After all was said and done, Stephen and Henry sealed their treaty with a kiss of peace at Winchester Cathedral, in a ceremony attended by his barons, and their wives. Thereafter, there was a feast held in the Duke’s honor, with dignitaries from the Church in attendance.
Marcella recovered quickly enough to join her true mistress, the Empress, as a witness to the ceremony at Winchester. She remained thereafter as Matilda’s personal guard.
Weary though he was, and resigned to the circumstances, the King himself remained in good spirits. But though he welcomed his barons in good standing, he ordered those who were not to be executed by his Rex Militum—one final mission for the sake of the realm.
Thereafter, “The Company” was formally disbanded, all its members dispatched to their holdings, and their names stricken from the royal archives.
As for the Papal Guard, if, indeed, it continued its commissions, no records remained, nor were any of its officers ever named.
At long last, the Witch Queen was defeated. No one knew precisely where she’d gone, though it mattered not at all—at least not to anyone who didn’t know the truth.
Alas, Rhiannon and her sisters knew: Morwen was not dead.
In this world, all things were connected, living or dead. Her spirit was out there, somewhere, waiting for another opportunity to return…
And still, for the moment, there was peace.
To commemorate their victory over evil, the Church made yet another decree: the Pendragon name should be banned from further assumption. The dragon pennants were retired with Uther’s son Arthur. And, furthermore, on pain of excommunication, no man could bear witness to the events that unfolded at Amdel. So far as all histories were concerned, no battle ever took place there. The Welsh kings were never present. Avalon did not exist. Wild Wales must now be tamed. Magik was no more than a dream.
Gathered outside Winchester Cathedral, Seren, Rose, Ellie and Rhiannon all stood saying their farewells to Marcella. The paladin’s task before rejoining the Empress in Rouen, would be to visit Jack’s mother in Calais… if for naught else, to give her sympathies, and to award the woman his effects, along with a generous stipend from the Church for his services.
Joined by their husbands, the sisters were summoned back inside the vestibule, and there, after all these long, long years, stood their half-sister, the Empress Matilda, along with her son, the future king of England. “I am told you are all to be commended,” said the Empress, casting a brief glance toward Marcella le Fae. Her gaze fell first upon Elspeth, and she nodded her gratitude, grasping Elspeth’s hand, and holding it delicately. “You above all, I must give my gratitude. We have endured,” she said. “Against our enemies, and against the odds, we stand tall in the eyes of God.” She patted Elspeth’s hand. “Our father would be proud.”
Elspeth inclined her head, and said, “We remain in your service, Your Eminence.”
Rhiannon said nothing. She reached for the arm of her beloved and drew him back, letting her sisters enjoy Matilda’s attention, because she and Matilda were not related by blood.
The Empress and her son exchanged pleasantries with her sisters and their husbands, laughing easily amidst themselves; the sight of them all together made Rhiannon’s heart swell with pride. “England will never know how close it came to its doom,” said Cael.
Rhiannon grinned up at her husband and said, “This I know.”
“And you, my beauteous wife, you may never get your proper thanks, except from me.” He bent to whisper into her ear. “But I vow I’ll find new ways to express my undying love and gratitude for the rest of my days.”
Fearing his whisper would carry in the vestibule, Rhiannon squeezed his arm to silence him, but he wouldn’t be silenced. He pulled her aside, taking her into his arms. Haplessly, she gazed up at her beautiful, loyal husband, her dark angel, in truth. Though he might never again spread his wings on earth, she knew the truth—as all who were there to witness did as well: Angels did exist, and walked amongst men.
However, so, too, did witches.
“Rhiannon,” said Matilda, her shrewd gaze finding Rhiannon’s at last. And then, she and her son came to address her and Cael. “I am told you, in particular, are to be honored.” As she had with Elspeth, she reached out to seize Rhiannon by the hand, patting it gently. “I only wish you to know that… I know.” She nodded very meaningfully, and said, “Your loyalty will be rewarded, my sister. And please, do remember, if ever you should find yourself in Rouen… my house is your house.”
“Thank you, Empress,” said Rhiannon graciously as Duke Henry insinuated himself into the conversation to kiss Cael upon both cheeks.
“Lord Blackwood,” he said. “’Tis good to see you again. I trust you are enjoying your new commission?” As Marcher Lord.
“I am,” said Cael. “I am grateful for the trust you’ve placed in me, my Prince, and I will endeavor to serve you well.”
“I know you will,” said Duke Henry, patting Cael’s shoulder. “It was well deserved,” he said with a wink, and then he reached over to tap his mother on the elbow, nodding toward his uncle to remind her of the procession still waiting to be greeted outside.
The Empress smiled fondly, and said to all, “Go with God, until we meet again.”
“And you, as well,” said the sisters in unison.
Together, they stood, watching with pride—and relief—as the Empress, along with Duke Henry, made their way out with King Stephen to greet the shouting masses.
High up on a narrow window, two black birds sat watching from a distance… two female crows, one bent-legged, one young with shining blue-black wings. Silent and watchful, they were joined by a third crow… this one a hefty young rook. As the guests turned to leave, it spoke a single discernible word: “Jaaack!”
Rhiannon turned to locate the creature, finding all three crows together, her gaze sought Seren’s. Her sister nodded and winked.
“Jaaack!” said the crow. “Jaaack! Jaaack!”
Author’s Note
Dearest reader,
This series was crafted with love, interwoven with true historical events, with loving nods toward the Arthurian tales. Obviously, as fantastical as my story is, it’s a figment of my imagination. However, I tried to stay true to those real-life characters and events I’ve included, weaving them into my story with the utmost respect.
Cerridwen, Taliesin and their brood are mostly taken from the Mabinogion, and early Welsh Folklore. Naturally, I’ve taken literary license to fashion Cerridwen as the Mother of Avalon, and attributed the legendary isle’s demise to her as well.
Of course, no one knows whether Avalon truly existed and no record has ever been found of the mythical isle. Some sources claim ancient Glastonbury, completely surrounded by marshlands, is, in fact, the mythical isle. In Welsh, this island is called Ynys Afallach, which literally means the Island of Apples—probably because this fruit once grew there in abundance. Appropriate, in a way, if we consider Avalon to be the original Garden of Eden, and this it would be, if Cerridwen were, in fact, an angel sent to guard the realms of men.
On the more Earthly side, Eustace of Blois was generally considered to be unfit to rule. He was a spoiled, greedy baron, often taxing his barons injuriously. He did, indeed, die during the Ides of August in 1153, shortly after storming out of his father’s peace conference, and raiding and looting Bury St. Edmunds. The manner of his death has long been the subject of speculation, with many people claiming he was poisoned by his enemies to remove him from succession, probably so his father would finally agree to the proposed treaty with Duke Henry.