Forgotten Prophecies by Robert Coleman Page A

who called
themselves kings, heading families that were always out to cause
trouble. "Is that everything? Can we go now?”
    “There is more: much more. When you
return to your homeland, you will return to your old wild ways,
wandering and grasping what you can. But, one day, everything will
change suddenly. I can see beyond the tall, high elm trees.
Remember the elm trees. You will meet a young woman who will give
you a child. And you will know her when you see her: she has a
strawberry birthmark on her thigh.” She pointed to her leg, and
continued in her animated fashion. “I see her carrying a great
sword in a grand procession before the highest king in the land.
She has immense honour placed upon her, for few women are allowed
to hold a sword – not even the wife of a king.
    “You will come to settle in her home. And
her child... oh, the boy...! He will grow to manhood, and he will
be a mighty warlord in your land, the brother of a king and the
noble friend of many more kings and princes. More than that, he
will...” She paused. Her eyes had grown wild with excitement and
she could hardly contain herself.
    His eyes were fixed on hers for a moment,
before he sank back to reality. “You've had far too much to drink,
old woman.”
    She snarled back at him. “And the Lady
Aldeberge paid you too generously for her frolic, young man. Spend
it wisely. And make sure you never meet her again.” Her voice was
sharp now, having escaped from her euphoric trance.
    “ Aldeberge?” He recognised the name.
Her father had been no mere princeling: he was the high king of
Paris. And her antics were well known. “Was she the girl that I
had...?”
    She smiled and nodded. “Her father Charibert
is dead now, but his three brothers will come looking for you if
they hear of this: the great Merovingian kings – Guntram, Sigebert
and Chilperic – will put a price on your head. They will say you
raped her, and you will suffer a horrible death if they lay hands
on you. Make haste to get back across the Channel.” She looked
aside to Guthlaf, standing some distance up the track. “But first I
must speak to your friend.”
    “Guthlaf! The old lady wants a word with
you.”
    His friend came forward and looked awkwardly
at this strange woman.
    “The voices are telling me about the Holy
Abbot of Menevia. They say that you know Dewi, the man whom we
Franks call David?”
    “A very long time ago. My parents put me
into his care when I was a boy. I helped him build the new assembly
house for the Glestingas –”
    “The Glestingas? At Glastonbury? ” she
gasped. “I have heard of that place. It has magic.”
    He shrugged. “So they say. I was captured by
Saxon robbers – the likes of my friend here – they took me away, I
returned to the old gods and I became a rogue like Eldred.”
    The two men laughed.
    The old woman became impatient, and waved
Eldred to be silent as she turned to Guthlaf. “Sir, has your hand
ever touched the Holy David?” Her tone became one of profound
respect towards him – almost reverential – and Eldred was
perplexed. His old friend had seldom mentioned his earlier
life.
    “Yes,” Guthlaf replied. “He took my hand
several times, I suppose. Whenever he laughed. It was a habit of
his.”
    The woman fell to her knees and reached for
his hand. She kissed the open palm, then the back, and smiled up at
him, before struggling to her feet once more and turned to Eldred.
“The girl whom I described to you: the voices tell me of a curious
coincidence. She has also kissed the hand of the Holy David. I
think you will have much to say to each other when you meet.”
    “How will I know her?”
    “Remember the birthmark. And the tall elm
trees. Saxon men, I wish you peace and prosperity. Take a boat back
to your home. And hurry. May God keep you both.”
    The woman disappeared into the night as
quickly as she had first emerged, and they continued on their
way.
    At daybreak, they found a place to hide
until