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The King’s Daughter – Chapter 19

HIGH on the bluff overlooking the northern Wessex shore, a north wind streamed its way through Aelswith’s hair. The falling sun illuminated her face with its bright orange hue as she read from her brother’s letter, his journals and prayed the prayers he had once written on the very place she now stood. She held the pages down as a gust of wind tried to turn them. She could hear his voice in her head as she read the words over and over again. She felt that this was the closest she could get to him this side of Heaven. But she would have to leave soon.

She heard a horse ride up behind her. It was her father.

“Aethelhelm said you had come here,” the king said.

“Yes, Father,” she replied with a bright smile. “I was just reading his journal.”

The king dismounted his horse and walked up beside her. They looked out at the ocean. “Your brother was a wise man. He had much insight.”

She dropped her head. “He would have made a great king.”

“Yes,” he sighed. “Yes, he would have.”

“Why, Father?” she asked, turning her head to look at his face. “Why did he do it?”

“He loved you, Aelswith, like no other. He was convinced that one day you would be queen, and,” the king paused to look down, “and that your child would need a mother.” He turned back to see her reaction, which at the very least was one of amazement.

“But…how…how did he…?” she stammered.

“I did not believe him at first, but the evening of the naval battle off of Southampton he had a dream. In that dream, a man or an angel, he did not know, appeared to him and told him that you had conceived. He told him that you would be queen and that your child would be king after you. He told him to fear not, and when the proper time came he would receive the courage to make a great sacrifice. And so he did.”

Aelswith sat there staring down at her hands. She shook her head and then looked up at the sky. She imagined herself standing before God seated on the Great Throne. She squinted her eyes, and as she did, a tear fell upon her cheek. It softly streamed its way down to her chin. She whispered, “Why?” She dropped her head and quietly cried. She was tired of crying, but she could not help it. Such grace she had never experienced before. The king extended his arm and she leaned over to place her head on his shoulder. She pictured her brother in her mind. “Remember me,” he said with a soft smile. She was determined to do that.

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The King’s Daughter by John Albert Thomas is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://johnalbertthomas.com/contact/.

The King’s Daughter – Chapter 18

AELSWITH sat in her chamber and waited. What more could she do? She felt as if she were drowning in a sea of emotions. One moment she felt unjustly accused; the next she felt the guilt and shame of betraying her father. It was endless torture.

Her father could not bear to see her for his anger turned to sorrow, and his sorrow sapped his strength. Her brother, though his heart was torn, spent much time with her in both deep and trivial conversation. They reminisced of many happy times, and sad times, too. They talked of their mother; soon Aelswith would be with her. For though she was about to face the hard hand of justice on earth, she had made peace with God.

The most amazing metamorphosis took place as she approached the day of her execution; she had gained an insatiable appetite to glean wisdom from her brother. She was like a blind woman who had been given the gift of sight for a week. She asked her brother many questions. He shared with her many passages from Holy Scripture and excerpts from his own observations, especially from his childhood trip to Rome. He read to her the works of St. Augustine and of Bede. But of all the things he read to her, the Psalms gave the greatest comfort, for even David had received forgiveness from the God he betrayed. Yet she was haunted by one thought—my eyes are finally opened, and there is no time left to see.

~

The day arrived. Despite their best efforts to keep the event confidential, the royal household was not able to squelch the rumors or the interest. Hundreds of people from across the countryside gathered on the inner bailey to watch—and to mock. Most people did not believe that the king would kill his own daughter. If he did not, they would mock, calling out for public orgies in defiance of the king and his law. If he did, they would get to see the show, and then immediately oust the king, for only the most heinous man would do such a thing to his own daughter. Some made it a game, casting bets on the outcome.

But within the castle halls and chambers there was only grief and regret.

~

Across the bailey, next to the dungeon, carpenters were busy testing the trap mechanism on the gallows. There were three traps in all; two reserved for Aelswith and Ferrante, one for the man who raped the tavern girl. Everyone in the crowd cringed at the sound of the hinges screeching as the doors fell. One of the bags of sand they were testing with burst open and poured itself onto the ground below. The crowd cheered.

~

Inside her chamber Aelswith was kneeling by her bed to pray with her brother when she heard a knock at the door. She arose and opened the door; it was her father. She stepped back not knowing what to say or if she should even look at him. He entered the room.

“Aelswith,” the king said gently.

She could not look at his face, but she lunged forward and threw her arms around his neck. He was momentarily surprised but quickly responded with a whole-hearted embrace. Tears overcame them both, and for several minutes they sobbed in each other’s arms. All they could say was how sorry they were. For both of them it was a moment of healing.

She leaned back and finally looked up at his face. His eyes were bloodshot from the tears. He looked older, too.

“Father, can you ever forgive me?” she pleaded, searching his eyes.

“My dearest Aelswith, I already have.” He placed his right hand on her cheek and lightly massaged it with his thumb. He let his hand slide behind her neck as she drew close to him in another embrace.

“Aelswith, do you understand…why?” the king asked referring to the execution.

Aelswith pulled herself back far enough to look into his eyes. “Yes, Father. I do. We have discussed it.” She was referring to the prince who was still kneeling by her bed, trying to remain inconspicuous as father and daughter shared an intimate moment.

“Oh, my darling, I wish I could go back,” the king whispered, closing his eyes and shaking his head slightly as he spoke.

“No, Father,” she reassured him. “You did what you had to do to save this kingdom. I was the one who betrayed you. I should have listened. I wish I could go back.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Father.”

The sound of a bell resonated throughout the castle. It was the eleventh hour. They had one hour left. The king joined Aelswith and the prince by the bed, kneeling in prayer for the full hour.

The noon bell sounded; it was time. They arose from beside the bed, and the three embraced one last time. They opened the chamber door to find Aethelhelm and Eadwulf waiting.

Aethelhelm took her in his arms and whispered in her ear, “I am going to miss you so much, my little apprentice.”

She walked over to Eadwulf. She had never seen his eyes tear up like that before. His lips quivered and his voice cracked, “I…I…” That’s all he could say. She looked up at his big, burly face and grabbed his beard as she had always done as a child. “I know,” she said with a smile. He started to cry, but quickly wiped away the tears that were streaming down his face onto his beard.

The five turned and walked together down the hall, down the stairs and out of the keep.

Outside, on the bailey, eight guards led by the chief guard were stationed to surround the royal party as they crossed the bailey. The crowd was enormous; not even the Festival had brought this many people to the castle before. She could hear them jeering and hissing at her.

Toward the back of the crowd the builders had erected a platform for the royal family. Despite the warnings regarding their overthrow, the king and prince insisted they attend this execution for one main reason; they wanted to be there for Aelswith in her final moment. It was their faces she wanted to see. The royal party stepped up onto the platform and stood at the rail facing the crowd and beyond that the gallows.

Now Aelswith was alone with the guards. She felt absolute loneliness now. When they approached the dungeon, the chief guard took her inside.

~

The crowd grew restless and rowdy. Some had already started to mock the king. He just stood there and looked at the gallows. The crowd began chanting, “Bring out the dead!”

Moments later, the door to the dungeon opened, and the chief guard came out. The crowd erupted in a roar of pleasure. Behind the chief guard followed the three shackled criminals, one after the other with two guards between each of them. Ferrante led the group, followed by Aelswith, and then the rapist.

Over his shoulder Ferrante whispered, “Sleep together, die together. Is that how it is, whore?” Aelswith grew angry but chose not to respond. They continued walking alongside the crowd and up onto the gallows.

The guards placed each criminal on a trap door. Aelswith stared at the square below. Her heart began to pound fiercely. The reality of this situation suddenly pummeled her whole psyche. There was no turning back. She felt the shackles on her feet and on her wrists. She could hear the sound of guards walking away behind her. She could hear one large set of boots walking heavily towards her. She glanced back. It was the hooded man. She could see his eyes, dark and deep-set. They smiled back at her in a perverse sort of way. She looked forward. Then she saw them.

Across the ocean of people, whose heads seamed to wag and bob like waves, she saw her father and her brother, Aethelhelm and Eadwulf. They smiled at her as best they could. She smiled back. The sight of them somehow brought her great comfort. She closed her eyes for a second to savor her vision of them, to focus in on them in her mind. She felt the noose fall around her neck and then constrict. She could feel the prickly hairs of the rope scratch her throat.

She opened her eyes and looked at them again. She could hear the rapist starting to sob. She looked down and there was a puddle forming between his feet. She looked at Ferrante. He stared at her, smirking, and then he spit on her. She felt it run down her cheek.

“Do not fear; you will see your father very soon,” he spoke in a cynical, devilish manner, “and your brother, too.”

She gave him a stabbing look and then turned to once again focus on her father and brother.

Everything was ready. The executioner stood at attention near the lever that opened the trap doors. He looked to the platform where the king stood. The king was to give the final order. But the king was looking down at the rail on which his hands were pressed firmly. He closed his eyes. The crowd grew completely silent. This was the moment for which everyone had been waiting. This was the moment that would define the future of the kingdom. The king began to push and pull himself with the rail, faster and faster, perhaps hoping that it would give way. Then he stopped and looked up; he looked up at Aelswith. She nodded. He raised his hand and gave the signal to the executioner.

The crowd grew tense with anticipation. The executioner raised his hands to the lever. One by one his large, gloved fingers wrapped themselves around the lever. He raised his shoulders as he prepared to pull.

“WAIT!” shouted the prince. The executioner withdrew his hand. The crowd began to murmur.

The prince turned to the king, “Father, it is the only way—for Aelswith—for the kingdom.”

The king looked at the prince, “Son, I cannot let you go through with it.”

“Yes, Father. It is as we discussed. Trust me.“

The king stood apprehensive, obviously in great turmoil. He shook his head for a moment in silence. The crowd grew louder in their demand for justice. He finally grew calm. “Then, go,” he said, embracing him. “Godspeed, my son.”

The prince flew down the steps of the platform and made his way through the crowd. There was confusion everywhere. The rapist started to jump up and down shouting, “Mercy! Mercy!” Ferrante had a disconcerted look on his face. And Aelswith was thoroughly confused. What was going on?

The prince ran up the steps of the gallows. He ran over to Aelswith and removed the noose from around her neck. The crowd grew angry and started shouting obscenities at the prince. Ferrante began his own tirade.

“What are you doing?” Aelswith asked in an upset tone.

“Trust me,” the prince replied.

The chief guard ascended the stairs of the gallows to protect the prince and Aelswith should they leave. But it was not case. The people grew deathly silent and utterly still. The prince took the noose that was placed on Aelswith and hung it around his own neck.

Aelswith was completely horrified. “NO!” she shouted with everything in her. She began pounding on his chest. She immediately began sobbing, trying to reach for the noose around her brother’s neck. He held her back, and the chief guard came to help.

“Aelswith! Look at me!” he shouted. “LOOK AT ME!” She gained barely enough composure to hear him speak. “Aelswith, take this.” He handed her a written letter, sealed with his wax seal. “Take it.”

“Why?” she cried.

“Aelswith, remember the things that I have told you. Go! I love you.” He turned to the chief guard, ”Guard, take her away!”

The guard pulled her away from her brother and guided her off of the gallows. He led her to the platform where her father stood ready to embrace her. He opened his arms to her, and she fell into them, sobbing with complete abandon. She could not stand to see her brother die. The prince yelled from the gallows, “I die for my sister, yes, but I die for you, also. Remember me when you return to your homes. Remember how I lived and how I loved. Go and sin no more.” The crowd was still and speechless.

The prince looked at the king and nodded. The king raised his hand and gave the signal. The executioner put his hands on the lever. He pulled it and the trapdoors opened.

~

No one spoke. Slowly and gradually the crowd left through the drawbridge till there was no one left. The guards removed the bodies and took them into the dungeon. Aethelhelm and Eadwulf also left. Only the king and his daughter remained; he was still holding her; she was still whimpering on his chest. He held her till the day was gone.

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The King’s Daughter by John Albert Thomas is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://johnalbertthomas.com/contact/.

The King’s Daughter – Chapter 17

A week passed in eerie quietness around the castle, but the king’s daughter keenly felt the whispered rumors. Across the countryside emerged several hooded riders who rode through the burghs at night dropping small, printed posters. On each one was printed an accusation that the king’s daughter fornicated with and aided her father’s would-be assassin; it was a demand for justice. Not even the epidemic that prompted the king to legislate morality in the first place had spread as quickly as this news. The people started to demand an accounting of the king’s daughter. Those in the castle walls began to distance themselves from her; she avoided them by staying in her room. Only four—Aethelhelm, Eadwulf, her brother and her maidservant—provided her human contact and comfort.

During this time nobody had told the king for he was still very weak. Beyond the walls, a large group of people, some of whom had traveled from the farthest ports in the kingdom, had gathered on the outer bailey at the festival grounds to protest the king’s daughter. Some hoped to witness a hanging. Ferrante himself had issued a formal, legal charge against her. The prince had no choice but to tell the king of his daughter’s offenses.

As expected, he did not receive the news well. He grieved deeply, even more so than at the death of his wife. It was not just that Aelswith reminded him so much of her mother, or even that she would very likely face the penalty of death. It was that she had lost her innocence, and despite the pomp and circumstance of royalty and all the things that consumed a king’s attention, nothing in this life had drawn out his deepest affections as his little girl. His body empathized with his spirit and once again turned ill, almost to the point of death.

The following week passed, and the outer bailey grew infested with tents of the impassioned activists. Each day the call for justice grew louder. It was time for the judicial council to convene. The king found himself, as it were, awakened from a deep sleep. His body was mending, but his heart felt as if it was being shredded to pieces. Because of his relationship with the accused, the king temporarily resigned his position as chief judge in the council. Every man on the council expressed his own personal grief—after all, they had known Aelswith since she was an infant—but they each swore to uphold the law as written.

“What say you to the charges brought against you?” asked one of the judges.

“I am guilty, my lord,” Aelswith said, kneeling on the stone floor, bowing her head in shame and reverence.

Leaders of the crowd murmured amongst themselves in a swelling cacophony.

“Silence!” commanded the head judge. The noise subsided.

“Have you any words in your defense?” he continued.

Aelswith lifted her head and looked at the judge. “Truthfully, my lord, I have no excuse. But I swear upon the Holy Book and before the God of Heaven that Ferrante never disclosed his intentions to me. I love my father and would never have knowingly harmed him.”

“Very well. We shall deliberate on this matter and reconvene tomorrow at noon with a verdict.”

~

All night long Aelswith lay awake. How could she sleep? Her destiny would be determined tomorrow by a group of men whom she had grown to respect over the years. She went to her window and knelt down looking up at the stars and the moon. It was a clear night. She folded her hands and prayed. Never had she prayed more fervently for so long. Hours passed, pleading, confessing and even basking in surprising moments of incomprehensible joy. God seemed more real to her than ever before.

She was still kneeling when the sun tinged the tops of the forest trees with red and golden ribbons of light. She smiled and went back to her bed. She finally fell asleep from pure exhaustion.

About an hour before noon her maidservant entered her chamber and awakened her. She brought in some food and a fresh change of clothes. Aelswith took her time in preparing herself for the council, but nothing she did was able to remove the dark circles under her eyes. Just before noon, the prince came to escort her down to the Great Hall where the council was already assembled.

“Are you ready?” he asked gently.

“Yes,” she responded simply.

“You did not sleep?” he asked.

“No.”

“You do not want to speak today?”

“No.”

The prince smiled. She cracked a small one as the conversation broke the tension. He took her arm, and they walked down together.

The council quieted when Aelswith and the prince entered the room. Aelswith looked around, but her father was noticeably absent. They seated themselves before the council.

“Will the defendant please rise?” said the man who took her father’s seat.

Aelswith was understandably shaking. She stood up and used one hand to keep the other from shaking.

“The council has come to a verdict. On the charge of treason, we find the defendant ‘Not Guilty.’” Aelswith looked down at her brother, and they meekly smiled at each other. Then she realized that this was not really why she was there.

“On the charge of unlawful conduct with Ferrante, we find the defendant ‘Guilty.’ The defendant will receive the full penalty of death by hanging according to the law of this land.”

Up until now, she somehow thought that everything would turn out all right, but the weight of reality barreled down upon her spirit and broke her. She began to weep, and the prince rose to embrace her.

The chief councilman continued. “Execution will take place at noon, one week from today. I suggest the defendant take the opportunity to tend to her soul. As such, she shall remain under house arrest until the time of her execution. This council will now adjourn.”

The prince continued to hold her until they were the only ones left. Some patted her on her back as they walked by her. Other expelled sighs of disgust. At that moment she just wanted to die.

“Come,” the prince graciously prompted. He gently led her out of the Great Hall.

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The King’s Daughter by John Albert Thomas is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://johnalbertthomas.com/contact/.