Kairos

M4 Margueritte: Negotiations, part 1 of 4

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

After the Count of LeMans got driven from the farm fields, and the Viscount of Angers got prevented from encircling the village, Margueritte opted to talk and Ragenfrid obliged.  King David, Count Michael, Count duBois, Peppin in the place of Count Tomberlain, and Childemund in the place of Charles, all accompanied her down the hill.  Besides the Count Garrold of LeMans and Viscount Talliso of Angers, Ragenfrid brought Count Amager of Tours, Baron Bouchart of Vendome and Sir Creasy, Lord of Dun from the other side.

Margueritte tussled with the Count of LeMans when she surveyed the lands west of the Sarthe.  She found that over the years, LeMans claimed a large portion of the land.  She took it back, one might say she liberated it, and the people were glad to get out from under the greedy count.  LeMans twice sent men over the river, but Margueritte’s troop drove them back, decisively.  If that had been it, Margueritte might have let it go, but know it or not, this rebellion would be the end of Count Garrold’s lands and title, if Margueritte had anything to say about it.

Margueritte also met Count Amager in Tours.  The man seemed a reasonable and honorable man, at least in front of Charles.  She felt rather disappointed to see him supporting Ragenfrid, and she wondered if she might talk to him privately and help him have second thoughts.

She did not know the other three, but the cruelty of Talliso of Angers had been reported to her by more than one man who moved his family out of Talliso’s territory.  The Baron Bouchart came across as dim witted.  And Sir Creasy of Dun seemed too slick and smarmy for his own good.  Margueritte felt surprised Ragenfrid put up with Creasy.  She figured the man must have a large number of soldiers, or money, or both.

Margueritte sent men first to put up a canopy and set a dozen chairs and a long table on the neutral ground at the bottom of the hill beside the Paris Road.  When she walked casually to the meeting with Ragenfrid, she had the dwarf wives bring a light meal of chicken, with a fine dwarf cheese, elf bread, and several bottles of an excellent Bordeaux wine, a gift from Duke Odo of Aquitaine.  She took the end seat and put King David and Michael to her left.  She set duBois on her right and placed Childemund and Peppin beside him, though their backs would be toward the enemy.

Ragenfrid did not hesitate to take the other end seat, and Garrold of LeMans sat to his right.  The others were not sure what they were supposed to do at this unusual gathering.  Count Amager of Tours started to sit next to Garrold, but Margueritte stopped him.

“No, no.  Amager, please sit next to Michael, Count of Nantes, and it is wonderful to see you again.”

“Lady,” Amager acknowledged her and took his assigned seat.  That got the others to sit.  Talliso of Angers sat between LeMans and Amager.  Bouchart and Creasy sat in the last two seats with the little Creasy next to the imposing Peppin.  Margueritte felt sorry that Peppin would probably get indigestion watching the greasy little slime eat.

“Gentlemen,” Margueritte said, and raised her glass.  “My treat, and please enjoy it before it gets cold.”  Again, the enemy hesitated until Ragenfrid laughed and dug in.  Once the meal got started, not much got said.  The food tasted that good.  And when they had finished, the dwarf wives appeared out of nowhere, cleared the table, and left honey sweetened pastries, sliced apples, and a hearty burgundy for dessert.

At last, Margueritte began.  “I have asked to speak with you so we may devise a way to settle all of our differences without the further need for bloodshed.”  She raised her glass.  “I would like to propose a toast for peace.”  Her men joined her right away.  The enemy moved a bit slow, but Ragenfrid lifted his glass and agreed.

“Peace is always preferred.”

“Exactly,” Margueritte agreed cheerfully.  “And I have drawn up a list of the grievances these men have voiced, and I will gladly counterbalance that with your concerns, as you voice them, and then we will see if we can find common ground and a mutually equitable solution that does not involve war and blood.”

“As you well know, the grievance I have is ultimately with Charles,” Ragenfrid said.  “And what can you guarantee about that?”

Margueritte got distracted.  She looked up the hill to where Pomadoro and his monks were holding a magical shield around the canopy area, so that the sorcerer could not interfere with honest and fair negotiations.  Suddenly, Pomadoro fell to his knees, and Margueritte stood and shouted at the sky.  She raised her hands without realizing it and felt almost like an observer in her own skin as her primal calling took over.  The sky overhead turned black, nearly as dark as night, and a great bolt of lightning struck the middle of Ragenfrid’s camp.  It looked like the explosion of a cruise missile.  Men, animals, tents, and wagons were shredded, thrown in the air, and charred beyond recognition.  Then, as soon as it began, it all stopped.  Margueritte lowered her hands, her hair stopped writhing in the wind like so many snakes, the sky returned to a beautiful spring blue, and Margueritte smiled.  She sighed, sweetly.

“I beg your pardon, gentlemen.  The spirits of the earth were threatened by an unnatural force.  That has now been removed.  Lord Ragenfrid, your sorcerer got taken away at the last second, but now I know who did it.”  They watched Margueritte’s green eyes turn fire golden as she turned her head up and shouted at the sky.

“Abraxas.  Nameless gave you the coward’s option of suicide.  You could do the honorable thing and give up your flesh and blood and go over to the other side.  In any case, you have no place in Frankish or Breton lands.  You are coming very close to being banished from the Lands of Danna.  And the lands of Olympus, and the waters of Amphitrite.  If you want to play with the armies of Islam, Junior will only interfere if you screw up, but be warned.  You come here at your own risk.  You better hear me.”

Margueritte fell to her knees and King David and Count duBois were right there to lift her gently and help her back to her chair where she took a moment to recover before she spoke again.

“You will forgive me if I take a rest.  I know our business is important, and I ask you please not to do anything rash in the night, but right now I have a need for a time of quiet.  Please, let us begin again tomorrow.  I will see what the cooks can do with a bit of beef, if you don’t mind.”  She stood, looking a bit shaky.

David and duBois took her arms again and helped her back up the hill.  Michael and Childemund followed while Peppin looked to see Ragenfrid and his companions march back across the field.  Once they reached the top and were out of sight from the enemy, Margueritte let go, took a moment to brush the dust from her dress and turned to David.

“That was a frightening but fortuitous moment.  I should have brought Thomas of Evandell with me.  He is really an excellent actor as well as a bard.”  She looked and sounded not the least bit tired.  She smiled for the others.  “I believe that went as well as could be expected.  Peppin?”  She walked to where Pomadoro and his monks were settled and chanting something.

“They will return tomorrow, at least.  But Ragenfrid is not known for patience.  No telling how long we may be able to keep it up.”

“I pray we keep it up long enough to negotiate peace, though that is the least likely scenario.”  Margueritte leaned down, heedless of the elf ritual of meditation they were performing, an exercise which she knew perfectly well, and she kissed Pomadoro on the forehead.  Then she went back to climb the castle wall to where Margo, Elsbeth, Jennifer, Rotrude, and quite a number of the women, including Calista and Melanie, were taking the sun and saw the whole thing.  All the while the men were asking Margueritte and pressing Peppin for answers as to what they were doing and what they were talking about.

“Ragenfrid will break first,” Rotrude said.

“My money is on LeMans,” Margo said.  “After the drubbing you gave him, it is a wonder he can show his face.”

Walaric came up to join the conference.  He felt unhappy at being left out, but he understood someone needed to keep the men to their duties.  Elsbeth saw him and thought to nudge him.

“The drubbing would have been worse five years from now, after all those young men get properly trained.”  Elsbeth did not really know what she was talking about, but she heard Margueritte say things like that, and she looked up at Peppin, not meaning to leave him out.

“Yes, that was a remarkable use of horsemen, unheard of,” David said.

“Heavy horse,” Margueritte said.  “It’s the new thing, very modern.  You should get some.”

“I’m with Lady Elsbeth,” Peppin grumped.  “It would have been a massacre with fully trained horsemen.  But it is hard to train men and horses when we only have their attention for two or three months in the summer.”

“But it is all we have for now,” Margueritte sighed

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

MONDAY

There may be a chance as long as Margueritte can keep Ragenfrid talking.  Too bad Ragenfrid is not known for patience.  Until then, Happy Reading.

*

M4 Margueritte: Battle, part 2 of 2

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

In the morning, Peppin and Walaric lined up their hundred veterans in front of a hodgepodge of five hundred young men, some as young as sixteen, but who had been in training at least the summer before.  Any young men who showed up that April, or the first two weeks in May for the first time, were left with the nine hundred men who stood facing the seven thousand across the big field.  Fortunately, they were backed up by a secret thousand little ones who were mostly brownies, kobold, dwarfs and gnomes.  The little ones took the edge of town and stood before the castle walls.  It seemed still slim hope if Ragenfrid mounted an all-out attack, but it counted at least twice what Ragenfrid might have thought they had, even with his best guess.  Of course, he had not been allowed close enough to know, and the men in the castle, just outside on the hill, and in the town, did their best to disguise their actual numbers.  Uncertainty on Ragenfrid’s part would be an effective weapon against him, up to a point.  Of course, she imagined Abd al-Makti might be able to discern exactly how many defenders she had.  She only hoped his vision did not extend to the men from the south march and the Breton she had hidden in the woods.  She wanted that to be a twenty-five-hundred-man surprise.

Of course, given Ragenfrid’s nearly three to one numbers, not counting the little ones, the logic of warfare dictated a strictly defensive battle on Margueritte’s part.  Generals did not attack unless they had a number advantage.  Margueritte thought to do the opposite of that thinking and surprise her enemy.  Since Ragenfrid had been so kind to divide his forces and send LeMans up to her farm fields, the least she could do was take advantage of that.

Margueritte got up on the northern wall, not far from the postern door and the kitchens.  Elsbeth came, and Margo brought chairs, but Margueritte preferred to pace.  Perhaps Margueritte had a better idea of how uncertain everything could be in battle, and especially with her crew of conscripted farmers and children, as she thought of them.  Her only hope was thinking LeMans’ conscripted farmers were not necessarily any better soldiers than her own.  Rotrude wisely decided to stay in her room, and Jennifer stayed with her.  Neither of them had any interest in watching the madness of war.

Margueritte assigned Childemund and duBois to watch Ragenfrid’s camp.  At the last minute, she decided duBois’ three hundred would not be much help in the attack, but they were a solid group to hold the center spot facing Ragenfrid.  She thought, no telling what that man might do once he found his wing in danger.  Two thousand Breton, five hundred from the south march under Michael, and six hundred lancers, such as they were, would trip over themselves badly enough as it was.

“Get it together,” Elsbeth yelled.  Even she could see the disarray in the ranks of young lancers, and Pippin and Walaric on each end, yelling.

This was not going to work, Margueritte thought.  She should let Doctor Pincher give her a head examination.  Maybe Doctor Mishka and Martok could work together to build a medieval MRI.  Margueritte covered her eyes with her hands.

All at once, several hundred knights of the lance appeared on either side of the disorganized mass of young men.  They walked their horses in perfect order until they met at the point, making two perfectly straight sides of a triangle.  The young men inside the elongated triangle straightened up immediately as they passed, or at least their horses did, and by the time the knights of the lance were ready, the young men were ready.  They actually looked like a disciplined troop of knights ready to charge the enemy, and the knights of the lance did not pause, but started the walk across the field.

“They will fall apart when they start to gallop,” Margo commented, casually.

Margueritte nodded, not really having heard.  Her eyes were squinting at the far side of the field where LeMans had drawn his men up in a long line, shields forward, no doubt yelling insults, though the women on the wall were too far away to hear.  Margueritte looked at Melanie and Calista for signs of what the distant men might be yelling, but their faces were unflinching, and their eyes focused on the action.  They were both dressed this time in fine armor, ready for battle.  Margueritte chose to stay in her dress, but she knew her armor was available at a call should she need it.

“Cantering,” Elsbeth reported, and the two thousand Breton began to march forward in the wake of the horses.  It was hardly a march, but at least they were walking.  Margueritte stressed over and over to King David and his captains that they needed to walk and be ready to form up in a shielded line if the foot men from Maine charged in panic, and they needed to walk, not run.  Men and equipment running was a good way to get exhausted and get killed.

“Never run.  Walk.  The enemy will still be there when you get there.”

At least Margueritte did not see any running to catch up to the horsemen.

“Ready to gallop,” Elsbeth reported.

Margueritte covered her eyes with her hands again.  She could not imagine how Greta watched so calmly.  She could not imagine how Gerraint could be in the middle of it.  She did not want to think about it, but it seemed all she could think about.  She did not want to watch, even as she uncovered her eyes.

Her knights and young men lowered their lances in unison and began the charge.  The men of Maine stood firm until then, but with the charge, they broke, and panic made them run for their lives.  The knights cut a hole three hundred men wide in the enemy before they stopped just shy of the distant trees.  There, they turned and took some time forming a line.  The knights of the lance helped, but she still saw Walaric and Peppin, she assumed, riding up and down in front of the line trying in vain to make it straight.  At last, they began to walk their horses forward, lances pointed at the enemy.  They intended to force as many men of Maine as possible into the oncoming Bretons.  It became a classic squeeze play, but Margueritte, not content with merely forcing the fight, had Michael at that point come with five hundred Franks from the woods.  They hit the end of the line with almost as much impact as the lancers, and the already shaky line began to curl up.

The Breton formed up, for the most part, and moved forward in a line of their own.  They repelled the men from Maine who were escaping the press of lancers on their rear.  Soon enough, LeMans abandoned his camp altogether, and most of his men headed for Ragenfrid’s line.  The Breton and young lancers were ordered not to follow.  Michael’s men were ordered to take LeMans’ camp, tents, food, wagons and weapons.  And they were told any mistreatment of the women and they would be crucified.  Crucifixion by then was not literal, but a term used for punishment, and it meant serious punishment.  The men understood.  She warned them almost as much as she told the Breton to walk.

“That was quick,” Margo said, casually.  “It is not even time for lunch.”

“Only now we will have a bunch of loose women camped in the castle.  Not something I am looking forward to,” Elsbeth said as she stood and picked up her chair to take it back inside.

“Yes, but they are going to be mine if Margueritte can convince Charles to go with her plan,” Margo said.  She picked up her own chair, but the sergeant on that part of the castle wall quickly called some soldiers to carry the chairs for the women, and Margueritte thought the Middle Ages were progressing.  Who would have thought it?  Then she heard what Elsbeth said.

“I’m thinking I need to get a couple of women—young women who can help me around the house, the way Rotrude and Margueritte have women.”

“Margueritte has elves,” Margo said.  “It doesn’t count.  But I was thinking the same thing.”

Margueritte stopped and looked at Melanie and Calista who were still dressed for battle and looking disappointed that there was no battle they could participate in.  “So, I have you?”

“Yes, Lady,” Melanie said, and stepped up to walk beside her

“And we have you,” Calista said as she stepped up to Margueritte’s other side.

M4 Margueritte: Battle, part 1 of 2

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Ragenfrid showed up on the seventeenth of May and parked a great tent camp across the long field.  The students and soldiers of the county army pulled their encampment up the hill, to the edge of the village and castle where they could look down on their enemies.  The enemy camp looked huge compared to the defenders.  Then came the unhappy surprise as what looked like a second army camped in the north farm fields, half a mile off.  The north fields were still the main fields for the castle and village, since the south fields, being newly cleared, still had stumps and clumps of forest in many places.  Stump-land was territory the little ones could defend, as compared to the flat openness in the north.

“The Count of LeMans has taken the north with about three thousand men.  Looks can be deceiving.” Larchmont reported to Margueritte and her captains.  “The main camp on the other side of the long field looks about the same size but actually holds closer to eight thousand men, more than twice LeMans’ numbers.  Ragenfrid kept five thousand with him and sent the Viscount of Angers, with three thousand of those men to try and circle the town and castle, but we rebuffed them in the evening before the dark elves could have a turn.”

“So Manskin is mad at not getting a turn??” Margueritte asked.  Larchmont smiled, which became visible even on his little face.

“He got a turn in the north when the Count of LeMans tried to send men into the forest under cover of darkness.”

“They didn’t eat any of the men,” Margueritte said quickly, slightly worried

“No but they filed up on horse meat,” Larchmont responded.  The men laughed, even if it had a nervous sound to it, when soldiers from the Breton gate came in escorting Michael, Count of Nantes, Bogart, King of Brittany, and a distinguished looking older man with gray hair and a full beard.

“Welcome cousin,” Margueritte gave King Bogart, alias David, a familial kiss before she turned on Michael.  “Get any more young men stinking drunk lately?” she smiled.

Michael looked embarrassed.  “You remembered that?  Lord!  But I hear Tomberlain recovered, did he not?”

“After father had at him.”

“You should have seen what my father did to me.”

Margueritte gave him a welcoming kiss and invited them to the table where they had various things set up to represent the various pieces in the coming battle.  Elsbeth and Calista came quietly in the back door and said nothing at first.  Elsbeth had two-year-old Bogart on her hip and sat at the table where she held him in her lap.  Calista stood beside Margueritte, and she was dressed this time, not like a house maid, but like an elf warrior.  She retained the glamour of being human, but a woman in armor was not expected.

“And who is our friend?” Margueritte asked, before the mouths closed on seeing Calista.

David did the honors.  “May I present Sir Bedwin of Corveau.  A trusted advisor, as he was for my father.”

“I see,” Margueritte said with a glance at Elsbeth.

“Your majesty, King David,” Peppin and Childemund knew better than to interrupt Margueritte when she was probing, and Walaric had learned to trust Margueritte implicitly, but duBois was new, less than ten years on the northern march, and he felt he should say something.  “We are grateful that you are willing to extend yourself and your people in this time of trouble.  It is a most gracious act for the sake of peace between our two peoples.”

Margueritte smiled.  “You forget, I am half Breton.  David is my cousin.  I wrote to him and Chief Brian, who is getting to look like he will live forever in Vergenville.”

“Brian is here, with a small group of fighters,” David said.  “And also, an old friend of yours, Sir Thomas of Evandell.”

“Thomas?” Elsbeth spoke up.

“Sir Thomas,” Margueritte corrected.  “The king’s bard, and I like to think of him as my bard, too.  It is only fair considering the material I provided for him to make his living.”

“Sir Thomas,” David confirmed.  “He showed great bravery in the face of Curdwallah the hag, and his acts of true Christian charity and piety have been countless.  My mother said you told her those were the two marks for knighthood in King Arthur’s court.  As a professed Christian, he might have joined the round table.”

“He might have,” Margueritte said, but she turned to Sir Bedwin.  “But what brings you here?” she asked.  “I seem to recall when my husband Roland brought letters urging David’s father to keep a serious watch on the coast for Muslim activities, you thought it a great joke.”

“I was summoned,” Sir Bedwin said gruffly.  He was not going to respond to her prodding.

“Oh?” she looked at David, but Elsbeth spoke up.

“I wrote to him.  Owien never would, but when we married, I thought about it.  But now with Owien away with Charles and this trouble come upon us, I thought every letter would help, and this way, I could meet him, and he could see his grandson, if he wanted, and without having to face Owien, son of Bedwin.”

They all looked, but the old man tried not to cry.  “The boy’s mother?” he managed to ask.  Elsbeth appeared confused.  She was the boy’s mother, but Margueritte understood.

“She passed away about six years ago.  I understand pneumonia.  I would not know.  I was not here.  At that time, I was a hostage in the hands of Ragenfrid and forced to suffer through the siege of Cologne.”

“So now he has come up to lay siege here,” Peppin deftly guided the conversation back to topic.

“Yes,” Margueritte said.  “But he will not be able to cut us off here, and that is an order of business you need to know about.  This is why we own the woods,” Margueritte said, with a look at the men who knew, so they could hold Michael, David, or Sir Bedwin as necessary.  When the men nodded to her, she lifted her hand and the glamour that made Calista appear human fell away and she stood there in all her elfish glory.  Michael laughed, and after a moment, David joined him, and said he always suspected.  Sir Bedwin stared, even after Margueritte lowered her hand and the glamour returned, and he had something to say.

“I thought that whole story about the ogres had a ring of reality to it.  You are the witch they said.”

“I am not a witch,” Margueritte yelled.  “Why does everything have to be witchery?  Larchmont, will you come down here and tell these men I am not a witch.”

Larchmont fluttered down much like the last time, but this time he missed the table and took on his big size, which made him look altogether human, dressed in the green garb of a hunter.  “She is not a witch,” he said, and a voice from the back of the room echoed him.

“It is true,” the voice said.  “She has not a shred of magic in her.  Blessed as her reflection was by the gods of old, she hardly needs any ordinary magic.”

“Lord Pomadoro,” Margueritte identified the elf, who appeared, obviously, an elf, and in fact looked like a veritable elf king given the way he dressed and carried himself.  He stood there with what looked like a dozen monks, but they were a dozen more elves dressed in monk’s robes.  They were monks after a fashion, Margueritte imagined, but they assisted the elf wizard who attended the knights of the lance.  Pomadoro took the position when Lord Sunstone finally passed away.”

“My lady,” Pomadoro bowed, regally.

“You better have news about the battle formations, because if you have come about that other thing, I’m not going to talk about that.  I am not doing that.”

“I have only half come about that other thing, For the other half, I have come about the sorcerer in Ragenfrid’s camp.”

“Abd al-Makti is here?”

“Even so.”

“Sit,” Margueritte commanded them.  “All of you sit and wait.  We need to set the battle order.”  She turned to Michael and David.  “Your men are all camped in the woods of the Vergen and have been careful not to reveal yourselves.”

“Yes.  Certainly.” Count Michael and King David assured her.

“Good,” she spoke to Pomadoro.  “As soon as we set the battle order, these men will be going to get their men ready and then will be back here for supper where they can argue about it over a good meal.  After they have gone, you and I need to have an argument.”  Margueritte went straight into the plan that Gerraint, Festuscato, and Diogenes agreed on.  Then she paused only long enough to see if someone pointed out an obvious flaw.  Peppin and Walaric both said the young men were too raw and not trained nearly well enough, but that objection she expected.

Once the men left, and Elsbeth left with Bedwin holding little Bogart’s hand, Margueritte said “No.”  She explained.  “Greta used the knights of the lance in Dacia, and I still feel guilty about that.  Then they seemed to come out of nowhere when I, I mean, Festuscato was trying to help Patrick get started.  I think I got blindsided.  Then again, they helped Gerraint against Claudus, and I was very grateful for their help, but please, it is enough.  They are not of this world, and for a good reason.  They have their place, to defend Avalon from demons.  Their place is not here, fighting in a transient human event.”

“Just a few in front to help guide your young and inexperienced men—the raw ones.”  Pomadoro smiled at remembering the term.

“No, no, no.” Margueritte paused.  “I’ll think about it.  Tell me the rest of it.”

“The sorcerer.”

“I do not want him dead, yet.  I need to know who is behind him, the source of his power.”

“I understand.  But he is able to interfere with whatever battle plans you follow.  With these monks, we will generate more than sufficient power to block him.  I propose only to prevent his interference, but you must fight your own battles.”

“You sound like Gerraint.”

“I accept the compliment, but understand this, the sorcerer’s source, and we believe it is a god who has not made the journey to the other side, if he or she should grant the sorcerer a temporary surge of power, we may not be able to stop him.”

“I do understand, and while I never want to put you in danger, I almost wish he tries that because that would be something I could trace.”

Lord Pomadoro bowed and Margueritte stepped out of the great hall, Calista on her heels.  “What do you think?” Margueritte asked her house elf.

“I think you will let some of the knights guide your young men,” she said.  “Even like an arrowhead, as they did in Dacia, and again with Lord Gerraint on this very field.”

“How old are you again?”

“Two hundred and eighteen.  I am not that old, but we elves have a long memory, as you very well know.”

Margueritte nodded.  She did know that, and in fact she knew just how much danger her elves would be in if Abd al-Makti received a surge of power to break through their shield.  She did not want to think about that.

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: Disturbances, part 2 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Two days later, a group of twenty men were spotted out in the far field in the north.  They walked, dressed like workers, so nobody paid much attention.  Margo figured, it being spring, they were just more men hoping to earn a living in Potentius, like so many other that had come.  She became persuasive in her point of view, so the others did not pay close attention, but something did not add up in the back of Margueritte’s mind.  Men came to earn a living, but they came in ones, twos, and threes, and sometimes with families, not twenty at once and without any sign of women or children.

Childemund, Peppin, and Margueritte watched from above when Ronan greeted the men at the main gate on the Paris Road.  The head man of the group took off his hat and held it tight.

“My name is Rolf.  I heard you were looking for men to work on your walls.  We got stonework experience and would work hard for pay.”

Childemund picked up the Parisian accent.  Peppin did not like the look of some of them, especially the way a few were looking around the inside of the castle, not like men judging the work, but like men checking the guard posts.  Margueritte frowned, not sure what she felt, but Ronan looked happy.  She imagined with twenty extra pairs of experienced hands, he thought he might finish the walls in a year rather the projected three years.

“I know the head man from somewhere,” Childemund said.  “Now I will be up all night trying to figure it out.”

“You said Parisian,” Peppin pointed out.

“Paris is a big city,” Childemund responded.

“Melanie,” Margueritte turned to her house elf.  “Tell Ronan to tell the men to take lodging in the town.  They can come in and go out the gate every day.”

“Yes lady,” Melanie said and hurried with the word.  Ronan looked up at the wall before he told the new men what he was told, but only Childemund and Peppin were there to be seen.  Brianna had come up and Margueritte already started walking her back to the house.

Margueritte took her elf maid Calista with her when she went to town, several days later.  Melanie stayed with the children, though there was no staying with Martin when Cotton, Weldig Junior, and Pepin were running wild.  They would be solid mud by evening.  Sadly, Carloman, the eleven-year-old, the steady influence, preferred to hang around Father Aden who fascinated the young man by introducing him to Greek, and some Hebrew.  Well, Margueritte thought.  Good for him, and mud washes off after all.

The Kairos established ages ago, when the little spirits of the earth had unavoidable contact with humans, they were to work through human agents, and where that became impossible, they should appear like ordinary humans.  One shop in town had become known for its linen in a good variety of colors and hues.  People purchased the cloth to make clothes for their children and all the nice things they might want around the home.  The shop had a tailor that could let things out or take clothes in as needed, and all of it got reasonably priced.  As long as they had good, paying work in town, people were glad to have Olden’s Finery on the corner in the market square.

Margueritte knew they had more to it.  She stepped into the shop, smiled for the customer she did not know, and thought there were too many new faces in Potentius to keep up.  The woman curtsied, more or less, so Margueritte guessed the woman knew who she was.  She went to the back room behind the curtain and saw the elf women and men working away.  They stopped and stared at her until Olderon came out of the office and told them all to keep working.

“Keep working.”  He had to say it twice.

“Olderon, how are my tunics?” Margueritte asked right away.

Olderon nodded and took her to a couple of crates set out of the way of the worktables.  He opened the first one and pulled out a long piece of off-white linen, well edged, with a head hole in the middle so the tunic would fall front and back like a poncho.  They had a tie on either side at the waist, and on the front, a large golden fleur-de-lis, the same as on the shields.  He had some in blue with a triple design of three fleur-de-lises in a triangle shape with two at the top.  Margueritte intended to give the blue ones to her officers, to know them on the battlefield.

“All good,” Margueritte said.  “I hope we have enough for when Ragenfrid gets here.”

“There will be enough,” Olderon said.  “One thousand are ready, including plenty of extra blue ones as you requested.”

“Very good,” Margueritte said, and stopped.  She looked up as if agitated by something in the air.  Calista gasped, a very agitated sounding gasp.  Olderon voiced the concern.

“Humans are fighting in the castle.  There is blood.”

Margueritte ran, and contrary to her own rules just mentioned, the elves in the shop followed her out into the street.  They found weapons from somewhere unknown, mostly bows with plenty of arrows, and many of them were suddenly wearing one of the tunics with the fleur-de-lis.  The gate on the far side, on the Breton Road, the road to Vergenville, stood closest, but across the open courtyard from the manor house.

They burst in and saw several pockets of fighting around the courtyard.  Luckless, Redux, the men and dwarfs were there to protect the forge works by the tower.  Grimly, Pipes, Catspaw, and the other gnomes by the stables looked ready to repel whatever came their way.  The barn looked on fire, but men were working to put it out.  The barracks were empty, but for the few left to guard the entrance.

Margueritte cared nothing about that.  She wove her way through the swordfights, Calista on her heels until they reached the front door.  Jennifer came in the same way from the chapel and met her there.  Aden, Carloman and the boys had sticks in their hands that could double for clubs.  The Annex was on fire, but some of the castle workers were working on getting it out.  Margueritte saw Martin with a club-stick and swallowed hard.  She had to check on the young ones.

Margueritte, Jennifer and Calista burst into the house together.  The downstairs room looked empty, but they heard noises.  “Calista, check upstairs.”  Margueritte noticed Calista’s long knife at the ready.  “Jennifer, check the underground and see if the dwarf wives got the little ones out.  I have the kitchens out back.  Go.”

The three women divided, Calista taking three steps up at a time.  Jennifer ran to the panel closet in the corner where the secret passage led to the underground dwarf home.  Margueritte did not stay and watch as she burst out the old door and turned toward the kitchen and the big ovens.  She paused and called to her armor and weapons which instantly replaced her clothes and fit snug around her, like a blanket of protection.  She drew her long knife, Defender and inched quietly forward.

Margueritte found her mother Brianna face down in the mud, a knife wound in her back.  She knelt down and held back the tears of grief and anger.

“There she is,” someone shouted.

Margueritte stood, and her appearance in armor with the long knife in her hand caused the three men to pause.  Rolf was the one in the middle, and he let out an awful grin with one word to throw in her face.

“Kairos.”

The two with Rolf began to spread out to encircle her, but Margueritte had another idea, and her word came fueled by her rage.

“Hammerhead,” she shouted in a way where the ogre had to obey.  Wherever he was in the world, he disappeared and reappeared in front of her.  One of the men shrieked.  The other screamed.  Rolf said nothing as Hammerhead picked up Margueritte’s rage, grabbed the man by the arm and shoulder and with his other hand, popped the man’s head right off his body.

The man by the house raced for the court, but an arrow from somewhere in the courtyard caught him dead center.  The other man tried for the Postern gate, but a different arrow caught him.  Larchmont arrived, and after the deed, he flew up to Margueritte.  He noticed the ogre wanted to run to the courtyard and smash every living thing he could reach, but Margueritte had his feet glued to the ground, so all he could do was smash the ground into a great pit, like a sink hole.

“The girls are safe with me,” Larchmont said.  “Lilac and Goldenrod got them out as soon as there was trouble.”  Margueritte nodded as Jennifer, Elsbeth and Calista ran up.

“The babies are all underground, safe with the dwarf wives.  Aude, Hitrude and Brittany as well,” Jennifer shouted, though she was not far.

“Melanie has Rotrude and Margo locked in Rotrude’s room,” Calista said more calmly.  “Melanie got one on the stairs, and I got the one banging on the door, so we are even.”  Calista smiled as if being even with Melanie was important.

Margueritte took it all in, but she had no room for it.  She broke down and covered her mother with her body and her tears.  When Elsbeth saw, she wailed and joined her, and Jennifer joined them as well, and shed big, human tears.

M4 Margueritte: Disturbances, part 1 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Carloman and Gisele were both there to support her.   “But come,” Margueritte encouraged Rotrude, and introduced her to the women.  “My mother Brianna, and Jennifer, who is like a big sister.  And this is Elsbeth, my little sister, and Margo, Countess of the Breton March, your real hostess.”

“I am looking forward to hearing all the news from Paris,” Margo said softly with a look at Margueritte which wondered what might be wrong with the woman.  Brianna stepped up and gave Rotrude a hug.

“Welcome to our home, as Margueritte said.”  Brianna guided Rotrude inside where Lolly had fixed a fine repast, with Marta there to serve, and Maven missing as usual.

They all had a lovely day, what remained of it, and got Rotrude settled into Jennifer’s big room, while Rotrude sat in a comfortable chair in the old downstairs hall.  Jennifer moved herself, Lefee, Cotton and Mercy across the castle courtyard to her home beside the chapel.  Rotrude did not want to put Jennifer out, but Jennifer said she expected Father Aden home any day, and they always stayed in their own place when he came home.

“In fact, we are building a new home beside the new church, Saint Aubin’s”

“Ah,” Rotrude sounded very interested.  “You are the bishop’s wife.”

“Yes,” Jennifer said softly and looked down.  She never wanted to be the center of attention.

“And the dearest woman in all the world,” Brianna saved her, took Jennifer’s arm, and directed her toward the food, where she got Rotrude some cider.

Margueritte mostly sat back and watched that afternoon.  Rotrude and Margo had much in common, being from Paris and wanting to gossip.  But Rotrude also shared some traits with Mother Brianna, and the two of them hit it off very well.  Margueritte concluded that her mother could not help it.  She was such a kind and caring person, and Rotrude evidentially so ill.  Jennifer almost relaxed after a time, and Margueritte felt glad to see it.  Elsbeth did not say much, which was probably for the best.

They ate supper in the old hall, on the old family table.  Childemund, Peppin and Walaric joined them, but mostly the women talked through the meal, while the men kept busy enjoying the food.  When the chicken came in, roasted to perfection and filled with the most delicious sage dressing, Rotrude made the expected comment, that if she ate like that all the time she would be as big as Margo’s house.

“All credit to the cooks,” Brianna said, and Childemund smiled, being used to the dwarf cooks.  Lolly had a whole bevy of dwarf women who were all excellent chefs, wives mostly of the crew Luckless got to help Redux, the master smith, with the forge and smithy work for the new heavy cavalry.  The women cooked for the castle, about a hundred people altogether, and no one ever complained except a few of the dwarf men for whom complaints seemed an automatic reaction.

All the young men, their horses and their equipment, were with the soldiers in a tent camp that stretched out on the edge of the long field just down the road from the unfinished castle.  Small groups of young squires got assigned to seasoned soldiers who had a few years practice learning the lance and shield.  They would camp, like an army camp, all summer, and go home in time for the harvest.  And they would learn how to be men, and hopefully how to be knights.  They had rations of bread, weak mead and cider sent down from the castle and village, and vegetables when the gardens began to ripen, but mostly they had to hunt and fish and feed themselves, just like a real army, which meant they had to cook for themselves, and learn to cook something edible.

Elsbeth excused herself before desert.  Her Bogart turned almost two and ate solid food, but still needed his mom more than the other children.  Rotrude had brought two women with her, attendants, more like nurses, to help her in her illness, with the children, and in the night.  They were joined by the half-dozen young women from the town, only two of which were disguised house elves, who had the mass of children in the Great Hall.

“I’ll send one of your ladies back to you,” Elsbeth said, and in fact, the one lady came with two locals who helped clear the table.  Margueritte watched and neither Brianna nor even Jennifer got up to help clear the table, and she decided the medieval world might be moving rapidly forward.  They were the nobility.  They had servants to do the dishes.

Rotrude went to bed early, right after supper.  She looked worn and mother Brianna asked Margueritte what might be done for her and wondered if Doctor Pincher might help.  The men stayed silent to listen and eat apple pie for dessert.

“No, mother,” Margueritte responded sadly.  “You have been to Avalon.  You know how it works.  Theirs is a world apart, and I abuse my privilege as it is.  And I have a feeling I will abuse it much more if Ragenfrid shows up.  But some things I am not permitted to do, and sometimes things carry eternal consequences and I dare not interfere.”

“But it would not hurt to have Doctor Pincher take a look at her, would it?”

“Or Doctor Mishka,” Margo suggested.

Margueritte shook her head.  “Greta says she might take a look.  She says she is less likely to do something extraordinary.”

“Doctor Pincher might look,” Brianna said.

“Please,” Jennifer asked sweetly.

“Pleasy,” they heard a voice from above to which Margo responded.

“Goldenrod, you might as well come down here from the rafters and join us.”

Childemund and Walaric looked startled, but not surprised when the fairy fluttered down to the table to stand beside Brianna and Margueritte and look shy.  Peppin laughed.

“You should have seen it when the queen of the fairies showed up just before the Curdwallah battle.”

“Ha!”  They heard a voice from the doorway.  “You should have seen the ogre.”  It was Aden, home as promised, and Jennifer hurried to him to hug him and welcome him home.  After that, the conversation turned to Ragenfrid, Goldenrod retreated to Brianna’s shoulder where she could hide in Brianna’s hair, and Margueritte breathed, but she imagined Greta and Doctor Pincher might pay Rotrude a visit in the morning.  All things considered, Margueritte had a lovely time that evening, and just as well, because it became about the last lovely time she would have for a while.

Early the next afternoon, the fifty they sent to retrieve Ragenfrid’s tax of three cows came home without the cows.  John-James reported to Margueritte and the assembled captains.

“The three of us went in as expected, like we were innocent and not suspicious, like you said.  We went to retrieve the three cows, like normal, but there were about three hundred men on our side of the Sarthe.  I did not see Ragenfrid, or the younger sons, Adalbert or Fredegar, but the older son, Bernard was there.  They had some horses, about thirty, and when Bernard shouted and pointed at us, we rode off.  The thirty were slow to start, but they followed us until we rejoined the fifty.  Then they backed off.”  He took a breath, like he had just run that distance.

“We would have run into trouble if we went the way we came.  The ford on the Mayenne we crossed just the day before now had three hundred more, guarding it.  I did not stop to count them.  The fairy Lord, Larchmont, saved us from riding right into the middle of them.  He did a good deed for us, I say.  We would have been back here last night if we came the way we went, but it took half a day to go upriver to find a place to cross over.”  He took another deep breath before he added a last thought.  “Just so you know, I say Lord Ragenfrid is coming our way or he would not have the ford on the Mayenne blocked.”

“They might be there to stall us if we come to the aid of Paris or Orleans or wherever he has in mind to go,” Walaric suggested, but Margueritte shook her head.

“He would block the main road, which would be the Paris Road.  The ford he is talking about is between the Paris and Loire roads.  The ford Ragenfrid has blocked is a ford for crossing an army without announcing your presence.  I suspect John-James rode up and crossed without opposition where the Paris Road crosses the river.”

“Even so,” John-James said.

 

M4 Margueritte: Broken, part 3 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

The mail finally came in March.  She found two letters from Roland.  The first, a short note, such as he wrote, which told what they were doing on the frontier and professing his love for her and for her children.  The second seemed a response to her letter from a year earlier.  He assured her that the loss of their son was not her fault, and she should be assured that he was more determined than ever to give her and her children a safe and secure home, and he would in no way be distracted in his duty.  That letter had a note at the bottom from Tomberlain and Owien which essentially said, “Me too.”

Margueritte also received two unexpected letters.  The first came from Rosamund, Roland’s mother, and it came filled with news about the family, especially Geoffry and Sigisurd’s marriage.  It was signed with a hello at the bottom by Relii, who undoubtedly wrote the letter.  Margueritte was not sure if Rosamund could read and write.

The second letter was from Boniface, written about a year ago, dated April twelve, anno domini, 723.  He said with the full blessing and support of Charles, he was headed at last into the Saxon lands to bring them the good news.  He asked her to pray for him in the work, and she did right then.  She shared that letter with Aden and encouraged him to begin a correspondence with Boniface as they both faced such similar difficulties in their work.  Aden thought he might, and Margueritte prayed for them, too, that they might be mutually encouraging, and maybe even become friends.

Margueritte read Roland’s second letter for the tenth time and remembered when they were young and she wrote to him every day, whether she had news or not.  She laughed at her foolishness when Mother, Margo and Elsbeth came to her with concern etched all over their faces.  They carried Giselle’s letter.

Margo and Elsbeth babbled for a bit before Brianna handed the letter to Margueritte to read for herself.  Giselle confirmed that Abd al-Makti was behind the poison that killed her baby.  She said he had her family, and her own six-month-old son, and forced her to become as a servant to Margueritte.  She poisoned Margueritte’s father, but wrongly justified it in her mind as a mercy.  But she had no excuse for what she did to Margueritte’s child.

Giselle said she expected to never see her family again.  She knew now that the sorcerer had been lying to her all along.  But she wanted Margueritte to know that she felt eternally sorry, and miserable, and she loved Margueritte, and all her family, and all of her children, and she was willing to accept whatever punishment Margueritte might wish, even death.  She was going to Saint Catherine’s de Fierbois and stay with the nuns, but meanwhile, Margueritte should know what she heard in Anjou.

Margueritte finished reading and stood up to walk out.  Everyone wanted to ask her what she intended to do about Giselle, but they did not.

###

“All of the squires should be here by the first of May, but I expect some to straggle in any time in the first two weeks of May.  I am preparing a good speech to yell at them,” Peppin said as they looked down from the half-finished castle wall on to the Paris road.  Charles’ wife, Rotrude, was on the road with a hundred men at arms to escort her.

“Not a good time for a visit,” Walaric said.

“Now, we don’t even know if Ragenfrid is ready to bring out his army,” Brianna said.

“And I don’t know why he would bother with us,” Margo added.  “It is Charles he is after, not us women and children.”

Elsbeth and Jennifer both looked like they wanted to agree with Margo, but both looked at Margueritte as Margueritte explained.

“Ragenfrid won’t turn on Paris as long as we are at his back.  After Charles, he probably hates us most.  We humiliated him in front of his sons and made him pay rent for using the land.  Besides, with Charles’ wife and children here, the opportunity for hostages is too great for him to pass up.  He probably cannot beat Charles on the battlefield, but with the right hostages, he might negotiate for whatever it is he wants.”

“I’m not sure if we can negotiate anything to satisfy him,” Brianna said.

“We don’t have the strength to stand against him,” Jennifer said.  “Not without help.”  She looked at Margueritte, but Margueritte felt reluctant to involve her little ones if she did not have to.  Mother Brianna understood, but Margueritte thought she better speak again.

“We have sent word on short notice, but five hundred men have gathered from the county.  Stragglers due throughout May.  We will have five hundred young men learning the lance and almost a hundred better trained men and horses to lead them.”

“Can’t count much on the young men,” Pippin said.  “Some of them still need to practice sitting the horse.”

“If they can ride and point their lance, that is all we need for now.  I’ll not ask more.  But then we have a hundred arriving right now with Rotrude.  That is almost twelve hundred men, a goodly number for defense.”

“Not so good if Ragenfrid shows up with five thousand or more.”

“But even five to one against us, we have at least half-finished walls to defend.  Defending walls should give us at least a three-man advantage.  Pray he brings no siege equipment.”

“Still pretty-slim odds,” Walaric admitted.

“Let us see what Baron Michael brings from the south march, and Count duBois from the north against Normandy.  Even a few hundred from each might be enough to hold the fort until Charles can arrive.”

“Assuming our riders got through” Pippin said.  “They had the Paris road covered all year.  The post turned back three times before they found a way through.”

“And Bavaria is a long way from here, even if they did get through,” Walaric added.

“Let’s see who shows up before we surrender,” Brianna said sharply.  “Right now, we have a guest to welcome, and I expect all of you to keep your mouths closed about Ragenfrid and this whole business.”

“Yes,” Margo agreed.  “I was looking forward to pleasant conversation and hearing all the latest gossip, if you don’t mind.”

They went down off the wall and found the whole town turned out to see Rotrude and her soldiers march through the caste gate.  It had not yet become the fortress door Margueritte designed, but it stood a solid oak double door that would be hard to bust down.  Rotrude and her wagons came right up to the old oak which still stood at the edge of the courtyard, beside the house.  The captain of the troop looked to Peppin and Walaric for directions, which surprised the women until he removed his helmet.  It was Childemund, the man they thought of as their personal Paris postman.  They were all glad to see him, but they followed Margueritte up to the wagons where she spoke.

“Welcome to our home,” she helped Rotrude down from the wagon back.  She noticed Rotrude looked very pale, and she thought to say something.  “If you are not too black and blue to move, please come inside and refresh yourself.”

Rotrude grinned, but only a little.  She turned to introduce her children who were standing around looking uncertain.  “Carloman is my eldest.  He is eleven, and the studious type.  Carloman, say something to your hostess in Latin.”

“You have a lovely home,” Carloman said.

Margueritte responded in Latin.  “And you have lovely manners.  Thank you.”

Rotrude shook her head.  “He doesn’t get it from me,” she said.  “Gisele is his twin, also eleven.”  Gisele curtsied and Margueritte did not finch on the name, but Morgan, Marta’s eldest at twelve, and Jennifer’s Lefee, who was eleven looked happy to see someone their own age.  Margueritte could only imagine the pre-teen trouble they might cause.

“Pepin is my scoundrel,” Rotrude continued.  “He is nine going on trouble.”  Rotrude had to pause and cough.  It sounded unhealthy, like some serious fluid in her lungs.

Margueritte pointed out Weldig Junior and Cotton, both eight, and her own Martin who was the youngest at seven and a half.  “But Martin is not slow on the trouble department.”

“It’s the age,” Rotrude nodded as she recovered from her coughing fit.  She waved Margueritte off and pointed to her last two, both girls.  Aude was seven and Hitrude was just six.  Brittany was five, and Margueritte felt she could go either way, because Grace and Jennifer’s Mercy and Margo’s Adalman were all four, and Mercy and Grace were especially close, almost like twins, so there was not always room for Adalman or Brittany.

“Are you well?” Margueritte asked and reached out to take Rotrude’s arm.  This time she would not be put off.

“Yes, yes.” Rotrude said and tried to smile again.  “My doctor said I needed to get out of the city and visit in the country.  You have been twice to my home and been attacked by every man and priest with a request or complaint.  You know, and you were just my husband’s friend.”

Margueritte nodded.  “I promise to keep the annoyances to the minimum,” she said, though that was hardly going to be possible if Ragenfrid showed up with an army.

“My thanks,” Rotrude said again, and once more began a brief coughing spell.

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

MONDAY

It is hard for Margueritte to get anything done when she is face with so many disturbances.  MONDAY Disturbances.  Until then, 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.

M4 Margueritte: Sword of the Five Crosses, part 3 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Only one old priest served in the church, talking, and laughing with Charles and Roland.  Four of Wulfram’s men from Potentius and four of Hunald’s men from Aquitaine stood around looking bored when the women trooped in.  The men stood and followed as Mother Matilde brought them straight to the back of the altar where a flat stone had been carved with five crosses, painted red at some point in history.

“Don’t break the stone,” Margueritte kept saying.  “After it serves its purpose, it needs to be put back for the next person.”

It took a while to dig out the mortar and pry up the stone.  The big stone took a small chip, but that could be filled in.  It took four men to carefully lift the stone and set it gently along the wall, and then one man lifted a long, thin box. Margueritte tried to get the box, but the men crowded around and blocked her way.  They were anxious to open it, but Margueritte felt obliged to speak first.  She stepped back, raised her hands, and called.

“Caliburn and box.”

The box disappeared, startling all the men, and it reappeared in Margueritte’s arms.  Roland and the nuns were the least surprised.  The priest let out a shout and Giselle dropped her jaw.

“Now listen,” Margueritte said, though she certainly had everyone’s attention.  “The sword in this box was first made for a Greek princess two hundred years before Christ.  That makes it nine hundred years old, so it needs respectful treatment.  At the same time, you will find it stronger, sharper, and of a better-quality steel than anything that can be produced by Christians or Moslems.  It should serve you well, Charles.  The last one who carried this into battle was a man named Arthur.”

“Excalibur?” one man asked.

“No.  Excalibur is older, heavier, and pressed with meteorite in some way, I don’t know.  It is very pretty, but Caliburn in most ways is the better sword.  Caliburn is the one that was taken out of the stone.”  She took it out of the box, dusted it off and saw several spots that showed a rusty colored dirt, the remains of its former sheath.  She tapped it gently against the pew and used her sleeve to clean the sword.  The rusty spots easily fell off, and they all saw the blade itself, untainted by any discoloration.  It gleamed in the dim light of the church.  Charles and the others started to crowd forward again, but she stopped them.

“Charles,” she said.  “You must put your hand out and call for the sword.”

Charles paused before he lifted his hand and called, “Sword.”

“It has a name.”

“Caliburn,” Charles amended his word and the sword jumped once, flew through the air, and landed in Charles’ hand ready to strike at an adversary.  Charles looked more surprised than anyone else.

“What witchery is this?” the priest asked.

“No witchery.”  Margueritte rolled her eyes for Mother Matilde and Sister Mary.  “It is the sword’s only virtue, to return to the hand of its owner.  It is on loan, but at present, Charles, it is fit to your hand.”

“But how?” Roland asked.  “I mean a sword that comes when called.”

“It got forged in the fires of Mount Etna under the watchful eye of Hephaestus.  It got worked into shape and completed by the same family of dark elves that made Thor’s hammer.  It should serve well, but it is not indestructible so treat it well.”  Margueritte handed the box to Matilde.  “Save this,” she whispered before she turned again to Charles.  “The sheath it had is rotted.  I recommend a strong leather sheath to keep it from scratching.”

“It can be scratched?” a man asked.

“No, but it is sharper than any knife we have, and it will stay sharp.  You won’t have to sharpen it.  No, I was thinking to keep it from scratching your leg or your horse.”

“Ah,” Charles understood.  “But now these crosses in the circles?  There is one on each side of the block where the cross-guard meets the grip.”

“The wheel of Saint Catherine?” Sister Mary guessed.

“And on the pommel, at the end.  And reflected, like an imprint in the ricasso on both sides of the blade itself above the block.”

“The five crosses,” Roland understood, and Margueritte nodded.

“It is the symbol of the Athol valley where the Princess was a princess.  It is two crossed swords in a circle, but it does look cross-like.  God’s providence two hundred years before Christ, do you think?”

“And it has been hidden in the church from the beginning?”  The priest shook his head in disbelief.

“Lady Margueritte.”  Charles spoke in his formal voice and gave a slight bow.  “I never expected to have and to hold the sword of King Arthur himself.  I will do my utmost to take care of it.”

“No, Charles.  It is being given to you to use.  I hope the sword will take care of you.  I don’t know who the Masters may be, or anything about Tours, or what that man was talking about, but I know it is important that you be there, alive to meet it.  You understand, I can make no promises.  Caliburn is the best I can give you—that and some heavy cavalry if I have maybe ten years to organize the Breton March and train the men.”  Margueritte looked around at all the faces staring at her and decided she said too much.  “I don’t know what crucible you plan to put your men through in the next ten years.  That is not my job.”  She genuflected to the image of Jesus on the cross behind the altar, lit a candle for her father at the statue of Saint Catherine and left.

Margueritte held on to Roland in the night but said nothing.  She said nothing all the next day when they returned to Tours, though she listened while Roland explained to Charles how Tomberlain planned to divide up his property and rent it to faithful men, and how he planned to include military service as part of the rental price.

“And any who refuse the call to arms will have their land taken away and given to others,” Roland said.  He did not exactly get it right, but Charles grasped the concept.

“You know I have another half-brother, Childebrand,” Charles said.  “He has a small place in Burgundy.”

“You can’t trust your brother?” Roland asked.

“No.   He is content with his place and supported me in my struggle as you know.”

“Then what?”

“We are headed for Bavaria on the Burgundian border, even as your spooky wife guessed.  But the Burgundians are making noises about needing to tend the land, the fields, the grapes, and maybe not being able to raise many men to fight, even though the fight will be on their border and to their own benefit.”  Charles paused and rubbed his chin.

“I’m not following,” Roland admitted.

“I was just wondering how Childebrand might like being the Duke of Burgundy, and maybe there are some other Burgundian nobles worth replacing.”

Roland said nothing, and Margueritte said nothing until they got back to the inn in Tours.  Then she said something to Roland on an entirely different subject.

“Tomorrow is Sunday.  I need to go to church, at Saint Martins.  I told the abbot I would come back and check on his work.”

Roland considered when she might have spoken to the abbot.  “When was this?” he asked.

“About three hundred years ago,” she answered.

###

Giselle begged off when Margueritte went to church.  Margueritte felt concerned, because Giselle was very faithful in church, but Giselle said she just wanted some quiet time, and that had not really been possible when they were traveling.

As soon as Margueritte stepped into the sanctuary, Giselle walked to the woods by the stream where Abd al-Makti waited.  Giselle spoke first.

“The father is gone by my hand, and as you said, the Lady has taken on the responsibility of overseeing the organization of the Breton March.  She is occupied and out of the world, so why have you called me?  You promised to let my family go free once Lady Margueritte became occupied.”

“Because the job is not finished,” Abd al-Makti said.  “Charles is taking his army out to battle, and it is not my desire that the Franks should become good at war.  It is my desire that Sir Roland, Charles’ strong right arm, should leave his mind, if not his body, back in the Mark.”  He reached into a pocket in his vest and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid.

“I’ll not poison anyone else.  The old man suffered night and day.  I did not mind that, like an act of mercy.  But no more.  I will not harm the lady or anyone else in the family.  They are good people, and the lady, her mother, and Lady Jennifer are saints.  I will not do it.”

Abd al-Makti continued speaking as if Giselle said nothing at all.  “I am not asking you to harm any living person.  But I have seen a bit of what is to come, and I know the lady will again be with child.”  He held up the vial.  “This is for the last month when the lady is with child.  It will not harm the lady, only the lump of flesh in her belly will be affected.”

Giselle’s eyes got big.  “I will not harm her unborn child.  That would be murder.”

“But unborn, it is not yet a child.  I tell you it is just a lump of flesh until it is born.  It has no feelings, and cannot feel, not like a person.  And it will be quick.  The lady will be sad, and Sir Roland will turn his mind to his wife.  That is all.”

“You promised.  My family.”  Giselle got stubborn.

Abd al-Makti held out the vial.  “This time I do promise to set your family free when you do this successfully.”

Giselle closed her eyes for a moment and thought, but in the end, she took the vial and put it in her pocket.  As she walked off, she did not look like a person who was decided if she would do anything or not.  Abd al-Makti simply shrugged and called for Marco and the horses.

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

MONDAY

What can you do when everything gets broken?  Next time.  Happy Reading.

*