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The King’s Daughter – Chapter 16

THE prince made his way across the bailey with a quick and steady stride. Aelswith’s maidservant was lifting a bucket of fresh water from the well not too far from the door to the keep.

“Maiden, where is my sister?” he demanded.

“In her chamber, my lord,” she replied, bowing her head.

The prince ran through the door and up the stairs, skipping steps as he went up. He nearly knocked over a manservant who was carrying several rags in one arm and a bucket in his other hand. The servant just looked stunned as he regained his bearings and watched the prince disappear into the stairs above him.

She heard him coming. It was the familiar sound of his footsteps, which had been good warning in the past and proved to be so this day. She sprang to the door and locked it as quickly as she had ever done before. Immediately she heard her brother try the door, which was shortly followed by a loud pounding.

“Aelswith!” the prince shouted through the door. “Let me in at once.”

“I am not proper,” she shouted back as she threw her outer garment off and jumped under the covers of her bed.

“Get proper! I am coming in,” he shouted back. She heard a key enter the latch, turn with a brief scraping noise, and click into the unlocked position. As the door swung open she saw the prince standing in the doorway. He just stood there staring at her. He seemed quite angry at first glance; or perhaps it was more of a mixture of confusion and displeasure, but definitely serious. He continued to stand there staring at her eyes. He breathed a deep, almost verbal sigh.

“How long are you going to stand at my door?” she asked almost sarcastically, somewhat offended at her brother’s indifference to her privacy.

The prince softly entered the room and quietly closed the door. He walked over to the narrow window and stared out of it. There he stood calm and motionless.

Aelswith was very nervous now, “Say something.”

The prince looked down at his feet. “I am afraid to ask the unthinkable.”

She had never known her brother to be afraid of anything. “Afraid?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied gently. “I am afraid of what the truth might be. If what I ask of you is true, I shall face no greater grief. Yet, if it be not true, I am ashamed for asking it.”

Aelswith thought this might be her chance to forget the whole thing happened. “Then why ask?” she replied.

“Because despite our best efforts to hide it, the truth will always find a method of revealing itself.”

She knew what he meant. She had thought of it before; but she had not thought of it two nights ago. Why did that not stop her? Perhaps it was the mood, drinking by the fire, the seduction and the anger. It all converged as a single force to brush aside all rational thought. It hurt to think that way. She remained silent.

“Aelswith, do you know what I am about to ask you?”

She felt a painful knot forming in the back of her throat. Her heart began to race so fast that she could feel it pounding in her chest. Her hands began to perspire and her face grew pale. All she could do is nod her head.

“Ferrante claims,” he paused, still looking down at the floor, “well, he claims to have taken you.” He turned to her with an almost sorrowful look on his face and closed his eyes. “Please tell me it is not so.”

At this, Aelswith burst into an uncontrollable sob. Her eyes emptied themselves of tears into her hands with which she covered her face. “Oh, God!” she cried looking up at the ceiling between her fingers. Her whole torso began to rock back and forth until she finally crashed onto her side on the bed. She buried her face into her blanket.

The prince stood there for a moment in complete shock. He had never seen a person abandon all sense of restraint in expressing their deepest emotions. He saw for the first time his sister’s bare soul as she lay across her bed. He was moved with compassion. He approached the bed and sat down next to her. He put his arm around her to hold her as tears filled his own eyes.

“Oh, Aelswith,” he lamented, “What have you done?”

She sobbed even more bitterly. She sobbed till there were no more tears. A few minutes passed and the prince spoke again.

“Why did you do it, Aelswith?” he pleaded. “You know the consequences. Why did you do it?”

She tried to return to some semblance of normal breathing. “I…I was angry.”

“Angry?” the prince asked, confused. “About what?”

“Father. You. My life!” she exclaimed.

“What did Father do? What did I do?”

“You are perfection incarnate, and Father makes laws that no one can obey.”

“Like what?” the prince queried further, still confused.

“Like the wretched law I just broke.”

The prince’s eyes grew big. “Is that what this is all about?”

“Yes. No.” She shook her head. “It is that and so much more. I do not want to be the wife of a king. I hate being the daughter of one. I want a normal life. I want to do what everyone else does.”

“Aelswith?” the prince asked rhetorically. He threw up his hands. “You do not understand what you have done! This kingdom is in such disarray. People are dying everywhere from unknown diseases, the Normans are advancing from every corner, and we are in short supply of able-bodied men. And now you have personally forced the hand of precedence.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, confused by his last statement.

“Aelswith, you broke the law intended for your protection. The law requires that you must be subject to the penalty of death.”

“But you and Father made the law. You can change it!” she protested.

“You do not understand. If we change the law because the king’s own family has broken it, then we will have sanctioned chaos, and the people of this kingdom will rise up against us. When that happens, our enemy across the sea will overtake us, and we will be no more. The fact is that you broke the law.”

She sat up and faced him. Her eyes lit up. “What if we tell no one? No one has to know,” she pleaded.

“We could tell no one, but do you not think that Ferrante has arranged for the release of this knowledge? The last thing he said to me was that the whole world would know. Whether or not he goes free, his purpose from hereafter is to see the destruction of our father and his kingdom.”

She began to cry and fell into her brother’s shoulder. “I cannot bear to face death. I would rather join a convent.”

“Aelswith, how long can we run from the truth? If I join your betrayal, I too shall be worthy of death. It is not in my hands.”

The prince held her for a while longer as she continued to cry. Aelswith could hear him mouthing prayers over her head which she had firmly planted in his shoulder.

“I am afraid,” she said.

“I know,” the prince replied. “I am, too.”

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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 15

“SURPRISED to see me?” the prince asked as he observed Ferrante’s face upon entering the cell. Ferrante seemed distinctly startled. A ray of light from a hole near the ceiling cast itself across his face as he stood in the center of the cell. It was the only light in the room, but it was enough to see.

Ferrante quickly regained his composure. “No…in all ways, no…it is good to see you, my friend.”

There was a moment of brief silence as the prince walked around Ferrante. His eyes scanned the prisoner. He stopped behind Ferrante.

Leaning in, he put his mouth near Ferrante’s ear and whispered, “Who sent you?”

“I do not know of what you are speaking,” Ferrante replied defensively.

“Why would a Roman stranger, a member of your household, attempt to murder my father? What would he gain?” He started circling Ferrante again. “No, a servant does the bidding of his master.”

“Surely, you know that I would never harm your family.”

The prince whispered back into his left ear, “Who do you think I am? He would not so much as relieve himself without your permission.”

He continued to circle Ferrante. “No, I think he was paid to do this. Indeed,” he began raising his voice, “I think only a coward would send him to do the work that only a true man could do.”

Ferrante grew somewhat flustered; his cheeks and ears reddened. He gritted his teeth and let out a deep breath of aggravation through his nostrils.

The prince, shaking his head, continued. “No, he is not that intelligent. Truth be told, this is the work of an imbecile.”

Ferrante’s temper began to flare. “Surely, I should think that it would take a man of great intelligence to mastermind a scheme the likes of which you accuse me.”

The prince paused. “Perhaps,” he mildly concurred. Then he continued. “One question, though. When I came in you were startled because you thought I was dead and yet no one told you so. How can that be?”

“I just thought, the odds being as they were, that you might not come back,” Ferrante started, but the prince interrupted.

“Really? Let me conjecture what else you were thinking. With my father and me out of the way, who would be left to rule this kingdom? Ah, yes, my sister, whom you so adeptly and conveniently wooed. One question remains then. How much did they pay you?”

Ferrante raised his voice, growing increasingly frustrated. “Pay me? Who?”

“How did you really find out that the Normans were going to attack at Southampton? You made a deal with them, did you not? They help you become king, and you give them their choice of land.”

Ferrante was now incensed in his passions against the prince. He knew there was no fooling the prince; he had been discovered. He yelled back, “You do not know the half of it!”

There was a moment of silence as Ferrante calmed himself down. His mind entered a distant world. His eyes at once grew haughty as he laughed through his nose. Softly he said, “You know the man I shot at the tournament? I hired him.” He let out a fiendish laugh, “He had no idea.”

“You made your plans, but you cannot match wits with the Hand of Providence.”

“You believe in your God because you are weak,” Ferrante said, exuding arrogance.

“And you believe in your intellect, which has failed you this time.”

“On the contrary, I possess knowledge that will save me or destroy us all. You will have to decide which you prefer.”

“I do not care for your knowledge. I have your confession. That is enough.”

The prince turned to leave, but as he approached the door Ferrante yelled out, “Tell your sister I never tasted a girl so sweet.”

At once the prince turned and lunged at Ferrante, throwing him against the damp cell wall. He drew his dagger and held it to the devil’s throat.

“Watch your unholy tongue or I will cut it from your mouth,” the prince whispered intensely, his heart pounding with every syllable.

Ferrante smiled a grimy, grotesque smirk. “Ask her,” he whispered, his own heart beating fiercely. Sweat was streaming from his forehead. He hissed a laugh through his teeth.

The prince wanted so much to plunge the dagger through his throat, but his time would come soon. Provoked, he rammed his knee into Ferrante’s stomach. Ferrante fell to the floor in a fetal position. The prince turned and stormed out of the cell. He slammed the door shut with a heavy, metallic thud.

As he hastily made his way down the hallway he could hear the fading, almost maniacal voice from behind the closed door. “They will know!” the voice yelled. “You shall see! The whole world will know!” The prince continued up the stairs until the sound of the voice was no more.

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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 14

THE morning passed without great event. The castle was abuzz with rumors and tales regarding the events of the previous day. By noon, Ennio had become a full-fledged Norman invader under the demonic influence of Ferrante, who was an incarnation of the Devil himself. The wounds that the king bore were cuts hewn with the Devil’s claws. His arm would have been completely severed if it were not for the miraculous intervention of Michael the Archangel himself. But despite the mixed tales of a few daydreamers, there was a general soberness in the atmosphere. After all, the world that they had become so comfortable with for so long had almost been turned upside down in a single day.

Aelswith arose late in the morning to the sound of a trumpet. How unusual! Surely her brother had not arrived so early in the day, but she hoped it was he for she wanted so much to see him. She made haste to the bailey. As she emerged through the doorway of the keep, she saw a man riding towards her on his horse from across the bailey. She recognized him. It was her brother, along with two of his thegns. As he rode near, before his horse had even come to a complete halt, he swung his leg over and jumped onto the ground. He took several quick steps to compensate his landing and fast approached Aelswith.

“Brother!” she said throwing her arms around his neck. The prince held her in his arms for a moment as he felt her start to cry. He put his right hand behind her head and leaned his head back to look at her face.

“Are you all right?” he asked. She nodded. “Father…how is he?”

She wiped the tears from her eyes. “He is resting…how did you…”

“A messenger arrived last night. I came as quickly as I could,” he said.

“You are hurt!” she said, noticing a bandage around his arm with dried blood caked on it.

“I will be fine. Where is he?” the prince insisted.

He followed her into the keep and up into their father’s chamber. The king lay awake. A maidservant was dressing his wounds when he noticed the two enter. His eyes lit up.

“Please,” he said to his maidservant and pointed his finger at Aelswith. The maidservant laid the cloths to the side and left promptly. He weakly motioned Aelswith to approach his bed and to sit down next to him. She walked to him, leaned over and kissed him on his forehead. She sat and continued to apply the bandages where the maidservant had left off.

“Father, how do you fare today?” the prince asked approaching the bed.

He nodded. He could not say much because it still hurt to force breath from his lungs.

“You do not look as good as you feel,” he said with a smile. The king laughed through his breath and then grabbed his chest from the pain. The prince ran around to the other side of the bed and sat down. “Father, I am sorry. I shall be more careful not to make you laugh.” The king nodded in consternation.

“I have great news to tell,” the prince started. “We have defeated the enemy at Southampton. The other men are returning tonight.”

The king’s smile was more than spoken word could have expressed.

“I knew such news would bless you.”

Aelswith had been silent, just tending to the bandage and listening. The king turned to her and gently stopped her hand and held it in his. He mouthed the word, “Beautiful,” and grinned at her. She blushed. She did not want him to call her that. She thought if he only knew the things she had done. When he finds out that I have betrayed him, he shall think me detestable.

The king coughed very loudly. His eyes winced with pain. He swallowed in a highly exaggerated way. Aelswith took a wet cloth and wiped his forehead.

“Father, you must rest.” She pulled his blankets up to his neck and kissed his forehead again. He tried to smile, but it still hurt. He mouthed the words, “I love you.” They both responded in kind. He closed his eyes and fell asleep. They both arose from the bed and left the room quietly.

Outside the door, the prince addressed his sister tenderly. “Aelswith, you are good for my eyes.”

“I prayed for your safety, and you have returned.”

“Thank you for your prayers. Providence has brought us safely and victoriously.”

There was a moment of silence between them as they made their way down to the kitchen. The prince instructed a servant to prepare a small meal for him and his men. He turned to Aelswith again, “Do you know who this man is that tried to murder our father?”

“It grieves me to say it, but it was Ferrante’s servant.”

“Ferrante’s servant? As long as I have known him he has never had a servant.”

“He does now; or at least did.”

“Is this man dead?”

“Yes, Father killed him.”

“And what of Ferrante? Where is he?”

“Yesterday we captured him on the road to Londontown. Right now he is in the dungeon.”

He took a piece of bread and turned toward the door. “I must see him at once.”

She followed him as far as the door to the bailey.

“Stay there,” he said as he continued to walk out onto the bailey.

“Wait!” she exclaimed, almost unsure that she wanted to stop him.

He paused. “What is it?” he asked with concern.

There was a brief moment of silence there that seemed like time stood still for her. She wanted to tell him the truth about Ferrante and her, but she could not speak. She decided to take her chances. Hopefully Ferrante would remain silent.

“Nothing,” she responded shaking her head subtly.

For a second the prince peered into her eyes to detect what she might be thinking. He could not.

“Very well,” he said. He turned again and continued his short journey. She gazed at him as he walked away. Soon he would know the truth, one way or the other.

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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/.