“How is that?” Patrick asked, frowning. “How can the cardinal deny the extraordinary nature of the isle?”
“People, even cardinals, have a tendency to see what they only want to see,” Herewinus responded. “Just as I tend to focus overmuch on the stories of fairies and dragons, and not enough on the politics swirling about the board, where the true monsters lie in waiting.
“I do know that the isle takes care of herself. Everything that happens here serves her purpose. Nothing happens by accident, however random it seems. Teodorico, Wulfric, and the merchants can play all the games they want. It is they who are being played.” The abbot stopped at a tree to pluck an apple, and then held it up. “She plays by her own rules. Why does this tree bear fruit today, yet the others in the orchard are just starting to blossom? Why does the isle, ninety days out of a hundred, have a spring-like climate, but then suddenly cool to frosty evenings? Why does she only allow some people through the mist, but not others?”
“Miracles? Magic?” Patrick suggested with a shrug.
“Perhaps the miracle of magic,” Herewinus responded, taking a bite of the apple. “This is God’s world and everything in it acts as His agent, whether knowingly or unknowingly. The island is no different. She calls people here to serve a purpose, or people are drawn here to try and fulfill their selfish needs. The island plays them against one another.”
“But why? To what end?” Patrick asked.
“I suspect when you removed the Grail from the cave you upset a balance and she is trying to restore that balance,” the abbot responded.
“But you are fighting just as hard as anyone in the council chamber to not return it to the cave,” Patrick said, brow creasing with confusion.
“Because that is what is expected of me as the Abbot of Glastonbury. I must play my role,” Herewinus explained. “I’m certain everything will work out just the way it’s supposed to. I put my faith in God. If God and the island choose to let the Grail go out into the world to teach us some sort of lesson, who am I to argue? Obedience is next to godliness.”
“Then why don’t you just hand it over to the cardinal, since he is papal legate? If Pope Paschal has asked for the cup, why not deliver it to him?” Patrick asked.
“I like Paschal well enough, especially since he shares my views on the celibacy of priests, much as another favorite son of Glastonbury did, Saint Dunstan, who brought our Benedictine Order to the abbey, but we view Paschal’s orders more as suggestions than commands.”
“You don’t believe him to be the absolute leader of the Church?” Patrick asked, surprised.
“Leader, yes,” Herewinus said and chuckled, “but ‘absolute’ leader? He most certainly is the successor to Saint Peter, but if you recall your scripture, the Apostles often argued amongst themselves, not always coming to agreement quickly. Well, that’s how we English see it, anyway. Being a layman, it’s understandable you don’t see the nuances of Church hierarchy. We follow the pope the same way we follow someone we admire from afar. Someone whose decisions we take seriously, but only first after some discussion.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Patrick said. “Being a soldier, my idea of a leader is more strict. I like very much the idea of order and structure.”
“And that would make sense in a military order,” Herewinus agreed. “In an organization built on love and cooperation, leaders lead by example. After all, who is more likely to motivate you? The person you respect and want to follow, or the person you fear and must follow? Don’t get me wrong—there are and have been plenty of Church leaders who did their best to rule with an iron hand. God allowed them to continue to lead, just as He allowed Peter to continue being an apostle even though Peter could be occasionally obstinate.”
“‘Get thee behind me, Satan,’” Patrick quoted.
“Exactly,” Herewinus said, nodding.
“And Pope Paschal?” Patrick asked. “How would you characterize him?”
“He is no fool,” the abbot replied. “I’m certain he is not blind to Teodorico’s ambitions. However, he does see the benefit of seeing the Grail in Rome. Also, I believe he is perfectly aware the Holy Spirit often reveals Himself during a lively discussion among the shepherds and therefore was wise enough to allow these proceedings. He could have just sent an army to take the Grail, but didn’t. Something is to be said for all that.”
A knot he hadn’t realized was even there suddenly loosened a little in Patrick’s stomach. It didn’t disappear altogether, but made breathing easier. The kindly little man in his simple wool robe contrasted sharply with the tall cardinal in silks, and Patrick sighed heavily.
“You give me hope, Father Abbot,” he said to Herewinus.
“There, there,” the old man said, tossing an apple to Patrick. “Your taking the cup from the cave compares not to Adam eating the apple in Eden. Even that tragedy made it possible for the greatest love to enter the world in the form of Jesus. Who knows what good will come out of all this?”
Patrick smiled, thanked the abbot, and turned to leave while taking a bite of the apple.
“Oh, Sir Patrick,” William Malmesbury called after him. “I just remembered an example of ‘twinning’ outside of saints.”
“Oh?” Patrick raised his eyebrows, curious.
“The German folk call it die doppelgänger. It is a creature who appears as an exact duplicate of someone, but often is the bearer of disastrous news. The legend also says they destroy the original person, taking over their life and bringing ruin to the lives of loved ones.”
#
Aimeé hurried through the keep’s inner colonnade, eyes searching as her slippers padded along the flagstones. When she spotted a pair of boots poking from behind a column, a smile spread across her face and her previous anxiety gave way to hope.
As she approached, both her smile and excitement fled like scattering doves when Sir Geoffrey stepped from behind the column.
“So, you have a condition that concerns me?” he said. “Care to share what that is?”
Aimeé backed away, breath catching in her chest. As she felt blood drain from her face, her mind spun while trying to sort out his questions.
“I-I don’t know what you mean,” she stammered, still backing away as he approached.
“The Irishman says you have a condition I caused,” he growled. “What is it I need to worry about?”
Comprehension dawned on her, but she still couldn’t fathom Patrick having told him. He loomed over her as she felt stone press into her back. Her lack of timely response intensified his agitation.
“Answer me!” he insisted, his handsome face contorting into a mask of rage.
He grabbed her wrist and shook violently. Flashes of memory of him on top of her grunting like an animal filled her mind and a pitiful wail filled the air. Shock came over her when she realized it came from her. She did not like the sound of it. She wanted to curl into a ball, to shrink into nothing, but Geoffrey’s hand brushed harshly against her midsection—and a completely different feeling surfaced.
She shook her arm loose, covered her belly with both arms, and snarled at him through wild strands of hair that had fallen into her eyes.
“Get your hands off me, and never touch me again!”
The blazing anger in his shocked face told her everything that would probably happen next.
“What did you say?” Geoffrey said, voice dropping to a menacing hiss.
Her gaze remained defiant.
Geoffrey raised his hand, but in a blur, he was suddenly on the ground with Patrick on top of him. “Keep your hands off her!” he shouted, standing over Geoffrey.
Geoffrey scampered to his feet, struggling out of the tangle of his crimson cape. “I’ve had just about enough of the two of you! We’re going to finish this now!”
“If you’re referring to our last interrupted fight, I agree,” Patrick spat. “Let’s finish it then.”
Patrick tackled him, but Geoffrey caught him in a headlock. P
atrick rained blows against his stomach as Geoffrey pounded his back from above.
Aimeé protected her belly and moved away from the mêlée, caught between the need to protect her child and the desire to find something to bash Geoffrey’s skull—and half a notion to give Patrick a good whack, as well, for having caused this.
But in an instant, a flurry of black cloaks, capes, and surcoats erupted from the colonnade and tackled the battling knights. Patrick and Geoffrey found themselves subdued in a heartbeat and carried away physically, shouting and squirming in the arms of their comrades.
Sir Marcus Ionus appeared at her side.
“Mademoiselle,” he said, sharply making eye contact, “none of this happened. You saw nothing. Understand, Lass?”
She nodded, surprised at the sudden change of events and not knowing what else to do.
He turned on a heel and marched away with his cape flapping.
#
The Avangarde deposited the two battered knights in a secluded classroom.
“Sit! And not a word!” Sir Wolfgang growled at them.
Patrick and Geoffrey obeyed and took seats in the comically little chairs. They waited in silence. Their long limbs cramped as they hunched in the child-sized desks while Sir Wolfgang, Sir Marcus, and Sir Corbin scowled.
At first Patrick thought the silent treatment itself was a form of torture, but when new arrivals walked into the room he realized the senior knights had merely waited for the real torture to begin.
Mother Superior entered with a grim look, followed by Father Hugh, who took a position beside the knights.
“Oh, shit,” Geoffrey mumbled and put a hand over his face.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Mother Superior said, her demeanor becoming genial. “And how are we today?”
She leaned in close to the troubled Avangarde and leered at them with a frightening smile, waiting for a response.
Patrick and Geoffrey mumbled some words and looked anywhere in the room except at the petite nun.
“What’s that?” she asked, cupping a hand to her ear. “I didn’t quite catch that.”
Patrick mumbled that he’d been better.
“Well, I’ll tell you how my day was going!” she shouted suddenly, producing from behind her back a slender rod she banged against an empty seat near Patrick. The end of the rod snapped off and arced across the room.
Patrick and Geoffrey sat erect in their chairs, and even Father Hugh and the knights snapped to attention.
“Here we go,” Patrick muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.
“I was having a lovely day,” she continued, “playing with children, enjoying peaceful prayer, looking forward to working in my garden. Then I hear this news. News of grown men, Avangarde no less, who are charged with keeping the peace and serving as an example, fighting in public. And this is not the first time, is it?”
“No, Mother,” Patrick and Geoffrey said simultaneously.
“What?” she shouted, again cupping her ear.
“No, Mother Superior,” they responded, louder this time.
“Pray tell, why?” Her caricature of a smile returned.
“We had a disagreement,” Patrick said, crossing his arms and not making eye contact.
“Yes, a disagreement,” Geoffrey added, also crossing his arms and looking away, slouching in his seat.
“Over a girl, perhaps?” Mother Superior suggested. “A maidservant? Is that really the reason two shining examples of the Avangarde risk tarnishing the image of the Order and the goal of the Greensprings mission? A common fight over a common girl?”
“No,” Patrick almost shouted, “not at all.” Then added almost as quickly, “And she is not common to me.”
Geoffrey snickered at the statement, but a sharp glance from the nun quieted him.
“Then an ‘uncommon’ reason for a fight perhaps?” she redirected her gaze to Patrick.
“Geoffrey was attacking her,” Patrick explained, “I stopped him.”
“I did not attack her,” Geoffrey scoffed. “Confront her? Yes. Attack? No.”
“Do tell why,” Mother Superior asked, shifting her gaze to Geoffrey.
Geoffrey’s lip curled as he considered his response.
He finally replied, “I think the maidservant has been spreading lies about me.”
“That’s itself a lie!” Patrick blurted.
“Then it’s you who is spreading the lies!” Geoffrey retorted, rising halfway and stabbing a finger at Patrick. But Mother Superior whacked his finger with her rod, sending him cowering back into his seat.
“And what alleged lie is this?” she demanded, glaring at the two men.
Geoffrey shrugged. “That is precisely what I was trying to find out when interrupted. The Irishman says I gave her something.”
All eyes shifted to Patrick. Even Geoffrey’s
“Well?” Mother Superior insisted.
Cornered, Patrick saw no option for avoidance. All would know soon enough, and if he continued to keep it a secret they would perceive it as lying, making matters worse.
“She’s with child,” Patrick finally said, looking her in the eye.
Mother Superior’s icy facade cracked briefly, revealing the closest thing to shock Patrick had ever seen in the woman. She straightened from her interrogator’s crouch over the two, chewed on a thumbnail when she crossed her arms over her chest and wandered away from the pair, deep in thought.
The other men in the room shifted uncomfortably, clearing their throats.
“And you think it’s mine?” Geoffrey scoffed. “That’s preposterous.”
“You did rape her,” Patrick snapped back. “Everybody knows that.”
“I raped no one,” Geoffrey sniffed. “It was agreeable for both of us. It’s not my fault she regretted it later.”
“Is that why you beat her bloody?” Patrick replied vehemently, but careful not to instigate another physical confrontation.
“She liked it rough, what of it? Besides, this was a long time ago. You’re the one who has been having ‘relations’ with her since then. If it’s anyone’s brat, it’s yours.”
“Enough!” Mother Superior cried with her back to the pair, raising a hand for emphasis. Surprisingly, she did not turn back to them, but to the others in the room.
“So, their first fight, there was more to that business a few months back,” she addressed the other knights and Father Hugh with deep scorn in her voice, “and you didn’t see fit to inform me?”
“The girl never came forward with accusations. There was nothing to investigate or inform upon,” Wolfgang pointed out.
Mother Superior scoffed. “Is that really so surprising? The poor child probably feared retribution from her attacker. Feared upsetting the status quo and losing her employment. Why would she come forward with fine gentlemen like you looking after her?”
Wolfgang and the rest lowered their heads and remained quiet.
“I must say, I’m deeply disappointed. Heartbroken, even. When I agreed to come to Greensprings I was told things would be different here on Avalon. Dawn of a new era and all that. Peace and justice would prevail.”
She shifted her attention back to the seated knights, gliding over the stones like an avenging ghost.
“Is it true?” she addressed Patrick. “Are you having ‘relations’ with the girl?”
“Only once. An occasion I’ve confessed,” Patrick answered.
Mother Superior looked to Father Hugh, Greensprings’s Confessor.
Father Hugh confirmed with a curt nod, adding, “As has Sir Geoffrey for his acts and Aimeé for her moment of indiscretion with Patrick.”
“Well, thank God for at least that much,” Mother Superior huffed.
“Sir Mark, when he was steward, also administered corporal punishment on Sir Geoffrey,” Corbin added. “I saw him deliver twenty strikes of the rod to his back. We kept it amongst ourselves, not wishing to demoralize the Order. I’m certain it left some scars. Sir Geoffrey will show
you if you like.”
Patrick blinked, unaware of this last piece of information. When he looked to Geoffrey the man turned away with red rising in his face.
“That won’t be necessary,” Mother Superior replied, eyes narrowing at Geoffrey. She then turned to Patrick, leveling a critical stare. “Is that why you didn’t marry the girl after all, with the child’s parentage in question? Is that why you really attacked Sir Geoffrey?”
Patrick felt as if he’d been stabbed in the gut. “It’s not like that,” he protested, “there are... other complications.”
There came the memory of sunlight reflecting into his face off of Cardinal Teodorico’s pectoral cross in council chambers, and the fleeting image of blood covering Aimeé. He wanted to explain the threats the cardinal had made against her, but a glance at the men who had already let her down did not fill him with confidence. He looked to Mother Superior, wondering if she would believe him, but her face said that his word meant nothing to her.
“I can guess,” she said. “You don’t wish to marry a commoner carrying another man’s child.” Her look of disdain made Patrick feel worse than any look Aimeé had ever given him.
“It’s not like that,” Patrick protested again weakly, then added quietly to himself, Right?
She shook her head and waved a hand. “No matter. It is not relevant.” She slowly scrutinized the men in the room.
“It would appear simple confession and traditional punishment were insufficient. Something more meaningful is in order. More imaginative,” she said, turning to the troubled pair. She stared long and thoughtfully and seemed to reach some conclusion. “When the Israelites initially feared to enter the Promised Land, God sent them back into the desert to wander for forty years—not necessarily as a punishment, but to shape them like iron in the forge. Did the Israelites understand this at the time? Perhaps not.” She paused, thoughtful again. “The maidservant will be reassigned. Poor Sister Abigail has been struggling with her charges. Even though I’ve asked the Lady Katherina to direct their energies towards choral music, they still are a handful. Aimeé shall become Sister Abigail’s and Lady Katherina’s personal assistant...”
Ripples in the Chalice: A Tale of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 2) Page 21
