Disclaimers in Part 1 Thanks to DK & M (as opposed to DKNY -- *groan*) for help w/ my awkward French and, as always, thanks to Viv for the bril beta work.
Whew! Now, on to our story.....
1226 AD, Week 9 of the siege (Ormarc/Languedoc)
A hollow laugh rang through the small clearing. The figure lashed onto a makeshift T-shaped post raised a blonde head to stare out at the circle of men and horses before he spat vehemently at the ground. "Go fuck a goat!"
A chainmail glove struck the bound man's face, splitting his lip and cutting a gash near his eyebrow. "God damn you, you backward whoreson! You can't defeat us, you know that? The Pope himself sanctioned this crusade and the nobles of France will rule over this land whether you want it or not. Cooperate. Tell us what we want to know. We are a merciful people."
A nearby horse whinnied anxiously. The prone figure remained silent even as the glove was poised to strike yet another blow.
---
If Lord Chrétien didn't insist that I needed help accomplishing this mission, this never would have happened. Peter's life is in my hands. I cant' let him die-- I WON'T let him die.
I was barely able to stop Luc from tearing into the French camp like Hercules storming Hades and bringing Cerberus back from the underworld. A rueful smile crossed the dark woman's mouth as she peered from her hiding place. Gabrielle would be pleased with that simile . . . Gabrielle. . . Life would have been easier for the both of us if I were just another Lady at your father's court. But my father raised me like a boy, insisted that just because I was a girl, it didn't mean I couldn't do everything the boys at the court were doing. He was so proud when your father made me his squire. . . Do you remember Gabrielle, when we were children? I used to play at war and you used to bandage all my cuts and bruises. I-- I guess we're still doing that. Only now, it's no longer a game. She straightened her shoulders and looked around once more, making sure that no one saw her emerging from the woods. This WILL work. It HAS to--I hope Luc will be ready when he sees my signal. She walked to where the French kept their horses.
---
He was hallucinating. That much he knew. But what puzzled him was that in this half-dream state, his old friend Luc kept insisting on calling him "Iolaus." He figured that the blacksmith must have inhaled too much of those horrible fumes that bellowed from his shop when he was smelting iron. It didn't really alarm him, this odd name-calling. What did alarm him was seeing Na Gabrielle in a state of near undress before him -- skin tanned, her breasts practically falling out of a leather…top of some sort, a short leather skirt-- and her reddish-blonde hair cut short, like a boy's. He was hoping that she didn't notice that he was becoming rather aroused. A familiar voice was calling him; he turned toward it and saw N'Alexandra, in a black battle dress-- DRESS! It looked more like a, a sleeping shift and now he felt fully aroused. Shame filled him. He knew that Na Gabrielle and N'Alexandra were betrothed, that they were constantly at each other's side, that they were meant to be together, but. . . he couldn't help but feel . . a little jealous. He envied the love he saw in their eyes. In his heart he was happy for them and would gladly lay down his life to protect them and his home. He only wished that N'Alexandra would stop calling him "Iolaus." His name was Peter. She should know that. They've known each other since they were children. Peter. Peter the Carpenter. My name is Peter. Peter. Peter. Peter--
"Xena?"
N'Alexandra's brow furrowed in confusion. "No, Peter. It's Alexandra. I'm here to help you, to free you."
He looked up to see the hazy figure of N'Alexandra-- dressed like a common soldier? -- before him. This didn't make sense. Why couldn't he see very well? Why was it so dark? Why was she here? To free him? What did the Lady mean when she said that she would free him? And why was he in so much pain? He couldn't concentrate, but he knew that he had to-- that the Lady's insistent voice was telling him something, trying to explain something. . . But he couldn't concentrate. It hurt too much. It hurts so much.
The distraction had worked and they managed to escape. N'Alexandra looked back to the French encampment as men ran to put out the fires Luc had set within the camp, while others scrambled to recapture the horses that ran between the makeshift tents and across the fields. Her legs were buckling as she and the blacksmith struggled to carry the unconscious carpenter away from the camp. Her hands were covered in blood and she tried to push away the images of her hands holding a struggling guard's mouth while she slit his throat with her dagger, and the man's eyes bulging before his body slackened in her arms.
She motioned to Luc to head for a nearby river, hoping that they could lose the men that would surely follow in the flow of water. She desperately wished to plunge into the water-- to wash away the visions now filling her mind. Oh God, Gabrielle, please forgive me for this. I need you to understand, to forgive me. I don't know if I ever can forgive myself. I don't know if I can ever forget-- "Luc, hurry. We need to get back to Ormarc, to the castle. They'll send out others to find us as soon as they discover Peter is missing. We have to hurry. Peter's injuries are serious. He may die if we don't get him to Lord Ezra in time."
---
Three days later, 1226 AD, the middle of Week 10 of the siege (Ormarc/Languedoc)
"He'll live."
A sense of relief flooded through the small, weary group that stood by the entrance of the sickroom.
Ezra Ben Jonah motioned to a bed in the farthest corner of the crowded room and turned to face the tall blacksmith, sadness in his eyes. "Luc, I'm sorry to say that he'll lose part of his left arm. There was too much damage for me to save it-- gangrene had already set. He would have died of the infection had I not cut the diseased limb off. There seems to be no major damage from the blow to his eye. Both his legs were broken, but they will heal and he will walk as before."
The blacksmith's shoulders quivered slightly as he looked toward the bed where his friend lay. "Thank you, En Ben Jonah. Thank you for saving his life."
The physician nodded solemnly. "He sleeps for now, but you are welcome to keep watch at his bedside." Lord Ezra bowed and turned back to the sick room.
Luc turned to face the others in the small group. "With your permission, En Chrétien, Na Gabrielle, N'Alexandra--"
Lord Chrétien nodded. "I'll come sit with you awhile, Luc." He nodded to the women. "Daughter. . . Alexandra."
As both men walked into the sickroom, Lady Gabrielle turned to her taller companion, her hand gently resting against the soldier's chainmailed forearm. "Alexandra?"
The dark-haired woman shook her head, her eyes holding back tears that were ready to fall. Her voice was bitter and hard. "I should have gotten there sooner, Gabrielle. He shouldn't have suffered so-- I should have been able to save him from--"
"Alexandra--" The redhead gently grasped N'Alexandra's chin. "My love, you DID save him. He's alive. He'll live. Because of you."
Lady Alexandra pulled her face from the noblewoman's grasp. "I'm sure that he'll thank me when he wakes to find that he is now one armed, half-blind, and crippled." She turned from Na Gabrielle and the sick room.
Na Gabrielle grasped the knight's arm, trying to keep N'Alexandra from leaving. "Alexandra, please listen--"
The woman turned, her eyes dark, her voice cold, almost dead. "Gabrielle, let me go. I-- I need to be where others are not."
With a soft nod, the noblewoman released the knight and watched silently as the dark woman stormed down the hallway.
---
Her eyes scanned the horizon as her mind wandered back to the past ten weeks of the siege. One nightmarish vision filled her after another and with each passing moment, her anger grew -- uncontrolled, all-consuming, murderous hate that both frightened and comforted her. She closed her eyes, letting the feeling roll through her frame, letting it bleed through her so she could face what she knew would come with a clear and focused mind. And it would come-- she knew it with a certainty, had counted the minutes and hours after she had cut the blonde carpenter's bound, mangled limbs from the post. The French forces would come and she hoped that they would survive what would surely follow.
---
One day passed and the eastern city wall was breached.
The French poured into the gap like blood pouring out of a fatal wound -- heavy, fast, never-ending and signaling the coming of death. For it was a sort of death to the small mountain city of Ormarc. Men, women, children, noble and commoner alike struggled zealously and tiredly, as the siege sapped much of their energy. They fought against the invaders with the desperation of the dying.
---
1226 AD, the last day of the siege (Ormarc/Languedoc)
The men and women of Ormarc had fought a losing battle against the invading army from the north with pitchforks, clubs, rocks -- anything that would delay the seemingly endless supply of soldiers streaming into the gap in the eastern wall. It was slow, tedious -- ground was won and lost by mere inches. N'Alexandra had fought, along with countless other citizens at the eastern wall; she was one of the few of Chrétien's nobles left on horseback. The convent was destroyed and the people fell back to the cathedral; many, including a dozen nobles, stood their ground at the church, determined that the stone sanctuary would not fall.
As the citizens and nobles tried to establish a defensive line at the front of the church, N'Alexandra scrambled to the Cathedral itself, desperately searching for the Lord of Ormarc.
"En Chrétien! My Lord!"
She found him near the northeastern end of the Cathedral, on foot, his horse long dead, fighting a small group of soldiers that had separated from the main army poised on the eastern front of the stone sanctuary. A terrible angry red gash marked his side and his hair and face were matted with blood. She quickly dispatched of the three soldiers that were harassing the wounded Lord of Ormarc, leapt off her horse and ran to En Chrétien's side.
"My Lord!" Tears sprung to her eyes at seeing him up-close, for he was like a second father to her ever since her own father died of a hunting accident when she was only thirteen. "Sire, we must get you back to the castle--"
"Alexandra--"
Whatever else Lord Ormarc was about to say to the knight was cut off due to the sound of explosions and a rain of arrows descending from the air.
"Catapults!"
"Arrows!"
"Take cover!"
She tried to drag the wounded Lord toward the main square, whistling for her steed, as a volley of arrows landed inches from where she stood. She fell forward as the Lord of Ormarc pushed her to the ground and threw himself on top of her. Several minutes passed and N'Alexandra crawled from underneath her Lord, glancing back to see most of the city and Cathedral engulfed in flames.
God help us!
"My Lord!" She rushed to him. "Lord, the castle's not far-- please-- oh my Lord--" Tears were flowing freely from her eyes as she scrambled to lift the injured man onto her horse. She grabbed the reins, and ran along side her steed as they brought En Chrétien d'Ormarc back to his castle.
--
"Gabrielle! En Ezra!"
N'Alexandra lay the injured man on the floor of the inner courtyard, his head cradled in her chainmail clad lap. She looked up to meet the haggard green eyes of her beloved and the weary brown eyes of the court physician.
"Oh God, no. FATHER!" Na Gabrielle fell to her knees; her hands grasped her father's outstretched ones.
"Daughter--"
"Gabrielle." N'Alexandra spoke gently. "He saved my life. He threw himself over me when the arrows flew." The warrior shook her head. "Why-- why did he--"
"Gabrielle, Alexandra--" Both women looked up to meet Lord Ezra's grave eyes. "We must get him into the castle--"
"N-n-o-no-" Lord Chrétien gasped painfully. "Too late, too late-- Gabrielle, Alexandra--"
En Chrétien grasped the trembling hands of both women, his own body shaking, his eyes going dim. "Alex-- like the son I lost, like a daughter to my own heart-- son and daughter both. Gabrielle-- my joy, my pride, so much like your mother--" The dying Lord coughed painfully, blood spilling from his mouth. "S-ave--save Ormarc -- for yourselves, for my people, for my grandson--any way you can. Don't let us end here-- the-- the future--"
En Chrétien placed N'Alexandra's gloved hand over his daughter's hand. "My dying wish-- no longer are you N'Alexandra, but En Alexander, Lord of Ormarc, husband to my daughter, fa--father to my grandson."
The Lord of Ormarc coughed violently and then his hands fell away from the kneeling figures as he breathed his last breath.
---
1226 AD, Ormarc (Languedoc/Occitania)
The city lay in ruin.
She stood at the rampart of the western wall and stared out at the burned rooftops, the setting sun tingeing the smoke-filled air in a wash of red and purple. For a moment, everything faded. Time stood still and she could almost forget all that she had seen. In her heart, she knew that she could not. The events of the past few weeks had changed her, had marked her in ways that went beyond the jagged gash which covered her face from her hairline to her jaw.
The sun was moving into the horizon, slowly sinking, muting the landscape in a veil of darkness. She wondered if its light would ever hold the promise of joy, of life, in her eyes. She wondered if the light would ever hold anything except the deep purple of desolation and destruction.
She watched the dying light as the world that she knew crumbled around her.
A hand tugged at the elaborate tunic that she wore over her chainmail and she looked down to see the soft reddish-blonde curls of a boy, a little more than a year old. The young boy was sucking his thumb. He smiled brightly and held out his hands to the warrior. "Xa--Xa--"
N'Alexandra smiled softly as she lifted the small child to her arms. "Master Chrétien! Who let you out here?"
The small child giggled in joy and grasped at the cloth at the knight's shoulder. "Xa! Xa! Xa!"
"My love--"
She turned to see Na Gabrielle leaning against the doorframe. She smiled, motioning for the redhead to join her. The young boy nestled deeper in the knight's arms, a thumb in his mouth, his other hand reaching for a strand of Na Gabrielle's hair.
The noblewoman leaned against the chainmailed shoulder. "We have no choice, belovéd."
N'Alexandra nodded. "I-- I know. But I wish there was another option, another way. Do our people know the consequences of surrendering? We-- we will lose our freedom, be a conquered people, serve a distant King."
Na Gabrielle placed a gentle kiss against the warrior's mouth. "There are many kinds of freedom, Alexandra. We will live, survive. Our people will go on."
"Still, Gabrielle. I --I -- Is everyone ready? Do they know what must be done? What we--what I-- must do? What I need to become? What we must all do?"
"Yes. They know what must be done, what you and I must do to survive this. They do this because they loved my father and they do this because they respect and honor you. They love Ormarc and would die for it and live for it. No one, save our people who will stand with us in the Great Hall, will ever know the truth. The French will never suspect, my love. They will never know. "
---
The enormous doors of the Great Hall opened to reveal the remaining citizens of Ormarc, the few who survived the last battle. At the far end stood the representatives of the King of France. N'Alexandra, the boy Chrétien still in her arms, and with Na Gabrielle at her side, stood at the entrance by the open doors.
"Halt!" A guard 's voice echoed through the large chamber. "Who goes there? Be you friend or foe to France? Announce yourself and your intentions to my gracious Lords attending!"
N'Alexandra took a deep breath and answered loudly so that the gathered multitude would hear. " I am En Alexander d'Ormarc, Lord of this realm, husband to Gabrielle, once uncle, now father to young Chrétien. What I do, I do for the sake of my people. . . I come as friend to France, her King, and Lords. May I approach?"
"Approach and lay your life before the Lords of France!"
The three figures walked toward the gathered French nobles at the far end of the Great Hall and once before the French envoys, Na Gabrielle took the child from N'Alexandra's arms and moved to one side. The knight lay down on the floor, hands outstretched as if on a cross, her face to the side.
One of the French Lords drew a sword, tapped N'Alexandra's head, shoulders and hands with the flat edge of the blade, and spoke. " Do you, Alexander of Ormarc, promise fealty and loyalty to his Majesty the King of France? Swear this freely and without reservation in your heart."
"I, Alexander of Ormarc, do swear loyalty and fealty to his Majesty the King of France. I do this freely and without reservation in my heart."
"Then kneel before us and kiss the tip of my blade."
N'Alexandra knelt up and kissed the tip of the envoy's outstretched sword.
The envoy then tapped N'Alexandra's forehead and shoulders with the flat edge of the sword. "Now, rise before us, Alexander of Ormarc, bury your hatred along with your dead and live in peace as a Noble of France."