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“My Lady, the Duke of Devonshire here to call on you before he leaves the residence,” Corinna said quietly as she entered the library of Kensington Palace where Veronica was pouring over an ancient text. Veronica spent most of her days in the library, often until very late in the evening, only breaking for meals and official visits. For Veronica it was heaven, being surrounded by hundreds of texts, most of which were either out of print or were never published, written by the hand of the author. She discovered the library during her first week at the palace and was over-joyed at the rarity of the books in it. If that wasn’t already enough, when the Duke of Devonshire discovered her love for dusty books, as he called them, he saw to it that she was also allowed royal privilege to any text in the kingdom.

  Yesterday, a very rare text was delivered to Veronica dating back at least to the ninth century entitled The Winchester Chronicle which was supposedly started during the reign of Alfred the Great in 871 AD. Veronica had a near photographic memory and she remembered reading the Chronicle before from photographed copies of the book in the States, but as she studied the original manuscript she was sure it was different. There were similarities to be sure but the book she had in her hands was more complete and contained histories about the Anglo-Saxon period of England she had never heard. When the Duke entered her study she was inspecting the book trying to determine the age and the author.

  “Lady Veronica! How is my new favorite cousin?” said the Duke as he approached Veronica who was sitting by a bow window and a rather large desk that was covered with dozens of books, papers, and hand written notes. Veronica was getting the hang of her new title, royal etiquette and life of privilege and she passively put out her hand for the Duke to kiss without breaking her concentration. “I think you were in that chair when last I was here. When was that, a week ago?”

  Veronica put down her book, rubbed her eyes and turned to face the Duke clearing her head as if she were changing channels in her mind, “Um—yes I believe it was, you were attending to the business of the house if I remember correctly, you let someone in the kitchen go that day, upsetting several members of the staff.”

  The Duke shook his head, “That memory of yours. I can scarcely remember a fort-night ago.”

  Veronica had been at Kensington Palace just over two weeks and ever since her first night when the Duke explained to her about her blood heritage, they had formed a special friendship and Veronica appreciated his endearment towards her. The Duke had never married and was viewed as somewhat of a playboy by the English public, although an aging playboy. The Duke appeared to be in his sixties and could be a flirt at times but the age difference between them made his flirting benign and Veronica took it all in good fun as she would often banter with him in a playful manner.

  The Duke casually flung himself in an upholstered chair with a sigh and asked, “How are you getting along my dear? I fear you are spending your every hour in this dreary room to avoid your new surroundings.” His look was now genuine and he peered into Veronica’s eyes with true concern.

  Veronica returned his care with an endearing smile and kind eyes, “Oh, I am very well, really. You mustn’t worry about me so. Certainly I miss Gus and Matthew and I worry about them terribly, especially not being able to speak with them, but I am surrounded by every luxury and my one true love—ancient manuscripts.”

  “Well, the reason I called on you before I left today was to first see how you were getting along and relate some news about your friends.” Veronica sat up strait with renewed energy for so late in the day and waited on the Duke’s every word. “His Majesty the King informs me that they have made their way to Montana and appear to be safe.”

  Veronica had heard about the civil unrest in the States and buried herself in her books to stop from worrying from sun up to sundown, “They—who has gone to Montana?”

  “We only know for sure Lord Guiscard and Sir Matthew. The insignias the King awarded them with before they left England are made of English silver, mined from ancient silver mine in Charterhouse, Somerset that was opened during the Roman occupation. The silver in that mine is most unique in that is must be extracted from lead which gives it a special isotope that is readily traceable by a British satellite. I don’t know anything more about the science except that it allows the Crown to trail persons who are important to England. It has actually been in use for nearly a thousand years, though I can’t see how without a satellite. They flew by slow air from Washington. The King expects a communication any day now that they are out of the Washington oven so-to-speak.”

  Veronica knew that Matt was from Montana and she assumed that he had returned home, “Thank you so much your Grace for the update, it eases my worry greatly.”

  The Duke rose and kissed Veronica’s hand good night and she was left alone again with the ancient text. She observed the binding and the spine which had certainly been repaired and reinforced over the centuries but the original binding was mostly intact. The pages near the spine had been dipped in a type of pitch, which was derived from fir trees and after hundreds of years; it would crack and break with every page turn. The book had originally been stitched together with animal sinew, which also cracked and broke when it was touched. The entire book was delivered to her in a large box made especially for it. It was approximately twelve inches wide and fifteen inches tall with leather cover and bronze corner pieces, though one was missing.

  Being unable to determine the exact date by observation Veronica concluded it was at least ninth century but probably older. It was written in Anglo-Saxon which was also known as Old English but to the untrained eye it looked more like German. Today’s modern English is the result of numerous foreign invaders warring across the island and then settling peacefully amongst the English. The English language is actually a coagulation of languages from the invaders England endured over the centuries, which is why so many English words are spelled with silent letters and other odd formations, making it one of the most difficult languages to master. Old English was no exception but to complicate reading it even more, the Roman letters used were not consistent with today’s conventions. For example, the letter “F” was written like an “S” as well as many other irregularities. However, this was nearly invisible to Veronica due to her extensive experience with Old English texts and she read it as easily as the Washington Post.

  Starting on what appeared to the first page, she began reading the chronicles of a kingdom which was the official journal of the Crown. The first entry was dated 449 AD. Veronica stopped, expecting the first entry to be 793 AD which was the first date in the Winchester Chronicle—the document she thought she was reading. She thought for a moment, 449, that was the date the Anglo-Saxons invaded England. If that is the real date of the entry, the hand that wrote this could have only been, she paused in her thought as she considered what she was about to suggest, “Vortigern!,” she said out loud.

  Vortigern was a legendary King of England just before the Anglo-Saxon invasion, he was considered a legend only because there was so little known about him and his name was never consistently mentioned among the several chroniclers from the ninth century onwards. The next entry date was 450, then 451, 452—consistently every year page after page. Veronica was overwhelmed at what she was looking at and marveled that the book in her hands was unknown to the rest of the world.

  She thumbed through all the pages following the entry dates and upon reaching the end concluded that it contained an almost perfect annual report of events in England for nearly one thousand years. Excited, she turned back to the beginning and began rereading, absorbing and delighting in every word as if she were in a hot bath.

  In the years following the fall of Rome, Vortigern—a roman ruler, tried to maintain the dynasty that he believed rightly belonged to him and his family. He attempted to intermarry with many rich land lords and minor kings but without the might of Rome behind him, the native English resented him and all of Rome for invading their island in the first place.

 
As Germanic tribes fell upon the old Roman Empire in the east, Vortigern sought their help in England to put down the peasantry that was becoming more and more hostile. All of this Veronica knew and so far, history was on its proper course in the book as she understood it; but as she read, she discovered that the ancient text in her hands contained details unknown to the world and which for some reason were excluded from the cannon of history.

  At the time of the Roman invasion, many native English fled into the north and eventually left the country across the Germanic Sea, settling in Saxony. Hidden among the group that fled the country was an unnamed royal princess, the rightful heir of the English throne before Rome invaded. At the time Vortigern requested the help of Germanic warriors, he did not know that the small army he hired was already planning a return home with a royal descendant and heir to the English throne, princess Ronni. Veronica paused and smiled with amusement. Ronnie was the Old English translation of the Latin name, Veronica.

  Just then, Corinna entered the study with a cup of vanilla coffee, a new favorite Veronica had discovered since she arrived in England, “Pardon me my Lady but I thought you might need a little refreshment.” Veronica jumped, being startled at Corinna’s entrance since she was so deep into her reading.

  Corinna chuckled slightly, “Beg your pardon my Lady.”

  Veronica recovered from the jolt and laughed with Corinna, “Oh, no it’s all right. I’m sure it looked very funny from your perspective. I was so deep in thought I didn’t hear you come in.” She got up from her chair and noticed the grand clock in the library read 2:30 a.m. “Is that the actual time? Good heavens Corinna, you should not have stayed up.”

  Corinna was very dedicated to Veronica and felt it her duty to attend to her Lady no matter the hour, “It’s all right my Lady, I don’t mind.”

  Veronica sat back in her chair and looked at Corinna in amazement. She knew Corinna had been in service nearly all her life and that she was certainly paid well for her service but her dedication was not something that could be bought. She waited on Veronica not only with a strong sense of duty but also a love and a kindness she could hardly comprehend. The more Corinna served her, the more endeared she became.

  “Oh Corinna, I do love you. Thank you for your great kindness and untiring service. I am without words most days at you.” Veronica sipped her coffee, which was perfectly prepared as always. Just the right amount of cream and sugar and it went down smoothly, “Mmm. Thank you so much.”

  Despite Veronica’s pleadings, Corinna would not retire before her so she gathered up the book and told Corinna that she would just do a little reading in bed and that she was finished for the night. Lying comfortably in bed, Veronica took out a single page from the book that had broken away from the biding and continued reading where she left off, re-reading the name of the princess again finding it amusing and yet somehow—chilling.

  The small Germanic army from Saxony landed in southeast Briton near the mouth of the Thames where they set up a war camp and strategically planned their invasion under the guise of assisting Vortigern. Princess Ronnie was kept in the camp very discreetly and there was a story of a Germanic soldier who discovered Ronnie by accident and he was immediately bound hand and foot and thrown into the Thames River. Her presence was only known by the leaders of the invasion forces which was commanded by two brothers known for unparalleled bravery and cruelty whose names meant stallion and horse—Hengist and Horsa.

  Veronica put the page down on her lap. She knew those names and it sent a chill from her neck down her back. When she was in college at UC Berkley, she got involved for a short time with a progressive student group at the urgings of a casual boyfriend. The group was founded by two Germans named Hengist and Horsa and focused on training students to become lobbyist and after a few weeks in the group she started to become uncomfortable with the overall direction and attitude of the other students and the so-called mentors. The breaking point came when she was asked to make an allegiance to an unnamed organization and in essence become a type of spy. She flatly refused which angered the group and the mentors greatly.

  Veronica shook her head in an effort to clear the memory out of her mind. However, it was that organization that prompted her to seek a career in Washington after seeing how organized the opposition was. She had been determined ever since to try and be on the side of the good guys.

  Veronica pulled the next loose page from the box and read that during a council of war between Hengist and Vortigern and his advisory council, Hengist pulled out a seven inch dagger while sitting at the table and began cleaning the dirt from under his nails as he listen to the endless debate on how to curtail the peasant rebellion. After several hours, Hengist become frustrated by Vortigern’s lack of masculinity and resolve and threw his dagger toward Vortigern. It stuck into the table three inches from Vortigern’s chest, intentionally missing him. Hengist then said the only way to deal with an enemy is with direct, decisive and deadly action. Getting up from the table he said, “Let me illustrate.”

  He walked to the end of the table where Vortigern was sitting as all eyes in the room watched him in shock and fear. He pulled the dagger out of the table and placed his hand on Vortigern’s forehead, pulling his head back and slit his throat. He then announced to the council that the Anglo-Saxon’s had returned to reclaim their land and that they would take direct, decisive and deadly action—giving no quarter to anyone that opposed.

  At that moment over half of Vortigern’s council fell on their knees and pleaded for their lives. Hengist and all of his countrymen hated Rome and he systematically went around the room killing all of the council members. As the last one fell to the stone floor he added, “I forgot to mention that no one in this room will be given quarter.” He pulled open the great doors to the Kings private chambers and walked out unopposed so great was the fear of everyone who had seen what he had done. Hengist walked out of the castle and returned to his camp on the banks of the Thames as rumors spread among the Romans that a great devil was in the camp of the Anglo-Saxons. Consequently many of the Romans fled the island immediately and only a few hundred soldiers remained.

  Within a few weeks, the entire Roman army left behind to defend the country was destroyed by the small Anglo-Saxon army headed by Hengist and Horsa; the stallion and the horse who rode over all of England destroying anything that opposed them. The official history of England stated that the English were too timid and afraid to fight the Anglo-Saxons. This was a cover-up of massive proportions since the truth was Hengist and Horsa were the liberators returning home, why would anyone oppose them?

  Before the bodies of the dead Romans were even cleared from the battle field, Princess Ronnie was revealed and Hengist legitimized himself as King of England by marrying her. Veronica paused—thinking through the implications of what she had just read. This meant that Anglo-Saxon was a technically incorrect name. The Anglo-Saxons were named as such since they were known to have come from the Saxony area of Germania. However, in light of this history, they were true Englishmen returning home.

  Now on her fourteenth page, Veronica was beginning to see a pattern in the history of the English royalty. In every seeming invasion of England, it was in reality the true heir reclaiming the crown after much inter-marrying and dilution of the royal bloodline. Another interesting fact was when the Anglo-Saxons were invaded and militarily challenged, the invasion forces were allowed to stay in the country so long as they took a vow of peace and agreed to be baptized Christians. Any who declined were either deported at the end of a sword or run through with it. Veronica thought how brilliant that was. Their enemies were allowed to remain and be in essence forgiven if they agreed to live peaceably among them and the symbol of the agreement was their baptism. She couldn’t help but contrast that approach to the historical policy of the United States where citizens were so free that there was nothing binding them together as a nation any longer. “It’s no wonder things are falling apart over there! Our enemies ar
e allowed to be enemies while pretending to be our friends,” she thought.

  For the first time in her life, Veronica began to see the fatal flaw in freedom, which was something she had never considered. Reading the ancient text in comparison to the current conditions in the United States at the moment, it was easy to see where the very freedoms so many had died for were now the cause of so much strife. It begins ever so slightly like freedom from discrimination, which evokes laws against discrimination—forced acceptance, which in itself is a loss of freedom. Not being allowed to discriminate allows a notion’s enemies to infiltrate borders in mass numbers while the native population becomes ever more resentful with repressed fear to discriminate at all on any level—until the match head is struck. Any animal regardless of its size will attack with as deadly force as it is able when faced with extermination, just as a disenfranchised population will.

  Veronica rubbed her forehead, relieving some of the stress and worry that had whelmed up inside her over the state of the U.S., and then sighed, “This current crisis at home isn’t going to end well, especially since the storm has been brewing for nearly one 100 years.” Veronica pulled another page from the box not worrying about the lateness of the hour. Some of the annual entries were very brief.

  802 AD – Beorhtric died and Egbert was crowned King of Wessex.

  825 AD – Egbert defeated Beornwulf of Mercia and took control of Mercia.

  828 AD – Menw the mystic of the Celts insisted the first-born of the Duke of Devon be christened Odun.

  Other entries were very lengthy and Veronica dove into the 878 AD record and read that Ubba Lodbrog, the last surviving son of Ragnar Lodbrog was a man of great determination like his father. In this year he marched with his armies into Devonshire where upon the peasantry fled before his horde of marauders and the mysterious banner they carried to the safety of Kenwith castle’s keep. The magical banner that marched before the Viking band was called the Reafan or Raven, which was a flag with an embroidered raven emblem and was believed by both Viking and Saxon alike to possess magical powers. The raven on the banner could foresee the result of any battle and if the Vikings were to be victorious, it would come to life and flutter its wings with a mysterious vitality. The banner was created by the daughters of Ragnar and they sent it back to England with their brother Ubba to avenge the death of their father. It was looked upon with profound veneration and awe by Viking warriors and instilled terror in the mind of the Saxon. Entire Saxon armies had fled in fear before its presence over the years of endless war with the powerful and ruthless Vikings that had invaded their peaceful island.

  The Castel of Kenwith in Devonshire was strategically built on a very rocky promontory which was very effective in repelling invaders but it didn’t provide any means of escape if the castle were to be placed under siege. With the entire peasantry and land owners trapped within its walls, Ubba set up camp around the perimeter of the castle and settled in for a long siege. Odun, the Duke of Devonshire immediately acknowledged his desperation, not being prepared to supply his army and his people for longer than a few days. The only option was to attack.

  Once the sun had set and the darkness masked any perceived movement within the castle, Odun began to marshal and organize for a sudden and furious attack. Tradition held that a night attack was the most effective time for a surprise attack but Odun wisely concluded that if they were initially successful they would not be able to effectively pursue the Vikings in the darkness to ensure complete annihilation. So at first light two days after the siege began, Odun quietly lead his well-trained army and band of peasant volunteers out of the castle and into the Viking camp, finding all except the sentinels sleeping in ignorant security.

  Odun was a man of great leadership and was able to rally his people into a frenzied state of ferocity such that when they entered the Viking camp they entered with unearthly and terrific yells. Bursting into the Viking lines, they quickly slew the sentinels and commenced the work of death in every tent. The Viking camp was thrown into an instant panic and confusion which made their defensive efforts hopeless. Odun and his personal guard pressed directly toward Ubba’s tent and to their surprise found him in a great state of confusion where they gave no quarter and massacred him on the spot. The long, terrible and proud line of Ragnar Lodbrog was now ended. In addition to such divine favor—as Odun understood it—to have destroyed the last living Lodbrog, they also took the sacred Viking banner—The Raven was theirs.

  The loss of Ubba and the Raven upon the surviving Vikings was devastating. They fled in every direction in complete and absolute despair. The Saxons with daylight now on their side, pursued and slew them without mercy, cutting down some as they were running before them in a headlong flight and transfixing others with their spears and arrows as they lay upon the ground, trampled down by the crowds and the confusion. There was no place of refuge to which they could flee except their ships anchored off the coast. Only the strong and the fortunate gained the boats as they were forced to swim in utter exhaustion while the wounded and tired drowned in the unforgiving surf.

  The fleet sailed away from the blood-soaked beaches of western Britain as they looked back in unbelief at a scene of terrible cost and the bodies of over twelve hundred Vikings lying between the castle and the coast with hundreds more floating in the sea like driftwood.

  The victory had a profound effect on the Saxons across all of England who for many years felt they could not overcome the Vikings or match their courage and strength. The capture of the Raven was also seen as God returning his favor to the Christians and thousands volunteered to join Alfred’s army to rid the island of Viking vermin once and for all. Oddly enough, the man to turn the tide of the Viking wars in England was a man named after the Viking god Oden and it was as if divine favor had truly turned from the Dane Vikings to favor the English Christians.

  Veronica paused at the thought and turned back several pages and re-read—In 828 AD, Menw the mystic of the Celts insisted the first-born of the Duke of Devon be christened Odun. In hindsight it is very easy to assume divine province when the outcome of events is known, but the chronicles she was reading were written consecutively and by different chroniclers. The entry written in 828 AD stood for 50 years before Odun triumphed over Ubba, validating the mystic Menw’s vision for the child, something the chronicler on 828 could not have known. With the evidence before her, it was impossible for Veronica to deny that Odun’s destiny was known at his birth and she wondered at all the other events that have been foretold throughout history. For the first time she began to see history in a spiritual light, as a cycle of prophesies and their fulfillment.

  Previous to tonight, she shrugged off such ancient texts such as the Bible since they had been translated and copied so many times over the centuries that it would have been both easy and tempting for the scribe to insert fabrications into the text. However, with the ancient text before her, hand written in its original form it was faith promoting on a profound level and for the first time in her life she concluded that she knew that God did direct and bless the lives of man—at least for a man named Odun and the English people.

  Just then, Veronica heard a long howling moan outside her window. It was then she realized she had been asleep and she awoke with a start, a page of the book still in her hand. She rolled over and placed the fragile page back in the box and turned out the lamp. While she was concluding that she must have imagined the howl she heard it again, this time clearer and perhaps nearer. It was a howl like she had never heard before. It was high-pitched like a wolf but also guttural as it faded like a lion. As she lay there studying the sound in her mind and wondering, it came again and she was sure it was coming from the grounds below her window.

  Knowing that curiosity would rob her of sleep until she discovered the origin, she got up and walked toward the window in the darkness of the room, peering out on the moonlit grounds below. She could see across the great expanse of lawn toward a thick wood on the ot
her side and she could see a light coming out of the woods as if it were being carried, bobbing up and down. She narrowed her eyes trying to see more clearly the light in the distance when it began to move faster and right toward her window. The howl came again this time right below her window and she placed her head on the glass in an attempt to look straight down when she was knocked backwards and thrown on her back as the window shattered and a terrifying howl shook the quiet room and left a ringing in her ears.

  Veronica almost screamed, but her involuntary instincts left her speechless because of fear and great astonishment. Whatever it was, it was much larger than the window making it probably impossible to get through, but that didn’t stop it from trying. The animal leaped up again and again repeating its groaning howl each time breaking out a little more of the window as sharp glass shards embedded into its face and mouth leaving blood dripping down the window seal onto the carpeting. It was as if the beast was some kind of coon dog that had just treed a raccoon and was waiting for its master to come destroy it. Then Veronica remembered the light coming out of the forest in earnest. Was that help or the owner of the beast coming to destroy her?

  Veronica had been given a great gift. She was perhaps one of very few people on earth who knew what death really was and she did not fear it. She immediately looked around the room for a weapon but found nothing. She ran out her room and down the hallway to the stairs where she met Corinna who also heard the noise and came to check on her. Veronica ran past her almost as if she didn’t even notice her as she called out, “My Lady!”

  Veronica ran into the library and pulled a sword out of the hand of a decorative suit of armor, the only weapon she knew of in the castle. The sword was authentic dating back to the 17th century and much to her surprise it was as sharp as a razor. She ran past Corinna again on her way back up to her room when the beast burst through the double front doors, which were just large enough for it to pass through. As it rushed into the large entry, splinters from the shattered doors flew across the room like daggers as Veronica blocked them with her sword and as the beast leaped toward her. Corinna screamed which made the beast turn its attention just long enough for Veronica to run toward the beast and slide underneath its long hairy legs. Standing behind it she drove 30 inches of the 42 inch sword into its thigh.

  The beast roared in hateful torment shattering the windows close to the broken doors and rattling all the others in the room. It kicked its hind legs high into the air in an effort to free itself from the blade, throwing Veronica twelve feet over the beast’s head and onto the stairs as she held tightly onto the sword. She was now face to face with the creature and it moved very slowly and deliberately toward her growling as if it knew victory was imminent. In the moonlit room, she got the first good look at the creature and it was terrifying beyond belief. It was wolf-like in that it had four legs and very long black hair but it was at least ten times the size of any wolf she had ever seen pictures of. It was bleeding profusely from its head and mouth from the broken window making it all the more terrifying. It left pools of blood on the floor as it limped toward Veronica with its mouth open barring five inch fangs dripping with drool and blood.

  Veronica sat with her blade pointed at the beast waiting for it to come to her. She had no plan in that moment and she wondered if she even had the strength to pierce it sufficiently to kill it. She needed more power, more strength or at least a running start. Sitting on the stairs she was certainly dead as the beast also so confidently believed. Veronica thought, more power—I have nowhere to run and I’ll never get past it again. Then looking up, But if I can’t run, maybe I can fall. She jumped to her feet and ran up the stairs as the beast lunged forward. She ran around the railing at the top of the stairs and without hesitation, climbed the railing and jumped over the edge with her sword held tightly in both of her hands pointing downwards at the open mouth of the creature as she yelled out in defiant victory.

  The 14 feet she fell happened in slow motion in her mind as she approached closer and closer to its razor sharp teeth. In the last two feet of her free fall she grasped her sword with all her might, so hard that her muscles ached from the strain and she braced for impact. The sword entered the creature’s wide open mouth as Veronica’s legs crashed on top of its head, forcing it downward as the terrible momentum of the sharp sword continued cutting its way through the roof of the beast’s mouth, breaking through its soft palate and into its brain. The beast let out a gargled-groan as blood filled its throat and the last breath left its lungs. It collapsed on the stairs as Veronica finally released her grip on her sword rolling off the beast and onto the blood soaked floor exhausted.

  Corinna immediately ran to her and started attending to her bleeding foot. She hadn’t realized she was hurt at first due to the great adrenaline rush coursing throughout her body that made her shake as it began to dissipate and recede. Her voice also shook as she spoke, “How did that happen?”

  Corinna had now regained her composure by a degree although her voice was also shaking, “You slid into a splinter when you ran under it, see—here.” Corinna pulled out a broken, five inch piece of wood that looked like a dagger from Veronica’s heel. She hadn’t even noticed it as she ran up the stairs. They both sat on the floor taking deep sighs waiting for the anxiety to abate when two guards came through the broken doors with a hand held light and out of breath, “Lady Veronica, thank Mary and Joseph you are alive.”

  They both looked at the beast, then the sword, then back at the two women in astonishment trying to piece together what had just happened. Corinna pointed to Veronica in equal disbelief. The remainder of the house staff was now entering the grand foyer as lights were lit and Veronica had dozens of maids attending her, carrying her to her room where a doctor was immediately called and seemingly every royal attendant was rushing about in the castle at five in the morning.

  As the sun was beginning to rise, Veronica was comfortably back in her bed, foot bandaged and fresh from a bath. Exhausted, she lay back in a freshly made bed and closed her eyes when a knock came at her door, “Duke of Devonshire here to see you my Lady,” said Corinna.

  Veronica sat up and pulled the covers up modestly, “Oh, please do come in. I am dressed and as presentable as I can be—considering.”

  The Duke apologized for seeing her in her bed chamber but he was very worried about her and wouldn’t take the house staff’s word that she was well. He walked over to her bedside and kissed her hand then sat in a bedside chair looking at her in disbelief at both what had happened and what she had done. There was no sense in discussing it or asking the ridiculous questions of how and what. The outcome had spoken for itself and Corinna had informed every one of Veronica’s unbelievable heroics. The Duke was left rather speechless which was very odd for him so he just sat looking at Veronica.

  At length, he sighed, “We are at a loss as to what that was that broke in here and even more important why. It is frighteningly obvious it was after you and only you. There hasn’t been sightings of a beast like that since,” the Duke cut his words short reconsidering how foolish they would have sounded.

  Veronica raised an eyebrow looking at the Duke, “Since?”

  Realizing he was now committed to finishing what he started the Duke continued, “Since the ninth century. But it’s all ridiculous you know—a meadowlark in those days could be made out to be a nymph or a fairy or something magical.” The Duke was very frustrated as none of this made any sense and he was left without any explanation.

  Curious, Veronica reached over to the box of pages from the book she was reading, “Ninth century you say? I was just reading that period last night.” She thumbed through the lose pages looking for anything in the ninth century having to do with a large wolf, “Well, you were right, 890 AD to be exact.”

  Veronica quickly scanned the page and began reading from the chronicle for that year, “A terrible monster in the form of a gigantic wolf was unleashed on England this year some say as a revenge on
the destruction of the Viking armies that were completely defeated by Alfred the Great. This beast is said to someday destroy the world according to the religion of the Vikings by first killing Odin their god. Fenrir—the beast’s name—destroyed many villages in the northern most parts of the kingdom eating all inhabitants, leaving no survivors. Many expeditions were launched to trap the beast all of which were unsuccessful.”

  Veronica thumbed through several pages looking to see if it was ever mentioned again but couldn’t find any in her hasty search, “So, Fenrir was the beast you think?”

  Still frustrated and confused the Duke got up and walked toward the door, “I don’t know. My 21st century mind won’t let me say yes but my two thousand year heritage won’t let me say no. Never mind the fact that they just pulled a 2,500 pound wolf out of your foyer.” He paused as he pulled the door open and turned to look at Veronica, “I am so relieved you are unharmed from serious injury my Lady. I know you must be completely exhausted so I will leave and bid you the sweetest of dreams in light of such terrible events.” As he went to close the door he stopped again, “You are a most incredible and unbelievably brave woman my Lady; noble, like that of His Majesty.”

  Veronica smiled gratefully, “We can all do incredible things your grace when we are not so afraid of dying.”