Magic Tides

By Joan Marr

Back in history, two magic rings were crafted from elvish silver and bound to each other with love . They help the owners find safety and new lives in Ireland after their persecution at the hands of the church in France. The rings are passed on to the younger generation and are separated, beginning a tale of yearning down through the ages until the rings are reunited once again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9780992521714

Book preview

wielded.

CHAPTER ONE

FRANCE, 1431

The crowds were noisy and unruly in Rouen. They were a mixture of English Protestants and French Catholics, who often witnessed the execution of those who were found guilty of the crimes of heresy or witchcraft. Some came with enthusiasm, some to stand there mute, as if giving silent support to the victims. There were many who believed the Catholic Church was in need of reform, and many others who had grown tired of the domination, corrupt clergy, ritual, icons and statues and the belief that these were necessary to the path of salvation. These people were condemned if caught. As the Church authority became more intense in its search for non-conformists, its inquisitors sought out and arrested many innocent people and executed them.

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Camille held Françoise close, wrapping her grey woollen cloak about him. The two-year-old slept, his head on her shoulder, and he was heavy. By her side stood five-year-old Sophie and seven-year-old Pierre in their well-made leather boots, with the hoods of their thick, dark cloaks pulled up over their heads, faces hidden in shadow, and cold little hands clutching her skirt for fear they might be separated.

She and her children stood on the fringes of the large crowd watching what was happening in the square below them. Camille was nervous about crowds and soldiers, and didn’t want to get any closer to the central dais on which a pyre had been set with a thick pole in the middle of it.

Stone buildings pressed around the edge of the square, and the crowd, dense and excited, pushed and swayed, spilling back into the alleyways radiating from the open space like the spokes of a gigantic wheel.

From her vantage point she could see the bishop, other religious officials, all dressed in their robes of office, and guards, who restrained the prisoner, a small young woman in men’s clothing. The bishop was delivering a lengthy lecture to the prisoner, but the words were drowned out by the raucous voice of the crowd urging the bishop to get on with the burning.

Camille did not follow the same religious beliefs as the young woman, but felt a great deal of sympathy for her. Jeanne d’Arc was a Catholic and supported the King and the Pope. Now, she struggled and shouted, trying to defend herself from her accusers. Camille was wishing that someone could rescue the poor girl from this terrible death, but she knew that would be impossible.

Pierre tugged on his mother’s cloak, Who is that Mama? Why are they all shouting? His bright blue eyes were visible as he turned his face up to see her.

That prisoner is Jeanne d’Arc, Pierre. She had been charged with heresy and witchcraft. She has fought the English with King Charles’ army, and she claims that the voices of God and the saints have directed her.

What are they doing to her? persisted the little boy.

They are hearing the accusations that have been made against her, and the bishop is giving her advice on how she can save herself. They say she should deny that she hears voices, and she should denounce the King. If they find her guilty she will be put to death.

Won’t the King help her? Pierre asked.

I don’t think so. He is weak, and afraid to confront the Catholics in the north of France.

Why? continued Pierre.

Do stop asking questions just now Pierre. Come Sophie. I need to pick up the silver from the agent. Françoise is getting heavier by the minute, and we must walk to the river to meet Papa. She now desperately wanted to get away from this dreadful denouement.

Sophie had hardly moved while they stood there, keeping her head bowed. Now she took a firm hold of her mother’s cloak and walked as close as possible.

Wait! Camille said suddenly and quietly, pulling her children in close, facing away from the group of soldiers barging their way through the people. Stand very still, she said, and began murmuring to herself, her cloak swirling around them seeming to take on the colours of the background making them almost invisible.

The soldiers roughly pushed the bystanders aside, casting their eyes about looking intently, searching. They passed by, their glance passing, unseeing, over Camille and the children. Shortly they disappeared into the crowd again.

Come, let’s hurry, she ordered Pierre and Sophie, leading them away through the thinning populace. Glancing behind she saw flames and smoke curling above the heads of the lingering crowd. She could hear the young woman at the stake shrieking, and then it was lost the roar of the people.

She soon came to a small shop with a single tiny window, through which they could see a man bent over working. He looked up as they went in, and smiled. His spectacles were balanced on the end of his nose, his wispy white hair stuck out in all directions giving him a kindly appearance. Under his hands on a bench were pieces of jewellery on which he was working.

Camille, here you are. I thought you might not come today because of the crowds.

Yes, it is not very nice out there. However Nicolas is out of metal, and he is keen to get some more work done. She handed over some coin. I take it that the next batch will be here as usual?

About four weeks, he said. The silver mines are doing well at the moment, and I have a never-ending demand for Nicolas’ designs. I’ll see you then, Camille. Au revoir.

The jeweller gave her a small bag. It was not heavy so she gave it to Pierre to carry. He tucked it under his arm and soon they were wending their way down the filthy cobbled lanes between ramshackle shanties of the poorer areas of the city. Several times they stopped, melting into the background of dirty walls, while soldiers went by the end of the street. A short while later, assuring herself that no one lurked about who might see them, Camille left the cover of the dwellings and followed the dirt road through the old gateway in the city wall and into the forest. Feeling more relaxed once they were under cover of the trees and heading down a small track towards the river, she shifted Françoise into an easier position. The branches closed behind the little group as they disappeared from view.

Nicolas Fournier slid silently through the shaded forest, feeling relieved to get away from the meeting. Not that he needed to be so careful at the moment but as revolutionaries they were always sought by the church inquisitors and French soldiers alike. Even though their faces were not known as yet, being involved in illicit activities as they were, they had to make sure they did not look suspicious, so made a practice of being unobtrusive. He worried about his wife, Camille, hoping she had returned unscathed to the river where they agreed to meet.

He had hidden the little boat in some thick riverside growth after Camille and the children had left to walk the short distance into Rouen. Carefully he had found his way to the farmhouse where he was to meet the others, who, with Nicolas, were to have their usual meeting to discuss their next load of produce to be taken into the city for sale.

He knocked on the door of the small, whitewashed building.

Bonjour, Frederic, he greeted the middle-aged man who answered the door. Is Marcelle well?

Ah Nicolas. The farmer solemnly took his hand and slapped him on the back. It is good to see you. Yes, Marcelle is fine as usual. Come in, the others are here.

Nicolas stooped to enter through the low doorway. Inside was a homely, warm little room with a table and two benches, and a stone fireplace at one end. The smoke from a small fire drifted lazily upwards and through the outlet in the thatched roof, leaving a slight murkiness in the air of the cottage. Above the fireplace hung bunches of various herbs, giving off a pleasant aroma. There were two rooms, the second one at the back, high over the barn where the cows and chickens were kept in winter, had a loft overhead with a wooden ladder leading up to the sleeping area. Nicolas took a seat on the small stool carved from tree limbs, and thought what a comfortable dwelling Frederic and Marcelle had created for themselves. Not everyone was so fortunate these days.

Eleven people sat around on the floor. Apart from some small children, they were men and women mostly in their twenties, dressed in warm leggings and tunics, their cloaks discarded in a heap. Nicolas’ mind went back to their wonderful childhood together along this river. His father had told him how, eighty years before, the families had worked as peasant farmers for Lord Dubois. When the plague had struck, the Dubois family and many other landowners and peasants had died. The peasants, as a group, took over the whole vacant property afterwards, and had farmed it ever since. They had made a good living because food had been scarce, and they were skilful in many ways. Three generations on there was still a demand for grain, woven materials from their sheep, leather goods and Nicolas’ own silver jewellery. Now their lives were threatened as never before.

Realising they were all looking expectantly at him Nicolas apologized. I’m a little late, I’m sorry, there were quite a few soldiers on the watch today. Times are getting worse, are they not? Camille has gone into the city to collect my silver and to see what is happening. I am worried they might take notice of her.

I don’t think you should worry too much today, Frederic volunteered. With her talents she will protect herself and the children. Besides everyone will be too busy watching the execution of Jeanne d’Arc. The bishop handed her over to the inquisitors yesterday. She won’t renounce her allegiance to the King, so she most certainly will burn.

Grim-faced, they got into a discussion on the state of affairs of late; how each person must not show skills in healing, particularly those, like themselves, who had followed the ways of their parents, gradually casting off the Catholic religion. Their grand-parents had grown disillusioned with the Church and its rituals and icons. There was no help for the peasants, instead they were drained of the little they had by the bishops and priests. They preferred to honour God by living a good life and helping each other. Any guilt their parents had felt as a result of their withdrawal from the Church was soon overcome as they observed the corrupt nature of the ecclesiastics in their city.

Nicolas looked around at the group; his friends, his brothers and sisters, and his playmates from childhood. He disliked seeing them so worried, and his mind returned to last year when Frederic and Marcelle’s son, Robert, had been executed. Millie, Robert’s wife, was expecting their first child at the time and they had taken a walk into the city to visit a friend. They were betrayed by a neighbour who saw them administering a medicine to ease fever.

Robert, wanting to protect Millie, had fled, leading the church guards on a chase through the narrow, winding laneways for some time before they apprehended him and dragged him off to the inquisitors. He had been subjected to constant lecturing on the evils of being in league with heretics and witches, and finally tortured and questioned. He was not going to survive once they had even an imaginary charge against him. He was executed within days.

Frederic and Marcelle took care of Millie when she lost the baby, and with Camille’s expert nursing she regained her strength, although she would always be but a shadow of what she had been. There she was now, sitting across from Nicolas, listening to the conversation, her face pale and serious. Amelie, her husband, Jean and their little children, Mathieu four and Nanette two, sat on the floor cuddled together. Claire, Amelie’s eighteen-year-old sister, sat nearby, her arm around Millie’s shoulders.

Nicolas came back to the present with a start.

So long as the Catholics persecute us, we will persist, Alex was saying vehemently. I want to desecrate as many of their churches as I can.

Alex we must be careful. There have been more and more arrests lately, they’ll use any excuse to get you, said Millie. You remember last year, when they caught Robert, because Cecile’s neighbour wanted to gain indulgences from the church?

I think we should prepare ourselves for any eventuality. We may have to leave quickly one day, so we should have preparations made, said Jean, being his usual practical self.

Leave here! cried Amelie. Our parents before us worked this land, it is ours, we make a good living between us. We couldn’t leave it, where would we go? She looked desperately out the window at the familiar farm and forest.

Well some have already gone to England. Even though I’m all for doing what we can to defend our way of life, I know we can’t keep it up forever, replied Alex with bitterness and anger in his voice. We would lose our land anyway unless we renounce what we believe. And yesterday, I heard, the authorities arrested two families on the outskirts of the city, burnt their cottages and charged them with heresy.

But, our land, our animals, Amelie cried, what would happen to us?

Amelie, said her husband, Jean, trying to reassure her, we won’t be doing this immediately, but it is as Alex says, we must be prepared. His thoughts flew to the close encounters that he, Alex, Nicolas and Dominique had had over the last few years. They met others in the city, and all banded together to inflict as much damage as possible on the church property. So far they had managed to avoid recognition, eluding their pursuers in the dark of the night and waiting until all was clear before returning home. Routine visits to the farm by inquisitors had only revealed law-abiding God-fearing peasants, none of whom were familiar.

Nicolas felt every bit as anxious as Amelie. He saw that Juliette, sitting next to her husband Alex, was also quiet and pale in her anxiety. No wonder Alex gets so worked up, he thought, he would not yet have recovered from