“You’ll look in on her?”
“Yes.”
“And keep your mouth shut?”
Henry looked up at his friend a bit resentfully, but eventually softened. “You know I will.”
John hefted up his sack of food for the road, his bundle of clothing and the axe that had been in his family since his grandfather’s time. His land would be better tended by neighbors while he was gone than he could ever manage alone. They were all happy that one of their own answered the call to take up arms for Christ, and wanted to do their part in support.
He had already said his goodbyes to his wife before this. She wept, confessing her sins to him, but she did not ask him to stay. She could barely bring herself to thank him. Nor did she stay to see him off.
John’s Crusade, as it turned out, became more about fighting banditry than Saracens bent on holding Jerusalem. He lived another two years before he met his end, seeing far more action on the journey than in the Holy Land itself. He didn’t live to see Jerusalem fall, which was just as well. The aftermath would have broken his heart almost as surely as Katherine had.
John was lucky, or perhaps able to make his own luck. Men-at-arms saw fit to train him and some others to fight like warriors rather than peasants. He traveled with real soldiers, rather than with the massive mobs of would-be Crusading peasants that succeeded only in burning and murdering Jews in Europe.
Several of those murdering peasants died by John’s hand. It was blind luck, he maintained, that kept his name among those constantly called to keep order and enforce some measure of justice among the Duke of Normandy’s men. He spent much of his time settling feuds between Christian warriors, sometimes with words and other times with violence.
He put down three men who’d murdered their captain, and later even faced down and slew a knight who’d raped a merchant’s wife, all before they reached Constantinople. He may have been a failure as a husband, but he turned out to be an excellent warrior. By the time they got to the Holy Land, it was joked around the campfire that John would have a hard time slaughtering Saracens enough to equal the number of Christians he’d killed.
In the end, the joke proved all too accurate. He fought only a few battles against the Saracens. He rarely had time or energy for plunder. The more he saw of the Holy Land, the more he wondered if his heart was truly in the quest.
He fought heroically at Antioch, but his final battle came in the hours following the taking of the city. Rather than Saracens, he once again faced his own kind.
In those wild streets, John found a French noblewoman with several men-at-arms and a clutch of cowering Saracen girls. The woman had drifted from one lord to the next throughout the journey. John never rightly knew who she was or where she’d come from. Her beauty alone explained why she was allowed to come along, for it seemed that no one could deny her anything. He’d never seen such striking green eyes or golden blonde hair. John found her unsettling, but she had no time for one as lowly as him.
She accused the girls of swallowing jewels to hide them from their conquerors. She instructed the men-at-arms to retrieve them in any way necessary.
John asked his comrades how they thought they would find the Kingdom of God by slitting the bellies of defenseless women. It came to heated words, and then blows.
He fought well. John was quicker, smarter, and sober. The three girls ultimately walked away from the matter, as did only two of the six Crusaders present. The others fell to John’s sword. He nearly defeated them all. The strangely beautiful noblewoman, standing behind him with a dagger, intervened before the last two men-at-arms died at his hand.
John did not walk away from that dispute.
He had friends. He was avenged, at least where the other two men he’d fought were concerned. No one spoke of the noblewoman. She disappeared after the fall of Jerusalem and was soon forgotten.
John’s belongings and treasures and pay, in defiance of all the cynical realities of the time, actually made it home to Normandy. It was enough to provide a real measure of security. His wife had given birth to a child within nine months of his departure, who came to bear John’s name.
No one ever accused Katherine of bearing another man’s son. Nor did Katherine ever tell anyone that on their wedding night, John had dried her tears and promised to never take her without her consent. Nor did anyone speak ill when, a year after John’s death and that of William’s first wife, widow and widower were married.
John died shortly after the blonde woman tore his wedding band from his hand. His last thoughts as he bled out from a dagger in his back in the dirty streets of Antioch were of his wife. His last prayer was that Katherine would live a long, happy life full of love.
She did.
* * *
Alex remembered nothing of his dreams that morning. They fled from his mind in the first seconds of his waking, distracted as he was by Lorelei making love to him with her kiss alone.
Lorelei could share only in dreams of his desires. He’d had several about her that left her feeling properly appreciated. She didn’t dwell much on the other disjointed, fleeting images that ran through his unconscious mind in between.
She paused in her attentions just long enough to murmur, sweetly, “Good morning, my love.”
Alex stretched out in the large bed without opening his eyes. “Master,” he corrected with a grin.
He felt her body, draped over his legs, tense and hold him tighter as she responded to the word. “Oh,” she grinned widely, “now he wants to play.”
* * *
Even in Heaven, everyone loved a good scandal. Immortal beings who saw each minute and day pass no faster or slower than the mortal world knew how to savor small things. Events in Seattle hardly threatened to reshape the world, but they still made for great gossip. Nothing this juicy had happened since the end of the First World War.
The informal congress of angels grew in numbers overnight. A great many of the seraphim descended from Heaven, along with no small number of the ophanim. Angelic lords and Heavenly bureaucrats attended as well, since their responsibilities could be put on hold. For the guardian angels, it was somewhat the reverse; they were greater in overall number, but only a small portion could step away from their charges for long.
Some angels, particularly the lords and ophanim, took everything seriously. Others, such as the seraphim, tittered and speculated and made a big deal of everything. The guardians were a mixed bag, but in having constant contact with human diversity, this was no great surprise. Some found the events in Seattle alarming; others saw them as a sign of hope, or at least a reaffirmation of purpose.
So many attended that the meeting moved to St. Mark’s Cathedral, a landmark building on Capitol Hill overlooking Lake Union. That Saturday morning, the sun shone brightly through scattered clouds as angels stood all over the grounds talking about both current events and their vastly intertwined pasts.
Much of that conversation stopped at the wordless arrival of a proud, triumphant guardian angel. No one expected to see her come in from above.
She flew down from the skies under her broad, glorious wings. Many angels were shocked by her appearance. Many guardians cheered at her recovery. They looked on with interest as the lovely blonde landed and strode to the doors of the cathedral.