by Abby Gordon
The pale blue eyes went to the French Roses.
“Those of you in England may not fully understand or remember the role of a Protector. Indeed, many Roses of Gascony, Normandy, Frisia and Flanders forgot the primary duty of a Protector. In the years after the massacre, Alicia was subject to many brutal comments and sneers. She was frequently challenged by those who thought she did not deserve respect. Know this - a Protector has only one duty and that is the survival of the Heir. Nothing else.”
Miles saw shame and guilt appear on many faces across the courtyard. Yet they grieved for her. So perhaps they understood eventually. The Root continued.
“When we first saw the smoke, we raced back to the compound. The Challenge did not matter. Helping our people was all we thought of. We took a trail that lead to the rear walls. Alicia heard and understood first. She pulled me off my horse and I heard it as well. The sounds of clashing steel, shouts of anger and challenge. I went wild to reach my family. Alicia tackled me, pinning me to the ground. I couldn’t listen to her, wouldn’t listen to her. It was as if I’d gone mad. She tied me hand and foot, then tied me to a tree. She used her kerchief to gag me when I started swearing at her. Unable to do anything else, I prayed. I cried. The entire time, Alicia stood before me, shielding me. Her sword in one hand, her long dagger in the other. We heard the cries of women and children nearby, but she didn’t move. She wanted to be there, to fight with those she had lived with, trained with for five years. But I was the Heir to York. If Catalan fell and all those within killed, I would be one of the few left to be Heir to Catalan.”
From where he stood, Miles could see the tears in her eyes. This is worse than in the Tapestry room when she told of shooting her cousin in Rome.
“The Sons of Scion,” as one, every Rose spat out a curse, “and the Spanish left. When we could no longer hear them in the valley, Alicia untied me. Leaving our horses in the thicket, we went on foot. Five hundred paces from where we’d been, we found a dozen women and children trying to escape. The babies had their heads bashed against the rocks. Every throat was slit. Continuing to the wall, we saw the bodies of four Catalan Roses. Men who had fought to keep the enemy from pursuing their families. Around them were the bodies of twenty Scions.”
There were murmurs of awe from the English Roses.
“Our hearts were heavy and full of dread as we went further into the compound. The closer we went to the center courtyard, the more the air was filled with smoke until we had to crawl. Everywhere were bodies of the fallen. For every Rose, there were two or three Scions or Spanish. The golden roses fought fiercely that day and their valor shall live forever. The smoke was thickest near the stables. As a breeze came up, it started clearing and we reached the well.” Now her voice caught and Miles saw her swallow at the memory. “Some had tried to save their children by lowering them in buckets. They had been pulled up. Their heads smashed in, they were still in the buckets. Their mothers still holding the ropes. Their throats slashed. One of the women had been my nurse. Her babe was just four months old.”
Some of the women were weeping. Miles braced himself, having heard rumors of what had happened. He knew the worst was to come. And I was upset about Eoin taking my place? That she survived this as a child. I will do anything she says without question. This is a Root for England.
“The wind cleared the smoke from the stables as we turned from the well. There were three platforms over piles of wood. On those platforms were the two sons and daughter of the Root and their wives and husband. At the foot of my uncle’s I saw the body of my cousin, Pedro. My heart couldn’t understand. Two days earlier, the two of us and his twin Maria had been in the training yard as a Triangle holding off Catalan Roses. And Catalan Roses did not hold back. They would not have killed us, but I still have the scars that taught me well never to lower my guard. I turned to Alicia and yelled at her that if we’d come in, I would have been a Triangle with them. We could have fought together. Alicia looked at me, tears streaming down her cheeks, and said, no. You would have died together. At the next platform, I saw the bodies of my youngest cousins. They were babies, using only wooden swords. And then, I reached my parents and at their feet was Pedro’s twin, Maria. I screamed, raged as I had in the forest. Weeping herself, Alicia held me. When I could cry no more, I fell silent, staring at their burned bodies. And then, we heard a cough. The wind came through as we turned and saw the Root of Catalan.”
Miles inhaled, as did many Roses.
“He had been crucified, left to die surrounded by his Roses. Alicia ran to the smithy for a ladder. I could only cling to his feet, begging him to live, to get off the cross and tell me everything would be all right. Alicia held the ladder and I climbed up. He told Alicia to gather what she could for our journey to Gascony. And then,” the Root took a deep breath. “He told me of the Secrets of Catalan. He told me where the Root of York had hidden her Secrets.
Murmurs swept the crowd. Miles felt relief at her last words. The Secrets of each branch were sacred relics and papers dating back to the Founders during the Crusades. There might have been other items, but those were the most treasured and precious.
“When Alicia returned, he continued to teach us, saying what we would need to do. That above all else, we were to survive. Nothing else mattered. That by living, we won. As long as we lived, the bastard Sons of Scion had lost. They might think they had the victory, but as long as we lived, we could one day take that triumph from them and see the defeat in their eyes.”
Miles could see the set of her jaw, the fierceness in her gaze.
“I took that triumph from Richard Richland on my twentieth birthday. In the desperation of his treason, he killed Alicia. My Alicia,” she growled. “Two Roses held him on his knees. I raised my blade, declared my name and claimed the Justice of the Root to avenge her. To avenge the woman who had protected me above all others. Devoted herself to teaching and training me. A woman who held to her oath as a Protector, withstanding the sneers of those most dear to her.”
Having held the traitor to his knees with his uncle George, Miles trembled with the memory of that moment. When we started to have hope in the midst of treason. In the darkness of our despair, our Root returned to us.
“Because of her faithfulness, I lived. I survived the massacre of Catalan. Because of my Protector. Because she stayed true. She was true to the end, with more courage and honor in her death than most could dream of having in life. Understand one thing, people of York, a Protector of an Heir does not fight in a battle. They do not join soldiers at the wall in a siege. They have one responsibility. Their sole task is to preserve the life of the Heir by whatever means necessary. Their rings are as sought after by the Scions as the badges of the Root, Shield and Heir. For if you have that ring, you have killed someone well-trained and probably killed the Heir as well.”
For several heartbeats no one moved, their eyes fixed on the slender woman in black.
“Why did I tell you that? First, so you knew how I survived. Second, so you understood the importance of the Protector.”
A smile slowly curved her lips and Miles felt his heart leap at the thought that a recent bit of gossip might be true. When the Shield stepped to her side, Miles and the double-roses inhaled as one. The Root put her right hand in his and her left over her lower belly.
“Because there is need of another Protector.”
For several moments, all the Roses cheered. The Double-Roses were clapping each other on the back, thrusting their fists into the air. Miles saw his uncle grinning through tears. Finally the Root raised her left hand for silence.
“Training to be a Protector is not for the faint-hearted or the glory-seeking. It is rigorous and dangerous. It is only for the most faithful of Roses.”
Miles glanced at Sir Jasper who was surely the most loyal considering what he’d done in York and ridden to London with word of the rebellion.
“The Root of Normandy has agreed to train the Protector of my Heir.”
&nb
sp; The Root of Normandy stepped forward to her left. To Miles’ astonishment, the three turned their heads in his direction.
“Miles,” Anna spoke. “Will you be the Protector for the Heir of the Root of England and Wales?”
Stunned, Miles managed to make his legs move his body forward. Her words about Alicia, having spent weeks with the woman in the desperate search for Anna, the discovery that Alicia had given her ring to Lettys, and Anna reading the letter – all rolled through his mind. Could I be like her? Could I be as true and sure as Alicia? Reaching the trio, he opened his mouth, but couldn’t speak. She sees something in me. She believes I can, that I am.
The blue eyes steady on him, fierce in her certainty that he could and would do everything in his power to protect her child, her Heir, Miles went on one knee. The Shield released her hand and Anna withdrew two objects from the pouch at her hip – a thick gold ring with a ruby and a dark ruby hilted dagger.
“Swear to it on this sacred relic that belonged to the first Root York,” she commanded, holding out the knife.
“Lady Anna, I will strive to be worthy,” he vowed, placing his right hand on the naked blade. “I will undertake whatever training and lessons are given me by the Root of Normandy. I swear that the life of your Heir will be my solemn and first duty. The life of your Heir over all else, over everything, will be my first and only charge.”
Leaning forward, he kissed the ruby that glinted darkly.
“Accept this ring,” she spoke, holding the ring so she could slide it on.
To his amazement, his hand didn’t shake as he raised it. With a slight smile, she held it and placed the ring on his finger.
“I name you Protector of the Heir of the Root of England and Wales,” she proclaimed. “I know you will prove worthy.” In a softer voice, she continued. “Alicia told me you were the only one to wear the ring. I have a message she wrote for you.”
Catching her hand, Miles kissed it. “My Lady,” he breathed.
“Stand with the Root of Normandy,” she told him in a louder voice. “You will follow his command until he says you are ready.”
“My Lady,” Miles nodded, standing and bowing to the Norman. “My Lord.”
“Protector, stand with my Roses.”
“My lord.”
With a bow to the three of them, Miles went to stand with the Roses who wore the pale blue rose. He stared at the ring, unable to believe it.
“Psst,” one of the Normans elbowed him, continuing in French.
“Right,” he murmured, lifting his head to watch the rest.
He glanced at the Heirs and then further up the stairs to where his uncle stood. George was beaming through his tears of pride as he gazed at his nephew. Miles nodded at him, straightening.
Edward had held his place when the Shield stepped forward, glancing back to shake his head. The significance didn’t escape him. She’d spoken of death, the struggle to live, to survive. Ending with the announcement of her pregnancy and taking the oath of a Protector seemed to transform the York Roses. They had their Root and would have an Heir. The Branch would survive.
Yet, Edward recalled her words in the Tower and sensed the celebration part of the day was behind them. Justice was about to happen. As the three turned to resume their places on the steps, he could see it in their expressions. Death was coming.
From the outer courtyard, the Earl of Leicester appeared and rode steadily through the York crowd with his five soldiers. With a broad grin, he doffed his hat and made a sweeping bow from his saddle.
“Lady Anna,” he greeted her. “Good morning.”
“My lord Earl, you are well come,” Anna replied. “Do your courts go well?”
With a snort, the Queen’s Favorite dismounted and gave the reins to a lad who ran forward. With a nod to Raoul, Leicester smiled up at the Roots.
“The justices of York will be busy for several weeks.” Turning, he took in the nearly five hundred gathered in the yard and along the walls. “It appears you are about to make important announcements. May I witness?”
“I would be honored, my lord,” Anna answered.
With a nod, Leicester moved to join the double-roses. His five guards walked their horses to the stables.
Gaze sweeping those from York, then the people from the manor gathered behind the Double Roses, Edward realized none of the families of the Elders were present. Is the Lady holding them responsible? If that is so, then why have me stand with her? Wait. Is that Meggie? Standing with the Gascon Roses? Patience was not one of his strengths and he fought to keep silent.
“Twenty-five years ago,” Anna spoke. Her voice rang out in the quiet. “My grandfather, the Root of York, became worried about the health of Henry VIII. The king’s son was not of age to rule and the Root of York feared what would happen as lords and nobles struggled for power. As a sickness swept the land, he sent his daughter Celeste away in secret. Few knew this for he trusted few. While the civil war he feared did not happen, betrayal did.”
Edward saw her square her shoulders and lift her chin.
“Sweating sickness again took its victims. Within three months, his sons had both died. The Root of York appointed four men to serve as Elders until his daughter’s return. Within the year, he died. And within two years, all four Elders died.”
From what the Shield had said, Edward understood what the Root said now, and the day before in the Minster. How could they have done such a thing? Committed such a sin as patricide?
“Yet the Root’s daughter did not return and the sons of the Elders assumed positions to which they had no right. They usurped the privileges of the Root and corrupted the Order in York.”
She took a step down. “Years passed. These villains received a letter from the husband of the rightful Root. They and their daughter would be arriving in York that fall. Having grown wealthy and powerful with riches and influence not theirs, the Elders moved first to silence the most likely of voices to speak against them. That spring, they burned the home and killed the family of Root William’s Captain, Sir Godfrey, after sending Sir Godfrey and Sir Jasper to Leeds. Only Sir Godfrey’s grandchildren survived. To protect his granddaughter from the perversions of the Elders, Sir Jasper took her to London where she was placed in the care of Sir Francis Walsingham. When I arrived this past spring, she came under my protection. But ten years ago, with the captain forced to stay silent to protect his grandson, the Elders turned to the enemy of the Order of the Rose. To enemies of England.”
There was a gasp from the crowd and a murmur began. Anna waited until it was quiet again.
“The Sons of Scions, the Spanish and the Church of Rome were quick to agree to the plan. But they insisted that two Elders be present. For the Elders would know the true Root of York and her daughter.”
Edward scanned the faces and could see the growing horror and realizations in their expressions.
“In fact, the Elders arrived at Catalan openly. They said they wanted to meet with the Root. Yet within their company were Scions and Spanish soldiers. These men turned on the Catalan Roses, slaughtering everyone and everything until every sword was dropped.”
Sounds of weeping came from the crowd.
“The four Primaries of Scion knew they had the Root of York, but there were two girls in the gathering of the family. They demanded to know which was Anna Elizabeta.” A shudder swept through her body. “Both girls claimed to be the Heir of York.”
Edward saw confusion and trepidation on the faces.
Taking a deep breath, Anna lifted her chin. “The two girls who stepped forward were Marianna, sister to Marco, the Heir of Catalan, and Maria, my cousin. The Elders could not be sure who was the real Anna and no one would tell them. So, the Primaries gave them to the Elders who fell upon them and raped them both. Maria had a knife on her and stabbed Charles Black in the arm. He bashed her head in with a rock and killed her.”
Most of the women listening were weeping and Edward saw grief and anger on the faces of the
men.
Her head swiveled from side-to-side, returned to the Norman Root who nodded.
“Bring out the traitors to the Order,” she commanded in a voice that rang out.
A door on the right wing of the compound was opened. With their arms tightly bound behind them, Double Roses gripping their sleeves, the Elders walked through the hissing crowd of people that only days earlier had followed their every command and whim.
From a door on the left came the families. Now Edward saw Celeste and his body jolted at the sight of her. Pale but composed, wearing gray as were her brother and sister, she followed Eoin to the open area between the steps and the French roses.
The Root of Normandy and the Heirs stepped forward to stand to Anna’s left.
Anna waited until silence returned.
“Bring out Edmund Richland,” Anna commanded.
Edward tensed.
“Stay,” murmured Owain.
“Aye,” Edward replied in an equally low voice.
He spared another glance at Celeste who looked as if she was about to become ill. Only Anna’s command kept him in his place when he wanted to go to her, hold her as he should have that day.
Struggling in the grips of two burly men, Edmund thrashed as he was brought from the doorway. Seeing Anna, he charged toward her but was quickly caught and slammed to the cobblestones.
“You bitch,” he hurled at her. “All of you will soon die.”
“Your rebellion has failed,” Anna stated. “Your family has failed. The Sons of Scion have failed.”
A knowing, evil grin curled his lips. “Not all my family.”
As he spoke, Mary came from the doorway to the left. Seeing her, Edmund howled.
“No! You were supposed to flee to bring rescue.”
A small smile on her face, Mary walked calmly to Anna and knelt.
“No!” shouted Edmund. “Treacherous bitch!”
Vulgarities spewed from him. One of his guards cuffed him while the other withdrew a cloth and stuffed it in his mouth.
“Lady Mary, what would you of the Root of York?” Anna spoke.