Things are decidedly different in this part of the world. Though I am used to seeing deer outside of my window, this year they have become more brazen. Sensing that there is safety for them within the town, they have seemingly lost their fear. Yesterday, a four-point buck slowly walked down the sidewalk to visit a two does that have taken up residence in my neighbour’s yard. And, it just isn’t about deer or Pronghorn antelopes.
We have had birds which I have never seen in this prairie town, stop for a chat in our backyard. The birds are far off their normal stomping grounds. This is a strange year. Most of us are sticking close to home and limiting our social interactions. We are using Zoom or other such video conferencing software for meetings, education and for at-distance social activities such as yoga. I have to admit that social distancing is much easier for introverts than it is for extroverts.
With that said, I want to return to my psychological discussion about personality types from a Jungian perspective. I have talked about Introverts and Extroverts, about Sensation and Intuition, as well as Thinking and Feeling. I haven’t talked about the Meyers-Briggs categories of Perception and Judgement. Why? Well, primarily because they aren’t functions which Jung discusses in his work. Just for the record, I am using Jung’s book, number six in a series of twenty books, called Psychological Types.
Now, I don’t discount the Meyers-Briggs test at all. I have taught it and have used it within my work world when I was younger. I also encourage others to take the test or one quite similar. Free tests are found at 16 Personalities and Human Metrics.
These tests show a person which of the functions are the strongest ones, and which are the weakest. For example, I test as INFP. That said, this information is not enough to know, in my opinion. The test show me which of the functions between N and F is the strongest. In my case, N has the highest percentage. Knowing that, I can deduce that its opposite S [sensation function] is the weakest. When I match my I-Introversion with my “strongest” function, I get a dominant pair – IN – an introverted intuitive base personality.
I want to use a visual to highlight the possibilities. INfp – Introverted Intuition type. InFp Introverted Feeling type. This leads to the idea of having the following personality types: Introverted Intuition, Introverted Sensation, Introverted Feeling and Introverted Thinking, and Extroverted Intuition, Extroverted Sensation, Extroverted Feeling and Extroverted Thinking types – eight base types. Though I have both Feeling and Intuition in my personality, Intuition is the dominant function.
Like all measures, I want to stress that the type you find for yourself, it is only measures the foundational type, or as I name it, who we are when all things are at rest within us. The external reality of living in a world has us move towards other descriptions for brief moments of time. When those brief moments become too extended, we find ourselves very stressed.
I would love to hear from you about your test results. Please include which one is your dominant function between N, S, P and T. In future posts I will be describing these eight base personality types á la Carl Gustav Jung.
It is a sunny day with no trace of a cloud in the sky. The weather has warmed up to -1 Celsius. Despite the beautiful conditions, I am under a cloud, like Jo Brfsplk, from the Lil’ Abner comic series by Al Capp. Why am I depressed with my head under a cloud when there are no clouds in the sky? I have learned, albeit slowly, that there is rarely a good response to that question.
Yet, I still try to find reasons, especially when it obviously can’t be an issue of the weather, ruling out S.A.D., Seasonal Affective Disorder. I have gone out for walks almost everyday for the past eleven months. I am in good physical health, so that isn’t a concern. At a loss, I am left with the only thought that maybe I am suffering Covid19 fatigue. Especially as the world around me seems to be devolving into a climate of anger and hate.
That would be a convenient response, and perhaps even a valid supposition. However, I have been suffering from depression since my first memories in my childhood. The story of that is told in my series of autobiographical books, so I don’t want to go there. So, that leaves me with one more idea – I am missing being out of doors, in nature, while wearing nothing. That is where and how I have found release from depression in the past. Because it is winter, with snow and ice outside, I have only this indoor opportunity to be bare in sunlight. It isn’t the same, though it is better than a gloomy winter darkness.
So, I find relief in listening to music and in the stories I write. Here is the follow up to the prologue shared in my last post. For those interested, the story of this second book is set in the eleventh century. William conquered England and the First Crusade, the Crusade of the Princes were the historical markers. The first draft of the complete story that concludes in the twentieth century was written a few years ago. That version was mostly pure history, a fractured genealogy. This time around, the real people come to life with the help of mythical characters. Today, I want to share the first chapter of the story. I won’t be sharing more of the story, as I want to leave you with just a taste of what is to come, with the hopes that perhaps you would buy the book when it finds its way into the world of print and ebooks.
~
Chapter One
Guillaume had studied the arts of war with diligence and had earned his spurs as a full knight by the age of sixteen. He didn’t have any siblings, a concern that had plagued his father, Raoul, Sieur de Longpré. Raoul had arranged a marriage for his son with the eldest of the Fontaine girls, Marie who was just six months younger. The fact that they were second cousins was irrelevant. Marie’s father, Gilles de Fontaine was Raoul’s best friend. Both men had seen the two youngsters grow up playing together. For Raoul, this was important. Though he remained in a loveless marriage, he had spent most of his life in the saddle, as far from his home estate as possible. Only Guillaume’s presence served to have him return periodically to guide his son’t development. Guillaume had married Marie on her sixteenth birthday.
Two years earlier, Raoul had taken his fourteen-year-old son for a three-day hunting trip into the northern forests. Raoul had received a message from Guillaume’s uncle Laurent, the brother of the woman who had given birth to Guillaume. The boy had been delivered to Raoul when he was only a year old. The message instructed Raoul to take Guillaume to the countryside north of the village of Long. Raoul dared not disobey. Guillaume had never been told that he wasn’t the son of Raoul’s wife. Some stories were best left buried in the past as far as Raoul was concerned.
The two of them were met on the old road two hours north of Long by two riders. Guillaume was shocked to see two almost naked riders who were covered in tattoos outlined in blue paint.
“Raoul, I am pleased that you have brought your son to meet with us,“ Laurent spoke. “ Aimée and I have been waiting a long time for this moment.”
Raoul held his breath. ‘Was Laurent going to tell Guillaume the truth that Aimée was his birth mother?’ But he worried for nothing.
“Have you told young Guillaume about the contract that exists between your family and the old people?”
“Yes, Laurent. Guillaume knows that he has the blood of ancient Belgae, as well as that of Franks and Danes. He knows his heritage and his future role as protector of our people.”
Guillaume was at a loss of words as he followed these two strangers deep into the forest. He was surprised when they emerged into a large meadow within which a number of dwellings were built. In the middle of the meadow was a circle of tall stones, taller than a man, capped with long stones. Within the circle of stones was something that he immediately knew was an altar.
Raoul had taught him about the gods and goddesses of the Belgae. Those lessons had taught him that many of the people in the estate were descendants of the Belgae. Though they couldn’t practice the rites of the past, they kept them alive in their hearts. He had also taught Guillaume that the de Longpré family protected these descendants from the clutches of the Christian Church who only knew the Belgae who believed in the old religion, as heretics.
Guillaume had returned from a training exercise with other noble young men only days before that wedding. That had been six years ago. Marie had wasted no time in giving birth to a boy, followed by two girls since their marriage. The boy had been named Pierre after Marie’s older brother who was Guillaume’s best friend. With the guarantee of an heir with Pierre’s birth, Raoul was able to breathe easier. So, when the call came from the Duke of Normandy for the Duke’s planned invasion of England, Raoul began to gather his knights and foot soldiers.
Though the link between the Duke and Raoul’s family were weakened by time, the family honour demanded that the Longpré clan respond. Raoul was unsure if the Duke was a second or third cousin. Still, family was family.
“Guillaume, you will lead our men. You’re ready.”
“But, Papa? Why aren’t you leading? You are riding with us.”
Their small force included the Lords of Long, Longuet, Fontaine, Bailleul, L’Étoile, and Pont Remy.
“You are ready for this, Guillaume. The Duke has asked this of our family, and you are the future of the family’s honour now that you have an heir. I will ride beside you, giving my counsel. But it will be you who will make the final decisions as our leader.”
“But, Papa!”
“You have to learn and practice leadership, son. This is a good time, especially since our contribution is, in truth, a minor one in the larger group of armies being gathered under the Duke’s banner, where the major decisions will be made by the Duke and his generals.”
~
Less than two months later, in mid-October, Guillaume found himself positioned on the Duke’s left flank at Hastings. His father and his trusted friends surveyed the scene below them. The mass of footmen, archers and pikemen were hidden by the trees from the battle happening below. The Duke’s main army of Normans were engaged with the forces of King Harold. The Bretons were hidden from view on the Duke’s left flank, waiting like the Picardy and Flanders armies on the right side.
Not too many steps behind Guillaume and the mounted knights, Lugh stood with a pike in his hand. Guillaume would never have recognised him. A threadbare cloak covered his tattoos, while a hood placed his facial features in a perpetual shadow. Lugh was present to ensure that young Guillaume remained safe. In war, there were no guarantees.
All had been instructed to wait for the signal to attack. It had been stressed upon them that to join the battle too early would only have King Harold’s forces return to the safety of their fortress. William wanted a victory, a clear victory preferably with Harald’s head on a spike. Only then would William be able to proclaim himself the new King of England.
Harald’s army had been drawn into the battle and had appeared to be driving William’s army back. Seeing a chance for victory, Harold advanced further into the valley, placing his army further from the safety of the fortress. William’s men began a retreat with the appearance of disorder. Just as it appeared that a rout was imminent, the signal was given. Guillaume and every other minor noble led their combined forces from both wings, closing in on Harold’s men, now trapped in a pincer movement. It was late in the day, with dusk approaching, when the battle was quickly decided. An unknown archer had felled King Harold.
William’s army continued to fight the English forces for a number of weeks in various locations as the English army retreated. It took until Christmas of that year, 1066, for the English crown to be placed on William’s head.
Guillaume returned home with most of his original group of knights. Missing was his father and the Lords of Fontaine and Longuet. Though they had won all the engagements within which they had found themselves, Guillaume had a heavy heart. He had lost his best friend as well as his father. He knew that Marie would be heart broken to hear of the death of her brother.
Unsurprisingly, his mother took the news of the death of her husband very well. It had been no secret that they didn’t have much to do with each other. His father’s mistress fell apart with the news. Marie tried her best to comfort her husband though she grieved the loss of her brother. She had young children who needed her to stay strong. Guillaume drew upon his wife’s love and strength and took care of the needed arrangements, especially those arrangements that had to do with the Church.
Then, there was the important matters of who would take responsibility for the tiny seigneury of Longuet. The natural choice was that the Lord of Long, Sir Gilbert, would take on that role. But that was a choice that was fraught with problems. He was a bitter and childless man, a middle-aged man who was cruel to his vassals in Long.
Pierre’s younger brother Hugues would be the new Lord of Fontaine, though he was barely fifteen years of age. Guillaume knew that Hugues would need his support and help to succeed as the new Lord.
~
The years passed with the need to continually take to the field with his small army. Once again, the Flemish were attempting to expand their territory to include the Somme River valley. Sir Gilbert was loathe to add his forces to the defense of the river valley. Gilbert had reasoned that it would be to his benefit if Guillaume de Longpré and Hugues de Fontaine fell in battle. With them out of the way, the Church would confirm Gilbert as the Seigneur of four estates – Long, Longuet, as well as Fontaine and Longpré.
In 1083, with a reduced fighting force with the men of both Long and Longuet not made available for the defence of their lands, Guillaume sent a message to the Duke of Normandy, now King of England, asking for his assistance. Guillaume got more than he asked for as a compliment of armed knights accompanied by an important prelate of the Church arrived.
“Sir Guillaume,” the prelate, Monseigneur Godot said as he extended his ring finger for Guillaume to kiss. “The King commanded me to render you assistance in this matter of the raiding Flemish.”
“Monseigneur Godot, your aid is greatly appreciated. The men accompanying you are sorely needed in dealing with the Flemish incursions.”
“Ah, but it is more that the Flemsih who must be dealt with, Sir Guillaume. There is the more troubling matter that needs to be resolved.”
“Pray tell, Father?”
“The Bishops of both Amiens and Abbéville had communicated their concerns about the Flemish attacks. The Church needs a climate of peace in order to prosper. With a lack of, shall we say, good leadership, people are drifting away from the Church. In particular, the parishes of Long and Longuet are dwindling. The priests are reporting that there is a troubling rise in heathen worship in their parishes.”
“I have heard much the same,” admitted Guillaume, unsure where this conversation was going.
“The priests in both Fontaine and Longpré don’t appear to be suffering in attendance in their respective churches.”
Guillaume made no comment. He looked at the Monseigneur with narrowed eyes. Something was afoot and he was unsure where this conversation was going.
“I have just spent two days with the Bishops of Abbéville and Amiens, searching for solutions. We have arrived at a solution that would benefit both you and the Church. Shall we talk about this solution following the evening meal? I know that you have duties to attend to with the arrival of William’s men.”
Guillaume listened to the Monseigneur’s instructions. Guillaume was to lead his usual compliment of knights and infantry to patrol the southern shore to the west to Caubert. William’s men would be charged with a different task that needed Guillaume to be in the company of most of the knights of the Somme River valley between Abbéville and Hangest. Guillaume was to move deliberately along the southern trail of the Somme. His return would be along the northern shore from Epange to l’Etoile. Only half of William’s men would be accompanying Guillaume and his patrol. No mention was made of what the remaining men would be doing.
“Why wouldn’t all of them be riding with us, Father?”
“They have a holy task to complete for the Church, one that is best that you don’t know.”
Guillaume knew better than to challenge or question a high-ranking Churchman. Accepting the Monsieur’s blessing, he led his men on the patrol as proposed. In truth, the route had been used many times in hopes of intercepting Flemish forces with occasional success. The only action seen was when they encountered a band of highwaymen near Eaucourt. The brigands were routed and put to the sword.
By the time they approached Longuet, the men were in good humour. It would only be the matter of another two hours before Guillaume would bring this campaign to an end. On the outskirts of the village, they say smoke. Guillaume called to his men, “Alert! It looks like we have arrived to late. Quick, spread out to see if there are survivors.”
The village hadn’t suffered too much damage. The fires were mostly of the older outbuildings. The streets were empty, suggesting that most had made it into the safety of the forest. Guillaume had a quarter of his men stay at Longuet to serve as a protective force while he took the rest of his men and rode hard to reach Long.
“They just left almost an hour ago,” wailed an older woman who sat beside the burnt remnants of her thatch house. “They killed the master.”
“Which way did they go?”
“They rode to the north, down the old trail towards Ailly.”
Guillaume hesitated. He knew that he could spend the better part of a day trying to catch up to the Flemish raiders. Success would be doubtful though. They had too much of a head start and they would likely reach Flemish territory before he could punish them in battle. Choosing a wiser course of action, he had six of his men mount a patrol along the escape road. Then, he went to his great-uncle’s house.
“He’s dead!” wailed his great-Aunt. “The brigands gutted him like a pig!”
“Auntie,” Guillaume said trying to soothe her. “Are you hurt? What about the others in the manor?”
“He was the only one, Guillaume. Several of the servants were beaten, but that is all. It was if all they wanted was to murder my husband, God rest his soul.”
Guillaume raced through the manor and was struck by how little damage had been done. It was as if the destruction was an afterthought, not the typical behaviour of Flemish brigands or invading troops. Leaving the manor house, he noted the still smouldering buildings. As in Longuet, the buildings were inconsequential, older outbuildings or homes that were less sound, such as the widow’s whom he had spoken with upon the entry into the village.
“I don’t like the looks of this, Hugues,” Guillaume spoke following the assessment of damage. “There was little destruction. And other than a few men suffering wounds, only my uncle died. I know that he wouldn’t have died trying to defend his people, for he wasn’t one to fight. Where are his knights? Why was the village left unguarded?”
“You are right, Guillaume,” the younger knight admitted, “There is something very suspicious about all of this.”
Loathe to leave the village without protection, Guillaume had his remaining men divided into two groups, one which would stay as a protective force under, and the second to go with him to his own village. He was worried that the brigands might have turned south to attack Longpré.
Guillaume crossed the river on a narrow wooden bridge that led to a perpetually muddy track that reached the old Roman road on the south side of the river. There, he made quick ride to his home estate. As he entered the edge of the village, he was relieved to see that no damage was evident. The brigands hadn’t made it to the village, now the most prosperous village between Abbéville and Picquigny, closer to Amiens.
As he approached his home situated on a small rise behind the village church, he noticed that the Monseigneur’s carriage was parked behind the church just outside of the stable. He also saw the gates that lead to his comfortable home, were open. There was no indication that any enemy had been anywhere in the vicinity. He rode at a more relaxed pace into the manor grounds, past the guardhouse and the neighbouring quarters for the youths who were training to become knights.
Marie was standing at the top of the steps wearing a smile. Though they had been married twenty-three years, she was still in love with him. Guillaume handed of his horse to his youngest son, a youth of thirteen years, named Raoul. Guillaume had three sons and four daughters. There had been three miscarriages over the years.
“You’ve returned, safe and well,” she called out as she rushed down the path towards her husband.
“Not so well,” Guillaume hastened to say. “My uncle, Georges de Long is dead.
I have finished NaNoWriMo 2020 and did so with a new record for words written for the event – 77,447 words. Now that I have finished, I am setting that story aside and taking up one that I had been working on before the first of November. But, perhaps almost as important, since it is the first of December, it is time to make our home look festive. The tree, of course, is at the centre of it all. New lights and new garland were applied before adding in the old treasures that have been used for almost four decades, with new ones added by each grandchild.
I am going to share the “prologue” for the new story which is the second in a number of tales that will tell the story of my family over the centuries. This particular story is about a Guillaume de Longpré who made the history books as a participant in the Battle of Hastings of 1066 on the side of William the Conqueror, as well as found in a second book about the Knights of Christ who took part in the First Crusade of 1097. This prologue will make for a long post. I understand if you now skip the rest of this post. But, be warned. Nudity was not such a strange site in that era. Now, with that said, if you dare, read on
Prologue
The sun came through the branches to leave a mottled appearance to the almost invisible path through the forest. The morning was promising a hotter than normal day for early June as I made my way towards the village of Abbéville with my companions Cernunnos, Áine, and Brigantia at my side. Abbéville wasn’t our destination, but it was the place where we would appear in the mortal world in the guise of ordinary people. Our real destination was a village called Longuet. Our journey would have been much quicker had we walked directly to the village, but we didn’t want to appear at Longuet there without establishing a normal presence in the area. The Christian Church was always on the lookout for heathens and heretics, and Celtic immortals were definitely on their blacklist.
Áine is like a sister to me, a younger sister. Her red hair stirred with the passing breeze as we lead our horses through the forest. She wore only a green skirt that contrasted with her hair and the gossamer wings which were folded and invisible as we walked. She was the only one amongst us to be wearing any clothing in the depths of the forest. Her horse, a roan, followed with the others as we made our way down the faintly visible trail. A bow intricately adorned with both silver and gold, was her weapon of choice. As well, hidden within the folds of her skirt were a set of throwing knives.
Walking beside Áine was Brigantia who is more like my twin sister with her long blond hair. Her body was covered in blue tattoos that were hypnotic to anyone who dared to stare at them. She walked holding her golden spear, which was longer than she was tall. Many of the same sigils that were found on Áine’s bow appeared on Brigantia’s spear. Though she is beautiful beyond imagining, seeing her left most men quivering in fear. She radiated a powerful aura that was enhanced by a fierceness in her gaze. A circlet of gold on each arm matched the golden necklace she wore. Her horse was as black as midnight with a white star on its forehead and white socks on three of its feet.
Cernunnos is my best friend. He had dark hair, almost black. Like Brigantia, his body was covered in blue tattoos. He was fearsome in his appearance, especially when he wore his crown of stag antlers. His physical power and strength evoked both awe and fear among men, and desire in women. Cernunnos was quick to take advantage of women who wanted nothing more that to mate. No one claims that Celtic immortals were saints. We have a purpose to serve the light and Cernunnos lived that purpose to the full. He carried several weapons, a long oak staff that was stained from many battles in the past, a longsword sheathed and carried on his hips, and a pair of shorter swords that rested on his back in crossed sheaths. His horse was a dark destrier, wrapped in protective armor as befitted a war horse.
As for me, I also wore a long-sword and carried a long bow. Like Cernunnos, I also rode a destrier that was well-trained and tested in battle. I had other weapons as well which were secured to the saddle of my horse. I wore a wide circlet of gold on each wrist. Other than a few burns from working at the forge where I crafted weapons and other objects, I was unmarked. I’m not big into tattoos.
We had left an unnamed hamlet secreted in the depths of the forest south of the Somme River almost two hours earlier. The hamlet was well warded so that strangers wouldn’t accidently stumble upon it. The power source for the warding came from a krommlec’h, a circle of stones surrounding a raised stone altar in the centre of the hamlet. The hamlet was Cernunnos’ home if it could be said that he needed a place to call home.
As we neared the river and the first signs of other people, each of us hid our natural appearances behind clothing, which had been stored in packs on our horses. Brigantia cast a small spell that would prevent others from paying us too much attention. We soon blended in with the others we began to meet. Yet, we made sure that there was no mistaking that we were well-born Franks, rather than peasants. We had an image to project, and being taken for serfs was not going to serve our purpose. Magic hid the blue tattoos and the brilliance of the gold bands on necks and arms, and the quality of our weapons. We left the forest and entered onto a rutted trail that led to the river crossing that would take us into Abbéville.
Both Áine and Brigantia now appeared to be younger, unmarried women in the mid-teens. Cernunnos was to act as Áine’s brother, and my squire. I had the role of being Brigantia’s older brother, the first son of the Sieur de Crécy. The colours and sigil of the Crécy family were displayed on our horses. No one would question the veracity of our disguise, as the real Sieur de Crécy was a very minor noble at a considerable distance to the north, closer to Flemish country. Áine was in the role of being my niece. Our group was purportedly heading to Amiens to secure the bishop’s blessings, a pilgrimage of sorts. Of course, we really had no intention of ever getting to Amiens.
“Lew, I have to say that you don’t look too imposing or regal as a Lord,” laughed Cernunnos. “You certainly won’t appear to be a threat to anyone wanting to steal your niece. You look more like a church man than a landed lord.”
“I’m not to look to intimidating, Cern. After all, the young Raoul doesn’t need to feel threatened by me, or by any of us,” I reminded Cernunnos, glancing at both women just to make sure they got the message as well.
The talk soon shifted to be more in keeping with what would be spoken by travelling nobility. Occasionally, Cernunnos would interject a ribald comment about Áine’s coming assignment, the bedding of Raoul.
“Cern, you’re such a pig,” Áine spoke with disgust. “There is a higher purpose here. Don’t forget it.”
“He can’t help it,” laughed Brigantia. “After all, he is the Green Man who thinks with his other head.”
Lugh grinned at their banter emerged. They soon arrived at the river crossing and found themselves in a small crowd waiting to cross the river in flat-bottomed boats, which were tethered to a long rope that spanned the river. The convivial conversation of others surrounding them was just as raunchy. The only one that seemed to take offence at the ribald talk wore a threadbare brown robe which proclaimed him as belonging to the Church.
Lugh held out a few coins to pay for their passage to the opposite shore. Since it was a market day, the town of Abbéville was attracting quite a few visitors, a situation that would make it even easier for Lugh and his companions to blend in and escape undue attention.
Brigantia was barely controlling her anger when Lugh spotted her ready to strike a large oafish and overweight man who had crudely commented about her shapely buttocks and alluring breasts. Lugh gave a shake of his head in warning. The last thing they needed to do was to have her teach the oaf a lesson. There were too many clerics around. Rather that strike the man, she simply glared at him. Just enough of her fury showed in her eyes to have the man back away lifting his arms as if proclaiming his innocence. The incident passed and soon we found ourselves off the ferry and riding through the market place in Abbéville.
“You know who we’re looking for, Raoul de Longpré. He should be easy to find when he comes into Abbéville as he’s going to be taller than most of the other men. He will likely have quite a following of friends,” I reminded the group. “If he’s anything like his great-grandfather, we shouldn’t have much problem completing our assignment.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” grumbled Áine. “You’re not the one who has to get pregnant with his child.”
“Poor Áine,” Cernunnos teased. “With any luck, you might even like the young lad. How long has it been anyway since you’ve …”
Áine rapped her riding crop off Cernunnos’ shoulder with just enough force to cut off what he was going to say, “ …Ouch!”
It was Brigantia who first spied the young Raoul sitting on a keg with a mug of ale in his grip. “There he is.”
Three other young men stood around with mugs, with a fourth man, a few years older Raoul, sitting on a keg opposite him. A few of the men were laughing at a pair of young boys who were using sticks as swords. A dog lay in the dust beside the man opposite Raoul. As we approached the market, Cernunnos eyed a few young women who were dressed in their Sunday clothing strolling along the street pretending to be looking at the various market stalls instead of at Raoul and his companions. Their laughter was easy to hear above the din of market goers and shopkeepers hawking their wares.
“Now, this is what it’s all about,” Cernunnos commented to his companions. “Life! Isn’t it grand?”
Our group dismounted, with Cernunnos and I taking the horses to the stables at the side of the Inn. Brigantia stopped at a stall near the young men and pointed out some colourful material to Áine, “This would make a wonderful dress for you, Aimée, don’t you think?” she addressed Áine using her mortal name.
“Hmm? Don’t you think it is too expensive, Brigitte?” Áine returned holding the material up to her face and looking in Raoul’s direction with a smile. “Papa doesn’t want us to spend all of our money before we get to Amiens.”
As the two chatted back and forth, Raoul and his friends took notice of the young women. Both Áine and Brigantia had the appearance of being about sixteen years old because of the magic. The young men didn’t stand a chance regardless of the use of magic. They were normal young men who were ruled as much by their instincts than they were by their customs. The women pretended to ignore them while they continued with their charade.
Lugh looked on, satisfied with what he saw, Cernunnos focused on gathering a few extra provisions from the various stalls, things that would likely come in handy for the next stage of their journey.
Lugh walked into the Inn and asked the proprietor for two rooms.
“My good sir. I hope that you have two rooms for the night for my sister, my betrothed and my squire.” As I spoke, I held a purse in my hand jingling it just enough to draw the innkeeper’s attention. “If possible, we would like a bath made available for the young women. Of course, I’ll pay well for the extra attention.”
“Most certainly, my Lord …?” the innkeeper responded with the hope of eliciting a name.
“Good. My father, le Sieur de Crécy will be told about your hospitality.”
“Your horses, my Lord?”
“My cousin and I left them with your men at the stables. While we wait for my sister and my niece, perhaps you could bring a flagon of wine. Travelling is such thirsty work.”
“Of course, my Lord”
Cernunnos entered the inn only moments later and found me sitting at a table with a flagon of wine and two wooden goblets already poured.
“Áine is making quite the impression on Raoul. The poor bugger doesn’t stand a chance.”
“The same could be said about you, Cern,” I laughed. “Only with you it is the women who are being gripped with an unconscious need to mate.”
The rest of the day passed as expected. At the evening meal, our party of four sat a table not too distant from the table being used by Raoul’s group. Raoul could be seen sneaking occasional glances at Áine hoping to catch her eye. Of course, she obliged occasionally offering him a shy smile in return. No magic love potions were needed to bewitch a young man. Hormones and a pleasing woman who smiles at you are all that are needed to think you’ve fallen in love.
When Áine left with Brigantia to retire to their room, I walked up to Raoul, “Sir. I noticed your attention upon my niece.” Cernunnos stood just behind me to my right as I looked down on Raoul. “I must make you aware, painfully if I must, that she is not to be trifled with.”
“I am sorry,” Raoul was quick to apologise. “I have no intention of trifling with your niece. I merely returned the smiles she directed at me. I am a married man.” Raoul offered as proof of his honourable intentions. I knew that his marriage was a loveless affair and that no child had been born to provide young Raoul with an heir. Theirs was an arranged marriage between two families with the intent of enlarging the family estate.
“No offence is then taken,” I said while offering Raoul a smile that matched my words. “Pray do tell, to whom do I have the privilege of speaking. It is obvious that you are a man of status as well as stature.”
“I am Raoul, son of Pierre de Longpré. And yourself, sir?”
“Laurent de Crécy, eldest son of the Sieur de Crécy.” Turning to point to Cernunnos, I added, “And this is my cousin, Cedric de Crécy.”
Cernunnos and I then spent another hour with the group before leaving to establish ourselves in the room we had rented for the night. Our task for the day had been achieved, contact had been made.
~
As expected, it took little effort to have Raoul and his companions travel with us towards Longuet, Raoul’s destination. We left the next morning, a large party of young people intent on enjoying life and each other’s company, a group in no hurry to reach their destination.
Later, when we had stopped for a picnic, Raoul offered us an opportunity to stay at his uncle’s manor in Longuet. Once we arrived at Longuet, Raoul’s uncle, Rolfus de Longuet, formalized the invitation, inviting us to stay before we travelled on to Amiens the next morning.
“Our tasks in Amiens can be done in short order,” I affirmed. “We could return in three-day’s time, if possible. It would then be a privilege to stay a few days with you and your nephew in Longuet.”
Upon leaving Longuet, it didn’t take us long to disappear into the forest where we made our way to a meadow hidden about two hours distant from the road between Longuet and Amiens, where another krommlec’h stood at the centre of a clearing. This krommlec’h was tilted, with the top stone barely held up by one of the support stones. Though most thought of it as a burial site marker, it served as a portal to the alterworld of the Tuatha de Danann, our homeland. Three days later, we re-emerged in front of the village of Longuet as we had promised. Word soon had Raoul ride out to meet us and lead us into his uncle’s palisade that surrounded the manor house.
“Ah, you have returned,” Rolfus de Longuet, boomed with a hearty laugh. He wasted no time in having Brigitte and Áine take an arm as he led them like princesses into his manor. “Agnes!” They’re back!”
Raoul’s aunt once again showed them the room which they had shared only three days earlier. “Now, you freshen up and rest. I have sent a messenger to Raoul’s home to have him informed of your return. Rolfus has planned quite the entertainments in your honour.”
While Áine and Brigitte were taken to their apartment in the manor house, Cernunnos and I were taken into Rolfus’ private den where we were given wine in crystal glasses. “Now, tell me more about yourselves. De Crécy, I don’t quite remember the family though I have been through much of the countryside in Flanders.”
“It’s a small estate, one recently granted to my father because of service he rendered to the Lord of Calais. In time, God willing,” I added with a sign of the cross carved upon my body. “Our estate may become more important and prosperous.”
The talk continued with Rolfus filling in most of the pauses with his recounting of exploits as a young man who walked in his older brother’s shadow. Before many hours had passed, Raoul had joined us. We then took our leave to prepare for the banquet and entertainments that had been planned for that evening. Our plans were proceeding without interruption. If all went as we had intended, our objective would be achieved that very night.
Like all such events, the main hall was soon filled with people in various stages of drunkenness. Even several of the women were becoming uninhibited in their approaches to the men. We knew that we needed to appear in a similar state of intoxication. Áine and Brigitte nursed their glasses and pretended to be tipsy. Raoul, as he had back at the Inn in Abbéville, couldn’t keep his eyes off Áine and found himself parked on a bench beside her. Áine played the role of love-struck girl perfectly. Raoul took courage and asked Áine to walk with him to see the stars in the garden, which his aunt maintained behind the manor house.
Áine kept a bit of reserve knowing that it would only incite Raoul to try harder to impress and please her. As Raoul led her through the gardens, Áine spied a bench under an arbor and pleaded a slight faintness. Raoul hastened to have her sit on the bench becoming concerned.
“I just need to rest a bit,” she murmured. “It has been such a long journey.”
“Can I get you anything,” Raoul expressed with a bit of alarm.
“No, I just need to sit for a bit,” she sighed. “Please sit beside me for a bit.”
With another sigh, she leaned to rest against Raoul. He felt her relax and smiled. She was so beautiful. He brushed a hand gently to bring a stray strand of her hair away from her face. His eyes lingered on her lips as she murmured, “Thanks, Raoul. You are such a gentleman.” Her hand slipped onto his lap, touching his hand in the process. Without thinking, he clasped her hand gently.
Áine leaned closer to him, opening her eyes to search his before offering a smile and a faint purr of pleasure. Raoul leaned closer and risked a hint of a kiss. With a start that surprised him, Áine drew back with tear escaping to begin tracing its way down her cheek.
“Oh this is so unfair,” she protested.
“I’m sorry, Áine,” Raoul quickly apologised. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t upset me,” she apologised in return. “It’s not fair that I have fallen in love with you and we can never be married.”
Raoul looked at Áine with disbelief. This goddess had fallen in love with him. He could tell that she was in his power and that he could have her as a lover right this moment. All he had to do was protest and profess his undying love and how their love would allow them to be together, forever. He could barely control his hunger. And when she leaned in to kiss him chastely, he unleashed his passion for her.
Less than an hour later Raoul could hardly believe what he had just done. Áine was crying as she voiced a girl’s worst nightmare, “No man would want me now, Raoul. I am a ruined woman, deflowered.” With those words spoken, she ran from the garden back into the manor. I followed her with my eyes as she garnered just enough attention to have people begin talking. Brigantia was quick to reach her side and was soon joined by Raoul’s aunt. Áine refused to speak as she was led to the room she shared with Brigantia.
When Raoul rushed in only moments later, I stepped up to intercept him. “What have you done? You’re no gentleman, Raoul. We will be leaving first thing in the morning. If all is as I fear it, you will be hearing from my father.” With those words spoken, I turned on my heels and left the hall buzzing with all sorts of innuendo and rumours. The plan had succeeded. We would be confronting Raoul in the future with his son that he would have to acknowledge, a son named Guillaume, who would become his heir. Now, I take my leave and will return to tell the story of Guillaume de Longpré
For the past number of weeks, I have been wandering in a different universe. There, no one pays any attention to my presence or whether I wear clothing or not. It’s a world where everyone goes about their business as though I am not even there. Unknown to them, I am there, deep in their unconscious like some mythical god or goddess. Even though I am a male in this dimension, this universe, in this alternate world I am the invisible deity, an unknown yet powerful entity. There, I have the power of a creator and as a destroyer. Of course, for those that know me, I am talking about the universe that I have created out of nothing. No, there wasn’t some big bang that served as catalyst for this world, unless a thought is/was an equivalent. I am an author.
Today is day 27 of thirty days in November. I am writing this early in the morning while there is still darkness outside of my window. I have four more days, counting today, for the NaNoWriMo project – the National Novel Writing Month project [don’t ask me why the “national” word is used as my writing buddies are found all over the world]. The objective is to write the first draft of a new novel that has a minimum of 50,000 words. Once a writer reaches the fifty thousand word mark, he or she [or pick your own descriptor if he and she causes you an issue], the writer is declared a “winner!” But of course, there are no prizes, and rarely is the story completely drafted out.
Before I add a new word to the story today, the word total is 69,093. I have six, perhaps seven chapters left to write, enough to tell me that I won’t finish the first draft by the end of the month. Regardless, I have been declared a winner. That said, the characters in my story wouldn’t support that idea. I’m at point in the story where, if they thought of me at all, they would view me more like the Hindu Goddess of Destruction, Kali.
There is a lot of thought that goes on while writing a story. There are constant micro-decisions that need to be made as the world of a novel takes form. Those decisions aren’t simply based on thinking, a good number of them are based on what I could better describe as feeling. Does the situation feel right? Between thinking and feeling decisions, the world takes on a shape with a cast of characters taking form. Blending both thinking and feeling, the characters become life-like. Without both rational functions, the characters would be reduced to two-dimensional beings. Characters in a novel need to be complex if they are to achieve having a personality. [“Ah!” you say as you read these last words, “there it is, the psychobabble. He’s really talking about psychology again.”]
Yes, I am talking about the psychological dimension of personality that has been in my previous posts. I talked about introversion and extroversion, and I talked about the irrational functions of sensing and intuition. In this post, I refer to thinking and feeling which are rational functions. Think of the irrational functions as the psyche gathering information about the world around them. Every human gathers data using both irrational functions. The information comes in without our “rational” control. However, once the data is there, our brains can use that data in order to make decisions, hence the concept of rational functions. As with the irrational functions, all humans use both thinking and feeling to make these decisions though we don’t all use them equally.
Like introversion and extroversion, and like sensation and intuition, each of us typically has one function be the “go to” function. Think of the two functions as existing on a line with them as polar opposites like a magnet. When at a state of rest, by that I mean not using will power to determine which function to use, we naturally tend to either pole. We can stretch ourselves towards the opposite pole, something that you can understand as “work.”
F [feeling] <…………. X ……………> T [thinking]
I think you can easily see people in your life who tend to make decisions mostly using the Thinking function, the logical, analytical types. And, you also know others who mostly use the Feeling function to make decisions. There is no right or wrong function. They are functions and nothing more. And, I ask you as a reader to just let that idea sit there for a while. Allow the tension of opposites to simply exist.
Now, back to the novel, that is they key to having characters come to life. The reader needs characters to be more like real humans with personalities that aren’t two dimensional. As a result, all of the functions need to be brought into play to create complex beings. Now back to you. How do you see your complexity? How do you see yourself, your personality? Do others see you the way you see and understand yourself? Are you absolutely certain that you only use one function to gather information and only one function to make decisions based on that information? If you answer yes to this last question, I can bet that you are not as self-aware as you imagine. But that, is a different story for a different time.
It has been a while since my last post. I want to assure you that it simply a matter of life getting in the way, not an issue of psychological distress or of intentionally abandoning this site. The primary reason for being absent has been related to the weather. It has actually been nice weather, the kind of weather that pulls one to be outdoors. For the past ten days, I have been taking walks between eight and twelve kilometres.
The walks have all been while I was clothed, of course. Late October and early November on the prairies in Canada don’t necessarily encourage one to hike while nude. I was tempted a few times, but the reality was that we weren’t the only people taking advantage of the warm spell. The first image was as close as I got to hiking while nude, and only because the trees kept the cool winds from persuading me to put my shirt back on.
Today promises to be the warmest day in quite a long time with the temperature forecast to reach 19C. Since today’s planned walk is in a different set of prairie hills with an absence of trees, along with a wind averaging 40km/hr, it might not be too promising in spite of being in a remote area with almost no chance of meeting another hiker. Tomorrow the temperature drops, drastically. Within two days, we are expecting up to sixty centimetres of snow – in other words – winter!
Writing has been the main reason for my absence. I have published two novellas and I am now working on a new novel as part of my annual participation in NaNoWriMo. I have been averaging around 3,000 words a day. The first novella is a story set during a pandemic, not Covid 19, but close enough to be contemporary. The only “speculative” aspect was the inclusion of aliens from another planet. The second novella is a story set during the age of Vikings, a historical fiction which has could be easily considered as non-fiction because of the historical content.
My NaNoWriMo story is something I’ve never tried before, a story being written for pre-teens, the Harry Potter crowd. I have a grandson in that age group who loves to read. That is my real motivation for that story which will hopefully become a Christmas gift for him.
I still live my life, for the most part, without the need to wear clothing. It is only when we have an occasional visiting neighbour [think next-door neighbours on either side], or when we are outdoors where there is a chance that someone will see me, that I find myself wearing clothing. If I put something on at any other time, I get asked, “Are you cold?” And, the answer is yes.
When will I return with the next post? That’s a question for which I have no answer. Writing will be my primary activity for at least another ten days. And of course, there is always something that comes up to sabotage one’s best intentions. That said, I still have another post or two to write in discussing from a Jungian psychology point of view, human personality. Until then, stay safe and in place as much as possible. We are truly in troubling times.
Being an introvert doesn’t mean that I am more or less rational than an extrovert. Nor, does it mean that I am more or less irrational. In the effort to try and understand myself and others, I have done a lot of studying and taken innumerable sorts of personality tests. After all, the objective is to “know thyself” as Socrates once stated thousands of years ago. You’d think that we would have had it all figured out by now.
Yet, here I am, a man who is seventy-one years of age, and still wrestling with this task of trying to know and understand myself. Why am I so invested in naturism? Why do I slip out of my clothing at every possible chance? Why do I let other people know this about myself? Why? Why? Why? Obviously, I don’t really have an answer to give to you, my readers. However, I can shed a bit of light on personality. Knowing the kind of person one is gives each of us a good starting point.
For example, in my last post, I talked about the attitudes of introversion and extroversion. With that knowledge tucked away in the background, there is a similar polarity in how we gather information, which then leads to another polarity in how we arrive at decisions using the data. I want to talk about how we gather data in today’s post. As I mentioned above, there is a polarity similar to that of introversion and extroversion. At one end is the use of sensation to gather data – what one sees, hears, tastes, smells, and touches. At the other end is intuition, where data is gathered more globally in nature.
100% Intuition ……………….. 0% or X ………………… Sensation 100%
As with extroversion and introversion, one is not locked in an either/or situation. Depending on many factors, each of us uses both to gather data with which we will then be able to make decisions based on that data. And as with extroversion and introversion, there is a resting point where for the individual is most like herself or himself. For me, that is at 80% along the Intuition sector. For the record, reason plays no role in the gathering of data. The data flows in and reason only comes into play when it is time to deal with that data. Because of that fact, both Sensation and Intuition are called irrational in nature. We perceive data before we work with data. How we perceive the data falls somewhere between the two poles. And to make a point, that place shifts constantly.
I walk down a road, wearing my clothing. There comes a point somewhere along the way where the data tells me that I am safe to remove my clothing. That data comes from a big picture, not from what my physical senses are telling me. When I trust my intuition, I make better choices for me. When I ignore my intuition and just use sensory data, I have been known to get into trouble – the empty road didn’t alert me to a truck that was moving my way, behind me, unseen. There is no right way or wrong way for the collection of data. Neither method is fool proof.
So, with that said, how do you typically gather information which will eventually allow you to make decisions? As for making the decisions, that is an entirely different post.
Well, it looks like early winter has set in here on the Canadian prairies. I woke up to -13 Celsius and the long term forecast tells me that there will be no overnight lows above freezing for the foreseeable future. As a writer, this is perhaps the best and most productive time of year. The urge to be doing something outdoors rather than sitting at a desk [or other writing location] seems to abate with colder outdoor temperatures. At least indoors, I don’t have to wear clothing. Warmer temperatures make it too tempting to stay inside.
I still go for long walks with my wife, despite the weather. Our daily average for the past few weeks has inched up to about ten kilometres with a mixture of 8, 10, and 12 km routes to be walked. Today, with sub-freezing temperatures, we walked a short five and a half kilometres, mainly because of the wind which adds to the discomfort. But of course, we dressed appropriately. Warm sweat pants topped with a thin wind pant on the bottom, and tee shirt, long-sleeved shirt, sweater, and a very light jacket with hood for the top. A pair of mittens and a tuque finished off our wardrobe for hiking. The motto nude when possible, and clothed when practical definitely plays a role in my life.
In this time of COVID 19, I don’t find it as much of a hardship to keep my physical distance from people as others who are more social beings, extroverts. I am an introvert. On a scale from 0 to 100, I am around 90% introverted. That is at my resting state when all things are equal in my life. However, I shift closer to the centre of the spectrum when life’s situations demand such as when socialising with people I know, or teaching, or working with a client. That is the key to understanding the relationship between introversion and extroversion. It is “work” for an introvert to act and be in the world in a more extroverted manner. One isn’t locked into a particular number on the line.
Introvert 100% ………. 0% or X ………. 100% Extrovert
Introversion and extroversion are described in psychological terms as attitude types. The psychologist who introduced the psychological description of personality types that is widely accepted and know in modern times, was Carl Gustav Jung. He looked at how humans seem to fall between to poles. The first pole, introversion, was characterised by an interest in the inner world where ideas trump things. The opposite pole, extroversion is drawn to things and finds more value in the outer world of things than the inner world of ideas.
It probably isn’t an accident that most people who are drawn to the arts, to music, to poetry, to authoring stories, and such are for the most part introverted. That isn’t to say that extroverts don’t write good poetry or novels, or paint, or dance, or create music. However, the products of their efforts do reflect their “dominant” attitude. For example, in the world of art, the more abstract, either in brush strokes or content, the chances are that the painter is predominantly introverted. The works of art that are almost precise replications of a subject, be it nature, a person, or a human construct, the more that the artist is more extroverted.
What is your experience? Are you an introvert or an extrovert? Do you thrive best with quiet and relationships with fewer people, or with engagement and activity with others and the outer world?
NaNoWriMo, the thirty day novel writing project, is quickly approaching. Since I have at least six writing projects in process, I have found it hard to focus on one particular project since returning to Canada in March 2020. I blame it on COVID 19. Now, in just over two weeks, I will be adding yet another novel to the mix. How do I manage to keep my sanity with all of this going on at the same time? Well, for me, it is walking.
A number of my blog posts have been about free-hiking, hiking while free from the confines of clothing. It has been a good year for this kind of activity. However, most of my walking has been done in the company of my wife while I wear clothing. It isn’t because of her presence, but because of where we usually walk. At times she walks with me when I free-hike without issue. And of course, weather is also a factor of whether or not I wear clothing when I hike. With summer gone and winter not yet here, walking outdoors has remained a very enjoyable activity. For example, over the past week alone, our shortest walk has been an 8 km effort. All the rest have been a mixture of 10 and 12 km efforts, or longer.
I write in the morning after coffee. Then, after breakfast we go for a walk. Lately we have been walking at a brisker pace, usually around 5.3 km/hr such as today’s 10 km walk. Upon our return, I return to writing as I want to recapture some of the ideas that had presented themselves while I walked. Weather permitting, I then spend some time outside doing yard work, such as pruning young trees, or simply enjoying autumn sunshine in spite of cool temperatures. With this diversion, I find myself finally able to get back to focused writing.
My current writing focus has shifted to a story about two youths who have their lives turned upside down because of a pandemic. The story isn’t really about the pandemic, but more about how a small group of people respond to the pandemic. When I first began the novel, I thought it was going to be more “normal” and more “reflective of the COVID 19 pandemic. But as usual, my intentions were turned aside as the writing muse had dictated another approach.
Unlike any of my previous works, this story could be categorised as Young Adult as the protagonist and his co-protagonist are both 18 years old. It won’t be a naturist novel, though naturism could be assumed to be in the background from time to time. The setting is in northern Canada for the most part though there is an assumption that there are other places yet to be in time. I guess that suggests that this could end up being a series rather than a single story.
Tomorrow is the official day for Thanksgiving in Canada. However like almost all Canadians, the whole of the three-day weekend is treated as Thanksgiving. Actually, for many, the holiday begins at some point on Friday. On Friday, I went solo hiking, as the previous post explained. Yesterday, I went hiking again, this time with my wife who had booked the day off. Today, she is back at work until the middle of the afternoon, at which point, we will work together to prepare our Thanksgiving feast, including the obligatory turkey.
Yesterday began with a long drive to reach a new hiking trail. Along the way, I managed to take a few wildlife photos of Pronghorn antelopes, Sandhill cranes, and a Coyote. It seemed that the animals and birds were patient while I set up my camera to get a collection of images. Of course, I took other photos as well as we were travelling down a road not yet taken in the past. However, that drive to our hiking destination was filled with wildlife. I was thankful for such a wealth of images and scenes that illustrated just how beautiful our world is.
Once we began our ten and a half kilometre long hike, with about half of it on loose sand, the energy levels rose. I love hiking, both clothed and nude. About two and a half kilometres into our hike, a small herd of Mule deer appeared. And like the other animals, they stopped and waited patiently for me to get a couple of photos.
At just over the halfway point, we stopped to get the sand out of our shoes and to enjoy an apple before walking the last four kilometres. My wife decided that I needed another photo taken of me. What was one of the things that made the day’s hike extra wonderful was the warmth and the sunshine. According to the two-week weather forecast, it was the last day of warm temperatures, meaning that we celebrated the end of Indian Summer together outdoors.
I have a lot to be thankful for. Having someone to share the days and the years has been the greatest blessing that I have been given. Having someone who shares my passions, well most of them, makes our years together even better. This day of hiking accented the need to recognise that I owe thanks to Mother Nature and our planet. For a wondrous day, the Internet and social media were set aside.
Once we got back home, the warm temperatures continued through the evening. We had wine on our back deck and some warmed up pizza. It is unlikely that we will have another evening of wine and relaxing music on the back deck where I don’t have to wear clothing until sometime next spring. I realise that it isn’t Thanksgiving Day in the rest of the world, yet I do know that regardless of an official day of thanksgiving, we all have so much to be thankful for in our lives. Happy Thanksgiving!
I didn’t believe that I would fit in another free-hike this year because of weather and a host of other reasons, but with weather being the prime deterrent. Today was a sunny day though the temperature was anything but promising. The forecast high was for 13 Celsius with a brisk breeze of 25 km/h. Once I had eaten lunch, I risked a writing break in the backyard. I saw sunshine in the corner by the shed and wondered if it would be worth spending time outside while nude. A half hour in the sunshine was enough to convince me to attempt a free-hike though the temperature had only reached 11 Celsius by three in the afternoon.
I pulled up to my regular departure point, parking my truck in a stubble field. Getting out of the truck, the breeze made me wonder if I was losing my mind. I dithered for a bit before chiding myself for being such a wimp. Off came my clothing which I put into a small bag, along with my keys, wallet, and phone. And then I was off. It was the sunshine that made the decision easier to make.
I walked down the familiar dirt road and turned off at an opening between two hills. I decided to explore the valley I had never walked down before. I stopped every once in a while to make the six kilometre hike last longer. I had all the time I needed to make the most of this golden opportunity. It was with a bit of regret when I reached the turn-around point of my hike. The journey back to my truck would have the sun at my side while I faced the breeze for the three kilometre return hike.
