Journey into Faith

By H. Holroyd

Andrew was a son of a powerful sub-king. His father wanted twelve sons, each to be named after one of the twelve holy men he had learned about from an itinerant preacher. When tragedy struck and the kings wife died giving birth to a sixth brother, all talk of faith died with her. The kings eyes turned solely to the defense of his lands. The teachings which were tied to a God whom he thought had failed him, were not to be part of the picture.

These were rough times. Vikings were raiding the shore areas taking what they wanted and leaving destruction. There was strife closer to home as well, as stronger families tried to grasp more land from weaker families.

Andrew knew the direction that his life would be taking. When he became old enough, he would start weapons training. He would learn the ways of the warrior, and he would join his fathers war band and defend his land from the invading Vikings. Life, however, does not always meet expectations. Another traveling preacher visits the land and talks to Andrew about a different path to follow a path that does not parallel the ways of a warrior. Which path will Andrew follow?

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: May 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490878577

H. Holroyd

H. Holroyd is married and lives with his wife in Saint Charles, Missouri. He has been an avid fan of historical fiction since his youth, with a special interest in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century naval adventures. This is his first venture in writing.

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Copyright © 2015 H. Holroyd.

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ISBN: 978-1-4908-7856-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-7858-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-7857-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015906668

WestBow Press rev. date: 05/15/2015

Contents

Timeline of Events in Scotland and Northern Britain

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Author’s Note

To my family—wife, children, and grandchildren.

We all have our own journeys.

And to Pat and Jack B.

I think you might know why.

Timeline of Events in Scotland and Northern Britain

Chapter 1

In my youth there were many advantages to being a son of a king, no matter how small his realm. I was trained for war, as were all the men around me. My life was a time of wars, a time of invasions. We accepted that aspect of our lives because if we did not, we simply would not survive. Being a younger son, I experienced some disadvantages, but looking back now as an adult to the time when I was under ten years of age, those disadvantages seem quite distant. These were the memories that are not usually recalled, the ones I struggle to bring back. I wasn’t the youngest child, though I was the youngest in the house. I had many brothers and one sister who shared those experiences of youth. Eventually our family totaled seven children, but the last brother, Thomas, was born so late and grew up under such different circumstances that it did not affect the rest of us. And our sister was pushed away.

A traveling preacher of the new religion, which really wasn’t new, had come wandering into our lands around the time of my eldest brother’s birth. The preacher talked about his beliefs, about the Son of God who was killed and then rose from the dead. We had heard that this religion was spreading quite rapidly, but it had not reached very far into our lands. We had many gods of the forests and lakes that were worshipped by the common people. The new preachers had a difficult time convincing and converting these people.

There is a legend in our family about a time when the preacher was talking to my father and mother. The preacher mentioned the twelve disciples, and my father remarked, Now there is a good size brood! Wife, we will have twelve sons just like the one you are having now. And we will name them after these twelve men this preacher is talking about. But we will not use Judas. Betrayers have no place around here.

We will think of another good name should we need it, my lord, was my mother’s only reply.

And so they started naming their children after Jesus’ followers. I suppose it was as good a place to get names as any. But I am not sure how such names as Bartholomew or Thaddeus would have been received by my father’s people. Those names certainly did not sound like proper Celt, Saxon, or Anglo names. Neither did the others for that matter. But we managed to get away with it. Mine was—or rather is—Andrew. James and John were the first two names that Father used. He rather fancied the fact that these Hebrew men were called the sons of thunder. After John was born, Father even went so far as to get all of his sub-kings to call him the Thunderer, not that he didn’t deserve the appellation. He really did thunder, especially when he was angry. I did not like being anywhere near him when he was so upset. And his hands were lightning fast, especially when delivering a box to my ears when I got into mischief.

After James and John came Matthew. In those days there was usually one son who was dedicated to administering the landholdings, the moneys, and all that was related to the actual running of the estates and land that Father ruled. This person was Matthew. Father thought that the name of a Jew who had sold out to the Romans and had been a tax collector would be appropriate. Sometimes Father only looked at one side of a man. He really did not understand the ways Matthew, or Levi as he was also called, changed after he became a follower of Jesus.

Peter was next. When he was born, my mother said that he cried so much that he reminded my father of how Peter always spoke impulsively. It is interesting how one’s namesake might pattern one’s own behavior. Much of the time when my brother Peter opened his mouth, he got into trouble. He did seem to speak first and think later.

And after Peter there was me, Andrew. There were now five of us. Each of us was about two years junior to the one previous. By the time I was born, James was not too far away from his formal warrior training with real weapons. He was very much aware of that fact. He was also keenly aware that he was the heir. In our society the eldest was the sole heir. Everything—lands, castle, crown, and prestige—went to the eldest son. Sometimes if there was some special reason, such as marrying into an alliance, a son or daughter would be granted a castle or some lands as part of the marriage agreement. But these, if they existed at all, were usually some of the very lesser holdings. Lands also came to a family as part of dowries from wives. As we grew older, we knew it was expected that we would marry, primarily to obtain land and produce more children.

After I was born, the midwives told Father that it would be dangerous for mother to have any more children. They said that Father should be content with the five healthy, lusty sons he already had. This should be enough to secure the succession, they had told him. In our society and time one had to have several sons to ensure that there was at least one surviving heir. Disease and war were quite prevalent. The mortality rate was high. While we did number five sons, my parents knew that not all of us would survive to inherit their legacy.

The warning from the midwives gave Mother a break from childbearing. However, four years after I came into this world, our sister, Martha, was born. The midwives really got after Father then. They said that another birth would kill Mother. They had a difficult time stopping my mother from bleeding after Martha’s birth. Of course, I did not know anything about childbearing. Not until I had a son of my own did I come to find out some of these great mysteries that the midwives keep to themselves. All that I knew at the time was that mother kept to her bed for many months after Martha was born.

It turned out the midwives were right. One more child did kill Mother. Four years after Martha was born, Thomas came along. Mother again had great trouble recovering from the hard birth, and soon thereafter she left us. Father stayed with Mother during her last day. Martha and I were with her too, as Martha was my mother’s only girl, and I was my mother’s favorite son. She had thought that I would be her last child, and so she considered me to be somewhat special. Well, I was the last son, at least for her. She tried to convince Father that there was no blame or fault on him. She had chosen to have Thomas. She told Father that she could have said no. At that time I had no idea what she meant.

Martha, only four years old, and I, now eight, were staying by the window of our mother’s room and being very quiet. We did not really know or understand what was happening. All that our young minds could tell us was that Mother was very weak and that Father was acting a bit strange.

Don’t push him away, my husband, I heard Mother tell him. Don’t blame the baby for my leaving. Thomas will be very important to you someday. I feel it. And don’t blame God either. I know that my belief in Him has always been far stronger than yours. I know how much you have tolerated what you deem to be my womanly faith. You were always the warrior and always the king. Being your queen made me very happy. Believe in God as I do, and we will be together again someday. Don’t turn away from God, my king and my husband; He will never turn away from you. Train our sons to be as strong and as dependable as you like the rock that you are. You may want to think that you are the Thunderer, but I could have never had asked for a more kindly and gentle husband. Nor could I ever have imagined a life better than the one that we have had together. Farewell, my darling. And so Mother quietly left us.

Mother’s death marked a big change in our world. She had sheltered us a bit from the prevalent hate in the world. She talked to us about being humble and gentle and said that these were traits even the strongest warriors could and should have. But Father and his tutors took over everything when she died. She knew Father well. Not long after her passing, Thomas was pushed out of the house and forced to live with a wet nurse. Martha was handed over to the ladies of the castle. My older brothers were expected to perform even harder in their warrior training. James was sixteen now. John and Matthew were fourteen and twelve. Peter had just become ten and had now joined the manhood classes. All my older brothers were greatly involved in the business of becoming men.

And that left only me.

As a young boy grows, he sees so many things around him. He sees the fields, flowers, birds, insects, and the forests. He enjoys his world, and he is daily discovering new things. He roams about the hay fields, generally making a nuisance of himself, but his behavior is tolerated by all. And when that boy is a son of the king, the toleration goes quite a bit further. A servant of the king does not know what kind of stories that nuisance of a little boy is going to tell. It could mean the difference between someone keeping his head upon his shoulders or losing it to the king’s executioner.

Up to this point in time Mother had kept me relatively close to home. She had set the boundaries, and normally I did not go past them. But if I did, when Mother found out, the reward for disobedience was usually quite swift though not as brutal as Father’s would have been. It usually involved extra studies on those special days when an eight-year-old boy just ached to get outside and play in the sunshine. But now I was by myself. My four older brothers did not have time for me, and my sister was not around much anymore, always sequestered with the women. So for nearly an entire year I wandered. Sure, I had a tutor, and he taught me many things; however, it did not take me long to figure out ways to avoid him. I got to know all of the forests and trails. I started to get to know the people who served my father too. I especially enjoyed my time with the blacksmith and the falconer. And I began to wander farther and farther afield. Sometimes I would not get home until after dark, after the time that the keep gates were supposed to be closed and locked. But I made sure that the gatekeepers knew that I was out, and that way they did not lock me out at night. The kitchen staff was also always saving me some extra food if I was not at the table. Father did not get suspicious because he usually ate alone. At least that was what I thought. It really was great to have these friends around, especially for a lonely boy without his mother anymore.

All this changed a few months later on a night that Father could not sleep. He decided to wander around the ramparts and noticed that the front gate was slightly ajar when it was supposed to be locked up tight. To say the least, he was not pleased. So I was locked out that night. The gatekeepers were thrown in the dungeon to await punishment for leaving the gate open. Whether or not the open gate was harmless and the fact that there weren’t any raiding parties about really made no difference. It was Father’s orders that the gate be closed and locked at night. The guards had disobeyed orders, and they would be punished.

When I discovered that I could not get in, I spent the night with one of the farmers whom I had gotten to know. They had a seven-year-old son who seemed to be a good playmate, even if he was a bit younger than me.

Upon my return to the keep I found that one of my father’s veterans was in charge of the new guards at the gate. He was the one who escorted me—and not very gently—to stand in front of my father’s throne. It wasn’t very much of a throne, just a larger chair raised up on a platform, but for a nine-year-old boy who thought that he was about to be mightily punished, it looked very large indeed.

Because of you, roared out the Thunderer, two able-bodied men will no longer be so able-bodied. They will be branded and whipped because of your irresponsible running around. You are old enough to see when the sun goes down and to get back here in plenty of time. It wouldn’t have been so bad if this was just the first time. But they told me that this has happened too many times to count. These men will be punished because they broke my rules. They will receive two dozen lashings and a branding. I haven’t decided what I’m to do with you.

After a long pause he continued, Yet.

That yet hung very heavy over me, but I struck up my courage and asked, So they haven’t been punished then, Father?

No, we were just now going to go out and witness it when you decided to grace us with your presence. You will accompany us and stand on the platform with your brothers.

Yes, Father, was the only appropriate reply.

Our keep was built like so many others of the times. It had a central area that was surrounded by stables and living quarters that all backed up onto the encircling high keep walls. The king’s residence was a large tower-like structure built so that it was part of the rear wall of the enclosure, and it extended over the wall by a couple of stories. Because it was constructed out of wood like nearly everything else in our keep, it could not tower very high. But it looked sort of like a round pot with a short, fat handle sticking straight up on one side. Sometimes I wondered why the tower was not placed in the center of the courtyard. It seemed that it would add another defensive wall around us. However, what we had was easier to build, and it took less time. Stone was not easy to find in our area. It had to be brought many miles. Therefore, the central keep just had a stone ground floor and wood above. The surrounding walls of both the central keep and the keep as a whole were made of vertical logs sunk deep into the ground. The central keep also had other outside windows in the rear for defense. On that side the defenders would be so much higher from any attackers that objects thrown from those windows would hit the attacker’s backs with much more force.

The inside entrance to the tower was one story up to prevent easy access. The attackers would have to use ladders or climb up a narrow wooden stairway to a platform outside the door to the tower. With great effort, the stairs could be pushed away from the wall. We hoped that the stairs toppling over would break them up enough so that the attackers could not use them. Most likely, though, we would combine toppling the stairs with burning them. Of course, all of these would be done as last resorts. Attackers would not get into the tower very easily. At least that was the theory.

The king was headed for the wide platform at the top of those stairs in order to witness the public punishment, the flogging and branding, of the two gate guards. He always stood to the front, and James, the heir, would stand behind him on his right. On his left was his primary advisor, Edward. Edward was the man who was in charge of teaching the boys their skills at arms. He was very good at it too. He expected a lot from the boys and young men in his charge.

With everyone else crowding the platform and others crowding the steps and paying attention elsewhere, I found it easy to slip away from my family and work my way down the steps to the courtyard. Father had pulled everyone in from the fields, especially the men who would be called up to fight with him in times of invasion. He was always making sure of their loyalty with little tests and demonstrations.

The punishment pole was normally set in the middle of the courtyard and raised up on a small platform so that everyone could see it. The platform was built up around a large shaft. The shaft extended down to the ground and rested there. All in all it was pretty stable, as it had to hold the executioner—in this case, the blacksmith, a few guards, and the unlucky fellows to be punished.

Father’s voice was booming out over the sea of upturned heads, and just as I reached the punishment pole, where one of the guardsmen was being tied and the other was just standing nearby with his hands secured behind his back, I heard him say, And for these, their crimes, they will each receive two dozen strokes of the lash and then be branded on the left arm. Blacksmith, do your duty!

Father always used the blacksmith for the whippings. Some of the other kings in the area obtained and trained an executioner. But Father decided that the man with the strongest arm was quite adequate for the role. As the blacksmith stepped forward to get the whip ready, I jumped out and scrambled onto the platform.

I request permission of the king to speak on the behalf of these men!

The only answer for the longest time was silence. It was such a terrible silence. No one had ever before dared to stop one of my father’s punishments or any of his other displays. No one had sufficient reason before. Eventually, as I waited, the whispers started.

That’s the king’s son, Andrew, the youngest! What’s he doing there?

He’s not the youngest. I thought there was another one.

Some said he was his mother’s favorite.

No matter who he is, no one stops the king’s orders!

I could also hear above all other sounds my heart beating hard and strong. It was almost deafening. And I watched my father bend slightly over to Edward, his advisor, and talk to him for a bit. Each second he waited was another hour to me on that platform. Eventually I heard Edward speak one word.

Granted.

All right. Now what? I thought. You’ve got everyone’s attention, so do something! I was shaking inside and sincerely hoped that it did not show.

My King, I yelled loudly. I thought it better to address him as king rather than father. Of course for a nine-year-old boy yelling from the middle of a crowded courtyard up an equally crowded staircase to a platform upon which stood all the older male members of my family took a bit of effort.

My King, I repeated, "you were right when you pointed out to me that because of my irresponsible actions, these men have to be punished … and rightly so, for they did disobey your commands. They were also, however, obeying the commands of a king’s son, which, even though he is just the fifth son and only nine, still bears enough authority possibly in their minds,