Biography, Josephine, Lady of Críslicland, Affynshire and Cleethorpes

A fictional biography drawn from An Involuntary King: A Tale of Anglo Saxon England - see right.

Josephine, Lady of Críslicland, Affynshire and Cleethorpes
748-835 AD

Josephine, called "Sunshine" as a child, was born to the king and queen of Affynshire on 27 April, 748 AD, at Ratherwood. She was the second of three children, having an older sister named Lorin. She spent her childhood years between the royal stronghold of Ratherwood and her mother's families forest stronghold of Keito Uxello in the foothills of the Pennines. Her older sister died young, followed shortly by their mother. She was betrothed to Lawrence, the second son of the king of the neighboring kingdom of Críslicland, when she was but right years of age, becoming his wife and lady of that kingdom in 764 when she was sixteen. After her father's murder soon after her marriage to King Lawrence of Críslicland, Josephine became Lady of Affynshire in partnership with her husband, her younger brother not being suitable for kingship in the estimation of that country's Witan.

A few years later, after the birth of a son, Peter, twin daughters, Caitness and Elaine, and the adoption of the orphaned Tavish, Josephine paid a visit to her family in Keito Uxello when her mother's kinsman, Ceretic, was gravely ill. The day before her planned returned to Críslicland, a cabal led by Malcolm of Horsfort seized control of the stronghold of Ratherwood and the whole kingdom. Josephine joined her cousins' resistance force, being an able archer in her own right. After a brief reunion with her husband at the camp where he and his armies lay in siege of Ratherwood, she set out for Críslicland, but was ambushed on her way to the border by henchmen of Malcolm. With the help of Siannone ui' Níall (English: Shannon O'Neill), a bard with whom she was traveling, Josephine escaped and made her way back to her husband's stronghold of Lawrencium. Again, she was caught behind the lines when her husband's cousin, Gadfrid, usurped the crown. With the assistance of a Breton mercenary lord, Elerde of Léon, she and her children escaped to the Holy Isle of LindisfArne. When Lawrence succeeded in regaining the throne of Críslicland, the royal couple and their family was reunited. In the meantime, Lawrence had agreed to let the Affynshire crown go to Josephine's eldest cousin, the highly acclaimed archer Ruallauh, Earl of Keito Uxello.

Lawrence and Josephine lived peacefully for several years until in about 793 the Viking raids along the east coast of England began. Military pressure from Offa, King of Mercia, had been ongoing throughout his father's and his own reign, and at the death of King Ruallauh in 798, Lawrence, Ruallaug's son Ceretic, and King Offa signed the Treaty of Lincoln that ceded both Críslicland and Affynshire to Mercia. Josephine, understanding that her husband took the step for the better protection of his people, n evertheless was only too ready to stop being the Lady of Críslicland.

Josephine and Lawrence enjoyed many years of relative peace until Lawrence's death in 835. Josephine died three years later at the age of 89. a remarkable age for a woman of her era.

[Source, Josephine's co-creator Nan Hawthorne, author of An Involuntary King: A Tale of Anglo Saxon England. Josephine's original creator is Laura D., who prefers to remain last-nameless.]

An Encounter in the Woods

[This excerpt comes from the beginning of the usurping of the crown of Affynshire. The queen has been caught behind enemy lines. Her persistent admirer, the Breton lord Elerde, has sided with the usurpers in order to have his revenge on the king, her husband, and to have access to her. They find each other in the woods some short distance from Keito Uxello.]

"Lord, cart tracks," Lagu said as he pulled his mount alongside Elerde's. He rode ahead of the small troop of soldiers carefully examining the rough track that was wide enough for simple carts. Riding back, he turned to point out the spot where someone had carefully kicked the dirt about to cover their tracks.

"Fresh enough," Lord Elerde confirmed. "Come with me." Calling to the rest of the troops, he commanded, "Stay here and watch the path. Stop anyone who passes, and if we flush the quarry, hold them." He and Lagu urged their horses forward into the woods, unhurried.

Though the forest floor was thick with old leaves and underbrush, it was not difficult for an experienced tracker to assess where a cart might have been able to pass. Though leaves were kicked back to cover any sign of wheels, the dry leaves bore the marks of pressure and were unnaturally disturbed and torn. As slowly and quietly as possible for riders, the two picked their way along, pausing frequently to listen. The breeze rustled through the branches and occasionally a small animal scurried through the brush. The canopy was thick enough here that what birds were about mostly flew between neighboring trees and no further. The air was thick with verdure and the smell of life poised to reawaken.

"Hold," Elerde called in a whisper. Lagu stopped to listen. The breeze favored them momentarily. It brought the sound of a small child's crying, if only for the span of a respiration. "Dismount."

Elerde and his lieutenant tied their horses and advanced on foot towards the direction of the child's voice.

Lagu put up a hand to signal his lord to stop. Elerde followed his gaze and saw it—the glimpse of a person moving stealthily towards them. Lagu and his lord crouched to watch. The figure was joined by another.

Elerde signed to his lieutenant to circle around and hold the second figure. He began to move crouched low, towards the first.

Josephine spun as she heard the rustle of leaves on the ground and the briefest cry of surprise from the man who had come with her into the woods. She saw, to her dismay, that the man was held from behind by a man in mail. The man, who resembled someone she had seen before but whom she could not place, held a dagger to the young man's throat. The servant's seaxa was dangling from his hand, useless.

"Drop it," came an all too familiar voice from behind her. The servant dropped his weapon and was pulled away from it by the man who held him.

Josephine, her face paling, slowly turned, her seaxa in her hand. She looked directly into a view of the legs of an armed man standing on a slight hillock. Her gaze rose to see Elerde standing, sword drawn, smiling.

"My lady, you have a skill that methinks you did not have last time we met." He nodded at the weapon in her hand. "It looks well on you."

Josephine stared. The man looked different, more hardened since she had shared her love of Roman verse with him on a bench in her garden. His brow was set but his lips were soft and smiling, as were his eyes.

"Elerde! What are you doing here?" After her momentary shock, she cast a glance back at her servant. "What is the meaning of this, sir?"

Elerde gestured with his head for Lagu to take the servant off to the side. He sheathed his sword. After a moment's hesitation and a glance at the queen's weapon, Lagu stepped away, pulling the servant along by his neck.

Elerde walked past Josephine to retrieve the servant's weapon. To do so, he had to pass within easy striking distance of her own seaxa. He betrayed no fear. But when she moved her arm to ready the weapon to strike, he spun, pulling his dagger, and confronted her.

"Will you kill me, sirrah?" she shot at him. "Did you think my skill charming but not sufficient to defend myself?"

The Breton relaxed, but did not sheath his dagger. "I see well that the seaxa is not ornamental. I bid you put it away, or I shall take it from you. You may be fast, but, lady, I am faster. Care for a demonstration?"

She glared at him but, realizing if she sheathed the weapon she would at least still possess it, she did as he suggested, sliding the blade home into the scabbard at her left shoulder.

Elerde put away his dagger. "I did not expect to find you out wandering in the woods, my lady."

"You have not yet explained your own presence here, sir. Are you part of the force that has taken my uncle's fortress?" Her eyes did not leave his.

"So you know about that." The warrior cast his eyes around. "Someone saw and warned you, and, mayhap, your cousins are on their way to try to take the fortress back or..." He looked back at her considering, "or they are sizing up the situation, and will be back here soon enough."

Josephine stood with her hands at her sides, her right hand flexing, longing for the feel of the hilt of the seaxa in it. She made no reply, realizing that she had already given him information she wished he did not have, the intelligence she had let fall from her own lips.

"I will answer your question, lady. I owe you that at least. Aye, I am more than part of that force. I am that force. Keito Uxello is in my hands. Your aunt and uncle are unharmed. I intend to let them remain, particularly as your uncle the earl is clearly not well."

Josephine's hand went to her throat. "Not well? What has happened to him?"

Elerde looked at her a moment. "He was better before I arrived. Aye, he must have been, or you and your cousins would not have left him alone and gone... wherever it is you are returning from." He continued to assess the situation. He cast down his eyes. "I regret to say that my arrival has apparently caused him to lose ground in his recovery. Is it his heart?"

Josephine's eyes flashed. "If he dies, know that I shall deem it as being at your hands, sirrah. You shall have killed my own kin. If you ever held any regard for me, I hope you will feel the regret of doing a grievous harm to me and mine own."

He shot back at her, "'Twas one of your own who tried to dispatch me to the gates of hell, my lady, a twelve-month past."

Josephine shook her head, replying, "Nay, sir. That is a fiction you have yourself invented to justify your actions, whatever the purpose of these actions may be."

Elerde suddenly reached with his right hand and pushed aside the mail shirt and padded brigandine beneath it. He exposed a red and evil looking scar to the upper left breast. "Is this a fiction, lady?" His eyes burned into hers so intensely she had no choice but to avert her own fiery gaze. She felt an urge rise to go to the man and touch the angry scar and soothe him. She hastily shoved the urge down.

"He did not mean..."

Elerde stopped her with a bitter laugh. "So he would have you and all else believe. I saw the look in his eyes, my lady. If he was a better shot, I should not be here to speak with you. And did he tell you that, failing to kill me with that shot, he threw himself upon my prone body and tried to finish the job?"

Josephine said nothing, afraid of betraying too much in her voice.

He stared at her. He pushed the brigandine and mail back over his scar. "Your good Saxon lord has two reasons to be ever in my mind."

Josephine lifted her eyes to his and something of her regard for him was reflected there. "Oh, Elerde, what is it? What have you done?"

He stepped towards her. Stopping before her, his eyes downcast to meet her gaze. He saw a softening there that warmed his heart, but at the same time he saw her fear and anger. "Your kingdom, my dearest lady, is returned to its Briton masters. Since your noble brother has relinquished his claim on the throne in favor of your Saxon husband, it has reverted to its next rightful king, earl Maegwig."

"Maegwig? That buffoon? Through my mother's line, any one of my cousins have more claim than does he. His right is all in his head."

Elerde replied superciliously, "But your cousins are too closely allied with the Saxon, my lady, and your people look to the pure Celtic line for reclamation of their honor and pride."

"So Ratherwood is fallen? And the governor-general?"

Elerde continued to look into her face, though her gaze was averted to the side ***. He felt her closeness with every cell in his body. Her breathing betrayed that she felt his as well. "The man no doubt has met his eternal reward. We have Ratherwood, Hucknall, and Matlock Hall, as well as, of course, Horsfort, Cross Gates, and Keito Uxello."

"Horsfort? Ah, earl Malcolm! I cannot imagine he would not find it tempting to be part of this infamy."

Elerde laughed in spite of himself. "Part of? Leading, more like."

Josephine glanced up at him. "So you are not at the heart of this." There was a hint of relief in her eyes.

He firmed his mouth and jaw. "Heart is exactly where I am, my love." His voice was softer than his expression seemed able to produce.

Josephine's eyes grew hard. "I am not your love, sirrah."

Elerde smiled wistfully. "Nay, 'tis that I am not yours. You shall e'er be mine own."

Josephine turned her back on him. She did not want him to see what thoughts and emotions she could not hide. Even so she fought to keep her voice even. "And what are you going to do with me? I suspect I would make a magnificent hostage."

Elerde replied, "Aye, that is the one part of the Saxon's great love for you that is to my own advantage." She waited for him to go on. "I beg you to consider coming back with me to Keito Uxello. You can remain with your kin there. I am your champion, my lady. The other conspirators... that is, the new lords of this land, may not have the same concern for your well-being that I most ardently do. I can protect you."

Josephine turned slowly back to him. "You... you beg me? Does that mean I have a choice?"

Elerde was the one to avert his eyes. "Aye, I have no desire to harm you. I will let you go, though 'tis with misgivings beyond measure. I would keep you... safe."

In a quiet, steely voice she replied, "Sir, I shall never willingly go with you. Not even to the gates of hell."

Elerde nodded sadly. "Oh Josephina, you are a rare one. You make me adore you all the more." He looked up into her eyes, which were full of pain and defiance. "You should go. Go far away, hide yourself. Malcolm will not stop his hand at anything to take possession of you. He will sell you dearly to the Saxon."

Her eyes flashed. "The 'Saxon' you refer to is the rightful king of this land, and my dearest lord, and the father of my children."

"Do I not know that? Though 'twas the Witan that made him king—the Saxon Witan—which your own people reject. We Celts, as you know well, though only half a one, respects its royal lines. It does not give over to a council to select its kings." He instantly felt regret for his emphasis on "half."

"You forget, sirrah, that we Celts also respect the female line. The 'Saxon' may be king, aye, but I am the queen of this country, by right of birth. By your own reasoning, you are committing treachery... to me."

In spite of himself he flinched.

"What will you do with my kin? My cousins?" she pursued

Elerde looked up again. "We will let them pass today... if they do not take arms against any of my men. Thereafter, I cannot vouchsafe their passage. If they are captured, they will be held. If they take up arms against us, they will be killed." He looked hard at her. "As will you, my lady. I cannot prevent it."

"And my lord, Lawrence, do you believe he will sit idly by and watch you and the other blackguards do as you will with us and our land?"

She was startled to see Elerde's lips curve in a smile. "I count on him to come blazing across Críslicland to rescue you. His haste will make him unwise. I shall have, I hope, the personal pleasure of catching him up. I am owed a debt."

Josephine glared at him with all her might. "Are you that bitter, Elerde? Where is the soft-spoken, gentle lover of verse and of walks in the country?" There was a hint of her own longing in the question.

"He took an arrow in the shoulder, my darling. Now go. I will go back to the fortress and let you and your people escape. I will not send a man to follow you. On my honor," and here he glared at her amused response," On my honor I shall not uncover your hiding place... yet, call it foolish sentimentality, call it folly, It is my choice."

He took her hand and kissed it. She did not resist. He turned and called to his lieutenant, "Lagu! Release the boy. Come."

Josephine stood shaking, watching Elerde and his lieutenant go. She watched until she could not detect the glint of light on mail. She thought she heard a horse snort and quiet sounds of hooves in the leaf mould. She turned and went back to the others, the servant walking at her back.

[See what happens next in Nan Hawthorne's An Involuntary King: A Tale of Anglo Saxon England.]

A Mountain Beltane

[Readers are enjoying the excerpts from An Involuntary King on Historical Novel Review so much that I decided to offer one about a close encounter between the queen and Rory McGuinness.]

When she found the chance, Josephine sought out Rory and asked him, "You are planning to be on your way, you and Shannon? I know you mean to, but can you tell me, how long might you be wandering? We shall miss you both. You know that." Her manner was sincere but light. She wanted to know, but she did not want to unease him.

To her surprise, Rory looked shamefaced. He twisted his cap in his hands and looked down. "Aye, me lady, and I am that sorry Shan spoke up ere I had a chance to speak with ye…"

Josephine watched his face. "There is nothing to apologize for, Rory."

He looked up into her eyes briefly. "Me lady, I dinnae think Shannon plans to return."

"Oh," Josephine breathed. "And yourself?" She hid her trepidation.

"I... I should like to return to Lawrencium, with your permission."

"Rory, you do not need my permission. Of course we want you to come back. My lord and I both care deeply for you and Shannon." She looked at him for a few moments. "Please come back, Rory dear. Will you not?"

He smiled wistfully. "I shall. I promise. But, me lady, Shannon…"

Josephine put a hand on his arm for the barest moment. "I know. He depends on you to keep out of trouble. I know your love for him is great. Come back... when you can. And if you can..." She looked at Shannon, who was walking towards them, "bring him back with you."

Shannon looked at the two solemn faces. "Och, tell me, who died?" Neither replied. He shook his head at his own foolishness and fell silent.

Josephine turned a brilliant smile on him. "It seems the place where I spent my girlhood shall have the benefit of adding your clear voice to the Bealtana festivities, my friend!"

Shannon and Rory both smiled their gratitude. "Och, aye, me lady. ’Twill be as rare a treat for us," Rory said.

The festive company set out for the mountain early the next morning. The track was old but passable as it wound through the forest, ever rising in elevation, until the track became to narrow for the carts. At that point, the carts were left in a clearing set up for them and all, including the small children, continued either a-horse or afoot.

As the spring evening light began to fade, the party finally arrived at the camp. Its remoteness made it unknown and hard to run across, but it was neither small nor primitive. Ruallauh's own wife and children came out of a log house to greet him, pleased and surprised to see him home early.

Before settling in for the night, Josephine walked about in the night air, only the faintest light coming through the thick forest from the sun setting over the mountaintop to the west. She went to the edge of the lake, long and narrow, and sat on a rock. Before she knew it, Ruallauh was crouching beside her.

"Is it as you remember, my lady?" he asked, smiling with his own memories of growing up with his towheaded and scabby kneed little cousin.

She breathed in the mountain air and nodded. "Much is the same, and much brings lost memories to mind. I do miss Affynshire. I wish 'twas not such a journey so I could see you all more often than once every five years."

He stayed by her as they heard night birds join the frogs and wind singing to them in the peace of the mountain.


"Sire, my sister has written to say she shall be delayed a few days."

Lawrence took the message and broke the seal. While he unrolled it he gave Lorin a rebuking glance. "The only way you can know that is if you also received a message but delayed bringing this one to read your own. You think to make me wait?" He was not jesting.

Lorin colored. "I beg your pardon, sire, it shall not happen again."

Lawrence nodded, his glare unabated. He looked at his own message. "I suppose I need not bother to read this, since you know everything in it." But he did not wait for the duke to reply. He scanned the first several lines, his face shifting from effrontery to disappointment. "Ah, it is as you say, she is delayed. But 'tis for a happy reason. I must not be selfish when she sees your family so infrequently. She will be on the road after Bealtana. The children will be sad." He put down the message. "You may go."

Lorin started to say something sympathetic, but thought better of it, bowed, and left.

Once the duke was gone, Lawrence unrolled the message again and read it more at his leisure.

May Eve found the company gathered where the mountain rose to a rounded meadow with few trees. Chill as it was, they wished to be the first to see the sun rise to the east in the dawn. Josephine found herself wakeful, looking as she was in the direction of Lawrencium, where no doubt her love slept peacefully, dreaming of her. She sat on the fur that Ruallauh placed on the ground for her, her knees drawn up to her chin, her arms wrapped around her legs for balance and for warmth.

She felt more than heard Rory come up beside her. "Sit with me, my friend," the queen invited. She felt his body's warmth as he lowered his long limbs to sit by her side. "Nay, share the fur," she said, moving over to make room. She could smell his body, always strangely like deep woodland. He placed himself next to her, leaving the barest gap, afraid for their bodies to touch.

"'Tis goin' on dawn, I am thinkin'," he said quietly. "Can ye see the faint hint of light o'er the hills?"

She rested her chin on her knees, listening to the slow breathing and occasional snores of the children who tried in vain to stay up for the morning light. "Aye, though that means 'tis already Bealtana in Lawrencium. If 'were flat between us, we should have seen the morn ere this."

"D'ye think the king wakes for this dawn?" Rory inquired.

"Nay," she sighed, "'tis not his way. He does not set his mind upon such traditions. Much as my brother does not. He might seek to greet the dawn to please me, or he might greet it on the morning of a battle, otherwise, my lord sleeps." She sighed thinking of the delicious warmth of him in bed beside her. "I will be glad when the sun is well and truly up... it is cold!" The queen shivered.

Rory looked over at her concerned. "Lady, may I offer ye me cloak?"

Josephine accepted it, feeling the warmth he infused it with warming her own shoulders and back.


Many of the adults who managed to greet the dawn slept in the warmth of the midmorning sun while servants set up the festivities and watched as the children played games on the mountain meadow. Shannon remained with them, as engaged in their play as they were. Rory dozed but mostly watched where the queen slept some distance from him, lying on her fur and still covered with his cloak. It would smell like her, he thought with a smile. She was lying on her side, her cheek cradled on her crooked arm. Her face was relaxed and peaceful. Her lips curved slightly in a dreaming smile. Her shoulder rose and fell as she breathed. Rory felt his love for her buzz inside him, and he could not help but let a quiet chuckle of pure joy escape his lips.


A maypole set in the middle of the mountain meadow cast its long, thin shadow on the ground as the company feasted and the afternoon grew warmer still. Long ribbons tied to the top and crowned by spring flowers in a garland curled and drifted about in the breeze. Shannon obliged the company with a song as the children, and some adults, danced around it, weaving the sheath the ribbons made. Rory backed away, shaking his head, when he was invited by Ruallauh's wife Mairead to be a dancer. Josephine joined the dance, and he did not want to find himself facing her when the music stopped and chaste kisses exchanged.

Shannon watched Rory carefully as the light started to dim. "That be more mead than ye usually partake of, boyo."

Rory was enjoying the simple peace and camaraderie of the servants to whose fire he wandered. He reassured Shannon with a merry smile. "Now go and break that bond your faithless mistress held you to. That serving woman seems to want to help you."

Rory's vision was swimming as the two bonfires were lit. He shook his head to clear it. He was starting to sober in the chill night air. He looked around the two fires to see the queen's cousins holding their wives to their sides, their arms around the women's waists. Servants paired up too, from the stout cook and her husband to the younger unmarried lads and lasses. He noticed Shannon with his arms around the servant woman, his face almost touching hers, his lips moving in sweet words or perhaps a song.

He was deep in a reverie of the growing flames. When a sound beside him caused him to look up, he saw the queen standing beside him, her arms wrapped around her again. She did not look cold, but rather content and smiling. Her eyes twinkled as she glanced over at him. Or was that the firelight reflecting in her blue eyes? He returned her smile.

Servants led the cattle between the fires for the blessing, the light and warmth making them seem otherworldly as it reflected off their flanks, and the party joined their voices in song. The mood rose to a merry pitch. With the more reverent and soulful songs of the season it mellowed again. Rory noted the queen shivering. He reached to her without inhibition and put his arm around her shoulder. She smiled her thanks.

Rory saw Shannon start to stroll off with the blushing servant. He saw Ruallauh take his wife in his arms and kiss her. The other cousins in turn embraced their own wives. Other less distinct figures either joined or went off arm-in-arm. Rory turned to Josephine. She faced him and smiled up at the tender face of this man who towered over her. On an impulse he could never later explain, he leaned down and put his lips on hers.

Her jerk of surprise broke Rory's sense of dreamy unreality. She pulled back, pressing herself away from him with her hands against his chest. He looked into her face dismayed. "Och, me lady, I am sorry! I forgot meself! I didn't mean…"

Josephine turned her face away. "Nay, Rory, I understand, it was the moment. But... but... we cannot..." She knew she had let herself be lulled by the companionability of the moment. How could she not? Life in his presence was so sweet, how could she but keep him by her, overlooking what his feelings meant, for him, for herself. "Oh Rory, I am so sorry... I should have realized..."

She looked back around and up into his face, seeing misery there. She was struck speechless by the depth of it. She put her fingertips to her mouth, her eyes round as she saw his pain.

"This is not right, me lady. I beg of ye, let me go, I... I..." He couldn't finish.

A feeling of loss overwhelmed her. "Oh Rory, why can we not go back as if this ne'er happened? Can we not go back to being dearest of friends?"

To her horror, instead of accepting this gratefully or at least with peace, Rory turned on her a look of agony. He turned abruptly and strode away.

[Find out what happens next in Nan hawthorne's An Involuntary King.]