The Annals of Wynnewood Complete Series
Page 52
“I’m sorry, my lord.”
“You miss Philip.”
She turned to leave, but he stopped her. “He wouldn’t want you to be so unhappy. He would want you to have friends. We’ll be your friends, little one.” Lord Morgan laughed. “You aren’t quite so little anymore. I might have to rename you.”
Time passed as she stood considering his words. She didn’t want to come to the castle and visit with Philip’s friends. She liked being alone where she could do as she pleased. However, Lord Morgan spoke truth. Philip would be happier in Oxford if he knew that she was still visiting Aurelia in his absence.
“I am sorry. I will come. Next week maybe.”
“Tomorrow.”
She sighed, realizing he knew how hard it would be for her to keep her word if it was such a long time. “Yes, tomorrow then.”
Dove worked slowly and tediously to perfect her stitches as she sat with Aurelia in the girl’s sitting room. Now that Aurelia was older, she spent less time in the great hall and more in a room designed for her comfort and privacy. “I see an advantage to your gloves, Dove,” the young lady said as she sucked on a pricked finger.
“They do protect, but I doubt I’ll ever be as precise as you with them.”
“Do you practice without sometimes?”
“When I am alone, yes. I have a pool where I like to go and sit.”
“The one you dug?” Aurelia giggled. “You forget that the whole of Wynnewood reports anything they see or hear to me. I reward them well.”
“Yes. It is a beautiful pool. I lined the bottom with rocks so the water won’t be muddy at all— just very clear and beautiful.”
Before Aurelia could reply, Lord Morgan knocked, peeking his head around the door. “May I come in? Felix has returned with replies to our letters to Philip.”
Eagerly, the young women set aside their stitching and waited to hear what Philip had to say. “Is he well? Does he enjoy his studies? Does he miss us?”
Lord Morgan laughed as he handed Aurelia a letter. “So many questions, dear heart. Read for yourself and I will read my letter from him as well.”
The letters were unfolded, each reading the words carefully, smiles appearing at random spots, and a few concerned frowns as well. Dove thought she’d go crazy waiting to hear of her friend. The time passed so slowly and took so long that she began to grow suspicious. Then, just as she was about to ask a question, her laughter rang out through the room.
“I nearly asked! I wondered what could take so long to read!”
“She has discovered our secret, Aurelia. We almost managed to fool her, though. I’ll read mine aloud first.”
To the Earl of Wynnewood, Lord Morgan,
Your letter arrives to find me well and enjoying my studies at Oxford. I do confess that it was a difficult adjustment at first, but I have grown to appreciate my masters and am doing well in my examinations. Felix arrived at a most inopportune time, and I fear my appearance may have startled him. He seems to be bothered more than is necessary. I assure you that I am well and he is concerned unnecessarily.
The townspeople and students do not get along well. I think I have the benefit of understanding both sides of the issue being both a student and a commoner. Many of the students abuse their position, thinking their rank or family gives them the privilege to be destructive or not to pay their bills.
On the other hand, the townspeople do try to take advantage of the wealth of their student patrons. They pad bills where possible and try to accuse the students of destruction that occurred as a part of general use rather than abuse by a single patron.
I was happy to hear of your visit to Modor, and I admit to having a reckless fancy to run off to Portsmouth to see Fæder. However, I am still here, still studying, still working hard so that I may come home well educated and able to assure you that I have done my best. My goal is to learn all I can, make you, Broðor Clarke, my parents, and most of all, my Lord proud.
Do tell Dove to continue her visits to Lady Aurelia. Perhaps they can spend some of their time teaching her to read and write. Maybe when Felix comes south next year, she can send a letter with him written of her own hand. Perhaps also, Lady Aurelia can show her the truth of I AM where I failed to do so.
Please tell Broðor Clarke that I met the illustrator William de Brailes and his wife. I have seen them a few times now, and he is always an encouragement to me at exactly the time I would need him. I do wonder if the Lord doesn’t prompt both of us to go out during those times. It seems too improbable for such consistent coincidence.
I send you all my love, my honor, my respect, and my gratitude. I do know what a great privilege it is to be here and I am determined not to waste any of it.
Philip Ward, Oxford.
Dove cocked her head, the hood flopping to one side like a rabbit’s ear. “How can he seem so happy and unhappy at the same time?”
“I think you might feel the same. You are happy that he is learning and enjoying this experience, but unhappy that he is gone. I think that’s reasonable.”
The roles felt reversed to Dove. She was usually the one being sensible while Aurelia allowed emotion to cloud her judgment. Dove just couldn’t stand the idea of her friend being all alone in a strange town and unhappy.
“That was my thought,” Lord Morgan agreed. “I do wish he had explained himself more. I think while you read your letter, I will go inquire of Felix what Philip meant in the beginning of his letter.”
“You do not want to hear the other letter, Father?”
“I’ll read it with you later. You enjoy it with Dove.”
Aurelia shifted to get more comfortable and then beckoned Dove to “read” with her. “You will learn how to read much more quickly if you see and hear reading at the same time. I’ll put my finger under each word.”
“I doubt I could remember them all.”
The young mistress laughed. “Of course, you cannot! That doesn’t mean it won’t help. Listen.”
To the Lady Aurelia of Wynnewood,
Your unusual letter is received with much gratitude. I was astounded to see so many messages in one long letter. It did bring a desperate longing to see you all again, but I have made it my goal to channel that longing into my studies. If I do well, perhaps I can finish earlier than expected. How much will have changed by the time I return! Why, you will likely be married!
I was overjoyed to hear of Angus’ success. I have always wondered if he would flourish after he was given a chance to prove himself as something other than just a brawny boy. Liam shamed me with his questions. His eagerness to learn comes to mind every time I think I have more to do than I can bear.
As to your questions, I have not made good friends of the students yet, but I have met an interesting man who encourages me in my studies, and a friendly tavern keeper keeps me mindful of who I am beneath these academic robes. I think my fellow students do not know how to interact with an equal who is not an equal.
Regarding my studies, I am now beginning French in addition to improving my Latin and Italian. The mathematics classes are still my least favorite, and astronomy has been added. At least I now have a use for some of the mathematics I have studied.
Lady Aurelia, your kindness to me is more appreciated than you can ever know. Please share my gratitude to all and assure them of my affection. You are all in my prayers daily.
Philip Ward, Oxford
“How many more years will he be gone?” Dove whispered.
Aurelia’s voice was choked with emotion when she answered, “Too many.”
Chapter 14
Unrest
Summer
Oxford felt oppressed by the second week of June. At first, Philip thought it might be the heat, but there was more—much more. Several of the students had fathers visiting for reasons that seemed strange. Had it been one or two, he would not have thought much of it, but nearly a dozen of the most prominent students had some family—father, uncle, brother—in attendance.
Of all the men in town, Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, was the most prominent. Why, even Philip had heard of him! Knights dressed in full armor seemed ever-present, and there was talk of battle.
The temptation to creep into the streets to see what he could learn was strong and twice nearly overpowered him. The first time he made it to the street before turning back, mentally quoting the third chapter of John in Latin as a diversion. The second time he made it almost to his favorite tavern before he turned back, unwilling to risk being caught and dishonoring Lord Morgan’s name.
He made it nearly to his lodgings when it occurred to him that he could eat dinner and possibly hear something. Once more, Philip did an about-face and hurried to the tavern. The building was nearly bursting at the seams with travelers and students, but Hob beckoned for him to follow. There, at a table shoved into the corner, was a place just perfect for him.
“I’ll bring you mutton. Ale or mead?”
“I’d appreciate ale tonight. Thank you.”
“There’s a lot of talk in here tonight,” Hob warned. “A lot of beer and ale flowing. Loose tongues might be interesting, but it’s dangerous too. You be careful what people think you hear.”
To his dismay, a group of knights shoved back a bench, knocking it over, and pushed through the door. Their chain mail looked heavy and uncomfortable in the heat, but they wore it regardless. What could it mean? Hob picked up the bench, frowning at something, and then set it aright.
Another group of students, some of them the most respected of the Australes, burst through the door, singing and laughing at some trick they’d played on someone. Philip just hoped they wouldn’t notice him. They called for food and ale, laughing at a ditty sung by a minstrel about a fool who thought he could control the world without work or inclination—a thinly veiled reference to the king it seemed.
“Not for long,” one called out.
They sat at the table in front of him with several knights and talked loudly and eagerly of all they knew. Angry barons were banding together to draw up a new charter. One of young men joked that this time the barons took care to look to the future. “We won’t be caught without a plan this time.”
To Philip’s horror, the words fight, battle, war, and army were mentioned in the same breath as London and the king. One lad mentioned that the Scots were involved. Those words struck new fear in Philip’s heart. All he knew of the Scots was the attempt of some to gain control of Wynnewood Castle—using Lady Aurelia as leverage to do it. How could this Simon de Montfort support such an idea?
He chewed his mutton, nearly swallowed his potato without bothering to chew, and gulped his ale when pieces of meat or potato stuck in his throat. This Montfort was a cousin of the king. What would happen if this overthrow—or whatever it was—actually succeeded?
The more he heard, the more alarmed he grew. With each new fear, his caution weakened until he heard the name of one of the barons and gasped. The man closest to him turned and stared at him, but Philip managed to cover his gaffe by pretending to have a mouth full of overly hot food. His relief didn’t last. The men grew quiet, serious glances tossed his way at irregular intervals.
He was afraid to leave, but staying seemed foolish. A slip through a side door wouldn’t be sufficient to escape men such as these. One call to any of the knights roaming the streets would earn him a beating at the least. The words he’d heard were seditious at best.
Just as he was certain there was no hope for escape, an argument between the Australes at the next table and Hob began. Philip saw the signal to call for the constable and sighed. It would be an ugly night. The students would rally together against Hob, and the tavern keeper would try to prove whatever he thought had occurred. It would be bad for everyone in the end.
The constable arrived in record time, likely expecting some sort of altercation with the unrest in the town. Hob pointed at the broken bench and tried to insist that the students had broken it. Philip frowned. Hob knew it was damaged before they even entered the door. Why was he trying to put blame on the students that they didn’t deserve?
“He can verify my words,” the man cried, pointing at Philip. “He saw it all. They broke the bench, made a mess, and refused to pay the bill. It isn’t the first time they’ve been trouble in here.”
The constable seemed to want to appease the tavern keeper. He had no jurisdiction over the students, but he asked Philip to attest to the veracity of Hob’s statements. Philip felt sick.
“I think Hob is mistaken. The men who broke the bench were the knights who left before these students came in. Remember, Hob? You inspected it carefully. These knights weren’t on that side of the table and those men weren’t even in here.”
“What about the bill?” the constable queried before Hob could protest.
“I didn’t hear anything. If they refused to pay, they did it quietly.”
“The boy lies to protect himself,” Hob insisted. “Several from that group gave him a severe beating outside this tavern some weeks back. He probably fears worse if he speaks.”
This angered Philip. Hob knew the men who had jumped him weren’t there. “It is true that some of the students did attack me last month, but none of these men were involved.” His face turned and met Hob’s eyes squarely. “I know that Hob has endured much at the hands of some of the students, but I have never seen these men give him any trouble at all.”
“He lies!” Hob cried again.
The constable pulled Philip aside. “If you speak against your fellow students, I can take it to the chancellor. The man will get justice instead of a blind eye—if he speaks truth.”
“Constable, if these men were guilty of the accusations against them, I would tell you. I have been taught to speak the truth even when it is difficult, but just as I will not lie to ease my own life, neither will I lie for revenge.”
A fight broke out as Hob threw insults at Philip. He had clearly expected Philip to back up his story in revenge against the other students, but Philip would have none of it. He waited until Hob’s and the constable’s attentions were distracted and slipped through the crowd and out the door.
The streets were crowded for a summer evening, but Philip did not mind. It would be harder to find him in such a crowd. As he reached his lodgings, unmolested, Philip sighed in relief. “Now to survive until these people leave,” he whispered under his breath as he raced up the stairs two at a time.
Shovel in hand, Dove glanced at the last several feet of earth that blocked the inlet to her pool. It wouldn’t take long once she started digging. A pile of smooth stones lay beside her, waiting for their place in the inlet, but she doubted many would be laid before the water broke through the weak dam of earth.
Her foot stomped on the edge and another shovelful flew in the air behind her. All caution was gone. She’d be happy with piles of dirt if it could only be done now!
The day was hot—hotter than she’d ever remembered. The cold water of the Ciele was exactly what her body craved. She was hot, sweaty, and sticky. Dirt clung to her hands, arms, and legs. Her cloak hung over a tree branch and her sleeves and breeches legs were rolled up to help her stay cool.
Always, she listened. Every twig that cracked, every bird that tittered, and every leaf that rustled in the wind sorted itself in her mind as safe or threat. She was ready to spring for covering at any moment, but she wanted nothing more than to rid herself of her shoes, gloves, and breeches in order to wade in her new pool.
The next shovelful saw a trickle push through the dirt. The crack widened until the force of the water pushed the dirt out of the way. Eagerly, as the water rushed down the inlet to the pool, she jerked her gloves from her hands, pulled her shoes from her feet, and pulled the string that held up her breeches. Her tunic nearly reached her knees, making it
the perfect cover to swim in while giving her free range of movement.
It took much longer to fill the pool than she’d imagined. Stones fell out of their place in the sidewalls, but she worked hard to shove them back. It was hard work, constant movement, and as the water rose, pushing through it to the next repair became more difficult than she’d imagined.
At her knees, the water seemed perfect. It was cold, but refreshing on her hot, tired feet. Once it rose above her knees, she began to feel half-frozen. By the time it reached her waist, she walked nearly on tiptoe, trying to keep the coldness off her belly. The torture was so great that she nearly crawled from the pool several times, but pride drove her back to the center.
Dove was surprised to discover that once her stomach was fully submerged, she didn’t feel nearly as cold. Her hands floated atop the water beside her and her tunic billowed under her arms. Delighted with her buoyancy, she found herself dancing in the water, her feet hardly touching bottom much of the time.
At last, the pool was full, and to stand with her head out of water, Dove had to stand near the edge of the inlet. Nightfall was coming. For a moment, Dove dreamed of floating in the water under the moonlight, but she then remembered there would be no moon that night.
Disappointed, she crawled from the water. It was harder to climb out of the pool than she’d imagined. Her muscles were weak and sore as if she’d been active for the first time in months. It made no sense! She’d been working on that pool for most of a year.
By the tree, she pulled a spare tunic from her cloak and allowed it to slip over her head. Her teeth chattered as she pulled on her breeches, cinching them at the waist, and then her gloves. Item by item she redressed and then grabbed the shovel for the last time. From now on, she would come to the pool to think, to reflect, sleep sometimes, and of course, swim.
As the sun set, plunging the forest into a much dimmer light, Dove glanced back at her handiwork. Philip would love it. She’d transplant the violas and the ferns that grew near the clearing to her new sanctuary. It would be beautiful and serene. She smiled and thought, If I cannot find I AM here, can he even be found?