Chapter 1. The Rising.

 

“Glory be,” he screamed at the top of his voice. “Glory be.”

 He stood on the battlements, his arms flung into the air. The wind whipped about him, his hair blown about in the gusts which grew all around him. The clouds were wild and grey and the rain slew into him like tiny daggers but he was oblivious. He had won, his men had won and he was victorious. His army stood below him, looking up at this apparent madman challenging the elements. It made than nervous and proud all at once. Yes they had won, this time, but for how long, they wondered?

 

Rosalind sat in the heavy chair by the fireplace in her bedroom. The shadows created by the full blazing fire, flickered all around the room. Her red velvet dress spread out around her, its velvet collar wrapped around her neck and wrists for warmth. She was worried about her son’s reaction to this victory. It seemed out of place, nearly like the actions of a madman. It is so unlike him, she thought. He is usually so meticulous and pedantic about his campaigns. Why this one should matter so much she didn’t know. He had put every ounce of his energy and money into this and it seemed out of proportion to the rest of his ambitions. Although he had always been a passionate man this seemed to verge on madness. She stared into the fire, wondering how to manage this change in him, wondering what it meant for the rest of the realm.

The door suddenly flew open and King Rupert strode victoriously into the room.

“Well, Mother, what do you think of that?” he asked her loudly, oblivious to the fact that she was sitting quietly, thinking. “What do you think now?”

“A fine victory Sire,” she said quietly, continuing to look into the fire. 

“Is that all you have to say woman? A fine victory,” he mimicked, throwing his sodden fur-lined cloak onto her gold embroidered bedspread.

“What would you have me say Sire?” she asked, glancing over to where he had thrown it. He has no respect for the value of another’s possessions, she thought to herself sadly.

“Well, you could congratulate me,” he bellowed, standing in front of her and blocking out the fire’s warmth.

Rosalind sighed. “Then congratulations Sire,” she said looking up and into his eyes defiantly. She was tired of his arrogance.

“Pah,” he spat. “What else could I expect from you? You have no feel for this country.”

“I have as much ‘feel’, as you put it, as the next woman but I do not like to see it destroyed to satisfy one man’s ego.” She replied.

“Ego?” he sputtered. “What know you of Ego?”

“Enough to know that what you do here you do for yourself, and not for the good of the realm,” she answered calmly.

His face reddened with anger and he looked as though he were about to explode. But just as suddenly as his anger rose it disappeared and he laughed out loud.

“Mother, you always know how to take me down a peg,” he said, kneeling down and putting his head in her lap. “How did father ever put up with you?”

“He put up with me because I was always right,” she stated stroking his damp, wavy hair.

“Am I doing too much Mother? Would father have been proud of me?” he asked, looking up at her then, pleading with his eyes.

She gazed at her son, this sometimes boy and sometimes man, and smiled gently, sadly. What could she say to him? Yes, his father would be proud he was defending the realm but would perhaps frown on how he was defending it.

“ I think he would be proud my son,” she didn’t want to destroy his attempts at leadership and knew that this moment was not the right moment to discuss motivation and strategy. Let him revel in his glory. There would be time enough to deal with the reality of this war, and of his actions, later.

She placed her hands on his face, and looked lovingly in his eager young eyes, so hungry for love.

“Your father would also be proud Rupert, if you found yourself a wife.” She said hopefully.

“Oh I don’t want to talk about that now mother.” He said, “Let me just enjoy this day.”

She raised her eyebrows and asked “So when do you suggest we talk about it? You know the King of Spain has a daughter who is ready to wed. It would make a good alliance.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure it would. But I really don’t want to talk about it now,” he answered, irritated by her persistence. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, alright?” he added when he saw the look of disbelief in her face.

She gave in, “Alright,” she said, “Tomorrow, over the evening meal. You promise? Promise me.” she added when he did not respond.

“Alright, alright I promise. Can’t a man just relax? I’ve only just won a great battle,” he laughed and stood up to go.

“And take that sodden thing with you,” she said in mock irritation, nodding at the cloak lying all over her bed.

He picked it up as he passed, flinging it over his shoulders so that tiny droplets of water flew out in all directions like a dog shaking his coat.

“Rupert,” his mother scolded as drops of cold water showered her. She stood up as though to chase him and he ran laughing from the room.

Such a child still, she thought sadly. I wish his father was still here. He needs a man to teach him.

And she settled back down to sit by the fire and think.

 

          ***

 

King John, Rupert’s father, had been a good king and had ruled his kingdom wisely. He had been a deeply spiritual man and had insisted on having his chapel on the third floor of the Keep, close to the Great Hall. He maintained a close contact with all of his realm, making sure that his rule was fair and that his people were well looked after. He regularly spoke to them from his window of appearance, keeping a close contact with them. After all, they were the reason he was here at all and it was his job to maintain the balance of his kingdom. His chaplains saw to the religious ceremonies and kept the holy days so that balance was maintained. John knew that his own healing was an intrinsic part of the land and that if he did not maintain his own balance then the balance of the land would be effected. He was the Sun after all, a Divine King, and without him the land would suffer. He knew that the blood of Christ was really the consecrated wine of the ceremony. A drink infused with Divine energy which would fill him up with its Divine source each time he drank of it. He kept a little vial of it on a chain around his neck, hidden beneath his shirt. Only his wife knew it was there. Whenever he needed extra courage or inspiration he would place his hand on this vial and pray for assistance.

But even the priests didn’t truly understand his role as Divine King. They could do the ceremony of Divine Unction but didn’t really understand the deeper meaning of it. It had taken him many years to understand it and he knew that this was a burden he would have to carry alone. His wife understood that his role meant sacrifice, but not the sacrifice of the bible. The sacrifice of his own heart’s desires, for in order to Rule as Divine King one must surrender ones’ personal aims and ambitions. Not an easy task but one which he endeavoured to fulfil.

Every morning he would rise with the sun, whether it was hidden by rain or not, and face the sun as it rose in the East. His wife was always there at his side and together they would pray that their rule served the people in the best possible way and that they themselves remained dedicated to the task no matter what might happen. They prayed for strength and courage to face whatever this sacred task would bring them and they vowed to the Sun and to the Earth that blood would never be shed unnecessarily as long as they ruled. The king was realistic. He knew that wars were sometimes necessary but he prayed that his motives would always be centred in his heart and not in his personal ego.

This was always his favourite time of the day, his connection to the Source of all light and all life. He cherished his wife at these moments, this woman who was able to support his dreams and his purpose. His father had chosen her wisely, he too a Divine Sun King.

John had married Rosalind, a French princess, and had fallen in love with her over the years. She was a most trustworthy companion and when she had produced the finest of sons, he was overjoyed. Their son was well loved. John put all his hopes into the boy. He brought him up in the Solar King tradition, passing on all the sacred teachings and tried to teach him how to rule wisely. But Prince Rupert had a wilful streak in him and John worried that if he did not ‘forge’ this Will that there might be problems later on. Rupert had his own ambitions and desires for rulership which did not incorporate his father’s teachings of Divine Rule. He wanted things done his way rather than in the Divine way and King John sought out the advice of his wife as to how to deal with it. She had suggested that as Rupert got older that he might begin to see things his father’s way. Perhaps he had his own learning to do first, she hoped. He was younger than the others and maybe if he watched his brothers succeed he might wish to too.

 

But then tragedy had struck and John had been killed in a riding accident. He had been out riding over the Purbeck Hills, his favourite place to ride, when his horse had bolted. John, unable to control the horse had been thrown and his back broken. He had been carried back to the castle as he had been unable to walk. The men with him didn’t know that his back had been broken only that the King had had no strength to walk unaided.

His wife had him carried to his own bed and she ordered the fires lit and water boiled. The king was in great pain and he knew that he was dying. He asked Rosalind to bring his son to him.

Rosalind, weeping, brought Rupert to his father’s bed and John told him that after his death he himself would be king. He was sorry that he had not the time to finish his training but he was sure that Rosalind would do a fine job.

Rupert had been bewildered. He was only seven years of age and didn’t really understand the concept of death. All he knew was that his father was ill in bed. He looked to his mother for reassurance but all she could do was smile sadly and try to keep the tears from her eyes.

King John fell asleep that night, after having received the holy wine from the priest and having prayed that the kingdom would be ruled wisely by his son and that his wife would find love again. He died peacefully, with his wife at his side. The whole of the realm grieved for many days and nights and all wondered whether the new king, Rupert, would do as good a job as his father and his father before him. They had had peaceful lives as a result of King John’s rule and they prayed that it would continue.

Before he died King John had taken the ruby ring from his finger and placed it on his wife’s finger. It was for Rupert, he had explained, when he came of age. John knew that the rulership would fall to Rosalind’s shoulders now until Rupert was old enough to rule properly. He engaged the services of a spiritual teacher, one of his own priests, who would teach the boy all that he needed to know of spiritual matters so that his kingdom would continue to thrive. He knew that Rosalind would do her best.

 

“Until we meet again my love,” she had whispered, weeping, in his ear,” “Safe journey.” She kissed his forehead, his skin already going cold. She gently closed his eyes and pulled the cover over his head. She sat for a moment, her hand on his hands and her head bowed; her tears falling on to her dress. The priest had been standing quietly to one side and when she nodded to him he came over and blessed the dead King. He made the sign of the cross with holy water on the king’s forehead and blessed his body by allowing holy water to be sprinkled over it. He then placed some consecrated oil on his throat and prayed over him. When he was finished the servants were instructed to clean and prepare the body for burial. Rosalind took out his royal robes and instructed the servants on how to dress him when they were finished changing and cleaning him. She left the room with the priest and went to the chapel to pray for the soul of her husband and to ask for Divine strength. She would need it now if she were to rule alone.

Reviews

[Aspiring Angel]

Hi sweetie, I have missed you. I am sorry I have not been able to visit.

I have read about half of this WONDERFUL stories chapter. I want to read the rest when my mind is fresh.
You paint your pictures well.

Hope you are well
Lesa