The Warrior Poet

THE WARRIOR POET

A Medieval Romance

By Kathryn
Le Veque
   

FORWORD

By
Bud Becker, Ph.D.

From
the earliest authenticated date of his writings until his death in 1306 A.D., Sir
Christian St. John accumulated over fourteen volumes of text chronicling his
life, teachings and speculations that, even now, continue to set precedence for
the world of modern English Literature. The British Museum of Arts and Sciences
has an entire exhibit dedicated to a collection of St. John works that continues
to be scrutinized and revered by layman and scholars alike.

It
has been rumored for centuries within the inner sanctums of the civilized
world's most powerful laureates that William Shakespeare received his literary motivation
based on the scripts of Christian St. John. Later writers such as Shelley or
Bronte or even Poe were also known to have idolized his work. It was even
speculated that Shakespeare himself plagiarized several St. John passages
within the guise of his own marvelous pieces.

Although
Sir Christian's modern ideals and exemplary text are that by which he has
achieved his fame, few details of his notable life have ever been discovered.
Even if the world views his writings as his most monumental achievement, oddly
enough, Sir Christian did not. He actually stopped writing for some time after
the death of his father, as it seemed to be a particularly difficult period in
his life, but he resumed at the birth of his first child shortly thereafter.

Furthermore,
it is clear upon reviewing his journals that he considered his wife to be his
most important accomplishment, a woman whom he referred to by name only once.
All other references to his wife were indicated simply by "she" or
"her". Unfortunately, her name has been lost to the ravages of time
but St. John scholars seem to think it was either
Caitleen
or Catherine.
 
Lady St. John bore Sir
Christian eleven children, several of whom went on to be important men in their
own right including the eldest, Alexander St. John, who was an important warrior
for Edward the Second and Edward the Third.
  
Lady St. John’s death preceded Sir Christian’s in 1300 A.D., and it was
at that moment he ceased writing altogether.
 
When his muse died, so did he in a sense, but when he finally passed
away in 1306 A.D., he was buried with his wife in the same crypt as he had
requested.
 
Lord and Lady St. John’s love
story is truly one for the ages.

If
only we knew more about her, perhaps that knowledge would reveal more insights
into the relationship she once shared with the man once known as the Demon of
Eden. Perhaps, then, we would know the true inspiration behind Sir Christian's well
regarded chronicles.

Perhaps,
then, we would understand what it is to truly know a devotion beyond the
boundaries of space and time.
A devotion
Sir Christian
considered a far greater fulfillment than any literary success he managed to
attain, no matter how distinguished the modern world considers them to be.

Perhaps,
then, there is more to the life and intellectual talents of Sir Christian St.
John than the world of contemporary scholars is able to decipher. If we were
only able to discover the name and history of the woman he refers to as his
greatest passion, then, perhaps, we would be able to better understand the
forces behind the knight once known as The Demon of Eden....

 
'Beauty discerns no boundaries

 
Hatred unbeknownst in the splendid

 
State of Grace.

The sting of the
scorpion

would
be preferable

to
the agony of love
beyond the loathing.'

~ Chronicles of Christian St. John

Vl. IV, p. CIV

PROLOGUE
                                                        

Year of our Lord 1266 A.D.

Month of August

Skiddaw
Forest, Cumbria, England

"God’s Bones, Quinton, what is so important that
you would pull me from a training session and drag me all over the blessed
countryside?”

Quinton St. John didn't look to his brother, nor did he
respond but to smile. His brother, astride a magnificent white destrier,
scowled and shook his head with frustration. As the two horses plunged down a
particularly steep slope, dragging their hind legs and digging deep
ruts
in the damp earth in order to keep from pitching their
riders forward, the annoyed brother again shook his head.

"If my horse ruptures a tendon because of your
foolish folly, I shall have your head," he growled, grunting as his huge
charger leapt over the small stream at the base of the embankment. Tightening
up on the reins and throwing his weight forward as the animal charged up the
grassy incline on the opposite side in an attempt to keep pace with the lead
rider, he again yelled to his brother. "Quinton, do you hear me? Tell me
where we are going or I shall turn about this instant!"

"Don't turn about!" Quinton knew his brother's
threat to be serious. "I promise you, it will be worth the effort!"

Christian St. John rolled his eyes with irritation as
his brother led him across a brief clearing and through a cluster of rich green
oaks. A heavy branch of prickly oak leaves snapped back as his brother passed
by, nearly whipping him across the face had he not been alert enough to dodge
it. Abruptly, he reined his destrier to a halt. Several yards in front of him,
Quinton realized his brother had stopped and brought his own steed to an
unsteady halt.

Christian's piercing ice-blue eyes were hard. "Not
another step until I find out why you have set a hell-pace across the
boundaries of our lands."

Quinton leaned forward on the pommel of his saddle, his
blue eyes twinkling. "Do you trust me?"

"Without question.
But you are taking us into disputed territory and I
shall not proceed unless I know your reasoning."

Quinton pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I would tell
you, but then it would not be a surprise. Trust me, Demon. I shall not bring
you to harm
nor
idiocy."

Christian cocked an eyebrow. "Our very presence on
the border of the disputed lands is a distinct show of idiocy. We are bearing
towards de Gare lands."

Quinton glanced over his shoulder as if to note his
brother's observations. "It's not much further," he returned his
focus to Christian's irritated
expressoin
.
"Please? Just a little further and I promise you will not be
disappointed."

Christian let out a hissing sigh. "Disappointed by
what?
Damnation, Quinton, brother or no I shall take my sword to you and…."

Quinton cut him off, spurring his horse onward. "If
we don't hurry,
We
shall miss it. Come along!"

Christian's first reaction was to turn his steed for the
safety of their father's fortress. But an ounce of curiosity had settled,
making it far more difficult to complete the action that would set him for
home. Watching his younger brother bolt through the trees, he realized with
disgust that Quinton had succeeded in piquing his interest. He furthermore
realized he was about to follow the man into the disputed territory - the lands
separating the St. John's from the de Gare's.

The disputed lands were rich, filled with dense foliage
and hidden streams. The heady smell of blooms cloaked the air as Christian
caught up to his brother, both men slowing pace as they passed through heavy
brush. Clad in leather breeches, thick boots, and a sleeveless leather vest
that did little to protect his massive arms against the stinging scratch of the
bramble, Christian followed his brother's lead down a narrow path that descended
into a thick canopy of trees.

At the bottom of the trail, the foliage was far too
heavy to penetrate with the horses and Quinton leapt off his animal, motioning
for his brother to follow. Pursing his lips with the greatest irritation and
reluctance, Christian did as he was asked.

The bushes were nearly as tall as he was and Quinton
vigorously motioned for his brother to crouch low to the earth. Folding his
tall frame, Christian crept up behind his brother and grabbed the man by the
ear. Quinton bit off a yelp as he came face to face with Christian's searing
gaze.

"What are we doing here?" he demanded, a
hissing whisper. "We're on de Gare lands!"

Quinton yanked himself free of his brother's brutal
grip, rubbing his ear. "Nay, we are not. This is still disputed
lands," he pointed in the direction he had been moving. "Come on;
it's not far."

Christian had had enough of his brother's mysteries.
Following the brown-haired man into a particularly thick cluster of bushes, he
opened his mouth to tell him precisely what he thought of his foolery when
Quinton suddenly hissed with delight.

"Thank God,” he whispered. “We have arrived in
time!”

Christian's irritation turned to genuine curiosity as he
attempted to locate his brother's source of glee.
"In
time for what?"

Quinton's delight turned most seductive and he pointed
through the cover of leaves. "In time for her," he said with
satisfaction.
"As I promised, dear brother.
You
shan't be disappointed."

Christian followed his brother's lead, peering through
the sheltering branches. Across the body of a small pond, shimmering weakly in
the dim light, his ice-blue gaze fell on a lovely dappled palfrey partially
concealed by a cluster of bushes. Clearly, he could see a blond head on the
opposite side of the horse, bobbing to and fro as it went about its business. It
was a woman, he could tell. His interest took a deeper foothold and he shifted
in the bramble to gain another, more revealing look.

As the blond-headed figure stepped out from behind the
palfrey, Christian's irritation vanished as he found himself gazing upon the
most beautiful woman he had ever had the fortune to witness. It had taken him a
mere second to deduce that she was by far the most magnificent female he had
ever beheld; it was not an uneducated conclusion considering he had seen more
than his share of women in his young life.

Enough experience to know that the beauty before him was
unequaled by anything he had ever encountered.
An odd
warmth settled in his limbs as he observed her fluid movements as she ran her
fingers through her hair, speaking softly to the palfrey when the animal drank
from the body of water. Her voice, sultry and faint, bolted through him like a
turbulent fire.

Christian knew he had to meet her. Lacking any
hesitation, he moved to stand; he was consumed with the idea of announcing
himself to the woman with the silky blond hair, as glistening and lovely as the
gossamer wings. But a sharp grasp upon his arm halted his intentions as Quinton
yanked him hard enough to cause him to lose his balance. Crashing to his knees,
Christian turned his furious attention to his brother.

"What are you doing?" Quinton hissed sharply.

Icy-blue eyes blazed. "I am going to introduce
myself."

Quinton shook his head sharply. "You will not. I
forbid you to spoil my surprise."

Christian jerked his arm free of his brother's biting
grip, moving to regain his footing. "What are you talking about? You have
presented your surprise, as is evident by the angelic woman at the water's
edge. And I intend to...."

Quinton cut him off. "If you introduce yourself, you
will spoil everything. She will never come here again."

Christian's eyebrows drew together. "You're not
making sense, Quinton. Is she not the surprise you intended for me? Why do you
not allow me to make my presence known?"

Quinton opened his mouth to contest his brother's
statement but something from the opposite side of the pond caught his
attention. His expression softened. "Because you will miss the performance
if you do,” he said softly.

Puzzled and mildly annoyed, Christian turned to the
source of his brother's preoccupation, and all of his irritation vanished in
one awe-struck moment.

The woman with the incredibly beautiful hair had removed
her simple gown, leaving her clad in a fine linen shift. As she moved to the
water's edge, the faint light that had managed to penetrate the canopy filtered
through her thin garment, giving her admirers an ample view of her shapely
legs.

The men watched, impressed with wonder, as she daintily
dipped her toe into the water to test the temperature. Deeming the climate mild
enough for her needs, she proceeded to strip off the shift in a single
effortless movement. Tossing the garment aside, she dove into the crystal-clear
waters without reserve.

Christian could scarcely breathe. His entire attention
was riveted to the mysterious woman as she frolicked about in the water like an
exotic fish. Even as he watched her graceful movements, her long arms as they
carved easily into the surface of the pond, his attention repeatedly returned
to the brief moment by the water's edge when she had been completely nude, void
of all hindrance and shame and protection.
 
She was magnificent. If Christian hadn't known himself any better, he
would have sworn he fell in love with her at that very moment.

But to love someone based purely on appearance was
foolish.
Love
was foolish. He had been the recipient of enough 'love'
over the years to know that for fact; silly, giddy, irrational of all emotions,
it was acid to a man's ears and a syphon to his strength. He couldn't count the
number of women who had declared themselves in 'love' with the powerful knight
known as the Demon of Eden, heir to the rich barony of the same name nestled
between the shires of Cumbria and Durham.
 
It was a barony that had been at war with its
closest neighbor for over seventy years.

Certainly there was little difference between love and
war; the most volatile of all states, a fine line separating the two as if to
commonly divide and commonly unite them. Although he had no use for one state,
he'd never known reprieve from the other.

In fact, even now he was considered upon enemy land as
he gazed upon the delightful nymph settled in the water before him. Her blond
hair was slicked back on her head as she paddled about, and Christian and Quinton
found themselves ducking low when she unknowingly turned in their direction.

Through the shielding foliage, Christian found himself
staring at a face that matched the perfection of the body. Large, almond-shaped
eyes reflected the deep blue of the pool with mesmerizing beauty, and his gaze
raked over dramatically arched brows set within a pleasing oval face. Lips as
full and ripe as summer cherries hovered over the water as she swam gracefully,
completely ignorant of her appreciative audience.

The entire picture was enrapturing. Christian sank to
his buttocks, settling in for what he hoped to be a lengthy exhibition of flesh
and beauty. Tempting glimpses of slender legs or delicate shoulders would
assault his senses, causing him to lick lips that had been sucked dry by his heavy
breathing. Never in his life had he harbored such a reaction to any female,
clothed or unclothed.

Watching the woman as she splashed in the center of the
pond, it was as if nothing else in the world existed.

"Tell me, Demon; what do you think?" he was
vaguely aware of Quinton's voice, low and suggestive.

Christian's ice-blue eyes never left the bathing
enchantress. "I think I am in love." When he heard his brother's soft
snickers, he tore his gaze away from the woman long enough to slant the man a
wondrous gaze. "How did you come by her?"

"On patrol," Quinton whispered. "A few
weeks ago, before you returned from London, I happed across her while securing
the disputed lands. She comes here every week, every Thursday, about this time.
She has never missed a date."

"Nor shall I from now on," Christian murmured
fervently. "Who is she?"

Quinton shook his head. "I have no idea. But she
comes from de Gare lands."

A dark expression rippled across his brother's chiseled
features.
"A servant, mayhap.
Or even one of the
family
?"