“This woman is not your wife,” Pendaran repeated. “Look carefully at her, Lord St. Clair, and you’ll see I’m right. You, too,” he added, eyes narrowed as he turned his gaze to the knights. “None of you know this woman or her child. You have never seen them before. They are strangers to you. What you seek is not here. You’ve obviously made a mistake and followed a false trail. I suggest you return back to Thurgarton or, better yet, Frehampton and begin your search again.”
Brow furrowed, Cedric St. Clair regarded Cristen and scratched his head. “But I thought… Nay, I-I was sure I had…” He returned his gaze to Pendaran. “Are you certain of this?”
Pendaran smiled and lifted his staff away from Cedric’s chest. “Positive, my lord. Your wife and her child were never here. I’m afraid you’ve come all this way for naught.”
“Shite,” Cedric said, face flushed as he glared at his knights. “Well, don’t just stand there, you idiots. Go and ready the horses.”
Turi failed to suppress a grin as he lowered his sword.
“Turi?” Cristen whispered, her expression one of disbelief. “What just happened?”
“My father,” Turi whispered back, still grinning. “He can be very persuasive.”
Pendaran cleared his throat. “Before you go, Lord St. Clair, I suggest you apologize to Lord Allonby and everyone here for your inappropriate behavior.”
Cedric’s face darkened further. “What? I don’t see why I should –”
“I suggest you do as I say,” Pendaran said. “No arguments.”
Cedric huffed. “Very well. I beg everyone’s pardon. I behaved badly.”
Pendaran frowned as he regarded the staff in his hand. “I’m losing my touch,” he mumbled. “That took a little longer than expected. In any case, Lord St. Clair and his men are ready to leave now, Lord Allonby. Would you like me to escort them out for you?”
At that moment, Eamont’s modest total of two knights, swords drawn, all but fell through the doorway. Gilbert, a look of incredulity frozen onto his face, raised a reassuring hand, which slowed their hasty approach.
“Thank you, my lord Pendaran, but my knights will escort them out. It will give them something to do for a change.” He gestured to an empty chair. “I would ask that you remain here and explain to us exactly what just happened.”
“I’m not sure I can explain it,” Pendaran said, a short while after Cedric and his men had left. “Suffice it to say, a man’s true weakness has naught to do with the physical body. It is always to be found, without exception, between his ears. The mortal mind is oft times poorly defended, which leaves it open to influence and suggestion.”
Turi scoffed. “Suggestion? Cedric barely cast a glance Cristen’s way as he left. ’Twas as if he didn’t recognize her anymore.”
“He didn’t. At least, not in the capacity of a wife.” Pendaran shrugged. “I can plant seeds deep into the minds of men, where they take root and alter or erase memories. Cedric will not be back here, I can assure you.”
“Remarkable,” Gilbert said. “Nay, miraculous, yet. Things will be so dull around here when you all leave. What will I do with myself?”
A puzzled expression crossed Pendaran’s face. “All?” His gaze flicked between Turi and Cristen. “You’re leaving as well? ’Tis the first I’ve heard of it. Where are you going?”
“Tell him, Jacob,” Turi said, ushering the little lad forward. “Tell Shaner where we’re going.”
Jacob pulled his thumb out of his mouth and blinked up at Pendaran. “With you,” he said. “We’re going with you.”
Epilogue
As he did every morning, Turi stepped out of the longhouse before dawn and wandered over to the stables. And, as always, he cast a glance to the east, wondering how fared Gilbert and the others at Eamont. Gilbert’s last missive said that, so far, the isolated castle had avoided the reach of the pestilence. Turi prayed their good fortune would continue, for the disease had survived the winter and continued its deadly advance to the north.
In this, the early part of May, the snows had long since vanished from the distant Cumberland hills. The morning skies were clear and, as yet, still dotted with stars.
Samson greeted Turi with his customary soft whicker. Jacob’s black pony, that the boy had insisted on naming Loki, stuck his soft, velvety nose atop the rail and blew. Pendaran’s horse, a large, Roman-nosed beast, merely pricked his ears and watched the proceedings.
Turi opened each stall in turn and stood back as the animals, well familiar with the routine, wandered out into the meadow to graze. Then he shrugged off his cloak and set about cleaning the stalls. It felt good to move, to feel the warmth of his blood push the morning chill from his flesh. He savored this daily slice of solitude. It allowed him to contemplate. Ponder his dreams. Sift through his thoughts in peace.
Peace. A word that could be applied to many things. The resolution of a bloody conflict. A teething infant, soothed to sleep at last. The quiet after a storm. And even death, especially after a long sickness.
Or an early morning in May on Pendaran’s sacred isle.
This is where Turi belonged. Here, among the spirits of his ancestors – along with an immortal druid priest, a small boy, and a Saxon girl.
Turi smiled to himself and counted his blessings for the thousandth time. Cristen represented his true peace. His quietude. She was, as Pendaran had once stated, the sentinel of his soul.
Work done, he collected his cloak and wandered around to the front of the longhouse. Once there, he stood and watched as the eastern skies brightened. A short while later, he heard the door open. Without turning, he lifted his cloak, wrapping it around Cristen as she sidled up to him. Turi breathed deep, absorbing her essence and placed a hand upon her swollen belly.
Soon, another child would be arriving on Ellan Vannin. Thirteen centuries and one year after it all began.
Turi, a true descendant of the ancient Setantii line, sired by Pendaran, Head Priest of Ellan Vannin and Ynys Dywyll and the last remaining survivor of the Setantii tribe, had endured.
THE END
Author Notes
It is called many things. The great pestilence. The blue sickness. The black death. It came out of the Far East, transported into Europe in 1347AD aboard 12 Genoese merchant ships that docked at the Sicilian port of Messina. I find it somewhat ironic that the ships arrived via the “Black” Sea.
Most of the sailors were already dead or dying. The symptoms they exhibited included fever, vomiting, plus the painful, infected swelling of the lymph nodes, most commonly seen beneath the arms or in the groin. These swellings, or “buboes”, often turned black and oozed blood and pus. Hence the names, Bubonic Plague and the Black Death.
The disease is purported to have arrived on English soil around the end of June, 1348, through the town of Weymouth (known then as Melcombe Regis).
The common belief is that the plague was transmitted from flea bites, specifically the infected fleas of the black rat, a species that originated in tropical Asia and found passage on trading ships. While this is true, the rapid spread of the disease also suggests person to person transmission, and science now widely supports this theory.
Between 1347 and 1351, this horribly efficient disease decimated Europe and the British Isles. The numbers vary, but it is thought to have killed an estimated 50 million people, or 60% of the European/British Isles population.
It was a catastrophe of immeasurable proportions that changed the face of the world.
That said, you might be interested to know that the Isle of Man has no historical record of the plague ever reaching its shores. It seems Pendaran spoke true.
The magic was strong there.
*
Thank you so much for reading “The Sentinel”, the third in my series “Legends of Love”. I do hope you enjoyed it. Each book in the series is a stand-alone. If you have not read the others, please visit my website at www.avrilborthiry.com for the links.
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About the Author
Born and raised in Cumbria, England, Avril now resides in Ontario, Canada. A lover of history, legend, and romance, her books embrace those elements. Her Welsh/Irish roots also weave their way through much of her writing, and she does have a bit of a dark side too, which sneaks out now and then. When not writing, she enjoys reading, walking her dog, and spending time with family and friends.
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