by JM Bannon
“The grove is a sacred place, a place of power it has been touched by the gods long ago. That is why we must carve the stones there to charge them with that power.”
“Tell me, these creatures you observed, did you see them with your naked eye or with your witchcraft?”
Rose bristled at the description, but understood it was meant to irritate her.
“I used the mirror and candles. Concentrating on the mirror when it was at a certain angle I was able to see images under the surface of the mirror. Or so it seemed to me, it was like a dream but the mirror showed me events that had happened in the past.”
“Who taught you this?” demanded the other woman.
“No one, I puzzled it out for myself. From hints and clues in books and descriptions of the objects that the authors claimed to have used to see past events.”
“Huh”, grunted Mrs. Culpepper, “you mean those charlatans Dee and Kelley I suppose?”
Rose nodded than continued her explanation. “It is true that their books helped, but it was the story of St Ostric that led me to them and to the mirror.”
Again, she felt it important not to implicate Mr. Cooper in her exploration of the occult.
“Show me how you were able to see the creatures. I would know what you can see here at this point,” instructed the woman, gesturing at the ground.
Rose bit down on her anger. She did not abide the commanding tone of the woman. She was no performing monkey on a stage to act at her command. Yet she wanted to share what had been her secret; relieved to have someone who seemed to fully accept that what she had seen was real.
Rose knelt and removed the candles from the bag and set them up in a semi-circle, around her. As she lit the candles, Mrs. Culpepper doused her lamp so that the only illumination came from the candles.
With her light source set, Rose began to view the field in her mirror catching the candlelight as she turned it in a slow circle. She was beginning to understand, it was not about focusing on the surface of the mirror or the light, but letting her eye be drawn to the images deeper in the surface.
Mrs. Culpepper stepped back out of the light into the darkness around them. As she did so Rose saw it, a streak of energy erupting from the ground. Ruby red energy, crackling and streaking, from an invisible rift in the ground, up, up into the sky. The image was lost as she inadvertently moved the mirror a small amount.
She took a deep breath realizing she had been holding it and turned the mirror back slowly. There it was, an angry force leaping skyward. Rose began to smell something burning, a musty and earthy wood scent, cloying and sweet verging on a smell of the incense used on special services at the convent.
Mrs. Culpepper was waving a small bunch of smoldering twigs through the air above Rose as she knelt.
“This is rowan, heather and foxglove; together they have power for those with the sight. Watch in your mirror Caldwell, tell me what you see!”
The smoke settled around Rose and she looked again into the mirror turning it slowly.
Through the smoke she again saw the red energy reaching to the sky, but now she could also see thick blue lines that met at the point from which the energy rose upwards. She could see other smaller thinner eruptions of red light from cracks that were spreading from the central circle.
“You see it don’t you?”
Rose smiled, “It is beautiful”
“Indeed, but it is also a deadly warning. You are witnessing the opening of a doorway into another realm; one that your church calls Hell. That is where Marbas is waiting to make his way back to this world and make it his own and all of us his playthings. It is a rift through the very fabric of reality, the blue are the ley lines that with the stones are holding the door shut. They hold for the moment, but with the outer stones being destroyed as fast as we can make them we may lose the battle.
The image disappeared as Rose lowered her scrying mirror. The weight of Mrs. Culpepper’s words sunk in.
“How long do we have before it is freed?”
“I do not know for sure, the imps may access the stones in the outer ring though it causes them pain and they can open a gap for others to approach the second circle. The protection and warding from the second circle is stronger and the stones larger, so they must be destroyed in situ, no easy task. The imps cannot touch them, so they need something more powerful or human aid to open the circle. But they only need to destroy one or two stones and open a path to the innermost circle and then….”
She sighed, “I have been part of the sisterhood protecting this land since I was your age. My mother did the same before that, and hers before her. We have never had such a coordinated attack or for such a long period. These creatures must be receiving aid from mortals.”
“You mentioned the Morrighan earlier; what are they to the minions of Marbas, this demon?”
“The Morrighan are the defenders of this land, they are anathema to Marbas and his kin they are an aspect of the Earth Mother.”
“She has gone by different names for many people. To the Greeks she was Gaia, to the Egyptians Isis, to the Celts, our ancestors she is Gwenhwyfar in all her beauty and ferocity.”
“There are three forms of the Morrighan, sisters who manifest their power through the Druidic sisterhood that I lead. Witches, we are not!”
“In Celtic and Irish legends, all three sisters were goddesses of death and war. Badb would take the form of a wolf and comb the battlefields, spreading confusion.
Her sister Macha, would also strike fear into the hearts of men. She would take on the aspect of a Raven of large size as she flew across the battlefield.
The third sister Nemain, caused warriors to act in panic and confusion, striking down anyone near them as she passed, and her scream rang out. It was in this role that she often appeared as a large grey horse with flaming mane and tail ready to rain down pain and fire on mortal men.”
Rose, as she listened to the older woman talk, felt for the first time in her life that she was right where she was supposed to be, and at the right time to be doing what she was destined to do.
“You have seen how the ground of this field is beginning to charge with aether fissures spreading from this point. As the power of the stone circles weakens, so this circle grows, and the fissures spread. My sisterhood must work diligently to preserve the stones.”
She paused, and Rose impulsively took her hand and squeezed it.
“I have faith in you Mrs. Culpepper, you will succeed I’m sure.”
Mrs. Culpepper squeezed back and smiled.
“Thank you my dear I hope you are right”
She thought for a moment then surprised Rose by saying.
“You must come to my house and we can discuss this in much more detail, I have a feeling that you coming here was meant to be, that you will be of great assistance to us.”
“Thank you, I would like to learn more, to understand, I have so many questions. If you wouldn’t mind, would you ask at the Convent if you could have me visit, perhaps you could say it’s in regard to the sick children? It would make for fewer questions of how I know you and why you would want to see me. I shouldn’t be out here tonight,” Rose finished sheepishly.
Mrs. Culpepper dropped the smoking twigs she held in her other hand and put her foot on them to make sure they went out. She rubbed her hand on her skirt to remove the ash.
“I had guessed by your attire that you were not here on church business. You should get back to the convent before you are missed. Say nothing of this to anyone. I will expect you at my home. I will prepare an invitation in the morning and a send carriage for you, we will dine together.”
Chapter Eleven: Monday the 27th of September 1852
4:45 AM, Sister Rose Caldwell’s Cell
Rose was nestled in a bed covered with lamb skins, the thick wool held in the warmth of her body and that of the man next to her. Underneath her was a soft mattress stuffed with wool and aromatic herbs. She breathed in the scent or rosemary and thyme
as she moved closer to her man.
She was happy and content to continue slumbering in her sod house, curled up with him, but he rose and sat on the edge of the shelf on which the bed lay allowing the cold to steal the warmth from her snug cocoon. Rose awoke fully as the brisk air prickled her naked skin. She wanted to just pull the covers over her, but she could hear through the sounds of men, many of them congregating before the hut.
The wind was rising, whistling through the gaps toward the top of the roof where the wisps of smoke from the smoldering fire were whisked away.
The man on the edge of the bed was at least ten years her senior. His body was marked from battle, the scars old and new yet with the fit lean physique that showed him to be a warrior. Nothing revealed that he was also once a king, as he sat there in the cool air, naked except for a carved, wooden cross suspended from a leather thong around his neck.
“It is still early my love, come back to bed” she trailed her fingers down the side of his muscular body.
The man spoke without turning around.
“The men are gathering, I need to speak with them.”
He stood and went to the stool on which their clothes lay. He tossed a simple blue woven dress to Rose along with a cloak of a deep red with golden trim.
“Dress, I would have you by me when I talk to the men”
His voice was commanding as he began to put on his own clothing, woolen trousers over woven undergarments then a thick long shirt round which he tied a belt from which a dagger hung. He was tying the thongs of his sandals when the hide door of the hut was pulled back allowing the sunlight to stream in.
In the doorway stood a formidable man dressed for battle. The metal helmet on his head was encircled by a thin strip of beaten gold. He wore a mail shirt of interlocking rings over his padded armor. At his waist he wore a half axe and long dagger while the grip and guard of a hand and a half sword poked over his shoulder.
He ducked under the low beam at the top of the doorway and let the hide door fall closed behind him. Rose held her breath then let it go with relief as he removed his helmet and spoke, “Your Majesty.” He dropped to one knee.
“Stand up Nephew!” the man tying his sandals growled. “You are the King now.” “You have the helmet; you have my oath that the throne is yours Coenrad. I am done with it!”
“Uncle Aethelred! Please come to your senses! The council of Ealdormen has been called and all of our forces have rallied behind Ostric’s call to fight the Britons for your soul,” pleaded Coenrad.
"My soul is quite safe, thank you nephew. I am just tired of being King. I took the throne when your father died. I had no expectations of being King you know this!”
“When Osthryth died, I summoned Bishop Wilfrid. We had a private meeting with not even a scribe present. My words to him were private, but you need to know. I have never desired to die sitting on a throne surrounded by men whose only interest is to fight over more land.”
“My intention had always been to abdicate to you and live in peace and then when Osthryth died,” he sighed deeply.
“I lost my wits for a while, but they have returned, and I have decided to live the life of a simple farmer and to live it with her,” he pointed to Rose who was tying the belt round her kirtle.
“I wish to be left to contemplate my mortality and enjoy a few peaceful years as a man, not a King. Or if as a King, then one who saw the error of his ways and brought peace not war to two lands. In time, you will understand this wish, Coenred, King of Mercia," Aethelred said quietly.
Rose knew she was deep in a dream, but she could not move, talk or wake no matter how she tried. She was trapped, knowing that she was asleep in cell in the convent, yet her consciousness was there in the medieval sod house, containing the bed and presence of King Aethelred. This was truly a lucid dream, she saw through the eyes of the woman she inhabited that the man called Coenred was pointing at her where she stood by the bed.
“Uncle! Can you not see! That one has you under a spell! This Briton Witch has beguiled you! She plans to return your kingdom to her pagan ways and spit in the eye of our Lord Jesus!” shouted Coenred.
Aethelred laughed, “Coenrad, Coenrad, son of my brother, there was a day when my bile would rise, and I would have struck you down for those words. I would have spilt even my own kin’s blood for such an insult. But now… now I will not strike and there will be no war host arrayed against the Britons.
“But Uncle…!”
“Enough! Roared Aethelred.
“I have spoken with the Bishop on this matter. The vile lies that this field monk spreads about her will not sway me from my path. I have found that which I never thought to have again, the love of a woman! The men will still listen to me, you may have their oaths, but they will still listen to me. Do not make this a fight between us Coenred!” His eyes blazed with anger.
The hide was flung back and the monk Ostric entered. He bowed to the two men.
“My King” he addressed Coenrad. The Ealdormen grow restless and await your commands the men are foregathered,” Ostric stated, head bowed.
“Please wait outside, Father Ostric, while my uncle and I speak,” asked Coenrad.
“As you wish my king. May I have your guard escort the witch out?” the monk suggested with a sly smile towards Rose.
The body that Rose inhabited pulled the cloak around her shoulders and stood straight staring at the wild-eyed monk. One eye was looking at her while the other seemed to look at Coenrad. She saw Aethelred look to his sword, rested against the wall near the head of the sleeping pallet. She knew her man would do everything in his power to stop the monk or his nephew from harming her, but that would bring down the wrath of the Ealdormen and the men oathed to them, who waited for Aethelred to return and lead them against her people.
She muttered a prayer to the Morrighan to intercede and stop these men. Rose felt the woman’s connection with the land, and through it knew she was a member of the sisterhood of the Morrighan.
She felt through her feet that the demon was in attendance, his presence overshadowing this room, hard at work to win his freedom.
“Look my king!” Cried the monk. “Even now she calls to her foul lord to protect her and curse us all! We must take her now and burn her! Burn the witch before she kills us all!”
“Dare you not, Monk, or you will be the first I slay!” yelled Aethelred lunging for his sword.
While Coenrad’s sword was to hand, Aethelred was the more experienced and in the moment of his nephew’s indecisiveness, he seized the seconds he needed to grasp the handle of his sword and unsheathe it in one sweeping motion, placing himself between Rose and his nephew and the wall-eyed monk.
“My Lord, do you not see how she is twisting your minds to make you to fight each other? You should be riding side by side to take Gods’ word to the Pagans and strike their heresies from them,” urged Ostric.
“Silence treacherous monk! I have made peace with the Ordovice clans and that accord will be honoured,” Aethelred’s voice was full of scorn.
Ostric pleaded with Coenrad, “My Lord, he is truly under the witch’s spell, I fear me it is too late. He is prepared to kill you and me for that woman and to stop us from bringing the true word to the Pagans!”
Coenrad looked at his uncle and then the monk biting his lip in indecision.
“Uncle, you confirm that I am now the King of Mercia?”
“I do, my Lord,” agreed Aethelred.
Coenrad sighed and straightened. His voice was firm.
“Then you are to ride with us to battle and leave this witch for a tribunal by the Church,” ordered the young King of Mercia.
“I swear I am no witch! Take me into your fold. Baptise me, make me Christian. I will give up the gods of my fathers and become one of you to prove that I am not a witch,”
Garwen’s voice trembled as she spoke. Much was at stake here, not just her life but the lives of her people.
Aethelred laughed, “There monk,
there is your answer! baptise Garwen of the Ordovices. Baptise the chief’s daughter before the armies of Mercia and the King’s council.”
His voice dripped with contempt.
Garwen adjusted the cloak around her shoulders,
“I ask to be cleansed of sin, Priest.”
The monk looked between the new King and the old then went to his knees before Coenrad.
“I beseech thee my Lord, do you not see how devious the Prince of Darkness is. His servant would become a Christian to fool you into believing she is not a succubus; using her wickedness to take the Kingdom back to Pagan ways. My King, it is too late for these two, they consort with Satan himself to take Mercia on a path to the apocalypse” implored the monk.
King Coenrad drew his sword,
“Your King has commanded you, Aethelred of Mercia.”
“If it was the king that truly commanded me then I would obey, but I will never obey because of the words of a foul lying hedge priest! Tell me monk, how does she take the kingdom back to pagan ways? I am no longer king your words make no sense!”
“How is it that the devil can accept baptism? Is it not meant to drive out sin? Does not the exorcism rite use similar methods! Does not holy water drive out devils?”
“Bah! Get out of my way before I deprive my nephew of his confessor!”
Garwen and through her Rose felt the presence of evil at work in the room, growing with each passing moment. She looked at the monk and saw the hatred burning in his eyes. Aethelred’s arguments had made their mark with Coenrad and he lowered his sword. She stepped up next to Aethelred, chin lifted. He took her hand and squeezed it before leading her past his nephew and the monk.
She walked at his side to the hide door of the hut. Aethlred lifted it aside and the two of them stepped out into the dawn light. Behind them the sun was clearing the horizon, golden and promising a clear warm day.
Outside, the Ealdormen of the King’s Council awaited, listening in on the argument between the past and current king. Beyond them were their men, formed up in ranks, the army of Mercia.