Tancred continued to stare across the waters. A light, salty mist assailed him, leaving droplets on his bearded face. “Would you have asked that but a short time ago, I might have answered strongly in the latter. I was a most bitter man.”
Devon pushed back his cloak and adjusted the sword at his side. The cold steel felt good against his hand, and were this man still considered his enemy, he’d find little difficulty in challenging him to fight to the death. Thoughts of Arianne being beaten by this bitter man caused Devon to turn narrowed eyes on his companion.
“And now?” Devon’s voice was low and formidable.
Tancred never broke his gaze. “Now, I am not so bitter. Perhaps now I am more thoughtful and filled with reasoning.”
“Reasoning? Reasoning for what, pray tell?”
Tancred raised an eyebrow as if casually considering the matter. His camlet garde-corp, woven of the finest camel hair in Cyprus, offered him cherished warmth. It also reminded him of the giver. Artimas.
“I met a man not long ago. A pilgrim philosopher on his journey to Paris. A man of more difference and provocative thought I have ne’er met.”
“A man of philosophy?” Devon asked in a tone of disbelief.
“And what heresy did he preach or did you contemplate angels and how many existed on pin-tops?”
Tancred laughed and turned to the younger man. “Nay, but my thoughts were much the same as yours, even though I had no concern of heresy. I had long ago presumed my soul unsaveable. That was, until I met your sister.”
Devon’s face tightened. “Yes, you were most uncharitable to her as I have learned.”
Tancred nodded thoughtfully. “ ’Tis true and nothing of pride for me. I acted out of spite and hate and have no other excuse to offer. I posted my sincerest regret to the woman and begged her forgiveness. Richard’s scribe penned me a fine letter in her name, releasing me from the debt.”
“ ’Tis like Arianne to put aside a difference so easily. Still, I have not her ease of reconciliation.”
Tancred said nothing for a moment. “Mayhaps I should seek your forgiveness as well,” he paused, meeting Devon’s eyes, “for the offense you still carry in her name.”
Devon was clearly convicted by Tancred’s words. He swallowed hard, released the sword that he’d toyed with throughout the conversation, and looked away. “Mayhaps, I should seek yours.”
“Then we are in agreement,” Tancred said and returned his gaze to follow Devon’s. England’s shoreline drew ever closer.
“Was it your philosopher who changed your heart?” Devon questioned in a voice barely audible.
“Nay,” Tancred replied. “ ’Twas God. Artimas only assisted in pointing out the finer details.”
“Such as?”
“So much was muddled in my thinking. The church had done nothing to aid me when I was accused of my parents’ murder and exiled, although I had beseeched Rome on many occasions. I worked for over ten years, putting together all my worldly goods. This, in order to see my brother brought to justice for something I knew in my heart he was incapable of having done.
“I knew I hadn’t killed our father and mother, but Richard was the only other person close at hand. I tried to imagine him capable of the act, but knew full well it was impossible. But I came anyway and was defeated by him, as you well know. But the defeat came in so many ways far deeper than the obvious.”
Tancred grew silent for a moment in memory. “Arianne prayed for me. She told me so. She told me that she saw a remnant of good left over from the past. It gave her hope that I could be changed. She pleaded with my brother for my worthless life, for she knew my soul was condemned.”
Devon smiled. He could well imagine his sister’s meddling. “She has a tender heart.”
“Aye,” Tancred responded softly. “Would that all men could know the love of one such as she.”
Devon nodded. “She is more dear to me than life itself.”
“Arianne’s words haunted me these last months. I knew I was without hope. I could not bear to share my heart, even with the priest, for fear of hearing confirmation that I was completely unsaveable.”
“And did your philosopher see the error of your thought?”
The ship pitched against the waves and both men gripped the railing for support. Tancred could nearly smell the English soil, and all that was in him cried for the sights of home.
“Artimas,” he said, fixing his eyes on the landed horizon, “told me of his own teacher. A man of great intellect. His name is Thomas Aquinas. Artimas was on his way to meet with his master when he took his comfort with me.” Tancred chuckled in memory. “Of course there was plainly little of comfort in that hovel you found me in, but Artimas made it seem unimportant.
“He asked me of my life, and I laughed at the man. I truly had no will to live and plainly told him so.”
“And what did he say?”
“He told me that the will was the single strongest source of motivation to all the other powers of the soul.”
“Meaning exactly what?” Devon asked, now fully curious of this man’s philosophy.
“That without will, nothing can be done.” Devon nodded in understanding, but waited for Tancred to continue. “Artimas believes that faith is the one thing that gives power to the will.”
“And where does faith find birth when a man has no desire to live?”
Tancred smiled. “Through action and reason. Faith and reason are dependent upon each other. Aquinas teaches that reason without faith is meaningless, but then so, too, is faith without reason. Faith is that substance that causes a man to say, ‘Yea, I will believe even though it is impossible,’ while reason finds a way to make the impossible happen.”
“Spoken like a true philosopher!” Devon declared.
“In the second century after the death and resurrection of Christ, people heard St. Justin proclaim that God had given philosophy to the Greeks even as He had given his Law to the Jewish people. I believe philosophy is not without merit.”
“But what of the argument that you can either be a philosopher or a Christian? If Christianity contains the truth, then all else must surely not contain it. I’ve always been given over to the thought that it is not our place to join them together, but to choose one or the other,” Devon said with honest interest in the matter.
Tancred nodded. “I’ve heard it said as well. People fear that to question and reason that which causes them difficulty might in fact nullify their faith, and faith is most necessary to please God. The Scriptures make this clear.”
“Sine fide impossibile est placere Deo—without faith it is impossible to please God,” Devon remembered from his childhood training.
“Exactly. But man, being man, questions things quite naturally. To reason a matter seems a logical choice until another comes along and declares you a heretic for having no faith.”
“A twisted matter to be sure.”
“Alas,” Tancred said with a look of peace so clear upon his face that Devon could not doubt the truth of his statement. “ ’Tis more important that God has given peace to my soul.”
Devon nodded, knowing that peace for himself. “Aye. ’Tis indeed most beneficial.”
j
In a small, unpretentious room, Richard found himself face to face with his king. Henry, in his surcoat of green and gold, entered the room and waived off the cleric who dogged his every step.
“I have no need of you here, Man. Await me in the outer room,” the king spoke, and the man quickly responded to his command.
“Richard!” Henry said with a heartiness he reserved for family. “ ’Tis good you are with us. There is a matter that I believe you will find much to your liking.”
“You have always treated me generously,” Richard replied.
“And you
have served me faithfully. Therefore, I have brought you here this day to inform you of a particular matter. I am granting workers and monies to see an expansion of your harbor. You will soon have a fine place to receive goods and trade of all manner.”
Richard stared in surprise. “I had no idea. I sought but a charter to give our town a fair each year. I had little reason to hope such a thing as this could be within my grasp.”
Henry smiled benevolently upon the man who had once held residency with his own family after the death of his parents. “ ’Tis a generous act, for a good man.”
“I am most humbly honored.”
“There is yet another matter,” the king said, pleased with the announcement he was about to make. “I have had word that your brother’s ship safely entered our harbor yesterday. He and your wife’s brother are making their way north to Gavenshire. I release you to join them.”
Richard’s face revealed his anticipation and pleasure at the news. “What of your men and the harbor plans?”
“I will send them north within a fortnight. Give it no further concern for the time,” Henry replied, then lowered his voice as if to imply secrecy. “Richard, I know you seek the murderer of your father and mother. You have my leave to bring that person to justice. I pray you are successful, only make certain of the facts. A man’s life is now eleven years gone, and all because we rushed to judgment. I regret that deeply and beg God’s forgiveness.”
“I, too,” Richard admitted to the pious king he so admired. “ ’Tis a lesson I’ll not soon forget.”
“Aye,” Henry answered, nodding. His face seemed to change from the sobriety, however, in a flash. “Then be off with you, Man. They have a lead on you by more than a day’s ride.”
Richard bowed, and then the matter of Helena came to mind.
“Sire, there is a matter that I feel should be aired.”
“Pray tell?”
“I have taken a young woman into the protection and care of my castle. Her name is Helena, but she claims memory of nothing more. She is gentle born and clearly a lady.”
“I see,” Henry said, thoughtfully stroking his chin. “No one knows of her origins?”
“Nay,” Richard replied. “I sent out riders and they returned without a single word to encourage us. Helena says very little, but she is a kind and hearty soul. I gave her leave to remain with us, but thought you should be made aware of the matter. There is always the possibility that someone may seek her out, and should they begin their search here, you will already be aware of the circumstance.”
“I will bear it in mind.”
❧
The sound of riders caused Devon and Tancred to come to their feet. A heavy fog had just begun to cloud over the land, and what the darkness did not blot out, the misty whiteness did.
“Who goes there?” Devon called out, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“His Grace, the duke of Gavenshire,” came the call. A look of relief crossed Devon’s face and he released the sword. Tancred, also armed, did likewise and stood with a sobering glance in the direction of the voices.
“Richard?” Devon called.
“Aye, ’tis me,” Richard replied, riding into the soft glow of their campfire light. He drew his horse up and dismounted. Throwing the reins to his squire, Richard stepped forward with a determined stare and met his brother’s gaze.
“Henry told me you had arrived. I found it most gratifying to spend the day in yon saddle in order to reach you by nightfall.”
“Gratifying is not a word that comes to mind,” Tancred replied in jest, “when thinking of a hard ride to London on a beast such as that.”
Richard laughed tensely. “ ’Tis good to see you again.”
“Better circumstances than our last meeting, eh?” Tancred’s dark eyes were lit with amusement, yet there was hesitation in his manner. Would his brother truly forgive him and honor this new peace between them? Everyone seemed to watch and wait for Richard’s reply.
“Aye, the matter is clearly a more pleasant one.” Then with a smile, Richard stepped forward a pace and opened his arms.
“I pray it is well with thee.”
Tancred hesitated for a moment, then embraced his brother. There were tears on his cheeks, and Tancred was grateful the darkness covered his embarrassment. Yet when he pulled away, he noted there were tears in Richard’s eyes as well.
“We have much to discuss,” Richard said in a voice none too steady.
“Aye,” Tancred replied. “Eleven years’ worth.”
Chapter 8
Helena watched Arianne and Matilda, almost as if she were detached from the life around her. The more she kept up her deception and refused to speak of her past, the worse she felt. Now the Easter season was upon them and great preparations were underway for the celebration that would come.
The castle took on a rumbling of excitement. Servants worked a little harder and faster, while knights, clerics, and clergy anticipated the fine feasts and parties that would follow the unveiling of the cross on Easter Sunday.
But, Helena reminded herself, Easter Sunday was still several days away and there was much to be done. She tried to keep her hands busy at the tasks Arianne had assigned her, but her heart wasn’t in the work. She watched Timothy, cradled at her side without a care in the world. He stared up at her with dark blue eyes as if to say, “My life and yours be not that different.” Helena thought it true, whether Timothy was actually considering such a weighty matter or not.
The parish priest had stated that Easter was a matter of faith. Faith that the stone would be rolled away. Faith that the Savior would rise from the dead. Faith that in such an action, death would be defeated and all the wrongs in the world righted. But Helena felt her faith wane. It had been so long since she’d had any reason to believe that her wrongs would be righted.
There was a commotion in the kitchen, and Helena couldn’t resist smiling at the way Arianne quickly settled the dispute. Arianne was quite competent, and Helena greatly admired her. Admired and was jealous of her, which Helena had sought forgiveness for on more than one occasion. It wasn’t that she would wish any other life for the duchess. Nay, it was that she longed with all her heart to have a joy and happiness similar to that which Arianne called her life.
Oh, Tanny, she thought. Would that you could take me as wife and dispel my longing and anguish. What would be the price I would pay for your return, for a single day, even an hour, to sit by your side? Tears came unbidden to her eyes, and Helena lowered her head so that no one could see her cry.
“Oh, Father,” she whispered, “I fear I cannot bear up under this burden any longer. ’Tis more than I am able to conquer.” Timothy seemed to think she was talking to him and gave a gurgling sound.
Helena smiled and lifted the babe to see the activity that bustled around him. “See there, young sire,” she said softly, “your mother, the duchess, is planning quite a celebration.”
Arianne glanced across the room to see Helena holding Timothy. She smiled and came to extend her hands out to take her son. “What mischief are you about, my Timothy?” she questioned in amusement.
“I told him you were preparing a feast,” Helena offered. “He seemed quite interested.”
“No doubt,” Arianne said with a laugh. “In a few years he’ll race with the other boys and tilt at the quintain. Soon enough he’ll go off to foster with others and my time with him will be greatly diminished.”
“But you’ll have other children,” Helena reminded her.
“Yea, but I’m thinking the first is something different. The first born gives you cause to think and remember the sheer wonder of God.” She looked down at her son with such love that Helena had to lower her gaze. It hurt too much to be so near what she needed and yet know that it could not belong to her.
Why God? she wondered silently. Why must my heart belong to one who is so very far away; one who knows not whether I come or go? One who may very well be dead. This last thought caused Helena to shudder. If Tanny were dead, she would have no reason to go on.
“God is good, is He not?” Arianne offered softly, not knowing the gloomy thoughts of her friend.
Helena had barely heard the words and took a moment as if to translate their meaning. “Yes, He is good,” she finally replied. But not always swift, she added to herself.
It was hoped that Richard would be home by Easter, but when Good Friday arrived and the duke was still absent, Arianne tried to make the best of it.
Throughout Lent, the observations of the season had been met with enthusiasm. The castle chapel, as well as the church in the village, found its sanctuary hung with veiling to shroud the cross and holy relics. Good Friday presented a memorial to that day when Christ had gone willingly to the cross to offer salvation to all mankind.
Leaving one of the other chambermaids to care for Timothy, Arianne and Helena led the castle procession in the “creeping to the cross.”
The women bowed low and walked slowly in reverent memory of the crucifixion. Helena couldn’t hold back her tears. She was deeply moved at the sacrifice her Lord had made, but so, too, was she in deep sorrow for the loss in her heart. Somehow their combination was appropriate, and she instantly felt that God would have her leave her heartache on the church steps with the cross.
Approaching the now unveiled cross, Helena rose up only slightly and kissed it, declaring to God as she did so that just as they would bury the cross until Easter Sunday, so Helena would give over her anguish to be buried as well. At least this had been her heart’s desire.
If the duchess thought it strange that her lady-in-waiting sobbed openly at the symbol of Christ’s sacrifice, she did not say so. Instead, as they left the steps to allow the others to come forward, Arianne simply placed her arm around Helena’s shoulders.
They watched from the side as the ceremony concluded. The priest took the cross and wrapped it tenderly in white silk and placed it in a prepared sepulcher set deep inside the church wall. With this done, a veil was set over the opening, candles were set to surround the tomb, and each candle was lit as a prayer was recited.
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