“And Sir Roslin’s date of death?” I ask.
“Some thirty-five years after the battle. About a year after the death of his wife.”
“Mariota,” Claire says.
“Yes.” He hooks a finger over the edge of his glasses and slides them off his nose. “How did you know her name? It’s not written here. Only on the gravestone.”
Claire and I look at each other.
She slips her hand in mine atop the table. “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you.”
“Reverend Murray,” I say, “do you believe we only live once?”
He gazes up at the soot-darkened rafters, contemplating the question. “When I read from the Holy Gospel at a funeral, I recite the words ‘Ashes to ashes; Dust to dust.’ It means that our bodies are nurtured by the earth and when we die, we return to it. Become a part of the soil, so to speak.”
Then leaning across the table, he places his hand over both of ours and smiles knowingly. “But our souls ... our souls are eternal.”
Columbus, Ohio — 2013
We’re sitting on a pair of plastic chairs halfway between our gate at the Columbus airport and the luggage carousel. I’ve had a lot of time to think on the flight home. No matter how long I turn things over in my mind, it will never get easier. It’s been over ten years since I’ve spoken to him. But there’s a part of my past I need to leave behind and until I address a few things, it’s always going to be there. Hell, I could let it eat me up for ten more years and what would I gain from that?
Claire squeezes my knee as I press the numbers on my keypad. It rings on the other end five times, six, seven ... If he doesn’t answer, I don’t think I can get up the nerve to do this again.
Finally, the ringing stops. I hear the soft crackle of air on the other end. And then his voice.
“Hello?”
“Hey ... Dad.” My words come out high-pitched and soft, like I’m ten. I try to swallow, but my mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. I pop open the tab of my Coke and take a swig. “It’s me.”
“Ross?” A long pause follows. My stomach clenches. If it wasn’t for Claire sitting next to me, I’d snap the phone shut and pretend this never happened. But it’s his tone that keeps me on the line. It’s not what I expected. He sounds almost ... cheerful, if that’s possible. “Ross. It’s been a long time. Good to hear from you, son.”
“Yeah, um ...” Everything I’d planned on saying is suddenly lost in a haze of amnesia. I should’ve written it all down. And then, being the wimp I am, I blurt out, “Look, I’m sorry I —”
“No, Ross.” There’s a hitch in his voice. “I’m sorry.”
I lower the phone for a second and look at it, then press it to my ear again. “What?”
“I said I’m sorry.” He’s more insistent this time, like he doesn’t want to repeat himself and I’d better listen up.
“Oh. About what?”
“You know ... Things I said. Did.” Another long pause follows.
A couple of weeks ago, I would have blasted my anger at him, pressed him for a more thorough answer and accepted nothing less than him blubbering tearful regrets while he prostrated himself before me. My perspective, however, has changed a lot recently. Truth is I’m not sure he could tell me exactly what he’s sorry about. He does seem to understand that he bears some responsibility.
What will happen if I let my guard down? Will he revert to the same old behaviors? Will his words still hurt as much as they used to?
The fact that he’s apologized, however vaguely, well, that’s a huge step on his part. He can’t erase all the things he’s said and done. But I can allow him a fresh start. I can give him a chance.
In this life, there won’t be any heroic acts of valor or self-sacrifice. Just those two little words: ‘I’m sorry.’
Two words. And yet they hold so much power. So much potential to heal.
“So, I was thinking,” I say, bridging the silence, “of coming back to Indiana to visit some friends. Thought I’d stop by the house, if that’s okay. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Historical Note
The Battle of Halidon Hill was fought on July 19th, 1333. It is estimated the Scots numbered 13,000 strong, while the English army had 9,000 men.
Lord Archibald Douglas has been criticized for not acting more quickly when Edward Balliol entered Scotland in early March and laid siege to the city of Berwick. Rather than raid into England immediately, Douglas chose to focus on gathering a large enough force to outnumber the opposition. Meanwhile, Balliol dug trenches and cut off the water supply to Berwick, placing its citizens in an increasingly desperate situation. In May, King Edward III joined Balliol. Berwick was forced to negotiate. Douglas set out south to attack Bamburgh, where Queen Philippa was staying, but upon Edward’s hanging of the first of the hostages offered up by Berwick, he returned there. Battle was inevitable.
King Edward had two undeniable advantages and used both of them to overwhelming effect. The first was his positioning on Halidon Hill to the north of Berwick, the only open land route to the city, which is surrounded to the west and south by the River Tweed and to the east by the sea. In order for the Scots to relieve Berwick by force, they had to break through the English lines. If they failed, Berwick would surrender. Edward had no intention of abandoning his superior vantage point. He would force the Scots to come to him. The second was his use of the longbow. Basically, the moment the Scottish army crossed over the marshy ground at the foot of Halidon Hill and Edward employed his archers, Berwick’s fate was decided.
Scottish casualties were staggering. Numerous nobles lay dead on the battlefield, decimating Scotland’s leadership for years to come. In English eyes, the humiliating defeat at Bannockburn had at last been avenged.
A few months later, Edward Balliol held a parliament in Perth. His hold on the crown, however, did not last. A year later, he was deposed.
Young King David was sent to France for safety and did not return to Scotland until 1341, at the age of seventeen. Five years later, he invaded England, but was captured at the Battle of Neville’s Cross. He remained a prisoner of Edward III’s for eleven years. In 1357, he was released under the terms of the Treaty of Berwick, which demanded heavy payments. David died childless in 1371 and was succeeded by his nephew Robert Stewart, the first of many Stewarts to rule Scotland.
The Cathars were a sect of Christianity existing from roughly the mid 12th century to the 14th. Rigorously persecuted by the Catholic Church, they believed the Universe was ruled by two powers: good (God, the spiritual) and evil (Satan, the flesh). One of their primary beliefs was that the Soul would be born again seven times, until spiritual growth and perfection had been achieved. The Cathar Perfects, believed to be closest to the end cycle of reincarnation, often took great pains to offer the Consolamentum or Consolation to the dying, which was thought to help purify the Soul and assist it on its journey. Credentes, those just beginning their spiritual journey, were not expected to maintain the severely austere lifestyle that Perfects did.
In 1244, the Cathar stronghold of Montsegur in southwestern France was the site of a siege and the eventual surrender of over two hundred Cathars, who were put to death by fire. Afterwards, the fortress was razed, but rumors that the Holy Grail was once housed there persist to this day, as evidenced by the numerous books and movies containing elements of the siege and the castle’s ties to the sacred relic.
About the Author
N. Gemini Sasson holds a M.S. in Biology from Wright State University where she ran cross country on athletic scholarship. She has worked as an aquatic toxicologist, an environmental engineer, a teacher and a cross country coach. A longtime breeder of Australian Shepherds, her articles on bobtail genetics have been translated into seven languages. She lives in rural Ohio with her husband, two nearly grown children and an ever-changing number of animals.
Long after writing about Robert the Bruce and Queen Isabella, Sasson learned she is a descendant o
f both historical figures.
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Acknowledgments
Heartfelt thanks go out to the members of Team ITOK, who helped bring this story to its final stages: Sarah Woodbury, Lisa J. Yarde, Julie Conner, J.S. Colley and Reini Brickson. I am forever indebted to your wisdom, your honesty and your encouragement.
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