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1. Stranger In Staffordshire

It was a blustery, February day when Roland DeSpencer finally reached the top of the modest hill that permitted him his first glimpse of castle Tamworth and the surrounding village. Roland kept shivering from the relentless cold which cut right through the wool cloak he'd wrapped about himself. His gray war horse snorted, impatient to be on its way. Apparently the half starved beast must have realized in some fashion that food and water were not far off with the smell of cooking fires easily discerned in the cold, crisp air. "Misty my old friend, be of good cheer. We be almost there." He gently patted the beast who had brought him so far. For months the sturdy animal had carried him from the Holy land, which hadn't turned out to be all that holy, until he'd reached the sea port of Haflur located on the northern coast of Normandy. He'd had a bitch of a time securing a crossing in January. The channel could be treacherous during the best of times. However, after days of cajoling and bargaining, he'd finally convinced a merchant to let him join a ship that was scheduled to make the perilous short trip. It had cost him ten silver marks for himself and his war horse. Needless to say, Misty had not been thrilled by the swaying deck and he'd had to cover its eyes so the horse wouldn't panic. For that matter, he'd not been particularly ecstatic about the voyage either. He ate nothing during the thirty some odd hours that it took to cross the watery expanse that separated England from the continent proper. At least the wind had been fair and they'd made good time considering the ...

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