Storyteller

M3 Margueritte: One Happy Ending, part 1 of 2

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

It took a whole week before Margueritte felt well enough to sit on the bench under the old oak.  She loved her visit with Goldenrod, but she hardly got a word in edgewise.  Goldenrod had too much “newsy.”

“And Hammerhead got so ogerish it was scary to be around him, and he broke bunches of stuff,” she said.  “But your mother was very brave, and she and Lady Jennifer, that’s Little White Flower, you know, they convinced him to go home to his family for a while.  And his family moved down to Aquatainey, but Roland says king Eudo thought the Saracens were scary.  I think he was making a ha-ha.  And anyway, Lord Larchmont and Lord Birch and Lord Yellow Leaf, that’s Little White Flower’s father, you know, and my mother, Lady LeFleur kept everyone working really hard at what they were supposed to be doing.  Mother said you would want it that way, and the Lady Danna, too, though everyone wanted to go looking for you.”

“Grimly?”  Margueritte got one-word in.

“Oh, he and Catspaw went to find where Pipes wandered off to, and Catspaw says she wants children.  And Marta is pregnant, now that she is married to Weldig the potter, though how anyone can stay pregnant for so long is a mystery.  She’s been pregnant five whole months now!  Oh, and Luckless and Lolly are talking to each other, now that Lolly says her work here is done, what with Marta being married and all, and they are talking about going to find their own children.  I didn’t know they had children.”

Margueritte shrugged.

“Oh, and I saw Owien and Elsbeth kissing once, and I laughed and laughed.  It was so funny!  And Maven found a new hidey place for nap time and she says I’m not supposed to tell anyone that it is just past the bushes between the kitchen and the tower, you know, where it is all soft grassy on the hillside.  Oh, and Little White Flower, I mean, Lady Jennifer is beside herself with frets and fusses because Father Stephano has been here three whole weeks and Father Aden has asked her not to get little when Father Stephano is around, but I think she is really in love with Father Aden, you know.  But sometimes he and Father Stephano get really loud, but I think they like each other, so I don’t understand why they get loud unless one of them has some troll or ogre in him.”

“Ahem.”

“Oh, hello, Lady.”  Goldenrod flitted over to Margueritte’s shoulder.

“Mother.”  Margueritte looked up and pulled her blanket up a little as well.

Lady Brianna looked down at her daughter and the little fairy perched so sweetly on her daughter’s shoulder.  “You two are a real picture,” she said with her warmest smile.  “But I think maybe Margueritte has had enough for one day.”

“No, Mother, please,” Margueritte said.  “I’m all right, really.  Here.”  And she pushed over a little to give her mother room to sit

Her mother sat, slowly.  “I always loved the fall,” she said.  “But it is rather chilly out.  I think it may snow soon.”

“It may.”  Margueritte shared the blanket.

“White and lovely, warm and fluffy,” Goldenrod said.

“You don’t know how wonderful it is to be outside, even if it is chilly,” Margueritte said.  Her mother looked at her and after a moment, nodded.  “And Goldenrod, even at her most runny-mouth, is the best company a girl ever had.” Margueritte finished her thought.

“I am?”  Goldenrod asked with complete surprise.

“The best,” Margueritte confirmed with a nod.

“Weee!”  Goldenrod took to the air, positively, and literally beaming with delight.  Both Marguerite and Brianna had to smile.  They felt a small touch of that delight as surely as if it was their own.

After a moment, Goldenrod settled down, and Lady Brianna looked seriously at her daughter.  “I need to speak with you about Jennifer,” she said.  She paused only for a moment as if searching for just the right words.  “She told me the spirits and people are not supposed to mingle.”

“It isn’t encouraged,” Margueritte said.  “Imagine the trouble that could cause.”

“Yes.”    Lady Brianna nodded, grimly.  “I can testify to that by personal experience over these last several years,” she said.  “But there are exceptions.”  She was suggesting something.  Margueritte got curious.  “Say, in the case of true love?”

“Oh?”  Margueritte felt suspicious, but Goldenrod voiced the suspicion before Margueritte could ask.

“Like Lady Jennifer and Father Aden who want to get married,” she blurted it right out.  Lady Brianna looked over to the Chapel.

“Jennifer has grown into a lovely, faithful young woman,” the lady said.  “But I cannot imagine how that might work.”  Fairies tended to live as much as a thousand years, and by comparison, the human lifespan was so terribly short.

“Has anyone talked to her father?”  Margueritte wondered.

Lady Brianna’s eyes lit up, but she said no more about it as she smiled and patted her daughter’s hand and went back inside with one more word.  “Come in soon.”

“I will mother,” Margueritte said and she shrugged off the more disturbing questions by turning back to Goldenrod.  “What other newsy since I’ve been gone?” she asked.

Goldenrod flitted, almost danced in the air like a little porcelain ballerina.  “Lovey, lovey, lovey.”  She stopped still in mid-air.  “No time for newsy.  I have to see if Elsbeth and Owien are getting kissy again.”  And she was gone.

Margueritte got stronger every day, though she remained skinnier than even she wanted to be.  But every day she felt more certain of herself, in her identity, and in her memories, including those memories throughout time that she could reach, and she supposed that was the important thing.

After three days, on an early afternoon very much like the other, Margueritte sat again on the bench under the old oak.  She had her cloak wrapped tight around her, and her blanket tucked in beneath her legs.  She imagined she looked like an invalid, but she felt determined to spend as much time outdoors as she could before the winter made that impossible.

She thought of Roland, of course, and fretted over his going to war.  She felt worried for him, and the thought of Tomberlain with him felt frightening.  She decided not to dwell on that thought.  She just began to wonder for the millionth time if Roland might propose, and imagined what such a life might be like, when she saw Little White Flower, or rather, Lady Jennifer and Father Aden come out from the Chapel.

M3 Margueritte: Rapunzel Set Free, part 3 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Curdwallah chose that moment to come around the side of the tower.  “No!”  She raged when she saw Margueritte free of her prison.  Roland pulled his sword, ready for battle, but Margueritte, with her head in her hand, blinking her eyes from the strain of everything rushing back at her at once, shouted.

“Wait.  No, wait.”  She shook her head.

Thomas tried to sit up and Margueritte scooted back on her knees a little to oblige.

“But why?”  Thomas asked in a small voice, his wind still coming in gasps.

Curdwallah paused.  “My true god, Abraxas, would not let me kill her.  He said she would just be reborn and come back to haunt us.  In the tower, she might live her whole life and we could invoke the plan without interference.

“But now your plan is done,” Roland said.

“I think not.”  Curdwallah eyed him and his sword closely.  With that, Curdwallah began to grow.  In no time, she became ogre sized and her face, hands and legs appeared covered with fur, while her tent-like clothes became too tight.  “I think not,” she said again in a voice a whole octave lower.

Roland slashed out with his sword, but the Curdwallah beast moved supernaturally fast.  She avoided the sword and struck Roland before he could recover.  She hit him hard in the chest.  Roland flew back and slammed against the wall of the tower where he slumped down, dazed.

Catspaw had her hands full calming the terrified horses.  Thomas still could not get to his feet.  Margueritte shrieked, but she grabbed on to the one thought that haunted her while the drooling beast started toward Roland, her prey.

“You are not my mother,” she said, and she pointed accusingly.  Without her knowing why, something like blue lightening, like electricity poured out of her hand.  It was the power given to Bodanagus, her genetic reflection, and it echoed in her.  It struck Curdwallah who arched her back and howled, and it kept coming while the beast began to shake and dance like a person being electrocuted.  Slowly, the beast shrank again until she collapsed, like a criminal struck with a massive Taser.  She still wiggled from the shock when a recovered Roland drove his sword into her heart.  Then he rushed to Margueritte who cried in his arms for what seemed like the longest time.

“I love you,” Roland said, but Margueritte did not really hear as she passed in and out of consciousness.

Boom!

Thomas kicked open the door to the first floor of the tower.  “Aeugh!”  He sounded repulsed and turned quickly away from the sight.  Someone invisible handed him a torch.  He threw it in without looking again, and they all waited until the tower was well in flames.

“Come on,” Roland said.  He mounted his horse, the half-conscious Margueritte cradled gently in his arms.

“The children,” Thomas said.

“I guessed as much,” Roland responded, and he started to walk his horse away from there.

“So did I.”  Grimly said.  Grimly handed Thomas the torch.

“No, you never guessed,” Catspaw objected.

“Did too,” Grimly said.

Thomas whistled for their attention before they started a good row.  “Where’s Lord Barth?”

“Had to fetch him and Squire Tomberlain from Vergenville.  Sorry we were late, but we should find them on the road in about an hour or so.”

“On the road?”  Catspaw questioned.

“I came on ahead,” Grimly admitted.  “I got worried.  I love my Lady.”

“So do I.” Catspaw nodded.

“So do I,” Roland said, quietly.

It took all day to get Margueritte home and into her own bed.  She stayed delirious most of the time, and at times she passed out altogether; but sometimes she seemed lucid enough to give everyone hope.  Jennifer suggested Doctor Pincher and Brianna tried to call him as Margueritte had done, but she got no response.  Finally, she held her daughter’s hand, stomped her foot, lifted her eyes toward heaven, and shouted for the Doctor.

“Here.  Here.”  Doctor Pincher appeared and gave the impression that he had some ringing in his ears.  Lady Brianna quickly explained, and she felt a little surprised the Doctor did not already know all about it.  To this, the Doctor explained something in return.

“You must understand, the Kairos dies.  She is reborn, to be sure, but who is to say how long or short a given life may be.  It is not our place to interfere with that process, even for those of us who may be devoted to her.  She is only human, after all, and in ages past that was one of the main reasons we agreed to have her as a goddess over us all.” Brianna felt astonished by what she heard, but the Doctor consoled her.  “Then again, there is no reason why she should not have first-rate medical treatment, just like any other human might have.  Let me examine the patient.”  He said this as he threw everyone else out of the room and only let her mother stay.

After a while he gave his prognosis.  “There is nothing I can really do.  She is healthy enough, though undernourished.  Her trouble appears to be raging in her mind.  All the same, I see no reason why she should not make a full recovery.  Rest is what she needs, and time.  The Kairos has resources in time which can help far better than I can, even if they may be the partial cause of her present distress.  Rest is the best.  Give her some time, and some chicken soup to see that she is properly nourished.”

“Thank you.  I will.”  Lady Brianna smiled.  “But, oh!”  She interrupted her smile.  “I don’t know how to send you home.”

“Quite all right.”  Doctor Pincher stood while she remained seated.  That put them about eye to eye.  “I am way overdue for a good vacation.  I think I may look around, and perhaps come by here in a week or so to see how my patient is doing.”

“You are so kind.”  Lady Brianna stood as they went out to tell the news to the others.

“I know,” Doctor Pincher said.  “She ruined me when she was Gerraint, or rather, the Lady Greta.  I’ve had no desire for anything but to help people ever since.”  He shrugged and Brianna looked at him once more.  She would never have guessed he was that old.

The next morning, Doctor Pincher walked down the road toward Paris in the company of Roland and Tomberlain, who had been given over to be Roland’s squire.  Lord Barth had taken on Owien since Sir Gilles got too old for such a thing and his dragon busted arm never quite healed right.  They had all waited that morning to be sure Margueritte passed a quiet night, and indeed, she slept well and woke up hungry.  Now, Brianna and Bartholomew stood in the manor door and watched them ride away.

“Lord!”  Barth spoke.  “I bet there will be a real blow in Belgium.  I’ll be sorry to miss it.”

Brianna gave him a love tap on his chest to chide his remark and get his attention.  “I’ll be worried day and night as it is about Tomberlain,” she said.  “I’ll not let you go to get yourself killed at our age.  Whatever would I do?”

Barth smiled.  “Yes, well I still have the girls to watch over.  By the way, where is Elsbeth?”

“I believe she and Owien chose to take an early morning ride,” Brianna said.

“Oh, they did?”  Barth looked up at the barn and stepped down from the front stoop.  “I think I may have a talk with that boy.”

Brianna was about to say something else when they heard the bell ringing from Margueritte’s room.  “I’ll get it,” was what she ended up saying.

Barth started toward the barn and mumbled.  “Yes, I believe it is time that boy and I had a little talk.”

************************

MONDAY

One happy ending, but…  Well, the dragon is still out there, if you recall.  Until Monday.

Happy Reading

*

M3 Margueritte: Rapunzel Set Free, part 2 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Thomas was considering breakfast when he heard a horse and rider.  He thought it better to hide, though he could not remember ever having seen Curdwallah on horseback.  Indeed, that image put a hold on the idea of breakfast.

The bushes rustled and a cat jumped out.  She immediately began to lick herself, as if trying to remove some unpleasant stain.  The horseman followed.

“Why have we stopped?”  The horseman asked.

“Roland.”  Thomas came out from the bushes.

“Thomas!”  Roland got down.  “You found her.  But what are you doing so near the gypsy camp?”

“But, no,” Thomas said.  “We’re just a few miles from DuLac.  So close that I was almost afraid to sleep last night.”

“What?”  Roland looked confused.

“You slept?”  Catspaw looked surprised as she reverted to her elfish form.  “I would not have guessed.”

“Well, I might not have if Grimly had not pointed out the safety of this fairy circle,” Thomas admitted.

“What fairy circle?”  Catspaw asked.  “All I see is a few rocks thrown around.”

Thomas swallowed as Roland interrupted.

“Hold on.  How can we be a few miles from DuLac?  We just left the gypsy camp a couple of hours ago.”

“Would have been sooner if you had listened sooner,” Catspaw said.  She had collected some of the rocks with some sticks and got ready to light a fire.

“I am sorry,” Roland said.  “I don’t understand cat talk.”

“There’s the pity,” Catspaw said, as Thomas quickly fetched a larger bit of wood and a small log.  “I suppose you’ll be wanting breakfast.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Thomas said.  He sat by the fire.

“No.”  Roland seemed to want to pace.  “We have to get her out of that place.”

“Come, Roland.  Have a biscuit,” Thomas said, and he offered some to Catspaw.

“Faugh.”  She turned it down, produced a frying pan from a secret pocket, a half-dozen eggs and a good bit of bacon to grease the pan.  “You need to keep up your strength,” she said.  “You’ve ridden all night, know it or not.  At least let your horse have a breather.”

“But the gypsy camp has to be three- or four-days ride from DuLac.”  Roland groused as he sat.  “How can we be so close?”

“There’s ways,” Catspaw said, and handed Roland a wooden bowl already filled with scrambled eggs and bacon.

“That was amazing,” Thomas said, having watched the cooking process.  “Can I watch that again some time?”

“Maybe,” Catspaw sounded non-committal.

“But wait,” Thomas had a thought.  “I imagined all of you brownies were vegetarians.”

“Cats are carnivorous,” Catspaw said, the only explanation she was going to give.

Thomas sighed.  “Eat,” he said, and turned to Roland to make it as much of a command as he could, though he was not very good at such things.  “She’s been enchanted for nearly a year.  Another morning won’t hurt her, but you might not be able to help her if you don’t get some sustenance.”  Roland picked at his food.

When they finished, and cleaned up, Catspaw grinned like a cat.  “Now, you’ve eaten fairy food.  You know you are both my prisoners forever.”

“No offense, but there is only one lady who owns my heart,” Roland said, gently petting his horse.

Catspaw screwed up her face.  “It’s gone that far already, huh?  I guess you’re right.   Fairy food isn’t going to affect you.”

“But I’m your prisoner,” Thomas said, as he brought his horse carefully to the road.

“Naw, have your freedom.”  Catspaw waved her hand.  “I wouldn’t mind a tune or two along the way, though.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Thomas said, and fetched his mandola.

Catspaw paused, and it made Roland turn to look in the same direction.

“I thought the others, or at least Grimly would be back by now to join us,” she said, and Roland nodded, better understanding the delay for breakfast.

“We will just have to do,” he said, and Thomas began to sing.

They had a hard time keeping Roland from rushing on ahead, but at last they came to the spot that strange party of gnomes and lone minstrel had reached the day before.  The tower could be seen, and the manor house sat directly ahead.  Thomas put his hand out to keep Roland from rushing headlong into the unknown.

“We stop at the house first to see if the witch is home,” he said.

Roland nodded.  He understood but appeared terribly impatient.

“I’ll be near if you need me,” Catspaw said, as she faded from sight.

This time, Thomas did not bother with a polite knock.  He pounded on the decrepit door until he heard the shuffling feet.  The door creaked open.

“Her Ladyship is not here.  Go away,” the man said.

“Still not here?  How unfortunate.  Good to see you again, though.”  Thomas smiled.

“Her Ladyship is not here.  Go away.”  The man gave his speech, and they turned their horses toward the tower.

“What’s wrong with him?”  Roland whispered.

“No idea,” Thomas said, as they heard the door close.  “But he’s an interesting fellow.  I was haunted all night with a strange tune to set to those words.  Her Ladyship is not here, go away,” Thomas sang.  “Her ladyship is not here, go away.”

“My minstrel.”  Margueritte shouted from the tower window.  “How glad I am to see you.”

“Margueritte, my friend,” Thomas shouted back and waved.

“And who is this fine-looking knight who rides beside you?”  Margueritte asked, with just a touch of shy in her voice.

“Roland is the most noble and upright sword in the whole land.”  Thomas said with a bit of surprise in his voice.  “I am surprised your mother has not told you.”

“Mother Curdwallah is a woman of few words,” Margueritte said.  “But I am pleased to make the acquaintance of such a noble knight.  What say you?”

“You are every bit as lovely as the good bard has said.”  Roland spoke graciously, going straight to the plan.  “And your mother of few words has often praised you.”

“Kind sir, you know my mother Curdwallah?”

“We are friends for some time, and I am pleased, now, that she has given permission for the master storyteller and I to entertain you in your room so that your days may not be so long and tiresome.”

Margueritte hesitated.  “She spoke nothing of this to me,” she said.

“It was in passing just now,” Thomas said, and he pointed toward the road as if the event had just occurred.  Meanwhile, Roland dismounted and came to the base of the tower.

“But I don’t know.”  Margueritte sounded wary.

“Fine Lady, I understand your hesitation because of all the ills you have suffered, but to show you we have permission, let me say the magic words.”  Roland cleared his throat.  “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.”

Margueritte hesitated no longer.  She had spent nearly a year bored out of her wits and it did not take that much convincing.  Her hair dropped quickly.

“Get ready.”  Roland whispered as he climbed to the window.

Thomas dismounted and the invisible Catspaw took the reins of both horses.  “Not bad lying for a couple of amateurs,” she whispered.  Thomas kept quiet, though they could hear nothing of what transpired in the tower.  All was still until they heard a clang!  This got followed by Margueritte, her hair cut to waist length, flying out of the window. Thomas broke her fall, but he ended up on his back with the wind knocked out of him.  Margueritte, on top of him, at least appeared unhurt.  Roland jumped from the window, but it proved high enough from the ground to twist his ankle a little when he landed.

M3 Margueritte: Rapunzel Set Free, part 1 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Thomas rode slowly to the manor house.  He dismounted.  He knocked.  He waited and knocked again.  He waited some more until at last, he heard some shuffling from inside.  The door creaked open.  It appeared badly in need of repair as was the whole manor.  A man stood there squinting in the sun, with his eyes glazed over like a man of few thoughts.

“Her Ladyship is not here.  Go away,” the man said.

“I am Thomas of Evandell, come to pay my respects,” Thomas started.

“Her Ladyship is not here.”

“Might I come in and wait?” Thomas finished.

“Go away,” the man finished as well.

Both stood in silence for a minute, Thomas looked more closely at the man, and the man stared into the distance like one who could not quite focus on what he was seeing.

The man began again.  “Her Ladyship.”

“Yes, I know,” Thomas interrupted, though the man continued to say the whole speech.  “Not here.  Go away.”  Thomas finished ahead of the man.

“Go away,” the man finished.

“Well then.”  Thomas backed up to his horse.  “Tell her I came by and it was nice speaking with you.”  This set the man going again even as Thomas mounted his horse.  He turned rather lazily toward the tower and did not hear the manor door close until after the man said, “Go away.”  Though there was no one there to be talking to.

Thomas had a thought.  He pulled out his mandola and began the tune of the girls, the unicorn and the ogres.  Sure enough, a face came to the first-floor window of the tower.  It was Margueritte’s face.  She said nothing but listened intently to the story and even cried a little for joy as he sang of their heroic escape and safe return to the arms of their loving family.

“Oh, master storyteller,” Margueritte spoke at last when the song finished, and Thomas dismounted.  “That was the loveliest story.  Please tell me it was not make-believe.”

“True as rain, my lady,” Thomas said.  He was wary, not sure how deep the enchantment ran in Margueritte’s mind.  “And there are many more, wonderful, exciting, romantic stories I would be honored to share with you.”

“Oh, yes, please,” Margueritte said, excited.  “You have no idea how bored and lonely I am to be in this tower day and night without so much as one to talk to.”

“Why don’t you come down and join me for a bite to eat around a cozy fire.  I could tell you many tales,” Thomas suggested.

“Oh, I mustn’t,” Margueritte said.  “Mother Curdwallah says if I leave the tower, I will lose my mind again and have to start over, not even knowing my own name.”

“Mother Curdwallah?”  Thomas had to ask.

“Oh, yes,” Margueritte responded.  “But I hardly think so sometimes.  She can be very stern and so easily gets cross.”  Margueritte held her head up proudly but clearly had to fight back tears.

“Dear Margueritte,” Thomas said.  “Curdwallah is not your mother.  I know your real mother, and she misses you, terribly.”

Margueritte was about to say one thing, but she changed her mind with a second thought.  “You know my name?  You do not serve the evil one, do you?”

Thomas was taken aback for a moment.  “Hardly,” he said at last.  “Though it pains me to speak so of any Lady, the only evil one I know is Curdwallah herself.”

That struck a note in Margueritte’s heart.  Thomas could see the wheels turning, and he was about to say more when he heard a whisper in his ear.

“The witch is coming.”

“Alas, I must go for now,” Thomas said, quickly.

“Must you?”

“Yes, but grant me a boon sweet lady.  Keep my visit a secret and I will come again with special stories to lighten your days.”

“I shall,” Margueritte promised.

“Hurry.”  Grimly whispered.

Thomas led his horse back into the few trees and bushes out beyond the tower and suddenly found the brownies circled around him.  “No time to run.”  Grimly explained, and after a moment Grimly, Catspaw and Pipes became visible again.

“But won’t she see us?” Thomas asked.

“Hope not,” Pipes said.

“No.  You’re invisible now, like us,” Catspaw explained.

“Oh.”  Thomas understood, but suddenly started.  “But my horse.”

“Deer dew!”  Grimly swore and they all tried hard, but the tail simply would not go away.

“Gots to do,” Grimly said.

“Shhh.”  Thomas hushed him.  Curdwallah had arrived and he was intent on eavesdropping.

Curdwallah stopped beneath Margueritte’s window and took one long look around, to be sure no one was watching or listening in.  She paused and rested her eyes on the bushes where Thomas and the little ones hid.

“Damn.”  Thomas breathed to himself.  He scooted down deeper beneath the brush as Curdwallah came close.  Grimly and the others got as small as they could.

“And what’s this?”  Curdwallah said out loud as she reached out with uncanny speed and grabbed the horse’s reigns, having judged their location based on the sight of the still visible tail.  “An invisible horse.”  She said and checked the saddle area.  “Abandoned by the rider, I see.”  She raised her voice in a shout and stood nearly on top of Thomas.  “And it better stay abandoned if you know what is good for you!”  With that she brought the horse to the back side of the tower where Thomas assumed she had some place to tie off the horse.

After a moment, Curdwallah returned to the tower window and after one more look around, she shouted up.  “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.”  Thomas watched as Margueritte let her hair down.  It fell within two or three feet of the ground.

Curdwallah, though she looked like an old and frail woman, grabbed hold of the hair and scaled the tower wall as easily as a monkey climbing a tree.  “Where did you ever come up with Rapunzel?”  Curdwallah asked.

“I don’t know,” Margueritte answered.  “But you said I had to pick a name other than my own.”

That was the last they heard as Curdwallah and Margueritte got lost in the tower.

“Strong woman,” Grimly whispered.

“Supernaturally strong,” Thomas agreed.

“Super-duper natural,” Pipes added.

“Better get your things while you can,” Catspaw said, and Thomas was glad at least one of them was being sensible.

It did not take long to get several miles away.  Then plans had to be made, but immediately Grimly and Pipes began to argue.  Catspaw finally settled the matter.

“I’ll go and fetch Roland from the gypsy camp,” she said.  “You boys are too slow, anyway.”

“There is that,” Grimly nodded.

“She is the fast one,” Pipes agreed while Catspaw rolled her eyes for Thomas’ sake.  He was not sure he followed it all, but he did get the distinct impression the little ones had no love for gypsies.

“I guess I better go back to the triangle, since the family knows me, you know,” Grimly said.  “Pipes, that leaves you with Little White Flower down on the Atlantique.”

“Even by secret ways that’s a two-day trip,” Pipes complained.

“You could have the gypsies,” Catspaw offered.

“Forget it,” Pipes said and rubbed his feet to get ready.

“Wait, wait.”  Thomas interrupted.  “Baron Bernard’s home is at least six or seven days from here, if not more.  How do you figure two days?”

“There’s ways,” Grimly said, softly.  The others said nothing until Catspaw transformed suddenly into something akin to a bobcat.

“Better be off,” she meowed and bounded into the brush.

“And what should I do?”  Thomas asked.

“Stay here,” Pipes said, and he started out, whistling as he went.

“But.”

“Fairy circle.”  Grimly pointed out the stones.  “Might help some if the witch comes by, but only because I like you.”  And he was gone, too.

M3 Margueritte: In the Tower, part 2 of 2

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

“What ho.”  They turned as they heard the sound.  Thomas of Evandell came to the triangle, and he had a whole train of followers.  Elsbeth rode right behind, with Goldenrod sitting between her horse’s ears.  Tomberlain and Owien brought up the rear.

“Thomas.”  Lord Barth and Roland spoke at once, but before they could ask what news he might have, everyone paused to watch Goldenrod fly straight to Brianna and Little White Flower.

“We were on a searchy,” Goldenrod said.  “We looked all the way to the standing circle in the Vergen, but no finding.”  That last was spoken with some melancholy, and Little White Flower could not resist becoming little to give Goldenrod a proper encouraging hug.

“I thought you might like to have them home,” Thomas said, and looked toward the sky.  “It will be dark soon enough.”

“Yes.”  Bartholomew scratched his chin.  He had instructed his son to stop these aimless searches through the woods, and his instructions to Elsbeth had been unequivocal; but perhaps that was not the time to let off his steam. “Come in and stay the night.  We will talk.”  He spun around before the temptation to explode got the better of him and Brianna stepped up while everyone dismounted.

“I expect you and Aden to come as well.”  She mentioned to Little White Flower who nodded and fluttered back to the chapel.  “Roland, do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Roland said, as he took the Bard’s horse and gave Tomberlain and Owien a look.  Tomberlain and Owien understood it would be up to them to take care of the horses while Thomas and Brianna went inside.  Elsbeth went with her mother.

Later that evening, after supper, they sat around the table and compared notes.  At last, when Tomberlain and Owien went back to the barn and Elsbeth went out to the kitchen to visit with Goldenrod and Lolly, Brianna asked what they could do next.

Everyone shrugged before Aden spoke.

“I think I may visit Baron Bernard and Lady Jessica.  I am not sure we have fully searched the Atlantique province.”

Everyone nodded but said nothing.  One fear was that somehow the Saracens had returned with a raiding party and Margueritte might even now be resting in some Arabian harem.

“I believe,” Roland started, but Barth interrupted.

“You need to be in Paris.  I see a good fight on the horizon in Belgium.  Charles needs you.”  He wagged his finger.

Roland merely shook his head.  “Gypsy camp,” he said.

“Again?”  Thomas asked.

“You’ve searched it six times this past year and always come up empty,” Aden pointed out.

“Yes, but I was thinking.  The dragon has been rather quiet these past twelve, really eighteen months; but little children are still going missing, and on a fairly regular basis.”

“But the gypsies have lost several children of their own,” Lady Brianna pointed out.

“All the same,” Roland said.  “I feel they are mixed up in this children business, and for the life of me, I cannot help believing Margueritte is somehow connected to it as well.”

“So you have said.”  Barth pointed out and turned to their guest.  “Thomas?” he asked.

Thomas of Evandell sipped his wine before he spoke, but it appeared clear he had something in mind, so everyone waited.  He smiled when he spoke.  “I was thinking I might visit DuLac.”

Some shuffling of chairs followed, and Little White Flower spoke right up.  “Brave man,” she said.  Thomas shrugged.

“It is the other place that has not been thoroughly searched,” Aden said.  “Certainly, Brittany has been covered from one end to the other.”

“Exactly,” Roland said with a yawn.  He stood.  “If you will excuse me, I think I’ll go to bed for an early start.”  That was pretty much that.

On his way up the stairs, Roland plucked a flower from the vase at the bottom.  He paused at the door to Margueritte’s room, then he stepped in and laid the flower on Margueritte’s pillow.  When he turned, he saw Elsbeth standing in the doorway.

“I don’t know if I will be good for you or for your family.”  He spoke as if to explain himself.  “But once I’ve made up my mind, I never retreat.”

“I think you will be just fine,” Elsbeth said, and she stood on her tip toes and kissed him on the cheek before she said good night, and then she wondered what it might take to get Owien to give her some flowers.

The next day, Thomas of Evandell left in the morning and rode lazily toward the north.  It was his habit to let his horse walk the road while he strummed on his instrument and sang softly to himself.  In this way, the next morning arrived before he came to the place where he agreed to meet Grimly.  He stopped there and wondered how long he might have to wait, but he hardly dismounted before Grimly came up with two other gnomes in his trail.

“Thomas the music man, this is Pipes, and his lady is Catspaw.”  Grimly made the introductions.  Thomas had to look close to see that Catspaw was indeed a female.  On first notice or from a distance he never would have guessed.

“Pleased to meet you,” Thomas said.  “I appreciate any help you might offer.  This will be a dangerous outing.”

“Don’t I know it.”  Grimly shook his head.

“On the contrary,” Catspaw said.  “We appreciate the help you are willing to give us.  She is our lady, after all.”

Thomas nodded.  “And Pipes, is it?  What have you to say?”

“I don’t take to human beans,” he said, gruffly.  “Most can’t hold a tune, and mudder music is all hollow.”  He looked determined to be contrary, but Thomas merely laughed.

“So, then you heard the one about how the young girl rode on the back of the unicorn to save her sister from the ogre’s lair?”  Thomas asked.

“Heard it?”  Pipes looked offended.  “I wrote it.”

Grimly elbowed Pipes in the ribs while Thomas smiled broadly.  “No.”  Thomas said.  “Actually, I wrote it.”

“You did?”  Pipes questioned until Grimly nudged him again and nodded.  “Oh, you’re that mudder.”  Pipes said with a smile and changed his tune.  “Well, that one’s not half bad.”  He said.  “Can’t speak for the other half, but it is not half bad.  No, not at all.”

“Well, thank you, but I am sure you know some marvelous tunes yourself,” Thomas said.  “I have heard the music of the sprites is legendary and I imagine by your name you must be a wonderful musician.”

Pipes grinned, until Catspaw spoke up again.  “Don’t compliment him too much or his head will swell and there will be no living with him.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he confided to Catspaw.  “Now, shall we go?”

“Let’s go,” Grimly said.  “Don’t know what we’ll find.  Probably our end but might just as well get it over with.”  Thomas mounted and they walked off toward DuLac, Thomas strumming and singing, Pipes adding the perfect counterpoint on his pipe, and Catspaw drumming along on a previously unnoticed bit of percussion.  Grimly simply walked, grim determination on his face.

By early afternoon, they approached the area of DuLac, and Thomas left off his music to ask some serious questions.  “Tell me again about this hole in the world.”

Grimly floated along beside him at that point.  “Well, it’s like this,” he said.  “Us sprites cover about every square inch of the land by the things that grow or move across it.  Others know the ways under the earth, and still others take to the sky.  Reports started about a month ago when Nimbus, from up there,” he pointed to the sky.  “He said he saw a young woman atop a tower by the lake.  We’ve been watching the witch especially hard these last few months.  Suspicious, you might say.  When the ground crew checked it out, from a safe distance, mind you, they found no tower.  On closer look, we found a tower there to the eye, but nothing there to our senses, if you know what I mean.  It was like a sort of hole in the Earth where the tower was there in one way, but kind of not there in another, like it was partly in another world.  I’m not saying what world, mind you, but I know the door to Avalon has been closed to us for a bit of a while now, and that is not natural.”

Thomas did not follow everything the brownie said, but he did get one thing.  “A girl in a mysterious tower,” he mused.  It was the best lead they had in months.

When they came near the manor house, Grimly pointed to the tower and stopped.  “We’ll be invisible now, if you don’t mind,” he said.  “If our Lady was here, she could make it so you could still see us, but that’s too tricky for our bit of magic.  It is safer, though, if we were not here, in case the witch is around; and you might could use some invisible help at some point, though I hope it won’t come to that.”

Thomas took a deep breath.  “So, I guess I’ll start by seeing if the Lady is home.”

“Lady?”  Pipes quipped as the gnomes joined hands, danced and sang and faded from sight.

************************

MONDAY

We shall see how the prisoner in the tower does.  Until then, Happy Reading

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M3 Margueritte: In the Tower, part 1 of 2

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Margueritte awoke but did not open her eyes at first.  Her stomach churned a little and she did not know why.  She did not remember being sick.  She heard the sound of shuffling beside her, like someone rearranging things on a dresser.  She looked.

An old woman had her back turned to the bed.  Margueritte sat up a little and that got the woman’s attention.  The woman turned, and Margueritte threw a fist to her own mouth to stifle a scream.  The woman was frightening to look at, especially in her piercing eyes.

“Ah, you’re awake,” the old woman said.  “But you must not act that way toward your own, dear mother Curdwallah.”

“Mother?”  Margueritte felt confused, but that did not sound right.

“Yes, dear,” Curdwallah said.  “You left the tower again.  The little ones almost caught you, and you lost your memory again.  I bet you don’t even remember your name.”

Margueritte paused and wrinkled her brow.  She did not remember.

“Lucky for you your mother was able to save you again and bring you back to safety.  This tower is isolated.  You are safe here and no one will find you, but you must stay in the tower, my dear, or you will never remember anything.”

“What is my name?”  Margueritte asked.

Curdwallah paused as if she considered her options.  “Margueritte,” she said at last.  “I always did like that name.”

“Mother?”  Margueritte said it, but it was really a question.

“The only one you have,” Curdwallah responded, but she never did smile.

Margueritte shook her head.  That did not sound right, but the name Margueritte felt right and it made her wonder about the rest.  “I must stay in the tower?”  She did not exactly understand.

“It is the curse,” Curdwallah said with a raise of her brows.  No doubt, she intended to pretend concern, but in fact it made her look more frightening so Margueritte had to look away and just listen.  “You would not marry the evil one.”

“I am old enough to marry?”  Margueritte wondered.

“Not quite,” Curdwallah responded.  “That was part of the problem, but you must not interrupt your mother.  It isn’t polite.”

“I’m sorry, Mother Curdwallah,” Margueritte said, and swallowed, like the name caused a great lump in her throat.

Curdwallah paused, but Margueritte refused to look.

“You would not marry the evil one.  He made you lose all your memories and told you lies to try and trick you into his bed, but you would not.  I barely saved you the first time, when we came here.  Our great god, Abraxas, made this a safe place for you.  You will not be haunted by your past or by strange dreams of the future, and the spirits of the earth that the evil one has sent to find you will never find you here.  But you must stay here, always, er, until I can find a cure for the curse.  Every time you leave the tower, you lose all of your memories and we have to start all over again.”

Margueritte swallowed again.  She could think of no reason to disbelieve what she was told.  She screwed up her courage and looked again at Curdwallah.  It was not easy.  “Am I so beautiful then that he cannot resist me?”  She asked.

“Yes,” Curdwallah lied.  “And see, your hair has grown again as it should.”  Margueritte looked quickly.  For an instant, she remembered having long hair, hair to the floor, but this was ever so much more.  It looked twice as long as she was tall, and to be sure, she got up to see.

“Good.”  Curdwallah said.  “Come here, girl.”  Margueritte went and Curdwallah brought her to the window.  “Tie your hair to the pole here and let it down outside.”  Curdwallah said and showed her how.  “I have much to do today.”

“But mother Curdwallah, will you not stay with me?”  Margueritte asked.  She did not want to be left alone, at the moment, in unfamiliar surroundings.

“No.  But remember this.”  Curdwallah trained her sharp eyes on the girl and Margueritte shrank back ever so little.  “You must never go down to the first floor and the door to the tower must always remain closed to you or the spell of safety may be broken.  I go in and out the window.”

Margueritte changed her mind in that moment.  She wanted company, but Curdwallah, mother or not, frightened her terribly.  “Yes, Mother Curdwallah,” Margueritte said, thinking it prudent to be agreeable.

“I must go,” Curdwallah said and taking hold of Margueritte’s hair she easily stepped over the window seat to the sill.  “I am servant of our great god Abraxas, and there is always work in service to the god.”  She began to lower herself, hand by hand until she reached the ground.  “Now pull your hair up.”  She instructed.  “I will call you when I need you to let it down again.

“Yes, Mother Curdwallah,” Margueritte said, and complied, but to herself, she said, “Abraxas is no god of mine,” and she doubted in her heart that anyone so horrid could be her real mother.  When her hair got safely wrapped around her shoulders several times like a great scarf, she went and threw herself on her bed and cried.  She did not know why she felt so sad.  She really could not remember anything at all.  But she felt sad all the same and finally decided that life was simply too unfair for words.  She found a bit of bread and a cup of milk on the side table, but she did not feel hungry. There were no mirrors, but she decided she did not want to look anyway.  She nearly tripped on her own hair when she went to the door of her room but decided she did not want to search the tower.  She hoped her hair would not get much longer.  Finally, back on her bed, she cried herself to sleep.

###

Almost a year passed before King Urbon called off the search and sent his condolences to Lord Bartholomew and Lady Brianna.  They, of course, were not for giving up.

Early on, Luckless, who could stand at the front door and find the exact spot where a copper had fallen in the labyrinth on Crete, sniffed the air and spun around so many times he got dizzy; but he could not find a trace of her.  “But she isn’t dead,” he insisted.  “I would know if she was.”

“She isn’t dead,” Grimly confirmed over and over before he disappeared.

“Gone to raise the troops for a good look around.”  Little White Flower told Brianna.  They had indeed become best of friends, and Brianna did not mind at all that Elsbeth and Margueritte had in Little White Flower something of an older sister.  In fact, she sometimes treated Little White Flower like a daughter, and the fee, whose own mother was long gone, responded willingly and with her whole heart.

One afternoon, they walked beside the oak in the triangle and sat on the bench Brianna had put there.  “I don’t know if they may find her, though.  It is like she has been taken right out of this world.”

Little White Flower stayed big as much as she could stand, and she had taken to wearing the clothes of a true lady and calling herself Jennifer.  Brianna thought to change the subject.

“And will you marry Father Aden?”  She asked.

Little White Flower began to cry, and Brianna instantly felt sorry to have brought it up.  “Without Margueritte that may never happen,” Little White Flower explained.  “It is one of the oldest rules of all; that the sprites are not to marry or even mingle with people without permission.”

“Oh. I see,” Brianna said.  “But we will find her, and soon.”  Brianna always sounded positive about that and Little White Flower, that is, Jennifer perked up a little.

“Oh, I hope so,” she said.

“I have explained all that to Charles.”  Roland yelled as he came crashing out of the house.

“But son.”  Lord Bartholomew argued right back.  “It will do no good getting yourself in trouble as a deserter.  We will send word as soon as there is word to send.”

Roland shook his head and would not listen.  “Charles has plenty of swords and can take care of himself.”

“Damn, stubborn.”  Lord Barth started but pulled up short when he noticed the women.  “Sorry, my dear.”

Brianna stood.  “Roland.  I believe Charles may need you for more than just your sword,” she suggested.

“That’s right.”  Bartholomew picked up on the thought.  “A good head is worth more than sharp steel alone.”

Roland paused, looked first at Lord Barth and then at Lady Brianna and settled finally on the fairy.  “I’m not for giving up,” Roland said plainly.  “How about you, Lady Jennifer.”

“No giving up.”  Little White Flower agreed, and her cry was completely forgotten and replaced by a grim determination.  “I know my Lady LeFleur has kept the little ones to task, lest the world suffer while we search for our Lady; but I think I may pay her one more visit.  I can’t possibly do much more praying right now.  My knees are almost worn out as it is.”  That was quite a speech for the little lady, but then, when the fee spent considerable time in their big size, they tended to behave more like ordinary people.

Brianna took and patted Little White Flower’s hand for support.

M3 Margueritte: Bodanagus

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The young man set his helmet on the ground and brushed back his dark hair.  He looked over the battlefield and tried to figure out what they could do better next time.  The image of a woman flashed through his mind.  He felt instantly curious.  It wasn’t Isoulde.  This woman looked remarkably like himself, with the same dark hair, green eyes and round face.  She might have been his identical twin, except she was a woman, of course.

“Margueritte.”  He breathed the name before he got interrupted.  Then he moaned as he felt a great wrenching on his heart.

“Son!  What’s wrong?”  His father came up the rise.  “You have just won a great victory.  You should be celebrating.”  Father looked all smiles.

The image of Margueritte was gone from his mind as quickly as it had come.  “It would have been a greater victory if your chiefs followed orders,” he said, as he came out of the pain.

“Son.  You told the chiefs to hide in the woods.  I did not even know if they would do it.  Nervii do not hide from battle.  They meet it, head on.”  Father punched his fist into his gloved hand.  “But I must say, when they came pouring out on the side of the enemy, I never saw men quit and run so fast.”  He laughed his great big laugh, but the young man did not laugh with him.

“But father,” the young man spoke plainly.  “They came out on the flank too soon.  It should have been a slaughter.”

“Spoken like a true Nervii.”  The old man said and laid a hand gently on his son’s shoulder.  “But Bodanagus.  You are just sixteen.  You have plenty of time for slaughter but listen.  You are never too young to learn this.  Peace is always better than war.”

“Yes, father,” Bodanagus responded.  “Only in this case, too many escaped.  They may reform and try again.”

The old man patted his son’s shoulder and laughed again.  “We will just leap that chasm when we come to it, eh?  Isn’t that what you say?”

Bodanagus nodded, but both heads turned as a rider approached.  The rider leapt from the horse, let the horse run free, and came running up to the others.

“What news, Verginex?”  The old man asked.

“Father.”  Verginex spoke.  “They had archers cover their retreat.  We couldn’t get close enough to find the Roman.  The prisoners say he led them into a trap.  I would guess they won’t let the Roman live much longer.”

“I would guess the same,” the father said.  “Never underestimate the Belgae and their ability to hold a grudge and blame others for their misfortune.”

“Never underestimate the Romans,” Bodanagus said, half to himself.

“Eh?”  Father spoke up.

“You bloodied your sword.”  Verginex interrupted and pointed.

Bodanagus looked down at his sword and spoke matter of fact.  “I had to kill him.”

“Father!”  Verginex began to whine.  “You made me stay with the horses, but Bodanagus got to bloody his sword.”

“It was his plan,” Father said.

“I know.”  Verginex raised the whine up a notch.  “He gets the victory, besides.”

Father put his arm around his other son and began to lead him back down the hill, only he could not stop smiling.  “Son?”

“Tell Isoulde I’ll be along in a while,” Bodanagus said.

“And he gets the girl, too!”  Verginex complained.  “What do I get?”

“Son.  You get to be king one day.  Don’t begrudge your younger brother his talents.  Instead, as future king, you need to learn to take advantage of them.”

Verginex looked back once.  Bodanagus saluted.  Being king was something Bodanagus wanted no part of, and fortunately, Verginex knew that.

Bodanagus stood alone again, but he could not draw up the image of that woman, Margueritte.  Even trying to imagine what a female version of himself might look like did not help.  He felt ready to give it up when he got startled by a different woman, one with a bit more substance.  She stood a few feet away and stared at him, though how she managed to get so close to him without him noticing was beyond him.

“Not much of a battle,” the woman said.  She brushed back her long blond locks and gave her armor full view of the sun.  She looked very young, but at the same time there seemed something ancient about her.  “I can smell Zeus’ pawn from here.”

“The Roman.”  Bodanagus understood that much.  He took a wild stab at the truth.  “Don’t you belong on the other side of the Rhine?”

“Very good, Kairos,” she said.  “But I knew it was you when I couldn’t read your thoughts, young as you are.”

“You will have to help me with the rest, like a name,” Bodanagus said.

“Not important,” she said.  “Let us just say Aesgard is concerned about which way Rome may turn now that Carthage is dust and Syria is being beaten down.”

“My concern, also.  And the concern of Tara, I suspect,” he said.

“Quite,” she responded.  “Thus, I have a request.”

Bodanagus felt startled.  A goddess making a request?  Such a thing was unheard of.  “I am listening,” he said at last.

“That you keep Rome out of Germany,” she said.

“But I am not German.  I am Nervii.  I am Gallic.”

“Your mother is Frankish.  This is enough,”

Bodanagus paused to consider.  He knew some day he would have his hands full of Romans.  “I will do what I can.”

“Very well said, Kairos.  The gods never make promises.”  She smiled at her own, private thoughts.  “Perhaps this will help when the time comes.”  She gave him something.  Bodanagus felt the electricity of it course through his body.

“Thank you,” he said, just to be polite, though he had no idea what the gift might be.  She, however, had already vanished.

Too many women, he thought, but not the right one.  He decided to find Isoulde.  She was all he really needed or wanted.

M3 Margueritte: Backed into a Corner, part 3 of 3

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The king spoke again.  “I know he is young, having only turned twelve on the day of his declaration, but he has been given to be page into the hands of our faithful Bedwin.”  Bedwin bowed to his king and prince.  Lady Brianna and Margueritte looked quickly at the knight.  Margueritte could not tell, but Lady Brianna became convinced in her heart that this man belonged to Owien, son of Bedwin.

“Thomas.”  The king called quickly for the bard, mindful of his son’s discomfort, though not looking very happy about it.  “Tell us a tale of kings of old.”  And Thomas did in story and song.

He told the story of mighty King Bodanagus and his great love, young Esoulde the fair.  In her day, she was said to be the fairest of women, but she loved her king, and he loved her as men and women rarely do.  All this happened ages and ages ago, when the kings and great Lords of Gaul fought forever amongst themselves like dogs fighting over a bone.  They never had peace in those days, and the people suffered in grief for their fathers, husbands, brothers and sons taken by war, and great was the poverty and oppression that ruled over them.  Still the great lords and kings fought in Gaul and king Bodanagus among the mighty.  He won great honor and glory in battle, but never did he see the agony of the people.

Finally, in Bodanagus’ day, the people could fight no longer.  Their spirits had fallen to the lowest, and there was no more strength in their bones.  It was then, by the three fingers of fate, that a man came from the south like an all-consuming fire, like the whirlwind.  It was the man named Julius Caesar.  None could withstand him and the power of Rome.  Those who took up arms against him were quickly put to the sword, and in almost no time all the Lords and kings of Gaul bowed knee to Caesar.  All, that is, but the Lord of the Nervii, King Bodanagus, the mighty.  He had never bowed knee to man nor beast, and he vowed himself to fight this Caesar and win great glory in battle.

When the two worthies met, they fought for three days and three nights without stop, first one giving way, and then the other.  At last, exhausted, they agreed to a truce of one month to rest and tend their wounds.  Never before had Caesar faced such a mighty foe as the king of the Nervii.  The outcome of it all remained uncertain.  But even as the truce began, fate intervened once again, for fate had decreed the victory for Caesar and became angry at the valor and might of the king.  Under the dark cover of the new moon, the arrow of fate struck and Esoulde the young and fair fell, declaring her love for her king with her last breath.  All at once, mighty King Bodanagus, warrior without equal, saw the world as if for the first time.  He wandered from the battlefield, saw the misery of the people, and his heart went out to them in his grief.  He took all the treasure, both his and his forefathers and placed it around Esoulde, that she might forever be covered in gold. And he built a mound around her and so cleverly disguised it, that to this day, though it contains treasure more than a thousand kings could bear, no one has ever found the place.  They say, though, it lays somewhere near the place where I was born, which is why this tale is so near to my heart.

It was in the darkest part of the night, right before dawn, when mighty King Bodanagus came to the tent of Caesar.  They say he asked only for peace, that his people be secure in their homes and have a chance to prosper without fear of threat from Rome or their neighbors, and in return he granted to Caesar all of Gaul, Albion to the Firth of Fourth and the coast of Iberia, even inland to a certain degree.  Caesar agreed, and Bodanagus released his army and turned the crown to his beloved brother.  Then he wandered through the world.

That he went to Rome we know for certain.  It is well known that it was Bodanagus who tutored the young Octavian in the ways of men and kings.  Octavian was the one who followed after Caesar and was called Augustus.  Some say King Bodanagus wandered all the way to Egypt where he refused to place the crown on Cleopatra’s head and prophesied only doom for Egypt and the Egyptians under the queen.  Much is uncertain, but in his day, it is known that he did many mighty deeds and saw many wonders.  It is also known that under the new moon, he never failed to shed some tears for Esoulde, the fair and young.

Margueritte fell to tears.  The story made her ever so uneasy, but the tears she could not help.  Her father’s words did not help, either.

“Cheeky man,” Lord Bartholomew said.  “Giving away Gaul and Albion and Iberia as well, as if they were his to give.”

“Oh hush,” Lady Brianna said.  “That was always one of my favorite stories.”

“For the young Lady.”  A servant came and held out a cup to Margueritte.  “Soft cider.”  The servant assured Lady Brianna, and Margueritte decided she was indeed thirsty after her cry.  She drained the cup, and then turned her attention to the festivities because Thomas had finished, and the torches were being extinguished.  The great double doors at the side of the courtroom were flung open and the king’s great fire could be seen ready to burn.  The king lit it by his own hand, and then Duredain began the interminable ceremony which included several sacrifices like two young rabbits thrown into the open flames.

Margueritte put her head down.  She could not watch.  Besides, her head felt a little like it was spinning.  She did not feel quite right.  Suddenly, she felt a strong hand guiding her away from the light and she thought it was Roland.  She felt grateful because she felt like she might get sick.  They went outside, and she got lifted into a cart.  Then she did get sick.  Then she passed out.

************************

MONDAY

A bit of the story of Bodanagus before Margueritte wakes up in a tower not even knowing her own name.  Until Monday (and Tuesday and Wednesday, as always) Happy Reading.

 

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M3 Margueritte: Backed into a Corner, part 2 of 3

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One little one did come up to Margueritte.  “We don’t hold with slavery neither,” he said, before he vanished into the woods.

“Of course,” Margueritte said.  That was one of her rules.  Then Roland got there to help her up while a whole crowd had gathered because of her cry.  They all laughed hard, with the great guffaws of her father sounding out above all.  Finnian, to preserve what remained of his dignity, pulled up his pants, only to hear them tear at the seam.  He had a smiley face painted on the butt of his slacks, and yes, the sign pinned to the back of his jerkin said, “Kick me”, in three languages.

Margueritte still giggled when she reached the inn to change for the night’s festivities.

The king’s house seemed festive, but on entering, she felt the air of tension underneath it all.  They had music, and though a couple of tunes were danceable, for the most part they were not.  Margueritte felt sure it was deliberate so as not to encourage the queen.  She thought it must have been nearly impossible for the musicians to fill a night with Breton music to which one could not dance.  They had food, also in abundance, and spread around numerous tables where one could help themselves whenever the urge might strike.

All felt wonderful, and Margueritte found herself quite shy despite being with Roland who became very gregarious and outgoing.  He seemed to know a lot of people for having been in town for all of a day and a half, and the ones he did not know seemed to know him.  They mostly knew Margueritte as well, but in part her embarrassment came from being called such a sweet girl and, “My how you’ve grown,” and “You’re quite the young lady now.”  She knew she was only fifteen, but they did not have to treat her that way.  When she had just about had enough, her mother became her refuge and for a minute she wished she was back at the inn with Elsbeth and Squire Tomberlain.

Roland, for all his desire to be with her, kept so easily being dragged away by the men.  She told him, at last, to go and enjoy, and he did until the time came and the chamberlain called for quiet.  Roland stood beside Margueritte when the people attended the king.  The king sat in his place on the dais, and the queen beside him, but a bit further away and a bit lower than before.  Finnian filled the gap to the king’s left, and at the moment, he looked around the room with his hardest stare in case anyone should be tempted to smile in his direction.  Duredain stood to the king’s right, and he leaned over to whisper and the king then remembered.

“Gentlemen,” the king said.  “My lords.”  He paused.  “And ladies.”  He added.  “I have received correspondence from Charles, Aid decamp of the Franks.  He has suggested that Lord Ahlmored may pose a threat to our fair country.”  The king laughed and most of the Breton lords laughed with him.  Ahlmored, most not knowing him dead, had become the butt of quite a few jokes since his sudden departure.  The king waved for silence.  “Nevertheless, Lord Durin has volunteered to take a ride to the south coast a week hence.  When he returns, having sighted no African sails, I will return correspondence that we have indeed had our eyes on the coast.”  Most of the Lords snickered again as Lord Durin stepped briefly into the center and waved to all.

Duredain whispered in the king’s ear and the king waved him off, like he did not need to be reminded.  “Now as for this dragon,” he began, and many in the court smiled but those who knew became still and serious.  “I am not convinced there is such a beast.  I believe rather it is a petty chief or robbers, cleverly disguised.  Dragon stories are all around these days what with Beowulf and the stories around George the Saxon.  I say, we leave the dragon stories to the Danes and Germans.  Let us be more sensible about these matters, and let my petty chieftains settle their own squabbles as they see fit.”

“But I’ve seen it,” one man’s voice rang out.

“No, my Lord,” the king countered.  “I am not sure what you saw was really what it was.  I did say, cleverly disguised intentions.  Mark me, someone is growing rich off your delusions.  You must find the real culprit, and not bother me with such nonsense.”

“But.”

“Enough!”  The king’s rage flared for a moment as he slapped the arms of his chair and rose to his feet.  He calmed and sat.  “I’ll not speak of it anymore, as it will merely distract from the real joy of this day.”  With this, the queen, even in her lowly position, sat up a little straighter in her chair.

“Judon,” the king called.  If someone stood in the wings, they did not respond.  “David!”  The king tried again, and slowly a young boy poked his head around the curtain.  One could almost feel the push his nanny gave him as he stumbled, recovered, and walked slowly like one overawed by the gallant lords and ladies that surrounded him.  At last the king grabbed the boy around the middle and pretended affection.  The boy did not resist, but he never took his eyes off the crowd.  He looked scared, and almost like a child who could cry at any moment, though surely, he was too old for that.

“His mother calls him David,” the king said patently ignoring the queen.  “I objected at first, but I understand this David was a great king in his day, and a valiant warrior.  His name, though, is Judon and by royal decree three weeks gone, Wednesday, I have declared him my son and heir.”  Many present were not surprised, and of those who were, most were accepting.  A short round of applause went up.  Margueritte thought it very short.

M3 Margueritte: Backed into a Corner, part 1 of 3

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Chief Brian took a deep breath.  “Please understand.  I love our people and I expect the witch’s plans will not be in their best interest.  I assume, though I may be wrong, that you may have the power to undo her wicked scheme, whatever it may actually be.”

Margueritte paused once more to consider.  “But how do you know I am not also a witch, maybe worse than the other?” she asked.  Brian looked at her again, briefly before he looked away once more.  He seemed to laugh.

“Because I have seen you and know you, and your mother and family as well.  If there is anything in you, it is purity, not wickedness.  You have the Christ in you.  And you have shown no signs of wanting to take over anything or bend anything to your nefarious will.  Why, you are no more witch than I am.”

“But what of the king’s left ear?  Surely, he has some sense there,” Margueritte said, but Brian sighed.

“Alas, his left ear is occupied by Finnian McVey, and that Irishman is only in it for himself.  Lord knows his agenda, except he is nobody’s fool, not even for the witch. But you see, now, whether the king turns to the left or to the right it will not go well for us, not well at all.”

Margueritte had a lot to think about, though she was not sure there was anything she could do.  She hardly had time to think, though, because as she stood to walk, she found herself cornered by Finnian McVey himself.

“Young Margueritte,” he said and turned up his thin lips in what Margueritte imagined he supposed was a friendly smile.  “A weard, if you would be so kind.”

“Of course,” Margueritte said, curious enough after what the village chief just told her.

“Over here, if you don’t mind,” he said and took her by the elbow and lead her to the edge of the woods.  “What I have to ask is delicate and I would not have untoward ears listening in.

Margueritte extracted her arm before she was pushed into the actual woods, but she found herself well within the shade of the trees and her back to one great tree, while Finnian blocked her way back into the light.  “I am sure there is nothing I might tell you which is worth such secrecy,” she said.

“Ah, but there is.”  He pressed his hands together and put his fingers to his lips as if deciding exactly how to phrase things.  He stepped closer, and she took a small step back, and so he moved her more surely into the shadows.

“I have it on authority that around your home there are certain powers in the world and spirits of the darkness.”

“Then your authority is wrong.”  Margueritte said quickly even as she wondered who else knew the supposed secret.  “For I would entertain no darkness around my house, and neither would my mother nor my father who is Count of the Frankish Mark, lest you have forgotten.”

“Light and dark,” Finnian said with a step to force her back.  “These are relative terms.  They say there is a god, Abraxas, who bears the burden for both.  Of that, I would not know, but of the cratures that surround you, I am certain,” he drawled.

“Sir,” Margueritte said.  “I must return to the grounds before the others miss me.”  She was not really with others apart from Roland, Tomberlain, Owien and her father, and they were engaged in the games, though Finnian did not need to know that.  She started to walk, but he put out his arm and stopped her steps.

“Not yet,” he said.  “For I also know these powers worship the ground you walk on and will do whatever you ask.”

“Sir.  Even if that were true, it would be in the asking,” Margueritte said.  “Your spirit belongs to you and for that only you are accountable.  Would it be any different with any other spirit?  I think not.  Whatever you have heard, each one belongs to him or herself, not to me.”

“Ah, but if you were to ask, you could give one to me and then I could see what is what,” he said, and Margueritte took two steps back on that note.

“I am not one to endorse slavery, especially to the likes of you.”

His hand came very close to her face, but he withheld his slap.  “I am not asking you, missy,” he said instead.  “I am telling you to give me one of the little people, one with power in this earth, and you will, soon, if you know what is good for you.”

“Never.”  Margueritte charged toward her freedom, but Finnian caught her and dragged her deeper into the woods.  Her eyes yelled for help, but her mouth got covered by his hand.  She dreaded the taste but bit him all the same.  He yelped and she got out one “Help!” before he hit her, hard.  The smile appeared long gone from Finnian’s face as his thin lips turned down in a growl.

Finnian let go suddenly when a little one ran up his back.  He giggled, even as he caught something out of the corner of his eye.  He spun round and round and tried to get a good look, but the fee moved too fast and stayed always just in his peripheral vision.  When he fell over from dizziness, an impish lady gave him a wet, slobbering kiss right before the two below pulled on the string that held up his pants.  He fell, face down into the puddle of mud, not there a minute ago.  Finnian got up, angry, but his pants stayed around his ankles and there came a great roar, like a lion got right behind him, though it came thundering out of the littlest dwarfish creature.  Finnian screamed for his life and ran.  He tripped several times because of his pants as he ran back to the ground of the games.  Margueritte fell-down, laughing.