by Vicki Grove
It was decided Sal and Daisy would go along to bed in the sleep loft, with Rhia joining them up there later. Mam gently braced Sal from beneath and Rhia held her arms from above, and in this way Sal made it slowly up the six rungs of the ladder, step-together-step, step-together- step. Rhia washed their hands and faces with the rose water kept in a wooden trencher on the stool beneath the clothes pegs, then she put them both in clean sleepshifts. She settled Sal in bed and let Daisy kneel and say the bedtime prayer Mam had taught her. When Daisy finished and climbed to the pallet, she snuggled close to Sal and embraced her as she’d embraced her own sister Primrose in sleep, and Sal smiled at that and closed her eyes. Rhia, smiling herself, crept back down the ladder.
Her smile faded as she heard Thaddeus just then breaking the news to Mam and Granna of the gold brought from the earl’s man to buy Jim’s false confession. That cast a gloom over the entire house, of course.
“It’s why I’ve left,” Thaddeus told them. “I couldn’t dwell within walls that held such treachery. Though God may think my judgment is uninformed and hasty, so I’ll take back those words, for now. It’s what retreat is for, to question one’s own thinking.”
“Hmmph.” Granna closed one eye and leaned toward him, gesturing hard with her pipe stem. “Too much of that sort of second thinking can garble up your brains! You saw what you saw, young monk, and that’s an end to it. The vicar is as crooked as a humpbacked snake. It’s no grand surprise, not to me.”
Mam sighed and rubbed her neck. “Thaddeus, you will have Jim’s old cottage, if that suits. The pallet has been made up anew and the place swept out since Jim’s left. Take a jug of water with you, and a candle. Upon the morrow we’ll see what else may be needed, but I think you’ll find it sufficient for tonight.”
She stood to get the water jug, and whilst her back was turned, Rhia shot Thaddeus a look, then cleared her throat. “Mam, should I not at least close the door of the cot next to Sal’s? Or . . . maybe take the man a bowl of gruel? Thaddeus could go with me.”
Mam stopped in her work and turned back around with her hands upon her hips.
“Rhia, don’t even think about it. Understand me?”
There’s a way a mother says a thing with each syllable separate and grim, and that’s how Mam said this, thus leaving no chance whatsoever for Rhiannon to think she could change her mother’s mind. Nevertheless, Rhia took a try at it.
“Hark, he no longer howls! I’m sure he’s grown peaceable again, and likely regrets the events of the afternoon. This morning I told him I’d be back by evening! He said he needed a friend, and I said I’d come! I must, with Thaddeus. Would you have me lie?”
Rhia glanced at Thaddeus and saw his lips pressed tight and his eyes lifted skyward.
“Hee, hee,” Granna snickered from her place beside the fire.
Mam wagged her finger at Rhia. “A false question, that. For his own actions have made us all fearful of him this night. I would rather you lie, daughter, than lie broken and bruised, a second victim of this man’s unpredictable nature.”
“She’s right, you know,” Thaddeus whispered, and that made Rhia right angry.
In fact, she could have just spit at all present, that’s how angry she was at being treated like some . . . some child! Why, she’d seen the French pirate like this before, twice in fact, and had handled him just fine! A pity she couldn’t mention those two events, as Mam would be all the more stubbornly afeared. If anyone was to get to the bottom of this outrage against poor Sal, why, she was the one who could do it, she and she alone! With Thaddeus as backup, of course, since it was right dark.
But there they were, all three of them ranged stubbornly against her well-considered plan, though she was fourteen, fifteen in three months!
She flounced across the room. “I go to bed then, since you have so little trust in me!” She hoped her words made them all ashamed and sorry. When no one rushed to repent, she pounded her feet upon the six rungs of the loft ladder so they’d have a second chance to consider their rude and misthought treatment of her.
Only when she stood upon the floor of the loft did she recall that since she slept downstairs these days, her sleepshift was hanging on the kitchen hook, not up here where it had used to be. Well, who cared? She kicked off her shoes and loosed the cord about her waist, then flopped in her skirt and blouse upon the pallet, pushing Daisy forward a bit with her hip to make herself some room.
As she ofttimes did, Rhiannon dreamt that she was winged. Over the wide water she flew, with dolphins far below, racing her shadow as they jumped through the green waves. But how came dolphins to make the low growl that suddenly gave a sense of menace to this peaceful dream? “Crrrrrrr. Crrrrrrrrrrr. Rrrrrrrrrrr-ruh. Ruh!”
Gramp! She came wide awake and pushed up to one elbow. Gramp seldom gave that particular sinister sound, and when he did you’d best pay attention, as it signaled something extremely dire! She slipped from the pallet and raced to the gap in the twigs.
Upon the chapel roof she saw the frowsy clot of darker darkness that was Gramp engaged in his usual vigilant nightwatch. His wings were spread in a threatening way, and he looked straight down betwixt his rough old feet.
Something went on within the church, then! But what, at this midnight hour?
The moon was lined up so that it shone through the nether windows of the small sanctuary and then through the two windows on this side, as well. She squinted and pushed her forehead right against the twigs, trying to see what she might of any movement inside. She could perceive nothing—no shadows, no disturbance.
And yet, Gramp stood highly alerted and gave that most urgent gruntish growl deep in his throat that was never false alarm, not ever in Rhiannon’s lifelong experience.
She jerked her skirt cord tight, then took her shoes and went silent as she was able down the ladder. She tiptoed to light a taper from their candle, then opened the door slowly, slowly, so its creaking might not waken the two who slept beside the fire. Neither stirred, as Granna snored full, obscuring the small sounds of Rhia’s escape and the sounds of Gramp’s concerned growls, as well. To tell it true, the Devil Dogs of Clodagh might escape their hidden cave tonight and fight each other upon Mam’s table, and neither Granna nor Mam would likely hear above Granna’s present broadcasts.
Outside Rhia knotted her hair and put on her shoes, then scurried around the side of the cot so she could get a clear look at the church. Gramp had not moved and still gave that throaty rumble of a growl, though nothing about the churchyard seemed changed at all. She took a deep breath, and ran across to the chapel door. She paused there to look up at Gramp. Girl and bird looked hard at each other.
“Is someone inside?” Rhia whispered.
“Crrrrruk,” warned the bird.
Chapter 18
Then Rhia figured out who the intruder to the chapel must be, and slapped her forehead. “Oh, Gramp, it’s only Thaddeus! Monks must arise in the darkest part of the night to pray, and I’m sure he’d seek the church for it!”
Much fortified by this certainty, Rhia put her shoulder to the door and shoved hard.
Still, any visitor to an ancient chapel at midnight must keep company with its usual resident phantoms and saintly spirits. Rhia stepped inside and let the door creak closed behind her. The moonlight shone off the ancient stones of the walls and the floor, exposing mists that danced through the breeze she’d let in.
Mists and ghostly vapors, most certainly both.
“Thaddeus?” she whispered, and heard that little sound absorbed by the gloom.
The hermit who’d built the chapel was certainly buried down a short stairway behind a stone of granite set into the east wall. Rhia’d been shown his grave by Granna long ago, and the two of them now took flowers down to his bones each year on his name day. What was less certain was if there were other folk buried beneath the large, smooth stones that she was now walking upon. Granna’s opinion was that it seemed likely, as why else would those stones be cut long
as a man was tall?
Monks were buried in this floor, was Granna’s guess. The ancient stories had it that monks had hidden within the chapel upon the bluff when the Northmen arrived in their fiercesome dragonboats and burned the great monasteries, seeking the golden chalices and other precious treasures kept there. Trouble was, the Northmen worked their way clear across England and eventually pillaged even this bluff. Two of Granna’s great-grandmother’s little sisters were killed by those bloodthirsty raiders, so wouldn’t any churchmen hiding out up here have lost their lives as well? Certainly, Granna reasoned.
Sad, if the monks had indeed sought safety upon the high bluff and been killed instead. Well, any death was sad, and that was the truth of it. Though all die, of course.
Rhia shivered and clutched Mam’s little cross, tapping it upon her chin and wishing she could think of something besides death and spirits, though that’s never easy in an ancient church at midnight.
The candleflame flickered with some wind that came in through the wide-ledged windows. The flame did not go out, thanks be to God. Rhia wet her lips, and asked again, “Thaddeus, are you here?” Receiving no answer, she turned to go, the flesh along the back of her neck acreep with the caressing fingers of unseen things.
Her hand was upon the iron ring that would open the door and give her release, when far behind her she heard the unmistakable sound of heavy stone scraping slowly against heavy stone. Her heart went quivery so she could not get a good breath, nor could she gather the wit to pull upon the iron ring and exit. She could do naught but turn back around, hoping to find that her ears had somehow deceived her.
But they had not. The granite stone sealing the hermit’s crypt was being pushed aside from within! And when it yawned wide, a bent figure slowly emerged from the ancient tomb and began to hobble toward her with one hand extended. “Rhiannon . . .”
Without a breath to protest, all she could do was hold the candle in the phantom’s direction and stare wide-eyed, though soon enough she perceived with vast relief that it was not the ancient hermit arisen from his grave. It was rather the French pirate! He fell to his knees and knelt there swaying a bit, his hand still held out toward her.
If his keening earlier in the night had been a wild tempest, now she saw in his bearing the devastation such a storm may well leave in its wake. And yet in spite of the ragged exhaustion that showed upon his face and in his bowed shoulders, he somehow seemed more solid, more real than he’d been before.
She took cautious steps toward him. He was very still, the blinking of his eyes the only thing that showed he lived and breathed.
When she was but the length of a floor stone from him, she stopped and held the candle up between them to better see his face. For certain, he was much changed from the blustering play actor he’d been. He was no longer pale effigy nor frightened invalid, either one. He certainly was no berserker pirate, nor flighty scamp of any kind.
In point of fact, as she perceived up close the bottomless sadness upon his face, she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, stricken to the core.
“Yes, as you see, I’ve remembered,” he said quietly. “I know precisely who I am.”
And though later she could never explain to herself exactly why she dropped to her own knees and bent her head before him as one naturally does before high royalty.
“Don’t,” he whispered, reaching to clutch her hand. “Rhiannon, never do that, and never say you saw me here upon your bluff. Will you grant this boon for the sake of friendship? I’ll leave directly, before the new day breaks. Within the hermit’s tomb I’ll pray for my soul this night, and then I will take a penitent’s garb anew and follow the pilgrim’s road again. Many months ago I pledged myself to follow that path forever until, upon my knees, I died and found Divine forgiveness. Or damnation, as God wills.”
She shook her head. “How . . . come you to be hid within the hermit’s tomb?” It wasn’t the most important of the many things she needed to know, just the first to form itself so that she could speak it.
“Your friend, the monk, stopped by my cottage earlier this night. I believe he thought to find me lunatic, but after a hellish afternoon I was finally come to myself, as you see me now. He suggested we pray together within this chapel, and as we entered he pointed out the hermit’s tomb. Later, I returned alone to pray there.” He took a breath and looked down. “My good friend Aleron and I sought out the tombs of saints, you see. We took the pilgrim road together as penitents, seeking peace. Now, I must travel alone, as Aleron is . . . is gone. I have recovered his token from our pilgrimage to Saint James’s tomb. He would never have parted with that sacred memento while he lived, and so I know that my only friend in the world is most certainly . . . most surely ... dead.”
Rhia swallowed. “If you wayfared together, how came you to be separated from him?”
“In Wales, upon the road to Saint Winifred’s holy shrine, we were overtaken by thieves. I was hit upon the head and some Samaritan must have found me lying thus beside the road and brought me up to your bluff. I know not what became of Aleron when we were set upon, but I know he surely died looking for me. I know he did.”
In the set of his jaw, Rhiannon saw the grief he felt. He spoke no further, but raised one fisted hand, then opened it. The flesh of his palm was torn by the clasp of the little clammy shell. For a moment she didn’t recognize the shell itself, so bloodied was it. She reached her fingers to explore his wound, worried that his hand badly needed dressing. But he flinched and brought his fingers closed over the shell again, then raised that bloodied fist and pressed it hard upon his chest, over his heart.
Shaking her head, she whispered, “I don’t even know what name to call you.”
At first he made her no answer. Then, “Call me Jonah,” he said.
She nodded, then seized every bit of nerve she had. “Sir Jonah, you say you will be gone before the morrow, but that will not sit well with my mother, who has nursed you all these past days. I feel you could surely tarry one day longer, to reveal yourself as healed at last. It’ll give her mind’s ease.”
She bit her lip and watched him pondering how to answer.
“Another thing you should consider is the maiden who wore the shell,” she pressed. “She’s dimwit, and you gave her a fright that may take long recovery.”
“I was beside myself and owe her sincere apology,” he answered quickly enough. But he stopped at that and looked down, thinking. Finally, he confided, “Indeed I owe a great debt to you and your kin, and amends to the girl. But I cannot lose another day. I must hasten to find the trail of Aleron’s murderers before it has gone colder.”
So that was it. She squinted her eyes.“Well, by that I know you are not all meek pilgrim, Sir Jonah, for surely such a one would turn the other cheek and leave justice for the bailiffs of the world! No, you reveal yourself to be still a soldier, as you claimed to be while you were still fogged in your mind from your injury.”
His eyes widened at that, but then he had the grace to own up to it.
“Truly, I am not perfected yet in the gentle ways of holiness. Indeed, I once soldiered, though no more. And I will return to my pledged calling of pilgrimage as soon as my friend’s murderers have found comeuppance at my hand.”
Rhia’s heart beat fast and her eyes shone as she leaned closer. “Then, sir, you are in luck. For it was I who found the token Dull Sal wore, and quite nearby! I propose a deal to you. Tarry for just one more day and I promise to show you exactly where I picked that token from the stream. Surely that’s the place your quest for vengeance must begin.”
Why, she’d just discovered within herself the moxie to spring a trap as well as ever Maddy could! Rhia was some surprised at herself—and pleased, she’d admit it.
Her astonished quarry was not so pleased. “I beg of you, show me tonight! Right now! To make me wait longer is sheer torture!”
She shook her head firmly, crossing her arms. “Tomorrow. Stay only one day. That’s all I as
k.” She then used his own earlier words to press her advantage. “Will you grant this boon for the sake of friendship?”
After a moment he sighed, and then even smiled a bit at being so cornered. She took that as agreement to her plan, and stood to go before he could change his mind.
“I leave you now to get whatever rest you may with our holy hermit. Upon the morrow, my mother will rejoice to see you journeyed back to yourself, Sir Jonah.”
She nodded him a farewell and hastened from the church, giving Gramp a similar nod while she pulled the church door closed behind her.
Gramp folded his wings and yawned a wide and beaky yawn at this sign from Rhia that all was now well, or at least well enough. Mayhaps he thought to catch a nap, as much had been aslant upon the bluff of late. Yes, there’d been constant need for his vigilance day and night, which naturally took its toll, though seldom was he thanked.
Rhiannon hurried across the churchyard and rounded the back corner of her cottage with a thousand new questions careening in her head like bats in dark rafters.
Which is why, when the mysterious woodland horse galloped past along the rim of the forest, carrying upon his back the will-o’-wisp spirit of young Primrose, it took her a long moment to realize the right wondrous sight her eyes had just by chance beheld.
Double wonder it was, in fact! The horse and the phantom child, both!
“Wait!” she called out, to no avail. She now perceived only the moonlit silvery tail of the horse disappearing as he and his ghostly rider veered through the tree line, heading back into the heart of the midnight woods.
Rhiannon stood transfixed, her eyes on the place where the silent horse and rider had parted the dense thicket. She dared not so much as breathe or twitch in the close wake of such an enchantment, for fear the faery world would take offense.
