Authors: Janelle Taylor
Alysa knew the forest well, and hid easily from the stranger. Experiencing an odd mixture of relief and disappointment when he was no longer in sight, she hurried to where Calliope was waiting patiently. Mounting agilely, she rode swiftly for Malvern Castle.
Fortunately when she reached home, everyone who might dare question her was busy, and others paid little attention to her late arrival. Alysa rushed up the side
steps from the stable and made it to her chamber safely. The young princess flung off the peasant garb and freshened up with the water left by her servant, Thisbe, daughter of Piaras.
Nervously pacing the stone-walled room, Alysa reflected on all that had happened today. When Thisbe came to help her prepare for the evening meal, Alysa guiltily pleaded an aching head and asked the girl with mousy brown hair and large cow-brown eyes to make an excuse to her family. Her absence should not matter to them, for her father rarely left his chambers to eat with them anymore. Perhaps she could sneak a visit with him later, she thought, since he no longer shared a sleeping chamber with Isobail, and according to castle gossip, the woman rarely spent days or nights with the prince anymore.
Alysa lay across the bed and tried to reason out a plan to solve her troubles. It was frustrating, for there seemed no way she could get Isobail out of Alric’s life, or contest the enemies of her land. She had no proof of Isobail’s wickedness, and could do little anyway, since she was not yet Damnonia’s ruler. But Alysa knew something had to be done before matters worsened. The brigands had grown bolder and were now raiding everywhere. She had to at least gather facts about her stepmother then convey what she discovered to her grandfather, King Bardwyn, and demand his help.
Help!
her mind echoed, then filled itself with images of the enchanting warrior in the forest. No, she decided, she could not ask help of a man she did not know and could not trust. Not unless he proved himself to her.
Tears dampened her thick lashes. Even if the unknown warrior agreed to help, what could he do alone or with a few followers? Get himself slain by Isobail, or
drawn into her evil clutches! No, information and facts were what she needed, and soon!
Thisbe realized her mistress was upset and wanted to be alone, so she left quietly, worrying about Alysa. She could remember when Isobail moved from a hut inside the castle’s outer wall and into the east tower with Prince Alric, years before they wed, and she could recall how things had changed steadily since that dark day, and especially since their marriage. At least she could be grateful for one thing—she was servant to neither Isobail nor Kyra. Still, it distressed her to see how Alysa was mistreated by them.
The youthful servant knew that Isobail spent large sums on the garments for herself and her daughter and denied Alysa such lovely clothes. As a consequence Thisbe was always repairing old garments or seeking ways to make them look fresh. She and Leitis, her friend and the head servant, had actually stolen money to buy possessions they might trade for Alysa’s garments. If they were caught… Thisbe refused to imagine what the wicked wife of their ruler would do to them if such crimes were exposed.
Many times she had wished and prayed for Isobail’s death, for it frightened Thisbe to witness how much power and control Isobail was gaining. She could not understand why Alric allowed it to occur, or why he permitted such abuse of his only child; but these days the prince seemed so wrapped up in himself that he noticed little. One day things would change, Thisbe de cided in annoyance, for the people would tire of Iso bail’s cruelty.
Surely the impoverishment of whole families to support Isobail’s various henchmen and schemes could not be tolerated much longer. But then, the taxation and punishments were more well known than whatever policies they might be financing. Something, someone, had
to help, before the princedom ceased forever to be as it had once been.
Gavin reached the hut that had been marked on his map and knocked on the door. He saw a woman leaning over a kettle at the hearth. Turning, she smiled warmly and beckoned him inside. The young prince entered, spoke the agreed upon code words in a clear tone, “I seek the maker of a Druid map,” then stood quietly while she circled and studied him.
“Yea,” she murmured, eagerly clasping her gnarled hands. “I am Giselde, the map maker, and you are the Hawk of Cumbria. At last you are here. Take heed, Evil Beast,” she shouted as she shook her hand above her head, “your slayer has arrived. Welcome, Prince Gavin of Cumbria, son of Briac; I have been waiting for you many days. We will speak after we eat and you are rested.”
Gavin watched Giselde dish up the Bubble-n-Squeak—a stew of meat, cabbage, and potatoes which had simmered for hours—and place the food on a table in the far corner of her cozy hut. Without further talk, the old woman motioned him forward to one chair. Then, as if she were alone and the best meal in the known world was spread before her, she took the other seat and began to eat heartily.
Gavin pushed thoughts of the intriguing peasant girl into the back of his mind for now, as the matter confronting them was urgent. He furtively eyed the old woman as they ate silently. Strands of hair had escaped a hastily braided plait that hung down her back like a heavy rope, and they fluttered wildly about her head with each movement. Her weathered skin had a yellowy, unhealthy tint which deceptively made her look older and weaker than she was.
Gavin could tell from her exertions that she was stiff
and sore, and in some pain, an observation that invited compassion. Her short body—clad in a drab but clean kirtle of cilice—edged on being plump. Her eyes, though faded by advanced years, were full of life and courage; yet now and then a slight hint of mystery—and long endured anguish—clouded them, as she slipped into deep thought and seemingly forgot his presence. Scrutinizing her while her attention was elsewhere, he could not determine her age or country, a skill he normally possessed.
Gavin wondered if the urgent messages to King Bardwyn and to his father could have been written by this almost pitiful creature. And he wondered if her charges against Isobail and Alric were true? or would they prove to be just an old woman’s crazy ramblings.
But then, Gavin realized that some of Giselde’s accusations were probably true, since he had heard more and more tales against Isobail with each mile he rode. Strangely, few people had seen their ruler, Prince Alric, in a long time, and many were growing restless over his absence and Isobail’s apparent control over the princedom.
Another strange matter teased at Gavin’s mind. No loyalty, trust, or friendship had ever existed between Alric’s father and Giselde; so why had King Bardwyn believed Giselde and acted on her warnings?
When they finished eating and were drinking herb tea, Giselde asked, “Are you sure no one knows you in Damnonia?”
Gavin smiled and replied, “This is my first visit, and I have fought with no warrior from here. I am sure my face is unknown. Why did you seek King Bardwyn’s help and intrusion in his son’s principality? And why have you insisted that this help be given secretly?”
“You have changed much since I saw you long ago. You were five when my daughter Catriona and I stayed
in your father’s castle. If he had not rescued us, we would have been slain.”
Gavin was stunned. He could hardly believe this was Princess Catriona’s mother, since Giselde looked nothing like the dim image of the woman he had spent time with as a small boy. Her appearance and surroundings told him that many grave things had happened over the years. Gavin said, “So, you are Giselde. Your father Connal was a brave and fierce chieftain. My people still speak of him, and of your valiant husband, Rurik. But tell me, Giselde, why is your identity kept secret from the Damnonians? And why do you live alone, hidden in a forbidden forest?”
Although she had appeared completely immersed in her meal, Giselde had intently studied the young man. Deciding she could trust him, she began to explain the troubled past. Listening, Gavin grasped her intelligence, courage, and sufferings, and nodded in sympathy. His father, Briac, had told him of his past love for Catriona, the woman of mixed Celtic and Viking blood, the woman he could not marry long ago because his duty toward his country outweighed his feelings for the half-Viking princess. As Giselde fetched more tea from the hearth, Gavin recalled that bittersweet tale.
Briac Crisdean, Prince of Cumbria, had met the daughter of Giselde and Rurik twenty-nine years ago. He had desired her greatly and had wooed her secretly for two years, until forbidden to see her again by his father. Briac had not yielded to his father’s demand out of weakness; he had yielded because it was his duty to become king; a position which would have been lost by marrying the mixed-blooded Catriona. He had given up his love for Catriona and wed Brenna, Gavin’s mother, and Briac had come to love Brenna as much as he had loved Catriona. But years later fate had thrown his father and Catriona together again when Briac had rescued her and her mother from a Viking
attack, a raid that had devastated their camp and tribe. For months Giselde and Catriona had lived in his father’s castle, until weather permitted them to return to Alric’s princedom. His father had suffered at the news of Catriona’s untimely death, and was eager to save Alysa, the daughter of his past love. Along his journey to Damnonia, Gavin had pondered Princess Alysa Malvern many times, and was eager to meet the daughter of the woman who could have prevented his birth.
Giselde’s remark invaded his reverie, “It is hard for everyone when an enemy is chosen for a lover. I know this only too well. Most of my people viewed both my mother and my husband as savages.” Drawn to him, she confessed, “In Celtic eyes and hearts it was bad for Catriona to be a half-blooded child, but it was worse for me because I had both a Viking mother and a Viking husband. The men of my tribe felt betrayed by my choice of husband, and the women were angered by it. They had accepted my mother because they needed my father’s prowess and wisdom, even though secretly most never forgave him for marrying a Viking princess. When the Vikings attacked that last time, my people savagely turned on Mother and my beloved Rurik, and killed them both. My brave father died trying to defend them, not battling Vikings, as legend tells; thus he became more disgraceful in the eyes of our embittered people.”
Giselde looked into Gavin’s eyes as she said, “If your father, Prince Briac, had not arrived, our Albanian clan would have surely slain Catriona and myself. You see, Prince Gavin, few people know that the Vikings actually came after us because we were the only living descendants of royal blood. They attacked because they wished us returned to them. Only through my lineage can the royal Viking line be restored. Thus is my granddaughter Alysa in danger graver than the Evil pervading this land, danger she does not even know about.”
Giselde paused, then continued solemnly, “It is too late to dream of changing the past. It is time to save the future. I did not summon help because of my love for Damnonia. I summoned help to save my granddaughter Alysa from capture by Vikings—who are beginning to ride more freely—and from losing this land that belongs to her by right of birth. I know Isobail hired bandits from Logris to steal this land, and those Jute raiders have Viking ancestry. There are dark and perilous days ahead, Prince Gavin. Are you strong enough to face all dangers?” she challenged.
“I fear nothing and no one, save God and the loss of my honor.”
Giselde eyed the handsome young man and knew his confidence was justified. She smiled warmly, and her face seemed to glow with gentleness. “That is good, for you will need both to win this battle. I long feared that Alric was part of a plot to make Damnonia a separate kingdom and to conquer other kingdoms, but I have learned the threat comes from Isobail and her allies alone. Those who aid me say Alric is very ill. They say he is so weak he is confined to his bed many days and to his castle every day. Isobail is the one who rules this land and who hungers to rule all of Britain. Yet Alric gave birth to the Evil which thrives here by his wicked lust for Isobail long ago, and he does nothing to stop her now. Know this, Gavin of Cumbria, Alric will never speak or move against her, because it will uncover his weakness—his loss of honor—in the past and in the present. To defeat Isobail we must also defeat Alric. Tell me this: to save this land, his people, Alysa, and all of Britain—will King Bardwyn allow the destruction of Alric, his only son?”
Gavin was not ready to answer that troubling question. He knew that first he had to examine the situation himself. Only then could he decide how to handle this difficult matter. King Bardwyn had granted him full
authority to take whatever action was necessary to protect the peace, and he would do so when the time came.
“What is this Evil you speak of?” Gavin asked. “King Bardwyn said the survival of Damnonia could be at stake. How so?” he asked.
“The survival of Damnonia and all other kingdoms is in jeopardy,” Giselde replied, aware that Gavin had sidestepped her question. “Good men, loyal to Alric and to his father, are dying mysteriously, and Isobail’s allies are gaining possession of their lands and knights. Raiders attack villages and castles and try to frighten people away from them. I believe Isobail has hired brigands and uses them to provoke war. She wants everyone to think that Logris is behind the raids. She wants to create an excuse to invade Logris and conquer it. Then she will turn her greedy eyes on other kingdoms. You must find the proof to end this madness. She must be destroyed, and Alric must be replaced. He is weak and unworthy to wear the crown. In his place Isobail schemes to gobble up land after land and put her heartless allies in control. She intends to be High Queen of all Britain. We must stop her.”
“Does Princess Isobail know you are plotting against her?”
“Soon she will know. Her powerful sorcerer Earnon will perceive the forces of Good set against them.”
“The only real magic lies in a strong sword and self-control, Giselde. Spells and enchantments are for peasants,” he chided.