversation that took place. Another man, seemingly accompanied by more guards for he could hear the sound of clinking armor and weapons. This man was berating the door’s guard, saying it was nothing but the wind coming off the sea and rattling the door. “The shutters are making a racket as well. Calm down. The king’s army is all the way on the other side of the fortress on the plain.”

The door’s guard protested, but the other man just scoffed and he and his men started away.

Then Lawrence heard something that made his heart stop. From above him a man shouted, “Ho, I see something below, on the ledge. It looks like light on metal.” Feet ran to the man who had shouted, there was a hubbub and Lawrence knew he or one of the other men with him had been spotted. He took off his helm, taking a risk by exposing his head to a weapon but wanting to lessen the likelihood of being spotted as he moved quickly to the ledge and hopped down after the other men.

“God’s bollocks, they are coming after us!” Lawrence abandoned all effort to be stealthy. He waited agitated as the men struck flint to steel to get the tinder started to light the two torches. “Make haste!” he urged.

The torches finally lit, Lawrence ordered the men to pull the ceiling of the cave down behind them to block the progress of their pursuers, but a memory tugged at his brain. “Wait, leave it! Follow me!” He snatched one of the torches and headed down the underground passage. The men followed as quickly as possible, the sounds of men’s voices, clanking mail, and scrambling on the ledge behind them. The king paused at one turn, handed the torch to the man behind him and felt around on the wall. “Jesu! here it is. He squeezed around an outcropping of the rock wall and pushed through to another cave.

The men had barely noticed the smell as they had come up the passage, but when they stopped to take hurried turns squeezing in after the king, they wrinkled their noses. There was a quite awful smell, like human waste and horse dung, and even worse the offal from butchering pigs and sheep. When each man was fully into the new cave the odor was almost overpowering and the remaining torch, for Lawrence had had the first one extinguished, flared as if finding a new source of fuel. “Put out that torch!” Lawrence rasped, “and keep very still.”

The thirteen men, packed into the small chamber in the cave, hardly breathed as they heard shouts and the sound of boots in the passage they had just left.

“I smell their torch, they came this way!”

“Of course they did, witless. Where else would they go.. through the wall?”

“Good Christ, what is that other smell?”

“Never mind, we need to hurry to catch them on the beach!”

“Hold onto that torch, you idiot!”

The sounds became fainter and farther away. They could still hear Gaylorde’s men shouting but now the sound was orders barked to go one way or the other and consternation at not seeing any sign of the invaders. One shrill voice could clearly be heard, whining, “What, can they fly? Maybe they are elves.”

“Elves don’t fly,” shot another voice derisively.

The men in the noisome cave had to stifle the laughter that came from relief as much as amusement.

Next: A Story for Christmas

New Stories: The Plan to Take the Fortress (happened with Changes)

It was important not to get cocky. The response of Gaylorde and his men was better than the king’s army could have hoped, but the war was long from won.

“I don’t know if I can stand another siege like Ratherwood, though I would very much like it to end the same way.” Lawrence stood by is tent in the encampment at the foot of his own stronghold and conferred with his military advisors.

Botopher lifted a bowl of ale in a toast. “You mean you would like to boost Gaylorde over the wall with a noose around his neck as you did Malcolm, my lord?”

“Precisely” was the King’s reply, said in a tight, bitter voice.

“At least we have better weather for our wait, sire,” Horsa put in. It was a late autumn day, crisp but bright and sunny. The last leaves on the trees were dry and crumpled and mostly brown. Colder nights made for uncomfortable sleeping, though the king did not sleep much and kept warm by the campfire while his men snored all around him.

“There might be a way to cut this waiting short,” Lawrence began.

His advisors’ heads shot up as if pulled by the same puppeteer. “Aye, sire?” one of the captains asked.

“I don’t know if it is still there. When I designed the fortress Duke Lorin suggested some secret passageways. They were quite ingenious, not that I remember them all. I most certainly remember the one between my own chamber and the Queen’s, a clever little trick of the eye with how the back walls looked… well, I’m not sure I want to reveal that one. And of course you know that Shannon found the one in the outer wall. We are fortunate my lady’s brother did not choose to become a mason or some such. He would probably be in Byzantium now.. though he may wish he was.”

Horsa was thinking hard about what the King said, but Botopher reassured, “Shannon will find him, my liege. I am sure of it.”

“If he is still with the healer, that means his injuries were serious. If not, he is probably somewhere between here and Grantham, God grant neither be so.” Lawrence came over to sit on the felled log that served as a bench.

Horsa spoke up now. “My lord, I think we should assume that fault in the wall is still there, or that it was poorly repaired. I could take a small contingent to it and try to get in that way.”

“You mean I could take a small contingent and try it,” Lawrence corrected.

“Is that wise, sire?” the older man asked. “Should you not avoid what could very well be a wild goose chase?”

Lawrence shook his head. “I will go mad if I have to sit around for another few months. My wife and children are in there. No, say nothing more. I will lead the infiltration force. We’ll go up at night. If when we get up there it is blocked we will just come back down and find another way. If we can break through, we will open the gates. So you and Botopher should prepare the men for a night attack.” He looked around him. “There will be need for complete quiet. I know you all know that.”

Botopher was so bold as to ask, “You are worried about the Queen’s welfare, are you not?”

“Well, of course I am. And the children’s. But it puzzles me that Gaylorde has not brought her out to taunt me. Or to use as a threat or a shield. I am afraid of what that means. Is she sick? Is she dead? Is there some other reason she cannot be taken up to the palisade to show me she is utterly in his power?” The king stood up and started to pace back and forth, his brow furrowed, his expression making him look like he was wincing with pain. He had balled one fist and was punching it into the palm of his other hand as if he was trying to punch through the fortress wall or to shatter Gaylorde’s jaw.

Horsa ventured, “Might we wait to launch this attack until tomorrow night? I would like to wait until Duke Lorin and Shannon are back. And the army could use another night’s rest.”

Lawrence, still pacing, shook his head violently. “Nay, they have had two days to rest. And it may be days, even weeks before the bard returns. We have overtaxed the devotion of the fyrd. . They have already missed hellping in the harvest. It's Blot Month and they will be wanting to get back to their villages for the cattle slaughter and preserving.”

Hearing no more comments, he commanded, “We go tonight.” He shot a look at them all that brooked no nay-saying. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Next: Sneaking In

New Stories: Gaylord Faces Lawrence (happened with Changes)

Remember, Gaylord's name was changed for the novel to Gadfrid.

n the king’s own council chamber the usurper was hunched in the king’s chair, biting the nails on one hand. He stared off without seeing, his eyes narrowed. He looked up angrily as one of his cronies came in at the door. “What is it now, fool?!” he demanded.


“Beg pardon, sire,” the man, whom Gaylorde now saw was his closest ally and confidante, Urm, murmured, backing away.

“Stop. Don’t go away. What tidings do you bring?” Gaylorde said as he straightened in his chair.

Urm paused, then came slowly within the chamber. He was a fairly tall man with flaxen hair that hung straight to his shoulders and further. He was indeed the man the scout had seen arguing with the town guards.

“For pity’s sake,” Gaylorde grumbled. “I’m not going to bite you. Just tell me the worst and get it said.”

Urm did not relax, but he did speak. “The town men wanted into the fortress, your grace. They wanted to gain its protection.”

Gaylorde stood, furiously waving his arms about. “My God, they are supposed to be our first defense. How are they going to do that in here?!”

“Lord, they finally did turn and go down to the town. But..” He hesitated.

Gaylorde turned to glare at the man. “They ran away,” he said in a mocking singsong voice. “The ungrateful bastards ran away/”

Urm’s lack of a response confirmed the usurper’s statement.

Gaylorde went back to his chair and dropped into it, dispirited. “Is that all?”

Urm squirmed. “No, my liege.” Gaylorde raised one baleful eye to him. “A large delegation from the enemy camp made a triumphal entry into the town.

“Well that is not surprising. I should have done just the same,” his master said dully.

“Aye, my lord,” Urm said quietly.

“If we had not lost Elerde, we could deal with this. He and his soldiers would not have balked at meeting these leftovers from the dead king’s army. And they certainly would not have deserted. At least the men we have in the fortress cannot desert.”

Urm nodded. “Aye, my lord, since the Irishman revealed the fault in the wall when he took the duke out, the gap has been closed. There is no way out.”

Gaylorde propped his elbows on the heavy oak table in front of him and put his face in his hands. “No way out,” he repeated miserably. He added only moments later, “And no way in. How long can we withstand a siege?” keeping his face covered.

Urm’s eyebrows went up and he sighed, thinking. “A good long time, sire. But I do have one question.”

Gaylorde spread the fingers on one hand and looked at his ally through the gap that made. He did not speak but simply waited to hear what Urm was thinking.

“What use is it to wait them out? They are not going anywhere. They can wait us out. Until the Day of Judgment if they want. Oh, sorry, my lord.” Gaylorde looked at him balefully when he mentioned "judgment".

Gaylorde made a guttural, growling sound, stood again. He slammed his fist on the table making even the heavy table shudder with the force. “If I had the god-damned queen and her miserable brats I could get away! I don’t think Horsa or whoever leads this army would make many demands or threats seeing her lily white throat starting to leak red from the knife I held to close to it. Or if I was about to gut their precious ætheling.”

“But she is gone as well, with her children.” He flinched when he saw the rage boiling in his master’s face.

“Urm, I commend you on your ability to state the obvious,” the red-faced man hissed.

Urm kept quiet, biding his time. Finally he thought it was safe enough to ask, “With your leave, sir? I should go to see if the commander of this army wants to make his demands known.”

Gaylorde dismissed him. “Aye, go. Get out of here. I suppose if I had any wits I would get myself shriven.” He started to pace about the chamber muttering and swearing. Urm beat a hasty retreat.

Ricca, who had been so quiet in a corner that Gaylorde had forgotten she was there, slipped out. She stripped herself of all the queen's jewels and gold and went to find a place to hide them. She stood in the middle of the courtyard surveying the possibilities and wondering just how she could slip out of the stronghold. She fingered the bruise on her cheek. "If I get out of here alive, Gaylorde, you fucking whoreson I will come back and personally gut you," she muttered. "After I get the jewels." She went to the smaller well and dropped her little parcel into it. It made a satisfying clunk. She knew she had dropped it to the side where there was no water. She would figure out later how to get in and retrieve them.

When the time did come to parley, the leafy branchwas raised over the outer gate of the stronghold and was carried by the soldier who rode beside Horsa at the head of a small party of the king’s delegation. This delegation rode up the winding road to the top of the bluff, stopping a short distance from the gate. The outer gate slowly opened and a similar size party came out with Gaylorde at their fore. The two parties remained a bowshot apart for some time, then at an order, armed men from each side came forward and took up each other’s position, the usurper’s men between Horsa’s men and escape down the road, and Horsa’s men between Gaylorde’s and the open gate of the fortress. Everyone was in danger, and it was worth it to every man to keep his sword sheathed or his war axe or bow at rest.

When the exchange was accomplished, the representative for each side came forward to meet precisely in the middle. Urm walked forward for Gaylorde. To his and his master’s surprise, Horsa himself came forward.

“My lord, I am Urm of Bridlingham. I speak for his grace, king Gaylorde of Críslicland.”

Horsa could not resist a wry twist of his lips. “king Gaylorde, is it?” he sneered.

Urm looked annoyed. “You speak on your own behalf, I take it?”

Horsa gave the man a derisive grin. “Nay, nay, I have a king I speak for as well. Only mine is a real one.”

Urm looked puzzled, then caught movement behind Horsa at the corner of his eye. He looked up and froze. A very tall man came out of the throng of the soldiers who had accompanied Horsa up the road.

Behind Urm Gaylorde stood frozen as well. “I don’t believe it. The man has as many lives as a cat.”

King Lawrence was moving forward at a steady pace, his brow dark and his eyes boring into his cousin. The storm clouds in his expression looked about to fire thunderbolts.

Urm, turned to look at his lord. Their eyes met and Gaylorde shook his head dazedly. Then he turned slowly and with slumped shoulders walked back into the fortress. A gatekeeper spoke to him, receiving a shrill “Just fucking shut them. Let the others sort out what they will do.” The higher level men in his delegation shot around the king’s men by the gate, the mere soldiers quickly unbuckled and dropped their belts and weapons and kneeled before the king in a posture of complete submission.

Lawrence looked sideways at Horsa. “Methinks he thought I was dead.”

Next: The Plan to Take the Fortress

New Stories: The Army Arrives at Lawrencium (happened with Changes)

hey did have one chance encounter on the road. Seeing a mighty force on the road far ahead, the bandit who had been sent to ransom Lord Aldwin OF Sleaford quickly took cover. He had a most frustrating errand. he arrived at Sleaford and demanded to see the wife of the lord. When the steward asked him if he would not rather see Lord Aldwin himself, Cynulf had been unable to mask his surprise and mounting dismay. He turned tail and ran, stopping in the town to talk to villagers who confirmed that their lord was well and most definitely ensconced in his fortress. He learned as well from his sources that Aldwin was a quite corpulent man with a thick black beard. That did not sound in the least like the man his confederates were holding for ransom! Cynulf headed west again. He was not altogether unhappy about his long walk, as the band gave him what coin they had for his travels and he after all got a fine pair of boots out of the deal. They were too big but straw shoved inside took care of that. All in all he enjoyed the chance to meet people, eat at alehouses, and was sure of a fine reward. Now he watched as the armed force moved towards him. When the lead riders were close enough for him to see them, he gasped. There was Aldwin himself or whatever his real name was, and he was riding at the lead under the banner of.. dear God.. the king. He could draw only one truly horrible conclusion. They had captured the king! They were doomed. Perhaps even now his entire clandestine village in the woods was full of corpses, bandit corpses. Then to his great surprise he recognized some of the bandits he had lived with even before the village of Toft was raided and burned. There was Maerhad, Lark and Wulfstan! They were not dead! They rode in the king's wake! He was so relieved he ran out of the trees and right into Wulfstan’s arms. The commotion as the sudden attack from the trees by a single madman, or so it looked at first to those who did not know Cynulf, went up the line and finally came to the attention of the king. He craned his neck to see what was happening, but could only see a confused roiling, nothing really violent. He turned War-Brother around, and with Botopher accompanying him, he rode back to see what was going on. “My boots! Those are my boots!” he shouted as he saw Cynulf and recognized him and the boots. The king had borrowed boots from Horsa, Botopher’s being too small. He jumped from War-Brother’s back and strode over to the small man and pointed to his feet. “Take off those boots!” Cynulf sat right down on the ground where he had stood, spongy and moist as it was, and pulled the boots off, thrusting them at the king with a look that begged for mercy. The king snatched them, looked for an aide, and had the man who ran to help him pull off the borrowed boots and help him pull on his own. His feet would not go in all the way, so he pulled off one of the boots himself and turned it upside down so that the straw packing fell out. He looked at Cynulf who just shrugged sheepishly. “But sire, what am I going to do about boots now?” Cynulf whined. The king turned his piercing blue eyes on the man who was still sitting on the damp ground. Cynulf clammed up and bowed his head. The king remounted War-Brother and rode with Botopher and the other riders who had followed them to the fore. Wulfstan chuckled when Cynulf had gotten to his feet. “Not only do you have bare feet but now you have a wet arse. Come along.. we have a long story to tell you.” The fortress loomed ahead, atop the bluff over the sea. On the slow incline to where it stood, the king of Críslicland rode at the head of an army of champions and the fyrd that had grown so large he could no longer see the last man in the lines. He looked not behind but before him, to the fortress he himself had built and where his true love and their children waited. He prayed they were alive and mayhap knew he was there, closer than the horizon, ready to fight, shed his blood and die to bring them safely out of peril. As he came closer, he surveyed the palisades. He did not think Josephine would be there, but his heart so yearned he could not have done otherwise. It was not until the force was piling up behind him and their commanders were barking orders to distribute them to where they would make camp that he stopped examining the fortress and looked away at Horsa’s question. “Sire, it is so good to be here and see it all still stands, does it not?” Lawrence glanced back at the outer walls of his stronghold. “Aye, ‘tis good, but it will be better inside looking out.” He turned War-Brother who himself seemed to be sniffing the familiar air. “Is the scout back from the town?” “He is riding up now, my liege,” the older man replied. The scout, little more than a boy, jumped down from his horse and kneeled at the feet of the king’s. Lawrence hastily backed up War-Brother for he was a war horse and did not take kindly to those who came underfoot. The king dismounted as an aide held his reins and walked over to the boy. “What did you find?” “Your grace,” he answered raising himself to stand before the king, “I secreted myself in a tree that tops the wall. Everywhere I looked I saw men with weapons darting about as if the fires of Hell were lapping at their heels. They were taking whatever they could carry, leaving townspeople staring after them. They all took to their heels and went up to the fortress but the gatekeepers would not let them in!” “Would not let them in? Were we that close then when this happened?” The boy had the king’s full attention. “Nay, sire. I watched as a man went to the battlements and shouted down at them. I could not hear his words but he swung his arms violently like a goodwife shooing away chickens.” “Was it my cousin the duke?” “I know not, sire, for I was too far away. I could guess from how he gestured that he wanted the men to go back into the town. I could tell that many of the men did look back at the town, then seemed to argue the more. Methinks they wanted the protection of the fortress but the officer on the palisade was telling them to go back and defend the town.” Horsa chided, “Now, lad, ‘tis not your place to draw conclusions. You should give his grace the facts only, for ‘tis for his grace to understand what it means.” “That be all right, lad,” the king smiled. I am inclined to agree with your assessment. I doubt it was my cousin on the palisade. Might it have been a man with curly black hair and a short beard?” The boy shook his head. “He had fair hair, like mine.” he touched his own flaxen hair that hung straight from his scalp. “Straight like mine too.” Lawrence exchanged looks with Horsa and with Botopher who had just joined the conference. “Not Elerde then. I have not seen him either. Nor Gaylorde.” He looked back at the boy. “What did the men do when they gave up on getting within? Assuming they did give up.” “They started back to the town gate, and some went in, but some just wandered off up the hill to the woods. The ones that went through the gate mostly walked straight through town. I went to see where they went, and only a few were still there. All the rest had gone out the other end, at the Monksgate. I even saw some boats setting off at the quay.” “All the angels in heaven!” Botopher swore. “Methinks there may be a few within the fortress as anxious to slip away. The rats are deserting the sinking rat. At your worst, lord, you never had that happen!” Botopher’s smile dropped like a stone at the look Lawrence gave him. “Beg pardon, sire.” “What of the townspeople?” the king directed to the scout. “They just stood in the street and talked and looked about. Some wandered through the open gates and looked around.” Lawrence smiled grimly. “I thank you, my lad. Go to where they are setting up my tent and tell them I said to reward you.” The boy bowed, grinning like a cat who has found a crawling bug to play with. “It sounds like we have a triumphant welcome to accept,” Lawrence said to his commanders. They did not need to wait to enter at kingsgate for their welcome. Even as the party of men led by the king came over the rise townspeople en masse were pouring out of the gate to meet them. Lawrence found himself surrounded by people who wept, laughed, gave thanks to God, and handed him flower after flower. He heard one woman crying, “He's alive! Our beloved lord is alive!” He did not hear the one who said to a companion, “Alas, that the queen herself is not present to greet him. Nor his children.” Those among the men who had joined the king’s army when he first set out for Affynshire now found their loved ones for a joyful reunion. Not all was joy, however, for many were learning just now that someone they loved had been buried near Ratherwood and would nevermore return home. Lawrence’s ears caught the sudden bursts of weeping and keening and his heart ached for the bereaved. He gave the order to let the local men have the night with their families. He had fighters aplenty to put the fortress under siege. Next: Gaylord Faces the King