by Anne Beggs
Hubert sniffed and tilted his chin.
“Not cordial to let an army march through on the way to make war with one’s neighbors and allies,” Reginald said with eyes closed, as if envisioning such a folly.
“Was there any mention of the U’Connors?” Aine asked.
“The U’Connors were not mentioned. You should know more than I, your eldest sister is there. Do they still hold a grudge?”
She sighed. “Last she wrote, my sister said all was well, with the true Irish.”
“All the nobility is quarreling or feuding with each other without bias or reason,” Reginald added.
With a wry smile, Aine stroked Dilis. “My Lord, fatigue overcomes me. Forgive my weakness, but-”
Hubert raised a hand for silence.
“Daire,” Hubert called out. “Daire! It’s time to attend your lady.”
Aine’s sleepy attendant, Daire, rushed back into the chamber bowing, yawning, and bowing again.
“Shame upon me, quick as a hare, again, the shame is upon me, Lord,” Daire said, her eyes downcast as she scooted past Hubert and Reginald to attend to Aine.
This night Aine would share Hubert’s bedchamber, rather than retreat to her own. Reggie tried not to look as the servant brushed out his Lady Sister-in-Law’s braids. Married women always had their hair modestly braided, thus only here in the privacy of their chambers might Hubert behold the splendor. So beautiful and blonde it shone in the hearth light, any grey went undetected.
Aine rose and she, Daire and Dilis retreated to her chamber for a change into bed clothes.
“We too, eh, Hubert?” Reginald asked, standing in anticipation of preparing for bed.
“Us too. Dubh!” Hubert called to one of attendants. “Prepare a bed for my brother. I would have him spend this night near to hand. With his grace,” he said, turning to Reginald, watching his brother’s shoulders slump and jaw fall open.
“Awe, by the saints, I’m to be your esteemed guest, camping on the floor. Alone,” Reginald said. His mouth frowned, but his hazel eyes sparked mischief.
“You had other arrangements? Some dalliance I was unaware?” Hubert asked, lifting one side of his mouth in a sly smirk.
“Always,” Reginald and Hubert said together.
Dubh and the other attendants helped Reginald and Hubert out of their surcoats and hauberks and into bed clothes, for a good night’s slumber Hubert doubted he would enjoy.
Aine returned to the chamber, leaving Dilis behind. Hubert refused to share his bed with the little dog.
Cautiously Eloise eased herself off her bed. Gently her feet slid onto the floor and she moved quietly to straighten her bed covers. All this she did by the light of a single candle. Dragon thumped her tail on the bare stone floor, Beast joined her in their happy greeting. Still Eloise could barely hear the mighty tails over the snoring of her beloved Nurse and her husband Sean, both asleep noisily on a pallet on her chamber floor. Since birth, Eloise had hardly known a night without the devoted Nurse’s snores in her chamber.
Next Eloise carefully placed her psalter upon her bed, slightly open, spine up so the book resembled a house with a steep roof, a house of God. This was a sign for Nurse or her mother she was in the family chapel. A full night of prayer was the best way back into her father’s good graces. He had an uncanny instinct for how genuine her penitence was, so she was very motivated to show her remorse. She had sorrow for the anger upon him, and heartbreak for the disappointment she brought him.
Eloise folded a blanket over her arm. Taking her other beloved book from the shelf, and her shoes off the floor, she tenderly blew kisses to her sleeping nurse and Sean, leaving the slow burning candle to guide her exit. “Shush,” Eloise whispered to the dogs as she closed the door to her chamber, pleased she had made so little noise. The corridor was fair bright at this late hour. More sconces than usual illuminated the stone and wood passage. Beast and Dragon cast long shadows as they stretched their limbs, arched their backs and shook head to tail in anticipation of this nocturnal stroll, then wagged their tails in greetings.
“Evening, Cousin,” said a male voice.
Startled, Eloise clutched blanket and book to her breast. Slowly she turned to face Donegal, her mother’s sister’s third son. He leaned against the wall, blond hair to his shoulders, arms crossed, a smug expression. Next to him stood another cousin, Eoin. Both cousins had fostered in Dahlquin since boyhood. She had grown up with them.
“Evening,” she returned to Donegal. “Evening, Eoin.” He merely nodded his greeting. “I’m off to the chapel for a night of penance.” Pungent male odor and smoke tickled her nose.
“A night of penance for your impertinence, I hear tell,” Donegal said. “Now you’re adding mischief, Ellie.”
“I’ll pray extra hard,” she said, not lowering her gaze.
“You need a guard,” Donegal added. He attempted a stern demeanor, pushing off the wall, hands on his hips, challenging her to move toward the chapel. While he tried to think what to do, she knew.
“You go,” Eoin answered. “Doubt anyone’s available, Uncle Hubert doubled the watch, remember?”
In her distress, Eloise had forgotten about the heightened security, thus Donegal and Eoin. Everyone was on alert because of Tiomoid U’Neill’s army. Donegal and Eoin were capable guards and soldiers. Though not yet knighted, each had a sword and fighting dagger on his girdle. Without bleary eyes or slurred speech as other banquet revelers would possess.
“It’s best you stayed put tonight, Cousin,” Donegal offered.
Eloise sighed, attempting to wring her hands with woeful penitence, while clutching book and blanket. She needed their sympathy, not antagonism. “Surely Tiomoid U’Neill did not amass an army to storm Saint Anne’s Chapel,” she offered.
Donegal and Eoin exchanged glances.
“With your will,” she continued, “and would do me good to purge my soul before the altar. What if I was to die this very night, without a chance at redemption? I brought grievous anger upon my father,” she bowed her head solemnly. That she had. “Humility and subordination, before God.” Looking up with a smile Eloise added, “Beast and Dragon are with me, I’ll be safe in the chapel.”
“I disagree, you need a guard.” Donegal’s hazel eyes glared at her.
The dogs stretched and yawned. Eyes rolling, Eloise tried to rush her cousins before her parents awoke and forbade her leave. She needed to get this over with tonight. Patience, she reminded herself.
“As my father wishes, Donegal,” Eloise complied. “Would you escort me to the chapel and bear witness to my vigil? Guarding my body and soul?” she grinned. “By your will, Cousin,” she begged. It wasn’t her place to countermand her father, but here or the chapel Donegal still fulfilled his duty. She tried not to look impatient, but time was wasting.
“Send up Alsandair,” Eoin suggested. “He had far too much fun at the banquet.”
“A good suggestion, Alsandair,” Eloise agreed, “but-” she remembered, “not so much noise. Father doesn’t appreciate raucous dice playing when he is trying to sleep. I’ve enough trouble upon me.”
The three cousins smiled appreciatively with the memory. Alsandair had exuberant sport.
“Mayhap Alsandair should escort me,” Eloise added. “Sounds like he may be in need of prayer, himself.” She longed to ask her cousins what she missed at the banquet. It seemed the music played on hour upon hour. In the morning she would hear all about it, probably from people who would gloat over what her impertinence had cost, she thought pouting, brow crossed.
“We’ll find him, then decide.” Donegal offered to hold her blanket, and she accepted. He extended his other hand. Curtsying, Eloise placed her hand upon Donegal’s. With Beast and Dragon leading the way, Eloise and Donegal left her family’s private chambers and descended the spiral staircase to find Alsandair, then the chapel.
Alsandair emerged from a small chamber and was neither happy nor eloquent when ordered to escort Maid Eloise to
the chapel. The blond man stretched and scratched his ribs. “Just got off the gate,” he grumbled then yawned.
“The gate is it?” called an irritated female voice inside the chamber.
Donegal scowled at the indiscretion for her sake, Eloise knew.
Alsandair grinned. “There’s not a gate compares with yours, Lovey,” he called back to the chamber.
“Shut up! Both of you,” Donegal reprimanded, tipping his head towards Eloise with embarrassment.
She dismissed it with a shrug, trying to place the woman’s voice. Who was Lovey?
“It’s the chapel with the Maid,” Donegal said, tipping his head toward Eloise. “Or the bedchamber with Lord Hubert,” he said, tipping his head toward the residential tower. With a teasing grin, he added, “Your choice.”
Beast growled at something. Dragon followed his lead. Both dogs faced the residential tower warily. Eloise knelt down between them, arms wrapped around each. Patience, she reminded herself again, and humility. She stood, tidying her blue surcoat.
After a long, grumbling sigh Alsandair addressed Eloise. “Only the chapel? I don’t want back talk.” He tried to scowl.
Eloise nodded, pretended to wipe a tear, and clutched her prayer book to her chest once more.
“I don’t want to hear about universities or fucking- take my excuse-,” he glared, “nonsense.”
“Curse you, man, watch your tongue,” Donegal scolded.
Ducking to reenter the small doorway, Alsandair returned with his battle axe, leather girdle with dagger and scabbard in hand.
“Come on, then.” Alsandair stalked off toward the chapel. Eloise put a hand over her nose, eyes watering from his reek of sweat and ale. Fresh as roses were Eoin and Donegal compared to Alsandair. She and her two hounds followed at a safe distance behind. “Lovey,” he called back, “keep the bedding dry till I return, eh.”
“I’ll pray for you, too,” Eloise offered. For surely his sin before God was great, but not so great as the smell. “And for a bath,” she muttered under her breath, already thinking of the proper recitations for both of them.
“You do that,” Alsandair grumbled. Then after a moment, “By your will, you do that my Maiden.” Surely her prayers were potent, and who couldn’t use a well-placed word to God from one so favored as a Dahlquin?
The grounds within Dahlquin Castle were quiet and steady as the North Star. Silence broke only when the guards called their positions, walking the ramparts, studying the vast dark beyond the reach of their torchlight for any sign of movement. Eloise took comfort in the voices and security within the stone fortress. In places the walls were as thick as three mens’ length, the first line of defense. In daylight archers had good visibility and excellent range of shots through the crenellations and lancet windows without exposing themselves to danger. More men were needed to assault a castle than defend one.
Once inside the chapel Eloise lit a series of devotional candles and scented incense pots, releasing the ceremonious aromas so pleasing to God. Beast and Dragon set upon rats and mice. Eloise heard a cat hiss. “Leave it,” she called to the dogs, though she trusted Beast and Dragon to remember cats were part of the pack, most of the time.
Alsandair closed the door. Sat, then leaning against the door, so none could enter or exit, he closed his eyes.
Before starting her vigil in earnest, Eloise wrapped her blanket around Alsandair.
The cat howled and spit.
Opening one eye, he said, “Not necessary, may you have goodness, Maiden.”
Eloise thought he tried to shake his head, but she tucked the blanket around his head and shoulders anyway, smiling when he slumped.
Then she knelt before the altar, directing her prayers of remorse to Saint Anne, mother of the most venerated woman of all time, the Virgin Mary. Eloise recited all the virtues of a good daughter to the Saint, beseeching her to intercede and bestow her forgiveness. She begged the benevolent Saint to forgive and bless Alsandair who had given up a warm bed to stand guard for her. Silver lines of smoke rose gracefully from the candles as the penitent thought about the humility and obedience of the Virgin Mary, becoming the Mother of Christ. Did Eloise’s own father ask so much of her? Eloise questioned and resisted his bidding when it didn’t fit her own plans, her ideas. Eloise didn’t have plans, at least none she was at liberty to pursue.
The fragrance of the incense brought her back to her purpose: remorse and forgiveness. How could she trust her parents to know the will of God, when it felt so false in her heart? Shouldn’t she know best the will of God for her? She thought on the wisdom of Hildegard of Bingen, Abbess from Rupertsberg. The German mystic had preached the importance of pursuing God’s love with intellect and heart, for both were divine gifts from the Creator for humanity’s betterment and appreciation. Eloise held open the sacred book, one of her most treasured possessions, a gift from her mother’s mother.
Earnestly she prayed yet again for guidance; for a sign she was right, or wrong. For something. She inhaled the spicy aroma of the incense, willing it to clear her mind and open her heart to her purpose. She loved her parents, truly, was blessed with noble birth and all the privilege afforded those favored few. Why couldn’t she attend a university? Women went on pilgrimage all the way to Jerusalem, surely Cambridge or Paris were not so far away. Sons could make such a choice. It wasn’t a sin to learn, but a betterment of self and more knowledge to understand and do God's good work, surely. Did her own mother seek answers from the Saint: why Eloise wouldn’t be a good daughter? Kindness, charity, obedience. She started to rock back and forth thinking. Her knees begged she obey the pain upon them and seek a cushion. Too long had she knelt on the cold stone floor.
Carefully Eloise folded the fabric of her surcoat and chemise several times over to create some comfort. Her prayers continued, as did the fatigues of the day. Slowly she began to slump, then sit. Soon she was wrapped with the warmth of two hounds, her head rising and falling with their breathing. The candles burned on for some time, the incense filling the small chapel with thick sweetness.
DAHLQUIN CASTLE, BEFORE DAWN, 8th of June
The seven guests rose early, before the dawn. No one suspected their foul purpose. By design, they had drunk far less than it appeared. While it seemed they slept soundly, in actuality they gauged the pulse of the castle. Before light, they would execute the gatekeeper and guards, then open the gate to Tiomoid U’Neill’s army. They were mercenaries. Why not? They could be bought, their reward might be in land grants if the invading force were successful. To take Dahlquin would be a prize indeed. Remote enough that Lord FitzGilbert might not rush to its defense. What a message it would send to the rest of the Irish lords! This could be a stepping-stone to eventually taking the whole kingdom, or merely a good place to start one’s own realm. Or work out the details of a truce, keep Dahlquin, and be absorbed back into the old regime. There were many possibilities if the only loyalty was self-interest.
With silence and stealth, three of the mercenaries made their way through the grounds. Approaching the gatehouse was harder than they anticipated. Lord Hubert was a careful and thorough man. More sentries to be silenced than expected; still Hubert protected against an assault from without, not treachery within his very walls.
The other three assassins slunk to the residential tower. Much wine and flattery tricked a foolish laundress into revealing the locations of the bedchambers of the lord, lady and their daughter. With the Dahlquins gone, taking the castle would be much easier. Dare they dream of a smooth takeover?
Invade the castle, declare themselves the lords, and demand allegiance. Give the new subjects a chance to live by swearing their fealty to the new overlord: Tiomoid U’Neill. This plan had so many inherent possibilities.
Returning from the chapel, Donegal’s mind was full of doubt. Should he have stayed with Eloise, sending Alsandair to join Eoin? He checked in with all the posts through the castle on his way. All was quiet as it should be. Nonsense, he chided himself,
Eloise was secure. When he heard a foot fall behind him, Donegal turned half expecting to see Alsandair, dice in hand, begging to trade duty. Donegal’s mouth was covered, his head yanked back. As the assailant behind cut his throat, another held his legs firmly. Eoin! his mind screamed: he could picture his alert cousin, feel his own failure to duty, Uncle… Donegal struggled in vain as his lifeblood pumped furiously from his body. Panic overrode any pain until weakness, darkness, cold and the final humiliation of evacuation ended his days.
The residential tower was quiet again. Donegal’s body was left sitting as if asleep, his padded gambeson absorbing the thick, spent blood, but not the stench of filth. Tiny pairs of eyes watched the body. Rats drawn by the smell inched from the hidden depths, cautious only of the cat’s return, or one of the dogs.
“Lord Hubert’s grown soft,” Davydd whispered, Eoin’s murdered body at his feet.
“Overconfident in the Dahlquin image of invincibility,” Byron muttered, standing outside Maid Eloise’s very door.
“Tenacity,” Davydd whispered, smirking.
“Careless. Undeserving,” Byron mouthed.
Wordlessly, Davydd nodded to Byron and a flick of his thumb to the next door indicated the squire enter Lady Aine’s chamber.
With the two guards dead, Davydd moved to Hubert’s bedchamber.
Byron slipped into the heir’s bedchamber. It was dark but not silent. Snoring rattled the furnishings. His hair stood on end. Neither guards, nor hounds. Barely enough light glowed from the candle to illuminate two sleeping figures on the floor. Nursemaids, perhaps? The bed was empty, unslept in. Byron quietly felt around anyway, for any form. Only a book. He scanned the room, making a thorough search. Armed as he was it was impossible to be silent. One of the sleepers roused.
“Princess, dear, is that you? Elo-” Nurse was sliced near in half.
The commotion woke the other sleeper. The red-haired assassin grabbed for the man’s head in the dark. Sean felt a large hand cover his mouth and part of his nose. A dagger pressed cold and sharp on his throat. Was it wet, Sean wondered? Blood? His?