My child, she thought, rubbing her stomach, still hardly believing. Her world would completely change. A meek pleasure quickly evaporated when her thoughts turned to Patrick. Feelings of confusion and betrayal wriggled through her like serpents as she tried to fathom his behavior; everything from the bandit attack in Eire and his sleepwalking, to his irrational refusal to follow his mother’s simple advice. Now, the denial of his love before a crowd.
Had she fooled herself this whole time? Did he ever really love her? He had to have. After all, he took her across the sea to meet his family. Was it simply the not knowing whether the baby was his? No, his odd behavior started even before he knew a baby existed.
She squeezed her eyes shut with the effort of trying to solve the riddle then shook her head, banishing the thoughts before their mounting pressure could burst her skull.
“I know,” Aimeé replied, exasperated. “All in good time. First I have things I need to... sort out.”
Anna entered the busy kitchen with a tray, set it down on the bench, and started to fill it again with bowls of hot oatmeal.
“The Avangarde lads are all sitting at the same table this morning,” she said. “Both Sir Geoffrey and Sir Patrick are at the middle or thereabouts. You can take the far left end, if you like, dear. We’ll cover the rest.”
“Thanks for the warning, Anna,” Aimeé responded.
Clare tsked, “You can’t avoid them forever. Someday you will have to face each of them for different reasons.”
“All in bloody good time,” Aimeé said, brow creasing.
She picked up a tray and left the kitchen for the great hall.
#
Patrick fought his way through the press of bodies filling the great hall while holding a bowl of porridge in one hand and a bowl of raisins in the other. Unapologetic bumps and grumbles from benefactors and their numerous staff clogging up the room had made the simple act of enjoying a meal difficult. The newcomers, it would seem, had abandoned dining in the pavilion city outside the keep for the better food served in Greensprings. Further complicating matters, frequent monster searches—undertaken mostly on false alarms—required night-duty Avangarde to squeeze into limited table space with day-duty Avangarde.
“Oh good, more raisins,” Sir Brian said, holding out his hand as Patrick arrived.
Patrick handed the bowl to the large Scotsman who poured a pile of them onto his porridge, prompting his comrades to protest.
“At least I don’t destroy them by grinding them into my food,” Brian said.
“It’s the best way to spread the sweetness,” Peredur explained, taking the bowl from him and pulverizing the raisins with a spoon. “Also, it crushes the seeds.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Sir Geoffrey said, struggling to spit one of the tiny seeds from his mouth. Patrick reluctantly sat across from him in the only open seat and wondered what about the man allowed his fellow Avangarde to tolerate his presence.
The conversation quickly turned from raisins to frustrations over the numerous false alarms.
“I don’t know why we’re bothering with all this searching,” Peredur said, glancing over the heads of those eating in front of him. “The culprit is surely there in that bunch.”
Corbin glanced in the direction of Peredur’s gaze. There, gathered at their own table and given a wide berth by others, sat the candidati.
“What? Them?” Corbin said incredulously, scowling at Peredur.
“They just look harmless,” Peredur warned. “I bet at night one of them turns into some sort of strange creature.”
“Don’t be silly,” Corbin said between spoonfuls of porridge. “They’re simpletons, like the sort you see in any town.”
“Aye,” Geoffrey agreed, “just simpletons. I’ve heard of a ‘village idiot’ before, but I’ve never heard of an entire village of idiots in one place.”
Laughter buzzed about the table.
“I heard we’re starting the companion program already,” Peredur said, still watching the candidati. “I hope we won’t be expected to work with them.”
“Is that true?” Patrick asked, also throwing a fearful glance at the candidati.
“Aye, the companion program will commence ahead of schedule,” Corbin replied. “Father Hugh and Sir Wolfgang are drawing up lists as we speak. Assigning knights to Guests may be the best way to protect them from this monster, rather than searching cupboards every day.”
“It’s a little soon for that, isn’t it?” Sir Jon said. “We’re going to be awfully mismatched.”
“Maybe,” Corbin conceded, “but we can make changes later, if necessary.”
“But the candidati?” Patrick insisted, not relishing the idea of spending time with changelings. “Will we be expected to chaperone them?”
Corbin shrugged. “I imagine so.”
“I know who I’d like to be paired with,” Geoffrey snickered, looking among the crowds of young ladies eating at their tables.
“I wager you do,” Corbin smirked at the knight. “You lecherous wretch.”
A rustle of laughter flittered about the table.
“I do take my ‘body-guarding’ a little more serious than others,” Geoffrey answered smugly.
“I’m glad you take something seriously,” a stern feminine voice interjected, bringing the laughter at the table to an abrupt halt.
To the screech of benches pushed along the floor, the knights stood to attention.
“Mother Superior, we didn’t...” Corbin stammered.
“See me here. I know.” The old nun glowered from behind Geoffrey’s seat, her head only at mid-chest level. “I am rather small, and easily go unnoticed.” She stepped closer with hands behind her back. “I trust you gentlemen are enjoying your meals, and ardently considering how Jesus would approach the day?”
She eyed the bunch with impassive eyes the color of a clear winter sky.
The knights cleared throats and mumbled an acknowledgment.
“Good. Carry on, then.” She left, waiting until the last minute to tear her gaze away. Her short legs made quick little steps hardly disrupting her flowing habit, giving the impression she glided across the floor like a ship on water.
The Avangarde released a collective breath, followed by a snort of laughter.
“You tossers knew she was behind me the whole time, didn’t you?” Geoffrey growled to his comrades.
“We didn’t.” Corbin smiled, “but if we did, no, we wouldn’t have mentioned it.”
The giggling turned to full blown laughter.
“I’m certain to be a candidati chaperone now,” Geoffrey lamented as he returned to his seat with the others. “Can’t I just be assigned to permanent monster hunting?”
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Neither candidati nor monsters will be a concern much longer,” Brian said. “Both troubles came with the cardinal, and they will leave with him. He will leave with or without his precious cup, but leave he will, taking his spectacle with him. He can’t campaign to be the next pope from an isolated island.”
“Good,” Waylan said, looking down at his porridge while experimenting with the crushed-raisin method. “I’ve had my fill of debates and holier-than-thou goings-on.”
“Hear, hear,” Sir Jeremiah agreed. “‘I’ve had enough of, ‘My church is better than your church,’ or, ‘My bishop is the boss of your bishop,’ and such nonsense. I’ll be happy when they’re gone, and all the trouble they brought. Monsters and politics.”
“It won’t be that easy,” Corbin warned, starting the peeling process of a hard boiled egg. “Our very own Father Hugh and Mother Superior and most of our educators here are Glastonbury folk from the English abbey. If the Glastonbury delegates really want to raise a stink about not getting their way with the cup, they could pull their staff out from underneath us. Then what would we do? Teach the children ourselves?”
Sir Jeremiah laughed. “Brian could teach them drinking, I’d wager.”
“And you
could teach them buggering,” Sir Brian called back.
Jeremiah threw a raisin that disappeared into Brian’s beard.
Laughter erupted loud enough to draw attention from others in the hall.
After it faded, Sir Geoffrey added, “If the Romans don’t get what they want, they’re liable to pull their financial support, which fills my purse.”
Grumbles of agreement followed.
“I can’t tell a Roman from a Glaston from a German,” Sir Gregory said, loudly hitting the bottom of his bowl with his spoon. “Who has the last say in the matter of the cup? Because whatever that council decides, somebody is going to be unhappy. What if the Avangarde is called upon to do some head bashing? Do we do as ordered? And who is going to do the ordering?”
“We’ll worry about that when the time comes,” Corbin said, though by the way his brow furrowed, Gregory’s question troubled him. “Sir Wolfgang can sort that out.”
“As for who has holy authority, that’s simple,” Sir Peredur said. “Cardinal Teodorico is the papal legate, a representative of the pope, bishop of bishops. Naturally he should have the final say in holy relics and whatnot.”
“You’d think,” Patrick blurted. He hadn’t planned to speak up—it just came out, and now with all eyes on him he felt obligated to explain himself. “That is, normally I’d agree, but something about this cardinal disturbs me. Something isn’t right. He makes veiled threats. What holy man does that?”
Corbin shrugged. “He’s a bishop and a cardinal, which essentially means he’s a politician. Certain necessary evils are involved with being a politician.”
“It’s more than that.” Patrick tried to articulate his concerns, questioning how much of his gut feeling he could support with facts.
“Why do we need a bishop to tell us about spiritual matters, anyway?” Geoffrey asked, spitting out more seeds despite having crushed his raisins. “Or priests for that matter? Are we not responsible for own souls? Shouldn’t we commune directly with God? Too many rules they have, if you ask me.”
“We should have spiritual leaders,” Waylan countered, “but I think every religious community should have their own. After all, doesn’t a community know their own spiritual needs best? What does a bishop in Rome know about my situation in my land?”
An argument broke out concerning the topic.
Corbin turned to Patrick. “Well done, troublemaker. You started this conversation. Should we just hand over control of the cup to whomever the cardinal demands?”
Not bothering to point out Peredur had started this particular conversation, and after careful consideration of the larger story, Patrick responded with the weight of all eyes at the table on him. “I agree with Waylan. I’m all for having leaders in the Church. Someone to guide us in spiritual matters. We have discipline amongst ourselves, do we not? We have a chain of command; otherwise we’d never get anything done. Think about it. What if everybody here just ignored you and Wolfgang and did what they wanted? It would be chaos.”
“What do you mean ‘if’?” Corbin groused. “You wankers ignore half the things I tell you to do.”
Laughter erupted around the table and Corbin’s comrades patted his back.
“Precisely.” Patrick laughed with the rest, but turned serious. “Eventually we step to it, though, but first a little healthy debate with our spiritual leaders shouldn't hurt. Didn't Abraham argue with God on whether or not to destroy Sodom based on how many righteous people could be found there? I say that is what we do: argue a little first with this cardinal before stepping too quickly to what he demands. God’s plan will reveal itself.”
Patrick’s statement met with murmurs of agreement. Corbin nodded approvingly.
“Still didn't turn out so well for Sodom,” Waylan commented sullenly.
Heavy silence followed, punctuated by spoons scraping porridge bowls.
During this lull in the conversation, Patrick spotted Aimeé scolding several young Guests for throwing food at the candidati, only to meet childish resistance from the nobles. His heart leapt, and he rose to assist her, thankful for a reason to talk to her—then Sister Abigail and Victor came to her aid. He thought twice about being seen with her in the presence of the cardinal’s people.
Anna and Clare approached to serve the Avangarde table. Patrick sat down hard and covered his bowl with his forearms, glaring at the women. They cast Patrick frivolous smiles as they doted on Geoffrey, making sure the foppish knight’s every need was tended to—or at least, so it appeared.
When they departed, Patrick relaxed and uncovered his bowl.
“What was that all about?” Corbin asked.
“They’ve been disturbing me and my food ever since I returned.”
Corbin cocked a quizzical eyebrow. “Because you wouldn’t marry the French girl?”
Patrick blew hair out of his eyes. “Aye.”
“Yeah, why is that?” Sir Jeremiah asked. “I mean, why didn’t you two marry? We were fully expecting it.” He shrugged. “You had my support.”
Others about the table murmured similar sentiments.
Patrick stared pointedly at Geoffrey and said, “She has a certain—condition—she feels would make our relationship difficult.”
An uncomfortable silence fell at the table and all eyes shifted between Geoffrey and Patrick. None raised any further questions. For once, Geoffrey’s usual cocky facade cracked to reveal something looking like concern.
“By the way, Geoffrey,” Patrick said, watching the maidservants’ retreating forms. “I don’t think those are raisin seeds you’ve been spitting out.”
#
“Is this seat taken?”
The Lady Katherina looked up at the newcomer to her table, surprised to see the Lady Lilliana.
“Mm, no, not at all, please have a seat,” Katherina responded.
“Thank you,” Lilliana said, elegantly perching beside her. “I’m so glad to see you eating alone.”
“Pardon?”
Lilliana covered the embarrassed smile blooming across her lips. “My apologies. I mean, I’m very happy to see there is someone also alone I could break my fast with.”
“Oh,” Katherina smiled. “Well, you are very welcome. It is my specialty, being alone, and if my loneliness can make somebody else more comfortable, then all the better.”
“Thank you,” Lilliana said, addressing both Katherina and the maidservant who filled her cup with apple juice. “Though I find it hard to believe someone as beautiful as yourself ranks loneliness as a gift.”
“You’re too kind,” Katherina responded, a touch of rose growing on her porcelain cheeks. “But I’m certain a woman as strong as yourself understands the isolation of choosing not to play silly games.” To punctuate this, Katherina motioned with her eyes over the rim of the cup from which she drank toward a group of noisy, well-dressed women. They frequently pointed at the candidati, followed by a new round of giggling.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Lilliana said, eyes narrowing at the gaggle of women. “That depends on whether you play the game better. Myself, I rather enjoy stomping on silly little creatures such as they.”
“More power to you, Lady Lilliana,” Katherina said, raising her cup and touching it to her table companion’s. “I don’t think the stomping would be worth getting my slippers dirty.”
Lilliana touched her cup back, saying, “To each her own, Lady Katherina.”
More maidservants arrived and distributed food on the table; the smells of warm oatmeal, bacon, and eggs tantalized the Ladies’ appetites.
“Two please,” Lilliana said when a maidservant held a board full of bacon slices toward her. She turned to Katherina and said, “Still, I normally see you in the company of a knight, and I don’t see him this morning.”
“What? Sir Jon?” Katherina said, receiving her own slices of bacon and a fried egg. “He is yonder, with the knights. He doesn’t break his fast with me every morning. He needs time with his comrades.”
Just a
s she said this, an eruption of laughter came from the table occupied by the men in black surcoats. Jon’s red one stuck out.
“No offense,” Lilliana said with a smile, spying Jon’s moon face among the Avangarde, “but I daresay Jon could use all the time with men he can muster. Were it not for the sword and armor I would not have figured him a knight.”
Katherina studied Jon—his affable face framed by his blonde mane of hair.
“No offense taken,” she said. “He is a sweet man who is perhaps better suited to being a statesman, but he is determined to prove his father wrong by becoming a capable knight. I support him in his efforts and he has been a pleasant companion.”
“‘Pleasant?’” Lilliana said, raising an eyebrow. “He certainly seems ‘safe’ and ‘comfortable,’ but don’t you yearn for something more... fulfilling?”
Katherina directed her ice clear eyes to Lilliana’s amber ones, unfazed by their smoldering heat, and said, “I’ve found many sorts of fulfillment with many sorts of men, and at different times. Who I spend my time with is my business.”
“Absolutely.” Lilliana’s smile was genuinely friendly. “I admire that. I’m quite jealous of your freedom, really. I’m sure you know I’m attached to the cardinal.”
Katherina tilted her head to one side, not sure what surprised her more: the beautiful older woman’s candidness or her admission of envy.
“Then you can appreciate my not wanting to go into great detail about my relationships, just as you wouldn’t want me to pry into yours with the cardinal.”
“On the contrary. The nature of mine and Teo’s relationship is obvious to all, I’d think,” Lilliana said, raising an eyebrow and taking a nibble of bacon. “Standard fare. Your relationships, however, are far more interesting. I mean that in the most respectful way. I’ve been paying attention to you and your story. Some people may call it ‘gossip,’ but I prefer to call it ‘having a deep fascination with the human experience.’ And your ‘experience’—dalliances with villainous sorcerers and the handsome knights who rescue you from them—in my eyes, is the only bright light in all this drabness.” Lilliana threw out her arms to encompass the hall, but surely meant all of Greensprings. “Your story is one worthy of the bards.”
Ripples in the Chalice: A Tale of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 2) Page 19
