Disclaimer: I really don't have much to disclaim on this one. The canon Founders and their school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry belongs to Rowling. I can safely claim the rest of the characters, the Founders' children and heirs (though some of their names have been borrowed from various literary icons such as Crichton and Tolkien) and the plot of this story.
Author's Note: I feel that I must make the warning right from the off that this will be a historical fiction in which I intend to take on the challenge of writing the Founders, the school and the subsequent schism in ideology from the historical context of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. It is my goal in writing this piece that the story remains faithful to history as well as the canon ideas set forth by Rowling as well as creating an enjoyable piece of fiction. In the Foreword and the Acknowledgments, you might have noticed that this is a story that is ghostwritten as Ginny Weasley. It alludes to many events and situations that you might not be familiar with. That is because this is a companion piece to a trilogy that I finished a while back that includes, among other events pertinent to this story, our cannon characters Harry, Draco and Ginny traveling back to the fourteenth century to participate in the last great battle that will end this story. As a result of the death of one of the characters Ginny decides to write the story that the Founders and their children never got the chance to tell. It is not imperative that you read the series to be able to understand this work (but I encourage you to do so). You will be able to understand it just fine without having experienced the trilogy. Enjoy The Unsung Past.
Chapter One
Homecoming
"His family motto, echoing Richard the Lionheart, appeared above the coat of arms. 'Mes compaingnons cui j'aimoie et cui j'aim…Me di chanson'. She paused. "Companions whom I loved, and still do love…Tell them my song."
-Epilogue from 'Timeline' by Michael Crichton.
Following the reign of the pious Henry III, that of his son Edward was a dynamic one. One full of great political change, deep religious fervor, expansion of an increasingly powerful kingdom and a struggle for sovereignty. It was also a very dangerous age for those outside of the most powerful force in the western world at the time: The Church.
At the moment, Edward's kingdom was at peace and enjoying mightily the prosperity of the land; agriculture was booming, there was a great increase in population. Save one pesky dispute with Flanders in the last decade, the wool trade made up a huge amount of the kingdom's exports.
There was an expansion of the kingdom in the past five years as the unruly Celtic chiefs of Wales had been subdued by the noble and holy king, where he dotted the hilly landscape of that region with a series of dominating castles like that of Caernarvon. His son, Edward II had been accepted by the barbarous Welsh as the first English Prince of Wales as their principality. This had not been achieved since Roman times, and had united them with England again.
But also in this time there were two great affairs which divided Edward's attention: the first was a complete reform of the of the royal and feudal systems that was painfully overdue. The second: still more important, joining England's warlike neighbor to the north, Scotland, to her into a single kingdom. When, by chance, the opportunity came upon the death of the Scottish King Alexander, fallen from his horse at the age of forty-four, leaving his granddaughter—a little girl named Margaret, the throne. Known to her people as the Maid of Norway, because her father was the King of Norway, Margaret had been called immediately back to her troubled lands. She was also in need of a husband.
This was an opportunity that Edward seized at once. The two kingdoms could merge naturally, and without conflict, if the Maid should marry his son. He began negotiations with the Scots from his home in the British territory in Northern France known as Gascony.
Edward I possessed a formidable athletic stature that made him a match for anyone in the joust. Along with his broad shoulders and imposing person, Edward possessed a shrewd mind, like that of a lawyer. This combination would make him famous among the monarchs of England before him and yet to come. He was also a bit of a nostalgic dreamer. Like his father, Edward loved pageantry and was devoutly religious; he had already promised the pope another crusade.
Returning from Jerusalem, much like in the times of the great Lionheart, two men long kept from their homeland on such a crusade were landing on the misty shore with its dominant chalky cliffs looming ominously beyond, the sight of which warmed the heart of both.
"We have been gone for too long," one smiled and said to the other.
"And we have much to do now that we are back," the other one remarked, returning the smile.
Both were broad shouldered men of about twenty-five. One still possessed the careless air of youth, not marred by the unparalleled violence he had seen on his campaign to the east, but dazzled by the progress of the barbarians and savages that they had so foolishly left six years ago to banish from their holy land. He had a wide white smile and sandy brownish hair. In most ways he was the anathema of his companion and closest friend.
The taller of the two, a sober man with hair that was the flaxen color of harvested wheat, drew up the lengths of his scarlet cloak and hopped lightly to the shore. His heart was lighter as he stepped onto the soil of his birthplace. He loved his country. He was in love with life.
Both men wore the scarlet cloak of the crusader, marking them with distinction; a white cross proudly emblazoned across the chest of the garment. They were the subject of awe and admiration wherever they went. They were the heroes of the Christian people.
The taller man paid no attention to the admiration. There was nothing to admire. They had set out to destroy a people. A people who had taken their rightful land of the Bible. They had killed a few and accomplished nothing. The city still belonged to the Moors and Saracens.
Other than the rich plunder they had taken from the few they dominated, there was no cause for such a fuss. He was greatly dismayed by their lack of success on such a Godly campaign. But he was eager to implement the style of learning that he had seen on his explorations of the east.
He was in awe when he had learned that the barbarians had far more advanced ways than the so-called "civilized"—the kingdom of England. Here there were only isolated schools for clergy, monasteries. There was a Dominican order not far from his estate in the northern country. No one would have believed that such schools existed anywhere in the world: schools for the masses. It was altogether revolutionary.
He wanted that.
He and his companion hastily made their way from Dover at the south of the kingdom and to the northern borders and beyond. His estate lay in Scotland, but he was a noble of the English King Edward. He and the rest of his kind were of the Norman tradition of knights and feudal lords, speaking French and keeping with the courtly ways of chivalry and loyalty.
His companion, though owning an expansive estate in the west at Christchurch, a port town on the mouth of the Avon River, made the long trip with him to his own estate. They were eager to speak with another in that region who would surely be interested in their scheme.
It was a homecoming that would shape the temperament of one of the men for the remainder of his life, though both were unaware as they drew nearer the river, across which lay his estate, a young boy waved eagerly with a broad smile as they landed and stepped to the shore.
The boy had red hair and a cheery face.
"Are you the lord of the manor beyond the hill?" he asked.
The taller, blond man kneeled and took the small hand offered him. "I am. Are you the lord of this manor?" he asked the boy in jest. To his surprise the boy nodded fervently.
"It is the home of my mother, though we have another estate to the south, sir."
After a moment of quiet astonishment, several significant glances between himself and his companion, he turned back to the boy and asked, "Might I have your name, sir."
The boy, smiling and tugging on his red cloak with the white cross and said, "It is Hugo. And yours is Salazar. My mother expects you."
"Then be kind enough to take us to her," Salazar commanded gently of the boy.
Taking in his companion's similar dress, the boy added without ceremony, "You must be the Knight Gryffindor."
"I am," Godric answered with an amused grin.
The boy took both of their hands, not in the least intimidated by their size, their weapons or their rank and led them up from the river to the house of his mother.
"I sent Hugo to greet you by the river. I sensed you would be coming," the lady of the manor said. She glanced timidly at Salazar and smiled at Godric.
"Your senses are, as ever, unfailing, lady," Godric offered with a jovial smile. "I wonder that your senses have not yet let you in on our new found scheme."
"Pray tell me. I have not sensed more than your return," she said with wide and intrigued eyes.
"A proposition of business, of learning. Is Rowena yet here?" he asked haltingly.
"She has been at her estate in Eire this past year, but she comes this week." Turning to Salazar, Helga added with some reservation, "Did my letter not reach you?"
Salazar looked solemnly up. "Apparently not, lady. Things have changed without my knowing."
Helga did not pretend to get his meaning.
"Will you both not dine with us tonight?" she asked brightly, gesturing toward the hall where a servant, Godric could just see through the doorway, was opening a book, selecting the evening's entertainment.
Salazar nodded darkly and followed the pair into the hall. He nearly cringed when he heard Helga announce that her husband would be in from his hunt presently. Instead he covered his obvious anger and discomfort with expert care and indifference.
Stealing glances at the now married woman, he had noticed that there was no great change in her from the six years since he had last beheld her. She was a woman of forceful presence and subtle beauty. Her wavy, golden hair was wound about her head in an intricate braid, framing a face that smiled too often. It was a smile that extended to her crystal blue eyes and through her very demeanor. She was always jovial and kind and had been his exclusive friend almost since he had come into possession of the lands that neighbored hers. He being English in a territory that was never favorable to that kind, she had kindly accepted his solemn and pensive society and lightened his every care with her presence.
He had hopes of marrying her when he had returned from Jerusalem.
But no. She was suddenly gone from him.
He felt the distance.
He knew she sensed it too.
"Is your sister married then?" Godric asked pleasantly.
Helga, intricate silver goblet in one finely crafted hand looked up in surprise. "My," she said in astonishment. "You foolish boys have lost track of all sorts of news while you were on campaign. I am astonished! My sister is not married. Verina is at a convent in Wilton. She has been there for nearly two years now."
"The estate belongs solely to you then?" Salazar asked coldly.
"Yes, it does," Helga said in a measured tone.
He would have continued had not the lord of the manor entered in that moment. He was introduced as Sir Guy Ottery and Salazar disliked him immediately.
A tall man of about forty, Sir Guy looked as though he might have presented a challenge at the lists maybe twenty years ago. He was nothing now but the beginnings of an old man.
"Sir Gawain and the Green Knight," the servant announced. He was something of a bard. He could read, which was an oddity among his class. Helga had probably taught him, Salazar thought.
Among the courtly classes of the time it was customary to have a form of entertainment while dinner was had. It was a tradition of chivalry that, had Salazar felt the inclination of being rude, would have astonished him to have found in the home of any other Scot. The Norman tradition was well preserved among his house and that of his friend Godric. They spoke in French to each other. He made a point to speak French to Sir Guy as well. It pleased him to note that his accent was off. He had not been of his high station for long, unlike Godric and Salazar who had possessed their lands for many generations, and to whom the ways of courtly life were like second nature.
He could sense Helga's unease. He felt it justified.
"Since the siege and the assault was ceased at Troy,
The walls breached and burnt down to brands and ashes,
The knight that had knotted the nets of deceit
Was impeached for his perfidy, proven most true.
It was high-born Aeneas and his haughty race
That since over provinces, and proudly reigned
Over well-nigh all the wealth of the West Isles…"
At the opposite end of the table, where Salazar had placed himself away from the others so that he could brood solitarily, Helga moved away from the group. Sir Guy entertained Godric and a slew of his hunting friends unaware of the tense conversation that was taking place at the opposite end, under the pretense of enjoying the epic recitation.
"I asked if you had gotten my letter, Salazar, because it contained important information." She paused and looked at him. "Important with regards to the people and affairs of this region."
"It must have been mislaid," he answered, unaffected by her words. He continued to listen to the bard.
She continued to stare at his profile face. He had become more reserved through his travels, she discerned. He had never been so guarded around her in their former years as neighbors and friends.
"Fair queen, without a flaw,
She glanced with eyes of gray.
A seemlier that once he saw.
In truth, no man could say…"
"I only bring it up because…well, it contained news of your mother's death," she said regretfully.
Salazar looked on her now.
"Did I hear you right?" he asked.
She nodded slowly. "A fever carried her off nearly two months ago. I am sorry."
"She was all the family I had," Salazar said to himself.
"At Michaelmas the moon
Hangs wintry pale in sky;
Sir Gawain girds him soon
For travails yet to try…"
"Have you been happy in your marriage?" he asked grudgingly as they left the hall and the boisterous merry-making of Sir Guy's party. Godric was among the loudest of them.
Climbing the stairs quietly next to him she thought. "Yes. I am well-settled. I have a family. Soon I shall have a child. I am happy."
Salazar said nothing. He knew she was happy. He could not begrudge her the emotion. She deserved it.
Entering the nursery, lit only by a pale moonbeam, Helga laid a hand on the head of her stepson Hugo. His sleeping form stirred slightly but lay wrapped securely in blankets overlaid with a warm fur.
"He does not care for me much. He remembers happier times when his mother was alive," she said with a sad smile.
"When did she die?" Salazar asked gently, the proximity of Helga to him distracted him and he longed to be closer to her, to breathe the scent of her.
"About a year ago," Helga answered, moving past him as if sensing the slightest desire in him. "She was carried off in the birth of this one," she added, moving to a small crib at the other end of the room where a peaceful baby girl lay hidden mostly under what seemed like yards of fabric.
"What is she called?" Salazar said with a sinking heart. He could not feel ill will for these children. They were too innocent to be blamed for Helga's inconsistent heart.
"Azria."
Salazar thought a moment. "She will be powerful."
"You must marry and have a son." Helga moved closer to him, looking up into his eyes.
He set his jaw and felt that anger was more defensible right now that lust and so glared at her. "Why should I do that? So that she can promise him her love and break his heart?"
Helga stepped away as if wounded. "Did I really do that?"
"You know you did."
"That was a promise I made, Salazar, before you went off on your boyish quest. When troubles with the English king started you were not here. My lands were threatened. I could have lost everything."
"So you sold yourself to an upstart loyalist pet of the crown for the price of your estate?" Salazar asked coldly.
"I could hardly be expected to wait around for you forever, could I?" Helga looked down at the sleeping child and then to the one at the opposite wall of the nursery. "Besides, I love these children and I am happy." She reached slowly behind her neck and unclasped a chain that hung there.
With one, she grasped Salazar's hand and placed the chain in it. He looked down to see the locket there that he had given her seven years ago.
"Seven years of loving you in vain," he said sadly, softly.
"Not in vain," Helga corrected. "I still love you."
Salazar looked into her eyes and suddenly became rigid, cool. He clasped the locket in one angry hand and said, "Save your love for your husband and your family, and forget me."
She watched him walk away and said nothing more.
As he left, Salazar could hear the high and clear voice of the bard, still reciting over the noise of the drunken men.
"Sweetly does she speak
And kindling glances dart,
Bent white and red on cheek
And laughing lips part…"
He saw himself out, leaving Godric to sleep off his merriment at the estate of Hufflepuff. He returned to his own lands, now so vastly changed, now so remarkably bear and lonely.
In the year of Our Lord 1270 a decision was made that would shape the course of history for centuries to come.
Joshua, a Jew and a moneylender walked along the river's bank where it cut through the grounds of the Slytherin estate north of the town of Greenhill. Distractedly he looked across to a meadow where sheep grazed and a shepherd dozed under the warmest sun of the bleak season. Incredibly cold, it was, this summer.
With a sigh of determination he had fixed upon his decision.
The project would be undertaken and, if these people were as powerful as they claimed they were, the labor might only consume two year's time. Under any normal circumstances a building project this monumental would take decades, maybe longer. The wages would be considerably less. The land was agreed upon. It was a situation that could not lose for anyone involved—and it was a noble pursuit.
The Jews of England were entirely at the king's pleasure. Although they were forbidden to own land or engage in ordinary trade, they were encouraged in the time of the Conquest in the new kingdom and enjoyed the protection of the Norman feudal system as financiers and money-lenders. Joshua, among many of this situation, had done considerably well for himself. Most money-lenders had done well in the kingdom, as the Christian religion decreed that usury was a sin. Jews could practice the lending of money with interest as free as they chose. Even the church had done business on many an occasion with the Jews to finance the great monastic and clerical building projects of the kingdom under Edward I. Indeed, Joshua had financed with a group of other money-lenders the great building project of the cathedral at Salisbury in the last decade.
And they were taxed handsomely for it.
But they knew their situation always remained, in this kingdom, at a constant threat. "Don not ever think that because you are useful to them, that you are secure," Joshua's father had always counseled him. He was wise for his thirty years, and shrewd, and well-educated, as most of his kind were.
He carried with him his decision to the fortified manor house where the others were in deep discussion.
Inside a debate was raging that Joshua was unaware of.
For the term of one week, friends who had always shared a limited society of people who possessed the same talents as them, had quarreled and bickered.
Once it was suggested that the institution only serve a select group of elite.
Helga had insisted that it be opened to all who expressed talent and desire—from any social position.
Rowena flew into a rage when it was suggested that the Dominicans staff the school. Cistercians from the monastery on her properties in Eire were the only ones disciplined enough to be considered, in her opinion.
Helga offered a piece of land across the river from her own castle. Salazar argued over ownership rights to the building.
Godric insisted that there was no other place for an institution of its kind than London itself.
Helga and Godric argued the point of royal interference there.
The two women were adamant that not only males should be admitted but females as well.
Salazar promptly left the room.
"I simply will not fund an operation that will exclude my kind," Rowena stated bluntly from her position at the window.
"And for a mind like hers," Helga said in her friend's defense. "It simply will not due without her and her staff of monks."
Godric listened with quiet agreement.
"And the point, as Salazar himself put it, is to better our society through our talents of magic and healing. No one would argue that there was ever a better healer than Helga," Rowena said.
"No, I would not argue it," Godric said.
Rowena bit her lip and looked once more out the window. Her wool trade had done well in the last decade. Most of her lands were given over to grazing. She was in no want of money. If it came down to it, she could finance the school almost entirely.
She was a shrewd woman and therefore she would not pretend that that same thought did not pass at least once through the minds of her companions as well. But a school run by one of them alone would be less for it. They all had tremendous individual talents that would all lend themselves well to the institution that they envisioned.
And none of them were willing to give an inch on that vision.
She watched Salazar pace by the river.
Presently, Joshua was returning from the opposite bank across the bridge. He watched the wizard apprehensively.
She realized that Salazar had conceded a great deal already, letting Joshua in on the financing. Helga and Godric, and even Rowena herself had been cautious where this venture was concerned. None of them wanted to put up all of the capital at once. A financier was needed and Joshua was a safe partner, and reliable.
Salazar, Rowena knew, was suffering from Helga's scorn. On top of it they were against him, allowing an infidel a hand in their business concerning the school. He felt that God would soon visit wrath upon them for such a sin.
Rowena had always liked Joshua. He was an intellectual like her. And he was never uncomfortable in her society. Most men, save her few and far between visits with Godric and Salazar, shunned a woman of intelligence (and supernatural gifts on top of all of that). Joshua and his family had remained among her particular acquaintance and had come to this meeting on her particular request.
"I should speak with him," Rowena said finally.
Godric nodded slowly and Helga smiled.
"Joshua is on his way back. He looks as though he has made a decision. If it is no, thank him for me and see that he has proper provisions for his trip home. If he agrees, ask his terms and show him every kindness if he decides to stay on a while," Rowena instructed, moving to the door of the hall.
"We will," Helga said.
"We will send him on his way while you distract foul-tempered Salazar," Godric laughed, kicking his feet over the arm of his chair. (He would never do this when the lord of the manor were present).
"Have we ruined your plans?" Rowena asked gently as she met Salazar on the bridge above the river.
Salazar was leaning over, watching the rapids as they churned underneath. "There is a lot of energy in this water."
Rowena nodded. "You should put a wheel into it. This would be the ideal spot for a fulling mill."
Salazar looked back at her and laughed. "Your wool is never far from your clever mind, is it, Rowena?"
"No. I suppose it permeates my thoughts. You could build a different mill."
Salazar nodded. He felt his bad mood lifting from him with the presence of her. "It does me well to see you, Rowena. It has been too long."
"Ah yes. We women sit at home and brood and grow old and unattractive while you men lead the exciting lives. Tell me, what was Jerusalem like."
"As cruel as it says in the Bible. What other city could kill the Savior of the world?"
Rowena nodded and drew closer to him. "And you dislike it more because it is overrun with heathens."
Salazar took a deep breath. He felt that she was trying to bait him. He would not bite. Instead he pushed away from the railings and said, "You, Godric and Helga had never ceased to be a part of this plan, from the very moment I conceived it. If you were to disagree, deny me your partnership, this was to be how I would woo you into business with me." He produced a silver chain, let it dangle from his fingers.
Rowena took in a sharp and apprehensive breath. She stared at the chain for a long time trying to guess the unreadable intentions of her friend.
"Salazar…I—," she began feebly.
"I want you to be my partner in this endeavor. I want Godric to, Helga. This is a token of my firm and constant friendship." He held the chain out to her. On the end was a small fleur-de-lis, silver with a sapphire set into the center.
Rowena let her breath out slowly. She had supposed too much. "For a moment I thought that you were going to give me—"
"The locket that Helga gave back to me?" Salazar finished. "No. I would not cheapen you with such a secondhand trinket. On our way from the holy land and our failed conquest of the infidels we passed through a small monastic community on the borders of the kingdom of France. I was struck by the beauty of this small charm and could picture it on the neck of no other."
Rowena blushed and allowed him to turn her away from him so that he could clasp it around her neck. He moved her long chestnut locks aside with one hand brushing her shoulder and for a moment she entertained thoughts of Salazar and herself that had often occupied her lonely hours in youth.
"I thank you. It is a beautiful gift from a dear friend. I should wear it always."
"It would honor me if you would."
She placed a hand on the trinket that hung at her heart and smiled. "Come. Will you not hear the financier's terms for our project? We can come to terms with the particulars of the agreement at another time."
Salazar nodded solemnly and held his arm out to her.
They traced their steps back up to the Slytherin manor and into the hall where the others waited. Godric had a broad smile painted on his face.
The decision that Joshua had come to was apparent.
"My usual rate will be fair enough," Joshua was saying as the two entered.
Godric smiled and Helga nodded emphatically.
"Yes, Joshua. That is more than fair," she said enthusiastically.
Salazar moved to the periphery and said nothing, frowning as Rowena showed her friend and business associate out. He had declined all provisions and offer of accommodations. He would be in Glasgow by nightfall where his family was staying.
Salazar watched through the window as the two talked on as the Jew mounted his horse.
Rowena smiled and Salazar suddenly begrudged the Jew that smile.
He turned to Helga and Godric and smiled as the latter proposed a feast in honor of the new school. It would be an evening of quarreling over all aspects of the institution from its running to its staffing and admittance requirements.
But he gladly conceded and saved his reservations for the appropriate time.
Godric treated this night's feasting as if they were celebrating a plan already realized. Indeed, the place had not been decided and the curriculum was still to be sorted out, but he felt that those things would work themselves out. He couldn't see how such petty things mattered. The money was got and the idea solidified. There was nothing more to be done in his eyes.
He sat in discussion with Helga and her husband Sir Guy debating the spot.
She had easily convinced him that there was no other place for the school than right here on the Hufflepuff estate.
He quickly began to see reason and after several lines of the epic poem Lais read aloud over dinner, he began to take Helga's view that there was no place better for the school.
"And it shall be a grand house of learning that should attract those eager to learn our craft from all over the island and beyond. Surely there will not be another school of its kind anywhere," Godric blustered.
Sir Guy raised his glass in jovial agreement.
"You know very well, Godric, that such schools of witchcraft do exist in the east. The Caliph had opened a center of learning in the east that promotes all sorts supernatural craft and healing. Or maybe you were too inebriated of the ruler's hospitality that it impaired your memory, for he took us through it himself. And that very place is where he presented you with your sword," Salazar said, taking a long drink from his cup before continuing, "Show them your sword. Let us hear of your heroism and the reward that the Caliph bestowed upon the right good Knight of Gryffindor."
"Ah," Godric said grinning. "You are right. I nearly forgot the Caliph. How villainous of me that was."
Sir Guy laughed and began asking for the story.
The bard read on as if this were not an interruption.
"The Caliph," Godric began, "had a son, an undignified man whose love for gambling the family's money at high stakes landed him in a bit of difficulty. Needless to say, as my companion and I were walking down the main avenue of the market outside of the holy city, a man in quite a hurry, fleeing those he owed some serious debt jumped from a low rooftop and used me to break his fall." He looked to Salazar and smiled. "Of course, my faithful companion and friend would not let the offense go and so drew his sword. Eager to make amends, the young man asked for the name of the man he had wronged and was soon on his way."
"We had forgotten about him entirely until a week later," Salazar had continued.
"Then there was a message sent with armed guards from the Caliph. And we thought surely that we were to be killed." Godric laughed. "Indeed, I do not think that the old Muslim king knew that his son had indebted himself to two heathen Christians on a pilgrimage to his city."
"God's city," Salazar corrected him.
Godric continued heedless of his friend. "You see, it is a custom of theirs. I saved him from a sound lynching. Now, if he were just any ordinary peasant, he would owe me the service of protection until he has saved my life as I had his."
"But all he did was fall on you," Rowena said.
"Ah, but because of me he did not break his royal neck. He was able to outrun his pursuers," Godric said with an amused grin. "His father gave me this as a compensation for the inconvenience of being fallen on. It was cursed. An old beggar said that…I do not remember his exact words, but it was foreboding all the same."
"He said," Salazar continued, fingering his plate of untouched food in front of him. "This sword will decide the outcome when faced with the children of…It was a curious word he used…was it Satan? Satan's army?"
"No," Godric said, laughing. "Children. An army of them."
"Maybe he meant Lucifer?" Salazar said returning the smile.
"But the Caliph gave me this sword and, recognizing Salazar's coat of arms as a magical symbol, invited us to tour his royal center for magical learning."
"But I envisioned a much more encompassing program of learning. The Caliph seemed to find only snake charming and herbology necessary to promote learning. I assured him that he was wrong."
Godric smiled. "Ah, friend. You started a religious war with the king."
Salazar raised his chin in defiance but made no attempt to argue. "I think that each gift we possess will be a valuable tool to the success of our institution of magical learning. Godric's knowledge of transformations and alchemy will be just as valuable as Helga's gift of healing and plant magic. Rowena's familiarity of the heavens and their meanings and her library of the history of magic will also be vital."
"And Salazar will rule us all," Godric joked, raising his glass to his friend who glowered and narrowed his eyes.
"Salazar," Rowena spoke up. "Will be useful in teaching the arts of Daemonology and Necromancy."
"And the art that he learned from the Arabs on our travels," Godric added.
"What is that?" Helga asked.
"Nothing of value. A magician's trick of no import," Salazar answered solemnly.
"He was taught by an old shaman to speak to the serpents that dwell under the earth," Godric said with a mocking grin.
"That sounds like a heresy, talking to serpents," Rowena said looking stricken and wide-eyed.
"What else did you learn from your travels?" Helga asked in an accusing tone, eyes leveled on him.
"Nothing worth mentioning," Salazar said.
"Then all is settled," Godric interrupted. "The school will be built just down the river at the site of land that the Hufflepuff estate has so generously provided. My own estate will provide all of the Purbeck marble the task should require and Rowena's Cistercians will serve as attending staff."
"I wish to make it known that I am not fond of the idea of women attending. I do see their uses as far as the arts of healing go," Salazar said holding up a hand to silence a perturbed Helga. "But for the sake of the school's progress, I will concede for the moment on the stipulation that from ten years of the school's dedication I have the power to reform the admittance requirements as concerns gender, religion and social status."
Rowena stared at Salazar for a long time while the others argued the case. Then she finally said, "We will agree to this stipulation. But at least two of us must agree with you if your decision is made against one of these groups."
"It is a deal, then," Salazar said, offering his hand. Rowena took it and so did Godric. Helga was hesitant. She conceded a moment later with a feeling of regret that would forever unsettle her and cause her to look on Salazar as suspect from this moment on.
The next morning saw a departure of two of the members of the previous evening's discussions.
Salazar left his estate along with Godric who was to return to his own home in Christchurch to the south. Salazar would travel with him as far as Wilton.
The ladies remained at the Hufflepuff estate.
That morning as the two men made for England and Christchurch beyond that, the Jew Joshua returned from Glasgow to a meeting with Helga and Rowena.
With him was his daughter Rebecca, scarcely older than Hugo.
"The arrangements are all in order?" Joshua asked, handing the documents for the loan to Rowena who accepted them gratefully.
"A few minor details are still left to be hemmed in, but work will begin immediately. Marble has been donated by the family Gryffindor and Chilmark can be quarried for the heavier stonework from the opposite side of the forest there," Helga answered cheerfully.
"The lords Gryffindor and Slytherin should be returning in a month. They have been long gone in the east and have just recently returned. Lord Gryffindor makes his first trip home since he has come from the campaign and Lord Slytherin accompanies him on his journey." Rowena smiled peaceably.
"It is perhaps fortunate that I speak with you ladies in any case," Joshua said.
"You may do so freely. You are a friend here and one to whom we are greatly indebted," Rowena continued.
Joshua brought his daughter Rebecca forward placing a hand on each of her shoulders. She smiled up at the two great ladies with composure and grace.
"My Rebecca wishes to learn magic like the great King Solomon and like Moses and Aaron," Joshua said, smiling down at the child whom he was no doubt proud of.
"We have not the means to bring the Pharaohs to their knees, but I have a feeling we can place you in an area of magic that well suits you," Rowena consented, kneeling to the child.
"Can you heal the sick?" Rebecca asked eagerly. "I would like to heal the sick."
Rowena looked to Helga.
"I will personally care for your child and teach her all that she wishes to know," Helga promised Joshua.
"And read the meanings of the stars like Solomon?" Rebecca asked.
"I know something about that," Rowena said taking the child's hands in hers.
"Come," Helga suggested. "Let us find Hugo and walk out to the river."
Rowena glimpsed an ill look in her friend's face. She meant to inquire after her health, but thought that it would be tedious to make a fuss over a pregnant woman.
Joshua obliged and offered his arm to Helga as Rowena walked behind them with Rebecca and talked of the stars.
On the evening before they were to leave for England Salazar and Godric traveled through the moonlit landscape of the Hufflepuff to his own estate further down the river. His horse's lazy footfalls were the only sound for a long time, even though Godric was in high spirits. He kept silence sensing Salazar's mood.
"You are not happy with the shared ideas of the school," Godric said after a moment's hesitation.
Salazar was silent for several minutes longer. "I do not want for the school to be challenged in any way. Our position in the king's graces, though we are all unquestionably loyal subjects, is always precarious. If one disaster befalls the kingdom, who do you think the first to take the blame will be?"
Godric said nothing. He had seen the point and he was just as anxious for a smooth founding as his friend.
"And how will it help our position any if we allow Jews to attend?"
"I see your point there, Salazar. But why rail against the female sex so?"
Their horses turned and crossed the bridge at a slow gait and there was more silence from his companion.
"Rowena is really the only exception to the female rule. All other women are hindered by intense feeling and over abundance of emotion. They do not make for good students. Save for her they do not possess the rational mind needed."
Godric smiled. "Surely you don't mean all women besides Rowena. Helga is one of the most competent—"
Godric was not allowed to complete his thought.
"Helga is the most irrational, emotionally unstable of all. She has a gift for the future that even she does not understand and cannot control and she is of the most temperamental mind. I oppose the teaching of the female sex on the basis of Helga as the archetype of women," Salazar explained hotly.
Godric said nothing and was letting the point pass as the manor, great Norman structure of the Slytherin castle came into view and they turned that way from the river.
"But there may be another that I would categorize among Rowena's class of women," Salazar conceded quietly.
"Pray," Godric said sarcastically. "Who could be so lucky in your esteem? You condemn everyone."
"Verina, if she is as constant as I remember her and not so much influenced by her sister's imprudent quick and thoughtless action."
Godric blinked. "Is that why you mean to visit Wilton and come away with me tomorrow?"
"I have business there," Salazar said coldly and spoke no more, retiring to his room for the evening and leaving Godric's mind in turmoil about his companion's true intentions.
Sometime after the mid of night, emerging from his chambers in a thick cloak of the deepest black velvet, Salazar paused once to be certain that no one stirred.
All was quiet and he proceeded.
For the third night in a row, he walked silently to the ground floor and out of a small side door in the outer bailey of the complex. Nearing the place where his mother had been recently buried on the cliff under the yew where his father had long rested, he produced a candle of black wax and his wand.
Kneeling in the dew-soaked grass of the grave he set the candle directly in front of him and breathed a deep breath as if to clear his thoughts. Lighting the candle with a simple "Lumos" he closed his eyes and focused on one thread of thought. His emotions were in such turmoil that he had not been able to reach out to her in a way that she could grasp. Both nights had ended in nothing more than a curious breeze. But now he focused on that string of communication to which he reached out to her in one sorrowful sentiment: "I am sorry I was not able to be with you in your last days."
He felt the faint breeze again.
He knew he had reached her tonight.
Grasping even more to that one thread of communication, Salazar then set his thoughts to converse with her, allowing her to speak to him as well. The grass stirred behind him and he could hear faint footfalls, bare feet.
He could feel her answer: "You do what you can, son."
Thinking that this was all that he would hear from her he set his mind in reply, but was surprised when he felt another bit of communication tugging at his highly tuned mind and soul:
"And I am sorry that your life has not come to pass as you had wished it to."
His heart fell. Of course she knew about Helga.
"You were never meant for her, but destined always to love another."
Salazar pushed his consciousness further. "Then why do I feel betrayed?"
"Because the one you love has left you. But there is a way to bring her back."
Salazar's mind was confused, but he held tight to their connection. "How can I bring her back?"
There was a long pause and for a moment he had thought that she had forsaken him.
Then she offered: "I would not come to you last night and the night before because I knew that you would not listen to what it was that I had to say. You must tonight."
"I will, mother. With all my heart and mind and soul."
"Will you?"
There was another pause.
"Take the book that has belonged to our house for centuries. The Gospels. Your bride is wed to the church and these will bring her back to you."
"Verina?"
"You know it is so. Offer the Gospels in illuminated detail and gold leaf to the convent for her and she will be yours."
Salazar felt the connection sever but remained for sometime longer to meditate on what his mother had told him from her position beyond the grave. He recalled their many conversations when she was yet living. She did not approve of Helga. Verina, being kind and submissive and in every way her sister's opposite had endeared herself to his mother and he would always remember their fondness for each other.
As they set out the next morning, nothing was said and Godric remained silent. He did, however, note the curious item that his companion placed gently in the saddle bag on his horse, Sodom.
It was a pleasant journey and they were never challenged, not even when they came to the border town of York. They were both in possession of great authority in these parts, well known and respected.
In their parting at Sarum, Godric gave his friend the blessing that his business go well at Wilton. He and his horse, Apollonius, boarded a barge that would take them down river three days to his home in Christchurch.
Salazar saw his friend off and afterwards turned to the great gray presence of the Salisbury Cathedral behind him to pray. He prayed for his friend's safe journey, Helga's children, and the founding of their school. Above all this he prayed for fortitude in the task that was required of him to perform this very instant. He had come to see the bishop here and ask for his blessing and support on their school. Before he reached Wilton he would also speak to the bishop at Canterbury about the same matter.
The church's acceptance of their institution would be vital to its endurance in the coming times that he feared would have many trials in store for them all.
The blessing was given at Salisbury and at Canterbury.
He now set his sights on Wilton and the convent there.