Precious Little Jewel

Precious Little Jewel

Yes, I know. I don’t look like much. Not any more, anyways. My wood is dulled with age and abuse, splintering at the edges. My hinges are rusty and screech annoyingly when forced to move. My lock’s broken, shattered and useless. My inside’s are stained and littered with mice holes. And a strange odor hangs about me. It’s the scent of old age, the scent of being locked away in dusty, cobwebbed attics and damp, musty basements for far too long. But the stories I could tell; the stories that I’ve seen and been a part of. I may not look like much, but I once held someone’s most precious treasure. I once protected the most important thing in the world. Life, human life. Care to hear the tale? It’s a long one, but it’s one I enjoy telling ever so much. Settle in and listen closely.

Centuries ago there lived a kind and gentle king, Arthur. No, not that Arthur. Not the one with the sword, but another. An Arthur the history books have long since forgotten. His kingdom was small but well taken care of and his people loved him dearly. His wife, Juliana was admired throughout the land for her wisdom and his two sons, Alistair and Percival, were revered for their prowess with a sword. The youngest child, Avelina was known for her fire red hair and contagious laughter.

But, as in all good myths and legends, not all was as it seemed. The king’s brother, Ivan, was exceedingly jealous and coveted the throne for himself. With his most trusted advisor, Thibault de Burgh, Ivan plotted against his brother all the while feigning support and love for the royal family. Then, in a single night of treason and terror, the precarious brother murdered Arthur, his wife and their two sons. In a vicious act of brutality, he allowed Avelina to live only to humiliate her in the cruelest way possible, by giving her to his men to do with what they willed. By the time they were through with the poor child she was so broken in spirit and body that she no longer wept or spoke. She merely sat where she was put, eyes wide and unseeing.

And that’s when I came in. When Ivan’s men tired of torturing the once lively princess; they wrapped her devastated body in old, rusted chain mail and folded her into me, locking my lid tightly so she’d have no hope of escape. They then carried me to the river and dropped me in, believing that I’d sink to the depths and the princess would never be able to implicate them in their crimes. They were wrong. I was better made then they knew. There wasn’t a single crack or crevice for the ice cold water to creep into. So instead of sinking as I should’ve, I floated, carrying the royal child down the swift moving current away from her assailants and towards her salvation.

I’m not sure how long or even how far I carried Avelina, but after a long stretch of time had passed I became hopelessly lodged against some rocks. And it was a lucky thing too for I could feel the poor child’s breathing becoming shallow and the vibrations from her heart beat becoming fainter. I say getting stuck on those rocks was a lucky thing because there by the waters edge was a group of women tending to their laundry. The oldest of the group, Betta was her name as I later found out, noticed me and motioned for the others to help pull me out.

“My word but this thing is heavy,” she puffed as they dragged me ashore, “what in the world could be in it?”

“Gold?” the shortest of the girls asked excitedly.

“Oh, you dream too much,” replied her sister.

“Well, whatever it is, it’ll have to wait,” Betta interrupted with a frown, tapping the lock that adorned the front of me, “it’s locked.”

Deciding their Lord could unlock me, they awkwardly carried me between two of them while the other two carried what they could of the laundry. What was left of the wet clothing was piled precariously on my lid.

The trip was short, bumpy and uneventful. When we arrived, they dropped me rather unceremoniously on the floor near the kitchen’s hearth. Lord Fairfax, or Griffin as he insisted on being called, had yet to return home from his trip to town. So I sat there, warming myself by the fire and slowly drying out, watching the women go about their daily chores. All the while the child inside grew weaker and weaker and I began to fear they wouldn’t open me in time to save her.

Just when I thought all might be lost, a joyous voice boomed from the hall with laughter. A moment later, a tall man with dark hair, green eyes and broad shoulders entered the kitchen. Avelina would later describe him as an angel. Though I’m not sure if that was a reference to his good looks or the fact that he saved her life. Anyway, Griffin was laughing at one of the servant girls who was obviously over excited about something. Me to be exact. She had been one of the girls with Betta when I was found.

“Why couldn’t it be gold?” she demanded with a mix of defiance and excitement, “it’s heavy enough!”

“Chests of gold don’t just float down rivers,” Griffin replied kindly, as if he were explaining this to an over imaginative child. He wasn’t far off with that.

After she pointed me out, the Lord of the house came over and examined me and I swear the entire household staff was crowded at his back waiting to see what I held inside. It seemed like he studied my lock for an eternity and I was beginning to wish I could speak.

What’s that? Oh, no. I couldn’t speak at that point. A voodoo priestess cast a spell on me centuries later. But that’s another story. Now, where was I? Oh yes, Griffin was examining my lock.

Finally he got up and retrieved some tools and picked my lock open. Throwing back my lid he chuckled seeing only old rusted chain mail. Avelina had been wrapped from head to toe in the harsh metal rings. There was a collective groan of disappointment from the kitchen staff which set Griffin’s chuckle into laughter. His laughter was cut short, however, when the seemingly harmless body armor shifted slightly and the sound of a ragged cough emanated from below the metal.

“What the…?” he murmured.

Carefully the suddenly confused man began to unwrap the bundle. His eyes widened and he swore when the armor fell away to reveal Avelina in her broken state. The entire kitchen erupted in chaos with the women screaming in fright and the men shouting for the women to quiet.

“It’s a girl!”
“Is she dead?!”
“Quiet!”
“It’s a dead body! Get it out of here!”
“She isn’t dead!”
“Stop shouting!”

Only Betta seemed to maintain control of her wits. She disappeared then reappeared just as swiftly, a bundle of blankets in her arms. Shouting so that she could be heard above the racket, Betta instructed the Lord to remove the princess from me and he did as he was told, handling Avelina as if she was made of glass.

“My God, what happened to her?” he said aghast, “she’s barely alive.”

Demanding Griffin out of the way, the old woman carefully wrapped Avelina in the blankets all the while shouting commands for hot water, bandages, and a cot to lay her patient on. Betta was a nurse of the highest caliber, even by today’s standards.

For the next few days things were a whirl of conversation and activity. The kitchen staff and even Griffin were curious as to who the girl I had protected was and what had happened to her. I remained by the fireplace, watching as Betta tended her wounds. They kept her in the kitchen as it was the warmest part of the house that time of year. As for me, I had to put up with the curious and sometimes nasty looks shot my way. Most of the staff looked at me as if I was the one who had harmed their newest resident. Even Griffin looked at me with disgust and hatred in his eyes. Betta simply looked sad when she gazed at me. I guess I can’t blame them. They had no clue what had happened. All they knew was that I was a part of it.

Anyway, I wasn’t in the kitchen too much longer before Betta decided I was in the way. So I was crammed in some out of the way closet and forgotten about. Lord Griffin was called away on business in another part of his fiefdom and left Betta in charge, as usual. A day or so after his departure, Avelina awoke on her cot near the fireplace, sore, starving and thirstier then she had ever been in her entire life, all twenty years of it. And frightened. When Betta attempted to approach her to check her wounds the poor child saw it as a threat and endeavored to scoot backwards. She only succeeded in unbalancing the cot and flipping it and herself over. With much coaxing and reassurance, however, she soon agreed to let the old cook check over her wounds, whimpering as she poked and prodded tender bruises.

“Dear me, but you’ve been through quite an ordeal,” she murmured as she worked, “how long were you in that chest? What happened to you?”

Betta tried in vain to get poor Avelina to speak, but the young woman wouldn’t utter a single word. Instead she etched the letters A-V-A into the ash of the fireplace, trying to communicate her name. Unfortunately, Betta couldn’t read, so she settled on calling her Child. Ava disliked the name, but saw no alternative. She’d just have to wait for the master of the house to return. Betta had told her he could read.

Over the next few weeks, Ava was forced to stay on her cot as her body healed and every time Betta, or one of the older servants, entered the kitchen food was shoved at her. Everyone said she was far too thin and until she fattened up she wasn’t allowed to leave the kitchen. Ava was obedient, eating what was put in front of her and watching the daily activities of the women quietly from her place by the fire.

As her strength slowly returned, Betta began giving the child small chores to do, knowing she probably wasn’t use to hard labor. In her experience, any woman who could afford to learn to read rarely did her own house work. But she was an extra set of hands and the old cook could always use an extra set of hands, educated or not. Ava surprised her with her eagerness, however and quickly became quite proficient in the kitchen. She wasn’t the best of cooks, but Betta soon found the young woman could whip up the tastiest treats she had ever had. She even began to teach Betta how to bake them.

The weeks turned into months and Ava began finding happiness in the everyday baking and household chores. Betta was allowing her more and more freedom while giving her more responsibilities. It had become her job, along with a few other servant girls, to gather berries and apples from the surrounding forests as well as keeping stock of all materials needed for baking. And as she went about these chores, the old cook noticed Ava had began to relax. However, she still wouldn’t allow any of the men of the house to be within reach of her. Betta suspected that had something to do with whatever was keeping her tongue still.

Spring was nearing its end when Lord Griffin finally returned, tired and weary from dealing with unhappy peasants. Rumors had sprung up that the royal family had been murdered months before, but nothing official had come through yet. He hoped they weren’t true. Though he had never had any reason to think so, Griffin had always believed the King’s brother, Ivan, to be a proverbial snake in the grass.

Weary from the journey and in need of a hot meal, the Lord entered the kitchen expecting to find Betta. He found Ava instead, her head bent over a mixing bowl completely unaware that she was no longer alone. The last time he had seen the girl, her body had been bruised and broken, her hair had all but fallen completely out, and she had been deathly thin. Now here she stood before him, bruises healed fire red hair in a thick braid down her back, and a healthy amount of weight on her. Griffin couldn’t help but stare. She was beautiful.

Recovering his wits, the dark haired man cleared his throat to greet her. Startled, she yelped and dropped the spoon she had been using to mix her batter.

“I apologize, I hadn’t meant to frighten you,” he said smiling warmly at her. She never heard his words. All she knew was that she was alone with a man and that frightened her so much she began to cry. Bewildered by her reaction, the Lord moved towards her to comfort her.

“I’m sorry, please don’t cry,” he pleaded, confused, but that only made things worse. She fled to the only place she could go, the furthest corner of the kitchen. He was in between her and the only way out.

“What in the world is going on here?” Betta demanded from the kitchen entry.

“Betta…” Griffin said, unsure of what he had done wrong.

“Oh dear, you better leave,” she said shooing him out into the hall, “let me take care of this.” Once he had gone the old woman turned her attention to the weeping girl. “Calm down child, that was only Lord Griffin. He means you no harm.” Avelina wiped her eyes dry, realizing she had acted rather silly. But how was she to know who he was? She had never seen him before.

Once Ava had recovered, Betta went to Griffin, who had been pacing the hall worriedly, and explained everything that had happened while he had been gone and her suspicions of what had happened to the child. Though, this last part she relayed in hushed tones in case Ava was eavesdropping.

“She hasn’t spoken a word?” Griffin asked stunned. She seemed alright physically to him, but maybe the trauma of what had happened to her was too much for her spiritually.

“Not a word, though she screams at night from nightmares.”

“I have an idea.” He ran to his study and retrieved a pen, ink and paper then returned to the kitchen with Betta. He set the items down on the table and took a few respectful steps back.

“Would you be kind enough to give us your name?” he asked as gently as he could, “you must be getting tired of being called child all of the time.”

Unsure of herself, but glad for the chance to communicate Avelina sat down and began to write:

My name’s Ava.

“Ava,” Griffin smiled, “such a beautiful name.” Ava blushed and bowed her head. Betta watched silently, noting the way her master looked at the young woman.

“Where are you from, Ava?”

Cohen

“Cohen? You’re a long way from home.”

Where am I?

“Rhonin. What happened to you?” At this question, young Ava’s eyes became distant and filled with tears.

“It’s alright; you don’t have to answer if it’s too painful. Where is your family?”

Dead

“Dead,” Griffin murmured the word with sadness. Her family was dead. This poor beautiful creature had been tormented and left all alone in the world. No wonder she was so terrified.

Over the next few months Griffin devoted every free moment he had to gaining Ava’s trust and healing her emotional wounds. He once found her in his study with her nose stuck in one of his favorite books. She was so startled when he walked into the room that she dropped the book where she stood and bolted from the room. Later he, approached her with the book and told her she was welcome to come read in his study any time she wanted, earning him a rare smile. He even had a rocking chair brought in for her so she could sit near the hearth on cold winter days. Anyone who cared to notice could see he was falling deeply in love with the fiery haired girl, but how she felt about him remained shrouded in mystery.

Then the day came when news arrived confirming the death of the entire royal family and the misbegotten succession of Ivan to the throne. The royal family had been buried in unmarked graves, save for the body of the princess which hadn’t been found though she was presumed dead. Tristan Fiennes, the Lord of the neighboring fiefdom and Griffin’s best friend was rallying soldiers to fight against Ivan’s reign. Griffin couldn’t ignore his call to arms so off to war he went.

During his absence, Betta came across me hiding in that dark, long forgotten closet and I was moved to Avelina’s room. For years I had remained hidden in the dark, alone and rusting. The only comfort was the occasional snatches of conversation I’d hear as people passed by. A younger servant girl had gotten herself into some trouble and had been cut loose from the Fairfax estate because of it. Her room had, afterwards, been given to Ava and there I had the happy task of storing and protecting her clothing. As she had taken on the old servant girl’s duties, the princess was rarely in her room. Nevertheless, I was content. I wasn’t in that dark and dusty closet any more and Avelina didn’t look at me with hatred in her eyes, but rather fondness. I often wonder if she remembers her trip down the river or if she knows the part I played in her survival.

Avelina spent most of her evenings curled up on her bed reading books that Griffin had given her. When she wasn’t reading she was scribbling furiously in a leather bound journal. I suspected that was a gift from the master of the house though I hadn’t witnessed him giving it to her.

While her evenings were typically calm and relaxing, her nights tended to be plagued by horrendous nightmares. More often then not, Betta, who was only a few rooms down the hall, was woken from her sleep by poor Ava’s screams of terror. She’d spend the rest of the night cajoling the broken child back to sleep. And yet, through it all Ava remained outwardly cheerful, if a bit silent. Another thing I contributed to Lord Griffin’s influence. The cheerfulness, not the silence.

The Lord was occasionally allowed to return home to attend to business as was custom. One of three Lords (three Lords governed each fiefdom according to King Arthur’s laws) was within the fiefdom at all times to protect the peasants and each was rotated to the battle fields every month. On each visit home, his feelings for young Ava became more and more clear until he finally confessed his love to her. Surprised but thoroughly delighted, as she loved him as well, she agreed to marry him and they were wed before he was forced to leave again for the war.

Once married, I and her other trinkets and belongings were moved into the master bedroom. Soon my belly held not only her clothing but some of his as well, along with the letters they wrote one another while he was on the battle fields. Nine months to the day of their wedding, their first child, a son named Archer, was born and I was quickly refilled with things for the baby.

The baby had a surprising effect on Ava. He seemed to ease the last of her pain and she soon began humming quietly to him. By the time Griffin came home for another visit she was singing. Quietly and only a few words at a time, but she was singing. This, to Griffin, was a miracle and afterwards he often referred to his son as The Miracle Worker. When he was forced to leave once again, Ava spoke the words he had so desperately wanted to hear her say ever since he saw her with the mixing bowl in the kitchen.

“I love you, Griffin.”

He had wept like a new born baby and held her tightly, regretting more then ever that he had to leave. But leave he did, promising to be back as soon as he could be and telling her that he loved her with all of his heart.

All the while the war raged on. Ivan’s soldiers were as ruthless and relentless as the rebellion was determined. Lord Griffin and Lord Tristan had gained fame as extraordinarily apt leaders. So much so that Ivan himself took to the battlefields in an attempt to best them. But when he lost the battle, he quickly switched his tactics to ruthlessness. Riding away from the battle with his most trusted advisor, Thibault de Burgh, and a few hundred of his best men, the False King invaded Rhonin and set up his base of command at Lord Griffin’s very own estate, enslaving all who lived in the house.

Much to his surprise he found the long lost Princess Avelina residing there, someone he believed to be dead and someone who posed a serious threat to his hold on the throne, especially since she had bore a son with a nobleman. Enraged that she had some how survived, he ordered Thibault to kill her.

“And this time, make sure she stays dead!” the False King shouted, “and kill the brat!” Thibault was more then happy to comply, but he barely had time to drag Avelina and her child from the room before he found a sword at his throat. Griffin had made it back from the battlefields in record time and he wasn’t about to let some jerk on a power trip harm his family.

“Get you filthy hands off my wife,” Griffin growled through gritted teeth, “or I’ll slit your throat where you stand.”

“Don’t be stupid, the King is in the next room. If you—“

“Your King is otherwise engaged.” The sounds of shouts and sword play emanated from the room Thibault had just emerged from. Tristan and his soldiers had returned with the Lord and were laying siege to Ivan’s forces.

“Unhand my wife.” Reluctantly the advisor released Ava and she quickly darted behind her husband, clutching her infant son close to her chest. “Ava, get out of here. Find Betta and get to safety.” The princess fled down the hall making her way to the kitchen where she found the old cook wielding a heavy cast iron pan against one of Ivan’s soldiers.

“Hey!” the princess shouted distracting the soldier long enough for Betta to get a good swing in. The pan caught him in the temple, knocking him out cold. Without hesitation, both women bolted from the room, the old woman leading the way. Down the hall and out through the servants quarters they ran, heading towards the stables. Tucked away in a darkened corner was a trap door, which led to a small but secret room beneath the floorboards. Here they hid, for how long they weren’t sure, but after some length of time the shouts of the fighting men quieted and the sounds of battle died away. Kneeling on the dirt floor, the women silently prayed the fighting was over.

Suddenly the heard footsteps on the boards above. Someone was in the stables not far from them and the baby began to fuss. Placing a hand over the child’s mouth to muffle his cries she listened. The steps were making their way towards the trap door, the baby had been heard. Frightened, Ava and Betta waited for the inevitable with baited breath. The trapdoor opened and down jumped Griffin, splattered with blood and dirt, but otherwise unharmed. The young woman cried out in relief and kissed her husband.

“Are you alright?” he asked concerned for his wife, child and cook.
“Yes, yes. We’re fine,” she replied.
“What’s going on? Is the battle over?” Betta asked.
“The war is over. Ivan’s dead.”
“Oh thank God.”

Hours later, when the wounded had been taken care of and the bodies dragged out of sight, Griffin found his young wife in their bedroom, rocking their young son to sleep.

“Why did you never tell me who you were?” he asked softly. He had heard Ivan address her as Princess Avelina before he ordered her murder. Stunned he had remained in the hall unmoving until he saw Thibault drag her from the room.

“To protect you,” she replied just as softly, “if you had known who I was it would’ve put you and your entire household, your entire fiefdom in danger. Ivan screwed up when he left his men to murder me and if he had discovered that I was still alive he would’ve stopped at nothing to ensure that I and everyone who attempted to protect me were dead. As the last living royal, I was a threat to his throne and he knew it.”

“You could’ve told me, love. I would’ve kept your secret.” She smiled at that.

“Yes, you would’ve and I’m going to ask you to keep it now. I have no wish to return to Cohen, no desire to assume the throne. It has caused me nothing but pain. I have never known true happiness until I came to live here and I wish to remain here, as your wife. If you will allow it.”

“Of course,” he replied giving her a kiss, “I could never give you up. You are my precious little jewel.”

They would go on to have six more children, four boys—Drake, Percival, Alistair, and Arthur—and two girls—Athena and Juliana. I would go on the be packed and repacked with each child’s toys and clothing, later to be handed down through the family as a heirloom until I was inherited by a rather foolish gambler who lost me in a game of poker. But for a brief amount of time I held within me a young woman’s life and was witness to a tale of courage, rebirth and love. My part in this tale may have been small, but it was vital.