The Briton and the Dane: Concordia

by Mary Ann Bernal

  Concordia watched the scurry of activity as Lord Stephen and his personal guard headed toward the docks while the bells continued to ring. She saw women and children running down the hill while armed warriors stood at the ready on the wall-walk.

  “Father!” Concordia yelled as she leaned over the rail. “Father!”

  “I doubt you can be heard above the noise,” Brantson told her kindly as the fishing vessel approached the dock.

  As soon as the boat was moored, Brantson helped Concordia off the boat. He did not say a word when she left his side and ran across the wooden planks, becoming short of breath as she headed up the sloping hill where her father stood.

  “Father!” Concordia shouted again.

  This time Lord Stephen did hear his daughter’s voice, and cried unashamedly as he ran down the hill, holding her in his arms when he reached her, and thanking God for His miracle.

  “I never gave up hope,” Lord Stephen told her. “Praise God for your safe deliverance.”

  Brantson, Bryce and Umar kept their distance, giving father and daughter a moment of privacy. However, Brantson became alarmed when he noticed Concordia grasping her belly. He hurried towards his wife, catching her in his arms when she fell.

  “The child,” Concordia whispered. “It is time.”

  Brantson carried his wife up the hill, walking quickly towards the main gate, and he was grateful to see Elizabeth rushing towards him.

  “Thank the Lord you are both safe,” Elizabeth said tearfully while looking knowingly at Brantson. “Take her to our quarters while I make arrangements for the birthing.”

  Brantson did as he was bid while Elizabeth sent word to the healer.

  “Bryce, praise God you are safe,” Elizabeth told him while looking at Umar. “I believe we have not met. I am Elizabeth and this is my husband, Stephen. You are most welcome.”

  “Forgive me, Bryce, and Umar. You must be weary from your journey,” Lord Stephen said sheepishly. “You will be given chambers in our household. Walk with me, I would hear of your adventures.”

  “I must help with the birthing,” Elizabeth interjected. “Meet me in Concordia’s chambers.”

  “We will wait with you,” Bryce told Lord Stephen as Elizabeth hurried through the main gate. “It is only fitting.”

  “I welcome the company,” Lord Stephen replied. “It may be hours, or days before the child enters this world, and I know Brantson would be pleased...he has waited patiently for Concordia to bear him a son.”

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Brantson set Concordia on the bed gently, sitting beside her as he waited for Elizabeth and the healer, trying to alleviate her fears when the watery-like fluid soiled her clothing.

  “I will not leave you,” Brantson told her. “You are young and strong...all will be well.”

  “I pray you are right,” Concordia screamed in pain as her muscles tightened, grasping Brantson’s arm until the spasm subsided.

  Concordia started to sweat profusely, finding the room unbearably hot as she waited for the pain, breathing heavily each time her belly hardened and squeezing Brantson’s proffered hand until her fingers ached. She looked at Brantson pleadingly, her eyes depicting her terror each time she screamed. Brantson reassured her as he kept looking at the door, willing the healer to miraculous appear, and was grateful when Elizabeth entered the room.

  “Help me remove her clothing,” Elizabeth said as she lifted Concordia gently.

  Brantson cradled Concordia in his arms while Elizabeth changed the bedding. He placed Concordia on the clean cloth, resting her head upon a feathery pillow while Elizabeth covered her with a light blanket before opening the solitary window. A cool breeze filtered through the room, replacing the hot, stagnant air, and caressing Concordia’s sweaty face.

  “It will be hours before your son is born should you wish to rest,” Elizabeth told Brantson. “Your journey was long and tiring.”

  “You are most kind, but my place is with my wife,” Brantson replied. “Tell me what I must do when it is time.”

  Elizabeth nodded, tapping Brantson upon his shoulder before opening the door. The servants nodded as they entered the room, carrying linens and herbs, and a healer’s bag. A barrel filled with cool water was placed not far from the bed, and a fire was started in the hearth.

  “The healer is detained, my lady, but he will come,” one of the women said.

  “Have the men bring extra chairs, and perhaps a couch,” Elizabeth told her. “The vigil will be long, I fear...and do bring food and drink.”

  “I will see to it,” the woman replied before taking her leave.

  Elizabeth remained in the outer room, waiting for her husband and their guests to arrive. She opened the windows, grateful for the wind, as the sun started its midday climb. The room was as Concordia had left it so many years past with shelves of books lining two walls. She picked up a quill that rested near a dried-out inkpot, tapping the feathers on her fingers as she remembered the young girl sitting at her desk, practicing her lettering. She heard the muffled screams from the bedchamber and prayed silently to God that the birthing would not prove difficult.

  “Have you word?” Lord Stephen said as he burst into the room, followed by Bryce and Umar.

  “It is too soon,” Elizabeth reminded him, “but I have sent for refreshments...and there will be more chairs, and a couch...so you might be comfortable while you wait.”

  “I want to see my daughter,” Lord Stephen said as he knocked and opened the door.

  “My lord,” Brantson said as he rose.

  “No need for formalities...you are as a son to me,” Lord Stephen replied as he approached the bed.

  “Father...please forgive me,” Concordia wept as her body contorted with the intermittent pain.

  “Hush, my child,” Lord Stephen told her through watery eyes while kissing her forehead. “You are safe...you are safe.”

  “I never meant to cause you any pain, and I have wronged Elizabeth,” Concordia said breathlessly as a sharp pain wracked her body.

  “There will be time once this is finished,” Lord Stephen whispered. “I will be in the outer room should you need me. Bryce and Umar also keep vigil with me. God be with you.”

  Lord Stephen touched the side of Concordia’s face gently with the back of his hand, embraced Brantson and left the room hurriedly lest his daughter noticed his tears. He mumbled incoherent words that Elizabeth somehow understood, being grateful for her silent compassion. He sat upon a chair, lost to his thoughts, while Elizabeth returned to Concordia’s side.

  The hours passed slowly as Concordia writhed in pain, and as the day wore on the child failed to appear. Elizabeth pressed her hands on Concordia’s belly, becoming anxious because the child had turned. She kept her head lowered as she removed the saturated covering, gasping softly when she noticed a pool of blood. In that brief moment, Brantson and Elizabeth’s eyes locked, and they feared for Concordia’s life and the life of her son. While Brantson asked Lord Stephen to bring the healer, Elizabeth washed Concordia’s body with water and covered her with a light linen cloth.

  “How much longer?” Concordia screamed as a sharp sliver of pain cut across her belly.

  “Soon,” Elizabeth replied kindly as Brantson returned to Concordia’s side.

  The healer arrived as the sun began its descent, begging forgiveness for his delay. He examined Concordia thoroughly, his grave demeanor upholding Elizabeth’s fears. The healer covered Concordia and nodded at Brantson who walked with him to the farthest corner of the room where he waited anxiously for the healer’s findings.

  “You must choose between the mother and the child...I cannot save them both,” the healer said softly.

  “Save Concordia,” Brantson told him. “There will be more children.”

  Brantson returned to Concordia’s side while the healer spoke to Elizabeth. She nodded and ran out of the room while the healer emptied the contents of his bag onto a table.

  “She is burn
ing,” Brantson said when he grabbed Concordia’s hand. “What must I do?”

  “Wash her body with the water while I prepare a potion.”

  Brantson saturated a piece of linen, speaking soothing words as he swabbed Concordia’s clammy flesh. She was speaking incoherently in her fevered state, her voice barely audible when she cried out for Chad before losing consciousness. Angry tears stung Brantson’s eyes as he wiped Concordia’s brow, pained by the truth. He glanced about the room, unaware that he was alone, being grateful that only he had heard Concordia’s words.

  “You are a besotted fool,” Brantson said to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Forgive her...she has confessed her grave sin,” whispered the wind.

  “I feel your presence Arista,” Brantson murmured as he was embraced by a sudden gust of wind. “But how can I forgive her? She will betray me again.”

  “She never betrayed you...she thought you were dead when she submitted to his advances,” whispered the wind. “You hold her heart...trust me.”

  “How can I be sure?” Brantson asked as Elizabeth returned.

  “Who are you speaking with?” Elizabeth said, somewhat perplexed when she noticed the empty room.

  “I was praying,” Brantson replied as the healer arrived with the remedy he had prepared quickly.

  Brantson lifted Concordia’s head while the healer poured the tasteless mixture slowly down Concordia’s throat. Elizabeth wiped away the dripping fluid, averting Brantson’s eyes lest he discerned her fears.

  “We must begin, Elizabeth,” the healer said. “Brantson, you must hold her down...the pain will be great.”

  Brantson did as he was told while Elizabeth assisted the healer. Concordia’s screams were bloodcurdling as her dead son was removed from her body. Elizabeth took the lifeless child, wrapping him in a cloth before leaving the room.

  Brantson pressed his body against his wife, holding her firmly when the healer sewed her torn flesh. Concordia glanced at Brantson through glazed eyes, choking on her tears as she tried to move.

  “Forgive me,” Concordia screamed as the sharp needle pierced her skin. “Brantson, make it end...I cannot endure this...please...I beg you.”

  “We are finished, the healer said, cleaning Concordia’s bloodied body with water, before applying a poultice to stop the bleeding.

  Elizabeth returned quickly, carrying extra linen, and with Brantson’s help clothed Concordia in a night dress before placing her atop the dry bed covering.

  “I will return in a few hours, but send for me if the fever worsens,” the healer said as he walked out of the room.

  “Brantson, you must rest,” Elizabeth told him. “I will sit with her until you return.”

  “I will stay...but I thank you for your kindness. Tell me the truth...will she live?”

  “I do not know...her life is in God’s hands.”

  Lord Stephen heard Elizabeth’s comments when he entered the room unexpectedly. Tears swelled as he walked towards the bed, falling to his knees beside his daughter. He grasped Concordia’s warm hand, kissing her fingers and brushing aside loose strands of hair.

  Elizabeth knelt beside her husband, holding his arm in hers, praying silently to God for His mercy as she cried unashamedly. Lord Stephen patted his wife’s arm, finding comfort in her presence as forceful gusts of wind filled the room. Candles flickered and the flames in the hearth danced wildly as the cool air filtered throughout the bedchamber.

  “She will live,” whispered the wind.

  “Arista?” Brantson and Lord Stephen asked in unison.

  Elizabeth paled when her husband cried out Arista’s name. The pain she had managed to suppress surfaced once again, and she remembered the night in the crypt all those years past, when Stephen had wept over Arista’s coffin. She kept reminding herself it was Aurelius, and not Stephen, who had wed Arista, but Aurelius and Stephen were one and the same, and Stephen had truly loved Concordia’s mother, just as he truly loved her.

  Elizabeth started to rise, but Lord Stephen pulled her towards him, kissing the top of her head before he spoke.

  “I have caused you pain and beg your forgiveness,” Lord Stephen said.

  “There is nothing to forgive,” Elizabeth replied. “We suffer the same pain.”

  Brantson kept his head lowered, not wishing to hear their intimate words, but he had heard them. He had never seen such selflessness and wondered if one day he could be as selfless as Elizabeth. It would not be as difficult because he would not have to look upon a child sired by the man Concordia once loved. He could only imagine the pain Elizabeth suppressed whenever she glanced upon Concordia and Emidus, and he doubted he could be as noble.

  “Brantson,” Bryce said as he knocked on the door before entering, followed by Umar who carried a tray filled with refreshments. “You must eat, and rest.”

  “Bryce is right,” Lord Stephen interjected. “Sleep beside your wife if that is your wish.”

  “We will take turns sitting with you,” Umar replied. “It will be days before Concordia regains her strength. You must be well rested before then...she will need you to help her through the grief.”

  “Umar is wise. It is difficult losing a child,” Lord Stephen said, “and you and Concordia must be permitted to grieve.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Concordia awakened to find Brantson sitting beside her, holding her hand as he watched her every move. She looked into his eyes, whispering words he failed to hear because she was still weakened by her ordeal. She noticed his tear-streaked face and pale demeanor when he smiled, perceiving his relief as he listened intently, trying to understand her voiceless questions.

  “The child?” Concordia mouthed.

  Brantson brushed aside her loose hair, touching her face tenderly, his pent-up tears falling upon her parched lips. Concordia did not need to hear the truth; she knew in her heart the child was dead. Tears streamed down the side of her face, her bruised body trembling with her sobs as she sought her husband’s embrace. Brantson held her tightly, speaking words she needed to hear while praying she would be comforted by his presence.

  “We will have many sons, my love,” Brantson said softly. “Hush, all will be well.”

  Concordia was in Brantson’s arms when Elizabeth knocked and entered the room. She praised God as she approached the bed with a healing potion. She was crying when she handed Brantson the cup, thankful that her fears were unproven and that Concordia would, indeed, mend.

  Brantson held the rim against Concordia’s lips, urging her to swallow the healer’s remedy. She gagged as the warm liquid flowed down her throat, but Brantson was patient, and soon the cup was empty.

  “Your father wishes to see you,” Elizabeth interjected. “We have stood vigil in the outer chamber where he still waits.”

  “Fetch him while his daughter is awake,” Brantson replied as he rested Concordia’s head upon the feathery pillows.

  Elizabeth hurried to the outer chamber where Lord Stephen was speaking with Bryce and Umar. When he saw his wife beckoning, he ran into the bedchamber, falling on his knees once he reached Concordia’s side. He held his daughter’s hand, grateful for God’s mercy when he noticed her pitiful state. He smiled through tear-brimmed eyes, remembering the child he had comforted so many times in the past. He did not speak because words were not needed; father and daughter shared a bond, which was difficult for many to understand. When Lord Stephen noticed Concordia’s eyes growing heavy, he kissed his daughter, nodded at Brantson and left the room with Elizabeth.

  Concordia drifted off to sleep once the door was closed. Brantson returned to his chair, putting his feet upon a stool and resting his head against a soft cushion. He kept his eyes upon his wife, watching her closely lest she required his care, but he soon succumbed to his weariness.

  As days became weeks, Concordia started to regain her strength, and keeping vigil came to an end for everyone except Brantson who refused to leave his wife’s side. He remained in the bed
chamber, eating his meals alone and in silence, fearing Lord Stephen and Elizabeth might discern the truth if he requested their company.

  Brantson brooded over Concordia’s words, conjuring up an image of Chad in his mind’s eye, an image so very real since Bryce had described the man in great detail, and he was grateful that God had taken the child. He wanted to believe Concordia had not betrayed him, reminding himself that she was fevered when she had cried out Chad’s name, yet she never cried out for him during these weeks, and he wondered why. Was he truly a besotted fool as Bryce once claimed? Yet she did become his wife, but then she had worn Thayer’s necklace beneath her clothing. He searched his soul for answers and was ashamed to admit the truth, being pleased he would not have to raise another man’s son. How could he look at Concordia with the boy and not remember the night the child was sired? His seething bitterness would eventually destroy his soul because he was not as selfless as Elizabeth who truly practiced her Christian faith. Lord Stephen had been forthcoming with Elizabeth, or so he thought, while Concordia had been manipulative and cunning, and because his judgment was clouded, he had failed to discern the truth.

  Brantson believed that God had intervened, taking the child so that he and Concordia might share a life bereft of guilt. They would both need to be shriven once Concordia mended. He wanted to forgive her betrayal, but could he? Would she think of Chad each time they bedded? How could he be sure that she truly loved him? But if he was so uncertain, then why was he keeping vigil? Elizabeth and her women would have shared the responsibility, yet he had refused their help. He decided he would rather be on the battlefield facing the king’s enemies than wondering about a scheming wife. Concordia had been coddled by her father, but he too had been at fault, granting her every wish. He would confide in Bryce since he could no longer trust his judgment. Perhaps their union would be blessed if he could truly forgive Concordia’s offense, but trusting her was another matter, and he prayed silently to the Lord for guidance.