The Green Knight--Lurking Menace [1184 Ad] VII Part Two of Two

The Green Knight
Lurking Menace

VII

[1184 AD: Angelina of Glastonbury]




[Part two of two]


“The girl had not escaped my hand or sword, I was her slayer, but had I know of her presence, it would have altered my plans, and my frame of mind I’m sure.
“This girl who hid amongst the Arabs, as if she was one, was not of course one, but had turned from Christianity to be a Muslim, and was torn it seems to me on her duty, to kill, and fight for their cause, or to live a normal life, whatever—I was her lurking menace, and her means of death.
“The fire seemed to me to be a weird form of an underground moonlight, reflecting on the body parts as I looked at the hidden eyes in the seven decapitated heads. I paced about, had my eyes come back to the girl several times. I followed the tail of blood from her head to her neck (to her torso).
“I was walking around the pillar like a drunk knight. My human frame erect, as I walked a ways, down the dark corridor, halfway down, I heard a voice say, “Green Knight, Green Knight, come back!”
“The voice sounded like a freighted child on her way to hell. I went back swiftly through the black tunnels, then came upon the campsite again, bend over the fire, the head close by, the head of the girls, I looked into her eyes, of that decapitated head, nausea befell me, “yes,” I said, then it spoke, “This is the year of the birth of my cousin, Angelina, I have seen her in a vision, as you will,” her eyes now pitched dark, then in a low urgent voice she cried out once more, find her in the year 1199 AD and marry her, she will be raped, stop it, she will be waiting for you!”
“Then I got a brood impression of a shapeless bulk leave this tomb, it circled around me, it was her, swiftly taken to the pits of hell by two flying dark demon, all I saw were the shadows, but the mind can at times transpose them figures to its rightful shapes and owners, and my mind did. As I left the underground cavern, my soul was happy, but my mind too full of thinks I knew nothing about. And I knew if I lived to the year 1199, I’d seek this maiden out, but with all the wars at hand, I had my doubts I’d live that long.

The Green Knight--Lurking Beast of Prey [1184 AD] VII Part One

The Green Knight
Lurking Beast of Prey


[1184 AD: Angelina of Glastonbury]

VII
By Dennis L. Siluk




“Before the Green Knight knew of Angelina, he was known of her.”




[Part one of two]


Sward in hand, the Green Knight, silently slipped between the large columns of the underground fortress of sorts, more likened to an ancient Roman dungeon, a ruins from before the days of Christ, or during, perhaps even catacombs, for there were many tunnels; thus the Green Knight stood within these black shadows floating about on the side of a column, expecting anything to happen, perhaps even an ambush, but he was the lurking beast of prey, not them.
“Utter silence filled my being in this underground cavern, under the great floors of Jerusalem, waiting and looking for the chance, the moment to use my great sword edge against my prey. My insides roared like a distant lion. This underground ruin was used as a gathering place for planning attacks on King Richard’s legions. I knew this long ago, but today the conspiracy would end, so I told myself.
“As I looked ahead I shifted from one open space to the next, I came to a great circle of broken pillars, and halted stone-still, emotionless, eyes gazing from wall to wall, sword in one hand, a torch in the other. Several men, Arabs were roasting meat, pieces of thick meat, it smelled good, all I could see were their backs, robs and swords to their sides.
“They had evidently build the fire recently, it was burning high, and the logs were flickering in the October chill, as a draft come down form the ceiling form someplace over head, their meat still cooking.
“ —I came up behind them like a jackal in the night, swift, for the kill, to kill one must be thirsty for it, be like a snake, dehumanize his prey, as maggots squirming in a skull, thus, across the open square I went, swiftly, as they had broken out in a hellish laughter, blinding sweat came down my forehead, I almost stopped my run: knowing the nature of my foe I went crazy from behind them, I slashed right and left with my sword.
“I brought devastation upon them, and when I was dune with my rampage: hands, feet, grinning heads, flesh, gobs of blood littered the campsite, the heads rolled off them like marble busts, teeth still grinning, eyes pale in the flickering light of the underground tomb’s fire, torn limbs, bones broken, perturbing out of their flesh, they were sliced up like the meat they were abut to devour.
“A chill filled my spine, and as I pulled myself together I had to ask: what beast did this? (Of course it was I.)
“My king was right, King Richard the Lion Heart: leave no one escape to tell false stories, and I didn’t.
‘I was shaken with horror, and my dark suspicions correct; I left this dungeon of sorts with a sigh of relief, or started to leave it when I noticed one of the muscular limbs was of a woman, then I saw her slender parts, who was this girl I asked myself, she was not Arab…”



Dennis had written the original story of "The Rape of Angelina of Glastonbury,' upon his return from that very location, in April, 2002; which won the heart of the Editor in an international magazine to call it: the best story of its kind in a decade. It was written about five years ago. Since then he wrote five linking parts to it, and here was the last part, VI, "...the Ghost of Glastonbury," a one chapter concluding story, but again, it seems to have acquired a life of its own, and Dennis has written out at the Café during lunch [El Parquetito’s, in Lima, Peru] today, part VII, which you will be seeing soon, "the Green Knight--Lurking Beast of Prey” which is a two part story. Rosa

Angelina of Glastonbury, and the Ghost (Part VI/1201 AD)

Angelina of Glastonbury

The Ghost of Glastonbury

VI

[A.D. 1201]






Angelina’s Diary dated AD 1201, some two-year after Angelina killed her three rapists there seemed to appear a ghost out of nowhere, it was circulating the town of Glastonbury. Folks say they say him, a half witted looking creature, in a numb looking almost paralyzed stance, staring through the windows of the homes in Glastonbury, as if he was looking for someone. Angelina had an inkling, a sense you might say, of this ghost, or ghoul folks were talking about, but she’d need to see it in person before it would bring back any memories. A ghoul circling around Glastonbury, did not seem all that strange, many folks had searched the tunnels of the Tor, and got buried alive, not ever finding there way out, and thus, the good folks of the town related this to that. I repeat, there had been rumors of many ghosts in the past, but this one was different (you and I know this anyhow) he was from Angelina’s past. What did this ghost want? No one knew, but he wanted something.


I will tell you in so many words, and make a long story short, the ghost, He wanted Angelina to bring his body back up from the well, it was (is) stuck there—between the well and the tunnels of water that feed the mounds thereabouts. He wants to be buried as a Great Knight.
Well, Angelina reads her diary, she had misplaced it for a long spell, and finds out he was in fact, one of the three Knights that raped her. It brought back some sorrowful memories, fragmented recollections.
It was several days now, since she had read her notes, and the more she thought on the matter, the more her mind became distorted. But she told herself, she had to go down in that well and save him, and bring his body up; that was her first thoughts, and they got heavier and heightened as the days passed. She came to the point she was in a state of disassociation, talking to folks, but not really there, her mind off some other place.
The ghost has found her, but made no real attempt to persuade her past a one time visit, that actually put her into this state, it was when she was reading her diary, he appeared by her.
She did something very strange, and the ghoul, was frantic when he saw her going through the motions in acquiring this future task, which was, not to be long in the future at all. She, Angelina, now in a state of fog, went to the town’s chemical maker, bought a jug of acid, to pour over the stuck body in the well, the ghost of the Knight, by her side begging her not to do what she had on her mind.
She was now standing at the well, her wolf by her side, the ghost talked to Angelina on his recollections, then she, smiles, and climbs down into the well with a ladder rope (as if she didn’t understand what he was saying, as if she was too far inside the tunnels of her mind), her wolf guarding the upper part of the well now. She sees the body stuck in the corner of the well, and puts the jug of acid down for a moment, the ghost still begging her, but all she hears is a fogy echo, as if she is in a dream, she sees the knight has a bottle of ale, tucked around his arms, she takes the bottle from his arms, pours the acid into the bottle, and sticks the bottle into the dead corpses mouth, pouring it into his mouth, saying, “You deserve a full bottle of ale,” and out pours the acid, his eyes open up, and the ghost, who had used the body as a refuge or point of return, shutters in disbelief, again, she leaves him into a worse nightmare, and the body now is completely eaten up, and disintegrates in front of her, “Gosh,” she says, “now he can rest in peace.” And the ghost is never seen again.

Originally written 3/2006 (reedited and revised, 3/2008)

Angelina of Glastonbury--and the Perfect Squire [A.D. 1217] III

Angelina of Glastonbury

And the Perfect Squire


III

[A.D. 1218]
[Advance] Angelina of Glastonbury was born in the year AD 1185; it was the year King Baldwin IV of Jerusalem died. It was also a time the Leper King tried to make peace with Saladin—the Islamic warlord. The King had the most deadly form of leprosy known to man; nonetheless, he was an excellent leader in battle, so it was said.
Angelina’s grandfather had fought in the crusades of his day. He had many triumphs and would tell those stories to Angelina during her formative years. Thus, Angelina would grow richer for heroism and devotion to the cause of chivalry; such portrays this romantic era provided
Her, it was surely the right time for her to have lived, so she said a hundred times, to herself.
This era once considered ‘Dark,’ was now the crusading age, with not only art and culture, but a time for reverence for the great popes, such as Pope Urban II, who attended the Counsel of Clermont, eighty-years before her birth. Her grandfather used to talk about him, perhaps it was a spark for the aid of Christendom in the East, the Crusaders.
There were colorful stories he’d tell Angelina, it is perhaps why she loved Knighthood so much, and had a profound love for King Arthur and King Richard, the Lion Hearted, and of course her husband, known as the Green Knight.
Had she been a man, she would have joined the forces of the Crusades, for there was the longing, desire to see the Holy Lands, it all captivated her.

Heroes

Jerusalem of course was a household word, as Angelina grew up in little Glastonbury, England, by the renowned and mystic Tor [of Avalon], where once King Arthur walked upon. It was not all that far from her house, and the great trees called: Gog and Magog, giants of another time. There was much lore in this village, to include Arthur’s grave.
She even had regard for the compelling conquer Genghis Khan; he was fascinating to her, and somehow she saw his good side, telling her husband in so many words (now with six children)) the year being AD 1219)) “I do not think he is as bloodthirsty as others would have us believe. Fighting his way to power was no different than King John,” yes contrary to contemporary wisdom, she saw him in a different light, as a man ahead of his times; one with courage (not like King John, in that sense); who allowed religious freedoms, which John tried to take away. She had even heard he abolished torture as once was: a means to his end. She admired that, that a powerful man could be humble. It was as she thought it should be, as her grandfather was, and her father, and her husband. But she had known others to the contrary.
“It is a good time to be alive,” she told her eldest son, Phillip, “a great time.”



Chapter One

A Knight and a Page

So it was a good year to be born, AD 1185, she told her family. Her husband still prayed like he used to, as a Knight would have prayed in the old days, when he was part of the crusades, a crusader—he got Knighted right on the battlefield, by another Knight, it was how things were done back then. Yes indeed, he’d kneel, his arms upraised in prayer.
He had no squire at his right side anymore, not like he used to have; nor a sword attached to his waist, times had changed—but he had Angelina, and that was his wife, friend, and sidekick, it was all he needed, and of course his family, now six children, two boys and four girls. Richard the youngest, and Phillip the elder, and Marybell, one year under Richard, she looked a lot like Angelina.

In AD 1204, the Franks and the Venetians launched a sea borne attack on Constantinople, part of the 4th Crusades (of five). Back then, Angelina was but nineteen-years old, married of course, but she liked to keep abreast of current events; likewise, her husband was always enthusiastic about such things. All these things were talked about in the house, openly, and Phillip listened as once Angelina would listen to her grandfather talk about his exploits of the wars, the crusades. But Phillip of course had seen danger at first hand—and could give testimony to what the color of a soldiers blood was—he seen at first hand conflict, his mother had killed a man at the Tower of London, in 1215 to free his father. All this combined was stored in the little mind of a boy: year after year after year.

Phillip was the son of a Knight, thus, he was taken from the care of his mother at the early age of seven (born: 1204; at seven it was the year 1211 he was taken), taken (sent) to a nearby castle of a powerful nobleman to begin his training as a Page. For the most part, ever form of mental job became his: fetching and carrying, running errands, helping the woman of the house, learning patience by doing nothing much of the time. Thus, as time marched on, so did his responsibilities.
He learned to play musical instruments, compose verse, to curry horses and care for hawks, and then came the arms, the sword, lance and axe. After this training he was to became a squire, it was to be at the age of fourteen, but at the age of 9, he was stopped, it was two and a half years into training, he had learned all a squire was to do, he just didn’t do it, or have the chance to do it.
Angelina was most proud of him, but it would not be Knighthood for Phillip, by virtue, his presence was needed at home, and chivalry would have to come in a different form.
There were other reasons for the change, perhaps, King John himself was one; Angelina would never say for certain in her diary, but it was expected he played a role in it. Phillip, like his father was gentle, and like his mother affectionate. But Phillip held inside of him, like his mother, the longing to be all he could be, and if a hero to his mother, and like his father and grandfather: the entire better.



Chapter Two

The Perfect Squire
[AD 1218]


Phillip had runway, left a note for his mother: sad as it was, he said in the note, he needed to prove himself, hence, he joined a crusading army and sailed to the port of Damietta on the Nile (the year was AD 1218, Phillip was but fourteen years old). He had felt he had proven himself a squire, in half form, and having been tested under fire, at the Tower of London, rescuing his father with his mother in 1215, this was proof enough of his courage to him. Now he needed to be all he could be.
There forces were being led by John of Brienne, King of Jerusalem, and with him was the Duke of Austria—along side of him was Cardinal Pelagius, the Pope’s legate.
Phillip of Glastonbury became (by virtue of need) the squire for the Duke, his previous squire had been killed in battle; and it was this winter the fighting continued, the campaign went on, and Phillip was much involved with it, the Moslems suffered much from famine and dispute among themselves, as the crusaders, suffered in human losses.
The Sultan al-Kamil had found treachery among his own people, at which time, he wanted to make an offer of peace: coupled with the Franks leaving Egypt: consequently he’d give them Jerusalem and Palestine.

It was a few days after this agreement Phillip and the crusaders attacked Damietta, and they took the city. It was a heroic day to say the least. Yet, as two years passed, they had to retreat out of the city—now Phillip a full squire, looking to Knighthood, perhaps he would have gotten it had they not had to retreat so abruptly (in Glastonbury, Angelina had received news of the retreat, and was hoping now, her son would return home).
On there way out of Egypt, onto Tripoli, many had died in the mud, and the crossing of desert, and skirmishes from every corner and nook on the way.

Alex of Austria, a Page, wanting to be squire, was the same age as Phillip, and much envious of him, he had not been in any battles, but was a good servant, so Phillip would have said had you asked him. It was during a drunken rage that Alex had pulled a knife out, and tried to kill Phillip: thereafter, he could no longer sleep at night, and if he did, it was with one eye open.
Said the Duke, to Phillip on a windy winter morning in Tripoli, standing by an old ancient pillar, a bridge not far from both of them:
“Have you seen Alex of Austria?”
He waited for a response, but Phillip hesitated, not sure why himself.
“Whatever happened to Alex, he’s been missing for a day?”
Confusion filled Phillip’s eyes and mind.
“What happened…” mummified Phillip in a stutter.
“Yes,” said the Duke in a ponderous dismay, “Have you seen him?”
“I saw him a day ago, I remember it well, we just got to Tripoli and he asked me to talk to him, I do believe…” he hesitated, looked down to the ground, his feelings sad, but why he didn’t know. And they had been in Tripoli going on two weeks, so his story was distorted for some odd reason. But the Duke didn’t say a word to that.
“Please go on Phillip, tell me what you know.”
“Well, I can’t say for sure, but as I was here on foot a day ago, a Turkish horseman came by I remember…never have I seen such fair a Knight, other than you and my father, and he asked him to be his squire.” Phillip was staring at the bridge as he talked to the Duke.
“You say—a Turk is that not what you said?” said the Duke.
“Yes, I do believe so, yes, he was a Turk; I saw his shield. He went straight…towards…that bridge…!”
Phillip then pointed at the bride, the one he was already looking at, the very one the Duke was already looking at. And the Duke mounted his horse and rode over to it, as Phillip stood stone-still, by the old pillar, just staring, staring away as in a trance, or some kind of fog.
“Aye…by god, what has happened!” cried the Duke, looking over the bridge at the dead body of Alex, the body lay there in the mud and water, with darts, five at lest in his body, in his blood soaked tunic, bloody. He looked over at Phillip, “Stay where you are Phillip, this is not a sight for you to see, not today, this will be too much, we shall talk of this another day yet (but it would never be discussed, or mentioned again, for the Duke knew the truth of the matter, and in war, it was not uncommon, a man needs his sleep if he is to fight, only the Pages didn’t require sleep, battle was not there forte).
The following day, the Duke started teaching Phillip great feats with arms, with the hand sword and strokes. For a month he taught him such things, and as a result, felt he was ready for Knighthood.
Phillip had seen his own blood in battle, it flowed and his teeth did crackle under the blows of the enemy. He confronted war head on, perhaps not completely prepared, but nonetheless, he did this, and this day, would be his day to obtain Knighthood from the Duke of Austria. Knighthood could be given by the King, another Knight, or royalty, and thus, before they left Tripoli, he was a Knight. Under normal circumstances a week long feasible would be given, but here it was a drunken evening, and a light ceremony, it was all that could be offered under the state of affairs.


Chapter Three

Glastonbury


It was two and a half years by the time Phillip had reached Glastonbury again (almost three years you could say), his mother standing out by the doorway, people running after him, as he rode down the road to her home, his home. There she stood: a proud mother looking up to her son on horseback with armor on, and a sword attached to his side, life could not get any better he felt, and I’m sure Angelina felt the same, the father standing in back of Angelina, he knew she had to be up front on this occasion; for he was her hero, and he liked it, and now the son was part of the circle.
She would write in her diary later, “What more can a person ask for. I have three heroes in my heritage to look up to: my grandfather, my husband and now my son.”
When Phillip got a glance of his mother’s proud smile he got goose bumps up and own his body, it was a dream come true; and now he’d be part of the ongoing saga of conversations on the Great Crusades, that had plagued his family for three generations: like mom would talk about, and his great grandfather told mom.

Let us not spoil the home coming, but Angelina would die the following year (AD 1221), but of all those she put into her diary, Glastonbury would remember her above them all: somehow I think she was the real hero.

Written 1/16/2006

Angelina of Glastonbury--and the Headman's Axe II [A.D. 1215]

[End Chapter] Mom said: “I don’t know what happened, but I do know he is done with drink.” And she added I remember, ‘there are worse things than killing men,’ and I asked: what? And mom said: “Being killed, or loving something fine, and doing nothing about it, yet knowing you could have.”
Mom had looked at me—in a way she never had before—I didn’t know back then what it meant, now I do I suppose—she looked at me—to be at that given moment, likened to a symbol of the ancient and eternal snake—and I realized between those who can, should, do, for those who cannot, or will not, suffer otherwise, endlessly.
Then we both seemed to be free; I didn’t understand but I knew by that look, someday I’d understand.
In the boat I saw her glance at me with that inscrutable look, looking at me.

I was young back then, strong, a hard body for a boy of my age likes my father. Richard, my brother was a ting more discernible, he didn’t lack courage, and he was just unsure of it he had any, or so that is how I perceived it. At that time, my mother had changed little, in a decade, still slender from what everyone in the town said of her.
The soldier who was killed, he had an implacable pointed head, with savagely chopped hair, and crazed eyes; he did know what happened, he just died. I know my mother is not safe when in that daydreaming mode of hers, so history has told me so. She was like a loaded crossbow, with a hair-trigger. She told me: “He was a drunkard, and it was too late for him to stop what he had set his mind to do; a drunkard reaches a point where it is too late for him to stop, he may believe he will, but experience has taught me he will not (they both had reached this stage and conclusion), and that is what I figured trigger me, and I did what you said I’d had done.”


€


Advance: it was a time before Beowulf was written but after Sherborn Abbey in Dorset Roman book of Catholic prayer was written. With a green and black waxed seal attached to a vellum strip at the bottom a charter was written (A.D. 1215)—King John enthroned now holding his scepter.
It was written this year of 1215 with gall-based ink. It was called the Magna Carta, perhaps the first of its kind, a ‘Charter of Liberties,’ many copies were made, and one sent to Glastonbury, badly damaged by fire, yet it was displayed in the village nonetheless, to the populace; amongst them, Angelina and her husband, known a decade before as the Green Knight.
The eloquence of those historic sentences, the nobility and idealism, they expressed warmed the hearts of Glastonbury, especially Angelina’s, saying:

“No free man shall be taken or imprisoned or deprived or outlawed or exiled or in any way ruined…”

Need I say more—?
It was revered as the founding stone of modern freedom, and in time the world over would recognize this; and to Angelina now with two sons and two daughters, regarded this as a romantic and formative piece of British legislation.
This was also the time when the Crusades were a part of the fabric of the day, and much talk of it in the village of Glastonbury for that matter, all of Europe. It was a time when the Muslim leader, Saladin—had conquered Jerusalemin fact; it was a bloody struggle, for all three faiths, that looked upon Jerusalem as sacred ground.
It was the time period St. Francis of Assisi formed an order of monks; when Pope Innocent III, was in Rome, an ablest pope indeed.
And let it not be said too loud, King John of England and Pope Innocent quarreled like two attacking Grendels.
If we were to go beyond Europe at this particular time in history we’d see Genghis Khan capture Peking, and break through the Great Wall of China, and conquer with his Mongols all in sight, much like the Vikings of their era.
And although Angelina was a good mother and wife, she kept abreast of current events, as they drifted into Glastonbury, as well she could. For the most part, her little township was quiet, and their little business, sedate.

—But these were trying times for King John, to say the least; and it would only get worse. He would die a year later, in A.D. 1216, after the loss of the French dominions, along with his disputes with Rome, his over taxation of the nobility, which would prove to have a hand in the civil war—I reiterate: ending up in John’s death.
To be frank, Angelina, liked King Richard I, more than John, who had been captured during the Crusading; even thought England scarcely saw him for ten-years, the extent of his reign of England; she saw him likened to King Arthur, of times past.



Chapter One

The Baron’s of war


(A.D. 1215, John meets in Runnymede, agrees to the declarations set down in the Magna Carta)



In the heart of Glastonbury, Summerset England, if one is to look up, from the village, almost at any point they will see the Great Tor, it is a manmade mound, and on its summit is an abbey (now only a tower remains, burnt down years ago).
It was this year King John came looking for soldiers to recruit to fight his war with the Baron’s of England, who had gotten support form France, in particular, Prince Louis (who would on one year’s time capture the Tower of London; A.D. 1216; but of course I am jumping ahead of our story, for we are still in 1215).
This year for Angelina would be a most trying year, actually it will consume eighteen-months, and the rest of this story must be extracted from her diary.






(Diary of Angelina)

“King John came with many soldiers into Glastonbury today. He knew of my husband’s reputation, of his fighting in the Crusades, everyone knew of course, and he asked my husband, personally asked him: too kindly join his army against the rich-barons of England, who were trying to dethrone him. Evidently, he did not wish to go according to the Magna Carta, the very one he signed. He even quoted the man he so hated, the Pope, who had decreed John did not, or was not bound by this decree, and now it is of course history. Thus, John took my husband—as if he was a criminal—and tied him to a rope, held by one of the soldiers on horseback.
“He tried to explain to the King, I was with child, and he’d join his army right after the child was born, but would not be of much use, being gone, and thinking about his wife and child. The king took this as an insult, and there was no more to say. He begged the king to let him stay; I had never seen my husband in such a distraught form.
“It was a sad day indeed, for I knew they’d take him to London, perhaps the Tower, and torture him. But let me tell you what I did, and perhaps it was stupid, I ran to my husband, told him I’d find him, wherever he was, and the soldier kicked me, kicked me right in my belly, I had tears, I tried not to cry, to show them, but I couldn’t, my belly hurt so much, I was on the ground holding my belly, I think it was…how sad a knight can do such a thing, King John’s knights are like him; and my grandfather used to say: ‘…give a dog a new name and you don’t need to hang him.’ I wish King Richard were here, he had the name before John took the good name after his death. Now he thinks he is untouchable.
“As I laid there in the dirt by our little shop, I watched the king dragging my husband out of the city as he grabbed several potential young men to become soldiers in his army (the civil war was started and Angelina knew this was a small part of it, but resistance breeds resistance, and her mind shifted back to King Arthur, her hero of heroes, and King Richard the Lion Heart: and what laid dormant in her heart was awakened: a little lion with big teeth.)”



Chapter Two

Tower of London

It was a shame for Angelina’s husband, he being a knight, being dragged out of Glastonbury like a thief, a dishonor indeed. For in many cases knights were appointed as sheriffs and representatives of the people in shires in parliament.
Angelina had felt helpless, and now she had lost her child a most horrid time for her, as she puts it in her diary:
“It has been three months now, since I lost my child; and my husband is someplace in the Tower of London, so I’ve been told by Prince Louis, who has sent word to me on this matter.
“I know now the Tames runs alongside of the Tower, I’ve never been in London so it’s all new for me, but this map is a good one, the Prince sent me, although over a hundred years old, but he has modified it to how it looked fifteen-years ago, I doubt things have changed that much in those years.
“There seems to be a number of towers on this map: let me describe it: an odd looking square bigger at one corner than the other, and there I see the River, it goes by the Bell Tower, and inside this odd square is the Outer ward, and to the back of the main tower is the Inner ward, and there are three towers, one called the wardrobe tower; inside this odd square is the main area they call the Tower of London, and it has three towers to it also, a torture chamber. I have to make it to the Bell Tower, I think. And there is gateway also. Map reading is not my speciality, so I hope I do not get this wrong, but I must now develop a plan.”



Chapter Three

The Tower, Wolf and Axe


“I must get my husband out of the tower before he is tortured to death. I’m sure King John will not live though another year of his madness, to rule England like a tyrant, like a slave camp, but that helps me little, should I wait for his death, it will not come soon enough to save my husband. I have gone over the map a hundred times now.”

She went down the Thames River, it was dark, and it was the beginning of wither; the air was chilled, a wind almost freezing, you could see your breath. She could see the Tower now: her wolf by her side in the boat, her two sons, Phillip, the elder, and Richard, the younger (eleven and twelve). She had her plan, her gold and silver to bribe, and hoping it would be enough to get through the gateway, and escorted to the Bell Tower: she had sold everything she could, business, house, everything: and had fourteen gold pieces, and several silver coins: she was penniless, if this didn’t work, then it was certain death.

They had docked the boat, walked up to the gateway entrance:

(Diary) “With my gold in hand I bribed the first two guard’s to let me in and try to talk with the authorities to see my husband, if only for a minute. And they saw no harm in it, and figured I’d get turned back before I got to the Bell Tower anyway, so they had nothing to lose. Phillip was with me, and my wolf (she had the old wolf for fifteen years now, it was one she had purchased and, well one today it came back to here after it had run off someplace; most of the wolfs teeth were missing but he had a mean growl, was faithful, and still had several teeth in place, if need for whatever teeth are used for), was already by the Bell Tower waiting, and Richard was in the boat, guarding it.
“Thus, I had everything in place, but I knew something would go wrong, doesn’t it always, and if so, I would have to resort to another plan, but to be honest, I had no other one. But my son tells me I created one quickly. Anyhow, we walked slowly down the Great Hall, quietly pat the Royal Residence, up high to the Gallery level. I think they were running me around in circles, because the Bell Tower was outside on the other end of the Inner Ward. I was paying every guard a piece of gold everyone wanted to be bribed. Then one guard pointed to the Bell Tower, saying: ‘…that is the Bell Tower, that your husband is in, save, if he is still alive, he was tortured pretty bad.’
“I had given him my last silver coin and now I was standing below the Bell Tower steps, and huge fat old guard came down, the old man knew what I wanted, but I had no coins left, and I told him so. He was half drunk, slobbering allover the young guard next to me, and my son, and myself.
“I was hoping the young guard, who was kind enough to stop the charade back inside the main tower, would convince his comrade I had paid dearly to get to these steps, but he was silent.
“I could see the door, it was slightly opened, this man must have been kicking my husband, and his footwear was bloody. ‘How much silver do you have left,’ he asked me, bluntly, this old solider who could hardly stand, his liquor had gotten the best of him. ‘I have none left,’ I told him, none whatsoever. And he didn’t like that one bit.
“Then with the force of a bear, I felt like a twig in his grip, he pulled me over to him, thrust his hand down my to my breast and had his pleasure with me for that moment. I was taken by surprise, and when he pulled out his hand….”



[Phillip] That is all my mother can remember, so I will have to fill in the spaces. When he pulled his hand out, of the upper part of my mothers robe, she was froze, I had noticed—perhaps with terror, or perhaps with anger, I don’t know.
When we had passed the torture room at the main tower, I remember my mother picking up something, an axe, I didn’t see much, and I was horrified to see the man on the rack being stretched out of his joints. But the Headsman’s block axe was there when I first seen it, and I noticed my mother touching it, and when I looked aback to see how sharp it was, it was gone. Again I must say, that guy on the rack, whose limbs were being pulled to god-knows were, blocked all other things out of my mind, but here is what followed, what I remember:
When the huge and heavy soldier pulled his hand out of my mothers robe, out came the axe, she had hidden it under her cloths, thus his hand dropped like a mug of ale on the floor; then off came his head, his eyes still in shock looking at his hand, now his head was at collapsing body, and next looking into a cavity called a neck, he even blinked his eyes, couldn’t believe he was headless. Funny, how long you can live neck-less.
The young soldier was in shock; he was frozen to where he stood, stone still like the Pillars of Hercules.
I suppose, now that I look back, it was most appropriate for this to take place, especially in the tower area, for is it not the place of executions. Mom simply took the plan B, into action, the plan she didn’t have until the guards tried to scare her by bringing her around in circles, and by the torture room.
Aye, yes, the young soldier was still in shock; piss running down his leg onto the floor.


Chapter Four

Escape

All my mother had on was a robe, and there was reason for this: coiled around her was a rope, where she had tucked in that headsman’s axe, and so carefully and swiftly, pulled it out to save the day. She had brought a tunic and left it in the boat, I wasn’t sure why, she never said, but now I knew. We were in the Bell Tower, father was on the floor, weak, and beaten pretty bad, but once he saw mother, he got up, then said,
“Angelina! Angelina! …Is it really you.”
And they kissed.
With no adue (or time to waste), she undressed, and unwound the rope around her body, and tied it to a bare in the window: the bars were separated wide enough that we did not have to dig out, thank goodness.
As we climbed down the rope, mom’s wolf was faithfully waiting, but we also saw that young guard now running around, out the gateway to us, he had gotten his composure back. When he had caught up to us, but twenty feet in front of mom, the old wolf, with half its teeth gone, jumped like a hawk onto that soldier, and mauled his face up bad, a tooth imprint here and there: he will never again I fear, find favor with young maidens.
Next we had all run to the boat, and Richard quickly pushed us all out into the river. More guards were now running out of the gate entrance, and mom’s wolf jumped into the boat, as we were now clear of the bank.


[Diary Entry: Phillip] King John is dead and my husband has returned to Glastonbury, after hiding in the Abbey on the Tor. Mom stopped writing in the Diary on this matter, so I took it upon myself to fill in the spaces of time. King Henry III came into power, which was in October of 1216. He would out live my father and die in 1272, which was two years ago.
Now I am old, and Edward I, will out live me. But who cares, let him be a crowned crusader, like my Great Grandfather. Mom would have lived him though, he’s kind of a warrior, like dad was, and Arthur, and King Richard. The wolf died in 1217, she had her adventures with mom I suppose. That’s all I got to say.


The End


Note: Dedicated to Benjamin Szumskyj; written 1/15/06, at the BN-café, Roseville, Minnesota

Angelina of Glastonbury--and the Devil's Wall [A.D. 1147] V

[Angelina’s Diary AD 1206] “Phillip, my son and Grandpa Pepin, so named after the son of the Great Emperor, Charlemagne—was a great man of tales, and although I know them to be fictitious in some details, they are not all in total; matter-of-fact, I know from a piece of information much truth resides in this one. But I will tell you my son, as your Great Grandfather told me, I will tell you a tale of tales, and to be quite honest, I’ve yet to decipher completely what is exactly truth from fiction, but I do have a secret; therefore, you can let me know how you stand on the matter, OK?”
“Ok, mama, as you say,” said Angelina’s oldest son Phillip (six and a half years old).
“It was in the year 1147 [AD], your great grandpa was but 14-years old then, and ran off to join the crusaders to move against the Moor’s. He was part of the 30,000-man force, warriors and knights from Germany, the Anglo-Normans, and the Flemish and of course the Portuguese. The city was being held by 5000-Moors. They had these huge belfry’s [manmade wooded towers that allowed you to be lifted up to the top of a castle’s wall], a number of them, and fire-arrows of the Moors, which they cast upon them like fireflies, destroyed them all. But in the end, at the end of the skirmish, it was in October of that year—if I recall, they brought down the great walls of the city, due to a new belfry, which they had built. They had brought the wall and the Moors to surrender. Thus the new Portuguese King now had a Capital, and your great grandfather was of course in this great battle.”
“But what is so strange about this mama…?” asked Phillip in an anxious manner, wanting more details, more explanations, and more descriptions of the battle.
“Oh, yes, yes, indeed,” said Angelina with a twinkle in her eye, “I see I did leave out a few incidentals, did I not! ‘Noyllopa’ was her name, I do think she was a female, I could be wrong, but all my instincts tell me it was a she; anyhow, I shall get right to the point (Phillip now engrossed into his mother’s story, eyes as if in a trance waiting for the next sentence).
“She was a morbid creature, green and black, dark red lips, and a long thick next—with big bloodshot eyes, and three hanging fangs, whipped and drooped over her lips; ears large and pointed, and eyebrows stretching back over her brow, and bald head, she was bald as a baby’s behind. A diverse, if not whatsoever creature of some sort, of some demonic sect: deadly looking, so grandpa said, told me.”
Hastily, Phillip got closer to his mother—lest he miss a word or two.
“Yes indeed, he was a cynical looking creature, a misfit if not a demon in disguise. There was no beauty in this creature, but it showed some enthusiasm for grandpa. Surely grandpa thought it wanted something, but war had cornered him in every direction: they were in battle. Every arrow they shot at the Belfry, the creature intercepted by a countermine of movements. He had no fear for even the catapults. Thus he received all the fire arrows from the Moors—at will, but they still got burnt down, and they eventually got destroyed.


“But that day the day of the Siege of Lisbon, grandpa had made a deal with this ghoul of shorts, odd, big eyed creature: she said to grandpa, ‘If I help you win the battle, would you be my prisoner, agree to take me to my home, and stay with me until I die, which will be soon?’ and grandpa agreed to this deal. I mean things did not look too good that day. And right after the deal was made she started to catch hundreds of arrows quicker than before, as if she could control the situation: putting them out in her mouth. Yes, yes, son—in her mouth, unbelievable, but she did, and this allowed the tower to be saved from the fire arrows; hence, now it could be set against the walls and the soldiers ran up the ladder, into the tower area, and jumped across the gap, onto the great walls of the city, and stopped the storm of the skirmish, and in so doing, turned the tide of the war, the battle for the crusaders, and as we now know, it was won by us; but a deal is a deal, grandpa would say, and he had to make it good.”
“So mother,” asked Phillip, “what was the real deal?”
“Well I guess son, there is always a trick to everything when it comes to such matters, but a Knight, even if he senses it, must make good his promise, otherwise he would have no shame, no blood in his face. Anyhow I shall explain what took place. He had told grandpa she was very old, older than Alfred the Great, should he had still been living, and this creature helped escort the Saxon forces against the Norse intruders back then, back in the 9th century. So I guess she was old indeed. According to this personage, someone from up in the clouds left her behind, by the moon or beyond it. It is hard to tell such stories, but it is as grandpa told me. Consequently, he lived in Germania, within one of the towers of the Devil’s Wall. Again I imply, she was found to have fought in many wars, she liked killing, and could not be killed, she was too swift, too fast, too cleaver, compared to those who lived here on earth, and again I’m unsure where exactly she came from, but beyond the Moon, so she told grandpa. So again I say she lived in the old Roman wall tower: in one of them, in Germania. And grandpa followed her to this place. And he expected her to die shortly after. Well, things did not work out like that. The old she goat lived, and after two years grandpa got irritated, and one day, out of the blue, sliced her head off with his mighty sword like one slices bread I suppose, when she was eating dinner.
“Grandpa thought the creature was waiting for him to do it because she was no weakling, and was faster than an arrow, and couldn’t kill herself perhaps; and was tired of the lust for war.”
“Mom,” said Phillip, “Grandpa really had some good tales, if only they were true.” Angelina looked at Phillip strangely, and, said, “True, so you think it was false, do you?”
“Of course mother, don’t you?” said Phillip. Then Angelina pulled out three long sharp teeth and gave them to Phillip, “Here,” she said, “when I was your age, grandpa gave these teeth to me: they belonged to her: now you can have them, and figure out what is truth and want is not.”

Angelina of Glastonbury--and the Cart of Heads [1192-1199 AD] IV

IV

[The Green Night]

IV

[A.D. 1192-1199]

By Dennis L. Siluk


The Green Knight

Introduction: It was an ongoing dispatched war, like no other; it lasted 200-years, and six crusades, from 1096, on ward. Whatever their ultimate plan was, if indeed they had a plan were not sure. In any case, this story of Angelina’s husband is perhaps long over due, and it is really to let you know a little about him. In the first book, “The Rape of Angelina,” one got to know Angelina intimately. In the second, we were introduced to her son Phillip, and in the third, Phillip’s personality comes out more. In the fourth series, we see the gentle knight, not so gentile when it comes to war and this is the premise of Part IV.
I must agree with my wife, the three added series, are a ting boring compared to “The Rape of Angelina,” but I never set out to bring forth, another Angelina, but rather to fill in some gaps folks might have been wondering about. Her children, her husband, her sense of duty, and her love for Knighthood and in so doing, one must—I believe—look at what you are trying to show, or say. In this case: how was a life of a Page to a Squire and onto Knighthood. And how did a soldier fight in Crusades. And how does a mother look upon the world, her family, and her country, 800-years ago. Having said that let me proceed to the Green Knight’s story.
The story of the Crusades to me is a big display of motional warfare, and of course central to Angelina’s times. (Glastonbury could be compared to some small Midwestern Town, in the United States, if times were turned around. I have lived in the Midwest, was in Glastonbury, and Egypt, and most all places I write about.)
Some folks have said the Crusades were after ethnic cleansing or even religious love, and conversion; but the Green Knight, fought for his own reasons, as you will see, and as often soldier do, like myself, perhaps, out of youth, boredom, adventure, a high, to see a special place, colonialism; war has been arranged for less reasons. These motives existed then and do now; and of course the forgiveness of sins, which the Pope so neatly added into the last Crusades as a monumental obligation. But we shall see how it all comes out at the end, shall we not, as we drift to Chapter one.

The Crusades

Attack! Attack! Attack! —
An ecstasy of a fitting war:
Spirit-battle-seasons—two hundred
Years of death death came: Holy
War was its name: the Crusades.


Chapter One

A Cart of Heads


Men were called upon to go to the aid of their oppressed brothers, in Eastern Christendom (in particular, the Middle East ((fathers, sons and nephews)). I suppose one could compare the Crusades to an Islamic Jihad both sides waving their flags of religious uniformity. Thus, the first official Crusades stated in AD 1096, and about 90-years after the first came the second (1102-1187). It could be supposed, warfare at this period of time evolved out of the penitential investiture contest. Also at this point in time the Crusaders were definable in the sense to have taken a flag and emblem of the cross, which was also linked, to a vow they had to take.
It was in these early days, the Green Knight, after leisurely journeying by way of England to France, and on to Spain, readying and ending up in Sicily where eventually he was persuaded at this point. AD 1172, to join forces in a military campaign; he was a full squire, and was but 17-years old, untested in battle though.

(Born: 1155); and thirty-years older than his future wife, Angelina.)


Chapter Two

The Valley of Jezeel [AD 1183]


His first battle was that in the Valley of Jezeel. Swift he was with the sword and a mad-monster he was seen as. He had killed twenty-seven men that day, so an observing Page had told his comrades in arms.
In the heat of victory, he ran through the dusty campsite yelling:
“See, they die just like we do!” he had a cart full of slashed, sliced, and carved heads bouncing about as he pushed the cart to and fro, throughout the military camp.
A man doesn’t think of dying in battle, only before and after, and for him, he never, ever, never thought of it ever—it never occurred to him; it was, he was, incapable—death was inept of grabbing him out of his youth, his wild youth; yes indeed, unheard of to him: how foolish it my be, my sound, it is what he thought (for there is 2% of soldiers that love to kill, and have no qualms with it, and he was part of that figure).
Thus he kept these rotting heads for a week, with not helmets stinking, reeking—decaying, decomposing in the heat. He used them for Archery practice. By and by, they disappeared, as his companions saw to it unable of disposing of his trophies himself. This did in time bring a ting of fear into his own soldiers, those who fought side by side with him: brave he was, but reckless, much enjoying it, as a hawk swiftly fly’s by and grabs a land rodent, animal. And I suppose just knowing this, that he could, with a clap of an eye, show no blood in his face at staring at those rotting and decomposing heads, got to the men.

It was at the end of this year, or perhaps a moment before, he was Knighted, given Knighthood, there on the battlefield by another Knight; it was also this day he saw for the fist time—and not the last time—the face of Saladin, the Islamic warlord.
In time, the enemy feared him, feared his name that is, the Muslims, when waiting for a battle to start, had his name come up, it was like a prickle in their sides.

(The fall of Jerusalem reached the West in the autumn of 1187. Pope Urban III, in power had died.)


Chapter Three

Tripoli to Jerusalem


The Green Knight was now part of King Richard’s forces against Saladin. He had met the king while in Marseilles where King Richard had been waiting, and did not find his English Fleet as expected; they had stopped off in Portugal; thus, the King needed more men, more soldiers, and this was were the green Knight and King Richard became close allies. It would be in these following years his repudiation would grow immensely: if not legendary.
The Green Knight was part of the 3rd Division, out of three, his mission to fight off the attackers inland; this was perhaps the best classic demonstration of Frankish military of its day, to incant forth coming, and past military tactics; there were many Muslims skirmishers and light Calvary to endure on these missions, but on the 7 of September, a great battle took place, North of Arsuf—a general advance took place that is, at which point Richard stopped the charge once he archived his purpose to, perhaps to save lives, no one really knows; as a result, the Muslims retired; Richard’s army sustained little damage compared to the Muslims, and soon after the treaty with Saladin was reviewed [AD 1191].
The Green Knight was also involved with the Crusade of 1197, but thereafter having a dream of Angelina, put down his sword, once and for all, and replaced it with a green olive branch. Yet, I must add to that: once and for all, a note of reprieve:


Afterward

AD 1198


It would not be until 1199 the Green Knight would meet Angelina of Glastonbury, when he would ride on through the little town, and there see her and with one glance know for certain she was his soul mate. His last battles were in 1198 for the most part, when the forth Crusades started up, in August. He did accompany Richard, and was asked for, but declined to, server on further. His contribution was seen as sufficient (and out of the ten years King Richard would fight in the Holy Land, he would spend 10-months in his England ruling it from his throne; a pity for England, to have had a King gone so long, yet it was as it was]. And the remissions of his sins were between him and God, and the Pope, so Richard had said. At this time the Pope was promising a sinner’s sins were forgiven on the loving and willingness of men and their meritorious work, but as the Green Knight had pit it, “If God does not forgive me now, He never will.”

The Rape of Angelina of Glastonbury, 1199 AD

The Rape of Angelina
Of Glastonbury, 1199 AD, 3rd Ed. ILL


[The Green Knight]


Dennis L. Siluk


Copyright, Dennis L. Siluk
All Rights Reserved © 2003


Second Edition, Revised
Illustrated


Acknowledgements

To my wife Rosa for her long enduring patience,
And Jon McWilliams for the several books he has processed for me;
And Mike Altman for the work he has done on “Islam, In Search of Satan’s Rib”
And their associates for their assistance in
Getting my books out.

Picture on the back cover of the book is of the author
At the grave site of King Arthur at the
Glastonbury Abbey, England


Additional pictures of the Author in he area
Of Avalon in back of book

☼

A special thanks goes to Yang Yang
International Artist
For giving me permission to use his painting
For the cover of this book, “The Rape of Angelina…”


Dedication Page:

Because of my wife’s liking for this story so much, and wanting me to revise it, --in addition, adding illustrations and an Afterward, that is not in the First Edition, and so I have; --and the reader has now a ‘New Revised, Illustrated, Second Edition,’ and I dedicate it to her, with all my love, Rosa.


Index

Note to the reader: In the first Edition, 2002, there was a Part One, being the story of Angelina, and a Part Two which had a commentary on Betrayal, and a short story called Astroid-2019; these two items have been taken out of this edition at the request of the author, and replaced with two additional parts, see below.


The Poem: “The Lioness of Glastonbury”
[As Prologue/Introduction]



Chapters Include:

Chapter One London to Glastonbury
Chapter Two Glastonbury – Avalon
Chapter Three Angelina – The Diary
Chapter Four The Sword
Chapter Five Gog and Magog
Chapter Six The Inn
Chapter Seven The Wolf
Chapter Eight Chalice Well
Chapter Nine On Top of the Tor
Chapter Ten The Analysis
Chapter Eleven Last Words
Chapter Twelve Next Day


Included at the end of the chapters and story of: “The Rape of Angelina…” is two additions to the book, the “Afterward,” and pictures with information about the locations [Gog & Magog; Chalice Well; the Tor; and The Abbey, and its Barn].


Afterward
About the author and his books

About the Authors trip to Glastonbury


About the Art Work:

Pictures inside this book: “The Rape of Angelina of Glastonbury 1099 AD, 2ndEd.Ill” as well as the cover were done by Yang Yang, International Artist from China. He has been living in the United States for twenty-year, and was a professor at a University in Iowa. Presently he lives in St. Paul, Minnesota, with his wife Zuxin, where they have a gallery yyaart@.mail.com. Permission was given by the artist to use his paintings.


1) Picture One: The Three Knights
2) Picture Two: The First Knight & Angelina
3) Picture Three: The Rape of Angelina
4) Picture Four: The Knights and Angelina
5) Picture Five: Angelina in Despair
6) Picture Six: Unknown Dreams of Angelina


Note: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com Web site for the author.

The Story:


The Rape of Angelina,
Of Glastonbury



In 1278 AD, a poem was written about a maiden and a knight that appeared in Glastonbury around the year 1202 AD, he was called the Green Knight; he was there visiting the grave site of King Arthur, in the small village of Glastonbury, along with King Richard I [the Lion Heart], with an escort of some 200-soldiers on horseback. The Green Knight rode along side of the King as they entered the village road that led to the Abbey site where Arthur was buried; the site being somewhat destroyed some years earlier by fire, yet many of the foundations were still standing. During this visit, the Green Knight noticed a young girl called Angelina, and the rest is history. The poem was found written on the barn door at the Abbey where King Arthur is buried nearby. The visitor who found it was a soldier who showed it to King Edward I, who paid little attention to it.
The anonymous writer left no name only the poem and the soldier wrote it down and kept it in his house for posterity. And the remains of the poem were kept on microfiche in the vaults of one of the Universities of England for safekeeping. It was not until recently that it was found by someone doing research on Mother Shipton [a prophetess] that the poem showed up. This person then went to Glastonbury to investigate, and the story you are about to read is the story that came out of the research, to include the poem.

The poem has been modified for the sake of the reader from Old English, to a clearer reading and understanding by the author, and there are no other copies of this poem in existence other than the microfiche copy the author has, and the University has. Nor can the writer [author] disclose what University the poem was taken from and given to him, after its discovery, on behalf of the request of the institution.



١٣٩٩
The Lioness of Glastonbury
[Angelina and the Green Knight]

The lion roars
I know it’s true
In a tale told long ago
In a little village of old
Glastonbury
In this land where legends
Bare their souls

The Abbey and the Crusades
Two legends and two Kings
One buried, one rode through
This little village
Both heroes of Merry England
†
In a day,--a day
A lioness was born
As She glanced from eye to eye
Her kind heart was stripped then torn

Truly, —truly, they raped her clean
But a lioness then was born

∑

In the barn, towers high and steep
—So bold they made
This maiden—weep
She lay there strong with grace
They gave no dignity

On soil and soul
Each man laid his bodies bare
As if the tower-beams
Didn’t care

And they raped at will
With laughter, smiles and seed
As blood came from her youthful soul
And upon her knees

۳
Then two Knights left
As one Knight fell to sleep
To rest, his evil deeds

‡

Now
I tell you no more of these
Great warriors of the Crusades
But warn you, if you please

Yet I dare say:

All Knights beware
Who enter this village steep?
Ride down the hill unto the Abbey
Seek King Arthur if you will
For he is in his grave

But do not bring disgrace
Dear guest
For the lioness bears her teeth

All three Knights
Found their fate
And also found their sleep

They say that no man knew
Nor found the praetor
Of Little Glastonbury

Gk

But yet the tale is told
A whisper, a glance
Came from a Soul

A Great Knight, as he was known
Came
Dashing, flashing with his mane
No armor plate, no silver sword
Just upon his handsome horse
He remained

By the side of King Richard
He rode into Glastonbury

With an Alive branch
Within his grip
And eyes for the merry maiden
(Who stood alone)?

He looked upon her fair skin—
Her, beauty, and within her soul
Then gripped his horse
With one hand, -- dismounted
With ease
Kneeling upon one knee

For all he was renowned
Well known and fearsome
Throughout the lands
Of Franks and Muslim’s

And there he knelt
From head to toe
All Dressed in Casmir Green

He whispered to this lovely maiden
With golden hair, and eyes of blue
“Will you marry me fair lady,
For my heart belongs to you~”

And so the story’s told

For there is where he lived
– In Old Glastonbury
Until his death in 1222 [AD]

AG



Chapter One

London to Glastonbury


It was April 2002; I was in London waiting for my train to Glastonbury. I had used the Internet to find a way to get to Glastonbury; my travel Agent one that I had used for setting me up tours for some fifteen-year couldn’t come up with a good way for me to visit this little village of Glastonbury while in London on a vacation, other than having a taxi pick me up some forty-miles away from there and taking me there and visiting the place for a few hours; that just was not good enough. Being a seasoned traveler I thought it would be easy but it really wasn’t. That is, unless one wants to take an escorted tour of the whole of England and Scotland, but then you would only get a half-day in Glastonbury anyhow. I had been to the countryside of England before, to a number of locations, but never to Glastonbury.
In any case, I did not give up, I contacted by Internet a sole proprietor tour company in Glastonbury; the owner’s name was Jason, he owned a bookstore in town. He made life easy compared to the escorted tour thing, and the taxi idea; he even met me at the train station when I first arrived. But let me back up here a little bit.
I had to go to some little town I never heard of, Castle Cary, and that really would have confused my travel agent, I couldn’t even find it on the map until I got one of those maps at the train station that show you every house on every block, and every stop sign almost. ‘Yup,’ I said, ‘there it is.’
When I got there [meaning: Castle Cary] I was wondering if I was at the right place: I thought I was in some western town like Tombstone, in Arizona. He did show up, and drove me into Avalon, or as some would have me say, Glastonbury. But I think Avalon is part of Glastonbury. Or put another way, maybe it is the other way around, that being, Glastonbury is part of Avalon [which ever one was first history].
As we traveled the countryside to the town-let, it was quite beautiful, seemingly more breathtaking than I had thought it would be, as was the countryside coming in by train, rather than by bus.
As Jason drove, I was quiet impressed by the small train station yet. It was like it come right out of a western movies but it was real. I mentioned it to Jason, and he chuckled.
As I reflected as we drove through the countryside to the town of Glastonbury, I thought about how I leaped off the train onto the cement platform, and faced the brick station. The little house station was made mostly out of wood, but had its share of red brick. How charming! Like I was thinking, Jessie James style, unique: or so such an image came to me, having been in Northfield, where Mr. James robbed the bank here in the 1880s.
And then Jason standing there saying, “You must be Lee,” as I was looking around for him, he was right in back of me.
I looked; he was pleasant looking, in his mid late forties; long hair, blue jeans, a brown vest, and a piece of paper in his hand. I had my hat on as always, one made of wool [felt], which I picked up about five years prior to this visit in the Black Hills of South Dakota. I also had on my blue jean vest on, and jean pants, with a light sweater, and a cashmere scarf I picked up in London, for there was a chill in the air.
We stood for a moment just kind of staring at one another, as I got acclimated to my surroundings, and he to me, then he invited me to his vehicle which was a van, for a ride in to Glastonbury.
And here we are sitting in the canVan, on our way to the land of myths and legends, to Avalon, and the Tor. Avalon for the most part is an area that has a number of hills; some say it was at one time an island. Today it is more like a grazing field of sorts: cows roam up and down it freely. And the Tor seems to be a manmade hill in the middle of an ancient island. But everything is connected today. Meaning, it is not separated with water, that is, the island of Avalon and Glastonbury seem to blend into one another.
When we got to the town of Glastonbury, Jason drove me directly to the B&B he had arranged for me to stay at, for three days during my visit; it was on the tip of the Tor, things couldn’t get much better.
He said we would be going on our tour in about forty-minutes, he was waiting for a newspaper woman, who was going to meet us on our journey today, and do an article on Avalon; my kind of guy, down to business.
Evidently, she had lived in the town of Glastonbury for several years; I thought she should know all there is to know but maybe not. At any rate, I told myself, it would be a good experience to have some company. And she was very good company: I was not married at the time, and so I traveled the world alone.
As Jason showed us around the countryside, and the town of Glastonbury, the ancient sanctuary or Abbey should I say, where King Arthur was buried, I got goose-bumps: thinking this whole area was a sacred center overflowing with legends. This is where the Holy Grail, the chalice of the Last Supper was; King Arthur, the Round Table and the Glastonbury Zodiac; along with the Isle of Avalon, where the sacred egg-stone was. And of course there was that Abbey where King Arthur was buried, which burned in the late 12th Century, and the Tower Abbey on top of the Tor.
I had visited Stonehenge a few years back but you couldn’t do anything but look from behind a fence; what a squander of time and money. I guess it is nice to say you saw it, but that is all you can say you really can’t absorb it. And the tour I was with, only allowed you to stay for forty-five minutes what a shame, what a loss. They wanted to get you to Bath for some odd reason, look at the Roman baths, as if it could hold a candle to Stonehenge, which I did not think it could. So, this was better, Avalon in the bare; there were no fences as I noticed when we arrived at the tip of the Tor, where the B&B was. The Tour was quite informative, although I had done my research prior to this, and knew almost where everything would be located anyway.
I asked questions, and gave some of my ideas about the terraces, feeling there were entrances into the Tor terraces where one could get on his knees possibly and move around the terraces. Jason didn’t disagree he simply smiled. Many legends are stored in this area; I guess who can say for sure anything. If there were cave like tunnels, as legend would have it, maybe this was a way to the underworld, as proclaimed. Also Chalice Well nearby is said to have such an entrance also: an entrance to the underworld. After the tour I went back to the Tor. I would find myself going back five times in the three days I was there.


Chapter Two

Glastonbury-Avalon


Glastonbury to me is an outshoot of Avalon or at least that is the way I have seen it. It really couldn’t be to the contrary after being there; Avalon was old with many wounds long before Glastonbury was born. But nonetheless, Glastonbury claims it as the Tor of Glastonbury, rather than the Tor of Avalon, not sure why. But they are proud in all respects.
This area dates back to a very old period. It is located in the Somerset area of England. An area dating back to 4,000 BC; and still if you were to look for artifacts like flints and so forth, the period would pre-date 20,000 BC, and possible 75,000 BC.

It was April of 2002, when the wind pushed me about a little bit: --, as I stood on the Tor [hill-of Avalon], -- but I found it to be most interesting standing there, that is, the power of the wind, the mystic waves in the air, the myths that were seeping into my veins, making the place come alive.
The woman who owned the Bed & Breakfast on the edge of the Tor, the proprietor that is, was also enchanted with the place; --amazingly, still after so many years. She painted the Tor on every conceivable item, for example: Glasses, cups, curtains, paintings, postcards, bookmarkers; you name it; she drew it, in many different dimensions and colors. She also had it on the wall-rugs.
I suppose it was hard for her not to be co-dependent on such a magnetic force as the Tor being on your door steps in which the B&B was planted right on its body.
I enjoyed visiting the Glastonbury village when I wasn’t on the tour or the Tor. Matter of fact, I found an Inn I had a good huge steak in. And found myself walking by the Abbey, which was for the most part destroyed, but that is what created its enchanting value, I think. You knew it tasted the hard gothic part of humanity especially as one stood standing by the Tower on the Tor, and glanced to the Abbey area of Glastonbury, you can see the sun as it rises to the summit and over the Tor. It was the first week of April, and I am not sure if that extends beyond that time, but it was but a glimpse into the pulse of the myths.
This area at one time could have been called the wetlands; it was full of hills and sites. There was almost a magic to the area; Chalice Well being the entrance to the Underworld, was close by the Bed & Breakfast I was staying at, just a hop-skip-and-jump to its back yard gardens; and the water was as pure as any on earth—and the huge trees called Gog and Magog, after two giants of old; and relating to Biblical events. And then they have the Glastonbury Zodiac. It surely is a world of its own, the Tor being an artificial feature originating in Neolithic times, if not older.
I chose this story to add into this book because of its nature, when one reads the stories of Avalon and its surrounding area one finds out many things, such as you can notice the outline of a huge lion delineated by the river Cary and an ancient road.

King Richard the Lion Hearted of England, a warrior like King Arthur whom is buried at the Glastonbury Abbey, shares a little part of the lore of Avalon… but I do want to get into this area quite yet, the story part that is, for folklore will come alive at is own subtle pace. As I lay upon the windy thick grass of the Tor one day, an old man came by and sat by me. He said he was drawn to the Tor, like any of his comrades in the village.
He explained, “No one really knows why they come here, that is the residents of Glastonbury, which was down the hill a-ways as you leave the Tor.”
But he added, “We seem to find ourselves here, and when we wake up to that fact, we are standing here, we look around. And here I see you.”
I then introduced myself.
He asked if I wanted to know about Angelina. I asked, “Who is she?”
“She is my great, great, great…” then he hesitated, and finished, “She goes back a long ways to about 1199 AD, at the end of the Crusades. She was a great grandmother of sorts. I am related to her.”
I asked, “Why would I want to know about her?” which I kind of did now want to know.
“Because it is April, and that is the month she was born in. And the month she was raped. And the month she died.”
I hesitated, he smiled, and I wasn’t sure what kind of face to put on.
Then he said, “At Chalice Well, you will see a Lion’s Head. Angelina was a lioness. Although people thought she was timid, and coy, she was far from it. When she died, in 1221 AD, she left her diary, and the story of the three soldiers who wanted to rape her; one did the other two… Well, that’s part of the story; no one ever found out what happened to them or for that matter, how they died. But I know I got the diary. I found it in 1984, hidden in the old Abbey Barn, that place has a magnificent roof, doesn’t it?”
I told him I had seen it and it was a piece of art and an engendering feat.
“Where is the diary now?” I asked.
“I read it, and I hid it.”
And that was all he was going to tell me about that. But I asked him to tell me about his Great…grandmother. Evidently she died about at the age of 35.
“Incidentally, my name is Arthur, you know, after the king,” he smiled and started to tell me the story, word-by-word out of the diary, evidently he had memorized it.


Chapter Three

Angelina
The Diary


The Three Knights

AD 1199


It was a sunny morning, a Friday in my little village of Glastonbury. A few dogs were barking as they ran down the Tor of Avalon, as they always do, but a distance from the town I live in or I guess you could say by. Some people call the Tor, the Tor of Glastonbury, while others call it the Tor of Avalon. Anyway, the roosters were singing, trying to wake up the live souls of the countryside, as well as the town, and the dead ones under the Tor. There are legends you know of the priests and others who found tunnels leading around the Tor in a maze like form. Some got stuck in there never to return. I think portions of the Tor collapse on them. While others, a few that is, made it out, but went crazy. Matter of fact, my grandpa says, wasn’t all that long ago when three priests came out of the tunnel in a half looking daze. They were never the same again.
Angelina is my name, I am 13 years old, but will be 14 by the time this diary is finished, I hope. Anyway, I walked by the big Yew trees not far from the Tor, as I do most everyday, thinking about its legend of the giants that were called by the names, Gog and Magog, the Bible proclaimed these names to mean other things I guess; my grandmother told me so. I mentioned them because I love climbing them, and it will become a part of an ugly situation I must explain in this diary. I love climbing those trees. They are like grandfathers to me, big, and a little clumsy, but always calm, and comforting. My real grandpa that is, you know, how they smile and everything seems to turn all right.
I was always safe within their branches of the big yews. I could see all around the area from high up in their ancient old branches. I sure miss them even as I write this down this very minute. You know, I could see Chalice Hill, the Tor, some farmland to the East, and Wearyall Hill to the Northwest. Sometimes if I climbed high enough I could see the River Brue.
As I was saying, this morning I was walking down the hill to the village where on one side the Tor is, and the other the yews. The two most soul gripping landmarks around in our area, except for my lovely city of Glastonbury, where none other than the great King Arthur is resting in peace at the Abbey, I would soon walk by there, and onward to visit my grandfather, who lived alone by the Abbey. It was to be my 14th birthday tomorrow. I would not be a kid after that, yaw, and no more a kid. It’s funny, one day you are, and the next you’re not. But mama says we all grow up so fast, us kids that is; but I was looking forward to be a growing woman, or so I felt. And somehow by the time I’m done with this diary, I will again. Something in my body tells me this. I can’t put a finger on it, but you know what I’m talking about, don’t you? Sure you do.
Oh, a good thing went through my mind, -- as I walked down the second hill leading into Glastonbury, it went through my mind the news that everyone was talking about, which was that the Crusades were ending, if not over. It takes a while for the word to get back sometimes to our village. The word was, King Richard the Lion Hearted was coming home. He never did stay much in England though, always off to war it seemed, but none-the-less, he is a brave king, much like King Arthur, a king to be loved and feared, and most of all, admired. I love them both so very much. There are not other such kings I’ve ever heard about, from France or Germany that were so great. And someday, I would find my king, my prince to marry. Whoever he is, when I marry him, he will be like one of them two. They are my heroes. I know I’m a dreamer, mother says so, but dad says dreams come true, and then he whispers in my ear, “Just look, I married your mother,” and we laugh, but mom, she doesn’t know our secret. Oh dad’s so much fun.
But I know I’m still young, although I’m developing well for a young woman. My breasts are starting to show through my dresses now; they hurt sometimes, and are hard, but my girlfriends all tell me it’s the way things are, you know, part of becoming a woman. They also tell me to cross my legs so the boys don’t look up my dress. I can’t believe boys do that. Mom never told me that, nor dad, or for that matter grandpa.
As I was saying, I am developing, and I do notice a few boys looking at me, so I must be a little pretty. I have a slim waist, whom I know is eye catching for the boys, they tell me so, and they like to put their hands on it as if to measure it, but I slap their hands right off. I’m not as dumb as they think I am. I pretend not to know many things. I think they think that’s attractive, for some odd reason; --I think they feel more complete then.
And I really do not want to compete, nor do I care for any boy around here. My married partner will be a knight, a prince, a king maybe. He will take me by the hand and I will know instantly he is my mate to be. It will be love at first sight. Oh, yes. Grandpa says it’s possible. And some of my girlfriends think I’m foolish to follow such a fairy tale dream. But look at King Arthur he married Guenevere. She was beautiful, and I will be also. That is why I am taking care of myself now.
My hair is growing long like hers. I know she was a princess before she married King Arthur, but…but, you know, it’s possible. Grandpa says it is. I know she was a betrayal to Arthur, but I will not be to my husband. Oh no, not me. I will be passionate, wise and he will be courageous. I still like Guenevere, she is not a true heroine though, but grandpa says we do things out of nature, I guess that means evil enchants us some how. And it strikes deadly blows that are what happened to King Arthur and Guenevere I think.


Tomorrow


My eyes and hair were like the sun shinning over the Tor, so very soft looking, when I looked at them in my mirror. I was a beauty and would be fourteen years old in one day tomorrow is my birthday. Some of my friends got married at 13, but I was going to wait until 15, my grandfather told me it was wise that I become more learned before I take such a step. And I wanted to be wise like Guenevere; and so I would wait.
One of the things I loved the most, especially when I walked to my grandfather’s house was walking by, and sometimes playing in the Abbey on top of the Tor [400-feet up]; it could be a long walk up the hill, but when everyone was gone, I’d climb up, and pretend I was a ball, rolling down the slopes or as someone was chasing me; I’d roll over the terraces of the Tor, by the cows, and sometimes end up on my knees. They’d be green like the grass, but it was fun. It is just a manmade hill, some people say, but I know it is much more; and so do the cows that graze there, and chase me.
When I wanted to stop rolling down its slopes I’d grab the long grass; it was so strong, I think its roots went right to the top of the Tor, or all the way to the Yew trees.
Sometimes I felt I never wanted to grow up and have to deal with men, and chores. Just roll down the hill of the Tor, and visit the Abbey in the village where the great king was buried. Then my body seemed to think different at times when I got thinking about heroes, and cute looking boys.
My stomach would ache recently thinking about my hero, who he would be. I’d even dream about him. But who could match my King or knight, my choice, which could be nothing less. But God would not give me somebody I didn’t want, --I knew that. And so if I have to wait until I’m 16 or even 17, I will.
I started skipping down the rest of the hill, by the Town Abbey, which was to my left, and so I turned to the left to walk along its side as I always do, that way I could see King Arthur’s gravesite through the stonewalls. The walls were in sections, and parts were somewhat destroyed by a fire, and this one section was lowered because of wars long ago; portions of the Abbey were lying about, like great stone monuments. Grandpa remembers the Abbey when it was all together. He said it was grand as grand can be. Like that Cathedral I hear they are building in Paris-France, Notre Dame, and Westminster Abbey in London Town.

Soldiers

Then all of a sudden three soldiers rode up by me; they seem to come from out of nowhere. I was a little startled, my eyebrows went up, and I caught my breath for a moment, I stretch my neck to look up at the three men on horseback; they seem to be like towers to my small frame, for I was only 5’ feet tall. They looked massive as the sun reflected off their faces, and shields tied to their horses, and long, very long swords attached to their sides. It was like they were shinning all over the place.
The horses had armament all over them, and the soldiers had huge looking faces, beards, and big belts that looked like they could put around a tree. Their skins were golden bronze, like leather, and two had red hair; one, the younger one, had black hair.
As I continued looking up at them, I was dumfounded, speechless, my throat went dry, not sure why, but it did. I just didn’t expect three huge knights to stop. They were from the Crusades I told myself, heroes of war I told myself. The horse’s nostrils were steaming, trying to grasp some more air. It evidently was a long ride. Sweat was pouring off their mane, and bellies. You could see their stomachs going in and out trying to get more air.

“Good day sirs, my name is Angelina. Can I help you with direction?” I said with a sigh of relief once I got my shock feeling in place.
Some jewelry was dangling from all of the wrists of the knights. I remember walking by the Inn down in the village and the knights that stopped by for ale used to say it was warned by the Arabs to keep demons at a distance, to distract. So they must be from the Holy Land, although I heard the war was over about five years ago, when I was but a youngster. I think this 3rd Crusade lasted about five years, or so I was told. I can’t believe they are still returning home, but maybe.
They were strangers. I smiled, and the more innocent I looked with my smile and confused, the more these three looked at one another. Then all three started staring at me as if they were lost for words; again, for the second time they looked at one another: --nodding as if it was a signal, and then they started to dismount.
I smiled again, and pointed to the grave of my hero King Arthur, thinking that is what they wanted to see, for many, even past kings, had come to his gravesite to pay their respects.
As all the three were dismounted, I looked around kind of nervous because no one really said anything, some grunts and staring but not really any words. I noticed there was really no one about. But why I was looking about anyway, I asked myself.
Now I caught the eyes of the huge one, the one that seemed to be the leader. He had bushy red hair, as he took the inside of his helmet off his head, which looked like a cashmere [goat] scarf, keeping his hair in place, it evidently was used for his helmet, which he tucked into the metal helmet as he tied his horse to the nearby tree.
I looked up at him, he was the tower of Babel, I had read about in the Bible, and Mom read the story to me. There were not many bibles around, and most women could not read, but mama could, and the bible was given to her by the Abbey priest years ago before the Abbey burnt down. She would clean out the stables and the Abbey free for him, for years, and in return he taught her to read.
He was twice my size in height it seemed, and three-times, if not more times my weight, I think. I know I was less than 100-lbs dad kids me about that. But he says I will grow and develop soon.
He then took off his sword from his belt, and tied it someway to the horse, I looked at the other two, and noticed I was the main focus of them also, so I discovered as my heart started to beat twice as fast, almost jumping out of my chest; it was not the grave site they were interest in, I know that now, it was... is “Me…
Meeeeeeeeee! Oh no, really meeeeeee they wanted. “But why, I am just a kid? Answer me.” They pretend not to hear me.

He started smiling now, not sure why, the huge one, the “big…fat pig, heeeeeeeeeiiissssssssss looking at meeeeeee
eeeeee again.”

I turned my face, I don’t want to look at him anymore, he’s going to do something, and I don’t want to see it. Oh, he is … pissing by the tree, and it is hanging out, his, you know…snake… I don’t want to see.”
I am looking at the red headed soldier now, he is tall and thin, but older than the other two; he has some wrinkles around his eyes, forehead, and sunspots on his hands. But he looks rugged, tough.
And the Black Hair Boy, he is in his early 20’s I think, he is younger, and kinder looking than the other two, not sure if he is English or one of those Islamic-Arabs. He does not have a white completion, he has a straight nose and square jaw, piercing blue eyes though, long black hair; where did he get those blue eyes, and they do not go with the rest of him for some odd reason; his skin is more bronze, a natural color, not all from the sun. On his saddle he has an Arabic number “۳ ” not sure what it means, I think it is a symbol though. I have just noticed on the tall thin men arm a tattoo; it is a cross of sorts, †. I don’t want to turn around and see that huge man he scares me.
The huge one grabbed me by the waist and lifted me up like a toy, like a small watermelon I suppose you could say, jumped over the stonewall and is carrying me over to the Abbey Barn. The other two we see right behind me. I feel like a cow, a bundle of hay being carried, my head is bobbing up and down. The two are starting to smile I’m kind of upside down. He’s walking faster my side is hurting me. He is caring me with one arm around my waist and I think I just kicked him in the face.
“Ouch,” he just hit my butt, -- slapped it. The other two are starting to laugh. I thought the young one was kinder, but he is like the tall thin one.

“Ouch, ouch…”He is pinching my legs, “STOP…PP…please ss
sss
١ sssSS.”

He is bringing me into the barn. I don’t believe this. He just threw me on my back onto the ground; I can see the towering beams staring at me from above, I feel like passing out; I think I hurt my spine.
He’s tearing off my garments, and the other two are just staring at me.
Why do they not do something?


The First Knight & Angelina

“Please stop him…” I cried.
All they do is stare at me as he is doing this my pretty dress.

I just kicked dirt in his face from the barn floor.
“Ouch…” he just slapped my face, if he does it again, I will pass out. He is very strong.

I am looking at the sides of the barn I never really noticed before, and I’ve been in here a hundred times, it is made of brick, that is why it is so cool in here, and now, now my body is naked, and they are all staring at me. Oh God, now what?
The windows are in the form of crosses, circles, and light coming through them. The two men are still standing by me, watching the huge one. The young one just staring, I can see his eyes, but he is looking at my legs, and the huge one spread them apart.
And the tall thin one has a smirk on his face.
The huge one just threw my torn dress to my side; I lay there bare before these beasts. They are not heroes. I want to close my eyes, sleep I do not want to know what they are going to do next. I know.
I am naked, naked…”Stoppppppppp…” the more I cry the more the big man pushes my legs apart.
The young one and the thin one are grabbing my wrists now.


The Rape of Angelina

He is putting his body weight on me now, and that snake is hard as a rock, I can’t breath. I think I’m going to die.
He is inside of me, inside my skin, I feel like I’m coming apart, he is ripping me, like I’m being cut open.

It seemed to me the roof was caving in on me. My head was hitting the ground as he pushed in and out; I thought I was going to pass out. I didn’t scream anymore, I wanted to be a soldier, I was a lion inside now, what more could he do. I hated this man I told myself, and his two followers. King Arthur would not allow this, nor would King Richard to know this was to take place he would kill the soldiers. He would have had them killed, slaughtered.
And now the thin and big ۲ man was taking off his cloths, getting ready.
I lay there as if I was frozen. I will not give them pleasure other than what they can imagine while they do what they please. I am a lion, and my silence means I will hunt them down like King Arthur did with the unmoral subjects of his kingdom.

Am I dreaming? Open your eyes! Oh no, here he comes, the thin man. I forgot for a moment, I am only 13-year old, a kid. I feel like a warrior being punished for being an enemy. They are the enemy I am a soldier from King Arthur’s roundtable. And they were the forces of evil.
Like King Richard the Lion Heart, if I was born a man, I would have struck them dead right this minute, this very minute. But I am a lioness, and a lioness thinks first, and reacts later; we have to be more cleaver than the beast, wait, and be shrewd.
The war starts now. And now he entered me this thin beast. He is looking right into my eyes; his mouth is foaming with saliva, dripping on my belly. I will smile at him, and not cry, as he pulls me to him, like a slab of beef on a butcher’s table. I will show him the lioness will not surrender.
He just knocked the wind out of me, I can’t breathe again, and I am gasping for air; damn! He was quicker than the huge beast. Thank God, but is that all there is to it, to his kind of sex, why does he go through all this trouble for a few minutes, about nine minutes. I was counting to keep my mind going; --I counted up to five hundred.


The Knights and Angelina


Now the two men are standing talking over me, as if I was a ham, I want to swear at them, call them all kinds of nasty names, but I will not lower my dignity to that. I am dizzy; I need to focus my eyes. They are telling the young one to take me, and afterwards to meet them at the Inn, which is down the road.
Even the Arab warrior Saladin would not do this. I have heard about that warrior, and King Richard was going to marry his nephew’s sister. And so he must have been a little honorable. But this young knight, I think is an Arab will turn into a beast soon.
They have now left, and the young man is undressing. I thought so he wants me also. And he will kill me, I know, he will have to.
I will have to suffer one more time, I can’t avoid this, and I can’t think of what to do. But I will pretend I like it, get him to get off guard. That is how soldiers fight. They look for a weak point in the castle, and that is where they attack. My grandfather was a soldier, and he told me that. He said his comrades would find a vulnerable spot in the fortress, and put most of their efforts into seizing that area. And so I shall, there is no other way.
He is raping me like a prostitute at the Inn, I heard they sell themselves to the men and make lots of money, why don’t they just go there, in Town, the Inn is only a short distance away, and now I had to pretend I liked it. He would most likely have to kill me so I couldn’t tell the town’s folk. But maybe they were not afraid of that. There would be no justice for these soldiers should I die, they are heroes to all. They will say the war made them do it. And all will feel sorry for them and they will go free. I must hold my tears: --there would be time later for that I have a plan.


Angelina in Despair


◊
Angelina’s Thoughts


Doubts could only weaken me, I would look back at them; I can’t allow that; fate would deny me my prize if I did, my prince, my knight, my life. I am not like the others who marry whoever, whenever, somewhere, anywhere along the hills and valleys of this land. Life will stop for me, like them.
This was like blood seeping from me; --I have to stop it, clear the way for the return of my life. I need to be a master strategist, exercising control over my terrifying ordeal. I need to set ambushes cleverly, for I am out numbered, use darkness for advantages --also surprise. I know I can win a great war with a little hope; it is all I have now.
Grandpa once said it is no secret if you just tell one soul, I will tell no one, not even my soul my mind, no one. Grandpa was in a war, he knows how to battle. He told me many times, I remember him saying you have to look for the one with the most courage and kill him first, for he was the most dangerous. But I will do that second. They want to take everything away from meee all that belongs to my futurerrrrr and I have to accept their fate for me. NoooooooOOO!! I have the answer, a deadly one. This will be their last conquest. What comes from your heart mom says, comes out of your mouth. And so it was war that came from their heart, and it is war that will bind them. Dad used to say if you live by the sword you will die by the sword that is why he buried his, long before he married mom. I will not marry a man who will die by the sword, just like mom.



Chapter Four

The Sword


Now the young soldier is naked, he’s ٣ spreading my legs just like the others did, as if I was a piece of butter; his thumbs in my thighs, it hurts, but nothing like the weight from the huge one, but it still hurts. I wish he were kinder. He is doing as he pleases I am a mere nothing.
But he doesn’t see the lioness in me, King Arthur could or King Richard. But I’m not going to resist, or show him the line yet.
He likes my smile, for the first time he looked at me with tenderness, I think that is because he wants I want him. You know, say how much I enjoy him.
“Ouchhhhhhhh…” my cheeks are numb, I’m trying to look at how he is doing it. I don’t even know where he is, but on top of me; my face is under his chest, and he stinks of old sweat, like a fish; he’s going to break my bones if he squeezes me any harder.

I see his sword it is on the left side of him. He is jumping like a rabbit. What kind of thing is this gee! I hope it is more than this when I get… I can’t say it, “Ouchhhhhhhcc…
Occcccc
۳ Chh, damn, damnnnn…it hurts.”

Don’t these soldiers ever talk, or is it some kind of ritual, when you rape you say nothing. There is blood coming out of me, on my legs, I hope he didn’t cut me with his knife; I didn’t see him do it. Why the blood? He sees my tears. He is wiping them, some kind of compassion. There he goes; he did it, that crazy sound and jump, as if his insides exploded. I know he’s going to stop soon the other two did when this happened.

I saw a smile on his face, from the corner of my eye, again. What kind of a smile is that when you hurt me, and smile? Steal my life from me. He smiled again, the third. I gave him what he wanted, no resistance, what is this stupid smile of his for. As if I liked it. I was saving myself for my hero, not for this piece of dirt. I wanted a hero, not a dirty soldier like this in a barn. How dare he smile so many times!
Now he entered me again. Damn, I am really sore; I can’t stop the tears anymore. I’m trying to smile.
“Push” he said.
These were the first words I heard from his mouth, and so I pushed, but thought, -- ‘what for?’ he’s pushing. Matter of fact he is pushing me so hard it seems I will break my back bone soon; damn, I can’t push, he’s too heavy for me to even move.
He was not gentle at…at all not, not gentle, but not so mean looking as he was before. Now he looks a little safer. Now is my opening, the vulnerable spot grandpa told me about concerning the castles. The other two stopped, but this monster keeps going on and on.
He is robbing me of everything. Stealing my life I had saved for a later date; he doesn’t know maybe I am not fifteen years old yet, but he didn’t ask.
Not now it is too late to ask. He is inside of me again, but his snake is not as hard or long as before. There he goes again, with that explosion, and those faces, as if someone is strangling him. My grandpa said there is a price for everything, and I am a lioness, like King Richard.
He stopped, thank God; is he going to do it again, oooooooo
Oohhhh…
I hope not. He is pulling himself to his knees, trying to catch his breath. I have to think fast, I do not want him to go, not yet, not quite yet. I would never see him again; or I would be dead. And I feel now like lion. I have gone through the war, and he is the weak part of the castle, this moment, before he gets his strength back. I know this to be so, my whole being is telling me, now, nowwwww…ww…www … !!!! Orrr…never…!

“I enjoyed it very much sir, but only from you. Could you do it again, please, oh please? I think I love you. But if you have to rest I will wait for you. Oh yes, you are tired I see. PLEASE don’t tell me to go!” I pleaded to the young soldier.
He looked strange at me, as if I was crazy. He looked dumbfounded, as I had looked a while ago.
“Sure,” he said with his eyebrows up, a glittering smile, as if he was the king of the Tor.
Then as he lay down by my side I put my hands through his hair, I seen my mother does that to dad, and he always falls to sleep.
There he goes, just like dad. He is sleeping, as if he did a day’s work.

The Lion


I got up walked about the huge barn, picked up my torn dress, and put it backs on. I looked dirty, like a beggar with this dress, and filth all over me. The light was now shinning heat into the barn. It was closer to lunchtime I knew. He would be hungry in a short while; dad and grandpa always get hungry about this time. The heat would wake him, his body was hot, and it would cool, and the warmth of the sun would wake him. I grabbed his sword, it is very heavy, and I had to grip it with two hands. I finally got it in the air after turning my body in a circle a few times with the sword swinging out. I had to keep a good grip on it so it would not fly out of my hands, it would wake him, and he’d kill me for certain.
Around and around I went, like I was jump-roping [Angelina’s Thoughts: --Now is the time to be strong Angelina, kill the first and then the one with courage and you shall have your future. --Who is that talking to me? --I am the secret.] I am swinging it in a circle, I am a little clumsy; but I have it still in the air. As I look at him sleeping, he does not look so much like a giant, as he did before, he rather looks helpless, like I did. I have it over my head now. I’m getting a little dizzy.
His nostrils are bre…bre…breathing in air, and when it comes out///…out///… half is out of his nose and the other half out of his mouth. I have never noticed that with dad or grandpa before, I’ll have to check that out sometime.
The sword is getting heavy, “Let it go, let it go, go, goooooo, ggggoooo…Noww
W
W
W
W
Wwwww…”

I let the sword fall I am guiding it to his neck, “yes, yes,” ddo
Oowwnnn
Nnn!!
Now, now it’s dropping.
“SLASH….ssssssssssssssssssss,” right through his neck.

His eyes opened ٣ opened٣
His arms moved his body quiv… quivered like a chicken dying, a sna…k…e q with no head, jumping, only the tail moving and the sword lay between his lower dorsal and his upper part of the body; his neck is like a bare ham.
I think he is looking at me, but his head is off, how can that …that be? He looks like he is in disbelief, he is looking now at his legs, and his eyes are crossing over to the sword.

₪


“Sir, I have just cut your head off, you should not have raped me. I am truthfully sorry for this, as I’m sure you maybe are now for having done what you felt you had to do to me, and so I forgive you. You are surely one of the noblest knights in the entire world, and I shall not forget that. If I did not know you I would have guessed you to be Sir Galahad, for he was the servant of the Lord. And I think you could have been him. But…”

He is closing his eyes, and yet his head remains off. But I know he heard me, for I seen a tear appear. “I think you were hoping Merlin was here. He would wave his hand over you and you would be smiling again. But King Arthur would still not allow what you did; indeed, I have saved you from a shameful knife in your heart, and from the shame you would have brought the Roundtable, for that is what may have happened had you done that with his knowledge.”
I looked at him for a minute, after thinking all these things, and said to myself, out loud, for no one was around anyway but him and me:

“Now see, you steal from me, and I steal from you. I cannot give you back life, nor can you give me back my virginity an eye for an eye. But I will pray for your soul, if you pray for my return of my virginity. Maybe it is possible. Many things are possible, people think are not. For I have never thought I could have killed you, and see, here I did. It was really simply once you put your mind to it.”
Having said that, I took his sword and dug a hole in the dirt right where he lay, about three feet deep, and I rolled him into it just like mom puts in the ham during winter, that is, she puts it under the ground to preserve it. I shall do the same.
Then I buried his head separately. He had several pieces of silver, and so I took them for my torn dress, and I took his horse which was by the stonewall tied to a tree. I took off the saddle, and just kept the horse; he was big, and I liked him. Then I went and bought a new dress.
Then spent the evening at my grandfather’s house giving him the horse as a gift; --I told him it was from the young soldier from war, who asked me to keep it as a gift, for the war was over and it just brought back old memories. Grandpa liked the horse so very much he named him Big Angelina; for it was a huge horse, and he was so very friendly.
As we sat around that evening, I asked grandpa about the war in the Holy Lands. He knows everything about every thing; I asked how women were treated in such places as the Holy Land.
He explained that there was some holy man named Muhammad, who married an older woman when he was young. I guess this was hundreds of years ago. And he formed a religion called Islam. Well, this woman was a fine lady, and had a business, shipping camels to different cities. And that she and Mohammed believed in the right to marry whomever you wanted. And her husband respected that she. They were married for about 25-year. But after his death, the Muslim world did not follow his life style and married many wives, for Mohammed during his marriage with her, he never married anyone else; after she died of course, it is a different story.
And then after his death, women became more of an item than a sidekick or partner to the Muslims even though he did not advocate that kind of behavior for his followers.
I liked the story when Mohammed was married to this first woman, called Khadija, but not after her, I think he changed. She was noble as he was as I would be. But it helped me understand a few things a little, I think. Anyway, the men took only what they wanted, and threw the rest away, how convenient. Just like this young man and his two friends did when they could have went to the Inn and got with silver all they wanted to.


Unknown Dreams of Angelina


Chapter Five

Gog and Magog


The next day, as my grandfather and I sat at the breakfast table, I thought of what King Arthur would do if his subjects betrayed him. He was a fair king, and my grandfather’s table looked liked the famous Round Table, he and his knights would sit at, and figure things out. And today I was 14-year old. And although the table was not as big as King Arthur’s, it would do. I was born the year the disastrous fire of 1184 destroyed the Abbey buildings in the center of Town, where King Arthur was buried. At which time there were treasures being stored at the Abbey such as gold and silver vessels, and manuscripts were among the losses the priests wept about; everybody stealing from everyone else back then I guess.

But I had my own disaster to contend with; the people of Glastonbury would not believe me. If I told my grandpa it would kill him. But I had silver in my pocket, nine pieces of silver, and I had a plan. King Richard would be proud of me.
“Are you going to eat your bread,” asked my grandfather, smiling at me.
“Oh grandpa-pa, sure, I’m dreaming of my hero who will come some day and take me by the hand and… I mean find me and take me to…” I hesitated, “I don’t wish to ever leave Avalon, or Glastonbury. I guess they are both the same. I loved the Abbey, for it was built about 500 years before I was born, but I didn’t care for the Abbey Barn anymore. I liked King Arthur’s gravesite.
“I must go grandpa-pa, but I want to stay another night here if I can. If mom comes down please tell her I want to stay. I will go home tomorrow.”


Henry

I then left the little house and ventured down to see Henry, a hunter and seller of furs. When I got to the end of the village, he was skinning a fox.
“Henry,” I called.
“Yes, little Angelina. What can I do for you?” he said, putting down his carving tools.
“I want to buy a furious Wolf.”
“What?” he said in surprise.
“A wolf, I have nine pieces of silver.”
He looked at me strange, and then caught sight of my silver.
“I want to buy the wolf, and free him at the same time, but first I want a cage for him, so I can teach him to be gentle.”
Henry looked at me with strange eyes, “Five will do,” he said, trying not to cheat me. I quickly ran home, took my grandpa’s horse and ran back with the horse to Henry’s house and got my wolf, which was all of four feet tall from the ground to his shoulders; and his shoulders were two feet wide; he looked like a mean little horse, no, no, he looked worse, --as mean looking as the devil himself, -- just what I wanted.
“Now feed him as soon as you get him home, Angelina.” Henry said with a serious voice; adding, “I put a rope around his mouth so he can not harm you, but wolfs are very dangerous.”
I assured him I would be careful. And he put the wolf on the back of my horse and cart; tying one front leg up with a piece of rope so he could not jump on me or run away.



Chapter Six

The Inn

That afternoon I went down to the Inn where the huge one was resting in his room and the tall thin one was downstairs drinking. When I walked through the Inn doors, the soldiers looked at me strangely. It was early morning and the Inn, I think, had not been opened more than an hour or two, for there were only about seven guests; I think they were thinking I was going to say something, but I simply smiled.
They were boasting about their exploits of the war; how the Islamic-mercenaries, called the assassins, some kind of Islamic sect, murdered their victims, while high on opium. I had heard about them from other people. They followed some leader called “The Old Man of the Mountain” [Sinan]. I guess they would do anything, kill themselves [suicide] so they could kill their enemies to please this person. They would fling themselves into their targets, that being other soldiers, the enemy. They were boasting how they killed several of them. They called them terrorists; that they came from Persia, Iraq, Egypt.
I noticed the tall thin knight that raped me standing by the wine barrow talking to some ugly woman, I noticed from the corner of his eye, he was watching me; maybe even a little embarrassed to be with such a hog. I think he was wondering what I was about to say.
He was thinking how to shame me if I say something about what he did to me, that was running wild in my mind, but I was not here for him, not yet. His time would come. But let him think what he will, I am telling myself, all the better, but he must think good things at the end of his thinking. So I must plant seeds, and harvest them later; yes, I will see him later.

“Where is your huge friend,” I inquired, still smiling and trying to be as cheerful as one could be. It almost felt good to pretend, knowing in my mind this was not the end, only the beginning. It’s a funny thing to know what you are going to do, and the other person does not. How he is going to die, is what I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t, “All in good time,” my mother always says to me, and she is a very wise woman, and so I shall follow that wisdom.

“He’s in his room,” replied the thin man.
“I have a message for him from your young friend.”
“Just go upstairs and knock on the third door, he’ll let you in, and who knows what else.” He started laughing as he did in the barn. I simply put my eyes down as if to let him know I was his servant if need be.
The Innkeeper looked at the tall knight strangely and myself. He couldn’t put two-and-two together, but he knew something was up, as they say, fishy. I tried to look pleasant. I think the bar keep was worried for me for his eyes followed me as I went up the wooden stairs; I could hear each step I took, the wood makes noise you know, I have never quite noticed that before; but when you have a plan, everything around you, you notice. I was now holding on to the railing to guide me the rest of the way.
When I reached the top, about 20 stairs high, I quickly went to his room not looking down at the Inn keeper or the customers anymore, I didn’t want them to tell me to come back down, I wanted to see this huge one first, face him, and let him know, what I wanted, but not my secret.
I knocked on the door, then like out of the fog a voice told me to come in: --a rough-harsh voice, one that was quieter than the one I heard in the barn. As I entered he was lying in bed, it was his voice though, and grandpa never sounds the same when he is lying down, as he does when he is standing. The huge one’s voice came out again, more pronounced, now as he looked at me his voice turned into the one that almost broke my spine; the one that stole my life first, then gave me to the other two as if I was but a bag of sugar, a gift of his to give as he will to whom he will. I wanted to cry run out of that room, but I told my brain, “Stay, stay, staaa…,” and so I did. And put on that smile again.

“Oh, it is you little girlie, WHAT DO YOU WANT!! Didn’t you get enough yesterday?”
He did not need to say that I thought it was not called for. I am a little girl yet, why does he toy with me like that, and want to use me as a woman. Why did he not say, ‘what do you want little woman,” for is not that what he expected of me. Oh well, you got to talk to him now.
“Sir, your young friend has been making love to me all night, and has since met another girl and will be back in a few days. He told me to tell you.”
The huge soldier was examining my body again, as if he would like to jump from that bed and grab me, and do those things again,--rape me all over again. No, not me, I will not give him the second chance; he would try I’m sure if I got too close to him.

“Ok, so you told me little girlie, now what?”
“I like you better than the other two, can we meet at the big yew tree by the Tor tonight. I will bring some wine, and you can make love to me again, but only you; I want to learn how to do it better so when I grow up I will please my husband. I will be old enough to marry in a year or so.”
“Marry, marry who, not me you little…” He stopped I think he was thinking he would not get what he wanted that way.
“I guess that is a good reason, you like it and want to learn more. Wine you say?”
“Yesterday was very hard on me. But if it is just you, I can endure it. I really liked it from you.”
He smiled, as if he was a king, a big fat head with whiskers, and sunken eyes like a voucher. He was in his glory, rolling off his bed like a fat pig, and then he asked, “What time?”
He was now staring at me, as if he was already making love to me; how I dare say love, I mean sticking that snake into me. I think he wants me now, but I think he is too vulnerable, and the door is slightly open, too many people will know, so if he tries to grab me now the bar keep will hear. Just what I want, by the time he gets to me this evening; he will be running wild, and blind with “want”, that is to want to rape me again. Then I will do my plan, and as my grandfather told me –as all good soldiers would do, --that is, charge the castle wall right where it is most vulnerable, so shall I—in my own way of course.
I was happy I had left the door open for a quick escape, thinking he will not dare try and rape me here. He is not brave enough, he is a coward, and cowards hide and do these things such as raping and abusing people that are weaker than them, and they do not do those things unless they have the advantage, and do not like exposing their morbid behavior while others are watching. They want others to think they are big and brave. Maybe he ran from the enemy.
King Richard would not do such a thing, nor would his knights. He should be punished. If only King Richard was here he would listen to me, but he is not. And I have proven to myself I have his heart, the lion heart. That is why they call him that I think. He loves to fight, but only to save people and free them.

“When the moon first comes out, which would make it about 7:00 PM; I will be waiting by the big trees for you.”
“Sure, that sounds just right, make sure you bring the wine my little winch.”
He started mumbling something, I didn’t want to listen and so I left with the promise he would be there, that was good enough.
I quickly ran down the stairs and back into the center of the Inn, asked the bar keep selling me a bottle of wine for my grandpa. He looked a little surprised, for grandpa usually got his own wine, but I had gotten it for him before, I think twice, and so it wasn’t completely out of place for me to ask.
“How’s doing your grandpa little Angelina?” Said the barkeeper.
I didn’t answer him right away; --I was looking at the tall thin man, who asked me:
“You find what you were looking for little whatever?” He said.
“Yes sir, I did. I gave him a message from your young friend.”
For a moment he was looking strange at me, but that seemed to calm him down. And his friend would tell him he was going to meet me, and the news about his young friend.
The Inn keeper hesitated, but pulled a bottle of flowery-lightly sweetens white wine from under his table; it was a big bottle, and I had to carry it with both hands.
“This is the kind your grandpa likes; tell him I said hi, he hasn’t been around for a long time.”
I nodded my head I really did not want to get into a conversation with him, not now.
It cost one piece of silver, and then I ran to the horse and cart, and put the wine in the back of the cart wrapping it with some cloth I had, so it wouldn’t break. Now I needed to see the herb maker.

The Herb Maker


The herb maker was not far from the Inn, and was a jolly old soul, he was short, and as round as he was tall, with a long beard and mustache, he liked to tell stories of King Arthur, and about the old priests who would journey through the tunnels of the Tor, and came out crazy. He said he was standing by one of the old entrances of the tunnels in the Tor over 50 years ago and waited for one of the priests to come out, but he never did. I don’t know how old he was but he was older than grandpa, and I think that is old. When he wasn’t making or selling herbs, he was telling stories. Grandpa liked him a lot, and so did I.
As I got to his house, at the other end of town, I went to the back and looked in his basement window, for that was his work place, everyone did that. If he weren’t there, then I’d knock on his door, for he was usually sleeping. Or a maid was cleaning his house. He never married, but I think he liked his maids.
He was in his seller and waved me to come on. I pick up the wooden door to the seller, which was outside the house, and walked down the steps into his basement. He had an entrance in the house also, but this was the one everyone used when doing business with him.
I told him I needed strong sleeping medicine that my grandpa was not sleeping well lately and it would help him. I wanted a lot of it I told him. I gave him one silver coin, and boy did he give me a bundle. I really didn’t know how much money was worth. I have never bought anything before, or handled money. I only picked up things before for mom and dad or grandpa they would pay the merchants later. That maybe why the tall thin man, and the bar keep looked at me a little strange, I had silver. I never thought of it. Often times mom and dad would barter with the neighbor, and trade a hog for two weeks labor, something like that; they have never really had much silver, and I doubt ever seen any gold coins. And here I got silver unbelievable. I had two pieces of silver left now.
I bid my farewell, and left in a hurry. I didn’t want to have to answer any questions. He was looking at me also, a little strange when I pulled out my silver.

I then went back to my grandpa’s house for early dinner, after I had arranged everything at the Magog tree, that is. I loved that tree, it was full of spirits; the kind that either love you or hate you. And these spirits knew me well, and loved me. I talked to the tree spirits and told them my plans that I needed to use their ground for my crusade, like King Richard I, I needed to plan my war, my three battles, of which the first was already completed, and to be quite honest, there was not a whole lot of planning in that one; but none-the-less, it was quick planning.
And like always they were more than obliging. They told me I had a lion’s heart, like King Richard, I was very proud to hear that. They also told me someday I would meet King Richard, and that King Arthur’s Guenevere was like me, beautiful, with golden hair, and stunning eyes, and although I was not a princess like her, I would someday in the summer country find my knight, so not to worry. My Camelot was here; I need not search any farther.
These spirits know many things. Sometimes I feel sorry for them I think they are left behind for some reason trying to find their path, their soul. I pray Jesus will guide them. Mom says spirits are different than ghosts, but I really do not know the difference, I just know some are evil and others are good ones. And these spirits have shown me goodwill.

That evening grandpa and I sat by the fireplace as always, and I filled up his cup with the wine I bought. I told him it was for dad. I know I lied, because dad hardly drinks at all, and he doesn’t like grandpa drinking, so I knew he wouldn’t say a word.
“Tell me grandpa about the war, you know the Crusades?” I asked.
I guess I was feeling I should know more about this, for these men used it to hurt me, and then justify their ways, or so I believed.
“Well, it is as all wars, much killing. This was a war of the world you know. France, the Franks [Germany], England, and many countries from such areas of the world like Anatolia, the Balkans, Macedonia, Baghdad, Syria, Sicily; oh, grand-daughter there was so much fighting, and blood shed. The whole world went crazy. And the Holy Sea, the Pope he ordained it God’s Will. But you know, I don’t think God said a word to the Pope on this issue.”
“Oh, grandpa, you must not say that outside of your home, for if anyone heard you say that, you would be killed, or tortured.”
“I know, but it is true. But I will go on with the Great War, and let us pray we do not have a 4th Crusade. The Germans lost their leader, and for the most part, their spirit to fight, and so it was up to the English and French. This was, back around 1188 AD, you were about three years old. Incidentally, Angelina, I have a birthday present for you.”
“Later grandpa, later, I want to hear the story of the war.”
“All right, well, as I was saying, King Richard had his coronation I think in 1188, I think I was saying that, at Westminster, and he wanted to get to the Holy Land and get on with the war. He liked war I think. He always did. Well, Saladin, the other leader, whom was against King Richard and France, wanted to keep Jerusalem for himself. You know the war was over this holy city called Jerusalem, which is called “The City of God,” and everyone is fighting over it. What a shame! But to make a long story short, everyone was having problems, Cyprus, the Turks, the Normans the Germans waiting for the English. But the end result was, as you know peace. And surely it is not the peace everyone wanted, but safe passage to the holy sites was given any man or woman who wishes to make a pilgrimage to them by Saladin; but then, what is safe passage when the Arab’s do not want you visit; do you say, “Saladin the Arab King says it is ok,” but still Saladin is not there at that moment, so what do you do, die? You know what I mean. It really doesn’t matter, dead is dead.
During this time anyway though, there was a knight who tried to make peace with Saladin; called the Green Knight. Some get him mixed up with King Arthur’s knights of the famous roundtable, for there are many tales of him in that time period, but this one was different. He came out of Spain. Saladin admired him, but peace did not materialize, because of their talks. And that is all I know my little nosey granddaughter.”
“Oh, thank you so much grandpa-pa…”
“You should be going to bed, get some sleep.”
“I want my gift, please?”
“Here you are.”
“Oh, grandpa, I love it, it’s a diary.”
“Now please take it, and go to sleep.”
“I love you grandpa.”


Chapter Seven

The Wolf


As the moon came up I was at the huge Magog tree. I had arranged everything. I even put a blanket down for my guest, or should I say prey. And this would be my second conquest. Just like the crusades one, two, three. This was number two, the beast who robbed me. But he hurt me the worse of all three [Angelina’s Thoughts: --You are almost there, he will be easy for he is clumsy, and not too smart. His heart is in his penis, and his eyes want you. Stay calm, and then it is time to kill him. --Who are you? Do I know you? --I am the secret]. He didn’t have to hurt me. What was the sense in that? If you rape a person why hurt them, for what? He was 350 lbs, as tall as two of me. He did not have to drop me, or push all his hairy and sweaty weight on me. He could have just raped me and left it at that. But he had to watch my head bob up and down like a ball. My head was not made of pillow feathers. It still hurts [a tear], there was no light in my eyes, and my nose felt like blood; I should stop thinking about this. I want to sing:


ANGELINA

♫“London rain, ♪ coming down…nnn
It’s ♫♪ ..... All around ddd
But I don’t… really care er er
Let the rain ♪…
Rain every where♪

We talked……. ♫ we walked
Old London streets

♫♪♫
Narrow and ♪ crowed ♪ off
The beat

In my heart ♪ he’ll remain
Memories ♫ of Golden Rain

A smile, ♪ a glimpse a
Wink or two
A Kiss so o ♫♪ knew wwwwwww

But it still rains all around
Every time … I think
Of Old London town

Let the rain…
Rain everywhere♫
Rain everywhere
Rain everywhere….. ♪ where♫♪♫☺

I feel much better now; oh, so much better. I like to sing and hum when I am not feeling well.

But I was already hurt. Here he comes. He’s tying his horse to the wooden fence, I see him. These two trees, Gog and Magog are fenced in. But I like Magog more it is bigger, wider. Just like them, big and wide. He should like this spirit tree. He is now climbing the fence, he jumped to the ground, he landed like a horse when he stomps and I could feel his weight shake my space. It was like he was crushing my bones again.
“Ok, girlie, we will do it again,” he sees my shadow.
“Here you are girlie I knew it was you, so skinny but you’ll do.”
“Here is some wine sir; I bought it just for you. Please drink it, I have had some already because I know you are so big, and I will need it to withstand you strength.”
He grinned from ear to ear when he heard that, and drank the wine as if it was water. The bottle was big, and I only put a little of the sleeping potion in it. I did not want him to use it all up; I need some for number three.
After drinking ¼ of the bottle he started to take off his cloths.
“How about you, girlie,” he said, meaning he wanted me to take off my dress so he could watch me I think.
“Yaw, the damn dress takes it OFFFFFFF!”
“Yes, yes, I am, please be patient.”
I had on the dress he ripped yesterday. I put the other one on the other side of the fence in my cart, where I tied the horse up. I didn’t want that one to get ripped. I took off my dress slowly, for I knew his weakness now; I let it slide over my shoulders lightly, he was watching every move of mine.

“Hurry up will you, you… damsel,” he said with impatience.
“Sir, I am here because I want to be, please forgive me but I have to go to the bathroom, now.” I noticed his sword was not on him, he left it tied to his horse.
“Damn! Ok, ok, go and do your thing, but hurry back, I do not like to be kept waiting, I don’t have…had all night.”

I went to where I tied my horse up, and I jumped over the fence. I put on my other dress, my pretty new dress I bought with the young knight’s money, his silver that shined when I rubbed it against my dress, --there was a pretty glow to it. I now walked over to the fence to see how he was doing. He was waiting there naked as a bird.
I had put the cage of the wolf next to the fence, and when I opened it, the wolf had to go underneath the fence of where I had dug a hole for him to enter, thus allowing him to be in the fenced area. When I let him out of the cage, at the same time I pulled the rope around his mouth off, and took the cage and put it back on the car, and quickly filled in the hole with more dirt so he couldn’t come back out, although I’m sure he could either jump the fence or dig his way under it; but he was terribly hungry, and his dinner was waiting. And he now was madder than a hornet, and happy for being freed by me.
I had not fed him since I bought him. I just jumped on the cart, holding the reins tight so the horse would not get spooked. And I could see by the light of the moon the wolf smelling the wine and the flesh and sweat of the huge one. He was creeping up to him like a spider.

“Hay girlie where are you; is that you.” Was the voice of the huge one?
The wolf must have heard that, and the spirits of the trees much have triggered his temper even more, for the wolf jumped in the air [I can see him flying] I could see him by way of the moon-light, it lit his body as he jumped and as he landed, he was on top of the huge one cornering him, and pinning him against the tree.
I thought of the shivering stare he must have made at the huge one when he jumped on him, looking him straight in the eyes, for he mesmerized me with fear a few times when I looked back at him on the cart. And this knight was totally unprepared for the spectacle before him.
The sight, making me feels how the victim must feel; transfixed my eyes isolated from his friends, the village. He remained virtually, unprotected. For the beast this was a prime hunting edge, large, as the beast was himself.
Apart from my personal satisfaction, for the moment, my fear of these knights faded somewhat; the threat was going. With this in mind, I knew I could go forward in my plan. These were men but not of honor. If so, they would not be in this situation.
I was using their kind of tact on them; surprise, isolation, a quick plan, checking to see if I had the edge, finding a vulnerable spot, and attacking. Is that not warfare. You do not attack an army that is twice your size unless you have no choice. And these three men thought they could attack without consequence, and attacking someone who was helpless, but they forgot one thing, my grandpa told me about war, he said, “You do not leave anyone behind you after the battle; you kill the enemy, the soldiers, so they can not come back and kill you.” And I have not forgotten that. They did. They did not see me as an opposing threat, enemy, only an enjoyment a quick conquest. But they are not thinking like that now.
The young man with his head cut off did not think of the battles he would go fight tomorrow; or the women he would rape. He was thinking he was dying, it was the end of it all for him, everything.
Oh, I forget for a moment, the huge one I hear him….
He is screaming and screaming. Crying, running to get his sword I think, but he couldn’t make it over the fence fast enough. The fence was about forty-feet from the tree about 5 ½ feet high.
Now all I hear whimpers and his exhaustion. Now I hear no more. He must be dead, I hear the wolf chewing, the cracking of a bone. I knew the wolf had some powerful jaws, but his teeth, bit he broke a tooth.

I road my horse and cart around to the other side where his horse was, the wolf was eating him up like a dog chewing on a rabbit. He was lying by the fence, hissing, eyes seemed to be looking at me, a tear was coming from him.
“Sir, I am sorry, but I can not wipe your tear [he blinked his eyes], for you see the wolf would eat me, like he is you [his mouth opened as if to say something, as if he was begging me to stop him from eating him alive].”

He couldn’t talk or make any more sounds the wolf had chewed his nose and throat off, and open. I thought people died easy, but it’s not true. Sometimes they die slow. The wolf looked at me then went and started eating again, paying me little attention; I think he was making sure his meal was secure. I tied his horse to my cart quickly, without getting of the cart, and found seven-pieces of silver tied to the saddle of the horse, as if he wanted to make sure no one could see it, yet it was close enough for him to grab. I now had 9 pieces of silver again. I went down to my grandpa’s house, and told him I was given another horse by a huge soldier, like the young man gave me, and that it was his friend; for the same reason. I told grandpa, there were three soldiers from war visiting, or riding through, and they were staying at the Inn down the street. And I had met all three. They were very kind. Grandpa tucked me in bed, gave me a kiss, and told me happy birthday.


Chapter Eight

Chalice Well

I knew the third man, the tall one, would be looking for his friends pretty soon, although it seemed to me he really liked his ale more than his friends; for as I walked by the Inn, he was always sitting there or standing drinking like a fish. I have never quite understood this all drinking people do, it seems quite a waste of resources, and energy. For the men never get up to feed the animals, or plant, or for that matter, do much of anything. Grandpa said he used to drink a glass of wine just before bed, and it helped him sleep, but his brother was a drunk, and that scared him because he was always in poverty.
I stayed at grandpa’s house again, and decided to remain there for the week. Grandpa got two horses now, and mom was ok with it. There were chores around the house but I had three brothers and two sisters who could help. And grandpa was alone a lot, so mom felt grandpa could use the company, and he and I were very close; closer than mom was to her dad I think. His father had fallen off a roof a number of years ago, died from a broken spine, not sure why I’m putting this in my diary, but I don’t quite miss him, because I only seen him I guess when I was a baby, but I didn’t want grandpa to fall off a roof, and neither did mom, so she let me stay with grandpa almost as much as I wanted, you know kind of watch him. I got to go now.

AG

It’s the next day, I got to find and set it up for the thin guy. I got nine-pieces of silver; I will buy some more wine, and use the sleeping potion, the whole thing on him I think. I got a plan. But first I want to go to the market and buy some... of that expensive drug for grandpa called coffee. It comes from a country called Ethiopia. They’ve been using it for 200 years I guess. It helps him stay awake at night. Grandpa told me that the Angel Gabriel revealed the secrets of roasting and brewing this compound. I’ve tasted it. It isn’t half bad. But grandpa can’t afford it, so I will buy some with my silver.

Later in the Day


And so I did get some coffee and gave it to grandpa, and I stopped by the Inn where the tall man was. He was too drunk to even think anything was going on. He is going to meet me tonight at Chalice Well. He saw me buy a bottle of wine, like I did for his friend, and no one has heard of what happened to the huge one yet. That is, what is left of him for he had no cloths on, and all that must be left is bone? I took his cloths with his horse and buried the cloths this morning. I do not think anyone will discover him missing for a few days, so there is nothing suspicious as of yet. I told the tall guy his friend gave me silver to buy wine and to lay with him in bed. And I added, I was going back to meet him in an hour. But he was going to meet me by the well at sunset. The well is said to be the entrance to the underworld; he may find out. I don’t know if there is any truth to it, but I know that it connects to the underground water system of the Tor, and a few other springs nearby.

Evening at Chalice Well


I had got to Chalice Well, before the tall soldier arrived, and set everything in place. I loved this location, as I did the Abbey in the village, and Magog, and the Tor. This was the ideal place. It is nestled in a valley between Chalice Hill and the Tor, and there are gardens all about. I put a blanket on the soft grass, and the bottle of wine by the side of the well. The top of the well was made out of wood and steel, and the top of it shut, and could be locked when not in use, so no kids would fall into it. The well is on top of the garden. I liked this spot, I could see all about. Sometimes the village folk put on plays here, and had festivals here. The source of the water is unknown, but grandpa always said it came from the Mendip Hills some miles to the north of our Glastonbury. Before my time, the Celts and Druids were in this area. The spirits of the trees whisper to me that they settled in that area, perhaps because they are Druid spirits, or Celtic spirits themselves.
I loved drinking the pure water from Chalice Well, it was always cool, and it has never failed to be so, not in all my fourteen years in this area; yes, I am fourteen years old now. Not a kid anymore.
I hear a horse [Angelina’s Thoughts: --He is a drunk, he loves his booze, and he will come for that first. You have done well Angelina, you are now using the dark, surprise and ambush to your advantage, and tomorrow you will be free. --I don’t know really who you are, but I think you scare me more than the knights. Will you be gone tomorrow also? –Yes], it is the tall man. He can see me from the lower part of the garden. I am waving at him now. Here he comes.
“Hello you…little… you little slut,” he grabbed me by the hair, the wine is right next to me, and he threw me to the ground, not even on my pretty blanket.
“Ok, you want it, you’re going to get it,” he’s been drinking all day I think.
“Please sir, I bought this wine just for you.”
He grabbed the wine, and started drinking it with one hand as he ripped his cloths off with the other. He had a huge erection.
“Take it off, now winch, or I’ll put the sword to you.”
I quickly took my dress off, I was just hoping, and hoping, he would drink more of the wine. But he put it down. He only had three drinks. He’s on top of me again I hate this. My head is hitting the ground like a horse’s head stomping. He will not stop. I can’t breath.
“I need a drink sir. Let me play with you…”
He stopped, and took another drink.
“Ok, play with it…”
I had to touch it, but the more I played with it, the more he drank. He started to get soft, his head started to sway. I did put four times as much sleeping potion in it than I did for the huge guy. He fell to his side, the bottle still tight in his hand. Gee! I thought, of all things, he hangs on to the bottle, and not on to his pants.
I tried to catch my breath, I was gasping for air.
“Wake up, wake up sir. Drink more wine,” I said, --then I started to slap his face lightly to see if he would wake up, but he was fast asleep.

I got up on my feet, wiped myself dry from his sweat, and other liquids that came from his body, mouth and nose --and that item between his legs. I never thought such things could go so deep inside a woman. But then I am only fourteen, I was not suppose to find this out until I got married, which he robbed me of, or tried to---.
I got my small portion of the rope I bought, and cut, and tied his hands over his head; then tied his two legs together. He was naked, and what I wanted to do was cut that item off, but I couldn’t. I opened up the iron and wood cover to the well, and centered him. Then I went to the other side of the well where his feet were -- my longer piece of rope extended across the well at this point, inasmuch as, I now would be able to pull him to the well and he’d fall down head first, --but first things first.
I walked around to the other side again, picked up his sword, and I knew now I had to do this fast, for once the sword hit, he would wake up, and I had to run around to the other side of the circular cover of the well and pull the rope. I hoped I had strength enough. Now I got the sword over my head. I am looking at his hands tied. I am focused, I can’t miss, oh please, I just can’t miss. The sword is coming down just like when I had it in the air with the young man, and it went right through his wrists his hands fell off, his eyes opened up, as did his mouth, I jumped over to the rope, falling on my knees, and started pulling. He is looking at me pulling him. His head is two feet from the well, his shoulders are touching the open space of the well, and I do not think he knows exactly what is going on, except his life is in danger.
“What you doing, What, WWWWWat
YYYYYYou
Dodododo oooo ing… He is crying.

I jerk the rope with all my strength, he is starting to kick, but his butt is in the open space of the well; now he knows I think, --that is, what is happening to him. I jerk the rope again; his head is pulled over to the edge of the well. One more inch, just one more, he is trying to push himself backwards to safety; he knows he is going to sink and if so down into the well. His arms are free of the ropes now, but they can’t hold on to the sides of the well he is discovering he has no hands. His head just dropped into the open space of the well, now his back is sliding down in the open black space of the well, he is falling, his whole body, and the rope is burning my hands, I must let go…I do.

Silence……………………………………...……… Splashhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

As I look down the well, the rope followed him like a snake. He has no hands to untie his feet, and he cannot climb the 30-feet to the top. And I know the well is pretty deep. I cannot see him, only hear his cries.
Now I put the top of the well cover back on; I will lock it now, so the children will not fall into it. I can still hear his screams, barely, but I do hear them, he is begging me to open the well door, and at the same time cursing me. He is not sorry for what he did to me, only sorry I could get revenge on him; now his body will sink soon, and he will sober up, or wake up drunk in hell.
I hear water splashing; he is lucky he is thin, not like the huge one, for he would sink if he were that big. He will get exhausted soon. I must bury the rest of his things.
“See Mr. Knight, you are paying for your sins. But I will tell the world you were a great knight, for that is what knights are created for; they are special. Thus, I will save you from disgrace. What would you do if you lived, just get drunk and rape more girls like me. Now, that is not what a good knight should have to look forward to. GOOD NIGHT!!” I think he heard me, I tried to say it loud enough through the locked well cover. Matter of fact he did hear me, he is saying “Come back…come backkkkkk, ppppleaseeeeezzzzzzz.”

As I walked out of the garden, I found his horse, I took it and gave it to grandpa, and he also had silver in a pouch, five pieces. I now had 12-pieces of silver. I will give them to my mother, and let her know that these men gave them to me. For that is what brave hero of a war do. They help people they like to be heroes.



End of the Diary


Chapter Nine

On Top of the Tor

As I looked at the old man again, the breeze blowing my hat off somewhat, I caught it with my left hand though; I said in a confusing manner, “Is that the end?”
“Funny you say that,” he commented.
“I guess I expected her to be caught, or tried by the village, you know, kind of a coming to justice thing. Even though the rape was wrong, wasn’t, or didn’t she go to extremes?”
“Well,” said the old man looking at me, “I guess I could add an ending to it, but I think you were better off leaving it alone, because I think you will get more frustrated with the real ending, than the simply one you just got.”

“Go for it sir,” I said with curiosity.

“I guess for Angelina it was a nightmare to end all nightmares. Or so I figured it out after all these years. The three soldiers took her life from her. She had to put it back together. Now just how do you do something like that? She of course wrote it out in her diary, somewhat, if you read between the lines that is. But she hid it. When the town’s folks questioned her, she really could not remember anything. She looked high and low for her diary. She wanted to show everyone she had nothing to do with it, or for that matter, to see what she might have wrote. But she hid the diary, as her subconscious wanted, so she could not find it; and for someone like me, 900-years later to find it. She wanted her life back. Call it deep posttraumatic stress with no recoil, or what you want, she never did remember it. They questioned her several times, until her grandpa put a stop to it, saying the girl was too frail to have done any kind of murders.
You see, when she walked back to her grandfather’s house she simply went to sleep like always; or simply like little soft angel she was. Throughout the years that followed people expected she had something to do with the disappearance of all three of the soldiers, just like they did from the beginning, but no one ever put two and two together.
About six months after that event—more or less—more evidence came up on what happened to the soldiers, they found the young man buried in the barn, I think the horses kicked up so much dirt his body started to show, and along with scavengers and so on, --you got other animals you know, like squirrels, dogs, cats and so on, but the monks found him anyway.
Let me add, one day the barn keeper seen his head sticking out, and that was cause for alarm also, so when you find something like that you look around a little more careful. But no, it wasn’t here or there; everyone loved little Angelina, and left it alone. Even if she was guilty, the town’s people didn’t really want to know. It would force them to do something they really did not want to do.
And the tall man with his hands cut off was found sometime after that first discovery, down in some swamp area nearby. The many wells we have around here go into many areas, and there are connecting springs to them also. Plus it goes under the Tor I think and God knows where else, but he was found anyway a few miles from the Tor, and I do not want to describe him.
As for the huge soldier, the wolf did leave the bones to be found, and again the scavengers did their best to pick his bones clean.
That was what made Angelina a suspect at first. But no one really thought she could have devised such a plan, it was too ruthless; plus, no one could put it quite together, not like it was in the diary. Maybe if they had the diary at the time, it would have made more sense. But trying to put the pieces together was just too perplexed for everyone. She wasn’t even 100-lbs of weight, and this man was 350 or more. It was hard to even question her I heard, but they had to; you know to make the records official. But even if they had given her a lie-detector test—and of course back then they didn’t have such things—she would have passed it anyway, for she truly believed she was innocent.
Plus she proclaimed they gave her gifts, she was astonished of what had happened to them. That too was a little fishy thought the officials at first. But again, she could not remember anything past the hero complex she had. It was written in stone in her mind. They were heroes [or supposed to have been heroes] to her from the Crusades, and stopped by to pay respects to King Arthur, her most renowned hero. They found her, gave her silver every time she showed up, and wanted to retire in Glastonbury, and so they gave her the horses, saying they were reminders of the war. You know kind of giving away the post-traumatic stress everyone talks about after a war, nowadays. I hear about that medical term all the time know, in the old days it was simply bad memory.
No one could prove her otherwise. Plus she couldn’t remember even if you would have tortured her to death, and I guess one day the priest kept her in the Abbey barn so she might remember, and she simply sat there and prayed that their souls would go to heaven. She was a Christian you know, and the priest said she prayed for hours on end for their souls. And she added prayers for the victories of King Richard, and for giving England King Arthur, her biggest hero.
Matter of fact, it was written down in some of the priest’s logs, that she spoke very highly of the priests for trying to find the culprits who victimized the poor heroes of the crusades; for she was very thankful for the gifts they had given to her and her grandpa, especially the horses, and of course the silver was included.”

“You’re right sir, it is a little unnerving, I guess, -- I was thinking more on the lines she was burned to the stake.”

“No stake my friend, just love came out of her mouth; matter of fact, she did get married. It was when she turned 15-years old that King Richard I came through the village to pay respects to King Arthur and one of his knights, he was known as the Green Knight, who was quite renowned for his gallantry and communication skills, was quite taken with Angelina.
The story goes he fell madly in love with her. He was a lot older than her by far, but none-the-less, a good-looking knight I hear. Quite dashing they say. Matter of fact, King Richard blessed the marriage before he left for another conquest, leaving the knight to settle with his bride in Glastonbury. They say he was dressed in all green, as well as his horse being of that color also. He held no sword, nor carried one with him while being in Glastonbury, yet was quite feared by his comrades. They say he knew not only King Richard quite well, but also Saladin the Arab leader quite well also.
He was tall and thin and from his neck to his loins he was square set, and quite muscular, long limbed, quite strong. His horse was crisped and gemmed with many knots. His eyes were like flashing lights and, --let me add again, he had no sword, shield or helmet.
But he did have an olive branch in his hands when he got off his horse and proposed to Angelina on the spot just as she had prayed for, and was expecting. Unbelievable, as it may sound, it is the gospel truth. He dismounted with one hand, while the other held on to the olive branch, and said to Angelina, ‘I give you this branch from the Holy Land, of where I got it and it is my token of love to you. If you would be kind enough to take it, I would be honored to have you as my wife.’
He told a number of people while campaigning with battles in the Holy Land he had a vision that he would find his bride to be in Glastonbury waiting for him after the war, should he bring a olive branch with him, and no armor or sword; for he must be a brave and yet peaceful knight for his bride; and so he was. I think all of the followers of King Richard were dumbfounded when they saw this, a little doubtful but none the less, when it happened, it was believable.
Well, although everyone around her was somewhat surprised, not because Angelina said ‘Yes’ to his offer, but that it actually happened that way. Matter of fact, she said, ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’
Well, life is funny isn’t it you start to think such happenings never occur, and there right in front of you it does. They say she never acted surprised or even doubted this would not happen. As she told others, she simply did not know the date, and whom it was going to be. I suppose in a like manner, the knight could say the same thing. But she knew the place, and that it would be of that nature.
And yes, here is where they lived, right in the heart of Glastonbury, opened up a shop and worked in the construction trade of building such things as Churches and Inns, as well as bridges and so on.
Being quite tall with his strong and good looks, one might say, he could have had his pick of the women of Glastonbury, but he was faithful to Angelina.
I never thought about it until this very minute, but here is where they would come on the weekends, and at times during the week and just lay in the grass with one another. They were more than friends, lovers and spouses; they were sidekicks one could say. They would find themselves sitting like you and I on this grass looking over the valley, and the hills around here. All of Avalon would fill their eyes like it does for us this very moment; I suppose like it did for King Arthur. And one could say they lived quite happy.”

“How did she die, -- I mean, was it from natural causes?

“You’re fishing my friend I think you want to find something bad about the ending. She didn’t die quite that way, the way you expected her to die that is, but it was from bad natural causes one could say. She was giving birth to her 8th child, it was a boy, they had to cut her open to save the child, she was 35-years old; they could have let the child die and saved her they say, but she said no, she wanted to save the child, and demanded they call him Arthur, and so they did. Her husband never remarried, said he could never find a more sweet and loving wife than her. They lived in their grandfather’s house, as I do today. It is where the diary was found, under the old boards of the basement, tightly put into a metal chest. It simply read, ‘To whom it may concern.’”


Chapter Ten

The Analysis


“And what do you make of this entire story my young friend?”
“I say it is quite mysterious, but the mind is a funny thing, like a black hole in the universe.”
“A black hole, the mind, are you one of those psychologists, or do you know astronomy or something?”
“A counselor of sorts will do; Client Centered Therapist is what they call me, and so I do like to look at how the mind works I suppose. And I do like astronomy.”
“No kidding, I often wondered what made her tick.”
“It makes me think.”
“Any ideas you want to share?”
“Maybe.”
“Come on with it --say what’s on your mind, the girl?”
“All right, --but you’ve got to realize---”
“I realize,” the old man said. “Can’t we stop talking, and you give me the mind thing?”

We sat back down on the grass, it was thick and bright green, the old man glanced toward the tower, and across the valley towards Chalice Hill.

“You got to realize sir,” I said, “…my theory is just a guess, no one can prove anything in the mind, or for that matter the universe. They are both endless mysteries.”
“Doesn’t it mean anything to you to let another person know what you are thinking? We can get along even if we do not agree, and who knows, maybe I will.”
“Of course we can. I don’t want you to think such things. I …”
“It’s all right what you say, but do me a favor and stop beating around the bush… bush, bush bush.

“If something goes into the mind it fills up. But it must come out, and it usually does in moods, or put another way, behavior. Sometimes we can talk it out, if we direct it towards the person we are mad at. In this way the mind is re-nourished. And so the behavior came out for Angelina, possible as one might say, in displacing it for revenge. But in her case it goes deeper, and sideways. Let me explain, if I can.
And so we see her behavior coming out in killing the three soldiers; this way it was setting up a plan, the mind that is, the subconscious, and the protector of the human being. It knew after the killings, it would have to deal with a new mass of information coming into the black hole, and it would collapse.
And so the rape was put into the corner of her mind, a mountain full of anger and resentment, her desires, wishes, dreams were falling all apart. In general, her life was ending, and so she cramped it into a nutshell after the rape. The only place in her mind left to put this crushed world of hers, and energy was to re-create herself and that involved the three murders, get rid of the future, or alter it. It was the only practical proposition her mind would accept.
She could not harness her instincts of murder, for the life they took away from her; all generated by the rape. We do not know the megawatts in a person’s brain, but the explosions within her mind happened so quickly that there was no light left for reality. In a nutshell, it was the process of forgetting, so she could have the old future back. Does that make sense?”
The old man looked at me, “That black hole you’re talking about, the mind, how does it get out of it, that information has to stay there until it deals with it someday, doesn’t it?”
“Good question. I thought I answered it, but let me try again. If you put something into your mind, it fills up. If you take something out, it of course is less filled. And I think in this case, the rape went into her mind, the black hole as you said. And somehow it came out by a process of osmosis, or in the case of Black Holes, through its sides like emitting radiation. When it came out, at the same time the mind convinced her she had to kill the three people to restart her future again, but it was a little altered now, and so after the killing the mind would not take in the new information, or black hole would not take in new objects. And so in the case of a Black Hole, it will collapse, I think, not exist anymore.
In her mind it closed up before that information was taken in, and so all she remembered was the good part of the heroes coming back from war, and the new creation what her mind created for her. Now she can go on with her lost future, with only a few good alterations, which she needed anyway to fill in the gaps of lost time. She remembered meeting the soldiers, the money she took as a kindness of theirs, which fit into her plan of how she wanted her future to look, and the horses she gave to her grandpa were old war wounds of the soldiers, as she had thought it should have been. And matter of fact, told it to her grandpa anyway, and that is what she remembered of course, a gift from heroic soldiers; she even implied to the soldiers she was going to do this; and so the mind was working overtime. Often times we end up doing what the mind is thinking while we sleep; that is, we end up doing that the next day. And at the end of it all she married the man she wanted.”

The old man looked at me. He did not say anything, but looked at the countryside as he shifted his head around to meet the Tower on the Tor in front of us.
“What time is your train coming in tomorrow?”
“I think 10:30 AM,” I commented.
“I’d better take a walk to the Tower, over to the other side of it; she used to like that side.”

Chapter Eleven

Last Words


I told the old man thanks for his story, as he walked away, it was haunting my mind, and I got thinking sitting there, I had walked by his house a few times the day before, by a gas station where I bought some chips and coke and brought it back to the B&B so I could watched TV at night. Maybe I’ll check it out later.
I sat up, took my head out from under my palm, from which my elbow was supporting. I really didn’t want to leave the Tor, it was becoming like a sanctuary for me a place to rest, and ponder on, people watching. Not many came though, not sure why, this was the best hidden secret in England, and when they did, they left soon after; the tour busses left the people off for a few hours, that is why I had to come to Glastonbury by myself. I noticed as night came, a few young adults stayed there. But the wind was getting cold, and I was not as young as I used to be to sit around like them. Up on top here you get every wind in the whole area, you had to hide by the side of the Tower. As I walked down the mound of terraces of grass, the cows were leaving to go to Chalice Hill I think, for I noticed a few over on that hill. I think they took there time. Somehow I think time stopped here; or so it seemed. And so I said good night to the equinox that was taking place, and tried not to look back at the Tor, you know, kind of like a knight thing, like Angelina would have likely done, or her knight. But I couldn’t, I had to look back, that was just I.

As I got to the bottom terrace of the Tor, Angelina’s diary came to my mind again. This was the 21st Century not the 12th. How could I define it in my terms, 900 years later? And why did the old man spend so much time with me telling me of the story. Then I got thinking I needed to write the story down, along with some other findings. But my mind needed to rest, and so it had to have an ending, conclusion, and it was deep as that black hole I talked about with the old man, but I was happy I had an ending, I could sleep better with it.


Chapter Twelve

The Next Day


In the morning Jason came to pick me up, it was my third day in Glastonbury. I walked around to the back of the Bed & Breakfast foundation, where a fence was, which seemed to lead into a meadow, yet it was the beginning of the Tor, and I looked up to the Tor at the Abbey Tower on top of it for the last time. It was silent, like Angelina, as if it forgot all its sins, and I’m sure it had its share, for history records much blood shed in this part of the country, and I forgot all my sins as well, as if the Tor was saying, bury the past. I suppose one gets like that in old age. And I guess we all have them. It was not judgmental to me, nor I to it, how could I be, as I said, I think it had its own sinful history, like Angelina, and buried them long ago deep within its underground vaults, if not in the underworld itself; it was the only way to survive, as it is written, “Let the dead bury the dead”, OT. And that was the last time I saw the Tor. I never looked back, or heard from the old man again, although I tried to find his house. I’m sure I seen it, I think I seen it, but couldn’t find it; and Jason on our way to the train station said he never heard the story, or for that matter, the old man. But added, he thought King Richard did come through Glastonbury around that time to pay respects to King Arthur, as did King Edward I in 1278 AD with his Queen. Jason looked out the window, and said, “That’s interesting,” never looking at me, something like the old man did when he left me and walked to the Tor.
You know, someone who is very interested in you for a moment, and you think you are getting along, and he bears his soul, or so you think, and all of a sudden are drifting away as if you do not exist, as if he does not want to be questioned anymore, or for that matter, simply has no more to say. Both Jason and the old man seem to be one of a kind.
At the station we shook hands, and he left, never looking back, and the train pulled up, and I got on. And Glastonbury was like an end to a concert no more. I was alone again.



The End of the Story of Angelina

Ψ



http://dennissiluk.tripod.com/




Afterward


About the Author, and Review of his books:
By R. Peñaloza T.

To be quite honest the author has not wanted a review of himself or of his work; especially not in this 2nd Edition of “The Rape of Angelina…” or for that matter the one and only romance to date he has written called “A Romance in Augsburg,” feeling they should stand on their own; but I persuaded him to allow me to put one in this book this one time. He has written to date fifteen books, and is presently finishing up, three other books called: “The Old Man and his Monkey,” similar to “…Angelina…” but on a different level; also, “Shamhat,” a woman of many talents, who lived in the land of Sumer, in the city of Uruk, with Gilgamesh; and his third, being his second volume of short stories. The author hopes he can complete these in 2003. His most recent book “A Path to Sobriety,” deals with how do deal with addictions.
As you might be saying Mr. Siluk has been called a prolific writer, and lives up to that reputation, as well as a traveler, who has been around the world twenty-four times: --writing a book called, “Chasing the Sun,” to prove it.

In his soon to be published romance book, there are no real secrets, a soldier is a soldier, as is Chris simply Chris, a German-Jew; so one need not look for any sharks, or much symbolism, what people say is what they say, no more no less. The story is like a painting, what you see may well go beyond what others see, or don’t see.
In the book: “The Rape of Angelina…” which was written quite well I believe by Mr. Siluk, no matter how many times you read it, you do not quite know how it is done; and now his 2nd Illustrated Edition is even more intriguing: --the reason being, there is a mystery to it, as there is in the Romance novel, “A Romance in Augsburg,” --Mr. Siluk’s first romance novel, out of fifteen-books may very well be his award winning novel, like some of his early poetry, of which was put into a book in 1980. He has written poetry since the age of twelve years old, and was his first love. Now it is between his travels and writings. But if you asked him, that is, what is his true love, it would go I believe with God, Rosa [his wife], family, travel-&-writing being equal.
And as he has mentioned to me, concerning his romance book, “…it was not easy…” he claims, “…no one really sees you working day after day, 3:30 AM, and you can’t sleep until you fix this or that…it was always an uphill struggle with that book, not like ‘Angelina,’ which came as if it was natural, or the ‘Old Man and His Monkey.”’
I have heard said, a good writer will bring reality into his characters for the reader to experience, and it will become a part of his or her memory, making it part of their life. This was the result in the book “The Rape of Angelina…” and again in another one of his books called: “The Mantic ore: Day of the Beast,” and I believe is also true about the story you “A Romance in Augsburg.” Again Mr. Siluk’s relies on experience: --for he has faced it not only in war in Vietnam, and eleven years in the military, but a number of times elsewhere.
In “The Rape of Angelina…” you will sense it is being reported to you. Why? I prefer to say, because of the experiences of the writer. Mr. Siluk has traveled around the world, he has been to war, --faced death, and lived in Europe for years. He has had close to forty jobs and fought in a number of karate tournaments when he was young. He spent time in San Francisco, studying, under the famous Gosei Yamaguchi and his father the “Cat”, Gogan, a 10th degree black belt [1968-69], in his fifty-five years on earth, you get many sides of him in his stories.
He has mastered his imagination it is virtually unending. He has lived the bar life, and seen the side streets of many cities. The streets most would not dare travel down, he has told me it has been costly because of his health problems, but added, “It’s the price you pay, you don’t cry about it you just deal with it and pray God will give you one more mile…” He has been told by the press, after writing his first book in 1980, he was a writer who took the “Road Less Traveled”; how true that reviewer was.
In all stories a person writes I believe, it is for something, or someone, and although it is a hard business to say the least, nothing makes you feel better, Dennis has told me. He is virtually a prolific writer, as it has been said, and is quite obvious by the number of books he has written. I can honestly say, out of his fifteen books, this one is among the top three I like the very best, and the more I read it, the more I like it.

A closer Look


Mr. Siluk has written two books dealing with religion, and he has the educational background for it, being an ordained ministered in good standing at one time, he has not kept his credentials up [early 1990’s], yet has done missionary work in the mountains of Haiti [1986], along with a counseling book in which he is a licensed counselor; I say this because it comes out in his novels as well as his self-help book, on ‘addiction.’ He
has deep roots in Christianity. You can sense his dialogue or monologue with the sense of sin, not haunted by it, but reproduced at times I sense, as the author bares his soul as he writes. He does carry a strong objectivity.
Living life, as I mentioned above, you understand man’s nature, this you see in his books also, the moral responsibility, and the traveler. His frankness would seem he had a free license to amuse himself, and at times I think he is doing just that.
A closer look one will pick out the romancer pessimist, as in “A Romance in Augsburg,’ yet he is one step above this, making him no more a pessimist than an optimist, I am not sure what that makes him, but he does it in a mysterious way, cleverly. He does this the same way; he uses human nature, for he does not take it the hard way as one might think.
Most of his subject [s] in all fifteen-books are rooted in hopelessness, to a certain degree anyway, yet rather than play this out; --he turns it around, a charm that brings brightness to a bitter and/or cynical futuristic looking scene, thus, changing the ending. This is not only seen in his novels and short stories, but in his counseling book and spiritual and religious books. Again, there is some magic or mystery to it. What you see is a glimpse into a writer’s soul.

In closing, let me add two or three last statements, as one can see --his stories can be spontaneous, when especially using the analogy. I think what makes his characters illuminate, is he has his scenes often times fumble for it [the allegory], if you know what I mean, as it becomes visible. And I may be repeating myself, but the top of the line is the ingenuity in overcoming a difficult, one would not prefer to attempt to overcome, which shows skill. In the story, “A Romance in Augsburg,” And “The Rape of Angelina…” the characters overcome. As In the story of, “The Rape of Angelina…” she has to overcome the rape… --in the story of Sol, in the book, “Mantic ore: Day of the Beast,” again Sol has to overcome or…be left behind in the mist of defeat. In all cases you do not expect it to take place, or as I read it, prefer it to. But they do. It kind of makes it all worthwhile, if not the book, life in general, and maybe that also has a good place in the author’s resume.
I have not said anything about his trilogy concerning the Tiamat series; it is the first of its kind, taken place in 6840 BC. But the reason I leave these out is because I have quoted the strongest cases in the fifteen-books. Although the Tiamat series has for the most part, the same characteristics as Mr. Siluk’s other books, they seem to be a little mellower. Maybe he is becoming stronger in his writing I am not sure. Yet in the Tiamat series, you seem to get to know Sinned and the Tiamat rather closely, in a like manner, you get to know the author closer also.


A Few Pictures and brief outlines of Mr. Siluk’s Glastonbury & Avalon adventure:


1) Chalice Well
2) Glastonbury Abbey
3) The Tor
4) Gog & Magog



Chalice Well

Chalice Hill is between the Tor and the city [town] of Glastonbury, and one can feel the peace and tranquility while walking its slop. At the foot of its slop is Chalice Well [as seen in the picture above, of me standing over it]: --if one was to look into this folklore that goes along with Chalice Well, they would find Celtic literature, along with Arthurian quest for the Holy Grail, which was said to have been the chalice used at the Last Supper. As in the story you have just read, there are many legends and images that surround this ancient mystical area.
There resides in the area of Chalice Well, a complex subterranean system of an unknown size and depth; from this rises water in the spring at Chalice Well. Some say the water originates from Mendip Hills to its north, or the Black Hills in the South of Wales.



Glastonbury Abbey

Glastonbury Abbey, located in the center of town, by the Town Hall, is a moving magnificent and striking ruin. With its two remaining central towers in the background of me in the picture above, gives one a sense of the great mass the church must have been during its hay day. The Nave is around 90-feet wide. The history of this site as far as having a church on it dates to around 63 AD, when Joseph of Arimathea built a wattle church on this land given to him by King Arviragus [the Old Church].

The first building/church, to be building was considered to be in 1184 AD, know as the Church of St. Mary, or Lady Chapel, and was built on the same site as the Old Church. It seems as time went on, other Abbot’s added to the construction of the complex such as the kitchen and barn.

The Abbey Barn on these estates is a little small compared to the mass structures around it; but was used for the farming system of some 800-acres in the Glastonbury estate. The detail of the masonry is excellent, with emblems carved surrounding the barn. Inside, as I did enter it, again was breathtaking, more like an ancient church with its towering beams. The barn is 93 feet long and 33 feet wide, the roof was built to fit over this area; the timbers to support these heavy stone tiles of the roof are massive. There is, if any thing, life in that barn, and that is why it was used in the story of “The Rape of Angelina….” And one last thing concerning this area, King Arthur is buried along side of these ruins.




The Tor


The Tor can be seen whole-heartedly from Chalice Hill, and on top of the Tor as I am lying down in the picture; you can see the whole area of Avalon and beyond. It is some 520 feet above sea level, covered in grass as you can see, and at one time on the top, there was once a monastery, which one can see its dimensions if you walk about the summit, and what remains of the Tower-Monastery of St. Michael, built about 700 AD.
As I walked about this area up and down and around its manmade terraces one can only wonder at this pyramid angled hill rising like a sphinx, what the world was like back in those far off days. For King Arthur this was Avalon, for the Celtic, there was a goddess [Faerie Queen]. There are graves on the summit dating back to the Dark Ages. Many animal remains have been found here, indicating possible a settlement of sorts.
In this area between the Tor and the Abbey it is said there is a tunnel; as well as an underground spring; as well as the existence of a way to get to the gates of the underworld. As I walked its ground, it gave me only peace to be quite honest. Maybe it had it share of blood, whatever; it gave no resistance to me. As I am quite sensitive to its ghosts, --I was there on the day of the equinox, where I had seen in a dream vision the skulls within the Tor’s layers of ground. Maybe this inspired me to write my story, I cannot say for sure. But on my 24-times around the world there are very few places I would return to. And Avalon is one I would.
As I was saying a few inches back, the huge man cut terraces, one may call the rings of the Tor, a three-dimensional figure, its construction remains a mystery. I have used the Tor in two of my books, this one, “The Rape of Angelina…” And in the second book of my trilogy called “Gwyllion, Daughter of the Tiamat,” in doing so, with the second book I do explore the meaning a little bit, and add what I feel may have occurred, but then it is all fiction, or unproven non-fiction: --which is short for a theory, or concept.




Gog & Magog

Gog and Magog were fenced in when I visited the site not sure how it was back in the days of King Arthur, but for the story of “The Rape of Angelina…” it was fenced in for her also. As you can see by looking at the picture, one is directly in back of the other. I am standing, if I am correct, in front of Gog. I climbed the trees, as in the days of long ago, when folks came here for picnics and to celebrate the tree spirits. The insides are somewhat hollow, or so it seemed. The site is accessible to almost everyone in town. It is between the Tor, the Town of Glastonbury, and Chalice well; actually on the way to what I call the back of the Tor, and some may call the front entrance to the Tor. Depending on where you are coming from.
In the story of “The Rape of Angelina…” I used what I considered all the best sites in Glastonbury. This having quite a grand history for two old trees, legend would have you believe there was a monster said to be quite large in these parts of the West Country, who pulled up oak trees, and was killed by Brutus, who was said to be a descendant of Aeneas of Troy, some how between England, Rome and Greece, Troy comes up all the time. But so the legend was born of this monster. Brutus was the first of England’s Kings. With him he brought two giants, Gog and Magog. If we were to take this kings lineage, it would, Magog would relate to Noah being the second son of Japhet. And Japhet decedents [tribes] formed the Druid culture.
Gog and Magog are two oak trees in essence. One can walk from Wearyall Hill to and over the summit of Chalice Hill, from their keep walking in a straight line, and you end up at Gog and Magog. At this point you have walked about one mile. Now if you shift a little to the left or west, and I have walked all this, you can walk a straight line to the Abbey Church from Gog and Magog; if you shift a little to the east, you can walk a straight line to the Tor. Not sure what all this means, but I got tired a few times walking, especially from Gog and Magog to the Abbey; but more central is the Tor to both Gog and Magog and the Abbey. Meaning, since I was on the edge of the Tor, my distance to either one was almost the same. In any case I have said enough about my visit and book; I hope you have enjoyed this second edition.

One last word, if one was to go to this wondrous place, there is much more to see than I have shared with you, and I have only shared what I feel relates somewhat to the story. But the people are friendly, and the B&B on the edge of the Tor where I stayed was great, as well as my guide, I will not share their names, for maybe they are wise to be anonymous. But thanks to them my trip with my wife Rosa was a success.


DLS