Chapter Eight

Duke of Normandy’s Castle August October 1096

“It was the first castle,” Colin said in hushed reverence. “I was awe-struck. Rango, on the other hand, was terrified.”

“What did the castle look like?” asked Sally, her eyes wide. “Did you slay any dragons? Any alligators in the moat? Damsels in distress or knights in shining armor? Did you meet Robin Hood? Did you see Excalibur?”

“Please excuse her. She has a vivid imagination. As you can tell she reads lots of fairy tales and just finished Robin Hood and the Tales of King Arthur,” Anne said, shushing her daughter.

Colin smiled. “No, Sally. There were no moats and no dragons. The legendary King Arthur was six-hundred years before my time, although I heard stories of him from my mother when I was a child. There were no damsels in distress. There were many knights. However, Robin Hood never fought to prevent Prince John from taking Richard the Lion heart’s Kingdom. I met Richard briefly, and he did not speak a word of English.”

“Robin Hood did to help King Richard,” Sally said with conviction.

Colin paused a moment and winked at the others, “Yes, Sally, he sure did.” Colin knew different. “I met the thief called Robin Hood many years after Richard died. The fabled county of Loxley did not exist during the reign of Richard or his brother John.” There was one thing Colin learned in his eight-hundred years, never argue with a ten-year-old where fantasy is involved.

“So, what did the castle look like?” asked Sally again.

“Well, the walls were stone, and there were two tall towers with two massive wood doors in the middle. There were slits where you could shoot an arrow from every few feet in the tower. An outer barricade surrounded the castle. Two inner barrier towers twice as high as the outer towers were next to a cast iron draw gate. The inner wall was also twice as high as the outer one. The keep was in the rear of the courtyard while the great house was centered in the courtyard and was elaborate but in clear need of repair.”

“What’s a keep?” asked Sally.

“The keep is a tower, and it’s the last defendable place if the castle is overrun by the enemy.”

“Were you?” asked Sally.

“Was I what, Sally?” Colin asked surprised.

“Overrun by the enemy?” Sally asked with a twinkle in her eye.

“No, Sally, we were not overrun by the enemy. The outer doors and the inner draw gates were open, so we walked inside. I was not prepared for what I saw next.”

Thousands of soldiers filled the courtyard marching in unison from one wall to the next. It reminded Colin of a centipede.  In another corner, soldiers practiced swordplay. Dozens of straw dummies lined another wall. Soldiers took turns pelting the dummies with arrows. However, the wall took most the hits.

“We come back when the soldiers go home, no?” pleaded Rango.

Colin spoke in a hushed voice, hoping to avoid detection. “No, my friend, we’ve come all this way. It is too late to turn back now. I must rid myself of this cursed letter and return to Amelia.”

“Amelia thinks you are a, how you say it… rat, no?”

“I hardly think she thinks highly of me, but I have a certain charm, don’t you think? Given time, well, let’s first cast off this burdensome letter to its rightful owner.”

“You are sure this Earl of Kent is here, no?”

“He better still be here. I can understand if you hide here.” Rango sat down next to the wall. “I’m sure the archers need a moving target practice,” Colin said. Rango leaped up.

“I would be safer than the straw, no?” Rango smiled. “Maybe a soldier can deliver your letter. He gets the curse, and you return to Alison, no?”

“It’s Amelia, not Alison and no. I must deliver the letter. It is my soul in danger and my curse.”

“Alison, Amelia—whichever one, it doesn’t matter.  I feel there is something in the air that will prevent you from returning and you will drag poor Rango into your doom, no?”

“For the last time, there is no doom. We deliver the letter. The Earl thanks us, rewards us, and we are on our way home, richer for enduring this evil curse to the end. Are you with me?”

Rango frowned and shrugged his shoulders. “I best be coming along to protect you, no?” and followed Colin into the midst of the fighting soldiers.

Colin and Rango crept through the soldiers fearful that one would stop them and ask questions, or worse. Nobody paid attention to Colin and his diminutive friend. Surprised, they climbed the long stairway, and Colin knocked forcefully on a large door. An elderly servant answered it. He glanced at Colin with a particular gene se qua and spoke in French. “Enlistments are taken at the Keep.” He turned and closed the door when he saw Rango. “They are not looking for children at this time.” He slammed the door in Colin’s face.

“Rango, what was all that about? You know I still don’t understand your difficult language.” Rango was more than a little upset that the help called him a child.

“Well, it appears he expects you to enlist and I am a child.” Rango sneered. 

Colin knocked on the door once again. The same servant answered. “My good man, I am not a child.” Rango shook his fist. “My dear friend is not here to enlist. We have an urgent letter to the Earl of Kent from the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

“Why didn’t you say in the first place? Wait here. I will fetch the proper steward.”

Colin and Rango waited for far too long when the door finally reopened. “I will take the letter to his Lordship,” the finely liveried steward said with his hand outstretched.

“My friend here was told to deliver the message personally,” Rango said, in French, who then turned to Colin. “He,” Rango pointed to the servant, “wants to take the letter to the Earl, but I told him that you needed to deliver it personally, no?”

The steward glared. “Very well, follow me. You can wait outside the chambers whilst I confer with the Duke and the Earl. They are very busy at the moment.”

“There is not enough time to describe the opulence and wonder of the big house. Needless to say, it was grand. The servant led into a room five times the size of my house in Canterbury. I was afraid to sit on any of the plush, high-back chairs or partake of any of the fruit and cheese that lay on the table. Rango showed little sign of restraint. He clambered onto a chair which he pushed to the table and filled his mouth with the cheese. I, however, paced back and forth. I was about to chastise my friend when the door opened.”

Rango peered briefly into the room. “I wait here, no?” he said as he popped the last piece of cheese in his mouth.

“No. We are in this together. You are with me. Besides, what if they only speak French?” Colin strode through the door. Rango shuffled along behind him. Once inside he tugged on Colin’s jacket. “Do you know who that is?” he whispered and pointed to one the men in the room.

That same man approached Colin and stared down at Rango in disgust. He wore a red, half robe over a white ruffled blouse, black britches, and white stockings. His brown, greasy, un-brushed hair pulled back behind his ears, and his beard was unkempt. “I am told you have a letter from my dear friend the archbishop?” he asked in an over emotional voice. The other men in the room examined something unseen on a long table with intricately carved legs.

Colin handed the man the letter, relieved his journey, and the burdensome curse ended. He turned to leave.

A man near the desk shouted, “You have not been given permission to leave.” His hair and beard were as black as his eyes. He wore a floor-length red robe with a rounded white yolk and a gold collar. “Odo read the letter and be done with it.”

“I am getting to it, Robert,” Odo, tore open the envelope without looking at the waxed seal. His eyes narrowed, and a frown came to his face. He glared at Colin and boomed, “You are late.” The Earl of Kent peered at the letter one more time. “Permission to throw this vagabond and his dog into the dungeon, my Lord, we must teach him a lesson on being punctual.”

“Not so fast, Odo, read us the letter first, let us decide whether it merits the dungeon or the executioner’s blade.”

The Earl glared at Colin again. Rango crept behind Colin. He rustled the letter and read, “Odo my dear friend, the time is at hand for your return to England. Certain factions in King William's court are ready to swear allegiance to Robert. William’s Kingdom is within Robert’s reach. He may rule England and Normandy. Act by June after that there is no hope.” Odo slapped the letter onto the table. “What say you now, Robert?” bellowed the red-faced Earl of Kent.

Robert, Duke of Normandy, sauntered over to Colin. Standing with his hands clasped behind his back as he glared at Colin and sized him up and then he returned to the table. Odo spoke, and Robert held up his hand. “We have more important matters at hand. Pope Urban has asked us to supply a good Christian Army to rid the Holy Land of nonbelievers. We are to make Jerusalem safe so pilgrims may worship without fear of death. Those gathered at this table have sworn an oath to God and Church to march and complete his Holiness’ bidding. Odo, you know I have already leased Normandy to my brother William to fund our mission. Now is not the time for a quarrel. I will rectify my differences with William when we return.”

“Yes, my Lord, there is an urgency to carry out Pope Urban’s Crusade. The four of us here want nothing more than to rid the Holy Land of the pests that now reside there. Now, what shall we do with this vagabond and his dog?” Odo seethed.

“Patience, Odo, patience. His dog amuses me. From henceforth he shall be my fool.” Robert snapped his fingers, and several servants materialized out of nowhere and seized Rango. “Dress my new fool for the part. Do not be afraid of me little one. No harm will befall you. I will use you in my quest when I feel an urge to smile.”

They carted Rango off with little of a struggle.

“And the other, My Lord?” the Earl said, his voice and mannerisms making Colin’s skin crawl.

The Duke rubbed his chin. “There is something about him. I can’t put my finger on it. I have a feeling he’ll be of great use on our Crusades.” He cast a glance at the table with his arms folded. “It is agreed. We leave for Constantinople the first of October and will winter in Italy. God be with us. Our quest is just and holy, and we will prevail.”

The other two men in the room bowed. One man wore a yellow tunic with a red dragon spewing fire from its mouth stitched on it. A man with neatly brushed short brown hair and a well-trimmed beard and mustache looked on. The other wore a blue cape and red blouse, his eyes too close together. His wavy blonde hair hung to his ears, and his large nose was devoid of a mustache.

The Earl spoke again, “As you wish my Lord, but what should we do with him in the meantime? He was late with an important message. I can’t possibly return to England after a few months have passed.”

“Place him in the keep until we leave. Treat him kindly. But he is not to leave the keep.”

“The man in the yellow tunic was the Duke of Normandy’s brother-in-law, Robert, Count of Flanders. The other was Stephen, Count of Blois. Between them, they mustered five thousand men to join their Holy Crusades.”

“Did they allow you to leave the keep?” asked Grant.

“No, I was well treated but remained in my cell in the keep from the first of August until the first of October.”

“What happened to you then?” asked Sally.

“Well, we all left Normandy for our march to Blois where we were joined by Stephen’s army. It was also the first time I saw Rango since that day in the castle. Rango was dressed as a monkey; he appeared so embarrassed.”

“A monkey? That’s funny,” laughed Sally.

“No, Sally,” her mother said, “It was demeaning. Just because the man was a dwarf was no reason to make fun of him that way.”

“Oh, I didn’t think of that,” Sally wrinkled her nose with her frown.

“It’s all right, Sally. I found it hard not to laugh at my friend at the time as well.”

“So, you are on your way to the Crusades?” asked an elderly man in the back of the room.

“Yes, I, one Duke, two counts, one Earl, and one monkey dressed friend,” he winked at Sally, and she smiled, “and five thousand men were on our way to Jerusalem to rid the city of its rightful inhabitants. I might have chosen execution if someone could have given me a clue what the outcome of the Crusades would be and the part I would play in them.”

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.