Chapter 1

A few candles were feebly lighting the bleak sight of the dark room. On the big old bed with golden legs was lying the old Archbishop Hubert of Canterbury, writhing in the jaws of the death. At one time, he opened his eyes and whispered:

"My daughter! Where is my daughter?"

One of the servants who were staying around him leaned himself over the bed and answered:

"Lady Isolde is on the way here, your Eminence. I am sure she will arrive on time."

The old minister coughed faint and then he kept quiet. The characters of this drama seemed to be stock-stills, so everything was wrapped into a dead silence. Suddenly, the blare of a trumpet startled them. "Eunice", said a servant, "go and find out what is happening."

Eunice was a sixteen-years-old-girl with beautiful green eyes and wavy long black hair. Rather short than tall, with delicate curves and full of life, she was the spark of that dark palace. Eunice quickly run towards the large wooden door, but all at once, the lord of Canterbury's valet opened it and announced:

"His Royal Highness, Prince John."

No matter how sick he was, the bitter enemy of the regent leapt up in indignation. How dare this abject traitor to cross the threshold of the man who insulted him in public and now is at the death's door! Full of anger, he sat up in bed and giving a grin with pain, he prepared to encounter his disputant.

A moment later, the pale face of Prince John and his drab glassy eyes showed up in the doorway. His suite had remained outside the room.

"Gentleman!" he exclaimed with a shrill voice. "Gentleman, what a dark! Is this a suitable atmosphere for a celebration?"

Hubert of Canterbury flushed with anger.

"And what celebration would be that, milord?" said the Archbishop with a faint, but firm voice, making a sign for the curtains to be drown.

"Our reconciliation, of course", said the prince.

"With all due respect, sir, but I have never asked for forgiveness."

"And I have never pretended for it", answered the regent.

"I suppose that however, your visit has another reason, too", said the old man looking at the prince with suspicion.

"And you are right."

Prince John made a pause.

"Will it be news that the story of a fair fairy passed through the walls of the castle of Canterbury and it is all over the town?"

No later than he finished, the door was slammed to the wall. The fair fairy from the story tore into the room. She dropped herself near the bed; without even seeing the prince, she began to cry.

"Father! Oh, father! Do not leave me! What shall I do without you? Oh, father, my good father!"

Even the prince was impressed - not by the tears, but by the wonderful maid who was crying. She was truly beautiful. He could not take his eyes off her. She was a tall young woman with pale skin and clear blue eyes. The wavy fair hair of lady Isolde was falling like a waterfall on her goddess shoulders. She was wearing a simple long white dress and the only jewel she had was a little diamond cross, caught around her milky neck.

"Don't cry, my dear Isolde, my precious daughter!" whispered the old Archbishop stroking her on the head.

Tears ran down her face and the sobs shook her frame. Hubert of Canterbury looked around for the prince and staring him, he said:

"Milord, may I ask you a favour?"

A lightening flashed from the regent's eyes.

"Anything", he said with a strange shade in his voice, which the minister did not escape.

"I entrust you with the care of my daughter"-Prince John was startled-"and I hope you will protect this innocent child from any harm."

"You can be sure..."

"That means", interrupted the Archbishop, "that means that she will marry only whom she wants, and ..."

"I will never leave you!" exclaimed Isolde raising her angelic head and looking at her father with a look that cannot be described.

The lord of Canterbury smiled sadly and continued:

"...And having an inheritance of ? .000 silver pounds"-everyone eyed one another suspiciously-"I don't think there can be something she will need and cannot have... Anyway, don't take it amiss, I just want to prevent a disaster...," he added in a weak voice.

A few minutes there was a deep silence. Suddenly, the prince asked:

"Is she... your... daughter?"

The Archbishop gave a jump.

"Yes, she is", he answered with a gloomy tone.

As if he was exhausted by the effort he had done, the old minister gave a groan and fell back on the bed. Isolde set up a scream.

"It's nothing", said her father clenching his teeth.

Close on the same moment, he winced and snatched the laced bed-sheet, which he was staying on. The witnesses of this drama saw clearly that his death hour was approaching with big strides. A cold sweat covered his face. Isolde stopped crying, and kneeling dawn near the bed, she started praying. The servants knelt, too.

Prince John made for the door and asked one of his courtiers:

"Philip, where is De Bracy? I haven't seen him for some days."

"Milord", answered in a whisper the handsome Philip de Malvoisin," Sir Maurice has discovered another beauty at his countryside estate, so he is a little busy for the time being."

"I see", said the prince checking his laugh.

Just then, the dying man summoned up his entire straight and shouted:

"Eunice, don't forget the key!" and he closed his eyes whispering:

"Vivienne..."