Chapter 1
Ellsworth Castle, Isle of Ely, England, 1152
“Father.”
He sat alone, my mother’s chair beside him on the raised dais empty since Darien was a
young boy. True to his word, he had never re-occupied it. Theirs was a rare love match, and the
only woman he’d ever sit beside again was ‘your mother, when we reunite in heaven.’
After bowing to him and accepting warm words of welcome from my father’s retainers
seated in the hall, I approached the 6th Earl of Ellsworth.
“Son,” he said, standing. It had been three years, too short a time for the earl to have aged
so rapidly. Returning to find him looking more like an old man than the warrior who trained him,
Darien, never having been fostered by anyone other than his father, took some of his annoyance
at being called home away.
When he descended the two stairs and opened his arms in a rare public display of
affection, claps greeted the two men’s embrace.
“Welcome home.”
Everything Darien had been prepared to say fell to the wayside. Had he wanted to leave
Castle Blackwood to make the journey here? Nay. But now, Darien was glad he’d done so.
“Are you well?” he asked, knowing his father would not admit otherwise.
“Aye,” he said, as the two men released each other and made their way back up the stairs.
Darien sat to his left, glancing briefly at the seat his mother would have occupied. The meal he’d
interrupted resumed. With no one closeby, the two men were able to speak freely.
“You said there was an urgent matter?” Time was a luxury he could not waste. It was
imperative he return to Blackwood quickly.
“We will speak on that privately. Tell me your news. Rumor makes its way to Ely but
accounts often differ. They say the king was released from captivity in exchange for Matilda’s
half-brother.”
Darien thanked the servant who poured his ale and looked around the familiar hall, its
vaulted ceilings soaring overhead. Cold stone walls were illuminated by flickering sconces and
the bright light of an oversized hearth closeby. Tapestries depicted ancient battles and crests of
the long-gone Ellsworth earls hung intermittently between them. The air smelled faintly of
woodsmoke and iron, the great hall’s ambiance one of both power and tradition, where the
whispers of past rulers lingered.
“I heard as much on the road as well. And also that King Stephen is targeting Brien
FitzCount at Wallingford Castle by building a countercastle nearby.”
“The tides are turning, son.”
Darien glanced sideways at his father. Though it was not a secret Ellsworth sided with the
empress, neither had the earl been pleased about Darien’s recruitment into the Guardians of the
Sacred Oak. He worried such open support would break their generations-long commitment to
remaining, as much as possible, out of the politics that plagued much of England.
The Isle of Ely’s remote location, and whispers of mystery of which none of them
disputed, purposefully, had served them well. But this dispute had lasted longer than most. Now
fifteen years later, it had become impossible for any in England not to openly declare for one
side.
“I would know why you called me home,” Darien said, impatient to learn the meaning of
his father’s words. Knowing him well, ‘the tides are turning’ sounded more like a prediction than
a simple offhanded statement.
Rather than responding, the earl accepted his meal and began to eat. With no recourse but
to do the same, Darien followed suit. “I wrote to you of the men I befriended at Castle
Blackwood.”
“The Earl of DeVere’s son, fighting for our cause. That was a surprise, I will admit.”
“Roland’s beliefs are his own, and he follows a path he believes in.”
“They may pay dearly for such a path.”
“Many have,” Darien admitted. King Stephen had taken land and title from many of
Matilda’s supporters. “It is a chance he, and we along with him, are willing to take.”
This time, there was no doubt about the cause of the shadow that crossed the earl’s
expression. For many years, it had been the two of them at Ellsworth. No future earl had been
fostered anywhere but on the Isle, for reasons known only to their family. As such, Darien knew
his father well.
Something had happened to shake the earl’s resolve of their support. If he’d called him
home to ask Darien to remain, it would not bode well. He would no sooner abandon the cause,
and his friends, than he would surrender his sword at the feet of the very tyrant they sought to
overthrow.
“Tell me more of the others. The blacksmith and the tourney knight. And of London.
Were you a part of Matilda’s escort?”
Dairen did so, asking for his father’s own report about the home he would someday
inherit. It was only when the meal was cleared and earl gave leave for those in the hall to retire
despite his presence that Darien’s father finally told him why he’d been summoned home.
“She’s had a vision.”
Suspecting as much, Darien almost wished he could stop his father from continuing.
Throughout the meal, he had pieced together enough to know the words that would come next
from his father’s mouth would not be welcomed.
He waited. They were alone now, the meal cleared and the hall emptied. Nothing stopped
the earl from continuing except his own hesitation. One that did not bode well for Darien.
“She will not regain the throne. Your time at Castle Blackwood is at an end.” ...
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