I’m sitting in the darkness of early morning with only my screen and a fireplace set on low flame providing the only light as I write this post. Outside, a full moon makes the snow appear to glisten, while two female mule deer wander slowly down the street, stopping only metres away from the window to listen before slowly sauntering across the street to an empty lot. It’s cold outside, well sort of cold at -12 Celsius.
There is a light breeze blowing making it feel like -16 C. It’s the perfect time for one’s thinking to be less than bright and cheerful. As I scroll through my social media accounts, there is little to find that inspires hope. Stress is the norm. Frantic activity becomes a weapon to beat away the shadows that threaten. All of us need to find and use strategies to channel our frustrations. Our mental and physical well-being depends upon it.
It has been a year of losses for so many of us, if not most of us. Some have lost loved ones, some have lost livelihoods, some have lost connections with others, and most have lost faith in the governments that have been elected to protect us. I am trying to put a veneer of positivity in my own life. After all, I have everything I would ever need. I have no debts. I have good health, and I have family though I can’t visit them except virtually.
Covid19 did enter my world in a personal way when our middle child got the virus. She works in the medical world, a front-line worker. Thankfully, she got over it without damage though her three children and her husband lived in fear until she was cleared and able to return to working full-time with covid19 clients. She messaged me to let me know she just got the first dose of vaccine. Needless to say, it did a lot to ease the pressure in my chest.
In a few days, 2020 will come to an end. The vaccine has become the symbol of a pathway out of the darkness of 2020. Will I get the vaccine? When it is my turn, I will. I want to travel again so that I can actually see my children and grandchildren face-to-face, to hug them, and … the list is so long. Like everyone else in my network, both virtual and actual dimensions, there is a thread of hope that begins to grow as the nights begin to diminish, even if ever so slowly.
How long will it take? No one knows. We only know the now. There is no choice but to hold the tension of what is. Being present, even though it is painful in so many ways, is vital. Slipping into the dimension of the past, constantly looking at the world through a rear-view mirror only feeds depression. Escaping into thoughts of the future feeds a crippling anxiety. We have managed to get to today, and that is a major victory. The knowledge that there is a spring and summer to follow has fueled our collective psyche since humans became conscious beings, allowing us to walk through the darkness of time of year, of spirit, and relationship with others.
The full moon told me this, as did the flame that ripples in my fireplace.
It’s Boxing Day in Canada. It is snowing again, and the wind is blowing in from the northeast. The house is quiet with the exception of soft piano music that banishes the early morning silence of Boxing Day. I have finished the research needed for the last part of the Crusader novella that is all finished except for a rewrite of the last chapter. It is a writer’s kind of morning. Within all likelihood, the novella will be ready for the New Year. It’s also a morning for just wondering about the future.
The afternoon is all about online family activity with games and virtual visiting. With Covid putting an end to visiting once summer and outdoor gatherings became history, I have likely managed to see more of my grandchildren through virtual activity and video chats than I would have seen of them in a normal year.
Regardless, there is nothing like having a little one crawl into your bed to have a morning talk with a grandparent, or hugging your adult children, just because. From all that one can hear, it appears that a more normal world will be here by the end of the next outdoor season because of the vaccine. That will mean travel to our children’s homes. However, other travel will continue to be put on hold until the aftermath and fallout of Covid19 has begun to settle giving rise to new normals in other parts of the world. I don’t imagine that we will leave North America until 2022.
How has your world changed? How have you adapted to the changes?
I woke up early this morning, before five o’clock. I turned on the coffee pot, put up the temperature to a balmy 17 Celsius, then turned on the fireplace, before retreating to lay in bed for another ten minutes while waiting for the coffee to be ready. Then, with a fresh cup of coffee in hand,
I pulled up my rocking chair in front of the fireplace and set the coffee down before opening the draperies to the darkness outside. Then, I turned on the lights that frame the windows as well as the tree. It’s Christmas morning on the Canadian prairies, a white Christmas. I will be home alone as my wife is off to work a holiday shift in the local nursing
What a strange Christmas season! I have to admit that we often have Christmas to ourselves now that our children are grown up with homes and children of their own. Our first Christmas away from family was in 2004 when we spent it in Cuba. It was a year when our children were spending Christmas with their in-laws. Then, we were in China for four Christmases as I taught in a Chinese university.
Those years, we used Skype to connect. Then another Christmas out-of-country in 2017 when we were in Ecuador, another in-law year. However, technology has always been there for us to bridge the distance. But this year, we are home. Before the Covid19 pandemic reared it’s ugly head, we had already made the decision to be home for this Christmas, and for next Christmas as well.
I guess in a way, we have learned, as a family, to bridge distance. It was something that had to be learned at some point. This was going to be our year to host our family for Christmas. With borders closed and lockdowns in place, we are turning back to technology to make our Christmas connections.
It all began today with watching the youngest grandchildren open their gifts from their grandparents. The big celebration comes on Boxing Day was everyone will gather together using the “Room” feature of Messenger. We used Zoom for Easter and had a few issues with the time limitations that “Room” will avoid. Of course, we have tested it out with just about everyone.
There is a real sense of togetherness using technology. It has helped us navigate distance as a family when weather, work, or pandemics keep us apart. Our children are as much gypsies as we are. Frequent voice and video chats even when there isn’t a holiday involved has us all keep up with the small things in our lives, whether it is a well-pitched inning by grandson number five, a band performance by other grandsons, sledding down hills by the littlest, or playing games.
How are you going to spend Christmas this year? Will you risk travel? Will you risk extending the “bubble”? Will you be working? My only wish is that you find something positive in the day for yourself. If nothing else, join me in toasting the day with a glass of wine [or your beverage of choice, even if it is the evil eggnog].
Unlike many others, I am social distancing in the truest form of the word, and though I am an introvert though and through, Even in this relative isolation, I am feeling all of the angst, anger, and frustration, and even fear that is swirling like some sort of toxic gas in my community. All if this is in response to the pressures to have everyone limit their bubble to their home partners.
In response, my neighbours seem to be visiting each other now more than once a day despite the instructions of the provincial government. They are already moaning about not being able to go anywhere and visit anyone, and about their families not being able to return to visit in their homes. And then they wonder why we don’t come over for wine and hors d’oeuvres or a neighbourly meal.
My wife and I do go out of our home. Every day we go for walks. When the wind blows too strongly, we put on our winter boots with ice cleats and walk around town, walks that range from three to six kilometres. When the wind abates, we head out into the countryside for longer walks ranging from six to twelve kilometres.
On those rare moments we pass anyone on our walks, they are always at least five metres away. Our rationale is simple – if we can’t travel to see our children and grandchildren because of COVID19 rules, then we aren’t going to replace them with non-family whom we are also required to avoid in this period of stringent rules. Now, this does take a toll on the psyche, even for an introvert.
Since my last visit here, I have written/edited everyday. I have also put up two more posts at a sister site called Through a Jungian Lens. The site is not about naturism in any way, shape or form. It is focused on psychology. More specifically, it is about my resonances with Jungian psychology. The present series of posts deal with issues of the masculine which in our modern world seem to come to the forefront as both men and women reach midlife. If interested, don’t hesitate to check it out.
As well, I have returned to an older work-in-progress, a historical novel that is eerily realistic. It is hard to actually describe it as a novel as the plot line of history has already been written. My story in this book follows one man through a number of decades from his appearance in history [a real man] at the Battle of Hastings to his reappearance in the first Crusade, the Crusade of Princes. The man existed and had his name recorded in both events. In telling his story, there was no option but to fill in all of the holes that history leaves behind. This book about a Crusader is the follow-up to my recently published book,A Tale of Two Vikings.
I am hoping that over the next few days, I will return to speak more about personality types and naturism. Until then, stay safe.
Beneath our clothing does indeed exist a body, bare skin covering bones and organs. Since all bodies have skin, bones and organs, that can be defined as normal. However, you and I know that each of us are more than our mass of messy cells. To be honest, I have yet to meet a single person who is fully “self aware,” and I include myself in that group.
There are more things that I don’t know about myself, than I do know. That seems to be strange considering I have been actively been in search of “self” for most of my seventy-one years. I need to go back to Freud’s example of consciousness and the unconscious using the analogy of an iceberg. What is known is just a small part of who we are as individuals. It all gets so much more complicated when we add in the fact that we exist in a collective.
The individual unconscious is just the tip of a different iceberg which has the collective unconscious buried under water. So much for being fully self aware. We just do the best we can do despite all the unknowns. Clarity and sharp focus becomes the real illusion. We are left with more questions than answers. And that is why and when I return to “generalised” peeks at “self” via personality types.
Before going further, let me say that every single human psyche likely contains all personality types to some degree. I may be 90% introvert, but that also means that I am 10% extrovert in terms of personality attitude. As for the personality functions of Intuition, Sensation, Thinking, and Feeling, I am more oriented to Intuition than Sensation, as well as more likely to use Feeling than Thinking in making decisions based on what my intuition and senses have gathered to fuel my decisions. I may “think” otherwise, but analysis after the fact proves otherwise. We individually and naturally gravitate to one irrational function and one rational function when we don’t try do force the issue.
What do I mean about trying to force the issue? Well I can examine the data presented to my eyes, and other senses and make decisions based on that evidence. All of us can and do make decisions this way. I can also walk into a scene and my intuition [inner radar?] kicks in and I end up making a decision based on my intuition despite what my five senses might be telling me. Again, we all do that to some extent. There is no mystery here. It all comes down to the question, “What’s my unconscious go-to way of gathering decision-making data?” For me, it’s intuition by far.
In Jungian psychology terms, that then suggests that I have a personality that can be described as “Introverted Intuition” or IN when looking at my unconscious preferences involving the irrational functions of Sensation and Intuition. The polar opposite of this would be the “extroverted sensation” or ES type. Again, I am talking about the “unconscious” preferences. Each of us can, and does use conscious will to gather information via intuition and senses, which means that at times [not too often] I can be described as having an ES personality. Confusing? Yes, and no. The point I am trying to make is that we are too elastic as humans to be very easily categorised when it comes to personality. However, we can come very, very close.
Now, to go back to the idea that my intuition is my “natural” unconscious manner of being aware of the world around me. As a naturist, I go free-hiking. Somehow, I manage to avoid being seen while naked. Call it a “spidey sense” or whatever, but I just know that I need to put my shorts back on, and I act on that impulse. The vast majority of the time, a farm pick up truck appears from behind a hill. The driver waves and I return the wave.
There has only been one occasion when this hasn’t worked for me while I was out free-hiking. I was walking along, my shorts safely tucked in a spot that was easy for me to reach. My wife was walking alongside of me. We were chatting – my sense of hearing was focused. Before either of us could realise it, a truck had just appeared behind us leaving me no time to put my shorts back on. The best that I could do was to slowly turn as the farmer passed so that only my buttocks would be seen. Needless to say, when I walk this route with my wife now, I wear shorts, and when I walk it alone I can do so free-hiking.
Now, for someone who naturally gathers data via their senses rather than via intuition, there would have been no free-hiking down that road. Rather, free-hiking would be done well off any road that showed signs of being used. Are there any recent tracks in the dust and dirt? What season is it in terms of likelihood for a farmer to be out and about? Are there any blind spots that could hide an approaching vehicle? And other questions exist as well.
For a person who primarily uses their senses, the occasions for free-hiking are significantly diminished. And when the risks are taken, my best guess is that they are more likely to be surprised by others. Of course, this is hypothetical and based on the degree of one’s intuition or sensation unconscious preferences. In my case, intuition measured greater than 90%. However, if it had been 54%, intuition would need to be supplemented with sensation to arrive at the best possible result.
Using your best guess, would you say you are more: IN, IS, EN, or ES? And yes, I know, you are all four of them. Yet, when you let your will power and ego get out of the way, you do have a natural resting point.
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.
