The Life and Times of Angelina of Glastonbury (Book II)
The Life and Times:
Angelina of Glastonbury
Book II
Preamble: For those who have read the first book of Angelina, called “The Rape of Angelina, of Glastonbury,” written in 2002, was put into a separate book, and a year later into a collection of short stories called “Death on Demand,” and shown on 104-internet sites worldwide, and considered the best suspense story written in a decade, by Editor, of an Australian literature magazine, and Reviewer and Scholar, Benjamin Szumskyj, have now the chance to read the background that created the story, in several light sketches called, “The Life and Times of Angelina of Glastonbury,” the second book, you could say, and the final account of her life. Although not as aggressive and skillfully written as the first book, it will give you perhaps a chance to finalize your curiosity of what happened after she married the Green Knight. dlsiluk
Angelina of Glastonbury
And the Perfect Squire
III
[A.D. 1218]
Phillip of Glastonbury
[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 in future times; such portrays this romantic era provided; 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 ripping out of its seams, 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 serve of Christendom in the East, where the Crusaders were taking place.
There were colorful stories he’d tell Angelina, this being part of the reason 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 at an early age, for she had the longing, the desire to see the Holy Lands, and if necessary, do battle with the foe, 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):
“Genghis Khan, 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, whom she considered a coward); whom would allowed religious freedoms, which King John tried to take away. She had even heard Genghis Khan abolished torture as it 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 Maribel, 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 had listened 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 a 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 nine, 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 bridge, 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 then 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 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 asks 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, the dinner table would now be filled with one more mouth to boast of valor.
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 (This sketch of Angelina’s Life was written in St. Paul, Minnesota: “The Life and Times of Angelina of Glastonbury.” Reedited 3/2008
Angelina of Glastonbury
And the Cart of Heads
IV
[A.D. 1192-1199]
Introduction: It was an ongoing dispatched war, like no other; it lasted 200-years, and six crusades, from 1096, onward. Whatever their ultimate plan was, if indeed they had a plan, I am not sure of. 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 tinge 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 the 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 (But I will have you know, I’ve been to England a number of times, and once to Glastonbury, and to Egypt, so with observation and imagination, we shall find out what took place with this Knight that really did exist).
The story of the Crusades to me is a big display of motion and 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 born there.)
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 (being in one war, and the Army of the United States for eleven years), 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. In a like manner, the American soldier is free from being in the international court, as of this writing anyway. 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-battled-seasons—two hundred
Years of death, death and war, Holy
War, called 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 to get involved. AD 1172, to join forces that is, in a military campaign; he was a full squire, and was but seventeen-years old, untested in battle though.
(Born: 1155); and thirty-years older than his future wife, Angelina.)
Chapter Two
The Valley of Jezebel [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, or 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 tinge of fear into his own soldiers, those who fought side by side, shoulder to shoulder, with him: brave he was, but reckless, much enjoying it, as a hawk swiftly fly’s by and grabs a land rodent, and plays with him even once dead. 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, serve on further campaigns. His contribution was seen as sufficient (and out of the ten years King Richard would fight in the Holy Land, he would spend ten-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 be forgiven based on the loving and willingness of men and their meritorious work and service, but as the Green Knight had put it, “If God does not forgive me now, He never will.”
Written March/2006 “The Life and Times of: Angelina of Glastonbury.” Reedited 3/2008
Angelina of Glastonbury
And the Devil’s Wall
V
[A.D. 1147]
[Angelina’s Diary AD 1206]
(Spoke Angelina to her son :) “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 had a bald head, she was bald as a baby’s behind. A diverse, 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. She 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 a Germania, in a City called Augsburg. 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 thrust of his sword like one slices bread I suppose, when she was eating dinner.
“Grandpa thought the creature was waiting for him to do her in, because she was not a weakling, and was faster than an arrow, and could have killed him perhaps, during the nights he stayed with her, but she did not; and so he supposed, she was tired of the lust for war, so Grandpa says, and allowed her death to take place from a person she respected.”
“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.”
Written in March, 2006, St. Paul, Minnesota; “The Devil’s Wall”; reedited 3/2008
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
The Green Knight, in, Lurking Beast of Prey
VII
[A.D. 1184]
“Before the Green Knight knew of Angelina, Angelina known of him.”
Part one of two
With sword 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.
(Diary notes of the Green Knight) “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, I felt I had the edge against my prey. My insides roared like a isolated 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 built the fire recently, it was burning high, and the logs were flickering in the October chill, as a draft came down from the ceiling, 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, 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 done 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 about 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…”
The Green Knight
In, Lurking Menace
Part II
“The girl had not escaped my hand or sword, I was her slayer, but had I known 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 she felt it her duty to kill, and fight for their cause, whatever—I was her lurking menace, and her means of death.
“The fire scattered about the inner cave like domain, gave off a weird form of an underground moon, that was light, reflections 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 trail of blood from her head to her neck (to her torso).
“I was walking around the underground pillar, like a drunken 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, bent 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 broodiest impression of a shapeless bulk leaving this tomb like campsite, 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 was full of thoughts, thoughts 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.
Note: the original story of "The Rape of Angelina of Glastonbury,' was written upon my return from that very location, in April, 2002; which won the heart of the Editor in an international magazine: the best story of its kind in a decade he wrote. It was written about six years ago. Since then I wrote five linking parts to it, and here is the last part; the story has really taken on a life of its own, which I have written out at the Café during lunch [El Parquetito’s, in Lima, Peru], this last part of the Green Knight, the others parts mostly in Minnesota, in March. This story here was written in March of 2006 after my arriving in Peru, on March 9th, thereafter, writing this story the very month I was here. Reedited, 3/2008
Angelina of Glastonbury
The Headman’s Axe
VII
[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, just staring. I was young back then, strong, a hard body for a boy of my age like my father.
Richard, my brother was a tinge more discernible, he didn’t lack courage, yet he was unsure if 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; not sure if he knew what happened, he just died.
I know my mother is not safe when in that daydreaming mode of her so history has told me so. She was like a loaded crossbow, with a hair-trigger. She told me once:
“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 A.D., with a 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, read it.
The eloquence of those historic sentences, the nobility and idealism, they expressed warmth to 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, as it was indeed.
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, and let me add, for all of Europe. It was a time when the Muslim leader, Saladin—had conquered Jerusalem in 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 bears.
If we were to go beyond Europe at this particular time in history we’d see Genghis Khan capturing Peking, and breaking through the Great Wall of China, and conquering all with his Mongols, 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 from 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, for with such worry in his mind, he would not be of little use in battle. The king took this as an insolent behavior, and there was no more to say. He begged the king to let him stay with me; 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 I was strong, 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 a gateway also. Map reading is not my specialty, 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 winter; the air was chilled, a wind almost freezing, you could see your breath. She leaned over the edge of the boat, 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 for her and her husband.
They had now docked the boat, walked up to the gateway entrance:
(Diary) “With my gold in hand I bribed the first two guards to let me in so I could 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 during her ordeal with the knights that had raped her, long ago, and the wolf, did a little revenge for her, it had come back to here after it had run off someplace; most of her wolf’s teeth were missing but he had a mean growl, was faithful, some claws yet, and still had several teeth in place, if needed for battle; the wolf was to wait by the Bell Tower, and Richard was to remain 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 plan. But my son tells me I created one quickly. Anyhow, we walked slowly down the Great Hall, quietly past 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, the one 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 a 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 all over the young guard next to me, to include me and my son.
“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, because 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 toward my breast and had his pleasure with me for that moment, I was taken by surprise, and when he pulled out his hand from my garment….
[Phillip tells the rest of the story during an evening at the table, in Glastonbury over dinner and wine] that was all my mother could remember, so I will have to fill in the spaces. When he pulled his hand out, of the upper part of my mother’s 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, for I was horrified to have seen the man on the rack being stretched out of his joints. But the Headsman’s block axe was there when I first past that area, because I saw it, and I noticed my mother touching it, and when I looked back to see how sharp it was, it was gone, I assumed the guard had taken it. Again my mind was busy somewhat thinking about that guy on the rack, whose limbs were being pulled to god-knows were, this blocked all other things out of my brain’s reach, but here is what followed, what I remember:
When the huge and heavy soldier pulled his hand out of my mother’s gown, out came the axe, she had hidden it under her cloths, thus his hand dropped like a mug of ale on the floor, she chopped it off; then off came his head, his eyes still in shock looking at his hand, now his head on the floor was watching his body swaying ready to collapse on his head, and next, as I looked into his cavity called a neck, he even blinked his eyes, I caught it from a peripheral view, couldn’t believe he was headless, handless and helpless, and part of the living dead. 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 as 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 and torture, so he was at home here. 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, where she found plan B, just sitting on the side by the doorway.
Aye, yes, the young soldier was still in shock; something was running down his leg onto the floor it looked yellow.
Chapter Four
EscapeAll 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 a due (or time to waste), she undressed, and unwound the rope around her body, and tied it to a bar in the window: the bars were separated wide enough that we did not have to dig out any, thank goodness.
As we climbed down the rope, mom’s wolf was faithfully waiting, but we also saw that young guard now running past and through the gateway to us, he had gotten his composure back. When he had caught up to us, some 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 now, and my father had 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 for her. 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 liked him also, 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, that’s all I know.
Note: Dedicated to Benjamin Szumskyj; written 1/15/06, at the BN-café, Roseville, Minnesota; reedited 3/2008, in Lima, Peru. In writing this out, I had to remember how it was in the Tower of London, and then did some research how it was a thousand years ago. I was in the Tower of London twice, once in 1997, again in 2001.
Angelina of Glastonbury
Book II
Preamble: For those who have read the first book of Angelina, called “The Rape of Angelina, of Glastonbury,” written in 2002, was put into a separate book, and a year later into a collection of short stories called “Death on Demand,” and shown on 104-internet sites worldwide, and considered the best suspense story written in a decade, by Editor, of an Australian literature magazine, and Reviewer and Scholar, Benjamin Szumskyj, have now the chance to read the background that created the story, in several light sketches called, “The Life and Times of Angelina of Glastonbury,” the second book, you could say, and the final account of her life. Although not as aggressive and skillfully written as the first book, it will give you perhaps a chance to finalize your curiosity of what happened after she married the Green Knight. dlsiluk
Angelina of Glastonbury
And the Perfect Squire
III
[A.D. 1218]
Phillip of Glastonbury
[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 in future times; such portrays this romantic era provided; 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 ripping out of its seams, 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 serve of Christendom in the East, where the Crusaders were taking place.
There were colorful stories he’d tell Angelina, this being part of the reason 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 at an early age, for she had the longing, the desire to see the Holy Lands, and if necessary, do battle with the foe, 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):
“Genghis Khan, 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, whom she considered a coward); whom would allowed religious freedoms, which King John tried to take away. She had even heard Genghis Khan abolished torture as it 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 Maribel, 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 had listened 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 a 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 nine, 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 bridge, 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 then 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 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 asks 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, the dinner table would now be filled with one more mouth to boast of valor.
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 (This sketch of Angelina’s Life was written in St. Paul, Minnesota: “The Life and Times of Angelina of Glastonbury.” Reedited 3/2008
Angelina of Glastonbury
And the Cart of Heads
IV
[A.D. 1192-1199]
Introduction: It was an ongoing dispatched war, like no other; it lasted 200-years, and six crusades, from 1096, onward. Whatever their ultimate plan was, if indeed they had a plan, I am not sure of. 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 tinge 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 the 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 (But I will have you know, I’ve been to England a number of times, and once to Glastonbury, and to Egypt, so with observation and imagination, we shall find out what took place with this Knight that really did exist).
The story of the Crusades to me is a big display of motion and 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 born there.)
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 (being in one war, and the Army of the United States for eleven years), 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. In a like manner, the American soldier is free from being in the international court, as of this writing anyway. 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-battled-seasons—two hundred
Years of death, death and war, Holy
War, called 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 to get involved. AD 1172, to join forces that is, in a military campaign; he was a full squire, and was but seventeen-years old, untested in battle though.
(Born: 1155); and thirty-years older than his future wife, Angelina.)
Chapter Two
The Valley of Jezebel [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, or 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 tinge of fear into his own soldiers, those who fought side by side, shoulder to shoulder, with him: brave he was, but reckless, much enjoying it, as a hawk swiftly fly’s by and grabs a land rodent, and plays with him even once dead. 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, serve on further campaigns. His contribution was seen as sufficient (and out of the ten years King Richard would fight in the Holy Land, he would spend ten-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 be forgiven based on the loving and willingness of men and their meritorious work and service, but as the Green Knight had put it, “If God does not forgive me now, He never will.”
Written March/2006 “The Life and Times of: Angelina of Glastonbury.” Reedited 3/2008
Angelina of Glastonbury
And the Devil’s Wall
V
[A.D. 1147]
[Angelina’s Diary AD 1206]
(Spoke Angelina to her son :) “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 had a bald head, she was bald as a baby’s behind. A diverse, 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. She 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 a Germania, in a City called Augsburg. 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 thrust of his sword like one slices bread I suppose, when she was eating dinner.
“Grandpa thought the creature was waiting for him to do her in, because she was not a weakling, and was faster than an arrow, and could have killed him perhaps, during the nights he stayed with her, but she did not; and so he supposed, she was tired of the lust for war, so Grandpa says, and allowed her death to take place from a person she respected.”
“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.”
Written in March, 2006, St. Paul, Minnesota; “The Devil’s Wall”; reedited 3/2008
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
The Green Knight, in, Lurking Beast of Prey
VII
[A.D. 1184]
“Before the Green Knight knew of Angelina, Angelina known of him.”
Part one of two
With sword 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.
(Diary notes of the Green Knight) “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, I felt I had the edge against my prey. My insides roared like a isolated 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 built the fire recently, it was burning high, and the logs were flickering in the October chill, as a draft came down from the ceiling, 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, 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 done 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 about 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…”
The Green Knight
In, Lurking Menace
Part II
“The girl had not escaped my hand or sword, I was her slayer, but had I known 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 she felt it her duty to kill, and fight for their cause, whatever—I was her lurking menace, and her means of death.
“The fire scattered about the inner cave like domain, gave off a weird form of an underground moon, that was light, reflections 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 trail of blood from her head to her neck (to her torso).
“I was walking around the underground pillar, like a drunken 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, bent 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 broodiest impression of a shapeless bulk leaving this tomb like campsite, 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 was full of thoughts, thoughts 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.
Note: the original story of "The Rape of Angelina of Glastonbury,' was written upon my return from that very location, in April, 2002; which won the heart of the Editor in an international magazine: the best story of its kind in a decade he wrote. It was written about six years ago. Since then I wrote five linking parts to it, and here is the last part; the story has really taken on a life of its own, which I have written out at the Café during lunch [El Parquetito’s, in Lima, Peru], this last part of the Green Knight, the others parts mostly in Minnesota, in March. This story here was written in March of 2006 after my arriving in Peru, on March 9th, thereafter, writing this story the very month I was here. Reedited, 3/2008
Angelina of Glastonbury
The Headman’s Axe
VII
[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, just staring. I was young back then, strong, a hard body for a boy of my age like my father.
Richard, my brother was a tinge more discernible, he didn’t lack courage, yet he was unsure if 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; not sure if he knew what happened, he just died.
I know my mother is not safe when in that daydreaming mode of her so history has told me so. She was like a loaded crossbow, with a hair-trigger. She told me once:
“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 A.D., with a 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, read it.
The eloquence of those historic sentences, the nobility and idealism, they expressed warmth to 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, as it was indeed.
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, and let me add, for all of Europe. It was a time when the Muslim leader, Saladin—had conquered Jerusalem in 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 bears.
If we were to go beyond Europe at this particular time in history we’d see Genghis Khan capturing Peking, and breaking through the Great Wall of China, and conquering all with his Mongols, 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 from 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, for with such worry in his mind, he would not be of little use in battle. The king took this as an insolent behavior, and there was no more to say. He begged the king to let him stay with me; 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 I was strong, 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 a gateway also. Map reading is not my specialty, 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 winter; the air was chilled, a wind almost freezing, you could see your breath. She leaned over the edge of the boat, 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 for her and her husband.
They had now docked the boat, walked up to the gateway entrance:
(Diary) “With my gold in hand I bribed the first two guards to let me in so I could 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 during her ordeal with the knights that had raped her, long ago, and the wolf, did a little revenge for her, it had come back to here after it had run off someplace; most of her wolf’s teeth were missing but he had a mean growl, was faithful, some claws yet, and still had several teeth in place, if needed for battle; the wolf was to wait by the Bell Tower, and Richard was to remain 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 plan. But my son tells me I created one quickly. Anyhow, we walked slowly down the Great Hall, quietly past 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, the one 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 a 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 all over the young guard next to me, to include me and my son.
“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, because 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 toward my breast and had his pleasure with me for that moment, I was taken by surprise, and when he pulled out his hand from my garment….
[Phillip tells the rest of the story during an evening at the table, in Glastonbury over dinner and wine] that was all my mother could remember, so I will have to fill in the spaces. When he pulled his hand out, of the upper part of my mother’s 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, for I was horrified to have seen the man on the rack being stretched out of his joints. But the Headsman’s block axe was there when I first past that area, because I saw it, and I noticed my mother touching it, and when I looked back to see how sharp it was, it was gone, I assumed the guard had taken it. Again my mind was busy somewhat thinking about that guy on the rack, whose limbs were being pulled to god-knows were, this blocked all other things out of my brain’s reach, but here is what followed, what I remember:
When the huge and heavy soldier pulled his hand out of my mother’s gown, out came the axe, she had hidden it under her cloths, thus his hand dropped like a mug of ale on the floor, she chopped it off; then off came his head, his eyes still in shock looking at his hand, now his head on the floor was watching his body swaying ready to collapse on his head, and next, as I looked into his cavity called a neck, he even blinked his eyes, I caught it from a peripheral view, couldn’t believe he was headless, handless and helpless, and part of the living dead. 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 as 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 and torture, so he was at home here. 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, where she found plan B, just sitting on the side by the doorway.
Aye, yes, the young soldier was still in shock; something was running down his leg onto the floor it looked yellow.
Chapter Four
EscapeAll 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 a due (or time to waste), she undressed, and unwound the rope around her body, and tied it to a bar in the window: the bars were separated wide enough that we did not have to dig out any, thank goodness.
As we climbed down the rope, mom’s wolf was faithfully waiting, but we also saw that young guard now running past and through the gateway to us, he had gotten his composure back. When he had caught up to us, some 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 now, and my father had 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 for her. 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 liked him also, 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, that’s all I know.
Note: Dedicated to Benjamin Szumskyj; written 1/15/06, at the BN-café, Roseville, Minnesota; reedited 3/2008, in Lima, Peru. In writing this out, I had to remember how it was in the Tower of London, and then did some research how it was a thousand years ago. I was in the Tower of London twice, once in 1997, again in 2001.
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 10:21 PM
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