The Seeker - Finna's Quest

by E L Russell

  He'd made a mistake. "You'll eat those words; you chicken shit. I'll wait here if you need to get more backup." She held her short sword in both hands glaring at her foe. A rock hurtled by her head, missing her by inches and she let out a tremendous roar and raced at Bromwell.

  His cousins dropped their jaws, then their stones and turned and fled like the pond scum they were. Their leader, too, stepped back several steps.

  “You should have brought an army, not two more cowards. I guess they saw me at the tournament.” She pressed her advantage and step by step, followed his slow retreat.

  The bully's eyes shifted behind her, and she danced sideways to keep an eye on her tormentor while checking her back. The thunder of horse hooves grew loud, and a Knights Templar charged down on them. The imminent arrival annihilated the last shreds of Bromwell's courage, and he disappeared into the thick brush after his cousins.

  Finna returned her sword to her hip and then bowed to the Knight when he came to a halt. It was the same Templar who had presented her to the Queen.

  “Sir Knight, I thank you, but you interrupted. I was looking forward to settling a score once and for all with that spineless piece of—” Her heart hammered in her chest like a loose stone at the sight of the knight towering above her on his huge horse. She backed away from the hot moist air raining down on her from the mount and crooked her neck to see the Templar’s face.

  "Her Majesty, Queen Eleanor, requires your attendance." He reached down, and Finna felt her feet leave the ground.

  3

  Queen Eleanor

  To Die For

  Finna landed with a thump on the rump of the knight’s horse. That wasn’t how he’d have handled a lady she was sure, but the queen wanted to see her so she would excuse his behavior. It had to be a good thing that Eleanor wanted her, didn’t it?

  “Now?” Panic. “Where? I must dress.”

  “I thought you were dressed, my lady.”

  Humor? But not until after he’d manhandled her and put her on the ass-end of his monster destrier. She slid off the mountain of a horse and landed hard on her bottom. Quickly, she scuttled backward away from the big strutting hooves. "I need to check on my comrade, and I have my own horse." As an afterthought, she added, "Thank you," in case he and the queen were friends.

  The knight dismounted and bore down on her; his expression was grim. Trying not to cower, Finna held her ground.

  "Attend to your squire's wound. Then we must leave or miss our rendezvous with the Queen in the woods on the road to the Abbey."

  Still, at a loss for what was going on, Finna went to Godfrey, who had regained consciousness and was moaning. He ducked away from her attempt to examine his head.

  “I’ll be just fine. It bleeds little now.”

  "You will not be bothered by Bromwell and his rats," the Knight spoke in a way that defied doubt.

  “Yes, yes, I heard what he said. Leave me and visit your Queen. Just promise you’ll tell me everything when you get back.” He waved his arm. “Go.”

  In spite of giddiness in danger of bubbling over at the Queen’s invitation, Finna felt guilty. She didn’t want to abandon her friend. She backed away slowly, giving him a chance to change his mind. “Thank you, Godfrey. You are a true friend and a worthy squire. I will always remember.”

  After she mounted TrueBlood and gave Godfrey a proper goodbye, Finna and the Templar dashed through the woods on paths seldom taken. Although she quailed at the jumps and speed required to keep up, Finna told herself her knight must know these woods well to make his own direct line to the queen. She mentally crossed her fingers, her death grip on the reins allowing for nothing more. Ducking her head, she barely missed collision with a low hanging branch. Ahead of her, the knight veered left, and she urged Trueblood forward, thanking St. George his foot seemed all right. Of one thing she was certain, there was no way the queen would be traveling at this speed.

  “Hurry.”

  The command was unwarranted. She was keeping up. Barely.

  “Hold tight. We leap the creek.”

  Breathless, she lengthened the reins and gave Trueblood his head, racing after him. He rode as one possessed, soaring over obstacles a sane man would skirt. They flew over downed trees, and she barely made the jump over a rushing stream. When the knight pulled up short, Finna reined in her mount as well, grateful to rest.

  “You have done well.”

  Finna felt the heat rise in her face. "It occurs to me, Sir Knight, I don't know your name."

  “I am Guiscard, my lady.”

  “Oh? I am a lady again?” She watched him quash a smile.

  "We'll stop here to water our mounts," he said, leading their horses toward a stream. "Does it make you nervous meeting the Queen?"

  “Not half as much as telling my father I disobeyed him.” Or riding with you, she refrained from voicing.

  He gave her a strange look. “Why so, My Lady Finna? After all, he is a great Templar. He will be proud of you.”

  “You don’t know my father.”

  “It happens I do. For many years, we fought together.” He reached to pull a low branch out of her way as they stepped to the water’s edge.

  Surprise suffused her. “How is that possible?” She raised her hand to protect her face from the smaller branches. “He is no longer a Templar.”

  Small scrub bushes slapped at their legs, and he lifted a leg to step over the one. "Nonsense, there is no such thing."

  "That may be, but he has been a master mason for twenty years, and since I'm only nineteen, that's all my life."

  "Nineteen? You and the Queen and I are the same age."

  “Yes.”

  “You have met her before?”

  Odd. Why would he think so? When she raised her head trying to see his expression, a branch slapped her cheek, and she winced. "I've seen her twice, but that’s not quite the same thing as meeting her. The first time was on the day the Abbott Bernard of Clairvaux visited Vézelay and Eleanor offered two thousand of her vassals to the crusade to Jerusalem. My father, the Mason," she added for emphasis, "took me to a small room high atop the cathedral that allowed us to view the Queen praying at the altar below."

  “You jest. How could you see from the cathedral’s ceiling?”

  “My father knew of a narrow stairway that went practically to the roof. Masons used it in the initial construction and then it was used for repair work. The top floor, right under the roof, has a circular trap door that opens with a view directly above the Apse closest to the altar.”

  “That’s as close as you got?”

  “Until today when she was only a lance length away. I also saw her gallop through the streets of Vézelay. Did you see the women with her dressed as Amazons urging the populace to join the Crusade?”

  “I did. And don’t forget, you are the same age.”

  “You mock me, Guiscard.”

  “In fact, I do not. Queen Eleanor has great respect for things numerical and coincidental . . . Such as two women the same age."

  “Is that why she wants to meet with me? My father says there are no coincidences in life.”

  “I am instructed not to speak on that. It is secret.”

  Finna admitted to a great deal of relief when she and Guiscard emerged from the thick woods to a civilized dirt road. There was always dangers to a horse on a cross-country dash as well as to the rider. She snorted. Dash? God’s Bones. It had been an all-out charge.

  When they came into view of the queen's entourage, Guiscard slowed their mounts to a walk to give her instructions. "When I present you to the queen, the protocol is the same as your first meeting at the tournament. Bow and wait on her to initiate conversation. Do not speak or leave without clear words from her that you should. When she is done with you, bow and walk backward away from her.”

  “Can I wash my face and hands first?”

  “No.”

  Part of the queen's train had ridden ahead and set up food and drink and a large canopy fo
r shade. Guards stood on the road and in the surrounding woods. No one would get to her majesty without notice. She looked at him for further explanation, and he finally said, "There is no time."

  In quick order, Finna and Guiscard were escorted to the monarch’s tent. Guiscard’s deep voice rumbled through her when he put a hand on her back and gave her a gentle shove. “Go in, my lady.”

  Finna bowed to Queen Eleanor, who neither smiled nor frowned. Following the knight's directions was difficult and as the silence grew long, her nerves grew short. When a servant placed a small three-legged stool opposite the lady's table and indicated Finna sit, she did as bidden and locked her hands together so she wouldn't fidget. If the queen didn't speak soon, she'd crawl out of her skin. Lost in her need to remain still, she flinched when she finally spoke.

  "Tell me about your reasons for entering the squire's tournament. Are you a squire?"

  “Because . . . uh . . . I hoped . . .” She clamped her teeth together. She didn’t stutter. She was articulate, fearless. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I wish to go to the crusade with you and your army of women.”

  “And your father approves?”

  She lowered her head. "I . . . Used his reputation to uh . . . Enter the competition. I haven't told him of the competition. He would not have approved."

  "Your father is currently a master mason, and you are his only child. Should you leave, his house will be empty." The queen's tone was neither accusing nor approving.

  “That is so, but women younger than I leave home for marriage. My father, as a former Knights Templar should understand a spiritual need to follow something greater than one’s self. The crusade is a noble effort.”

  “And as a Templar, he also knows what battle can do to your spirit. Your surname is Magnusson, correct?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “And your father is Magnus Magnusson?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “And you are nineteen?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Did your father teach you your skills?”

  Finna nodded.

  “Why?”

  “Although he said I needed to be able to defend myself, learning fighting skills was something we did together.” She debated with herself to say more and finally added, “He has no sons.”

  The queen avoided the last statement. “Marriage has no appeal to you?”

  "No, Your Majesty. Not at this time. I need first to follow something greater . . . Then a man." She sounded pathetic and hated it. She lifted her chin, one too square for a woman, her father often reminded her and spoke her mind. "I want to fight for the cause, your cause. The Lord's cause."

  The queen said nothing for a moment, and Finna squirmed. Maybe she had been too outspoken. For all the two women were the same age, the monarch had the upper hand and seemed to grill the young woman as if she were a student at the foot of her master's feet.

  “The coming battles will test your resolve. Are you prepared to die for God?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Are you prepared to die for me?”

  4

  Inspiration

  Vézelay, France. Spring, 1137

  Finna’s father had often warned, “Be careful what you wish for.” She had always given her wishes a great deal of thought. From that moment, what she said would bring her closer to her dreams. It would define her life.

  She told the queen of the church’s hidden passage. “Father took me to the top in ways known only to masons. It led to a small windowless room they used for their secret rituals and meetings. In the center of the room is an opening that gives a perfect view of the altar far below.”

  “Ah, continue.” Her Majesty took a bite from a small, sweet apple.

  “My father and I often lay on the floor with only our heads hanging over the edge of the trap door to view the altar below. The acoustics were such we could hear every word.”

  “Please, eat.”

  Finna was shaking in her shoes and she knew her knotted stomach would cast up anything she put in her mouth. The farthest thing from her mind was food. “We witnessed your marriage. We saw the prince, Abbot Suger, and some four hundred knights present gifts to you and His Majesty King Louis VII.”

  “The splendor of the special rock-crystal chalice and a golden urn was not diminished by the distance of our vantage point?” The queen did not look pleased at the memory. “I warned Louis the good Abbott served himself rather than the church, but my husband insisted on giving the chalice and urn to the abbot to use in the communion service.”

  Although she was just newly married, all was not perfect. The queen’s not-quite-suppressed-anger conveyed a warning. Stop talking, so she did, yet after only a moment, the woman waved her fingers. “Pray continue.”

  Finna swallowed hard. “It is an excellent vantage point and we used it when anything exciting or important took place in the church. We witnessed many knights and lords taking vows to join your crusade.” Surely that would not anger her. “They pledged vassals and weapons in support. When Your Majesty offered several thousands of your own vassals, I began to wonder what I had to offer. It turned out I spoke my thoughts out loud, for my father whispered during the vows that I would make a better knight than many of those below.” The memory of their closeness brought an inadvertent smile to her lips.

  That smile disappeared as she remembered she had yet to face him. “Your dash through town with a score of women warriors was as spectacular as anything I have ever seen. It persuaded me to be a crusader.” She ducked her head, not sure of what to say next. “I didn’t exactly lie when I entered the tournament. I said I was my father’s squire. Sometimes I do help him dress, and I didn’t pretended to be a boy. The man who signed me in just assumed I was. He, uh, didn’t look.” Having convinced herself it was irrelevant, she didn’t add she’d worn her helmet just in case.

  “I recall you acquitted yourself well,” the queen said. “You won.” She sat taller. “If you are to go to the Crusades, you must receive your father’s blessing for this holy mission.”

  Damn. The woman was her age, yet seemed older and certainly held power over her as the queen. “If your confidence is built on a lie, it may diminish in battle.” Was that her father’s blessing?

  God’s Bones. She needed more than his permission. First, she needed his forgiveness.

  As if the queen guessed her thoughts, she said, “Your age doesn’t require a father’s permission, but he must give you his blessing . . . for himself as well as for you, if you are to survive. As a Knights Templar, he knows and respects that code. So when we are finished here, go to him. Tell him you have my support. He knows me and will understand.”

  The queen knew her father?

  * * *

  Finna patted her steed on the neck as she rode once more on the wide dirt trail toward her village. “I can feel your wish to run, but I must think as we approach home.”

  The horse snorted and she knew he understood.

  “I’m going on the crusades and I’m afraid you cannot come with me. You must keep Father company here at home so he is not alone.”

  The destrier snorted once more and pulled at the reins, his feet dancing in an effort to take off. “Only a very few of her three hundred women will become a part of the queen’s personal guard. They are the best of the best.” She patted her horse again, his warmth giving her comfort. “That’s me, Trueblood. She wants me. We will ride into Jerusalem on Persian horses, which will be waiting for us.” She bent forward. “I will miss you, boy. You are worthy of being a crusader’s destrier, but the journey is too difficult.”

  She replayed the conversation she had prepared for her father. No matter how many times she reworded it and practiced it, the words fell flat. She swallowed the knot in her throat, realizing this could be the last time she ever saw him. She prayed her father would not be too angry and wondered of St. George was still there for her.

  rotect you.>

  “St. George?” The voice was in her head, like before and it spooked her. “Who said that?”

 

  Finna twisted in the saddle to look behind her. “Show yourself.” She saw nothing. “Godfrey? Is that you? Not funny.” She scanned both sides of the road.

 

  Humph. Guiscard, the queen, and now voices in her head. It seemed everyone knew my father these days. “A name, I would have a name.”

 

  “Where are you?”

 

  Ridiculous. “Then get out. I don’t want you here.”

 

  “Who are you to worry?” Anger rose within her.

 

  “Who are you to ask?” And a little fear.

 

  “It is my destiny to fight in the crusades.” She fought the voice’s right to know but answered anyway.

 

  “Then make it clear for me.”

 

  Finna looked all around again. She saw no one in the woods. She was alone on the road with no other traveler in sight. “Are you demented? Like I’d choose death. What makes you think I’ll even have a choice?”

 

  “Of course, I will tell him and what business is that of yours? I will go to the Crusades.”

  Trueblood, startled by something in the brush, danced in place and Finna clutched the reins.

  The gentle motion of the horse must have rocked her to sleep. She’d been dreaming. Impossible. She never slept on her horse and certainly would not have a lackwit dream like that. She gave her steed his head and urged him to gallop home.