Chapter Seven

On the road to Normandy April 1096

Colin marveled at the sheer beauty of the White Cliffs while standing on the stern. I will wait for you, echoed through his mind. She was just a child. He never asked her to wait for him nor wanted her to wait for him. If he survived this journey, he would return to Amelia if she would have him. He never dreamed he could ever live the life of anything but a slave, but he could see it now. He would return home a great adventurer and wait for him would be Alison… no Amelia and they would marry and have many children. True love was within his reach, Amelia. Perhaps he would make his fortune and return to her. He closed his eyes and imagined coming back to Amelia. He stared at the wharf and saw little Alison who waved a final goodbye and blew him a kiss. However, his heart took control. He noticed Alison as she walked away into the crowd. “I will return” absentmindedly slipped from his mouth. He shuddered. He meant Amelia, but it was Alison that he saw when he closed eyes. It was sweet little Alison. She was the only one that said she would wait for him. He may never return. He may never even make it to Normandy. The chances are that he would most likely hang for treason if returned to England.

Knowing that she would wait for him gave him comfort and hope, and for that, he felt guilty. Colin shuddered.  He told himself the shiver came from the cold but in his heart, he knew it was from something else.

The ship skipped on the channel’s waves. Poor Colin was not accustomed to the rocking as oarsmen rowed the ship to the constant beating of cadence. He carefully maneuvered himself to the bow of the ship and watched Calais in the far distance. After a few for hours, Calais seemed no closer than when he first saw the town on the wharf in Dover.

“How far is Calais from Dover?” asked a middle-aged person in the front row.

“Far? Oh, sorry, it is about twenty-one miles. You can see Calais from Dover on clear days.”

Colin’s eyes misted over. The thought of Alison always made him melancholy. He dabbed a few tears with the swipe of a finger.

General Grant scratched his chin and sipped from his wine glass. “You can travel twenty miles in about two hours or less nowadays. How long did it take you?”

“It took considerably more time back than especially when I was possessed with the Harcourt luck and a cursed letter,” Colin said smiling.

“I imagine the voyage did not go as planned.” He said as he refilled his glass.

“That might be an understatement…”

A gloomy cloud billowed in the distance racing toward the ship. Within minutes, the storm attacked with a demonic fury. The waves tossed the boat like soap in the bathwater of a three-year-old. Colin was still on the bow of the ship when a giant wave loomed overhead. A rough hand grabbed him just as the wave was about to heave him overboard.

“You might want to take shelter in my quarters,” the captain said holding Colin upright with his strong hands. “These squalls come up from hell itself. They’re as unholy as the devil himself. They seldom last long. The Hope has withstood the worst. All will be safe soon,” shouted the captain. “Means whilst let Digger here escort you to my quarters.”

Colin’s face paled. He gave a faint nod of his head.

“Master Harcourt, there be a bucket in the corner. If you get my meaning, sir. Some do not have the constitution for a storm such as this. I’ll fetch you after the storm blows over.”

Digger escorted Colin to the captain quarters where his wobbly legs gave out as the door closed behind him. He crawled to the corner with the bucket between his knees for what seemed like an eternity. Colin’s wretched, as he violently spewed chunks of his breakfast, as perspiration drenched his shirt. He grasped onto the pail and bunk bed as the boat pitched forward. Bile flew with every dip. The so-called safety of the captain quarters drained strength.

The thrashing upheaval of the boat abated and slowed until it drifted like a lazy swan upon the water. Colin flinched as the door opened, “Master Harcourt,” Digger said, “It be safe.”

Colin forced himself to his feet only to fall flat on the floor again. With all his strength, he pulled himself up on the wall and weaved toward the door, handing Digger the bucket as he passed him. Digger looked at Colin, smiled shook his head. “Just as I figgered,”

The sun was setting on the starboard side. Colin shielded his eyes and marveled at the incredible sunset. Far distant he could see the White Cliffs sitting in a halo of purple and red. The captain joined him and pointed to the bow of the ship, “Saints preserve us. That be Calais just ahead. We shall go ashore soon. I suggest you freshen yourself. You have a bit of the sea on the corner of your mouth.” He laughed and patted Colin on the back.

“A bit of the sea?” asked Sally.

“Uh, yeah, well, I missed the bucket.”

Sally sat for a moment then her face squinted, “EEW,” she shrieked.

“Sorry, Sally; I tried to be discreet.” Colin’s face reddened.

“So it took…” General Grant said, counting his fingers.

“Ten hours, General. It took almost ten hours. I left Dover just after sunrise. It was now sunset, and Calais stood before me. I would soon be in a foreign land. I didn’t speak the language. I have no idea where Normandy is or how to get there. It would soon be night. Have I said I was a fool before? Well, I would soon walk down that gangplank a fool on a fool’s errand.”

“Do you have an escort from the church?” asked the captain. “Or a place to spend the night? Trust me Calais is not a place to walk about in darkness.”

Colin shook his shoulders and raised both palms upward. “Not to my knowledge. The mission is rather secret. I haven’t thought about a place to spend the night. I was hoping to leave immediately.”

“Ah, so how are you planning to get all the way to Normandy on your own, and tonight?”

“I will manage. How far is Normandy from here and in which direction?”

The captain shook his head, “You did not know how to get to Normandy? The good Father sent you on a mission without directions or a map. Rouen, the capital of Normandy, is about two hundred kilometers southwest. Surely you knew that before you left on this fool’s pilgrimage?”

Colin shyly shook his head, “No.”

“Tell me you were chosen because you speak the language of Calais or Normandy?”

“Depends. Do they speak English?”

“You might get lucky and find one or two, but most speak Dutch.”

Colin frowned as the crew threw the ropes to workers on the pier. He heard the workers shouting in a language he didn’t understand. “Do they speak English in Normandy?”

The captain smiled and said, “I’m afraid not, they speak French. From here on you will find very few that speak your language.”

“What am I to do now?” asked Colin disheartened as he sat on a box.

“Well, if you be a praying man, I would say it’s well pastime you said your prayers. You best wait until morn. Only a daft fool would hazard the streets at night.” Captain Flainbard took Colin by the shoulder and pointed his tanned, weathered finger at a dilapidated shanty. “That be the A du Cheval Blanc, not much to look at, but warm. A word to the wise, keep your distance from the wenches. They all be infested.”

Colin glanced over the side of the boat, the letter in his hand, and silently cursed the letter and the archbishop. It was the second day of April. He was already late. No one could blame him if he returned to Dover and disappeared. Amelia might warm up to him if he was persistent and there are worse things than working at the inn. It was not Amelia’s face that came to mind. It was Alison’s, and Alison would not love a man with a damned soul. He must deliver the letter to save his soul. The archbishop said so.

“Good luck, Colin,” the captain said shaking his head.

After they had lowered the gangplank; Colin knew what he needed to do. “Thank you, Captain. You have been most kind.” He took a deep breath. The sea air filled his nostrils. Without looking back, Colin wobbled down the walkway and into a crowd of foreigners.

Day broke with a drizzle. High gray clouds dampened Colin’s spirits. Brushing hay from his hair, he sidestepped sailors who passed out from the night’s whoring and drunkenness. Fat and ugly prostitutes lay naked by their sides. Then he stumbled out into the nearly empty streets.

Trying in vain for hours he searched for somebody that understood him. He stopped everyone and asked for their help. Most of them wouldn’t even stop and turned away from his grasp. Others just raised their shoulders and scooted away. Some might have sworn at him judging from the hand gestures. He walked and asked for help until he was lost. Hungry, tired, and defeated he leaned against a pole ready to give up his quest.

“Pardon me, you are looking for travels to Normandy, no?” came a voice from behind him. Disappointed, he pivoted and saw no one. A tap on small of his back startled him, “Pardon?”

Colin turned, this time, he looked down, “Yes, boy. Do your parents speak English?”

The boy frowned and folded his arms. His bright yellow tunic and bright green britches stood out in the now crowded streets. “My mother is long dead. I never met my father. He was some Norman soldier who dallied with my mother when he was passed through with Duke William on his way to England to show you Englishers some humiliation.”

Colin’s overlooked the derogatory comment. “Impossible. That would make you my age.” Then he stared closely at the boy’s face. It wasn’t a boy’s face at all.

“Are there no little people in England?” asked the boy. “I’m thirty years old and although my mother and father were of average height. I was blessed with a more diminutive stature.”

“I have heard of them, but have never met one. Perhaps you can be of assistance. My name is Colin Harcourt, and I have urgent business in—”

“Normandy,” the midget interrupted. “I heard you. I am Rango, no surname, just Rango. Might I be able to assist you, no. We are thespians and travel the countryside village to village. We have plans to perform in Rouen later this coming summer.”

“Summer? I am already late. I must be there sooner.”

Rango smiled, “You got a better offer, yes?”

“Thus began a friendship between Rango, the midget, and myself. It also solved my dilemma. I joined a group of traveling performers as their fool – the role was well suited for me it seems. I was already late and was no other choice. I didn’t have any money. I couldn’t speak the language. They warned me it would be unsafe to travel alone. With the circus folk, I would get there late but would get there, hopefully in one piece. First, the troupe stopped in Blois, then Lower Lorraine, Flanders and finally Normandy. On the first day of August, my faithful friend and I stood outside the castle of Robert Duke of Normandy.”

Chapter Six

Dover, England the winter of 1095-1096

“You can’t seem to stay out of trouble. From the pan and into the fire, so to speak.” Grant wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin before wadding it into a ball and tossing it on an empty plate.

“You might be right, General.” Colin noticed the small group of diners looking his way.

“It appears as if you have gathered a crowd here. Shall we adjourn to the lobby? It might be a bit more comfortable for everyone.” Grant snuffed out his third cigar and called the waiter over. “Place the bill on the War Department’s tab please and add a good tip for your services.”

Colin folded his napkin, put it on the table, drank his last bit of wine, and followed Grant into the lobby. Ten other diners rushed to pay their bills before they sauntered into the lobby, uninvited and sat in the chairs nearest General Grant and his guest.

Why am I telling General Grant or anybody my life’s secrets? A warm glow from within him told him the answer to his question.  It is pastime to share my story.

 Grant gave the crowd a synopsis of Colin’s story. “Show them the beetle or the letter.”

“Scarab, General,” Colin said as he brought his talisman from beneath his shirt. He did not try to produce the letter mentioned.

Grant eyed Colin and then the crowd. “Trust me. He has a letter signed by the Duke of Normandy himself. I saw it myself and can vouch for its authenticity.” Grant stared at Colin, shrugging his shoulders as if asking if he would follow his request to show the letter to the onlookers.

A young girl with big brown eyes and long auburn hair which reminded Colin of one of his daughters from ages ago said, “You were about to be attacked by those mean men.” She smiled and twirled a tuft of hair as she swished her skirt.

“Yes, I’m sorry if I offended you with my story about the poor, condemned soul and how the townspeople treated him. People were different back then.”

“I like the story, but my mother does not,” insisted the young girl.

Colin pondered the question for a moment. “Maybe your mother is right. It’s not the sort of story that a young girl should hear from a stranger. I wasn’t aware others were listening.” He sought those in the foyer for her possible mother.

“I’m seven, and I’m old enough,” the young girl said with a huff. “My daddy was killed in the war by bad men. I know all about bad men.” Her pouty face made Colin smile.

The young girl’s mother emerged from the crowd scooping up her daughter as she said, “Please excuse Sally. I turned my back for one instant. I hope she wasn’t any trouble.” She raised her finger as if to scold young Sally but smiled and hugged her instead.

“She was no trouble at all. Mrs. Crawford, I am sorry for your loss,” Grant said, “Forgive me. We met at an officer’s ball three years ago. Your husband fought gallantly in Petersburg.”

“Thank you, General. That means a lot coming from you, sir. Come along, Sally.” She fidgeted with her daughter’s collar and straightened her hair, combing her fingers through the tresses.

“Please Mrs. Crawford, have a seat and stay for a while. Young Colin is in the midst of a remarkable tale. You and your daughter might find it interesting.” The general offered the young widow his seat. “Anne Crawford, may I introduce you to Colin Harcourt.”

Colin blushed as Anne offered her dainty hand. He could see where Sally inherited her brown eyes. She was a beautiful woman, and Colin’s heart skipped a beat. The same way it beat when he saw his beautiful wife the day they met a lifetime ago. The resemblance was enough to cause him to turn away and wipe a tear.

Anne sat down in the offered seat. “Continue, Mr. Harcourt.” The crowd settled in their chairs, and the Sally curled up into her mother’s lap.

“Some of my…umm… experiences might not be suitable for young ears or those of the fairer sex.” Colin loosened his collar with the crook of his finger. The room suddenly became scorching.

“I see. Well, Mr. Harcourt, as you can see Sally has fallen asleep, and I am not a typical member of the fairer sex. I don’t think many of the women of this generation are anymore. We have witnessed a great deal in the last few years,” she said before she smoothed her black dress with her lacy white gloves.

“Okay then. The crowd in Dover was not in a hospitable mood. I feared the same fate as the merchant if they should think I was telling a lie.  Of course, I mentioned that I was a relation of Harcourt’s to Harcourt himself so they could easily find me guilty of lying. My future was dismal. But I was saved by the most beautiful angel I have ever seen.”

A young girl stood at an open window and yelled into the unruly crowd. “Daddy, as a Christian you owe the young man the right to explain himself before you set upon him.” The girl appeared to be in her late teens. Three other faces peeked out from the window. They varied in age but not in beauty.

The man known as Harcourt turned to Colin’s beautiful savior. “Very well, Amelia, I will permit an explanation from the gentleman. You better shut that window. My young daughters do not hang out of windows. Alison, Ava, and Adela join your sister.” Harcourt turned to Colin. The enthusiastic crowd placed a noose around Colin’s neck. “You heard my daughter. You have one chance to change your fate. What say you, stranger? Are you in league with that man?” He said, pointing to the crumpled heap lying motionless in the street. What if I fail to sway this Harcourt, would I end up in the street or something far worse? He felt for the envelope. I suppose I’ll never know unless I convince him that I’m not the enemy.

“NO, No. Please, may I have a moment of your time? In private?” Colin said in a panic. “I promise all of your questions will be answered.”

Harcourt eyed the stranger suspiciously. “A moment of my time? You wish to meet privately at that. You speak bravely for a man in your position.” He grabbed the noose around Colin’s neck. Then he glanced up at the window where his daughter stood. “Ah, very well, a moment is granted.”

“I talk better without a noose around my neck,” Colin said as he tugged at his new attire.

“Now you’re pushing it. The noose stays,” Harcourt said and forced Colin into the alley. The alley was full of rubbish, and the foul smell of urine filled his nostrils. Lumps of shit lined the alley. The air stank so much making it difficult to breathe let alone talk.

“Might we choose a more hospitable place to speak?” Colin gagged on his words.

 “This alley will afford us some privacy. The noose will keep you within eye range should you try something foolish.”

Colin spent the better part of a quarter hour explaining his situation. How the archbishop sent him on a journey to Normandy. “A thief robbed me and took all of my valuables. I ate bad berries, and there was a run-in with the king. I was to sail to Calais in the morning, but the thieves left me penniless. I have nothing left to pay for the passage. I only arrived in town this very morning and had nothing to do with the poor unfortunate in the street.”

“That’s quite a mouthful.”

“I have never sold medicinal oils. I promise,” Colin said.

Harcourt held the sealed letter as if it were an egg. “It’s true. The archbishop is my father’s brother. The seal on this letter appears to be real. It’s also known that the archbishop has no love for our good King William and neither do I.” He handed the letter back to Colin and removed the noose. “I’d keep that hidden. I have a sinking feeling it could be treasonous.” He led Colin back to the crowd waiting anxiously at the end of the alley waiting for a chance at another judicious moment. “A misunderstanding,” Harcourt said to the crowd, “This man is my cousin from Canterbury. I have not seen him in many years and did not recognize him at first. It’s time to return to our homes. We have done enough dirty work for the day. Move on now.” The crowd dissipated. A few grumbled as they slinked away.

Alexander Harcourt watched the crowd disperse. “I cannot provide you with the coin to leave on the morrow. I can give you a warm place to stay, modest as it might be and I can use a hand around the inn so you can earn your keep and save enough for passage by the end of October. Ships sail regularly across to Calais, weather permitting.”

“Thank you, kind sir, I will work hard.” Colin wiped his brow. “I’m just happy not to be hung or torn apart by horses.”

“Oh, yes you’ll work hard. You may call me Alexander.” Harcourt slapped Colin on the back as a cold, bitter wind blew through the alley, chilling both men to the bone. “We should remove ourselves from this alley. My good wife will have a warm bowl of mush and perhaps some eggs ready before our evening clients arrive.” Alexander shivered. “I feel that the cold weather might be early this year.”

“I fear you may be right. The beehives have waxed early, and I found a white wooly worm, both bad omens.” Colin shivered.

“I haven’t seen one of those in many years. That year was cold, and it came early that year. I think we should pray that you can earn passage to Calais before winter settles in, Colin.”

Colin and Alexander stood beneath a sign with a barrel carved on it. Alexander had hesitated before he opened the door. “I must warn you. I have four daughters, aging from twelve to nineteen. I need not tell you that my daughters are not to be touched.”

The inn was warm, inviting, and smelled like stew and baked bread. “Anabel,” Alexander said. “Come meet our new guest. He shall do some chores around here for a spell. At least until he has earned the funds for his journey to Calais and beyond.”

A short, stout woman turned from the hearth and curtsied. One look told Colin where Alexander’s daughters got their good looks.

A blonde haired beauty stuck her head out of an upstairs door. A few seconds afterward a second head peeked out just below the first, and then a third, and then a fourth. Four gorgeous blonde heads all lined up in a row. Colin determined that a virtuous stay in this house would be tough. He prayed that the inclement weather would hold off long enough to secure passage across the Channel. 

Alexander laughed, “All right my dear ones. Come and greet our new friend. However, remember you are ladies and must act appropriately.”

Three young girls bounded down the stairs and rushed to Colin, surrounding him to ask him one question after another. His eyes focused on the last girl, descending the stairs with grace and, head upright. Once down the stairs, she stood a few paces from him and her sisters. She was the most striking woman he ever laid eyes on, and he fell in love at first sight.

“Give him space dear ones,” Alexander ordered. “It’s not as if he is the first man you have ever seen.”

The youngest daughter placed her arms around Colin, smiled, and flashed her green eyes at him, “Yes, Papa,” she said never taking her eyes from Colin.

“Now little sister, don’t be embarrassing. Let him breathe. You act as if you are desperate. Unseemly for a young lady,” the oldest said. Her bright sky-blue eyes filled with disdain.

“Excuse my daughters,” Alexander said, “They have been cursed with a strong will and the looks of their mother. I fear that my daughters will bless me with their presence for a long time. They’re all too strong-willed to catch the attention of any possible suitor. The eldest over there is Amelia. The standoffish one turned nineteen in May. She isn’t interested in her dozens of admirers. One look at that face and they follow her like a puppy. Those ideas in her head turn them away every time. She believes a woman should be equal to a man in certain areas.

Unbelievable. Two have asked for her hand in marriage, and she turned them down. Nineteen years old and she turned them down. It seems they weren’t good enough for her. I fear she will end up an old maid.” Amelia glared at her father but managed a polite smile for Colin. “That one is Ava. She's sixteen and already has suitors vying for her attention. She’s not interested. The other is Adela. She is fourteen.” Ava and Adela giggled and curtsied. “Alas, the one in your face is my baby, Alison, she is twelve and much too young to be thinking of boys.”

Alison placed her hand on her hips. “I turned thirteen, Papa and am practically a woman. I am not much younger than Mama when you wed her,” she said and then glanced up at Colin with those beautiful, loving green eyes.

Colin averted his gaze, out of propriety, but those eyes continued to haunt him. He imagined the warm look came from Amelia.

“See what I mean? Shoo Alison, go pester the cat,” Alexander said with a smile before pulling his youngest to his side with a hug. “I love you, but you can be trying at times,” he said in a whisper.

“Amelia, show Colin to the room at the top of the stairs and don’t dally.”

She frowned but did what her father asked. Ava and Adela giggled as Colin walked away. Alison sprang up to volunteer, giving the cat a chance to jump away, but she sat down again when her father glared at her.

“Women,” Alexander shouted, “What must a man do to get fed around here? Colin, freshen up quickly. Dinner will be at half past the hour.”

“My room was no more than a cot and a honey rag,” Colin said to the growing crowd.

“What is a honey rag?” asked Sally, who was now awake.

“A honey rag was how people kept flies and pests from bothering them. You would dip a rag in honey, if you could afford honey, and tack it to the walls. The honey would attract the pests, and they would get stuck.”

“How long did you stay with Harcourt and what happened with Allison?”

“Well, I didn’t get a passage to Calais that October. A hard winter socked Dover in the first part of October and held us at her mercy way into March. As for Amelia, I fell deeply in love with her even though she wouldn’t give me the time of day. Alexander encouraged me. He wanted to get her married off before she became an old maid. Amelia was never cruel she wasn’t interested. I asked her to marry me. I went down on my knee and told her that I needed to deliver this letter and then I would be back and would marry her. I professed my undying love for her.

She gazed down at me so nonchalantly with a raised eyebrow and told me, “Why would I marry you? You are a nothing, a common laborer. You are so amusing, Colin dear.”

  I was crushed, broken-hearted. Ava and Adela became good friends. Alexander was a good employer and an even better friend. Alison followed me around like a lost puppy. I will admit she was the most beautiful of the sisters. Colin stopped and smiled at Sally, “Sally, could you do me a favor, dear?”

“Yes,” she cooed

“Could you go over to the nice man over there ad ask if he could bring us some tea?”

“What a splendid idea, Colin. Yes, Sally, would you do that for us?” asked the General.

After Sally left Colin whispered, “I didn’t want to say this in front of the child, but it was not uncommon in those days for an older man to wed children even as young as Alison.  I probably could have any of the younger three at any time. I wanted, especially the way Alison acted toward me. But I refused to betray Alexander’s trust,”

“They were different times indeed,” Grant, mused. “Thank you for your candor. It gives us a clearer perspective on your lifestyle back then. Tell me, man, when did you leave the inn?”

Sally returned with the waiter from the restaurant and tea.

“The weather broke around the end of March,” continued Colin, “Alexander and I bought passage on the very ship that declined my request in September.”

“The end of March?” Grant interrupted, “If I recollect you were to have the archbishop’s letter in the hands of the Earl of Kent before the first of April.”

“That’s correct, general. On the second of April, I stood on the wharf with Alexander, Ava, Adela, and Alison while crew members made last-minute preparations to the Good Ship Hope. Tears fell free from the girls, especially Alison. The announcement from the deck told me it was time to board, and I gave everyone a big hug. Last, of all, I embraced Alison. She looked up at me with those beautiful green eyes and whispered in my ear. Then she ran to her father and sobbed into his shoulders. I plodded up the gangplank and turned to wave my final farewells. I found that my eyes settled on sweet Alison, her last words weighing heavily on my mind.”

“What did she say?” asked Sally’s mother.

“She said; I will wait for your return,” Colin said in a soft whisper.

Chapter Five

Dover on the Coast of England October 1095­

“I don’t know how long my affliction lasted or how long I lay in the tall grass. I rubbed my face only to find a slight beard. I couldn’t even estimate how long I lay in the tall grass. I survived the whole ordeal on what little rain fell. It was a harrowing experience. The berries did a job on me and rendered me helpless. I awoke to find myself covered with vomit and a filthy crud matted my hair. I lapsed in and out of reality. I yelled for help, but I was either too weak or could not be heard.”

“What kind of berries would do that to you?” asked the general. “Not that I believe you, yet.”

“I have no idea. They were red. I, of course, ate red berries before. All I know is that it was almost five-hundred years before I would even come close to eating another berry again.”

The general took another puff of his cigar, blew a smoke ring, and sipped from a glass of wine he ordered. “What happened next?”

Colin swished his wine in his glass, mesmerized by the swirls before he chugged it down. He covered his mouth and cleared his throat. “I felt somewhat better, and could no longer handle my stench.”

“I bet you were ready for a good hot bath by then,” Grant buttered another roll.

“In those days people bathed only twice in their lifetime. Once when they were born and once when they died. Don’t get me wrong. We washed semi-regularly but seldom bathed.” Colin absent-mindedly ran his finger over the rim of his wineglass. Grant refilled the glasses.

“You mean to tell me you didn’t bathe after days confined in your own…” The general noticed several diners watching and said no more.

“I said most didn’t bathe, including me. I did the unthinkable. I feebly ran to the stream and dove in, underclothing and all. I found a place to protect and hide the letter beforehand. My one-day ride from Canterbury to Dover stretched into four days, and I wasn’t near Dover, yet. Immersed in the cold stream, I completely forgot my surroundings. I’ll tell you there is nothing like bathing in a good stream to cleanse your mind. It was my fault when I was caught by surprise.”

“You there!” A man on a horse on the muddy bank bellowed.

Colin flinched, startled by the presence of the man. Afraid the man might be the king or his guards he pivoted to see a stranger, and he was alone. The King never traveled alone. The man rode a jet-black horse certainly suitable for royalty but was dressed as common folk. His face was red with freckles, and his blonde hair came to the shoulder. Colin took him for a horse thief.

“Yes, you there. What are you doing in the King’s stream?”

“I beg your pardon, but I urgently needed washing. I won’t tell the King if you don’t tell him,” Colin climbed out to the opposite bank.

A sly smile came to the horse thief’s mouth. He stood in his stirrups, gazed around the area, and spoke when a dozen other riders erupted from the forest and hurried to his side. Colin stood, dripping wet and watched in terror as one rider came to a halt next to the horse thief and said, “Your Majesty, we lost track of the…” then he stopped and glared at Colin. “Shall I gut the intruder, Your Majesty?” he said drawing his sword.

The horse thief raised his hand. “The gentleman and I share a secret. A secret we need to keep from our good king.”

The rider appeared befuddled. “But, Your Majesty…”

The horse thief waived his hand, and the rider stopped in mid-sentence. “Now, my dear friend, perhaps you might be as good as to tell me why you soil the KING’S stream?”

Colin bowed and scraped, “Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Droplets of water fell from his hair leaving a tiny pool of water near his feet.

“Yes, yes, why pray tell are you foraging around in only your undergarments?” King William Rufus asked. “For God’s sake man, get dressed. You will spoil my stream for generations to come.”

“I am sorry, Your Majesty, but these are all that I have.” The king’s men forded the stream as he spoke. Colin searched for a place to run but knew running would be fruitless.

King William motioned for his men to halt. “You left home that way?”

Colin bowed as he presented himself in all his underwear glory. “No, Your Majesty, there is a tale that goes with my attire.”

“I am always good for a story. Beware, your life hangs on the outcome of your tale. See to it that you amuse me. Someone get this man some decent clothing. We can always retrieve any loaned clothing before we stretch his neck.”

Colin spent the next half-hour telling the King about Captain Luke and the poison berries. He told the King he was on his way to Dover to winter with his relatives. Out of breath, he finished his tale as to how he entered the King’s stream uninvited. He left out the part about the archbishop, the letter, and the mission to Normandy. There was no love between the King and his brother, Robert, Duke of Normandy.

The King, remained on his horse said, “A credible tale indeed. What say you, Sir Tyrell?” He asked an imperially dressed man to his right.

Sir Tyrell, a man with sneaky eyes and a pointy chin, leered at Colin, “I say we stretch the vagrant’s neck now and be on our way. He might even be a member of the gang of cut-throats we seek.”

King William swatted a fly from his nose, “There you have it. Sir Walter Tyrell believes you to be a thief and that you should be hung from that tree.”  The riders surrounded Colin and descended from their horses.  The King stopped them with a stare. “However, what does your King think?” He rubbed his chin deep in thought before speaking. “Your King was amused by your tale, false or not.  Make it known that from this day hence; Colin Harcourt has the freedom to wash in my kingdom. Any who harms him harms the King.” Colin bowed and thanked the King. “Give my friend a day’s provisions.” Sir Walter’s eyes showed contempt as he handed Colin a satchel with provisions. “We cannot accompany you. However, Dover is no more than a half-day march southeast.” The King and his entourage rode off in a Northwesterly direction. Sir Tyrell hesitated, giving Colin an angry stare before he joined the others. Colin prayed he would not run into Sir Walter Tyrell anytime soon.

He reminisced about the historical things he witnessed. Meeting a King or Sir Tyrell might have changed the fabric of his life, but such things are best forgotten and hope that fate would be kind to him. Of course, there was no way of knowing that destiny made plans for him.

“You might find this a bit ironic, general,” Colin, poured him another glass of wine. “Three years later the King and Sir Walter were hunting deer when Sir Walter spied a stag and shot an arrow which glanced off a tree hit the King in the chest. He died instantly. Sir Walter claimed the death was an Act of God. England did not mourn William’s passing. He was no better a King than his father, except for the kindness he showed me. Curiously, Sir Walter died shortly after that. Centuries later historians uncovered that the death was not an Act of God but the clever plot and extraordinary archery talent of a single man, Sir Walter.”

“I entered Dover just after midday the last day of September in the year of our Lord, 1095. I was tired and penniless.” Colin wondered if his listener believed his tale. Then he worried if he should tell his tale at all. He kept his life a secret for so long and then he told only friends. He should have remained silent. It was too late to turn back now.

“Did you search out your relatives first?” asked the general.

“They weren’t my relatives. They were the archbishop’s relatives. The first thing I did was to go to the harbor to secure passage to Calais on the first ship out to sea…”

Dark clouds rushed in from the sea and threatened the once beautiful day. The smell of salt and fish surrounded the wharf, a new sensation for Colin’s senses. Seagulls swooped in and out of the masts and a lone pelican perched on the bow of a ship searching the harbor for its next meal. The ships bobbed lazily in the harbor, waiting for the promised wind to send them off to faraway places. After searching for over an hour, Colin finally found a sea captain who was setting sail for Calais in the morning.

The leathery face of the captain showed no emotion as he inspected the sealed envelope handed him by Colin. The captain turned the letter over and peered closely at the seal. He smelled of thirty years of sea, salt, and sweat. A frown came to his weathered, wrinkly face. “This letter be from the Archbishop his-self, you say?” his foul breath almost knocked Colin over. He tried not to stare at the man’s toothless grin, which for some reason made the wrinkled old sea captain looked downright evil. His left eye roamed lazily, refusing to align with his other eye. A crooked smile made Colin uneasy.

“Yes, it is, Captain.” Colin noticed that sailors in the near vicinity stopped what they were doing and watched him suspiciously.

“Uinfrey, Uinfrey Flainbard of the good ship Hope. This letter just might be for real,” he said waving the letter at Colin, “and then again, it might be something else altogether.”

“I assure you the letter is official. I am on an important pilgrimage for the Church,” Colin reached for the envelope.

Uinfrey raised a bushy eyebrow and handed the letter to Colin. “What sort of pilgrimage might that be?”  Unruly, wild gray hair fell to his shoulders when he removed his cap to scratch his head.

“I am not at liberty to discuss the details of my journey. Suffice to say. I have business in Calais, urgent church business for the archbishop.” Colin inspected the letter; to be sure, there was no damage.

“Thar be naught in Calais but wool merchants this late in the season, nothing there to concern the church.” Captain Flainbard scratched his crotch and barked an order to the observing crew-members. The order was in a language unfamiliar to Colin.

“It is your duty as a Christian to see me safely on my journey,” Colin said in desperation.

“My Christian duty, eh? I’m as much a God-fearing Christian as the next. I am also a loyal subject to our King. It’s no secret that the mighty Archbishop and King William have a few disagreements and I have no intentions of wearing a noose around my neck for a letter I cannot read. It will take three silvers and five coppers for accommodations, and I don’t know nothing about no letter.”

Colin saw no Christian mercy in the captain’s stare.

“Have you the coins? I thought not. Good luck with your pilgrimage. Perhaps the good Archbishop should have sent you with coins instead of this letter,” he said.

“I could work for my board. I need to get this accursed letter out of my hands,” Colin said, grabbing a coat sleeve.

Uinfrey pried Colin’s hand from his arm, thrusting it to the side. The force almost sent Colin to his knees. The captain gained his composure and asked politely, “Have you ever worked on a vessel before?” Colin shook his head no. “Thought not. Just what do you mean by accursed letter? I won’t be having no cursed letters on my boat. Be off with you and don’t let me see your cursed face again.”

There was no other choice for Colin he would find another way. The Archbishop mentioned that the Harcourt’s owned an inn.  Perhaps his new relative could employ him long enough to earn passage to Calais. Colin drew his cloak tighter around his neck and kicked a rock into a bitterly cold wind that blew in from the ocean.

A large crowd gathered in the streets jeering as they shook hands at an unseen person. Colin jostled and elbowed his way to the front of the crowd. A tormented man lay in the street; he had a noose tied around his neck; the other end secured to a horse. There was a blood-soaked stump replaced both hands, and one eye gouged out. He struggled to his knees as the crowd pelted him with rocks.

He asked a woman next to him, “What happened?”

A toothless old woman with straggly gray hair, wearing a grimy brown apron said, “The knave sold medicinal oils to our sick, and five of our young ones perished in the night. Poor fool spent the profits away at Harcourt’s Inn. We found him quickly. So, are you kin to this devil?”

The crowd’s cacophony voice became silent when the sound of a hand as it slapped horseflesh, followed by the neigh of a horse and the unforgettable sight of the poor soul as the horse galloped down the street.

“No, No. Never seen him before in my life. I am kin to Harcourt,” he said, in sudden fear for his safety.

“Funny,” a gruff voice said from Colin’s right, “I remember no kin the likes of you.” The angry crowd, losing interest in the hapless merchant, spun to face Colin. Their wrath was not yet been satisfied.