The Black and White Knight part 1

The Black and White Knight part 1 Page 1

by Honey Myers



 

  “The Black and White Knight - Part 1”

  By: Honey Myers

  A Novel of Life, Love and Justice.

  Book 1 of The Elleghane Saga

  Copyright 2011 R. A. and H.W. Honey

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all the decent caring men and women that work in every public safety agency in The United States of America and throughout the world.

  Thank you for making this world of ours a safer place.

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  This is a work of historical fiction. Literary license notwithstanding, we have attempted to maintain the overall historical accuracy as much as possible. In general: besides those referenced in the Historical Persona and Historical Notes; names, characters, places and incidents contained herein are the product of the authors' imaginations or are used by in large fictitiously; and, resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, circumstances, events and/or locales may be entirely coincidental.

  +++++

  Dear Reader,

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. We would like the whole world to join The Family Elleghane where love and justice prevail. We appreciate you purchasing the eBooks for your own use; and, thank you for respecting our earnest efforts by doing so. Coupons, updates and sneak peeks can be found on fB at HoneyMyersBooks and soon at HoneyMyers.com.

  While all due care has been taken in the preparation of this book, the authors and publishers are not responsible for any errors or omissions. However, any and all errors or omissions that are found will be rectified as soon as possible.

  Thank You & Welcome to The Elleghane Saga,

  The Authors

  +++++

  Cover Print Format by Rebecca Ann Honey

  Cover Background Layout by Michelle Lee Designs

  Table of Contents

  In this book you will find the brave men and magical women of The Elleghane Saga. They strive to preserve the best principles of humanity for us all, throughout all time.

  Prologue

  A Dance in the Darks

  Little Miss Trouble

  The Twins

  Man of Mystery

  Ghost

  Pages

  Spy

  And Then There Were Two...

  Back From The Dying

  Revelation

  Missions

  Reconnoiter and Recollection

  Breaking Fast

  A Visitor of a Different Stripe

  The Covenant

  Intrigue

  Love Promised

  Legacy

  Dreams

  Over The edge

  Hope Returns

  Edinburgh

  Family

  Epilogue

  About The Elleghane Saga

  Connect with Honey Myers

  Preview

  Historical Persona

  Major Persona

  Minor Persona

  Ancestral Persona

  Creatures

  Historical Notes

  +++++

  The Black and White Knight - Part 1

  Prologue

  The Borders of Scotland 1134 AD

  “Heatherlyn, it will frost soon and we have to finish gathering the winter's supply of plants and herbs for our medicines.”

  “I know Enarrah, I know, it's been on my mind to go do just that, but this constant rain makes the task a miserable outing at best, the rain should let up in the a few days time.”

  “I'm not complaining dear friend, we've all been busy preparing for the winter, you as Stewardess in particular. I have real concern that I may run out of the medicines I need, and even though it seems slow, I think Sir William's health is improving.”

  “To my way of thinking Sir William will find his legs again in his own good time, but I'll not take away from the help that your tonics have been to him. We will get the gathering done dear lady.”

  Walking away Enarrah thinks, “Yes...we...will.”

  +++++

  Luke Wynnewood sat in the arched hall by a huge oak door and heard the ever so soft footfalls approach. He could now see that his guide was none other than Lord Damien. His ramrod back and cold eyes exuded an aura of menace and it clung to him like the stench of decay.

  The words spat out like venom, “Come with me Knight”.

  Silence.

  Luke Wynnewood of Lamasco stood and looked down into the whirlpool dark eyes of the speaker and saw there arrogance and worse, malevolence.

  This was the first hostility toward him since arriving at Edinburgh Castle, but not his first ever. No matter, his keen senses in mind and body had become a second nature to him. Fine honed, he now embraced his gifts of insight, called upon them and trusted them.

  While rising from the bench outside the main chapel he let his left hand drop to the top of his longsword scabbard. Two inches of moon grey steel glinted in the brazier light by the time he had stood fully erect.

  “Lord Damien, how may I be of service to the King’s Advisor.”

  “Then you know me.”

  “Let us say I have heard about you.”

  “You will follow me to the King’s chamber for your audience.”

  “Young Kendall, Sir Erlich’s Page was to be my escort, we had matters of chivalry to discuss. Where might he be ?”

  “Chivalry indeed... He is occupied elsewhere performing other duties, I trust you will have no complaints that a lord leads you instead of a mere page. Now come, the King suffers no slackers.”

  It was then that Damien noticed the sword and stared at it. “I see you don’t trust me, you would draw your weapon upon a defenseless old man ?”

  Wynnewood made a show of following the man’s gaze, and watched his pale complexion turn worse and a hint of fear shown in those furtive eyes. Well and good.

  “Oh, you mean this,” Luke said, gesturing with his sword arm toward his scabbard “This is a habit knights and warriors pick up early on, and never loose. Every time we change body position we check that our sword will clear the scabbard. Quite routine.”

  “Oh... oh...” Damian stammered, now mollified and regaining his aloof composure, “Thank you for the explanation, now we must go.”

  “As you say.”

  Arrogance seemed to fill Damien, his posture reflected he had been slighted and worse, snubbed. It wasn’t snobbery, it was caution. Luke had no desire to be caught up in Damien’s games. His type were the ne’er-do-wells who clung to the coattails of power to advance their own personal plans.

  Soon they arrived at the designated entryway, Luke stood with calm indifference and waited for the next verbal jab from the little man. It wasn’t long in coming.

 

  A gnarled hand swung through the air and one bony finger pointed straight at Luke. “Who are you and what do you want here?” demanded Damien.

  The door opened, “The King will see you now Sir Knight.”

  Damien looked away and the accusing hand retreated into the folds of his robes.

  As Luke stepped through the portal, it closed and he locked eyes with Damien’s malicious glare. An old adage came to mind, 'The goodness of a man can be measured by the number of his enemies'.

  This King had a long list of enemies, men who wanted not just coin; they wanted kingdoms, and used evil savagery to get them.

  +++++

  “Heart of my heart, will the Protectress arrive soon.”

  “Yes, Mighty One, soon.”

  “Time grows short and the balance of all things will be in peril.”

  “O Great Winged One, across the eons all has been foretol
d and I will welcome the grand-daughter of Alicia the Kind. She will bring with her a warrior of the ages, this time he will come from The Lothian and upon their arrival together all will be made right.”

  +++++

  In the king's private chamber torches and braziers were lit all about and fine rugs covered the stone floor. Tapestries depicting great battles hung on the walls from a vaulted ceiling. Predominate was an immense horseshoe shaped desk-work table behind which, in a high-backed chair, sat the king. He was a striking visage, calm and collected with all the goings-on in his court and his country. His relaxed persona belied the fighter in him.

  Luke watched the king lay parchment atop a stack on his desk.

  “Step forward.”

  “By your command King David, I am here,” Luke said as he bent to one knee.

  “You are indeed, Wynnewood, rise up and stand easy. How do you find life here at Our court?”

  “Fine Sire, comfortable and peaceful in some ways.”

  “Peaceful is it, compared to the tumult of Crusade We can well imagine that it is. In this case however all is not what it seems. You have freely given your fealty to the Crown. You bring honor and decency with you, two things which this country is in need of.”

  “Thank you Sire for giving me a country to call my home.”

 

  “Black and White Knight, We are the envy of every civilized kingdom. The Saracens openly regret they could not convert you from Christianity during your stay with them. This surprises Us not in the least.”

  “Your Highness, there are good and decent men everywhere. They gravitate to those like themselves, to advance the tenets of freedom and justice.”

  “We know the truth of that, hence your summons. There is a mission for you, Sir Luke, a quest.”

  “You have only to ask it of me, your Highness.”

  “Hmmm, perhaps... You have been with Us this short time and it may be that you would prefer to remain longer. Be that as it may, both Myself and the Queen find you more restless of late. Your socialization has been desultory with Our Knights, and rare with the ladies of the court, who act quite disappointed I might add. You have arrived here in the wake of a great tumult. Continents and ideologies clash throughout the world, you and those like you are needed now more than any other time in our history.

  A myriad of thoughts went through Luke’s mind, and heart.

  Ahhh, I see you know of what I speak.”

  “Yes Your Majesty, in light of my recent travels, I do.”

  “Travels indeed! Legendary feats so say monarchs. We have accounts concerning your chivalry and dedication to the Code of Honor from knights who were there at the same battles in Jerusalem. Each one holds you in the highest esteem for your courage and fairness. The lay-crowd however are fond of bandying about the notion you are a conjuration of war, emerged from a mist, a Ghost shrouded in mystery and therefore to be suspect. The crux of the matter is that these are difficult times in which we live, the old ways of the Earth Mother are fading and fewer heroes now walk these hallowed halls.”

  Luke bowed his head and said, “I am here Majesty, in flesh and blood, at your service. The lands of my fathers’ are either forfeit or are under control of my brothers.”

  “We had not heard about the forfeit of Lamasco Lands, but it is possible. Discontent and political intrigue are rife across the Continent. In any case, your being here at this particular time works to Our advantage. With gratitude We accept your fealty and your sword. A place will be found for you upon these isles with lands to call your own. Rewarding good men gives Us great satisfaction. There is something We wish to be found. The elements surrounding its’ existence are like you, adrift in a sea of mystery. It must be located and secured without delay. There are sinister forces aligned against Us who would use this artifact and what it represents to usurp the throne, assassinate The Royal Family and institute draconian rule.”

  Luke Wynnewood liked this man and the liking came from the concern King David had for his family and his people. His title The Saint was given, but it was also earned. He had done much in his reign to staunch poverty and make the country a better place, and so had the Queen.

  “Be not quick to answer until you have heard what it is that you must do. There is no doubt the journey you make will be twisted and dangerous.” The King wrote on a small piece of parchment and handed it to Luke. “Read this, say nothing and hand it back.”

  The paper was offered, upon its’ return the king went to a brazier and threw the parchment into the flames.

  Solemnly Luke said “Can this be true?”

  “Our enemies believe that it is. Therefore, if there is a chance, We must as well.”

  Sir Luke stood thinking for a few moments. It seemed as if he were deciding to accept the quest or not, his true thoughts were already miles ahead on the paths he must travel, and where they might lead.

  “I do accept Majesty and am thankful for Your confidence.”

 

  “Good! If anyone can do this thing, it is you. We know of your talents in addition to the warrior in you, they will be useful. The only clue to its’ location is that it is to the west, which is fortuitous because you may find an additional reward for your efforts in that direction. There was a shipment of two score casks of supplies 'lost' at sea. You will know if you find them, for they are unique.

 

  “Then west I will go. Do you require periodic reports?”

 

  “I do not. Spies and schemers are all about. When you have learned the truth, report to The Crown. Keep your own colors, the wearing of mine would serve to bring unwanted notice.”

 

  “There are, unfortunately, many knights wandering the land looking for hearth and home. It will seem to others that this is the reason for your journey. It is a personal quest by the Queen to remedy this situation but societal change is oft times slow. Let us be clear. If for any reason you need to invoke the name of The King, do so with conviction. I will be ever there at your back my friend, as long as I still draw breath, and in My stead, The Queen as well.”

  “As you command Your Majesty, I will leave straight away.”

 

  “So soon, eh? To be better at it quick, to have it done; very well.”

  “This will take care of the costs of your journey,” the King said as he handed Luke a purse. Our steward has been notified, see him for whatever provisions you may require...”

  “Then by your leave, Your Highness.”

 

  Before he could turn to go the King said, “A word Sir Luke, before you depart. Pray tell, what is the one thing that tells best, or worst, of these Crusades.”

 

  For several minutes the king stood as Luke looked around in the great chamber; the blood and carnage of war depicted on the tapestries hung on every wall. His gaze rose higher until he looked at the tall windows beneath the massive timbers of the roof. Night had fallen and he could see stars in the heavens shown against the dark sky.

  “Sire, I will tell you a thing. There is no greater enemy to be faced than one who fights for freedom in his own land.” Silence filled the chamber.

  “We were told you were wise beyond your years, now We know to what extent. Sad, young knight, that all the statesmen, emissaries and ambassadors with their thousands of words could not know insight into these terrible Crusades as you do.”

  Replacing a sad tone, the king admonished: “Now be off with you Sir Knight! You have a long road and the night wanes. God speed and return safely Sir Luke. We would have it no other way.”

  Bowing, Luke made for the great oaken door. A courtier waited in the antechamber to guide him where he wished to go; “the knight’s bailey,” he said; thinking how Shahjeen would soon be himself again.

  Little did Luke know that even at that moment seeds of mistrust were being sown by a jealous and vindictive man.

 
; +++++

  As the king sat down and pondered the words from the remarkable knight that had so impressed, and in truth, awed him; his mind was filled with knowing the worth of such decency and caring in this one man, and others like him, and what good it boded for the kingdom and indeed the world.

  He was rudely interrupted.

  “Majesty” (loud whisper).

  Ignored.

  “Majesty” (louder insistent whisper).

  Ignored. (surely he would not a third time...)

  “You Highness, please, I beg you?” (a dog whining for a bone)

  After a few moments: “What is it?” (calm, composed, no inflection)

  The man stepped from the shadows from the far side of the room and approached the king, now sitting nonchalantly, parchment in hand.

  “Your Majesty, I was waiting in the adjoining map room to discuss other matters with you but the door to your chamber was ajar and I could not help but hear that you have placed some important task upon this upstart of a man who claims knighthood. I beseech you Great King, do not do this thing, we know nothing of this man’s time before he came here, it is not even proven that he is a knight.”

  “Go on Damien.” (calm, composed)

  “Is it perhaps ill-advised to entrust a matter of such seeming importance to a mere pup, one known to be so indiscriminate as to disregard life. Would it not be of greater benefit to entrust a much older more experienced knight or lordship with such a quest?”

  There it was, the one word he had hoped not to hear. Damien had listened to everything. Thank heavens he had remembered the parchment passing; he had seen his brothers, the previous kings, use it often enough.

  The man they call The Saint sat reining in his building anger. He waited some minutes and busied himself with ink and parchment before he cut through the pile of stinking garbage that this devious little underling had been spewing forth, and said;

  “Ah, what was it... oh yes, you were questioning the actions of your King, did We get that correctly?”

  Damien blanched even whiter than his pale pasty complexion already was and he stood with his chin on his chest in supplication.

  “Yes we see that We did get that correctly.” (calm, matter-of-fact)

  “Damien, you have been a fixture here for some years, even unto my brother’s reign before me. Do not ever mistake me for him. Since you have not seemed to take sufficient notice previous to this point in time let me make this clear; when your advice is wanted it will be asked for, until then do not give it.

  And; if for any reason you ever again ‘accidentally’ listen to any of Our private audiences, the dungeon will be your permanent residence. Do you understand?”

  (muffled apologies, deep bowing, simpering tone) “Yes Your Majesty, yes Your Highness ...”

  “Now, get --- out --- of --- my --- sight.”

  +++++

  If Luke had known of Damien’s evil machinations, it would have troubled him little... In his purview, Sir Luke Wynnewood of Lamasco would have dealt with such a man in the same way he had dealt with other such conniving men who had tried to force their evil tragedies upon the unsuspecting.

  Justice was his purpose, he had known it from the first moment when he had seen its’ precepts trampled upon.

 

  Justice: a demanding mistress, she breached no fools and wavered not one single stripe; she was harder than the hardest steel and, he was hers’, body and soul; so be it... the heart and spirit of Lamasco the Ghost would not waiver.

  Or so he believed …

 

  A Dance in The Darks

  The rain had stopped, yellow and orange rays shone under an overcast clouded sky as the sun was going lower. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be here, she knew for certain she wasn’t supposed to be here. She only needed a precious little time.

  If she had asked for guards they wouldn’t have let her leave, and she had to be here. As soon as she saw the rain stop and the sun peak through she grabbed her two helpers and hurried out. She was old enough, she could take care of herself... she ran the daily routines of the castle nearly single-handed, didn’t she... She is the Mistress of Strathenham and she had made her decision.

  They needed to gather enough herbs to last through the winter, and there wasn't nearly enough; it was well into the fall season and so here she was in The Darks, gathering them. She had done the gathering dozens of times before, it would be alright... she hoped it would be alright.

  It wasn’t the most inviting of places even in broad daylight but now dusk was growing closer and she could feel the dread of the place. But she also knew of no other place this late in the season where she could get the quantity and variety of plants that were needed.

  They simply called it The Darks, not the dark woods or the dark place, just The Darks. It was a superstitious place and she wasn’t inside of it really, just on the fringe. It intrigued her though she didn’t know why, maybe because it was a place full of strange feelings. Despite all the self-assurances, the real truth of it was that her inner feelings told her this was not a safe place.

  All manner of stories and myths were told of it: that wandering lost spirits traveled and lived here, that huge black wolves ruled here as their domain, that sunlight could not penetrate the thick canopy even on the brightest of summer days; and, that all manner of sorrowful moans and voices could be heard here in the middle of the night. She pushed these thoughts away.

  She had her two housemaids, Elsbeth and Mairi with her and they were gathering all the herbs they could. Just a few more...just a few more. Feelings of uneasiness began to come over her, premonitions had been coming more frequently and at the oddest times. Her grandmother had said that they would do this as she grew more into womanhood.

  Her mind wandered back to her youth. Continuing to pick the plants, her grandmother Alicia’s voice came back to her...

  “You will have the sight, you may sense when things are going to happen, you will know the evil of men. Keep these things close to yourself, speak of it to no one. As time passes you will know when it is right to use your abilities. You will know, and the good of a hundred ages of time will guide you.”

  She could hear the soft lilt of her grandmother’s voice even though the sweet lady had been gone for these many years. Her mind was brought back to the present as Elsbeth’s muffled scream reached her conscious mind.

  On bended knee she lifted her head to peer through the bushes and to her horror saw Elsbeth struggling on the ground with a large and ugly man.

  Several of his dirty companions were looking on and she heard an unknown accent order the others; “...to have their fun over with on get on with the work at hand.”

  She ducked back down just as one of the men turned to look her way. She stifled a scream. She didn’t know where Mairi was but prayed the girl had hidden herself.

  All of her senses became acute. Her nerves felt as if they were stretched to the breaking point. She could sense their terrible evil intent. It chilled her to the bone. Footsteps crushed through the brush, she had been seen... She felt the fingers of fear close around her heart. Her skin went pale and she began to tremble. She had seen the aftermath of women who were forced, the damage was unforgettable, usually permanent and oft times fatal.

  “Here’s another wench, can’t be the one we was sent for, we can have us some more sport.” A gruff voice croaked in her ear.

  A big hand grabbed her shoulder and then it was gone; and a splash of hot wetness hit her cheek and neck. There was a half a grunt of pain and out of the corner of her eye she saw the terrible brute fall. He had no hand. She dared to look up. He had no head.

  The sight before her was something she never could have imagined. She had seen the terrible results of battles before. She had treated arrow and knife and crushing wounds and had seen skirmishes outside the castle walls.

  But there, before her was a sight like no other. A man, a knight, dressed half in black and
half in white, moved as if the winds of fury guided him. Each hand held a sword, one long, one short. They whirled and arced though the air. She blinked and when she looked again there toppled one man after another, each without a sound and without a head.

  The first to come under his terrible wrath had been the brute pinning Elsbeth to the ground. The poor girl trembled uncontrollably as his still body lay near to her, turning the ground red with his blood.

  In no longer a space in time than it took to blink and shake her head in disbelief, five men lay dead and a sixth wounded sitting on the ground. At sword point ahead of him, the knight approached the stricken man.

  The rapist's wound was grave, as his life blood seeped from him there was little doubt that his time on earth would end soon.

  With a guttural screaming roar the killer cried out, “Who are you?”

  In the blink of an eye the knight shifted his hand to the fore hilt of his greatsword and held it in the face of the wounded man as if it were the Holy Cross.

  The warrior bent over and whispered, “ I am The Ghost.”

  Though she strained to hear the words the strange knight spoke but couldn’t make them out, and saw the look of stark terror cross the man’s face.

  In a whisper the dying man said, “No, No, it can’t be, you’re... you’re...”

  “Aye, but I’m not.” With a movement to fast for the eye to see the knight stepped back, and swung his greatsword in a circle, the downward arc slicing the man’s cheek.

  The knight bellowed: “Who are you to have done such a thing as this to defenseless women and where are you from... I’ll not ask again, I’ll merely leave you here for your painful death.”

  “No, no”, the man gasped; “not that, anything but that, I’ll tell ya; we are Lord Alexander’s men. He sends us here to wreak havoc and... and... other such things at Strathenham, whenever the whim stirs him.”

  A single exclamation escapes her lips, “No,” and her mind finishes the thought; ‘Alexander of Kraigsleigh is rumored to be a stern, and harsh man, but there is no way he would bring harm to Strathenham, could he?’

  The knight turned towards her, his back to the villain.“What is your name fair lady?”

  Before she can answer the wounded man begs, “Will you not end my suffering now?”

  The knight turns cold black eyes on the would be murderer and from shear fright the wounded man slumps over to the ground, motionless.

  The Lady of Strathenham helped her maid Elsbeth to her feet, she and the trembling girl both welcomed the comfort of each others embrace.

  The knight turned back to her and said, “Lady, what may be your name?”

  “You, you killed them...” She said, the paleness in her cheeks was replaced by the red of outrage as she felt the anger overcome her fear.

  Feeling the indignation rising in her at having seen such butchery so close at hand she hollered “You killed them all!!”

  “Of course. They would have killed all three of you elsewise.”

  She took a frantic look around, “Where’s Mairi, where has she gone?”

  “There was a girl running toward the castle.”

  Just then, the sound of mounted men crashing through the underbrush assailed their ears. In a second the two swords which had been neatly slid into their scabbards, the long sword at his side and the short sword on his back, came by swift magic into his hands.

  Ivar Thorgoodsson, Captain of the Guard, brought his destrier to a halt in front of the knight. His voice loud and bellowing as he surveys the carnage. “What goes on here?”

  Before the knight can answer, the lady speaks up and says, “This interloper has killed all of these men!”

  Ivar looked at the knight. “’Tis true?”

  The knight answered, “It is, I slew the killers.”

  She spat back at him. “You do not know that they would have killed us.”

  Seeing the familiar look of judgmental authority, the knight looks at the Captain and states, “The Lady knows not of what she speaks.”

  She sputtered her protests as Ivar’s voice commanded, “Gawain take our men and escort the Lady and her maid to the castle.”

  She stifles her protests knowing she is going to receive a dressing down for being out in the Darks with no guards.

  The knight sheathed his blades as Ivar dismounts.

  Taking his measure of the man Ivar says, “I would know more of what happened here.”

  With a confident ease the knight spoke, “Captain, you have a serious enemy in Lord Alexander, the last of these men to die said that it was he who sent them all. And you must look at this.”

  The knight bent down and picked up one of the blades of the attackers. “Have you seen such a weapon as this before?”

  “No, I have not.” responds Captain Ivar, staring at the foot long black curved weapon.

  “It is called the devil’s tongue. It is the weapon of a paid killer. All of those lying here carry one; after being abused, your women would have been put to death in the most horrible of ways.”

  As the knight sheaths the wicked dagger and hands it to the Captain he says, “Be forewarned, the blades are deadly sharp and usually dipped in poison.”

  Ivar looked at each of the attackers, seeing that they all carried the same blade, “I must show this to the lord of the castle. You are welcome to accompany me; after such work you must be thirsty and hungry. Where are the rest of your men?”

  “There are no others.”

  Ivar looks about and whispers, “Only one, only you...” He tries to take a moment to wrap his mind around this concept, but before his thoughts can go that far, he hears a shrill whistle and looks up to see a huge charcoal grey stallion trotting through the trees. The big animal calmly comes to a halt beside the knight. He has never seen an animal of such color, all the darkest grey, not a hint of other coloring anywhere except for coal black hooves and the white blaze of wings upon his forehead.

  He hears the voice of the knight saying “Have your men take all of the belongings from these killers, they are by rights the property of your Lordship. You’ll find their horses tethered about a quarter mile to the West.”

  Ivar asks, “How do you know there are only these six?”

  “Six horses, six men and I have seen the sign of no others. Bury the bodies where they will not be found. And the men who accomplish this are to equally share in any coin they find. I saw at least three of the six carry purses.”

  Ivar looks at the knight with a question in his eyes. But the returning gaze reflects nothing but blue steel hardness. By rights the knight could claim the monies of these men as his own, but has deigned instead to bestow it upon the castle guardsmen who must accomplish the gruesome task of the burying.

  “It will be done as you say. Let us away from this evil place.”

  Little Miss Trouble

  As they ride toward the castle, Ivar thinks to himself: ‘I am a fighter with a score of years behind me and yet I have never seen such a sight as the deaths of those men’.

  They depart the forest and the castle looms ahead as night settles across the countryside. With a command from Captain Ivar the gate opens and they pass through into the bailey.

  “Captain, by your leave, I’ll stable my horse. Collect the killers’ knives, to show your lord, and then it would be wise to have them secured.”

  +++++.

  Enarrah returned to find the castle in an uproar. She no sooner got through the gate when Mairi runs up to her exclaiming, “Thank the Lord you both are safe, my Lady.”

  Enarrah still had her arm around Elsbeth but upon seeing Mairi, the maid rushed into her sister’s arms, sobbing. Still flushed with anger, Enarrah says under her breath. “He killed all of those men in cold blood and...”

  Elsbeth interrupts her; “No, my lady, no. They were going to kill us. The one who accosted me told me we were to die and our bodies never be found. Truly my lady, the knight has saved us.”

 
; Unable to let go of her anger with such ease, Enarrah thinks to herself that these are the thoughts of an hysterical girl. She motions to the serving girls to take the baskets of herbs, then walks to the staircase to get to her room. She is blood smeared, bedraggled and her hair is undone. Although she routinely dresses in somber clothes, she does not wish to appear unkempt to the rest of the castle.

  Heatherlyn calls from the doorway, “Back safe and sound I see lass, well and good then, well and good.”

  Heading for the stairs, Enarrah hears her cousin Philburt’s voice, “Why have you been out alone? What problem have you caused ?”

  She turns to face him, stands tall and meets his harsh gaze. Still flushed with anger over the slaughter she has just seen, she states, “It was necessary to have the amount of herbs needed to last through the winter months, in order to tend the many illnesses that plague us during this time of year.”

  She has tread this fine line between obedience and arrogance with Philburt often in the last months. He steps closer to her, saying,

  “Be careful of what you say. Be careful of what you do. Soon I may be lord here and you will be married to whomever I choose. It would be in your best interest not to antagonize me Enarrah. Get yourself cleaned up, father has been asking for you.”

  As she hurries toward her room, her youngest cousin, Thomas, passes her in the hall. She moves to the side but he jibes at her as she passes, “Little miss trouble again,” he says with a smile; “Always the contrary one.”

  The youngest of the brothers and the closest to her age they have been lifelong friends. She says just one word, “Don't!”

  At her room she bolts the door behind her and pauses to take a deep breath. She tries to take in all that has happened.

  All that fills her mind is a vision of the savage knight as he whirled with death. She keeps seeing the image of him lithe and graceful, as he did his killing dance. She wasn’t sure if she actually believed it now, even though she had seen him with her own eyes. And it was not just the actions of him. It was the look of him. There was no doubt that he was a knight. Of that she was sure, but his colors were so strange.

  During the course of the comings and goings in the castle she, as much as any girl, had longed to hear the stories of the knights and their battles. But his colors, black and white, alternating black and white...

  She had never heard of, or seen such a knight.

  With a new dawning upon her, she sat down hard in the chair that was behind her. The absence of feeling washed over her... her mind and feelings were wrapped in a soft warmth.

  There was no sense of evil that emanated from him.

  She sat there dumbfounded.

  She had seen him kill the men in cold blood, hadn’t she? Yet, she felt nothing evil about him or his actions. How could this be?

  Had her powers of insight failed her this one time? No, that couldn’t be. Ever since she had started her courses, her powers of insight and intuition had been becoming stronger, deeper and truer.

  So why then was it that she had no negative feelings or intuitions about this knight? And truth be told, when she concentrated her heart upon, she felt goodness coming from him...

  By all of the earth and heavens, it was goodness...

  Could he be the one?

  Could he be the slivery knight shimmering in the mist that visited her dreams at night?

  The Twins

  Luke Wynnewood of Lamasco walked his horse into the stable. As he stopped in the center he heard the scurrying of feet, hushed whispers and of all things, the flapping of wings. He called, “Hello in the stable, I need a place for my horse.”

  There was silence for a moment, little feet scurried again. As he turned two small shapes appeared before him, several feet away.

  With exaggerated bows, two boys of no more than ten years said to him, “Great Sir the stableman is not here but the big stall in the back is empty.”

  The knight bade them stand with his kind words as he hunkered down on his haunches to be at their level. “Ah, twins I see. Thank you for your honorable greeting lads, the gestures are well noted. What be your names?”

  Straightening to their full height, the one replied, “I’m Ashe, he’s Broox, Sir.”

  “What was the flapping of wings I just now heard?”

  The lads looked at one another, Broox nodded his head and Ashe said, “That was Simon Peter, the hawk, he's the onliest one left. He must a takin' a likin' to ya' cause he stayed long enough ta' give ya' the once over, he n'er does that.

  Then we have something in common, my horse is 'Shahjeen', it means 'White Falcon'. See the white blaze on his forehead that looks like a bird in flight, that's how he got his name. They smile at that.

  The boys were thin and gaunt with baggy clothes and no shoes. Their faces are smudged with dirt hiding bruises that were just now healing.

  Broox speaks up, “Can we care fer Shahjeen, Sir Knight?”

  Still squatted down, the knight looks into the boys’ eyes and sees a glimmer of yearning and hope, and the sheer wonderment of innocence as they look back at him. He has seen these eyes before, but where? How? They reflect fearlessness and courage, the eyes of these lads. He has seen it before, he is sure of it, a memory flickers then fades, and is gone. There is something special about these twins, special indeed; and so special they will be treated...

  He rises to his full height and says, “Not just yet, we will have to make the introductions first”

  The great stallion, a full seventeen hands high, thumped the stable floor with his hoof. Stepping away the knight says, “Broox and Ashe this is Shahjeen; Shahjeen, this is Broox and Ashe. Animals get to know you by your scent, lads. Can you stand still to let Shahjeen near?”

  Broox, the taller of the two brothers begins to tremble and his cheek twitches. The knight extends his hand and beckons the boys closer, placing a big gentle hand on both boy’s shoulders. The trembling stops and Broox looks ahead, calm and trusting.

  The boys nod their heads, unable to speak because of the excitement. They have never had something so incredible happen in their lives as a knight introducing them,' yes them', to such a great and fearsome warhorse so close and near.

  As if understanding all that is happening the horse steps forward.

  The knight says, “now extend a hand, palm downward.” The boys act without hesitation and Shahjeen bows his head and extends his nose to sniff the boys proffered hands and gives a slight nod in approval.

  “Well, Ashe and Broox, it seems you found a friend. When I am not here to tend to him myself, you can help keep a watch over Shahjeen. For now be good lads and fetch him some oats and water.”

  The boys eyes grew wide with amazement, they stared first at the horse who stared right back and then at the knight who simply smiled.

  Standing even straighter, Ashe pumped out his chest and with all solemnity said in a clear voice,“Yes Sir.”

  In a whisper Broox said, “Great Knight why do you carry two swords?”

  “Ah, since you are now friends of Shahjeen, I will tell you. This, my longsword was of my own choosing but the scimitar was a gift.” Saying this the knight pulled the curved blade from the scabbard over his shoulder. “This is 'OShaYen' which means peace in the old tongue. See here on the fore hilt The Holy Cross, The Star of David and The Crescent Moon. This sword is ever to be wielded in the cause of justice. And now some water and grain for Shahjeen.”

  “Yes Sir Knight,” they both said, and went to task.

  As the knight settled his great stead into the stall, he heard the commotion of the returning castle guards. They had put the attackers horses into the fenced corral along with their own and piled the saddles and belongings onto the floor of the stable. The knight said, “Take all the weapons that were found and give them to your captain so that the lord of the castle may see them.”

  “Yes, Sir Knight.”

  As the men walk away he hears mutterings m
uch to the affect that “The lord of the castle will never see these.”

  The knight wonders at that but lets it pass and says, “Send your leather smith to me, I will be waiting here.”

  The soldier answers, “As you command, Sir Knight.”

  The twins come back with the oats and water. The knight asks, “Where are your parents?”

  Taking turns with their words, as if of one mind, they answer. “Da went off on, ‘cades and, ma does the kitchen. But we nar get to see her.”

  There is a short pause. Feeling more and more comfortable with “their” knight. They look at each other and say. “Neeley makes us stay here and work, he won’t let us see our ma.” Being quiet now, they have placed the oats and water where Shahjeen can reach them and they stand, each at a side, stroking his neck.

  At the sound of footsteps, the boys disappear. A hunched, older man, in a leather apron says, “Sir Knight, I am Gavin, the leather smith and you are, no doubt, the great man who has summoned me. I see by your fine boots that you are a man of quality.”

  “Thank you Gavin, have you been here a long while?”

  “For many years.”

  The knight stops currying his horse, steps from the stall and closes it. He says as he walks toward the pile on the floor. “Come, I would have you look at this.” He points to the saddles and the leather items on the floor and says, “Can you tell who made these saddles?”

  Gavin steps over to the pile and starts looking through and in a short time he says, “Some of these pieces I know were made at a castle hear here. I know this is the work of a friend who I haven’t seen in a great while.

  “What castle?”

  “Kraigsleigh.”

  “The lands that adjoin these?”

  “Yes, Sir Knight”.

  Luke reaches beneath his hauberk and holds in his hand a gold coin. Gardner’s eyes grow wide. The knight says, “This is only a little for your knowledge.”

  Gavin says, “That is a fortune my lord.”

  “Be not so quick, I have three years work for you. You know the two lads who scurry about here, the twins?”

  Taken a little aback, Gavin says, “Why, yes. They are good lads, they sometimes do errands for me when I can pry them away from old Neeley”

  Holding the gold coin between his fingers the knight says, “Every year for the next three years I would have those lads a new pair of boots and a leather vest each.”

  Gavin looked at the man standing before him, looked him up and looked him down. He stepped back and with a deep bow said, “It will be exactly as you say.”

  The knight places the coin in the palm of Gavin’s hand, closes the gnarled fingers around it and says with a smile’, “Thank you Gavin, I expect it to be just so.”

  The leather smith turns to leave and the knight says, “Gavin...”

  “Sir...?”

  “Leave the saddles and the armaments and take the rest and see to it that the clothier of the castle distributes it to those here that are in need it the most.”

  “Yes, Sir Knight, it is the Mistress of the Castle that takes care of such matters, that is one her many duties. I’ll tell her as soon as I see her.”

  +++++

 

  The knight walks out to the watering trough and takes off his broadsword. Looking down he takes off his blood spattered and dirt stained gambeson. He is already weary of the intrigue evidenced all about him. He was not supposed to be here, he was supposed to be attending to matters at another place. However he well knew the mysteries of fate that had played a hand in the actions and events in his life. He would not question them now. He would right the wrongs that must be dealt with here and be on his way as soon as possible. But there were questions that had to be answered. His nagging thoughts kept returning to the flaxen haired girl dressed so plain who had been outraged at him for his earlier actions. The sight of her standing there, indignant, cheeks flushed red and pink pouting lips would not leave his mind. And the eyes of those two incredible boys, the twins, why did they stir him so?

  His thoughts were interrupted as his senses became alert. He heard the whistle of the cane through the air, raised his hand and grabbed it as it came near to hitting his head.

  A gravel voice demanded “Who are you to wash in this stable yard. Why are you here?”

  As the knight turned a look of surprise came onto the man’s craggy face.

  All the stableman saw were the cold eyes of death staring back at him. The stick was jerked from his hand. Luke said,“You are the stable master here?”

  “Yes, I am Neeley and I’ll not have any vagabond or ruffian in my yard.”

  “You’d have done better to use a proper manner in addressing a guest of this castle.”

  “Why you I’ll.....”

  The stableman could not utter another word for he stared in disbelief as the knight took the thick stick, one hand at each end and snapped it in two.

  Still holding the pieces the knight brought both ragged ends slamming into the man’s ears. With a shriek, Neeley fell to his knees, the words rasping from his throat, “Who are you?”

  The knight unsheathed his scimitar held it by the forehilt and for the second time in the same day held it as if it were the Holy Cross and said, “I am your Maker, truly met, and you will never again strike man or beast.”

  Still holding his bloodied ears the stable master said, “What, did you say?”

  The knight brought the pommel of his sword down atop the man’s head. “I said cretin, that you will NEVER again strike man or beast!”

  He jerked the befuddled man to his feet.

  Neeley collected himself somewhat, gathering his wits about him as the knight turned back to wash. “One more thing...” the knight said, “ Do not enter the stall at the rear of the stable where my horse is kept, he will kill you if you do. Now, begone.”

  Man of Mystery

  Captain Ivar Thorgoodson had just finished describing the knight and his unique heraldic colors to Philburt and Seneschal Bertram Longwillow.

  “Who is this man?” Philburt flustered.

  “I truly do not know my lord. But I have seen no fighter like him. He dispatched these six killers as if it were nothing and never suffered a scratch. He declares these men were assassins as is evidenced by these daggers that they carried”, Ivar exclaimed.

  Philburt looked down at the weapons, “I have never seen such a thing before.”

  “I have never seen such a thing before either, but the knight declares that these men would have killed the women with them.” (They are long curving S shapes, more than a handspan in length, black as coal and the edges gleam razor sharp.)

  Reaching to pick one up Ivar deflects Philburt’s hand away, “Careful my lord, they are poisoned.”

  “And how would you know that?”

  “The knight told me that.”

  Philburt turned to Bertram, “Who Is This Man !”

  The seneschal shrugged his shoulders, “There are many unknown knights roaming the land sire, this may by one of them. He certainly is no vagabond or rogue, his colors evidence that.”

  Philburt looks at him, and says with great intensity, “No ordinary knight could do what this man has done. Find out who is is... No wait, better yet, I’ll find out myself. Where is this knight?”

  “Stabling his horse, my lord.”

  “And why would he be doing that?”

  “I thought it was the least courtesy we could extend to offer food and rest after he saved our women.”

  Philburt looked at him with reproof, “You overstep your bounds Captain Ivar. For all we know this man is a spy himself, sent here to to us harm.”

  “If that were the case, he could have easily slain all of my guards.”

  “Surely you exaggerate.”

  “Verily, my lord, I do not. If you had seen the carnage he wrought of the six men, you would understand.”

  “How so.”

  “Five were withou
t heads, three without hands and arms as well. The sixth he gut wounded and questioned before the man died.”

  Philburt’s eyes grew wide. “In the name of God, who is this man?”

  Ivar turned away saying under his breath, “In the name of God, indeed.”

  He had not even told Philburt that the knight carried two swords, not one, and that they were unique. Emblazoned through the steel on the forte of the broadsword was the holy cross. And they were the darkest gray metal he had ever seen, yet even in the twilight of the late afternoon they gleamed and shown as if the sun radiated from them. Nor had he mentioned the man’s incredible steed. No ordinary knight indeed...

  Philburt was headed to Enarrah’s room when he was accosted by Neeley and his hysterical stammering. Philburt looked annoyed for a moment and then noticed Neeley’s red and swollen ears. Neeley was his best source of information for goings on in the castle. The man was a sneaky, underhanded bully. He overlooked this because of the information Neeley provided. What concern of it was his anyway as to Neeley’s personality? As far as he knew, animals and children needed to be beaten didn’t they?

  The stableman kept blustering, and Philburt, whose patience was ebbing away cuffed the man on the shoulder, “Speak up man, what are you talking about?”

  Neeley straightened up, becoming full of himself and said, “He has taken over the stable my lord. He beat me just for asking who he was. Mark my words, he is evil. He has been sent from the devil to do terrible things here. You have to throw him out. Yes sir, that’s what you have to do, you have to find a way to throw him out.”

  Neeley looked at Philburt through slitted eyes knowing this lord was only a substitute, and a poor one at that.

  Philburt did not have time for this, he had to get to Enarrah’s room and hear first hand what had happened in the forest. Philburt waved his hand in disgust, “Go away, begone, I’ll deal with you later.”

  As he turned away, he could still hear Neeley’s mutterings, “Mark my words, he is evil, my lord, surely evil.”

  As he strode up the hall toward Enarrah’s room, Philburt was halted by Thomas, his youngest brother, “Have you seen the knight and his great steed?”

  Thomas looked like a child who had gone to festival, all smiles and cheerful. Philburt threw up his hands. More about this knight. He was sick of it already, but he resigned himself. The more he knew the better he would be able to deal with it. He gave a big sigh, and said, “Okay, lets hear your story.”

  Thomas looked a little chagrined, “No story really. I just saw the knight as he came in through the bailey to the stable with his horse. He cuts quite a figure and his horse is an Arabian.”

  “You must be mistaken.”

  “I most certainly am not mistaken, you know I know horses. Not only is it an Arabian, it is a Pure Arabian Grey, The Horse of Kings.”

  Philburt forgot where he was going. Feeling somewhat inundated with information about this knight whose name he didn’t even know. He said to his brother, “Thank you Thomas, I’ll talk to you later.” And he strode off to Enarrah’s room.

  As Enarrah sat brooding over her conflicting feelings, she heard an urgent knock and somebody tried the door. Only Philburt would do this, as was his want to do because of his conception of his position at the castle. She stood to go to the door and heard his voice.

  “Let me in.”

  She unbolted the door and swung it wide. He strode through the doorway and attempted to shut the door. She stood in front of it knowing full well it was not a good idea to be alone with Philburt with the door closed.

  He blustered, tossing his hand in the air and walking to the center of the room. “Fine, fine, leave it open. Have your propriety.”

  She could see he was agitated. Not upset exactly but more bewildered than anything else. She knew from his mood, what tone to take, and asked, Do you want to hear what I have to say?”

  “Yes, tell me what happened in The Darks,” he said.

  As she opened her mouth to speak, he held up his hand, “No, wait, think, I want to know in detail what you saw.”

  She composed herself for a moment, ”We went out to gather herbs and plants that I needed for the winter.”

  Before she could say anything else, he cut her off.“Yes, yes, yes, I know all that. That was fine. Tell me about the knight. Tell me what you saw.”

  She hadn’t expected this particular question. She hadn’t expected to have to describe it. Especially since she had been questioning in her own mind what she had seen, and felt...

  She started again, “He came from nowhere. He was just there in the midst of them. The man who had grabbed me fell dead. As I looked, there were swords and daggers waving in the air and he was dancing between them, killing them all.”

  At the word dancing, Philburt looked at her but said nothing. She continued, “All except the last man, whom he wounded. Then he questioned this man. I didn’t hear everything they said. They spoke in whispers at first as the knight held up his sword in front of the frightened man.”

  She rubbed her forehead in frustration and said, “No, no it was not fear, it was terror... The man was terrified. The knight asked why they were there and who sent them. The dying man said that Lord Alexander had sent them here to cause trouble.”

  ”Do you think he was telling the truth?”

  She really didn’t have to think about this. She believed, without a doubt that the dying man was telling the truth and she said as much to Philburt. Then she added, “How can that be? Lord Alexander has always been a friend to Strathenham.”

  Philburt said, “That may be true but in these troubled times, friendships change. You said one of these men had grabbed you? Do you know why he grabbed you?”

  “They had Elsbeth on the ground to possess her and when the one found me hiding in the bushes he laid hands on me and said that ‘here was another one to have sport with’.”

  Philburt stood thinking as he watched her. He had no doubt that the men intended great harm. Ivar’s description of the attackers’ clothing and weapons left little doubt. He looked at her, but before he could speak, she interjected, “He killed them, he just killed them all without mercy. He shouldn’t be allowed to say here.”

  Looking intent now, Philburt said, “You may very well be right. However, one thing seems to be certain., the men came here to create havoc. They would surely have killed you and your maids. If not for the knight you would be dead Enarrah. Listen to me carefully, do not ever again leave the castle without guards.” This last, he spoke in a caring tone.

  She looked up at him in surprise at this, and he added, “Please get cleaned up and attend Lord William.”

  She nodded her head in acquiescence and he left, leaving her standing there even more confused than before.

  Ghost

  Alexander Alltimont, overseer and self proclaimed Lord of Kraigsleigh Castle paced back and forth in front of the big hearth of the main hall like a nervous cat. There was a waning fire upon the grate. A chill passed through him. It was getting colder every day. He would have to spend more of the monies on this decaying castle. He longed for it. This is to be his palace. Caution held him back from premature action for if a large crew of workmen were formed, unwanted attention would soon follow. He had been careful for far too long to let that happen. He could endure the waiting now, for the prize was in sight. All the injustices of his life would be avenged.

  After tending his brother’s terrible illness and death he bolted and lived a warrior’s life in seclusion. He was very good at it. His pilgrimage had started at the stones of Carnac near his home in Brittany and from there to The Dance of the Giants in Cornwall.

  It was in Ireland he had faced the scrying stone of the faerie ring. At that place he had fasted for four days without food or drink. Then, in a vision, the hole through the center of the mammoth stone turned to crystal and beckoned him to enter. He was the chosen, the vision made it so, and he thrust his sword hand into the
shimmer of crystal. He was racked with unspeakable agony and passed out from the pain of his vision quest.

  When he came to his senses the hand stayed blackened for weeks. When it regained its' normal color he thought all was well. It was not, not by any stretch of the imagination. The hand seemed to have a life of its' own, a vile and evil life, especially when he had his sword in hand. It moved, swung and thrust the blade with a ferocity that was not his own.

  Then the terrible headaches started and the living nightmare began. Vile hideous creatures of death and destruction rampaged through his dreams during the few short hours he managed to get any sleep. The shakes, tremors and twitches of the hand during his time awake drove him to distraction until all he could do to cope with it was try to ignore it.

  Four isles later he had come to Sunkenkirk in the lands of Elleghane. The headaches subsided, he found solace here, and so he made himself believe that here was where he was destined to find greatness... and revenge. He could feel it in his bones, he could feel it come from the hand; this was the place.

  His mind now wandered... while Kraigsleigh was rebuilt he would be bathed in the comfort of Strathenham and all its amenities, not the least of which would be Enarrah... he and no one else would have her, no matter what it took...

  Where was that blasted captain of his, he should have returned from his ‘meeting’ by now.

  His mind returned to his musings: He, Alexander, had taken Kraigsleigh Castle from that old fool Lord Carleton, soon he would have Strathenham as well; and even the legacy of Elleghane itself would be his, and all the power that went with it. That would lay a path open to control all The Borders, from sea to sea.

  The great doors of the room came open and slammed shut as Captain Erick Shafterly strode toward the man standing at the hearth.

  “You’re late,” the voice taunted.

  “Not entirely without reason My Lord. Our sneaky little friend needed some extra comfort, both for his bruised ego as well as his purse.”

  “Speak plain man, what is the news?”

  “It seems there has been quite the commotion at Strathenham. Some unknown knight has appeared alone, seemingly from nowhere, and has succeeded in killing six of our men and at the same time foiling our attempt to capture the elusive girl.”

  Alexander’s gaze turned cold. “One man you say, one man slew six of your trained killers. Not possible.”

  With great care, Shafterly continued, “Great lord, I only relate the story as told to me at my recent meeting. The little worm of a man insists that this knight comes straight from the devil himself, also, that the knight alone killed the six men, while rescuing the girl and her two maids. He said he saw the proof himself. Weapons, armor, clothing and saddles all piled in the stable and your six horses grazing in the nearby paddock.”

  “What have you done about this?”

  “Four men have been sent to track the first six to gain any further information about their movements, and two others of less conspicuous variety have been sent to find out about new arrivals in the area. These last two will start at the village first... using all due discretion.”

  “It had better be with discretion Shafterly. We do not want Philburt nor his inept brothers Randolph and Thomas to get wind of our intentions, now do we?”

  “No my lord we do not, inquiries will be made with the utmost care.”

  “Who is this knight?”

  “I know not, but from the description he can only just recently have returned from the crusades.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He bears multiple crosses upon his clothing as well as on his sword. Our spy was thoroughly distressed when the knight thrust the blade of that sword in front of his face and showed him the Holy Cross branded through the fore hilt. The wretch went on and on about hell and the devil as the origin for this knight. Actually the knight apparently put the fear of God into him. Oh, and this after boxing the man’s ears with his own whip. I settled his nerves with the same promises, added more coin to his purse and he went away quite satisfied as usual, promising to give us more information on the morrow.”

  “What did this knight look like?”

  “Of medium height and build with the look of youth about him. Light hair with the colors of black and white all about his clothing.”

  “Black and white... there is no man would wear such, no man...” Alexander muttered almost to himself, trying to remember something.

  “That may be true, but if there is, then he is here and he is a ghost.”

  At this last word Shafterly could see the color come onto Alexander’s usually pasty white face.

  A flash of memory struck Alexander like a lightning bolt. “Ghost?? Ghost!! Hold your tongue. It cannot be, it is not possible. I was not there but my brother Terrell was, and he told me the story from his sick bed. He spoke in reverence of a knight heralded in no colors; in only black and white! A man who fought with two swords at the battle of Jerusalem. Did this man have two swords?”

  “Our spy spoke of only one.”

  “My brother also said that the knight disappeared without a trace in the midst of a melee of thousands of battling men. He has never been seen or heard from again. After that day they simply referred to him as ‘The Ghost’. Now this same man might somehow have appeared here? We must find out who this knight is and who is helping him. I have sources that can help with that,” he said, as he strode from the great hall.

  Captain Erick Shafterly watched the dying fire in the hearth as he heard his lordship’s footfalls recede into the castle. He was thoroughly fed up with this pest hole of a keep. The stink of decay clung to his clothes and his very body, night and day. He longed to be away, back to the bright meadows and peaceful valleys of his homeland. He was getting too old for this unending high drama. He had been persuaded by Alexander’s constant flow of coin, and promises of even greater wealth and property. It wasn’t until his arrival and first meeting with Alexander that he was fully apprised of his ‘duties’.

  He fully expected to be the instrument of Alexander’s mayhem and even murder. However, he was not prepared to be the only visible presence of authority. Alexander was specific that he personally was to have no direct contact with anyone outside Castle Kraigsleigh, “until the time was right”.

  It was no wonder for that, not when, at their first meeting Alexander had stepped from the shadows. He cut a gruesome figure, overly tall, severely thin, with a face that looked as if it had been carved from stone. He dressed all in black including a full length hooded cloak. When he threw back the hood it revealed raven black shoulder length hair that emphasized to an even greater degree the man’s large head perched on a long whipcord neck.

  If there had been anyone ascended from Hades, it was Alexander; his eyes looked as if darkness and flames lurked behind them. This specter of a man reminded him of stories from the continent made up to scare the wits out of children. It worked, a horrible beast of a man called ‘The Wraith’ was the character told of, his acts of viciousness unparalleled.

  Shafterly had no trouble following Alexander’s orders insuring his privacy, nor any of his other orders either. Like ‘The Wraith’, this Alexander was not a man to get on the wrong side of, ever. This particular fact was made even plainer the first time Shafterly had seen the sword. The next day, in order to make a very distinct point of conversation, Alexander had furled his cloak aside with a flourish.

  That sword must have a name, but Shafterly would not ask what it was. Hung at his slender waist off a wide black belt was a gold tipped scabbard no less than five feet long. The hilt protruding from the top of the scabbard was a foot long, and the cross guard was ornately inlaid with gemstones. With the man’s overly long arms it put his sword swing at about eight feet. A full foot farther killing radius than any swordsman Shafterly had ever seen, and he had seen hundreds in his time as a fighter.

 

  Coin had been br
ought forth, without end, from the man’s bottomless coffers, for anything and everything that Alexander wanted... Now, months after schemes and planning, Shafterly was anxious to take what wealth he could get, pay off his men, and go home. But deep down he knew this was not to be. It was supposed to be a simple thing, take over Kraigsleigh by easy force, await the impending death of Strathenham’s Lord William Northerlund and give the maid over to Alexander.

  But, there were complications, Lord Carleton of Kraigsleigh was a tricky matter, finally resolved by devious rather than direct means and the man had just disappeared. Lord William had not succumbed to his illness, and his sons had shown more backbone than was thought to exist. This last, in spite of the steady string of bad luck that Shafterly's men had “plagued” upon Strathenham and its' people.

 

  Now there was a knight, a battle hardened knight; where there had been no real threat before. A knight with some mysterious reputation, or more likely several knights, in residence at Strathenham, with six of his men dead to prove it. And the crosses of the crusades everywhere. Shafterly could see the free ride was over, he was going to have to start earning his money from now on.

  +++++

  He awoke to the creaking of the ship's wooden hull against the timbers of the dock. The voyage was finally over. He made it, in spite of the storms, the pirates and the sickness. Gathering his belongings he stepped out into the hot sun.

  With his language skills it was a matter of a few minutes and he had been directed to a place where information might be found. His hopes rose a little.

  “State your business, what do you want here?” asked the knight with a huge red cross on his chest.”

  “I seek a Christian who came here to fight.”

  “Thousands of Christians fought here, and died here.”

  “I've come hundreds of leagues to find him. I was told by asking here I might find him or someone who knows of him.”

  “His name?”

  “Luke Wynnewood.”

  The knight laughed and said, “Ha, The Ghost? So would we all. And who might you be, his brother?”

  “Yes, I am, one of his six brothers.”

  The knight was taken up short, “I am a Templar and this is a holy place, if you tell such a lie here it will go badly for you, but of a fact I have known that Wynnwood did have six brothers.”

  “I swear I speak true.”

  “Wait here.”

  With the huge door ajar he heard the knight bellow, “Terrell, you needs come down, a lad here says he's the brother of Wynnewood!”

  The moments went by like hours and he could hear his heart pounding in his chest and his pulse beating in his ears, and still the moments passed.

  Loud deliberate footfalls echoed down the stairwell. A tall slender broad shouldered man with the same gambeson appeared. He stood in the doorway like a spire of granite with his visage ethereal in the shadows.

  And he could see the dark eyes look him from head to foot.

  “What is you name?”

  “John Wynnewood of Lamasco. I am here at the behest of my grandfather, and before he passes on would know the fate of my brother Luke. We have not heard of him since he left our home. Truth be told I seek his fate as much for myself as for our grandfather.”

  “Describe your brother, how he looks”

  John complied with the request.

  The great knight came from the shadows descending the stairs until he stood on the same step as John Wynnewood. All the while as he came closer his smile broadened wider and wider.

  He thrust out his arm and Wynnewood glasped it, now smiling himself.

  “You favor him. I am Terrell Alltimont of the Knights Templar, I have seen your brother and know of him well. He disappeared about a year ago and has not been seen since, but constant sightings of him come from everywhere and everyone, even our enemies.

  Your brothers' good friend is the comrade that saved my life, I leave today to find him. If anyone knows the whereabouts of The Black and White Knight it is Robert Verregon of Rangeley.”

  “My brother, Luke Wynnewood, is a Knight?”, John stammered.

  Terrell laughed out loud, “Your brother, Luke Wynnewood, is more than a knight He is a legend. Come with me now, to Britain, and on the journey I'll tell you all I know of Wynnewood The Brave.”

  Pages

  Enarrah stood and listened at her maids’ well wishes as they left her room. The sisters had brought her fresh water and linens and had laid clean clothes for her on the bed. It did not miss her understanding that both had come when assuredly one would do, as had always been before. They were there to reassure her in no uncertain terms that they were recovered from there forest ordeal and to make certain that their Lady was too.

  The conversation had been light but poignant: “Oh, what a terrible thing to have nearly happened...”

  “Why yes it was, but...”

  “Oh, what a blessing that the knight had come along in the nick of time and saved us all from terrible fates...”

  “Well, yes I suppose he did, but...”

  “Oh, my goodness, wasn’t he ever so handsome...”

  “Handsome, yes, I guess he was handsome, but don’t you think...”

  “And Oh, isn’t it just so wonderful that he is here with us in this very castle... there are your clean things mistress... we have to go now mistress... Lord William is waiting...”

  She stood and without thought removed her clothes, she tried to catch hold of the torrent of thoughts and feelings that flooded through her mind and body... 'saved us all' (warmth spread through her limbs)

  “Blessed knight of goodness and wonderment.” (an aching tightness made her feel the size and shape of her breasts). “Handsome, young and handsome” (her fingers felt the soft curves of her body).

  Enarrah’s eyes opened, she saw the pile of clothes at her feet, she looked up and there in the mirror was a naked young woman, hair undone as if tossed by the four winds, the girl looking back at her was flush with heat, one hand resting upon her breasts, the other gently nestled on the mound above the cleft between her legs. The hand between her legs pressed upon the soft mound beneath it...

  It was like a bolt of lightning had struck... complete with the sound of thunder in her ears.

  The water in the wash basin had grown cold and she was ever so thankful for that... she moved with purpose to wash and dress and pin up her hair just so... and in just a few minutes was traversing the halls to the upper castle where Lord William waited in his chamber. As she passed the rounded corner of the tower balustrade that overlooked the courtyard below she was stopped in her tracks by a piercing cry that made her blood run cold. As a healer she had heard every cry of pain, remorse, anger and hurt... this was something different, it was guttural and mind numbing. She turned her head just in time to see a flash of black and white blur in the corner of her vision as someone leapt over the balustrade on the opposite side of the courtyard.

  Someone! Him!

  +++++

  The cascading water washed the grit from his hands as the knight’s thoughts jumbled and raced through his mind... what a wondrous girl. He grabbed up his tunic and long sword and strode back into the stable and put them with the rest of his gear in Shahjeen’s stall. His short sword nestled in the scabbard at his back he called to the stable boys, “Come on young lads, it’s time to find food.”

  The twins seemed to appear from nowhere. The slightly shorter and stouter of the two, Ashe, said, “We’ll tell you how to get to the kitchens Sir.”

  “Come then, lead the way.”

  Fear crept into Broox’ eyes as he stammered to the knight, “We can t-t-tell you wh-where it is sir, but we’re not allowed to go there cause it’s at the kitchen where our mama works!”

  Luke bent down on one knee and put a guiding hand on the shoulder of each of the young boys. I am Luke Wynnewood, true and noble knight and you are my helpers; and the care givers
to the great Shahjeen. From this day forward there is no place I go that you cannot. And on this day at this hour you both will come and sit by my side and we will eat together at your mother’s table.”

  The twins hugged the knight’s hands to their cheeks. Luke pulled the boys to him and guided by his heart, embraced them both. The boys held tight to the knight’s strong arms and shoulders and while Ashe stood steady; Broox, an inch taller, ten pounds lighter and frail, trembled.

  No one spoke as the moments passed.

  Ashe stood taller, and as Broox trembling stilled, the two boys drew strength from their great knight. Like many other things that his heart had drawn him to that he had never questioned, Luke Wynnewood knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that these boys would be an integral part of his life from this day forward.

  As their silent tears fell upon his black and white tunic Luke rose up and with a big smile declared, “I’m hungry as a bear, let’s go eat!”

  Winding their way through the castle from one end to the other took some minutes as smiles and waves greeted the knight and the boys. Luke marveled at the fact that ever since he had encountered the three maids his mind and heart had been flooded with memories, remembrances and intuitive feelings.

  He was of a sudden remembering that the twin lads had talked of the guards eating place being near the kitchen, and the significance struck him. He had been at only one other keep where the guards and workmen ate at that particular location. It had been a novel idea of the lord of that castle, far away in Persia. Done not only so that the guards had hot food but also to maintain a greater degree of civility and propriety amongst these raucous men. It had worked, and worked well. It was also an efficient and sure remedy for those guards who committed minor infractions and where made to take their meals in some far outpost of the keep. After a week of cold food and limited camaraderie infractions were rarely repeated.

  The smell of wonderful food met his nostrils, he was famished, having hardly eaten for more than a day. The trio entered a large doorway where several men were sitting a long table on which were laid out a big pot of stew, platters of bread and cheese and pitchers of wine and ale. The smell of good food beckoned him, not a proper cooked meal for weeks...

  They were met with slight smiles and wondering looks. A big hulk of a man with a full black beard and sparkling eyes stood up and announced, “Welcome, welcome Sir Knight. Men, this is the fine and noble man of whom I just spoke to ye of, he that has saved our Lady and her maids from the most terrible doins’”.

  (Mercy – the man was going to make a speech! - hopefully a short one... Lady? )

  “I would take your hand in thanks Good Knight, if you would have it? ‘Twas I by our good captain himself put on that messy cleanup detail in the Darks. I tell ya’ plain Sir Knight, ‘ner such sword work have I ever seen; and the thanks I be ‘ta given ye’ are for your share of the coin we found on the killers, just as you said it would be there – and our families will be all the better for it for many a long month.”

  The big Irishman took the knight’s hand, bowed and raised it to his forehead as the knight replied shaking the man by his shoulder; (the praise and good words caught Luke off guard for rarely did such kindnesses occur and truth be told his mind was on the food!).

  “Well and good then, hard work and well earned pay. Thank you friend, I am a guest of your castle by Captain Ivar’s graces and these are my Pages; newly appointed; we have come to find out if the rumors are true about a marvelous stewardess here that makes the best food in the kingdom.”

  “Aye, this then that you have come to is indeed the right place, came the stout reply. Heatherlyn’s cookery is known far and wide, as these young laddybucks with you do well know. Sit ! Eat !”

  A loud assent when up from the men around the table.

  (Yes by St. George, Yes...!!)

  Heatherlyn heard a commotion in the guards room a few minutes before while she was in the midst of sorting out a half dozen details with the kitchen help. That done with for the moment she grabbed up a tool of her trade (one never knew) and went to find out what the noise was about. As she headed down the short corridor from the kitchen she caught herself up short... Silence. Silence? Hardly ever silence from that room; as a matter of fact, never was there silence from that room.

  She stepped through the doorway to a most incredible sight. A dozen men, heads bowed down, a knight, striking in appearance and demeanor sitting at the head of the table, her two young sons sitting to either side of him their small hands gently grasped in his large ones AND this magnificent knight was just finishing saying grace...

  “...and bless this food O Lord, Amen.”

  “Amen.” came the chorus from around the table.

  Yellow and green vegetables floated in a thick rich brown gravy laden with big chunks of tender meat, falling apart; the spoon was almost to his lips when our good knight heard a joint exclamation from the twins... “Utt...Ohh... !!”

  The dripping spoon stopped midair.

  He must be seeing a specter... lack of food maybe... there in the doorway stood a woman, a very tall woman, with striking auburn hair, all askew; and, even under the kitchen clothes and apron it took no imagination to discern the curves of an ample well proportioned figure.

  A pillar of womanhood... and she was carrying the biggest butcher knife he had ever seen...

  She postured, waving the knife like an instrument of instruction and in a loud whisper said, “Broox and Ashe, away from here. You’ll be gone from that miserable Neeley soon; but for now we must make no waves and cause no stir, now go!”

  The knight stood and took a knee as the stalwart woman, the twins’ mother, approached. “Dear Lady, by your leave... “

  A shiver went up Heatherlyn’s spine, then that was replaced with waves of goodness washing over her as she looked at the regal knight bowing in respect before her.

  She lost her voice...(He couldn’t know, he couldn’t possibly know.)

  By your leave Good Lady, I have taken these two lads, Broox and Ashe, as my Pages; under the protection of my swords and my coat of arms. Sweet Mother, where ever I go they may also go.”

  She stares away and says in a soft whisper, '...by my leave...' yes, they are my sons and we are only guests here, Neeley has Lord Philburt’s ear and I wish no trouble, please...”

  From the far end of the room a low rumble started and broke into the heavy Scottish brogue of the highlands as a man the size of a small building with a rug-size tartan draped cross his shoulders stood,

  “’Ere, ‘ere now ‘Eatherlyn we’ll be havin’ none ‘o that Lassie. This ‘ere is the he-man knight courageous what has saved our very own sweet Lady and ‘er maids from certain doom. Every man jack here would follow ‘im and ‘is colors straight to the portals of Hades if need be.”

  The twins speak up as well, “It’s all right Mama... he’s really nice... and besides we got duties... we take care of Shahjeen.”

  Slightly overwhelmed; healer par excellence, cook, mentor to the Mistress of the Castle and friend to all – Heatherlyn sunk down onto the bench by her sons. “Oh my... Pages ? To a knight of the realm... Who is Shahjeen? Oh, My Goodness!! The stableman forbade them being here,” she said as her voice trailed off.

  “Heatherlyn, your boys no longer answer to the stableman Neeley for anything, they answer to me. And we are all very hungry !”

  Surprised and not a little astonished Healer Heatherlyn had seen many remarkable things in her life, but by far, so far, this was the most noteworthy. And as was her want and way to do so well in the past, she went with the flow...

  “Hungry !! Yes eat, please oh please do. And Pages, my fine sons your Pages... by your leave Sir Knight, yes,” she said with a curtsy, “By The Grace of Almighty God.”

  Luke and the twins started in on the stew as she disappeared through the doorway in a flurry of flying skirts; only to return minutes later with two serving girls in tow a
ll with arms full laden. In no time fresh pitchers of ale were being poured, the boys had mugs of watered wine and a huge platter of little custard pasties was put upon the table. At the appearance of this last, the guards, enjoying the treats and the good companionship, lifted their mugs in a silent toast to Luke. Heatherlyn watched with a smile.

  “Mama”, the twins said, “we have to get back to duties. Shahjeen doesn’t like being alone”.

  At this she raised her eyebrows.

  “My horse.”

  “Ahhh” she said.

  “Yea Mama, he’s the smartest horse in the world, he talks to us.”

  She looked at her sons about to retort...

  Ashe: “Well, almost Mama, it’s kinda horse talk ya know?

  Broox: “We gotta go, okay ? (with a perfunctory nod).

  Luke looked at Heatherlyn; she nodded; and he said, “Off you go lads.”

  “Amazing, they haven’t been this happy since... since...” and she disappeared toward the kitchen, tears streaming from her eyes...

  Angus the Scotsman’s bass brogue broke the tenuous silence. “Er man, Brookman, went off on crusade all of what? Six years ago now, and ‘as not been 'eard from since.”

  “May God protect him and grant her Peace.”

  “Aye, Amen to that Sir Knight.”

  Spy

 

  Luke lingered and finished his meal. His stomach was full and his spirit felt more at peace than it had in a long time. He wondered at it. This place, this castle, these people; it was a kind of peace for his spirit, in spite of, or maybe because of, the brutal events which had occurred.

  His thoughts abounded: ‘He had introduced the twins to the guards and their own mother as his pages without so much as a single hesitation.’

  ‘Shahjeen had never taken to anyone but somehow these twins were kindred spirits to the great animal – incredible.’

  ‘Six lethal men attempting to rape three helpless girls, rare; but, all six carrying the weapons of hired fighters --- that spoke of money and organization.’

  ‘Not at all what would be expected to be found in the hinterlands of the Scotland border.'

  'And above all else a mere slip of a girl, full of attitude with fire in her heart. All clad in soft brown and green with no presumption; and if anything the sight and smell of The Earth Mother all about her... He remembered the lion from his dreams and that same heady aroma of the earth. His mind was now more neatly wrapping itself around the looks and sounds of her when:'

  “I would a word with you Sir Knight,” Ivar said.

  Luke stood, and as he did every man seated at the dining table rose to their feet, he gave them a quick smile, “Be well men”, and turned to the doorway where Captain Ivar waited.

  As the guardsmen and master craftsmen of Strathenham sat back down at their table, there was silence.

  The men looked each from one to the other and then to all the others still; first one man, and then all, raised a clinched fist salute of allegiance and solidarity to their knight, to their castle and to each other.

  Words were not spoken. Words were not needed. They all gained greater decency and confidence in giving their respect to this great man.

  A few paces along the long enclosed hallway Ivar stopped, “There is much to discuss Sir Knight, walk to the stable with me. All things are not as they seem here. For openers Neeley is railing to anyone who will listen that you, my friend, are the devil incarnate ascended up from Hades itself.

  “And?”, the knight replied.

  “And Sir Philburt is in a fit state and seeks you out to demand who you are.”

  “I was just coming to look for you, it’s good you found me.”

  “How so?”

  “Even in my short time here I’ve seen complex changes going on that you all need to be made aware.”

  Frowning, Ivar stopped their progress at the foot of the long stairway to the parapet wall up over the main gate and portcullis; and turned to face the man.

  The knight saw the Captain’s face, “ No, please do not misunderstand, these are insights I’ve had that are important to us all. And there is one change that has occurred that needs to be addressed with the Lord and Lady of the castle.”

  “Change? Here let us go up the less traveled way said Ivar,” as he motioned toward the stairs. It was full dark now, sconces and torch poles were lit through out the castle.

  “In point of fact the Lady Heatherlyn has given her blessing for her sons to be my Pages.”

  Ivar stopped, took a deep breath, slowly let it out and said, “Change eh; Sir Knight that might more be categorized as an incredible event, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Well actually, when you put it quite that way, yes”, said he knight.

  “Is there any other way to put it?”

  “Well actually, no. Try to see it from my perspective, this is one of many roads I’ve been led to travel caused by forces beyond, and most certainly above, my control.”

  “For the sake of all the Heavens, why does that not seem to surprise me even one little bit? ”

  “Its been that way for a long time. I can’t say, by any means, that I’m used to it but it has been the normal way of my life. I do what feels right to do.”

  Ivar said, “Well, throw into the mix one seriously worried Lord’s son who, by the way is keenly interested in finding out your name (no thanks to my lack of asking it at our first meeting, Ivar thought to himself) and you have complications.”

  “Just because I haven’t given you my name doesn’t mean I don’t have one.”

  Seeing the knight’s wide grin Ivar smiled back and was going to ask but was struck dumb by the change that occurred before his eyes. The face before him turned to stone, the smile changed to gritted teeth, the violet-blue eyes turned almost black and the knight’s head pivoted as his entire body went into motion.

  At that instant the crack of a whip and stifled cry reached Ivar’s ears. He turned his head towards the sound and saw what the knight has sensed or seen just moments before. There on the lower walkway below, huddled in a shadowy corner are two children, one huddled over other. Neeley is shaking the boy’s body and raising a whip to strike again.

  Hissing through rotten teeth Neeley croaks, “Pages of a knight are ya’? Stinking lyin’ little bastards ya’ are and you’ll be breathin’ no more when I’m done with ya’ .”

  Ivar attempts to speak but is drowned out by the fierce knight’s shrill battle cry that echoes through the entire castle. He watches as the warrior in black and white launches himself over the balustrade fifteen feet to the walkway below.

  Before the vile whip falls upon the children again Luke Wynnewood slams feet first onto the shoulders of the stable master, driving him head downward into the stone walkway, turning Neeley into a broken whining heap.

  Ashe regains his feet and says: “I wouldn’t let him hit Broox anymore. He always beats him harder cause it hurts him more. I let 'im hit me instead, then he gets wore out and quits. Broox, you alright?”

  In a soothing voice Luke says: “All will be well, he will never hurt anyone again.”

  There is no sound from the huddled shaking figure in the corner and the knight places an arm around Ashe’s shoulders. The lad nods and beckons with his eyes towards his brother.

  Luke bends down, “Broox, ’tis I, my strong laddie, ‘tis Luke, your knight; you are safe now, come to me lad.”

  +++++

  Enarrah ran around the upper wall of the bailey and stood next to Ivar as they looked down on the incredible scene below. She sees the knight, the magnificent man she has called murderer, bend down and pick up the boy curled into the corner. She can tell that it’s the twins and that the one encircled in the knight’s massive arms is now clinging to the man who holds him. She herself had protected the boys more than once.

  Now here he was safe in the arms of a stranger, being comforted and cared for. In a melodic voice she heard the knight cal
l for the boys mother and saw her appear on the walkway from around the corner of the stonework, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a cry of anguish. Ashe ran to his mother and she embraced him.

  Heatherlyn’s eyes met the knight's and she was stilled by the calm and the serenity that she saw there. Still watching Heatherlyn Luke spoke to Broox whose head was nestled upon his wide shoulder.

  “You are the bravest of lads. You will one day be the bravest of men. Can you stand now with your brother and go with your mother to give her strength?”

  The whispered words were heard by no one else and when Broox lifted his head and nodded Luke set the boy upon his feet.

 

  Ashe was at his brother's side in a wink, the two held each other as their mother hugged both of them to her and led them away.

  Luke watched them go and caught a glimpse in the shadows of a tall dignified man in guards clothing walking with the mother and her sons and thought how familiar he looked.

  But his mind was elsewhere, in a place that no one could ever imagine, in a place where no one would ever want to be, not in their worse nightmares.

  Enarrah saw Heatherlyn and the boys walk away and thought that she would go to her friend. She looked back at the Knight, was about to speak but couldn't as the scene below her unfolded to its’ end.

  All she could do was hold fast to Ivar’s arm with both hands and fight back the nausea and fright that tried to take hold of her.

  The clinched hands holding tight on Ivar’s upper arm did not go unnoticed and he too was about to speak but found his mind wrapped in a thought that sprang straight from myths and legend.

  “Justice lives and breaths, and is garbed in crosses of black and white.”

  Ivar must have said it aloud because the hands grabbed tighter on his arm; or, maybe it was the transformation that they both witnessed that ran a hardening grip through Enarrah’s body and mind.

  Even from a distance of twenty feet in flickering light the change was evident. Every muscle in his body corded and rippled as the Knight turned towards the crumpled body of Neeley.

  The Knight bent onto one knee.

  Neeley was still alive and conscious. He couldn’t move and he could barely breath; shoulder, arm and rib bones all broken asunder. Through his blood frothed lips came a whisper, “Who... are... you?”

  “Repent,” The knight said.

  “Who... are... you?”

  “Repent.

  “A snarling growl answered, “Go to hell.”

  With deft precision The Knight picked up the lash whip and bent it double. For the second time in as many hours Neeley heard the sound of his whip being snapped in two and smiled in a pain filled haze waiting for his ears to be boxed.

  What he got was upended, with these few words filling his mind as he was flung over the parapet to the jagged rocks below: “I am the Reaper and you are my due.”

  The knight called out, “Priest ! Attend ! Priest of the castle ! Attend !

  +++++

  Father Dunkin was just leaving his chapel headed for the main hall when the summons reached him; a commanding urgent summons that spurred his small feet to move faster. As he entered the open bailey a voice called down to him. “Good Father, outside the main wall you will find a man crushed upon the rocks; death has just now come to him. Use all your powers of prayer for the soul of this poor wretch as it passes from this life. Guards open the gate.”

  Without hesitation Father Dunkin hurried to the gate and looked at the guards. They looked up at Ivar with raised hands as the knight commanded, “Open the gate and let the priest do his work or I will come and open it myself.”

  Ivar gave a wave of approval and the guards stepped to the task.

  When kneeling down Luke had pulled a leather pouch from Neeley’s belt. He turned and tossed the pouch up to Ivar who caught it with ease.

  Luke and Enarrah’s eyes meet; both are locked into a place where only they exist as a flood of emotions races between them. They are transfixed, one with the other, sharing a warmth and beauty neither has ever known.

  Philburt, having heard a commotion and an unknown voice booming orders, appears next to Enarrah unaware that his lackey is dead. He calls down: “Who are you to give orders to my guards?”

  Shaken from his eye contact with Enarrah and annoyed by it, with tinges of rage still upon him and in no mind for pleasantries Luke called back, “And who might you be?”

  Even at this distance in the flickering torchlight Philburt sees the piercing eyes that shift from Enarrah and are now staring back at him. A shiver runs through him as he stammers, “I am Philburt, Lord of Castle Elleghane.”

  With this pronouncement Enarrah and Ivar look at each other; both knowing full well that this is not true.

  Luke’s calls back up: “Then you are the lord who pays his stablemen in gold.”

  Ivar remembers the pouch in his hand holds it out and says, “Philburt you had better look at this.”

  The young lord blusters and is about to speak out but is stilled when Ivar says in a hard voice: “Philburt, this is the knight who saved our Mistress, we found Neeley beating two children to their death and the knight killed him.”

  “He... He... what?”

  Ivar opened the pouch and dumped the contents onto the flat stone wall in front of Philburt.

  Philburt is about to speak again but hesitates when he saw gold pieces laying in front of him shining in the torchlight. He looked down at the coins.

  He may have but a rudimentary grasp on the real workings of a castle but he does know money, lying before him are four minted Frankish pieces of gold. Dawning appears in Philburt’s eyes.

  Seeing the look on Philburt’s face Luke says, “Ahh, I see you know who has been paying the spy in your castle...”

  Philburt stood in a daze for several moments trying to take it all in, he jerked his head to say a retort, but where there was a man before, now was only thin air.

  Frustrated, Philburt turned to Ivar, “Did you find out who he is?”

  “I was just about to, his next words to me were to be his name. However, that was just as we came upon the scene below. I am certain that he has given his name elsewhere in the castle.”

  “Elsewhere? What do you mean elsewhere?”

  Not wanting to add to Philburt’s already angry state by revealing that the knight, had, from this very castle, taken not one, but two lads as his Pages, Ivar says, “In the kitchen I believe.”

  “In the kitchen!” Philburt blurted, “I don’t care who he is get him out of this castle now, before the hour is up.”

  Silent all this time Enarrah begans to protest, but all she can get out are a few words; “Please Philburt, please, but he...”

  He cut her short: “It was your idea to have him gone! So be it!” Storming off his last words were, “Ivar make sure of it.”

  Enarrah stood there, her emotions in a tangle, her feelings flying in every direction. She had just seen this bold warrior display unbridled tenderness and caring for the twins and their mother, then take yet another life, entreat the priest to pray for his soul and to top it off, have a verbal showdown with Philburt!

  Her heart raced and she felt a need far within her she had never known before. It was his eyes, those violet eyes looking deep into her very spirit that beckoned and called to the core of her. She knew he too felt the emotion that flowed between them.

  Of a sudden she felt lightheaded and weak and stretched out her hands to steady herself on the stone wall in front of her. She would never be the same again, inside those beautiful eyes she felt a depth of strength she had not known existed.

  Ivar said, “I must ask him to leave My Lady, and I believe that he will do that. But I also believe that he will not go far.”

  Enarrah regained herself, and with hopeful eyes asked, “I hope you are right good Ivar. I pray for the safety and goodness of this man and for the life of me I do not know why.”
/>
  Turning away and then cocking his head over his shoulder Ivar said: “Yes, My Lady, I believe you do know why; if you look within.”

  Turning away Enarrah barely notices that this is the first time the captain has addressed her as 'My Lady'. She prays for the safety of the magnificent Black and White Knight as she walks towards Sir William’s chamber.

  And Then There Were Two...

 

  Ivar walked back over the portcullis stairway knowing where he would find the great knight. Sure enough, sitting by the fire in the kitchen with the twins and their mother was the mysterious man. The boys sipped on mugs of warm watered wine and were watching their knight with keen intensity. Ivar overheard his words.

  “...and you’ll never see him again.”

  “Has he gone away?” Broox asked.

  “You are my pages now, Luke responded; there are many things that you will see and learn to become good squires and honorable knights.”

  “Yes Sir Luke,” they both said, with rapt attention.

  “The first thing that you learn this very day is that an honorable knight will speak the truth even if it means his death. So I will tell you the truth now; Neeley is not just gone, he is dead.”

  Several moments went by and the boys both nodded, looked at each other and gave their mother and then one another hugs of relief.

  Having heard this and knowing what he must do Ivar could not help himself from thinking that this truly was a good man, a great asset to any castle... and he, Ivar, most certainly did not want this man to leave. For the love of all the saints, this man by his right actions had prevented terrible death and untold tragedy for a place whose name he did not even know. Ivar felt the dread build up inside him like a stone block in a fortress wall. His duty was to ask this man to leave but his conscience would not let him find a way to say the words.

  He just didn’t happen to think of a third option but it presented itself.

  Luke saw the boys looking over his shoulder and had expected it to be Capt. Ivar.

  Heatherlyn hugged her sons’ shoulders to her. “Sir Luke, how is it that you choose my sons?”

  “Because they both have true hearts and both know the importance of their duty; and right now their duty is to bring to the stable the bag containing a days worth of food for me that I will need for my journey. And during the short time I am gone they are to do their best in the stable to set things right.

  So his name is Sir Luke. Ivar found himself awash in admiration. This young man half his age had been intuitive enough to understand that his leaving would hurt the twins feelings, so in the same breath he gives them greater responsibilities to bolster their pride.

  “Your duty is clear, right lads?”

  “Yes Sir Knight,” they both said.

  “Good. Be off with your mother and give her help if she needs it and Captain Ivar and I will be on our way to the stable.”

  Ivar let out an audible breath as Luke turned and approached. “Is part of your title also Solver of Mysteries?” he asked.

  “Philburt sent you to oust me did he not?”

  “He did just that and with all due haste I might add.”

  “I figured as much, your Lord makes decisions in haste that belie his true worth; and, I sensed you might be in somewhat of a predicament.”

  “And thankful I am for your insight,” Ivar said.

  “The least I could do for a friend.”

  “A friend you say,” replied Ivar.

  “I have no doubt of it Captain. Knowing friend or foe is one ability I have that has not failed me since I grew to manhood.”

  “And pray tell, what might this ability involve?”

  “I can recognize a man of true heart,” Luke said.

  “I have noticed that about you, quite a gift; and it seems to extend to women and children and no doubt horses as well.”

  “It’s a blessing, and has saved my life more than once.”

  “So what, perchance, do we do now?” asked Ivar.

  “As you have come to understand, this castle and all within are in grave peril. Be constantly on your guard Ivar; and double the men on watch for where there are assassins and spies there soon will be battles and war.”

  “I see the truth of it and will do as you say. What of you?”

  “I will go, but I will be back soon, just as I told the twins.”

  Before he could catch himself Ivar said, “The Lady Enarrah will be glad to hear it.”

  “And Lady Enarrah would be?”

  “The satin haired spitfire dressed plain as day whose lovely life you saved just a short time ago and the same lady whose heart you looked into just minutes ago.”

  “Ahhh... Enarrah... Her name is beautiful, as is she herself. Your Lady sees me as a killer.”

  “Actually, Sir Knight, my Lady sees what she has never seen before.”

  “And that might be?”

  “A man with a true heart, as you would say; but also one who not only knows what justice is, but is the essence of justice itself.”

  “That’s a tall order.”

  “Your modesty becomes you as do your actions. You are the most forthright man I have ever known.”

  “She is young.”

  “She carries the look of youth into womanhood. She has a keen mind and extensive abilities. Not only does she oversee the day to day workings of this castle she is also a healer, having learned the art from our Heatherlyn.”

  “Now that is an altogether interesting and complicated woman, your Heatherlyn. Though she is a most wonderful cook I surmise that she belongs in apron strings about as much as I do,” Luke said.

  “Again you are most correct. You formally addressed her as Lady, did you not?”

  “I did for a fact, it seemed natural to do so.”

  “It gave her quite a start.”

  “How so?”

  Ivar stared at Luke without answering, Luke stared back... finally Ivar looked around as if he were inspecting the stonework.”

  Luke got it then. “Now I’m the one not surprised. You can see the strengths and determination there. And few know about the Lady in the kitchen?”

  “Very few.”

  “Understood, take my hand on it.”

  Ivar clasped the forearm of that extended to him and said: “And I, Capt. Ivar Thorgoodson would be honoring the hand of Sir Luke....?”

  “Wynnewood, Good Captain; and duties aside, I would wish to see the Lady Enarrah before I go.”

  Ivar turned to leave and said: “I will see if can be done.”

  Luke made his way toward the stable. When he is almost there a voice calls to him.

  “You may have to leave this place, but you won’t have to leave alone.”

  Turning towards the voice, a face appears from the shadows along with a hundred memories that go with it.

  “Robert ! By the grace of all the saints above ! Robert Verregon, the hero of Acre !

  The man smiles as each clasps the other arms in a fierce show of friendship and respect.

  “Indeed, ‘tis I Sir Ghost.”

  “Indeed is it? You are one of the few whom I would let call me such. Thankful I am that it is in private that you did so. But wait, what is this? Where are your colors and how came you here?”

  “Upon my return to Britain I wandered. It was this place that found me as much as I found it. I am needed here. As for my colors, a poor knight gains little work but a guard is paid for his strong arm. Here I am just Robert the Good.”

  “But what of the King’s court? Surely there...”

  “I have had my fill of intrigue, thank you very much. I’ve been trying to find you ever since I heard of the knight dressed in black and white that saved Enarrah. I knew it was you, but every time I made my way to some part of the castle where you had been seen, you had already left there. And it was I came with Heatherlyn to fetch the rescued twins from you, but t'was not a time for words. I’ll collect my gear now and
go with you.”

  “Wait good friend, it is good to see you and it would be even better to have you at my side for the next day or two, but a greater need presents itself. Elleghane is on a dangerous path and you would better serve by staying here. This was not my original destination but all that has happened since my arrival reflect that great harm is soon to come here. I would do all that I can to help these good people. Besides that, now my pages are here as well and I would ask a boon from you that you watch over them until my return.”

  “You are right, as usual. There is a foreboding that hangs over this castle, and it bodes nothing but ill. And of course I will watch over the twins while you’re away, they are special to me as well. Even without hearing of The Black and White Knight with two swords, having heard the story of your compassion for those two lads, I would have know without a doubt that it was none other ‘cept you about whom they talked.”

  “Thank you for your kind words Robert, now I must make haste. Before I do I must tell you what fills my heart. You know I was the unwilling guest of Calif Al Jafar at his opulent palace for weeks. He is a good and decent man. We spent hours in conversation and meditation together.

  One day he stood looking at that which he loved most in all the world and he said to me, 'She is every woman I thought I'd ever have and she is every woman I thought I'd never have. Anam Cara'. I was speechless and in awe of his words.

  He said to me, 'If you were truly blessed you will be enlightened'.

  Since looking into Enarrah's eyes a few minutes ago I can think of nothing else.”

  “Anam Cara; powerful words and I know them well,” Robert said, “they are ancient and Celtic in origin. They mean you are one with each other, that she will go through all of time with you.”

  Luke whispered as he walked away, “would that it were just so, for I believe she already has.”

  Robert called, “Wait, just a short time more, there are things you must need know.”

  Luke replies from the darkness of the corridor, “Time has gone and so must I be, least Captain Ivar or any others come under the lash of Philburt’s tongue on my account. I will return tomorrow or the day after and all will be told. Keep my trust, and stay well my brother.”

  And he was gone.

  A soft spoken prayer followed him, “God be with you Wynnewood the Brave.”

  +++++

  Entering the stable Luke hears talk between his pages, Shahjeen's hooves on the stable floor and the sound of cooing and flapping wings. He expected the lads to be here ahead of him due to delays on the way. He didn’t quite expect cooing, wings and the subject of there conversation.

  His horse is blanketed, bridled and stands idly in the center isle as a beautiful goshawk, all browns and blacks and whites sits on a stall nearby. The twins banter back and forth and the two animals seem to be a natural part of the conversation.

  “Aw, come on Ashe, you know he likes me better.” (flutter of wings)

  “No he doesn’t brother, he likes me better.” (hooves on the floor)

  “Well, maybe some of the time but not all.”

  “All right, maybe some of the time, and me the rest of the time.”

  “Okay, and you the rest of the time. Let’s ask him.”

  “Okay.”

  Luke thinks he is ready for the question but soon discovers he is not the solver of all mysteries. Young boys are a mystery unto themselves...

  “Shahjeen, who do you like better, Broox or me?”

  The great horse has been nudging the boys as they move to and fro, each taking turns patting his neck or flanks; but, upon issuance of the question stands stock still, not even blinking. Luke laughs out loud.

  “My good Pages, when he stands like that it means he won’t answer. Ask him in a different way.”

  “You try Broox, I asked already.”

  “Okay. Shahjeen you like me and Ashe best most of the time right?”

  At this the grey stallion nods his head up and down, his long mane flying.

  “And this must be Simon Peter” Luke said.

 

  “That's him alright, he's stayed when all the other hawks flew away. We had to let 'em all go 'cause Neeley was mean to 'em and would na' let us care for 'em.” Broox said.

  “Yea,” Ashe said, “he's our good friend and Shahjeen's too; and he must be yours 'cause if he di' not like ya' ya' would not see him at all.”

  “Sir Luke, The Black and White Knight, let it be my honor to present Simon Peter”, said Broox with formality.

  Luke bowed to the great bird, “A pleasure Simon Peter,” and to his amazement the creature extended his wings to their full width, fluttered them, then refolded his wings along his sleek body.

  Smiling both boys say, “Yup, 'e likes ya' fer sure now.”

  They stand one to a side of Shahjeen each with an arm draped up on Shahjeen’s neck as Luke throws his saddle up and adjusts the straps. He dons his brigandine, doublet and broad sword and sees the question in both boys’ eyes.

  “You both would be of great help to me on this journey but this time it will serve better that the two of you be here at the castle, to be my eyes and ears while I am gone.”

  The Pages look a little less forlorn as Luke continues, “Besides, you both have castle duties as well, there are new horses to be tended and there will be more. I expect a full report from each of you upon my return. I will not be long and when I get back there will be a great many things to be done.”

  At this last pronouncement, they both exclaim, “Yes Sir Luke.”

  “Good lads, now be off to your beds, it’s been a hard day. Give your mother my thanks for the food and say your prayers. We all have much to be thankful for this day.”

  He places a hand on each boys shoulder and ushers them towards the door. It is Broox who turns back first, just an instant before his brother; and they run back to Luke hugging themselves to him. He embraces both, “Thank you my trusted pages, now off you go, so your mother won’t be worried that you’ve taken to the road with me.”

  As they go they stop and turn for one last wave and then are gone. Luke turns to look at the great bird once again but Simon Peter has gone, without a sound.

  Luke sends up a silent prayer for them all, hoping beyond hope that he will see Lady Enarrah before he leaves. What will he say? What can he say? He doesn’t know, she has stirred within him feelings he thought were impossible to feel. Maybe he will know when he looks into those beautiful emerald eyes again... Anam Cara

  Luke rechecks his gear, slowly.

 

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