Trouble with Jeans - A story for older children, with a twist of fantasy!

Whilst sulking on a shelf within the confines of a large antique-smelling walnut wardrobe, a small voice uttered, with an almost squeaked muttering...'But I want to go on holidays, I want...'
     You always want something, Pippa thought to herself. She stopped what she was doing at the kitchen sink, drying her hands down the front of her clothing, and walked up a small corridor of her house, to where a pitiful voice was emitting more moans of pleading from her old wardrobe.
     She entered her bedroom as the voice began assaulting her ears, grating on her nerves.
      Pippa was only a day and another sleep in her own bed, before boarding a huge jet, whisking her to the other side of the world. Travelling always enriched her life beyond measure. It presented adventure, excitement, enjoyment and she planned the trips well in advance.
     Pippa paused in front of the lovely old walnut wardrobe she'd managed to buy in an auction some time ago. Hands on hips, she addressed the area of cupboard, still echoing with mournful pleads.
     'We've already had this conversation. I've made up my mind. You won't be accompanying me and that's that!'
     But the pleading continued nonetheless.
     'That's not what you first said,' Jeans replied.
     'What did I say then?'
     Pippa frowned, her mouth twisting in a pout, wondering exactly what it was she did say.
     'You said I felt comfortable,' Jeans reminded her.
     Hmmm, thought Pippa. Maybe I did.
     'And you even thought I'd look nice with several of your tops.'
     Pippa had to agree with that comment. She opened the door of the wardrobe and as she did so, there was an instant sigh of relief from within.
     'That's much better! Been getting a bit stuffy in here!'
     'If you say so.' Pippa gazed toward Jeans nonchalantly.
     'I do say so,' came a somewhat belligerent voice. 'Have you ever been thrown in here, quite brutally too and just left for dead in the dark for days at a time? I hate the dark!' 
     'No!' replied Pippa briefly. 'Of course not!'
     'Thought as much,' Jeans muttered, still sulking. 
     Jeans started that 'I told you so' business, when Pippa intervened, putting an immediate stop to the proceedings.
     'That's not possible and you know it!'
     'I'm not so sure...' whimpered Jeans, becoming almost defiant.
     'I haven't time for this,' shrugged Pippa. 'I've made my decision and that's final!'
     Another protest from the wardrobe, as Pippa busied herself with some packing, muttering enough for Jeans to hear.
     'Ah, but I do love the feel of them and they look very modern. Most up-to-date in fact.'
     'I heard that,' Jeans retorted in a low voice.
     'Well you weren't suppose to.'
     Pippa made a face to herself, rolling her eyes briefly.
     She started mulling over the situation. There was a smart pair of navy trousers she'd always taken away with her on such long trips, but they were becoming a bit faded and tired looking. They were always comfortable, smart and easily washable. Jeans not so when it came to washing and drying them in a hotel room. But when the weather became cooler and more autumnal where she was going, she'd love to have Jeans with her.
     Pippa continued for a short while, arguing with herself - then suddenly stopped packing the few more items she'd gathered from a dark mahogany chest of drawers and looked again at the old walnut wardrobe. She walked the short distance toward it, flung open the doors that made a creaking sound, so she made a mental note to put a little oil on the hinges.
     'Alright! You win!' she said, pulling a face. 'I'll take you with me I suppose.'
     'Oh good! Do you really mean that?'
     'Yes, I guess so,' replied Pippa.
    'I knew you'd relent in the end.'
     'You did, did you?' 
     She reached to where Jeans had been sitting alone and forlorn for days, picked them up, holding them out, then placed them in front of the old jeans she was wearing. Pippa took a long look at herself in a swing mirror she'd also acquired at an auction, admiring the colour denim, the shape of the legs, particularly the slight stretch and softness of the fabric. They didn't feel hot like other denim.
     Mmmm, she thought. I can't possibly leave them behind, specially as they were bought to take on holidays. In fact in no time at all, she'd be boarding the plane, soaring forty thousand feet above the earth toward another adventure in foreign parts, some still hot and humid, some perhaps a lot cooler.
     Pippa tried Jeans on, liking what she saw and felt - smoothing her hands down the legs. She took one last look at herself in the mirror.  They were certainly comfortable, she thought. So she packed them in her suitcase ready to take soon.
     'Ahh...that's better. You won't regret this you know.'
     Jeans let out a long contented sigh of relief.
     'There you go again,' Pippa retorted. 'What makes you think that?'
     'Because I knew all along, you'd take me with you.'
     Pippa shut the top part of her suitcase with a quick movement.
     'Hey, not so fast!' came the indignant voice from within.
     But Pippa was done with it, walking off down the corridor, back to her kitchen to prepare breakfast, starting to feel excited about her forthcoming trip.
     The next day dawned bright, as she lay in her own bed for the last time, listing to pigeons cooing atop a tree in the front garden. Then came a wild chattering, as two blackbirds swooped past the window, chasing round the shrubbery, darting toward a rooftop somewhere opposite, to argue. With the noise, Pippa was alerted to the fact that today she was leaving for a holiday, the same excited feeling in the pit of her stomach. She smiled, luxuriating.  
     After she'd had breakfast, done all the last minute checking, it was time to depart for the airport. She stopped at the door, making sure she had all the necessities - passports, money, tickets and oh yes, her suitcase containing her newly acquired Jeans.
     Closing the front door for the last time, she bid bonjour, then au revoir to her French neighbour next door, who usually knew when she would be leaving and stood on the fence with a smile and a wave. Pippa was grateful to have such a kind and helpful neighbour such as Mary, who'd collect her mail and keep an eye on things in her absence.
     'Are we actually leaving at long last?' came a voice from the depths of her suitcase.
     'Yes!' came an abrupt answer from Pippa.
     'To the airport then?'
     'Yes, of course to the airport! Now be quiet for a while,' she replied.
     'Oh alright. If I must.'
     'You must!' Pippa wondered how long this was going on.
     'Must I?'
     'Yes, yes, yes!' Pippa was becoming a little exasperated. 'And it's going to be a very long journey too!'
     Moans and groans were heard from inside her suitcase.
     'Well, at least I'm going with you. One must be grateful for small mercies I suppose.'
     Pippa said nothing, as soon they would arrive at the airport and she needed to keep her wits about her.
     But the voice wouldn't relent.
     'Are you sure we're going to the airport?'
     'Of course the airport! Where else silly?'
     'Awe..., now you're getting cross!'
     Pippa rolled her eyes and tutted.
     'No I'm not. Just need to get on.'
     At last I'm almost there, she thought, feeling excited.
     'Me too!' squeaked a voice from the depths of Pippa's suitcase.
     She rolled her eyes again, exclaiming 'Oh crumbs!'  
     'I heard that!'
     Pippa ignored it, walking up to the check-in desk.

     The flight to London was long as usual, but she soon overcame the feeling of being cooped up, breathing fresh air, as she walked the short distance from where the underground train from the airport stopped not far from her hotel.  Arriving here, she always felt it was like a second home. She'd stayed there many times, as it was homely, small and within easy distance from all she needed.
     The flower boxes overhanging the fence next door to her hotel as she walked by, were still blooming with ample colour and she smiled, enjoying their beauty. They too were familiar to her - always there and always blooming. The sun shone from above and the park opposite the hotel was still in full leaf after summer - not having turned autumnal yet. The same two Black Maserati cars were parked in the street nearby, as were the other usual ones she noticed each year - the first leaves of autumn already adorning their low slug, shiny exteriors.
     'It's good to be back,' she sighed aloud.
     'And I'm glad to be out of there!' came a pertinent voice.
     'Out of where?' Pippa exclaimed.
     'Out of that hold in the plane. It's freezing in there!'
     'Oh! I see now.'
     'I hope you do,' came the voice. Jeans was becoming tiresome again, and they'd only just arrived. 
     She walked up the few steps of the hotel and jiggled the front door slightly, which was usually locked. She knew the staff on reception and as soon as they saw her, pressed a button underneath the desk, which opened the door. Besides, they knew when she was due to arrive and always welcomed her.

     Pippa settled into her hotel room, removing some of the clothes from her suitcase to put on shelving in the small cupboard provided- Jeans included.
     'Ahh...that's better!' sighed Jeans. It's been a bit cramped in there. What's on the agenda huh?'
     'Now don't you start. It's been a long journey and I want to freshen up and relax for a while.'
     'Awe! That sounds boring. Can't we go for a ride in one of those tall red buses?'
     'No! We cannot and how did you know there were tall, double decker buses in London?' 
     'I could here them,' squeaked Jeans.'
      Hmmm..., how odd, thought Pippa.
     'It's been a long journey from the other side of the world and although it's only breakfast time now, feels like the middle of the night.'
     'Awe! You're no fun at all,' continued Jeans.
     'No fun you say?' Pippa was beginning to get exasperated with Jeans, in no mood for this. She really felt a little peculiar in the head, a fuzziness that always affected her after a long flight. But because this trip had been undertaken many times, knew all would be well in a few days. After all, there must be thousands of visitors to London each day who travelled as she did by plane and feeling the same affects. They were landing at least every minute, as she'd timed them from her hotel room, flying low in the distance. Everyone was different with how long flights affected them, but for now, all she wanted was to shower and change her clothes.
     Jeans was quiet for now, perched on the upper shelf of the cupboard.
     Pippa started to relax and plan what she would be doing over the next few days.  She muttered aloud a few things, as she often talked to herself.  
     'I know!' she exclaimed.
     'Know what?' Jeans rambled on.
     'Oh, do be quiet while I try and think.
     Pippa turned to the map which was opened on a desk.
     'But I can help you think if you like?' moaned Jeans from the top shelf.
     'No you can't!' came an abrupt reply.
     'I can so too!' Jeans continued, in a pleading voice.
     Pippa got up from the chair she'd been sitting on in front of the desk and walked the few steps to the cupboard. She shut the door firmly and went back to gazing at the map of London.
     'Can't I have any peace?' she said with a quiet voice.
     'Not if I have anything to do with it you can't!' That annoying voice sounded from inside the cupboard again.
     'Oh crumbs!' Pippa rolled her eyes and went to lie on the bed for a while. Hope I'm not going to have trouble with Jeans, she thought.
      A walk in the afternoon, where she'd found a small park, was exhilarating after the long plane journey, clearing her woolly head. 
     The evening drew in, golden from the last rays of sun, birds whistling and chirping, flitting in and out of high branches from the park opposite. 
     A little later, with a simple meal consumed nearby, Pippa went upstairs to her room of the hotel, falling asleep immediately.
     The next morning was fine, alive with the sounds of London in the air and not a drop of rain in sight, the sky cloudless with promise.
     Pippa managed to sleep rather well, which helped enormously. She rose from her bed and dressed, then headed for the door to go downstairs for some breakfast, when she heard a familiar pleading coming from the cupboard.
     'Can I come too...? it wailed.
      'Not this time. Perhaps after I return,' she replied quickly, knowing what might be coming next. 
     She closed the door of her room quickly and took the life to the ground floor of the hotel, where breakfast was served in a conservatory, surrounded by a small garden.
     Ah, peace and quiet again, she thought - until some voices were heard from the next table. An American couple were discussing the route they would take that day, as it appeared they had never been to London before.
     'But I think we should take the bus to the Tower,' the lady was saying.
     'I don't think so,' said her husband. 'Definitely the underground.'
     'Oh, surely not,' argued his wife. 'I don't think there is even a station near there!'
     But her husband was adamant. 'Look, I think there is!' He pointed to the map on the table, in amongst cereal dishes and glasses of orange juice. He rose then, which suggested he was a little miffed with his wife and went to help himself to a fresh pot of coffee from a buffet table.
     His wife, let out a breath of air through her white teeth, as if she too was becoming a little exasperated. She turned at that moment, catching the eye of Pippa and pulled a face, frowning.  She rolled her eyes and then smiled politely. 
      Pippa pretended not to have heard at first, until the American lady leaned over and said - 'men huh!'
     At first Pippa smiled back, not quite knowing what to say, until the American lady on the next table asked her.
     'On your own are you my dear?'
     'Yes..., yes I am,' replied Pippa with a smile and a brief shrug of the shoulders.
     'Oh you poor lady. You must feel awfully alone in such a large city as London?'
     By this time, her husband was returning with his coffee, sitting down again opposite his wife.
     'Would you care for some coffee?' he asked her.
     'Thank you, but I'll help myself very soon,' she smiled. 'This poor lady is all alone in London,' she added, looking over to where Pippa sat. 'What do you think of that?'
     Her husband replied, as he sipped his coffee, which obviously had a calming affect on him.
     'I think she is very brave.' 
     He turned to Pippa without any hesitation, asking, 'I don't suppose you care to join us today, do you?'
     'Oh thank you kindly,' Pippa answered politely, 'but I've been here many times before and I'm comfortable travelling alone,' thinking very quickly. 'Besides, I've got to know London quite well.'
     'Then perhaps you wouldn't mind solving our dilemma. My wife thinks we should take the bus to the Tower of London from here. I say the underground tube. What do you think?'
     Pippa thought quickly for a moment, not wishing to take sides in the dispute. She tasted the juice she'd poured herself from the buffet table, hoping she would be tactful. 
    'Well..., as a matter of fact there are two ways of getting there. If you took the bus you would see more on your way to the Tower, but if you took the underground, it's a lot quicker, but you see nothing as you travel of course. The choice is yours,' Pippa concluded, thinking she'd handled the situation with due care.
     'Well I guess it's settled then, said the American lady. We take the bus. I think it would be fun to travel on one of those high red, double decker buses.
     'Oh...right then,' mumbled her husband, giving in without further ado. He looked up suddenly from his coffee cup. 'Perhaps we could go there by bus and return via the underground.'
     'Good thinking.' Pippa replied, quietly under her breath, not wishing to be involved any longer. She rose and walked over to the buffet table, helping herself to a fresh croissant and some coffee. What was I saying about peace and quite? she thought.
     A few moments later the American lady joined her, waiting patiently for the coffee pot.
     'Thank you my dear,' she whispered to Pippa. 'You saved the day back there, with your tact and diplomacy. Are you sure you won't join us today?'
     'Quite sure, thank you. I have other plans for today,' she smiled, trying to sound gracious. 
     'Oh well, if you change your mind...' The American lady returned to her chair, while Pippa wondered for a moment if she really wanted to eat what she'd chosen. Then followed the lady soon after, sitting down again, pulling the chair closer to her table.
     No other conversation occurred between them and Pippa finished her croissant and drank the last of her coffee, feeling more relaxed.
     Before returning to her room, she rose and smiled a goodbye to the American couple, hoping they'd made peace with each other. It appeared so, as she glanced in their direction, before returning to her room to organize herself for the day.
     It wasn't long before a small voice was heard from the cupboard.
     'I wanted to go with you. Why didn't you take me, huh?'
     'Oh crumbs!' Pippa said again. She went to the cupboard, throwing open the door.
     'Alright then, if you must. You can come with me today, but none of that moaning, okay?'
     'It's a deal!' said Jean, chirping up immediately. 'Where to then? I've never been to London before. What's it like?'
     'Big!' replied Pippa. Then she smiled, adding - 'rather exciting actually!'
     'Good!' Jeans began almost dancing in mid air. Pippa changed, slipping Jeans over her hips, zipping up the front. She ran a hand over a thigh, feeling the soft, comfy stretch of the material and grinned to herself.
     'See! I knew you'd be pleased I came along. Where are we going today?'
     'There is something special I want to photograph at the Tower of London. It's very old and seen many kings and queens. It has a long history attached.
     'What's the Tower of London?' asked Jeans.
     'It's a huge, very old stone building, like a castle, but a royal palace and fortress that has stood the test of time beside the river Thames for hundreds of years. Certain people were shut up  and imprisoned there, dying for lack of food and proper care, while others later called it home, as it was once a grand palace and later became a prison. In its time, it was a fearsome place to some. The Tower of London as it's named, has a White Tower within its walls, built by William the Conqueror in 1078, who came by ship from Normandy, now part of France and fought a bloody and brutal battle to be able to claim the throne of England.
     'Ohhh!' said Jeans and Pippa continued.
     'William thought he was entitled to the throne because of family ties, but so did King Harold II of England. It's believed he was shot in the eye by an arrow.'
     'Oh! That's awful,' added Jeans.
     'Indeed, the Tower is very impressive. There are also the Crown Jewels to see, closing guarded as they are highly valued. I once saw a diamond as big as an egg, imbedded in a crown, that once belonged to Edward the Confessor and he lived before the days of William the Conqueror.'
     'But that's enough for now,' muttered Pippa. 'I'll never get going at this rate.'
     'I'm interested in all that history stuff,' proclaimed Jeans. 'So that's where we're going today?'
     'If you leave me be for a time, I might be able to get organized.'
     'Oh, alright then...' muttered Jeans.
    
     A short time later, Pippa was on the underground train, heading toward the Tower of London with Jeans. It was only a short walk from the station to the Tower complex, there being a very large wall surrounding all the buildings, so she walked around to the entrance and bought a ticket.
     The weather was cool but fine, no rain threatening London's atmosphere of continuing business, while a brisk breeze blew and shivered across the Thames river into Pippa's hair.  Buses were toing and froing up and down Ludgate - past St. Paul's cathedral, onward to Trafalgar Square, where people gathered to view the magnificent art of the National Gallery.
      It was pleasant to wander about at will and photograph what she had in mind. Many other people were doing similar, but Pippa concentrated on the areas she had pre-planned, lost in the surroundings of her own world, the ancient history of this mighty place, exuding its past life from the very walls, the roof, the floor, where so much had gone before her.
     Pippa was ambling through the White Tower, noticing some graffiti that had been scratched onto one of the walls hundreds of years ago, when she heard a strange noise. It was coming from an adjoining room nearby, the voice sounding rather familiar.
     At that moment a young lad rushed past her in a mighty hurry, much to the astonishment of several visitors. Pippa looked up just in time as he was pushing past her and in his haste, tripped over her foot. He immediately came crashing to the floor with a groan, as several people closed in around him with curiosity.
     A moment later, an American lady, judging by her accent, arrived at the doorway adjoining both rooms, looking somewhat out of breath. It was the same lady Pippa met at breakfast that morning. Her husband standing behind her.
     'What on earth's going on?' he asked his flushed looking wife, disheveled and by now, flustered.
     'That boy has stolen my purse!' she said accusingly, pointing at the sprawled boy, still on the floor groaning. No one had thought to help him up, so Pippa reached out her hand, lifting him to his feet.
     'No I didn't missus, I did nothing of the sort,' the young boy replied, indignant.
     'Then why did you bump into me and then run away like that? And I still can't find my purse,' she said, frantically searching her handbag.
     'It's my mother's fault,' the young lad moaned. She gave me a good dressing down for something I didn't do. Honest. She was about to wallop me one, so I ran,' he wailed. 'Then I bumped into you somehow. I didn't mean to lady, but forgot the way out and got scared. It's like a prison in here. All those high walls and hardly a window to be seen. It's ghostly and I want to go home,' he concluded.
     Pippa took pity on him, putting her arm around the frightened lad, trying to soothe him.
     'There there. Now don't you worry. We'll get this sorted out in no time. You'll see.'
     The lad pouted as he hung his head, tears starting to flow from his sad eyes. 'I didn't take anything. Honest!'
     The American lady appeared behind the boy, who's name Pippa learned a bit later was Christina. She looking even more flustered.
     'Hey, this is getting interesting,' Jeans whispered.
     'Hush now,' breathed Pippa.
     At that moment, another short lady rushed into the room out of breath where, by now, many people had gathered. As it happened, she was the boy's mother, coming to find him and in quite a state of anxiety.
     'Where is he?' she demanded. 'Where's that naughty son of mine?'
     Pippa turned to face her.
     'I think there's been a gross misunderstanding here,' she offered the mother.
     But the lad's mother wasn't that easily persuaded.
     'I doubt it,' she replied, still cross and flushed, at first not prepared to listen to reason.
     At that moment the American lady, Christina, was holding something like a leather purse in her hand, sheepishly stuttering, wondering what to utter next.
     'I..., I seem to have...errr, found my purse after all,' she croaked to the gathered crowd on the first floor, inside the White Tower.
     Her husband by now, was standing beside her, equally sheepish.
     'Now now Chrissy, I think you may owe this lad a much needed apology,' he said, not making things easier for his wife.
     'But...,' exclaimed the lad's mother.
     Pippa had been watching, listening to the proceedings, trying to stay calm and logical. She glanced over to Christina with a brief nod of her head.
     'Here here!' came a slight muffled voice, that Pippa chose to ignore.
     'Well...I suppose it's justified,' she owned up, admitting her mistake.
     'You're darn right it is,' added her husband, still not prepared to support her.
     His wife decided to take the bull by the horns and admit her unjust mistake. She was in possession of her purse and no harm done. At least she thought so.
     Her husband had other ideas.
     'I think this young man deserves more than an apology,' he added bravely, facing the boy head on. 'How about you and your mom taking a boat trip down the river Thames on me, huh?'
     To that, the lad lifted his face toward his mother, who seemed to have calmed down.
     'Can we..., can we Mum?' he pleaded.
     'Well I guess that's in order,' replied his mother, nodding to her son. 'Alright John, I think we can do that.'
     'And there's no need to thank me,' the American said loudly. 'The lad was obviously innocent and we're sorry, aren't we Christina?'
     'Why yes... yes we are,' she added, nodding.
     The crowd started to disperse and Pippa decided she needed some air. She smiled at John, patting him on the head with relief, still feeling sorry for him.
     'Thanks miss,' John said, looking up at her grinning. 
     'All's well now,' Pippa offered. I always knew things would work out, didn't I?'
     'Thank's again.'
     John walked out through the door with his mother firmly holding his hand, while the American couple followed.
     Pippa wandered after them, not in any hurry to get involved with any more disputes. She wanted to continue elsewhere with her photography, before moving on to two more countries in a few day's time.
     'Phew!' exclaimed Jeans. 'A lot of excitement and action in there!'
     Pippa replied without even having to think.
     'There always has been!'
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
      
    

Revelations - Chapter Ten

      Rain had fallen during the night following their arrival, causing the ground to become muddied and unpleasant. 
     Richard was finding it difficult to sleep as the uncertainties lying deep in the pit of his stomach, bothered him. He was searching for answers to the many unanswered questions going through his mind. It appeared as if he was constantly on the receiving end of the royal's might.
     Was Edward posing a serious threat to the lands he now held? What was the real reason he was here? The more he reasoned, the more he tossed - sleep evading him until the early hours of the morning. He dozed fitfully, still not absolutely sure where they had ended up. He'd heard a rumour it was not a long way from the Welsh border, and not being familiar with the area, made things even more mysterious.
     When dawn finally broke, waking from a restless night, Richard and the other men who had accompanied him, began stirring. With a deep sense of unease gripping him, the mood surrounding them all was subdued. The threat of more rain hung in the air, casting a shadowy gloom over the scene, the ground under foot already wet. 
     The camp was already a hive of activity - fires were being lit and food prepared. It was still not apparent exactly what the prince had in store for them, leaving them with feelings of worrying uncertainty, each man harbouring different thoughts. 
     Richard started pondering whether he had done the right thing bringing Dafydd. Perhaps the boy didn't really have much to do with why they were summoned, but in time he would find out - if at all. He had acted on impulse, deciding it was the right thing to do, the youngster becoming an asset to have around. He was fitting in well, learning his duties of becoming his squire, with quiet efficiency.
     Yes, he thought, it was necessary to have brought Dafydd and he wouldn't regret it, not now or in the future.

     After the departure of Richard, Katherine remained resolute she would fight the threat of loneliness and longing, putting her energies into worthwhile tasks. She shared her father's distaste for self indulgence with any negativity, holding him in high esteem when problems confronted him.
     A distant cousin on her father's side of the family, was needful of a home. She'd met Sara only the once several years ago and they'd got on well. Now Katherine saw fit to engage her as a companion, or personal maid. She liked her cousin and thought Richard would be in agreement with her decision. Sara was three years younger and had possessed a pleasant temperament and kindly manner.
     She arrived escorted by two assistants of her father, an extra horse bearing her belongings. As she moved a little unsure through the doorway, Wallace ushering her in with a slow nod of the head, Lady Katherine moved forward to welcome her.
     'I'm pleased you are able to join us,' she smiled, with a gracious gesture of arms outstretched.
     Wallace reached for the small pouch Sara held firmly to her waist, no doubt containing a few personal items. A small coffer would be installed later with all that Sara had brought with her.
     She shook her head, preferring to hold onto it for now, obviously feeling nervous at the different surroundings and meeting her cousin for only the second time.
     'Thank you my...my lady.' Sara gave a timid smile in response and a quick curtsey.
     Katherine took pity on her. 'If you prefer, you can call me Katherine.' After all she thought, they were more or less related.
     'Thank you my..., Katherine. It is a pleasure to be here,' she added, still not at all certain deep down, her gaze briefly taking in the room they were now standing in, her bright blue eyes alert, arms beginning to relax, still clasping the leather pouch.
     'You must be tired after your journey,' Katherine added. Would you like to freshen up a little, then we can have a chat? I'd like to hear more about the family.'
     Sara smiled again, preferring to remain quiet as she followed Katherine up some stairs to a small room. At least she was fortunate to have a room to herself she thought, entering through the arched doorway - not always the way in other homes, with someone such as herself. 

     As the sun rose higher, a brief meal was undertaken before a messenger delivered a verbal message to Richard. It was the same man who had ridden to the manor several days ago. His tall stance and serious expression unchanged since that day. He delivered the message nonchalantly, containing an invitation for him to join the prince at a tournament given in honour of his father, the king.
     Although Edward had been at odds with king Henry about certain decisions on and after the Dictum of Kenilworth, he had obviously decided to put to rest any further disagreements. There were some who wondered if he now had designs on Wales, and it was even rumoured the Earl of Gloucester was causing trouble in several counties not too far away. 
     Edward wasn't king yet, but was of a strong frame of mind, and for now, set about smoothing over a few inconsistencies. He was beholden to nobody, least of all an insignificant knight like Sir Richard Trowbridge. Although he had acquitted himself well at Kenilworth, Edward still had serious doubts about Sir Richard's loyalties, and in his case it wasn't so much about smoothing things over, but for one thing there was the little matter of a new staff member he had engaged. Still with misgivings, Edward needed reassurance as to where Sir Richard's loyalties lay.
     Before the tournament got underway, Richard and Dafydd went before the prince, obviously to clear up any uncertainties. Dafydd's legs were starting to tremble as they approached the more lavish tent, where Edward was temporarily housed. Two men guarded its entrance and were at first reluctant to allow Richard and Dafydd entry. Richard informed them they were expected, and after a moment's pause, were ushered inside.
     The boy's legs were quaking beneath him, his head lowered as they approached the man sitting at a trestle table with only two advisors standing close-by. He didn't dare look up at the face of the man, who's eyes he felt boring into his very soul. Dafydd felt his heart pounding so hard, he thought his chest would burst. He'd never been in the company of a prince before.
     Both Sir Richard and his young assistant, bowed deeply to the man sitting behind the table, before bending the knee to him - his lord eyeing a reminder to the lad accompanying him.
      They waited for Edward to speak first. There was a lengthy pause before the prince looked up, stroked his chin and reached for a cup of wine in front of him. The waiting for young Dafydd, was becoming intolerable, his knees were quivering, and he hoped no one would notice.
     Edward sat back in his chair. 'Perhaps you should introduce me Sir Richard' - to which Richard immediately responded.
     'This young man sir, will in time become my squire. His name being Dafydd, originally from the Marches.'
     Edward took another long, more thoughtful sip from the wine cup, placing it slowly back on the table in front of him. He looked up again, his expression serious. 'I'm assuming it was his father who had been a keen supporter of Simon de Montfort?'
     ' Indeed sir, that is correct.'
     Edward glanced at something on the table, before looking at the two standing in front of him.
     'Hmmm...! I wasn't aware he was so young. It appears my advisors have misinformed me.'
      Edward beckoned to a servant nearby, who immediately refilled his cup. He took another long draught before holding the cup out, appearing to study it. Then his gaze fell once again upon Richard and Dafydd, eyes boring into those of the lad, who was strangely becoming more confident, enough to face the prince. He stared for a moment at what he saw, aware of the power and influence someone like Edward must possess. It was more like a fascination. Dafydd began taking in the prince's features, but still unable to look him in the eyes for long. He lowered his gaze, before he heard Edward addressing him.
     'How old are you lad?' He drained his wine cup, pouring himself more from a jug.
     'I'm...I'm twelve years of age sir...at least I think so.' Dafydd plucked up courage to face the prince again face to face, thinking he could see the corners of his mouth twitch.
     'Is that so?'
     'Yes sir.'
     'Were you aware of your father's loyalties to Simon de Montfort?'
     'I think so sir, but...'
     'But what?' The prince was almost enjoying himself, aware that the boy realized in the nick of time, not to speak unless spoken to - then smiled to himself.
     Dafydd continued slowly. 'But I thought Simon was dead now sir.'
     Edward was thinking, by God this boy has some pluck.
     Richard found it unnecessary to interrupt, being amazed at the braveness of the boy - or was he being foolhardy and outspoken? He held his breath.
     Edward sat back in his chair, a hand smoothing his chin. 'You see lad, Simon de Montfort lead the barons into rebelling against the wishes of my father, the king. He caused a lot of trouble, but hopefully that's all in the past now. Simon did indeed die on the battlefield at Evesham.'
     'Yes sir.'
     After another pause, Edward concluded that this matter was now closed. He was satisfied the boy would be of no further threat whatsoever. He wasn't interested in continuing, considering it a waste of his time. He was not pleased with how he had been misinformed.
     Before dismissing them, he looked at Sir Richard.
     'Soon there will be a tournament held in my honour, and you are welcome to challenge in the lists.'
     Richard was astonished at the change of attitude. He bowed again to the prince.
     'Thank you my lord. It will indeed be an honour.' He was wondering why the sudden change in the prince's attitude and tone, becoming more than a little suspicious.
     Later Dafydd was helping Richard with some equipment, preparing it for his lord to meet his match at jousting, neither knowing who his opponents would be at this stage.
     'You did well in there.' Richard nodded toward the prince's tent.
     'Thank you sir. I...I was very nervous. My legs wouldn't stop shaking.'
     'I was proud of you. It may have turned out a lot different, but you conducted yourself admirably. I think you may even have charmed Edward.'
     'Did I my lord? I wasn't aware of that.'
     Dafydd continued conscientiously with cleaning Richard's bridle and adjusting the stirrups, knowing his master preferred them long if anything. That way he could get his legs firmly against his horse to steer it, which was important, particularly at a time like this.

     Richard was given a long lance and he tested it for balance, thinking he was glad he had remained fit, his arm at last getting its strength back after being wounded. Bedwyr was on his toes, knowing that something was about to happen, sensing it. At first Richard cursed him, hoping he would soon calm, but on the other hand it was necessary for his horse to remain alert and ready for action. He had been trained well in the art of combat.
     The tournament was well underway as rain started to fall, gently at first, becoming more persistent. In the tilt yard several knights were pitting their strengths and sense of timing against one another in practice. Some had ended up on the ground, unhorsed and beaten. There was a definite skill involved and Sir Richard had practiced many times at home, becoming quite adept at knocking his opponents from their horse.
     Today he wasn't sure who his opponent would be, hoping too he would make a good clean job of it.
     Tournaments were popular events, both for the knights who took part in them and for those who watched. In this instance, several pavilions had been erected specially for the occasion, as had a special type of grandstand for the noble lords and a few of their ladies who looked on. It appeared to have been hastily erected, as a few carpenters were adding the finishing touches to some timbers.
     In his younger years, Richard having entered several tournaments, won himself a few purses of money. But at one stage, having lost badly, had to forfeit his horse and his specially made armour, a gift from his father, costing him much he could least afford in those days. He had been eager to gain a good reputation in the lists, a field in close proximity to a castle some distance from home.
     Then it became his turn. Richard trotted to the start up one end of a long field, noticing his opponent doing the same. Upon a signal, both horses went into a slow gallop, then faster as they approached each other. The lances were coming very close to their target, but each man returning to the start for another try. Upon the second attempt, Richard felt himself really leaning into it, confidence rising with each moment. Beneath him, Bedwyr was anxious and keen to get on with it, still on his toes and almost dancing. Richard took a deep breath, balancing his lance to one side of his horse, pulling his visor over his face to protect it, as rain began falling.
     At the signal, both opponents approached each other as many looked on cheering from the grandstand. Many of the locals were perched beside the lists or sitting on the ground. Richard concentrated, pinpointing the target and as his horse lurched. This time he hit the target dead center, resulting in the weight swinging wildly hitting his opponent square on the back of his head. At first he held his balance, then his horse partially lost its footing, the rain not helping. It stumbled slightly and its rider fell to the ground with a thud. Richard pulled up and before trotting back to where his opponent was sitting, was shocked to see someone darting out from where two horses awaited their turn. A young lad was standing in front of the fallen rider hoping he could help, any rules of chivalry ignored as he offered a helping hand. Everyone looking on, were shocked at the audacity of this person. Then Richard realized it was Dafydd.
     What on earth was the boy thinking? Richard made haste to where the knight had fallen, dismounting immediately.
     Then it was Richard who was shocked.
     Edward raised his visor first, then removed his helmet.
     'My lord prince!' Richard exclaimed. 'I had no idea it was you I have...'
     'Never mind that. Help me up. I'm not one to rest in the mud for long.'
     'But sir, your horse slipped at the last minute unseating you.' Richard was feeling embarrassed and at a loss what to say next.
     As Dafydd looked on sheepishly, not knowing what to do now, Richard turned and scowled at him, wondering why on earth the boy was there at all. It was not permitted.  Had it been a fair exchange under these conditions? It was now his turn to feel nervous. He didn't want to humiliate Edward in front of the watching audience, nor give the boy a roasting just at this moment.
     Dafydd slowly looked up at Richard, his face colouring deeply, for he had realized before anyone else that it had been the prince who had fallen, his immediate thought was to go to his aid. The crowd had gone quiet, waiting.
     'Sir, I...I just wanted to help,' he blurted out. 'I saw it was the prince who had fallen...
I'm sorry sir for what I did.'
     Richard was at a loss as to what to say, for the moment shaking his head.
     Edward got to his feet unaided, brushing some of the mud from his clothes. They had given no indication he was royalty.
     'It was a fair exchange.' he said, voice lowered, as he walked the few steps to where his horse was being held by Dafydd.
     Richard scowled at the lad, feeling annoyed at what he'd just witnessed.
     Later, much later into the evening when the dust of the day had settled into pools of thoughts after the rain, Dafydd explained to his master that he'd remembered how his father had fallen from his horse in battle, the vivid memories often returning to haunt him.
     Richard listened as he held a cup of ale to his lips, listened also to the sound of droplets on the temporary shelter above his head, a faint drumming of the wind - a song singing through trees on a nearby hill.
     Replacing the cup onto a makeshift table, he turned and smiled slightly at the boy.
     'It's alright lad, I understand.'
      

    

Twist of Fate - Chapter Nine

     Young Dafydd had been conscientiously about his duties from an early hour, working diligently on the tasks that had been set for him. It was an important day, as he'd been granted permission by his master to travel with him on an unexpected journey. At this stage he was unaware of its destination.
     Although he still had a lot to learn, Richard was putting his trust in him which he took seriously. 
     Soon there was a sound upon the air of leather saddles creaking and reins being taken up. Dafydd scurried out from where he'd been working to find the party of men preparing to depart. Richard had chosen a smaller, fairly docile animal for him to ride, at the same time being spirited which he thought was within Dafydd's abilities to control. At least he hoped so.   
     As the men settled down between pommel and high cantle, voices were heard murmuring and last minute adjustment to stirrups were being made, saddle bags refilled. Most of the party had stayed overnight at a large inn nearby.
      The horses were becoming fidgety, eager to get started, some pawing the ground and stepping sideways when the men lowered themselves into saddles.
     Richard made last minute checks himself, acknowledging the presence of a few other men accompanying him. He glanced over to Dafydd, seeing him sitting straight-backed, reins in hands, a serious expression on his face and smiled to himself.
     Then activity in the courtyard ceased altogether, the gathered party setting off, soon disappearing through the main gates, riding two and three abreast, the pace increasing to a steady trot. The sun still low, was lightly misted - an early spring-like breeze causing the banner at the front of the mounted riders to flutter with a gentle movement. 

      The manor house suddenly felt empty around her. Katherine had been gazing wistfully from the window overlooking the courtyard, knowing her husband's absence would be necessary, her home for the moment, feeling eerily quiet. It was difficult to accept at first, but necessary.
     She turned to Martha who had just entered the solar, the last horses with their riders blotted from view, leaving small clouds of dust in their tracks. Where they'd assembled had been a hive of activity, now all was quiet apart from a few birds aloft a tall tree singing and chirping.
     'So they've gone then?' she said quietly, almost to herself, head bowed examining her clasped hands held in front.
     Before answering, Martha bobbed a quick curtsy glancing over to where her mistress was sitting by a window.
      'It appears so madam.'
     Katherine sighed slowly, turning toward Martha. 'I couldn't see them off. It's too upsetting - so sudden.' She was still feeling confused.
     'No madam.' Martha walked over near another window and looked out briefly as she busied herself, adding, 'At least the weather holds fine. There is nothing worse than getting soaked at the beginning of a long journey.'
     'Yes, that is a good start - indeed it is Martha.'
     Apart from worrying about the journey Richard was undertaking, she was aware it was expected of her to at least appear under control, even if deep down she was already missing her husband. Tears would not achieve anything. From an early age she learned to curb her emotions, even though they may be raging inside her. After all, she was Lady Katherine Trowbridge and must gain the respect of the servants, believing respect needed to be earned. It was necessary now, to centre her thoughts on other matters, regardless as to the sadness and emptiness she was already feeling. It may be a long time before Richard returned.
      Katherine had only just turned twenty years of age, and although young, was very capable when she put her mind to it. But it puzzled her when Richard received that message - the suddenness of it, leaving the very next day - she didn't understand its meaning, thinking no doubt there was had to be a very good explanation behind it. She was still feeling uncertain as she left the room.

      Richard was mindful of the need to take young Dafydd along with him, the lad riding with confidence and within a few strides behind his master, aware slightly that something was amiss. Nevertheless with youthful intelligence and willingness, wished to keep within earshot in case he was needed at any time. It was not for him to question his master. He was being tested and although nervous, wanted to prove his worth.
     Before leaving, Edmund and Hugh had worked hard to prepare the horses - saddles and bridles needing last minute adjustments, while Dafydd, with due care, had been allowed to clean Richard's sword and prepare other items to be taken. Although very young, he was determined to prove to Richard he was capable of anything asked of him. Richard hoped in time as he grew older, Dafydd would become more competent.
     The road ahead was narrow and winding, rutted after the winter and not easy for the horses. At first they only made slow progress, but once clear of a thick woodland into open countryside, the horses quickened their pace from a trot to a steady canter for a while. 
     Richard was again riding his favourite horse Bedwyr. Apart from being named after one of King Arthur's companions to whom he sometimes entrusted his sword, Bedwyr was keen to have his head, at first pulling on the bit, but soon settling to a quieter rhythm. His rider was well aware of the horse's temperament, handling him accordingly.
     Other than Dafydd, accompanying Richard were three other men from the estate, trusted for their ability and loyalty.
     Roger, many years older than Richard, with a fierce rough-hewn look about him, reminding his lord of a newly felled tree trunk. His dark features appearing severe at first, hands well worn from years of toil, but possessing a good strong common sense attitude, able to reason, although he never learnt to read. Not many did, but Roger was hard working, reliable, once proving himself a worthy victor in a fight he was involved in on the estate. He always stood up for what he strongly believed in, not always able to bend with the wind, which possibly was a good thing anyway. 
     Toward the end of his life, Richard's father was mortally wounded on the battlefield at Lewes, which took place a good year prior to the battle of Evesham. Roger had been present at the time, being loyal to Sir William, when victory went to Simon de Montfort, the king's army having been defeated. About that time the barons, led by Simon, were tired of bad government, of royal extravagance, preferring rather the country was governed by a council. 
     On the eve of the feast of St.Pancras, the king's army were camped at the priory, their presence causing considerable disruption for the monks.
     After the battle north of Lewes, the king's army retreated to the priory and it was here that Richard's father was buried. He did not die immediately, and Roger who stayed loyal until the end, saw to it that a priest was summoned, in order for the last rights to be administered. Sir William had been a well known knight and fought bravely on the side of the barons.
     Owen, who had a Welsh father and an English mother, rode alongside Roger. He was in his mid thirties, with two small children and a doting English wife who worshipped the ground he trod. 
     Alex, the younger of the three, was unmarried as was Roger, possessing a keen eye for the girls, or rather sometimes ladies a little older than himself. There had been some gossip in the local village, of a girl who was too free when his charms overwhelmed her. His fair hair and blue eyes complimented his good looks and easy manner. He was also a steady worker and Richard trusted his judgment. He had a good head on his shoulders most of the time.

     The way ahead was becoming easier during their first day in the saddle, the party of men covering many miles, at times close to the river, passing through several villages and a town or two. The weather remained fine, and as they ventured northwards, the air became cooler. Plumes of pale smoke drifted from rooftops, as if dancing on the gentleness of breezes, wafting into the chilling air. The men tightened clothing to keep out the cold.
     Before pausing at a small monastery for the night, the sun glowed golden, gracing the tips of hilltops, as it sank low behind a whisper of clouds toward the western sky, leaving a temporary peace upon the land.
     The next day saw them experiencing light rain, the weather becoming inclement and cloaks, mantles and any other items of clothing were once again drawn tighter around necks and over saddles. 
     The rate of progress was temporarily halted, the state of the roads becoming wet and slippery. It was at that moment they had arrived at crossroads, a few looking surprised at the interruption, when those at the front drew on their reins.
     Alex turned to Owen with a questioning frown. They had been engaged in some desultory chat, riding side by side for the last few miles.
     'Now what,' he said under his breath, sounding somewhat impatient.
     Owen twisted in his saddle, noticing a group of horses approaching from a side track. 'Think we're about to find out,' he answered, keeping his voice low.
     Richard pulled on his reins, drawing up beside them.
     'Now there's some faces I recognize.' It had been some time when he'd last laid eyes on the three men about to join their group. John, William and Simon had accompanied him to and from Kenilworth, toward the end of the previous year. They were in the employ of Katherine's father and always an asset to have around. Richard was well accustomed to their abilities and secretly pleased to see them.
     The tall man who had delivered the message to Richard at his manor, nodded in their direction. 'Greetings gentlemen. Glad you could join us.'
     William answered with a tone sounding none too pleased, but for now needing to curb his tongue. 'Yes sir. We are too.'
     The tall man turned his horse at the front and led them forward once more, the rain easing, as a chill wind gripped them, turning their clothing cold and damp.
     Richard wasn't far behind, thinking that this journey was becoming more and more mysterious. The three men who had joined them, rode alongside Richard for the time being.
      John skewed slightly in his saddle, his head to the left facing Richard. 
     'It seems like you, we have been summoned. Do you know what this is all about and what is required of us at journey's end?'
     'Not exactly,' replied Richard, somewhat nonplussed.  But several ideas were going through his mind as he wondered why these three men had joined them at this stage.  
     Eventually after what appeared to be a long endless distance, riding many more miles, and another night's stay at a run down inn, they came upon a large camp.
     One by one they swung down from the saddle, glad to be free of it for a while, or at least so they hoped. It was good to stretch legs and let the blood flow back into veins.
     It was no surprise to Richard that a chosen few were asked to appear before the prince, their presence immediately required without giving them pause for breath.
     Edward himself was ensconced within the centre of the camp, his colours fluttering above one tent in particular.
     Richard, with the three retainers, John, William and Simon, were ushered through the tent flap and sitting at a trestle table busy writing, was Edward - one day to be king of England. He was surrounded by a few of his advisors, not looking up to acknowledge them as they approached for what seemed like minutes passing - but eventually facing the four men who had entered. His expression was difficult to read.
     They went down on one knee until the prince raised them up with a simple gesture.
     'I see you've arrived gentlemen, and may now be wondering why you've been summoned.' 
     Richard paused briefly before answering.
     'Yes sir.'
     'Hmmm...' muttered Edward, his face still unreadable. He related a few brief words to a waiting monk for several moments, who nodded and made his exit, before addressing the men standing before him, awaiting their fait. 
     'Do you remember how you revoked your allegiance to Simon de Montfort last year?'
     There was another long pause before Richard answered again, trying to think on his feet.
     'Yes sir.'
     Richard and the other men were by now, beginning to feel a little uncomfortable, not knowing where this was leading.
     The prince looked away, then slowly brought his gaze back to the expectant faces of the men standing before him.
     'I thought it about time that new loyalty to my father the king, was brought to bear.'
     The feeling among the men was becoming one of almost fear and trepidation. Was this going to be an old score the royals needed to settle? They didn't dare utter a word until prompted to do so - Edward continued.
     'But first I'd like you to join me in a tournament that's being held tomorrow.'
     This was not what the men were expecting. Not by a long way. It was almost possible to hear the temporary fear being lifted from their shoulders as each man let out a slow breath quietly. Their fear for now, was abating, wondering what the morrow had in store for them.
     Was this a twist of fait? 

A Difficult but Necessary Decision - Chapter Eight

     Katherine swept into the room, one hand below her swelling breasts, waist starting to thicken under her gown, a look of concentration on her beautiful face. The neatly coiffed fair hair was tucked beneath a linen veil, with one curl escaping toward deep blue eyes. Katherine's simple gown, embroidered at the hem, brushed gently over fresh, sweet-smelling rushes as she moved lightly across the floor. The lady of the manor wore soft leather shoes upon her small feet, head slightly bowed as if deep in thought. Upon entering the room, immediately sensing  something was wrong, she promptly forgot what she wished to speak with her husband about.
     She found Richard with shoulders hunched slightly, standing one arm raised to the wall at the side of the brazier, gazing into the flickering flames, their warm glow not helping to lighten his mood. Katherine took one look at him, noticing the screwed up message in his clenched hand.
     'Richard...what's wrong? You look worried. Has anything happened - why are those men here looking so sullen and formal?'
     Her husband took a deep breath before answering and it came as a statement, or rather as a question.
     'It's not possible...' he spoke quietly, almost to himself - 'there must be some mistake, surely...?'
     'What's not possible? I don't understand.' Katherine was becoming a little agitated, having never seen her husband in this mood before. Richard's expression was one of morose gloom. He sighed and straightened up, before facing his anxious wife. There was a long pause before he spoke.
     'It appears I have been harbouring a rebel...'
     Katherine couldn't help interrupting before her husband could continue. 'A rebel? We don't have a rebel. What on earth does this mean Richard?' She was becoming more than a little concerned by now, her young mind in turmoil.
     'They think young Dafydd is some sought of threat, having strong sympathies toward Simon de Montfort.
     'Dafydd? He's only a boy!' Katherine sounded exasperated, incredulous.
     'Yes, we know that,' replied Richard, 'but it appears necessary I may to have to prove it to the king himself.' He walked slowly over to the window and peered out, his mind working fast as he watched a flurry of activity in the courtyard. Beyond was a garden, which was slowly waking up after the cold winter. Spring wasn't far away, shoots of new greenery beginning to appear.
     Katherine clenched both hands together, frowning. 'But you have sworn allegiance to the king. Doesn't that count for anything?'
     Richard answered with a question. 'Don't you remember me telling you about the Dictum of Kenilworth? Well, perhaps not. It stated somewhere, that corporal punishment was threatened if anyone considered Simon de Montfort holy or just.'
     'But Simon was killed over a year ago.' His young youthful wife in her own mind, was trying to reason, finding the situation troubling, almost intolerable.
     Richard continued slowly. 'Evidently the lad became a keen supporter of Simon and what he believed in, following in his father's footsteps, learning from him. Had Simon lived, Dafydd may have become a threat in time. Simon stood for so much, the lad impressionable.'
     Katherine retorted unrestrained. 'But he is still a young lad and surely cannot be considered any sort of threat. Not now, or even in the future.'
     Richard for the moment, studied the activity outside the window, his thoughts in concentration. He could see Dafydd looked to be in conversation with young Hugh, or at least Hugh was gazing at him in awe.
     Since his mishap with the horse, riding close to the entrance of Oakfield Manor, Dafydd now an orphan, possessed the ability to learn quickly what was required of him. He was adept at fitting into the general running of the place as and when needed - constantly applying himself to anything new, unusually astute for a lad of his age, a willing and conscientious contender. He went about his duties methodically, giving Richard cause to be pleased with him thus far. Both his parents were dead and never once were his or their political beliefs ever discussed and he continued to excel in becoming Richard's squire.
     Richard smiled to himself before becoming serious again, and walked slowly back toward his wife. 'It will be necessary to do as I'm bidden or I could be in serious threat of losing my land. I don't have a choice.' He knew only too well what the consequences were for disobedience.
     Katherine interrupted him again. 'But that is unfair...' She shook her pretty head, eyebrows in a frown of scorn, trying to keep her opinion and willful thoughts under control. She could be outspoken at times, not necessarily admired by men of any standing.
     'Nonetheless, I've been summoned by the prince himself.'
     'Edward? surely not.'
     'He has been busy patching up, mending fences between the remnants of the rebels, trying to put the realm to rights.
     Katherine continued frowning. 'Do you have to leave again so soon?' It came as almost pleading.
     'Apparently so, I am to meet with the prince further north. I've heard recently he's possibly taking part in several tournaments.'
     There was a sudden knock on the door at that moment. Wallace, Martha's husband, appeared looking anxious.
     'My lord, you are needed to give some sort of answer to the tall gentleman standing at the door. He looks very errr...official.'
     'Thank you Wallace. Will you tell him I'm on my way.'
     'Yes lord.' He bowed briefly, before closing the door behind him. Footsteps were heard walking briskly away down the hall.
     Richard drew a deep breath, turned to his wife clasping both her hands in his. 'Don't worry my dearest, the sooner I attend to this, the sooner I'll be home again. I know this doesn't make any sense to you, but the matter will soon be cleared up. I have no doubts about that,' he stated firmly. 'Whatever Edward has in mind I'm yet to find out.'
     But Katherine wasn't so sure. She needed to adjust to the fact that her husband would be away again, finding it difficult. For how long, she knew not. Her safety and that of her unborn child were at the forefront of her mind. She also cared deeply for her husband. 
     Richard, face tense but resigned, turned and headed with long strides toward the main door.
     The men responsible for delivering the message to Sir Richard, were accommodated nearby that night. They and their horses were in much need of rest, and the next day dawned bright, the sky marbled with scudding clouds - hues of pink, blue and white-tipped grey. There was little frost, the air almost sweet-smelling, breathing life into the early morning with an intoxicating freshness of an early spring day.
     The staff were up and about their duties as Katherine joined her husband in the hall to break their fast. She wanted to spend every remaining moment left to them in the presence of her lord. Richard's mind was full of everything he needed to do before departing. The manor as usual, would be left in the competent care of Henry, his estate steward - the rest of the staff were capable of running things in his absence, or so he thought. 
     Richard finished the last mouthful of food, while noticing his wife was quieter than usual.
     'Are you alright my dear? You look a little flushed and have gone quiet?' She shifted on the bench briefly and gazed across at Richard with a gentle smile on her face.
     'Yes...yes, of course,' she replied
     Richard thought something may be troubling her. 'But you've hardly eaten at all. Are you sure the babe is alright and still active?'
     'I'm sure,' Katherine smiled again.
     'Now you've got me thinking.' Richard was puzzled by his wife's unusual mood.
     'It's just that...' she began again.
     'Just what?' Richard was rising from the bench they'd been sitting on.
     'Well you see, it's the day I was born, my birthing day.'
     'Oh, I'm sorry my love, I quite forgot. There has been much on my mind of late.'
     He placed his hand gently under her chin, lifting her head slightly, her deep blue eyes looking straight at his. 'Forgive me. I'll be sure and make it up to you as soon as I return.'
     Katherine looked down thinking of the forthcoming birth, praying that Richard would be home in time. Neither were deeply religious, although there was a tiny chapel within the walls of the manor which was used regularly - but she hoped her prayers would be answered.
     Not long after, Richard joined the gathered men by the stables, noticing the tall man who had delivered the message the day before, wearing a formidable expression upon his face. With them Richard had arranged for three men from the estate to accompany him, together with Dafydd.
     Edmund the groom was there to lend a hand and for the moment the tall man flung the reins of his horse at Edmund, before strolling over to converse with one of his party. Edmund who was none too pleased.
     A few moments later, Richard glanced over to the messenger and nodded briefly, his face serious, thoughtful. He had recruited his estate men as assurance and also hoped Dafydd was up to his duties, as the journey to meet Edward could be hazardous.
    

     

The Hissing of Winter!

     Slugs and bugs, snails and trails and I'm about to drink the water drops that fell upon the lettuce leaves overnight.
     Rocket greens, grow out toward me as I reach and pluck their flavour. Every tiny seed sown has germinated, flourishing with vigour and laughter when it rains. I can watch it growing. Throughout the winter it thrives to meet the mint. Wait until spring and it will try hard to outsmart the rocket, providing digestible leaves of love - a refreshing salad each day if necessary - tea that tastes of impeccable impishness, exploding with fragrance and aplomb with these freshly picked leaves of affability - mini explosions of summer in a mouthful. 
     Mint is everything at once, enhancing any salad, impossible to do without. The chocolate mint I have indulged in, turning a plain old cheesecake into another life. Pots of basil mint have also stood me in good stead a few years, never owing as much as a tiny leaf, shrinking back over nights of harsh frosts, but its roots coming alive in spring, shooting forthwith without fail, its loyalty assured.
     When I visit my best friend's garden in England, I wander to the borders, around which the hedges of West Dorset grow high and wide. All the varieties of different mint flourish with unrestrained vigour -  for I put them there. I need my fix of mint when I visit, but she doesn't thank me for it, when they take off into the hedgerow banks amongst pale blue geraniums, foxglove, beech and oak. Spearmint grows at the base of the beech roots, while apple mint rubs shoulders with the last of dying foxglove clumps - it is September and they have flourished in the lanes during June and July, when summer is at its height.
     It rains well in England, hissing through a summer's day as well as in the winter. If cold enough it turns to snow, falling with large fluffy wet flakes that sit on the end of your nose. If the temperature dips enough below freezing, the snow may turn to drifting power - like cakes, the trees and hilltops are transformed with a dusting into a winter wonderland, from which it's difficult to extract yourself - so pure, brightest white and beautiful beyond measure.
     I heard the hissing of winter rain through the air last night, unrelenting as it cascaded down the window - each drop in competition with the ones next to them - ravishing the soil below with wind-rippled moisture. 
     Walking through the park next morning a red wattle bird calls with its familiar sound, high in the branches of a bare silvery birch tree. Its call unmistakable, while the creek rushes on toward the sea, singing with gurgling glee. 
     The golf course was soaked, it heard the hissing succinctly - but neither the creatures from under the ground or high above would hear it as I do. - tapping on the roof, trickling down like miniature streams in the valleys, until it drains and is lost to the sea.
     Winter can charm the brain, lull the mind, its cold may chatter the teeth, but when the hissing of winter rain subsides, the dawn breaks still and quiet, the sun will always rise, its rays lengthen, wrapping themselves lovingly around you, feeling of lingering warmth it brings, till winter turns to spring, horizons full of promise.