“Also, I understand several of the lads in Cardinal Teodorico’s entourage have requested you for their dubbing at their knighting ceremony. I’ve invited them and Sir Lucan to drill with us. Try not to disappoint them. I’ll be monitoring nearby, but Sir Bisch, Sir Waylan, and Sir Brian will be there to help you out on the nuances if you need it.”
Patrick nodded solemnly, adding, “I won’t let you down.”
“Perfect,” Corbin said, pleased. “Those boys need all the help they can get.”
Patrick followed his gaze over the crowd and noted the squires Jakob and Josef sitting at a table with the Ladies Katherina and Lilliana. Even from here Patrick could tell the youngsters were trying their best to impress the women. The Lady Katherina covered her mouth with her hand as her shoulders trembled with contained amusement, and the Lady Lilliana shook her head as Jakob leaned towards her with hands over heart. Patrick heard a few snippets of lame poetry.
“Well, you can’t say they shy away from a challenge,” Corbin said.
“Aye, they went straight for the prize in the room,” Patrick agreed, shaking his head at the boys’ audacity.
“Were we ever so young and foolish?” Corbin asked, turning to Patrick.
Patrick made a face.
They took another glance at the young men, turned back to each other, and laughed. “Never.”
#
Shortly after that, Patrick and Geoffrey grudgingly walked together to the pavilion city outside Greensprings’s gates. The bright pinions surmounting each structure flowed in the wind, giving the impression of a school of colorful eels swimming in the air.
Patrick rankled at the man’s presence, wanting nothing more than to beat him to death. Aimeé’s words, however, echoed in his mind: that everything he did seemed to make matters worse. And Corbin’s words kept his temper banked, betrayed only by clenching his hands into fists.
“Let’s just get through this, shall we?” Geoffrey said stiffly. “The affair with the council and the cup can’t go on much longer. The board will leave and take their band of freaks with them, so let’s show a stiff upper lip until we can get on with our lives.”
“Agreed,” Patrick responded just as stiffly. “That is, if that is your version of a promise of cooperation.”
“Bugger off,” Geoffrey responded quietly through a smile as he bowed to a pair of Lady Guests walking by.
“Tosser,” Patrick returned underneath his breath through his own smile.
When they arrived at Sister Abigail’s tent, they were surprised to see the lodging mostly abandoned with some trunks and other luggage in a neat pile. Sister Abigail sat on a campaign chaise, with her back very erect despite her advanced years. She regarded the young men with a maternal air as they approached.
“You’re just in time,” she said. “I could use a pair of strong arms to carry the last of the children’s belongings into the keep.”
“Keep?” Patrick asked. “You’re moving in?”
“Yes,” Sister Abigail replied. “The children are there now with the Lady Katherina and her maidservant in the Hall for Lady Guests. They will remain there for the duration of our stay in Avalon. The Lady Katherina is going to form them into a choir to perform at the next banquet.”
“Not that I’m complaining,” Geoffrey lied, “but why do they need to move into the Hall for Lady Guests to accomplish that?”
“Because they will be working intensely with the Lady Katherina, and shuttling them back and forth would be problematic, especially in the evenings when it’s required all Guests are to have an armed escort.”
“Isn’t that what we’re here for—mainly armed escort?” Patrick said, frowning.
“Partly.” The nun smiled, the age lines around her mouth forming a spider’s web. “But what I really have in mind for you is something more than an armed escort. Father Hugh and Mother Superior tell me you gentlemen will make fine companions for the children. They could use friends. It is best if we’re all in the same vicinity. One grand, happy family.”
“Can you counsel us on how we can best accomplish that? The children seem a difficult sort. No offense,” Patrick said.
“None taken,” she responded. “I know firsthand they are special. Special in more ways than you could possibly know, and each in his or her own way. Each came to Saint Peter’s Orphanage with their tale of sorrow. How you treat them will greatly dictate the success you’ll have in managing them.”
“Yes, about that,” Geoffrey stated. “The boy, Martin is it? With the hands? What do we do with him?”
“Ah, Martin,” she said with a sad shake of her head. “He was born tragic from the start. He seems to be caught in his own little world, barely aware of this one. We believe by waving his hands in his face like that it helps him focus long enough to feed himself, dress himself, and even use the toilet. Do not try to stop him from waving his hands when he is caught up in it, or he will react violently. Consider him the littlest duckling. He will follow the rest when it is time to move, eat, sleep, and use the facilities. The key is first to manage the other children.
“The trick there is to work with Candace and Brother Ambrosius. They are the de facto leaders of the girls and boys respectively. They are the easiest to communicate with. Work closely with them, befriend them, and the rest will follow, I promise.”
“Easier said than done,” Patrick scowled. “Brobrosius seems to have a limited vocabulary.”
Sister Abigail laughed. “Agree with him, and his vocabulary will increase. He is quite intelligent and capable when he chooses. He also has a fascination with numbers. I would not recommend playing chess with him. He will beat you in three moves, and if you think he thinks he’s taller than you now, just wait until he beats you at a game. You’ll never hear the end of it.”
“And the little girl?” Geoffrey asked. “She does not talk. Can she at least hear?”
“She can hear just fine,” she said sadly, “but she does not listen so well. She is a willful child.”
“Is it that she can’t talk, or won’t talk?” Geoffrey continued.
Sister Abigail paused, brow creasing in deep thought before she answered.
“I am certain she cannot speak,” she said at last. “I have seen her attacked by other children at the orphanage who pulled mercilessly on her hair, but not a peep came out of her, though tears flowed like rivers. Whether she cannot speak because of a malady of the mind or of the throat, I cannot say.”
“Has she always been like that?” Patrick asked.
Sister Abigail averted her gaze when answering. “They say once she was a great chanteuse. The pride of her village’s Christmas nativity festival, singing the most angelic of songs, but that all changed when raiders attacked her village and killed her family before her eyes. They say she wailed so loudly, and so long, it destroyed her voice.”
“I gather she won’t be expected to be a part of this choir Lady Katherina is assembling,” Geoffrey stated.
“No,” she agreed. “The choir will mostly consist of Ambrosius, Candace, Stuart, and Emilie, if we can tease a little volume out of her. Chansonne still loves to listen to music, however. I have spied her on many occasions sitting outside the auditorium listening to the Guests practice. I’ve also noticed she’s taken a shine to the Lady Katherina, whether Katherina knows it or not.”
Patrick and Geoffrey discussed more of their new duties with the nun, and then they gathered the luggage and moved into Greensprings.
#
All knew well that unlike the Hall for Guests, which housed males, the Hall for Lady Guests had a gated courtyard at its entrance with a pair of crenelated alcoves housing a stoic Avangarde in each.
Most, however, did not know the existence of an indoor courtyard at the center of the building. The ground floor acted as the convent for the Benedictine nuns from Glastonbury who served as many of the instructors at Greensprings. The next two floors provided lodging for the lady Guests, mostly as single-room chambers.
The lavis
h indoor courtyard would be the envy of the boy Guests, if they knew about it. Where the Hall for Guests made for spartan living, the inner courtyard held cushioned couches and a gurgling fountain, and opened to an airy three-story shaft with balconies on every level looking down. The top of the courtyard narrowed to a skylight.
The girls referred to it as the Fairy Room, whereas the boys often referred to their abode as the Dungeon.
Because Aimeé’s usual responsibilities mainly involved keep cleaning, kitchen duty, and meal serving, she had only visited the Fairy Room on occasion.
Now, she stood there patiently as Mother Superior held her hand and explained her new duties—and her situation—to the Lady Katherina who sat on one of the couches. The candidati roamed about the room, many of them chasing a butterfly that had somehow fluttered in—all save Chansonne who, upon arrival, immediately hid in a cupboard.
Though Mother Superior had masterfully and compassionately explained the situation, Aimeé still felt incredibly awkward at having her assault paraded in the open as if her greatest trauma was anything more than strictly private. Despite Mother Superior’s good intentions, they somehow managed to bring on a twinge of irrational shame. Ripples from the original attack still troubled her, wearing away at her dignity.
She resisted the urge to withdraw her grasp from the old nun’s little warm hand to hug herself. Instead, she held her head high as Mother Superior spoke.
Katherina maintained her poise on the edge of the couch, but her face ran through a range of emotions. Her eyes widened at the revelation of Aimeé’s pregnancy, followed by an open mouth and gasp of shock and sympathy when told of the rape and Geoffrey’s possible paternity. When told Patrick could also be the father, however, her demeanor remained shocked at first, but then turned enigmatic. Aimeé did not shy away from the stare.
When Mother Superior explained her plan for healing all wounds in such a way as to benefit the children, Katherina’s face struggled between further shock, confusion, and indignation.
Aimeé let her attention drift to the candidati chasing the butterfly, allowing Mother Superior’s voice to fade into a distant drone. She wished to join them in the chase, escaping into a child’s carefree world. Her mind also wandered to other possibilities. What if she had just married Patrick, hoping for the best? Could it have been any worse than how she felt at this moment?
Aimeé’s eyes wandered to the floor where her gaze picked up the trail of little muddy footprints, sprinkled with tiny pink blossom petals. She followed the trail to the cabinet where Chansonne hid. The little girl’s blue eyes glittered from a crack in the cupboard door, watching her intently. When Aimeé made eye contact, the crack slammed shut.
“Isn’t that so, Aimeé?” Mother Superior asked.
“I’m sorry?” Aimeé’s face heated.
“This is an opportunity for Greensprings to shine in its mission: creating peace and cooperation in the most challenging of circumstances.” Mother Superior reiterated.
“Oui, madame.”
Mother Superior’s tone left no room for argument. What Mother wants, Mother gets. When she had finished, an awkward silence filled the room. Resigned to the nun’s steely gaze, Katherina cleared her throat and smiled meekly.
“God does work in mysterious ways.”
She cast another enigmatic glance at Aimeé.
#
As the sun set, it cast a red-orange glow behind the keep, turning the gray walls and towers into a dark silhouette.
The Lady Lilliana paused at the edge of the pavilion city long enough to lift the hood of her robe and watch Lucan reach the end of Greensprings’s drawbridge. When he had disappeared into the gatehouse, she moved toward the keep.
“Don’t forget to find an escort for your return, Signora Lilliana,” a Cardinal Guardsman suggested as she passed.
“Certamente,” she smiled.
When she reached the gatehouse, the Avangarde there made a similar statement.
“Bien sûr,” she said and moved on, following Lucan at a distance as he crossed the cobblestoned church courtyard.
She paused again, allowing him to enter, and then followed again. Inside, she took up a position in the shadow of the Madonna in the narthex, watching Lucan move through the pilgrims. He approached the communion rail in the glow of the votive candles.
He fell to his knees, beat his breast, and then pressed his hands together in prayer before the cup. For some time he rocked to and fro with his head hung low. Even at this distance Lilliana could distinguish his voice in prayer over the other whispered prayers in the building, though she could not make out his words. She did catch the occasional anguished utterance, “Why?”
Eventually, his rocking became more agitated with increased beating of his breast. Something about his prayers must have disturbed, because the pilgrims began to look to one another with frowns. Lucan stood, stepped over the communion rail, and swiped angrily and repeatedly at the cup without success. The pilgrims departed one by one, leaving the distressed man to his passions at the altar.
Lillian's brow creased in confusion. She moved forward, passing through the departing crowd that murmured through coughs as they held their noses.
Then, a tingle pricked the back of her throat and her eyes stung. An overwhelming aroma of roses poured from the altar. When she held up a hand to cover her mouth from the stifling perfume, her skin burned with the sensation of a thousand pinpricks. Smoke drifted off her hands and arms.
She looked up expecting to see the altar embroiled in smoke, but only saw the cup. Lucan exited in haste out a side door.
The burning sensation escalated, causing her to gag and cough. She staggered towards the door where Lucan had disappeared and reached it just in time to see him enter the main keep. She continued her pursuit, gasping for fresh air.
#
After some time, Lilliana reached the top of a staircase and found herself in a long hallway lit by guttering torches. It was the first light she had seen for some time; she had spent most of the journey lost in dark, unfamiliar corridors. She cursed herself for that. She had spent over a month in Greensprings now, and though not the biggest of castles, she still somehow had managed to become lost. Despite the darkness, she felt eyes on her. She had run to shake off the disconcerting feeling, but couldn’t escape the echoing footsteps in the corridors had attracted unwanted attention.
She breathed heavily, adjusting her clothes as she half-walked, half-ran, looking over her shoulder. The footsteps whispered behind her. Her heart jumped at the sound and she hurried forward, trying the handle on numerous doors, but found them locked. The footsteps came louder.
Behind her, the silhouette of her pursuer’s head appeared in the shadowed stairwell, slowly ascending to reveal the shadow of a man. A gleam of exposed metal in the dim light indicated a drawn sword. Her panic grew as she moved to another door, tried it with no luck, then moved to a set of large double doors and struggled with the large iron mechanism keeping them closed.
Footsteps approached from behind, pausing when the church bells started to ring.
Heart pounding, she turned to face her assailant, but then breathed with relief and leaned heavily against the doors.
“Lady Lilliana?” the fresh-faced Avangarde said. “You shouldn’t be alone right now. Someone has caught sight of the monster. The alarm bells are ringing and the guards are being mobilized to hunt it down.”
She cried out in surprise when the door behind her suddenly opened, causing her to fall in. Arms caught her.
“The monster has been seen?” the owner of the arms asked with a paternal voice.
Lilliana looked up to see who had caught her and saw Father Wulfric. She stood, catching her balance with the old priest’s help.
“Aye, Father Wulfric,” the knight said. “One of the guards on the wall caught sight of a giant bat-like creature entering the garden behind the keep.”
“Pfft!” Father Wulfric said, waving a hand. “That’s the third
false alarm this week alone. We’ve heard everything from crocodiles to flying pigs. Now it’s a giant bat?”
The knight shrugged sheepishly. “Yes, Father.”
“It was an Avangarde that made the sighting, though?” he asked.
“Yes, Father.”
“Well, at least that’s different,” Father Wulfric added.
“Yes, Father. Lady Lilliana? Do you mind waiting here in the library with Father Wulfric until the all clear? I will return for you and escort you back to the pavilions.”
“I’d be delighted,” Lilliana said, slipping her arm into Father Wulfric’s. “I feel safer already.”
“Very well, I will return shortly,” the young man said, and left in a jangle of armor.
Father Wulfric closed the double doors behind them as they entered the library. He placed a large crossbar across the doors for good measure.
“That should do it. We should be perfectly safe now,” the priest said, brushing his hands, then added with a frown, “Then again, this is the very room in which poor Father Benis was murdered the last time the keep was attacked.”
“Pardon?” Lillian asked.
“Oh, never mind,” Father Wulfric waved the matter aside. “Now is not the time to be frightening you.”
Lilliana adjusted her robe about her as she looked around the room: a spacious affair, but crowded with many bookshelves radiating in all directions. A sea of candles lit the shelves, giving the space a reverent glow.
“What are you doing here at this time of night?” she asked.
“I didn’t realize it was that late,” he explained. “It’s very easy for me to get lost in my reading. It’s not often I find myself in a library this magnificent. When I’m not in council or hunting monsters, I come here.”
“And how goes the monster hunt?” She sauntered among the shelves, letting her hand trail along the book spines. “Any clues on what—or who—it may be?”
She appraised Father Wulfric with a studious eye. Though a bit older than Teodorico, he still stood ramrod straight and had a healthy glow about him. Intelligence gleamed in his eyes as he leaned forward to examine a book’s contents, stroking his well-groomed beard. In younger days he must have been quite the handsome man. After a pause in her thinking, she reassessed that thought, concluding he wasn’t so bad-looking now.
Ripples in the Chalice: A Tale of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 2) Page 23