The Novel: Epilogue

About twenty years later.

"I suppose you and Mother never heard from Elerde again." Peter tossed bits of dry bread from a pouch to the geese that floated below the bridge.

"Not a word," Lawrence answered. "Not even about him. He either died soon after or went very far away. Either way, I am content."

"But was Mother?"

"I have no idea. She never let on."

"So much has changed since that day. I don't remember all that much about that time. I think I remember Lindisfarne, a little. And going on a boat, but that could be a blend of all the boats I have ever been on."

The king sighed. "I suppose the biggest difference is Rory."

His son laughed. He licked the tip of his index finger and mimed making a mark on a tally. "Aye, one less rival for you."

"I prefer to think of it as happiness for himself," Lawrence responded reproachfully. "When Shannon went traveling without him that year, Rory had time to think about everything. I heard he talked not only with me, but with his priest, his friends, others. Then he found Ceridwen. He told me once he wondered if he had simply put himself on the shelf until she came into his life."

"Nevertheless, Rory came to his senses, renounced his vow to Mother, and fell in love. Have you seen their daughter Grainne lately? What a beauty!"

Lawrence shook his head. "Now you know better than to add her to your tally of conquests, don't you? Besides the fact that she is a very sweet, innocent girl, her father can do you a lot of damage with his storytelling."

"At least Shannon is not around to write nasty songs about me. Don't worry, Father. I have kept my hands to myself with the fair Grainne." He noticed when his father made the sign of the cross. "I am sorry, Father. I did not mean to make a joke of Shannon's passing. I loved him, too, just as we all did."

"And God be thanked that Rory had his wife and children to help fill the void of his loss. I don't think McGuinness ever forgave himself for letting us all think he was dead for those long months."

He put an arm around Peter's shoulder. "Did the King of Mercia talk to you about his daughter?"

Peter smiled ruefully. "Aye, Father. It appears that King Offa will succeed where you and Mother never could. I am finally to marry. Her name is Ælfflæd. They say she is pretty."

"You are going to be utterly faithful to her, you understand?"

Peter's glance was resentful. "Aye, Father. No lectures needed. I know how you feel, and I agree. Even if Ælfflæd and I never have yours and Mother's love match, I have enough regard for Mother never to treat any woman dishonorably."

His father accepted his statement graciously. "I pray you and the lady are as happy as your Mother and I." He tried to lighten his demeanor when he went on. "Tavish is happy for once he is not the son of our bodies. Otherwise he would not have been able to wed your cousin Ystradwell. Now that is a love match!"

Peter laughed. "She's as pretty as her mother Larisa and he's as dull as Uncle Lorin. It's not surprising they are happy. I am not so sure of Caithness."

"She certainly likes being queen of East Anglia. Her husband adores her, in his way. I just wish she had your Mother's easy childbearing."

"Of course, I have not seen her since her last baby died, but it seemed to haunt her in spite of her frivolous nature. "

Lawrence nodded sadly. "That is one thing for which I shall e'er thank the Good Lord, that your Mother never had to face the death of a child."

Peter desperately wanted to lift the conversation's mood. "I think Elaine made a love match as well."

"To be the bride of Christ? I should think so. And about to be named Abbess. One of my last acts as king."

Peter shook the last of the crumbs into the river. He handed the pouch to a servant. He turned his back to the barrier on the bridge and leaned against it. Crossing his arms, he looked at his aging father. "Father," he began, "did you ever think, way back then, that you would give up being king someday?"

Lawrence was not blind to the mixed feelings expressed in his son's tone. "Some days I longed to do it. Other days only death would have separated me from my crown."

Peter was thoughtful. "You are doing the right thing, Father. Críslicland should thank you. Even if Offa never decided to go to war to win it, and I am certain someday he would, we cannot fight our neighbors and the Danes raiding the coast. I hear some have taken land as far south as Northumbria and are settling. If they should ever take a notion to come in great numbers, there would be no more Críslicland at all."

The catch in his son's voice startled him. "You feel the terrible conflict as I do, to love our kingdom so deeply but have to give it up to preserve it."

Peter shrugged. "At least Offa would preserve some memory of what you did here."

Lawrence shook his head sardonically. "I wouldn't count on that."

"Like you always say, Father, nothing lasts forever." His tone was bitter.

A horn blast drew the two men's attention. "They are back from Ruallauh's funeral and Ceretic's coronation already?" Peter asked.

The Crísliclandian delegation to the ceremonies of state came slowly forward. There in the fore on a donkey rode Josephine, who waved at them as they watched her come. Lawrence and Peter came forward, Lawrence's limp causing him to reach her after her son had helped her dismount.

Josephine had hardly changed. She was sturdier now, not the delicate-looking thing she had been at her marriage. Her skin was as fair and smooth as a girl's, save for the slight creases at her lips and eyes from a lifetime of smiles. Only Lawrence and her serving women knew she had wisps of silver among the gold of her hair. Her eyes twinkled as she kissed her son.

Peter watched her turn to her husband and let him draw her into his embrace.

"Are you at peace with this, my love?" She examined his face carefully.

"My dearest, I am. I plan to spend the rest of my life gazing at you while you do your needlework. I think my leg will keep me out of Offa's wars." He leaned to kiss her with as much tenderness and ardor as he ever had.

Peter smiled at his parents. "I guess some things do last forever."

THE END

Next? The Options

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: 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 Queen Arrives in Northumbria (Happened)

Click to enlarge. "Lawrencium" is south.
The ship had left from where the Hull flowed into the Humber, then just within sight of Lawrencium as it turned into the North Sea at the tip of Spur Head. The dusk was full on, and Josephine thought she could discern the firelight coming from beach bonfires outside the town and below the bluff where her own namesake, the palace, towered. Her children were asleep, nestled against her where she sat, almost reclining, covered with furs.

The mercenary commander stood apart, leaning against the mast, watching her, sensing rather than seeing her grief. She would never let him see the depth of it, he knew that. He bowed his own head, feeling a pang of hurt in his own heart as he wondered if she would never be his. Even if her husband was truly dead, would she keep faith with him until her own death and her reunion with him in the afterlife? Would he himself remain alone? A wry and rueful smile played on his lips. He had always been alone. Would that always be his lot. Nay, he would be patient. Someday she would accept her situation, would turn to him.

The queen closed her eyes, blocking out the last sight of the home she had shared with her beloved for the last few years. Shutting her lids squeezed out a tear she had not known was ready to spill. She sensed Elerde’s gaze on her, willed him to stay where he was. She hurt too much to let him into her world just now. Under her breath she vowed, “I will be back in your arms again, Lawrence. I swear it.”

The children were cranky in the morning and for the rest of the voyage to Bamburgh, the tiny port near Lindisfarne where so many embarked for the continent. Tavish found watching the Holderness coast of some interest for a while, but then he had turned to Josephine and asked, “Papa?”

“He is still at the war, dearest. He will come find us when it is over.” She put her arms around him and looked at the slowly passing coast of Northumbria. Peter she thought would decide he wanted to be a sailor once he had been on a voyage, but the boy was quiet, his thoughts unshared. The twins simply whined and fussed. Josephine hoped they would enjoy being out of the dank, stifling chamber they had just spent weeks and weeks in, but it was almost as if they longed for the confinement now that they were free of it.

Elerde kept mostly apart, though he was obviously still watching over them. If the queen saw him speaking to a crew member that man would be at her side making sure she and the children had all they needed. He exchanged pleasantries with her and spent time with the children. Josephine wondered if he had finally come to his senses or was simply waiting her out.

When the small ship finally beached at Bamburgh she waited while the men and horses disembarked, then gathered up her children and the little they had with them and went to the rail to put her feet on solid ground again. Elerde was there immediately with arms raised to take first one child and then another. Finally he raised his arms and eyes to her. She shook her head, sat on and put her legs over the rail and pushed off. Her feet hit the sand but lightly, for he was there with his hands under her armpits, catching her and lowering her gently to the ground.

“I am perfectly capable of getting off a ship myself,” she rebuked sternly.

“I am perfectly aware of that, my lady, but it is my desire to be ever at hand to help you land softly and safely.” He did not let her go at once but held her, his eyes smiling into hers. Then he saw the look she returned and dropped his hands. “I beg pardon, my lady.”

She glared at him a moment, then slowly turned her head to scan the scene before her. “Why here? Why Bamburgh?”

“Convenience, that is all. ‘Tis a good port to leave for Kent from.”

She shot him a suspicious look. “And a good port to leave for the continent from. Was that your plan, sirrah?”

He flinched from the unkind tone and choice of words. “We shall only go where you choose, your grace. I swear it.”

She considered him, seemed to accept his promise, but her tone remained chilly as she asked, “And where are we to stay until that ship to Kent leaves?”

“There is an inn in the town, I am certain.”

Her returned look was offended. “I am not exposing my young children to the custom in an inn! How can you even suggest it?” She thought a moment. “I saw an island with an abbey as we sailed in to Bamburgh. Was that Lindisfarne?”

He raised his eyebrows, sighed, and nodded. “I believe so.”

She bent to pick up Caithness. “Then we shall seek lodging there. Will you bring Elaine and the boys?” She did not wait for his reply, but put one hand out to Tavish and said, “Come along, children. We will go stay with the monks.”

“My lady, wait. You cannot walk there. ‘'Tis too far,” the mercenary called after her.

Josephine was a breath away from snapping back that she was simply not going to stay at an inn, when the look of concession on his face stopped her.

He went on, “We must ride. I will get the horses and an escort.”

Next: Lawrence Rejoins His Army - plus Rory Follows the Queen

New Stories: Shannin Gets Suspicious About Grantham's "Madman" (Happened)

I hope you have been enjoying this sojourn with slapstick comedy.

hannon stood wondering how, if he was right and the “madman” was none other than the king that Horsa and Botopher, not to mention the King’s own officers and soldiers, could have missed recognizing his voice from within the prison hut. Maybe it was not the king. Maybe the King really was dead.

Now he was looking at the enclosure behind the guard house. An idea came to him. He started singing, quietly at first, and walked slowly over to the wall of the enclosure on the other side of the guard house from the gate. As he approached the wall he sang louder. It was a song he had made up about the Queen and her single minded effort to learn to use a sword. It was not finished last time he was with King Lawrence and not widely known yet. But Lawrence had supplied a few of the lines for it. He put his back against the wall and sang, nodding with a smile as people passing looked at him.

He paused at a particular point in the song. He listened carefully and found he was hearing a muffled voice singing the song. The voice was off key by a long way and the words were un-enunciated as if the singer had been gagged, but the poor singing alone told Shannon what he needed to know. It was the King! When the singing stopped Shannon called through as stealthily as he could, “Saints be praised for your terrible ear, my lord. I’ll be getting’ ye out of there soon, never fear.”

As Shannon made his way to the cookhouse he noticed a band of players coming into the stronghold. They were clearly players, for they all wore colorful strips of cloth hanging from their sleeves and hats. He took a detour from his path to greet his fellow performers.

“Lads, ‘tis grim pickin’s here this night. The lord here is a sour man.. dear God, ye look like a chapman threw up on ye.” He started to laugh then caught site of his lute. “Damn the ale house keeper.!” he thought. “I’ll be after getting’ that back ere the night is through and will have a score to settle with the blackguard on the morrow.” He stomped away.

Lark asked Wulfstan, “Why did he look so angry all of a sudden?”

Wulfstan shrugged. “I am just glad the fellow went away. It would have been a calamity if he’d asked us to sing something.”

When Shannon, still fuming, found the simple servant woman who had been described to him, he caught himself up short. She was of a height with him and had a face as covered with freckles as he. He guessed that if she did not have the head covering Saxon Christian women always wore she probably would have sported thick curly red hair. He got an idea.

He had planned to talk with her, find out how to get in where the King was held, but instead he feigned indolence and whistled a tune as she went into the servants’ quarters. He saw her take off her cloak and hang it on a peg in the entrance way. he waited for her to disappear into the smoky gloom of the sleeping area and liberated the cloak from its resting place. In the cookhouse he found a length of linen toweling to use as a head covering. He had helped many a woman put on her headdress and knew how to put it on himself, so he did, tying it around his forehead with a length of twine he found, and threw the cloak over his shoulders. He took a deep breath, tried on a sweet but simple smile, and started to make his way to the guardhouse carrying a bucket covered with another linen towel.

He had to pass the hall and in the growing dusk he was startled by the figure that came around the corner. He glanced long enough to recognize Jehan. He thought fast and dropped a curtsy to the earl.

“Ah, sweet Kyre, just the pretty one I want to see,” the man crooned.

Jehan had been killing time ever since he had stomped out of his and his wife’s chambers. Those he passed raised eyebrows as he passed and gave each other knowing looks. It was not an unusual event to see the earl going about muttering angrily under his breath, with the word “she” sibilantly punctuating whatever it was he was muttering at regular intervals.

Unhappy at the prospect of killing the King, a man he knew was powerful enough even bound and gagged to overpower him easily, he was likewise completely without faith in his ability to convince the man he had a good reason for throwing him into the brig. He paced about, gesturing to no one in particular as he pep talked himself. He stopped abruptly near the stables and smiled. He had it. He would tell the King he knew someone was planning to kill him so had hustled him into captivity so he could ferret out the culprit before the person knew the King was in the fortress. With a satisfied smile, he went into the stables and joined his groom ministering to his favorite horse, ironically one King Lawrence had given him to thank him for his part in the liberation of Ratherwood.

Now as Jehan took him in his arms, Shannon kept his head down and kept mum. Jehan leaned trying to get a look at his face, put a finger under Shannon’s chin and tried to lift it. “Dear, dear, you need to pluck your chin better. If I didn’t know very well that you are not a man, I would think you were growing a beard.” Jehan laughed at his own joke.

Shannon twisted and stepped quickly aside and dashed past him, but not fast enough to avoid an appreciative whack on the arse.

“I have an errand, sweet, but come to me later. My lady wife is vexed with me and is not going to be in my chamber tonight. I would rather it was you in my bed anyway.” he blew Shannon’s back a kiss and admired the retreating view.

With a shudder Shannon, shook off Jehan’s touch. “’Tis no wonder then the lass looks so sour…” He hurried to the gate of the prison stockade, stopped and adjusted his cloak, head covering and the pantomime dinner pail.

He approached the guards with as close to the halting walk he had seen the girl Kyre use. The two men, bored and tired, brightened up at her approach. “Kyre, girl, another meal for the lunatic?”

Shannon knew better than to try to mimic a voice he had never heard, so he just giggled. He kept his head down trying to look timid. This seemed to satisfy the guards – or at least they seemed to accept who she was. As for other satisfactions, not so much. The other guard tried to reach to lift her chin.

“Give us a little kiss, then, Kyre?”

Shannon tried the giggle again.. but this time it was not enough. In fact, it seemed to encourage the fellow. He groped again for her chin trying to cup it in his big, rough hand. Shannon tried to twist away, but to no avail. “Och, then, will I have to let the oaf kiss me?” he worried.

It was then he felt the man’s other hand groping for a breast. Not having any, he panicked, but his knowledge of women of all types acted for him. He started to whimper and cry.

“Will you leave the lass alone? You know she’ simple-minded. And all she knows is that someone told her to bring the bucket and that she will catch holy hell if she doesn’t.” The first guard had reached his even larger hand and push the lecher away firmly. “If what I overheard is right, this might be the last time she visits the brig.”

The second man lost interest in Shannon. “What did you hear?” he inquired with obvious interest.

“Just that if milord does not deal with the madman soon milady will, and we all know she learned a bit of herblore from that Saxon lass who was murdered by her brother…”

Shannon risked a glance to see if the man was jesting. On the contrary, he was puffed up from the chance to show how much he knew of the nobles’ goings-on.

“Poison? In the food?” Good Christ, and I was going to steal some from her pail… once I’d gotten that kiss.” The lecher looked decidedly greensick just at the moment. “Well if the lass is the Angel of Death tonight, I’ll not stand in her way.” He turned to the gate and pulled up the heavy bar that kept it tight shut. He and the other guard stood back to give the girl and her pail plenty of room to pass.

“Kyre, lass, you know not to eat what’s in the pail, do you not?” the protective guard called after her.

Next: Speinging the King

New Stories: Elerde Persuades Josephine to Flee (Happened)

The queen was sitting on the floor with her children telling them a story when the fortress erupted in cheers. “Mama, what happened? Why is everyone shouting?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know, my darling. We shall have to wait to hear I suppose. Now let’s get back to our story.”

About fifteen minutes later the five were startled when the door to the nursery swung open. Gaylorde stood with his eyes blazing and an evil grin on his face. He leered at her as the children threw themselves onto her, trying to hide themselves in her arms, under her arms, anywhere they could, settling for hiding their faces against her body.

“My revenge is finally complete. Lady, your husband and the father of your brats.. is dead. Dead, dead, dead!”

Peter’s face came up. “Papa is dead?” he cried and began to weep. His tears brought on the tears and wails of the other three. Josephine put her arms tightly around them all and hid her own face in Peter’s hair. She said through clenched teeth, “Children, he is lying. The evil man is lying. Your father is not dead.”

Gaylorde smirked. “Tell them what you wish, believe what you wish, but it is true. The bastard is dead and gone. At long last.” He looked over his shoulder. “Elerde, bring the things.”

The queen looked up sharply to see the mercenary commander coming in with a sword and a mantle. He was subdued, almost mournful. His eyes beseeched hers for forgiveness. Peter started to scream.

“How can you do this to them? I expect such savagery from you, Gaylorde, but Elerde, not you.” Her eyes blazed at him. She wished Larisa was here so she could take the children aside so they would not see what Elerde held.

Gaylorde snatched the mantle from the mercenary’s hands. He thrust it in her face, causing the children to burrow further into her. “Take a look at this, lady. Is that not your husband’s mantle? Is that not his device? Is that not his blood?”

The children were still wailing, though muffled by her body. She was grateful they did not look up. Her eyes were on the device she herself had embroidered on the king’s mantle. Only she could be sure it was truly his. She reached with a hand she extricated from a child’s grip and ran a finger over the device. There in the hilt of the sword was the secret she shared with Lawrence, that she had made a Celtic knot of their initials, L and J, as she embroidered it. It was his mantle. He would never be parted with it. He said it was almost like having her near him. She knew the sword was his, though it was possible that it could be copied. But the mantle could not. Anyone who tried would fail to include the knotwork.

“I don’t believe it. If he were gone I would have felt it when it happened,” she said with a firm jaw. “Peter, take your brother and sisters over to your pallet. I want you to huddle together and pray very hard for your father. Pray aloud. I want to hear you.” She pulled herself to stand, leaning as the children reluctantly dropped her hands and went to make enough noise that she knew they would not hear what she and the others had to say. She held the mantle in her arms, clasping it to her breast.

Gaylorde said, “Tell the ætheling to pray for himself too. He will be seeing his God quite soon.” He grabbed the mantle from her grasp and held it open. The sight of all the blood made her cry out. Elerde, who had winced at the sound, stepped forward to catch her as she started to crumple.

Gaylorde laughed with his hands on his hips and his head tilted back. “I should think you would be pleased. At least now you and your lord and children will be together again. There wasn’t much hope of that happening anytime soon with him still alive.” He shoved the mantle at Elerde. “It should make fine sport to see you all die. But why have all the fun at one time. Tomorrow will do for that exquisite sight." He spun on his heels and exited the chamber. "I think this calls for a feast today!” he called to his men, receiving a boisterous round of approval.

“I am so sorry,” Elerde said when they were alone save for the loudly praying children.

Josephine pushed him away. “Are you?” she snapped. “Isn’t this what you wanted? My husband dead?”

Elerde bit his lip at the riposte he wanted to make, that it was her husband who tried to kill him. “I won’t lie to you, Josephina, I am not sorry he’s dead. But I am terribly grieved at your own sorrow. Gaylorde is a cruel man. I wanted to break the news to you myself, more gently. Don’t you see now, that you need to leave immediately? Gaylorde is going to kill you all. Josephina, he will crow with delight to see you and the children die."

Her eyes flared anew at his affectionate name for her, but she knew he was being candid with his feelings. She dropped her eyes, looking like she would start to weep.

"My own darling, you have no more reason not to come with me. Lawrence is not coming back.”

She shot him a defiant look. “That is his grace the king to you, sir. You may not take such familiarity. With him or with me. he is not dead. I told you. I would know. I don’t know where he is, what has happened to him,, if he is well, but I do know he is alive.”

Elerde’s eyes were soft and pleading. “If that is true, then you are right. he will come home someday. But what matters is that Gaylorde thinks he is dead. He no longer has any reason to keep you alive and he must kill Peter so he does not become a rallying point for your people. “ He took her shoulders in a strong grip and made her look into his eyes. “What if the king is still alive? What if he comes back and takes the fortress? What will he feel if he only then learns that you have been executed, and your children slaughtered?”

She looked at him, stunned. She opened her lips to speak but could not. Her chin fell to her breast. He put his arms around her, and she let herself crumple against him. As he held her tight and kissed the top of her head, she let go and wept. The tension of maintaining her composure in the face of the privations, the fear, the loneliness could no longer be denied.

The children stopped their prayer and looked up alarmed. Elerde reached out one arm to them as an invitation. They came quickly, folding themselves into the embrace between their mother and the man who cherished her.

The mercenary felt as much as heard the queen’s single word. The girls and Tavish were crying and he had to bend his head down closer to her face. “What, my love? What did you say?”

She tried to pull herself together, lifting her face away from his chest and reaching to stroke her children’s hair. “I said aye.”

“Aye?” Elerde’s heart beat faster. “You mean.. you will..?”

Josephine turned reddened eyes to him. “Aye, but on one condition.”

He responded to the solemn look on her face which was formed on a structure of resolve. “Anything, my darling. Anything.”

She looked hard into his face. “That you take us to an abbey somewhere in England, not to Leon, and not to live with you. Swear it.”

He had known it was too good to hope for, that she would turn to him now with all her grief. He nodded. “I swear.”. He was patient. He could wait for her to come to him.

“Lady, you once told me you would not go with me even were it to the gates of Hell. Taking you to an abbey suits me greatly as a compromise.”

He wrapped her more tightly in his arms, put his cheek on her hair, closed his eyes, and sighed deeply. "Josephina, my love."

Josephine pulled back from Elerde’s arms with a start. “Forgive me. That was most unseemly.” She turned away from him as he reached to take her back into his arms. His eyes implored her.

“Lady, it is natural you should weep. You have had a serious shock.”

She had knelt to her children, taking them all into an embrace, reassuring, calming, comforting. “I think you should leave me, my lord. I want you to take what time we have to think about what you propose to do.”

He dropped his arms to his sides and his eyes grew empty of hope. “My lady,” the man of Leon ventured, “I have no doubts about what must be done. You and these children must go far beyond Gaylorde’s reach.”

Without looking at him, she went on. “Sir, one thing must be clear between us. If I let you help me escape, there will be no.. expectations.. on your part that I will be yours. I am now and forever the wife of King Lawrence, living or…” Her voice caught, not wanting to undo the comfort she had given the children. "Grateful I shall be indeed, but I will not willingly become your leman."

Elerde drew himself up to his full formal stance. In a chilly voice, he said, “My lady, you misjudge me greatly. I both would not and need not compel women to be with me. I will help you however I may for our friendship’s sake and to prevent an evil man from doing even further evil. With your leave, I will go make what preparations we need to depart. I advise you to get your children ready.” He made a short, sharp bow, spun on his heel and left.

The queen looked after him, regretting the necessity of her words. The man was unpredictable, impetuous. She had to be rock hard against that.

“Come, children, I need to talk with you.” She led them to their pallets and bade them sit. “I need you to be very, very brave. And quiet. You must be silent. Lord Elerde is going to help us leave and go somewhere where your father can find us.”

Peter asked in a hushed voice, “Is Papa alive?”

“Aye, my love, he is. When he can find a way to do this, he will come find us.”

Josephine was not sure how the Man of Leon would accomplish their escape. She knew it would be within the next hours, for to wait would mean Gaylorde would send his guards fetch them so he could kill them all.

Soon she heard a great deal of noise growing in the stronghold’s grounds around her. She washed the children’s faces and hands, changed them into clean clothes, then bade them each use their chamber pots. “Put on your cloaks too.” She sat quite still herself once they were ready and lying tensely but quietly on their pallets. She listened to the commotion, the sound of horses being brought into the courtyard, of men’s voices shouting, first simply to each other, then in demanding tones.

Elerde had found his two lieutenants and told them to gather all his men mounted in the courtyard. Lagu and Heraral already knew what their commander intended. They quickly and efficiently made the rounds of the officers who made their own rounds to their men. Elerde himself made his way to the hall where the usurper greeted him and welcomed him at last to the feast celebrating the king’s death. But Gaylorde stopped in mid-sentence when he saw that Elerde was in full mail and armor.

“Sire,” Elerde interrupted the man’s initial words of question. “There is a force advancing from the east. I have ordered my men to prepare to ride out to meet them.”

Gaylorde rose. “Indeed, and will you take a number of my guard with you?”

Elerde gave a casual shrug. “If you wish, my liege, but ‘tis not such a big force that my own men cannot take them. Better to keep a strong force here in case there is an attack from another quarter. If it pleases your majesty,” he added.

Gaylorde was thinking how much easier it would be to dispose of the royal prisoners if the mercenary was nowhere near them. He smiled. “I commend you, my lord, for your quick action. By all means, take your men and go.”

Elerde of Leon bowed low and took his leave.

In the courtyard he signaled to Lagu. “Come.”

The two men went into the building in which the nursery lay. They approached the two guards who stood in front of the door of the small chamber. Elerde and the two men exchanged nods, then as Elerde and Lagu stepped past them, they turned and thrust daggers deep into the men’s sides. Elerde pulled his own dagger out of the older guard and then cut his throat with a slashing motion. Lagu meantime had snatched the other guard’s sword out of its sheath and buried it in its owner’s belly and twisted it.

The door to the nursery opened. The queen stood alarmed, glancing down to see the guards. “It is now, then,” she stated matter of factly. This is to be a bold escape then.” She turned and went to the children who were sitting up on their pallets. “Peter and Tavish, take my hands. My lord, can you take the girls?”

Elerde came forward and he and Lagu each took a little girl in their arms.

“I want you all to close your eyes tight until I tell you that you can open them. Do you understand?” Her voice was commanding.

“Aye, Mother,” chorused four little voices.

“Close them now. Boys, I will not let you trip or fall, I promise.”

The children squeezed their eyes shut.

The queen looked at Elerde. “Ready.”

Elerde patted Caithness, whom he held in the crook of his arm. “We are going on a horseback ride. We will ride very fast. You won’t be scared, will you?”

Caithness, her eyes shut tight, shook her head.

Elaine had her little hands pressed hard over her eyes on Lagu’s chest. "Mama?" she said in a whisper.

“Hush! Remember you must be silent.” Josephine chided.

The next few minutes were a blur. With a deep breath Lagu led the odd grouping out of the nursery and then out of the quarters building. Josephine realized it was the first time she had been outdoors in months. The sun hit her eyes and made her almost blind. She could not let go of one of her sons’ hands to shade her eyes. She felt a strong hand take her elbow. “Have no fear, my lady. Just close your eyes and come with me.”

“Must I also be silent, my Lord Elerde?” she asked with wry humor.

“I should not presume to tell you, your grace,” he replied. The queen could not read his inflection.

Soon she was up on a horse, her two girls seated before her and her arms wrapped securely around them. She was able to look now. Peter was in front of Lagu and Tavish in front of Heraral. Elerde lifted his hand and called “Forward!”

Gaylorde came out of the hall, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and clutching a delighted Ricca to his side, to watch the soldiers head out to stop the attacking force. He took one look at the four lead horses and shouted, “Wait! Stop them!”

He was too late. The lead riders had ridden through the inner and then the outer gate before his own men could react. “After them!” Gaylorde shouted. His men mounted as quickly as the stable boys and grooms could bring out the horses and saddle them. behind the last rider the two heavy gates had swung shut. When the first of Gaylorde’s men shouted to the guards to open the inner gates, there was no reply. “Hell and damnation,” the usurper cried.

“The gate is blocked!” came the voice of the first man who managed to climb up to the gate house. “It’s tied shut!”

“What do you mean, tied shut, whoreson?” Gaylorde snapped. He climbed the wall himself and looked. Indeed at some time someone had affixed ropes to the outside of the inner gate. They were now tied in elaborate knots. There were many of them and they were thick. As he ordered men to jump down and hack at the ropes with their swords and axes, there came a sharp whistle. All eyes looked to the two gatehouses of the outer gate. Each had an archer ready to loose arrows into the first man who tried it. Gaylorde and his men ducked rapidly as two arrows came sailing just over their heads.

“Where are we going, my lord?” the queen asked the mercenary commander as she rode up beside him. They were heading north.

“The Humber, of course, and across it to Northumbria. We can get a ship there for the south. Or you can make other arrangements if that pleases you, my lady.” Elerde was looking straight ahead, not at her. his voice was formal.

“My lord, thank you. For my children’s sakes.”

Elerde glanced at her briefly,and nodded. Then he spurred his horse forward.

The monk watched the party ride away, then heard the shouts from the inner gate. He stood near the outer gate, and he looked up at the archers’ Looking about, he tucked up his habit and slowly climbed one of the gatehouses. He called to the archer to let him know he was coming and was unarmed.

“Go, lad,” he said. “You and the other one follow your commander. I will take your bow and loose some arrows for a while to keep them from popping up to look." He planned to leave the bow up here and slide back down. No one will suspect a monk.

The man thanked him, handed him his bow and sack of arrows. “Thank you, brother,” he said.

“One thing,” Rory asked. “Where are they going?”

“To the river and Northumbria, then mayhap on to Kent.”

“Me warmest thanks, lad,” Rory said, pulling off his habit and taking the bow in his hands. “Now better go.” He loosed an arrow just as a head started to bob up on the opposite tower.

The archers gone and Rory doing his best to seem like two sets of bows and arrows, he thought to himself. “I will follow and find her. “

Next: Shannon Reaches Grantham