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: 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

New Stories: The King Gets Back to the War (Happened with Chages)

s soon as the news spread that the king was alive and leading his army to Lawrencium men from small estates, farms and villages and even monasteries began to come forth to join the ranks. Lawrence rode at the fore on War-Brother with Lord Horsa on his left and Earl Botopher at his right. The king’s entire body emanated his determination, a sight that brought cheer and resolve to the hearts of all who saw it. He was on his way home. He would destroy the men who had taken his crown. Earl Botopher recognized that to take back his own fortress in Skirbeck the security of the entire kingdom must return to first priority. When Lawrencium was regained, the ruffians who now held Skirbeck would simply grab what they could and melt away. He could only pray that his young wife would not be one of those precious items stolen, but her greatest value to the usurper’s allies was as a hostage for ransom, and king Lawrence had assured Botopher whatever gold and armed support he needed to get her back. Now the goal was not only the fortress at Lawrencium and the crown but the king’s own wife and their children. He knew that the queen’s brother, duke Lorin, was safe, having been freed by the Lord Elerde and Shannon O’Neill, the bard who now contented himself in the rear guard, preferring to walk than ride. Lawrence was keenly aware that the queen was at as great a risk as ever if not greater, for she and their children would make excellent shields for his cousin, the usurper, once he learned that the king was at his gates. The council of commanders urged the king to let people believe he was dead, using this subterfuge to trick that cousin, Duke Gaylorde. He mulled it over, considering all the possible outcomes, and in fine he decided that his presence at the vanguard of the returning army might cause the enemy to waver in their arrogant confidence. Therefore he was there, in full armor and all the rich trappings the aides could put together. He was the Great king come to reclaim what was rightfully his. Lord Jehan, Earl of Grantham, and his own household fighters and fyrd were with the army in Affynshire from onset to victory, then at the bridge, Lincoln and the reconquest of his own stronghold. So much the stranger then that when he heard that the king was killed in an encounter with brigands on a patrol of the Mercian border, he chose to court the usurper. His choice most certainly returned to haunt him as he now lay in his own prison hut guarded by the same bandits who blamed him as much as his lieutenant for the destruction of their village. The king pointedly admonished them to keep a better guard on their new prisoner than they on him. Aelthryth nodded seriously, but then he laughed. “We will keep Godgifu under guard as well.” Lawrence laughed also and replied, “I would like to believe she rescued me because I was worth rescuing.. methinks she would not find the earl as deserving.” As for the lady of Grantham.. it appeared she had fled and was living on the charity of some of her cousins now. One great concern Lawrence had was that they would somehow miss duke Lorin should he be heading west to look for the king. He knew his wife’s brother trusted no one else’s judgment in matters of import, particularly in matters of investigation and analysis. Lawrence worried that the man, once he was healed enough to travel, would do so on a circuitous route to avoid recapture. He sent scouts riding fast to all the possible routes save those hidden ones that he could not spare men for. All he could do now was to wait and pray his High Reeve and friend would be found.

Next: The Army Arrives at Lawrencium

New Stories: Lawrence Rejoins his Army While Rory Follows the Queen (Happened with Changes)

n the hastily moved bandit camp Lawrence sat on a log with them around a central fire, laughing convivially with his new found friends. It was hard not to think about how differently he had been welcomed the first time he was brought to the camp.

He saw Shannon standing apart with a young girl clearly engaged in a seduction. Lawrence roused himself as if to stretch then went over to the Irishman and leaned to whisper in his ear. “My lad, I think you should recall that though they live as bandits they are but villagers, and this one is the daughter of one of those villagers.”

Shannon irritably glanced sideways at the King and nodded, looking resentful. “Och, and I be supposin’ ye are right. But the lass was willin’..”

Lawrence gestured with a jerk of his head in the direction of one man who was eying Shannon closely. “Her father is not.”

When he and Shannon had gone back to the fire, the King asked, “Will you tell me what happened to your village?”

All gathered around the fire looked to Aelthryth. He nodded, took a breath, and told the King the story of the sacking of Toft. He spoke of the surprise, the loss of dear ones, and the loss of all their goods and homes. Then he told of his own mission to demand redress of the lady of Grantham who had been left in charge of the fortress and lands in her husband’s absence at the war in Affynshire. She behaved as if she did not believe Aelthryth, shooed him away irritably, but he saw her glance at the man known as Thrydulf. When he left the hall this man followed him and grasped his arm roughly.

“If I or any of my men ever see you or anyone from your village again, here or anywhere, we will take you and hang you as thieves.” His eyes burned into Aelthryth’s.

As soon as the man of Toft returned to his neighbors and friends, he told them they may as well consider themselves bandits. “We have been accused, tried and convicted as bandits. We must either flee into Mercia or East Anglia or take up the brigand life. How else will we feed our children?”

Lawrence listened with solemn attention. “And all of you decided to stay?”

Daelwine replied, “Nay, not all. Some fled south. But we are those who have a love for this land and wished to stay whatever the cost.”

Little Godgifu had gotten away from her mother’s restraining hands and dashed into the firelight and into the King’s welcoming embrace. Lawrence smiled, hoisted her to his knee, and held her close.

Godgifu looked about with a huge smile. “You see, I said he was a good man and would come back and help us.”

Lawrence kissed her on the top of her head. “Thanks to you, my angel. Methinks I owe you a debt.”

She looked into his face and replied without dissembling, “Aye, you promised me anything I wanted. I would have helped you anyway, but since you said I could then I will ask it of you.”

“What is it you want? If it is in my power to give, ‘tis yours.” Lawrence confirmed. “A pony? A pretty gown? What will you have?”

The child shook her head. “Nay, not those. Will you make it so my mother and father are not outlaws and can go back and build our village again?”

Lawrence’s eyes were misty. “Of course, sweetness. I should have done that anyway.“ He looked up at the circle of faces, all of them rapt and touched. “You are all free and pardoned. As soon as I have retaken Lawrencium I will direct the lord of Grantham -- that is, the new lord of Grantham -- to rebuild your village better than it was before.” He looked down at Godgifu. “Nothin special for you, my angel?”

She thought a moment. “Can we have a church?”

The King squeezed her in his arms until she giggled. "Aye, precious one," he said, his voice breaking.


The monks of Lindisfarne made room for the woman and her four children in their guesthouse. She and her armed protectors had had to wait a few hours while the tide went out and the causeway to the Holy Island made passable.

The queen of Críslicland sensed tension in spite of their efforts at hospitality. There was no mistaking their fearful looks cast at Elerde. Though the Holy Island was yet 23 years from the Viking attack that would shock all of Europe it never had been without some threat or another. King Eadberht of Northumbria, , was a dedicated patron of the Church in his kingdom and beyond, but Bernicia, the area of Northumbria that had a proud and independent tradition, would look unfavorably on the monks offering refuge to armed soldiers from another land. Elerde saw this and offered to take his men back to Bamburgh.

“I will send word when there is a ship that will take us to Kent. God keep you, my lady,” Elerde assured as he kissed her hand under the wary eyes of the monks.

“And God keep you, my lord. I thank you for your protection and company. The children and I will be safe here.” Josephine allowed a glint of gratitude to shine in her eyes though her voice had been stiff and formal.

As she watched him and his men cross the causeway again she felt a tug on her sleeve. “My lady, Bishop Cynewulf would have you share his evening meal.”

She looked at him, nodded, then asked, “Can you see to my children, that they get settled in our quarters? Don’t worry, children, I will be nearby. Just be very good and eat what the good brothers give you and then go to bed. I will be back to say goodnight.”

She followed the monk who led her to the Bishop’s house. “Bishop Cynewulf writes those exquisite poems, does he not?”

The monk beamed. “Aye, and ‘tis good to know you know of them.”


Horsa, the commander of all of King Lawrence’s armies, looked down at the sound of his name. His eyes did not quickly adjust from his survey of the horizon. “What is it?” he asked.

“’Tis a messenger, my lord. He says he is from the King.” The voice was one of his own lieutenants.

“King? What King?” Horsa asked, not daring to hope.

The messenger, who appeared to be a very simple farmer or villager, answered his question. “King of Críslicland, my lord. Lawrence, if it pleases you.”

“If you are serious then it pleases me very much!” Horsa swung his leg over his horse and dismounted. He stood before the small man and waited with his hands on his hips. “Well?”

“’Tis true, my lord. I come from the village of Toft..” he began.

“Toft? Toft was burned to the ground.” Horsa eyed the man suspiciously.

The man bowed several times and went on. “That is true as well. Many of the villagers fled and live in the forest. We captured the King and…”

“Soldiers, here! Take this man a and hold him!” Horsa turned back and snapped at the messenger, “You mean to ask for a ransom then. Where is he, where have you got him?” Horsa, a very tall broad man, towered over Lark who was clutching his cap and trembling.

“My lord, please! We did have him. Then we lost him. Then we rescued him. He sent me to find you and tell you. he said to tell you to bring War-Brother…”

Horsa subsided, signaled the soldiers to loose the man. “You really do have him then? Where?”

Lark shook his arms when they were loose again, looked about at his detainers, trying to cover his resentment, then looked back at Horsa. “Our camp. A league due south. I can take you.”

“It could be a trap, an ambush, my lord” one of the soldiers advised.

“Possibly. But he knows War-Brother’s name and that he was found not with the king. “ Horsa looked closely at the messenger’s face. “You say it is in the forest. Would you be willing to bring the King out to us on the edge of the woods, more than a bowshot away?”

Lark nodded gratefully. “Oh, aye, sir, that we would.”

Horsa let his tense shoulders relax. “Man, if you are telling the truth, then you have brought the gladdest tidings I have heard in all my many days.” He looked up and called, “Botopher!”


The patrol remained just out of bowshot and peered into the woods. It seemed to take a long time, but at last they could see that a band of men was coming through the trees. Horsa turned to Botopher for the confirmation of younger eyes. “My God, it is he! It is the king!” Botopher leapt off his horse and went forward quickly, the cheering erupting from all around him.

Horsa was not far behind him when the Earl of Skirbeck stopped and kneeled at the feet of the king. He noticed that the King was dressed as they normally knew him to, save for the fact that the clothes were dirty, the jerkin too tight and the boots missing. The bandits had reluctantly given back their spoils, but the wife of the man who had gotten the jerkin had altered it to fit the man’s slightly smaller frame. The boots, of course, were either on their way to Sleaford or on their way back on Cynulf'c’s feet.

“My liege, you are alive! God be praised! Sweet Jesu be praised!” Botopher’s voice almost broke with the rapture.

“Stand up you two. And all of you as well!” Lawrence gestured to the kneeling men of the patrol to rise. He looked speculatively at Horsa. “You thought I was dead?”

“Aye, sire,” the older man answered. “That fellow from Leon showed us your cloak with all the blood and your sword.”

“Leon?” Lawrence started to color, but then he recalled Lagu and the quagmire. “Lagu. He walloped me on the head with a branch, but I only assumed he had taken those things. And my helm/ But whose blood was it on the cloak?”

Botopher finally spoke, “We thought it was yours, my liege!”

“Well it wasn’t. I had thrown it a ways from me ere Lagu came and gave me the blow.” He put a hand to the back of his head and winced. He seemed to be considering something, then he looked up, his tension showing clearly in his face. “You thought I was dead. Did everyone think I was dead? Where is Lagu now?”

“He left for Lawrencium, sire, to show his prizes to Gaylorde.”

Lawrence blanched. “Sweet loving Jesu!” he moaned. That means she thinks I am dead. “ No one needed to ask whom he meant. He covered his face with both hands. When he uncovered his face again, he looked defeated. “I can’t even send word. I am sure Gaylorde is having the time of his life gloating about my death.. and there is no way he would give a message to my lady.”

“My lord,” Horsa began, “might we use that to our advantage? Not that her grace believes you are dead but that Gaylorde and all others do?”

Lawrence nodded slowly. “Aye. We shall do that.” He looked up, rubbing the back of his neck, then squinted in the sun. “Did you bring War-Brother?”

“My lord, we could not. He is stabled at Grantham.”

The king growled “Grantham. Just days ago I was also stabled at Grantham.”

Botopher looked perplexed. “Stabled, sire? What do you mean?”

Lawrence grinned ruefully. “That’s a tale that I will leave to the bard. Shannon is back at the camp. We will rejoin him and you will hear the tale of the royal madman and we can talk about what to do next.” he put an arm around Horsa and Botopher and started to lead them back into the woods.

Next:

New Stories: How the Bandits and Shannon Rescued the King (Happened with Changes)

Remember, "Lord Jehan" is "Earl Harold" in the novel.

ehan had taken a more circuitous route and now stood off from the gate watching “Kyre” and the guards. He frowned at the liberties the second guard had taken -- liberties he believed reserved for himself -- but he was more irritated that he would not be able to follow her in to the enclosure just yet. Better to wait until she had delivered the pail and left.

He turned to go to the hall for a bowl of ale. He spotted some players, dressed in bright colored rags and tags coming around a building, then stopping suddenly when they saw him. One of the players made a most blasphemous comment, causing another to clap a hand over his mouth. He saw the players start to turn. “Oh hail there, stop. Are you looking for someone or something?” Jehan loved players, singers, dancers, jugglers, whatever they were called and whatever they did.

Aelthryth, seeing in the light of a half moon that the earl had a bright smile of welcome on his face, stopped and turned back, hissing a command to do likewise to his band. They reluctantly turned and waited.

“Kind sir, my lord, I mean, aye, we are wondering just where we can bed down after we play for the earl.”

Jehan puffed out his chest. “I am the earl! Come along with me now. I am on my way to the hall as it happens – and very much in need of distraction. Afterwards you can choose to sleep in the hall or in the stables.. whichever company you prefer to keep.” He gave Aelthryth a devilish look. “If you ask me, methinks the horses are cleaner and smell better than the flea bitten warriors that sleep in the Hall!”

Aelthryth elbowed Mærhard n the ribs and laughed, with a reluctant Mærhard joining in, then the others. The earl’s face registered pleasure at the response to his witticism.

Jehan gestured for the band of players to come with him, then started to walk away.

Aelthryth thought fast. “Uh, my lord, your grace, noble sir.. we were also looking for the cesspit. Boo here isn’t feeling to well. And he’s touched, so we always go with him.”

Jehan stared at them a moment. “All of you?”

The bandits chorused an enthusiastic “aye!”

“Well, make haste. I am most anxious to see what you have to perform. The cesspit is over there.” Jehan gestured in the direction of one part of the stronghold wall, then he turned and strode away.


Shannon could not believe how easy it had been to get in. While congratulating himself on his wit, he went to the door of the little jail and put the covered pail down. He winced as the heavy bar on the only door creaked as he labored to lift it. He stopped breathing for a moment, then heard “Shddad?” whispered questioningly by the all too familiar voice within the hut.

“Sire, I’ll be getting’ ye out soon as I can lift this bar.” With a mighty pull he managed to lift it, drooped it again, caught it before it slammed noisily into its brackets, then took a deep breath and pulled the bar all the way out. Straining at the weight of it, he lowered it silently to the ground. He saw the door he had just cleared start to open slowly. A much soiled and ragged but nevertheless regal head came out to look.

The king was gagged, and as he emerged hopping from the hut, Shannon saw his hands and ankles were tied as well. Shannon dashed to cut the ropes on his wrists with a little eating knife he carried. Before he had cut all the way through, the King snapped the ropes and freed himself. He quickly reached to pull off the gag. Dropping to sit on the dirt to untie his ankles, he grinned up at his savior and said hoarsely, “Shannon, ‘tis indeed you! How came you here?”

Before the Irishman could answer he was up again and clasping him in a bear hug. In the growing dark Shannon smelled his condition more than saw it. He started to answer the king’s question, but found himself cut off.

“Never mind that, how do we get out of here?” The King was not asking him but was already looking about for an escape route. Though he had stooped as he came out, he stood straight now, looking for all the world as if he was growing to his particular height.

My lord, have ye been here all this time we thought ye were dead?”

“Nay, nay,” the King replied distractedly. “Bandits held me for ransom.”

“Ransom? But no ransom message came to lawrencium.”

Without registering any but the barest points of Shannon’s questions, he said, “They thought I was Aldwin of Sleaford..”

Shannon almost laughed aloud. “Aldwin of Sleaford? Rich that be..”

Lawrence hissed a warning to be quiet. It was then he stopped and looked harder at Shannon. “What in God’s name are you wearing?”

“’Tis but a lasses cloak and a linen towel,” Shannon answered as though it was the most commonplace thing in the world.

‘Ah,” Lawrence replied, sounding not at all certain, but his eyes left Shannon and started searching again. “The guards think you are a lass.. the one who brings my dinner. They will wonder if you don’t come back out.” He looked at the gate. “Wait until I get behind the gate,” he directed.

Shannon nodded and watched the King go to the inside of the stockade wall and flex his arms and take a solid stance. As he looked to Shannon, who stood with his arms drooping at his sides and started to lift his hand to signal, they heard voices coming from the other side of the gate.

“Just where do you think you are going, varlet?” came one of the guard’s voices, clearly not in the mood for this tomfoolery. “Wait, what are you doing? You can’t..” Then a struggle and the sound of groaning in two pitches, and of bodies hitting the ground. Other voices sniggered and hands could be heard clapping backs.

Lawrence gave Shannon a puzzled look, which he returned with a shrug, and then the bar was audibly lifted and the gate began to open.

The bandits came into the little enclosure as a group, stopping just inside to stare at Shannon. Aelthryth said, “What are you doing here, lass? You’d better get out of…” Then he saw the open door to the hut. “Now wait a minute..”

“You?!” Lawrence rasped, then reached for and palmed the nearest man’s dagger. He caught the bandit leader by the throat and spun him around. The dagger was now at the man’s throat, the king’s furious face at his ear and a string of oaths hissed through his clenched teeth. “Come to finish what I would not let you, blackguard?”

The other bandits had pulled their daggers.. save the one whose dagger was now at his leader’s throat, but stayed in the semicircle they formed facing the King.

“Sire, nay, you misunderstand…” Aelthryth choked out.

“I understand all right! Either Jehan is a bigger fool even than he seems or you are pretty confident about your chances at spiriting me away..”

“My lord, wait..”

Lawrence did not turn to face Shannon. “Not now, Shannon, this is one of the bandits that..”

Shannon persisted, “He said ‘sire’. I thought ye said they thought ye were…”

Lawrence looked sideways into the face of Aelthryth. “You did. You did say ‘sire’. So now you hope for a greater prize.”

In the deepening gloom the fellow called “Lark” had carefully set down the lute he was carrying and edged slowly to the King’s side. Shannon saw him just in time to shout, “Look out!” when Lark had jumped behind the King and leapt on his back, his long thin arms around the king’s throat. The other bandits surged forward and attacked the King from the front, never minding that their leader got many of the kicks and blows intended for the king of Críslicland. In the melee Aelthryth twisted free. He reached for his own dagger and stepped into the tangle. He managed to push off a few of his men, then get behind the King himself. He shouted his men to let go, and now the King stood with the blade at his throat.

Earl Jehan impatiently awaited the players, then decided to take another chance with the brig’s guards while he waited for them to come back from the cesspit. He slipped out of the hall making gestures that translated to his having to do his own business and made his way quickly to the guard house. He reached it and turned the corner only to find the two guards crumpled on the ground and the gate wide open. He took in a sharp gasp of air but was not sure if it was alarm or relief that caused it. Might the king have gotten away? Could it possibly be this easy?

Jehan entered the small enclosure and found himself a spectator of a most unusual dramatic tableau. Before him he saw king Lawrence, with whom he had gone on a few campaigns, had numerous council meetings with as well as state dinners, whom he had so recently had incarcerated in this very yard and whom he had just come to kill.. or free?. The flash of torchlight on a blade told him that the man behind the King held him with a knife at his throat. His own thoughts raced. Here was his perfect opportunity! Let the bandits.. hadn’t they been players just a few minutes ago? – kill the King and his problems would be solved and his wife finally happy. But he realized as quickly that the bandits having killed the King would have to kill him. He let out a strangled cry and started to turn to flee. Cynwic had gotten quickly between him a and the gateway, blocking his flight.

Aelthryth, who had just been taking the breath he would need to renew his case to the king that he and his men were there to save him, suddenly realized who had just come in among the growing press in the small yard.

“’Tis the earl, come to finish off the King!” He let Lawrence go and came at Jehan with a dagger. His men followed suit.

Lawrence had to shake his head to clear it. What was all this? Were the bandits really here to rescue and not kidnap him? Now that they knew who he was, had they changed their minds about what to do with him? He knew Jehan to be perfidious, but should he defend the earl or join his attackers?

Shannon had spied his lute on the ground where lark had set it down. He went to it casually, lifted it, turned it so he held the neck in both hands, leaned over the press of bandits and brained Jehan neatly. The bandits stopped struggling with the man and, unwittingly, each other as the earl’s body slumped to the ground.

The sight of the bandits pleasure and the smiles they turned on him now convinced the King. “Quick, pull him and the guards in here.” The bandits acted on his command immediately and each took an arm of one of the three men and dragged them into the hut. Lawrence himself hefted the heavy bar and slid it into its iron brackets. “Let’s get out of here.”

Shannon was standing apart with a glum look on his face. He had the neck of the lute in his hands still, but the body of the instrument was now hanging only from its strings. “Don’t worry,” Lawrence said, putting a strong hand on the bard’s shoulder. “I will get you another one.”

“But this one was… oh hell..” Shannon dropped it on the ground and followed the King and the bandits out into the courtyard.

“How do we get out of the gates?” Shannon asked in a stage whisper.

Aelthryth answered first. “The same way we got in.. or at least all of us but his majesty.”

Shannon understood immediately, threw the cloak he had stolen over the King’s shoulders and stripped off the linen towel from his head. “Now put this on your head like a Paynim and skip along with us out of the gate,” he told the King.

Lawrence wrapped the towel around his head like a turban, but said quizzically, “Skip? I don’t skip.”

Wulfstan piped up, “If you want to go on being King, you will.”

The band took up a merry song and gamboled out through the gate, the Paynim in their middle stiff and ungainly, but nonetheless skipping.

“Where should we go?” Shannon asked Aelthryth.

“Away! Just follow me.”

Next: The Queen Arrives in Northumbria

Is anyone reading these? Let me know.

New Stories: The Bandits Decide to Rescue the King (Happened with Xhanges)

aelwine indeed arrived in time to stop the exodus from the camp.

He was one of the survivors of the sacking of the small village of Toft. The usurper’s man in Grantham had not even waited until the usurping took place far to the northeast in Lawrencium but with his lord away at the war, he swept down with his own force and gathered all the border towns had. Those men not in the fields during the middle of the day had died trying to stop the sack, so the women hid and escaped to tell their returning menfolk that all their stores and livestock were gone. Why the women were spared was explained by what Aelthryth’s own wife overheard. “Leave them. Unless you plan to kill the girl, how are you going to explain her back in Grantham?”

Now Daelwine told an odd story. “Egbert and I hid in the clump of rocks near the road that leads to the gate of Grantham. I saw a man in ragged clothes come up the road, looking nervous. He seemed spooked by something, the more he approached, possibly sensing we were there. He too took cover and waited.”

“That sounds like the hostage we took.. who turned out to be the King, methinks,” Aelthryth observed.

Daelwine stared at him, his mouth hanging open, then shook his head as if to clear it and went on. “That makes what happened next stranger. Jehan and his patrol came back. To Egbert’s and my surprise the raggedy man stepped out of his hiding place right into the path of the riders. He held up his hand in a salute and then .. well.. smiled at them. I thought maybe he was a spy working for Lord Jehan or something.”

Aelthryth urged him on, “So what happened? What’s so strange about the King saluting one of his allies?”

“It was what Jehan did that was strange. He stopped, his face white as snow, and stared. Then he ordered his men to take the man. He said ‘He must be mad’ or something like that. I was surprised when the man shouted, ‘What is the meaning of this?’ in an imperious voice, but I guess I know why now…” He let his voice trail off.

Wulfstan interjected, “But what did they do? Why did the men not recognize the King?”

Daelwine shrugged as all eyes were riveted on him again. “If he was the King. It was getting dark and he sure didn’t look like a king. And one of the men clunked him a good one on the head. H was out like a candle in a squall. “

Cynwic muttered “Good, I hope it hurts as much as mine does,” and rubbed the bump on his own head.

“And they took him inside?” the leader queried.

Daelwine nodded. “Egbert and I thought you ought to hear about that. There was another man, just a few days before, who seemed like he gave Jehan some message and left again pretty soon. We did not think anything of it at the time. He had a large bundle of some kind, both coming in and going out. Egbert and I thought I should come since I run faster.”

“You did right.” Aelthryth put one elbow on his bent knee and his chin in his palm. “So if that was the King, and I think it was, he’s not going to be coming to take revenge on us any time soon. Assuming he’s still alive. And it means Jehan has turned against him. Which makes my lord Jehan that bastard Thrydulf’s accomplice.”

Mærheard spoke up. “What do we do?”

The leader pondered for a while. “We rescue him.”


Aelthryth led a party of bandits on foot to a copse near the fortress of Grantham. He shaded his eyes to the afternoon light and peered. “Have any of you ever been in there?” he asked the men clustered nearby.

“I have,” called Cynwic. “Remember when that fellow claimed I was damming up the brook that watered his land? I had to go to the Earl’s court to defend myself.”

“Did you get a good look around?” Aelthryth pursued. Cynwic shook his head. “Well then one of us will need to go in there and scout around for where they are holding their prisoner. Cynwic, you at least have been in there.. you go.” He ignored the man’s plaintive noise as he rubbed the bump on his head. “Just go.”

Cynwic gained access to the stronghold easily by lifting a load of wood from a cart nearby the gate and striding through. The men guarding the entrance were distracted by a game of draughts and did not challenge the unfamiliar face. The bandit strolled aimlessly about with the wood perched on his shoulder, not needing to feign the look of being lost that showed on his face. The stronghold was laid out with the Hall and the earl’s household’s quarters in the middle, with stables, a chapel, the servants quarters and workshops, the wells and the cooking fires more or less in a circle around it. He wandered about between and behind the buildings, dodging running children, being barked at and nipped by dogs. He stepped into some sort of a mess and moaned. Then he relaxed as he saw it was just some awful a dog had pulled out of the middens and not a dog turd. People asked him where he was going several times, but he just looked daft and turned in the direction they pointed, only to resume his search when he was out of sight.

After two or three circuits of the compound Cynwic noticed that the section of outer wall behind the guard house that had walls that stretched between them was larger than it at first appeared. He noticed that there was a barred door very close to the guardhouse’s western wall. That must be where the king was held. He hefted his wood more securely on his shoulder and made bold to approach the two guards that stood before it. He walked right up to them, looking like he expected them to open the door and let him through.

“Where do you think you are going?” said a grizzled man with a Northumbrian accent. he had stooped shoulders and a festering scar on one forearm, the arm he held out to stop Cynwic.

“Wood. I am to take wood in there.” Cynwic made his voice sound matter of fact.

“In there?! I don’t think so. That’s where the prisoner is kept. He doesn’t need wood.” This came from the other younger guard who was no less disreputable looking, just fairer of face.

“Prisoner? What prisoner? I thought this was the private garth?” Cynwic queried irritably.

“Never mind what prisoner. This is not a garth, no less a private one. Someone has you confused.” The grizzled guard looked out to the courtyard as if looking for someone, lifted his wounded arm to hail them.

“Don’t bother.. I’ll find the man who told me to bring the wood over here.” Cynwic took one last look at the gate to the prison and turned and walked away.

Next: Shannon Gets Suspipcious About Grantham's Madman

New Stories: The Bandits Realize Who Their Prisoner Was (Happened with changes)

elthryth sat on his horse surveying the crowd of downcast people who greeted him upon his and his raiding party’s return. “He what?!” the leader demanded.

Cynwic, the guard whom the hostage had brained as he escaped pointed elaborately to the bump on his head and whined, “But Aelthryth, he hit me with a rock!”

The bandit leader cringed at the whiny tone of the man’s voice. “Jesu Christ, how did he get out of the prison hut?”

The men who had been left behind while this raiding party was gone looked at each other and scratched their heads. The bumpy-headed man shrugged. “We don’t know.”

Aelthryth sighed and glared at the man. Then he shifted his attention. “Wulfstan, weren’t you on duty too? Did you wait around for the man to give you a bump on the head after he finished with Cynwic?” He eyed the man who was squirming. “You weren’t even there, were you?”

Wulfstan shook his head and looked down, wringing his hands. “I.. I was…”

The leader growled. “I know where you were… in Mærheard’s bed.. and in his woman...”

Said Mærheard let out a roar that startled even the leader. He was already on foot and had a head start on the philanderer and caught him and struck him to the ground almost where he had been standing.

“Enough!” Aelthryth shouted. “You can settle your scores later. Did anyone at least try to find him?”

A very young fellow with an optimistic chinful of peach fuzz called out, “Aye, but without our hunter we didn’t stand a chance. He had hours on us.”

Aelthryth laboriously dismounted. He stood as the boy who had spoken hurried to take his horse to unsaddle and brush down. “Do we still have any of the oats?” the leader called after him.

“Some,” the fellow called back, then turned and took the horse out of sight between two of the ramshackle cottages to feed him what was left.

“Losing our hunter was the worst part of what that bastard Thryduulf did to us.” Aelthryth gave the band of men encircling him a sour grimace.

Mærheard barked out, “That and having everything we had in the world taken away.”

The leader nodded resignedly and walked slowly to the hut in which Lawrence had been imprisoned. He stopped in front of it, his hands on his hips, and shook his head. There it stood, the rough door standing open, the wattle walls still whole.

“Latch the door after I’m inside,” he commanded.

“Sir?” came a voice from the crowd that had followed him, but Mærheard stepped up as Aelthryth stepped inside the small, cramped hut. He threw the latch and waited as the leader appeared, from the sounds they heard, to be trying the door, hitting it, pushing it, trying to lift it, then punching places in the walls trying to find a weak spot.

“Let me out,” he finally called. Once outside he looked baffled. “Someone must have let him out, pulled the latch or something.”

“I did, sir.”

All eyes turned to the small figure standing apart. Godgifu’s mother gasped and rushed forward to grab her up.

“Stop! What do you mean, Godgifu?” Aelthryth asked.

“I undid the latch so the man could get out.” The face was ingenuous, not a hint of fear or laughter.

Through the sudden eruption of voices that questioned, reprimanded and sounded relieved to be off the hook themselves all at once, the leader asked. “Why did you do that, child?”

Godgifu shrugged. “Because if we kept him here he could not go back and fight the bad men who took everything from our village and then burned it down.”

Murmurs made their rounds but the leader just looked at the little girl. “What makes you think he would fight the bad men?”

The child put her hands clasped in front of her and twisted from the hips back and forth. “That’s his job.”

“You mean he is a warrior?”

Godgifu nodded. “He’s a warrior.. and the King.”

The murmurs abruptly silenced. Everyone looked at Aelthryth. “The king? What do you mean, he’s the King?”

The girl’s voice took on a petulant, impatient note. “He just is. He’s the King. That’s all.”

The leader went over to her and knelt on one knee, putting his hand gently on her shoulder. “Did the man tell you this?”

She shook her head. “I just know.” She twisted more quickly, making the leader take his hand from her shoulder. “I can prove it!” she suddenly said in a loud voice and turned and ran back to her family’s cottage. The leader followed, accompanied by everyone who had been within earshot. They heard the child scrabbling around, a wooden box shutting with a thunk. Just as Aelthryth stooped to go through the low door, the girl burst out, holding something between two fingers. “Here!”

The leader took the small thing. Everyone could see it was a silver piece. His face blanched. “By God, she’s right. It was the King.” He held up the coin. As each person came as close as his or her eyesight demanded, each saw the King’s image on the coin.
Mærheard swore, his anger at being cuckolded forgotten for the moment. “Holy shit! Well I am for Mercia. When the King comes back, we are all dead meat.”

“Nay, we are not. He’s a nice man.”

All faces turned back to Godgifu. She went on, “He said he would come back and give me whatever I wanted.”

Her mother scolded, “Godgifu, you know better than to take gifts from strange men who want you to do something. We talked about that, remember?”

“But I didn’t! I helped him so he could go fight. He said he would give me whatever I wanted to thank me... after.”

“You know,” said one man who had been left out of the raiding party, “he could have done a lot more than bumped Cynwic on the head. He took his weapons. He could have killed him and everyone else here if he had a mind to.”

“He wouldn’t do that, silly!” Godgifu retorted. “He’s the King!”

The leader looked at her speculatively. “Whether being a King makes someone good and just is one thing, but the facts speak for themselves. He just slipped away. Did he take anything else?”

Those who remained behind shook their heads.

“I’ve got to think about this. I have to decide what to do. In the meantime, get ready to move camp. How long has he been gone?”

Cynwic finally spoke up. “Three days.. and most of a night.”

“Better get ready tonight then. Mayhap Daelwine and Egbert saw him, or even captured him, when he got to Grantham. He’d be returning by tomorrow matins.”

He walked to his own cottage and greeted his wife. She shook her head with sympathy and understanding. “Idiots,” he said.

Next: Deciding to Rescue the King

New Stories: Shannon Reaches Grantham (Happened with Changes)

hannon awoke on a pallet in a cottage he did not recognize. He rolled over to see who shared it with him and found himself alone. He sighed and struggled to sit up, tangled as he was in the beds sole blanket. He discovered that he was entirely naked and looked about for his clothes. He saw only one room, lit by the open door, with little inside but a couple stools and some female possessions hung from the wattle of the inside walls. He realized he heard someone singing from outside, shrugged his shoulders, and got to his feet. He looked down, seeing that his “little lad” saluted the morning, and shrugged again. “I suspect ye were well satisfied last night, me friend, but only one thing will do the trick this morn.”

He stood in the doorway and looked out. His appearance drew laughs and ribald comments from the several people who could be seen in the space between a number of cottages. Nearest where he stood, grinning his acknowledgement of the japes, he saw a comely young woman putting his wet clothes over a wattle enclosure. He could tell from where he stood looking at her that she had dark curling tresses and a charmingly well-rounded arse. She stopped singing and looked around at the good natured jeering of her neighbors. “You are up.. sweet Jesus, are you up!” Shannon saw she had lustrous dark eyes as well.

He made a comical bow and asked, “Is there someplace I can be after.. um.. relievin’ meself?”

The woman grinned back and motioned him around the back of her cottage. “The pit is around there.” She looked about on the ground near her feet and picked up something made of cloth. She tossed it to him. “This will cover you well enough until your clothing is dry.”

Shannon caught the rectangle of cloth and held it over his groin. He thanked the woman and took care of his most pressing business out of sight.

When he came back around he found his paramour of the night before, or so he assumed, had been joined by another young woman, this one far gone with child. He saw his new friend smiling and nodding and took that to mean he had completed the job she had brought him home to do the night before. He went over to the two women and smiled. To the pregnant one he said, “Me name is Shannon O’Neill.”

The woman nodded, “Aye, Hild told me.”

“Thanks be to the saints,” Shannon thought. “Now can I pretend I knew the lass’s name already… That is, if this one means…”

The woman continued, “I be Greta. Hild here is my own sister.”

Shannon moved to Hild’s side and leaned to kiss her on the cheek. “Good morn to ye, ladies.” They giggled.

“Love, can ye be tellin’ me where me lute can be found?” he asked Hild.

“The alehouse keeper has it. You were like to do harm to it last night. He said he would hold it for you.” She laughed. “As drunk as you were last night I was surprised you could.. you know… but you did.” Her smile was full of remembered pleasure.

“I suppose ye mean sing and play the lute?” Shannon said, but from his face and tone she knew he understood exactly what she had meant.

“I washed your clothes,” Hild told him. Shannon glanced about where she indicated and saw a cauldron with hot water and a scrubbing brush. “They were soaked.. with ale. I will get you some bread and cheese to break your fast, if you can eat.”

Shannon put the arm not holding up his makeshift breechclout around her waist and nuzzled her hair behind her ear. “I be that hungry, lass.. but I could eat as well.”

As Greta remained Shannon had to content himself with the bread and cheese, washing it down with home brewed ale. He listened to the women talk as he munched.

“My man does not know why the Lord Jehan keeps the madman in the fortress. You would think he would have him escorted far away or at least taken to the monastery,” the pregnant woman said peevishly. “Stig says he makes an awful howling as if he had something in his mouth. I think it's his tongue was cut out is all.”

Hild shivered. “Has he seen the man?”

Greta shook her head as she sipped ale from a wooden bowl. “Nay, they have him in the little hut that is surrounded by its own walls. He asked one of the guards about him. He said the man was tall and seemed strangely well muscled for a mad beggar. He was dressed in torn rags, he told him. He thought somehow the earl knew he was mad for he ordered him taken and knocked out almost ere the man could speak.”

Hild shook her head, her face showing suspicion. “Well, we both know how odd Lord Jehan is. Like a spooked kitten. Jumps at the least thing.”

Her sister giggled. “Methinks his lady has him jumping at shadows!” she said, still giggling. Hild covered her mouth with her hands and giggled merrily too. She gave Shannon a wicked look.

“You have not been at Grantham ere this?” she asked him.

Shannon shook his head. “Believe me, lass, had I been here and seen you ere this, I would recall.” Hild's charming dimples deepened.

He continued to listen to the women as they talked about the madman, then went on to other local gossip. He liked women’s talk, felt bathed in its energy, and was only too happy to revert to a small boy and let himself be coddled and seen to. But he found himself thinking about the madman and how he could find out more about him.

When Greta had finally and reluctantly made her farewell, Shannon lowered his voice and said to her sister, “Ye know, I could find out more about the madman… I could go into the fortress and nose around until I found him or have speech with someone who has seen him.”

Hild considered him. “Why would you do that?”

He shrugged. “Ye got me wonderin’ about him, and I could be after satisfyin’ your curiosity and that of your sister.”

Hild put her hand through his arm. “Satisfying is just what I am after, and not with Greta there.” Her eyes were half closed as she put her face up to his.

Shannon smiled and leaned to kiss her. They slowly rose, and, without separating, went inside her cottage. He had his arms around her and the breechclout fell away.

Next: The Bandits Figure OUt they Captured the King

New Stories: A Little Girl helps the King Escape (happened with lots of changes)

Godgifu brought Lawrence chunks of bread which she tore into bits to shove through the chinks the other children had used for less pleasant provender. Lawrence blessed her and ate each one slowly, savoring every mouthful. He heard the scapegoat Theo being reprimanded for stealing bread and the child’s ineffectual protestations of innocence. Godgifu had a self-satisfied smile when he asked her about it. She shrugged.

Once each day when the raiders were in camp the leader would open the door to the hut and stand with his hands on his hips and bark questions at his hostage. He seemed only mildly surprised at the prisoner’s silence. “You know you are wasting my time and your own. I’ve already sent my man to let your lady know you are available for a price. It will go hard for you if you don’t cooperate. Your lady might find one or two things missing when she has you back.”

Lawrence managed a derisive snort.

“And what, prithee, is that supposed to mean?” the dirty man demanded.

“My lady has little use for any of my parts… she prefers… God.” Lawrence knew nothing of the sort about Aldwin’s wife, but it was useful to make his value less.

The leader eyed him. “Well, maybe she has none, but you certainly do. So you may want to pray to her God that she feels more warmly than you realize.”

When he had gone this last time the King realized he needed to act quickly. It would be just days, if that, until the messenger returned with the tidings that Aldwin was safe at home in the usurper’s pay. He had to get away the first chance he got.

Lawrence had noticed that he was not specifically guarded but that two men had night duty prowling the edge of the camp. Their vigilance was not terribly sharp. They seemed more bored and sleepy than alert. He knew his best chance to get away would be when the other men had gone on a raiding party. He did not have to wait long.

The morning after his latest conversation with the leader he heard the horses’ hooves and the calls of the men as they departed. He waited for his regular visit from Godgifu. When she had come with the bread and a small portion of bacon, he thanked her profusely. Then he asked her, “Godgifu, dear child, I have one last thing I need you to help me with. I vouchsafe that the time will come, and not too far in the future when I shall reward you mightily. Do you believe me?”

The girl looked back at the blue eye she could see through the chink in the wattle and nodded. “Aye, I believe you. You are my friend, just as I am yours.” She smiled confidently.

“Bless you, my friend,” he replied. Then he told her what she needed to do. She seemed to think a while, then smiled and nodded shortly. All he could do now was trust her and wait.

In the first dark of the night he heard a noise at the strong door to the hut. It was the sound of the latch being unfastened. When no one followed it by opening the door and coming in he breathed a prayer for his benefactress and made the sign of the cross. He let the bonds on his wrist slip off. They were well loosened by now. He had only kept them on in case he was surprised without them. He waited until he could hear the snores from within the other huts. He peered out to where he could just make out the sentries as they turned, their faces reflecting the light of the one central fire. He smiled. The two on duty tonight were the most indolent. The one taller man did as he always did, whispered something into the other man’s ear and sneaked into the cottage of one of the raiders, no doubt to make a visit to the man’s young and buxom wife. The other man turned out to be the one with only one hand. He had learned this was Godgifu’s father. He frowned. .

Once he saw the tall man had gone to his amorous meeting, he watched the girl’s father take his usual position, his back against the wall of one of the huts. He slowly and as quietly as possible tried the door. It moved! It opened! He glanced up to see the one handed man glance around quickly at the creak in the hinges of the door. The man smiled to himself and shook his head. Apparently he chalked the sound up to his friend’s trysting.

Lawrence located the two good sized stones the child had placed behind his hut. He had to pass the sentry to get past a woven branch barrier. He took both stones in case another man proved to be about and made his stealthy way towards the girl’s father.

As he approached the man, he bent and picked up a pebble from the ground. He tossed it past the man so it clattered on the ground on the other side from himself. The man obligingly turned to look. The King lifted the rock in his right hand and brought it down onto the man’s head, trying hard just to knock him senseless. He certainly did not want to reward the child by killing her father. he had other plans for the man and his family. His luck held and the man made a guttural noise in his throat, then fell straight down.

Lawrence put the other rock down. He found the man’s dagger and seaxa and took them. He quickly chanced pulling the man’s old rusty mail tabard off him and hastened to slip into the woods. He was gone and away long before the hubbub began when the illicit lover returned to his post to find his friend unconscious.

Godgifu allowed herself a troubled glance in the direction of the wood trying to equate the violence done to her father to the kind man she had come to think of as her friend. Her mother exclaimed, “He could have been killed!” and the girl realized that the man, Aldwin, must have tried his best not to murder her father. Was that the reward he promised? She did not know. She tried to forget all about it.

Lawrence could not go far in the dark as he would risk at best becoming even more lost than he already was and at worst stumbling into another gang of bandits or worse. He got as far as he felt wise and climbed a tree to wait until light.

When dawn peered over the eastern edge of the world he found himself within site of a river. “The Welland?” he wondered. If so he was into Mercia where he sat perched in a tree. He looked down at himself. He was all but naked. All his fine clothes including underclothes had been taken. He had been given a poor blanket and a longish tunic. He was bare of feet and leg. He stank of his captivity and lack of a privy. His hair was almost as greasy as the bandit leader’s. He would pass for the worst of society. He knew if he kept his head down so no one could see the piercing blue of his eyes, even his height and strength would not likely betray him. Nevertheless, he checked the sun, ascertained north, and slipped down cautiously to dash from cover to cover to the edge of the river.

It took him several days to find a place where he could ford the river. He had to avoid the easier spots as they would be likely to be busy with travelers. Then he took a circuitous route and waded in streams whenever he could just in case the bandit raiding party was angry and avaricious enough to come after him with dogs. For all he knew as he wound both west and east and even occasionally back south he was going to find himself in Affynshire again. Still he could tell when the fens were getting thinner and the land began to be firm and the terrain rolling meadows. He saw herds of sheep. Soon from a slight hill he saw a town by a river. He was hungry and found a small church where received alms. He managed to convince the very old priest to tell him where he was. His heart sang at the answer. South Witham! He recalled Earl Jehan complaining of the recalcitrance of the thane who resided in this town in paying his part of the war costs. It was due south of Grantham and on the very river that ran through it!

“Be careful, young man,” the priest cautioned. “I don’t think they would bother with such as you, but the uke’s men are about. Stay out of sight.” He made the sign of the cross over the man he did not realize was the King.

His path now being clear and his stomach full, he made good time following the river to Earl Jehan’s domain. When he saw the stockade he just about to begin running when an odd feeling stole over him. He recognized at once the instincts of a trained fighting man. Something was wrong. Something was not in place. He could not identify it. The gate to the stockade was closed and he saw few people about. He made his way towards the fortress and found a place nearby in a stand of trees to observe who came in and out.

It was approaching dusk when he thought he saw dust in the distance that could only be made by a cadre of mounted men on a dirt path. He waited to see who it would be.

The dusk was growing but he could still make out the insignia of Earl Jehan and soon recognized the man himself. he stepped out into the path, smiling broadly, as the group came closer. He lifted his arm in greeting, then froze. Jehan had gone white as a sheet.

Next: Shannon and Rory on Separate Roads