Ogre

Avalon 1.5 Little Packages part 4 of 4

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Godus came running back and shouted, even as the sounds of barking and growling reached their ears. “Hurry,” Godus yelled. “The dogs are into the sheep.” He turned and ran back toward the stream.

“Everybody! Come and help,” Dallah yelled, and followed her husband. The travelers followed Reneus, except for Alexis who thought to stay and keep an eye on Doctor Procter. Guns came out, and Roland got out his bow. The people all came, and so did the imps who were generally faster than the people. The elves were fastest, and Roland had one shot before anyone else arrived.

The imps dove into the herd howling, rolling their eyes, waving their big hands, using glamours to make themselves appear big and frightening. They just about scared the boys and sheep to death. The dogs looked like they wanted no part of it either. When Stonecrusher arrived, the dogs ran, but by then the travelers were near enough.

Lockhart got one with the shotgun. Captain Decker and Lieutenant Harper were a little slower, but both brought a dog to the ground. Three escaped, but they looked like they could not run fast enough, and like they might not stop until they were out of that region altogether.

Dallah was one of the last to arrive. “She is not strong,” Reneus explained.

“She won’t eat,” Mya added.

“Mother,” Andor tugged on her dress and Korah stood beside her little brother, her mouth open.

“Stonecrusher, stand still and keep your mouth closed and your hands to yourself.” Dallah practically whispered the words, but Stonecrusher stopped where he was. “Imps, here, now.” Dallah said, and people gasped as the imps appeared a few feet away. This time the imps all doffed their hats. “Thank you.”

“Our pleasure,” Crusty said, and Dwizzle nodded.

“It was?” Itchy turned to the others before he had something like a revelation. “It was. It really was our pleasure.”

“Were you scared?” Andor asked.

“Well, it’s like this young master—” Itchy started to speak but Crusty interrupted.

“Dwizzle wet himself,” Crusty said and Dwizzle nodded.

“But now what are we going to do with them?” Godus asked when they heard the sound of wailing among the sheep.

Korah recognized the sound and ran toward the cry. The sheep parted to let her through, and her future husband ran right behind her. The young boys in the field stood over their mother but did not know what to do. She cried over a dead sheep, and there was no comforting her.

The dogs only killed one, but the woman’s herd had gotten down to six. Herds that once sported forty or fifty sheep were in a death spiral in that harsh and inhospitable environment.

“Godus, dear.” Dallah turned again to her husband. “Give her one of ours. Make it a good one.”

“But then we will have just six.”

“As she will. Give it to Korah for her new family,” Dallah decided. Godus raised an eyebrow. That was not really playing fair.

“Pardon, lady.” Itchy stepped forward. “Might Stonecrusher have the dead one? That would certainly be a relief for everyone.”

“No,” Dallah said. “Roland, you take the dead sheep for tomorrow and the next day if necessary since you likely won’t find anything between here and the gate. Stonecrusher.” She waited until she had the ogre’s complete attention before she spoke. “You can have the dogs.”

“Mother!” Reneus objected. They had a lot of good meat on those animals, and that would sustain them for some time. But Dallah had not finished speaking.

“Take only the dead dogs and be content. Share one with your impy cousins and go with them to Lord Varuna. He may have new work for you. You are released from your obligation to Dayus.”

“Yes, Lady. Thank you, Lady.” The ogre picked up the dogs one by one and carried all four back into the wilderness without any strain at all.

“Strong sucker,” Captain Decker noted.

“And you imps.” They looked up at Dallah with big eyes. She smiled. “Skat,” she said. “Shoo.” They ran off, happy.

Godus sidled up to his wife and spoke softly. “Any more surprises?”

“A few, but mostly you are looking at them.” She took his hand introduced the travelers. She remembered to say, “Her name is Mary Riley, but everyone calls her Boston.” Then they all went to a wedding.

Dallah cried. Boston cried with her. Alexis only got teary eyed, so Lincoln cried for her. Captain Decker said, “Women.” Captain or not, Katie Harper slapped him in the arm.

The third family in the camp performed the actual ceremony. They also stood as witnesses to the union. It was a lovely ceremony, and surprisingly like modern ceremonies in most parts. But then there came the sacrifice of a sheep. And several moderns looked away when the old man who performed the sacrifice soaked his hands in the sheep’s blood and sprinkled it liberally all over the couple.

Boston kept her mouth shut, but she thought “Ewww,” really loud.

After the wedding, the couple had a place not far from the camp. They had their own fire and sweets and got the prime portion of the sacrificed sheep for their supper. The families, meanwhile, settled in for a party of their own. Korah’s new mother sat beside Dallah for a time, though it made Dallah uncomfortable. Dallah only had one word of advice for the woman.

“Korah has a big, sensitive heart full of love. If you treat her gently and with kindness and encourage her in what she does she will love you forever.” The woman responded in a way which should not have been too surprising given the events of the day.

“Yes, Lady. I will do that very thing.”

By evening, Doctor Procter appeared to be much better. He sat up and ate but thought it best not to go join the celebration. He claimed to be too tired.

Later, when the sun set and most of the camp slept, Alexis stayed up a bit to watch the Doctor. She looked out beneath a moon that appeared just shy of being full, when her eye caught something glisten in the moonlight. She had no idea what it might be until she heard the sound of a horse snort a big gust of breath. The knight came close to the camp, but it did not come into the camp. Alexis stood. Doctor Procter appeared to be asleep, but he began to shiver. Alexis held her breath while the knight reared up, turned, and galloped off into the dark. She immediately woke her father and told him.

“It was a Knight of the Lance. I am sure. It had to be.”

Mingus shook his head. “There haven’t been any Knights of the Lance around for centuries.”

“No,” Alexis argued. “I heard of one a few years ago when Ashtoreth came up into the castle of the Kairos and the Kairos got so sick.”

Mingus nodded. “I heard that too, but never any proof… Just a rumor…”

“But father—”

“Go to bed and sleep. We will be leaving in the morning.”

Alexis looked down and nodded. Maybe she had not seen it. Maybe it had been like a waking dream. Maybe, but she was not sure.

Later in the night, Doctor Procter woke when a lizard crawled across his belly. His hand reached out and grabbed the creature. A harmless little thing, and the Doctor held it and bent it backwards until there came a snap! The Doctor Procter had no reason for doing that. He felt the urge to kill and wanted the pleasure of watching the beast die.

More tears came in the morning as everyone said good-bye. The witness family, the first to leave, took their sheep and headed off to the southeast. Then it came time for Korah and her mother to be parted. “Always respect your husband,” Dallah whispered between the hugs and tears. “And he will love you without ceasing.”

Korah nodded, and shortly they headed off into the north. They said they were going to go as far as the mountains to escape the dead lands. Dallah truly wished them well.

Last of all the travelers headed into the west, and Andor waved until they were out of sight. After they were gone, Andor pointed his fingers at Mya and said, “Bang! Bang!” She just had to chase him. They would be staying where they were for the present. They had the stream and some grass worth eating for their few sheep, but how long they might hold out was anyone’s guess.

Boston was the last to say anything under that blazing sun. “Doesn’t the Kairos ever get born anywhere off the equator? I mean, a little rain might be nice, at least.” Naturally, as they stepped through the gate, they found themselves in a torrent.

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Monday

Avalon 1.6 Freedom is another 4-part / 4-post episode, so don’t forget the Thursday post. The travelers get into the middle of a forced migration. The people are fleeing from some in their own village. There is a story there. Until Monday, Happy Reading.

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Avalon 1.5 Little Packages part 3 of 4

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

“Lockhart! Boston!” Dallah groaned as she got to her feet and waved.

“Mother?” Mya spoke.

“These are the ones I told you might come one day.”

“I had forgotten.” Reneus said, as the travelers came to the water. Dallah had to hug Boston and Alexis, in her wet clothes.

“It is so good to see you. I am so glad you are here.”

“Where can we set down Doctor Procter?” Lockhart asked. He looked exhausted. He and Mingus were taking a turn and the elder elf, in particular, looked unable to go much further.

“Of course.” Dallah stepped close to the half-breed but knew better than to touch him. “How long has he been like this?” she asked.

“This is the second day,” Captain Decker said. He shouldered his rifle and took Mingus’ place.

“Well, come. We must get him to the camp.”

“Mother.” Andor got her attention. “Your imps went ahead of us.”

“Oh dear.” She hurried and everyone hurried to follow. Fortunately, the imps just arrived since they stopped first for an argument.

“We are free now,” Crusty said.

“We’re supposed to go see Lord Varuna,” Dwizzle said.

“Wait a minute!” Itchy bought none of it. “Since when does a thicky bean tell us what to do, especially when our orders come from the king of the gods himself?”

“But I feel free,” Crusty said. “I don’t feel like doing the work of Dayus anymore.”

Dwizzle nodded, but Itchy responded. “That don’t mean anything. Crusty, you don’t ever feel like doing any work.” Dwizzle laughed.

“I’m thinking we could ask Lord Varuna when we find him. He always tells the truth.” Itchy hit him. “Ooowww.”

“You don’t do the thinking, you’ll only hurt yourself worse than before.” Dwizzle put his hand back in his mouth and pouted.

“I think that is a good idea,” Crusty said. Itchy stomped on his foot. “Ooowww.”

“Right now, we got to find Stonecrusher some meat before we become meat.” They could agree on that. With their glamours on, they came right up to the edge of the camp, which was not much to speak of, the huts being barely more than lean-tos with skins on the open side. They were snuggled between some stick trees, and there were only five of them altogether. There could not have been more than twenty people in that camp and barely more than twenty sheep as well.

The sheep were presently in a pen where Dallah’s husband, Godus, and two men had separated the sacrifice from the others. When they were done, the groom had two younger brothers who drove the rest to the stream.

“Not much selection,” Crusty said. The sheep were all scrawny, stunted, and underfed.

“Yeah, but it will do,” Itchy responded.

“Hey, look. Sweets.” Dwizzle pointed to a table by the altar. It sat full of dried fruits and cooked roots and tubers of various kinds.

“Oh, boy!” Crusty shouted, and before Itchy could stop them, they were on the table, they had let their glamours drop, and people screamed, some ran away, and some did not seem sure what to do.

“Hold it right there!” Dallah shouted between breaths. The imps froze in place because Dallah had that in mind. “This is my daughter’s wedding, and you will not mess it up.” She yelled a little, but mostly walked more slowly to the table so she could regain her breath. When she arrived to stare at the imps, she pushed an escaped gray hair back toward the bun on her head before she spoke. “Your hands, empty.” Dwizzle and Crusty put out their hands and she slapped them. The imps made no sound, but both squinted from the sharp, if temporary pain. “Itchy.”

The imp had his hands behind his back. “No.” He shook his head for emphasis.

“You should have been named stubborn,” Dallah said. “Your hand.” She did not ask and Itchy whipped out his hands, empty despite what his mind told him and despite his better judgment. She slapped them both, and Itchy had a hard time putting both in his mouth at once.

“Hey! How do you know our names?” Crusty asked, like the truth of that suddenly caught up to him.

“I know all about you,” Dallah said. “More than I would like to know. Now get off the table and behave, I have to see to my daughter.” Korah was already running into her mother’s arms. She cried, but Dallah brushed Korah’s hair with her hand and said, “Hush, everything will be all right.”

“Mother.” Andor tried to get her attention as Godus came up from the sheep pen.

“Who are you?” Itchy finally removed his hands to ask, and then decided to take turns soaking one hand at a time.

“She is your goddess,” Boston said. “Or she will be one day.” She knew she should not say it because it came out of time context, but she could not help herself.

“What? Don’t we have enough gods and goddesses already?”

“No, no.” Alexis spoke to clarify. Apparently, she could not help herself either. “She will not be another goddess of humans that you have to work for. She will be your goddess; goddess of all the little spirits of the earth.”

“There is no such thing.” Itchy understood.

“There will be,” Alexis responded with a smile toward her brother who frowned. The law said they were not supposed to reveal the future like that.

“Mother.” Andor tried again. Reneus, Lockhart and some of the others looked where Andor looked, but hardly knew what to say.

“But she is old and will die soon,” Crusty protested.

“But she will be reborn,” Mingus stepped up. “And sometimes she will be a god and sometimes a goddess for us all.” He turned to Itchy. “Whether we like it or not.”

“Mother.”

“But lady…” Dwizzle tugged on Dallah’s dress and pointed. “Stonecrusher is hungry.

The ogre came down the path from the stream. He appeared hard to look at because he was so ugly; but not simply a disgusting ugly. He looked mean, mad, and hungry, and now the people had something they could really scream about.

“I’m gonna eat me some people,” Stonecrusher said.

“I’m gonna eat some people,” the ogre said it again, like he was trying to make it into a song. Dallah felt sure no one wanted to hear the ogre sing so she shouted.

“Save your bullets!” Dallah said that before anything else, and Captain Decker and Lieutenant Harper lowered their weapons, if reluctantly. The marines were surprised to see Lockhart, Lincoln, Alexis, and Boston all grinning. Mingus had his hands over his eyes as if he did not want to watch. Roland looked at Boston to be sure she was not too frightened. Besides, it felt too hard to look at the ogre, even for him.

“Your bullets might penetrate and maybe a shotgun slug at close range,” Mingus said. “But most would just bounce off his rock-hard skin and make him mad.”

“Rock-hard head, you mean,” Itchy added.

“That too, I am sure,” Mingus admitted.

Dallah placed Korah in her father’s arms and stepped toward the oncoming terror. Hold it right there!” She had to shout to be heard above the screams, though she knew her little one would hear her no matter what. “Stop walking. Feet, stand still.”

“I’m gonna eat some people,” the ogre repeated himself before he shouted back. “Hey! What happened to my feet?” It was fortunate the commands of the Kairos did not have to be processed through the brain before becoming effective.

 “Sit down.” Dallah said, and to the dismay of many of the people, not the least her family, Dallah walked straight toward the thing. As the ogre sat, he asked his question again.

“But what happened to my feet?” Stonecrusher paused while Dallah walked the distance and then the ogre asked a second question. “Why am I sitting?”

“What am I going to do with you?” Dallah asked a rhetorical question in return as she neared. The ogre reached for her. People gasped, but Dallah merely slapped the ogre hand like she had slapped the imp hands. The ogre snatched his hand back and looked at it.

“I thought you said the skin was rock hard.” Lieutenant Harper spoke.

“It is,” Roland answered. “But the Kairos is not hampered by any of it.”

Then the pain got processed and the ogre imitated his little cousins. “Ooowww,” he said in a very loud voice, and he slipped its hand into its mouth.

“Quiet and keep your hands to yourself.” Dallah thought as hard as she could but saw no alternative. “Godus.” She shouted back to the people who had fallen into a hushed silence to watch this spectacle. “We have to give it one of our sheep.”

“We’ve not but seven left,” Godus responded. Being the spouse of the Kairos had its privileges as far as the little ones were concerned. Her family certainly adjusted to the imps fast enough in the stream.

“Well, we will have to have six. You can pick the least of the lot that is left, but we have to feed it something. The poor thing is starving.”

“Somehow, I never imagined an ogre being called a poor thing,” Lincoln said quietly, and Alexis went to take his arm.

Godus handed Korah to her older brother, Reneus, but she already semed fine, had stopped crying, and stared with the rest of them.

Crusty sighed. “I was afraid if she was still mad at us she might feed us to the ogre.” Dwizzle nodded.

“And she could make us walk right into that big mouth without another thought,” Itchy added.

“She would never do that.” Mingus lowered his hands. “Don’t you know how much she loves you?” A small tear came to his eye, and also to Dwizzle’s eye.

“But she is old and will die soon.” Crusty said it again.

“That’s okay,” Itchy decided. “I could live with a god that dies now and then. Then she gets to be a baby again?” Mingus nodded. “So, we get a season of peace when she is young and growing up,” Itchy concluded.

“Or he,” Mingus said.

“That must be weird,” Itchy said.

“Not if you are born that way,” Mingus said.

“Oh yeah. I hadn’t thought of that.”

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Don’t forget tomorrow (Thursday) will finish the episode, so…

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Golden Door Chapter 14 James and the Ogre, part 3 of 3

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James felt groggy, but he only had to sit down for a few minutes in the rain. The ogre, and that was what it was, apparently suffered the worst of it, being thrown back by the blue lightening to crash into the cave wall. Luckily, ogres are very hard to damage, and he rather damaged the stone wall of the cave.

“Are you all right?” Grubby asked James in most uncharacteristically impish fashion. Nature would have had an imp rolling on the floor with laughter over such an encounter, but James was the son of the Kairos.

James nodded, though one hand stayed on his head. The ogre shook his head and spoke. “That little guy is powerful. I never been beat up before.”

“First time for everything,” Grubby said, and puffed out his chest a little. “Storyteller’s son.”

“But my Ma and Da said to watch the cave and don’t let in strangers.

“His name’s James. Now he’s not a stranger.”

“At least not any stranger than you guys,” James mumbled while Grubby helped him to his feet and got him out of the rain. It looked ready to pour.

“James.” The ogre caught that much. “Good to meet you.” Warthead stuck out his tremendous hand and James’ hand got completely swallowed up in the big mitt. He would have been better to shake one of Warthead’s fingers. But then, James watched the handshake because he could hardly look at the ugly puss of the ogre, and besides, he did not feel altogether certain if there might be more blue lightening. It turned out to be safe enough, and James could not imagine anything more special than making friends with an ogre, so he looked up at last, but when the ogre smiled in delight, James had to quickly look away to avoid throwing up.

“Ma and Da aren’t here,” Warthead repeated himself in his gravel-deep voice. “They gone up to the castle for special visitor, I think. I don’t rightly remember.”

“Woah!” Grubby was by the entrance to the cave. “There must be a monster storm coming. Listen to that thunder.” They heard a dull roar in the distance, but it was growing. James paid close attention and after a moment he voiced his skepticism.

“I don’t think that is thunder,” he said.

Warthead, who was not particularly able to follow their thoughts, looked around instead and pointed at something else. “Spiders.” Grubby and James looked quickly. They were at the bottom of the mountain, quite a long way, but obviously excited as if sensing they were getting close to their prey. They began to climb the hill at a rapid pace.

“James!” The word came wafting down from above with the wind and the rain.

“James!” It was Mrs. Copperpot, Picker and Poker.

“Grubby! James!” Pug was with them, and the trio in the cave had to go outside to look up.

They were soon spotted, though the dwarfs and the gnome were quite high up the mountainside above them. “Up here, James. Quick! Tsunami!” Pug pointed in the direction of the roar which was becoming very pronounced. They began to hear trees crash in the wave.

James looked for a way, but there was no easy way. The cave was carved out of a small cliff. Meanwhile, Warthead scratched his head and Grubby had his eyes glued on the spiders. He saw when they abandoned the rush up the hill and began climbing trees in an attempt to get above the onrushing water.

“Hurry James!”

“There’s no way up!” James shouted.

Grubby picked up a stone and threw it at a spider which was ahead of its fellows. It cracked against the spider’s back but did no real damage. James spun around to see. The spider was almost as big as him, and he might have screamed at the sight if the water did not come first. With a great roar and something like the sound of freight trains, the wave crashed through the last trees like a flood breaking through a levy.

“Water!” James shouted, and Warthead moved. He grabbed Grubby in one big paw and James in the other and stretched his arms as high in the air as he could, which was almost high enough for James to reach the rock ledge above the cave mouth, but not quite.

“Spider!” Grubby shouted, as the water quickly rose above the ogre’s mouth. A spider had made the jump to Warthead’s arm and zeroed in on James. James panicked, but tried kicking first, and to his surprise, he caved in the beast’s head in a way that Grubby’s stone had not. A second kick sent the spider flying off into the drink, as the water was now up to Warthead’s elbows. It actually reached to his upraised wrists, and the water stayed up for a few minutes before it began to recede almost as fast as it came in. James understood that if the tidal water did not drown them or crash them and crush their bones against something hard while coming in, it could still do the same, or drag them for miles on the way out, and just as easily.

The time went by slowly, slow enough for Pug and Mrs. Copperpot to climb down almost within reach. Mrs. Copperpot looked full of fret and worry, but Pug seemed a rock of calm and kept assuring them that everything was going to be all right.

Warthead stood that whole time with his arms raised straight up to keep Grubby and James above the water. James felt a little surprised the ogre was not brushed aside in that torrent, but he was not. He stood like the stones themselves, unmoving, even long after James imagined the poor ogre drowned and had to be dead and gone. As the water went down somewhat slowly, it felt agonizing to watch the big creature, hoping against hope for signs of life. When the water was once again below the chin and it started to pick up the pace of retreat, Warthead looked like no more than a statue, and James imagined he might stand in that pose for a thousand years. He wanted to cry, and Mrs. Copperpot did not help with her words about the ogre’s bravery and heroic stand. Then Warthead shook his head and opened his eyes.

“Warthead!” James and Grubby shouted together.

“Are the spiders gone?” Warthead asked. “That one tickled and I almost laughed.”

“But how did you?” James could not decide what to ask. “The water was up for a half hour at least, or twenty minutes or more. How?”

“I held my breath,” Warthead said, in an intuitive moment—a very rare thing in an ogre.

“Good choice.” Grubby praised the ogre’s thinking. It was a fifty-fifty proposition of Warthead coming up with the notion of holding his breath underwater.

James twisted his face. “I thought after so many minutes without oxygen the brain cells started dying.”

“No fear of that,” Grubby said, and waved off the whole problem with his hand. “He hasn’t got any to lose.”

Warthead grinned and nodded and began to wonder why he kept holding his arms straight up in the air.

It was still an hour or more before Picker and Poker found a way down from above and the water went down enough to gather in the cave entrance. The others were a bit leery of the ogre, but he seemed such a good fellow, and Mrs. Copperpot recognized how young he was. Why, converted to human ages, she imagined that Warthead might be the youngest of the lot, despite his hulking size.

“You know,” she said, as she sighed and accepted that she now had five, a full handful of boys to watch. “Now that the spiders are washed away, the path to the gate should be open.”

“At least for a little while.” Pug agreed. “And we ought to go before it gets dark.”

Mrs. Copperpot looked up at the sky where there was a genuine stroke of lightning and boom of thunder, and the rain began to strengthen. “Yes.” She agreed, before she added, “And I don’t like the look of that sky.”

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MONDAY

Chris boards the ship to cross the underground sea but the cavern wall cracks and the volcano bring up a monster from the deep while Beth flies above it all and gets to taste sweet puffberries. Until Monday. Happy Reading

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Medieval 6: Giovanni 5 Search and Rescue, part 2 of 3

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“One minute.” Giovanni yelled in a grumpy voice. The girl, in her underclothes, looked prepared to finish the job. “Woah,” he whispered. “That will be quite enough.” He could not help staring. She was beautiful. She stared too, but the look in her eyes was more that of fear barely overcome by a minimum of trust and a great deal of curiosity.

“What’s wrong?” She whispered back.

He wanted to say, nothing, but instead he put a hand to his chin. “Something’s missing,” he said and reached for the cup of water on the desk. He splashed her and she nearly shouted, and perhaps wanted to slap him again, but hesitated when he splashed himself. “Sweat,” he explained. “Muss your hair.” She did as the knock came again, this time more rudely. “Lord.” They heard the man speaking as Sabelius had spoken. Clearly the man did not want to upset the strongman. “Your pardon, but we must search every wagon.”

“In the bed,” Giovanni said, taking the girl by the arm and directing her toward the back of the wagon. “Give a good performance,” he insisted. She took some dirt from the table where it had gotten a little wet and smeared in on her face. “Good touch,” he said as he stuffed her dress into a nearby trunk.

“Coming!” He shouted with some anger. “I said I was coming.” The girl slipped under the covers as he opened the door. “What?” He echoed the girl’s word, but with enough ferocity to make the watchman take a step back. Giovanni noticed there were six of them with Sabelius. Probably the only reason this one had the courage to push up to the door in the first place.

“Your pardon,” he repeated himself. “There is a girl missing and she was last seen heading toward your camp. We have been ordered to search everywhere if you don’t mind.” He craned his neck in an attempt to see into the wagon.

“Whose orders?” Giovanni got curious but sounded disturbed.

“Lord Orseolo.” The man said with some sense of self-importance. “The Doge himself.”

Giovanni raised an eyebrow.

“Who is it, Giovanni, dear?” Giovanni felt almost as surprised then as the man in front of him. The girl in his bed actually had the audacity to speak up.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” he said, playing right along. “Just some rude men.” He stepped aside far enough for them to see in, but not quite far enough for them to enter. Sabelius nudged one of the watch and winked at another, and they got the message.

“Sir.” Clearly, the man outside still wanted to come in.

“Seen any runaway maidens?” Giovanni said over his shoulder.

“No maidens in here.” The girl spoke in a very sultry voice, and then she stuck her dirty face and scraggly hair out from between the bed curtains and spoke very sweetly. “Do send them away and come back to bed, Giovanni dearest.”

Giovanni turned to the men who were mostly smiling by then. “To paraphrase Julius Caesar.” he said in a theatrical tone. “You came. You saw. But I will conquer!” He slammed the door in their faces and paused only one moment to make sure they did not knock again. He stepped to the bed.

“Are they gone?” she whispered.

Giovanni shrugged, put one hand to his ear and mimed listening at the door. “Are you ticklish?” he asked but he did not give her time to answer. He found out that she was. Very quickly, though, he stopped. She backed away to the back wall of the wagon and the fear returned to her eyes.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said softly, thanking Angel who taught him long ago to say that. “It is my policy never to abuse any maiden I happen to save.” He stood and walked to the door. He cracked it open as the girl had done earlier. The Watch and their torches were receding from the camp. He opened the door a little wider, then and spoke. “Thank you Sabelius,” he said, knowing that the strongman would hear him. “Oberon!” he called, knowing the dwarf would hear too, and soon be present.

“Have you saved many maidens?” the girl asked, covering herself a little with the bed sheets.

“You are the first.” Giovanni said and smiled. She gave him back a radiant smile of her own. “But it is a good policy, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Yes indeed.”

“Are you hungry?” he asked, offering her the plate Gabriella had brought.

“No, thank you,” she said, but she looked and then smelled it as he held it out. She put her fingers delicately into the bowl and took a dainty bite. Then she looked at him, smiled again, and took the plate. “This is quite good.”

Giovanni found himself grinning. “Runaway from home?” he asked. “A bad marriage?” he suggested.

“No.” The girl shook her head. “Haven’t married him yet.”

“Ah.” he spoke wisely. “Bad arrangement. You’re in love with someone else, I suppose.”

The girl shook her head again. “There is no one else,” she said between bites.

“Hmm.” Giovanni was almost stumped. “Then I guess you must not like the look of him.”

“Haven’t seen him,” she said. “Well, once years ago. I was not happy with what I saw. I was supposed to get married at the end of the week, but not now.”

“Then what?” Giovanni threw his hands up.

She paused in her dining. “You almost got it right,” she said in her tender voice. “He is a mean and horrible person from all I hear. He only cares about himself. He is demanding and selfish and self-centered.”

“In other words, a man,” Giovanni said with a smile.

“A real ogre,” she countered, and she pined with a dramatic flair. “I would rather die.” Then she looked at Giovanni to see if he approved of her performance.

“Needs a wilting hand on the forehead,” he said and showed her the move. She laughed, genuinely, covering her mouth, sweetly. “I would watch those ogre comments, though.” he said, half seriously. “Some of my best friends are ogres.” She almost laughed again, but just then Sabelius opened the door and Oberon came bounding in. The girl let out a little scream.

“Begging your pardon, Lady,” Sabelius said with a tip of his hat. “I know I’m an ugly sight for those not used to me.”

“Buckets of ugly.” Giovanni agreed.

Sabelius smiled. “But I would never hurt anyone. I’ve been good so long I don’t know if I could even if I wanted to.”

The girl stared as if she was not sure.

“Stand up.” Oberon talked to the girl but no one listened to him. The girl did stand, however, but her eyes never quit turning between Sabelius and Giovanni. Meanwhile, Oberon had to stand on the chair to measure her bust.

“It’s true.” Giovanni tried to reassure the girl about the big man. “He’s a good egg.”

“I’ll wait outside,” Sabelius offered and backed out of the doorway. The girl made a visible sigh of relief.

“Great shape for a human. What costume?” Oberon caught Giovanni’s attention.

“What should she do?” He started thinking.

“Do?” The girl asked.

“You will be safe here.” he said. “You won’t be found, but you will have to become one of us.”

“Everyone works and everyone shares,” Oberon explained.

“There are lots of secrets here,” Giovanni tried to continue, but Oberon liked to talk.

“But no one tells. The circus is like a family, and what we know stays with us. We don’t talk to outsiders much, at least not about secrets. You will be safe with us, but you will have to become one of us.”

The girl sat down on the edge of the bed.

“But I can’t do anything,” she protested.

“You let me worry about that,” Giovanni said. “You’re smart as well as pretty. I can tell. Just because you have no obvious talent, well, you can learn.”

“But you don’t understand.” The girl expressed her sense of frustration and hopelessness. “The Doge won’t give up. He will keep searching and searching until I am caught.”

“But we won’t be here in a month,” he countered. “On the first of April we head out on the road, to get ahead of Corriden, and then there is a whole season of shows, spring, summer and fall ahead of us up and down the peninsula.”

“We will leave Venice?” The girl caught on. “But what can I do?”

“Harlequin.” Giovanni said at last, having decided.

“Boss.” Oberon was not so sure. “Can she acrobat? Can she even tell a joke?”

“She is young and flexible.” he said. “And comedy can be learned. Besides, the make-up will hide her face and make her all but impossible to find.

“She’ll never pass for a thirteen year old boy,” Oberon pointed out.

“Whoever said harlequin had to be a young boy?” He felt sure she could play the part. “Still, I suppose the hair will have to go.”

“My hair?” The girl was lying down. She took a handful of her long blonde hair and held it to her lips as her eyes slowly closed.

“I don’t suppose you could throw her back,” Oberon quipped.

“No, she’s a keeper,” he said. “Besides, harlequin is the one thing we were really missing.”

“I’ll get the Missus to fix the costume so you will have it by morning,” Oberon said more softly. The girl started breathing more deeply as she fell off to sleep.

“Thank Needles for me.” he said, reaching into the trunk. “Here. You better burn her dress. And by the way, thanks to you and Sabelius for watching out for me.”

“No problem.” Oberon brushed it off. “But if it’s all the same to you I think Sabelius and I will go throw rocks at Madam Figiori’s booth. She cast a spell around her booth so the night watch did not disturb her. She was in there snoring away while the rest of us suffered.”

“Don’t break anything,” Giovanni said with a little laugh. Oberon left, and immediately he remembered how tired he was. He looked at the bed and watched the girl sleep for a minute. He could hardly keep his eyes off her not to mention his hands, but if she was going to be part of the circus, that made her strictly off limits. In a great act of will, he forced himself to think of the girl as a sister, and one he needed to protect, not abuse. He pulled a blanket out of the trunk and curled up in his chair. He blew out the candle and almost immediately began to dream.

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

MONDAY

Giovanni struggles through a restless night full of strange dreams but in the morning they convince Leonora to be the harlequin for the circus as long as she stays hidden. Until Monday, Happy Reading

*

Medieval 6: Giovanni 5 Search and Rescue, part 1 of 3

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Giovanni felt so tired and the bed looked so inviting. He glanced once again at the lineup. They were to head out in less than five weeks and all he could see was that they were not ready. They were only one month away from having to pack the wagons and head out on the road. He sighed. Theirs would not be the first show that had to work out the kinks on the road.

He heard a knock at the door. He was slow to rise and slower to answer. All he really wanted was sleep.

“Gabriellla.” He spoke through the open door at the back of the wagon, a wagon modeled after the one driven by Rostanzio the Magnificent. Giovanni was practicing sleeping in the wagon, and he thought, Everyone was practicing everything. The setting sun blazed red in the distance. “Maffeo!” He shouted before Gabriella could say anything. “Get those horses up for the night and tell Severas to get Sir Brutus in his cage and away from the fish. No one wants to see a bloated bear sleep through his performance.” The bear had been asleep for most of the winter, but woke now and then, and one time it got awake enough in January to show what he could do. Another act without a boffo ending, Giovanni thought.

“I hear you.” Severas answered with a shout. He was coming up the hill from the outhouse. Giovanni shook his head and wondered who was grumpier, Severas or his bear. The man was frankly a bit of a mean old man. It was a wonder his wife, Berta, puts up with them both.

“Maffeo!” He shouted again.

Maffeo slapped Charles and grabbed Louis by the ear. Giovanni was again reminded of the Three Stooges, but they caught the horse and he did not see any other animals around.

“Don Giovanni,” Gabriella grabbed his attention. “You must eat.” She pushed a bowl of fish and leeks into his hands. He was tired, not hungry, but he smiled.

“Thank you,” he said. “Since you have joined us I believe I’ve put on some weight.” Gabrielle and her husband Bergos were good people who thus far had kept everyone fed and happy; at least he heard no complaints about the cooking.

Gabrielle did not buy the fake smile. “You must keep your strength.” She spoke like a mother hen. “We will be on the road soon enough and there may be slim pickings on the road.” The woman had never been on the road, but she paid attention to the stories she heard.

“Winter in Venice can be rather slim pickings, too, but you seem to manage well,” he said more honestly.

“Umph.” She acknowledged that compliment with a grunt and slight nod of her head. The stern look on her face, however, did not change. “Eat.” She insisted and turned away.

“I will.” Giovanni smiled again, holding tight to the bowl, and he thought to himself that yes, these were good people, and as close to normal as he could get in the Don Giovanni circus. He turned and went back into the wagon. He closed the door and put the bowl on his desk where he had no intention of touching it.

Before bed, as was his habit, he pulled out the lockbox and counted their coins.  They had precious little to start the season. He thought back to the day his father died, or the next day. He remembered what his father called his emergency backup stash. He hid it in the wallboards behind the bed and said you can never be too careful with thieves. He also said he never had any intention of using that backup money if he could help it. It was there to give him peace of mind, knowing if they got robbed that would not be the end of the circus.

Giovanni found the place in the wall easily enough. He found three gold pieces, a small bag of silver coins, and a larger bag of coppers. He knew then he could keep the circus going, but as he looked in the lockbox he was not so sure.

His mind turned to all the new acts and paused on Vader the knife thrower’s wife Edwina. Quite the contrast to her angry husband, she was a lovely, gentle woman. That may have been why he had the occasional streak of jealousy. Even so, Giovanni could not help himself thinking about her, but after a few moments of fantasy, he figuratively slapped his own face. He admitted that he had a problem with that sort of thing. The women always seemed willing enough; but he needed to always remember that his circus people were strictly off limits. He did not dare. The circus was like a family. It was important and better to think of family. It was one element that made it all work together. Edwina was, in that sense, something like a sister to him, and to violate her in that way would be like a strange sort of incest. He would never do that. He needed to never even think that way, no matter what.

He looked again at his bed, which he could just see behind the curtain and thought only of sleep. He was dog tired, and he remembered Corriden took the dog act with him. He had horses, and a bear. So maybe he was bear tired.

Giovanni put one hand to his head. He was eighteen, not thirty-eight. He had no business having such a stress headache. He needed sleep. In fact, he got in dive position when there came another knock at the door. He plopped back into his desk chair.

“Come in,” he hollered, too tired to rise. Oberon the dwarf marched in, while Sabelius the strong man removed his hat and came in slowly with his head bent to keep from hitting his head on the ceiling. “Where is Madam Figiori?” Giovanni asked.

“Sleeping, probably.” Oberon spoke and Giovanni sighed with jealousy. “But she said you were going to need help tonight, so here we are.”

“My saviors.” He often referred to them in that way.

“So what’s up, boss?” Oberon asked.

“More Corriden sabotage?” Sabelius suggested. Besides looking like an ugly human, an appearance that seemed to get exaggerated in the firelight at night, he really was too bright for a half troll. They all knew Corriden and the Corriden Circus was out to get them, and maybe shut down their chances to make a fresh beginning. Porto and Berlio had been caught several times trying to steal things, including one attempt to steal the smaller circus show tent. Berlio, the magician, and his wife Priscilla got caught around the chuck wagon. Fortunately, Madam Figiori was able to check with some real magic. If they intended to poison the food in any way, they did not have the chance.

“No,” Giovanni said. “Just guard the door so I can get some sleep.” He pleaded.

“Don’t think so.” Oberon shook his head. “Madam said something about a girl and the night watch. Could have been a girl on the night watch, but I suppose they don’t put girls on that duty. Maybe we are supposed to watch a girl in the night, or the girl might watch us, or something.”

“We’ll keep our eyes and ears open.” Sabelius interrupted and backed carefully from the wagon, reaching in with one enormous hand and hauling Oberon after him. The door closed softly.

“Thank you Lord,” Giovanni breathed with a quick look to the ceiling. He dived into the bed and it was only then that he realized he was too twisted inside to pass out. A moment later it was too late as he heard a sharp, panic-driven knock on the door. He got up and answered it this time, not at all surprised to find himself pushed out of the way by a young woman who immediately shut the door, and then turned and opened it a crack to peek out.

“Don Vincenzo Giovanni, at your service,” he said, adding a little bow to his words.

“Hello.” The girl granted him a quick acknowledgement, barely turning her head before gluing her eye right back to the crack in the doorway. Giovanni dutifully drew the curtains and closed the shutters. Then he could not resist bending over her to peek over her shoulder. She smelled sweet, but then clearly she was a noble lady of the highest quality. Giovanni would have expected no less.

“Search them all.” A man shouted.

“Leave that alone.” Giovanni heard Oberon. “Help! Thieves!”

“Don’t open that!” That sounded like Piccolo, the juggler and practical joker. Giovanni imagined him tempting the night watch. Sure enough, he heard the growl of the bear, a man’s scream, and the sound of crashing like men in flight.

“No.” That voice sounded extremely deep and close. Sabelius stood by the door. “Don Giovanni is resting. You will not disturb him.”

“Orders.” The man spoke with a shaky voice. “Got to look in them all.” Sabelius was showing his more troll and ogre qualities by the torchlight. With his great size, he was not one to bump into after dark.

“No,” Sabelius spoke again.

“Quickly,” Giovanni whispered, grabbed the girl by the shoulders and pulled her into the wagon, closing the door tight in the process. “Can you act?”

“What?” The girl looked more confused than frightened.

“Do you want to be caught?” he asked.

“No, please.” The seriousness of her predicament came over her and she realized this young man was presently her only hope.

“Then I need you to play act,” he said. “Give me a good performance.”

“What?” She looked confused again.

“Take your dress off.” he said, peeling off his shirt in the process.

“What?”

As Giovanni pulled his head from beneath his shirt he felt the slap of her hand across his face. He grabbed her shoulders, stared into her eyes, and carefully enunciated. “It-is-only-pretend.” He spoke in his most directorial voice and saw the light go off in her eyes, as they heard a knock on the door.

“Don Giovanni?” Sabelius spoke softly as if wanting to wake him, but not wanting to wake him to do it.

M4 Margueritte: Banners of Christendom, part 2 of 3

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Charles built his permanent army around his veterans, but then he had to pay them so they could support their wives and children, most of whom moved to Reims, so they could be there where the army quartered for the cold months.  Charles also worked his men sometimes in the cold months.  He knew what was coming, and in 732 it came.  Europe and even Rome trembled, but Charles felt vindicated.  The only thing he did not guess correctly was, instead of coming out of Septimania, the Muslims brought their massive army right over the Pyrenees from Iberia.

In March of 732, Margueritte got a letter from Duke Odo, and another from Hunald, even as they were appealing to Charles for help.  “Here is the way it went,” Margueritte said over supper.  “The old duke, and he must be well into his seventies at this point, he made an alliance with one Uthman ibn Naissa, a Berber ruler in Catalunya.  He feared the Muslims, that they would try again, and at his age he did not imagine he had the strength to fight them off again.”

“I am understanding something about age these days,” Peppin said quietly

“But he won the battle of Toulouse.” Walaric said, while Tomberlain and Owien sat silent to listen.

“Handily,” Wulfram added.

“But there were circumstances, like the Muslim commander got lazy and did not set a good watch during the siege, and Duke Odo came on them unprepared, and took them by surprise.  He cut them down before they could mobilize their cavalry, and the odds of all that working a second time in his favor are like none.  But according to Hunald, Duke Odo thought an alliance with the rebellious Berber would put another friendly land between himself and the Emir of Al-Andalus.  Apparently, Odo gave his daughter Lampagia to the Berber as a bride.”

“You mean a bribe,” Margo said quietly, and Margueritte nodded.

“But it all came down in 731, last summer,” she continued.  “Charles came out of Bavaria to march up to face the troubles in Saxony, but Odo did not know that.  He feared Charles would attack him for making the alliance.  The agreement with Charles was Odo could rule in Aquitaine, but he would defer to Charles on dealing with any outsiders.  So Odo kept his army at home while Charles marched through Burgundy, up along his border.

“Meanwhile, the Wali of Cordoba…  Wali is like a governor-general, like the Romans used to have a Magister Millitum for a province.  The Wali, a man named Abu Said Abdul Rahman ibn Abdullah ibn Bishr ibn Al Sarem Al ‘Aki Al Ghafiqi, brought his first line troops against the Berber.”

“There’s a mouthful of a name,” Elsbeth said.

“Worse than a name for a Beanie,” Jennifer interjected.

Margueritte nodded.  “And it seems the Berber, without help from Odo, got killed.  Hunald says his sister probably got sent to some harem in Damascus.  But now Odo is between Charles and the Muslims, the old rock and the hard place, and he doesn’t know what to do.  And now the Muslims have an excuse to cross the Pyrenees and take Odo’s land, and the Duke does not see any way to stop them.  Hunald says Abdul Rahman brought his army over the mountains, in early February, and he fears the Vascons will not resist, and Abdul Rahman will overrun Tolouse this time, and they won’t be able to escape.”

Margueritte stood and put down her papers, while Owien asked the operative question.  “What can we do?”

“Go home and train your young men, as planned.  Tomberlain has the Sarthe area.  Peppin has the Mayenne.  Owien, you have the Mauges, south of Angers, south of the Loire, while Wulfram has the north and east, between the rivers and Baugeois.  Walaric, I want you here in Pouance and to work with Captain Lothar on all the men from Segre and Haut.  I will write to Count Michael and Count duBois to be sure they are ready.  We follow Charles.  We have to wait and see what Odo and this Abdul Rahman do.  But be prepared to come on short notice.  No one under eighteen, and no first-year students, but you will need to bring as many as you can, footmen as well as horsemen.”

“Where?”  Tomberlain asked.

Margueritte thought a minute.  “Tours,” she said.  “We will all pay Amager a visit.  From Tours, we can head wherever we need to go in Aquitaine, and we can see what men he might add to our numbers.”

###

It became a warm June before Margueritte got another letter from Aquitaine.  Odo got badly defeated around Bordeaux, and now the city was under siege.  Margueritte sat down and wrote to Charles, who stayed in Reims.  What was he waiting for?  Odo would not be able to fend off Abdul Rahman by himself.  It became a scolding letter, and she would have to think about it before she sent it.  She went for a ride.  Concord had gotten old, at eleven years.  A ride for him became more like a walk.  Calista rode with her, but no one else bothered them.  They went out into the Vergen forest, on one of those trails Festuscato marked out years earlier.  This one came near the main road to Vergenville, and Margueritte eventually turned her horse to the road.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted.

“I don’t know if you have to do anything,” Calista said.  “Of course, I don’t know how humans work, exactly.  I know what you have told me about Islam, and it sounds terrible and dangerous, but I have heard from some of your little ones living in Iberia, and they say it isn’t so bad.  Of course, that is from an elf perspective.  I don’t know how humans work, exactly.”

“You said that,” Margueritte sighed and she saw Calista whip out her bow.  An arrow from some foe hidden among the trees struck Margueritte in the side, and she had to cling to her horse.

“Quickly,” Calista helped get the horses off the road and helped Margueritte get down and sit, leaning against a tree.  Calista fired an arrow, and quickly fired two more, and Margueritte had a stray thought.

“Poor Melanie.  You are going to get ahead of her.”

“No, Lady.  She got six Saxons and two Thuringians back east.  I am still six behind.”

“Wait six and two is eight.”

“Yes, Lady,” Calista let loose an arrow and announced, “Five to go.”

The arrows trying to get at them stopped, and a half-dozen Saracens charged.

“Hammerhead,” Margueritte yelled the name that came to mind, even as she once yelled the same name close to that very place, so many years ago.  The ogre came, and so did Birch, Larchmont and Yellow Leaf.  Only Luckless and Grimly were missing, but they had duties to attend back in the castle.

The Saracens did not last long.  This time, one made it back to his horse to ride off, but Larchmont and Yellow Leaf went after him, so he did not get far.  Fairies can fly much faster than any horse can run.

Calista complained.  “Thanks.  Melanie is still three ahead of me.”

Margueritte tried not to laugh.  It hurt too much.

“Lady.”  Hammerhead picked her up, gently, and Margueritte tried not to throw-up from the smell.  She closed her eyes and thought about flowers while Hammerhead carried her to the Breton gate.  The guards on duty balked at letting in the ogre, but they knew Birch, and Margueritte, of course, in the ogre’s arms.  They also knew Calista and the two horses she brought that shied away from the ogre.

“Open up, and be quick,” Birch said.  He stood in his big form and looked like a true Lord.  They opened but kept well back as Hammerhead brought Margueritte to the house.  He laid Margueritte down and backed off so men could carry her inside.  Hammerhead remembered he was not allowed in the house, so he sat by the oak sapling and the bench and waited.

Elsbeth and Tomberlain held Margueritte’s hands and called for Doctor Pincher.  He came and scooted everyone from the room, but let Jennifer stay.  Margueritte lost a lot of blood, but he said she should recover.

“It will be a few weeks in bed and several more of low activity.  We will have to watch to be sure she does not get it infected.  Keep it clean and clean cloths,” he said, and Jennifer said not to worry.

After those three weeks, as Margueritte first stood and thought about trying to go downstairs, Roland came roaring into the castle with twenty men on horseback.  They were all older men, traditional horsemen, Childemund among them, but they had all seen the lancers fight the Saxons and Thuringians, and they were anxious to get their hands on such weapons.

Roland held Margueritte and carried her down the stairs.  He became so cute and attentive, Margueritte almost got tempted to stay injured for a while.  Soon enough, though, she was able to sit for supper in the Great Hall, and she spoke from the end seat, where her father used to sit.  She wanted Roland to take the end seat, but he would not hear it.  He took her mother’s old seat so he could cut her meat, if she needed his help.

Jennifer sat on Margueritte’s left, opposite Roland and next to Tomberlain and Margo.  Owien and Elsbeth sat next to Roland.  Margo kept Walaric’s wife, Alpaida next to her.  Alpaida was still not entirely comfortable with the fairies, elves, gnomes, and dwarfs that occasionally popped up around the castle, though she had no complaints about Lolly’s cooking.  Walaric sat next to his wife, and Wulfram sat beside him.  On the other side, Childemund sat next to Elsbeth and Sir Peppin, and Captain Lothar sat across from Wulfram.

Tomberlain stood and toasted his family, and he counted everyone at the table like family because they had become that close.  Then Margueritte asked a question that started everything.

“What is Charles playing at?  He knows he has to come out and fight while there is time.  Odo cannot do it alone.  He should have gotten the message from Bordeaux.”

“He wants Odo taken down some before moving.  And I agree, it is a dangerous game.  Odo may lose entirely, and Abdul Rahman may be emboldened by the victory.”

“We will be ready,” Owien said.

“But we fight for Charles,” Tomberlain reminded him.  “Right now, we have to wait until he calls.”

“He may be waiting for winter,” Wulfram suggested from the far end of the table.  “These Saracens are used to the hot weather.  I was thinking they have not experienced the kinds of winters we have.”

“I just hope he does not wait too long,” Peppin said, and he nudged Childemund who looked up with a dumb look on his face.

“What?  I’m just enjoying this apple pie that Lady Elsbeth did not make.  I am attacking it, and the pie is going to lose.”

M4 Margueritte: Disturbances, part 2 of 3

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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.

M3 Margueritte: One Happy Ending, part 1 of 2

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

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

“Grimly?”  Margueritte got one-word in.

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

Margueritte shrugged.

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

“Ahem.”

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

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

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

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

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

“It may.”  Margueritte shared the blanket.

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

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

“I am?”  Goldenrod asked with complete surprise.

“The best,” Margueritte confirmed with a nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

M3 Margueritte: Roland, part 1 of 3

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Three days before Samhain in that same year, Roland came riding into the Triangle, much to the surprise of everyone, especially Margueritte.  “I was invited.”  He professed and pulled Margueritte’s embroidered handkerchief from his pocket.  Lady Brianna just smiled and welcomed him, regally.  Bartholomew, though glad to see the young man again, looked at his daughter with a different eye.  He knew nothing about it.

“Are you returning my token then?”  Margueritte asked later.

“Not a chance,” Roland said.  “I’ll let you know, but I suspect you may never get it back.”

Margueritte hardly knew what to say, but the joy got written all over her face.

At supper, Roland explained his presence.  He was sent by Charles with letters to Urbon, king of Amorica.  After leaving the Breton Mark and on returning to Paris with Father Stephano, he dug up the letters Bartholomew and Baron Bernard wrote over the last several years.  He read all about the Moslem Ambassador and wished to convey his congratulations on Urbon having the foresight to throw the man out.  The letters discussed at some length the incursions of the Moors into Aquitaine and suggested that Urbon keep a careful watch on the coast, knowing the coastline to be full of nooks and crannies where a raiding party might easily find a foothold.  Should he need the assistance of the Franks, Charles assured Urbon of his friendship and support.  And that was about it.

“Such letters could have been carried by courier.  Nothing secret there to move you out of your comforts in Paris,” Lord Bartholomew said.

“Actually, I volunteered to bring them,” he said.  Margueritte looked at her food and her heart fluttered.  “I wanted to see how Tomberlain was getting along with his swordplay.”

She kicked Roland this time, and she meant to.

Sadly, for her, Roland did seem to spend a lot of time with her father, Tomberlain, and even Owien.  They rode once for an hour or so.  They had a picnic on the second day, but Elsbeth came along and Goldenrod distracted everyone.  They did walk by the stream, but not much got said.  It seemed like they both became suddenly very shy.  Then Margueritte had her chores to do before they could leave for Vergenville, and she did her best to see them done.

Margueritte worked in the barn, in the potato bins, when Roland came unexpectedly.  She wore her apron.  Her hands were dirty, and she even had a streak of dirt across one cheek put there by the back of her hand used to wipe away the sweat.  “Oh, Sir.”  She started to turn away.

“Oh stop.”  He said in her same tone.  “My mother and sisters sorted potatoes all the time, and likely more than enough for a lifetime.”

“It is important, you know,” Margueritte said.

“Absolutely.  One rotten one can spoil the whole bin.”  He looked up at Grimly, whom he genuinely liked, and Goldenrod for whom he had the deepest love and affection, and Hammerhead, whom he at least respected, even if he still found it hard to look at the fellow.  They lounged around on the hay while their mistress sweated at her labor.  “Say, though,” he said.  “Wouldn’t it be better to let these little ones of yours sort the potatoes?  You and I could maybe walk again by the stream before your brother and father find me.”

“Oh, I don’t know if that would be such a good idea.”  Margueritte started.

“Why sure.”  Grimly jumped up.  “We would love to sort the taters.  I’m getting bored just sitting around anyway.”

“I can help.”  Goldenrod assured them all.

“Er, okay,” Hammerhead said, not quite sure what was being asked.

Margueritte explained while she wiped her hands as clean as she could on her apron.  “You just need to go through them one by one.  The good ones go here.”  She pointed to the empty bin.  “Any that are especially soft or if they are rotten, or even if you are not sure if they are good to eat, put them in the bucket.  Oh, I don’t know.”  She said in one breath, turned to Roland, and nearly bumped into him.  He put his arm over her shoulder as he spoke.

“We can stay a minute to see they get started,” he said.

Margueritte reached both hands up to hold his and make sure his arm stayed around her shoulder, but she said nothing.

“Now, if I’ve got it, the good ones go in the bin and the rotten ones in the bucket.  Come on, then.”  Grimly climbed up on the bin.  Each little one took a potato.  At least Goldenrod tried to take one, but she could not quite lift it.  Hammerhead took about six by accident and stared at them in utter uncertainty.  Grimly made up for the other two by instantly going from one to the next.

“No good, no good.  Definitely no good.  Nope. No way.  Not a chance.”

“Ugh!”  Goldenrod tugged with all her little might.

“Nope. No good. Ooo, this one looks like Herbert Hoover.”

“Let me see.”  Goldenrod left off her tug of war.

Hammerhead, still unmoved, stared at his spuds.

“Who is Herbert Hoover?”  Goldenrod asked.

“I don’t know, but this looks like him.”  He looked at Goldenrod and they spoke in unison.  “No good.”  The bucket started filling rapidly and not one was yet in the bin.

“Nope. Nope. Nope.”  Grimly started shoveling toward the bucket and Goldenrod got back to tugging until Grimly made enough of a dent for her potato to roll and take her with it with a “Weee!”

Margueritte’s sides were splitting with laughter, and Roland laughed right with her until she turned toward him, and their eyes met.  The laughter vanished in an instant and he drew her up to him and held her tight.  Their lips touched, soft and warm, and they might have remained that way for some time if Grimly had not whistled.

“Woohoo!”

“Whaty?”  Goldenrod said and got her little head above the edge of the bin.

M3 Margueritte: Visitors from the Real World, part 3 of 3

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Bernard looked around at Redux and then the formidable little woman guarding the house and decided the barn made the best place to start.  They pushed passed Margueritte and bumped little Elsbeth out of the way, spilling two of the eggs she had so carefully salvaged and went in.

“You two, up the loft.  You search the hay.  You the horse stalls and you the bins. You look around for anything out of place.”  Bernard was good at giving orders, but not about to soil himself actually looking through a barn.  The man at the hay began to poke with his sword, but then the cavalry arrived just in time.

“What’s all this then?”  Lord Barth asked, almost before he dismounted.  Tomberlain, Owien and the sergeant at arms with two men from the fields came to the barn door and the intruders paused in their search while Bernard explained.

“Two escaped men are wanted for questioning by the king.  Lord Ragenfrid has ordered us to search the barn, the house and the tower while he has taken the main force on to Vergenville.”

Margueritte spoke up.  “I told them the men may have ridden on to Vergen while Elsbeth and I were at our chores, but they do not believe me.”  She tried to look forlorn.  Tomberlain thought she was serious.

“Are you calling my sister a liar?” he shouted, and only Sir Barth’s arm held him back.

“My Lord,” Bernard spoke quickly.  “These men can be dangerous.  It is for your own protection that we offer to search on the chance that they may have snuck in without the girls knowing.”

Bartholomew looked at his daughters and got quite a different message than Tomberlain.  “I’ll see to the safety of my home and my family.  You can move on.”

“My Lord.  A secret door.”  A soldier shouted and the soldiers gathered there.

“No secret.”  Margueritte thought fast.  “We keep preserves down there.  A root cellar.”  Bernard did not accept that.  He ordered, and two soldiers raised the lid and one started down the stairs and stopped when he heard a voice.  And what a voice it was!

“Hey!”  The thunder rolled up the staircase.  “Who is that to disturb my sleep?”

“Didn’t I mention the ogre,” Margueritte said.  “Much better than a watchdog, you know.”

Bernard went white and the soldiers were already headed for their mounts when the voice returned.  “I’m coming up!”

Bernard snapped his head at Lord Bartholomew.  “M’lord” and ran for his steed. Six men left as quickly as six ever left anywhere.  They did not even see Hammerhead rise like a monster from the deep.

“That was a good dream, too,” he said.

“It’s been two days,” Margueritte pointed out.  “I think you may be growing up.” Hammerhead straightened in his pride.

“After a good meal my folks can sleep a whole season,” he said, but then Sir Barth wanted some answers.  Elsbeth already started uncovering the men who appeared frozen by what they saw.

“Little White Flower saw the riders from the chapel, and she rushed to get me.  Now what is this all about?”  Bartholomew asked.  He looked at Elsbeth but spoke to Margueritte.

“Don’t worry,” Elsbeth said to the two strangers as she came over and patted Hammerhead on the thigh, about as high as she could comfortably reach.  “He won’t hurt you, much.”  She paused to let it sink in.

“Ha.”  Hammerhead blasted a laugh.  “Much.”

“Great Lady.  You put one over on them Franks,” Grimly said.  “Slick as an elf selling water to a drowning man.”

“Actually,” the short man spoke as he came out from behind the hay, but in a direction that would take him farthest from the ogre’s reach.  “That was the most courage and quick thinking I have seen in some time.  You are a lucky man, Lord Bartholomew, to have such a daughter.”  The short man took Margueritte’s hand and kissed it.  “It was the best case of misleading truth I ever heard, and not one untruth in a single word.  Have you ever considered politics?

“I think not, m’lord,” Marguerite said, and felt a little embarrassed.

“My sister’s not a liar,” Tomberlain said.

“Water to a drowning man,” Grimly repeated himself.

“May I ask what will become of our horses?” the young man said.  He followed his Lord’s lead in kissing Margueritte’s hand.  She rather did not mind that.

“A temporary spell,” she said.  “It will wear off soon.”

“That’s right,” Grimly said.  “Temporary.”

“And who are you?”  Lord Bartholomew got tired of waiting for his daughter to give him an answer.

“Charles, aid decamp to the king by order of my father Pepin.”  The short man spoke simply.  “And my hulking young friend is Sir Roland, knighted three weeks ago last Lord’s day by the king himself hard on his twenty-first birthday.  But the honor was long overdue.  Best man at arms in the palace.  Saved my life, twice now if we can find the priest Stephano.  Ahem.”

Roland still held Margueritte’s hand and they were looking, eye to eye.  “Er, yes,” Roland said and quickly let go.  “My Lord Charles is too kind in his praise.”  Margueritte, with a glance at her father, put her hand quickly behind her back.

“Well, come up to the house and let us straighten all this out.”

“Wait,” Charles said.  “We must first be sure Ragenfrid did not leave behind someone to spy us out.

“Oh, yes.”  Margueritte came to herself.  “Goldenrod, would you mind taking a fly about to see if there are any spies lurking?”  The fairy came right up, and Roland was glad he stood far enough from Charles not to have his arm grabbed again.

“Yes. A good wing stretchy,” she said, and vanished.

“You’re not the Charles of the Saxon campaign, are you?”  Bartholomew asked.

“The same,” Charles said, but before more could be said, Goldenrod already came back to report to Marguerite.

“I went all around the triangle and around the chapel and everything,” she said.  “There is one horse by the first road bend, and a man, sneaky, with his head around the tree there.”  She pointed to the back corner of the barn where, clearly, no one could see anything but barn.  Still, most looked.  Hammerhead, who had been having trouble following all the conversation to that point had a thought.  He spoke as quietly as he could.

“I think I’ll stretch my legs now that I’ve slept,” he said.  “I might just go down the road a bit and see what I might find.”  He excused himself, everyone gave him plenty of room to exit the barn, and he began a little sing-song chant.  “I love to bite a crunchy head and grind the bones to make my bread.  I sing the song that’s in my head, and grind the bones…no, I said that part.”  Hammerhead got silent for a minute, then he began to whistle as he walked.  If you have ever heard an ogre try to whistle, you will know why everyone in the barn had to hold their sides to keep from laughing out loud.

After a minute, all assumed the way was clear.  Lord Bartholomew had been thinking in the meantime.  “Father Stephano has gone to the house of my Romanish friend, Constantus,” he said.

“You know the way?”  Charles asked.

“Of course.  But it is getting late and it will be dark soon.  Come and have supper and stay the night.  For all their zeal, your friends will have to stop as well in Vergenville, at least to rest the horses, and even if they leave at daybreak, it will be noon at the earliest before they are back here.”  He put his arm around Charles’ shoulder.  “Now tell me about the Saxon campaign.  God, I’m sorry I missed it.”  They headed for the house.

“Sir Roland,” Margueritte invited him toward the house.

“Lady Margueritte,” Roland responded.  He took one more look into her green eyes before he caught up with the other men and got tackled by Tomberlain.  As Margueritte followed, he looked back once more, and Margueritte felt herself turn a little red.

Margueritte thought her figure seemed to be turning out very nice.  All the curves and bumps were exactly as they ought to be, and it seemed her best feature.  Apart from her figure, however, she imagined she might be pretty enough in her way, but hardly exceptional.  Her features were too big: her ears, nose, hands, feet, and lips as well.  Her face looked much too round.  Just then, Elsbeth, with her perfect, sharp, angular, beautiful face bumped past her with her pert little nose stuck straight up in the air and her hips wiggling like a tramp.  “Lady Margueritte,” she whispered.

Margueritte did not feel too grown up to make a face at her sister, even if Elsbeth was not looking.  Besides, she thought, Elsbeth has freckles.  She withdrew the face, and just in time, as Roland turned his head for one more look before he entered the house.

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MONDAY

Guests stay in the triangle, and Margueritte  feels especially interested in one of the guests.  Until Monday, Happy Reading.

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