The Briton and the Dane: Concordia

by Mary Ann Bernal

  “It is not what I want, but what must be,” Concordia told him tearfully.

  Umar was out of breath by the time he reached the training field. He was panting as he searched for Brantson, walking between the promising warriors, his eyes squinting beneath the early morning sun. He saw Bryce teaching a young recruit how to effectively hold a sword while Brantson watched nearby. Umar waved his hand as he shouted Brantson’s name, and was relieved when Brantson acknowledged his presence and hurried towards him.

  “My friend, what is so pressing that you seek me here?” Brantson asked, putting his arm around Umar's shoulder as he headed towards the warriors’ gathering room where they could speak in private.

  Once inside, Brantson offered Umar a cup of wine, which the anxious fisherman promptly declined as he shut the door.

  “I bear unsettling news,” Umar said softly, looking over his shoulder to make sure they were not followed, even though the room was noticeably empty. “I have seen Chad...in the village.”

  “Are you certain? Perhaps it is someone who resembles him?”

  “I was escorting Diera to the market yesterday when she mentioned a traveling pilgrim who saved one of the lads from drowning. The man agreed to stay with the family for a few days before resuming his journey to his lands in Exeter. I became suspicious by the questions he asked.”

  “What questions?” Brantson interrupted as he paced the length of the room with his hand resting on his belted dagger.

  “He asked if this was the fortress where Concordia resided, claiming he knew her nursemaid, but had forgotten her name. The boy asked if he was speaking about Winifred, and when the pilgrim agreed, he asked the boy if he might deliver a message, giving him a coin for his trouble.”

  “When was this?”

  “Two days past,” Umar continued. “It was after I took my leave of Diera that I noticed the pilgrim speaking with the boy. It was Chad...I swear on my life that I am not mistaken. I would have sought you out but the hour was late, so I stayed in the village, sleeping in the stables. I was awakened before first light because of the horses. I heard footsteps and peered through the partially opened window where I saw Chad heading towards the trail that leads to the beach. I followed him and saw him climb the sloping cliff. There are ancient Roman tunnels, am I right? Chad is here, I know it, and I fear for Concordia.”

  “Tell Bryce what you have told me, and have him meet me at my quarters. I will see to Concordia.”

  Brantson covered the distance between the training field and his quarters in record time, frightening the serving women when he burst through the kitchens and headed towards the bedchamber where he found Winifred looking out the window.

  “My lord,” Winifred stammered. “May I be of service?”

  “Why are you not with Concordia?” Brantson asked as he glanced about the room.

  “We were heading towards the Chapel when I became unwell...Concordia insisted I return here...she wanted to be shriven...what message would you have me give her?”

  “You never could speak untruths,” Brantson replied kindly. “She meets with Chad in the tunnels...am I right?”

  Brantson did not wait for an answer; Winifred’s shaken demeanor confirmed his suspicions. He ran out the door with Winifred not far behind just as Bryce arrived with Umar.

  “I fear your suspicions are proven,” Brantson told Umar. “They are in the tunnels...we must find Concordia before she does something foolish.”

  The men paid no heed to Winifred’s pleadings, leaving her standing in the doorway as they hurried towards the ancient Roman tunnels. They followed the dimly-lit corridor, remaining silent until they reached the fork in the tunnel.

  “They are either on the cliff or at the mouth of the cave...Bryce, take Umar and search the hidden room and the cavern; I will meet you there if they are not on the cliff.”

  Bryce nodded and led Umar down the corridor while Brantson followed the familiar path that led to Concordia’s refuge, the secluded ledge that overlooked the beckoning sea, a place of solace they once shared. As Brantson approached the opening, he heard their voices but not their words. He walked quietly, his footsteps barely discernible as he reached the ledge where he found Concordia wrapped in Chad’s arms. He stood still, barely breathing while watching Chad comforting his wife. A solitary tear escaped the corner of his eye as he witnessed Concordia’s betrayal. He did not speak, but his muscles became taunt as he seethed with anger just as Concordia noticed his presence.

  “It is not what you think,” Concordia said as Brantson joined them atop the cliff. “I was overwrought, and in need of comfort...I still grieve for my son.”

  “How else were you comforted?” Brantson asked cruelly. “Do you think I am simple? I see the way you look at him.”

  “Chad came for his son, but since the child did not live, he is returning to his homeland. I will not accompany him, if that is what you think...you are my husband and my life is with you.”

  “I wish I could believe that,” Brantson replied.

  “She speaks the truth,” Chad interjected.

  “Silence!” Brantson shouted. “This does not concern you.”

  “Concordia’s safety concerns me. I would not have you harm her.”

  “You are not welcome here, and I will deal with you soon enough.”

  “Brantson, please,” Concordia pleaded. “I will confess everything, but I beg your forgiveness. Promise me I will be forgiven.”

  “I cannot promise,” Brantson said just as Winifred came upon them.

  “Let her speak,” Winifred pleaded. “God has forgiven her, so must you.”

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Concordia wrung her hands together, looking at Brantson pleadingly, finding his stoicism unsettling. She searched her husband’s eyes, expecting compassion, but she was frightened by his steely, cold glare. She had never seen such a look, believing it masked the pain of her betrayal, yet knowing she had lost her husband’s trust. She glanced at Winifred who avoided her gaze and was surprised to see Bryce and Umar standing behind her trusted servant.

  A sudden gust of wind blasted the towering cliff, causing Concordia to shiver as she listened for her mother’s voice, but the wind was silent. She had not heeded the words that filled her thoughts because she had truly betrayed Brantson.

  “I am waiting, Concordia,” Brantson said sternly as he clenched and unclenched his fist.

  Concordia took a deep breath, wiped her sweating hands against her clothing, and held her head high, looking directly at Brantson when she found the courage to speak.

  “I thought you were dead when I submitted to Chad’s advances. You held my heart, but you were gone, and I was alone in a foreign land, and I feared for my life. What you suspected is true...Chad holds my heart...I did submit to his advances and conceived his child, a son God took from me as punishment for my sins. I had believed in Chad’s love, but I was betrayed when Chad presented me to Thayer and left me to my fate. When Chad learned I carried his child, he planned my escape. When I came upon you in the sea cave I could not believe you lived, and I thanked the Lord for your safe deliverance. I have been a dutiful and loving wife, please believe me. I know I should have sent Chad away, but I could not because I needed to know if he had returned my love on the night he possessed me...I needed to know if my trust was misguided...I needed to know, and that is why I agreed to this meeting...you must believe me.”

  “And were you misguided, Concordia?” Brantson asked.

  “I was at fault,” Chad interjected. “Concordia had no knowledge of the world, and I took advantage of her. I would have taken her by force if she had not been willing, but we had become friends during the lengthy journey, and I knew I held her heart. Her trust was misguided because she believed my words...do not blame your wife for wanting to know the truth.”

  “I heard your words before you acknowledged my presence,” Brantson said. “Your plan was to return to your homeland with Concordia and your son. Do you deny this
truth?”

  “That was my plan, but my son is dead, and Concordia has a husband,” Chad replied.

  “A fact you have readily dismissed,” Brantson reminded Chad.

  “Concordia is your wife and I will not come between you.”

  “You already have,” Brantson retorted. “Can you not see that her heart is torn?”

  “Then she must choose,” Chad said, approaching Concordia who stepped away, distancing herself from the men she loved.

  “I cannot choose,” Concordia cried. “Do not add to my torment.”

  “You cannot be wife to us both,” Chad interjected. “If you remain with Brantson, I will leave posthaste, never to return. If you wish to be my wife, we shall retire to my villa in Hispania. Whatever you decide, remember that I will always love you.”

  “I release you from your vows, if that is your wish,” Brantson told her.

  Bryce and Umar stood on either side of Brantson, lending their support in Brantson’s darkest hour as everyone waited silently for Concordia’s answer. Winifred, however, remained where she was, but her eyes depicted her compassion for Concordia’s plight.

  “Who is it to be, Concordia?” Brantson asked.

  “I love you both and cannot choose,” Concordia sobbed as she backed away, stepping perilously close to the edge.

  Concordia glanced at Chad through watery eyes, remembering the time spent in Hispania and how much she longed for his touch. But then she looked at Brantson, crying uncontrollably when she saw his anguish, knowing in her heart that she had destroyed his soul. Brantson might forgive her in time, but he would never forget, and she was at fault.

  “Mother, what am I to do?” Concordia whispered, hoping to hear Arista’s voice in the wind, but there were no voices; the decision was hers and hers alone.

  “Concordia,” Chad said softly, stretching out his hand as he encouraged her to walk towards him.

  “Leave me be!” Concordia cried as the earth crumbled beneath her feet.

  Concordia screamed as she fell off the cliff, crying out for Brantson as she fell to her death, hitting the jagged rocks before being swept away by the waves that pummeled the shoreline.

  Brantson and Chad ran to the ledge, blinded by their tears as they glanced at the angry sea searching for Concordia body, and praying for a miracle even though all was lost.

  Lord Stephen’s men searched the raging waters for his daughter’s body, returning to land when night fell, but Brantson refused to leave the beach. He watched the breaking waves, expecting the sea to return his beloved Concordia to him, waiting in vain in the darkness, and being grateful to Bryce and Umar for keeping his vigil.

  Elizabeth and Winifred followed the well-trodden path to the sandy shore, carrying refreshments to sustain the men. Winifred conversed with Bryce and Umar while Elizabeth took Brantson’s arm and walked with him along the water’s edge, praying he was comforted by her presence. Tears swelled as she glanced at the North Star, the beacon of hope when there was none, the light that led to home. She could not weep just yet; there would be time to mourn once Concordia was properly buried.

  “A messenger has been sent to King Alfred, and Emidus,” Elizabeth said softly, “but we will not wait on the burial...she will rest in a crypt beneath the Chapel, just as you wanted. We have engaged a stonemason and a carpenter.”

  “I failed her, Elizabeth,” Brantson whispered. “If I had not agreed to the voyage, she would be with us still.”

  “You are not at fault,” Elizabeth told him kindly. “Concordia was willful, just like her father, and she would have found a way to visit Rome, with or without your consent.”

  “Once she is buried, I will ask for a command...I cannot remain here.”

  “This will always be your home, and you will always be my son,” Elizabeth said.

  It was while Elizabeth and Brantson were retracing their steps that Concordia’s body washed ashore. Brantson ran through the surf, falling to his knees when he reached his lifeless wife, cradling her in his arms as he wept while a breaking wave crashed over them both. Bryce and Umar helped Brantson to his feet, but he refused their help, carrying his dead wife back to the fortress where a Benedictine monk waited with a wagon.

  Brantson placed her gently into the cart, jumped in beside her, and held her head in his lap as the holy brother brought them to the healer’s private quarters to prepare her body for burial. Elizabeth, Bryce and Umar waited outside the dwelling while Winifred hurried to find Lord Stephen.

  By the time Lord Stephen reached the healer’s chambers, Concordia’s body was already cleansed, having been dressed in a white robe. He approached his daughter’s side, blinded by his tears as he held her hand.

  “Forgive me,” Lord Stephen said, his voice barely audible.

  Elizabeth embraced Lord Stephen, sharing his grief as she looked upon Concordia who, in death, uncannily resembled her mother. Elizabeth shivered when she remembered keeping vigil over Arista’s crypt, and feared her husband’s anguish.

  “Please pray for her soul, Father,” Brantson said when he noticed the priest waiting patiently in the doorway.

  Father Osmund approached Concordia solemnly, praying softly while he anointed her forehead with holy oil as he made the sign of the Cross. He asked the Lord to forgive his servant and to welcome her into His kingdom, and reminded everyone they would be reunited on the day Christ Jesus raised his followers from the dead.

  “The burial mass will be sung at noon, in the Chapel,” Father Osmund told Brantson, “and the crypt has been prepared for her entombment.”

  Brantson nodded as he watched the priest leave, but became unsettled when the carpenter entered the room.

  “I have the coffin,” the carpenter said respectfully. “She will rest this night in the Chapel.”

  “Come, let us wait outside,” Bryce whispered, but Brantson refused to leave.

  The carpenter and his assistant put Concordia in the silken-lined casket that they placed in the back of the wagon, leading the procession to the Chapel where Brantson would keep vigil throughout the long night.

  Candles brightened the holy dwelling where a table that would hold the coffin had been placed in the aisle. Bryce and Umar assisted the carpenter, setting Concordia’s casket gently upon the wood, with her feet facing the altar. The carpenter blessed himself before leaving the Lord’s dwelling while everyone sat upon the benches, bowing their heads in prayer, crying softly throughout the night.

  As the sky brightened at the break of day, the mourners were exhausted, yet they refused to leave Concordia’s side. Tear-stained faces were illuminated by the sunbeams that filtered through the open windows, the warming rays dissipating the evening chill, yet the hours passed slowly while they waited for the noon-day sky.

  Elizabeth trembled when the bells pealed, finding the steady chimes unnerving as she prayed for Concordia’s soul, yet believing in her heart that Arista’s daughter was at peace.

  The mourners stood when Father Osmund entered the Chapel, accompanied by the Benedictine monks that lived in the nearby abbey. The solemn Mass was sung according to tradition, and the mourners received the Body and Blood of Christ. Once the Concluding Rite was sung, two holy monks covered the coffin, but it was Brantson, Lord Stephen, Bryce and Umar who carried the casket to Concordia’s final resting place where Father Osmund recited the final prayers. One by one they left the room until only Brantson remained. A solitary candle burned in a sconce hanging from the ceiling in a room bereft of windows. The air was oppressive even though the door remained open, yet a cool breeze blew through the room.

  “I never stopped loving you,” whispered the wind.

  “Concordia, is that you?” Brantson asked as he cried unashamedly.

  “Forgive me,” said the wind. “Please forgive me.”

  “I forgive you, Concordia...please do not leave me...there is no life without you. Concordia! Concordia!”

  But the wind was silent as the flaming candle cast an eerie glow throughou
t the room. Shadows danced upon the wall, lingering shapes of the woman Brantson had always loved.

  “Concordia, where are you?” Brantson whispered as he looked over his shoulder, but he was still alone.

  Brantson placed his hand on top of the covered coffin while finding the courage to leave his wife, closing the door behind him when he left the room and climbed the stairs silently as he pondered his fate.

  “I share your grief,” Bryce said as Brantson entered the Chapel. “You are loved by many and will never be alone.”

  “I am grateful for your friendship,” Brantson replied, “and you are right...I will never be alone...Concordia lives in my heart.”

  Epilogue

  Chad did not wait for Concordia’s body to be found, returning to his homeland posthaste. He had ample time during the lengthy journey to relive the events leading up to Concordia’s death, remembering each tearful word as she distanced herself from him. If he had not reached out for her, she would not have backed away, but she had known she was standing perilously close to the edge of the cliff, so why should he be at fault? However, he had been aware that her judgment was clouded and that she was distraught. He should have insisted they return to the cave, but he was not her husband. Was it not Brantson’s place to ensure his wife’s safety? Still, Chad could not assuage his guilt, no matter how many times he blamed Brantson. Concordia had died because of his actions, and for the first time in his life he was overcome with remorse.

  By the time Chad arrived at his villa in Marbella, his overwhelming guilt had destroyed the man he once was. He was no longer the charismatic lover that women found appealing, nor was he the formidable warrior feared by his enemies. He no longer slept and scarcely ate, and his days were spent remembering the past when Concordia had shared his life.

  Jafri and Yara ministered to Chad’s needs, seeking healers far and wide, but there were no remedies for the illness that consumed Chad’s soul, and within a year Chad was dead, taking his life by his own hand.