Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief !”
Mark 9:24 (NIV)

Doubts are the persistent nippings of dogs.

Some of these doubts are so full of venom that they harden the heart.  Once bitten, a victim finds that he cannot believe in anything outside himself.  He disowns his heavenly Father much like one might disown his earthly one.  In his mind, there is no God.

The fool says in his heart, “There is no God.”
Psalm 14:1a

I have at times been grazed with such a bite, usually inflicted by the skeptic who is satisfied with nothing but his own answer, whose heart was hardened long ago.  My own doubts about God’s existence are always momentary, for He graciously reminds me that He does not require my permission or my faith to exist–that He was, and is, and will be, long after I return to dust.

There are other doubts from other dogs that are equally dangerous.

Their potency lies in their ability to paralyze the believer.  These toxins work their way into the spiritual nervous system and draw into question the character of God, His wisdom, and His power.

• Is God really good?
• Why doesn’t He care?
• Does God really know what He’s doing?
• How could He let this happen?
• Where was God when I needed Him most?
• How am I going to get out of this mess?

I have keenly felt this during times of financial need, especially during this past year when expenses outweighed income and no solution was apparent.  It is much easier to trust a credit card than to trust God.  Yet, without fail, every time Becky and I trusted God to provide, He did.  It was not always in the manner expected, but He did. 

And yet, despite His faithfulness to me and my family, I still struggle with doubt every time a financial crisis hits (though the sting has weakened).  It reminds me of what the Apostle John wrote of his contemporaries.

Even after Jesus had done all these miraculous signs in their presence, they still would not believe in him.
John 12:37

Do you struggle with doubts, too?

How do we keep the dogs at bay?

• Read the Bible and memorize the promises - In it, God clearly displays His goodness, His wisdom, and His power to save.
• Pray – You cannot deny the person you are speaking with.  Praying while you read the Bible is detoxifying and invigorating.  It softens the heart and brings life to your spirit.
• Seek Counsel - You cannot fend off the dogs alone; you need others who have battled these dogs before to fight with you.  Surround yourself with like-minded believers.
• Practice – When times are tough we tend to leave God as the last resort.  Next time, go to Him first.  Ask for more faith, and persist till He satisfies your aching heart.

The Apostle Paul wrote this of Abraham,

Yet he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, being fully persuaded that God had power to do what he had promised.
Romans 4:20-21

May the same be true of us, and may all who follow us find us faithful to the end.

If you find encouragement in this, pass it on.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” ~ Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)

The LORD will work out his plans for my life–for your faithful love, O LORD, endures forever. Don’t abandon me, for you made me. ~ Psalm 138:8 (NLT)

A child’s mind whirls with imagination even before they are asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” 

Mine was quite active with dreams of writing a book, releasing a music album, running an orphanage with a boys choir, and so much more.  Some dreams I fulfilled, and others may remain dreams.

Over the years my dreams became more ambitious.  Not only did I want to release an album, I wanted to be a full-time musician.  On one occasion during early marriage, both young and foolish, I attempted this for a month before funds ran out and my previous employer graciously took me back.

Ten years later, armed with enough reserves to last six months, I ventured again to make it work.  That six months was an incredible, educational experience for me and my family.  In my need to make it work, I generated all kinds of ideas for marketing music.  I ended this experiment with the release of my third solo piano album, Zuzu’s Petals, which consumed the last of our savings.

So what happens when you realize your dream may die?

Clearly, my marketing had not yielded sustainable results.  I abhored the thought of letting my dream die.  I was convinced that this was God’s purpose for me.  I was convinced that He would provide for my family if I just stayed the course.

My definition of faith was staying the course and trusting God to provide.  Becky’s definition was going back to computer work (that God had always blessed financially) and trusting God to grow the musical seeds I had planted.  Coming to an understanding of these differences was, at the least, strenuous.

Through the counsel of others and the many patient appeals of Becky, I reluctantly agreed to go back to corporate life.  Dazed and confused, I felt the dream die deep inside me.  I surrendered my ambitions to God and trusted that He could do something with the mess I made, in His own time and His own way.

As the months went by, this proved to be the best decision for our family.  God gave me a contract job with so much overtime that we had just enough money to pay our property taxes on time and keep our bank account open.  That incredible orchestration of circumstances deepened our faith in the living God who is very real and very involved in the details of our lives.

When my contract ran out, there was not enough work to hire me as a full-time employee.  My job search proved fruitless.  With no income, we turned to God and asked for His provision.  A week later, as the result of a miscommunication, I showed up at my contract employer’s office the same day one of their senior web developers announced his resignation.  I was hired the next day.

What happened to my dreams of a music career during this time? 

Well, earlier this year I was informed that two of my new piano works were accepted for Whisperings Solo Piano Radio.  Not only was my music playing on mainstream internet radio around the world, I now had access to the entire community of Whisperings solo piano composers.  What a creative, passionate group of people who love their craft and work together to promote each other!

That brings us to the present.  Two weeks ago I was asked to do a joint concert at a Memphis-based music store with two well-known Whisperings artists.  While the details of this concert are forthcoming, I will say that the concert will take place exactly one year after I witnessed my first Whisperings solo piano concert at The Sound Kitchen in Franklin, TN, just outside of Nashville.

Friends, this wasn’t even on my radar last year.  Honestly, I can’t take credit for this.  There’s no room for boasting.  While I wasn’t looking, God watered the seeds I planted last year, in His own time and His own way.

Remember when I let my dream die?  Before that, my fist was clenched around it.  I did all the work and got all the credit.  I had to open my hand and let God take it from me.  I had to trust Him in a way that I never before imagined.

So, how do you let a dream die gracefully? 

1. Place your trust in the living God to do all that He has planned for you. 
2. Trust that His plans for you are far better than your own. 
3. Trust that He remains good, wise, and able to act on your behalf, even when you let go.

So, what’s your story? 

• Are you clinging to a dream that God is not blessing? 
• What might happen if you let go of it and trust Him with the results?

Stay tuned for Part 2:  How To Lose Your Dream House Gracefully

A long day of work is followed by dinner with the family, and it’s finally time to put the kiddos to bed.

On some nights I’m tired, impatient, selfish, or busy, and the hour it takes to put my four little ones to bed seems to drag on forever.  (I feel guilty writing that sentence!)

Most nights, though, I relish every moment.  These nights have become more frequent as I have let go of my ambitions for a music career.  Becky says I’m enjoying the kids more, and I am.   Daddy’s just more fun when he’s not focused on himself!

One by one I make the rounds–not always the same order, but everyone gets time with Daddy.

Lately they ask me if I brought my iPhone with me.  They like to play Angry Birds, or Tic-Tac-Toe, or Checkers.  Sometimes it’s a Muppet video on YouTube, or exploring Google Earth to find Daddy’s car parked in the driveway.  It’s a fun time!

Two nights ago my son asked me if I had my phone.  I said no.  He turned to Becky and said, “Mommy, can you put me to bed?”  Just goes to show where his loyalty lies!

Then tonight, as I lay next to my second daughter, Abby, she wrapped her arms around my arm and said, “Don’t go, Daddy!  Let’s talk more.  I missed you this week.” Those are the moments you let go of the agenda–you relax, linger, and listen.

Dads, what will your kids remember about you?

I bet they’ll remember the times you lingered.

One of the Bible verses that has been a constant reminder of God’s power and goodness is Romans 8:28:

“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.”

The next two verses go on to say that His purpose for us is to grow in Christ-like character, to reconcile our relationship with Him, and to be with Him in glory.  In these words lie the promise of pain.

Pain breaks us.  It humbles us.  It reminds us to call on the Lord.  Then, in our broken state, He lifts us up and injects us with His life-giving comfort, His character, His peace, and His glory.

When, in my own suffering I am tempted to doubt the goodness and power of God, I read the blogs of two childhood friends who know well the purpose for suffering:

• Angie Davis (cancer survivor) – http://springofjoy.org/
• Monica Snyder (whose daughter Danica has Chiari, a rare brain malformation) – http://teamdanica.com/
  Please read her blog and consider a donation to Danica’s Chiari Fund!
  

After reading their blogs, it is clear that God uses pain to raise up His best servants.  These precious people inspire me as they cling to the promise that their suffering has and is accomplishing ALL that God intended from it–none of it wasted.

I share them with you so that in the midst of your own present or future suffering, you also may find encouragement in their words of hope, joy, and peace.

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.

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/.

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.

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/.

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.

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/.

“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.

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