John Albert Thomas Solo Piano

The King’s Daughter – Chapter 13

AFTER dinner, at which Aelswith proved her capacity for food, she promptly rose from the table and left the Great Hall. She crossed the bailey to the main guardhouse. She silently passed between the two guards who greeted her.

Inside, the chief guard, a rather burly man, was sitting at a small table.

“Good sir,” Aelswith greeted him in a sober tone. “Take me to Ferrante.”

“My Lady, I do not think…” the chief guard started, but was quickly interrupted.

“Sir, for more than twenty years my father has trusted you. I should think you capable enough of protecting me. Please do as I say.”

“Yes, my lady,” he responded slightly embarrassed. He reached for his keys, got up and headed toward the main door to the dungeon. He unlocked it and opened it with a deep, metallic creaking sound. “This way, my lady.”

Aelswith followed the guard through the door and down the stairs into a lower level. As they proceeded down the torch-lit corridor, she was surprised at how clean everything looked. There was no foul odor except that of sweat. The guard stopped in front of a large iron door. He unlatched the clasp on the window and swung it open. He tapped on the door.

“Visitor,” the guard spoke firmly through the window.

A moment later she saw a recognizable face, that of Ferrante. His eyes lit up. “My Lady! Please tell this man that I am not the one whom they seek.”

“How can I?” she responded. “Was it not your servant they found in my father’s chamber?”

“Truly, Aelswith, I had no knowledge of this,” Ferrante pleaded. “You must believe me.”

She searched his eyes for a brief moment and then turned to the guard. “This man is harmless to me. Please give us a moment in private.”

“Yes, my lady,” he responded and proceeded back to the foot of the stairs where he kept his distance just out of earshot.

Aelswith turned to Ferrante and harshly whispered. “Your words are poison to me. Do you think me a fool?”

“Aelswith,” he tried to reassure her, “I would never lie to you.”

“Then why would the man in your employ try to murder my father? Surely he had nothing to gain from his death. No,” she said shaking her head, “it was you who conjured up this fiendish plot. It was you who betrayed my family and me, but why? Why did you do it?”

“Surely, my lady, you are sorely mistaken. My servant went of his own volition. I would never hurt you or your family.” Ferrante was starting to get angry at this point. “Have I not been good to your family? What about last night? Did you not partake of my deepest affections for you?”

“Quiet!” she exclaimed in a whisper, glancing back at the chief guard. “Why should I trust you? You deceived me. You deceived me into showing you the secret entrance. If you truly loved me you would have protected my purity.”

“Aelswith, please, I do love you,” he appealed. “Get me out of here. We can leave this place together. I will take you to see the wonders of the world as you have only dreamed.”

“I have betrayed my father and brother once already,” she resolutely confessed. “You shall not convince me to do so a second time.”

At this Ferrante’s blood began to boil. The veins in his neck and forehead began to extrude, and his heart began to pound fiercely. Spit sprayed from his lips as he spoke. “You do not understand! Whatever end you choose for me, I shall choose for you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You know what I mean. You let me go, and we leave together, or…we die together. It is your choice now.”

She stood there dumbfounded. She knew he was quite capable of doing it. He would reveal to the king or the prince the events of last night. But if she ran off with a man whose treachery is obviously to be feared, what would happen? What proof did she have that he would not kill her once she freed him? If she were to die, she would rather die for the truth than be remembered for two acts of betrayal.

“No, Ferrante, I shall not live my life as a traitor and conspirator in your feeble attempt to murder my father. I shall not betray him again. Do what you must, but remember this:  though I die at your side, you still lose.” She paused. “Guard!”

The guard came quickly down the hall. “My lady.”

“See to it that this man talks to no one. He has the tongue of a snake.”

“Very well.”

She looked at her betrayer once more. For the first time she saw the evil that lurked in his eyes. They were almost hypnotic, but their power was broken when the guard closed the window and set the latch. She followed him down the hallway and up the stairs, thanked him and promptly left.

Her body and her emotions were exhausted, but she needed to see her father again. She went to his chamber where a guard was keeping watch. He let her in quietly.

The king lay silently asleep on his bed, his large chest rising and falling with each breath. It was labored. She walked over to the bed and knelt by his side.

Her whole countenance fell. It felt as if the dreamy castle she once lived in was crashing down upon her. Her forehead creased with anguish. She began to pray in a whispered plea.

“God, my Lord, what have I done? I have betrayed my father and my brother and the teachings of my mother. I have betrayed this kingdom. I have turned against you. If anyone deserves to die, I surely do. Look down on my father and restore him to the health and strength he once had. You alone can do that.”

“Father in Heaven, forgive me, and plant the seed of forgiveness into my father’s heart. Redeem me, O Lord, from my transgression. If I am to die for these things, then remember me as you remembered the man who died next to you. If I am to live, then help me to live the rest of my days as your servant, just as my father and brother have done. I shall live as the king’s daughter and as the daughter of the King of Heaven. So I humbly rest my soul upon your mercy, and confess my sin to you. Forgive me, Lord.”

She rested her head upon the bed. Somehow, she felt peace. Was it God? She felt it must be. Still she must face her brother and her father. Would they forgive her? Whatever happens, she thought, I am ready to face it. She held her father’s hand for the next hour and then quietly withdrew to her own chamber. Her bed never looked so inviting. She crawled in and stared out the window at the starry sky. Was that the same sky her brother was looking at tonight? She hoped he made it back safely. Only tomorrow would tell.

---

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 12

EARLIER that morning, Aelswith and Ferrante, along with his servant Ennio, arrived at the moat just in time to see her brother and his men riding across the land bridge and down the road to Southampton. She remembered her terrifying vision and silently pleaded with God to protect her brother. In the midst of her prayer she could hear a small voice inside her head remind her of what she had done last night. It said, “God’s not going to listen to you. Your brother deserves to die because of what you did.” She felt shame and regret, and anger, too. She knew that she had given away her virginity just to spite her father. “Why,” she asked herself. “Why did you have to do it? What if they discover?”

She could not look Ferrante in the eyes. They both were quiet about it. Though the sky was still dark and splattered with stars, she caught him through her peripheral vision smiling as if he had just accomplished something great. She felt confused. Part of her felt used, but she also felt excited. She had never before been touched in that way. It felt wonderful. She wanted more; anything to quiet her internal accuser. But then fear arose; fear of being caught, fear that God would punish her or those she loved because of it, fear of the unknown.

“Let me help you,” Ferrante offered, one hand holding the boat steady and the other extended to the princess. She took his hand and carefully boarded the vessel.

“I shall be with you soon,” he said reassuringly. “Ennio, make sure she gets safely and quietly inside. Just head for those two rocks. You will see the entrance there.”

Ennio stepped into the boat. Aelswith was confused.

“I should go alone,” she quietly protested.

“I want to make sure you are safe,” Ferrante gently argued. “Have no fear. He will swim back. I trust him with my life.” She resigned her protest, and Ennio proceeded to row across the moat.

When they reached the entrance where the gate was still raised, Aelswith whispered, “Thank you. This is as far as you can go.” He nodded and carefully leaned over and let himself slide into the water. He disappeared into the darkness. She knew he could take care of himself. She paddled through the gate and into the dim, torch-lit cove where she drifted alongside the jetty. She exited the craft and lowered the gate. She was relieved to be on home turf. Now she had the task of reaching her chamber undetected.

She emerged from the library and heard voices down the hall. She heard them mention something about the banquet the evening before. It must be a couple of the servants, she thought. The sound of their voices drifted away. She hesitated but then decided to just go for it. She made her way down the hallway and started up the stairs. Then she heard footsteps above her. Her heart leapt. Should she go back? She was already halfway up to the second floor. She bolted up and through the doorway on the second floor. Afraid to breathe, she pressed her back against the cold stone in a side alcove. She heard the feet pause near the doorway. She saw a shadow across the floor in front of her. She closed her eyes, as if that would keep them from seeing her. Then without haste, the sound of footsteps continued down the staircase and faded away completely.

She let out a deep sigh of relief. That was too close, she thought. Two beads of perspiration converged and blazed a trail down her left temple. She wiped it off with her shawl. She resolved to try again.

Up the stairs she ran quickly, down the hall and through the door of her chamber. She closed the door behind her and leaned back against it. She caught her breath again. A moment later she took her shawl off, threw it across the back of her chair and crashed onto her soft, welcoming bed. Not a minute passed before she was deeply buried in unconsciousness. The long night was over. Or was it?

Down in the cove under the castle, a man emerged from the cold depths, pulling himself up onto the jetty. It was Ennio. He had followed the boat underwater and hid behind it until the king’s daughter had lowered the gate and exited into the narrow staircase to the library. He stayed on the landing examining the staircase for nearly five minutes until he was sure that all was clear.

Aelswith dreamt deeply that morning. She dreamt of shadows fighting. She heard clashing. There were voices. Was it her brother? She could not see. The fighting grew more intense, and then she saw it. A large battle-axe coming down upon her as she lay in her bed. She awoke.

The room was still. Her eyes were foggy. She did not feel rested. A moment had passed in silence as her eyes drifted shut again, but in an explosion of noise to her sensitive ears, the door to her chamber burst open. It was her servant.

“My lady! My lady! Wake up! Come quickly!”

Slowly Aelswith’s eyes began to focus on the girl approaching her. She so much wanted to ignore her, but the girl insisted, “My lady! ‘Tis your father!”

At this Aelswith’s alertness heightened. “My father?” she asked. “What is wrong?”

She threw her covers off and, still wearing the dress that she wore at the banquet, followed the girl out the door. They made haste down the hallway to the stairs and down one flight. Aelswith stopped herself at the landing on the stairs and watched the servant run to join a crowd that had formed outside the king’s chamber.

Her worst fears choked her. “Father,” she thought, “is he all right?” She could not bear the thought of what she would discover. She slowly made her way down the hallway. Her mind was bombarded with a cacophony of voices. “He’s dead,” she thought, “and I killed him. I did it. I should not have left the castle last night. This is God’s wrath on my account. Oh, God! No!”

The thoughts faded as the sound of the crowd drowned them out. They saw her and gradually opened a path for her to get through. Where there was no way, she pressed through.

“Father!” she shouted. The people around her grew silent to see her reaction to what they already knew. “Father!” she shouted again.

What she heard next unleashed the reservoir of emotion that had been building with every step she took. “Aelswith!” a faint, fragile but familiar voice drifted from beyond the crowd surrounding her. It was her father’s voice.

Now she aggressively pushed people aside. “Get out! Everyone get out!” she screamed. People backed off and some headed out the door. Finally, she broke through and reached the foot of her father’s bed.

The king lay there before her. A wide stream of crimson blood had begun coagulating down the left side of his face. The sheet covering his shaking body was drenched in it near his arm and on his chest. “Aelswith, come.” She leaned over her father and fell upon his neck trying not to hurt him.

“Father!” she cried.

“Aelswith!” He gasped. “Are you hurt?”

“No. No, I am here,” she reassured him, lifting her head to look into his eyes. “What happened, father? Who did this?”

The king took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His chest had been punctured with a dagger. It hurt to breathe.

“Surprise,” he stammered, closing his eyes to focus on breathing. “Do not…know.”

“Father, do not speak,” she said gently, putting her fingers to his lips, and wiping away the blood that had flowed over the corner of his lip. She turned her head to one of the king’s thegns standing beside the bed. “What happened here?”

“My lady, we do not know. Some of us were in the bailey when we heard shouting and swords clashing. We came as quickly as we could. Your father was leaning against his bed on the floor and this man was lying there as you see him now.”

He and several others stepped aside so she could see. As she looked at the man on the floor, horror engulfed her whole countenance. She tried to regain her composure as to not let those around her know that she knew the man, but it was too late.

“My lady, you know this man?” the thegn asked.

She thought for a second. She knew who it was. It was Ennio. But how did he? And why…why was Ennio trying to kill my father? She knew she could not reveal how she knew him.

”No!” she exclaimed, almost shouting. She calmed herself immediately. “No. I have never seen him before. Take him away.”

She looked down at her father. He had fallen asleep, but was still breathing. She turned to the head servant. “Go get hot water, fresh towels and strong drink.” The servant led the others out of the room and did as she directed.

She sat there alone with her father for a couple of minutes, her mind blank with shock. The servant came back with everything she had requested.

“Please, leave us now,” she asked the servant. The servant bowed his head and walked out, closing the chamber door behind him.

She tore his shirt off and delicately pulled the cloth away from the wounds. His face winced. Some of his blood had dried like an adhesive between his skin and his clothing. She dampened the clothing and continued to pull. His eyes opened and then shut again. His breathing was labored. She stared at his face and tried not to cry.

How did Ennio get in, she asked herself. He did not come through the drawbridge gate. How else did he get in? Her heart plummeted into the pit of her stomach as she remembered. It could not be! She distinctly remembered closing the gate behind her. She watched him get out of the boat and swim back. Or did he? She didn’t really see him swim back.

She dropped her head onto the bed next to her father’s arm. She cried out, “Father, what have I done? What have I done? I’m so sorry…so, so sorry.” She continued to weep next to her father as he slept. She was so very tired. Her eyes grew heavy and they began to close. She fought it but finally fell asleep.

~

“Ferrante!” she shouted as her head popped up off the bed an hour later. She shook her head. No, he would not have done this! She was horrified. But why would Ennio do this of his own desires? He was just a servant. And Ferrante, I trusted him. I gave myself to him! Aelswith grew angry at his betrayal. He used her.

“Guards! Guards!” she shouted. She did not care what the consequences were.

Guards, burst through the door. “My lady, what is the matter?”

“You must act quickly. Apprehend Ferrante before he leaves town. He did this to my father.”

“Yes, my lady.” The guards swiftly left.

She was shocked. How could he betray her so? How could she blindly follow him and betray her own father? She wanted to die. Her quiet, peaceful world was quickly collapsing all around her. She rubbed the back of her neck with her left hand and turned her head toward the window. She took a deep breath and exhaled.

Hours went by. She remembered her brother and the vision she had the night before. Was he all right? Would he return? When will he return? What will he think? She punished herself all day as she tended to her father. She could not eat what the servants brought. She only wanted sleep, and even then, she did not want to wake up.

~

“My lady,” a familiar voice whispered into her ear. She felt someone nudge her shoulder. “My lady.”

Aelswith slowly awoke from her slumber. Every part of her body was numb. She tried to move, but she could not. Her mind was too detached for her body to respond properly, as if in some state of atrophy. Her face felt like wax. She tried again. Oh, God, help me, she thought. She felt a tingling sensation in her hands and feet. She mumbled back to the voice, but no distinguishable word emanated from her lazy lips.

The maidservant put her arm under Aelswith’s neck and helped her sit up in bed. It was her bed. How did she get there? She tried to remember what had happened before she fell asleep. Nothing. She rubbed her face with her hands and groaned. Then it came back to her suddenly.

“Father?” the words clumsily escaped her mouth. “How is he?”

“My lady, your father is sleeping. He will be all right. How are you?” the maidservant asked in a concerned tone.

Aelswith groaned again, pulling her cheeks back with the palms of her hands and rubbing her neck. “I feel trampled.”

The maidservant politely smiled. “My lady, they found Ferrante.”

Aelswith’s eyes grew big. “Where is he now?”

“In the dungeon.”

“What time is it?” she asked as she swung her legs down over the side of the bed. At this point the numbness was almost gone.

“It is time for dinner. You have been sleeping for several hours.”

Aelswith rose from the bed, freshened herself and followed the maidservant down to the Great Hall.

“Do you not wish to see Ferrante, first?” the maidservant asked.

“No, I am famished. Ferrante can wait.”

---

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 11

IT was well before dawn when the prince, Eadwulf and Aethelhelm, the king’s thegns and several other warriors who had been at the Festival rode away from the castle along the road to Southampton. There they were to join the navy fleet, which was already assembled at the port. Along the road other men from neighboring burghs joined them. They arrived around noon.

Twenty-three ships were docked and ready, each one about seven yards in length. Three of those ships had sailed into port during the night from Chichester undetected by the Norman fleet which was assembling off the northeastern coast of the Isle of Wight.

The men dismounted their horses and walked hurriedly toward the dock. The prince began to give orders.

“Eadwulf, assemble and distribute the swordsmen as we have discussed. Aethelhelm, do likewise with the archers. I will examine the fleet.”

The three went off to fulfill their respective tasks. Eadwulf counted 258 men. He assigned ten men to each ship.  He ordered the rest to stay at port in case any enemy ships broke through. Aethelhelm counted 174 archers. Each carried a bow and quiver, and a dagger for when the ships would lash together and hand combat would commence. He assigned six archers on seventeen of the ships and ten archers on the others. The remaining were commanded to stay and guard the port.

The admiral of the fleet approached the prince, “All ships are fitted as you directed, my lord.”

“Very well. Have the scouts returned?”

“Yes, the enemy fleet was spotted this morning off the northern coast of Wight. If we leave now, we should intercept them within the hour.”

“Excellent work,” the prince congratulated.

The prince commanded that all the men board their ships as instructed. The motley group quickly obeyed as directed and within minutes all the ships were boarded.

“Great warriors!” the prince shouted. The commotion of men died down. “Great warriors! Once again the enemy is advancing, and once again you have been called to protect your land, your families and your freedoms. We have shared in victory and in defeat, but we have never lost our dignity or our hope. For our hope is not built on our own strength and our dignity is not our own making. We fight as the sons of God Almighty! In Him lies our dignity! In Him lies our hope! Some trust in chariots, and some, in horses. But we, my brothers…WE trust in the name of the Lord our God! He shall bring us forth as gold from the Refiner’s fire. So let us fight with courage, with prayer and thanksgiving, for this day…this day…THIS DAY…SHALL BE A DAY OF VICTORY!”

The men cheered with their hearts bursting with excitement and pride.

The prince shouted, “GODSPEED, CAPTAINS! SHOVE OFF!”

The fleet pulled away from the dock, two ships at a time. The Norman fleet would come from two fronts as usual. This time the navy would be ready. The ships on the left of the dock formed the first fleet, and the ships on the right formed a second.

The first fleet, led by the admiral, would prepare the way. Six ships with ten archers, Aethelhelm being one of them, were included in this. The idea was to kill as many of the enemy as possible before the ships converged and before the hand-to-hand combat began. Eadwulf led the hand combat forces in this fleet as well.

The second fleet, led by the prince, was to follow the coastline southwestward and swing around the second front of Norman longships. God willing, the first navy fleet would hold out against both fronts long enough for the second fleet to get into position and attack from the rear.

For nearly an hour, the ships followed their course further into the Channel towards the Isle of Wight. This morning the sea was calm. The good thing about the absence of wind was that the enemy would be tired from having to row. The calm sea also allows the ships to be lashed together more readily for the purpose of hand combat.

The first fleet, as directed by the admiral, initially organized themselves into a single line of ships so that from the horizon they would appear as one ship. Then, when the Norman ships approached, they would fan out into two V-shaped rows.

Shortly after the hour had passed, a spotter shouted that he saw red on the horizon. The admiral scanned the southeast horizon where the spotter pointed. Sure enough it was a red-striped square sail, barely in sight. Quickly he directed a course change. All the ships followed, quickly forming a single line again as they rowed toward the Norman vessel. Within fifteen minutes a whole contingent of over twenty ships appeared. The enemy turned to engage what looked like a single merchant ship, an easy target; a bounty that was too good to pass.

As they approached, quite unexpectedly, the navy ships began to fan out. The Norman chieftains were caught off guard. They contemplated steering due north to try to slip by in the hopes of making land before the navy, but it was too late. The distance between the two fronts was now five hundred yards. There was much commotion as the Norman archers prepared their bows.

When the ships reached a distance of two hundred yards, the admiral issued the command to start the volley of arrows. The first set of arrows was prepared with magnesium powder wrapped in a cotton swath, soaked in whale oil. This was Aethelhelm’s own concoction. They set them in their bows, lit the cotton, aimed and fired them low. The enemy laughed because they thought the arrows missed, but many arrows hit the side of their longboats. The magnesium powder began to burn fiercely, causing a great cloud of smoke. The Normans could not see in front of them.

The enemy ships launched a shower of arrows. Several men were hit, but the shields of the combat warriors protected most. The archers let out a second volley of flaming arrows. A few more Norman warriors fell back, some into the water. The enemy was prepared to launch a second volley, this time of flaming arrows. Before they could release it, the navy admiral had issued the command to launch the flaming pitch.

Aelswith had actually come up with this idea when she walked in on a strategy meeting. Her idea was to rig the ships with small catapults. When it came time for the enemy to board, the scoops could be removed, and metal spikes could be attached in their place, thereby ensuring the painful rejection of the boarding raider.

The flaming pitch was a dark, tar-like substance that would splatter on its target. The Normans raised their shields to try to deflect the pitch, but it served its purpose. The wooden shields caught fire. Everything including their clothes started to burn. They threw their shields into the water. Some jumped into the water themselves but were pulled under by the weight of their clothes and armor. Others tried to fill buckets with water to salvage the ship but to no avail. The enemy ships at the rear quickly turned northwesterly and rowed fiercely away.

The admiral led his men in rejoicing, but the moment of jubilance was brief. A second front of Norman longships was quickly approaching just beyond the retreating ships.

At this time, a slight breeze started from the east. The Normans set their sails and accelerated quickly towards them. The ships, about twenty in this fleet, were so quickly approaching it looked as if they were going to ram the navy vessels. There was only time for one round of arrows. The Normans quickly rolled up their sails and coasted into the midst of the navy vessels, their sides scraping. The sound of wood cracking and splitting was enough to cause terror. In almost one swift stroke the boats were lashed together, and the Norman warriors were pouring onto the navy ships.

The catapulting spikes repelled several, but there was only one chance for them to do the work for which they were designed. Eadwulf led his men fiercely opposing the invaders. Metal clashed, and men screamed as their limbs were severed. Men fell on both sides. It looked as if the enemy was getting the upper hand. The rowers fought bravely but were no match for the Norman swordsmen. The archers used their daggers valiantly, but they barely dented their opponent’s chain mail. The admiral was struck down by one of the chieftains.

Emotions were high. Eadwulf shouted, “Fight! Fight for God and country! Fight for your lives!” This did little to inspire. Most were preoccupied with staying alive. Aethelhelm held his own with a sword. Both he and Eadwulf were tiring quickly and becoming discouraged.

“LOOK!” shouted one of the rowers. The prince, too, had made good use of the wind and was sailing quickly. A thousand yards, then five hundred, four, three, two…

The prince led his men into the combat hastily. As soon as the ships collided, the prince swung down onto the deck of one of the longships. Between the fighting that ensued, the archers did what they could to peg a Norman or two from a distance. The prince slew one man after another with the greatest of skill, and though the enemy far outnumbered them, the fresh energy that the prince’s men brought with them was enough to cause the enemy to retreat to their ships. The ones that could, sailed away quickly toward the south. The rest surrendered.

Now was the time to rejoice! They had successfully averted the Norman threat once again, but as they looked around at the carnage, they were wordless. They looked for survivors amidst the fallen. Of the Saxons, 128 were dead or missing, 104 injured. The prince led the men in a moment of prayer and quietude. The twenty-nine surrendered Vikings looked down in dismay.

As the prince closed his prayer, the sound of thunder pealed in the distance. They had to get back speedily. Perhaps the storm would deal with the retreating vessels.

By late afternoon they arrived back at port, just as it began to rain. They were surprised to see three longships docked, fully manned but with no weapons drawn. The contingent that had stayed behind had successfully kept them at bay and forced them to surrender.

There was much rejoicing in Southampton that evening. The men drank ale and feasted on swine that the locals had donated on this momentous occasion. The women of Southampton came to dress the wounds of the injured and listened as the men told their tales of bravery, some true and others grossly exaggerated. By exchanging tales though, they were able to account for most of the deaths of their fallen comrades. Some prayed; some slept. All spent the night in Southampton comforted by each other’s company. In the morning they would hear that theirs was not the only battle of the day.

---

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/.