Chapter 10
Wherein some pagans come to grips with the new world order and treason is plotted
Lancaster Castle - December, 1080
The three members of the Duchess of Lancaster's coven - now officially her Ladies in Waiting - were not happy. One of them, a tall, formidable looking woman called Jane, stood in front of the Duchess, arms folded and tapping her foot.
"This is complete crap! Are you telling us that because of some wishy-washy deal you've cut we can't practise our relgion freely?"
Lancaster scowled at Jane.
"Before you take that tone, missy, let me remind you that if it wasn't for the 'wishy-washy' deal that I'd cut it's entirely likely that a couple of large, over-zealous Northumbrian soldiers would probably be merrily roasting you over a fire at this exact moment in time."
Martha, an aged crone and the oldest member of the coven sniggered and rubbed her hands together.
"Oooh. I wouldn't mind a couple of big Northumbrian lads getting over zealous with me and doling out a right good roasting; know what I mean?"
She elbowed Jane in the ribs and winked disgustingly. The other woman paid her no heed and instead concentrated on the Duchess.
"That may be so, but does this just mean that we have to completely abandon our worship of the All Mother?"
Lancaster shook her head.
"No - of course not. We just have to be more careful, that's all. In fact, I've had a few ideas on how we can bring our rites out into the open without raising the suspicions of the Church."
Jane and Martha brightened and leaned into hear more, but an anguished moan went up from Genevive, the youngest of the coven. All eyes turned to her and she swooned dramatically and wailed.
"Woe is me for my unlife is ended! Thrust out into the open the sun's kiss will seize me in a fiery embrace!"
Martha and Jane rolled their eyes in a "not-this-again" way but Lancaster held up a hand before either of them could say anything. Instead she turned to the anguished Genevive and smiled politely.
"Genevive, darling. We've been over this before haven't we?"
The girl, placed a hand to her brow and threw her head back.
"Why is fate so cruel? Did I ask to be ripped from my mortal life and thrust into the dark courts of the night? Did I ask to become a reluctant sanguine predator, cursed forever to drink the blood of the living? And now this - the inexolarable advance of the Church - come forth to destroy a gentle soul who asked only to be loved! Oh the woe! THE ANGST!"
In Genevive's mind's eye she was tall and willowy, dressed in the finest black velvet, with sallow skin as delicate as porcelin, long raven hair that fell in waves down her back, and dark, mysterious eyes that burned with an intensity and passion so great as to break the hearts of all men (and some women) who beheld them.
In reality she was about four foot eleven, with the ruddy complexion of a farmer's wife, short, curly, ginger hair and slightly watery, sad blue eyes. Her dress, however, was made of velvet and when she walked she clanked due to the abundance of cheap, silver occult jewelry that she adorned herself with.
Lancaster laid a hand on the girl's knee and smiled again, this time with less patience.
"What did we agree last time Genevive? Can you remember?"
Genevive grasped Lancaster's hand.
"So kind! So kind! Look how she doesn't even recoil from my icy touch!"
With elaborate patience the Duchess patted Genevive on the hand.
"Actually, your hands are pretty warm. Now - for the last time. What did you agree with us at our last meeting?"
Genevive tossed her head back and laughed.
"Nothing! I shall not yield to the vile tactics of the opressor's puppet. Look into my eyes mortal! Gaze into my soul and feel it's power..."
Lancaster slapped Genevive hard across the cheek and the girl fell backed shocked.
"REPEAT AFTER ME - I AM *NOT* A BLOODY VAMPIRE!"
Genevive sobbed.
"Is this how it's going to be? In bed with the Church so we have to cast off all trappings of our true nature?"
Jane shook her head.
"No lovey. It's just that the three of us agreed a while back that your pretnending to be a scion of the night is really, REALLY annoying and we'd be very grateful if you stopped doing it."
Martha nodded.
"Yeah. Doesn't do a girl any favours acting like that. You want to find yourself a right good young man, that's what you want! Get him to stick a stake in you and get this vampire business over and done with for good, know what I'm saying?"
She jabbed Genevive in the ribs with her elbow and winked. Lancaster clapped her hands together.
"Right - what I was saying earlier was this. We can carry on as normal, but we have to put a Christian veneer on everything. For example, our May day rite..."
Martha held up a hand.
"That's the one when we dance round the great big stone and give thanks to the All Mother for our fertility."
Lancaster nodded.
"Got it in one. Well, we do the same thing this year, but instead of carrying it out at night, in the sacred grove under the light of the moon we do it during the day, in a field."
Martha raised a hand again.
"But, the big holy rock thing. That won't be in the field will it? You're not expecting the four of us to carry it all the way from the sacred grove to some field, are you?"
Lancaster shook her head.
"Of course not. Instead, we're going to use some clever symbolism. The Christians are big fans of this. Instead of the holy rock of fertility to dance around, we're going to dance round a pole - let's call it a May pole since it's on May day. And the beauty of this is that we can get everyone else involved. Say it's a new Christian rite celebrating the abundance and joy that the change in seasons brings. Instead of a congregration of four, the All Mother gets all of the young women in the realm worshipping her unknowlingly. Clever huh?"
There was a general murmer of assent before Martha once more stuck a hand in the air. Lancaster waved at her.
"Yes Martha."
"I can't see people going for it."
"Why not?"
"Well, 'cos of the pole."
Lancaster looked puzzled.
"Why wouldn't they go for that?"
Martha furrowed her brow.
"Well, this pole's the replacement for the holy rock from the sacred grove, right?"
"Right."
"And this rite's the replacement for the holy rite where we give thanks to the All Mother for our fertility and what have you, right?"
"Right."
"So this new pole thing's going to be all symbolic just like the holy rock was all symbolic, right?"
"Right."
"But, when you was explaining to us ages ago about the symbolism of the holy rock you said it was meant to represent a great big coc..."
Lancaster held up a hand.
"OBVIOUSLY the symbolism is the same..."
Martha threw her hands up.
"I can't see the priests wanting to let young girls dance round a great big tonker!"
Lancaster sighed and counted to five before speaking.
"...but obviously we don't EXPLAIN the symbolism to anyone else."
There was a series of enlighted "ooohs" from the coven. Lancaster smiled.
"Everyone happy?"
A series of nods accompanied the "oohs" to confirm this.
"Fantastic."
The Duchess turned to Jane.
"Right - now that that's out of the way, how about you conjure up a little healing spell for me to see if you can shift whatever ailment it is that's gripping me. I feel dreadful."
Jane looked aghast.
"But your excellency! You said I wasn't to do any magic!"
Lancaster smiled.
"Of course not. Now that you're a good Catholic girl you're a 'faith healer'. So use some of your faith and get me healed."
As Jane laid hands on her and attemtped to cast out the disease that had been (pardon the pun) plauging her for the past few weeks Lancaster wondered if all covens were as stupid as hers. If that was the case, maybe it would go some way to explaining the easy with which Christianity had spread across the world.
York Castle - March, 1081
The rain was coming down in torrents and the thunder rumbled like an angry god's laughter. Occasionally a jagged fork of lightening would sunder the leaden sky and briefly illuminate the landcape below. The countryside was devoid of life - for neither man nor beast would dare brave the elements on a night such as this - save for a lone horse and rider, careering towards York castle. The horse's eyes were wide with fear and its mouth was white with foam as its rider drove it on faster and faster through the night. With a clatter of hooves on wood it tore across the drawbridge into the castle's court yard, and before it had even come to a halt its rider had sprung from its back and dismounted. The poor animal collapsed in a heap, panting madly as steam rose from its flanks. Without so much as a glance backwards the rider, dashing up the stairs to the keep's doors, simply pointed over his shoulder and yelled at the startled guardsman on the parapet.
"Tend to my mount, for I have business with your Lord!"
With that he stepped up to the massive double doors of the Keep and heaved them open.
Inside, the Duke of York was sitting with his wife, enjoying a quiet meal. Both of them almost spilled their drinks in surprise as the huge doors were flung open and a howling gale from outside almost snuffed out every candle in the room. York turned to face the intruder who stood in the doorway, hands on hips, cape billowing in the wind. As the Duke went to speak he was cut off by a flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder. The figure in the doorway raised a hand and pointed at him.
"There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat, and we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures!"
The Duchess put her head in her hands and shook her head, while the Duke narrowed his eyes and peered at the figure more closely.
"Hereford, is that you?"
The Duchess sighed.
"Of course it's bloody Hereford. Who else talks like that?"
There was a slam as Hereford (for it was indeed he) pulled the doors shut and strode across the room to where the Duke stood. He grasped him in an embrace and hugged him tightly, before slapping him on the back, shaking him and laughing heartily.
"Well met my friend! Well met indeed."
He grasped York by the cheeks and grinned.
"Yet looks he like a king. Behold his eye, as bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth controlling majesty!"
York wriggled free from Hereford and smiled politely. Leciester simply sighed and poured herself some more wine.
"So", said York, "I gather you got my message?"
Hereford laughed again and clapped York on the shoudler.
"Aye - that I have. My mind is aflame at the thought of what we will accomplish!"
York nodded and indicated that Hereford be seated. Leicester drained her glass, and poured herself another one. She pointed the bottle accusingly at her husband.
"Whatever you're up to I want no part of it - I'm making that clear now. Especially if that nugget", her she jabbed the bottle in Hereford's direction, "is involved! I'm off to bed."
York waved her hand dismissivly and Hereford punched him on the shoulder.
She stood up, turned to leave, stopped and returned to the table from which she snatched up her glass.
"And I'm taking this with me!"
Hereford roared with laughter and his fist into his palm.
"I like a woman with spirit!"
Leicester drew him a look that suggested she was willing to put that theory to the test, but York intervened and turned Hereford away from his rapidly smouldering wife.
"So, you've seen my proposal and you agree?"
Hereford puffed his chest out.
"Agree? Truly we stand on the threshold of greatness! The strands of fate unwind and split, weaving a new, richer tapestry - one of honour, virtue and greatness!"
York look puzzled.
"Look, are you absolutely sure that..."
Hereford sprang to his feet, clenching one mailed fist as he did so and raising it to the ceiling.
"For too long has the yoke of opression hung around our necks. We are men of honour, dignity, integrity and valour, yet we are forced to dance to the tune of another. Our talents are wasted, squandered - taken for granted! But hark! For a light doth burn in the blackness. A tiny flicker, yes - but one that shall soon burst into a mighty inferno so great that it will sear the very darkness asunder! Burn mighty fire! Burn and set us free! Burn and..."
York tugged Hereford's leg.
"Can you get down off the table please? I've just had it revarnished and the Duchess... Trust me - she'd go completely spacko if she saw you up there."
Hereford, somewhat deflated, climbed down. York smiled an embaressed smile.
"Er...so...you're little speech there. I couldn't help notice that you kept using words like 'honour', 'valour' and 'integrity'."
Hereford beamed.
"Indeed sir, for the venture on which we do depart..."
York waved his hands and made a little "sushing" motion.
"I know, I know. However, you are absolutely certain that you completely and utterly understood my message?"
Hereford puffed out his chest, went to speak but York cut him off.
"Just yes or no will do."
"Oh. In that case yes."
"So you know what I'm proposing. Again, yes or no."
"Yes. I think so."
York sighed and ran his hand through his hair before looking at Hereford and smiling politely.
"Ok. In simple terms, what I was proposing was a revolution. Namely that you and I declare our independance from the King and the combined mighty of our realms would be sufficent to eclipse his power, setting us up as the new, defacto, rulers of England."
Hereford's brow furrowed.
"A noble venture! One that we under take in the name of liberty, justice, honour and..."
York shook his head.
"Basically, it's a cheap grab for power, taking advantage of the events that have just happened in the north."
Hereford sagged slightly.
"Oh."
A cunning smile flickered on York's face and he put an arm around Hereford's shoulders.
"Of course, once we had brought peace to the realm you'd be free to introduce your own standards of honour, liberty, justice and whatever other virtues you desire."
Hereford bounced to his feet.
"Then our venture doth live! I must ride! If my steed is not ready then have your men prepare me another! Preperations await! Hosts must be raised! To battle! To arms! We shall claim this realm in the name of nobility! Blow wind! Come wrack! At least I'll die with armour on my back!"
He raced to the door, half tripping over his cloak and almost falling head over heels in his excitment to get outside. York stood at the top of the stairs and cheerily waved goodbye. When Hereford and his horse had torn off into the distance the Duke shut the doors behind him and exhaled loudly. Slumping into his seat he drained the rest of his wine before heading upstairs to bed. Once he had gone the Duchess slipped out from the shadows, a viscious smile on her face. She rubbed her hands together nastily before muttering "I'll teach you to mark my bloody table." before slinking upstairs after her husband.