Origins

This is a retelling of how Lawrence and Josephine first met that I worte durin March 2006.  The Juliana in this story is the same as the later ones.

764 A.D.

1

The young man dashed up the castle stairs, taking two and even three at a time. He was tall, well built, fair haired and beardless, and he was eighteen years old.

As he rounded a corner at a landing, he had to stop sharply to avoid running into the girls. One, his sister, a thin and pale girl of sixteen, rebuked him.

"Lawrence! Thou almost ran us over!"

Lawrence regarded his sister Laurel and laughed at her tiny form looking fierce, hands on hips. Behind her was her friend and constant companion, Juliana, taller, more filled out than she, and much prettier. He knew the girl was infatuated with him and loved to tease her. He winked at her, and she blushed and covered her mouth with the fingertips of both hands. Her dark eyes danced.

"Most gracious ladies, I doth beg thy pardon!" He gave a little bow and continued past them up the stairs. "Father called for me. I have to run."

The girls followed him up the stairs with their eyes. Laurel gave her friend and indulgent look. "Thou knowest he is promised, do thee not?"

Juliana bowed her head and nodded. "Aye," she replied, in a quiet voice.

Lawrence dashed up to his father's door , then stopped, smoothed his clothing and tried to make his hair neat, then knocked on the door. A deep voice called, "Enter," and he opened it and passed through to the room. He saw his father, King Arneth of Christenlande, his older brother, Prince Arneth who would be King himself someday, and several of his father's most trusted advisors, as well as an honored guest, the king of Affynshire, Karl. He saw that all were solemn and worried, and he shaped his own demeanor to the atmosphere.

"Ah, my son, thou art arrived," his father greeted him. His brother looked over and simply nodded. Lawrence bowed low to both of them and to King Karl, the father of the girl he was plighted to marry. "Lawrence, there is very unfortunate news. Mine own brother, thy uncle, has raised an army and hath attacked one of our most important outer garrisons and hath cast abroad that he means to take the throne. My throne, and thy birthright."

That explained the Prince's grim look. Arneth the younger had never trusted their uncle Nestor, and now his predictions were coming true. Lawrence was nevertheless shocked. He had never quite been able to believe that Nestor would do anything so rash., no matter his lust for power.

He focused on what his father was saying. "Lawrence, thou art a knight now. Thee and thy brother Arneth will join me in meeting Nestor and quelling his ambitions." The eighteen year old thrilled at being called upon to join in battle Like other young men who learn to fight he had been frustrated with no way to use his skill with weapons and strategy other than in games.

"Settle thyself down, little brother," the Prince said. "This is not a time for rejoicing." Arneth had always been the serious one in the family, probably for the best given his destiny. Lawrence colored and bowed his head respectfully.

He stood quiet and attentive as the older men and his brother examined maps and discussed the numbers, nature and outfitting of the force they would need to defeat the intended usurper. He tried with all his will to stifle his excitement.

Later at supper he sat with his sister and with their 17 year old brother, Roland. Roland was yet not a knight and was angry their father was forcing him to stay at home "with the women". "I am every bit the fighter you are, Lawrence," he protested bitterly.

Lawrence laughed derisively, his mouth full of mutton. Around it he shot back, "Nay, thou art not! And never shall be." Laurel looked up at Roland, afraid of their headstrong brother's reaction. Juliana, who sat with them also, averted her eyes.

Roland stood and put his hand to his dagger at his belt. "Scoundrel! Shall we test thy boast?" he challenged.

Infuriatingly Lawrence just waved a dismissive hand. "Nay, we have one fratricide threatened in the family now. I shouldst not wish to commit another." Roland spluttered resentfully but could do nothing about his brother's insult.

Laurel chided both of them. "What fools thou both are. Like little boys with wooden swords. Think ye of poor Mother. She has not been well these many months and now must fill her heart with fear of losing her husband and not one but two of her sons."

Both brothers were sobered by the reminder. They each looked to where their mother's chair by their father's at the high table was vacant. Queen Eleanor had been ill and spent all her time in her own bedchamber. She was wracked with pain in every joint and muscle and could barely move. The leeches who worked on her despaired of her returning to full health. The best they could offer to a grieved King was that she would stay as she was and not become worse.

The four young people concentrated on their meals and said no more of fighting.

In the dusk Lawrence found his sister's friend walking in the castle garden. They met on the path, each shy and hesitant at being alone with the other.

"Juliana," Lawrence said, and took her hand and kissed it. He looked up into dark lustrous eyes. She gazed at him, with both longing and reserve.

"My lord," she said softly. "I am sore afraid that thou shall go to war." He had kept her hand and held it now.

He smiled as reassuringly as he could. "Fear not, my lady. I canst take care of myself." He let a little swagger filter into his stance.

The girl was not appeased. "Lawrence, " she began, using his Christian name, a familiarity strictly frowned upon, particularly from someone of modest station as was she. "Lawrence, I have an ill feeling of doom. This war shall bring much death and sorrow."

Lawrence stood unable to think of anything he could say. He quite frankly wished she had not said it. He was suppressing all misgivings and concerns of his own, fearing that it was cowardice that sparked them.

The girl impulsively darted forward and kissed him quickly on the lips. He took her shoulders in his hands, looked at her with surprise, and stammered, "M-my lady. I cannot. I am promised. I shall be wed upon our return from war."

Juliana blushed and lowered her head. "Oh Lawrence, I know." She gave him a pained looked, turned, and fled, weeping. He watched her delicate figure as she hurried away, completely at sea as to what he should do, what he should have done. He felt pity for her, but no love. He was too young to know that obsession as of yet.

The preparations for the war continued with Lawrence and Arneth making sure their armor and weapons were in perfect order, seeing to the caparison of their mounts, and attending to their father's commands. Lawrence was startled when in the stables his older brother came to him and lay a strong hand on his shoulder. "Lawrence, my brother. Thou must be ready."

"Aye, brother, I am," Lawrence said puzzled at his brother's meaning

Arneth looked at him solemnly. "Nay, not for war alone. Thou must be ready to take the throne.. should father and I be killed." Lawrence saw that his brother was deadly serious. It chilled him to the bone. He thought of Juliana's presentiments.

"Nay, nay, Arneth," he almost pleaded. "Thou shalt be King. Thee know it, I know it, it is fore-ordained." His eyes begged Arneth to relent. "Arneth, I cannot, I will not.."

Arneth gripped his shoulder tightly. "Thou must." He looked hard into his brother's eyes, and then turned and went back to inspecting the buckles and straps on his mount's battle armor.

The brothers and their father stood with Laurel and Roland near their mother's sickbed. The beautiful woman had dried and faded into this wraith they saw before them. Her hands were gnarled into fists. Her eyes ever disclosed the pain that wracked her. Her light and musical voice now rasped, "Come here, my sons."

As Roland watched his older brothers go to sit on either side of the Queen's bed, he knew she had only meant the older boys. He cast down his eyes.

"Arneth, take care of thy father," she pled. No one protested that the King could protect himself. The oldest son was a skilled fighter and young, and had ever been his father's strong right arm.

"I shall, Mother," he said gently.

She looked at her second son. Her eyes filled with tears. "Oh Lawrence, my golden one. How I love the look of passion in thy eyes. Come back to me, my beloved son."

Lawrence fought back the tears that burned the back of his eyes. "I shall, mother, I shall, and thou shalt dance at my wedding."

Eleanor just smiled her pained smile and put her hand to his cheek and caressed it. "Now, children, leave us. Thy father and I have our goodbyes to say."

The two older boys stood and leaned to kiss her cheek. They and their brother and sister bowed and backed out of the room, leaving Arneth where he had gone to sit by his wife, taking her hand in both of his and bowing his head sorrowfully.

In the corridor the young princes and princess looked at each other. Arneth said, with a break in his voice, "We shall ne'er the four of us stand together again as we do now." Laurel burst into tears and ran away down the hall. The younger sons lay aside their rivalry and the three embraced.

Early in the morning, before the dawn, the King and his two elder sons set out to face their destinies.

2

The young prince stood by the burned out cottage. His face was streaked with sweat and smoke. His youthful exuberance had drained from the face. He looked older, tired, sick. Lawrence was no longer a boy. The lines in his visage attested to his manhood.

The war between the crown and those who wished to steal it had resembled nothing like the images of bright, colorful, clean lines of knights and men at arms coming together gloriously and struggling with honor and valor that he had in his mind as he rode with his father and brother to their first battle. Instead it had been dirty, cruel, stinking and utterly without glory. The cottage he stood by now had housed a farmer and his family. They lay tangled in the ruins and the charred pieces of it, the farmer missing his head and even the little children bloody and mangled.

The King was a broken man. Not long after the first battles they had gotten word that Queen Eleanor had died. What defiant spirit the King had had spilled out of him like sand from a broken hourglass. Prince Arneth was grayer and grimmer, if that was possible. He had an ulcerating wound from an arrow in his right shoulder. That the armies of the crown were overcoming the usurper's was scant good news for the grieving men.

There had been battle after battle, as the crown chased the usurper from village to village, watching them burn as the defending armies approached, destroyed so they could not aid and provision the King. The battles had been more like skirmishes, with Nestor's captains sending smaller cadres of soldiers to harass the royal forces. These cadres sustained nearly total casualties, and Lawrence and his brother could not fathom the purpose of squandering men's lives for such hopeless attacks. The unreason of it weighed on their minds and souls, but they had no choice as an army but to cut the men down.

In all this Lawrence had not taken a life. His father had kept him back from the main line to command the archers. He had wounded enemies but never dispatched a man. Whatever he felt before his first taste of war, he was glad. He knew someday he would have to kill, but with all the sorrow and butchery around him, that he had not yet had to was the only solace he had.

He pulled off his helm to take a drink from a well, then reeled back as he saw the face under the water. A pretty young girl, drowned in the village's drinking and cooking water. He turned and vomited onto the ground. He looked up shamefaced but found the only faces turned to him held only compassion and understanding.

Lawrence walked out of the village to the royal tent and stepped in through the loosened flap. The King his father was sitting in his camp chair, his head in his hands. Lawrence shot a look of fear at his brother, who was scowling. The King looked up at his younger son and tried to smile.

"What is it? What is happening?" Lawrence pleaded with his eyes.

The King looked at his heir as if to beg him to answer for him. Arneth instinctually caught the plea. "Nestor has taken refuge in a monastery. He said he will kill the monks if we do not retreat."

Lawrence stared, dumbfounded. "What are we going to do?"

The King spoke, "We must go and rip him out of there like a rat from a hole."

"But, Father, the monks.." Lawrence protested.

"There is no help for them, Lawrence," the King sighed.

Lawrence looked at Arneth. The young man stood, staring at the ground, and he said nothing.

The monastery turned out to be an ambush. As the King's army rode up to lay siege and try whatever they could do to save the religious in the monastery, a force swept down from the woods nearby and cut off the royal party from the rest. Seeing his brother among the ambush party, the King roared in anger and rode to engage him. They came together with a crash of swords, the horse's armor ringing as they too collided. The brothers wheeled and wound about each other, striking and parrying. Arneth and Lawrence were sore harried themselves, so they could not come to their father's defense. Each felt a stab of fear when they heard the cry.

Arneth and his brother pulled from their own battles to see their father leaning at an unnatural angle from his saddle. The usurper's sword was red with fresh blood. The King's sons spurred their horses to the King's just as he fell, a slash from his neck to his armpit.

Arneth roared with rage and set on his uncle. While Nestor had had the advantage of rest where the King had been aggrieved, tired and downhearted, he was sore pressed when meeting his young strong nephew's onslaught. They fought ferociously, both taking blows and wounds. Lawrence tried in vain to engage his uncle along with his brother, but the mêlée was so fierce he could not urge his mount forward into the fray.

Lawrence's blood froze in his veins at what he next saw. His sword arm incapacitated, Arneth had resorted to wielding his sword in his left. A skilled dagger fighter, his offense had been well up to it. But accustomed to a sword and a dagger, one inn each hand, he did not have the second weapon for defense. As Nestor wheeled about to deflect a blow from Arneth, he deftly sank his sword into the Prince's right side. Arneth stared unbelievingly at the blood gushing from his side. He looked at his uncle, then at his brother, and fell from his saddle almost atop his own father's body.

Lawrence stared dazed as he saw his brother's own prophecy come to pass. Then he looked up at his uncle, and seeing the look of triumph on the man's face, and the look of thirsty murder that the man cast on him, he sprang into action. With all the fury of a cornered child, he flew at his uncle. Caught unprepared that the boy would fight with such vicious anger, Nestor was unable to defend himself as Lawrence got his first kill.

Lawrence, not heeding the other soldiers around them, jumped from his horse, his bloodied sword in his hand, and knelt by his brother. "Arneth!" he cried.

His older brother's eyes narrowly opened, unfocused. "Lawrence," he choked. A spasm wracked his body and blood gushed from his mouth and nose and he died.

The young King did not notice as the soldiers around them melted away. The crown was…. victorious.

3

Lawrence found the ride back to the capital unnerving. Where he had ridden out with his father and brother, an adjutant to them and inspiring nothing more than indulgent deference as the younger son of the King, he now found himself in the vanguard alone. He rode at the fore with the captains riding with him, deferring to him, treating him as if he was his father. He felt like running and hiding, but of course he had the weight of the entire nation on his shoulders now.

Once he had slain his uncle, Duke Nestor, the cronies who had supported or perhaps even egged the usurper on, fled, vanishing into the frontiers like snow on a hot stone, no doubt to conspire and plot some other dastardly deeds.. Lawrence pardoned the soldiers of the rebelling army as the first act of his monarchy. He knew they had little choice when their lords called them up to serve and that if they were grateful to him he had at least a better chance of never facing them in battle again.

The mourning for the King and Prince Arneth was great, for both had been very popular figures. Arneth had reigned long and with wisdom. Arneth was the quintessential knight and prince, much like the renowned Black Prince" of the Plantagenets some 600 years hence. Lawrence himself was numb with the grief and the shock of his new responsibilities. And here he was, riding into the capital, its King.

His heart was heavy as he entered the castle gate to share the saddest of news with his younger brother and sister. But it was heavier still when he learned that Roland had inexplicably fled and that his sister Laurel was dying. She was so near death when he saw her that he could not even tell her the sad news of her father's and oldest brother's deaths. He stood at the foot of her bed, silently weeping, more alone than he had ever been in his young life.

A kind hand touched his arm and he turned to see Juliana, her own face red and swollen with weeping. He reached for her and they clung, together for grief's sake. Each was holding one of Laurel's hand as she silently passed from this world.

From careless children Lawrence and his sister's friend passed into a mournful adulthood, with uncertain futures and no patterns for how to proceed. Lawrence was confronted with his father's old advisors who bowed and deferred to him, but seemed as watchful and wary as did he. They knew the young man as a personable, honest and earnest boy, but they would not see the mettle of the man quite yet.

Lawrence was grateful for a visit from his father's staunch ally, King Karl. He spent long hours with the new young king, advising him, listening to him, and urging him to move forward and be the King in every possible way. He convinced Lawrence to move ahead with his coronation and … his marriage. King Karl's daughter Josephine was now sixteen and more than ready to be a wife, he said. He promised Lawrence that she was sweet and she was lovely.

Lawrence shared many of his misgivings with Juliana whom he had known for some years, veritably growing up with her. He had met his intended bride only once, when he was eight and she six, and he could remember nothing but a little fair haired girl who had one finger in her mouth throughout the plighting ceremony. The girl was now the oldest child of the king, her sister, who had been affianced to Lawrence's brother Arneth, having died of a fever within that very year. The two had one brother, a boy named Lorin, who would someday succeed his father as King of Affynshire.

Juliana listened to Lawrence with sincere friendship, but she said little. Her own feelings could not be uttered. She tried to content herself with the light of her life's having come through relatively unscathed from the war. She nodded sympathetically as he shared his nervousness about meeting his young fiancée, but she did not disclose her own heartache.

The day came just a fortnight before Lawrence was to be crowned and made King in name and in sanctity, when King Karl presented his daughter to her husband-to-be. The girl was introduced in pomp and ritual as befitted the occasion, the meeting of the King and his Queen and mother of a future King. He sat on his throne, ill at ease with the pretentious ceremony. She came in on her father's arm, her head bowed discreetly. She was delicate and small, with long golden hair that shone like sunbeams. Lawrence recalled being told that her childhood nickname had been Sunshine. Her father beamed with pride at her as she was presented to Lawrence.

The young King's palms sweat as the girl raised her eyes to him. Their gazes locked. He looked into the sweetest pair of blue eyes he had ever seen. She, who had feared this meeting as much as he, took in the handsome face of this earnest young man with broad shoulders and kind eyes. Their gazes held. She smiled, and Lawrence's heart leapt with his first and only true love.

He stood and walked to her, taking her hands in his. "My lady, welcome to your capital," he said, and hearing his voice, she gave over her heart to him. She smiled again, curtsied slightly and kept her eyes on his. The world was obscured with a misty brightness as they bathed in each other's presence.

"Good my lord, I am so happy to be here. And with thee,." She looked harder into his face to gauge his reaction to her boldness. She saw a bald delight come across his face.

From the shadows in the corner of the room, Juliana stifled a sob as she smiled at the boy she now knew would be happy.

4

Lawrence was glad that the feast started so soon after the presentation ceremony. He had found it hard to let Josephine's hands go as she left to dress for the feast. They had had some time to spend together after the first introduction, but neither had had any idea what to say to the other so they just stood and looked into each other's faces while her father smiled on them with joy.

Lawrence now fidgeted around the doorway to the feasting hall, which was in the older part of the castle that he would someday soon replace with the Castle of Sunshine. He had not changed his clothes, since he had been in his finest, crown and all, for the ceremony. He had laid the crown aside for the feast as it was heavy and uncomfortable and he felt like a child in dress-up with it on.

When he saw King Karl escorting his daughter down the corridor towards the Hall his face broke into a smile of delight. She was resplendent in powder blue, a color most becoming to her. The gown was tight across her breasts, with silver cords that crossed in an X between them. She wore her hair loose, like before, and it sailed lightly behind her down her back as she turned and saw him waiting. He darted forward and barely acknowledging her father, he took her hand and led her to the high table where he escorted her to the seat beside his own.

While courtiers smiled at them and winked at each other. The young people sat and gazed at each other between glances at their trenchers to choose something to eat. Lawrence almost laughed aloud with pleasure when at one point Josephine reached over to his food and picked up a red berry and popped it into his mouth. Then she stole one from in front of him and popped it in her own, perhaps the most adorable thing Lawrence had ever beheld in his life, or so he was thinking. He marveled at her crystalline laugh, a sound that would enchant him every time he heard it for the rest of his life.

They spoke little and seemed reluctant to be drawn into conversation by those who sat near them. They would be like this for every supper until the day of the wedding and the coronation. Josephine would glance about her as she walked with her father through the castle, hoping to catch a look at her intended, and likewise Lawrence found it difficult to focus on business he had to attend to as he constantly would dart to a window or the open door of a room to see if his beloved was passing where he could see her.

Karl was keeping them apart for now, not trusting the young lovers not to steal away by themselves. He could not watch her all the time, however, and three days before the wedding and coronation Josephine's heart leapt to find herself face to face with Lawrence after each turned a corner on the stairs.

The two stood, awkward and unsure of what to say or do, and cast their eyes about. Lawrence finally reached for her hand. "My lady, may I kiss thee?"

She blushed and stammered, "My lord, I want thee to, but it is not seemly."

He smiled and asked, in a jesting voice, "But as King, mayst I not command it?"

She looked up at him. "Aye, but as a true king thou wouldst not."

Her remark moved him. He bowed to her , still holding her hand. "But as a man, mayst I ask it from my beloved?"

Her eyes widened with tenderness and she nodded. He leaned and kissed her mouth gently and sweetly, the first kiss of many thousands.

Their wedding took place before the coronation so she would be crowned as Queen alongside her husband. The ceremony was bathed in the ancient ritual of the Church. Both were resplendent in new coronation garments, his shirt of white samite and his dark green tabard bearing his escutcheon in thread of gold. She was in white, satin and velvet with likewise gold embroidery. Both were bareheaded. At the moment they were pronounced to be married in the sacrament of the Church they felt as if they had been bound together with ethereal ribbons that seemed unbreakable and eternal.

The elaborate pomp and ceremony of the coronation itself was plenty to keep the young husband and wife occupied in spite of their combined excitement and nervousness about the night ahead of them. The ceremony involved blessings, long readings from Church liturgy, a mass with communion, and more long passages exhorting the King and Queen to do this or that noble and honorable thing for their people and nation. It culminated in the placing of crowns, Lawrence's own from his father, and Queen Eleanor's delicate circlet for Josephine. His was placed first, and his new wife looked at him with awe. He had a dignity that did not fit his youth. For his part, seeing the delicate filigree of the gold on her perfect forehead made his heart brim with love. The entire court watched the spectacle of the newly crowned royal couple as they walked arm in arm to what seemed to them like a never-ending wedding feast.

Josephine's ladies in waiting finally came up giggling to spirit her off to the royal bedchamber. Lawrence fidgeted in his seat, pale and anxious. He picked apart chunks of bread, one after the other, and seemed to have gone def to all words directed to him, until at last his own servant came to lead him away to be prepared for bed.

By tradition, King Karl and other officials of the court had to be in the chamber when the royal bridegroom was led in in his nightshirt over to the huge bed that dwarfed the small pale face of the new Queen. All bowed and left after Lawrence had been well and truly deposited in the bed next to her, the covers thrown over both and the candlelight doused. They were left alone.

Lawrence propped himself up on one elbow and gazed at his love. "Josephine, I … I.. " he stammered. "I've never really done it before. Just little fumblingsin haystacks with peasant girls, nothing much really."

Josephine reached up a small hand and stroked his cheek. "I have only even been kissed once, my dearest. I think we will know what to do."

He tentatively reached for her and kissed her long and deeply. He let a timid hand rest on her waist and felt her respond shyly. He took her breast in his palm through her nightdress. They sank into a sort of dreamy cloud of enchantment.

If anyone had looked in on them during the night, they would've smiled to see them lying naked and asleep in the bed, Lawrence turned towards his bride, his mouth slightly open and his face slack and restful, the golden head of Josephine tucked into the pillow between his chin and shoulder, a slight smile on her lips as she breathed deeply and evenly. They looked les like a man and woman in their marriage bed than two children who had stayed up to late and drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.

June 764

Next: Being a King