Chapter 1

We have reached the second Saturday of the month, so, dear readers, I present to you the first chapter of my published works The Feasts and Follies of the Animal Court, © 2012,  available on Barnes & Noble Nook and Amazon Kindle. Enjoy:

“It is because we are brothers that we are enemies.”

Chapter 1 ~ Lost

March 19, 1356

Gertrude was relieved to finally be rid of all the well wishes, the “I’m sorry,” and “he’s in a better place now” gestures. Her room was a wonderful retreat in which to hide, for no one would dare enter the royal chambers without having received permission.

This had been the day in which she helped to prepare her son’s body to rest, as was tradition in her culture. She was in no mood to be entertained. Her body would not cease its persistent trembling, nor could she dam her tears. However miserable she currently felt, Gertrude was proud of her ability of having not shed a single tear before her remaining children when she kissed them off to bed. She could not permit herself to be seen crying in front of her babes. They needed their mother’s strength to keep them whole.

Yet, now that she was alone, to whom could she turn to absorb bravery?

Where was her husband? His absence was troubling, but Gertrude’s routine was not disrupted. The great lady did not even pause to change from her day clothes – feeling comfortable seemed impossible at such a somber time. She proceeded to the large bed, driven by nothing more than the urge to lie down and rest. However, before her wish could be granted, a puzzling sight caught her eye. Upon the bed she saw her son Peter’s button-eyed teddy bear. Falling onto the bed, she clutched the soft bear tightly to her heart.

On the other side of the room she heard the door swing open and slam shut. From years of love and exposure, she immediately recognized the soul who entered.

Breyton did not immediately notice the curled up figure of his wife lying on the bed so he continued the cursing fit he belted throughout the castle’s halls. “That mad-ass gilded slave! Damn him!” Breyton hurled his cane half way across the room where it landed with a snapping clap.

“Please bottle your temper, dear,” Gertrude’s soulless words barely echoed past the frame of the bed in response to her husband’s anger. He had dismantled her peace.

The lady’s words were softly spoken and would have been easily missed by one not tuned to the softness of her voice, but Breyton obediently noted and minded her command. The scarlet that had raged in the gentleman’s creased forehead and long cheeks faded. The anger in his voice was checked at the door. Breyton sighed, scratched his forehead, and as he started for the bed’s side he cooed to his wife, “Oh, my gentle Gertrude, forgive me, I did not see…”

“Oh, dear husband, do not fret,” she whispered into the pillow’s soft and cradling head, “You have every right to be upset; the same as I have every right to rip out my heart.”

His wife’s conduct over the past few days greatly concerned him, and this comment last only added to his worry. Breyton rushed to join his grieving wife on the bed. He noticed as he made his position next to her more comfortable that within her clutches was the favorite bear of their youngest son. “How did you come by this?” Breyton pointed to the bear with one hand and he stroked the side of his wife’s hip with the other.

Her husband’s touch was soothing after so long an absence of any such attention. His presence was precisely what Gertrude’s spirit needed. She pulled the bear closer to asphyxiation then whispered, “It was on the coverlet. Perhaps one of the children left it here, Ivan…maybe Anya, but I doubt that Oleyesa or Soph would have dared to enter Peter’s room, let alone remove his favorite play thing…” her voice waned and her soul filled with a bitter chill. She sought comfort from her husband’s touch, but found in vain that it was not helping. So what better way to avoid tears than to avoid the subject producing them entirely? “How’s your back, Brey?” she asked out of the blue. It was a proper question that any dutiful wife would pose after a night-full of her husband’s complaining.

Breyton chuckled mildly, being not a bit surprised by his wife’s digression. “Well, it’s seen better days.” He kept at petting his wife. It pained him terribly to see her so sad, not as though the past few days were not wearing on the both of them. “How’s that heart of yours?”

Gertrude could no longer retain her grief. Her eyes blurred from tears and through her sobs she mumbled, “Barely beating.”

With his long fingered hands, Breyton gently rolled his wife onto her back. He pushed aside the teddy bear, and laid his head between her breasts. His act yielded Gertrude’s tears, for curiosity was the stronger chord controlling her.

“Ah, my dear queen,” Breyton ran his fingers up and down his wife’s sides as still his tanned faced used her chest as a pillow. “This evidence proves you wrong. I hear loud and clear your heart beating brilliantly.”

“Oh, my loving king,” Gertrude’s fingers tenderly rubbed the side of Breyton’s face. She had missed his physical attention for so long. As bitter sweet the moment was, Gertrude found distraction as she stared at the top of the king’s head where his hair had thinned considerably. Though of course he knew better, Breyton blamed his hair loss upon it having been worn down from years of wearing a crown. Breyton rubbed his head against his wife’s chest. He raised his torso, leaning up on his forearms. His intense, round blue eyes looked lovingly at his wife. “Your bravery inspires me.”

“Huh, bravery,” Gertrude, the proud raina, the queen of the country, scoffed and curled her lip with disgust, “What a useless trait for a mother who could do naught to save her babe.”

“Gertrude, you mustn’t blame yourself for Peter’s illness,” the king pleaded, but no warmth returned to his wife’s blue and brown eyes. “Our son is gone, but my dear lady, you’ve still five other babes to tend.”

“Our seven year old is dead, Breyton! Our baby!” Gertrude’s burst of anger swelled and growled in the gloss of her eyes. “How is it that I and countless others lived from the epidemic, but our beautiful boy, our innocent baby was slain by that fever? And that damn doctor, that witch-man, he claimed, he said that Peter was improving!”

“I know, I know, but don’t worry, that man will haunt our castle no longer. I’ve just relieved him from his duty here, to put it delicately. I wish your mother could have been here to tend to Peter…she’s the most superior physician that any of our kingdoms can claim.” Breyton started to sit properly, but he was grabbed by his wife and pulled back down beside her.

Gertrude wanted nothing more than to be embraced by her husband.

The husband and wife, the country’s king and queen, clutched onto each other and openly displayed their mourning within the privacy of their bed’s embrace. The funeral for their youngest child was to come on the morrow’s rise. The impending hour of that black ceremony drained all monarchical duties, expectations, and mannerisms from the royal couple. They were mortal again.

Hidden within Gertrude’s sobs, the woman uttered, “No parents should have to suffer the death of their child. None. I don’t care who they are, this suffering is too cruel to bear.”

         The couple continued in such a manner for some time until the gentle Gertrude succumbed to sleep. Her rest came to her husband’s great relief. She had not slept since the night before Peter died. As he delicately pulled the thick fur coverlet over himself and his wife, all of the burdens that his lady had borne in her lifetime that somehow molded her into the gentle soul she was today, flashed before his eyes, blinding him from the present, and dragging him back into the searing past.