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Celtic Romance 7/24/2005 12:16:20 PM
WARRIOR WOMEN, LONG SWORDS, AND HOT HEROES
CLAN OF THE WEEK:
LOCKHART
SPELLING OF LOCKHART: Locard, Lockard, Locarde, Loccard,Loccart,Lockart,Lockarte,Lockheart,Lokert, Lockhardt, and Luckhartd
The family, originally spelling their name "Locard, arrived in Scoltand in after 1066, seeking refuge as they were among those disposed by William the Conqueror. They settled mainly in Lanark and Ayr shires where the towns of Symington and Stevenston remain to mark the past influence of Simon and Steven 'Locard'. That the family soon acquired prominence is shown by the frequency of the name in records of the 12/13th centuries. The exact date when the lands of Lee came into the family is not known, but 1272 is traditionally accepted. Symon (Second of Lee) won fame for himself and his family in the wars against the English when he fought alongside King Robert the Bruce and was knighted for his loyal service.
Simon, 2nd of Lee, accompanied 'Good Sir James' Douglas when he took the heart of Bruce on crusade in 1330, and that he, who carried the key to its casket, rescued and returned it to Scotland when the Good Knight perished in Spain. Thenceforth, it is said, the arms of a 'heart within a fetterlock', and the name in its present form came into use. The family also acquired a precious heirloom from the crusade, a mysterious charm known as the Lee Penny.
The 7th Laird was knighted by James IV and in 16th century the 8th Laird was involved in a case of forgery. His son, Alan, 9th Laird, was sentenced to the block for the slaughter of David and Ralph Weir, on separate occasions, and with this family they seen then to have been in constant feud. His sentence was revoked, and he received 'remission' in 1541.
Motto: Corda Serrata Pando (I open locked hearts)
Crest: A boar's head erased argent, langued gules
STONEHENGE UPDATE OF THE WEEK:
Title Scientists seek fresh chance to dig up Stonehenge's secrets
knowledge of the monument and discover precisely who built Article URL: http://www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?sid=2146412258
BRITISH STONE AGE FIND OF THE WEEK;
Title WASTE TIP DIG UNEARTHS 6,000-YEAR-OLD WALKWAY
Excited experts yesterday told how the UK's oldest-ever wooden structures have been unearthed deep in the West. http://www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?sid=2146412252
Prince Tryffin spied the enemy, a Saxon man, woman, and child standing in the clearing aside Foss Way. The memories of the battle just fought, blood soaked dirt, the mad screams of his friends, burned the mind of the 16-year-old leader. One of Tryffin’s men took a warrior stance before the unarmed Saxon. Tryffin kneed his steed forward, fathoming the Saxon garbed in the undyed clothes of a slave.
“This man is no warrior,” Tryffin barked. “Halt!” His heart plummeted as he heard the deadly swipe of a drawn sword. Before the Saxon could speak the white blade sliced into the Saxon's belly. “Too late,” Tryffin whispered in a defeated tone. “The bloodlust lingers.”
“Da!” the child cried in a tear-choked voice.
Tryffin snapped his neck around. He gazed into round blue eyes wide with shock. Thick silver-blonde braids framed the little girl’s terror-stricken face. His throat knotted.
“In truth a wee angel, amidst all this carnage.” Tryffin was surprised at the dead tone of his own voice.
“Nay!” the child screamed.
Tryffin’s man swung his long sword in a whacking stroke. Tryffin’s nostrils flared at the stench of blood. The Saxon slave lay in a crimson pool.
The woman cried out, “Aldhelm, my husband!”
Tryffin’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the woman pull her hair and shake. A torrent of tears spilled down her cheeks. She picked her husband’s chopping ax off the ground, raised it above her head and rushed toward Tryffin. Eldol waylaid the woman putting himself in harm's way. The ax split his side. Eldol screamed out yet managed to stop the Saxon woman with the deadly point of his sword.
“Eldol, halt,” Tryffin yelled, “stay your hand!”
The warrior’s sword arm couldn’t be stilled. With a slice of the blade the Saxon woman slumped to the dirt. Eldol held his side. Tryffin yanked hard on the reins wheeling his mount around.
“Disarm!” he bellowed, “Now!”
The young warriors tossed bloody swords to the ground. Tryffin gazed upon the grim visage of the little girl’s small shivering fingers losing hold of a wicker basket. Juniper berries rolled into the blood soaked soil. Speechless, Tryffin stared into bulging blue eyes. A sharp pain pierced his forehead.
He was engulfed in a childhood memory when he was only six turns of the year. He’d been sent away to foster at Taunton. In the dark of night he wept for his family but he soon considered Gwydion’s mam his second mother. Tryffin cupped his brow and tried to slow down his thoughts as he recalled the day they went nutting in Pensel Wood. A brigand leapt down from a tree, slit his foster mother’s throat, and made off with her gold torque. The cur was caught and beheaded by Gwydion’s father. Tryffin remembered well because he had been made to watch. He was a princeling of Lichester and would deliver such justice one day. Tryffin rubbed his throbbing forehead as members of the war band called out his name bringing him back to the present. With fearful clarity he gleaned that he might not be any better than that savage brigand. The wee lass had clearly marked him as a villain. She inhaled sharply, then took to the woods afore he could tell her that she would come to no harm.
“Wait!” Tryffin turned his horse toward the woods, but before he could knee the steed, Gwydion grabbed the reins.
“Where do you make for, Tryffin?” His voice was edged with worry.
“The Lass!” Raising his hand, Tryffin commanded, “Fall into the woods! Rescue the wee maid.” His men stood still. An eerie silence descended. Tryffin felt he had lost all power.
“First, you attacked without my orders. Now, you fail to follow a direct command. Need I have you all flogged before you return to your families?” he thundered. “Bring the child to me unharmed. From this moment on she is my ward, inasmuch as her parent’s blood is on my hands.”
“Give up this chase,” Gwydion warned. “The thicket of bush and trees shall keep the lass hidden from the likes of us.”
“Gwydion, move aside. In truth if I find her not, I shall live out the rest of my days without honor.”
Gwydion sighed heavily. “Foster brother, she flees for her life. You lead the war band that slew her sire and mam.” He paused then said, “She flees you.”
“How can I ride away while she is lost in the woods?” Crestfallen, he turned his face away.
”You cannot keep your friends from their families. Long have we been away, fighting our first battle. Loved ones await us. Search for the child fresh on the morrow,” Gwydion pleaded.
Scanning his men's confused expressions Tryffin suddenly noticed Eldol’s pale face. Glaring upon his friend’s torn boiled black leather vest, Tryffin exclaimed. “By Mars! Eldol you are wounded!”
Tryffin ripped off a strip of his undertunic, and bound Eldol’s slash. Gently he boosted the warrior onto his horse. “Hasten! We need take Eldol to the surgeon and send a missive to his sire in Glochester. Ride on.” He kneed his horse, still thinking of the lass. “God help her!”
