Lynn Wood - Norman Brides 03 (2 page)

Amele pushed his mount through the blinding snow, his destination, the lonely cottage near the peak of the tallest mountain looking down upon his former home.  Though his eyes could not see the majestic city spread out in the valleys beneath him, his blood sensed he was close.  He was a native son and the music and magic of Calei stirred his blood as no other place could, and told him he was home. 

Only the city kingdom was no longer his home.  It had been almost two decades since he gazed upon its beauty when he secreted his queen from those who sought her death.  He could take comfort knowing the traitor who slit his childhood friend’s throat in order to gain his kingdom had himself managed to retain the throne for only a few short months. Those loyal to the rightful king rose up against the traitor’s forces and soundly defeated them.  That had been the first time those loyal to the former king sent out messages far and wide in search of the queen. They’re search proved futile.  Not because word did not reach the small company where the queen hid with her loyal defenders and her infant daughter, but because she refused to return to her husband’s lands. Queen Alyssa was not a native of Calei and did not feel the same pull to return her guards did.

Amele remembered the day she met his concerned glance over the head of her infant daughter who nursed at her breast.  Rather than luxurious chambers that should be her right by her royal title, his queen’s home was a damp cave carved out of the sharp, solid rock of the mountain.  “I will never return to Calei, Amele.  I am not its destiny, nor am I the one who will one day break the ancient curse on the ruling family.”

“Yes, my queen,” Amele heard the echo of his younger self’s voice in his head.

“Why do you stay with me?  I can see your heart longs for your homeland.”

He was aghast at her question.  “You are my home, my queen.  Where you dwell, I will dwell.  Where you journey, I will journey. When you lay down your life, mine will follow yours to the grave.”

She’d shaken her head at his fierce declaration.  “My husband’s kingdom must be a special place to have bred such honor into its sons, but it was never mine. However, because of your loyalty and the service you have rendered me and my family I will bestow upon you this promise.  Though my feet will never again walk across the tiled floors of the great hall of my husband’s castle, blood of his blood will one day return with you to your homeland and reclaim what treachery stole.  He will exact his rightful vengeance against those who fed on my husband’s blood.”

He hadn’t believed her, not that blood of her blood would one day return to Calei to reclaim the throne, but that she would never return herself. Despite the pleas to come back and claim the throne that had reached them over the years where they wandered across the rich lands of Europe, the queen remained staunch in her refusal.  Amele understood her caution. Queen Alyssa feared for her daughter’s life.  She carried the blood of the true king.  A challenger to the throne who was able to wed the king’s daughter and return her to Calei would turn the people’s hearts to their cause. Not only because of the royal blood that ran through her veins, but because of the fond memories the people held of her father.  They’d known peace under his rule, the last meaningful peace his people could recall.

Amele was shaken from his musings by the light in the window of the retreat up ahead.  He breathed a sigh of relief and thought he heard his own sigh echo in unison from his faithful mount.  He reached out and patted his straining neck and urged him the final few yards to the promised welcome awaiting them.  Amele’s brother stood framed in the open doorway of their father’s cabin.  It was theirs now, he supposed, as his father had long since passed onto his eternal reward, another casualty of one of the many wars fought over the question of who would rule the rich wealth of their homeland.  Amele saw to the comfort of his mount, then the two brothers embraced, before pulling back while each examined the other, seeking the telling evidence of the years since their last meeting.  Amele nodded, pleased by what he saw. 

Gabriel was the one who had sounded the alarm that pivotal morning, alerting the city to the act of treason being committed within its depths. Though he was no longer a young man, the light of justice still burned bright in his eyes. To Amele, it was clear his brother’s heart was still set on their joint goal, to restore the rightful king to the inlaid jeweled throne of Calei.  It had been too many years to rightfully recall the occasion of their last visit, but it was a full two decades since they parted at the borders a day’s harsh ride from his father’s cabin where they met briefly and learned the devastating news of the king’s death. Gabriel had begged Amele to allow him to accompany them on their quest to protect the queen and lead her away from Calei and into the mountains, but as there was no other he could trust in the king’s household and he needed eyes and ears at home to know when it was safe for him to bring the queen home, Amele had begged his brother to remain behind and keep watch.

His brother had waited twenty years to hear the news Amele braved a winter crossing through the mountains to deliver.  So when they were settled beside the hearth, with a glass of ale in each of their work-calloused hands, and a pot of thick stew simmering above the fire, sending its hearty fragrance to chase away the chill of the cabin, Amele wasted no time in imparting his news.  “The princess has born her husband a son.”  He saw the immediate hope at the news spring to his brother’s eyes and felt compelled to temper it.  “Remember brother, this child is not a son of Calei, but one of Saxony.  He is the first born and will one day inherit his father’s rich estates.  He is not the one.”

Disappointed, Gabriel nodded his acceptance of what must be, then responded with a smile, his hope obviously unwilling to be so easily tucked away again in the darkest reaches of his heart, “But the princess is young and her husband’s lands and title will pass only to the first born.  Mayhaps she will have other sons who will keep the queen’s promise.”

“From your lips, Brother, to the Almighty’s ears,” Amele had responded, taking a long pull of his ale. “Is that stew about ready to eat?”

Two years later, Amele once again pushed his mount through the blinding snow.  He knew it was safer for their cause for him to visit in the winter months when the watch was inattentive. Who but a madman would launch an attack on the well-guarded city in the depths of winter? Amele did not dispute their conclusion and admitted he sometimes wondered if he was indeed mad.  His brother had once again prepared for his arrival with a roaring fire in the stone hearth to warm his limbs.  Amele accepted gratefully Gabriel’s offering of the warm stew and bread he borrowed from his own roof, and abused a goblet of wine before settling down into the chair opposite the hearth to deliver the news his brother and those aligned with their purpose eagerly awaited.

“The princess has given her husband a second son.”  He smiled as his brother jumped up out of his chair and performed a joyful little dance in front of the fire.   Amele would not steal his brother’s excitement away by delivering the caution his queen had given him with a teasing light in her bluer than blue eyes.  ‘He is not the one, Amele.  Do not yet begin preparations for an immediate invasion.’

Twice more he made the same journey in the icy depths of winter.  On his third visit he witnessed his brother’s joy over the news of the birth of yet another rightful heir to the throne, and his report that the older two sons were healthy and active boys, but it was the final occasion he carried such news that would forever remain in Amele’s memories.  His brother’s eyes were expectant as they sat down.  “Well, brother, don’t keep me in suspense.”

“The princess was delivered of a healthy baby girl.”

“Ah, well it was bound to happen.  A blessing be upon her that she shares her grandmother’s beauty.  I suppose the queen is pleased with this birth to know the succession has been secured for the unusual inheritance from her own mother that she will bequeath to her daughter.”

“Yes, she seemed quite pleased; especially when she informed me her daughter was also safely delivered of a healthy baby boy.”

“What?!! Twins?  Another heir to the throne?”  His brother jumped up from his chair and pulled a reluctant Amele to his feet.  Laughing, together they danced around the room in celebration.  When their feet stopped shuffling they faced each other wearing wide grins.

“He’s the one, Gabriel.  He is the one who will fulfill the queen’s promise,” Amele confided in a near reverent voice.

His brother’s expression took on a new seriousness.  “The queen revealed this to you?  She has seen this?”

Amele squeezed his brother’s shoulders at the almost fearful resurrection of genuine hope revealed in Gabriel’s gaze.  “Yes.  I have not shared with you on my previous visits the queen’s caution at the birth of the princess’ older sons that none of them would be the one to return.  I feared it would mean we might be forced to await the birth of a new generation before we saw the king’s rightful blood restored to the throne of our home.  If such was the case, it is likely neither of us would have lived to see such a glorious day, but now I know the day of our redemption has arrived.  The promise keeper is born.”

“What is his name that I may include him in my petitions to the Almighty to keep watch over his young life, and that he may grow in strength and the wisdom needed to restore Calei to its days of grandeur?”

“Michel.  The newborn king’s name is Michel.”

Elena stood in the doorway of the dimly lit chamber and watched her uncle sleep.  His breathing seemed a little less labored this evening, his color not so pale, but there was no doubt the king was surrendering his life inch by painful inch.  If he thought to escape the curse that plagued his predecessors by not siring a son to ascend to his throne, Elena did not consider the alternative of this slow death he suffered a more kindly fate than the one the ancient curse would have afforded him.  Who knew?  Perhaps the kings of Calei could not escape the archaic spell and her uncle’s illness that was slowly eating away at his insides was the price he paid for attempting to strike a bargain with destiny.

With her uncle’s every labored breath, Elena felt the crush of her own inevitable fate closing in around her, reminiscent she thought of the stories of the young church in Rome where the faithful Christians were fed to the lions in the grand Coliseum for the entertainment of the mad emperor and his court. 

She thought she could comprehend the terror they must have faced, knowing there was no escape from the violent, bloody death awaiting them beneath the clenched jaws and razor sharp teeth of the wild beasts.  Though her own immediate future would likely not prove fatal, she did not think she dreaded it any less than the prospect of being torn apart by lions.  At least the doomed Christians could console themselves with the thought that they were dying for their faith and the awful deed would be over in a matter of minutes. Elena faced the prospect of being consumed again and again, at least until the beast who would feed upon her young flesh was satisfied, or until he grew bored with her and sought other entertainment.

She could feel the baron’s eyes on her from where he stood near her uncle’s bedside, watching as closely as she did the king’s tortuous breathing.  But while Elena willed new strength into her uncle’s frail frame and prayed for each shallow breath he drew, the man by his side sought the opposite outcome. Elena knew if he could stop the king’s breath with the force of his will, her uncle would be dead by now. 

Unable to bear the thought of what that day would mean to her, she turned silently from the door and slid into the hall.  She was aware of the presence of the two guards who followed her down the torch-lit corridor to her own chambers.  When she entered her rooms, one of the fierce soldiers more loyal to his baron than his king nodded and pulled the door shut behind her. She didn’t have to peek into the hallway to know they stood watch outside her door, presumably to keep her safe from any threats lurking in the unsettled city, but Elena understood the real reason she was so closely watched in the latter days of her uncle’s rule.  Her prison might be a gilded one, but it was a prison all the same.

With the succession in doubt, the question of who would ascend to the throne upon her uncle’s death had occupied the minds and hearts of Caleinians for long years. The uncertainty had assumed more urgency with the sudden onset of her uncle’s illness.  Elena was not the only one shocked by the king’s abrupt decline from a man in the prime of his life, to the frail shadow of his former self who appeared to cling to his place in this physical world through the sheer strength of his will. 

The majority of the kingdom’s citizens blamed the curse for the king’s imminent death.  Elena was less inclined to do so.  She suspected another more human cause, but she had no proof of her evil thoughts, and to give voice to them would likely serve no other purpose but to hasten her uncle’s death and her own unwanted future.

She strode to the window and looked out on the majestic mountains surrounding the city.  The moon was full and cast an almost ethereal glow to the snow-capped peaks even though by the count of days on the calendar the snow should be receding beneath the warmer, stronger sun of spring.  The mountains provided a beautiful backdrop for the magnificent city kingdom they protected. 
Spun from gold by a sorcerer’s hand
.  That was what the legends said about her uncle’s kingdom and so it would seem to anyone looking down upon its magnificence from her vantage point. 

Paved streets lined with grand homes and shops gave evidence of the wealth of the city’s inhabitants.  The stone sparkled in the light of the moon and little bits of gold appeared to be woven through the white stone, giving rise to the fanciful lore. As was the case with most legends, the truth was close enough to the whimsy attached to it that it had endured over the long count of years and had become part of the accepted history of Calei.  There was gold embedded in the rock of the mountains the city both rested upon and was constructed from, but it was an onerous process to separate the precious metal from the ordinary stone, and the wealth of the city was abundant enough that few of its inhabitants considered the burdensome task worth the effort.

There was no shortage of gold in Calei, or of other precious metals.  Gems were plentiful in the mines carved deep in the heart of the surrounding mountains.  Calei was an enormously wealthy kingdom, but what most would naively assume was an unimpeachable blessing had proven a curse to its inhabitants. For where there existed great wealth all too often greater greed followed.

War was the price of the boon of Calei’s wealth… unending, bloody, violent, ceaseless war.  Caleinians craved peace the way other cultures craved gold.  They longed for the day when they could trust with reasonable certainty that their young sons would grow to manhood and father sons of their own, rather than be cut down before they were given the opportunity to do so beneath the sharp sword and heavy hand of an enemy knight intent on claiming Calei’s treasury.  But if Calei was cursed, so too were those who sought to conquer her, because having entered the streets of the city kingdom with violent intent, by claiming the throne they purchased with the blood of its defenders, the enemy kings subjected themselves to the affliction of its native rulers. What they paid so dearly to possess would slip through their fingers in a single generation. 

No son of a ruling king had ascended to the throne of Calei in uncounted generations.  Most monarchs were able to hold onto the right to rule for short years before another sought to take his place. Those years were often spent in constant strife, defending their positions from the seemingly unending waves of enemies who sought to usurp them by force.  Elena did not understand why anyone would aspire to the kingship when the price of doing so had proven so high.  Was unlimited wealth worth the sacrifice of so many lives, even their own and the sons they fathered?

Though she was unable to comprehend the greed of men, she understood she too would be unable to escape the effects of the ruler’s curse. Her uncle was a popular king and his passing would be genuinely grieved by the populace. How better for his successor to secure the people’s loyalty than to marry his young niece?  Such had been the plans of those aspiring to be her uncle’s successor since she arrived as a little girl in the care of her uncle after her parents’ death.  Those designs had only grown more insistent as she’d grown into young womanhood and the king showed no signs of wedding and producing a legitimate heir. The competition for her hand was fierce especially because of the presumption her uncle would name as his legitimate heir the man who married her.

Knowing the day she dreaded would soon be upon her, Elena looked out with longing on the still night. Not unlike most maids she once dreamed of finding a true love and living happily-ever-after by his side.  Perhaps somewhere beyond the mountains there was a knight who wore shiny armor about his muscular frame and one who would come to her rescue before she was sacrificed to the greed and lusts of the men anticipating her uncle’s death. 

Chiding herself for her refusal to give up her foolish girlhood dreams, Elena turned from the window and prepared for bed.  She did not summon her maid, preferring the quiet and solitude of her evening ritual alone.  When she’d exchanged her heavy winter gown for a thinner sleeping garment, she knelt beside her bed as she did each evening to offer a prayer for her uncle’s recovery and for her parents’ eternal souls.

Before she rose from her knees and slid beneath the thick quilt, she whispered another prayer, with her head bent in humble supplication, having no more expectation of her request being granted than the Christians who no doubt offered a similar prayer in anticipation of their deadly fates.  She prayed God would save her from the beast.  She prayed he would send her a savior to wrest her away from the grasp of Baron Raulf before it was too late.