Curse of the Lost Isle Special Edition

by Vijaya Schartz

  * * *

  In the quiet austerity of the private sanctum where he practiced his devotions, Mattacks knelt on the flagstone, the cold of which penetrated his naked body. He glanced up at the crucifix towering over the small altar, then lowered his gaze to the scourge laid on the floor before him. A surge of apprehension made his hand tremble as he caressed the many leather strands. Designed to tear the flesh and inflict exquisite pain, each tendril ended with a hooked nail.

  Picking up the scourge, Mattacks tensed and flogged his back once. The dry leather lashed against flesh. He gasped at the searing pain on his back but did not cry out.

  “Forgive me, God Almighty, for having failed in ridding the land of the heathen shrew.” Slowly, he raised the scourge above his head. “O Merciful God, also forgive the sins of my youth and the weakness of my flesh.”

  The second strike, stronger than the first, brought tears to his eyes, but he bit his lips, then uttered. “Never let me forget that all women are evil in nature, and protect me from their influence.”

  Bracing himself for a third strike, he went on praying. “O God, I thank Thee for making me Thy chosen king.” The scourge flailed above his head once more, and the intense burst of pain made him shudder. “From now on, I shall devote all my strength to convert this land to the true faith, until no heathen remains to shelter the devil or do his filthy work. This I swear on the Holy Cross.”

  Unable to speak any longer, Mattacks concentrated on wielding the scourge in a slow, deliberate rhythm, each time achieving a greater threshold of pain. As the whip stung his buttocks, a ripple of pleasurable agony coursed in a V-shaped pattern from wide pectorals to tight abdomen, ending in an intense strain deep into his pelvis. He moaned, but not from pain.

  In an attempt to chastise the lusty feelings that intruded on his penance, Mattacks lay his raw back on the cold stone, then proceeded to strike his inner thighs, together with the erect part of his anatomy symbolizing the inappropriate pleasure. To no avail. His back arched as each blow brought wave upon wave of delight along with the sweet, cleansing torment.

  Suddenly, Mattacks had a revelation. God did not want him to give up pleasure, only the evil influence of women. In a mystic trance, he accelerated the rhythm of his blows, obeying his lust by seeking the most pleasurable spots, arching, crying out in rapture. Soon, his engorged manhood exploded into an exquisite release, and he writhed tremulously in the throws of ecstasy.

  Slowly, the pleasure dissolved into peaceful abandon. Only then, did Mattacks surrender to the bliss and let warm tears flow over his seed on the blood-streaked floor, in the shadow of the crucifix. Never again would he shy away from physical hurt. He would welcome it as a godsend, to be savored and enjoyed the same way ordinary men enjoyed women.

  Chapter Six

  Hiding her identity under the deep cowl of a nondescript cloak, Pressine stole out of the castle on foot, disguised as a servant. Morning mist still clung to the meadows when she reached the farmhouse. In a nearby pasture, few attended the druidic balefire.

  Under Mattacks’ rule, who would dare appear at a Pagan funeral? Apparently, General Kathel had only given lip service to the church. Lazy smoke drifted above the willows lining the river bank, and the breeze carried away the stench of burning flesh. Dear Goddess, please reward this faithful servant of yours in the next life. Kathel had paid the highest price for his fierce loyalty.

  Pressine realized with alarm how quickly Mattacks had taken hold of power in his father’s absence. Many feared the Edling’s wrath. Even she dared not venture any closer to the Pagan funeral, for fear of being recognized.

  Despite the testimony of Mattacks’ minions, Pressine did not believe that old Kathel, who had warned her of Mattacks’ conspiracy, had fallen from his horse while hunting on his lands. His convenient death had more likely been ordered by the crown prince himself.

  As the simple ceremony came to an end, the few brave souls who had attended saluted the widow and the druid with a bow, or a lift of the hat, and left the meadow as the body turned to ashes.

  How sad lady Aurora looked as she bowed to thank the druid in white robes. After the holy man’s departure, the matronly widow stood alone, straight and proud by the cooling pyre. A stiff breeze scattered the ashes and flapped her brown shift, sending a few strands of gray hair fluttering from under her cap.

  Still unsure of what to say, Pressine crossed the expanse of thick dewy grass separating her from the older woman. She pushed back her hood, just enough to reveal her face.

  The plump lady gasped, dipping into a curtsy as she recognized Pressine. “My Queen, what an honor.”

  “Please, Lady Aurora. The honor is all mine.” Pressine forced a smile and motioned the lady to stand. “By warning me, your husband saved my life. I wish I could have returned the favor.”

  Surprise widened the widow’s red-rimmed eyes. “Your majesty knows it was no accident?”

  Pressine nodded. “I can guess.”

  Lady Aurora lowered her gaze. “Unlike most husbands, he talked to me about his affairs.” After looking right and left, she whispered, “He told me the Edling conspired against you.”

  Staring straight ahead at the balefire, Pressine kept her voice low. “Your husband saw and heard too much. He had to be eliminated before he could tell the king.”

  Following Pressine’s lead, the widow also stared at the cooling ashes. “After forty years of happiness...” The widow’s voice broke. “They came before dawn, forced him out of his bed to get dressed for hunting. They even fetched his horse and saddled it.”

  From the corner of her eye, Pressine saw the lady’s lower lip tremble.

  “I will never forget the look on his face as they took him away. I knew then that I would never see him again alive.” Lady Aurora sobbed.

  “He was very brave.” Pressine repressed tears of her own. “The Goddess will take him in her fold and make sure his death is avenged.” She softened her voice. “He died on my account. Is there anything I can do?” Pressine’s offer sounded inadequate. How could she ever repay such a loss?

  Lady Aurora shook her wizened head. “It is no fault of yours, my lady. They would have killed you, too, if the Goddess had not intervened.”

  Pressine did not correct the woman on her interpretation of her fake miracle. “I hoped you could give me some details which might incriminate the person of high rank behind the conspiracy.”

  Lady Aurora still gazed into the dying fire, showing no reaction.

  “I need irrefutable proof to rally the king’s support. He will return in a few days,” Pressine went on. “With your husband’s death, my only witness is gone. Did you recognize any of the men who abducted your husband?”

  The lady shook her head slowly. “Never seen them before. Very tall soldiers, six or seven of them. Mean looking, with shaved heads, leather jerkins and boots. Black swords. They had an accent, and among themselves they spoke a foreign language.”

  “Saxon?”

  “Perhaps. They threatened to kill me if I said anything.” The lady shrugged. “As if anyone would listen to the ravings of an old woman.”

  Pressine suspected the Benedictine monks all along. They did not even bother covering their shaved heads. Since Mattacks had ratified their request to establish a monastery commemorating the miracle, they had taken up residence in a cottage near the chapel of the black madonna.

  Had Charlemagne sent his secret black guard monks to help enforce Christianity in Dumfries castle? Although they had Mattacks’ blessing, Elinas would not welcome this intrusion of imperial spies.

  Soon, the breeze had scattered the remnants of the balefire, leaving only a blackened spot on the grass. Pressine took Lady Aurora by the arm. “There is nothing left. Come. I shall see you to your cottage. Will you come visit me at the castle?”

  “It may be better if we never see each other again. A friendship with me could cost you your life.” Lady Aurora smiled sadly and curtsied.

  Ignoring formalit
ies, Pressine embraced the older woman. “I wish you well, dear lady. And if you ever are in need, please call upon me as a friend.”

  “Thank you for your kindness.” Lady Aurora smiled, her eyes full of tears. Then she turned around and left.

  Pressine admired the widow’s strength. Heading toward the castle, she intended to mix with the farmers and merchants bringing a chicken, a foal, a lamb, or a few fleeces to pay their spring tax.

  How would Pressine fare when Elinas died? Whether in battle or of old age, it would happen eventually. She remembered Morgane talking about the blessing and the curse that made Fae folks outlive those they loved. The very thought chilled her blood.

  * * *

  Pressine exulted when Elinas returned shortly before the spring festival. She had so much to tell him. But after a night of breathless passion, he snuck out before dawn to meet with his council.

  He called upon her mid morning with a jovial smile. “How would you like a ride through the woods? Just you and me.”

  “Gladly.” Pressine needed a respite from the smothering presence of her dedicated guard. Besides, she needed to speak to Elinas, away from curious ears.

  Within minutes, the two of them galloped through the gate, like young lovers eager to escape scrutiny. They slowed to a trot when they reached the woods dappled with sunshine and teeming with new life. In every glen, along every brook, young shoots and budding flowers, fragrant with ferns and blossoms, celebrated spring.

  Pressine took a deep breath of fresh air, releasing her worries to the care of the Goddess. “Why do the Christians insist on calling the spring festival Easter? Do they not know that word is derived from the many names of the Great Goddess? Astarta in Greece, Ishtar in Babylon, Eostre for the Saxons, Ostara for the Celts...”

  Elinas chuckled. “I suspect some priests must know, but they cannot prevent the villagers from celebrating their favorite festival, so they claim our traditional fast and colored eggs as their own.”

  “How dare they?” Could they not start their own traditions?

  Elinas emitted a contented sigh. “For the first time in years we shall all be reunited for Ostara.”

  He alluded to his second son, just returned from fosterage in Ayre. Pressine patted the mare’s neck. “Conan has grown so much, I hardly recognized him. He has the voice of a man, and shoulders as broad as yours.”

  Beaming with pride, Elinas straightened in the saddle. “And how do you like your present?”

  “The troupe of gypsies? What a thoughtful gesture. They will enliven the festivities.” But Pressine had other concerns. “I did not expect a delegation of Frankish envoys, though.”

  “Prince Pepin and his retinue came early, to prepare for the arrival of his sister. Lady Radegonde of Duras and Florimond should be here soon. Mattacks will be pleased. I understand his future bride is quite a beauty.”

  “About Mattacks...” Sedately, Pressine related to Elinas the incident in the chapel, sticking to the facts, implicating the bishop rather than the Edling, since she could not prove Mattacks’ involvement.

  The king emitted a low whistle. “I heard the rumors of a miracle, but it all makes sense now.” He halted his horse and dismounted, as limber as a youth. “I admire your fast thinking. You handled the situation masterfully.”

  “But General Kathel was murdered. After he warned me that Mattacks attended the secret meeting with the Bishop. His widow says the monks took him by force and killed him. They feared he would speak to you upon your return.”

  The creases on Elinas’ forehead deepened. “I cannot take back the charter to build the monastery. It would anger Charlemagne and compromise Mattacks’ wedding.”

  “The wedding?” Pressine steadied her mare who shied at her outburst. “They tricked me and it could have worked. The bishop and Mattacks plot againt me. The Edling in turning against you... Are you not concerned?”

  “Let them try.” Elinas took the mare’s bridle. “Mattacks understands the workings of power. I could give the crown to his brother if he made the mistake of betraying me.” He extended his arms for Pressine to dismount.

  “I hope you are right.” Was Elinas weak? Unaware? No. Pressine slid off the saddle into his embrace.

  “I will, however, speak to the bishop.” Elinas remained calm and unafraid, as if welcoming a challenge. “I promise these monks will stop harassing you.”

  Pressine admired his serenity but also his physical strength, enjoying his closeness, and the mossy scent of his stubbly beard.

  Elinas let go of her and flashed a quick smile. Taking both bridles, he tethered the horses to the low branch of a chestnut tree. “Do not fret. I will not let anything happen to you.”

  Although Pressine wanted to believe him, a nagging voice in her head would not leave her in peace. She believed Mattacks was a murdering knave, but without proof, her accusations would sound petty and unfounded. She would be safe enough as long as Elinas remained in Dumfries, but she would remain vigilant. Perhaps she would find the proof she needed to persuade her king.

  “I love your idea of reviving the knighthood.” Taking her hand, Elinas winked at her. “You are very clever.”

  “It only seems fair.” She winked back. “According to Morgane, King Arthur had the knights of the Round Table. And Charlemagne has his Paladins to bring pride and glory to his empire.”

  Pressine sobered at the thought of her father. King Solomon of Bretagne was now a Paladin knight, too, but she resented his allegiance to the Frankish emperor. She silenced her personal feelings and followed Elinas through the brush. Soon, she realized he led her toward the clearing where they had first met.

  Elinas smiled. “Our cause of unification needs young heroes to inspire future generations.”

  “And it seems you found many worthy youths.” The grass, fresh after the morning rain, cooled Pressine’s feet.

  “Mattacks insists on having the knighting ceremony in the chapel, but not all the knights are Christian.”

  That Elinas prized her opinion filled Pressine with warmth. “A Pagan knighting might disconcert many. The Christian faith has spread in the last years. You cannot ignore the power of the church.”

  “I agree. The clergy would protest publicly.” Elinas parted a branch to let Pressine through.

  She ducked under it. “On the other hand, the Great Goddess also resides in the chapel. Those of the old faith will recognize her at once.” She stopped to face Elinas. “Why not do both? Have a Christian and a Pagan knighting in front of the Goddess.”

  “I love this ability of yours to please everyone.” Elinas smiled, took her hand and brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Do you remember this place?”

  Pressine took in the familiar clearing, the mossy boulder with two skulls in their high niches, the shallow basin bubbling with spring water, and the drinking bowl chained to the rock. “How could I forget?”

  “You are even more beautiful now than when I first saw you bathing nude in this spring. And I will always remember that compelling song. By the gods, I wanted you more than anything else in the world.”

  Pressine chuckled at the memory. “And all the time you hid among the trees, I was waiting for you to show yourself.”

  Elinas regarded Pressine with soft brown eyes full of infinite tenderness. “I thought my heart would burst with desire then, but what I feel for you today surpasses anything I have ever experienced.”

  Lowering her gaze, Pressine said softly. “I was sent on a mission to seduce and marry a king, but I did not expect to fall in love.”

  Elinas chuckled. “And with an old widower of thirty five years, no less!” Suddenly serious, he gazed into her eyes, then brushed her lips with his.

  Pressine shivered under his feather-light kiss. “I have since learned that experience has its advantages. Thirty-five might sound old to a young lass imagining a toothless peasant, but my king is strong and vigorous, and he pleasures me beyond imagining.”

  Towering over her, Elinas smi
led suggestively. “Would you like me to pleasure you again?” He reached behind Pressine’s head and pulled the pin holding her long hair.

  She shook her dark tresses in the light breeze, releasing the fragrance of lily of the valley. Glancing around, she grinned. “Here? Now?”

  “Why not?” The lust in his eyes awakened in Pressine stirrings as powerful as the tides, or the return of spring. To the approving trills of a lark, Elinas led her to the stone rim of the spring basin, where they had sat on their first meeting.

  “Three years ago, I had this dream...” His hand idly stroked the shallow water. “You bathed nude in the spring, singing with this marvelous voice of yours, when I came upon you. But instead of waiting for you to dress so we could exchange polite greetings, I stepped forward declaring my undying love, and you invited me to bathe with you. Then we joined on the soft grass, under the magnanimous eye of the River Goddess.”

  Her voice thick with desire, Pressine whispered, “I think it is a wonderful dream... Tell me more.”

  * * *

  Over the next few days, the games and festivities surrounding the knighting mixed with the traditional spring festival. On Friday, the Benedictine monks commemorated the crucifixion by leading a procession of flagellants through the town. Along the way, criers invited the population to attend high mass on Easter Sunday, to witness the king bestowing knighthood upon the flower of Strathclyde’s nobility.

  While hunting parties sought to provide meat for the banquet, carpenters erected a high tribune for the viewing pleasure of the guests during the Sunday jousts. Since the king’s return, the castle yard had become fencing grounds, loud with the clash of steel and the grunts and curses of seasoned warriors training young recruits.

  Ladies leaning on a fence watched the future knights practicing their skills with horses, swords and bows. As she approached them, Pressine noticed Ceinwyn and smiled. After her tearful breakup with Mattacks, a spring festival with handsome young knights milling about would do wonders to mend her broken heart.