Chapter 7

The travelers finally emerged from the dense forest only a short distance from the castle of Lady Cordelia. The youth of the young females kept their steps light and bouncy but Sir Roland and the Friar’s boots were both dragging in the dust of the road confirming their accumulating years and lack of exercise.

Lady Cordelia was half-way hanging on Rowena’s girdle to give her support and balance although the roadway was now fairly level and free from the dangerous ruts and holes in the forest.

Fortunately, the road started to take a downhill angle after a short distance and they realized they were moving into a long, wide fertile valley with lush fields cultivated for crops of all description. The smell of smoke was in the air from the chimneys of the many huts and shacks that lined the road on both sides. The common folk could be seen in the distance working diligently in the fields trying to get the crops ready for the harvest before the rains came to start the new growing cycle. Some half-naked, shoeless urchins ran past them shouting stilly rhymes unfamiliar to Rowena’s ears. It had been a long time since she had played randomly as a child and even then she was not all that interested in anything that did not have a value or a purpose for the art of survival.

They all paused to give the Friar a chance to catch his breath sitting on a large, flat-topped rock and sopping up his perspiration with towels from the old Abbey now shuttered and unoccupied with naught but rodents and bugs. One of Lady Cordelia’s girls gave him a long swig from the water flask. He swallowed it completely, but Rowena was certain he would have much preferred some of the imported French wine that tickled his palate.

Lady Cordelia leaned over to whisper in Rowena’s ear,

“Thank you for escorting us to our destination, my dear, we are all indebted to you. Please stay in the castle this night and rest up for the remainder of your journey.”

Rowena was not overly enthusiastic about losing yet another day on her trip to seek justice for the villagers of her manor. It was easy to see that the increased taxes and the oppression of the Sheriff into everyone’s life was fast building up to a full-scale revolt and that blood would be soon flowing faster than the sought after wine from the hills of France.

Shortly after they took to the road again, they came into sight of the extensive land holdings of Lady Cordelia and their pace became noticeably quicker in the mid-day haze. A line of happy servants ran out to line both sides of the long driveway to greet the returning mistress and Rowena was impressed by the sight of their sincerity. The parents of the young girls were ecstatic with joy to have their daughters back safe and sound. The girls might have been battered a bit but they were none the worse for wear thanks to the intervention of Rowena and her followers.

Friar Alphonse was in fine form lost in a bevy of females seeking his pious benediction to help them atone for their unspecified sins. Rowena wanted to shout out,

“Watch out for him, ladies, he is a randy one and that’s a fact.”

She kept silent more out of pity for his rotund figure that would not attract such attention except for the fact of his sought-after closer connection to the one true God. He used that as his bartering leverage in affairs of the heart keeping the sinful aspects in the background by constant prayers and reminders of contrition necessary for entrance to heavenly bliss.

Rowena pitied his pathetic attempts at romance because she knew him well enough to know he was more of a “butterfly” of a man moving from female form to female form pausing only long enough to sample the pollen of their budding beauty. She knew there was no meanness in his construct and that he was like a bobbing cork in a sea of cupidity treading water to stay afloat and watch out for other dangers.

Sir Roland stood at her side, silent and foreboding, like some figure on a life-size chessboard waiting for her instructions no matter how violent. She liked the comforting sense of safety in his presence and didn’t mind at all when some of the older women felt his bulging muscles to confirm the fact he was truly real and not a statue.

The interior of Lady Cordelia’s castle was impressive in Rowena’s opinion because it had a lot more finery and valuable furnishings lacking in her father’s modest estate. Of course, the years in the Holy Land and the ravages of constant harassment by the minions of the Sheriff in search of expanded tax revenues whittled away the generations-old collection of personal property all sold by the tax collector without permission of the absentee owner. Rowena was too young to understand the process and in all honesty her only concern was the safe return of her only remaining parent from the trials and tribulation of the bloodshed of the sacred sites of Christendom.

Now, she was prohibited from even visiting her own home due to the warrants issued for her capture and sure death by hanging and other assorted indignities whilst in the hands of the enemy.

In the good lady’s absence, her castle was visited by a trio of Knights Templar with an entourage of squires and attendants that serviced their every need with dedicated enthusiasm. These special warriors worked exclusively for the Pope and were seldom involved in any affair that lined their pockets with gold or gave them entrance to exalted female boudoirs. They worked diligently raising the funds to free the true King Richard from his captors and were on the verge of success when news of his death robbed them of their purpose. The vast stores of wealth now reverted to the coffers of the Knights Templar and they simply invested the funds to expand their holdings and increase their influence with the inner workings of the Papal order. With the possible exception of a “rogue” member, the secretive organization concentrated on fighting for justice for all Christians oppressed by the forces of evil and adhered to their vows of poverty and chastity with greater clarity than the most pious of clergy with little knowledge of the battlefield or the dangers of the non-Christian world.