Safe keeping
Aug. 26th, 2004 09:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scottishlassYesterday, the electricty went completely not only in our house or our street but in our complete district. Sigh ... it feels like living in a third world country, for cripes' sake.
Okay in order to back up the stuff I have re-written, I'll post the prologue and first half of the first chapter of my original piece of work here. I have had enough.
Please remember this is a first draft, I want to write a complete novel AND send it in. I need some feedback, whether or not the characters are interesting that an editor will not throw the manuscript into the bin after reading the first two paragraphs. (Viv if you read this and you have the time, I'd appreaciate it if you could give me some pointers)
The Devil's Bride
original novel by Una Geiger (or should I already write MacDougall?
Prologue
1154
The day of Henry Plantagenet's coronation was a happy one. Knights, lords, women and peasants throughout the English lands celebrated their new liege's reign.
The dark years of Stephen's reign were over and his lawless lords had been driven away to the Continent, or so people thought.
On the eve of the coronation two lives were irredeemably changed, one young life was reclaimed while murderous hands of thieves destroyed another life.
A young man of one score of years looked upon the white cliffs of Dover for the first time in six years. He had left England's soil at ten and four, a young gangly lad of a squire, proud in his still childish way, to follow his lord and liege into battle against the Saracens. To Outremer, the Holy Land, that was where he had been heading, never knowing that what lay ahead would change his life forever.
The young man stood tall, even though in the last years his demeanour had been quite the opposite. His masters had made him crouch and cower in front of them, torturing and abusing the man-child and stripping him of his humanity. Never again would he be owned by anyone, or tortured and abused for another man's pleasure. In the past three months since he had been liberated with other slaves in Lisbon, he had to learn how to think for himself again, had to find his voice that was raw and hoarse from disuse. He had to learn that a touch did not mean that someone meant to use him and still he cringed when the healer of the knights who had captured him, had examined his wounds from the shackles and torture instruments of his Saracen masters. The first time he had struck out, outraged and shocked that his fellow country men would use him such, until the old knight had shaken his head sadly, and after watching the young man out of eyes that knew so much, had left him alone to see to his wounds on his own. After that, the old knight had made sure to tell him what he would do to examine the young man's wounds.
He had learnt to trust the old knight's touch to be of a healing and not of an abominable nature but still, he was wary and he had slept on deck with a Saracen dagger ready in his hand during their journey along the Atlantic coast, then across the Channel toward the land of his ancestors.
Watching the white cliffs drawing near, the man drew the woollen cloak around his tall frame tighter. He was not used to the chill of his father's land and his bronzed skin told about far warmer lands. From afar, one could take him as a Saracen, the bronzed skin and the black hair that brushed past his shoulders and the strange mismatched attire he was wearing bespoke of foreign lands. However, anyone seeing the face of the man knew that he was anything but a Saracen. His lean still hollow face bespoke of royal blood and the piercing grey of his eyes was a startling contrast to the deep bronze of his skin.
Soon, he thought, soon he would tread on home soil again and everything would be better. Hugh FitzGilbert was coming home.
***
Deep into the English countryside, far away from the cliffs where a small vessel was approaching, the shrieks and shouts of the woman and the child had died as suddenly as the songs of the birds. The harsh laughter of men had receded and when the last of the men had gotten on their horses and ridden off, the silence was almost deafening. Nothing stirred as a young girl on the brink of being a woman stared mutely into the darkening sky above.
With a groan, the girl tried to sit up only to cry out as pain more fierce than anything she had experienced at the hands of the thieves that had used and abused her shot through her legs and into her abdomen.
"Aislinn?" The girl whimpered and crawled to the still figure that lay a few feet away from her. The woman had been nurse and maid since the girl's mother had died eight years ago and now as the girl tried to crawl towards the woman she most trusted, the shredded gunna exposed garish bloodied streaks on bare breasts, abused by crude hands and dirks.
"Aislinn?" the girl asked again, but when she had reached her maid she knew that she was gone, blind eyes stared unseeingly into oblivion. With the last of her strength, she tried to cover her maid's exposed body with a piece of soiled cloak, but too weak and exhausted from the rape of the thieves, she collapsed, clasping the cold hand of her maid and confidante.
While the birds started singing again, Lady Judith of Monkswood ceased to exist in the darkening woods.
***
Chapter One
1164 - ten years later
The nunnery lay quiet and peaceful in the late afternoon sun of the English summer. For over a century, the withered halls and cells of the old building had protected and defended its inhabitants and if the good Lord would allow the walls would do so for another century or eternity.
The surrounding countryside with the imposing castle nearby gave an image of quiet sobriety and peace.
Inside the nunnery, in the herbarium, a special part of the garden, a nun was silently working on the herb beds. Like her sisters in spirit, she wore the black habit and grey working apron of the Benedictine order. The edges of her grey veil had been tied back while she knelt in the herbal beds, cutting and pruning the plants. For a moment the nun looked up, watching a bumblebee as it flew towards the beehive in one corner of the cloister garden, heavily laden with golden pollen. Sister Ignatia would cluck her tongue in praise for such a busy little bee, she was sure of it. Just as she was sure of the fondness towards the older sister with her apple blossom cheeks and her rotund, ample body.
She loved this time of the day, between sext and nones where work filled the day of the sisters. For the last ten years that she had been living here, had found a new life here, she had easily abided to the rules of every day life in the convent. The five times of prayers that structured her days soothed and gave her a goal, and the work, even though it was hard at times, especially in winter, filled her with a joy that kept the pain of being far away from her father at bay.
Gathering more herbs into her basket, she smiled, completing the list in her mind of all the ingredients she needed for the mixtures and tinctures. She reminded herself silently to drop by Sister Ignatia and ask her for a third of the new honey for the cough syrup she had to prepare for the peasant children of the neighbouring villages. She needed mustard and made a mental check that she had to harvest her seeds to ground them tomorrow.
"Sister Jude!" the shout came from the far end of the cloister garden and the young nun looked up startled at the shout of the postulant who came running towards her, the skirts of her grey kirtle hiked up around her knees. With a shake of her head, the nun watched the young postulant as she waved and shouted. The girl had entered the convent six months before and she still had to adjust to the life at the convent and abide to all the rules in the nunnery, especially the rule of silence. When the girl stopped in front of her, her white veil slightly askew and a tumble of blonde curls showing from beneath it, the nun straightened with difficulty and held up a halting finger towards the postulant.
"Sister Jude," the girl all but ignored the command of silence. "Mother Superior told me to fetch you … it is important."
Frowning slightly, the nun debated with herself silently, but then the urge to help one of her sisters in an injury, made her decide to break the rule.
"What is it, Mary?" she asked softly. "Who needs my immediate attendance that you forget yourself and the rules of this convent?"
Feeling slightly embarrassed, the young girl cast a baleful look down to the basket at her feet.
"I'm sorry, Sister, but … but Mother Superior was most urgent. She told me to fetch you at once," drawing in a shuddery breath the girl continued. "You've got visitors, three knights, in armour … and they are huge."
Sister Jude frowned at that. Perhaps a knight had been injured while training on the list at her father's castle, or perhaps her father's health had deteriorated further and he needed her skill. With a pang in her heart, she tried to ignore that particular idea. Her father was a strong man, his cough had been bad the last time she had visited Monkswood but nothing that had made her feel disturbed and she was sure he had taken her birch bark tea she had made especially for him.
"Then let's go, Mary, and see what the knights want. There might be someone injured over at the keep." Ignoring the pain in her left leg, she stooped to pick up her basket filled with fragrant herbs and after smoothing her work apron over her black habit, she followed the girl towards the cloister.
The afternoon sun sat low and its rays tinted the precious glass windows, creating jewel-toned patterns on the stone floor that led to the office where the Mother Superior received visitors. While Mary skipped along in a sort of hopscotch pattern, treading on only red patterns on the floor, Sister Jude felt a shiver of dread running up her spine. In the ten years she had lived here, her father had visited her always alone, his squire and knights waiting outside the monastery's doors. That he would come with an entourage was completely uncommon and disturbed her.
After thanking Mary and sending the girl on her way, Sister Jude hesitated for a short moment to draw in a deep breath. Then she raised a hesitant hand and gave a sharp knock on the door to the Mother Superior's office before she opened the door.
"Benedicite!"
"In nomine Domini," the round looking nun behind the desk said and held out a wrinkled hand while Sister Jude bowed and kissed her ring. With a smile, Mother Superior drew an imaginary cross on Sister Jude's brow.
"It is good of you to join us so quickly, child," the old nun said and looked up to encompass the three men that stood before her desk. Sister Jude frowned as she took her measure of the men. She only knew one by name, he had been the captain of her father's guard, but the other two, especially the tall dark knight who leant against one of the stone casements of the window with the sun at his back, was no one she had ever seen before.
"Mary informed me you wished to see me at once. Is someone in need of a healer?" she asked and grew more nervous when the Mother Superior shook her head.
"Nay, child. These knights are here on the king's bidding. You know Giles Montague, the captain of your father's guard?"
"Yes, I know him," Sister Jude inclined her head towards the older man with the greying beard. He did not sport the cheerful smile of her childhood and when their eyes met, she saw the sadness there and she shivered.
"Benedicite, Master Giles, I trust your family and my father are well?"
The old captain shook his head and cast his gaze towards the rushes on the ground. "I fear not, my lady. My family is well but your father …"
"What happened to my father? Is he well? Is he in need of my healing skills? I will fetch my things at once," she all but stumbled to the door, where a single word by the Mother Superior stopped her.
"Child," she said her eyes sad as she gazed on the young nun.
"No!" Sister Jude choked out. It could not be, not her strong father!?
Okay in order to back up the stuff I have re-written, I'll post the prologue and first half of the first chapter of my original piece of work here. I have had enough.
Please remember this is a first draft, I want to write a complete novel AND send it in. I need some feedback, whether or not the characters are interesting that an editor will not throw the manuscript into the bin after reading the first two paragraphs. (Viv if you read this and you have the time, I'd appreaciate it if you could give me some pointers)
The Devil's Bride
original novel by Una Geiger (or should I already write MacDougall?
Prologue
1154
The day of Henry Plantagenet's coronation was a happy one. Knights, lords, women and peasants throughout the English lands celebrated their new liege's reign.
The dark years of Stephen's reign were over and his lawless lords had been driven away to the Continent, or so people thought.
On the eve of the coronation two lives were irredeemably changed, one young life was reclaimed while murderous hands of thieves destroyed another life.
A young man of one score of years looked upon the white cliffs of Dover for the first time in six years. He had left England's soil at ten and four, a young gangly lad of a squire, proud in his still childish way, to follow his lord and liege into battle against the Saracens. To Outremer, the Holy Land, that was where he had been heading, never knowing that what lay ahead would change his life forever.
The young man stood tall, even though in the last years his demeanour had been quite the opposite. His masters had made him crouch and cower in front of them, torturing and abusing the man-child and stripping him of his humanity. Never again would he be owned by anyone, or tortured and abused for another man's pleasure. In the past three months since he had been liberated with other slaves in Lisbon, he had to learn how to think for himself again, had to find his voice that was raw and hoarse from disuse. He had to learn that a touch did not mean that someone meant to use him and still he cringed when the healer of the knights who had captured him, had examined his wounds from the shackles and torture instruments of his Saracen masters. The first time he had struck out, outraged and shocked that his fellow country men would use him such, until the old knight had shaken his head sadly, and after watching the young man out of eyes that knew so much, had left him alone to see to his wounds on his own. After that, the old knight had made sure to tell him what he would do to examine the young man's wounds.
He had learnt to trust the old knight's touch to be of a healing and not of an abominable nature but still, he was wary and he had slept on deck with a Saracen dagger ready in his hand during their journey along the Atlantic coast, then across the Channel toward the land of his ancestors.
Watching the white cliffs drawing near, the man drew the woollen cloak around his tall frame tighter. He was not used to the chill of his father's land and his bronzed skin told about far warmer lands. From afar, one could take him as a Saracen, the bronzed skin and the black hair that brushed past his shoulders and the strange mismatched attire he was wearing bespoke of foreign lands. However, anyone seeing the face of the man knew that he was anything but a Saracen. His lean still hollow face bespoke of royal blood and the piercing grey of his eyes was a startling contrast to the deep bronze of his skin.
Soon, he thought, soon he would tread on home soil again and everything would be better. Hugh FitzGilbert was coming home.
Deep into the English countryside, far away from the cliffs where a small vessel was approaching, the shrieks and shouts of the woman and the child had died as suddenly as the songs of the birds. The harsh laughter of men had receded and when the last of the men had gotten on their horses and ridden off, the silence was almost deafening. Nothing stirred as a young girl on the brink of being a woman stared mutely into the darkening sky above.
With a groan, the girl tried to sit up only to cry out as pain more fierce than anything she had experienced at the hands of the thieves that had used and abused her shot through her legs and into her abdomen.
"Aislinn?" The girl whimpered and crawled to the still figure that lay a few feet away from her. The woman had been nurse and maid since the girl's mother had died eight years ago and now as the girl tried to crawl towards the woman she most trusted, the shredded gunna exposed garish bloodied streaks on bare breasts, abused by crude hands and dirks.
"Aislinn?" the girl asked again, but when she had reached her maid she knew that she was gone, blind eyes stared unseeingly into oblivion. With the last of her strength, she tried to cover her maid's exposed body with a piece of soiled cloak, but too weak and exhausted from the rape of the thieves, she collapsed, clasping the cold hand of her maid and confidante.
While the birds started singing again, Lady Judith of Monkswood ceased to exist in the darkening woods.
Chapter One
1164 - ten years later
The nunnery lay quiet and peaceful in the late afternoon sun of the English summer. For over a century, the withered halls and cells of the old building had protected and defended its inhabitants and if the good Lord would allow the walls would do so for another century or eternity.
The surrounding countryside with the imposing castle nearby gave an image of quiet sobriety and peace.
Inside the nunnery, in the herbarium, a special part of the garden, a nun was silently working on the herb beds. Like her sisters in spirit, she wore the black habit and grey working apron of the Benedictine order. The edges of her grey veil had been tied back while she knelt in the herbal beds, cutting and pruning the plants. For a moment the nun looked up, watching a bumblebee as it flew towards the beehive in one corner of the cloister garden, heavily laden with golden pollen. Sister Ignatia would cluck her tongue in praise for such a busy little bee, she was sure of it. Just as she was sure of the fondness towards the older sister with her apple blossom cheeks and her rotund, ample body.
She loved this time of the day, between sext and nones where work filled the day of the sisters. For the last ten years that she had been living here, had found a new life here, she had easily abided to the rules of every day life in the convent. The five times of prayers that structured her days soothed and gave her a goal, and the work, even though it was hard at times, especially in winter, filled her with a joy that kept the pain of being far away from her father at bay.
Gathering more herbs into her basket, she smiled, completing the list in her mind of all the ingredients she needed for the mixtures and tinctures. She reminded herself silently to drop by Sister Ignatia and ask her for a third of the new honey for the cough syrup she had to prepare for the peasant children of the neighbouring villages. She needed mustard and made a mental check that she had to harvest her seeds to ground them tomorrow.
"Sister Jude!" the shout came from the far end of the cloister garden and the young nun looked up startled at the shout of the postulant who came running towards her, the skirts of her grey kirtle hiked up around her knees. With a shake of her head, the nun watched the young postulant as she waved and shouted. The girl had entered the convent six months before and she still had to adjust to the life at the convent and abide to all the rules in the nunnery, especially the rule of silence. When the girl stopped in front of her, her white veil slightly askew and a tumble of blonde curls showing from beneath it, the nun straightened with difficulty and held up a halting finger towards the postulant.
"Sister Jude," the girl all but ignored the command of silence. "Mother Superior told me to fetch you … it is important."
Frowning slightly, the nun debated with herself silently, but then the urge to help one of her sisters in an injury, made her decide to break the rule.
"What is it, Mary?" she asked softly. "Who needs my immediate attendance that you forget yourself and the rules of this convent?"
Feeling slightly embarrassed, the young girl cast a baleful look down to the basket at her feet.
"I'm sorry, Sister, but … but Mother Superior was most urgent. She told me to fetch you at once," drawing in a shuddery breath the girl continued. "You've got visitors, three knights, in armour … and they are huge."
Sister Jude frowned at that. Perhaps a knight had been injured while training on the list at her father's castle, or perhaps her father's health had deteriorated further and he needed her skill. With a pang in her heart, she tried to ignore that particular idea. Her father was a strong man, his cough had been bad the last time she had visited Monkswood but nothing that had made her feel disturbed and she was sure he had taken her birch bark tea she had made especially for him.
"Then let's go, Mary, and see what the knights want. There might be someone injured over at the keep." Ignoring the pain in her left leg, she stooped to pick up her basket filled with fragrant herbs and after smoothing her work apron over her black habit, she followed the girl towards the cloister.
The afternoon sun sat low and its rays tinted the precious glass windows, creating jewel-toned patterns on the stone floor that led to the office where the Mother Superior received visitors. While Mary skipped along in a sort of hopscotch pattern, treading on only red patterns on the floor, Sister Jude felt a shiver of dread running up her spine. In the ten years she had lived here, her father had visited her always alone, his squire and knights waiting outside the monastery's doors. That he would come with an entourage was completely uncommon and disturbed her.
After thanking Mary and sending the girl on her way, Sister Jude hesitated for a short moment to draw in a deep breath. Then she raised a hesitant hand and gave a sharp knock on the door to the Mother Superior's office before she opened the door.
"Benedicite!"
"In nomine Domini," the round looking nun behind the desk said and held out a wrinkled hand while Sister Jude bowed and kissed her ring. With a smile, Mother Superior drew an imaginary cross on Sister Jude's brow.
"It is good of you to join us so quickly, child," the old nun said and looked up to encompass the three men that stood before her desk. Sister Jude frowned as she took her measure of the men. She only knew one by name, he had been the captain of her father's guard, but the other two, especially the tall dark knight who leant against one of the stone casements of the window with the sun at his back, was no one she had ever seen before.
"Mary informed me you wished to see me at once. Is someone in need of a healer?" she asked and grew more nervous when the Mother Superior shook her head.
"Nay, child. These knights are here on the king's bidding. You know Giles Montague, the captain of your father's guard?"
"Yes, I know him," Sister Jude inclined her head towards the older man with the greying beard. He did not sport the cheerful smile of her childhood and when their eyes met, she saw the sadness there and she shivered.
"Benedicite, Master Giles, I trust your family and my father are well?"
The old captain shook his head and cast his gaze towards the rushes on the ground. "I fear not, my lady. My family is well but your father …"
"What happened to my father? Is he well? Is he in need of my healing skills? I will fetch my things at once," she all but stumbled to the door, where a single word by the Mother Superior stopped her.
"Child," she said her eyes sad as she gazed on the young nun.
"No!" Sister Jude choked out. It could not be, not her strong father!?
