“The white gown signifies your purity of mind, heart, and body,” Patrick explained to the freshly scrubbed boys. The monks of Greensprings lowered the white garments over the squires. “You are freshly bathed, and confessed, and now commences your all-night fasting. You will keep vigil here in the church before the altar, praying until Mass starts tomorrow. After you receive communion, your dubbing will take place. Understood lads?”
The boys nodded solemnly.
“Very well then,” Patrick said, looking them over, finding it hard to believe the trio of ruddy faces old enough for knighthood. “We’ll see you soon.”
The squires sank to their knees before the altar and cup. They held their unsheathed swords point-down before them so that the hilt and crossguard formed a cross. Watching them settle into this pose, Patrick’s back and knees ached in sympathy as he recalled his own ceremony. He knew the position would become very, very taxing over the next many hours.
He left then, casting one final glance at the boys before withdrawing an object hidden in an alcove. He thrust this into his surcoat, exited the building, then bore right and followed the side of the church hidden from most people’s view. There, he climbed one of the flying buttresses and clambered along the thin stone arch until he reached the roof.
Once on top, he paused near the stained glass that ran the length of the basilica. He looked in and could barely make out the shapes of people below gathered around the altar’s candles. The thick glass made them appear warped and squiggly.
He moved away and found a familiar corner bathed in moonlight. He sat and took out the skin of wine he had secreted in his surcoat. As he drank in the moon and stars above with his eyes, he took deep pulls on the wine.
With an effort, he let anxiety drain out of him and he took a moment from moon-gazing to close his eyes and rest. Despite his efforts, everything just continued to churn and froth inside him.
A strong breeze swept across him, brushing the hair from his brow.
“May I join you?” a voice asked.
Shocked, Patrick stumbled to his feet and looked at the intruder with wide eyes.
“Lady Lilliana,” he gasped. “How did you get up here?”
“Surely you don’t think that only boys are capable of climbing trees and rocks?”
“You saw me come up then?” Patrick asked, biting his lip.
“Yes,” she replied, coming forward and taking the skin of wine. She took a sip. “I believe this is how we first met; over a flask of wine.”
“Aye,” Patrick agreed.
“Is this your sanctuary? Above the sanctuary?” she asked, looking down through the stained glass. “I don’t mean to intrude, but you looked as if you could use some company.”
Patrick shrugged as he took the skin back and took a sip. Lilliana took a step forward, and when she did the moonlight struck her amber eyes in such a way they almost glowed yellow in the dark.
Patrick leaned back in surprise.
“What’s wrong, Sir Knight?” she asked, reaching to take a turn at the flask.
“Your eyes—for a moment they seemed to move about the center,” he said, squinting at her.
“A trick of the light,” she explained, taking a drink. “It often happens in moonlight. I’m afraid it has been known to disturb people. My apologies.”
“No need,” Patrick said, retaking his seat against the wall. “They’re quite beautiful. I have to admit they’re the best part of my day.”
“Ah, there you go again,” she said, taking a seat beside him.
“What does that mean?”
“You tease and you flirt. Through brief poetry you make romantic gestures that go unfulfilled,” she explained.
“I do no such thing,” Patrick protested, taking a drink. The flask sloshed.
“You do,” Lilliana argued. “How else should a woman take a compliment on her eyes, delivered in such a way?”
“I only meant to apologize for my reaction to them, by way of compliment,” he clarified.
“Yes, without giving mind to how a woman hears such a compliment. You say the most intimate of things, innocently perhaps, but intimate just the same. When they are an obvious attempt to seduce, they can be laughed off. But when said innocently, they sound like truths—and teases.”
“You certainly speak as a woman: confusing.” Patrick frowned and took another drink.
“Then there is the touching,” she added.
Patrick gagged on the wine, a good portion of which came out his nose.
“‘Oh, hello, how are you?’” Lilliana said, deepening her voice in an imitation of his own. She also held up one hand and moved it like a talking sock puppet. “‘My name is Sir Patrick. Let me stroke your hair or touch your wrist as I talk to you. Isn’t that lovely?’”
She then reached up and petted his head with hard exaggerated strokes.
“I do not,” Patrick said skeptically. “Do I?”
Lilliana laughed a deep throaty laugh and took the skin. She leaned heavily into him as she drank. “And you don’t even know it! Which makes it charming.”
Patrick propped his elbow on a raised knee and leaned his cheek on his fist.
“I suppose I should stop that,” he grumbled.
“Oh, no you won’t. And it will be even more amusing to watch your behavior now that you’re aware of it.” She was still laughing.
Patrick grumbled something not meant for her ears and yanked the flask away from her, which only elicited more hysterics.
“I like it,” she admitted, leaning into him more. She looked up into his face. “Women like attention and affection, and physical contact is the most tangible of them. I like receiving it... and giving it.”
To accentuate this, she stroked his cheek, whispering, “See how it feels to be on the receiving end?”
With his eyes closed, he turned to her and leaned his forehead against hers. He took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of perfume and red wine. He let his breath out in one long exhale, at the end of which he opened his eyes and met her amber gaze. His lust stirred beyond doubt, but his heart weighed heavily in his chest.
“I would kiss you,” he said, “but it would be for all the wrong reasons. Recently I did much for the wrong reasons and made a mess of things. I will not do that to you.”
“Perhaps you should do it for the right reasons,” she said, tugging at his long dark tresses, “like because I want you to.”
He shook his head slowly, adding an apologetic smile to his gaze.
“It’s the maidservant, isn’t it?” she said, disappointed, pulling away and leaning her head against the wall.
“Partly,” Patrick confessed, “but she is certainly the most obvious of my errors, and by that I mean my treatment of her, not that I got her with child. Possibly got her with child. Maybe. Whatever.”
He shook his head, frowning, trying to sort it out in his mind.
“Or is it Katherina?” Lilliana asked, turning her head back in his direction. “Would you rather be with her, but your honor prevents you because of the maidservant?”
Patrick ground his teeth back and forth, recalling his encounter with the princess. Somewhere, in the back of his heart, the suggestion enticed.
“You know, either way, the cardinal can help you with this matter,” Lilliana added.
“Oh, how is that?” Patrick asked, out of nothing but idle curiosity.
“If it is the Lady Katherina you wish to have,” Lilliana explained, “I’m sure she could be convinced to accept your hand in marriage in exchange for the cardinal’s support in reclaiming her father’s kingdom. First, you would have to use your influence as Knight of Cups to champion the cardinal’s right to possess the cup, and then of course, travel Christendom extolling its powers.”
Patrick scoffed. “I doubt Katherina would agree to such a thing.”
“You never know until such an offer is made,” Lilliana pointed out, “but if it is the maidservant you prefer, it would be a simple matt
er of the cardinal leaning on the girl to marry you. After all, it was the cardinal’s original plan to marry you to the maidservant, then parade the two of you throughout Christendom as the Knight of Cups and the Lazarine Maid; living proof of the power of the cup. He reconsidered, however, when he discovered she was pregnant out of wedlock.”
“And what would make him reconsider?” Patrick asked incredulous, shaking his head at the blatant politics of the matter.
“Everyone loves a story of redemption,” Lilliana said, then elaborated in a storyteller's voice, complete with grand hand gestures. “It could be heralded as a story of two young lovers, a knight and a commoner, swept away by their passions that led to sin, until the power of the Cup of the Last Supper entered their lives and rescued them from death and damnation. After a proper confession, the two lovers wed to great fanfare, and they lived happily ever after. A fairy tale with universal appeal to commoners and nobility alike.” She paused in the telling. “Actually, one might argue such a redemptive story is the preferable scenario, inspiring the masses to come forward and confess their own sins before the cup.”
“Naturally with Cardinal Teodorico acting as confessor, building his image as a great redeemer, which would go a long way to solidifying his position as successor to the pope.” Patrick wasn’t sure she heard the wry note in his voice.
“Naturally,” Lilliana replied, leaning in and kissing his cheek.
“That will not work for me for one simple reason.”
“Oh?”
“This plan is based on coercing a woman to marry me,” he explained. “Especially Aimeé. I will not force anything from her. I want to marry for love, not for my selfish desires or because it is convenient or expedient. Who wants to spend the rest of their life in a purely contractual arrangement? I know that is necessary under many circumstances, but if I can have love, I will gladly wait for it.”
“You are a fool,” she said sadly, stroking his hair, “a beautiful, romantic fool.”
“Perhaps so, but I’ve been spoiled by my mother and father’s true love. That is what I wait for.”
“Who’s to say it won’t come eventually in an arranged marriage?” Lilliana argued. “First comes obedience, then love. Even God demands obedience from those who love Him.”
“True,” Patrick admitted, “but it seems those who love God gladly give their obedience, not the other way around. And you, Lady Lilliana? You argue obedience and love, but don’t seem to have much of either in your life, no offense.”
“No offense taken, but I confess I am personally not a believer in either love or obedience,” she said, frowning thoughtfully. “Such notions are best left for romantic fools such as yourself... no offense.”
Patrick smiled. “None taken. Perhaps if you showed a little obedience, as you say, you might experience love. And then you’d understand my position.”
She scowled. “What? Obedience to Teodorico or any number of halfwit husbands I’ve had in the past?”
“Well, to God for starters,” Patrick clarified. “The rest would follow in due time.”
Lilliana scoffed loudly. “I do not believe that.”
“What do you believe in?”
Lilliana’s demeanor changed as a smile bloomed across her face. She leaned her face into his, lips hovering over his so her warm breath caressed his skin in the cool night air. Her eyes answered his question. Patrick tensed under the gaze and the hands she pressed against his chest. She all but sat in his lap now, and surely felt his arousal.
He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, holding it.
“What’s wrong, Patrick?” she implored. “Do you not want pleasures of the here and now? There is no one to see, and your secret is safe with me. Am I not beautiful enough?”
“Yes, you are beautiful,” he admitted. He let out his breath and opened his eyes. He grabbed her by the wrists and gently pushed her away. “You are proof that God exists. Someone as beautiful as you couldn’t possibly be an accident. You were created as assuredly as a statue was crafted by a sculptor. You are poetry walking through this world.”
A heavy silence hung in the air between them. Her eyes seemed to dim as she tried to reconcile the sincerity of the statement mixed with the rejection. Eventually, her alluring smile vanished.
“Don’t speak to me of God when I am speaking of pleasure!” she hissed, grasping his throat with her claw-like fingers. Patrick froze. It seemed to him through the haze of wine and the tension of the moment that Lilliana’s eyes flared yellow and her pupils expanded and contracted. He gave one long squeeze of his eyes to clear his vision. When they opened, she appeared to be just a woman again. A very angry woman.
“What does God know of pleasure?” she continued. “What does He know of a woman’s needs? Her desires? His record with women throughout time has been less than admirable! He has consistently regulated women to second-rate creatures! He has condoned all manner of violence and injustices against them by men!”
“Not true,” he managed to whisper. “God did not force Mary to bear His child. He asked her permission, and despite criticisms from the Jews who felt it unlawful, Jesus kept company with women. Even allowed a prostitute to bathe his feet with her tears.”
Lilliana screamed as she suddenly released her grasp and rose to a standing position over him as if pulled there by a string. A blast of wind swirled their corner, stirring leaves, hair, and their garments.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she cried, stabbing a finger at him. “That Jesus deigned to let a woman, forced into her profession by other men, wash his feet?”
Patrick grasped his throat, certain she had drawn blood, but his hand came back clean.
“Mary Magdalene?” Patrick coughed, continuing to rub his throat. “Who was it that came to her aid when she was about to be stoned? Who defended her? It was Jesus.”
Lilliana paused in her seething, eyes narrowed.
“Yes, Jesus saved her,” she acknowledged. “She was grateful and fell in love with Him for it, and how did He return that love? He showered her with chaste kisses and nothing else! Which reminds me of yet another man.”
She glared at him.
“How could you know how the Magdalene felt?” Patrick asked, surprised by her ferocious sincerity.
“Because I was th—” she started to shout, but caught herself and instead growled. “Don’t change the subject! You’re a bad man, Patrick Gawain. You are the worst sort of man. The sort of man who makes women fall in love with him, and then denies them the fulfillment of that love. You are a fool!”
In the blink of an eye she turned on a heel and disappeared around the corner of the stained-glass dome.
Patrick rose to his feet and pursued her. Another blast of wind whipped his hair and surcoat.
“Lilliana, wait!” he shouted, but when he turned the corner she had disappeared. He ran to the edge of the building to catch her as she descended the flying buttress, but did not find her there, either.
He looked at the wineskin he still held and wondered at its potency.
#
The church bells tolled in the late morning, calling all to worship. More people than usual streamed into the basilica, as this Sunday’s Mass promised an adoubement—a knighting ceremony—as well as the fact a cardinal from Rome would act as the presiding priest. People from Aesclinn abandoned the village church for a day to fill Greensprings’s entire basilica floor as well as its upper balcony. When these filled, the faithful and the curious milled about the entrance and windows whose shutters were thrown wide for the occasion.
“You are certain our Irishman will not support our cause, hmm?” the cardinal asked Lilliana before Mass. He greeted parishioners as they filed through the entrance. His smile and his friendly gaze did not waver as he carried on the conversation with the beautiful woman at his side.
“No, he will not jump up and shout from the rooftops that you have the sole right to take the cup away from Avalon,” Lilliana replied
, also smiling and greeting the arrivals. “However, he will not interfere in your attempts to do so. He takes rather seriously his Christian and knightly sense of duty that you are God’s representative on Earth, and therefore His will be done, however you choose to go about it.”
“Well, at least we have that going for us, hmm?” Teodorico said. “Perhaps his example alone will be enough to help persuade people, hmm, yes? What do you think, my dearest? Lilly?”
Teodorico paused in his greeting to turn and determine what had caused his consort to fall silent. He watched her maintain a steady gaze upon the statue of the Madonna in the entrance as people flowed around it, on their way into the nave. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth twitched, turning to a scowl when her eyes fell upon the child held in the arms of the statue.
“Lilly, hmm?” Teodorico persisted.
“Sorry?” she said, shaking herself out of her reverie.
Teodorico tsked and touched her arm, “Never mind, my love. We mustn’t be distracted, as we are so close to our prize. We must stay focused.”
Teodorico missed the glare she shot him; he had turned to greet the Lady Katherina, who herded the candidati before her with the aid of the maidservant and Sister Abigail.
“Lady Katherina,” he called to her, “please, let my man Victor escort you and your group to a place of honor.”
Katherina paused, surprised at the consideration. She bowed slightly, and Victor stepped from the cardinal’s side towards her. “Thank you, Your Eminence.”
Victor led the group into the growing crowd. The church bells stopped ringing, and despite the ethereal choir music, it seemed as if the air had emptied suddenly.
“You really think this will work?” Lilliana whispered, eyes following the band of misfits.
“I believe it is very, very likely, hmm, yes?” he replied. “Let us now go find out.”
He adjusted his white vestments. Father Hugh handed him his crozier and Fathers Wulfric and Herewinus lined up in front of him with candles atop tall holders.
Lilliana worked her way into the crowd, but paused again to stare at the statue.
Ripples in the Chalice: A Tale of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 2) Page 30