Rebel

by Linda Windsor

  Aye, he was all that—broken and human.

  “But we are forgiven. And I have no doubt,” she said with a gentle smile, “that you, like Jeremiah, who never thought himself up to the task at hand, will try, and that God will enable you and be with you as He was with Jeremiah, in triumph and in storm. Elsewise, we all might be lost.”

  Again, the queen seemed to drift away. Her almond-shaped eyes closed, and dark lashes fanned upon her pale cheeks. She faced the Enemy through prayer, Alyn knew. How long had it been since he had been able to do the same? Such a battle came harder when the enemy was himself.

  Chapter Five

  With the red dragon flying on white banners in the stiff breeze, Arthur led his mounted warband through the main gate of Stone Castle just as the sun peeked over the eastern hills, casting a golden glow on a landscape recently back to life after the Long Dark. Archbishop Cassian rode with the Dux Bellorum, a mark of the urgency, since the high priest usually traveled in the comfort of his coach. The rest of the entourage, their wagons laden with supplies, would follow in three days, escorted by the queen’s troops.

  About the somber column, the browns of winter gave way to a joyful myriad of greens while wildflowers burst forth in bright yellows and pastels of every shade. By the time the sun made its full claim to the sky, the riders were on the Roman road that ran north toward the old wall binding the neck of land between the Solway and the Clyde.

  Riding between the front and rear guards, Alyn took note of cumulus skirts gathered tight about the feet of the ascending hills to the north. If they stayed there, the journey to Strighlagh would take a pleasant, if cool, three days. If not, the progress would be slow and cold. Wet misery would engulf king and commoner alike. Thankfully, there would be stops along the way at night where the king might enjoy the warmth of a great hall, and his company at least the cover of stables.

  With a shriek that startled Alyn from his observations, Fatin leapt from his shoulder across the space between two mounts—provided by the queen—to land in Daniel’s lap.

  “What do you want, mischief?” Daniel grumbled playfully. He reached in his food pouch for a pinch of bread. The monkey’s dark eyes fixed on the highlander’s hand until Daniel produced the treat. Grabbing it with both tiny fists, Fatin nibbled away as if it were the finest delicacy.

  “You spoil him,” Alyn chided. “He complained most of the night from so many treats.” While Alyn spoke to the queen, Fatin, under Daniel’s care, had become quite the fascination in Arthur’s hall, especially among the ladies.

  “Then he’s too charming for his own good,” Daniel observed. “Most animals have more sense than to overindulge.” He touched his temple with a rueful grimace. “Unlike we humans.”

  Judging by the deep circles under his eyes, the highlander had clearly spent too long listening to the assembly of talented bards and partaking of the High King’s heath fruit. Alyn, upon at last hearing the great Taliesen of Rheged give Merlin Emrys his due praise, had wisely taken Fatin and retired to their reserved nook, for the space in the upstairs dormer at a nearby inn could hardly be called a room. There exhaustion’s balm silenced the doubts and prayers vying for his conscious thought.

  Without warning, Fatin grabbed at the lead line of one of the two packhorses trailing behind Daniel and yanked, causing the horse to bob its head in annoyance. These were another courtesy of Gwenhyfar, to carry the gifts Alyn had brought from the East for his family. And the cargo even more precious hidden among them.

  “Easy, laddie,” Daniel warned, taking the rope from the precocious animal. Baring a toothy smile, the monkey leapt to Daniel’s shoulder.

  “You must admit, Fatin is more charming than that contrary badger you had back at Llantwit,” Alyn said, referring to their days at the university. “No one would come into our lodge.”

  “Precisely,” Daniel shot back. “Unlike some”—he cut a sidewise glance at Alyn—“who would while the night away waxing eloquent on the thoughts of men long dead, I like my sleep … and my privacy.”

  “You didn’t seem to mind overindulging in hospitality last night.”

  “A good beer and rousing bardic verse make an enormous difference.” Daniel snorted. “Truly, some of your colleagues could bore the dead stump of a tree.”

  “Not a scholarly bone in your body,” Alyn teased.

  “Hah! I’ve learned far more from nature than I did from those eye-blinding books and droning masters. And she has a far more beautiful voice.” Daniel held out his arm, and Fatin bounded back to Alyn without hesitation. “I suspect your bairn needs a nap.”

  “Why me?” Alyn complained as the monkey wormed his way beneath Alyn’s cloak. There Fatin squirmed and grunted until Alyn helped him settle into his sling. Alyn had never been one for pets as Hassan or Daniel were. “If it wouldn’t have insulted my Arab friend, I’d never have accepted the little beast.”

  “So you’ve said. But everyone needs companionship. You’re no exception,” Daniel observed. “And he certainly needs a mam.”

  “I’m not his mam,” Alyn protested. “Perhaps you’d like to add Fatin to your menagerie of animals.”

  “He’s a heathen. A hearth-lover like yourself.” Daniel narrowed his gaze at Alyn. “And whether you admit it or nay, you’re attached to the strange little beastie.”

  “I’m responsible for him,” Alyn emphasized, “but I’d gladly pass him along to a good home.” Inside Alyn’s cloak, the monkey heaved a huge sigh and snuggled against his chest as if to get closer than skin itself.

  While Daniel fell into whistling a nondescript tune, Alyn’s thoughts wandered back to his parting conversation with Gwenhyfar. The first sunlight brought out the raven-wing sheens of blue and purple in her unbound hair, but, like Daniel, her face had betrayed the weariness of a sleep-deprived night.

  “Now stop trying to be so perfect,” she advised, “and let God do the rest.” She was right, but she hadn’t been careless with her responsibilities. Not like Alyn. “Your doubts are naught but the pangs of a sore and grieving heart.”

  Alyn had not taken the trivialization of his feelings lightly. “Have you caused another’s death by frivolous negligence?” he’d challenged.

  Gwenhyfar pondered the question for so long that Alyn found himself wondering now what thoughts had so furrowed her smooth brow and stilled her tongue.

  “Not yet,” she’d answered at last, but more to herself than to Alyn. A pall of resignation fell over her. “Frivolity is denied one in my position. Now I wonder if it was worth it.”

  “It isn’t,” Alyn averred. He’d learned the hard way, though in his case, his sin was ambition. But wasn’t all sin folly? To think, he’d wanted to be like the highly esteemed Eastern scholar, the same one who’d turned upon him, almost ready to torture Alyn for the secret to the explosion. “Death is preferable to the shame and regret paid for a moment’s glory.”

  “Try, then repent, and try again,” she snapped, her impatience equal to his. With a glance in the direction of the leather bags containing the books, hidden in the exotic bolts of fabric for his sisters-by-law, Brenna and Sorcha, she regained her composure. “God will be ever with you,” she added with more calm, “but you must listen carefully.”

  Still, urgency infected his cousin’s dark gaze as she passed along the last of his instructions. He was to deliver the packages to Mairead, a priestess who resided in the village above the base of Mount Seion near Fortingall.

  It was rumored that the mountain had once been home to the ancient watermen, first-century Jewish Christians so called because of their practice of baptism. Merlin Emrys spoke in awe of the knowledge hidden within the bowels of the holy mountain, calling it Albion’s Mount Moriah.

  Alyn fingered the rope Gwenhyfar had given him, now tied about his waist. It was a belt, knotted in a pattern that spoke volumes to those with the ancient knowledge. The intricate knots not only vouched for the trustworthiness of the bearer but served as prayer reminders.

 
“This belonged to Merlin Emrys,” she’d told him. “The abbess Ninian sent it to help you pass unharmed among the Picts. ’Twill take you farther than our kinship.”

  The frustration and intimidation that overwhelmed Alyn as he’d donned the precious token revisited him, prickling at skin and spirit. Merlin’s belt!

  God, You continue to heap labors upon these unworthy shoulders, when all I seek is rest and refuge.

  “So go with Arthur,” Gwenhyfar had instructed. “Stand for me, cousin, when I cannot.” She kissed his cheek, a touch light as the brush of her heavy morning robes against his boots. “Godspeed.”

  Stand for me, cousin, when I cannot.

  The queen’s choice of words struck him odd, now that Alyn had time to think about it. She and her company would follow in just a few days, and she could speak for herself. He scowled, searching deeper into the morning’s recollection. It was almost as if Gwen was preoccupied by something in the future. Something she feared she would regret.

  But what?

  When the sun peaked in the sky, the Dux Bellorum’s party stopped long enough to water and rest the horses. Wildflowers and golden gorse spotted the slopes around them as though artfully planted to create a most pleasing effect. Daniel was right in saying that nature’s free-growing garden was as lovely as Gwenhyfar’s well-tended one.

  While Alyn and Daniel took the midday meal with Arthur’s companions in a sunbaked glen, grooms and squires tended their steeds in the shade along the edge of a stand of trees curbed by a babbling brook. The warriors speculated about what awaited them as they took advantage of the sun’s warmth and enjoyed the brief repast.

  “I’m thinkin’ by the time we arrive at Strighlagh, the bulk of our missin’ men’ll be there to meet us,” one of Arthur’s warriors observed.

  “Aye,” agreed another. “I’ve known it to take weeks, even months, for a scattered army to regroup and find their way back to their home after a battle.”

  “’Twould be a blessing if all this fretting was worry over nothing,” Archbishop Cassian pronounced solemnly. “Let us pray it is so.” He lowered his head, the shaven circle on the crown of his head shining like a mirror, and crossed himself in prayer.

  Alyn did as well. Old habits were hard to break. In doing so, he caught Cassian’s eye. Before Alyn could extract himself from the group, the bishop made his way to where Alyn and Daniel sat.

  “Greetings, good sirs,” the archbishop exclaimed. “The Lord has given us a magnificent day for travel, has He not?”

  “A bluebird day, sir,” Daniel acknowledged politely. He rose with Alyn in respect. Fatin cautiously crawled up on the Gowrys’ shoulder and returned the archbishop’s curious study of him.

  “I am told that you are the queen’s cousin and a priest of the British church,” Cassian said to Alyn. “Yet you do not wear the tonsure of such an educated man, nor the robes of one of God’s servants.”

  “I do not think a certain cut of a man’s hair or his clothing is necessary to distinguish a servant of our Lord,” Alyn replied. “Better his example do so.”

  “Quite so, quite so,” the archbishop agreed. “But to earn the right to wear them is a mark of honor.”

  “Mayhap, but I have relinquished that right and taken my leave of the church service. At least, for a while.” He didn’t know why, but Alyn felt compelled to explain himself. “Perhaps my calling in God’s service lies elsewhere.”

  “Has the study in the East lured you away from the Truth?” Cassian asked.

  Fatin moved behind Alyn’s head to the opposite shoulder as though playing hide-and-seek.

  “For what appears as truth may not be so,” Cassian said. “Your pet appears close to a human babe, dressed as it is. Yet, for all its engaging manner, it is still a beast.”

  “But just as much trouble.” Alyn brushed the monkey’s hand aside as it reached for the wolf’s-head brooch fastening his cloak in place. The glitter of the wolf’s small ruby eyes was a continuous source of fascination for Fatin.

  “All knowledge has its merit … but only in the hands that God has prepared to receive it,” the archbishop stipulated. “Genesis is the prime example of gaining knowledge and losing God.” A seemingly innocent glance from Cassian in the direction of Alyn’s packhorses caused a wary prickle at the nape of Alyn’s neck.

  Were the books the knowledge Cassian alluded to, knowledge best left in the Roman Church’s hands? Or did Alyn accept the conversation at face value?

  Refusing to follow the archbishop’s gaze, Alyn exclaimed, “I cannot agree with you more, Your Grace. But forgive my lack of manners. ” He turned to Daniel. “I don’t believe you have met my good friend Daniel of Gowrys.”

  “A subclan of your Glenarden, no?” the archbishop asked.

  So the archbishop had made it his business to find out about Alyn and his company. Had his and the queen’s parting been observed? Alyn wondered.

  “Aye,” Daniel affirmed. “And close enough to stand shoulder to shoulder with our O’Byrne brothers for God and Arthur.”

  “Then God and I are pleased.” The archbishop extended his bejeweled hand for Daniel to kiss.

  The only hand the highlander had ever kissed was that of a bonnie lassie. Disconcerted, Daniel cocked one brow at the archbishop, hesitating.

  Fatin came to his rescue. The large glittering stones on Cassian’s ring had proven far more tempting than those in Alyn’s brooch. Before Alyn could choke up on the leash, Fatin abandoned his usual caution and leapt onto Cassian’s arm, grabbing at the precious cluster of stones. Startled, the archbishop staggered back and shook the animal away.

  “My deepest pardon, Your Worship.” Alyn hauled the monkey away and folded the protesting creature into his cloak. “Not only is Fatin a beast but a sinner beyond redemption.”

  The ever-present flock of black-robed colleagues shadowing the archbishop rushed to his aid, but Cassian waved them away. “I am fine, I am fine.” A hearty laugh softened his heretofore solemn countenance. “Perhaps the monkey needs more time in prayer and reflection.”

  Has Gwenhyfar misjudged this Roman? Alyn wondered, joining in the merriment.

  “I shall do my best for him, Your Grace,” he promised. “But as to your insinuation that sciencia has drawn me away from God, my answer is nay, never. I believe that the more one learns of creation, the closer one draws to the mind of the Creator.”

  Cassian nodded. “Well said, sir. But to learn too much, too fast … perhaps we should be certain that we are ready for such knowledge, lest it lead to harm rather than good.” He quoted First Corinthians. “For after that in the wisdom of God the world by wisdom knew not God.”

  Alyn stiffened involuntarily, not at the quote, but the implication of wisdom leading to harm. Had word of Abdul-Alim’s death reached the archbishop? A blinding flash and the smell of burning sulfur came to mind, still as real as it had been the day of the explosion. If Alyn had reached Carmelide from Baghdad, why not the tragic news that led to his departure?

  “I thank you for your wise counsel,” Alyn managed. Provided the archbishop did not equate man’s wisdom with sciencia, for creation was a product of God’s wisdom. “But for now, my only goal is to return to my homeland and reevaluate my calling.”

  Nearby, one of the warriors moved to the edge of the group to relieve himself. Nothing out of the ordinary, considering they were all men. But one of the groomsmen’s helpers lingering nearby bolted away as if stung by one of the hornets seeking the new blossoms at the edge of the wood.

  “We are few who have heard the call clearly and consistently since our first commitment,” Cassian replied, drawing Alyn back to the subject at hand. “Better to deal with your doubts now than later. However, if you should wish to speak about them to me, my son, I am more than willing to hear them. I have great respect for men of sciencia, even though my interest lies more in the Word.”

  “Your offer is indeed an honor, sir. I will keep it foremost in mind.” Alyn bowed his head tow
ard the archbishop, though he watched the hasty retreat of the young groomsman from the corner of his eye until the laddie disappeared into the thick underbrush.

  There was something odd about the way the lad walked. And the fact that he wore his hood drawn over his head despite the brilliance of the day.

  “Did you see that young groomsman shoot into the woods like his breeches were on fire?” Daniel asked after the archbishop had taken his leave to join Arthur again. “Blue shirt, dark trousers. Had a fine leather sling tied to his belt.”

  “Aye. Left his food behind.” Alyn searched at the spot where the lad had disappeared into the wood. “Could be sick.”

  “Could be a girl, the way he walked.”

  Alyn glanced at Daniel, startled. In no time, suspicion took root. Kella hadn’t said good-bye that morning, though Alyn attributed her absence due to a night in tears causing her to oversleep. Now …

  A deep chuckle rumbled from Daniel’s chest.

  “This is not the least bit humorous,” Alyn warned. “She’s clearly taken leave of her senses to directly disobey the queen.”

  “Have you ever known a woman to be reasonable when her mind is set on something?” Daniel asked.

  And Kella was the most stubborn of the women Alyn had ever met. If her genteel sensibilities had been offended by a man relieving himself, it served her right. His lips quirked. “Yon villain was likely the first man she’d ever laid eyes upon. Still,” he added, sobering, “best we find out for certain before she embarrasses—”

  A shout from the commander of Arthur’s guard interrupted Alyn, signaling the break was over. “With continuing weather, we’ll reach Lockwoodie by nightfall,” the commander informed the gathering.

  Lockwoodie and a fine tavern, if Alyn recalled right. At the moment, he was more concerned with finding Kella. Hands fisted, he struck off for the trees where she had disappeared, Daniel at his heel.

  By the time the men reached the edge of the wood, they were joined by a rush of riders who’d come to claim their horses. In the confusion, any hope of singling out Alyn’s foster sister was lost. She, if it was Kella O’Toole, was one groom lost among dozens of others who now assisted the warriors.