Historical Fiction: The Blue Door: Home and Then Back Again

She heard the footsteps in the hall. The clanking of chain mail against leather and hard armor breastplates made more racket than the footsteps, as the sound came nearer to the chamber door. It had been months since Rowan rode off for battle on his coal black warhorse. “Please come back to me.” She had said to him, as she kissed him on way to his departure. She didn’t want to let him go, her heart wanted to keep him safe out of harms reach. She was always like that with those she held most dear. He was one, he was her husband, and she didn’t want to share him.

Clarise loved that horse, so kind, so honest. It made her think of home, a place she more than likely would never see again. Did she miss it? Sometimes, other times she was too busy helping in the castle’s infirmary. Disease had struck recently, influenza. A handful still lay ill and two children died from the fever. Even her vet school training had not prepared her for the heaviness she felt in her heart that day when she lost the two small little children, a boy and a girl. She wanted to do more to help them, but the supplies she needed, she just couldn’t find. Her mind drifted else was, then back to focusing on the steps she heard coming down the stone floor of the halls.

She would have never thought she would have grown to love Rowan. He seemed so hard at times, so stern, so strong but at the same time kind. He was one of the best warriors the king had, and the village. She could see why he was a favorite among many of the local lords to choose and have as a commander. The few days she was able to get a way from her duties, she had watched him train. He danced with a sword like he was born with it. She loved looking at his back when he did. Sculpted, smooth, and strong. Then there were his eyes. They were the first thing she saw back in the house the night of the full moon. He looked at her for help after he flew through the stupid kitchen door. How it must have hurt. The blue depths just shone, deep into her heart. She had not been able to get him out of her head since.

Perhaps fate brought them together in a weird way. The house, the obviously magical door. She laughed to herself thinking of the night when she woke up to the stupid horse staring down at her in her bed.  God, did he give her a fright.  He almost looked like a demon.  He was asking for her to help. She was so glad she did.

The footsteps paused in the hall for a few minutes and she could hear soft whispers and some banter and chatter. She stared briefly at the ring on her finger it was beautiful. They had been barely been wed for a week before he left for battle. All she asked was that he came back to her alive. The door slowly pushed open, it was him. Rowan was home. Her heart skipped for joy, she loved him so much.

“Clairy, my love!” He said as he smiled and tossed the door closed behind him, dumping his sword belt, sword, and hilt on the floor and walked towards her.

“Rowan, I am so glad you are back. I cannot tell you how much I have missed you.” She started, eyes welling with tears of joy.

“Shush love, I am here now, and we can start where we left off.” He said now holding her hands kissing them softly.

She loved his smell, leather, horses, and spice. She could loose herself in it for days.  In her mind that’s all she wanted to do. Stay in with him and love him. It was something she never felt before with anyone. It was an odd bond that just kept drawing them close no matter what, and at the same time strangely familiar. He started to pull off his armor as he kissed her down her neck softly. Through the corner of her eye, she watched him pull off the chain mail and all of the layers he of clothing he had with it. He was as beautiful, as he was before he traveled to battle.  A scratch or two on his chest caught her eye, and she traced a finger down it.

He stood before her only trousers left, and pulled her to his arms. Her hair was soft and smelled like spring air. She loved the tightness of his embrace, she felt safe ridiculously safe. He gently pulled her chin up and kissed her softly on the lips.

“God, how I missed you.”  He kissed her long and hard again. Oh how she had missed him as he drew her to the bed that was waiting for them both.

***

Clarise awoke with a strange feeling. A sudden sense of worry and loneliness robbed her of her sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, as she realized she was alone. Clothes were scattered throughout the bedchamber she noticed as she grabbed her night shift and a woolen shawl.   Where was Rowen, she wondered, as she made her way to the large heavy oak door to their chambers.  Her mind still a bit scattered from the night before, but she remembered the most blissful parts of how they made love till the candles burned low.  Sweet, passionate, and wanting, she was for him and oh how he desired her the minute he walked in the door. Wanting for months her sweet embrace and warmth.  She smiled to herself as she began up the hall still lingering on her thoughts of the night before.

She heard a rumbling from the great hall.  It was Rowan’s father. Lord Mortimer and he did not sound pleased. Clarise had great respect for the man. Yet at first glance, he would make just about any person tremble, but he did have a kind heart.  Standing at almost six foot, to medieval standards Lord Mortimer was a giant.  His rusty beard and hair still bright despite his age, and piercing blue eyes like Rowan’s but his son’s had more warmth in their gaze than his fathers.  Lady Mortimer, Marie was fine boned and probably about the most beautiful woman Clarise had ever met. She looked like a fairy, at times she reminded her of what Tennyson’s Lady of Shallot might have looked like. Her presence was stunning yet peaceful at the same time. Both Lord and Lady were always in a state of harmony.  Even the peasants and household servants remarked as such. For they loved their Lord and Lady of the keep.  The first crusade mission that Rowan was first called to, was heart wrenching to his parents and even to Clarise.  Even back home her experience with seeing men off to war, was non-existent.  His mother worried nonstop and Lord Mortimer refused to leave his quarters for a day for he deeply feared the worst, and for his son to return on his shield.

Clarise pushed open the door to the great hall. The morning light flickered in through the wall of stain glass that lined the west wall, dancing on the smooth stone floor, making it look almost like water. She loved this room, so magical. Lord Mortimer was bent over the head table grasping a goblet of wine. Rowan was at his side, disheveled, and strangely quiet stressed.  Lady Mortimer saw Clarise and dashed to her side.

“My Dear! The Pope has called the men again to go on Crusade.  They say the King has been captured. They want Rowan to go assist them in freeing him from Saladin forces…” She wept. Wasn’t one mission enough, Clarise thought frustrated that her husband was again going to be taken away from her.  Frustrated, she put her arm around Rowan’s mother and made her way to Rowan and his father.  

“My Lord… Rowan, Do you have to go? Have you not served enough in his Holiness’s army?” She pleaded glancing at Rowan and then at his father. He took a long drink of his wine, something she still had not entirely grown accustomed to, even now after being here for a little more than a year or so.  Wine or medieval wine was very much an acquired taste and there was really no other options to it. Water had to be boiled as she was teaching the cooks so they could drink it. But it was something they still were not used to doing. 

“Lassie, it is the word from God. Yes. I am angry. I do not wish these crusades continue. My men leave, my workers, farmers, they all leave.. they don’t come back. I have people to get through the winter in the next months, and a crop supply to harvest.” He stressed as he looked to Rowan. His mother was whirling her hands and pacing. Rowan leaving was perhaps the hardest on her. She loved him dearly.  She had a daughter once, Rowan’s sister Eloise. She was 11 “when the angels took her” as Clarise was told. A fever. Since then any departure of any of the family from the castle always weighed greatly on her heart. Clarise always worried about her.

“Father, I will only take the men I need, I promise. I won’t let other’s follow this time. Just Brie, Fitz-Simmons and two more I know for certs can come.  Hunter’s wife wants him gone, as she is with child again, and Flynn has been so bored, he has been shooting squirrels with arrows again. We will all come back alive, I swear to it.” Rowan promised, as he grasped his father’s hand, ensuring him of his word.

Clarise was frustrated, but she knew her words and pleading wouldn’t work against the commands of the Pope. She had an idea. She had heard stories and had read back in her own time the adventures and stories about the Dowager Queen, Eleanore of Aquitaine King Richard’s mother. She was fearless, as the word was already across the land that confirmed that. She too had been on pilgrimage and well “crusade” but on her terms. She had even at one point in time been to Acre, where she over saw Richard’s marriage. If she could manage to survive a journey, and a person with no medical expertise, Clarise thought she might as well give it a try.   

“Rowan, my Lord... I wish to go with them.” She said asserting herself, staring straight at Lord Mortimer, searching his face for an answer. She heard a gasp from Lady Mortimer, Rowan dropped his goblet which was now and obviously empty.  It seemed that no one really knew what to say as you could hear a pin drop with the sudden veil of silence that fell across the hall.

Historical Fiction Fun: The Blue Door: Crusade

The Third Crusade 1191 A. D.

Outside Antioch

The sun shone down hard, and hot burning the sand in the mid-day sun. Rowan could feel the heat through his thick leather shoes and armor. For months, he had spent in this cruel place of desert, sand, and what some called the “Holy Land.” How could so many call it that when it was a barren wasteland now littered with death? He questioned his reasoning for taking up this crusade. For glory, for absolution of sins, and for God? The sea of death he had just experienced, was most overwhelming, a sight a few could stomach.

Rowan had started this adventure with a fairly large company. He was now left with a few scattered foot soldiers, and his five most trusted men. For a medieval knight of status was always assigned at least five soldiers for his well-being and safety. He was fortunate that they were also some of his best and most honored friends.

As he stumbled back wiping the sweat pouring off his brow, hair plastered against his already drenched head; he gazed across the sandy bright plain at the dead and dying. The sand in some places was blood red, soaked with blood littered with bodies, and then in other places dry as a bone. Men were putting horses out of their misery from arrow wounds, slitting their throats as they moved to check one after another. Their dying screams rang deep in to his soul. As he tried not to think about it, his hand tightened the reins of his steed, which cautiously followed closely behind him, sensing the unknown and fear that loomed in the air of uncertainty.

He saw a fellow knight across from six piled dead bodies, dead. Riddled with arrows.  He must have been in the first charge.  No protection from the first wave of onslaught.  He was lucky to not have taken an arrow in any vital organs during the battle, yet the graze wound on his shoulder was enough for him.  He could feel the blood ooze through his mail and thick tunic.  He needed to visit the camp medic. Wine should clean it up okay. 

“Fitz-Simmons, how many dead do you think?” He called to one of his men who was surveying the dead and assisting the peasants who had come out to move the bodies.

“My Lord, many dead…. I am afraid. Even the enemy has lost many men this day. I pray God is forgiving for this massacre.” He said wearily, as he peacefully closed the eyes of a dead foot soldier.

Fitz-Simmons could tell he was a young lad.  How and why he came on crusade, he didn’t know.  An orphan maybe? He could tell by the skin on his face, and the youth of his features. Maybe 17 or so. Too many died.

The moans of the wounded seem to follow him as Rowan made his way back to camp. How he wished to return home. The journey was loosing its luster. Tomorrow he would speak to the command and to the Holy Bishop himself.  How could God approve of this, he did not want to comprehend or even try to understand.  Rowan kept walking his men wearily following behind him. One complaining about an arrow to his arm, fearing he would loose it. His companion Fitz-Simmon’s was certain he would be okay, yet he really did not know. Only God would know how things would turn out.   The injured man, Brie, as he walked chanted the Lord’s Prayer over and over. Rowan was about ready to sock him in the jaw to get him to shut up. His head was pounding from the heat.

“Brie! We all grieve for the potential loss of your arm! We assure you that you will not loose it God willing, now please let the Lord’s Prayer rest, man?” Rowan barked.

Rowan liked Brie, but there were times when he just wanted to get as far away from his men as possible and just think. Decompress, to think about other things. Think about Clarise, his parents, home, and his future.

“I’ll be needing the medic before you Sir?” Brie stated, panting as the neared the tent.

“Not if I walk faster, than you Brie.” Rowan said with a grin as to taunt Brie for his unrelenting chanting. Rowan drew back the tent curtain. On the table surrounded, and covered in blood, was the commander, dead. His gut slashed open, an arrow deep in his chest, and his head split open. Unexpectedly, Rowan lunged to the side of the tent, sick.

What to watch: "Penny Dreadful"

The cast of "Penny Dreadful"

What began in the mid 1800^’s as stories which were intended for young men at a price of a penny, evolved into a spectacular cinematic display of gothic horror, which is where, “Penny Dreadful got it’s start. Showtime’s “Penny Dreadful” is a mind-sweeping and alluring tale of some pretty fascinating characters. Their stories delve into our imaginations, hearts, and souls as their lives unfold throughout the serious various episodes. 

The show takes the viewer back to Victorian London. The backdrop of the show evolves around the murders of Jack the Ripper, and other various tid bits of historical drama of the times. The center of the story evolves around Vanessa Ives (Eva Green) and Sir Malcolm Murray (Sir Timothy Dalton). The underlining story is one of heart break, yet a reality for many during this time. Forbidden love affairs and the impact of mental illness and its influence on spirituality and the supernatural unknown. This first season revolves around Vanessa’s demons and how she overcomes them to help Sir Malcolm with his mission to find out what happened to his daughter Mina.  Interestingly Mina is also the name of one of the main love of the vampire Dracula in folklore.

Additionally, the show, historically does a very good job of depicting how mental illnesses was treated during this time, and also how it was so misunderstood, both the supernatural and medical aspect nature of treatment is shown. The show also explores how sexual trauma can impact ones view on reality and ones around them. For Vanessa, it is all too real for her and perhaps the source of her illness.

But what is the story, the genre that “Penny Dreadful” falls into? Gothic horror.  The history of Gothic horror or romance grew its roots deep before Victorian society emerged to the forefront. It began with the works of Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto, which combines genres of romanticism, fiction, and horror. It became the foundation of the literary genre that reached its height of popularity in the mid 18^th and 19^th centuries. Other authors such as Ann Radcliffe, the Bronte sisters, Mary Shelly, Edgar Alan Poe, and even Charles Dickens, were all gothic horror romance novelists who later help shape the genre to what we know of it today.

In examining Walpole’s 1764 novel in which the genre is attributed, it introduces into literary society something new. It held a host of new elements that were pleasing in sorts of terror, and held an extension of literary romance, which was relatively new to this period in which his novel was introduced. His novel also introduced parody and melodrama, also including self-parody. All are fundamental elements of all Gothic genres.

Most importantly, the term “Gothic” was applied to this new form of literature simply because these were the architectural style of the buildings in which the literature had its stories take place. They were the backdrops for these dramas to unfold.

After Walpole’s introduction of the genre in England, others followed. In France the genre was called “roman noir” and in Germany it was called “schauerroman.” Walpole’s overall intent was to combine elements of medieval literature, which in his mind it was too fanciful, and then with the modern novel. To him the modern novel was too strict and confining. The combination of the two is what he intended the story of The Castle of Otranto to be.

Walpole also introduced the basic structure for these novels. The basic plot introduced included a threatening mystery, an ancestral curse, many trappings or hidden passages (This is quite apparent in the later story of “Jane Eyre” by Emily Bronte.) and off fainting heroines. There also became a demand for romances with superstitious elements, that at times were void of “didactical intention.” Some argued that this had no place nor was it acceptable as a modern piece of literature.

Walpole’s novel is essential because even though named a forgery at one point, it was a story with history and fiction, that at times contradicted the main principles of the enlightenment. It also brought to light the relationship with “fake” documentation and folklore. Which were very recurrent themes in Gothic literature.

Eva Green as Vanessa Ives

Many influential authors helped shaped the genre. One was Ann Radcliffe. Her works introduced the basis of having a brooding gothic villain, whom later became the “Byronic hero.” Her stories also introduced a theme called “supernatural intrusion,” which eventually throughout the story, gets traced back to a natural cause, called “explained supernatural.” All her works became best-sellers despite the highly educated of society calling the works “sensational entertainment.”  She also provided an atheistic value for the genre with “On The Emphasis of Supernatural” which is poetic work. It examines the relationship and correlation between horror and terror in Gothic fiction.  Later, the genre was strengthened by many of the major romantic poets such as Poe, who made many contributions to the Gothic genre in terms of darkness and the unexplained.

Wheel of Fortuna

How was medeival society influenced by Fortuna's Wheel?

The relationship mysticism and its importance with in the belief system of Medieval society is a strong example of this. Fortune or Fortuna’s Wheel (Rota Fortunae) known by some is an ancient and medieval philosophy that refers to the constant changing nature of fate. It is a wheel that is owned and spun by Fortuna. It can change individual places on the wheel at random, thus determining their “fate.” They can have great misfortune, or be blessed with good. 

The wheel itself is depicted in many manuscripts both medieval and ancient and highly referenced in the medieval allegorical religious teachings of the time.

John Lydgate's Siege of Troy, showing the Wheel of Fortune

Fortuna Wheel's beginnings began in Ancient Greek mythology, as a celestial zodiac with 8 points, and the 9^th being the pointer.  It is referenced in the play Everyman c. 1495. In this play the wheel is known to play reference to the value placed on everyday things, and stress the “temporary” nature of them. Death comes of course unexpected to those who do bad deeds, there is emphasis placed on doing good deeds in order to secure a place in Heaven.

The emphasis of these philosophies and the strong religious teachings of the day more than likely were very prominent in the morals of many of the day. For many in the Middle Ages, this would have been more than likely a very important aspect of their beliefs and thought process.  To many this piety, and loyalty show the value placed on morality and to keep in mind the teachings both allegorical and religious of the day in thought and decision making process. 

Unfortunately, as history rolls on, many were not completely in control of what was to come next in life. Plagues and famine and poor crop production, were seen as signs of poor fate that directly came from the Wheel of Fortuna and influenced the basic belief system of the time.

Reminiscing.....

Inside the Tower of London

So this last week, I have been reading, amongst other things Markham’s Richard III: His Life & Character. It got my wheels turning, as to some of his major points he draws on in his chapters about the princes and what became of them have also been questioned by myself. He also brings up a very interesting point about the authorship of the many articles that were written about the incident, as well as many others; including the Croyland Chronicles of London through out his argument. What went on in those author's heads?

He tried not to let the wax from the candle above the ledge of the writing desk drip to the parchment as he hurried the last few sentences of the following day’s news. Out of the corner of his eye watching the wax drip… and drip. People were talking, talking about many things, and the word needed to get out; Edward IV’s sons were missing. More than likely dead. He hadn’t heard the word murdered yet from anyone’s lips, but definitely missing. 

His hands shook as he blew the drying sand off the parchment to help make the ink set and dry faster. King Richard was still in York. He knew that much, but still there were many unanswered questions. He had to have known the fate of the children, how could he not.

Nervously, he read over his work, blew out his light and gave it to the grandmaster.

“I am done with tomorrow’s bit.” He nodded and said, as he backed away from the elder monk, waiting for criticism or acknowledgement. He never knew which would come first if any.

“The words, stories, are every where. Where is the King? He has to know?” He said again.

“Let's hope we know the truth soon, once he returns. Perhaps this is a misunderstanding, or one of the Lancaster’s plays of folly.” The grandmaster said as he glanced over the article the novice monk gave him. He hoped he didn't have to publish this... or more like wish it wasn't so.....

Folly, or misunderstanding, many of the accounts that were written whether they were against Richard’s reign or not, many baseless and not backed up by solid evidence as noted in Markham’s book. Personal prejudices at times, got in the way and aided the rumors. Will we ever know what happened? We might not but we can for sure develop a better understanding of the writers who wrote the articles and their basis for doing so.  Markham's book is perhaps one of my favorite sources of the life and time's of Richard III and the world he lived in.

What to Wear During the War of The Roses

"The White Queen"

I have always been a huge costume nut.  Great films and shows always are an excellent source of inspiration for me and anyone to create something fun, and eventually useful. Back in my college years, "Braveheart" helped me create an early medieval outfit for one of my medieval studies class, and lots of “Ohhhs and Awwws” from classmates.  Emma Thompson's and Ang Lee's adaptation of Jane Austen's "Sense and Sensibility" resulted in half a wardrobe filled with Regency period dresses, which all got worn to various Gaskell’s Balls in the Bay Area.  Yet no Mr. Darcy was seen.  Le sigh.

Most recent in my period costume film quest, I have discovered “The White Queen” produced by Starz yet even though not 100% historically accurate; has inspired pattern makers and costume/period dress nuts like myself, now to have a reason to make some pretty festive and beautiful frocks.  I finally have a use for the pewter crushed velvet in my sewing fabric stash! YAY! 2014 Night at the Symphony Costume Contest/Event, here I come!

Elizabeth Woodville

 

Back on topic. Dress.  It’s the War of the Roses.  Edward IV is trying not to get his supply of cloth cut off from Flanders and strikes a deal with Burgundy and his sister Margaret of York is escorted by the Earl Warwick, Richard Neville, to Burgundy for her pending marriage to help keep this important relationship open, and trade to keep going, despite rising conflict lurking in the horizon.  With this political backdrop, what did ladies wear, mainly the ladies at court? Dress during this time was actually quite depended on region.

15th Cent Italian Dress

For example Italy was on its own wavelength in contrast to the rest of the continent, as seen in paintings during the times. The northern part of Europe dressed a bit more to climate.   

Patterned fabric of period

The century began with the gown called “cotehardie” which we refer to as the one with the large bell sleeves and fitted down through the waist. This style faded quickly with introduction of new designs.  Gowns were long of course, and trimmed with fur (ermine, mink etc.) on the cuff, around the collar and sometimes the hem. Fabric was available in various dyes at this time.

The darker colors, reds, blues, dark green, blacks with brocades or patterned in artichoke or oak leave patterns; were of significant cost, mainly worn by those who could afford it, meaning the nobility. This style of gown is most known by the name: “houppelandes” which refer to the long flowing dresses of the time.

Garments were displayed or worn with a style called “slashing” which meant it was opened to reveal an other bit of clothing underneath, like a kirtle or under gown in contrasting colors (most common white or black). A chemise was worn close to the skin.  As time went on, repairs in sleeves of both men and women also accentuated this method of style.

Sleeves were mostly cuffed with matching fur from the color yet could be transferred to other gowns, with ornamentation on the cuff with jewels or embroidery. Also at times, if fur wasn’t worn, patterned fabric was used on both collar and cuff, which became more fashionable later in the century.

So what have I done with all this wealth of inspiration and creativity? I have put it to some use. I have made some alterations and adaptations of my own, but here is a glimpse of my current sewing project.  Today, we are lucky, we have sewing machines, just imagine all this work was done by hand at one point in time.  Headpiece… don’t ask me if I am going to make a hennin, I am not there yet. 

Step one: cutting out the dress: 

Detail of the side of the bodice, before I finished bead work.

Where we are at as of Sunday: Black sash, bodice jeweled, sleeves work in progress.

How Kingdoms Were Won: Women of History and Fiction

Anne Neville and Margery Tyrell

Behind every great king is his queen. This was a very important element during both the War of the Roses, and also surprisingly the novels of Songs of Fire and Ice (Game of Thrones Saga), by George R. R. Martin. Also many of the characters in contrast to their historical counterparts, all had surprisingly short life spans. Whether Martin, planned his characters to be similar to those who were the real players of the War of the Roses, they defiantly were an influence in his writings. We see this when we look at Margery Tyrell.  Surprisingly, some of the events of her character’s past, as well as events that she goes through throughout the stories are quite similar to Richard III’s queen, Anne Neville. 

Anne’s early life is one not known to many. She surprisingly escaped most of the paper trails of the Middle Ages, as we are left with barely a footprint of her existence. But we know she did have quite a role to play in the orchestrating of power moves to help her family gain power and finally access to the throne. Whether she was secretly coveting the throne and the power behind it, we really do not know. But we know about her family the most, especially through her father Earl of Warwick, Richard Neville. Anne more than likely learned quiet a bit even though one may think she was just a pawn to her father’s power moves, but she was gaining power and lands for her family. Thus leading them to become one of the most powerful families in England during the 15^th century and the War of the Roses.

If we take a look at Margery Tyrell, she doesn’t have a powerful father but a very powerful, and sharp grandmother who helps her achieve her moves to power.  A similarity to take note.  We also do not really know much about her once she is introduced in to the story line, but her ambitions are very clear.  Margery knows, even after Renly dies, she wants to be the queen of the seven kingdoms and to sit on the iron throne. We see her impressing the people of Kings Landing, we also see her befriending people who can help her achieve her desires i.e. Sansa.  In an almost charming way, she goes to the poor people of King’s Landing to give and pass out food, earning their trust in return, and earning the trust of the Lannisters.  Anne did this with her husband with gifts to the church and by supporting her husband during his affairs in the city York.  It was noted by the recorders that they were well loved in the city because of this.

Another similarity between the two, both had husbands die early in their lives.  Their first husbands to be spot on.  Noted, Margery Tyrell in the HBO series "Game of Thrones" is portrayed a bit older than what she is in the books, but both queens where quite young when they lost their significant other, and both being in battle. 

Because we really do not have much to go off of as far as character for Anne, one can only suspect that she was very knowledgeable of affiars of state, to be in the station she was in. Margery, as well shows the tenacity and intelligence even at times more sinister than her future husband, Joffrey Baratheon, with her power moves and plays to get what she wants.  Perhaps Anne also had motives as well.  As far as who was devoted to their kings, Anne would win this card. She was loved and renowned to many, even when she died. For her husband it was noted, grieved this loss. Margery is a bit more spiteful and eager and honestly is like a roster in a hen house to get to the iron throne.  In the end, both were players of the game of power that in the end cause many a demise that we wish didn’t always have the outcome that it did.  

Like I have stated before, “Game of Thrones” is like the “War of Roses,” everybody you end up loving, dies.  The York and Lannister houses, knew this all too well, especially during the year 1485.

Richard, .. Richardus Rex, oh how you haunt me….or I should say, visit me…?

Some fiction fun for you all:

It was a nice day, I just had had a perplexing conversation with my grandma and my aunt, in the kitchen.  I guess I am "chosen" for all this incredible crazy stuff because I am from a line of “warriors” they said. That was it. Great, nice bit of info there.  That's why I was the one picked for cancer.  Oh lucky me.... I look at my genealogy and go “Gawd what one?” So many to choose from. Oh Yay! for those "warrior genes."

I kept walking down the path.  The park was nice. Sun warm on my face, not to crowded either. I take a seat on the bench under an oak tree. I crack open my book I have, and not even there for five minutes and I hear a,

“Andy?” comes a voice in a strangely familiar British accent. My head turns around.

“Holy ….. what the? Why and now, are you here? Richard.. Really?” I say startled. Of course I reconize him, how could I not.

“Do you know where my shoes are?” He asks. I look at his feet. Just socks.  Seriously, this is the first thing he blurts out to me? Can I dig myself a grave now?

“Um…. I haven’t the slightest idea, I am so sorry….how did you find me?” I asked.

“Your family, and I know others have come to ask things of you.” He told me.  Did he really want the list? Mom, Grandpa, people I don’t even know, that dead guy from Warwick Castle…. The list goes on. But he had a point.  I have always been a walking target for “messages.” Lucky me.

“What if I cannot find what you are seeking? I mean, I feel bad you are missing your shoes, but is there something else I can help you with?  I asked as he sat down next to me. He gazed across the lawn. He seemed at peace, but troubled and saddened at the same time. Dressed in some armor and breeches, he looked pretty slick. His hair was a little tousled. The words “bed head” came to my mind.  He looked at my book I was reading. He raised a brow.

“What is that you are reading, my dear?”

“A book…….” I stared at the cover, Here be Dragons. My favorite book, the book that changed my life. “Here be Dragons, you’d like it.” I mentioned.

“Humm… Tristan and Isolde is getting old.” He stated.  I set the book on his lap.

“Here take it, I have two copies.” He looked surprised. I smiled. I am glad I made him happy. There was some silence as he browsed  through the pages. 

“Can you write to me?” he asked.

“Um.. I guess? A Letter?” I asked. He nodded.

“Anything, works letters, write my story and … help me find Anne.” He said at last. I knew Anne was in Westminster, but where I wasn’t too sure. 

“I know you can help me. You are not like the others, and you have a gift. I know you can find her. I miss her terribly.” He said with a sigh.  Yeah, yeah, I can see, feel dead people, as I call it.  He continued,

“I have been trying to get you to listen to me for a while, now.  You’re a stubborn girl.”  I laughed, but he was very right.

“I am glad you found all this out and sorted it out. It was a nice gift for me this year on my birthday.” I didn’t know what to say. I sat there awestruck. God how did he know all this stuff.

“You had been talking to mom?” I asked.

“Perhaps.  You should have believed her.” He said smirking at me.  His eyes were like mine. This was crazy weird.  I looked at my book once again.

“Don’t loose that book, its lucky.” I reminded him.

“I won’t, I wouldn’t want to cross you. I treasured all my books.” We laughed together….

A loud purr went off next to my head. Daylight. UGH! And a cat on my head. Are you kidding me?? I sat up in bed.  Really?... REALLY? Now Richard? I flopped back on the pillows.  Great, I now have another bugging me for things.  But I think I like this one more than most, and now I know why.  And so it begins.

Note: Lack of shoes or barefoot in the Middle Ages symbolizes “innocence.” Coincidence?