Then a path of light seemed to weave through the chalky milky way and tunnel through space until it dropped a carpet of shimmering dust at my feet. My instincts prompted me to step onto it and as soon as I did, heard the thumping paws of Laboi as he leapt into the dust. My heart pounded wildly in my chest and a thrill passed throughout my body. The joy in my heart was full. My circumstances would change for the better. I would find the key. I checked my watch. The hands had not moved. Time did not exist inside the path. Not a moment passed before the earth was one thousand years younger.
When the change occurred my spirits were high as my eyes drank a landscape of colors of every hue. The sky was painted in shades of blues and pinks and set in a background of white lacy clouds. My nostrils burned with the sensation of pungent magnolia blossoms. I was spell-bound by sight of healthy verdant green grass growing in a meadow and sunlight which streamed through the blades of a thick forest. It was a world of enchantment. My inclination was to stretch out my weary body in the grassy meadow and take a nap but suddenly realized that it was not a meadow after all, but a battleground of dead soldiers. More than 10,000 dead infantrymen dressed in heavy chain-mail and silver plated armor lay sprawled on the ground. Also lying dead were more than 1500 knights wearing decorative emblems with brilliantly etched shields lying beside them. The shields and armor were painted with fleur de lis and coats of arms of representing various noble houses. I found myself wandering between the bodies examining the various symbols. There was the lion rampart of the House of Plantagenet, the bear of the Roman Empire, the French house of Navarre and kingdoms of Genoese, Bohemia and Denmark. An envoy of English knights searched feverishly through the bodies for Frenchmen to use as ransom and while this was happening the misericordias were inserting long daggers into the hearts of the wounded. The victors were the Plantagenets who were engaged with the King of England in a long and tiring war against the King of France. We were in Normandy. The date was 26 August 1346. Upon further examination, I discovered that we were in Crecy, a small village in northern France south of Calais and near Crecy-en-Ponthieu. King Edward III of England was entrenched in a war with the French which would last a hundred years. For his immediate gratification, he took 35,000 soldiers into the field, including the black prince, his sixteen year old son, Edward. In addition four thousand knights, men at arms, seven thousand long bowman, five thousand spearmen and five of the new ribaldis cannon. It was a war he bought and paid for out of his own pocket and which employed the most modern weapons such as the cannon and English long bow. The battle began when French knights wearing chain mail and silver plate walked through a quagmire of mud while the English stood at a great distance spraying an umbrella of arrows throughout the ranks. The arrows struck the vulnerable parts of the armor, between the arms and Warning: US and International Copyright Restrictions Apply.
through visors.
The black prince and his vanguard waited at the crest of the hill to finish with their swords. As the search for wounded soldiers continued, we waded through the bodies. Laboi cautiously lifted his paws through sprouts of lush green grass growing between the bodies and sometimes paused to sniff the smell of death. I heard someone groan. Some still lives! I was anxious for human companionship and stepped lively towards the sound but it was Laboi who found a young soldier lying on the ground in a bed of blood. "Please, I bed you, sir, hold your beast," he pleaded. I rushed to his side and observing the wounds between his armor, tore off my shirt to make a tourniquet. "Steady now, Laboi is my friend. He will not harm you." I quickly scrapped off a thick layer of clogged blood, then wrapped his wounded arms and legs in my shirt. "How long have you laid here?" "Several hours. The misericordias would have put a dagger in my heart but I pretended to be dead when they passed over me." "You have lost much blood. Are you too weak to stand?" "First tell me whom you serve, whether it be King Edward or the King of France?" "Neither." "Are you a Plantagenet?" "No." "But you have tamed a lion and he stands beside you as the symbol of that house," he said pointing to an azure crest decorated with silver fleur de lis and a lion rampart drawn upon the face of it."
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I am not from your country. As for the lion, he has lost the hair of his regal mane but is a king in his own right and respects no one. We are together because of peculiar circumstances. My name is Regulus." "I am Thomas de Holande," he said pointing to his arms, "a loyal subject of King Edward of Britain. I was with the black prince when struck to the ground by a sword which slashed deeply into my arms and legs. Thank you for binding my wounds. Judging from your clothes, you appear to have fallen on hard times. "Yes." "Then let us make a bargain. I am in need of your help to carry me home to Shepshed. If you will make a litter and carry me thither, I promise to protect you in my country." "What do you mean?" "I will appoint you as a servant in my house, feed and clothe you. . Please take the vow, sir, as I am too weak to stand to my feet." "It seems that we have need of the other. I agree but only as a temporary convenience." in your country." Eventually the ransom searchers and misericordias quit stirring about and went away. I began making a litter from tree branches and tied the limbs together with strips of clothing borrowed from dead bodies and used the fancy French cloaks to pad the contraption. Then sneaking up on two chestnut mares malingering nearby and stole them. "Well, little mare, if you will agree to transport this poor soldier, I will loop this rope around your neck," I coaxed. "You have a way with horses," he said.
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"Do you know your way home?" I asked but he fainted while lifting him onto the litter. We had not traveled far before nightfall cloaked the thick Crecy forest in a black darkness. There was no moon. The eerie sounds of animals rushing the bushes and strange critters crawling around my feet caused me to feel the strange fear of uncertainty. Laboi proceeded cautiously using his own uniquely instinctive senses to sniff the night air. Several hours passed before his nose led him into the brush after a little fawn tangled in a briary patch. I unstrapped the litter and eased Thomas onto a bank of leaves, then covered him with one of the French cloaks. As I crumpled up a cloak for a pillow, Laboi's slobbering mouth cracked bones in the brush and wolves howling at a far distance. As soon as I laid down my head, worrying that the wolves would smell the kill and come after it, my eyes closed and I fell into a deep sleep. Just as the dawn dispersed its brilliant multi-colored prisms of light over the verdant green countryside and lit a path through Crecy forest, a long painful groan came from the lips of the awaking Thomas.
Just as the dawn streamed its brilliant multi-colored prisms of light through the tops of the sprawling trees and lit a path through the Crecy forest, a long painful groan came from the lips of the waking Thomas as he struggled to lift himself up off his elbows. "How do you feel?" I asked. "Sick." "A good chunk of meat will help you regain your strength," I told him as I watched Laboi was drag the bones of the mangled fawn in his teeth and drop it at my feet. "I borrowed your dagger. I hope that you don't mind," I said preparing the meat for the spit. "No. Did you stick the fawn with it?" Apparently Thomas had completely forgotten about Laboi
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and was feverish from the effects of his wounds, I chose not to reopen the subject. I hurried to rub together two sticks to ignite a flame. "It is clear to see that you are naught a woodsman," Thomas observed while the meat simmered under a low flame. "You must be a country gentleman down on his luck." "No, but I am a survivor." I cut off a large chunk of fat and gave it to Thomas. "This is the sweetest part." Thomas nibbled timidly on the pungent wild meat but seemed nourished. He talked deliriously about being struck down by a nobleman, how painful it was when he felt the jab of the sharp blade between his arms and the helpless sensation of falling to the ground then being crushed under the feet of the charging French. His arms were swollen now and blood oozed through the cloth bandages. "I think that my wound is open," he said staring at oozing blood. I unwound the straggly bandage and washed it in a nearby stream, then hung it over the pit to dry. "Do you know your way home?" I asked. "Shepshed is in Leicester." "I do not know that country." "Tis near Ashby de la Zouche," he replied as though everyone knew that castle. "Where are we now?" "If Edward was victorious at Crecy, this territory belongs to Britain today; if not, we are in Normandy." "Based on the number of French armorials lying on the battlefield, I believe that your king won
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the day. But no matter whether we stand in Normandy or Britain, we are lost inside a thick forest unless you know the way hither." "Shepshed is in England in the northwest corner of Leicestershire. Here, I will show you." Thomas took a stick and drew a map. We are here in Normandy and this line represents the English channel. Once we cross the channel, we will be in Britain. This circle is the village of Gilwiskaw and my grandfather's old castle Ashby de la Zouche." "Ah so, we take our lodgings in your castle." "No, no," Thomas said passionately. "I will explain it. My father's castle was Melbourne and Ashby de la Zouche belonged to my grandfather. Both castles were seized by Edward II. But alas when my grandfather died he had an estate called Shepshed which belonged to his mother which passed to my mother and her two sisters. It is near to Ashby de la Zouche." "Tell me more about this." It was then that Thomas commenced relating the long tale of his family's tumultous history. "My father was Sir Robert de Holande, the first baron of Lancashire. He was born in Upholland on the lands granted to an ancestor who'd come from Normandy with William the Conqueror. Although the ancient manor remained in the family, the family never gained status until my father was knighted. You see there have been three Edwards on the throne of England, all Plantagenets. The Holandes have always been loyal to the Plantagenets and assisted them in war time. My father was a favorite of Thomas Plantagenet, the of Lancaster and was thus knighted before I was born. The year that I was born my father helped the Earl to suppress an uprising of several of the nobility who attacked the King's castle at Liverpool. For this service, my father was given the manors of Thornton and Bagworth; then he was called to Parliament. The king further granted him Melbourne castle near Derbyshire and this is where we resided until I was eight years old. But our fortune changed when the Earl of Lancaster once again called upon my father this time to side with some rebellious barons against the king and become part of the army who feigned to
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seize control of Boroughbridge, in Scotland. The decision proved unwise and my father was captured by the king's forces and taken to Essex where he was beheaded. The Earl dispatched a note to my mother (Lady Maud) at Melbourne Castle warning her that the king's soldiers were en route to confiscate all of his estate. She wasted no time in gathering up her thirteen children which includes me, the treasury and other valuables. We only escaped the king's soldiers by several hours going to Shepshed. Fortunately, they did not pursue us to Shepshed where we found solace with my two aunts until one of them married and the other one became a nun. When Edward II died and Edward III ascended the throne, he forgave my father and I swore my allegiance to the prince." "You are loyal to this king even after all that was done to you?" Thomas dropped his eyes and pursed his lips that I might not see his full remorse. "Twas Edward II. This king restored the family honor." "Doubtless your family will be relieved to see you." "There is more to the story. Suddenly a foolish smile crossed his lips. "Before joining the prince in battle, I was secretly married to his cousin, Joan. She is the daughter of the king's son, the wealthy Edmund of Woodstock and the Earl of Kent, a prize for any nobleman. The maid is so fair and I have loved so lovely and sweet a maid since we were children. I could not resist her." "I suppose not," I said, wondering if his hasty decision would bring political consequences. Laboi continued his service and oddly enough went unnoticed by the sickly Thomas. The time came when the litter was no longer necessary and Thomas rode beside me on one of the chestnut mares. He continued his story of the Holandes. It seems that the pitfalls of the Holande family fortune was delicately interwoven into the political cloth of the Edwards. When their battles with the French monarchy tipped the scales of
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territorial losses and gains and his barons threatened the sanctity of the English throne in their own fief disputes, family titles and estates were lost. The ambitions of the Earl of Lancaster threatened Edward III as soon as he came to power and unfortunately Robert de Holande took the side of his Earl. But the troubles of King Edward III did not end; he was engaged in too many battles with the French to add Normandy to his cauffer, a trouble which would last a hundred years! Nothing stopped Edward. Not even the Black Plague which was peaking in Normandy. Why the King of France and King of England sent their knights into Normandy during the Black Plague is a trouble which no country should court. Thomas had fought bravely in the vanguard of the young prince's troops, distinguishing himself as he went, thinking of himself as invincible. Not even when he fell to the ground near some Geneose mercenaries who were ghastly pale and disfigured from the effects of the plague, he did not suppose that he would die. When the mercenairae stood over him with their daggers, a blinding faith wrapped in generations of family loyalties made him believe that the prince would send someone to fetch him. It was the thought of his Joan which kept him alive. As we made our way through the vast Crecy forest he still had her name on his lips and seemed to grow stronger for it. "Thomas, now that you are healed, I must confess that I do not know where we are nor the way to the English channel." “Regulus, do you trust in God?" "Well, yes, but..." "Never mind. The French soldiers are not on our heels and the sun is at our backs. That means we are traveling towards the channel." After several weeks we came upon a convoy of French merchant ships anchored in the harbor of Calais. Thomas speaking a fine tongue of the French language passage across the English channel to Dover. For his passage he traded the two chestnut mares. My own passage was paid for with the sweat of loading cargo. As we boarded the merchant ship, my eyes scanned the
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forest for a last glimpse of Laboi. I saw him run through the thicket and stand prominently on the crest of a small hill. Good bye, old friend, I mumbled to myself.
Once the vessel landed on the English side of channel and we were in the good hands of the British, Thomas arranged our transport to London in a coach drawn by two horses. The journey was an uncomfortable ride along bumpy roads but the coachman's hands were strong and although he maneuvered the potholes admirably, the ailing Thomas held fast to the oozing gash in his side. It was in that city that we had a comfortable stay with his cousin John de Holande who resided on the Thames River. After a few days' rest but still not healed, Thomas insisted on continuing the journey to Shepshed. We first came upon Ashby de la Zouche, the former home of Thomas' grandfather but now the property of William de Mortimer who assumed the name of Zouche. On the day that Alan de la Zouche died the king ordered the escheator to be taken to determine whether Alan held the manor for life and seized it on the precept that Alan owned a knight's fee. So the royal whim once again changed the fate of the Holande family. Instead of inheriting this grand place, Lady Maud was heiress of the small incidental estate of Shepshed. Ashby was a two-storied wooden manor house which had been significantly enlarged by its present owner from the middle portion outward on both sides. Thomas had no memory of the notable grandfather who was entrusted with many offices in the realm but who died before he was born. That comfortable era of the de la Zouche occupancy lasted only three generations. Thomas again lamented his family's misfortune, but as he did so managed to shove those events into the irreconcilable past and happily anticipated the consummation of his marriage with Joan. We continued our journey on into the province until we came to the small hamlet of Shepshed. The old manor house sat rather inconspicuously on the crest of a green hill framed by a blue sky of fluffy white clouds. A high hedge of boxwoods sheltered the house on both sides and flowers of every color bloomed in the yard. I was thrilled and enchanted by this lovely English country home enshrouded with charming mystique and beauty. The entrance to the house was on the west side which was reached by crossing a grassy slope. A courtyard of buildings formed the
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west side. The first building was a large and striking kitchen with a stone-ribbed vaulted ceiling rising over thirty feet high from molded capitals. The stone at the apex of each arch was the carved head of the mythical sun-god. The passage from the buttery was a wide doorway and its roof was covered with a flat timber. From the buttery, a hallway with two small round-headed arches in the west wall which connected to the solar of private apartments. It had two floors and a ground floor which was divided into two rooms by a central wall. The solar roof was a steeply pitched gable-ended structure which formed a decorative pediment. It had all of the comforts that my world lacked. For a moment, I forgot everything and foolishly entertained the idea that I had arrived at my destination. Lady Maud cried tears of delight at the sight of her middle son who'd found his way home from the war and was unblemished by the black plague raging in Europe. All of his siblings were present except his oldest sister, Joan, who had married John Radcliffe. He introduced me to the family with an unexpected title, secretarius and messangere. "I am beholden to you for saving my life," he said, "and because I trust you with my secrets need such a person as yourself in my employ. Then he squinted one eye and observed my clothes. He had never seen a coat with narrow lapels nor long trousers to the ankle. He opened wide my coat to further examine my shabby attire. "What country wears this costume?" "My lord, I would prefer to forget my past life now that I am in your serene home." No sooner than I was washed and dressed in a fashionable coat, trousers to the knee and white stockings, than Thomas informed me that I would attend him at Windsor Castle where he was summoned into the king's presence. The fact that Edward had left his army in France reaffirmed the victory at Crecy. Thomas' spirits were high; the excitement of seeing his wife at court on this occasion was eminent. The secret marriage could be announced publicly. Plans could be made; he could begin his life. He prepared his own elegant costume by first tightly binding the gash in his side to prevent blood from leaking through to a blousy shirt with full sleeves and lacy cuffs.
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His silk vest was too large for his battle-worn body, but disguised it very well by draping a.....across his shoulder and fastening a scabbard around the tiny bone waist. Then he shaved off the beard grown during battle years. The occasion of attending Windsor Castle was that he and several others who'd fought in the vanguard of the black prince were to be knighted. The ceremony took place in grand fashion with those waiting to be knighted queued horizontally before the throne. When Thomas' name was called, he hobbled to the throne, then leaning heavily on a silver-tipped cane, knelt rather awkwardly on one knee before the king who pronounced a blessing upon his head for his bravery at Crecy. Then, seizing upon the feebled plight of the wounded knight kneeling before him, gloated over his own bravery in staying the course against so powerful an army. While so bragging, he promised the members of court that he would soon deliver the English people the long fought-over Normandy as a trophy. Finally, he lifted his broad silver sword and tipped it first on the right shoulder, then on the left shoulder, saying: "I dub thee Sir Thomas de Holande, Knight of the Royal Garter." Thomas was jubilant; he grinned from ear to ear. The knighthood paid an annual pension but it also guaranteed a lifetime of service to the king in his wars. The knighthood was restored to the house of de Holande. All was well with the king! Thomas bowed while stepping backwards. When the knighting ended, Thomas assumed an aloof vantage in the crowd of new knights that he might inconspicuously search the room for the Countess de Salisbury and her ward, Lady Joan. As his eyes searched the ladies and lords presenting themselves to the king, he explained to me in great detail the meaning of the symbols on his shield and the pride which he bore as a knight of the realm. He was so happy; so hopeful. But he stopped chatting when the countess and Earl de Salisbury approached the throne. The Earl was a short hunched-shouldered man with a round pudgy face. He wore a white powdered wig tied at the nape of the neck by a red ribbon and his eloquent cape hemmed in white pearls did nothing to improve his appearance. The countess was a similar type figure, except that she was plainly annoyed by the presence of her husband. It was an unhappy marriage of wealth and status which had only borne them one son destined to be the second Earl de Salisbury. The second earl stood behind them, a thinner model of the parents, waiting with his bride of several years. The king quickly dismissed the elder couple with his hands but smiled sweetly when his eyes fell upon his
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granddaughter. It was the face of Joan! She was a lady of great beauty, poised and dignified, a child who'd blossomed into a married woman. She was Lady Salisbury. The astonished Thomas reeling to and fro clung helplessly to his silver-tipped cane. He felt a nauseating sickness in the pit of his stomach and as his body trembled and shook a feverish sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped onto his chalky white face. I elbowed towards him and whispered: "Breathe, your lordship." "I cannot, the bandage is too tight." "Then let us get out here." "Why did she betray me?" He asked as the room whirled around him and he gasped one last breath before fainting. The knights surrounded him. "Is it the plague?" One of them asked. "No, no," I said, lifting up his arm that they could see the blood stains on his shirt. "It is his wound...it has opened." The knights gallantly lifted him and quickly dispatched him to the Holande carriage. The departure from the grand spectacle of the king's court into a rumbling coach back to the cousin's home on the Thames was depressing. The Westminster Castle was nearer the Thames than to Shepshed. Thomas was still in his faint when John de Holande helped lift him inside his house. I quickly removed the shirt and peeled back the bandage. John was astonished at his frailties. The war had spent his youth and ravished his good health. He was so thin, nothing but a bag of bones. John stared at the long gash in his side oozing fresh red blood from a nasty crust supplanted by red patches of skin. "It is infected. I will care for him, my lord." "Will he survive this?" "Yes, for he is both brave and courageous. I will keep the wound clean," I promised. For days Thomas lingered in a feeble delirium, tortured by his nightmares and awakening only to
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weep wildly and uncontrollably. "Tis a delicate balance between the normal and insane mind," John said, pitying him. "If anyone is sane, it is him," I said boldly. "Yes of course." When the fever finally broke and the wound commenced to heal, Thomas rationally reviewed his prospects. He decided to remain in the home of cousin and be nourished. Everyday he paced himself from the garden to the river, taking care not to expose his mood to others, so avoided all confrontation. He would later say that it was this peaceful reflective period which influenced his thoughts and developed his best plans. In the end there was a plan to recover his wife, but it was so dangerous that he dare not reveal it to his cousin. "I shall write to the lady and ask her true feelings," he told me. "And, Regulus, you must deliver it my letter to the lady in person. No one must suspect. Swear that you will guard this affair with your life." "I swear."
Upon returning to Shepshed, Thomas drew a definitive map in his own handwriting which lead to the Salisbury manor house. He knew it well, having spent so much time there as a boy, then later as a secret suitor and finally husband. He sketched the out-buildings, gardens, creeks, roads and foot paths. "You will need these details, should you find yourself compromised." Then accompanying me to the stables, curled up his lip and whistled for a roan mare of some sixteen or seventeen hands high who came galloping from the pasture. "She is fast and answers to this whistle," he said while slipping a rein over her long sleek neck. I assumed control of the rein and pet her nose. "Yes, she likes you." Then he threw a plain blanket and saddle across her back. "Just a mare without a tattoo on her fetlocks and a common leather saddle," he said. Warning: US and International Copyright Restrictions Apply.
"I understand." "Avoid the countess at all costs. She is nosy and suspicious of even the birds in her courtyard." What he did not tell me was the fact that the Lady Joan's father was also attained in 1330 by Sir Roger Mortimer, a relative of the Mortimer who was now resident of Ashby de la Zouche. Thus, the young heiress of the Kent estates was placed in the dual care of the countess of Salisbury and her first cousin, the black prince. The letter which he gave me was eloquently scripted in his own handwriting and sealed with a swab of silver-colored wax. I folded it into small corners and stuffed it inside my shirt. I was deeply entrenched in a conspiracy which could cost my life, but I did not care. There was a close correlation between my own demented past and the society in which Thomas recklessly struggled to control. My loyalty was with the tender hearted knave. The mare stretched her legs in an easy gallop. She seemed to know the way. As we neared the manor house, I took care to hide my horse in some bushes. I followed my directions carefully, first climbing a number of steeply appointed steps which led through an arched doorway down a narrow corridor. It was there that encountered a servant and I asked to speak with the Lady Joan. Instead, I was led into a large airy receiving room with plaques of swords and family crests hanging on the walls and at the far end a massive stone fireplace spitting yellow sparks of fire. As anticipated, the countess was first notified and entered the room wearing a gown with a long trail and turning sideways, swept it circumspectly behind her as she crossed the room. "What is your business?" She asked arrogantly. "My message is for the Lady Joan," I said coolly. She eyeballed me from head to toe, endeavoring to recognize the costume. Then, hoping to identify my origins by crest or other marks, she whispered to her servant to find my carriage or horse. With the servant absent in his futile search, I pretended not understand the language. She alternated into the French dialect. I shrugged. To my great relief the Lady Joan soon appeared in the doorway. "The courier is for me," she told the frustrated countess. Warning: US and International Copyright Restrictions Apply.
I gasped at the close vision of a lady so lovely that as she crossed the room the colors in her blue silken gown caught the light of the thin purple circles outlining her summery blue eyes. The gown was decorated with puffy sleeves and an embroidered bodice tied at the waist by a wide sash. Her blonde hair was brushed high from the forehead into a pompadour which allowed small curls to nestle around her ears. Her plump lips were naturally red and her cheeks glowed in shades of robust pink. Her eyes were fixed pleasantly on me as she approached. I tried to lower my eyes, but her beauty was too electrifying. "My lady," I said, feeling inclined to bow the waist, "a message to you from Sir Thomas de Holland." She did not move. Perhaps she did not understand my words. I repeated myself, this time emulating Thomas' high English brogue. She put her fingers over her lips and shushed me. "I am to wait for an answer," I whispered. Still she did not speak, but took the letter and walked slowly to a corner of the room. As she stood in silent repose reading the letter with her back towards me, her neck was stiff and her back rigid. There was no sign of distress until she motioned me to her side. Her complexion was pale and drawn and tears seeped from the corners of her eyes. "Who are you?" She whispered. "Regulus, messengae to his lordship." "This is the seal of Sir Thomas de Holande, but your language is foreign to me." "My place of birth is inconsequential. I am the one who found Sir Thomas waiting to die on a battlefield in France and brought he back to England. He repaid me by taking me into service. Tis as simple as that." "Ssh," she warned, "Be careful not to speak further of Sir Thomas." Then after carefully examining the seal and the handwriting, kissed the parchment. "Will you wait?" Warning: US and International Copyright Restrictions Apply.
I nodded. She left me alone in the room for a long while and when she returned gave me her letter. "Take this to my Lord Thomas. Speak not." I stuffed her letter into my glove and walking fast through the corridor to the outside grounds whistled for the roan mare. She waited in a grove of trees but neighed to give me direction. I took the rein in my hands and putting my foot in the stirrups slid into the saddle. We slipped easily away without the countess knowing. Thomas' keen ears heard the hoofs of the galloping mare as she approached Shepshed and ran outside. A strange grin was on his lips and his eyes were filled with apprehension. "Quick! Follow me and say nothing." We walked to the west approach to house and into a little patch of wood. "How did you find the countess?" "Willfully suspicious, but she did not prevent me from speaking to the Lady Joan." "You spoke without the encumbrance of the countess nor her husband." "Yes, my lord. This is for you," I said carefully removing it from the hiding place of my shirt. He tore it open with a fearful excitement read it several times. Then placing his hand over his heart, dropped his knees into a wet moray of fallen leaves. A long stream of tears dripped down his cheeks and onto his clothes. He seemed so fragile, just a boy sobbing miserably. "Tis true, she is the wife of the younger earl. I prayed that it not be so. Now I know that the events which transpired at Windsor Castle were not a dream, but real." "Twas the delusions of your fever, my lord, nothing else."
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Then, still kneeling on the ground, cupped his hands towards heaven and cried loudly, "God, how have I offended Thee!" "The lady also suffers." "Does she? I have dreamed the dreams of a fool, waited for nothing. An earl is far more desirable to wed and afterwards wallow in his riches, rather than have a knight who serves at the pleasure of the king. I wonder. Does she truly suffer the tears of lonely rejection?" "My lord, only you can discern the nature of the lady's suffering." He jumped to his feet and angrily thrust the letter into my hands. "Read it for yourself and you will know the truth of everything!" "How am I to know this? I am only your messengae." "You are my only true friend," he said biting his lower lip. The words were warm and comforting, those which I'd never heard before. My personal fears in this clandestine affair disappeared. All that mattered now was to how help Thomas in his dilemma, so I read it slowly, hoping to grasp its intended meaning. "My Lord Thomas", it read, "I am pleased to hear of your glory in France and safe return to Shepshed. Since you went to war, my guardian gave me in marriage to her son. My only recourse was to appeal to my other guardian and cousin, the black prince, who, as you know was also in France and the king upon one of his returns to Westminster, gave his consent. Your Affectionate and Loving Lady." The knave sobbed miserably. "Is there any way that you can be consoled?" I asked.
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"Nothing can console me," he sobbed, "only the vision of my fair maid." "Do you know what you are saying?" "Can my heart empty itself of this bitter dreg?" "No." "I must know her true feelings." "I need to see her," he whined. So it was that the details of his first intimate meeting with the wife of the second earl of Salisbury were formulated. Indeed the plans were the very embodiment of his sole purpose in breathing. The first meeting occurred after many attempts to deliver a note to the Lady. The knight spent an inordinate amount of time at court hoping to see her. It came on one of those visits. My station in the king's receiving room was nearest to the court yard door. The occasion presented itself when knowing nothing else to do, I nodded to her and she strolled near enough that I pressed the crumbled note into her fan. The meeting occurred one afternoon in a familiar grove of trees near the Salisbury mansion. It was their old secret meeting place well hidden from the prying eyes of the countess. That same morning with my map in tow, I exercised the roan mare on the public road observing the paths and trails. A warning signal would be the familiar whistle used to call the horse. When Thomas caught up with me on the road, his hair was loose from its ribbon and blew wildly in the breeze of a fast trot. I was privy to all the details. The lady confessed that her marriage to the earl was an unhappy event; that on the eve of the wedding while the marriage bed was being prepared by the chamber maids, her husband washed down a heavy meal of wild turkey and a keg of ale and was too drunk to consummate the marriage. Thereafter, he publicly maintained an air of aloofness towards her, only kissing her on the cheek in the presence of his mother the countess. It soon became apparent that the countess made the
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union in the interest of acquiring the Kent estates and titles. It was a marriage of convenience. Further she told Thomas that she dreamed of him on her wedding night when she longed to have his arms around her. As the months passed, the meetings continued and she wrote flowery and romantic love letters to him assuring him of her true feelings. The letters gave him the confidence to take the next provocative step in the plan.
Thomas proceeded to draft a lengthy petition to be delivered to the pontificate of Pope Clement VI in Avignon. He begged for an annulment on the grounds that the Lady Joan was already married and spent many months designing words which would not offend the king and which also reflected his own humility. "Guard this with your life," he said, "tell not a soul of your destination. Swear it." Once again I swore the oath of secrecy. Thomas drew a map to Dover. I purchased passage across the channel into Normandy, then hired a coachman to drive me to Avignon. Thomas wrote letters of introduction in the French language to various ports and courts, saying, among other things that I was healthy and not sick with the plague. The dreaded black death was in all of the European ports by now, especially among the Geneose and Dutch mercenaries. It was rumored that the pope desired to give his blessing to the sick and upon seeking the advice of his physician was told that if he surround himself with torches on both sides that he would not contract the fever. But the pope decided not leave the pontificate. I went quickly to Avignon and begged the cardinals for an audience. The pope's political affairs had his full attention. He was busy writing a reformation of peace between France and England, a proclamation which neither monarchs observed. All during the battles in the provinces he pressed his plea for peace with the princes and less pressing ecclesial affairs were entrusted into the hands of the cardinals. Disappointed that Thomas would not have his answer, I reluctantly left the petition with a cardinal who made no promises that he would read it. Several years passed. Perhaps it was the king's continued defiance to papal authority in matters of war which finally
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drew his attention to a petition of annulment which involved the king's own granddaughter. He read the humble plea of Sir Thomas and decided to grant the annulment. Pope Clement sent a familiar cardinal into the king's court. It was the same cardinal previously sent to present the pope's nuncio for peace. He knew that his cardinal's slow and methodical manner of reading the annulment and emphasis upon church authority would serve to annoy Edward. The parties were brought before the king where the cardinal pronounced the annulment before the frustrated countess and earl. But it wasn't over yet. The king removed himself. The second earl removed his glove and slapped Thomas on the cheek. "Name the hour, sir!" He said almost spitting in Thomas' face. "Master Regulas is my second, sir," Thomas said. I stepped forward to arrange the details. "At sunrise tomorrow in the Shepshed meadow." "The choice of weapons?" I knew the answer. Since his return from war, Thomas had eagerly anticipated this dual and spent many long hours with his fencing instructor. I was also instructed on the art of fencing. And he used me for his fencing partner. Thomas postured himself in ballet-like movements, holding the left hand to the square and using fancy footwork to execute his blows. His enthusiasm for dueling went unabated. "The sword!" No amount of pleading or crying from Lady Maude could prevent this match. Thomas had waited a lifetime for it. It was the only thing which could mollify the wrong done him and satisfy his honor. As for the second earl, who knows why he wanted to dual except for pride lost to the king? He was unhappy in the arranged marriage and had no need of her inheritance. It happened so quickly. The seconds appeared with the dualists in the meadow and exposed the weapons. The two knights waited for the count before assuming their positions. Thomas was in prime condition. His prowess and agility outmaneuvered the second earl's every move and within minutes, he struck a crippling blow in the earl's leg. He fell helplessly to the ground. His second
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confronted him. "Can you stand, sir and deliver the second blow?" "No." Then turned to Thomas. "My Lord, are you satisfied?" Thomas hesitated, remembering the war and its long lonesome nights yearning for his Joan. How could he ever be satisfied? He could kill the earl now without consequence. But all that he could see what the sweet face of Joan. So he shoved the sword into his scabbard. The second earl breathed a long sigh of relief. "I come now to your castle to remove my wife." "The way is clear," he said.
Thomas realized his dreams; he had his beautiful Joan and the crest of the noble house of Holande. His security was assured. His fortunes dramatically. After the death of Joan's father the earldom of Kent was passed to him along with its rich estates. The management of it absorbed his life and expanded my duties in delivering a vast correspondence which Thomas engaged among his peers as well as to members of parliament since his inheritance of that post. The ease and comfort with which I fit into the posh medieval life style lulled me into a sense of security so much so that I forgot about the key. Over due course, six children were born to them. The king's pesky war with France still brewed despite the bubonic plague sweeping Europe and wiping out half of the population plus the army. King Edward was determined to capture Normandy and King John coveted possession of the British Isles. On and on they charged. And once again the losses caused the king to prevail upon his noble houses to take up the sword and go into battle. Thomas went to the stables and selected his best horses. And sadly, his favorite little roan was chosen. "I will go along and care for the horses," I told him. It was during the fall of the year when we followed the trail of the Earl of Lancaster through the Crecy forest. Thomas was astride the little roan mare I followed on the back of her two year old filly. A gust of cold wind pushed a cluster of swirling yellow and red maple leaves above our
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heads only to float limply to the ground. A cold winter was ahead. But also death at the hand of the well fortified French. Even now, after the plague, we were outnumbered. Memories of the good life faded with each passing day on the trail and dropped me into a lingering depression. It never occurred that my days of happiness were numbered. But even the best of times are interrupted by circumstances beyond our control and in reality comfort is a passing joy. Happiness should be cherished for it's moment. Equally gut wrenching was the realization that I was no longer the messangae residing in a luxurious mansion home, addressed with the flowery words of noblemen, but simply a man, chilled by the damp and moldy leaves of the forest. The only thing remaining was to fight the French waiting on the other side of the forest. It was this reality which finally jolted the memory of my own reason for being in this thousand years. The trail ended at the fringe of a small village near Poitiers. The knights had assembled an impressive force of one thousand archers, three thousand cross bowman, seventeen thousand foot soldiers and five hundred knights in the low country. We had not caught up to the main force. Just as the earl delivered his vanguard into an open field, the enemy shot a thick cloud of arrows into our midst and flanked the rear guard. Thomas drew his sword above his head and digging his knees deeply in the roan's belly cut a path through the infiltrating infantry. In the confusion his mare stumbled and fell to the ground. The saddle and stirrups churned inward and as the sword to sailed into the air Thomas was caught under the belly. Again and again she struggled to stand to her feet but failed except that in the flailing and twisting Thomas freed himself. Excruciating pain shot up his right leg as he dragged himself to where the mares head lay in the dirt and the big eyes stared with terror. Arrows were deep in her neck and rump She snorted and neighed. He found his sword and prepared to do what he must. Then, using all the strength that he could muster, raised the sword and thrust it into her heart. The episode did not deter his determination to win the battle of Poitiers for his king. Then he lifted the steel blade high above his head and slashed down on the necks and shoulders of the crowding enemy. All day long the brave Thomas followed Earl of Lancaster's pursuit of the retreating French and just as darkness closed its curtain surrounded the fleeing king. No battle had been greater for England. That day they took two thousand captives but the earl of
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Lancaster had secured the greatest prize of all, King John II of France and Prince Phillip, the duke of Orleans. King John was visibly shaken. He tried to control his emotions, but his own capture caused his voice to quiver during the negotiations of surrender. He offered the Volois family to serve as his own hostage while he returned to France to raise the demanded ransom. With this done, the earl went to London where a treaty was drawn between the two countries, one which effectively passed Normandy, Brittany, Anjou, Manee and the coast extending from Flanders to Spain into the hands of King Edward. The earl took every precaution to secure a permanent victory. While the regular troops left for London with the hostages in tow, the earl's vanguard was detained in Poitiers to intimidate and continue marauding local villages as a further threat to King John. The injuries which Thomas sustained during the battle of Poitiers were permanent. His untended broken leg healed in a hideous contour. The crippling limp produced a biting pain in the calves and heels. But the raids did not stop with the villages, the English also enraged the pope by robbing local parishes. This busy activity incited a flurry of letters from the pope to Lancaster exhorting him to restrain his men and to provide protection for the Benedictine monastery of St. Jean d'Angely. When that message fell on deaf ear, the pope remembered his favor to Thomas and prevailed upon him. No one was more deeply grateful to the pope than Thomas for saving his precious marriage. During the long winter months spent on the Poitier frontier he engaged a tedious correspondence with the king urging him to stop the atrocities. In December and January a heavy blanket of snow kept the shivering knights in camp and prevented me from delivering any more letters to Windsor Castle. On the day of my return from London, several soldiers were buried. The bubonic plague seemed to have finished its toll, but still I worried. Thomas complained of headaches and more so than usual of the pain in his legs. He had a nasty cough which spit up a slimy sputum. There was a blank expression his eyes and he conversed with imaginary people. He seemed to be reaching into another world, perhaps the world of spirits. If only he remembered the Lady Joan, he could come to his senses. I commenced a dialog, telling him of her adoration for him. The sound of her name did energize his spirits but the fever soon overtook him. He spit up a slimy sputum tinted with blood. His eyelids turned a deep shade of purple. I had seen this before. His time of death was near. Not Thomas. Not this chivalrous knight! I knelt at his side to hear his last audible words. Warning: US and International Copyright Restrictions Apply.
"Tell my lady that I died with her name on my lips," he said with a rasping voice. "And that I pledge my love to her forever." "My lord, do you have anything for me?" I asked, thinking of the key. "Forgive me, my true and faithful friend. Take my sword," he said. I was spellbound by the moment of his death. He closed his eyes and folded his hands over his heart and his lips formed the words of a simple prayer. I cried. My sojourn with the knight had lasted through his manhood. I thought that I belonged with him. Sadly, I loosened the scabbard and buckled it to my waist. The sky gushed a torrent of rain into the white snow and a streak of lightning bolted across the sky. I began to run fast to escape the rain. I lost sight of camp and could find no shelter except for a bush, so sat under it shivering in the snow and cold tunneling rain. There was a sickness in the pit of my stomach and all that I could think of was Thomas' purple eyelids. When finally my own weary eyes closed, my dreams were a long series of troublesome questions.
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