THE TALES OF THE HAUNTED KINGDOM PART ONE


SHADOWS
OF
THE
REALM


By Charles E.J. Moulton


© CHARLES E.J. MOULTON 2005


For my loving wife Tanja
and my loving daughter Mara Sophie.
My two pretty girls
whose love I cherish and
without whose eternal love
this work would not be possible.


Acknowledgements
This trilogy is dedicated to the Lord God and his angels.
The heavenly spheres play a great part in this book and their inspiration was vital in the progress of my work. I have come to the conclusion that the interaction between the Heavenly Father and the mortals is more complex than we ever can conceive and yet simpler than we ever can imagine. This is the paradox that inspires us all. I would like to thank him, as well, for leading me to the love of my life, Tanja, by letting me click on to her homepage – www.engelreich.com - where I found wonderful material about the archangels.
The appreciation, more than anything, of course goes to Tanja herself for being such a strong person and for forcing me to be honest and make the right decisions about my efforts. Tanja, I love you. My gratitude also goes to Michele Davis as well as other proofreaders for reworking and proofreading this novel. Thanks to my colleague Daniel Coninx. He found the time to read passages and give me useful tips about good publishers. I want to thank my father Herbert Eyre Moulton for being a wonderful inspiration to me in my life. If I can be half as good an artist as he was, then I have reached my goal by more than a long shot. I also owe the deepest of gratitude to my mother, Vocal Professor Gun Kronzell, who has read the entire trilogy and kept her deepest devotion in believing in my literary capabilities. She is equally high on the list of the most wonderful of role models. Mom, thanks for being a wonderful friend.
This is a so-called “what-if”-book. What if the Roman Empire never had fallen and what would the 15th century reality with that infrastructure look like? What if the angels really would interact with us? It is my vision of the alternate reality. The information in this book is partly derived from reality. Roman names, Latin names, actual weekdays of the 15th century and kings that lived in our reality are all accurate. The alternate reality was of course modified to fit its’ own world. My trilogy is a fairytale, although it is one where the characters are people like you and me and this in spite of the fact that they are royalty. Therefore, this work of eight and a half years of hard labour is dedicated to the men and women who shape our history: Human beings who just happen to be brilliant artists. They are sculptors, thinkers and diplomats. They were people, they lived and fought and cried and laughed and slept and made love and had to deal with the drudgery of daily carnal existence, hoping one day to achieve greatness in spiritual form. Therefore, this book is dedicated to Beethoven, Debussy and Verdi. It is dedicated to Plato and Socrates, to Brahms and Mozart, to Ghandi and Galileo. Of course, mostly my thanks go to the master of all masters, Michelangelo Buonarotti, without whose genius we would not be here.


MAP OF THE EMPIRE


THE 11 MEMBERS OF THE MEDATLANTIAN MERGER 1422 A.D.:
Olandus, Hengestonen, Danalus, Hurtia, Vindobon, Alliland, Neapolonia, Hispania, Jamburee, the Regal Matron of Margetania and the Regal Patron, the Wandiffian successor and heir of antique, Roman splendour: the Empire of Prosperania

The two goals of the allience: 1. Bringing peace to the continent
2. Bringing stability to Margetania


MAP OF THE ROYAL GROUNDS

EAST ROAD TO PAQUTSHUR WEST ROAD TO SHUSHIENAE VALLEY


The Memorial for the burned down West Road to the countryside
summer mansion of 1392 Riverbank pathway to the guesthouses


Birch Meadow POSEIDON STATUE Rose Garden
The Royal Theatre of Ovid PALACE Royal Palace Chapel

Main Entrance

Garden
The Guesthouse “The Tulip”
The Guesthouse “The Anemone”
The Guesthouse “The Forget-Me-Not”
TALL HILL

Road To The Waterfall Lake
Clurafar

The Guesthouse“The Orchid”
The Love Oak The Guesthouse “The Rose”

The Poppy Field
The Guesthouse “The Rosemary”
The Sunflower Pasture The Guesthouse “The Orange Blossom”

The Guesthouse “The Lily”


Simon the Great Memorial Entrance to the Royal Grounds


Store Rooms
View, Lookout
Attic
Representation Rooms
Study Rooms and Tutoring Rooms
The Grand Hall
Second landing leading to several ballrooms
King Alexander’s and Queen Sieglinde’s Private Quarters

Belinda’s and Steven Private Chambers
Throne Room and Lucinda’s old room
The Alexander Room
Patrick and Erica’s Rooms, Additional guestrooms
The Ovid
Royal
Theatre

Royal Kitchen
Main Entrance Hall
Small Entrance Hallway
Lookout toward backdoor gardens
Porch and Balconies Palace Chapel
Family Memorial
Sepulchre Chapel
Meditation Chapel
Servant’s quarters, Stables Boy’s quarters, Messenger’s quarters
Thermal Bath, Cold Rooms, Steam Rooms
Wine Cellar and Food Storage


THE ROYAL PROSPERANIAN PALACE OF
IUVENTUS SACRUM


Main Characters

The Kingdom of Prosperania

King Alexander Winsletenna, Ruler of Prosperania and patriarch
Queen Sieglinde Winsletenna, his wife
Princess Maria, their eldest daughter and former crown princess
Princess Eleonora, the second eldest daughter
Princess Patricia, their third eldest daughter
Princess Morgana, their fourth eldest daughter
Prince Patrick, their only son
Princess Belinda, youngest and smartest daughter, new crown princess
Prince Steven, the prince regent and Belinda’s future husband
Prince-Count Martin, Maria’s husband
Prince-Count Marcus, Eleonora’s husband
Richard Landstorm, Morgana’s fiancée
Erica, Patrick’s wife
Lancelot, Patrick’s son
Fabian, Maria’s son
Bantrard Silvermoon, the court composer
Roberta, Pamela, Joseph Ringingstone and others, his orchestra
Geena Johnstone, the housekeeper
Rolf Svanskiöld, the head butler
Ruby, the maid
Louis, the gardener
Zedrick Ronkenshire, General of the army
Archbishop Bernardus Paul
Henricus Balthazar, the medic and his family
Nomed Snekawa, a mysterious visitor

The Kingdom of Nocturania

King Adnicul, the king of Nocturania
Princess Lucinda Winsletenna, King Alexander’s estranged and evicted sister
Eric, King Adnicul’s main assistant and the Hispanic son of a friend of King Adnicul’s
Rebecca, Eric’s girlfriend
Zeekha, the widow of the old king
The Rumzils. demonic creatures of the dark forest

Eden

St. Lucifer, the Archangel of Light and Darkness
St. Michael, the Archangel of Protection
Their Archangelic Brethren
God


P R O L O G U E :

BLOOD BROTHER
OF THE VANITIES

Anno Domini 1430
Forest of Western Callenia, Nocturania, Continent of Medatlantia

The black-cloaked rider pushed his mount through Callenia’s Nocturanian Forest, his silk cape fluttering in the breeze. The one healthy eye of the rider peered at the oblivion before him, wincing by the attack-wind from the galloping horse's acceleration. The unknown adventurer tried not to be distracted by the old stallion’s nervous hooves as they left a trail of mud and dust behind that, in the light of the full moon, looked like dark waves spilling across the leaf-covered path into the Rumzil territory. The rider’s other eye, or the hole where its orb should have been, was covered with a patch that bore a gold-and red, upside-down crucifix on its black surface. Against a canvas of bleak, naked trees that spoke of nothing but death, the forest looked hollow. The moon shone upon the trees, creating shadows upon the ground that seemed topsy-turvy, strange and ghoulish to the rider.
As the horse galloped past the grey-blue foliage a creature popped out from behind a tree. The rider recognized the giggling creature as one of the demonic Rumzils. Soon, a wave of giggles came from behind the foliage. The leader looked no different from the others, but his eyes and the shy behaviour of the other Rumzils showed this one’s prime position. The rider pushed his mount harder, knowing that once the creatures waddled toward their victims there was no chance of survival, their long arms stretched to incredible lengths and their fingernails buried deep into the sufferer’s throat. Just as they’d done to another human, a mere girl, who now rested without peace in the pits of Rumzilian bowels.
Trying not to think of the girl, the rider tried to see where the twisting path led, but the darkness was almost complete, and the foliage rushing past confused his restricted vision. Yet his ultimate goal was indisputable: Yambalah. The cave of original sin was named after God's original son’s Land of Beauty and Light. No one knew what the cave really was, more than the rider, or the irony of the grotto’s name.
The man's bony grey fingers moved constantly, clutching the horse’s mane. Their muscles moved in unison with the beast’s galloping hooves, yet the rider’s leather, metal-studded uniform stuck out against the steed’s blue fur and the Callenian Woods light-brown, bluish-dark surfaces. Both rider and horse’s nostrils flared with effort, but they must somehow move faster. The man waiting for him in the cave had arrived earlier, not foolhardy enough to enter the forest unarmed as he had. Yet both knew that Rumzils’ awakening meant peril far greater than any puny weapon they could carry forth.
Memories of his past returned, such as Lucifer smiling gently and patching him up with the Antichrist, handling his one eyeball. The good man standing next to the lake had been pointing a sword at him, his own flesh and blood crying on a stone floor. The rider’s face winced as his knees bumped against the stallion's ribs. He wouldn’t stop his horse to give himself up to the Rumzils, they couldn’t catch him if he didn’t willingly give himself up. The slow munching of the beast seemed far more soothing than the painful, still wrath of the devil.
More Rumzils jumped out from behind trees as they passed, and the rider clutched the horse’s mane in anger, realizing that his master had deceived him. He had only been a tool. Maybe, after all, the man by the lake would trust him after their encounter. Lucifer would be there to stop him, but he would not back down, or give in.
Centurion rode through the forest like an eagle flies through the night, the hairs on his neck flapping, his master’s desperation mirrored in his eyes, as if they were just the human and animal side of each other, as though made to ride together, their black, muscular bodies glittering as one. In truth, the rider was riding toward a war. A war against his master. War against betrayal. At stake was his soul. His uninjured eye winced when he wondered if there still was time ... remembering his master's original anarchy.


A FALLING STAR RISING
Once upon a time there was a falling star, a comet circling about Eden, its brilliance radiantly glowing in the nighttime sky and its illumination glittering as the dawn swept over paradise. The star had been created by God out of darkness and was unlike anything ever created.
There were two glowing lights in this star and it seemed to God that these comets were brothers. This pleased God, so he decided to bring them down one by one.
The Ocean of the Never-ending Sunrise was lucid and transparent the day he arrived, the first morning star. The spark that emerged turned into a ball of flame and into a babe crouched over like a foetus and into a young man erect with open eyes, seeing the grand sights of Eden.
“Who am I?” the creature spoke, blinking into the light.
“You are the inner light of creation,” God spoke pointing toward a falling star.
“I am the inner light.” the boy repeated. “My inner light shall spark within all of the brethren of my race?” The Lord nodded and the cherub sighed and wondered. “I am a pioneer to tread my father’s sandy beach. Is this the truth?”
The Lord smiled and nodded. “That is what I mean. Come and I shall give you a name.”
The Lord baptized him Lucifer in the water of eternal life and he became the illuminate child.
“My child thou art and the child of light you will never cease to be” the Lord answered. “Come with me, Son, leave the doorway to Eden and enter the Land of Conception.” God opened his kingdom and gave the starry light the proverbial key formed from a green light within his heart.
“What might this be?” Lucifer inquired, amazed at the sights he saw before him.
Fascinated, the being wandered the Beach of the Never-ending Dawn Ocean, watched the waves gently crash against the shore and sang Godly songs yet unwritten. He flew the heavens, created a rainbow and then upon his return discovered an oak, its whispering knowledge under a shadowy cloak. The leaves were its thoughts, its branches were eyes, disguising its magic within its green sighs. The oak called itself Plato, referred to its father Socrates paces away, crowning Eden as a poppy field before incarnation, explaining to the new creature how knowledge of future carnations was imbedded in its memory.
He was the first child among children, a seraph of God who, before everyone else, wandered the Fields of Nostalgia like a pre evolutionary Huckleberry Finn. Straw in mouth and confidence in spirit, he conversed with souls yet to incarnate as geniuses on Earth or on other planets of the new cosmos. Under the Lord's guidance he spoke with muses. He spoke about fauna and flora with the unborn spirit of Carl von Linné, discussed philosophy with the yet unborn Hegel, played chess with Hamlet, danced a Mozart minuet with Marie Antoinette millennia upon millennia before her birth, practiced the juggling-techniques taught by P.T. Barnum's unborn soul to the sound of Sousa's yet not composed marches, heard the jokes from Shakespeare's spirit, then made his own poetry ready for tellar carnation. All the theories that were to be formulated in yet uncreated heads were gusts of wind flying around God's mind. All the Greek tragedies as well as the comedies were yet unborn centaurs playing in the sunlight. The Gregorian chants soared around him like kites in the night. Demosthenes works were leaves on the oak-trees growing in the Fields. Moliere's plays were ash-tree roots waiting to grow into glorious, meticulous ingenuity of comic bliss. King Arthur's round table was only a pasture of lilies swaying in the wind. A wind named Hitchcock fragranced the trees with the smell of a spectacularly richly dark red rose. A rosebush named Cole Porter hummed tunes that spoke of true love in the highest of societies. A lovely deer named Scott Joplin danced in the heather in an unusual beat that had the swaying field of lilies named Harpo Marx giggle. Metaphors enriched the symbolic flora of thought and future education. And when Lucifer danced Marie Antoinette’s minuet, roses grew. There were muses with golden voices and parrots with rainbow wings painting the blue skies with colour upon colour on a canvas of cumulus clouds and blue cream. The grass so green it dazzled the eye. The mountain touching skies so blue they seemed like oceans.
“The beauty of the world within the eyes of a loved one” God said “is what my creation is about. Any living being shall fall in love and see paradise with the eyes of the one they love. That way love shall always connect them to me.”
Lucifer smiled.
“Then my task shall be to preserve love as you have created it.”
Heaven, a dimension of its own, had a centre. This centre had a name: the Fields of Nostalgia. Upon the centre field there were two trees. Although their significance not yet revealed, Lucifer was fascinated by the good Fruits of Hweoim, not so much as he was profusely awed by the one God urged to avoid: Hwee-Aell-Sihl, the tree of the forbidden fruit.
Soon enough, long-haired, dark-blond Lucifer turned into a brash, dashing, muscular, suntanned youngster who, dazzle grinned, windblown, Eden cruising, wore a smile on his lips as God's first and foremost angel. He was a stunning buck.
In the beginning this became him, as it would all future archangels. The birds in paradise were chirping a song. Birch trees and cherry-blossoms, apples and pears, banana and orange trees all seemed to grow in Lucifer's honour. When God showed him his kingdom, the archangelic son made a promise to eternally enjoy and defend his treasures.
“You have seen my kingdom, my son” God said. “Now, go create your own.”
Yambalah was the first land on this Earth intended as a testing ground for wisdom acquired. This wisdom was useless unless proven.
If he managed to manifest the teachings in nature he would soon become an Archangel of Light.
The young angelic son worked up a storm and a rainbow to make the land as beautiful as he could just to please the Maker. He created resting spots for the animals and he made an oasis or two for the birds. There were sunny avenues and great wide-open spaces, forests so green it made the flocks of parrots sing. All the time, the young buck smiled for he knew he was God’s son and that the Lord would love his contributions to this lovely Land.
The finished product lay in the midst of a large continent next to
a vast ocean on a blue planet. Lucifer had worked passionately on his new empire. The daytime sky seemed to have a deeper, richer, more intense blue here than anywhere else. The trees gave a home to a green whose colour transcended depth and went into the luscious. The nature hummed here. The elements met. Fire, water, earth and wind had a melody to sing. Nature thrived. In the midst of all the bustle and beauty Lucifer created an underground cave with a tunnel leading to a beam of light. It was created basically as a retreat for himself and its exit was next to a tree on the Fields of Nostalgia from which Lucifer could enter down to his creation of rest. He smiled when he thought of it and named it the Callenian Cave, the Cave of Depth in the original language of angels. The January Tunnel was an oasis of comfort within this cave, where the elves of Heaven danced in God's aura.
God said, “Your light hath served you well, your inspiration is a dedication to adoration,” and Lucifer beamed. Father and son walked down the beach hand-in-hand and remembered a friend whom the son had shared the heavens with before becoming an angel. He pointed out the friend to the Lord, who remarked that it soon was time for that friend to come down. He had smiled at him from the sky above as he walked alone after an occasional day's work on the beach. He longed to share his secrets, live passionately. The star remembered the brethren’s mutual fate. The first son could only recall that they had shared heaven and not that they had been one once, two souls present in one comet.
The second angel came to the Beach of the Never-ending Dawn in a whirl, danced, flew about, created a rainbow and sang a divine melody. Love in his noble heart, fire in his noble love, he connected his purple heart to blissful eternity. The Lord baptized the descendant Michael.
Michael, Lucifer’s first friend, became a bundle of love. He willingly obliged in letting Lucifer talk and tell him of creation and what was to be found here. The two young angels walked the beach for days on end, talking and laughing. When this had become a habit, one evening on the beach Michael suggested they become blood brethren. Both agreed and thought it a wondrous yet, ponderously justifiable accordance.
As endless blood trickled down celestial arms, the embrace strengthened the stars and lasted an eternity in bright neon. A falling star had risen. A pure empire had been born.

BRETHREN IN AWE OF ONE ANOTHER
The testing ground for the second son was Clurafar, Michael’s land.
As the new angel worked on his land, he seemed to blow light into all that existed and God watched this strength with such anticipation it made him love this new soul that had been created all the deeper and finer. Everything seemed to work like clockwork. The sun always set on time, the tide came when it always could be expected to come and when the bees came to collect their pollen for their honey you could count on some fruit the next day. If anything could live in symbiosis with Yambalah, it was Clurafar. And Michael entered his land through Plato’s oak.
One bundle of purity was free. One bundle of love was wondering how the other could be so pure. That day was a good day for the kingdom. That day was a strong day for the brethren.
God showed Lucifer ten lights in the sky.
“These stars are your brethren. Together you will rule the heavens like kings!”
“I will share Eden with others of my race?”
God nodded. “Rejoice,” the Lord whispered. “Sharing is a gift.”
Lucifer could not rejoice. “Will I still remain a pioneer?”
The Lord said, “The joy always remains yours that you after me first tread these grounds.”
There was a third one plucked from the shining star in the east corner. It bounced and fluttered upon its destiny and bowed in front of God’s altar when arriving. Raphael’s inborn devoted love gave Michael a new life, yea, alas, one after one they arrived, the brethren.
The three angels walked the beaches, laughing and joking as young men are known to do and swore never to part and remain faithful to each other.
Wind was his element. Three coastal lands lay next to each other: the one fiery red, the other one water blue, the third forest green. There was a refreshing wind that steadily kept sweeping across the land.
Morawar provided flexibility. His floral heart was the sunflower.
When Gabriel arrived as angel number four, Lucifer admitted nothing, not even to himself.
It was actually Gabriel’s arrival that turned the group of three into a crowd of four for the first son.
The four sang the same songs after work at the beach, liked the same things, worked for the same cause, taught what to do in critical situations, were foretold the future and given assignments.
“I love my Lord, I love him,” Lucifer told himself.
He was not the first and best anymore.
“Then why cannot I live next to these brethren like the ships upon the sea?”
“Why have you grown so quiet?” the Lord asked. “That is the question you must ask.”
“I am quiet because I miss my authority.” Lucifer remarked. “But these are merely feelings.”
God revealed his love and saw Lucifer’s surprise. “What are you then feeling?”
“That I was a pioneer once and that my pioneer status was exchanged for equality.”
”That has not changed. Share your glory a thousand-fold and it will grow. You are your feelings.” the Lord exclaimed. “Equality shouldn’t be a problem. Equality is sharing and brotherhood.”
In his spirit, his heart was beating fast. In his heart, though, he was ashamed to think envy.
Two lands away from Clurafar, the seagulls sang and the nightingales soothed the spirits.
Gabriel’s land of Hurtia was a state where the water cleaned the shores of envy in blue silver. There was something beautifully life-preserving about this land, something free. There was feeling that everyone everywhere was equal to everything created and born out of heaven. Gabriel had the spirit of a bird.
Uriel had a practical quality of basic realism and so his land of Jamburee had no coast. It lay in the middle of what in one reality one day was to become Medatlantia and he was Morawar's southern most neighbour. Manifestion, reality, strength, visibility were his main topics of interest. Where as fire was Lucifer’s element, the earth which upon people would walk and from where roses grew was Uriel’s driving force. The rocks were sturdy and strong and even the water seemed to be flowing with the basic Gravel as a guide.
The sixth angel, Shushienae, had a purity that transcended light. His soul was like virgin snow.
“Love? Innocence? Realism? Equality?” Lucifer remarked. “What quality has been granted me?”
Zentar, Shushienae’s land, was a place for clear water, blue sky and young rosebuds and it scared Lucifer to have a brother whose purity was so well developed.
Half-way now into the magic number, they were given a task to see how they could collaborate.
The task: the creation of the first solar system. The blue planet, where upon the angelic empires lay, was yet the only orb to circle the sun. Now, others would follow.
With every new sibling Lucifer’s unease increased thoroughly.

Although each unique, these planets would work at a large distance in a symbiosis to last an eternity under one name just like the angels. Lucifer thought that maybe he was the shining beloved star after all. And creating a solar system would most certainly prove him a star of some kind.
When Shushienae wanted to put Uranus and Pluto for purity’s sake far away enough from the sun in order to achieve virginity of soul, Lucifer countered that Pluto with its small size should stay close to the sun in order to gather some of its energy for fuel to travel forever.
Raphael laughed at this amateur logic, but Uriel, ever the realist, considered the prospect and it was discussed. After a while Shushienae's planets were set in position furthest away from the sun as they originally thought intended. Of course, Lucifer's planets had to specialize on their own. Jupiter was a perfect breeding ground for tornados and fiery volcanoes, like his own soul was. Without question, its own steadily gazing eye was a constant reminder that Lucifer wanted to “see the plan before the creation.” Venus was just as fiery and colourful. Shushienae felt crushed by this claustrophobic empowerment. Jupiter and Venus were, in his own words, “just too untamed and raw for personal taste”. Jupiter was exactly what Lucifer was becoming in his newfound envy: complicated, moody, angry and rough. Mars and Mercury were hot planets but quite steady and stern, just like Michael himself, and with very little mutual differences in temperament. Uriel's calm Saturn and Gabriel's Neptune were quite like each other in temperament and Uriel's little extra bonus of adding a ring to this celestial body was applauded by God and the angels alike, who thought it very ingenious to add a little colourful difference to a circling organism. Only Lucifer himself sulked in a corner, alone and misunderstood. He flew down to the Callenian cave, enjoying his oasis. Michael came down and spoke to him lengthily about being able to modestly compromise his pioneer status. He saw how Lucifer was excluding himself from the others and wondered why he couldn’t relax. Finally, he was called to the Lord.
“You are excluding yourself from the others.”
“Only because I am haunted by exclusion, why should I share my pioneer status? I am afraid of not being good enough to keep up with my new brethren.” Lucifer explained.
God smiled sadly. “I should know that you are more than good enough for any creation.”
“I miss having Michael for myself.”
“My Son, Michael belongs to no one. It is a learning process of sharing to feel pain. Share him.”
“Pain?” Lucifer asked. “Why is pain necessary?”
”Life is versatile and flexible. Creatures feel pain just to cherish life more and learn what they want.”
“What do I want? Will I ever know this?”
”This you must find out.” God said. “What is clear is that you are here to serve humanity.”

THE FAILURE AT THE BEACH
The five other angels saw Lucifer’s confused envy turning into vanity. Sitting and gazing down at his own mirror image in the water for hours on end, Lucifer was turning unpredictable. Against God's will he'd gone on an excursion and created something that had no meaning at all, a protest against all this reasoning and all of this sugar sweet love. He created a fog or a storm on Earth or sent a planet through a black hole. Michael had to clean it up, for the balance to be in tune again.
Lucifer was standing at the shore the evening it all began throwing stones into the water. Michael came up and tried to bring him back to the campfire where the others were assembled. The conversation started carefully and then grew aggressive. Finally, Lucifer asked Michael to leave him alone and his brother answered him by asking an honest question. Fear prompted the inquiry.
"What’s happened to the Lucifer from the Fields of Nostalgia?"
Lucifer shook his head and looked out toward the horizon, wondering what lay beyond it.
“He felt betrayed," he said. “Betrayed by everyone he knew.”
“I betrayed no one," Michael said.
“You betrayed me. I concern my self with more important things than carving figures into my arms. You concern yourself with new friends. Go ahead, leave. I’m not stopping you.”
“They are our brethren” Michael whispered, pointing at Raphael. “They’re waiting for you. See?”
“You all act as if my only concern is me and my own well being.” Lucifer countered.
Lucifer paced the beach. He had spoken words never formerly articulated. The word was betrayal.
Michael whispered to him, caressing his cheek.
“My concern is your pain.”
Lucifer looked up at the sky and saw the black clouds flying across the heavenly bliss.
“The storm” he said. “Soon a storm will hit Eden and I will be
the one they blame.”
Michael took a long look at his blood brother and shook his head in surprise.
“Why do you say that?”
There was deep fear in his eyes. “I am the one that they will
blame, Michael.” Lucifer uttered and looked out to toward the vast ocean. There were clouds forming at the horizon and no one had any idea from where they had come. Michael was afraid, but he knew his father would protect them just as he protected Eden.
“What are you speaking of?” Michael asked. “Who are they? What storm is hitting creation?”
“The storm of evolution” Lucifer spat. “I have known that it would come for an eon, but I do have right to be proud. I have become a useless decoration. I was the child of light, the greatest seraph.”
“Why are you so much more than we when you are an angel? Vanity becomes you not.”
“I was the first, Michael” Lucifer sang. “Nay, utter not the syllables vanity when your eyes behold a dreamer. I was a pioneer in heaven once.” He continued, “If vanity is what this is, then so be it.”
“We have no right to be vain.”
“I have a right to be me. I have a right to feel what I feel.”
Raphael spoke. “We are God’s angels, Lucifer. We are the first and foremost of all yet to come.”
“I was in heaven first, Raphael, maybe even before anything else was.” Lucifer crouched down on the ground, trying to find the answer buried in the sand. The next words were whispered, almost not loud enough to be heard by anyone but the nearest companions and yet they all heard them. “Who is God but the master that is here to serve souls like me?” These words surprised Lucifer himself and he turned to the ocean, looked up and cried. There was thunder.
Shushienae put a hand on Lucifer shoulder. “Don’t let this hubris crush you."
He was still looking up, crouching and afraid, yet still prideful.
“Why can’t anyone understand my pain?”
“We do. We are your brethren,” Uriel remarked.
He looked up, his hair falling down into his face and his eyes full of spite. Uriel helped him up as Lucifer struggled to stay on the ground. He fought and finally let go and fell to the ground. Lucifer struggled out of the tussle and hit his chin on the ground. Michael then helped him up as he wiped the blood off his brother’s mouth. The other angels gave Lucifer a dirty look and tried to make him back off.
“You have more spite in your whisper than most would have in a scream.” The brethren all looked across the ocean, their eyes cast upon a darkness that was only steps away, which would turn their love.
Raphael said: "You are God's son and as such you have no right to even think that!"
“What is it to you what I do?” Lucifer spat. “I am just as full of surprise at my own thoughts.”
Raphael and Lucifer began pushing each other and sparks flew, but Michael pushed them aside.
“Calm down!” Michael said, patting Raphael on the back. “We are heavenly creatures,” Michael continued softly. The angels nodded and Gabriel came walking back, albeit apprehensively. “We all have tasks to accomplish.”
Michael tried to smile and walked up to Lucifer to embrace him.
"I never asked to be the outsider!" Lucifer was crying. “Why am I the recluse?”
When Michael looked back, Lucifer was still staring at him. "Nobody ever treated you like an outcast." Lucifer smiled and looked down. He looked at a pebble and then threw it into the waves.
Softly then, looking at the rising sun, he asked: "Why can’t it be just you and I?"
Raphael walked over, with Gabriel following him. "We are your friends, too.”
"I'm going to leave you alone." He started walking away. "There are no secrets in the universe.”
Lucifer cried, his arms waving at the sky, backing away. “He who eternally excels above everyone in life lies steadfast in his lifestyle, those who oppose him will pay."
“My dear friend,” the angels said in unison. “Come and sing with us. Have some fun.”
“None of you are equal to my status, so why not forget it. Leave me alone. I must find peace.”
Lucifer started strolling morosely along the shore and looking toward the sunrise for an answer with a tear in his eye. Michael shook his head and muttered: “What is the matter with our brother?”
“He’s changing.” Gabriel replied. “If we don’t get him back now we will never be able to.”
“I don’t know, Gabriel.” Michael said.
“Don’t know what?”
”I don’t know if we ever had him in the first place.”
The angels looked at each other. "What?" Gabriel said. "We cannot let him go like this, Gabriel!"
"I don't know what has happened to him." Raphael muttered.
Michael walked the other direction, leaving the others to look after him.
"I've heard it before." Michael shook his head. “I’m sure that I’ve heard it before.”
As Lucifer walked away heading for the horizon, Michael melancholically strolled along in the other direction. Things would never be the same. As they sighed, the rain fell and it turned into a flood. The angels took heed in a nearby cave up a hill. They looked down on the beach slowly filling up with water, waves crashing against the shore. A storm was brewing. Over the waves the five of them then saw Lucifer flying across the surface. Michael tried to see clearly, but Lucifer's wings looked black.

A RISING STAR FALLING
“Why did you speak to me with such hubris and disrespect?” God roared. No answer. “Answer me.” Lucifer said nothing. God continued angrily: “I created you out of a celestial body and you thank me by claiming that you were there first?”
Lucifer held up his hands, tears in his eyes. “No, Father. I …” Lucifer started panting.
“What?” the Lord cried. “No, what?”
“I was confused. I didn’t know where I belonged. But I know now. I will be good.”
“You only know that you are weak enough to fall into your vanity. That is all.”
“I am guilty of hubris.” He countered. “I do know that!”
“You are guilty of treason.” God turned around and faced Lucifer again, shaking his head. “I love you, my son. You must let me love you.” God put his hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. “Stand up.”
The angel stood up. God sighed. “I am a good father, but like any loving, considerate and emotionally profound father I have a bit more experience than his son. The road you are taking is not a road of ultimate glory. You must turn before you fall.”
Lucifer looked up. “I will not fall, Father.” He said and smiled, bitterly. There was a bit of irony in those words, a bit of strange emotion. Here was a sweet wish of being able to stop time. “I will be true.”
They looked into each other’s eyes. “Don’t give in to vanity. Don’t take the easy way out.”
“Am I vain, my Lord?” Lucifer shook his head. “Am I vain? Is this vanity? Liking to watch your own mirror image and enjoying being the best?”
The Lord nodded. “Lucifer, my son: you can enjoy being the best of your kind. Everyone is the best of his or her kind. I create unique individuals, not copies. That is purpose of creation. The problem with vanity is that it wants to push others down in order to be good and that doesn’t work. Be as good as you are in you.”
Lucifer shook his head, but now there was fear there. Inside Lucifer was a voice that wanted to be heard. It was the voice of appetite and greed. He battled with it, looked up and sobbed.
“I was first.”
He controlled it and looked into God’s eyes, kissed his hand, embraced him and walked out.
Just as Lucifer walked out, Michael walked in. “What is the matter with him, my Lord?”
God put his hand on Michael’s shoulder. There was no answer.
The failure at the beach was a thorn in the side of all of the angels. Lucifer included. In his mind he was plotting to break out. But he knew not how. The other angels were in his way and he understood that walking away that day had made him even more unpopular. To save the relationship with the others he would have to excuse himself and he would never do that.

The second troop arrived and this time it was a new beginning for the heavens.
When Metatron came, his transcendent, godly light stemming from a poignant star in the east sector gave a golden touch to Eden. Nothing could hurt him. Neapolonia was formed like a boot to resemble the forward character of his personality. The hills and valleys, trees and mountains, majestic soul and exuberance of this land was predicted to create a race of people that could prove strong and roam about the globe. If anyone had a wish, they could go to Metatron. Soon enough, he became king of angels. Lucifer saw Metatron as an angel who took his own place as pioneer.
Chamuel, number eight in his orange coloured glow, was a man of the sun and loved to promote understanding. His country, Hispania, had sun almost all the time and the most glorious fruit trees grew there. Yes, there was dust and dryness but that was only to show the contrast to the dazzling amazement of the lovely oasis by waterholes surrounded by green trees.
Israfel, quite soon after his arrival, started composing songs for the group to sing and wrote choirs for them to perform whilst working to make the work easier and seem faster. So it came as no surprise when his land, Vindobon, was a country where the echo had a home among the mountains and the few test animals were quite vocal.
Ramaela had, in happiness of manifesting, showed all of Heaven that it was possible to transcend pain into beauty. So the land that was created in Ramaela's name seemed to be a land of many colours and treasures. The highest mountain was no more than forty times lower than Israfel's highest. The two angels were inseparable. For without Music there would be no Happiness.
The eleventh angel came as a surprise to everyone but Lucifer. That angel made him smile because it reminded him that he once, too, had been like that. As God told all of them, future prayer would be the ultimate way for contact. They would have to listen very closely to all of humanity’s wishes.
It was not a surprise to Lucifer because he wanted to pray to God all the time. If he would pray to God, he would pray to become a child again. He would be a child of God, a star in the sky. Olandus was a land in the north with an amazing amount of nature, its spaciousness prevailed to freedom of honest conversation with the Lord. Zadkiel transformed them all and entered his land through Chopin’s piano flowers. Through prayer, the channel to God, they would see salvation.
Only Lucifer stayed put. He was a man without prayer who needed to pray. Lucifer talked to no one. He tried to make a joke now and then. Frustration dominated his every conversation. The very last real talk he’d had with his Father was after the failure at the beach. The last of the twelve main assistants was a creative angel of thankfulness and beauty. He loved all creative thought. He would be there when plans were to be made and treaties signed.
Jophiel created a land across the sea from Danalus. Hengestonen had a foggy climate, but green valleys to boot. It had forests and trees, but also lakes and rivers. Jophiel smiled with this prospect of owning and creating such a land. Lucifer tried to connect with Jophiel, being the last of them, in order to regroup. But Jophiel, in his soft-spoken shyness, could only serve as a humble man who smiled and nodded, giving advice with a chuckle. Jophiel and Lucifer parted ways and remained friends.
Michael kept remembering when they gazed across the Ocean of the Neverending Dawn together for the last time feeling like brothers.
He realized that Lucifer was relentless and started to worry if Lucifer would ever return home.


THE TREES
God took the brethren down to the Fields of Nostalgia. There he showed them the two opponents in creation being Nostalgia for Thankfulness, which grew on the Tree of Hweoim, and Melancholy for Regret, that grew on the Tree of Hwee-Aell-Sihl. A tree of remembrance and love with flowers of glory and pride over won experience was excellence and self-confidence, marriage and success. The flowers of shame that could not accept the past were lust and pain, regret never to be tasted. Only to the awakened the fruits of the trees could be seen.
God said: “An angel falls only completely if he kills his own purity, loses it. Two souls live in one body,” he said, “And if the one crushes the other, the angel in him dies. Hope never dies.”
Michael repeated: “Hope never dies in the hearts of the righteous.”
Lucifer looked at the tree and smiled and promised himself one day to steal seeds from it.
Maybe he could create his own world if this one proved bad for him on the basis of these seeds.
Envy hath bred vanity and its fruit was greed.
The two brethren were drifting apart. One lived in shadow, the other walked in light.
St. Michael, Archangel of Protection, was named the warrior and protector among the angels. As the judger of deceased souls, his element was fire and his colour the more disciplined dark blue.
St. Raphael, Archangel of Healing, in blue-green tones, was protector of the human spirit and its maturity, healing and pilgrimage.
St. Gabriel's silver-bluish micro cosmos in heaven had a name: the Archangel of Revelation, revealer of sins and mercy, of freedom and the creatures that come from water.
St. Uriel's red violet root of spirit and truth seeking gave him the title Archangel of Manifestation, Conversion and Fulfillment. As such, he was also protector of the physical world and of Nature. Truth, fact, honesty, these were his guiding stars.
St. Shushienae, Archangel of Purity, laboured to see stainlessness prevail and his clearness of thought sometimes scared the other angels. But it was a necessity.
St. Metatron, in his strength and as Archangel of Transcendence of Godly Light and Wishes, was clearly a king among them. In his golden-white light he shone brightly.
St. Chamuel guarded the communication between souls and relationships and was soon named Archangel and Protector of Destiny and Admiration. His orange coloured aura would always heed the love that came out from a soul. As the music lover St. Israfel would promote what actually came out and into a person and what kind of person his soul had become. The Archangel of Music was named, but because of the strength of his indignation, he also became and Archangel of the Last Judgement.
St. Ramaela, as Archangel of Happiness, soon worked quite closely with St.Uriel’s realism and St.Chamuel's relationships, but also with St.Raphael's healing.
St. Zadkiel's title as Archangel of Prayer was of utmost importance for the likes of St. Shishienae and St.Uriel and he often assembled all of the Archangels to pray.
St. Jophiel was Archangel of Creative Power and Thought, having the power of the spiritual process that came from development.
There was a judge, a healer, a revealing one, a realist, a purifier, a transcending angel, a lover, a musician, a joyful one and a creator.
Then there were the two opposites in one angel: there was light and there was darkness.
St. Lucifer received his title as Archangel of Light and Darkness.
Lucifer and Gabriel were given the task of guardian of the gates and judging the souls. Because of their transcendal quality they were given the title, Twilight Angels.
Soon enough there twelve sub angels under each one of the initial twelve.
The angels under Lucifer's guidance became strange and moody and some were mirrors of himself, melancholy and depressed and scowling. Others became strangely witty.

It was a bright sunny day in Eden when Lucifer broke out and took his twelve sub angels away from the Gate. God summoned the eleven to tell them to be at their guard. Lucifer had stolen a seed from the forbidden tree, flying about the outer rim in search of a creation. The time was ripe. While all of this was happening Lucifer and his sub angels were carrying a seed from the Hwee-Aell-Sihl-Tree, circling a galaxy and trying to create a Thirteenth Angel. For the first time, Lucifer was playing angelic creator.
When Lucifer landed on the Fields of Nostalgia, his wings had turned pitch black. His eyes were red and his feet had long nails. There was a thirteenth sub angel. An angel created by Lucifer.
The tree, the forbidden fruit tree planted as a warning, had lost a seed.
He had been the first child, he screamed, and his task was uncovering the truth.
“I warned you.” God screamed. “You did not listen.”
He smashed Lucifer against the Plato-tree, but flew up again to his sub angels’ criss-crossing the sky. Every one of them got struck by lightning and arose straight away.
Lucifer screamed. His body was convulsing and his eyes were glowing.
“I am superior to you, my Lord,” he cried. “I had the authority of the first to tread the grounds.”
God appeared in a bolt of lightning and his figure stood erect and motionless over the fourteen rebels. When the hand struck down upon them it was no longer fourteen angels but fourteen Devils, with hooves, forked tails, red skin and fur that crawled along them.
“Your vanity hath robbed the glitter in what I considered to be my brightest star! Leave this place.” God shouted. “I gave you the chance to better yourself long enough. Evict them, cut off Lucifer’s
connection with Eden!"
Michael stood at the edge, purple robe and flaming sword intact and held high.
For eons the Devils lay in the ruins of Yambalah upon dried plains, motionless.
Lucifer had fallen.

THE BATTLES OF A FALLEN STAR
A strong wind blew across the plains that night. It was a wind of change, a dark change that one day would make forlorn children cry. The first of these lost children had once been walking toward the light was now walking toward darkness. Yambalah was in mourning, for its original son had turned to vanity and greed. Somehow, no one knew exactly how, this once so gorgeous land had turned into a wasteland of rocky hillsides, deep canyons and dark forests. Lucifer’s brethren all knew that the land mirrored his soul. In the midst of this now so dim and once so potent land there lay the original cave where Lucifer had sought refuge in the beginning of time. It was surrounded by forbidden trees.
When Lucifer was evicted from the dimension of paradise the strange sub angels that had been made his own followed him. Evicted, they lay eons upon the dried plains of Yambalah before awakening again. The original thirteenth angel that Lucifer had created out of the forbidden fruit was now unwillingly turning into a demon during sleep and found himself shedding seeds upon awakening.
The forest around the cave had not been there long when Lucifer’s army started to grow.
With the army that grew, the unrest in heaven was reaching a boiling point.
It was at that point when Michael suggested a descent upon Yambalah to track down and fight the growing demonic army.
The Lord said that he would allow it, but only to crush the army and teach Lucifer a lesson.
It was dark night when the angels arrived upon a surface where the ground was cracking with drought. The hot winds that blew across the wasteland made the seraphic capes flutter in the breeze. A half-dim light shone here. It was the remnants of the old fiery glow that once inhabited the territory.
The army was moving closer. At the helm of a triangular formation of demons walked Lucifer. His visage had changed. He was now more a monster than a heavenly creature. Michael’s voice was deep and full of pity as he spoke. “Brethren, we have come to take Lucifer home.”
The ten archangels all exchanged glances. Raphael spoke. “Home? Where is his home?”
Michael looked down and kneeled upon the plain and picked up dust on the ground. He dropped it to the ground and let the dust fly away in the breeze. The other archangels heard him speak and knew instinctively what he had been saying. It was time. “I wish I could say heaven, but I cannot.”
Then Michael saw what these soldiers looked like. Hideous faces masked by black claws. There were dried plains, cracking and grey earth under a black sky as far as the eye could see. The two legions met in a clash of lightning. Clawing paws met brutal hands and soon enough the eleven brethren found themselves in the middle of a battle that seemed not to end. There were demons flying over the ground and heavenly beings in combat. Every one of the fiends seemed possessed by some willpower to crush whatever good was trying to vanquish them. Each one of them was a duplicate of the original son’s conceit, drooling, screaming, and full of spite and anguish. There was nothing left of their saintly origin.
Without forewarning the earth opened and revealed red flowing lava. Michael was forced to flap his wings fiercely in order to escape the pit. His brothers fought equally not to be drawn into the depths. Below them the demons that had been in battle with pure souls fell into the pit with high pitched wails. The earth closed and the angels left. Above the sky darkened, clouds blocking the moon.
Only two were left. Two brothers plucked from the heavens. Blood brothers under a stormy sky next to one tree that stood erect under a thunder cloud and seemed to think and watch and wonder.
It was night. There was a wind. A moon was on the rise. Two brothers stood face to face on purple plains. Against the wall of the cave a cowering sub angel, the only survivor of a heavenly war.
Michael jumped, his lily coloured robe flowing and his hawk-handled sword banging against his right thigh. He somersaulted in the air. Lucifer flew against the tree and hit his head. Green blood oozed out from his red face. Lucifer sat up and looked up at the much larger Michael, his black eyes displaying only whites below his half-moon iris. The wall of silence parted the brothers that night and its electricity still seemed almost physical. Both of them looked at each other with fearful desperation and Michael was stoic. Lucifer jumped up from his position by the tree's roots, one drop of green blood blocking his right eye’s black iris, and twisted sideways landing on both legs and leaving Michael on the ground.
Michael gathered his strength, flew up and Lucifer, who saw this, met him half-way. They crashed together, collided and fell on the ground. Lucifer grabbed Michael's face and squeezed. Michael struggled and started kicking him in the back with the leg that Lucifer was not pushing down.
“We are fighting because you cannot realize that humility makes one stronger.” Michael gasped.
“Humility. I spit on that.” Lucifer’s pant was rank as he spoke.
Michael freed an arm and grabbed Lucifer's naked wing to pull him away. There was a fierce sensation of pain as Lucifer felt his blood brother's nails bury themselves deep inside his flesh. He screamed, face upward, gnarling high-pitched. Then he looked down at his brother and was just about to hit his brother when he was taken aback. He flew up, haunted by some vision. It was from the future. And as the vision came, the sub angel cowering by the cave wall looked up and saw it too.

A man hanging from an oak, Caiphas’ gold coins beneath his cloak, Sunset behind him on a hill,
A soon resurrected heart goodness of will, The fire inside that soul, Realized as Judas’ goal.

The vision disappeared in a flash when Michael awoke with a start. Michael kicked Lucifer’s chin, blood spurting from his left nostril, his face sideways and claws up, the braches of the tree looking like demon hands.

Lucifer remembered the 666 sub devils falling into the ground, how his horns had turned black as a result.

Lucifer looked again at his sub angel, whose gazing eyes were full of fear.
He could see the eternity in that cowering angel’s eyes.
“I am sorry, Lucifer. As an Archangel I should not be violent, but we gave you enough chances to better yourself, even when you went way over the line.”
Michael turned around only to feel claws grab his legs and then land face forward on the ground. Michael looked into the night, only dust in front of him.
His legion was now below, if he understood it correctly, right below, being tossed and turned between ice and fire by an invisible twister. But where was the gate?
Lucifer turned around but Michael was still in the lead.

Where is my cave, the Callenian Cave? Yes, of course, my oasis. I see it.

The two wrestled until they both were about thirty feet from the tree, bloody and beaten.
Michael kicked his brother in the groin and made him cringe.
“Secrets?” Michael said. “What secrets lay under your skin?”
“I have none.” Lucifer answered. “Mine is an open heart.”
Lucifer punched Michael twice, once on the left and once on the right cheek.
Michael sunk down on his knees and growled. He looked down.
"I doubt very much that you have a heart … you had the nerve to question God.”
By the light of the full moon a howl was heard. The branches of the tree, which’d grown another inch now, made shadows on the plain. “Where did that howl come from?”
”I think your sub angel is crying, Lucifer!”
Lucifer shot up and aimed for the cave and Michael went after him, but half way there he was stopped by a light that came from above. It was like a bright spotlight that just became brighter as it descended. Lucifer horned and hoofed, stood with arched back and twisted fingers and looked up, eyes completely white, Michael thirty feet behind him, dumbfounded. A bolt of lightning came down and struck Lucifer, whose body convulsed and shook, fell to the ground and screamed, leaving echoes bouncing off the invisible walls of nowhere. He jerked up on his feet and grew still.
Then out of Lucifer emerged the white spirit he once had been. It had white wings and dark blond hair. It was young, handsome, and brave, dazzling in beauty, spiritual in frame. It hung midair, then spoke.

"I am your ruined future. Look at me through your bars, Lucifer."

Lucifer turned around and looked at Michael with eyes that spoke of fear and jerked around looking up at God. The light vanished and the spotlight left only the angel on the plains.
But as the angel took physical form it attacked Lucifer.
The two flew up and crossed the land, followed by Michael at a steady pace.
Into valleys they flew, by the minute more beaten, they grew angrier.
Two personas, one person. Two souls, one spirit. Two victories. One evictor.
Back on the plains, Purity dragged Impurity across the wilderness and it seemed to be clear that Purity had won. Seeds of Hwee-Aell-Sihl were dropping away from Impurity. The plants of forbidden fruit sprung up like weeds across the plains around the cave. Soon enough a forest was raging around them. And now the birds that were emerging out of the new woodwork did not croak, they screamed.
Lucifer, suddenly energetic from this newly found surrounding promoting his dark side, sprang up, leaving Purity to look wide-eyed at its brother in fear and be crushed under his left hoof.
Not long afterwards, the Devil that took form had killed his own Purity and had officially fallen. It lay dead by its feet and the Devil fell to his own and cried.
Michael stood behind him, pushed Lucifer against the cave wall and knocked him unconscious.

IMPRISONMENT
The cage door shut with a bang.
“This is not supposed to happen!”
”It is the only thing that could!”
“No” the dark angel cried. “We were brethren.”
"Your dear oasis awaits and I am leaving. Have a nice eternity." Michael started walking away.
Michael turned around and looked his brother in the eye from across the lake.
The dark angel was rattling the bars, scorpions at his feet. “Why have you put me in a cage?”
Michael faced his brother and the look in his features was so solemn and serious that it took Lucifer a while for him to catch his breath. "How many times do I have to turn around and reprimand you,
Lucifer?” There was a long break. "Do you think that the only thing that matters to God is your glory?"
Michael walked across the water a few steps. "Maybe you will learn modesty in here.”
Lucifer laughed cynically. "Don't you think I hate what I have become?" Lucifer shook his head, laughing down at his paws and looking up. "Don't you think I wanted something different? Isn't that regret?"
Michael looked down and sighed. "You have only yourself to blame, brother! Real regret means honesty, not just feeling the emotion and letting it be at that." Outside the rain was pouring down and there was a hollow naked cry coming from the wind gushing through the tunnel beyond the lake. "You kept on pushing to become this." Michael shook his head and sighed. “You called yourself God, you broke the cardinal rule and tampered with creation. You pay for it now.” He pointed at Lucifer and opened his eyes so much that the whites completely surrounded the iris. It was a threat, but a threat with calm and cool deliverance. “Think about it.”
"Who says there are any cardinal rules, Michael? Your Lord?" Lucifer cried. "I disregard him."
"You were created by something that created everything. I have a task. My mission, task and life."
"Well, what is my mission, my task and life? Can you tell me that?" Lucifer queried.
"Guarding the light."
“I am the greatest light, Michael. Follow me and we can be like we were ...”
Michael shook his head. "Don’t do this."
"Do what?"
“Tempt me. I am not you.” Michael laughed and shook his head. "You are just afraid of the truth."
He pointed around him and cackled, painfully, emphasizing: "I was born with my will of glory, with my vanity and lust for greed and fame ... I was born with it." He looked at the rats and scorpions in the cage. He looked down at the rats. Lucifer looked uncomfortable. Then he looked up at Michael again who said nothing. "I know you think the same thing as I do. I saw it in your eyes when we fought. I see it now!“
There was a long pause before Michael spoke again. "I dare not, Lucifer.”
"Then I will dare you to rot. I will fight God in every way until I see something that grants me to escape my fate."
"You cannot escape fate... Please don’t tempt me…”
"I didn't want my fate!" Lucifer cried. "I want something real, something else than the perfection of your lovable God." He pointed at the white figure on the rock. "I want something real such as that." Michael said nothing, but looked at the body of Lucifer they way he had been. "Something real such as death …" There was a painful silence and the two did not say anything for a while. "I am plagued by conscience ... But your silence speaks volumes, my friend. And so my life will be the body, because this world here..." He gestured around him. "... is a hoax!" He pointed very intently. "I will fight your God if I ever get out of here. I will fight him, because I believe that he is not the creator. I was the first one and you all disregard me.” Lucifer started crying. Michael had been looking at Lucifer's angelic blond beauty and how he was now. The difference was so huge. How could he ever have become this?
“Are you the creator then, Lucifer? ARE YOU? Your vanity in saying things that made you into what you are now! ARE YOU THE CREATOR THEN? BLOOD BROTHER?” Michael turned to leave, but faced his brother again. “Do you know why it hurts me to see you like this?”
Lucifer shook his head. “You never told me on the beach why, Michael. Tell me now.”
“You never pressed to know. You left, mumbling something about He Who Eternally Excels …”
Michael looked up at Lucifer. In a trance, struck by some far fetched thought, he gazed at his brother and tried to grasp if this was really true what he was thinking. He who eternally excels. The words, the initials, were familiar. But it was too far fetched. Lucifer broke the spell.
“What is the answer to my question?” Michael was back, the thought still lingering in his mind.
“Everything you feel, I feel. The sub angel is still cowering in the corner. That hint is enough.”
Lucifer looked over in the corner of the cave. The sub angel he had created out of the Hwee-Aeill-Sihl-Tree was there and pleading for him to release him. That was it: Hwee-Aell-Sihl. He who eternally excels. What was the connection? The tree and Lucifer? Had God …
“He is your creation. He will follow you forever, Lucifer, until you give in.” Lucifer shuddered.
“We were once one single star.” Michael shook his head, he was cold and afraid. For the first time he was afraid. “I have to go, it scares me.” Michael started walking away for the third time, but stopped and called over his own shoulder. “That is why all of this hurts me more than you think. That sub angel, your demon seed, will come to haunt you, believe me. One day, right here, you will be haunted by this creature.”
“Yes?”
Michael nodded. “You made this angel out of a forbidden seed. That angel will be there all the while. Tutor him in sadistic love if you want. One day he will turn on you. He doesn’t belong anywhere else but on his tree.”
“What did you say before? We were one star? Is that the great secret?”
Michael sighed. “God told me the night before the occurrence at the beach. Aren’t you listening to me, Lucifer?”
Lucy shook with fear. “We were …”
Michael nodded. “You are only the darker me.”
Lucifer started getting restless and shaking the bars.
He spat the words until they almost became only consonants: “I want to change!” Lucifer cried: “Michael, take me back in time!” A scorpion crawled up through the bars up toward Lucifer. Unaware of its presence, he smashed his hand down on the cage floor upon it crushing it to pieces. He looked down on it. "I'm sorry!"
“Goodbye!"
“Don’t go!”
“I am leaving, because you won’t listen to my warnings.”
“What warnings?”
“Your diligently absorbing worries overshadow your danger. Your immortality will be walking hand in hand with anger and hate forever for what you have done.”
He looked up with a look of a victim scorned. "You ..." he said and pointed with a shivering hand, "are delusional!" His brother looked down. "Someone else is holding the strings! Someone else is in charge.”
“Who then? Who? Lucifer, wake up! You failed! Stop blaming everything on God. You say that because you cannot stand losing.”
“Is that all you think I care about? I tried to be a part of your group.”
"Our group was yours. You are an angel, made by God. Our group was the same as your group.” Michael looked down. “You should’ve resisted temptation.”
Michael started walking away, his wings flapping sadly behind him.
"I am telling you … Listen to me!" Lucifer saw a rat sitting beside him nodding its head. The rat said something. Again the hollow sound of the moaning wind through the tunnel beyond the lake gave off a peculiar eerie spiritual stench. The rat nodded. Then he suddenly jerked his head over at the dead body of himself as an angel on the rock. It sat up and looked at him. It smiled. Its eyes were wide open. It was jabbing with its mouth and singing strange songs of Darkness. Lucifer shook his head violently and rattled the bars. “Why are you leaving? I don’t want to be abandoned."
Lucifer was left alone with the rats and the scorpions and with the dead body of an angelic past on a rock. The rat seemed to smile. Back in heaven, God sent a storm over the land, killing everything above ground. The sub angel was still cowering in the corner, wishing himself back on the tree in Eden and the pure Lucifer was on the stone, seeing creatures only Lucifer could see. God forgot about the cave and its prisoner, whilst the prisoner remembered the dawn back on the beach. Inside the cave, Lucifer looked down the long January tunnel and its light that led to some unknown place where screams echoed in the dungeon.

ESCAPE AND FLIGHT OF A FORMER ARCHANGEL
Michael, Metatron and Raphael were walking about in the cave of Yambalah. Drops of ice fell down from the cave walls and there must have been several quantities of musk climbing the ivies of rich stone behind the cage that Michael had built for Lucifer years ago. The cage’s lock had been chewed open and the January tunnel in front lead into a light whose goal was yet to be discovered. Having passed the screaming birds had been difficult. Warding off the grabbing branches had not. But now they were here. Lucifer was not. He looked at the body of Purity, still dead on the stone as he had remembered.
"He who eternally excels above everyone lies lusty steadfast in his lifestyle." Was there a pattern?
"Remember I told you about the occurrence at the beach, Metatron?" The large angel nodded. “You told me that he spoke in riddles."
"What are the initials of that sentence on the rock?"
Metatron read the letters. "H.W.E.E.A.E.I.L.L.S.I.H.L"
Metatron rubbed his chin. “Does that fit the actual riddle?”
Michael half-smiled. "The tree. He was hinting.”
"Do you really think ...?" They looked at each other.
Raphael had been inspecting the cage, whose bars literally had been chewed open, when he came over to the stone. "There's a carving on the stone."
“Another?” The two angels joined their friend. “Let us gaze.”
He read it and looked at his friends with eager eyes. "Do you think Lucifer on purpose chose exactly those words to resemble the initials of the tree?”
Raphael shook his head. "The cage has been chewed open. Lucifer is no longer here ... And there is a carving on the cage floor ... It all fits. But why? Was Lucifer hinting he’d steal seeds from the tree?”
"What does it say?"
"Hwee-Aeill-Sihl. H.E.L.L. - He excels in Lover’s lust. The tree is growing."
"Just like on the stone." Metatron seemed to be in another world. “If I only knew.”
Involuntarily they looked at the January tunnel. ”There is a light down there.”
Michael nodded. "There are sounds.”
Metatron, Raphael and Michael were wandering about across the water of the January tunnel. Once they had reached the end of it, they saw the magic right climb to heaven that had been officially created by Lucifer to connect the deep with the top.
But there was a road to the left leading downwards that had not been there before. The three angels looked at each other and shook their heads. There were wails and screams and a red beam that seemed to be there that was new.
Metatron spoke again. “Angelic warfare …”
“On that universal level? Does the Lord allow that to happen?”
"War." Michael softly said shaking himself more than anyone else. “Yes. If it is necessary.”
Metatron shook his head. "My mind is full of riddle. Maybe you can inform us as his blood brother." But Michael could only shake his head. “There is more to it than that to figuring him out. I saw his eyes at the beach.” As Michael gazed to his right he noticed that the red light had grown stronger and the wails louder. “What is down there?”
Raphael shrugged. “The remains of the souls that were tempted after Eve ate the apple.”
Metatron sighed, his soul searching for an answer inside his own spirit, looking at the moss on the walls and the icicles hanging from the cave ceiling. “We must not forget, brethren, that our former brother hath developed sorcery through the centuries in captivity.”
Michael looked at the kind angel, wincing. The awake stare was one of surprise and anguish, a look that spoke of a realization surfacing like a stone to the shore. “He was the snake.” They all nodded, agreeing. And as the three angels walked back across the water to fly home and converse with God about this, screams echoed in the pits and one angel remained.
The pure one lay left alone there on his stone, waiting for an eternity to pass.

REBECCA, TEMPTATION
The Land of Yambalah had risen in only one hundred years to become a city inhabited by two hundred souls. Marketplaces and city halls had been erected, schools and shops and even inns and innkeepers and woodcutters and barbershops. It was a peaceful city with no crime and no prostitution, thus a place of peace and love. The nature in the area was glorious and the inhabitants, Adam & Eve's children and grandchildren and other men and women God had put upon the Earth to faithfully breed were proud of the glorious surrounding they saw every day upon awakening.
There was a pasture where the cows grazed contentedly. The meadow was on the hillside and especially rich. So Rebecca, a lovely ripe girl of seventeen with red flaming hair, would go and milk them there. She did that almost every day, so it was nothing new that was happening the day that she was seduced for the first time. In her future lay the decay and destruction of a thousand nightmares.
The spot really had the finest grass in Yambalah. Rebecca, contrary to the others, didn't believe there were demons down there at all, but she was the only one that dared to go near the place because she was not afraid of rats and snakes. She and her husband Joseph closed the cows in there and took them out again. Only Rebecca dared to stay to milk them on the hillside pasture.
That day the thing that she didn't believe in returned from the depths of the cave she thought only had rats and snakes. But the rats and snakes had a friend. She had been sitting milking in solitude and singing a song when she saw a pair of hooves with red legs. They looked like they would've belonged to a red-legged bull standing on its two feet. But the creature had a forked tail. It was large, at least seven feet. It had horns and sharp, black teeth. It had red skin and black fur. It was not human, yet not completely animal. She must've been too scared too scream, because for a moment she thought her heart skipped a beat and started thumping too irregularly to return back, after a while faster than normal. She tried to run, but all she did was kick down the milk pitcher under the cow. The milk trickled down the grass and down the hill and looked like drool. Normally when that happened she would laugh and sigh, now she screamed and carried on and cursed herself for her stupidity and tried to save some of her sanity. Then, on the ground, she turned around and just kept watching those red eyes. She had never seen anything like that before. She should’ve been running for her life, after all she was a mile or so from her own house. But she just kept looking into those eyes and that evil mouth and could ... never ... move, unless the creature told her to. The man, the beast, was smiling. It was a ghastly smile, an evil smile full of spite and hate, yet, so attractive. Yes, attractive. Alluring and ... horny. Something in her, her crotch, was saying with a soft voice: I like this man. I LIKE HIS ...
"Hello, Rebecca!" the creature said and smiled. She jumped a step back and the beast smiled, lovingly. Rebecca shivered, not daring to say a thing. The chest of the beast was muscular and was rising and falling with a husky deep-throated sneering loud breath, as if some little one-eyed dwarf with a blue helmet, a gigantic cold to his name, was blowing flames on ice in there and would cough any minute, but
couldn't. There was a laugh in that breath that made her smile and cry simultaneously. That terrified her. Every breath told her a story. She was fascinated by that story. But the storyteller made her want to scream. She felt herself being attracted to the sheer physicality of that chest, though, like she never had before to any chest of any man. This was not a man and yet ... it was. So who ... was this? Rebecca tried to
speak, but couldn't.
"He --" She tried again. "Hel-…" Her lip trembled. "Hell- ... Oh ..." Her dress fluttered and showed a bit of her leg. She looked into the beast’s eyes and it saw through her.
It was as if the beast saw through her.
"Hello!" The beast grinned at her. "Sorry about the milk!"
"That's all right!" She found herself calming down. She swallowed. "Who ..." The creature raised its one eyebrow. "Who … uhh ... are you?“
"My name is Lucifer, Rebecca.“
She shook her head. "I'm s-sorry. But ... we ... haven't been properly introduced ..." She swallowed hard. So hard, in fact that he could hear the gulp. "Yet! “
The devil shook his head and shot his gigantic head up and laughed into the morning air displaying the only two white teeth he had left, his side fangs, the teeth he had chewed with for a thousand years. "You are a sweet one, aren't you, now?" His laugh was so dark and rich that Rebecca felt a tingling sensation down ... there. It was a strange and new, dangerous and exciting thing that was happening to her. The more she felt it the more she wanted it. But the laugh scared her and it made her jump out of her chair and fidget with her fingers and arms as if three bees were flying around her and she tried to wave them off. The cow somehow transfixed and numb up until now just like the others ran away and left her standing there. The chair fell over and Rebecca jumped four feet up in the air and ran ten steps away with it and then turned around to face the beast again. It chuckled, uttering a deep throated sneer. It was the basso-giggle of a very randy man who couldn't help laughing at the silly frilliness of his latest conquest, his head shaking involuntarily and then settling down, his eyes looking at her from below, his whites shining brightly like the angel of death. “Could we talk?” His mouth twitched and his upper lip curled. The first syllable of his next word waited to emerge from his tongue, the inner muscle glued to his gum with hard intensity, making the final Kh- of the word could ... sound a pop like a pebble waiting to be shot at the bulls eye of Becky's large and very becoming cleavage. He sucked on the consonant for a while like a kid would on a lollipop. He spat it out, drooling. "Could we talk somewhere … just you and I?"
"If ... if you like to ... then right here … is fine ..." She smiled and tried to compose herself and looked down. She nodded and said with a cold voice. "How may I help you, sir?" She straightened out her dress and the man walked up and breathed on her, silently. She shook her head and all that official coldness disappeared at once. His eyes were hot as ice.
"I am new in town. I am here to make new friends!" He smiled. "You see , sweet one ..." He said, talking matter-of-fact now, walking up the hill slowly with her, laying his right hand across her right shoulder, embracing her, leading her to a sure pitfall, up to the village. She was looking down, fighting to let go but her body going with him like a girl would do looking at her shoes when her priest came by to inspect her forbidden games. This priest was leading her to the grave. "... I have been so lonely these past years!" She was wearing a white dress with a red vest that lifted her bosom as the bottom of her frock swayed in the wind. "I do need some company and would like to know something about ..." He stopped. She stopped as well. She was petrified of him. There was no turning back. For the wise part in her was unaccoustomed to challenge. It was as if all her worst fears had come to visit her in incarnated form and knew it. But yet she loved him ... Loved Him? Why? She felt a feeling she had never felt. Something she had only felt in bed, once, with Joseph, yet. Was that why? Yes ...She thought about it for a bit. He was
gesturing at the landscape of the rising of the hill above like a ruler looking at his land with his daughter. His eyes looked to the side, upwards, his right hand still embracing her right shoulder and freezing his left. "... your village!" He snapped his head to her left and smiled. "Mmh- ... what do you call it?" They stopped and came face to face. He was holding her by both shoulders now and Rebecca looked like a scared but gorgeous angora-cat up at this beast. His left eyebrow raised as he gave a beaming half-smile after looking up from her cleavage. Rebecca was shivering and her bosom shivering with it. He loved that part of it.
"Uhmmm ..." Rebecca thought. She could not say anything at all. Her mind was occupied with other thoughts. "Eh-hrrm ..." Lucifer smiled again, waiting patiently as if waiting for a sick child's first words after returning to school. "Yambalah!" Her words were confident now. He had gotten her by the ... crotch. He smiled. Her eyes beamed and she smiled. She was in his grip. "Our village's name is Yambalah! We would like to welcome you most heartily, sir, and invite you for tea." He laughed. Now the girl was confident and he spoke through her. "Maybe you could even get a position helping our leaders. Maybe you could even become our leader. If you like the idea of becoming a leader, that is. We would need one, you see ... It does get frightfully boring up here ..." She had imitated his refined accent. Her words had been spat out so fast that she tried to keep up with them. Her eyes were lowered and now it was as if she had lost her purity. She was someone that had been lured into a crime and was being sent to the gallows. She looked down and walked next to Lucifer a loser as they walked up the hill. Her bosom ripe and her back crouched. She was a prisoner of his vanity.
Lucifer looked up the hill with the look of a criminal who had raped his first victim. He smiled and nodded and said only one thing. "I'd be delighted to help you, Sweetie!“ In his mind his feet were dancing the big old boogaloo, as if it had been invented yet, his thoughts flickering like a silent flame waiting to pour hot lava over swaying fingers and deceiving digits. "One down ... One-Hundred-and-Ninety-Nine to go ..." Silently the two walked up to Yambalah to do ill. “Give me a tour of your kingdom!” He said and Rebecca nodded happily. In her eyes he could see that she was all his.

JOSEPH, RIGHTEOUSNESS
Joseph had been standing by his wife’s laundry basket for an hour now thinking about from where he recognized this beast. All she did was spend her day with the new master.
God had given them a task: taking care of the village. Now, God was not even in the picture.
What was this new master’s name? Lucifer? Yes, that was it. Everyone was drinking or eating or making
love. No one was working. The village was falling to pieces.
As Joseph stood there overlooking the valley where Lucifer had first seduced his wife for the first time he realized that he alone was the only one left with any integrity. He alone was thinking about the future. A depressing thought indeed to such a man. He knew that Rebecca would give him trouble in the future.


DEBAUCHERY
Within a year the peaceful community had spiralled into a carnal circus of crime and debauchery. Michael and Gabriel had been back numerous times to put an end to the degradation, but each time they found Lucifer gone. Rebecca was now the head of a large brothel, Lucifer took money for bridge fare whenever citizens crossed the river to let the cows out to graze. The money went into Rebecca's own pocket, but the couples were having orgies every night in their house and kept robbing the village of its resources.
Lucifer had escaped his own cage so that he might encage others. People drank illicit liquors out of their spouses’ mouths and navels and danced naked on tables intended for dining. The law-obeying citizens of the Land grew into fat and lazy pleasure-seekers whose every need was granted by Lucifer. His intention, however, was simply to ruin God's first human civilization. It was a twenty four-hour hangover.
"LUCIFER!" The voice came from above and it was God who spoke. “TALK TO ME, SON!"
The clear sky darkened and the crowd froze. People covered themselves with their shawls and looked to the sky with troubled expression. It was an etching, a religious icon of a future cathedral whose characters radiated biblical terror. A wind swept across the plains. Roofs were lifted off houses. Horses fell over and broke their bones, trees broke in half and lightning struck down on Rebecca's brothel and set it on fire.
"COME AND FACE ME! OR ARE YOU JUST TOO AFRAID?"
The vibrant cries of the crowd had bounced between the walls of the inner city and now were replaced with nothing but petrified silence. Lucifer was gone, back in the underworld. The hollowness of the naked street and the emptiness of this land was a testament to debauchery. Left alone in Yambalah was Joseph, the only light in the darkness. He had witnessed decadence at work and knew that Rebecca was with Lucifer, along with everyone else in the town. Joseph packed whatever weapons and foods he had left and journeyed into unknown territory to find other beings like him. It so happened that this man was to live a long life, content and well-fed. When he transcended into the other world he knew that he would return back to meet Rebecca again under completely different circumstances.

THE SAVIOUR


The word was yes. God's plan to save mankind from its own sins was to become reality.
The Heavenly Lord said Yes and only Yes to Humanity. He did love Humankind so much that he gave them his only son and made him human in order to save him from Lucifer's hard grip. A young girl by the name of Mary bore a child whose name was to be Jesus. Donkeys, oxen and sheep by their side, Joseph and his young wife Mary cuddled the child. Three kings, Caspar, Melchior and Balthazar, came from far away lands to see the Babe. A Star showed them the way. It was the Archangel Gabriel who, in his Nature as God's Gatekeeper and the Revealer of All Sins, helped save Mankind from itself by shining in the Heavens. All who came to watch during the next few weeks were deeply moved by this simple child whose face shone like the soothing sun and whose spirit was like the calm breeze of a midsummer wind.
This child was the child of all children. He was the Father of all Fathers and the Mother of all Mothers.
He was the Revealer of all Revealers and the Friend of all Friends. He was the Saviour of all Saviours. He was a piece of God's Own Heart and a Ray Out Of The Spirit of The Wind That Gabriel Sent Off when He Who Flew By In The Night Showed His Face to humanity. He was God's son. Jesus taught in the synagogues. He gathered twelve men around him that listened to his words and followed his teachings. Some were fishermen, some were of different trades. All were men who needed guidance and whose hearts longed for righteousness. He showed them how he healed cripples. He gave blind men sight and deaf men ears. He gave lame men legs and lepers their clean skin. He restored friendship and gave lost people their faith. He prayed every day to the heavenly father to bring joy and caring back to a world where too much suffering and too much greed controlled individual destinies. Jesus saw Simon Peter and knew he would be the finest Gatekeeper ever to accompany Gabriel by the Doors to Paradise. He saw Thomas and knew that this architect would find his own way one day, in spite of his doubt. His saw Matthew and knew that even though he loved money he was strong enough to give it all up. He saw John and knew his faith was to hand over his own mother to the one with a golden heart.
Then he saw Judas.
The holy number of Twelve Disciples was to mirror the Twelve Archangels of Heaven. Judas was the intellectual and saw this life only. If Jesus were king then life would be easier for them all and Lucifer's counterpart on Earth felt himself in position to promote his master to speak up. Jesus’ eyes spoke to Judas when he told him to use his heart and not his mind. In truth a victim, Judas only realized this too late. Lucifer was petrified of Jesus, even more than of Michael. Jesus did not need to look Lucifer in the eye to scare him. There was one reason for this: the resurrection.
When he stood before the masses who screamed "Crucify him!" ... he thought he'd had his way.
”Kill the blasphemer!” He was wrong. God had won already. “Mother, behold your son!”
A storm wind chased the clouds and the wind seemed full of ice. The only Pharisee with a heart of gold was standing a hundred meters away crying. A Roman soldier looked solemnly at the Savoir saying:
"This was the son of God!" The women were at the foot of the cross weeping. Only the moon shone down upon the cross, alone and cold, when Jesus cried: "Eloi! Eloi! Lemak sabatani!" to the silent sky. There was a weeping wind blowing through the trees chilling everyone on the hill down to their bone's marrow. There were clouds in the sky and a rumble in the distance. The darkest colours of the heavens painted a sorrow on their clouded faces. The women took him down when his head had finally sunk down on his chest. He was buried in a sacred place. Then they silently walked away. When they returned on Sunday morning, everything had changed. "Why are you seeking the living among the dead?"
Mary Magdalene turned around. "I ... beg your pardon?"
"I said why are you seeking ... the living among the dead?" Raphael and Gabriel smiled at the woman and she smiled back, somewhat bewildered. She and the others had come to the grave to embalm him as was the custom. She had no idea what the young man meant. As she walked from the empty grave she understood. Jesus was not there. The angels had told her this.

§

The wind blew strong that day, or so they said. The clouds were dark and thunder and lightning seemed to paint the melodramatic skies with colours of blue, green and dark red. Just with utmost strength Lucifer could keep from flying away and crashing into a mountainside or a wall, if there had been one at all.
The fact was that there was only hillside as far as he could see. There was green grass everywhere and it was blowing in the wind all in the same direction. Hills and valleys and everywhere this dark colour that seemed to sweep doom over the landscape. Lucifer stood alone looking at the only thing that gave any light in the skies on this dark and stormy night. The full moon. His face was turned upward and his back crouched forward. The hairs on his head and back were dancing the jig and his eyes were fixed on its sweeping aura, landing everywhere in sight. Suddenly there was a sharp cry. The wail echoed in his ear, a sound that reminded him of the echo in the dungeon he had seen for a millennium, when he saw millions of people running in this dark night toward him. He found himself locked into position, his feet feeling like stone. The crowd just kept coming nearer and nearer. Growing in number. Millions of feet running over him. Big feet, small feet, light feet, heavy feet. The owners of the feet were happy. No, they were overjoyed. He recognized all of the faces. They were all of the sinners he had misled since the beginning of time. Adam was there. Every one of them was running toward ... where? His head turned to the right. A rampant screaming crowd of millions waving their arms and shouting:

"Saviour! Saviour!"

Now he heard the voice of Michael next to his right ear, screaming. The red devil crouched over and a white winged archangel shouting into his ear. Now he was standing in a big square somewhere in the future. He was surrounded by buildings so tall and monumental that it surprised him. It was a cathedral. He saw Jesus now around a campfire with his twelve disciples. Lucifer's creation Judas as such was a part of his master and both could tap into their existence to see what they were doing.
"Who do you think I am?"
Peter thought for a moment then said: "You are the Messiah ..."
"Henceforth ..." Jesus replied "... you shall be called the rock, for upon you I shall found my church ...” Jesus spoke only of one church and not a divided one. He could have called it anything.
This was St. Peter's church ... It was the future Vatican. It was the rock whereupon God would build his church. It was glorious. To Lucifer, it was eternal suffering.

"Saviour! Saviour!"

Jesus stood on the balcony and waved to his people. He was standing over there, mighty and magnificent, spreading his arms and smiling. The moon had disappeared and instead the only thing shining on the horizon was Jesus in that light. No, not in the light. Jesus was the light. It hurt his eyes, it was so bright. The people sang HOSANNA IN EXCELSIS DEO for they had been saved.
Then he was back on the hill, moon in the sky and grass blowing in the midnight wind. The wind moaned as a lonely lynx caught in a morning storm. It was like a tree bending and creaking in the wind waiting to be released from its pain and cut down. He looked over to it. It was no tree. It was a beast. And it bore Lucifer's face. Then suddenly a loud noise hit his ears. It was as if someone had opened a door and blown it in his face. His head snapped to the left and there he saw it. It was a cross. It was shining radiantly.
No matter how strong the wind was it kept standing. Lucifer was repeatedly tossed over and flew around, feeling like a leaf being blown around in a storm, completely powerless. No matter what he did, his body felt as if warily stung by a thousand needles. He felt dizzy and numb and as if someone was holding him by the arms and shaking him. He saw the initials above the cross: I.N.R.I. –Jesus of Nazareth, Rex Judeum: King of the Jews. The initials on the stone under his own Purity over in Yambalah came to his mind and the two opponents were clearly drawn out now.
In his sleep, Lucifer took a resounding deep breath, raising his eyebrows with closed eyes looking like someone waiting for a grotesque kiss ... and ... screamed until his veins popped open and his green blood oozed out of his horns. He woke up. Startled. Every breath he took was agony. He was in his own red hell now, but through the wall images were floating through, the rainbow of them protruding through the walls. The blue night of the illusion spilling over against the red stone hell in the hole he was in, Lucifer on the flat stone rising spastically crouched together, for the first time in his life, crying. He was by a tree now. It was an old oak bent by wind, twisted by weather. A man was hanging from it. His head was hanging down from the rope and dangling like a separate and unused limb. The coins were at his feet. The blood-money. Suddenly Michael was there and he was pointing at Lucifer. He told him that he had to see he could never ever win. Lucifer screamed again but heard voices of angels. Lucifer screamed again but heard God. He was back on the hill now and Michael stood above him. Michael's white cloak was blowing in the wind and his black hair was a mass of tousled satin that uncontrollably blew in the twister that was building up around them. He raised his long right hand index finger at Lucifer and gave him a half-smile as well. Lucifer looked up with the fear of someone caught in the act of spiritual burglary. Lucifer looked up. A light protruded out of Michael's finger and that light against his white cloak was enough to make Lucifer scream. Michael's eyes widened and so did the light. It came closer and closer until Lucifer saw it was a circle, a tunnel, growing bigger and bigger. It came over him like a cloak, a wave of water. He was in the light now. And all he could see were crosses everywhere. Crucifixes. Churches. The Vatican. Saints of heaven. Saints of Earth. Saints of other planets. And always Lucifer as the foe. The cross was the beginning of it all. And he had been powerless to stop that road. He had thought his Judas would have made a difference. He thought it would bring an end to God's rule over creation. Instead he was only a tool. A tool for God's power. He managed to escape from that light and almost pulled himself out of it like a man pulled out of a shirt. But he was pulled back again, screaming even louder. This time he saw all the people he had betrayed and who suffered. They were all in joy because God had saved them. He jumped out of the light. The moon above his head and God in it. Lucifer tried to say something but all he could say was: "Why was I chosen? What is my sin?”
Michael's voice now deep and throaty answered, still pointing: "Questioning the creator.”
Lucifer's voice throaty, veins full of pain. "There is no turning back. You shall cringe ... at the sight of the cross. Your face shall be burnt by what saved creation from you! It shall be God's protection!"
In Michael's hand a cross appeared. He pushed it against Lucifer face, burning his red skin. Lucifer's head bent over to one side as if he wanted to escape the cross and Michael's gritted teeth. Lucifer was shaking, his eyes turning white, his body convulsing.
Suddenly a great white light appeared in the sky with an ear-deafening explosion. It was almost as if a door had been opened to Heaven and there was even a clear rectangular separation between it and the storm. God was there in that white light and Michael's white cloak settled and he looked up. He breathed in, pouting with his lips and his fists clenched, eyes closed. He looked down at Lucifer and released his cross, Lucifer falling down in a heap of red blackness. Michael looked back up and was drawn straight up to the gates of heaven with incredible speed that made Lucifer jump and the hairs on his back stand up. He sat crouched on the Earth like a bug. For a moment he wondered what he would have been now had he stayed humble. He shook his head and cried. "Why?" There was no answer.
Then the ground opened. Sizzling and hot it lay before him. Lucifer looked around with the scared expression of a hunted animal. His lower lip was shivering. "No!" The volcanic lava that burnt down there scared even him. "NO!" Then he looked up at his former home, the sides of his mouth turned downwards and his eyebrows raised upwards and inwards in fear. "NO!" Lucifer slowly sunk down until he only held on with one hand on the edge. "Help me!" He dropped and fell into oblivion, his scream echoing and growing fainter. The Earth closed above him and so did heaven.
For just an instance, Lucifer wished that he was part of Eden again, back on the Fields hearing Mozart sonatas yet not composed and discussing Oscar Wilde’s yet unwritten plays with the spirit of Socrates. Instead, he was in an underworld and he was alone. There was no way back home.
It was time to make new friends.

§

Lucifer ran down the tunnel and to the underground lake. The rat sat on his shoulder all the time, telling him to go faster. A canoe was there for him, waiting, dark and black and rotting. And he could feel
himself wanting to turn back the further he rowed. The tunnel seemed large and ominous and yet he had created it. He saw only shadows. When he turned and looked down he saw a large waterfall and screamed as he plunged. Lucifer had left God forever. The crowds of lost souls lead to Hell in chains, looked like a galley of slaves, head down, lead to the gallows. The steady flow of sinners making their way down to Hades never stopped and Lucifer, whose purity still laid comatose on the rock, was an evil emperor who now made it his vow to stop God in any way he could. The last time God and Lucifer met face to face was at Golgotha. What followed was "a hide and seek game through time and history“. Where ever God was doing his work Lucifer would try to destroy the result. The more his humanity grew the more angels were necessary. In the beginning, the eleven archangels were entrusted with twenty five sub-angels each making it a total of 275. After about a thousand years there were at least ten-thousand angels for a human population of a two-hundred thousand. Some extremely good humans were promoted after death into angelic status. The prowling pitfalls and sweat of creation were nothing in comparison with these dark times on Earth. Brutus was patient. Caligula and Nero were rolling their proverbial thumbs.
Among the 666 original cloned devils now in what he described as his home in hell there was a plethora of famous traitors waiting in line to incarnate as what the Devil now described as "stones dropped in God's way as he walks the path to uncertain glory". By the time Jesus was tempted, he was already planning to strike again. A visitor was on the way. Within a fall lay a rising. And so, if the rise came to fall, another fall would come to rise. The lower source was running free again and crashed through the ceiling in front of that noble crowd in 1422 in the name of a sub demon. The largest country within the empire was a land within an unofficial alliance of eleven, about to be terrorized by a creature from an empire of screaming birds. Rebecca and Joseph were about to meet again incarnated.

ALTERNATE REALITY, SAVING THE APOCALYPSE

“My friend: You hear me talk, the gift in your hand breaking in your grasp. But listen to me now. Out of the ashes a dark empire shall rise, long forgotten by the Gods. It shall be the bringer of the apocalypse.”
-Reland Mansicart

As God split the realities apart into two separate dimensions in order to save humanity from Lucifer at the end of the 4th century, there was a feeling of triumph in Eden of having conquered him at last. So, whilst Rome died in the one reality it lived on in the other. Its technique, its medicine, infrastructure and roads, sewer systems, its arts and hygienic culture were kept alive. Europe became Medatlantia and the Roman Empire was transformed into the glorious peaceful country of Prosperania with the capital of Clurafar, a large empire with ten neighbours who all lived under its benevolent rule and one common enemy.

Excerpt from the book “Travelling the Known World” by
Prosperanian author Hogiar Lindarus

The Roman Emperor Flavius Theodosius died on January 17th 395 A.D. His two sons Arcadius and Honorius did not, as originally had been decided by the very influential senate, divide Rome into the two parts East and West Rome after his death. Instead, the two sons managed to convince the very sceptical council that the empire was worth a spectacular rescue. They managed this bold move in spite of their young age. It took them two years of hard labour to convince the stern bureaucrats that letting them go ahead with their plans was a good idea.
Honorius’ two advisors Rufinus and Eutropius, who otherwise had dominated the brothers, were replaced early by a new advisor: Flavius Flaccila. This man is credited with the actual saving of the Roman Empire. He was a strong man, who supported the sons’ endeavours and never took credit himself for his accomplishments. It was only later Wandiffian historians, among others the eminent archaeologist Musar Jansonius – author of books such as “As Rome became Wandiffia”, that found out what his role in this rescue had been.
Accordingly, he and the sons took a hold of most of the problems arising in the empire. The problems had been, among others, the death rate of the wealthy due to bad lead pipes. Now the water was purified to a larger extent and as a result Caesar Honorius, the prime emperor of the new dynasty, could in 408 Anno Domini see a country that had not only a higher life expectancy, but also higher moral values. The 32 000 prostitutes of Rome were now reduced to an amazingly minimal 1500. Gladiator games were deemed illegal and instead Honorius introduced the Caesarean Competitions: a version of the Greek Olympic Games.
The farming estates labelled Latifundia were still owned by the wealthy men, but now not completely controlled by them. When slavery was abolished in 409 A.D., the former slaves could now decide themselves what was to be done. This had the effect that the rich farmers still were happy, whilst the slaves, now called Servants of Caesar, had reached a new social level. As a result, inflation soon became a thing of the past and the up until this point very problematically arising unemployment sank.
Due to this surge of morals, the empire stood behind Honorius to such a vast degree that King Alaric of the Visigoths could not sack Rome in 410 A.D., but was chased away.
The trade success returned. This was due to Arcadius’ ingenious idea of taking away all power from the Praetorian Guard as to the choosing of a new emperor when he was appointed Caesar in 420. Now the exclusive right to appoint an emperor lay in the previous emperor. It was a dictatorship, but one with a positive effect: the emperor was by law required to secure the trade. The power was his to appoint trade senators that wrote down each quadran that was spent and earned. By 476 A.D. the Roman Empire was Christian and very wealthy.
Consequently, Romulus Augustus was not deposed by Odoacer on September 4th, 476 Anno Domini, but became known as an emperor who appointed so many trade ministers across the empire that parliamentary discussion what to import and export became pointless. Everywhere, trade ministers controlled the purchase of goods. Soon, all the commercial cargo of the known world was available everywhere. Like Trajan did in the 2nd century A.D., Augustus brought a wide spread medical care into Rome and the citizens were becoming quite adamant in their views on how to change their life and the position of their province within Rome. These changes are also credited to the genius of Flavius Flaccila, who laid out the original plans how to restructure Rome from the ground up.
These plans were followed to book. The vast change that would eventually create a new kind of Rome occurred in a new strong province within Germania Superior. The province was called Wandiffia and had a very peculiar Latin dialect that was influenced by Scandinavian tongues. Wandiffia was small, but it had worked itself up as the main role player within Germania Superior. Trade ministers, who ruled the continent by now, had their official home in Wandiffia. More often than not, the Caesar had to consult the Wandiffian trade route councillors before going ahead with his export arrangements.
The emperor Ceasar Flavius Agronicus was the first emperor to be lobbied by the Wandiffian Senate to let Wandiffia become trade capital of Rome. In 573 A.D. this became the case. As a result of this, the Wandiffian trade route councillor Marai Titanius had the Miranian Export Parliamentarian Zufar Milas in the Wandiffian capital Mirania sign a treaty for full export of all commodities through Wandiffian territory in 582 A.D. This meant that a Channel had to be dug between the Germanic province of Wandiffia and the former renamed peninsula of Jutlandia, so that the ships from Brittania did not have to sail around Dania but could sail along the coast uninterruptedly.
The work of digging the Danish Channel was the extensive laborious responsibility of the architectural and marine reconstructive expert leader Marcus Flavius Gregorius. He managed the all-embracing effort of numerous decades of work. His statue was raised at the pier in 602 A.D. with the inscription: “This man’s life work can be sailed through here.” Needless to stress, the channel was an immense success, as it has been ever since.
The Danish Channel was the end of Rome and the beginning of new Wandiffia. Due to trade, Rome split into separate countries in 619 A.D. and became just as technologically highly developed as before also due to trade. Herbal Physicians travelled the known world to find cures for illnesses and due to the wealth the death rate was very low and mortality date late.
The urban decay that had plagued Rome ceased entirely in Wandiffia. Due to its’ successful trade, Wandiffia soon became very rich and had the necessary monetary resources to rebuild the cities. This provided for a continent where citizens roamed freely and could trade goods as they chose to make it possible. There was an exchange of information and merchandise that kept Wandiffia strong and sturdy and wealthy.
Forty kings ruled Wandiffia from 619 A.D. to 1089 A.D. with an infrastructure based on that of ancient Rome until the year of 1089 A.D. when Simon the great founded Prosperania and built his dearly beloved castle Iuventus Sacrum, rebuilt four times up until the reign of King Alexander of the Winsletenna Dynasty.
The problems began with the seemingly endless quarrel between Simon and his brother John. This was a disagreement that ended on the night of April 14th 1108. John marched in after two years of absence with his own recruited army of crooks and smugglers and nomads from the Gfuhre Territories and murdered Simon and his family, raping Simon’s wife to death at the capital marketplace in front of the parliament.
The only survivor of the attack was the eldest son George, who managed a brave escape with his wife Carina and his young son Joseph after 19 years of proverbial imprisonment within the confines of the new Nocturanian guard. These gilded cages of sorts were rooms at John’s castle where Carina had to serve as child bearer for the presently responsible Nocturanian guard.
After fleeing to Olandus in 1127 A.D. the family never returned. It was only after careful consideration that Joseph returned with the northern army and defeated Nocturania in 1168 A.D. Nocturania was reformed and given a separate coastal nation next to the fatherland.
The dark beginnings of the empire lay in the blood feud between two brothers that made the large Prosperanian Land split entwine. It started a rebirth for Prosperania.
It made the world what it is today.

PROSPERANIA


Once upon a time there were two brothers, Simon and John. With them our venture into the dark and light Medatlantia begins. Had it not been for their blood feud, Michael and Lucifer’s war in heaven would’ve never transported to tellar territories. Simon was a benevolent ruler and had turned the 600 year old Wandiffian Empire into Prosperania. This was a beloved, kind king who built his castle Iuventus Sacrum with a complete system of guesthouses, thermal baths and infrastructure according to old roman plans, including running water from the lakes and waterfalls on the grounds themselves. He knew how important the young people were for a nation, they were the future. He knew that educating them was making sure that the empire had a future at all. He called his palace the palace of sacred youth, or in the language Old Wandiffian, a dialect of Latin, Iuventus Sacrum. Simon had a brother, John. He was younger, dark haired, constantly brooding type. His extraordinary expertise, however, made him an invaluable asset to the king. Everywhere the king went, he was there as advisor. In the spring of 1103, Simon and John got into an argument that lead to their mutual estrangement. By that fall, only three-quarters of all royal decisions were signed by both brothers and the decision was made legal that only the king’s signature and seal was required for legality. John began speaking against his brother at every possible occasion. He ridiculed him at parties and he countered his opinions in the senate. In an open forum in the capital, Clurafar, he was faced with facts of having to cope with the new laws or leave. John promised to cope and signed a treaty with his brother on the 11th of March 1105 that he would only be required to add his signature to one-half of the official treaties. That summer, John was the perfect example of brotherly love. He was so perfect that many never suspected he was planning a coup-de-tat. The only one not suspecting this new change was Simon himself, but sadly he said nothing. John was working behind the scenes. Secretly, he was recruiting infiltrators among the criminals of Clurafar. By that September of 1105 there were three hundred members in this most secret of organizations. Officially, John was always on solitary riding training during these rides. He could be gone up to a week during these sporadic “crusades”. The worst criminals of Prosperania were now part of a group that called themselves “The Holy Order of the Nocturnal Activities” or “The Dark Order” as they often met at night. The legend goes that these men were given the task in the end of September of riding out across the continent and recruiting new members that were interested in joining their group. The group literally grew larger from then on without John having to do a thing. By 1106, apparently, he had an army of five thousand recruited from North Africa, Hispania, Prosperania, East, West, North and South. Completely oblivious to all of this, Simon was prompted by John to sign an official militia treaty with him on the Ides of March 1106, stating that all military power be parted equally between them. In an official meeting of Prosperanian dignitaries, two days later on the 17th of March 1106, John marched out, ripping the document in two, claiming it a “preposterous outrage” and wanted full control. Simon threw him out and John left, willingly and was not heard of for two years. Well planned until the end, his coup worked meticulously. He returned the Spring of 1108 with an army no one had seen before. Living underground, training in secret territories for two years, they had become the Army of Death and he attacked Iuventus Sacrum during the night on the 14th of April 1108. The core of the army dragged Simon out to the marketplace of Clurafar and hung him there from the old senate by his feet. They took the family and raped his wife on the square, whilst Simon hung there half dead. John whispered into Simon’s ear that day that the dark order had won, that Prosperania soon would become Nocturania. The army killed the entire family and imprisoned the only surviving son, George, in the dungeons of the castle, now renamed Mortis Examine. He was never allowed to leave the castle, but soon enough he was transferred to a rather dainty room way off in the west wing of the palace. On the 2nd of July 1108, Greater Nocturania was born, Prosperania completely defeated. For ten years, this young man lived under the care of Simon’s former housemaid Carina, who was said to have been a bastard daughter of one of John’s executed generals. John being very prone to carelessness, he rarely saw what was happening. Carina gave the young man food and kept him alive for ten years and no one knew why this only survivor was guarded so poorly. It often happened that she spent the night there and the guards spent the entire night with their ears to the door.
In 1118, on a dark summer night, the two escaped, having planned an escape for two years. Their plan was to flee to Olandus, a peaceful country up north, where they would build a family. But the couple was discovered at the border and taken to a secret hiding place, a castle in the outskirts that John originally built as a personal brothel, which was guarded day and night with its lonely prisoners. They kept planning further escapes. The good thing was that they now were together. They were unable to leave, but their love was official. John even permitted them to marry each other. A year later the young couple bore a child named Joseph who spent his first eight years at this mansion, which was more of a gilded cage for them than anything else. Carina was forced to act as child bearer for John and his generals and all in all gave birth to ten bastard sons. 19 years after the death of his father, in 1127, George finally managed to escape the country with Carina and his son Joseph and managed to cross the border and settle in Olandus. He swore never to return. He built a career for himself as a farmer of well means in the country of Olandus up north. He had lost all interest in regaining his father's land. It was after his father's death in 1149 that Joseph, thirty years old and a young recruit in the A.N.C., the Army of the Northern Countries, swore revenge. Carina, on her deathbed, told him to go ahead and avenge her husband and he made her a promise to regain his father’s country. Joseph, as a Lieutenant of the Olandus Army, had received the King of Olandus’ interest in storming the country. Ten years of work brought him the success he had hoped for. He was 40 when he was appointed General of the entire Army and 41 when he marched into Prosperania with the jointed effort of ten nations. An act that set Medatlantia into a raging war. The bastard sons that Carina had given birth to, all members of the royal consulate were lynched by angry mobs during the last months of the war. On the last day of the war, John’s bastard son Zeltar escaped Clurafar after battling Joseph on the town wall. He stole a horse and no one knew where he had gone. Some people said he had settled in North Africa and joined the Gfuhre Riders, an infamous pirate organization. In 1168 A.D., on the 6th of May after a massive war, Prosperania was reformed and the enemies were defeated, giving them a piece of land west of the large restructured empire of Prosperania, a land named Nocturania ruled by John’s ancestors, the Johnathans. Since that day, the two opposite countries, founded by brothers in heaven as on earth, fought to gain ground and again win territory of each other’s existence. During the 12th century’s last decade, the king of Olandus claimed that neutrality again was a very vital subject and withdrew from all negotiations about joining treaties. For no apparent reason, they crawled back into the hole that they had been in for years. Since that time, no one in the rest of Medatlantia bothered with doing anything more than exchange trade with the shy northerners. Not until the 1420’s, that is. The bright light became a part of darkness. It was the duty of the brighter lights still in Heaven to battle his efforts. And so, in the light of that effort our story begins, reincarnated into one part oblivion and one part bliss. That spring, the king was returning home and with his return a mysterious rider came back to terrorize the royals inside the haunted kingdom.

Our tale begins.


CHAPTER ONE:
THE PRIDE AND THE PASSION
Once upon a time there was a prosperous kingdom; one so burgeoning that it influenced an entire continent. Prosperania lay within an alternate reality, a reality alternate to our own and to others. This was the world as it would have been in other dimensions had the infrastructure, hygiene and philosophy of the Antiquity not died after Rome’s fall. Running water and good roads were as regular here as open marketplace and democracy, senators, free speech, Godly as well as angelic belief and medical evolvement based purely on homeopathic science.
This land was created by St. Michael in the dawn of time.
Into this world Princess Belinda Winsletenna was born in the year of our Lord 1401.
Belinda was the daughter of King Alexander III of Prosperania and the castle in which she was born in June lay outside of the capital Clurafar. Her father was a kind man with a booming voice, tall as a tree and gentle as a willow. For hours on end the king would sit by the crib, even in his ermine and satin robe, singing lullabies to his baby girl.
In years past, the king had cried silent tears over having lost friends to eternity and seen family wither away. He had seen a sister curse his kingdom and another kingdom become a curse. For the first time in a long, long while the troubled man who just happened to be king could feel hope in his heart once more. Queen Sieglinde said, “The baby healed the earnest scars of his majesty’s times of yore”.
The king and his daughter soon found a certain rapore, a sort of understanding that went beyond the visible. Their hearts were one, their souls unified. Soon enough from all over this known world kings and queens came to greet the youngling. They brought guilded coaches and precious diamonds, peacocks, feathers and hens, stallions, toys, lutes and literature from henceforth-famous dominions. The only one not bringing a gift was the king’s long exiled sister, Aunt Lucinda Iuvinhurmya Winsletenna.
They had always been adversaries, the two siblings, and never in her life had Lucinda accepted her own family or the truth that Alexander was her master, both in terms of politics and in her life. The once young girl, a recluse and a rebel by nature, had slowly turned into a lunatic upon royal grounds. In 1392, she turned perilous and burned down one of the guesthouses on the royal grounds. She killed almost all of her own family and left her parents with broken hearts. Consequently, Alexander threw her into a carriage and sent her off to the neighbouring realm of Nocturania, known as the dark land, to rot.
Before she left, she promised one day to return. “In thirty years a magic spell shall arouse the demon hounds of hell,” she whispered to her brother as the carriage door slammed shut.
Nocturania had always been Prosperania’s Achille’s heel and therefore a fitting new home for the exiled sister. Founded by two brothers, Simon the Great and John the Strong, the empires had fought wars, with and without weapons, for centuries. Ever since Simon’s ancestors won back Prosperania on the 6th of May 1168, the Johnathans, John’s ancestors, had been ruling the dark neighbour.
This country was Lucifer creative outburst.
There were two siblings, creators: the fallen angel and his brother, who had already travelled far, when in the year of our Lord 1411, Princess Belinda heard the name of her adversary for the first time. The creations: the offspring of good, Belinda’s father King Alexander of Prosperania, the reincarnation of Joseph, the original man of Earth. His sister, Lucinda, was a daughter of evil, the reincarnation of Rebecca, the original woman and a mistress of the Nocturanian king Adnicul. The last battle of Eden was to be fought on Earth within the haunted kingdom as a result of this family bond. The two created siblings met again in 1411 after having been apart for 19 years. This was an archangelic bloodfeud.
The two angels Michael and Lucifer were conducting a cat and mouse game through the alternate reality. Michael begat Alexander who battled Lucinda. Lucinda was Lucifer’s prime disciple.


The way it all began

Lucinda had been experimenting with black magic in her room down the hall since age nine.
At the commencement of puberty she had started inviting boys into her room against her family’s will. She became somewhat of a frivolous girl with a rounded figure and a dashing smile, a grin that would surprise a lover with a knife in the back, if only figuratively speaking.
Alexander had always had a problem with the girl that kept on teasing his three other younger siblings. Peter, two years younger, had never recovered from the fact that Lucinda accused him of being impotent after at an early age catching him trying to fall alseep during a storm in his mother’s bed. She had kept on calling him a virgin prince until he decided to study theology and forget marriage. He had fallen and hurt himself a week later and appearantly it had to do with the young Lucinda, who had stood around a corner with a rabbit’s tail and a lizard’s forked tongue. On the other hand it might just have been insecurity on Peter’s part.
The twins Barbara and Laura kept out of Lucinda’s way and it had never been a secret that the two always found Lucinda appalling. But as for Alexander, he never tried to avoid her. He spoke to her like he thought she should be spoken to: with discipline. Anytime she attacked the twins, his rage knew very few bounds. Anytime Peter was attacked Alex found no end to his fury. Gertrude and Bertrand were unhappy that the fifth child they never had wanted came anyway. It was a shame, but both parents had not wanted the child. The parents had only experienced hardship with the youngster, even as early as pregnancy, even as early as conception was concerned.
The night of conception had been one of many a debate. The facts about it were these: the lightning storm a few weeks before commencement had almost killed the entire cattle herd on the field and the stables had burnt down during it, leaving the stable boys desperate and the horses in panic. Moreover, the gentle King Bertrand had turned into a beast during lovemaking that night, surprising Queen Gertrude and leaving her not speaking with him for over a moon. The labour was as difficult as the birth itself was cataclysmic. The physician had come late due to an accident and when the young girl had been born, she had drooled and spat.
The caul over her face had to be removed with a heavy cloth.
If the birth proved hard then Lucinda’s childhood proved surprising.
She was a stunning beauty with her black hair and black eyes. Her slightly tanned features made everyone wonder why she was the only one so dark in the family.
Lucinda was very popular in her teens. Popular just as the ladies of the night seemed to be at Madam Zonga’s, the most infamous brothel in the capital where Patrick had been found sleeping in a pool of his own oral excrements during his youth. By fifteen Lucinda had already broken five hearts. She would sneak out at night, disappear into Clurafar and drink the locals under the table. Her parents noticed it the next morning only because of the ooze of hard liquor from her breath.
Her affairs were equally legendary. Being quite a tease and very ripe for her age, she mostly got what she wanted. She looked 19 at age 14. The fights she had with her parents about this behaviour were legendary, all over the country, and the girl would shout at her father to stop ruining her youth and “Let her be”. In fact, she said that so often that it became a catchphrase among the locals. She would shout it at anyone who disagreed. King Bertrand, otherwise gentle and kind, would start to yell and Gertrude would have to intervene and calm them down.
Sometime in 1391 the state that Lucinda was in – the state of sexual promiscuosity and practical jokery – had turned wicked. Sieglinde and Alex were now proud parents and living at Iuventus.
Prince Alex was being tutored in the ways of a king, as he was to succeed his father the following year, a father whose health had turned bad due to an accident whilst riding around the grounds the previous spring. He could no longer do any good as a politician and knew that his smart and gifted son could do a better job.
Lucinda’s concentration turned to Alex upon that day when this succession was announced. The future king promptly received sarcastic remarks from his younger sister and even was provoked into brutal fights. King Bertrand was now suddenly treated with love and warmth and she would make him dinners and rub his back and Gertrude had to pull her daughter back in order to get her away.
Two things changed that year, according to Belinda’s father: Lucinda’s relationship with her family and the potency of her fury. She had grown a lot angrier and was now playing tricks on Maria, for instance, Maria always made sure that Lucinda was out of the house before coming out of her room. Auntie Lucinda, only nine years older, had yet only dropped frog’s eggs into her shoes and ants into her nightgown. In 1391 the tricks she played turned intricate, complicated. She would build machines in order to make a trip and invite archenemies of the royal house to visit and spend the evening making love to them. She would rip off Maria’s clothes and force her to stand there stark naked watching them make love. There were torture tools and hot buring candles and sticks.
This went on into 1392 when the incidents preceeding the event that shook the empire twisted into visciousness. When Alexander on his birthday succeeded his father on the throne, he made a decision to lock Lucinda up in a separate wing of the summerhouse after she had been caught planting poisonous lizards in her mother’s bed. The decision was highly unpopular and made Alexander a much suspected man, but as the summerhouse was large and the attic far away there was no fear of escape. This was what he thought.

Monday, September 23rd, 1392 A.D.

The doors to Lucinda’s prison room had been bolted and local guards were stationed outside the door day and night. She had a separate closed garden on the roof for recreation and a separate music ensemble that was there to give her joy, separate cooks and even separate maids. The horror that these people had to endure was first known when one of the cooks escaped on the day of the famous fire. His name was Gordon Rumus. Much later it became known that this had been the father of the deliveryman whose horse had been injured in the crash back in April of 1422. That year, Alexander had bought a bolted prison wagon in case of an emergency with Lucinda. He did not know why, but he would find use for it one day in the very close future. A big entourage of guests was at the summer house to celebrate the birth of Princess Morgana and the party was in full swing when Gordon came down to the bottom floor bleeding, rose thorns stuck into his body. He was running into the reception hall telling the guests that Lucinda was holding a black mass up there with him as a victim. Alexander and five other guests ran up and broke down the door, found Lucinda pouring herbs and serums over a few of the maids. All of the guards barged in and were accused of neglecting their duties. They claimed not to have heard anything and didn’t feel responsible for the havoc. Everyone but Lucinda was given leave and the guests were kept away from all of this, taken on a tour of the grounds by Rolf’s father Olaf. Five men, all senators from the Parliament, walked up to Lucinda’s attic. Together with Alexander they chained Lucinda to a chair and threw her in a cage originally designed to hold merely a medium sized parrot. A stack of bibles was thrown in and a prayer was yelled. The men then ran down and waited for the guests to return. When they did, the feast continued. People sang and drank, ate and joked and there were even two or three pairs that disappeared into back rooms to make love.
The second warning shook the manor around mid evening.
Sieglinde and Alex had been talking to Gertrude and Bertrand about having the old guest house, The Rose, renovated when a great crash shook the mansion. The six men who had chained Lucinda to the chair ran up to the attic and found Lucinda fallen over inside her cage. She had been chewing on a bible. Around early nightfall all of the guests met for supper and everyone seemed a little morose about what had happened, but by mid nightfall Alex was already telling stories that made everyone laugh. Peter, Laura and Barbara sat next their brother and were especially happy that their king was happy again. The proud parents smiled all through the laughter and the joviality.
When the party was at its peak with everyone laughing and performing charades and lewd imitations, Lucinda was there and smiling at the edge of the table with Gordon’s head in her left hand. She had apparently broken out and knocked him down, beheading him with his own sword. No one really knew what happened after that, as it all went very fast. Lucinda sprang around on the walls and tables, grabbing torches from the walls and setting things on fire. Alexander tried to grab her, but she was too fast for him. She called him an old man and knocked him over, hurting his knee and presenting him with a life-long wound that would hurt him until his death.
Soon enough all hell broke loose and the summer mansion was evacuated with a crowd of people out on the lawn crying and gasping for air. The house was burning down steadily and soon enough there was not much house left to rescue. The whole sky was full of smoke that day, or so they said.
At one point, Alex had vowed to rescue his siblings but had seen them drop into oblivion three stories down in a hole that Lucinda had made in the floor. They died in the fire. In spite of this, Alex vowed to count the survivors and it was made clear that somehow Alexander’s three siblings had all died in the fire. When that was clear, Bertrand fell apart and started weeping and had to be taken home and nursed by Gertrude, who did her best not to cry, although her heart was aching.
As soon as the guests were on their way to the various guesthouses and the guards on their way to try stopping the fire where they could, Alexander took the injured Lucinda by the hair and locked her up tied to the wall in the back of the wine cellar of Main Iuventus.
He rode by himself to town and ordered the Royal Senate personally to arrange a carriage and a driver who was willing to take Lucinda to Nocturania and leave her there in custody with King Henry John, but in the meantime it was clear that Lucinda had started gnawing on her ropes. By the time Alex was back Olaf was dead, strangled by the ropes and Lucinda was crouching over Olaf’s son Rolf ready to kill him. A driver was already there with a carriage. The carriage was no good, so he pulled her into the stables and threw her into the multicoated prison carriage that he had bought that year. Alex ordered the driver to leave for Callenia. When she had turned around to face him and told she would return he told her that she would not have a chance because she was to be beheaded across the border. But a month later, it had been told through a message that was brought to the castle by way of a dove, Lucinda was on the run. The Madeleine-Scandal that almost ruined the kingdom before Patrick’s birth, the second of the problem children, gave Alex his puritanism. When Belinda finally was born it was obvious that it was a victory for Alex because of the great difficulty that Sieglinde had in bringing the baby to the world.

Thursday, June 4th, 1411 A.D.
Iuventus Sacrum, last day of childhood peace

Iuventus Sacrum was and always had been the palace of sacred youth. In that respect, the little girl named Princess Belinda Winsletenna of Clurafar was its’ prime representative force. She was a sacred little girl. Not in her holiness. She was a feisty little thing. She was honest. Moody, I’ll give you that. But honest and fair was she. She was true to everyone but herself.
She was ten years old today and had been treated with custard tart, chocolate spice cake, pumpkin pudding, rosemary truffles, raisin bread, rosemary lemonade, apple nectar, marzipan juice, fruit pudding and mint cream.
She had cheated herself to taking this walk alone and now she felt guilty about that.
The royal princess was walking among the sunflowers on the field west of the grand palace. The sun up in the sky was about two hours away from its’ zenith and the sunflowers that filled the field to the brim from hill to hill made Belinda rejoice.
As her presents had been so countless that she had spent four hours this morning discussing with fifty courtesans what each and every present was and how much she liked them. Yes, the teddy bear had real diamonds as eyes. How impressive. That bell was solid gold. That was fabulous.
A boy five years her senior named Thomas Count of Barnesworthy, Tom Barnes for short, had been assigned to protect her by her father. Her dear father was constantly afraid that something would happen to her, even though Belinda had insisted she needed just a moment for herself. Tom had accordingly followed her and she had told him that she wished to be alone now and that he could amuse himself otherwise among the poppies and she would come there in an hour or so and get him and then they would go back together to the palace and pretend that they had been together all along.
Tom Barnes was not happy about it and did what he was told, albeit against his will.
She was happy though to be alone, since there had been only weeks ago that her father had notified her succession to the throne. She was now a crown princess, a fact that sort surprised her. Was she smart enough, pretty enough, quick enough, nice enough, hard enough to be queen? According to everyone, yes. Maria had given her the assignment after careful consideration, because she felt that she was not good enough or ready enough for such a task. Belinda suspected that her father really had persuaded Maria to give it up, because he felt that Belinda was better.
Belinda was very mature, that was true.
Was she ready to be queen?
She didn’t know.
She tried to concentrate on other things.
She enjoyed this place. All her life she had been here, feeling like a visitor in a strange land. Sometimes she came with her ladies in waiting, sometimes with her mother or father, sometimes with her siblings. Mostly she came alone, spending time talking to the sunflowers. They were her friends.
There was something about those flowers that shone in her heart when she looked at them. Her soul somehow felt really calm when she looked at them. Made her want to be the best she could be.
Who could come here of all places to harm her? She was old enough to be alone over here. Especially her father, who usually trusted her with things, was so extraordinarily worried if she walked out alone. She wondered why. She supposed he didn't want to risk anything. He really wanted her to be queen. She wanted it, too.
She felt somehow that she could be a good queen. It was funny in a way. Because her favourite girl in waiting Marie-Louise and she had always played king and queen and in fact did it when her father came and told her he wanted to suggest to the senators that she be heir to the throne. But, my God, what an interesting thing to become queen. Scary in a way, was it not? A future queen, how did that sound? They were scared. She wasn't. She was not scared of anything at all.
She ran her fingers across the sunflowers and walked zigzag among them, some of them tickling her legs under her flowery dress. She giggled at both the thought of becoming a queen and at the feeling of the flowers against her legs. Belinda sang a song.
What will it be like when you ask me?
What will it be like when you kiss?
What will it be like when the flowers of fall
Turn into something I miss?
What will it be like when we marry?
What will it be like when we cry?
What will it be like when you say yes
To a question of do or die?
She wondered whom she would love.
She was romantic, like so many girls.
She knew that she surprised them by being so articulate and learned. She couldn't help having all this experience. Being the king's daughter. Did that make her aloof or better than other girls?
No, not really.
How could she have anything to do with being a princess? Could she help that? Most boys couldn't have a normal conversation with her. She longed for someone that did not look like they were in awe of her status. It had to be the right love, of course. Her father wanted a boy that was from a good home. A queen that ruled a country as big as this had to have a good boy as a husband. He would be titled "Prince-King". She said she would want him to be her King but with her ruling the country completely with his advice, of course.
She had only prior to her appointment to the throne seen the scribes in their red robes rushing down the hallways like hungry dogs for their master's dinner. She felt depressed when her father had too many duties to see her. He always tried to have time for her. But then and again which was quite often, it did not work at all and her daddy had to be away for months to some country. Then she would take a picture of him around and tell him stuff. "My picture-father,” she called it.
That day, he was there. The day she became "queen to be" as she called it. The scribes rushed down the hallways to see her. That felt good. But after four hours of signing and tutoring, her eyes were tired and she just wanted her bed. When the fifth hour came, she stood up and screamed at her daddy (the first and only time she had ever done that in her life): "I'm just a little girl!" He had been so sweet and carried her to bed to the protest of the royal scribes of the Senate. After the horrible year of 1411, Alexander decided to write his own documents, letting the scribes go. Due to the stress they caused.
In fact there had been only one thing left to sign, but her head was spinning with all of this information. She felt really bad about leaving like that and then letting the scribes wait for a night and the entire morning before they could leave and give the Senate its papers about her being the girl that was to become a queen one day.
It was too much for a little girl. After all, she was ten years old. But, practically a woman now (she thought so, anyway), her silly family laughed at the prospect of her telling the world not to go beyond her capabilities. There was a lot of woman in her waiting to break out. A deep thought entered her conscious mind and dived into her sleeping soul.
And at once, that shadow was there again. Standing on the hill. A black dress. Black hair. Black eyes. Long lost. Exiled woman back. The sunflowers seemed distant in the face of a person that did nothing but stand and watch. Her face was dark and, though the face was new, the stories of a sister gone were not. And soon enough the kingdom was in tears. And a young would-be queen was tied up in a coach on the way to a distant land. The young girl that called herself the soon-to-be queen was not in a field of sunflowers singing songs of jolly spring. She was in a black coach decorated with diamond studs, tied up in thick rope and muffled with rough cloth.
The ten year old maiden had been wandering about among the sunflowers as was her custom, when Lucinda had returned and took her away to her own palace in far west of Yambollah. She had been walking the sunflower field for a full hour singing that day. She had hummed as children do, letting the flowers know that her father had planted for her tickle her legs, knowing fully well that her father would reprimand her in having let Tom stand by the poppy field.
The figure on the hill above must’ve stood there for a long time until she noticed it. It was only when it came closer she noticed it was Lucinda. Running away had no purpose for guards were waiting by her side. A young girl like her gave the black souls a run for their money and she even knocked Lucinda down, telling her she would send her father on her.
Gagged she was thrown in the back of a blue carriage and tied up together with smelly brutes. For days she had been left without much food or water and anytime she was fed with stinking liquid and really old mouldy bread rolls she tried to escape. Once, about a week after her capture, she even made it a whole day, and managed to sleep over in a barn, the owner being very sweet about it all thinking she was a tramp of some kind. The guards caught her as she was about to leave and the old man, who lived alone, as a widower with his son on the farm, tried his best to protect the girl, but it didn’t work out. It was apparently then it dawned on him who she was.
In Iuventus Sacrum all hell had broken loose. A note had been found, telling her father that “Belinda is now under my care” and in red ink “Lucinda”. She knew that Alex knew that she was Adnicul’s lover in Rigor Mortis, so it was just a question of time before he arrived.
Callenia was dark and the birds circled the wagon as they rode down a leaf-covered path in the middle of spring. Undernourished, tortured, crying and lonely she arrived in the large castle at the beginning of May and promptly dressed in rags and was tied to a bed down in the castle dungeon. She spat at every person she could and screamed herself hoarse every day in the dungeons, waiting for her father, praying for her father. Hoping he would come. Hoping and praying. The man with the eye patch came every day and would say nothing but: “Let the bitch whither away!” She knew not who he was, only that he was everything she was not. Occasionally, she was taken out in chains and given a nice meal, but she could not swallow or eat anything at all. Lucinda offered her the kingdom itself if she only became a witch under her protection. She refused and was brought to the rack once again. She dreamt and she never knew if it was night or day. The guards would come and do unspeakable things, Lucinda would arrive and look at her for hours and Belinda drifted away, not knowing if what she saw was a vision or a dream.
She saw herself in a carriage at age 21, wearing a green dress on the way to a meeting with an enemy. She saw herself beating up the young woman and heard herself say: “My horse is black and my name is Nina Ray!” The woman slowly turned into Lucinda sitting at the edge of the rack she was tied to, who confirmed the vision by exclaiming: “There’s your Apocalyptic Nina, your sign of disgrace!” The young girl was terrified and had no idea what this was. The noises that scared her in the beginning of July that year eventually brought her father back into her arms and Rigor Mortis was burnt to the ground after a raging war between the two battalions that left everyone dead, except Adnicul and Lucinda who were gone. The young girl would not speak for months after the horrid experience that had torn her soul apart.
There were stories of Rigor Mortis miraculously appearing back in full splendour again. Her father’s words ringing in her ears: “The only reason why I don’t tear your country to pieces, Adnicul, is to spare my daughter a war. My country does not need a war.”

Near Rigor Mortis Castle, Sunday, October 11th, 1411 A.D.
Enemy Kingdom of Nocturania

Four black horses led the coach through the deep dark night, its coachman was a man with a navy blue cape. His one eye patch over the right eye was new and the hole beneath it was a punishment. He would not reveal his origin to anyone but the woman whose abduction this was. The girl inside tried to scream, but couldn't. The screams were muffled and soon whips were brought out and chains rattled.
The flowers were dying a slow death of lonely sorrow over not yet revealed betrayal. This was an unexpected breach of exile, an unexpected return of a certain individual. Iuventus Sacrum, the palace of sacred youth, was in tears. And so was the king.
That night, Belinda Winsletenna had ridden all night in a carriage with no name. Lucinda held her by the neck and inserted little rose thorns into her forehead. She had seen her father looking for her back in September, an entire galleon of soldiers riding through the night practically next to her and not hearing her. Now, it seemed, Lucinda and Adnicul were only taking her out to torture her.
The night was used to get Belinda closer to Hell. She was tied to a tree in the middle of a black forest and was forced to watch the two culprits make love naked against a pine tree.

The Dungeon of Rigor Mortis Castle
Monday, October 12th, 1411 A.D.

Lucinda Winsletenna was standing only feet away from the wooden bench upon which her niece now was strapped. The woman was wearing a dress now that had been sowed for her by the royal seamstress. It was long flowing robe covering her from head to toe, studded with black diamonds. Her make-up was so over the top that to Belinda it seemed almost funny.
It would have been funny if she had not been chained to a wooden bench.
It was obviously a rack that had not been in use for quite a while.
It was rusty and the blood stains from other victims were still on the chains. When Lucinda unlatched the handles for her ankles they wouldn’t open.
Now, Belinda looked up at a stone wall that had absolutely no windows in it. She had desperately looked for one or even a hole that a rat could creep out from, but there was none. All she could see were torches. The long passage that led to a rounded alleyway behind the second staircase was the only thing she saw. To her right there was a closet full of torture instruments. The rack was the only thing that really prominently dominated the area and it was facing a large stone staircase of maybe forty four feet wide and two feet high steps. On the rounded right wall next to the stairs there were about ten torches that were exchanged every hour or so by servants.
Belinda was ten. She had no connection what so ever to sexuality, not really anyway. Yet, here she was, naked on a rack and being stared at by her aunt in ways that she never had seen anyone stare at her before. Was that sexual? No, it was lust. But she was sure it was lust to kill and lust for revenge, not lust to copulate.
Belinda had always had a fast mouth and she had been famous for her quick remarks.
Now, she was feeling conflicting emotions.
She had been fed once today.
She had no idea if this was daytime or evening time.
It was obvious that they did not want to kill her, because Lucinda had said she would be forced to eat more than she could stand in a day or two. They would feed her with beer and wine and ostrich and deer only to bring her down here and hang her by the feet.
Lucinda stood there by her side for so long that Belinda had a pain in her neck from staring at her. She had to tilt her head sideways in order not to miss seeing her when she hit her another time with her whip. She would try to swing her young body so that at least part of the lash would miss her.
All she could think of was her father.
She wanted to go home.
Belinda’s body was full of her own urine and blood and she was sweating so much that she could not see straight. Lucinda, however, was calm and did not move an inch.
“Belinda, dear” she cooed.
“I am not your dear” Belinda spat back.
“You will be, bitch” Lucinda snapped in a very lovable tone.
Belinda collected all the saliva her own mouth was capable of gathering and then spat it out upon her aunt’s face.
Lucinda let the saliva run down her face and then let it drop down her face.
She did not utter one word of hatred.
The only answer was a grin.
Belinda carried on, thinking that she was safe to keep on with her hatred.
“You were evicted from our country for reason, Lucinda” Belinda screamed, hearing her own voice echo in the stony vaults. Lucinda raised one eyebrow.
“Oh” Lucinda said calmly, the torches casting dancing lights from the flames upon her countenance. “I thought that I was just thrown out because Alexander didn’t like my cooking.”
“Lucinda, you burned down our summer house after performing satanic rituals upon our grounds” Belinda hollered, now in tears. “Then you murdered our butler.”
Lucinda leaped out from her stiff silence and sprang upon Belinda with a vigour that would’ve made an antelope jealous. “Now I’ll tell you what, little princess futile and prissy” Lucinda croaked. “Your father never accepted me as a person or a female or sister and he drove me to those acts. He threw me into a carriage and evicted me into one of the worst forests in this continent. The area out there is destined to remain the most vicious in this world. He left me there” Lucinda said and pointed toward the wall that had the dark forest beyond it. “I swore on that day to return to haunt him. I will avenge my pain and you are the beginning of that journey toward my reprisal. I shall return to even the score myself for being treated like soil.”
“You deserved it, you whore” Belinda hollered.
Lucinda’s capes were teeming Belinda with cloth and they were as soft on her gentle face as Lucinda was hard.
“Shut up, you senseless little twit” Lucinda screamed. She paused. “Sweet little frilly, I shall return to haunt you when you have grown up. We shall have the chance to battle soon enough.”
“My father will be here soon, Lucinda” Belinda screamed.
Lucinda slapped Belinda across the face with such vigour that it made Belinda cry.
“Could be, pussy” she sang. “I’ll tell you though that he can’t forego his fate. He let me out to be eaten by the wolves. I am a princess and I deserve respect. He shall feel on his own skin what it is like to be left alone with only ghouls as friends.” Lucinda looked Belinda was very intense eyes and then added: “When you are grown up and adult full of breasts and sensual lusts a woman by the name of Nina Ray shall cross your path. Then you will know that I am not far away.”
Belinda took a long look at Lucinda. “Who is Nina Ray?”
Lucinda gave Belinda a muddy smile. “You will find out in good time.”

The Dark Forests of Nocturania,
Saturday, November 21st. 1411 A.D.

A troop of thirty-seven soldiers from the royal army, led by the king that year, had rode into enemy lands for about two weeks when they were attacked by the forest warriors. The forest queen had held them hostage for a day. When the king had promised them gold and pearls from the Neapolonian Archives they were let go. Riding on to the edge of the Callenia, the darkest and most brutal of Nocturanian forests, their horses were tired and their bodies were rough and beaten. It was an angry army that crashed into Rigor Mortis that autumn, beating down the gates with a large wooden pole and pressing King Adnicul against the wall. Belinda had been on the bed in the dungeons, in chains, and there had been nothing left of her giddiness, just fears of the bats hanging from the ceiling and the cockroaches resting on her arms. Lucinda had laughed through it all, but stopped Zedrick arrived, threatening with punishment.
And so, they were gone, leaving the Nocturanian Palace in flames, the heir to the throne cuddled up in royal arms. Soon enough, the palace rebuilt again, the threats of war and countless attacks on Nocturanian rural area to no avail, leaving the king steaming with anger.
It was only Queen Sieglinde herself who urged the king not to start a war and let the matter rest for their child’s sake. So, it was decided the case was closed, the files archived. Everyone trying to cheer up the young lassie and make her forget the unforgettable was not enough.

Late autumn of 1411, Forest of Callenia, Deepest Nocturania

It came to pass that the first floor of the castle Rigor Mortis in Nocturania was in flames that day, just like another castle had been almost two decades prior. Outside an army of forty men waited transfixed by some power that prevented them from attacking the palace. Forty soldiers pointed their swords at Lucinda and Adnicul and no one struck them down. Stains on the floor were drops of Belinda’s blood. The young girl had been crying and the bruises from the chains upon her wrists were still so deep that Alexander believed that he could see his daughter’s bones under the wound. His daughter’s words haunted him.
“Who is Nina Ray?” She asked.
There was no question that his sister had physically and spiritually tortured his daughter. What amazed the king was how calm the two culprits responsible seemed to be. Nineteen years ago his sister had swung from lamps, rode on banisters, burned down staircases. She was exiled as a murderer and vandilizer. Now she had tried it again. The king’s daughter was making Uncle Zedrick’s left shoulder pad wet with her tears. No more than the king had power over the wind or the sea had he power over the witch. He could not stop her from trying this again. Neither could Alex. All he could do was clutch his daughter, stroke her hair and hope that the stormy sea named Lucinda Winsletenna would not decide to flood his kingdom. With that in mind, Zedrick Ronkenshire, a robust man with thick black hair, took the small girl into his arms and led her out toward the carriage, having negotiated to let the girl go. This didn’t help. The girl screamed for her father. “Father, I don’t want to leave you.”
He replied, “We won’t be here long, Sweetheart, but it is safer for you to leave.”
Alexander had spent the last six months since the kidnapping trying to find a place that seemed to be off the map. It had vanished. Then, by some sheer stroke of luck, it appeared again. A messenger that had been sent shortly after Alexander had left Nocturania for the second time in September and then an army of forty arrived at the Nocturanian palace.
There was nothing at all to be done. The army was transfixed and the culprits refused to say anything about anything. They simply stood there answering no questions. To all of the entire Prosperanian delegation it seemed as if it had been planned for them to find and bring the princess back to Clurafar. They didn’t protest at all. The princess was traumatized and that maybe had been the point.
Belinda was in his arms all the way home from hell and yet in his dreams he shivered in cold sweat. Alexander knew that somewhere peace could be found, even if he had to go back to hell to find it. The winter of 1411 was a season filled with nightmares. He had seen a dark army riding down an avenue in his dreams. They were on the way home to his palace, eradicating innocent victims. That year the king returned to his palace garden, where he had dropped a golden coin into a deep well as a child, and with his daughter he sat and watched the sunset. It was an ambivalent experience. He had seen his exiled sister again. She had told him that she would return to his capital, Clurafar. He vowed that never again would his daughter’s blood be spilled. The king daydreamed of rivers and lakes and mountains. He heard his child sleeping in his arms, her small snore vibrating against his heart.
He cried, whispering: “My girl, I will protect you!”
And he dreamed of a world without Lucinda Winsletenna.
It seemed he had known her forever.


CHAPTER TWO
HOME IN 1422

Eleven years later, Late Saturday morning, April 11th, 1422 A.D.,
Near the Capital of Clurafar, Prosperania

Alexander Winsletenna found himself traveling home yet again. The king dreamt a daydream of peace, finding himself by the campfire of his mind enjoying the fruits of success. After being away for so many months it was a relief not to have to sleep in a foreign dignitary’s bed or smile at people he disliked who tried to figure out what soup to serve him or what colour the carpet was under his left toe. Happy, content, but worries in his heart like a secret code only with great labour something to be decrypted. Wasn’t it time to leave all bureaucratical battles behind? This was an old Wandiffian empire. They had stabilized that civilization by being democratic and benevolent rulers.
The click clacking of the horse’s hooves against the dust and stones seemed a perpetual mobile of never-ending natural machinery to him. He'd heard the noise of their rush for such a long time now, since leaving that country and yet, although present, the noise seemed to come from another dimension. All he could think of was King Mustafus of Alliland laughing himself silly at Alexander's stories an evening some time ago, only to take him to the royal guest suite, offer him female courtesans and elicit patronizing comments. His unorthodox way of treating guests was infamous and if he hadn't been one of Alexander's oldest friends he would have been insulted.
As Alexander traveled the last few miles back toward Iuventus Sacrum that day, he thought of King Mustafus and his piece of advice as a fellow royal and friend, which brought him to wonder if it was a difficulty for his piece of mind that he could care at all. Maybe thinking of the recent mood swings of his adult children and the temper tantrums that seemed to distinguish at least one special one from the others had made him seem distant at the party, in spite of his cover-up of royal glee. Mustafus made it clear that his advice had nothing to do with the evening reception. Alex had been "funnier than a fiddler's fart" that evening. No, he had noticed it for years. His disrespect was not royal.
"It takes pain to realize that you can't live your life through other people. Live your life for yourself, Alexander. Put yourself in your own main room of your own spiritual castle." Mustafus told him. Was that true? He knew that he lived his life trying to help Belinda. Was that right?
Alexander worked all the time. His knee hurt. The wound reminded him of Lucinda. The hurting knee reminded him of how she had thrown him down the staircase. He was worried. Put yourself first, he thought, hmmm, maybe Mustafus was right. Alex looked out the window at the countryside flashing by him like stars in the night. He shifted in his seat, stretched a bit and took out his flask of wine and drank. There was a basket of bread next to it and he took a piece and ate. As he munched away, he looked at the Shushienae Valley, surrounded by its four hills, in the middle its glorious waterfall that led to Clurafar River and its attractions and harbour and bustling life. He had spent most of his youth here at his grandmother's palace of Transcendia Lucis. Clickety-clack.
It had been thirty years ago this very year. He could not let it go. Neither could Belinda. They had a spiritual bond. Not just a bond between father and daughter, but a mutual trust of faith and fear. Two people who knew each other’s pain. He took another sip of red wine and belched, watching the glorious nature of his land. Alexander dried off his lips and smiled.
As the Shushienae Valley disappeared out of sight with his third cup of Theo's ration of red wine the same man rode up on his horse, his long blond wavy hair decorated with bits of afternoon sunlight through an avenue of oak greenery.
There was a horse galloping in the direction of the royal carriage. It was his royal messenger Theo.
Theo rode up to the wagon and displayed his magic quality of being able to ride, bend over and still hold a conversation with the king at the same time, even accepting an offer of having a sip of wine. He turned the horse around and rode alongside the wagon, making dust wave up behind him. He drank out of the king’s cup, dried off his hand and gave the cup back.
“Thanks, your majesty!”
The king nodded. "What's your errand?"
"There has been an accident a few miles away. What met my eye is a very serious matter.”
“What’s the matter?”
“The man in question claims he saw an attacker” the messenger said. Theo continued. “One of the ones in black capes injured his horse. A wagonload of mead with seven barrels has been spilled.”
The king was still quiet. “Seven” he sighed. “Innocent victims are being terrorized.”
Theo nodded. “Mead, beer, wine … it is all over the ditches.”
Alexander looked up at Theo. “Victims, Theo?”
"An older man, his dying horse." Theo shook his head. "Terrible mess."
"Will the creature survive?”
Theo shook his head. “It broke its leg and ribcage and is probably dying."
"Attacks" Alex said softly, just to himself, looking into the darkness of his coach.
“What does the old man say?” Alexander said as if in a dream.
”He says it was a black hooded rider with a Prosperanian Insignia on the back.”
Theo said nothing for a while, for he knew his majesty was listening to his intuition.
Theo knew that he could continue for the king nodded.
"The coachman described a person that apparently spooked the horse and vanished right before the crash. I tried to inquire about the attacker, but all he could say was that the dark blue cape and hood bore the Royal Prosperanian Eagle and he was constantly crisscrossing in front of the wagon until the horse was in the ditch with the wagon over it."
The king raised his left hand. Alex's eyes widened.
Theo continued, "He is killing under our name now. He’s never before worn our eagle.” Somehow this was Lucinda’s work. Alexander knew it. “Damn.”
“What is on your mind, Sire?” Theo asked, quietly. “Compensation for damages?”
"Yes. Offer it to the old man." Alex said, worried. "It would be bad if we didn't offer it."
"Your daughter Morgana has her precarious, uh, situation with your other daughter Belinda at home. We need to make sure that they actually speak together tomorrow at the meeting.”
“Situation?” Alex mumbled looking up, now a bit scared of what was coming.
“Morgana made a sexual innuendo at Steven. Belinda hates her for it. She refuses to have anything to do with her. They haven’t spoken for a week. Official man-trouble, they tell me.”
“Men, again?” Alex asked. Theo nodded. Alexander shook his head and rubbed his face.
Alex looked up. “Jealous women,” he said.
Theo cocked his head, shrugged his shoulders. He did not have time for this.
The rattling of the carriage was too loud, the horses were too fast and Theo was not keeping up with the king. But the king did not wish to delay the train of coaches, even in urgent delivery of a message. So this kind of conversation was an art in performance.
"What say ye, Sire?"
The road ahead was obviously blocked.
City halls, inns, barnyards and outhouses had suffered attacks, now under a new flag.
Alex looked out the right window. There was a long pause before he looked up at Theo.
"Give me an estimate how long it would take to clean the mess up over there.”
"Dusk at the earliest” Theo assumed. “There is a road ahead that will take the royal coaches home. We pass it soon. It will hold you up to go see the wreckage, Sire.”
“I need to speak with my girls about tomorrow. We do not want to upset the old man either. He might spread the word about the attacker and make people believe it was us."
Theo looked forward nodding to himself as the horse he was on snorted with irritation.
”The rider was wearing the royal eagle, Theo,” Alexander said. Theo nodded, "But guests are expecting the girls to hold a speech. We need our peer’s votes for the acceptance of the new alliance with Alliland and my wife’s home country."
Alexander shook his head. “Give my male heart sanity!” he looked up at Theo and laughed a laugh between men that told Theo: "These damn complicated women!" "We might be delayed if we stop. We need to compensate the man as well as we can."
Theo did not make a move, but the respectful look on his face spoke volumes.
"Send two of the six front guards off to the old man down the road. Ask them to tell him he’ll receive royal sponsoring for the damages. Ride, then report, arrange a time for the old man to come to me later. Make sure the old man visits me in the palace, won’t you? I want to give him a new carriage. And tell the front to take the left road to Paqutshur home instead of the one leading to the wreckage."
Theo still didn't leave, fixing his eyes on the road, then he nodded, saying, "It takes an hour more than the one ahead, but we will still be home before sundown. At least without any delay." He gestured to the trail of wagons in the front and back of the royal coach. They were just coming out of the avenue of trees.
Theo gave his Majesty a friendly, respectful look.
"Ask my housekeeper to cook you a large and delicious dinner with three bottles of sparkling beverage and an appetizing plum pudding as an encore.”
"Thank you, Sire."
Theo saluted quickly.
"Tk-Tk. Move, boy," he commanded and road off.
Alex sat back in the coach and thought to himself of the two arising problems that had just occured. Of course, they'd have to help the old man. Who was this intruder that was attacking so many targets? The targets were now not only houses, but civilians. He'd have to call Belinda to a meeting. Belinda surprised him. Morgana? Well, that was to be expected.
The royal couple, Sieglinde's own brother and his wife, would come this autumn to visit and the two girls had agreed to be the royal sponsors. He took another bite of bread. He looked out, his mouth full, and saw the two front guards gallop off with Theo.
The coach rocked back and forth with the motion of the horses. He wanted to think of other things, but the only thing he could think of was the broken carriage, a wagonload of beer over a dying horse. Ten minutes must have passed before he could forget the coachman and his anonymous attacker. And just as they had the downhill behind them and ridden a ways on the path they took the road toward Paqutshur to home past a pasture of lilies. Alexander fell asleep again and dreamt of home. This time, Lucinda herself was not in the picture. But the dying horse was. Alexander thought of his greatest adversary, King Adnicul, who made himself scarce and kept attacking the north harbours under false flag. Somehow, Alexander had a feeling not going to see the old man might be a mistake. The girls needed his attention. He was forced to make a decision and stand by it.

Noontime, Saturday, April 11th, 1422 A.D.
Beyond the road to Paqutshur past the royal entourage

Cap in hand and dressed in grey, thick clothing, the coachman that Theo had spoken of just a moment ago stood over his wounded horse, while the two guards put the debris in the ditch. There was so much mead and wine in the ditches that it looked like a river of red-brown blood bubbling in the dirt.
"We’ll take you where ever you need to go."
The man stood in a daze; he was wakened from his daydreaming.
"What?” he asked.
The guard trotted a few steps closer all the time nodding his head. "What's your name?"
"Uhm. Rumus, Sir. Jack Rumus" the old man whispered, looking at his horse.
"All right … Jack," the guard said very seriously. He put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I know how hard this must be for you.”
Jack closed his eyes and said nothing.
The guard continued. “The attacker can’t contemplate the damage that’s done. If it’s any comfort at all, we will take you anywhere you care to go, if you don’t mind riding two on a mare." He sighed and smiled. "His Majesty wanted to give you a new carriage. Tell us where we’ll find you and a messenger will take you to the castle."
The old man's eyes were the size of tea saucers, his trembling hands clutching his cap.
"E-e-xcuse me?"
"There was urgent trouble at home that made ‘im want to send this man," he pointed to Theo, who was still mounted, the stallion shifting uneasily from hoof to hoof snorting, “in spite of comin ‘ere ‘imself. Understan’ me?”
The other guard walked to a tree that stood by the road and tied the horse to it while the others talked. He lifted a piece of a barrel and threw it into the ditch where it splashed into a puddle of mead. The first guard waved his head toward Theo.
"Theo told his majesty about the occurence and he very rightly sympathized with the pain you must feel. You’ll get a new stallion and new coach."
"Why will he give me this?" the man inquired curiously. “Was he responsible for the attack?”
The first guard took off his nose protector helmet and displayed a very rugged face.
“No, he is not responsible for attacking his own people.”
Silently, the man walked over to his wounded horse, where the second guard was about to patch up the wounds, knelt over, patting it on the mane. “How can he like someone he’s never met?”
“He likes his people.” the guard nodded. “He helps his people. Not like other kings we know.”
Jack knelt down toward the dying horse. He took out a piece of stale bread and gave it to the stallion, which grunted, frothed at the mouth and took it, slowly munching away. There was almost an angelic silence on that road when the guards stood watching Jack disregard the carriage and just think of his dying horse. The horse looked up. A tear fell and Rumus looked up at the first guard.
"Sire?"
It took a while for the hard royal guard to respond. He did so quietly. "Yes, Jack?"
"Can he fix my horse?"
Theo had stepped off his horse, leading it around the grass its head downward, when Theo’s head snapped to the left upon hearing the old man's words. “He can give me a new horse, but he can’t fix this one.”
There was a pause. Rumus waited for a reply but none came. "The rider in the blue cape, Sire, was wearing the Eagle." He fingered at his cap as if the answer was hidden in there. “It’s just a question, my Lord.”
"No." Theo said, leading his horse back upon the road. "He was not."
The old man nodded, managing to produce a smile. Somehow, Theo felt the man didn’t believe him. "How do you know?" The three men exchanged glances. Theo spoke.
"We never damage our own country, Jack." He led the horse a few paces toward the old man. "This man is killing in our name across the entire continent. It might not even be the same person, but is probably the same organization. It might not even be a man."
The second guard smiled. "I don't know if a woman could do something like this."
Theo turned around and laughed. "Don't say that. A lady scorned resembles a tempestuous heat of fury.” The man just nodded, hadn't gotten the joke and wasn't noticing that the three men were laughing themselves silly. He just looked down at the horse.
"My best friend." He patted it. "There, there, boy." The horse looked up with a look that made their hearts sink. It was bleeding to death and nothing could be done. Cold air was coming out of its nostrils. It seemed to look at Rumus as if saying: "My best friend, I am dying!" The light shone in the horses eyes. Slowly, a tear dropped from Jack's cheek, the horse, now freed from all debris, gave up the ghost, lowered its head and died. Rumus broke into silent tears, bowed his head and folded his hands in prayer. The three men folded their hands, as well. St. Zadkiel listened to their prayers. The rider who had attacked the old man had been watching him all along with her eager eyes. A wind was blowing across the plains. The men all looked across the field, their eyes cast upon a darkness whose failure was only steps away, whose love was about to turn into dust, a lesson learned whose life was not traceable to the human mind.
“The attacker is still here,” Jack said, completely out of the blue. “Out of this wind puff a storm will fester and it will kill us all. They will all know the one they blame for it.”
Jack felt the presence of the messenger and he knew that the messenger had been a woman.


Early Saturday afternoon, April 11th, 1422 A.D.
West Wing Chapel Entrance,
The Royal Palace of Iuventus Sacrum, Clurafar

Back in the royal palace, a place toward which Alexander now was riding, the royal crown princess Belinda was fighting with her future husband and prince regent about the fact that he had been found on the nuptial bed fondling the royal sister Princess Morgana, a renowned royal whore.
Belinda gave Steven a cold look.
"What on Earth were you thinking of?”
Steven shook his head.
“I was pushed upon the bed involuntarily.”
“Our bed with … my … sister. Thank you.” Belinda spat cynically. “You claimed to be on an errand for Morgana with a letter addressed to some man. Who was it?”
”What?”
“The man Morgana was too lazy to visit herself.”
Steven nodded. “Cretan."
"Julius Cretan, the imperial magistrate?"
Steven smiled. “Is there another Cretan that I know nothing of? Come now, Belinda. I needed to talk to him about disciplining the harbour controls. Morgana’s document went along for the ride.”
“I thought I was his main negotiator,” she said aloof, hurt, proud and feminine.
“I supervise the laws,” Steven continued calmly. “Morgana wanted to make an official trip to the coast to check the harbour and I had nothing to do with that. She thought she might get Senate sponsorship. End of story.”
She turned to him. “You believe that?”
Steven chuckled. “Why ever not? She is not completely irresponsible.”
”She just wants to make love to anyone with power. Any excuse to get near you is good enough. She made it up,” Belinda said, hurt, pouting with her lower lip. “She must have.”
“To please you?”
”Oh, come. Please, Steven.”
"It was a personal letter.” Steven said. There was an awkward silence there in the hallway. “Look, I did not go to bed with Morgana and I only delivered her document because … I was there to see him anyway. I am a faithful man, as I said.”
She smiled. “Reminding the forgetful.”
Steven walked up to her and put his hand on her shoulder. Belinda always seemed to rejoice in uttering that sentence again and again. He had said it once during a fight and she continued to repeat it. Belinda, this gorgeous individual Steven was so madly in love with and out to marry was looking out onto the porch and the garden beyond it.
The dreamy, hurt look in her eyes spoke volumes. It could easily be described as “the silent treatment”. There was a long pause and neither of them made the first step. He saw her standing there, the afternoon sunlight glittering in her hair. He put his hand around her shoulders, kissing her neck. He began singing a song of the palace instrumentalist Bantrard’s that the very same court composer often would sing over at Morgana’s house of The Rose, a house that lay only a ride away from the main house. Sometimes Belinda the fair maiden liked it, sometimes she didn’t.

“Come, come, now, my mistress of beauty
Don’t confer me your magnificent ice.
If only you’d but grant me sweet duty
Your kiss and your sigh’d still suffice.
No need for any break through promises.
Just grant me your dearest love’s kiss.
For within your cotton clad bosom
Lays lovemaking, heart shaping bliss.”

She pulled away from him. He sighed. She was stiff as a statue, arms crossed. He laughed.
“Oh” he grunted, surprised. “You are mad. You always like that song.”
He walked away from her, scratching his head.
She whispered: "On top of you on our bed."
He walked back to her. "She jumped on me from behind.”
She turned to him, faked an angry smile and shook her head, cynically.
“She surprised you, did she?”
“Her bosom is a battering ram and her arse a cannon.” Steven chuckled. “I had no chance against someone so base and so sensually overly radiant.”
Belinda started giggling. “I have never heard her musical derriere.”
Steven laughed harder. “Apart from her jerky crotch? To be really frank I prefer yours.”
At once, the wit was no longer a part of the action. Steven took a step back.
“Well, this is the primary day of lusty words” Belinda spat. “Pray, let us travel yonder into the county of debauchery, shall we not? So, why not agree to liking her behind? You seemed quite happy to accept her fawning. She has a behind for the Olymp, does she not? I came back to get my silk fan for the ride around the countryside. I had barely left and you two were already feeling each other’s parts."
Belinda slowly turned around and the reindeer eyes looked at him with that sweet look of ice.
“You are such an actress.” Steven mused. “Bantrard might need you. Why don’t you audition?”
She smiled. “I am not acting, Darling. This is reality, Sweetheart.”
Steven looked at her and knew she was telling the truth. Her strong pauses spoke of rage.
"How convenient that you were innocent," Belinda cackled. “Men are always victims.”
“What was I supposed to do? Throw her against the wall?"
“That would give her breasts a nice bounce. You spoke of her armour. Cannons, was it?”
“Armour, Belinda!"
Belinda looked out again, biting her nails and said softly: "How was the armour?”
He laughed. "What does that mean?" Steven smiled, tenderly.
She kept on talking in a whisper and looking out. "You know what it means. How was it?”
Steven was speechless. "What?”
"Oh. Come now, Steve. You have lust for her. I have seen it!" Belinda spat. “Tell me what my sister does to your manhood that I still have not comprehended in my virginal way of love.”
“Well, for one, you are not angry, vicious, selfish, vulgar, self willed and stupid like your sister. And we all know how becoming those traits are.” Steven looked at her and tried to find some way to approach her. “I love you, Belinda. Not your sister. Don’t blame me for Morgy’s faults. Please." Steven chuckled. "When are you going to understand I love you?"
Belinda winced then gave Steve a murderous look.
“You know her.”
”Yes, I do know my sister. Why do you think I’m worried?” Belinda turned away again.
“Until you stop being so paranoid about owning me we will never solve this.” Steven said. “I will not betray you. I never have. I never will. But you insist on always suspecting me." He shook his head and grinned, trying to convince her.
She gave him a fast look. “Why do you do my sister a favour after she attacks you?”
“I am not your father, Belinda.” Steven spat. “I stop chasing after it gets dangerous.”
Belinda slapped Steven very hard on the cheek. Steven clutched it and turned away.
She looked out onto the porch and the patio beyond it. The birch trees in the garden were blowing in the wind.
He was referring to Alexander having been unfaithful to his wife for years to a woman of low aristocracy named Madeleine for years even when things were obviously turning really rotten.
”Steven,” Belinda whispered. “Don’t drag my father’s mistakes into this. Besides, I don't want Morgana to jeopardize us like Madeleine jeopardized my mother. It was my father’s mistresses fault not my father’s. Never forget that. I would’ve never been born." She tried a smile. “I don’t want it to run in the family.” Belinda turned away again. “My father has not been unfaithful for over 25 years, your mistake was just a little while ago. Remember that next time you blame my father for your faults.”
”As it was Morgana’s fault that we ended up on our bed, not mine, I do not ponder over problematic feuds.” He looked at her tenderly. “Hey, Reindeer Iris, your parents must be over that by now.” Steven caressed her and she pulled away her arm.
“I hope they are,” she cried. Belinda shook her head. “Whether you agree with me or not, my sister tries to steal you away like she steals everyone away that has any looks or power at all.”
“She won’t be able to steal me!” Steven said. “Listen to me!” Her eyes were wide open now.
“I would agree if I had jumped into that bed with her on my own accord. However, I did not do so, contrary to your assumptions, dear lady. You are the only one in Clurafar that doesn't know that every week have thrown her out of whatever room I happen to be. Even old Louis knows that.” He laughed. “Hell, even old fart Cretan knows that. And he never comes near the palace. He sends messages. Maybe you should move away and find out who I am!”
“I don’t doubt who you are, do I? And don’t get poor old grey, conservative Cretan into this.”
He chuckled. “I try to be nice, because I don’t want to have someone in the house who will sneer at me. I already have one person who does that."
”That was unnecessary,” she said, suspiciously.
“I’m sorry.” He rubbed his hands against his head and sighed. Then he looked over at Belinda. “But I cannot stand when you hate me.” He kissed her neck. He looked out the window with her, trying to find what she was seeking with her. “You are an intelligent lady. You should know me. She is no competition for you.”
“Flattery. You just insulted my father and now you come sliming and smarmy.”
“There is no competition for you even when you are insulting and annoying.” Steven laughed. “Morgana is funny. I have no time for that.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t she have a normal dress?”
She started giggling, slowly giving in to his love. “She makes them herself.”
Steven laughed. “Oh, dear. She must need it very badly to present herself that way.”
“I don’t know why, the amount of it that she seems to get.”
“Come on, Love” Steven said. “Don’t mistrust me.”
Belinda looked at him, smiling. Belinda sighed again and raised a hand, caressing his arms.
She smiled, faintly. Belinda laughed and dried away a tear. “Pushed you, did she?”
“I have never been and never will be unfaithful” Steven assured her. “Yes, she pushed me.”
Belinda sighed, her breath shaky. Her hands slowly approached his. “I know I will have to do the speech with her tomorrow. I dread having to stand next to her, when I know the games she plays.”
“Theo said your father is galloping up to get here to convince you to hold it.”
She turned around and smiled at him. She shook her head. “Father is going to be angry at me.”
Steven shook his head. “No, he loves you. He knows you.”
“I love him. But he can’t stand when I run from commitment. And I frequently do.”
He sighed. “Belinda,” he said and took her face in his hands. “I can understand your suspicion.”
”I was never ever suspicious of you.”
“You were.” he countered. “I would’ve been, too.”
She looked at him, smiling. "I was.” There was a long pause. “Sweetheart, I do these things to protect myself from losing you. Do you understand that?"
Steven shook his head. “Belinda. Darling. You will never lose me.”
She played with one of his locks that fell down across his forehead. “I am a jealous woman.” She made a catlike face and raised a claw. “Ready to scratch anyone who comes near you.”
“Don’t scratch too hard. Besides, it is a compliment to have someone jealous over you.”
Belinda shrugged. “It is difficult because you are just as much part of my public life.”
She was still, shaking her head in question. There was a pause.
“Was Alex here all the time when Madeleine and he had their romance?”
She looked down. “I think not …”
She stroked his cheek, held him in an embrace. “I hit you. I’m sorry.”
Steven shrugged. “Heart of mine, I would hit myself for saying what I said there.”
“I need to hear it.” There was a long silence. “I need to hear that you won’t jeopardize us.”
“Belinda. My queen. I am so happy we are soon married.” He looked at her, looking down. “I promise that I will never jeopardize us.”
She smiled and looked up quickly. “Thank you.” Then she looked down again.
“I am afraid. That is all.” She turned to the window again and he embraced her soft shoulders from behind. “Afraid all the time. The fear haunts me like some ghost that won’t let go.”
“Of what?” Steven whispered. He gazed at her, surprised. “Us?” She smiled and looked out onto the garden. She shook her head. “Then what?” he whispered even softer.
She smiled, looking back at him. “You know!” She seemed almost embarrassed to say it.
“Her? It? Your aunt?” he laughed. “She has not been seen in years.”
She looked out at the trees swaying in the breeze. “It is just as back when I was a child. This time the nightmares are worse.” She looked at him. She was serious. “Much worse. I am back in Rigor Mortis in my dreams and I am thinking ‘when is my father going to find me’ knowing that he probably never will, because the place has disappeared off the map. Then it reappears somehow and nobody knows why. What scares me is that it all seems to me that it was on purpose just to give me an incurable spiritual scar. It is an omen, Steven. You can’t tell me that it is not an omen.”
“Belinda” Steven inquired seriously. “You believe in omens?”
“Thirty years a magic spell,” she whispered. She put her cheek against his chest, looking at the mahogany staircase and its antique figurines. She felt like a little girl, impossible to escape something very bad, something no one ever would want to go through. She felt as if she was screaming and no one was hearing her. She felt like fleeing from the feeling one minute, then meeting the problem face to face the next. “You can’t blame me. Not after what I’ve seen.”
“Dreams are like the river. The water flows by our vision and disappears into the ocean.”
“This is not a dream” she screamed. “I was there … in the dungeon … wound on my wrist …” She fell down to her knees. Steven came to her, calmed her down, and helped her up. He held her tight.
“That was the past. It happened.” Steven caressed her cheek. “It is gone now.” He stroked her hair and whispered. “Besides, if she comes back, Sweetie, I will be there to protect you. I know what you have been through” he said tenderly. “It will not happen again.”
“She is still alive,” she said in his arms, tears falling from her cheeks upon his shirt.
“Completely harmless at that.” She looked at him smiling, like a small child with a new gift in her hand. Steven nodded. They met in a long kiss and then looked each other deeply in the eyes.
“I love you, you know that?”
Behind her closed eyes there was a dream of heaven above rosy cheeks that rubbed against his face. “I love you too.”
With her eyes still closed, Belinda whispered: “Do you want to light a candle for us in the chapel? I think that would calm me down.”
“Yes, why not?” Steven nodded. ”But no more fights and not another word about Lucinda.”
”Those are promises you know we both can’t keep.” Belinda said, closing her eyes.
Steven said calmly, stroking her hair, “The angels just don’t like it when you worry. You get this wrinkle between your eyes. Lucinda is harmless.”
“Oh, Steven” she cried. “You are so innocent. You really think she is innocent?”
“The angels just rather have you with a smooth forehead.”
“The angels know that Lucinda is dangerous” the princess sighed.
Steven had no ready response to this statement.
Hand-in-hand they started for the door beyond the hallway that lead into the large spiritual oasis. Belinda walked up to the door of the chapel. She opened the door and walked in, morosely. Steven followed her. As the door was closing, Belinda’s voice echoed out into the hallway outside.
“Father is coming home. Let’s light a candle for him, as well.”
As the chapel door closed behind them, Morgana rushed down the mahogany staircase they had just left, sprung on her horse and headed for town.

Mid Saturday afternoon, April 11th, 1422 A.D.,
2nd floor of Iuventus Sacrum

Just as Princess Morgana rushed out and jumped upon her steed and galloped away to town, her brother Patrick was sitting in his bathrobe in his bedroom playing Chess with a man named Zedrick. He was the General of the Prosperanian army and Alexander’s closest advisor next to Belinda. Zedrick, whom everyone affectionately called Zeddy, was also somewhat of an errand boy for social matters. So even on this day. The only Winsletenna boy of Alexander’s children was a drunk and a womanizer and Zeddy had been sent to Patrick in order to check up on his drinking. The two men were playing chess.
Beside Patrick a half emptied mug of full-bodied port wine rested comfortably next to his elbow. Patrick smiled, displaying decaying ivories against an unshaved canvas of a lecherous grin and shrugged his shoulders.
Zeddy made a victorious gesture and pushed aside Patrick's queen.
“Check mate!”
Zeddy put back the pieces on the board while Patrick drank some more of his wine.
Patrick stood up and walked over to the window. He sighed, still facing the window. Patrick took a few steps toward him and leaned against the table. “My mother sent you?”
"I am an old friend." Zeddy said even calmer, almost in a whisper. "And I wouldn't be one if I let you drink yourself to death. All of us are so worried.”
He looked down. “I don't have to face having to prove being a good person.”
He sneered and turned around to face the window once again.
“Go to the parties, be promiscuous behind your wife’s back! I don’t have a problem living in times of peace, Son. I’ve done my job. What’s yours? Have you done your job? How many women do you have to disgrace to get your fill?”
Patrick looked at Zed with the eyes of a tiger, walked up and grabbed his glass, his knuckles whitening, and smashed the full crystal-mug against the wall with a bang. The wine ran down the wall of the bedroom and crystal lay scattered about the floor. "Out of my room... right now!"
Zedrick was startled. Patrick pointed at Zedrick, his black hair tousled and his brown eyes piercing sadistically at him. He chuckled and took another gulp of wine, this time from the bottle. He set the bottle down, walked to the corner and pushed the broken lead glass around with his foot on the marble floor, the red wine trickling down the wall like racing drops of nervous blood.
Pat walked to the window and looked out again. Zed always felt like Pat searched for something out there. He saw Morgana taking off on her horse and the chapel door close inside the side wing of the palace. "My Dad is on his way, right?"
Without a word, Zeddy left Patrick standing by the window alone.
“Peace.” Patrick said quietly to himself as Zeddy closed the door. “All I want is peace. When Father Alexander comes back, the only one receiving it will be my sister.”


A little later, Grand Entrance of Iuventus Sacrum

Alexander had been dreaming about that fatal night before her exile. The afternoon breeze from outside filled his nostrils with Clurafar air again. A mixture of country grass, fresh water, lilacs and newly baked bread from the royal bakery by the gates they were passing transported him back decades into the past. But he could still remember the smell of burning grass as if it had been yesterday. One could see at least three of the seven guesthouses from here. There was a statue of Simon the Great at the front pointing toward the palace. His expression was one of pride and the scroll he was holding in his right hand was the building contract for the royal palace Iuventus Sacrum.
The palace appeared in its new gothic, antique, glorious yet unassuming style; white, large, long, its two towers on each end and middle watchtowers greeting them and the courtyard with a garden and statues of Greek gods positioned on each side. Gardener Louis was working on a floral arrangement left of the mid path and waved as he saw the King pass. Marie-Louise was assisting one of the stable boys in fixing one of the six Roman fountains that surrounded it. Marcus stepped off his horse and opened the carriage door. Alexander walked up the path to the side-entrance, hearing chattering behind him. The coachmen stepped off their carriages and were met by the stable boys who unleashed the horses and walked them to the stable, gravel crunching under their hooves. Rolf began chattering with the ladies in waiting and an entourage of people wandered in through the gate. Basically, the courtiers, senators and their wives would accompany the king on trips and lodge in the royal guesthouses. They would drink themselves silly and then leave after a few days.
Alexander, happy about getting rid of the entourage, rushed into the foyer and up the mahogany staircase to the right marble landing. Rushing out from the dining room, her feet shuffling down the red carpet, passing the portraits of the ancestors through the long corridor was Geena.
"Your majesty. Welcome back!”
She was bowing and curtsying and rubbing her hands on her apron, a happy pink ball of enthusiasm, fidgeting with her hands and rubbing them together in glee, some graying blond curls falling down out of her woolen kitchen cap.
"Geena, my sweet! Everything in order?" Alexander asked.
She smiled at him, beaming, her face turning into a round, fleshy, pink flower.
“Yes. I keep things orderly, thank you very much. She started chuckling, her belly shaking so strong it might’ve knocked down the lobby table next to the staircase with the angels on it. She nodded. "Belinda is all right, sir! You needn't worry. She was very upset, but her temper keeps her healthy.” she whispered, happily: "How was Alliland?"
There was a slight pause when they looked at each other, Alex half-smiling.
"Mustafus held a grand gala opening ceremony with lots of courtesans.” He laughed. “We agreed on the signing of a treaty this summer. His drinking and sleeping habits leave me baffled."
The little chubby lady nodded. "They are a rare breed those people."
She smiled, respectfully, shaking her head and chuckling. She looked at the king from the side.
"But Mustafus might be able to benefit from an alliance, won't he?"
"Without question." Geena had always been interested in politics. He took her hand. "Something else, now. Is it true? Are they fighting?"
“The girls?” Alex nodded.
Geena shrugged. “Steven was apparently almost raped by Morgana a time ago and ever since she and Belinda have been fighting over him when she and Steven aren’t. Dearie me, I tell Belinda to keep her own, to be careful, to calm down. Somehow, Steven always gets in Morgana’s way."
Belinda was like her child. The jewel of her eye, she always claimed. She knew as well as Alex that they’d fought and made up countless times. Alexander knew why. Fourteen years ago her own daughter, who had worked as maid for Alexander and also worked for the Neapolonian Ambassador in Clurafar, disappeared out of sight. There were stories about her daughter Maren, and of course people thought the gentile, sweet, rather thin sickly girl had been kidnapped by the forest-gypsies. But they only kidnapped meaty, healthy girls. Not ones like Maren. Since then Belinda had been a substitute daughter. “This is such a stormy time, your majesty. Everyone seems to be having a problem of some kind.”
"Yes, Geena. I know.” He patted her on the back. “How is Patrick?”
“Pat had a fight with Zeddy today. He sits around on a workday and does nothing but drink and play chess. Belinda is having a conference with Steven about what to wear in the Senate!"
"Send them up, will you? I will do some work."
He embraced her. “Nice to be back home in Iuventus Sacrum,” he chirped.
“Nice to have you back.” she sang.
On the second landing, on his way to his own study, he met Zeddy. Zeddy threw his arms out to his sides and laughed. They embraced, slapping each other’s backs.
“How was Mustafus?”
”Drunk!” Alex nodded matter of fact. “Very drunk! Very uncooth!”
Zeddy laughed, every inch of his face a wrinkle.
“We reached agreements that were positive. There was some trouble on the way back.”
“Riders?”
Alex nodded as they began walking down the hall with the ebony carvings.
“Under Prosperanian seal now.”
There was a painful silence. Zeddy changed the subject. “I have been able to keep things fairly under control since you left. Belinda has been a very good partner in crime.”
“Only the quarrel with her sister has made us nervous. Now Patricia is learning the text for the speech like mad and praying that she does not have to read it. Morgana is out of the castle and …” Zeddy smiled. “I am furious.”
Alex nodded. “Belinda knows the importance of this merger. But when her Steven is threatened by female competition when she is out and about she forgets duty!”
Zeddy nodded. They had now arrived at the large ebony door, the entrance to the throne room and study. “It is good to have you back, friend!”
Alex grinned. “Take some weight off those old shoulders, huh?” Both chuckled.
“Oh, Alex. Patrick.”
”What about him?”
“Sieglinde sent me to play chess with him to keep him from drinking. I must’ve upset him.”
“I will talk to my wife.” Alex patted his shoulder. “Thank you for taking care of affairs.”
”What’s an old general supposed to do without a war?”
“Thank heavens that we have peace.” Alexander responded. “Govern and rule!” Zeddy nodded and Alex closed the door behind him and went to his large throne. The entire hall was already filled with torches, lit by Zeddy and Geena and Ruby, with a bottle of wine on the table. He must’ve sat there, drinking for a long time and looking out the window at the stars. When Rolf knocked on the door, Alex had already formed a speech in his head on how to reprimand his children.

Saturday evening, April 11th, 1422 A.D.,
King Alexander’s Throne Room

"Princess Belinda and Princess Morgana, Your Majesty!"
He nodded, daydreaming.
“Send them in!”
Belinda came in half-smiling, wearing a white dress with blue flowers, her light-brown hair falling down in curls across her chest. Morgana had her standard house dress on, which essentially showed off her heaving bosom more than a housedress should, looking like a standard brothel mistress. She should’ve had a flower in her cleavage. It was the only thing lacking. Belinda ran in first.
"Father ... oh, I have missed you,” she mused. “How was Alliland?"
"Just fine." he grinned. “You know Mustafus.”
"Mustafus?" Belinda felt coldness. “Uh-oh, he is mad because of the quarrel,” she thought. "The lover and drinker?”
“Yes, but I think we are going to join forces, thanks to his political skills!"
Belinda clapped her hands like a child, jumping up and down. She was trying too hard and Alex knew that she only did this because she knew her father’s sense of duty.
"Great!" Belinda professed.
Morgana beamed, a curl falling down across her forehead. "Hello, Father!"
"Hello, Morgy love!" They embraced. "Sit down." The two girls sat down on the chairs that were positioned in front of the throne. "Lovely to see you two again!"
Alex sat down again on his gilded blue satin and gave his daughters a friendly smile, however official. "Tell me how you’ve been.”
Both started at once, but embarrassed gave each other permission to speak.
“Oh, dandy.” Morgana faked. “Harbour agreements, receptions, bureaucracy, parties.”
Belinda continued whilst Alex just listened. “I have managed the rebuilding of the royal stables, met with Cretan concerning the summer festivals. Wedding plans continue.” Belinda smiled.
She knew that her father was just killing time, no matter how happy he was to see her.
“Oh, and Steve lit a candle for our love in the chapel this morning.” There was a pause. “And you, Father?”
“Well, dears, as I said Mustafus was as much a grand host as ever. They treated me well.” He smiled at them and they nodded. “As much as I would like to gossip I feel that we maybe should get down to business. I have a meeting that will officially decide a few things this evening and I believe you both know why I hurried back early."
Alex waited. They swallowed hard. They would have to admit everything now.
"Theo warned me of another attack and I could've gone to the victim and saved our name. But I came here. Do you have anything to say?”
“How much do you know?” Morgana asked.
Alex smiled. “How much do you want to tell me?”
“We had a misunderstanding.” Morgana continued.
“The Hell we did.” Belinda snapped. “You tried to seduce my husband.”
“No way. We fell.”
Belinda laughed.
“You are jealous of me.” She sneered. “Fell, ha!”
“Girls!” Alex snapped. “What happened?”
Belinda spoke first. She, however, looked at her father's knees, for she could not bear looking into his eyes. She knew somewhere it was wrong what she felt, especially in front her own father, she had never been able to hide her own truth from her predecessor and patriarch.
"You have always been honest with us, Father, so I will be with you." She looked at him and her eyes bore through her father.
He could only feel disappointment and her heart sank.
"Morgana has long craved my future husband and flirted with him behind the scenes, that when she actually tried to get him into bed and this being so close to our decision to engage, I called off the speech." Belinda raised her eyebrows and smiled. "That's that, Dad. Patsy can do it just as good."
She tried to hide her anguish. Ice crept through the room like a virus.
Alex spoke softly. “You did not answer my question, Belinda! If you think you can call off this speech because of love-trouble you are crazy enough to make me withdraw your kinship to the throne.”
“You mean that, Father.”
”I mean you have to stop acting like a primadonna.”
She sighed. “When I came in Morgana was lying on top of Steven with his face up to the ceiling. They were clothed but it was clear what Morgy was trying …”
“I fell.”
“On top of Steven? How dumb do you think I am?”
“Girls … May I remind you to be a little tactful?”
“Steven assured me that Morgy surprised him with jumping on our marital bed from behind.”
"Morgana?"
Morgana played with her tongue at the side of her mouth and made a sneering face, her eyes looking at the side of the room. She then looked at her father.
"Your daughter is a liar, Father."
Alex cocked his head and showed her his left ear, shaking his head, indicating he hadn't really understood. She bent forward.
"Father, I flirt with everyone. I sleep with women and men and ..."
"Spare me the details."
"We were joking and I went a bit too far just as Belinda walked into the room. Only flirting though, nothing more! Jokes … I wanted to joke with Steven."
"That is lie and you know it." Belinda interrupted, bending over her sister like an angry wolf.
“Girls …” Alex shouted.
"You are such a prude that half of it could be enough” Morgana spat, leaning over and displaying her gums. “I don't need to steal your hubbie. You’re as randy as I. You wish you had Richard."
Belinda sneered: "You'd be happy to break us up, wouldn't you, you overweight whore?"
They stood up and started tearing at each other.
Alexander stood up and screamed at the top of his lungs.
"Will you two stop this ludicrous gibberish?"
The two girls stopped abruptly as if someone had just slammed a large door in their face, their hands still clinched around each other's dresses.
"Sit ... down."
They did and folded their hands. Alexander didn't. He walked to the clock and looked at it, then to the window and then to the girls while starting his diatribe.
“Good Lord.” He shook his head. "I thought you had more brains. Of you Morgana I would've expected this, but Belinda ... You?" He shook his head and spoke very fast and coldly. "Your mother can save her family in Margetania and maybe have the alliance work, just perhaps. The Medatlantian Conflict Eliminator Treaty will work if you promote this cause well as promised. And you are concerned about who slept with whom and why. You have to be above this. This is about our continent. You start tearing at each other like some infantile puberty struck babes because of a thing that has gone on forever anyway and only can be solved thru discussion ... not catfights. If you, Morgana, want
to go out of harm's way, stop insinuating yourself on the man and you know very well who I speak of, so don’t give me that look. You have enough boyfriends and you know what it means to Belinda to keep Steven out of trouble."
He looked at her and pointed a finger in her face before going to the window.
"Stop fooling around."
Morgana said nothing, just half-smiled, cynically.
"I expect you two make up and hold that speech tomorrow as planned. I will even consider drawing back your succession, Belinda."
Belinda looked up and her eyes were wide large as some of the castle finery. She realized now what she had done. She was full of anguish.
"And as for you, Morgana." He walked back to his throne and sat down. “How would you like to be denounced?"
"You can't denounce me!" She screamed.
"Don’t push me!" He bellowed and Morgana sat down. "Girls. I love you more than myself, but when you bring my ... our country in danger because of something that does not concern it I am angry and realize your heart is not in this. And it needs to be. I need to hear your apology. I need to know that you will fight for this treaty. What's it going to be?"
Surprisingly enough, Morgana started. "I am sorry."
“I didn’t hear that.”
”I am sorry, Belinda.”
“What about you, Belinda?”
Belinda succeeded Morgana’s whisper. "I apologize."
Alex leaned back. He smiled. "Good. Now keep it that way."
The girls looked down and said nothing. They were obviously hurt. "I ..." He sighed. “I am urging you as a father, not as a man, to appeal to your minds to reason with excellence. Don't let your privacy excel your need to bring our country some good politics. Hate each other in private. Arrange staged fist fights I don't care. But be professional about your work and do not call off something this big a day before the event happens."
He tried to smile.
"Next time you want to cancel something this big, tell me a month before, all right?"
They looked up at him. "Shake hands, girls."
The girls looked at each other and Morgana reached out her hand.
Apprehensively, Belinda took it.
"Look into Belinda's eyes now, Morgana, and say I will never try to get Steven into bed."
"Father, I never ..."
"Say, it!" he said calmly and smiled.
"I will never lure Steven and never try to get him into bed."
"Belinda." He started to say and she sighed. "Look into your sister's eyes and tell her you love her." Nothing came out. "I'm waiting."
Her hand tensed. Gritted teeth.
"I love you."
"That sounded more like I hate you to me. Mean it!"
"I love you, Morgy, and I wish that you will never ever try and seduce my husband again, but, for my father, I want you to do that speech tomorrow with me."
Morgy nodded. "Fine."
"Good." Alex nodded. “Margetania is important and this treaty can change its future." Alex looked at them with his official ice. "So, what’s this I hear about your refusal to carry on as planned with this speech? Did you make that up or is this only a game to impress me?"
“We mean it!”
“Good. Prove it to me tomorrow.”
“We will.”
“Don’t worry, Father.”
"I don’t. I know I can trust you. If I can’t you will certainly feel my anger at the reception afterwards. You made up. How does it feel?"
They both shrugged.
"Go to bed. We will speak in the morning. The angels grant us enough strength to do a good job." They began standing up. “Oh, by the way, Morgana. Before I forget, I wanted to ask you how Cretan was?”
Morgana’s jaw dropped.
“You told Rolf. I know that my children are taking things into their own hands.”
She sighed. “He can sponsor a trip to the coast. I want to help them fight the pirates.”
Alex laughed. “You want to get the honour and the credit.”
“I want to help them fight the pirates.”
Alex leaned forward. “Stay out of my league, Morgy. Pirates lack prisons, not women.”
One by one they exited the throne room and didn’t speak to each other but for a small, high pitched Good Night at the end of the landing that separated their walk.

Dusk, Saturday, April 11th, 1422 A.D.
The Royal Castle of Rigor Mortis close to the Dark Forest

There was another king.
He was the king of a country that lay next to Prosperania.
His name was Adnicul. Many people claimed him to be the devil himself, but he was no more than a misguided reincarnation of a lost sinner. At this moment he was reprimanding his two servants, a couple by the names of Eric and Rebecca.
As King Adnicul pranced back and forth before him, the young man by the fireplace next to the throne stood completely still. The king’s one intact eye now and then stared at the young man from the side angrily. Adnicul’s cape swung back and forth, black hair tousled and thickly uncombed, his red satin vest with golden buttons glittered in the light of the flames in the fireplace.
"You rebel against me and expect me to reward you for it?” Adnicul spat and peered at Eric, who shook his head. He walked on, talking. “Idiots with bad table manners that’s what you are. That is all you are, boy. Your chaotic girlfriend keeps fumbling about all the time. I do expect some sort of strict work ethics and receive hogwash. You know what I am speaking of, Eric?"
Eric shrugged.
“Rude answers. Tardiness.”
Eric nodded. Eric said nodding, hands folded and eyes downcast as his girlfriend wandered in unannounced again, picked up the leftover plates and cups and walked away to bring them out. She cast a small glance at Eric, who wide-eyed tried to signal at her to get the hell out if she didn't want to be a head shorter. How many times should he have to tell her she shouldn’t come in unannounced? Adnicul swung his head toward her, his one unpatched eye desperately glaring at her. His eyes were wicked, mean, the sides of his mouth cocked downwards. Eric could hear the meat cleaver rattle on one of the wooden plates she was carrying away.
“Que pasa?!” he screamed even louder. “Usted me entendía, puta? ¿Hey, perra? Perra, puta, mal del infierno, voy a golpear hasta que te sangrienta y hemorragia.¡Contésteme! Yo les he dicho muchas veces a ser cordiales, estúpido puta! Qué tengo que libra en su gruesa cabeza?“
Eric’s emotions caused a stir inside his body. His stomach was rumbling and his eyes were fluttery. He was sweating and mumbling. He could have jumped at the king right then and there, choked him to death and kicked in his groin. He spoke to his girlfriend as if she were a whore. Why did he have the feeling that Adnicul was playacting? That some other person was hiding behind that mask of hatred? She put down the plates where she'd picked them up, on the floor. She glanced at Eric, but her head was downcast as she arrived by the elaborately-decorated fireplace. She glanced up with her big brown eyes.
"You only keep your job here because I have given your father a promise to give you a home. The fact that he still holds a position in the court of Hispania is due to his diplomacy. He keeps his mouth shut about my past as a Gfuhre." Some home he has given us, Eric thought. "I don’t wish to put you out in the forest without a home. But that doesn't mean you can come in unannounced during important conferences. This is not the first time it has happened; otherwise I wouldn't waste valuable minutes conferring my duties. When that door is closed, KNOCK! Yes?" Rebecca nodded. Adnicul continued. “If it happens again you pay me in love." He smiled and chuckled. “Usted puede ir, puta hispánica!" He discarded her and she ran in quick little bunny steps to the table, took the plates, ran to the door and slammed it shut behind her. He could hear her drop the plates outside. "I swear I shall murder her one of these days."
If you do, I shall avenge myself in the cruelest of ways. Eric thought. It was as if Eric's thoughts had confused Adnicul, so he swung toward Eric again, black velvet cape swinging around, fixing his eyes on him. Adnicul only reacted by sneering from the side of his mouth, one eye glaring to the side. Adnicul walked up to Eric and threw him on the floor. Eric slid toward the fireplace and laid still for a bit. Adnicul mumbled some words to himself. “Rebecca was a temptress in the beginning of time.” Adnicul muttered. “This Rebecca needs tutoring in confidence.”
Eric smiled. “If confidence is what she needs, why did you call her a whore?”
Adnicul ignored Eric’s comment completely, marched toward the fireplace and leaned against the marble and nodded to himself. He lifted his head and looked at himself in the mirror and then down at Eric. Eric did not react.
"You are a loser. In the half year here you have not bettered your abilities one half arm length, so I am asking myself ..." He reached down and grabbed Eric's face and squeezed it. "... why I keep you here at all. I had hoped on some betterment."
He let go of the grip and Eric rubbed his chin in pain of the firm hold. “I have a responsible task, young man. I have a task of running this country.” Adnicul kept saying in a bored tone of voice.
“Your country, your majesty,” Eric spat “is a land of thieves created by a bastard son.”
Adnicul slapped Eric across the face with his leather-gloved hand. Eric’s head thudded to the floor. “Are you king?” Adnicul screamed. “No? Then hold your mouth or I will chain you to the floor.” There was a long pause. "Are you listening, Eric?" Eric nodded. “You have about forty scars on your back from talking back. The rebel in you has a hard time relaxing.”
“You are right about that.” Eric sat up and spat at Adnicul. He kneeled and stood up. The look in his face was wrath and that startled Adnicul. It was as if it was strange to hear the young man talk, as if he did not remember what his voice sounded like. “Usted llama a mi muchacha una puta otra vez y le mataré mismo. Entonces máteme, yo no cuidan.”
Adnicul stepped two centimeters closer and embraced Eric's throat with a leather-gloved hand.
"Does this bother you?” Adnicul grinned.
His sarcasm broke into an even wider grin. Eric didn't know weather to laugh, scream or cry. A drop of blood trickled down his cheek toward his chin. Adnicul was squeezing his nail through his glove into Eric’s cheek.
"Wh-what answer will save my life?" Eric responded.
Adnicul loosened the grip and started smiling. He threw Eric on the floor a second time, giving him a blistering pain in one of his knees. He looked up, supporting himself on his left elbow. His knee hurt and the wound upon it was throbbing.
"The answer that stops assuming that I hide what will save me will save you. My master does not work for the living."
What was he speaking of? Master? Did Adnicul have a master?
“I shall take on the task of taming the rebel in you, if you take on the task of shutting the hell up about who I confer with, Eric.” He turned around watching Eric stare at him. “You heard me, Eric, I needn’t repeat myself. Comments like the one you gave me an hour ago are not welcome. Do it again and you might find yourself in
Tumular Canyon.” He chuckled and looked out the window. “You know what we have there?”
He saw the dark nature of the forest below Rigor Mortis. There were some beggars by the gate. One of the guards chased them away. He smiled. “Don’t you, Eric?”
“You insane half-breed.” Eric shouted.
"Continue working here and there are two nevers you should remember." He sighed. "Two nevers. Never ever talk back." Eric said nothing.
Adnicul started walking back. He walked up to Eric, still on the floor. Adnicul’s eye patch made Eric wonder what hole lay behind that upside down cross. He grabbed Eric by the cheeks again and this time the wound hurt. It made him look like a pig and then he dried off his glove on his cape. Adnicul grinned cynically, almost shiteatingly friendly.
"And second: never doubt my authority. If you do I shall personally flog, burn, impale, quarter and kill you, in that order. Understand?"
Eric did not know if it was tears, sweat or blood that trickling down his cheeks now.
“No comments about Lucinda!” Adnicul yelled.
Why was this woman so important to Adnicul? Eric wondered as he nodded twice and understood it was not popular to call Lucinda a royal courtesan without a proper royal task. He had a loose, rebellious tongue and he hated being pushed down, even in front of someone like this awful man. He loosened the grip and stood up, looking down at Eric.
“Lucinda’s my property. Question her and you will be dead and gone before you know it.”
“Where is she?” Eric asked.
“On leave, Eric. That is all you need to occupy your silly little mind with. No questions.”
He was playing his mind-power-game on him again. Eric saw Adnicul and although it was not funny, he wanted to laugh. He turned around and faced the fireplace, as Eric stood up and rushed out, three times slipping on the marble floor and hitting his head.
"Tell your idiot girlfriend to stop disturbing important conversations."
As he felt Adnicul come closer to him, breathing at his neck, he walked faster.
"She can look through the hole in the door next time she wants to enter, if she likes."
He fell again. He heard him laugh.
"Not my hole though."
He laughed again.
"Leave."
He felt a hand on his neck, and thought of those hands squeezing his cheeks into a piggy face. Eric slammed the door shut and leaned against it. He expected a hand to come through the door and grab his neck again. He broke out in a cold sweat. Why had he come here and why hadn’t he already tried to leave? He had, hadn’t he? Yes. His back displayed wounds as a memory of trying to escape. He stepped away from the door and collected his thoughts.
"Calm down, friend, there must be a way out of here."
If it hadn't been for all the rumors about Adnicul’s countless simultaneous terror attacks on innocent civilians across all of Medatlantia, he would've called this place a loser's home. If it hadn't been for the stories of Nocturania's dark past the odd servant Nomed told him when Adnicul wasn’t watching he would call Adnicul the worst king in history. But Adnicul was not in any way human. He had to be taken seriously. He had killed servants before, for lesser crimes than dropping a plate or two, so escaping Rigor Mortis had to be planned well, especially since he was positive that Adnicul could read minds.
He turned around. The spy hole in the door was there so guests would know if they were invited or not. He stepped up to it and with a trembling hand pulled the handle of the golden cover to the side. Adnicul was there, glaring one inch from the hole bent over, teeth flashing in a grin as wide as the Canyon.
He whispered, “Where the criminals hang, Eric my boy, and you too very soon.”
Eric’s tongue bobbed, his hands ripped at his hair, then he gasped and closed the spy hole. His hand slowly leaving his mouth, his eyes quietly closing and a tear quelched through a closed eyelid and dropped down his cheek like a lonely squirrel down a steep mountain chased by a werewolf.
He opened the lid again a second later and Adnicul was by the fireplace with a glass of wine looking at the crackling flames. Then, as if on a given signal, Adnicul turned around and glared at a frightened Eric, whose eyes suddenly widened with fear. At once Adnicul started rushing with a steady fast step toward the door as if he suddenly decided to kill Eric at last and eat his severed head. He screamed and closed the lid.
Eric ran as fast as he could down the hall and stairs, again falling several times, heard a door open and close and feet running after him faster and faster, across the courtyard to his apartment on the west side of the castle. He closed the door and threw himself on the bed and screamed into his pillow. His girlfriend rushed in from the washroom and saw his bleeding cheek. She took a cloth and dunked it in water. Eric looked up with tears running down his cheeks. She cleaned the wound with the cloth.
“He called you a whore and I only listened and said nothing.”
Shaking her head, she looked out at the ravens in the courtyard through the window. Rebecca chuckled bitterly and looked at him again with dead eyes, kissed his head and sighed.
“I thought it might be a bright future for us here,” Eric whispered. “In a castle …”
“Away from home?” she giggled, sadly. “No.”
“I’m sorry” Eric said.
“You could never have known, Eric Sweetie.” Rebecca said. “All this talk about Adnicul’s mission and now this constant chatter of that other Rebecca somewhere in time that was the start of it all. He seems to know something, but only about other people. He still searches himself.”
He hugged her hard again thankful that the wounds on his back were healing and that he now could hug his girl as before without screaming.
“We must leave.” Eric proclaimed.
Rebecca gave him a look of surprise. She took her right hand and put a lock of hair hanging across her left eye behind her ear. She nodded, frustrated.
“We might not have much time before Adnicul wants to fry us.” Eric looked at her, surprised. “In a matter of speaking.”
“Yes, but he doesn’t have those big frying kettles here, although I would not put it past him.”
“We should fry him.” Becky said.
Eric nodded, laughing and desperate to find some humor in all of this and dried a tear off Becky’s cheek. She gave him the cloth and dried his face as well.
"What can we do except fry that tyrant?"
“Leave.” Eric said nervously. "I feel as if we are being watched.”
Eric kissed her gently. “I don’t want to risk you getting whipped again.” Eric said, grabbing her by the cheeks and kissing her mouth. “Honey. He is destroying us. I would rather take a chance.”
Rebecca nodded. They embraced, Becky laying her head on his shoulder. Her eyes were transparently melancholy, one tear lingering in one of them, waiting to drop across her left cheek onto her nose. He thought about Adnicul and the fact that his name strangely resembled another name he knew. His heart was beating slower now, but still that question in his mind lingered and would not go away. The question was like a small dog unable to speak, it urged his master to look the other way where another man was watching them from afar.
Something told him that Adnicul was another man entirely.
His girlfriend shed a tear. It dropped down her face and hit his black shoulder pads.
“Shh. Shh. There, there, now. It’ll be alright.” But was he telling the truth? Would it be alright?
He saw a couple running in forest screaming, yet again he had that waking nightmare of being stuck in a cave with someone’s face stuck an inch from his nostrils. His knee hurt. He was scared. Eric knew that Adnicul kept attacking Prosperania and felt sorry for the innocent victims.

Sunday, April 12th, 1422 A.D.

A large building that looked like Roman Forums positioned in the centre of Clurafar was the location of the parliamentary centre. The roof was simple light white lead glass, a slightly rounded and raised cupola that magnified any light that existed outside. In any other part of the palace torches had to be used in the corridors to find the way. The Main Hall was in itself a cupola located in the middle at the very top as an independent entity, with windows and openings all around it. Outside every window there were three torches inside a convex glass that seemed to throw in light into the Hall in addition to the daylight, which gave the Senate a slightly flickering character. Today the Main Hall was full to the brim with approximately 600 people sitting in three large amphitheatrical half circles around a large podium. Alexander had chosen a Sunday for the merger, since it was the Lord’s day and fitting for success of the grandest of schemes: peace.
Some had travelled for months to be here to witness the signing of the alliance. In the balcony raising above and in back of the people King Alexander and Queen Sieglinde sat with Steven, Patrick and Patricia to their right, Eleonora and Maria to their left. Patrick wore a look of patient dignity and watched all the gossiping couples and dignitaries from eleven nations waiting for their search for equality within the Empire. Patricia touched up a curl or two in her hair, all too relieved that the weight had been taken off her young shoulders. Although she loved Morgana, she would’ve hated her for the burden of reading.
Maria, the oldest of the daughters held a very discreet conversation with Eleonora, pointing at various people in the audience that they knew. Steven held a conversation with Sieglinde as Patrick tried to avoid saying much to his father, who was throwing comments at him.
"Smile a little more!" and "Look at Steven, he does not look bored!"
Mustafus was the only king who had known that he could not be here already in September of 1421, since a dignitary from Mongolia had arranged for a state visit after Alexander's recent one, where a trade agreement of Prosperanian Silver would be signed for Shanghai Silk, Tsih-Chuan Tea and Burmese Canon powder. It was the most lucrative trade route that Alliland had ever been involved in, so The Minister of Defense, Mario Callini, a very odd Neapolinian with an incredibly high and soft-spoken voice in the body of a wrestler represented Alliland. Morgana always said it seemed like the man was miming with his walrus bearded mouth to the sound of another man. She said his muscles excited her. But the man was extremely bright and had sent more than one foe to the gallows. There was the Hispanic King, Mormidar the Clear and his wife Queen Silvia, sitting in the first row. Then the Vindobon Queen with Thurina IV sat next to him. A large lady dressed in fabulous local cotton with a large ostrich feather fan covering her large heaving trademark cleavage, whom she would only reveal in private to the privileged, a very pregnant bosom who had become somewhat of a myth that everyone wanted to see and no one dared to admit wanting to witness.
There was the Daneland Minister of Commerce, Ulfaas Nordhjiil, who sat and read a document about the protocol given to him by Alexander. He looked bored, but knew that Alexander and Belinda valued his importance. The Olandus Prince Fredruck the Glad had his Princess Estefania with him and they seemed to be glancing at all the details in here, never having been in this Hall previous to this occasion. The Brittanic Counsellor Martin Darbersham wore his very typical 'summer wig' that went down his hips along with his knee length coat in indigo blue that contrasted his brown eyes. He had come alone without his wife, but with four ladies in waiting, who were all his personal mistresses. The wife was in labour, expecting their fourth son, at least they hoped for a boy.
Neapolonia was represented by its the old King and Queen, Luigi the III and Escamilla the IV, who equally split the responsibilities of reign and therefore had a three-person staff with each of them. Morawar's Queen Regina wore a smile that just seemed to be transparent and some of the young men in the audience just couldn't stop looking at her. She had red hair and blue eyes and was so sexually entrancing that most boys in the hall would have a dream or two about her that night. The woman was a hard lady that left no chance for negotiation.
Hurtian fishing tradition had sent a literal Fisher King to the Alliance. He had been the head of the largest Fishing Corporation in the country before he took over the throne and created a dynasty after the last king died ten years earlier without children. Iwar VII was literally chosen by the people. A black coat studded with golden medals from battle victories contrasted his almost bald haircut, with a black Mohawk middle. Beside him were his three children: Gabriel, Julia and Zorin, his wife Theresa and the Nanny Birgitta, who was from Daneland. None of them smiled at all.
Jamburee had sent its King Urban and the family and they were sitting next to Iwar and all of them were madly laughing, fat and jolly folks all. Urban was the largest and apparently was telling his family a joke that made them all laugh. Iwar glanced angrily at them. Zentar had sent a King that seemed to glow in pure expressions. He and his wife held hands and gave a few easy tips to the aides as to what to aim for in the coming negotiations. No one had been invited from Nocturania. There had been discreet invitations since a year or two, a courier had even travelled to Rigor Mortis to tell Adnicul to come, but a serious decline had been the result. Until a letter came that Zeehka would arrive as a representative and no one knew why since the merger was excluding Nocturania.
This woman had been the last Johnathan's wife before he supposedly died in battle and was replaced by Adnicul. She was now living in Misar Rularia, a castle in the middle of the country that apparently held the largest dungeon in Medatlantia and only given a visit by Adnicul once a year as the royal widow and was therefore chosen to be the one to go. But Nocturania was the reason why this alliance was taking place at all, their attacks along the coast and their persistence in attacks. So the woman, who actually was Moorish, sat alone and said nothing, her glittery black dress shining in its transparency of being there at all. Zeekha hoped that she could have the king pardon her for being there as Nocturanian representative as she at age fourteen once had been in love with him in secret when Sieglinde felt attached to leaving him during the scandal of his infidelity with Grand Duchess Madeleine.
She felt like a scapegoat and wondered why her life had turned out so poorly. Last but not least were Margetania's King and Queen, Sieglinde's sisters and brothers, as well the five representatives that had come to witness this event. They knew that they were the reason why it happened at all. Behind them were the two hundred senators and their wives, children and grandchildren. There were so many glittery costumes and eagerness in this room at that point that the two girls behind the red curtain that separated them from it brought them together. The one hundred guards that stood along the walls seemed to smile as well, right before the women walked in, shaking with nervousness.
Morgana told Belinda. "I am so sorry, Sister heart, if I have offended you."
Belinda looked at her, surprised, wondered if she best be mean or clean and finally smiled and said, "Morgana," she patted her on the arm. "It's all right."
The hug that followed broke the ice. The two strode out, Belinda in a dazzling light blue toga-dress studded with dark blue pearls with a white scarf and glittering red earrings, her dark yellow rose-decorated sander hair spilling across her fertile half visible bosom. Morgana in a light green creation down to the floor just like her sister's with beige flowers with a white rose in her hair and blue earrings. The applause started amongst the senatorial sons way in the back and spread like wildfire through the hall and it would not end. There had been rumours of this appearance since their childhood, rumours about binding Medatlantia together in an alliance. It had been a dream.
Since Sieglinde had wished for them to hold the eventual opening speech at this occasion, even at their puberty gossip had started. Why them? The answer was simple: they were the two most beautiful girls in the Winsletenna Family. Everyone hoped on a continental alliance to end all poverty and agitation that war caused. It took about ten minutes for the applause to calm down.
When it did, Belinda spoke first. "My dear distinguished ladies and gentlemen, lords, ladies, your majesties, noble sirs, dear distinguished senators! This conference here in our beautiful capital constitutes an event anticipated long before we, my sister and I, were born. I remember my father talking of his grandfather hoping to once serve a continent that worked together instead of against one another. Margetania gave us a reason to start such an effort. It is indeed fate that we shall do it here in Clurafar's Grand Senate with its twelve lovely marble archways, where twelve nations together in assembly join forces protecting the litteral mother continent economical extinction.”
Morgana continued, her heaving bosom giving warning of commencing speech. "We have gathered today partially to promote this alliance in progression because of Margetania's dire need of assistance in the last years, much due to raising poverty, bad crop outcome and mostly because of attack by unknown neighbours, but also to try to plead with you to agree with a joint effort to bind our forces. We are all very, very proud to have so many distinguished and wonderful people here today and we are very happy to be here to say this to you today, to welcome you as a family and as neighbours all, wholeheartedly.”
There was ear deafening applause again that seemed not to end and during it the sisters looked at their proud parents. Belinda pretended not to notice a wink from her father for she thought she knew what the wink meant: You see, it paid off to hold the speech.
When the applause ended, Belinda went on, "As Margeatanian descendants," Belinda said, "we felt compelled to take on this mission as sponsors and put in even some of our own savings into making this project work and we are therefore more than happy to find you all here to assist us in this cause.” Ten years ago the Margetanian economy stagnated due to unfortunate events such as pirate raids and dying crops. We have a country that has remarkable natural resources and marvelling expertise, but no money to have it grow and flourish. It is sad that my mother, Queen Sieglinde of Prosperania, sees her homeland in such misery. The wine, gold and livestock that we import is important for our country just as our export of silver and clothing are to them. We are here to ask you to join us in our efforts to save the country and bind all of us together. We are asking you to hold discussions, sign the papers, embracing each other in hope."
"We do this as Margetanian descendants," Morgana added, "to plead you to build up our neighbour's land again as an eventual hope of joining forces against a policy leaning against terror by threat against the attitude of this conference extreme retaliation from our side."
No one spoke, but everyone knew the word terror was directed against one representative, Zeekha. Belinda said: "We want peace and we will tell you that this is what we aim with this conference. You must wonder, what points are awaiting you here during the next month? But first let us welcome you individually. We start with Neapelonia. We welcome ...”

At the castle

Later that same day the king stood watching the old gift, of the clock, again. The old friar’s name had been Father Reland Mansicart. He had belonged to the faith of The Blessed Church of St. Michael. He had often come to the royal palace on religious errands or as a spiritual healer, or, indeed, as clockmaker. Constructed just last year for the king on his 52nd birthday on 26th August 1421 it had been much appreciated. Alexander could not help himself thinking there was hidden meaning behind the clock gift other than awarding the last efforts of a dying man. Reland had nodded slowly at Belinda with his half-closed eyes and elaborated without answering her question as to the figures in the clock. Alexander just felt slightly odd looking at that clock. He knew that the man had given him a brief history of the clock as an invention that day.
Around the year 1000 an old monk named Gerbert started making the first clock. He later became Pope Sylvester II. Around 1240 mechanics were built into clocks for the first time. The profession of clockmaker existed since around 1269. A Dominican Clerical named Humbertus de Romanis was the first one to specifically describe what clocks to count on or not. In Milano during 1336 a clock was invented that divided the day into four times six hours. In 1345 the hour was parted into 60 minutes and the minute into 60 seconds. In 1368 the mechanical clock found its place in most Medatlantian cities. In 1410, Reland was responsible for making the first completely mechanical clock that could be set on a mantelpiece or in a private home or palace.
Alex looked at this tenth ever-existing mantelpiece masterpiece once again and had to smile at something so beautiful and so mysterious. But the story the clock was telling about the figurines inside the work was the oldest myth in creation.
Lucifer and Michael had been brothers until Lucifer, the Archangel, fell away from God and became Lucifer, the Devil. It was a Medatlantian version of the Yin and Yang duology and represented Time. The elderly monk was an old friend of the family. There had been a warning there in the old man's eyes. He said that Night can be conquered only in the face of Daylight. He told them that if you made darkness your ally and naturally accept its role as tester of faiths, then he would let you be. He told Belinda that the clock was meant to bring luck, and although he loved it, he wondered what the old man had really meant. It had almost been as if the old man had eyes in his neck and was talking to him through his daughter's eyes.
His dreams of twelve young men of different colours and creeds warning him of challenges ahead left him puzzled. It all seemed to have its centre here on the mantle piece, inside the clockwork of this old now dead monk's clock. His last birthday was seven months back, but since then the monk had triggered the memory of his sister. What scared him more was the image he kept having of a messenger coming into a house and telling him something had happened. That image had first appeared shortly after Belinda's birth. It had appeared in a dream. Then it had come back two years later and not until the dream appeared a third time had the striking image made the connection within him. That it had something to do with Belinda.
He recognized the place, but could never place the details. That is, except for the mahogany doors and the tapestries. He knew the dream as a prophecy but the images had been too fuzzy to be recognized. When the old man gave him the clock, he realized it was his own festival hall on the third floor. It was a prophecy of his own sister returning to his palace at some point in the years to come. And he realized the old man’s clock had been a protector and that he knew she was coming back. Time. It was about time, wasn't it? He looked back at the document again. It showed a map of the Danish Channel and the routes the different fleets usually took.
The Britannic Empire was upset at Nocturania for using their flag as a cover-up to pass the border, only to throw it off and raid Margetania. How it somehow linked with Lucinda was hard to say, but it did. And in time, this too would be resolved. Or so he hoped. The story had always fascinated him and it was clear that he was just passing his time, looking at this thing, waiting for he did not know what. It was late now and he needed sleep, tomorrow would be a long day. One of the executive senators, who was sleeping in the castle, had been here to brief him on who had signed what papers and what problems were occurring with which party. He walked to the window and looked out at the moon and stars when Rolf walked in.
Alex turned around and looked at the door. Rolf smiled and bowed. "Hello, Rolf!"
"Hello, your majesty!" Rolf walked over to the king. "Is everything alright?"
Alexander smiled faintly. He nodded. "How is Belinda?"
"Overworked, I think. Otherwise she would not have fainted during the dance."
“How is she holding up? Sleeping still?"
"Yes, Sire. Last time she was up was when you two played chess. Geena said she would check."
Alex put his hands behind his back and sighed. "She did a good job today. They both did."
"Happy they got along." Rolf laughed, half in thought. “They are beauties.” Rolf looked out, enjoying this quiet, almost whispered conversation with the king. "All agree in that, even Zeekha."
"Even her?" he said, half in thought. “Although Belinda wondered why I invited her.”
"If we had not, then we would have had a bigger problem."
"Adnicul had unofficially said no. No invitation would mean war."
Rolf nodded. "You are thinking of something."
Alexander smiled. "Can’t I hide anything from you?"
Rolf looked down and shook his head. Alex sighed.
He paused. "I am afraid of having become too ..." He was searching for the word. "I cannot find the word." Rolf gave his majesty his silent support. "My girls received a verbal bashing yesterday."
Rolf shook his head. “They did cause quite a stir, didn’t they?”
Alex nodded. “I had to lecture them, Rolf. I just had to tell them that this was beyond bickering and beyond quarrels about male love. I think I startled Belinda by threatening to withdraw her crown.”
Rolf gave his majesty a solemn look. “She has to learn to separate politics and privacy.”
There was a soft silence. “I told her during the dinner she need not worry. Morgana seemed to be a little angry with me for saying that I would denounce her. She said that it wouldn’t be possible.”
Rolf shook his head. “She has turned the original guesthouse, The Rose, into a brothel.”
"Well it isn’t that, Rolf” Alex mused. “We have eleven nations represented in Iuventus tonight.
The least I can expect is a little professionalism. Even Zeekha commented on Morgana’s rudeness.”
“How so?” Rolf asked.
Alexander raised one eyebrow and looked at Rolf from the side. It was evident that the king was firmly in his cheek. Rolf cocked his head and laughed. “In that case I don’t blame her. How many did she conquer? Should I be glad I left early?”
The king nodded. “All said.”
The two men watched one of King Iwar’s stable boys, a blond gent with a round face with a big lantern, open the gate to the stables and walk out toward the servant wing and disappear.
“The stables have never ever been so full of carriages and horses. We are lucky we have extensive rooms."
“Seems,” Rolf shrugged and nodded “that everyone is happy about the alliance.”
Alex nodded. "Hope that this entire merger works out the way I hope it will."
"It will, your Highness. It will."
He chuckled, softly. "Sometimes I wonder why you are so extraordinarily worried about not being good enough. You should be aware of being that by now."
"I am afraid” Alexander muttered. “Strange thing, this emotion called fear.”
"Of what are you afraid, Alex?"
"Her promise haunts me, Rolf." Alex sneered, his eyes gazing at the stars. "She'd been searching the wine cellars. She knew I was coming when she heard the door to the East Wing slam shut. There was no question what would happen. Somehow, by sheer coincidence a Nocturanian courier had come in a carriage to deliver the return of a document that would supposedly seal an agreement between us and the man in power.” Rolf nodded. "His expression when I told him he would have an extra passenger was not a friendly one. She promised me revenge. ‘I'm coming to get you, Alexander .. One day you will be sorry you sent me away!’ I'll never ever forget that.”
"Belinda's marriage is the thirty year anniversary of Lucinda's exile." Rolf grew silent as Alexander spoke and grew still. "I booked the cathedral, invited the guests, ordered Bantrard to write the opera and then I realized it ... but it was too late to change it. Thirty years a magic spell.”
"You are afraid of being haunted."
Alex nodded. "I know the horror she has caused, Rolf. How Belinda suffered. How we all suffered. I don't want that to happen again."
For a brief moment, the king and his assistant were just men looking out at the night time sky, their faces lit by flickering torches on the wall, men hoping to escape the fears of things yet to come. Belinda was dreaming.

Belinda’s first dream

The party had been going on for almost three hours. There was a saltarello, a Neapolonian dance that had become fashionable just a few years ago in the courts of Medatlantia being danced.
Around fifty people were whirling around the room in furious formations. As to Belinda, she had jumped into the bathhouse in the cellar for a ten-minute bath. She had met Morgana there and talked for a while about Morgana’s latest discovery, a private in Zedrick's army she was hoping to get into bed soon enough. Belinda tried to tell her of what she had experienced herself, but the conversation led only to men. So she left and got ready to go to the party she was hearing from the open windows upstairs. At seven Belinda wandered in to the Grand Hall where people were nibbling on fruit, nuts, and peacock, ostrich, elk and drinking wine. Bantrard was there playing the lute. When Belinda came in Bantrard stopped playing and everyone stood up and applauded. Belinda was flattered by all this attention and walked about smiling at the people.
Then, as if on a given signal, she moved away from her own person and then saw herself from the outside. She seemed to be moving slower in some way. She turned around and saw Lucinda behind her other self, walking toward her in a black dress with white pearls, blood dripping from her teeth. She wanted to warn herself, but no matter how she tried she couldn’t make her other self hear her. Everyone was dancing, only Belinda was out of her own self and looking at a creature that wasn't there. Lucinda looked at her like a dog prowling up on a scared squirrel. Belinda could not move. She was nailed to the floor and nothing could help her take even a step away from this creature. The guests around her started moving slower and slower and suddenly the world turned blurry. Only Lucinda was a clear sight. The music was slower and deeper and Belinda had never heard anything like it before in her life. At once Lucinda started shrieking, her face melting, her red and blood-stained mouth turning into a half-moon and her eyes dripping away from its sockets. Belinda's eyes were bloodshot. She made the sign of the cross. Lucinda's face turned back to normal again and she looked at the girl, smiling.
"Who are you?" Belinda asked, seriously.
Lucinda cocked her head and shook it. "You ought to know better, young woman, than to ask me such a dumb question." Belinda didn't reply. Lucinda leaned forward and Belinda leaned back. Still, she could feel the stench of raw flesh from her mouth. "I am your aunt." She leaned back into her normal position and stretched forward her hand. Belinda looked at her hand. It was pitch black and little bolt of lightning were protruding from within its surface. Belinda did not take it, she just looked up toward her without emotion. Lucinda sighed. "Well, I would hope that we could talk ... Just you and me." Lucinda smiled a sickening smile and reached over to caress Belinda. She pushed away her hand and Lucinda smiled no more. "Such a stubborn girl. In fact, that was what a liked about you from the beginning. A nice challenge.”
"Have you been watching me?" Belinda asked.
Lucinda laughed and looked up to the ceiling. "I invited you to my nightmare." Belinda shook her head. Lucinda thought for a moment. "No, that's not true. The fact that I was shoved into a corner in Nocturania from this gorgeous piece of kitsch, as future men would call it, gave more room for ... good things to prosper, shall we say? Such a disgustingly good creature would never have been born under
my rule, you see ... So, in some bloody way or another, I invented you." Lucinda wandered around, among the slow Saltarello-dancers.
"Why have you returned after so many years?”
Lucinda took and deep breath and turned around, her voice dropping two octaves and her mouth turning into a hell-hole of fifty brown fangs. Drops of blood trickled down one of her middle fangs. She cocked her head and opened up her eyes widely. Belinda jumped back two feet. Her face changed back and she smiled and patted Belinda on the cheek. Lucinda laughed, sneering. "You don't want me as an enemy." Then Lucinda walked away a few steps. Then she turned around again and said: "I shall return to haunt you, Belinda. I will give you ..." She made a sweeping gesture with her one hand and snapped her finger with the other: "... little bits of information will reach you here and there. The more you see, the more you will understand. You are chosen." The last word was just a blurry, slightly odd dream for Belinda, for she fainted before she could hear more. It seemed to her she had experienced all this before. Before she could find out why this familiarity, she woke up.

Monday evening, April 27th, 1422 A.D.

Somebody was standing by her bed with a candle. She looked up. "Belinda! Belinda, my dear!" At first, she saw only the white wax candle on a golden candlestick. The hand holding it was rather chubby. The woman was clad in a white nightie and a white bonnet.
"Are you awake, my child?"
"Geena?"
She smiled, her face turning into a chubby net of wrinkles. "You've slept for hours, love."
Belinda yawned. "Where's Father?"
"With a few others down in the Alexander Room, drinking and talking by the fire."
Belinda sat up, put her head in her hands. "I just remember dreaming that I was ... it's all a blur. I ..." Belinda scratched her dark blond locks and shook her head. "... I remember everything becoming ... slower ... somehow ... I remember seeing ... Lucinda."
"Lucinda?" Geena asked, quietly startled. "Did you see her?"
"Yes," she confirmed. "what does that mean?“
Geena looked down and then her eyes wandered to the trees outside rocking peacefully in the wind. She sighed, her voice trembling. "It might be too late to stop her, but not too late to fight." Geena looked down and grabbed Belinda's hand tight, shaking it. Belinda was almost startled at the power of that fear in her hand. She looked up at Belinda. "Fight with all of your waking spirit!"
"I want to see Father!”
"Come on then!”

§

There was a steady soft-spoken murmur, a beaming smile, someone looking up from a fruit bowl, somebody waving at the sleepy princess. Belinda’s two other sisters, Eleonora and Maria were sitting on a lectus of wood and bronze with lions on it. It was covered in satin and silk and stuffed with wool and feathers. They were the quiet ones in the family and they were deep in a discussion about horses and cooking and men and cosmetic detail. There husband Martin and Marcus were sitting together on another Roman couch and speaking about war over a glass of pear mead and strawberry dumplings. The only son in the family was sitting with his Spanish wife Erica close by. Their son Lancelot was asleep, guarded by the maid Ruby. Maria’s son Fabian was sleeping in the same room as Lancelot. They had been playing war and had fallen asleep very soon.
Except for Lancelot, there were only adults in the room.
Belinda gave her father a warm hug.
“Hello, Father! Midnight festivities and nightly bliss?”
Her father nodded, walked over to the mid table and picked up a full tin mug of red wine. “Nothing like a drink after bedtime. None of us could sleep and before you knew it we were a crowd of night owls.” Alex raised his hand and stroked her cheek. “You look tired, pumpkin! What is the matter? Can I help?”
Belinda shrugged. “Nightmares,” she grinned bravely. “We are ships that pass in the night, my nightmares and I. Although this one scares me.”
She sat down. There was a profound silence in the room. Alex took her hand.
Belinda’s mother Sieglinde cocked her head and spoke, her lilt ringing well in everyone’s ear.
“Dreams mean nothing unless they mean something good to you.”
Belinda nodded and smiled insecurely. “Bless you, mom.”
Patrick was sitting with his wife Erica beside Sieglinde.
Spontaneously, Patrick’s estranged wife Erica let Patrick go and went to embrace Belinda.
There was a long hug and a sweet silence before Erica went to sit down again. Belinda blew her a kiss. Alex was quiet for a second, hugging his wife, noticing her sister Eleonora and her husband Marcus slowly drift in behind him, awoken by the noise. Her older sister Patricia came back from standing by the window and sat down next to her father. Belinda, standing in her white night dress with a large brown blanket around her shoulders cuddled up next to her mother. There was an odd atmosphere in the room. It was as if everyone wanted to know what Belinda had dreamed, although no one was brave enough to ask.
Patrick stood up, walked up to bronze cup, poured Belinda some red wine from a large gold pitcher and gave it to her along with some dark raisin and blueberry bread.
Belinda looked up and smiled. “Oh” she whispered, twinkling at her brother. “Thank you.”
She took a bite and munched away on her bread. Morgana could not hold the curiosity inside any longer. It popped out of her like a jack-in-the-box, a comet that suddenly appears in the sky in front of bunch of resting festival visitors. Sieglinde was just whispering something inside her daughter’s ear and Belinda giggled.
”Belinda?” Belinda looked up, a smile still on her face. She nodded. Morgana continued. “I never knew that you had so many bad dreams. I’m sorry.” There was a silence in the room. The entourage of family members knew that her dreams were a sensitive subject. They had caused her trouble before and would certainly do so again. Belinda smiled and drank her wine. She looked down.
“I just have not told anyone about them, that is all” Belinda whispered.
“If you want to tell us, you can.” her large bosomed sister softly whispered. There was a long silence again. “If you don’t want to say anything, that’s fine. I was just curious, that’s all.” Morgana looked down morosely, stood up and walked alone to the window. Everyone followed her with their gazes and someone sighed. “I don’t want you to hate me for caring about you.”
Belinda looked up and there was a look upon her face that was startled, full of love.
Belinda put down her wine and walked over to the window. They began whispering to each other. A few people looked away, but the one person that looked at them, kept looking at them, was their father. He saw Belinda conversing with her sister and he saw them embrace. They leaned against the windowpane, Belinda leaning her head against the window and giggling now and then. Morgana was telling her some story. It was a good sight to see the two of them friends again.
Sieglinde touched Alexander’s shoulder and the king looked over at his wife. “I’m just watching you watch them.” she said lovingly. “It’s like watching you when you saw Belinda for the first time when she first was born.”
Alexander smiled. “Hmm. Really? That’s nice. To me, Belinda will always be my little girl.”
”Come, Darling, into my arms” Sieglinde said and promptly he did. They had not sat there for more than a minute, kissing each other like a couple of young ones in love, when there was a cry from the widow. It was Belinda. She sounded upset. It was a very soft cry, but it was obviously a cry of some sort that was full of surprise. Alexander had been kissing his wife when he looked up. There was a breeze coming from the window. The sister’s gowns fluttered in the breeze.
“Come and look,” she cried. Patrick looked toward the window.
A few others followed his example.
“What is it?” Alexander said.
“There on the hill.”
Morgana said, pointing out toward the open space on the hill toward the full moon.
Five people, including Alexander and Patrick, stood up and walked to the lead glass window. She pointed and the family looked out and saw a figure standing up there. It was obviously a person that was wearing a cape of some sort, for it was blowing in the very strong wind up there. The light of the moon was shining upon the hill and the person was looking at them. No, it was really a fact and every one in the room knew it. There was no indication of it, but they knew. “Who is that? Who would be standing there at this time of night?” There was a silence here now that spoke of a family petrified. Someone shrugged. Though they knew who it was. Then the unspeakable happened. The figure on the hill lifted from the ground and flew away. It circled the grounds and when it was close to be recognized it was obvious who it was.
“Lucinda” Alexander said. “She is back.” Belinda’s father turned to her and looked her deep in the eyes and asked her, “What did you dream? I need to know.”
Belinda’s hands were shaking. “Lucinda appeared to me during a feast. I was chosen, she said. Blood was dripping from her mouth.” She looked up and leapt into her father’s arms. “My Lord, oh Father.” She wept. “Don’t let her get me.”
Alexander embraced Belinda and caressed her head. “You’re much too strong for that. We’ve won over her before. We will again.”
The Winsletennas, aware of the moment, stood there comforting a girl who was making Alexander’s nightgown wet with her tears.

Late Wednesday evening, April 29th, 1422 A.D.

Marie-Louise had brought up the two lead glass lanterns from the Grand Hall at sundown and since then the candles inside had been exchanged and relit twice – by the couple themselves. Positioned on either side of the table, they seemed to light up the entire balcony. It was a beautiful spring night and the couple had been standing there for quite a while just gazing at the Big Dipper, Orion, Pegasus and, of course, the Evening Star. Occasionally, one of them would point to a star and the other would nod. A few crickets here and there gave the garden an eerie, sleepy sort of atmosphere. There was a bowl of grapes and figs and apricots on the table next to the one lantern and Belinda, who was closest by, fed Steven with grapes. On the stony armrest in front of them they had each one bronze mug of red wine.
The light of the four candles within each one of the lanterns seemed to flicker and glitter in each of their faces. Steven’s arm was around Belinda’s waist and Belinda was holding on to his shoulder, leaning against his upper arm. It was warm and Belinda wore her nightgown with a silk scarf around her waist. Her right nipple was erect from the night air.
Steven was wearing his red robe, as he was accustomed before going to sleep. He looked at Belinda again, calmly. She saw his half-closed eyes in the light of a lead glass lantern. She saw a future there and prayed inside that she could have a reason not to be suspicious. She needed to be able to trust him. She had often spoken with her mother about how hurt she had been about what had happened between Madeleine and her father. God knows where the Grand Duchess was today. She was probably old and bitter. Steven nodded and kissed Belinda on the cheek.
“Thank you for telling Morgana off today.” He smiled at her, a bit confused. “Thank you for telling her to mind her own business.”
He shook his head. “I just told her what I felt she deserved” he moaned, kissing her earlobe.
“She kept following me around the entire walk. I could not saunter a step without her being after me like some dog on a leash.”
She giggled at this since she knew he was hurt because she had been so suspicious.
“It means a lot to me.” She looked out into the open air. “I was worried.”
”About what? Us?” She nodded. “Don’t worry.”
She looked at the moon again. “The other day before father returned?” Steven nodded as Belinda spoke. “I heard Morgana rushing out as the chapel door closed. She spies on us.”
He grabbed her tenderly and she looked at him with wide-open eyes. “We have no secrets.”
“That’s right. We have no secrets.”
He smiled. “Anything else you want to talk about before we make love?”
“I sent Marie-Louise home for the night, that’s all.”
They started caressing one another, closing their eyes. “We’ll have to blow out all the candles ourselves? I’ll have to carry you to bed, tuck you in, and make love to you all by myself.”
“Well, I should hope that we’ll do that last part by ourselves.” Belinda giggled.
Steven nodded. “I should, too. I wouldn’t want Marie-Louise crawling over me while I am entering you with all of my might.”
She looked at the balcony arrangement of flowers and fruit. “She can clean this up tomorrow for breakfast, but we’ll have to drag ourselves to bed alone.”
“Dragging is a little bit of an understatement, don’t you think?”
Steven giggled and Belinda started giggling as well.
“I would handle running to bed very well, I suppose.”
His slightly unshaven mouth touched her soft lips.
“I can handle you tasting so good!”
His tongue entered her mouth, playfully swaying inside it. Belinda closed her eyes and caressed his back. “Me, too!”
Steven started kissing Belinda’s neck, slowly letting her scarf drop to the ground. As Belinda opened Steven’s robe, he unbuttoned her nightgown, but could only manage the first button. She smiled because she knew that he had always had problems undressing her. Steven’s nightgown was the first to drop to the ground. He stood there, naked. Belinda opened her nightdress and let the spring air caress her body. Now, at midnight not a single person around to see this and they both felt like youngsters.
They had fought a lot the last few weeks and now feeling close to Steven was something new and exciting.
“I hope you enjoy the view, Steven!”
Her chest was heaving and falling. The nipples were big as cherries now on two honey melon sized breasts. She saw his long gender rise and as the moon shone upon the couple as the princess knelt down, embracing her fiancées waist with her hands and his manhood with her lips. She felt the perfume of his manly odour in her nostrils. He picked her up gently by her waist and she spread her legs. Steven caressed her body as she lay there enjoying the sight of her man. Then he entered her slowly and she felt every inch of his masculinity sliding into her body. Her head slightly bumped against the lantern again and again as she looked up at the stars, seeing Orion in the sky and her own home upside down, feeling Steven’s sweat drop down on her skin.
She wondered what was up there in those stars, if someone else was looking at her from up there. She felt herself getting so excited looking up at the stars and being loved to at the same time that she had to sigh, giggle and cry all at once. Steven was going harder at it now, much harder, grabbing her. Making love outside had always been a great inspiration to Belinda. She had heard of the wealthy Romans doing it. A long line of rulers had made it an art to consumate their love in the open. Caesar and Cleopatra, Gallius Julius and Appolonia as well as Wandiffian rulers like Zumian the First and Latitia Julia had written about making love in the open and where and how they had done it.
She felt spiritual and decadent at the same time doing it. Looking at her naked fiancée now in the light of the green lanterns was an almost breathtaking sight that made her look forward to feeling his hard gender inside her, just like Latitia spoke of when Zumian entered her in those old erotic documents from the 9th century. Looking down again upon her loved one, she saw him going faster and faster and trying to hold back his climax. He convulsed several times, seemed to jerk back and forth inside her and the speed seemed to increase every time he entered her opening. The warm night air caressed her skin and it felt strange and animalistic to be making love under such beautiful stars and under a full moon that large.
She groaned several times, felt the marble table under her squeak and rattle, her body slightly wobbling with every blow. From inside an eruption came and vibrated in her from head to toe. It started in her bowel and went like a tidle wave to her toes and up to her head. She threw her head back, arched her back and shook her hair back and forth. Her high voice moaned in rhythm with his low baritone and now at once love came flooding from inside both of them like apricot juice pouring into a gold cup. She closed her eyes and felt her genitals contracting around his gender. He started pumping faster and faster, sweat dropping onto her belly and down between her legs Now at once love juice came flooding from inside both of them like apricot pouring into a gilded furry oyster cup.
“You know what arouses me, don’t you.”
”You know what arouses me.”
“My parents sleep right above us. Do you think they’re hearing us?”
“Maybe they’re doing the same thing as we are,” he said and took the wine from her hand, drank the rest and put the cup back on the armrest. Slowly panting, he lingered inside her a few minutes before carrying her to the bed. The last thing that she remembered hearing as she lay there on her fiancée’s chest was his breathing. The last thing she remembered feeling before they both entered a land of mutual dreams was the hauntingly warm breeze from the open balcony door against her right cheek and Steven’s scratchy chest hair rubbing gently against her left. She closed her eyes and imagined walking among the sunflowers, faithful, loving, peaceful and happy.


Remembering the dark autumn of 1411, Forest of Callenia, Deepest Nocturania

It was a nightmare that kept him restless that night. He had had slept for no more than an hour when he woke up screaming, waking up Sieglinde, who caressed him to sleep again. He remembered how he had to sit by Belinda’s side for hours to calm her down because of what had happened. He tried to forget, but the ghosts were back. He remembered that evening after the return. His daughter had been crying on his way home from Rigor Mortis. The thought still lingered. The question was still unanswered after 11 years.
“Who is Nina Ray?”
“What did you say, Love?”
“Lucinda spoke of a woman named Nina Ray. Who is she?”
”I have never heard the name, Sweetie.Who has told you there is such a person?”
Belinda in his shivering arms, the question left him baffled. All the more hard was it that he lived in a world where his daughter had laid abducted in a stoney floor as a result of an extended family quarrel. Alexander knew that somewhere this peace was to be found in spite of the quarrel, even if he had to go to hell to find the answer. He could protect her back then. Now she was a grown woman.
She was on her own. That scared him.
“Who is Nina Ray?”
There was no answer to that question yet. Soon there would be an answer. The puzzle that had a missing piece was close to completion. Screams would again echo though the halls of the kingdom.

Thursday, April 30th, 1422 A.D.,
Nocturanian Forest Female Warrior Camp

To the forest queen it was a participation in a silent war and it was clear that Adnicul felt the Forest warriors were the best ones for the job. They, as forest warriors, had always been at edge with both countries and always found ways to cross the borders without their consent, as the Callenias really existed as a forest in both countries that rarely could be crossed except by these peoples, so agreeing to compromise this neutrality would demand a contribution from Adnicul himself. It was said among so-called common folk of both cultures that the forest actually was a gateway between dimensions and Nocturania nothing else than a step closer to Hell. In actual fact nothing less than the truth, said the common folk. The queen knew the real truth. She was one of the few who did. In actual fact, the Rumzils of the gateways appeared nowhere else but in Nocturania. With their waddling frame and hundred fangs they were certainly the guardians of the underworld and no less. The forest warriors were the only ones they feared. Their mutual battle for territory gave them skill to hunt and kill gave them credit that no one could better understand when they had the winning cards in their hands, and when to use their position as middle-men between the two cultures. The figure wearing the black cloak had rode three entire nights and four days to get back here. She was a prime rider and as such she had been educated in the skill of waking sleep, which was a form of conscious trance and very useful during long rides, but her last session had made her so overly concentrated that stepping off the horse now at the end of the ride had made her agitated. As soon as she saw the camp, she rode to the main tree. At this time of year about five o'clock the queen would probably be in the middle of a beauty session, which was a good thing for the invited messenger. She could listen patiently if she was being 'groomed' for evening baths. The prime rider tied the horse at the bottom of the tree at one of the great loops. There were four other horses tied there. She hung the food sack around the horse's throat and climbed up to the planks toward a fat head guard, wearing a leather vest. He was an unshaved bloke with the characteristic Bular tattoo of the warrior code on his left arm. The dragon with the seven crosses. He picked his teeth with a knife while looking her up and down. He sucked with his tongue something that caught in between them, cleared his throat.
"Name?" His voice sounded like rough sandpaper on hoarse mountain rock. She took off her hood, a blond woman with brown eyes. She was dashing in every way, complexion fair and faintly bleak. Eyes sparkling like those of a deer.
"Nina Ray." Her voice was tender and high, but the intonation was ice-cold.
"Password?"
"Darkness rules only after the queen passes."
He gestured with his head and continued picking with his teeth, grunting. Nina passed and stopped nine feet away and turned around toward the unshaven man.
"Is the queen busy?"
He turned around and looked at her. She knew that this man had probably never done anything else in his life than checked passwords and delivered services to the queen. Not that Nina could see why the queen would want to woo such a hairy beast. He picked his teeth. Then he shook his head. Another grunt. "What is she doing?"
"Being groomed." the man grunted.
"Anyone with her?" He held up five fingers. Grunt. She half-smiled and looked to the heavens.
"What does that mean?" He started picking his nose with the knife and Nina had to cringe.
"Four ladies and one groomer," he spat again. A groomer was a male servant who made the queen feel good. He was like a temporary husband and slave, if only for a moment.
She nodded suspiciously and started walking away. He kept looking at her. She stopped and looked at him.
"You don't speak much do you?"
He put the knife in his belt and grinned. "What is there to say?" He thought for a second, licked his lips and put his tongue into his left cheek. "… to a sweet girl like you … with such a nice …”
He looked her up and down and rested his eyes on her bosom, displayed by the open cape. “… face?"
"What's your name?"
The grin disappeared for he knew what that meant. He folded his hands and backed up a step.
"Manuel." The big man looked down.
"Well, Manuel," Nina said, walking up. He grinned again. "With better manners and a diet you might be chosen for a better task than fetching the queen's slippers."
When coming into the throne room the groomer she had chosen had given her the royal treatment for an hour, massaging her feet and legs with the vegetable oil. One by one, the riders were brought to her in turn to give her tea, fetch her a meal, massage her or report their achievements. She sat upon a podium with a view toward three windows. The four riders, all hoods down, were blonds all, every one wearing the eagle in back. The brown haired groomer was muscular and seemed to perform his task with utmost joy, a clear half-smile crowning his lips. The U-formed room had fireflies in closed lead glass jars all over, the room buzzing in light green neon. The queen, dressed in dark green from top to bottom, her black hair tied in a bun in back lay on a sofa of bamboo. She had studied the characters of her riders on their steps. The fourth rider, Luisa, had arrived before Nina and was to be excommunicated for treason. She had shown her face to an innkeeper on the way here. When let loose in the forest it was sheer luck if she survived at all and made it to Prosperania without the Rumzils feasting their eyes and tongues on her. If they did, she was as good as dead. The queen spoke slowly and calmly.
"Good evening, Nina!"
"Good evening, your highness!"
"Do you have a message?” The queen’s voice was soft, gentle, yet hard and cold as steel.
"A broken carriage near the capital, your highness." She lifted her head, sighed, and continued, matter-of-fact. "A dead horse, a sad deliveryman, seven barrels of beer destroyed, a worried king that rather hurried home than directly gave the man comfort himself. Rumours of Prosperian involvement."
“How is Alexander?”
Nina smiled. “Distraught.”
“And the princess?” the queen hissed.
“The princess is a very protective soul who blames her sister for her husband’s lust.”
"She will soon meet her maker.” the queen whispered. “The queen is pleased with you, Miss Ray. Seven successes means a promotion. Collect your reward at the lower camp." The queen paused. "Fetch me some more oil. It is on the table next to the mid window." She nodded. The queen smiled.
She walked up and had to pass Luisa to get the oil and saw right away that this girl was excommunicated and soon would be on the run. All riders were sisters and as such cared for one another. The victims were not at all important, but a fellow rider had a strange sort of sympathy for another rider and hoped that she would make the case and be able to come out alive. It did happen. Some came back to the camp with a dead Rumzil and it was promptly roasted. Luisa stepped away. The groomer got the oil and continued his treatment.
"What else, Nina? You mentioned the king and his worries, what is your verdict?"
"The king chose the crisis of his family above the accident, but invited the old man to Iuventus for replacement of his losses. This means he has too many problems at once, so we are slowly reaching our goal. Adnicul’s goal.”
"Any loss for the king serves our cause and gives us subjects. Good work."
"Thank you, your highness."
"You may leave for collection."
Nina bowed and exited, but turned around again to face the queen. She still had her eyes closed. "Yes, Nina?"
"Excuse me, your highness, but I think that you shall know that your guard, a man by the name of Manuel, resorted to cleaning bodily fluids in my sight and giving me seductive comments. I wanted to deliver you this news personally." For a moment those green eyes opened, flashed, considered the information. The groomer pulled away his hand before the queen closed her eyes and pulled it back.
"He shall be flogged. You are at leave."
Nina left, passed Manuel, climbed down and walked across the dusty plain from the large tree to the lower camp, a simple one story hut, made of hay and thick oak branch. Smoke was steaming out of the chimney; food was being served to the rider elite. About six girls were there, enjoying wines, eating food, personal groomer by their side. They pretended to be queens, for not only the queen had so called groomers.
The good messengers, too, could have a good slave for a night if they were good enough. A brown-haired Hispanic one named Pedro waited for her when she arrived at her personal table.
Although she knew his yarn was probably a lie, she enjoyed him all the same. Soon, it would be time to return.
She was looking forward to confronting her majesty Princess Belinda Winsletenna, heir to the throne. Back at the royal Nocturanian palace Rigor Mortis, Lucinda was sitting in an arched cellar all by herself by a bubbling kettle of the potency brew for coming trials. She uttered one simple phrase over and over again to herself, even though she was gloomy yet, hope lingered inside her.
“Revenge shall have the taste of succulent surprise.”


CHAPTER THREE: NINA RAY

Thursday, April 30th, 1422 A.D. – 167 days left until the promise kept

Belinda had always felt that Patrick was promiscuous because he needed more attention. She knew that he had hoped to gather more attention than he had as a child. She also knew that once she came along things became different for her brother. Her siblings loved her, there was no question about that, but Belinda had been smart and talkative from the start. Soon enough she made a valid career as a royal child and had impressed her father by honesty, her fearlessness of telling the truth. The insecurity came later, no question, and that insecurity had come from terror. Back then, though, she had been afraid of nothing.
Patrick was afraid of being overseen and thought that he had to compensate the lack of attention from his father by getting it somewhere else: from loose women. He was certainly getting attention now only maybe it wasn’t the kind of attention he wanted. Shuffling along next to his father, he looked dreamily across the field. As uncomfortable as he was, he was still very happy that his father had asked him to take a walk with him. After all, his mother had excused herself on Alexander’s recommendation. Patricia saw a bird take off from one of the branches of the old oak toward one of the clouds in the blue sky. Eleonora picked up a straw and put it in her mouth. Had they really heard him say that?
“Thank the maker that both of us have enjoyed the fruit of a plethora of females. We are both popular men and always have been. Mother should be happy to have a man with balls.”
Patrick nodded, gritting his teeth. It was hard for him getting this out. “I’m sorry I said that.”
Alexander nodded. “Accepted.” He put his arm around Patrick. “Apology accepted, son of mine.”
After a painful silence, he added: “Though I wish I was as organized and as together as you women seem to be. The female genus always seems to have everything under control all of the time.”
“That’s not why you said it, was it?” Alex inquired.
“No, I simply meant that if I flirt with a woman it doesn’t mean I go to bed with her.” Patrick responded. “I just meant that I flirt and people should accept that. Erica does, too, and she understands that. Fruit was a word I used to describe spiritual assets. I know what that scandal did to your soul.”
Alexander shook his head and smiled, cynically. “If you say so. There is a lot to be said for fidelity, Patrick. I learned that the hard way. Don’t say you can do it, because I did. I wish I hadn’t at all.”
”Father, I admire women,” Patrick said. “Their souls. That is all.”
Morgana muffled a laugh. “You admire us? So you sleep with us because you admire us?”
Belinda picked up a bit of grass, threw it in his direction. “You admire the bed sheets, Patrick.”
“Don’t say that.” Patricia laughed. “He is giving us compliments, the lad.”
The other girls giggled.
Maria poked Morgana in the side and shook her head. “He has lived too long with five sisters.”
Ellie joked. “He has had so many girls that he has become one.”
“A girl is what he is?” Belinda mused. “My, my, my … what a masculine girl.”
The king held up his hand. “I think he is serious.” Alex said. “Are you?”
Patrick nodded. “Well, come. All our lives we spend trying to please them. They deserve credit.”
“We all like you saying that.” Ellie chuckled. “We are not making fun of you. You know that.”
Patrick shrugged his shoulders. “Though if you want to throw a joke at my expense I am a willing target,” he said, playacting mirth. “As long as you understand my point. Women … are more together.”
Morgana went to him and embraced him. “I agree, Patrick. We are. All women except Lucinda.”
The two problem siblings stayed behind and embraced, whispering something to each other and then followed the others at a quicker pace. As they turned the corner onto the path by the sunflowers, Alex suddenly felt a stinging pain in his left knee. His children stopped. Maria knelt down and caressed his back. “Are you all right?”
Morgana sighed. “How bad is it?”
Alex closed his eyes and held up his hand. The pain was very bad, in fact it felt like a knife that was being pushed and wiggled around inside his leg. He breathed in slowly and breathed out. “Why does this pain always return when she is mentioned?” His children looked at each other. He raised his back and opened his eyes. He tried to smile. He saw Morgana looking at him, worried, and caressed her cheek.
“I’m getting old.” Alexander said. “Too old for the throne. Too old to be brave.”
Belinda shook her head and chuckled:
“You are younger than us in temper and at heart.”
”Yes” Morgana sneered. “You quarrel with the best of them. There is no age in that rage.”
“Eloquent pun, Morgana,” the king said. “Nonetheless,” he said, raising his hand “when I raise my voice there’s usually a reason for it. I am the King.” He gestured toward Belinda. “At least until this girl wants to take over.” He paused. “Morgana, try not to underestimate Lucinda or mention her in casual conversation. There is nothing casual about my sister. Your aunt is more together than you.”
Alex started walking, at first limping and then walking faster until he walked normally.
Everyone around the king had a hard time finding what to say next. This time Belinda walked up to her father and put her hand around his waist. “What is the matter, Father? Anything I can do?”
“The pain always comes back in bad moments,” Alex said and
smiled, then caressed her shoulder. “I recall her pushing me down the stairs. I can’t help it. Thank for caring, Sweetie.”
”You know what we often do,” Patricia said apologetically “when Morgy’s feet are hurting?”
“What does she do to tire them, Patricia?” Alex mused. “Foot massage the male servants?”
Morgana gave her father a sharp look. “I milk the animals, Father. It trains my feet.”
Alexander laughed heartily. “Bulls don’t produce milk. Their fruit lays lower.”
“Touché, your majesty.” Patrick laughed. Morgana sneered again, louder this time.
Patsy smiled, ignoring the comment. “We put them in cold water.”
“It is very refreshing, Father,” Morgana said. “It’s not as good as bull’s milk, but almost.”
Alexander turned to the other children. “Ah, yes.” He smiled. “I understand. Is it fun at least?”
”We have fun” Morgana nodded. “Great deal of mirth in the abode of the Rose, I say.”
Alexander was interested. “How is it to live with Patricia, Morgana?” Morgana smiled, coldly. “She is good fun.” Patty smiled and said, tenderly, turning the conversation over to Belinda. “I just want the luck of finding a love as sweet as Belinda’s. I lack the adventurous nature.”
“Comes from fidelity when one experiences love as sweet as that,” Alex said tenderly. The erect Belinda gave the sad looking Patricia a short hug and the two girls began holding hands, chatting
about what it might be like to grow old together, sharing secrets with age, obviously talking about their father. “You aren’t turning our precious guesthouse into a harem, are you? Don’t want to infiltrate
Patricia’s virgin soul.”
Patrick laughed out loud and couldn’t stop laughing. “Well, Patricia? Are you a virgin?”
“Father!” Morgana grinned, mirthless. “Richard and I are faithful occupants and live in a different wing than Patricia’s. Non-virginal Patty could move away any time she wanted. We meet at meals.”
“At fencing training,” Patricia called over beside Belinda. “That fencing training is exquisite.”
“I’ve heard of it,” Eleonora mused. “It seems you have made quite an art of it.”
Morgana looked at Patricia and chuckled. “I know of no fencing teacher that would approve, but .we start out in strict formation and end up on the floor tearing at each other’s garments, stark naked.”
”Is that really necessary, Morgana?” Alexander said. “I mean this lifestyle? I disapprove.”
Morgana saw her father’s worried look. “I am just fooling around, good Father. We two are fine occupants of a faithful household and we pray the prayer of chastity every morning.”
“You are like a pair of nuns,” Patrick mused angelically eyeing heavenward. Ellie chuckled. Alexander looked up at the beautiful sky, the sun shining down on the fields.
Patrick smirked in amusement.
“I have taken a liking to this female mysteriousness because of my sisters.”
“Here we go again,” Alex cried. “Not that. Be married for thirty years and see if you still agree.”
“The masterful mystery of femininity,” Patrick stated. “I mean it. You can discard if you care.”
Belinda took a long look at him and shook her head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
”You women always seem so together, always an answer ready, so much more organized. You know what emotions arouse us. You never admit being wrong. You often are, but you always win because you know how keep your integrity intact, no matter what you do. We men are so bloody unorganized.”
Alexander laughed. “You are right there. Where would we be without the women, the lovelies?”
Patrick nodded. “I guess we just have to learn resisting temptation. Correct, Father?”
Alexander ruffled his hair and cackled. “Rascal! You are not
being completely honest with me.” Patrick hadn’t expected this reaction. “I’m a rascal?” Alex nodded.
Patrick shrugged. Morgana cocked her head and grew sardonic. “Wouldn’t want us just by the stove then, Patrick?”
”Well, you maybe,” Patrick said. “Your talents are incredible, I
have heard. Stick to your assets.”
She threw some grass in his face and cackled. “I have more assets than meets the eye, Patrick."
Ellie had been listening to this discussion escalate and changed subjects quickly.
“Mother told me yesterday that there will be festivities on the hill.”
Alex nodded. “Belinda wanted a birthday outing.”
“I did?” Belinda asked.
Alexander nodded.
She shrugged. “Oh, yes. I did,” she laughed.
“Martin and I invited Ellie and Marcus for a picnic there a week ago. It was wonderful.”
“We shall enjoy it.” Alexander stated.
Shortly before leaving the path next to the sunflowers Belinda discovered a squirrel shooting up one of the stems. Alex tried to get it to come closer to eat some figs from his hand that he had taken with him in his pocket. But the squirrel disappeared and Alex shared his figs with Patrick and Morgana while the four girls walked three paces in front of him laughing at some old song that Belinda had sung years ago. The two men enjoyed the fact that the family member next to them was the only one not hopping and skipping in frilly fashion down the lane like her sisters. But the three of them were laughing, all the same.
Then Belinda was asked to sing Bantrard’s song “Bedroom Roses.” Belinda commented that she thought the title was lousy, a reference, obviously to nuptial lovemaking, but Morgana said she liked the song. Belinda at first refused to sing it, not having sung it for years, but once Morgana started they all joined together in to convince Belinda to take over. Alex rushed up and grabbed his four girls by the waist and sang with in the song. Soon enough, Patrick and Morgana were joining them and skipped along toward the Waterfall Lake for a refreshing swim. This had been exactly what Alexander had prayed for all week. No discussions, just fun. He tried to conceal his pain, but it was a comfort that Belinda was singing. He knew she found it silly. The fact that she still sang it was a sign of her being in a very good mood even though they were a quarrelling family.
Belinda still could not get over her brother having spoken to their father in such a manner.
It was disrespectful and she did not know how to approach her brother regarding the matter.


Friday, May 1st, 1422 A.D. – 166 days left

Alexander woke up the next morning thinking of Alliland. He prayed again for happiness. He prayed that Lucinda stay away, that peace remained a friend. He then kissed his late sleeping wife good morning, Rolf come to clothe him and went to his throne room to overview the day’s duties. The bird passed through his head that day after the speech in the Senate a couple of times and eventually he discarded the thought whilst signing documents and receiving guests.
Belinda, however, thought about her future duties as queen.
Belinda shook hands with dignitaries and joked with them. The day had been complete with Steven and her making love under the full moon again on the balcony, before falling asleep. Somehow between one meeting and another she thought of how smart and beautiful she must be to be chosen to be Queen. But that was a silly thought wasn’t it? No, it was the truth.
But Maria, she had never wanted the responsibility. Had her father asked others? Yes, he had, but he had always had Belinda in mind from the start, or so he said.
She was relatively pretty she knew that, too. Someone had said, “very pretty.”
But that had nothing to do with anything.
Belinda was intelligent, just too haunted by memories.
Her father and she met Cretan to discuss the Summer Festival again. There were problems who to invite to the palace and who not. It was Senate business for some reason because the Senate sent out the invitations this year. It was Festival Matter and a Festival Feast and the Senate was responsible. But Belinda couldn’t really concentrate on the list of guests that lay in front of her.
The fact that Steven and she had made up and nothing seemed to stop her from becoming Queen with her future King to be on his way made her think of when she had been appointed Crown Princess as a child in the first place. It had been a tumultuous year.
On the way home from the Senate, Belinda had a long conversation with her father about those early years. But the question that had bothered from day one never was asked. Was she chosen just to make up for the fact that she had gone through Hell in the dungeons of Lucinda’s castle?
Belinda told her father that she would visit the thermal bath in the East Wing for a bit. Alex walked to the throne room and was briefed by Theo about Jack Rumus arrival. Then he put on his robe and went down to the thermal baths for a refreshing dip as well. His two favourite women were probably already there, chattering.
He knew they would pay no attention to him being there King or not. But he could feel happy about sitting naked next to two naked girls in a steaming roman aqua temple.

Monday morning, May 4th, 1422 A.D.

At breakfast the next morning, the young couple sat on the balcony with a spring breeze and enjoyed warm bread with orange paste and lemon tea. The young woman said nothing, just looked out at the trees. His hand was on the table. She reached out and touched it. He looked at her. A smile was exchanged. A kiss blown. They held hands for a while, until he broke the silence.
"Anything on your mind?”
"I am being driven to the Senate to convince them to pass the medication law of natural spices, before holding a meeting here with the 11 representatives. In the afternoon I meet the Harbour Controller Nordhjiil for dinner in the ambassador's guesthouse with my father to speak of the alliance." She sighed.
"God knows that we need support if those people start up another war. I'm very happy we've come this far." Steven said nothing, just held her hand. She stroked his hand with his thumb. "And you?"
Steven knew she was avoiding the subject so he let her avoid it.
"Your old boyfriend Tom Barnes arrives today with his garrison-colonel." He cleared his throat. She nodded. "You don't need to be there." She looked down and looked worried, caressing his hand, thoughtfully. "He is staying a week or so, he'll have time to join the conference. I will show him around as well. He will be bloody impressed by you and the way you've developed since he saw you last."
They looked at each other and Belinda laughed.
"Developed. I love that."
"However you want to call it."
"I was eleven the last time I saw him, Steven."
"He loves you still, you know."
“I gather.” She shook her head. "He'll think I'm… a bitch. Maybe he always has thought I was."
He laughed. "You are, after all you chose me over him." He slapped his own hand. She laughed.
"No, Belinda. He'll enjoy it, I think."
His girl smiled lovingly. “I never meant to hurt him, I hope he knows that.”
“He knows that. He was always a bohemian. He was reckless.”
She looked at him, her gaze tender. "I love you, Steven. I’m happy I chose you."
"So am I."
The painful subject was there between them like an electric spark of lighting hoping to transform into a word or two. He had known her to have dreams before and quite often and every time it happened it hurt him. Belinda looked out across the garden and saw Geena conversing with Louis. He was in the midst of trimming a rosebush and her blond locks falling out that white kitchen cap of her’s made her look like she had fallen out of bed, especially with those red cheeks. Louis exchanged a few words with her and they went on their way, leaving each other to work.
“You had dreams last night …”
She looked at Steven with wide-open eyes. She half-closed them, her fear settling. She nodded.
“Nightmares.” Her words were dazed. She looked back at him and tried a smile. She shook her head and sighed, seeing his patient gaze. An attractively chubby young girl, perhaps a year or so older than the young woman at the table entered wearing a black and white bosom cut dress with laced and puffed shoulders. She curtsied.
"More hot drinks?"
The young princess smiled. "No, thank you, Marie-Louise! You can clear away!"
"Yes, miss!" She smiled back.
"I would like to sit for another minute or so, love!"
"Whatever you say," Belinda said. "Marie-Louise, keep Steven's cup and some food here, will you! Keep an eye on his hands. Don’t let him grab you."
"Yes, miss!" Marie-Louise giggled.
Steven smiled. "Can't I fondle the staff?"
Belinda laughed. “No fondling of slaves, we agreed.”
"Aha!" Steven uttered. "Does that mean..."
Belinda turned around, bent over and kissed him. "Be good. Don't get into fights with Tom now.”
Steven nodded and gave Belinda a kiss before she turned to Marie. "I'll obey, my mistress!"
"Please tell Rolf to prepare my coach. I will be leaving for Clurafar in an hour!"
"Yes, miss!"
"Dress me as soon as you bring away the cups, Marie-Louise!"
"Yes, miss!"
Marie-Louise had been with her mistress for a long time now, but could only bring herself to call the "miss" by her nickname when they were alone. In the presence of Prince Steven, she was shy. She cleared away and was gone. And Prince Steven was left to wonder why Belinda was having nightmares about Lucinda. ‘All right’ she had said. ‘It’s all right’ But he knew it wasn’t.

Simultaneously in another wing of the castle

Bantrard was leaning across his table in his west wing music chamber. His lute was lying on its left side on its back. His long, mostly tidy, blond hair was tousled and he looked like he had been working for hours. He had been. The opera The Coronation of Landrea was almost ready, short of one song, the finale. He had been working on the piece now for half a year, ever since the wedding had been announced for the 25th of September 1422. Yes, of course, the birthday was in two weeks time. But the pieces they played on that occasion they could play sleeping, standing on their heads. Bantrard and his twenty-person ensemble had played on two hundred and fifty official occasions the past year, then there were the unofficial ones. There were bits of parchment paper and papyrus rolls with musical notification scattered all across the oak table. He liked to write on parchment and papyrus, where others used varying methods.
‘Oh, Bantie, dear. Would you come over to Richard and me tonight in our guest-house and play?'
‘Bantrard, an unexpected visitor just arrived from Margetania. Could you play?'
“Stay another hour and play some sensual tunes in the nude?”
...And so on.
Bantrard Silvermoon had a rich, colourful past, was never afraid of saying his opinion and being bold, but had been working for the king now for so long that knew his place. His orchestra was made up of many of his friends and colleagues. They played at everything that the king did: all of the weddings, birthdays and meetings. Prior to Bantrard, the king's orchestra, a band of ten people led by a man named Eric Bernardus, had been killed in a terrible accident in their cart on their way to Margetania in 1409. They all drowned in a lake when a snake spooked the horse that was riding at break-neck-speed during the night. The only survivor had been Eric, who came to the castle a week later and told his story, only to die of Pneumonia later that month. It was a very sad occasion as all the bodies were recovered from the deep that day.
They received a special place in the chapel catacombs and the leader's grave bore the epitaph: "Thank you for your songs, my friend!" which was a phrase coined by Alexander after Eric's concerts. But Bantrard, with his happy-go-lucky-charm, had apparently been a real bon-viveur and a joker in his time and quickly became popular with everyone. He had been thrown out several times from several castles and Laurence, the Duke of Margarurit, had personally warned Alexander about employing him. He had apparently eloped with his two daughters. Alex didn't particularly like Laurence, because he tried to make a pass at Belinda at her Sweet Sixteen birthday party five years back, as he knew that he still warned him about Bantrard after trying to seduce Belinda. Bantrard was a songwriter with a marvellous talent for lute playing, or so it was said. His orchestra of twelve had been travelling the country entertaining everyone from hookers to senators prior to working for the King.
But due to his many love affairs, many sopranos had left him out of jealousy and anger. Alexander needed an orchestra and Bantrard was the perfect man. He had remained loyal for the last two years. So Alex didn't have to worry. Not yet. Alex knew Bantrard from the Summer Skills Festival and liked him then. After so tragically losing his last orchestra, he knew that Bantrard and his band was the perfect substitute for them, no matter how bad his reputation had been.
Did Bantrard sleep around? Yes, and Alex knew it. It was becoming a habit at Iuventus. But he was sure he left his daughters alone. That was a matter of principle with any highly important person. "Touch my daughters and out you go!" He could understand Laurence there. But a talent like Bantrard's would should and could not be lost. He probably slept with the maids. But that was his business.
He was a grand musician and a very cordial and perfect entertainer for any party. The opera was promising. At least he hoped it would be good. Usually the ensemble was not so big, only about twenty people. The royal orchestra (three lutes, one fidicula, two aulos, one sinka, three rebec, one psalterium, three female singers and one drummer) played newly written and older pieces for the evenings and only requests during the day. But for this opera there would be an orchestra of around fifty people. It was intresting work to get them all gathered in secret for rehearsal. He didn't want Belinda to hear what went on so he always rehearsed in remote parts of the palace in case she came by or when she wasn't there.
After all, the eager young lady was always moving about, asked to speak at the most incredible occasions. Even the stuffy old Senate wanted her opinion from time to time. She even stuck her nose into affairs that did not concern her: But only because she was genuinely interested in it. Morgana did it because she was horny. Belinda had a mind beyond her groin. Any way one saw it, at those spontaneous occasions the orchestra was quickly assembled for an equally spontaneous run-through. But that was a hard way to rehearse.
Belinda was quite mobile and could be back any minute. Where Morgana fenced mostly with her sister Patricia, Belinda rode, and vice versa. They were both fencers and riders. But their personalities were both different. Belinda moved, a born rider. Morgana did most of her moving in one place at a time, usually stationary and on her back. Bantrard laughed at that idea. But he would never say that to his majesty or her, although she wouldn't mind. He would in fact be fired if his majesty knew that he did more than play her ditties and jigs over at The Rose. There were twenty of these guesthouses, all named after flowers, all housing kitchen staff and thermal baths, founded by Queen Lucia a few centuries back.
Morgana hardly ever left the house except for three reasons: men, flensing and stately visits. That was mostly for male reasons. Anything in pants that moved was hers to own at least she thought so. Belinda used her charms in other ways. She was faithful to one, Steven, even when he was away or she was. When someone did not want her to join a conference or speak at a mostly male dominated arena, she used three things: her regal position, her intellect and her cleavage. These things got her what she wanted. When creating a wedding opera for a future queen one did not write a tragedy. Laughing was important. It was then hard to make something worthwhile. Bantrard thought a story that was all positive about the girl and portrayed her well at all times was very action-less. But Bantrard thought the result was compelling.
He knew Belinda quite well by now. He had seen her in action for seven years. So there were jokes at her expense and jokes about her that were touching, funny, or complimentary. The story was just a skeleton. A vehicle for the actual true motive: Look at the ingenuity of our future ruler! The Resolvation Aria was sung after L'Orfeo turned out to be the evil Butler Lorf, which was a joke at Rolf's expense. It was widely known that Rolf had always had a crush on Belinda and said that he wanted to marry her one-day when she was an adult. When the wedding was announced he said nothing but ‘Oh, well. My chances are lost!' That line was in the opera as well and it would go down well, even by Rolf, who knew how to laugh at himself.
But the aria had to be the final grand triumph of feelings bottled up for the entire evening, right before the coronation. He had tried it at least fifteen different ways but it always ended up sounding heavy and tired. Maybe the tempo had to be changed? Maybe he needed a break. He walked out of the room and went for a walk in the garden.

Meanwhile in the royal palace garden

In the garden this royal lute player met Louis and Geena talking to Alex who was sitting by a table under a tree with Belinda and Sieglinde with a dark middle-aged man that must’ve been Mormidar, the king of Hispania, who was living in The Lily. His ancestor Luisa, who had married into the Prosperanian royalty, had designed these twenty guest houses and given them themes such as the sunflower and the rose and everything in the houses, including the staff, fitted into the category. It was obvious that his wife was still in the house. He was quite muscular and short, but his face was strong and stern and he was telling Alexander a story about his suit, a blue and red satin one with a cape that stuck out against the white garden furniture. The man next to him was a man that Bantrard knew from sight. He had been here before on numerous occasions. It was Ulfaas Nordhjiil, the minister of commerce. Belinda was with him. Geena and Louis were standing politely and nodding at the story Mormidar was telling them all. Louis held a rose and Belinda smelled it.
Sieglinde was entranced by Mormidar’s looks. The meeting had gone very well yesterday. Theo had come riding in a flurry ten minutes before Belinda was ready to take off and told her that the Senate had agreed to pass the medication law, that would grant legal physicians rights to use herbal treatment on wounds across the country, which gave Belinda time to prepare the meeting with the representatives. Her father had arrived separately and impressed them all by telling them that he would grant each country full import/export rights and access to merger dealings, which meant an open trade zone within the eleven countries. Belinda had impressed them with her immense knowledge of each individual national legal structure.
Belinda had only first today met Tom, having been in the Senate until late in the evening and it had been very nice to see him again, if a little awkward.
“Hello, Bantrard!” Mormidar smiled, interrupting the story he was telling his audience.
“Your Majesty! What a great honour to have you here!”
“Play something for us, Silvermoon!” Alexander said.
“What would you like to hear?”
“Anything you fancy!”
The lute that had been hanging on his back was brought to his front and his hands grabbed the instrument and started plucking the strings while wandering round the table. Alex indicated to the two empty chairs and asked the gardener and the cook to sit down. The tune was Hispanic and the theme Prosperanian. The verses, just as the melody, were old and one of the first he had written back in 1411 after the incident at Rigor Mortis. It was a sonnet for vocalise and quill plucked lute in D – minor.
It was ancient Wandiffian, Alexander claimed, or so Bantrard had told him. Wandiffian was the predeceasing language that inspired Prosperanian and its origin’s were unclear, only that it had its origins in Latin, Celtic and Germanic lore. The words meant: “He who excels above everyone” and it was a phrase paying homage to the greatest of angels.

ANGELIC HERITAGE
Sonnet for vocalise and quill plucked lute by Bantrard Silvermoon
IN THE KEY OF D-Minor

In a land before time,
It was told, in rhyme,
Two angels wandered Eve’s City.
From their purified glow
A splendour did flow
That was made of angelic pity.
The two brothers they sought
What was true and was nought
Over land flourished sky over sea.
What they created they gave
To the cowardly and the brave
To the elderly and to the wee.
Hway-Le-Vay! See-Ay-Sihl-Iyeh!
A victory for Galilee!

“Our land it lays blessed
With riches caressed”
Gold and myrrh were the treasures.
Though it was sought,
What the victory brought
The people they loved them, these pleasures.
Hway-Le-Vay! See-Ay-Sihl-Iyeh!
Regal purity’s inside a king’s mind.


“For we all know the truth:
The real kings they soothe
They work as angels on earth.
Which Prosperanian knows not how,
that upon regal brow
Is a glow of angelic mirth.”
We all know the truth:
the kings they can soothe
The gentle, the worried, the kind.
And when a king lives when he knows that he gives,
The good spirit rules the weak minds.
Hway-Le-Vay! See-Ay-Sihl-Iyeh!
Regal purity’s inside a king’s mind.

So it was clear in the end,
That the angels did send
The Good Kings to rule the earth.
When the ill will can’t win
The ancestor will begin
To in passion and pride conquer sin.
Oh, Way-Leh-Way, See-Ay-Sihl-Iyeh.
The angels they are smiling at their kin.


Belinda smiled at Bantrard and said it was a song that he had played all through her teens. She had been so influenced by the idea of these angels fighting and the good one winning that she had spent hours sitting by the waterfall oasis with her stallion and between skinny-dips thinking up angelic stories and writing them down once back in the castle. She even had pictures of angels in her bedroom, drawn by the former royal painter John Eric Penderesci.
She had, under his guidance, tried to paint herself, but had never really managed. Sieglinde disagreed and said she was a great painter. Geena agreed on that. Louis had to ask what was being said and Ulfaas had to take him aside and hold him with his large hands and tell him.
Louis’ face lit up and he smiled at Belinda, who smiled back.
Ulfaas told the a story of his childhood and his nanny who used to tell him how angels actually showed themselves to help you by ringing a bell somewhere, so you could know they were there. Mormidar smiled at all this and added that Silvia, his wife and queen, was an increadable fan of angelic literature, primarily the Hispanic Folklore, inspired by Moric tradition from the East.
Ulfaas and Alexander then got caught up in a discussion about how they better could protect the Britannic and Hispanic ships passing through their harbour. Belinda and Sieglinde took a walk with Mormidar, who insisted on being led by Bantrard, plucking on his lute. Louis showed them his rosebushes, the small pasture of sunflowers in the form of the royal insignia and the yellow and red tulips surrounding the fountains in the back. Geena served the men some food and wine and ended up meeting Patricia in the front playing Backgammon with Eleonore and sat down with them and laughed a while over Lancelot and Fabian’s antiques, imitating toads and turtles and snails and all kinds of animals they had seen whilst wandering in the forest with their wooden swords, pretending to be Prosparanian knights.
Tom and Steven came riding down the main path and instantly were met by two stable boys who took Steven’s grey mare Mercury and Tom’s brown stallion Cellaphere to the stables. Tom had been his friend since childhood and he had not seen the place for ten years. He was a chubby but quite handsome man with a wide grin and a gap between his teeth that always seemed to joke around. But only Steven knew that the surface of the joker concealed a frail heart.
He had met Belinda an hour ago under the birch, just before Mormidar arrived and the scene had been quite touching as Belinda realized it brought back memories that she had forgotten, or pushed away, because of what had happened back then. For some reason, Tom had been blamed for it.
He had been told to accompany Belinda to the sunflowers and had been jealous of Steven’s competition and left her. However, the truth had been Belinda had sent him away and when she was whisked away by the evil one, Tom was falsely accused and dismissed by an angry father. Not having contact for so many years had been bad for all of them. Belinda had loved Tom, even as a girl. Tom was three years older than Belinda and two years younger than Steven. Both men had the fastest booming careers in the Prosperanian military, literally working in the same circles for years without meeting until a conference in Daneland last year actually forced the meet. They had then started meeting and Belinda’s face this morning had brought tears to Steven’s eyes. He knew that she had not liked breaking the contact.
The embrace was clearly platonic and they sat and talked for twenty minutes alone by the oak next to the sunflowers when she was called to join Mormidar and Ulfaas, when Steve suggested they ride out. Both Belinda’s parents and Steve asked the two of them respectively what they had spoken of, but none of them said more than: “Memories!”
The two men, beaming and rosey cheeked walked up to the three women and saluted them. Tom, close to his fashion, took one of the rolls on the plate and began munching. There was an empty glass on the table with a bottle of wine. Geena saw him looking at it and grinned. She nodded and he poured himself a glass and began drinking.

Tuesday Afternoon, May 12th, 1422 A.D. – 155 Days left

Jack Rumus, the old deliveryman that had lost his horse and his seven barrels of mead in April, was facing a painting created ten years ago. It showed King Alexander in his blue robe riding atop Mercutio Senior who died of old age two years ago.
The horse had been Alex’s favorite and labeled Senior because Alexander hoped one day to have a horse he liked as much as that one, some stallion he would label Mercutio Junior. The background was a beautiful landscape and in the distance there was a field of sunflowers.
He was full of food now, to be sure. The meal that had been prepared for him in the room that he had just come out of, the door was under the painting of the King, had been Orange Soup and Peacock à la Clurafar and Chocolate Mousse with red wine. Some jaunty little woman with bubbly cheeks had cooked it and a cute little girl had served it. All of this made his soul a little happier. He had not been able to sleep since his horse died. He tried to concentrate on other things.
It had been a month ago yesterday. This night had been hard, additionally because he knew for the past week that he was off to see the King on this very day. What was this place like, he wondered.
The main hall had a black and white chequered marble floor and a large rounded form. Its magnificent gilded chandelier had hung there since the 13th century and was studded with pearls and diamonds that glittered when lit with candles and could be manually lowered. There were torches everywhere around the room and the light flickered. Upon the painting Alex looked magnificent. It covered the whole left wall. The man was in awe.
“Beautiful,” he whispered to himself.
Rumus had dressed up in his best Sunday suit for the occasion. It was the only one he had. He had gone to his barber for a haircut and the man had even checked his teeth if something had to be done. He had a meal and his son Gordon Rumus Lateras (the latter name came from the old Wandiffian word for courage, a name the son had taken once he became a Private in the Army) had brought him to the Senate, where they had picked him up. Gordon had his own time with the King in a week.
The door opened and a very elegant, modestly thin man came through the door. On the other side of it was a corridor that seemed to be leading down to a hallway of sorts with doors. The man’s hands were shaking as the butler, the man obviously was a butler, came up to him.
“His majesty will see you now, Sir!”
The man nodded quickly and followed him down a hall with a very elegant stone floor that his heels clicked on as he crossed it. There were paintings of Prosperanian townships on the left and white leaded glass windows on the right. Rolf turned round and asked him if his trip had been good and he said yes.
The staircase was all mahogany and there was a side entrance accompanied by a statue of some angel. All brown wood with carpets and paintings everywhere, two staircases lead away from the main one on two separate landings. They took the right one and wandered down another corridor. Turning left, the man walked in before him.
“Mr. Jack Rumus for you, Sire!”
A deep rich baritone answered. “Send him in Rolf!”
Jack stepped in. The hall was big and the painting of the entire royal family dominated the main wall left only possibility for a steady gaze. On the left wall, between the two large windows overlooking the grounds was a fireplace with an unusual clock on it.
On a throne of blue velvet and gilded silver sat the King. He stood up. The man was not fat, but hefty. He was tall and had a nicely trimmed beard, sparkling eyes and a very sympathetic smile.
He nodded and walked over, taking his hand. Jack Rumus was shaking the hand of the King.
There were wrinkles, laugh wrinkles mostly, but the youth that this fifty-year-old man exuded was amazing. Longevity ran in the family and he could see why.
“Overwhelmed to meet you, Your Majesty!”
“And you …” the king smiled. He looked across Rumus shoulder. “You may leave us now, Rolf!”
“Yes, Sire.” Rumus gazed back and saw him leave.
“Come in and sit down.”
They walked to the throne. There was another man sitting across the room that he hadn’t noticed, very handsome man with dark blond hair and full lips. He was playing the lute.
“Was your trip satisfactory?”
”Yes, Sire. My son, Gordon Lateras, brought me to the Senate where you told me to come and waited for your butler to pick me up.” Alex smiled and nodded sympathetically.
“He has a time with me next week. Have a seat.”
Rumus sat down and was dazzled by the sun in his eyes from the window. “Should we bring the alabaster shades down?”
Rumus shook his head. The chair was soft. Like baby skin. Blue velvet. Fantastic.
“Go on.”
“You have an extraordinary palace, your majesty, legendary among common folk like me.”
“It is a nice place and very familiar to me, Jack. To me it is home. Can I call you that?”
“Certainly, Sire!”
“Then call me Alexander!”
“I would never dream of it, Your Majesty!”
“I insist!”
“No, I could not!”
“As you wish!” He smiled.
“Did Geena prepare a good meal?”
He nodded. “Excellent!”
”I understand you are quite a cook yourself.”
“I have an inn, Sire. In such an establishment you have to be one. It is called The White Lamb and it lays in Clurafar. We make our mead, too, Sire, and the mead is known for its rich flavour.”
“I have heard of it, Jack.”
“Really?”
Alex nodded. “Do go on, by all means …”
“It melts on the tongue. Anyway, we have orders coming in from all across the county and four carriages that are in constant motion, not counting the one that was destroyed, Sire.”
It was time to speak of the unspoken. “You were attacked, weren’t you, Jack?”
“Yes, Sire.” Rumus looked down. “My best horse died in the attack.”
“Who attacked you?” Alex sat forward on his throne.
He pursed his lips and thought. “I don’t know. I thought it was a thin man, but it also could’ve been a woman. The culprit wore a blue robe with the Prosperanian Eagle. It rode side-saddle and must’ve been a real expert on riding for it crisscrossed my path for about a mile before actually disappearing and then suddenly appearing out of nowhere in front of me and spooking the horse into the ditch. It disappeared into the forest from which it came.”
“Which one?”
“The Zellue Forest that leads to the Nocturanian Border. The ones that mothers warn their children about.”
“What do the people say?”
“They are afraid, Sire. Some say that you send them to spy on them, Sire. But I tell them no, for you are good man, and I believe what your messenger says.”
“What is that, Jack?”
“They ride side-saddle. They do trick riding. They wear capes. The all come from forests or out of valleys and ditches. I am an old pro in the delivery business and all my colleagues that are in the innkeeper business know what I know.”
“What?”
“That this seems like forest warrior tactics to all of us.”
“And yet, there are people who blame me?”
“Yes.”
“Anything more you can tell me?”
The man thought for a second. “The shoes were spiked and kept on pressing into the flesh of the black stallion. I felt sorry for the horse, being an old horse lover myself, Sire. It had a bluish tinge in it’s blackness, Sire. Never seen anything like it. This is obviously not the first time.”
Alex nodded, stroked his beard thought for a bit. He looked at Rumus and smiled. He walked to the window.
“Come here, Jack!” Jack did as he was told. “Look out the window. What do you see below us?”
“A carriage. A black carriage with two white stallions, I believe. A very large, handsome, sturdy thing, that, it could hold many barrels.”
“Can you count the barrels upon it?”
Rumus counted, his lips moving. “Twelve I believe.”
Alex nodded. “These are barrels of ale and mead from my brewery across town and they are all yours to keep.”
The man looked at his majesty. It was gaze that could not find words. “F-for me, Sire?”
“If I had done this, Jack, I would not benefit by it by having to repay you and lose money, right?”
“I do believe you are right in that aspect.”
”I want you to ride home with these barrels and celebrate with your son and wife tonight. Your wife and son will come to meet me next week. There are special reasons why they should come alone. Have some mead on me, Jack.”
Rumus looked out onto the side of the palace again. A tear fell down slowly from his cheek.
“Thank you, Sire. I am speechless.”
”Promise me that if you are attacked again, don’t try to outwit them. Stop the carriage and leave. Trust me when I say you will get a new carriage from me. The carriage can be replaced. You cannot.”
Jack Rumus smiled. “You are a good man, Your Majesty.”
“Promise me, Jack” Alexander insisted.
“I promise.” Jack said and with that the conversation ended and the old man left the Majesty’s presence.

Wednesday, May 13th, 1422 A.D.

Belinda held a document in her hand made of sheep’s vellum delivered by a senatorial deliveryman just a moment ago.
Marie-Louise had rushed up and handed it to her and shortly there after Belinda ran to her father’s study and handed him the document.
It took a moment for him to realize what was actually written there. Eleven years flashed by his inner vision and he was back at Rigor Mortis clutching his daughter’s bloody wrist and hearing her whisper “Who is Nina Ray?” through her tears.
“The girl is jailed in the senatorial chambers,” Belinda whispered. “I will go there myself to hold a trial.”
“A trial” Alex said. “Do you know what you are getting yourself into?”
“I need to know who she is.”
“Why do you always have to tempt fate?”
“She might be part of the Nocturanian conspiracy. It is our duty to be there.”
“It is our duty to stay alive.” Alex shouted. He shook his head and walked away.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Out of the question. We don’t take risks. Let professional questioners do it first, then we’ll both go.”
“I can’t wait that long. Now that I know she is not just an illusion I need to know what all that was about ten years ago. It’s been too long. These nightmares are not a coincidence. I am called to go there.”
“Belinda, please. Has it occurred to you that this might be a trap?”
”Trap?” Belinda snapped. “No, it has occurred to me that this woman is a part of my mind.”
“I need to have my family alive,” Alexander responded.
“Trust me, I will not run into a trap. If you are the King I think you are then you will trust me.”
“I am a careful King, Belinda.” His Majesty replied. “Careful and Christian,… and firm.”
“Then you are a different kind of ruler than I in the careful part. And you should be there, too.”
“Gordon Lateras is coming tomorrow morning. I cannot go. I will not be responsible for this.”
“I will take the responsibility upon me,” Belinda snapped back.
”Alone without protection you will face this girl that you have dreaded all of your life?”
“Mormidar and Ulfaas will have to cancel all other appointments to protect me.”
“You just change their schedule without inquiry?” Alexander cried. “Belinda, come. They …”
“This must be fate. It has to be. Yesterday they gave me their eternal support. Their guards will ride before us, Father. Philip and Marcus will be there as well. I will disguise myself well, so no one will recognize me. You must trust me on this. I need to see her. I’ve got a hunch she is more than she says.”
“Darling, you are a public figure. If you question this enemy firsthand, you will pay for it.”
“How will I pay, Father?” Belinda spat. “Don’t you want to know what this is?”
Alex nodded. “We must find out. It is our duty. And certainly its’ prehistory is ordained. But the first vital questioning must take place securely without us, the responsible available for later just inquiry.”
“I foresaw it. We must go. I want to go, Father! There has to be a questioning by me firsthand.”
”My girl.” There was a long pause. “Don’t fall for this.” Alex looked at her. “Don’t tempt fate.”
“How many times will you say this,” she said, almost in a whisper, tenderly. “I have to do this.”
Alexander laughed bitterly and walked away to the middle of the room. “I don’t want to find out what is in that cell or who sent the person. I have enough on my hands.”
“We can’t run away from this. They obviously want it.”
“Stubborn girl.” Alex said, sighed. “These things take time. Questionings are very sensitive matters. Don’t you understand? She might be dangerous, the powers in command burgeon in your memory.”
She looked down and shook her head. “I want to stop this before it gets out of hand.”
Alexander looked at his daughter. He cocked his head and half-smiled. “When you make up your mind, you have made your mind. You are a woman and women always see themselves right firsthand.”
Belinda shook her head and eyed heavenward. “Father, women are right most of the time.”
The King smiled benevolently.
“God be with you on your quest.”
She rushed to him with the document in her hand, embraced him, and looked at it over his shoulder. “I will light a candle for you tomorrow, Father.” She nodded. “Fine?”
He agreed. “Belinda.” She looked baffled for the tone in his voice was one of deep worry.
“Yes?”
“Light a candle for yourself while you are at it.” She gazed emptily at the document again and shook her head.
The King said, “Light one for Prosperania, as well, all right?”
“I shall. This might be the end of a long journey.”
“Or the beginning of a new one.” He nodded. “I think you are unwise, but I cannot stop you, so I will do what I can and talk to the angels.”
She gave him a sound, which resembled a yes. She looked at the name again.
It said Nina Ray, a name that previously only had appeared in her nightmares and in Lucinda’s dungeon.

Thursday morning, May 14th, 1422 A.D.

Belinda was walking down the first floor corridor toward the landing that would bring her to the main entrance hall.
Her heels were clicking against the stone. She had just left Steven sleeping in his bed. Marie-Louise had dressed her in silence and Belinda had made herself up.
White flowers touched up her green dress and as a contrast she wore a shade darker lipstick than usual. Her hair was not tied in a bun but free and she had covered it with a light pink shawl that loosely shrouded her head.
She turned the corner where the white corridor turned into the first floor landing with its Persian rugs and mahogany niches in the stone walls were already covered with leaded glass lamps, lit with candles and torches along the walls.
Her mind was fixed on Theo, if he had been able to arrange all the details with the inquiry. He was efficient, but what if not? She came to the main staircase and rushed down the red carpet, lifting her green skirt as she did.
The chequered marble floor somehow glittered in the morning light from the roof surrounding the chandelier.
Rolf was standing there at the foot of the stairs.
“Your coach is waiting for you, Your Highness!”
She smiled back. “Thank you, Rolf. Are Mormidar and Nordhjiil in it?”
Rolf nodded. “Silvia decided to come along as well. The twins are already there along with the Great Danes.”
“It’s good that they are showing support, which is more than I can say from my father.”
”He would wish you wouldn’t leave.” Rolf walked alongside her Highness and felt that her stern walk signified something he had seen before. “May I say that your father finds this a risk?”
Belinda smiled faintly. “May I say I don’t care? He wanted to think about it. I want to do it.”
“He wanted to bring her here, you know.”
They reached the main door. “They found her at the borders. She has been kept in the Senate watchtower since Tuesday. Bringing her here would be even more risky, I’d say, Rolf.”
“May I say something, Your Highness?”
Belinda shrugged and patted Rolf on the cheek.
“You may say anything you wish, Rolf. But it won’t change a thing. Women are always right. I told my Father that yesterday.” she swooned happily. “At least this lady is mostly right and now I am.”
Rolf nodded, half-closing his eyes and smiling. In a sigh he said: “Your father agreed to it yesterday only because he knew that he would not be able to change your mind. What does Steven say?”
Belinda raised her eyebrows. “I am the future queen and as such I will eventually make decisions that other people do not agree with. I have fought Lucinda and Adnicul from a rack in a dungeon. I think I can handle a messenger, Rolf!”
“What is her name, Your Highness?”
”Theo told me that she had come from the border forests on the way to another mission. She claims her name is Nina Ray or something of that ilk.”
Rolf nodded and looked down, fully knowing just as her there was much more.
“Come on, Rolf. You know better than to ask of her name. What’s the matter with you people?”
“I am sorry if I have exceeded my duties.” Rolf whispered. “The name is not new to me.”
Belinda smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Let’s go!”
Rolf opened the door and Belinda walked out onto an arched porch with Hellenic columns.
Its broad corridor looked onto a large open space of long rectangular grass patches, each one with a small fountain.
Way over on a rise was St. Michael, the patron archangel of Prosperania.
Rolf walked down the five steps and helped Belinda down.
The red gilded carriage stood waiting and Marcus held up the door. On top of the carriage was Philip, windblown and hair tousled for this time of day but still chirpy, a brown leather bag next to him on the driver’s seat.
He smiled and Belinda smiled back.
He bowed and Belinda waved his bow away with one hand and he chuckled.
Marcus spoke.
“Good morning, Your Highness!”
“Good morning, Marcus.”
“Thank you. Will you be joining us?”
“Yes.”
She smiled at him. She couldn’t understand why Theo called him stiff. She thought Marcus was rather sweet. Belinda turned around and faced Rolf.
“See you this evening, Rolf.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
She stepped in and sat down.
Marcus sat down on the left of the carriage facing Mormidar and Belinda nodded to him. “Good morning, my liege.”
Mormidar gave her a half smile and kissed her on the cheek.
The half smile made him look somewhat bawdy, what with his thick eyebrows looking like he wanted to do more than kiss her.
She knocked outside the door on the roof of the carriage.
“All right, my friend. Let us move now!”
Philip cracked the whip and the horses started riding.
There was a slight rocking motion and the horse’s steady trot gave the path gravel a fine crackle.
That familiar sound and the open red curtains letting the wind in was a nice morning wake-up-call.
They bowed back into their places.
“You look positively radiant, my dear.”
Belinda smiled gently. ”Thank you very much. That’s very sweet!”
Ulfaas’ long face, his head barely scratching the carriage roof, turned all wrinkly.
Long curves of half-moons formed onto his face, the years of seafaring the North Sea giving him that windblown enigma that he was renowned famous for.
He laid his hand on her waist and kissed her on the cheek.
“Good morrow, Sweetheart!” His voice rumbled.
“Sweet morning to you, Ulfaas.”
Both of them saw that she was worried. “How are you today?”
”Fine today, Ulfaas!” He smiled, as if enchanted. “Good dreams!” Then nodded, approvingly.
They passed the hedges that signalled they were heading for the exit path. Mormidar looked at the Princess somewhat bewildered. “Your father?”
“He is having a meeting with Gordon Lateras, who claimed to see Lucinda when he was performing duty in Vindobon. He is the son of the poor deliveryman whom…” She thought for a moment and looked down. “…this messenger we are about to see might’ve been attacked.” She rocked back and forth in motion with the carriage. She looked out. “He will, if this person tells us something, have a meeting with her himself.” He looked at them and smiled, coldly. “He thought it was unwise of us to go.” She waited for an answer.
Ulfaas spoke. “I am only here because this apparently is one of the few messengers that we have actually caught. These strange people have been ravaging our countryside for a year now.”
She looked at Mormidar.
“Same with me. This is a pure coincidence that we are here for the conference. No one could foresee this, but I think that Ulfaas agrees with me that we will want to be there for the questioning because of all the attacks in our countries.” Ulfaas nodded “Our assistants are already there and the woman is tied up prior to our questioning. She will be quite harmless.”
Belinda nodded. “We hope.” She looked at Marcus. “You have the notes?” He nodded at two parchments in his lap and looked at her. Her hands were trembling.
“Yes, your highness.”
“Give me the official one that I handed you yesterday.” He gave her one, written on thick lightly golden brown sheep’s vellum. “I shall just read it to you again, gentlemen.”
The two gentlemen listened attentively.
What crossed their minds as she read it slowly was that she seemed to be drifting away as she did.
There were other things at stake here, not just getting back at Nocturania.
This was about something that had happened a long time ago in a very musty old cellar in a very malodorous dungeon in a very dirty torture chamber.
It was the scarred memory of a girl much too young to be chained to a wooden bench by her aunt.
It was the girl that had heard the name of her enemy long before she knew what it really meant to spell out words.
She heard the name and knew that the woman in question would somehow be important in the future during her adulthood.
Her hands trembling, Belinda began reading the vellum.


WEDNESDAY, MAY 13TH, ANNO DOMINI 1422

FROM THE CLURAFAR SENATE
ADDRESSED BY JULIUS CRETAN TO THE ROYAL HOUSE OF IUVENTUS SACRUM
OFFICIAL NOTIFICATION BY WAY OF TRUSTFUL MESSENGER
STRICT CONFIDENTIALITY REQUIRED AND OFFERED
THE DISTRUSTFUL SHALL BE PUNISHED

Your noble Majesties, dear ladies, gentlemen, princesses, princes, dear staff,
It is within our established quarters now a well kept secret that a young woman, found by a troop of soldiers on the evening of Monday the 11th of May, is a prisoner in our official lodgings of punishment in the municipality. The lady was wearing a cape at the time of capture such as the one seen in many of the recent attacks suspected to be of Nocturanian origin. She was found riding side saddle in brave jumps out of the forest that eventually leads to the borders of the land known as Nocturania and rode directly into the arms of the named guards on leave from the neighbouring army camp, who promptly under great difficulty tied her up and wisely brought her under our care. She is now in the watchtower of our Senate and has said only her name, Nina Ray, and that she is working for an independent messenger service between the countries. As the description mirrors the ones coming from victims of all the attacks we need your assistance for a possible plea for a so called bargained questioning. We have spent three days discussing what to do with this stunning, attractive woman who screams to be let out all day like were she a man.
The questioning tactics of the royal house might be of our assistance.
We know his majesty wants the questioning to be conducted senatorially first, but we aim to ask of assistance and hereby do so. We await your orders with anticipation as to what shall be done with the young miss.

WITH CORDIAL GREETINGS,
Julius Cretan

CHIEF PARLIAMENTARY SENATOR IN THE ROYAL FORUM
Appointed by His Majesty the King Alexander III

She looked up from the document with a serious gaze, her brown reindeer-like eyes piercing the half-light. “There is the cape, which fits the description of every attacker. We do not make these capes. Her stallion is black. She was trick riding when they caught her.”
The two men looked at each other.
“The first thing we will have to find out is if this woman has any certain bits of information that we can use in addition to this unusual entrapment. We hope she will speak.”
”We shall make her speak.” Mormidar emphasized his comment by half-smiling.
Ulfaas looked at Mormidar. “What does that mean to us?”
Belinda spoke for him. “I believe what Mormidar means is that if we can inquire the woman’s purpose strongly enough we will be able to gather some interesting facts as to her origin.”
Marcus spoke and all eyes turned to him. Messengers were lower standing than the ones riding next to him, but certainly if they had something important to say, there was no problem in speaking to a higher crowd. “I know only that she has refused to say anything but her name. The cape undoubtedly is the same one that Mr. Remus saw on the rider. Everything went swiftly, your highness. Remus happened to be in his delivery centre right next to the Senate that day when they inquired as to his whereabouts in order to save time. He was asked to come and look at the cape and identify the woman. She was angry of course, but in the end he could not identify her.”
Ulfaas broke the anticipating silence by a question. “But indeed the cape had an inscribed Eagle?”
Marcus nodded. Belinda sighed and looked out. They were now leaving the grounds and riding out onto the west path that eventually led to a broader road with housing and oak trees. There was a horse or two or a herd of cows eating grass on the plains. A farmer was tending to his crops. A couple were standing next to a hay barn, fighting. She recognized them; it was the stable boy Alex and his girl Esther.
“May it only be solved.” She whispered
Mormidar saw Belinda thinking, drifting away. “Penny for your thoughts.”
Belinda closed her eyes, smiling warmly. “I wonder who she is, what it means that we find a messenger. If that is what this girl is.”
Ulfaas spoke, quietly. “Memories?”
She gazed at him, calmly. “I have a thorn in my side, my sweet Mr. Nordhjiil.” She looked out. They were now approaching the first rows of houses. “This thorn gives me pain, reminds me of its presence every time that I see Nocturania come closer to us.”
Mormidar smiled. “Both of us have been attacked numerous times by these riders bearing your insignia. I can very well understand your embarrassment.”
“Embarrassment?” Belinda gave him a very icy look. “Sir. This is fear, nay, shameful woe. We are a peaceful country. When people kill and ravage in our name it gives my father and I another reason to press this merger to show you all…” She looked at Nordhjiil deeply. “…That these people are traitors working under our name. There are great suspicions that these so-called dark riders are Adnicul’s own army breaking down our defence. They will not succeed.” She looked out.
Ulfaas put a hand on her lap. She looked at him.
“We don’t suspect you, Belinda.” Mormidar shook his head, agreeing. “We know you.” “It shall be a shame that we are not more regal sponsors meeting the first foolproof suspect.”
Belinda chuckled, sardonically. “My father thought it risky even us three going.”
“Your father is afraid.”
“My father cares.”
“Your father is busy.” Ulfaas just tried to downplay Alexander’s refusal to join.
Mormidar laughed. “Your father wants us to catch them.” He shook his head. “Not them, us.”
Belinda smiled. “Yes.” There was a pause. “As I said, he found it too risky.”
Mormidar saw them approaching countryside. There was an Inn here and there, a Barbershop, two farmers joking, a fruit stand, kids. “So, what is our plan?”
Belinda nodded. “First we see the cape, judge it, then judge her. Rumus will be there. We will ask him what he thinks. Then we go to the girl. She will be brought from her cell to be questioned in the watch room in the left tower. She’ll be tied up and guarded. She cannot harm us. We will press her to speak. If she does not, we will try to force her. Marcus here will document the entire process and tell my father tonight.” The three men nodded. They were approaching Clurafar. It was a bustling city, a penitent, innocent city. “I am worried about confronting her.”
“No need for worry” Mormidar whispered. “Miss Ray will be quite inadequate to move.”
Belinda sighed. “I have seen this before. As a child and in my dreams.” She looked at them and smiled, reassuringly. “Don’t share my worry. That is my problem.”
Mormidar looked out at the oncoming bustle.
“No, you are our ally. We share it all professionally.”
“I have a personal matter to solve here. The old prophecy is coming true.” Both of them looked at her.
She sighed again, looking down at her hands. “In 1411, when I was kidnapped, I had a dream. I was kept in that dungeon. It was so dark and rats were crawling around in the cellar.” Her eyes looked up and sparkled in the morning sun that seemed to shine right on her irises. She looked up at Ulfaas. “A small girl that was full of life had a dream of an older girl sitting in a carriage such as this on her way to a meeting with an enemy.” She shuddered. “I dreamt of her name.” She pointed at the document. “This name!”
Mormidar looked at Ulfaas. She waved it away. “Forget it!” She shook her head. “Forget it!”
Ulfaas started making protesting noises. “We can’t.”
“I can!” She said emphatically, trying to convince herself of something untrue. “I must.” And so, as the carriage slowly entered Clurafar eventually parking on the Senate Courtyard, the thunder of the horses gallop slowing down more and more due to law, a silence that was energetic became a silence unspoken. God was in that silence. But he was fighting the enemy.

Later in the quarters of captivity

Two large guards were positioned on each side of the mahogany door. They were wearing the traditional blue and gold helmet, their red capes reaching down to the ground and the large headed spears reaching two feet above their helmets. Four flickering torches on either side gave the entire room a surreal character. On each side of the room were windows, raisings leading up to them with a view over the city square and the market. On the backside of the square room was another set of windows facing each other. Behind the messenger was a window on each side, the red and silver emblem of the Prosperanian Crown, the eagle and the lion, behind her. A torch was flickering on each side of the room.
The woman was tied up with thick rope to a large chair of dark wood. Her legs were clamped with big clasps on the legs and handcuffs had been positioned along the arms. Her shoulders had been tied to the back of the wooden throne by her armpits. In addition to this she was tied with a thick rope along her waist that finally was secured with chains in the back.
The woman was very beautiful and one blond lock fell casually down across her brow and her head was downcast, her eyes looking at the door. She was wearing blue velvet pants and a red top, a traditional outfit for a forest messenger although new to the assembled. Eight other people were in the room. Julius Cretan, who had served the Senate for thirty-one years now, was standing by a pulpit next to a young scribe, whose hand was shaking.
Now and then the messenger looked at him and smiled, taking off his clothes with her eyes. Sir Cretan, an elderly man whose conservatism was legendary, behaved stoically and the sneer never left his face. His back was bent and his hair was grey. But his seventy-one years did not reveal one bit of weakness. He had a soul made of iron. Mormidar’s men, two twins by the name of Julio and Argar Riduz, wore the traditional uniform and had been alerted at nine o clock yesterday about their early departure for this errand. They had their own ideas about what this entailed, but spoke nothing. Duty was everything for them. Queen Silvia was between them, slightly half-smiling, ice in her gaze.
On the right side of the room, Ulfaas’ three aides, Urban Norskjöld, Viltor Ronkranf and Milfred Jensen, were in their homeland called The Great Danes, for whenever the King called they were there and no one knew their whereabouts between assignments. They were like dogs. Urban was a short man with balding hair and never left without a feather and a pergament. Viltor’s thin gaze mirrored his looks and Milfred, well he spoke little, when he did his remarks were salty and mean.
The woman tied to the chair was unique. She was the only messenger since three years of constant attack who had ever been caught and she didn’t even protest. These messengers all fit the same description and were working now in eleven nations, except in Nocturania, and everyone had a story to tell about meeting one. Legend had it they were all the same people. Forest gypsies. Warriors from Callenia. The twilight people that mothers warned their children about, whose queens were supposed to live in tree houses no one alive had ever met.
The door opened and Belinda strode in, the door crashing against the wall behind her. Ulfaas ducked his head and walked in and then came the shorter Mormidar who right away walked to the twins, then kissed his queen, who reacted little if at all and fixed her eyes even harder on Nina Ray. Marcus and Philip came on either side of Belinda. The guards closed the door and positioned themselves on either side of the girl.
Belinda circled her, looked at her from right to left, from left to right, from below and above and then stopped about two meters away, the ten torches in the room casting a dancing light onto the stone floors and walls and bounced onto her face.
“Who are you?” She finally asked.
“A messenger, what else…” Nina said.
“Who do you work for? Look at me when I speak!”
Nina smiled, cocking her head. “Sister!” Belinda stepped back. The woman’s eyes were so blue they seemed transparent. “Why this anger? Am I not allowed to roam the countryside?”
Belinda walked to the scribe and his podium. Julius Cretan, who had been standing like a statue through all this gazed in fear. She took the cape off the podium and threw it at her. “And this? This is the same cape that hundreds of witnesses have seen all over Medatlantia. It bears our insignia!” She pointed at the wall behind her. “We don’t make capes like this. No one does, except the ones that are worn by the attackers.” She looked at the naked arm. There was a tattoo there. A dragon with seven crosses speared into its body. “I believe you people call that a bular tattoo. That mark is only a legend, since no one has ever seen it, until now.”
She leaned down, rested her hands on the armrests, crushing Nina’s arms and breathed in her face. “The proof is all there and your kind has thousands of innocent lives on your conscience.” Nina smiled. “Against my father’s will I have come here today because my mind told me I had to, your name appearing in nightmares since I was ten. So if you do not tell me where you are from, I shall flog you and drown you, in that order. Who are you?”
Nina kept smiling. “My mount is black and my Christian name is Nina Ray.” Those words accompanied an evil grin that told Belinda that she knew what that name meant, knew the agony of waking up in cold sweats in a dungeon with rats on your face. Knew how it was to be told in dreams the Apocalypse was near. Every night being told that one day a meeting with a messenger would kick off the horsemen of evil. She knew. But how?
“This?” She looked at the cape. “I wear this because it looks nice. I had no idea it was your insignia. Do you want it?”
Belinda slapped her across the face. “Cats battle cats. Women are allowed to smack each other. If I were a man, I couldn’t count on such luck.” She grabbed her face and took off her scarf with her other hand, then handed it to Philip. Her hair was intact beside one lock that hung down and dangled before her right eye. She could see into this woman’s mind. She had killed hundreds, including babies, mothers, grandparents, a horse. “Who are you?” Nina smiled. The silence spoke volumes. “Philip?”
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“Wax!”
“Yes, Your Highness!” Philip took out a large wax candle from his bag and lit it on one of the torches. He brought to Belinda. “Hold her head up!” Marcus did as he was told. “We will start with the forehead and go to the nose. Who are you?”
Queen Silvia was now not ice anymore. The twins shifted their feet. Nina tried to smile, although her face was squeezed. Belinda dropped four drops of hot wax on her forehead. “Speak!” There was no answer. She lowered the candle to the nose and dropped a few drops; Marcus held back her head to an impossible position, which almost cracked her ribs. The woman was sweating, but wouldn’t speak. There were red spots on her forehead and nose. “Open her mouth, Marcus!” Gritted teeth made it hard to open it, but with Philip’s help it was possible. The three Great Danes tried to remain calm. Belinda dropped wax into her mouth and Nina gagged, her tongue swollen. “Will you speak, Bitch?”
Nina managed to spit at Belinda, who slapped her again and put the cancel into her mouth, burning her tongue. Nina screamed, freed her foot and kicked Marcus in the shinbone. Philip pressed her head against the back of the chair and the guards tied her foot back onto the chair. Belinda took a few steps back, held the flickering candle in front of her face. “Who sent you?”
Nina shook her head. Belinda walked up to her and held the candle under her chin. Nina screamed. Belinda stepped back. “Who are you?” There was still no answer. She held the candle in her left hand and slapped Nina with her right. Blood trickled out of her nose. She slapped her again. This time she opened a wound above her left eye. She slapped her again. This time she screamed. “Who sent you, God damn it?”
Blood trickled down across her eye, leaving her partially blinded. Belinda started sobbing, Nina smiled. She turned to the door, scared at her own heartlessness. Facing the door she started speaking, slowly turning to face here again as she went on.
“Your name was foretold to me in a dungeon ten years ago. It was told that you would initiate a chain reaction of destruction. Your name has become synonymous with evil not only because I dreamt it, but because the morning after the first time I dreamt about you my Aunt Lucinda told me about you, as well.” She took one step closer to her. “I know that you are trained to stand fear and pain and torture, but I am trained to rule. Who sent you?”
Belinda leaned down again, watching the blood drop onto her bosom. “But if you think this is bad, how about being tied to a rack at age ten?” Belinda grabbed her by the face. “Who sent you?” She hit her across the face and Nina began drooling.
Nina Ray spoke. “A messenger is what I am. My chieftain has one herself” There was a pause.
“Is that all?” Belinda hissed. “Your chieftain has a chieftain herself? You are what?”
”A messenger. Someone who just delivers something from someone else.” ”Are you a forest gypsy?” Nina’s eye was clotted. She hit her again. “Answer my question, bitch? Who sent you?”
Ulfaas walked up and told Belinda to calm down. Belinda held up a hand and the Great Danes pulled him back. The young scribe wrote down everything and Julius Cretan sneered at it all. On the other side the four Hispanics tried to keep calm. Silvia shook her head and Mormidar realized he had never seen Belinda this way. She was almost like a man in her fury. He calmed down the twins with a whisper.
Nina looked up with her one free eye. The look startled Belinda who managed not to move. “I was sent here to be caught.” The assembled looked at eachother, startled. “We forest gypsies never get caught.” There was hatred and pride here. “I deliberately was caught because my queen wanted it. Dying for your queen is an honour. I will not tell you much. But I am a messenger.”
Belinda held out her hand and Marcus gave her the candle back. Mormidar protested. “Let me do this.” Belinda held out her hand. He shook his head. “I have a right.” Belinda sighed and gave way, giving Marcus back the burning candle. She stood against the wall and kept still. He walked up to Nina.
“If you are a messenger, what was your assignment?”
Nina looked at this short but obviously smart man. She smiled. “My queen bids me and I do.”
“Who is your queen? What did your queen bid you do?”
”She bid me get caught.”
“Why?” Ulfaas walked up and with him Belinda. The three regal royals standing around her, Nina shook her head. She tossed her hair, letting the lock that had been hanging down disappear from her eye, and thereby tossed some of the blood upon Philip, who stepped back.
“There is nothing you can do.”
“I can do quite a lot. What was your assignment?”
”To get caught. I was supposed to let myself be trapped. To tell you this in person, your highness.”
Belinda hit her, really hard this time, across the head with such a force that a wound opened on her forehead and thick blood trickling down across her cheek.
“How did you know the troop was going to be there? My messenger Theo told me yesterday that the troop was on their way by coincidence on that road. Who are you?”
Nina smiled at their idiocy. “The army knows about us. That is their trade.” Blood dropped all across her face now. “I knew there was an army camp nearby, so I hid undercover for weeks knowing fully well that the army has a tendency to let many go at once to let another take over. I simply followed them at an appropriate distance and then trick rode in front of their horses.”
Belinda took her by the shoulders and slapped her again.
“You have appeared in my dreams since I was ten.”
Nina gave her a smile, biting her lip and shaking her head.
Belinda gave her an icy look and spat in her face.
”Your Highness, please calm down.” Belinda stood up erect, but did not move back an inch. Julius Cretan walked up, followed by the scribe. “Do you take orders from the forest queen only?”
“Yes.” The old man spoke slowly, like a drunken snail if a drunken snail could speak. “So what we know so far is that you are a gypsy trick rider who had orders from the queen to get caught here. But why?”
“I know nothing else and will say nothing else.”
“What was your purpose with the attacks?”
Nina smiled and shook her head. She was not going to speak.
“What is your plan?” Nina gazed coldly at Belinda.
“Marcus.” Marcus walked up to her. “Have you brought the tools?” He nodded. Julius protested. “Please, your highness.”
”Mr. Cretan,” Belinda cried with a cool gaze. “Who has the authority in this country?”
Cretan nodded and raised his hands, backing away, followed by the scribe who did the same. “We shall wait outside until you decide to tell us who lies behind this conspiracy, while Marcus convinces you to share with us what you know.”
The entourage left for the Hall while Marcus and Philip were left with the two guards and the scribe to convince Nina to tell them her secrets.
Belinda was lead to a door that was opened before her far away from the screams. She sat down by a table in a posh waiting room next to the stairs filled with food that no one would eat. Silvia spoke softly to the twins as Mormidar and Cretan held a subdued conversation with Ulfaas while the Great Danes listened and wrote. Everyone tried to convince Belinda to cool down, to let professional questioners take over. Inside the tower watch room, Nina was getting weaker and weaker, refusing to speak all along.

The night of Thursday, May 14th, 1422

Belinda Winsletenna had been sitting cross-legged on the comfortable couch for two hours now, a blanket over her and a glass in one hand, a bottle of the families white wine in the other. This room was her Thinking Room. In this Alexander Room, named after her father’s great-grandfather, Alexander II, there were paintings everywhere and floral decorations and richly dark brown furniture. The Persian rugs, woollen carpets and tapestries gave the whole room an air of solitude. The four fireplaces in here were lit, their large crackling fire and the sound of the rain against the windows making her thoughts melancholy and puzzling.
Belinda’s eyes had been fixed on the fireplace in front of her so long; she had to look away, out upon the moon, hid behind the clouds, her emotional life a mix of shame and relief, anger and pain. Rolf had checked on her ten minutes ago and tended all the fires, asked her if she needed anything and left with a sombre smile on his face. Belinda could not need anything else but peace right now. This day had been hard. That much was sure, only because she had surprised herself.
Remembering being tied to a rack and having hot wax poured over her whilst hearing Nina Ray’s name came back to her when she realized that it was not her imagination. Nina Ray existed. That had brought a monster she did not know existed. For eight full hours they had “worked” on the messenger. All the anger she had ever felt for Nocturania had come out on Nina Ray for the simple reason that her name, now synonymous with the country, had appeared first in that dark dungeon of Rigor Mortis in 1411. But every time they came back into that room, the girl looking worse, the grin seeming wider, Lindy’s fear inched up another notch.
Every time Nina Ray told her: “You are meddling with powers beyond your control!” There were scars on every part of her young body and red spots from the wax. There was water on her face from water torture and her muscles were literally throbbing. But she had only said that she was a messenger and indeed a part of the attacks, that there were two hundred attackers hired by the forest queen, but she had been asked to by an unnamed source, which had also provided the capes.
Eleven nations had experienced attacks, Nocturania not. Now they knew there were two hundred of them around and that the capes had been sown by the source that had hired them. It was obvious. She had looked at the craftsmanship. The insignia sown on the capes were obviously done by someone not unfamiliar to the weapon itself. Lucinda had been gone for many years now. Her father would say thirty, because he wanted to forget 1411 and its hellish experience. But Belinda was sure that she was somehow involved, maybe as advisor of some kind.
But that was just icing on the cake. What really scared her was how diabolical she had become. Ruthlessly asking Marcus and Philip to keep on torturing Nina Ray to squeeze out locations and dates and people from her. Queen Silvia had her own questions, of course, as did the Great Danes, who all received their fair share of information.
But Marcus and Philip had been sweaty and almost crying by evening and on the way back Mormidar and Ulfaas said nothing to Belinda. They had gotten to know a new person. Not just the happy, sweet, frilly Belinda with charming features. But a hardnosed heir that would slap a nose bloody to get secrets out of the enemy. Hell, it even surprised Belinda herself. What surprised her, as well, was that she felt guilty for what she had done. What surprised her even more was that this clever girl had let herself be caught at all. It was way too much like a trap, she was trapping them, not them herself.
The flames glittered in her eyes.
She took another sip of wine and remembered that fateful day of 1411.
A little later, Belinda sat with a book in her hand that she had written before the time at Rigor Mortis, when she had been just a child. She had been a girl full of childish trust back then. “God, grant me a life full of family. God, grant me to look at the stars. Lord, grant me to run with father in the garden again like I once used to, catching fireflies in giant jars:” She had to smile at all that, remembering catching fireflies with her father in the fields. She looked at her comments about having received the nomination and smiled.
“I will be a good queen. I will rooule well. She had not learned to write the word “rule” yet. Then she looked at the book a few pages back and read the words “Fraytollah Pirate Harbour”. She shook her head and quickly turned the page. The flames threw topsy-turvy reflections on her face and sang in unison with the rain on the window. She had lost herself and someone was trying to make her keep losing herself. Someone was always trying to put a leg in front of her as soon as she wanted to find herself again. She was happy, no doubt.
But looking at the text in this book, the text of a young unworried girl, sipping at the wine and tossing back her hair behind her ear, she realized she had let Lucinda get to her. She had given her power. She wanted to be herself. She wanted to be true to who she was. She walked to the window, a tear running down her cheek, looking out at her home, realizing that she had something to fight for, her soul and her home. She took another sip of her wine, clutching her blanket. Rolf was there outside and smiling.
“Enough rest, Lindy?” She nodded and stroked his cheek. “Not depressed, are you?” She smiled and shook her head.
“Night, Rolf!”
”Night, my dear!”
Soon enough, Belinda, blanket around her shoulders and slightly tipsy, was loafing back to her bedchamber by way of the white corridor. Tears in her eyes, shame in her spirit, confusion in her mind, memories in her soul, Nina Ray in her spirit like a black dove making Lindy-love wonder why she had turned into a monster by the sight of the blonde messenger. She knew why, as she dried away those tears, walking up to the second floor in her slippers. The name had been fictional until this past Wednesday, a symbol for all those things that tormented her and her people. What Nina Ray represented was a story untold, a future unexplored.
How had Lucinda formulated it? “Apocalyptic Nina” What did that mean? She did not want to think of that. She took another sip from her glass and opened the door to her bedroom. Steven was there, sleeping. She went into bed and cuddled up next to him. Belinda, thankfully dreamless this night, was happy soon to be a married woman.
She had fled into lust the last few weeks. They had done everything they could to push their love to its highest measure. She had been a warrior desperately gathering her weapons before going into battle. It was passion beyond passion. It was escapism in order to deny the fact that somewhere at the bottom of she hearts they knew what was about to happen.
The carriage had started to roll. Belinda just hoped that the hill was not to steep for the vehicle to stop before it crashed and was destroyed. She looked at Steven and smiled, the salt-water wells next to her iris spilling over transparent liquid onto her cheeks and then turned away from him.
“I’m afraid of my own rage” Belinda whispered ever so softly to herself, needing to hear her own voice utter these lost words. “I have carried that name around in my mind as a ghoul for ten years. It has been synonymous with fear and apocalypse for a long time. Realizing that she is real is a shock. I know I mustn’t be too harsh on myself, but I tortured her.” Belinda cried. “Wax, punches, water torture, mind games, repugnance. I did not believe I had it in me.” She shivered. “It scares me.”
Steven embraced his love. “You were only protecting yourself.”
She looked to her side. Steven was awake. She embraced him.
“What?” Belinda searched for answers and tried to find them in her fiancé’s love.
“You were just defending your family.”
Belinda sighed. “I was just defending myself. Never in my life have I been so afraid. My kindness left me. Belinda became the dragon. I have never seen myself as a dragon.”
“You are a matron making sure the hens in the den are safe. No man or woman or child shall harm the ones you love. No one shall come past you but the ones that mean to bless the loved people in your temple,” Steven whispered, caressing her cheek. “You are just afraid of becoming hunted, so you learned to hunt. Don’t blame yourself for what you did. Nina Ray scared you. That’s normal.”
“I know I did it for us all.”
“You were protecting the kingdom.”
“I love you, Steven darling,” Belinda sighed. “Calm me down when I grow weary. I need it.”
“I will.”
She lay awake for a bit, realizing what the problem had been for her and why the spiritual scar had been so deep when Lucinda had attacked and imprisoned her as a child. The reason was that the knowledge of her prison in Nocturania had not been visible for six months, that it literally had disappeared off the map, and that it suddenly had appeared just for her father to find her. She saw how Lucinda had just let her go with the words that Nina Ray would one day send of the four apocalyptic horsemen. Accordingly, this entire capture had been one scam from start to finish. It had only been to give her trouble. She was the victim. Why? That meant Lucinda had the power to do anything and that Belinda was completely powerless against this witchery. Belinda had definitely turned more moody, her mood swings almost infamous by now, after age eleven. Maybe that was the reason.
The princess thought about the diaries she had been leafing through. There was something in there that she was missing. Some clue was simply not there yet. She had written the name Fraytollah a few times in the diaries, but she had no idea how it fit in with the other hints of Lucinda’s plan.
Belinda shook her head, tossing and turning in her bed and desperately tried to rest. Steven saw this and embraced her hard. She responded by kissing his lips. They fell asleep, the breeze from the open window caressing their bodies and the moon casting a beam across the two of them, almost as one. They dreamt of the dawn, feeling inside how wonderful it was to live within the reality of good dreams. Belinda hoped for a new future with a hope to be happy. Inside, she was still crying. She was scared of her own rage as much as she was afraid to confront her inner most secret.

CHAPTER FOUR: EPICUREAN BLISS

The week prior to June 4th of 1422

The enemy had been gone for just over a week when Prince Steven and Princess Belinda again began discussing Belinda’s fear of Nina Ray. Steven’s future wife was approachable again, but the only reason why Belinda still was thinking about the obvious was that she was searching Lucinda’s old boxes in the attic for any scrap of information about Nina. It had not been until this winter of 1421-22 that she found out that these boxes existed. Her first question had, of course, been why her father hadn’t burnt them. He answered surprisingly matter-of-factly that Lucinda had burned an old curse into his mind two years before her exile. If she ever left Iuventus, she had said, her things were to be stored in boxes in the attic and not burned. Otherwise a plague would ravage the country. He hadn’t taken it seriously, but none the less he’d never thrown away or burned the papers. Nina was gone and all they had were these various boxes.
The eight remaining sessions over the course of two weeks with Nina Ray brought them the following information, most of which came on the two last sessions: Yes, she had been a messenger, a forest gypsy. She was one of two hundred that rode around Medatlantia and attacked everything from city halls to delivery wagons. All of the messengers were indeed women. They had been assigned by the queen herself to attack specially localized points. Very few individuals knew whom the queen was working with, or who gave her the instructions. Belinda had also literally beaten the following information out of Nina: the forest queen had been reluctant to take on the task. But Nina Ray, in her last statement, claimed that it most probably was Adnicul himself out to weaken the coalition of the Medatlantian Merger, simply because he was not part of it. Nina’s opinion was that there was someone behind Adnicul who controlled the whole project.
She was afraid it was bait or that it at least didn’t matter what she said or not, because Nocturania was planning something much bigger than this for the future. But what? Old Senator Cretan, who was a little in love with Belinda, was shocked at Belinda’s extreme hatred during the interrogation. Coming face-to-face with a person that Lucinda had dubbed “the starting point of an apocalypse” back when Belinda had been just a girl of ten had awoken old demons in her. Once again, she was back at the steel table chained to the spikes of nightmarish scenarios. At times she could feel pains in her back from having been strapped to that thing for so long. And all the while her aunt telling her that one day a woman would arrive that would kick off the intrigue. Her name would be Nina Ray.
The reaction was logical. I am obsessed with killing you was Belinda’s last line to Nina before leaving the inquisition room and never seeing her again. But Alexander went the other way.
Always the diplomat and the politician, he tried to calm her down and Alexander decided never to go near the woman whom his sister had cold-bloodedly thrown in his daughter’s face. Sieglinde prayed. But she disliked that her husband and child actually had a secret war going on over a messenger that obviously was a political argument.
Nina was transferred to the military camp north of Clurafar to eventually be taken to the lower dungeons of Ridar. On the 28th of May, after the last hearing that same Monday morning, she had left the inner city, ridiculed by the masses. She was to spend her life eating rotten bread and drinking muddy water, which the crowd had spat. Her formerly rather sexually entrancing face was now so scarred that any trace of beauty had to be researched with a magnifying glass to detect humanity. There were blisters everywhere. Most of them had been Belinda’s doing.
Just two days later, on the 30th, Nina was transferred under heavy protection with twenty guards surrounding the prison wagon. What happened next was a mystery that both father and daughter tried to solve in vain for days since the occurrence. Theo had been there, assigned to ride with them for the first ten miles. Shortly before dusk when they were to stop at a prison camp for a nights rest, about thirty female riders came from nowhere and crisscrossed the road with such vigour that all the soldiers were taken by surprise. Before everyone knew it, a war was on the loose. A half hour later, Nina was riding on someone else’s horse and disappearing into the night, never to be seen alive again.
There had been no trace of her since. Scouts all over the country went searching for her and Belinda. The entire family knew that Nina was probably back in Nocturania in the labyrinthine Callenia serving the queen. Or so they thought. After Nina’s disappearance, something strange happened to Belinda.
Alexander had been preoccupied with the worries and angers of his daughter, but now he was worried over Belinda not wanting to talk about the woman at all, pretending that everything was all right. Steven had a talk with her and all she ever said was that if “Nina didn’t show herself before the end of August then she was to be forgotten forever“. But what she didn’t tell anyone was that she was searching the attic for even a scrap of information about Nina and her professed starting of the fall of Prosperania. Alexander had been told about this many years ago, but Belinda had been so young back then that it was hardly taken that seriously. Belinda was smart even then, but the fears of ten-year-old girl were not encouraged.
Belinda woke up in cold sweat, suspected Steven’s every move, even gone so far as calling off the important speech with Morgana. Now when Nina had arrived her worries seemed to disintegrate. She was sleeping well, Steven was faithful and the few times that he kissed Morgana on the cheek it didn’t bother her at all. The only thing that did was in secret having to search the “forbidden” wooden boxes that had been there in the attic since 1392. There were about thirty of them painted red, grey and gold that contained Lucinda’s old belongings. She found black magic books and pendulums, perverse Mongolian erotic descriptions of gourmet cooking containing all sorts of hogwash, but nothing about Nina at all.

Thursday Afternoon, June 4th, 1422 A.D.

A June-afternoon drenched in sunshine and almost everyone was wearing light colours. There was light blue and light pink, there was light green and light yellow and even white. All these light colours against the blue sky and the green grass gave the whole affair an air of springtime. There was food, wine along with bread and meat. There were grapes and other fruit. There was laughter, song and conversation. Bantrard was sitting next to some girls and singing. They were looking up at his muscular frame emoting the lute with utmost admiration. Yes, this was a bright summer day. One could see all the roads and the gardens, the palace along with the entry gate into the palace. One could see the road that led into town. All in all, for a spring picnic with a remarkable view this was the ideal place. Around fifty people had joined in on the picnic that day. Mrs. Johnstone was running around taking care of counts and princes and granddaughters and most people were seated on blankets in little groups on the high eastern hill of Iuventus Sacrum, the very best view anywhere of the royal grounds.
From here one could see the seven guest–houses (all named by Queen Lucia after flowers,) as well as the lake and waterfall, the sunflower and poppy-fields and the Winsletenna's favourite oak tree where practically every Winsletennian couple's initials were carved. "The romantic tree“, it was also called. It had been Belinda's favourite place as a child. The two girls were getting a wee-bit tipsy, but Belinda wasn't as giddy as Morgana. Morgana, for once, had no man next to her. But she was on the lookout. Her voluptuous cleavage had been heaved up from underneath within her light-blue and white-laced spring dress to look extra luscious and a lock of her brown hair had been strategically placed across her right breast. She had been very beautifully made up by Patricia and was wearing a lovely hat that she had made for herself with a blue bow and a white flower. She was holding a light-green glass with half-sweet dark-red wine from the Palace Vineyards.
The girls had been talking about their father and how handsome he looked in that red robe and how happy he was when he could talk of old times. Morgana was always more than willing to compliment her father on his looks and personality. Unfortunately, Alexander never gave her that back. He felt she was way too provocative toward him. He disliked her lifestyle. But Morgana loved her daddy just the same. Nonetheless, there was a silence now between the girls that spoke volumes as they watched people and drank wine. Belinda's eyes turned to the couple furthest away from the group toward the steeping of the hill down to the royal grounds. It was the Neapelonian Countess Margurit Durbervilla, a forty-year old emancipated self-claimed man hunter, with her newest discovery, a dark-haired young late-teen named Theophilodore. They had been kissing for an hour now without interruption.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Belinda said. "Their lips must be numb!"
Morgana giggled. "I like watching them. I wish I were her. He is gorgeous."
“Theophilodore! What a name!”
Belinda looked over at her sister sideways with a look of mischief.
"You are incorrigible. Don't you ever think of anything else? Haven't you thought of one day settling down with one man? Just being monogamous like Steven and me? “
“I have Richard.” Morgana took a sip of her wine and hiccupped, a drop of wine protruding from her lips. She dried it off with the back of her hand and leaned forward and looked her sister in the eye, half-smiling. As if her last comment mattered nothing at all, she continued. “I love him, but he knows that I would never be able to just have just one man. If one man can hold me down for the rest of my life he better be really interesting."
Belinda nodded, smiling. "Yes, I gather. Well, I hope you experience true love one day, Morgy." She looked to her Steven and smiled. Morgana looked at her sister and felt compassion for her and how deeply in love she was.
"You're really in love, aren't you?”
Belinda looked at her sister. “Yes, I am. Morgana? I don’t believe in arranged marriages. None of us do. When we marry, we marry out of love. What I am trying to say is that arranging a marriage is almost as heartless as not committing yourself at all.” Belinda sighed.
Morgana looked away. Belinda waited for some reaction, something that showed her that her compassion was genuine. “Morgy …”
“Mmh?” Morgana said coolly without moving, looking at Patricia flirting with Richard.
“Are you sleeping with my husband?”
Morgana looked at Belinda, giving her a look that might’ve turned a volcano to ice.
She opened her mouth, closed it again, and thought for a moment. Then she spoke, “What are you implying?”
“What I said, I mean. Are you sleeping with my husband? Veretrum futui culpa?”
“No.” Morgy answered. “No, I’m not. I never have. Why do you think that?”
“Because you seduced him. I have not reprimanded him for getting close to you, so he does.”
”We say hello and goodbye. I fell on him by mistake. I have never and will never seduce him.”
“Good.” The two girls looked separate ways. “Keep it that way, Moecha.”
Morgana sniggered. “You and your vulgar Latin phrases.” Morgana shook her head in disbelief. “Why are you always suspicious of me, Belinda? Stop flouncing your linguistic talent.”
She shrugged and smiled bitterly. She spoke softly, “You kiss Steven every time he walks by you in my presence.”
“I kiss a lot of men on the cheek. It does not mean I sleep with them.”
“What about what happened in April?”
Morgana laughed. “You heard Steven. I attacked him. Let us just leave it at that.”
Belinda turned her head to Morgy. “How do you know what he said?”
“I overheard your conversation, remember. You spoke to me about that.”
Belinda took up her glass, gulped the wine down, poured a little more wine in her glass and stood up. “If I had any mind of my own, I would throw this wine at you. Unfortunately, my mind is too clogged up with protecting my future marriage. I intend to get drunk today and you aren’t invited.”
She took the bowl of raisins and threw it at her sister and walked over to her father who was telling the people around him a story. Morgana shook her head, not being able to believe how fast the mood of her sister could change, one moment flirting herself silly and the other throwing raisins at her sister. In a way she felt sorry for her, but she also felt sorry for herself for not being as determined and committed as her sister, moody or not.
Belinda sat down a few feet from her father.
"Oh, Alexander ... Please don’t tell them that story. You will bore them stiff! “
"Come on, Zeddy," Alex said. "They want to hear it! “
Zedrick shrugged, giving them his suit yourself look.
Mrs. Johnstone had been entertaining Patrick's son Lancelot Winsletenna for a while now when Lance ran off to listen to the king's story. The children Fabian & Lance, Maria’s & Erica’s boys, came over as well and sat down on the grass. Mrs. Johnstone heaved down her heavy body and sat down beside them. She was petting the Cocker Spaniel Henry, a very lovable little chap with a bouncy temper. Belinda now looked over to Morgana who was still sitting on her blanket, drinking wine by herself. Patrick walked over from his conversation with his wife Erica and his mistress Roberta to join his sister in order to cheer her up, but she waved him off, throwing a few raisins at him as well.
He shook his head and left, sitting down by Marie-Louise and her boyfriend who were playing backgammon a few feet away from Patricia and Richard. Morgana was morose. Belinda could only shake her head at this. She had the feeling that Morgana always wanted to tell everyone how many men she devoured. When nobody cared, she was sour.
"This was back when we were children,” Alexander began. “We have been kids, too, you know. We were about twelve or thirteen maybe and performing a play written for us entitled Sisyphus and Ariadne by the royal playwright at the time here at the palace theatre." The king pointed toward the palace culture residence and although they'd all seen the theatre wing countless times before looking over to it was a reflex, maybe an automatic sign of respect. "Only loosely related to the Greek myth," Zedrick laughed. "Anyway, I was Sisyphus and Zeddy here was my best pal Herakleit. It was a wonderfully ludicrous mixture of historical facts. I think.” Alex said and looked at Zeddy. “There was even a pharaoh in there named Etnach-Ra.”
Zeddy nodded. “Needless to say that this pharaoh never existed.” That brought on a laugh.
“Ariadne, my wife in this masterpiece, was played by a girl I used to know named Rebecca, a name commonly known as one for seduction. Everyone I know that has that name is feisty, so was she. She considered herself a really fine little actress, but in fact everyone just looked at her hair."
Alexander laughed.
"Lovely flaming red hair she had, that girl," Zeddy agreed.
"Anyway, the story was basically this, the king of a mythical land who would do anything for his oldest son. He had decided that without question he would become the greatest ruler of all time and wrote wills for and named cities after the son. His hubris thereby evoked the anger of God who sent a storm wind all across the nation that devastated it completely. Sisyphus was condemned to roll this stone up and down a mountain for eternity until Ariadne and Herakleit prayed for Sisyphus pardon and received it, restoring the land. Eventually the son grew up to become the greatest ruler of all time, but on God's terms. The moral of the story?" Zeddy and Alex looked at each other and laughed.
“The will of God cannot be forced!”
This brought on applause.
“Wait!” Alex mused. “That was not the story!”
“It was truly a moral tale for the very young,” Zed mused. The girls around them were chuckling. Belinda did so, as well, and looked over toward the sister she had left behind. Now Morgana stood up and walked over to Richard, leaving the blanket with food behind her. Belinda at once felt bad about treating her as she had done and looked down, melancholy over her own mood swings. Alex looked over at his daughter and registered that she was melancholy.
"Carlos Gartuela, the writer," Zeddy continued, "Really was very good and had a wonderful ear for stories. But his opinion of himself as an artiste was extremely high. “
"The motto was really good, in fact." Alexander inserted more quiet this time.
"In fact, very true." Zeddy agreed.
"Sisyphus' goal was reached. But not on his terms." Alexander raised his finger and shook it, but Zeddy managed to speak before him.
“God made the son a great ruler…"
“But punished Sisyphus for wanting to force the natural progression of time!" There was a bit of silence before Alexander continued. "Anyway, we had about twenty performances of this marvellous work, and back then Zedrick was not exactly used to public appearances. In fact he was scared to death. Only because of all the rehearsals did he feel comfortable."
Zeddy laughed. "I was very scared, to say the least. None of that later renowned courage."
"Carlos was there every time and every time he wanted to change something. We always said no. I was a future king and a main player so I could say no. But toward the end of the run we granted him a last performance addition. Sisyphus and Herakleit were standing on the hill looking over their land and saying: "What a fine land this is." Zeddy was given the line: "And although your sacrifice has been big, my brother, thy reward must exceed that everlasting burden. Am I not right?"." Alexander smiled. "Of course good old Zeddy was a nervous wreck. When the moment came he just stared at the audience, they were all family and friends and people from the palace staff, and could not say a thing. He grew absolute scarlet in the face. As I looked at him I saw his face was red as a cherry. I could not help but laugh and that made the whole audience laugh with me. They laughed and laughed and poor Zeddy stood there not saying a word, just feeling horrible."
"I've never been so humiliated in my life. No grand defeat in war with Adnicul could've been more degrading." Zeddy added with a touch of humour. He shook his head and laughed.
"Shall I tell them the end?"
"I've come this far." Alex giggled. "Might as well end it now, Zeddy, my boy." By now, around fifteen people were gathered around the king to listen to his story. Through his laughter the king continued. "Above all this noise Zedrick actually had the courage to speak and everyone stopped laughing to hear him speak." Alexander tried to speak although he was laughing very hard. "But the poor boy said it all wrong." He imitated Zeddy's stuttering. "He said: "A-and although your burden has b-been big, my ruler. You s-sacrifice the werard."." He bellowed with laughter, displaying his gums and stretching his black-bearded mouth widely, eyes gleaming. “Not reward, werard!” These were the times the king was at his happiest, his charisma radiant and his humour on high. Good friends by his side, speaking of old times.
And yet, the sight of his sweetest daughter not seeming to join the fun worried him. Now the entire assembly of courtiers were laughing themselves silly, most of all Zeddy, who was holding his stomach and trying to cope with the pain of a bellyache through too much laughter. Alexander shook his head. "The best thing was that Zeddy himself started to laugh after having said all that and then there was no turning back." The king bent over with laughter. "The boy just lost all control and started shrieking." Alexander sighed. "What a scene."
"You remember how Gartuela looked through all of this?" They both made this very overly serious face and tried to hold it, although they were breaking up underneath. "He was raging inside. Felt like a thundercloud I would imagine. Oh, my word. He was angry for three months after that."
"His work of art ridiculed to bits."
“But come now, we were children. He shouldn’t have asked so much of us.”
“Well, it was a grand premiere, you know!”
“Oh, I see! Was it now, was it?”
Alexander gave Belinda a questioning look to see if everything was all right and she nodded and smiled. Richard, who was embracing Patricia, had Bantrard’s soprano Roberta in his lap. Belinda gestured toward that group and her father at once saw Morgana walking toward Roberta. He smiled, as if understanding. At least, he understood that Belinda was irritated at her sister’s ways.
Someone asked Alexander a question and he nodded and smiled and began to talk. Obviously, it was about the merger, because he was very serious and pleased at the same time.
Steven all this time had been conversing with Rolf and Louis about eventual arrangement for the wedding party. He came and sat down next to Belinda.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
She smiled and stroked his cheek.
“Mmmh.” She kissed him and looked down. “Nothing.”
“I know you, Lind. Something is on your mind. Tell me.” She shook her head and looked over at Morgana. He looked over as well.
“Oh,” he said, half-smiling cynically. “I see.” He shook his head.
“Still suspicious, are you?”
A breeze tossed one of Belinda’s locks around and it landed across her right eye. She brushed it off. “This morning, when Carlos measured my waist and legs for the new corrections, I deliberately flirted with all of his male assistants to get back at you.”
Steven giggled. She looked at him hurt. “I know.”
She looked at him, wounded. “You know?”
Tears were in her eyes.
”Carlos told me you were talking about your breasts.” He chuckled. “You shocked Harald.”
Belinda looked at Steven for a long time and then looked down, biting her nails.
“That’s funny to you?”
He sighed. “Belinda. I don’t know where this comes from, but I kiss Geena on the cheek all the time as well. I embrace Patricia all the time. Hell, I even flirt with your mother.” Belinda looked at him, her left forefinger in her mouth. “Stop that. You are not a baby, so don’t act like one.” The hand came out of her mouth and rested on her dress. “Sorry.” He shook his head. “But I love you. And I have never ever slept with anyone else since the day we fell in love. Sweetheart, that was a long time ago.” He looked away and sighed. “I just wish that you could believe me.”
”You take the initiative to kiss Morgana, not the other way around.”
“I’m an emotional man. I kiss girls hello. I don’t sleep with them.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I think we should. I kiss your father hello. I am not going to sleep with him.”
Belinda giggled, but grew serious again. “I just wish, Steve,” she said and put her hand in his lap. “That you would keep the promise you vowed me in April.”
”I haven’t encouraged her one bit, Lindy. I keep my promise whether you believe me or not.”
”Every day you kiss her cheek. You make no amends to keep your distance. Why?”
”Then I will.”
”I don’t know if you will, Sweetheart.”
”I will.”
She sighed. “Steve, darling. She was listening to our conversation in April. She heard us talk about her before the meeting. Most probably, this was the reason for her fast change in excusing herself in front of father.”
”I know it.” He corrected himself. “At least I always did suspect her of being so foul even before I knew that.” Steven shook his head. “Could’ve thought it. Doesn’t surprise me. We’ve been through all of this.” He looked at Belinda. “I love you, Belinda.”
An inquiring look was answered by a nod and she raised her forefinger and caressed his cheek. They kissed.
“Belinda,” a deep voice echoed from the mahogany throne. She looked away from Steve and saw her father holding up a lute. Bantrard was standing next to him and Zedrick was giving Belinda his old familiar double whammy. “We are a group of gents here that feel that a song would be due. A song from your lips accompanied by your fast fingers for the amusement of our fellows and lasses wouldst be task close to the divine intervention.”
She shook her head, tossing her hair around, girlishly. “I have not played lute for so long.”
There was a largely descending and disappointed “Awww,” from the crowd, followed by a laugh.
Alex held up the lute and looked away whistling. “I am counting to ten, and then I am playing.”
She looked at Steven. “They want you.”
“God knows why.”
”Your father is funny.”
“My father is funny in more ways than one.”
“Smart, too.”
“One, two, ” Alex started.
She smiled. “I want to believe you, Steven. Forgive me for my jealousy.”
“Three, four,” “I love you, Belinda. Don’t be tempted to distrust me because of my emotional nature.”
“Five, -six,”
“You are faithful, aren’t you, Steve?”
“Seven, -eight,” He nodded.
“There is only you. Believe me. Play, please. I don’t want to hear your father play.”
“Nine, -ten,”
“Now go, your father will play and everyone will leave.” Belinda laughed and kissed Steven.
“I am playing the lute, Belinda.” He picked it up and struck a chord. “Pling-plong, plingity-plong.”
He sat up, eyebrows raised, ever the jester. The children started to shriek with laughter. He looked at them. “I am a lute player, children, this is serious business. Don’t mind me.” He pouted with his mouth and made a funny face. “Pling-plong. Plingity-plong.”
Belinda stood up just as Alex sang profoundly with his bass voice,
”There once was a king of Thule. As handsome as the sun…”
“I’ll play, I’ll play, I’ll play.” Belinda ran up to Alexander, equally the joker.
“That got her up in an awful hurry.” Alex mused as she took the lute. “What are you doing with my lute?” Alexander looked at it worried, then, coquette as ever, turned a cheek to her. Belinda kissed it.
They had played that game when she had been small. That game and the other one, where her father smelled her foot and called it ‘The rose, the queen of all flowers’ and pretended to faint, were her all time favourites. Alex stood up. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, conjectures of scenery.” Alex looked down at the Cocker Spaniel scratching his ear, “You, Sir Dog,” he looked up again, “I present to you, my lute playing daughter Belinda, future sovereign of our realm!”
There was a play acted Oooh across the field.
The crowd began applauding and cheering as she took the lute and hung it around her neck. The crowds that were further away began looking her way and the people still talking were told to be quiet. “Now, my friends, I have not played this for a bit, so bear with me.” She plucked a few notes of a song and turned to her father. “What shall I play, you persistent gentleman?”
”The jig.” Belinda looked at her father and shook her head.
“The what?” ”Your… jig! You sang it on the walk the other day.”
“Do I still remember the text?”
”You did the previous morning. Nay?”
“Not the entire thing. Do I remember everything?”
“Why not try to find out?”
She shrugged and looked at Steven. He shook his head and smiled. “You still know it, Sweetheart?”
Steven looked at her, baffled. “What?” ”Oh, you know, the one.”
“The old ditty from Naples?” Belinda nodded.
“Bedroom roses? The one with the silly title?”
She nodded again. “Oh. You sing that here? In front of Alex?”
“He wants it. It’'s funny.” Belinda smiled and calmed Steven down. “I’ve sung it before.”
Zedrick laughed and gave Alex a familiar clap on the shoulder. He took his hand and squeezed it. Belinda turned to the crowd and suddenly the depression from before was cast aside.
“All right. This is a very old song that Bantrard wrote when I was twelve. Steven and I always say it is a song from Naples because, oh, well. I can’t tell that in public.” She giggled and turned red. “I was depressed at the time and he wanted to cheer me up.”
She looked at Bantrard who shook his head and waved it away.
“It became one of my favourites and I always wanted to sing it at festivities, all the time. He almost wished he never had written it. This is the first time in years.”
Alex hollered: “Sing, woman. Don’t talk so much.” Belinda yelled back. “Shut up, your majesty, or you’ll get a lute in your face.” The crowd chuckled, most of them knowing the love that lay behind those words.
“She loves me!”
“All right, here we go.”
“We are waiting.” Alexander mused.
Belinda tried to conceal her mirth. “Stop it.” She giggled. “I am concentrating.”
”Oh, I see.”
Belinda began plucking at a C-major chord, which went into a plucky F and then into D-minor and a diminished chord before ending up in a C again. All the time whilst singing this song, she wandered amongst the people, bent down to sing to them and gave each one a little happy twinkle. Once or twice she bent down to give someone a tongue in cheek-look and the one that enjoyed it the least was Morgana. Patrick at least tried to enjoy it.
It was a Gigue Estampie for quill plucked lute in C - major.


BEDROOM ROSES
Jig or Gigue Estampie Real for Quill Plucked Lute
by Bantrard Silvermoon in the key of C-Major

In the chambers of a nuptial abode
There stood some bedroom roses,
Red as cherries
Or boysenberries
Or red as two virginal maid’s noses.

In these chambers a girl she lived
A maid of two-and twenty,
She lived a dream,
So it would seem,
With a man of assets a-plenty.

In these chambers a girl she lived,
Courted by not only her true love,
Whilst her man was away,
O horrid hooray,
She found each bright day a new love.

In these chambers the roses of magic,
That had blossomed for years, so tragic,
They faded away,
Until the bright day
When someone restored their magic.

In these chambers a wizard of grace,
Came to look at the aura of the space,
He said: “My maiden”
On the sheets you have laid him
The Fleur-de-Mal rose of disgrace.

In these chambers the maiden denied here,
“I have never been unfaithful inside, dear,
The room is clear
Of wickedness sheer,
On my bible, I sleep here with no fear.


In these chambers the wizard he knew that
The maiden was lying like a lewd cat,
Sent by her man
The wizard he ran,
And the husband he put on his high hat.

To these chambers he came home to find her,
In sheets with another high blinder,
The woman she cried,
Screamed and she sighed,
Ran out and the man said: Come, find her!”

To these chambers she never returned,
Until the day when her new castle burned,
Three years then hence,
She built a new fence,
Came back to her man, wise and learned.

In these chambers she swore him her new love,
And he swore her his homely and true love,
When together they merged
Floral magic it surged
“Bedroom roses bloom only when but two love.”

The cheers rose echoing to the skies and ricocheting across the plains, bouncing off the mountain walls above and sliding down the valley down to the palace as Belinda waltzed, sweaty and giggling, over to a laughing Alexander, embracing Sieglinde who was applauding her daughter. The Cocker Spaniel, which had travelled with Maria to Iuventus for two days to be at this party, jumped up on her lap and licked her hand.
Alexander stood up and silenced the crowd gratefully for having such a maiden as a child.
“Ladies and gents, my daughter, the future queen, Belinda.”
His majesty held his daughter around the shoulder and she leant against his as he held her tight, his bear like hug almost too tight now but comfortable and strong, waving his other hand around to get everyone's eyes and ears on directed toward him and his young Belinda.
"My friends!" Alexander started as most people now were within hearing-distance and the one furthest away was Morgana, who looked at her father with a mixture of admiration and disgust. "When I asked her how she would want her actual birthday to look like, she said: 'a picnic on the eastern hill after the handing out of the presents in the palace’. I asked her: 'Nothing more?' She said: 'We’ll have a party in the Grand Hall in the evening with plenty of fun, but the picnic will be fine with me!’. My daughter could've had an orchestra, three choirs and five hundred cooks bringing her food all day."
"God forbid or I'd get fat!"
Belinda laughed and the crowd joined in.
"But she wanted this one summer picnic. I think that shows us that this future queen is humble enough to stay sane throughout her prospective reign. We’re not all here. Some of the guests drank a little too much yesterday and chose to sleep." The crowd laughed again. "I shall not be tedious, don't I always say this when this is exactly what I am, but I need only say that I am happy to congratulate my daughter on her 21st birthday and her future husband for the nuptial selection." Steven walked up to her and they embraced and kissed.
“Let us all join in to sing for our own Belinda!"
Bantrard walked round the crowd getting everyone going in birthday-song everyone had heard a dozen times throughout the weeks of this celebration.
The spring sun shone down on the royal singing picnic-crowd that day, making the light colours of their dress look like flowers on the green grass. The breeze made the clothes tip and fly a bit and against the view of the royal grounds the scene seemed so perfect and so much like paradise for everyone that it made Belinda happy to be alive.
"Happy birthday, my love!" Alexander said when the song was finished.
"Thank you, father!" Belinda smiled back.
She walked a few steps with her father, who embraced her, whilst the crowd sang along with Bantrard’s song.
“How are you, love?” She smiled back at him. “Honestly now. No bedroom roses for me here. Leave those for the Prince Regent.”
Belinda smiled. “Morgana gives me little cynical comments about how she dislikes me suspecting her.” She looked her father deep in the eyes. “I throw my vulgar Latin at her.”
“I saw you throwing raisins at her,” Alex chimed in. “Don’t know ‘bout the Latin.”
”You saw that?” He nodded.
“Sorry.” He shook his head. “Control your temper.”
“I shall.” He patted her on the shoulder and looked down into the valley.
“Steven promises me his fidelity.”
“You should believe him,” Alex chuckled. “He hates Morgana.”
Belinda looked down. “I want to. He kisses everyone, or so he says. He loves me. I love him. It’s fine. Don’t worry about me.”
”I kiss everyone hello as well. You do, too. I wish I could help you. You flirt with men, too.”
“It’s fine. I am just being silly.” Belinda said, nervously and waved with her right hand.
”I can understand that you are under pressure. The inquisition with the messenger has brought a great deal out of you, hasn’t it.”
”I want to forget it, father” she snapped. “Forget the whole thing ever happened.”
Alex nodded, surprised at her harsh tone, but sighed and gave his Belinda a kiss on the cheek.
“All right!” He looked up. “Dusk. Time to go in, I think.”
Belinda nodded and began to gather the servants together to pick up the blankets and food. Patrick came up to her and began to talk whilst she walked around putting empty wine bottles in Marie-Louise’s basket.
“Nice song, Lindy!” He was holding a piece of bread and a wine bottle.
She looked up, surprised. “Oh,” she said. “Thanks, Patrick.”
“You haven’t sung the whole song in years.”
”I used to irritate you with that one.”
“You know what?”
”What?” Belinda asked as she crossed the lawn and picked up Morgana’s blanket, shook it off and picked up a few scattered raisins.
“I’m your older brother.” Belinda looked at him and smiled. “Really? I’ll have to write that one down.”
She smiled at Marie-Louise, who began to giggle.
“And yet, with you I feel you are my older sister. I cannot believe that you are just twenty-one.
Why are you so wise?”
Belinda folded the blanket and gave it to Ruby, who was passing with about five blankets in her arms. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“No, it just struck me how someone so young can be so wise.”
“I have had enough of your cynical comments, Pat!”
She crossed the lawn again, turned around and called Ruby back.
“Yes, miss.”
”Can you take these two blankets over here, too?”
”Yes, miss.”
Ruby went over and stood by while Belinda folded them. Patrick followed her, as well.
“Patrick,” Lindy continued. “For a person who was taught to fence at three and play the lute at four and strapped to a wooden table at ten, you’ll most certainly get a result of someone who starts thinking about life early. You are smart, as well, Darling. But you,” Belinda said, pointing at his wine bottle and his crotch, “Have made these little fellows your mentor.” She gave Ruby the blankets. “I would never ever tell my father in an admiring tone how great it is to be unfaithful. Ready?”
“Yes, miss!” Behind her, Patrick was left dumbfounded and muttered:
“Bloody bitch! Bloody damn provocative little bitch!”
”Don’t get feisty with me, Pat!”
Patrick remained behind and screamed after her.
“Now you wonder why I drink! Speaking of alcohol, have you seen my wife? Where is she?”
Belinda called back, “Search her now and not your mistress! She doesn’t drink, you do.”
Belinda passed Eleonore and Maria jabbering about cooking, Sieglinde and Patricia about children and Erica and Roberta of all people squabbling about Patrick. Belinda wanted to interfere, but didn’t. They reached the romantic tree when they all turned left and walked down the path past the poppy field that lead them to the sunflowers to the west with their abundant hills beyond. They passed the royal theatre, the royal stables; when the entourage of fifty came onto the avenue that eventually lead them to the main garden with its fountain hundred feet down. The gravel under their feet crackling and the servants’ arms literally bursting with pain from all the carrying, the entourage was happy to find the door open and Geena welcoming them.
Belinda was the first one to enter the palace. She was happy that she and her sisters along with her mother had spent the entire morning decorating the main hall with flowers. The black and white chequered floor somehow received a heightened beauty in its simplicity with the entire hall full of flowers. The large mahogany staircase was to the brim full of lilies, Sieglinde’s favourite flower and on each side where sunflowers en masse. Soon enough, Belinda was telling everyone that evening meals would be served in an hour and that everyone could go to their various rooms and rest before getting even drunker. Geena, Rolf, Ruby, Marie-Louise, Philip, Marcus and Theo spent the hour making the Grand Hall festive and Bantrard’s band of lovelies helped putting all the glasses in place. Belinda mounted Timothy and rode off to the Waterfall Lake before complete darkness, very angry with Patrick and his innuendo, a very clear sign of sibling jealousy. Patrick took Roberta into a back room and made love to her ferociously.

Thursday Evening, June 4th, 1422 A.D.

It was the place for ceremonial dinners. Anyone who entered it was immediately astounded. When the four sets of Grand Hall mahogany doors, that were placed in the four corners of the room, were opened the visitor's eyes was at once transfixed at its height, the mirrors and the black-and-white chequered marble tiles that covered the floor, often additionally covered with an oriental rug of some kind in its middle and how these seemed to interact.
There was a painting of a beautiful and mounted horse by a lake at sundown on the ceiling, mounted by Alexander and also painted by Maestro Penderesci, a happy, some people said rather chubby, bunch of guests were enjoying themselves on the terrace of a house in the immediate background and there was a man playing the lute and singing next to the horse. Right under the painting Bantrard sat with his orchestra, entertaining everyone. Bantrard wasn’t far away juggling some orbs and occasionally dancing a jig or telling the children jokes.
The large fireplace at the front was quite a sight. The servants kept putting wood into the flames to keep the hall warm. It was quite large and made mostly of marble and sandstone along with little cherubs and angels and two dragons peeked from its corners. There was a large mirror above it, but it was not made for seeing yourself and combing your hair. It was above the fireplace two meters up above ground and quite large.
On the left side were the enormous windows overlooking the grounds, they were leaded glass windows with red-brown-coloured wooden frames. In the middle was the royal coat of arms of Prosperania: the royal eagle surrounded by the five symbols for the individual counties: the bridge for Gargetania, the lion for Starinia, the juggler for Caryllinia, the antelope for Ingolfstadt, and the singer for Kyrilliland. On each side of the Grand Hall were pictures of Iuventus Sacrum and above and below them were lances and swords. Under the largest coat of arms sat Alexander on his throne, a gilded mahogany chair with the eagle on top. He was wearing a blue suit with a red cape and a green, very beautifully embroidered cap that had been especially designed for him.
On each side of the family sat some aide-de-champs and some ladies in waiting. Right opposite them on the wall to the right were paintings of Prosperanian towns painted by royal painters through the years and under them sat Counts and Countesses and friends and distant relatives of various kinds. On the short-end furthest away from the fireplace was a long table where the General and the Bishop Bernardus Paul sat next to many Clurafar Senators and Mormidar who had joined them. Opposite them, on each side of the fireplace, sat representatives from three counties: Margetania and Alliland as well as Neapelonia. In one end of the hall sat Belinda talking to Zeddy. Again, guilt had replaced peace in her stubborn heart. She was covering it up by speaking politics.
"Then what is the answer?" Zed cried. “How can we communicate?”
"We export iron and wheat and potatoes to their country, don't we?" Zed nodded. Belinda continued, "I told the senators this last month; the gold and marble-treasures from Tunisia we make into decorations are one the most popular exports to the Nocturanian palaces. Considering that they lack the skilled craftsmen to do that kind of work. We should be happy we inherited this infrastructure from the Romans, we might as well use it. Considering just how vain they are and how much they love those things, we simply say that if they do not cooperate, we cut the exports. We have enough money coming from other nations. We don't need them to finance our economy. We have no debts."
Belinda shrugged. She led her finger across her throat with a sweet smile to indicate a complete categorical death of trade between the countries. "I think if they attack our allies, they shall have the benefit of our returned favours." She smiled again and Zedrick nodded, reassured. "We bribe them," he said. She smiled.
"Maybe that would be one resolution!"
"Let’s be honest. It may not solve anything. But it’ll give us time. Steven is less sceptical against them than me, for obvious reasons. But I have told him that if he ever meets Lucinda he will change his mind. My scepticism is pure spiritual. His is maybe practical."
"My problem is partially this Adnicul fellow. He is the most non-negotiable fellow I have met. I get shivers running down my spine when I meet him."
"Is that amusing?" Belinda asked, detecting a smile.
"Only the fact that I forget the effect he has on me every time. I rehearse my lines and think of my arguments, tell myself that ‘Oh, yes: now I know what I want. I'll get him, I will, but sure enough then he talks around me and what do you know, sweetie? I leave as poor as I came. Still, I always get the feeling he feels a little out of place in his role as king."
“Everyone says that. I still cannot see why.”
He turned to Belinda. “You know the stories, of course?”
”Of him conquering, ending the dynasty of the very last of the Johnathan-kings with
Lucinda’s help?” Zeddy nodded.
Belinda looked over at her father laughing and talking, very drunk by now, she was very sad. “I know” she responded. “The thought of my aunt escaping the wagon thirty years ago and teaming up with the enemy is tearing him apart. It won’t end without a confrontation, I think.”
Zeddy put a hand in her lap and she took it and caressed it without looking at him.
“There are tales, Zed,” she continued dreamily still looking at her father, “of Lucinda living on roots and garbage until she got lucky and became the mistress of the man who was the king’s assistant. They drove the poor bugger insane.”
He shook his head. "What a dreadful chap! I think he might be the devil!"
Belinda looked away for a second. "I don’t know if he is.”
There was a painful silence broken by Zeddy, who suddenly changed subject.
“I don’t think we should speak of this at this day.” She shook her head. After a while he asked her: "Have you had a nice birthday, dear?" She looked at him with bright eyes and nodded eagerly, surprised over the change of mood. "Good!" He stroked her cheek. "My, my, my. Why aren't you my daughter, love?"
"You just want to be my boyfriend, you old codger!"
He threw his head up in the air and laughed. "Watch out. Or this dirty old man is going to take you away on his horse and gallop away with you somewhere!"
Belinda looked at him, bemused. "Keep you in a cave like a treasure! Forever!"
Her left hand forefinger ran across his chest and ended up playing with a golden button upon his toga vest. She grew quiet for a moment. In her mind, Belinda was crying: “Why cannot anyone see that I am in pain?” She nodded slowly and smiled at Zeddy. "Remember when I insisted you sit on the floor and play cards with me?" He laughed. "Remember how mad I got that time when you didn’t want to play?" He nodded. "I didn't know three of your captains were waiting for an hour in the next room." She gave him a fake blow across the head. "You could've said something, Zeddy! After all, I was only seven! I only had my own will to think of."
"I never could say no to you, you know that. You always were stubborn…"
Belinda smiled, patting him on the cheek. "I guess that's true. I still am. I guess that will never change. I have to accept it, although it drives people crazy from time to time." Zedrick dismissed that thought with the brush of one hand.
"Ah, let them be irritated. It's all jealousy."
“Still, I wish I weren’t so harsh to my siblings some times!”
Belinda clapped Zeddy on the knee and Zedrick smiled, thoughtfully.
"Belinda, you are going to be a grand ruler one day!" And Belinda put her head against his shoulder and sighed. "That's right lean on Uncle Zeddy…" She started tickling him. "Good sweet Christ! This girl is mad." The people around them started laughing along with them, inspired by their folly. After a while she stopped and said, "Highly unorthodox!"
He started tickling her under her arms. She shrieked. "You're filthy!" That didn't stop him. "Bloody damn filthy!"
"Watch your language, Your Highness! “
"Watch your fingers!"
And the hush that followed was filled with mystery although overplayed by giddy mirth. It seemed that evening; the men around her were more than normally appreciative of her alluring, mysterious character, always subject to change and surprise. Whilst Alex spent his evening with Lancelot in his lap reading him Prosperanian folk stories, Belinda spent hers trying to be happy and wondering why she wasn’t. Whilst her husband spent his evening discussing fencing with Patrick, Belinda got very drunk and tried to forget that that there was something missing in her life.
Whilst all her sisters found peace in conversation about cooking or make-up or receptions with famous men, she found her peace in discussion about politics and spirituality. Once in a while she would stand up and dance to Bantrard’s music. He would play off, “Stamp your feet, for love is in town,” and she would dance with Steven for a half hour.
The orchestra would play “Bedroom Roses” for the umpteenth time with an improvisation in the middle and she would invite Patrick or her father for a dance. Patrick had excused himself for calling her a bitch and she had excused herself for saying he was steered by his groin. She knew why he had become nicer. He had copulated with Roberta again in a secret room. It was none of her business.
She grabbed her mother and danced across the room. She disguised so well that she was actually very afraid that not even her husband noticed her tears, but Belinda was afraid. She was afraid of Lucinda, not of Nina Ray. She always had been. She had thought kicking Nina would kill Lucinda. She had been wrong. About one o’clock the party died down and everyone went with lanterns back to their rooms. Sieglinde ended up discussing diplomacy with Zedrick under her lantern for an hour on her balcony while her husband the king snored in his room. They were of different opinion so when the topic of Belinda came up, Zeddy said she seemed very much in control and it was left at that. Belinda fell asleep upon her husband’s shoulder that night.
Now all that she had to wait for was the promise to be kept. Alexander dreamt of coins in wells and a giggling robin. That night Belinda slept well, strangely enough. There were no dreams, not even good ones, just deep sleep. Steven was at her side and he loved her very much.
That was enough, at least for the evening.

Friday Morning, June 5th, 1422 A.D.

The way the sun shone into the room and woke her up made the day start well: softly. She rubbed her eyes, walking up to the bronze basin. Marie-Louise must’ve poured fresh water in there while she was sleeping because it was full. She washed her face and armpits off with water and sprayed some of the perfume her father had brought with him from his visit in Alliland. It was an ancient Roman combination: apricot, roses and honey refined with some cinnamon.
Belinda stood by the basin for a while, contemplating the prospect of going out and searching for Steven, but just lifted her head, looked at herself in the mirror and drifted away. She looked young. Yet, her eyes were the eyes of a much older, wiser woman. Were those the eyes of an arrogant girl? Some people called her aloof. Why was that? She was smart. She wasn't supposed to hide that, was she? Normal women perhaps accepted just becoming maids. Thank God it was different for royal women. She wanted to change the role of women. Women should have equal chances, rich or poor. Thank God that the ideas and inventions of the Roman Empire had been taken over by the Prosperanian Empire. She dared not even think of the fall that civilization would've experienced if the sewer-system and the bathhouses, the roads and houses and the medicine and homeopathies of Rome hadn't been taken over by the rest of Medatlantia with its fall. What would've happened, she wondered? Well, maybe the renaissance that followed centuries later after Rome’s fall would've come first now over one millennia after the fall of Rome or later. A lot of time lost in other words. But she still felt that women were not equal enough in Prosperania. When she became queen, or empress, as her official title would be, she would change that, putting women in important positions.
She went back to bed and sat down. Belinda then sat at the edge of her bed, wearing the lace-collared nightgown her mother had given her yesterday. Pink flowers with blue leaves were scattered across its white cotton surface and its texture was smooth and sweet against her skin. It was nicely feminine and comfortable, pretty and precisely her casual kind of night time clothing. The fact that her mother had made it herself was very special for Belinda. She liked anything that her mother did herself, be it the cooking or the night time talks. It was eleven o' clock in the morning and the bright, white light from the sun outside shone through the closed curtains upon it.
She picked up the book of poems that Belinda's sister Patricia had written for her and given to her yesterday. They were all bound together in a book labelled:

Poems by Patricia Ariana Carina
For Belinda

After reading the book for a half hour, she put it away and began asking herself who was out and about. Steven was up. The party had apparently gone on for a while when she went to bed at two o’clock. How many were drunk enough to have headaches today? Enough people, she guessed. Was Zedrick still drunk? Surely. He had been in quite a mood yesterday. What had he said? "Watch out or this dirty old man is going to take you away on his horse and gallop away with you somewhere. Keep you in a cave like a treasure! Forever!"
The fact was that he had been part of the rescue that galloped her away from what had almost killed her. That was why that joke was a good one.
She yawned again as she slowly walked up to the window to see what was happening in front of the castle. Her eyes were only half-open, just having woken up. She stretched for a bit there in solitude and tousled her hair. As she opened the red curtains and let light flood into the white room like a fresh breeze on a hot day, she held her hands in front of the face and grinned. Then she opened the door and walked out on her terrace. The freshness of the marble against her bare feet was very nice. She leaned against the stone-balustrade and looked down, standing on her toes.
Fabian and Patrick were chasing Lance down one of the mazes. She could see that clearly from her room on the second floor. They seemed to have such a good time. The breeze was blowing in her nightgown and the sun was shining through it, casting a silhouette of her body against the fabric. The breeze was refreshing.
A breakfast out here would be nice. She would call for the maid to bring her some. Just a while longer out here and then she would go for a dip. A dip in the pond would be nice. Was that a squirrel on that tree? She thought it was, how fast it ran up the stem. How agile. There was a bird on the tree as well. The breeze blew her hair around a bit and a lock of it fell down across her chest as she felt two strong hands embrace her, lift her hair up and kiss her neck.
"Good morning, my love!" Steven said, kissing her décolletage.
"Don't ever stop doing that. It feels good." She turned around. Steven caressed her cheek.
"Slept well?"
"No dreams."
“That’s good. We like that,” Steven agreed. “What else?”
“Nothing special” Belinda said, softly. “Only that I’m standing here dreaming and scheming.” She half-smiled at hime and half-closed her eyes. “I’m thinking of skinny dipping in the pond later. Want to join me for a swim in the fresh water?”
Steven smiled. “I’d love to,” he mused. “Only I promised your father to help him plan a strategic plan for shaping up the harbour controls. He says it’ll take all day. I am due there in an hour.”
“Don’t you men ever stop working?” Belinda spat.
Steven laughed, throwing his head back. “No.” He looked back at her and ran his fingers along her chin. “I do know a remedy for hang-over, though. It’s better than skinny dipping.”
“Uh-Huh?” Belinda inquired, sensually.
“Come into the bedroom and I will show you, my lady of worship.”
“Hmmm?” Belinda responded, coquettish. “Does it hurt?”
Steven chuckled and took her by the hand. “Never, it’s sheer heaven.”

A while later by the Waterfall Lake

Belinda was standing by the lake on a stone, naked and ready to jump in. Her clothes were neatly laid upon a nearby branch and Timmy was tied to a tree. She had spent the last hour up on Tall Hill overlooking the grand property of the Winsletennas.
She jumped into the clear lake and swam around. She felt the movements of her body in the water. The trickling and splashing of the waterfall on the other end was so inviting and the blue sky seemed endless and she needed the solitude of this place, needed to have other things occupying her mind, remind herself that Nina Ray was gone, that she was getting married, that there was nothing at all to be worried about. The sun fell on her wet hair like a breeze in the desert. She dived down and saw seashells and stones, a couple of red fish and seaweed. Belinda swam to the surface again and over to the waterfall, walked up and stood under the stream, just enjoying its steady plunge upon her head. She closed her eyes and felt the water trickle down across her breasts to her legs. Oh, what a feeling. She felt herself calm down. The air seemed to hum. There was nothing here but her and the waterfall, just her and the waterfall and nothing else. It all felt nice.

Wash the pain away, Belinda.

Then she looked up into the water and caught the water in her mouth. She shook her head in an aim to shake off old water so that the new could come on her face and winced at the sun shining through the glistening tapestry of falling aqua.
Wash away your bad habits, Belinda, all those frilly, fast and unpredictable little habits.
The waterfall looked like diamonds spotlessly bright. A fantastic kaleidoscope of details.
Forget your past, Belinda.
She promised herself to be nicer to everyone, even if they were not nice to her.
Find peace inside the love of the angels, Belinda.
Then, suddenly, she saw someone at the shoreline. She was not alone anymore. There was someone over there in a black dress. She had black hair and she was pacing back and forth.
Remember 1422. Recall what I always told you.

“Who is there?” Belinda gurgled, naked and frail, trying to step away from the water.
The woman did not react, she just kept pacing the riverbank. Christ, it was Lucinda. It was her.
Some water got into Belinda’s throat and she started coughing. Water got in her eyes and she rubbed it away and stepped away from the waterfall. She looked toward the grassy spot where her horse Timmy was standing. No one was there, she was positive about this. Someone had been there. It had been Lucinda. Belinda felt naked and cold and afraid. She was back in the dungeons on the steel bench.
You are getting married. You have to settle down. There is nothing out there.
She slipped and fell into the water and when she got up, Belinda could only see the tapestry of shining water again and now Lucinda was there. She was walking back and forth again looking at her. She was raising her hand and waving. Belinda rubbed her eyes. Lucinda was still there, waving. Belinda coughed, she had water in her throat. Oh, my, how awful. Lucinda was walking on water. Settle down. Be a good girl now. There is nothing there.
There is, too. Look, it is her. She is here, why is she here?
Lucinda was gone again. Where was she? “Don’t play games with me, Lucinda,” Belinda roared, washing the water away from her eyes. Then she heard a laugh. The low laugh of a bitch, wicked and menacing.
I am here, niece!
She felt a hand grabbing onto her head, getting ready to torture her again just like she always had. The hand told her that eleven years hadn’t passed and that it all had been a short intermission to prepare her for the real challenge, this was the challenge of facing her own decline. The hand was now pressing down her head. It had the might of a thousand fingers. It was pushing her down into the water. Belinda couldn't breathe. She wrestled to get out of the water, feeling the steady waterfall crash down upon her head. She saw her own bubbles rise to the surface and grabbed the hands that pushed her down and felt their bony structure. Lucinda. She recognized the hand.
Oh, dear. Oh, she is going to kill me. Oh, oh, oh, no, no. Oh.
She slapped and punched the hand. Another hand came on her. And another. Soon four hands were on her pushing her down. Oh, dear. I am dying. Dying. She got out of the water for a second and gasped for air. Her voice sounded like a gust of wind racing through a tunnel chased by a demon in the night, she entered the water again. She heard laughter. Oh, dear. I am dying. She saw her life running before her mind's eye, up above the surface. Gasp for air. Crap. Damn. Die, you bitch!
No, I will not die.
Yes, you will!
No. No. No.
Yes, yes. Yes.
Gasping for air she saw her fight with her father. She saw all her birthdays, her trips through the nation, her studies, her friends, Steven. Oh, dear Steven flash before her eyes. They were getting married. Now she was dying and couldn't get married. The hands were viscous and strong and there was a dog on the shore with three heads, this is killing me. Help! heeeeeeeeeeelp! Suddenly there was a fourth party. There was a man in a purple robe. Wings? Did she see wings? The hands suddenly lost the grip and Belinda shot up above the surface and gasped. She felt a gust of wind disappear above her as if someone was flying away into the day and fleeing.
Belinda stood up and fell down again, dizzily. She stood up and grabbed her naked stomach and vomited her breakfast on the stones. It disappeared into the water. She heard the trickling of the water and she found shelter in the cave behind the waterfall. She started crying. Convulsions of tears attacked her soul. She shook and her mouth trembled with coldness and fear.
She wiped the water away from her face, not knowing what her tears were and what the water was. Saliva drooled off the side of her mouth and she wiped it away with her shaking hand. She started crying again. This time she couldn't stop. She cried and cried and tried to stand up but couldn't and fell down and scraped her knee. She screamed and cried and vomited again. Blood and vomit and water and tears mixed and she leaned against the cave wall and sighed. She breathed heavily, tears were streaming down her face and she was crying.
She felt the cold wall against her naked shoulder and her stunning body was shivering.
She buried her face in her hands.
Get over the shock. Get over the shock. Get over the shock.
She rubbed her face and looked distantly into the water. She saw a red fish swimming around in the water. She cried, closing her eyes. No, she mustn't cry. She must be strong. This was no time to cry. Pull yourself together, Belinda. Pull yourself together. No time to cry. Crying would only help Lucinda. She likes suffering. So don't cry. Don't ever cry. She leaned against the wall and sighed again. She swam across the lake and back on shore. She felt like a dog paddling across the lake, severely unfeminine, naked, in pain. She crawled on her hands and knees, shivering and naked and utterly alone. “Oh, Steven” she gasped. “Why did you not join me here? Why did you have to work?”
Lucinda was trying to work the curse.
Don’t be silly. There is no such thing. Listen to Steven, your fiancé. He will tell you that.
But she was right. This was just a part of...
She saw writing scribbled on the tree that Timmy had been tied to. She walked up to it, clutching a towel, shivering. In childlike writing, it read:

Never exile a sister, a daughter might suffer for it.

She began to cry, her jaw dropping, her knees weakened and her eyes hurting.
She dropped to her knees and began to cry. As she looked toward Timmy’s hooves she saw a small parchment at his feet. She crawled over and picked it up. A small poem was written on it. It read:

For once a sister gets her will
And Nina Ray can produce her ill
Then an exiled Lucinda shall have her way.
A sister’s revenge will have its day.
If Lucinda is thrown out, a daughter shall pay.

At once, Belinda closed her eyes tightly shut and screamed at the top of her lungs.


Meanwhile on the palace court yard

There was a bright sun that day. But on the sky of the Winsletennas a cloud was darkening that bright horizon of love. Playing boys were innocently foreboding darker hours, for doom was coming to town. Its name could be spelled out clear and simple in simple and clear letters: Lucinda. There was no turning back. Backwards, this name spelled out a single name. This was a name so obvious that it must've amazed the devil not to find anyone realizing its real intension. A name no one gave a comprehensive, aware connection. Death was waiting to strike and he was not invited to the party.
Suddenly, shrieks were heard from the garden. Marcus wife and Belinda’s sister Eleonora looked up and saw Belinda falling off her horse Timmy. Belinda was crying. No, Belinda was not crying. She was sobbing, screaming. Tears ran down her cheeks and her hair was tousled, bruises covering her face. The only children in the family, Fabian and Lance, stopped playing and Geena and Rolf rushed out from their rooms. From around the corner Steven and Alex came rushing. Belinda shook her head and rushed into Ellie’s arms.
Alex ran up to her. “Darling, what is it? What has happened?” She handed the parchment without a word into her father’s hands. She left Ellie’s arms and leaped into Steven’s, desperately sobbing. Dumbfounded, her father read the poem and dropped it on the ground, his hands shaking. “She attacked me” Belinda cried.
“Where?”
”By the waterfall.”
Sieglinde came rushing out, a hairbrush in her hand. “What is the matter?” Marcus picked up the poem, read it briefly and handed it to Sieglinde.
“Lucinda. She attacked Lindy. It was Lucinda, was it not?” Belinda nodded. Sieglinde’s jaw dropped. “What?” she shrieked.
Belinda looked up, on her hands and knees on the ground now, her eyes drenched with tears, her eyes shot red shot with blood.
“She pu-pushed m-my head down under the water, Mommy,” she sobbed. “She wanted to kill… kill me. She disappeared, leaving me with th-this. It’s over. I have feared this since I lay on the table in that dungeon.”
Steven hugged her. “No. These are empty threats.” Belinda looked up at her fiancée, hoping to hear some nice words. “She has no power over us. Has she, Alex?”
Alex rubbed his face, turning around to his daughter.
“No.” He walked up to his daughter, embracing her tight. “No. She has not. You are getting married. You are becoming the Queen. You are going to have children. Lucinda’s magic powers are gone. She has no power over us anymore. These are empty threats. Goddamn it, it has to be.”
“Mom!” Belinda shrieked and rushed into her mother’s arms.
“Shhh, there, there now!” Sieglinde said, comforting her daughter. “My sweet, wonderful, daughter. We all love you so endlessly. God, you deserve a better life than this. Please don’t cry.”
“I am dying. My soul is in agony. I want these memories to stop haunting me!”
For an eternity the group of people sat there on the front porch of the palace and comforted a young woman wrapped in warm blankets, knowing that a family member in exile had chosen a victim.


Afternoon, Saturday, June 6th, 1422 A.D.

"Will you stay with me while I sleep?" Belinda asked.
"Of course I will, my dear!" Alexander said and caressed her cheek.
She smiled and hugged him. Although he spent most of the evening reading Prosperanian history to the light of four candles as Belinda slept the sleep of six sleepless nights, he occasionally looked up at the rising moon from his book knowing for certain that hard times were ahead. Not only for him. That worried him greatly. And he worried why Geena had lied to him about Belinda and why Theo had not told him about the carvings on the tree. While she slept, he looked at her with the greatest love that a father has in his heart. He read for a bit in his book “Travelling the Known World” by Hogiar Lindarus. Soon enough, Alexander, too, fell asleep.
Alexander woke up. The four wax candles were almost burnt out and the only thing left were stumps in holders. He had obviously fallen asleep, for the book was on the floor. The balcony door was closed and he had a blanket across his knees. Belinda was asleep. He stood up, stretched his old tired muscles and put the blanket on the bed. He put the book on Belinda's nighttime table, took a lantern, lit two larger candles and put them inside it. He sat down and began to pray: “Dear Lord! Help my poor daughter. Protect her, for she needs you. Amen.”

Sunday, June 7th, 1422 A.D. – 131 days left

Next morning, Steven called off a few meetings to sit by her bedside until Belinda woke up. Always an early riser, it was barely morning before Alexander sat reading outside Belinda's bedroom. Steven was called to an emergency examination and had not yet returned from his morning inspection of the stables, due to a sick horse. Alexander seeing to that Belinda's sleep was calm, when she had woken up three times crying, Alexander swearing eternal revenge. Lucinda had not only ruined his life but his daughter's sanity and he would never forgive her that. Sometime past nightfall into the morning her sleep came and he and Steven slept then as well. It worked like clockwork. When she was all right, they were too.
Also like a clock were the waking hours. Not long after the birds had risen had Alex stood up and gone down to the thermal bath. There he found Patrick, who obviously had a hangover, and spoke to him about wine tasting. Then he rinsed off, clothed himself, and sat down in his daughter's study with the book. The door was ajar and he could hear the gently breeze from the open balcony door and his daughter's gentle snoring and Steven turning a page in his book inside the bedroom. Alexander put the book down, rubbed his eyes and stood up.
He walked over to the window and looked out. The gardener Louis was already up tending to the trees. Belinda's windows were on the very side of the palace so the corner was calm. Louis had a chair and book with him so he sat down. He obviously had a pitcher of elder-juice with him. He made it, stored it, cooled it in the cellars and drank it in the mornings. Alexander often came during the early morning and talked to him there under the tree. Louis always sat there in the mornings, enjoying the breeze. He had done so for fifty years and would probably do so until he died.
He heard Belinda moving. On soft feet he walked into the bedroom and looked in. She was awake, with her hands under her head, in a foetal position, eyes wide open and watching the swaying of the trees. Steven had obviously left a minute ago. Belinda yawned sadly. Then she closed her eyes again and turned over. Before she went to sleep again she saw her father standing at the door. She smiled and gestured for him to come over. He came and sat down by her side.
“Have you been sleeping all right?"
She shook her head. She took her father's hand.
"You have always been stronger than the rest of us."
"I'm weak,." she said, gently, her thumb stroking the palm of her father's hand in hers. The look in her face worried him. “I’m an awful person.”
"No. Why do you say that?"
“I have never been so mean to my siblings and my family as during the last few months.” She looked at him, gently. He could see that she was looking for an answer. If there was a time to help her, it was now.
"I have never felt so weak.” Belinda moaned, sitting back on her pillow, supporting herself on her left hand against the side of the bed. “I hate being weak. I hate pacing the rooms puzzled over the why’s and the how’s and the when’s, and the where’s.”
"Don't be angry at yourself that you pace the room in the evening." He leaned over and caressed her cheek. She smiled. "You don't always have to be strong. Give yourself time. You’re a wonderful person. Let that be enough. Don’t do the mistake I did and try to be perfect. Just be you.”
She turned to her side and sighed.
“I need to be strong for the wedding and for my people.”
“You need to be happy, my love. Not strong. You need not to worry. You need to think of yourself. The way to do that is to take one day at a time. Just one day at a time. Let things go. Things are not where the real future lies. Even when things are connected to memories, what matters is your soul, your family. Don’t worry.”
Belinda embraced her father and wished for this embrace never to end. The truth in her heart was speaking to her. She longed for the freedom not to worry anymore, not to wake up in cold sweat. She longed for a celebration that wouldn’t end in a sorrowful note. She longed for epicurean bliss without sour spices. She longed to live again, free of fear.
She longed for a life where she could take a naked swim without having to worry what was hiding in the corners ready to jump out at her from the shadows.
Belinda had been wrong. Lucinda wasn’t just out to get her. Lucinda wanted to hurt her father by hurting her. What better way to get back at the person who had evicted her than to hurt someone he loved? Belinda felt there was more to this story than just revenge on family, but couldn’t think of what. Was that arrogant? No, it was realistic. As royalty, they had friends as well as enemies.
She would find the answer soon: within the sanctuary that protected the shadows of the realm.


CHAPTER FIVE: SANCTUARY

Thursday July 2nd, 1422 A.D.

The discussion with Archbishop Bernardus Paul had again been about divinity and why God allowed suffering to occur. The distinguished gentleman also nodded calmly every time she thanked him for being able to smuggle her anonymously inside the Cathedral of St. Raphael in order to heal her own suffering. Belinda was blissful that he let her wander free as a citizen undisturbed to think and pray inside the cathedral without having to arrive as a guest of great honour. He was one of the few who knew she did this at all.
Steven knew. Her parents knew. But that was it. If it came out, that would be the end of her peace. The people would be alert, waiting for her to appear.
She needed the peace these visits gave her and she needed it badly.
In spite of all this, Belinda felt as if she had insulted Steven. He had only tried to cheer her up, but to no avail. His wit had been responded by glum smiles. The theological discussion with the archbishop on the other hand had been responded with contemplative effort. He realized there was no hope of any fast recovery and left her alone. She had turned from a self-confident prize lioness into a reindeer scared into seclusion by a herd of buffalo. No, that was wrong. One buffalo. Lucinda.
Belinda was hurting, that was all. She knew that her aunt was out to cause her pain.
The last weeks since the incident by the waterfall, Belinda had spent a lot of time praying here in the castle chapel. She had, after the catharsis of the Nina Ray experience, decided to be true to herself and not be used or abused by memories. The signs on the tree, the note with the poem, it had all been destroyed. With it her peace was gone as well. In her heart was a vow not to destroy the memory of why and understand what it all meant. She wanted to remember never to forget.
She had changed, most certainly. Grown softer, sweeter, calmer, more controlled. Coming face to face with the reality of why Lucinda was here in the first place – why Lucinda had actually attacked her and why she had told her father what she had told him so many years ago – was something that scared her and made her wonder how she should act in the future. Nina Ray had been nothing but a name back then and now she was the starting point of something else, but what?
Belinda’s eyes turned to the lovely statue of St. Michael that dominated the altar’s right side. It reminded her of the good things that were kept alive in here. Thinking of all these things and what they might mean to her, she realized that, although Lucinda was bad and evil and maybe even a practitioner of black magic, she had only guessed a future daughter’s eventual wedding. Maybe Lucinda had disguised herself as Nina Ray. Could be. Maybe she was her invention. Maybe her sick mind came up with a long-term joke to feed her bored temper. With prayers and love she would heal the wound. She had after the Nina Ray inquiries been clear about being happy and true to herself. The Winsletennas had won before. They would win again. That much was sure. But that was a lie.
Belinda prayed the Lord’s prayer once more, ended with an Ave Maria and walked up to the statue of St. Michael, kissed his feet and walked solemnly out the door, determined to spend the following Sunday in the Royal Cathedral of the Blessed St. Raphael in Clurafar in disguise, praying again, hoping to convince herself that all was well, that nothing was so perilous that it could hurt her.

Thursday, July 16th, 1422 A.D. – 89 days left

Belinda had dressed up in the large blue robe customary for the clerical women of the cathedral. It bore the traditional white cross in the back and came in courtesy of Archbishop Bernardus Paul so Belinda could mingle freely in peace. Belinda fled the stress and escaped to the only place where she knew she would find peace.
The cathedral was a quiet place to meditate and get away from the entire uproar of the royal life of a crown princess. It seemed there was a hum about this place. It was as if the angels were singing pleading love songs in here. It was a perfect spot to get away from the hectic bureaucracy of regal endevour, certainly: somewhere where she was neither Her Royal Majesty nor the object of someone’s murderous and bloodthirsty thoughts.
She knelt, did the sign of the cross and started walking toward the left wing. The gregoranian chants echoed through the arches and her thoughts drifted back to her childhood. She had sung these Gregorian chants as well, having heard her father sing them, he had made the walls resonate and the wooden benches vibrate.
“Angele Dei, Qui custos es mei, Me tibi commissum pietate superna; Hodie, Hac nocte illumina, custodi, rege, et guberna. Amen.”
A young woman dressed in a simple toga smiled at her, thinking her a clerical mistress, nodded graciously and kept on walking. Belinda’s eyes were glancing at the row of paintings of Jesus’ life and death completed by Iuventus’ own long-gone master Penderesci. There were a few praying faithful here today and it made her happy she lived in such a lovely kingdom of believers.
She looked up at the dome. Light was shining down through the windows and there were a few monks up there, talking, looking like ants from down here.
Coming to the middle, she looked at the coloured windows with pictures of the twelve apostles on them and Jesus in the middle stretching out his arms. She kneeled down and prayed.
Two monks, customary to tradition, kneeled on each side of her and prayed with her. She estimated their ages to be around thirty respectively. One of them was a young man she had seen before. The other she guessed had a higher position due to his beige cap. He was a supervisor of sorts. Their bowing heads gave her such a respectful sensation of placidness that she almost thought of thanking them for their gentility. Their brown robes and traditional rosaries gave her hope that this country could survive all the darkness that was threatening it.
“Vere Sanctus, vere benedictus!” The monks sang, their voices echoing through the cathedral. Belinda raised her head and waited. The doors of her soul opened and fresh air was let in. The monks raised their heads. One of them spoke softly: “God bless the Virgin Mary. God bless the clerical mistress!” She stood up and the monks with her. “God bless you, child!”
“And you, Sire!”
Now she knew why she had returned to her faith. She felt as if there was a truth to this introverted, unphysical reality. As they parted ways she had to smile looking back at them, humble as before. They had just blessed her and she felt wonderful about that. They would have no comprehension who they had just blessed. There were other clerical mistresses in here and they were all quietly praying with their long head covered sky-blue robes with white crosses swaying when they walked. They were considered clean and pure and had to be virgins in order to attain the post.
After five years of praying and serving the cross they were given permission to become part of the Holy Order of Mary Magdalene, a service that traveled the kingdom to spread joy among the poor. The clerical mistress had a very special place in the kingdom and they prayed to the blessed St. Raphael, whose cathedral this was. His blue colour resembled the sky and the birds and the trees.
(“Gloria in excelsis deo”)
The open space of the floor under the dome transcended into a duct replaced by a new arch, now a passageway of saints and famous people of the kingdom who had served the powers of good. She kept on walking and knew that the clerical mistress coming her way expected the customary embrace. They stopped and nodded after embracing. Something in her told her to talk to this woman.
The girl was barely two years older than herself and dark haired.
“A blessed good morrow to you, Sister of the Lord!”
Belinda replied.
”Good Day and blessing to you as well, Sister heart!”
“Embrace the light for I have seen the Lord!” They embraced and Belinda sensed there was fear there. Belinda felt it strongly. Fear that she might’ve chosen the wrong road. Her hands were shaking.
“Bless you, Sister heart, and walk in peace!”
The young woman was afraid of this uncustomary reply.
“Sweet girl, walk in peace!” Belinda repeated. “What is the matter?”
For a second or two she saw the face under that blue hood. It was a sweet face and the smile that met her was lovely and dimple cheeked. She was certainly a lovely girl that men could fall in love with. There was a hesitation there, however, and her lip began to tremble.
“Sister, what is the matter?”
“My heart,” she spoke. “I … am nervous and it seems I cannot hold back the tears.”
”If I can be your shelter, then come under my roof.” Belinda asked, tenderly.
(“Laudate Dominum, quoniam bonus est psalmus” the monks sang)
”I have no one to speak to about my fears, you see …”
”Then speak to me. I will listen if you need me to listen to you.”
“I am afraid, Sister heart. Afraid of having made the wrong choice.”
”I am an open book. I know fear like the back of my hand.”
(“Ecclesiam sanctam catholicam”)
(echoes in a blessed archway)
”I left my fiancée last week.”
“We are supposed to be virgins,” Belinda whispered carefully.
“Sister,” the girl said. “I always was a virgin and still am. We promised chastity until our nuptial connection. He agreed that joining physically was a thing of marriage that love doesn’t need.”
“You aren’t sure of your vocation?” Belinda realized this might be out of her capacity and range as a believer. She maybe wasn’t even entitled to give her the advice, not actually being a Clerical Mistress. The young woman shook her head.
“I love being here.” She looked around. “It gives me hope to be here, but…”
(“Laudate Dominum, quoniam bonus est psalmus”)
“I have wondered whom I might say this to and if some Sister might listen to my words.”
Belinda smiled. “Do you still love him?”
She smiled tenderly. “We were to be married. We kept the vow of absolute cleanliness before marriage. I feared that he was seeing someone else. We fought and he hurt my feelings. I left him and chose this to escape, if nothing else.” She looked down. “I do not know if I was right to leave him.”
(“Christe Eleison, Kyrie Eleison“)
“Only you can answer that, Sister! Only remember that the church is no escape route away from reality, but a forum to face life.” Belinda sighed. “The heart of the Lord can entail worldly love.”
“I am here to face reality,” the girl sighed. “May God forgive my sins, but I am not sure that I can be a follower to someone like Mary Magdalene.”
Belinda stroked her cheek. “Remember that Mary Magdalene, too, once was an insecure sinner before she found God. We are all sinners. We are all imperfect. Even the apostles were sinners.” Belinda smiled. “Peter denied the Lord three times. We are here to learn. We are none of us spared from ever evolving and trying to better our faults. Even the archbishop has faults.”
Her whisper echoed in the archway. The girl smiled at this.
“I wish I knew what was right.” the girl trembled. “I feel as if I’ve done everything wrong.”
(“Christe Eleison, Kyrie Eleison“)
Belinda felt blessed to have this total stranger reach out to her. It felt important to help her.
The Clerical Mistress was known to feel sisterhood, have confidence in the other woman by way of their own faith, known to her or not. The fact that she had this ability fulfilled her.
(“In Gloria dei patri”)
(“Christe Eleison, Kyrie Eleison“)
“Ask God to tell you what is right, to show you your inner most self and its wishes. I think you already know what you want. If you want him then God will know that you love him as well.”
The robe was covering half her face now. It was a very distinct, personal and pretty face.
“Take some time of Sanctuary to think of what is right. Ask St. Raphael to help you. There is no rule that says you can’t take some time to feel in your heart what your heart really wants before you take the vow of vocation.” After a half year she knew the mistresses were asked to take a vow to stay the five years before taking the actual step into the holy order. “You aren’t there yet, are you?” She shook her head. “How long?” The girl held up four fingers. “Four months away?” She nodded and smiled, the dimples appearing again. “You see, love? Think about it and then if you feel you can serve God better as a mother of baby boys, then do. Give it time. God will understand. Your heart knows what is best.” Belinda saw that she had made her feel hope. “God wants you to be happy.”
The girl embraced Belinda and she felt the warmth coming from her soul.
“Maybe you can talk to your boy in the meantime and see what he feels, tell him you need time. Be open. If it is your fate to be a nun, so be it. If it is your fate to be a mother, so be it.”
She nodded. “Thank you for being there for me. My fiancée still loves me. And I him.”
“Go to him. Certainly, I am there to help. Only happy if I could help.”
The girl hesitated for a second and then took out a small object out of her inside pocket, actually reserved for the holy book. “No one knows I have this, but I want you to have it.” It was small wooden object, made of mahogany, painted red in the form of a heart. There were three words inscribed upon it painted white. They read: “LOVE AND FAMILY”.
“It is an old gift from old friend. She gave it to me only if I promised to pass it on one day. You are the only one who has listened and it has helped me to feel inside myself.”
Belinda shook her head in surprise.
“My dear, why are you giving me this?”
”For I was naked and you clothed me, I was hungry and you gave me to eat, what you do to the least of my brothers, you do to me.”
She smiled sadly and stroked Belinda’s cheek, nodding.
“I will not forget you!”
Belinda was touched by this display of spiritual depth.
“Go to your friend,” Belinda said. “He is waiting for you.” The princess looked down at the heart. It was a beautiful thing and quite unusual. “I shall keep this close to my heart, always.”
“Bless you, Sister heart!”
The girl smiled, nodded and walked away, her swaying blue cape disappearing out of sight.
(“Christe Eleison, Kyrie Eleison, Amen“)
Belinda walked behind the altar, gazing at the gilded gates with engravings of the apostles. The rose windows of the angels surrounding Mary Magdalene made her think of this mysterious girl that had appeared out of nowhere.
The altarpiece of Mary and the baby Jesus was surrounded by a hundred lit candles.
(“Gloria in excelsis deo”)
The echoes of the chants were fainter now.
A monk was in the Sanctuary Chapel just to the right of the altar. It was a small chapel that seemed like a world of its’ own. There were many lit candles in there and the orange coloured tapestries and brown sand stonewalls gave the room a very warm colour. The centerpiece was a gilded altar. The monk was praying in there. Belinda walked in, went down on her knees and prayed along with him. She prayed for her family and her kingdom and her life in general, but her thoughts were still with this one little girl that had appeared out of nowhere. Who was she and why had she come to her? She had the urge to tell someone about it.
She took the heart up again. She shook her head and smiled.
“That’s a nice gift,” the man praying next to her said. She looked up. She smiled at him. He had jaunty eyes and a happy smile, a graying ring of hair and wrinkles. He had an air of transparency, of beauty. It wasn’t physical beauty, but spiritual beauty. The light from the wax candles flickered against the gold altar and shone back as fiery, dancing lights against his strong features.
“How did you know it was a gift?”
”Oh.” the man said, looking at the altarpiece.
He looked back at her, mischievously.
“I see it in your eyes.”
“Really?”
He nodded, looking up at the stonewalls.
(“Gloria in excelsis deo”)
“The way you look at it, it must be a dear one.” He looked at her again, signaled for her to come closer. She did. He pointed at it. “Take good care of that thing. It’s a blessing in disguise.” He signaled upwards. She nodded as if just revealed a huge secret.
“You are a very friendly man. Thank you for speaking to me.”
He laughed, wisely. “Thank you, my dear!”
”What is your name?”
”I am every man that seeks me, every man that knows me.” He nodded. “I will tell you this, though. They do like you up there.”
(“Gloria in excelsis deo”)
Belinda put her head to the side. “You think so?”
He nodded. “You are a child of the light. Children of the real light always end up in the light.
Children of real light will always win in the end. They are esteemed to, for they can do no wrong.” He spoke like he would speak to a child. “That is why your worries are unnecessary.” He chuckled to himself. “Naturally, even the equitable children make mistakes and are led the wrong way. Somewhere along the road, however, there is something that holds them back before they perish.”
“How do you know all this?”
(“Gloria in excelsis deo”)
He smiled. “I have my connections.”
“But you don’t know me.”
He grinned. “I know you, child. Trust me on that.”
He sighed, his face turning sad. “I must caution you to always wander into the light, even in the darkness. Hold onto not only the heart in your hand, but the heart in your heart of hearts. There is much in your path that will meet you. You will need it. But God will be with you. You can count on him. Always. Always.”
This man, who seemed to know things that penetrated her soul and gave her hope, touched Belinda. She was going to ask him who the girl was, who he was.
He held up his hand.
“No questions. Not yet. All will be revealed one day. No matter how dark the road looks there is always sun behind the clouds. ”Belinda took his hand and held it. He smiled and nodded. There was an exchange of glances. This was an old soul. “We are there for you… always.”
Was always the key word? Yes, it was the key word. A good word. Always.
She saw who it was and she could not believe it, although she did.
He patted her on the back and pointed at the heart. “Lovely thing, that.”
She looked back at the red heart and touched it with love.
She nodded. “Yes, a lovely thing.”
(“Gloria in excelsis deo”)
He chuckled. “Be happy you have it.”
She nodded. “I am. A lovely young girl gave it to me.”
The elderly man stroked her on the cheek.
He nodded calmly to himself at this comment of hers, pretending that what he heard was new although it wasn’t. Then he looked up Belinda, touched her cheek and closed his eyes. Then he opened them and sighed softly and tenderly. “Take care of that baby of yours, Belinda!”
Belinda, who had been looking at the heart, looked up and asked, startled,”What baby?”
When she looked up, the elderly monk was gone.
The entire day she spent praying, thinking of the two monks, the girl and the elderly cleric with the bright eyes. They all seemed angelic somehow. She knew they were blessings for she could feel them around her as she prayed all through the day.
Before dusk approached she walked up, lit five candles by the virgin altar, did the sign of the cross and walked down the archway to the gate. On the back of the cathedral toward the rear entrance Rolf would be waiting. At this side of the cathedral there were graves of bishops and altarpieces of different kinds. There were rich and poor people alike in here, deceased and living. People with families, some she knew, some not. People she would rule one day and ruled even today.
One old woman caught her eye on her way out. It was an elderly lady with a scarf around her head. She was all in brown except for the colourful scarf. She was mumbling the Lord’s Prayer half loud to herself. It was Latin she was whispering. A desperate whisper, tears running down her cheeks.
(„Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum.“)
Her hands were clutched so tightly together that the knuckles were whitening.
Belinda saw her right foot. It was tied up in some sort of bandage and it was bleeding.
(“Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra.“)
Belinda walked up to her and kneeled next to her in front St. Gabriel’s Altar.
(“Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris”)
Belinda went down on her knees next to the woman and stayed there for quite some time before speaking. She just listened to her hectic whisper and wondered what troubles might haunt her spirit.
(“Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen. Amen. Amen.)
Belinda spoke. “What is your problem, Sister heart?”
The old woman gasped and looked up, startled, glancing at her in fear and really not knowing if she should answer or not. Then she looked down at her clasped hands and spoke. “My husband is dying, Mistress! And I have no other person in my life that loves me like he does. I need him, Sister heart, and am so afraid of losing the man I love.”
Belinda sighed. “I understand your pain.” She took the old lady’s hand turned to the woman, aware that the light from the white windows might reveal her identity. She caressed her hand and continued: “Go home to your husband, Sister, and see to him. He will get well. I am sure.”
The old woman stood up and Belinda as well. The old woman looked at the mistress in awe and bowed. “Yes, Mistress!”
(“Gloria in excelsis deo”)
The woman disappeared out of sight and Belinda was alone again.
When Belinda walked into the bright late afternoon sunshine that day, strolling toward the rear of the church, Rolf was there and waiting for her. She calmly walked in without saying a word and sat down on the leather seat. The carriage left with Belinda in it and rode for only a few moments when, on one of the side streets, she saw the woman again. She was with an old man that must’ve been her husband. The old man was sick, but walking. The old lady was eagerly telling him something and she was smiling. So was he. She ordered Rolf to stop.
“Give the old lady some gold coins, Rolf!”
”Majesty?”
”Just do it, Rolf! You have some, don’t you?”
”Yes, m’lady! How much?”
“Hundred dinars ought to do it.” Belinda chirped.
Rolf stuttered. “I beg your pardon?”
“Rolf,” Belinda spat. “You have that much, don’t you?”
“Yes, o-of c-course I do, although I don’t see why.”
“Then just do it.” The servant jumped off the carriage and plucked out his leather bag and gave the old couple what in their money’s worth would be two months salary. In the corner of her eye she saw the old couple standing dumbfounded by his action and smiling, their eyes wide open.
Belinda left Clurafar that day, grinning to her heart’s delight. None of the experiences that Belinda had that day she told anyone at all. Not for a long time, anyway. But she thought about the people that she had met that day for the rest of her life.

Saturday, July 18th, 1422 A.D.

It was so obvious that Senator Cretan of Clurafar was more than embarrassed about his behaviour on their last conference in the palace. He had said, “You can’t always have your way, Belinda! Sometimes it’s better to send someone with some precise expertise up to the Senate instead of a youngster like you!” Princess Belinda had then held an hour long angry lecture, listing all of the instruments she played, what languages she spoke, what she knew and didn’t know and then stormed out immediately and asking Rolf to show the Senator where the palace gateway was. She had later sent a messenger that told him that if did not issue an apology regarding his impossible behaviour she would replace a very old politician with young blood. She didn’t want an old fart leading the country, when she feared that he would stumble over his own socks walking up to the podium.
He had apparently suddenly become very afraid of his position.
The entire morning had been devoted by the assembly to travels around town looking at the various performances that were constantly being performed in the outskirts and around the centre. Their guide was the very jaunty Julius Cretan. Steven and Belinda together with Morgana and Richard, Patricia and Sieglinde. This Tuesday he spent the entire morning curtsying and bowing to Belinda, adding the word expert here and there in her presence.
They had placed the carriage under Theo’s supervision and Ruby trying to entertain Rolf inside the royal stables at the rear of St. Raphael’s and then walked leisurely into the open marketplace. After being hailed and admired all morning among the more rural and rustic gents, who also were putting on shows, now the turn had come to see the main attraction.
There was bustle here today and around twenty different stages with different kinds of entertainment. All alongside the walls were stands with food between the stages. From here she could see two men with magic serums, their customary black hats on with their names and serum capabilities upon signs hanging from their necks. She could see five stages with fire jugglers and three music ensembles, five different stages with mixed entertainment. She supposed one of them entailed a poet reading his poetry to music whilst an acrobat did some tricks and turned in tune with the song that was being sung. On yet another stage food was being cooked to music that was about food.
There was one provisoric opera stage with five jesters hitting each other to music. The rest were theatre ensembles. Musicians crowded the square. There were little children playing on the cobblestones that stopped playing and looked up to greet the queen and the princess entourage.
Morgana was decently dressed and no cleavage was in sight. There was a white lace net across her chest and her white parasol across her shoulder was filled with strings and cotton bells. Richard was holding her hand and conversing with Patricia who, dressed all in blue today, was pointing a small child in the crowd with a drawing in her hand. A few people started waving and the royals waved back. There was thunderous applause from the crowd that seemed to spread like wildfire across the marketplace. Even the lute player smack in the middle of the marketplace, which was very much into his music, stopped playing and applauded. They all waved at the crowd of citizens held back by traditional guards in blue and gold uniforms.
Belinda, dressed in a very pretty light pink and white dress, kept waving at the crowd whilst telling her mother how much she liked this festival when it was at its peak.
Marcus and Philip were dressed in capes and hats and had their customary gilded swords at their side, walking behind the royals and smiling, but also trying to keep a good lookout for eventual attackers or people with eager intentions.
“Here they built the tent for the mead you ordered, but being an expert on the cleanliness of public festivals you know that the old open tables were far too impractical.” The interesting part was that he had refused to build the tent a week ago. Now suddenly it was there. She looked inside. No drunks. Well-dressed people. There were five barrels and ten servants, a music ensemble in the corner. Everyone that walked by bowed to the Princess and she bowed back.
They passed the smaller well by the tent by which musicians with three fidiculas and two lutes were playing a soft tune, accompanying a very dashing young man in a dark blue and auspiciously festive suit, whose baritone was rich and appealing. Next to him was a fire juggler next to a longhaired gent swallowing a sword. Behind them was a stage with four jesters telling jokes and jabbing at one another with sticks for every story that the audience didn’t like. They leaped and turned and twisted, making the comedy look positively acrobatic. In front of the row of red four story houses were stands with different kinds of food, meat, fruit, vegetables, fish and then clothing and services like haircutting and a man with a magic serum. He was standing looking at Belinda wearing a big sign entitled “Theo Rofar’s Wonder Tonic”.
“Quite a few lovely things here today!”
She looked at Steven and nodded. “Thinking of anything special, dear?”
He pointed at a young woman standing across from the small ensemble by the well. She wore a green dress so green that it could be seen from Alliland. She played the aulos, a quite unusual one with a long neck and smiled at Belinda as she played.
The street behind her was filled with four groups of people who seemed to be dancers dancing. They stopped for a second and waved. Belinda waved back.
“She has quite an unusual aulos!” Belinda chuckled and gave him an irritated look.
“You dog!” She waved at the people.
Steven looked at her and smiled surprised. “No, Darling! I wasn’t being uncouth. One sees so many unusual things here. That dress is gruesome.”
“I know. I was joking.” She smiled at the waving people.
Cretan smiled. “What are you two whispering about?”
“Just jesting.” Belinda was cooing and grinning at the Senator, stretching her head forward and clucking sensually. Steven had not seen this sexual philly for a bit and liked it. She curtsied and said: “We are in love, Sire Senator.”
A small child with blond curls hanging down across her ears came up to her, her mother holding her hand. The child smiled. Julius Cretan stopped and tried to see what Belinda wanted. She was smiling. The girl handed her a drawing of a palace.
“Your highness, here is my drawing of the royal palace.”
She took the drawing and smiled.
It was blue and red and yellow with a big orange smiling sun in the right corner.
“You drew this?”
”Mmm-hmm!” She nodded happily. “That’s you in the doorway!”
She looked at the girl with a crown on her head standing by the gate. The two towers were there, to be sure. There were large roses everywhere and one rose was growing beside Belinda.
“That’s me?”
”Mmm-hmm! And I made the paint myself, all on parchment.”
“Tell me,” Belinda enthused.
“My father showed me how. Lapis lazuli, cinnabar, orpiment and malachite.”
”Really?”
”Mmh-hmmm!” the girl chirped. “This is Egyptian Blue and that colour is Naples Yellow.”
”This is my granddaughter Lisa.” Cretan said.
Sieglinde smiled. “What a sweet child!”
“Oh, it is?” Belinda bowed down to talk to her. “Do you want to become a painter, Lisa?”
“Maybe,” she sang.
“Politics?”
She shook her head and made a sour face. The nearby crowd along the houses began to laugh.
Belinda laughed. “What do you want to do?”
“Become a princess!”
Belinda smiled, caressing the girl’s head. “Being a princess needs that.”
The mother in a white dress and a lovely summer hat courtsied to her.
“This is my daughter Ariana.” Cretan said.
“Pleased to meet you.” Ariana beamed.
“You have a lovely daughter, Ariana!”
The mother beamed and turned red as a beet. “Thank you!”
”How old is she?”
”Five, your highness!”
“Quite a little lady.”
Lisa nodded.
“She agrees. And a good painter, too!”
She giggled.
“Maybe we can arrange for you to come over for a reception some time.”
”It would be an honour, your highness!”
The two girls curtsied, then continued walking past the crowd standing along the walls. Belinda strolled up to the multitude, Philip and Marcus following her and Sieglinde trying to stay as close as she could. Cretan smiled as Belinda walked up to a very gentle looking man and shook his hand. He had put on his Sunday best suit and shaved and even combed his hair for this. He was rather short with very strong muscle build, but his hair had never seen a bone comb it seemed. Not until today, that is. Little did he know that he could’ve had a private conversation with her last Sunday under a different roof. The man was glowing and the woman beside him was joyful as well. The princess looked at the chubby woman and her coloured scarf. She recognized her at once. It was the woman who had been praying the Pater Noster in Latin next to the altar and this was the husband. She had only seen him a second, but it was the couple that she had saved. She couldn’t reveal herself as her friend, but she was happy to see them. Obviously something had happened that had saved the man.
The man nodded and bowed. “Your highness, pleasure to meet your acquaintance!”
She laughed at his unusual phrasing, cocked her head to one side. “The pleasure is all mine!”
”And this must be the wife, I gather!”
She took the woman’s hand and she bowed, obviously not recognizing her without the blue hood over her head. “It is an honour!” She shook Belinda’s hand with a reverence that was heartwarming. Or did she recognize her? Hard to say. “An absolute honour!” She put her head back and beamed. The nearby people beamed as well and she took a glance at all the people that had arrived today standing politely alongside the houses of the marketplace as she spoke.
“Such a fine day isn’t it? And the beauty of the weather makes one happy. I think they have arranged it really nicely here.” She looked back at the couple. “Don’t you?”
The couple smiled and nodded.
“My husband here just recovered from a sickness that we thought would have fatal consequences. But the wound suddenly disappeared Sunday night.”
Belinda half-smiled. “Really?”
”So we are all the happier now that we can keep on living our lives and have already receive new job offers. A shoe that needs reshoeing and two wagons that need fixing.”
Belinda nodded and patted the woman on the back and for a moment the three of them just stood there and smiled, watching each other, not knowing what to say. Belinda was, at that moment, just another girl who happened to be a princess. A girl whose happiness knew no bounds.
“Take care of yourself now, yes?”
They nodded. “We will. It was an honour.”
The entourage started walking on and shaking the keen hands of
several other people in the crowd and some of them congratulated the soon to be newlyweds, some commended her on her dress and some would not let go of her hand. Patricia stayed a while with the people she had talked to and chatted, and Richard and Morgana kept on conversing with the elderly couple. But all the while Sieglinde and Steven saw that Belinda had turned contemplative after talking to the couple. Something had occurred. Even Marcus and Philip noticed a difference.
“You did that well, your highness!” Cretan said.
“Thank you, Julius!” He nodded, aware of having done something good for himself. “My granddaughter is so impressed by you.”
Belinda smiled. “She is very sweet, You can be proud of her.”
”I am. She would be honoured to visit the palace. Can it be arranged? If so, she could…”
“We will see, Julius!”
“I know that I might be persistent, but my daughter is a very good ”
Sieglinde jibed in. “Do not push Princess Belinda, Senator. She
likes making her own decisions!”
”Oh, your majesty, I know. She is the expert, undoubtedly!”
Sieglinde gave Steven a bemused look.
Belinda was in another world, still thinking of the old couple.
“Tell me, Senator,” she said. “What you have added in view of my recommendations.”
”The tent is already up, as you can see. We have marvelous live
entertainment in almost every part of the city. The drunks are out of the tent and if someone gets too rowdy they are sent to the local inns to drink, where many musicians and jugglers already are positioned to keep them inside.”
”What else?” Sieglinde asked.
”We have provided enough food and drink for most of the poor people and some of the stands provide free food with the non alcoholic meads free. We have certain spaces where citizens can sing and perform their own songs toward the afternoon at local capacity show demonstrations.”
”Grand.” Belinda whispered, her thoughts still focused around the old couple and how the fate of those two innocent civilians had touched her for a small instance, how their lives had joined.
There was a group of five jugglers on a small stage next to the mead tent and in front of them was the semifinalist singer that yesterday had impressed them so in the castle. The crowd of performers here were, many of them, semi-finalists and Belinda enjoyed talking to him yesterday. His knowledge of wines and foods were commendable. He was a court musician from the Ottoman Empire and quite an expert in the art of healings herbs and serums.
She walked up to him, smiling. The assembly followed her. He stopped playing and the jugglers stopped juggling. She recognized them from the gathering at the royal palace and nodded a greeting. The man slid his lute toward his back and bowed, taking her hand, putting his left foot forward and kissed it. “Honoured to see you again, your highness!”
She smiled, very touched by this air of masculine nobility. “Likewise, Mr. Snekawa!”
“Your Royal Majesty.” the young man said, giving the queen a half smile.
“Good Sire, we enjoyed your humorous mixture of styles and stories immensely yesterday” Sieglinde giggled. “We find the fact that you can juggle whilst singing and eating a bursting shield of cooking is almost too excellent to be factual.”
”An unusual thing, most certainly,” Nomed answered, humbly. “My dears, I must confess that it is just a question of practice. I had plenty of support from my previous employer. He loved that.”
“Women like versatile men.” Morgana smiled. “They never become lackluster.”
He raised one black eyebrow elegantly; his black mustache making a little twist and swung his cape behind his back and tilted his head closing his eyes. “You’re too kind!”
Morgana smiled at this dashing youngster whose muscular frame seemed to burst out of the satin vest and cotton fabric. Obviously, Richard, suspicious of this, tried his best to smile.
“Lieutentant Landstorm!” He shook his hand.
“Princess Morgana!” She stood up straight, trying to make her breasts shoot forward a bit and gave Nomed Snekawa a touch of a dimple.
“You royal highness, blue becomes you. It suits you even better than the green.” Patricia smiled whilst Morgana smirked. Belinda wondered at this man’s memory. He would probably know the guard’s names as well. “Sire Marcus! Sire Philip!”
“Good Sire!”
“Senator Cretan! Happy to see you again!”
”And you!” He was careful with Belinda, having been brushed off again.
He turned to Belinda and she gave him a beaming smile.
“But you, your highness, are the crowning glory of female perfection!”
”That is why we are getting married!” Steven smiled. “She is perfect!”
“Lucky man to have a perfect woman at your side.” Nomed spat.
Steven countered with unusual ease. “I, too, found your performance fantastic yesterday. You most certainly deserve to be in the semi-finals. Where are you originally from, Good Sire?”
Nomed nodded with a grin. “My father was a gold and ivory renovator for the Russian Crown so that is where I grew up. In Moscow, that is.” Belinda nodded. “My parents met in Milano, where I went to school for the first two years of my life. That is where I learnt to play the lute. Then we moved to the Macedonian Kingdom to become advisors for King Zeadran. I took a four-year break to serve the Mongolian Emperor and I have been in service of the Ottomans since I was 21. I make sure I leave occasionally to participate in festivals.”
”You do get around.” Sieglinde said, sardonically. There was an atmosphere of admiring and hating Nomed at the same time. He was so talented and so extraordinary that it seemed fake. As if this perfect man was a literary figure that could not have a foundation in real worlds.
Belinda sparkled and shook his hand. “Well, Sire Nomed, I certainly hope to see you again.”
“Goodbye, Lady Belinda!” They walked on as the gent started playing and singing again, his rich Baritone echoing across the marketplace.
“Fashionable man!” Steven said. “Almost too much so. It seems so affected.”
”I’m not sure if I admire him or find him a bragging scoundrel.” Belinda whispered.
“Don’t you find it affected?”
”No, not affected,” Belinda corrected. “He certainly loves himself, though.”
”I do find him affected!” Sieglinde remarked. “But he is undoubtedly a genius.”
Belinda shook hands with some people and smiled at the fruit sellers she was passing, who were bowing. The entourage walked on and said hello to the dancing company before walking the round to the stands with the serums and to the jesters.
“He is quite a handsome gent, though. Don’t you think?” Steven provoked.
”So he is, Steven. You enjoy the aulos ladies and I enjoy the lute players.”
He smirked. She took his hand.
“Steven, I might like watching handsome men just like you like watching enticing young female dishes. Alas, sincerely prime gent of musk, I love … only you!”
He nodded. “Happy to hear that!”
”Belinda!”
Cretan pointed at the stand with instruments.
“We gave the instrumentalist a place to sell their personal craftsmanship that you ordered.”
”Wonderful, Senator! They complained about the absence of this endeavor last year.”
Cretan nodded.
“Get me away from this sleeze, Steven.” Belinda exclaimed through gritted teeth.
He chuckled. “You got yourself into this, get out of it yourself!”
”You are in a good mood today, Steven.”
“Only jests, Belinda!”
Spontaneously, a group started applauding as they walked by and she waved back. The theatre company that was performing a tragedy got a round of applause.
The royals received some grilled meat from the butcher and a sample of serums from one of the magicians. All the while there were people talking to them, giving them compliments and nodding every time they said something. Then, as they walked out toward the middle of the marketplace, where Bantrard was sitting on the middle stage by the well, the guards posted around the marketplace started gathering people together to have them come nearer the stage. Belinda, Steven, Sieglinde, Morgana, Richard, Patricia, and Cretan were now up on the stage with Marcus and Philip slightly behind them.
“It is lovely to have so many devoted subjects!”
”They love you!” Steven exclaimed quietly.
“So they should.” Cretan added. “You are the best we could hope for!”
She smiled. “Oh, how charming of you, Julius!”
Steven tried to quench his grin.
It took a few minutes to gather all of the citizens present nearer.
“Mr. Cretan” Belinda asked.
“Yes, your highness!”
”Quite extraordinary how organized everyone is here, don’t you agree?”
“We have briefed all the guards and told everyone entering the marketplace how you wanted this to work. The people have been as cooperative as you wanted it. For those who can read we put up notices as to when and how you wanted this to happen. For those who cannot we spent the entire time yesterday briefing people vocally.”
”Thank you, Senator!”
Soon enough there was a crowd around her of maybe five hundred people standing peaceful and attentive. The stage was open without a roof and not a sound was heard from a single entity. She tried to speak as loud as she could to have all of them hear what she said.
“My valued populace, splendid performers, ladies and gentlemen,” Belinda began. “I am utmost content to see so much elation here and so much capacity being spread about the citadel! It is an asset for our nation that this Summer Festival continues to be something of a tradition and also it is devotedly obliged to be grateful that this year, according to Senator Cretan here, has been the year of least crime ever!” The crowd cheered and applauded. “My father, the King, has today his inspection of the troops and could not attend. He sends his love to his community and feels that we are a nation of talented winners!” There were little children smiling in front and Belinda smiled at them. The same children, a little boy with curly hair and a girl with black straight hair, had played on the cobblestones earlier. They were dressed in beige clothing. Their mother beamed at Belinda. “He will again be here at the end of the month for the final inspection with my dear mother!”
Sieglinde now took over, her exquisite alto reverberating like prosperous audile plum. “We are in high spirits that this festival has occurred to our liking and are also happy that the semi-finalists all seem to be enjoying themselves royally, if you excuse the idiom. We wish them all the best of luck and hope they all know that each winner of each category has a chance to become the Clurafar Hero of the Year!” The crowd cheered again. Some hats flew up in the air. Morgana saw Nomed smiling about ten feet from the stage. He looked like a winner already. Why did that worry her?
“We also hope,” Belinda continued “that we can invite this winner to a ceremony that will take place on the 23rd of September of this year.” Steven took her hand and Belinda raised it. “I will be marrying my fiancée, Prince General Steven of Gargetania in St. Raphael’s Cathedral.” The crowd cheered as the couple kissed tenderly.
“Then we must say,” Morgana added. “That inspecting all these lovely bits of entertainment, talking to the people has been a delight for me and Richard as well. We are all proud of you and discover this kingdom is bursting with endowment. Also you foreigners have a lot to bestow to our nation.” The merriment was now not so much in honour of her words, but the male audience seemed to enjoy hooting in her favour because of her fabulous round stature. Morgana knew that. “We are all thankful!”
Patricia ended this round by saying: “As a Clurafar citizen I am swollen with pride to have you as my fellow Prosperanians and am looking forward to greeting the victor at the bastion at the end of this month. Being a devotee of poetry myself I hope the winner has a divine tender elegy to convert to me!” This was utterly popular with the male audience.
Some of the women scowled at the way their men cheered at this.
Julius Cretan waved to the guards to push back the citizens and when that was done the full party of rulers walked back to their coach with Marcus and Philip behind them to cheering ovation.

On the way home, Belinda could not take her eyes off that mahogany heart with its words of “LOVE AND FAMILY” written on it.
She wondered who the young girl might be and what she might be doing right now.
Alexander that day again went to the well beyond the palace garden, hidden inside a small patch of forest and watched the coin glitter at the bottom of the well. He thought of his father and he prayed for his daughter’s spiritual safety and for the protection of God. He prayed that the angels might save them from ill and that everything would turn out well.
The heart meant a lot to Belinda and she prayed that day that the girl might find her peace.
Alexander went up in the attic that night. Although Lucinda had warned him years ago not to do so and Belinda’s attack might be a warning he did what he had feared for decades: he burned all of Lucinda’s boxes of black magic instructional designs engraved upon parchment.
They disappeared into the flames of the fireplace in the Alexander Room and he went to bed that day feeling very good. Inside the flames an old curse awoke. It kept the palace awake with very old, very bad memories of a young black-haired girl named Lucinda Winsletenna, a girl who was out to disturb a certain daughter’s sanctuary.
Belinda was up alone a short while later than her father. She sat in the Alexander Room reading her old diary from the time when she had been an eleven-year-old imprisoned girl. Tales of horror followed on page after page. There were diaries with tales of love and of summer, but they wouldn’t help her find the answer. She had found the sanctuary. Why was Lucinda so brutal? It was in here, she was absolutely positive it was. It had to be in here. Then she read a passage about Lucinda prancing the dungeon and claiming that this was an issue far more dramatic than Belinda could ever imagine. That was when it struck her. Belinda put down her bronze mug of red wine and stared into the jittery and crackling flames within the fireplace. The warmth of the blaze did not help her feeling cold at the thought of what this was. This was not just a question of a family vendetta.
This was an issue of power.
Lucinda wanted to take over the Prosperanian Kingdom, removing Simon’s ancestors and the official Winsletenna Dynasty from the throne of Clurafar and replacing them with Nocturanian diplomats.


CHAPTER SIX:
WHEN THE WEDDING BELLS CHIME


Friday; July 31st, 1422 A.D.

Belinda and Alexander stood face to face under the light of seven flickering torches that night. Flames in a way that seemed haunting and sinister lit up the grey sandstone walls. Where the tapestries of Roman Gods were given a shining spark of light there was a strangely volcanic visual touch to the art. The gold throne lit up with every flash of the flames and flickered in the light. The throne room had an air of truth unspoken about it on the eve ending the moon of mid annual warmth. The windows were open and crickets were chirping. The king knew they were male crickets and Alexander was reminded that only male crickets chirp.
Belinda and Alexander were alone just as they wished to be so. It was clear to them that Steven had offered to come with, but it was equally clear that the present and future leaders wanted some well earned solitude. It was uniformly obvious that these two rulers were now lost for words.
“Belinda,” Alexander spoke slowly, his voice only a whisper. “I know my sister has always wanted to replace me with King Adnicul of Nocturania. You have never understood that this fear that my sister Lucinda may keep her promise and return to curse us at the wedding just as she promised thirty years ago and this is not only a family matter. Yes, she is mad at me and wants to see me hung, drawn and quartered, smothered with excrements just to spite me.” He smiled. It was a sad smile, an accepting whisper of a grin. “Belinda, my dearest child, Lucinda’s return is just as much a political matter now and it always has been. She was exiled not only because she killed our family. She was exiled because she wanted to become queen.”
Belinda gazed at her father. “What are you telling me? Are you telling me that my aunt wanted to rule our empire even at sixteen?”
“I am telling you that Lucinda only practiced black magic and made love to hundreds of boys inside the castle walls to spite us and drive us out. The fact that I drove her out started the war. She had always claimed that she would make me the personal assistant if I gave her the confidence to give her regal leadership.” Alexander sniggered and rubbed his eyes. “What hogwash. She was mad at me for actually telling her to sod off and burned down the summer mansion because of it. When I drove her out, exiling her and forbidding her to ever come back, I told her that I would be on the throne ruling this country at least thirty years to come and that no one could stop it, not even her. She took that as a provocation and told me that she would then be back in thirty years to haunt me.”
Belinda made a jerky movement with her head and turned away from her father. She walked a few paces away from the throne, her green diamond studded gown glittering in the moonlight. Her thoughts were spinning like leaves in a whirlwind inside her head. She felt as if she had just been turned upside down and rattled. Here she was, discovering something that now seemed obvious to everyone and that she hadn’t thought of. Now her dear father was telling her that Lucinda had wanted to become queen all along and that this was not just a personal vendetta.
Belinda chuckled nervously. “Adnicul is a good friend of Lucinda’s, probably her lover. He is the successor of the old dark order.” Belinda shook her head and walked to the window. “How could I not have seen this?”
Alexander stood for a while watching his child looking so beautiful and radiant by the casement. He strode up to her with a steady step and put his hand on her right shoulder. The fabric felt soft and her skin felt creamy. It was an ancient blend she used: animal fat, starch and tin with a pinch of rosemary. It smelled sweet like a hot summer night.
“Honey,” Alexander spoke.
Belinda looked to the side.
“Why have you never told me about this conversation?” Belinda interrupted. “After all, I was imprisoned and beaten up by this woman. The harbour controls are infested not by pirate frauds, as we all know, but by the Nocturanian bastard sons. I had a right to know, father.”
Belinda sighed and turned to her father again.
“Why didn’t you trust me?”
Alexander looked down and moaned. “I wanted to protect you, darling. It had nothing to do with trust. You know that I trust you more than I trust anyone.”
“Protect me by lying to me?” Belinda cried.
“Protect you by not telling you that Lucinda openly told me she wanted to remove me from the throne. You are succeeding me on that very throne.” Alexander said, pointing at the gilded seat at the other side of the room. He uttered, more snorted, a very short cry. “It wouldn’t have made you any calmer. You know that. I know you.”
“I had a right to know all the same, no matter how full of temperance my mood swings tend to become,” Belinda said gently. “I really did have the right to know.” There was a long pause. The only things audible to the couple were the occasional crackles from the flames in the fireplace, the steady burning whoosh of the torches and the crickets. Ever so softly, the princess regent said: “Father. I understand your motives, but it doesn’t change the fact that I am worried. Do you really think that she will come back to keep her promise? I lay awake every night and see her standing in the corner.”
Alexander put his hand around his daughter’s waist on her satin dress.
“I have never doubted her hatred, but it is a long time ago.” Alexander said. He smiled. “She attacked you, darling, but maybe that was the return that she told us about. Maybe there’s more.”
“It was a fore warning and you know that.” Belinda said charmingly. “Don’t sweet talk this.”
“I know that if she comes, we will have to cross that bridge when we get to it. We handled her twice. We can handle her a third time. Don’t try to see into the future. No one can. No one.”
Belinda looked out into the darkness again. “She might strike any time, you know that?”
Alexander cleared his throat. “She also might not. We can’t live in fear, Belinda.”
Belinda looked at her father from side. “We can prepare ourselves, can’t we?”
“Yes, love” Alexander cried. “But fear is what she wants us to feel. If we are happy, we live our life to the fullest and she doesn’t intimidate us. Happiness has always been the best revenge.”
“Father,” Belinda countered. “We also ignore her warnings if we walk away.”
“Belinda,” Alexander said, taking both her hands into his and caressing them. “You’re a wonderful girl, but you are going to get married, sweetie. The entire continent will be here watching you. Do yourself a favour and have some fun. Grant yourself the pleasure of just enjoying life. Your aunt can’t ruin that. You are a princess.”
Belinda smiled. “It will be wonderful.” She smiled. “I will take the future as it comes, father. I do promise you this. At the very least I promise I will try to block out the ghosts.”
“It is the only thing we can do.” her father replied. “If we think too much, we’ll go crazy.”
“And I will try have some fun,” she smiled coyly.
“That’s my girl,” the king hoarsely jested. “Have fun. Dance, drink and be merry.”
Merriment would come, but only a prologue to anguish.

Saturday, August 1st, 1422 A.D.

There were orchestras and jugglers and jesters and there were decorations with winners of all categories holding their performances on the stage with Alexander and his family on a special podium as guests. There were citizens on the rooftops throwing colored parchment pamphlets over the kings saying, “Long Live the King!” Someone who received a parchment that couldn’t read would run like the wind to a friend and ask what it said and then call out the written word with such grace and power that a king would be jealous of such strength. There were red carpets and a large new tent with an entire bull stuffed with fruit and vegetables. On a special podium trained monkeys, rabbits and dogs did tricks. From the eastern empires a live trained camel had been imported and it was the talk of the town.
There was a dancing ensemble, which gave the crowd enough reason to clap in rhythm with cheers for the king. Nomed’s fifteen minutes of entertainment had brought ovations from the crowd that seldom had been heard before. The extreme roar that echoed in Clurafar whilst his opening number was being majestically played out was exciting to be sure. He was being lowered on a tightrope from the rooftop down to the stage, leaping with his lute onto the stage with his five drumming jugglers behind him singing a song that he had written for the occasion, where cheers never before were heard. He sang a song that honored the royal family and a song honoring the city. He played the lute so fast in a virtuoso piece that the crowd sat with open mouths. Then the same song came again and he whizzed back to the rooftop and disappeared behind it.
The festivities with the twenty finalists lasted for three hours. Nomed’s performance was the absolute strongest of appearances. The king applauded so hard his hands were aching. So it came as no surprise when the king said to Cretan on the way to the dinner that Nomed deserved to win. The king and his family went to the Senate with Julius Cretan to eat themselves silly. The laughter echoed through halls that day, the wine flowed into their stomachs and Belinda had totally forgotten her fear. The stuffed goose and grilled ostrich, the fried swan and the prepared peacock made everyone realize why they loved this country so. Bantrard had gathered the fifty best musicians of the festival to play during the meal. The wooden tables were packed with silver platters en masse stuffed with the finest cuisine and the ebony cups were filled to the brim with drink and the halls full of song.
It was a drunken ensemble that returned to the jury afterwards. Bantrard sat in the jury and decided in favour of the winner. Morimidar and Rolf were in there as well and had been in agreement with the winner. Theo and a few of Bantrard’s musicians were there as well.
The multitude applauded as the winner was announced and was carried on the camel through town, with one of the jugglers hopping up on the camel and juggling his drums whilst playing. Belinda started dancing to the tune that had her improvising a saltarello to the clap of the crowd, lifting her skirt and taking Steven with her. The day had been absolute happiness. Belinda was completely drunk after arriving home. She had thought herself as more controlled and calm now. Maybe that was not true after all, maybe the attack by the lake had only done one thing: make her even more afraid.
Nomed had stood on the stage for three hours, having entertained the royals for the first hour with only his own songs, playing duets with Bantrard and singing to Bantrard’s lute playing. It was obvious that becoming the winner of the whole competition was more than an honour. Alas, Nomed was so full of himself that he was telling jokes at the royal expense and they were laughing.
It was Nomed’s day, without question, and the royals could barely get enough. The Grand Hall was filled to the brim full of people, Belinda and Alexander being the chief crowd pleasers with their laughter sounding like a pony and a dog blaring with ecstasy.
That day, the winner was crowned in the palace under the custody of his majesty King Alexander and his spouse the Queen Sieglinde. If Belinda’s appearance had been grand at the opening, Nomed was even grander about his own significance. Belinda played along with Cretan’s scraping, bowing and agreeing every time when he said what a genius she was. Steven knew that she only tried Cretan to see how far he would go.
Now, Nomed was another matter entirely. He arrived in a gilded coach with two servants holding up the doors. He had a wolf as a companion on a diamond leash. Once the crown was put on his head for Prosperanian Performance Player of the year he paraded the Grand Hall with his lute in hand and held an hour-long elegy on Clurafarian ardency and vigour. It seemed almost too emotional.
That day, too, finished with excessive dancing and the horde marching around the Grand Hall, Nomed at the forefront laughing himself silly with his lute and joy in spirit, serum in body and jest in fortitude. He had something to laugh about, having been awarded fifty thousand guldens and a red coach with two white horses and a personal driver.
It was obvious that Nomed’s victory brought Clurafar something it had never seen before to this extent. It brought them temporarily peaceful euphoria. How they danced on his victory concert.
Morgana even seduced Nomed back at The Rose whilst Richard spent an evening with Patricia at Main Iuventus, talking about wines. Whilst Steven was out riding the steeds, Morgana was riding Nomed. Alexander loved Nomed and asked if he would become his personal advisor.
Even Lancelot loved Uncle Nomed and asked him to perform little tricks and teach him how to do them. Nomed had only been there two weeks and he was already the most popular man in town.
It had not been long ago that Belinda had been attacked and the fear was still there. So why was she overcompensating it? She was happy, yes, but that fear of what had happened was still there.

Saturday, August 8th, 1422 A.D. – 66 days left

The first week of August Nomed entertained at every ball and must’ve played at four weddings. He was the toast of the town and was even invited at the political town meetings. Cretan wrote him into the book of the Capital and gave him the key to the city. He even accepted the invitation to join the wedding ceremonies as official speaker. It was Nomed’s victory dance. The superiority of the municipality had arrived. When the first week was over, on August 8th 1422, Nomed was allowed to play alongside Bantrard at every occasion in the castle.

Sunday, August 9th 1422 A.D.

That day, she had attended some meetings with her father. Then made sure that the guest list for the wedding coincided with the messanger responses they had received as to who was coming. But all the time she kept on thinking of that blissful morning with her beloved. Toward the afternoon there were some private audiences to hold: a young mother with her three children and the son of a Senator.
Somehow, this day she had a feeling. She needed to go up to her old cabinet on the third floor and see what was there for her to find. She had felt so blissful the last few weeks since the encounter with the angelic creatures in the cathedral. She loved feeling this way. Why was her mind warning her to feel good? Maybe among her old papers there would be an answer, a clue, something that would give her a direction, something to go for from a time when she had been more innocent.
No one knew of her plans and when she had an hour off she took a lantern and walked up to the side room next to the third landing kitchen. Rolf had taken old wooden and gilded toys and put them in this little room, after Belinda found no use for them. There were old parchment papers from her schooling years with Penderesci.
One work was about the history of writing, where Belinda had written meticulously about the fact that it had originated in ancient Greece and that the original tools had been metal, bone and ivory.
Sitting there cross-legged on the attic floor, the princess found herself in her mind floating back to a time before the attack, a time when her fears had not been afraid of anything at all.
She remembered sitting in the chapel with this genius that had painted countless paintings for official places in Clurafar and hearing how ink was a Chinese invention and how the quill pen was introduced around 700 A.D. She would go up with him to the hill and hear about how the first Prosperanian Opera was written in 1203 on the basis of the Ancient Hellenistic drama. Those days were innocent, filled with learning and simple pleasures.
It seemed to her those six months that she spent as a prisoner of polish in the kingdom of the mischievous sprite changed her forever. She was never the same. She was captured on June 4th and was saved on November 4th and this left a lot of time for her father to find her. The fact that her father had searched himself crazy as to the whereabouts of the castle was a thing she never understood, let alone why it took him six months to save her.
She had never asked him why, but it seemed to her that she had existed only in another place in time. Her father had searched the entire area, a company of soldiers nearby and spent the entire summer looking for her.
Messengers crisscrossed the land in search of that castle, but it seemed to be gone. Not until her father decided to try again to find it and did in November, this time with the hardest soldiers of the bastions of the empires of the world.
These were the thoughts that went through her head under the flame torch, sitting on the floor.
She wondered why she had turned so moody since she had been kidnapped. One time depressed and the other happy.
Jealousy followed by ecstasy. That was the moment that she found a black book that she had not opened since for eleven years.
On its brown cover was written, in black ink:


DIARY
1411
Belinda

Was this the clue that she looked for? She took a brief look at it, opened and read.
She read the following lines after this and could clearly recall being told the secrets that this book revealed. She turned a few pages and read on what she had written a week later.
Quickly, Belinda closed the book and threw it back where she had found it. She rushed out and locked the door to the room she had opened. She locked the door to the dungeon in her heart and pretended that she never had opened the gate. There was a clue there for her to find. She had found it, but wished that she had never even looked.
Running down to the kitchen, she ordered for Rolf to give her and Steven a large meal in the Grand Hall. Soon enough, they were sitting there with Bantrard playing songs, eating fresh fish, Steven all the time wondering why his girl was so miraculously giddy.


Wednesday, August 26th, 1422 – Evening

Sitting in the Grand Hall that night and eating herself silly, it struck Belinda that she was afraid and was pretending not to be. It seemed that Nomed’s entrance into the life of the royal court had somehow made her feel too calm, too reassured, too lulled into a fake sense of peace. It was completely silly, but true.
Her father turned 54 years old and as a present he had received a beautiful stallion. He had ridden it all afternoon along with Belinda, Steven and a few others. What surprised even Bantrard and Rolf was that Morgana and Patrick had taken their horses out for a ride, as well.
There was music and wine and song and food and entertainment. There were new golden tapestries in the Grand Hall for this occasion delivered by artists from Mustafus’ court. They depicted glorious victories in history and literature. Belly dancers from the Ottoman Empire had been brought in and there was a magician from Hispania who waltzed around, showing the guest how to make a dove appear out of one’s hat.
1422, was this to be the year of infamy?
The king was enjoying his birthday. Belinda thrilled watching him enjoy it and took another sip of her rich wine, urging the dancers to shake their bells a little faster this time.

Monday, September 21st, 1422 A.D. – Evening – 23 days left to go

Tom Barnes had returned. The man with the large tooth gap and the throaty laugh had once been considered unwelcome. After all, he had left Belinda alone in the field of sunflowers back in 1411. The reason had been simple: she had chosen Steven and not him as a dancing partner for a feast. He had left her in spite of strict orders from the king not to let the princess out of sight.
Lucinda soon had Belinda on her carriage. Belinda was abducted as a result of the negligence.
Tom was back in their lives and it seemed that all trespasses were forgiven. Steven and he were again drinking together and Belinda was happily listening to his jokes. Even the king spoke nothing of the occurrence.
An old friend of Tom’s was in town. Well, he was more like an acquaintance. Tom had served with him in a training camp for elite soldiers. Tom had never been elite. The only reason why he had taken on the course was to win the heart of a girl in town that was the son of the head legionnaire. The relationship with the girl lasted a month, but a friend came out of the time training on horseback. That so called friend was in town and Tom had arranged for a men’s feast to celebrate freedom before freedom was taken away from him.
William Zebulon was of course happy to spend a day drinking with the prince. He had wanted to feast through the night before the wedding, but Steven had said no categorically to have a hangover on that day when his life was to change forever.
“What other way is there to celebrate?” the tough sailor had said, but finally consented on the 21st. Belinda didn’t like the idea, but knew that men were men and hoped that Steven would not be prompted to hop into the feathers with any filly. She had only met Bill Zebulon once and she disliked him already. She had called him “a senseless arse that spends all his time crossing his arms, raising his eyebrows and laughing at strange royalty.”
That day they left Iuventus Sacrum with false beards, the three of them, at midday. Bill Zebulon had taken them to an inn called the “Sheepskin Rug” where they were served peacock with lemon sauce, salty truffles and apple mead. By three in the afternoon, old Zebulon had already finished his first bottle of Rum and Steven was working on his seventh mead.
Stone drunk, the three went on to spend early evening in another pub where live music was being played: Fidicula’s Wicked Warlock. At around seven, Steven was so drunk that he rode Tom’s back with Zeb as coachman of the carriage.
Well, very unaccustomed to that sort of carrying on, Steven had lost all memory once they entered the brothel. His false beard dropped off when they entered the private rooms. Tom and Zeb chose their girls, but once turns came to Steven to choose girl, he fell to the floor with a thud and snored. He did wake up three hours later in the lap of someone called Veronica, who swore in the end that nothing had happened beyond caressing. By that time, Tom was so sober that he could take Willy Zebulon and his friend Steven to the coach that had been waiting there around the corner. In the middle of night, Tom got Steven to bed and was met with evil looks from his soon to be wife. Willy Zebulon was dragged to The Rose, where Morgana was all too eager to get her hands on the man. Belinda only slept a few hours that night. In the morning, Princess Belinda fumed.

Tuesday, September 22nd, 1422 A.D.

Belinda marched in, her heels clicking against the floor and even making noises when walking on the soft carpet. She took the red velvet curtain in her hands and opened them. A sound of discontentment came from under the pillows.
Belinda, steaming with wrath, looked at her soon-to-be-husband and grabbed a hold of the balcony door and opened it, letting the cold afternoon air enter the room. “You smell.” she spat. “Pigs smell of honey melon and cream custard apple pie in comparison to this old sock. You not only smell like a pig, you are a pig.”
Another groan came from under the pillows.
“Steven! Do you have a hangover by any chance?” She shrugged. “I mean, I’m just curious.”
Steven sat up, his hair standing on end and his eyes smaller than peppercorns.
“Who died?” Steven croaked.
Belinda smiled cynically. “You did.” she cackled. “Your demise was registered by a young girl by the name of Veronica, who very wisely noted that my future prince regent fell to pieces in a pool of his own excrements. What a fitting catapult for royal nuptial neutrality. You smelled not only of cheap perfume when you came to our bed yesterday, but of five gallons of not wisely digested apple metheglin and melomel. I don’t know whose bed you were in yesterday, but whoever it was must’ve been the daughter of a brewer.” Belinda stood there, smiling triumphantly.
“I was too drunk to even kiss anyone yesterday.” Steven said and fell down on the pillows.
His fiancée sneered and responded somewhat glumly: “I would bet on that. Anyone who’d kiss you with that breath would be torturing themselves only.” Belinda walked up to his bed and shook her head. “If I only knew why the opposite sex has so much joy in these kinds of parties.”
Steven looked up at her. “Do you have a mission or are you only here to irritate me?”
Belinda started laughing. “Yes, I deserved that.” She walked to the balcony. “Lucky for you Tom told me you fell asleep on the doorstep of Madam Zonga’s. I have no reason to hate Tom because he is single. Needless to say, your excursions were in no doubt exhausting. I’m happy you stuck to mead. William Zebulon had three bottles of rum yesterday. Morgana slept in the mansion.”
Steven started laughing. “A premiere for her, this calls for celebration.”
”No doubt unusual for her to reject a man.”
”My head is burning!” Steven croaked. “Would you please leave the room and let me die?”
Belinda walked to the door. “Be happy my father has been gone since yesterday morning.
Please be sober when he comes back tonight. Geena has made a mouth freshener for you. It’s on the table by the door and contains fresh peppermint and camomile. If not, stay away from my aura.”
”Thank you!” Steven responded, half-drunk. “I’ll try to wake up without vomiting.”
Steven took the sheets and pulled them over his head.
“One more thing: I have a revelry with some friends tonight. We intend to drink apple juice.”
She closed the door behind her. A second later the door opened again. “I love you, Steven,” she shouted and then added. “You senseless little shit!”
Between resonating snores, she could hear him respond, “I love you, too! Cleopatra!”
On the way to the king’s study to take care of some official work in her father’s name, adding a muttering “You big Dog” that only she heard, she met Tom. He was not looking too well either, but had dressed and shaved and was carrying a tin flask of water. Belinda did not stop. Tom followed her.
“How is Steven?”
”Irresponsibly pissed.”
She stopped and looked at him.
“What?” Tom asked.
“Irresponsibly pissed, Tom. You only came back into our lives, because Steven likes you.
You too have been irresponsible before and I don’t need to tell you again when that was.”
She continued walking.
“I am fully aware of my faults, but was not responsible for how much your husband drank.”
”You invited my future husband to a brothel, Tom!” Belinda spat. She sighed. “I know that you men love to feast before we loveless women imprison you, but you know that Steven never drinks more than a bottle at feasts. This must’ve been at least eight pints.”
“Fifteen.”
Belinda shook her head.
Tom sighed. “If it is any comfort to you, he said that he would never even touch another woman and I know for a fact that he kept his promise.”
”Where is Zebulon now?”
”Packing his bags.”
”Did anyone recognize you?”
“No, even though Steven’s false beard fell off in the brothel.”
“Wonderful!”
“They asked if we were going to a masquerade. They did not know any of us. Steven kept his hat on all the time.”
”His hat? Hah? How inconspicuous. And you, Tom?” Belinda asked coldly. “Did you have a good time, Tom? Did you join Veronica when she cuddled my famous fiancée?”
There was a half-smile when he thought of the luscious woman he had been with yesterday. He chuckled in time enough to see Belinda looking like a murderer. He shook his head.
“No. It was perfectly awful.” He smiled.
Belinda sighed. “I forgive you, you are only stupid man. You can be our best man that still holds. But if this ever occurs again, you are royally excommunicated, this time forever. Understand?”
Tom lowered his head. “Yes, your highness.”
Belinda walked away leaving Tom alone by the staircase. She gave him a half-smile as she walked up the stairs, knowing and feeling the power she had over him. While he was busy admiring her body.


Wednesday, September 23rd, 1422 – Morning

The castle was a place full of excitement. The staff giggled, the siblings smiled, the king laughed, the queen joked and the palace seemed to sing. As often the case was between them, the prenuptial fight about Steven’s alcoholic endeavours were very much forgotten and blamed on wedding nervousness. The entourage of different royals had partied, when not conducting their governing from here. Steven had inspected the troops as usual; Tom had arrived three weeks ago and briefed him on stricter trade regulations. Together they went to receptions and coached the diplomacy in the game of peacefully silent trade bonding.
Belinda held her speeches as usual, talked to various Senators about her wishes in public administration, was briefed in recent attacks and held regular conferences with her father about public authority. She had receptions now and then at Iuventus for various diplomats and made sure to go alone in disguise to St. Raphael’s to pray an hour or two. She never saw the girl again, but the elderly monk with the twinkling eyes was there, although no one knew who he was except her.
She and Steven would go riding, they made love by their fireplace occasionally, read poems and sang songs, maybe had a meal or two or went on a walk to the oak and looked at their inscriptions from way back when.
All this disguised that they were experiencing something as basic as wedding-jitters.
That morning there was an atmosphere of excited mirth everywhere. It was the most lucrative fusion that Alliland had ever been involved in when Prosperania took the initiative of arranging a merger, so Alliland was represented by the former Minister of Defence and current personal advisor to Mustafus, Mario Callini, a very odd Neapolinian with an incredibly high, soft-spoken voice in the body of a wrestler. Then, of course there was Musafus with his big belly and turban, waxed mustachio and all, hardly one that could be missed in a crowd, with his five mistresses and six daughters. There was the Hispanic King, Mormidar the Clear and his wife Queen Silvia Escamilla de Benderato. A large lady dressed in fabulous local cotton with a large ostrich feather fan covering her large heaving trademark cleavage, that she would only reveal in private to the privileged, a very pregnant bosom who had become somewhat of a myth because everyone wanted to see them and no one dared to admit wanting to witness.
These people all lived together in The Orchid, a very lovely guesthouse next to The Rose, where the decorations were mostly orchids, on walls and sculptures. There was the Daneland Minister of Commerce, Ulfaas Nordhjiil. The Olandus Prince Fredruck the Glad had his Princess Estefania with him in The Forget-Me-Not, a few minutes away, made that house a forum of calm intellectual discussion. The Britannic Counsellor Martin Darbersham wore his very typical 'summer wig' that went down his hips and his indigo blue knee length coat that contrasted his brown eyes. He had come with wife, but with four ladies in waiting from the Brittanic capital of Dublin. The Brittanic Empire of Hengstonen was so well liked because of its Celtic Origin, its Irish diplomacy and musical tradition. The Forget-Me-Not was a place of music as the Councillor-King was an expert at the lute. Its King and Queen, Luigi the III and Escamilla the IV, who equally split the responsibilities of reign and therefore had a staff with them of three each, represented Neapolonia in the guesthouse, The Anemone.
The official festivities didn’t start until after the wedding ceremony, but the entourage in the small guesthouses had partied for weeks now. Morgana and Patsy housed Nomed and shared his manhood each night and in return for their female favours he coached them in the art of fencing, having learnt that from the King of the Ottomans.
The entire Queen’s family had arrived a week early, three kids, dog, sisters and brothers and husbands and wives all. But what really everyone was happy about was the extraordinary chief team of wedding arrangers: Rolf Svanskiöld was in charge of the overall schedule and plan, Eugenia Johnstone and her staff of food, drink and service, Zedrick Ronkenshire for safety, Theodore Rolandson transport of all kinds, Archbishop Bernardus Paul of the religious ceremony itself, and Bantrard Silvermoon of music and dance and the opera. He had found a jester named Figaro who had a team of acrobats and fire jugglers from Rome who would entertain.
The Opera was going to be the crowning glory. It was the event, premiering on the 25th of September in the seldom used Royal Iuventus Theatre in the East Wing with two more Gala evenings after that and ten more at the Ovid Theatre in town from October 16th- 25th. Auditions had been held previously and the perfect cast found. Mandy, Bantrard’s old flame, had returned for an exemplary fee to play the title role of Landrea, giving her soprano diva air to the whole mania. A lovely mezzo named Gwendolyn played the mother of Landrea. Finally, Pamela Jonas, a funny alto whose chubby appearance gave everyone the urge to cuddle her, in the role of the housekeeper of comic relief was perfect type casting. Bantrard as the evil butler Lorf with a crush on the Belinda part was a touch of self-sacrificing self-remoteness. Looking for a suitable tenor to play George, the title role of the prince husband, had been hard until Nomed appeared and of course the role was given to him.
The opera The Coronation of Landrea was ready, the finale its perfect finish. The royal orchestra (three lutes, one fidicula, two aulos, one sinka, three rebec, one psalterium, three female singers and one drummer) was going to be accompanied by the fifty musicians that were assigned to play the wedding march.
The Aria of the Resolving Majesty was to be sung after L'Orfeo turned out to be the evil Butler Lorf (a joke at Rolf's expense). It was widely known that Rolf had always had a crush on Belinda and said that he wanted to marry her one-day when she was an adult. When the wedding was announced he said nothing but 'Oh, well. My chances are lost!' That line was in the opera as well and it would go down well, even by Rolf, who knew how to laugh at himself.
Townsfolk and country folk alike had arrived way before the wedding and everyone from magicians and love potion sellers to amateur soul winners had arrived. The inns were cooking “Prince Belinda’s home cooked Goose” as well as “Beef a la Steven”. The Pub had Princely Ale and Princess-Apple-Wine and claimed it all to be personal recipes.
Wooden fences had been built up along the last mile to the church and guards posted. People had slept over night in front of the church to get good places to gaze fondly at the couple as they strode into the holy place of matrimonially nuptial ritual. That morning, the morning before the wedding, a huge cotton drapery taken from some township’s city hall was used as a background to write: WE LOVE YOU, BELINDA in gold and red paint on a white surface of specially sown fabric.
As a result no one could come in or out of the Senate for days. Belinda had not been able to sleep of course, having dreamt that she stood on a grand cliff over one hundred thousand people, screaming her name.
Steven had slept in one of the guestrooms wanting to make the whole affair exciting and be able to stand up without waking his wife. He sneaked out early enough to dress and let himself be driven to St. Raphael’s in a white, silver, gilded and blue carriage. Yesterday, he and Patrick, Tom, Theo, Marcus, Philip and a few other royal men, including the serious Great Danes and the Hispanic Twins had partied at Morgana’s house. Morgana had of course danced for him, but more than folly smiles were not in it for the Princess.
Someone cried: “Long Live the Royal Husband!” and Tom said to Steven, “That’ll be your title from now on.” He, the royal husband, paced the sacristy for an hour after that. He wanted to be there early, making sure Belinda and he didn’t see each other beforehand. He had enough to drink and a couch to lie down on. Torches had been provided and the heating-arrangements from the cellar coal heater through brick-pipes worked fine. His red velvet vest with golden buttons and dark-blue cape contrasted beautifully with his white pants and gold crown.
Blond and brown eyed he made a gigantic impression on the twenty thousand that had arrived that day. The white stallions pulling the blue coach with the symbol of Gargetania had made people aware that Steven was wearing his large General’s Cross with the same insignia around his neck. Bantrard, his orchestra and the fifty fidicula players had arrived early to rehearse.
After that the royals began arriving. It was a who’s-who of the continent. The crowd cheered: “Viva Hispania!” or “Hooray for Dublin!” “May the Hurtians live forever!” or “Margetania rules the known world!” as the case might’ve been for who came by.
Over at the palace, Belinda was fully dressed in her white silk and satin dress, real pearls decorating it and a studded diamonds at the cleavage. The silver tiara with diamonds contained a veil that would shine across her face and the three-meter silk train was waiting downstairs for her on a red carpet with Geena and Rolf as guards.
Bridesmaids were Morgana, Patsy, Erica, Ellie, Ariana and Marie-Louise all in white and little Lisa and three girlfriends were there as well, about to strew rosebuds and rose leaves in her path.
Over and over they had gone through the procedure, but wedding-day jitters were something different all together. She was sweating and shivering alternatively, as well as laughing and crying. Everyone had told her how people had camped in front of the church and how they were selling Belinda’s Apple-Wine in the pubs, but that seemed to make her more nervous. She had spent an hour hugging her mother this morning and her father had held her a long sermon about her being the best daughter of the entire world and how proud he was of her.
”The people love you!” her father beamed. “Look at you. You look positively angelic. You will be glorious.” But as Marie-Louise and her royal highness stood alone in her large bedroom with the entire troop outside waiting, her jitters returned.
“Oh, Marie-Lee! What if I stutter? What if I trip?”
Marie shook her head. “You’ll be fine. “Every month you speak in front of the Senate and that is a lot of people. You are a public person.”
”I am just afraid it is too early.”
”That is normal, Lindy. Your fear is ungrounded. You love him. Then it is never too early.”
Belinda hugged Marie. “I am so happy you of all the people in the world are my bridesmaid and am travelling with me in the coach. Your fiancé Robert is in the church, sister heart?”
Marie nodded. “He is there, waiting.” She shrugged. “At least, I hope he is.”
Belinda looked heavenward displaying her eye whites in a dimpled smile, breathed out through her pursed lips and lowered her net-gloved hands. She giggled and cocked her head.
Marie-Louise had never heard the expression sister heart and discovered she quite liked it. And out they walked, the crowd beaming when they saw her. She hugged her father.
“Father,” Belinda trembled. “I don’t know if I can go through with this. A small wedding would be enough.”
He smiled and patted her gently on the back. “You’ll be fine. The future queen cannot marry in a countryside chapel. You must remember your stature. There is no turning back now.”
She smiled. “Hold my hand on the way there, will you?”
”Indeed, I will!”
”Let’s leave!”
Belinda was walking down the first floor corridor toward the landing that would bring her to the main entrance hall. Her heels were clicking against the stone floor. She turned the corner where the white corridor turned into the first floor landing with its Persian rugs and mahogany niches. The stone walls were already covered with leaded glass-lamps, lit with candles and torches along the walls. She came to the main staircase and rushed down the red carpet, lifting her dress as she did.
The chequered marble floor somehow glittered in the morning light from the roof round the chandelier. Rolf was standing there at the foot of the stairs smiling.
“Your coach with the white horses is waiting for you, your highness! Philip is there, too!”
She smiled back.
“Thank you, Rolf!” She smiled. “Hello, Geena!”
”You look lovely!” she mused.
Belinda chuckled. “How sweet you all are!”
“The other two coaches are there as well!”
”Thank you, Rolf!”
Sieglinde added: “My daughter will be the toast of the town!”
”She is already, your majesty!” Ariana added.
“She already is!” Lisa finished and all agreed.
Walking into the brilliant sunshine into a white coach with the eagle on it, she was with her two best friends and was driven away across the gravel unto a new future.

Wednesday, September 23rd, 1422 – Midday

Belinda arrived at the church and stood up in the coach and waved for about two minutes to the masses, her face sunny with elation. Then Marie-Louise stepped out dressed in blue and red. The King, dressed in gold, followed her. He has a white and blue eagle stripe across his chest, Simon the Great’s golden crown on his greying brown hair. The King waved to the masses and a cheer erupted that had the guards holding their ears. When the bridesmaids lifted Belinda’s train and helped her out of the wagon assisted by her father, the action was cheered on by the masses. As she walked in, the mid path already full of rosebuds, the wedding march by Bantrard was played by fifty fidiculas.
One of the first familiar faces she saw was Julius Cretan. He waved. She smiled back. She was happy even to see him. Next to Cretan the costume designer’s Carlos and Harald sat admiring her royal highness in their creation.
“She looks good in that dress!”
“I think you underestimate this,” Carlos exclaimed in his thick accent. “She look stupendous!”
She was half-way down the aisle now. More known faces were there. Mormidar and his family. Mustafus. Iwar. Ulfaas. Callini. The Britannic majesties. About half way down the aisle Belinda recalled her own words written in the diary. Nina Ray will pave the way for Lucinda. She had to close her eyes and block out the thought.
Steven is there. Oh, he is handsome in that suit.
Belinda is there. Oh, that dress. She looks stunning.
Cheers faintly heard from outside.
Rose windows I looked at with the monks.
Beautiful music from the side of the church.
Sanctuary with the monk Raphael, why am I saying Raphael, he never told me his name.
Dome. Gorgeous dome. No monks there now.
Yes, he did. Hand stop shaking. My father is so sweet. His hand is shaking too. Ulfaas is there.
Beautiful painting by Penderesci of the Resurrection of Jesus, similar to the one in Iuventus.
God, I am nervous, Tom and Maria are there, oh, he is so handsome, Steven
Walking up the stairs with the long train. The little girls sit down in the front row.
The train? The girls are arranging it. I look at my father. He smiles. I hug him.
The king smiled at his daughter and he tried to quench a tear.
I hear my mother crying.
Alexander gave the hand over to Steven and Steven bowed.
Alexander went to his throne next to his queen
I smile at Steven. He smiles. We kneel. It is all so gorgeous I cannot begin to say.
The wedding-march ended.
Archbishop Bernardus is talking but I hear no words. All I can think of is this moment of joy and not saying anything wrong. Tom is so dignified. Maria so elegant.
Another tune, then the ceremony. Oh, God this is the happiest moment of my life.
“Dearly Beloved!” The Archbishop’s lovely baritone voice nearly blasted throughout the Cathedral. “We are gathered here today in the scrutiny of divinity and in the audience of this company, to convey collectively this gentleman and this lady in holy matrimony. Wedlock was predetermined by deity in the sunrise of occasion and established by our redeemer Jesus Christ in Galilee, acknowledged to be praiseworthy in the midst of all men. We commence by asking God's sanction. Let us pray.”
Stand up now, Belinda. Steven, I love you.
“Will you …”
Say yes, Steven. Good. I won’t need to hit you later. The Ring, Tom. Put the Ring on, Steven.
The archbishop wears a beaming smile.
Oh, this is so beautiful. I am so happy.
Steven touched Belinda lightly with one finger and she answered the flirt.
I love him. Maria dear one, the Ring. Thank you. Let me get the Ring on. Good
“Will you …”
“I WILL!”
Belinda’s voice rang out through the church like a bell. A gust of wind came in through the church and ruffled her hair under the veil. Cheers were heard from the outside and Belinda felt like holding Steven close to her and just cuddling up by a fire. A spirit was here.
“Belinda …” a voice whispered from her inner self. “What are you doing? The attack was only two months, two weeks and five days ago. The threat has not disappeared. Do you know the future, Belinda? Do you know the future? Can you tell me the …”
She shivered.
“Belinda …” a voice called to her from reality. She looked at Steven. He lifted the veil. She had disappeared for a moment and returned with a kiss. She forgot the ghost and smiled.
The happiest day.
That voice again.
”Belinda … do you know the future? Be careful during the feast.”
“Who are you? What are you doing here on my wedding day?”
Faint cheers from outside. She could hear them, but this voice was stronger.
“Who do you think I am? Be careful during the celebrations, be alert, don’t relax.”
Steven smiled. Belinda returned one. They kiss. It never wants to cease.
I love you. Forever, I am here. Where are you, Raphael?

Evening time, the Grand Hall, the Fifth Hour of the Feast

Nomed and Bantrard were in the focal point of the hall with the orchestra and the new jester. The ensemble had been improvising and improving on Bantrard’s tune, “Stamp Your Feet For Love Is In Town,” for about a half-hour now. Four different times during that dance Belinda and Steven had switched partners, always going back to one another. Practically everyone was up and dancing.
There was so much ale and mead and wine circulating that it was hard to see straight. So much food that the guests either found themselves drunk with the sheer sight of it all or full of what was on tables. Chicken, geese, peacock, duck, elk and every other kind of meat was on the tables. Asparagus, meatballs, partridge, calves, capons and pigeons, boar, roast sheep, turtledoves, partridges, pheasants, quail. Belinda was constantly laughing, the fifty flickering torches in the room dazzling in her beautiful eyes, almost making it too hard to see where she danced. The flames flickered in the light of brown reindeer eyes. She lifted her dress and danced so hard that she almost broke her shoes.
Bantrard was stamping his feet, closing his eyes, full of sweat.

STAMP YOUR FEET FOR LOVE IS IN TOWN

Estampie in 6/8 with Saltarello for voice, fidicula, aulos, recorder, shawm, zither and kettledrum

From the sea coast to the forest
In the country that raises our crown
The vigour of a thousand dreams
Reverberates in the form of a sound.
It is the roar that strengthens the weak,
And the hope that rejuvenates the old,
It is the power that, as we speak,
Entails a tale yet untold

It is the untold story,
It is the newfound glory,
It is the men we are
Carried by the women that travel far.

From the North Star in the middle to the Capricorn down south
Love is the affection that works best mouth to mouth,
There is no doubt, no reason,
To sit and brood my friend,
Nuptial folly is the best, so be jolly,
The sound that keeps us alive is the sound of another one’s heart.
Na-na-naaa …
Stamp your feet for love is in Town
Nananaaa …Nananaanaaa …
Love is in town
From the west side to the east side …

Belinda was in ecstasy, it was a sensation that life was something she should live to the fullest.

“Stop the wedding celebrations, Belinda! Please, it is enough that you have awoken the beast…
Don’t rub it in! Listen to my warning! End it here, send the guests home and you will fool her…”

She took her husband by the hand and danced with him, he went down on his knees and applauded whilst she danced around him lifting her skirt and the people made a circle around them as they were dancing. He was given a wine bottle and drank out of it as he banged with a wooden spoon on the bottle given to him by someone else, eating a chicken from the hands of Morgana laughing wickedly. Belinda took a bite herself and danced and sang, as she never had before.
With chicken in her mouth and wine dripping down to her cleavage, she giggled.

“Belinda! Do you know the future?”

“Who are you?” That voice again was calling out to her somewhere in the dark.
Never mind. She would just dance it away, brightly howling that she was happy.
Dance now. Dance later. Dance in fifty years. Drool on the tables. Sing while she ate. Eat while she sang. Drink all kinds of alcohol. Stamping her feet and looking up toward the gilded ceiling and walking up the tapestries of Roman Gods, taking the servants by the hand in order to just dance. Make sure to have a good time. Belinda began hopping up and down to the beat of the kettledrum.
For every hop there was a shout. For every shout there was a hop.
“Yes, Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Clap. Clap.”
The entire crowd on its knees, Belinda was the star and the toast of the town.
“In Clurafar they are drunk as well. Drunk as well. Drunk as well.”
Belinda ran to the table, took a bottle from it and gulped down the contents; she threw the bottle into the fireplace and continued dancing.
“Stamp your feet, love’s in town, there is no place, for a frown.
From the east, to the west, make the rounds, pass the test. Stamp your feet, love’s in town.
Nananaaa … Nananaa “
Happy people completely pissed. Royally drunk.
Somewhere in the night a spirit waiting.
“Na-na-na-na-naa-na-na-naaaa …Love is in town. Ohhh … west, east, north south …
Make the movements …Pass the test … West, north, east, south …Can you go that quick … Stuff yourself so full of peacock that you will be sick.
Father, sing with me. Steven, you do a solo …”


Late Evening

Belinda Winsletenna knew that other people were dancing around her. Alexander was dancing with Sieglinde. Patrick with Erica. Maria with Martin. Eleonora with Marcus. Morgana with Richard. Mormidar with Escamilla. Even Cretan with Patricia. Oh my, even Mrs. Johnstone with Rolf.
The music was soft. The aulos played a melody over a sweet row of lutes. No drums this time. In the middle of the song there was a lute playing a nice intermezzo over the tender tunes of a fidicula. The baritone gems of a low fidiculas sang in a minor key against the Hispanic rhythm of the night.
There was a scent of late summer, flowers, perfume, chicken and wine in the air. These smells were the floral company mingling with the elves of a soaring melody.
Belinda could feel her bosom heave and rise to the magic sew-saw feeling of the simultaneous rise and heave of Steven’s bosom. As his heaved hers raised and vice versa. In this magic moment of slow dancing, Belinda looked into her husband’s eyes. His irises bore a rich, beautiful colour that spoke to her of understanding and love, of sweet night filled with tender lovemaking. He smiled at her with such bliss that her brown soul mirrors melted in the face of that newlywed fabric of nuptial paradise.
Her eyes were opening wide and looking into a pair of more lovely features than she had ever seen. She was a married woman. Whatever followed, how hard or easy the future may become, would be possible to overcome only with the help of love’s bliss. There was an echo of a sweeter world here.
A world prior to shame and agony. A world existing in eons past evil and hatred. This perfect world was glowing in the eyes of newly married couple.
Prince Steven of the Eastern County of Gargetania and Princess Belinda of the Capital of Clurafar. Belinda smiled at her husband.
“Husband.” she spoke. “Will you be true to me, husband?”
He half-smiled, gently, “My heart is a rose and that rose has only one home: your heart.”
“Never take that rose away from my soul, Steven.” Belinda said leaning against his chest again.
When they kissed, the Grand Hall lit up, spiritually glowing. The angels sighed when gazing upon the young royal couple. They sighed just as they had sighed when the three kings had given the baby Jesus their gifts upon the day of epiphany.
They sighed just as they did when any human soul found what could be called genuine true love. Their love was their personal gift to the Cherubim and the Seraphim.

After Midnight

The echoes of a drunken crowd kept on reverberating in the hall when the couples had long since stopped singing. Everyone’s ears and bones and joints were aching, due to the full bellies and the tired feet and the splitting headaches. There were a few other couples dancing happily to soft music.
Bantrard seemed to have the endurance of fifty men, sitting there six hours straight and playing and singing and emoting. Most of the musicians had gone home and Rolf kept on pouring him mead and bringing him meat. He would gulp it down fast and continue playing. His blond hair hung in tousled hairballs and his jacket hung across the chair. The fireplace sent a heat wave across to the oak chair that had his back produce pints of liquid.
What was sweet was that one of the sopranos was leaning her head against his shoulder as he playing and sang. She hummed with the tune and the young drummer Igalfur would lightly bang on the drum whilst Joseph Ringingstone slowly played his bass line on the Tubarlo. The aulos played along softly with the melody that seemed odd and familiar somehow. It was an echo of a bygone time, soft, light, lovely and fine. Full of feelings that spoke to the entourage exactly what they wanted to hear: we are all here to enjoy life, together forever in love. Kisses sweet for the spiritually sweet.
Morgana slept in Richard’s lap. Her resonant snore gave everyone the urge to giggle slightly.
Next to her the Cocker Spaniel Henry was dreaming and barking in his sleep in Patricia’s lap.
Lance and Lisa were chatting about the best tutors. Alexander was talking with Patricia, Erica and Patrick about horses. Sieglinde and Escamilla giggling quietly somewhere else. Someone chewed on a chicken leg. Ulfaas was belching, completely unable to get up. He was drinking, belching and a quiet wind passing flatus. So drunk it was funny to Geena. Mormidar laughed at him.
Tom listened to Bantrard’s music. The other musicians were on the floor chatting. It was a quiet midnight. There was chattering. . An echo of a successful night. There was wind outside, but love inside.

Steven and Belinda’s Royal Bed Chamber

Two naked bodies lay on a bed, sweat running down their bodies, muscles aching, bare physique in the light of a full moon, the breeze coming in from the open door, crickets outside faintly humming. Steven caressed his wife’s breasts and kissed the nipples as he entered her again and again.
She moaned, raised her head and squeezed her eyelids shut. She whined agonized and full of joy, grabbed his head, kissed and bit his neck, his hair hanging down across her face, penetrating her. She wrapped her legs around him. Outside the crickets hummed under the moon. They fall asleep that night, never letting go until the morning with Steven still inside her when they commenced again and again until they could feel the taste of the other one better than their own taste. A voice far away was telling them what was in actual fact a never to be escaped fact. It was a voice they were trying to escape, making love through the night, their emotions in a whirl of lust:

There is no turning back now. No turning back. Not ever. Soon all of this will be gone. Death will replace this potent pleasure. Decay will be served with a rotting grin.


Friday, September 25th, 1422, Iuventus Theatre, East Wing, Afternoon – 19 days left

Steven and Belinda held hands as they sat in the first row laughing their heads off at the wonderful antics of the cast, the music a sheer joy to listen to, the orchestra gorgeous, the theatre full of maybe a thousand candles lit by hundred stagehands hired for the job.
The singer Pamela’s song “Landrea the great bacchanal glutton,” brought down the house and Geena was even heard shouting: “Can I sing that one later?”
Bantrard as the funny waiter made Rolf laugh so hard he had to stand up and scream, which made the actors have to stop singing. The audience laughed with him. Sieglinde and Alex tried to keep a good face but started laughing when Rolf started stamping his feet and howling with laughter, tears streaming down from his eyes.
Nomed’s wonderful aria in the middle of the opera: “Thou art the bliss I aspire and your love brings me an angelic desire.” It made Belinda lean her head against her husband’s shoulder and cry.
Finally, the Finale of Delights was so well written, twenty different melodies working at once, and the ovations would never cease. The walk back stage was a joy and Belinda asked her father if they couldn’t have more plays and opera’s here in the future. What a shame to let this five hundred seat jewel stand empty so much. He agreed to the fact that more plays would be performed within these gentle walls on the boards of life and would see what he could do.
Maybe some Prosperanian touring companies could come and entertainment or just Bantrard and Nomed hold evenings for them here for the sake of good fun. The party never seemed to cease. All guesthouses full of people, sometimes the entourage took little trips over the lawn, wine bottles in hand, and came back with torches in the morning, drunk and giddy and lusty. Marie-Louise’s fiancée opened up as usual and he spent quite a long time talking to the king one evening and Marie-Lee was so happy to have her Robert and that he was not shy anymore.
Everything was turning out so well for all of them.
There were games and there was joy over the next weeks. Blind man’s buff, charades, guessing games, hide and seek, storytelling, dancing contests, riding contests, one single fencing tournament, which Morgana and Patsy won with equal points.
There was laughter and there was song and Nomed wrote Belinda a tune called
“When dreams come true I sing to you.”
It was a dream in itself, a lovely unrealistic dream.


Tuesday, October 13th, 1422 A.D. – Morning – 0 days left to go

Alexander and Sieglinde were standing on their balcony, each with a drink of newly pressed plum juice in their hands, smiling. They were looking down at Steven and Belinda tickling each other and laughing on the grass lawn. Everyone had a mutual breakfast in the garden with about twenty people that were still around. The youngsters sat under the tree and were talking.
The newlyweds had packed their bags because they were leaving in a few days for the Resort of Urbania in Alliland just a week away by carriage. Its thermal baths, inns and service were legendary. The romantic atmosphere of the nature, the mountains, the waterfalls, and the canyons, the footpaths along the rivers, the theatres and bridal suite would be perfect for them.
Sieglinde laughed, moved by the sight. She took her husband’s hand and leaned against his shoulder. He was so happy and so was she. The laughter of the young couple kept on going as the king and queen walked into the chambers. They left the newlyweds to themselves making love in the grass.


CHAPTER SEVEN
LUCINDA

Tuesday, October 13th, 1422 A.D. – The Eve of Infamy

The only one not sitting down was Alexander and those of the guests who had been standing prior to the crash soon sat down when it came over them. The king’s luscious bass baritone sounded not angry but lost when he shouted. It had been a cry of surprise, a cry drenched with thirty years of patient, hectic tension.
He had been proposing a toast to the royal couple to his immediate right when the muffled sound from above made all the courtiers search for the origin of the sound. To everyone that heard it, it sounded like someone lifting a piece of furniture up into the air and then dropping it recklessly upon the oak floor. Looking in different directions, they hoped to detect the origin of the thud.
Then the crash made a hundred people cover their eyes, holding plates and books and hats in front of their faces. Almost to the day exactly 30 years after the exile, Lucinda came back. She crashed through the ceiling chandelier of the Grand Hall of Iuventus Sacrum. Crystal and precious stones sprinkled across the room and a large piece of wood thudded downward and broke into three large pieces. A few wax candles were rolling about on the floor, the flames fluttering and fading.
There was a scream and then a remarkable, stunned silence as Lucinda simply hung there in the air for a bit and slowly, ever so slowly descended toward the ground. It seemed the 36 main representatives of Medatlantian politics that sat, lay or crawled along the front wall now were fixed on one thing alone: the two creatures that had just crashed through the ceiling.
Lucinda herself was dressed in a black flowing gown that fluttered in the breeze that seemed to fly around her as she descended toward the floor.
She was the battering ram that in spite of precautions had managed to break in.
Lucinda was petting a creature that she held on a leash as she sunk to the floor. Now and then she was rattling the leash. It was very hard for the assembled to decipher what kind of a creature this was. Alexander knew Greek folklore and it was clear that the monster was a descendant of Cerberus. This mythical creature was told never to have existed, but here it was.
Alexander remembered his old tutor reading through old accounts of Greek mythology on ancient parchments with him. He spoke of the Κέρβερος as a Greek word that meant demon of the pit. Kerberos was a fiend that at certain times was said to have fifty heads.
This creature had no less than ten heads. The necks were thin and serpentine like and all came together on a very furry neck that ended in a mane that was very like that of a lion. The tail was looked as if it actually belonged on a serpent.
Alexander was fascinated and repulsed by this demon at the same time.
Wasn’t Cerberus the guardian of Hades, the creature that let souls in?
He didn’t know. All he knew was that this monster was the perfect guardian for Lucinda.
The heads bobbed in different directions all at the time. The beast drooled, it spat, it cackled, it farted, it belched and sneered. Sometimes the different heads looked at each other and sneered, always nodding and bobbing. This beast, wherever it came from, was a fitting companion for the royal persona non grata upon her return to the scene of the crime.
Lucinda sneered at the tapestries of Roman legends and laughed at the artwork of the king above the fireplace, she shouted at the players to cease with their dreadful gibberish and she howled at dogs to die, she shouted at children to snuggle up to their parents because soon she would show them what real magic was. She walked across the solid oak floor and took away the cap with bells from the jester, she cackled at the posh, arrogant furniture and sniggered at the plethora of cuisine. She did all of that and more without even uttering a single word. In complete silence she terrorized them all.
So, she was back, the demon with the angelic face whose dog’s heads now all seemed to form a straight line with the floor with sheer heart attack in her voice and wide-open eyes.
The dog was a complete recluse demon from the sixth level of conscious hell.
His eyes were gloating at the people who didn’t shiver at the thought of the sister coming back. It screamed with a human voice and so did the guests at the sight of this weird lion from the backwaters of the darkest tunnels of the underworld.
Heartbeats sped up, sweat poured down brows and all that Alexander Roderick Winsletenna could see or hear is everything moving slower, as if life had been slowed down. All that was, all that existed or had existed, was heightened. His pain was stronger now. It was as if all that had happened had more meaning now. He saw his entire life in retrospect leading up to this moment.
Alexander was still holding his glass of wine. Some of the contents in it had been spilled onto the floor. A plate of chicken had dropped due to the chaos. Rolf, who had just been serving Patricia and Morgana some food at their request, was on it. He had tripped over his long tailcoat toga and was now lying with his arm around the edge of table corner furthest away from where the woman was now standing. The scene was as vivid as a fresco from a painting by the old palace court painter Penderesci.
The sound of the king’s shouting voice echoed through the hall. Seeing her within the walls of his palace was like traveling back in time and seeing how all that distress actually made him feel. He had seen her before anyone else did. He had expected her before anyone else expected her and the shout had reverberated through the Grand Hall with fury.
Morgana, for the first time in her life, had her eyes wide open and gazing not upon the crotch of a hunk, but on someone she had never seen before. She looked dumbfounded at something she could not quite understand: in reality. She had apparently not even registered that this could happen. Born in the same year as the unwanted one’s exile, she had always avoided thinking about her discarded aunt whenever Belinda found herself speaking of nightmares and mischief.
Now she gazed and gazed and could not find anything else in the uninvited one but yet another, albeit very perilous, rival. The difference was that this rival petrified her.
The half-closed eyes under the eyebrows made every soul feel that they were actually not physically there at all. All the souls in the room were actually naked, bodiless creatures whose only aim was to serve her as objects to help her win the eternal game.
Lucinda saw everyone here as her permit to become an immortal demon.
The reason for the hunger was a lack of revenge.
Patrick was for once sitting with Erica on his lap. More than anything he was afraid of his own sexuality that this was the same emotion that he always felt. This physical hunger that Lucinda was displaying had nothing to do with sensual pleasures. This was raw animal hunting for prey. Lust for death and revenge was the goal. Patrick was still holding a turkey leg in his right hand and had been fondling his wife’s left breast with his hand. Now his left hand was down on his wife’s lap and that hand seemed to rest on that fruitful middle like a dog hoping to get away with stealing a bone.
Sieglinde had for years now been a woman simply concentrated on being a good matriarch. Her sometimes-sudden bursts of anger came seldom nowadays. When Lucinda finally did arrive, Sieglinde was reminded of the time when her sister-in-law had once lived here. Both of them had stayed away from one another at that time. Lucinda had never liked Sieglinde and the feeling was definitely mutual. The queen stood for the established mother role and the official regal duties. She wanted to be a queen, a mother, a woman of the established society.
Lucinda was everything the queen was not. The king’s sister questioned everything that was official taken for granted, that included the royal family. Born into the royal family, she was therefore like a virus in Eden. She was the original snake or a replica of the serpent that once was. Once Lucinda saw that she couldn’t accept anything that was told within the royal family she tried to work against all that they stood for and loved. Sieglinde was the key to the Winsletenna legacy. She was the breeder of ancestors. Both of them decided soon enough that they didn’t want to talk or socialize.
Sieglinde had left very soon after the fire had ruined the mansion. Lucinda had been thrown out very, very soon after that and Alexander had changed. He spent most of his time brooding and going to some meetings that he didn’t have to attend. Madeleine had been a blue-blooded entrepreneur of sorts and she had been what Alexander had wanted. She was a woman who asked no questions. She had heard what the king talked about and let him make ferocious love to her.
The queen knew that the entire affair was a result of Lucinda’s attack and eviction. That was also the reason why she forgave him so quickly. The relationship never recovered. Seeing Lucinda again was traveling back to that horrible night of 1392, but also to her own husband’s infidelity.
Her every feature consumed by dark hate, she sat there like a black cloud, a matriarch who had spent years trying to push her children to become good people. It was as if all of her work now was in vain just because this woman kept her promise.
Strong, mostly quiet, gorgeous, faithful and still bruised by her husband’s infidelity after thirty years; this was the tall, blonde oak keeping the family together.
Belinda and Steven were distraught, but there was very little fear there. It was more the fact that they had been surprised by her sudden appearance that had made both of them shiver. Not only hands, but also feet and arms and legs, were clenched together.
Faced with her fears, the crown princess studied the object of her terror as it slowly sank to the floor. The dress was settling down in its own breeze, fluttering. It was after the initial shock and her first scream that she saw what her aunt was wearing. It was her wedding dress in a perverse pitch-black rendition. The elevated derriere and the train were there. The tiara and the lace, the cleavage and the diamonds, they were all there at public display.
Without a word, as Lucinda Iuvinhurmya Winsletenna slowly sank to the floor, Belinda stood up from her chair next to her father’s erect place. Having chosen to wear her wedding dress for this last of feasts before the honeymoon trip to Urbania, there were comparisons to be made. It was almost a sickly lust that drove the princess to gaze at the woman from a closer distance, as if wanting to see a darker version of herself from a foot’s distance. How had she been able to duplicate this dress? Carlos hadn’t made a second one, she knew that and never in black. He was a man of light. He hated black.
Alexander watched his daughter stand up and walk around the table toward his sister.
Not a word was uttered. Some people were lined along the walls in agony; some sat on the floor, some had tripped and kept lying there. A few musicians had dropped their instruments. The Cocker Spaniel Henry had taken refuge in Patricia’s lap. Mormidar and Ulfaas were standing by the fireplace in the same position that they had stood in a moment ago, but now with their heads turned and their eyes open so wide the whites of each eye surrounded the black moon of their irises like a dark blooded ball of death dropped in snow. Almost everyone had uttered a short cry. Without exception everyone present had screamed and then grown very quiet very fast. This made the silence even quieter. Belinda was walking slowly up to this woman who was responsible for so much ill doing, in fact for ruining the peace of the kingdom. And Belinda’s peace!
Well, for her it was like opening up the head of Caligula or Nero just to see what really was inside. A shorter version of the train of the white wedding dress pulled behind the crown princess as she circled around the woman. Lucinda, now descended to the floor, remained calm through it all, very much like an art model that would remain still while an artist studied her for his upcoming sculpture.
Her weird dog kept bobbing its heads without even attempting to attack. Belinda looked at the dog with disgust, but at the sight of this woman she remained absolutely cold. She stopped in front of the woman. Face to face with her she cocked her head. Belinda just stood there for so long that everyone began to wonder if the king was going to say something to bring her back to the table. Belinda was close enough to look her aunt in the eye and yet far enough away not to be hit in the groin by one of Reficule’s ten constantly bobbing heads.
The sight that met the eyes of the court was almost a cliché to watch: the crown princess dressed in white facing the fears of her life dressed in a black version of her own wedding dress. The entire hall of never again feasting Bacchanals watched the duo with a mixture of utter fear and perverse anticipation.

What is going to happen?
My Lord, help her to walk away from that woman.
She is brave to even try that.
Who does she think she is to barge in like that.
Lucinda ought to be hanged.
No, she is immortal.
She is not.
Then hang her.
Hang her.

There was one point when the eyes of the two women met. At that moment, time seemed to stop and the auras of the two respective women grew. The dark one’s aura was equally big as the light one’s aura. The difference however was in the pressure. Lucinda’s had a personality built upon threats.
Belinda was a soul whose spirit seemed to thrive on movement and energy.
The words that were exchanged between them were so soft-spoken that no one but they could hear them, but it left a deep impression inside Belinda knew that she would remember this in years to come, never ever mentioning that it had ever happened, not even to herself.
“Why are you back here in a palace where you don’t belong?”
“I am back home to finish off what I didn’t start, my dear.” Lucinda murmured cynically.
“What did you run away from that you never ended?”
“I come back to mend the fact that I didn’t kill your father,” she spat. “If I had, you would’ve never been born. Believe me when I say that I am going to make your death slow and painful.”
Emotions stirred up inside Belinda at the sound of those words. There were cataclysmic feelings thundering and they were all screaming at the top of their lungs. Tears bottled up she wished to explode, kick her, beat her and call her names. Instead of doing that, she swallowed her pride and let that one tear roll down her cheek onto the floor before whispered:
”If you want to kill me, then you better be ready for to fight. I don’t give in easily. Ask anyone here. Ask my husband. He’ll tell you how well I can put up a fight.”
“I know you do.” Lucinda grinned. “I love to fight. I am looking forward to a good catfight.”
Belinda looked down at her hound. “What is that?”
“My pet.”
“Strange pet,” Belinda sneered in a whisper. “A hound fitting for a cat.”
“How so?” Lucinda spat. “Cats can’t scratch mutts?”
“Your weapons have never been as good as mine, bitch.”
“What magic powers do you possess that could equal mine?”
“The greatest magic of all,” Belinda mused. “The love of a family.”
Lucinda cackled amused and cynical.
“Belinda Winsletenna will die an old, happy woman.” Belinda said of herself. “Who will remember you? Who will stand at your grave and weep? Check mate. Your turn.”
Belinda gave her aunt one patronizing look and slowly went back to her place to sit down.
When Belinda did sit down, taking her husband’s hand, Lucinda turned to her brother and gave him a very strange grin. She had just been disarmed, but now she was recollecting her weapons.
Her grin was a weirdly erotic grin, appealing maybe to wolves.
She rattled Reficule’s leash and ordered him to sit.
There was a dreamlike atmosphere in the room and everyone seemed to move slower.
Alexander saw everything heightened in a way that he never had before. He heard Reland’s magical clock ticking although the clock was in a different part of the castle. He saw his family stunned, he saw Mormidar fall over and he saw the guests and the court push each other around. He saw Igalfur the drummer and Bantrard drop their instruments. But the only thing that Alex really could notice was Lucinda.
Alex sat down as if numb, plopping down into his cushioned chair of red velvet, his arms resting on the decorated dark mahogany seat. Figurines of trees, leaves and angels were positioned along the chairs middle and an eagle accompanied the crown that filled the center top. Sweat drops ran along his forehead like small squirrels chased by a wolf. They dropped onto the wood carvings on the chair. The king felt the breeze on his neck from an open window. His mind spoke.
“See that woman in the middle? She is your sister.”
“How can this be?” he answered himself. “This person doesn’t seem to have anything in common with me.”
“My heart is aching, my knee is aching. I don’t want her here. I never ever wanted her here.”
Sieglinde sunk her head into her husband’s purple velvet clad, caped shoulder.
Lucinda paced the hall, meticulously studying every face before she finally decided to stop in front of her brother, whom she hadn’t met in 11 years.
“Hello Alexander,” she cooed consumedly. “I’ve missed you.”
Alexander said nothing. He simply looked at his sister, awesomely stunned and almost relieved in his terror that the moment he had been waiting for thirty years finally had arrived.
“For thirty years now I’ve waited to see you here.” Alexander whispered. “I never wanted you to stay in my mind, but like a festering wound or an aching knee, you never seemed to disappear. Your memory faded away, but the pain you caused stayed within me. You turned into a throbbing wound.”
“Alexander,” Lucinda said softly. “You did nothing to integrate me into your life. You kept me away from all decisions and all-important affairs. I, too, was hurt by the way you behaved toward me.”
“You were a child.” Alexander said. “I had no confidence in your regal abilities.”
“Well” Lucinda sang. “You seemed to have enough confidence in Belinda when she was a child to hand her the future crown. That much to your lack of confidence in children.”
“She didn’t burn my house down.” Alexander spat. “She didn’t practice black magic and invite one hundred and twenty lovers into her room down the hall.”
“I was your sister, God damn you.” Lucinda shouted even louder. “You totally ignored me.”
“I threw you out for a reason, Lucinda.” her brother said softly, leaning across the table over toward her. The conversation had not yet turned loud until just now. It had stayed soft. Everyone invited, including Belinda who before everyone had talked to her murderous aunt, looked at the siblings talking and tried to follow what they said. No one dared to move. It was like witnessing very old enemies talk for the first time and not wanting to disturb them for fear that one might rattle a knife or turn a page and set off an earthquake. “I threw you out of my home, because you had ruined it. You killed my sisters and brother. You left our parents devastated. That was no easy thing to handle all by myself. I had only been king for a short while and your act made me run into the arms in lies.”
There was a long pause. They both knew that what had happened was in the past and nothing could mend this past. There had been a time when the two had been something close to friends. That time was long gone. Finally, knowing that nothing could be said that hadn’t been said before, the king said, “So, what have you come to tell me? Have you come for a reason?”
“I have come to keep my promise.” she said. “I always keep my promises. You know me.”
“Then get it over with.” Alexander said, waving his hand at her. “Then get out.”
“I am the surprise guest, brother heart,” she responded calmly. “As such, I will socialize a bit, reminiscing about the old times.”
“What do want to talk about then? Your black sorcery or the weather?” Alexander screamed at the top of his lungs. “For the love of God, Lucinda. Do you really believe I want to socialize with you?”
“I will not talk about me, brother dearie.” she vowed. “I am here to congratulate the newlyweds in their paradise of nuptial bliss.” Lucinda simpered. “I came all the way here with my dog. You are a dog lover, Alex. Let us talk canine breeding. What do you feed your oldest daughter’s dog?”
“Nocturanian hearts,” Alexander said softly, slowly giving up that she would leave. “Boiled in vinegar and cream.”
“That is an unusual choice.” Lucinda said, smacking her red lips. “Vinegar and cream. I shall have to ask my Rumzils how that goes together with Nocturanian hearts.”
“I think I shall switch to bad blood after this” Alexander added.
Lucinda leaned over to breathe a bit of bad breath at her brother.
“Start with your own.” she croaked.
The king spat in her face, knowing that his sister was just killing time. It was a game that she had played countless times. It was her personal provocation: promising someone a horrible attack, arriving and then performing social blabber while everyone waited. The ace card up her sleeve was that they all knew that if they disobeyed her or wanted to get her horrid promise over with, she would turn against them and use her evil to combat them. The result was that she got them pleading for her to curse them, they waited for her to do it and she got them wanting it so very badly.
Without even looking away from Alex, resolute to stay in touch with his heart she asked, "Is your woman not feeling well?” She leaned back and paced the room. “She is pale.”
The clicking of the heels on the floor was the only thing one heard.
Her bear like dog scratched its body, then peed on the left table corner closing his twenty eyes.
"Why did you not invite me, dear?" Lucinda said, her voice a throaty mezzo, rich and dark.
“This lovely young girl and I spent such wonderful months together back at the royal palace in the other country. Did you hear of that? Oh, yes… uhhh… you were there, weren’t you?" Lucinda murmured. “Huh… I forgot that.” she whined coyly.
The chain of the leash clinking in Lucinda's hands was the only other sound heard accompanying the crackling of fresh wood from the fireplace.
"Now she is a voluptuous woman with a ravishing and sensual cleavage, married to a dashing prince." She shook her head and cackled. “She is an alluring little gem, isn’t she? You should see her in the privacy of her bedroom. She is hot as Pompeii. Mount Etna is Lapland in comparison. Up and down and round and round, pounded fiercely by a stunning steed.”
“How do you know about what I do in my bedroom?”
”Well, sometimes you do it on the balcony, dear! Rattling the tables and looking up at the moon pretending to be a Cleopatra of the western Roman heirs. His manhood’s so prominent.”
Steven stood up. “It is time you leave.” Steven looked down and laughed ironically. “You are a witch. You certainly give your reputation credit. I never thought that my wife was right…”
“Oh.” Lucinda laughed. “That seemed to hit the spot. Good, I know where I can hurt you now.”
Belinda stood up as well. “You have no right to spy on us, read our … thoughts or whatever it is you do.” Belinda spat, sobbing. She started to cry. “I want you out of here. Get out, get out, get out.”
”I just came…” she said, genuinely hurt this time. She turned away. “Moody, aren’t you?”
Belinda screamed. “My private intimacy with my husband is none of your business.”
“If you have been spying on her, we can have it arranged for you to be drawn before court.” Alexander said. “Get out of my palace right now.”
”Before court?” Lucinda started sneered, almost drooling spit in the process. “What would you have the old farts in the Senate do? Catch me?” Alexander had no answer. He was fighting to say something, anything, to protect his daughter. When it became clear that he could not say anything, Zedrick, who sat three chairs away, spoke.
“What makes you so keen on always returning home to Iuventus, Lucinda? Do you never get enough of this palace? We all hate you. After all, you were excommunicated with the most…”
“Zedrick!” Lucinda sang. “How lovely to see you again. How have you been? Tell me!” She paused and leaned over the table toward him. “You were saying that I was excommunicated with the most… what? Vigour? Well, that would be true, but wasn’t it you who gave Alexander the idea to throw me out of the kingdom if I ever went too far?”
“Stop it right there, Lucinda.” Alexander shouted. “Zedrick did give me the first push, but I would’ve done it anyway. I had thought of it way before he said it.”
“Well, that is a relief isn’t it, brother heart.” Lucinda mocked. “Though Zeddy and I never had any differences, did we? He came up to my room often to visit me. Didn’t you, dear?”
”I am not going to respond to the times the noises were too loud in the castle to bear. I was just on errands.” Zedrick stated calmly. He smiled. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that you are unwelcome after all that you have done to us. You need to leave. I think we are all being very diplomatic, but if you do not leave serious consequences shall have to be taken.”
“Serious consequence?.” Lucinda started laughing very low. “Oooh, I am so scared of you. Do you have a set of measurements ready to be used in your closet, General?” She cackled. “If I didn’t have me connections to pop your weasel I might run away and shout.” she cackled in almost not hearable high voice screeching. “‘Help, run, the general is after me, he will eat me.’” She walked a few steps up to him. “I come back because this place has memories. Many are good.”
A few of the skulls on the ten-headed hound sniggered behind her. Two or three of the faces spat and another three were grinning and drooling simultaneously.
There was a truth in her stare. She shrugged. “Besides,” she said, that old vengeful lie back in her face, “I have always enjoyed a good fight. Isn’t that right, Belinda Apple-Cheeks? What is it Steven calls you? Reindeer-eyes?” She cackled. “Now that is an erotic promise. As I was saying to your brother, he never included me in any of his games. I then have to see to that I include myself, cupcakes.” She giggled provocatively. “I wish someone would call you that.”
“You jest very well,” Morgana spat. “But no man would touch you, let alone become a lover.”
Lucinda smiled and walked a few steps over to her. “Sex starved angel. How sad that you can only go half way to glory and stop at just devouring men.”
Alexander started bellowing with laughter and then turned against her.
“Your methods are extreme, sister.” he cackled. “Without mercy.”
She looked at him with daggers of ice shooting out from her stare.
“My daggers create havoc, so beware.” she said. “Leaving is not my plan.”
“I know you won’t.” he responded. “I just wish you would not put off getting to the point.”
“Ooh, but my method is good.” Lucinda mused. “Very good. It fizzles, it sizzles and it pops. Look at how I’ve wrapped you around my little fingers in just the few minutes I’ve been here:”
She took a green vase from the table and threw it in the fireplace. It hit the fire inside and the flames grew at least ten feet high. She patted one of Reficule’s heads and said something in Nocturanian. “Siruluparidia Grui!”
Reficule lifted his hind legs and stood on his front paws. He parted his hind legs and out of his behind came three flames that took off in all directions. These three flames parted into groups of three that finally formed nine something’s that spent a moment or two screaming the hell out of the entire group in every part of the Grand Hall. All the while, Reficule remained erect on his front paws. The nine spirits entered his behind again and disappeared.
Lucinda made a fist and rubbed it against her mouth. When she opened it, three worms came out. She fed them to Reficule and he gobbled them down.
“Good boy.” she spat and turned to Alex.
Alex sighed and shook his head.
“What?”
“I’m sick of your behavior.” Alexander whispered. “I never thought I’d have to live through this one more time.”
“Aren’t you going to sit down, Alexander?”
Alexander smiled.
“No. Not if you won’t leave. If you leave I can continue my meal.”
Lucinda’s eyebrows curved inward. “I’d rather stay, but thanks
anyway.” She walked up to a plate of grapes and picked one up. “You mind if I have something to eat? Häppchen? Whores’ Hors d’ouvre? Sorry if I borrow expressions from other levels of the space-time continuum.”
”By all means,” Alex nodded. “Help yourself. I know I can’t stop it.”
Lucinda grinned, her black eyes disappearing inside her grin. She was ironic, but there was never a humorous expression on her face. Her eyes remained half-closed all the time. Her face serious, her gaze the entire while fixed on her brother no matter where in the room she moved.
“I need you to listen for once.” Lucinda opened her eyes for the first time and she pouted with her lips and her tongue came out. She flicked with her tongue a couple of times, leaning against the large table almost in her brother’s face. “I need your head," she said. "Alexander the Baptist!" she said in a low bass baritone. She cackled, starting to imitate Salome by throwing with her cape. “And then you can have my present. Head for heels, or whatever the expression is.”
“That’s heads or tails, you morose idiot.” Morgana whispered.
Lucinda turned her head toward the speaker. “Miss Flaunty arrives with wee philosophical gems of wisdom.” She took one step toward her. “Her royal highness is full of the highest eloquence.”
"Don’t waste my time." Alex said, threateningly soft.
She turned her head to him, back still away from her brother, her head facing him, looking at him from the corner of her eye. She began speaking, but hesitated.
Instead, Lucinda leaned over to Belinda and smiled.
“I will keep my promise,” she said menacingly. “Don’t fret.”
“You face me and speak to your brother,” Belinda spat. “Look at whom you speak to.”
Lucinda gave her an angry look, ran up and leaned up against the table and screamed.
"You were the promise kept, a sweet reward for sending away me.”
Belinda whispered haughtily. “As we now know where we stand we can start talking on equal terms. If I am the reward for your eviction, then it all makes sense.”
“How so, dear?” Lucinda whispered.
“When a sickness is removed from the earth, a blossoming flower arises.”
”Oh, I see. Well, if you are the flower then this must be the garden.” She smiled. Lucinda stepped back and said nothing for a while. Steven half-smiled and was given a dirty look from his aunt-in-law. She walked a few paces away from the table and then turned around and pointed at Belinda. She turned around again and pointed at Steven. “Then that must be the weed.”
Steven jumped at Lucinda and was held back by Zedrick and Patrick, who calmed him down.
“You perverse little vulture.” he screamed so loud that it hurt Patrick’s ears. “I have more pride and dignity than you and your kind will ever have.”
"I was in exile... remember? You have your cute little Belinda to show off. Me? I am your own little murder minister.” There was a pause. “Aww, yes” she continued softly. “I am proud of my murders. Bloody hell, I have something to show off. It's not like a just sit with Lucifer all day and play with his c- ... socks."
“Murder is your specialty, isn’t it?” Alex interrupted. “Ruining lives, traumatizing parents and sons alike. Making the lives of others a living hell.”
Lucinda took a step closer to him, her mouth opened and her skin grew crackly like the shell of a nut. Her eyes turned grey and her irises red. Her hair stood up on end and she leaned against the table, eyes widely impersonal. Her tongue forked and popped out of her mouth, clear red. The dog in Patty’s lap, who had been sitting fascinated, leaned terrified against the table, fell backwards with a thud, immediately aided by his aide.
There was a painful silence in the Hall.
“I am here to make a deal with you, Alexander.” Lucinda looked at him with cats’ eyes. In his mind she walked up to him, told him he was a good dog and kissed him clean of purity. He found himself in the dungeon of Rigor Mortis outside Yambollah tied to a bed, covered with wax just like Belinda back then in 1411, Lucinda sitting on him, licking the wax off his fur and riding his chest. “Ten thousand days of pain, 262,800 hours, if hours mean anything to you at this point in your era of history. I shall give you no less than what you gave me, you must understand that.”
“Does that mean that I have to suffer until I die?”
“Yes.” she sizzled. “Suffer until you damn well drop in a pool of your black spit.” She paced the room, flung around with her dress, clearly enjoying the attention she was getting. “Your whole country soon extinct, you will become but an odd memory. I will put your heads in glass jars and look at them while I eat breakfast. I’m going to play a game with you. It is called

Sizzle My Brother Over Hot Burning Coal,
Salt Him And Pepper Him And Serve Him Up Whole.”

“You could’ve had that revenge much sooner than this.” Alex gestured to the whole crowd. “All our heads might be in glass jars by now.” There was modest laughter. Now it was his turn to lean forward and threaten Lucinda. “Why now? Why wait, Lucinda? Why this extraordinary torture on both of our sides for three decades? Why didn’t you just ram a spear down my belly in 1392 and have it all over with?”
Lucinda nodded and leaned forward, her face now an inch from that of her brothers.
“You were always a spoilsport, a wimp, a faggot, a really bad actor. Your lisping vanity is as big as mine, you little milquetoast, so don’t point at me for vanity. You stand in front of the mirror as much as I do.” She stood up and smiled. “I have all the reason to hate you. Planning is what I did for thirty years. I planned my reappearance very well, brother heart.”
“I detect hurt feelings,” Alexander sighed. “What was that old saying you thundered out about the four horsemen of the apocalypse rolling over the country before the century was over? That never happened. Why?”
Lucinda smiled. “I never said that. I said before the quingenium was over.”
”There is no such word. I have read enough Latin to know.”
Lucinda smiled again, this time in a mixture of spite and patronization.
“I say, do you not know what quingenium means. You are a learned man. It is the half of millennium. It means half thousand. If you can count I shall present you a year. Anno Domini 1500.”
“That year has no relevance to me,” the king laughed and waved her away with his right hand.
Lucinda walked up to her brother again, Reficule constantly following her obediently. “We are playing for keeps here, Alex. This is more than just a sibling quibble. If I win, I win for real.”
Alexander’s expression was one of confusion. What is with the year 1500?”
“By then, one of us will rule what we know as reality.”
”We will all be dead by then.”
She lifted her right index finger and shook it. “But our sons and daughters won’t be dead.
Your cute little nitwit princess won’t want to refrain from little cuties hopping in palace grass.” Lucinda spat. “Or will she?”
Belinda stood up. She pointed at Lucinda and Alex waved for her to sit down. “Our race will flock the Earth.” She leaned over and smiled. “They will all relish in walking over your face.”
“Eloquent choice of words. I’ll have to use that.” She curtsied and mocked. “Good Day to you, Sir! How about if I walk over your face?” Lucinda leaned over, laughing, and it was obvious that she enjoyed this. “Lucifer and I want some little ones one day. Besides, he has more potential and a variation of assets to offer than most men with two... That is beside the point. Our offspring will rule the known world. I am talking a negotiation here. I offer your father a real challenge and then he can see how you deal with it. If he wins, you will never see me again. Believe me, he will not be able to win this, I will give your country a make-over it will never survive.”
Alexander stood up. “Your threats have never ever amounted to scratch.” Alexander stepped back, the lights of the flames from the fireplace dancing in his face.
“Not so fast, brother. Remember, I have a business to attend to. You have a country to run, a wedding to organize. I am here on errands. Important errands.”
There was a long pause.
“You see, when I thought of taking revenge I could not just blow your palace up into smithereens or kill a few of your citizens. You are a special kind of person and a special kind of person deserves a special kind of treatment. Killing you slowly would be more fun, I gathered.”
One of the musicians had forgotten his drum and stumbled over it as he backed toward the door in order to escape. He was fat man named Igalfur, usually jolly and whose face was now numb with terror. He fell over and tripped right into the instrument with a bang. She looked back at the man and smiled.
"What's the matter with you, Sweetie? Looking for something?"
She saw the terror in his eyes and watched him stand up she sent a thought to him:

"CRASH INTO THE WALL!"

Promptly, he lifted and hit the wall, fell on the drum, breaking it, as if on a given signal the man rushed out of the room, bloody.
Five people rushed to his aid, Bantrard among them.
She strolled up to the long table again, relishing like a horny 16-year-old in keeping these people tense. She went from plate to plate picking at people’s food on which she munched on as she spoke. She cackled. “I am unpredictable and you like it.”
Alex started circling the table. “To hell with everything. You are going to die! Now!”
She mocked him and lowered her voice. “Now! You like that word. Don’t you? Now!” She turned to Morgana and smiled. “Sound so masculine, doesn’t it? He wants it NOW!” Lucinda laughed while she backed toward the middle of the hall, chased backward by Alexander.
Belinda rushed up to him, grabbed his sleeve and tried to hold him back. She was panicking.
“Don’t tempt her, father!”
Lucinda for the first time was distressed, tried to get away by having him focus his attention at Belinda. “Your daughter is distraught. You better help her.”
”I am helping her by killing you.” Alexander argued.
”How are you going to achieve that? You tried thirty years ago and it didn’t work then.”
”I’ll never stop trying to kill you,” she growled in a low and raspy register.
“Father,” Belinda pleaded. “Don’t provoke her, not even for me.”
He turned to her. “Sit down, dearest. I am doing what I should’ve years ago.”
Lucinda laughed. “Always this masculine authority.” She sighed and continued very peacefully. "Fine then... If that is your attitude I can do nothing but oblige." She circled him and left Reficule in the middle of the hall and Alexander standing next to him. The seventh head of the monster had been chewing on bones up until now and suddenly discovered the man. Three heads growled at him and made him loose balance. Alexander fell down and hurt his knee.
Reficule lifted its’ tail and bashed it down upon the floor with a loud bang.
Meanwhile, Lucinda went up to a wine bottle and emptied its contents into her mouth, throwing the bottle into fire which sent flames gushing into the room and a burning piece of wood rolling out. "I have business to attend to as well, you see, and my business is revenge. You will be dancing on hot coal before you know it."
Alexander screamed, standing up and crashing his fist down on the edge of the table where Morgana was seated. “You have no right to return to my home and ruin my daughter’s celebration.”
“Why don’t you just kick me out, so I can keep my promise? I want some head.” she laughed, almost childlike, gasping, perverse in its own way. Alex stopped. “Oh, Alex, if you could only see yourself. If you only could see how ridiculous you have become.”
Alex spat through gritted teeth as he walked closer to his sister, following her through the room. He took another wine bottle and crashed against a table where no one was seated and threatened Lucinda with it. “Let’s go out and duel in the courtyard. I can kill you or be killed and we can finish this off with a bang. Don’t drag poor innocent people into this. This is just about us, not about them.”
“So brave and yet so cowardly. You know that if you do anything to me, you will all be dead in a blink. You don’t have the guts to go all the way.”
Alex began to run toward her. She took a bottle from nowhere, no one knew where, and threw it on the ground. Three demons began to circle her and then flew around the room. People screamed as they did. Some off them lifted the women’s clothes and looked down their undergarments. Then they flew into the night and disappeared.
“Alex. I have friends in low places.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe the phrasing needs a little work, but the fact remains that you are powerless and that makes my revenge just that more tasty. My powers are greater than you can possibly comprehend, so why don’t you just keep your bearded little hole shut and listen to me, hoping that the curse that ejects from my eloquent face is kind enough to keep at least you alive for a while.”
Alex jumped upon Lucinda and hit her to the ground, beating her face.
Bantrard and Steven and Zedrick rushed to him and pulled him away, just as Reficule was nibbling at his throat. Hair hanging in his eyes, Alex was taken back to his place. The men went to it except for Steven who stayed with Alex, his hand on his king’s right shoulder.
Lucinda felt the edge of her mouth and saw how blood was oozing down her chin.
“Charming.” She stood up. “You are lucky I want you to die slowly. Otherwise, you would be dead by now.” Lucinda looked at the solemn trio. “I always get my way. One way or another." She went to the window looked out of it at the moon. "I have a previous engagement." She looked at Reficule and smiled. "And I do have to walk the dog. I do have to change his diet. What ever does he eat to drool like that?" She snapped her fingers. “Sit, boy. You stink.”
One of the chandeliers dropped on the floor and crashed. Several people shouted and a tiara fell off the head into the soup of Queen Escamilla of Neapolonia who had eaten every kind of food there was and was the only one not sober now. She screamed and realized where she was, saw the woman, stood up and ran out, forgetting her tiara. Lucinda looked at her with still surprise. She looked at Alex again, impressed. "Not bad for an old lady. Does she trick ride?"
She saw how angry her brother was and she liked it. She had missed fighting with him.
“Tell us how you are about to destroy our country.” Alexander stood up again, grabbing a hold of the chair, knocking it over and then walked toward her once more in the middle of the room. “Tell us all about avenging yourself for something I did a long time ago and is not worth the effort and then kindly disappear.” Steven and Belinda tried to stop him, but he pushed them gently aside and patted them on their shoulders. “Tell us about your bad childhood, tell us about your damn potential friends in high places. Tell us about your fear and the bells ringing in our heads. Tell us about demons chasing us into the night.” He walked around the table and up toward the middle of the room. “Tell us about curses, about werewolves in hell, but hot damn leave us some dignity. Tell us all you like, but if you want us to fight, then let’s get it over with now. None of us except me has the bravery to step forward because they have all heard from me what you are capable of.” Alexander pointed the ceiling. “Fix the hole after you’ve left. I don’t care. Get your deed done and then sod off.”
The siblings stopped dead, literally standing smack middle of the Grand Hall, the eyes of everyone upon them. There was an interested silence in the room.
Everyone was waiting to see what was going to happen next.
Would Alexander hit her? Would Reficule attack him instead?
Would they wrestle each other to the ground?
Suddenly one of the empty tables came sliding from the edge of the room and into the middle. Alexander rushed back a step or two and tried to attack her again, ten people aided him circling their tables and running out. She made a sweeping gesture and pushed them all back, Reficule spitting at everyone except the king.
“You don’t give up, do you?”
While she spoke, the ten people dried off Reficule’s drool.
She leaned forward, her right leg stretched out and her left bent over, her eyes open. She opened up her arms wide and looked at Belinda. “You are the lucky winner of the Nocturanian Prize Lottery." Belinda gazed at her and whilst crying realized the voice she had heard in the church.
It had been Lucinda.
Alexander rushed toward his sister and grabbed her by the arms.
“Get away from my daughter.” he screamed.
Lucinda held up a hand and at once Alex let go, upheld by a strange power that seemed to control him. Invisible demons dragged him back toward the wall where he stood still not being able to move. The entire crowd stood numb not looking anywhere, just simply looking into thin air, hearing everything she said, but not being able to take a step either forward or backward.
"We are happy to inform you, dear frigid virgin and imbecile faggots that Belinda, Alexander and the Prosperanian effeminate compound has won." She put her arms to the side and winked with her eyebrows. "Do you want to hear? Huh?" She giggled. All of Reficule’s ten heads cackled the same word, but deeper, cackling and drooling. "Huh? Huh?" She kicked him in the side and Reficule stopped, starting to scratch his fleas. Lucinda licked her mouth. "You... have won…" She made a pause. "... a CURSE!"
Strange music, fidiculas and lutes, began to play and demons were popping out of Reficule's mouths. The table began to spin and Lucinda danced around in the air, spitting the words in elegant, richly throaty fashion. She gestured with her long red fingernails and Reficule bobbed his head back and forth as she spoke, dancing weirdly to the invisible music.
Now everyone stiff with terror, cries being heard beyond all the sound, saw that the macabre tune was coming from the instruments being played by themselves.
Then the music suddenly ceased.
The music stopped and the instruments fell to the floor.
The tables were out back into position and the witch and her strange dog landed on the floor again. She took out a bottle full of green, foggy liquid that seemed to entail some dancing spirits.
She opened up the cork and set them free, all the time she was smiling. The spirits oozed out of the bottle and were white.
There was a green fog in the room.
The fog spread slowly and surely from the bottle onto the floor and into the floorboards and up the legs of the tables and into the open mouths of the surprised spectators. The entire hall was soon full of the green fog. All that anyone could see was Lucinda’s glowing eyes and the green smoke.
As the hall turned all green and foggy, dancing, dreamy ghouls circling the gilded mahogany hall, the royally unwanted bitch recited a poem that obviously had been self created:

"THREE PLAGUES SHALL STRIKE YOUR LAND:
ONE FOR THE ARMIES THAT WILL MAKE IMMORALITY GRAND,
THE SECOND FOR THE DECIET OF YOUR NEAREST FRIENDS,
THE THIRD IS A TALE THAT NEVER ENDS.
WHEN THINGS IN YOUR KINGDOM GET OUT OF HAND,
YOU SHALL WISH THAT YOU WERE KING OF ANOTHER LAND.

ONE IS FOR THE WEAPON THAT LIES IN YOUR SOUL,
ONE FOR THE HEALTH THAT IS CHARON'S GOAL,
THE THIRD FOR YOUR DAUGHTER AND HER BELOVED STEVE ,
ONE FOR THE ROAD THAT WILL MAKE ONE OF US LEAVE.
BELINDA WILL DIE AND THE WOUND WILL FESTER,
THIS IS THE GIFT OF LUCINDA YOUR SISTER."

The crowd dared not say a thing, least of all Alex.
"Remember: one for the weapon, one for the health and one for the road."
She looked at Belinda and pursed her lips, half-closing her eyes.

“True to my fashion I come uninvited.
I spit on your face and keep you excited.
You stop for my lecture and next it comes.
I state it, I leave it where it festers on plums.
If I bored you, my lovelies, then I hope you nap well.
If I tickled your fancy then I’ll see you in hell!”

She turned around and bowed, walked to the middle of room and stopped under the hole she had made. She watched Alex and smiled. The woman crashed through the roof again creating her own thermal centrifuge, repairing every single damage, taking with her the green ghosts and even clearing the fat drummer's wounds. There was a big flash and she was gone, every trace of her presence eradicated. There was not a word spoken and no trace that Lucinda had ever been there.

Tuesday, October 13th, 1422, a while later

Alexander Roderick Winsletenna was absentminded. He would forget where he put an important document. He would forget to tell the coachman where to take him on an important errand. This day everything that had ever occurred in his life was completely clear to his inner vision. It was as if he had missed an opportunity to have a talk with his inner self. It was as if his innermost and most tender core had always had this one little secret hidden away in a very well covered well. Today that deep well of treasures had been opened to Alexander.
In the middle of the gold treasure that he had kept without knowing in the bowels of his soul the painting of a skull had been hidden. A skull with wide-open eyes and a screaming face. It wore an eye patch with long dark hair and its’ grin would scare his daughter during the night. He had never known it was there, but the memory of its’ existence was so deeply rooted in his memory he felt he had been running away from that memory from another existence for a soul’s everlasting eon. He saw a strange face belonging to a tall man seducing someone he knew as his wife. He saw a small village seduced by a tall creature with horns and a forked tail.
Alexander had been sitting there by the table for so long, he could not remember when he last had looked up from his mug. He had registered his wife telling him he must do something. He had registered her telling the crowd something about keeping the spirit of the palace and of the kingdom alive. He had heard polite conversation start. He had heard a laugh or two, a window being opened.
He had seen his family members come up to him one by one and try to communicate. He had all seen them leave. There were words such as “He won’t leave from his place,” or “He seems numb,” or “What is the matter with our king, is he sick?” All he knew was that he could not believe what had just happened. He felt the table under his arms, his own velvet clad, purple elbows resting on heavy mahogany. The gilded silver crown he wore for decoration at feasts resting on his thick dark nest of hair. He saw the wooden, decorated floor on the side of his vision and how people moved about on their pointed red and green and yellow slippers with leather soles. He saw the crackling flames from the ebony, ivory and marble fireplace. He saw the tapestries of biblical tales hanging on the walls. He saw the chandelier that had somehow repaired itself. He saw his own hands covered in chicken fat and wine stains on his white, open shirt. He would not look up, not even when the heavy door occasionally opened and crashed shut as someone returned from a visit to the neighboring dry lavatory, whose secret passageway led to a tower.
For the first time in such a long time he finally looked up. What his eyes met made him cry a very small tear. Silently and tenderly, that tear rolled from the edge of his left eye down his cheek and down to his chin. It hung there, dangled and dropped and fell on his red, black and white ermine trousers. Belinda’s eyes had obviously been fixed upon him for so long that she too had been looking down, obviously praying as to when he actually would meet her stare.
A very faint smile appeared on her lips. The smile was not big and wide, for no smile that big was fit to crown this day. It was the smile of a thousand tears. Hope lay in that luminous smile as well as love. She blinked very slowly and sighed. Alexander could feel that sigh reach him and he sighed as well. He stood up very peacefully and walked around the table. When he reached his daughter, he embraced her. Time seemed to stand still; none of them knew what to say. It was as if no words were even fit or good enough to mend this day. Why say anything and if one did say anything at all how could it possibly encompass what everyone felt? Fear? Hate? Anger? Surprise? Awe? Jealousy? Triumph? Hope? Strength? Fire? Love? Hunger? Thirst? Spirituality? Wisdom? Trepidation?
Alexander felt his daughter’s soft breasts press against his own large chest. The heaving and falling of her chest made a slow breezy sound and as he felt his arms almost entirely surrounding her body he heard her snivel, breathing in some snot that came trickling down from her nose, due to tears.
She took up her cotton handkerchief and blew her nose and then returned it to her cleavage. Outside, the birch trees were swaying in the dusky wind. Unreal was the word he had sought. After almost an eternity sitting by that table a word finally came to mind that actually encompassed the situation. Unreal. Lucinda had promised to return with a deadly curse after thirty years official absence. She had actually returned as promised and not only that. She had returned on almost to the day the anniversary of her exile from the land and her following excommunication.
Belinda looked up, her eyes red from crying.
Alexander knew that she was looking at her so, although he was looking at the crowd now, he took his one hand from behind her back and caressed her cheek. Adoration was in her stare.
“All these people, what are they waiting for?”
Belinda gave out a nervous chuckle, a blend of hope and fear and humor and relief and love. “A miracle” she said. She looked out at the dark sky and smiled, pursing her lips. “A miracle.”
Suddenly, it was as if an angel came to visit his noble heart. He saw his entourage of fellow leaders, he saw his family and then he saw his daughter. Everyone was sitting in small groups of maybe four or five people, chatting quietly and not even willing to leave. It was as if they didn’t dare to leave this room for fear of starting something once leaving. This hall was a protection against the reality that wanted to devour them out there. So they stayed here until something happened for them to get the permission to continue living. Everyone in Medatlantia, at least everyone in this room, had known that Alexander had lived with fear of Lucinda for the past three decades. They knew about her black magic, her promises, her sorcery and her witchery. They knew and they also knew what he never talked about. It would pop out now and then and it was almost taboo to ask him about it.
Belinda’s nightmares were by now a very infamous part of public life. There was an “unspoken and uninvited family member” among them everywhere they went. Funnily enough, that family member was now gone, replaced by a promise. She had taken away the pressure but left something else. What they feared was that they had no idea what that unknown entity actually was.
What was going to happen after this? Alexander took his daughter by the hand and walked to the middle of the Grand Hall. Everyone looked up and suddenly a bright light was in the room.
He wondered at once where that light came from. But then he realized that the light was coming from himself, his own aura and his daughters. They seemed to be the center of all attention and there was great hope in these wonderful people’s eyes again. They were hoping for a rescue.
“Friends,” he began slowly, speaking to a crowd of reverend listeners. “I sat there looking at my own hands that I began to see them changing their form. My mug began looking like a grinning face on a box and my table took the shape of a large toad. I knew something had to be done. I was numb. I searched for the answer. Then I looked up and saw her.” He pointed to his daughter. “My dear Belinda.” He smiled and she leaned against his chest as they stood there in middle of the room. He sighed and chuckled. “It was as if the sun rose in my heart and I suddenly felt the urge to do what my sense of duty seems to compel me to do. Launch you back into what we are actually here to do: celebrate a wedding.” He shook his head. “Don’t let Lucinda win.” He paused, hearing merry murmur and a laugh or two. “I know that you are all contemplating the obvious. I have waited thirty years for this day to arrive. It is as if my heart was plagued by rain and storm the day my sister looked me in the eye so many decades ago and called me a liar, hoping I would rot and if I didn’t she would return in thirty years to ruin my life. She said back then that she would return in three decades to see that my life would become a misery and she did return, but by the Holy Father above I shall not let her make anyone miserable.”
The sigh that followed could have filled a generation. Slowly, the king carried on. “My first reaction back then was to flee. I fled my palace and took a mistress named Madeleine, stayed with her for two months in our mansion at the Baltic coast. My pregnant wife followed me, luckily, and found us – found me – philandering. That occasion nearly had me lose everything, including my land, my respect and my family. Only family’s prayers can be so strong.”
Alexander looked over at his wife and expected a smile. What he got was woman looking away, a woman who had not been able to forget this act of treason for three decades.
“My heart reached out to my wife and my unborn child and I prayed for them to return in time for Patrick to be born and then she did return from her home in Margetania.” He shook his head and uttered a thoughtful, melancholic laugh. “I know that you all know my story and that I as well as this girl here have dreaded for a long time for this day to occur, hoping it never would but knowing what we know. Now it has,” he poignantly added “and I am lost for words. I feel like a lost puppy.” He took Belinda by the hand and began walking around the room. “Most of you have seen and known Lucinda before and some of you are old enough to have witnessed that fateful day thirty years hence. You know that the memory of that day is so etched in ours that it hard to grasp that life once was so gay and happy without that fear hanging over us like a weird promise. We all know that and yet we also know that life is different, it can be better. The fire and imagery that my dear sibling uses is what it is. Self hate. No, I’ll just change that. It is self-loathing. It is the deepest and most profound hunger for glory in compensation for feeling lonely. She spits fire and hopes that it will reach our hearts. It cannot reach our hearts. We have so much to be thankful for. What has she got? She only wants to destroy our happiness. She cannot do that. She just hopes that we will be afraid enough to believe in her lies for that is what these words are. Lies. They only work if we believe in them. What you believe in comes true. Are we afraid? We shouldn’t be. She wants us to be.”
Belinda’s gaze was one of sheer delight. She adored listening to her father save the day. It didn’t happen that often, but when it did it was glorious.
“We shall remember that we have a prosperous kingdom with abundant nature. We have a summer festival coming up where hundreds of entertainers arrive to entertain us. Food is on the table and as far as I care we can party on way after our dear newlyweds have left. The royal family is full of love for each other and for you, urging you to take part in this prosperity, not believing this awful lying person who seems to hope that she can ruin our sleep by spitting acid into our dreams. We have signed a mutual agreement to link our lands and make them one. We are together forever in one pact, yet still unique side by side, helping each other in every situation. We love life, we love negotiation, discussion. We are articulate, religious, passionate, intellectual, philosophical and bright. We love to drink and eat and make passionate love to each other.” He made another pause, kissing his daughter’s forehead. “My daughter has just married her true love. What could possibly be more fantastic than true love, blessed by holy matrimony? Those other things the witch tells us are lies. What do we choose?”
There was laughter again in the hearts of these men and women. Belinda rushing after him, Alexander rushed up to his table and picked up his full mug handed to him by his smiling wife, who was winking at him happily, in her mind telling him that ‘you did that well’. Belinda and Alexander were both laughing as they rushed back with their mugs to the middle of the hall.
Now, Steven had rushed up from his table and the newlyweds met in a long, enchanted and deep kiss. “Let’s propose a toast to the newlyweds.”
The dignitaries raised their glasses and remote, chaotic, mixtures of clanking sounds reverberated against the walls and the ceiling.
“To their glorious future and to the happiness of their children.”
”Hear, hear,” someone said.
There was again a future ahead of them and Alexander, walking back to his table, realized that he had been the one that had been assigned by someone to bring these poor souls back to happiness after the intruder had taken it away from them.
Bantrard started playing a happy song and Patrick stood up to ask Erica to dance. Soon, there were three couples dancing next to where Bantrard was located. One couple was Steven and Belinda. They were deeply in love and seemed never wanting to let go, both closing their eyes.
It was obvious that the ghosts were still here and that the adjective ‘unreal’ still floated around the room like an unwelcome guest. But it didn’t seem to matter to them anymore. There was hope. They had been awoken. More food was brought to the tables. More wine was gulped down, conversation was louder and after a while laughter echoed the rooms. Morgana took Richard into a corner cupboard and made love to him on a squeaky and rattling table. Lance and Fabian chased each other around the Grand Hall. Patricia found the Cocker Spaniel Henry’s funny bone and it became a clear jest for the assembled women to enjoy looking at the dog bang his hind leg against the floor and grin happily, his tongue out and his ears flopping. The dog breeder Escamilla, Mormidar’s wife, was happy that the dog was popular. After all, it had been her present to the family. Alexander sat with his wife Sieglinde and kissed her until the break of day. The evening had been saved. The savior was kissing his wife, happy to again feel like a king.
Alas, somewhere in the distance a wolf was howling. It was the transformed spirit of the witch running back through the forest next to a three-headed dog. The moon had once again reached its full cycle and the bright silver disc was larger than usual that night.
The drooling two beasts were panting angrily and knew that the master was awaiting them soon to hear a report what had occurred back in the castle. All they could see was foliage, leaves, mud, dust, dirt and branches scratching their nostrils, the itch of dry dirt scratching their fur. There was a very eager gaze in all the beastly eyes. There was eagerness to seek the truth, to reach the goal, to find if it was possible to win this game after all after so many eons of pain. Lucinda knew that Alexander had convinced the guests to drink and be merry again. After all, it was a part of her plan. Without their merriment, her plan could never work. She was waiting for the right time to strike.
Back at Iuventus, people again were making love and belching and getting drunk and eating and then going out to the garden to make love again. They were dancing and drinking and feeling good again, all due to her sissy brother and his sweet tender lovely child. That appealed to her. She knew that they needed that. She needed them calm and unsuspicious.
For when she finally did strike, when the four horsemen of the apocalypse really did gallop in to her brother’s empire, there was no turning back not even for her and her demons and Lucinda would not be able to stop the curse from working if she wanted to.
Alexander had a nightmare that night. A ten-headed hound named Kerberos was in it.


CHAPTER EIGHT
SWEET FORGETFULNESS

Late Morning, Thursday, October 15th, 1422 A.D.

The pieces of an original Etruscan vase lay scattered across a Persian rug that lay along the royal bed’s left side. Diagonally to its left was her royal majesty the Queen Sieglinde gazing coldly at the pieces that were a fresh creation by her husband. The look of humour mixed with utter female irritation over male ignorance was unmistakable. Alexander standing helplessly by the bedside, his hands outstretched in helplessness, she turned back toward her mirror and continued combing her hair. “Oops.” he said quietly. The light from the three windows past the mahogany table painted a network picture of early autumn afternoon light on his bearded features.
“We might not have to decide after all where to put that...” Sieglinde put down her make up brush and looked at Rolf who was standing next to the other side of the bed and shook her head.
“Do you now see what I mean?”
Alexander smiled. “I’m sorry, dear.”
Rolf shrugged.
“Madam, everyone drops something sometime…”
Sieglinde raised one eyebrow.
“A vase worth a half million gulden?”
Rolf smiled. Sieglinde looked heavenward and stood up, her silk negligee opening as she strode up and walked to the door. She stopped before she came to it. She looked at Rolf.
“Well?” Rolf looked startled at Sieglinde then at Alexander.
“Well, what?”
Sieglinde laughed. “Aren’t you supposed to act like our faithful houseman?”
Rolf was suddenly awoken from dreams and realized he was not performing his duties. He couldn’t understand why he had not been there at all in the last few days. Maybe waiting for thirty years for that unfulfilled promise had made him believe it never could happen.
It’s like the man who waits all his life for a promotion, he thought to himself. The promise becomes so strong and important that the thought of it becomes more vital than the thing itself. When it happens one never knows what to do with what the one forgotten life long hope.
“Of course, your majesty…”
Sieglinde put up her hand. “Don’t bother. If your first reaction isn’t to help me, than your second reaction will only be a forced lie.” She opened the door, looked right and left for the right help. Saw someone. “Marie-Louise?”
Rolf stepped aside, embarrassed. Alex shook his head, realizing how harsh his wife had become and how weak he had become since Lucinda had reappeared.
A voice answered. “Yes, madam?”
“We have had an...” She looked at the two gentlemen. “...unfortunate incident here that male hands can’t fix and we need female assistance to clean it up. Would you be so kind?”
“At once, madam!”
She left the door open and came back to decorate those attractively aging cheekbones red, pursing her lips and half-closing her eyes. Rolf took a look at her for a moment and excused himself. Sieglinde waited and said nothing. She looked at Alexander who gave her a puzzling look.
“Well, don’t look at me! He can go if he wants to.”
Alexander smiled a heartless, embarrassed smile and waved Rolf so long, who left down a corridor, already lit by torches and was given off-duty-call by the arrival of Marie-Louise, who quickly scurried to the bed and found the vase and started cleaning it up.
Sieglinde did not move from her place, she fiddled with her hair. Ice filled the room very quickly. Alexander walked to the niche and looked out at the west garden. Two ravens were there now picking at the first rotten cherries to fall off the tree. Louis came up and chased them away. He looked up at the sky and at the sunset, felt an itch and adjusted his green satin vest, unbuttoned thrice and sighed. Marie-Louise was not sure whom to address so she addressed the floor.
“Should it be repaired?”
Sieglinde shrugged, coldly. “Ask the husband.”
Alex started chuckling. “The husband. Oh, God. Leave it to the husband that can’t fix it. Do it yourself. For the sake and love of great St. Joseph, the patron saint of fine furniture.”
Marie-Louise looked at Alex. “Oh, yes. The husband says try it,” Alex corrected “And if it doesn’t work throw it in the garbage with the rest of the excrements, like my advice.”
Marie-Louise curtsied once, not knowing if she should laugh or cry.
Silently, she did her chore in complete silence and threw the excrements away in a marble jar that was kept outside in the hallway.
“Will that be all?” she said, scared to her wits. Sieglinde began at the same time as Alexander and stopped when Alexander, chuckling, continued.
“Yes, Marie-Lee” she said fondly. “That will be all. We know where to find you if there is more. Right now, I have to beat up my husband.”
She curtsied, left the room and closed the door behind her. Sieglinde threw the make-up brush on the table and it banged the gilded mirror and almost broke it. “You inconsiderate fool!”
“Oh come, Sieglinde, it was a vase!”
“Is that all?”
“It’s just a vase!” Alex repeated.
“Are you serious?”
“Luigi is a snob. You don’t like his taste in art anyway.”
“I am not talking about the vase!” She emphasized.
“Then what? The money?”
“I am not talking about the vase, I said.” She looked down and shook her head. “We could’ve used that money well by selling it for welfare, but that’s beside the point.” Sieglinde grinned coldly.
“Tell me what’s bothering you.”
Sieglinde cocked her head and gave him a piercing look.
Alexander said nothing. He sighed, put his tongue in his left cheek and walked to the mahogany buffet that stood under the landscape by Grand Master Penderesci. He turned around.
He nodded. “Belinda? Is that what you are angry about?” Sieglinde nodded. “I see your point.”
“You are not going to do anything about it? Sending her off in spite of all of what has happened in this blessed home?”
“What can I do?” he whispered a reply. “Call off a honeymoon that I have nothing to do with? Tell my daughter that she should cancel her plans when I have no decision to make. I think you overestimate our responsibilities. We are the parents of an adult now. Belinda is no longer five.”
“Your daughter is going on a honeymoon with her husband tomorrow for two months and she will not be back so soon. You saw the look on her face at breakfast this morning.”
Alexander walked to the window, turning his back on her.
“Talk to me now, Alexander!”
He turned around and waved his hand at Sieglinde. “Behave, woman... I am not a child.”
“Behave?” she said and turned away from him. “Behave. Well, no matter that your daughter has been threatened by your sister with murder but I shall keep my tongue in place, for I should behave.”
His icy look and staring eyes accompanied a whispered tone. “I love my Belinda more than I love myself. I care about this, but she is intent on going on this honeymoon no matter what. She does not want to have Lucinda destroy her life. She has looked forward to this so long. If we stop her from going what is that going to mean to her married life? I know that this trip is the most important trip in her life for it is the first one of its kind. Shall we hide her in a gilded cage for eternity hoping that no one ever notices the rattling of the bars?”
“And risk her being attacked?”
“You want to hide her here during her honeymoon? You can’t protect her all her life. I refuse to let my sister ruin my family’s life for the third time around. I will not lock my daughter up due to my sister’s lousy tries to ruin my peace and that of my dear ones.”
“I understand that, dear,” Sieglinde responded, “But can’t we convince them to change the location so that they will be closer?”
”To us?”
”Yes. I’d feel safer.”
Alex shook his head and laughed. “Lucinda waited thirty years to do this. Do you think she will come back so soon? An attacker waits a while until he or she attacks again. We are on guard. She won’t attack now. I know her.”
“Then when will she attack? Name the place and the date.” the queen spat. “Honey, she is unpredictable. Don’t say you knew when she was coming. You set the date of Belinda’s wedding to the day the mansion burned down, so don’t tell me about your prophetic abilities.”
Alexander shrugged his shoulders.
Sieglinde threw down her brush on the table again and sighed. “I hope you are right. For all I know, she might want to get it over with.”
Alexander shook his head. “She plans well. She prepares and she wants to surprise.”
”Surprise?” Sieglinde whispered half in thought. “She already did that a few times.”
“I will not encage my daughter because my sister plays a prank on us.”
“A prank?” Sieglinde started shouting with laughter. Outside Rolf and Marie-Louise were listening and shaking their heads. “You call that whole hullabaloo a prank? What did she say? Three plagues shall curse the land? That is everything, Allie, but a prank. Excuse me.”
“Think about my feelings for once, will you, woman! I waited thirty damn years for what happened last week and I still have a hard time accepting it. Her curse set my feelings in uproar and it took all of my power to calm the court down.”
“Alexander. Take it easy.”
“No, you take it easy,” the king hollered. “I am a weakling and you have no understanding for the fact that I am terrified of not being able to help my own daughter. Can you understand that? I stood there listening to that bitch talk and I had no way of stopping her in fear of being killed myself. Do you understand what I am saying? My unfaithful behaviour thirty years ago was fear. Only fear.”
Sieglinde stepped back and sighed. “I don’t know you any more, you never talked to me like that ever. Not even during our hardest years.”
“I am frustrated.” He shook his head. “I can help the whole world, but not her...”
She looked worried and gazed back at the mirror and the brush.
“So what are you going to do?” Sieglinde screamed back. “Throw the past in my face?”
There was a long pause. “I don’t want to throw the past in your face. I am just afraid.”
“What is bothering you?” There was a long, poignant pause. “Talk to me, Alex. Tell me.”
Alexander made an agreeing-sound. “Everything and nothing.”
“No,” she said. “I know that face. What is it that I don’t know? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nomed suddenly decided that he needed to leave the country.” Sieglinde turned to Alex with a surprised look.
“I know.” Alex looked at her. “Alexander, what are you saying?”
“Don’t you think that is suspicious? I mean, here he is, planning to stay forever and then suddenly one day before Lucinda comes back some messenger arrives we never see to tell him his king is sick.”
“What is the problem with that?” He shrugged. “Darling, are you saying you think he is involved in Lucinda’s arrival?” He shrugged again. She looked back into the mirror. “Good God, you can’t be serious.” She walked to the mirror and looked at herself in it. “Nomed is an artist. I mean, really.”
“That is precisely the point. Who would ever accuse an artist like him of something like that? Why not lure everyone by, I don’t know what I am saying, but you know my point. He might be involved. Look at the way he arrived and impressed us all. We got him to become my personal secretary, showed him secret papers. Hell, he might even be Lucinda.”
Sieglinde shook her head and laughed. She walked up to him and slapped him on the chest.
“You are a crazy man.” She kissed him. “Don’t start imagining things. His whereabouts is the least of our worries right now. You need to worry about our daughter.”
“We need to worry about our country.” Alex smiled, cynically. “Our daughter is tough as nails. Everything is possible, Sieglinde. Everything. Trust me. I know my sister very well.”
At that moment, Belinda walked in, trying a smile on for her parents. She was wearing a blue and white dress and tried to swing around and seem romantically frilly, but managed only a small limp. Through her tears she said:
“Are you fighting?”
Sieglinde shook her head. “No.” she said and kissed her husband’s hand. “Just discussing politics.” She grabbed her husband’s arm. “You know us. Always talking about important issues.”
“Darling, we love you” Alexander filled in.
Belinda nodded. “I love you too.” There was sadness in that adoration. “How do I look?”
The parents nodded, “Fine, dear!” and turned to face her.
“You know, father, I think I will wear this at the arrival in the resort.”
“Seems like a good idea,” Alex said.
Belinda lip was trembling, but she was hiding it well.
“You know how much I am looking forward to this.”
But she couldn’t make it any longer, she fell on her knees and started sobbing, tears running down her cheeks. The two parents ran up to her and tried to get her on her knees and she seemed so frail, they took her to the bed where she embraced her mother and held her father’s hand, Sieglinde on the one side and Alex on the other.
“Shush. Baby. Quiet.” Sieglinde looked at her husband. “Tough as nails, huh?”
“Stop it.”
“I thought the nightmares were over.”
“They are, baby.” Alex caressed his daughter on the cheek. “They are.”
”What does her appearance mean?”
”An empty threat.” Sieglinde shook her head. “She hates you because you are happy, successful and loved everything she is not.” She pointed to Alexander. “What your father said is true. She’s full of hot air. She wants to scare you. We must not let her scare you.”
There was a tear in Sieglinde’s voice that Alex hadn’t noticed before and somehow it moved him. Lucinda might even be angry with him for the love of Belinda. Yes, that was it. Alexander filled in quietly as Belinda listened, her eyes wide-open.
As Alex told the story, Steven came in, smiling at Belinda. She took his hand quietly and kissed it. “She is full of magic tricks and nonsense. She promised to kill Walter von Ochsenskiöld and never did. Lucinda even put a curse on Sieglinde once to prevent her from having children. And look what happened instead, six babies later?”
Belinda looked down and dried a tear. She leaned against her father.
Steven spoke. “Your father is right. She has the magic. She can use it to surprise us and nothing more. Only if we believe in it will it have the power.”
Belinda looked down, holding on to hope. Belinda smiled. Alex caressed his daughter’s cheek.
“Believe in the good light. Don’t let yourself be scared away by spooks!” She nodded.
“Promise?” She nodded again.
“Now, show us what you had in mind for the opening reception.”
She did and with that the tears were gone, all least for the day.

Friday, October 16th, 1422 A.D.

“Are you sure you are all right now, dear?”
Belinda’s eyes fluttered and her face smiled at everyone that stood assembled, she felt like someone that was being sent upon a long journey somewhere unexpected for the first time in her life. Her five siblings were there and so were Geena and Rolf and Marie-Louise and Louis. The coachmen Philip and Marcus were trying not to notice how insecure she was but they all saw it. She loved going and yet she was scared that something, anything, might happen on the way there or while they spent time in the luscious mansion awaiting their arrival.
She dared not show it to anyone, although they knew that she felt it. She could not fool anyone. That is the kind of face she had, this Belinda.
“Yes, mother. I am fine.”
She turned to Steven.
“We are going to have a grand time, aren’t we?”
He nodded. “Yes.” he told his wife and then turned to the queen. “Don’t worry, mother. The honeymoon of our lives is awaiting us on the other side of that road.”
Sieglinde smiled. She caressed her daughter’s cheek. “You see, nothing to worry about.”
Belinda faked a casual conversation. “What is on the agenda for all of you now?”
Sieglinde began to speak. “Well, Maria and Martin are going back to their mansion to check up on their land and the people who run it. Patrick is going with Erica on a trip away from all this. Patricia and some girls from the senatorial families are travelling to the Wiltas to help fund the rebuilding of the second nun’s convent. Ellie and Marcus are going on a visit to Margetania to check up on my family.”
“Why don’t you do that, mother?”
“I have things to do here. I am tired.”
Ellie spoke. “Mother thought we should have some time with grandmother. She is old.”
Belinda nodded. She looked over at Morgana. “What about you?”
Morgana smiled, faintly. “Richard and I are taking a journey to Danehamn. Ulfaas has invited us there. We want to inspect the troops.”
Belinda smiled. “Good luck.” For good measure, she added: “Nice of you to do that for me.”
They kissed. This small peck ignited a blaze of kisses between all the assembled.
Whilst Steven kept them all busy, Alex took his girl aside and spoke to her in confidence. The gravel under their feet crunched as they walked.
“Are you all right?”
Belinda sighed. She looked over at Steven, who was caught up in a conversation with Patrick.
She looked at the coach that they were about to travel in. Then she looked at they second coach that Marcus was assigned to drive with its entire luggage. The four horses, two on each coach, seemed to be restless.
“What?” She looked at her father and there was a very serious look on her face. Her eyes were transparent now. “I feel myself constantly thinking of her.”
Alexander looked toward the exit gate of the mansion. It was the same gate now as then. He remembered that day of infamy so well.
“I keep thinking of those eyes and that day. Those words. That dog. I think of Nina Ray and that she knew of that girl way before that woman most probably had been trained to kill.”
“How do we know that? Nina Ray may have looked twenty, but we both know that these messengers have a way of lying about their age. That was eleven years ago. She might be thirty wherever she is now and if so then she was in training when you were captured.”
He saw Belinda worried gaze. “I don’t know.”
“Sweetie, Lucinda threw curses on us every day back when she lived here. She even put a curse on Cretan that he might never ever get into the Senate. Now he is the head of the Senate. Lucinda is angry because we have ignored and hated her for thirty years. She screamed at me back then that she would return in three decades to haunt me, but that is just her trying to make us feel that her magic tricks are part of some eternal plan. Trust me, she is full of lies and tricks and nonsense. She plans things way in advance to get back at people. Then she makes people believe she has some dark power behind her to back it up.”
Belinda nodded. “She did wait eleven years, did she not? If she had wanted to kill us, she could’ve done so in 1392 and in 1411.”
”By the lake she could have done it or through Nina Ray or last Friday.” Alexander whispered. “Don’t forget that this whole routine is her way to make us afraid. She throws out these huge plans and then makes the effort look like it is part of a grand cataclysm and makes you wait for it. Then she arrives and makes you wait even longer. Finally, you are pleading for her to beat you up.”
Belinda said, her eyes widening. “We have had two warnings. There will be a third, will there not?” Belinda began to cry. Steven looked their way and Alex took his girl further away and held her tight.
“No, princess.” He held her and caressed her. Belinda put her head against his chest. “Don’t get too involved in this thing. Forget Lucinda. Leave on your trip and it will show her that we are not afraid of her. Have the time of your life, eat, drink and make sweet nuptial love with your husband. Show her that you are a strong woman and will not be intimidated. No Winsletenna has ever been intimidated and you shall certainly not be the first one.” Belinda looked up. Alex took a handkerchief and dried a tear. “Her greatest weapon is our fear. If we are not afraid she is powerless. Don’t give her that power. She will try to scare you with illusions, but that is all they are. Illusions. You have a glorious life, a glorious husband, a glorious mother, a glorious father.”
She laughed and nodded and wept. “The best.”
“You are glorious, beautiful, talented and intelligent.”
She chuckled and blew her nose.
“Exactly. I am extraordinarily sappy.”
“Lovely and emotional” her father corrected her. “You are. Sweetheart, be as aloof and arrogant and funny as you always have been. Don’t change. Drive us as crazy as you always have.”
She giggled, a few tears running down her cheeks. “You have a reason to feel confident. You are a queen. Remember that?” She nodded. “Promise?”
Belinda nodded. “I promise.”
“Now go and have a good time!”
She smiled. Steven came toward them. “Is everything in order?”
Belinda dried her eyes. She nodded.
“Fine, sugarplum. Let us leave.” He caressed her with a worried expression on his face. She embraced Steven as if she was afraid he would leave her at any given moment, grabbing his arms and chest with a power that surprised both him and her father. “I love you!”
Steven was a little dumbfounded. “I love you, too!”
Belinda walked to the carriage and left Steven behind.
“Whatever did you tell her, Alex?”
Alex shrugged. “Something for her to take with her on the journey.” When he saw that Steven still did not understand, he said. “Words of encouragement. I don’t know why she cried,” he continued. “I told her that there is nothing to fear and that she will be fine with you by her side.
”I promise she will be safe.” Alex nodded and made a solemn agreeing sound. Steven stood there looking at his love, his mind seeming to drift into space and then at once turned to Alex and hugged him hard. “Thank you, dear man. See you in a few months.”
“Take care of my girl.”
He jumped in the carriage after Belinda. Both of them waved.
“Bye, be good now.” the bride waved. Everyone waved back.
Patricia said: “Don’t count on that.”
”At least not me.” Morgana cried. “I won’t even try.”
The coachmen whipped the horses into motion and two hands disappeared into the carriage. One by one, the family walked in through the main entrance of the castle, leaving Sieglinde and Alex standing there alone and watching the two coaches leave.
Crown Princess Belinda Winsletenna and Prince Regent Steven of Gargetania waved one last good bye to the family before withdrawing their hands and snuggling up into the carriage to enjoy their first day alone as a married couple after three weeks of nuptial celebration of company.
The siblings and family left by foot, some in pairs and some alone, leaving the king and the queen alone in front of the door of the marble arched entrance with its white statues of Gods, birch trees and Dorian columns. The two planted areas of grass lawn with floral arrangements ended in a sandstone fountain that had Poseidon holding a shell. Water was pouring out of it.
Alexander was looking at it, whilst Sieglinde gazed the other way toward the exit her daughter was now using to leave the grounds. It was an open space. Gravel under the hooves of the horses, her child was now riding into unknown territory.
Then she saw her husband looking at the statue. She looked at him, curiously.
“Sweetheart,” she finally said. “What’s the matter?”
He looked at her with an open expression. “I just told her that that Lucinda is full of hot air, that her own power only is strong because of our fear of her.”
Sieglinde smiled. “Yes, that might be true.” she said and looked at the fountain. “What does that have to do with the statue of Neptune?”
Alexander sighed. “My thoughts are far fetched, but logical.” He waved toward the disappearing carriage holding his daughter and son-in-law. “We might have our Perseus right there in that coach,” he said, slowly albeit dreamily.
Sieglinde pursed her lips. “You are comparing Steven to a Greek hero?”
Alexander smiled, wind blowing in his hair and beard, making him resemble Poseidon a bit. “According to Greek mythology, Poseidon sent the Ketos Aithiopios, a ferocious sea monster, to Aithiopia because Kassiopeia had the hubris to claim she was more beautiful than Andromeda. So they chained Andromeda to a rock as an offering. Perseus came just in time, however, on his winged horse Pegasus to save Andromeda and slew the monster.”
“Are you saying that Lucinda is as jealous of Belinda’s beauty as Kassiopeia was of Andromeda?” Sieglinde asked Alexander a bit bemused.
“Yes, I am.” he answered. He looked over at the wagon, which was just disappearing out of sight. The water from the fountain was splashing down into the water in the distance. “I am also saying that our son-in-law might be her saviour if something happens to her.”
“If something happens to her, darling,” she responded quietly, “it might be him, yes, and we can be happy that we have him as a husband to our child.” She chuckled softly and sighed. “On the other hand, you might also be her saviour if something happens. Have you thought of that?”
Alexander nodded and kept on looking at the fountain for a bit. Minutes turned into hours that day and the couple had their quiet dinner on the terrace just looking at the fountain.
When they went to bed that night, Alexander Roderick Winsletenna dreamt of King Neptune.

Wednesday, October 28th, 1422

Belinda looked out the one large leaded glass window of the thermal bath. The green birch trees outside swayed in the wind. She could barely see a squirrel shoot up the stem of it through the green glass. She suspected it was cold outside because she imagined seeing the little paws shaking. In here it was warm and that made her feel safe. It was nice to be spending the honeymoon in a private palace so warm.
“Thank Goodness for the Neapolonian Queen,” Steven had said, referring to her gift of sending the newly weds to Urbania as a wedding gift. There were new servants here and larger beds, three lit fireplaces in every room and plates of food cooked by whom she had no idea, apparently all arranged by the Queen herself. Except the occasional walk they took and the nightly concert, all they seemed to be doing was making love, bathing and drinking wine. Belinda seemed to be feeling better and this made her happy. The worry about discovering Lucinda around the corner was vanishing. At the same time as feeling so good, another part of Belinda was afraid of relaxing.
Steven was holding his cup in his left hand and embracing Belinda with his right hand. At times his hand travelled up to her hair and at times down to her right breast. She would smile every time that happened. Belinda leaned against Steven, sipping white wine slowly from her bronze cup.
“Never drink wine in a thermal bath,” her mother had once said. “That will make you even more drunk.”
To tell the truth, it was quite nice knowing that this was legally approved. She could get as drunk and as randy as she wanted. By Jove, she was supposed to get randy. Drunk? That went along with the territory. The wind made a peaceful, comfortable sound and the hot thermal water seemed to animate the couple to kiss each other until their lips were numb. Outside the thermal bath, in their wardrobe room, three musicians were playing “Bedroom Roses” in variations. The rebec and the aulos were accompanying the fidiculas’ main melody. Everything was being transported through a little hole in the door. They had been urged not to stop playing in case “indiscreet noises were to be heard through the entry”. This had been a request from Steven Belinda didn’t care. No, she wanted them to hear how they were making love to each other. Maybe that would inspire them to become better musicians. Belinda laughed at this prospect, imagining the musicians peeking through the hole and getting excited watching the royals at it.
Belinda’s tongue met Steven’s earlobe and circled it several times until she took his entire ear in her mouth and nibbled. With her other hand she stroked his gender.
Steven managed to take the gold flask from the green and blue mosaic edge and fill Belinda’s cup. Belinda looked up at Steven and saw his eyes fluttery and melancholy. “Anything the matter?” He smiled and looked at her. She took a sip of her wine and so did he.
“I am just asking myself how my wife is doing.” He smiled. “Honestly.”
She smiled smugly and rubbed his chest. “You are a tease,” she mused. “I am nearly raping you here,” she said, continuing to rub herself against him, “and you ask me how I am. How do you think I am?”
“I imagine that you are well,” he responded.
“Certain body parts are sore. I must admit.” She blinked at him and let her hand travel down between his legs again. “I am drunk, hot, full, giggly and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He kissed her tenderly, his tongue dancing around affectionately within her. His mouth travelled to her neck, where he started to wet her skin with his saliva.
“I just hope that my wife is not thinking any more about nightmares.” He caressed her ever so tenderly. “That is all I am concerned about, plum pie.”
Belinda shrugged and Steven looked her in the eyes. Dear sweet truth, those reindeer browns made him melt.
“I can’t afford it, Steven. If I would, I would burst. You keep bringing those topics up at the wrong moments don’t you? Are men always like that?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I can only speak for myself.”
She rubbed his gender again until it stood straight up above the water.
“Then speak of love,” she said and panted. “Speak of carnally nuptial desire.”
She moved away from her seat in the hot water, straddling his groin, slowly letting his manhood enter her fully, inch by inch. She rode him slowly and calmly. He took her breasts in his hands. “How can I think about nightmares when my dream come true is inside my body?”
He rubbed her back and let his hands stroke her derriere. Belinda closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of having her husband’s masculinity penetrate her gap.
“Wave your aunt goodbye, darling,” he whispered. “You were mumbling her name in sleep last night.”
Belinda stopped riding him and looked at Steven deep in the eyes. She sighed, his gender still inside her. “Really? I spoke of her in my sleep?” She rode him up and down a bit and then stopped. “What did I say?”
”Lucinda. Lucinda, when?”
She embraced him tenderly and Steven continued. “It has been on my mind all day. I could not help myself, but I could never tell you about it. You know that it has happened before.”
“I know, but I am fine with that idea.” She spoke, almost whispering now, caressing his wet hair. “My father said something very smart, sweetheart.” She looked at her husband and smiled, still riding his gender. “He said that no Winsletenna has ever been intimidated and I shall certainly not be the first one.”
She kissed him and their mouths were drenched in a mixture of sweat and thermal water and saliva. She stopped and sighed. “I shall never be intimidated again.” Lovingly, she began to ride him again. She closed her eyes and threw her head up as she continued. “My aunt’s biggest weapon is our fear. Since she has been responsible for broken promises before, I shall not count on this one either.” As she rode him, she finished: “I want to have children with you.” She panted again. “Let’s make some children. My dulcis viscus. Let us simply tell Lucinda that Re vera, cara mea, mea nil refert.”
Steven lifted his wife out from the water and stood up, holding her by the bottom, still inside her, and laid her next to the open fireplace on the sheepskin rug. Belinda moaned, as he licked her right earlobe while entering her again and again. “Let us tell her that. Children, here we come.”
The orchestra played a fast variation now. Apparently, they were inspired by whatever was going on inside the thermal bath or whatever they thought was going on. Belinda felt the difference now. It was fruitful love as opposed to dry, fruitless hate. Steven supported himself on both of his hands and watched her body convulse as he came into his spouse in spurts.
She wrapped her legs around him and embraced his back. Steven took her breasts in his hand and kissed their nipples. He felt himself tingle. Belinda squeezed her eyes shut, flashes of light and fire soaring through her body. The notes from the orchestra were a blur, the wind in the trees a race of silence. She felt the ground beneath her shake and the drops of water trickling down her body. Fire in her soul, wind in the trees, ground shaking, water on her body. The tempo all four elements was racing growing faster and faster, until the married couple began slowing down and finally fell down on top of each other in a tired sweat.
For a long while, the orchestra kept on playing the same tune over and over. The fire crackled inside the fireplaces and both of them lay there on sheepskin fur, camel fur and bison fur, silk covering their bodies just listening to the wind. Steven was caressing his wife’s hair.
Finally, breaking that silence, Belinda asked: “Steven!”
”Yes?” he responded, half in thought, captured by the dancing flames.
“Do you believe her?”
“Who?”
Belinda’s eyes moved heavenward. “Lucinda, of course. The woman we were speaking of.”
He responded without even thinking twice. “I believe your aunt is a frustrated woman who is angry because your father sent her away. I believe she has dark powers, but that those powers are unable to work unless we believe in them. Your experience should teach you the same. I believe it can be true only if we believe what she believes.”
She paused. “I hope so.”
He kissed her on the shoulder and brought Belinda her toga. She put it on.
“I’d rather you raise something else. You are going to be overworked when this honeymoon is over.” she said coyly and waddled onward, bending over and showing him her derriere. “Let’s make some more love. Give that child another chance to enter me.” Together they walked into the wardrobe hall to order the some supper. “After supper, that is.”
At supper that evening, by candlelight and torches and to Prosperanian music by who else but
Bantrard Silvermoon, they mutually decided this was their honeymoon and they intended to enjoy it without any conversation about this person that had disturbed their wedding feast.

November 1422

Belinda was worried that she was forgetting to be cautious. Then again, that was natural these days. She went back and forth between neglecting the memory and pondering over its reoccurring thoughts. Somehow royal people all over the continent waited for something to happen and soon, not knowing what would happen.
What had Lucinda said? Three plagues? When would the first one arrive? She had missed that.
Alexander pushed it all away, ignoring every rumour and every story.
Messengers were crisscrossing the continent with messages such as “Are you experiencing attacks?” Mormidar, once back in Madrid, inquired: “Is there Civil War yet? Is there a drought? A flood? Any plagues to speak of?” The rumours of Lucinda’s arrival had spread throughout the known world and people were saying that Lucinda was now officially back in Prosperania. Most of all, every one was surprised to see that things didn’t worsen. On the contrary, they improved.
Belinda, much to her surprise, was feeling great. Curse? No, no curse. Every problem was solved easily every issue was discussed thoroughly. Even Morgana and Patrick were behaving.
Furthermore, the young couple felt wonderful. The cooks and maids made new exotic dishes and desserts for them every single day. The spa in Urbania was a great experience in every way. In time they began stressing the fact that excursions would be a good asset to all the eating and all the love making and bathing. So, a time of discovery began. Listening to the private concerts, they felt culturally informed. Getting tours of the local villages and towns, they felt they had a grasp over the continent that they were ruling. They went on long excursions in the mountains and read each other poems when they couldn't sleep. They disappeared into their bedroom and stayed there for days on end, with regular breaks for food and calls of nature. The maids sniggered behind their backs and were calling the Prince "a stud."
Regularly, the maids would come in when Steven was not there. Finally, Belinda said that he was her husband and that she would have no more of this "juvenile gibberish“, but she had said it with such a disarming smile that the maids burst out, yet again, in fits of giggles.
She was getting quite sick of that, although it was quite funny.
Steven thought it all silly, but he always ended up laughing along with them.
What bothered Belinda with all of this was that she was being lulled into false insecurity. She felt as if she wanted to worry, but could not. Belinda was still dreaming strange dreams.
She was dreaming of standing in the sunflower field alone with a brilliant sunshine, looking at the horizon and seeing a gigantic black cloud coming her way. A piece of her mind was falling asleep, telling her: “Don’t forget that Lucinda always keeps her promises.”
The pregnancy was diagnosed on Friday the 17th of November that year and a messenger had already galloped away to notify the royal palace. By their arrival in Iuventus Sacrum shortly before Christmas everyone knew and it seemed that Clurafar, yes even the entirety of Prosperania knew about it.

Wednesday, December 23rd, 1422 A.D.

Within the colony of Urbania in the south of Alliland miles west of Vindobon by the colonies, where they had lived, the climate had miraculously stayed hot until way into the wintertime. Back in Clurafar, winter had arrived. The sturdy stallions had done a spectacular job in bringing the very well bundled up couple back to the palace. Their trip had taken many days and they had slept in numerous different palaces on the way home. Though they treasured foreign food, there was nothing as sacred as the fond warm home cooking of Mrs. Johnstone.
Iuventus was all in white when they returned, a winter wonderland. Poseidon covered in snow. Both the prince and the princess were dressed in large furs when they returned, laughing all the way home, giddy on the wine they had drunk in the carriage. They walked into the side entrance and brushed off.
“Belinda!” Alexander shouted, embraced her and laughed. He took her up and swung her around. She smelled of snow, perfume, winter, happiness and like his daughter. Ruby came and took her highness’ coat.
“All the fireplaces are stuffed with burning logs for you,” he mused.
Belinda stroked her father’s cheek.
“Nothing like getting drunk in front of the fire, huh, you rascal?”
Alex embraced Steven as Belinda rushed to Marie-Louise.
”Hi, Belinda! How are you?”
She gave him a hug.
“Let me introduce my husband, Belinda!” Belinda took the young man’s hand and knew very well that the young man at times helped them as a stable boy. “We are married, Lindy!”
Belinda shone up like a light. “No! Since when?”
“Since the beginning of November!” the young man said. “My name is Robert, your highness!” The young man was thin, unshaved and dark haired. In spite of his very weak outer appearance, the man had a disarming smile and dancing eyes. He kept to himself in the stable. After all, there were a dozen stable boys there. Now, he would spend more time here.
“Congratulations! Is she behaving well now, Robert?”
Robert nodded, shyly. “Yes. She’s the best!”
She hugged the couple. “Love you both!”
She walked to her father and they walked up the stairs.
"How many people have you told, Father?" she inquired, wide-eyed, as they arrived. Alex laughed, grinning proudly, as they cleaned off the snow off their shoes and coats.
"Just the entire country, my dear."
"Oh, father, you’re incorrigible." Geena came down from the Alexander-Room having arranged for the hot, spiced wine and dried fruit. "Oh, Geena, how are you, my dear? How is Rolf? “
"Oh, he hurt his back again by carrying too much weight around." She shook her head. "That man does not know he is old.“
"I am not old, Geena.." Rolf protested behind Belinda, joining them from the wine-cellar.
"Hello, Rolf." She said, walked up to him and hugged him.
"How was your honeymoon, my sweet?"
"Marvellous!" Belinda answered, rubbing her red dimples. Geena was helping Belinda out of hats and coats while Rolf helped Steven. Again, Alex watched Geena talk to Belinda like her own daughter. "We had the time of our lives, we saw so much…"
“We had the most extraordinary cooks.”
"We ate so much food…" Belinda continued enthusiastically. “All very bad for my figure.”
"We’ll have to do lots of riding and fencing now, Alexander." Steven continued.
"Getting back into shape will be hard," Belinda finished. “We will make it, won’t we?”
“Come up." Alex said, and took Steven by the arm. “Let’s sit in the Alexander Room and get ferociously pissed in front of the open flames.” Alexander laughed stridently.
Belinda gave Rolf a radiant smile. She was wearing a thick blue satin dress and her brown hair was up and tied in a bow under her hat. She wanted to be pretty when she returned back and had arranged that in the carriage.
"So Rolf," She patted his arm and put her hand under it. "Geena tells me you carry to much weight around. Can I help you with your chores?”
"Well,." Rolf chuckled, caught by the enthusiasm of his secret love. He looked at her. "Maybe you can tuck me in at night." He laughed and pointed at Geena. "She just makes a fuss, the old lass! She keeps me on my toes so much that I will never get old in her company."
"You know that you should take a day off now and then. You work way too much."
"Oh, well, Belinda. You know I love the work." Rolf answered, smiling.
She nodded.
"That is fine then, but don’t go complaining or sweating now.”
Sieglinde came rushing down the stairs. "Belinda."
"Mother."
She embraced her daughter with both hands on her cheeks and beamed.
"How is my pumpkin?"
Belinda started laughing. "Mother, you haven't called me that since I was three…"
“How can you remember that?” Sieglinde looked at the others, comically surprised. "It's high time we revived it then, don't you agree?" She opened her arms. "Steven!"
“Well rested I come into your arms, mother."
“I can just imagine, honeymooner! Well rested, oh yes."
“Oh, mother! Please!"
Out of the first floor sitting room, beyond the mahogany alcove with the ceramic flowers and the leaded glass windows, ten people came rushing out and embraced the newlyweds. Alexander beamed, for his daughter was back home now at the palace. Belinda again walked with her father up the stairs, both of them red and jittery, were glad to be able to embrace one another again.
“Are you all right?” Alex inquired.
Belinda nodded, calmly. “Steven keeps telling me I’ve never looked better. I believe him. He hammered in the fact that I should stop worrying about Lucinda so many times that now I have difficulty remembering what she actually was to me except a pestilence and an insect.” she laughed.
Alexander sighed. His gaze drifted off out the window onto the snowy branches outside.
“Yes, she is.” Alexander seemed again distant, as if something troubled him.
“All the more reason to get drunk then, huh?” He turned to her and smiled, somewhat unconvincingly.
“Ah, dear.” he said. He raised his eyebrows and nodded, his voice now matter-of-fact and a bit tongue-in-cheek. “I’ve missed you, you know. You and your capability to turn everything on its head.”
Belinda smiled. “Father, you and your unending, impervious humour. I have missed you.”
She caressed his hair. “Father. Let me tell you about our trip.” They walked hand in hand down the hall toward the throne room, like turtledoves.
“I want to hear about that child of yours. How is he behaving?”
”Aww, kicks now and then, sleepsa lot, turns. But he is going to be just as feisty as his granddad.” she jested. “Maybe it is a she.” She thought for a bit. “I think it’s a boy, though.”
“Why?”
“He loves marching around inside my stomach like an army general,” she giggled. “I know he is enjoying himself, father: He seems to feel as if we include him in all the conversation.”
“You feel all that from inside?”
”My sixth sense is very highly developed.”
”That I know.”
With these words, they strode into the room with the large red carpet and the huge fireplace. They sat down and listened to the princess and her prince in their bemused chatter about love.


The Christmas Holidays, 1422 A.D.

Upon returning from honeymoon in paradise, as they called it, Steven and Belinda resumed their royal activities aided by Alexander. Now as a royal couple they had more responsibility. Steven was the aide-de-champ, up-and-coming ruler and royal husband and Belinda was the representative of her country and, of course, as the future Queen Belinda I.
Lucinda’s name was hardly ever mentioned. During the cooking of the Christmas dinner Geena and Ruby mentioned in passing that the storm seemed to be over. Alexander and Belinda were overseeing the plans for senatorial meetings and a comment or two was delivered about “the sister”. Morgana never bothered. She found her aunt “too vulgar”.
The turkeys and geese and ducks had been cooked, the baked apples and bean stews and the Elk Pudding, as well, along with the cranberry stew. The peacock and swans, the ostrich, the goose and the wine were devoured. The muscatel and the cider ale were brought forth. There were songs sung, Bantrard and his band played tunes while blind man’s buff games and hide and seek was being played through out the palace. In the same hall as where Lucinda reappeared there was a grand Christmas feast. No one talked about the fact that eight weeks ago a volcano had erupted here.
It was there, the ghoul from the past. It was an unspoken secret that everyone was mildly aware of what had happened or, more important, what was going to happen in the future.
Long nights by fires were spent and late morning hangovers were celebrated drinking newly imported tea from a Hispanic ship that arrived in Danehamn. There were fine lovers holding hands. The Winsletennas seemed to have a wondrous yuletide to say the least, the ghoul of Lucinda following them like an irritating hound all the way.
The chapel was full every day during the Christmas season and hardly anyone left the palace as this turned out to be the hardest winter in memory. Luckily enough, there was an entire cellar of firewood and the palace was constantly heated in all corners.
The eternal flame of torches in every corner was kept alive and someone in the family was always awake to light a candle, a torch or a flame.
The little child within Belinda was growing. There were meetings and conferences, parchments to be signed. Warrants to fill out and messengers to send. Steven’s troop-inspection seemed rather unnecessary right now. Two and a half months after Lucinda’s arrival the country was in blossoming shape. There was time to sing, to play, to represent, to have Senators come over and arrange for bureaucratically registered decisions, all in all the peace was almost tangible.
Most of the time was spent taking care of the woman that was to give birth soon enough. Belinda was forgetting to remember.
She was speaking to the little one in her stomach all the time, including him in everything. She felt her breasts ache and her moods swing and most of all nausea and vomiting was a daily occurrence that Christmas. There simply was no time to think of Lucinda.

Saturday, April 24th, 1423

Saturdays were always the nicest days for the princess. That was the day when she had time to picnic with her father, take a ride with Steven or maybe just take care of the baby.
The child seemed to grow bigger and wilder every day. Although Belinda did have trouble sleeping, leg cramps and frequent visits to the dry lavatory being the reason, she always woke up reasonably happy. No one needed to wake her. The little one always, without exception, woke her up by kicking her in the stomach. Geena’s first assignment every day was to give her royal highness a silver cup of ginger tea, an ancient recipe good for pregnant women known since the Roman Empire thanks to the eastern traders.
That was also the drink that she had with that day as she sat with her father by the statue of Poseidon. They had been talking for almost an hour now and there seemed to be no end to the conversation. A potato apple cake, also containing pregnancy-aiding ginger, was brought with along with tons of grapes and oranges.
A small podium had been erected by the fountain and upon it two large ebony chairs with large satin pillows. Belinda sat with her stomach prominently mounting the celestial array and fanned herself with a large fan.
“Is he whirling and turning?” Alexander chanted, taking a sip of his muscatel.
Belinda listened to the splash of the water from Poseidon’s shell, dipped her fingers in the water and freshened up her dry neck. She nodded.
“He always does,” she spoke, smiling. “I think he wants to get out. It’s a little crowded in that stomach of mother’s pride.”
Alexander chuckled, leaned over to her belly and crooned: “Not yet, son. Granddad wants his peace a little while longer.”
Belinda threw in a grape into her mouth and shook her head: “You call that peace? Fetching food for me day and night and chasing around the palace to find Steven all the time?” She looked down onto her protruding, gloriously fertile and effeminate abdomen and whispered, “I think your grandfather is a wee bit tipsy. Either that or crazy.”
“Both, me lass.” Alexander hummed. “Both.”
Belinda laughed again, sipping on her tea and closing her eyes to drench in the solar energy.
“Father,” she finally said, the audible water soothing her soul.
“Yes?” he asked, enjoying the time with his girl.
“You know what makes me happy?”
“What, dear?”
“That the vomiting has stopped.” she said. She opened her eyes. “I mean, there were times when I was sick every night. Am I moody?” Alexander shrugged and eyed heavenward. Belinda pursed her lips. “Yes, I know. More moody than usual then?”
“Well,” the king said. “Sometimes you were a bit on the strenuous side, but that is the way it should be. Geena has the largest quantity of food in the kitchen known to man. We want a healthy heir to the throne, a buck with fresh appetite and large nostrils.”
Belinda laughed. “Why large nostrils? So he can smell your farts?”
Alexander chuckled. “Well, he has an old fart as a grandfather without the addition of flatulent bellies, so why not? All we want is for mother and child to grow up healthy and wealthy and potent.”
They both broke out into fits of laughter.

Sunday, April 25th, 1423 – Night time, Belinda’s second prophetic dream

In her dream, Belinda Winsletenna was running down one of the longer hallways in the palace. She was not pregnant anymore and this did not seem to resemble any reality she knew, although this was the home of her fathers.
It seemed to be the future.
What was strange was that she kept on running down the hallway and the more she ran the longer the hallway became. She ran and ran and, as she did, she looked down and saw that her bare feet were full of mud. In fact, her entire nightgown was muddy.
The princess turned around in her dream and saw that four people chased her.
Were they people? She did not know. All she knew was that she knew who they were. It was Adnicul, Lucinda, Nina Ray and Reficule. The four beings walked up to her with stately and calm step, whilst she ran faster and faster and could not get anywhere.
There were torches on every side of the hallway and the sandstone arches that otherwise seemed so cosy and familiar now seemed cold and mean.
Belinda managed to reach the hallway to the staircase and ran up to the next landing. The four horsemen of the apocalypse followed her solemnly as she entered the Grand Hall.
She looked up and saw herself hanging from the chandelier.
Belinda then rushed around the hall in the half dim light looking out the windows.
She realized there was nothing there but stonewalls and darkness she could not swallow.
To her immense shock, the princess realized in looking up that the palace was hanging from a chain hammered into the wall of a mountain. She was not at home at all. She was all alone and the Grand Hall was actually a replica of itself that was dangling in a dungeon in Hell.


CHAPTER NINE
SLEEP

Monday, April 26th, 1423 – Morning

The first sound that Belinda heard that morning was the wind grabbing hold of the balcony door and banging it against the stone frame. There was a slight breeze coming from the door as it opened again and a lark chirping in the garden. She opened her eyes and saw her own sheets lying on the floor. The she saw that Steven was not there anymore and sat up in bed. He was sitting outside drinking her ginger tea and devouring a left over of Ruby’s Veal Pie with ginger, saffron threads and red wine. It was a wonder he stayed so thin.
She stood up, put on her closed, white shoes and went to the basin of fresh water. Splashing some aqua on her face, she saw her reflection in the water and wondered when these dreams were going to end. The towel that she took from the cupboard soothed her wet face. The little one suddenly kicked inside her and she smiled to herself.
“Oh,” she sang, “so you are up and about, are you?”
She sighed and walked to the white cedar room divider and picked up her Greek chiton tunica.
For a moment she stood there by the rice paper and bamboo dresser. She couldn’t get out of that dream. Twice this dream of a Grand Hall replica hanging from a chain had beaten up her soul. This time she had been introduced to the four horsemen of the Apocalypse, an expression Lucinda had used before. Belinda now knew who these four horsemen were. Worse was, though, that she knew that Lucinda was planning something big. This kind of thing was not easily digested. She was planning to put the entire kingdom to sleep.
Belinda opened the balcony door. As she did, Steven looked up from his last bite of Veal Pie. He stood up from his chair and fell upon his knees:
“Hast thou slept accordingly?”
She caressed his cheek, curtsied and tried to smile:
“Not really, but thanks.”
He got up again and held her by the arms.
“Want some ginger tea?”
“That juice makes me vomit.” she growled. “I’ve had so much ginger that I am liable to fall into a deep state of dreamlessness any day.” She looked at her husband and shook her head. “I’m sorry, dear. Give me some water and a bit of that pie, will you?”
She sat down and was served. Steven sat down on his chair and caressed her leg.
“What is the matter?” Steven said. “Anything I can do?”
A tear fell down her cheek. She silently dried it away, looking at the trees in the garden and seeing a lark on a branch that did not sing. She sighed shakily. “Steven. I dreamt about the palace again. I dreamt that I was in a replica of the Grand Hall trapped alone and that it was hanging from a chain in Hell. I dreamt,” she said, looking down, “That the four horsemen of the Apocalypse were Adnicul, Lucinda, Nina Ray and Reficule.”
Steven walked up and embraced her as she sat in her chair. He wanted to hold her tighter than ever before. He wanted to squeeze the pain out of her chest and burn it. Oh, why didn’t the pain end?
Lucinda, why? Leave us alone, he thought to himself.
She stood up and embraced him back, resting her head upon his shoulder.
“Steven,” she panted, a desperate laugh protruding her lips, “I remember everything about that dream. It was real. It was a prophecy. It was here and yet in was not here…”
Steven grabbed her by the cheeks and gave her a long and passionate kiss. He withdrew his lips with a smack and looked her deeply in the eyes. “Honey” he said calmly. “We have come this far without fearing her all that much. Let us not start fearing her when our child is going to be born just three or four months from now. Remember that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself. That is her power! Our fear is her power. Not the curse. Not her hatred. Not the jealousy. Not the evil deeds and the magic tricks.” He kissed her again, caressing her bosom. “Remember that she has only power over us if we give her the power. We are royalty, angelically protected and surrounded by love.”
Belinda looked into his eyes and smiled. “If I only could believe you.” she whispered. The whisper was tender, full of an angelic aura of love and tenderness, drenched with a deep-rooted fear of the unknown. “I see my child abducted just like I was. I see…”
She stopped and sighed.
“Oh, God” she wept.
“I want my child to be safe.” she cried. “I want…”
She swallowed and screamed a scream of weeping anger.
“I want this to be over.” she howled.
Steven caressed her cheek and kissed her softly. His tongue dived into her mouth and she met his own with her own red, wet orifice. Belinda Winsletenna grabbed hold of his shoulders and dwelt inside his soul and there she found companionship far away from the desert of debauchery. There was hope there and the horrific terror of the nightmares slowly began to fade.
Leaning against his chest that morning, the princess saw a light in the sky and found she was shivering. The lark was singing again, but the breeze blowing in the trees was cold. She didn’t know how long she stood there, leaning against her husband’s chest. She only knew that once her child again began dancing the Estampie inside her belly, there were tears in her eyes.


CHAPTER TEN: ALFRED

Tuesday, August 17th, 1423 A.D.

That very day, August 17th in the year of our scared Lord 1423 at two o’clock in the morning, the alarm was a real call and there were five people in the room as a result of it a few minutes later. Everyone was amazed at how brave and controlled she had been and still was as the baby slowly emerged. Buckets upon buckets of cold water were brought in to cool the princess off along with a dozen towels, herbal disinfectant and several bottles of herbal mixtures brought there by the physician himself. Belinda’s screams echoed in the hallways and the king bit on his nails, next to the nervous husband pacing the hallways in the beginning of the delivery.
Constantly, she sunk her jaws into the cloth in her mouth. The sheets of the nuptial bedroom were drenched in water and blood. The larks and the robins were singing all the time through the birth and Belinda felt herself losing touch with reality toward the end of the labour. The contractions were much, much worse toward the end and her last labour pains were so bad that she slapped Steven across the face when he asked her to calm down. She then excused herself, knowing that she had against every one’s will pleaded for Steven to be there when the baby was born.
From the alarm bugle at four in the morning until the delivery at five o’clock in the afternoon were fifteen full hours and the mother was as tired as she was happy. The boy could barely open his eyes, but blinked curiously when his parents sang him Come, Come Now, Mistress of Fancy and Bedroom Roses for him upon his arrival on Earth.
The boy was bundled up in many sheets and the parents were left alone for a while to cuddle with their little new family member, Prince Alfred Winsletenna, heir to the Prosperanian throne. On top of it all it had been a beautiful day with brilliant sunshine and a slight, warm breeze.


The days following the birth

Belinda’s vagina and backside hurt so much that sometimes she felt she was going to burst. Steven always brought up her food and would sit for hours on end talking with her and cuddling with the little boy. Belinda would sit up and breastfeed the child and feel such a unity with her family that she would more often than not burst into tears of joy and not of agony for the first time in years. The balcony door would be opened and the summer breeze would be let in.
Bantrard almost immediately began composing lullabies.
The first days were bliss, the young couple almost every minute cuddling with Alfie. The now slightly rounder Belinda had a bust seeming to grow every day as a result of all the mother’s milk in her. Belinda had never ever having felt so womanly, so motherly, so tender, never wanting to leave Alfred for a second. Steven, inspired, called himself “Sir Belinda” and had his main task written on his own parchment insignia: taking care of my family.

Sunday, August 29th, 1423 A.D.

The baby boy was baptized Alfred Simon Alexander Steven Winsletenna and was healthy. It was a quiet celebration. The baptism occurred in St. Michael’s Chapel at Iuventus Sacrum. Both mother and father wanted a more quiet ceremony than their own wedding.
The family and the Archbishop were there. Cretan was there. So were the new royal friends Ariana and her family with father the physician and medicus in the middle of the first row. Innkeeper Rumus had been given a new coach, his old one destroyed by stately enemies. He came in it with pomp and circumstance, only to discover that the baptism was a quiet family event. His son was invited and was quite honoured to be there, having arrived in the new coach with his father, his recent promotion to Second Lieutenant in Command of Army Camp North being good reason for celebration. Steven’s long time friend Tom came and got to say hello to Alfie, who, slightly cross-eyed and blinking, in his crumpled cuteness wondered what the man with the tooth gap actually was all about. Who was the strange fellow with the tooth gap, the boy wondered? Who was the man saying ‘ga-ga-goo-goo’ to him?
Some people came by after the service whilst Belinda breastfed the babe.
Alexander complained that Belinda had people join while she nursed. Slightly shocked, he walked out shaking his head. Belinda told him later that she did exactly what their ancestor in Wandiffia had done just to be different than the Romans: they had public breastfeeding, a ceremony with a few friends gathering in quiet distance to enjoy the company of mother and child.
She felt so at one with her child that she insisted on carrying it around herself, as opposed to having someone else breastfeed it, which was something that Marie-Louise had been willing to do. While she sat there, right breast displayed and the little child sucking joyfully on her nipple, Belinda listened patiently to the row of inquiries and answered some of them. More often than not she said, “Ask Princess Patricia, she is in charge of administration!”

September 1423 A.D.

Clurafar was, of course, in “Alfie-Fever.” More than anyone, Belinda was in love again – with her son. There were little plays about Alfie being written, which were to be performed by theatre-companies around the nation. The inns sold Alfie’s Drink, which was a sweet apple-juice with a taste of plum and apricot. Mostly, it came from the same distillery that had taken the initiative to spread it amongst the famous inns themselves and made sure the children went along with their parents to drink it. It was the same distillery that a year ago had produced: “Steven’s Ale” and “Belinda’s Apple-Wine” and had been able to expand because of these two drinks.
Many new Alfred’s were being born this year. Alfred was becoming a celebrity.
Belinda often sat on the porch that autumn singing to her baby, letting the wind ruffle her hair and hearing the birds sing songs she requested. Her eyes would turn to the sky and she would let the baby’s mouth calmly open its mouth and she would give it her nipple. It would gently suck on it and she would feel at one with the baby. Fairly obvious to anyone was that it had changed her life.
Then she and Steven would take a walk around the grounds, stroll down to the poppy fields. They would chatter about this and that, how they could improve the child’s room, what the baby would do when it grew up and so on.
They smiled at the prospect of seeing it grow.
One day, it was a Sunday after mass they walked to the old love-oak. There was an

A+S=True

written there. Beside it was

B+S=True

and inside that heart they added

“+Alfie”.

Alfie gurgled while they did this.
The parents kissed while the child gazed at the sun.

October 1423 A.D.

Alfred was discovering the world. His eyes opened to the wonders of creation, laughing at almost everything. When someone told a joke, he laughed. When someone sang a song he laughed. When someone danced, he laughed. Morgana kept asking the same question a hundred times: was it unusual for such a small baby boy to laugh so much?
According to Belinda, he looked more peaceful than a summer’s night when he was asleep. Belinda was becoming very outspoken about sensual topics. She spoke of her breasts and her womanhood in front of dignitaries of all kinds and when the topic of childbirth arose, she would tell royal guests how it was to see a new life slowly come out of your own body. She would often say that nuptial lovemaking was the only true lovemaking as its result inevitably was a child.
She was the very incarnation of womanhood and fertility. She spoke with everyone she could about childcare and her favourite occupation was to wander to the castle kitchen and interfere with the royal cooking. She would tell them that by no circumstance should there be nuts in the porridge or anything else than fresh apples in the sauce.
Lucinda’s unexpected curse on the land of Friday the 13th of October had been a year ago now. People thought of it often at Iuventus, but never spoke of it. In fact it had been in the back of their minds for a while. A messenger had heard from someone in Alliland that Lucinda had been on her way to the Ottoman Empire last he knew.
Anyone connected with that land had never heard of the man called Nomed, who just disappeared the day before Lucinda came back to plague the wedding party. Alexander’s archrival King Adnicul was more a recluse than ever now. His Nocturanian nation was falling apart. The curse? What curse? That was a good question. Maybe Lucinda was hot air after all.
Belinda still had dreams, though. She was still in that empty house at night and she still saw ghosts. Lucinda was there and Reficule was still growling at her in the doorways. Steven was still unreachable in her dreams and oblivion was still under her.

The Callenian Forest, Thursday, November 4th, 1423

Two pairs of tired and bloody feet were running down a something that couldn’t be called a path, but more was a down trodden walk of thorny bushes. There were dried leaves and branches everywhere. Creatures were coming out of the dark, invisible entities flying over their heads.
The girl’s foot was twisted and so bloody that the colour of the skin was not white anymore.
It was dark red. She had fallen two miles back and the blood had dripped down her entire leg and dried up. She was only able to run at a certain speed. So many bush thorns scratched her beautiful legs that it really wasn’t possible to differentiate what was dirt and what was blood.
The boy was crying, blaming himself for dragging this attractive woman to this by God forsaken land. He panted and breathed so heavily that it was really hard not to show the girl that he was in pain. Only, it was complete folly to blame himself.
The girl had taken the initiative. She had packed the bag. She had served Adnicul a few more carafes of red wine than usual and then prayed that he would not wake up too soon. She had been the one who let Adnicul get her into bed the night before, not him. She had sacrificed herself. She only hoped that a bastard son wouldn’t be the ultimate result of his penetration. She had killed the guards, not him. She had accepted coming here in the first place. He had brought her to the castle. Adnicul was his father’s friend, not hers.
No matter how much he tried to convince himself it was not his fault, he knew the truth. Now that the bag was gone, the only possession they had was their common sense and that, too, was vanishing quickly.
They had been chased by something flying over the ground now for … how long? Three days? Occasionally, it had disappeared.
They were left in darkness because of some gust of wind that blew out their fire. Berries and grass refreshed them. They were lucky enough now to have a torch that had lasted them all night. They hoped to find a way out of this terrifying madness that was called a successful escape from the unknown. But, mighty Jesus, it was not easy not know where to find this way out.
Eric had remembered coming to the castle. He was sure that this was the way they came to the castle three years ago. All he needed was a town, any village would do, an inn or anything that resembled a rural community. Someone there would help them, he was sure of that. The villagers must’ve hated the king just as much as he did.
The fire from the torch kept flickering in the couple’s faces. Eric’s face had been burnt so many times by Adnicul that it seemed like a relaxing feeling to find the yellow flames dive into his skin knowing that the result must be freedom. Sometimes he thought there were two creatures diving into that madness in his mind and knowing what it was he thought. Sometimes he felt two diving spirits in his soul and behind his back. It wasn’t just one soul penetrating him. There were at least two or three, maybe four. He had stopped asking how many wounds he had on his toes, how many blisters he could count on his feet, how many broken nails, how many open soars were festering on that broken jaw of his. All he wanted to know was how to escape this hell.
When Adnicul had raped his girlfriend for the seventh time that month and invited Eric to drink with him right afterwards he knew that the time had come to leave the palace. Rebecca had said she had consented in order to have peace and to escape the fact that Eric was now the owner of a bloody back. She could not stand the thought of Eric screaming every night he turned around in bed.
They finally did what they had planned and feared for so long. They left. Now they wished they hadn’t. They could not find the way out of the dark forest.
The girl constantly looked behind her. She seemed to be so scared that letting the tears drop down her face seemed refreshing. She prayed to the maker to let those invisible spirits leave, because they were at their tails. It was clear now that there was no way out of this.
She could hear them breaking the branches that they threw in their way. Cackling and whispering, “You can’t escape the perfect team!”
He was sure he had heard them say: “There is no escape today – From Winsly and Ray.”
What that meant he had no idea. He just knew that the ugly, blond girl with the scarred face had been called Nina Ray by Lucinda and Adnicul, if that was who those creatures were.
There was no way to know. Suddenly, the path stopped and the spirits seemed to stop as well. Rebecca and Eric looked around, tried to see what came next.
There were sounds everywhere, but they could see nothing more than the flickering torch. There was a sound coming from behind a tree. Rebecca turned around toward it, never letting go of Eric’s hand.
(I am looking at you through my crystal ball, Eric)
“Eric!”
“Yes, Rebecca?”
She panted, her voice trembling. “What… what was that?”
“I don’t know” Eric trembled.
”The path just ended” Rebecca whispered. “We have no where to go. If we go on, we have to go into the thorny bushes or back.”
“I know, love!”
“Where are we, anyway? I thought this was the way to some village.” Rebecca said, trembling. “Didn’t you say this way the way we came when we arrived in Rigor Mortis three years ago?”
“I know for a certain fact that we came this way.” he answered. “The path has changed.”
The sound came again. “You hear that?” Rebecca spat. “Oh. God. Eric. Help me. It is dark.”
“I hear a sound,” he responded. “There is somebody there. Hello? Who is there?”
The sound came again. Rebecca whispered. “What is it, Eric? Could you tell me?”
She could feel his hand shaking. She could hear him think that he needed to be strong for her. She had always been able to read his mind.
“Don’t try to be brave for me, Eric, just tell me what it is.”
He looked her direction, trying to find something the other way. His eyes were wide-open.
“I think it is a Rumzil.”
“A what?”
He looked at her. His eyes were the size of teacups.
“Rumzils.” Eric said softly. “Adnicul told me about small midgets with one hundred fangs.”
Rebecca started shaking and cuddled up close to Eric.
“Humour me with specifics, Eric my love,” she cried. “Give me hope. Tell me they are nice.”
“They will eat you if you let them.” She heard a giggle and then a scurry. Whispers.
“Is that a specific? If so, I can give you something else: I am petrified.”
Eric was in a dream world and he had no idea what to do next. “Where in the hell are we?”
“I am not asking where in the hell we are, Eric, I am asking what that is that is approaching us.”
Rebecca waited. “Can you see anything?”
No answer. Her terror turned into anger.
“Answer me, you stupid twit.” she growled. “What in the name of Jesus is that? Can you see anything out there besides branches and leaves and darkness? I want to get out of here, Eric. Now.”
”Not anything but the torch and some leaves.” he responded, unimpressed. “It is all dark.”
She sighed. ”Hell, why did we have to leave the castle?”
“Blame me? You packed the bags!” he said. “But you didn’t tell us to leave. I told you.”
That sound again.
“Oh, shit.” Rebecca felt like meat being slowly shoved into a grinder. The darkness seemed to be everywhere, her ankle hurt her and there seemed to be snakes crawling up everywhere on her body.
Up her legs and into her body, up her buttocks and into her mouth. “Oh, shit, shit, shit.” She cried again. He held her tight and turned around.
Whispers behind them. Cackles. Two voices.
(Do you think we should?)
(No, give them a chance. They are sooo close now!)
Two pairs of eyes looking at a cave wall, realizing there was an entrance into a grotto here.
“Don’t look behind you.” Eric said. “I think the spirits are right behind us.”
Slowly the two young couple that resembled squirrels in a dungeon, looked behind them and what they saw made them want to gasp for air. Two faces without bodies.
(Adnicul!)
(Yes!)
(Do we show more than our faces?)
(No!)
(Just look into the crystal ball! That is all! You can see them can’t you?)
(Yes, I can)
(Keep looking … they will find their way)
The faces were white. Pale. Hanging in mid air. Grinning. Open hollow eyes. Both faces with open mouths. The one blond girl scarred, the one eye cracked. The other was very pretty, but dark. Black hair. Rebecca shrieked.
(Walk into the cave!)
The couple walked backward and bumped onto the back cave wall.
The two spirits pushed them.
(Walk into the cave!)
They hit a snag and had to climb over a stone. The faces led them to an opening and soon they were in the opening of the cave. They turned around and the two faces were disappearing. Suddenly, the couple had a vision together. They saw how this forest had been born. They saw the seeds of the original tree. They saw a demon being dragged across the plains.
The couple turned around to realize that the opening was now long gone and that they were wandering down a path that seemed to be leading to some light far down. They tried to walk up to the surface again, but no matter what they did they could only walk downwards. Every step lead in the same direction. The dust beneath their feet lead only to that same shimmering light.
They dared not say anything, not even to each other. The path seemed to go on forever. The torch was still lit. The light from downstairs was getting stronger. Soon a torch was not necessary.
The light appeared.
They were by a lake now, an underground lake that led into a tunnel. It was a tunnel with mossy stonewalls that ended in a very bright light. At the end of the tunnel the light lead upward and downward. To the right and to the left of the beam of light there seemed to be paths. The left one lead down and Eric could hear screams coming from down there.
No that was wrong. They were wails.
“You hear that?”
Rebecca nodded. “I hear it.”
The lake glittered and shone, moss and musk covering the walls.
There were several stones in the water. There was a white clad figure on the biggest stone not far away from the cage, its blond hair swimming in the water.
There was a sign in it. It said “Hwee-Ael-Sihl”.
A cage was there; a black, rusty metal cage was hanging from the cave roof.
A figure was in there. He was kneeling, eating a rat.
Suddenly, he looked at them with his wide black eyes.
He was red and furry. He had hooves and a long tail and horns.
An eternity passed until the couple reacted. They saw the creature drop the rat, wrap his claws around the bars and chew the cage open, never letting his eyes leave the youngsters.
The beast jumped down onto the water and landed safely upon the surface of the water as if it had been solid ground, fixing his eyes on them. He walked steadily, hips swinging like a woman with slow steps, toward them. The couple took one step back, and then another step back. They hit the wall. They were holding hands.
The creature came to the beach of the underground lake, shook off the water off his feet and walked up to the boy.
“Hi, Eric! I have been waiting for you!” it said. “How do you like my humble cave?”
The grin was foul, like murder. It was a grin full of envy, spite and hate.
No happiness in there.
The beast breathed and ice came out. The ice drops cracked and fell on the ground, turned into scorpions that ran toward the water.
The beast crushed one of them, threw it up in the air, caught it in his hand and threw it into his mouth without even letting his gaze disappear off Eric.
“Midnight snack!” he whispered.
(Midnight snack!)
Now Eric realized the two faces were back, appearing by the wall. Adnicul was one of them.
The bodiless faces were cackling.
The beast looked at Rebecca, who frozen with terror could not move, moved Eric’s head to the side, opened its mouth, displayed brown fangs and bit into his neck.
Blood spurted onto her face from her lover’s throat.
The beast plucked off Eric’s head with a plop and the body slumped over. The girl began to shout, the beast looking at her with an open, skeptical gaze. She screamed at the top of her lungs and began to run. She ran for her life, leaving the lake behind her, stumbling into the darkness, hitting cave walls, hitting darkness, and not knowing where she was going. There were four pairs of apocalyptic walkers all the time patiently behind her, shuffling their feet and making no effort to hurry.
She ran out, without even waiting to save Eric and was outside soon enough. She ran down the path they had come to get here. Her ankle was hurting less now, but the open wounds on her legs were festering. She ran and stumbled over a stone and hit her head. Her cheekbone broke. She shrieked, blood gushing out of her face. She ripped off a bit of cloth off her dress and pressed it against her cheek. Blood oozed between her fingers. She looked behind her.
The four demons were calmly approaching her. She shrieked again, stood up and twisted her ankle again and tried to stumble up, zigzagging the path and crashing into a tree, her head now a mess of blood and tissue, her skull cracking open. She tried to stand up, but both her ankles were broken.
She crawled on all fours and all she could think of was staying alive. Four pairs of feet shuffled behind her. The eyes, she felt them gazing at her from the back. She ran up, fell, ran up, fell, ran up, fell. Then she turned around, scurried backward and saw them coming nearer.
“No!” she cried. “No!”
(Yes, backward, move backward)
“No-no-no-no-no-o-o-o!”
She felt something sharp penetrate her back, but it was too late to run away.
She couldn’t breathe anymore, there was sharp pain she’d never felt before.
It was piercing into her lung.
She gasped. The four apocalyptic shufflers stood silent and hollow as she slowly gave up the ghost, feeling her hand letting go of the sharp stone behind her. Her eyes rolled upward, blood oozing out of her open mouth, the four ghouls looking patiently at one other in complete silence.

The Royal Palace of Iuventus Sacrum
Friday, March 24th, 1424 A.D.

Belinda mounted her steed yet again that morning.
Her steed, Timothy, had been in the stables all this time, ridden by Robert and by Theo to keep him trim and fit. The stallion had forgotten what it was like to have Belinda sitting on his back. Belinda rode to the lake again and skinny-dipped under the waterfall whilst Marie breastfed the boy.
She had felt strange bathing in the lake again, really looking behind her all the time to see if someone was going to jump at her and hurt her again. She felt good putting her clothes back on after the swim and even better when she rode back to the palace, knowing that the lake was safe to swim in. Steven and she had spoken of bathing here again, but it had never really happened. It felt like Belinda was getting rid of old ghosts that lurked in her mind’s hallway. On the other hand, the ghosts might have just been on duty leave.
That Friday was the day when the birds really started singing. Alexander had invited some of the senators to discuss important business. The messengers had come and gone like before, but now she really saw that she was back in the saddle when she noticed that she took initiative to work and not only be a responsible mother.
Alfred was still always with her and he was crawling around during important meetings. The Senators were briefed before the meeting that her highness was not going to sacrifice her child to her royalty. If the child needed milk she would give it to him. Cretan would have to wait while she went next door to do her motherly care. It made the meeting longer, but her duties as a mother to help the child were more important than an Senatorial conference.
One Senator complained that the displaying of royal bust was not fitting for a conference. Belinda responded that he should feel lucky that he lived in a society whose infrastructure had been kept alive on foundations built by Wandiffia and ancient Rome. This was not a barbaric world where it was a shame to breastfeed or, for that matter, display a royal bust.
So, the word for guests was patience when coming to the castle. The Senators noticed that on this Friday. When someone did not appeal to her, she would breastfeed the babe right then and there. She did this in spite of complaints from her protective father and any old fart Senators. No one that was honest and fair thought it wrong that she was making these kinds of decisions.
Furthermore, Steven had defended her all along when one of the Senators made a racket about her plucking out her breasts during a Senatorial break. He really felt how wonderful it was to be a father and said that the Senator should be so lucky as to be able to witness a royal breastfeeding.
There was no more discussion that day about this matter.
That evening, Patricia was invited for a stroll in the garden and a lavish dinner in the Grand Hall. Alexander, Sieglinde and Belinda personally thanked her for filling in for her all this time. They also announced that the period of official assignment was over. The princess now wanted to take over her duties as royal crown princess. Patricia was touched by the fact that she was given the title “Royal Assistant To The Crown” or in short a R.A.T.O.C.
It was a new title, but it entitled her to help Belinda if she could not perform her obligations and even become Queen if Belinda could not take on the position. In spite of this, Princess Patricia moved into The Rose again that night. Morgana and Patricia spent the night giggling, getting drunk and throwing themselves at Richard. The bed sheets were warm again in the guesthouse. Patricia wore the medal to bed. Apparently, an era was over. Belinda Winsletenna was back in the saddle.

The Royal Palace of Iuventus Sacrum – Saturday, June 10th, 1424 A.D.

Alfred had been playing with a small wooden object all through the ceremony, the fact that it was the gilded replica of a coach with horses helped. He had kept quiet. He occasionally mumbled made up words like “Atta” or “Dess” or “Drzjiii”. The loud blabber and blubber that came from Belinda’s lap made everyone laugh. Even the dear Archbishop Bernardus Paul had to laugh. In fact, Morgana had trouble getting the words “I do” off her lips. Not for the reason that seemed to be obvious. The reasons were that a certain crown prince seemed to be more interested in rattling his toy than watch her marry her now long time love Richard Landstorm.
Belinda had to admit it. She would never have trusted her sister to marry Richard. That she also did not want a huge wedding was the next surprise. This woman was vain and vulgar. She presented herself as a woman of nuptial bliss and true love. That impressed the future queen.
It was not until the feast afterward that Belinda went up to Morgana. She told her how impressed Belinda was that she had found her fidelity and faith and that she wished her all the best for the upcoming marriage. Morgana was touched when she heard this and the two sisters spent an hour chattering about babies. It was clear that Morgana didn’t want babies for the moment. All the same, she admired them. Equally clear was that Patricia would continue to live at The Rose and that the two girls would continue to fence. They would also continue to share Richard. This shocked Belinda as well as her father. She also knew that it was none of her business.
Evening time came and Alfred was tucked in. He had eaten his evening porridge and heard his father tell him the story of King Ladislaus and his magic carpet for the umpteenth time. Marie-Louise was given the royal assignment to watch over the little boy. The royal couple went to the wedding feast, got drunk and then made love on the balcony, their favourite spot, before tucking themselves in.

Danish Channel - Saturday, September 23rd , 1424 A.D.

The date it all began should’ve given them a clue. The fact was that ship seemed to be worth clearing. Although the sails were undoubtedly Britannic and the Captain was in fact some one that Tom knew personally, so he was very sceptical. William Zebulon had literally been chased away from Iuventus Sacrum after that infamous night before the wedding. Now, he knew nothing of the night. He didn’t even come close to recognizing who Tom was. This was a man he had drunk five bottles of Rum with, a man he had shared a whore with. This was a man who had almost disgraced the royals. His skin colour had changed, as well. Could that have been the effects of the sea? Maybe so, maybe not. He knew the ship. He knew the captain. Nonetheless, something told him to be careful. He turned to Ulfaas, who shrugged.
Tom looked at him. “What do you think?”
He shook his head. “No reason why would should keep it here, although it bothers me.”
The swearing, cursing sailors were on deck, trying to seem busy, fully knowing they couldn’t do anything unless they were cleared and sent off.
He chuckled cynically. “Sometimes I curse the Romans who dug this channel in the first place. All because Marcus Flavius wanted to prove that Wandiffia was superior. He lost to your realm anyway.” Ulfaas looked at Tom, who laughed and nodded. “There’s a legend about another reality never having a channel like this. A world without a Danish Channel!”
”Bliss, if you ask me.” Tom mused. “This channel has caused nothing but bickering.”
“Whatever you may say,” Ulfaas laughed “It has kept us rich.”
“The ship is checked and cleared, Ulfaas!” Tom sighed. “I mean, they have nothing illegal on board. Just wheat and corn and flour and spices for Margetania.”
He looked at Tom. “The captain doesn’t remember you?”
”I walked up to him and shook his hand, asking him about the girl we shared or if his hangover still was flaming inside his belly. He looked at me as if I were crazy. Ulfaas, he couldn’t possibly have forgotten that party. It was the reason Belinda told me that she only kept me as best man because Steven wanted me. We reconciled, but our relationship has never been the same since. It was William Zebulon’s idea that we go on the feast in town in disguise. It was his plan, for Christ’s sake. I had nothing to do with it. This man even calls himself Willy Zebulon. He has either suffered from a breakdown of his senses or he is lying.” Tom pointed to William standing and talking to his first mate.
“The real man even made sure no one spoke of it, because he was afraid being a part of a big royal row that could ruin his reputation. He doesn’t even know my name, Ulfaas. That scares me.”
Ulfaas nodded. “We have been here before, have we not?” Tom agreed. “Many ships pass this harbour and pay dearly for it. Most are fine, but then we get a ship that seems all right, but the feeling tells us different. What is it?”
“We have to be able to tell Steven why we didn’t let it pass.”
Ulfaas laughed. “He would throw us into early retirement if we said that it felt wrong.”
Ulfaas smirked. “By Jove, anchors aweigh!”
Tom left, shaking his head. He was determined to find something.
All the while, the Captain leaned against the railing tried to see where he went.
Four sturdy General Inspectors had been on the boat now for the past two hours. They had checked the ship from top to bottom for the fourth time. They left the gang bridge, giving Ulfaas a parchment full of notes. The largest inspector, a redhead with blue eyes, looked at him in a jealously fervent way that spoke of a man waiting for an answer.
“Starboard side clear, helm and bow clear, tow-boats clear, sailor cabins and storage clear, captain’s cabin clear, food storage clear.” Ulfaas looked at the three smaller lieutenants.
“Four times checked. Just as ordered. Everything is in order.”
He looked at the ship. The Captain was leaning against the edge, smiling.
He signalled to the redhead. The redhead took out a small bottle from his inner pocket and a feather. The cork was taken away. He dipped the feather in the ink and got ready to sign it, gritting his teeth. “Why does this give me a stomach-ache?”
“The law won’t let you send them back.,” the red had said.
“How long have we kept a ship here?”
“Half a year, Sire!”
“Dublin has been mad before when we let ships go that attack the harbour of Margetania.”
“This has no weapons on board except the captain’s gun, sire! This is the freight and export vessel Londonium down to its’ helm insignia-number noted in the seaman’s log and engraved on the copper plaque at the bow. The Wandiffian law required the unique number and cannot be forged.”
Tom came rushing up to him.
“Don’t sign that warrant.”
Ulfaas looked to his side. He panted and smiled, displaying his log. Ulfaas looked up. Captain Willy Zebulon was gone, but behind Tom came another captain of another ship with a long beard and profoundly deep-set eyes. He was chewing tobacco and walked with a slight limp.
He had very bad health, beaten by weather and sea.
“I knew that something was not in order. I asked around if anyone could tell me about the Londonium or had any information about Zebulon. Courage pays off, is all I can say.”
“What now?”
“This is not the Londonium, Ulfaas!”
The General Inspector gave Tom a sardonic, patronizing smile.
“I am sorry to interfere with your authority, but this is undoubtedly the Londonium.” the red headed man spat. “I am just telling Mr. Nordhjiil here that the helm number cannot be copied.”
“I am telling you, dear General Inspector, that it isn’t” Tom replied triumphantly. “Tell them, Captain Lyghort!”
The man straightened his jacket, stretched forth his hand and displayed a toothless, unshaved grin below an eye patch and a headscarf.
“John Lyghort, your honour!” The man spoke with a thick Danish accent. He had a really interesting authority when he spoke. “I have thirty years experience in the seafaring business.”
“And you can tell me on basis of knowledge that the log of this ship is lying?” Ulfaas asked.
“Yes!”
The General Inspector raised his eyebrows, shaking his head.
“Then you must have a damn good story, honourable Sire!”
“I am Captain of the ship that floats in pier four, The Hurtia! We came from Gothenhaven up north on our way from England. I saw the Londonium just weeks ago, Sire!”
The Inspector pointed to the ship. “This one!”
The man shook his head. “In shambles, Sire! We were told by men posing as Celtic official sea merchants to keep quiet about it, because the Celts don’t want it to spread. The ship rammed a rock by the Olandian Coast and it is a story that no one told anyone, because we sent a messenger saying that it was caught by pirates.” The man sighed. “Nocturanian pirates, I might add!”
Ulfaas gazed at the man. “And why weren’t we notified?”
“As I said, Sir. Top Secret. Our first mate and I stood overhearing a conversation that this gentleman had with someone. He said the Londonium is sailing away. I had to tell him, because the Londonium is the only one of its kind and always has been. There is no second one. This ain’t it.”
“What about the Captain, Sire?” Ulfaas asked. “On whose authori-…”
“What Captain?”
“William Zebulon.”
The man looked surprised.
“Zebulon?” The man started laughing. “Zebulon?! He is dead.” Lyghort took a finger and made a gesture across his throat from right to left. “He was killed by his own sword as it fell from the wall and split his skull in twain when the ship shipwrecked. We said that Willy was on his last ship, The Roddy Isle, just because we were told to keep quiet about it or the Celtic officials, contrary to common practice, would avenge themselves.”
“Who gave the order of secrecy?” Ulfaas asked.
“Right after the accident,” Lyghort mused. “Another big sailing ship arrived. They had a Celtic and Britannic crew on board and almost seemed to know that there was going to be a shipwreck even before it happened. They were dressed in uniforms coinciding with official clothing.” The man leaned forward. “These were no Celts, Governor. They were Nocturanian gypsies. It was a set up from start to finish preparing for a forged ship to enter the harbour and sail as raiders to the Queen’s land.”
“Why has no one issued a missing proclamation as to the Captain’s location?”
“That is what is strange. Zebulon was killed in the accident. They tried to keep it quiet, but it is going to be hard now after this. I guess I am responsible for this riminicracket.”
The General Inspector looked at the old sailor. “Riminicracket?”
Lyghort laughed. “An old word I’ve invented.” he giggled. “Means pure chaos.”
Ulfaas handed the parchment over to his redheaded inspector and rushed up the gangway, followed by the limping captain and Tom. The Inspectors tried to rush up faster but couldn’t.
The ship was a medium sized two-masted vessel that carried a lateen sail. It was made of birch and pear wood and had been newly been cleaned. Ulfaas pointed angrily at the first mate. He was an ugly man one couldn’t say anything less. His nose seemed to have been pushed in with a hammer and his eyes were small and slanted.
The traditional Britannic uniform he wore was undoubtedly freshly sown together and so perfectly made that Ulfaas had to suspect foul play. The man had probably sailed through very stormy weather. There had been a storm and there was no question that one would have seen this on his appearance. Furthermore a man with that ugly a face would have rotting teeth.
When he opened his mouth, he saw them. The Britannic crown would never let a man that fierce become a first mate on a royal vessel.
“What is the matter?” The first mate spoke slowly and in very dull fashion. “Something up?”
“I need to see your captain right now.”
The man took a step back and dropped the apple he was eating.
He indicated to the cabin down the stairs.
The team walked down the stairs and found a very long winding corridor. At the end of it there was a brown mahogany door. There was a golden sign with black writing on it.

CAPTAIN’S CABIN
Private Authority Only

He knocked. “Captain!” No answer. “We need to speak to you, Sire!” There was a thud in there and the men looked at each other. Ulfaas turned to the first mate
The first mate was standing a few feet away. He was waiting for them to leave.
“We have to break down the door.” Ulfaas cried.
The first mate shook his head and responded: “That is not allowed.”
Ulfaas took up a knife that he had in his pocket, threw it up and caught it by the handle. It was something he had learned in the navy.
“Sire,” he spat. “We have proof that the vessel Londonium crashed off the Olandian coast.” He turned to Lyghort.
“How many weeks ago was it?”
Lyghort took off his dirty headscarf and scratched his head with it.
“I believe it was three weeks ago, Governor.”
The first mate smiled a toothless smile. “That’s impossible.”
Ulfaas didn’t take his bluff. He took his knife again and threw it in such a way that it landed with a stirring sound right next to the first mate’s feet. Ulfaas gave the man a very dirty grin.
“We have proof.” He looked at Lyghort, who nodded. “Furthermore, we have two witnesses.”
The man took a long look at the men and then ran down the hall. The assistants of the inspector ran after the man, but Ulfaas and Tom and the inspector stayed in order to crash down the door.
“Ready?”
Tom looked at the two other men and they both rubbed their hands together.
“Then let us do this!” he spat.
With three loud bangs the door was off its’ hooks and shoulders were aching.
From the hook of the lit candle chandelier hung the man who had pretended to be Captain Zebulon. He had tied a hangman’s knot and hung himself rather than give up.
He was swinging to and fro with a knocked down chair under his feet
There was the sound of water splashing against the hull outside.
“Good sweet Jesus, help us!” The inspector cried and the men looked away.
There was an odd silence in the ship. Every one seemed to have left.
“Help that man down.” Ulfaas said, being the only one with all his mental faculties. One of the inspectors, a young man with a ponytail and a scar over his left cheek, came back from chasing the first mate. He took the chair and lifted it, stood upon it and brought out his knife, a big Bowie with a very sharp edge.
“Help me with this man!” The four inspectors came back through the door, obviously having lost the sailor to bad luck. One of them grew pale. The ponytail shouted at them: “God damn you, men. Help me get this man down.”
The ponytail began cutting and the man slumped together and fell upon one of them. The shorter of the inspectors, a balding man with jumpy eyes, felt on his throat, listened to his breath, trying to detect a heartbeat. Worried, he looked at Ulfaas, who was the authority here. “Dead, Sire!” He looked down at the man again. “Dead.”
They laid him down on the ground away from the inspectors and checked his neck and his heartbeat. Tom looked up at Ulfaas.
“Darn it,” Ulfaas spat. “Now we know nothing.”
“We do.” Tom chuckled nervously, folding back the captain’s uniform. “Zebulon had a scar on his neck. I know because I was there when it happened. A drunken night in Dublin gave it to him. He always used wear high collars because he was ashamed of it. There’s nothing there, Ulfaas.”
That was the moment when Tom discovered a small brown note sticking out of the leather bag around the man’s neck. It was a small thing, no bigger than a tiny mug. Carefully he took it out, feeling how hard the man had tied the bag together. He rolled out the note and read it aloud.
The note consisted of a drawing and two words: Sub Rosa.
He handed the note to Ulfaas, who looked at it. “What do you make of it?”
Ulfaas sneered. “Under the rose. The Romans used to draw a picture of a rose above a door if the meeting inside the room was confidential. Obviously, this man was hiding a secret.”
“What secret?”
”Maybe he felt guilty for impersonating Zebulon” Ulfaas answered. “Maybe he was sent by the Nocturanian king to spy on whatever goes on here. Maybe they are planning a war.”
Tom rubbed his chin, shook his head and wandered down the corridor. “Hello!” He yelled. “Can someone come and help us?” No one answered. He walked down to storage. “Hello? Your Captain is dead.”
No one was there, just a rat chewing on a bag marked spices. The rat scuttled off. “Charming.” He looked back toward the inner part of the ship. “Hello? Anyone there?” He ran up to the cabin deck again. “Is anyone here? We need to speak to someone in charge.”
He ran back the same way and met Ulfaas.
“Any luck?”
Tom shook his head.
“Strange.” Ulfaas wandered up to the main deck. “We have a dead captain here. Where is the first mate?” Ulfaas wandered around the deck, laughing. “I thought that joke was funny.”
Tom came up. “Everyone is gone.” Ulfaas’s eyes were gazing, his long face dropping by the second. “Where are they all?” He rushed to the gangway. A man with long black hair stood there, scratching his belly. He looked up. “Did you see anyone leave here?”
The man thought for a second. “Some ran away. Some I saw jumping into the water.”
Ulfaas rushed to the other side of the boat, taking the small note and sticking it into his vest pocket. Tom rushed after Ulfaas, bubbles, nothing but bubbles. The inspectors rushed up, the limping Captain behind them. “We have a ghost ship on our hands, Sire! The crew jumped ship.”
The redhead chief inspector cried: “What?”
The man with the ponytail grabbed his knife again and rushed off the gangway. He exchanged a few words with the first mate scratching his belly and ran away followed by the balding man. They were rushing toward a black haired man who was fleeing into the woods. Five guards rushed after them. They caught him, wrestled him down, but the man kicked the balding man in the face and got up again. “Get those inspectors some help!”
Five more guards ran after them. “Guard this ship with your life!” Ulfaas told one of the guards standing on parade and he said that he always did what he was told.
The large man with the black hair and protruding belly suddenly seemed to remember something and rushed down the gangway toward the pier. He screamed: “Sire, sire. I have to tell you something.” Ulfaas turned around and faced him. The man was running toward Ulfaas with such potency that it made the security chiefs on the edge. “For the love of the Lord, Sire. I know what this is!” In the spur of the moment, one guard pulled his gun and shot the black haired man.
He grunted, fell down, convulsed and then stopped moving.
Tom cried: “No! He was our only witness!”
Ulfaas and the rest rushed to the crew standing over the dead body. They grabbed the man holding the gun by his tailcoat. The General Inspector took his medal and threw it away. He took his gun, threw it to the side, where it hit a stone and fell into the water.
“Pack your bags and leave. You are no longer a member of the Prosperanian Navy.”
“Sire!” the man said. “He was running toward Sire Nordhjiil with a knife.”
“He said that he knew what this was,” the inspector screamed. “Couldn’t you have shot him after he told us what this was?” The man protested and the inspector didn’t let him finish: “Leave.”
The crowd looked at the man. Ulfaas glanced at the man and then at the empty ship.
“He was probably our only witness,” Ulfaas said.
Tom said: “We should arrest the killer of the witness.”
The inspector ran after the man and grabbed him by the neck.
“What on Earth are we going to tell the Prince General?”
“Tell him I was guarding this ship with my life.”

Private Study of Prince Steven, Iuventus Sacrum
Tuesday, October 16th, 1424 A.D.

“You did what?” Steven cried
Tom sighed. Ulfaas put up his hands and smiled. They stuttered.
“Do you know what kind of scandal this is going to cause?” Alexander jibed in.
Belinda rushed out onto the corridor, calling out and then there was the sound of running footsteps. “Marie-Louise.”
“Alfred?” she asked.
“Take him for a moment, won’t you?”
“Yes, miss!”
Belinda closed the door and came to sit down as Marie-Louise left to go the playroom. She looked at the two men and the smelly captain. She shook her head.
“Let me get this clear.” Steven was amazed. “You mean to say that the ship that entered the harbour last month not only was a false ship, but also contained a crew who abandoned it. The false captain hung himself. Have I gotten this right so far?”
Ulfaas nodded. Steven waited. “Is that all?”
Suddenly Alexander’s deep voice penetrated the silence. “Your men killed the only witness?”
Tom sighed. He nodded. Belinda shook her head.
Belinda stuttered: “I hope you arrested the killer.”
Tom swallowed hard. “I made sure that this happened, yes.”
“What happened to the crew? He was not the only one there, was he?”
”The first mate of The Hurtia, Peter Thor, saw them running out, some jumping into the water. We had men follow them, but they all disappeared. No matter how fast we followed them, they vanished!” Tom screamed.
“They couldn’t have disappeared, Tom!” Belinda cried. “No one just disappears.”
“These men did.” John Lyghort spoke for the first time.
“What about the Captain?”
“Here it gets even stranger” Tom added.
Ulfaas continued. “When we returned to the captain’s cabin, his body was gone.”
“Without a trace. No one could say where it had gone. No one had entered or left the ship in between.” Tom added. “Your Majesties, everyone that had anything to do with the incident is gone.”
“Which means we have nothing but a ghost ship as proof of all this?”
Tom nodded. “Show him the note, Ulfaas.” Tom said.
Ulfaas took out the small note the man had put it his leather bag and handed it to Steven. The Prince General took it, looked at it and winced. “Sub Rosa?” He looked at Tom. “Wasn’t that a Roman Code for hiding a secret?”
Tom nodded. “I think that this man, whoever he was, was too scared to admit that the Nocturanian Royal Palace lies behind this, so he drew this and hoped that we would understand what he was saying by drawing a picture of a rose and writing an old Roman Code on Parchment.”
Steven bit his nails. He looked at the strange-looking gentleman claiming to be a Captain.
“And your name was?”
“John Lyghort, Sire. Captain John Lyghort in charge of the Olandian vessel The Hurtia on its way to Russia, Sire. My men are still there now waiting for me.”
Alexander asked him solemnly, “What have you to say about the situation?”
The man spoke in a backward sort of dialect. “The Londonium crashed in August, your majesty. I saw her. William Zebulon, the Captain this man claimed to be, died in that accident. I know the man myself and I have seen him dead. He was dead in August. No one can be deader than that. The ship was in shambles, shipwrecked, beaten to smithereens by a sudden fierce storm, your Majesties. We had to sign a warrant that we don’t speak about it. The Londonium apparently had secret cargo on board. Freight nobody was supposed to know about. I don’t know who that man was on the false Londonium, but that could not have been Zebulon.” There was a pause. “He was dead. The Celts were uproarious about it. They feared that it would be a scandal if it came out because of what was on board and no one knows what was on board. Zebulon was chosen as Captain of the vessel destined for Islandia, because he was a recluse and a fitting man for a dubious mission like this.”
“Why dubious?” Alexander inquired.
“Because it was top secret cargo and because it had to do with changing of information.”
“The man we met in Danehamn was not the same man that dragged us to Madame Zonga’s and threw into the arms of prostitutes. That man had a lust that was more ferocious than mine. The man on the deck of The Londonium was cold as an eel.” Tom mused. “Furthermore, he couldn’t have been Will Zebulon. He didn’t have the scar on his neck. The question is only who impersonated Will Zebulon and why?”
“I remember Zebulon” Steven said. “He got me ferociously drunk that night before…”
He looked at Belinda, who suddenly turned to ice, looking at him fiercely.
“Remember what happened back then?”
She flashed a very short smile. “How could I forget your prenuptial endeavours?”
Tom sighed. “Forgive and forget. I hope we’ve left it behind us.”
”You brought it up.” Belinda closed her eyes. “I know that it belongs to the story here, but private discussions belong in private, Tom.”
“Belinda.” Tom spat. “I was merely stressing Zebulon’s possible involvement.”
Belinda smiled cynically. “I shall stop remembering you as the worst best man.”
Memories of that night when Tom had found it necessary to drag his old friend out on a men’s night had backfired drastically. He never realized that Belinda had been falsely jealous of Steven having fallen open their bed with her sister, accidentally. That day, William Zebulon had dragged them to a brothel, stone drunk. Two men in her life, one a husband and the other a former hopeful, looked at her soul freeze. She smiled again.
“He has a point” Alexander pleaded, now no more a man begging a woman to calm down, King or father or no. “This man was chosen by some authority to play the part. The question we should ask is why did someone send this person to us?”
Steven grabbed his wife by the hips and pulled her closer. Her hands instinctively traveled up toward her mouth and the fingers received a tender bite from insecure ivories. She embraced him and decided not to think of the past. This was business. “No more talk of that night.” Steven said. “I’m sorry it happened. I’m sorry that I had anything to do with that man.”
She nodded. “All is well. I forgave as soon as I spoke my vows.”
“Why push something like that on us?” Steven asked as he sat back in his chair.
Belinda looked up, her hand dropping from her mouth. She looked as if she had suddenly remembered something. She chuckled, surprised. Belinda walked to the window. Alexander looked up at his daughter. He knew that she was on to something, but what?
Suddenly, Belinda spoke. She was sure now. “Ulfaas!”
”Yes, Belinda!”
“Any signs of Nocturanian involvement that you can think of?” She winced and rocked her head back and forth to stress her words, her hands emphasizing the syllables. “Any hint that you can think of here? Any picture of Adnicul? Any loose word from a shipmate about Lucinda to prove your theory?”
The three men looked at each other. Tom shook his head. Ulfaas answered.
“No, just a hunch. The hunch we all have that this is her work.”
“Will didn’t recognize me.” Tom clarified. “That is the biggest hunch of all. Not even a hello. He even asked me who I was. That is what I am worried about, not…”
Belinda interrupted him. “Tom, I am not half way as insecure about Steven as you seem to think.” She have him an angry look. “I am on to something. It’s a memory,” she said, struggling. “If only..”
“If only… what?”
She laughed. “If only I could remember,” she went on. “I know that Zebulon was recognizable to anyone. His row of mistresses was longer than the representatives of the senate. I will never forget how drunk he made you, Steven. If Tom says this was not the man, it wasn’t.”
Steven looked up, startled. He looked at Belinda, who walked up to Steven and took his hand.
“Exactly, after that evening in 1422? What had he had? Three bottles of Rum? He must’ve remembered us all after that fight. I don’t think he was the kind of man who is shy of admitting this kind of thing.”
“He was stone-cold sober in September, Steve, and in spite of all he’d had to drink. This man was passionate, vulgar and hard as diamonds. The man on deck was a weakling. I had a hunch. When this gent here…” He pointed at John. “…told us the Londonium had crashed a month earlier I knew my hunch was right. This was another ship. Though the inspectors were positive of the opposite.”
John Lyghort interrupted the group. “You all speak of him as if he were still alive. William Zebulon went down with his ship a month ago. The ship you were about to clear from the harbour was a fake.” He chuckled and pointed a finger at Belinda. “You should listen to John.”
“Then we owe you the thanks for saving Margetania from another attack, Sire” Alexander said. “The Queen will be pleased!”
The man beamed and smiled with his entire being. “I just did my job!”
Belinda sighed. “I have a hunch this has something to do with Nocturania.” The five men nodded to each other. “I don’t know what, but something. I need proof.”
“We have no proof of any involvement, neither of Adnicul nor Lucinda.” Ulfaas said.
“You said that about the Londonium before John turned up.”
Belinda looked up at the men with a surprised glance. “Wait a minute! Why did I forget? Don’t leave! Promise me you will all wait. I have to find something old.” They nodded. “Thanks.”
She left the room. The men in the room shrugged and were somewhat flabbergasted by this behaviour. Somewhere in his heart, Steven knew that Belinda knew her business. All the while the men paced the room waiting for the impulsive girl to return. There was a silence in the room that spoke volumes and once in a while someone would mutter whatever she could be up to.
Then someone walked to the window and tried to pretend he was looking out. No one, really no one, could expect the princess to return with her old childhood diary. Ten minutes later she came back. She was holding a book in her hand. It was a book she had written as a child, mostly with poems. It was gilded and brown and very dusty. In it were drawings, poems, pictures, painful memories from the kidnapping experience.
“I remember being captive in the dungeon and having Lucinda drop wax on me to keep me awake. I wanted to sleep and was not allowed to. Once I did fall asleep, so exhausted by this torture, I had nightmares. Once again, Lucinda had made my long for my nightmarish sleep, hope for torture. The nightmares I had were worse than her torture, so I preferred the wax. She never expected me to escape, so she told me things that were secret. I wrote one of them down.” She handed Steven the open book and pointed to a page between two drawings. They were one of a devil and the other of a ship with big sails. “Read the text between the drawings.”

13th May 1411 – Dear Diary!
“Lucinda lets me keep this book. I don’t know why. Maybe she is a stupid lady…”

Steven laughed. “Is this necessary?”
“Read on.”
”Honey, I don’t think these men.”
”Just read on, Darling.” She patted him on his back. He shrugged.

“I hide my book under the bed where I sleep here in this awful smelly prison and have only been on the rack for four hours today. I cry because I miss father.
I cry because the pain is way too deep to describe.
Today, Lucinda told me about the four Apocalyptic Riders. She said there is a Nocturanian version of the tale, one where one of them is seafaring. It will strike one day and then it will be one of great luck for the land, because Nocturania’s less known harbour city, Fraytollah, entails a secret docking space where famous ships from other countries are copied and sent out under false captains.
She tells me that often normal men are recruited and their faces changed by sorcery to resemble deceased captains whose ships are long gone. In the docking bay these ships are then recreated and brought out to pass customs in the Danish Channel. The weapons are often hid in the hull of the ship, which many inspectors miss to control. I hope I remember this secret one-day. Maybe I can use it against her.”

Belinda closed the book. She shook her head in disbelief at her own lack of piecing together the clues. “I can’t believe that I haven’t understood it until now. The portion of that book has been left unanalyzed for thirteen years. I guess I was too young to contemplate the importance of it then.”
Belinda’s father took a very long and stern look at his daughter. “Why would Lucinda tell an eleven year old girl something as vital as that?” He waited for a reply. “Why would she reveal secrets like these if she didn’t have a plan? This woman had to have a plan.”
“The exact same reason why she told me about Nina Ray.” Belinda answered. “She knew.”
Steven paced the room and then turned to the assembly. “It seems to me that these comments from her were strategically uttered for Belinda to hear. She led us here. She led us to this spot. She knew thirteen years ago that we were going to be experiencing this right now.”
Belinda nodded at him, raising her hand. “She told me these things at the rack, revealing facts that obviously were top secret. She would never have done it if she didn’t want this information to lead somewhere and to be taken seriously.”
“Yes.” Steven answered. “But what was her plan?”
“So that we all could remember them in the future.” Tom said. “She wants to lead us to Fraytollah. That is the only thing I can comprehend could be the reason.”
“If that is true, what is then waiting for us when we are there?” Belinda cocked her head and closed her eyes. “This is dangerous, gentlemen,” she argued. “The diary was never taken away from me. I can remember her actually walking away from the dungeon when she saw me writing in them. If I can remember it correctly, she even provided me with the books and the pens. She wanted me to write down what she had said back then. She lured me into this.”
Alexander sighed and looked out at the autumn landscape. “My sister actually did mean it thirty years ago when she said that she would come back to haunt me one day. She was probably already planning the visit and also the actual curse back then.”
Tom interfered. “What do we have so far?”
Steven filled in. “Lucinda on purpose reveals to Belinda secret information about the Fraytollah harbour in 1411 for us to piece together in 1424. If I am right she wants us to go there and infiltrate the pirate ships. Why else would she have presented us with a fake sailor whom we hear is dead since many weeks?”
John Lyghort spoke. “Do you positively know that Lucinda planned this?”
“We know.” Belinda responded.
“How?” he spat.
Steven sighed. “We know her motives. She wants revenge.”
There was a long silence.
“After it,” Belinda continued. “So, what do we do? Just ignore her warnings? I mean, if she seriously has presented us with the clues leading to the Fraytollah harbour she might have something else for us in store there.” She felt uneasy, edgy and nervous. “On the other hand, we here have the possibility of cornering a problem we have dealt with for a long time. Not going to Fraytollah would be a grave mistake. These pirate ships obviously have all come from Fraytollah. The fact that we have had suspicions of false captains in the past does not help us much. All I know is that this is a fantastic chance to conquer this problem. The Medatlantic Merger was founded so we could save Margetania from the pirate attacks by ships we passed because we had no proof of false play.”
King Alexander turned to the outsider in the group. “Do you have information about the harbour or anything that would lead to a clue where this harbour could be?”
John Lyghort twitched with his head once and scratched his cheek. It was the look of a man who was confronted with an uncomfortable truth that, nonetheless, was amusing to contemplate.
“Fraytollah is like the legend of The Flying Dutchman,” he spoke and everyone looked at one another. “We all believe in the legend, but no one has seen the actual man. Fraytollah is,. well, let me put it this way. There are so many stories about the place that it virtually impossible to outdo the stories. Dragons live there, they say and there are demons recruited as messengers and there are forest gypsies trained like monkeys to become first mates on ships with no names.”
Steven persisted. “Where is it? Does anyone have any suspicion where it could be?”
John nodded profusely. “You are asking me a question I cannot answer, dear Sire,” he cackled hoarsely. “There are just clues.”
“What have you heard so far?” Belinda said persistently.
“There is a river that opens into the ocean on the north coast,” he said shyly. “That river leads into a deep forest and the river twists and turns a million times.” Lyghort cleared his throat. “The river ends in a large bay. Nobody has ever tried to make it there. There are rumours that the place is haunted by a Cadzillion spooks.” The assembly of majesties laughed at Lyghort’s made up words like “Cadzillion,” “It is obvious no one really knows where it is. It is only a very wild assumption.”
Belinda walked back and forth in the room and then she turned to Alexander.
“Father,” she said at last. “We can’t let this chance pass us by, but we can’t send an army there either. We will have to send an infiltrator working under an assumed identity.”
Alexander raised his eyebrows and snorted. “If we can find the harbour. That country is undiscovered beyond anything we have ever seen.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t try, father,” she said. “We can solve the problem now. I don’t believe that Lucinda has the strength to beat me to it. If she has a surprise for us there, we will handle it. I will see to it that we will face the challenge. We shall cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Alexander nodded. “All right. Who do we send?”
Tom looked down and looked intent on saying something. He hesitated and then finally said. “I’ll go,” he said.
Belinda shook her head. “What? There is no need for you to go, Tom. This is a dangerous mission and no one knows what kind of perils are waiting over there. I meant someone else. Not you.”
Tom held up his hand and said: “That summer of 1411 I should have taken care of you. Because you were so persistent in choosing Steven as your partner at the ball festivities, I left you to yourself. It is my fault that you were abducted in the first place. If I can do something to mend this…”
He thought about what he wanted to say for a minute and then went on.
“…thing I am responsible for, then I am happy to oblige.”
Alexander shook his head and laughed a melancholy laugh. “I know what the dangers are and I also know that I cannot talk you out of it.” Alexander walked up to him and put both hands around his cheeks and caressed them. It was a fatherly gesture, surprising in its depth and sensitivity. “Are you absolutely positive you want this? You don’t have to do this, you know, son.”
Tom nodded. “I hate these darned rats as much as the next royalty, your majesty,” he spat. “There is one thing that I can say. Willy Zebulon was no hero, but he didn’t deserve to be impersonated by some forest gypsy parading as a seafarer.”
Belinda, who with solemn step walked up to him, embraced his head with her hands and kissed him tenderly on the lips, followed a long silence. Everyone looked down a trifle touched and embarrassed. She slowly let go of his lower lip for a moment before she withdrew.
She spoke softly.
“I never loved you” she spoke. “If I were not married, I might have fallen in love with you now.” She walked away into the arms of her forgiving husband, who kissed her as well.
“So,” Lyghort said. “Then it is off to the unknown then, ain’t it?”
“I guess.” Tom said.
“May the Lord protect you on your way.” Steven said.
Ulfaas had been standing a while silent and now he said: “Come back safe. We need you.”
There was no answer to this inquiry.
No one could say if it was possible for Tom to return home at all.


CHAPTER ELEVEN: NOMED SNEKAWA

Saturday, October 18th, 1424 A.D.

John Lyghort had finally decided to leave for Danehamn. Although very intensively tutored to understand the problematic situation, he felt that assisting the King was a trifle too high a matter. Alexander had begged him to stay as an advisor, but the chap with the invented vocabulary felt that his men had waited long enough. Besides, the ship was due to embark any day. The old sailor was given a large sum of money as a sign of gratitude for his assistance and was told to report to Ulfaas in Danehamn the moment his vessel reached the port from Russia.
The throne room was filled with dignitaries. Zedrick, Cretan, Alexander, Sieglinde, Belinda, Steven, Rolf, Tom, Ulfaas, Patricia, Theo, Marcus, Philip and the Archbishop Bernardus Paul had been invited to the congregation and they sat discussing a possible plan for sending Tom to Fraytollah. Sitting at a round table, which was positioned right opposite the throne on the exit side of the room, the assembly were gathered together to discuss.
Surrounded by grey stone walls, under flickering torchlight, there was a long conversation on how to go about sending Tom on the secret mission. Chief Senator Julius Cretan had brought a list of possible candidates that would be helpful to work as guides. The best men in the land were handpicked to join the well-spoken gent on his journey to see the dark side of Medatlantia.
In the middle of this conversation, Tom announced he had decided to go alone. Cretan strongly protested and emphasized the importance of a crew of trained sailors to ensure the trip was successful. Tom said that he had worked by the channel, as a sailor and as a soldier. All he needed was a horse and plenty of money and food to last him a long time.
Cretan marched out, calling the plan “preposterous” and “risky” and “frankly, dumb.”
Cretan was called back by Alexander and the King agreed with Tom. An entire squadron and fleet of soldiers might cause suspicion. Why couldn’t they tutor Tom where to find the place and teach him the tricks of undercover infiltrating? One man might better be able come through as a new member of the crew and not be suspected to be part of a government.
Cretan claimed that Tom was running the grave risk of becoming “hooked” and forced to become a Bular. This meant being forced to be a criminal gypsy symbolically chained, as it were, to the duties of guarding illegal shipments. The tattoo was a clear sign of labouring against the law and if one had a tattoo like that no government in the world would accept you.
Alexander responded that Tom was a personal long time friend. Alexander was the King of the continent’s biggest empire. A better friend he could not have. If anyone gave Tom trouble, he would see to it that the problem was solved quickly.
Cretan was beaten and it was decided that Tom was to be trained and tutored to find and infiltrate the secret harbour. That night, Tom didn’t sleep well.

Autumn and Winter of 1424 A.D.

Tom received what easily could be described as a crash course in becoming a forest gypsy and pirate. The art of infiltration was discussed and information on how to handle situations of a threatening nature was taught.
Before commencing on his journey, the young man was asked when he wanted to leave. He said that he did not want to waste any time. On 28th October 1424, Tom rode out on a brown stallion with five days ration of food supplies and a sleeping bag. A month’s supply of monetary payment capabilities on parchment, a Prosperanian special invention of payment, was also handed over into his eager fingers.
Life went on as usual as soon as the man left, but it was obvious that everyone was worried about what was going to happen to him. Yes, he had been briefed where to find the harbour and given maps. The fact was, however, that no one from Prosperania had ever found the place and no one knew exactly where it was. That was enough reason to worry.
Alfred now had a nice, elegant head of hair. He was pulling himself up by the furniture and waltzing down the aisles with a steady bounce and sometimes falling down. Belinda tried to read books to him, but he was more interested in eating them than listening to the stories.
Steven took the toddler on piggyback rides and ran through the hallways. This made the little man scream with joy. His bedchamber lay next to his parents’ bedchamber and contained a gilded bed made of pear wood and a tapestry of a lamb and Jesus with the inscription:
“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”
Alfred has switched from just drinking breast milk and eating apple sauce mixtures to actually eating meat and sometimes wallowing in Geena’s special Gooseberry Fool Cream, containing gooseberries and cream and sugar, or strawberry custard cake. His favourite was still Ruby’s Pear Pie, a dessert he always called Peh Pah.
Bantrard played him so much music that it seemed as if he wanted to transform the boy into a full-fledged musical genius. All in all, again, it was normal life disguising the fact that everyone was waiting. Life went on as usual. Nothing very special happened.
There were parties and church services. Alfred’s first words Mama and Papa and Music and Food, all symbolising the basics of life. It was a wonderfully drunk Christmas with Senatorial conferences and sibling rivalry. There was Morgana sharing her husband with Patricia and Patrick having affairs and there was Erica crying herself to sleep at night.
There was lovemaking in the corners and there was custard pie. There were people waiting in the wings, ready to take over and make royal life a living hell.

Monday, March 5th, 1425 A.D.

After four months and five days of impatient waiting, Tom Barnes had finally arrived back at Iuventus Sacrum alive to tell the tale of the secret harbour. He had already met Cretan even before meeting the King, riding up to the Senate unannounced and telling the old fart the entire story.
The adventurer rode in unannounced that day, hungry, thirsty and weather beaten, wearing clothes that stunk of dirt and sweat for a mile. Tom was promptly given three plates full of peacock, swan, snail, ostrich, hen and rooster. He had dumpling soup and four bottles of mead. The orange cake made his mouth water. After that he jumped naked into the thermal baths with Morgana and Patricia.
The Alexander Room was full that night. Tom told the entire assembly his story by a crackling fire and accounted the tale of how he had lived on berries and grilled rat for weeks before even reaching Nocturania. It was not until the 1st of December that he arrived at the secret location of Fraytollah. He had been struggling through the snow and overcoming blisters and wounds and meter high snowdrifts to arrive there. With a blanket around his shoulders in front of the fireplace in the Alexander-Room that eve, he sat with a hot cup of Geena’s spicy wine and told them about what he had seen. His hair was wet and his face red with blood-shot icy wounds.
“I arrived much sooner in Fraytollah than I had thought possible.”
“What did you find?” Queen Sieglinde asked.
He looked at her from the side, and then he looked into the flames. “Nothing but the harbour at first.” He shook his head. “Disgusting place. There were brothels at every corner, smugglers openly stealing from storage, illegal business, disgusting people making love in alley ways, rats crawling in the corners. Ooh, those rats. Huge. I couldn’t do anything, but not look at all this crime. It wasn’t my authority to complain, since it wasn’t my country.” He took a sip of his drink. “Oooh. This wine is great.” He looked at the companions that were gathered around him and sighed.
Steven signalled to him with his head and responded with a casual look.
“Is there a harbour dock that seems like the one Lucinda spoke of?”
Tom grinned. He nodded. “In my view it seemed to be that unimaginable nerve centre of a dark kingdom. I had to have a Bular tattoo needled into my forearm to get in there and find that out...”
“You did what?” Belinda asked quietly.
He looked at her. “Belinda, it was the only way to get in there. The docking space is completely run by defective forest gypsies. The new chief is an ugly brute named Manuel something. There is a rumour that Nina Ray had him evicted before being caught, that the forest queen sent him to the Rumzils and by some miracle he escaped to Fraytollah and found himself living in a whorehouse before meeting the right people and getting in this weird kind of business.”
He now had the feared Bular Tattoo upon his arm and was not very proud of it. It was the sign of an international pirate and it was the mark that any forest gypsy or criminal in Medatlantia had to bear if he was part of the dark order that was founded by Simon’s brother John.
Belinda shook her head. “A tattoo like that can’t be taken away. You were careless.”
“I am known in royal circles. Everyone knows that I am not a Bular.” He indicated toward the King. “Even your father advised me to have it done, if necessary.”
“How did you find out about Manuel’s path to fame?” Alexander asked.
“I disguised myself as a Nocturanian smuggler and soon enough I was communicating with people I never knew existed. I told them this story that I was a defective guard from the army and it must’ve hit well with them.”
”Why?” Sieglinde asked, leaning forward.
“Well,” he said and turned to her. “The army is notoriously unpopular with smugglers, because they raid the pier once every year and kill a lot of people. Adnicul secretly runs the harbour, but sends his army to kill some pirates on a regular basis in order to keep them on their toes. The pirates smuggle weapons in order to take over the country one day. That I was a defective guard made me popular and we were soon introduced to the chief. It took me about a week after arrival to get to that point.”
“What happened when you did?” Belinda inquired.
Tom sipped his wine. He turned to her. “He said he might be able to get me into a more lucrative position and lead me to where the ships were built.” He shook his head again and laughed. “I couldn’t believe my luck.” He looked into the flames. “I was lead right into the lion’s den.” He looked distantly into the flames. Everyone saw how mysterious that gaze was and waited for him to continue.
He looked at Steven, who gave him a discarding smile. “You do know that the Bular tattoo is a dangerous thing?”
Tom waved his warning away with his left hand. “I rarely take off my shirt, friend. Besides, in order to see what was in there, I had to have one burned into my skin. Manuel would never let me enter if not. It is like the guild of masters and craftsmen.” He looked at Belinda and nodded. “The funny thing is that the dock is run mostly by these defective army-smugglers who oppose the state and want to outsmart it. At the same time, everyone knows Adnicul runs the operation so he can start a war against us. So in actual fact he uses state opposing mechanisms to strengthen his own state.” Tom looked at Alex. “Strange, huh?”
Sieglinde thought for a moment. Then she said: “What was in there?”
“It is a large wooden structure with four channels and it’s run by close to three hundred workers simultaneously on four ships, one of them being Prosperanian.”
“Which one?”
“The Wilta.” Tom responded. “The one that still is in our harbour.”
“And the others?”
“The Yorkshire, a Britannic vessel, a Hispanic sailing ship named Silvia Regalia and the Margetanian vessel The Raphaela.”
“When are they planning to use them?”
“The Yorkshire is being planned, as far as I know, to engage in embarkation upon the Hispanian Coastal town of Mormidaria next spring under false pretence. One of the gypsies told me. The Margetania won’t be used if it isn’t absolutely necessary. As to the Hispanic one, they’re planning to attack Prosperania with it at the same time as the Yorkshire.” There was a pause. “There is much more. The Londonium wasn’t accidentally shipwrecked. There are continental-wide spies at work here. In Dublin, where the Londonium was built, there were Nocturanian traitors who infiltrated the majesties to engage in a plot to overthrow the Islandian king and replace it with a continental chieftain. His Britannic majesty was never very happy about it, so he sent a rebel such as Zebulon to do the deed. The whole thing was a plot to destroy The Londonium so that they could rebuild it and send away the fake ship. In this case, the whole project was just there to lead us on. Adnicul does these things all the time. Zebulon was actually a forest gypsy who was retired warrior. They retire at forty. The man impersonating Zebulon was never willing to do it, but did anyway for a large sum of money. Obviously, Lucinda had a part in transforming him into Captain Zebulon as well as actually shipwrecking the actual ship.”
Alexander rubbed his chin. “They are planning to launch continental war on false premises.” There was a long pause. Alexander stood up and walked out of the room.
The four others looked at him, surprised. Outside the room, Rolf seemed to be receiving orders from the King. Belinda used the time to question Tom. “How did you manage to escape?”
Tom chuckled. “Wasn’t easy, but eventually I did when I found out that people were suspicious of what I was all about. I think they are still looking for me. I have arrow splinters in my buttocks to prove their hatred toward me.”
Alexander entered the room, closed the door and came to sit down. “I told Rolf to send Simon and Marcus up to meet me tomorrow at noon. Cretan is being notified. I want you all to be there. I will send Simon to Hispania to warn Mormidar. Marcus will ride to Ulfaas tomorrow. The ball is rolling, gentlemen. We will counterattack.”
Belinda, Steven and Alfred went back to their chambers to read fairytales, whilst the King continued mapping out his battle plan. Tom sat for a while in the Alexander Room with Sieglinde and Patrick. The conversation was mainly quiet, a still and thoughtful chat before the launch of a storm.

Monday, May 21st, 1425 A.D.

As soon as Tom returned, King Alexander issued an official proclamation that was read by Cretan to the Senators, that the Fraytollah harbour was being attacked. They had finally found the place where the pirate ships were built, it was said in the official document, and now the neighbouring country would pay. It was also said that it was to be kept a secret within the parliamentary community.
Mormidar was notified and so was Mustafus and by the end of April two thousand soldiers were on the march toward the Danish Channel.
The fleet by the channel was a joint one and so the ships by the harbour had two flags, the Prosperanian and the Olandian. The royal motto of each country was written on every ship insignia on the stern in both the Nordic and Prosperanian tongues: Fór godum og konungi and Ai deos est regie. Both lands had the same royal motto, which had always been the case. For God and Ruler. All in all, with the Prosperanian army, there were 3567 soldiers sent to the channel and the most modern weapons were used to attack Fraytollah. The harbour held 30 local battle ships, 20 of which had a 37-foot beam. 18 of these ships left the harbour on that Monday. Each ship carried a total of 200 men. It had been kept very secret and the directions on how to find the docking bay in Fraytollah were precise. That day, Belinda had one of her disguised prayer days in the Cathedral and she met the old monk again. The advice he gave her was not to worry but to trust God, which was comforting, but she wondered why he told her something she hadn’t even wanted to ask. It hadn’t even been a topic, her worry.
She decided to take his advice and be calm and collected. Alfred could now form sentences. Erica and Patrick were spending some time with the child, reading stories for him and giving him presents. Patrick was still fond of the drink, but Roberta had been thrown out of the castle again and replaced by another lover, Erica. There was no infidelity anymore and the two were speaking of having a baby. Nothing was done yet, but the two were talking about it.
The dreams were a sign, the weather was a sign, the crows picking on dead rats outside the gates were a sign, and the buzzards were a sign. But Lucinda wouldn’t believe it, although she knew that it was true. What had occurred many years ago now in the Grand Hall was a reason and they were all forgetting that it had happened at all. It was in the skies.
There were horsemen of the apocalypse on their way to Clurafar.

O virga ac diadema purpure regis.
Hodie aperuit cum erubeurit.


Thursday morning, June 7th, 1425 A.D.

All that his workers knew was that he had been thrown out of the forest queen’s headquarters and that the responsible person for throwing him out was a blond messenger that later had suffered a very serious accident of some kind. She had returned to Nocturania with a completely scarred face and she had told no one why her face was so brutally beaten up.
Manuel was a fat man and not very good looking. The odd and quite unfashionable man named Manuel had long run the docking bay. His manners had yet shown no proof of betterment. He farted and belched quite regularly and had something to eat with him almost all of the time.
What had happened to him in Fraytollah was that he had worked himself up to finally promote himself to the position of chief docking bay entrepreneur. It wasn’t that hard of a job. The ship builders were smart enough to keep the four channels in order and the plans for the ships came through infiltrators. Most of the job was actually bribing the smugglers that wanted to leave not to tell the outside world where the place was. It was Adnicul’s orders.
That Thursday morning started out like any other. Manuel woke up, putting on the same clothes he had on yesterday and the day before and the day before that, ate breakfast and took a stroll around the pier. He yelled at a few workers who all seemed to snigger at him behind his back and knew that this was a fact that they didn’t care about and neither did he. Once Manuel had finished checking on the progress of the building of the four ships the pirates started to flood in. About ten o’clock the entire docking bay was filled to the brim with people.
Not long after that, Manuel found himself standing outside the channel docking pier looking out toward the bay, picking his nose. He was very happy that no one had found their way into the harbour. Manuel could not help himself. He just had to smile. Nina Ray had been attacked. It made him happy that the attacker that had assaulted him verbally had been assaulted herself. Manuel knew what it was. He had overheard a conversation about her mission to Clurafar and knew that her mission had been a Prosperanian one. She had been questioned in Clurafar.
She had beaten up by the King’s men, that was his guess. Only the King’s men could beat up a person like that. What surprised him was that a man was capable of beating up a woman. Maybe it was a woman. A woman could beat up a woman. Manuel always liked watching women fighting.
As Manuel was standing, a fresh wind blew from the north and he wandered up and down to keep himself warm. It was while he was doing that when he saw them. It was a fleet of sailing ships entering the bay. There were ten, no, actually there were fourteen ships. Wrong again, there were eighteen ships, and they were all battle crafts. He knew battle vessels when he saw them since his father had been a worker in the harbours of Hispania.
What were battle ships doing here? They were… Manuel stopped for a second. His hand holding the half eaten apple shivered. They were Prosperanian ships from the Danish Channel. Manuel dropped his apple and ran as fast as he could toward the channel pier. He ran quickly, but he couldn’t see where to go or do.
The first words he had uttered in over a week came vomiting out of his mouth. He was screaming, shouting the syllables, waving with his hands about with a vigour that defied creation. It didn’t matter that he was simply a puppet and the responsible people like Adnicul needed someone to blame if anything went wrong. He’d always tried to keep a low profile, but wasn’t able to. All the men hated him and ridiculed his every move, now was his chance to win them back.
He remembered being beaten by his father, seeing him rape his mother and getting bullied by other children who worked the Mediterranean docks just like him. Now, every word he remembered came flowing out faster than he had ever heard himself speak before. For the first time he felt as if he really was Chief Bay Councillor of the area.
“Battleships are on their way. Battleships, Prosperanian battleships from the Danish Channel,” he screamed. The first pirate smugglers looked up from their work, looking at each other.
“There are eighteen of them out there, men.”
Now there were men jumping into the water and swimming onto the shore, some jumping upon the bridges and breaking bones. He ran to his room up the stairs while screaming, “To your posts, gentlemen, and get into tactical position.”
He looked out the open door, the boats were closer now. Total chaos erupted and Manuel heard the entire bay as a blur of talking, screaming and shooting. The first boats were lowered into the water from the battleships and were on their way. Manuel found his bow and arrow and ran down the stairs again. His shouts were so loud that his throat was soar.
He ran out of the channel pier, leaving the ships behind him, and onto a grassy plain where trenches had been dug. Jumping into the trenches, he started shooting arrows in a haphazard direction and hollering like a monkey. Soon, the entire area was swarmed with soldiers in studded blue uniforms accented with gold buttons. The men were all muscular and well trained, equipped with modern day weaponry not even accessible to the pirates.
Manuel saw his men dying around him like ants on a hot summer day. There was no turning back now. He had to do something, anything, even it was wrong. That was what his father always had said. “Even if it is wrong, do something.”
So, Manuel went away from his covered position and straight into battle. “Long live King Adnicul!” Manuel felt exhilarated shouting this. It made him feel as if he mattered. It made him feel as if he had fought for a cause. It didn’t take long and he soon felt four arrows burying themselves into his flesh.
The man fell down upon the stony earth and looked up to see the soldiers responsible for injuring him. He saw now what they were. They were no soldiers. There were two women and two men. He recognized one of them as the girl that had talked badly to him when he still had been guarding the forest queen’s headquarters. It was Nina Ray, the pretty woman with the beaten up face.
Then there was a woman with a long, black dress and flowing black hair. There was a man with an eye patch and a man with red skin. They slowly lowered their bows. Manuel felt himself losing strength and disappearing from the carnal world. He felt the grass under his stomach and the wails from his men. Three thousand soldiers against his three hundred were impossible odds.
“Who had told the soldiers about the dock,” he wondered. Maybe it was the new fellow, the one with the large tooth gap. Now he recognized the man with the eye patch. It was King Adnicul, whom he had praised a moment before. Why was he here and what did he want with the foes?
The last thing Manuel saw was the channel pier with all four ships burning. The last thing he remembered was his father’s whip.

Saturday, June 30th, 1425 A.D.

Once again, there was a summer gathering by the Poseidon statue. Almost everyone in the family was there. It was good to take the worries of the Fraytollah affair off the royal shoulders for a while. The Senate conference three days ago resulted in a huge public row with Cretan, who threatened to resign. Julius Cretan thought that sending troops to Fraytollah was a bad idea.
The long table was filled with every kind of food and beverage and most people, including the King and Queen, were more than a wee but tipsy. Even Rolf was joining the festivities. Alfred sat in his mother’s lap, hearing the story of Hansel and Gretel for the umpteenth time. Now and then Belinda took a sip of her 1424 Iuventus Red Vintage. There was a song here and there, a couple dancing, Erica kissing Patrick, Lance chasing the dog, Robert in deep discussion with Alex about stallions and mares. Both men agreed that the domesticating of wild horses was an interesting issue and that the dam played the most important part in the development of the foal.
Morgana was cuddling Richard, who was flirting with Patricia whilst devouring a large leg of ostrich. Zedrick seemed to enjoy his quiet chat with the more reserved siblings, Maria and Eleonora.
The galloping of hooves caught their attention as soon as the main gates to the palace garden flung open. A young man with long, brown hair rode in. His white shirt was tucked under a brown leather vest and he was wearing black trousers. Skidding up toward the statue and throwing gravel all across the food, he stopped and announced: “I am sorry to disturb your feast, your majesty, but I have official messages from the bay of Fraytollah.”
Alexander grabbed his golden cup of mead and stood up, walking toward the man.
“You are infesting our peacock with stone, boy,” Alexander spat.
The young man ran his hands through his hair and tied his locks into a bow.
“I might have a reason for it, Your Majesty!”
“What is the errand?”
“Fraytollah has been successfully attacked.” The messenger took a long look at the drunken assembly of revellers before commencing his speech again. “Three thousand soldiers arrived there on Thursday morning, 7th June on this year of our Lord 1425. There are still smugglers raiding the area and when I left there were small battles here and there. Four hundred soldiers are still positioned at the location to keep it under control. It was a fierce battle, Your Majesty, but in the end the pirates had no chance but to forfeit their bay and give in to a stronger and more publicly authoritarian government.”
“And the fake ships that were being fabricated in the harbour dock?” Belinda asked.
The man turned to the princess and smiled. “All burned down. As far as I know the entire gathering of pirates were killed as well. There were always new pirates arriving, so I think it will be hard to put a complete end to it all soon. Manuel, the chief councillor of the bay, was killed. He was found dead in the forest with four arrows stuck in his body after the initial battle. No one knows who killed him. We don’t recognize the arrows. They were none of ours.”
“That is strange,” Alexander said to himself.
The Queen spoke. “The main thing is that we have beaten the pirates. Margetania can be free again. Free of smugglers and raiders, free of pirate oppression.”
Alexander looked up. “Yes, indeed. You were a soldier in the battle?”
“Aye, Sire,” he sang.
“Then sit down and have some peacock in orange and peach,” the king said. “By all means, get drunk and live well. You certainly deserve your pleasure.”
The man soon did as he was told and was found dancing on the tables within the hour.


Friday, July 13th, 1425 A.D.

Belinda and her father had again been wandering about the grounds that third day before Ides discussing politics and diplomacy. A small troop of Adnicul’s soldiers had attacked a coastal town. Father and daughter needed time to discuss the next political move. They walked for the greater part of the day, visiting Tall Hill, sitting for a moment by the statue of Poseidon, going to the poppy field, strolling among the sunflowers and resting under the oak. They rode to the waterfall lake and stopped by to pray next to the monument commemorating the victims from the mansion that burned down September 1392. It was late afternoon when they arrived back at the royal palace. Having brought food with them in two large baskets, they weren’t really hungry. Apples from the trees, carrots from the plantation and grapes from the vineyard had been their food along with wine and bread and meat and cake. They were tipsy and tired.
What met their eyes was not an expected sight. Just as they rode their stallions into the stables, giving Robert the care of the animals, a gilded coach came unannounced through the palace gates. It was a large coach and they had seen it before. Three years ago they had last seen this man. Out of the coach stepped a man with a waxed moustache and a red cape. The golden buttons shone against the red satin fabric like a golden moon against a blood red sky. The coachmen closed the carriage door behind Nomed, who had been gone almost three years now, kneeled before their majesties and claimed the absolute bliss of meeting the finest of royalty strolling their kingdom. Naturally, both of them greeted the entourage with great vigour at first and told Nomed he could stay and maybe assist them with a few minor diplomatic details. He was promised a dinner, entertainment, thermal bathing and female company. Nevertheless, King Alexander asked Nomed why he had been away for so long not even saying a word of goodbye to anyone. It was highly improper to treat a King and a Queen or a Prince and Princess in such a way. He excused himself and said that he had been called urgently to assist his King. There was no reason to disturb King Alexander with such a minor problem. Both King and Princess were won back and they heartily embraced him, albeit with caution.

Nomed was introduced to Alfred and loved the child right away. The boy even got to sit in his lap and hear a song. Belinda’s son could now talk reasonably well and was seen that evening chatting with him on the terrace at sundown. At night, before sleeping, Nomed said good night to him and sang him a pretty lullaby. He was found drinking wine with the King in the Alexander Room by torchlight later, whilst Belinda made passionate love to her Prince Regent in her nuptial abode.

Iuventus Sacrum, Friday, June 22nd, 1425

Educated in Rome and Milan in the fields of art and diplomacy, Nomed had taken a course in physic-herbal treatments in Moscow. He had worked at the Russian and Macedonian courts, as well as on the Arabian Peninsula as assistants to great leaders. He listed the languages he spoke on an occasion in the Alexander Room, when Patrick had the bravery to inquire if it was really true that he spoke so many tongues.
He gave a sample of every one of the idioms of these: Anglican, Hispanic, Neapolonian, Sanskrit, Prosperanian, Nocturanian, Vindobonian, Margetanian, Ancient Latin, Ancient Greek, Slavonic Russian, Gaelic, Mongolian, Hebrew, Olandian and now Arabian.
He witnessed the last months of the Ming Emperor Cheng Zu Zhu Di’s reign as official physician and advisor-translator. He met the possible next emperor, Ren Zong Zhu Gaozhi, and even was able to work with the legendary and admired mariner admiral Zheng He.
Nomed claimed to come from an old Macedonian family of blue-blooded Nomads, born on the 13th October 1392. The royal palace knew all of this, but it seemed that the man relished in recounting these proper details in excess. The 33-year old man looked like 25, acted like 50, thought like 17 and felt like 500. Those had been his own words. Nomed played his own songs while he told of his experiences at the Ming Dynasty court. He had spent time there as a translator and advisor and had met a medicine man that had taught him everything about the Mongolian treatments of curing sickness with herbs, juices and powders. No sickness exists that can't be cured, was the old Mongolian's words.
Nomed had arrived back in Medatlantia, after a year long trip, in October of 1424, and spent the last eight months living on odd jobs and working as a translator and musician and entertainer of sorts here and there. He was well versed in every custom.
He repeated everything over and over so many times and with such eloquent vocabularisation that, soon enough, everyone believed everything he said. He always wore the best clothes and knew every custom. It was even suspicious at times. His clothes rarely needed washing. They seemed to fit perfectly. He was mostly dressed in a red vest with golden buttons, a blue cape and green jacket, black pants and a white-feathered purple hat. These clothes were all satin, ermine, taffeta and silk. He had style, never sweated and had clear brown eyes. In short, he seemed to have no faults.
Again, he was making music with Bantrard and assisting the King as if he never had been away. No one suspected a thing, except maybe Belinda, who repeatedly tried to warn the King, but to no avail. Alexander just laughed at the prospect that he himself had warned the Queen on Thursday the 15th of October 1422, two days after the curse, that Nomed might be Lucinda.
There were the four horsemen of the apocalypse that were riding toward the country. These four horsemen were still a threat. The Fraytollah harbour was being guarded and wasn’t that much of a threat anymore. The enemy was still on the front lines. This had not changed. One thing that Belinda was worried about was the fact that there were two sets of names that seemed to mean something that could be sinister. There were two names that spelled another name backward and equalled the four horsemen that would initiate the cataclysm of the haunted kingdom.
There was Lucinda that spelled Adnicul and Nomed was Demon backward. Just as Belinda hadn’t reacted to the warnings of the Fraytollah harbour when she was eleven, Alexander was just as numb now by wizardry to realize what was happening and marched on to his own demise. The King just claimed that she was being silly and trotted off to another meeting with Nomed. Now Belinda knew that even though she could influence the King, he still held official power. The King had once been worried. Now he was not. Something has changed.
It was rumoured that Nomed was having affairs with close to five girls in the palace and Alexander didn’t do anything about it. Within no time at all Nomed had again won back the hearts of everyone except Belinda. No one seemed to ask why he had been gone for almost three years. Everyone was happy he was here. He was again criss-crossing the palace courtyards happily assisting everyone, making demands. Belinda detected in Nomed an almost foolish and sadistic love to be back in the castle as if it had been home for way longer than anyone could know.


Wednesday, June 27th, 1425 A.D.

“What did you want to talk to me about, Belinda?”
The King’s face was stern and cold. He sat on his gilded throne that morning, the sun shining in from the open window upon his face. Belinda stood in front of the throne like a tutored child charged and found guilty for stealing a sack of silver.
“Father, I cannot believe you are being so silly about this,” she argued aggressively. “You know what I wanted to talk to you about. I have been on you about this for over a week now.”
“I repeat that I have a different opinion now than I once had about the man.” Alexander said.
“You have put Fraytollah on hold.” Belinda said. “There are ships guarding the harbour and dismantling the area, but there are still smugglers coming in.”
Alexander leaned forward. “We can solve the problem, but what has this got to do with Nomed?”
“You have changed.” Belinda whispered. “You yourself told mother after the curse that you thought Nomed was Lucinda. Now you have no clue why you ever suspected anything. This is an impostor, father. This is a very suave man, a man who doesn’t care if you live or die. He just wants your power, your money, and your name. He wants your head on a plate. Does that sentence ring a bell?”
“Nomed is a silly artist,” the King spoke. “He is, however, an artist with profound knowledge of numerous medical and herbal, plus physical cures for ailments. We need that kind of knowledge. Henricus Balthazar knows a great deal, but not as much as Nomed.”
“Do we now?” Belinda provoked. “Have you thought about the fact that he might be the cause of the epidemic? Has that thought ever crossed your mind?”
Alexander sat back in his chair and lifted one finger to his mouth and looked to the side. He sighed and contemplated her words. “The epidemic started before Nomed arrived. We can handle it.”
His whisper fell on uninterested ears. “Does that make a difference to you? Half of the town is coughing. The rash is extensive and no physicians in the land can actually say what it is.”
The King gazed downwards and groaned. “Sweetheart, leave Nomed alone.”
“Now he suggested you negotiate peace with Adnicul,” she laughed. “Don’t you see where this is leading? Has Zedrick been notified?”
The King stood up and walked up to his daughter. He embraced her and kissed her forehead.
“Thanks to your diary, we have almost solved the harbour problem and I think peace with Adnicul is not a bad idea,” the King argued. “How bad can he be?”
“Bad enough to torture innocent people and murder innocent civilians,” she answered. “Don’t forget that the last of the childless Johnathans is on his conscience.”
“We need a cure for the epidemic!” Alexander responded. “Nomed has it. End of story. A peace treaty is being as we speak.”
“By whom?” Belinda said, taking a step away from her father.
“Zedrick and Cretan.” Alexander answered.
“I think we should overlook it, don’t you?” she spat.
“We will, daughter.” he sighed. He laughed. “Don’t worry.”
“Yes, I worry.” she whispered angrily. “Do you know what I worry about most?”
Her father shook his head.
“That you don’t worry,” she said. “That it seems perfectly normal to you that, under the circumstances, Nomed returns with a cure for an epidemic that appears shortly before he arrives out of the blue.” She pointed at her father. “Think about that:”
“I think about being a good ruler for my empire.” Alexander responded.
“Nomed is Lucinda in disguise. Trust me. Do something about that. Think about the fact that your old friend Walter sent his greetings that he is happy to see you after all these years,” the Princess said. “He excused himself for what happened back then.”
“Walter defended Lucinda and punched me in the face.” Alexander chuckled. “I think that serves as a personal affront.”
“Mother says Walter claims it wasn’t all Lucinda’s fault,” she pleaded. “He claims that you should have exiled her long before it happened. You should have seen it all coming before then.”
“He knows so much about that night.” Alexander shouted.
“You can’t spend your entire life grieving over what happened that day.” Belinda responded.
“I can accentuate the positive and try to work against what happened,” he screamed. “I can accentuate the joy and the happiness, Belinda. Forget your suspicions.” Alexander pointed at her. “There’s been way, way too much grief in the Winsletenna family, don’t forget that.”
Belinda embraced his face with both hands. “Don’t overlook or avoid tomorrow’s grief.”
With that, she left, hoping and pleading for a change.
Alexander was left by his throne confused and contemplative.

Iuventus Sacrum, Wednesday Morning, August 1st, 1425 A.D.

The carriage stopped and a very distinguished old man stepped off the front and opened the door. Rolf and Geena were standing by the main doorway, deliberately in the background, whilst all of the children and the grandchildren stood like tin soldiers in a row.
Queen Henrietta stepped out, her gloved hand shaking as hard as her head and looked at the assembled parties. She smiled as she took a few steps forward, shaking her head, now out of joy. Her white robe was almost as bright as her pale milky skin. She looked like a friendly, white prune.
Next, another old woman came out. As prune-like as the sweet Henrietta was, this much younger woman was hefty and resembled a peach. But it was obvious that the red cheeks only hid something much deeper. She constantly looked around her as if someone was going to push her aside. She wore her blue dress well, but it was obvious that she was afraid of life.
Both these women had taken it hard that they were the object of Adnicul’s smuggling affairs. The countryside was completely raped by pirates and Adnicul had not yet admitted to this. Both of the women began hugging and kissing the assembled, trying to understand who was who as Iwar walked out. Sieglinde’s father was a tall man with big puppy dog eyes and grey flowing hair. He at once embraced Sieglinde.
“Hello, daughter!” he said in a low voice. “How have you been? Tell me.”
”I have been fine. And you, father?”
”Well, I am getting old, love. Most of my work is done by your nephew. He is a good man.”
As this was going on, Walter walked out. Alexander never really caught who said hello to whom or whom he said hello to. One thing, however, was clear: Walter and Alexander had not seen each other for too long. Their problems had begun 1392.
Walter was thirty three years older now. They had even communicated with the same people, but for all these years they had not communicated verbally or even met. Walter had not forgiven himself. Nor had Alex forgiven Walter. Once upon a time he had been his best friend. For a long while they just stood there, gazing at each other, not knowing what to say.
Nomed looked at them from a distance. He was laughing.
“Hello, Alex!”
Alexander nodded. “Hello!”
“It has been a while.”
“Yes” Alex said coldly. “It has, has it not?”
Walter stretched forth his hand. Alex took his hand and felt like he shook the hand of a ghost.
“I’m sorry.” Walter said glumly. “I’m sorry about the epidemic.”
Alexander shrugged his shoulders. “It isn’t so bad. We have a possible cure. It is only a cold with a small rash. I know everyone seems to be having it, but it isn’t something that’s out of control.”
Baron Walter von Ochsenskiöld nodded, scratching his beard.
“I’ve been fortunate enough not to have caught it. My staff has been spared.”
“Lucky you.” Alexander gave Walter a cold smile.
“Our staff has not been spared.” he said quickly. “Let’s go in.”
Belinda took her father by the hand and a conversation started between them.
Walter continued his conversation with Queen Henrietta. As father and daughter walked into the main entrance hallway, Belinda spoke.
“Father,” she said. “Open up to him. He has not had it easy. Zedrick’s daughter disappeared and he hasn’t been the same since. His son-in-law misses Oleana so much that he weeps himself to sleep every night. No one knows where she is. Zedrick is his relative. Walter is sorry for what he did.”
“I’ve had it tough as well.” Alexander said and walked away from his daughter. Belinda had never known her father like this. Something had to be done.

Thursday, Monday 9th, 1425 A.D.

Alexander and Belinda had very varied opinions about who Nomed was and if he was dangerous or not. Nonetheless, they made up and were now on good terms after one week of estranged behaviour. It was virtually impossible for them to be enemies for too long. That did not change the fact that Belinda wondered why her father had become so influenced by Nomed.
The princess held a long conversation with her mother that day about her father. Sieglinde agreed with her in saying that Alexander had become very partial to Nomed. The other side of the story was that the King had the last say in the matter.
Belinda left her mother’s chambers that day somewhat bewildered. Was she really the only one that realized how dangerous this man was? Fraytollah was no longer a threat. In fact, according to a messenger that arrived that morning, the entire docking bay was closed and the forest gypsies were all arrested or returned to their forest dominions.
Belinda knew that this was one problem less. It didn’t solve the problem that was overshadowing everything. John Lyghort was away. Steven and Tom seemed to be more interested in feasting and laughing these days. It was as if Nomed’s power included turning everyone into willing and manipulated guinea pigs.
Belinda thought things through. Lucinda had told her about Fraytollah at age eleven. At age 24 the actual harbour was presented to her in the form of William Zebulon and John Lyghort. What was actually happening here, she thought to herself as she sat sipping wine in the Alexander Room that night? People were fooled into believing that Nocturania was a safe haven. Fraytollah was gone, the harbour controls rigid and a peace treaty was being negotiated with the good old friend Adnicul.
People were being lulled into a false security. Steven, Tom, her siblings, her parents, the staff, the orchestra, the stable boys, the senators, the Margetanian royal family and even Marie-Louise. None of them would listen to her pleading cries that Nomed was dangerous.
It even seemed that there was something stopping her from doing anything about it. She was allowed to watch, just as she had in the dungeon at the rack in Rigor Mortis. Nomed spent a lot of time with Morgana and Patricia. He would join in the evenings to celebrate, sing and tell anecdotes from henceforth famous dominions. He looked at Belinda as she if were someone that knew that truth, but could do nothing to stop the ball from rolling. It was cool, sarcastic wrath.
Belinda didn’t feast. Steven was doing the drinking. Mother Belinda read Alfred bedtime stories and heard his vocabulary increase. She saw him run and leap and sang him to sleep and sang him awake. It seemed to her that, in this crazy castle, Alfred was her only friend.

Monday, August 13th, 1425 A.D.

Belinda tossed and turned that night before Monday. Her preoccupation with Nomed and his strange ways wouldn’t leave her. The thought that kept bothering her was so penetrating it was obvious that she couldn’t keep quiet about it. Why was her entire family was so oblivious to Nomed’s perilous nature? This was a mystery to her. Her fear was like an invisible ghost circling her mind.
If she would confront him, then how would she go about it? What would she say to Nomed?
“Your name spells Demon backward and I think you are Lucinda?”
He wasn’t doing anything wrong. Copulating with her siblings was not a crime. Steven stunk of alcohol again. Alfred was snoring in his crib and holding his blanket as if it was a cuddly toy. Belinda walked out on the balcony and watched the full moon. It was Ides again and the crickets were still chirping. There were a few stars out and they looked like diamonds.
The breeze was warm and the still of the night made her feel wonderful for a change. It didn’t take long until she went back to bed again and dreamt strange dreams.
When she woke up it was early morning. Steven was just washing off by the washbasin, for once not going to the thermal bath in the cellar to rinse off in the hot and cold tubs. Steven put on his perfume of an ancient Arabian blend. It was a mixture of fern, oak moss, mint and sage.
Belinda watched him with interest. Steven turned around, putting on his shirt, and saw Belinda watching him. He smiled and she answered by blowing him a gentle kiss. He came over and greeted her with an embrace. “Good morning, sweet pea,” he said. “How did you sleep?”
She snorted. “Badly.” Was she going to say this? Yes, she was. “I can’t get Nomed out of my mind, Steven. Something is not right with that man.”
Steven came and sat down by her bedside and touched her nose shortly with his right index finger. It was lovable peck, teasing and sweet. “Nomed speaks only well of you. I don’t know what you have against the man.”
“Steven.” Belinda groaned. “His name spells Demon backwards.”
Steven broke out in laughter. “My name spells Nevets backward, but that doesn’t change the colour of the furniture.”
Belinda sat up in bed and jumped out of the sheets. She sat up at the edge of the bed.
“Steven. Darling. Love of my life.” She emphasized every word as if it was the last thing she would say before transcending to the next life. “It all fits. He disappears and then Lucinda arrives. An epidemic appears and then he arrives with a cure.”
“Well,” Steven giggled, “so far he has not provided with a definite cure. No one knows if it works.” Steven sighed a long moan and looked at his spouse. “You spend so much time alone with Alfred and are missing the great stories Nomed has to enchant us with.”
Belinda closed her eyes and shook her head. “Look, if you want to spend your evenings getting intoxicated with him, do it, fine.” She stood up, walked to the basin and started washing off. “I know that this man is a little strange.”
Steven stood up, kissed her and walked to the door. “Don’t teach your son to fear the unknown. Teach him to face what he fears. Come to breakfast and listen to the songs. Nomed loves you. He talks about you as the finest woman in creation. Think about that before you criticize him.”
Steven closed the door and Belinda was left to think about her own decisions. No, she would have to face Nomed and it would have to be now. She put on her clothes in time to hear Alfred blabber a tender good morning. She went to his child chamber and leaned over the bed.
“Good morrow, young man!”
He smiled, displaying gorgeous tooth gaps.
“Morrow,” he giggled. “Love you!”
Belinda laughed. “Love you too. Slept well?”
“Uh-huh,” he nodded happily. “Heard you ‘n father blabber.”
“Yes, Alfred” his mother laughed. “That is all it was.” There was a pause. “Want some breakfast? Bread, apricot, juice, apples and chicken?”
He nodded and tottered out with his mother to the balcony. The two spent the next hour or so talking and eating the luscious food Marie-Louise prepared for them, and watching the rising sun.
Geena then came and spent some time with the youngster, reading him stories and singing him saltarellos in a broken voice. Belinda went to her study and signed official allowance parchments for Cretan. When that was done, she knew that it was time to face Nomed.
She took a deep breath and walked down the hall. At this time, he probably would be in the Alexander Room, entertaining the family. Very right about her fears, she wandered in and faced the unknown.
Nomed was there, lute in hand and mead already melted into his belly. He was recollecting a memory in loud fashion about the Ming Emperor. He turned around and looked at Belinda. The two noble people looked at each other firmly with great hatred and then Nomed started acting, pretending to love her. “Belinda, my eloquent, articulate lady sweet. How lovely it is to see you.”
He walked up to her, playing an Arabian tune on his lute and humming.
“I need to talk to you.” Belinda’s voice was cold and unfeeling, unimpressed by Nomed’s flirtatious nature and certainly not willing to negotiate.
“Come and sit down,” Nomed invited. “Join us.”
Belinda shook her head. “No,” she spat. “This is for you and you alone.”
Nomed looked at the others. The King was looking down, saying nothing. He was clearly embarrassed by his daughter’s anger. Nomed smiled. “Does it have to be now?” He grinned very friendly in a false way that only Belinda could see or comprehend. “I mean, I did just tell your family here,” he said indicating at the royal relatives, “about my encounters with the Emperor. I’m in the middle of my story.”
Belinda looked away. “It needs to be now in your private room, thank you.”
Nomed was quite surprised at this wrath. Polite as he was, he turned to his Majesty.
“Am I excused?”
The King waved his hand at the entertainer and Belinda and the man disappeared down the hall. They finally arrived at the end of the hallway and opened the door, walking in to his very large room half full of instruments, books and parchments with musical notation.
He sat down on a pear wood seat and crossed his arms.
“I am yours, my sweet,” he nodded.
Belinda sighed.
“I don’t know where to begin,” she sighed. “If you excuse me, I will be honest. I am suspicious of you. I am suspicious of your entire nature. I believe you’re playing a role and that you are not who you say you are, so I need some answers and some effort. Show me documents proving who you are. I am sure you have them with you. If not, you will have to leave.”
Nomed gave Belinda a very calm smile. “I know you dislike me, but I don’t know why. I like you. You are beautiful, eloquent, smart and very world wise. The best Queen a future could have in store for her people and the finest sister to wonderful people.”
Belinda shook her head. “Tell me, Nomed,” she said, “what about your name?”
“My name?” He raised his eyebrows. “What about my name?” He cackled. “Don’t like it?”
“Why does it spell ‘demon awakens’ backwards?”
Nomed sighed. “Oh, that old story.” He laughed, as if he had heard it before a hundred times.
“You’ve heard it before?” Belinda was somewhat bewildered. “I thought it was new.”
Nomed chuckled. “I was born with this story.”
Belinda crossed her arms and sat down on the sofa opposite him, provoking him with a stern gaze. “I am listening, Nomed.”
Nomed stood up and walked about his guest room. He seemed like someone who spoke to the Senate, defending his cause and speaking to critical parliamentarians. He circled the large mahogany table, running his fingers along the chairs. He spoke to the tapestries and bowed to the carpets. He let his voice echo under the grey sandstone arches and looked out the open window. Toward the end of the speech, he looked at Belinda. It was planned and yet so natural and logical. Everything he said made perfect sense.
“I am the son of a Gfuhre rider,” he began. “Yes, I know what you are thinking. Adnicul was, as well. The only thing I have in common with the Nocturanian King is that I have been in his castle as an entertainer. I don’t much like the man. You know the Gfuhre by history, I suppose. They’re pirate raider nomads, active only in North Africa and the Arabian Peninsula. Their orthodox chastity is infamous. What they do to a man who has been unfaithful is legendary. Be that as it may. Belinda, the reason I mention Adnicul is that you are probably thinking about his lover Lucinda. Her name also spells Adnicul backwards. Now, darling, the truth is that giving a child a backward name is quite a common practice among Gfuhre riders. It is supposed to protect the child from bad spirits. The name Snekawa just by coincidence has the English word Awakens as its’ backward counterpart. In fact, Snekawa in Gfuhre means loved one. To tell you the truth, it was a taken name that my great-grandfather took. He had visited Dublin and found his royal Gaelic majesty appealing and wanted to have a name that always kept him on his toes, awake. Therefore, awakens. Now, Adnicul had a sister that also is named Lucinda and his Gfuhre father named them such to protect them and tie them together in a bond of adoration. My story is simple, giving me the name Nomed was a way for my father to protect me from evil spirits by reversing the sentence the Demons Awakens to ensure that the ghosts would always sleep and not disturb my peace.”
Belinda sat there like a black cloud. “You expect me to believe that?”
Nomed smiled and shrugged. “I don’t expect anything of you, your highness.”
She sighed. “I suppose it’s just the curse that’s grabbing a hold of my heart.”
He nodded. “Lucinda, yes. Well, mmh, it is understandable.” He came to sit down again. “Look, all I can say is that I’m sorry I left and I’m sorry that you hate me.”
Belinda shook her head. “I am suspicious of you. I don’t hate you.”
“Then tell me what bothers you,” Nomed asked.
“I think you are Lucinda in disguise.” Belinda stressed.
He stood up, laughing. “Me? Lucinda? Hah, I’m sorry if I am laughing.”
“What about the epidemic?” Belinda spat.
“What about it?”
Belinda stood up now and walked to the window. She needed some fresh air.
“Look, Nomed,” she finally said. “I think that after being nailed to a dungeon rack for half a year as an eleven year old and almost murdered at 21, I have a reason to have excess fear of ghosts. I just fear that this epidemic is a part of the curse.”
Nomed shook his head. “No way in hell or heaven. I received a very interesting recipe for herbal potions during my time with the Ming Emperor that help against all epidemics. If this epidemic gets worse I will suggest it to the King that we use one of the medicinal cures.”
“I want to know,” Belinda inquired, “why you left so suddenly after my wedding?”
Nomed sighed. “Embarrassing tale, that.”
“How so?”
“Well, I was called to the land by a trained dove that flew in with a message. The Ottoman King is known to have an interest in them. I know because I used to train them. They are special doves that are called Columba livia. Their call sounds like a faint cry.” Nomed waved away his comment with the palm of one hand. “Irrelevant. It said in a short note ‘Nomed, please come to the Capital as I desperately need your assistance in a political matter. Do not hesitate, do not delay. Sultan Murad II’ I have the note here, wait a minute.” Nomed rummaged in boxes and among shelves and found it.
Belinda looked at it and nodded.
“His father Mehmed I died on the 26th of May and he was quite new as a leader. He needed my assistance in handling an affair of linguistic difficulty.” Nomed said. “As I said, you had appointed me winner of the festival. It was painful to leave.”
Belinda nodded and smiled, giving him back the note.
“I’m sorry I suspected you, Nomed. I’m sure that everything is in order.”
“Anything else I can do for you?”
She shook her head. “No, I think I will take a ride and skinny dip in the pond.”
“See you later.” Nomed said, kissing her hand.
Belinda went out the door and Nomed was left alone.
Nomed walked up to the closet in the room and opened the doors. Inside hung a black dress with black diamonds, a dark version of Belinda’s wedding dress from 23rd September 1422.

Iuventus Sacrum, Thursday, August 16th, 1425 A.D.

Belinda felt as if she was closed inside a glass bubble, screaming and shouting at the top of her lungs and no one hearing her. She spent more time with Alfred now than anyone. She rode to the Senate and spoke to the old men there, she talked to the Margetanian royals and she even pleaded with Steven to come to his senses. They all just laughed in her face.
Belinda had not yet been affected with the sickness and therefore needed no cure. Nowhere in history had so much infidelity occurred in Clurafar as during the month of August. At Iuventus, Morgana was courting two men and Patricia was joining in.
Mormidar and Ulfaas were officially invited to the anniversary party of the wedding on 23rd September. Luigi and Regina as well. Martin Darbersham had said yes, as had most rulers of the continent. Mustafus had said he would never miss it, mostly to meet his friend Nomed again.
The preparations for Alfred’s second birthday were in progress. Ulfaas left his inspectors to do the work and came to stay in The Lily for a month and Tom let his guards do his paperwork. Silvia and the twins let Mormidar do the Hispanic work and in Vindobon Regina was forced to say no, due to demonstrations in the capital. Mustafus sent Mario Callini and claimed to congratulate little Alfie when arriving.
Walter was still seeing Morgana and they were experts in hiding it. Erica knew about Patrick’s excursions and said nothing. She told Belinda about it. Belinda had a gigantic row with Patrick that had him gasping for air.

Iuventus Sacrum, Friday, August 17th, 1425

Alfred’s birthday arrived and Belinda again reconciled with her husband, again joining the parties. She sang with all the songs and played half of the parts in the puppet theatre for her son. She spent some of the time arguing with people about how dangerous Nomed was. As soon as Nomed spent some time with her that changed. He performed magic tricks, wrote an improvised Estampie with a following Saltarello for Alfred, labelled “Precious are thy witty sparks,” and that made Belinda’s heart weak.
The little chap was already very talkative and witty and kept the entire crowd laughing at the hill, by the waterfall, in the theatre, in the garden, by the Poseidon statue and in the Alexander Room. Slowly but surely, the royal palace was becoming a who’s who of Medatlantian royalty. Belinda had never thought it. A peace treaty with Adnicul was signed that day. She had been lured into the spider’s web and invited to drink mead with the spider.

August 26th 1425

It was Alexander’s 57th birthday. The crowd had spent an afternoon picnicking and then all went to the Iuventus Theatre that day to hear a concert by the music ensemble. It became obvious very quick that the sneezing from all the guests was forcing them to stop early. The epidemic had again returned to the palace and Nomed was handing out small bottles of potion to everyone.
Nomed had already given many herbal treatments and Henricus was again living at the castle treating patients. Everyone took the treatment that had been tested by Henricus himself and it hadn’t helped. Alexander found it all very humorous and ordered Bantrard to write a jig about sneezing.
Wednesday, September 12th, 1425 A.D.

The real demons don’t announce their arrival. They arrive in disguise. That Wednesday passed without anyone noticing it was different than any other day. It was the day Nomed presented decay to the throne with a beaming smile. Alexander smiled back, suspecting nothing in his mind.
The man that had become Alexander’s right hand next to Rolf suggested that he try something that had successfully cured his King’s court in the Ottoman Kingdom last year from a similar problem. It was a sickness that could not be cured, just as this sickness would not leave here.
It was the potion.
Nomed’s suggestion was carefully considered by the King, and the next day he said he wanted it to be tested. So Henricus, Ariana and Lisa volunteered.
There was sleep involved in the cure and the same herbal drink was to being taken with the addition of the minty flavour of the Addar-root from Hispania. Mormidar had spoken of the Moorish spice of the Addar, which almost every Hispanic took and it didn’t worry the King at all.
He did want to test it first. Being subjected to the state that Nomed spoke of as collective trance was completely safe. You simply woke up cured. The Mongolians had done it that way for years and they had taught him.
Sieglinde hated it. Alexander and she were constantly fighting about and even Belinda now tried to defend Nomed. The young family was put into a trance and awoken again. They were cured from every possible ailment. When the first anniversary guests started arriving a week later and it became clear that they, too, became infected, he invited them all to join them at the eve of the anniversary as a gift to the wedding couple, Steven and Belinda, to be cured.
The evening of the official invitation, Sieglinde slept in one of the guesthouses for the first time since the Madeleine Scandal. The late summer was filled with worry. A very oddly arising epidemic had struck the palace. Almost everyone was sneezing and blowing their noses. It didn’t seem to go away. The strange thing was that everyone at all times seemed to go to Nomed to get help. The cure also came from Nomed himself. He volunteered to produce a cure that would make everyone well and could present it on the 23rd of September as an homage to Belinda’s wedding day.

Thursday, September 13th, 1425 A.D.

Belinda had feasted with the entire gamut of royalty that night and eyed Nomed all evening. Words echoed in her mind, telling her about Nomed and Lucinda’s names and what they meant. She discarded these warnings with the light-headed superficiality of someone she wasn’t. Around one o’clock the full moon shone into the still widely lit Grand Hall and Nomed was playing songs and singing into her ear. He told her tales of love and affection from many of the very famous monarchs he had met.
They shared grapes, peaches and apricots. They fed each other asparagus, oysters, cheese and snail oil. Chicken, lobster, strawberry, nuts, truffles and tomatoes were positioned between legs for them to munch on. Wine was poured across bellies and mead was drunk from navels. Apple cider was poured over Belinda’s breasts and Nomed licked it off with a long tongue.
That night they were alone. Nomed whispered sweet somethings into the princessly ear. When Nomed seduced her there was a new world to be discovered. The princess that had hated the spider was now unfaithful ten days prior to her third wedding anniversary. Belinda tossed and turned that night, dreaming strange dreams.

The Grand Hall, Main Palace,
Sunday evening, September 23rd 1425

“Rotting decay served with a grin. So, evil triumphs at last. ”
Before entering the room, the educated epicurean mumbled to himself that he had won after all. Everyone was assembled; even little Alfie was sneezing and was happy to be there. Nomed was in the middle, serious, sardonic. Alex was laughing, not noticing the look on Nomed’s face. The most important royals of Medatlantia were there. The musicians were playing an Estampie and the food was being dished out. There was laughter and song and many sneezing people, happy to get well and happy to be drunk. The irony of the 23rd of September was that Alexander did not even think it had anything to do with Lucinda that he was being served something green in tubes against his own better judgement.
He told himself how safe it all was. The 23rd of September, moreover, was an important day for officials who were celebrating an anniversary and their own prosperity. The entire family had been invited. It was a perfect occasion for the cure. A lot of people had been having the sickness and Alex assured them it was safe.
Henricus was the living proof of its safety – or so they thought. Julius Cretan had come on Morgy’s behalf, Morgana showing off her cleavage a little more than usual, as she was an advocate of Nomed’s healing powers. He was mumbling to himself that he would regret this. The clerical representative was Bernardus Paul.
King Iwar had come. Queen Henrietta had excused herself, but come anyway. Walter was there, as well. John Lyghort had come back to town for a brief stay in the capital. He had caught the epidemic and was now among the important ones to receive the cure, sitting at the first long table by the window with the other thirty-five.
There he was, the man with the dazzling smile serving poison in the form of a cure. Geena and the entire team of the kitchen staff, every possible physician and healer in the area had checked the potion in order help make immeasurable quantities secure regarding the cure’s authenticity.
Sieglinde said, "Should he really have them drink it?" through the entire ceremony.
Forty-four Senate members had been chosen from the Clurafar Senate to take the potion. In addition to this, twenty ordinary people that were still plagued by this epidemic, selected by lottery, were there. The thirty-six leaders of the nation were in attendance as well. This selection was supposed to represent the entire Empire of Prosperania. It represented people from the church, the crown, the state, and the general populace.
Issues had been discussed, the final treaty had been signed, verifying military alliance between the nations at hand: Hispania, Olandus, Prosperania and Alliland. The food had been eaten, the songs had been sung, the entertainment completed, the games played and the liquid had been drunk.
Nomed arrived, just as he had come, in red, green and purple satin, carrying a lute, singing a song he had written himself. Geena and her team handed out the glasses and the juice was poured. Nomed calmly told the gathering a scientific lay out of the cure and everyone was impressed. The King and Queen felt that Nomed did not care and would be gone soon and that his job was finished. Now it was too late to turn back. They saw Lucinda behind Nomed's mask.
Belinda cried as she fell asleep, knowing she had been unfaithful to her Steven.
The veil lifted just in time for her to realize that Nomed Snekawa was Demon Awakens backwards and that it was all a plan to put the country to sleep. She remembered the curse from 13th of October just when it was too late to even do anything to stop the ball from rolling onwards. Soon enough, there was an entire empire in the form of hand selected elite sleeping in the Grand Hall that day. Lucinda was Nomed and the devil was walking among them as they all slept sweetly and calmly, marching toward uncertain demise.
Nomed walked among the guests, sleeping in their chairs, lying on the tables completely departed, vanished and dreaming. Outside, the sun was shining and the grass was green. He saw the dimension slowly fogged over with ten thousand years of patience. The demons of hell were arriving. The plagues were cursing the earth.
Nomed unmasked, and the Vile Sister of Hades begat demonic joy in spiritual form. It parted thrice and swept across the land in form of blight, pestilence and solitude.
She kicked the final section of her master's long journey into action while avenging her brother's penalty of exile so many years ago. She stood there erect. Reficule waiting inside the blue tunnel in the fireplace, the gate to hell, drooling and scratching, cackling and bobbing. She spat one last time at Alexander's head leaving a blob of spit on its back: "At last, you can take your own medicine! Wake up first when you kill me, Brother! And realize the name my pseudonym bore. Nomed Snekawa is backwards what my secret entails. Believe in my name!”
She walked into the fireplace with these words seeping into Alexander's unconscious, leaving it all behind her, waiting for Armageddon and slipping into another worldly dimension, abandoning all these sleeping men, women and children in the Grand Hall, deeply comatose in another dreamland, patiently awaiting the absolute certainty of a coming doom. They had too long avoided the topic of fear until normality had arrived in the form of Nomed Snekawa whose name bore the meaning of an awakening demon to work a curse of plagues. Not only thirty-six people had been cursed here. Not only one hundred guests representing the country were asleep. The entire country had been lured into an odd sort of fog. There was a three-year blight on the loose. It started working on 23rd of September 1425 with the help of a flamboyant demon named Nomed. In the middle of that pest lay a dungeon waiting for a daughter to return.
The angels were crying. A bright light had joined the darkness. Now it was the duty of the lights still in heaven to shed their light upon the inflicted ones. This was the beginning of the haunted kingdom. This was the commencement of an endless waking sleep whose nightmare could only be cured by the courageous.


END OF BOOK ONE
Book Two:
THE WASTELAND OF LOST MAJESTIES


Actor, author and baritone Charles E.J. Moulton was born in Graz, Austria and raised trilingually in Sweden by his mother, opera singer Professor Gun Kronzell, and his father, the actor Herbert Moulton. He studied the craft of classical singing, musical comedy and drama at the Vienna Music Academy and at St. Sigfrid’s Music University in Sweden. Beginning his theatrical career at age 11, playing the part of a troll, he soon decided to make this a profession. Through appearances in countless concerts and oratories, acting in three languages and doing voice over and film work, he gathered continental-wide experience as an artist.

After touring with Broadway Musical Night, he starred 700 times in the Viennese original production of Roman Polanski’s “Dance of the Vampires”, playing Koukol, Count von Krolock’s servant, as well as ensemble roles. Charles has performed in 80 productions, among others as 1st cast Big Bopper in “Buddy – the Musical” and as Scar and Pumbaa in “Disney’s The Lion King”, both in Hamburg, Germany. He was on board the cruise liner “Arkona” performing seven shows by the coastal towns of three continents and has sung Figaro and Escamillo with the Hamburg Mozart Orchestra at the Hamburg Proms. He is now working as a baritone at the Opera House of Gelsenkirchen. His roles here include Masetto in “Don Giovanni”, Bartolomeo in “Il Furioso”, Zuniga in “Carmen”, Sam in “Trouble in Tahiti”, Walter in “The Three Penny Opera” and Harry in “My Fair Lady”. Other than that he sings at concerts in the Ruhr area, performing everything from oratories to popular music.

Mr. Moulton lives in Gelsenkirchen, Germany and is happily married to his loving wife Tanja and together they have a beautiful daughter named Mara Sophie.

This work is dedicated to them, because without their inspiration this trilogy would not be possible.

Log on to www.charlesmoulton.de for more information about Charles.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 11.06.2011

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