Her Eulogy - Diary of a Grateful Lady

The third of the calends of April in the year 1032, being the 32nd year of the reign of King Henry 1

On the afternoon of my ride to the top of the hill, our hill, while Morag, my aunt, mother, maid, and friend (my everything), cared for my beautiful twins, Roland (your namesake) and Anna, I remembered the fateful day I met you. I regret my rudeness and cruelty at the time. Still, if I had not cursed you, you might never have risen to be the saviour I needed, the one whose self-sacrifice and courage have enabled my return to this blessed place and the life I now enjoy. I am 23 years old and have two children, one is your namesake, Roland. 

While I enjoy the peace of my green and earthy surroundings - the ferns and dappled patterns on the undergrowth from the sun shining through the leaves - I recognize the tree you hid behind when you spied me for the first time. I vow to plant flowers around it the next time I visit. Little did we know how closely connected we would become, had been all along. Your initial dreams, however, never came true.

While I once again enjoy the mossy smell and the feeling of the sparkling brook water as it swirls through my fingers, I remember a river far away. The one you crossed to return to the one who loves you. That one can never be me. This diary I dedicate to you. Each year, on the date of our birth, I will write to thank you for something you have done here for me in the past and for something you did to enable my return home. Each will be written on vellum and embellished with my drawings. A card for each year.

First, thank you for acting on my words when we were both 19. You reformed yourself into the kind of man a special woman can look up to. That woman isn’t me, though I have learned to look up to you.

Finally, I express gratitude for your insistence that I return home without you. Your decision to remain behind meant that my children and I could live the life you decided for us—this life of a lie.

The third of the calends of April in the year 1033, being the 33rd year of the reign of King Henry 1

A year has passed. The flowers around your tree on the hill are flourishing—a medley of whites, yellows, and purples. Their beauty is a tribute to you. I feel close to you when I am here.

My twins are now three years old. Like their Aunt Anna, they have kept their mops of red corkscrew curls. They bring their grandmama Morag much joy. They also brought much joy to Anna’s nurse, Ida, before she passed on this Spring. Your Williams has told them about their ‘father,’ all about you. Young Roland wants to be just like you. I hope not, for his sake. Maybe with all the love he receives, he won’t have to resort to as much childish mischief and mayhem. 

Secondly, thank you for organizing a feast in my honour long ago and not giving up on me when I rejected everything about you. I know it crushed you. You thought I hid from you. I sat opposite, not hiding behind the decorative vase of peacock feathers but peering through the fronds as you patiently listened to my half-brother babbling like a torrent with no end. 

Thank you for always providing us with food through your diligent hunting, fishing, and growing of victuals until we could return home.

The third of the calends of April in the year 1034, being the 34th year of the reign of King Henry 1

This year, my twins turned four. The captain of the sailing vessel I sailed home in, far away from you, returned, and we have become reacquainted. He is now a dear friend and has promised to visit more frequently, but he can never provide for me and the twins the way you have.

Thirdly, I am grateful for your being there for me on the day of our capture, your valiant attempt to affect our escape, and for looking out for me on our voyage far from home.

I cannot express enough gratitude for your assistance when our friend Tamara birthed my twins. You did everything she asked to prepare for it, kept calm under duress, and cherished them as if they were yours.

The third of the calends of April in the year 1035, being the 35th year of the reign of King Henry 1

My twins are now five. We have explained to little Lord Roland all he will inherit once he is of age. The legacy you bequeathed by not returning allowed our monstrous lie to benefit the children, who, though conceived in despair, will receive all you leave behind. I could never have done it to you. Our bitterest enemy’s children are blessed because you care about me. A loving mother can never wish her children to be unborn. I have never deserved your goodwill or your goods. I am deeply grateful for your generosity toward the children in this fourth instance.

Third of the calends of April in the year 1036, being the 1st year of the reign of King Stephen of Blois

My little Lord and his sister are now six. I wonder if life is treating you as well as it is treating me. My sea captain has asked me to marry him. I have declined because of you. The memory of all we have been through together and of the person you once were, as the Lord of this Fief, is the only memory I want to keep. What others believe to be (the shocking lie you supported by not coming home) is the only way it can be for the sake of me and my children.

Fifth, I am grateful you killed their father to protect them. I know I cried and raged at the time. But you had the best of intentions for our safety. You became their father.

As I stand in a high turret, looking over your lands and the homes of all you own, my heart swells with love and gratitude. If you could see us all now, you would be truly happy. The plan you set in motion the day you refused to come home has saved our lives and ensured our future success. 

I miss you. After being separated at birth and spending years seeking to be well away from you, I now regret that I can’t tell you personally how grateful I am. Tears fill my eyes, and my crushed heart breaks into a myriad of shards. I never believed that leaving you far behind could affect me this way. In truth, I have changed more than you have.

Now, our secret will die with us. Others believe we are married, and my children are yours. It’s what they wanted to believe on our return. My Morag knows the truth. She told the lie that set this all in motion. She told her lover she had birthed his child to save me from death. You supported this lie so I could receive what is rightfully mine—the fief you inherited from our father and the fief my children will inherit. You have been the kindest and most supportive of brothers. Thank you forever. 

“Among Life’s Constants, Things Change

Just as the rivers run down to the sea

The clouds give their rain for you and me

The sun sets in the west, rising again in the east

These cycles continue throughout history

…As my brother cared for me with constancy

Though his absence is shrouded in mystery

That he left us alone is a tragedy

To me, it is a strange irony

But he loved us, it’s no fantasy

…Believe me, I knew him personally

As in the fall, when leaves are blown from the trees

Leaves red and yellow that were formerly green

…Among life’s constants, things can change.

What took place at his hands is truly horrible

Taking the law into his hands is lamentable

But we need to forgive him. It’s essential.

His solution, though sad, was so simple

His support of us was exceptional

His leaving us alone is understandable

Our missing him is only natural

…But life goes on, my dears, it is possible

The leaves may be blown from the trees in the fall

But we hold onto our memories as life changes all

…Among life’s constants, things can change.”

Your sister, forever.

The End