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From: Jan Vincent <jan123@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} A King's Word (Ff rom middle-ages)
Date: Wed,  3 Dec 2003 00:10:04 -0500
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Hi there

Here is another story by yours truly. This story is set in the Middle Ages
and is a romantic one. I hope you will like it. Let me know whether you do
or not. Comments are welcome!

To read other stories by me, just go to my usual dwelling:

http://www.sistersinlove.org






A King's Word

By

Jan Vincent



For a long time King Michael of La Roche had searched for a suitable husband
for Eleanor, but the sons of earls and barons would invariably fail to make
an impression on his only child. She was seventeen, but already deemed too
old to postpone her wedding day for much longer. Her father and her father's
court would tell her so repeatedly, for the line of succession to the throne
was in peril. Eleanor knew her father blamed Lady Elspeth, her dear mother,
for the lack of a male heir. La Roche needed one desperately, she had been
told, as rumors of conspiracy against her aged father abounded. Samuel I,
King of Bildstadt, and Michael's first cousin, had already claimed the
throne of La Roche, posing a real threat to the independence of the kingdom
Timid knocks on the heavy door made of Altharian oak brought Eleanor's
thoughts to a halt.

³Who is?²

³It's I, Milady. Galantine.²

Galantine, Eleanor's faithful lady-in-waiting, the only one Eleanor dared
trust in her father's court, so full of treachery and ill will.

³The door is unlocked. Do come in.²

Galantine's blue eyes were bright and happy; her rosy face, framed by golden
braids, displayed her careless wide smile. She made a small curtsey and came
closer.

³Milady, everybody is waiting. The tournament is about to begin.²

³Yes, indeed.² Eleanor sighed. Her fingers played with the golden ring of
the House of La Roche, as she stared out of the window, watching the white
clouds against a sunny sky.

³Milady... you seem not pleased.²

³Indeed I am not.²

Galantine studied her lady's face -- pale as moonlight, beautiful as a
heaven angel's, but so often sad and morose.

³Milady, I do not understand. The finest men of the kingdom are going to
fight to have the honor, the privilege to obtain your hand... to marry you.²

³If only they would be content with my hand alone.²

The veiled allusion to the pleasures of the flesh made Galantine blush. Her
lady was known to cause an uproar in the king's court for being so
unnaturally outspoken. Lady Eleanor had reasoned with her father she could
be queen without a husband, but her father had dismissed her with raucous
laughter. ³Childish gibberish,² he said. ³Childish gibberish,² he repeated,
failing to see those very words were breaking his child's heart.

³Milady, we must go. Your father and your mother will become impatient. The
evil Iago may come with his guards... And...²

³Yes, you are right... as always. Let us go.²

Eleanor led the way, her flowing satiny blue and white long dress being
almost caught under Galantine's anxious feet. She inserted the royal ring
back in her middle finger, realizing once more she had the royal seal, but
could not be queen on her own. She needed a man to assert her authority.
Eleanor wanted to scream, show her indignation at the injustice of it all;
instead she just shook her head as she left the walls of La Roche. She
hurried past Iago's guards at the drawbridge and before the royal stand. She
hated that mellifluous bearded man her father trusted so much. Count Iago.
She shivered, as she took her seat between her mother and father, making an
effort to erase the count's face from her mind's eye.

Lady Elspeth smiled at her daughter, seemingly relieved that Eleanor hadn't
made a scene for once. On the other hand, Michael of La Roche did not hide
the displeasure caused by his daughter's late entrance. He felt too tired to
rebuke her in front of his guests. Most of all, he wanted the tournament to
commence, the first step to assure the independence of the kingdom. All the
bravest bachelors of high birth had been invited, and whoever won the
tournament would be Eleanor's husband and the next king. His cousin Samuel
had sent his son, Lythe of Althar, to the tournament. At first King Michael
was furious with this intrusion, but then he relented, listening to his
advisors, listening to Iago... Lythe was a mediocre swordsman, the monarch
was told. Samuel's son could never win the tournament. The acceptance of
Lythe's challenge could forestall a bloody war between La Roche and
Bildstadt, weakening Samuel's claim to the throne, should his son lose to a
La Roche nobleman, a likely scenario, for the finest knights of the kingdom
were present, waiting impatiently in the arena for the Royal Sign of
Commencement. The tournament began and with to everyone's surprise Lythe
defeated the Earls of Laisdale and Scythe. Fighting her boredom and
impatience, Eleanor fixed her eyes on Lythe, a gangly young man, who
apparently had improved his parrying skills enormously. She could see how
the gentry of La Roche gasped every time the sword of Samuel's son broke the
adversary's shield or cut through chain mail, leaving an ominous trail of
blood behind. Eleanor searched for Iago, but apparently the count was
nowhere near the tournament stands or the muddy arena. As the hours passed
by, only four swordsmen remained: Lythe, the Duke of Laville, the Baron of
Lisse, and a young man Eleanor did not recognize.

³Mother, who is that fourth knight?²

Lady Elspeth blinked and directed her attention to the horseman in a
darkened armor astride a black stud. She was not able to see his features,
as he wore a helmet that hid his cheeks and chin.

³I know not. Methinks he took the place of the Duke of Larousse. The dear
young man has fallen ill.²

For some unknown reason, the ŒDark Knight' captured Eleanor's attention, her
heart began to hammer in her chest, the sweat trickling down her back,
producing the strangest chill. She almost could not contain her joy when the
knight dismounted the Baron of Lisse and pressed his pointed blade against
the throat of the man who had so doggedly chased after her for the past two
years. Soon as the baron conceded defeat, the knight offered his gauntleted
hand. With some reluctance the baron accepted the helping hand and stood up,
making a grimace. Slowly he limped toward the end of the arena, where the
pages awaited him to remove his muddied armor. With amazing agility, the
knight regained his place on the imposing, majestic black horse, whose
headband displayed a half moon. With an almost imperceptible heel tap, the
horseman commanded the stud to make a half turn. For a moment, Eleanor's
eyes caught his gaze. Piercing eyes they were, Eleanor realized, even if
that intriguing man was about fifty feet away from her. The eye contact did
not last long, as the knight suddenly instigated his mount to gallop to the
end of the arena, where he would wait for the outcome of the duel between
the Duke of Laville and Lythe of Althar.

To everyone's horror, Lythe killed the duke, thrusting his sword across his
chest, in spite of the duke's protective armor and the chain mail under it.
It seemed as though Samuel's son had a pact with the Unnamed One, and this
one must be Iago, Eleanor thought, overcome with sudden bitterness. The
princess and the whole royal stand sat breathless when the Dark Knight
yelled an outlandish war cry and charged toward Lythe. Using his long legs,
Lythe climbed back to his bay mount effortlessly, but before he could defend
himself his head was severed from his body with a clean sweep of the
knight's sword.

³An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,² the knight shouted with a husky
voice. ³My brother's death is avenged.²

Immediately the nobility of La Roche stood and clapped and praised the young
man's bravery. With a much relieved expression King Michael signaled the
knight to approach the royal stand. The young man and the dark stud obeyed;
Eleanor had to avert the knight's probing stare. She realized they were
light blue, his eyes, like the morning sky, like the color of her own dress
Her heart beat faster again, her hands balled up into tight fists.

³Reveal yourself, young man. Who are you?²

Eleanor looked at her father, surprised. Didn't he know who that man was?

A moment of enormous tension rippled through the arena, as the knight
unbuckled the chin-strap of his helmet.

Eleanor covered the mouth with her hand, her neck craning in disbelief. But
he was... but he was... a WOMAN? That very question raged through the arena
like wildfire. Eleanor let herself fall on her chair, dizzy and
flabbergasted. The Dark Knight was a woman, with long golden strands and
with a face as feminine as her own.

With a feline grin the woman stared at Eleanor, bringing the hilt of her
upturned sword near her own face, the Sign of Victory Offered. That meant
she bestowed her win upon the princess. That meant the horsewoman was
claiming her right to marry the king's daughter.

King Michael cleared his throat, making a huge effort to remain calm. ³Who
are you? Are you a witch?²

³I just saved your kingdom from your most hated cousin,² the woman replied,
sheathing her sword, ³and you, Sire, accuse me of witchcraft.²

³No woman can fight like you did.²

³Sire, I can assure you I am no witch. I am the Duke of Larousse's daughter
I am Gwendolynne of Larousse, your goddaughter, baptized where the River of
Love meets the Lake of Forgiveness.²

³Gwendolynne of Larousse? You?²

³I am nineteen now, Sire. I am no longer the child you promised to keep from
harm.² Seeing the utter disbelief in everybody's faces, Gwendolynne pulled a
golden necklace from under her armor. Dangling from it, the seal of the
House of Larousse sparkled in the midday sun. ³I came here to avenge my
brother's death. He was poisoned two days ago by a King Samuel's lackey. It
seems as though your cousin, Sire, will stop at nothing to eliminate the
opposition to the annexation of La Roche by the Kingdom of Bildstadt.²



-----------------



³What in hell's name happened?²

The esquire drew back and away from the Chancellor of the Kingdom, whose
bloodshot eyes betrayed his ire.

³Milord, the plan failed. A woman won the tournament.²

³A woman? A WOMAN? Speak some sense, you worthless heap of rubbish. A woman,
you said?²

³Yes, Milord. The Duke of Larousse's sister, Lady Gwendolynne.²

³Gwendolynne? Gwendolynne of Larousse?²

³Yes, Milord.²

Count Iago remained pensive for a moment, then asked, ³And where is this...
woman?²

³She was taken to the Wing of the Princess to dress a more fitting attire
for a lady of her status. His Majesty has invited her for the banquet and
she will be--²

³And where's Lord Althar?² Count Iago cut in, too impatient to wait for the
esquire's explanation.

³Dead, Milord. Lady Gwendolynne killed him. She found out about--²

³Enough, Gaydar. Not a word about that matter. Do you hear?²

Count Iago left the royal guards' barracks and hurried back to the palace.
He had missed the tournament because of a badly timed rendezvous with King
Samuel's emissary. If he had been on the arena he could have seen it
coming... And now Samuel's son was dead. The Chancellor of the Kingdom
realized his own head and body were in real danger of being separated from
each other in a very violent fashion.

He had to devise a scheme to divert the anger of King Samuel away from him.
Revenge, perhaps, he considered. Yes, that would do.



-----------------



³Where did you learn the art of the sword, Lady Larousse?²

Gwendolynne studied the reserved countenance of Eleanor. She had never seen
such a beautiful maiden, with smooth long reddish brown hair that shone and
smelled like fresh roses. Eleanor kept stealing quick glances at her, her
dark green eyes showing her innate guarded curiosity.

³With my father and my brother, after a lot of begging and cajoling.²

³I heard your brother was the favorite knight before the commencement of the
tournament,² Eleanor said, as Galantine helped the blond woman remove one of
the cuisses from her thighs.

³Swordsmanship runs in the family.² Gwendolynne smiled, taking off the
gauntlets. ³My great-great-grandfather became the Duke of Larousse when he
helped your great-grandfather, King Louis III, in the battle of Aix-la-Paix
against the House of Bildstadt.² Gwendolynne gave a sigh of relief as the
chain mail was lifted from her. Despite being specially tailored for a
female, that piece of protective clothing was still heavy and somewhat
cumbersome. Eleanor's eyes fell on the breasts of that unusual knight,
recognizing the curves and the softness of a female hidden by a loose white
chemise soaked with sweat. Eleanor blushed as she realized Gwendolynne had
caught her indiscreet stare. Again she was able to see that feline grin on
the blond woman's face, which frightened and fascinated her at the same
time.

³I will leave now,² said Eleanor. ³Galantine will prepare you a warm bath.²

³Milady, do not leave on my account. I have three sisters and I am dressed
by them every day.² Having said that, Gwendolynne tugged the chemise over
her shoulders, revealing the most beautiful body Eleanor had ever seen.
Gwendolynne's arms and torso had a visible healthy tone, her breasts were
round and firm as pomegranates, her slender ribcage and waist, half covered
by her long golden tresses, betrayed the femaleness of that cat-like
creature.

When Gwendolynne removed her culottes, helped by Galantine, Eleanor turned
away, ashamed by the reactions of her own body, feeling her nipples press
against the smoothness of the fabric of her dress. ³I must go,² she said,
her heart galloping like a wild horse. ³Galantine will look after you.²

With a hurried pace Eleanor left her room and that strange young woman, only
two years older than she, but... so mature, so... full of energy, so...
love-worthy. Eleanor sighed, her eyes becoming moist suddenly. Against the
cold wall of the palace, she sobbed silently, being assaulted by that
indelible image... that feline face grinning, those strong feminine hands
making the Sign of Victory Offered, claiming the title of champion and the
right to hold her hand.

It had been such a disappointment to learn the Dark Knight was a woman,
Eleanor mused. Her father had dismissed Gwendolynne's claim to her hand as
³childish gibberish². A maiden cannot marry another maiden, Lady Elspeth had
explained to her, as though her daughter had not grasped the political
consequences of Gwendolynne's victory.

A moving shadow made her straighten herself up in a blink of an eye. It was
Iago, judging by the furtiveness of the approaching footsteps.

³Lady Eleanor... As always, a sight for sore eyes.²

³Count Iago, what are you doing here? Surely you must know that even the
Chancellor of the Kingdom is not allowed in this wing of the palace without
my or the king's permission.²

³I beg your pardon, Milady. Having missed the tournament due to other
pressing matters, I was terribly curious about the sensational winner of the
tournament. Lady Gwendolynne of Larousse, I hear. And therefore I asked His
Majesty's permission to pay a visit to Lady Gwendolynne, which your father
graciously conceded to this servant of Your Ladyship.² Iago smiled and bowed
before her.

³You may not. Lady Gwendolynne is readying herself for the banquet. Please,
leave.²

³Your wish is my command, Milady.² Iago again smiled, repeating the
respectful bow.

Eleanor stood still, watching the long-legged, thin figure descend the
stairs solemnly, his left hand holding the hilt of his sheathed sword. She
sighed, and again she experienced a chill, while her temples throbbed,
forewarning her of impending danger.



-----------------



The arrival of Lady Gwendolynne of Larousse at the imposing entrance of the
Hall of All Saints, where the banquet was to take place, ceased all the
animated chattering among the guests of the king. Once again Eleanor could
not believe her eyes. Gwendolynne's long blond tresses shone like the midday
sun, and her pastel eyes were magnets in a lively, exquisite face, tanned by
the elements. It was reasonable to say that Lady Larousse was at least as
beautiful and feminine as any of the fairest ladies of the kingdom. And that
confident grin... And the fact that that young woman had vanquished the best
knights of La Roche and the son of King Samuel was beyond comprehension.

Eleanor swallowed, taking a deep breath, as she noticed that Gwendolynne had
chosen one of her favorite dresses, a cream dress Lady Elspeth had offered
her when she turned sixteen.

³Your Majesty,² Gwendolynne said, making a curtsey.

³Lady Gwendolynne, my forgotten goddaughter,² Michael of La Roche greeted.
³Please, be welcome.²

³I only wished the Duchy of Larousse was not so far away, so that you, Sire,
could visit the modest house of my forefathers more often.²

³Yes, indeed. I lament the loss of your brother. The House of Larousse has
always been the most faithful among the noble houses of La Roche. The Crown
is indebted to you. Please, come and sit next to me, so that you can recount
how you learned the manly art of the sword.²

Eleanor saw Gwendolynne's red lips purse in an enigmatic smile. The princess
promptly lowered her eyes, evading Gwendolynne's stare. A cat, she was a
cat... or rather a lioness... pacing back and forth before pouncing upon her
prey. She moved her chair aside and away from her father's. A page readily
set down a new chair for the blond noblewoman in the space between at the
royal table. When Gwendolynne sat down next to her, Eleanor was able to see
the woman's -- girl's? -- profile. She had Celtic blood, no doubt, Eleanor
thought, her pulse accelerating. She had always admired the Celtic faces,
fair as the summer wheat, with eyes as pure as the sea. And as though the
blond woman understood what she was thinking, Gwendolynne's smile grew
without facing her. She felt Gwendolynne's hands searching hers, until their
fingers met and interlocked. Eleanor's ears ignored the conversation between
her father and Gwendolynne. All she could sense was that cold hand clasping
hers, and the curious staring from the men and women of the court sitting at
the sizable banquet table opposite the smaller royal table. She could hear
how the courtiers whispered and let out short-lived laughs, afraid lest they
annoyed the king. She hated their hypocrisy the most, and before her anger
could set in, she heard, ³Your Ladyship?²

She turned to see Gwendolynne's face very close to hers. ³Yes, Lady
Larousse?²

³You're hurting me.²

³Hurting you?²

³Yes, my hand. Hands are like swords, Milady... To wield one well one must
handle it as one handles a dove: sweetly and gently, so that one can feel
what the sword tells oneself. Do not grip it as a torture vise until it
becomes bloodless.²

Releasing Gwendolynne's hand at once, Eleanor said, ³I'm, I'm sorry.² The
blond woman smiled and grabbed Eleanor's hand once again, her fingers
searching Eleanor's. Eleanor gasped.

The ten courses of the lavish banquet were consumed sparingly by both young
women, whereas the king and his guests had no such qualms about
self-indulgence. Wine flowed freely down thirsty throats, as the troubadours
sang their songs of love, friendship and mordant wit. With utmost delight
Friar Lavigne ate his third course -- stuffed veal with onions and raisins,
the right price for his daily sermon at the pulpit of the palace's church.

 From time to time, against her own will, Eleanor's eyes fell prey to Count
Iago's stare. ³The horrible man,² she thought, ³the horrible man is smiling
at me. Dear God, protect me from this evil.²

On one of those occasions, the count stood and said, ³Sire, may I speak?²

³Indeed, you may,² the king replied, taking another bite off a succulent
chicken leg with his precarious teeth.

³Sire, I would like to propose a toast. Lady Gwendolynne of Larousse has
impressed us with her swordsmanship skills we thought, wrongly I must add,
exclusive to the world of men. She proved, beyond any doubt, that women can
be as valiant and courageous as any man.²

The king and a large part of the guests interrupted their gluttonous fest to
pay attention to the Chancellor's discourse. Eleanor remained intrigued,
sensing treachery in the air.

³I want to congratulate Lady Larousse for such a magnificent display of wit
and strength,² Iago continued, facing the young woman in question. ³I humbly
raise my chalice to praise this lady of many virtues.²

The king smiled and with some difficulty he rose to his feet. Looking down
at Gwendolynne, he gestured she could remain seated, unlike the other
guests, who had sprung to their feet as soon as their ruler stood. ³I make
the Chancellor's words mine. Lady Larousse, the Crown of La Roche is
indebted to you, and I will grant you the title of ³Duke of Larousse². Now
that your father and brother are dead, a strong, courageous hand is needed
in that recondite corner of my kingdom.²

³Thank you, Sire.² Gwendolynne made another attempt at getting to her feet,
but the old man kept preventing her from thanking him properly. ³I'm at a
loss for words.²

³Nonsense,² the king said, letting himself fall on his chair. ³Words are not
needed at this time.² Michael of La Roche sniffled and coughed, taking yet
another avid sip of wine.

³Sire,² Iago said, still standing and holding his drinking cup made of
silver and gold. ³Would you be so kind to allow me to complete my praises
for Lady Larousse?²

³Yes, yes... but hurry up, Chancellor.²

³Thank you, Your Majesty. Your kindness is endless.²

With a fleeting wave, the king beckoned him he should haste and end his
speech at once. The old man was impatient, the monarch's mood souring as his
eyelids grew heavier because of the wine he had ingested so liberally.

³It seems to me ,² Iago continued, ³that Lady Larousse deserves all the
honors, some of them reserved to men. She saved us from an uncertain fate,
at the hands of King Samuel's son.²

³Chancellor,² the king sighed, ³did I not bestow the title of the House of
Larousse upon my goddaughter in this very hall?²

³Indeed, Sire. Nonetheless, I am referring to another unprecedented honor.²

³Which one?²

³The princess's hand.²

A gelid silence froze the hall of the banquet. Eleanor's eyes bulged out,
incredulous.

³The princess's hand?² the king roared, getting to his feet. The king's
guests stood as well, their faces frightened and unbelieving. ³Are you MAD?²

³No, Sire,² the count replied with utmost aplomb. ³But Lady Larousse did win
the tournament. And according to your word, Sire, she has the right to claim
Lady Eleanor's hand, which she did... Every man and woman in this very hall
saw Lady Larousse make the Sign of Victory Offered, which makes her the
Champion of the Tournament, and Lady Eleanor's future consort.²

³She is a WOMAN, Count Iago. She has no right to claim that. It's against
the Scriptures. A woman cannot marry another woman. Isn't that so, Friar
Lavigne?²

The monk woke up from his alcoholic lethargy and stuttered, ³S... Sire?²

³Can a woman marry another woman according to the Scriptures?²

³A woman marry a... woman, Sire?²

³Yes, that's my question.²

And before the round man could organize his thoughts in order to give an
enlightened answer, Gwendolynne said, ³Sire, may I speak?² The king wavered
for a short moment before he allowed himself to nod. ³Sire, I claimed Lady
Eleanor's hand, because it seemed the wisest thing to do at the moment of
the tournament. I am Lady Eleanor's champion, because I came here to avenge
my brother's death and prevent Lythe of Althar from winning, Sire. In any
case, I will never marry someone against his or her will. I am sure your
daughter, our future queen, would never accept me as her consort.²

³I do.²

Every stare moved from Gwendolynne to Eleanor.

³You do?² the king asked, his breathing becoming dangerously labored.

³I do, father. I want Gwendolynne to be my consort.²

³Don't be ridiculous! How do you want to give birth to a heir if you marry a
woman? How, in God's name?²

³We'll find a way. And I know she will protect me, as she did today. As she
protected the Kingdom of La Roche from King Samuel's evil schemes.²

Gwendolynne grinned at Eleanor, seemingly satisfied by Eleanor's display of
courage and determination.

³No! I will not allow it! A woman marrying another woman is against nature.²

³Sire,² Iago said, ³may I speak?²

³By all means, Chancellor. If you have a solution for the commotion you just
caused.²

The count ignored the king's remark, blinking his dark brown eyes. ³The
simplest solution is to keep your word, Sire. A king's word is sacred.²

King Michael's yellowish, bleary eyes stared at the bearded man and wondered
whether his daughter had been right all those years. Could he be a traitor?
A spy paid by Samuel's Kreutzer, the golden coins of Bildstadt?

³Why do you insist in this folly, Chancellor? Do you think there will be a
nobleman who would accept such an arrangement? I would have a rebellion in
my hands before you could utter ŒAmen'.²

³You're right, Sire,² Iago admitted, seemingly crestfallen. ³I didn't think
of that. Forgive my impertinence. Lady Eleanor's consort must be above
suspicion. Indeed.²

³Above suspicion?² Eleanor asked, holding her anger in check. ³What do you
mean, Count Iago?²

Iago blinked his eyes again, as if the princess's question had caught him
off guard. ³Above suspicion?² he said slowly, measuring his own words. ³Oh,
yes, of course... Witchcraft... But that's nonsense, undoubtedly, for Lady
Larousse is your father's goddaughter. And she couldn't possibly... I will
hold my tongue now. I've already said too much. It must be the wine.² With a
quick bow, the count excused himself and left the hall, followed by his
personal guard.

Eleanor bit her lips, experiencing an urge to scream and display her ire and
hatred. She could see her father had become eerily silent upon that
innuendo. The count had reminded the king of his earlier accusation, the
perfect excuse to prevent her union with Gwendolynne. Witchcraft... a
hateful accusation, that could bring the blond noblewoman to the stake,
should she be found guilty by the Inquisition court. With a pounding heart,
Eleanor rose to her feet and announced she was going to retire. As
Gwendolynne remained seated, she said, ³Would Lady Larousse care for
escorting me to my room?²

³Certainly, Milady.²

Promptly Gwendolynne joined Eleanor and Galantine. The three women abandoned
the hall, still full of guests who wouldn't dare to leave before the king
did. With a hasty pace, the young women entered Eleanor's room, Galantine
closing the door behind them.

³I knew it. I just knew it.²

³What, Milady?² Gwendolynne asked. ³That I am a witch?²

³No, I just knew that Iago was setting up a trap. And I just fell in it.²

³Count Iago is a dangerous man. But I am not worried. I will leave
tomorrow.²

³Tomorrow?²

³Yes, Milady. It's obvious your father will not keep his word. Thanks to
Count Iago and his sharp tongue.²

Eleanor felt an invisible hand grip her heart. A chill of fear ran down her
spine. Throwing herself at Gwendolynne's feet, she begged, ³Please, don't
leave. Please!²

Gwendolynne knelt before Eleanor, her attractive features, her shiny pastel
eyes becoming worried. ³Milady, I must go, or Count Iago will find a way to
incriminate me and send me to the Inquisition dungeons. I will not stand a
chance if--²

Suddenly, the three women gave a simultaneous start. Someone had given the
door of the room three powerful knocks.

³Who is?² Eleanor asked, her breathing becoming ragged, painful.

³Gaydar, Milady. I respectfully request you to open the door.²

Gaydar, Iago's esquire, a tall man with carrot hair and a nervous freckled
face, Eleanor recollected. Rumors had it he was one of the many Iago's
bastard sons.

³Leave, Gaydar. You are not allowed in. Leave, or I'll report you to my
father.²

³It was your father who sent me, Your Ladyship. I must come in.²

³For what reason?²

There was a pause before Gaydar replied. ³I must take Lady Larousse to the
Tower. She will be tried for witchcraft within two days.²



-----------------



The Inquisition trial was swift and conclusive. Lady Gwendolynne of Larousse
was guilty of witchcraft and consortium with the Unnamed One. Eleanor
watched that mockery of a fair trial with anger and outrage. She recalled
Gwendolynne's sad expression when she, the king's daughter, was expelled
from the Holy Court by Friar Lavigne. Her protests were disrespectful, she
was told. She had shouted out loud her indignation at the unfounded
accusations and the ridiculous evidence supporting them. Gwendolynne was a
witch because no woman could win a tournament against the best knights of
the kingdom. Gwendolynne was a witch because she wanted to marry another
woman. Gwendolynne was a witch because she dared cross-dress and deceive the
king and the gentry of La Roche into believing she was a man when she was
not. Her strength, her superb swordsmanship were clearly the work of the
Unnamed One. It had to be.

 From the small balcony of her room she could see the servants of the palace
gathering a huge heap of dry firewood around the stake to where her beloved
Gwendolynne would be tied. Dry wood would make sure smoke would not
suffocate her before the flames burned her flesh and caused her unimaginable
pain. Iago saw to that, Eleanor was sure of it.

The princess sighed, staring at the donjon once more. Her teary eyes
squinted, trying to discern Gwendolynne's beautiful face in the tiny window
of her prison cell. She brought her trembling hands to her eyes, drying them
off, fighting the sense of despair and powerlessness that kept gnawing at
her without remorse.

On the next day Eleanor awoke with a severe headache, feeling a strange
pressure in her temples. She looked out the window and saw the dawn dyeing
the sky blood red. It was appropriate as Gwendolynne would be burned at the
stake at midday. She had had a nightmarish night, had vomited, had stayed on
her knees, praying for a miracle to happen. But the sun had risen and the
miracle did not come to pass, yet. The Œmiracle' would eventually take
place, though it would carry a dreadful price.

It was just a rumor at first, then it became a certainty. King Samuel and
his army had invaded the Kingdom of La Roche. He came to avenge his son's
death. The fight hadn't been fair -- a simple mortal against a witch.
Eleanor's father sent ambassadors to appease his cousin, to barter the witch
for Samuel's retreat, but the monarch of Bildstadt had them killed.

When La Roche became under siege, panic and confusion broke out within the
walls of the castle and the royal palace. Eleanor sent for Galantine. They
were going to free Gwendolynne, even if that was the last thing they did.
The siege was supposed to last months, but it only took an hour before a
traitor was able to lower the drawbridge and open the main gate. Iago...
always him, Eleanor thought, as she ran to the secret passage leading to the
donjon, only known by the royal family members.

As Eleanor and Galantine burst in the main hall inside the donjon, a dozen
of swords were unsheathed. Instantly Eleanor recognized Gaydar, the man in
charge.

³Gaydar, my father has ordered the release of Lady Larousse. She must come
with me, so that my father can negotiate with King Samuel.²

³It's too late for that,² he said, trying to sound self-assured.

³I know a secret way out. I will show it to you if you release Gwendolynne.
Otherwise you will die as your father did, at the hands of King Samuel.²

³My father, Milady? What do you mean?²

³Count Iago has just been killed by Samuel's men.² And pointing to a
loophole, Eleanor added, ³Look outside and you'll see that I am telling you
the truth.²

Gaydar's eyes obeyed, and the pale skin of the freckled man became even
paler. A moment of hesitation came. Gaydar stared at his men, then at the
expectant young women, while screams of horror and the clashing sounds of
swords and armors reverberated from the outside through the naked walls of
the donjon. ³Release the witch,² he said, lowering his eyes as if to hide
his anger. ³Release the goddamned witch.²

It took an hour before the group of the three women and the twelve guards
left the long secret tunnel. They looked around, realizing they were in the
outskirts of the Wood of Sighs, an enchanted place where the Pixies lived.
Eleanor turned toward the Castle of La Roche, gasping.

³La Roche is on fire!² Galantine said in a lament. ³Oh dear Lord!²

When she saw the towering column of smoke billowing upwards, Eleanor
screamed, ³Mother! Father! My God! He killed them, he assassinated them. Oh
God!²

Gwendolynne did her best to calm a writhing Eleanor, feeling the pain her
princess was bellowing out loud. She knew how it was like to lose both
parents. She knew what the word Œorphan' meant. At long last, Eleanor became
quiet, being lulled into sleep by gentle shushing and soft singing of old
troubadour songs in the arms of Gwendolynne.



-----------------



After ten days and ten nights the three young women and their impromptu
personal guard reached the Duchy of Larousse. With awe Eleanor saw how loved
Gwendolynne was. Men and women, noblemen and peasants alike came to hail her
welcome. The destruction of the Castle of La Roche was already known, and a
clamor for retribution for La Roche's defeat could be heard everywhere. But
revenge was not what worried Eleanor or Gwendolynne the most.

After a long bath in the palace of Gwendolynne's forefathers the two women
faced each other.

³Eleanor.²

³Yes?²

³Will you marry me?²

Eleanor smiled, despite the sadness still weighing her heart down.

³Will you?² Gwendolynne insisted.

³Yes, I will.²

It was Gwendolynne's turn to smile, clasping Eleanor's warmer hand in her
hands. The kiss and the lovemaking would come later.




THE END

-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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