Chapter Two

Canterbury early September 1095

General Grant’s face curled in disgust. “Please tell me that was not the custom. The thought borders on barbarianism.”

“No, General. It was not customary to burn loved ones in such a manner. Burial of loved ones has always been a somber and Christian rite. The only option was for John and Mother to remain bundled in the rear of our house until the spring thaw, leaving their bodies subject to defilement from the wild animals. At the time, I was horrified. I would have preferred to starve and pay the church fees. But now I’m older, I realize Father did what he thought was best.”

“That is an amazing and perplexing story. The winters are harsh here as well, especially along the frontiers. However, I have not heard our frontiersmen submit to similar actions.” The general sat in thought for a moment. “I will admit that your claim is hard to believe. Convince me how it allowed you to live for hundreds of years?”  Grant shook his head. “That is, if you have the time, of course.”

Colin thought I have never told a soul about my life in over forty years. Nobody will believe me. Why would a decorated general believe a word I say? “That story, General, cannot be told without the beginning. If you have previous commitments, you will have to be satisfied with knowing it is true.”

“No, I have no place I would rather be. This…” and he swept his arm wide across the dreary city in mourning, “will be here when your story is told, and you might find I’m a bit of a historical enthusiast myself.”

“William the Conqueror died in the early morning of September 9th, 1087.”

“Yes, I studied William at West Point. It was said he died from an injury he acquired during his attempt to capture a small town in France. I believe heat and fatigue caused him to slump forward and impaled himself on his saddle pommel.” Grant was proud of himself for his knowledge.

“You know more than I, sir. All they told us was that he died in France. I’m afraid they did not share the irony of the truth with his people for fear it would dishearten them. In actuality, I believe they would have been amused and felt justified.  He slaughtered England and gave away his fortune to the Church in an attempt for absolution and a futile effort to save his soul. To think he thought a few trinkets would purge his cruelty to his subjects and pave the way for forgiveness.”

“I was taught he was a great leader.” Grant brushed a speck of dust from his shoulder.  “Nothing was ever mentioned about cruelty to his subjects.”

“Believe what you will, sir. You were not there,” Colin continued with conviction. “My father died in August of that year, penniless thanks to the Domesday Book. I purchased a pauper’s plot in the churchyard in Canterbury.”

“Wait, the Doomsday Book?”

“It was The Domesday Book. Dome is an Old English word meaning judgment.” A sigh escaped from Colin’s mouth. “I suppose I should explain. In the year 1085, King William the Conqueror felt the need to determine his exact worth. He feared his vassals were not paying their proper taxes, so he sent men to all shires, villages, and cities with direct orders to find all livestock, land, and crops in his kingdom. Whatever the Lords wrote in the book became law. The surveyors determined that the Earl of Kent owed taxes and as you remember, William gave our land to the Earl of Kent. The Earl seized my father’s land as payment for those taxes and evicted us. As a further insult, my father and I became his servants, and he forced us to work his land as little more than slaves did. I was lucky. I worked as a stable boy, and the Earl gave me a small loft in the barn. My father worked in the fields, sleeping there, scrounging for scraps of food.”

“I am so sorry. Your hardship must have been difficult to endure.”

“As I said, I was fortunate. I enjoyed working with the horses, and I slept with a roof over my head. My father was never the same. I believed the small scrap of land he owned and worked gave him enough pride to keep him going year after year, and he never recovered from losing it. The Earl forced my father into hard labor and worked until he became too frail and could no longer perform his task.  Once during this time, my father caught me eyeing a beautiful girl. He grabbed me by the collar and berated me, shaking me with every sentence. ‘What do you think you are doing, boy?  She is too good for the likes of you. You’ll likely land in prison for looking in her direction. Everyone is too good for the likes of you. You are a slave, and all you will ever be is a slave. You will work your fingers to the bone from morning until night and live on whatever scraps the Earl finds too meager for his dogs. If you find a slave wench who will have you as your wife, then the children you have will suffer the same. Have pity on your progeny, boy, and keep your eyes away from women.” Colin’s voice raised as he related the words of his father, his brow dripped with sweat as he felt himself becoming that young boy again, frightened, frustrated and worthless. He took a moment to wipe his brow and take a few deep breaths.

“A friend came to me when my father collapsed and helped me carry him into the barn. I cared for him until he took his last breath.” Colin’s attention wavered like a man in a brown suit, and a black armband waved a greeting to Grant from the other side of the street.

Grant waved back, “I believe that was a senator, but I am not sure. I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been, but your story, although intriguing, has yet to convince me of its truth.” Grant patted Colin on the shoulder and moved to leave.

“A difficult life is all we have ever known and all we could ever look forward to, and it did not improve even after the Earl was thrown into prison after William’s death. As for verification of the truth, my word should suffice but,” Colin removed a plain well-worn envelope from his breast pocket. “I’m seldom without this.”

Colin took a tattered, creased paper from the envelope, unfolded the paper with expert care, and handed it gently to Grant.

“I must admit, this looks ancient, but it is written in French, and I don’t read French.” He handed the precious letter back to Colin.

Colin gingerly retrieved his treasured letter, refolded it, and returned it to the envelope and his breast pocket. “Allow me.”

“Be it known Colin Harcourt served me well in our Holy Father’s Crusades and is owed a life. Henceforth he shall be bestowed the rank of acting Baron of Dover and shall be afforded all privileges due him”.

Robert, Duke of Normandy and rightful sovereign of the British Isles.

Signed this day, second of January in the year of our Lord Eleven Hundred Anno Domini

“Of course, the Duke didn’t have the right to bestow on me any title in the British Isles.” Colin smiled. The letter served well for four presidents and one political leader and provided proof of his outlandish tale. Although the ancient artifact was indeed true, and the story was not a bizarre tale, it was after all his life.

“Why did the King throw the Earl of Kent in prison?”

“In a nutshell, William decreed that his son, William Rufus, would succeed him on the throne. The eldest son, Robert, argued that the throne was rightfully his. To be truthful, the throne belonged to the Saxons and not the Normans. The Earl of Kent supported Robert, and William Rufus felt betrayed and threw him into prison. A small battle ensued between the brothers,”

“I’m surprised the new king allowed him to leave his prison.”

“If he weren't banished to Normandy, my tale would be entirely different.”

***

Twenty-nine-year-old Colin lay in his loft in the manor’s barn. Shards of gray sunlight crept through the roof and an opened door. On any other day, he would perform his tasks around the manor before sunrise, but today was Sunday, and no one worked on the Sabbath day. A four-hour church service was required, but that was hours away.

Unashamed of his nakedness, he twisted to one side and gazed at the golden-haired girl sleeping peacefully at his side. She was the baker’s daughter and thus above his station. There would be harsh consequences if they caught us together. After last night, he couldn’t care less. 

He pushed her hair gently from her supple, full lips turned up in the slightest smile as she snuggled closer to him. His heart skipped a beat when she grinned at him. Her hair flowed down her back like a river of gold sparkling in the sunlight. Her breasts were smaller than most of his conquests and burrowed softly into his side while she lay in the crook of his arm with one leg bent over his stomach. She was beautiful, but her nose was a bit too large for her face. She was a willing participant in their carnal night time sin even though she was at least fifteen years younger than Colin was. Her father would not be pleased of the loss of her maidenhood. Nor would she bring as much dowry so sullied. Unaware of his daughter’s tryst, he arranged her marriage to the elderly clockmaker. She was not excited about the choice of husband and was angry that her father based his decision on a dowry and status rather than rakishly good looks, but that was his way.

His passion stirred inside him, sending urgent sensations throughout his body. He hoped that Margery would be a willing participant for an early morning dalliance. A rustle on the floor below sent all thoughts of repeating last night’s deed from his mind. The creak from the ladder left no time to cover or hide the girl. Colin said a prayer, hoping it was not his taskmaster with chores for the morning.

The head of the archbishop’s errand-boy popped above the ladder and quickly ducked down again.

Young Herlewin’s voice squeaked. “Colin you will end up in hell if you are not careful.” His head was still below the top rung.

Colin laughed aloud. “My dear friend. I am already in hell. You cannot deny me some fun while I visit.” Margery opened her stunning emerald green eyes at the sound of voices and panicked. Clothes thrown in wild abandon littered the loft’s straw floor. She scrambled to grab the first clothing she could find to cover herself, her cheeks bright red.

“Is that Margery, the baker’s daughter?” asked Herlewin.

Margery squealed.

“Never you mind who I bed. If I find you have been spying on me. I will cut off your member. Now, state your business so I might relax a little while with my... err... friend before I attend services and beg for my redemption.”

“You’ll be going to hell without a head on your shoulders for screwing the baker’s daughter.”

Colin kissed Margery’s hand softly. Turning to the ladder again, he bellowed, “State your business and be off with you,”

“His Eminence wishes a conference with you. He wishes it now. For God’s sake, get dressed. Hello, Margery. How are your parents?”

“Well, thank you. And how is His Eminence?” There was little time to think about doing anything else but respond.

“Trust me. You better forget what you have seen here today,” Colin said.

“I would never betray you. You’re my only friend.” Herlewin ran from the barn.

Turning to Margery, Colin frowned. “I am sorry my dear. It seems duty calls. Maybe we could continue on our journey later tonight?”

Margery blushed as she dressed. “It is the Sabbath. I can’t possibly get away.”

“Tomorrow night?” Colin pleaded, pulling his only clean blouse over his head.

“We shall see. After all, I have a reputation to uphold.” A wry smile filled her face. “My father would have your member,” after wrapping her arms around Colin’s head, she kissed him, “if my father were to find out about us.” She kissed him firmly, one more time and started down the ladder. “I will try to get away soon.”

Colin smiled contentedly for the first time in a long while. He might be in love this time. He knew that this was love, even though this love would never be more than trysts in his loft. She was steps, no, leaps above his feudal stationing.

“Don’t forget your audience with His Eminence,” Margery yelled as she reached the floor below.

***

The early morning dew rose from the green grass like cloudless mists on this bright September day. Colin wondered what he might have done so wrong as to require an audience with Archbishop of Canterbury, on the Sabbath no less. His occasional conquest with Margery was still a secret. He was sure of that. He doubted his dalliances with the Miller’s daughter or the Potter’s daughter were common knowledge. However, the night of passion with the Weaver’s daughter ended with complications. The young girl became with child. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on a person’s point of view, the girl became very sick and passed away without her pregnancy becoming common knowledge.

Nevertheless, a summons to the archbishop was an event a person didn’t ignore. Colin searched his mind for any reason the Archbishop would want to see him. Would the Bishop reprimand him for his many sins? He missed several worship services in the last few months. Was that so great a sin?  Nothing else came to mind. Perhaps Herlewin was right. Colin was about to be banished to hell.