castle

Golden Door Chapter 11 Chris in the Dark, part 2 of 2

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

When he came to the actual end of the tunnel, he came to a tremendous underground cavern. Chris could neither see the far walls nor the ceiling, so he wondered how big the cavern might be. Then he heard something he had not expected—the sound of water, waves breaking on a shoreline, and it sounded close. He stepped into the light.

Two braziers stood against the stone wall, and the shoreline of some underground sea looked hardly fifty feet away. The water appeared black dark and hard to see, even with his night eyes, but at that point on the shore, it looked as if someone built a kind of dock made of stone. He looked over the water and thought there might be something out there, far off. He imagined it was not likely the other side of the sea, but perhaps an island of some sort. He squinted and tried to focus when someone grabbed him by the arms from behind.

“Got him,” a male voice said. Chris did not struggle, because he saw a female step into his line of vision, and for a moment her red hair appeared to be on fire, though otherwise she looked very attractive.

“Who are you?” The woman asked.

“Chris, and you?” Chris spoke as calmly as he could.

The woman looked young. Chris guessed her to be about his age or a little older when she cocked her head to get a good look at him before she answered. “Heathfire. And my companion is Broomwick.”

“Well, you must be good at sneaking up on people because I didn’t see you at all.”

Heathfire looked at Chris like he had to be dumb. “We were in the braziers. Duh!”

“I’m sorry?” Chris did not understand.

“Hey! We are supposed to be asking the questions. Now, where did you come from?”

“Home, originally,” Chris answered. “I came down the tunnel with Deathwalker. The troll road.”  He pointed with his head.

“Deathwalker?” Broomwick slackened his grip, but he did not let go. Heathfire appeared curious as if she knew something, but it would not come together in her mind.

“Yeah,” Chris said. “I haven’t done anything if that is what you’re thinking.”

“Hey! You there!” The shout came from behind them.

“Chris!” Heathfire suddenly shouted. “You’re the Storyteller’s son.”

“I am?” Chris smiled as Broomwick let go and even took a moment to straighten out Chris’ shirt where he had wrinkled it.

“Sorry,” Broomwick said. “Just doing my job you understand. Guarding the wharf and all that. All okay?” Broomwick did not wait for an answer. He became a ball of flame and rushed back to one of the braziers while Heathfire laughed.

Deathwalker came up beside Chris and made sure no damage got done. He gave Heathfire a stern look, which she ignored.

“First stranger in a month and it turns out to be you, and we even knew you were coming.”

“Did he just go on fire?” Chris asked.

Heathfire nodded. “He’s a fire sprite. So am I,” she said. “I take it you’re human, mortal I mean.” Chris returned her nod.

“Now, young woman.” Deathwalker started, but Heathfire interrupted.

“Put it out, Gramps.”

“We need a ship.” Deathwalker finished his thought. “And young man, you might as well join us.” He spoke to the brazier and a flame face with a slightly worried expression stuck up for a second before it scooted away from the brass and took the shape of a burly young man.

“Sorry,” Broomwick said.

“You already said that.” Heathfire teased.

“No, I mean sorry. There haven’t been any ships in dock since that one, you know, took over.”

“That’s right.” Heathfire looked serious for a minute. “And no relief, either. I swear, if I ingest another faggot of charcoal I’ll up-chuck.”

“Charming thought,” Chris said. He wondered what a fire sprite might throw up.

Heathfire stepped close. She took Chris’ hand, and he felt a momentary spark between them which made Chris blink and Heathfire smile.

“Most guys think I’m pretty hot. What about you?” She looked at him in a way which only a fool could misunderstand.

“An understatement,” Chris said, diplomatically. Heathfire giggled, but Chris could feel the heat coursing through his hand.

“Ahem!” Deathwalker interrupted. “We need to get to the island of the castle,” he said. “Our mission is to set Lord Deepdigger free of his enchantment and set the women free as well, if possible.”

“Just the two of you?” Heathfire let go of Chris’ hand, stepped back and covered her giggle. “I mean, Kairos’ son and all, but still.”

“I’ll help,” Broomwick stepped forward. Chris looked at him. “Least I can do,” he admitted.

“Thanks.” Chris offered his hand.

“Me, too,” Heathfire said. She put her hand up like a real volunteer and let her eyes roll up toward the ceiling to suggest that she still thought they were crazy. “Maybe we can at least find something better to eat.”

“May I come?” All four turned to see an ugly old woman stand in the shadows by the sea. Chris did not understand, but Heathfire screamed, Deathwalker gripped Chris’ arm with something of an iron grip, and Broomwick rushed for the comfort of his brazier.

The old woman appeared to have risen-up out of the underground sea.

“Hag.” Deathwalker whispered the name of the thing, and as he spoke, the old woman cackled and began to change. She very quickly became seven feet tall and appeared to be covered with prickly, matted hair or fur. The monster looked incredibly strong. Chris especially did not like the way she or it drooled while looking at him.

“Stoked up.” They heard Broomwick’s voice behind them. “Football tackle,” Broomwick yelled, as he shot out of the brazier, a streak of flame, and set the creature on fire. To Chris’ dismay, far from being hurt, the creature seemed to revel in the flames, grew another foot taller and appeared stronger than ever.

“Football tackle.” Deathwalker repeated Broomwick’s words and yanked on Chris’ arm. To be sure, Chris would have rather run in the opposite direction, but he could hardly let Deathwalker tackle the monster alone. Deathwalker might have been far stronger than he looked, but he was not nearly strong enough to take down that beast alone; so, Chris ran beside Deathwalker, and together they bumped the beast while it was still distracted and reveling in the flames. It swatted them both aside like two troublesome insects, but it also lost its balance for a second.

A new figure, someone much bigger than Chris hit the off-balance beast, and though even the hulking person had only a little effect on the monster, it became enough to knock the beast over. The hag fell back into the sea and screamed at the last second when she realized she would hit the water. The fire with which the beast became covered, the fire that made the beast grow in size and strength, got doused all at once in a great cloud of steam, and the cavern filled with the agonizing screams of death. Chris could not tear his eyes away. Almost as quickly as the old woman transformed into the frightening monster, so now the monster changed back partially into the woman. Then the arms and legs, chest and face of the old woman collapsed and sank, in a sense imploded. It looked as if the bones and muscles which had once given the body shape had been liquefied and could no longer hold the skin to that shape. When it was over, Chris saw very little of the hag that remained afloat. He saw less than an oil slick on the surface of the water.

“My thanks,” Deathwalker said. Chris looked. Their help had not been Broomwick in solid form, and certainly not Heathfire who spent those few short moments trying hard not to scream again. This brute looked young, had fangs for teeth and claws for hands, but he grinned and shook Deathwalker’s hand, so Chris imagined he might not be too bad.

Golden Door Chapter 2 The Lay of the Land, part 1 of 2

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

“Hey! Children!” Someone yelled from behind. Beth and Chris spun around to see a man tall enough to block the sun.

“Run!” Beth and Chris both spoke at the same time, and all four scattered for the grain. They had little hope they could get there, or hide once they arrived, but there seemed no other choice.

“Bert?” One of the giants turned, squinted, and shaded his eyes.

“Say something?” The other giant looked up, afraid he missed something important.

“Get them! Get the children!” Bert yelled, but by the time the other two figured out what he was yelling about, the children were hidden in the field, amongst the grain. After a short way, Beth fell to her knees and crawled in a zig-zag pattern as fast as she could. The boys came right behind her.

Bert continued to yell. “Get out! Get out of there, you morons! Get out of the grain, you’re stomping it to bits!” James, in the rear, caught sight of a sandaled foot nearly as big as himself being gently lifted into the sky. “Lady Ashtoreth isn’t a stupid demon. She doesn’t want the field destroyed.”

“But this is the field of the Kairos,” one of the giants spoke. “If he wakes up, he’ll be really mad.”

“All the more reason to stay out of it, you blinkin’ fool,” Bert responded.

“Sorry, Bert.”

The children heard a loud slap! “Stupid doofus!” Bert said, and one giant began to cry.

“What did you hit Rupert for? Why are you yelling at him?”

They heard a second slap. “I was yelling at you, pea brain.”

That got followed by a dull thud, which sounded like a punch. “I am not a pea brain. You take that back.”

“Why should I, pea brain?” Apparently, someone got pushed because the giant that was crying stopped crying and yelled.

“What ya pushing for?” He must have shoved back, because the cursing started up along with plenty of slapping, hitting, and kicking.

“I feel sorry for the one in the middle,” James mumbled as he came to a stop. Chris and Beth were whispering, and then Chris shared with David and James.

“We’re going to try and get to the trees at the back of the field. I think we can lose them in the forest.”

“But we have got to stick together,” Beth added, and they started to crawl in the direction they hoped would take them into the forest.

The fighting between the giants, and it sounded like an awful row, stopped as suddenly as it started when Bert shouted, “The children!”

“But the grain,” Rupert reminded them.

“Get around to the back,” Bert ordered. “If they get to the trees, they might get away. Come on, Knuckles, quit lying around.”

“Coming,” Knuckles answered, but his voice sounded rather shaky and uncertain.

The children stopped. The giants circled the field much faster than they could go through it. “The castle?” Chris whispered, but Beth shook her head. She was not moving until she saw what the giants did.

“But Bert. The field’s too big for the three of us,” Rupert complained.

“They could be anywhere in there by now,” Knuckles agreed with his friend, and the children heard a groan coupled with a rending in the earth. Bert pulled up a switch, in fact, a young sapling. The others did the same.

“Now, look careful-like,” Bert said, and the children heard the swishing back and forth, as the grain covered them for a second. They heard swishing down the way as well, until Bert exploded. “I said careful!” Then they heard a whoosh of wind and the stinging sound like a whip struck home, and a tremendous, “Ow!” This got followed by more whooshing and the cracking of whip-trees against shirts and bare skin, and Beth decided to take a chance.

Beth got to her feet but stayed bent over. The boys did the same, except James who did not need to bend over at all, and they ran for the forest. They were very close. Fortunately, Bert and Knuckles had their backs to the children. Knuckles turned away, because he just whipped Rupert in the eyes. Rupert, the only giant facing them had both eyes closed and he rubbed one. Bert did not notice, because he got busy bringing his small tree down on the back of Knuckle’s head.

“Doofus is right,” James mumbled as they ran deep into the trees. This time David heard and smiled in spite of himself.

After a while, the children stopped. They huffed and puffed, and Beth had to put her hands on her knees to catch her breath. Chris seemed the best off of the four. At fifteen, soon to be sixteen, he did a lot of jogging and walking around town back home when he could not catch a ride.

“Which way?” Beth asked, but she honestly wondered, because the forest turned thick with undergrowth, so their trajectory had not exactly been in a straight line. Chris judged the position of the sun and pointed in the way he imagined led to the castle. He started to walk before the others were quite ready.

“Wait a minute,” Beth said, sharply. She kept herself from yelling. “Who put you in charge? Don’t we even get a vote?”

Chris did not answer her directly. “The castle has to be this way.”

“But don’t you think that is where the Ashtoreth demon is, and the sleeping Kairos, whoever she is?” Beth spoke, even as she began to follow. David got ahead of her at that point, and he turned to walk backwards.

“But maybe Mom and Dad are there, too.” David held on to that thought as his source of comfort. He tripped over a root and fell. James laughed but tried to cover up. “Not funny!” David yelled, way too loud, and he only realized that maybe yelling was not a smart thing to do after it was too late. They heard the noise of crashing trees back the way they came, and they all hurried to catch up with Chris.

Golden Door Chapter 1 Monsters in the House, part 2 of 2

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Green grass stretched out before them in a world that looked bright with late afternoon sunshine. They heard the faint roll of the sea somewhere, but they could not see it through the door. They smelled the fresh air and the aroma of growing grain which they could barely make out off to their right. They felt a touch of the cool breeze that wafted through the meadow on a lazy afternoon in late May. The grass looked freshly cut or grazed. Beth judged grazed, from the medieval dress of the two people who stood some hundred yards off down by the grain. It seemed hard to tell, exactly, because those people had their backs to the door; but they looked medieval, and the grain looked like early grain, barely up to their knees after a March planting.

“Creepy,” Chris breathed.

“Cool!” David yelled. To be sure, yelling was David’s normal volume. “Look at the castle.” It sat up on a hill, well beyond the people. There were more towers and spires than any of them could count, including some that reached right up into the clouds. The castle walls looked formidable enough to withstand any army foolish enough to assault them. A clear stream came from somewhere inside the castle grounds and wound lazily down the hillside, around the occasional clump of trees, until it reached the meadow. By then it became a very small river which found the sea somewhere behind them. Beth looked behind, but all she could see was the kitchen.

The scratching came again, and this time it sounded definite and pronounced.

“Did you guys leave Seabass trapped in Mom and Dad’s closet all afternoon?”  Some scorn entered Beth’s voice, but before the boys could answer, she stepped around the corner. Chris shook his head. David pointed, but Seabass had gone from the couch.

They found the cat under the couch, shivering and afraid. With James’ help, David got the cat out and then held the beast securely in his arms as overweight, gregarious, love everyone Catbird, the golden retriever, began to growl. Beth screamed and the boys heard a tremendous crash in their parent’s room. Beth made it to the bedroom door, slammed it shut. She held the doorknob and poked her head around the corner to the living room.

“Run!”

The boys just stood there.

Catbird began to dance and bark his head off at whatever was behind the door. Seabass tried to wriggle free to follow Beth’s instructions, but David held the cat tight. Chris stared with his mouth open. James had the good sense to step through the door and on to the green meadow. That movement broke the spell; that and the sudden crash against the bedroom door from the inside which almost made Beth lose her grip, and which came punctuated by a loud crack. The wood door looked ready to give way.

Chris grabbed David to keep him from running down the front hall and out the front door. He shoved David after James. Then he grabbed Catbird by the collar, and carefully, because the dog had become agitated beyond belief. Chris nodded to Beth as he dragged the dog toward the golden door, and only paused when he got to the place where the door and rug met.

“Come on!” Chris screamed at his sister and went through, even as a second crash came against the bedroom door.

“There’s more than one!” Beth screamed back.

“Hurry!” The golden door started to close of its’ own volition. A third crash, and the bedroom door came to pieces, but it held together in sharp and ragged edges long enough to keep back whatever growling, snarling, roaring beasts were trying to get at Beth. Beth managed a good scream as she ran and dove through the doorway. They heard the roar of the beast echo in the house before the golden door slammed shut and they were no longer in the world.

Beth chalked up her spinning head and queasy stomach to having just escaped with her life, but as she turned from the door to look at the boys, she noticed they all looked as pale as she felt. Chris started looking around, but it seemed hard to tell if he could focus on anything. David, fallen to his knees, looked sick to his stomach. James just sat, his head in his hands, until he looked up at her.

“I feel like I died.”

“That’s all right.” Beth comforted her littlest brother. “We made it. We’re safe.”

“That’s not it.” James pointed into the west.

Beth turned to look. She shaded her eyes as well as she could against a sun which sat low in the sky, ready to set in a couple of hours. She saw the sea, closer than she imagined. A wide, sandy beach started some twenty yards off; but at the moment, it got hard to gaze in that direction because the sun glistened off the water with such intensity it made her eyes tear. She got ready to turn back to her brother when she realized what he pointed at. The golden door had vanished.

“Chris?” Beth called to get her brother’s attention.

“Catbird and Seabass disappeared when we came through, just like the door,” Chris said.

“They ran off?” Beth wondered, but James shook his head, so she knew they vanished and were not going to be found, just like their dad, and now maybe their mom, too.

David touched her shoulder. Beth reached out and hugged him, which was what he needed at that moment, and then she included James in her hug, and Chris bent down to add his arms.

“What was that thing?” James tried to ask.

“What will happen when Mom comes home?” David’s voice drowned out his brother’s natural whisper. “It will eat her.”

“No,” Beth spoke quickly. “I think the reason Mom was not home when we all got there is because she is already here.” She looked around and wondered where “here” might be. She looked up at Chris, in need of his support.

“Mom is probably here already, and Dad too, I think.” Chris did not sound sure about what he thought, but he tried to speak with conviction to not frighten the younger two.

“But where are we?” James tried again.

“Maybe Mom and Dad are in the castle,” David suggested.

“Maybe.” Beth stood, so the others stood as well. The feeling of having died faded. “Maybe those people can help.” Without another word, they began to walk toward the distant field of grain.

The men beside the field looked away from the sun. They appeared to be studying the grain, like they were watching it grow. But there was no way they would have ever seen the children through that glaring sun, even if they turned around. Thus, the children got close before the mind trick Beth played with herself suddenly let go and things came into perspective. She had imagined two men by a new-May field full of short stalks just sprouted from the ground. As she approached, she came to see the field as fully ripe and tall, despite it being May. That meant it likely stood taller than Chris, the tallest of the four children, and that meant the men had to be fifteen or twenty feet tall.

“Giants,” James whispered.

“Creepy,” Chris agreed, and he clamped his hand over David’s mouth before David could say anything too loud.

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

MONDAY

Four young people escape the monsters by going to another world, only this other world appears to be full of giants. That might not be an improvement. Until Next Time, Happy Reading.

*

Avalon 9.12 Home, part 3 of 4

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

People talked all at once.  They shuffled around and many stood to look around the table and the floor.  Most said, “What discs?” or “What recording?”  Alice Summers and Fyodor both asked, “What does it look like?”

In the confusion, Gilbert, the new guy stood, but Lockhart had his eye on the man.  When the man made a dash for the door, Lincoln stuck his foot out.  The man tripped but held on to something he had hidden under his suit jacket.  Lockhart landed right on top of the man.  Gilbert struggled, but not too hard because he did not want to damage whatever he had in the box.  Katie and Sergeant Major Thomas arrived and quickly put an end to the attempts to escape.  He got cuffed, so all he had was his mouth to argue with.

“The President wants to review the recordings and decide if some of the records need to be made public,” Gilbert admitted.

“Don’t you mean the Masters want it?” Lincoln said as he walked up.

Gilbert shook his head and stared at Lincoln, but he held his tongue.  An obvious lie would not have helped him at that point.  “General Weber,” he tried to say. “This is government property.”

Katie got the box that held the recordings and retrieved Decker’s ring.  She still wore her necklace with the camera.  She went to hand it to Alice, but Alice waved her off, saying, “Now that we have settled the administration spy in your midst, we have one more thing to do first.  Roland and Boston, would you come up here, please.”  Alice turned to Bobbi and asked.  “Are you ready?”

Bobbi took a deep breath and let it out, slowly.  She smiled and nodded.

Roland and Boston held hands and waved at the empty space at the front of the room.  They said, “How many miles to Avalon?  Three score miles and ten.  Can I get there by candlelight?  Yes, and back again.”

An image of an archaic stone archway eight feet tall and six feet wide appeared in the open space and slowly solidified.  The archway had a door so no one could see into that glorious country.

Alice hugged Bobbi and said, “You can come home and visit anytime.”

Boston called to Sukki. “Sister.  Come with me.  I want to show you my home.  You can come back whenever you are ready.”

Sukki hesitated.  “Mom?  Dad?”

Lockhart nodded as Katie spoke.  “Go on.  Enjoy yourself.  We are home now, and you are a big girl.  Be good but have fun.”  Katie smiled and Sukki responded with a smile.

Bobbi opened the door, and everyone caught the aroma of fresh cut grass, grain ready to harvest, and many kinds of flowers. Some caught the scent of the sea and swore they heard the breakers on the shore. Some heard the birds and bubbling brook.  A few lucky ones that happened to be at the right angle caught sight of the great castle on the hill with its uncountable towers and all the banners fluttering in the breeze.

Bobbi, Boston, Sukki, and Roland went into that other place, and Roland closed the door behind them.  The archway faded and vanished altogether, and Alice smiled.  “Welcome home,” she repeated for the travelers.  “Be good, and Merry Christmas.”  She raised her hands and vanished, this time without the flash of light because everyone was looking at her, and she did not need to get their attention.

While Lockhart and Sergeant Major Don Thomas got Gilbert settled, and two of the security crew carted him away to a lockup, Katie took a closer look around the room.  She had been occupied during the brunch catching up with Alexis, Roland, and Boston.  Now, it looked to Katie like something out of middle school.  The lawyers had a table.  The technology people had a different table.  The security group had a third table. There were a couple of other tables.  One for personnel, one for the medical staff and some scientists like biologists and chemists, and one for what was likely the physicists in the group.  She wondered if they mixed and matched well.

One table appeared to be all military people.  She saw a Lieutenant commander of the navy, two air force captains, though one had a patch that said U. S. Space Force.  She had some catching up to do. She later discovered that the space force was not official yet, and would not be for another four years, but that officer worked in space command.  She saw an army major and noticed that they all came in uniform.  They must have been told in advance.  Eating with the officers were five non-coms from the five branches, one being from the coast guard.  One was a marine staff sergeant, and Katie had to jog her memory to grab the woman’s name.

“Miriam,” she called.  The woman put her napkin on the table and came right over.  She came to attention and saluted.  Katie returned the salute and said, “You work for the director.”  It was a question.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Well, first of all, let’s dispense with coming to attention and the salute.  You can’t be saluting every time I come to the office.  You will never get any work done.  And second, call me Katie, though I suppose in public you should probably make that Lieutenant Colonel.”

“Lieutenant Colonel,” Miriam said.  The marine drilling and discipline to acknowledge rank was strong.  She did not doubt Lieutenant Colonel was what they would all call her, though the army and air force people might just call her Colonel.  They probably called Sergeant Major Thomas simply Sergeant.  Some service branches were not as strict as the marines.

“We ready?” Lockhart asked, interrupting Katie’s thoughts.  She nodded and told Miriam to come along.  Don Thomas also came, and Katie went back to her introspection as they walked.  Oddly, she did not imagine anything about what things might be like in the Pentagon and the Smithsonian.  She did wonder if Miriam was as good a secretary as reported, if maybe she could take the woman with her.

Down the hall, they came to the two elevators that went down to the third basement—the old bomb shelter.  It presently housed the main frame supercomputer that allowed the Men in Black to track just about everything on the planet.  It connected with several satellites, all built with enhanced alien technology garnered from the many different aliens that fell to Earth or visited and left things behind.  It also had regular maintenance and IT people that came in and out of the basement.

The other side of the basement remained a bomb shelter of sorts, where people could go in a time of emergency.  It got some revamping during the Vordan incident.  The security department got oversite for the shelter, to make sure the supplies remained fresh and the equipment like the generators and appliances remained in working order and up to date.  Security oversaw the basement armory.  Lockhart saw some ray-guns there and wondered how they worked.

They came to a big metal door at the back of the shelter and paused.  Lockhart, as the assistant director, had the authorization to open the safe.  One screen scanned his palm print.  Another scanned his iris.  There were other locks, and when the door opened, it made a great whooshing sound.  Miriam told Katie it was vacuum sealed.  Three white cloaked technicians stepped over from the computer side to watch.  They produced handguns when the door opened and told everyone to raise their hands and leave their guns in the holsters.  One technician took the recordings.  One stepped into the safe to retrieve something.  The third one spoke.

“Just as well Gilbert did not get away with these recordings,” he said.  “The Masters want these recordings.”  He paused to threaten Lockhart.  “I imagined taking your daughter as a hostage, but the wife will do.”  He made Katie move back toward the elevator and pushed the button to open the door and another button to hold it open.  The man holding the recording stayed to point his gun at the three by the door, focusing on Lockhart and Don Thomas who were likely dangerous.

“Hurry up,” the man shouted into the safe.  The woman that went in started to return when the other elevator arrived, and the door opened.  Someone shot the man by the door.  The one on the elevator with Katie quickly closed the elevator door to escape with his hostage.  Lockhart looked once at the elevators.  The one started to go up, but Lincoln and Alexis came from the other one.

“I didn’t trust that Gilbert to be working alone,” Lincoln said.

“I trust my husband’s suspicious instinct,” Alexis said with a smile.

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

Tomorrow

Don’t forget Thursday’s post. It will end the episode and the Avalon Series so don’t miss it. Enjoy the moment and Happy Reading

*

M4 Margueritte: A Few Words, part 3 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

They heard a noise from the far door.  An old nun dropped her mop and her bucket and shouted.  “An angel.”

Tulip instantly got small and shot for Margueritte’s shoulder where she could hide in Margueritte’s hair.

“Relindis.  I saw the angel you were speaking to, and the angel vanished.”  The old woman ran off before the other could stop her.

Margueritte stood.  “I’m going to fetch some tea,” she said.  “Tulip, why don’t you sit on Relii’s shoulder and play with her hair for a while.”

“Yes, Lady,” Tulip said, and she zipped to Relii’s shoulder and whispered something in her ear that made Relii laugh.

With tea and little snacks, the afternoon seemed not so bad.  Tulip made a home on Gisele’s shoulder, and Gisele made no more complaints about being forced to travel for the rest of the trip.

The next morning, they began the journey up the Meuse River to Verdun. In Verdun, they picked up the old Roman road which they followed all the way to Paris.  It had gotten in terrible disrepair is several places, but for the most part, it still pretended to be a road.

They stayed three days in Paris, and Margueritte got visited by everyone, including the archbishop, who declared at this point she was as near to a queen as the people had.  Margueritte rolled her eyes.  She had enough on her plate, and besides, Roland would never go for it.

In Paris, they said goodbye to Tulip, and it became tearful, but Margueritte called Goldenrod and told her to tell Jennifer they were in Paris and would be home in a week or ten days.  She told Goldenrod that she would call her to join them in the morning, but Goldenrod still got surprised when it happened.

“Now, Goldenrod.  You need to get big so the girls can see you and recognize you in your big form.”

“Do I have to?”  Goldenrod flitted gently back and forth like a leaf caught in the wind, a very different reaction than they got from Tulip.

“Yes, dear.  You have to, please.”

“Okay.” Goldenrod changed her mind, and stood to face Brittany and Grace, looking for all the world like a fourteen-year-old girl.  Brittany and Grace were delighted at the prospect of having a fairy near their ages.  Margueritte later explained to Gisele.

Goldenrod is actually seventy-seven years old, but they age so slowly, it is hard to tell.  They also mature slowly, so Goldenrod is about like a twelve or thirteen-year-old as far as her maturity goes.  Sorry to saddle you with three pre-teens, but hopefully they will help with Gerald.”

“Not likely,” Gisele said, but she smiled.  “But your lady friend, Calista has been a great help.”

“Then you should know,” Margueritte said, with a sly elf grin.  “Calista is an elf.  Don’t be fooled by the glamour she wears that makes her appear human.”

“Lady,” Gisele returned the smile.  “If anyone else said that I would call them mad, but in your case, I suspected it was something like that.”

The Paris Road did not seem in bad shape.  Margueritte guessed Tomberlain or his men worked on it, at least the section through Maine.  The road went north of LeMans, but they came through Laval and stopped in Craon where they visited Peppin’s family.  The family sergeant looked old and worn, but he said good things about Tomberlain’s rule over the county, and good things about Owien as well, and that helped Margueritte relax.

“My chief concern in all of this is to have a thousand heavy cavalry to send to Charles by the due date of 734.  If I can raise a second thousand in the east, all well, but this side of the nation has had several years head start.”

“Don’t worry,” Peppin assured her.  “We may have twice that by 734.  We have a thousand already who are fully trained, as well as we can get them without testing them in battle.  They are beginning to train other young ones.  The work is spreading out.  Pouance is not the center it used to be.”

In fact, Pouance seemed almost quiet for May.  Several of Wulfram’s men and several from Peppin in Craon were there, and a Captain Lothar had the castle and town well defended, and the young ones who came well in hand.  There were more than a hundred young men there, but there were also nearly fifty older men from that area trying to catch up with the new way of doing things.

“Count Michael down in Nantes, and Count duBois in the north are both training their own men, and the Counts Tomberlain and Owien have training going on in LeMans, Laval and Angers, so you see, it isn’t just here,” Captain Lothar explained as they came up to the Paris gate.

Goldenrod could not contain herself by then.  She squirted ahead and hugged everyone on the cheek, Jennifer twice, and then she disappeared by the kennels.  The gate was open of course, to welcome Margueritte, Lady of the castle, and Margueritte felt some Goldenrod impatience herself and could not wait to jump down from her horse and run to hug Jennifer.  She hugged Marta and Maven and would have hugged Lolly if Lolly had not been busy scolding Luckless for being away for so long.  Grimly sauntered over to the stables where Pipes and Catspaw were waiting, and he settled right back into their company without so much as a word.

Morgan, who was nineteen, and engaged, and Jennifer’s Lefee at eighteen were there to welcome and hug Gisele.  “And Larin will be here any day,” Lefee said, cheerfully.  “The gang back together.  You remember Larin, don’t you?”

“Yes, the little one who kept following us around.” Gisele said.

“She is fifteen now, and thinks she is all grown up,” Morgan said with a roll of her eyes.

“I remember being fifteen,” Gisele responded with a laugh.

Weldig Junior and Cotton were there for the boys, and Pepin and Martin wasted no time getting reacquainted, though they did not hug so much as punch each other in the arms and slap one another’s backs.  They were all pages, and Captain Lothar said he would gladly put them to work and keep them busy.

Carloman was a bit left out, until Jennifer stepped up and handed him a book.  It was Bishop Aden’s book on Greek.

“He would want you to have it,” Jennifer said, and Carloman hugged her and offered his sympathy at her loss.

Jennifer’s Mercy was eleven.  Marta’s Sylvan was ten.  They looked hesitant as Brittany and Grace cane up to them and stopped.  But Grace could not hold herself back.  She and Mercy hugged and cried like they were four years old all over again.  Brittany did not mind someone to hang out with other than her sister, but she did not want to be stuck with the ten-year-old.

“Lady, Lady.”  Goldenrod came rushing up.  “Puppy Two remembers me.  He does.”

“Of course he does.  It has only been eight days,” Margueritte said.

“It has?” Goldenrod wondered, like she thought it was forever, but then her mind moved on and she flew over to sit on Brittany’s shoulder and hear what the girls were talking about.

Calista came up with Gerald, and Jennifer, Marta and Maven all fussed over him, and Lolly promised him special honey treats.  Gerald looked up at his mother with an expression that said this might work out after all.  Walaric had a boy who would be eight in July, so at least Gerald would not be alone.

They went into the house and settled sleeping arrangements.  Apparently, Jennifer sent for Owien and Tomberlain as soon as Margueritte got within range.  She expected them to show up any day, and then things would be naturally hectic again.

“Well, at least they finished building the castle,” Margueritte said.  “I no sooner left this mess than I went over to the east and started a new mess.  I don’t think there will ever come a time when I am not building something.”

Tomberlain arrived first with Margo and the children, and plenty of men at arms, all on horseback, though most were still rather young.  Owien and Elsbeth and their children arrived the next day, and their men looked just as young.  Tomberlain picked up Peppin and some older men along the way, and Owien brought Wulfram and his men, so as Jennifer predicted it became a madhouse around the castle.

Margueritte sat on the bench that used to be beside the old oak, and once sat in the middle of the triangle of buildings that made up her childhood home.  Now the triangle, with the old chapel and annex across the road, and a good bit of land cleared from the forest and the edge of the fields had all been surrounded by a great wall of stone joined by seven towers.  The chapel looked the same, but all the buildings that surrounded the courtyard were new.  Her greatly expanded home appeared unrecognizable.  The barn, moved near the farm gate, looked brand new, and bigger than ever, and it had a long stable attached.  Down by the farm gate itself there were new pens for the hogs and sheep, and the new kennels where Puppy Two started getting old, and great forges for the smiths that worked and lived in the old tower, a tower she hardly recognized since it had been renovated and attached to the wall.

Margueritte turned her head around to where the old oak once stood at her back.  It had been dug up and an oak sapling planted in its place.  It took well to the soil and would no doubt grow into a great tree, but it would be a generation before it offered any shade on a hot summer day.  Margueritte cried a little.  Her mother loved that old tree.

Margueritte turned her eyes back to the chapel and passed over the barracks for the castle guard that sat against the wall beside the Breton gate.  Jennifer came out of the chapel, and Margueritte slid over to give her room on the bench.

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

MONDAY

Time has moved on.  Tours is threatened.  Charles need to bring the army.  Christendom is in the balance.  Until next time, Happy Reading

*

M4 Margueritte: Disturbances, part 3 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Brianna was the first person buried in the yard set beside by the new church.  They laid her right next to the church where she could be near her husband, and Margueritte had a passing thought to wonder how quickly the yard might fill if Ragenfrid showed up.

Childemund finally remembered where he had seen Rolf in Paris.  The man was a petty thief at least twice brought before the magistrate.  He did hang around with a gang of thieves and pickpockets, but Childemund could not say there were twenty-three.  And he could not imagine what would send such a man on a suicide mission, to attack the castle and all.  When he saw the man in Paris, he rather imagined the man to be a coward.

Margo cried, but not like the girls.  She commented later that now she would have to be the grown up.  She did not sound too happy about that, but Rotrude assured her that it was not so hard.  She had sisters to help, and that was more than Rotrude ever had.  Rotrude also said the yard where Brianna got buried was lovely, with a few trees for shade and a view of the grotto where the sheep passed on their way to the fields to graze.  She said she would like to be buried in just such a place, but after the service, she had to go back to her room to rest.

###

Count duBois brought three hundred men from the northern march to the castle on the tenth of May.  He said they encountered advanced units from Ragenfrid’s army and had to fight their way through.  He only had thirty men, his personal retinue on horseback, and Margueritte felt disappointed, but it was better than she expected.

“I would say Ragenfrid is trying to move men in secret to surround your town and castle,” duBois reported.

“I would say he won’t be able to do that,” Margueritte responded.

DuBois did not understand.  He looked to the men, but they looked to Margueritte.

“I have people in the forest of the Vergen, on the Breton border, and people in the fields and trees south of the village, on the edge of the Banner.  They will watch day and night, and Ragenfrid’s men won’t go there, especially in the night.  We are not Cologne.  We are not a big city with big city walls, but Ragenfrid will find it impossible to cut us off from fresh food and water.  He will not be able to starve us into submission.  He will have to fight.”

“If his army is as big as Larchmont and his, er, men have reported, and I do not doubt that it is, he may not have to fight very hard or very much,” Walaric said.

“What are we talking about?” duBois wanted to know.

“The report says a minimum of eight thousand, and maybe ten.  With your men, we have fifteen hundred, but a third of them are untrained boys,” Peppin said.

“What?” duBois looked astonished they were even talking about making a defense.  “And I suppose a few hunters and farmers are going to keep that force from surrounding us and choking the life from us.  I hope you have a plan for negotiations.”

Margueritte nodded as three women came into the Great Hall.  Rotrude came to the table and sat.  Margo took the seat beside her, and Elsbeth came to stand beside her sister.  “I plan to negotiate Ragenfrid’s unconditional surrender.”

“You are crazy,” duBois said.

“Now hold on,” Childemund interrupted.  “Let us remember what the Lady Brianna said, God rest her.  Let us see what Ragenfrid has in mind before we go and surrender ourselves.”

“And a wise and wonderful lady she was,” Rotrude added, and Margo nodded.

DuBois stood up straight and looked again at the men in the room before he looked at the women.  “Don’t tell me, these are your personal Amazon guard.”

“Hardly,” Margueritte laughed, so the women and Peppin joined her laugh.  “I have Melanie and Calista for that.  The two elves that had been sitting quietly in the back, stood and found bows in their hands, weapons duBois had not seen when he came in.  “They have a kind of contest going on, and right now they are tied on how many of the enemy they have killed.  But you should know who it is that is defending the forest and south of the village.”  She looked at Margo who took Rotrude’s hand.  Rotrude had already been introduced to the fairy lord, Larchmont, and was delighted to find Melanie and Calista were house elves, but it was still a bit of a shock for the newly initiated, so Margo took Rotrude’s hand and Childemund and Walaric stood close to duBois to keep him steady in case he wanted to run away or do something stupid.

“I have no desire to keep secrets from my commanders, including Larchmont.”  Margueritte looked up. “Larchmont, you can come down now, please.  The Count duBois needs to be let into the circle of knowing.”

Larchmont fluttered down, offered a regal bow to Margueritte, and a nod to the others.  “It is an honor, lady, to be in such fine company.  I believe when Count Michael and King David arrive, we will certainly best the enemy, no matter his numbers.”

DuBois jumped on the sight, seemed frozen as he watched the fairy descend, and looked startled when the fairy spoke.  He clearly looked spooked.  It became a fight or flight situation, but then he appeared to change his mind as he spoke.  “So, it is true.  You are a witch to whom even the spirits of the earth must give answer.”

“I am not a witch,” Margueritte stomped her foot, and several others echoed her thought.  “I haven’t got a witchy bone in my body.  Elsbeth here has more witchery in her than I do.”

“Only once a month,” Elsbeth countered, and Rotrude covered her mouth in embarrassment.  Margo also covered her mouth, but to keep from laughing.

“You country girls,” Rotrude smiled and dismissed them as she turned her eyes and thoughts to Larchmont.  “Still, it is remarkable how this gentleman, and the kind ladies love you so dearly.”

“And you, sweet lady,” Melanie said.

“We love you, too,” Calista agreed.  Rotrude found a tear, and Margo comforted her.

“Meanwhile,” duBois said, back to business.  “If you have the forest covered, as you say, then I believe you about keeping Ragenfrid out.  But if he has ten to one odds he may not have to encircle us to crush us.”

“Don’t underestimate my sister’s devious mind,” Elsbeth said.  “She has resources,” but she knew not to say any more.

“And who are you?” duBois obviously felt the need to object to something.  “I understand the non-witch and her fairy friends, but why are these women in this war council?”

“Forgive me.  My manners,” Margueritte said.  “My sister is the baroness of this corner of Anjou and Lady of this Castle if my brother has any sense.”

“Hey,” Margo wanted to object, but Margueritte cut her off.

“Margo is Countess and Marchioness of the Breton March, and by treaty, your overlord.  And I heard you and Tomberlain talking about Laval.”  she turned on Margo.  “I believe you said it is a little city but at least it is a city.”  Margo reluctantly nodded.  “And this fine lady is wife of Charles, mayor of all the Franks.”

“My lady,” duBois said with a backwards step.  “I didn’t know.  I…” He was at a loss for words.

“What is more, Charles’ children are running around this castle even now with our children getting into various levels of trouble.”

“A break from Saint Denis,” Rotrude interjected.

“So you see, defending this place is the only option.  We cannot let these ladies and their children become bargaining chips against Charles and against the Frankish nation.

DuBois had a change of heart and he spoke.  “Ladies, my men and I will defend you to our last breath.  May it be when we are old and comfortably in bed.”

Walaric smiled.  “I think he has got it,” he said.

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

MONDAY

Ragenfrid arrives with an army of thousands.  Since surrender is not an option, battle plans must be made. Until next time, Happy Reading

*

M4 Margueritte: Broken, part 2 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Margueritte spent most of January in the castle of Avalon, healing.  Doctor Pincher’s quick thinking and work saved her, but he could not save her baby.  She named him Galen and buried him in the sacred garden of the castle, beside the tower that held the Heart of Time.  Margueritte spent the month alternating between fits of tears and fits of rage.  In her angry times, everyone avoided her because she wanted to break things.  Mother Brianna, the only one allowed to follow her into the Second Heavens, said Margueritte could not go home until she stopped feeling the urge to break things.  They stayed the whole month.  Brianna went back and forth several times between the heavenly castle and the castle they were building on earth.  She updated Elsbeth, Margo and Jennifer on their progress, and invited Jennifer to join her, but Jennifer said no.  Going to Avalon would hurt her heart in some way, she said.

Elsbeth volunteered to go in Jennifer’s stead, but Brianna said, “No.  Absolutely not.”

By the end of January, Margueritte got over the feeling that she wanted to kill Giselle and instead felt sorry for the woman.  She wondered what leverage Abd al-Makti had over her to make her do such a horrid thing.  She had no doubt Abd al-Makti stood behind the death of her son.  His sorceries and murderous prints were all over the act.  But to what end? she wondered.

Margueritte spent almost the entire month of February inside, by the great fireplace, composing a letter to Roland.  Mother Brianna, Jennifer, Margo and Elsbeth all helped her think through the events.  Mother Brianna got the unquestionable word from the elf, fairy, dwarf, and dark elf lords and ladies that inhabited Avalon in the Second Heavens that Abd al-Makti was indeed behind the deed, so no one else doubted it.

“And I did like Giselle,” Margo kept saying.  “Even though she was Vascon.”

“We all liked her, and trusted her,” Brianna kept responding.  “She probably disappeared because she felt such guilt, she could not face us.  But she was always a kind and loving woman, and I feel it is best to remember her that way.”

“If she had stayed, we might have found forgiveness in our hearts,” Jennifer suggested.  “I have learned from Aden so much about grace and mercy.”  It came as such an honest thought, the others agreed it might have been possible, but Margueritte did not feel so sure for herself.  She spent many hours praying for forgiveness for wanting to see Ragenfrid and Giselle, and especially Abd al-Makti suffer horrible fates.

Elsbeth proved to be the most helpful in the letter writing.  “Maybe the sorcerer expected you to fall apart and become useless and stop making your soldiers, and stop building your castle, and collapse and cry every day for the rest of your life.  But that says he doesn’t know you.  You have all the Celtic blood in you, and from all the stories I have heard, the Breton are best at getting mad and getting revenge.”

Later, Elsbeth added, “He probably wanted you to go crying to Roland, and Roland would be disturbed and distracted from his battles, and that would disturb and distract Charles, so maybe they lose the battles.”

Margueritte tore up her letter and started over.  She wrote very carefully to Roland, and said she was sorry she failed him, but they had three healthy children who needed a good future, a future of peace, and the only way to insure that, was to beat the barbarians on the battlefield, and turn them to the faith of Jesus Christ, even as Father Aden, now called Bishop Aden, Apostle to the Breton, was turning the people to Christ.

Sadly, the pope will not confirm Aden as bishop, him being a married priest in the Celtic tradition, but everyone calls him bishop and treats him that way.  Even the Roman priests call him bishop and praise the work he is doing, so I suppose the approval of Rome is less important to the work here.  But likewise, you must concentrate on your more important duty of beating back the Bavarians, free Burgundians, Aleman, Thuringians, Saxons, Frisians, Lombards, Ostrogoths, and anyone else who might threaten the peace of Franconia.  And if the Muslims ever come out of Septimania, woe to them, and woe to Abd al-Makti.  But for now, our children need peace and a chance to grow up safe and secure in their lives.  Take care of yourself and Charles.  My love to Tomberlain and Owien.

She signed the letter at last and sent it with the post to Paris.  It would eventually reach Roland, and Margueritte only hoped her letter would get there ahead of the rumors, but she doubted it would.  For herself, she got to make clothes for the children, cook apple pies, watch one stone set upon another in her slowly growing castle wall, and go to church every Sunday.  Her father’s sarcophagus got laid in the wall of the new Saint Aubin’s church where it helped Margueritte remember that he still watched over them all.

###

Margueritte felt glad when spring of 723 arrived and she could saddle Concord and ride the rest of the Breton March.  A year earlier, Peppin, the march sergeant at arms, stayed home and got all the young men to train.  He had nearly three hundred by summer’s end, and he put them through such grueling training on horseback, they were glad to take three afternoons per week to study Latin and geography (science), math, history, and military matters.  This year, Peppin would be going with Margueritte, presumably knowing what sort of young men to look for, and Walaric would take over the training, and take whatever young men Margueritte sent to him all during the summer months.  By then, word of what she was doing with the young men had spread around, and she found any number of free Franks who did not want their sons to be overlooked.

For Margueritte, she still had her clerics to write rental agreements, her surveyors still made their up-to-date maps, and her eyes were still open for who might be best to be elevated to baron, or secondary fief holder that she called vassals.  It was not that the baron necessarily got more land, but he got made responsible for a larger area of the county that he could tax, and he got handed vassals of his own—mostly with little say in the matter.  He got told to get along with his vassals as they were told to get along with their baron and the count or lose their land.  Margueritte also probably overcompensated in retaining wilderness areas and hunting preserves between the various barons, to give some buffer space in the name of peace.  She had no doubt some of that land would eventually go to the church, but she did not start out looking for church lands.  Some of it would probably be settled someday.  But by far, and about all she really stayed interested in, was finding horses and the young men she could train to be her heavy cavalry.  She kept thinking about what she wanted to do to Abd al-Makti, and it motivated her.

Margueritte went home in early October.  The weather turned early that year, and she wanted to get out of the cold.  Mother Brianna and Jennifer were very worried about her, and when Margueritte assured them that she felt fine, Brianna smiled and said she hoped Margueritte did not break too many things while she was away.

“No, Mother,” Margueritte answered with a straight face, before she returned the smile.  “But I thought hard about it several times.”

Margo, who seemed to take everything in stride and proved very good about going with the flow, said she had not worried at all.  If anything, she felt worried about what Margueritte might do to her poor vassals.

Elsbeth said, “You went away?”

“Yes, little mother,” Margueritte called her that.

Elsbeth smiled.  “I think I want to be a mother again.”  Then, since she had everyone’s attention, she added, “I hope Owien is all right.”  They had not heard anything from Paris since July.

The winter got rough, and men had to go out to hunt in the Vergen forest and in the county.  The hunting was good, so no one went hungry, but Margueritte concluded they needed to farm more land come the spring.  She laid out places where they had cut trees in the last several years.  She thought it would be good if they had Hammerhead, the ogre and his family around to rip the stumps from the soil.  She got the impression that they had moved out of the Pyrenees and up into Aquitaine, but it still felt too far away to be any help with the farm.  They had to work the old-fashioned way, with shovels and torches to burn the wood in great bonfires.  That was hard work in the snow, but then Margueritte understood what kept Roland’s brothers-in-law so busy the winter she spent on the Saxon March.

Soon enough, the children had their birthdays.  Martin turned seven, Brittany turned five and Grace turned four and finally looked to be slimming a little.  Margueritte cried a lot that winter.  The feeling came upon her suddenly, every so often.  She would weep, and if someone came around, they tried to comfort her, but nothing helped.  It did not seem anything in particular triggered her tears, and nothing in particular stopped her weeping.  She just wept every now and then, right up until March.

M4 Margueritte: Broken, part 1 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Come the spring of 722, Roland, Tomberlain and Owien packed to go join Charles for battles and adventures on the frontier, while Margueritte got to sit around and watch stone masons stack one rock on top of another.  It did not feel fair.

“But what about all the land around the Mayenne River?  What about Laval?  We promised to visit and set tax rates and talk about security questions for the people there and check on any bills of sale.”  Margueritte turned to her brother.  “As count of the mark, it is up to you to show yourself to the people.”

“Forget it.  He isn’t even listening,” Margo said.  Tomberlain hugged their mother.

“Owien is leaving me,” Elsbeth cried.  She entered her last month of pregnancy, due any day, and tended to tears.  Margueritte almost asked Owien why he did not want to see his child born, but that was not her culture.  People did not think that way.  In her world, women bore and raised the children while men went off on whatever business the men thought important.

“I’ll be back,” Owien assured her.  “I’ll make you proud.”

Elsbeth stomped her foot.  “I don’t want to be proud of your glorious death.  I want you alive.”  She grabbed Owien and cried into his shirt.

“Don’t worry, Margueritte,” Tomberlain said, as he turned to hug her good-bye.  “You are the smart one, and the only one who can get all this organized.  You don’t need me to muck it up.”

“But Margo is the countess,” Margueritte countered.

“No way.  I would muck it up worse than Tomberlain,” Margo said, as she kissed Tomberlain good-bye with no fanfare.

“Roland?”  Margueritte turned to her husband as her last hope, but he had five-year-old Martin in his arms while Brittany at three and Grace at two, remained inside with all the little ones, watched by Jennifer, and the servants, Marta and Maven, and Lolly the dwarf who could actually make faces that made the little ones giggle.

Roland set Martin down and hugged Margueritte.  “I’ll miss you every day,” he said, but Margueritte looked past his shoulder.  There were three hundred men down on the long field.  The two hundred infantry looked sloppy, but the hundred horsemen looked to be in well trained order.  Wulfram and his lieutenants, Lambert and Folmar rode up, and Margueritte turned on the man.

“Captain.  How can you leave us poor defenseless women and children alone?  And defenseless?”

Wulfram almost laughed at the word defenseless coming from Margueritte’s mouth, but he thought it better to look at Roland.

“Now, don’t be that way,” Roland said kindly.  “Peppin is staying, and Wulfram is leaving his number one, Walaric, to help train the young men and horses.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Margueritte said, pecked at Roland’s lips, and let go.

The women watched the men ride back down the gentle hill and start out, Margo waving and Elsbeth crying most of the time.  Margueritte finally broke the frieze by heading toward the house.  The others followed, Margo and Mother Brianna helping Elsbeth.

Margueritte waited for Elsbeth to deliver a fine boy that she named Bogart, though she said he had not been named after the current Breton King Bogart, who in any case called himself David.  That was fine.  It was not a name Margueritte would ever pick out.  But once Elsbeth delivered, Margueritte packed herself and Giselle, as they did when they went to Saint Catherine’s.  She gathered her clerics from the school she had built for the young men from all over her piece of Anjou province who were learning to lance and ride, took Walaric and fifty of the best trained men she had, and set out for Laval.  She started throwing up regularly in the mornings by then, but only Giselle knew, and she was sworn to secrecy.

“But shouldn’t you stay home and rest for the baby’s sake?” Gisele asked.  Margueritte shook her head.  The exercise at that point would be a good thing, and she would be home by the time she really began to show.

“I’ll be fine,” Margueritte insisted.  “I am fine, but what is the matter?” she asked, because Giselle started crying softly.

Giselle shook her head.  “I miss my family, sometimes.”  That was all Margueritte could get out of her when she found her now and then softly crying all summer long.

“Maybe this fall we can arrange to send you to Paris for a visit,” Margueritte said to encourage the girl, but Giselle cried all the same.

Poor Margueritte had to remember everything, and for the first time she had to start writing things down to remember.  She thought she might be getting old at twenty-five.  She was looking for a few good men, as she said, and the horses to go with them.  She had to keep track of claimed land and fallow land and arrange for taxes and for military service.  She looked for land that might go to the church, and for land they might keep as a preserve.  She also looked for land to support the barons Tomberlain would be appointing to oversee different areas of the grant.  Realistically, she had to find good knights and noble families already living on the land to elevate, and that was not going to be easy.  If she elevated one man over his neighbors, it had better be the right man.

Margueritte kept her clerks busy writing rental agreements.  She kept her surveyors busy making an accurate map of the land.  She settled a number of disputes where there were overlapping claims, and got wined and dined, as she called it, in every manor house and village she came across.  It became exhausting, and come September, she only had two thoughts in mind.  First, it would take another whole year to get through it all.  Second, she felt glad to be going home.

Back home, she watched stone being set upon stone as her castle slowly took shape.  It felt worse than watching grass grow, she said.  She thought of Roland with Tomberlain and Owien having exciting adventures while her life seemed so dull.  And church every Sunday, she thought.  All she did was make clothes for the children who grew out of things almost before they were made.  Naturally, Brittany became slim and petite, like her mother, and grace was round like her grandfather, or maybe her grandmother Rosamund.  She had no chance to hand down outgrown clothes.  Things brightened briefly when Brittany turned four in November.  Martin turned six on December second.  Grace turned three at the end of December, and Margueritte could hardly hold Grace in her lap as her baby took up all the room.

“Baby is too big,” Grace pointed out by putting her hand on Margueritte’s belly.  Margueritte laughed, but had to stand, then had to go upstairs and lie down.  About an hour later, Giselle brought her a small cup of cider.  Margueritte sipped and looked at her companion.

“You have been a wonderful help to me and the children.  I know they all love you very much.  But I have been wondering why you don’t seem interested in having any children of your own.  With all the men, mostly young men around training to the horse and the lance, I’m surprised one has not sparked your interest.”

Giselle shook her head and said softly.  “No.  I didn’t mean it.  I’m sorry.”

“But here, I thought you were happy,” Margueritte said.  “The only time I ever saw you cry before this summer was right before my father died.”  Margueritte’s eyes got big as everything came crashing together in her head.  “Giselle.  What have you done?”  She leaned over and threw up.

“I’m so sorry,” Gisele said, and while Margueritte began to convulse and have a fit on her bed, Giselle ran out of the room, shouting.  “Something is wrong.  Help.  Get Doctor Pincher.  It is Margueritte.  Something is wrong.”

Brianna raced up the stairs, just ahead of Elsbeth and Margo.  Brianna called Doctor Pincher, and he came, but immediately he sent the women to fetch Lolly, or Luckless, or Goldenrod.

“We need to open the way to Avalon.  Hurry,” he said.

Giselle ran down the stairs with the others, grabbed her cloak, and ran to the stables.  Grimly was there, and she hurried him to tend to the Lady.  Then she got the horse she had ridden all year and saddled the beast.  She had secreted a few coins into her pocket, but not much.  She thought a bit of bread would be nice, but she dared not waste time.  She rode off into the falling snow and hoped it would cover her tracks.

Giselle thought to cross the Loire at Angers, but by the time she got there, she thought instead to seek shelter at Saint Martins in Tours.  The abbot would give her sanctuary, and paper and ink.  She would write to Margo.  Margo would listen.  She would confess herself, and she would warn them.  All she saw and heard in Anjou was war talk.  With Charles away fighting in distant Bavaria, it looked like Ragenfrid started rebuilding his army.  She overheard that he was gaining pledges from many Neustrian nobles.  It sounded very bad.