Overruled by Fate

by Leila Snow

  He swallowed as he regarded his love's cloak-covered back as she swayed in her saddle.

  "I will not begin this without truth and honesty between us," he vowed. "It is true. I have loved her since the day of her birth, and I believe I always shall. I have little control over my emotions, and I suspect I will not be offered reprieve from their fervour until I draw my last breath."

  Aileth nodded sadly and turned her face from him.

  "But," he continued. "It would appear that some paths must travel in different directions. I do know that when I am with you, there is relief from the pain that is at the core of my being. And I do care a great deal for you. Who could not? You are goodness and gentleness itself. If you will have me, I ask that you be my wife, Aileth."

  She met his gaze again and searched it for some long moments, as if verifying the truth of what he said.

  "I do not possess her bravery and strength," Aileth answered smoothly. "But I do love you. If you are sincere, I will become your wife and spend my own life soothing your pain and hoping to gain your love."

  "Oh Aileth," he stammered. "What pitiable creatures we are."

  "Aye," she agreed quietly. "But no longer are we pitiful and alone."

  * * *

  The monastery came into view just as the sun was beginning to drop behind the barren hills. The candles, flickering in lanterns outside the gate, were a welcome sight. The troupe rode wearily in and dismounted as the carts, packhorses, and servants continued to stream through behind them. The abbot was standing amongst a small group of monks. Their tonsures gleamed in the dimming light and their black robes billowed about them. They were an intriguing sight these men who rarely, if ever, left the confines of the cloistered religious house.

  "Welcome," the abbot greeted them as they approached him. "Enter. We have had a small repast prepared to restore you after your journey."

  He turned and led them into the darkened stone monastery. There was a sombre mystique within the confines of the old building. The hallways were indistinct, their walls sporadically illuminated by small candles. The air was musky as it echoed the faint chants of the monks reciting the prayers of their evening Vesper. The abbot led them through to a comfortable room, though barely large enough to hold their number.

  "The servants and knights will be fed elsewhere. Except, of course, for your personal guards," he continued, as he gestured for them to sit.

  "Your hospitality is much appreciated, Abbot," Lord Endle praised.

  The abbot gave a small, reverent smile. "It is the least of what we could do for you, my Lord Earl. I will send the servants with bread and wine."

  Madeline stepped to him and spoke quietly. "The earl has not been well and is only able to manage broth. We have carried some along with us. Can you ensure that a cup is warmed and brought to his Lordship?"

  The abbot nodded his agreement, "As you wish my Lady."

  Lord Endle sighed as he lowered himself to the bench. His manservant rushed to assist him but Endle shook him off. Madeline seated herself beside him, though she would have preferred to stand after all the hours spent in the saddle this day.

  "How do you fair, husband?" she enquired softly.

  "I will manage, my dear. A bit of that bone broth of yours will restore me." He smiled kindly at her and Madeline noticed the lines around his eyes had deepened over the last weeks.

  They were interrupted by the arrival of a troupe of servants bearing wine, round loaves of bread, and great wedges of cheese. The last to enter carried a steaming cup, which he brought to Lord Endle.

  "Ahh," Endle sighed as he wrapped his hands around its warmth.

  "Ensure that you drink it all, husband," Madeline encouraged him. "We have another long day ahead of us on the morn and you will need your strength."

  "How could I have ever imagined living without you?" Endle chuckled gratefully. "You are consideration itself, my dear," he said as he stroked a finger down her cheek.

  "It is a simple thing to be considerate of such a good man as yourself, dear Endle," she replied truthfully. "I worry for you," she added.

  "Your broth will soon have me well again," he replied as he raised it to his mouth and took a long draught.

  Madeline busied herself tearing off a piece of the loaf as it passed by her. She nodded her appreciation to the servants when they filled her goblet and offered her a plate of the dry cheese. As she took a hungry bite, she availed herself of the opportunity to glance at the table opposite, where Nathaniel sat. His broad back was to her and his long, blonde hair curled just past the nape of his neck where it had fallen out of its customary leather thong. She longed to pull the leather binding out completely and run her fingers through the sand-coloured waves. The tips of her fingers tingled with memory.

  Suddenly a ghastly retching sound jarred her from her contemplation. She spun quickly towards Endle. The cup of broth had slipped from his fingers and with horror she could see that his lips had a bluish tinge. He had just spewed the meager contents of his stomach onto the table. As she watched in suspended disbelief, he heaved again and a black bile gushed from his parted lips. Instantly galvanized, she grabbed a bowl to put in front of him and then wrapped her arms about his shaking form. It was fortunate that she did so. When the ink-like, malodorous fluid ceased to erupt, Endle's eyes rolled back in his head and he toppled from the bench. Screaming for Nate, Madeline was able to prevent his plummet to the hard floor. Nathaniel was beside her in an instant and together they laid him carefully down.

  "Run for the abbot!" Nathaniel shouted to one of the horror-struck servants. He hurriedly removed his cloak and laid it beneath the earl's head. "We must move him to his side," he urged Madeline. "On the chance he becomes ill again."

  Together they gently rolled him to his side. Nathaniel gestured to the hovering Sir Hugh, who also removed his cloak and they laid it over Endle who was now shaking uncontrollably. Without warning, his entire body convulsed and yet another cascade of foulness gushed forth.

  "Madeline!" Endle exclaimed breathlessly when he could speak again. "Is it the end?"

  "Nay, it is not," she answered him calmly and confidently, though her wide eyes sought Nathaniel's. "Your body simply rids itself of its ill-humours. You will be yourself soon."

  He nodded, reassured, and closed his eyes whilst Madeline stroked his forehead.

  * * *

  Endle seemed to recover slightly when they had moved him to a bed. The monks had given him a draught of ginger and other herbs, whose origins Madeline had been too distraught to inquire upon. He slept now and she paced in the hallway outside his room, with Nathaniel and Sir Hugh.

  "It is not good," she said weightily. "He had seemed to improve these last few days."

  The knights agreed, their concern written into the lines in their brows.

  "He does not deserve this," she lamented. "He has done no wrong. He is a righteous man. Why does God allow his suffering?"

  "It is not God's plan that any should suffer," the abbot said, emerging from the darkness of the corridors. "Yet we are mortal, imperfect. Suffering is due to the evil in this world, not a result of God, who is only good. Who can know the ways of God?" he cryptically uttered.

  Madeline shook her head at him in vexation and turned to enter her own room.

  The old monk sighed when she shut the door behind herself. He handed a sachet of dried herbs to Nathaniel. "The earl will need an infusion of these in order to counteract the effects of the ill-humours within him."

  Nathaniel nodded and tucked it within his cloak. The abbot then turned to Sir Hugh. "Lord Endle's nephew has continued to imbibe since the Lord was removed to his chambers. He is causing somewhat of a commotion and disturbance to the peaceful tranquility of this house. Perhaps you could assist him to his own bed chamber?"

  "I will return with you immediately," Sir Hugh responded. He rolled his eyes at Nathaniel, who gave him a brief grin before he turned to leave.

  * * *

  "These half-wits are r
efusing to bring me another pitcher of wine!" the petulant man shouted at Hugh, as he waved the heavy pottery carafe about.

  "This is a house of God," Sir Hugh tried to reason with him. "Drunkenness is a sin in the eyes of these Godly men. It is our duty as guests in their place of worship, to be mindful of this."

  "You speak gibberish and nonsense, Sir Knight," Geoffrey slurred sarcastically. "I order you to fetch me a pitcher of wine immediately."

  "I do not take orders from you," Hugh responded in a low voice that contained a note of warning. "I am Lady Madeline's personal guard. As such I am at the command of no one but she, and her husband, the Lord of Marbourne."

  "Fetch it now! My uncle is ill and I will have comfort," the drunken man screamed at the knight, his eyes wide and crazed.

  "Nay," Hugh answered as he turned from Lord Endle's self-indulgent nephew. But he froze when he felt the bite of cold steel against the side of his neck.

  "Fetch it now!" Geoffrey demanded coldly. "You may find that the Lord of Marbourne can change in an instant."

  Sir Hugh had not time to consider Geoffrey's statement. He spun away from the blade and drew his own from its scabbard. Raising the sword, he focused it on Geoffrey. His eyes glinting at the corrupt and soured young man.

  "Ye best consider where to from here, boy," he cautioned.

  After a silent moment, Geoffrey's blade began to tremble, then slowly lowered.

  "Get ye to bed," Hugh growled, and watched through narrowed eyes as Lord Endle's nephew skulked from the room.

  No one saves us but ourselves.

  No one can and no one may.

  We ourselves must walk the path.

  ~Gautama Buddha

  CHAPTER 20

  Lord Endle convalesced an additional day at the monastery. The monks plied him with medicinal concoctions, the contents of which were best left a mystery. They allowed him nothing else beyond their remedies and a small amount of fortified wine from their own cellars. By the second day, Endle's health had improved only marginally and he remained very weak, but he insisted that he was well enough to travel. He had overruled Madeline's protests, reminding her that the king was anticipating their arrival. And so, with great reservation, Madeline left the sanctuary of the monastery and continued on the journey towards the unknown that awaited her at court.

  She had asked Endle to ride in the litter, but again his pride disregarded his health, and he lead the entourage on horseback. He rode in a long-suffering, stoic silence, only occasionally turning to engage her in conversation. Fortunately it was not a difficult journey, the terrain sloping from rolling hills to a gently flattened landscape.

  "I have been thinking," he began at one point, "That now is the correct time to reinstate Sir Nathaniel's status as captain of your guard." He caught her expression of surprise. "The man has made a remarkable turnaround since the unfortunate incident with you. Indeed, I have not seen him raise more than one goblet of wine, or tankard of ale, to his lips since then."

  "He was of great assistance when you fell ill," Madeline agreed softly.

  "Precisely," Endle nodded decisively. "For several reasons, I see no need to demean him at court either. So it is agreed?"

  "As you wish, my Lord," she concurred.

  "Excellent. I will speak with him immediately," he determined as he reined his horse around.

  Madeline kept her eyes firmly on the route in front of her.

  * * *

  It became apparent when they came across a great stone wall, bordering the edge of the valley through which they rode, that they were nearing their destination.

  "It is not so very much longer," Lord Endle stated, seemingly relieved. "This wall surrounds the Woodstock estate, 'twas built some two centuries ago by Henry Beauclerc and yet it still stands solid."

  "What need could there possibly be for such a barrier? To maintain his privacy?" Madeline questioned, intrigued, as they followed along the line of the stone facade. Its height such that she was unable to see over it, even from her vantage point atop her mare.

  "I do believe the purpose was not so much to keep the peasants out," Endle chuckled, "but rather to keep the beasts within."

  Encouraged by Madeline's expression of rapt interest, he continued, "You see, my dear, Henry was an adventurer and on his travels he was gifted many exotic animals. Leopards, lions, and camels; even the first porcupine to be seen on these shores, were all housed within these extravagant walls."

  "Does this nature of animal still reside here?" she asked, captivated.

  "Unfortunately no," he apprised her. "Beauclerc's grandson, Henry Plantagenet, converted the simple hunting lodge and grounds into the Palace, though of course there has been subsequent change since then. I believe it must be the better part of a century since the animals were moved to the Tower of London."

  "Perhaps one day we can journey there to see the menagerie," he offered in an effort to vanquish the disappointed look on his wife's face.

  "I would like that," Madeline said with a genuine smile.

  It was almost an hour later, as they passed by a small picturesque lake, that Endle spoke again.

  "Ah! We arrive."

  Upon a rise, overlooking the lake and surrounding countryside, stood the palace, built entirely of honey-coloured Cotswold stone. It was not as heavily fortified as was Marbourne and rather more elegant than powerful. The grounds immediately ensconcing the castle were gently sloped and open. Cedars of Lebanon dotted the lawn, finally giving way to dense woodland. There was a romance in this setting, where so many years of royalty had enjoyed their privacy and leisure.

  "It is beautiful," Madeline sighed admiringly.

  "Aye," Endle agreed. "Edward's father enjoyed this palace immensely. Tis only fitting that his son should have such a partiality to it as well."

  They passed through the small gate in the towering stone wall, and began the hilly incline towards the castle. With their pennant and colours held proudly aloft, the castle sentries had easily identified the approach of the earl's entourage. The cumbersome drawbridge had been lowered over the dry moat and the horses hooves echoed emptily as they crossed it. Servants streamed into the courtyard to assist with their arrival, whilst a short man, richly garbed, strode towards them.

  "Good day, Lord Endle, Lady Madeline," he said as he bent a knee and bowed his head, so elaborately that the long points of his hat nearly swept the ground.

  "Cedric!" Endle greeted the man jovially. "It has been a long while since last I saw you."

  "Aye," the man agreed, his stern features cracking into a smile. "Since the king's father was on the throne," he supposed.

  "Far too long ago," the earl replied. "Have you rooms ready for my new bride and I?" he asked.

  "Indeed we do, my Lord," the steward said. "The king has been eagerly anticipating your arrival." He raised his hand and a servant rushed over.

  "Take the Lord and Lady to their chambers and fetch anything they require," he commanded with a voice of authority.

  To them, he continued, "The king is throwing a banquet this eve. He requests you join him when you are settled. I will see to your servants and belongings." He bowed once again.

  "Most excellent," Lord Endle praised as he took Madeline's elbow and followed the servant through the massive entryway.

  They wound their way through the labyrinth of corridors, occasionally passing a nobleman or woman who inevitably bowed or curtsied to Lord Endle. Madeline was beginning to realize the scope of her husband's status and influence.

  "This way my Lord and Lady," the servant bowed as he opened the heavy, iron-bound door and stepped aside so they could enter.

  The chamber was more luxurious than anything Madeline had ever experienced. Thick bear and wolf pelts insulated the flagstone floors. An expansive bed was covered with fine linens and fur-lined covers. It was hung with velvet drapes in the royal red, and trimmed with gold braid. They were emblazoned with their sovereign's coat of arms, the three golden lions embroidered r
emarkably life-like. It seemed to Madeline as if they were glaring down at the visitors. A fire blazed in the massive stone fireplace, so large she could have walked about in it. A small wooden table sat off-centre in the room with a few red and gold-striped brocade-covered chairs surrounding it, and a single arched, mullioned window was set deeply into the thick stone wall of the castle, allowing a small amount of daylight to illuminate the room.

  "It is more than adequate," Lord Endle pronounced. "You may leave."

  The servant bowed his way from the room, shutting the door behind him as he left.

  "I believe I require a rest, my dear. I am unsure if I will manage the feast this eve," he said tiredly.

  "And you should rest," Madeline agreed, helping to settle him onto the bed and arranging the bolster beneath his head. "Is there anything I can get for you?" she asked.

  "Nay," he declined. "Just lay here beside me for a while. Your presence comforts me."

  She smiled at him. "Aye, husband, that I can do." And she reclined on the soft bed next to him.

  * * *

  Intending only to rest her eyes, Madeline was woken from a sound sleep some time later by a knocking at their chamber door. Quickly she glanced at Endle to see that he still slept, and then hurried to open it. Sir Gareth and Sir Hugh stood guard on either side and she nodded an informal greeting. In the corridor, she could see a line of their servants intermingled with those of the king, chests and possessions held amongst them.

  "Bring them in," she directed them. "Mind that you are quiet though. Lord Endle sleeps."

  They filed in as silently as possible and filed back out with greater silence, now unburdened of their loads. Cedric arrived, along with her maidservant, just as the last servant departed and Madeline stepped back out into the corridor to speak with him.