Previouly in The Exile,
"...I mislike the idea that someone has lain within my borders to launch an attack on an ally and like the idea of having to treat with Morgana even less." She looked at him now. "Sir Elyan will you sit in on this council? You've crossed the border recently and if we would send men across Camelot's borders they would do better in the charge of one of Camelot's own."
"I will sit in on the council of course your majesty but-"
"It is a troubled thing to live with a divided heart Sir Elyan. You have chosen this path you would do well to see it through to its end."
Queen Annis and Sir Elyan, chapter 20
For a long moment he stood looking at them, the two of them radiating the happiness that they shared to the rest of the world. They studied him in turn. After a moment a worried frown creased Efan's brow and she let out a troubled little oh before coming to him an enveloping him. He'd never known his mother but surely Efan's embrace was everything that that should be; warm, soothing, a place of safety, protection from all the grief, from all the betrayal. He held her tight, desiring for just a moment to be a little boy whose greatest hurt was skinned knees that could be soothed with a cinnamon scented salve or a spinning top that could be mended with glue.
King Arthur and Nurse Efan, chapter 16
"...King Uther was a very jealous parent. I still remember the last time Arthur visited our home. He was fifteen. I reminded him of his duty, told him he'd be a better king than his father, that the people would need a king who might prefer the company of commoners to nobles and sent him back."
Magistrate Grigor to Merlin, chapter 16
warning: brief mentions of animal cruelty
Dark curls, white cotton dresses gleaming against ebon skin, all embroidered with flowers and butterflies in pastel pink, blue and yellow. Hafreen's woman's blood has not yet flowed and she is a child free of cares and woes.
In the mornings she helps her mother and housekeeper Alis with chores. Baking bread, smoking meats, the pickling and preserving of vegetables and fruits. In the afternoons she has lessons at her mother's insistence: reading, maths, science and philosophy. When the lessons are done and on Sundays after church she is free to play. Free to roam the fields inside the citadel walls to pick flowers, study clouds, swim in the sweet, cool pond on hot summer days, to slip outside on full moon nights and chase frogs.
The fields of clover are damp and slippery underfoot.
On those nights some of her friends kiss boys.
While sometimes she watched her friends kiss boys and a strange little pulse went through her mostly Hafreen is more concerned with flowers and games and sick animals. The latter she always keeps an eye open for. She finds the injured things and takes them home. Somehow they know she means them no harm and they trust her. Rabbits, squirrels, robins, pheasants, tortoises. It is a pleasure to care for them and a joy to watch them bound away healthy. Of course sometimes they die.
The first time that happened she sobbed into her mother's soft breast and Efan stroked her shoulders and sang to her.
In her eyes her father and mother are perfect.
Her father, Grigor towers over her mother, towers over them, a pillar of strength and shelter, smelling smokey but also of mint, orris and basil. Her mother's hand is a tiny thing in her father's, small and dainty, a perfect feminine point. And when her father holds her mother her head rest easily upon his chest.
She is envious of her mother tiny and delicate with ample hips and bosom.
Hafreen is tall, taller than all of her friends, taller than many boys.
She has only breast buds, not even a suggestion of a woman's curve. Her mother asks her to get things from high shelves and she is awkward and gangling. Her hands are wide, her fingers long, they are not graceful, nor curls long, dark and gleaming are the only hint of her womanliness and of them she is proud.
She does not see the prettiness of wide dark eyes that might drown a lover or ensnare a husband. Lips so full and soft that will one day be seen as begging for her lovers kiss when they are simply pursed. She does not see the perfection of ebon skin that shows no mark or scar.
Twelve-years old she stands on the cusp of womanhood.
Senses perhaps adventure and excitement.
Longs for passion.
Fears dullness, mediocrity and loneliness.
As yet the promise of tomorrow is unknown.
Spring Flowers, tale the 2nd
"I'll be good father I promise." Hafreen clutched the blade to her chest with hands like black porcelain and did her best to look brave. "I'll listen to Alis and if anyone comes, I'll hide."
This wasn't the first time Camelot had been invaded, just last year Morgana and Morgause had brought the army that would not die to their gates. Her father placed his large dark hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes. She did her best to look brave. For all that she wanted her brother Gerault with her she could not let her father go alone to look for their mother. She let out a breath when he finally nodded. He kissed her on the forehead and clutched her to him lifting her from the ground. At twelve years of age Hafreen may have gained almost mannish height but she was reed thin, her father lifted her with ease.
"I'll take your brother Gerry with me, the two of you be careful," Magistrate Grigor said voice stern. "Bar the door when we're gone. Light an hour candle. If we haven't returned in half an hour barricade it." He took a deep breath. "Don't let anyone hurt you baby. If anyone tries stick 'em, take your knife back and hide. Do you understand?"
"Yes father."
"I love you sweetheart."
"I love you too daddy."
Gerry came downstairs with a sword then and Grigor frowned and told him to take one of the clubs he used as necessary in the course of his work as magistrate.
Gerry gave her a hug then and father and son hurried out. Alis her pale face calm, put the bar across the door as soon as they were gone and lit the hour candle. Haf looked at the notch that would tell half an hour and swallowed.
"Now what do we do?"
"We wait." Alis sat down on the bench in the foyer and began knitting. Haf sat down beside her knife held tight in her long fingered hands. She looked at Alis knitting and wondered if she should get some embroidery or sewing but did not move. Instead she stared at the door, willing it to open, willing her parents to walk through. She studied the yellow flowers blooming across the rug that covered the dull gray stone floor.
Why had she told Gerry to go with dad? He should have stayed. She stroked her thumb over the knob of the knife hilt tracing the curving brass ridges and tried to ignore the clicking sounds of Alis' needles. Nothing must happen to them. There were shouts and screams from outside, the smell of smoke and fire grew. She glanced at the hour candle not even a quarter had passed. Her mouth felt dry and she thought of a drink of water, but did not move. Something brushed up against her leg and she started before looking down to see the furry gray head of her cat.
"Mrrowww!"
"Kitty," she whispered. "Shush."
Pound! Pound! Pound!
The pair on the bench started and stared at the door.
"Let me in Hafreen, Alis! It's Dafyd, I'm hurt."
Alis went to the door and peaked through its small window.
"It is Dafyd." The housekeeper smiled and opened the door with a sigh of relief. He staggered in and leant against the wall while Alis shut the door behind him.
"You've been stabbed." Alis exclaimed. "Haf help me get him into the parlor."
She put the knife down and went to Dafyd's side. With an arm draped over each of their shoulders they got the wounded man into the parlor and laid him on the padded bench there. Haf swallowed she could see the blood leaking down now, staining his dark clothes.
There had been no fighting during last year's invasion. Morgana had simply thrown open the gates and made the invaders welcome. In previous years she had been too young to help out in the infirmary though she nursed the odd baby squirrel or pet with a broken leg. But a human with blood pouring from a wound while her father and brother had gone out into the danger to help her mother- She stared.
Alis lifted his tunic to reveal a slit loosing blood. Haf swallowed and felt her stomach turn.
"I have to get bandages put your hand over the wound and press down."
When she didn't move Alis took her hand and pressed it onto the injury. In a second she felt warm wet blood and loose flesh. Haf fought screaming.
"Look at me," Alis commanded and she met the housekeeper's blue-gray eyes.
"Remain calm, put your other hand on top and press down, NOW!" Alis nearly shouted the word and Hafreen obeyed immediately.
"I'm going to get bandages and supplies do not move. Do you understand Hafreen?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Very good."
Alis strode from the room and Haf knelt at Dafyd's side. Tears welled in her eyes and she tried not to think about her mom, dad or Gerry being hurt like Dafyd.
"Hey," Dafyd said, "your family will come back."
"Will they?" She looked at him helplessly.
"Your dad is smart and clever, your mother is a tough little woman and Gerry is a good brave boy. They'll come back."
She didn't say anything and he winced.
"Does it hurt very much?"
"Less than a broken arm."
"Oh," she tried to think of something else to say. "Are-are Enid and Abigail at home?"
"Yes."
Haf tried to smile. She liked babies, they were adorable and sweet and they liked being held and cuddled.
"Abigail is very pretty."
"She is starting to walk now."
"I'll visit her when-," she didn't know when, "later."
Alis came in at that moment and knelt beside her, dark skirts pooling around her, a basket of supplies in her lap.
"Lift your hands."
Haf did as she was told. The wound was bleeding more sluggishly now. Fascinated in spite of herself she watched Alis clean away most of the blood to reveal a pink and white fleshy slit. Dafyd cried out in pain and whimpered when Alis began smearing a yellow paste along the length of the wound.
Haf got to her feet, blinking at the start of tears in her eyes. She slipped out of the parlor, remembering that she'd left the knife her father had given her in the foyer. The girl ran to fetch it and checked the hour candle. She'd only just closed her hands around the hilt when the door burst open. A great hulk of a man stood there tall and broad wearing leather armor. His face was scarred and he was covered in blood and grime. He wore no insignia of Camelot. He took a step forward. The scream that had been building in her since this nightmare started burst forward high and shrill.
In the next moment he fell forward and Haf felt relief flood through her at the sight of her father's rye brown face.
"Dad." She threw herself at him and he caught her easily.
"It's all right darling. Your daddy is home."
Over his shoulder she saw her mother and brother, both disarrayed and filthy but seemingly unharmed.
"Wait, please. Do you have to?" She looked at the knife in her father's hand and fingered the end of her long dark braid.
"We mustn't take any chances."
She stared at her parents trying to think. Imagining herself shaved like an adulterous.
"You'll be safer looking like a boy."
"But-"
"Your father's right." Her mother gave her shoulders a squeeze. "I don't want to have to worry about you. Be a big girl for your mother Haf."
"Yes ma'am." She turned and held her breath while her father hacked through her dark curls with a knife, baring the nape of her neck to all the world.
The shorn braid went into the fire, soon it's stink mingled with all the other smells of things burning.
"I'll give you a proper hair cut in the morning and we'll hide your dresses and things away somewhere."
She stared at the fire, watched her hair melt and shrivel. Something was always burning in Camelot.
"Look baby, keep this one." Her mother handed her a stray curl that had escaped the flames somehow.
"Thank you mother."
They slept in one long line on the parlor floor, Grigor on one end and Gerry on the other, Haf, Alis and Efan in the middle. For a long while they'd sat in the parlor, silent and frightened one lone candle burning in the dark, just enough light to see each other, just enough light to see anyone that came into their midst. Her father had kept looking at Efan and Alis with a frown. At one point he had nudged the chamber pot toward her mother and Alis.
"If they go house to house."
Efan had wrinkled up her face but Alis had simply nodded.
"You too," he said looking directly at Efan.
"I will husband," she emphasized the last word.
It was rare that her father actually told her mother to do anything. Usually Efan made her own decisions or they made them together. What was her father so worried about? Rape. The word went with siege and warfare, foreign soldiers did it to women, whatever it was, but the Lady Morgana was one of them, wasn't she? She marched at the head of a foreign army, but surely she could control her soldiers, protect the people? Haf swallowed. The Lady Morgana had had commoners shot to compel the loyalty of Camelot's knight. What might she do now that she had seized the throne a second time? They weren't commoners but how many times had she been reminded in her short life that they were barely nobles?
As the night had worn on and things had grown quiet her mother had suggested they lay down on the rug to sleep. Haf had curled up against her like a girl half her age, but Efan had only put her arms around her and kissed her forehead and stroked her curls.
"The king was not in the palace was he mom?"
"No."
She breathed a sigh of relief.
"Then he'll save us."
"Yes baby."
Feeling suddenly very much safer Haf drifted into sleep.
The girl opened her eyes and saw the wide dark eyes of a cherub staring down at her from the ceiling above her bed. She was in her room. She hadn't slept in the parlor last night. The siege, the invasion, they must have been a bad dream. She smiled and set up.
"Mom," she got out of bed and froze when she did not see or feel the familiar fabric of her night dress. Saw instead that she was wearing Enfys' cast off tunic and trousers. She raised a hand to the back of her neck and swallowed as she felt naked skin, her nape exposed. Everything that happened yesterday evening welled into her conscious mind. Haf looked around her bedroom, looked at her comfortable mattress, with its flower carved wooden headboard and footboard, her pretty pink and white linens, the cherub mural painted on her ceiling, the white painted oak paneling on her walls, her dolls on their shelves, even Kitty was sleeping next to her.
She got out of bed and newly shorn curls flopped into her eyes. Haf pushed the curls out of her face with one ebony colored hand and crept to her bedroom door. Slowly she opened the door. Seeing no one about the girl ventured forth. She checked her parent's room, Gerry's room and even Alis. Everyone was awake, their beds made. The house looked normal.
Still feeling weary she crept into downstairs, trailing her hands along dark oak paneled walls. The door into the foyer was closed but she could hear voices. Haf hurried to the door and listened.
"How long will he be gone? Perhaps I can pack him a lunch? Does he need a change of clothes?" That was her mother's voice.
"I'm simply collecting the magistrate and bringing him to my captain. I wasn't told anything about lunches or changes of clothes." She did not recognize the male voice that made that reply.
"Indecent is what it is-"
"Get ahold of your wife before I have to." The stranger said and Haf tensed with sudden fear.
"Efan leave it," She heard her father's voice weary but firm and she could practically hear her mother's mouth snap shut. A moment later there came the sound of footsteps and door shutting.
"Mom," she went into the foyer. "What do they want with dad?"
"I don't know sweetheart." Her mother pulled her down into a warm soft embrace and Haf settled into her mother's softness. Why would anyone want dad? They hadn't wanted dad the last time?
"I'm sure all will be well," Efan said. "We should get you fed and get this hair cut of yours fixed, you look like some peasant boy."
Gerry snatched her clothes from their hangers while Haf gathered her dolls. She had but three of them. One stuff doll that her mother had made, a clay doll that Enfys' wife Amelia had given her and her most prized toy, a doll carved from ebony that her father had had made for her when she was nine years old. The ebon doll looked remarkably like her and though she was too old to play with dolls, all were precious.
"Hurry!" Gerry glared at her. "We've got to get this room done before dad gets home."
"I know." She closed the trunk and they lifted it from the ground. They had to get it into the cellar; dad wanted no chances taken, especially now that soldiers would be living in their home. They got the trunk into downstairs and made up her bed with Enfys' linens and scattered boys things throughout.
"It looks good," Gerry said as they surveyed the room. "Now you?"He studied her a moment. "You're tall that's good and you don't have any hips or anything. You definitely look like a boy, weird but like a boy. I think we can keep calling you Haf, it certainly won't give you away as a girl."
"Thanks." Haf stuck her tongue out at her brother and brought her hand to the nape of her neck. She wanted her mother to cut her hair down and make it resemble king Arthur's but that wasn't possible. Instead her mother had cut away every trace of curl so she now had short black cap of hair with not a strand out of place.
"Let's see if mom needs anything else." Gerry said and the two children headed downstairs.
Hafreen hoped she carried the linens like a boy. Hoped she did everything like a boy. She pushed the door to the guest room open and kitty darted into the room only to halt just inside the doorway struck by certain curiosity.
"Kitty!" The girl scolded and stepped over the beast.
There were four soldiers living with them now, an officer and three of his men. Camelot's hold wasn't large enough for Morgana's full army. Many of Camelot's soldiers and knight resided with family in the city, lived at the palace itself and the officers maintained private residences. The invaders of course had none of these things. Any citizen with a home that had more than three rooms had been ordered to quarter soldiers.
Hafreen set the linens down on the edge of the guest bed and surveyed the guest room. It was comfortable space with blue plaster wall, an east facing window, a set of shelves and a cabinet. It shared a wall with the chimney which meant it remained warm even without a fireplace and would also be tolerable in the summer. The bed itself could easily sleep two; three would be close but comfortable. Still there was a trundle bed and her mother wanted it made up. The intention was to treat the soldiers like honored guest.
The soldiers were in the parlor. Their captain was closeted with her father in his study where he often spoke with witnesses to crimes or saw anyone who wished to make some case against their neighbor. She wasn't sure where Gerry had got to. Hafreen pulled out the trundle bed and Kitty stared a minute before leaping onto the center of the mattress, investigating.
She shooed the pesky beast and started making up the bed. She layered sheets smelling of rose with a coverlet and summer spread before adding two pillows. With the bedding in place Hafreen knelt in the center of the bed on all fours smoothing it.
When she'd done the girl climbed backwards off the bed nearly tripping over her cat. Kitty yelped as her foot came down on one paw.
"I'm sorry Kitty." She crouched and he came toward with bit of hesitation before sniffing her fingers and butting up against her hand.
"I'm sorry," Hafreen scooped up her cat began stroking the back of his head as he started to purr.
"He's a beautiful animal."
The girl looked up and saw one of the soldiers standing in the doorway watching her with deep set pale gray eyes and crossed arms. Her mother had told her to avoid the soldiers; they were mercenaries not to be trusted. Haf rose, still holding onto her pet, uncertain about what she would do next.
"Hefin right?"
"Yes." It was a boy's name, but so similar to her own that her common nickname Haf would raise no suspicion.
"Well Hefin my name is Leofren, but you can call me Leo if you like. Thank you for making up the room."
"You're welcome," Haf swallowed. Leofren was surely a Saxon name. Morgana had attracted Saxons to her army. There were some few Saxons living in Camelot, but using Saxon mercenaries. Hafreen suppressed a frown.
Leofren strode across the room and halted close enough for her to smell mead and a faint scent of myrtle. She started to take a step back but the bed was just behind her. He was a tallish man, taller than her, not as tall as her father and his dark hair was thinning. He had a narrow straight nose and thin lips.
"Cat's are perfect hunters."
She nodded.
"Perfect killers."
He reached out one hand to stroke Kitty's chin and her discomfort rose. Kitty pressed back against her, and tucked his head into the crook of her arm.
"He's not always friendly," she explained.
"Of course not," Leofren smiled and looked back at her. "Is he a good mouser?"
She nodded.
"I should go." Hafreen sidled past him. "I have chores."
"Of course."
The soldiers took over the parlor, regularly used up all the hot water, and took no little pleasure in dumping their laundry on the women of the household. They sat up late nights drinking and playing cards, and left and returned at odd hours. They returned stinking of mead and stale perfume, singing rowdy songs rousing the household and the neighborhood.
Hafreen stuck close to her brother and parents, wary of what it might mean to give away her ruse.
Morgana had not allowed the town to be pillaged but soldiers took advantage of their rank and immunity to do things.
Some complaints of robbings, rapings, and beatings had made their way to her father's ears, but all he could do was report them to the captain. People left angry, but Haf didn't know what he was supposed to do about it. He was powerless like the rest of them. Sometimes if they were alone he just hugged her to him with a desperation she'd never felt before.
For the most part the soldiers let her alone. They seemed uninterested in a child her age. Though they occasionally invited Gerry to join them in a game of dice or cards, in spite of her parents warnings if they were not around he did.
For all that Leofren had unnerved her in that initial encounter Haf found herself warming to him. He told funny stories, was pleasant during meals and knew a number of songs and entertaining tricks. Hafreen found that she enjoyed his company and chided herself for being fearful.
One morning a few weeks after the arrival of the soldiers her father had been called to deal with a problem or truthfully oversee a situation that would in all likelihood be settled unfairly in favor of a soldier. Not long after her father left she saw Janet slipping out of the house head down. A little later her mother went to visit with the now widowed Enid and her children. Alis sent her and Gerry next door to stay with their neighbors and went to the market with some other maids and servants.
They were not to be alone in the house with the soldiers but not long after the adults left Gerry went back home. After a time Haf grew bored and headed home herself.
She searched the house and found it empty except for a couple of soldiers napping in their room. Wondering where her brother had got to she headed for the backyard, Kitty trailing along behind her. The cat mewed as they passed through the kitchen, tone loud and demanding.
"You want a treat?"
The animal mewed again.
Haf stopped to find him some giblets stored in the pantry from yesterday's dinner. It was while searching the pantry that she heard it. Thunks and the screeching sound of metal clashing against metal. It seemed to be coming from the backyard. Curious she headed outside.
Haf walked onto the porch and stared in confusion at what she saw.
Leofren and Gerry, with swords and armor, fighting. She watched Gerry try to guard, try to side step, try to get his shield up, watched him give ground…Saw Leofren swat him with the flat of the blade more than once and though he wore armor from the way Gerry cried out at those swats she was certain they would leave marks. Finally her brother stumbled backwards and lost his footing. He yielded and Haf breathed a sigh of relief. She ran to her brother's side even as Leofren helped him up.
"Are you hurt Gerry?"
Leofren laughed.
"Boy needs toughening. You too I would imagine."
"I'm perfectly fine," Gerry said as he got to his feet and Haf thought she heard annoyance in his voice.
He took her arm and turned her away from Leofren.
"You're not going to tell mom and dad are you?" He asked in a whisper. She studied Gerry's light brown face.
"I'm pretty sure dad wants you to wait to get your knight's training from our brother Lord Enfys," she replied thrusting her chin forward.
Leofren snorted and they turned to see him grinning.
"But your brother isn't here."
He tossed a his knife up into the air and caught it by it's hilt.
"Now you're not going to tell your parents are you Hefrin because you're a good little brother, right?"
Haf swallowed.
"You see I am very skilled with a knife."
The children watched him twirl the blade, watched it flick though his fingers faster than their eyes could follow, saw him balance it on the back of his hand.
"I learned from an old master. He was ancient, had only one eye."He bounced the blade upward again. "But he could he pin a fly to the wall with his knife." Leofren caught the blade, twirled with all the care haf might give when twirling a daisy and sheathed it.
"Gerry, here," Leofren dropped a friendly arm around Gerry's shoulder. "My man Gerry wants to learn to sword fight, learn how to protect his family and I am willing to teach him. A good little brother wouldn't interfere with that now would he?"
"No." Feeling a strange sense of dread Haf shook her head.
"That's a good boy," Leofren smiled and gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze. Haf smiled back but it did not reach her eyes.
After that Haf was more careful about avoiding the soldiers. More than once Gerry suggested she let Leofren teach her knife throwing to keep up her ruse but each time she refused. Haf could not bring herself to go anywhere near Leofren. He hadn't done any particular but the idea of spending time with Leofren scared her. She considered telling her parents about Gerry having befriended soldiers, but found herself hesitating. What possible harm could there be in Gerry learning to swordfight? Perhaps she was just a coward.
One afternoon certainly no more than week after the incident with Gerry and Leofren Haf was looking for Kitty. She had gone with her mother to the market and convinced her to buy Kitty's favorite treat a few bits of smoked trout. Eager to share the fish with her pet Haf called for Kitty as soon as she was home. Normally the little beast greeted her at the door whenever she was gone for more than an hour. Not particularly worried Haf went about her chores.
It wasn't until after supper that the girl realized she hadn't seen Kitty all day. She searched for him in all of his favorite places, near the fire place, in the parlor window, in the kitchen wedged in narrow space between the wall and the hearth, in the garden and under her bed. She finally found Kitty hiding in her closet left foreleg bent at an odd angle.
It took some coaxing but he came to her and meowed long and low, a sound full of sorrow. Worried she got him in her lap and touched one gentle finger to his foreleg. He yowled and tried to get out of her lap but she had expected just such a reaction.
What had happened to Kitty?
She took care of him just like she took care of all the other animals. She got him to take some Valerian root in ground up organ meat and when he was sleep she pricked his skin just above the break and brushed it with nettle to numb to the leg. Examining it then she concluded that somehow it had been broken. She bound up his foreleg with splints and bandages, setting it as straight as she could.
After that Haf carried him with her everywhere in a little sling she made for him. And so carrying everywhere she noticed something. Whenever Kitty heard Leofren or saw him he burrowed into her side pushing himself as far back into the sling as possible. She could not fathom why but Haf was certain that the soldier had broken Kitty's leg.
So dear readers only two tales are left The Blighted Blossom, Janet's Tale (second bracelet victim) and finally The Fallen Sheild, Gwaine's tale.
A/N-Dear readers I want to take a moment to talk a bit about why I am writing Wartime Tales, Stories out of the Occupation of Camelot. Violence is one of the foundations of storytelling in science-fiction, fantasy, urban fantasy, horror and similar genres, body counts pile up to raise the stakes, so that audiences know that evil people are truly dangerous, evil threats that must be destroyed at all cost. I don't object to violence being part of the genre, but I do object to the fact that the violence nearly always centered regular people whose stories are nevere told. For all that many of us may feel that we identify with Guinevere or Merlin or Arthur or Morgana etc.. the truth is we are all probably the people lying dead in the scenes to show us how dangerous the bad guys are. I don't know about you all, but I feel that our stories and our deaths are just as important as any other story.
As always thank you so much for reading The Exile and remember I welcome your comments and thoughts.