Disclaimer: The Founders and their school belong to JK Rowling. The rest of the characters belong to me, unless otherwise claimed by history.
Author's Note: Enjoy, yee few readers!
Chapter Four
Mischance
"On horseback was the swain
that bore his spear and lance;
'May Christ this house maintain
And guard it from mischance!'"
-Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
Now five years have come and gone as quickly past.
Mungo was made a brother monk and continued to learn patience and charity from his mentor, Eomer.
For his part Eomer remained sad and stoic wanting more for one last look at the face of his love than to serve his second love in all due obedience. He did it reluctantly and with a heavily pained heart.
It was also at this time that the lord of the lady's lands in this area, Sir Guy Ottery, returned after a prolonged absence. He was often away at his own estate to the south. Helga's wealth was independent of his own and he was never seen there very often, as it was apparent that he would find no affection there save from his children, now grown all of them.
Helga had been in more of a state of silent reflection upon his return and said nothing to anyone, saving her breath to teach her classes on herbs and healing. She studiously avoided Salazar who seemed content to do the same.
In true patriotic fervor, and in direct violation of his father's wishes, Aaron had joined the wars with the clans and fought under the banner of freedom that Wallace held ever enraging the kings' fury. When Theoderic had returned from Eire he went directly to Aaron and the battle that they waged at York. Rowena had no harsh words for him when he left. She was solemn and quiet and watched as he mounted his horse saying nothing to her. He kissed the young Maren and expressed his wishes that Galahad would soon join him. Rowena caught the fleetingly concerned look that her youngest son shot at her. He would never think to leave her without her wholehearted blessing.
Theoderic was, and always had been, quite headstrong and unwilling to heed the wishes of others. She felt that this was compounded, however slightly, by his anger at his father. Rowena wished there was some solution to his threats that would present itself. She was taking his warning very seriously after his visit to her lands several summers ago. He had, as he had said, weight with the king. She lived now in the constant but private fear that he could easily make good on his threats. It would be the ruin of the school.
But fear and humiliation paralyzed her. She could not tell the others whose lives were also wrapped up in this school. It was dear to them all. Rowena constantly battled to act on the right impulse. She had not at the moment discovered what that right impulse would be.
Presently she sought the answer that was written upon the heavens.
But again her eyes were summoned downward upon the ground where two children played in the twilight. One was her own daughter, Maren. A rambunctious child of seven, she was taught by her indulgent older brother, Galahad the ways in which to be a troublesome tomboy. Rowena smiled. Maren, despite her rough tendencies, had the appearance of a perfect angel. She had the brightest blue eyes that twinkled like the sky. Her hair was the cherubim color of the moon—a silver-blond that lit her rosy cheeks and crystal eyes like an altogether unearthly being. And she was adored for this.
At the moment she was placing a very thorough beating on one of Godric's pupils from the village and Maren's particular friend, Faramir, the son of the potter. She smiled as she noticed their opposites. He was black haired and dark eyed and nearly a foot taller that Maren but possessed a gentler manner (at least where Maren was concerned). Rowena had seen his progress in the tournament arts. He was a fast learner and a fierce competitor, even for the more advanced students under Godric. His abilities in the sport had caused her quite a problem in Maren who wanted to go the way of her friend and learn the sport of jousting. It was to be her first lesson in the differences between the behavior in a young lady and a young man. She was not a young man she would have to understand.
But Rowena could not stop Galahad's encouraging her.
He was teaching her, to Rowena's horror, how to shoot a bow.
Heaving a sigh and looking away from the pair fighting in the growing evening on the lawn at the school's edge, Rowena turned her attention to her notes. An observation caught her attention. She did not remember jotting this down. She must have gotten distracted the last time she was up here.
It read:
Conjunction of the planets Saturn, Jupiter and Mars in the house of Aquarius.
The conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter portends death and disaster.
The conjunction of Mars and Jupiter portends pestilence in the air.
Jupiter is warm and humid and draws up the unwholesome vapors from the earth and water; Mars is hot and dry, and kindles the vapors into an infective fire.
Terrible calamity will arrive.
Rowena looked from her notes to the stars and back. She sat in this manner for some hours and had seen that her notes were accurate.
Taking the steps lightly down from the observatory, she began to worry what the calamity might be. She was resolved to speak to Helga in the morning. Or if she would not speak, at least she could listen to Rowena's worries. She felt she could bear the weight of them no more.
London was bigger than Christchurch by far. There was no comparison in Isaiah's mind as he looked upon the throng of people that pushed past him and his father. Isaiah was in such a state of awe that he had not noticed what had captured his father's attention.
Alongside his son, Godric had stopped, hassled passersby by muttering their peasant language and glaring at the two who inconvenienced them.
They had paused for a moment on the road that bore the Charing Cross, erected to the memory of the deceased queen. Godric blinked, for he could not quite explain what he had just seen to his distracted son. He felt his grip tighten on his sword and looked to Isaiah and then back to the shop front that had his curiosity. This time Isaiah saw it too.
For sometime more the two watched the passersby who walked past unconcerned—seemingly not noticing it.
Finally Isaiah looked away as he heard an airy laugh behind him.
He and Godric turned to see Azria leaning on the arm of her brother, Hugo. Both were smiling broadly, pleased to see their longtime family friends.
"How goes everything to the north? The school?" Hugo asked, embracing Godric and then Isaiah.
"It goes well. We are increasing our body of academics as well as pupils almost daily. I should know for it falls to me to make sense of them all. They are not all for combat or for the arts of herbs and most do not know what will suit them when they begin with us." Godric smiled, kissing Azria's hand.
"It is an important and arduous task, I am sure," Hugo agreed, making for the shop—a pub, that Godric and Isaiah were moments ago so fascinated with.
"Not so much as your task here. Does it go well?" Godric asked.
Azria took Isaiah's arm and fell behind Hugo and Godric who continued. She was eager for news of Eomer and of her brother, Mungo.
"Mungo has just taken orders and does well. The monastic life suits him. He knows more about the ways of it at seventeen than the Abbot himself. As for Eomer," Isaiah paused. He was unsure that it would do Azria well to know that he had also committed himself to the monastic life. "Eomer has had a falling out of sorts with his father. Lord Salazar has settled the whole of his estate on his daughter, Eowyn."
Azria blinked in shock. She tired to recover her astonishment somewhat and inquired of her companion, "What and Lord Salazar has not a younger son by now to bestow his lands upon?"
Isaiah knew that it was not out of malice for Eowyn that Azria was astonished, but out of a sense of guilt. It was plain that Eomer suffered over her.
"The Lady Verina is not well." Isaiah added at a startled look from her, "She is well physically. But she remains locked away in her room and often does not speak to anyone. Not even her lord."
"Things have changed since last I have been home," Azria said with a touch of the mournful in her tone.
"It would do us all some good to see you there again," Isaiah suggested good-naturedly.
Azria smiled. "And how does your family do?"
"Very well, I thank you. My father has found himself a new pupil he loves better, I daresay, than when I was under his training. The school goes well. Isaidore and Theoderic will marry if he can ever spare the time for it. He is often at the wars with the clans in the north."
"For the king?" Azria asked in hushed astonishment.
Isaiah smiled. "No. For Scotland."
Hugo heard the hushed conversation. It had turned to the same topic that he had been discussing with Godric. "We may wish to continue this conversation in a private atmosphere."
He pushed a door open as they had progressed through the dark and noisy hall of the pub. Hugo nodded to the barkeep, who smiled knowingly back.
Shutting the door behind him, Hugo turned to address Godric's initial question. "We have had to take every measure of precaution in this town. The community of witches and wizards here are feeling increasing pressure. The next largest concentration of our people rests in your school." Hugo sat staring at Godric gravely. "That means now that…" he stopped. It was evident to all that he was regretting everything he had been working toward. "Now that the Jews are no longer around, continuing troubles with France and Scotland, disease… it will fall to us to carry the burden of guilt for these mischances."
"Who tells you that there will be actions against the community of witches and wizards, namely our school?" Godric asked narrowing his brow seriously.
Hugo sent a fleeting look to Azria.
"I have a few loose-tongued admirers among Edward's War Council," Azria admitted. She pretended not to see Isaiah sit up a little straighter next to her.
"What are you suggesting?" Godric asked slowly.
Azria and Hugo shared another long look. It was clear that they had spent many hours in deep deliberation on this point. "If Theorderic has also joined Aaron in the fight to the north it would be easier than I had first anticipated," Hugo said more to himself than anyone else. "Our chance to safeguard the school lies in alliance with the rebels there. Our support in the wars in exchange for their added protection of land. Aaron is influential in the court of the Bruces. Theoderic has already earned himself a reputation with Wallace that we have heard of here. Edward loses his patience with our school of Scottish patriots. Either we remove our support of them and live a while longer on Edward's good graces, or we throw in with Wallace and Bruce to secure our lands. In the event of a victory, Bruce would be very willing, Aaron assures me, to recognize legitimacy of our craft and practices."
Godric seemed to ruminate on this thought for sometime.
Azria looked tentatively from him as he stared at the ground in deliberation and Isaiah who stood to pace.
"We have done all we can in court. The support for our cause in not there as it had been before the Jews left. We do not live in the days of Charlemagne, who incited the penalty of death to those who persecuted our kind. Edward will glorify the killers of witches and wizards." Hugo stood now as well.
Isaiah looked fervently to him. He would agree with Hugo that this is the best course of action. But the ultimate decision would go to Godric.
"Edward grows impatient day by day for a victory over the Scots. He wants Wallace. With the support of our kind, no army could march against them. Not even the mighty army of England and its undefeated cavalry," Azria asserted gently.
"What is this place we meet in?" Godric asked. He had not forgotten the decision at hand, but a furthering of the plan had come to mind.
"Osric's pub?" Hugo asked, caught at surprise. "He owns the area around here. He employs a type of magic that keeps it from the detection of non-magical eyes. You saw it appear as you came upon it. But the others did not. They just walked right by. There is an entire community thriving here, behind this shop front. But none venture out now. London is a bed of suspicion for the so-called heretic."
"It is nonsense," Azria argued. "Everyone of these people—good people, love and keep the word of God and are blessed with gifts that would help humanity. Instead they are shunned and hunted. I do not comprehend it."
"Perhaps it is safer for you to come with us back to the school," Isaiah suggested in a whisper behind Azria.
"I would not leave my brother. And he has important work yet here to do, even if the Magesterium will fail," Azria answered while Godric was in conversation with Hugo.
"Can you get Osric to lend his magic to us? I believe it would be helpful as an added protection to the school," Godric asked.
"Yes, of course," Hugo added with a frown.
Godric began to laugh. "I do not mean to suggest that we will hide instead of fight. We shall support Wallace. I must be in agreement with the other founders, mind you. But they will not be hard to convince of the welfare of the school."
Hugo brightened and was relieved.
Leaving the secured room of the pub, Godric caught a suspicious look from a man in a corner. He dismissed this quickly, owning to an unfamiliar territory.
Hugo saw him too and reassured Godric that it was just a traveling gypsy. That type was in here as often as not.
"You shall see me again before you know it," Azria said to Isaiah as he made to leave with his father. "Give my warmest regards to everyone at the school."
"We will, lady," Isaiah said. She took his hand and placed in his palm a small letter that she had prepared with great caution and care. Taking it, he slipped it into his surcoat without a hint of the puzzlement that crossed his mind in doing so. He departed with his father, knowing not what tragedy would reunite him with his friend Azria again in the nearest future.
Flaxen wheat swayed carelessly in the breeze Rowena observed while she walked beside Rose and Helga to the river's edge. They all had heavy concerns and she was endeavoring to be as helpful to them both as possible. But despite her desire to be a fair and good friend her mind kept wandering from their respective dilemmas to her own, and wishing more that she could be one strand of the gay dancing field of wheat than a woman with such cares as hers.
She banished the thought and turned to Rose. Her troubles were immediate and sure and Rowena's were more like a cloud on the horizon—one that could tell rain just as well as not. She was having a difficulty in persuading her father's actions against Godric. Unaware of the trouble that his aunt's death (Rose's mother) had caused him while he was in London, upon his return, Godric would find that his marriage would be challenged.
The Lady Tess, sister to the late Godefroi Gryffindor, had upon her deathbed confessed to her husband that throughout her life she had possessed certain abilities that she had hid from her. All of her family had this gift. So enraged was her husband that he demanded of his wife, making her considerably unwell, whether their daughter was afflicted the same as she. Tess, with tears and regret, consoled him making his understanding of her gift easier than her own relieving of guilt at keeping it from him. Rose did not have it. Rose's children did, indeed, but not she.
Rose's father, Sir Hugh of Whitehall, immediately subscribed to the opinion that the Gryffindors had sold themselves to Satan for such a possession. It was no "gift". He applied to her directly, coming to the castle school where she was supplanted for the summer months. It pained her more to see his look upon her daughter whom he now regarded as a child of the devil and at her, carrying yet another one to disgrace the name of the Whitehall family. He demanded her estrangement from her family immediately.
She was thankful that her son and husband had not been witness to this. Indeed, it was all she seemed to say, "Thank the Lord in heaven that he had not looked upon Godric so evilly. He would not have borne it."
Rose was in a state of uncertainty. Rowena sympathized but was prudently silent. She wished to keep this trouble from Godric but did not see how she could escape acquainting him with it. He would have to know. Her father could make very good on a challenge for the Gryffindor family lands.
Against her inclination Rowena began after some silence to acquaint the two women with her own very similar trouble.
"I did not know that you were having any sort of difficulty such as that, dear Rowena," Helga said with wide-eyed gravity.
Rose turned immediately and in an urgent tone she said, "You must not believe that all those who are without such gifts wish you harm. There are those that are in earnest of the good you mean to do with your talents."
"Rose," Rowena said smiling sadly but appreciatively. "I would that there were one hundred souls as good as yours. I know you mean us no harm. But your kind and ours will not live long in peace." Rowena held out to her two companions a sheet ripped from her book of notes. It was the curious prediction she had made days before.
Both looked at it and then back to her.
Helga was the first to speak. "What do you take it to mean?"
"Nothing promising. I think it is the future of the school, or our future, or that which is yet to come for me. Maybe everyone in general," Rowena answered hopelessly. She was tired and frustrated and rubbed at her burning eyes feeling as if she would melt with grief over the collectively deteriorating state of things.
She was grateful for Rose's hand that went to her cheek and gently wiped a tear from it.
Helga embraced her with an assurance that she has not had any foretelling dreams as of late. Rowena felt her tense slightly as she said this and thought that maybe she was not telling the entire truth of the matter.
"Holy Father who art in heaven!" Rose exclaimed beside her.
Rowena had now turned to see what had both women transfixed behind her. She could not move fully to see what Rose had exclaimed after, Helga was clinging to her for support and Rowena felt that they would both topple to the ground. Endeavoring to hold herself up and the added weight of her friend seemed to take all of her strength, but she shook Helga who was now regaining her senses.
Freeing herself of clawing hands, Rowena finally turned to see three men dressed in the garbs of noblemen on a hunt. They were carrying a fourth as steadily as they could.
She heard Helga beside her speaking soft words of resolve and courage to herself as she met with the concerned gaze of her sister and silent enemy, Verina. She had accompanied the men from the forest gently holding the head of the injured hunter.
"He was hurt in a fall, I am told," Verina explained as Helga met them at the end of the bridge.
"Lucky you were there," Helga said in an acid tone. She knew the face before she was met with it. Her husband was unconscious and in need of fast magic that might or might not save him.
"Go home, Verina," Helga continued. "You are unwell and should be in bed."
"I can help," she argued in a small voice.
"You have done quite enough."
Verina did not argue further, thinking more for Sir Guy who needed Helga's undivided attention. She stood back and looked on silently as her sister coolly placed her fingers at his temples. A moment later she pronounced him fit to be moved inside.
Rowena was astonished at Helga's professionalism under such pressure. She did not let on how unnerving the situation was for her. Rowena could only imagine how she was affected by the sight of his deathly pale face.
Rose took Verina back across the river and walked her home. Rowena watched as every now and then Verina regretfully looked over her shoulder. She wondered if the animosity that Helga treated her sister with would ever abate. But at the moment that was a secondary issue.
Guy was taken inside and Rowena held back for a moment, assuming she would be in the way more than helpful. She did not even know the arts of healing.
Off to the edges of her vision in the weakening daylight, innumerable hours later she stood at the same spot. But now she was met with travelers. Godric and his son rode up to her, both looking weary. She regretted that she would have to apprise them of many lamentable events before they could even have water for their horses.
"How goes Hugo and dear Azria?" she asked in as cheerful a manner as she could summon at the moment.
"Well," Godric replied in distraction as he dismounted his Apollonius. "We have much to discuss and little time to act. Where is your son, Galahad?"
"On the field with Maren," Rowena said indicating an archery field that lay beyond the school on the rise.
As she said this Godric nodded to Isaiah, a silent command to fetch him for important business.
"Come, we need to speak to Helga at once," he said taking the reins of his horse as Isaiah spurred his in the direction Godric indicated. "Is Salazar around, do you know?"
Rowena reluctantly answered, biting her lip, "Salazar has left two days ago on business to London. Helga is occupied just now. Her husband was in a fall this morning. He is in a grave state."
Even as she said this Godric was mounting his horse again. He held out a hand, cutting off her explanation and asking, "Can you ride?"
Hoisting her roughly onto the saddle behind him, Godric raced from the river's edge and to the footpath that would take them to the gates of Hufflepuff Castle.
No further explanation was given to Rowena save a letter that Godric passed to her. She did not read it but struggled to keep her grip around Godric's waist and her fingers grasping the letter tightly.
Salazar had received a message bearing the royal seal and left immediately for London. Not even Verina knew why and she had been privy to most of her husband's most deep thoughts, suspicions and hopes.
But some were too important to share with anyone. Salazar felt the weight of this. He could tell no one what his reasons for the message where for, indeed, he did not know himself.
Even as he arrived at the dominating wall of the fortified port city with its vast markets and trading posts he could not guess at the urgency of the king. But as a faithful subject, one whose dreams and hopes were wrapped up in the favor of this one man, he would not question.
Instantly guards were called from the gates to escort him. He had been expected. He would not have to wait like the other nobles for an audience. This was not his first inclination to the unusual, it was just a confirmation.
Inside the cold and lofty stone of the seat of his sovereign, Salazar was met with an unbidden sense of entrapment. He came to a room, an informally adorned chamber with intricately carved, but not pretentious furnishings. There were various game animals on display that interested him very little.
But a map on the table caught his eye and he moved to look over it.
On it was displayed the whole of the island. Garrisons were marked vividly. His own castle and estates and troops had been indicated by several carved figures—serpentine, made especially. This was astonishing to Salazar. He was immediately aware that this was a display. For his benefit. To flatter and woo. He wondered for some moments more what the king was proposing before the man himself emerged from a side chamber, speaking forcefully to a servant who retreated with orders immediately.
Salazar looked up and made a slight bow.
The king inclined his head and asked informally how the roads had treated him.
Salazar replied with modest praise of the thoroughfare into the city. Very little was to praise with regards to the roads of the north. Some of the passes were only maneuverable by the locals.
Whatever was the reputation of the man, Edward was not known for dawdling. He went straight to the point. Salazar expected no less.
No taller than himself, Salazar observed him as a formidable man in his youth, now made impatient with infirmity. He had a slight cough and spoke with an ever-present wheeze that made Salazar want to clear his own throat, it was so persistent. But he listened to the man's proposals with clam and cool interest.
He was offered a seat which he took as Edward began.
"The long and the short of the matter is," Edward said, pausing to cough momentarily. Salazar waited silently for him to continue. "I long for an end to the trouble with Scotland. How will I prove to the French that we are a people capable of rule on the continent when I cannot control the whole of my island?"
"I know not, my king," Salazar answered evenly. He was feeling the man out as he was sure that the king was doing with him. He had had enough dealings with this particular monarch to know how to play his games. He was, after all, a second cousin to the man. His mother was of royal blood. This is why Edward was careful with regards to him. He would not risk having it known that he was a relation, however distant, to a people he despised openly.
"Ah, you do, Salazar," the king said with a smile.
"Please, my lord. Apprise me of my ignorance and let us not waste time further," he continued with a slight incline of his noble head, leveling shrewd eyes on his king with graceful indifference.
"I want Wallace. I want this rabble-rouser silenced. I want your associates in that school of yours to stop meddling in affairs that do not concern them."
Salazar nodded slowly. "Scotland's wars with England do concern them, lord. Their school is there."
Edward clenched his jaw and breathed an agitated breath that caused him to cough more. "Is it not also your school?" he asked through his hacking.
Salazar waited for him to calm his breathing and answered. "I alone would give my blood to see that institution thrive. I doubt that my fellow founders would give the same to their share of the commitment."
"That, Salazar, is where you go in error. I have been informed of their plan to give Wallace and his peasant army their support. What am I up against if they aid this traitor?"
Salazar was frank. He disguised his feelings of betrayal well, with practiced unconcern. "They will be a force that is unbeatable. It is not the conduct of a gentleman to employ magic on the battlefield, and Godric Gryffindor is the embodiment of a gentleman. But he possesses the means of strengthening and protection of his assets as war is concerned. His force of feudal soldiery could match your cavalry. His and Wallace's could beat any force you send against them."
Edward nodded evenly, considering all of this.
Salazar brooded silently while the king deliberated. He weighed his options, surmised the king's plans, reasoned his friends' actions. He could not fathom Godric having plotted against his wishes—Helga he might have foreseen. Rowena was altogether unlikely. He debated the validity of Edward's information. He very well might be playing Salazar's sense of loyalty against him.
"That is why I am willing to strike a compromise with you," Edward said, holding a handkerchief to his mouth and hacking as discreetly as possible.
"What is the compromise, sire?" Salazar asked in a voice that lacked all surprise, or the pretense thereof.
"I wish more for a union between England and her heathen neighbor to the north. That is, after all, the reason that nobles, such as yourself, were placed at points throughout their territory. To instill the presence of the crown. I want this more than I want the disbanding of your wretched and heretical school. Give me this and you shall have your blessed school, free of the interference of the crown and the church. I can assure you all of this. But I want Wallace and I want Scotland."
"How do you propose that I achieve this, my lord?" Salazar asked with mounting unease. He saw that this could be the end to his troubles, to the school's, to that of wizarding kind. He was in limbo. Should he take what was offered? Could he hold out for better?
He did not think that a better compromise could be struck.
"You are a clever man," Edward said smiling deviously. "You will think of something. If you do not I will invade Scotland, damned be the cost and I will take that den of witchcraft apart stone by stone."
Salazar stood. He was unaccustomed to the spot he now found himself wedged in.
The thought that Edward's information was valid, Godric had plotted without his knowing, made the offer more attractive. It left him free of guilt. But he wanted to be certain.
"Good day to you and a pleasant trip," Edward said finally with a nod.
Salazar said nothing and left the king to his victory. Salazar needed to see Hugo. He would know whether Godric had plans against his wishes to throw in with Wallace. He knew the Hufflepuffs all too well. It would have originated in the mind of this one clever politician and his meddlesome Magesterium that had for so long been a thorn in his side.
Isaiah found Galahad where Rowena had said he would.
Sitting upon the low fence that divided the tournament field, Galahad was watching Eowyn as she instructed Maren in combat with a sword. He admired the agility with which Eowyn moved. She was a graceful swordswoman and her movements were effortless and deadly. She was gentle with Maren and practiced with the child, arguing that her size was better to teach the art to a child than Galahad's. And he agreed. Maren was learning fast against an opponent only slightly less intimidating than himself.
But Galahad was shaping her into something that her mother did not agree with. He secretly agreed that there was no place in real combat for a woman. But exceptional talent must always be recognized. Here were two such exceptions: Eowyn, with whom he would gladly go into combat with, and Maren who was growing to be more promising than her teacher. His secret motive had always been to save her from the vulnerability that was her mother's death and her eventual abandonment. Maren would never be helpless in a situation such as the one that had ended her mother's life. She would be taught to fight against the wishes of Galahad's mother, his brother and anyone else that argued the indignity of such a prospect.
Theoderic had said that Maren would never find a husband who would not be frightened of her.
Galahad did not care much one way or the other. He would rather have her with him on a hunt or in a battle than have her married off far away from him and living the constrained life of motherhood. That was no life for one so talented as she was.
"Swing harder, Maren," Ewoyn called forcefully. "Drive me back. Do not let me gain ground. If I gain on you then I can open up space enough to get in a full swing. Close the space between us and I have nothing to do but fall back to gain more space. If you wear me out in this manner then you have beaten me."
Maren nodded in deep concentration. She was a strong swordswoman already. Galahad was proud where most others censured. But she was capable. And that alone eased his mind where she was concerned.
At the distance of the field Galahad was surprised to see Isaiah approaching at a hard gallop on his gray detstrier. He could not have imagined that he could have made the journey from London in so short a time. But there he was and in some hurry.
"How now, Isaiah? How goes London?" Galahad asked, standing from the fence and coming to take the reins of the heaving animal.
From his mount Isaiah turned to Eowyn and Maren who had stopped their exercises and were now standing quietly to one side of the field.
"Eowyn," he said forcefully, urgently. "Find your brother. If he is not at the monastery then send some of the order to find him. He is to go directly to Hufflepuff Castle. There is a meeting there that he must join. Take Maren to your mother."
Eowyn said nothing, hefting her sword and taking Maren's, she left to carry out her orders as dutifully as a soldier, fielding questions from a curious Maren all the way.
Isaiah turned to Galahad and asked, "Will you come with me this moment to Wallace's camp? There the king has set a plot in motion that will capture him."
"Of what nature is this plot?" Galahad asked removing leather gloves from his belt where they were tucked. Now slipping them on, preparing to ride, he looked up with interest and concern at his friend.
"The most grave. Edward means to capture him and disperse the rebels. Your brother is there, is he not?" Isaiah asked as his horse side-stepped impatiently.
"He is," Galahad answered. He reached for the reins of his own steed, a chestnut mare named Erindil. She was prized as quite a fast beast and useful in the lists. She was tied at the fence where he sat.
"My father and Hugo plan to support Wallace's claim to this land. They believe that it is the best course of action for the school. We must warn him or all is lost," Isaiah urged.
As Galahad mounted he continued, "With all respect that is due your station, Isaiah, why would Wallace heed the word of an Englishman?"
"I do not hold lands in Scotland and neither does my family. We are above suspicion. And if he will not listen to Gryffindors, he will have to listen to his faithful patriots, of which both your brother and Hugo's brother Aaron belong."
Galahad nodded his consent and they were off immediately.
He did not mean to be skeptical of their part in this, but Galahad was a very pragmatic man. He did not wish for the clans to lose their one leader. Indeed, he had hoped to gain his mother's support in joining the conflict. But he wondered what the king's retaliation for their involvement might be.
"Hugo," Azria said taking her brother's hand as he sat motionless by the fire of their small apartments above the street of the Charing Cross. "You can do no more than you have already done."
Azria had been watching him nervously for a while. He was in a turmoil. It was clear that there was no more to be done that would further the good image and faith in the magical people. They were fast sinking in a sea of suspicion that, for years since the banishment of the infamous Jewish population, was eager to claim a new victim. He had often sat in this manner, when decisions needed to be made, when there was something pressing on his mind. He would pull a small scrap of material from his breast pocket, yellow. It was a tableau, long since gone with the Jews that were marked by this sign. It was Rebecca's.
He stared now at this piece of cloth in a mournful silence.
Azria could only imagine what pain it must be to have let down the one person you love. He was unable to save her. Azria knew he daily blamed himself. She was the first victim. She could not help supposing one of her family or dear friends at the school would be the next claimed by the mounting hatred and racism of the modern times.
She would not pretend as everyone else had that Hugo's feelings for his young Jewish friend were nothing more than that. He had wanted to marry her, despite religion and the obvious censure that would come about with such a match. He had told her this.
"You cannot save us all from hatred and cruelty, Hugo. That is not one man's job alone," she said, kneeling beside him. His eyes were vacant. They reflected the firelight but did not see it, did not see anything.
"Have I done what is best in standing defiant to the king? Could I have done more to gain favor for the school?"
Azria smiled sadly. "You have done so much for the school. There is no more anyone can expect from you." She leaned forward placing a kiss on his forehead with devoted care.
He closed his eyes and heaved a tried sigh, resting his head on her shoulder.
"Rebecca would be so proud of you. There are none kinder or more willing to further the cause of right. We are all of us proud to know you, Hugo." Azria squeezed her brother's hand and added, "But now we must go home. I daily see a cloud of evil portent growing in my dreams."
"I know you are right, sister," Hugo said sadly. "But I cannot believe that all of my work has come to nothing—our kind is just as severely persecuted now as they ever were. I cannot bear it."
"You must. In the best way you can. The climate could change with the passing of the crown. We must wait and trust to God to change our fortune," Azria said, speaking softly. She was stopped when the door crashed in behind them.
She jumped and spun around, feeling Hugo's hand at her side, pushing her aside.
The intruders were soldiers dressed in the garnet and yellow surcoats and the seal of the crown.
"I demand an explanation for such an interruption," Hugo asked forcefully, furrowing his brow in anger at the inappropriate behavior these guards were becoming more accustomed to showing. He was used to second-class treatment as a Scot, but he was in no fair mood at this moment.
"Why arm yourself thus?" Azria asked at Hugo's side. She looked to the swords that were held gleaming at the sides of two of the intruders while the third wielded an ax. "We are not armed ourselves and will peaceably do your bidding."
One guard smiled but the others said nothing.
"What is it you want here?" Hugo said finally as no one made to move. Again there was silence.
The one guard grinning quickly grabbed Azria's arm, hauling it painfully behind her back. She cried out in shock but did not struggle. She could not move, held fast as she was by one strong and armed guard. When Hugo came to her defense the other two guards seized him with far more force than the one had used with Azria.
When he struggled, he was bound even tighter.
The man that held Azria smiled at his attempts, which only made him angrier.
His sister said nothing she only looked to him with fear and confusion. Azria opened her mouth to say something to him, but was silenced by her captive who said, "Take care of this one. I want to have a chat with the lady."
She was pulled from the room hearing behind her shouts that told her Hugo was attempting to get to her. Not knowing why because she could not see him now, she closed her eyes to block out her senses. She did not want to feel the guards rough hands around her waist or hear the metallic zing of a sword taken from its scabbard, or Hugo's shouts to her captor, nor the sound of the falling ax. She blocked it all out and would suppress it so deep within her own mind that, save for when the guards left after having all come into the room, bloodied, to laugh at her and humiliate her, she would only remember the eerie quiet of the place, the pain which moving slowly to the hearth had caused her and the sight of her murdered brother there.
"It is our best hope to see this institution, our dream, thrive. Edward wants it torn down. He sees it as a threat. We strengthen the armies that fight against him. He does not see that we mean to further mankind. He does not understand our blindness to religion, nationality or station in life. He will only treat us as heretics. We must throw our support to those that would best understand us. Aaron is trusted at the court of Bruce and the other Scottish nobles. We must help the Scots win their independence and with that independence we will be granted the protection of the Bruces' army."
"And Wallace's force. What of that?" Rowena asked in a voice that betrayed her uncertainty. She was in possession of information that Godric was not. It was information that made what he suggested sound more than impossible.
"We pledge loyalty to him. We help fight the British. We use what means God gave us to tip the scales in the favor of the Scots with whom our future surely lies," Godric explained. He looked to Eomer who listened with a stern but quiet and interested air. Mungo sat beside him and affected much the same manner.
"You speak of treason, Godric. You are a noble of the kingdom of England and Wales. There will be a heavy price to pay for your involvement, and his," Rowena continued, nodding toward Eomer. Eomer seemed unconcerned with the prospect of danger.
"How do you mean to protect your estates in Christchurch?" Eowyn asked without being invited to speak. She stood from her spot in the corner where she had been listening to the proceedings with calculation. "If you rise up against the crown, the king will surely strike there first. What would stop him from marching his entire army north to finish off our estates and the school? Would you not agree that you are risking much needlessly?"
Godric turned to her and looked upon her earnestly. She was only just younger than his own daughter, who at eighteen was everything a man would pride himself in a daughter. She would marry respectably into the Ravenclaw family and she was soft spoken and took great care never to speak down to her superiors. Godric made great allowances for the favorite and the daughter of his lifelong friend who was absent at the moment.
Eowyn shook her corn silk hair from her shoulders and continued defiantly, "I wonder that you chose the precise moment that my father is away on business to the south to bring this proposition to the table, Lord Gryffindor."
"Keep your tongue, Eowyn or leave the room," Eomer said, speaking for the first time since he had entered.
She shot him a glance of contempt but fell silent.
"No, I do not mean to plot against your father," Godric explained. "But the matter is of some urgency. Indeed, the king's plans might already have been set in motion and therefore this discussion matters not. But Isaiah and Galahad have gone north to meet the rebels and will do what they can to foil Edward. If they fail it is the fall of our school and the end of wizarding-non-wizarding relations."
"So, it is not even a debate on the matter?" Eowyn persisted. "You have already acted for the ruin of all of us."
"Eowyn," Eomer said in an agitated tone. "I grow tired of your conspiracy theories. Sit down and be silent."
"I acted to save the life of a noble man who is fighting for a just cause. Maybe he is already captured. I know not. But there was no time to wait. The king has acted long before I have. The battle lines are now drawn. We must decide where our loyalties lie. For my part, I support Wallace and Scotland."
"Then I am with you, Godric," Rowena said taking his hand as she pledged this.
"And I will also support your decision," Eomer added.
Eowyn stood immediately and left the room.
"I am glad that it is so, Eomer," Godric said when Eowyn had left them. "I will need your help with an added protection for the school and of our lands. Tell me, are you well versed in wards?"
"I will accomplish anything you may require of me," Eomer said with a bow. He and Mungo stood. Godric stood as well.
"Very well. Meet me at the school in an hour and we will make the necessary preparations."
Eomer and Mungo left Rowena and Godric.
"I wish there was another way," she said softly.
"So do I," Godric admitted. "But there is something else troubling you?"
Rowena smiled. It must have been written upon her face. She felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. "Yes, there is. It might prove disastrous to our new found plans. Forgive me for mentioning this no sooner. I did not want to speak of such a thing in front of Salazar's child. She is a suspicious one."
"She is motivated out of deep respect for her father. She is harmless," Godric said, sitting again. "Tell me what troubles you. Surely you trust me enough with your affairs."
"Of course, friend," Rowena conceded immediately. But it was harder to put her worries and concerns into words.
Godric took her hand and looked earnestly into her eyes, surprised by the weariness they conveyed. Had it been so long since he had looked this closely at his friend? "You have been carrying your burden for quite a while," he said in astonishment.
Rowena merely nodded. "I was afraid to tell you all, for it concerns this school. Salazar especially would see me as a threat to the very foundation of this school in which he has wrapped up so much of his life." Godric nodded slowly. He could not stop the pace of his heart, which caused the blood to pound deafeningly in his ears. He was apprehensive for what she would reveal.
"I have long been estranged from my husband, whom you do not know. He is Eoin O'Neale and the head of a powerful tribe on his island. He is the father of my two sons, but he wanted nothing to do with them when he found out who and what I am. He comes from a superstitious people. He did not understand what my gifts truly are. And now he has allied with the king. The pope has secured him an annulment from our marriage agreement and he has taken a new bride." She stopped for a moment, wondering if she should continue with the rest of the humiliating story. In the end she figured that she must. "I was at my estate for the summer two years ago when he came to me threatening to take my lands. He had turned the order of Cistercians that I patronized against me. I have no support from them. If he can he will make trouble for the school as well. I have wounded his pride and he will settle for nothing less than to see me ruined."
Godric listened to all with a sick sense of injustice. He was becoming tired of the degrading situation of the magical people among the non-magical people who misunderstood them. He made to say something, but Rowena continued.
"You are unaware of this, but your fate lies with mine. Upon the death of your aunt, Rose's father was apprised of her abilities as a witch. He has demanded that Rose sever herself from you and your children, as my husband has done of me and my sons. He poses a threat to us and our school just as Sir Eoin, Lord Whitehall does. And it seems our enemies are becoming too numerable."
Godric blinked in shock. He did not know how to reply to this. "Is that the truth?" he asked breathlessly.
"It is, my love," Rose answered from behind them.
She was on the stairs having just seen to Helga. Her husband remained unresponsive and near death. Verina had also done for him more then she should have. It was generally known that her poor habits of eating and sleeping had considerably weakened her. She rarely appeared out of her own bed chambers and when she did she looked deathly pale. There was no accounting for her happening upon the party of hunters where Sir Guy had been injured when she did. But it was due to her that he was not dead already, as he very well could have been.
"He came to see me as soon as my mother was buried." Rose spoke softly, moving carefully down the stairs supporting Verina, exhausted from another fruitless day of attending to Helga's husband had worn her down. She did not speak and seemed not even to breathe.
Godric and Rowena both endeavored to keep their astonishment from showing.
"Do not go to your home in Eire unless one of your sons is with you or unless I can accompany you myself. As for Sir Eoin and my father-in-law…" Godric took a deep breath and shook his head. "I will think of a way to deal with them." He looked to Rose and took strength from her trusting smile. He was in no danger of losing his wife in the same way Rowena had lost her husband, he knew this and he felt for Rowena.
Verina took Rose's help as far as the stairs and quietly said that she would see herself to the door. Rowena inquired of her as to Sir Guy's progress, which was not favorable. Verina said goodnight politely and was nearly to the door when she collapsed heavily to the ground.
Startled by her fall, Godric jumped to his feet and Rowena was right behind him.
Her cheek was warm to his touch and her breath was faint.
Godric called to Rose to get cold water and a cloth, lifting Verina lightly into his arms.
"Put her in here, Godric," Rowena instructed, leading the way to the nearest bed on the second floor. She inspected Verina quietly while he stood by. Rose came in behind him with a bowl and a cloth draped over her arm. She was slow but moved as fast as a pregnant woman could be expected to. "She is just exhausted," Rowena explained and Rose confirmed.
"Shall I fetch Helga?" Godric asked, eyeing the pale and unconscious woman nervously.
"No," Rose answered, wiping Verina's forehead. "Helga needs all of her strength to see to her husband. Besides, she will be up by tomorrow anyway."
"Do you know how long Salazar will be detained in London?" Godric asked the two women.
Neither gave him a positive answer.
Salazar found Azria in the place she had been fixed to next to her brother for quite sometime.
He was stunned for only a moment, standing in the door and taking in the disheveled room and its slaughtered occupants. Terror only reigned over him for a moment.
Salazar saw blood. There seemed to be blood everywhere. There were bloody footprints that trailed off down the hall, blood pooling under the victims and both of them were lying there. It was a scene unlike he had seen anywhere else, even in the vicious and brutal conflicts with the heathens in the east. Hugo lay sprawled on the ground, his torso was a mess of organs and bones. Salazar studied this with calm detachment for some moments longer. His breath steadied as he immersed himself in the detail of it. A Viking tradition, it seemed to him. The breastbone was cleaved perfectly in two. One set of ribs, perhaps the left and then the right, had been broken and flung outward. One lung and then the other had been flung over each shoulder. He could not imagine that young Hugo would have been alive through all of this. He would have died of the first blow. But to defile the body in such a manner was thought humorous to some. The Vikings called this the blood eagle and it was a heavily employed tactic during the raiding period before the conquest.
Salazar came forward.
What had happened to the girl, he wondered. She was laying across her brother as if she had fallen on him. Even before he moved her on to her back he observed that her stockings and shoes had been removed. She was barelegged. Her dress was ripped savagely down the back, her corset was halfway unlaced in the back, one sleeve of her white linen shift had been torn down the seam. And for all of this and all of the blood that was upon the front of her dress, Salazar thought of his son and his ardent affection for this girl—a girl he had never really considered, beyond her capacity to wound as her mother had. But she seemed less defiant, more helpless in his arms, dead. And he felt a sorrow and a pity for her that he had never thought she deserved of him. He prayed for his son's sake that she may yet be alive.
There was no hope for the brother, Helga's stepson. But a shuddering breath soon told Salazar that there was life left in the girl. He held her close to him and patted her cheek gently, coaxing her awake.
She blinked and her eyes came open.
Salazar was relieved but cautious. Wiping a hand across her forehead, brushing her dark red hair from her bloodied face, he spoke to her calmly. "Do not move, child. You are safe."
He was unsure if she could move and she gave no indication that she was well enough to do so.
"Do you know what happened? Who attacked you?" Salazar asked slowly.
She swallowed hard and shook her head.
Wiping blood from a jagged cut on her lip, he asked her, "Could you tell me if they were soldiers or thieves? Would you know the difference?"
"Soldiers," she answered. She took another shuddering breath and tried to sit up. Clinging to his cloak for support she looked around and saw her brother, though Salazar did all that he could to keep him from her view.
She blinked back tears and looked shakily at him, as if she were in a daze. It was very likely that she was. "There were three of them. One carried an ax. They were guards of the king," she whispered.
Salazar removed his cloak and placed it around her to stop her shaking. Underneath her hand, pinned to the floor was an unopened letter. She took it up and handed it to him.
"The last one said that you would be expected. He left this."
Salazar eyed the letter suspiciously. It was sealed with the royal insignia. "I do not understand. I told no one I was on my way here."
Azria shrugged and wiped a hand across her bloody and tear stained face. She was perfectly correct in doing so. Whether he planned to call on them or not was pretty inconsequential now.
He opened the letter where he sat on the ground next to her.
She said nothing though she still shook as she leaned into him. He held the letter above her head as to block it from her view. He read the hurried script of the king: You would be surprised at the lengths to which I could reach.
An involuntary chill accosted his spine. He was sure Azria felt him shudder. He folded the letter wondering how Godric and the others would remain from the reach of the king now that they were marked as traitors. Maybe it was wiser now to support Wallace. But he did not have the luxury of choice. To prevent a repeat of tonight's events he would have to comply with the king. There was now much more at stake than his school.
He threw the letter in the fire.
"Can you stand?"
She looked distractedly to him and stood on bare feet, pulling his cloak tighter around her.
He nodded and pulled out a chair for her. On closer inspection she did not seem to be injured. The blood on her was mostly that of her brother's. Other than shock, and a few scrapes and cuts she was fine physically—that he could discern immediately.
He filled a basin and dipped a cloth into it, cleaning her cuts. She did not respond when he asked her exactly what happened. She had the same glassy look when several minutes later and he had finished cleaning her cuts, he asked if there were any other injuries that needed to be attended to.
She quietly stared at her brother and ignored him as he moved about the place collecting her necessary things. He knelt to place her shoes on her feet, and still she did not acknowledge the contact. He helped her to stand, and still her look was far off and staring.
Salazar was growing worried for her and delayed no further in taking her away from this scene and transferred her home. In his opinion, she never should have left, neither she nor her brother.
They were met with great opposition inside the camp. Isaiah could not be certain if this camp housed the man he sought. Many of these camps were set up to distract spies.
He was aware of the looks he received, riding alongside Galahad. Neither of them was Scottish, nor did they possess the manners of that people. With a look to Galahad they both proceeded cautiously.
It was not until they were detained by a sentry that they knew they were in the correct camp.
The slap and suck of horses' hooves in the rain soaked earth around them and the raucous laughter of men careless with life filled the confines, marked by a mere scattering of tents.
Men in the tartans of their clans ventured by the sentry to gain a better look at them. These men were of little interest to Galahad and Isaiah, lest they answer to the name Wallace. But they were not permitted to see this man on merit alone.
Irritated and dripping with the drizzling weather as they waited outside for the sentry to return Galahad turned to Isaiah in question, asking whether it would be more prudent to seek out Aaron or Theorderic first.
"You seek Theorderic, Anglish?" a hardened Scot asked, sidestepping a crew passing with spears of long timber.
"Yes," Galahad answered warily. "And I will thank you not to call me English, for I am no such thing."
"Then your are welcome," the man answered, spitting on the ground and eyeing Isaiah, daring him to deny his origin.
"Do you know where Theorderic goes?" Galahad said, ignoring the hostile look given his companion.
"He goes there," the man said pointing to a man emerging from a tent.
Galahad recognized the stern features of his brother, though he was dressed below his station, in a kilt of sage and brown. Next to him stood a man whose look bore great concern and care. He was as shrewd as Theoderic and wore twice the adversity and contempt for the captors of his lands than he. He met none of the descriptions that had now become legend, but he was recognizable all the same as the savior of this people. The brave heart and the noble soul of the Scots.
The man leaned to speak to Theoderic who took his council. There was a nod and as Theoderic looked up he met the eyes of his brother, detained by the point of a sentry sword.
"How now, Galahad. What is your business here?" Theoderic asked. Wallace remained at a distance behind him with several companions. He was never on his own, which was wise, Galahad reasoned.
"We come to bring you news of an ambush," Galahad said with little heed paid to the sword at his chest.
With a nod the sentry was called off by Wallace and the man approached. He eyed Isaiah and then Galahad. "What of an ambush, Irish?" the man said in a gruff and slightly suspicious tone.
"A plot of the king's devising," Isaiah answered.
He was met with the cold blue eyes of the man. He found that they were twice as cold as a mid-winter's frost when leveled directly on you.
"Coming in a warning from an Anglish?" the man asked incredulously. "What is your name and title, sir?" Wallace asked.
"I am the son of Lord Godric Gryffindor of Christchurch."
"And this is my brother Galahad," Theoderic interrupted. "I vouch for both of them."
"Have you a meeting with a magnate of the crown?" Galahad asked urgently.
Wallace nodded. "We go to Bothwell Castle in the morn to meet with the Princess."
"She will not arrive," Galahad said, turning from Wallace to speak directly to his brother. "I swear it. You will meet with soldiers under a flag of peace. The plan has been intercepted by our faithful servants in London who risk their lives to warn you."
"You risk much too, young Ravenclaw and son of Gryffindor," Wallace conceded.
"We will risk everything we have to offer up to your cause," Isaiah said with confidence.
Theoderic could not hide his pleasure at this announcement. He had been hoping for such an alliance ever since he had joined Wallace's campaign.
"That is the pledge of the Gryffindor House," Isaiah said.
"And the pledge of the Ravenclaws. Aaron of the House of Hufflepuff I believe has already made himself of service to the claimant to the Scottish throne?"
"He has," Wallace agreed.
"And you have the full support of the community of witches and wizards within the borders of this land." Isaiah made free to place the whole of the school at the service of the cause. For it was the whole school that would need Wallace and Bruce's safeguard against the English crown.
"I accept your service," Wallace said, extending his hand to Isaiah and then to Galahad. "Any land that lay within our borders is assured of our protection, and that extends to any institution that rests on those grounds."
A deal was struck that day that was to be the turning point for the magical community of that island and the decisive moment in the war for the independence of one nation.
Through the succeeding months when Galahad and Isaiah declared themselves for Scotland and fought under Wallace, Galahad would often remember his brother's stories of the inspiring man and High Protector of Scotland. "He could stir the very soul of men by the passion with which he fights. While nobles fight and squabble over the scraps of England's table, he bleeds with the rabble and makes the difference on the field. Many would follow him and so would I," Theoderic would say. "Not because he fights for titles and land, but because he fights for something I have never known, something that colors my dreams and leaves me longing and sad for it when I wake. Freedom. The utter banishment of tyranny and the flourishing of an independent life from the stifling politic of England."
Galahad fought inspired by these words and by the man that inspired them in turn.
He would know no greater satisfaction in life than victory in the campaigns for Scottish independence.
But a cloud had gather further off on the horizon.
Angered by his failed ambush, and another set a few months afterward, Edward I pulled many troops off of his campaigns in Gascony on the continent and sent them north on a wild spree of destruction. This was a specific message to those that harbored the magical that death would be the price. The non-magical people were listening.
But the school was never found.
The lands of Gryffindor the traitor were not found. It was the same for the others who supported the rebel cause in Scotland. The Ravenclaw lands, the Hufflepuff lands, the Ottery lands and even his ally Slytherin.
The more his efforts were frustrated the more earnest the king became.
In the year of Our Lord 1301, two neighboring castles were sacked and troops of the English Army were garrisoned here. At Caerlaverock Castle and again at Bothwell Castle, Edward's campaign brought devastation to the Scottish nobles, most of whom were ready to bargain a compromise with the king in order to stop the ravaging of their lands. It was with the peasants that Wallace and his men depended for support now, save one man, Robert the Bruce.
Salazar returned home from his short stay in London much changed.
He brought with him Azria who remained closed off to human contact and seemingly incapable of speech. It was a mechanism of defense, Salazar reasoned, but one which was unsettling to him. He had never reached a clear idea of what exactly she had endured when she and her brother were attacked and it appeared he would have to be satisfied with no answer.
He returned her to her home at Hufflepuff Castle, eager to return to his own home. But he found that he could not leave the traumatized girl there without an explanation as to why her brother did not return with her.
Upon entering the great hall he found the painting of Sir Guy and his infernal hunting dogs covered with a black drape.
Rowena met him in a state of unease and apprehension, begging him to come at once and do not delay.
Salazar needed no explanation. He knew that all of the fuss must have meant that the lady of this house had lost her lord in some tragedy. He did not feel sorry in the least and felt that his news should precede any recounting of Sir Guy's misfortunes.
"See to the Lady Azria. She was victim of a rather brutal attack while I was in London. I made to call on her and her brother while I was in town and found that he had been murdered and she will not now speak, having been violated in such a way that she cannot tell me the details of their attack." He handed his cloak off to Rowena who was shocked yet concerned and speechless. He moved out of the room, placing the girl in her care.
He went to see the lady of the house without being acquainted of the details. Helga would have to provide them after she heard of the fate of her son.
The knocking on the door was not what had awakened her. Mere seconds before she had seen it in her unawakened moments and then had shot up out of sleep so fast, tears running down her face as if they had started in dream.
She raised herself on aching limbs and opened the door to the one who had knocked, assuming it was Rowena. She had sent the others to their duties at the school and to their homes and families. There was no more to be done, no one left to help.
This was the room in which he died and, though it was her imagination, the smell of death still hung heavy in the air. He did not smell it as he entered, but it suffocated her, like he had in life as well.
Salazar entered without being asked, taking her pain and guilt and casting it aside for another day. He had something to tell her, more important than he was grieved by the loss of her husband. She knew he was above pretending that he was.
"I have just come from the side of your dead son at London," he said without ceremony.
And in some way she already knew this. It was him she had seen in her dream. These tears were for him and not for her husband whom she did not mourn.
"Your daughter is here. I have brought her with me. Everything has failed. All by your imprudence and Godric's and I fear to say Rowena's as well."
Helga faltered for a moment.
Her vision swam and then she collapsed into him. He caught her effortlessly, more because he knew her ways, her limits, and anticipated her reaction.
"No," she said in a small voice. "It is I who am being punished alone. I am doomed to live with the choices I make."
"As we all are," Salazar answered.
Her blue eyes shot up to his and she held his gaze wanting to tell him that it was not so. But it was. There was no escape from the consequences of your choices.
"You told me to forget you," she said, turning from him, wrenching herself from his grip and moving toward the window. She could not be near him, it gave rise to the feelings that motivated her but those deepest longings that would remain unexplored. She felt in him the same desires.
Did they motivate him into actions that he would not normally take?
Was she weaker than he?
She did not want to believe so.
"And have you?" he asked, the feeling of their last fleeting kiss coming briefly to his mind. This time it was not accompanied but the guilt of betraying Verina that had followed the original act.
"You are with me all of the time. It is impossible to deny the heart the one thing it longs for," she said in pained gasps, gripping the windowsill for support.
"I am the one thing you long for?" he asked. He did not move, not trusting himself with her vulnerability. He should have turned to leave, but he was equally rooted to this place with the wanting of more. What would she offer him now after she had taken so much from him?
"You need not even ask. You know your are. You delight in torturing me. And I cannot now stop from torturing myself for the promise that my pain would please you more than my love," she sobbed into the window.
He could no longer remain where it was safe and found himself closing the distance between them in a mere second, so long he had wanted her to invite him back into her heart where he had never been happier. To deny the thing now would be worse than death.
It may have been a combination of the things he had seen lately; a young man slain brutally in his prime, an innocent girl mistreated for sport, the indecision that weighed heavily in on him—it all manifest itself into this one desire. The immediacy of her, his first and one true love, the smell of her familiar flesh, her wanting words, her unspoken need for him that mirrored his own for her.
His hand moved to the robe that hung at her shoulder. Lingering on the delicate skin, bared by the golden hair that she had swept tiredly into a knot, his fingers delighted in the feel of her. The brief thought that he should move away from her, deny himself the further temptation of her was banished from his mind fully and completely as she elegantly shrugged the robe off, letting it fall lightly to the floor between them.
She did not turn and did not meet his eyes and to him, this seemed like and admission of guilt and he would have pulled away in shame of his actions had she not reached behind her and pulled one of his arms around her corseted waist. He could feel the shallow rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. It was an erratic breath of anticipation. He found that he was breathing in much the same way.
The hand that she did not hold in her own moved along her spine, gently loosening the strings at the back of her corset. She turned in his arms, pushing herself away from the window, a final flinging to the wind of her inhibitions.
Her hands were immediately at his belt loosening it and sliding his sword gently to the ground.
He pulled at her hair in its knot, running his hands through the golden strands like he had wanted to do since his earliest days of youth. He had wanted her for so long. He marveled at the way it fell in glistening tendrils down her back and shoulders. In the evening light, guilt was shadowed by desire that had been born in them since their first days of acquaintance.
"I thought I could be happy with anyone so long as my estates remained from threat. I am sorry to have caused you pain," Helga said as he covered her lips with his own.
Working quickly on the corset, his fingers untying and tugging blindly, urgently, he shook his head hurriedly and said, "Do not apologize. It is I who abandoned you for a hopeless crusade. I am sorry for your loveless marriage."
She sighed for relief and threw his surcoat off of him, discarding it with her confining corset.
Able to breath easier on all accounts, Helga's lips moved over Salazar's skin at a fevered pace that attesting to her longing.
He pulled her to her marriage bed, which stood behind him, neither noticing the great wrong in this act. The moment was diffused with immediate fulfillment, so blinding was their need for each other that all other consideration fell silent to the floor with their other discarded articles.
"Are you sure that you want this?" Salazar asked, pulling her under him.
Helga's hands went lightly to his back and traced the contours of his spine moving down over the soft skin of his thighs. She nodded as he shuddered from her touch.
"Yes," she answered finally. The answer carried the full and conscious weight of their actions. "No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed."
"Did you not flame and I not catch fire?" Salazar asked lowering his lips over hers.
"You are the motivation of all I do," she answered.
Salazar placed a hand on her cheek and wiped away the tears that began to stream down them again. "Not the force that drives your spite?"
She shook her head and pulled him to her.
Darkness hid their sin and made it beautiful.
Only with the glare of dawn did the pallor of their hungry and desperate actions, bear their true color and texture.
Silently both fought with the knowledge that such an act could not remain hidden. The mere challenge of doing so would cause them both to go mad.
Helga lay with her back turned to her lover while he sat brooding over the night's misfortunes on the opposite side of the bed.
She heard him rise and dress and leave.
Glad of his departure, Helga was left in her own self-loathing.
But Salazar was not as fortunate as she.
As he shut the door to Helga's chambers hoping to pass through the halls unnoticed he was met with the unassuming stare of Rowena, carrying a basin of water and some cloths into a room across from the one he had just exited.
She said nothing but continued on her way, moving into the room where Sir Guy's body lay in state. She had been up all evening preparing the body. This much was certain.
Salazar knew that Rowena was aware of everything that had transpired across the hall, even if it were impolite to tell him so.
He found something threatening in the unconcern she employed. Following her into the room he grabbed her forcefully by one arm and flung her into the wall nearest the door.
She gasped as her breath was knocked out of her. Her eyes flew wide in surprise and she dropped the basin, which crashed to the floor noisily and shattered at her feet.
One threatening hand moved from her waist to her throat and applied only the slightest bit of warning pressure. Salazar's eyes were cold and menacing. "Nothing happened last night, do you heed me?"
Rowena made no reply. She was trembling far too much to speak.
Salazar squeezed harder, cutting off her air supply. "Do I make myself clear?"
She nodded hurriedly and was left almost as quickly as the scene had escalated. And Salazar was gone.
She remained against the wall for minutes until she was sure he was gone. Then she bent slowly, afraid of sudden movements, and began to clean up the mess of pottery and water she had made.