Raven’s Rise

by Cole, Elizabeth

  Then de Vere stood in front of Rafe. The older man’s expression was one of wonder, not anger. “Rafe, you have come back.”

  “By chance, my lord,” Rafe said. Despite everything that had happened, it still felt natural to defer to Lord Rainald de Vere. “Circumstances brought me to Cleobury for a short time.”

  “You have not come to stay?”

  Rafe glanced at Alric as he said, “I do not wish to trouble the household further, my lord. I plan to leave as soon as…” He trailed off. What was holding him here? Angelet was already being cared for by Cecily, and she could not be in better hands. Rafe had no claim on her, and no reason to linger. Yes, he’d promised earlier to help her get her son back. But that was before all this happened. Alric and Cecily would be better allies even for that task. “I’ll leave when you’re done with me, my lord.”

  “Then you’ll stay for a little while more. For I have much to say to you.” Rainald spoke kindly, but there was no mistaking the order.

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  Cecily said, “You must want to wash off the road, Father.”

  “So I do! And I hope supper will be prepared, for we’re all famished.”

  As evening fell, everyone gathered in the great hall. The return of the manor’s lord meant that the kitchen went to extra effort, and it was rather like a holiday, there was so much food and drink.

  However, toward the end of the meal, Rainald gestured to Rafe, in a wordless order to join him. Rafe did.

  “Now that I’ve finally got you here,” the lord said, “it’s time we speak. Follow me.”

  Alric, who was seated next to Rainald, asked if he ought to join them.

  Rainald shook his head. “Rafe and I will speak alone.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Sure as I am the lord of Cleobury.”

  That ended any more argument from Alric, though he watched Rafe as the two men left the hall.

  “Alric worries overmuch, don’t you think?” Rainald noted, as if they had conversations like this every day.

  Rafe said, “Were I in his position, I wouldn’t trust me.”

  “Alric knows only part of the story.” Rainald opened the door to his private study and Rafe followed him in, sitting as instructed. The older man went on, “And indeed, you know only part of the story.”

  “Part of what story?”

  “The story of your past. My dear boy,” de Vere said with a heavy sigh, “I must beg your forgiveness.”

  “Ah…what?” As far as Rafe knew, he was the one who briefly allied himself with Rainald’s traitorous brother Theobald. Rafe was the one who nearly murdered Rainald’s future son-in-law, and it was Rafe who treated Cecily shamefully when she should have been able to rely on him. “You owe me nothing, my lord.”

  “Oh, I do. I’ve thought of you so often since I returned to Cleobury. How I wish I could have done things differently. Through my carelessness, I have stolen from you.”

  “My lord Rainald,” Rafe said. “You are mistaken. I have nothing to my name. How could you have stolen anything from me?”

  The older man smiled. “If only it were so. The truth is that I failed you, Rafe. There was so much I should have told you before. But you were a young boy, and I didn’t want to burden you. Then I was forced to flee Cleobury when my brother moved to usurp me, and all seemed lost.”

  “You returned. Thanks to Alric and Octavian.”

  De Vere nodded sadly. “But then you left so quickly, and things were so turbulent here. By the time I realized I had to speak to you, no one could find you.”

  “Alric said you hired men to go after me.”

  “I did, but you’re a hard man to find. I think providence has led you back here, so I could share what I should have shared so long ago.”

  “I don’t understand. What is so important? What do you know that you didn’t tell me?”

  “Listen,” de Vere said. “I must tell you a story. It may seem overlong, but it is necessary.”

  Rafe sat back, not at all sure what to expect.

  “Once,” Rainald began, “during the reign of King Henry, a rebellion rose up, as happens to all kings in all times. This one took place among some of the Marcher lords and their dubious Welsh allies. Naturally the king could not allow the rebellion to grow, so he sent men to quell the uprising.

  “One of those men was a knight by the name of Sir Michael, who commanded a company so loyal that they were once rumored to have all swam across an icy river at night at his order, just to be in place at the battlefield by dawn. Now, during this rebellion, his task was to besiege the castle of one of the rebel lords. Dhustune was a most formidable prize—built high upon a rocky cliff-face, with stout walls and a natural defense of boggy land at the base of the cliff to one side. A siege would be long and difficult, but Sir Michael was a patient soldier.

  “He first worked to cut off supply lines and seal up the castle from any outside assistance. Everyone settled in for a long siege. However, the rebel lord was a subtle and tricky man. He took advantage of a dreadful rainy night, when even the most dedicated sentries were less willing and able to keep a sharp eye out. He took his immediate family and a few retainers, and snuck out of the castle in the black of night. They managed to reach the edge of the bog when a sentry finally sighted them. An alarm was sounded and Sir Michael’s men gave chase.

  “The lord and nearly all of his people escaped into the woods—they knew the pathways better than the attackers. However, by chance, one person was captured. Lady Clare, the daughter of the lord, was brought to Sir Michael.

  “Now this was like discovering a key to a lock. Sir Michael had a fine hostage in the lady Clare. He ordered the soldiers guarding Castle Dhustune to open the gates, lest Lady Clare be killed. What else could they do, given such a choice?

  “They opened the gates and surrendered to spare their lady’s life. This shifted everything in Sir Michael’s favor. After only a few weeks of siege-work, the knight captured the castle with scarcely any losses, and now he had a noble hostage of the rebel side, rendering the rebel lord’s escape almost moot. He took over Castle Dhustune in the name of the king, and sent word that he had Lady Clare, to be ransomed once terms could be reached. The king and the rebel lords would negotiate for her worth, and in the meantime, it was Michael’s responsibility to keep the noble hostage safe.

  “He took this responsibly very seriously, but Lady Clare was treated with all the courtesy due to her class and station. She was a sort of guest in her own home. Now, ransoms can take a long time to raise, and the negotiations would likely take months. This left plenty of time for Sir Michael and Lady Clare to get to know each other.

  “This they did, for they were close in age and station. Over the weeks and months, their feelings grew from wariness to mutual regard to respect, and then of course to that most dangerous feeling…love. Sir Michael knew that Lady Clare was utterly unavailable to him, for so many reasons. Yet he had grown to love her most desperately. He might have been able to hide his feelings, but then Lady Clare herself forced his hand.

  “She used a secret means to flee the castle one night. Sir Michael learned of her departure and gave chase. He found her quickly enough, in the woods past the castle. He asked her why she ran. Did she receive some secret signal from her father? Did she fear for her life? Had Michael harmed her or insulted her in any way? He’d done all he could to make her life comfortable and safe. As a hostage, she was in no physical danger.

  “The lady confessed that she ran not because she feared Michael, but herself. For weeks, she fought her own heart, for she had grown to love Sir Michael for his strength and great kindness and courtly manners. She fled the castle, knowing that she could no longer hide her feelings and her own desperate desire for a man she was supposed to hate.

  “Naturally, once they both understood each other’s hearts, the next step was inevitable. Michael took Clare back to Castle Dhustune, concealed her attempted escape, and promised to love
her and serve her in any way he could without breaking his oath to the king. They began a secret affair, too much in love to wait any longer. A few months later, the lady Clare discovered she was with child.”

  De Vere fell silent for a long moment, taking a drink after the long speech.

  Having listened in perplexed silence so far, Rafe said, “So that’s my past? I’m that child. Bastard of a hostage and the soldier sent to watch her.”

  “My boy, you must learn patience,” de Vere told him. “I’m not done with my story. Your parents’ love for each other was great, and so was their honor. Your father would never allow the woman he loved to be shamed, or for his child to be born as a bastard.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Your parents married.”

  “Married?” Rafe took a long breath.

  “Yes. In secret, in the Castle Dhustune, by a priest they knew and trusted, for he’d been priest to Lady Clare for years. He married them, and swore to keep the ceremony secret until Sir Michael could properly explain what had occurred to his own family, and to Lady Clare’s, and to the king. It was a delicate balance, you see. Sir Michael did not want to give an enemy an advantage due to the unsanctioned marriage. Nor did he want to risk King Henry’s wrath with the news that he’d married the daughter of a rebel! He wanted to speak to the king directly first, hoping to soften the blow.”

  “Obviously, something went wrong.”

  “Yes. I’ll tell you how it happened, but first I must confess that I erred greatly. You see, I knew part of the story for a very long time. You came to Cleobury as a boy, and that was because your mother had long before asked me to watch over you.”

  “You knew who my mother was from the first?” Rafe tried to keep his feelings in check, but it was hard. Even he never knew that! He’d been raised by a family of tenant farmers that treated him well enough, but admitted he wasn’t their son.

  “I knew that you were Lady Clare’s child,” de Vere said. “Back then, I didn’t know the name of your father, or that you were born legitimate. A trusted servingwoman to Lady Clare brought you to Cleobury, and from her I was given the name of the priest and told to seek him out. But before I could contact him, my own life was upended.”

  “I remember.” Rafe would never forget the night they all thought Rainald de Vere had died, though in reality he’d been forced to flee his home and family.

  “As you can imagine,” Rainald said, “survival was my first goal in those years, and I had no means to pursue the matter of your birth. But I did not forget. When I was restored as the lord of Cleobury, I set about rectifying the many injustices brought about by my brother Theobald’s actions.

  “Though you’d left soon after my restoration, I knew I still owed you the truth. I did find the priest, and heard his story. I had him dictate his testimony, which was witnessed and signed. There will be no dispute as to the legitimacy of the marriage or your birth. I wish that I could also tell you that you are due to inherit lands or some chattel, but alas, I have only your history to give you.”

  “That’s enough.” Rafe was stunned by the revelation that his parents were married. He’d lived his whole life under the assumption that he was a bastard, completely unwanted and unneeded. That belief shaped his entire existence. It was why he fought for everything he wanted, because he knew no one would give him anything, he had to take it. “Wait. No, it’s not! What happened to my parents?”

  “Ah, I forgot to say. Sir Michael left Castle Dhustune, precisely for the purpose of joining the king and reporting all that happened. But on the way, he and his companions—he rode with only a few men, for speed’s sake—were killed in a skirmish. It was not certain if the attackers were masterless men, or a group sent by the rebel lords. But the result was the same.

  “Lady Clare was devastated when she heard, and fled the castle herself, for she no longer trusted her own family to treat her well once they learned she married a knight from the opposing side and was carrying his child. She went to live with a tenant family she trusted, who lived far from the castle.”

  “The Fowler family.” That was who raised him.

  “Exactly. She went there because she had known the family since she was a young girl. At their home, she hid. She bore you, and named you Raphael, an angelic name like your father’s. She had sent word to my wife of the news—they had known each other, and Lady Clare trusted her. My Matilidis told her to come to us with the baby, that we would protect you both as needed. Clare was too wary though. She said she felt safer hiding with the humble tenant family. I think she would have been persuaded in time. But she died when you were only about two years old. I expect you never had any memories of her.”

  “None.” Rafe always tried to forget his early childhood. Now he regretted doing so.

  “You have her coloring, that same dark hair. But the eyes are your father’s gift, I am told. Even as an infant, you charmed everyone who saw you. A harbinger of things to come. When you were old enough, I sent for you. I hoped that by training you as a knight, I might give you the same legacy your own father would have.”

  “So you wanted me here.”

  “Of course! Who would leave a child among strangers if they could prevent it? I blame myself for withholding the partial news from you while you were a child, but I wanted to discover the whole story, in order to pass it on to you. Then my own brother usurped me here, and I thought I’d lost everything, all my connections to my blood and my friendships. In truth, I forgot about your difficulties in the midst of my own. And then you fled from Cleobury after my return. By the time I remembered how vital it was to speak with you, you were gone.”

  Rafe closed his eyes, thinking of how impetuous he’d been. “I should have stayed.”

  “Don’t berate yourself for what you might have done differently. It’s a fool’s game, and unwinnable.”

  “I wasted years of my life, when I could have known the truth. I kept running. I assumed Alric sent men after me to drag me back to face justice for my crimes.”

  “No, it was my doing. I asked him to help me find you…though he hoped to find you anyway, for his own reasons.”

  “I thought you meant to punish me.”

  “No, dear boy. I only wanted to give you what you should have already had. A name. Two names.”

  “Michael and Clare,” Rafe said slowly, testing the sound of them.

  “Wait, did I not say? His family name was Corviser, and he always used the device of the raven. A play on the Latin word for raven: corvus.”

  Rafe laughed out loud. Had some remnant of his father managed to influence Rafe’s choice of the raven for his own symbol? He chose it all on his own, back when he was training with Luc and Alric. Rafe and raven sounded similar enough that when his name was shouted across a practice field, or a battlefield, it often sounded like raven. But perhaps there was something more to it. Had his mother told him of his history when he was so young that he had no conscious memory of it, yet it settled into the recesses of his mind, ready to be called up?

  “So I’m my father’s son,” he said quietly.

  “Perhaps an angel took an interest in you, Rafe, though you always behaved like a young devil. You survived how many battles? Formidable fighter you may be, it’s not all skill that saved you. It was grace.”

  “Grace, and having Alric and Luc to watch my back.” Rafe grew somber once again. “Where was the angel when I decided to betray my friends?”

  “Closer than you think. You stayed your hand when the moment came, didn’t you? You could have killed, and you chose not to. You never truly lost your moral center. You just…muffled its voice for a while.”

  “I need to think about this,” Rafe said, standing up. He felt light-headed, even dizzy. Was this how Angelet felt when one of her visions came upon her? Surely this story counted as a revelation?

  At the thought of Angelet, Rafe suddenly found it hard to breathe. He had a name now. He didn’t have to be just the soldier paid to es
cort Angelet across the channel. Now he could be more, if she would let him.

  “I need to go,” he said to de Vere. “I need to find someone.”

  “I know the feeling,” the older man said, with a smile. “Good night, Sir Raphael.”

  Chapter 28

  After Rafe had gone away with de Vere, Angelet lost all ability to focus on the simplest conversations at supper. She wanted to be in the room with Rafe. She wanted to hear what de Vere thought so important that he chased Rafe for months on end to tell him. She could only imagine that it was connected, in some way, to the fateful action he’d taken against Alric. But she couldn’t puzzle out what it might be.

  As she often did when her mind was in a tumult, she sought the dim, silent peace of the chapel. The one at Cleobury was deserted when she entered that evening, since the priest had just celebrated the office of Compline, and would not return until the late night office of Lauds, following the endless, reassuring cycle of holy hours.

  Out of long practice, Angelet lit one of the candles at the base of the altarpiece and said a prayer to Mary, asking for protection for her son, Henry. “I cannot watch over him, so I appeal to you, Mother of God. Though I am unworthy, I beg you for aid. I love him so, and all I want is to know he’s safe and well.”

  Then, she sank to her knees in front of the altar. The candles cast steady, gold beams of light into the space. She bent her head and closed her eyes, praying silently. The rote Latin took only a moment, leaving her mind to wander. Angelet often spoke to Mary, using French or even English as the words came to her. For years, these one-sided conversations were her only safe way to pour out her sorrow and her worry. She always asked Mary and her army of saints to watch over young Henry, who Otto had so deftly snatched away from Angelet. She prayed for her distant family, wondering where they were and how they fared, and why no word from them ever reached her. Most of all, she prayed for an end to the royal squabble that affected her life along with so many others.