Alicia Roque Ruggieri

by The House of Mercy

  Never had the grass appeared so alive, never before had his heart rejoiced to see squirrels and birds scurrying and swooping in the faint morning light. Joy flooded him in great throbbing pulses. I am free from my old desires, he realized. Free to do as ‘twas meant for me to do and, what’s more, at liberty to become who I was meant to be.

  He broke into a run and entered the fortress gates gasping for breath. The guards admitted him with strange looks, but he grinned back at them and continued on his way.

  “Where is the king?” he asked a familiar attendant to the Pendragon.

  “At breakfast,” the man replied, “in his chambers.”

  Deoradhan grasped the man’s shoulder. “Thank you.” His feet flew over the stones, and he arrived at Arthur’s rooms at a sprint.

  I must calm myself, or he’ll think I’ve gone mad. A chuckle burst from Deoradhan. He’ll think it already when I say what I’ve come to tell him. He raised a hand and knocked quickly.

  A servant opened the door a crack. “The king is at breakfast and won’t be dis—”

  “Tell him ‘tis Deoradhan. He will see me,” interrupted Deoradhan with a smile.

  The young man raised his eyebrows but retreated to do as Deoradhan asked. A moment later, the servant had returned. “The king will see you, my lord.”

  Deoradhan nodded and entered behind the servant. Arthur sat at a low table, eating cheese and bread.

  “Deoradhan,” he greeted. “What is it? I didn’t expect to see you until the trial this morning.”

  Deoradhan sat down opposite the king. “I’ve come to speak to you about that, my lord,” he began. “I cannot testify against Weylin.”

  Arthur sat silent. Stunned, Deoradhan knew. “What has brought about this change of heart, lad?” he finally asked.

  Deoradhan smiled. “I realized, my lord, that I could not accuse another of the same sins of which I am guilty.”

  Arthur did not understand. Deoradhan could see it in his face. Gently, he knelt beside the king. “My lord, you have been very kind to me in offering this. Despite my ingratitude over the years, you have always held out your hand to me. I’m sorry for the wrongs I’ve done you.”

  ‘Twas obvious he had baffled the king. Arthur slowly answered, “You do know, Deoradhan, that if you don’t bring these charges against Weylin, his line will retain his lands. Weylin will receive the death sentence, but Dunpeledyr will go to Solas, his heir.” He paused. “You will have no claim on it nor the chance of a claim once Weylin is dead. Dunpeledyr will be lost to you forever.”

  With fresh joy, Deoradhan realized he felt no regret. “Then it is lost, my lord.” He smiled thoughtfully. “I think I have had enough of houses and lands to last me for one lifetime. I have spent too much time trying to gain them, at any rate. From now on, by God’s grace, I will be content with what He deems right.”

  Arthur nodded. “Alright, lad.”

  Deoradhan looked the king in the eyes. “I do not mind, my lord,” he said softly, “if you call me your son.”

  Summer Country

  Eilley had come at last. Calum had seen the apprehension grow on her face as she examined Aine.

  “You did everything that could be done, Calum,” his brother’s wife murmured. “Let me help her for a bit. Take a breather outside.”

  Calum knelt beside the bed, his eyes locked onto Aine’s countenance. Her eyes had been closed, but she opened them at Eilley’s words.

  “Go ahead, Calum,” she whispered. “But don’t be long.”

  With a gentle touch from her rough-hewn hand, Eilley guided him toward the door. He stumbled outside into the light of early morning, nearly blinded after the cottage’s dimness. It seemed so strange to him that the sun had risen as usual, that the sheep bleated in the nearby fields, that bees flew past on their way to pollen-rich flowers. So strange when inside Aine lay…

  He shook his head and slid to the ground. Lord, let her live.

  ~ ~ ~

  As though from a far-off distance, Aine felt the woman’s hands smooth back her hair, wash her arms, adjust her pillows. The pain had continued and increased until Aine could no longer think. Let it be over soon, she pleaded. And please let this child live.

  In the midst of the pain, she felt Jesus’ presence more intensely than she had before. ‘Twas as if He sat by her as the pains came. Sometimes, Calum’s face seemed to become His, his eyes flooded with sympathy and sweet comfort. Once, she began the question in her spirit, Why… But His face came before her again, and her question faded in the brightness of His countenance.

  If you will take me, my Savior…and the child…watch over Calum. Don’t let the grief overcome him, her heart asked, sure that the request would be granted.

  Another numbing pain poured through her body. Eilley’s form grew dark. ‘Tis the end, she realized, and her eyes slid shut as her senses faded. O Lord, be with me.

  42

  Cantia

  Tarian was weeding in her parents’ garden when the messenger came. She stood up quickly at the sight of the royal crest on his tunic and wiped her hands on her simple garment. She saw the messenger’s eyes narrow and his hand hesitate over giving her the scroll.

  “You are Lady Tarian, aye?” he questioned.

  What noblewoman would weed a garden? A disgraced one who has nothing to offer her family but what her hands can do. She gently took the sealed scroll from him. “Aye, I am. Do you…Do you wait for a reply?”

  “I do.”

  She nodded and dropped her eyes to the scroll. Her fingernails, chipped and stained green and brown, peeled back the wax seal. She skimmed the document; then, only half-believing what she read, went back to the beginning:

  Arthur, High King of all Britain and High Judge, to Lady Tarian, formerly of Oxfield. Greetings. Drustan, lord of Oxfield, advisor to the king, sleeps. The king requests your immediate attendance upon receipt of this letter.

  “Drustan…sleeps?” she wondered aloud, knowing ‘twas a euphemism for death. “How?”

  “Protecting the king, my lady,” the messenger answered, his face unemotional. “He was related to you?”

  “Aye,” she breathed. “Aye, he was.”

  Summer Country

  Calum felt someone shaking his shoulder. He lifted his head from where it rested on the edge of Aine’s bed. Blearily, he looked up to see Eilley gazing down at him, tears in her eyes. “’Tis over,” she whispered, wiping the moisture from her cheeks.

  His eyes turned toward Aine’s still, white face supported by the pillows. The sorrow rolled over his soul, and he began to sob great cries that wracked his shoulders. Eilley wrapped her arms around his head, drawing him to her. Your will be done, his heart wept. Your will be done.

  Rising to his knees, he reached a hand to stroke Aine’s hollow cheek. “She is at rest now,” he murmured, his tears dropping on the woolen blanket.

  “Aye, she is at rest, Calum,” replied Eilley.

  He leaned forward and kissed her pale lips. Slowly sitting back on his heels, he looked into that face full of a serenity derived from the Prince of Peace alone. “She has more life now than ever before,” he said, not caring that his tears ran unchecked.

  “I don’t know about that, Calum,” he was surprised to hear Eilley reply. He turned, and she gave him a smile. “She has a long recovery ahead of her. She’ll need many days to regain her strength. And the child’s a small one, though hearty.”

  Stupefied, Calum could only stare at his sister-in-law. “What do you mean? I thought she was…” He couldn’t finish.

  Eilley chuckled. “You thought she was dead? Well, then, the Lord has given her back to you from the dead. Like Lazarus, aye?” She couldn’t stop giggling, and Calum slowly joined her, tears mixing with his laughter.

  “Where is the child?” he finally managed.

  “Beside her mother, sleeping.”

  Calum rose to his feet and moved back the blanket ever so gently. There, nestled beside Aine, he saw a tiny swaddled bund
le, soundly sleeping. “May I hold it?” he asked Eilley.

  She smiled. “Of course, if you don’t wake her. ‘Tis a little daughter you have.”

  Delicately, feeling like one who is about to smell a precious rose, Calum lifted the infant and held it to his chest, filled with gratitude.

  “What will you name the child?” questioned Eilley.

  Calum lowered a kiss to the small reddened brow. “Mercy,” he said. “We will call her Mercy.”

  43

  Dunpeledyr

  “And what kind of work have you done?” the gracious auburn-haired woman asked.

  Bethan smiled back. “I spent half a year in Oxfield, in Southern Logress, my lady. I worked as a kitchen servant there, but I’m able to do any kind of household work as well.”

  Lady Seonaid nodded. “Good. Well, Bethan, I think we could use your services here. And your sister’s as well. Generally, we move servants from one kind of work to another at Dunpeledyr, and I doubt that will alter under my son’s leadership.”

  Bethan cocked her head. “I’m sorry, my lady. I didn’t know your husband had recently died.”

  “Aye, while at the king’s house.” The noblewoman stood, quietly thoughtful, as if she’d forgotten Bethan waited for direction. “For yet a little while and the wicked shall be no more,” Bethan heard her murmur, her eyes turned away.

  After a few moments, she seemed to remember Bethan and Enid. “Oh, aye. My daughter Lady Fiona will determine where you are needed at present. Meanwhile, Lorna will show you where you will sleep,” she said, nodding toward a woman near her side.

  Bethan’s eyes followed the elegant lady as she moved from the hall. “Come along, lassies,” the servant woman Lorna interrupted. “There’s plenty of room above the stables.”

  Bethan put an arm around her sister’s shoulders and walked after Lorna. Lord, You have been gracious to us. Be gracious also to my Papa, wherever he is. And she knew that He would be.

  Summer Country

  Five days after Aine gave birth, Calum heard horse’s hooves trotting down the lane outside his cottage. Moments later, a soft knock came to his ears. “I’ll be right back,” he promised Aine, putting aside his little volume.

  She smiled, propped up on her pillows. Every day she improves. He laid a tender hand on her cheek and moved to the door. Opening it, Calum saw Deoradhan on the other side. He glanced back toward the bed. Aine had closed her eyes, dozing, Mercy cuddled beside her.

  “Deoradhan,” he stated quietly. What does he want? Lord, help me to love him.

  “Calum, I need to speak with you.”

  Calum nodded and drew the door closed behind him. From a tree by the lane, he heard a songbird let out its melodic laughter, and he smiled, thinking to himself that winter was indeed past and spring had come.

  Deoradhan led him toward the cross up on the hill, not speaking until they had arrived. Calum watched the younger man gazed at the wooden memorial. He smiled. “‘Death is swallowed up in victory,’” he murmured and then turned his eyes toward Calum. “That has become true in me as well, Calum.” He sighed and ran his fingers over the carved words. “After all those years of shaking my fist at Heaven, He has conquered me at last. And I can’t say I’m sorry for it.”

  This was unexpected, to say the least. Calum felt his mouth drop open. He was about to speak, but Deoradhan went on. “I’ve come back to apologize for the things I said and did. They were awful wrongs toward you and especially toward Aine.” His eyes, clear of bitterness at last, grew tender mentioning her name. Calum tensed. “May I speak with her, Calum? Is she still here?”

  Calum swallowed. “Aye, she is, Deoradhan. I must tell you… I…I’ve married her.” O Lord, may he understand!

  Deoradhan stood still for a long moment. Then he nodded. “’Tis as it should be,” he murmured.

  After a moment, Calum laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Come into the house, Deoradhan.”

  Camelot

  “The king will see you now, my lady,” the attendant directed his words toward Tarian. Arrayed in her finest, she nodded and moved through the open doors to the hall.

  Arthur rose from his throne when she entered. She curtsied low, and he took her hand, raising it to his lips. “Lady Tarian, you are welcome. Thank you for coming.”

  She nodded. “My lord,” she greeted. “I trust you are well.”

  He smiled, the weariness retreating from his face like the gloom when the sun appears. “I will get to the point quickly, my lady. As you know, your husband, Drustan, is dead. He rode too near my side, and a traitor’s arrow took him rather than me.” He paused. “I don’t know whether this news brings you grief or not.”

  Tarian remained silent.

  “However,” continued the king, “what concerns us today is this: Your husband was rich in lands. His wife should inherit those lands until her death, when they will pass to his nearest male relative, whether that would be his son, cousin, nephew.”

  Tarian felt that the king wished for a response. “But, as my lord knows, I am no longer Drustan’s wife by law. You judged me yourself, my king, and decreed the divorce,” she said quietly, hands folded before her.

  The king nodded. “Aye, I did. Yet I did not believe nor do I now believe the charges laid at your feet by your husband. I said that at the time, didn’t I?”

  Tarian nodded. If he hadn’t, she may have been executed for adultery rather than merely dismissed as an unsatisfactory wife.

  Arthur moved over to the table near his throne. Tarian saw a parchment lying there. He picked it up. “This is the single document that declares you divorced from Lord Drustan, my lady.”

  What is the purpose of this? Did I come from Cantia for this? Patiently, she nodded again. “Aye, my lord.”

  He stepped to the huge hearth, blazing to keep away the spring chill. Without any hesitation, the king tossed the document into the flames. Startled, Tarian met his eyes.

  “Oxfield is yours, my lady,” he stated. “There is no existing record of your marriage coming to an end. As far as I am concerned, you are the lady of Oxfield until your death.”

  Tears rose to Tarian’s eyes. “Thank you, my lord,” she choked out. “May God reward you for dealing righteously with me.”

  44

  Arthur met him with an embrace. “Deoradhan,” he smiled.

  “My lord king,” Deoradhan acknowledged. The submissive title no longer grated on his spirit.

  Arthur held up a scroll. “A letter has come for you. From Dunpeledyr.”

  Deoradhan met the king’s eyes for an instant, then took the scroll. He pried off the seal and ran his gaze over the words. “They wish me to return there,” he said, looking up. “They want me to come back to Dunpeledyr.” Joy filled his heart. “Does my lord king mind?” he asked.

  Arthur smiled and shook his head. Deoradhan saw a wistfulness pass through the king’s blue eyes. “Nay, lad, go with my blessing,” he murmured.

  Deoradhan clasped Arthur tightly to him. “Thank you, my lord.” He paused, then decided to say the words swelling up in his heart. “I love you, my lord, as a son loves his father. I was a fool to feel and think otherwise before.”

  Dunpeledyr

  Solas walked through the guardhouse, his hand on Fiona’s arm. She whispered descriptions to him as they went, becoming the new lord’s eyes.

  ‘Twas an awesome responsibility, this being master of the fortress. At times, Solas felt like Solomon when the kingship of Israel fell upon his shoulders. Aye, I am like a little child, Lord. Give me wisdom to govern well, to please You, he prayed daily when he woke.

  He and Fiona had finished their survey of the guardhouse, finding it in good order to the best of their knowledge. They stepped out of the cool building into the bright midday sun, and Fiona stopped short. “’Tis Deoradhan,” she said. “Padruig, I mean.”

  “Where?”

  “He’s just riding through the gate,” she answered. “He’s seen us now.”

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sp; Solas felt his heart speed in excitement. “Let’s go to meet him, Fiona.”

  She led them forward across the wide courtyard. “Padruig,” she called out.

  They halted. Solas stretched out his arm and felt a strong grip on his forearm. “Brother,” he greeted. “I am glad you’ve returned home.”

  “Solas, Fiona. Thank you for asking me to come.”

  Solas kept his hold on his brother’s arm. “Will you speak with me apart a moment, Padruig? You don’t mind if we call you by that name, do you? That’s how Mama always speaks of you.”

  “And you’re an exile no longer,” added Fiona.

  “You may call me what you wish. And I will speak with you, Solas, for as long as you’d like.”

  Solas smiled. “Come, then. We’ll walk in the fields.”

  ~ ~ ~

  That evening, just as dusk kissed the earth with her soft darkness, Deoradhan—Padruig, he reminded himself with a smile—strolled through the courtyard once more. His mind repeated the conversation with his brother, and he marveled at all that had occurred:

  “Dunpeledyr is yours if you want it, brother. I am only the second-born to our mother,” Solas said. “The estate is yours by birthright.”

  Padruig had thought for only a moment. Then, he knew what he must say. “Nay, Solas. God has chosen you to lead this people, not me.” He sighed in relief. “There was a time when I would have leapt at the words you just spoke. But now I find I’m content wherever God places me. What do the Scriptures say? ‘I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in tents of wickedness,’ aye?”

  Slowly, Solas nodded. “Alright. Let it be so, then.”