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by Ariadne


Author's Chapter Notes:
thanks for all the amazing reviews. Finally the next chapter of Dark sail. Sorry its been so long, but my muse refused to play after RL hit her hard
The morning of the wedding dawned bright and beautiful with that fresh green smell in the air. William had spent the night in church in solemn contemplation of the vows he was about to take. He had not broken his fast since taking communion the evening before but wasn’t feeling hungry. He didn’t think he could eat he felt so sick; he had faced down marauding Northmen, been taken hostage and lived amongst strangers, he’d even faced down his brothers, but the thought of marrying the love of his life left him shaking like a virgin on her wedding night. He was waiting for fate to take his dream away from him. The services had helped, they had soothed him a little; the Prior himself had taken the service and heard his confession before administering the host. William had not been alone all night. Athelred and Godwin had taken turns with Brother Giles in keeping the Bride’s man company. They had not been cruel enough to bring either food or drink into the chapel to tempt him, but the married men had joked with him about his responsibilities for the wedding night, leaving the poor young Lord blushing and mumbling.

Father Gregory was taking a walk along the walls before heading back to the chapel to escort the prospective husband to the priory church for the service. The women rushed past the churchman, bringing his mind back to the day ahead. They were carrying large bunches of flowers and branches, and were preparing the bower for the couple.

To save the Lady Elizabeth’s blushes, a thin curtain had been obtained to protect her from the stares of the men when she undressed. There would have to be witnesses to this bedding; too much was riding on it to take the final act on trust. So Athelflaed and Thora would stay in the room with them until William had completed his duty.

Looking at the reflections of the trees in the water and the clear sky his mind wandered back to the day of the trial: that had been completely different. The weather had been overcast and threatening, reflecting the mood of the crowd that had gathered. The lady Elizabeth had been among the Norse who had made their way from the encampment: they had been armed and armoured. Athelred had agreed to that, and had ensured that his hearth troop, led by Godwin, were equally well armed.

Father Gregory thought about the Lady Buffy, as she had charmingly asked him to call her. He could quite see why William was so enamoured of her, but hadn’t really thought she had enough strength to be more than a figurehead for the treaty. He had been disabused of that thought swiftly. She stood front and center as the blacksmith had his forge pumped up, the boys on the bellows forcing the air through the glowing charcoal, making the fire hotter and hotter until it became white with heat and could be felt yards away from the shelter of the forge roof. She hadn’t flinched when the unrepentant pair had been dragged from the Priory and brought before them all.

Liam spat at her as she waited for the group to pass by her. She watched impassively as the phlegm hit the ground by her feet. She didn’t flinch at all and Gregory admired her strength: she was every inch the Lady at that point.

Darla and Dru were brought down next. Darla looked pure evil, as if some demon had risen from hell and was clawing its way out of her body. Dru look empty. Her face barely registered what was going on around her.
‘Pretty flames: can I play with them?’ she asked the guard holding her arms.

‘No, little one: they’ll hurt you,’ he answered softly. The broken woman had softened most hearts that had seen her. She was like a child again, dancing and talking to the sky, her mind completely shattered by the things that had happened.

‘Harold?’ she whispered, ‘my husband, are you going to beat me again? I’ve been a bad girl, and the stars aren’t singing to me. I didn’t want to sleep with Liam but he told me you’d beat me again if I didn’t.’

Athelred looked at the poor woman. Her hair hung down her back and she looked a sad and shattered creature.

‘I suggest we send this mite to a nunnery and allow her a modicum of peace.’ The King said gently so as not to scare her. He watched quietly as Father Gregory signaled a couple of his monks across to escort Druscilla away. She was quite mad, her mind completely lost to both herself and God.

‘Take her to Shrewsbury. The sisters there will care for her. Tell them I will send money later,’ the King added to the monks who nodded and helped Dru to move away from the crowd. She was spinning and dancing, asking the two men if they could see the stars as well. A sad end to what had once been one of the most beautiful women in Wessex.

Gregory looked across the water again and sent a prayer southward to the poor unfortunate. His mind then went back to the sight of Liam and Harold writhing against their bonds. They had stood before the King and his court, still spewing their filth that Elizabeth was not the Lady of Trondheim and she was just some wench brought in to be used in the ceremony. But looking at Lady Elizabeth standing there so proudly, one could not doubt the nobility of her birth.

Then William had laughed, just laughed at them and the poison they were spewing; they looked pathetic and wretched on their knees in front of the two great lords. Their hair was matted and filthy, their clothes soiled and the smell coming off of them was fouling the air around the gathering crowd. They looked so dreadful, as though they had already faced the torments of hell.

Harold had started fighting his guards when he saw how high the flames in the blacksmith’s fire had been built. He was terrified. In his heart he knew that he was guilty of trying to upset the treaty. He could not bear the thought of William getting so high in everyone’s eyes, the runt their father had called him, and a runt he was. Standing up there in fine robes and wearing a sword that should have been Harold’s… he wasn’t fit to sit below the salt and yet he stood with a sword on his hip, watching his betters being judged.

Liam had started crying, there had been no bravery in his soul at all. Giles had watched in disgust as both men were forced back to their feet as the charges were read. Godwin handed over the parchment to Father Gregory and the learned man started.

‘You are accused of treason, and of incest. You both subjected your wives to ungodly acts and you actively worked against the good of Mercia. How do you plead?’

‘You have no right to judge us: we are none of your subjects!’ Harold spat out.

‘It is true that you gave your oath to Wessex but you have broken faith here, and here you will be tried, and it will not be us judging you but Almighty God.’ Father Gregory looked at both men again. They seemed haunted, lost: but he had to continue. They had been given chance after chance to either repent or prove their words, but they did neither.

‘We are innocent of all charges,’ Liam shouted out defiantly.

‘Do you both say that?’ Gregory asked.

Harold nodded as well. Gregory signaled the blacksmith who used his tongs to retrieve the first metal bar from the flames. It glowed in the overcast light and cast unearthly shadows all around them. As soon as he saw it Harold started screaming, begging for mercy.

‘I did it, I did it!’ he yelled. The blacksmith stepped back to allow the churchman forward again. Gregory looked straight into Harold’s eyes.

‘Do you ask for mercy and forgiveness from the Lord?’ he asked.
And Harold nodded. The poor man seemed overcome by what was happening around him. His eyes started rolling in his head, and he started to foam at the mouth. Gregory stepped back from the apparition that the man in front of him was turning into. Harold dropped to his knees and toppled forward without a sound. Gregory tried to find life within the body, but all he did was witness the final breath of a dying man.

‘God has spoken,’ the Priory intoned before turning his attention to Liam.
Liam of Wessex had stood there, open-mouthed at the corpse of his elder brother. Harold had simply dropped dead as soon as he had made his confession. The guards holding his arms had released their grip at the shock of what had happened and Liam seized his chance. He pushed hard against the guard on his left, and knocking the man off balance made a grab for the scramseax he carried. The second guard was to slow to react and joined his comrade in a heap on the floor. Liam grabbed Buffy by her long hair and pulled her into his body to act as a shield. ‘Who’s going to protect you now, bitch?’ he snarled into her ear.

William drew his sword and looked for an opening to stab his brother, but Liam kept dancing around, protecting himself with Buffy’s body.

‘Well, that’s where your mistake lies,’ she said in heavily accented Saxon, ‘thinking I need protection.’ She reached around the small of her back underneath her cloak and pulled out a wicked-looking knife. William and the rest of the crowd could see it, but Liam couldn’t from the angle at which he held her.

Let her go, Liam!’ Athelred said, trying to calm the man. ‘You are doing yourself no favours by holding a hostage.’

‘Oh I don’t know: you are talking to me, and not threatening me with that hot iron,’ he sounded insane as he laughed. ‘William?’

‘Yes Liam?’ William answered quietly, trying not to inflame the situation any more than it was. The lady Anne was crying, begging Liam to let Buffy go. The hearth troop had surrounded the tableau, waiting for the opportunity to act.

‘How does she taste? Is she good in bed? I normally don’t care for seconds, but in her case I might make an exception.’ He turned Buffy in his arms and reached down to kiss her, keeping the knife at her neck as he did so. Buffy looked her captor straight in the eye.

‘You see, Liam, that’s where you made the mistake, thinking I needed their aid to protect myself,’ she told him quietly.

As his lips descended he made a strange gagging noise and a gurgle. And Buffy slipped out from his grasp. Imbedded in his groin was the knife she always carried. Buffy looked at Liam as he fell to the ground, screaming. Her expression didn’t alter. William rushed forwards and swept the woman into his arms and held her tight, ignoring all the people around them. He kissed her deeply, as though she were the only woman in the world. For him, she was.

Liam tried to throw his knife at William’s turned back, his last act as his life’s blood spilled into the dirt. Godwin and Eirik took the weapon away from him, but before they could anything to help the man himself he too was dead.


Father Gregory thought about the blank look on Elizabeth’s face as she did what was necessary to protect herself. He, like William, had noticed the haunted look in her eyes, and shook off his cloak and wrapped it around the pair and led them away.

He smiled as he pulled his cloak loose. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky as he made his way to the newly built church that was to be the site of today’s main event. Buffy was an amazing woman, and he wished them both well.





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