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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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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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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“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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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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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.

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

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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.

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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.”

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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.

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“Did anyone see you?” she asked him nervously.

“I assure you, no one.”

“Then come with me.” She led him around a corner in the corridor. The door to the library was immediately to their right. She tried the door. It was locked. From down the corridor where they had just come she could hear the footsteps of two people approaching. Ferrante motioned her to hurry. From under her shawl she withdrew a large key. She inserted the key and turned it one full turn to unlock the door. She lifted the handle and swiftly pulled her companion into the room, closing the door quickly but quietly behind them. She locked the door from the inside. Outside they heard the footsteps pass the door and then gradually fade away. They simultaneously breathed sighs of relief and quietly laughed at each other.

The library was lined with shelves of books in Latin and manuscripts of Greek, Hebrew and Egyptian texts that the king himself was in the process of translating. In the center of the room stood the main reading table. On one end of the table, maps and battle plans were laid out on scrolls. On the other laid a very thick Bible with wide, yellowed pages left open. Down its center streamed a red, silk ribbon covering the binding. A deep fireplace stood squarely behind the center of the table.

Aelswith pulled a lantern off of one of the reading tables and lit it. “We’ll need this,” she said.

“Where is it?” he asked in a whisper.

She walked over to the fireplace, knelt down, and reached up into the chimney. She felt around for a lever. “Somewhere,” she mumbled. A moment later she whispered, “Ah, here it is.” She pulled the lever. They could hear the soft sound of sand pouring. Then the wall behind the chimney began to swing open. She turned to see her companion’s impressed look.

“Follow me.” She ducked through the fireplace into the dark passageway. Once they were in, she pulled another lever, and the door closed behind them. Ferrante could barely see the mechanism that operated the door, but it was enough to admire the engineering.

“Watch your step,” she said lifting the lantern. They were on the top platform of a spiral stone staircase. She led him down. At the next landing, the passageway straightened, and they made their way down just as the prince had done.

At the dock, she went over to the crank and raised the gate at the far end. They boarded a small boat with two oars lying across the seats. They rowed quietly out and around the wall into the moat. They could hear the noise and see the lights from the field on the other side of the castle. Once they reached the other side, they pulled the boat into the nearby woods.

“Where do we go from here?” she asked.

They turned to face the castle. Rows of torches illuminated the walls of the castle just beyond the moat. In the distance she could see part of the land bridge that connected the castle with the outer bailey. The mist that rose from the water was aglow with the light from the tournament field on the other side of the castle. All of this was reflected on the moat in a vivid collage of color and light. She had never seen anything like this before. She wanted to stay and capture the moment in her mind.

Ferrante turned to her and said, “Come, we have only a few yards to go from here.”

She followed him west along the edge of the wood, the water to their right. At a certain distance from where they had landed, Ferrante signaled her to enter the forest. He whispered. “Be mindful of your step.”

They walked carefully about fifty yards into the forest where there were two horses tied up to a tree. Aelswith was curious as to why his horses were there in the middle of the wood.

“You planned this?” she asked.

“Something of this significance must be planned. I was counting on you to come.”

She accepted his answer and became even more intrigued at his mysterious plan. The two rode for a half-hour through the forest until they came out on an old road. She immediately recognized it as the path on which his house was located. Part of her was unsure of being alone with a man in his house.

She voiced her concern, “Are you sure this is appropriate?”

“Indeed, it is most appropriate,” he urged. She acquiesced.

They finally came upon his house. She could see light pouring from both the first and second floor. Smoke was rising from the two chimneys. Through one window she could see the shadow of a man. Startled, she asked Ferrante who it was.

“That is my servant. He arrived this morning with a shipment of my furniture and belongings. He is helping me get my estate in order.”

They dismounted from their horses and walked up to the front door. Ferrante opened it and led her into a somewhat familiar room.

“What happened to the old furniture?” she asked in a tone of curiosity.

“Your brother donated it to a monastery in Winchester.”

She nodded her head. From the adjacent room where she had seen his shadow, the servant entered. “Master,” he bowed.

“Ennio,” returned Ferrante, “you must be weary. Please go rest. You have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ennio responded with another bow and then went up the stairs. She could hear a door close at the top of the stairway.

“Come, I must show you,” Ferrante said somewhat excitedly, pulling her arm toward the den.

A fire in the hearth warmly invited them into the room. She walked over to it and sat down. He walked over to a large chest on the other side of the room and opened it. He reached down into it and pulled out a box. He carried it over to where she was sitting and sat down.

“What is it?” she asked.

He handed the box to her and said, “Open it.”

She slowly lifted the lid and turned the open box toward the fire so she could see. It was something shiny. It almost glowed as it caught the light of the fire. She lifted it out and gasped.

“Do you know what it is?” he asked with a sly smile.

“A crown.”

“Not just any crown,” he exclaimed. “It is the very crown commissioned by Solomon for the Queen of Sheba. I acquired it in Alexandria, Egypt.”

She just stared at it for a moment, delicately examining it as if it were the world’s most fragile creation. She was speechless at its beauty.

“I wish for you to have it,” he said.

She could not believe her ears. All she could think of saying was, “What?”

Ferrante took notice of the opportunity to speak his mind. “My lady, one day you shall be queen. You shall be queen on the order and magnitude of the great Queen of Sheba.”

“I do not believe that,” she said, putting the crown back into the box. “I shall be shipped off like my mother before me to be the wife of a king I do not know or care to know.”

“My lady…” he began to protest, but the princess abruptly interrupted him with an impatient interjection.

“Please, call me ‘Aelswith,’ just for the evening.”

“All right.”

They both broke a smile. “And you shall call me ‘Ferrante,’ just for the evening.”

With that settled he reassured her, “Aelswith, your brother is going out with his best men and the navy tomorrow to intercept a fleet of Norman raiders near the port at Southampton. The Normans continue to band together. A second fleet is returning from Francia to join them. There is estimated to be over forty ships. There will be about thirty warriors on each ship. That is an army of over 1200 men. Your navy only has enough rowers to man 20 vessels. Your brother may not survive this battle or the next one. If that happens, you alone will remain to claim the throne after your father.”

“You should not talk of such things. My brother is brave and kind, and could sink the entire Norman fleet with his very own hand. God will protect him against them.”

“My apologies, Aelswith. My sense of reality sometimes overshadows my sense of prudence.”

“I forgive you,” she hesitantly responded. “I shall not accept your gift at this time. I do not wish to be the omen that destroys my father and brother.”

“Very well,” he replied. “You must be thirsty. May I get you a drink?” She nodded.

He got up and left the room. She picked the crown back up out of the box and cautiously placed it on her head. There was a mirror above the hearth. She stood and stared into it, but as she stared, she witnessed a flash of light. The mirror seemed to melt into a window. Through the window she could see a battle waging at sea. There was a throng of longships. Wave after wave of arrows shot across the water between the two fleets as they approached. Then the scene shifted quickly. It zoomed into one of the ships to the right. It was her brother’s ship. He stood there waving his sword and yelling to his mates to keep rowing, but as he turned away from them to face the oncoming ships, a flaming arrow came from nowhere and struck him in the chest. His clothes quickly caught on fire. His face contorted with pain. In the most horrific way, he turned his head and faced Aelswith. She grew deathly afraid as she saw him mouth the words, “Why?”

She shut her eyes and fell to her knees. She pulled the crown from her head and dropped it into the box. The room felt so cold. She shivered. She prayed, “God, forgive me. Please forgive me.”

“Aelswith?” Ferrante asked in a concerned manner. “Are you ill?”

“Ill?” she muttered, still looking down to the floor.

“Your face is ghostly white,” he explained.

There was silence as she began to regain her composure. “Ill? No. Just cold.”

He went over to a different box and pulled out a blanket made of leopard skin. “This should warm you. I made it myself on a trip through Africa.” He sat down next to her and gave her a mug of wine.

She drank the whole thing at once. She wiped her mouth and handed the mug back to him.

“Another?” he asked. She nodded.

He filled the mug again. “Do you wish to go home?” he asked her, not sure of what she was feeling or thinking.

“No.” She looked up and into his eyes. She lifted the blanket and asked, “Will you hold me?”

He put his arms around her and pulled the blanket around them. They stared into the fire. She leaned her head back against his chest. Minutes passed. It seemed like time had stopped. She could feel her heart beating, almost in syncopation with the flicker of the fire. “I should not be here,” she mumbled as she began to feel the affects of the wine.

“Perhaps not,” he responded.

She felt a struggle in her soul. She told her conscience, which preferred action to complacency, “Just let me be. Whatever happens will happen. I am too tired to fight.” Her heart beat harder and louder, drowning out the voices in her head. She felt the words creep up into her throat. She knew she should resist, but she just could not stand it any longer. The words poured slowly from her mouth in a soft, subtle stream.

“I want…to kiss you.” She was afraid to look up at him. She could feel his heartbeat now as it pressed repeatedly into her back.

He gently whispered into her ear, “Yes.”

She looked up at him and cracked an intoxicated smile. She put her hand behind his head and pulled his lips into hers. She rolled her body to face him. Seconds turned to minutes, and passion overtook them. With one hand he held the back of her head. With the other he brushed his thumb across her face. They paused to catch their breath, not daring to look into each other’s eyes.

“I want you,” Ferrante whispered.

There was silence. She slowly pulled away and turned her body back around to face the fire.

“We cannot,” she voiced regretfully. “It is forbidden.”

“No one will know,” he argued gently, “and if they do find out, surely your father would not put to death his own daughter.”

“You think?” she reconsidered.

“Do you agree with your father?”

“No.”

“Then perhaps we should show him that he is wrong.” She sat up and turned around to face him.

She felt the anger towards her father rise to equal her intense desire for Ferrante. She quickly pressed herself into him to kiss him again. Their passion burst into flames as all resolve faded away. He leaned her back onto the floor and kissed her fervently.

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

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