Chesten looked at the group of weary travellers who had entered her tavern. Her gaze slid passed Josephine with disinterest. She glared with suspicion at Yrre and Eadger until her gaze finally fell on Sampson.
“Blow me over and call me Daisy. Brother Sampson, what yer be doing in these parts?” She stepped forward and took his hand in hers as if they were long lost friends.
“Do I know you?” Sampson asked awkwardly as he tried to withdraw his hand.
“I came and listened to one of yer sermons once, when yer were at Dor. Took me almost a day and a bit to get there, but it were worth it mind. ’Ere, see ’ere everyone, this ’ere be Brother Sampson, yer know the one I were telling yer about. Brother Sampson,” she took his arm and began to lead him towards a battered-looking staircase. “Yer looking for lodgings? I’ll let yer have me bed, I will, no charge. I was so inspired by what yer said. It made me change my ways, it did. Been trying to get me other half to change his, but he is a stubborn as an old ox and just as stupid. ’Tis the drink yer see, muddled his brain, not that ee had one to begin with. Perhaps yer can talk some sense in ter him before yer leave.”
Sampson glanced back behind his shoulder, with a look that clearly cried help.
Garren held back a grin.
“’Ere follow me you lot,” Chesten said waving her poker in the air as she did so. Sampson ducked and was lucky not to lose an eye. But Chesten seemed oblivious and carried on waving her poker around. “What yer all waiting for? Rooms be this way and then I’ll go get ee some food. I’m a good cook, I am. Yer not go hungry ’ere.”
“You heard the lady,” Garren said with a smile. “After you,” he said to Josephine.
Josephine narrowed her eyes. “I believe I’ll go after you.”
“I insist,” Garren said on a grin.
“Coward,” Josephine whispered as she stepped forward.
“Where that woman and that poker are concerned, I most certainly am,” Garren said with humour. He heard Yrre’s snort of amusement come from behind him, but he didn’t turn to look.
22
Holywell Priory, Londinium.
Alan paused outside the large wooden gates of the Priory. It had been so long since he was last in Londinium, too many years had passed by, it was strange that he had not noticed the time march on. He had expected things to of changed, to be different, but he had not been prepared for this. Londinium was no more. She was a ruin. A skeleton left to rot outside in the cold for the scavengers to argue over.
The place where he grew up was unrecognisable. What had once been a thriving community was now left to the ghosts and the spirits. These ghosts crept in and out of the buildings that were still standing, and wept and wailed for the ones that were not. There was no one here — no one alive anyway. The inhabitants had moved on when the Saxons came. After the Battle of Crecganford, there had been nothing left to stay for — unless it was disease and starvation that you desired. Only a few brave souls had remained, his father being one of them. But now looking around, Alan couldn’t understand why his father would choose to stay.
Surprisingly while Londinium burned, the Priory of Holywell, on the outskirts of the town, had been spared. No one knew why the Saxons left the Priory untouched and no one was brave enough to ask any questions. It was enough that they had left this sacred site alone.
There was a long rope attached to a bell, hanging from the wall and Alan cautiously pulled it. The bell rang, the sound conspicuous in the bleakness and silence of the landscape. Alan had a strange fancy that this tolling bell was calling the mourners to the cemetery and the ghosts to the graves. There was a finality to the sound. An end. He regretted ringing it, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose. He looked about him, but he could see no one. It was deserted. He felt a strange fancy that he was the last man left alive. He shivered at the thought.
Alan waited for what seemed like an eternity for someone to answer his summons. He pulled the furs tighter around his shoulders and shuffled from one foot to the other in a bid to stay warm. The horse he had loaned from a livery in Sussex nudged him in the back several times until Alan absentmindedly began to pet the animal. For the love of everything Holy, what was taking them so long? Was the Priory as abandoned as Londinium’s streets? He was of a mind to leave when the door opened.
There standing in front of him was a woman, her robes a nondescript grey, her hair was covered with a coif. Around her eyes and her mouth were many fine-lined wrinkles, which told him that she laughed often and smiled much. She had kind eyes, blue ones, and he instantly felt at ease in her presence. The nun smiled at him in welcome; she didn’t speak, but he could see questions in her eyes.
“I am here to see my father,” he cleared his throat, for his voice came out with a rasp to it, thanks to the cold air. “I had a message he was here,” he reached for the letter and handed it to her.
The nun looked at the letter, smiled again and opened the door wider.
Alan followed the sister inside the grounds of the Priory. There was an eerie silence about the place. It was as if God had inhaled and forgot to breathe out again. Fog rose up from the early morning earth towards the heavens as if searching for something that could not be found on the ground amongst the living.
Alan looked around him. There was a range of outbuildings. There was a horse in one of the stables; his head hung over a very chewed door as he munched contentedly on hay. And there were a couple of goats, tethered to a barrel outside. The whole place had an air of neglect to it. There were several nuns walking through the mist. There was one in particular that caught his eye. She wore nothing on her head, and her long blonde hair fell past her shoulders. She was younger than the others — late teens, early twenties at a guess. When their eyes met, Alan felt as if some invisible force had reached inside him and squeezed his heart. And then she smiled, and Alan knew that he was in the presence of an angel. She walked right up to him. Her striking green eyes looked up at him shyly as she took the reins from his hand. He watched as she led his horse away and was pleased when she turned back to look at him.
“How is my father?” Alan asked, dragging his gaze away from the angel and back to the old nun who had so far said not a word to him.
The nun turned her head slightly towards him as if to say she had heard what he said, but she did not speak.
Alan groaned in silent frustration. He was tired, cold, and hungry. The journey across the South Sea had not been the easiest, for the wind had picked up, and the waves had crashed against the bow of the boat. But someone must have been looking out for him because they landed in Sussex, none the worse for wear. Then it was just a case of travelling across the country. He felt like he had landed in some strange and distant land, all around him was devastation. It was very easy to see the path the Saxon’s had taken. He had ridden through Netley Marsh. A local had pointed out the battlefield where King Natanleod of Sussex had made his final stand against Cerdic of Wessex and lost. Alan hadn’t stayed long in that sorry place. He had kicked his horse on. His heart heavy.
How long would it take a kingdom to rebuild, to recover, and to forget? Alan had never thought about that before. He was a soldier. He was a warrior. He never stayed to clear up the mess after the battle was over. He had never even thought about what happened after, until now.
“My father’s letter…” he began again, dragging his thoughts back to more pressing matters. His father was sick. He hoped he wasn’t too late. He wanted to see his old man one more time. When the nun didn’t speak, he tried again and again until he realised he would get no answers from her. He had heard of silent orders, where the monks or nuns refrained from speaking, he hoped to God the Priory of Holywell was not one of those.
He followed the nun through the cloisters. The only sound was their footsteps on the cold hard flagstones of the cloisters floor.
“This way.”
The nun spoke. Halleluiah! There was hope. He followed the nun down a very dark, long, winding passageway tha
t seemed to go on forever. Finally, the nun stopped outside a very timeworn embossed oak door that had seen better days. Alan wondered if there were any men about the place to help the nuns with the maintenance of the building. By what he had seen so far, he guessed not.
“Your father is very weak,” the nun spoke softly. “He has been waiting for you,” she smiled with sympathy and pushed the door open, which complained on its hinges with a ghostly creak.
Alan could not help but screw up his nose at the smell that greeted him. The air was stale and stank of poisonous blood, rotting flesh, and death. He breathed through his mouth and tried his best to will away the nausea that the smell caused. Tentatively, he stepped into the sick room. Dear Holy God the smell, it made his eyes water, and he put his hand over his mouth and did his best not to gag.
“He has a large ulcer on his leg that will not heal,” the nun said gently, as she crossed towards the dying man. “He is bleeding to death, and there is nothing we can do to stop it.” The nun looked back at Alan, her eyes imploring him for understanding. “Believe me I have tried everything. All we can do now is keep him as comfortable as possible. He still manages to eat a little, and he still has all his wits, which is something to be grateful for.” She smiled as she sat down on the bed.
“Kay, your son is here,” the nun whispered.
The old man’s eyes slowly opened. “I told you he would come,” Kay said in a very weak voice. He clutched the nun’s hand as tightly in his as he could, and he looked towards the door, but his vision wasn’t what it once was. “Where are you, son?” Kay asked.
The nun kissed the back of Kay’s hand lovingly and slowly rose to her feet. “Come sit with him,” she encouraged. “It’s all right.”
Alan slowly took his hand away from his mouth and moved forward until he came to stand at the side of the bed. He looked down at his father. His father had always been a thin man, but now there was nothing to him.
“Is that you, Alan?” Kay asked, his voice weak, he held out his hand for Alan to take. “You have to come closer, my eyes are failing me, and I would like to look upon your face.”
Alan blinked back tears and took his father’s offered hand.
“Sit down on the bed. You won’t hurt him,” the nun encouraged with another smile.
Alan cleared his throat, and for a moment he wished he hadn’t come. He didn’t want to remember his father looking like this. He wanted to turn around and flee from the room like a coward. But he couldn’t flee, he couldn’t do that to his father. His father needed him, and he knew he would never forgive himself if he deserted his father now. Hesitantly, he sat down on the bed.
“Ah, there you are,” Kay said, a tear escaping from his cloudy eyes to roll down his cheek. “You got my letter then. The Prioress said she had sent it.”
“I told you I had,” the nun said with a hint of gentle rebuking.
“You are the Prioress? I am sorry, I didn’t realise,” Alan said, feeling very foolish. Although to be fair, she wasn’t dressed any different to the others.
The Prioress brushed off such concerns with another beautiful smile. “Can you help him sit up, maybe he will not make such a fuss about drinking his tonic if you are in the room,” there was a teasing note in her voice.
“You wouldn’t drink it if you tasted it,” Kay scoffed. “Believe me, son, it is the Devil’s poison. I think she is trying to kill me,” he chuckled.
“Father,” Alan said, horrified that his father would talk so in the presence of a Prioress.
“I pay him no heed,” the Prioress said. “We have known each other a long time. I am used to his grumblings.”
“It has been a long time,” Kay agreed. “We have known each other longer than we haven’t. We have seen a lot, haven’t we, you and me? We have witnessed kingdoms rise and fall. We have seen children born and old men die. It is good that we have seen it together. There is nothing better than growing old with old friends. Come here, my love.”
The Prioress crossed the room, the tonic still in her hand, which she held to Kay’s mouth. He muttered a protest and drunk a few little sips before shaking his head.
“That’s enough for now,” Kay stated, a twinkle in his eye. “Now sit down and hold my other hand.” The Prioress did as Kay told her. “There,” Kay said, his face filled with emotion. “My only child and my oldest friend, together in the same room. What more could a man wish for? I feel complete now.”
“Father,” Alan said, biting his lip and closing his eyes briefly as he battled to stay in control of his emotions.
“I am so glad you came. I had a dream, it was very vivid, and it has been pressing heavily on my mind. I wanted you to know of it. No doubt you think me foolish to drag you away from your duties. I am sure you can think of a hundred things you would rather be doing than having to listen to the ramblings of a dying old man.”
“Of course not,” Alan said, although his mind wondered to Amandine. “Why wouldn’t I want to know what my father dreams of?”
“I am glad to hear you say that. I shall tell you. I dreamt I saw an army so vast that it was like looking at an endless field of wheat — there were too many heads to count. On one side I saw the imperial flags of Rome, and on the other, I saw the banner of the Du Lacs,” Kay raised old tired eyes to his son. “It is time, isn’t it? She has called you, hasn’t she? Your mistress. My mistress. Do you have her with you? I would like to see her one more time.”
Alan knew what his father was talking about, so he reached for Draíocht. As soon as he enclosed his hand over the pommel, he felt a warmth travel up his arm. “Here,” he said, giving the blade to his father.
The old man held the blade to his face and looked upon it lovingly for a long while, a sort of half smile on his sunken face. “Still so beautiful, even after all these years. You know what you have to do, don’t you son?” he finally asked as he handed the knife back to Alan. “For it is time.”
“I know what I have to do. I just have no idea where to start,” Alan stammered over the words, and he felt fear at his father’s dream. He prayed that it was not a prophecy.
“There is a great evil coming. I can feel its essence in my bones. It is like an infection. To start with it is hardly noticeable, a small fever, nothing of consequence, so it is left unchecked and just when you think you are beginning to feel better, that is when it takes hold. It is like before, isn’t it?” he looked to the Prioress for confirmation.
“It is,” she said sadly. “Exactly the same, only this time it will be worse.”
“Yes, you are right,” Kay agreed. “For this time we know what is to come, whereas before we knew not what was going to happen. Ignorance was bliss, wasn’t it?”
“What is going to happen?” Alan asked, looking at his father, then the Prioress, and back to his father again.
“War,” Kay stated, his tone as direct as his meaning. “And once again we will be asked to choose sides. But which side should we choose… The Pendragons or the du Lacs?”
“A wise man would say to choose the one that had the best chance of winning,” the Prioress said. “But we were never wise, were we?” she smiled at Kay.
“Which side did you choose last time?” Alan asked, for as much as his father used to like to tell him stories about Arthur and his Knights, he was very quiet on the subject of the war that toppled Arthur’s court and made way for the Saxons to take over.
Kay looked at the Prioress as if seeking her permission to talk.
“I chose the du Lac’s” the Prioress stated. “For me, it wasn’t a difficult choice.”
“And you?” Alan looked to his father.
Kay studied his son for a long while. “Neither,” Kay finally said.
Alan could not hide his surprise at his father’s words.
“How could I choose?” Kay continued in a defensive like manner. “I loved them both. Some may call me a coward, but I did the only thing I could do. We ran away to Londinium together when things went from bad t
o worse,” he looked at the Prioress. “You would have died if we had stayed. He would have killed you.”
“I tell myself that he would not have hurt me,” the Prioress said. “He was a good man.”
“He would have hurt you…in the end,” Kay stated. “And even if he hadn’t, the Saxons would not have spared you. So we made the right choice to run away. And then, after the war, I found a place for you here, and that turned out to be a blessing. Although I think, for a while, you thought me cruel, sending you to this prison. That is what you called the Priory, wasn’t it?”
“That was a long time ago,” the Prioress said. “Time has changed my perspective, and now this Priory is my sanctuary. The day I took my vows was the defining moment of my life.”
Kay smiled, his eyes looked on the Prioress with compassion. “Now we both know that’s a lie,” he said. “You never wanted to marry the Church. It was forced upon you. You were a reluctant bride.”
“It doesn’t matter, it is in the past,” the Prioress said, patting Kay’s hand gently with her own. “What is done, is done. It was God’s will.”
“It was Arthur’s,” Kay corrected. “God had very little to do with it.”
“It wasn’t just Arthur, we both know that,” the Prioress answered sadly. She got up then and kissed Kay on the forehead. “I am sure you both have a lot to talk about. I will leave you to it. If you need anything, just ask one of the sisters and they will find me.”
“Thank you,” Alan said. She smiled at him and left the room.
“She doesn’t like to talk about the past,” Kay said when the door shut behind the Prioress. “She says she doesn’t like to remember. But that is simply words that she tells herself. She still wears his ring. She has never taken it off,” he sighed. “How can she possibly forget a love like that?”
“Who was she?”
“Who was she?” Kay started to laugh, which turned into a vicious cough that racked his body. Alan jumped up from the bed and quickly poured his father some water. His father was too weak to hold the cup, so Alan held it to his father’s lips. Kay drank and the coughing subsided.
The Du Lac Princess: (Book 3 of The Du Lac Chronicles) Page 26
