by JM Bannon
The saga chronicled how he fell in love with a clansman’s daughter after the death of his wife.
The young woman who became Aethelred’s new love was a succubus, the daughter of the demon Marbas, sent to seduce the Christian king and sow discord by siring a son with Briton blood. The king quickly came under her spell. Offspring of a fallen angel, the woman’s magic was prolific; she drew magic from the demon’s underworld lair. The plot to usurp the Christian king of the land and return his kingdom to pagan ways would begin from the sin of lust.
The priest Ostric came out of the wilderness and traveled from town to town to rally the Ealdormen for Aethelred’s aid. After Aethelred's abdication, the monk brought forth armies to the fields of Chester under the banner of Coenred, Aethelred's nephew, the new King of Mercia.
The succubus had infected Aethelred with her venom and placed him under a spell. When confronted by King Coenred, Aethelred attacked the new King. All this was directed by Marbas through the temptress. She urged Aethelred to call upon the clans to join with loyal Ealdormen and take back the throne.
Ostric interceded; he used a relic the ‘Speculum angelis Dei’, which was best translated as "the mirror of angels" to show all the true form of the succubus and then called upon the Archangel Ariel to smite the temptress and her father. The miraculous summoning of one of God’s soldiers resulted in the defeat of Marbas and his minions, in addition it restored Aethelred to his faith and made Coenred and all the attending Ealdormen true believers.
Rose had completed further research and learned that after the incident at Chester, Aethelred returned to his pious ways. He retired to Bardney Abbey, a Benedictine monastery he and his first wife had founded several years before her death. He finished out his days in contemplation and redemption as a monk.
She had found a plate drawing of him from his days as king, there was something familiar about him, yet how could she have seen him, he had been dead for centuries. It was a puzzle for later.
Rose looked over at the old wooden box where the skull resided and wondered if she had the strength to accept God’s call as Ostric had done, or if she would be too confused to decipher the divine message.
Next to the illumination was the Diaries of Edward Kelly, given to Rose by Cooper. Not a story book or a tome of research as much as it was a journal, a scribbling of notes reprinted by an unknown source. Within it were references to other books like the Book of St. Dunstan and objects that could perform miracles.
Rose had marked the page where Kelly described how he connected with the divine using crystals or mirrors to contact angels and notes on alchemical mysteries including the use of tinctures to transmute metals. Reading the intellect and science of the work, Rose was becoming obsessed with Kelly and would need to learn more.
Just as the mill where her father worked utilized the power of the river through wheels and gears, applying the invisible power from the river to turn grain to flour; why couldn’t there be a way to tap into the mystical, in a way more potent than prayer?
Rose wondered what time it was. When she was alone and deep in her studies time flew. In the last year she had had several instances of being up all night with her research, surprised by the sound of the first morning birds tweeting to alert her to another night of lost sleep. It had been a few hours since the last bell and she was to go see her family tomorrow. She would just finish up reading a little of Kelly’s book then go to her cell to get a few hours’ sleep.
Chapter Six: Saturday the 18th of September 1852
The Reliquary at the Carmelite Convent Chester, England
It was cold and damp, but the air had a clean feel to it. An early spring breeze, she could taste and smell, it reminded her of being young and a time when she would walk with her Pa to the mill. Her location was unmistakable, as she arrived at the edge of the River Dee, but the town looked different.
She did not recognize the buildings, they were a mix of wood and stone. There, in the middle of the town was a huge amphitheater, towering above the wall. This section of the Roman wall and gates were new. Just outside the fortress eight men hung by the neck from a gallows. Ravens or crows circled above it and perched on the crossbeam was the largest crow she had ever seen.
Rose watched from across the water, downstream from the river bank of the town. She turned to continue walking to her father’s mill, recognizing she was in the field where the Temple of Minerva had stood.
She watched in bewilderment as stonemasons carved the temple from the sandstone in front of her eyes. No longer ruins, it was taking shape before her. The workers were clearly Britons, they wore trousers under their tunics, while the slaves working alongside and the Romans directing them wore knee length tunics and in the case of the Romans directing the work, woolen cloaks.
Amongst the work and activity at the site were the semitransparent forms of three women clad in modern day clothing. They were knelt working on a different looking stone of coarse grey with a spiral carved into its surface. They were ignored by those working on the temple but seemed to be burying the stone.
Rose awoke with a start, unsure of her surroundings. She wasn’t in her room at the convent or at her parent's house. She had fallen asleep in the library. Rose hurried to stow the book on the stand near the relic and quickly shoved her own collection of books into a bag. She didn’t want to answer questions from her Sisters, who might at first glance feel that what she read was blasphemous. She hurried to the chapel and stashed her bag out of sight just inside the foyer door and mixed in with the other nuns for the morning prayer. Today Rose would leave to travel to her family home. She was excited to visit the mill and see her sister.
She lined up with the others and took her assigned seat; the Sisters sat in deep nooks in the choir, so one could not see the woman next to her but could see across to the other side of the choir where another nun sat and could stare back. It was Katherine looking back at her they both mouthing the memorized prayer.
She smiled, and Katherine smiled too; it was good to have other girls from the town in the order. It made her a little less homesick. Rose was content with her decision to join the church, but sometimes she felt trapped and these visits helped.
She had taken a vow of obedience and as part of that, she was to divorce herself from her birth family and devote herself to the sisterhood and the poor; being homesick was a small price to pay to be part of the order and have all your basic needs met.
Her mind wandered back to her recent dream or was it a vision? It had been so vivid and clear, unlike a dream where on recollection the details were foggy and slipped from your grasp.
No, this was sharp, with colors and sound. She had seen details of structures and the land around them that was long gone. She thought again about that carrion crow on the gallows cawing. She had a strong feeling that she had seen it before.
11:30 AM, Chester Granary and Mill Chester, England
Rose approached the tenant house on the property of the granary and mill, her childhood home, where she was born and raised. A water-driven grain mill sat in the rear of the property off the road.
She searched for her father. He was likely up at the mill working. She could see wagons bringing grain for storage or milling. Rose walked up to the mill. It lacked the familiar sound of wood creaking and water spilling off the wheel as the water from the mill pond, fed by the River Dee, rushed down the raceway turned it.
Inside the building itself, there was normally the low rumbling sound of the wooden gearing when it was engaged to turn the runner stone against the bed stone and the grating sound from the stones themselves as they crushed the grain. The sound could be felt as much as heard. Now all was quiet and still, the wheels and gears stopped. Something was wrong.
“Pa, do you need help?” Rose yelled down into the basement where the gearing from the water driven wheel turned the cogs that led to the gears and stones above. the mill. This was an underdrift designed gristmill, rather than the overdraft configuration
of a windmill.
One of the mill cats rubbed up against Rose. They didn’t name the cats, as there were so many. The prowling tabby marked felines kept the building clear of rats and pigeons.
“I could Rose. It’s hard to get good help these days,” her father exclaimed. Rose could see her father through the machinery below her. He had a big grin on his face, he appeared happy to see her.
She heard Eamon’s familiar chuckle, he laughed at her father’s oft repeated taunt. Rose knew he really wasn’t jesting and that if her father left Eamon too long on his own, the mill would fall apart around him.
She made her way down the wood stairs to the workings below the mill stones. There, Eamon and her father were engrossed with the stone nut, the gear that connected the runner stone shaft to the wheel spur. Rose had an almost complete knowledge of the mill's workings from her youth; first from playing in the mill-house and then later helping her father with repairs.
The two men were struggling to free up the drive gear in an effort to remove it. The pinions had splintered leaving it unable to turn. From observing the stone nut, she knew what the issue was. Her father and Eamon, however, were not employing any subtlety or finesse just the application of brute strength, accompanied by the judicial use of a large mallet, together with the certainty that together they could muscle through any task.
Rose was happy to see her dad in good sorts she could recall vividly when his mood would take him to a dark place only relieved by a bout of drinking. He had never struck any of them when in his drink and it only really started after her brother died.
Rose grabbed a mallet, some lard and an iron rod then ducked under the transmission gear. It wasn’t all that fair as her dad couldn’t easily manage with the limited space. Even in her habit it was a simple task for her.
“Do you have the shaft secured, because the nut is coming off,” advised Rose.
“I do, and you best use the power of prayer on this bastard,” replied her father.
“Papa, she exclaimed in mock shock!” Rose smeared some of the lard on the iron rod then lined it up with the wooden dowels that held the stone nut in place. With two whacks of the mallet, the first dowel came free. Rose easily pulled the rod free and proceeded to do the same on the next dowel freeing the nut and again sliding out the lubricated metal rod.
Rose slid out from underneath the transmission gear and took a bow. Eamon clapped, and her father smiled.
“You better hope the nuns don’t open a gristmill John,” said Eamon.
Rose chimed in with, “If we do, it won’t be an old waterwheel, we will get one of those new steam-powered jigs like the coal miners use to pump water.”
Her father deflated.
“What did I say?” Rose asked.
“There is talk of one of those being built in Liverpool,”
“Oh, don’t worry who will haul their grain up there, Pa?”
“The railway for a start. It’s good to have you here to visit Rose, let's go up to the house,” said her father. He turned to Eamon, “can you finish up, it's not every day my eldest daughter gets to visit from the convent.”
The two walked to the house.
“You’re not really that worried about another mill, are you?”
“Times change Rose, and the power of steam has made it possible to build mills away from the rivers and the steam engine is making everywhere just a day away from anywhere else. So yes, I worry,” his concern was palpable, and Rose felt compassion. “I’ve spoken with Mrs. Culpepper about it. She thinks like you, she doesn’t see us losing business to somewhere so far away. Me, I’m not so sure!”
Rose heard her Mother say, “You didn’t come through the town, did you?”
“How else would I have gotten here, Mama?”
“Don’t give me that look, Rose.”
“You are receiving this look because I don’t know why you would ask me that, Mama. I passed through town, it’s the shortest way and I had errands for the convent,” said Rose.
“It’s the children, there is a fever being passed amongst them. The Watts girls and the Seeley boy have come down with it. I won’t let your sister out of the garden for fear of her becoming afflicted.” her mother voiced, clearly distressed.
“There was no mention of this by anyone in town.” Rose said with a frown. She gave her mother a hug and kissed her cheek. “I’ll go see her.” “Bring her in, it’s time for luncheon,” called her mother as she walked straight through the house out to the garden to see her sister. There was no mistaking the relationship, the only difference was age. Rose was always being told that she looked just like Violet at that age.
Her sister was eleven years the younger. The gap between the Caldwell sisters was also a source of concern for her mother; she had lost her middle child and only son when Rose was a young child, she could not recollect how he had died only that he was rarely mentioned. It seemed this world was always harshest on the children.
“What are you up to Violet?” asked Rose as she made her way to her sister.
“Rose!” squealed Violet running over and hugging her sister around her legs, “will you play with me, Mummy won’t let me play with my friends.”
“I heard your friends are sick,” said Rose.
“I won’t get sick, because I didn’t go in,” said the little girl in her homemade dress.
“What do you mean; go in where?”
“Into the temple. They went into the Witch temple by the river,” Violet explained.
“Witch temple? Oh you meant the old Roman temple!” said Rose. Violet nodded.
“Tommy said it’s haunted by a ghost and dared them to go in, but I didn’t, and, and now they’re sick from the ghost,” said the little girl with a sob.
Rose wanted to tell her sister to not be afraid, that there were no such things as ghosts, well maybe there was the Holy Ghost, she thought wryly. But it was her own dreams and the vision of Saint Ostric that made her hold her tongue.
“Lunch is ready girls, come in and wash your hands!” called their Mother from the house.
“Oh good“said Rose, “I’m really hungry are you?” Violet nodded, still a little upset. Rose took her sister’s small hand in her own and led her into the house.
2:00 PM, The Home of Mr. and Mrs. Seeley
After hearing about the sick children, she felt a need to visit them; partly curiosity, and in part as a caring nun ministering to her home village. Her first destination was the home of the Seeleys, whose little boy had taken sick. His mother was pleased to see Rose. The family had little money to spend on a doctor. Rose gave her some comforting words and then went to see the boy.
He was lying in his bed covered by a thin blanket, fevered and delirious, his face pale with dark circles under his eyes. Rose felt his forehead which burned with fever. She told the boy’s mother of some herbal remedies she could use and suggested more covering in an effort to break the fever. She recognized how desperate the boy’s situation was but kept the thoughts to herself.
She left the Seeleys and made her way to the home of Violets other friends affected by the fever. Mr. Watts was an older man, a local solicitor and the father of two girls. He and his young family lodged in town above his offices. It was a larger dwelling with two floors above the offices, and if his practice continued to flourish, he would likely move to a larger cottage outside of Chester. She was greeted at the door by his young wife, whose strained face had aged overnight. Rose knew her a little. She was only a few years older than her. She invited Rose into the parlor and told Rose that Doctor Belkin was with the girls.
Rose sat in the parlor with Mrs. Watts while the doctor finished his examination. She heard the slow measured footsteps on the creaking wooden staircase as the doctor made his way downstairs. Mrs. Watts stood up, as did Rose.
“Rose, I mean Sister, how nice of you to visit,” Dr. Belkin turned to Mrs. Watts, “I have known Rose since she was younger than your girls.”
“How are Anna and Pene
lope?” asked Mrs. Watts, almost in a whisper.
“They are resting. You can go up to see them. Keep the compresses on, and be careful to not break the blisters," said the Doctor.
“Come, Sister. Let us go pray with them,” said Mrs. Watts.
“I’ll come up after I speak with the doctor,” confirmed Rose.
Mrs. Watts made her way upstairs.
“I came to the village to visit my family and Mr. Cooper. My mother mentioned that illness had befallen the children, I took it upon myself to visit,” Rose related to the doctor.
“Thank you for coming. Your care and support of the family will be a comfort,” voiced the physician.
“I just left the Seeleys’, and the boy was fevered but had no blisters or sores,” offered Rose.
“It may be separate illnesses, coincidentally afflicting children at the same time. I had similar cases with the Pierce children just about a year past,” suggested the doctor.
Rose crossed herself and said a prayer, “I heard. What a tragic shame to lose all of your children to illness.”
“I am sure your prayers are a comfort to the family. I fear my skills are limited in these cases,” Dr. Belkin admitted, “It appears you are my spiritual counterpart seeing all of my patients today.”
Rose was not following Belkin’s comment. Her quizzical look must have betrayed her confusion.
“Mr. Cooper. Do you pray with him about his condition?” asked the doctor.
“I have been meeting with him for over a year,” said Rose. She purposely left the statement ambiguous.
“Hopefully your prayers will help the children as you have helped Mr. Cooper. His recovery is nothing short of a miracle; it is as if his tumor is being eaten away.”
“Doctor, the Pierce children, do you remember if they had been playing around the temple of Minerva?”
