Kairos

M3 Margueritte: Year of the Unicorn, part 2 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Things were about settled when Marta came sheepishly in and interrupted.  “Your pardon, but I must set the table.  There will be eight and the children?”  She asked, judging the table too small for that many.

“Let the children and Tomberlain,” Brianna added to single him out, “eat with you and Maven this evening, unless my young squire would rather share with Redux?”  Tomberlain said he might carry enough to the barn to do that very thing.  “And here,” she said.  “We will help.”

“I’ll help Maven with the cooking,” Elsbeth said, but Margueritte grabbed her arm.

“You need to think harder than that to get out of work.  You can’t cook, or did you forget?”

Everything got settled amicably that evening, and the supper went very well overall.  Margueritte helped Marta serve since Lolly was not there and Maven got so tired out from all that cooking.  Elsbeth went with her brother and Redux, and the little ones, probably had a wonderful time dancing to the sound of Luckless’ mandola and Grimly’s flute.  But that was all right.  Margueritte did not mind.

They almost got into trouble when Chief Brian wondered where that midget had gotten off to?  The others became excited for the possible distraction since the supper table was not exactly tension free.

Marta stood stiff as a board, her eyes darted back and forth, with sweat ready at any moment to break out on her forehead.

“She had to go home.”  Margueritte spoke up quickly and sent Marta outside to the kitchen.  True enough.

“Drat,” Chief Brian said, and he explained his encounter with the little one, embellishing it just enough for a good laugh.  By then, Maven had come in, presumably to help clear dishes.

“Yes.  Dear Lolly had to get on home,” Maven said.  “She has seven mouths of her own to feed, you know, in that little rundown old shack of hers.  Why, the place barely keeps out the rain, it does, and that does not help her husband, arthritic and all the way he is.  He can barely farm enough to keep his family from starving, though he might have done better if his oldest and only son had not lost a foot in the badger hole.  Come to think of it, they would have had eight children, that is a second son, if the wart hog had not got him when he was a young one.  I almost forgot about him.  Of course, Lord Bartholomew, saint that he is, does everything he can for the poor, wretched family, but there is only so much one can do.  And here, Lady Brianna, the good lady let Lolly come up to cook just for her king whom she loves with the hope that in his abundance he might send her just a little to see her and hers until they can get in the rest of the scraggly bits of grain from the field.  Even with all the little girls helping, though, I can’t see how they will get it in before the frost.  Yes, I really feel for the poor old dear and help her myself every chance I get.”

“Oh my,” Chief Brian said.

The king frowned.  “I may be able to send a little something.”

“And I will, too.”  Chief Brian agreed.  Everyone agreed, except Bartholomew who seemed to be having a hard time to keep from laughing, and Brianna whose ears were red from hearing such lies, and Finnian McVey who looked up at Maven and tipped his hat ever so slightly to a master.  Finnian was apparently no slouch in the matter of lying.

Going out the back door with the dishes, Margueritte turned to Maven.  “You lie like an elf.”  She said it bluntly and did not mean it as a compliment.

“Well, having a few around has given me some chance to practice,” Maven admitted.

###

In the morning, almost before day had fully broken, Margueritte and Elsbeth were dumped, not too softly, in a pile of leaves.  Obviously, the place had been well worked out in advance as the riders shot for it in a straight line.  Margueritte wondered what other parts of King Urbon’s plans he had neglected to share with her father.  But then Goldenrod and Little White Flower showed up and the girls got busy having fun.

“I told the ogrees like you asked,” Goldenrod said.  “That was scary for me, the most scary, ever.”

“I bet it was,” Little White Flower said.

“How come fairies don’t always talk right?”  Elsbeth asked out of the blue.

Margueritte had to think for a minute.

“Is it because when they are young, their little brains can’t hold it all in?” Elsbeth suggested.

“Mostly too many feelings in this world,” Little White Flower said.  “It’s hard to be happy, feel proud at having done well, and scardy remembering all at the same time.”

“No,” Margueritte said.  “Well. Probably something like that, but I think it is because young fairies were made to be terminally cute and sweeter even than cotton candy.”

“What’s cotton candy?” Elsbeth wondered.

“Whipped sugar,” Margueritte answered.

“I knew some cotton fairies once,” Little White Flower said.  “But I never knew a cotton candy.”

“Hmmm,” Goldenrod interrupted.  She wanted to say something intelligent, too, but she could not think of anything to say.

“Unicorn.”  Elsbeth called out when she remembered her instructions.

“Unicorn.”  Goldenrod echoed, and for a while they all called, though none of them seriously supposed the creature would come.

Meanwhile, King Urbon had moved the entire male population, and quite a few females out of the village of Vergen, and also brought about a hundred members of the court along to make nearly seven hundred people altogether.  He even offered a lesser sentence to those stuck in the fens if any would be willing to help.  These people slowly spread out at first light until they made a line, a mile in length.  Ever so slowly, they moved into the Banner.  They carried whatever nets, fishing nets, cloth or sacks they could which might help to catch a unicorn.

After a while, the girls stopped calling.  The sound of hounds could be heard, far away, closing from the other direction.

“I’m cold,” Elsbeth admitted, and she and Margueritte got up and began to walk in a great circle.  The calling started again but stopped quickly when they heard a rustling in the leaves not far away, but out of sight.  They stiffened as a face popped out from behind a tree.

“Owien, Son of Bedwin.”  Both girls called out together.

“I see you bathed,” Margueritte said.

“Look nice,” Elsbeth added.

“No time for that,” Owien said.  “I came to warn you.  It’s a trap.  The people are circling all around to keep the unicorn from escaping, but Mother says they will drive all beasts to the center, and not just the unicorn.  That means Bears and Great Cats and Wart Hogs and snakes, too.”

Elsbeth shrieked at the word, “Snake.”  They paused again, because the leaves rustled once more.  A man jumped out and grabbed Owien, took him down, and held a big knife.  Owien fought well, but the man, or rather boy was much bigger than him.  Margueritte hit the boy in the arm.

“Tomberlain,” she yelled.  “Leave Owien alone.”

“Yes, leave him alone,” Elsbeth agreed.

“You know this boy?”  Tomberlain asked.

“Of course,” Margueritte explained.  “He risked himself to come and warn us about the circle closing around us.”

“Oh, sorry,” Tomberlain said and he sheathed his knife and helped Owien to his feet.  “I thank you for caring about my sisters.”

“No, thank you, Squire,” Owien said.  “I never wrestled with a real squire before.  It was an honor.”  Margueritte thought she better step in before Tomberlain’s head swelled to where it became too big to fit between the trees.

“What can we do to get out of here?” she asked the practical question.

“No broomsticks handy,” Tomberlain said.  “But I brought my horse.  He is young and strong and might carry the four of us.”

“Three,” Owien said.  “I can just blend in with the circle as it closes.”

“Nonsense.”  Margueritte and Tomberlain spoke together.  Tomberlain finished.  “You’re in as much danger here as the rest of us.”  For a third time, everyone stopped then, to listen.  The leaves sounded agitated this time.  To everyone’s surprise and wonder, the unicorn came into the little clearing.  It would not let the boys near it, but it seemed to be offering itself to the girls to ride and to take them out of danger.

“Looks like the matter’s settled,” Tomberlain said.  “We have two chargers, but we have to hurry.”  They could already hear the drums and distant shouts.  “It took too long to find you,” Tomberlain admitted.  “But we can make a dash for it.  Hurry Owien.”

M3 Margueritte: Year of the Unicorn, part 1 of 3

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In the fall, right before Samhain in the same year that Elsbeth danced, not being the year to go to Vergenville, King Urbon, Duredain the druid and Finnian McVey paid their own visit to the triangle along with Chief Brian, his druid Canto, and a very wary Roan and Morgan.  They brought a dozen men at arms, three strong hunters, and plenty of hounds.

Lady Brianna welcomed them most regally and apologized that her small manor home hardly had the room or the facilities to entertain royalty.

“Never mind,” the king said, as he pointed his men toward a newly mowed field.  “I’ve brought our hunting tents.  We will be quite comfortable in the field.”

Sir Bartholomew rode up, having gotten the word from Little White Flower.  Tomberlain rode beside him as did several peasant Franks, but Grimly was nowhere to be seen.  Luckless the dwarf also absented himself from the forges, and, in fact, Margueritte went down into the lair of the little ones in the side of the hill beneath the barn to make it very clear to all of them that they were neither to be seen nor heard during that whole visit.  Fortunately, Hammerhead the ogre had been given two cows which he took off as a present for his family in Banner Bein.

“He certainly earned them.”  Bartholomew remarked to his wife’s question.  Hammerhead was one little one who did not mind working.  In fact, he rather enjoyed it, and he certainly did enough around the farm that spring and summer to earn a great deal.

“Lord Urbon,” Bartholomew said.  “Your majesty graces our poor home with your presence.”

“Yes, yes.”  Urbon waved off the formalities.  “Bartholomew, we have to talk.”  They went inside with Finnian and Duredain, even as Margueritte came out from the barn, having climbed up the underground stairs to the secret door.  Urbon’s men were already half-way down the hill.  Chief Brian appeared to want to speak with her first, privately, but Canto held his arm and led him also into the house.  Roan and Morgan dared not look at her and they quickly hustled their few servants down the hill to set up Chief Brian’s tents.

Elsbeth squirted out the front door, looking for Little White Flower.  “psst.”  The word came from the mistletoe oak and both girls looked up.  Little White Flower risked coming down to kiss Elsbeth on the cheek and added a bit of motherly advice.  “Be good now,” she said and wagged her tiny finger in Elsbeth’s face.  She curtsied to Margueritte and sped off to the fairy glen—a good ten miles into the Vergen forest.  Margueritte knew it would take Little White Flower almost a minute to get there.  Margueritte faced her sister who wore a devilish grin.  It was not the first time Margueritte wondered exactly what the relationship was between her sister and the fairy, but that thought got interrupted when Elsbeth spoke.

“You forgot Lolly,” she said.

Margueritte put her hand to her mouth before she said something rude.  She feared what might happen, but inside she laughed.  They ran to the side of the house, to where the kitchens were out back, and saw that Chief Brian had already walked out the back door for a little repast, as he called it, after his long, long journey.  Lolly had already slapped his hand once with her cooking spoon, and Marguerite, herself, knew how that would sting.

“Wait ‘till it’s ready, you big fat slobber, or next knock will be on your noggin,” Lolly said.

Brian was taken aback for a moment, not the least to nurse his hand, but then he laughed out loud.  “I didn’t know Bartholomew had a little person about.  I love you midgets. You always make me laugh.”

“Little people hitting each other,” Margueritte said quickly, not knowing what else to say.  She wanted to get Chief Brian’s attention before he looked at Lolly too closely.  “That’s what Napoleon liked, too.”

“Huh?”  Brian asked.  “Who’s that?”

Margueritte shrugged.  “You wanted to ask me some questions?”  She reminded him while Elsbeth hustled Lolly toward the barn, and not without some argument.

“Huh?  Yes,” Brian said.  “But I’ve quite forgotten what it was, exactly.  Anyway, I do hope all my questions will be answered tomorrow after you girls are dropped off in Banner Bein.”  He went inside.  Margueritte followed, shocked by what she heard.

Inside, the subject had already been breached, and Sir Barth stood red with anger and only refused to do anything foolish in his own home.

“Come now.”  Duredain spoke up.  “You Christians are always claiming Christ as your true protector.  You should not fear for your girls.”

“Besides,” Finnian added in his Irish drawl.  “The unicorn is reparted to be a most gentle and loving crature who is most kind to young innocent garls.”

“No.”  Bartholomew repeated himself for the hundredth time.  “You’ll not use my children as bait.  And besides, I am not a Christian.”

Poor Lady Brianna did not know what to say.  She was moved to speechlessness by the whole suggestion.

“Then by your own pagan Gods.”  Duredain looked ready to spit.

“I’m not exactly asking,” Urbon said, mostly to Lady Brianna who remained a native of Amorica.  “But it would be greatly of value to the whole kingdom and a benefit to all the people.”  He knew he had little or no say over the Franks.  In fact, having three Frankish Lords on his border watching over him rather spoke for the opposite.  Still, he hoped to appeal to the Lady as one of his own, whose daughters were at least half his.

Lady Brianna shook her head when Margueritte stepped up and Elsbeth came in the front door.

“What?”  Elsbeth asked straight out.

“Baby,” Brianna explained.  “The king and his men propose to try and catch the unicorn, if they can, and save it for all the people, for the purity and health it will bring.”

“But what?”  Elsbeth spoke again.  Apparently, she heard enough before coming inside to ask.  Margueritte stood quietly at her mother’s shoulder looked up and down the row of faces seated at the table and did not like any of them very much.

“Baby.  They propose to take you and Margueritte to the woods, alone, in the hope that the unicorn will return to you.”

“Bait,” Elsbeth said what her father said, and she turned her eyes on the men at the table.

“To Banner Bein?” Margueritte confirmed.  At least Chief Brian nodded.

“Think on it.”  The king rose so everyone rose with him.

“You will come for supper,” Brianna said.  It was a statement of invitation, not a question.

“Of course,” the king answered.  He planned to settle the matter that evening.  He stepped out, Duredain on his heels, and Finnian who sauntered a bit.  Chief Brian sent Canto on ahead but tarried until it became safe to speak.

“Care, Sir Barth.  There is much talk about you Franks being responsible for this Christian business and the dissolution of the old ways.”

“What?  Get out!”  Lord Bartholomew roared.  Chief Brain shrugged, but Brianna walked him to the door and thanked him.

“It was only a fair warning.  He risked telling you,” she said.  “It was not a threat, veiled or otherwise.”

“Oh.”  Bartholomew got it, but his ire was so engaged, he could hardly hear anything unthreatening.

“Father.”  Margueritte spoke as Tomberlain came in from caring for the horses.  “Isn’t Hammerhead in Banner Bein visiting his family?”

Bartholomew looked at her and Lady Brianna was not sure what she might be suggesting, but Elsbeth seemed to understand.  “Oh, yes.”  She clapped her hands together.

“And I don’t see why, with a little help, if you know what I mean, we might not be safe enough.  Far be it from Elsbeth and me to break the peace between the Franks and the Breton.”

“Margueritte!”  Brianna’s voice scolded, but Lord Bartholomew clearly thought about it.  If the girls could pull it off, whether they got their unicorn or not, it would give him certain leverage on the king.

“What’s it all about?”  Tomberlain asked, and Margueritte explained her plan more fully, accepting the ways in which her father amended those plans, and Brianna, though not believing her ears, nevertheless did not object.

M3 Margueritte: Beltane, part 3 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Margueritte cried out and concentrated her thoughts even while she held to the horse for dear life.  She seemed to hear Lady LeFleur’s answer.

“I can control the broom if the young Squire and his page can hold your sister to her seat.  I will see them safely home.”  Then silence.

Margueritte grabbed the horse’s mane, but already she could smell the salt rising in the air.  This was one of the horses of the deep and the waves who could often be heard crashing their hooves against the rocky shores and thundering along the beach.  Very rarely, one broke free to wander across the land, looking for one to ride upon its’ back, forgetful of its’ place in the sea.  A powerful magic, indeed, drew the innocent to try the steed, but once mounted, the horse remembered the weight of the sea on its’ shoulders and instantly sought to return to its’ proper place.  Many a person had been brought to drown in the bottom of the sea for wanting to ride that beautiful creature.

“Is this it, then?”  Margueritte wondered to herself.  “Will this life be so short and snuffed out by the deeps in a wink.”

“No, little one.”  Margueritte heard the answer echo to her down through the wind of time.  The Danna herself spoke, and Margueritte began to cry for hope.  Just as the horse touched hooves to waves, Margueritte was no longer there.  Instead, Danna, a life from ever so long ago, traded places with her, and the goddess simply let the horse swim free.

Since it remained Margueritte’s lifetime, Danna’s first thought of Elsbeth and Tomberlain, but even as she thought of them, the goddess knew they were safe.  Her next though turned to Little White Flower as Danna disappeared from the surface of the sea and appeared in the grotto of the fee where all the little ones bowed to acknowledge her presence.  Lord Yellow Leaf had already scolded his daughter, but Danna had another concern.

“I fear if Little White Flower is taken from Elsbeth’s company at this time it will truly hurt her heart.  Elsbeth is very young and such a bond should not be lightly broken,” Danna said.  She thought the wisdom of letting such a bond form in the first place was another matter.

Little White Flower looked hopeful.  She was also attached to the girl.  Lord Yellow Leaf paused to consider.  He dressed in a long green robe and looked like a lord of the Breton but for the darker hue of his skin and a bear claw necklace with which he was reluctant to part.

“I will bow to the wishes of my goddess,” he said.  “But only after Little White Flower has done her penance.”  Danna raised her eyebrows.  “Is that not the right word?” Yellow Leaf asked.

“It is,” Danna confirmed.  “This is a new world we live in.  The old ways have passed away.  My children have gone over to the other side.  The new has come, and even I do not belong here, now.  Lady LeFleur.”  The fairy queen appeared as if summoned, which she was.  “I forgive you for disturbing my husband’s festival.  The old ways have passed away,” she repeated.  “Now no harm will befall you for your actions.”

Lady LeFleur could not contain herself.  She rushed forward and put her little hands on Danna’s cheek and kissed her goddess with her tears.  Danna was pleased, but not finished.

“It would be a good thing to let Goldenrod continue to visit with Margueritte some in her youth,” she said.  “My presence in her place will be dim in her memory.  As I said, I do not belong here.”  And she vanished from there, appeared in Margueritte’s room, and paused only for a second to repair the nightgown with a thought, even down to the last stitch, before she let go of that time and stood as Marguerite once again.

Margueritte saw the door to her room still open and her mother standing in the doorway.  “Elsbeth.  Tomberlain,” Margueritte said, without asking.

“Asleep,” Lady Brianna answered.  She came into the room and took Margueritte’s hand, and together they sat on Margueritte’s bed.

Margueritte looked down and told the whole adventure, beginning with what the Don heard from Little White Flower’s mouth.  “Little White flower should never have spoken of it in the first place, but after that, Elsbeth cried so hard and became so miserable, what could she do?”

Lady Brianna looked briefly in the direction of Elsbeth’s room.  “Yes, she can be hard-headed when she wants something.  She has a terrible stubborn streak.”

Margueritte went on and paused only when Danna came into the picture.

“I saw her,” Lady Brianna said and squeezed her daughter’s hand.  Then, with tears, Margueritte told the rest, and then she had to explain about being born again and again.

“How many times?”  Brianna asked.

“A hundred and three.”  A voice spoke from the still open window.  Goldenrod had rushed to the manor after Danna had vanished from the glen.

Lady Brianna stiffened a little, but softened again as Margueritte began to cry great, big tears.  “But Mother,” Margueritte said.  “You don’t understand.  Each time I have to start all over again and it is hard.  I’ll never get it right.  And then I hurt.  Mother I go through all the pain.  Mother I die, but I never get to go to heaven.”  She became racked with tears, part fright from her experience, part exhaustion, and part self-pity, though only a little part, and her Mother held her and rocked her until the crying subsided.

Lady Brianna put Margueritte in her bed and covered her.  “Well, this time you are my daughter,” she said at last and kissed Margueritte’s forehead.  “And you will always have my love and prayers and help in any way I can with this burden that the Almighty, in his wisdom, has laid upon you.  Do not be afraid, and don’t forget to count your blessings before you sleep.”   She turned to Goldenrod.  “And you, little lady.  The next time you see your mother, be sure and thank her for me.  God willing, I may be able to repay her someday.”

“Yes m’lady,” Goldenrod said and added a little curtsey.  As soon as Brianna left the room, she raced to Margueritte’s pillow and snuggled up beside her true friend.

There came a second time when Goldenrod helped Margueritte that summer, though it did not seem nearly so serious a matter.  Maven had just left the pasture and Margueritte and her growing hound settled in for an afternoon of fun.  Goldenrod had long since gotten over her fear of the beast and had taken to sometimes riding in her little size on Puppy’s shoulders, like a cowgirl might ride the back of a horse, the only difference being that they rounded up sheep rather than cattle.  Margueritte always laughed at such times and watched the two of them stumbling around, yelling and whooping and barking and tending to confuse the sheep more than anything else.  On that day, however, Goldenrod barely finished her thimble of milk when she dashed to the treetop to hide in the leaves.

“What is it?”  Margueritte asked with some concern as Puppy also stood and began to look in a certain direction and pant.

“Horses.”  Goldenrod’s whisper barely reached Margueritte’s ears.  “And two men with them.”  She pointed in the direction Puppy faced.

“Come out!”  Margueritte yelled, only a little afraid that they might be robbers.  “You’ve been seen.  You might as well show yourselves.”  Silence followed, before they heard the whinny of a horse.  Gradually, two men stepped from the edge of the woods, led their horses and argued about it.  Margueritte recognized Roan and Morgan and frowned.

“You’ve been spying on me.”  Margueritte stood and accused them forthrightly.

“No,” Roan lied.

“Yes,” Morgan said at the same time.

“You didn’t have to tell her that,” Roan yelled at his partner.

Morgan just smiled.  “I had an uncle once who lied about things like that,” he said, with certainty in his grin.  Roan did not ask.

“Chief Brian has told us to fetch you.  He has heard strange tidings and said he wants to see you,” Roan said.

“Tell him to bring his fatness to the triangle.”  Margueritte got rather rude and miffed at being spied on.  “I have nothing to hide.  And anyway, you must speak to my father first before I can say anything.”

“Nope,” Morgan said.

“Chief Brian does not want your father involved,” Roan explained as he stopped a couple of steps away.  Puppy began to growl.  “You get the dog.  I’ll get the girl.”

“What am I supposed to do with it once I’ve got it?”  Morgan asked.

“Do with what?”

“The dog.”

Roan frowned and turned back to face Margueritte even as Goldenrod from overhead sprinkled golden dust on Margueritte’s head.  Margueritte began to fade from sight along with Puppy.  Even then Roan might have grabbed her if he did not have to stop and sneeze.  By the time he got his nose under control, Margueritte got out of reach and became completely invisible.

“Do I still have to get the dog now that it’s invisible?”  Morgan asked.  He could pinpoint the dog, more or less, because Puppy kept barking.

“Fool,” Roan said.  “Find the girl.”  They began to reach out and walk slowly first one way then the other.

“I never had to find an invisible girl before,” Morgan said.  “Though I had a grandfather who was pretty good at disappearing.”

That did it.  Roan hit Morgan on the head, as hard as he could.  Puppy took that violent act as an invitation, jumped up and clamped down on that arm which caused Roan to fight and scream.  “Get it off!  Get it off!”

“Let go Puppy.”  Margueritte raised her voice which risked giving her location away.  Puppy let go but continued to bark.  Roan and Morgan paused to look in the direction of Margueritte’s voice, but she had already circled around behind Morgan.  She reached down behind his pants, which tickled him a bit, and pulled his underthings as far up his back as she could.

“Woohoooo!”  Morgan squealed.

“Tricky fixy, bees to sixty.”  An invisible Goldenrod joined the fun and buzzed around Roan’s head like a whole hive of bees.

“Let’s get out of here.”  Roan yelled as Marguerite began to giggle.  She couldn’t help it.  Roan grabbed his skittish horse and mounted, and so did Morgan, but not before Puppy took a snap at the back of his pants and tore them all the way to his leg.  They rode off as fast as their horses could carry them safely through the woods, and the girls collapsed in laughter.  Puppy licked them both.

When Margueritte told her father that evening what happened, he did not find it so funny, and that became the end of Margueritte’s days as a shepherdess.

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

MONDAY

The same year Elsbeth danced came to be called the year of the unicorn.  Monday.  Happy Reading

*

M3 Margueritte: Beltane, part 2 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

With great care, and all the quiet they could muster, they went down the stairs and out the front door.  Luckily, Father began to snore, and that racket helped hide the sound of the creaky floor.  Once outside, they straddled the broom, Tomberlain in the back and Margueritte up front.  Goldenrod could fly on her own, of course, without help.  Grimly could hover, but not move fast in the air.

“Come.”  Margueritte called him and set him in the middle between her and her brother.

“But what if we fall?” Tomberlain asked

“I just thought of that,” Grimly said.  “I’ll make sure we keep our seats.  That much I can do.”

“Okay now.”  Margueritte addressed the broom which shuttered and shook, but finally rose to a height just above the house and trees.  It could go no higher because of the weight and she would have to steer around the tower and any big trees, like the old oak in the triangle, but it was a great deal faster than walking and much easier on the feet.

“Come on, come on.”  Goldenrod fluttered about, impatient.

They started out slowly and Margueritte almost lost control right at the start as they heard a horse whinny and saw it raise its’ front hooves briefly in their direction.  They saw two riders, hidden down the road, back behind the near trees.  Both rushed off quickly on being spotted.  They headed toward Vergen and the roads to the south and the coast. Margueritte very much wanted to know who it was.  Tomberlain said so.

“No time to find out who the spies are,” Grimly said.  Goldenrod started tugging on the end of the broomstick.

“Come on, come on,” she kept saying.

They flew, barely fast enough to feel the breeze in their faces.  Margueritte wished then that she had changed from her nightgown, or at least taken the time to get her cloak.  The wind felt cold and a little damp.

Goldenrod lead them past the fields and out over the deep woods of the Vergen.  There were miles of trees, leaves green now in the freshness of spring and many an apple blossom could be seen.  People did not often go into the depths of the forest unless they were hunters, and even they tended to keep to familiar trails and favorite spots for fear of getting altogether lost.  They traveled for several miles before Margueritte heard the first wisps of music.  Then she saw the light of the great fire, and at last, the clearing where great stones, taller than a man, had been set up on a small hill in a perfect circle.  She began to guide the broom toward the ground.

“But why are we falling?”  Tomberlain asked in his voice too loud against the wind.  “I see nothing but a clearing of sorts in the moonlight, but it looks cold and empty to me.”

“Shh.”  Margueritte hushed him.  “I’ll show you when we get there.”  And Tomberlain appeared willing to wait, though he felt anxious for Elsbeth’s sake.

Once on the ground, the children walked slowly to where they could see.  Grimly stood out front, ready, just in case.  Margueritte took her brother’s hand and he drew in his breath, sharply as a whole scene, not entirely in this world, opened up in front of him.  The enchanted music that he heard made him want to tap his feet, and run, and fight, and become delirious for joy in the night

“No!”  Margueritte cried and barely held on to Tomberlain’s hand.  “You are my brother.  You are not to be enchanted by the little ones.”

Tomberlain stopped tugging for his freedom after a moment.  He rubbed his eyes and shook his head like one who had tried to stay awake but nearly fell asleep.

“Of course,” he said.  “What was I thinking?”  And he turned to take in what he could see.  The fire blazed in the center of the circle and shot sparks higher than the stones and deep into the night sky where they looked like little stars. There were creatures feasting and dancing all about, and there, in the midst of them, Elsbeth smiled as broadly as she could, and danced in sheer joy.

Margueritte stopped Tomberlain short of the circle.

“Aren’t we going to get her?” he asked.

“I don’t know how, yet,” Margueritte answered.  “The magic here is much greater than just the magic of my little ones.  They participate, but do not originate.”  She knew what she meant.

“This is the fire of strength,” Grimly explained.  “It is thousands of years old and was set to honor the god of the North, the son of Thor who became the third husband of the Don and whose children became the great gods of the Celts and all the people in this land.

“But the Breton call it the fire of peace,” Tomberlain objected.

“A later name,” Grimly said.  “There is strength of peace in the flames, but also strength of war, for the god was strong to do all things well.”

Margueritte sighed.

“And Samhain then is not just a village thing?”  Tomberlain asked.  He remembered something vague from his youngest years before his mother Brianna came to Jesus.

“In truth,” Grimly said.  “It is the fire of healing, lit in honor of the Don’s second husband, the god of the sun and of life.”

“But he was not allowed to follow her north of the Pyrenees,” Margueritte said, as she remembered more clearly.  She had remembered Danna in Gerraint’s time, and now she remembered that she lived Danna’s life those thousands of years ago.  Danna came north on the urging of all the gods to confront the Titaness who had stolen the most western lands and was becoming a threat to all.

“But what then of her first husband?” Tomberlain asked in all innocence.

“We don’t speak of him,” Grimly said, but Marguerite spoke all the same.

“He was a god of the dead who wrongly abused Danna as a young child.  She bore him twin son, who grew tall and strong, but then that one son married Morrigu, a wicked, evil creature who bore him the daughters of fury.  Those girls could set a man’s blood to boil and go berserk for the killing of war.”  She confused her stories a little, but Grimly did not correct her.

“Only a mother-in-law would remember her in that way.”  A woman’s voice took their attention.  Margueritte and Tomberlain looked up to see the fairy queen, and Goldenrod who had vanished for a time came with her.  Grimly bowed once before looking.

The fairy queen and Goldenrod curtsied to Margueritte who curtsied in return and named the little one.  “Lady LeFleur,” she said.  “Majesty.”  And she nudged her brother who bowed, though he never lowered his eyes.  Lady LeFleur was queen of all the fee in that region, and as two and two came together in Margueritte’s mind, she knew that the queen was also Goldenrod’s mother.

“If your majesty may help,” Margueritte said.  “I cannot think of how to get her out of there.”

“Nor I, exactly,” Lady LeFleur said.  “There are too many lesser and greater spirits at the feast, and most have no interest in being reasonable, but if we do not get her out of there, she may well dance forever.  If the fire is not extinguished before sunrise, she will be trapped, and you might not see her again until next Beltain.”

At that moment, one beautiful and utterly naked woman came to the edge of the circle and stared at the watchers.  Fifteen-year-old Tomberlain’s blood got the better of his tongue.  The woman laughed, seductively, and reached for the boy.  His hand started to rise, but Grimly slapped it down.

“All hollow,” he said, and the woman, with another short laugh, turned and danced away, and, in fact, from the back she did appear to be hollow, like no more than a woman imposed on a piece of bark that had been stripped from a tree.

“Woodwife,” Grimly named her.

“Not mine,” Margueritte said frankly.  And the more she looked around, the less she saw of her own little ones.

“Fauns.”  Tomberlain pointed.  Sure enough, several goat-hooved creatures came dancing into the circle, adding their pipes to the never-ending music.  Margueritte felt her own feet tap a little at that, until one of the fauns twirled Elsbeth like a ballerina, and then all Margueritte felt was anger.

“It is getting too strong,” Lady LeFleur admitted.  “There is one chance, but I have hesitated because I will face consequences, and it is very dangerous.”

“I will defend you.”  Tomberlain spoke up too quickly.  He became keen to play a part and win some knightly honor.

“And I am sure you will, good sir, but perhaps not this evening.”  Lady LeFleur smiled for his sake.

“Unsavories.”  Goldenrod whispered in Margueritte’s ear, though Margueritte did not feel sure what that meant.  All at once, Lady LeFleur let out a great cry.  She let out a call that echoed all through the woods, and with such force, if not volume, Margueritte wondered if it might wake her parents, miles from there.  The music stopped and a hush fell on the crowd in the circle.  Then, there came an echoing cry, near to hand, and it came with such evil intent, Margueritte screamed.  The fire went out.  The feasters all vanished.  Elsbeth collapsed to the ground and Grimly and Lady LeFleur rushed to her side.  Tomberlain got distracted by the sound of horse hooves on the rocks, and fortunately for him, Margueritte got distracted with him.

“What a magnificent beast,” Tomberlain breathed.

“No!”  Margueritte shouted once more, having some idea of what the horse was; but the enchantment fell very strong on Tomberlain.  The beast drew him in like an insect to the light.  There was nothing Margueritte could do but rush ahead of her brother and leap on the horse’s back.  Immediately, the horse took to the air and headed at great speed toward the sea.

M3 Margueritte: Beltane, part 1 of 3

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When Margueritte awoke, she could not wait to tell Elsbeth all about her adventures with Gerraint, son of Erbin and Ali the thief and Bodanagus the king.  She leapt out of bed and then remembered her ankle which still hurt though it was not nearly as swollen as it had been.  All the same, she limped as fast as she could to Elsbeth’s room where she cracked the door and peeked. Elsbeth was still fast asleep, and Little White Flower slept on the pillow above Elsbeth’s head.

Margueritte frowned and closed the door as quietly as possible.  She felt disappointed as she returned to her own comfy covers.  She saw castles, and Gwynyvar, and Arthur, and everything.  Rhiannon was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen.  And there were battles, and monsters, and intrigue and romance.  They had everything!  By contrast, Margueritte felt her life was so dull.

“Sheep and dogs.”  She described it.  “And Latin every Wednesday.”  She pulled the covers over her head.

Marta came in.  “And so?  We are awake.”  Marta said, as she pulled out Margueritte’s favorite dress.  Margueritte uncovered, and when Marta picked up her matching red slippers, Margueritte could not help herself.

“Shoes!  Shoes!”  Margueritte shouted and giggled.

For all of her acceptance, in the end, Lady Brianna had the hardest time adjusting to having the little ones around.  Lord Bartholomew had no trouble getting the little ones to earn their supper, when he could find them.  He even got to where he could look Hammerhead in the eye.  Luckless and Redux, of course, hit it off right away, while Grimly found a place acting as page for the young Squire, Tomberlain.  He also became invaluable breeding the Arabians and mixing them into the herd to produce just the right horse for his lordship—one which he finally hoped would actually be a winner.  Lolly the dwarf and Marta ended up good friends, because it turned out Lolly also preferred a clean and tidy house.  Marta finally had her help, and she and Lolly even began to tell jokes about how, in the face of work, Maven could disappear quicker than an elf.  And then there was Elsbeth.

Elsbeth and Little White Flower became inseparable.  They went everywhere and did everything together, whatever it was they did.  Margueritte felt a little left out until she found Goldenrod one-day, peeking at her from the tree over her head.

“Come down,” Margueritte called, and her new puppy, a gift from the queen, barked, excited.

“Can’t,” Goldenrod insisted.  “The beast might get me.”

“Come down,” Margueritte said again.  “Puppy won’t bother you.  He just gets excited, that’s all.  He loves Little White Flower,” which was true enough.

Goldenrod shook her head vigorously.

“If you come down and get big, you will be much bigger than Puppy,” Margueritte suggested.  Goldenrod scrunched up her face.  Her little head had not thought of that.

“Okay,” she said grandly as she flitted in her mind from one position to another without an afterthought of any kind, the way Fairies do.  She was down in a flash and stood looking for all the world like a fourteen or fifteen-year-old girl, which Margueritte calculated meant she was actually about seventy years old.

Puppy stood up to her thigh and panted, and she petted the beast grandly and eventually got down beside Margueritte, looking like a true young woman and making Margueritte feel very girlish as she had not quite turned twelve.

“You’ve been watching for days,” Marguerite pointed out.  “But never close enough to call.”

“Yes, but I wanted to see,” Goldenrod responded in pure honesty.  “Mother said we are not supposed to bother you, even though we now know who you are.  She said it would be just awful if all the little ones flocked to the Triangle. Why, the crops would all be trampled there, and nothing would grow quite right anywhere else.  She said we all have our work to do and we should stick to it, and that doing a good job is what you really want, anyway.”

“But you could not resist coming to see,” Marguerite said, not even bothering to put it as a question.

“Exactly,” Goldenrod said.

“You are a little rebellious, huh?”

“Yes.  I guess I am.”

“I was just thinking of being a little rebellious myself,” Margueritte admitted.  “I am going to be twelve, you know, and that is almost a teenager.”

Goldenrod’s face lit up with heartbreaking joy.  She took Margueritte’s hand without thinking about what she was doing.  “We could be rebellious together,” she said with such contagious excitement it got Puppy to his feet and his tail wagging again.

Margueritte held on to that hand, freely.  “That would be great,” she admitted, very much wanting a friend at the moment.  “Only I haven’t decided yet in what way I want to be rebellious.”

“I have a question, too.”  Goldenrod looked suddenly serious.  “What does rebellious mean?”

In any case, it got settled, that Goldenrod would come to visit every chance she got, and that happened often enough.  She usually came to the pasture when Margueritte tended her sheep, because every time she got too close to Sir Barth, his eyes teared up, and his nose filled, and he began to have inexplicable sneezing fits.  But it turned out to be a good thing, that Marguerite and the fairy became friends, because on the night of Mayday, Margueritte got awakened by a tapping on her window.  It happened around midnight.  The moon looked nearly full, and the light made a bright square and splash across the floor.

At first Marguerite thought a stick broke off the old oak and got caught in the roofing.  She imagined it hanging down, tapping on her glass.  That happened once, long ago.  The minute she opened her window to see what was the matter, however, Goldenrod fluttered in, all in a rush.

“It’s Elsbeth.”  Goldenrod panted, overexerted.  “Little White Flower has taken her to the hills.  There are unsavories there.  Come quick.”

Margueritte understood that Elsbeth was in a risky situation, but not in trouble yet.  She nodded.  She wisely felt it would be best not to follow the fairy alone, but she had to think a minute.  Father would not do if silence was needed.  All his sneezing would give them away much too soon.  Tomberlain, on the other hand, might be some help, and it also would not hurt to have Grimly and his bits of magic around.

Margueritte tapped her shoulder and Goldenrod came to stand there and held tight to Margueritte’s hair.  “Not another word.”  Margueritte whispered and Goldenrod nodded, though Marguerite could hardly see her from that angle.  Slowly and quietly, they went out onto the upstairs landing.  Margueritte left her door open for the light she could get through the window.  In Elsbeth’s room, sure enough, Elsbeth and Little White Flower were not to be found.  Margueritte left the door to Elsbeth’s room open as well, and that gave her just a little more light to see.  She could not do anything about the creaking floorboards.

Tomberlain was hard to wake, and she had to cover his mouth to keep him from shouting.  His eyes got big, but he recognized his sister and the worried look on her face and quickly his startled look changed to curiosity and concern.  Grimly got up immediately when they entered the room.  He helped wake the boy, but then Margueritte had to explain.

“Elsbeth has run off,” she said.  “She and Little White Flower have gone into the woods at night and Goldenrod fears there may be trouble.”

“We should wake father,” Tomberlain said, almost too loud.

“Shh.  No,” Margueritte responded.  “We don’t want her in trouble, just to fetch her home, safely.”

Tomberlain nodded, rose, and dressed quickly.  He tied his long knife to his belt and Grimly also grabbed his own weapon.  “But how far is it?”  Tomberlain asked.

“Far, far.”  Goldenrod squeaked in her little whisper.

“No good.”  Grimly did whisper.  “Can’t walk in time and dare not take time for horses.”

Margueritte thought briefly about being in her nightgown.  Seeing Tomberlain dressed made her think, but she imagined she had no time to change.  She needed to think of something else, and at last she had an idea.  “Come on,” Margueritte said, and lead them back into Elsbeth’s room where Maven had been cleaning earlier in the day and lazily left things stacked in the corner.  “Can you help us fly?” she asked Goldenrod.

“Oh no,” Goldenrod said seriously.  “You are much too big for my little magic.  I’m not nearly old enough for that.”

“As I thought,” Margueritte said.  “But can you make this broom fly?”  She pulled it from the corner.  Goldenrod flitted back and forth a couple of times.

“I think, yes, maybe.”  She sounded uncertain.  She sprinkled golden dust on the broom, spoke some words of the first tongue which were almost unintelligible.  She scrunched her little face in such a concentrated effort, Margueritte felt sure she would get a little headache, if she did not pass out altogether.  All at once, the broom jerked in Margueritte’s hand, and she had to hold it down.

“Steady,” she told the broom.  “Wait for us.”  Though she imagined she had no power to perform the magic herself, because of her special relationship with the little ones, she did have some ability to control their magic, once the magic was performed.

M3 Margueritte: And Secrets, part 3 of 3

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Sir Bartholomew stepped back a step on seeing the doctor disappear, but quickly recovered and turned to Grimly and Luckless the Dwarf.  He tried hard not to look up at the ogre.  “And what can I do for you gentlemen?” he asked.

Luckless stepped up again.  “Actually,” he said.  “We were kind of hoping we could stick around for a while.”  He looked at Grimly who nodded vigorously, and at Hammerhead, who was not sure what was happening.

Sir Barth took another step back and looked to the girls and to his wife.  Surprisingly, Lady Brianna did not seem to have any objections, while Elsbeth quickly said, “Please.”

“Pleasy,” Little White Flower echoed.

“But.”  Bartholomew hardly knew what to say.  “Where will they stay?” he asked.

“Under the hill, under the barn,” Margueritte suggested quickly.  “They dig fast and well, and no one need ever know they are there.”

“Aha!  But what will we feed them?”  Bartholomew thought he had the right idea.  “We can’t possibly feed the lot of them for free.”

“I understand fairies need only a little milk and some bread for sustenance,” Lady Brianna said, and Sir Barth knew he was already outvoted.

“And berries.”  Little White Flower spoke up from Elsbeth’s hair and shoulder.  Elsbeth giggled because it tickled.  “I like berries.”

“I can cook a bit,” Lolly chimed in.  “I been practicing, er, ‘bout four hundred years.  I ought to be pretty good by now, so wouldn’t be for free.”

“You ought to be good,” Luckless mumbled.

“Never heard you complaining yet,” Lolly shot at him and Lady Brianna covered her grin.

“M’lord.”  Redux the blacksmith stepped forward.  “I would be pleased to learn from this good dwarf, all of whom are known to be experts in the smithy crafts.”

“I’m no expert,” Luckless said, as he straightened his helmet which was a bit large and had begun to slip to one side.  He paused, but then rubbed his hands.  “Still, it would be good to get my hands on a good furnace again.  All play and no work makes for a fat dwarf.”

“No.  It’s my good cookin’,” Lolly said and smiled from ear to ear, literally.

“And Grimly the brownie.”  Margueritte gave him the Breton name rather than the Frankish “hobgoblin.”  “He can help in the fields.  Gnomes are known to be very good with crops and bring bounty and blessing.”

“So, it would not be feeding them for free.”  Brianna summed it up.

Bartholomew put his hand to his chin.  “Ah!” he said at last.  “But what about this big one.  He looks like he could eat a horse for breakfast.”

Grimly stepped straight up to the lord who had to look straight down to pay attention.  “You got a problem with rocks and boulders in your fields?  Like who doesn’t in these parts?  You got a problem with sandy soil and needing tons of fertilizer?  Like who doesn’t around here?  You got stumps and things to clear, and sink holes and little hillocks and the like?  Well, my friend can fix all that, and better than a whole herd of oxen and bunches of you human beans.”

“Beings,” Margueritte corrected, then held her tongue.

Sir Barth thought a minute longer before he turned to Margueritte.  “Can you guarantee their good behavior?  I’ve heard some pretty strange stories, as have you.”

“Well.”  Margueritte hesitated.  “No, father, I cannot promise.”

“That’s right.”  Lolly stuck up for her Great Lady.  “The gods never make promises.”

“’sright.”  Luckless confirmed.

“But they will be loyal and faithful and won’t hurt anybody.  Isn’t that right?”  All the little ones agreed to that and swore mightily.

Sir Barth looked around at his men, and especially at Marta and Maven.  “If any one of you ever says anything about this to anyone at any time, I will not rest until I find out who did the telling and it will be worse for them than if they had never been born.”  His men and women also swore they would keep it all a secret, though they did not swear nearly as colorfully as the little ones.  Margueritte knew the Franks, and even Marta and Maven would keep their word, at least up to a point.  She also knew the little one’s word was hardly worth the breath it took to say it, but her father seemed satisfied.

“Let’s go home,” he said.

They rounded up the horses and found a half dozen Arabians added to the spoils.  Those horses carried the dead who would be buried by the chapel, but already Lord Bartholomew’s mind turned to breeding.  He thought the right combination of Arabian and Frankish charger would be a horse that could finally beat the Gray Ghost.

Luckless, constantly straightened his helmet and walked beside Redux.  “Got a wife?”  Margueritte heard him ask.

“No,” Redux answered.

“Lucky man,” Luckless said.  “I can see maybe there’s a thing or two I could learn myself.”

Margueritte, knew how good the ears of a lady dwarf really were and felt surprised Lolly had no comment to shout.  Then she saw her in the cart with Marta and Maven.  Marta reached out to touch the dwarf like one might fear to touch a leper.  Maven was already looking for a comfortable spot for twenty more winks.

“Lady.”  Margueritte heard and almost answered before she realized Little White Flower was speaking to her mother.  “Can I spend the night in Elsbeth’s room?  Pleasy?”

Lady Brianna laughed and nodded.  She understood this would become a regular thing.  Both Elsbeth and Little White Flower cheered.

Margueritte then looked back to the end of the small procession, just past the third wagon.  Hammerhead walked slowly to keep from accidentally kicking the last wagon.  He grinned ever so broadly, and Margueritte felt glad no one else looked back.  The sight of an ogre grinning was not something normal people would ever want to see.

“So, it’s you and me.”  Margueritte heard Grimly’s voice, but the brownie was obscured by the wagon where she could not see him.  When the ogre did not respond, probably because he did not hear the little voice, being lost in his own though, in the singular, Grimly floated up until he got to ear level.  He leaned in, spoke right into the ogre’s ear and cupped his hands for the extra volume.  “I said, so it’s you and me.”

Hammerhead dumbly turned his head in the direction of the sound and bumped Grimly who flew back and down and landed smack in a mud puddle.  “Sorry,” Hammerhead said, sincerely.  He tried to whisper so as not to frighten the beasts or the people.  Margueritte laughed.

Come evening, Margueritte could not help dreaming of little ones, but oddly, she also dreamed of Gerraint, son of Erbin that Thomas of Evandell sang so well about.  At least it seemed like a dream, at first.

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

MONDAY

Beltane, because, you know, for every fall festival there has to be a spring festival.  Until Monday, Happy Reading

*

M3 Margueritte: And Secrets, part 2 of 3

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A crack of lightening split a rogue apple tree down the middle, and a roar came that sounded like thunder.  “I am here.”  Horses danced and skidded away in pure fright, and everyone paused, in the midst of their life or death struggles, to look.

They saw three men, dressed resplendently for battle.  They all glowed a bit with an unearthly glow.  Somehow, Margueritte knew them all by name.  Birch, the eldest fee, stood full sized, big as a man.  He had gray hair like a well-seasoned warrior.  He came dressed all in German-like chain mail of black and silver, though much finer than any German made chain, and the silver looked to be real silver.  Beside him stood young Larchmont, also a full-sized fairy lord, dressed like a druid prince in black and gold that matched his golden hair.  The third was a sight, in wooden chest protection, feathers on his head, a wicked looking war club in one hand and a wooden shield in the other on which the thunderbird had been painted.  Yellow Leaf was his name, and he was not long arrived from the other side of the world.

Beside those three fairy lords, there were three more figures.  Grimly, the hobgoblin stood only three feet tall, pink faced, and dressed all in green like a midget Robin Hood, but no one doubted the determination written all over his grim face, and no one wanted any part of the long knife he brandished with what appeared to be great skill.  Beside him, and a foot taller, stood Luckless the dwarf.  His armor showed neither gold, nor silver, but it looked ancient as if made before human beings ever entered that part of the world, and it also looked like it hardly fit him.  The double headed ax he held, however, appeared to fit him very well.  Last came Hammerhead, the ogre, the youngster from Banner Bein.  He stood eight feet tall, almost as broad in the shoulders and ugly enough to make a stomach turn just to look at him.  The tree trunk of a club he held over his shoulder seemed superfluous.

Lord Birch spoke first into the stunned silence.  “Unhand the Lady.”  He pointed his glimmering steel at the two who held Brianna to the ground.  They did not argue.  They let go immediately and backed away.

Margueritte took that moment to try wriggling again.  “Let go of me.”

“Yes!”  Luckless the dwarf yelled to gain everyone’s attention.  “Let go of our special lady.”

The soldier that held Margueritte did not move and may have even tightened his grip a little out of pure, unthinking fear.

Hammerhead took one step forward and opened his mouth like a shark, wide enough to bite a man’s head off and showed several rows of teeth.  “Let-Her-Go!” he said like thunder and with a great wind that exploded from his gut.

The soldier dropped Marguerite like a hot coal, screamed, and ran off down the road the way he came without even stopping to collect a horse.

Margueritte fell hard onto the mud and rocks.  Concern quickly crossed the faces of Sir Barth and Lady Brianna, but it passed when Margueritte came up laughing, wrinkled her nose and waved her hand through the air.

“Good Lord, Hammerhead,” she said.  “When was the last time you brushed your teeth?”

“I’m supposed to brush them?”  Hammerhead responded in his more normal deep gravel, and honestly, quite scary enough voice.

The Franks laughed, however nervously.  The Saracens were mortified to finally realize that these apparitions actually answered to the young girl.  Immediately they began to grab what horses they could, and each other, to run, except Ahlmored, who took the distraction to take a swing at Bartholomew.  Sir Barth was not so distracted, though, when any enemy threatened his flank.  He blocked the swing of the sword and followed up with a thrust of his own that went right under Lord Ahlmored’s chinstrap, through his throat, and out the back of his neck.  It only stopped against the chain that draped down from the back of Ahlmored’s helmet.  With that, the enemies were all gone.

“Tomberlain!”  Margueritte remembered.  Tomberlain moaned and tried to sit up.  He bled beneath his helmet.

“Luckless!”  Margueritte turned quickly.  “Is there a doctor?”

“Doctor Pincher might be available,” he said with a bow.

Margueritte grinned at the name and made the call.  “Doctor Pincher,” she commanded his attention in a voice she did not know she had.  Doctor Pincher, a half dwarf, appeared out of thin air.  He looked confused at first until Luckless pointed to Margueritte.

“Ah, so it is true,” he said.  “Great Lady.”  He bowed low to Margueritte, but she was concerned for her brother.

“Tomberlain.”  She pointed.  “He got bonked on the head.  Help my brother.”

“Hmm.  Let me see.”  The doctor drew a big black bag out from the inside of his coat, though the bag clearly looked bigger than any pocket he might have had inside the coat.  Immediately, he helped Tomberlain remove his helmet and quickly announced, “It’s only a flesh wound.  Nothing to worry about.”

Margueritte then remembered her manners.  “Thank you, Lord Birch.  Thank you, Lord Larchmont.  Thank you, Lord Yellow Leaf and welcome to this side of the Atlantic.” The three fairy Lords bowed without a word and became small together and flew off into the woods.  Lady Brianna crawled up beside her daughter and helped Margueritte and herself to their feet.  She held Margueritte because Margueritte appeared to have twisted her ankle a little.

“Thank you Grimly, Luckless, and dear Hammerhead,” Margueritte said.

As she held her daughter and saw for a moment as if through Margueritte’s eyes, Lady Brianna asked her daughter a quick question.  “Are all these yours?”

“Yes, indeed, m’lady.”  Grimly tipped his green hat.

“No, mother,” Margueritte answered.  “They belong to themselves as we belong to ourselves, but sometimes they help me and do what I ask, and I am always grateful.”  She smiled for her mother because her mother seemed to understand far more than most would on such short notice.

“And the unicorn?”  Sir Barth asked.

Brianna answered for her daughter.  “No dear.  Nothing so grand.  Only the littlest spirits and certainly not even all of them.”

“Elsbeth!”  Lady Brianna and Margueritte reacted together.  They paused to listen and heard giggles come from under the wagon.  They peeked.  Elsbeth lay on her back and tried in vain to catch the fairy that buzzed around her face, and she giggled.  Beside her was a dwarf wife who held her cooking spoon like a war club.

“Is it safe?”  The dwarf wife asked.

“Yes Lolly.”  Margueritte called the spirit by her name.  “You and Little White Flower can come out now.”

“Elsbeth.  Stop playing with the fairy and come out here so I can look at you.”

“Aw, Mother,” Elsbeth protested, but complied.  Little White Flower grabbed onto Elsbeth’s hair, came with her and took a seat on Elsbeth’s shoulder.  “This is Little White Flower.”  Elsbeth introduced her friend.  “And this is Lolly, my other friend, even though she is threatening to make me learn to cook.”

“Hmm.”  Lady Brianna saw that her daughter was unhurt.  “That would take some very strong magic.”

“Well, that’s that,” Doctor Pincher interrupted.  “All bandaged, disinfected and cleaned.  Some dead though.”  Three Saracens and one of the Franks would move no more.  Two other Franks were bandaged, but like Tomberlain, neither had been wounded too seriously.  The Africans seemed to have taken their wounded with them, which spoke well for their training to have done so despite the loss of their leader, and the fact that they were frightened out of their minds.  “If you don’t mind my saying, you might tell these mudders it would not hurt to get clean once in a while.  The water won’t melt them, mud though they be.”

“Thank you, Doctor Pincher,” Margueritte said.

“Yes, thank you,” Lady Brianna added.

“Ahem.”  The doctor coughed.  “Don’t mention it, but I do have lots of ‘pointments this afternoon.”  He whipped out a list which stretched to the ground.  No one asked where his black bag went.

“Oh, yes,” Margueritte said.  “Go home.”  She waved her hand and the dwarf instantly vanished.

M3 Margueritte: And Secrets, part 1 of 3

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The afternoon got spent with Maven again, shopping, while Tomberlain went with the boys to practice feats of skill and stupidity, as Margueritte had come to call them.  Sir Barth and Brianna also made the rounds before they had to get ready for the feast and the evening festivities at the king’s court.  For most of the time, Roan and Morgan were not too carefully shadowing the girls.  Margueritte once pulled Elsbeth quickly behind a booth while Maven went after some sweets and when the fools came racing up to look every which way for the girls, she and Elsbeth jumped out.

“Surprise!”  Margueritte stomped on Roan’s foot as hard as she could and Elsbeth kicked Morgan in the shins.

“Girls?”  Maven turned around.

“Here Maven,” Marguerite said, sweetly.

“Don’t do that,” Maven breathed and completely ignored the two men hopping around, each on one foot.  “I lost you once.  I’ll not lose you again.”  Margueritte simply smiled.

Not long after that, the fat old village chief, Brian himself caught up with them.  He came decked out in a long blue robe with gold trim and looked every bit a prince, though he was not.  He also had the chain and oversized symbol of his office around his neck, and Elsbeth laughed at the way it bounced off his plump tummy with each step.  He wanted to know a bit more about the unicorn.  He could not quite grasp that the unicorn had a plain, silver horn rather than one colored like the rainbow.  “Or at least white,” he said.  “Maybe it just looked gray in the dark of the woods.”

“No, it was gray,” Margueritte said, as her eye caught a sight, she felt surprised to see.  A little gnome pinched a sweet.  She gasped.  Suddenly she saw a dozen little ones, imps, brownies, pixies, and the like, all taking little bits of food and drink here and there.  A snatch of cloth and a broken needle, and she wondered why no one noticed, but then she realized they were all invisible to mortal eyes, except her own.

“What a shame,” Brian said.  “If only I could believe you.  What a wonderful find that would be, to catch and preserve a real, live unicorn, right here in my village.  Prosperity and health would be ours forever.”

“No.”  Margueritte shook her head.  “A unicorn can heal the heart, only.  It is not a fertility or prosperity beast.”

“And how do you know this?”  Brian asked.

“Well, I’m not sure.”  Margueritte said, as Elsbeth reached for her hand, curious at what could be on her sister’s mind.  Immediately, Elsbeth had to stifle a shriek since on touching her sister, she saw all that her sister saw.  “But I think that is right.  You understand unicorns are greater spirits, way beyond my little ones.”

“Your little ones?”  Brian tried to follow.

“Mmm,” Margueritte said.  “Like these.”  She took Brian’s hand and pointed.  Brian saw and gasped.  Maven reached to move Margueritte along, thinking the conversation had finished, but as she touched Margueritte’s shoulder, she also saw and screamed.  Some of the little ones ignored the scream and assumed it was what “mudders” did once in a while, but some looked up, and one particularly little gnome-like dwarf leapt up on a table and shouted.

“We been had!”  With that the Pixies, elves, and hobgoblins vanished from the fairgrounds in a matter of seconds. Elsbeth hugged her sister and whispered in her ear.

“Do it again.”

Chief Brian went off, silent in the wonder of his vision, his great iron symbol of office bouncing all the way.

Maven stopped screaming after a while.

That evening when the fires were put out, there were no untoward incidents.  Tomberlain chose that time to tell the story he heard about the robbers of Cairn Brees and how they broke into the tombs of the kings in search of booty.  When the next Samhain came, the ghosts of the kings and queens rose-up in the dark and exacted a terrible vengeance on those unfortunates.  He did a fairly good job for an amateur storyteller.  Margueritte felt frightened at the proper time.  Maven laughed.  Marta did not say a word the whole next day.  Elsbeth did not speak to her brother for a whole week.

The next day, the day of Samhain felt like a bit of a let-down.  Much of it got spent in the company of Lady Lavinia who took the girls to many of the same places they had already visited with Maven, except she made them talk and name everything the whole time in Latin.  Every time Elsbeth got something nearly right, Lavinia praised her.  Every time Marguerite so much as conjugated incorrectly, she got scolded.  Margueritte noticed.

After that, they began to dream of home and being in their own rooms and sleeping in their own beds.  Even Tomberlain said as much, and they started out early in the day, nearly at daybreak, so apparently, it was a well shared feeling.  Around ten that morning, a strong drizzle started, which did not help their spirits, but perhaps hustled up their feet.  They passed the coast road and the south road, and the rain slackened off.  They got within three bends of the triangle when they stopped completely.  Behind them they heard the sound of many horses coming up fast.

They had no time to get the wagons away safely, so Sir Barth ordered Redux, Andrew and John-James on their honor to guard the women, and especially the children.  When he turned to face the horsemen, they had already arrived.  The Moors appeared, and their swords were drawn.  The melee began at once along with Elsbeth’s scream.  Margueritte joined her scream when they saw Tomberlain knocked from his horse by a wicked hit on the head.

Few of the men were able to keep to their horses on the slippery grass and in the mud and rain.  Slick saddles sent men to the ground while horses sauntered off into the woods, away from the commotion.  Margueritte found herself and Elsbeth pushed down into the wagon and a wet, woolen blanket thrown hastily over them by their mother.

Lady Brianna sat still with a dagger in her hand while Redux the blacksmith took the tool he brought for the wagon wheels, something like a tire iron, and faced off with one of the enemy.  Brianna got startled, when one came up behind her, still on horseback.  She spun with the knife and cut the man’s hand, and then thought fast and kicked the horse which bucked and threw its’ rider.  With her back turned, however, it became easy for two strong hands to grab her from behind and pull her from the wagon seat.  It took two of them to hold her, and even then, it was only because she landed flat on the ground, on her back, and had no leverage.  Unfortunately, she had dropped the knife.

Margueritte, who thought, “Way to go, Mother,” when Brianna cut her attacker, cried out when her mother got grabbed from behind.  She reached out of the blanket to try and catch her mother and keep her from being dragged from the cart, but it was too far to reach.  Then, she felt herself lifted right out of the back of the wagon, and though she kicked, her feet could not quite reach the ground.

“Let me go!” she screamed and wriggled.  “Help!” she yelled.  “Hammerhead!” It was the first name that came to mind.  Perhaps she did not think at all but merely bubbled something up from her unconscious.  Her mother and Tomberlain were both down and who knew in what condition.  Elsbeth was surely no help, and her father fought face to face with Lord Ahlmored who kept shouting, “Save me the woman and the older girl.  Kill the rest.”  So Margueritte shouted for Hammerhead, odd as it seemed.  Odder still was the fact that he answered.

M3 Margueritte: Tales, part 3 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

“Wait outside,” Sir Barth told the girls, and Brianna went to retrieve them while a worried looking queen gladly placed the children in their mother’s hands.  Margueritte and Elsbeth got hustled out and Thomas of Evandell followed.  He saw Lady Brianna torn between care for her children and the need to support her husband.

“I will take them safely to your Maven, is it?”

Brianna nodded to thank him but said nothing.  She returned right away to the great hall.

“So, girls,” Thomas began.  “Let me see if I have got this straight.”

Margueritte looked up.  “You’re not going to make a song, are you?”

“And a good tale to boot.”  Thomas grinned.  “Though I would not worry about it.  I may fudge a few things.  Can’t let the facts stand in the way of a good story, you know.”  He grinned ear to ear.  He made a nice, friendly grin.

The rest of that afternoon got spent with Maven in the market area.  Maven, it seemed, loved shopping all the more when it got her out of work.  By the time they went home for supper, the girls were all tired out.  As they walked in and sat at the children’s table where Tomberlain sat and had a sour face at still being counted among the children, Baron Bernard was talking.  It seemed they were all still trying to keep Sir Barth’s anger under control.

“Apparently, this has been building for some time,” the baron said.  “I suspect the Saracens will be invited to leave after this fracas.”

“Thrown out on his ear would be better,” Sir Barth grumped.

“Have his bags packed for him,” Constantus suggested while he cut off the pig’s ear, his favorite part when it got burnt and crispy.  “I’m sorry I missed it.”

“Yes, where were you?”  Bartholomew asked.

“I thought the Gray Ghost had taken a stone, if you must know.  It would have put him right out of the running.  But no such luck for you.  He is fine and I am looking forward to the race tomorrow.”

“Ha!”  Bartholomew finally perked up a little.  “I’ve a new horse this year that Tomberlain and I have most carefully trained.  I call him the Winner.”

“I did not know you named the horse,” Lady Brianna said, innocently.

Lord Bartholomew looked at her and rolled his eyes.  “I didn’t.”  He looked at the others.  “But it seems a good name to me now.  What do you think, Tom?”

“Winner.”  Tomberlain spoke up from the small table, but his heart was not in it.

“Eat.”  Margueritte encouraged her brother.

“All right for you,” he said.  “You still are one of the children.”

“And you are my biggest and bestest brother in the whole world,” she said.  “And I would be heartbroken if you wasted away for not eating.”  Tomberlain smiled, but did not dig in.  “Besides, I have seen you attack food like a general on the battlefield.  I sometimes wonder if there is anything you will not eat.”  Tomberlain grinned a little more.  “Isn’t that right, Elsbeth?”

Elsbeth muttered something unintelligible.  She looked all but asleep in her soup.  Not much later, Lord Bartholomew and Lady Brianna rose from the table.

“To bed, children,” the lady said.  No one argued.  All were tired.

“Winner versus the Gray Ghost!”  Sir Barth laughed, but it was serious business.

Sure enough, in the early hours of the morning, the Lord Ahlmored and all his people were escorted out of town by some fifty men at arms.  Sir Barth cheered.  Baron Bernard shrugged.  Constantus the Roman was not around being, no doubt, with the Gray Ghost, or still in bed.  Aden the Convert showed up to talk to Lady Brianna.

“It was not pretty,” he said.  “Duredain the druid has finally gotten his way.  Luckily, I reminded the king that he knew my mother and father and the service my father did for his father.  I may have been twenty years at Iona, but I am a native Breton, born in Amorica which is still my home and Urbon is still my king.  With that, the king relented a little and did not talk exile, but he strictly charged me not to speak the name of Jesus the Christ in his presence, or, on Duredain’s insistence, among his people who might accidentally speak the name in the king’s presence.  The king said he had heard enough about prophets and sons of God for his lifetime.”

“But what will you do?”  Lady Brianna sympathized.

“I will speak of my lord and savior to whomever will listen,” he said with a smile.  “If young Marguerite can be so bold right at the king’s feet, who am I to be afraid when I am miles from the king’s feet?”

“Good for you,” Bartholomew said, and both looked up at him.  He gave a slightly embarrassed shrug before he explained.  “A man always has the right to follow his own conscience and pity the man who doesn’t.  Hardly qualifies to be called a man.”

“All the same,” Aden said.  “I would like to come and stay in your chapel now and then if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Brianna said quickly.  “Anytime.”  Lord Bartholomew, however, rolled his eyes and imagined all the pilgrims it would attract to tromp across his fields.

Lord Bartholomew came in second that year, but he was as close to Constantus as he had ever been.  Third got taken by Finnian McVey, and people wondered how this Irishman, in so short a time, had come into such grace with the king to be picked to ride the king’s best steed.  Finnian might well have won the race if he had not been penalized for “accidentally” whipping his opponents with his crop a couple of times.  “You Breton don’t know how to properly race,” was all he said.

At the noon meal, Thomas of Evandell, as was his custom, came in to entertain the children with a taste of what their parents would get in the evening.  He just began the tale of how Gerraint, son of Erbin, became so jealous for his wife, he drove her into the wilderness, when the door suddenly slammed open.  Curdwallah the hag stepped into the inn, and Elsbeth hid her face in Tomberlain’s shoulder rather than look at the witch.  Curdwallah cocked one crooked eye at the children.  The eyes looked more bugged out and hungry than ever to Margueritte and she dared not look directly into them, even for a moment.  Curdwallah made an almost imperceptible wave to the two who were sitting in the dark corner and then she headed to the stairs, a short cackling laugh touching the corners of her lips.

Finnian and the village druid, Canto, were nursing their cider.  Margueritte did not think they were there to spy on Thomas, but rather they seemed to be eyeing the children, and especially herself, though for what nefarious purpose, she could not guess.  Thomas took that moment to lean over and whisper.

“They say there is not such a mystery to the death of Curdwallah’s husband and sons.  They say she waited until her sons were plump and juicy and then she boiled them and ate them down to the bones.  They say her husband found out, but in her wicked strength she overcame him and strung him from the ceiling like a spider strings its’ prey.  Slowly, they say, ever so slowly she sucked the living blood out of his veins and when she had feasted, she buried the man’s shriveled carcass under the Tower DuLac and locked the door and never goes in that way, but climbs to the window one flight up whenever there is something she needs in the Tower.  They say she is a devotee of Abraxas…”

“Stop.  Stop!”  Elsbeth had her face buried in Tomberlain’s shirt and wept.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Thomas said, to comfort Elsbeth.  He placed his hand on her head once he realized he had gone too far for the little one.  “Let me tell you a different story of DuLac which happened long ago when Arthur was king and the great warrior who came from there and the Lady of DuLac.”  He proceeded to tell about Lancelot and gave him his Frankish name.  It was a wonderful story, full of love and honor, and enough battles to keep Tomberlain happy; but Marguerite felt sure Elsbeth would still have nightmares.  It being Samhain, she was not sure she would not have nightmares herself.

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

MONDAY

There are tales the people tell, and the there are secrets revealed that no one will talk about, they hope.  Monday.  Until then, Happy Reading

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M3 Margueritte: Tales, part 2 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

The afternoon began wonderfully, and full of celebration for the newborn child.  “Every child is like the Christ child,” Father Aden said.  But then there were horses in the fens, and four men came up quickly, followed by a fifth some distance away.

“Duredain, the king’s druid,” Bartholomew breathed.  He did not especially like the man, and neither did the people of the fens, many of whom were there under sentence of the druid acting as magistrate for the king.

“Lord Bartholomew.”  The druid was always polite to the Franks, but it seemed thin.

“Roan and Morgan I know,” Sir Barth said.  They were Brian, the chief of Vergen’s deputies.  “But who is this tall, lean one with you?”

“Finnian McVey.”  The man introduced himself.  “Lately arrived from the Irish shore and welcomed to the hospitality of King Urbon’s court.”

“You will cease and desist this distribution at once, on the king’s orders,” Duredain said, getting right to the heart of the matter.  “These men and women have been put to this hardship under penalty of law.  They are not to be aided in their sentence or comforted for their wrongdoing.”

Sir Barth reached up to rub his chin and think of what to say.  In the interim, Lady Brianna and Aden the Convert both spoke in unison.  “Nonsense!”  Fortunately, before the argument could begin, the fifth rider arrived; Thomas of Evandell, the king’s bard.

“Lord and Lady Bartholomew.”  He shouted from some distance to gain the attention of all.  “Lord and Lady Bartholomew.”  He repeated when he arrived.  “The king requests your presence in the court at this time.  Would you be so kind as to accompany me?”

“The girls.”  Lady Brianna voiced her first thought, and Father Aden nodded for her sake to indicate that they would be safely escorted home.

“Actually.”  Thomas negated the whole arrangement.  “The king has asked if you would bring the girls, if it is not inconvenient.  He has heard stories and wonders if he may hear more of the truth of the matter.”

Duredain the druid squinted at the girls.  He had not anticipated this, but it did make his job easier.  “Yes,” he said.  “I, too would like to hear about these things.”  He snapped at Roan and Morgan who did not get it at first but realized soon enough that their mounts were required.  They reluctantly got to their feet in the unfriendly crowd.  Sir Barth got up on one horse and took Elsbeth in his lap.  Margueritte got up behind her mother on the other horse and held on tight around her middle.  As they left the fens, she saw Aden the Convert try to turn the men to their drink.  The men seemed determined, en-mass, to scare the pants off Roan and Morgan who, after a moment of hesitation, fairly ran for their lives to the sound of much laughter.

“You bet your bippy,” Margueritte said in a language she did not know, and she laughed without having the least idea why she laughed.

In the house with the wooden towers, which was clearly more of a fort than a proper castle, Margueritte looked at everything while Elsbeth ignored it all.  Margueritte saw a great skill in the tapestries and that all the furnishings were well made and well kept.  Elsbeth yawned until they came to the armed guards and entered the courtroom.  The king sat at the end of the room with the queen beside him.  Everyone else stood, except for Brian, the very overweight village chief, who had a little chair off to the side, and Canto, his druid, stood there with him.  Duredain and Thomas went to one knee before rising.  Lord and Lady Bartholomew nodded their heads and simply said, “Your Majesties.”

“I have heard some strange tidings concerning these daughters of yours,” the king said and did not wait for the niceties.  He looked at the girls and Margueritte curtsied and nudged Elsbeth to do the same, which she did after a thought.

“Your majesty,” Margueritte said, as she momentarily looked down to keep her balance.

“Majesty.”  Elsbeth echoed.

Margueritte looked at the queen.  She heard so little about her, Margueritte could not even remember the woman’s name, but she looked like a nice older lady, and the queen smiled for her.

“Come.”  The queen spoke up to her husband’s surprise who still scrutinized the girls with his best, practiced glare.  “Come and tell me all about it,” the queen prompted.  Margueritte accepted the invitation, and Elsbeth followed.  When she sat at the queen’s feet, Elsbeth beside her, there arose some consternation in the gallery.  The king said nothing, however, as it was apparently what the queen intended.  The gallery became mollified and snickered a little when Elsbeth’s seven-year-old finger went to her nose.

“Well, it all started…” Margueritte began her story, and she told it almost word for word, exactly as she told her parents.  She stuck strictly to the truth as well as she remembered it.  The queen asked very few questions and the king asked none and only spoke at the beginning when the queen lit up at the word dance and said how she, too, loved to dance.

“You have the Maying, woman.  And that is enough dance for the year,” the king said.

When Margueritte finished, she felt satisfied that the real story had gotten out in spite of Elsbeth’s interruptions and embellishments.  And when the king and queen were silent, the king opened the floor to questions from the court.

Duredain the druid became one of the first to step up.  “You say you slapped this ogre, this very force of nature itself, and he crashed against the wall and fell unconscious?”

“Yes sir,” Margueritte answered forthrightly.

“And how is it that you, a little girl, were able to do this?” he asked with a smirk.

“I do not know sir,” Margueritte said honestly.  “Unless it was by the grace of God.”  She swallowed and added, “I am a Christian, you know.”  She looked to her mother and saw pride in her mother’s eyes.  Margueritte was not completely unaware of the political implications in her statement.  The queen appeared unmoved by the revelation, but the king sat straight up, and the druid huffed and puffed, but said no more at that time.  Instead he chose to stand warily beside his king.

“And how is it that lightning came from your fingers to strike the imp?”  A woman asked.

“I do not know,” Margueritte said.

“And there are no imps handy to show you.”  A man back in the crowd muttered and several of the courtiers laughed.

Far and away, most of the questions were about the unicorn.  Elsbeth could not say enough in praise and told over and over how she was healed of all her fears and torments simply by touching the beauty.  Marguerite, however, did not like the tone of some of the questions.  These were asked mostly by men at arms, hunters all.

At the last, the Lord Ahlmored stepped forward as if he had waited patiently for just the right moment.  “Well I, for one, do not believe a word of it.  Oh, I am sure the young ladies have told what they believe is true, but I suspect the truth is more that some ordinary thieves stole the girl in the woods when they had a chance, no doubt to hold her for ransom.  The lovely Margueritte followed her little sister and probably found a gentle old nag that had come loose of its tether and wandered off in search of a good graze.  Then by mere chance they stumbled on the cave of the thieves, sheep rustlers we might call them.  The leader probably slipped in the doorway to allow the girls to escape, which happens.” Lord Ahlmored shrugged.  “The nag, which was certainly lost and had nowhere else to go, then carried them off before the other thieves could stop them.  I suspect there is no more to the real truth than that.”  He shrugged again like that should be the end of the story and the discussion.  Reason prevailed.

Lord Bartholomew, however, had not been counted on.  Red with fury, he broke Brianna’s hold on him.  “Are you calling my daughters liars?”  He shouted and faced the African who merely smiled and bowed.

“Not at all,” Ahlmored said.  “I did say they honestly believe their own story, but you know how these things get built up in the mind, and especially in the imagination of children.”

Bartholomew only kept back when Baron Bernard and Bernard’s squire, his own son Michael stepped in front of him.  Sir Barth felt steaming mad, but he was not the only one.  Duredain the druid looked ready to spit.  Ogres and unicorns made sense in his world, even if they were encountered by one who had the audacity to speak of this Christ.  Arrogant Moslem ambassadors and their rationalistic “explain-it-away” sentiments, however, were intolerable.  For all his faults, the druid could never tolerate a closed mind.

“You’re a fool, Ahlmored,” he said, as Bartholomew looked at his girls.