The Phoenix - Chapter Seven

Chapter One-Six. Here

Chapter Seven.

“Her name is what?”

“Cendrella, Papa. That’s all she would tell me. Well, she did say that her brother gave her the name, not her father, so one could say that it is a nickname.”

     Lord Leon smiled at his son. It did his heart good to finally see his boy back safe and unharmed from the war. Unlike his brother...well, he tried not to dwell on his oldest. Rather he rejoiced in the homecoming of his beloved Lucien or Luc as he was fondly known.

“This Cendrella, my boy, seems to have quite the effect on you.”

     Luc looked apprehensive, “I suppose so. It’s just...she was so kind in the morning time and then when I saw her take on Reynard, something I have never witnessed before, I was struck even more by her courage to help those...” He stopped there. Unable to go on.

“People?” finished Leon, “They may be lepers, but they are still of human mind, body and spirit.

“Yes, Father, but they are lepers because of this war. These Crusades have torn countries apart, turned religion against religion and what do we bring back for our victory? Sickness and death that is inevitable.”

     Luc’s mind went back to Jerusalem. The war, the fear, bloodshed, grief. He remembered the Lazar houses outside the streets. Beggars covered with white bandages begging for alms. They were kicked and cursed, treated like animals. The unbearable heat caused these poor creatures to collapse on the roadside only to be pummeled by Crusaders horses and left for dead. And when death mercifully took them not even the vultures bothered to pick their remains. There were hardly any remains left.

     He remembered looking into the eyes of a young leper girl. Through her heavily veiled face he could almost picture what she might have been. Dark, beautiful, happy. However, her reality was a face that was being eaten away by this accursed disease that made her less human and more monster.

     Lucien still had nightmares from war. Yet, what kept him awake the most were the lepers and their unmerciful treatment from the world. Where was humanity? Where was God? Or was leprosy God’s punishment for being involved in the Crusades?

“I can’t forget them, Father.”

“What?”

“I can’t forget what I saw in Jerusalem. I have killed in the name of God, but where was God when innocent and sick people were being struck down by Crusaders that claimed to come in his name?”

“Oh, my son,” said Leon taking his shoulder, “I have been to Jerusalem and I fought by King Baldwin’s side. The great leper king who died trying to bring peace back to his country. He was Jerusalem in every measurable way. While his body may have been decaying, his mind certainly was not. The only act you can do is to give to these people what you can. Food and clothing. You can do no more.”

     Part of Luc agreed with his father and part of him wanted to say that was more he could do. But what exactly? War was easy. You plan, you gather and you fight. The victory was whomever God favored on that day. War was easy and human. Humanity was not easy.

“Come,” said Leon, “Enough talk of war. We have your homecoming celebrations to discuss and what a glorious event for the whole of Vezelay!”

     Luc tried not to groan. He knew this would happen, he counted on it, but the idea of celebrating his homecoming, when so many of his own comrades and brothers in arms would never celebrate theirs, seemed somewhat shallow and selfish. Yet, he would let Papa have his glory. He was his father’s only family. Mama died when he was young and Bayard, his older brother, was killed on his way home from war a year before. There was no other family except Theodore, his cousin on his mother’s side and Father’s ward.

     Families were not very large in Vezelay. Every married couple lost at least two children to sickness and disease and many people were fortunate if they lived to see thirty-five. Father was already in his forties and was becoming a legend for his longevity. Luc loved him dearly, so much that once he feared his father’s death more than anything else.

     War was the first time that Luc had been separated from his father. He had just turned eighteen and his once warm and sheltered life became a distant memory the moment he stepped foot in Jerusalem. Now three years later, Luc was no longer that frightened and unsure boy. War had forged him into a warrior. Pain, sorrow and suffering had opened his eyes to the real world. And personal loss and grief had broken his heart and his spirit. More than once he had wanted to throw down his sword, curse God and end his life, but something or someone always stood in the way.

     Actually, there had been several people that had saved Luc from his anguish. Men he had not known a week before who would fight by his side and become closer than any brother of blood. Several of these men had no homes or families to return to. The least Luc could do was bring them back to Vezelay and let them begin new lives away from the East and the war.

“This is a kind thing that you have done for these men,” Leon said as he and his son walked through the gardens.

“I feel like I had to do something,” said Luc simply.

“This man that lost his memory, Olivér, I find him rather intriguing,” Leon remarked.

“And after almost six months he still knows nothing about who he is,” Luc said with a sense of guilt.

     Last year, Luc had been saved by a young soldier but at a heavy cost. The soldier, whom he had never met before, had gotten between him and an enemies sword. However, the soldier had taken a fall and hit his head on a boulder. He was in a coma for several weeks and when he awoke, he had no memory of who he was or where he was from. Luc felt responsible and took the soldier into his care. He had taken the name Olivér after the doctor who treated him. Not many other people knew too much about him. He had kept to himself and was quiet and stayed out of the way.

     Olivér was a mystery to everyone including himself. He was intelligent and courteous with a sense of humility. Yet, he was educated, could read and write and even knew several languages. Which suggested that he must have had a high upbringing. A nobleman or a merchant?

“This man may have a family, wife and children who might think him dead and he doesn’t even know his real name,” said Luc.

“You got him out of Jerusalem and out of danger,” Leon reminded him, “And that is more important.”

At that moment the mystery soldier appeared on the steps.

“Olivér,” Luc said, “I hope your first night here was restful. Well, as restful as a solider is able to have.”

“It was,” said Olivér smiling, “and oddly enough I slept through the night.”

“Fortunate for you,” whispered Luc, who still awoke in the middle of the night with horrors of war and bloodshed before his eyes and the screams of the dying in his ears.

“Actually it’s strange because I had dreams of this place when I was in the hospital after my accident. When we were riding through the forests or over the riverbeds, I would remember them from my dreams. Lord Lucien, I believe I might be from here...from Vezelay.”

The Phoenix update

     Hey, just a little update on my Cinderella story, The Phoenix. I was doing really well with the writing and updating until the crazy time in August! I haven't stopped the story though! Hopefully I'll get a new chapter posted up by the end of next week and this time from Lord Lucien's POV. There is still so much in the story to explore and I want to thank people who have taken the time to read and enjoy it! That means a lot to me.

The Phoenix - Chapter Six + Cast List

Chapters One - Five: Here

Chapter Six.

Three Years Later – 1192

      The red and gold bird spread his wings and soared across the sky. The sun in its highest heaven could not compare to beauty and brightness of the great bird that outshone the celestial creation. A phoenix, a symbol of renewal and rebirth. A creature reborn from ashes and flames….

      Marcella slowly opened her eyes and heard the rooster crowing from his perch outside in the yard. The sun was slowly rising and the songbirds were beginning to chirp in the trees. She got up from her bed and stretched out her sore muscles. The early spring morning air drifted through her open window and it promised to be a lovely day.

      After she washed her face and changed into her work clothes, Marcella went down from the attic and started on her morning chores. As she fed the chickens, she looked down the path that led out into the main road. Three years since her brother had left for the crusades and she had not heard a word from him. Maybe that was a good thing.

      Now at seventeen, Marcella was surprised at how fast the years had gone by. For the most part, life at home had been somewhat happy, ever since Andre left. Ysobella was still terrible, but she had finally left Marcella alone and that was fine with her. Meg had grown up quite well and was almost thirteen. She was becoming quite pretty, but still was not as stunning as Constance. Due to the war in the Middle East, husbands were hard to come by and so Constance, who was eighteen, was desperately in want of a rich man to take her away from her mundane home and controlling mother.

      Marcella, herself, didn’t give much attention to marriage or family. There had been a couple of boys from neighboring villages who had showed some interest, but Marcella couldn’t leave Meg alone. And the fact that she was also a leper, with deteriorating health was cause for personal concern. She was fortunate in the fact that her sores were not eating at her flesh as was often the case with most lepers. They would enflame from time to time, but a small dose of honey to the sores settled the pain instantly.

      As Marcella was pulling water from the well she started to cough. That too, was becoming a problem. Her breathing had become much more labored and her intense daily work made it worse. When she finally caught her breath, she pulled the bucket out of the well and started to carry it inside.

      “Excuse me,” came an unexpected voice from behind.

      Marcella turned to see who it was. It was a young soldier, a Crusader return home from Jerusalem. He was handsome and young, possibly twenty, maybe a little older. And there was an air of dignity and decency to him that put Marcella at ease.

      “Yes, sir,” she said shyly.

       The soldier smiled kindly to her and Marcella’s shyness began to disappear.

      “I have been traveling all night to get home and have had nothing to drink. Could I possibly trouble you for a small cup of water?”

      “Of course, sir! It is no trouble at all,” Marcella said as she put down her bucket, “Please come and sit and I’ll fetch you something from the kitchen.”

      The soldier looked relieved, “Thank you, lady,” he said as he dismounted his horse.

      “Oh sir, I am no lady,” replied Marcella, “I’m only a servant.

      She went back into the kitchen and got a small loaf of last night’s bread, an apple and rolled them up in a cloth. She took the bag and a cup and returned back outside to where the soldier was waiting at the well.

     “Here is some bread and an apple,” she said as she handed him the bundle and then dipped the cup into the cold water.

      “Thank you,” said the soldier as he took the water, “I didn’t expect so much.”

      “Well, you seem to have come a long way,” Marcella replied, “Please water your horse as well.” She set the bucket of water in front of the soldier’s beautiful horse that looked just as exhausted as his rider.

      “Are your masters as kind as you?” the soldier asked as his horse drank.

      “Well, some are as kind as they allow themselves to be,” she answered honestly. Meg would have helped without a second thought, but Marcella knew that Ysobella would have chased the man off the land and Constance would sniff at the idea of serving anyone.

      “Then they do not deserve you, little lady servant,” said the soldier.

      Marcella smiled in spite of herself. She rarely talked to men and Crusaders were not always the type of men that a young woman should socialize with. They tended to be wild, vulgar and reckless; the war and fighting still in their blood and their minds. Yet, this soldier was different. She had never met a Crusader so kind before. For a moment, Marcella was tempted to ask him his name, but decided against it. After the horse drank his fill, the soldier gave the cup back to Marcella and mounted his horse.

    “What is your name?” he asked.

      Marcella was surprised at this. Why would he want to know?

     “I told you sir, I am but a servant. My name means nothing.”

     “I would still like to know it, so I may thank you properly,” the soldier insisted.

     “Well then, it is…Cendrella,” she answered.

      The soldier looked confused, “Child of the ashes? Your father gave you that name?

     “No,” Marcella answered, “His son did. And any matter, there is no shame in coming from the ashes, is there?”

      “No, there’s not,” smiled the soldier, “Well then, Cendrella, I thank you for your generosity. It has not gone unnoticed.”

      Marcella bowed her head respectfully. This was no ordinary Crusader. This was a man of high nobility and possibly bearer of a great name.

      “I should hope to meet you again,” said the soldier and steered his horse out of the yard and onto the road.

      As Marcella watched him ride out she felt something rise in her chest. A memory from so long ago began to play in her mind. Her mother leaving with her father. Andre holding her in his arms.

     Be brave and good to people

     It was then that Marcella realized that ten years ago this day her mother left her forever, but her words remained as real now as they were back then. Yet, what was this soldier to her? She knew full well that she would never see him again.

~ ~ ~

      The next day, Marcella finished her chores earlier than usual. It was Saturday and she visited people in the early evening time. Ysobella didn’t care what she did with her free time as long as she was home before dark. And Ysobella not caring was a good thing, because Marcella would actually visit the Lazar House of St. Paul that was run by Brother Martiń and give aid to the lepers there.

      As Marcella was leaving she saw Meg working on a dress. Meg’s dressmaking skills were actually quite good and both girls spent a good deal of time talking about cloth and patterns. Her dress was pale blue with gold stitching around the sleeves.

    “That looks lovely,” Marcella complimented.

    “Thank you,” Meg replied sweetly, “I’m having difficulty with the stitches at the bottom though.”

      Marcella gave the bottom of the dress a look over and immediately spotted the mistake. Her stitches were too small and uneven she explained.

     “I’ll help you when I return. I know the anticipation of wanting to finish a dress.”

     “Oh thank you,” said Meg with relief, “I feared I would be working on this dress forever.”

      Marcella gave her a kiss on the forehead and left. Outside was beautiful and fresh. The sun was behind the trees and a slight wind blew. There was something so perfect in the air right now, but Marcella couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe it wasn’t nature. Maybe it was her. For almost two days, Marcella had thought about the kind and handsome Crusader. She had wanted to tell Meg at first, but chose to keep it her secret a little while longer. Meg tended to have a romantic imagination that left no room for reality and sense.

      Every Lazar houses had to be placed several miles outside of town. However, that was no hardship for Marcella, seeing as she already lived ten miles away from the town. All she had to do was go down the road and head east eight miles and she would be at the secluded plot of land where that thatched Lazar house was.

      Several lepers wearing their familiar blue torn coverings that covered them from head to foot, milled around talking. Most lepers were men and boys, but there were a few young girls and a couple of women close to Marcella’s age. She tended to them especially, sparing Brother Martiń an awkward task.

     A few young children were outside playing games; they too were dressed in simple tunic style dress that was loose and old. All lepers were dependent on donations from the church and the community and while people did have charitable hearts, the war had made giving very difficult.

     When the children saw Marcella approaching they took off running toward her. They enjoyed having an ‘outsider’ that wasn’t from the church come and spend time with them. Soon she was surrounded by laughing boys and girls all rallying for her attention.

    “Cendrella! Cendrella is here!” they cried

    “It’s always good to have you hear, child,” said Brother Martiń as he walked down the steps to meet her.

    “Well, I enjoy being here,” she said as she walked inside with him.

     Marcella had started going to the Lazar house a year and a half ago and in the last six months started visiting other Lazar houses, but the St. Paul Lazar House was her favorite. She helped with the young children, tended to wounds and sores with honey ointments, brought donations from the church, comforted those who were dying, helped bring the stronger ones home and assisted the brothers with needed errands into town.

     St. Paul was where her mother went when she was sick; however, Brother Martiń had not been there at the time. Still, Marcella felt a certain closeness knowing that her mother had once walked on this ground, slept on the floors and maybe gave hope to others.

     The hours went by quick. Marcella had checked the young girls and women, applied ointments; helped set out a meal of bread and fish, washed blankets and played with the children. During their game a blue hooded leper came walking up the road. His walk was difficult and he was breathing heavily. All he carried was a staff that had a little bell at the top. Marcella looked over and saw him coming through the gate.

    “I believe its Matthias,” she said, “Coming for a visit as well.”

    “Hello, dear girl,” said Matthias in his raspy choked voice, “Your loveliness is only outshone by your kindness for creatures like us.”

    “Oh, Matthias, creatures like you hold more joy for me than the healthiest king in his castle.”

     He chuckled and started to embrace the children. Matthias was a Crusader who, like so many others, had caught leprosy in Jerusalem a year ago. By some miracle he had made it home, but he never stayed in one Lazar house. He traveled from home to home, ringing his bell staff to make others aware of his coming presence. Most lepers did this if they were going to be in the world on their own. The children were fascinated by him and begged him to tell them stories of his time in Jerusalem. Marcella herself was intrigued by his stories.

     Time began to pass and Marcella noticed that the sun was going down. She sadly told them she needed to leave for home, but the children insisted that she play one more game. During the game, one of the little boys had run into the road where a Crusader party was passing by.

    “Filthy child!” said the Crusader up front, “Can’t you see where you are going?”

    “Please,” Matthias said, coming over and pulling the boy to his side, “He’s just a little boy, playing a game. He meant no harm.”

    “You learn you place,” the man growled. He dismounted from his horse, took out a heavy leather belt and started to whip Matthias with it.

     The children started to scream and cry, while the other Crusaders in the party did nothing. The man beating Matthias was a giant with no ounce of mercy to him. He beat the leper to the ground, cursing him with every stroke of the belt.

     Marcella got the children out of the way and then grabbed Matthias’ staff and beat the man in the side of the head. The man stopped and dropped the belt. Marcella hit him again across the face.

    “It’s filth like you that needs to learn your place!” she screamed, “This is land from the church and whatever harm you do to these people, you do to the church!”

     Marcella could see several riders coming up from the other direction and she and Matthias were caught in the middle of the road. She set down Matthias’ staff and helped him up. Suddenly she felt the man grab her and then a hard slap came across her face. She blacked out for a second and only felt intense pain wash over the side of her face. The man hit her again and then kicked her to the ground.

    “Filthy whore!” he screamed, “How dare you talk to me like that?”

     Marcella scrambled on the ground and felt her hand grab something hard, a rock and large one too. She turned over and threw it the man’s face. There was a satisfying thud and the man groaned in pain, but that didn’t deter his violence as he grabbed Marcella by her hair and pulled her up.

    “Leave them alone!”

     The next thing Marcella saw was one of the men from that came from the other direction draw his sword and hold it up to the Crusader’s neck. The man looked strangely familiar.

    “Put her down,” said the man coldly.

     The Crusader immediately let go of Marcella and she stumbled to the ground. She was in so much pain, she could hardly stay up.

    “My…my Lord…” stammered the Crusader, “I meant no harm…she was out of line! I only meant a little fun…that’s all.”

    “Well, you have your fun away from these people;” the man said in a deadly tone, “Now clear out! All of you!”

     The man sheathed his sword and dropped to the ground next to Marcella.

    “Lady,” he said, his tone so warm and gentle…and so familiar, “Are you hurt?”

     Marcella looked up and saw herself staring right at the soldier she had seen the morning before; although, he wasn’t dressed the same way. Gone was his military Crusader tunic and now he dressed in a simple riding outfit.

     The soldier clearly recognized her as well.

     “Cendrella!” he said, “My God! I would hope that we would meet again…only, not like this.”

     He helped her up and set her against the fence. Marcella held her breath as he gently lifted her face up and their eyes met. He was as handsome now as he was the morning before. Although, his face was filled with concern and his eyes were still dark from what he had just been through.

    “You’re going to have quite a few bruises,” he finally said, “Rgeis is the worst of brutes and should have stayed in Jerusalem.”

    “I’m fine,” Marcella said.

     She tried to remain calm, but heart was pounding. What were the odds that she would see this kind Crusader again? And what were the insurmountable odds that he would end up saving her life? Never would she have thought that this would happen to her.

    “Thank you, for what you did,” she added, “I don’t know many people who would stop by and help.”

    “Well, I have never known anyone who can stand up and take on Rgeis the way you did,” the man said, “You also fought for these people. Your goodness must know no bounds.”

    “Lord Lucien, we must get back. Your father is expecting you.”

     Lucien, that’s his name! Wait…Lord Lucien…Lord Leon’s second son? The wealthiest man in Vezelay and most of France?

    “Yes, I know, Theodore, but I want to make sure she’s alright.”

    “I told you, I am alright,” Marcella said, “I must be getting home too.”

    “Where is your home?” Lucien asked, “I can take you.”

    “Oh it’s not too far and I don’t want to alarm anyone if they see you bringing me home. Please I don’t want to keep you, but thank you all the same.”

    “Well then,” Lucien said as he took the reigns of his horse, “Save travels back to your home.”

    “And you as well,” Marcella said, “You must be glad to be home…Lord Lucien.”

     Lucien smiled, “Yes, my homecoming has been very interesting indeed.”

     He mounted his horse and rode off with his men. Most of the lepers were back in the lazar house, but children lined up at the fence to wave to Lucien as he rode past and he in returned waved back to them.

    “Thank you, sweet one,” said Matthias as he took his staff and walked with her, “You’re braver than any Crusader I have known.”

    “How badly are you hurt?” Marcella said, “Do you need treatment?”

    “Don’t fret child, you need to head home, but I will see you soon.”

     He gathered all the children around and started bringing them back to the lazar house. Clearly he was staying at St. Paul’s that night. Marcella walked home in the closing twilight evening. Her face was stinging and every bone in her body ached and she had no idea how she was going to explain her appearance to Ysobella and the girls. Yet, she thought about Lord Lucien who had not only saved her but the other lepers as well.

     Marcella couldn’t explain it, but for the first time in a…well a very, very long time, she was actually, genuinely happy. Was it seeing Lucien again? Was it saving Matthias? Was it someone actually caring to save her? No, she didn’t know what it was, but she hoped it would last.

Cast List

    You may notice that I don't dwell a great deal on physical appearances of the characters and I do that on purpose. I feel that long physical descriptions in stories can deter away from the character themselves. This is just my general cast list to help with my writing. However, with the exception of Constance and her red hair, I would want people to see these characters in their unique way.

      Also, the reason I don't have anyone cast for Marcella/Cendrella is that Cinderella herself is such a universal character and so any girl who reads this story may identify with who she is. Therefore, not giving her any general description in the story or picking a stunning, made-up actress may help the reader possibly see themselves as Marcella or identify with certain aspects of her character.

The Phoenix - Chapter Five

Chapter Five.

     The next morning, Marcella woke up before dawn.  She fed the pigs and the chickens and then gathered their eggs. She then went and started the fires in the rooms of her brother, stepmother and stepsisters. However, Andre wasn’t even in his room. After supper last night, he left for town and obviously decided to spend the night drunk in some whore’s bed. Well, that was one less fire she had to make.

     Then Marcella went down into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. She had just finished the bread when Ysobella and the girls were just taking their places at the main table. Marcella would eat in the kitchen from the small bread loaf she made for herself and several apples. She stopped eating with the family years ago.

     “Where is your brother?” asked Ysobella when Marcella brought them their bread.

    “I do not know, Milady,” Marcella said, “He’s probably at the tavern. Would you like me to fetch him?”

     “If you would,” said Ysobella in a bored tone, “and do it soon. I don’t want you getting behind on your chores.”

     “Yes, Milady,” Marcella said. Ever obedient, ever a good servant.

~ ~ ~

     It was almost noon before Marcella was able to get out of the estate and make the ten mile walk into town, but certainly didn’t mind the walk. It was wonderful to be outside and in the fresh early fall air. She wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

     “Once consolation to Andre being gone is at least I have an excuse for getting off the grounds,” she thought.

     Marcella walked up the road and passed little cottages with children chasing chickens and women doing their laundry. She smiled and waved and they waved back. Oftentimes she wondered if that might be her one day; a farmer’s wife and mother to four maybe five children. Would any man want a leper for a wife? She shook her head at the thought and focused on her mission to get her brother back to the estate as soon and as quickly as she could.

     Finally, Marcella made it into the bustling market town. Animal noises were mixed in with yells and calls from all over. Surprisingly enough, Marcella knew very few people in town. She knew several of the street vendors, but she kept to herself and didn’t waste time in talking. She hoped she never came off as rude or inconsiderate though. Ysobella was insistent that Marcella not waste time in town.

     The tavern and whorehouse, however, she knew quite well. If Andre wasn’t at home, he could normally be found there.

     “Looking for you brother?” asked Alais, one of the prostitutes at the door.

      Marcella smiled, “That obvious?”

     “Come on,” said Alais pulling her inside, “I’ll take you to him.”

     For a second Marcella was apprehensive. There were a lot of men in there…she didn’t them to get the wrong idea.

     Alais sensed her fear, “Don’t fret, sweet one,” she said kindly, “No man will hurt you.”

     True to her word, Alais kept her arm wrapped tightly around Marcella as they walked through the tavern filled with drunken men and tired looking prostitutes. She couldn’t imagine such a job, being in such desperation. At that moment she realized how so much better her life was. She was servant in her own house, but at least her dignity and honor were still intact.

“God forgive me for thinking that my life was so lowly.”

     Although the prostitutes were despised, hated and rejected, many of them were quite kind and Marcella always tried to repay their kindness to her. Alais made it to the top of the stairs and knocked on one of the doors.

     “Andre!” she yelled, “Andre! Your sister is here to collect you. Again.”

     There was no answer.

     “Andre!” Alais yelled louder, “Get your worthless self out here NOW!

      The door finally opened and Andre looked out. Clearly drunk and obviously had no sleep at all.”

    “Get dressed and get downstairs,” Alais commanded, “This girl shouldn’t even have to step foot in here.”

     “Well, given the state she is at home, I wouldn’t be surprised if she started coming here more often. At least she’ll get paid for her work.

     Alais backhanded him in the mouth so fast that Marcella definitely did not see it coming nor did she have time to react to, what was now, the worst of Andre’s cruel taunts.

    “Don’t you ever, ever, talk about her like that again, you worthless, cowardly bastard! Now get downstairs!”

     She took Marcella back under her wing and hurriedly got her out the door.

     “That was cruel what he said,” remarked Alais as they waited outside.

     “It’s nothing I’m not already use to,” Marcella reassured her.

     “He’s better off shooting off that mouth to the Muslims in the Holy Lands,” said Alais.

     “What?” Marcella asked

     “You don’t know? The Crusades have started again! That’s why there are so many men here today. Last night they celebrated at the fact that we are returning to war. Every able bodied man is signing up to go to Jerusalem.”

     Marcella couldn’t believe it. Another Crusade? What did these kings honestly hope to achieve by trying to take back a city that wasn’t even theirs? What Muslims and Jews did was their own affair. Why did France have to be dragged back in?

     Finally Andre staggered out, still not sober at all.

     Alais looked him dead in the eye, “Sometimes I cannot stand the sight of you.”

    “In the daylight perhaps,” Andre said.

     She rolled her eyes and gave Marcella’s shoulders one more squeeze and walked back inside. As Andre and Marcella walked through town silently, the buzz of the Crusades was all over in the air. Marcella couldn’t believe she hadn’t picked up on it before. Excitement for a war? It didn’t make any sense.

     The brother and sister got out of the town and made their way down the dusty road that led to their estate.

     “Are you going to the Crusades?” Marcella asked, finally breaking the silence.

     “Not sure yet,” said Andre, sounding much more sober.

     “Well, I think you should.”

     Andre stopped and stared at her, but said nothing.

     “Well,” Marcella continued, “It’s what you always wanted. To be a soldier and fight in many wars.”

     Andre scoffed, “You have no idea what I want.”

     “No!” Marcella said with more force than she had intended, “You don’t know what you want! At least if you travel to Jerusalem you’ll have done something with your life. Because what do you do here, except get drunk and whore around? And that does us no good. You’ve never been asset to this family; just a liability that never carries’s their own weight.”

     She paused for a second and then continued, “I want you gone.”

     Now, Andre actually looked surprised, “Excuse me?”

     “You heard me. I want you gone by tonight. And…and I don’t care if I ever…see you again.”

     “You don’t mean that,” Andre said.

     Marcella smiled, “Just like you don’t mean that I’m responsible for Mother’s death? Believe me, Andre; I have never been more serious in my life. You need to leave and do something with you life.”

     “So you really don’t care if you never see me again?” asked Andre

     “My brother is gone and all you are is just an adult shell of what he once was. You abandoned me when I needed you the most and now, I really do not care what happens to you, because you really are…nothing to me anymore.”

     For once Andre said nothing.

     “So just go. Leave, go to war, have your adventures, get drunk, whore around, do whatever you want, just do it away from me and away from our home!”

      With that, Marcella turned her back to him and walked back by herself, leaving her brother alone to contemplate what she just said. 

~ ~ ~

     Later that evening, Andre announced at the supper table that he was signing up for war and that he was leaving that night. Ysobella secretly seemed happy at this while the girls looked somewhat disappointed. For Meg’s part, she probably wanted to go and Constance would miss him harassing Marcella who was in the kitchen when she heard this news. For once, she and Ysobella actually agreed on something and that realization terrified her.

     Once Andre had everything packed, he didn’t bother saying goodbye to his Ysobella or Constance, but Meg did say her farewell and asked him to bring her back something from the Holy Lands. Andre couldn’t help but smile and said he would try to find an item fitting for her.

     As he walked down the path, he saw Marcella outside gathering the evening eggs. The chickens all squawked around her bare feet as she smiled and talked to them all by their names. So intent she was on her work that she didn’t look up to see her brother standing at a distance watching her.

     You’re just a shell of what my brother once was. You mean nothing to me now.

     Her words rang through his head. And in his heart, he knew she was right. So he continued walking down the road and didn’t look back.

The Phoenix - Chapter Four

Chapter Four.

Two Years Later - 1189

     “I’m not here!” came Meg’s voice in hushed tone

     Marcella looked behind from washing the dishes and saw her step-sister dive into the pantry. She didn’t have to guess too hard that Meg and Constance were in another fight again.

     As Marcella was drying the last dish she heard Constance storming down the hall, screeching her sister’s name.

     “Marguerite!” she screamed, “You come out right now!”

     Constance stomped into the kitchen, her face as red as her hair and her eyes looked deadly.

     “Where is she?” she asked in a harsh whisper, “You had better not be hiding her again!”

     Marcella could do nothing but laugh at Constance’s stupidity.

     “Or you’ll do what?” she asked, “Flog me, take away my food, put rats in my bed? Honestly, Constance.”

     Just as Marcella was about to turn her back to her step-sister, Constance grabbed her roughly by her arm, spinning her around to face her. Despite being only fourteen months apart in age, Constance was already a head taller than Marcella.

     “I’m going to ask you one more time,” she said in a deadly tone, “Where is Meg?”

     Marcella could feel Constance’s fingers and nails pressing into her arms causing intense pain; however, she wouldn’t give her step-sister the benefit of seeing her weak.

     Constance’s back was turned to the pantry and Meg’s head peer out from behind the pantry door; a worried look on her face as she saw Constance hurting their sister. Meg was about to move and step out, but Marcella shot her a warning glance to stay inside.

     “She went outside to the stables…Milady,” Marcella said bitterly.

Constance held on to her arm a second longer and then there it down as if it had turned into a snake.

     “That wasn’t so difficult now was it, Cendrella.” She smirked as she drew at the last word, her nickname for her sister who now did most of the chores since many of the servants were let go due to financial problems.

     Marcella gritted her teeth in seething anger. How she hated that name! Degrading and yet, so very true. She was dirty all the time from having to clean all of the fireplaces as well as mucking out the stables, working in the garden, feeding the chickens and pigs and having to walk back and forth into town because her step-mother wouldn’t let her take the cart. Her once beautiful clothes were given to Meg, who rarely wore them and all Marcella had were a couple of plain dresses and aprons that were worn by the poorest of peasant girls.

     Constance turned on her heel and swished out of the room, her long red hair trailing behind her with dramatic effect. Marcella lifted up the sleeve of her dress and saw several bruises left by Constance’s fingers.

     “Oh, Marcy,” said Meg, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think she would hurt you! She’s so cruel! You’re a much better sister than her!”

     Marcella smiled. That helped a little bit.

     “So why are you hiding?” she asked.

     “Oh,” groaned Meg, “It’s ridiculous. I was trying on one of her hair combs and she walked in and just went…”

     “Like only Constance can go?” finished Marcella.

     “Yes, exactly.”

     “Well, go outside and play and I’ll keep an eye on you in case she comes back.”

     Meg threw her arms around her step-sister, gave her soft kiss on the cheek and bounded out of the kitchen. Marcella leaned over the sink and watched Meg play happily, but her mind began to wander as the exhaustion of the day or more like the last two years began to catch up with her.

      She was fourteen and yet, she felt like she was forty at times. She was carrying a daily workload that was normally done by five or six servants. Ever since Father died, Marcella could feel her soul beginning to slip into some dark place that she never thought she could possess. Ysobella seemed to be punishing her in some way. It was Marcella’s fault that she was Philippe’s blood daughter and she should pay for such a crime.

     Constance…was well, Constance. The older she got, the more spoiled, petty, arrogant and cruel she became. She bullied Meg unmercifully and never ran out of abuses (both verbal and physical) to harass Marcella with. While she was strikingly beautiful, her hatefulness was not masked and she revealed it to both of her sisters on a consistent and daily basis.

     Meg was really the only happiness that Marcella had. She had just turned ten, but still had the graces of a wild colt. She was lively, opinioned, and at times a little saucy. Yet, no matter how terrible Constance was, Meg just seemed immune to it. While she despised her sister, Meg worshipped Marcella and was her shadow. Marcella didn’t mind, either. Meg reminded her of herself in many ways.

     The young girl let out a deep breath and pulled her tired legs up on the bench. She was in more pain than ever on a consistent basis. Marcella checked her legs. The red sores from her illness so many years before were still there. She ran her arm down her legs trying to soothe the muscles, but when she got to her feet, there was still no feeling at all, just like in her hands. Brother Luke had told her that she would never have feeling in her hands and feet again.

     Marcella couldn’t remember the last time she had actually felt the coldness of water, the heat of a flame or the softness of a blanket in her hand or the feeling of the cold earth underneath her feet. It had been so long ago since she had gotten sick and then Mother became sick.

     Something wet fell down her cheek. She felt that. Warm and almost freeing. Several more tears began to fall. Why was she crying? She still had more chores to do before she started supper. However, this was one of those moments where she felt so defeated, so worn out, so battle worn. Ever since her father died,

     Marcella had felt certain emotions that she had as a young girl beginning to fade into nonexistence and her spirit was strained and her soul was becoming numb and she was losing all feeling, just like in her hands and feet. How much longer before she no longer felt happiness, compassion, or even fear and sorrow? Then what would she be?

     Be brave and good to people.

     How long until she could no longer keep her mother’s promise?

     “Oh, poor, poor, little Cendrella,” came a cold voice from behind. It was a voice that was becoming worse than Constance’s threats or Ysobella’s scolding’s; a voice that Marcella was beginning to despise.

     She turned around and saw her brother, now seventeen, leaning up against the wall, a bored look on his handsome, but arrogant face. Marcella wiped her eyes and pulled her dress back down.

     “Oh, don’t worry,” said Andre as he staggered in. He was probably drunk; Andre was always drunk, “I mean it’s no secret to me what you are.” He turned to face her, a cruel smile played at his lips.

     “A little leper girl,” he said slowly.

     Marcella’s back bristled. Little filthy leper girl. Her secret for so long, but how long would it remain a secret? What if Andre said something in one of his drunken antics? Then what? Ysobella may kick her out. She wasn’t diseased anymore and was certainly no danger to anyone, but there were still people that avoided lepers with fear.

     “And,” Andre continued, “Not just any little leper girl, but one that also killed her own mother.”

Marcella looked up at him, her eyes almost blinded with tears.

     “I did not kill our mother,” she said defiantly, “Mother didn’t want me to go to a lazar house and so she kept me here. She risked her own health to save me.

     “Yes,” said Andre, “You see that’s the part that confuses me. Mother thought for some reason that your life was so much more important to save than hers. And yet, what have we gotten from her sacrifice for you? A stepmother who hates us, two spoiled stepsisters, a dead father, an estate that is almost in ruins, I’m really not seeing any benefit to you still being here…well, except for the fact that you are a fairly decent servant. Maybe’s this is finally penance for you crime of matricide.

Marcella could take no more. She leaped to her feet and with all her strength pushed her brother back.

“Get out, now!” she cried, “I have work to do!”

     Andre just laughed and staggered back, “Of course you do, Cendrella. You certainly now have a name to live up to.”

     As soon as he walked out of the kitchen, all of the feelings welling up in Marcella came to a breaking point. Sadness, rage, fear, despair, even hatred came pouring out in a torrent of tears. She collapsed to the ground and buried her face in her hands.

     Why?! WHY?! Andre what happened to you!? Why have you abandoned me!? Why do you hate me? Mother, Father! I need you both so much! I need to know what to do, how to continue on! How to keep Meg safe from her mother and sister, how to protect my secret from the rest of the world!!!

     Marcella believed that when her father died, a part of Andre died with him. Even before, Andre had started to become distant, but Father’s death was the final straw. Andre treated his blood sister like she was an animal for his own cruel abuses. Although he never physically hurt her, he taunted and teased her constantly. He never defended her when Ysobella and Constance mistreated her and sometimes her even seemed to enjoy watching them hurt her. 

     It was Andre, not Constance, that gave Marcella her new name Cendrella and unfortunately for Marcella, her step-sister used it to her full advantage whenever she saw her working.

     Andre was rarely ever home. He was usually at the tavern, drinking, gambling or whoring around. He cared nothing for his father’s estate and his work as a merchant. Andre didn’t really care for anyone. It was as if his heart had become like stone and he was simply a shell of the real Andre de Bourde.

     After a minute, Marcella got herself under control, wiped her face and started to prepare supper. Andre was right about one thing, she was a good servant. When supper and the evening melded into night, everyone had gone to sleep, but Marcella was up till late into the night doing chores.

     Finally she finished just after midnight and was worn to the bone. Marcella was too tired and too cold to walk all the way up to the attic where she now slept. Ysobella had sent her up there the year before, claiming that Constance and Meg needed separate rooms and now Constance had Marcella’s room.

     Marcella now slept in the cold attic on a rickety mattress with old blankets, but lately the house had been getting colder and she hated making the walk in the dark. For the last several nights, she had just been sleeping in the kitchen, by the dying fire embers on a pillow and wrapped up in her old cloak. It didn’t take her long to fall asleep, either. 

     Sleep was the only real freedom she had.

The Phoenix - Chapter Three

Chapter Three.

     “Father is dead,” announced Andre.

     Marcella looked up from her book; her face white with horror. What did he say??

     She felt her heart begin to pound and everything around her went hazy. All she could see was her brother in the doorway and all she could feel was the dread in her body. Marcella got up from her seat and walked toward her brother who was trying to compose himself as best as he could.

     “How did it happen?” she asked. This can’t be real! Please God, don’t take my father away as well!

      “He…fell on the side of the road. Something about his heart giving out…I really didn’t hear all the details, Marcy.”

     She could hear the pathetic cries of her stepmother down the hallway. Wailing on at how they were ruined. “What does she have to cry for?? She has money! I just lost both parents!

     “If we’re ruined then it’s her fault,” Marcella said bitterly, “All of those unnecessary items she always insisted on having.”

     “Marcy, now is not the time,” said Andre as he wiped her arm across his eyes, “Pull yourself together and get downstairs. The girls are going to need someone to keep them occupied.”

      Marcella was even more confused at Andre's intense reserve. He was treating her as if she should have no emotion or grief at all.

Why is he treating me like this? What happened to you, Andre? What happened to my family?

~ ~ ~

      If Father truly believed that he could blend these two very different families, then he was by all accounts a fool. Andre and Marcella met their soon to be new stepmother and stepsisters several weeks after Father had broke the news to them.

      Lady Ysobella was elegant in an extremely haughty and vain nature. She was clearly a woman who had been through extreme hardship and blamed everyone else around her for whatever she had endured. Her oldest daughter, Constance who was eleven (a year older than Marcella) wasn’t too different from her mother. Actually, give her a couple years and she would probably be worse.

      Even at her young age, Constance was breathtakingly beautiful. She had smooth ivory skin and a river of dark red hair that glistened in the sun. After Constance curtsied to Marcella she looked her stepsister over as if she was debating whether or not to buy her.

     “Why is your skin so dark?” she asked in a way that made her sound more innocent than rude.

     “Oh...” Marcella started, completely thrown off by what she had been asked, “I spend a good amount of time in the sun…it’s very beautiful here. You could hardly want to be trapped indoors all the time.”

      Constance raised her eyebrows and with one last lookover sauntered off to greet Andre. Marcella was in such disbelief of her first greeting to the girl she was supposed to accept as her sister. She watched as Constance went from a vain peacock of a little girl to showing the heirs and graces of a young lady as she chatted graciously to her new stepbrother. Andre didn’t seem to mind this at all nor did he seem to notice Constance’s rude comment toward Marcella.

      “And this one is Marguerite, but we call her Meg,” Lady Ysobella said as she gently pulled the hand of a small seven year old girl.
 
     “Mademoiselle,” said Marcella as she gave the girl a proper curtsy.

      Meg executed a rather weak curtsy that almost had her stumbling over and then looked Marcella in her eyes. Although the newcomer didn’t speak, Marcella could tell that Meg was nothing like her sister. There was fire inside of this girl, a spirit that was going to be difficult to rein in, a troublemaker that could be an ally or enemy.

     “She’s something of a handful,” remarked Constance to Andre in a sickly sweet nature that made Marcella almost nauseous.

     “Well, I understand,” Andre said, “Marcy has always been a handful.”

     “Oh, such a sweet name,” Constance said looking over at Marcella, “It’s much more fitting for a child. Marcella…just seems a little too grown up.”

     “Too grown up?” Marcella said, trying to keep her anger at bay, “You’re only one year older than me. I seriously doubt your experience of the world is any more advanced than mine.”

     “Age has absolutely nothing to do with “world experience” as you put it,” Constance said walking over to Marcella, “Let’s see, have you ever been outside of Vezelay?”

     “Well, no I haven’t,” Marcella admitted.

     “Can you dance, play any instruments, been introduced to nobility?”

     “No. I have not done any of those,” Marcella said, almost at a breaking point.

     “So, one might say that I do have more world experience,” finished Constance with a sly grin.

      Marcella was shaking inwardly with anger and humiliation and having Andre just stand and do nothing while Constance degraded her did not help at all. Now more than ever, she wished that Mother was here. Although, if Mother was actually here than they wouldn’t even be in this situation.

Be brave and good to people

Brave, yes. Good was going to have to wait.

     “You’re right,” said Marcella after a few seconds, “I’ve never been outside the city and I know nothing about nobility. So yes, you may say that you have more experience than I.

     Constance smirked. Her blue eyes were cold and hateful.

     “However,” Marcella continued, “I can ride horses, swim, plant herbs and roots and know how to make healing balms and remedies from them. I know how to read maps from all around the world; I can name every constellation in the sky, I know how to speak Italian and Persian, I know how to navigate my way through the forest, I can make my own dresses. My father is teaching me swordplay and I’m the only girl in the village that can read and write.

      The smirk on Constance’s face was wiped away and her complexion went from its flawless ivory to a red the color of her hair.

     “So, I would say, that you and I are about even when it comes to ‘experience,’ in any form of living,” said Marcella, “If I ever got lost in court, I’m sure you would be the first to tell me how it’s all done. And if you ever got lost in the world, don’t hesitate to ask for my help.”

     Constance glared at like she was a snake, but Marcella refused to be bullied in her own home.

     “Children,” came Father’s voice, “Let’s come inside and eat.”

     Constance grabbed her sister’s hand and dragged her inside, but not before Meg turned to face Marcella and gave her mischievous grin of approval.

~ ~ ~

      After the marriage and Ysobella and her girls moved in, Father tried to set up some familial structure. However, Constance almost seemed threatened by Marcella no matter what she did and Ysobella always found some fault with her. Whether it was the way her dress hung, how her hair was styled, how she sat at the table, the way she spoke to people.

     “I don’t know what it is they want from me,” Marcella said to Father one day, “I am trying, so very, very hard.”

     “According to your stepmother, you were very rude to Constance within minutes of meeting her.”

     “I was rude to her??” cried Marcella, “That was over six months ago and she was the one that was rude to me! Father she’s manipulating you!”

     “No, she’s not,” Father said, “I have been somewhat lax with your upbringing and maybe Ysobella…your stepmother really does want you to become the lady that her daughters will become. Don’t you wish to marry a good man and have a family?”

     “Yes, of course I do, but Father…” Marcella was almost in tears, she was tired of arguing and feeling so alone.

     “Nevermind,” said Marcella, “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

     “Marcy,” Father began, but she interrupted him.

     “I will try even harder to be the lady that my stepmother wants me to be.”

       She excused herself and walked out of her father’s office. In the last six months, Marcella had not received one kind word from her stepmother or from Constance. Andre kept to himself and father seemed to be working longer and was away much more than usual. Her perceptions about Meg had proven to be true. She was a troublemaker, but with hardly any deceit. It was more or less for attention from her mother who seemed more focused on Constance and creating the perfect lady in her daughter.

      While Ysobella hardly made it a secret how this quaint country life would be the death of her, Constance complained endlessly of the boredom and dirtiness of ‘these peasants.’ However, Meg thrived off of the country life. She actually spent a good deal of time with Andre and thankfully that kept her out of the house, but did nothing for Marcella who was confined there all day long. Marcy’s only retreat was in the attic looking through her mother’s trunk and dreaming of the dresses that would be made from the beautiful silk that Father bought her.

      When she wasn’t in the attic, Marcella found respite in helping the servants with work that went beyond her ordinary chores. She helped in the kitchen, washing dishes and preparing meals, helped with the laundry and mending, worked inside the stables caring for the horses, anything to get her away from her stepmother and stepsister. She did try and spend some time she could spare with Meg, who had a wicked sense of humor and no shortage of good pranks she enjoyed playing on people.

      Constance started taking advantage of the fact that Marcella did a great deal of housework and overtime started giving out small chores for her stepsister to do. From washing her dresses separate from the other laundry, cleaning her room and fetching small items for her. Ysobella saw no problem in this and believed that Marcella was a better servant than a lady.

      And so it went on like this for almost two years; Ysobella and Constance against Marcella, Father always working, Andre retreating deeper and deeper and little Meg only wanting someone to see and hear her.

      One day Father announced that he was going on another trip and asked what he could bring back for them. Ysobella and Constance both rattled off lists of items that included expensive cloth, silver, and whatever else they really couldn’t afford. Andre said to bring back books for him and Meg wanted a pet snake.
 
     “And what about you, my darling?” asked Father

      God knows, Marcella wanted him to take Ysobella and Constance to the far side of the world and leave them there; however, she made a more reasonable request.

     “Bring me back the first dove feather you see on your way there,” she said.

     “What?” Father said in confusion.

     “Well, you will have to carry it with you all the way to your destination and you will think of me every time you look at it. And you will already have it on your way back home. And that’s all that I really want. For you to come home.”

     “My dear child,” Father said as he took her in his arms.

      Marcy felt her tears trailing down her face and she couldn’t stop them. She didn’t want to.

     “Please don’t go,” she whispered.

     “Marcy, I will be back in eight weeks,” he said as he wiped away her tears.

     “That’s still too long, Father.”

     “Darling, I will always come back to you. You believe that don’t you?”

      Marcella nodded, but something about his leaving this time didn’t seem right. She couldn’t explain it, but a nagging feeling inside of her told her that things were only going to get worse.

     The next day, Father said his goodbyes to everyone and Marcella walked with him to the carriage.

     “Now, behave yourself especially with your stepmother and Constance,” he said.

     “You don’t have to remind me,” said Marcella, “If I stay out of their way, they may stay out of mine.”

      Father sighed. This was not how he wanted to say goodbye to his daughter. Yet, if he was really being honest with himself, he knew that Marcella had never been the problem. She was a victim of both stepmother and stepsister and he had allowed it by just assuming the Marcella would have the graces her own mother had to carry through.

     “Maybe child,” he started, “I have allowed your stepmother and Constance too much sway in this household.”

     Marcella looked up in surprise.

     “You are still my child by blood and you have been through just as much as they have. Your mother leaving, your…your sickness…”

     Marcella felt a cold chill travel up her spine, “They don’t know about that. Please tell me they know nothing about my sickness and what…I really am.”

      “You’re my daughter and that’s all they need to know,” Father assured her, “And anyways, that was years ago. You are in no danger and neither are they.”

     “It would be one more thing that they would use against me,” Marcella said.

     “Which is why things are going to change when I return home,” said Father.

     “Really??” Marcella asked in disbelief. Was Father actually taking her side for once?

     “Yes,” said Father as he climbed into the wagon, “Things are going to change around here between you and stepmother and stepsister. Can you hold out for eight more weeks?”

     “Yes, I can,” Marcella said. For the first time relief seemed to flow through her body.

     “Good,” he said as he stroked her hair, “I always believed that you had the makings to become your own kind of lady. Your stepmother is simply going to have to accept that.”

     “Thank you, Father,” Marcella said, “Please come home soon.”

     “I will,” he smiled, “With your dove feather.”

      As he rode off, Marcella actually did feel relief, but as he faded into the distance, the nagging feeling began to grow.

     She would never see him again.

~ ~ ~

      Marcella felt like she was in some sort of limbo. She couldn’t tell real from imaginary. She could hear disjointed voices, movements all around her, yet she couldn’t see faces. No point of reference to anchor herself to. She was completely alone.

      As she came to Constance and Meg’s room, the door was opened and Constance was in the corner brooding about something and certainly not caring that she had just lost her stepfather. Meg on the other hand was staring outside the window and she held something in her hand. When she turned to look at Marcella, there were tears streaming down her pretty face.

     “I’ve lost…another father,” she said in a choked voice.

     “He wasn’t really our father,” Constance snapped from her corner, causing Meg to drop her head and cry even harder.

     As much as Marcella would have loved to hit her in the face, she restrained herself and walked over to Meg. She wrapped her arms around her and held her tightly.

     “It’ll be all right,” she said. It was all she could say.

     “Will you promise not to leave me?” Meg whispered, “Please don’t leave me. You’re the only person here that I can depend on.”

     In spite of her grief, Marcella felt her heart lighten. She was needed; needed by Meg who couldn’t turn to her distant mother or idiot sister in her time of sadness.

     “I could never leave you, darling,” Marcella said, somehow reminding herself of her own mother.

     “Oh,” said Meg, “They brought this back and said it was for you.”

     In Meg’s hand was a perfectly white dove feather.