The Long English Night of 1333

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

The Long English Night: A Chapter of Trade Wars

The war in England is coming to be called The Long Night of 1333, wherein one evening at a long session of parliment in the evening of winter, 1332, the House of Lords looked at a motion to reinstitute full monarchy and dissolve all parliment only until approval of the new reign was given to reform. In an excersise of free speech's guarantee, those faithful to the Griffin listened as those who could not even claim real faith with the Old Order went on of the benefits of the same. Did not England have her identity, did she not have a place in the Lord's Grace, sanctioned by right of having an ordained King on the throne? Let a charter be written them if order was the solution, let the Plantagenet heirs have their places as figureheads if only in figure only for the sake of a Regency to be established.

While the movement was supressed by vote to excercise it's mention and ideal from further sessions under the present that the legality of instating a new monarchy was impossible and illegal, the seed was planted. It was a seed that went to root in fertile minds. Fed on the soil of fed riot ash or lost glory of yore, the roots of the thing began to anchor as far north as York and as far south as Plymouth. It wasn't uncommon for any who traveled to the island to take back to the coast of France, thus all of Europe, the country's bittersweet blossoms as souvenirs. Still the money was plentiful and the progress constant, so no one stayed away for long.

Kingdoms rise, and with the rise of the Griffin's ceremonial office to regal enterprise, the Throne of England was in his shadow. Were he but born a whole Englishman, perhaps they would have better welcomed his presence with that of a Scottish bride who would be English made in marriage. It was too much however for the Old Order's staunch Royalist supporters to acknowledge the throne would be filled by a distant body that found better favor in all things Scottish. The Queen would be Highland woman, and the dynasty Scottish. Royalists then began calling for a solution to the problem again. Outside of parliment, they met in groups to discuss matters of principal for the 'True English' to consider:

If not by cohersion, then by force Prince Edward would be taken to become King Edward III, and until he could rule of his own, his reign would be established through a Regent.

By cohersion and plea, for women answer to this, encourage Princess Joan to take place as Queen. With this, the advent of clandestine marriage could ensure support of foreign powers as well as prepare what would come to be called 'Restoration England'. If she could not be married to the scottish King David the II, thus allowing her brother to become King in her place in the absence of the Queen, let her be given then unto some other place.



Throughout 1331 and 1332, numerous attempts were documented in regards to attempted kindnapping for the progency of the former King, some more violent than others. No attempts were illicited during the year of 1330. The only successful attempt was the taking of Elenore of Woodstock, sister of Edward and Joan, but the ransom was relinquished in exchange during parlay negotiations on account of Elenore's extensive decent into fits of madness or seizure. There would be no hope for Restoration in her. The one thing each side shared was an equal distate for the woman who was 'pardoned of murder by incapablity to govern one's self' in the matter of murdering a member of Parliment in the House of Lords. The man's fellow from the House of Common's was gravely injured, also. So Joan is a glittering brewd mare, and Edward a star who's glow is fading in prospect of another entity:

Let then the people recall Queen Isabella unto England, and bring with her a man who shall take place as King of England, his Majesty of the untied Castille and Aragon. Let God allow us favor in this, let him be coronated and consecrated, and let us find new merit


In the winter of this year, the blossoms on the tree of mal content were already fat and releasing the stench of their fragance long before spring was afoot. The call for a Spanish King echoed in the sediment as there were those whom held celebratoy gathering in honor of the Queen. Not only was she alive, but she had married well! Erstwhile in London the silence was palpable in the Great Hall. By Spring, both sides would now gear for a war that was across two fronts. There was the supression of the treasonist Royalists to handle, and the ending of their resources given by no less than the same Spanish diplomats whom profited from their merchants business, and also from the unraveling country. What a fantastic prize England would be, and so close to the likes of France and Belgium.


So in begins the Long English Night, a series of long days and nights in which the true power of the new Griffin's England is tested.

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

Scenes Between Friends and Comerades, In Secret


Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine

It was a new sound, this clicking in rhythm that kept in time with his heart; starting at the end of the mighty hall the gears all moved in sync with the next pulled in motion by the swinging of a pendulum as it passed over the glass face. It had been in a dream, one so vivid alive that all could have passed before him like the hands that moved round the numbers counting through the space and time; keeping track of what was wasted before it. Somehow, he felt it did not judge him--time, as wickedly as others did. It seemed to be the only measure of life that was left in his darkened tower, and left him clueless as to how much truly passed. Had it really been that long? Was that the sun setting upon his back just moments after he watched it rise.Jean-Claude felt himself under the fall of the night, when he still welcomed the day and his attention broke from visions that separated what little chance he held to humanity. It was madness as so often said, but somewhere in that face of the clock it all made perfect sense. With that realization he could breath again, his chest rose and fell heavily as he turned to find his way down the hall. It was a quiet hour, though his heart seemed to remind him that no matter how alone he felt, the hall was never empty. Somewhere the memory of happier years, and less troubled times could remind him his purpose was clear. The fire burned brightly as even the warmest spring night could not chase away the chill of where the sun never touched. Dinner had come and gone, but behind it left a bottle of the seasons best--and with hope a certain added person to the chair next to his own. With book idle under his hands, he could not pretend to be interested, not with the return of the Lady Governor, and the fleeting fading memory that the darling Angel had in fact been home..if only a short while. (d

Lady Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

The hall was an organism made of the finest building material that money could buy; the walls vibrated with constant pulse in the hours no matter what celestrial orb held dominion over the sky. Windows flooded now with the light of the moon, the sun's promise of gold still hours away. Silver waltzed congruent in variety of angles with both pale and stained glass. Shadows slit light, a welcome invasion, for it covered the path where her body's absence leftno reminder of a time before that said she had ever been. Claramae always was, however silent, a constant. She was the incarnate reality made flesh of what housed them in stone. Royal purple gown gave sign of instituion served. Of what, perhaps, made real royalty. But tonight she would not lay her body prostrate in respect for the invisible foot of the King to step upon on his way to the dias, nor be that which constructed it. Woman met man with wine to share, with tales to tell. The change of the wind was slight enough to kiss the fire with hints of English roses and lilac. (d)

Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine

All days are nights to see till I see thee, and nights bright days when dreams do show thee to me. Her very air could breath life back into a body that seemed so long at sea without it. His travels in France had not ended on bad notes by any means, but the strain it put on he and Adelaide's relationship was enough to never fancy the idea of returning. However, there had been such a part of him that was reminded of how dearly he missed it all, and how vacant the shores of Scotland seemed to be especially in the spring. "J'ai manqué vous.."The sound an elegant sweep over his tongue that brushed a smile over his lips as his eyes met the doors.So very much..Could have followed on path with the confession, but he did rise to greet her having known she was there long before his eyes could find her. There was much of his perfected manners that was lost upon the youths of the court, that no matter how old or dear a friend you never miss out on proper greeting. "Come..sit for a while. I have been at ends waiting to hear of your England." He smiled offering a hand to escort her to the chair. "I nearly came to your bedchamber, though I am certain that is the last rumor we need at present." He smiled lightly at his stale form of a jest. (d

Lady Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Your discretion and manners would prohibit such an affront, nor was the matter so serious that a seige was necessary, for in due course all things are revealed, monsieur." Pieces of brown twist-twined like vines while the remaining tresses hung low. Fabric formed to figure in creativity's fashion, and it was no wonder that should he have advanced to such a place, the walls would whisper a new topic. "Besides, your ears would burn with such things are said, my constant amusement at placing me in the King's chambers for many years has proven to also be one that no man or woman of culture should endure." Petite fingers fell across the upturned ends of his for the escort of a short, short distance. She bled beauty with the same ease she commanded (or did herself) the cutting of a throat. He was treated to her haunting, rare refrains. The song in a small that revealed woman inhabited the body piloted by some unknown God's alchemy. "Your company would do many in the service of His Majesty well in London. What of London shall you know first, what is cosmopolitan or what is dastardly?" (d)

Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine

He chortled a small laugh behind the shadow of his face, his hair falling before his eyes as he took his seat only to replace itself over his chest like glass. "Every time I hear that rumor I can not help but laugh, Claramae--Adam would not know how to the handle you, even with such a Queen at his side." Of course not intended to insult his King, but how did one hold such a deadly beauty and not be a brute of a man. There were days even he wondered of her husband. "I should like to hear of England from another point of view. Business keeps Julian there often throughout the year, the market much more mature then that of our own. How is the University?" A true passion came forth as if he sat at her feet and looked up at her with wide eyes; though in fact his back was pressed to the chair and the fire casting eerie shadows over his face."I gave many lectures there before the church took hold of course." He mused at the thoughts, until his silence broke once more, "Has it changed very much since the war? I feared it would. There was a certain charm London held above all, that even Paris could not compare." It was the darker underside where the laws were simple outlines, and the human body traded like bottles of port. It was very easy to get his hands upon any of the matter. "Are you at all threatened by the rumor of a rebellion?" This was idle conversation between them--cabbages and kings. (d

Lady Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

She sat down in a chair with a high back, sumptious cushion, and an outline that made it feel as good as the word home was to say. Home was not in London; as the years had passed the want to remove herself from the office, to return to the fundamental subterranean feel of her work in the womb of the great Ebony Hall. To be birthed a new life carved of the old's merits where two with records as long as Genesis might reside in peace. In truth, there was still a love in her heart of England that would never fade; the removal of Edward from the throne was a trauma that all whom loved Aberdeen but were English born recovered from with scars. "The University thrives, and Oxford and Cambridge benefit from a the new money that flows as if we were New Jerusalem, those seeking ot make impression make considerable donations for resource, improvement. Indeed, the King's spread of knowledge as per all men erects itself in the construction of a new college in London, and at York. There are to be new churches. What is now of the court is what comes within the main castle, of the Duchy of England, and its four primary earls. The dissolution of what I myself, as a girl has known makes the later fluid - a little too fluid - but lucrative. Of course rebellion is a constant. We have crushed no less than two large, one small in the last several years. They take time to orchestrate given the law's clarity and a certain measure of installed fear." She did not rule with the same sense of constant benevolence nor did Vincere guide the military with a feather. Disobidience was turned with a steel ridden hand to match the exterior of the Ducal pair that held civility these fives years. "I am not a cruel scophant, nor am I am fool. Public presence means heavier discretion utilizing usual means, but it is necessary. Within the first two years alone, I can not give you the exact nunber of Lord parlimentarians that were taken from our Lord's earth. Now, what gives the former royalists support is that Isabella has merged herself with Aragon andCastille, unfying them through her marriage, which means she bends the ear of not one, but truly two kings. The wife of the Castillian King is a Portugese Infanta, and under threat of invasion must remain faithful to his wife, but will seek for himself restitution given what he now relinquishes in merger. The threat of a Spaniard on English soil to sit as King is as real as any English quarrel to the French throne, or any to any thrones of Europe. Royal marriages are infintely merky by their nature. At any rate, we shall soon make a hard use of the full regalia of the new Griffin Army in England. Upon my return we shall be within full war with the Royal sympathizers of the Spanish, and even those who make offense at the former Princess Joan not marrying he whom would have been lord of Scotland, King David. With this as well comes Edward's heir himself, Edward the III is the Griffin's protege now, an unforgiveable offense to staunch minds. It is enough to believe, in confidence between us two, to turn my own private armies out with the main, and to stand ready to lead myself in the event of Michael's prolongd absence. (d)

Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine

Somewhere while she spoke he had cracked open the old pages of the book, to search over the images there sketched of outlined mathematics turned formulas for the current subject of his study. There upon the bridge of his nose rest his reading glasses, the thin silver frames however did not last long, as her words went deeper. His heart hit hard against his chest as he looked out the rim of the frames to take in the sight before him. "My god, Claramae, when had it gotten so dire?" Suddenly his attention of the University seemed so trivial compared to the rest. Of any that knew of the madness of kings, it was in fact he--Adelaide more; Phillip had taken a turn for the worse. He closed his eyes pulling forward enough to lean in a little more with the conversation spiraling through the wonderings. She did this alone? A hint of her husbands absence there with the words she spoke, could have been enough of an open invitation even for him, but he had little reason to pry other then he cared very dearly. Her beauty was well known, though so few could see through it. Was she really so tired? Lowering his voice, he pulled away the glasses to reach across the small space that separated them, and took her hand. "Claramae..Mon diamant..You are going to over do yourself. Take a deep breath, Mon Cher, and have a glass of wine. You are home now." In truth it had surprised him greatlyto learn of the fates at odds there on distant shores. "It is surprising to learn of this. I must admit I'm a bit angered you have not wrote me. I have a good firm hold on the upper hand in politics, and if it meant this much my identity could be given. You would be surprised to learn of what house I live in France. Though..is not the threat of the Griffin Army enough?" Lord knew the questions that ate away at him, but balanced now upon right and wrong. She needed to rest, but this was what they did no? "Peregrine has told me the waterfronts of dangerous, that the talk of a war there has forced him to ground his ship. I've not known him to ever miss a season. Ever." Pushing forward, he let the book remain open as he sat it over the foot rest, "You can not do this alone." (d



Lady Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

Politics in their very nature are the talk by which we justfiy simple actions, the second of which we better fathom.. she thought this while not saying it out loud. Looking down at his hand, the face that regarded him was in utter composture, as if discussing the change in climate that came with spring on the Island. Cabbages, kings, the prevention of royal blood's regicide or new blood's denial to rule was as simplistic an act as the flexcing of fingers thatarched over his until her palm lay flat. "It is not a matter one pens in letters, Jean-Claude. What would you have done, but as you do now? What aid would you have offered but that which endangers your exsistence, which can not be added to the equation? Come now, you know me better. You have stared at my own mortality with me, enough to know where in lay fear and where in lay the full extention of self as servant. This extreme was within the vow of office, writ or no, and without a strong English gate the Mo'r Triath at the time would have had an English hoarde to kill him in no less than three years after his conquering." Political sense justfied word rational. Word for word. "Peregrine is correct to ground his ship, the waters are far too hostile. We are preparing a war upon all fronts, in particular the naval. He is good to stay away lest all Griffin ships be conscripted to the service of the waters in which they drift, and it is by fortune the King is a man of advances, and his Queen a woman of sea worth, for we have an armada to meet an armada, but the ships of Scotland now as we speak are making for English ports.This has not been said, for it was no the time to say it, not during their coronation days. England, my lord, will not fall. To be blunt it can not. We provide enough of a diversion for the Spanish that they move not at Scotland itself, and stay away from the conflicts brewing just to the West, on Isles Lewis and Harris. A man named DuChere has claimed the Isles' succession in the event of the King's crowning, which he cannot. The isles are of the Hebrides and the first principle country, being Skye now. He has had his own Weapon'smaster there for months readying the fortifications if necessary. Skye will not be touched, but I will not say that her watery borders will not see blood,nor that england will not run red with it. If I am fortunate, and time allows, we may see aid from the Germans. But this of its very nature shall change the face of Europe. Let alone the waters of the East" (d)



Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine

He would scoff at her words, something so few dare be brave enough to tempt. "I am not worried of England, Clara, of any I have faith in you the most to see it through the harder times. However, what I worry of is another war. Who is to not say that Spanish crown would not go to France? Or get to the Germans first? If it is England they want, would they not go through us first?" He stood then to fill the space nearly from floor to ceiling, a very tall man whose frame was bulky despite it's thin nature. "We have good connections with the Italians, what of them? Where would they stand?" Perhaps it would be best if he questioned the exiled Princess. He would have to get to Adelaide, and pray she would be willing to leave for he would venture to England at all costs. "I have no doubt you have informed the King, but has he the army? Are they prepared? And of Janice. She is not to venture anywhere else around the East. Not until this is over?" Of course it always fell back to the darling, who stood across from him a woman no doubt, on the eve of his return. "Let me help you. Please." (d


Lady Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"The French are neutral in this, but your asertations are correct. There is perhaps a few things holding them now, but this seek of conquest may embolden them. I told you, Jean-Claude, this will change the face of every known thing. Say you this to no one: It is said an unknown brother of his majesty is laying claim to the Strait of Gibraltar. The source of this stems from his dealings with the Berber,seeking to open the route in diplomacy yet know the deal is abhorrid. The Amir is a known tyrant, and now Morocco shall be embroiled a war there. The Spanish hold as much influence as the Italians in this area. Imagine the detrimentif the Strait closes? Ah no. If they Anger france they shall war with France, if they anger the Italians they anger the Italians, but as of yet the fullest extent of foreign particpation is the immediate connection Spain has through Isabella, if this can be quashed, other things may fall with it. If it is not, and the King provides sanctuary and residence to whom he does..they wll come for him at his heart. The Germans are endeared to him you have no worry of this, many princes and men of the Empire, along with the Scandavians, because of his keeping with the old languages from the conqueror days of the Norse. If you seek to do any good of present times, you will inform Lady Inveryne and the Princessa that they are not to leave this Island, under any circumstances. Their powers and influence may give great clout to the King, and they will need what he has to keep of their lives. Janice..." Upon this she softened for she knew of his adoration for the woman who would to them forever be a girl, "Inveryne might pen a letter to assist her coming, but she is beyond our influence at Spanish Court. We have gone to great lengths to destroy all evidence of the trail irrant papal spies laid forth for her drawing out and killing, so they can not trace her to the King. This is all I could do, and perhaps send what other might be spared to act as another guardian for her, she has several, but if they seek to lose interest in the abilities she has..I fear greatly what will become of her. I have no doubt they would burn her at the stake. The king knows and it is England's forces that stand at the ready, and the forces are mighty. You are not to tell them how untorrid it is outside of my presence, you will bring them here. This will not even be discussed in the public parliment. It is a matter only for the royal discretion, for all too soon it will be known publically." She said at the last, "We have long had dealings go split with the Spanish, they sided with the English in the last war and it failed. those that were courted by promises of success have quickly turned. Those that are loyal to Adam will face persecution. You know how passionate the Scottsman is, Turas Lan is an exception to the rule. (d)


Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine

A few foul words left his lips in the French that so often decorated it. His gloved hands came to touch the mantel that held the fire, it burned too hot even for he, and with it he turned away. "You should know better then to ask that." He meant of his silence, "Though I do not know for how long. It is time to come from our slumber, Claramae. Time to pull away from the shadows and back into the night. Let it be tried first with us, and then the brute force? A plan I feel behind you, and know this..I have deep faith. I would like to follow Janice to Spain, but I fear the royals there know me dearly, Rosalind, and Peregrine as well." From times long forgot,"I would send my apprentice if you so wish, and behind him I place all of my faith. Though I doubt he would be very keen on the idea." A hand came to run the length of his face as it all sank in, though suddenly he felt the strength of ten men leave away that old age. Perhaps he was not as old as he appeared. "I would be best in England..but she can not go alone." Gathering his coat, there was a storm brewing behind black eyes that knew of a plan to which he would go and find Rosalind. Lord he would never sleep now. (d)

Lady Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"The time for subversion is fading, and the time for action is nigh. Your time is limited. I leave on the ship for London within another day, no more than two. I came expressly for the coronation, so whatever assistance you seek to provide in intrigue is best sheltered on the Duchy ships, and the assistance to the Lady deBrabant must make to me within that time. Your apprentice - you are aware they rue one another. Yet if he has some skill that might be fitting, he shall serve. Partnerships thrive on difference. Remember, you must tell none without my presence, so hasten them here upon the morrow Jean-Claude. It seems I may well see you in England. Steal yourself - it is far more beautiful, and thrice as vicious than you could ever remember." (d)"

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

The Proposal for England
-An Honorable Commision Given unto Sir Martin lePower, senior architect and engineer, and his honored company-
The Proposal:

Duchess of England, Lady Govenor Claramae St. Laurence Vincere has contracted the services of Martin LePower, a senior expert in architecture and war constructions for a two fold purpose. That purpose is the advancement of the ducal state of England in both aesthetics and defense. Currently, the first proof of service will be in war aspects with:


The immediate quick progression of begun defense fortifications along the English coast in the following places against seaside warfare and land breech in
- Plymouth
- Isle of Wright, just off the coast of Southampton
- Norwich
- Liverpool

The immediate strengthening of the walls surrounding, against land or water attack by river
- London
With extra attention paid to the following landmarks
- London Bridge (structure is now stone, continued strengthening of new stones for old, new wood for old)
- Tower of London, Main Castle as well
- Westminster Abbey
- Parliment: House of Commons, House of Lords


The extending of service has been offered and ratified by the religious body having taken residence in Canterbury, on behalf of his holiness

- To take up any ideas for Canterbury, just beside London

The commmision of mobile war machines and armaments to enhance the strength of the Royal English Griffin Army in the center of the state, particular attention
-Nottinghamshire
-Birminghamshire
-Manchester
-Leeds

Where in Leeds the possibility of fall is too urgent to ignore, lest the rebels of the Royalist cause on behalf of King Alfonso of Spain, who seeks English throne through his marriage with the Queen Isabella. They must not have another secured hold, such as they have in York and gaining Northumberland.

An immediate giving of any already prepared resource to the campaign of crushing the rebel strongholds located in
-York
-Northumberland countryside



The process of work, good sir, is practicality before fancy, yet upon the securing of the land you shall have a canvas broad and vast to make your dreams upon in the name of Our Majesty the King. Let us together make the snakes come out of the garden, and you may show me what Eden appeals to thee.

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

The Proposal: In Speech
(written by the creators of St. Laurence and LePower)


"Your Grace, the magnitude of this grand plan is beyond words, and I am afraid beyond what is left of my life span." The old man looked at a list that he never in his wild dreams, and oh he did have some wild ones, would ever appear before him. "I know I can begin this plan, with much younger men at my side. There are entire crews from the abandoned castle building projects of the old King who might want construction work, once more." He tried to justify accepting an assignment which would be ongoing, even after his own death. "You should know, in spite of my youthful appearance, Your Grace, I am seventy-six years of age. Bluntly, how much time have I left? Enough to begin the plans? To see a few things begin? More I would hope." He stood leaning lightly on the sword-cane he called a walking stick. "Know this, If I am to accept this work, I will leave it so any might take over when I die. And I wish to be shipped back home to Waterford, when I expire. Until that time," He smiled a wide white toothed delighted smile to her. "Until that day, I am you humble servant, Your Grace." Martin bowed, the light gleamed on his bald head as if so many electric/lightening charges exploded as fast as the ideas came to him for the future project.

"The more immediate ones I am certain you will live to see given the speed required for their execution, of the grander? God grant you many more years, but should he deem to call you hence to your place at the side of Christ and Mary, you may rest well in knowing that what you describe shall be carried out unto the letter. " She cornered his doubt with logic spun not out of marzipan castles but firm brick. Reality would construct whatever he did now or later, "Help to spare what is our Rome, Greece ,and Alexandria and you may build parthenons, pyramids, and senate floors upon the hundreds. You may keep as many workers as you like, and draw from other regions. Call upon the Isle of Mann, many a man there needs work yet is too stubborn to seek it from the other regions. So you are seventy-six. This means you are securing your legacy in the work you do. If fighting occurs this is what we have both civic and private arms for, sir. If you fall ill we have physicians, and if you should die your remains would be blessed and you would be given a stateman's funeral." Enticing enough? She seduced with no show of flesh or coquette's words, but spoke to the man's desire of forever. She catned her head at his smile, finding her own seeking release but finding it only in a slight eye gleam. "You have my word that should you pass, you shall be taken hence to Waterfod, and by both our glories, we serve the King."

"Then, I accept the commission, with all respect to the honor you bestow upon this humble man." It was the promise of a final resting place back in his homeland that tipped the scale for lePower. He had traveled as a young man, he had seen the Holy Land in all its contested grounds, the fortifications and edifices that graced its sands, paying the fees and bribes to set foot where most travelers dared not wish to enter. Egypt had its own style of proportion and grace, as did the Moorish plazas in Spain, Minarets and palaces. Rome held aged shells of its grandeur still in place like so many skeletons in an over ground catacomb. Civilizations breathed their individual cultural air; this age had to express itself. He was willing to give his last years, his last breaths to this concept, unity of the people. True she did not try to tempt him with wordly expressions of her personal attractiveness. Her Grace was a lovely woman, but he admired her as one does a building. A lovely construction to house her magnificent mind. LePower was finally old enough to appreciate only the cerebral beauty of a woman. Even so, the idea of influencing a style of building, making his mark in history in stone got to Martin like nothing else. New building were to him as the grandchildren Aegraine might have given him, if she ever had children. He was about to launch a set of descendants like no other. Their outlines were already hatching in his fertile mind. "When the stone workers, the builders and crews are occupied, gathered from over the lands and building together, the new architecture will bear witness to the future of the unity King Adam and the dear Queen have brought." All he had to do was to inform his recently returned wife Aurilla that this was his destiny.

"God keep you Sir LePower, for we have an accord. I should, when England is fortified, like to see your properly graced with an introduction befitting. The same for your man, Jenks, and he the others who may form an esteemed company." She, too, traveled, but never for the same reasons as him. She graced the floors of the world so that she might crawl inside the nooks of the human mind. Of that, there was no better architect. LePower could bring to life any piece of the world he could recall. Roman grandeur, Greecian glory. What would such lovely testements of stone do for a youthful empire but enhance its sense of historical sense to remember what had come before? He would make a style of building where she would be remembered for deconstructing the government around said buildings while the man-made things stood, even if the men did not. "All is in your hands, my lord. You may bring whomever you elect with you, they may sojourn in my residence outside of London, as within may be frought with turmoil." Would he bring his Aurilla, or leave her for the marble, the lime, the granite?

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

The Possibility: Scenes of Supper before Depature



Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine
He cold have blamed it on the weather, the pounding there within his head but would the answer be so easy? The mixture of the night's conversations carried on into his dreams to run havoc around his head. There had been many points in the night he watched with an aching heart his nightmares come to life. The morning had been spent in confession, with the man upon one knee there before the alter where the quiet sang it's morning praise, and Jean-Claude opened up to God. "You know what I ask, I have no need to say it." Though the very admittance to another helped his heart heal with the hurt it felt for not being able to be everywhere at once. What was tried upon the Lady Inveryne, was given another attempt to a higher power. He simply wanted them all to return safe, "It is not much to ask." From the previous night he had collected himself rather well, with a ribbon to tie his hair back and a fresh change; there was little that needed to be put together. After a bath there was little he could fathom wanting more, then to hear the sound of little Genna reciting her morning verses. However, that time had come and gone, and now the business had remained within steady motion of the events at hand. The day passed, and now with the hall busy with the preparation of the departure of the Governor, as well the Little Sparrow that so dearly captured the hearts of all. He called together a dinner, to act as their meeting ground, and with every single detailed perfected the hall shimmered with the light of hope.




Julian Monroe
"Is this to be our last supper?" Came the voice of reasons lost, a jest that found very little humor in his voice. "For I will die on this trip, you are aware." Julian held a sense of power over the room, that many courtiers found arrogant, but it was simply more then just a style. Jean-Claude, had been given a chance to dress, and so too in the shadow of the man had he. A season ahead, the youth wore fashions that were unique on their own, the undertones very English.




Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine
"Come now..Julian, really." Jean-Claude criticized the youth, his white glove coming to straighten the silver as he inspected each place setting. (d




Rosalind Avalle
Rosalind woke early, and had nearly convinced herself Peregrine would leave for leafier pastures, except his arm was still around her when her eyes fluttered open. It would have been lovely to lounge in bed all day, just as he did, but the chapel called to her. If she could not confess yet to Peregrine -- her cheeks still flamed when she thought of the encounter -- she could at least confess to a priest. Or so she thought. For what must she atone? Lustful thinking? She would never admit to that in a million years, and certainly not to a stranger. It was another mystery of faith that must be put before Meurig. Rosalind, ever pragmatic, was going to get on with her day. It meant she must meet the barbarians currently sheltered in her house.




Nasrin al-'Anizzah
The dinner invitation was utterly unexpected. In other courts and secret societies, such introductions often took months. But after careful conversation with the Lady Inveryne, whom Nasrin found as intellectually stimulating as a lightning bolt but prickly as a cactus, it was decided she should be introduced sooner rather than later. She arrived on Inveryne's heels, covered in her traditional Bedouin wool robe, the richness of dye the color of blood, with a thinner cloth-of-gold piece of silk barely showing beneath the brim of the wool, and covering her hair quite effectively, while setting the unusually clear blue of her eyes on fire with gold flecks. Nasrin was as serene in battlefields as in times of peace, but even she looked more shocked than amused to find her companion had fled upon entering the hall. She turned around a few times, hoping to catch sight of Lady Inveryne, but her only company now was one of the Mongolian guards her cousin sent to protect her. Or report on her. Both were likely, and not mutually exclusive. *




Claramae Vincere-St. Laurence
"Have you seen that the Master's orders for supper were done in correct fashion?" "Yes Madame" "The guests are arriving?" "Yes, Madame." "See to it that the remainder of items are packed for the voyage tomorrow, also including the drunks of the Lady of Dublin, she shall have care with her things as she is family." The announcement of 'family' as it pertained to any sort of blood relation tied to the Vincere-St. Laurence woman was met with a sensationalist stare since gawking like a fish was entirely unpermitted. She forgave eye expression, however obvious. Not everyone was able to practice the stern control of locking every measure of face or figure to appear only as stoic. Meetings were always held over good silver (a rarity in a pewter loving world) and china (another rarity attributed to far flung imports). Over good linen they discussed matters that would put the world on the head of a pin with the cavalier of figuring out the placement of seating for a feast. It was a certain degree of civics gone made that infected the Hall occupants with grace, class, intelligence, and composure found no where else in their respective cultures. Her descent down the staircase was marked in damask dress of soft sea-green with gold impressions in horses and vine. It was spring, afterall, and in the hall she deterred from one color symbolism as it was entirely silly at home. Her hair was left down with certain portions rolled back and held by pearl pins. "Good evening," said the well aged woman with no mark of line on face to Nasrin, "I bid you welcome. Lady Voltaire, " will you attend, thank you." Visitors were offered up platters of fruits or drinks that simply should exist in a drab, gray world, but the nations were anything if no longer drab. So colorful were they that scarlet was all the rage in England, in blood spots across tunics and dresses, bleeding over skin --




Evangeline O'Cathasaigh
Where as the follower upon the step behind the Govenor was not as stoic, and actually smiled. Their resemblances were remarkable, and even fair and dark headed, they could have been sisters (d)




Julian Monroe
"What if I told you I won't go?" Like a child he stayed upon Jean-Claude's heels, trying to see reason into the elder's mind. With each place setting Jean-Claude inspected Julian was not far behind, forcing the older man to meet his eyes--begging reason back into his madness. "I can't speak Spanish, or..whatever barbaric tongue they speak." He narrowed his eyes, startling blue they were full of inelegance beyond his years, but a stupidity all the same. "Where would I stay? If I even got there. That pirate sails like he's drunk." Frustration built on anger, as he narrowed his eyes to the back of Jean's head while the scientist openly offered a small laugh at the youth.




Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine
"My dear boy, what if I told you--you hadn't the choice." There was a key note of seriousness to his voice as he continued over the table, seeing to it the wax candles were lit. "Besides..it is Spain, Mon Ami, think of how great a lesson it will be with you rapier. There are none other in the world better." It was a small passion of his apprentice, though the style of swordplay still too new to be given true names, but the heritage of it dated well back into the ancient roman era. "Perhaps you shall come back with new ideas. Janice, can speak Spanish just fine, and the Lady Inveryne has sent forth many letters for a safe passage. Have faith would you? Take this a reason to broaden your learning, in studies I could never begin to teach you. What you could learn simply from Mon Ange, is enough to fill an entire book.." Or twenty.




Julian Monroe
"Rosalind hates me. She'd rather see me dead." He replied with his arms coming to cross over his chest, and a brooding face to flash through his eyes. The sight of Claramae could have even taken his breath away, though his reaction would never be like his Master. Jean-Claude, made it well known at what a lovely sight while he was happier and best back where he could watch from his corner.




Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine
"The Lady Inveryne, Julian would wish no such thing, now come..let us be gentlemen, see to it they find a seat." He would wave his glove to the boy who would in turn move to help those who entered into a chair. Shocker..I know. (d




Nasrin al-'Anizzah
"Thank you, I am very glad to have been invited," Nasrin said cordially, taking in first the face before her. A lovely woman, yes, with smooth skin and trim figure. Nasrin stood quite a bit taller than even some of the men present at nearly six feet tall; there was nothing tidy or trim about her, save the natural grace she'd been born with. "I am Nasrin, a current guest of the Inverynes." She produced a small letter of introduction that the Lady had given her. She had thought it for the court, but now realized she'd been intentionally abandoned. Nothing her hostess did was ever without purpose, or so Nasrin had discovered, so not even a wrinkle of worry appeared upon her brow. She glanced past the woman, her lips relaxing a modicum at the sight of Jean-Claude. They had stayed aboard Peregrine's ship on the journey back from France, though she had deduced through the eye of a telescope Jean-Claude was not the sort to frequent the decks during the voyage. He may even suffer the same unlucky ailment as her husband, no doubt aided by the scent of the Mongolian horses in the hold. *




Claramae Vincere-St. Laurence
"You are welcome within the home, please. Partake of what you wish, the Master d'Aquitaine will no doubt call to supper in a moment. Welcome to Turas Lan, m'lady, on behalf of the Inveryne. Where has your hostess gone?" People vanishing. Nasrin would become used to it, the people simply seemed to bleed from walls or vanish in mirrors here like ghosts. She took note of the letter of introduction and was appreciative for Rosalind' simpeccable manners on the subject, though Nasrin's living body was enough to note she would not be a corpse by mid supper lest Rosalind would have mentioned if she needed a person to be deceased. "Might I make an introduction, Lady Nasrin? My lady cousin is also a guest this evening, though her travels are not as extensive as your own. She comes from Ireland, Dublin."




Evangeline O'Cathasaigh
"Thank ye, Lady Govenor for bein sae kind, Lady Evangeline O'Cathasaigh, of Dublin." The fair, pale hair with the white skin was in stark contrast to the rich brown hair, though both had varying degrees of green hazel or brown hazy eyes. A dress of emerald green decorated the Irish celebrant, for where both were Anglo Irish the voice was evident to where each was born and had longer called home. She dipped in a fashion that would have shocked anyone who had tried to en-culture the Irish and call them barbaric.




Claramae Vincere-St. Laurence
Duchess of Dublin, though under his majesties new structure, she stands as the Countess of an extensive Irish real estate including many counties."




Evangeline O'Cathasaigh
"We needn't bore the the good woman with such particular, twill be recited in courts enough Ah'm certain. " She was also not wound as tight as her cousin either, though no less elegant. Or was the outer looseness as much a survival mechanism as Claramaes flat face? (d)




Julian Monroe
Always did he feel so nervous at events like this where he could cut through relationships with his bitter tone in seconds. However, tonight he kept quiet his mind going over the steps of the ladies and counting each one. Should he find the factorial of the number? For good sport he worked through the mathematics with the tapping of his wrist as his hands were behind his back waiting to seat the ladies. He would offer his arm to Claramae to seat her, but his eyes could not be taken off the foreign lady they spoke to. Once, he would see them seated Julian would make his way over to Jean-Claude who was busy in the pages to be handed out after dinner was complete.




Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine
The service would offer him a glass of wine, but he would wave it away, "Not tonight, Mon ami." His attention curbed upon the text of the work beneath his fingers until his apprentice captured his attention with questions of the origin of the new face. Jean-Claude would raise his eyes to where he spoke and his heart stopped. "Pardon.." He would flag the service in a failed attempt at his sudden second thoughts of staying sober. Like a puppet on it's strings the scholar would straighten himself and welcome them all. "I should have known those horses were not gifts." Where was Peregrine. He was going to skin him. (d




Rosalind Avalle
"Your Grace, a pleasure." English was not foreign to her tongue, but the titles and honorifics were. They simply had never come up in her studies, and had been learned upon the ride into Turas Lan. Her accent was fluid, moving between consonants and hard vowels like the wind upon an empty plain, unlike the Irish woman's, whose sounded more like a song she had never heard, but with familiar lyrics. She inclined her head to both ladies, and when they were bid to be seated, took a chair opposite the scientist. "I have never before been to Ireland. It is too far north, even for the most adventurous of my people. But I have heard stories. That mine are too delicate for your cold wet winters does not mean yours have not had exotic travels."She was too polite to say the Duchess's people came with swords to steal her people's sovereign territory, of course, but such was the life of a diplomat. Nasrin only very rarely gave cause to offend anyone, and of them, the scientist might possibly qualify. She had held his card in her deck, and had been more than willing to play others more valuable. Yet she had promised to duly compensate him, and she would -- with a wealth and treasure of knowledge none of this land could hope to achieve in a single lifetime. Nasrin stood by her word, even if it meant staring down an opponent over the tip of his sword. "I do not know where my hostess went, but she was kind to accompany me thus far." *




Evangeline O'Cathasaigh
"Aye, a pleasure indeed m'lady. The chagin' times are suffice tae say I may nay know wot m'title is, but what e'ere it is it's purpose remains the same. Perhaps we shall trade stories taenight, the cold gray of Ireland is riveted by her Green, e'en greener than Scotland. Tis true we aer nay yet as prone tae culture in all areas as our Scottish protectors, but our own stories hold an ear rapt I say. M'thinks m'cousin is the true her grace by posistion o' his Majesty and just bein'. We're both strangers in a strange land aye?" Ireland had it's bastians of drawing in the advancements of the time, but each culture was different. Ireland was Ireland. Ireland still suffered from old
English lords, abandoned, still vying for control unaware their time was done but with too much resource to be made to let go. She was subject to beating off raiding clans from the pale with Black Rent, and on her return would paint for the Mo'r Triath a real story of liberation. Not that his did no good, mind you, but the Govenor was up against the draw backs of his own people. If there had only been no spirits ,the Irish would have ruled the world some




Claramae Vincere-St. Laurence
"Should the Long English Night come to its end, we may well see a strange thing across your Pale, cousin. English forces driving out English descendants."




Evangeline O'Cathasaigh
"Would tha' nay be the day!" And her exact reason for being. You ee, while she was no sell sword or killer like her cousin, she had learned to deliver and transfer messages and secrets, and could hang half the Irish state without quarrel. She knew the price of secrets, and would pay them to what her cousin had become for the chance to be free of all else that constrained her. One thing was gone, obviously. She was without a husband. Pitchfolks in stable walls will do that (d)




Julian Monroe
In a stable mind he had seen Jean-Claude waltz so effortlessly into conversation, but now he watched as his Master suffer from failing words. He was a man by age, though his schooling had been started late, and a title yet to call his own--Julian had many reasons to find a place inside the small ring of conversation. However, there was lack of interest until the very sight of the trio. He had never been to Ireland either, as there was little reason--the market there too turned around on imported foods then of cloth. "Ireland, no longer then suffers of it's baron lands?" An honest question could not have been timed on either side, but it was his cut within the deck. "Forgive my ignorance on the matter, I have had little reason to travel there, but what more is there then sheep farms..?"




Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine
"Come now, Julian, Dublin is just as diverse as London save for the pub districts of course." He smiled at his small jest as he came up along side of the young master, removing the silver frames of his glasses from his face. "Darling Evangeline, what a pleasure it is to see you again." He made pleasant greetings all around seating himself there at the head of the table, if only for the better view. "Come to help me convince your cousin to keep her head in England, until I can attend." His gloved hand came to touch the table next to Claramae, close there to her hand. "I am ready to leave whenever you are." He could not stand one more thought of her there alone. His eyes then passed to the Mongolian Princess with a very dark raise of his brow, "You could not begin to understand how truly surprised I am to see you here. Words could not express." (d




Nasrin al-'Anizzah
"There are people," Nasrin answered the young man's question. The only skin visible was the oval of her face, and the occasional glimpse of her hands if she used them to express a thought, which was rare in this company, though she was prone to gesture as she walked, used to as she was ordering men about on battlefields and not being heard over the noise of horses and machinery. "People are a country's greatest asset, its lifeblood, its heart. I would never underestimate their value." They supplied armies and kept them fed, they lived and breathed and created and died. Even should culture set them all apart, Nasrin would never underestimate humanity. Culture could be transversed. One had merely to look at her face, half that of a Bedouin, and half Mongolian. Or perhaps her marriage, to one of the fiercest tribesmen to roam this earth, the Jalayir. Or this gathering. She raised her eyes to meet Jean-Claude's. "I made a promise to you, Guyenne, and I would like very much to keep it." Should he choose to release her, she had no choice at the moment but to stay upon Skye. The waters were too dangerous to sail, even if she had a destination that would accept her. Too many Muslims burned in fires meant for Jews and witches. Too much enmity stood between Nasrin's people and those of the Holy Roman Empire, even if temporary alliances could be forged. Her empire would soon fall. And with it, all the diplomatic ties she had forged since the day of her birth. It was a bit like watching a sunset from afar, while weather gathered from behind. *




Evangeline O'Cathasaigh
"Well said, m'lady. Well said, we may be sheep farms but wool is the life's blood o' the island for clothing n' for food. While Turas Lan offers a way tae all, Ireland has well held her own. Twere the Irish n' Welsh people tha' had great law asset, and the Irish have a distinct style o' harp n' song tha' is well favored for its sound e'en o'er the Scottish, why e'en the Highland Queen has Irish strings upon her Scott's harp from time tae time. The unity at least allows for a sort o' exchange o' the Celts tha' we didn' enjoy afore. Unfortunately we excelled at the art o' self war fare." She offered a bewitching smile at the end of the too-true statement, but what country did not personify unification through self mutilation, or internal warfare? "Ulster is a literal bastian o' riches, as is the MacDonnel coastline, n' Dublin has its fair points." When she didn't have to pay black rent, but that time had drawn to an end. She poured her own money into beautifying and fortifying Dublin where her husband hadn't and others didn't care because of a renewed vigor against the Anglo-Irish. Really, those born there saw Ireland as their homes and their parents were more native than the natives. "The sun only rises on Dublin, n' the Irish good sir." So it would if such people kept striving for it. Culture in sunset was sad.


Claramae Vincere-St. Laurence
"Shall we continue to discuss this at the table, food grows cold and my dear Lady Volatire grows fickle with us if we leave it waiting." Evangeline remained on the arm of young Monroe as she took the arm of Jean-Claude. Where was Inveryne? She wasn't one to try for dramatic entrances (that was entirely Peregrine's adventure, wall inhabiting). Nasrin was a point of interest she yearned to hear about, and also wanted some background on possible French opinion. Surely no Frenchman would be delighted to Witness the spanish off their coast despite the fact they were doing battle with the English, as such wars are oft too comfortable for good proximity. "I am leaving in the morning, as are all whom wish to go. Was there some discussion about sending Monroe to Spain?" Fascinating, "I did not think his inclinations were..state servitude." A polite way of saying subterfuge creator, political mastermind, elaborate killer or secret keeper? Even evangeline excelled at her duty by sheer necessity and local useage. The idea of inserting her Irish kin into these matters was not favorable, but it was because of her Irish mother she stood here his very day. Evangeline's mother, her aunt, still lived, a mute in a convent. (d)




Peregrine Lamont
There was something rather shy about his wife tonight, the way she clung to him when they made their way in--baffled him. Something he could grow used to no doubt, he kind of liked those 'don't leave me alone here' eyes. Might just have to make their way back upstairs for round 5. "You got something troublin' you darlin." He cupped her back as they made their way down the stairs, "Or something you are trying to forget." The flush on her face was enough to tell the story again of Jean-Claude and his too much wine. Should he share his own adventure? "Couldn't have been all that bad." He touched her cheek, before kissing it. "Afternoon, Ladies." He called out to the open room, without any manner or diplomatic nature. "Evenin' whatever. Where is dinner? Clarmae, did you make me a pie?"




Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine
"Rainbows and bunnies." Jean-Claude waved his hands often thinking of Scotland just the same, "Forgive my young apprentice, but he shares my feelings on the matters of green lands. It nearly killed me to return after being in Paris, though with Skye's latest inclination towards the future I am feeling less and less crowded in my mind." A peek inside the clockwork of a man known for his madness, and now a place to work out through his thoughts. "I have to say I have never had a bad time in Dublin."




Peregrine Lamont
"Oh, I love Dublin."




Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine
Jean-Claude could not help but laugh recalling their small stay in Dublin, "We hadn't any money, and this one won a boxing match. Rather proud I was, and very happy to eat. Though, no doubt he would not remember half of the stay, drank from sun up to sun down, but it is Ireland I suppose." His eyes went to Rosalind, and already the color stained his cheeks as he took back a small drink of his water..no drinking tonight. Leaning into Claramae as they were seated, he would keep his voice low enough for the venture to be quiet of his honest truth, "Julian is scared to death, but he is ready Mon Diamant, I have instructed him to remain silent throughout the entire venture, to let Our Angel do the talking. He is a man of math, so do not judge so harshly. Politics are not his pleasure, but he learns very fast. Ignore what the court says about his backward manners, and trust me on this."The whisper ended with a smile, "He is simply headstrong, and willingly so. If they fall short of coin, my boy knows how to get it." He often would best even Peregrine in his skill at cards, even with the pirate cheating. "Remember when you were first sent out alone, how nervous you were I would suspect." Though he doubted himself. (d




Rosalind Avalle
"No, Peregrine, please," she whispered, grabbing one of the banister posts. She had just narrowly left the hall before Jean-Claude saw her, and was quite proud of having avoided the inevitable awkwardness of such a meeting. No 'don't leave me eyes' were present on Rosalind's face. She clearly did not wish to descend at all, and would quite happily stay in her hiding place until Jean-Claude was safely out of the way. Yet descend they did, Peregrine far too humorous for the occasion, his boisterous voice making her simultaneously want to smile and blanch in embarrassment, though the latter emotion had more than a little to do with catching Jean-Claude's eye. Like a sonnet, she composed herself, minutely shifting the blades of her shoulders back to square her posture. "Good evening, everyone. Jean-Claude, thank you very much for organizing this dinner, it is always a pleasure to dine with such exem-- " Was that Julian? "plary members of society." A boxing match? She glanced sideways at her husband. She would not put it past him, particularly if they were both hungry. Neither would she put the drinking past him, though she rather thought Jean-Claude was being diplomatic. This was the man who had taught her seven-year-old son to chase his whiskey with milk to reduce heartburn later. Not even his Scottish father had thought such advice was necessary. She took her seat beside the Lady Nasrin, and poured herself a rather large glass of wine. She had no compunctions against drinking, particularly if it helped unwanted memories slip out of mind. *




Claramae Vincere-St. Laurence
"My master was at crosses to send me out alone. If the young man has a skill for mathematics, I do wish you would have turned him here for some further education, we thrive upon analytical minds. Math is wholly analytical. While the Lady deBrabant is no stranger to mathematics, her mind will be too far into literature, he will make a good balance. Alas. I can not travel hence myself to witness." So she was prone to her moments of finding things 'droll'. Monroe paired with the daughter of her former master, the linguistic wonder from France, would be akin to watching a comedy of purposeful errors play out for her enjoyment. "Were they not needed in Spain one might have used them in England. Ah well. To each their own destiny. Good evening Inveryne." Said the scary nightmare always well dressed to the frosty one who enjoyed her wine, "Your guest is delightful in addition. I am glad you have brought her hence.Might I introduce to you my guest, the Lady Evangeline O'Cathasaigh, the Lady of Dublin and Ireland's subsequent surrounding counties to that area, my cousin." Her what?




Evangeline O'Cathasaigh
"The Lady has told me many great things o' ye all, it is a great pleasure. Good evenin', seems ye have a rowdy one in this one 'ere.." She looked at Peregrine with a tilted head, "like ye come right out' a pub n' a rowdy peasent wake, are ye certain ye aren't from Eire sir? Like somewot right from a song ye be. M'cousin has an assortment o' friends n' colleagues, how she does nay crack a smile about ye is a wonder." Where as this one smiled to near infectious proportins with her eyes alone.




Claramae Vincere-St. Laurence
"She will be accompanying us to England as both an observer and a messanger. along with her personal guard of course."




Evangeline O'Cathasaigh
"Aye, tae wot end I can be useful, o' course." (d)




Julian Monroe
There was a seat furthest from the group, where the space was empty, and the tray of fruits seemed fresh enough that their true colors bled upon the silver. Long bare hands found useful the number of grapes upon his plate, how they could resemble the stars, and the various key points of a map. It was but a game really, where he was teased often because he knew not the rules. In the great hall he always felt out of place, only because he desired very much to fit along with the same stone structure. He hung onto every word Jean-Claude said of the Ebony palace, and with it his excitement finally edged forward--whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was thankful to go to Spain.




Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine
Jean-Claude watched the young man from down the table, listening to Claramae with a lean on the arm of his chair. Like some royal king he looked tonight, a prince of the underdark to many, but there was a danger to him from jaded years of serving to another cause. Dark eyes clouded over, where even the light could hardly find reflection as he swam the black waters of his mind for an answer. "Because I didn't want to let him go." Came his confession, and somewhere along the edge of his lips her name could have followed..like I had to Janice. "But it is time..he's too brilliant and eager to learn for me to shelter him." His eyes passed on to the service and would motion for one to bend so he could whisper, and soon the man would take off to offer a small elegantly wrapped box to Rosalind. His first, of a thousand gifts to make up for his vial behavior the night before.




Peregrine Lamont
"Oooh, child, you got me there." He smiled, that very cheshire grin of his no doubt looking the part of just coming from a pub. "I don't fit in here, but really I don't fit much places. A bunch of stiffs the lot of them." He whispered leaning forward to better look Eva in the eyes, and to share his thoughts a bit easier. "I'm not certain I'm from a song, but you could write one if you wish. Start somewhere about a handsome brave sailor who won him a bonnie lass. Two if he played his cards right." The devils grin as he laughed, shaking his head, "Forgive me, I've not heard anything about you. Though..only time you get Claramae to talk is when you hold her down and twist her arm...good luck with that, I've yet to accomplish it." His hand came to touch Rosalind's knee, looking down at her new bracelet, and meeting Jean's eyes. No doubt they would be having a fun conversation later. Of what first? Rosalind, or Nasrin? "Rosalind, and I are going to come to England.--Spain, one of the two. Aren't we sugar?" (d




Rosalind Avalle
"Yes, I have former family to visit in Aragon," she said with all the dryness of toast, glancing at her husband as if he had lost his marbles. She coughed politely and took another sip of wine, setting the cup down and examining the bracelet on her wrist. She looked to Jean-Claude and gave a very small smile, but for Rosalind, it was enough to know she had already forgiven him. The oddity of the night before had not yet fled her thoughts, however. "I believe my services best suited for remaining on Skye. I've heard quite a few stories of the King of France's utter madness; I would not put harrassing the duchess of an autonomous province beyond his grasp." She sighed. But then again, she'd never had any real will to visit England.




Nasrin al-'Anizzah
"Spain," Nasrin said thoughtfully, putting a finger to her lips in thought. "It has come up in conversation during my diplomatic endeavors in France. Tell me, have you heard of this man, this merchant, James du'Chere?" *




Claramae Vincere-St. Laurence
"Du Chere? Do speak openly Nasrin, he has been a subject of my constant research. You at this table will be privy to knowledge only the King and the Queen hold, as is custom it remains within these walls. Lady Nasrin, I am sure you are quite capable," as Inveryne probably told her absence of such would be absence of head. If she had further information, it would be absence of feeling. While torture was not a public practice in prisons, these were the only agents allowed to utilize forces of 'humane terror' with no need for iron maidens or racks. Their bare hands and a few simple tools were enough - but enough of that, "James du Chere has claimed the succession of the Isles Lewis and Harris from the crown as independent provinces. Given this is not in the will nor true legality as his Majesty has no desire to lose the area known as Stornoway, there will more than likely be a battle with this Du Chere over the matter. Wha thave you to offer further Lady Nasrin, and from where does it originate?" (d)




Nasrin al-'Anizzah
Nasrin smiled slowly, in such a way it was clear few enjoyed seeing the gesture upon her lips. It was feral. It was knowing. Though Inveryne had warned her this was more trial than dinner, and Nasrin was ever ready to answer her judges, it was readily apparent she thrived upon the passage of information and knowledge. This was a woman who made and broke countries, who had led men to battle, but had also stopped battle with a merciful stroke to the neck in the darkest of night. Hers was a posture formed upon long hours of riding for her life, but also for staring torturers in the eye, and living to see another day by the grace of whatever deity to which she prayed. Luckily for them all, these judges wielded softer instruments, and her response was nearly word for word what du'Chere had told her in the garden of Auvergne. "Philip went on a hunt, and used Auvergne as his base. Not long after the party arrived, he shut himself away from his courtiers. Only those he truly liked were invited, of course, but there were some who straggled along, begging audience. One of them was this merchant, James du'Chere, who failed to know his place in the court, and seemed intensely dissatisfied that a foreign delegate should have access to the king where he was barred." She lifted her eyes heavenward at the audacity of the common man, as well as his idiotic sense of self-entitlement. "He asked to what purpose my party arrived in France. I told him what I tell you now, that the Ilkhanate seeks to crush the Seljuks and various tribes breeching our western borders. Their ports are rich, the trade connections many and varied, and for many years, my people have sought a Franco-Mongolian alliance. It is finally come to fruition, and we arrived in Auvergne with a delegation of soldiers and ambassadors from both Rome and Avignon. Our crusade is inevitable, but du'Chere wished us to ally ourselves with Spain." Here was a man who knew nothing of cultural memory. An alliance with the Church was more probable than one with such a long and bloody history with 'infidels' as Aragon or Castile."He claimed Skye wished to conquer the lands of Bab el-Zakat to control the straits, using trade as a leverage to control foreign lands, forcing them to submit to the Gaelic authority. But if the Ilkhanate favors Spain...." She shrugged very lightly, elegantly, beneath the heavy robes she wore, and steepled her fingers upon the table. "The people who travel under my protection, we have nowhere to return now. The waters are too dangerous to sail, and no Christian nation will have us, now that our errand in France is complete. I do not sing for my supper, as the proverb goes, but a place to lay my head and have it intact upon the dawn in exchange for my services to the court -- this is all I ask. The gentleman will attest to the fact I have come armed not with swords, but with books. I believe these are far more valued in this land than swords, in any event." *




Evangeline O'Cathasaigh
Evangeline supped with an open ear. Inside of that ear lay a scribe that scribbled down the stories of the realm from abroad that would influence the little empire concocted out of tiny islands. Was Skye no longer that insignificant a man attempted to use them as part of his bargaining ploy wit ha woman from an advanced culture? She hadn't a place to discuss policy with the ease of Nasrin, for her world up until the end of the last year was situated around hour to hour survival. She was free now, but that freedom's cost was at the expense of her son, the one entity that was good in a world of terror.




Claramae Vincere-St. Laurence
"The utilizing of the Gaelic in his ploy suggests a knowledge to intimate to be circumstantial. He was attempting to insight the Frenh then, and inevitably failed due to his denied access to the King, God grants us small favors in that. The Spanish are..to put it mildy Lady Nasrin, busy. Their seperate kingdoms have merged into one, the Iberian pennisula feels the extent of its hand. To touch Spain would have been to touch fire, and it is to touch fire. Aragonese or Castilian, it matters little in the guise of their feverant brand of worship. We were party to many items of importance three years ago, of them alleged dcocuments detailing the ownership of the Isles I'v ementioned. They were attributed to this DuChere, returned on the good form of another Frenchmen. He showed them to me, not forgeries, but strange as to how they came to be fashioned. If he calls for the succession of those Isles, these are both the same man. His knowlege of Gaelic affairs means he has a personal relationship to tout. My analysis lends itself to a fear that the King's half-brother by his father is alive, and has adopted the name DuChere to replace Maubrey. There is rumors of another claiming war within the Strait, and we will look the part of renegades to be crushed. With Inveryne's introduction and my witness, you will surely find a place in the court with ease here. As you have surely seen there is a crosisng of culture here in Turas Lan not prevalent in the States, save in England. I also offer you succor within th ehall, and it's protection. You will find there is a bastian of knowledge to draw from and contribute to." Her mind began to work at a quickened pace, constant gears turning, "This will make the Spanish defeat in England of presisng importance, less the Spanish bring with them Holy Crusade against us all. There have been rumors of such. Evidence unearthed of unspeakiable torment on religious grounds in York..."




Evangeline O'Cathasaigh
"How will ye stretch across both London and Isle and Harris, ye can nay tell me this is possible?" She had a horrible vision she had told Faolan O'Connor, the knight whom often moved with her from day to day. That was of a world without the stronger Skye based Scotts as a protectorate, and he still completely unassembled Irish at the mercy of far worse than English conquerors. It was far flug he said due to the parells of the Irish sea, but they would seek to hit the states at their weakest junctures no? Mainland Scotland and England, the Islands of Scotland were the Strongest, the Welsh benefited from English nearness and their own tactics, but the Irish? Very inviting.




Claramae Vincere-St. Laurence
"On the contrary cousin it is quite possible, but will require use of very skilled envoys. James is his father's son, afterall, and far younger. He is not alien to the ways of intrigue. There was an Earl, on those Islands, something tells me here isn't now. He wasn't at th coronation. You have been of a superb help to us, Lady Nasrin, and we shall be to you in kind." (d)


=

[Martin lePower]

Crown of Gold

from the day of the Coronationin April to the day after Martin agrees to go to England, in May 1333

Was your life distasteful?
My life did and does smack sweet.
Was your youth of pleasure wasteful?
Mine I saved and did hold complete.
Do your joys with age diminish?
When mine found fail me, I'll complain.
Must in death your daylight finish?
My sun sets to rise again.”…Robert Browning, At the Mermaid. Stanza 10

April
On the date of the Coronation of King Adam and Queen Beathag, the lePowers came at long last to a time of reunion. Eight long years they spent apart, coming no closer that one end of Turas Lan and the other. At most, the couple had been worlds apart in mind, If not in location.

“Wear your crown, Aurilla. This is the time to honor your rank in the midst of your peers. One day, our Aegraine will have her turn with the gold circlet. How much more it will mean to her, if you are seen wearing it.” Martin and his wife were dressing to attend the Coronation, here in the land where their only child lived. Here in Skye.

“Yes, I think it is fitting. " She lifted the plain ancient gold ring and settled over her pale blonde hair, cushioned by a pale blue silk veil. " I was thinking of the past, recalling all the court we attended receptions. We were such good dancers, I did not want to sit long enough to take a sip of wine. To think, we have lived this long, Mart. I think once the royals are crowned, we ought to return home to Waterford, and visit Ulster in the Autumn.” She turned to catch a glimpse of her face in a tiny looking glass propped up on the sideboard, there in their small cottage.

“There being no other reason to remain, I am free to go home. Time to build you the addition to the old homestead I promised.” Martin had the bright smile of a much younger man, his well maintained teeth still white and perfect.

The LePowers attend the Coronation and enjoyed the celebrations in full. They were back together and had a wonderful time, dancing to a few tunes, as his old limbs allowed.


May
For some weeks the older couple lived in domestic peace. You could not call it bliss, not at his age, but they were happy enough to be togehter. Eight years of loneliness and bad feelings were dismissed as if it had been mere minutes. Aurilla was in heaven, for at long last for the first time since they met some twenty four years ago, she was going to have her husband to herself. Then there came a woman with a promise to Martin, more seductive than any dancing girl. More alluring than a siren’s song. Claramae asked lePower to begin a long, long architectural project that would go on beyond his life span. At seventy-six, Martin might have enough time to plan the extensive building projects, recruit the best of all nations idled stone workers and engineers, but there was no way he was going to live until it was completed. He had already gone over the age a man can hope to live. Now came the worst task of all. Martin had to tell his wife he was going to England. For life.

They sat in the Weir Lane cottage where their daughter lived before her marriage, before the fire, talking. “Will we take ship before the summer winds come? I am so glad we are going home.” Aurilla was young for a retirement, but was happy to accompany Martin into his.

“I have to tell you, I am headed to design a new style of buildings, in London . I have accepted the commission..” Martin got cut off in mid sentence by his wife’s shriek.

“What! Mart..” she drew out the r in his name like a lion’s yawn, it’s tone sad, plaintive. “Oh no, please. You did promise me first. Tis time to sit the work aside, just do little tasks to please yourself. No more immense jobs." Darkness filled the room except the patch that the hearth lit, where the couple sat. The dogs Beo and Wulf slept on the fringes of light.

“Tis done; I gave my word and we are going to stay at the Duchess’ home, while I am working out the designs. I thought I would get several architects, including that one Aegraine refused to marry, what’s his name. Him.”

“Think again. I am not going to England, I’m going back home. To Waterford, then to my people in the North.” Aurilla rose from the bench where they had been sitting and reached for her cloak. “Either we go home together or that is it. I have been patient for enough years, Mart. I put up with the work sites, living in a camp most of the year, your drinking, all those dancing girls! No! It stops here. I love you dear man, but I cannot take being last on your last anymore. Good bye Mart!” Aurilla fumbled with her cloak clasp, in hopes lePower would stop her, say he was sorry, that he would do as he had promised her but he did not.

At the door, Aurilla turned one last time and said, “ I will not go and be witness to that woman using you for work, until you are dead. Drink your ideas from you until you're a dry husk and send me the scraps when you are dead. Like a spider she is! And then what? What good is a dead husband? " She was Irish and like the ladies here in Skye, ‘Rilla lePower did not just do as her husband told her.

Martin watched as she left, the door hanging open after her. Riding boots clicked down Weir Lane’s cobblestones, off into the distance, off to the nearest Inn. The beautiful and in love with love Aurilla left and he let her go.

What was the man thinking? He had images in his mind of graceful steps, like a gentle rise of a hill, heading up to a majestic edifice, Grecian columns, Roman friezes and carved letters with the type style designed so that rainfall ran out of the cuts, so there was no breakage from ice in England's cold winters. Aurilla was gone, headed back home. Him? He was off into the project of his dreams. Death in a foreign land held no fear for Martin lePower. He was already in his Heaven, he had buildings to design, enough for all his lifetime.

Once Aurilla's temper cooled, when she was done visiting back home, Martin planned to send her a love letter and woo her back again, to come live with him once more, in England.

"My sun sets to rise again."

[Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine]

"Please see to it each Friday, she does not leave empty handed, My dears." He spoke to the small shop of workers now hired under his hand, and the babbling assistance pen moving over the list she compiled to keep with her employers business. It had been a happy trade from the poor life of a whore on the streets now a working hand in the Shop D'Ange, where it was a rehabilitation into the real world again. Working side by side with other various businesses Jean-Claude kept many from being homeless, and many women from their death. "and send her not only of Spring, but of anything of modest design.." His gloved hands touched the dusty pink ribbon of a simple yet elegant gown hanging there on display, "This one, Rosalind always looks best in colors as this. Nothing too vivid, or wild. She does not like to stand out."

"Not like your Adelaide," The woman smiled making certain the gown was taken down, and would be taken in to fit the measurements of the Lady Avalle.

"Non, not like my Adelaide." Jean-Claude's heart skipped a few times thinking of his darling fiancee, and wondering how he would survive this trip without her for so long. They would be reunited in due time, but he would miss her already.

"Should the young master return?"

"If I have not returned, ship him straight to England. I am nearly bursting at the seams to hear of his trip. Any letters that I receive please see to it they are sent right away. Do not let him give you any reason not to leave right away, I frankly do not care how tired he is." It was not unknown through the shop the great admiration that was shared both ways between the gentleman, but there was a heartfelt wonder as to why. Julian, though strangely was missed had been nothing but a negative force challenged through the halls at only the cost of humiliation. He was a brilliant boy, and now a fine gentleman--who simply lacked the common knowledge as to how to handle a proper conversation. He was cold, and course; like the fingers run up the wrong way upon a cat's neck. Julian meant the world to Jean-Claude, and he worried their time would be cut short.

As the cases were brought downstairs, the Lady Harper puckered her bottom lip, not wanting him to leave--worrying of her employer perhaps like she would worry of a son. She was the age to have been his mother, a very young mother, but still a mother none the less.

"Mon cher.." He touched the wrinkled chin of the dear sweet woman had looked after him in many ways Adelaide could not, "Do not look so forlorn, I will not be gone long."

"That is what you said the last time, Jean, and you came back a mess." She took him into her arms, the informal hug nearly brought a gasp from his lips, but a hand did come to the small of the petite chubby frame. When she released him, the lapel of his coat was wet from her tears, and Jean would dab lightly at her face tears springing to his own eyes as they laughed. "After this I will not leave again, not for a long while."

Across the way he would notice the shop of his beloved, how perfect it seemed in the lush spring months, and his heart ached with how he didn't want to see her part from it. Perhaps, this was a bad idea. Perhaps, he should simply stay home this summer as well. Though, his heart ached to be in England, to see the University once again, and to keep close to the decorated wrist of a most beloved friend. The ship would be leaving soon, and he upon it. Was there time for one last good-bye?

Always.

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

The Arrival, The Parliment, and the Dying



Lady Govenor, Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

Let God allow us favor in this, let him be coronated and consecrated, and let us find new merit." A scroll baring the words of a secret, illegal parliment had been read no less than twenty times to ascertain forty different conclusions to taking this simple two sentence objective. While advising those after to embark by carriage from Scotland for reasons of safety, for reasons of public interest she set sail with a collection of individuals under ships baring the Griffin's Standard and the Standard of the Griffin's England. A rose was topped with golden crown, on either side flanked by the illustrious Griffins. If made to stand alone, the Rose still held the crown, but of ducal standard, as was proper . On the day of arrival the sun broke through the comical thick fog that crept always over the Thames River, for they would come down the Thames as was proper so as best to be scene. Murk water churned green to counter the blue of the sea, all of it turning brown from the mud. "Welcome to London," she told them, watchng as cathedral towers topped skylines. In the years since the burning of York, London had come oto rival the brilliance of Paris and the glitter of Turas Lan. It was from this metropolis they would reach out across the whole of England, across the whole metropolis they would declare war from North to South, East to West. Lord Vincere looked on in his ever-silence, thinking of the men he would lead. By nature he was no leader, but he was no fool. The Griffin's dream of a superior army at his gates was long an English reality. But a turn in the riverbend brought about the line of waiting militants who stood in solemn ceremony. Some, on horseback, sat on beasts with braided mains. One of the most interesting factors was that whilethe mechanics of man holding small cannons was played at elsewhere, there would stand an entire rank of men holding what appeared to be elongated, thin hand cannons or flintlocks. Did any have a name for them? The LePowers were given cant of her head as the ship touched the side of the docks at long last. Swords drawn out for them to cross beneath. Behold, the pagentry! The English had lost none of their muster for brilliance despite under who's thumb they sojourned. Were the horsemen armed with crossbows? Velvet clad figure disembarked on the arm of leather clad husband, both complimenting one another's stoicism. Their path? To parliment, the tour. To the ultimate viewing and declaration unto the public, and then to the privae, where all would have truth. (d)

Lady Aurilla le Power

: It was not what she had in mind, but here was this new land wrapped in its fog blanket, hiding from her view. She glanced to the side, watching Martin's eager grin as he faced the city. It was no Ulster, to be sure, but here she wasand still could not see more than the veil of fog, for she was trying to guess where they were going. "This weather will wreck havoc with my hair; Ishall hae to braid it." Rilla took Martin's arm and walked forward, gathering her nerve from his presence. (d)



Sir Martin le Power

Now 'Rilla. This is a welcome fit for a Queen, did I not tell you to expect the unexpected?" He walked as if oblivious of the militants, unaware of what the horsemen might have along side; he showed the attitude of one being honored For in the fog he imagined what might be there, a city of grand proportions, one that he would choose to enhance with what ever her Grace might suggest. He had his inspiration with him, arm and arm. Once more and for the long haul. "Braids become you, love." he spoke so only Aurilla might hear. (d)





Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

An eerie feeling washed the land as shadow turned to dust, and found way through the path towards the moon; upon his arrival it had been in the dead of night, a horse drawn carriage that raced through the hills with windows tinted as black the iron winged coach that seemed only what nightmares were made. Jean-Claude could not have stomached one more day upon the ship, and started ahead over the very lands no longer divided. Time had seemed to slow even under the race of iron clad shoes, the horses pushed to their max--Jean, lost in his book. Word had been sent to prepare the capital for his arrival, but none could have been known what to expect. All too familiar the looks of absolute fear, terror reflected in the other's eyes even though they would greet him with open smiles.Weary from the travel, his dreams had been empty, and the deep void of the warm body next to him had marked him with little hope of rest. Adelaide, had become his comfort, and never did he realize how dearly he would miss no longer at his side. The following days would have him kept to his room, unwilling to face the reality that a very large part of his past waited through those doors...on those stone streets. Eyes so black..he must be of death..handsome...French. For many the foul taste still remained for the bordering country even though they were hardly at arms. Word raced through the castle of the arrival of the ship; So this would be the day the sky would not only welcome back the return of the Governor, and her very estranged partner. The proper bow of course, upon greeting he would smile ever so happy to see them all again, "Mes Amis..Welcome home." (d




Lady Govenor, Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

:"Thank you, Master de Aquitaine. You will all recall Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine. Master, the Sir and Lady le Power, both of whom are master and muse of all that shall make the architecture, the defense of England rival the glory of Rome. You of course recall the Lady O'Cathasaigh, but have not yet met her man Sir O'Connor. Welcome, once more good fellows to England. Let us carry on. First, I apologize but we shall make a sojourn towards the new Parlimentary buildings, there is something that must be witnessed, and something to be done. To the carriages.." Slick black Freesians waited to pull the two coaches in patient wait in the streets. Dock muck was being replaced by cobbled stones, so their path was easier than old minds could recall. At each carriage disembarked a noble guest, giving salutation to each visitor. "My friends, may I present to you the wards of the crown and friends of the state. There esteemed Graces, the Lady Joan and Lord Edward Plantagenet." Plantagenet? Plantegenet? The very heirs of the old king?! What world took the children of royalty under its wing, and in what world did they adhere to a crown not atop their heads? So strange was London that once within the carriages, a royal entity road in each. The Lady Joan would ride with the LePowers and the O'Cathasaigh Company, while Edward would sojourn with Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of England and d'Aquitaine. There was no lack of refinement brought to a nation that seemed all but barbarian until this life. It wasn't true, for the native born recall her splendor. Still, it was strange.


Lady Joan and Lord Edward Plantagenet, Lord Commander, Duke Michael Vincere

Lady Joan smiled upon the LePowers, so strange that they would see the face of who would have been Scotland's Queen. "The Lady-Govenor has spoken well of you both, and much upon the work of your kin. I have grown anxious to see it, using such freedoms as were not given me in an old life. Your wife is brave to journey hence! The times are uncertain.." Edward would be more direct, rubbing casually at a knee injury he gained in leaving York. "The hold is still fast in York then? Vncere asked, to which Edward would nod. "They speak of Hadrian's Wall..." (d)

Lady Aurilla lePower

"Ah, we have had to leave our daughter back in Turas Lan." If one watched they might Rilla's hand clutching Martin's sleeve, as she replied,"That I am here means it is certain as the morning comes each day, we will see each other Almighty willing," Freedoms the wife of Martin knew back in Ulster, and in Skye. She only knew of women beign restricted on her visit to France and about that, she was silent. "Is fog the exception?" (d)


Sir Faolan O'Connor

Was it his station as the Lady O'Cathasaigh's sworn-blade, that saw the low-born O'Connor simply remain quiet while those that - at the time - were thought of his social betters talked so free? If he were addressed, he would make the appropriate response. But was it something else that saw his tongue held? While there were some who still sang songs of glory for the Plantagenet crown - although, now, it was more common to bless Isabella's claim -- they were confined to the Pale. For those beyond the Pale? Many a time had the armies of the Lord-Governor of Ireland marched to war -- his valiant green banner of the uncrown harp marching out against the Plantagent's banner. (D)

Sir Martin le Power

"Sir O'Connor, I tell you I did not for the life of me see me here in this land, all my long life. I was in Wales for some years, until the project was ended. " His voice had a strange hollow ring to it, when speaking of Wales. "They took us on a ship, stone workers and engineers, architects and all, from Waterford, to build. So I built, as my ancstors come from Rome to build Hadrian's Wall; now here I am, to build once more. Ah, what better is there, I ask, than doing one's life work to the Nth?"He tried to look at the surrondings and get his bearings but that was going to take some doing. (d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

Not his place, not anymore, Jean-Claude stood with his heart frozen inside his chest. He would remain by the door, stationed as if one of the guards and slip out. The French Comte, had once held heavy hands in the wavering wars of politics, and still it called to him. However, he was dead, by namesake, and not ready to be so flush to the surface just yet. The estate owned by his father had no heir, someday he would have to make his rise, but now he wished to remain just where he would be found. The flames still burned hot, started by figures standing in this hall, and always did silent guardian work best for him anyway. (d

Lady Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

"If Ah may sir, there is naught better than daein wot the Lord God intended. Ah'm certain tha' ye shall please her Grace m'cousin marvelous much, won't he Sir O'Connor? In ye, Lady lePower. Tis good tae have women 'pon this venture tae is it not? Wot shall we sae when all the men are at arms n' limestone, horses n' such?" She was better than Faolan at repression. She excelled at it, in all earnest. Many years of smiling on the outside while the inside died under continual beatings, but widow's eccentricities yielded up a pleasant woman. Why, she was even content to sit beside a former English princess and stifle the want to fall out of the carriage, laughing madly down the lane. Shetried to peer outside but saw that the sights were often blocked by formations of men who ran alongside the carriage, forcing her to peer through their pole arms and guns. "We are sae heavily guarded, is it customary Lady Plantagenet?" For Joan it was. The first pair of years so many attempts upon her person at kidnapping were conducted she became lost in a sea of armed men. England, for the egalitarian way of the Griffin, still had no visible women in its military."Yes, in this time it is. My brother and I have been under such guard for many years, but the Govenor herself is of doubled guard. The Duke insists upon it, at all times. He waits for the day when the fervor of the North comes to the center, which I pray it does not. York is over-run, my lady, my lords. I can not tell you the terrible nature of the threats we have all received, it is not comely for Christian ears."


Lord Edward Plantagenet

Edward would only beg pardon, reciting the nature of things as one recites a poem. Despite his youth, he had come to action in the North as a representative of the Commander's orders, and of the Govenor's authority. "The Parlimentexpects none of you for another day, they think that no one will be fool enough to declare war on a rebellion as it demonstrates not the King's way of mercy. Master de Aquitaine, he seems a quiet sort. What is his part to play?" Vincere pondered, Claramae pondered. Of the two the second spoke, "You shall see soon enough my lord. Within Parliment you are not to be far of me, nor the rest of our company. What news of your sisters?" "Lady Joan has done well,she has sent written pledge to be a part of no seperatist plot, their latest was to bare her hence in forced marriage to the young Prince Aodhan, in replacement to the no longer Prnce David. There is many talk, but no action. They are afraid to touch the guard you installed for her. As for myself the guard is more than suitable, I didn't die in York." He passed a sardonic grin around the collective, contrary to the gentility that Joan showed to theothers in her company. "And of your sister, Elenore?" "We have not seen her...in a fortnight." (d)


Lady Aurilla le Power

"Braid hair, it seems. That we will do." Aurilla held up the ends of her long silky pale hair and it was limp and frizzy, from the humidity." She was not as shallow as she would leave others to think. After her trials in Grasse, no this time she would not end up shut into a convent. What she did was to help her husband draw up his ideas on parchment so that others might view glimpses of his imagination. This was the secret of why Martin produced so many illustrations overnight, so many times. (d)


Sir Faolan O'Connor

At hearing Sir LePower's words, Faolan could not help but smile, "It is true, good sir, that I can free say..... I did not in this life or the next to find myself setting foot upon English sod." There was a slight grin on his as he wondered if he were to be struck down for such a 'heresy'. There was a few moments pause, before he said, "I do ask to speak plain, Lady Jane..... but if York tis truly such a hot bed of traitorous and vile thought and deed, will it soon be attended to?" He refrained from making an analogy about physicians lancing boils or calling for out and out violence. But such places could not be left to their own devices, without some oath of fealty - and a soverign's army to enforce such an oath - and knowledge o what a vile place would endure if the oath was broken. (D)


Sir Martin le Power

"I may step on English ground, but I will not be buried under it. I will ship out to home, when my time comes." He intended to remain and work until they had to ship him home in a crate. Oaths and armies, he had seen these conditons before in other lands. "Does not a horse still require reins after being broken to the saddle, to guide him?" Martin thought but did not say aloud. He smiled his bright perfect toothy smile to Lady Jane, the veneer of a perfect gentleman covered a realist; a practical man who realized people everywhere were much alike, basically. (d)

Lady Joan Platagenet

Joan was pleasing for it was her duty to remain pleasing. Egalitarianism does not undo a lifetime of Salic law flavored teaching. She was reluctant to take a place of prominence in the New Order against one she already had, a tedious, dangerous one still influenced by the actions of her mother and new Spanish step-father."Look, there is the Parliment buildings.." How much akin to the size of Westminster they appeared! Beautiful and gothic in use of stone, the lines forming arches over entrances were still thoroughly modern. Touches of the architecture of the distant Bryante Row, said to be done by Anglo-Scotts architects, made the surrounding area one of residences occupied by the Lords of stature during their London stays. Dark cloaked baristers manuevered with men wearing gold chains of office in a place where the sun suprisingly split he fog, as if to reveal clarity. The beauty of the Parlimentbuildings had been one of the first gifts to the people. In the not too far distance, the beautiful castle of King was now the home of the Duke and Duchess, and where the esteemed guests would stay.

Lady Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

The carriages were coming to a halt, a near lurch that sent Evangeline gripping at the side of the carriage. That was rather abrupt! Already she wished to be outside! The wish was granted as the footman came to open their doors, revealing indeed on either side of them a wall of steel weilding men. "Why dae Ah feel like we be Christians gaein inta a Roman arena," she mused. It was essential though. If she were to run messages, she'd have to remember English mechanics. (d)


Sir Faolan O'Connor

What would the reaction of the other occupants, when it seemed as though Fao would break a personal taboo that had long been held by Evangeline? He would reach out and - lo! - touch Evangeline. Even though, it was done to steady to her against the carriage's sudden stop. He listened to her quietly, before he leaned in to whisper something to Eva in Irish Gaelic. "'May'ap 'cause we are Irish in tha 'eart of England?" There was a pause, before would risk glancing out the carriage window --his hand going to rest on the pommel of his sword. Ambush? Ah, no. Just a sudden stop. Still, it would be Faolan that would be one of the first out. He wasafter all the Lady Evangeline's bodyguard. (D)


Sir Martin le Power

He watched Aurilla shade her eyes with one hand, as if that was going to make the guards out there fade away. When the coach jerked to a halt, Martin sat up straighter and looked about him, like a child about to rcieve a big wrapped gift."Wake, alert there, "Rilla! I think we are here, somewhere."(d)


Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

From across the relation of Claramae's Jean would offer her a comforting smile, having wondered if he were the only to hate being in motion period. Content as always he kept gloved hands curled over the ruby of his cane that kept him steady, "Ma petite..you do turn a lovely shade of pink." The amount her senior could have marked the youth a daughter, had he not always though of Claramae a distant closeness to a sister. Turning his head to whisper to Claramae, he would dare not be so bold as to gather her attention any other way then lost little words, "I think I shall remain here, should you have need of me, either you or your husband." She would know what to do. (d


Lady Govenor, Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

The carriage halt found the ducal couple with rigid backs born of militant lives. Sudden stops had little to do with learning from a symposium in manners! Vincere emerged first in order to scout the terrain, ever a soldier no matter what his posistion stuck him in. He detested being dressed to the nines when he wanted to be on his feet amidst what was burning taking the enemy down to shreds. Dealing death was what he was good at, not commanding how it happened from a distance. Before she moved to disembark, Claramae turned to Jean-Claude. "Come now, what will you see within the carriage but a carriage. I have need of you. Listen closely to the parliment and see tha things above our heads are as keen as things below. Lord Plantagnet will observe with you." If it were prudent to smile she would have in light of the dry, droll context of being amused by parliment, often the dryest husks of old corn silks in the land preened to look like new growth over and over. She passed her hand into the keeping of her husband and turned to see the others emerge from the carriage behind. A freesian or two began to toss their head. She never ignored the distress of animals, for oft they were indicators of things to come. Open doors showered them with the bombastic boom of voices being tossed across the room at the other end of the wide foyer. My, my. Seems a colorful session was in today when none should convene. How did she know? The tang of liquid hidden under the flowers servants put out spoke of a recent occurrence that did not bode well. "Come, everyone, to the upper galleries if you would. Enjoy the works of art and the make of it as you sojourn there, respite will be given you. Please, excuse me. My first place will immediate floor. Worry not. Your Gallery shall be just behind me." (d)


Lady Aurilla le Power

In her turn,she unfolded out of the carriage and went with the others on Martin's arm, to the Gallery indicated. She was quiet, observant and strolled along, for the art works were admirable. "What manner of flowers were those? Rather strong aroma, eh?" (d)

Sir Martin le Power

"Plants? What do I know of plants?" his impatience was not meant to be unkind; the man had the lay of the land so to speak in his agenda. He walked and counted the space of the gallery, estimated it height and breadth. "A fine painting there." he pointed to one he had not even given a second look. "See? I am paying attention." In a manner, yes, he was. (d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

"Oh come now. Master Laurence, I am rather rusted when it comes to this." Was he nervous? Yes. Jean-Claude, man of science found himself ill with it. Perhaps he would take hold of Vincere's other arm, should this be an upside down world. Amused at the lePower, he would follow clutching to his walking cane, for fear the ride had very well tightened his legs. Observe he would, though they were not far from the University and he could not help but let his heart run wild inside his chest. Oh, how he longed for those years gone! He would take the higher ground moving through the passage that would lead to the second story balcony where he could indeed observe. (d


Lady Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

"They waste nay a moment in London. Strange how things change hands yet tha' aspect remains the same o' it. Though tis been since Ah was a girl tha' last ah was here." She walked with hands clasped together before her unelss the Irish knight sought to offer his arm. Golden head turned back to regard the man of science with a fond smile of recognition, "Well, it seems the party is quite complete then with ye bein 'ere Master de Aquitaine. It all beh droll as the lady says. Sir O'Connor fancies we feel out o' place here because we be Irish in the land o' our opressors. Yet it is an ally upon paper, now tha' is amusin. Wot God won't move when he does nay have a mind." She recognized the tang behind the heavy blossoms, "They be only roses, Lady LePower, wot be behind them though, perhaps someone had a spell o' sickness." Up the steps the gallery all went to watch the play unfold..

Lady Govenor, Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

The Duke and Commander went with his wife as far as the parliment floor before he took a far more comfortable posture just before the armed guards. Their presence was causing quite a stir, eyes moving up to the gallery and below at the Govenor returned far ahead of schedule from the coronation festivities in Scotland. Leery eye was weighed against the scrutiny of old peerage as she lifted a hand to cease the proceedings. "The Duchess, the Govenor returns! God keep you and the Duke, and God save our new KIng!" Never a more loud, more false sense of 'God save the King' was uttered by so many . He had his fans here, the Aberdeen, trying to cease the illegal action. "Upon what do we meet today, for I see members of each house here, among those of the Lords. It takes a number of both houses to ratify many things..might I see a docet."

Lord Edward and Lady Joan Plantagenet

The former Prince was to the left of de Aquitaine and not far from LePower and O'Connor. He strained his neck to view down, too high to read he was looking for seals. He whispered among them, "I think the gather to attempt a coup, it wouldn't be the first time." He had grown fluent in politics, while his sister merely settled in among the ladies, her face pale as alabaster. Whatever it was, she was worried. She detested this place, she detested what secrets stood for. :"Whatever it is, she deems it necessary for us to hear.."


Lady Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

"aye, m'lady, ignorance isn't flatterin in a woman nor a man, especially those who are meant tae be able, says I."

Lady Govenor, Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Ah, Parliment moves to go against our order to declare war on the North and South, to declare war on Spain, and I see they seek again to press the manner of the Griffin surrendering his crownto Spain. Does this not grow old?" Hisses from all the serpents rose up as she began to rip the paper motion in half, then quarters, and then thirds. Her opinion on the meeting was quite evident. Outside in the halls, the flowers were doing a poor job of concealing a figure crept out from the chapel..holding to the walls as he purged the contents of his stomach again, and of a woman who moaned. Of the two the woman would prove the most hearty despite her bulging eyes. (d)

Lady Aurilla le Power

Above the action, like being in the grandstand overlooking the lists at a joust. Which horse was the white one, which the black? She sat calmly, thinking to see if a parliment might suit her little land . Nor likely but she had to research this herself.(d)


Sir Faolan O'Connor

There was not even a faulter in Faolan's steps, as the talk about such things as 'sickness' swirled around him. Truly, it must be a vile sickness. That alone was near enough to see that Sir O'Connor insisted on having the Lady
O'Casey return to Ireland. For, surely, only the Black Death alone was pestilent enough to make a soul loose their stomach's contents -- until they purged blood as well. But as they made their way to the gallery, there was still something that wrestled with his mind. Both scents that he had detected were terribly fresh -- and he had not seen a sign of panic (or religious zealotry) that had heralded the Plague of Justinian. Once everyone was well andtruly settled in the upper gallery, it would be that nagging thought that would see him polite excuse himself from Eva's side (but not before a murmured 'Be on your guard' in his native tongue). He headed to the hall.... he had detected the smell of flesh blood upon the air. Would he find other traces.... or its source? (D)


Sir Martin le Power

He had noticed Sir O'Conner make his excuse to the lady and leave their immediate location. He set himself nearer the door, as if a frail man of seventy-six might be provider of safety for those in the Gallery. A smile of confidence he gave to the ladies there, when all his instincts wanted him to run off and see what was going on.(d)


Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

Ah, Mademoiselle, it is so common a feeling." He would offer her a smile from well practiced manners, the kind beat into him as a child from one governess to the other. "I fear I am a bit old fashioned, but in Paris, Mon trésor, a Lady is always escorted." He would extend his free arm should she take it, he would follow them the rest of the way keeping well to the shadow of their steps. There were so few that held the manners he possessed, and it was easily not mistaken why he held such respect as he did. His heart however did stop at the mention of Spain, both of his darlings were there, and one he worried over the most. Suddenly he was raptured in the very source of it all, the words of war...oh his heart ached, and he grew weary on his feet. The room started to spin, and his knuckles under his leather gloves were white. Now it would be he who would cling to the lady's arm. Pulling himself together he would take a deep breath, and come to stand at the shoulder of Claramae. Let them talk of sickness--he held the cure, and would happily see every soul here who went against the crown shrink into the the lifeless sacks that only his medicine could produce. A twisted evil man there inside him, longed to be free, but when it came to blood none knew it better. (d


Lady Joan Platagenet, Lady Evangeline O'Casey, Lady Elenore of Woodstock

Young Joan would be on the arm of the Monsieur, a faint blush against her cheeks as Evangeline thought it proper a maiden should be so escorted. She was an odd widow with a body guard for a lover, so didn't mind the abnormality of walking on her own. Nay, it was a privelege to move of her own free will! Education on ship meant she could spend some time connecting to sight what description matched. Ah yes, she saw the faces of those to be incriminated or vindicated by the unique service of secrets for exchange, secrets for higher. Faolan's absence was met with a promised nod of head, a reply in Irish-Gaul that she would be ever wary. What lady could not feel safe, with good Sir Lepower at the door? "Come, Lady lePower, sit with us aye? We ought be close tae wach this." Parliment. A fascinating 'democratic' way to hide the lions in the arena. They were all ready to rip the throats out of the Griffinsupporters, blood lust was high! Was it like the scent of bile tinged vitae in the halls under the heady bloom of roses? Joan looked at Evangeline for comfort when Jean-Claude gripped at her arm. In turn the Irish woman applied the balm of her hand to both. They were ina world seperated by closed doors, where Faolan lurked toward plague exposure? No, in the empthy hall he would stumble upon the extending blood pile pool of the pair. The man was dying a violent, painful death, and the woman was laughing despite it all. The woman was called Elenore of Woodstock after the place of her birth, a sister to both Edward and Joan..and the lesser of the three. Fever did not assist her always state of delierium, and she managed to crawl forward, shaking at Faolan's clothing. "We drank a wine..we..drank it. We supped on a golden plate, we drank the wine we drank it..knowing it was tainted too late! We supped on a golden plate we did, eating death bread as we dined..but lo, but lo see how merrily he dies! All shall be just fine!" She laughed heartily, grabbing at her middle. Sanity pulled at her for on moment as she pleaded " Help me, help me! We are dying..he tried to stop them from assembling, the treason mongerers..but they killed him..they killed the old man of Oxford." (d)


Lady Aurilla le Power

"I thank you, this place is so new to me and I do feel more comfortable in the company of other ladies." a cold chill as if as they say someone walked over her grave. "Sir Falon will return shortly, I imagine." There sat Martin between them and the door; so she could but wonder why he did so.(d)

Sir Faolan O'Connor

T'would be a great pity, that Aurilla's promise of a swift return would soon be shouted down -- by Faolan himself. What was it that had caused the hair on the back of his neck to rise, once he had firmly closed the door the upper gallery? He would indeed head toward where the smell of blood and vomit was the strongest still, full intending to find Death clad in black and rosy motley dancing as he spread to one and all that which had laid low so many low.
While he did not find Death presently engaged in the spreading of posies, there was something in air that seemed to form words. 'Come see, brave knight!' Death chortled, 'Come and see! My greatest work!' It was then that felt hand grasp one of his trouser legs and start shaking, he looked down -- and was aghast. He knew not that the woman was Elenore of Woodstock, he knew only that she was a woman in dire pain and hurt -- and thus, under Christ, a sister. What would Elenore do, when it was an Irish voice that responded as best he could, "Do not speak so, reserve your strength. Help shall came soon, I warrant it. I swear it." He was torn between leaving the woman to her Fate (chivarlic word and deed stayed his hand) and leaving. He would stay, offering what scour he could give the woman. And he allowed his voice to call out, as loud as he could, "TO ARMS! TO ARMS!" He mused that he had many times but given that call *against* the English, but never for one, "TO ARMS! THERE IS TREACHERY AFOOT!" And he would commence raising high holy hell until other Griffon-sworn guards would arrive. He would leave the woman in their care -- for he was sword-bound (and heart-sworn) to another. And he worried now what danger she may be in. (D)

Sir Martin le Power

His sharp ears caught the call and Martin stood, sliding the slim sword out of his walking stick, determined to keep watch at the gallery door. The fraility of the old man seemed to change like light at sunset, from fading to bright beams. determination that none will pass him. "They are calling for to arms, we ought to sit tight and let the men do their job." He said it and hoped to high Heaven it was correct. (d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

Jean-Claude came alive with the call of arms, following in foot of the motion of the forward moving soldiers until he saw the young woman on her back, the signs pure of her ailment. "Purge her!" He shouted atop the crowd breaking through, having left his cane where it was perched, "I'm a doctor let me through." The sea of men parted, for the tall older gentleman who now knelt beside her, pulling back thin lids to see the yellowing veins. "She's been poisoned. My bag." He looked up to Joan, then to Eva--anyone, "My bag, send for my bag. It is a top the carriage." Quickly he would shed away his overcoat to prop her head back. It would be when the leather bound case would return would he open the small vial Adelaide so carefully packed and pour the contents of it down the woman's throat. It would not be pleasant, and perhaps the only other in the room to ever know of his method would be the Duchess herself, for he had given it to her many times during that week at her bedside. "Come now, ma petite..fight." (d


Lord Commander, Duke Michael Vincere
Michael pulled his wife behind him, turning her over to the care of the guards as he pushed past the throng leaving their own lower galleries to come by the door. What had gotten out got out, but the rest? "NO ONE LEAVES!" He boomed, the guards taking to crossing their pole arms before the entry ways to keep them held. Claramae joined the gathering in the hallway, aghast to see Elenore of Woodstock making a near fatal introduction. Fight? Jean-Claude would receive his wish as the coughing girl all but began to claw at his face when he touched her eyelids. This one was fiesty, insanity assisted in a moment like this. Elenore kicked and flailed, alternating between painful wails and nonsensical mutterings. The challenge would be making sense of her ramblings to put together the entire story.

Lady Govenor, Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

All of parliment would have to be inquired. Whatever it was, it was no less than assasination.One attempt failed, but the other successful? Claramae pushed beyond her guards at the horrible realization of whom lay dead in his own fluids. "Fetch a courier, have him meet me at the castle grounds. Every university is hereby suspended until the end of the war." At his side, the dark blood of his poison nearly concealed a wound she recognized well, that still baffled most of the other states. He was not only poisoned, he was assisted to death courtesy of an iron ball baring. The doors, still opened to the stunned members of parliment, announced very plainly. " WE are at war sirs, With Spain, and those who incite revolt and panic among the people, if you are for it go make ready your homes and men, if you are against it you stand against the state, for we know what this meeting was for. Let me but find further evidence of your treason in an act such as this..for whomever did this will be caught, mark my word, and killed. Every treasonist will be hung, beheaded, or put before the newly formed firing squads to be filled with enough iron to make him a mine. Do you heed? I pray you do gentleman. Good day." At that the doors were sealed, and all of them left in the care of the Lord Commander, God help them. "Bring the ..remains of the Headmaster to the Castle for review," she whispered, as not to enflame the thought of the man being studied. "After which, he will be buried with full honors. He will be heavily mourned. Come..everyone." She began to gather all of them that had come with her. "We must to the castle. All of us.."

Lord Edward Plantagenet

All would advance, save Edward, who would remain to assist Vincere. Mad or no, Elenore was his sister. (d)

Lady Aurilla le Power

Aurilla was glad they were to stay at Claramae's residence. She felt safe in her company; not to say that Martin did not show his readiness to see she and others were safe. (d)

Sir Martin le Power

He placed the sword back into its walking stick case and walked head held high, from the Gallery to go where his Hostess indicated. "We need to watch out backs, sweetheart. Look and see to the back of my jacket, lest it have a target painted on." He whispered to her in their native language, with a smile and a wink of one of his bright blue eyes. This did not discount the danger that swirled about the place. It was simply the old man's way. (d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

"Non non non, mon cher! I do not mean fight me." He would try his best to contain her, calling upon a guard. He would mean for her to fight for her life, and to empty her bowels in any way shape or form. It was the only way to cleanse her. Though..he did just buy this suit. (d


Lady Govenor, Duchess Claramae St. Laurence

"Take her to a carriage, Master de Aquitaine, the Lord Commander is at work. Believe me when I say I am more worried for yourself than the girl." That woman was a veritable ox, surviving both abuse and malady of the mind. It would be th eoccasional unfortunate around her that did not. Sir O'Connor thought to lend his service to the guard, but thought it better to protect the native party of Irish folk in a strange land when one of them was a woman he intended to keep. With that came the responsibility of seeing to the Govenor, his woman's cousin. No, this place didn't please him. The discovery disheartened him, and he thought they'd both be safer in the middle of The Pale than in London. Why did he consent to coming? What service would they provide this country where he saw those that attacked his home were as corrupt among themselves as to others? Evangeline reached out for Claramae's hand, undetered by custom. She was family!

Lady Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

"Did Ah hear ye right, ye are vested with power tae o'erule them all and declare war? Was tha' an illegal gatherin' o' men..will they nay rue ye for it?" She whispered. It had been long since the two stood together in London, not since their youth did two veiled heads look to the same point in the London Skye. "But tell me wot we must dae.."

Lady Govenor, Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Keep the Lady Joan comforted, and bring forth a courier to move across the water. We will attack the last bastian for their ilk, and end the English lordships of the remaning illegal lords in Ireland by force if necessary. Yes, England is at war with Spain, and it's own people on the Pale. They have little more than a week to cease but we shall be there far sooner than that. I told all of you, it would be a savage time. To the castle." (d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

"Oh heavens Claramae I can not talk of war right now. Not with Spain..My Angels." He spoke as he wrapped his coat around the now sedated and lifted the woman into his arms. Though he would not make it very far without the limp returning and a look over his shoulder to his cane. He would pass the woman off to the guard, "Make sure they find me the moment she wakes up, and see to it she is comfortable." He turned to try and find the headmaster's body, though regret struck him hard. He knew that face very well, and his heart fell from his chest. Suddenly he was very thankful he did not let them come alone, and would slip out later after they were all asleep and see to the university (d

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

To the Tower, After Lady Woodstock's Strange Ramblings

Part 1 of 2


Lady Elenore Plantagenet of Woodstock

-Sedation. The Frenchman was God and he with Elenore achieved art in doing what only the most skilled physician could do: Tame the interior beast that ravaged a woman's youth. She sat up in bed, staring at the ceiling to contemplate the nature of dust through shafts of light. She hummed as weak hands combed through sweat drenched strands of hair. Back and forth went her eyes, back and forth. Content as a child was she while drifting through moment's of fever pitched end and true Elenore brilliance. "Such a toil, a travesty," said the seeming sensible (while senseless) girl to the maid who turned down the bed in order to bring her forth from it, "The Headmaster of Oxford was a most learned man, it was on his suggestion I sail toward my husband with sugarloaves," no, that was her mother's suggestion, but the word 'Isabelle' was never mentioned, nor 'queen', 'mother', or ''her majesty'. She shivered as the wind bit in through the stone.:"Put up another tapestry, or the lady will catch a chill! There" The maid instructed, before Elenore touched her shoulder in three taps. " I beg your pardon. It isn't as cold here as it would be under the Tower stairs." "Tower..stairs, m'lady?" "Oh yes. The stairs in the Tower, the Tower of London. Or the ones leading off toward the chapel. This is where they said they would place the Earl of Warwickshire you know. Yet he wasn't at luncheon the other day, mayhaps they found him first.That is a tragedy!" Elenore began to cry so hard it made her throw up again into the refuse pail, while the blood in the chamber maids all ran cold. "We need to talk to their Graces! " (d)



Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

"Hush my child." He soothed while covered hands did wash away the insanity, as if the very rag he pressed to her forehead could cool inside his palm; poor circulation. He would take his turn, overseeing the very likeness of a very ill mind. His voice would break the very fevered silence that came with the open sobs. "No, the draft will keep her cool. We do not wish the fever to spike. The fresh air will do her well." None dare challenge this new face, who seemed to work over her body like one would paint a picture. He had been at first a most frigid man, with pressing eyes, and a tall figure; the very step that he walked no doubt shifted under the weight of the elegant stance. Her sobs could easily be ignored, but it was the stench of the vial rushing from the pits of her stomach. Perhaps it was second nature now, but never did it bother him for with this came healing--Julian would be on the floor. The wind would sweep through the room, and brush over the woman's neck as he pulled away her hair, no doubt it felt very refreshing. This was always the hardest part of a purge. Jean-Claude had removed his jacket, and even undid his ascot knowing it would be a good while. "Plenty of water." He spoke to the maid in a quiet voice, as he continued to brush back poor Elenore's hair, "Keep it by her bedside." When the sick woman started to speak again, he listened wondering if the Earl had indeed been the of the same--locked in a tower? Did sound like Warwichshire, no doubt with a few hearty ladies at his side. Exhausted, Jean-Claude rose his attention to the maid who worked along his side, "Sit here, Mon cher, take over." He could not stand to hear anymore of the Headmaster without having some air. It nearly did him in. (d


Lady Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

Evangeline - She waited outside of the chambers for many hours, occasionally passing off trays or giving an overwhelmed maiden a moment to breathe. Pah. For being half English, their upstanding honor could do with a little Irish strength. As Jean Claude opened the door the scent of stench was nearly overwhelming until it was shut. By God, did they clean the chamberpot too?"Ye look as if ye need a night's rest ,Master Aquitaine. Do they nay sit down fer a moment in France?" Said the compulsive Irish woman. "Ye can hear her...rantin' through the walls. Wot e'ere she was gaein on about doesn't sound like somethin m'cousin will be pleased about. How she speaks now, it makes me wish she showed temper a wee bit more, she's half Irish tae, tis healthy. Tha' stoic face is un-natural, and damned frightenin." (d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

He could almost appear human, when he was undone; the laces around his neck not so tight and the pristine white of the shirt he wore seemed a perfect contrast with the dark silk of the vest it was tucked behind. Without all the dark ebony attire, he seemed a bit more approachable. No longer was there a shadow of a man, from head to toe, but now a tall slim figure that would be a surprise to learn there was indeed a stout man beneath all the fancy lace. "Ah, mon trésor," He smiled relieved when the door clicked shut behind him, "Would it come as a surprise to learn that I get weary of sitting for too long?" He could have used his cane, badly, but if the muscles did not stretch he would be in worse shape come morning. "In my early years..do not be so shocked that this creature was once a handsome young scholar," He mused with a smile folding his hands behind his back as he caught her eye--looking down of course, "and sleep was hardly part of my daily routine." His fashion of a jest, though nearly part of the truth. Jean-Claude worked day and night on his various degrees, and the projects that came along with them. "I'd like to see the body of the Headmaster before too much time changes the color in..." The skin would have followed, had he not realized his manners. This was not a topic you spoke of to natural beauty, a woman of such prestige that he hardly knew. "Mademoiselle Elenore, will hopefully be able to pull her thoughts together come morning." He slipped into the roll of professional, it pulled over him like a silk mask. "I..just need some air." Warwick, the name simply did him in. Was that old fool still alive? "Is the Tower of London very far?" (d


Countess of Dublin,Lady Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

: "Tha's yer way o'tellin me tha' ye were a handsome young rake o' a scholar who bedded many a woman n' made fathers rage o' undone maidens than aye, Ah understand yer full meanin. Hard tae sleep when yer studdyin or' tuppin." Bewitching smile sealed the end of a sentence that flowed direct from the mouth of a Lady to a gentleman, "Though thank ye fer ceasin the last. E'en we Irish have our limitations." He could speak of living acts: drinking, reading, endless nights of amorous acts, but the bastian of Death's effect on the body began to make the color leave the flower's face. Disguised wit ha toss of head, she sought to follow him about. Why not? O'Connor was set to follow her steps at any given moment, and even went so far as to take the privelege given him to enquire about details of the entourage's guard. Fantastic. Guarded by more pure bred English reminded her of a time they both would rather forget but when near Hadrian' Wall.."The day beh in rare form, tis nay frigid, indeed tis a bit more than mild. Ah shan't need a shawl. The Tower is nay terribly far if memory serves. How strange, last Ah walked these halls Ah bowed tae Englishman, now an English woman gets all the bowin'. Well, more English than she be Irish." The duality of water, clarity and murk, was easily defined in these two, each of the same blood but different extremes of what made it. Evangeline was English manners in a thoroughly Irish body and mind, Claramae was so English one might find the Irish in her passions, if they could distern if she exhibited passion.



Lady Govenor, Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence "What orders, your grace?" asked one of the few members of the old peerage who was wholly loyal to the new order. As the pair walked, they walked near Jean-Claude and Evangeline. "Well my lord it is simple. While it is not my favored of tactics as we prepare for a second march on York for its retaking, we will be culling the herd as we do. Forgive the heathen undercurrent of the instruction, but my husband shall no doubt return with a great many of thenames responsible for years worth of crimes against the state." "so as it was perhaps a pair of years ago.." "yes sir, They will be taken, lands stripped, and shot. This is if the Lord Commander has not assembled a great many of them to do away with their heads. This will not endere them to us but it is their progency we will shape in their wake, some generations of age are too flawed to undo." "What of those, of yeterday's vile events?" "They shall be dealth with." And God help them, for she would find this a matter worthy of her personal hand. "Ah, Master Aquitaine, My Lady. How fare you, and how fare the Lady Woodstock?" (d)


Earl of Warwickshire, Lord Cedric Laurence Atherton III,

Treason. An ugly word that chilled the blood of many whenever caught upon the tip of tongue. How many friends spoke of it as though of the latest fashion? Cedric was unsure yet as the Earl of Warwick knew many names that spoke such treacherous words as war and murder. They sought to fight change. One could not! It would come whether one desired it. This change was a particularly good one, at least in the mind of a madman, and Cedric had tried to fight for it. Many times had his feet found solid footing upon the soil of Scotland. Only one place had he sought to protect, and that was the land that was his as Earl- yet even those trusted could be treacherous. Call for a meeting of blackdiscussion! They seek only to spread chaos! Those had been thoughts of one Earl of Warwick when he'd first heard of the meeting from the lips of a trusted Mistress. He'd quite thoroughly dismissed her, and not in a pleasant manner, but hadn't expected trouble to come of it. Trouble in the form of curvaceous form in too tight silk with a neckline overflowing with bosom. He'd followed that woman out of his favorite gambling haunt, a bit tipsy to say the least- liquor helped to keep the voices at bay when mood was high in the sky, only to be swarmed in an alleyway. And now? "Where in the bloody hell am I?" Cold fury like none other raged in gravelly voice. Dark eyes sought some sign of identifying the room where he'd been unceremoniously tossed, as evidenced by lump upon head and bruise upon jaw, in bloody clothes! "Damn tempting bit of fluff!" A groan followed that shout as wrinkled hands clutched aching head. (d- lol hope that doesn't suck xD )


Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

A flush would rise over his cheeks, "Oh I would not go that far, feathers flying..non, that would be a bit barbaric. I do remind you I am French, ma petite, not a Scot." That did seem to be the trend. "Forgive me, it is hard sometimes to realize that not all are like your dear cousin. Of whom I dare say, I really can talk of anything.." The color that drained from her face, he did long for it's return. A great admiration for beauty, Jean-Claude, found inspiration in works of art and like her cousin O'Conner was indeed such a treasure. "I'm sorry, but I hardly see Irish in your dear cousin at all." He laughed lightly, and the very act seemed to be an elixir of youth. This would always be what kept him apart from all the rest, the scientist could walk from the near dead still with a smile or happy manners. He never took death to heart, and perhaps it made him all the more strange as well. Jean-Claude was deeply devoted to God. For what he thought was eternity the halls were silent as he slowly moved along side the Lady's cousin, but when her voice broke through the muffled stone he suddenly found it coming closer. "Master Laurence, Good evening." A polite bow to her company as well his dear friend, for they were only informal behind closed doors where both of them could pretend for a moment all their was in this life was idle conversation, and good wine. He did long for a drink. Lush. "Lady Woodstock, is fairing well, it is only in her acts now does her sanity seem to break, but the fever has fallen much..I will give her until the morning to start her recovery." He mused silently, so wanting to burst at his seams with laughter, and tell her in confidence how his very presence in there drove the maids insane..they were so leery of him, but Jean-Claude had grown used to thisaccusation now. He found much humor in it. "And Headmaster? Have you had a chance to.." A wave of his gloved hand would continue where his words dare not, spying from the corner of his eye to see if the Lady O'Conner did pale. "Your Darling Cousin, has been so kind, even now she shows me to the tower." Though as for what reason he knew damn well it should never be announced, no matter how much the hired hand to help was trusted. "Will you join us?" Dark coal eyes narrowed on her, but not out of anger out of warning. Come alone..(d

"Tis nay the nature o' Death tha' disturbs me, only tha'..functions tae which all o' yer n' m'cousins intelligence takes it tae. Tha's all. Regretably, Ireland is full o' dead bodies. We have a wake as much as we have a mass it seems, one might say tis why most o' Ireland is beside itself with drink." She grinned to soften the edges of his worry, gently reaching out a slender hand with a bracelet of pearl and ruby upon its wrist. "Her Grace is made o' such stuff as can ne'er be mined fer a woman on earth and is only installed by God, Ah'd like tae think tha' part is Irish. We expereinced a sense o' loss in our youth tha' hangs much o'er our the head o' our kin, be it tha' English are quiet, tis the Irish sides o' our mothers tha' bore the brunt o' it.." A glimpse through the mirror to the insides of both, she was still an O'Casey, but spelled it in the Irish sense. She may be O'Conor one day if she could love Faolan as much as they both loved Ireland. Her cousin's approach brought about a lowered curtsy of mixed scarlet-purple silk. "Good eve Your Grace. Master de Aquitaine is pleasin' company. If it is yer will ye should allow more French o' his caliber in your court."

Lady Govenor, Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Ireland has too few treasures such as the Lady of Dublin. The Tower? Has my cousin sought to inspire you of the Tower's fascinating history? It is part of a castle designed by the Normans after their conquest perhaps some two hundred years ago, if not more. It has been the sight of stern imposistion at a distance, it has its share of mystery and delight. Might I introduce you to the Lord Wessex. He is familiar." Meaning he was an English variant of 'them', and so would follow simply because she had no intention of taking an armed battalion acrosss the Tower Green. "Lord Wessex, Master de Aquitaine, Countess O'Cathasaigh, my cousin." The woman had family? Wessex would have to convey this to Warwickshire, who would not believe it (until he stared at the soft, docile countenance himself, the man would be smitten!) "Has Warwickshire received his summons, Lord Wessex, as it stands you are two days early." "I am sure he has, m'lady, you know the Earl." "Yes..let us not recount his exploits in genteel company if you please." The man would bed all of England, France, and three quarters of Belgium if he could get that far. "To the tower, then?" (d)

Earl of Warwickshire, Lord Cedric Laurence Atherton III

Dim lighting. That was first thing taken note of by blurry eyes. Lids moved rapidly in seeking to clear vision while joints creaked with disuse as he rose. How many days had he been out? "Left to wander! Doubt the walls can tell me what day it is! If I get out of this place alive I have to swear off tho-" Cedric stopped mid-sentence to allow laughter in place of silence. Chances of him swearing off any of the three things that had found him within stone walls was highly unlikely. Fact was, at this exact moment, the Earl of Warwick would be content in this place if he had a nice lady on each arm. Oh, and some gin! Of course, neither could be found here. While one leg drew up at the knee and a palm pressed firmly against stone flooring, Cedric took note of the scrapes across knuckles. Though brows drew together in anger,"Oh they ruined the lace!" Clothing was covered in mud and blood, and both fine silk and lace were ruined. As a man who liked to look his best that blow hurt more than the physical ones. (d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

"Then, Countess, let us cut off the trade of such finery. Ireland will have nothing left if they continue each night with all the..."He wrinkled his nose with distaste, "Brawls, and cheap drinks." Lord never had he seemed so French in one sitting before."You speak of Cedric then?" Jean-Claude had been so quiet while they all spoke, offering his greeting where it was needed, but all the while wondering of whom they spoke of. The last made it clear. No amount of pain could have kept him from the stairs, as Jean slipped from the formal gate the company kept. None, knew of the words that had left the crazed Woodstock, none but perhaps O'Cathasaigh. The torch was taken at the base as he made the climb, suddenly aware at how much time had passed in his age, but with a heavy break in the old door, the tower would be opened. "Cedric." He called out, finding the hold of each light--all signs of a struggle. The guards must of fled with fear when the Duchess had arrived, or the first fight had broke out. A ghost from lives past, he heard the words. Was it a phantom then? That haunted the those halls? Jean-Claude had been dead to this world for over 15 years."Cedric, you damn fool!" Once more he called, hearing some sort of mutter about a lace, and his heart beat again. History was well written inside these walls, this tower no doubt, but nothing compare to the past adventures of young lords in their prime. Jean-Claude to inherit the rich part of France, and Cedric to have many heirs.."It is not lace..when it is not italian..who made that your mother?" The phantom spoke again as he knelt beside the man checking for mortal wounds, but the jest written across his face could not have made up how truly relieved he was to see this man, alive. They were 20 then, no older then 25, and now? Jean-Claude was nearing his 50, by a good 4 years to come, or somewhere along those lines."Mon dieu..mon ami, qui a fait ceci à vous?" The French whispered as he ran his glove through the dark strands of the other man's hair to pull back the blood from the wound. "You have been drinking again." It would be good to keep him talking, as Jean pulled the sleeve of his shirt free to start applying pressure to the wound. This would have been what made the phantom real, for the scars of the burns raced up to his elbows and extended under the glove. He had not died in the fires, at least not his body. The time had come to stop hiding. (d


Lady Govenor, Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Yes, we speak of the Earl. Though not by his immediate Christening name." Murder, intrigue, and the woman cared about the flagrant use of first names in public, a rampant disease from Scotland infecting her beloved bastian of civility. What was next, exposed ankles? Whores advertising in broad daylight in the square? A lack of skill in organized assasinations? The last had already come to pass, by God, the rest must not come or the apocolypse would be upon them. The note of his voice made her give pause. Something was known between the pair that the pair comprised of Wessex and Laurence were not yet aware. Something that made it seem as if the man were slated to Death, or had fallen headlong to his fate. But lo! All in his drunken, dishelved glory with blood seeping from his head. Wessex didn't know whether to assist Jean-Claude or to merely suggest that this was not as uncommon as it seemed. "One speaks and the shape manifests. Good eventide my Lord, what befell you? Circulation, master. Circulation. Air and Circulation, The Earl will faint if he stands still." One could not imagine how many walks about parliment halls was necessary to sober him. Some amazing trick of circles, a mortal geometry only Cedric could have concocted. "To the Tower. I trust it shall be a functional tour? Perhaps someone might relay the words of the Lady Woodstock as we go on, she is currently sleeping...we can not hear her. Praise God." How she wished to return to Rosefielding House! Just outside the city, the true bedrock of all that was England. Youth's ghost of all of them was in these halls, young couriters, balls, promised matches and broken dreams. Shades in the shape of mothers, fathers, best friends, and masters walked with the living protegy. In time, the inside of the castle would become the outside in midspring as the moon rose to light their way to the Tower (d)

Earl of Warwickshire, Lord Cedric Laurence Atherton III

Ghosts were frequent visitors to those less than sane. A madman ranting along halls was always accompanied by companions one holding onto sanity could not see. Cedric? Well, Cedric had many a companion ghost. There wasn't any sign of surprise written on features no longer graced by youth. Instead those dark eyes lit with the smile upon lips as that voice was caught. "Jean, old pal, is that you? What took you so long? I've been expecting the gin and ladies for a bit now!" While Jean-Claude was truly there the mind of Cedric was not aware. No, in his mind this man visited him often. It'd been part of the onset of malady. Insanity mingled with the blood running through veins, and was his fate to have. It'd been the death of a dear old friend that had accompanied his descent into madness. The very man he conversed with now as though having spoken to him every day. Normal perhaps was his evening drinking, but the injuries? Well, Cedric would be offended to hear it called normal! A gentleman did not brawl as if a man common born. "Do not be insulting my lace, old friend, or I'll have to remind you of that time that fine lady wanted to see you wearing her lace. I admit that you were quite fetching. The bonnet especially..." Insanity. It was written plain as day upon features. The bump to the head didn't help any either. Even the fact that one wrinkled hand reached out and touched Jean-Claude's arm didn't register the fact that he was definitely real. "When did you get so old?" The first hint of oddity came through...along with dizziness. "Could use more to drink, old friend..." (d)



Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

"Connection, Master. They are all connected, the Lady Woodstock spoke of him being here. Kept rambling of a they..a connection to the deaths." He spoke to Claramae, in his usual calm manner of a voice as he wrapped the Earl's head once more with his sleeve, good enough until he could get him downstairs. Jean-Claude touched the man's hand that was pressed to his arm, and smiled. "I would have done anything to have that woman's affection..the only one to ever turn me away." Found out the very reason she was just as attracted to the same sex as he. He hand left that of Cerdric's to touch the side of his face, "I have been old for some time." He was real, very real. Sitting back on his feet he would look up at the trio, his dark eyes moving from one pair to the other as he spoke, "No doubt, you all know him well enough to know, that in this state if it were of natural cause he would be half naked. She went on about how they had planned to dump him here." Turning again his attention to the Earl he could not help but grin, the wicked look seemed only perfected with the coming of his age, "You have not changed at all. Still short..a bit thicker, with all due respect." Pimpin' aint easy. "Come..let's get you down stairs. Can you stand?" He would wave Wessex around to help him aid the Earl. By the end of the week, Jean would have turned the East Wing of the castle into a hospital no doubt. "He has lost much blood." A note to the pool that was around their feet..but was it all his? (d


Sir Faolan O'Connor

It would be the language of the Irish-Gauls that would herald Fao's return to Eva's side. As they had walked from the castle toward the infamous Tower of London -- once the home of kings, now one of the most infamous prisons -- he had leaned close to murmur, "Fer all tha' we 'ave been 'ere? I dae wonder what it tis tha' makes 'em say tha' England tis sae green an' pleasant..." All of their days had been spent in the city of London itself, the color being mostly the color of wattle and daub -- and the smell? Well. There was a reason that he walked on the right (at least, here, they tended to shout "Gardez l'eau" before they tossed out their chamber pot). And as for pleasant? Their first moments in England had greeted them with the scents of blood and vomit, murder, and treachery. (D)

Lady Govenor, Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"You have to think with an unbiased head, Sir O'Connor. Though it is hard to find anything pleasant in the last score of days, the homeland may of yet surprise you." Let us give pause - Jean Claude would be proven wrong as a distinct Irish feature emerged in a soft Irish-gaelic response given to Sir O'Connor from a woman who's English was so English, it didn't have an accent you could call English. What need would she have, the speaker of languages of culture, civility, and Romance, to speak the tongue of barbarian heathens? A mystery within mystery as they emerged to take the steps leading among the many for the tower. Some up to different passes, some outward. The Earl was bleeding by the Master Aquitaine's recoking, causing hazel infused sable gaze to turn downward as if reviewing a paragraph in a prayer book. "No, some of it is half-dry, congealing. It is not all his. Perhaps you might inspire the Earl the story of what befell him, he is one of the Griffin's most avid supporters." Enough so, they overlooked his obvious faults. Now, he was forgiven in that he was not as made as Lady Woodstock, but he was not so sane that hewas always passable.

Countess of Dublin, Lady Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

"The Duchess speaks Irish-Gaul," replied Eva to Fao in the same tongue that gave them the opportunity to communicate in private among the public (that was when she wasn't around) "M'father is from Lancaster, ye know." The language turned then to English as she passed a handkerchief to Jean-Claude for poor Cedric's head, "The poor dear, looks like he was clobbered a good one aye, English 'ave nay lost their aim." She sighed softly as she looked to Falon's lack of amused expression. Wind whistled through the tower, haunting refrain of ghost from another era, another time. "Ye need tae 'ave this entire castle blessed by Priest, yer Grace."

Lady Govenor, Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"They did not commit the murders here, they would not have made it that far, so I propose they sought to do away with the bodies.Wessex, to the Chapel, and I shall be up. I do not trust the good Earl upon the stairs but we shall have to take him with lest we shall not know the entirity. Please, good Earl..what was your agenda this evening?" The strict , pretty chime of the Governor's voice might help pull him from his haze, as she pulled out a vile of smelling salts from her inner wrist that Jean-Claude might wish to wave about his nose. The humors would do more than make himconscience, but assist in clearing the hang over. Thinned blood was not good for a man whom was losing it. " Sir O'Connor, would you please take the Countes with the Lord Wessex?The Earl's conversation would offend her ears, gravely." (d)


Earl of Warwickshire, Lord Cedric Laurence Atherton III

With head injuries generally came side effects, but the shock being experienced now wasn't from any wound. Was he...? It couldn't be! Cedric stared aghast at the ghost before him. The man searched his body for injury, gently wrapped his head as if mothering a babe, and still the Earl could not believe it! "Are you...here?" Words whispered in disbelief as fingers sought to brushed a pale cheek. Affirmation found in the touching of skin against skin. "Bloody hell! What game be this? Dead they said you were! Gone to the Lord!" Grief hadn't been able to be soothed by his wife nor friends. Fury at himself for not protecting his dearest friend had been his dearest companion. "How....?" They had quite a bit of discussion! Exhausted sigh passed lips as he closed his eyes briefly,"Bloody hell, going to make me cry! Can't be seen doing that in front of these ladies though. What gifts have you brought me?" One of those ladies was well-known, who could mistake the fine though withdrawn form of Claramae. Ah if he could awaken the passion in that one she'd warm his bed nicely! Though the other lady? Unfamiliar to eyes that appraised her package quite thoroughly. "Fine piece that one. Think I could coax her to nurse me back to health?" Wink and laugh that turned into a groan of pain as he clutched his ribs. "Aye, Your Grace, I am well enough to walk. That isn't all my blood. What day is it? Last I recall I was leaving a fancy gambling establishment in the company of a pretty lady when I was attacked." A story that'd offend ears? Well perhaps it would in more detail. For now though the Earl would be pleased to have that pretty lady stay in his presence. "Jean, aid me to my feet please? My body is not what it once was. The knees creak like an old chair." (d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

"To the Lord? Non, Mon Ami, they were trying to send me to hell." Nothing could have been done, for not even the King could go against the Church. "It is a long story..we shall talk of it while you mend." For heavens sake, did they all really think Cedric was drunk? Jean-Claude would laugh easing the man back until he could right himself. "She is Irish, Cedric. You would not be interested." Cedric would have been one of the only few to have ever touched the skin of the Frenchman, at least there upon his arm. Even Adelaide and her passionate kisses did not venture around the flicker of the past. "I shall get you back in good health, and find you the most avid nurse." No doubt Jean-Claude would only hire to the man's standards." When the Earl touched his cheek, Jean-Claude would smile as if the rest of the world fell away. "Headmaster is dead. He was killed my first hour here." The both had gone to Oxford, it was where they met."You will have no clue how much hope this gives me. I had almost thought myself cursed, but come.." Standing, there was no comparing Jean's legs to chairs, as now he could mask his pain very well. Tomorrow..he would not be able to get out of bed. Helping the Earl up, he would let the man lean on him. As they passed the Irish pair he would offer his apology to Eva, "Forgive my words," He would whisper, "but It is a favor..once he gets his mind on something...it really is embarrassing to watch." It was the air of mystery Jean carried that many lacked, especially the outspoken Earl; how many nights did Cedric find his bed filled only because Jean offered the flowers a bit of encouragement. Right so? Or hardly; it amused Jean-Claude all the while. He was French after all, well bred and the son of a Comte--arrogance was part of his everyday life. Though, before them stood a very humbled man...in his own way, "Shall we take this in the parlor where I can tend to the Earl, and we can question him further?" Woodstock was right, it was rather cold here. (d

Lady Govenor, Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

No, any fool could plainly see the man was attacked and drunk, the first exaserbating an already faulted state of living. Or he was hungover, which was a product of drunkiness but not influencing the first state which was entirely not his fault. The Lady Govenor was already ascending the stairs "The only parlors in this towerare those behind the locked doors of aristocratic rooms for aristocratic prisoners. You may have of the guard to unlock one if you wish. I am continuing on. If the Earl lives, that means there is another body here, someone took his place at the ill-fated gathering. I detest mysteries. There is enough to bother with without more supersticion to affect the view point of this place." In other words - we haven't time to uncover bodies of the state when we have bodies to bury in the state, instead. This was a wholly unwarranted stream of death against the plans she was formulating. "Pish. You will want to have that room unlocked, the air methinks hints at the ordor of a corpse. It wuold not due to expose the Earl to what would have been an untimely end of another of his peers.." Whilst below..


Countess of Dublin Lady Evangeline O'Cathasain, Lord Wessex, Sir Faolan O'Connor

"Sae how long have ye worked with their Graces, Lord Wessex" "And Against Irish Interest" Chimed Sir O'Connor, to which Evangeline hissed at him before offering Wessex an apology "The entirity of the soujourn, I was not against the King's taking of York, it was not as if the former Queen had sought rebellion, or the land of Lancastershire hadn't known a war upon it, or others. England was quite busy already, I feel he sorted it." "There may be somewot' 'ere we may take back tae our Ireland then. Progress their be a little slower." "As a snail, my lady." Faolan grinned, and on that she chortled, "Indeed sir. A snail." Wessex found the Irish ones had humor (their Graces had strange cases of humor, at random intervals in the last five years, and to his Credit the Duke could laugh if he so pleased. His wife just never did). In time the party ceased their step down in to the holy area. Something seemed.. wrong..in the vestibule (d)

Earl of Warwickshire, Lord Cedric Laurence Atherton III

"Irish you say? Well, I wouldn't have a complaint. Don't really want her to nurse me. Just warm my tender parts with her tender parts a bit." Oh, definitely not a gentlemanly statement! Though that was Cedric for you at times. At the moment though he was glad to be in the company a friend thought long dead. As knees made noises showing old age,"I'll hold you to that tale. Could use some entertaining while I recover. Where do you suppose they keep the liquor in this place?" A man had to have priorities! Cedric wasn't curious about who had tried to kill him, because that would surely be figured out at a later date. Instead his concern was for the alcohol that would help remedy his aches. It was the words 'untimely end of another of his peers' though that had one hand reaching out to makeJean-Claude pause their steps. "Just who do you think they killed, Your Grace? Those bastards wanted me to attend that parliament meeting. Coerced my Mistress into delivering the message as if that would sway me to betray the Griffon." A hearty snort sounded to accompany shaking of head, brown hair now untidy and matted with blood,"I told them where they could shove their summons." He desired to know who they had killed instead of him. Blood treasonous bastards! (d)


Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

Jean-Claude rubbed at his eyes, and when it was just the three of them he let all form of manner fall away. "Claramae, I could bury you where you stand. You should have sent for me long ago. This is very dire indeed." Was no wonder she looked so tired the last time they all sat for dinner. He only worried further. "Your husband no doubt has put a good lock down on the castle, but now I worry of Oxford. There are so many hidden chambers, and passages. The chaos must end there, shall I go in the morning?" He would prop the Earl against the wall, looking rather wild in his way..half undressed, skin very pale seeming as if carved from marble--a well defined arm that would be a bit surprising to see it's definition; for he always seemed so thin. "It is a dead body.." He could smell it like the cold irony scent blood, and with it the repulsive stench of a bodies decay. Really, he never did mind it, and somewhere in his studies had always thought of it part of life. Going to the door he would press against it, waiting to see if it was trapped at all. (d

Lady Govenor, Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Do not use my first name in public, Master de Aquitaine, the world may be slightly compromised but our stations are not. Let us not resort to theatrics." She scolded gently. She pressed her hand against the door in the room where they were at the top of the great ancestral stairs. Giving it wasn't budging with a pull, she excused herself with a nod as she was forced to utilize a rather unfeminine set of mechanics: a brain. She knocked once in the middle, twice on each other side, palm heeled the top.....and gave a dainty ankle sideways kick (with no ankle showing) so that out of the compartmentalized closet fell a man of the cloth. In fact he was a servant of a man of the cloth, a servant that was high enough on the social food chain to raise a delicate brow. "I speculated at no one and everyone, my lord Earl, yet we are highly to worry as the dead here is a messenger of the Archbhishop of Canterbury. This shall note bod well. Master de Aquitaine there is always alock upon this castle, it is impenatrable, and teh bodies weren't meant to be found, we were merely privy to a desperate work. I can not articulate how many dead bodies probably make our very foundation..yet this dead body gives me concern. He was poisoned, as by his yellowing, but apparently he was surviving, so they slit his throat. Please pardon me, I must violate the dead." She knelt down, and withdrawing a think scapel like blade from underneath the cap that held her pinned veil (it was always better to never ask how this was possible) she began to slice into the young man's shirt., at his vest in necessary cuts, not ones of immodest proportion. Oddly, (or not so suprisingly) she knew what she was doing, a little too well? Not with a murders hands, either, but a physician's. "His messenger bag is taken, but often they might rove with a duplicate as insisted..ah hahaha. Here it is then." She crossed herself, stashing it against her being before studying a tiny pin prick on his chest. "small pin to insert the poison. How novel. They gave him double, it seems he was impervious to teh food, or didn't touch it. We shan't know. While a certain amount of sacrilege is forgivable in confession. opening the body of a bishop's messenger seems to push the lot.."


Lord Wessex and Sir Faolan O'Connor

Where as below, Lord Wessex and Sir O'Connor went forth to the vestibule. But nothing was there! Beside themselves with the heady scent of death, they looked down to the wooden floorboards hidden beneath a carpet, and began to pull.. (d)

Earl of Warwickshire, Cedric Laurence Atherton III

"Come children, now is not the time to fight over forms of address. A man lies dead and we worry about decorum." Cedric, while insane, could be very lucid at times. Actually just about constantly except in the late evenings. Usually then he held onto sanity desperately by drinking. Though that caused a whole different kind of behavior. Groaning with movement, he pushed himself away from the wall to watch the actions of the Duchess. "The Headmaster you say?" It was only now that the mind was clear enough to grasp that long ago news. Both men had known that man. "What has England come to?" A shake of head, a sigh, andCedric's attention was then ripped toward Claramae as a body came into view. Now, the Earl was not a highly religious man. Issues with faith were expected of one who'd lost as many wives and children as he had, and who also had gained the suffering that his Father had once carried- yet even his hand moved in a motion to cross himself. "Men that would kill the messenger of the Archbishop..." This was far worse than just simple treason. Sinful behavior indeed to kill a man who wore the cloth. Judgment was not passed on Claramae for handling the body as was necessary at this moment in time. "Why didn't they just kill me then? They had me locked in one of these accursed rooms..." (d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

He turned on her his hands upon his hips, before she would move to open the closet, "It is the middle of the night..we are the only ones in this hall, and he'll never remember any of this in the morning. I've not slept nor eaten since arriving here. I've been dealing with madness, sickness, and death. FORGIVE me for not giving a rats ass about titles at the moment." Oooooooooh, "The next time I use your name in Public Master Laurence, you can scold me, but until then I've had about enough of this for one night." Perhaps Skye had spoiled him, but they did forget it has been many years since he's been in the public eye. No matter he had his feathers ruffled, as any that knew the rules of politics forward and back. "You have this under control. I have patients that need tending. When you have any further clues, please come find me, but until then leave me be. Cedric, friend. When you have finished here, I'll need to stitch that."He would start speaking French with all the flame and flair that caused greatness to fall mad. Clearly, about how Claramae was impossible..rather like a puzzle that once you got close to figuring out..fell apart to start all over again. "Cedric..thank you. Will you kindly tell her that?" He motioned to Claramae, "She's impossible. I..You.." Again with the French, as he turned to make way down the hall. He needed to rest, a moment to himself, a good bath, something to eat, and a change of clothes. Tomorrow would be the day Master Aquitaine would return to Oxford. (d


Mo Ghradh Alba: "Jean-Claude....breathe man!" Rapid French wasn't best heard when suffering from a head wound. Only half of what was said was caught and there wasn't any chance Cedric was repeating that to Claramae St. Laurence. Having been almost killed once was enough for a little while. After Jean-Claude stalked off to go have his 'alone time' Cedric turned to the Duchess with a wide smile,"Friendly chap, isn't he? Think he could use a bit of gin and a diddle though to ease that tension." Then realizing just who he was talking to the Earl quickly cleared his throat,"What do you think? Did they let me live due to lack of time? Hope I would starve up here? Or perhaps for future use?" It was confusing just why these men had not killed him. The opportunity had presented itself! (d)

Lady Govenor, Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"He is quite amiable when he isn't denouncing my nature, " The Master's anger made him forget that the one to which he was speaking understood perfect, and spoke perfect French. Or it was that he wanted her to understand his tirade as he seemed to flounce off in the manner of an angry woman. As it was she could not soothe his ire (having led to swearing, lord forbid, and an open shirt.) The Govenor could stand to be a little more sympathetic, but her mind wasin a pure mode of complete analysis. Intellect, no, logic, was the key. It was how the world of Laurence was held up on pillars proving stable for far longer than emotion. "The Master de Aquitaine's..needs..in such a respect are not suitable for discussion or thought, my lord." She took an indignant tone, for afterall if he were in his right mind, Jean-Claude would excersise modesty (despite the fact they argued over a dead man). The messenger had nothing to add to the interlude. "That is a seeming question. They came to dispose of bodies. You were not at the luncheon, so you were trailed and brought here to be dealt with. It could have been that neither was this lad at the luncheon and killed enroute thus flummuxing the whole affair. Which means that this isn't the appropriate third body. He is collateral..which must mean the true 'third' body must be in the location to which we are not.

Countess of Dublin, Lady Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

" No sooner did they discuss the matter than the Lady O'Cathasaigh fell backward from the vestibule's ripped floorboards, crying out in alarm at the contents for more than the obvious reason. As discussed, the 'third body' was indeed freshly settled..amidst years worth of older corposes (d)


Earl of Warwickshire, Cedric Laurence Atherton III

At least the two above stairs were not left to wander long. Just as Cedric's mind had started to turn, the little wheels moving along slowly at first then spinning faster, his whole body jerked at the sound downstairs. "What in the bloody..." Dark eyes darted to Claramae with a question. "Think you they found our missing fellow?" Though probably not the wisest of choices, Cedric began to shift toward the stairs. One foot planted in front of the other slowly with a palm pressed against stone wall for balance. Walking with a head injury wasn't smart especially when one didn't have full balance yet staying up here wasn't an option. Answers sought would be found if one followed the scream. "Didn't think those Irish lassies had lungs like that. Then again I didn't think I'd ever see Jean-Claude behave as though a woman with his laces tied to tight. No offense meant, Your Grace." Quick apology, of sorts, while he moved slowly down the staircase. (d-back lol)


Lady Governor, Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Indeed, especially when his laces were undone as it was." Haha. That might have been a funny, but it wasn't as though she smiled to give the merest mortal indication as to a puncuated statement of droll make. At the sound of the scream each turned to move back down the stairs. With no concern for staining a good gown, she silently pardoned the intrustion upon male self reliance as she assisted the Earl down the stairs .No sense in letting a member of the peerage meet his end that night afterall tripping down the steps. "Yes, I do believe they found our true third, we shall have to investigate. Are you well of this, my lord? Should I hasten you to a physician? With the Master as beset as he is, I fear he may pinch the skin upon your head too tighty. It would not do for myself to see to the design of your stiches, it would harm the Master for you are his friend of many years, and in England one tries to do nothing too untorrid." It was distinct enough she had to utilize other 'talents' before Cedric, though he was not alien to the fact she was abnormal.


Lord Wessex

"Dear Lord in heaven, say, O'connor, pull back the last bit of wood." Wessex kept his composure despite the stench causing his eyes to water without his desire for them to do so. Signs offoul play were minimal in the most recent corpse because he had died of poison, so by foul one denotes his appearance only. Evangeline could not have been beside herself for merely the sight of him, for her face looked as if it viewed ghosts. To her credit she still stood near the open floor of the vestibule, sleeve risen over her nose to inhale the scent of perfume, instead of death stench. (d)

Earl of Warwickshire, Cedric Laurence Atherton III

"Physician? Do you think me a weakling, Your Grace? I have withstood worse scrapes than this in my lifetime. Though I do appreciate the assistance." Friendly smile softened the edges of a stern face while they made their way downstairs. It would only be once they reached the bottom that Cedric would shift away, asking release. Would not do to appear weak in front of others though. "Can't have Wessex seeing me leaning on a lady for support. Chap might never let me live it down." Clearing throat, straightening stained lace cuffs as best as possible, Cedric stepped into the vestibule without any aid. His feet were a bit more steady even if he looked horrid. "What have we found here? Oh Lord what is that-" One hand raised to cover his nose at the stench that made eyes water immediately. It likely singed the hairs in his nostrils! (d)

Lady Govenor, Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"No, it would merely not do to exhuast you further, Master de Aquitaine is quite right in this aspect. You are not a weak man, and yo uare welcome." The tone of voice lessened to indicate that she appreciated his stance and physical being in the world. Where Jean-Claude deduced it was worse than reported, the truth was reports were accurate. It had not been at this level of disaster before, and when tensions rose they were summarily quashed by the likes of Cedric in Parliment and beyond it. They were not God, afterall. "Quite right. Image and all," she let him up as she appeared behind Cedric into the cathedral, hands clasped as she lifted kerchief scented in oil to her nose. The stench was recent rot coupled with old decay! "Lady O'Cathasaigh, are you quite well?" Then came the diminished tones of Gaelic inquiring the same, gentler, more familial as Evangeline slid an arm into Claramae's. As Claramae strained over to look,it would near be her turnto hit the floor. God knew how she stood erect.."Oh dear God," she crossed herself, "It is the Archbishop. Dear heavens...the Archbishop!"(d)

Earl of Warwickshire, Lord Cedric Laurence Atherton III

"Your Grace, forgive me for stating the obvious, but this is...bad." Understatement of the year anyone? Clearly Cedric couldn't figure out a better way to express the 'oh chyt' feeling had upon seeing that the third body was the Archbishop himself. Just who would go so far? And why? Were England crumbling around them at this moment he would be too stunned to move. Yet, in every sense, it was crumbling. Treason spoke upon tongues, peers of the realm being poisoned, and someone had killed the Archbishop! That in itself was signs of gloom if not doom. "What will we do now?" One hand was offered in comfort, daring to touch the shoulder of Claramae with no fear of being smacked, to offer some strength involving the matter at hand. The state of the body was not a problem for Cedric. As a man who'd fought in war- he'd seen worse. Yet now he sought, with his body, to shield its view from the sensitive eyes of the ladies. (d)


Duchess Vincere St. Laurence, Lady O'Cathasaigh

"Yes, my Lord Earl, this is horrific. It means that we have been infiltrated in the center of the state, and we must march on Canterbury at once. We must evacuate the remaining clergyman, commit sacriliege and search the Archbishop's residence for any reason that would have called him forth, him! Was it a religious calling, some sort of civic mediation. Why would he to table with Lady Woodstock, and the Headmaster of Oxford? Were they going to put her up to something, was she a companion to them..were they ascertaining her status...by God." It was him who had Elenore spared on any charges of murder due to her madness, him that found no witchery in her to appease the English religious life despite the Griffin's civic betterment. It was he whom helped to hold the rest of the world at bay, and now he was gone. Murdered! "Lady Woodstock knows..something more. Oh we must pry into her mind. It shall be a long sojourn. Say this..say nothing to a soul. All of you. Say nothing."

Soft English said, "Look beneath the Arch-bishop." "Please...just..look."


So the woman looked, letting go of her cousin and peering around Cedric to look down at the depths under the blood soaked purple cloth, the silk, the spun gold on His Eminence to see the strands of dark woman's hair underneath him, of shriveled, sunken skin on old bone, preserved in its deep burial in the cold portion of the earth. Of what she saw, of whom for there were two figures hence, Claramae said nothing. "O'Connor, Wessex, please taken the Countess away from here." She squeezed her cousin's arm, the pair of them exchanging glances that registered some measure of emotion in impassive eyes, but which one? (d)


Earl of Warwickshire, Lord Cedric Laurence Atherton III

"If it is possible, Your Grace, I would like to aid with Lady Woodstock. I have personal experience that could be of use." Cedric put it politely, but in truth was simply stating that crazy knows crazy. It would be a boon they would not have otherwise. He could aid in possibly getting her to open up about what matters had drawn such people together. As one who'd almost been killed and knew the Headmaster well...his interest was piqued. When the Countess told Claramae to look though, Cedric stepped back and raised a bushy brow. "What..." Oh, he could have just asked yet saw no point. Vision wasat full mast and so he stepped forward to look as well. The departure of the Countess coupled with the look the two women shared caused a murmured,"What is going on here, Your Grace? I cannot pretend to know the minds of women nor the mind of two such women. Most would have immediately left the room after merely smelling slight odor yet you both do not. I know that something is afoot, something dark, and I was part of the plot- though I understand not how, but if I am to aid you then I need to know what facts we have at hand." Brushing hair out of his face, he cringed with the movement as sore ribs were jostled, and muttered,"I'd like to make those men pay." (d)

Lady Govenor, Duchess Claramae Vincere St.Laurence

"We are women, and our constitution is thrice that of the standard, of this I assure you. My cousin lacks a gentility in such matters I lack, save now. I am quite disturbed," Did it show? Not really. Not unless you knew her well enough, and the pair were coming to know one another slowly over these five years. When he brought up the Lady Woodstock, she would nod without delay "By all means. You will not terrify the girl, and the Master Aquitaine will have eyes clawed when she is...more..herself." She reacted strangely to various persons, in as such no one could tell her true mind when ill. When she was ill of body, she was more steady of thought. When she was steady of body the rest was obvious. Her eyes did not depart from the body beneath the bishop. She lingered, far longer than one ought mourning the loss of England's most key religious figure. It was for the body of years withered under the Arch-Bishop that locked soundless slippers in place on the precarious edge. Amazingly, she didn't fall. Amazingly, she didn't fall to a thousand pieces, but she was far too old for public theatrics.What was a matter of interior reflection wasn't discussed, but her eyes became the fluid gaze of a woman's for once in his presence, instead of the painted gaze of the perfect courtier. "I believe they would have killed you, I believe that you should have been where Lady Woodstock was, as the Headmaster. I believe the messange rwas collateral damage, and his eminence, though poisoned of the same substance..would have no reason to be in the same place no matter how I jostle the puzzle. I believe we are going to commit sacrilege in the search of his body, but we have no choice. He must have come to tell us something..that is all that makes sense. I also believe I solved a mystery that had long puzzled me on the same day as new ones arose.*" (d)

* - The bodies beneath the Arch-bishop are well over twenty years old. The mystery of the women are later to come, recognizale by hair and fragmens of clothing, jewelry, to the party that gave them pause.

[Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine]

Nothing in this world could have prepared him for this trip, upon English shore Jean-Claude found himself scattered. He moved from distant memory to present day effortlessly on the out, fluid elegant motions that seemed almost too close to a sin to ever be real. Somewhere between his past, and the future he imagined with Adelaide kept his heart burning; the ache their far too real.

Upon returning to his quarters, he pulled the gloves from his hands; the freeing motion could help him breathe as he stripped away the ruined shirt only to allow his chest to expand—his heart beating out of his chest. He had never imagined this trip to be so hard on his nerves, though for all to see he was a calm stoic stone statue that stood guard against the world. However, on the inside he nearly fell apart.

While in France, he moved in shadow unaware that his world did still exist, but here in England he knew he could not hide for long. Already with Cedric it had started, parts of his past pulled out from their veil to realize that he had in fact walked this earth all along. How long would it be before his family got word? Came looking? Jean-Claude slumped into a chair, his face falling behind his hands, and the pain behind his eyes pounding. Never had he wished for Ada to be at his side more, and it was almost torture not to have her comforting words whisper against his ear when she came to find him in such a position.

“My god, what will happen…” His voice a smooth transition of the pain he felt that mixed with the guilt he would carry should the church come looking. For over 15 years he had lived in secret, small little rumors here and there of what a man he was once filling his mind only to be turned over in small bouts of amusement. It was too late now to turn back, not with half the halls speaking of the man who brought sanity back to the Lady Woodstock. His anger to be checked, the frustration to be swallowed, and the heart would slow; however, the night was not ready to make its end.

Elenor, would start her cries again, carried through the halls upon the flat of her back she screamed at the top of her lungs, and he marveled at the strength of the poison. The Frenchman would rise again, pull a simple yet clean shirt from his wardrobe and marvel at how old he really did look in the mirror there upon the wall. Yet, as her cries pierced the night he would not even have time to comb out his hair. Rummaging through the bag he would pull out his work gloves, the leather very thin, but the silk had been a surprise. Pulling the scarf from the bag his heart nearly left his chest, and a smile pulled slowly on his lips; Adelaide used this to tie her hair back, and her scent still clung to it. In turn Jean-Claude clung to the rag, and would even tie it around his neck in perfect display of what some would call a gypsies noose, for the colors far too bright to be of his normal ascot. After tonight, he would indeed be a man hung from the square, but at least she would be with him.

Adelaide..

Truly it was amazing how strength could be found in just one little token of home, and as Jean-Claude moved down the hall he came with the strength of ten men to help hold the ladies arms down.

“Water! Did I not tell you to give her water?!” He could have torn through the nurses as they rushed to see his wishes carried out. Her fever was high, but soon he would have everything under control. Perhaps it would be time to dig up all of those old degrees he collected like a trade, just to flash them before the faces so that they would simply not think him crazy. He had not let the medical world fall away as he concentrated on the name of science, but it seemed he had to prove himself to them. Come morning..he had hoped the staff would trust him.

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

(From England, The Establishment: Summary of the Three Remaining Progency of Edward II)

Former Royal Heir: Edward Plantagenet III, Little Longshanks, to have been the King of England: He would have been Mortimer's pawn and the heir of a man who was less than worthy to sit upon a throne, and he is the son of a woman they call the She-Wolf. His royal blood matters precious little but to those who would see the might of England restored through him. There hasn't been a soul who hasn't wished in the years since the fall to prostrate his body on the floor of the once royal castle like a whore, making him swear fealty. Despite his lot he is a brilliant young man who has been under the keeping of the Lady-Govenor himself, his moves watched, his person guarded to prevent kidnapping attempts. When given the chance Edward is able to argue any point of the current or past day, and has learned well of a form of government his forefathers abhorred. He wishes to make the journey to Skye with his sister Joan to meet the Mo'r Triath for himself.

Former Royal Heir: Joan Plantagenet, Joan of the Tower,former Princess of England and betrothed of David I of Scotland: She would have been the next Queen of Scotland, she who was born in the Tower of London, but instead remains as close company to her brother Edward. An arrangment that would carry her to the Scottish court as a Lady in good standing have been in the works for many years. Like her brother, she is also the source of kidnapping attempts, rumor, and desired by both men of the country and abroad. There is also a rumor that she has a French cousin within the court at Skye that might help the case she and Edward present. There is no love the young woman has for her mother anymore. She mourns the loss of their brother, John, the former Earl of Cornwall whom it is yet to be discovered was murdered by the peerage.

Former Royal Heir: Eleanor of Woodstock, Countess of Guelders,'Eleanor the Sad' a former Princess of England: The young woman was given to Reginald the II ' Reginald the Black' to appease the Count for England needed more allies than enemies by the time her 1332 nuptials had come about. It was fabled she left from Sandwhich with a spanish wedding gown, rare spices, sugar loaves, among other treasures. Her husband, already being a widower, was not particularly kind. Eleanor has returned to London in 1333 more worse for the wear of her experience. The Countess has thrice attacked her brother and sister, and after nearly poisonining a Parliment members wife for fear her 'mother would be angry' if she did not, she was sent to an abbey. Allegedly restored to sound health, she rejoins what remains of her family in London. Her former betrothals include men of France and Castile, each could have improved her fortune dramatically. She is indignant at her mother's Spanish marriage, and some say it is a root cause for her present ticks.



Elenore Recounts Scenes Before the Tower
(An Interlude)


If one would have told the Abbess in the country that the Lady Woodstock was of a sound mind, the woman would have only scoffed and said that under herb anyon emight appear lucid when they were only well stupified. Heavy tonics pulled Elenore's mouth closed and her hands away from the roots of her hair as she stared blatantly in the cell where she often sat in the 'worse' of her fits. Poor soul. None of it was ever truly her fault. Elenore had always been the one who wanted to please or be the most pleasing. A pebble in the proverbial shoe, she was but one more daughter to marry. She was not as beautiful as Joan, but far more pious. She was neither as clever as her mother, but able to obey. This should have made her a wonderful wife for the Count of Guelders, Reginald II. Perhaps his better aspect was indeed Reginald the Black.

Already a widow, he had no more use for a wife. She could not become a'gone with child nor was she the sort of fair company that stirred his interest. In fact, she was more like a dog he kicked at perpetual but continued to return beneath his shoe, with tail curled, hoping that every time after would produce a different result. Ultimately, he had to kick her so hard that he had to abandon her all together. She was too remorseful, too sad. Too desperate. Even he saw the shift in her eyes when she began to discuss things with imaginary cohorts from courts, when her prayers took the shape of intercessing saints, and on the day he told her that she would return to London was the day she pitched a crucifix at his head.

Now, whatever was left of her sanity was hidden under more medicine and more ramblings. Trauma sent her back, and the maids wondered if the physician who pulled what words he had from Elenore could ever truly bring her back. The madness was not long set, but long enough that it was beginning in the year 1331.

*

from the parliment.. 1333

"I do not understand. Why is the Arch-Bishop seeking out myself? Can he not reach the Lady Govenor, or for that matter, Edward or Joan? Few will believe me sir after my rather harsh turn of the mind.." Elenore sat on a little dias in a room within the parliment. She belonged, oddly enough, on a dias, but didn't sit on it the way other Princess' of the blood did. She was an enobled woman with a lack of full recognition, yet all the pomp of her prior circumstance. She watched with a discerning eye the archbishop's messanger, a papal giver of prelate in his own right. He lowered himself, and passed her the papers bound in black ribbon, shut by the seal of Canterbury.

He questioned the same set of circumstances, but realized that coming in such a method to find the first available member of the 'High State Peerage', as they were called, was better than seeking out the Govenor for himself. He knew that he could if he so wanted to, but knew that a rather strange set of circumstances called for a strange deliverer. The circumstances were an old cause that had merit in the new, tattered landscape. While all of the country was blooming with Spring, half of it was torn apart by war. York was a prize in the treasury of the royalists, whom more and more were abandoning the idea of any of the three Platagenet heirs taking the throne in their name to rend a war, or by plain force. They rallied to the sound of Alfonso IV and Isabelle of Castille. The thought of her mother brought on the familiar want to scream. In the back of her skull voices hissed a teasing refrain that she could have been a Spanish Queen if her mother had well arranged it but took the prize and left them all alone. She cleared her throat, making a natural sound to drown out what was imagined. Luncheon was being set on the long tables behind them. She would entertain the messanger on behalf of the State, a duty she never thought to ever have, one she was determined to prove herself at. Rising from the dias, she bid the messanger rise as she said plainly, "It is not my seal to break, but tell me what it is again you wish me to impart to Her Grace."

The messanger felt such relief! It was true then, that Elenore's faculties had been restored and she could stand as sound deliverer and recall her place as former witness. He came in close to the lady as she had wine poured for them. A part of him felt terrible, for his duty was to dredge up a terrible day within her life:

"The Archbishop has felt that his life has long been in threat at Canterbury. He feels that there are those who would do things to him but make no move for they have no place to do it."

"No! Surely not His Eminence! Even the most staunch of opinion in the state has hold some reclaimation to divine right, and to God! What does he feel threatens him?"


"Yes my lady, none are safe," he passed her a private message for the Children of Plantagenet, "He commends to thee facts for your safe keeping, and trusts you to share them, yet by his own hand he bids you read.." Elenore would take a seat now at one of the table chairs, and look across the script from the holy figure himself:

To the Countess of Guelders,

My Lady, it is imparative that you recall an incident that is never brought to light for no light on the matter was known until now. It has come to my attention that the disappearence of the Earl of Cornwall no less than two years ago has been solved by an inspector of the Church. It has been discovered that the Earl, your poor brother, was murdered in Nottinghamshire, his remains dragged outward to Leeds to make it appear a matter of a brawl gone awry, or at its worst, suicide. None of these are matters to which your brother the Earl would ever meet an end, but dear child, you know this as well as I. I have heard you were in Nottinghamshire the night of his death. You, my child, are the only one that remembers what befell him, and the only one who might understand what awaits the rest of us should the new governance fail.

As your brother held Cornwall, in the event of his death his lands were absorbed by the State, yet it comes to my attention that Spanish Royal Sympathizers have sojoured in Cornwall these past pair of years. What did they speak of that night, my lady, what were their plans? Only you might remember and help to spare us, and bring your poor brother any justice to rest upon. It is my belief that Edward caught wind of the old Royal Restoration movement before it before any of Spain became involved. It is my belief that now they shall go through any means necessary to see England restored with a God-head.

Canterbury has been taken in secret, if not in public. You must tell this to the Governor, the Lady, for it is too dangerous for us to exchange communication directly. I leave in your trusting my messanger, and the secret of this knowledge in your capabable hands.

His Eminence

[Evangeline O'Cathasaigh]

Interlude - The Secret Never Mentioned before The Hiring of Two for Canterbury

Lady Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

She walked with steps patterened in the silent scream ripping through her brain. Every cavern of her body was full of an echo from disgusted shock at what lay beneath the floorboards of the Tower of London. The secret? It lay under her tongue, sour as perssimons, heavy as stone . Lord Wessex put a hand to her back to steady her, worried for the woman who was as he disocovered a relation to a woman who held no living kin on English soil. Save, this soul. This one Irish woman with some pieces of the Rose "Wessex, please, good m'lord let me gae. Ah can walk upon my own accord..." A gentle action turned into an afront; she jerked away from Wessex with more strength than she thought to hold as her own. Images of moments before stretched out against that dark night when Finnen's life was taken from him. What was green, good, and beautiful of England? Faloan's sarcasm stung at her like a slap, and the remedy? Somewhere in the hedge maze, in absence. (d)

Sir Faolan O'Connor

It seemed as though a sickness more vile than Justinian's Plague had begun to infect the city of London, threatening not only the lives of the Duke and Duchess of all England -- but also his own sworn charge and Lady, Eva? Faolan was quiet a moment, looking down upon the four corpses that had been placed beneath the floorboards of the Tower. Although he had lapsed in his faith, it would respect that would see him make a quiet sign of the Cross above the four souls and voiced a quiet "Requiescat in pace." He rose quietly, briefly listening to the conversation that was going on about him. He would murmur to Eva, "Shall I gae an' summon a death cart?" If only it was the Plague they faced. There was a shake of his head, before leaving to summon a plague cart. He would allow another to direct where the bodies should be taken too. He may not be as book-learned as His Grace, the Duke. But he was still a very intelligent soul. While they awaited the death cart's arrival, he would crouch by the opened grave. Four bodies he saw here. Two fresh upon two older. There was a cant of his head. Was it by some design that the fresh dead had been placed here? Some accident? He paused, before giving a shudder. ...it seemed, for a breif instant, he had felt something else. May'ap his imagination.... or a knowing that a mavelant force was now working. To steep the Tower of London in death, misery, and restless dead. (D)


Ladies Evangeline O'Cathasaigh and Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

England was working against itself as two opposing forces striving for the same aim of a unified common faction under one unified being. Under God, could that be sanctioned? Under God, could the Tower of London still stand as England seemed to be falling? Wasn't that a crack in the skyeline, a sliver taken from the moon? Evangeline breathed in air with both hands on the front of her laced figure. It was amazing how much decorum took command to make sense of a time like this. "Only for the Bishop, Her Grace will see the other women resumed in a way tha' be personal." The matter was personal. She watched as across the Tower Green the Duchess walked, devoid of company through the shadows. "Please, .will ye wait fer me, n' be nay far?" Something in her voice was on the edge. Something pleading, something desperate that didn't push him away for once as she sought to deal with the world at large. Without waiting for his response, purple-scarlet gown became wings as she flew off toward the hedge maze after her cousin. Like her, Claramae sought to forget what was seen but would never be able to. She swam in a sea thick with old lies, throwing up the refuse after being force fed old, stale beauty. If he listened, he would hear. If he listened, he would be privy:

"Yer Grace..Claramae, wait."
The sound of Evangeline's feet settled, skirts rustling in a breeze. As the Duchess advanced and the Countess paused, the signature lack of noise from the Duchess' feet was as devestating a silence as the tomb in the vestibule. When he held his heart in the palm of his hands, he heard voices again:

"Yes, Evangeline?
"Claramae, Ah'm frightened. Fer all 'o us, fer this place. Ah'm frightened for us o' wot will come from wot was found in the floors. And Ah'm...heartbroken."

More silence. More silence manufactured of pain unspoken. He intruded by invitation with his ears on a moment of tenderness. Claramae let her hands lock in Evangeline's, arms wrap around her body as Evangeline did the same.

"I have no heart - left to tear, Eva...it is upon the Chapel floor, dashed about the tower now. There is nothing left of it."

"Claramae Ah'm sae sorry..." Irish Gaelic took over the English, both mourning, both expressing shock, yet for whom? The answer was startling.

"My mother, My mother, and her mother. I know how they were killed, and why, yet I could never find them. I wish I never had...Eva, I wish I never had as of this day. God strike it from my memory! I promised you I would see if your mother's muteness might be remedied and yet my own is close at hand."

"Oh Claramae..ah dun want tae lose ye again, nor us. It has been sae many years. Sae many! We have nothin' left save one another. Ah've ne'er told a soul o' the Lancaster, nay after Father.."

"I know, Eva. It was never his fault. He was no traitor to the crown. Your husband was of Lancaster as well, it is a sullied name, everything is in ruins is it not? Oh God, Eva. We must to prayer, we shall excume them..we shall bury them in privacy, have them blessed..."

"Ah'm sae sorry."

(d)

Sir Faolan O'Connor

Before he could make his response, Eva was gone. Run off to the hedge maze and the Duchess who walked there. Fitting, it was, that both now walked the hedge maze while trying to sort out their own thoughts and words. Would either care that his footfalls sounded quietly outside of the maze, giving them what privacy they could and still yet staying close enough to hear them? (D)


Ladies O'Cathasaigh and St. Laurence


"Wot can Ah dae, Aisling wot can I dae."

The Irish-Gaul was effortless thick beauty now, poetry as srong as the scent of the roses that made them both heady with false memory. How could a rose be beautiful. How could anything be beautiful?

"I am aghast to send you upon any venture."
"But now ye must, Aislin', ye must?"
"The Archbishops effects, they must be searched.. I need to know wha the knew...more than just from what came with his courier or what we find in his robes. The entirity of it. I must know what is there in Canterbury, what may be
elsewhere. But I can not ask this of you.." (d)



Sir Faolan O'Connor

What would the pair of the do, when another set of footfalls came into the hedge maze? When he was close enough, Fao asked quietly (in the langauge of the Irish Gual), "Then why dae ye nae ask me?" He would be standing there, at the bend in front of them. After a moments, he would ask, "There tis cleary a great deal o' treachery brewin' in the land, an' much of it ta be 'ad at Canterburry..... can ye truly be trustin' those tha' ya send of your own household?" (D)


Ladies St. Laurence and O'Cathasaigh

"I trust those who come from my household implicitly, it is the world beyond my household that is in question, Sir Faolan." She didn't change to English, yet was caught in a posistion of vunerablity with power to pass along. For her part, Evangeline couldn't stay silent. "If ye send Fao, two are better than one, cousin." (d)


Sir Faolan O'Connor

That explained much, it seemed. Perhaps Fao should have believed Eva's claims better. "Tis much treachery here, Yer Grace..... an' much of it, from what I seen, tis close ta yerself. Such schemes cannae be done, wit'out someone close ta ye...." It was true, of course. "Iffen this matter does needs be looked after, then dae send m'self an' the Lady O'Casey." (D)

Ladies St. Laurence and O'Cathasaigh

"I do profess, your combined service was offerend and excepted before the Arch Bishop was found in our chamber floor. York is dangerous, yet the religion makes Canterbury..more so." Claramae began to pace in the hedge maze, Evangeline taking her arm, "Then ye need the best, n' we are tha'. Ah will gather anythin fer yer hand n' he can extort anythin from any man, we can transfer n' sell wot e'er will bring us more. Ye need the information quickly, in Canterbury is nay sae far." (d)


Sir Faolan O'Connor

Fao was quiet, letting the cousins have their time. He would follow a step behind, as the pair and talked of their plans. Where they to be of to Canterbury, then? Perhaps they would find a plot to martyr someone -- have a chance to martyr someone themselves. (D)

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

To the Tower, After Lady Woodstock's Strange Ramblings

Part 2 of 2


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

Silence - the sound was manufactured by the movement of nothing around the vestige of one woman. The halls weren't silent, only she was silent in them without the click of heel on shoe or the skirt to rustle soft song of feminine quality. Her breathing was staged for the benefit of allowing air to push the blood that made movement possible, yet hardly a bit of skin at the throat hollow flashed. She moved more than anyone could recall, more fluid and slow as if to soak in the details of this one place in time, but with the eerie quality that no amount of time ever had the servants become accustomed to. In her hands was a great source of knowledge waiting to burst forth from black ribbon and holy seal. In her hands she was sure was something that would shed much needed light on dark places in the world before another move was made. The sacrilege against the idea was that many moves at that very moment were being made. The Keeper of the Horses was inspecting the stable for a pair of perfect beautiful, quick horses for Sir O'Connor and the Countess O'Cathasaigh. In the kitchen, supper was being prepared with no promise anyone would eat it. In her hands, words were waiting to be read. In a sickbed, a young woman was coming to consciousness again in a way no one had ever seen. (d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

What he would not give for the theory to be true. The place between time and space, that drifted in and out of dreams could turn back the hands of time. Jean-Claude felt himself under the weather. Worn from the trip, the excitement of the first days, and the lack of sleep, had nearly done him in. However, after the hours passed he slept in peace, behind locked doors and felt himself rise with new eyes. The world seemed to slow if only for a moment as he slipped back into this life, and found the halls for once inviting. The dinner with an old friend had brought him back to life, brought a sense of belonging back into a man who had died in those fires nearly 16 years ago. There was little anymore that needed proven, his merit worthy; for under the hand of the Duchess did he rest, and the respect for the woman enough to welcome even the most secret phantoms. "Good evening." The light yet deep pull of his French laced accent, brought smiles to faces of the nurses who had sat by the bed of the Lady Woodstock now only to watch her rest in peace. He had kept by her for nearly the entire length of the first 24 hours, and now returned after the second set of 12 tocheck again upon the fair maiden. "I do hope her well enough to move her to a room." The sickbed had never seemed a place to heal, and he felt the mind to associate illness with surroundings. Gloved hands came to collect her own, turning her wrist over to feel her pulse even under the thin leather he would smile, "But I should like to keep her close." (d


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

The sickbed was a room that wasn't bereft of decor, but it was not the generous suits that belonged to the Countess of Guelders, or the Lady Woodstock as she was more commonly known. Maids went about changing bowl or pitcher of water, coaxing broths and medicines in to her body, and were all surprised by the benefit of the Master's attentive care. Where the girls held maudlin thoughts of why the Master appeared as he did, the edges of their faces softened to appreciate smiles as each one lowered in turn. "Good evening, Master." They said in unison, leaving larger discussions for the more senior among them, "Good eve, Master. I think she be, taken much broth n' water. Even a little bread soaked n' wine, no more spells of it coming back up either. I told Her Grace, n' she gave word to have the Lady Woodstock's suits prepared, n' was only waiting on your say so to move her. " Elenore seemed to be stirring in her sleep just as the wind stirred on the leafy vine about the castle. In the quiet before the storm, Claramae remembered the beauty so vivid in England that came beside ghosts. Jean-Claude was not the only one haunted by images of his former self. If it weren't for necessity, if it weren't for the sake of it all...she would stay in Rosefielding House, close enough to the city for substance but far enough away to fall in love with the countryside all over again. The paper was turned over before it was slid into a faux fold of her midnight blue velvet. Over it was a surcoat so black it rivaled anything the Frenchman might have carried in his trunks. Hair was twisted and twined up, setttling in gold netting supported by sapphire pins. Gingerly, her fingers knocked upon Elenore's door to see of the progress (d)



Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

"I do not think it will be long now." He spoke softly from across the bed to the nurse as he replaced the Lady's hand at her side, squeezing gently before he released it. "If she is able, when next she wakes I would like to see if she can stand, and get her moving. Perhaps even a proper bath?" They had done well to keep her clean, but if any knew of the proper healing of a bath it was Jean-Claude; always worked wonders on him. He was rested, this man who seemed most alive at the night, and even relaxed. His attire on the eve was not of his normal standards, but far more elaborate then most of London. The billowy shirt of a deep crimson red, and tucked behind a black waistcoat. He was without the fancy frill, and seemed rather modern. This was a vision of London hundreds of years from now, and gave his form a solid outline; as there was a rather stout man beneath it all. "You have all done a wonderful job, and I will make it known. What glorious teachings." He smiled then to the older nurse who had given him a bit of trouble at first, but even she had warmed to the scientist at whom she swore she knew. The knock came rather at perfect timing and the door would be open for the Duchess, "Bonsoir, Master Laurence, Your Grace." He would almost say it out of spite from their little tiff..if he were an immature man, though the hint of both his shame at his behavior and the bitterness was there over his sophisticated dialect."I was just recognizing the wonderful work, this fine team has provided. You should be most proud." He came to stand, closing the space between them to welcome her, but as well to read her like a book..the expression on her face always his favorite part, for it was the most complex. Claramae could be falling apart, or giddy with joy; and it would never show. "How are you?" A more private question, as suddenly the rest of the world mattered very little, his concern on his friend. (d

Countess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"The women of the castle, all within it, are a point of civic pride. There are no finer I would wager, across the country. God save you, good women." Imagine the delight as she entered with praise upon her mouth; word expressionwas the only evidence at time they had of any sort of enlightenment to the inner working. The elder nurse and younger maids all lowered with muttered thank yous before they left signs of their work behind. A basket of folded linens. Spotless floors, a charge washed and in a new gown even as she slumbered. In silence with lowered head each one slip through the same door Claramae entered until they were sumonned again. Each one moved in minimal noise as custom decreed. No offense in sound was ever committed before the peerage, though none mastered the absence of noise. The artform continued display as midnight blue flirted with black velvet paramour in each step exchanged. " Good eve to you, Master de Aquitaine. All is to your liking it seems and continues to be? I am..burdened one might say, though a lady discusses not her person especially in the presence of so fractured a state. Still, we would never know to look out of the window. All that is good and glorious of England shows as a woman with a fine new gown. It makes such things not so much, either of state or of person for a time. Much the mind must think with little time to rest, but what is a Master if not sharpened by such trial. I spend much time pondering a matter of Canterbury" (d)

Earl Cedric Laurence Atherton III

Politics and intrigue, that was what brought Cedric into the castle walls. Injuries sustained after a beating and kidnapping, that should have ended in his death, seemed to bring about twists only a madman would believe. Perhaps that was why the Earl of Warwick was less shocked by the turn of it all than most men would be. After discovering the rotting corpse of the Archbishop of Canterbury, they'd eventually made their way back to the castle- well, Cedric did so in a dead faint of exhaustion. Expected considering the insanity having been faced. Yet even once wounds had been tended by an old friend the Earl had made an odd demand- chambers in a hall as far from ones currently occupied, and barred door and windows. Even late at night with alcohol liberally imbibed the voices could not be ignored. Raging and ranting was normal within those hours until a bit after the sun would climb into the sky. As they were trying to heal a sick woman it wouldn't do to disturb her nor to scare the others. Pride was something the Earl held even if many looked upon him with disdain or fear. Grasping onto what sanity remained had become important to him after the passing of his beloved Caroline- whom he yet talked to when darkness ascended and the moon was high. They whirled about hallways dressed in dazzling finery, drank wine, made love, and were generally happier- having the chance at moments they missed out on in life due to his mental health. This morning though as sanity reclaimed his mind, Cedric dressed in crisp black trousers, white silk shirt, and a maroon overcoat- seeking to look more put together than before even with a stitched head and bruised face that was yet healing. Polished shoes made way along winding halls, taking longer as he flirted with every maid along the way seeking Jean-Claude and Claramae. (d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

"Mmm, non Mon cher, it would not be proper, but should Your Grace with a more private audience I am certain I know of a fine mature gentleman who is rather eager to see this castle from the inside. Should The Duchess wish to take a walk, I do rather have a good steady arm to hold." He almost laughed, rather enjoying this bit of proper placement of words, he was just a hair rusty but manners had been beat into him from birth; it would not take him long at all. Where his lips would remain flat, pale, and rather thin all of his amusement was there in dark navy eyes. In spirit of formalities he would offer her only this as a break in their character. He did worry though, she seemed a bit off, rather cold; even for Madame Death. "Come, Walk with me before my relief wears off." Drugs that ran his veins like an addiction as he had grown to depend on them, but for a few quiet hours he could walk without the aid of his cane; and without pain. "I apparently missed a good deal of events, on my childish tantrum. I do hope you forgive me, or even at least understand." He spoke in a quiet voice, offering a bit of privacy from the working world, "On the matter of titles, let us keep it at Master Aquitaine for now, and on our next private moment I shall give you my proper name." For Aquitaine was not his surname, but his place of birth. The time was drawing close for Jean-Claude to reclaim his title, and with it what was given in his heritage. "I am far too intrigued with this news of Canterbury, to even start in on anything else." He spoke then looking forward, and would lead them out in the hall if she wished. Of course he would be content to remain if her news was meant for a more private audience. His heart did a number however when he saw the Earl, and perhaps would never get used to the idea that he was in fact alive--and there. After the scuffle, he had indeed stitched Cedric, and laughed well into the night of times lost. "Mon Ami. I do wish you would leave the nurses be..I am certain if I hear one more giggle, I shall become sick..on your..Cerdric really?" Jean-Claude looked at the man's polished shoes, and pretended to touch a failing heart with placing his fingers over his chest. "You have even shinned your shoes." Small banter, would have many back home in shock, but really this was once a man carefree. (d

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"That is the most prolonged invitation for a lady to walk with a man while seeking a tour of the castle that was e'er heard by myself, and I have heard many such invitations since my age of receiving them. Let us take it, it would be a waste of the good weather if we didn't. While it is hardly my most forward of occupation anymore, Master Aquitaine, perhaps you would seek to try a remedy that does well to bate the impdiments of my own movement when they arise. I find that it ceases the body from firing in intervals at the site of injury while doing nothing to dampen the mind. It will neither prolong one's night or tire a day. If it please you." From inside the fold of a sleeve she produced a vile of crystalized substance for his appraisal. One was not impertinent enough to press it thus into his hand and close it, but nonetheless it was given to his fingertips. Blossom shaded tiers of plush pink turned inward a moment to thin the line before being released. On the matter of argument in a tower amidst the dead, the woman was wholly forgiving. "You are forgiven. The time is trying, and the circmstance was less than appealing. Though if I might interject with some humor in the maudlin time, I did not need the Earl to translate your expressions." A smile's ghost was born to highten beauty and died in prismatic effect, shimmering to nothing. By the time door sealed behind them, Atherton's movements were marked by the faint sigh of maids unable to resist his charm. "Good eve, Earl. Might I remind you to have a care? The women in service to the peerage are expected to maintain somesemblance of honor." Lowered head, a cough into hand before both were folded to her lap and eye appraised his state. "It is good to see you well, a stroll perhaps? Three is a fitting number, then I might relay the Canterbury matterto interested parties." Documets pressed against her breast felt as heavy as a breast plate made of steel. The turn around to move in the hall indicated nothing of the sort (d)

Earl Cedric Laurence Atherton III

Ah, if Jean-Claude felt such upon seeing Cedric then it wasn't any less than what Cedric felt upon looking at his old friend. Time would be needed for him to fully get used to the idea that Jean-Claude was truly here. It was not due to the addled mind of an old man! Laughter was a wonderful remedy and result of speaking of times long past. They'd been quite a pair back in the days of their youth romping through London. Sweet, glorious days! Many a skirt was lifted and a drink imbibed, but- then had life changed much for Cedric? In many ways, yes. "Good evening, Your Grace, and Jean." Polite form of address followed by familiarity. An odd man the Earl of Warwick...definitely understatement of the century. "I would take much pleasure in accompanying you both on a walk this fine day." Lighthearted smile curved lips and lit up dark eyes, a chuckle passing lips,"Your Grace, I only admire the beauty of the women within these walls. I promise not to peek beneath their skirts or make a public scene. You have my word as a gentleman." Ah, mischief lurked ever so clearly in the depth of his gaze though. One did not have to look up a skirt to take pleasure beneath it and there were many little alcoves about such a large establisgment. Turning now to Jean though, the Earl lifted one brow in faux offense,"Of course I polished my shoes. I can't go around looking as if I were just dragged off the streets." Looking good was a statement of a true gentleman, and Cedric did look good for his age- or tried. One hand proudly adjusted his collar for any imperfections before face softened with fondness. "How do you fare this day Jean? Your Grace?" Matters of intrigue would follow to be sure, but first the niceties. It had been quite some time since able to have a conversation with two old friends, one older than the other- but both just as dear. A man his age with ailing mind, having lost so many wives and mistresses- each of which he loved in his own way- took comfort in friends. (d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

The faint smile would return a raised brow with a small smirk of his own, really they were a fun pair--wild in their ways. Jean would take the vial, knowing well that Claramae may be head of every political manner there was, but deep down a true skilled chemist. He would look forward to the day she would hopefully take the young Julian under her black wing for a few short lessons. His apprentice really was a smart man, and could learn a world from Claramae. Perhaps even she could break him of his manners, or at least get him to keep his sharp tongue silent. There was no doubt in his mind, Julian would make a master politician or a man of legal stature for he could hold reason behind any cause no matter how much it was argued. "Really he is nothing like, but closely relating to Peregrine I fear Your Grace, but at least Warwick does indeed know how to clean up. I should suppose as well, Cedric that you have rested..you survived the night. How fortunate." Jean-Claude laughed, as he bent to inspect the man's stitches before returning his arm for Claramae. He would give her the floor then, knowing well she carried the weight of the world often on her shoulders, and as they rounded through a narrow door to a bit more secluded portion of the castle, his hand would gently touch the small of her back; wondering how her own scars were healing--even now nearly 3 years he still worried of the things she kept secret. His relationship with her husband, kept him in good faith that if there was something to worry over Michael would find him. "You will not find a pair more interested, Master..not in all of England." (d

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

Once, the amount of people who had the ability to stir the flat, impassive plain of face were so few that they might hardly be counted, but now Jean-Claude joined the esteemed ranks of a family formed in the house on the last end ofHigh-Street-at-Chapel, just before the delve down into the Underdark around three bends. All that was good of any life was brought to a house with a black profession, as pitch as his clothes, as murky as the black of her surcoat. It was even as mad as the Earl's thoughts on the night of a scimitar moon. There had never been such a company of men nor the introduction of so many women (naturally, fewer than the men) who stood the chance of imprinting themselves inside of the mind .Often, she told Michael of her gladness that he came half a world away to fetch her to Avaria, for it was to that country their love began anew where the years had stolen it, and layers were peeled back. Granted, they didn't manifest obvious now, but the woman who emerged upon horseback into the streets of Turas Lan for a Sabbath ride in 1328 was not the same in 1333. She was glad that he, a man who practiced medicinal form always, found her secreted passion worth while. It was sad so much genius could not be given over to the field, but alas, at least it kept them alive, enemies dead, and the noviates in one piece. Why, she was even pleased that Atherton clothed himself proper and promised to leave the maids unsullied. Granted, she knew at least in part it was made of piecrust, but he would bind himself to proving her wrong. If his convinction in parliment was as important to him as the nature of keeping his breeches sealed, all would be well. She shook her head as she captured Jean-Claude's arm, lifting eyes from the polish of Cedric shoes to the privacy required of drawing the paper out of faux gown folds. "Then be no mor einterested but enlightened. It is a sordid affair of circumstances, Master Aquitaine. None of us are without our shock over it, and as a man of God it will offend thee to no end. " She began to crack the seal before them, having not done it until they assembled."Within the tour after you left, the floor of the vestibule in the chapel was pulled upward to reveal the remains of...his eminence...The Archbishop of Canterbury." (d)



Earl Cedric Laurence Atherton III

Silence was given in respect for the Duchess's speaking. Though a warm smile flashed at Jean for having checked his stitches. As they walked Claramae spoke on the matter of the murderered Archbishop. Even just the thought of it made Cedric feel dirty. Who would dare commit such a sinfully atrocious act? The why was just as important a question to though. While Jean-Claude had not been present, experiencing his female time Cedric had teased him later, for the discovery- Cedric had. He'd stood there with the Countess and Duchess while the rotting corpse madeall within reel. Not just from smell, but...the identity. It was such a shock that even Cedric had made the cross over body. A religious man once, not as much so now, it didn't mean he lacked respect for those who still had faith. In fact, the Earl envied them. Yet that was neither here nor there at a time while they stood speaking of the murder of a man who'd had so much faith he'd given his life in service to the Lord. Dark eyes lifted upon the entrance of another, one Cedric did not recognize nor had not yet met, though he gave him a polite nod of head all the same while looking at Claramae. "It is...quite a shock still to hear those words even after I've seen it with my own eyes. Have any been told of the discovery?" Though the question was asked, Cedric knew the likely answer was no. (d)


Master de Aquitaine

"At what reason?" Jean still saw very little motive behind any of the actions at hand, and a rebellion simply didn't go far enough. What reason would this benefit England in hopes of pulling away from Skye? He was shocked, and it was clear: Jean could mask any emotion, save for this one for it happened so rarely. "Perhaps I have missed it along the way, but the motive..Master Laurence seems to have slipped my mind. There must be a great evil afoot for such a task." He was stone silent other then the few words. It really shook him, and only pushed him forward in his will to get to Oxford. "Have you examined the body yet?" Was this the reason for the blood turning screams he had heard from the night before, that plagued his dreams. Jean-Claude was a man deeply devoted to God, keeping firm in the practice of Sunday service, and the blessing of each meal. It was something that nearly killed his apprentice who had lost his faith in anything long ago. "I wonder if he had the same marks as the Headmaster, though I have little doubt the killings of two very large figures have relations indeed." He would place the vial in the pocket of his waistcoat as the moved, keeping his arm curled so that she could keep her hold. "Your poor cousin, is she not beside herself? With all of this death." He would be very upset to learn it was she who made the discovery; rather fond of that one he had become, though he had a weakness for blondes..a truth he could not deny. "What connection with the Lady Woodstock then?" Another weaknessthough, perhaps he could simply give reason he missed his darling fiancee, but deep down Jean-Claude was simply a true lover of all things deemed beautiful; more often then not he found beauty in even the most sinful creatures. It came with open relationships, and a partner who did the very same. Yet, there was always that ever watchful guardian in him that would happily keep all the world under his care; no doubt inherited from his father a beloved Count who lived this day in the tower of his own estate in the heart of France. (d

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Sir Le Power, you come at an auspicious time.." Yet before the words could be relayed, the man needed to take himself elsewhere, no doubt to the side of his wife or to the emerging workers who came to glorify the ideas in his masterful mind. With promise to tell all later, she watched as he was eaten up in the darkness from which he emerged. The twinkle of lights in torch form patterned the black, breaking the montiny of shadow. All of the darkness was as overbearing as the news, but by now they were all accustomed. Still, the magnitude of events baffled even the Lady Govenor, as she explained, "The cause, Master de Aquitaine, and the further discoveries, good Earl, are all a matter of what has befuddled my mind to the brink of utter dimensia this very day! The Royal Sympathizers seek a throne restored with Godhead sanction, why would it stand to murder the very seat of the Church in England, and of theUniversity, things to remain intact in transistion! It is so sacriligeious, so profound in how wicked it is that it betrays any sort of convention. Then think I upon the nature of the whole affair. We shall not have the entirity ofthe puzzle until the Lady Woodstock deems fit to speak with us, for she is within the center, the very reason both the Headmaster and the Archbishop moved forth, of this I am certain. It is my belief that her time within the Abbey must have put her to some semblance of sense, and that where few will speak to her they had reason to. Some recent happening or even a past one, binding them all together..her as a conductor for the energy if you will, The poor girl was at the heart of some ill fated trap to which even you, poor Earl, fell victim to. I am only now breaking the seal upon these papers, but these were not found on the messenger, oh no..these sealed documents were found in the keeping of Lady Woodstock. So you see the messenger must have gone to her at Parliment, and left before she or the Headmaster reacted, experiencing the worst of it moving to the castle, where he was murdered prior and hidden up in the tower. It is all an elaborate plot to make the reigning party look terrible I am sure of it! Yet we can not solve the entire puzzle without good Lady Woodstock. I think, too, that the return of her present state must have been induced, not the whole of how she was. She has had a long case of madness prior, but the young womanis heavily traumatized. " She broke away the seal and began to read aloud. "These are dated gentleman, from prior to my return, the parties arrival..and back as far as a year ago, when everything began to move harder in the present direction. The Archbishop's hand himself is..observing the Bishopal Palace he lives in, all of the industry, the mint. Every being but why, why him? He is documenting various times he thinks his life was supposed to pay forfeit, and he only grew ill. There is writing here, from the Headmaster, they exchanged..correspondance? Oh pish. Hmm. We must." Footsteps intruded on their secrecy, but invited them to reason. "Pardon, pardon Your Grace, My Lords..but the Lady of Woodstock calls for all of you. She has been dressed to receive guests, she says it is most urgent..." "I beg your pardon, she calls...for all of us? She was so aware as to recall names?" Far more wit in concentration than any 'mad' woman should have (d)

Earl Cedric Laurnce Atherton III

Each strand of the web grew more twisted until it threatened to strangle the mind! Cedric hadn't ever deemed it more important to get an answer than right this second. Though interest grew more as Claramae spoke of Elenore, Lady of Woodstock. As a man of the peerage the Earl obviously knew the young lady, by name if not having met prior, and of her malady. Many spoke of the madness of the Lady of Woodstock just as they spoke of his own. Generally those people were paid no mind though. While Cedric may suffer from madness some of the other nobles suffered from worse maladieslike stupidity, lack of manners, lack of common sense, or a lack of fashion sense. He'd keep his madness any day! As it were though, Cedric spoke only once Clarame responded to the summoning by Lady of Woodstock. "Your Grace, if I may, perhaps as a man who suffers from the same malady as the Lady of Woodstock I could aid in easing the answers forth that we need. None have more experience with being mad than one who is so themselves, I believe." Well, wasn't that true! Doctors could work with madmen day in and day out, but to truly understand the trappings one had to have firsthand experience. Details that none could get just by watching or speaking. (d)


Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

Jean-Claude would pull a small thin silver set of frames that held between them an amorphous solid melted down into small frames. Looking glasses were made as well his reading glasses, strange they did look perched on the end of his nose, but he could make out the letters better. When she was done reading a note, he too would take the paper and read over--in hopes she had missed something, but found it all there just as she read it. Strange. It was very strange indeed. "It just does not fit..a puzzle indeed." His educated remark as they were intruded upon, and Jean would look over the page from his frames. "She is dressed to receive guests.." His comment came as he put away the glasses, as he shared Claramae's questioning of her awareness. Had she been playing them?The papers intrigued him, but nothing of the sort that came with the call from Lady Woodstock. Jean-Claude would keep a step ahead, turning to make sure Cedric offered the Lady his arm; not wishing to re-educate him on proper manners now, it was not a time for jokes. Yet, these were the things a gentleman worried over. Pressing the door back, his gloved hands turned to his side as he came upon the bed where the Lady remained, but he would hold back. It was obvious she did indeed have something to say, and he found it a lost cause to check her vitals now. She would not know who he was if she had met him in her madness, so he was curious to see hear his name on her tongue. (d

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence, Lady Elenore of Woodstock

"It is a collection dating back a year between both His Eminence and the Head Master, yet it is not like them to not relay the information to myself, nor to any trusted member such as you, Atherton. What in the blazes is afoot? Oh pish the condition of the state is too far gone for such riddles. Why must men make everything so unbecoming, so difficult? And from Oxford educated men.." The dead may have laughed in heavy at such remarks even as Her Grace crossed herself in consideration for the dead. The living, however, had more promise! A lucid Elenore was as attractive a proposistion as a new play in a theater. Her part as written obvious by deceased men, yet still she rose to grace the stage with her presence. Quick feet were but mere footfalls behind Jean-Claude, yet any lady would wait for escort so as the man would not appear lacking. She moved between the arm of one mad man to the next, didn't she? Open doors revealed unto them a woman propped in the high bed with pillows. All the curtains pulled back, she was attired in a heavy surcoat atop her nightgown, her hair brushed and held back in a fitting braid. Yellow tinge to pale skin was fading beyond butter as peach tones fought for recognition. The Master improved her circulation ten fold, was this the reason for a moment's sanity? Science struggled to explain the unprecident scene. Elenore turned her eyes down in shyness before looking up to them. She knew how to receive guests, yet did not expect to be answered. No one answered the call of Woodstock, unless it was to restrain her. "Good evening, Your Grace, my lord Earl. You, sir, must be Master de Aquitaine. They spoke of the description of the arrival party to me, I am able to place word with a face, you see." She smiled, pretty despite the still jaundice quality to the white of her eyes. "I.. owe you thanks, for saving my life I am told." (d)

Earl Cedric Laurence Atherton III

Had the Earl been able to read the mind of Jean-Claude, he might have been affronted, goodnaturely of course. Only a moment after Jean-Claude left would Cedric offer his arm for Claramae to take. It was proper behavior of a gentleman plus Cedric would never pass up the opportunity to have a lovely woman upon his arm. It was how he'd met his wife, offering her an arm and that had led to a dance...even now the dark gaze misted slightly at the thought of his precious wife. Some days, such as now with death so close at hand, the grief was so palpable it felt like only yesterday had illness taken her from his arms. Clearing his throat softly, a pleasant smile appeared on his face,"Come, Your Grace, the Lady of Woodstock awaits our arrival." There wouldn't be any denying a woman such as that one- for the fact of who she was and the answers held inside a troubled mind.Should they be able to get any answers from the young one it would be a boon indeed. Yet they could not push her too hard or when not ready, or her mind might lapse again. Cedric wasn't a doctor- but he'd heard enough of them talk. Unfortune thing to suffer through listening to them do. "Good evening, My Lady." It was only once they were in the room and had been greeted by the lovely lady- even ill one could see that while not a great beauty she was still lovely in her own way. Cedric, while some called him a womanizer, was more a man appreciativeof women. He worshiped them like they should be unlike some men. Releasing Claramae's arm with a polite smile, he bent at the waist in a little bow before straightening. One must not forget manners even when death came a-calling. (d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

He would most certainly be making his way to Oxford in the morning, if not upon the very after they would depart. Something was missing, and though he had no doubt this little maiden had answers he wondered if even she knew of all the truths. "It is not I you should thank, Mademoiselle, but the grace of God as even I had thought you lost." She had turned such a shade of yellow it had scared him greatly. Often he wondered if his patients were surprised to see what the man looked like once they woke from their state. "It was a very powerful fight, but look at the sweet victory." He smiled politely folding his hands before him at the side of her bed, "And how are you feeling?" Did she burn as before?He would stand aside for Claramae to join, no doubt the Duchess would have many questions of her own, and he could wait to take her vitals. (d


Lady Elenore of Woodstock

"My head hurts to some measure, but you must understand stir, that is perpetual. The ache comes and goes. I do not feel so feverish the nurse tells me, and I have been quite famished as though I have not eaten for a year!" The demure voice was from a woman who was the epitome of breeding, a princess of the blood. She was too, the daughter of a French mother. Was there something to relate to, in that with Jean-Claude? "I have prayed to God already, so it is right and good to thank thee. " Claramae wanted Jean-Claude to hold her wrist, in all earnest the scientist in Claramae wished to examine Elenore from stem to stern to understand the full effect of her madness, for it had been contained while not an object of study. One hardly has time for scientic hobbies when London called. She offered a curtsy, to which Elenore offered nod of head to both Claramae and Cedric. "I..recall myself, and recall a duty that was placed upon me by a messenger of his Eminence, and then another asked of me by the Headmaster of Oxford. I lost myself, for awhile. Please forgive me? It is not..that what they say, isn't true. It is just, no one really fathoms that it is one side of me warring with another. One side will rise up to overwhelm, and I feel myself is trapped behind a door while this sickness roams free. It has been a terrible pair of years of it." Ah, see, to speak of it sent her mildly adrift, but she closed her eyes and recovered herself. "I was to tell the Governess, but will relay it all of you. I think it is only fitting. You are both agents of the King Aberdeen? I have seen him. What I ..remember of him, he is not a terrible man. His Holiness, his Eminence, is in the gravest of danger." She could not recall if he lived or died, nor the messenger's fate. Claramae did nothing to bring yesterday's events to the present, but instead stepped a little closer as she listened. "He believes that Canterbury has been taken hold by those who would seek to undo us all for their own purposes. It is more than a matter of revolution, but a matterof utter anarcy, it sounds so...unchrist-like..forgive me again. He conveyed to me things only for you, I pray you have them. His messenger told me that he believed it began some two years ago, during the disapperence of my brother, John." "With the Earl of Cornwall, my lady?" "Yes, Your Grace" She told them then how the Archbishop's personal letter told of John's fate, of his murder in Nottinghamshire and the dragging of his remains outward to Leeds, and how they intended to make a prince of the blood look as if he had killed himself in woe of the state. The Archbishop was begging her to remember, and in her moments of lucidity far more since her sojourn in the Abbey, she recalled her presence in Nottinghamshire, a guest with her brother as he sought a residence closer to London. He was approached to take the mantle of kingship, and in refusing found his fate was bloody. They did not kill Elenore, nor know of her presence. The Headmaster of Oxford was also there, for he was going to hide both of them within the university, for the pair of them had lesser reputations than either the other brother or sister. "The Headmaster noticed students in oxford different than in his registers, a shift in tone he said. He told this to me, because he believed I would relay it to you. John was to have done it but he was killed and..you knowmy faculties were not what they should have been. At any rate, for no less than two years both the Headmaster and the Archbishop began to catalogue what they knew. I believe your sealed papers will even have names, names so close that it makes me sick at heart to think of any who courted the attentions of Joan or Edward. They have been building plots and cases against the state for years. There were things they sought to pin upon the holy see or the university. They told you small things, such as what was becoming of York, or off of the coasts. but the greater body of it they couldn't say....because they were afraid for us. He belived all of the atrocity would reveal itself, and they would blame the likes of yourself, of us, for all the shortcomings. They planned to scorch farms or sink ships, such things. Enact unspeakable murders..who could murder the Archbishop, a man of god? That is worse than treason of crown, it is treason of Christ." Her eyes teared as she sought a hand, and took that of whomever was nearest, perhaps she touched even all of them, "They are afraid for their lives..and they even say that things of yearsagone may play themselves out now for review..Please forgive me, I can't recall anymore he might have said..it all becomes so lost..after I sat to lunch." Clarame, inspite of herself, reached out to patt Elenore's hand, "You have done well by your country and your kin to recall so muchand may you save more. Forgive me, I must away for but a little. Have you need, Lady Woodstock, never hesitate to ask." She had a burning, necessary need to rifle through the rest of those papers!

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

He held his heart in his hands as he listened, his fears coming alive with the story she drew together, but somewhere he had to gather himself. "So you say this has been a time old plot. How deep it runs, Master Laurence." He spoke to Claramae, though in the presence of Elenore. "Finally we have our motive." He shook his head, drawing the conclusion quickly around the state, and wondered if they should move Clarmae out of the castle all together. What else was there to discover that had been hidden in these walls? How many more dead bodies? Jean-Claude would have the royal hunters pulled in with their trained dogs to search out the castle on the morrow. "Mon dieu..what timing." He turned then away from Claramae to face the Lady Woodstock once more. He would tend to her head in due time, find the reason when she could better relate to him her symptoms, and posable causes. Suddenly he found himself holding onto Claramae's first name, as if he could pull the word back from his thoughts. He wanted to reach out to her, knowing this was indeed a heavy blow, but kept it very formal. "Your Grace, either myself or Lord Warwick should escort you. Though I will wish to continue to speak with the Lady Woodstock while she is awake." In his fashion he asked her to wait, or to reassure Cedric to follow. Perhaps after a while she could remember more as he still felt a dark looming cloud over the topic. (d

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"If it pleases you. I shall." She paused in her steps beside the door for the sake of a man's arm. Manners were practical measures of safety now, for no doubt Elenore's words made no one trust the walls, but it was not their servants she feared. It were those whom were intimate with the castle far more than the faithful, but the exterior expelled. She already began to ponder names when Elenore confessed one more personal thing. "Your Grace? I believe the...Headmaster told me so much, because of our...companionship. After the abbey, on my progressus..." The air was sucked from Clarame's lungs but to her credit she exhibited no sign of faulter. "I pass no judgement, my lady. A comfort is a comfort, and God grant you such things, you deserve them." The Head of Oxford, a lover of the Lady Woodstock. How tangled the web, and how sad that none of them could reveal where her lover former had gone, or what befell him. As she struggled for survival, he couldn't endure. How long the relationship or the nature of it was another day, but then it explained why the Archbishop also made use of Elenore's ear, besides her witness to John's murder. So they were things to cease, scorched earth to see kept whole, ships to see not sunk, and great charades of death to enact. " I trust either you or the Earl are fleet of foot, and again my pardon, yet this can wait for no arm..


Countess Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

When it was dark as pitch during the reign of the moon, the greatest work was accomplished. The thundering of staff and the announcing of the Countess of Dublin's arrival was heralded already by the knowledge of the Duchess the precise hour when she would return. Evangeline didn't know Claramae was coming to deliver her information essential to the travel to Canterbury with Sir O'Connor, or an additional request, but she had much to share with all of them.Burnished copper kissed the edge of sienna gown from foot to the feathers tipping out of the London style of lady's cap. She pulled it from her head, revealing the coiled twists pinned beneath. Imagine her surprise to be greeted at this hour, by her cousin! How utterly fortunate, "Ah'm glad ye 'aven't retired, ah've much tae tell ye." (d)

:Earl Cedric Laurence Atherton III

Patience could be requested, but in times such as these that waiting could get one killed. The words of Elenore, Lady of Woodstock, was wholly shocking to say the least. Cedric felt it wrap around his frame as each word slipped from sweet lips. Were only this world as truly beautiful as they say! Instead where one found beauty they were positive to find almost twice as much ugliness beneath it. When the Lady's words tapered off, Cedric's heart squeezed painfully for the young one. To be trapped in ones mind in that manner- he understood it all too well. One hand reached out to gently squeeze a tiny hand wishing he could help more. "Rest easy, Lady of Woodstock, for you have done more for us than we could have hoped. If it would be permissible I would like to return when you are feeling more rested and speak with you. Escorted, as is only proper, of course." He sought to let her know that he was a good man- even if rumor spoke otherwise- and that he'd not tarnish her reputation anymore than it already was. Jean-Claude's words, the urgency of Claramae, brought about the decision. He'd let his good friend tend to the ailing Lady of Woodstock and escort the Duchess. The offer was polite while also allowing him to find out more. This was as important to him as any other. "Jean-Claude, old pal, I will expect a drink with you later. Your Grace..." Words trailed off as one brow shot up and he began to rush to catch up with her,"Now wait, Your Grace, dear lady do not hurry too far. I will escort, but remember I am old and frail." Humor lit his face at such words- as if Cedric could be called frail. (d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

The follow up on a patient was always the part he enjoyed the most. For nearly all of them, where on death's bed before any dare bring attention to themselves by such a dark man. Jean-Claude was greatly feared, though widely admired. "Of course mes amies..I will not be long." He would stay behind to level then with the Lady Woodstock, on a more personal level, reaching out in only ways he could, and would urge her to rest. He would need to document this, no longer having Julian to do this side of the world, Jean would spend many hours committing this memory to page. His elixir would start to wear off as he sat perched at her side, and he would have to excuse himself as the night drew around him; the aches returned. "Rest well, Mademoiselle, I would like to continue our conversation after breakfast tomorrow, if you are feeling as you are now." He would need to catch up to Claramae, wanting to hear of the news, but first would have to get some rest...or they would be treating him soon. (d

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Earl Atherton, I beg your pardon..but it is an imparative matter that is of no need for the male arm. Propriety may be cast somewhat aside at such a juncture, God graced me with two feet." Indeed she almost but ran while quick stepping toward the approaching Evangeline, who could but hardly say one world of how you do to Cedric before she was captured at the arm by her cousin. The two women then turned tale to the room where documents might be reviewed, this time Claramae slowing for Cedric's benefit. "And I much of urgency to tell you, Countess. The preperation has been laid but you must know these things before you to your journey."

Countess Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

"Wot 'as happened, wot news? Ah've learned tha' o' the parliment members locked in the room, The Earl o' Essex paid a lofty sum fer his secret o' once supportin the move tae see one o' the Platagenets crowned quiet. Ah saw him yon tha' library ye all call The Proper, quite an imposin thin, then there is the Earl o'Warrington n' he had nay love fer ye, m'lord Earl Warwickshire, fergive me. Ah used yer resources about n' hand those men yer husband suspected followed, looks good for neither one o' em, nay tae mention the Earl o' Holland n' his proximity tae the Oxford or Canterbury...Ah digress tha..wot say ye?" (d)

Earl Cedric Laurence Atherton III

"I much agree, Your Grace. Yet one must not disappoint Jean-Claude." If any understood urgency, it was the Earl. He'd never been a patient man during his wife's dying years. There were times where, with only mere apology, he'd departed Parliament to be at her bedside. Some of the peerage had been ticked at him to say the least. Yet sometimes one had more important matters than social graces or bickering peers. "Good evening, My Lady," While they walked Cedric did not give a bow, but would have otherwise. Manners could wait for a time when all weren't dealing with threats to lives and intrigue that could blacken the soul! "There be nothing to forgive, My Lady, for I haven't a great love for him either. Mistreats his wife and children, and keeps losing his money to me in games of chance. I may be mad, dear lady, yet the Earl of Warrington is half-witted and depraved." Well, that was honest! Cedric wasn't afraid to speak the truth about people like that though. Falling silent now, following after the ladies,he listened closely now. Sometimes one should listen more than talk. (d)

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Aquitaine will endure one night without me upon the arm of a man, it shall not be the first, Atherton, nor the last. I have done my finest work absent of any man." She clung to Evangeline as she released her information in a free flowing font with a relative ease at navigating a social scenario that had been lost to her upon coming of age to marry. Trolling through court as a maiden was different than coming of age. She marveled at the names that snapped out after one night of work. Where was Sir O'Connor in all of this? Doubtless he was upon her heels. Doubtless he had his own speculation to add to the fray.

Countess Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

"Ah quite agree, good Earl. A name is hardly cause tae lose one's wit. M'thinks the Earl o' Warrington a complete arse m'self. How ye've endured hiscompan yo'erlong is beyond me. Faolan was beside himself with want tae hit 'im. ah thought m'ears would bleed listenin tae him, yet a coin was made fer the first pound o' secret n' Canterbury will have ten bags more, Ah'm sure. Ye both look vera busy yerselves. Wot happened taenight? Is everythin alright?"


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"It is not quite well, yet it is well illuminated, there are papers, here..we all are looking through to connect the reasons the Head of Oxford and the Archbishop were chronicling this last year of their lives, we learned much of threats and false crimes to come from Lady Woodstock, yet wish to pass this unto you, since it is your task to move forth into Canterbury, yours and Sir O'Connors. In these papers is a map of the bishop's palace, that you may take with you. I will leave the map of Oxford for you and Aquitaine to look over, Atherton. We must know if there is any more besides this the Bishop could not send by messenger. To emerge as he was fearful meant he believed something more was worth risking for death. Something that the Royalists must want desperately to have killed the Bishop and Headmaster. Access to records or to things off the land, perhaps. I...also think it best, that before anything can be pinned upon this castle, we must arrange the body of the Archbishop back in Canterbury" (d)


Earl Cedric Laurence Atherton III

Appreciation glinted in dark eyes that appraised the Countess briefly before glancing back toward Claramae. "It pleases me to see a woman that can speak honestly." A compliment given as a gentleman. There wasn't any flirting behind it to be found. Instead he was lost easily in the words of the other woman. Attention was completely held now while brows furrowing in contemplation,"Aye, the map will be useful though Jean-Claude and I are familiar with most of it. Well, at least some of the spots not likely still on the map. Do you think there is more information than the they were able to get out?" If there was then it would likely be soundly hidden. Hopefully in a place not too hard to find by such intelligent people as walked these halls. Coming to a halt suddenly, Cedric caught the last words and words burst forth before he could stop them,"You want to what? He's the Archbishop and deserves to be buried posthaste. Hasn't he suffered enough?" First to be murdered, second to be buried under floorboards, and third to be moved again to be positioned in Canterbury. Yet immediately Cedric realized how much of an ass he sounded and face turned a deep shade of crimson. Awkwardly clearing his throat, he murmured,"Forgive me, dear ladies, for my outburst. That was most unpolite of me. I understand the reasoning behind doing so, Your Grace. I just feel for the man..." (d)

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

Coming to a halt suddenly, Cedric caught the last words and words burst forth before he could stop them,"You want to what? He's the Archbishop and deserves to be buried posthaste. Hasn't he suffered enough?" First to be murdered, second to be buried under floorboards, and third to be moved again to be positioned in Canterbury. Yet immediately Cedric realized how much of an ass he sounded and face turned a deep shade of crimson. Awkwardly clearing his throat, he murmured,"Forgive me, dear ladies, for my outburst. That was most unpolite of me. I understand the reasoning behind doing so, Your Grace. I just feel for the man..."


The Case of Canterbury, Part 1 of 3

I. The Posthumous Adventures of the Archbishop


The Duchess reserved her scrutiny for privacy, when she could dissect every centimeter of the papers currently in her hands. Black ribbon was tied to rebind a year of secrets, a year of thought on who's light stained inks rested the entire operations of Oxford and Canterbury. Of the two, Canterbury was foremost on her mind. No less of an intellectual, devotion was the core holding all of society together, and a dead Archbishop would do more secular damage than a dead Headmaster. If it were any other day or a point put out in the theater, she might have found it terribly droll. The events were far from amusing.

Whilst adapt digits shut the ribbon her mouth opened to impart words of dark thought to the Earl. In looking at his indignant expression she knew he wore on the outside what she felt on the outside. The idea in itself was so disgusting that she wanted at once to Westminster to be cleansed as she lamented the harshness of the hour. She stepped closer to him in order to fill the space with body so that word was not the only bridge. They needed to be close right now. In this, she was for once no different that the rest of them. "He deserves the honors due to him and shall have no less, I promise you, Atherton. Yet on the same venture we need not long ponder the question of why he was placed in the vestibule floor or stop to think what would happen if it is announced he is dead with his body remaining in these walls. It is a risk that I will not take. We need London to remain intact. The military moblizes at dawn, and it can not be stopped for this. If we place him in Canterbury, we not only change the agenda of our enemy, we give the people a chance to pause and consider their motives. He will be found in his own chambers, and no sooner is he 'found' than preperations to place his body in state, for burial, shall be done. I do not enjoy this - placing the body o fhis Eminence about as if it were some common thing - but his body is so sensational that all of us would pay too high a price if we buried it henceforth. His messanger will be arranged just along the road a few miles outside of London. The only body I can not do this too is the Headmaster, for his death exonerates us of wrong for we had only just arrived when his death was commencing."


On the outskirts of the discussion, the woman attired in sienna and burnished copper dress habit moved the brim of her flat hat's edges between her fingers. Evangeline shared much of Earl Atherton's opinion, thinking that moving the body elsewhere was a horrible affair. Wouldn't he be better here, in the same city as the Headmaster, where their remains wouldn't be defiled anymore? She couldn't imagine the attributes of a mind that thought to pose the dead, but could imagine the inside of a head willing to commit murder on individual principle. Her own would have been considered a right thing, a just thing, but did it change the fact that self defense paled in comparison to what her rage had inficted on Paul of Dublin? She shivered. In her hand she felt not a hat, but the weight of the pitchfork. It shifted in the right and left. Her grip tightened on it instead of the hat, and she shut her eyes at the very moment she conjured enough force to push the sharp tips of the instrument through Paul's gut. If the land had people so willing to kill a man of God without scruple, what awaited them if his remains remained would be worse by far. Swallowing, she offered, "Will ye fetch a deathman's cart then, n' a casket o' some sort tha' may fit 'em? Mayhap send a man ahead o' us tae bare the body hence, more than an hour or sae ahead o' the depature o' O'connor n' I. Tae place him where ye would see fit sae tha' within the bishop's palace we might..settle him?" How far was she willing to go? How deep since one rainy night not even a year agone was she willing to travel down the road alleged of no return? She was on the border now of no man's land, dealing with the dead in the same way she dealt with messages. For Dublin's sake, and the four faithful counties....for Ireland, and its Govenor, she swallowed her own want to be sick before nodding her true ascent to her own idea. What would Faolan think of this?

The night was so deep now that only slivers of the moon or the cloud interefered with the window. Reflections were minimal, light was minimal. It was the sort of area best reserved for all of their talk, all of their thoughts. In whispers, The Duchess asked the Earl of Warwickshire if he would seek out the necessaries of the cart and make suitable arrangements. She also cautioned him thus:

"Take care, but you should hence home Atherton. Gather up what men you have, and send word to those around you to fortify their men in the center and in the South to form the entire English army. When you do, you will know who is not there to answer, or who refuses. I worry for your estates, because of your faith in what we have. Take care. Atherton."

*

Meanwhile...in Canterbury, in the shadows of the Bishop's Palace...


The Plight of the Lepers in the Palace, the Story of Abdul-Aliyy, the Uncle of the Black Prince

"There has been no news, Saiyid. Nothing, for at least a week. Maybe more. We have lost track at counting." Akram was telling him the worst when he dared expect the best. It was Allah's will, though, not his. "Then he must be dead, for why would he not send word? This is not good, Akram. We will be caught, rooted out. They will not remember what we were before we were..this." The words exchanged in the thin alley caused Abdul-Aliyy to grow sick unless he held his breath for long periods of time. It smelled better inside of the shallow, walled in hiding places that kept them in Canterbury! He suddenly wished he was there now, sharing meager portions of bread with his brothers instead of mere steps away from the rats that shifted through old rubbish. The contents of a chamber pot seeped stringent urine out. How his eyes burned! How he wanted to leave this cold, unforgiving place with its false doctrines, but he promised his family that he would remain until he could give validity to a thought they wished to manifest into truth, or he would die trying. His life would mean very little if his mother could not be soothed. For no less than four years he listened as his mother's malady grew worse. Her legs shriveled, her back throbbed. In the palet she forever called out for Asad during her fevers only to find no relief of his arrival, not even in her dreams. These lands were the last known place of him, and he had gone as far north as Norway, and sailed over with word from those who traded timber that he sought out small set of frigid islands called The Orkneys and the Shetlands for more business. What Asad could have wanted, Aliyy could not say. What money could be found among shelfish and scraps of tin copper? Asad saw so much opportunity in places beyond the map. All Aliyy saw was that his brother would have frozen to death or starved among the infidels before his ship sank in the brine.

*

The family had purchased their freedom generations ago from the Arab slavers, and settled among the Muslim of Nubia. With skin dark as pitch, they settled in a life of pleasing Allah in their ways, for all had converted to Islam. Their mother still kept a memory of her mother's household Gods, telling them that surely they were only imagined as the saints of the faith, and instead were spirits. Asad believed in things to guide you beyond just compass or the will of Allah. By the time that Abdul-Aliyy was seventeen, his brother Asad was as tall as a minaret, and as thick as the Lion for which he was named. Nubia was exchanged for Morocco. There were date trees, citrus, and the scent of flowers for his mother. There were ample trades, spices, and intellect for his father. There was prospect for the first son's inheritance and enough for the second son to make a name for himself. Why, then, did Asad insist on the crazy venture with a company of men to the territory controlled by the infidels? It was more than one country or another, he became transfixed by the idea of a round world. To Aliyy, it was flat, and his brother had sailed over the edge.

He was right. He had gone to the frigid waters and never came back. He would not be here himself, if his mother could accept it, let alone the rumors that reached him of his brother taking a woman of white skin for his wife. Not even an infidel who worshipped the prophet as a son of Allah, forbid, but a relentless pagan! There could only be death for them. Canterbury demonstrated this. At first, he sailed for years in his searching while partaking of what the continent offered. He was seduced by the wealth of his people's former conquest in Spain and the thought of them moving through Europe. He saw the courts of German princes, wrapped his mind around the Holy Roman Empire, and was moved by the iconography of churches. It was not as beautiful as the Byzantine. No matter how wrong the infidel was for God's work in mortal face or drinking copious amounts of intoxicants, let alone the relentless ingestion of pork, he understood why his brother was so fascinated. As the search went on his coffers grew. He sent money back to Morocco until the moment he recieved nothing in return. No letters. No messangers. No ships to unload nor did the ships he send ever come home.

When he arrived in England things had not started out as terribly as they were now. Despite the fear his skin induced in people, or the oddity of his free status when many of the dark fleshed were pet slaves, he emassed good wealth assisting in the import and export of wool, meat, and fish. In time he imported luxury fabrics,additives such as salt, Indian sugar, cumin, and salt, and dried fruits that were sticky solvents in the mouths of nobles. The Englishman warred constantly. Alyyi found them not unlike the warring sheiks or the arguing nomad who protects the oasis found in the desert for his flocks. He turned also inward to providing steel across the country for arms while watching at a distance to fathom the white man's battle. He watched as Scotland and England both broke apart, but still the time was good. By 1329 he had emassed for himself a tidy sum of money. His fortune allowed him good relationship with the money changers who convered many foreign things into common currency. Even with them he traded gems for coin circles, and had enough to exchange with men who needed it himself. He imported, exported, and became a broker.

*

"Akram, I have little left, but what I have.." Abdul- Alyii thrust his bandaged hands in to the thin wool robe. It was almost threadbare. Its effects showed how patched with ash his dark skin was becoming, how ash effect spread up even what part of hims were bandaged to play the part of a man with illness. He was ill. Between Akram's face wraps and his own sore, agonizing cough, they looked every inch of lepers. It was this that allowed them sanctuary with the Arch-bishop, and this same disguise that would kill them all the sooner. Whispers in Canterbury talked of a place as far south called Plymoth succumbing to signs of a plague caused by water-borne rats. Bodies were thrown in ditches and burned. Would they not join such souls? It would be Allah's comical will for venturing so far from home, if they could not get back, "Take this to the docks in London, Sahib. Arrange for the passage of however many you can, and this.." He passed to him his last great possession, his brother's gold and jade cuff. He held it, the last piece of him. "Then come back to tell me how many, I will put however many I can on the road to this dock. Take them far from here Akram. Far, do you hear me? There is nothing good here. "


Akram, still recalling the last words of the man's mother before departure, said, "What of your brother's son, you yourself said we must be so close. Even in the shadows of this God-forsaken place, they talk of seeing many who are as black as oils in the streets. What if we made to another city, to this Turas Lan that now holds England..what if?" He soon felt the sting in his jaw and a swelling pressure for his trouble. There was not even time to move as Abul-Alyyi swung his enclosed, right first down across Akram's face. His anger was enough to make a heat wave flicker across the space between them. He watched it shimmer, as he lay back in a pile of scraps.

"The boy is left to the fate that Allah wills! May he have a chance to even grow among them, for he may be dead. Do you want death Akram, for we live it now. Do you want your body to be tossed out like this garbage? This is the seat of the holy place on this island, the holy place. There are streets that are cobbled with stone, and some that are cleaned by sewers, yet we are in the lost part in the shadow of stone. We squander in filth, we never see the sun! When we do, it is among the chyt of rats and infidels! No, Akram. I am sorry." Part of his heart broke as he shoke his hands. How did his fingers stay whole while the inside of him admitted defeat? "For two years we have thrown away all that we have worked for and hidden. Dogs live better, and our one chance for vindication sends us no news. He has never had time to present our plight to the Govenor! See what comes of a state run by infidels more stupid than the last?! At least before we did not live like this! No, Akram, I want to go home. If I may live to see it."

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

The Case for Canterbury, Part 2 of 3

Prepare thyself, bend thyself, leave a different entity entirely...


Sir Martin le Power

The elderly man came walking along, somber navy blue long robes of a wealthy merchant, a steely look forward with his brilliant blue eyes. He had spent the entire sleepless night sorting out new crews, old supervisors and piles of data. He was in no mood for this but duty was duty. He greeted Claramae, politlely, "Your Grace." he nodded his head a little, for he was too weary to do more than that. (d)

Sir Rhupert Jenks

In the wake of lePower's path, followed his former aide, now assigned here for defense works, his arms filled with pages and scrolls. He too lacked sleep, but his was from partying rather than work. He bowed to his betters and remained silent, for the moment. (d)


Duchess Claramae Vincere St Laurence

Sleep was for the fortunate or the lacking of items to accomplish. Neither were the circumstance of Vincere-St. Laurence whom was upon her second evening where sleep was denied in favor of the state. A wicked, wild pulse thrummed through it, and like a physician she wished to find the cause of the sickness increasing rapid failure thus tending to a cure. In the hallways, the world continued to turn. People were conveying for the beginning of the season as if nothing else was at stack. Carriage wheels turned with horse hoof click clack as the music for the voices; if one could weave a tapestry out of life, how rich that tapestry would be! "Sir lePower, God keep you and good evening. Ah, I see your assistant has come forth, and to you a good eve Sir Jenks. It seems you have made quick progress." Sloth would kill them. Nothing less to be said of it, nothing more, to work with sloth would see them dead for allowing the vice of the sin. Tonight, she wore complete black silk to the effect of austere, elegant proportions. (d)


Sir Faolan O'Connor

Out in the castle's courtyard, Fao felt a certain amount of repugnance at the task that had been set before them. It was one thing to go to the city of Canterbury to root out those that had orchestrated a plague of violence and treachery and bring them before the Duchess' judgement and wrath. There was a frown on his features, as he slowly toyed with an old coin, as he regarded the rather humble wagon that was being loaded for their journey. There was a shudder, a look away. It was one of two wagons that would accompany them. ...and it was what it carried that made him cross himself. Quietly, he murmured, "This is not a very Christian thing to do....." The task that he and Eva had been given, was not only one of conducting an inquisition in to the deaths at Parliament and the Tower of London -- but to take the body of the Arch-bishop of Canterbury back to his own holdings in that city. With each day that passed, he became less and less certain that he would see anything of the green and pleasant land. Could one help but wonder what his reaction would have been, had he known of Thomas Beckett's death within the cathedral itself?There was a sigh, before he looked toward his mistress, "Are you not certain that we should take a cart of fish with us? ...Summer is almost upon us...." And if they were late along the road, their secret work would be out. (D)


Sir Martin LePower

It did not shake Martin's beliefs in rest in peace that the Bishop was on the move, for he himself had a promise to be sent home if he perished in England, going home to Waterford. This was like that to him. And that his religious faith was iffy, at most, helped in this case. "Ah, Your Grace, Sir Falon, my friends. How might I be of assistance? There is transport to be readied? I offer my aide Jenks to take reins if there be need of a driver. He is known about the countryside, traveling here and there for his manor house commissions. We are at you command." He this time bowed enough that light refelcted off his bald dome, brilliant like foxfire from the darkest of the swamplands. (d)

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Are you certain of that which you ask, lePower, it would be a subscription to a dark affair. Still, your presence may actually expedite your work..." Bemused, the Duchess considered his offer forthwith as she stood at thedoor to the mouth of the courtyard. Foxfire competed with torchlight, slick over the hairless dome to even flash in the palm of her very hands. The term playing with fire never seemed so real, so poignant as it did now with the dead body - the very heart of England's faith - in a nondescript wagon. He was thrust inside of a coffin large enough to hold his rotting contents, not swathed in banner or prayed over. A part of her hurt to see it this way. A partof her felt the cautionary warning given unto Adam ringing out as her own failure. How did this come to pass? How! Anger, too, coursed through the veins under the heavy black silk. It played with the black veil across brown hair as it danced to macabre thoughts. "If Sir Jenks is quick of it, he may drive the cart of the Archbishop. He must tell no one of its contents nor of his task, which is why it is so plain..I also deem he should go ahead of Sir O'Connor and the Countess." Their voices were low, so of yet the pair of messangers were not privy.

Countess Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

"The body of Christ in England 'as been rottin' in the vestibule floor. Tis the most sacriligious thin' but tis the truth. Fish? Must we yield him up tae more indignaty? The man is the Archbishop n' his cart be more plain than any peasent. E'en the lowest born 'ave someone tae mourn them, tae wail for them, tae miss them. We stand among the priveleged yet can nay privelege ourselves tae bury him hence. Tis sick, Faolan, sick." The bare right hand rose tocross herself as she looked at the cart containing the remains of the men from the vestibule floor. One of them was even to be layed just beyond the city to make it appear as if he died enroute! What heathens they must become for their causes, what godless, vicious citizens for the state of better being. Across the way the mouth of LePower and the Duchess moved, but she could not fathom the words. "Mayhaps we should be o'er there," she whispered, pulling a glove over the right blessing hand. Next, the left was attired so both were gray sude-like match to guard tender palms from the rigors of the reigns. The pace was mere hours, but it would feel like a thousand miles. Fear? Tender heart lept behind filigree bodice, but her resolve was wrapping it in steel bands. (d)"


Sir Rhupert Jenks

Jenks sneaked a what the hey look at Martin but he did not voice an objection. "As you require, Your Grace." he stated but in his mind it grated that he was being offered as a common worker. He would pray for the deceased. To him, was not a Bishop a warrior for the Almighty who died in battle for our mortal souls? So, it was as if he was taking a soldier home to be buried, soul already gone ahead. Rhupert justified and to feel safer, he added a bundle of carved banisters to the cart, and therefore looked as usual, for one of his forays on the roadway. (d)

Sir Martin Le Power

"In all seriousness, we need to get this done and be up and about this and get done with it. In the coolest part of the day, for the flies will find their bait. " The old man had a sharp sense of smell and it was being assulted even at this distance. " Martin looked to Claramae and Faolan. "I am ready whenever.(d)


Earl Cedric Laurence Atherton III

"Now, don't you be telling anyone about our little secret. Wouldn't want you to be getting in any trouble, pretty lady." Just what secret? Well, it wasn't as though Cedric was a well-behaved man. The young woman he spoke to now giggled and then hurried off to go about her daily duties. Technically, in the Earl's mind, he hadn't broken his word to Claramae- that woman was the visiting cousin of one of those whom worked within the walls. Therefore she didn't work here, per se, and would be gone back to the country in a week. Plus one couldn't deny the man a little comfort after the experience that had occurred. Yet at this moment more important matters were at hand too- ones that saw the Earl staring in contemplation down at the grounds from his window above. Those below prepared to return the Archbishop home, in secret, to be found there as if that was where he had been all along. It made him uneasy, but in truth- what other choice was to be had? If spoken of being dead, found within these walls, well...all hell would break loose. Tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves, he muttered,"Well, I hope the Lord doesn't smite them upon the journey..." Heading downstairs, the Earl of Warwick made his presence known around the time of discussion about hurrying on their way. Looking dapper as usual. "Your Grace, My Lady," Both women were given deep, respectful bows and then the men addressed with polite smiles and "Good day sirs." His own little journey, that was heavy on his mind- Claramae had ordered him home. Was his land really in danger? Lord he hoped not. (d)

Sir Rhupert Jenks

He held the reins and sat atop the cart, awaiting the word, so nervous he hid in a shell of calm, as if this was another day routine."We will be away soon?" Jenks stage whispered to Martin, as if that might help.There were bannisters on the cart along with the box. What if any asked what it held? Of course, he would say 'dust', well in the early stages, at least. (d)

Sir Faolan O'Connor

Faolan remained silent, glancing toward the cart and its cargo of corpses. God above. There was a frustrated sigh, as he murmured to the unhearing ears of the Arch-bishop, "Shall be some time, I fear, 'afore ye shall be able ta in peace...." And, perhaps, it was the duplicitous nature of what they did that galled him all the more. Why must they engage in this charade, when it be desirable by far to simply have the Arch-bishop quickly entombed at Westminster Abbey and be done with it? What if this unwholesome handling of the Arch-bishop's remain was exactly the action that the conspirators had hoped for? While the power of the Duchess covered the whole of England, there was still the local Barons and lesser nobles....any of whom could stop them and demand to see their papers -- thinking that they smuggled something in their cart. Faolan frowned, saying, "How tis it tha' we know tha' we dae nae be playin' inta tha 'ands o' those tha' shuffled the Arch-bishop off this mortal coil? All it be takin' is one shire reeve ta be demandin' ta search our wagon on suspicion of smugglin' an' all of our work will be undone...." (D)

Sir Martin Le Power

"Jenks tells me none have stopped him on the way to various manor house constructions, and I see no reason that will change." He thought of his promise of home going at death which Claramae declared to him. "We might reply there lies my brother, on his way to rest in Irish land?" It was a desperate idea but who knew. It might work. (d)

Countess Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

"Ah'm sure we shall make it hence, tis nay as if we be gaein 'cross the country, merely a few hours 'cross short countryside, n' by horse no less. Ah dun think twill be sae serious. Yer brother is a good thought, Sir LePower, but tae Ireland? Canterbury be a bit out ' o' a sea way when there be the Thames just 'ere, perhaps he is yer brother, merely wishin tae return tae be part o' the..estate in Canterbury, aye? Jenks is supervision it's construction n' we are overseein the entire affair. Fao can be yer 'brother's son, n' Ah will be his ....niece." Was that convincing? She smiled as best she could in the interest of black humor while she fixed a strand of hair beneath her veil. By the time they embarked it would be with the rising of the sun. Another English sunrise, another macabre tune to sing. She looked over to Earl Atherton, wondering of his business. What would meet with him, would he go alone? She prayed he would not find ruin such as they found in the Tower floors. It was enough infact to move them all from the residences of the Tower to the splendor of Windsor Castle. Living in Westminster Palace and sharing space with the Parliment seemed rather too inviting of capricious mischief, and in the east, Windsor Castle was closer to Canterbury. "Good eventide, m'lord." She curtsied to him before turning her eyes to the cart one more time. Faolan's words stayed with her, heavy. What good was there in England? At the same time - they were hear, for Ireland. If they did not help England, what would become of Ireland? Who was to say this scenario would not repeat, and what could the Lords draw unto themselves? She shivered, before remembering what was 'good' was what stood before them. What was good, was a supressed, oft unrecognized part of herself that descended from Lancaster.

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

The Duchess, the Lady Govenor, whatever name one elected to call her that evening stepped up to the cart that held the bishop and relayed the events to proceed thusly. "It is a fine plane. He is LePower's brother, andit is his manse Jenks is constructing, but he was ill. Realizing he would be undone before the completion of his dream to live within the holy see it was commended that his body be part of the foundation in the chapel area, to which jenks commends him now. Accompanying the body are his relations naturally, the brother Lepower, son..Sir O'Connor this is your part, niece, Countess. It began as a seeming sweeting sickness, but descended in the final days to a wasting illness ,leprosy. This is why the casket is closed and plainly transported, to draw no attention. This is why it shan't be open, and it shall bare the official approval of having been blessed by a churchman of London the papers I will provide you shall be in good order, sealed. He was a man of the court, well liked. There is your tale. Jenks will drive ahead of all of you..to gain the advantage of hours necessary so he arrives before you..and the family is in processional behind of course not to catch the dreaded illness yet still pay respect.The casket is well sealed, indeed." She pulled a key from under the side of her french cap hood, gold key from black. "it requires this key to unlock it. I shall give it to you, Jenks. You will drive to the nearest empty residence nearest the Papal palaceyou will create the look of a site, a spyglass as if surveying near the country. When the rest of you arrive you will place his eminine back in his palace to be discovered, this other cart here, will head to the villages. The body of the messenger shall be placed along the roadside, accosted by thieves." Her hand never left the bishop's casket, for it was close to the edge. The man for all of his years was well known to her. He was..associate...he had become..friend. None ever wishes to see mortality displayed in close context. She did not cry, but the black of her clothes cried well enough (d)

Sir Faolan O'Connor

There was a quiet nod of his head, as he murmured, "As the Duchess commands....so shall it be....." What treachery! What sadness..... Was this truly that was all to be found in England? Or were there redeeming things that were to had? He shook his head quietly, again toying with the Polish coin he wore about his neck. The sooner that he was done with this, the better. But he could not help but wonder: Would he be able to make confession of all of this? Or was all the clergy in on the plot? (D)

Sir Martin le Power

"See to it done, exactly as requested, Jenks. Today we honor this request, as one day you will do a similar task for me, take my remains home to Waterford." he felt a kinship to the deceased, being old as he was. He had lived among the English off and on, since he was a young man sent to Wales for architect training. It was a novelty, a thing unexpected so Mart went along with the play acting, never considering what exactly he was walking into. He pulled a soft black cloth cap from his case and donned it, ready for the journey. (d)

Earl Cedric Laurence Atherton III

Would someone travel with him? Would he travel alone? The better question being should though. Cedric was a man who preferred well-thought decisions. They generally ran smoother, but in this moment- there wasn't time to think slowly upon the matter. If it could be managed then the Earl wanted to be on his way after the party before him departed. "I hope you brought a cloak, My Lady, for I am sure you will cause quite a stir with your beauty." Merely a compliment along with suggestion. The Countess had a face that, in his mind, one would not easily forget. Hopefully she would keep it will hidden incase they should be stopped. It was only when Claramae spoke though that a serious look befell the face of the usually humor-filled Earl. On beautiful lips were spoken words that embroiled them all in even further intrigue. "That is a sound plan, Your Grace."


Sir Rhupet Jenks

During his years in England, Jenks was seen alone, with his salesman folders of Manor house possible designs or out about on the roads, driving a cart much like this one. He had no qualms about what he was about to do and there was a sword at his side, per usual. He gripped the reins and gave then a snap and pulled off the brake, giving a whistle to get the horse going. "Here ye go, Wik! Move it on out! " The wooden wheels creaked and the cart moved , rolling easier as it got into the ruts of the well used part of the road. The road unfolded before him, lined on both sides by oak thickets, bright green with fresh new seasons' leaves, sharp edged and glistening.
Some rocking of the cart got the banisters to clattering as they rolled back and forth in their rope bands.The box however, was stable. It sat well and did not budge when Jenks hit that bend in the way, but deeper into the woodlands they rolled on, the close woods backing off to be taken over by field of grasses and wild flowers. Rhupert and the cart were well on their way, the cargo secure and all was right with the world, well not completely right, but good enough for now. (d)

Duchess Claramae St. Laurence

"It is as sound as can be expected, good Earl. It is as sound as logic can create while ignoring the depravity of what we are thus reduced to. What I have reduced us all to, forgive me. It is not a moment of self-pity but a moment of scrutiny. To be a player in a game, yet see the game have gone on so deep. We shall foil it thus. Aye, we shall foil it for we know the mechanics of which they make this terrible machine." One final hand was placed upon the casket, and in a moment of tenderness that would live with them all their days, she paid it the respect of kiss with her living lips to the cold wood of the casket. "Godspeed." Fingers smoothed over the edges of the casket before she looked over at Jenks, and with no words necessary it seemed the young man was on his way. He was charged with the sacred duty of baring the dead, no matter how much in intrigue it was disgused. Along the creaking wheels rocking banisters beside corpse, a small part of her heart rode too.

Countess Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

"By the time we leave then, it shall be dawn. Will ye come with us, Sir lePower..though Ah wonder who will go with the Earl. Ah can nay stomach ye gaein alone sir." Gloved hand touched the shoulder of the older English gentleman. He admired the artform that was woman - no wonder the shape made from Adam's rib was his saving grace and his damnation. Lace encased body displayed its bounty for his eye without meaning to. Even in the somber tones of darkest gray, her shape was evident for the gown was tailored to the shape of present fashion. As he spoke of veils, she touched her long one, suggesting enough fabric to pull forward across her face to show all but her eyes, but now was not the time to cover it, Thank God. Her scent of rose-water mingled with expensive citrus import. It was a scent she found in Turas Lan, a scent enough to make eyes roll in the back of head. None of this was her intention, mind you. Standing twixt LePower, Atherton, and O'Connor, one of the men knew the glories of the unclothed skin. Another had a fancy for it, and maybe the oldest with foxfire on his head kept his thoughts to himself for he was thesmartest of all of them. "Wot dae ye think Warwickshire holds for ye?" Her other greatest, heart racing (and bosom heaving if one noticed) fear, was would her cousin be left to her solitude? The Duke was quite busy in Westminster Palace with the remnants of parliment, and Aquitaine was rightly obsessed with the Lady Woodstocks recovery and Oxford. (d)

Sir Faolan O'Connor

Faolan was quiet for a few moments, watching as the Jenks and the carriage containing the mortals remains of the Arch-Bishop of Canterbury began their journey to that city. Would there now be more pilgrims upon the road, once it it was learned that yet another Canterbury archbishop was did? Surely, it would increase -- if his true cause of death (that of murder most foul) was disocvered. He shook his head, "Another relic fer 'em ta fight over....." With a rueful smile, he wondered how many fingers the late Arch-Bishop would turn out to have. Just because he had not acted, did not mean that he had not heard Cedric's words. There was a glance to Cedric, an arch of an eyebrow -- and, perhaps wisely, nothing more. For now. (D)

Sir Martin le Power

"Be ready for the unexpected , things might go perfectly." The old man was like a little child going to the carnival, thinking of what might be there, not if it was worth his time and trouble. The adventure of it, sparked him in ways only Aurilla would come to know.He had implicent trust in Jenks and did not dwell on the aide's progress. "Sometimes you have to think all is well in the world, and then make it so." Old men can afford to have such theories; they may not live long enough to disprove them. (d)

Earl Cedric Atherton III

"Countess, do not worry so. Though it warms the heart of an old man to have such a lovely lass as yourself worry for my welfare." One hand gently patted hers in a manner meant to soothe. Cedric was rarely worried about by those around him. Caroline had been concerned- as any wife would be of a husband with a mental state not quite healthy. His children though were of a more relaxed manner, not overly nagging nor focused on what he did, and that suited the Earl well enough. Though now those dark eyes turned toward the Duchess whom behaved in a manner wholly unseen before. Sympathy clearly displayed upon his face for a second, but now an idea came to mind,"Your Grace, if you are not too busy, I would request of your companionship upon my journey back to Warwickshire." Who better to ask of company than the woman that sent him on this journey? Of course, Cedric would be wholly encouraging that she bring a maid or two to protect her reputation. (d)

Countess Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

"Bless ye, Ah would worry o'er yer welfare a hundred times in thanks fer wot ye've done o'er th eyears fer m'lady cousin sir." She touched a hand of his with both of hers before turning again to Faolan. They were going to embark after Jenks when the sun was rising through countryside that even here, from Windsor, did not look uninviting. No matter the deed she thought to find the joy in the macabre, that they would be free of the Tower, the Castle. They would be free of the Land surrounding London and on to another venue. Anything, anything, but what they were to do. Still, her mind was not divorced from her part of the task, and already concocted ways for them to make it into the Bishop's Palace. Would they carry official writ for audience granted? She had seen the seal of him duplicated upon the study in her cousin's desk. Whatever measures the Duchess took, it would ensure them success. The question was how much could they stomach?

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Touche, lepower, touche. We might find ourselves privy to a moment's repast in gladness despite the maudlin nature of the times. Quite droll, thy comment, too. Prepare for the unexpected, it might go well. I shall have the scribe commend that to posterity." Fingers clasped together so her hands were hidden beneath the long draping sleeves, her posture erect. Board-rigid, she turned with perfect grace to survey the Earl after his 'invitation' to accompany him to Warwickshire. Was it prudent? Jean-Claude would to Oxford, and her husband would need more news of resource. This was what she was good at afterall, and this would keep her mind locked in logic. A maid or two would be no less than three maids and a small honor guard for both of their benefit. Best to travel in full weight even if light maneuvering? "Hmm. I accept. I can oversee some of the southern preperation as my husband oversees the central gatherings. I am sure by now Westminster will clear as the men return to their lands. Naturally all we have left are the Northern refugee men and the Central, Eastern, and Southern free bodies. This shall be most satisfactory. I will go with thee. Shall we all say three days, three days, no more than three and one half before meeting here again? No, I digress. Let us say four. Even at a quick pace we shall need to stop to sojourn in Warwickshire for more than a moment. The Earl shall no doubt have much to review." And going with him, she could even guard his back.With what happened in Canterbury, just how free was any of England anymore? (d)

Sir Rhupert Jenks

Jenks caught the rhythm of the road and made great progress, for he had four years of practice along the type tera firma here about. There were cottages along the road, with children run out to see what was that clopping along the highway. One man with a cart, they waved to Rhupert and he waved back, a sedate king like wave, for he was a class above and kept to his place, in public as it was proper done. It was not that far, if you think about it and he did. Enough of the wayfaring, he drew back the reins and halted the cart before the destination. "Now onto the next step." he thought, careful not to emit a word unless asked of one of rank enough to require a response. (d)

Earl Cedric Laurence Atherton III

Temptation was the bane of his existence. Resisting it took a willpower unable to be explained adequately! By one side stood a blonde Irish lass with heaving bosom and lovely face, and in front the fine curves of the Duchess. Oh Lord save me! Perhaps I'll convince the Duchess to bring the maid's cousin along... Cedric needed to protect himself from such beauty! Though he'd gladly take a night with each. Realizing that his lust might have shown briefly in those dark eyes, he cleared his throat and offered a bright smile,"I am honored, Your Grace, by your acceptance. Do not fear for your reputation, dear lady, I will be a perfect gentleman." Which meant that he'd not touch her in any way, but he couldn't make a promise about the words that might pass his lips. He wasn't a saint! Now though, seeing the departure of Jenks and the Archbishop's body, he murmured,"Four days is a perfect time. I just hope all is well within my lands. I care greatly for its people..." A bit of distress showed on the face of a usually carefree man. (d)

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

The Case for Canterbury, Part 2, Continued




Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Atherton, upon your arm I go or at the taking of thy hospitality is gentleman enough, one must not expect the restraint of Saints from mere mortals." Arch of brow was substitute for the smile most would have issued forth. Her cousin smiled though, laughed behind an upturned hand as Claramae began to ponder a few matters. In the courtyard of Windsor Castle, the body of the Archbishop went out in a cart with banisters, driven by an aid known as Sir Rhupert Jenks, under the pretense of installing his patrons dead body in the foundation of the chapel that would have been a part of his estate near the holy see of Canterbury, for so pious was he he sought to live in religion's shadow. Some hours by sunrise light, the Countess of Dublin and her knight Sir Faolan O'Connor would follow as the 'processional' of the dead man's son and niece, and old Lepower would be his brother. What a play. Claramae detested theatrics but spent her entire life orchestrating elaborate plots worthy of the Greecian stage. As they spoke the second cart rambled away, to place the bishop's messenger in the road as if killed by criminals. Now here she stood with Warwickshire to hence to his home, praying there was something honorable left in his estate. "Find my maids, tell them to lay out a suitable gown...Warwickshire do we hence by carriage or horse," this was imperative for a woman, you see. What gown for which occasion...or in her case which toolbox for which quandry. To be the walking arsenal or ride in one? "And tell them to prepare themselves, our things. I shall have no less than three maids and no less than an honor guard for myself and the Earl. Atherton, riding or carriage? Please, I shan't know which attire to lay out otherwise (d)

Sir Martin LePower

It is good men do not have to make selections of gowns and take servants where they go, for Martin would need those decisions made for him. "Do any mind if I sit as we wait? " he leans back against the cart side, his famous smile at bay for the moment. "If I doze off, wake me. I am not asleep; I am resting my eyes." Which for lePower meant that the old man was not able to keep awake two nights in a row, any more.

Mistress Adelaide de Sauveterre

"I was not a Mongolian child," Ada said back, admittedly huffing due to their pace. The point was to outrun the messenger; they were making astonishing time. These were roads Ada had last traversed by foot. By horse, what had taken her days and weeks took hours and days. Though her arse was sore and her thighs barely functioned once standing upon solid earth, the letter motivated her to keep riding.

Nasrin al-Anizzah

"That much is obvious." They continued making excellent time, Nasrin's mare an unusual sight in the English countryside, the Mongolian lineage a bright light for Nasrin in this territory of barbarians and their ridiculous breeding practices. As a child, she had known more about horses than these fools. Up to the gates they rode, holding off to the side for the passage of carts, and announced to the courtyard in a flurry of the few accompanying Ilkhanate escorts. One of the Mongols helped the apothecary down from her mount, and did not look the good mistress in the eyes when she promptly pitched forward on legs unaccustomed to keeping an equine saddle for so many long hours. Even Nasrin had heard the vulgar rumors of Adelaide's riding abilities, and once more, she drew the excess fabric across her mouth to disguise a grin. *

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

For the sake of the man's pride (which for all the world she would preserve as he preserved the ramparts), the Duchess leaned in toward the page to make of another request, "You will assist good lePower to a room where he might findhis rest, there is still some time yet toward sunrise. If he wishes not to rest, bring him a drink to uplift his attention. This is demanding upon a man his age, but it shall not be made known." They reminded her of saints ready to lay out on grid iron for martydrom. Did the King realize to what extent his people across these lands of fog and cold believed in him? To be infront of the throne was more taxing, more demanding than upholding the legs from behind. On a second thought, she also requested, "also, see one of my maids toward the kitchen to prepare my tea." It would be yet another day before she would sleep, making it three that she functioned as if she'd slept the sleep of Bathsheba reclining on cushions. Still sharp eyes watched as the gates of Windsor opened up to receive a party that set the guard to staring with hard eyes. What riders were these on foreign horses with strange clothes, who came to Windsor court in a time of war? To her credit, she left the page to emerge toward the party that held two very familiar faces. The question of one would be what would Jean-Claude do to find his beloved in this elegant disaster, and of the second, what on God's good earth would the Ilkhanate want with the factions in England that could reach out for her? Somewhere she decided that they, like the others, must be enthusiastic adventurers or sadists.


Canterbury - The road was mere hours stretched out to years perhaps, but the scenery did not dwell on the young man's mind. Indeed, it didn't dwell at all. The imposing structure of the Palace loomed over the settlement once abandoned by Rome, and rebuilt by the Anglo-Saxons. It was here that Christendom touched the soil, it was here that leather works, coin minting, and the cross joined to form the seat of religious fevor. People did not amble in the still of the dark. Only the guards awaited him and his cart, ears ready to receive his falsehood with sympathy. On the sides of this gate, watching with eyes sharp as cats for living so long in the dark, a poor leper left his hiding place. He hoped, with each entry into Canterbury, some good would come of it. Disappointed in the cart, he hissed in silence to himself. "Alyyi is right. Allah has no love of this place," bandaged hands were tucked hard in to his worn wool, for it was still cold before the sun rose to herald spring style warmth. What did it matter to him? He would be damned wherever he went...and was not plesed at the road stretching outward before him. To London. To seek their own salvation where the Bishop failed them. Beside the cart the lepor begged alms, bandaged hands reaching up as he kept his head lowered in the cowl of his hood. Thank Allah for the night, it matched him perfectly (d)

Sir Martin le Power

Martin took the offer of short term room where he might be off his feet for a while, so that his feet did not swell too great for his walking comfort, for such is aging. It is either the mind or the body which wears out first and with lePower, his mental state yet improved with each year duration. "I am most appreciative of you generous offer and will take you up on the room, with the promise ye do not forget and leave me behind." His words had energy in them, if his gait lacked it. (d)


Earl Cedric Atherton III

Plans into motion- a carriage the obvious choice. There wasn't a chance that Cedric would make Clarame take the long journey upon horseback. Of course, it also worked into the fact that he wasn't as spry as in old age and sometimes long journeys by horse left him with aches embarrassing to mention. "Do you think, Your Grace, we will find trouble on the journey to Warwickshire?" The Earl hated to ask the question let alone think upon it. Luckily travel was with a woman who knew about preparing just incase. Brows furrowed while thought took over, silence coming upon him, as LePower went to find a bit of relaxation and Claramae ordered tea be prepared. The Earl was about to turn to head inside, in search of a bit of gin, when the sound of riders came to his ears. It was only upon turning though that those dark eyes spotted two- one unfamiliar though clearly femine and one...well it was that one that drew his feet forward. Adelaide. There was a lady that Cedric had not laid eyes upon in a bit of time, but one remembered quite well. And what a lady that one was. Though upon seeing her aid off the horse, Cedric grinned mischeviously and stepped forward to offer a hand while leaning close enough to whisper for her ears only,"Do you not ride often these days, cheri?" The words holding that same roguish tone of old.(d)

Mistress Adelaide de Sauveterre

"You have no idea," Ada replied without thinking, but grinned back even as her Ilkhanate escort rippled with phrases muttered under their breath, while their lady drifted down from her mount oblivious to it all, covered head to toe and looking very much to Ada like a covered piece of furniture. Her own light cloak was enough that she had stayed warm through the night ride, though the clothes beneath were Ada's standard -- the bodice cut low and the strings pulled tight, skirts with hems that should be about an inch lower, despite Ada's rather short stature. Nasrin would dominate even the men here at her height of nearly six feet, raising a hand to motion to the men to disarm. "My lord Warwick," she added a bit more loudly for propriety's sake, gaining feeling in her legs back enough to offer a peasant's curtsey -- she never could be bothered with more courtly manners, though she knew them -- and then squeezing her arms around her old friend.

Nasrin al-Anizzah

Nasrin watched the entire exchange with a single brow arched, though it was invisible in the deep shadows of her cowl. "Surrender your arms," she spoke softly to her compatriots in the fluid blend of multiple tongues that made up the Ilkhanate court dialect. "We are used to captivity, are we not? The letter has arrived, let us watch and then take our rest. Inshallah, this place has clean water for bathing." *


Countess Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

"Sir lePower, ye can rest assured knowin' than nay less than m'self or Sir O'Connor will come for ye. Ah will arrange a carriage for ye, for the Uncle should not be left to linger on horseback.." The farce in that was sweet; she hat was sweet; she pondered what it would have been had her uncle reached this high, intelligent age. Foxfire glimmered in Lepower's eyes as she imagined he thought of a thousand things by the time she formulated one. Despite the use of his stick, at seventy-six he seemed at times to be ten years less. Then part of her failed in confidence, wondering in horror what if something befell the architect? While fortifying the realm was now his work, and while Jenks was his younger arm, how long could the heart hold? So much death. Too much death. Evangeline became distracted with the arrival of the Ilkhanate party. The last time she saw the likes of Nasrin was at supper in Ebony Hall where they discussed agenda with the same casual indifference as one discusses weather. A wind blew that billowed the folds of her deep gray attire, offset in color only by the golden filigree across the bodice. When Faolan went to see with the strictstandard he possessed after the last of the preperations, she went to stand beside Claramae. "While tis rather dark, England has nay ceased tae be fascinatin'. How dae ye explain this?"

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"With saying witness to bare, eyes to see, knowledge to garner. Many may have sought to follow in the footsteps of a view if they could ascertain the directions of how. At any rate, it would not be terribly difficult for the betrothed of the Master to find herself hence, but the Lady Ilkhanate...there is the ponderance, good cousin. Let us find the answer. I am sure as we that they favor no ill placed thing." The ill placed world could kill them in thebeat of a heart. Nasrin was above them in height, Adelaide below. Claramae and Evangeline settled somewhere in the middle of the two women which left Atherton alone with more female than one man of even his paces could handle. "Welcome to England, and to Windsor Castle. I trust your ride was suitable to yourselves, and devoid of hardship?" It was polite to inquire. Claramae's mourning blacks gave a severity to her appearance often reserved for the speculation in her presence. The death of the Archbishop was not publicly known, and none knew of reasons why she would publicly mourn the Headmaster, but indeed she mourned. She mourned the death of a man of knowledge, the death of a pious friend, and of the old bodies found under him mourned a woman who with dead, skeleton hands tore her heart apart all over again. "ah, I see you already know of one of this party, Atherton, it will shorten the introduction to the Lady Nasrin al-Anizzah. What timing. You arrive as in some time we are all set for departures.Windsor is open to thy need and giving of hospitality, or if you are so hearty you may find a journey that suits your interests. Shall you rest, and be informed?" As she breathed, the scars of a rendered alchemic tree pulled on her skin. It hurt, but she knew there would be many more scares garnered in the coming days (d)

Earl Cedric Laurence Atherton III

Warmth gave a young glow to his face as the Earl returned Adelaide's curtsy with a bow worthy a Queen. Upon straightening back to his full height both arms happily wrapped around her figure. A figure that he was not likely to ever forget. "It has been some time, Ada, what brings you here now?" Indeed what brought such a lovely, carefree spirit as that of Adelaide though it would not take long to figure out. As Claramae spoke Cedric began to connect dots- clearly Nasrin was the Lady Ikhanata which meant that Adelaide could only be... Oh hell, well that's not going to go well! Clearing his throat, stepping back with a bit of a sheepish grin which Cedric prayed could be attributed to having not been proper gentleman to the Lady Ikhanata as well, he bowed low again,"A pleasure to meet you, Lady al-Anizzah. Welcome to England." So, Adelaide was now a woman betrothed and to his oldest of friends! Hopefully Jean-Claude didn't punch him too hard.... (d)

Nasrin al-Annizah

Nasrin inclined her head deeply enough to set the heavy fabric in motion, holding the gesture, and then rising once more to her rather formidable height. "My greetings, and thank you for your hospitality. We shall not stay long. We came to accompany the lady apothecary, but have no desire to overstay our welcome in this territory. It is not conducive to diplomacy in Skye," Nasrin spoke, her richly spiced voice holding a note of dryness to it despite the utter lack of social cues one might receive from the expression upon her face. "Though should our swords or horses be of service, we lend them willingly. We find remaining guests of foreign courts does not sit well with our constitutions." They were used to raiding villages, conquering nations, and riding vast distances without eating or sleeping. Currently, their activities included finding horses that wandered through Inveryne's rose garden and looking entirely out of place in the castle.

Mistress Adelaide de Sauveterre

"Oh, well met again, Master St. Laurence, I hoped to see you here," Ada said, pulling away briefly from Warwick, though her legs had turned a bit to jelly again. Certain men had the effect, no matter how aged and wise she became, nor how proud she was of the bond represented in the heavy ruby upon her hand. Which reminded her. She cleared her throat. "Would either of you be aware of Jean-Claude's current location? I made the mistake of opening his mail. I was going to join him here, in any event, but I did not think so soon, and neither did he." She grinned at Cedric's reaction and lightly ran her hand up his back. *

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"To my recollection the Master Aquitaine has made preperations to move toward a matter of Oxford, Mistress Sauveterre. I have not heard from him this day which could mean of his depature, or hissilent repature of the case study presented in our Lady Woodstocks mental state. My belief is that he has gone to Oxford," if he was using Windsor Castle or the Tower of London as his plaything, she wouldn't be surprised. Her own additions to ancient structures were no less than compounding on what was already in place by way of secret passage. She nodded at Nasrin's words before considering what to tell the woman "Better a guest of a foreign court at war on behalf of the Scottish king my lady than about the landscape without knowledge of it. While the flowers bloom quite nicely in England the ground will be blood soaked before long, I wager by the time we gather our forces and make the Northern March, we shall see a side of England made strange by the inclusion of Castillian and Aragonese politico. Given we are all as strangers upon Spanish sought territory or guests of the Griffin you may terry as long as you please. Perhaps after you rest accompanying us to Warwickshire might serve you, to learn more, and perhapseven North if you so choose. I will not be able to grant you access to the sea. Whatever ship you set off upon you will sink in until the seas are taken back." She offered her passage through the front doors, and Adelaide too, "Let us give you sustinance, drink, places to rest. It will do no good tarrying about outside for that is not how guests are treated in Windsor," or anywhere. The world wasfalling down and Claramae still insisted on behaving with civility (d)

Earl Cedric Laurence Atherton III

Was not it behavior such as hospitality that made them different from animals? The Earl firmly believed this to be the case indeed. It wasn't polite to not offer guests a bit of respite after a particularly long journey. Even if they were unannounced guests. Many a noble would have an issue with uninvited guests- it being improper not to send word ahead, but Cedric was not in any case. Visitors were welcome as, in truth, a madman rarely got many of them. Those who came to see him usually had wont of something. He couldn't tolerate them. Of course, if Adelaide came to visit more often...well, that wasn't proper! Was one thing to cuckold an ass like Warrington, but another to do it to his friend. The Earl while a lover of women, drink, and games of chance was not completely without morals. "A drink does sound most pleasant." Gin, and lots of it! Though it wasn't necessarily a proper to imbibe liquor, but after those lovely words from Claramae it'd be needed. A blood soaked England was an ugly prospect. Realizing the present of four women, Cedric chuckled deeply and raised a brow,"Well, ladies, as it is only proper I escort you inside perhaps two ladies to an arm? There is more than enough of me to share, I assure you." (d)


Mistress Adelaide de Sauveterre

Men never quite understood Adelaide, she thought with a bit of sadness, but she took the proffered arm anyway. "I must find him, sooner rather than later, but it has been a difficult ride for me. Since I ... do not ride." One of Ada's happy shrugs, as she honestly did not care. There was no opportunity to learn in the mountains of her hometown, and money was spent on better things as a street rat in Paris. Even in gambling halls, Ada had devoted more attention on sitting in the laps of men and the occasional woman, acting the good luck charm and muse, and pocketing small bags of unattended coins. Her fingers were quick; it was not by luck she still had them all. "It is from Julian," Ada said, leaning her head in closer toward Claramae once she had the opportunity. "He's gone searching for what he should not in Madrid. There are books he will find that he had best leave in shadows." She sighed, fully believing those books belonged to Benoit, though no names had been mentioned. They were dangerous books, and had she the heart, she would burn those she had given Warwick to keep safe those many years ago, when she had passed through last.

Nasrin al-Nazzim

"Then we will attend," Nasrin said simply, inclining her head to the Master. She overheard Adelaide speak of following her fiance to Oxford and sighed. That woman was going to end up dead in a ditch if she traveled alone. She could wield a knife to put a knight to shame when it came to herbs, but would spend more time healing herself should she wield one in battle. *

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

Before Ada could slip away, Claramae held her arm to impart to her the importance of being gentle with such news to Aquitaine, who fretted by the moment for not knowing what Monroe faced. If the boy was climbing toward Madrid, was deBrabant with him? Why wer they not together in Aragon walls by now doing the deed set forth by them? She too worried of youth wandering unbridled in landscapes that fueled passionate, hungry imaginations. She worried over theirminds force fed to stake brokered fires who's smoke came in the form of news even as far away as England. Across the Channel, up and down it went words of the thing called 'Inquisition,' a relic of zealots outlawed by the secular hold the government had on faith based tools of social submission. Suddenly, she was bit with a bug inspiring a temporary illness to forsake all of England, go to Spain, and rescue the apprentices before they mourned them. This was silly - and as wholly maternal as ever she would get. Noviates were the only thing she 'labored' to give birth to. Over a book, too, a set of them? "God help us," she muttered, watching as the party went in through the doors. At once water was set to boiling for hot bathes and to wash worn garments. New things were found for Mistress de Sauveterre, and the staff puzzled over what they would offer the giants from the Orient. Was there anything long enoughto appease the taste of Nasrin? Anything remotely functional that wouldn't have to be made outright? From the kitchens came tea, Cedric's gin, and food that Claramae simply didn't touch. Evangeline settled on the other side of the room they occupied with Faolan for a moment of intimate peace, while she substantiated herself on a liquid diet of drug infused tea."I feel that we should send runners into the North, discretely. Perhaps a sufficient force to some northern barony out of compliance. It will be a living test of the obvious, but I feel we must have a taste of what we will deal with to learn to ingest it. On the road to Warwickshire, Atherton, I simply do not know what will we find ." What she did know was that by the end of their coversation, she would insist that the smithy begin to form the necessary steel plates together to form a breastplate, gauntlets, and guards for across the shins. A suitable attire would be made to accompany it thus, and in this state she would become the Lady Commander to counter her husband's Lord, and make for the North only after Warwickshire and Canterbury were brought to a resolution of some sort. (d)

Earl Cedric Laurence Atherton III

Welcome reprieve was taken within the castle walls as those who had duties ahead of them gladly took a moment to breathe. Those in the corner required to travel behind a cart carrying the Archbishop in a wooden box that if caught with....Cedric prayed that never happened. Explanations would be moot at that point. All of England would rage around them. Soon Cedric would journey with Claramae to his own lands. Upon this discussion the presence of Adelaide would be forgotten- for now,"If any have dared to harm those people who lived upon my land..." It would be a rare thing to see such fire burn in usually humorous gaze. This was not a moment on insanity, but a need to protect those cared about. "I wish I understood why me, though, Your Grace. It is a bit baffling indeed. What threat is a man whose mind is wasting away with each day that passes? Why not just murder me in the street as if a common robbery?" Heaving a frustrated sigh, Cedric gladly took a seat in plush chair and drew a long drink from his gin glass. (d)

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

The interior of the castle didn't match the stone exterior. Windsor Castle was an imposing piece of architecture that began in the days of William the Conqueror as a mere motte-and bailey castle. Now there were many stone structures in towers, distinct upper wards as residence, the open courtyard, all atop the incline of his devising. Yet inside of the gray, slick stone the love of the arts flourished as every room was ordered to be decorated. Decaying tapestry and furniture was restored, and imports brought in to better attire the imposing old Lady. The room was full of chairs and tables, stuffed cushions, and the new addition of a high fireplace that warmed the room like a small sun. She studied it, noting that between Windsor Castle, Westminster Palace, and the Tower of London the places of her childhood and subsequent maturity held only ghosts for shades of her. The decoration chosen was tasteful, but nothing indicative of personal collect. All of this lived in the very private, very beautiful manse of Rosefielding just outside of London in one of the thriving burghs. "It is because you are of sound enough mind to back the regime of the man who tore Plantagenet and the House of Bruce from the history book to write history as he saw fit. You see the benefit in change, have always been radical even unto disagreeing with the will of the former King Edward II. You are a threat to the new order they seek to establish, and anyone like you. I believe they thought you would be at that meal table with Lady Woodstock and the Headmaster. I believe they thought you would find proximity near the Archbishop, or you would become an unwitting witness. At any rate, these are but a few things. It would be similar in reason why they would without scruple do unseemly things to any member of this party. Of it,you, Jean-Claude and I are what is old being made new again. Even Jenks, and Lepower, are apart of the England that was. Bygone days where we all moved in the same world. Now our paths cross against such a current." (d)

Earl Cedric Laurence Atherton III

"Sound mind is perhaps to strong a description, Your Grace. Some days I wonder if I will come back from the place I go when the moon is high. What do they think will occur should they succeed? That a Plantagenet Heir will once again sit the throne? I cannot see this occurring. Unless they want that harlot to sit upon the throne once again. I would die before I saw England in the hands of a Spaniard...." Some supposed an Englishman should give loyalty to King and Country. In the mind of Cedric though it was loyalty to Country first and foremost. To King? Only if he deemed them worthy of it! His Majesty, Adam Aberdeen, and his lovely wife, Beathag, were more than worthy in the eyes of a man having seen many years pass. Having been to Turas Lan many a-time, enjoyed the friendship of Claramae, he'd seen just what could become of a land under their care. England needed a change and this was it, and he would see it happen- even if he did not live beyond it. "Well, their damnedest they may try, Your Grace, though I will not bow down. I will not see this regime crumble before it can bloom. Let us hope that the people we speak to once in Warwickshire, and on the way to it, feel the same as I do." (d)

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Yes, let us hope. It is already enough that beneath the new regime titles change yet lands do not. When this is done Cedric, so help me, I shall see all who weather the storm justly rewarded. I shall see you hold one of the true Earldoms of the new state." A mad man promised more land than inheritance by birth allowed, but a man mad who vested in change. It was a hard thing to accept, even as she was loyal to Adam. She sat with him in London one million times it seemed in the last five years when he visited, always staying in Westminsiter where they overlooked the Thames, or the occasional time of standing beside a portrait at Rosefielding, studying the beauty of art. His ideas were radical but she upheld them. He called her instructor and she called him friend. How many such relationships did this King lay at her feet, how many old cohorts to return to soothe the bane of loss? "I don't know where your mind goes, my lord. That would be the question as to answer why my minds stays steady course some two days hence no rest, moving toward a third. We are all bereft in some way, Atherton. In that sense you may well be gong around mad people daily even without your realization." Over the rim of her cup the smile was borne again, yet faded as she looked out of one of the few windows installed in the old castle to view the top of the Hill. "There is something I must attend, will you see to the company here whilst I to the chapel?" (d)


Earl Cedric Laurence Atherton III

Understanding of a sort flashed across aged face while Cedric listened to the Duchess speak words that would make most men wet themselves. He, on the other hand, barely gave a flicker of excitement. To be born didn't make one noble in his mind. Most would be aghast to hear that the Earl of Warwick would be content to live in a cottage in one of his own villages than the large estate called home yet it was true nonetheless. What Claramae offered to have done on his behalf was only accepted as it would be an insult not to. "Though I will accept such reward, Your Grace, it will only be as I desire to remain in the service of a King and Queen that is fit to oversee England until the Lord sees fit to take me." One could call him any number of names, but they could not deny that he was a humble and sweet man. Standing slowly, wandering toward a tapestry hanging upon the wall, he murmured,"Some days it isn't likely that I will return yet something always draws me from the brink. Perhaps we are bereft in many ways while not so in others?" He sought to comfort the woman whom he'd seen kiss a cold wooden box. Mourning the loss of the Archbishop just as he had mourned the loss of Jean-Claude so many years ago. Though Claramae had been far more composed. Yet even in their moments they still had something that drew them foreward- a lover, a friend, a spouse, a child. For Cedric it was those children and the people that relied upon him. Of the lovers had since his wife's passing none had affected him as truly as some in his past, and friends...well they were few and far between. This was why the Earl cherished those that he did. It was her words though that drew a chuckle though,"The company shall see to themselves. I would like to escort you. Now, before you refuse my offer remember that these are dark times, dear lady, and I must protect you. And...perhaps, I could use a little perspective in these times as well." The Earl of waning faith admitted to wishing to have a word with the Lord! Death could change many in strange ways. An arm was offered. (d)

Countess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"You accept it in humility as it is extended in humility. You are a true man of honor, my lord." The last of the tea slid down her throat to revive faded faculty. Faded? She seemed the epitome of the sharpest blade. Paupers became princes and nobleman became lepers in this world of ever-changing value based on the worth one created of their own work, and not what was left behind for them from a previous time. Long-ago instances did little to sway the mind set of many. It was becoming more common place in England to see a farmer who sold his plot to purchase land enough for many crops, a larger home, and a garden. It was common to watch the tanner hold monopoly in the guild of his occupation across more than one shire. "You return because the Lord has not yet called you hence, not any part of you. Mind or body. He calls us by these things as his need of each shifts." The Arch-bishop was gone in the mind she hoped before he realized the fading nature of his ruined body. If company could keep to themselves, than Atherton would keep her side. She shook her ehad softly but would not refuse him. Perspective from the Lord however? "Mayhaps we shall here a mass in Warwickshire yet. Such times do breed for one to adhere to the faith." Refusing a second cup of liquid resilance, she rose up to begin the treck over toward the Chapel with her dear friend (d)

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

Cracks


Master Jean Claude de Aquitaine


The grand hall was such a sight that even he, a man of many French palaces, grand estates, and castles could have felt the world simply marveled at the splendor. It seemed so shut from the rest, where candles lined the walls, and the fixtures hung from the vaulted ceilings like orbs of light drifting through the heavens. Should those who pass think themselves crazy, perhaps the drifting music through the doors cracks would only add to the madness. How long had it been since he had laughed like this, spinning the small mouse like woman whose nick name was from her own namesake. She was petite, but still taller then his Adelaide; and rather plain. Yet, they had become fast friends, and where she lacked in personality her timidness made up for the challenge. She had been at the side of the Headmaster for nearly 20 years, a pet he felt her, a child once lost. Her family poor, she had devoted herself to God for simply the benefits of a roof and a hot meal each night. She reminded him of Janice at the young age, though this woman now in her late 20's seemed so far from her direction, and in this small break in her personality he wondered if she even knew where it was. This. Was the glimpse of what a sort he was in his youth, hiring a small quartet to play in an open hall to sweep a maiden off her feet with flattering actions--not words like his outgoing counterpart Warwick. Though, what set them most apart was the casual conversation that swept between the dancing pair was of books, and other idle ideas of the mind.


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

St. Laurence adored the dance - figures of people that moved in pristine order with no break in precision still able to integrate with logic's most flowing aesthetic their own aptitude to understand the nature of grace. St. Laurence worshiped the dance - the altar of the floor, a touched palm in circle round were the continued prayers, a curtsy the amen. St. Laurence was ageless in dance, but tonight had no reason to join the formation. Mourning black disgused with filgree gold or the inclusion of a subtle midnight blue, the veil gone but still the hair upheld by jeweled pins reminiscent of the most exquisite captivity in the world. The outside of Windsor was stark norman stone, the inside was elegant passive agression. Her hand decorated the fading dreams of the old order but yet the castle held none of her in it, only her, only the shadows like the young girl that danced. She had been one of them on a moonlight night some years ago. Somewhere, she still was. She canted her head, took pleasure in the music for she took pleasure always in art, but tonight the woman who worshipped on the altar of this noble practice had no use for it tonight. Instead, she considered that somewhere along the road a great schism was coming to divide them up to work. She considered the reason for the mourning that only most could figure was for the Arch-bishop, or the Headmaster. It was not so. (d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

Suddenly they were not alone, and dear Mouse's face burned brightly as she turned Jean-Claude's back to the Duchess. "What is it, Mon Cher?" Jean-Claude turned a look over his shoulder to the lady in mourning. How dire she seemed, standing there so..lost? Claramae? Never. "Excuse us, Ma Petite.." With a small curtsy the little lady in yellow would excuse herself in a hurry leaving the tall frame of the scientist there in the midst of the floor alone. Jean would open his arms, in a small shrug the informal invitation no doubt to go unanswered, or so he liked to think. Claramae had this way of making you feel very small with a single look of her well defined brow Though he was dressed down, the warmer air removed many layers of the complex labyrinth that was pulled over alabaster skin, everything about him spoke in volumes his style. From the elegant cuff of his billow sleeve to the silver buttons of the waistcoat. "Your Highness," He spoke gently closing the space between them, and though the music continued he felt them in a private hall, "My friend." An upturned palm would take her hand gently to press a kiss to the back of her petite hand. "My friend.."with a single look of her well defined brow.There was something that turned in his heart--regret, remorse, or was it simply the sympathy he felt for her. "You look so tired, Master Laurence, what can I do for you?" In more ways then one he could make her sleep, and would bend over backwards. Thanks to her he felt like a young man again, the vial she had given him--a very strong substance. (d

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

The Mouse was effected by the presence of the Duchess the way that many who were not used to the unfathomable depths to which her presence went. She breathed with no sign, walked without sound, and looked without a flicker of a lash. Her skin was a shield against all things of human nature while embodying on the interior a humanity that made her sort a distinct variety of political artisan. Open arms were met with a distinct gesture of social acceptance to acknowledge him yet not to the action which arms were crafted. Her hands, ungloved, met his hands. St. Laurence did not indulge in such actions before the eyes of others. Windsor Castle was not home, the only home she craved was Rosefielding House, but it would not come to her this turn. She only knew it stood, safe outside of London. What she knew tonight was Jean-Claude was liberated from his exchaustion by friendship and chemistry. This brought theedge of a smile to life before it died just as quickly. "I feel that rest would be a savory thing, and tonight shall have no choice but to indulge for the sake of the venture to Warwickshire upon the morrow. My cousin has already embarked outward toward Canterbury in the wake of the body of his Eminence. Such a plot with them goes by way of personage construct that it seems we are within a Greecian play, instead of London. Aye me. I will ask nothing of you, it is not my place to ask of you when you come forth to give. " Yet why the mourning black? For whom was it for in its entirty? (d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

Jean-Claude accepted her as if he could have touched the very heavens drawing down the stars. She was, the black against the light, and so rarely did she shine from laughter. Was he but one of the few who could read past that small crack and hear her laugh once more. "Ma diamant..You do too much. Dear friend, you are pale, the black does not contrast well with your complexion, and I dare be so bold to say the color under your eyes could put your cuff to shame. His gloved hand did close around hers, and though he wished to draw her against him; JC kept the proper distance between them, though the dance hardly anything like the formalities of the era. It was a more intimate dance, a waltz learned on his last trip to France. He kept quiet, listening where he should. In their motions his straight strands of polished black seemed to be the only thing that moved between them so freely. However, for a slight moment the shadow chased from his face, and he would lower his voice in a whisper, "Claramae.." Her name could have sounded as if he were to beg, but Jean-Claude was far too proud for that. "Let it go..open up. What is wrong, mon cher..?" She did really break his heart sometimes. There was desire there to squeeze her tight until the words flew from her, but of course..he'd turn about three shades too pink. (d

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence


"The colors of the Griffin should like grand upon any of their citizens, for shame, Monsieur." 1,2,3,4,5,6 went the rhythm of the dance where in a man touched a woman's most intimate curves lifted her hand to whirl with her. It was against even the boldest of dances with lifts or circles where hands truly touched. It was danced only in the most darling, elegant circles among youth or the dazzled. Her steps were not without soul; clouds kissed under slippers, but she danced on a frail bridge. "Jean-Claude," she whispered his name for only their ears, for Christian names were not for 'public' either. These halls were far too full of propriety. "I am in mourning, my friend. No, and it is not for something as melodramatic as the regime, or the state. In part it is for those we found in the tower..some, more than others." (d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

"My darling..I would never think you to ever do anything melodramatic. Claramae, you are far too proper for such." He teased lightly turning her once more, to only miss her in the close caption of the dance, "Some." The key word, like a puzzle he pulled together the right path to better understand her. "Some, more then others that haves names?" He spoke quietly then, keeping his words muted if only to let her know he had ended his jest.He had a feeling she somehow blamed herself, and nearly could have cut through the King for not giving her time to heal. Though, did people like Claramae ever stop? "Who are we mourning?" She was English, and wondered how she hurt. He a man from France, nearly cried at the sight of the Headmaster. (d


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence"Thank God for small favors." Gentle barb was returned with gentle acceptance, eyes turned low as if between them some compliment was passed. No, she wore no stars upon her eyes but once in youth she may have looked every part the romance. Why, when she danced with Sorschal, there had even been a laugh in public upon the floor. To Claramae, Jean-Claude was as close to her as Sorschal now, as close as the Barone Di Favino. As close as any from across time or space that knew her. "Some, more than others. The Lady Bebinn O'Cathasaigh, and her daughter, Baroness Liadan St. Laurence.." Did one ever wonder why if a necklace of pearls appeared in the intimacy of the home, where the letter 'B' came to meaning? It was there now, between her high collar and the hollow of her throat. "Under the archbishop, in vestibule floor, a mystery's last unknown portion, for though adept, I was young. Even my master had no clue, what became of their bodies, though we knew how they died. I was but a few years younger than your mouse. Now, tis been nearly twenty years. Now I know." After the last whirl, she curtised to him as a thank you for the dance. "My father spent his life in black after her death, I would have none of it, only the reason for the loss. Now it is my turn to pay a daughter's duty. The Arch-bishop too. He was my master's fondest patron, and many years my friend. Even we must mourn sometimes." But it was not for the public. There would be no processional for any of these bodies save the Arch Bishop's after he was 'found' once again in canterbury. (d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

Always had he wondered of the necklace, but never so bold as to ask. Claramae often just was as she is, an enigma. She would not have had to explain, simply the names enough would have caused the dance to end, and his arms to wrap around her. He took her into his arms, while excusing the musicians so that they could indeed have the room to their own. Pulling away, he would take a deep breath while his gloved hands pressed to either side of her arms. For a moment he wasn't certain how to respond, but then took her hand to cradle in his arm so that they could walk. "My god," He whispered, "We must mourn sometimes..I had vowed to never take on an apprentice, as I never had reason, but I look back on these past 4 years and I cherish each moment. It is a bond that I have thought to never know, and I could not imagine...Claramae, why didn't you say something? You are not a stubborn woman, but seeing this I marvel at your strength...no doubt your Master is so very proud." He knew he would be. (d


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

Claramae's eyes did not, to her credit, widen at being embraced. Instead they shut. Her arms remained lowered with clasped digits at the center of her torso. The voice continued on in the same tone without fluctuation but how could the words hold no meaning? In the absence of the musicians, the story continued. "In 1328, Sorschal and I found the body of our master, encased in a stone case. It was left unto me to open it, to find he was buried alive, for his nail marks were on the inner lid. I only pray I have given him rest. Evangeline is the only living being of my mother's Irish blood with any meaning. Her mother is silent in a convent. I only have brother because my father was not a man of good faith, and while he was no less loved by me, he was not honest. Yet Percival means everything to me. Evangeline is everything to me. Since I have come to work for the King, I have watched so much come..and have known peace...yet have seen things that I had hoped to never see again. We must mourn. I feel I mourn far too often, and for things to deep." She lifted her hands softly, and walked from him if only to catch her breathe. No, she would not crack, a hand to her bodice, her eyes sealing shut again. No tears to fall. "There are times I feel as if there is no heart left in me, for it has been torn asunder, my mother's body has wrenched it out again. I promised Evangeline nothing would ever part us once more. My mother's death, her forced marriage little less than wrap. We were but fifteen years old. Her father, my uncle..tried a man of treason when it was not so. I digress and am too liberal with these things. The only man to ever know anything of this was Sorschal, and for preserving me..he lost himself. Yet as I left him to save him from me, so he must have done the same. Jean-Claude. I will be glad when this is finished. I will be glad to install young Edward and Joan as our successors, and Warwickshire. I can not be behind and in front of the King in this way. I would rather be behind..and in peace. Do you know I despise Windsor?" (d)


Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

He always stood a good bit taller then the rest, and no doubt shadowed the lady before him. Yet, never had he felt so grounded, or looked up to another as much as he did her. His love was pure for her, never out place, but it was there. She pulled away he stood motionless, the only thing that could be human the air that tousled his hair, and the slow rise of his chest as he sucked in a breath. He would switch his words effortlessly to French so that the intimacy could be spared from prying ears. "Dear sweet child..there is heart in you yet." He came to tuck her under his arm to lead them to a seat under the large bay windows. "Do not say such things. It bleeds to please others..it beats for your husband, for this country..this castle, even though you despise it." Sitting now he could be more eye level, the biggest reason for the change of scenery. "Your mother, Claramae, mon dieu, how she would be so proud. In heaven now, talking with your Master at how lovely a woman you have become." God, if she wasn't going to cry he was. He would be glad when this was finished, though, he did not wish to return to Skye. However, she never seemed to do well without the Ebony Hall to ground her, and now he wondered very greatly if this was the very reason. "She can be in peace now. Her soul long gone from that body, but now we can put her to rest. Her spirit there inside you, lives forever. How can you say you have no heart left, Claramae..It is her heart." He could have given her every scientific method of the beating vessel in a matter of moments, for there was none other who understood it's meaning more."We shall see this through..to the end." He kept her hand folded between his. His lips held a secret that his eyes could almost tell, and for a moment it was almost forgotten as he touched her cheek gently lifting her chin lightly, "My darling friend..you have lost yourself." And this broke him, "but all the same found a very large part of who you are." (d

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"That is the very thing, I have never lost who I was..it is only in that none of you were ever to know who that was, the face you see is a true face. Evangeline could tell you that, but this is also the truth, and there are so manyof you in the service of His Majesty that hold my heart with your own. This has meaning, yet you must fathom the terrifying depths. The reign is quite....personal. This would never be seen." She smiled for once as her French flawless mixed with his. "She will go to rest beside my father, and I have made the choice that they shall not remain in English soil. They deserve to find a better peace, so upon this end..when England is resolved and with the Irish I go to give them for once England's backing, and not its cruelty, to remove the illegal lords of the old King that remain, I will bury them in Dublin. All that is good of them in England is better served in memory, but the ground is not good enough for their final rest. We shall see this through. God save you, thank you. You needn't be here, but you are. There are no words to tell you, of a love one has for their mother country. It is for you, " I imagine in France. This England...it is flawed, and harsh, wrong. But it is still England. ..

[Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine]

The day had not been so different then the night, as the pitch black clouds surfaced on the horizon to block away the sun. There was little to be had in the way of the light, for even when the clouds broke the day seemed weary—tired of all the rain. The countryside it seemed was a wash of worlds come together both of distinct nature, and refined manners, a true dance of nations. In all the world the looking glass seemed to show only the truth of what was to fall upon English soil this mid month of June. A time of romance, a time of learning, but most of all it was a time of forgiveness.

“It seems so unnatural Raoul, to be here.” She seemed to settle in her seat upon the fast moving couch that bound through the thick laced foothills of their English journey. “After this, I shall not see any more. Do I make myself clear.” Leonor could have killed him then, there upon his cushion perched like some dark king waiting out the window. They were both at the mark of the 70th year, and without an heir it seemed the nearly impossible found truth to the last desperate outreach to the newly appointed Duchess.

Comte Raoul de Guyenne hardly spoke to his wife, able to count on one hand the times within the last year he had to put up with her constant chatter of self proclaimed righteous manner. She knew it all, and in this world needed of nothing save of the fact she was without a son. They sat on opposite sides of the horse drawn coach that was pulled only by the finest of purebreds outfitted in silver. The crest of the Aquitaine enough to ensure safe passage from thieves for the theory of the dead did not go missing among even the lost vagabonds. England lost the province many years ago, and once again under French rule their place in court was beneath only that of the King. Their fortune however was in the spirits that so fruited on the vines of the land they called home.

With her demand came only the fruited hardship of his laboring eyes. They were fierce things to behold. Leonor would only remain silent.

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

There is No God in Oxford

Will Also Appear in the Thread, Occam's Razor

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

He sang her a French lullaby, soft words spoken as delicate as her porcelain hands, his own cracking now from the pressure. Somewhere in the midst of it all Jean-Claude wandered through space and time listening to the world pass by as day turned into night once more. He had sent letters to every corner of the earth, in hopes that they would reach in time. Jean-Claude had a well trained voice, that could have rivaled the deadly fingers that passed through her hair as he sat on the edge of the bed. Would she have thought him insane with just this little touch alone, he felt his own strength return. It had been enough, this small time together that had him up and dressed, his hair washed and combed. He carried the scent of Adelaide's finest, and the deep crimson of his overcoat a vast change to his seemingly darkened personality. Really, there was not such a horrible man beneath, but always would they judge first the book by it's cover. (d


Lady Eirian Apollius

The sleep was fitful at best despite the soothing tones of the French lullaby meant to send even the most fitful of children to sleep. By the time she grew soft upon the bedclothes, her form would tense. Fingers gripped a the pillow before the body contourted. Silent screams on clenched lip; the lower tier bit until it bled, the covers turned into knots under her hands. It would be when her hair flipped back from the brow he could see the thin razor edged line of a cut deep enough to have begun to inflict damage. What had he pulled her from? The same slash marks were beneath the scalp, yet her hair had never been shaved away. "Fire, it is everywhere..the fire.." Did he say his past, her own future? In time it would become to much and she woke up screaming, struggling to find the difference between reality and what was the future..."They are going to die.." It was cryptic, omnius.


Countess Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

It was not the road behind the Arch-bishop's body that took long to travel or the directions to breech the inner sanctum of the palace that took long to decipher. It was the feeling that coming in as a funerary procession would not be as easy in the leaving. Rhupert had done a tip-top job of driving in the cart, Old Man lePower provided exceptional story. Would 'uncle' be fretful when his neice went to mourn in peace away from prying eyes? She had gone from mourning niece too expected mistress of His Holiness! The idea of what she was supposed to exude made her stomach flinch at the thought, for his holiness was still hidden under raw building materials as she was told surely he went on some sort of progress, and would return soon. She was given a room beside his. Be damned, being a beaten irish wife (in the former), it prepared her too well to enter places she shouldn't, hide when she needed to. She was searching every corner over days, what had Fao found, had he assumed a role as a guard? So far she found scant little that would assist the the campaign, and worried with every passing day the body would be harder to place


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

Matters of a pair of days became more with an ease that did not bode well with the plans of the Lady who reviewed the state of Warwickshire with its Earl. Her mind was fractured. In the South was the body, the mind was North, East, West. Men were being assembled, deals being conducted as the root of all evil was being uncovered at the pace of a nun's walk. It was with care they tread, but they hadn't time for care. In the North, people were pulled by threes to the pyre. Shaved heads in garments of soiled white, beaten, praying for aid when none would come. The Law of the Church was supreme, the secular never truly took hold as hard as the Griffin would have liked outside of certain cities. On a day of no consequence that should have had full consequence, the letter from Jean-Claude manifested from a messenger who endured quite a bout to arrive. The streets were littered with signs of the cross as the 'faithful' flocked to the Christian North. The Spanish North. A north slowly bleeding down the nation straight for where they stayed. "Oh my God.." The Lady said aloud, and gave Atherton no chance to disuade her from the roads at least carriage! People were fleeing now in various directions by the day. Yet there she would be, upon the Black Freesian..her last commands were this: "Have your smithy build me a breast plate, Atherton. My maids will lay the remainder of my attire. On my return, we will begin the upward ascent to battle." For now, she had to find out what remaind of any of them....and why more secrets came (d)


Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

"No, no, no." He shook his head, holding her gently by her arms to keep her steady, to direct her attention to his eyes. "No, no one is going to die, Eirian." His heart broke. "I've got to get you out of here." He whispered looking around the room, clutching her to his chest, trying to center his thoughts, but she clouded them up, filled them with the idea of her visions. His silk covered fingers did brush through her hair, pushing back form her scalp to see the marks, and his heart raced. "Mon dieu..." Across the county Claramae took the Lord's name in vain, it was only fitting he should to. Outside the university men in their long black robes stood by the door, lining the halls their chants to start in a slow murmur as arms raised enough to herd back the onlookers who dare peer inside. Like a choir their voices rang emptying the halls, like ghosts moaning in prayer. It chilled Jean-Claude, enough that he shook in the moment, to which they said someone had walked over his grave. "Come. Get dressed. Quickly." He hissed, drawing the sword from the wall, decor no less, still the rapier blade sharp. "They are coming for you." Hands would start up the large brass buttons of his cuff, and along the pearl inseam cufflinks of his sleeve. In all his glory, this was how the French prepared for battle. It was a rare sight, one even his fiancee had only sparked a single time in all their career together. No doubt, he and his cane were a fierce sight (lol) and where others had laughed, they would be pulled to silence at the swift deadly motions of the flick of his wrist. This sword was good. Mouse came flying as pale as a ghost, out of breath, "M'lord..you can not." She cried, turning to Eirian, "They'll kill him." (d

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Out of my way, out of my way!" All that had time to follow the Duchess were but a few quick men, no more than five, when she should have been in a contingent ten to fifteeen men deep. It was only their horses that parted the road of people moving to where safety or sanctity called them. Her eyes didn't dare look on them, lest she slice them down where they stood. Cull the weak to encourage the strong. Blinded by salvatation falsehood or genuine fear, a few clung to her horse, begging to be taken along. Others insisted she side with spain. Would she not find a way, others told her of the North. "Please, I bid you move. Move and if you are of stout heart to Warwickshire, to Warwickshire to be counted among our men!" At times it came to be so bad the guard would encase Claramae, using their feet to knock people aside. Beyond London, to Oxford they came to the side of a low rise to view the outside of Oxford gone made. The plague of the North touched the outside of the University. Men of learning were turned into banshees for Christ. "We shouldn't..." "No! What guard remain you gather them, open the doors..if they heed not command you will shoot them. Skewer them, I have no care by means of death you employ! Do you not see if we do not find them, they will be swallowed. Gone!


Lady Eirian Apollius

Eirian pulled herself from the inside of her mind with great difficulty. It was admirable, the way she conquered not only the want for the gift to swallow her mind, but the encroaching blindness of her eyes. She pulled herself out of bed, throwing weak hands across folds of fabric as Mouse diliently buttoned. She looked no more or less than mouse, how fitting to be attired in soft gray folds once more. A life she might have led, a reverand mother this one if god had not called her to be a mother of children. "You should not die here today. The fires are here, Master de Aquitaine. You have but to listen. Mouse, bar that door. For the love of god bar that door. We must take another way out, please! Please...do not let the fate of so many be your fate. The screams.... from York!" She bit into her lip to recover a moment's sanity, pulling on the older man with expectancy of Mouse to know a servant's way, any way! "Hurry, Lady Mouse...The Devil is nigh!" She sounded like a left over relic from Delphi.


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"They will destroy Oxford!" "Let them have it then, and let it be rebuilt away from this vice. This was not its intention, and damn it man, we still have Cambridge." She road out forward with the guard, her voice slicing down the path to the college with startling accuracy! " IN THE NAME OF THE KING, BY THE POWER VESTED AS YOUR DUCHESS, STAND DOWN AND OPEN THIS DOOR ON PAIN OF DEATH!" (d)



Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

A wicked wind came barreling through the halls, as every door started their slamming shut. As if on cue there was a quick pull that kept it all in place, and here there was the rival of an Order. They had no name, but if their cause was under the Lord. Jean-Claude felt his heart beat in his chest, a slow drum that he heard behind his ears--his pulse keeping steady the warning. "They will not burn this school, and I will not cower." He hissed, a feral sound that was like a rare jewel, hidden in the pocket of the rich, and now on clear display. "They will not take you." Mouse was beside herself, as if it would be best she ran for hot water in place of somewhere to stay. Buridan, made little sound as he moved through the passage, "Jean-Claude, you can not be a fool." He spoke once a student, now a scholar. Outside the men in robe, whose songs of prayer became chants like a occult given leave on this full moon. "We want the witch." The answer came to Claramae, "She holds the key to eternal life, she must be punished, she must be destroyed..she delivers madness." "Your King holds no ground here over the Church, and by the high order he declares this place a sinners realm." Waving their arms, in attempt to spook the horses, their robes seemed red underneath as if winged demons. Jean-Claude, turned upon Buridan shaking his head, "There is not way out, You could follow that route all you wish, they all lead to the caverns. Do not think for a moment, I am a fool. You of all should know, there isn't anyone out there to rival mine." He narrowed his eyes at the man, who in turn seemed ready to fight for the other end, still a youth in his eyes, but very much a Master in his own. This was it. He knew his heart, that pulsed behind his ears. "Go..I'll hold them back." Mouse started to protest, but he held up his hand. "I am at my deathbed! God-damn it." Big words for the Master, "I am not going out running." He snarled, and Mouse drew back, "You take care of her." He pointed to Eirian, and in his fluid motions moved to close the distance between he and the Lady Artisan. In a single drawn motion his hand came to cup her the small of her back, a motion of dominance in his normally passive form, that caused bodies to bend together forming an alliance of soft curves and porcelain carved figure. She was at such an angle that in that moment he felt as if he stood atop the world staring down the rolling valley, the cool sweet smell of the soft green fields, and the very wild wind--she held them all. "Give zis to Adelaide," and with that his pale thin lips pressed to her own, and parted only to take in her bottom lip as if he refused to release her. Sparks flew behind his eyes, as a shudder pressed through him, and his body burned hot though removed of it's fever--he had not wanted to let her go, but did. Not once asking for forgiveness. Rogue. Peregrine would have been slapped. (d


Lady Eirian Apollius

"Listen to them, Jean-Claude, listen please! This is folly, this is fool's glory and you are too much of brilliance to have it so!Please..do not do this!" She threw her hands over her ears, their prayers, their screams. Imagine listening to the voice of twenty men as forty men, fifty as a hundred. Oxford made her spirit sink deep as she drew on so many lives she could hardly differentiate anymore. She wanted to cry! No sound aloud of the maudlin echo, only tears moving down her face, "By all that is holy let God take you if it is your last hour do not deliver yourself to his..not again!" She knew. She'd seen, in the fires of this world and of times agone. "Please!" Mouse was already sobbing, drawing Eirian up into her arms until the moment that Jean-Claude did what would have made William Ocham rage with jealousy. He charged her with his last breathe, his last kiss. "No..no.." Buridan had to drag her from him, as her screams rose up in the night with the prayers as the doors began to crack, to breakThe siege was upon him. "Jean-Claude, Jean Claude!" For once, the weak woman was nearly too much for Buridan. He began to believe the story of the guards when first the caught her, of a woman who lived so well she had no will to go. If God had given her nearly thirty years instead of the less than twenty she was destined because of her frailty, why not him?


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Save your blasphemy for a later interlude, I gave you an order!" What guard they could assemble not part of the contingent of mad students formed ranks around the Duchess. It would be a massacre, a holy massacre that would stain her hands. Students infected with Ocham madness, no doubt, to be reasoned with? They lost the chance to reason when they lost theirs. The front crazed began to pull at the horses of the guard, spooked, only to find an example in their duchess .Making the Freesian rear, she brought the beast's front hooves down on top of a black robed back with no qualms at all. He screamed, and what did she do? She had the beast trample his neck. Then walk across him. They parted some, one screaming to the left "Have no fear in the face of the Devil .The Lord is with us!" There were crude weapons among them, knives..fueled by their religion. A false one. Claramae was more God's servant here, Jean-Claude his apostle, than these who viewed them both as heretics. Another few moved forward, only to be dispersed in a sheer panic when it was ordered they be shot down, cut down. All that mattered were the Master de Aquitaine and those he deemed fit, the rest? "Meet God that much sooner!" None had ever bore witness to who or what she truly was until that night. Those that lived would say the Duchess was surely devil held. No woman could produce a crossbow and shoot three men in succession(d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine, William Ocham

Never. Women were not meant to be anything beyond the kitchen, yet here Claramae moved. The room now void of the rest, and doors banging at their hinges Jean-Claude moved to his medical bag, the last of it's kind--a little black vial full of what to be the last; the very reason his heart was giving out. It was not of the fires that killed him, nor the age that crept slowly on him, it was the work of his own hand. Uncorking the top he would turn it back, to cough as it stung the entire way to his chest burning until forward he would double over a sound to escape him as if agony had no other name. It was a roar that pulled him up, his body jerking with a shudder once more though this time it was almost primeval. Modern science was best left to those old scholars, but mixing the two had been his most profound art. Suddenly the liquid could have filled his eyes, as if someone had put a needle to his iris and the solid black spilled out. He felt nothing--no pain, and when his boot came to knock through the door it would barrel back the two men who tried to pull it open. "You son of a bytch." The scientist struck him, leaving many wide eyed...wasn't he supposed to be sick? In fluid motions, Jean-Claude charged through the men, the small hand held dagger moving from it's spring loaded contraption to rest against his palm in aid to what the rapier would miss. Not this University. They could not have it. He was rather looking forward to coming back to teach. It was not William who came to greet Claramae, no that man was long gone in his madness. He went by no name now, for he had no law, and only the head of one of Clarmae's faithful servants severed from the mouth down. "THIS is your God now. Let us see if she too has the key." He pointed the head in the direction of Claramae, the Duchess. "Do not be so tempted to run! Cowards. She is but a woman! A girl beneath all those clothes." He chuckled madly, turning away from the crowd. "Skin her. Make her beg. She will know God's wrath at the betrayal of England. Remind her of what her mother was." How did he know? (d


Lady Eirian Apollius

"Father Buridan, Father Buridan.....take men not far from this place, there must be something to be done! I can not leave..not this way...not when this is all of my fault." Mouse was distraught enough at what she saw would be the loss of her beloved master. Such bonds, such bonds held together those in the darkest of places. Did they feel love? Yes. Did they feel joy, elation? Yes. They were human, if not far more subject to the postivies and negatives of the condition. Somehow, Eirian need but view them, some of them, to steady her thoughts..somehow. There must be..something! But one word and William believed himself cursed!


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"You are done for, Ocham. Do shut up." She snarled, watching him walk away with the name for God to a child who had never forgotten what it was to live Liadan St. Laurence. She looked to the guard at the right, the left, and soon found they would be caught in a swarm. What would be the savior? Speed. She charged the horse through them as they tried to pry her off the saddle, only to find she slid like liquid through their fingers. Vapor curled at their feet! A head rose, a body descended down. She lept on it, up high enough to mount a chest before taking it down. "The Master, Guard the Master for he has shown as the Way, The Key! We must have the Key and kill its keeper.We are the only ones that are worthy! Do not shy away, brothers, do not shy away! " Captured skirts resulted in caught arm, a man thrown. A mere girl? A mere girl who moved like a black cat, a mere girl who lived on the outside when she belonged hidden, but alas. It would be a bloody display! She had killed no less than six men and wounded three more, breeching the inner doors. The other men were already engaged, inflictedplunging swords and slit throats as others were pulled down from horses to be undone in unspeakable ways. "Jean-Claude!" not his last name, his first. The name to which God would call him, "Jean-Claude!" With lifted skirts, she moved through the fray, scaling wall pieces to move above the villany. If they did not try to catch her, they stared in shocked horror. He wouldn't be left to this fate, he would not end up like the Headmaster, the Archbishop, Her Master...their friends...her mother. He would not be left to die for family never leaves their own to perish. When the length of concievable thin rails ran out? She plunged down like some great creature, stilletos drawn. (d)

William Ocham, Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

"No you! You shut your mouth!" William turned again, "You have no idea what is to befall you child, your precious England..I have seen it! I have watched it in the eyes of the Lady Artisan while she cried for mercy!! You will survive this night, but the others..In your castle. IN YOUR CASTLE!" He cried out the head held by it's hair dangling with tongue, lower jaw removed but still attached the tongue. He truly was possessed. "SHe knows it all. She can see it all. We will never stop for her." He chattered moving down the hall disappearing as he went. Jean-Claude did not take his victims with such elegance, no tonight their heads sliced clear from their bodies, and the fates of their lives ended on such a horrible note. Sweat rolled over his neck and down the small of his back under his coat. A primal man turned at the sound of his voice, and the strands of ebony seeming to move about his head like some wild vicious animal. He had been pressed against the set of stairs, the stone ledge at his back, and sword freed from his hand by a single motion, and the leather of his glove to come upon the tip of the sword that nearly missed his heart. With a pull Jean-Claude found the man's hilt in his hands, and the man turned to his fate. William would clap, then causing the room to be silent, "This is the part I love the most!" He carried out his voice commanding the attention, "I have watched it, over and over again in my head. The Raven, the Sparrow..and the Nightingale.." He called out once again, and the silence was broken once more by the sound of Jean-Claude's newly acquired sword hitting the floor. It came with a shock at first, the pain that tore through him like electricity, that he gave no sign of feeling. "His heart stops." William motion to Jean-Claude, who in fact did clutch his chest, doubling forward to one knee, then to further move over the ground, his insides threatening to remove themselves. "She will come...You will all be witness! It was my doing! Remember this!" William stood watching, waiting for the door that in his vision he had watched Eirian come through. (d

Lady Eirian Apollius

"Jean-Claude!" Her cry echoed with the cry of Claramae ,

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Jean-Claude, no, no!" At that moment, Occham would not have expected one of his birds to be a claw baring, sharp, hell possessed harpy pulled him down to the ground without a secondary thought. "SHUT UP" One of her Stilleto's finished the work of his deformed mouth, curving his smile up to his ear! To keep him crippled, she broke his hand with her foot, and disjointed his leg. "GET AWAY FROM HIM!" Right hand was flexed, small darts shot out, taking down any infront of her path.


Lady Eirian Apollius

"Jean-Claude, Claramae? Claramae is there! They will die, they will die Father Buridan Please!" Her eyes implored him, enchanting...now asking him to let those eyes move mountains in God's name on behalf of their friend, on behalf of England! What would befall?


Countess Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

In Canterbury, the streets began to whisper in the moments Evangeline's hands touched the Archbishop's true message, as Faolan crept up to the edge of the dark. What of Rupert, of Le Power? The streets filled with people with stories, and already the call for the Archbishop to lead a mass in prayer was resounding...


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

She plowed through the living, the dying, to catch him in her arms in his turmoil. "Do you hear me, you god damned noble Frenchman I won't, I simply won't have it!" She hissed...pulling out shards of wood from hits she'd take feeling the slices of blood on her legs for not even she could survive this with no scratches. She pulled him into her arms, up, and followed the same path as set out by the Father, The Nun, and their captive Holy Ghost. (d)


Jean Buridan

"He will take you again. You will..not survive. There have been others." In all that was right in the world he could have given her everything, a man who vowed to never desire a woman thought himself empty without her. She was indeed enchanting. "Come. This way." Though he was glad in the robes of his profession he wore nothing but muted tones, and when the shadow of the room. "I will protect you, but you must be quick." Through the halls they moved now. "Go. Quickly." The room was silent, with all awaiting the arrival of the Eirian, as if to wait for the child of God to rise again. They would mark her as such in years to come.


William Ocham

Giddy as a child, he seemed so alive in the moment watching for the doors to swing open. "There! Look there! She will bring glory to us all! It is my doing!" He reminded them over and over again. It would only be when Claramae cut him would he step back, seeming to break form his daze only to scream out into the night.


Jean-Claude

"It is finished." She was safe for now, and he too finally be free of his pain. Jean-Claude had forgiven himself of the fires years ago, but now lived with it the burden. He had not wanted to leave her, and would have confessed as much if he were able to confess his sins. He had gone to see Eirian, not because he felt it wrong, but because he wished to hope one more time at a second life. His discovery grim, and very much what he feared greatly. He had become an animal too in his days of science, would have been along side William.What if that had been Ada? Someday, even Genna. Eirian had asked him, if he believed, and he had not given her an answer before she fell victim to exhaustion. He did, but he would simply never ask it of another. Jean-Claude felt himself selfish enough with asking Ada to be his wife, knowing that someday he would only leave her in death. He was unaware at how soon it would be. (d

Lady Eirian Apollius

"No.." Her voice was soft, following the edict of the vision already laid out..she left Jean-Buridan. Turning her head over his shoulder, her steps still weak the eyes told him be not afraid...hold..but a little...just hold..She shivered, nearly offering herself to the slit Ocham, slit indeed. That permanent razored smile granted him by the Duchess, that ear to ear commeration. " I have the Key...William Ocham." Some fell at her feet as if she were Mary. Her soul shuttered. This was blasphemy, this was not God. She would pray her penance for a hundred days after but knew, in some ways..she was the way. One of the guard looked up, as if entranced. It made no sense to him! He still pulled his bound captives back, as other guards did the same, so diminishing the room's number. She even pulled back her hair, lifted her eyes. Some were too scared to look, others were captivated. It was amazing what the zealot's mind would concoct, and she took poor advantage of the misled souls. "I didn't know..if..you were But I see, you would do anything. Be anything. For God." She came to him, touching a hand at first..then up, swallowing her own bile at his bloody countenance. Then further still..to his temples. At first the reunion was so sweet, as if meeting one's wife...and then. And then? All he wished was granted him..


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Why did you let her go!" She bellowed at Buridan, holding JC now so close to her heart, as if her body alone could protect him.(d)


William Ocham

The room did bow, as the friar made his cries. In all that was right in the world, they had never been this close. For years to come, this University whose corruption came with the changing ways. This would find place in the scripture. His heart stopped, Sir WIlliam Ocham, greatest mind of all of England whose theory even after his death would influence further generations of science. For now. He fell."She knew." Buridan responded, "You could not have said no." He came to her side, Claramae, the Duchess he had not yet met. It would be his greatest honor, and he would never realize as he came to aid them both. "You can not fault me." The sight alone nearly tore him out, what happened to William..his cries. It served him right, they had indeed made the wrong move. He should have released her long ago. This cost, nearly everything. "They will burn this whole place. We must leave. He is gone." The color of Jean-Claude's skin too pale, and it would cause Buridan's head to bow in prayer. Reaching out he touched Claramae's shoulder, "Leave him." (d

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Let them burn it, by mandate let it be scourged. There is no God in Oxford now, and if we do not leave..there will be none left in Canterbury. I, sir, am not leaving my brother." She had enough strength to carry him..knowing in the wake of Ocham's 'enlightened' end, the reality of them touching her would be delayed by their shock. Had he found purgatory or paradise? Where they right, or damned? "So if you will not assist me, Sir, you are commended to fetch the Lady Apollius. Do not make me have to say she dies to." She walked with Jean Claude down now empty halls, he would not be carried out like some black thing. No. Let them look on what they'd done. Let any that still had love for him see what they had done and know the price of their sin was in her hands. Unlike the sweet woman who walked from Ocham, whom as she walked was either reached for or found men screaming in her wake, she would not discriminate. She had no mercy. Not a single shred.


Lady Eirian Apollius

"The Kingdom of God is not within houses of stone, nor the altar. It is in you, and all around you." She whispered, recoiling from their touchonly to find their insanity made them think she cursed or blessed them. Let it so be then. She would be their saint if it meant she lived one more day "They will burn it any moment. You must hurry. To come back, the same way you came.To turn only to the left, not the right. " She lifted her skirts and fled, as if to disappear but would surely find Buridan awaiting her company. They would all meet up upon the road indeed.


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"I love you, and I will not leave you to die." Tears. True tears slid unbidden down her face. The guards did battle with the last few who did not know the end had come.They already saw Oxford, their pyre. That hall, to be lit, to die with the man who knew the Key. "I simply won't let it be so.." With every step her rage grew and her heart broke. England was broken and bitter under the footsteps of those who had come to save her. She did not have to fight her way out, and only struggled a little to keep his body in her arms. She indeed got what she came for.Only...let it be not like this. (d)

Mistress Mouse

The guards that passed would stop, drop to a knee and remove their helmet, for the sight of her carrying him would have done them in..but her tears. NEVER, had they ever thought the day to come, for this woman could hardly smile. She was a void of emotion. She was a void of feeling. She was very much a ruler that would someday rival greatness. She was right, there was not a God in Oxford, and she carried the only who had ever thought to challenge their opinion. Jean-Claude had told William nearly 20 years ago his theory was wrong, that he could not extract such life from a human and expect to use it like water, but it was Jean-Claude who would someday burn in the streets of Paris for being accused of craft. "Here M'lady," Mouse spoke from behind offering to help carry the weight of him, she was young, she could handle him for a bit. "He loved you.." She tried to offer the Duchess, "Like a sister, A daughter even. Argued one day, til blue in the face he did about your honor to the harold. They were going to write something horrible about you in their script." She smiled, perhaps the only to find a time for joy, but this was the beauty in it. "He'll not feel any pain where he's going, M'lady. Think of this." If Claramae did not offer up the man in her arms to the little mouse, the guard would come to take him, and if she refused Mouse would shake her head at the guard to silently warn him. She just watched the Duchess tear through the halls, there was no doubt she could take his head right here. "We will have to send word to Spain, his Ada will be there."

Jean Buridan

Jean Buridan walked beside Eirian in silence, helping her as they went taking her words to heart with him. She was right, no house of stone, nor alter, and this brought him to the conclusion that would perhaps start an illumination in her name. "All of this is my fault." He spoke suddenly, "I was the first to hear of you." (d

Lady Eirian Apollius

"You were tempted to prove if myth were reality, we all strive for something, Father Buridan." She was so tired, yet held his hand as if they were old friends. Gently she touched the side of his face, a silent forgiveness for what he felt were his wrongs. It was not in her nature to hate, and he had seen his error. Ocham never would have. He would have killed them all for one grain of sand if it were touched by fortune. She looked over at Claramae, and her heart ached on the inside as much as every aspect of her outwardly. She resembled a martyr, for the cuts on her head had taken to bleeding some of them, letting thin rivers run down her cheeks to mingle with her tears. The stars took the place of the crown of thorns. As glass broke, she knew the fires would soon start behind them.

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"My lady, you will send no word to Mistress Adelaide until his heart ceases to beat. It is faint, faint as the sound of your words, but it is enough. And until his life is fully expired he will be in my keeping. Where he is going, God may have a quarrel. I am not ready to let my brother go." The flat, monotone voice protected what was left to be exposed, for the tears would not stop. She refused to give him up. Her arms ached, she let Mouse assist her yes, but had every intention of holding him before her as they rode to London. "To London, then to Warwickshire, that will be all of us. If you wish to pen any message, madame, my hands will be rather occupied. I need a fast hand of word of this for the King. Within mere days, if not hours..we will be baring down on the worst of Spain. What word you send to Adelaide, if hands are black, could condemn her without your meaning to." She held him against her chest, and closed her eyes, "I love you, and I won't let you die. Adelaide would never forgive me, and I can't forgive myself."

Lady Eirian Apollius

"Let us ride together, Father Buridan, you, and I, and Mouse. After this night..let us not leave one another.." The guard came to give them mounts, or pull them on to their own if needed. Smiling to Jean, she had all intention of forcing herself to be no burden for them. "We will pray..as we..ride?" It was the most clear she had sounded, as if finaly, with so many silenced, her voice was her own again. "Come." She sat at the front of the horse, so he might come behind. So she might lead the way, and he the reigns after when she could not. (d)

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

In the Minds of Kings and Duchesses

What Is
London Games, 1333

The Undercurrents of Desire, and What Would Be
London Games 1329-1332

[Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine]

The journey home had been relentless, yet quiet and peaceful. Never in all his life had he seen a night as black, as the one of his departure. Jean-Claude stood at the edge of the ship once more, a noble stance that had been his own now for some fifteen number of years. Eirian had kept him company, like a lark sitting on the branch, she perched on his arm singing songs of happier days, and how their children would have many playdates--and the debt returned. An eye for an eye, yet this went well with hand in hand, bonds forming there with he pulling her from the darkness, and she pulling him from the light. Eirian had seen the depths of hell, one he had once helped create, and she showed him heaven, one that no doubt Eirian had come from.

His arrival on Skye had placed him on the very sands that held his beloved Genevieve in the company of Gypsies, and the following day his beloved Adelaide..


****

Jean-Claude:[/u]"Genevieve..Ma petit...Do not pull on me." She was heartbroken, screaming as she cried for him pulling on the turnbacks of his coat, her large eyes simply a mess with the unwilling nature to let him go, but the day had come to end--his promise of only one on the Isle could have turned into two if he were a weaker man. Genna did not like it when his hair was pulled back or when he had been outfitted as a Cuirassier, ready for the battle that was dawning on England. Armor was not his style, though the heavy fabric of the coat would hide the leather plated suit well. A bright shade of crimson the coat, outfitted by the breast plate well the cuirass a well polished silver. The shoulder scales a brassy gold that matched the chin scales of the silver helmet that would eventually adorn his head with a bright plume. There would be none like him on the battlefield, but somehow it seemed to fit.Even in matters of war Jean-Claude always seemed crossed between new ideas and fashions of the future. He had been given a leave of a few groups of men, by order of the black talon he carried, they would meet on the front with the Griffin Army that now moved up the lines of the countryside in march of what Spain had taken. It was key, this protection, and a message to all countries that in their time of peace this nation did not sleep. "I had promised she could see me off, but if she continues..I can not." He spoke to the temporary keeper. Did she not want him to leave on account she felt her mother return? (d

Adelaide:[/u]She was exhausted with travel, having had hardly a day to rest after traversing long distances, save a handful in Madrid finding and then accompanying Benoit until Julian found them.  She wanted time to reflect on her journey, but even more, she wished her feet to be back on the earth.  She wished to set down running, desperately worried about Jean-Claude, and a knot in her throat incapable of being budged that was formed of sheer worry for her daughter.  They had never been so long apart.  No more than a few hours, and no further than a few city blocks.  She worried, briefly, what had become of the ring she'd given Mouse to demonstrate how sincere she was, but in the grand scheme of things, it hardly worried.  It was one thought among many she gave too much importance to as she stared over the rail of the ship, and watched the port of Turas Lan grow larger in the gloaming.There were other children at the harbor, but all surrounded by women to take care of them.  Mothers did not generally venture so far from their offspring.  Only fathers, and Ada, waited patiently and childlessly for the ship's ropes to be pulled in, for the plank to be lowered, so that she could run off to reunite with her own family.  Had any asked her years ago if she might see herself in this situation, she would have laughed.  Her view of sailors was so cynical even at that age, and her views on marriage nearly carved in stone, it was unthinkable.  She was much too careful to fall into this trap, with her fingers rapping impatiently on the wood and her knee jiggling beneath the skirts of her dress, until finally she was allowed to disembark.  Tiny, she was nevertheless effective at pushing her way through the crowd.  While other children screamed for attention, hers she could hear over the rising din, screamed out of terror.  She didn't recognize the back of the man to whose coattails she was attached, but Genevieve was quickly in her arms, and then it dawned on her few had the stature of the man before her, though it was so rare even for Ada to have seen Jean-Claude in anything but his usual austere color pallette. *


Jean-Claude:[/u]Would she have recognized him even in his usual attire? There was a dramatic change of is features, and a man that needed no more height stood straight for once. The worry lines, dark circles and aged skin seemed to carry with it the glow of youth, though still his eyes burned with the mature man beneath it all. Everything about him seemed so effortlessly sturdier, and even when she got close enough to touch there was only a rock solid man beneath the coat of arms. Though he was still thin, his breeches tucked beneath the leggings and them inside the boots made it appear he even stood a bit straighter. "Mama! Mama!" Genna sniffled, and as Jean-Claude felt the child stop pulling he too would turn, "Adelaide.." He pulled away the bicorn helmet, and the pony tail would spill over one shoulder; there he was. Gloved hands came to collect her, both of them in one arm holding tightly not yet ready to ever let go, and kissing her with a fever that even he was not known for. "Mon chatte..Your timing." A smile to the now happy Genna before he would look her over in an inspection, and all around them wide eyes watched..would they leave now? "It is hero no?" The last time she had come riding into town she had made a jest of how the hero always knew, but really he was so poor at being heroic. Dark eyes traveled to the captain who waited on him, the ship ready to sail, but suddenly doubted the leave would be as easy as planned. He could not leave her, not now. "So much is going on, Adelaide..I don't have time." Searching her face for any sign of grief, regret, or even despair beyond the obvious. "Julian?" He was nearly afraid to ask. (d

Adelaide:[/u]Genevieve was just as she'd left her; crying, yes, but whole and safe and loved.  Ada's arm already ached pleasantly from her weight, but she wouldn't set her down, not yet.  She wrapped her arm around Jean-Claude until he lifted her face toward his, and kissed her hard enough to make her gasp.  Her hand curled into the fabric of his coat, desperately holding on for balance while her knees went temporarily weak.  Perhaps she should have set Genna down.  "You have all the time in the world.  If you go, I will kill you.  Do you hear me?  Do you have any idea what I went through, leaving you in England like that?"  She seethed temporarily.  Their arguments were always the same.  They both had strong opinions on what they should do with their lives, and the other always thought it was phenomenally stupid to pursue their present course of action. Ada's temper would flare.  She might even stop speaking to Jean-Claude for an hour, maybe three.  Gifts and apologies were exchanged before long, and she basked in his silk sheets that night, her temper blowing over like a powerful but fast moving squall.  But now she clung on tightly to him, trying to ignore what he was wearing, and wondering what on earth possessed him to act like a man twenty years younger?  Explanations might come in time; it was doubtful, and Ada was both cynical and fatalistic after such a long, harrowing journey.  She wanted his bed.  And his company in it.  A meal would not go amiss.  Nor a bath.  The order did not necessarily matter, but as much a child of nature as she was, he had distinctly spoiled her.  "Was right behind me, I did not check once he paid his fare, he is miserable company on a ship.  He is well, though.  The letter was from Benoit." *

Jean-Claude:[/u]His eyes turned up towards the ship she had set off on, but no sign of Julian. It was not until she said his name did his eyes darken, back to that maddening black that no doubt had a direct line to the devil, "Benoit?" Anger then, and nothing more. "Your Benoit does not need another apprentice, and especially not mine. I will beat him." He watched for Julian, but the plank of the ship was almost pulled up long before the missive arrived in his hands--this was Julian's handwriting. "He stayed in Spain..tricked you into thinking he was going, but could not leave without finishing his assignment." Pride then pulled on his lips, but worry all the same...it all mattered very little, just so long as he knew the safety of his apprentice was well taken into consideration; and he promised to write home. The captain of the ship he was to board soon came to announce his presence, but Jean-Claude would only sigh. "I am sorry Mon Ami..I can not leave her, we will stay aground on more night." Forever she would be named the witch, for the spell she cast was sure and true, "It is an order." They really needed the night anyway, having rushed through the packing of the ship it would give the handlers one more day to prepare. He felt guilt rise up, but she would be happy--well deserved, and he knew if he refused he may not have her when he returned. Eirian had tried to get him to stay, and even now watched as the pair walked away. Though..he feared she would stop speaking to him, he doubted very much they would do much talking anyway. He offered to take Genna for her, knowing how heavy the toddler was now, but she would not budge. "She has been frantic. I could not find your assistant, but we have had many offers from the Valley to keep her. I found her with Peregrine, who told me her keeper was in a fit of tears when he came home. Your former lover, will ride with the army. There is war afoot, Adelaide, and even I have been called." If she could not tell. "I can not ask much of you, as I have already asked too much, but know that I have a debt to be paid. I would have died had it not been for Claramae. I will return to see her through this." He did not give her a room to protest, as there was nothing she could do to stop him. "Oxford fell." The conversation could have outlined his eyes once more with stress, he hated to even think of what all was lost. "I can give you this one day, but only if you will not fight me come morning. My heart could not take it." He spoke to what seemed an empty street, where only they stood even if the world around them was busy with the day's work. (d

Adelaide:[/u]She'd once thought she was very good at waiting.  She was patient.  Even obedient, to an extent.  Told what to do, she often did it.  But something in his demand made the blood in her veins run cold.  How could she be happy with one night, if it would be spent wondering if it was their last?  She knew Oxford meant the world to him.  Claramae was his greatest friend, equal in many ways to Peregrine.  All that he said was right, of course.  But he was not a man of twenty, nor even thirty.  Did he truly have a death wish?  Would he leave them here?  Her temporary annoyance with Julian faded, replaced instead by some terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach that she couldn't dispell, like the knot that had once taken too much space in her throat but had immediately dissipated seeing Genevieve.  "Do you know what she dreams about?" Ada asked at last, feeling almost separate from her body.  Maybe she was too tired.  She knew she needed a meal, at the very least.  She did not eat meat and there was very little on the ship save salted pork and biscuits.  "Why she wakes in such terror?  It took me much too long to understand it myself."  She lifted a soft curl from Genna's face and tucked it behind the soft shell of her ear.  "She sees your death, Jean-Claude.  Do not make ultimatums with me."  Her heart was breaking and she didn't know how to hold it together.  Like that day in Madrid, she wasn't sure what to do with her hands, so they hovered awkwardly, already missing her child. *

Jean-Claude:[/u]"We all die someday, Adelaide, do not forget that. Her dream could be twenty years from now." He spoke rather cold though calm, taking her hand to loop it through his arm. He had so much more he wanted to tell her, so very much that it seemed to burst through his breastplate. "I am no longer afraid." He kept his attention forward as the crowd seemed to part for them as they walked, and would stop at the window just outside the Briar Rose's summer stand. He then would order a dinner for her, paying them extra to have it set inside his shop where their first nights together had often been spent. The old bed with the silk sheets remained, though now it hardly got used having turned it into a guest room. "You both will be well taken care of, do you know this? I had hoped by now we would have been married, but on the seal I have put your name. My fortune is to be divided well along you all, but everything is left to your name." She had to have known he had the papers drawn up. He would lead them longer way to the shop, enjoying the warmth of the sun against his face. "You know that even in death, I will not leave you." He squeezed her arm, "Just as you know you can not stop me. Not this time." Like her to Avaria, he had his heart set on this. (d

Adelaide:[/u]"You could step out of your front door and be hit by a speeding coach.  Your heart could fail.  You could fall down stairs.  Take a fever and never recover.  Your lungs grow weak.  Any countless maladies, any strange twist of fate could take you from me, but you willingly go to war.  It is different.  Is your wealth consolation?  I do not know if I can live without you.  Not yet.  We have not had time.  We have just found one another.  There is so much we have not done.  I don't want to be well compensated, Jean-Claude.  I want you."  She removed her arm from his and folded both beneath her chest, cold.  Nothing he said was a comfort.  Nothing would comfort her until he came home again. "You are not afraid.  But I am terrified."  The words were said calmly, but they dropped like stones into a smooth pool, one after the other, disturbing the order of this beautiful day.  She excused herself for a moment into a quiet alley.  If he followed, she had no qualms against sticking her sickle blade into some soft part of him.  It would keep him home from battle.  Her fists met the side of the building as her heart raced.  Her stomach began to unknot only with the first of her sobs, but just as quickly as the storm began, it passed.  She wiped her eyes with her sleeves and took three deep breaths, in and out, tracing the air's path through each vein and artery as it spun through her body.  When she emerged again, she refused to speak of it, simply shrugging if he brought it up, trying her best to change the topic.  They were at an impasse, and Ada was doing her best to let him go.  He had let her go, once. *

Jean-Claude:[/u]He let her go, taking the now exhausted sleeping form of Genna into the shop that didn't see enough of it's master anymore. Once they were through the doors of the shop, Harper was surprised to see him again, but quickly did as he asked; starting a hot bath, and would set out the meal once it came. Genna was handed off to one of the happy workers who would lavish in her break from the sewing to tend to the child. Harper would be quick to help him pull away the heavy plate, and pull away the coat leaving the breeches of black, and the white undershirt. He would even pull away the gloves, and leave them listening to Harper go on about how she would never get used to seeing his hands..how lovely they were, and that he should have never hidden them all these many years. You made people think you were sick with disease..you hid them so much. He wore her ring on one hand, his own on the other. "Excuse me, I will not be long." He spoke finally, rather dry and a bit demanding as he made his way back out into the streets into the alley he had left her to her sobs. He had not wanted to, but the time had come to talk some sort of sense into her. "Get up." He nearly barked at her, though the tone a bit less harsh then he intended. Against the wall he pinned her, his arms on either side as she would have no where to go, though he was certain she could just as easily slipped through his legs. "What makes you think that I am ready to leave this world without you?" She had been on her way out, but he had stopped her. "Do you think for a moment that I am going to stand here and let you cry over this? Adelaide..do not shrug your shoulders at me." He took a deep breath, though the lines of his lips keeping a firm solid form. "I died at Oxford." In the dark alley only would he make this confession. "I spoke with God, while Claramae carried me out. I told him I was not ready. He granted me a second chance. It is by his miracle that I stand before you today. I stand before you a different man, but it is still very much me here with you now. He sent an angel to take care of me, all the while her songs healed me. I have been waiting so long to show you how. To love you right, as I have wanted all these years." Though the desire was there against his lips he did not bend to kiss her, not yet. "Do not do this." (d

Adelaide:[/u]"Do not do what, you cannot treat me like an irrational child, Jean-Claude, afraid of a monster under the bed.  This is real."  She couldn't bring herself to carry out the threat of stabbing him.  He wanted to go.  He needed to go.  Her hand still cupped the leather-covered blade, so sharp it could slice through skin as if it was air.  "Whether you are ready or not.  It will come for you.  It comes for us all.  I would think by our respective ages, we would have learned to do our best to avoid it." She eyed him rather sharply, but at his revelation, she let her hand fall.  She pressed both flat against the wall, but met his gaze.  "You have loved me with more tenderness and passion than I have known, my love," she said truthfully, but was not so secretly amused that he thought she wished more from him.  They were always two separate beings, united where it mattered, but radically different in many ways.  To Ada, those differences were to be respected, but they were not so important in the end.  They kept life interesting. She was glad he had changed from that coat.  She could find the top of his breeches with more ease, hooking her thumbs over the edge and drawing his hips in.  "What do you want me to say?  I condone this?  I do not.  I pray for you?  You know that I would, no matter how angry I am.  We will not agree on this, Jean, and I do not want to spend this night arguing, but I have at least accepted it.  I needed a moment.  Keep questioning me, and I will spend the evening crying.  There are more important matters to attend to than tears." *

Jean-Claude:[/u]"I want you to tell me you love me, and that you will be here waiting when I get back. I want you to plan our wedding, and pick out a ring that better suits you." Though it was the stone of his homelands, he knew she had always been annoyed at how large it was. She was such a petite thing, that it must have weighed her down. Really it was rather heavy there upon his thin finger. He pressed her back against the alley leaning to brush his lips against her neck to trail along the path that lead to the tender part of her ear, "I am tired of loving you in dark places like this. Come..Let us go inside. They will want to close up," He kissed her then suddenly almost arguing his own point, and breaking only to continue, "and I have you a bath ready. Your dinner.." He smiled brushing his bare thumb against her cheek to clean away what was left of her tears. He didn't want to pull away from her, and even when she pulled him it was fight. Overturned with burning passion he had to bite his lower lip from taking her own again. They had a shared hatred of the sea, and as he nuzzled the top of her curls it would be enough to make any man sick. Really it was not a bad smell, unless you have spent a world of time below the decks of a pirate ship. He slid his arm around her then to lead her from the alley, "Upstairs." He grinned through the side of his lip as he gave her rear a small little tap, keeping in theme of treating her like a child just for pure spite while he paid his workers. Stairs did a number on him, no matter how much better he felt, but they were climbed none the less. Really, he wasn't certain how to act anymore; feeling so refreshed it was as if his youth had returned, but every so often it took a fight with her to be reminded of his age. (d

Adelaide:[/u]Ada happily counted her blessings every day.  Now, she counted the wall among them, even though her body curved away from its solid surface to meet Jean-Claude's, angling her head to stretch the skin beneath his lips taut, and sighing when he pulled away.  But he did not delay in ushering her out of the alley, Ada thinking to herself at that moment how dry the skin around her eyes felt, how delicate -- like very fine paper that might split.  She had cream for that in her shop down the street.  She gave a little jump at his swat, but surprised both of them by laughing, grabbing her skirts and lifting them out of the way to climb the stairs. Did he remember the night she cracked the door open ever so slightly for him?  She had given him a taste of her world, and giddy, they'd fallen onto the bed, glimpses of another world and flashes of gold light sparking in the dimness of her mostly unfurnished apartment.  She wasn't certain why the memory came to her now, as she immodestly stepped out of her skirts first, and showed a little more decorum pulling the strings of her bodice free, hanging her chemise on the corner of a privacy screen and sliding into the tub.  She submerged entirely, soaking her hair, and stayed down for a moment of blessed silence.  Ships were noisy places. Ada let her head resurface, barely breaking the water to grab at whatever she needed to scrub herself clean of dust and dirt from travel, finishing by lathering up her hair and rinsing clean, stepping into a towel as large as a blanket and going through her ritual of drying her hair.  It seemed, to the outside observer, like some complex dance or the intricate workings of a spell, Ada putting the finishing touches on her hair by lightly squeezing the rest of the water out by bunching the curls together and dripping the rest into the sudsy water in the tub, and then sitting down at the table to eat.  "I have done all the planning for this wedding I think I am capable of doing.  It is just signing papers,yes?"  A twinkle in her eye appeared at the joke.  Would he be surprised to know it was all well under hand, including the ring?  She wished she knew what happened to the other one, though.  She loved the ring, even if it seemed half her body weight at times. *

Jean-Claude:[/u]"Signing papers...Mmm yes, that is all." If only. "Forgive me for not being as willing to make it so simple. It has been planned since my infancy that I would be wed. My mother no doubt, if she were alive would have it all mapped out for you." He spoke idly watching her enjoy her dinner on the other end of the table, where he had sat for so many years now. "We must find a church..one that will not burn to the ground the moment you step into it. Have you even thought about your gown?" In all this world he would have never thought Adelaide to have anything planned, she was like the wind at times. Of course she hadn't thought of a gown..they would do it naked under the moon if she had her way. He had all this idea of how a marriage should be, but had never in his life thought he would have gotten this close. "She had wanted me to marry some French princess those many years ago," He smiled thinking of what his mother would say. He loved to watch her brush out her hair, even if it were some wild attempt at taming a beast..the hunt thrilled him really. Going through the motions of undoing the laces around his neck, the day had truly come to a close. It would be when he pulled the shirt open finally at the end would he lean forward to watch her, free from his confines. "Come with me." Out of no where he asked, as if drawing the words from the sky; they certainly were not his own, but his ache for her was very much real. (d

Adelaide:[/u]"Then we will have a magnificent ceremony.  They will think I am royalty," she said with a laugh, but she meant it.  His family needn't know she had precisely coordinated the time with the priest, who was perplexed to be sure why Ada insisted on such a date and time, why she had paced the church for long hours to see where the sun sank precisely.  That the hours and minutes were so special, that the stars that would hang in the sky that night could push them further along a fortuitous path -- these were secrets Ada would keep, in compromise of a naked, moonlit ceremony.  Jean-Claude would never spend the night in the woods anyway, nor would she make him.  This much, they had learned to compromise upon without much discussion.  "And the dress?  It ... is very special," Ada murmured thoughtfully.  It came as a surprise to everyone that she could hold her cards to close to her chest in the French court, but when outside those privileged walls, she may as well be constructed of glass.  But this secret she kept, polishing off the last bite of makeshift mushroom bruschetta and grabbing the edges of her towel as she stood, though she folded the edges around Jean-Claude when she joined him, cloaked beneath the towel and warmed by him, smelling of soaps she'd given him once upon a time, but whose fragrance mixtures she no longer used.  She returned his gesture from not long ago, pressing her mouth to the top of his head.  "I love you.  And I suppose, after all this wedding planning, I will wait for you." *

Jean-Claude:[/u]"Is it now? Adelaide..you will wear it in a church." Even now he didn't believe her, brushing his fingers up her thighs onto the swell of her hip, and down against her spine. "You will not have to wait long. This battle is not like the wars of the past. There are so few.." Jean-Claude gave into her, pulling her against him in every way, enjoying the feel of the small weight of her. Though for as short as she was..Jean, would slip into French, just as he would slip his hands between them to curve up her stomach and over her breast. "Of all the sort of life you have left to live, you are certain you wish to spend it with this old man?" He was not that old. His pale lips touched her own finding the tips of his fingers now lost in her curls, "Open up to me." He spoke with an intake of air, living in the warmth of her body. His clothes felt like fire burning on his skin, and he longed to be free from them. Hell, tonight they could have been in the open woods if she so wished, he would have been happy. From the chair he carried her, to the cool silk of the sheets that often she came to sleep with..even if he was there too.

****

Their night had been spent in the company of each other's arms, their naked bodies exploring what seemed to be the last wonder of the world. Jean-Claude, could never have enough of her, and stole her sash once more as he departed that morning. It broke him to leave her, but the strength returned when he thought of Clarmae. The Duchess loved her England, dearly, but even now he wondered if she would not have rather been home.

The sail to the English shores was a short one, and for this he was thankful. It seemed all was as he left, though the halls empty now. The war party had turned off towards the border to meet with the army, but something inside this castle seemed out of place. The eerie halls had been an omen once before, and the Scientist seemed to thrive in the cold prickling feeling of the cold hands of death along his spine.

"I would like to set up a camp, just North of the base, for the medical ward." He spoke as he removed his riding gloves looking out over the empty room, and the page would fire away seeing to it the horses would be ready. They cared very little that he was without license to practice, as he doubted he would ever obtain one..his method was sick, but true. Jean-Claude, was a man with the future in his dreams, and in it the voices of what was to come. Though..he couldn't help but want the Lady Healer here with him, this was going to be a very rough battle, but he was dressed for war.

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

Writings of the War

Vincere's Campaign, Mosby's Point of View
written by the creator of Lord Commander, Duke Michael Vincere

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

To Date..

For weeks now, if not a great amount of a plentiful two seasons the fierce of revolt has turned into all out warfare. The deeds of the Lord Commander, Captain Mosby, Lord Vizharen in the North have further pushed the Spanish ever closer to a doomsday on the fabled Hadrian's Wall. Master de Aquitaine's excellent planning and command have been paramount to victories in the center state, while the work of the Lady Govenor and the Earl of Warwickshire has swept free the South. Does this mean the plague is done? Certainly not, for no enemy was ever so crafty, creative, and employed of means as Spain.

The two cultures have come at one another not just with swords, but with engineering feats, gunpowder weaponry, and calvaries that are quick and armed with improved crossbows. Rumors of the Spanish Calvary borrowing the Moor's meant that the English Calvary met a fellow equipped similiarly. The swords utilized were lighter, every man was faster. It would become known as one of the most fascinating, if not gory, campaigns of the King's reign.

Again to Gather in Canterbury all do, for at last the Arch-bishop's remains are being put to rest, as they were placed back by none other than the those of Ireland, The Lady O'Cathasaigh and Sir O'Connor who's deeds earned them aid for their own quandry, the famed Architect lePower, and his assistance Jenks. All that stills the Spanish from seeking the seat of English Christedom are these funerary rites..

See the pain of what is, and we shall also visit the shadows of what were.

Forthcoming (in scene, in writing, and in mention )
- Canterbury: The Case Resolved, the Archbishop's body returned and a meeting of interesting associates
- The South: Plymoth

Canterbury: Present Day

Duchess Claramae Vincere -St.Laurence

Since Warwickshire, the faithful of the Earl Atherton's estate joined with the milieu that formed His Majesty's English Army. Everything was named in England, titled. A place designated by use of verbage to denote the obvious. By now dirt smudged faces under the lofty banners that knew soot. Fingerprints of blood on the pole showed where a man might have died to hold the emblem of his nation aloft, his nation. They were all zealots really. For or against the crown, they were nearly fanatics in the loyalty displayed. Ten miles from Canterbury, and fifteen from London, they were back where they'd begun. Through the South the party moved a fine toothed comb of quick strikes, rotating arms, rotating sequence. She saw this as necessary to defeat the quick Spanish calvary armed similiar to that of Skye's light division, yet with an additional arm. England and Spain were matched by their zeal for progress. Never had so many crossbolts fired by trigger preassure, by foot lever gone over a fieled. Never so many by horseback, for this was a specialty of the Calvary. Never had such light sword steel clashed. Technological brilliance did not go un-noticed by the woman on the forefront of strategy, nor on battle's forefront. Commanding officers gasped, others near to throwing fits of bloody murder when the head of the state was not only outfitted in armor, but joined them in the vanguard. At other times, she'd be apart of secondary or third waves. At any event, she spilled blood, she lost it. Peace was known after near relentless pace since the last battle in Plymoth to cross the land, to make it here. They were not so lightly armed anymore, having taken back, having emptied the plymoth stores of weaponry, horses, and one of the most important attributes of all...- gunpowder and lead. White tents were pitched on distant hills benefiting from the breeze of the sea. Surrounded by lookouts, would the Govenor rest? Not hardly. (d)


Lord Commander Duke Michael Vincere

Waiting for a fight made a nasty taste. Not knowing what was to come weighed heavy on the men; regardless of what was said, morale sank. Some prayed, others slept or drank. It was difficult to truly place the mood of worn out men, even as they lumbered about making camp and cooking. Amongst the men walked a small entourage surrounding one armored man. Any who served England knew who he was, if not by person, then by reputation. An English Ghost, most Spanish called him because of his odd tactics and well thought out choke points. Commander Vincere had just arrived by horseback after travelling several miles from port to meet here. He looked ecstatic and well rested. He and his group moved toward the command area to touch base with the leaders here. Vincere had no idea his wife truly, was the leadership behind this war machine.[d]

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

The priests among the men milled from group to group, seeking conversation of confession. Was it to be treated like the last minute on earth? That was how you lived, minute to minute collecting to hour's assorment. If you lived the hour was it false hope to desire the next, or selfish? Tales of the Northern victories swept over England in that sense of hope, false or not. It wasn't good to see the end, for those peasents had seen the end of one era, and benefiting in the dawn of their conquerors, wished not to see the end of this one. Imagine the glee that arose, imagine the happiness! Brothers bonded with brothers, fathers to sons. Uncles to nephews as the world converged in a tent-city. As the tales of what was done in the North were told, so were the battles of Plymoth, and that of Dover! So were those of quick horses, arrows, and the display of the English perfected pistols, the first rifles. More sword than lead, yet lead of England was better than Spanish make! For once, the old countries weredefeated at something! "If you seek the General's tent, sir, tis that way! Welcome, welcome to the Lord Commander. Hail his grace!" A hundred cheers for a hudred endless days! Servants pulled back the tent, a page boy. "I will fetch our commander sir, pardon my saying so, but it will be good news for Her Grace.." Was she here, among them somewhere? Gods be praised she was safe! (d)

Lord Commander, Duke Michael Vincere Her grace? That kid had better be bloomin' mad. The color drained from Michaels face as he awaited the return of their General. He dismissed his own entourage in the case he lost his bearing.-- Waiting patiently, he thought back on his approach and the sound of the cheers. He had heard word from the south, that the forces were pushing up. It was this intelligence that inspired his altered meeting place. This was a surprise visit by Vincere, but one he felt necessary. It was that important to insure everyone was on the same page tactics wise, or they'd be embarrassed.[d]


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

Intelligence and chance went hand in hand today as Vincere followed instinct. Without shared tactics they could work against one another, leaving spain with a self created loop hole to bind England in knots. Pale face color could be fixed with a warm barley beer! A plate of food brought to him, hunted from the local hoods. A stew of hair, some fish perhaps? In another section of the tents, the 'general' was being made ready to visit the Lord Commander. Her body had just been washed, her hair was put in a thick, long braid that was pinned to her head. As was proper, leathers were exchanged for a good wool shaded a deep naval blue, a kirtle as it were, her feet lodged in hearty boots, not slippers. The splits skirts of the garmet were indeed near unto pants, parading as the best of each yet to the regular eye, twas only a kirtle dress. Of scars, of things to hide? What could be hidden? Bruises under sleeves yet the chemise revealed it well enough, for she did not keep the sleeves laced too tightly as to pain them. Her face wore its scratch from cheek down to neck. Once within the tent all of this was made clear, a leader to leader...in secret, a wife's heart to her husbands, "My Generals will join us anon, but I was told you had come, and am glad to not only hear it my lord, but to see it." (d)


Lord Commander Duke Michael Vincere

Vincere never started a meal without his people present. It was rude, and it just made him feel more like the rest of the men, having been on the lower part of the food chain before.-- When he heard her voice, there was a boiling sensation going on in the back of his head, yet he maintained his tone as he turned to face her. "So I leave to fight this war with the Spanish in hopes you would remain out of harms way.. but I just realized you jumped into the center of this whole bloody thing! Can't, for one moment, I not worry over your safety?!" So much for keeping his tone?! He looked quite frustrated.[d]


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Well London being in the center of the entire thing it would be hard, in any sense, to refrain. Either I would be fleeing for my life by sea or by land while instituting politics or utilizing politics as someone died. Let us not forget that the head of the state does not vanish. It would not have been so in any other part of the world, inparticular where we both last resided?" She sat down after paying him greeting in curtsy, pouring him more beer as she poured herself some, for it was warm. The air suddenly grew chilled as his eyes passed over her, " I have worried for your safety as well, yet it does not mean i would not prevent you your duties. Were I a man and not your wife we would not have such discussions. This is how you met me, Vincere. This is what I was fashioned to be. Be it by politics or by strategist, and when our nation depends upon each I shan't faulter in my duties." She was served a plate of food. Insufferable! The men knew to expect it, surely. If the Lord commander had known earlier, he would have had them arrested. fortunate for the war, they were needed (d)


Lord Commander Duke Michael Vincere:

Where as Michael possessed on the brute strength in the world, words were not a gift for him. She could prove a priest wrong and have him believing God was a woman, if it suited her objective. Which in this case, made it highly unfair for him to war words against her. So instead, he just took his seat and grumbled about it, grinding his jaw as he watched her pour the beer. After this, he was going to get a list of her generals and have them shot!-- "Moving. On." He forced out, sighing heavily as he really looked at his wife for the first time in many months. He noticed the fresh scratch that ran to her throat, and could smell that she'd just bathed. He often wondered if she knew when they were going to meet. She always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone, and to this day, Michael couldn't figure out how she pieced everything together.-- "Your brother and Lord Mosby have all but burned the Spanish from their hiding holes. They have the screaming for the northern border, and should be meeting here if my emissary found Mosby."[d]


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Very good. They will want to take Canterbury for both its practical sea point, nearness to London as to try and claim her again as London is too well fortified...but we shall stop them, and then all the forces may join at the Northern border." She cut in to the succulent hair, applying it to the inside of her mouth to chew. So many months apart, yet was it truly that large of a number? Perhaps no, but they had been at this quandry longer than the Crown had realized. "In Plymoth we crippled any desire they could have of coming from the South. Holding all our stores of weapons ,in fact I believe we may have engage din he first heavy gun fire battles.." Oh dear lord. Firearms? That made a husband's heart happy. The war machine churning with her near someone's trigger finger as her own was itching. "So how fares my brother, is Mosby..well of his technique?" My brother is mad, is Mosby still alive? (d)


Lord Commander Michael Vincere

"You never cease to amaze me." He tagged in on the tail end of her report. "The burning I reported wasn't of Mosby's doing. Your brother needs to be controlled. Mosby has wrote several requests at him being transferred, but I thought of no better place to put him. In all honesty, the pair have made astonishing leeway. Mosby knows war better than most, and has applied his knowledge well enough to harass the Spanish into moving. "[d]


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"You are too kind, and always have been." The food was the first she had eaten in two days. Never one to discuss ailments, it'd never do to say that strain was a physical burden, she was an insomniac, and Jean-Claude kept her rather pieced together. "It is not Mosby's style, he is practical, not a showmen. Percival for all his talk of deploring messes is a showmen, always a what if with him to lend to his experiences. No, don't transfer him. He will keep Mosby alive as much as Mosby loathes to admit it, I don't blame him, as will Mosby do the same when Percival's head becomes too much for him. He must know war, for the Spanish calvary is a work of genius, after the war I must leave instruction for England to study it further." That would be when they retired, after the war. She walked to the end of the tent then, wincing softly as she ignored the harrowing streak of pain shooting in her back. "Oxford was the work of religious zealots, I could not write you of the happenings lest it was intercepted. You know by now, surely, the Archbishop was murdered, found so, not long after you left." (d)


Lord Commander Michael Vincere

"My sentiments exactly." He replied, standing up and following her. He stood behind her, close, listening as she spoke. His eyes narrowed a bit, but he nodded. "Indeed." He replied. She knew he wasn't very versed with politics, which left her explaining in detail all the implications that followed key deaths. He remained silent for a moment. "And what of it now?"[d]


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Now? The Archbishop's body was found under the chapel floor of the tower of London. The head of Christendom in England was placed back in Canterbury to be found in his suites.. it was not our doing, but a dastardly thing. The headmaster of Oxford is also dead, yet the Lady Woodstock has lived. Canterbury is in turmoil, hard to instill a successor..the road was cleared and a delay given for the pilgrimage to his resting site as the body could not be displayed." Grief choked at her throat, sickening her again. The Archbishop of Canterbury was owed much by many for many years, and he was a friend. The headmaster of Oxford had been no less appealing to see die. "As soon as the last festivity is done, I believe the Spanish will attack, they shall seek to instill their own successor. Jean-Claude has done wonders securing Oxford, Cambridge, which are of course closed the students sent home long ago .Now..we watch, we see when the signs are heading toward the end and we move one step ahead of them. We have a machine to employ, somewhere, consider it a crossbow shooting three bolts at once another that shoots in repetitive succession for a few moments time. I loathe the idea of harming so sacred a site yet we've no choice. England has been burning quite awhile, hasn't it?" The things she'd seen remained in her nightmares. The students of Oxford swayed by Occam, the want to burn, to kill with no remorse so quickly spread among them. The way the unfortunates were taken under Spanish heel..and the deaths. Did her own cousin endure, what of the architetct, his assistant, of her cousin's guard? "I solved one last mystery as well, beneath that chapel floor.Where they'd stored the body of my grandmother and mother. I thought I should tell you." Heart broken, but broken hearts mattered precious little. She returned to the table with a map of canterbury so they might lay out a joint plan. (d)

Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

The edge of the tent made a space of infinite seeming miles twixt one point toward the table where half a supper still sat untouched; the hare was split in obvious areas of consumption yet the fullness, the most tender, would go to spoil. Food couldn't fill the void twisting black knots with bile in her stomach. Wine could not erase the sting. She told him of mysteries solved so old that they mattered to no one else but her. Imagine it if he dared to - the archbishop's body dead by days compared to the body of the womb that bore her dead by several years. What duty comes to the fore? Ah well. No more of it rose to be discussed but like the dead emotions were being buried alive, and unlike the dead who didn' breathe, they suffocated under the weight of an ability to hide them. Maps returned with the silent sure foot steps to be spread out on the place plate left when removed. Canterbury was nigh, no? War was nigh. The end of England was nigh so if one could but stay certain but a little, they would return to a better place. Even the gifted could spare a belief in the heaven beyond a day like this. (d)

Michael Vincere "I'm sorry that you had to experience all of this. Perhaps this war.." He said his voice drifting as he followed her to the table where she spread the maps. "..this war will give us solace. I wish I understood the magnitude of everything that goes on behind the scenes, but it's much too complex for me." He stepped in beside her, placing his hand atop the maps and lightly pushing her away from the table with his frame; he was solid. "Being that it's complex doesn't mean I can't listen. I know there's something wrong, I know you. Is there anything I can do..anything that would make you feel better? If you want me to behead every Spanish soldier and send their heads back on boats.. I-I'll do it. If you want me to cook, god help us, --to cook you breakfast? O-or to stop cutting into your fruit trees with my new projects. Just name it.."[d]


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence[b/]:

"It is a War, Michael," the reply came almost too terse to his tenderness. Rough as it was he was better at being soft than she when wound up too tight to unwind in a moment. The comedic sad thing was she could become anything, was supposed to be anything, at a moment's notice. Invisible glass pricked at the delicate souls of the feet until only she saw the pool of blood they stood in. Claramae wanted to walk over the imaginary sanguine pieces of herself to spread the map across the table for strategy to soothe the mind. Intellectual lullabies calmed the savage beast flickering in the eyes. Wasn't he supposed to be the brute, the bastard? Instead with the simple understanding he lay out the first half of the world's trouble! As one who is akward laughs at a deadman's wake, so her mouth formed the shape for the sound. Small peels of laughter hidden behind a hand gave way to only one decipal louder in the open space. One hand around the middle of her body wrapped before laughter became a sheer cry of pain. Stil, she wanted maps. Intellect, sound intellect. Reason. Equations. Not pain. It was too easy for him to push her body from what it wanted yet steer it to the release it needed. "Yes, Michael, there is something wrong. I recite it over and over yet my mind finds no appeasement. I feel as a child lost in a hedgemaze, worse? A hedgemaze I watched grow all surrounding. This. is. England. Do you understand that? It is only in the last handful of years has anything come to bare meaning beyond the rudimentary, my household and I have lives enriched by possession of flesh and voice in others, even as we have watched precious places crumble to ash we endure. I feel ashamed to admit that I do not know if I can endure this. I push myself beyond all means to find another day. England...all that is sacred here, all that is..lineage, swept away in the passing of a seeming hour!" Another laugh, another sardonic, bitter attempt to see the irony "You may cut the head of every Spaniard, and by God I would sign every death warrant with all impunity an equal portions delight so evident none would ever doubt I felt. It is..humiliating. My men have seen my tears, if it may inspire them perhaps it is just..but it is...not done. My mother's body is underneath the archbishop, above my grandmother. I can not properly bury them nor pay rites nor do any such thing as a Christian to ever signify they had meaning...and they do." She put a hand to her mouth, turning her head. "My lineage is burning to nothing, all that ever meant anything to me here save a few tracts of land is falling away...this is my home. I defend her, as I did in my youth, yet not to the same ends. This King is righteous and yet is it wrong to be so angry at him for his idiocy in thinking to make this the gateway of all things, and not listening...that I am not the Cerebus at a public gate, yet must be? I am sickened by the day of this place..of having slept in Windsor, or Parliment, of having touched blood soaked floors. I am sick of it, yet will to the end see it through. In earnest husband I am just sick." She put up her hands. "In Turas Lan among closed doors I will never be as I wise, nor can be again, yet before the world my face is true for none need know what is behind it save the likes of you, and those I would consider family..yet...who will weep with me, to see all of the origins undone? For all my hatred of Windsor Castle, I would weep if it were ruined. My home is burning, my very origins are burning and yet I may not be the man upon his land to mourn it nor the woman whom sends forth her own to war..I was not ...ment to be so. God, dear Michael. To recite this...even to my husband, it is humilitating, Not in the privacy of our home yet here where we may be found at any time. My back bleeds from being overstretched, my scars are hideous, and I take fevers for no reason. That is what is wrong Michael, the long and short of it. I want to go back to Turas Lan, when this is done...and begin to forget these nightmares that cycle in my mind beside all of my equations. I want to tell Adam that I have proven my fealty and my love, and all I wish as reward is to lay upon a place in silent solitude.." By the time it ended she had come to the table of maps again, yet did not open them. Instead, she sat in a chair looking toward a canvas wall where nothing showed on it. She did not see pictures as some did, and it was only a moment she envisioned a delirious thing. She was far too..practical even now. Too..sane, in the spiraling emotional complex that would drive anyone insane. It just drove her to a pained disraction, to the essence of humanity (d)


Michael Vizharen

Michael was overwhelmed by the explosion of emotion, yet he understood the constant ferocity that drove his wife. He stayed silent, following her as she moved, and listened as she spoke. He noticed the change in her tone, and felt guilty for making her reveal these vunerable feelings she had. When she finished, and stared at the canvas wall, he couldn't find anything to say. Honestly, what could he say? It's going to be ok? Certainty was not something guaranteed for them, ever. And THAT'S what she wanted to change. To stop the downward spiral, douse the fires that ravaged her very history.-- Michael took a deep breath and placed his bare hand upon her shoulder. He mimicked her often, such was the case then, and he followed her gaze toward the canvas. They both possessed a unique stare, one if looked upon, would turn a person inside out. It was intense yet empty, yet Clair struggled to pull her soul back into its place. Too long she applied her skills to be a weapon weilded by the powers to be; years she dedicated, and it was drawing to a close. He sighed. "Where do we go from here?"[d]


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

The eyes were the window to the soul, yet it was once only two people who could see it. Two because four, four became eight. In the sense of multiplication she could count on one hand those who were deeply intimate whilst on another those who came startingly close. How marvelous strange it must be to those who were privy to see her spirit lose anchor ties to dart around her eyes in a sheen glow atop the desperation reflected. The very tears from her eyes brought the pride of England to bended knee on herbehalf, but what would it do to see her now? Honor be taken yet she could not bare England's pity while she, herself, pitied England. She cried for it, screamed at it, and loved it. All of her actions were for the sake of love's form! A weapon who moved to the tandem of humanity. A weapon who had asked years before in her own way to not be thrust to the forefront, to not fire so close on what made her. Now she was burning England too. "We finish Canterbury. We finish all battles..We secure the realm of his majesty, we pray God that my ancestral estate, that London, shall endure as it has. As a wife I pray you forgive me for your lack of heirs. Flighty as it may sound, while baring a child is no desire, I see the necessity of it. There shall be nothing to come after you or I. We will look upon the maps and make strategy, we will do everything you and I are good at, are famed for, are bound in duty to do.." She turned her face in to his side, sighing, "But for now, the Archbishop is having his funeraryrite. Even the Spanish are not so heathen as to disturb the rites of a man of God, a man of Rome. So while they bury my friend please...hold me Michael, hold me,and let me be your wife." (d)


Michael Vincere

"Now that... that I can do." He said, lightly wrapping his arms around her and gently pulling her closer. His embrace was strong and warm, comforting. His hands were hardened by countless years of war, but they were soft enough to lightly brush this rose petal that was his wife. His fingers gently caressed the side of her face until he could kiss her softly upon her lips, then pull her back into another embrace. This was a luxury they rarely had. It felt nice, this husband business, he thought, resting his chin atop her head a moment and breathing in her fresh scent. There was a small, content smile hidden behind that scarred gruff look he gave.[d]


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

What was it like to be asked to hold, to comfort, to take what was his by the sanctity of marriage itself? Too long a love behaved as if ever-secret would be the lot it was assigned; too many years of hiding ment it was too hard to shrug away the mentality of concealment. Never in public had the Lord Commander kissed his wife by no more than the knuckles of her hand. By no more than signs of social respect did they welcome one another, bid farewell. What if the page boy, so low a posistion, saw them not as emblems of state, but as the people they craved so much to be? Awaiting them was the promise of an estate beyond the city, for as much as the hall was beloved it would be nice to have a place to go perhaps, to start again beyond the eyes of what constituted for kin. "Michael." She whispered, returning his kiss before letting her head subside again against his hard, firm body. "Yet for all I love, I love no one as I love you." What was it, to hear that? Surely he felt it in the times before..looking on Sorschal did he hear the inside jests or the wealth of history for having known her in youth? Did he see any that had bond and have cause to wonder if any found way to hold her heart as he did? For all I love..I love no one as I love you. It was a set of words very well earned. (d)

Michael Vincere

To hear that spurned an unexplainable sensation that sprang from his stomach and climbed the summit of his soul. It caused him to close his eyes and rest his face right next to her own, their cheeks touching till he turned to her ear. "There is nothing in this world that I cherish more than you." He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently moved her so she could look into his eyes, and stare at him for a moment. "Whatever is here.." He pointed at his heart. "Whatever is left in here, it's yours. Forever." He wasn't a man of many words, but he still maintained some expression aside from the cold stone bearing. What she saw was watered eyes and the soft face of her husband; not the soldier he was famed to be. Blinking, his lids overflowed and two lone tears made the descent down, along his cheeks and into a dark blonde beard. He ran his hand through her hair and pulled her into a soft kiss.[d]

Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Then I will take it, hold it close to my own. All that is left of me, all that is broken or whole I pray you take sir and keep it..keep it all our days." Eloquence thy name was St. Laurence; one could do what the other could not. He could cry where she could give voice to each of their thoughts. he could hold her, thus bringing her own body to soften enough for the water to slide free of her eyes. Her hands held his face in place, their tears mingling together as mouths touched. She leaned in, drinking in his kiss. The page boy who had spied on these things would not report the tidings for it seemed not right, but he would seal the tent behind him, and in his thoughts understand what it meant to love. (d)

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

Canterbury - "Have I not commanded thee? Be strong and of good courage;be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed; for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest." (Joshua 1:9 ). The illuminated manuscript was not in the Latin of the Church, but in the language of the common man. She read it, letting the effect of her mouth fashioning the phrase be apart of what went forth in the air itself. Fingers grazed across the picture painted of beautified letters, of Celt's crosses turning toward the sea tide for a border. "the Lord Thy God is with thee whitheresoever though goest.." The last half of it was stuck out again in ardent repetition; Claramae was a woman of faith and fitting too, since they were outside the source of Christendom in England. White pearls for rosary beads clicked one after the other between her fingers as she meditated. Somewhere in Canterbury, the bell tolled. The time to few what remnants of His Eminence could be viewed had come to an end. The burial was nigh. Suspended between earth and heaven,eveyrone felt the passage of each second like the bell that tolled. Did it do so for them? In Spanish camps, Spaniards prayed in the Latin so as not to be as low as the false folk they conquered on behalf of King Alfonso IV and Queen Isabelle. Everyone needed to believe, so in mortal sin man fashioned himself an Idol in Espania so that if he grew tired of what was earlier worshipped he might bow down to it. In the Spanish Camps, Englishman who saw the loss of the old King Edward as a chance to return to glory also prayed. Body's were torn apart in the Inquisition torchure devices, making bloody canvas walls. The sick prayed, the dying prayed, the living prayed while holding their breath they buried the Archbishop that much slower. Time was never on the side of those who desired it most. One wondered if God was neutral in these things, or if he had already selected a favorite later to reveal. ...


Evangeline O'Cathasaigh and Faolan O'Connor

"But I must see her, I must see the Duchess again before I leave, before we leave..I command ye take me to her!" In Londontown they prayed, but Evangeline O'Cathasaigh yelled in such a way that no one doubted the power behind theimportance in her request. She would not leave without seeing her cousin alive, collecting her promise to live, and returning with Faolan to see that Ireland did the same. They were among one of the few carriages still along the road, for the bravest of piligrims had already crossed where they desired to go in the quick parlay's peace, yet she wasn't going to Canterbury for the Arch-bishop. She'd already done that, baring his dead corpse undignified to receive this dignity. On the road to Canterbury yet again, Faolan huffed that he preferred the boat yet understood why by land they moved. He too wished to see the woman who promised aid and wondered if she kept her promises. "Look, Lady," he pointed, touching the back of his woman "There was nay camp when last we were 'ere" (d)


Michael Vincere

The English paid their rights, asking questions to God who watched overhead. However, the men seemed to question the faith of their Commander as he paced through the tent aisles of their small city. No one ever saw him pray; he only walked their perimeter like a hungry dog salivating over its next meal. Vincere had often been compared to that of a demon; men told stories about his unique talents in war, how he handled half a dozen men in the time it took five of his own to ride 100 yards on horseback. Sanctioned, they could not fight, which every man felt it eat at their Commander, wounding him till he was reduced to pacing. A group of horsemen had arrived earlier in the evening, all
dressed in black with matching armor. It was Lord Mosby and Vizharen. Both men lingered in the tower lashed up to provide overwatch. Mosby puffed on his pipe while Percival sat brooding and looking at his nails. The sight of the
three was rather unnerving.[d]

Jean Claude de Aquitaine

The Frenchman thumbed the edges of his kerchief, inhaling the substance applied to it to ward away the scent of blood from the tent of injured men he had come from. Besides his accolades earned for his skill in war where none thought him capable, he was combing through with fine tooth precision with his maiden talent: medicine. Tucking the kerchief away he could only hope powerful drugs and liquor were enough to sedate the consciousness of a man who watched half awake as he lost his right leg. Where did he go? Beyond the gaze of the men in black with eyes stirring the soul toward the tent he knew she kept now. God, he would have sent her away himself if only you could dispell steel made roots that easily. "You should not be on your knees, your Grace, not when you have not rested..or been properly treated. Nor, do I think it so becoming a place for you.."


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Before the eyes of our maker, Master de Aquitaine, it is a fitting place. Will you come to help me rise from it, though, there are no more words to say for now.Have you seen the Commander..told him the state of his men?" To changethe mind was to change the thought she might let this be the war of men...yet his men became their men. Jean-Claude relayed the amount of lost limbs, lost sight, or loss to fever while reporting that it was not wide spread. He'd heard rumors of worse in the Spanish camps from their zealous prayers with fasting in men who had eaten little, lashing of the body to wounds won in battle. Discussions were heard on the matter as they passed beyond the canvas and in to the night air. Her hand upon his arm, his presence a slight shadow guarding what should have been a demure frame. Men bowed as they passed, "Your Grace, Master..." uttered. Legends were born in suspended times like this when all one had to do was tell the stories to their fellows. Jean-Claude commanded a calvary in Plymoth not to be forgotten while the woman beside him still moved despite a limp she never allowed to be evident..now seen. Let it be seen. If she could maneuver in a world of hurt, so could they. (d)

Martin lePower

Elder lePower sat more than he stood of late, making notes in metal encased wax tablets, as did his ancestors in this very country in times of Invaders from Rome, his folk among those from the Empire. He was present in body his mind was off in plans, spinning webs, nets to protect and machinations of defense tactics. Soon he might be called to action, so it bode well to be ready. He glanced at the others between pages but did not interrupt their affairs, well not yet that is. (d)

Percival Vizharen

"No matter how fast you pace, mate, the battle will not come sooner." Percival called out. He had a cokeney accent, one that left the sound of forks scraping the surface of plates in your ear. He always picked at someone, agitating them. Percival stopped the inspection of his nails long enough to glance at Vincere, smirking a bit. Percival didn't wear armor, but he wore a black cape and matching tunic. He looked more like a pirate, with the stylish boots and posh sword at his side, but he was perhaps the sharpest marksman in the battalion, which explained his lack of cumbersome things. --

Michael Vincere

"I'm anxious. I remember the last time I fought Spanish. We were with Apollo and that bloody Osteria lot. Now a dec-ade later, they return half expecting m'self dead. They are as useless now as back then."--


Jacob Mosby

"Dunno mate. I neva' worked against such an adamant foe. As skilled with war machines as they are trainin', it's
disheartenin' it is; to the men I mean?" Mosby said, glancing between the two. --



Percival Vizharen

"Bah, shut it. Wha' you know about the Spanish, huh? Insultin' my intelligence he is, with that load o' bollocks. We'll sort the Spanish lot out soon enough; you both need to settle your nerves. I like cleaning my nails. It's quite refreshing to look at my hands without dried specks o' blood caked underneaf them all; know wha' I mean?"--

Michael Vincere

"No one knows wha' you mean, Percival. You are f**kin' looney, you are." --

Percival Vizharen

"Hmph."[d]

Claramae St. Laurence

In the not so far off distance, St. Laurence watched with de Aquitaine the little trio of men as if a play of bodies. What did they mean in their body language, one asked? The other replied that it seemed to be discussion of things to which all agreed no one understood the Lord Vizharen, "He really isn't as terrible as he presents himself, he is merely a Quandry. He always has been." Said one who's life was spent unraveling the problems of empire; thus it stood to reason that the right application would rid England of this Spanish rash to which it was infected. By now the wheels of the carriage creaking, rocking side to side on unsteady road wasobvious to the ear. As Jean-Claude stepped infront of her, call it habit, she indulged it. They could do so little to protect her she reasonably allowed.


Faolan O'Connor and Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

Putting his head outside of the carriage, Faolan thought it best to produce his full body, "I've the carriage o' the Duchess o' Dublin, n' the Sir LePower with me, the Govenor's cousin n' her man of defense! M'lady has business with her as official matter n' as kin, let us pass!" Pretty please passed no tight mouth as once enemies glared hard at one another. England and Ireland had larger things to worry about than old rivalries. The way the world was now mattered more than how it was then. Thinking hard on it, the man gave a wave of his hand, signaling their allowance. "Kin approach!" It seemed safer than screaming what titled individuals made for good shooting practice. Evangeline defied what was asked of her, parted the carriage shutters, and looked on the canvas city. (d)

Martin lePower

"Jenks? Where did that lad go?" The lad of twenty eight years, still a boy to Martin. "Jenks? Did my daughter show up yet? I sent for her , so where is she?" Such thoughts were best kept unvoiced. He let his face be seen, So pale and tired he appeared , for the journey wore on Martin. "Why are we stopping, Your Grace?" He blinked for he had been "resting his eyes".Harmless, did he look that old? Oh my, yes that and more. The ideas raced in his mind but the blood barely moved in his exteremeties; his feet went asleep on the ride. "Are we here already?" (d)

Percival Vizharen

"Looky wha' we got here.." Percival said, raising himself to a standing position and stepping from the tower. He was a tall man of moderate build, obviously atheletic and older. His dark hair made his skin seem paler, but he was quite handsome despite his sour reputation.--

Michael Vincere

Michael turned a placed a hand to Percival's chest, pushing him back. "They aren't here for you, so bugger off will ya'. We do not need you scarin' off all the folk who show. --

Jacob Mosby

Mosby just shook his head. All the time with these two, all the time.--

Percival Vizharen

"I'd prefer it, good sir, if ya' took your hands off me." He pinched Vincere's thumb and tossed the hand aside. "I was going to have m'self a piss. If y' want to hold it for me that bad, y'should'a just told me, mate." --

Michael Vincere

"Bah.. piss off, will ya?" --

Percival Vizharen

"That, was the plan, Commander.."[d]


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Kin approaches? It is Evangeline...and Faolan, they live!" The rapture was like a rising sun melting away the severity of pomp and pain. She looked as young as her lack of expression belied. Wincing, she let go of Jean-Claude's arm and moved as quick as her feet could carry her. In fact, the woman of utmost decorum earned the gasp of her men as they saw her limp-a-run-, limp-a-run to that carriage. Inside sat a woman with the same though, a man who was pleased to see the source of the promise still alive.


Faolan O'Connor

"Ye should ide with us next time, Sir LePower, no need tae prove yerself on tha horse. England has your service," said the knight, dismounting as to assist his lady from the carriage. "We be here, sir....Ev..Evangeline!"


Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

Like a ghost over fields ran a lady as pale as the white rose of her fame. All she needed was that sight, that one precious sight. Above in the tower what would it be made of as an voice rose in all its Gaelic glory, "Claramae!" as to make it seem that name was never English? Indeed, both women were the side of an extreme in their heritage. Both were Anglo-Irish, each raised in Ireland or England respectfully. "Yer alive, yer alive, God be praised..Ah was sae worried, they told me 'o' Plymoth n' I thought..."

Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"No, No it seems precious little can kill me save thought of your absence! I could take no more death least of all yours, Eva.." She cared not how hurt she was nor how bruised. Jean-Claude could see from exposed skin the swollen scars across her back, but she cared so little.."You live, and Faolan? You have brought LePower with you..bright angel! Thank you, thank you a thousand times.."

Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

"Yer hurt....yer hurt! Wot did they dae tae ye, wot did they dae.." (d)

Martin lePower

He drew the horse reins back and lowered his heels in the stirrups, holding this unfamiliar mount in place "Your Grace" He spoke loud enough to let her know he was greeting her but not to cut into the conversation with Eva."Jenks? Where has he got to now? " It was clear the old man required someone to take the notebooks off his hands during dismount.(d)

Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"No more or less than I have ever received and sought to combat before with vigor, now come.." She recovered a semblance of half-self with a portion of humor in the last words, but the smile by half was the true treat. "You must all need food, rest.." She waved a hand to LePower while then turning to clear her throat at a guard who stood, baffled, by the display. He had not been either at Oxford nor in privy chambers with the woman when the stone exterior came away. He did not know the Lady Govenor, the Duchess, that used a name so openly. "Stop staring you fool! Can you not see that the Chief Architect and Engineer requires aid? That man's mind will keep England aloft so you gowith expedience to his side, assist him, and bring him forth to the tent constituting as my living quarters at once! I will fetch His Grace, our Commander, myself." "But he's with..with.." "With whom? He may be with them below as well, tis my Brother and Mosby. It is good for such heroes to meet other heroes, and I can only imagine poor Mosby needs respite from listening to the Lord Vizharen speak e'er so long. Go!" The lad was young but knew what it was to obey an order (especially if rumors were true and she rode a horse over a priest who barred her way in Oxford with no qualms). Erstwhile, a voice called up to the tower three, "Your Grace, my husband! Will you come down to see who has ridden in? I bring you the Architect and Engineer, The Lady of Dublin, and her good Knight! I will be in the tent, the living quarters, so it please you." Of course a messenger went up to relay the message..but who missed that? All of the excitement aggrivated previous pain pushed away, so that it returned with a sharp vengence, "Mm, come, cousin. I have exhausted my time out of doors, and require to sit..no doubt like yourself. Falon comes I see, he assist lePower as well."

Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

"O'Connor is good tae us all,vera admirable his service given the circumstance, tis a lot fer an Irishman tae swallow as much crow as he has tae dae it all..look at ye.." she fussed, wearing only dirt smudges where the contortions hidden in her eyes made her ache of heart. She smiled at a not far off Jean-Claude with no sort of maudlin suggestions, only the sunshine it was fabled she carried with her inspite of her own maudlin experiences. "Good evenin', Yer Grace, my cousins!" They turned to reunite in the prescribed tent. A reunion long over-due. (d)

Martin lePower

Riding was easier than either the before or the after. He slid off easier with some assistance, his feet awake now but feeling full of needles and pins. "Thank you for you kind assistance." On even ground, all energy had recharged and once his dark blue robes were smoothed from being rumpled ahorse, it was as if he had been here all along. "I see things are on their way." He tested a guy rope for one of the tents, a ruse to gain his balance. It had not escaped him, seeing the lady still suffer from her injuries. That sight hurt him as much as if it had been himself .(d)

Michael Vincere

Michael came without company, stepped in moments after Clair's entourage. He remained silent, his intense gaze peering over the ones inside the tent. Like some of the men, he remained armored and wore a sword at his side. He wore nothing to indicate his rank, as he preferred to appear as the rest of his soldiers did. Patiently and quietly, he tried to figure out what the hell was going on.[d]

Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

The Frenchman loomed like a shadow materialized form now where, himself offering to hold the tent flap back for the aged man with the mind that never tired. That he should possess such a mind! What things they would have to speak of"Monsieur, please, after you. I do not believe she will mind our presence so much. It is good you live." Faolan followed after, a bow for him, though his eyes drifted to his lady companion. It was hard to believe such gentility bore relation to the feminine incarnation of nails.

Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

When all had entered, Evangeline spoke for the company. Reliquishing hold of Claramae, Evangeline lowered herself in a curtsy with a head viewing the floor, "Yer Grace, Lord Commander, n' my cousin..I've come tae tell ye news. Twould be fer ye, sir, were it nay tha' I learned your lady wife lived, n' was here as well. Now it will be fer ye both. Should it please ye.." Faolan wanted to be done of the damned formality, "pardon me, yer graces, n' Evangeline...but let me be plain. When we left they were settlin river blocades tae make sure the Spanish did nay try the Thames as a way tae come in. E'ery place o' import in London be under guard, we touched the roads tae the South a bit tae..lookin fer ye, seems they are heavy guarded sae I hope we can leave. Govenor o' Ireland's called us back. The Duke o' Surrey has laid seige tae Dunlace n' Dublin is also beset."

Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

She could not pretend to know the shock that Michael would feel as she took all news given while holding his hand. It was not only to support the body with gravity as it lowered, for that was a trivial reason.It was to draw strength from his strength, nearness from his person. She appeared as much a woman who was wife to a man as a leader who waslaying plans for the nation's survival. "Surrey? An open hole then, it will need be filled immediately..I am sorry I was not able to deal with him before he went to wreak such havoc. This is another part of our dilemma, husband, and gathered friends. The English who did not distern Ireland was no longer there for the taking have laid long annoyance to the nation. Imparticular, a place called The Pale, long held of the old English King and English Lords, still knew such turmoil. The Lady O'Cathasaigh, my cousin, and her knight O'Connor are of the Pale, as she is the descedant of Anglo-Irish parentage. Dublin is in her keeping, along wih the faithful counties. It was a problem to be addressed at the end of this quandry, yet now it istands to reason of Surrey took Englishman, he may have taken Spaniards with him."

Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

"I dun know, I only know tha' they went tae Dunlace when the Govenor was on his way tae Dublin..his wife be there in Dunlace his children." So intent was the nature to plead part of her wanted to bow, but enough of her was against it as to keep her rigid. Faolan spoke wordless for her not to bow before her own kindred for God sakes, for the woman who was determined to see Dublin herself again was moving to extremes, they were all moving to extremes. "Fergive me..ah have tae gae. Ah brought with me as many messages from the South n' West as Ah could...n' from Scotland as well, the Borders...."

"You've kept your promise cousin beyond anything that can be asked..you've penetrated the line before my husband's conquering of the North and even now, your channe;s assist in keeping it open.." She looked to michael, to add more. official..family, it mattered little. For it was his war as much as anyone else's, his country for he led these men so long, so very long (d)

PercivalVizharen: "Wha' promise was tha'?" Percival said from the back of the tent. He let the canvas door fall behind him, making a small racket as he pushed his way toward the center to see everyone inside. He looked rather amused.--

"It doesn't concern you, Percival." Michael said, sighing heavily. "We are already stretched on numbers here. If we split now, we lose the advantage of numbers. Numbers needed to shove the Spanish North." Michael admitted openly, and the news he gave was rather disheartening.--

"Send Mosby and I."[d]

Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

She sighed, pushing herself up from her chai. Hand sliding up Michael's shoulder to ask for calm she made an introduction. "Percival, The Duchess Evangeline O'Cathasaigh of Dublin, and the knight of the Govenor Sir Faolan 'O'Connor.It is because of them that our channels were kept open, if not broadened beyond borders. What success you have had is also tributed to them. Evangeline, you have not yet met my half brother, I have told you of him only.."


Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

"Sir, a pleasure. Yer reputation proceeds ye, London is full o' talk of yer deeds.." as well as his habits, but it was not to be focused on at present. Her heart was sinking, and part of her wanted to rage...it is your home too! But she didn't, Faolan on the other hand was highly displeased,


Faolan O'Connor

"Why nay drown them in the sea wot just be yon? Somewot about livin in England tha' makes it complicated.."

Evangeline O'Connor

"Faolan, be still!"

Faolan O'Connor

"Nay, m'lady. M'apologies but a promise is a promise, n' tha the evident reason be wot it is.Frankly ye've had less fer longer n' done more with it. At least release those among yer men tha' are Irish sae we may scrape by as yer uncontrolled dogs shyte all o'er our country." Evangeline offerd a whispered apology for his conduct.


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Despite your deplorable language, Sir O'Connor..you are right. A promise is a promise. You both have done extraordinary things on our behalf without so much as seeking a thanks. If the Spanish are free to move to any free land, especially parts of Ireland not yet recovered nor as advanced as the rest of the realm , do not think they can not cross the border into Scotland. In fact, if they take Dunlace, they may set sail for Skye whilst using the North to close us all. Michael, I will not do this without you..not this time," she breathed , "With words we may move many..can we not..from the south, seek some number to go with them, with Mosby and Percival, with them to Ireland? We use every resource we have, the army of the nation and our own private forces are deployed..." It was so, the forces of the estate had also mobilized, joining with the ranks..nor was it amatter of esbionage. Even then the forces they could conjure would be small indeed, "Michael...please." So little...or never, was that word uttered. The King once heard it, and he nearly fainted. "Please..husband. For the promise, and for it is my mothers' homeland, and Dublin is the one thing left of her. It has been raped from the O'Casey hands for years..and now in them again, to lose it would be the Clan's ruin..Eva's ruin, and even in part mine. She is my mother's sister's child. I beg you. (d)

Percival Vizharen

"If I may be so bold to point out.. most of the southern portion of England has been freed up. Liberated or wha' have you. Perhaps Mosby and m'self --yawn-- can get some of the south togever, and sail to Ireland to boast their numbers, kno' wha' I mean?"--

Michael Vincere

Michael took a deep breath, listening to everyone. His face turned a soft red at the outburst from the Knight, but he kept his bearing and didn't jump up to shout back. He ran his hand through his long blonde and looked to Clair, analyzing her expression then looking to Perci and Eva. "Percival raises a valid point. I overlooked the number in the south. He and Mosby hold the authority to pull numbers from the south. I do not know how many, but it should be enough till I can devote more following my assault."[d]


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Contain yourself before the Lady, Percival." tight mouthed, tight lipped as she glared up at him, yet eyes did pay him a debt of thanks. He didn't what it meant, that somewhere in her to know Ireland would be safe. The one thing of Claramae you can suspect was Gaelic was her temper. "Yet it is a good thing you offer..O'Connor, no more harsh words. You offend my cousin." She turned her eyes to Mosby, him too receiving her relief, "Mosby, what is your esitmation on the number you can arrange for Irish cause?"

Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

Oh aye, assistance now that even his wife had to plead. One day soon he would be thankful, when his anger didn't make the world look so read. Jean-Claude uttered his own slight obscenity in the Lord's name in vain at such swearing.Faolan's hands came to rest on the shoulder's of Eva, "Wot ye spare we thank ye, we dae.." A lot would be better than a little, but a little was better than none. LePower distracted the Frenchman with talks of fortifications, trenches to dig by having the city dwelling men come out so as to provide a ditch of sorts several yards before the outer walls, a catch-up to the Spanish if you will. There'd be no time to construct a sea wall..that was for years, not hours..but they would draw out something.. In all of the muttering, Percival found Evangeline's hand graze his. With his deduction he would note that she retained a lightness in features where Claramae received the darker, yet he could see some of the features shared with his sister. Her tale was not known to him yet, other than she had to return to a place as besieged as this one (d)


Jacob Mosby

Surprised he'd even been noticed, he jumped at the shift in focus toward him. Mosby was a disheveled man with blond hair and matching beard. He was pale but built like an ox; he looked every part the soldier he was rumored to be. Armored like his commander, he stood up and looked a loss for words. He found his bearing during his approach to the center. His accent was a choppy Scottish. "To tell you the truth, I am pretty certain we can gather around six to seven hundred. I have an old friend back in London I can call upon; he owes me a few favors. You needn't worry about Ireland, I assure you. When my boys show up, your problems will disappear. I promise that, or my honor you can take." --

Percival Vizharen

Percival took the scolding wordlessly, but turned when he felt the lady touch his hand softly. His dark eyes narrowed and he glanced down to her hand then back up. There was a pause, and he shifted his gaze to Mosby who spoke with more respect and confidence. "See? Wha' I tell ya. It's all sorted, I say. When do we leave?"[d]

Faolan O'Connor

"Tha' is a number.." he said it in quantifying how much of an expense it must have been. He couldn't read, but he could count. Hundreds when you were pushing back thousands was a signficant loss, but it was a gain he was thankful of Ireland to get.

Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

."Aye, it is a number, n' ye said there were already some a'sent tae Ireland, surely, men o' the Griffin on station who must have joined the Govenor's men...we will make dae.." She squeezed Faolan's hand, it was a contribution! Their two bodies of work for six or seven hundred souls! "Thank ye..God bless ye." She rose, embracing Percival, "Thank ye cousin." Then to Mosby, and lastly to Vincere..


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Yes, the men were not recalled when the war intensified beyond squabble. At least five hundred men moving throughout the pale. They may be spread about the Island by now, but surely will come if you call, if they are not with His Grace the Govenor already..."


Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

"Within hours let us depart..Ah think tae make one last, timely thin' afore we make tae Eire. Ah've an audience with the King tae make due upon. Tae tell him o' ye all..more than yer messages can describe on paper.." To tell the King how they served him, and to beseech of their service men of the clans who did not move toward England nor Scott/English Border. The men of Wales spilled forth into England to keep the spanish out, for if anything was worse than war with Old England, it would be war with New Spain. Evangeline would stand with Faolan, unknowing that already in Struan a ship had come baring the Govenor's children to the Queen's arms. Could the empire built on freedom's call stay free? How far to keep a promise.." ah will serve ye well n' his presence, Ah promise."

Faolan O'Connor

Faolan moved to offer Michael his hand, "N' I. I will tell the Govenor tae o' this day. Tha' nay everythin n' England is made pretty by the black n' Gold. Tis made real, n' good, by the likes o' ye. Evangeline told me there was more tae England than this. I did nay believe till now. Ye have m'thanks sir, n' my sword." (d)

Percival Vizharen

"Hmm.. yes.." He said while being embraced. Pfft, he hated being the good sort. He took a deep breath and sighed out, standing from the table he'd taken a casual lean. He cast his cape back a bit to show the tools of war holstered at his side, only to brush past those assembled to disappear out of the tent. Something annoyed the man, and he meant to deal with it away from the group.--

Michael Vincere

Michael squeezed Evangeline softly and let her pass only to be confronted with Faolan. He took the man's hand, and nodded. "A honor, I assure you." Like Percival, Michael didn't look entirely too happy, but he managed to fake a smile well enough to fool those around him. He let the Knight's hand go to turn back and linger by his wife.--

Jacob Mosby

After Mosby's moment, he had drifted toward the back again, remaining quiet and watching while things were sorted. He was happy that he could actually help.[d]

Evangeline and Faolan

Consumate actors every one; still the gift given wouldn't be taken for granted so she didn't speak of it. The Knight wondered, too, what strained faces. Did regret pattern the choice they made?Like Eva he said nothing, only returned to her side with hands to shoulders revealing much in their touch.

Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"I know you both are paired, believe me when I tell you that none know attempts of concealment more than Michael and I..have you made arrangements to be wed?" (d)

Jacob Mosby

Mosby turned to leave the small gathering to see what Percival was getting into now. The man left in what looked to be quite the hurry. Mosby's gaze narrowed and he disappeared into the crowd to find the elusive Lord.--


Michael Vincere

Michael took a seat to listen.[d]


Faolan O'Connor

"Nay, m'lady, we have nay. Tis nay been a moment fer such things, n' twas nay somethin tha' m'lady wished tae press right away. There have been some instances the last..pair o' years.." He tried to find a way to say nothing was as simple, the course of love never did run smooth.


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Michael, do you remember that we wed some ludacrist numbers of years later.." Was it two, near to three years after a German situation? She sighed as her hand slid in to his one more time. "In the party of men, I will make sure to include a priest, so that Dublin is led by its Lord, as is proper. I believe England is well led by Michael. The men respect him greatly, his humility, and his valor" (d)

Michael Vincere

"Many years after, I recall." He added, smiling at her gesture. When she slid her hand into his own, he squeezed her's lovingly.-- "That is too kind of you to say, Claramae." He smiled, and squeezed her hand again. "Might I add oneminor detail? About Percival that is?"[d]


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Indeed, it is good information to know.." Eyes indicated to the pair they should pay heed to Michael for the sake of fathoming Percival's mood. Her head came to rest against his shoulder, her other hand rubbing at a small fire in her sides (d)

Michael Vincere

"Be very mindful of where you send that man. He appears to be helpful, but he's slippery. There are times I find him counter productive. Mosby is a good leader, and a good soldier, but he can not always keep Percival on his leash. " [d]


Evangeline and Faolan

"Is he a man or a bloodhound, a leash?" Evangeline arched a brow where Faolan began to chuckle at the thought of the man with the odd accentneeding to be controlled. Ireland was a fine place, and even without his sisters unique methods, he might well be tempered. The weight of the woman in his arms, being so open, was something he could never want to take back. Why, heeven saw the claddaugh on her finger. All was calm, until he looked with worry on the face of what would be his kins woman across the table. "M'lord yer lady wife looks fer wont o' color." (d)


Michael Vincere

"Indeed. If you all would excuse us and allow me to tend to my wife, I'd be grateful." He offered a kind smile while rubbing her hand softly.[d]


Evangeline O'Cathasaigh

"Aye, o' course. We will take our rest, tis best afore we leave.. be well ye both, n' God bless ye." Evangeline rose with the assistance of the Knight. Worried for her cousin, she touched her hand in passing before the Irish faded off in to the night.


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

As they left, Claramae let her mouth move in to a smile despite the fact the pain increased in places not spoken aloud. It never was, yet to her credit she was never so open with her hurts either. "To tend your wife my lord? So grand a warrior has so tender a heart for a woman made of stone?" So went the common rhetoric. To be a woman was better than the unfathomable monster of popular horror. "Would you lend me both hands, that I might turn to face you?" (d)


Michael Vincere

"You're not of stone, lover. More like.. a pretty butterfly with a stinger, or sommat like that." He said, chuckling. He offered both his hands, and aided her in turning to face him fully. He was still chuckling.[d]


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Your Grace, a butterfly with a stinger? Such a thought as to imagine the most glorious, genteel creature with venom! Michael your view of the world is far better than mine for all it is worth..Ooh..ooow." Expressions of discomfort eclipsed the tail end of the sentence, bringing her to lean forward as she laughed, "My back, Jean-Claude says, must be a heated, swollen thing of pink stripped scars that he made fade away flared to life for being on horseback so.."(d)

Michael Vincere

"Well, I just said that cause I know I didn't marry a statue." He helped her to her bed to lay down, and helped in the process. He didn't stop till he was laying beside her, and on his side to look at her. "I hope this helps your back."[d]


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Mm, you would know..when you found me again you made me become quite animated in my frustrations," By his hands, his feet following her feet they left the gathering place. Guards stood outside the tent doors, and the moon was full as if to say the lateness of night brought quiet. No man would move this night, let the parlay make a few hours more of precious peace. Down on her side, the eyes of one matched the eyes of the other. "Oh...yes my love, it helps marvelous much, thank you. I am over extended, do your old hurts bother thee at times, and for all the world you swallow it up so that none see? I fear this is weeks worth of that," sin confessed, cheeks flushing with a soft sigh, " It is the scars from..the Gottschalkian time . Jean Claude did a great much to minimize their length, or depth, but there is much by way of scar tissue he could not undo. At times it feels as if all my back is an open, raw thing. Yet to push it means to bend, to bendmeans to stretch the scars to keep them supple..yet the cuts had gone down toward the muscle. My mind fathoms it, yet still does not wish to believe it ever happened. My ankle is less of a legend, I twisted it, before plymoth." (d)

Michael Vincere

"I don't hurt much anymore. I've rarely fought at the front lines, and old aches no longer linger for me." He admitted, scooting closer to her. He listened to the detail of her wounds, and even grimaced at the description of some. "The back and ankle can not be feeling too well at all. Is there anything I can do? To ease the pain that is?" He casually ran his hand through her hair while staring into her eyes.[d]

Saul Apollius

Outside, amongst the men and tents, a single lute began to play and a voice sang out over the small gatherings. The voice was familiar..


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Will you tell me if my back is swollen," She admitted, "If it is perhaps a gentle rubbing will help. I detest the chilled water at times. God, you do not fight upon the front lines yet I am hell bent upon it, why can I not learn from your sense...You behave as a Commander should behave. I became too invested, too emotioned, in his." The touch of his hand to her face was though the finest medince (d)

Saul Apollius

"Kind friends and companions together combined. Lift up your voices in chorus with mine! We will drink and be merry all grief to refrain. For we may or might never all meet.. here again. So here's a health to the company and one to my lass. Let us drink and be merry all out of one glass..."

Michael Vincere

His hands would be warm to the touch, but his touch was feather soft, and he felt along her back. "You are quite swollen, love. But you are in luck cause.. I am available to help you. I'm a doctor I am.." He said, mocking some off tuned accent.-- He chuckled and lightly rubbed her back. "I fight when its required of me, and when the men need the morale, but I must remain reserved. If I fall, who is to take my place. You have to ask yourself that question, and realize at the end of the day, your survival is a key one for success. As inhuman as it sounds, you can lose men, but they cannot lose you." A quote from Apollo himself. He continued to rub her back.[d]

Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"What the hell, a Bard strummin' away durin this time, even without a battle were by Canterbury tis a mournin time! 'eh, 'eh, Shut up you fool tis a mourning time in the city for the Archbishop!" The night watch whispered harsh enough to hiss at full tone, interrupting the sweet guitar music, the voice she knew to be Saul's so there was no point in intervening. She only sighed, laying gently on her belly as he ran his hands across her back. She felt like babe, being soothed to calm. For once she listened to what it was he said. She fought for the morale of the men, yet the greater reason was the belief her skills should all be used. It was what she was meant to do for the disintegration of the state was beyond the most prevalent skill set yet required the militant. Still, what would become of it if she were to die of her own over-zealous pace? "No, it isn't inhuman. My problem, Michael, I have not felt apart of the human race in many years, only in the last few to remember so much of the human condition. It feels as though to push myself will preserve all that I dare love that much more, yet the body falls apart so it can not do the will of the mind. Yet..you are right. I do far more than is required of me. Do you think that our King sees the love and friendship, the thanks I bare him in all that is done? A love in perfect service? Talion saw the same thing," She nearly died for him, too. He came to one place where on her back branches splayed out to form the signs for what was east of Eden. She tensed up, tears coming to her face.Someone in the camp then said to let the music go on. Aye, let it. "We will never have Honheldagus again,at least it will do me well to know that enough here stands to one day see it again, that my mother's home is not asunder...to live enough to return to Skye to what is awaiting us.."(d)

Michael Vincere

"I see you worry too much what other's think. You have never failed, or come close to it. Your years of service remain unprecedented, remarkable, exemplary. If our King does not recognize your sacrifices, your love-- then he is blind. You are everything I could not be, and more; and I love you a great deal for everything you do, even when I am not around." Michael had always been a firm believer in doing the right thing. Even if no one was watching, it brought solace to him knowing he did what he could. Why he was never knighted? -- He kissed her forehead and thumbed away her tears. "Sorry, I won't press so hard, love."[d]


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

Indeed, why was he never? A man who behaved so simple in the way he moved or fought proved a man who was as deep as the sea. His memories were like Claramae's memories, far too exact. On a certain day they could tell you what the quality of light was like in a no-name corner no one would care of save them. She filled too many corners with too many memories but kept little for herself. "Is it so plain. I could say it is curiosity, but I do care, as I have cared to mold his thoughts with lessons, a part of me would be hurt if he could find no love shown in my service, for it can be shown in few other ways. I will always be seeming stone, for not many need be as close as the likes of you..but enough..to have a family. Such a fine husband you are, that I do not deserve it. You are strong, virtous, far more intelligent than you let any think. What would Percival do if he knew you really could play chess.." She chuckled weakly, leaning in to his touch of face, "Alright. I can not be sure if it was you or merely..just was (d)

Michael Vincere

"You do deserve it, and so much more." He said, chuckling. She reached out and touched his face and he reached with his free hand to comb through her hair. "He might feel threatened, with his chess skills that is." He leaned forwardand softly kissed her lips. "I am the luckiest man in all the world, you know that, right?"[d]


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"He would simply wet himself, and I would lose all decorum and laugh." Every touch, every look was a moment stolen from the ones where war loomed near. For this night they were neither noble, nor rules, nor leading a war. They were only husband and wife , "You are so lucky, even outside of Canterbury in a tent?" Kiss returned, she gently whispered against them, "If you are, than so am I." Percival didn't know the Michael who had come to her estate in Orkney with poems to share, debates to discuss, and a shared sympathy neither was very musical. To compensate, they read and created poems. Frankly, Michael was as cultured, if not more, than her half brother. He was the one who spoke with her in Irish-Gaelic, a tongue that sounded interetsting on his wife's pristine English accent. It was what her mother spoke to her, though a consumate courtier, was still Irish. "I love you, with all my heart." (d)

Michael Vincere

Until recently, Michael hadn't remembered what occurred in Orkney. Now, it all had returned to him, but he kept it secret. He was good with secrets.-- Smiling at what she said, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. There was a small sigh. "It is taking all I am to restrain myself from you. I don't think I could weather my hurting you; I'd feel selfish." He kissed her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. [d]


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Just be gentle with me, as you have been...as you were.." He told her his memory was restored of him once, yet not how far it extended. His secrets were still her fond dreams of yore. Softly chuckling, the sound played with the lantern near their bed, making the flame jump. "You will have to save the vigor for after we are home, no?" Another laugh, as only he could manage to create them. (d)


I pray that you remember me, remember us, for something other than our precision. Remember too that we lived.

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

We write of where we are, now you may look on what has been.

Warwickshire, Prior to Plymoth 1333

[Lady Eleanor Plantagenet]

Echo Empty, Echo Filled
'maybe it is not only me, after all.'



Eleanore of Woodstock




England, in the Year of the Griffin 1333, August.

Eleanore sat on a dias in Windsor Castle to the chagrin of the very last time she had sat there before; shadows played on the walls forming the body of a messanger from Canterbury. Her head tilted surveying his little show as mouth moved. No words? It was not too suprising that the shadow man had no sounds. Her own voice, strangely, dinged a distant bell tune in the back of her mind. Her shock, her strange surprise that his Eminence was in danger at
all...

"My Lady..your Highness..."
Was that a voice of yore calling to her? She was, seven perhaps..maybe six. In the garden...a voice sounding like her father..

"Princess.."

One ear was too turned to the past. Bother, she must make the one situated on the present listen with affinity for England was in great peril, and it befell her the duty to sit upon the little dias, to recieve word, to send it. It befell her to sit on the little dias in duty of what no woman ever does. "My lady there is going to be fighting at Canterbury, it is advised that you make some course of escape immediately. Your sister, the Lady Joan, is already gone.." Delicate little thing lifted hand made of flesh spun porcelin before shaking it thrice - no, no no. It was lowered with Grace as her shadow nodded approval as the sensible part of her head said that it was good, that it would do and she merely had to listen. To think. "Her Grace the Duchess, the Lady Govenor is not yet back. What news of my brother?"

"He fights beside the Lord Commander. But if ideas gather you will be an appealing thing to kidnap or.." She turned her eyes to the speaker who' sname she didn't know. Ever since the strange gathering of people from Scotland and Ireland left, the world felt different. Her world, already so changed by their coming felt vacant at their absence. Why was everyone always...leaving? "Are you not supposed to to take care of me sirs, and leave as you think it best? For I would like to stay. Isn't it a sign of bravery to the people, for a Princess to stay?"

Was it part of the treatment of malady to negotiate choice? She wanted in a way, no more choices. Nothing was a dress in the season as the fashions changed to such extremes that her blossoming shape would be no mystery..in the right garment. Pieces for the neck, arms, even the hair were different! Yet the people who had taken her father from his place called her still 'Princess' for to hear the word Countess would bring on the fits. Windsor Castle didn't look the same without them. Her brother's heroism as he was a man. Joan's steady soul. 'Her Grace'. The cold, unfeeling voice had given rise to the only stability of presence she had truly ever known. The kindly physician, Master de Aquitaine, so mysterious..different. He was more than a physic yet she could not quite say what. More talking, a lowered head as man squabbled around her. Eyes sealed as she bid their voices diminish. Her body touched by the man who reigned over Oxford as a king once reigned over England. She sat on a little dias..remembering a King that sat in a throne.

"Where is the Earl?"
"Which Earl?"
"Lord Atherton.."
"He is fighting."

They decided her fortunes with such affinity. No longer able to contain herself for want of the farce she rose with more grandeur than originally seated. "I must abide in my chambers, my lords, I beg your pardon. If it is your will we shall leave let my ladies prepare it so...send me word, please? Should they come back." (d)



Cedric Atherton III

"Cedric, love, what do you stare at?"
"That bird struggles so Mother. It is hurt..can I help it?"
"Dearest, it is damaged and therefore useless to the world. Your Father..."
"He is WRONG. It is beautiful and lovely, and can still be useful. Even damaged..."

Conversation fluttered through the mind of an old man. Sanity struggling, as if a moth caught in a spider's web, to find release from its dark prison as the stars overhead...their precious light smothered by inky blackness... The Earl of Warwick, a man both respected and feared, stared out the window of the carriage as it rode through the night. There was barely a moon to light the way yet the man would not allow a pause in their journey. Somewhere in the midst of fighting a break allowed for brief conversation, a Duchess to an Earl, of the harm to possibly come to Elenore.
Within barely a blink it seemed the Earl left the fighting to go be of more use for Elenore could be compared to the little bird that he had longed to save as a child though was unable. England was being torn apart at the seams and it grew increasingly dangerous for any of the former heirs to be within its borders. The man fought his insanity better these days, the sense of urgency and constant purpose seeming to ground a floundering mind. Soon they would be upon the gates of Windsor Castle, the man upon top pushing mounts at break neck speeds in fear of what could happen, where a lovely birdie nested. (d)


Eleanore of Woodstock


"What is it like to die?"
"Ma'petitie..such thoughts. Not becoming are they of a young woman."
"I still wonder what it would be like to die. Is it like being born.. backwards."


The guards sealed the heavy doors behind her, but none of them followed her steps. Why should they? A guard was at every door, at every corner. The clank of armor, the way they crossed the poles with great, gruesome sharps on them reminded her always of execution. "England is dying, again.." she said to nothing, to no one in the halls. Fear of her was tadamount only in the pity too one might render. Mourning for a mind taken too soon to the depths of macabre despair. Poor child; poor sweet child-woman straddling the edges of infinity. She slid out her slipped foot as if to dance, but didn't finish the step before walking again. She continued her speech with fingers thread together, "Will God just not take it up, like a bird with a broken wing? Will he not just take it up, to heaven, as it is written in the bible so they tell me. England is broken, and no one wants a spoiled thing anymore." No one wanted a thing spoiled. Sullied was she so young used. Consumated in consecrated marriage bed and sent hence away. Abandoned by mother; now an enemy for her mother did not try to save them. Would they have been an enemy of the new country where it was warm so often? Somewhere she heard her mother in Spanish speaking of her new life enough to wish that she could put her tiny hands inside of her skull to pull all her mother's matter out .She wanted to know, to find the piece of her..of anyone..that cared for Elenore. Poor, mad Eleanore. Dangerous Eleanore. Never lost, never..hurt, Eleanore. Her sister had tried to plead with her to leave, it was not her fault. They had gotten in to a fight for Jean-Claude was not there anymore to calm her. The poison's effects still haunted the whisper thin thread of her body or the contents of a mind spilling out on the floor through her vomit. She was still so sick.

"Eleanore we are leaving... what are you doing?"
"No, no, Joan. Must we leave? Can this not be our home, why must it burn..to cinders..why?"
"Eleanore please, they say we haven't much time....ow..Eleanore!"

Her hand, the one she played with now had struck Joan so hard that she had to craddle her cheek. She did so now, closing her eyes, ruing that she ever struck the one person whom tried..so hard.

"We have no time, come, My lady. Take her forcibly!"
"No, no my sister, Eleanore!"

Even as she smacked at Joan's pretty face.. Joan only clawed at her, to come, pleading..for her salvation. When she had changed her mind..when the fit ended..

she was gone. (d)



Cedric Atherton III


"Will I ever get better?"
"M'lord, I...I regret to say that I have not the answer."
"Perhaps then, sir, I would be better off dead. For it is against my will that I hurt those I love..."

Those words caused a cry, a gasp born of crushed heart, from the woman who'd stuck by his side longest. Many wives had the Earl buried, some lost in childbirth and others from illness, yet it seemed they all left eventually. One had committed ultimate sin against God to escape the clutches of a man gone mad, cursed by his Father's blood, by throwing fragile body off balcony and soul into Satan's burning grasp. Yet the last woman had cried at idea of losing him...until gentle eyes were rimmed red and sweet face warped by sorrow. It'd broken Cedric's heart so to hear those wrenching sobs that never again had death been wished for in loving presence. Then she had left him to be accepted into God's gentle hands and he'd been left alone. For the Earl knew all too well how easily they all left. Always so well-meaning in their kind words, careful not to offend, while they walked out the door without a backward glance. It was painful...so painful... Cedric had not been supported in the beginning of his sanity's decay yet had known it was coming. He'd grown up watching his Father's own mental state wash away as stone beat constantly by the ocean's waters. To be so young and alone as Eleanore though...Cedric desired to be a rock in a world inevitably breaking apart around her. A vulnerable soul that needed protection and kindness. He'd see that it was gotten. Out of the darkness the guards would see a black carriage approach the gate pulled by horses just as black in shade that foamed white with exertion. Upon top the man yelled out,"Open the gates and inform the Lady that the Earl of Warwick has come calling." None dared dispute the order for the symbol was clear upon side of coach, and gates drew apart to allow admittance to a crazed man who would act as savior to their Lady...(d)


Eleanore of Woodstock

Windsor castle was suspended in a season of paradox for the blossoms were heavy on the flower baring bush yet the fire was just over yonder hill. The grass was green yet no one talked of crops, nor anything familiar. "Open my door," the wind in her throat said to the guard. He did so, "then close it."

She was alone again. In this very room she'd grown sick enough to die but even God didn't want her, so he didn't take her. The silk of the gown and the tight, tight corset squashed her insides together. All day and now unto the eve. Poor, poor little bird. "Please..please." She began to prattle, trying to draw sense where none existed as tears came down her face..one of the maids rushed to her, "What is it?"

"It is too tightly bound please, unlace me."
"We must summon the others to prepare your..."
"unlace me!"

She shrieked, the maid jumped, and she apologized profusely after. Not too long after the poor maid began to situate the gown to some relief was it made known that the Earl of Warwickshire had come to call! From such despair did she rise up a moment. Did, did come? Maybe it was a sign! A sign of comings and goings..of..familiarity. The maid had hardly time to finish her ministrations before Eleanore nearly excited herself to fainting. "Please, Here, bring him here. To my sitting room, for the reception..please. I can not go another step to where I came." Or the excitement would be despair again. Too many memories along the way (d)


Cedric Atherton III


Aye, the Earl came to call with moon shrouded by night sky and while chaos erupted in parts of England. Such a civilized word during intense times. How was Elenore feeling at this moment? This was home and it wasn't safe any longer. Even Cedric felt saddened by that news yet was old enough to have faced distaster before. Carriage came to a halt, an order given to see the horses cleaned and fed. They would need fresh horses for the trip that Cedric had planned. Silver-tipped cane was gripped firmly as the Earl disembarked from his conveyance. "Where is your Lady this eve?" The butler at door offered to take Cedric's traveling coat then another moved to escort him toward where Elenore waited. Would she be lucid at this hour? Hopefully that was the case. The woman's safety was all that he cared about in this moment. How would he handle the matter if Elenore refused to go? I must be gentle with her. She's delicate. That was very true. A delicate and fragile soul at least mentally that Cedric didn't want to upset not frighten, or push too far. Those last strands snapping would be...well, there'd be no return from that kind of darkness. It was the one thing in the world that the Earl truly lived in fear of. "Lady Woodstock, I apologize for not sending word of my impending arrival." It was the first words out of mouth as he was allowed into the Lady's quarters. Cedric had changed into more suitable clothing though still sturdy- black trousers and a shirt shade of moss with black and green vest over, and a silk cloth at neck that gave him a dashing appeal. Even his wild hair was kept neat. (d)



Eleanore of Woodstock


"It is late...your rest, Madame. He should not stay long."
As much as it was detested, she had been married. Legally, she may still have been. Presidence to see the papers required sanity as to not clobber the barrister with candlesticks, or to scream as if she were being murdered.

"No, merely undue my stays, but a little. I only want to breathe, then depart"
"They are..undone, Madame."

As she took in her first full breathe of air all day it would be nightfall by then. She had walked the hall for


hours, come to her room, and forgot the passage of time. Warwick made it go again; imagine the meeting, how it would look in the others mind. A reversed mirror for science said behind the eyes things were flipped a'plenty. The maid would curtsy to the Earl. Was he not still an Earl in so much as she a Princess? England, England, falling down. England, England. Stubborn unto the last for even the Lady Govenor addressed Atherton by his peerage rank - was it hoped he would survive to see the new order truly erected from the ash? "Good eventide, My Lord. Of course, you are immediately forgiven. You are very busy I would imagine with little time to write..or..or send a messenger. They say it is very dangerous." Busy hands; fluttering wings moved a moment more before they calmed. "Please, won't you sit my lord, you look very tired." (d)


Cedric Atherton III

In this moment title mattered little to most of those who held it. What did it matter when the land was turned topsy-turvy? Fires burned as blood coated the land, soaking into the soil as easily as wine spilled upon a rug, and those who fought to stop it were intermixed of Scottish, Irish, and English origins. The tragedy being that some English sought to help the enemy. Traitors in its own backyard! "Bastards the lot of 'em be..." Words were muttered darkly under breath to avoid being heard by the ears of Elenore. It pleased the Earl greatly to see that she faired well if a bit shaken as evidenced by the fluttering of tiny, graceful hands. A pair of aged hands reached out to gently grasp them,"Calm, dear Lady, for I am well and the road was safe enough. I have been able to rest plenty." Though the opportunity had been presented Cedric hadn't slept. When was the last time? He could not recall clearly. "How do you fare?" A squeeze was of her hands by his own to soothe then released as not to bring anymore harm upon the young woman's reputation. "We, the Lady Governor and I, were concerned for your safety and health in these troubling times." The Earl lowered into a chair only as it'd be impolite to refuse such hospitality and motioned for Elenore to take a seat as well. "Have you been troubled any?" It was a question with double meaning for he meant both physically and mentally. (d)


Eleanore of Woodstock

England had been sovereign; she sought her crown to be privelged, and partook of things from others. Now, in the five years since she had become the property of another's crown the defeated rose up to be conquerors. All of England's children stood up in the Griffin's shadow to admire how the sun streaked it's scales after the canons ceased to blast, but now on knees bended did they cower under Spanish flags. Those that England had sought to conquer now came to defend her: Irish, Scottish, Welshmen. What was common place was gutted for a new way of life, but it was as old as child truly understanding what he could do when he walked, thought, or spoke. Irreverant and ill behaved the 'child' had to be beaten. Spain brought with it the heavy cross of Christ's anger on a nation in no need of salvation. It brought another King seeking to do what it had once done, what had already happened yet for the benefit of all the Griffin's beauty..could it save them? "I try to be calm, sir. I try to. If you advise it I will attend to it now." So commanded, so obeyed. All she wanted was a guide! Yet she was not incapable of thought, as Atherton knew. Otherwise the Archbishop, bless his soul, would not have tried to entrust knowledge to her. She could pass things along, keep secrets. She could make someone pleased. "You have come to see of me? I have had no visitors nor is it a time for them. My health is still very fragile, my lady's maids say. Master de Aquitaine left a fine physician in his place..but I do not think he strives to understand..so much as, stop..me." On the last fumble falter she looked as if she could have cried. Glossed eyes shed no tears for even so young she understood what it was to represent England. "I am still able to move, to speak and do so with less worry than before. They didn't take me with Joan because I was not well, they said I was a danger. A danger to my own sister. I am embarrased to say it is why I am still here and a worry to the Lady-Govenor. Her Grace is not in danger herself?" She grasped his hands tightly, leaning in to speak, "Such things they say!" Not only in her head, but around! "Oh sir, they mean her harm..more so than they must have meant us! They mean her and her husband such harm! Will they not kill her, if they find her, shouldn't she leave too?" Indeed she should...and unbeknowest to them in a moment in England, elsewhere


"God commend my soul, Christ accept my soul." Prayers were offered up on plain mouth. No incense, no chapel. Around her the end was nigh and for once..for once, the woman was divorced from the weapon. The woman took presidence, and wanted to live. "Please, prepare the necessary plans..." She would try to cease destiny's ultimate end upon herself, but would it work? (d)



Cedric Atherton III

Distress spread from a sweet, innocent face that should only be basked in happiness as if the plague. It carried upon air to infuse the Earl's body until it tensed. Yet even now he sought only to calm the storm that raged inside such a tiny shell. "Nay, you are not a danger to your sister. Those around you just do not understand." Cedric intended to throttle the Physician that Jean-Claude left behind very thoroughly. "The Lady Govenor is a woman of intelligence and strength. I trust that she and her husband can protect themselves. Fear not for them." Though inside the Earl now did so. Was this fact indeed? Perhaps in the thick of all this it'd been missed that those two were a target- a large one. Ah, Claramae, wherever you are I pray you get out alive. Lord I know we do not speak often, but please protect them both. He couldn't be there for the Duchess or Duke. They would have to protect each other for at this moment he was charged, personally, to protect the Lady Woodstock in every way possible. "We must speak." He grasped her hands soothingly, wishing a way to better calm her fears though finding none,"I know it is not what you'd wish, but we must leave England. This is your home as much as it's mine, and we both are attached to the land, yet it will be safer in Skye where the King and Queen reside. It'll only be until England is once again free of the evil that taints its soul. It will not be abandoned." Was it himself or she that he tried to convince? Cedric could not answer. Yet he did believe that the Aberdeens and those in their service would watch England drown. "Please come with me." An English Earl requested of a Princess to escape with him to Scottish soil in the dark of night. On gossiping tongues it would sound sinful instead of urgent yet perhaps they would be free of such nonsense. Atherton was old enough to be her Grandfather though even at his age could admire the beauty and life in Elenore who had been done wrong many times over in his eyes. Poor, sweet soul. (d)


Eleanore of Woodstock

"My Lord, if you say it is time to leave than I will believe you. The others will tell me nothing..no..sound reason that it is safe to leave or where to go. They just want me to follow them..blindly." The last world was snarled; for an instant in the moon she must have seemed strong enough to break him as the tension in her hands effected how tender the grip was to one of epic proportions for a young woman of fifteen. Shutting her eyes she told the voices to go away, the want to tear at his skin when it was not his fault. "Lord Atherton, please..take me from here. Maybe if I am not at Windsor, or in London for awhile I might..be better? They treat me like a child, a stupid, stupid child! I am not..I have been married.." Shamed, sent back! The madness began there did it not..a year ago eating at the brain, or was it sooner? Was it somewhere in her mother's lovers company or the knowledge that her father was a sodomite? Biting into her lip she soothed her own anxiety with a soft nod of her head, "I will tell them to gather some of my things. They will be most pleased at the decision." (d)


Cedric Atherton III

Was it not tragic that they put much weight upon a girl's shoulders at tender ages yet still refused to treat them as women? Elenore didn't deserve to be slighted in this manner. Not only was she a woman already married, but had blood of royalty flowing through veins. Cedric wanted to throttle the ones that made rage evidence itself upon face and in the hands that gripped his own. It did not hurt, no. For had not his own Father's grip been tighter? Aye. Pain was a norm in that household even young. "Lady Woodstock trust that in anything you ask me you will receive an answer. It may not be one that you like, but I will not lie nor shelter you as if you were a child. The times for such actions have long passed." One corner of mouth quirked up in a lined face that was kind and warm. The Earl was not going to coddle young Elenore. It would be an insult of the worst kind. "Calm, calm. We both know that you are not a child and that is fact. You are a woman, m'lady, that deserves to be treated as such. Now, assist your maids in gathering what you wish. My carriage can carry a couple trunks of large size so fear not of overpacking. What we cannot take with us tonight I will see sent after us." Cedric's belongings were already making their way toward an inn, a lesser known and not by any means fit for royalty...even nobility place ran by an old trustworthy friend, where two rooms would be acquired. It would not be a long journey there, but to their final destination...that was a different story. Hopefully the guard that was requested to meet him there would make it safely. The guards here would be taken as well. "For your propriety, Lady, you may bring a maid and your Physician..." Though Cedric would have a stern talking to with that one imparticular. (d)


Eleanore of Woodstock

Her eyes were going to spill over with water. Aye, they did as she looked at him commending her to the ranks of his state and not with the youth to which she belonged. A woman who would have tried to please a husband, bare him more sons, give unto his step children. Be pleasing to his estate and good company. Wasn't this what she was raised to do on behalf of the throne for she represented England where no man could go. Fragile smile was formed on two lips rose-petal soft, yet thin in the time of illness. Drops of water were like rain, weren't they? Once her mother told her something that stayed with her:

"We are as the rain, Eleanore, as much as the womb is the earth. Before this men change places with us, we make things grow from them so that in their fondness, we change to resume the role of baring fruit."

The Count of Guelders was a desert unto himself. Given specific instruction Eleanore stood on her feet. Lowering herself in a curtsy, she rose only to kiss the tops of his knuckles in thanks before following his directions with affinity. In place of wavering tones a clear voice said to the lady's maids whom were perhaps four, five, and eight years her age. "The Earl sees it fit that we leave, and I agree. Please gather my things, we have room for two trunks. I also think it best if you bring what..few jewels I may have. They can make money I know." For that was how the bride who failed was purchased back, and what returned with her among the gifts for the Duchess as reperations for the failed marriage. Unable to take from one so young, Claramae had them fashioned for Eleanore and Joan by the jewelers as better gifts than they'd arrived in the first place. With due haste she went to wear her clothes were kept to instruct the maid on what should come, things suitable to the weather of summer..things for cooler climes as the mists were prone to be heavy in Scotland at all times of the year. A few autumn gowns, sleeping things. Purpose driven footsteps meant a purpose driven voice, and in this Eleanore was not mad, but useful. Why, she even instructed the maids to open the door that she might tell the guard, "Please see that the Lord's carriage has sufficient guard with it, for our safety. I pray you please -" She also said to the guard ,"by any means that you can find, tell the Duke and Duchess we have gone? Tell her I pray for them every hour." (d)

Cedric Atherton III

Women were trained practically from the womb to become wife. Elenore was no different yet the responsibility beared upon small shoulders was even greater than that of the common born, or even noble born. Upon those shoulders was bore the weight of duty and responsibility for two countries- that of which she came and that of which she went to. Was not it much to ask of children? Aye, it truly was. Tears were a sight that tugged at his heart greatly and he offered a cloth from pocket for wiping of eyes though commented not on them.. Cedric had heard much of Elenore's failed marriage and only felt for the young girl. Always was it deemed the fault of woman when a marriage didn't work out. Yet here was evidence of training come to fruition! Commands were given without faltering, thoughts considered ahead of time, and all in the name of preparation. This left not a doubt that in wifely duties Elenore was talented. A dear, that was what she was, and any man would be lucky to have her for bride even with mental instability. Plus with Jean-Claude's talented hands even that could be thwarted to some degree. "Lady Woodstock, during our travels we will not be the Earl of Warwick and Lady Woodstock. I shall retain my identity, but you will be my ward the Lady Hastings, daughter of a Baron, and a distance cousin of my former wife." Another provider of safety in lack of identity. "When we do go around others I will ask that you wear something that covers your face. Only so that none can see you though we will try not to be around people untrustworthy long." Cedric had thought ahead as well. (d)


Eleanore of Woodstock

"If you so think it wise sir..please then, my church veils..we can use them to cover, my caps, if need me so that none will no me."

"Yes Madame."

"Practice the name as you work, Lady Hastings. I will be taking you with me..Anne. You are the better of all the others, and like a sister. You should bring your veils and such as well. You may need them."

Was it an honor to be chosen or would it have been better to be left behind? To be of England's royal blood and Scotland's promise was a strange thing. Ifshe were of a mind to be thankful for historic turns, she would be thankful France could not call upon her as ancestral sovereign or a prize. House Capet was no longer in power. It was Valois, and if they'd claimed Isabelle her mother for any reason it was that she was French, nothing more. She nodded to memorize the detail ticking it to the time of the thought, her head, "Yes, important details. Lady Hastings, a Baron's daughter, yes." Pretend. Little girls played pretend but sovereign princess' did so to hide what they were for life's saving. It wasn't so bad..the idea of a new name, a new life. For a little as she folded a cloak she looked out at the moon over London. He said they would return. Somewhere, in Eleanore's inner heart she resolved to return healed. By what would that mean? Was her sickness incurable? Surely it could be managed, no? If it were in the blood her parents could surely be blamed. For a few moments the maids went to fetch other things, her jewels, from under the guard's care which left the little bird on window perched for Atherton to view. (d)



Cedric Atherton III

A blessing it would be to go along. Those that stayed behind? Well, the Earl feared for their lives. Having resolved to be honest with Elenore this meant that when she spoke of taking Anne, and practicing of the new name, he rose slowly to approach the bird seated upon sill. Cane made light thump upon floor until it stopped some steps away where he stood quietly for a moment. Gaze lifted from where feeble moonlight sought to caress a thoughtful face to the struggling moon itself. "Lady, I hate to be the bearer of possibly ugly thoughts..." Indeed, loathed it to the core,"yet it must be considered. Those we leave behind should...leave and go to their homes. I fear for their safety after our departure. Some may think to question them of our travel plans..." And they wouldn't do it nicely. Those words went unspoken though hovered in their minds all the same. Cedric's mind slipped for a moment as gaze dropped to the quiet figure of Elenore to see in mind's eye the image of a young girl, frightened and alone, who begged of her Father-of him- not to be sent to France. Had Elenore been the same once? Or had she bore her fear of a new life in silence? Will was gathered to tug the mind back from the precipice until once again he was in the present again. (d)


Eleanore of Woodstock

"Do you think they would question so openly what they desire?" Her safety above all others, or so it seemed. Or maybe they were only in wait for the invasion before a fitting prize for their own freedom would be the holder of sangreal. Royal Blood. "There is so little we can trust anymore. As if the world made sense before all of this. It didn't, at least to me. But it was..good. Better than what was I think. The thoughts of a woman do not matter much but, I think it was better. I will dismiss them from the throne room. To go home, attend their families. To pray." It was a sovereignly thing to say. To stay, to leave. To burn. To live. She shut her eyes as a soft breeze blew smelling of the garden, "Come here, my lord..won't you?" With eyes closed she reached for his arm, pulling him gently down to feel what came in the window, "Before we go let us remember this. This stillness..This..perfect, perfect quiet. Isn't this what England is, this?" (d)

[b[Cedric Atherton III[/b]

"Aye, I think that they would. These scoundrels care not for secrecy any longer. England drowns in blood so that they can go unhindered about obtaining that which they desire." The Earl's rage at such dastardly deeds by their own people showed clear upon aged features. Had not his own son aided the bastards in hopes of gain? That one had been handled most gruesomely, but it still showed just how much changed. Existence of loyalty to England was tenous at best. People had become snakes in the garden, and trust dwindled until it was nothing more than...a hope. A wish. Someone that could truly be trusted these days would be hard to find. "To pray, to hope..." Therein showed a woman capable of sovereign rule. Understanding and compassion showed in mere words as clearly as upon features. Elenore of Woodstock was indeed a treasure to be found. Even now she remained lucid when the world went mad around them. "That is all any of us can do, m'lady." A thick brow arched at the grip of small hand upon arm and request to come closer. Propriety demanded that he stay a distance away yet it was already broken by him being alone in the chambers of one of Royal Blood with only mere maids. Booted feet carried him closer, back bending, while supporting himself upon cane to draw scent into nostrils. Beautiful, the scent of flowers upon cool night air. Encased in quiet and serenity even if not meant to last it was...wondrous indeed. "That it is. England is thus as we feel it now and that is how we must remember it, and hope to return it to." Cedric's voice was low, gentle though deep as always, as the words stayed a whisper in hopes of preserving such perfection for a little while longer. Soon they would leave and any peace, or sense of normalcy, would vanish. (d)


Eleanore of Woodstock

She sighed soft like a bird, seemed as hollow boned frail as one but there was always something more! Anger went off his tongue so much it made her tremble, only for the wind to soothe it again. In a strange twist of circumstance she said to him, "I have been told of what happened to your Warwickshire, my lord. I am so so very sorry to hear how it has come to be, and what your son did. That is terrible. You didn't give anyone a reason to treat you so terribly." Did he not deserve the same he extended without a qualm? The last heir in London stood up from the window with one last breath of air. For a moment, the world spun. Softly she sighed, applying a hand to her head. (d)


DreamsOfWriting [8:48 P.M.]: Comfort given was something precious. Even a soul as worn as Cedric's craved it upon occasion. Kindness was not often given to those deemed mad. Instead others were more given to ridicule or insult, or just observe in silence. The Earl's anger gentled under kind words and the peace to be found briefly,"Aye, that I did not and neither did you dear Lady. We have both been mistreated, unjustly so, and hopefully in years to come that shall be remedied." What had occurred within Warwickshire...would heal over time. It was the people though that concerned him most. Would they recover? Tragedy aplenty had occurred in his land. Many would leave to seek safer places presently for his own household had been relieved and those upon his land thrown coin in hopes they might find an escape...might keep their lives. When it seemed that Elenore would fall one arm shot out to wrap about tiny waist, small enough that he feared that a tighter grip might break it, while concern was writ upon his face. "Are you feeling ill, Lady Woodstock? Perhaps we should delay our departure a few hours to let you rest." Cedric didn't want to see the lady exhausted or sick. (d)

Cedric Atherton III

The Earl, in the young woman's esteemed opinion, was a good man who had been dealt a hard hand. She learned in a way, at a distance from him what it was to deal with the demons creeping in the head with click click on the skull floor. "May God be so kind..oh..if you think it better we go, we should go. Sometimes I feel I float, even as I stand still. It has been a hard day but..it will be harder yet if it is not safe." At other times it felt like she was swimming. No one wanted to climb the spire twist made by her blond-brown hair. No one thought to keep the petite waist he captured to save her from floundering. " I just don't want to be a burden anymore, Lord Atherton." Her mind transferred the image of him to that of the Master of the College, the first time he captured it he unlaced her stays. The last, he only kissed her forehead to say poor Elenore, turning her away. She shook her head softly yet it made her turn to look on him. In the moonlight she saw no more ghosts at that moment, only him. Anne will return at any moment and all will be forgotten..yes..my.." she deduced a moment of sparing herself a horror or creating a memory. Was that a scratch, on his face just there? "Oh, you've been hurt by the fighting...I am so sorry.." It was such a timid pair of fingers..one touch, then to move. Another touch, then back to her keeping the hands went again while her voice stayed ever soft. (d)

Cedric Atherton III

Temptation in form of lovely innocence and kindness. Cedric had not been touched by a truly caring woman since Caroline had passed. Oh, there'd been lovers aplenty yet lust didn't mean affection or care. That had all been purely carnal. Even his last lover, the whore who'd betrayed him with his own son, couldn't have been tolerated beyond bedding. Afterward the woman had known to get dressed and get out. She was whiny and manipulative, and intolerable- yet man needed release. Though none of that had been thought of since...well, he hadn't been with a woman since before being ambushed and locked in the tower. The Earl was being made aware of this too at the moment. Ah what are you thinking? She's too young and precious... Cedric believed that Elenore deserved more than to be made mistress or lover. She should be wife and mother, and cherished by a husband that would treat her kindly. "Ah, sweet Elenore, you could never be a burden to any." Mere slip of tongue that caused beautiful name to whisper into the silence. Lids lowered at the touch of delicate fingers upon aged face. It felt heavenly... "Anne will return soon, m'lady, and I would not want..." Well, they were definitely breaking rules of society. One didn't dare to be this close with an unmarried woman. Not to mention one of Royal Blood. Drawing a deep sigh between lips, Cedric opened his eyes to look upon her features,"Do not be sorry, little bird, for I received it protecting my people and land. A mark to be honored by though your touch soothes it greatly." Arm that should have released her ever-so-slightly tightened and a smile grew upon his lips. "You would tempt a saint...and I am not a saint." Spoken allowed though he'd probably confused the poor girl for his minds innerworkings weren't privy to her. "We should see if they are prepared for our departure." (d)


Eleanore of Woodstock

Men gave vows unto God but it was truly a woman that forsook all other company. Lust was a powerful thing; a sin that fed from flesh action, mouths, and sound. Her family had suffered for burden of the sin - a father's desire to love a man above his wife, an abomination condoned for was not his flesh sacred as sovereign, infalible godhead? A queen who in scorn forsook the heirs she created to twist with another man. No one knew that little Elenore, on her visits to court, had taken note of the great sin's effect. Compared to beautiful, graceful Joan, no one cared for Eleanore. Wide eyed, small, simpering. A flush of scarlet flew up the column of her throat "May it be healed then, if my fingers are medicne for it." Temptation brought the words he spoke in to perfect context, and she did pull away for fear of him..but..only a little. "Yes that must be what is taking Lady Anne so long.I am fine now..I will see my lord." As she lifted her skirts, turning from his hold a captured glance of leg. So well shaped. Beyond the door she found they had prepared for the journey. The Physician and maid were waiting, "Should we all take one carriage, sir, or should my maid and physician ride in another? If you so desire it another can be swiftly made." As if nothing had ever happened Anne came to place the cloak to the little lady's shoulders (d)


Cedric Atherton III

To desire of the flesh was supposedly a sin yet men were forgiven for this craving while women shamed. Gender made the difference it seemed it what could be excused. Though Cedric had never been able to be faithful in marriage bed except with Caroline, and near the end had only strayed with permission of a woman whom died. Even then he'd known that it'd been a ploy on her part. Hopes that he might find another to take for bride that would bring him happiness again. Presence of blush upon fair skin made Cedric's gaze dipped from where it started...wondering if she blushed all over or just where he could see. Ah, such thoughts that made other heated ones play through his mind. Blessedly it seemed that Elenore came to senses though observing the way she flitted away made him feel...almost empty. As if now something was missing. Catching glimpse of shapely leg made a shudder course through tense frame as he fought the heat coursing through veins. "Tempting little bird..." Whispered words, one hand pressed to forehead praying for willpower not to cave and take her in a manner unbefitting of a lady. By the time, only a few moments really, Elenore re-entered with Anne the Earl had gathered himself. Moving forward upon steadier legs, Cedric stated with smile,"They may travel in the same carriage as we, Lady Hastings. It would only be fitting." And safer for what sanity of his remained to avoid giving in to temptation. (d)


Eleanore of Woodstock

"Yes, and Physician you must call me by this name the Earl uses because he says it is for my safety... no doubt yours as well. They will be looking for me.." There was a bow of each servant before they turned to walk ahead of them. Eleanore took a last look at the chambers, indeed at the castle. Her soul screamed as the anchors were force pulled out of the stones of Windsor. Sorrows became sirens singing in the River Thames with the boat men who crossed the muddy, green brown fluids. Her face looked over her should at him, unsure of stepping beyond the room without his steadying hand. "Are you ready, my lord? I am at your command." A lady waited to be escorted where a leaf waited not to fly away on the wind. It was still summer, not autumn. Shake me down not yet the eyes seem to cry, such pretty eyes. Her maid for a moment remarked the pink flush was fever strain so they should be careful upon the road, while the physician thought it would be prudent to bleed her again when they came to where they rested. On the skin hot red tamed to faint pink but it was because she knew the meaning of his words in part enough to know what it meant to be tempting. She would endevor to be pleasing, yet not as her parents had been. Madness sang between her ears yet..

so did a little wanting.

Atherton was older yet he was not unhandsome. The headmaster had been his elder by some more years but it was his mind that intrigued her, not his face. He possesed a face of intricate, unique character. His hands on her waist for once, she did not drift. (d)


Cedric Atherton III

Though one could not truly hear the screaming of a soul the Earl imagined that he could. Perhaps it was only possible when one was mad to catch such sound in ears. Dark gaze took in the way Elenore's own drank in the chamber they would now depart and not return to for a long while...if at all. Would it be the same when she gazed upon them again? Would she be the same? Cedric couldn't be positive if these were thoughts dancing through the lady's mind, but suspected they could be so. Stepping forward now, forgetting his own warnings, the Earl leaned close to whisper near tempting ear,"Fear not, little bird, for I'm not going to leave your side." Arm was offered to escort lady from walls that had been called home while mean look was given to the Physician. "I've changed my mind." Commanding lift of chin was given while Cedric glanced to a guard,"Have another carriage prepared. They can ride in it. Anne can, at times, join our carriage for companionship for the Lady though." He wanted the maid to know she'd not earned his contempt. Only the evil Physician whom sought to bleed the sweet angel upon his arm. It would only take moments to do as the Earl requested, and he would lead the Lady toward the start of a new journey. (d)


Eleanore of Woodstock

Music played in distant memories. Her eyes saw not this room but the great hall where flutists, harpers, lutes, and drummers played on. Servants brought forth great suckling roast boars, a swan for the king, and stuffed pigeons. Exotic cinnamon was given to taste in a sweet drink. "Goodbye.." She whispered aloud, eyes scanning up to the ramparts as the ghosts fluttered to heaven to continue their merriment. In them were the grains of childhood she had left sliding away. A moment of love from her motherone of her father. So lost were they to make such lost children. Her eyes turned down to look at the tops of peeking shoes as he spoke. "Stay my protector, my guardian that it pleases my lord to do so. I am at your command." The pink eclipsed the shell of the little ear before it settled warm and spell binding on cheeks too oft too white for comfort. He would arrange the order the carriage condemning the Physician to one alone, yet they would ride first for a time? Anne worried over leaving her lady with such a man yet she maintained such a set of barbs. "Let me with the Lord Atherton, I wish to speak with him for awhile. He helps me." Anne found this - suprising, to say the least. She did seem more collected, less..vapid. "As Madame wishes." The walk to the carriages seemed to be one of the longer walks of her life. Tears fell once or twice, memories screamed. Some sobbed under the white silk of moonbeams yet in the last moment she saw her own reflection lean on the beam, smiling. "I command the servants of this castle to leave. Go home to your families, pray, and if all else please leave for safety. So empty will be Windsor." She squeezed his hand as the open courtyard air blew her face, as the footman opened the carriage door. (d)

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

Adam sat in the bedchambers provided to him whilst in Struan… Many eves now he had watched thru the window as birds sat upon trees and walls chirping. Doth nay they sing in England? What of England so far away? Was she in the capable hands of Claramae? Or was the woman afield in battle for her very domain?

He was King of the Gaelic Nations; yet he sat upon a domestic matter, whilst war wages in a land once none rulked but her sovereigns. His Army was sent forth to aid those in England, and yet, as King he has no word. Turning from the window, the King summons his Chamberlain. “Find mae a messenger from England… Ah wish tae knaew wot becomes of my lands. Dae they stay in English hands or dae they sway under Spanish rule? Wot o’ maebeloved sisters and brother o’ th’ Crown?.. Wot of the Strait? Of Spain’s desire to horde the land of the Middle Sea as its own? Of Ealora? Of the Tamazgha?” the man would snort and growl… and men would scurry throughout Dun Darroch.

None would wish to anger the King… and several would scurry to locate the messenger that last came from England. He would look at his beloved wife as she returned to the bedchambers. “Madam… Bess… mae beloved wife and Queen… Have Ah made a grave mistake in comin’ tae Struan… to hear such atrocities upon mae own soil…instead of staying upon the throne? Or better yet… leading an Army to relieve the Duchess St Laurence?” He would pause a bit… and look at her. “Ambassadors…Duchal subjects… Generals… and Ah stand here frustrated…” he looks away and back at her again… “Were is the cottage wit th’ white fence Ah promised yae laeng agae…?” and nothing else but a huff….

Questions. Nothing but questions, and none could give the King his answers. And to a man who upon a Parliament’s floor, who had patience plenty and knowledge to assuredly guide speeches that would reflect his wishes… now paced upon a bedchamber’s floor full of doubt.

The Chamberlain returns… and informs his King that no new word has arrived… With a staunce glare… his sea-green eyes narrow… “Find mae a G’d damned messenger… Ah want mae questions answered…” with a few more explicatives uttered… sheer evidence the King was angered at the lack of knowledge.

As he turned back to the window, where it seemed he was able to concentrate… his wife’s arms soon enveloped him from behind… and his heart sank… “Mae apologies M’Lady… Ah seem a bit preoccupied… for Ah dunnae knaew… and that very fact shall be the death of mae, should Ah lose Joan, Elenor, or Edward…”

“And of Claramae?” His wife would inquire… and he would simply nod. For could anyone know of the intimacy of the mind they shared? … and the special bond of fondness he had developed, thru her, for an enemy once removed.

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

Everyday they stayed in Struan was another day that Beathag looked at the underbelly of what mocked them, ashamed they may have ever relied on it. Some fealty proves as fragile as creations of glass. One false move could shatter it in to a hundred unrecognizable pieces of which there was no way to reassemble. Were the nations in their infantile belief of unity just that way? With its blend of parliments as legislative bodies moving in tandems with the will of a crown head, she often wondered how long it could last before the people of other lands saw them as no better than the England that had been conquered. Or where they already, under guise of friendship, false Emperors? He asked of her questions that she could only make attempts to answer. They weren't real, edifying thoughts to appease him nor where they horrible attempt at half-truth. Only her personal observations, nothing more or less.

She found it strange to watch the role reversal that happened in the last few years, where he was more boisterous with his emotion than she was, who had become deeply internalized in even half of her face's expression. He snorted and paced like a brewding, caged creature. "Ye are o'erwrought," she stated the obvious while worrying over him day by day, "Tha' is tae be expected, when ye carry such burdens, yet if ye can nay find a place within tae gae quiet, Ahdam, ye will.." Break? Yes, he would break. It was a fear she kept to herself that he would lose his faculties or take physically ill. She couldn't say whether it was her own sense of inner pride that kept her from being the remembered expression of infamy or the thick layers of inner scars that kept the lot of it supressed. Maybe it was the fact she was prone to her outlets, in any sense Adam seemed to have very few outlets..too much pride, and no rest to quell his thoughts. So she answered his questions the best that she could.

"Ye are nay wrong for comin' tae uphold the seat o' yer power, for without it there is nay foundation tae gae other places. Other might fall away but we will always 'ave this. N' if we have this, Scotland will have us, n' in the end tha' is wot most matters. There is nay heart o' the nations ye made in ideal nor in life without Skye. As o' the other parts of it afflicted, n' messanger sloth, tha' is the nature o' rulin n' war. A horrid part o' it I'd imagine, but all the same. The people in their posts serve it as they serve ye, n' tha' is wot they are tae dae. Yer place is nay in England right now, though ye may wish it would be. Tis nay in Ireland either, nor in Spain or Fez. Tis here, steady in the foundation sae tha' all have somewot tae return tae. Without this we are nothin'." That was the best way to cover the scope of the things he spoke on, though in it she couldn't help but notice the note of the personal. "The ambassadors, the govenor-ducal powers, e'en the lowliest man ye may claim among yer friends, O King. It is with two parts ye ache, n' the second makes ye greater than the king. Ye ache fer their bein' worry o'er them in love. They will carry ye as ye carry them. E'en the Duchess, yer Lady Govenor knows tha' yer place is nay with her as the Duke knows tis nay with the armies. Ye are a man who would still ride in the Vanguard, but tha' is nay yer time..at least not now." She couldn't say he would never ride in to battle again, but understood the nature of his absence from that one. On the thought of Ealora, she could not offer much. The affairs of the Middle Sea were covered in a haze his Majesty had not yet parted, but she did know the woman was given some sort of commision that turned her ship from trade fleet to the tides of war. It would reveal itself soon enough, certainly.

When the Lord Chamberlain returned empty handed, Adam sent him away with choice words to recall as an epithet later, she had taken hold of him in her arms. He asked what would become of the last heirs of England, to which she included Claramae. The rise and fall of his body, the way of his breathing as she slid a hand up to rest on his heart that let her know of the last name the truth. "Ye love her," she placed her head against his back, "Tis an intense thing, n' remains platonic by yer sheer will, o' which as a wife I thank his majesty tha' he has nay mistresses n' keeps me as his solitary companion, honorin' our vows. I'm vera blessed. Fer this, I should allow ye tae love her." She chuckled softly, kissing between his shoulder blades . If he would turn to rebuke, he found no anger, only a sort of gentle acceptance. "Ye could have taken a mistress many a year agae, and n' this way been pleased if I could not please ye. Once..ah was near tae allowin' ye such a posistion if the woman would 'ave allowed me tae rear the issue o' her womb as the king's heirs. Twould have had to be someone trusted..tae dae wot I thought I could nay but.." Hands moved to a flat, firm place. Ahmlai Edme had been the last born of it, perhaps to be the final. "Ah could,n' ye ne'er took one whilst I was with child nor after, at least in body perhaps. The mind is yers. I've been tought tha' in the Christian book, tae sin in the mind is akin tae sinnin' in the body. Men must make great use o' confession fer both," she chuckled softly, sighing. "Ye may love her freely Adam. I shan't rebuke ye tha' fer tis one o' mind n' nay body. Her Grace would be no man's mistress,but m'thinks she bares ye tae a love in her own fashion. In this..I'm sorry ye can nay gae tae save her. Ye may commend her effort, though, by seein' tae it her choice of selection becomes the next Duke, n' truth it is her way of rightin' wot was done, a marriage o' the old n' new worlds. See it done. Tis young Lord Plantagenet's place, n' he is fit fer it. Ah shall embrace the young women as sisters as well, sae tha' both their highnesses will have a place among us, knowin both are welcome."

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

The Beginning of the End

containing writings of King Aberdeen & The English Company

Dreams… Should it have been one hundred years ago… or 100 years into the future… the man that was King might have been burned upon a stake as a wizard… a witch… or a heretic… For over 3 years, he had not had such vision…such dreams… The former dreams of fantasy with his wife, ones that usually ended in reality… now morphed into dreams of dread…



In the times of strife and struggle, was it the Wanting Mind that governed his sleep…? In this instance, no messenger from England could found within the last two days… yet the sleep that Adam found with such leniency, more information was provided… slightly marred, slightly proverted… but the end was the same…

Once again Adam woke in a start… his gown wet from sweat… Again his wife would wake, for fear of her husband… and yet again she would summon the physician, only to be resisted by the object of concern… [i]“Bess… yet aga’n Ah dream… an’… Dammit…”[/i][/color] he stuttered… “Twas…” then he began to tell her of the dream…

The dream of Spanish galleons sailing toward Skye… armies making their way across Scotland… a man with a sever scar upon the face standing upon a hill overlooking the sea, aiming his handgonne at the approaching ships, in defiance… In a flash, yet another scene unfolded…. another man, a Spaniard cursing at Claramae and aiming a pistol at her and pulling the trigger… a flash and the scene turned into Claramae crying from the wound in her side, the man standing over her…

Bess’ calming nature did little to calm him… “CHAMBERLAIN…” he bellowed… and the man entered bowing… “Yer Majesty…?” Adam flung the wet bedgown aside… his nakedness did not embaress him. Slipping on his trousers… “Get me my Falconer… get me General Maahes…”

The Reality of the King's Vision

Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

She leaned on the edges of the tent come a new day after she'd spoken with de Aquitaine on all, on nothing. It was a challenge to the body as the action went against the vivid notes of pain that blossomed like flowers beneath the garment suitable for traveling. Was that why she would send for him? No, it was a simple asking that to her was as good as a promise. Send for me or leave me word when you leave. Of the two, Vincere St. Laurence decided the first was the most preferable. A nondescript carriage of no coat of arms nor banner was being packed with one trunk of clothing, the other of works. The emptiness of London would echo under wagonw heels, she thought, for the most prominent had long since gone to war or taken their leave. What was left to say? Inward ,she prayed that the ancestral birthplace, the estate which stood as all she had left of her father would remain. Inside of it the paintings were under lock, the furniture covered. Outward, she looked as if nothing moved through her mind at all (d)


Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

The wicked flee when no one pursues, but the righteous are bold as a lion (Proverbs 28:1) If he could put his heart into another, he would keep the courage these men at arms held with every day; one by one they started to fall away from the need of his care returning to family, returning to friends, and perhaps someday returning to kill him another day. However, it seemed his work was slowly coming to an end as no more they poured in like sands through his fingers, and one by one the beds started to empty. Finally he was able to work only in shifts, leaving the afternoons for the most dire, and his days sometimes free.He would argue their opinion of this war, but in truth it was simply one of the many battles to come in the new age of the King. Through the streets he would go, over markets that seemed half empty, but the business was dire. "How can they heal without proper food. It is harvest, Mouse, a good time to buy in bulk, and never a better price." Jean-Claude closed his eyes for a moment his heart warming as he thought of what Julian would say next. The farmers need the buyers like they need the rain, if you sell more for less you turn a higher profit, even over the better quality. "My Darling Mouse, when you return with me to Skye. Will you stay with the Church?"She would nod, and try her best to keep up. (d


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

Canterbury was strange in how it starved for normalcy but carried on in ritual. After the burial of the Arch-bishop pilgrims began to leave the inns inside and outside of the city walls to filter to the places that promised miracle. Imagine then how many lay near the church the Archbisop was intereted, touched places he was famed to have touched. Talk of the Spanish wanting to take them unwawares were as truthful as the sight of their camps disembarking. Had all been done, was it enough? "We shall miss you, madame," one of the more eloquent soldiers stood to the left of the tent, bowing as he made known his presence, "Were that I could go with you beyond England." She saw for once in forward face of service what it was for another to objectify perfect love; if a man hesitated he never showed it. Amidst the mixed camp of Englishman came those England had once conquered to help in a time of need. Somewhere, men would be given to Ireland to fufill a promise. Under the Griffin, the impossible was done. Healing. Then, they all might heal..one day. Eyes that lingered twixt brown or hazel turned up at the approach of de Aquitaine, at which time she told the soldier "When your service is done, if you are so moved, you may find me near the seat of the King. Until that day, be England's son. She needs you more than I"(d)



Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

Was it the day already? It seemed just yesterday they arrived. His heart ached to let her go, but they would be reunited soon. This was almost done here, he felt it in his bones. The wind moved over the land and as fingers through his hair as the sky seemed clear enough to shelter the storm that brewed in the distance. He came to stand on the outskirts of the gathering, but a man of his height hardly had need to be in the midst of the common. The son of Aquitaine was the striking image of his father, with his mother's gentle eyes--no matter how fierce they could be, always he seemed so kind when even the lightest of smiles pulled his lips. He didn't want to see her go, but was happy for her all the same. She needed this, he thought, she needed it above them all. "Or we shall find the King near the seat of our beloved no?" He finally spoke breaking through the crowd touching shoulders as he went, and the men would offer him a smile, a small laugh at his jest. "Have a good day, gentleman." Leave it to Jean-Claude to excuse them, but soon the few would start to break up. Was that jealousy? Perhaps; more enough excuse to get her to leave, for he was certain she would find every excuse to stay. (d


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Am I such a flower the king seeks to keep it close for the nectar it produces is the most sweet? Or the most lethal?" the son of Aquitaine moved with the baring of his name - the story he told was an incomplete one, not her place to know before the woman he would take to wife. Nor would she break their trust by seeking to know it by her own methods. When he was ready, he would reveal himself, yet by name it stood a testaement- if not by baring - that he was someone's majestic manifestation. Someone's forgotten future. The men would leave save for the guard who would have the duty of the Duchess' of England last ride through the nation, for once beyond the shores and to the side of the King it would pass to the young man who would have been king in his own right. "You came, I am pleased. Good day, Mistress Mouse. I pray while I am away that you find your name, so when we meet again I might have the pleasureto use it. A woman whom gives such service is no mouse." A compliment paid to the nun? Would she treasure it? Her horse would be led behind the carriage by a trusted handler, for he would not join the other black creatures that pulled. No, he was too beautiful, too different for such a menial task..much like his mistress. (d)


Mistress Mouse

Mouse turned three shades of red, not certain how to reply, honored that Clarmae spoke to
her so directly she would give a small curtsy before scrambling to find her name. Jean-Claude would take the dear Nun's hand and loop it through his arm all the while she turned a few more flushes. "Good Day," She squeaked, "Oh I like Mouse, but if the Lady insists it is, Elizabeth."

Jean Claude de Aquitaine

Jean-Claude would chuckle, and bring the dear nun's hand to his lips kissing her knuckles before sending her on her way. "You just made her day, Master Laurence." He watched as the young woman continued on her work, "I'm trying to corrupt her from the church. Perhaps marry her off to someone suitable. She is far too darling to not be a mother." He would take a deep breath turning to face her once more, and replacing the nun's hand with the pious deadly thing that Claramae killed with. "Oh, Mon diamant..I will worry, until there are holes in my heart." Truth. Jean-Claude was back to his normal, his appearance put together, like some French Lord with everything in its place. Had he dressed for the occasion? Of course, it gave him an excuse to be clean again--even if for only one day. His ascot a pale blue, and against his black suit seemed a perfect contrast. "Do you plan to ride straight through?" He would release her to go over the carriage, checking each wheel and would eye the horses' pulls. "You will send word do you hear me? When you are home, then you will go to my Adelaide and see if there has been word from our littles in Spain." The look he gave her a promise that if she didn't he would become a very cross man, but comical in its own right. (d


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"The lady decrees. So it is then. Good day, and fare you well, Mistress Elizabeth." At times it only took a gentle push to make the sun shine brighter in a world where it was hazed by the quality of life. Despite her intense appereance, Claramae was not above imparting her respect to those that earned it. Mouse, for her steadfast loyalty to de Aquitaine, England, and other causes highly unsuited for the eyes of a young nun would win her forever. It was not an easy feat, either, to win St. Laurence's approval. She watched her move about among the camp, a lamb in a world of wolves, "If you do manage to change her mind, she would make a suitable lady's companion for Janice, they are not so distant in age, nor so distant in origin. Janice is exceptionaly pious and modest to this day, our life has not entirely taken the cloister from the child's heart." Her hand moved to rest on his shoulder as the other he held "I will ride North by West it has been deemed safter, and it is not the same route as taken by the others. In this way I might see Lord Plantagnet one last time, impart to him a last bit of word, for he will become the Duke,the Lord Govenor now. Once far enough in this manner I shall take a ship instead of crossing Hadrian's Wall. His Grace is not convinced of the security by way of vagabond forces along the wall seeking to make coin on either side. When I return, I shall make right all that is not. Mark my words. You will receive word by way of hawk or falcon. Wing is faster than man's devices, were that we could only fly, no?" Gently she allowed her civic manner to relax in the shadow of the guards, "Thank you, my friend, for everything." (d)

Jean Claude de Aquitaine "His Grace would know well of what is safe and what is not, I pray that you will make it there as swift as possible, but do not make haste in attempt to push yourself. I will see to it all is well here. You have elected a great staff, do not even look back. Tell Adelaide I miss her dearly? That I shall see her soon, and if it is not too much trouble kiss my darling Genevieve for me. If she will let you." He smiled, timid that one. He came to agree with her that Mouse would be suited best for Janice, though he would have liked to have kept her close, but there would be no doubt Julian would have her in tears the first day.The shadow of her guards perhaps, but in the silhouette of Jean? He would kiss the crown of her hair gently, "Of course, Ma petit, now.." The wind would cause a cool breeze and he would smile as his eyes closed for a moment, "It is a good time to travel." (d)



Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Oui, and so it will be. I take my leave of you, and England. Of you..only for a little. Of England.." Even marble could be moved to sorrow if a heart were instilled within it, so would this mobile stature carved from perfect portions feel England marred for her eyes.

Michael Vincere St. Laurence

Without more delay the Lady stepped up into he waiting vessel, holding his hand out of wanting to make such a feeling linger, yet was not entirely inside before His Grace himself came with no other reason that to hold her again "I would not let you leave without sight of you," he said, bringing a soft, flickering smile to her face. Decorum to him meant only so much as his wife's approval. He truly placed her inside, kissed her, and sent the carriage on its way. So it should have been done with that mid morn with no fanfare, to join the other traffic beginning to mill along the roadsides again as false security spread as rapid as real hope overa land needing both. (d)


Jean Claude de Aquitaine

If he felt rather empty without Claramae, he would not understand how her husband did feel. "So Vincere, stop killing things so I can stop cleaning up the mess behind and we too can go home no?" He would jest with the man before turning at the pull of his coat to the small little younglings from weeks before wishing to hear the rest of the stories the old scientist could weave, and Mouse smiled behind them. She would make a great lady for Janice, and he was determined now.The day would carry on with the wars at hand, battles unfulfilled in many English minds, but he could easily do without that fall of English rain. (d


Michael Vincere St. Laurence

Some would contradict the good physician, desiring the rains to come again to break apart the horrid spell of August heat. The Duke watched the carriage go; some would not consider him a man to linger on anything other than his duty, yet a vow he'd taken proving to be the greatest duty of all was going forward without him. England's time of them in power was fading away, wherein he would give his mantle over toward the young man who did as he commanded. Was Edward ready? "Gladly. One more thing, and then we can be done of it, de Aquitaine. I have no want to send my wife ahead, but I am glad she is going. You can lose many men but they can not lose us."


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

Rue as it was to admit, some lives were too precious to pay forfeit, theirs included. The carriage was finally making distance so the tents became white pricks on the line of sight when the world began to rumble. Horses started to stir with un-ease as a wild wind blew. God would enjoy storms at this time, humor for the ages. It tossed around both enemy and servant..but the carriage would know greater things than wind. "My lady...this party coming toward..it does not appear to be making room. It.." The steady twang sent a crisp, straight shot to the driver that spoke before his death grasps found him holding an arrow pinning his stomach to the carriage. (d)


Jean Claude de Aquitaine

Deep down he hated to admit he was not going with her, her husband should be there..though even simply as her protector. Yet again he was reminded Claramae hardly needed such a hand, though she was tired, worn, and what of her scars? Jean-Claude would sigh, heavily before he would move on for the day. "It will not be long, M'lord."

Indigo Montoya

His laughter was sinister, the man who stood watching from the trees with the height of those around him. His skin was a exotic blend of his Spanish heritage and his love of the countryside. Indigo Montoya, was here for vengeance a debt to a father killed by the Griffin crown. He was a wicked man, who loved to hear the sound of the horse's cries in the storm, and the sound of the dying in the wind. "Make her pay. Make all of Scotland pay for what they have done to this land!" He would turn the hilt of his rapier over. (d


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Then we must pause to let them by...we..Master Eliot?" No sooner had she waited for his response than the sharp shudder of the carriage did that. She actually recoiled, holding both sides to brace herself as blood began to spread over the interior work closest to where his seat outside would be poised above. Men surrounded the carriage, blocking the view as she tried to ascertain the situation through the windows. Instead, it would be the sound of more arrows accompanied by the distinct sound of the age's new weapon: gunpowder. The sharp scent met with horseflesh as armored men collided with the wheels. It rocked, she rocked. It bounced, she bounced. Through the tilted angle she saw the men in the trees, weapons poised. A shot moved, missing her by only a few precious inches as the entire world turned on its axis for the carriage was turned down into a ditch. A watchmen from the camp trailed the carriage's distance by spy-glass at his Lord's command, only to pull it down in horror at what he saw (d)


Jean Claude de Aquitaine

Through the streets the watchman moved, Jean-Claude had not gone very far at all. It was the sound of Croseacus's hooves that caused him to turn, the horse spooked beyond reason, but the determination caused his heart to sink. There was a man upon his back, but the blood was enough to chill him. "No." Mouse's eyes would grow wide, her lips to cover her mouth as Jean-Claude took the man from the horse. "Get him back. Get him back." Was all he could say before he mounted the horse in such a style only well bred gentleman did, but he rode like the wild down the road.Would Michael need to see anything else? Jean-Claude made sure as he passed, and the troops would assemble much the same. He would be little good to arrows, but blindly he went into this battle his sister on the other side. Please be alive. Please be alive. Was all he asked, but even in death he would not let her go without a fight--he had his ways to bring her back. By the time he arrived the Spanish men had moved in, only to scatter..they had let the horse go, they should have known. The French? Was this man speaking French? No. He was cussing in French as he drew his sword. (d


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

Croseacus let out shrill, frightened noises amidst the spray of metal balls and arrows that began to pierce the toppled coaches, armor, and beast alike. Somehow his handler had turned the creature back towards the camp before he was taken down by a crossbow through his chest, leaving a spray of scarlet across the main of the elegant jet stallion. It was as if in the form of creature a piece of his sister came to him; the Duchess was so very fond of Freesians she participated in the breeding and selling of the breed. It was rumored Croseacus had come from a premier province in the Netherlands as a gift of service. At any rate, the creature would take the Frenchman on his back by bowing down to receive him, only to heft his powerful legs back up to answer the order of his urgency. Michael needed to see nothing else, having been disturbed when the view of his wife's retreat carriage was lost to him before the dip in the horizon line. He could cover the distance left by the horse with his feet, bringing his men up to him with no more than his fleeting presence heading toward the scene. Claramae had been tossed hard against the back carriage door, jarred on rocks in the ditch the carriage fell into. She opened her eyes from squints to see men's bodies atop, pushing through windows, the half open door. Indeed it was enough to make her usher a scream if it weren't for the silent sound instead as the sharp pain began to throb! Moisture began to move down the back of her neck, her forehead...along her shoulders. The blood that trip dropped through crevices painted her skin, yet so did her own. She managed to leave the door alone, taking instead the thin passage of a window, squeezing through it as well as her dead escorts. In the trees they laughed. Some disembarked to engage the living in battle..others? On exit, she continued to pull herself through the ditch. Get to the long grass, hide...(d)


Jean Claude de Aquitaine

Arrows came down, few and far between and Croseacus would rear back. However, Jean-Claude would push him further muttering to the horse to keep its speed that their lady depended on it. It would not take long for the men to move from the brush, and the battle begin. In all his years he had never understood why his father was so persistent on playing the sport upon the horse, until now. Heads would roll under the command of the blade, while he and the horse moved as one barreling through the men. Jean-Claude's heart was racing, he needed Michael's men to get there now. The faint smell of the irony blood filled him, and his heart stopped. (d


Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

The men of the Duke didn't disappoint. If their assailants were in trees they would not be hesitant to pull them down by the force of weapon or brute strength. Like a tidal wave they crashed among the men of mixed origin. Assasins?Men of mixed origins with no care whom they served nor what cause so long as gold was ample - the scourge of Hadrian's Wall come further south by east? Through the fray the images of beautiful horses blood mingled with that ofdying or dead men. She maneuvered through the grass, listening to the sound of enacted vengence. A name would not be given, nor would she have the 'pleasure' of seeing the face with the aim. Or was it by chance? Her place in the grass was uncovered by a shot that rang out most vivid in her ears, followed by the sudden puncture of a small, metal orb into her side. Jean-Claude and Michael would see, wouldn't they? See her body recoil in on itself by wayof a hand in grass, a scream when only in the dark of privacy had both even ever heard her cry in pain, or grow ill. "Like a rabbit...." the hunter muttered, smiling. (d)


"AHHHHHHHHHH!" Amidst the shots, the arrows, and touch of swords her cry shreaded the open air apart, driving the blue morning down to the outlines of a distant gray. Her fingers grazed her eyes, shocked to find of all things water moving freely out of them. Coiled in on herself, the hunter advanced with the pistol across his shoulder laid. The bravodo of having : taken down the rarest doe in all of England was his, no one else's. Did not Montoya demand she pay? So she would, and he would enjoy watching her fetal position be her birth in reverse, born unto death. As he came closer, he kicked at her shins, causing her body to roll flat to her stomach, hands splayed out through the grass as a mother's fingers in hair. England, England, embrace your child. Or was it your mother that died on you now? "Shame, so bent..yet so pretty. So very..pretty." He brought a boot heel down against her lower spine, not enough for it to crack, but enough to immoblize her..then he knocked her back over..only to find one hand had gone inward enough to draw out a flat, thin dagger. Not anticipating her ability to move at all, as he came down to breathe hot, rancid breathe in her face his recoil was induced with deep, gutteral cries as she drove the dagger down into the connection where his shoulder and clavicle were soft. Yet, she was unable to stay aloft..pulling herself only another foot before falling back amidst the grasses. Instead of long stalks of summer green going gold, she saw the wildflowers in them. She smelled their crisp, gorgeous perfection only to find they were in a field of them. What one notices not. Had she not noticed the way the white blossoms graduated to pink? Her eyes fashioned scarlet, or where they really? A sea of scarlet flowers danced amid the green forest so that one entangled the other like a lover's embrace. Sunlight sliced the confusion only to show the perfect darkness underneath. The pain was a white hot instrument as it pushed the blood in her veins, yet it began to numb. As the beauty increased in magnitude, it hurt less. As the blossoms fell across her, it diminished entirely. This was the England they fought over, bled on. It was still..so beautiful (d)

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

The Beginning of the End, Part II

Master Jean Claude de Aquitaine

When we two parted in silence and tears, Half broken-hearted to sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Colder thy kiss; Truly that hour foretold sorrow to this. (Lord Byron) The sun had never felt so cold, this day the winds rose from the west to chase the heavens far too swiftly in the command of the Lord. It was his duty to protect her, to keep her from the prying eyes of the spirits whose gasps carried into the breeze by wayward whispers of the Lady fallen, and with it all Jean-Claude's heart did stop.The grass was far too tall, and the men upon the road whose prisoners even now stood waiting for what was to emerge from the blood red flower. "No." Only when true raw emotion filled his voice did the very spirit of his true birth come through, and English hard to make out. He shed away his jacket like the night from the morning, and give a quick command to have pressure applied to the wound--her soul escaped. In French he pleaded for her to stay, while long ivory fingers moved for the most dire. In an instant a man so well put together came apart at the seams. "We must get her back, M'lord." Spoke the soldier who dipped to her side, doing as Jean-Claude insisted. "She can not be moved. Not yet. Pressure there. All of your might." Jean-Claude rocked back on his boots to remove his shirt, bare for the world flesh that hardly knew the sun, but as solid as cold marbled stone. From the hem of his pant, there was redness half way up, skin raised from the lashes of the fires that once stole him, but somewhere another's magic had restored what could be. "Wrap this, here. Claramae. Claramae, stay with me.Not now, damn you. Speak." There was so much blood. (d

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

“Somebody should tell us, right at the start of our lives, that we are dying. Then we might live life to the limit, every minute of every day. Do it! I say. Whatever you want to do, do it now! There are only so many tomorrows.” (Pope Paul VI) She turned her head with a slow, languid manner as if she were in water instead of on land. Fingertips brushed the edge of the grass blades, fancying petals instead of merely grown weeds. The sun burst through the thickening clouds to dilly dally on the face of a woman half alive and half dead; suspended between worlds she tried to speak to them as if to say can you not see what I see? Look, this is summer..in England. Part of her knew that death was approaching, part of her too stupified by the beauty of illusion to fight. Voices of the dead were as clear as the living. Tears moved down closing eyes as her voice muttered, "So long. It has been..so..long." If she opened her eyes, perhaps a face? The soldier pressed hard enough on the wound to illicit a reaction though, breaking the world apart to shut her, lock her down in the flesh. "GAAAAAAAAHH.. AHHH!" She screamed, eyes rolling to the back of her skull as eyes fluttered, trying to focus. Suddenly, one languishing arm became vivid as the man was nearly thrown backward. "Your Grace? Your Grace have no fear, shh..you are gravely hurt let us help you!" The pain, the world she was in again...was so cruel by comparison to the world she could still see by half (d)


iseaux Nocturne: His hand covered in her own blood came to touch her cheek as he watched eyes follow the heavens, and suddenly as if he could he stilled the rotation of the world. The world around them came to a stop as only the sound of his own heart did he hear pounding against his skin now begging to be released as only she held it then. "No," He spoke in a warm inviting manner until her eyes would meet his, feeling as though he were two men then as one worked wildly upon her wounds, and the other spoke to her soul, "Look at me." He would ask of her, "Your work is not done here, Child." Even small wings of the world around them stopped as he spoke, and no other sound to be heard but his voice--was she dreaming? Her scream would cause a reaction then, "Get her up." His ascot to tie tightly around the wounds it could, but nothing more could be done in the field of flower. "Come. Quickly." He started to pray, the thin silver cross he wore around his neck suddenly felt very heavy. Her blood dripped from his fingers as he came to mount the horse while the ride came alive with her there in his arms, and the very army of her following fast in their wake. The part in the streets caused the many people to fall to their knees, one by one in a wave of respect and to pray for the recovery of the soul. The sight scared them all greatly, of the man upon the horse exposed, or of the fallen Duchess. Mouse came in a rush to meet them, the small team Jean-Claude had assembled swift in the chase, but he would not see her in the hospital where the sickness spread. It would be where dinners were served would suddenly the spread come to fly and the candles quick to become the sun as the spider started his web. "Merde.." He hissed at the bullet there in the exposed flesh, and though Mouse poured water over the wound the blood still ran. A vow of vengeance, he would have this man's heart in a jar. (d


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

She fought for stability in a world gone mad. Even in death she still wished control, too afraid to relinquish the title of being steadfast. His voice cut through the fog of the two worlds, his touch pulling her up for a moment from pain as he could swear that the color of her eyes softened as it seemed to focus on him. Had she heard? She couldn't reply before pain began to rip across every area of the flesh as if to tear it open. Then she was lifted in arms, the world rushing by as blood stained his clothes, his skin. The soldier who's hands were filfthy with her blood turned pale white at the anguish in her cries, yet could not tear himself away from her side,"The Duke, fetch the Duke and guard him as you bring him here! Not a hair on him, not a scratch gone!" What if his fate were gone to be parallel with the dying woman held by the French physician? In England, Jean-Claude could have stayed to live as God among them. He cured the sick no matter their origins, mended wounds, and could have lived in his beloved utopia of science. Oxford could have been remade in his image if all he did was but breathe the word for the woman he held would have seen it done. Instead, she was bleeding to death, crying out from pain that left the people of Canterbury ripe for more sorrow. (d)


Master Jean Claude de Aquitaine

"Non, ma diamant..I will not let you fall." He cried then holding himself together by the very stitches he started upon her. Mouse would hand him the poker red hot from the fire as he started to close the wound once he removed the bullet. If she survived this he would have it melted back so that it could sit once more at the end of a pistol, and she could have first shot to his own heart--because he frankly wasn't certain he'd live anyway. His knees were weak, and Mouse got him a chair. Yet still he worked. The smell then of her burning skin, would take over by the smell of the iron in her blood. "I love you, Stay." He touched her arm again to chase her pulse, breathing again as he felt it once more beneath his fingers. He feared for internal bleeding, as the gunman was too close--cowardly, he thought of the man finding strength in the anger, but letting his mind slip from Claramae--he shook it free swiftly. It was so hard for him to love so strongly the woman beneath his hands; many cried into the open for mercy. His assistants had cut away her gown, the bodice as well, but covered what they could. "Her head. Watch her head." He reminded them as they started to make her comfortable at best they could. Julian once bled himself to feel. It hurt him not to know the world around him, unable to understand it. Yet, you Claramae, you are not much different. "We must stop this bleeding." Did she feel alive so close to death? Mouse came around the Master to tie back his hair a task that was common of her, and reminded him of the routine they were set in. They live because we do not fear of their death, Darling Mouse. He had once told her, and suddenly Jean-Claude gathered his trembling hands, his heart not far behind. Finally, it was finished, the blood did stop, and the wound sealed. It would be only then would he start on the rest, not nearly as bad, but all that pained her would be his undoing. (d


Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Monsieur, she is bruised, heavily in the ribs. It is amazing one did not break to pierce her lung..." Many hands made light work. Many hands would answer the question of how many it would take to piece the Duchess together again for it was no casual spill she took, no accident on a pleasure ride. The anger of the landscape was visited across her body. As the gown was cut away some gasped at the perfect peach-pale flesh opening up to receive bruises all over. Would Mouse cry, looking on the river of blood seeping from her back? The guard was nearly overwrought;the feeling of hopelessness spread to the others who began to look for the Duke among those outside of Canterbury to bring him in to the walls. Already the camp was breaking apart, men making ready to form lines to follow the Spanish. What might have been an advantage would now be their undoing in a battle that would echo through the ages. "In the name of the Rose." Uttered over and over between them, it became the battle cry that would spread across England for the rose was in the Ducal coat of arms, apart of the name of both who ruled. It was a flower pulled hard and trampled under Spanish feet. "I..can't.." she whispered, unable to stop the constant flood of tears. As her skin was burned she screamed so long, so loud it began to wear her out. In the halls servants fell to their knees. Let the end not be today! (d)

Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine

"You can, damn you!" He cried, and Mouse did in fact weep behind him. She could stand it no longer, sobbing into her hands she couldn't watch any more, Jean-Claude's tears broke her. There was such desperation behind his voice, and she knew he acted not out of memory--out of instinct. He could not be thinking as he worked now, and she feared greatly of what was to happen should she fall. He would be out of his mind, and in that moment Mouse would ask one of the servants to notify his Adelaide. The light of the candle hardly reflected in his eyes they were so dark, a matte color of a blue that was nearly black, but the concentration could not be mistaken. The room fell silent, as they watched the Lord work, and prayers were sobs in the halls. His own prayers were curses, but they were there on the tip of his tongue. He could do no more on this night, but wait--watch. His hand came to collect hers while the other brushed back her hair from her face. It was important the color of her skin, and the skin around the wound. He would watch for the black a sign of internal bleeding, but would watch for the red--a sign of hope. Hours had passed before he finally told himself there was nothing else to be done, but now all they could do was wait. (d

Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence

"Stop, stop..make it stop...GOD DAMN IT!" No profanity had ever crossed her lips before the gathering of persons nor even in private did she utter such, so the use of the Lord's name in vain to damn the present actions was enough to make them cringe. More tears, at least they stood as signs of life! Good to his duty, the soldier found the Duke in the middle of the regiment. On informing him the outcome of the ruined carriage he saw another thing that nearly killed him: The Duke swayed, as if in shock. "Take me to my wife," he said in a ragged whisper, running with him on foot for it was a waste of time to saddle a horse when the city lay so close. So close, the holy see. Let it have a miracle for her.. he thought let it have something..or I will believe in nothing. In due time she muttered words until they became thick nonsense on her tongue, and on the verge of death she slept as she hadn't when fully living. For hours upon hours she slept, her flesh passing from feverish to cold, to feverish again. As he watched for the sign of internal bleeding would his eyes play tricks on him? The ball of iron had been lodged deep enough, too deep. Hours, too, would others wait. It was said among the servants who whispered like frightened children the Duke had to be made to sleep, for he was too much of a terror to be contained. Red blood flowed instead of black, but would she ever awaken again? The soldier returned to his side to see the lady and him in the cycle of waiting. "The men have gone to fight, the camp is cleared, and while nothing but prayer lines the way you should bare them as close to the coast as you can..to a ship. Your work will be undone, if they find her here. You should go with them, my lord." (d)

Master Jean Claude de Aquitaine

Jean-Claude knew the man to be talking, but he could hardly make out the words. Yet, it was when Mouse finally stepped before him did he realize that there were others in the room. "Master..he is right. It is not safe for her here." It would be then Jean-Claude would look to the soldier, "Have them ready a ship. I want all your finest, and only the men you trust. I bid you remind them of how wicked of a man I am, and that it not be questioned." Wicked indeed, half naked and covered still in her blood. "We are finished here. She will go home, and from there wake again." He came to rise with enough anger to force away the once kind features he was known for. "Pack my things, and have it done in the hour." Mouse would nod and quickly skitter off to do just that. He would bid the soldier to move and off into the night the man would go. It would be then Jean-CLaude would run his fingers through her hair, and press a kiss to her forehead while his eyes closed in prayer as he pressed his cheek against the crown of her hair as he sat back down. "Do not think for a second I will not come get you. Be it heaven or hell, Claramae, I shall paint your face red with embarrassment as I push through the gates. Call you by your Christian name in public." He spoke to her, knowing she could hear him, but he held her tightly--at best he could. (d