King Henry VIII was returning from a skirmish against the French when he heard a group of his honor guard talking.
“... can’t win against the French.”
“Lower your voice, imbecile. If anyone hears you you are a dead man walking.”
A third guard whispered with a cautious look around, “He’s right you know. King Henry has won before in France but it’s different this time. France has more power than it did 10 years ago. The Lion could’ve handled them in the past but no longer.”
Before Henry would’ve stopped and made an example of soldiers who dared to question his leadership but the number of men under his command was rapidly dwindling. Mutiny was like a bad taste that wouldn’t go away. It spread through camp like a disease, infecting minds and undermining the soldiers will to fight.
He thought of the threat of mutiny, the threat of disease and starvation, and the threat of defeat at the hands of the French. King Henry was no stranger to war but he was a stranger to mutiny and had never been defeated. When he had marched into France it was summer and morale was high, now it is autumn and leaves are falling and the smell of decaying plant matter mingles with the reek of overflowing latrines. His men, men he had commanded victoriously, were dying and with their last breaths cursing his name.
Henry knew what he had to do to find answers for his battered army. He kicked his horse into a trot, leaving behind the throng of men from lesser bloodlines that always shuffled behind a king hoping to win favors. He ignored the shouts they offered up and kept riding towards the dark forest the soldiers called Blackwood.
After a soldier had lost himself in the dense undergrowth and towering black barked trees and emerged insane King Henry’s men refused to enter and claimed it was a devil wood. Henry himself was wary of the forest. It made one feel like someone was watching from a distance with an unwavering gaze, never blinking and never ceasing.
Henry had led a party deep into the forest to look for a source of food. There was no trace of any kind of animals, only a pair of words, SHE RULES, carved deep into the bark of a pure white tree that marked the entrance of a rundown fort. King Henry’s men refused to enter; Henry had commanded soldiers long enough to know when men have reached their breaking points. All his men had terror etched onto their faces and hatred in their eyes for the man who brought them into a damned forest.
Henry had not been able to get the image of the white tree and the fort out his mind. As he laid down for sleep he heard a woman’s voice whispering She Rules in his dreams and saw the entrance of the fort. He felt an almost uncontrollable desire to return there to confront whoever She was and to find answers he so desperately needed.
When Henry got to the edge of the forest he swung down from atop his horse and continued on foot. The black trees and dark underbrush were calling his name and swaying in time to the autumn breeze. He followed the winding and narrow path that led to the base of the fort walls. As he drew closer his apprehension grew. What was beyond that archway was subject to his imagination. Each imagining was more terrifying than the last and brought him closer to turning around. He broke into a jog, armor clanking, trying to stay ahead of the terrible thoughts that threatened to paralyze him where he stood.
His eyes instantly recognized the almost blinding juxtaposition of the brilliantly white tree against the dark bluish grey of the fort walls. Henry slowed down and approached the archway carefully, peering inside. The walls of the fort were arranged around a courtyard with a large beautifully sculpted fountain in the middle. There was a strange power to the place. A sense of something being disturbed that shouldn’t be.
“Hello?”
A familiar woman’s voice answered, “Hello, my majesty.”
Henry stammered out, “Queen Catherine? My lady wife? This cannot be. You died at the hand of the French filth. I came to this god-awful land to seek revenge.”
Catherine answered back, “My king, my death was an unfortunate accident, King Francis I cannot be blamed. I beg of you to stop the needless killing. Please, promise me you will take the army home to England.”
“I am weary of war, weary of death, weary of mutinous looks but I can’t let your death go unanswered.”
“You must. If you keep fighting your men will turn against you and you are no king without an army to command. Now go.”
Catherine disappeared in a bright flash of light; Henry was left standing in the courtyard. He saw the sense in her words. He stood for a little while more remembering Catherine's voice and the joy she used to bring him.
Henry emerged from the forest when dusk was replacing day and a rain was starting to fall. He galloped back to camp to bring his army the news that they were leaving this bitter land for their home.