Gwaine and the Holy Sister

Chapter 1

“Wake up, sir! Have you no shame? Wake up!”

Gwaine began to be aware that someone was kicking him. It was a woman, and she wasn’t kicking him very hard, but the kicking was waking him up, which was annoying.

“Where is your honor, sir? This is disgraceful! You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Gwaine saw that he was lying curled up in front of a door in a courtyard. He hadn’t the foggiest recollection of how he had gotten there, but for Gwaine this was not a terribly unusual sensation. He shaded his eyes from the morning sunlight and looked up at his attacker. A very young and pretty nun was relentlessly kicking his posterior.

Gwaine tried to obey and sit up, but found it hard to move, and he felt as if his head were made of lead. This, too, was a familiar sensation. He rolled away from the woman and tried again to sit up.

“Good heavens!” she said. “You smell like a distillery, and I have no doubt that you’ve drunk enough to pickle an entire field of cucumbers, but look at you--you’re bleeding.” Gwaine slowly sat up and looked at his shirt. It did, indeed have blood on it. Upon further inspection he was able to verify that it was his own, from a moderate gash on his abdomen. He hadn’t yet noticed the red and purple welt across the left side of his face.

“Owwwww,” he said.  


“Wait here,” said the nun.

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he said with a grimace. He then immediately laid his aching head back on the ground, since it seemed to be the only thing not spinning at the moment.

About two minutes later the pretty nun returned with what looked like a stable boy and a friar. The two roughly helped Gwaine to his feet.

“Bring him in here,” said the nun, opening the door against which he had been sleeping. She led them into a dimly lit and scantily furnished room. Gwaine felt himself being placed on a cot and noticed someone pulling his boots off before he lost consciousness again.

“Is there nothing more that the Bishop can do?”

Gwaine woke up hearing voices, and immediately thought it prudent to feign sleep for a little while.

“I’m sorry, sister.” This was a man’s voice. The friar? “There isn’t even a priest in residence at Cenred’s anymore. The Bishop has no jurisdiction there at the moment, and certainly no sway with the king. It’s not looking at all promising. You’ll have to think of another way. I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” That voice was the pretty nun’s. He noticed that she spoke with a slight accent. “Thank you for bringing the message so swiftly. Goodnight.” The front door closed.

“You must not despair, Sister,” This was an old woman’s voice, with a similar accent. “God will provide a way.”

“I know,” said the young one, not sounding certain at all. “A way will surely be provided.”

“Isn’t that stray rogue awake yet?” asked the old woman.

A hand shook Gwaine’s shoulder gently, and then curtains were opened, spilling bright sunshine on his face.

“Sir,” said the young woman, “You’ve been asleep a long time. It’s time you were awake.”

Gwaine sat up carefully. He could feel bandages tugging on his sore torso, his face hurt, and he noticed with surprise that he was wearing a clean shirt and trousers.

“Are you not hungry?” Gwaine immediately realized that he was ravenous. But he had a more urgent need than food.

“Please go visit the privy behind this house, and then fetch a bucket of water from the well and wash. When you return you will have something to eat.”

Gwaine obeyed. And minutes later, when he returned to find the ancient nun holding a plate of bread, cheese and fresh grapes, he was severely tempted to kiss the old woman’s cheek. He sat at a little table and fell to eating with great relish.

The younger nun sat down across from him. “May I ask your name, sir?”

“Yes maam. My name is Gwaine.” He couldn’t resist -- he turned on the charm. “Thank you for your hospitality.” He winked at her.

The nun did not give him the reaction he was accustomed to getting from flirtatious winking. She smiled, but in a serious, piercing way that made him feel a bit nervous. “Gwaine,” she said his name with that slightly German accent he had noticed before, “You seem remarkably nonplussed for having woken up in a strange bed.” She was all smiles and innocence. Almost. “Is this something that happens to you often?”

“Not as often as you might think,” he said, sensing power and feeling ever so slightly wary of this creature. But the urge to try again was irresistible. “It’s usually barns, gutters, ditches…” She continued to smile at him, but she was definitely not smiling at his joke.

“I am Sister Hildegard, and here is Schwester Jutta… I mean, this is Sister Judith.” She motioned to the old woman wrapped in a shawl, who was now napping in an armchair by the far wall. “We are here for five years, helping provide for the poor and the fatherless.” She continued to stare at him, and he noticed himself resisting a ridiculous impulse to duck under the table. “And Gwaine, what kind of work do you do?”

Gwaine’s mouth was unaffected by her impressive stare. “Work? I try my best not to.”

Sister Hildegard was not amused. “So you do nothing, then?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘nothing’.”

“How do you fill your days?”

He actually felt sheepish. “Do really you want an honest answer?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

Looking at Sister Hildegard’s blue eyes, Gwaine felt amused and uncomfortable at the same time. “The answer will not please you,” he said.

She waited, and he was somehow forced to speak honestly. “I drink, fight, run, steal, loiter and woo, mostly.”

She looked at him seriously. “And does this answer please you?”

Gwaine considered her question. “Not when I’m telling it to you,” he admitted.

She looked deeply into his eyes. “Why do you choose this life?”

Gwaine was surprised by his own answer. “Because it angers my stepfather.”

“And why do you want to anger this man?”

“Because I am angry with him.”

“I see.”

“And with myself.”

“And how long have you lived this life of anger?”

“Ten years. Perhaps more.”

Sister Hildegard said nothing. She stood and walked across the room. At last she spoke. “You have long been a prisoner of this anger. Perhaps the day has come for your release.”

“There is no way out for me, Sister,” laughed Gwaine.

“You are wrong. Our Lord’s blood was spilled to open every prison. Even yours.” Gwaine stared. How could someone so very young be saying such things? To him?

The girl had come to the center of the room. Sunlight was pouring in through the lattices of the window, lighting her figure with unearthly radiance. “I feel strongly that you were brought here for a divine purpose. I feel you were brought here to free captives, and by freeing them, you yourself will learn to be free.”

Gwaine wanted to laugh. He wanted to make a joke of her words and lighten the seriousness of their conversation, but he found he could not. Hearing this strange, beautiful young woman, he felt shaken. She seemed to be speaking in some incandescent, divine language, and he did not dare defy its power with his irreverent foolishness. For a reason he could never explain, he knew she spoke the truth.

Sister Hildegard came and sat beside him, suddenly every bit a mere young woman again. “Gwaine, there is a novice in the convent whose parents passed away two months ago. Her younger brother and three younger sisters have been made servants in King Cenred’s household. He refuses to release them, in spite of our best efforts to persuade him. We have exhausted every possible option. There has been nothing left to us but prayer for these children,” Sister Hildegard’s innocent blue eyes pleaded with him. “…Until now.”


Chapter 2

It was early morning, and the golden sun was only just rising over the mist-covered fields as Gwaine walked. He was leading two somewhat pathetic horses, each carrying a young and almost impossibly lovely young woman. Gwaine wondered (already the fortieth time that morning) how he had managed to become their protector.

When Gwaine had inexplicably agreed to help her, Sister Hildegard had immediately collected Sister Rachel, a dark-haired, sorrowful-eyed young angel, from the convent. Neither of the girls could be a day over 19 years old. Dressed in simple clothing that served to hide their holy profession, the girls had together collected the most basic of provisions: three blankets, a coil of old rope, a small hatchet, a flint, two water skins, a leather bag, two pounds of cheese, two loaves of bread, and some dried fruit and fish. A woman, whom Hildegard had met at the well while filling the water skins, insisted that the girls borrow her husband’s two plow horses for the journey. Thus, after a night spent (not uncomfortably) sleeping in a stable, Gwaine found himself leading two helpless maids toward the heart of Albion’s darkest realm.

“Sister Hildegard,” said Gwaine to his young employer, “What exactly are we going to do when we get to Cenred’s keep? Do we have any sort of plan?”

“We will find the children, collect them, and bring them home,” she said.

“That’s the entire plan?”

“It is.”

“That’s no plan.” Gwaine looked at Sister Hildegard. She sat with perfect serenity on her horse, her eyes on the horizon. It irritated him. “How are we going to get into Cedric’s castle?”

“We don’t need to worry about that right now.”

“Are you insane? We’re headed toward the most heavily guarded fortress in Albion, and you’re telling me not to worry?”

“Yes.” She looked over at Sister Rachel. “Do not worry, sister. A way will be provided.” Then she looked pointedly at Gwaine, as if daring him to continue.

Gwaine had a number of choice things he wanted to say about this brilliant plan. But glancing at the dark-haired girl to Hildegard’s right , he grudgingly bit his tongue – a thing he had not practiced in recent memory. Sister Rachel’s big, sorrowful eyes looked uneasy, and it occurred to him that this journey had required a great deal of courage for such a girl. “I’m sure we’ll think of something,” he said lamely.

The more Gwaine walked, the more irritated he felt. Who was this little nun to suddenly expect him to lead this madcap journey? What could possibly make her so sure that he, a complete stranger, was the man for the job? How could she sit on that sorry excuse for a horse and wear such a look of complete serenity on her face? What on earth was he doing here?

In the late afternoon, the travelers stopped by a small creek to rest and eat. As Gwaine considered their options for camping, the sky began to darken with formidable-looking storm clouds.

Sister Rachel had walked a few paces away down the creek bank, and Gwaine and Hildegard were alone. “Looks like we’re in for a rough night. No shelter and a storm on the way: this is quite a plan, sister.”

The wind began to whip through Hildegard’s red-gold hair, but she looked entirely undisturbed by it. “I know you will keep us safe and well, sir.”

Gwaine was suddenly torn between wanting to hug the girl and wanting to throttle her. Neither of those actions would have been even remotely appropriate. The result was an overwhelming feeling of frustration which led him to utter a strangled and not quite inaudible “Grrrrraaagggghhh…”

Sister Hildegard blinked at him. “God will provide,” she said. Then she smiled at him with understanding. “You must have faith.” Her sweetness at that moment was more intoxicating than anything he had ever drank.

“What am I doing here?” he asked the darkening sky.

Gwaine thought it best that they ride on in the remaining daylight and search for some sort of shelter. They had travelled not five minutes when they crested a little hill and looked down upon a plowed field, a stand of trees, and a little farmhouse. A wisp of smoke from the chimney seemed to welcome them. Gwaine looked at Hildegard. She clasped her hands, smiled at him, and said, “There, you see?”

It was Hildegard who knocked on the door, while Gwaine stood protectively nearby and Rachel stayed a few paces behind with the horses. A silver-haired woman opened the door. In moments she was ushering the girls inside to sit by the fire while Gwaine saw to the horses. When he returned, the woman was assuring them that they were all welcome to stay the night. She then insisted on preparing them some soup and tea.

The cottage was not large or grand, but it was tidy and sensibly furnished. Indeed, as the moments went by it seemed to Gwaine that the cottage was a reliable reflection of the woman who had become their hostess. Her name, she told them, was Martha.

“Thank you so very much for your hospitality,” said Hildegard, as she watched the woman cut vegetables and add dried meat to a steaming stew pot.

“And I am glad for your company,” said Martha.

“Do you live alone, then?” asked Hildegard.

The woman, surprisingly, began to weep. “I do not know how to answer. I have lived in this house for twenty-two years with my husband. And now he is gone.”

Hildegard went to put her arms around the woman’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry. Did he die suddenly?”

“No”, said Martha, “My husband, John, is not dead. But he is gone. He was taken.”

“Taken by whom?” asked Gwaine.

“A man named Jarl came here. He seemed a decent fellow at first, speaking of work for my husband in a distant town. But when my husband refused to leave me, Jarl became insistent. And then he and his men took John away. I have not seen him since. It has been nearly six weeks.”

“I’ve heard of this happening before,” said Gwaine. “He likely was sent to work, but will not be paid or allowed to leave. Bad business. King Cenred does little to discourage it, I’m afraid. Some say he even profits by it.”

“Our errand takes us to Cenred’s Keep,” said Hildegard. “Perhaps we can hear news there of your John. If we can do more for you, be assured, we will.”

“Bless you, dear child,” Martha said.

After supper, the evening passed gently in the cottage, while the storm raged outside. Rachel and Hildegard took warmly to Martha, and Gwaine was allowed to rest comfortably by the hearth while the women chattered. Sleepiness was just about to overtake him when a surprisingly sweet sound roused him to wakefulness. Martha had opened a chest and retrieved a small ten-stringed wooden instrument.

“A psaltery!” gasped Hildegard and Rachel in unison.

“You’ve see the likes before, then?” asked Martha.

“Oh yes,” said Rachel. “In fact, we both play. Well, I play a little. Sister Hildegard plays very well indeed.”

“Do you?” asked Martha.

Hildegard nodded with delight, and a moment later was holding the psaltery in front of her, checking the tuning and strumming contentedly. “Someone sing,” said Hildegard. I’ll play along.”

Rachel looked down shyly. Martha shook her head apologetically. Gwaine grinned.

For the next two hours Gwaine sang. He knew every drinking song in Britain, and he rendered each with gusto for the women, doing his gallant best to censor the ones whose lyrics seemed inappropriate for maiden ears. When he ran out of drinking songs he moved on to ballads, and when the ballads were done he sang a few hymns. Hildegard was indeed excellent on the instrument, and her pleasure in their collaboration was obvious.

At last Martha insisted that they all get some rest. Gwaine was relegated to the far side of the cottage, while the women slept near the fire. As he stretched out and closed his eyes, he found that the image of Hildegard’s face seemed to remain before him. He knew that could only mean trouble.

Gwaine had never really been much good at avoiding trouble.


Chapter 3

Gwaine had stooped to a new low, and he knew it. By paying special attention to Rachel and pretending not to notice Hildegard, Gwaine was using a nun to try to make another nun jealous. He wondered if God would prepare a special place in hell for him, or if human folly of such magnitude would be pardoned for its entertainment value to the Divine.

The morning had begun pleasantly enough. Martha had sent the travelers on their journey with full bellies and warm hearts. At the last moment, as they had been preparing to depart, Martha had retrieved the psaltery and placed it in Hildegard’s hands. “I feel impressed that I should give you this, sister. Please take it.” Hildegard had looked at her with awe. “Please,” Martha had said, “I’ll be glad to know it is being played with such love and skill.”

Hildegard was moved. “Thank you,” she said. “You overwhelm us. Out of such generosity will surely come much good. God bless you, and God bless your husband John, as well. We will look for him.” She had then wrapped the precious instrument carefully in a blanket, kissed Martha’s cheek, and climbed onto her horse.

It was now late afternoon. The midsummer storm of the night before seemed a distant memory on such a fine, mild day. Gwaine had spent the day walking beside Rachel and leading her horse, while Hildegard rode a few paces behind them. Rachel had let go of some of her shyness, and Gwaine found her company very pleasant. He was full of questions for the girl.

“So what made you decide to be a nun?”

“In truth, I had little to do with the decision. My mother and father, God rest them, sent me away to the convent two summers ago, so that I could have a better life than I had in the town. They could barely feed my brother and sisters and me, and I think they were concerned for my safety.”

“It seems a big decision to have been made for you when you were so young.”

“Oh, some girls go much younger. Hildegard, for example.”

“Hildegard was younger?”

“Yes. She was the tenth child of a wealthy merchant family. Her father tithed her to the church when she was but eight years old. She has been raised by Sister Jutta since that time. She had no choice at all.”

Gwaine was surprised. “Would you have chosen the convent life on your own?”

Rachel sighed. “Alas, in truth, I think I would not. I had … other wishes.”

Gwaine smiled and teased a bit. “Oh really? And what might a maiden of seventeen have wished for?”

Rachel blushed bright pink and looked down.

Gwaine laughed. “I’m sorry,” he said. The girl was truly adorable. “Now that you’re a nun, are you happy?”

“I don’t know what to say,” she said. “In truth, I am not yet a nun, and neither is Sister Hildegard. We are only novices. We are still too young for the final vows. We are to take them next midwinter.”

“That’s very interesting,” he said.

They reached a little stream. The horses thirstily paused at the water. Gwaine helped Rachel to a grass-covered bank where she could sit comfortably, then returned to help Hildegard. He put a hand on either side of her waist and helped down from the horse, enjoying every moment of the contact. He looked into her face with a smile. The girl looked pale and weary. Concerned, he put his arm around her back and helped her to the bank beside Sister Rachel. “Sister,’ he said, “Are you growing tired?”

“I’ll be alright,” said Hildegard. “Thank you.” She immediately laid down on the grass, closed her eyes, and put her hands over her face.

“Sister Hildegard?” said Gwaine. His concern was intensifying. The girl looked like she was in pain.

“Oh dear,” said Rachel. “She’s seeing white. This happens to her sometimes. It will pass. Sometimes it brings her visions. Can we let her rest a while?”

Gwaine nodded and fetched a blanket. He covered Hildegard, then pillowed her head with his own jacket.

“She’ll be alright,” Rachel said softly. “It usually only lasts a few hours. But it might be best to go no further today.”

“I’d just as soon we camp here. Better than staying too close to Cenred’s. Looks like we’ll be there tomorrow mid-morning.”

Gwaine set up camp in a stand of trees where they would not be easily seen from the road. Rachel stayed beside Hildegard near the water until all was ready, then Gwaine collected the sisters. Hildgegard seemed no better. Without asking permission, he scooped the girl up and carried her to the campsite. She did not protest, and meekly rested her head against his chest until he set her down. “Thank you, Gwaine,” she murmured.

Suddenly Gwaine felt guilty for having tried to toy with the girl’s feelings. He resolved he would try to behave more honorably toward her. Very soon, however, he doubted himself. He had grown far too accustomed to failing to keep his own resolutions.

The sensation of Hildegard against his chest haunted him all night.


Chapter 4

It was mid-morning, and the travelers stood among some trees on a ridge that looked down toward the most formidable fortress in Escetia. The fortress was surrounded by a small but almost equally intimidating town. “There, sisters, lies the castle of King Cenred. Now would be a good time for us to have a plan.”

Gwaine was trying to be magnanimous. The lack of preparation was a real sore spot for him. He had no idea how he was going to protect these women if they insisted on walking headlong down that hill. What disturbed him even more was the fact hat he knew he would go wherever Hildegard ultimately directed. He could not understand the compelling power she seemed to hold over him, and indeed over everyone she met.

Hildegard looked at Rachel. “Sister, this town was your home for many years. Surely there is someone here who will aid us in finding your family.”

“Jared,” Rachel said. “He was a friend of mine. He is a journeyman blacksmith, and his master is a good man. I am certain Jared would help us find my brother and sisters.”

Gwaine asked Rachel to explain exactly how to find the blacksmith’s shop. Then he sat down and tried to think. If he were arriving by himself he would have had little trouble wandering into the town. (In fact, he was sure he would have been well into his second drink by now.) But this was different.

“What troubles you, sir?” asked Hildegard.

“I am uncomfortable taking you into a town full of mercenaries. You’re far too pretty for the likes of them.” He couldn’t resist the urge to wink at her. “You’ll definitely draw the wrong kind of attention. But I cannot leave you two alone here, either. I think we have to risk it.”

And thus, Gwaine and the sisters, leading their horses, walked headlong down the hill and into the town at Cenred’s keep. Their luck was good, for no one in the town seemed to pay them any attention at all. It was a bit uncanny, really. In a matter of minutes they were at the threshold of the smithy shop. Rachel knocked on the door.

“Jared, the door!” boomed an enormous bass voice.

“I’ve got it,” replied a lighter baritone, and the door swung open. A powerful-looking, cheerful-faced young man blinked at them for less than one second before erupting in an exuberant “Rachel!” He was hugging her and swinging her around in his arms long before anyone could have begun to speak. Then suddenly he stopped himself. “Oh, I’m sorry Rachel. I bet I wasn’t supposed to do that. Forgive me. I’m just…” He seemed overwhelmed with pleasure at seeing her. “I’m just so glad to see you standing there.”

Rachel’s cheeks were bright pink, and her eyes glowed. “Jared.”

The journeyman took Rachel by the hand and led her inside, gesturing for Gwaine and Hildegard to follow. He introduced Marcus, a tall olive-skinned master blacksmith with a soot-smudged face and kind eyes. Jared then returned his full attention to the woman whose hand he had still not released. “Rachel, what brings you here? I never thought I’d be able to look at your face again. Are you real?” Impulsively, he kissed her hand, then realized the impropriety of the gesture and let her go. The loss of contact seemed to pain him immediately. Ultimately, a subtle look of daring determination crossed his face, and he reached out and took her hand again.

Rachel indicated Gwaine and Hildegard with a nod. “My friends are here to help me find my brother and sisters. Cenred has them. Please, Jared, will you help us get them back from him?”

Jared immediately saw to it that everyone sat down, then asked Rachel to tell him all she knew. For the rest of the morning, the pair remained in close proximity to each other and talked quietly as they caught up on the last two years of lives spent apart. Gwaine and Hildegard listened politely, but Gwaine felt a bit unnecessary to the conversation. When Marcus mercifully asked Gwaine if he’d like to go with him on an errand, Gwaine jumped at the chance, and was soon walking outside with the mighty blacksmith.

“You’ll have a difficult time retrieving those children,” Marcus said bluntly.

“Had a feeling that would be the case,” said Gwaine. “What can you tell me about them?”

“There’s little I know, except that Cenred put them to work. The parents died, they were taken to the king, and he said he could use them in his household. As they’re orphans, they had little choice in the matter. Cenred’s an idiot. Probably thinks he’s doing them a favor.”

“They’re living in the keep, then?”

“I would assume so, though we haven’t heard from them. Jared has made inquiries, but he’s not been allowed to see them.”

“Cenred fancies keeping his doors locked, then?” asked Gwaine.

“Lately, he has. He wasn’t always like this. There was a time when Cenred did right by his people as often as not. But he’s been keeping bad company lately, and his subjects are made to suffer for it. His filthy house is no place for children, I can tell you that. Especially with that witch woman, Morgause, hanging about.”

Gwaine noticed a group of men wearing chains, repairing the cobblestone street under the watchful eyes of several soldiers.

“Criminals?” asked Gwaine.

“That’s the story,” said Marcus. “Though all of them are strangers to the town. I suspect their major crime was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when Cenred needed cheap labor.”

Gwaine eyed the prisoners more closely, remembering Hildegard’s promise to Martha. One of these men could easily be the old woman’s husband. He wasn’t fool enough to approach them now in daylight, but he hoped he’d find a better opportunity to investigate.

“Just out of curiosity, where does Cenred house such prisoners?”

He keeps them in one of the secure areas inside the keep, I believe,” said Marcus. “Why do you ask?”

"Just curious,” said Gwaine. There was no getting around it: they needed a way into that castle. What they needed was a plan.


Chapter 5

“It’s a terrible plan. Too risky,” said Gwaine. “We’ll have to think of something else.”

“I think it’s actually a rather good plan, as far as plans go, for getting into Cenred’s.” Jared spoke with practicality. “I’m told Cenred hosts parties every night. He’d surely welcome a new musician or two.”

“I am not a musician!” shouted Gwaine.

“Sir,” said Hildegard, “You do sing beautifully, and you must admit your repertoire is exactly the sort Cenred would appreciate.”

Hildegard’s face was a picture of sincerity, but Gwaine did not think her words were completely complimentary.

“I hate to say it,” Marcus interjected, “But she’s right. I do think you’d have a chance at accessing the children.”

Gwaine looked seriously at Hildegard. “I don’t want to take you in there. What if I am unable to get you out again?”

“You worry far too much, sir,” was Hildegard’s only reply.

By the time the afternoon had waned, Gwaine and Hildegard had already walked through the portcullis into Cenred’s inner world. The gate sentries, upon hearing they were musicians, waved them through, and instructed them to report to a woman called Elsa in the kitchen. Gwaine carried the psaltery in a sack over his shoulder. As they passed through the sparsely populated courtyard, Gwaine held Hildegard’s hand protectively – perhaps not quite out of necessity at that moment, but he insisted on holding it nevertheless. The girl wore Jared’s hooded cloak, which helped a great deal to make her look less vulnerable and conspicuous.

He had a good view of her face, and wondered at the calm determination apparent on it. She did not look at all frightened – indeed, she looked … trusting. Whether that was bravery or foolishness or both, Gwaine could not say. The girl never ceased to amaze him. He had finally stopped trying to understand what he was doing on this strange adventure. Instead, he had taken up trying to understand this irrepressible little nun.

The kitchen door, a portal at the base of the largest of the castle’s stone buildings, was open. The pair descended several steps into a large, poorly lit room full of ovens and tables, basins and barrels. There were a number of people at work doing various tasks. It seemed dinner preparations were underway. One of the servants directed them to a short middle-aged woman who stood at a table cutting numerous loaves of bread into slices. Her face, like her work, seemed hard and practical.

“Musicians?” Elsa eyed the couple appraisingly, especially Hildegard, who had removed her hood. “I’ll tell you right off: the king’s house if full of hard men. You’ll be wise to keep your tongue and keep your distance. You,” she gestured toward Hildegard, “Stay near your man and you’ll be more likely to stay out of trouble.”

“Yes ma’am,” said Hildegard.

Elsa outlined the sleeping accommodations, notified them of the amount of compensation they could expect, and then showed them to a table and bench in a cluttered corner of the room. “You’ll be wanted once supper gets started. Don’t wander off.” And with that, she returned to her business.

“Well, here we are,” said Gwaine, feeling unusually apprehensive. He opened the sack and presented the psaltery to Hildegard. “You’re about to witness my first public performance. Possibly my last.

Hildegard fixed him with her piercing stare. “Gwaine,” she said, “I know you are worried. You needn’t be so. We will be successful at all we have come here to do. Please do not worry.” As she continued to look at him with concern in her eyes, Gwaine found he needed to look away. She always saw too much. It frightened him more, even, than publicly pretending to be a musician.

A lad of about 13 years with a haggard but determined-looking face approached them and placed two bowls of thick stew on the table. He nodded politely to them, then turned to go. “Please wait, ”Hildegard said. “May I speak with you?”
The young man turned and waited for her to continue. “Might your name be Dylan?”

“How do you know my name?”

“You were described to me by someone who knows you well – your older sister Rachel.”

An indescribable look of sorrow and hope crossed the young man’s face. He put a hand on the table as if to steady himself.

“I am Hildegard and this is Gwaine. We bring news of Rachel. In fact, she is here in the town. She has brought us here to find you and your sisters. It is time for all of you to leave this place.”

Dylan looked seriously at Gwaine. “We would all gladly go with you, but you will find we do not enjoy such liberty. King Cenred,” the boy virtually spat the name, “Refuses to let us leave. I would have taken my sisters away from here long ago, were it otherwise.”

“A way will be opened for you soon,” said Hildegard. “I would ask you to prepare your sisters and be ready when the time comes.”

“I want to believe you,” he said. “We are ready to leave this place even now. I do not know how it can be made possible, but I will tell my sisters what you said. They will be very glad to hear of Rachel.”

From across the room, Elsa called roughly to the boy. “I must go,” he said. “Thank you for coming here. Thank you for trying to help us.” He smiled ruefully. “It will take a miracle to get us out of here.” And with that, he was gone.

“Musicians!” shouted a rough voice. Gwaine groaned. Hildegard smiled at encouragingly at him. It was show time.


Chapter 6

Gwaine’s first performance as a troubadour was by far the most terrifying experience of his life. And Gwaine had managed to have (at times) a considerably harrowing life. He wondered over and over again how the little sister had convinced him to do this. His audience was a hall full of mercenaries, brigands, cut-throats and low-life social climbers. At first they paid him only minor attention as they focused on their food, drink and merrymaking.
Gwaine’s extensive knowledge of popular tavern songs, however, began to win him favor. As the audience began to pay attention and show appreciation, Gwaine found his task became ever-so-slightly less painful, and even a little bit (a very little bit) fun.

After well over an hour of songs, Gwaine and his accompanist returned to the kitchen to take a break. Dylan found them at their table, with two young girls following close behind him. Their clothes were barely better than rags, and their faces were dirty, but both of them wore shy, sweet smiles.

“These are my youngest sisters,” he said. He indicated the older one. “This is Mary – she’s nine.” Mary curtseyed awkwardly, and then looked up adoringly at Hildegard, who rewarded her with a warm smile. “And this is Lizzy,” he said. “She’s six.” Lizzy peeked out from behind her brother hesitatingly, then jumped up onto the bench beside Hildegard and hugged her. “Emma is serving in the hall right now. She’s eleven.” Gwaine immediately knew the girl Dylan described -- he had seen her carrying items in and out of the hall during their performance.

It was pleasant watching Hildegard talk to the girls. It was pleasant watching Hildegard do anything, Gwaine admitted to himself. But instead of remaining focused on her, he found he was distracted by the feeling that there was something he needed to do. He remembered the men in chains that he had seen earlier in the day. Perhaps now was the best chance he’d get to seek them out. He instructed Hildegard to remain where she was, then stealthily slipped out of the kitchen.

Gwaine’s luck was good. Within ten minutes he had found what he was looking for, and after ten more he was back at Hildegard’s side.

When the pair returned to the dining hall and began to play another set of songs, Gwaine noticed someone in attendance who had not been there before. It was a tall, slender, exotically dressed woman with waves of golden hair. She could be no other than Lady Morgause, the enchantress. The woman sat beside Cenred and let the man shower attention on her, but she did not seem overly impressed with him. It was like watching someone play with a dog.

Gwaine could see Dylan’s sister Emma continuing to serve the revelers. The girl now carried a jug of wine, and walked among the tables, refilling cup after cup after cup.

Gwaine had been stealing a long look at Hildegard when there was an unusual commotion. “Clumsy little fool!” shouted Lady Morgause. Apparently, Emma had spilled some wine on her. As Gwaine watched, the woman slapped Emma hard enough to send her flying across the floor.

Suddenly the music stopped and Hildegard was standing. “In the name of the Holy One I defy thee! How dare you strike this precious little girl?”

Utter silence filled the enormous hall. Even Cenred looked too shocked to speak. Slowly, Morgause stood and faced Hildegard, her face poorly masking the jolt of surprise she felt from the rebuke. But she recovered her composure admirably. Her voice was calm and smooth when she replied, “My, aren’t you a bold little thing?”

“What kind of monster would act as you have done to an innocent child?

Gwaine tried to intervene. “My lady, please forgive her. My companion does not know to whom she speaks.”

“Silence!” commanded Morgause. “I can see she knows exactly who I am. Guards, seize them. Lock them up until I decide what to do with them.” Gwaine felt hands roughly take hold of him.

"Do not touch me!" shouted Hildegard with astounding authority. "You will hear what I have to say to you." There was something truly terrifying about her a that moment. The guards did not dare come near her, and no one in the entire hall moved. "Lady Morgause, your evil works will not be allowed to continue. Your defeat is nigh. Soon you will be buried in the rubble of your own foul designs."

After a moment of awkward silence, Cenred began to laugh. "Who would believe the girl would speak like this to you, Morgause? It's too much!"

"And King Cenred," Hildegard turned her glare to him, "You, too, walk toward doom. It would be wise for you to contemplate the ways of the black widow." She took a step toward him. "Please," Hildegard's voice became surprisingly full of compassion. "Even now it is not too late for you. Leave the path of self-destruction and become the man you were meant to be. You know what it is you should do."

"Enough!" shouted Morgause, stepping between Cenred and Hildegard. "Guards, remove them this instant or I will kill you now where you stand."

The guards were clearly conflicted, but their fear of Morgause won out. Trembling, they took Hildegard and Gwaine by the arms and led them from the hall.

Minutes later, Gwaine and Hildegard were alone in a dark, cold cell. He stood looking at her. At last he said with great affection, "You have such a way with people."


Chapter 7

They had been sitting back to back on the cold stone ground of the cell for more than two hours, and Gwaine could feel Hildegard shivering. The temperature had been dropping, and Hildegard had left Jared’s cloak in the kitchen with his own jacket.

“Sister,” said Gwaine, “May I ask you a question?”

“Yes,” she said simply.

“Do you have any kind of plan for getting out of here?”

“I do not,” she said quietly.

“I had a feeling you’d say that. It’s alright. Planning isn’t really your thing.” He smiled, although she could not see it. “I hope you know, I’m not trying to criticize,” he said gently. “I’m sure you feel bad enough that we’ve failed.”

“Gwaine,” she said, “We have not failed. We are where we’re meant to be. The children will be released from this place. I am sure of that.”

“Ah, sweet Hildegard. It must be nice to be so certain and unworried about everything in your life.”

She hesitated. “I wish that were true,” she said very softly. “There are a few particular things that I worry over very much.”

Gwaine listened, wondering if she would say more. It was dark and quiet. Their backs together provided the only warmth in the universe. “Tell me,” he said.

“A woman often has little influence in the church. That is reality. There are so many things that need to be done and changed. Schwester Jutta has always told me that holy sisters must be patient and quiet. I fear I am neither of those things. She does not try to influence the priests and bishops, but I know I will not be satisfied unless I can. What if I make unbreakable vows and then find that I have no real power to change things?”

Gwaine was surprised to hear these words. He understood her fear very well. It occurred to him that perhaps he had long been running from the very same sort of uncertainty.

“I have to make a choice, and soon,” she said.

Gwaine could hear the girl’s teeth chattering. He decided to do something about it. He stood, helped her up, and wrapped his arms around her. “Sorry, sister. I know this is a bit unorthodox, but you’re freezing.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms and back, trying to warm her. To his enormous surprise, she did not resist. She simply rested against him as she had once before, shivering. He held her tightly, trying to help her stop. It was hard to believe that only hours before, this little woman had struck fear into the heart of every thug in Cenred’s castle.

“That was quite a message you had for Morgause and Cenred,” Gwaine said with a little laugh. He was still amazed and confused by what the girl had done.

“Yes,” she said solemnly. After a long moment she said, “Gwaine, I feel I yet have one more message that I must deliver, and this message is … for you.” She looked up into his eyes.

Gwaine kept his arms around her, wondering what the girl could possibly say.

“The message I gave to King Cenred is also meant for you. Leave the path of self-destruction and become the man you were meant to be.” Her eyes were full of perfect charity. “You know what it is you should do.”

Gwaine felt Hildegard’s words in the depths of his chest. He felt himself begin to tremble and pulled her close to make it stop. There was mighty power in her message, and indeed, he knew exactly what he should do.

“I will,” he whispered into her hair. “I will try.”

A few minutes later they heard footsteps in the corridor outside their cell. A key jangled, and the door swung open. Lady Morgause herself entered the room. The woman looked appraisingly at Hildegard for a long moment, then spoke.

“Your kind is not wanted here. I have no desire to do battle with you or your god, so I will not harm you, but you are to leave this place at once.”

Hildegard was absolutely fearless. “We will leave only when Cenred releases the boy Dylan and his family. He has kept them against their will, and the will of their kin.”

“Take them. I will see to it that Cenred complies. It is an easy enough way to be rid of you.” She called four guards into the room. “These musicians are leaving immediately. They will be taking others with them. You will speed their exit by doing whatever they require and escorting them out of the gate. See that no one hinders their departure.” To Hildegard she indicated the open door.

Hildegard turned immediately and walked out of the cell. Gwaine and the guards followed her.

They made their way to the kitchen. The jacket and cloak were exactly where they had been left hours before. Gwaine sent one of the guards to retrieve the psaltery. When he returned, they went to the servant’s quarters and collected four amazed children. Just as Hildegard had been about to lead them all outside, Gwaine said, “And now, we’ll just collect uncle James and his friends. Then we’ll be off.” Hildegard looked suddenly at him, and he nodded at her with a smile. Gwaine led the way to a staircase by the kitchen. “You wait here,” he instructed Hildegard. She and the children waited obediently under the watchful eye of one of the guards, while Gwaine and the other three went downstairs.

They came to a particular cell and Gwaine announced, “By decree of Lady Morgause, these prisoners are to depart with us.” The door was unlocked. “Gentlemen,” he said, “Let’s be on our way.” The men, looking confused but hopeful, got up and followed Gwaine up the stairs.

With heart pounding, Gwaine led Hildegard, the children, and seven somewhat befuddled men across the inner courtyard to the portcullis. “Open the gate!” shouted one of their four guard-chaperones. “These are not to be allowed back into the castle, on pain of death, by order of Lady Morgause.” The gate slowly creaked open, they all passed outside, and it closed again behind them with an unceremonious clang. Gwaine led them all steadily away into the protective shadows of the town as swiftly as he dared, without actually running.

They were, in fact, free.


Chapter 8

One night later Gwaine sat by the hearth, looking into the fire that heated Martha’s farmhouse. He felt warm. The flames warmed him, but they were not all. He found himself remembering the tears on the children’s faces as they had all tried to embrace Rachel at once. These little ones, who had recently endured so much, were now reunited and safe. He’d had a bit of difficulty keeping his own eyes dry as he witnessed their reunion. Then he’d looked at Hildegard and discovered her gazing at him. The gratitude he saw in her face at that moment was all the thanks he would ever need for the small part he had played in her miracle.

There had been a second tearful reunion only hours ago, as they had arrived at Martha’s home with her beloved John. He had been the eldest of the seven men rescued from Cenred. The other former prisoners had travelled various distances with them that day, before turning for their own homes. Gwaine had gleaned many details from them about the man, Jarl, who had captured each of them. Jarl and his thugs kept an illicit base of operations in a decrepit ruined fortress just beyond the forest. The man, they had assured him, was a monster who enjoyed setting his prisoners against each other for sport before selling them to the highest bidder.

The children were falling asleep on a blanket not far from where Gwaine sat. Hildegard sat beside Lizzy, stroking the resting girl’s hair. Jared, who had insisted on escorting the party, now sat in a corner with Rachel. Her hand, as usual, was in his. Martha and John were at the opposite wall of the cottage, sitting side by side, shoulders touching, heads resting together.

Hildegard got up and came to sit near Gwaine. Their eyes met for a long moment, but neither of them spoke. Then they both looked into the fire.

Rachel and Jared moved closer to the hearth. “Sister,” said Rachel, “I have made a decision. When we get home tomorrow, I will not be returning to the convent. I am going to take care of my family.” Hildegard grasped Rachel’s hand with a smile and nodded. It made perfect sense.

“I’m going to marry her,” Jared said. Rachel nodded and blushed radiantly.

Gwaine looked at Hildegard wickedly. “You see?” he said emphatically, “They have a plan.”

Two mornings later, Gwaine, Hildegard and the children gathered in the small chapel adjacent to the courtyard where, not long before, Gwaine had been kicked awake. There they witnessed the marriage of Jared and Rachel. The couple exuded unspeakable joy. The children, who only days ago faced perpetual grief and servitude, now wore faces filled with hope.

Throughout the day of the marriage, Gwaine and Hildegard found themselves side by side. They celebrated together. They helped the new family get arranged in the quarters Jared had rented near the convent. They sat in the courtyard eating an early supper together and watching the clouds float across the summer sky. They talked for a long time. It was a perfect day, and Gwaine savored every moment of it. At long last, the sun began to set.

“Gwaine, it is time for you to go.” Hildegard’s eyes were on the flame-colored sky.

Gwaine winced. “Please,” he said, catching her eye. “Let me stay. Let me serve you.”

She looked down, the slightest hint of a blush on her cheeks. “You know that is not possible.”

“Why not?” He needed to hear her answer. “Please, tell me.”

“If I let you stay,” she whispered, not daring to look at him, “I would not take my vows.” Then she looked determinedly into his face. “And I know I must take them. I have a work to do.”

Gwaine knew she was right about all of it. He had known before she said it. Her words broke him and lifted him, both at once. There was nothing he could say. He knelt down on both knees and kissed both of her hands, memorizing the feel of her skin on his lips for a long moment. At last he rose, picked up his bag, and wordlessly walked toward the courtyard gate.

“Gwaine!” Hildegard ran to him and put her hand on his arm. “I will never forget you as long as I live. I will always be thankful for what you have done. I will pray for you.” Her eyes were full of tears. “May the holy angels guide your footsteps and lead you to joy.”

“Gwaine put his hand under her chin and gently kissed her forehead. Then he smiled, winked at her, and stepped through the gateway, closing the gate behind him.

An hour later Gwaine stood leaning against a well in the town square, long considering the door of a tavern. He had been planning on going inside and having a little fun, but he found that he didn’t really want to do that after all. He felt like doing something more… useful. A sorry state of affairs this was. How could one nagging little German nun wield such power over him? Had he been liberated or enslaved by the girl?

Enslaved… Suddenly the thought of Jarl and his pitiful captives entered Gwaine’s mind and filled him with surprising disgust. Someone really should do something about Jarl. It occurred to him that this someone could be him – that in fact, it should be him.

He dipped some water from the well, filled his water skin, and held it aloft. “Here’s to Sister Hildegard – the sweetest, most relentless angel in God’s army.” He took a long drink, then topped it off again, shouldered his bag, and followed the road into the starry night.

THE END


Author’s note: Hildegard of Bingen (1098 – 1179 AD) was a real nun who lived contemporary to Geoffrey of Monmouth (1100 – 1155 AD), the real Welsh monk (and BBC Merlin character) responsible for preserving much of the ancient Arthurian legend. Although there is no evidence that Sister Hildegard ever visited Britain, I wanted Gwaine to meet her. I have been as faithful as I can to what is known of Hildegard. She was indeed tithed to the church at 8 years old. She played the psaltery, and a nice amount of the music she composed has been preserved to this day. Her writings are still read and serve to provide a fascinating glimpse into the medieval world. Hildegard periodically experienced debilitating, blinding visions, which a modern world might compare to migraine headaches. She was truly remarkable as a woman of influence in the middle ages. Some recent Popes have spoken of her as a saint, although she has only technically been beatified.