Saints Marching In
Bev Vines-Haines
Since he'd been poisoned April last, Ferdinando Stanley, 5th Earl of Derby, was a Saint. At least to Silas Dracauli. It was forbidden to make conjecture regarding the actual killer so Silas devised a plan of revenge.  The Earl was second in line to the British throne. His mother was first but she was old, cantankerous and certain to take leave of this world at any moment. Unfortunately she idolized her younger son, Dante. Impulse restrained, Silas didn't go after the old cow straight away. He knew she did it.

Worse than that, the wench destroyed his dreams as well as the Earl's. For eleven years he'd begged Ferninando for a title. Coming from a family of thieves, poachers and scalawags, Silas was doomed to a lifetime of prisons and scorn. He'd seen that at the age of seven when he'd watched his Uncle Milo fall from a scaffold with a thud. Third poacher uncle to hang since Silas' birth.

Last January a letter arrived from the Earl. Not a title but rather an offer of work and lodging. Aha! A Dracauli plucked from obscurity. Those hopes died when the Earl was murdered.

Now at a fierce little altar he'd built in his shed, Silas began his incantations to the Earl. He presented goat cheese and bread, oranges and corn. England and it's impossible cast system would fail and fall. Saint Ferdinando could now lead an army of wounded peasants.



First published: November 2015
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