Ripples in the Chalice: A Tale of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 2)

by Adam Copeland

  She took Aimeé’s hands and spread them to expose her stomach. The maidservant awkwardly let Katherina give her a good looking-over.

  “Yes, very beautiful,” Katherina declared, “and I’m extremely jealous of your breasts.”

  “Wha—?”

  “Durable, I’m sure they are,” Katherina explained. “I’m certain when my time comes to have children, my breasts will require yards of cloth to keep them from sagging. I’ll look like my mother. You, on the other hand, have the sort of breasts that defy age, no matter how many children you have. I’m very jealous.”

  Aimeé smiled meekly at the unexpected confession.

  “Speaking of children,” Lilliana said, rising from the water like Venus ascending from the ocean. “I mean no disrespect—quite the contrary really—but I’m surprised you chose to keep the child, considering the circumstances. You could have privately done away with it, like so many women do.”

  “There was no choice in my mind, really,” Aimeé said, protectively covering her belly again. “Even if I knew for certain it was Geoffrey’s, even despite the manner it came about, it is a child, and I intend on honoring it.”

  “That is courageous of you,” Lilliana walked her way towards the women, the water splashing at waist level. “I’ve heard children born of trauma are often born... like them.” She gestured with her chin in the direction of the path leading to the picnic site where the candidati wait.

  “If it is God’s will, I accept it.” Aimeé shrugged. “Is that what happened to you, Lady Lilliana? Did there come a time when you had to ‘do away’ with a child, and the process left you barren? Despite your maturity, your stomach bears no markings. I can only assume you cannot have them.”

  “Aimeé...” Katherina cautioned, scandalized, though not necessarily angry, for she too had felt Lilliana’s words were harsher than necessary.

  “No, it is quite all right,” Lilliana reassured them. She seemed impressed with Aimeé’s boldness. “No, there were no herbal concoctions for me. It would appear it is a simple matter of God the Father seeing fit that I am not ever a mother.”

  “Did you even want children?” Aimeé asked.

  A pause hung between the question and the answer where the corner of Lilliana’s mouth twitched imperceptibly. The awkwardness was leaden, broken only by Chansonne’s ripples in the water as she approached Aimeé. Lilliana’s eyes followed the girl, and a strange look came over her face as if emotions warred inside, alternating between longing, anger, and pride.

  “Certainly, but it’s as you say—God’s will.”

  “It’s probably just as well,” Aimeé said quickly, trying to fill the awkward silence. “You’re quite beautiful as it is, and a baby might ruin that.”

  Lilliana’s lip began to curl, but she tempered it. “Perhaps, but then I’ll never experience your ‘glow,’ either.”

  “Oh my,” Aimeé exclaimed as Chansonne reached up, grasped Aimeé’s belly with both hands, and kissed it. The distraction broke the awkwardness, and all three women were relieved.

  “Ah, how sweet,” Katherina said, stroking the child’s newly braided hair.

  Chansonne gasped and pulled her hands away momentarily, just to put them back and look up with big blue eyes at Aimeé and Katherina, grunting excitedly.

  “Yes, he does that,” Aimeé said, also stroking Chansonne’s hair.

  “Who does what?” Katherina asked, confused.

  “She felt the baby kick; he is quite lively already,” Aimeé explained.

  She took Katherina’s hand and placed it on her belly.

  Katherina and Chansonne moved their hands over her stomach like wizards scrying over a crystal ball.

  “I felt it!” Katherina cried in wonder. “Lilly, come feel this!”

  Lilliana hesitated, but at further urging she reluctantly came forward and extended a hand. But at the sight of her vein-covered hand and extremely sharp nails, Aimeé instinctively covered her stomach. Even Chansonne shied away.

  “Oh, I’m very sorry, please... go ahead,” Aimeé apologized, exposing her belly again.

  “No,” Lilliana said quietly, a hurt look in her eye slowly turning to disaffected coldness. “Perhaps another time.”

  An awkward silence hung in the air, filled only with the brook’s murmur.

  “We should be going,” Katherina announced. “It will be getting late soon.”

  They splashed their way to the edge and climbed out. As they donned their clothes, Chansonne looked around, forgetting her dress had disintegrated in the pool. Katherina came forward with the bundle she had brought and shook out its contents.

  “What do we have here?” she said, unfolding the white cloth garment.

  Chansonne watched with mild curiosity. It was a white gown sized to fit the eight year old, in a color and fashion similar to Katherina’s wardrobe.

  “What do you think?” she asked, holding it up to Chansonne. “It’s yours.”

  At first the girl eyed it, but then lifted her arms, allowing Katherina to pull it over her head and lace her up.

  “My goodness,” Aimeé whispered. “All this time, there was a truly beautiful girl underneath there.”

  She squirmed under their stares, not used to the attention. Rays of sunlight caught in her gold hair, creating a halo around her face. She had aquiline, regal features. Her eyes, washed of the grime that had given the impression of sleepless rings, now shone like captured bits of winter sky.

  “Beautiful, yes,” Katherina whispered back, “and someday, that kind of beauty is bound to break many hearts.”

  #

  The next several hours passed uneventfully as Patrick waited for the women to return, but eventually he spied their heads bobbing up the trail. He took off a gauntlet, placed a couple fingers in his mouth and whistled to signal Geoffrey.

  As the women approached the wagon, he did a double take, especially on the girl Chansonne who ran by him, now streaming white silk and golden tresses.

  But then his attention snapped back to Aimeé. His jaw dropped. “Aimeé, I’ve never seen your hair like this before,” he said, clearing his throat. “It suits you very well.”

  “Thank you, Sir Knight,” Aimeé replied, smiling. “Have you been playing well with the children?”

  “They’re still alive, aren’t they?”

  Aimeé chuckled, but then looked around with a concerned expression. “Where are Candace and Emilie?”

  Patrick motioned with his chin. “There, they return now.”

  Geoffrey pulled up Samson after arriving at a gentle gallop. Even before he came to a full stop, Aimeé turned to Patrick angrily.

  “Are you mad!” she snapped, and rushed towards Candace and Emilie as Geoffrey let them down.

  “What’s wrong?” Patrick asked, puzzled.

  “How could you leave them alone with him!” she growled over her shoulder. She hugged the girls and turned them away from Geoffrey.

  Geoffrey, oddly quiet and subdued, looked wounded.

  “Aimeé... I’d very much like to talk to you...” he said.

  Aimeé didn’t hear. She merely stabbed at him with her eyes and she marched the children away. As she passed, she shot Patrick a look no less unkind, stinging his heart.

  Katherina joined him and placed a sympathetic hand on his forearm. “It seems we’ve accomplished just as much harm as good today.”

  Patrick followed her gaze to Lady Lilliana, who sat on the wagon with a sullen expression. Before he could inquire about what had darkened the woman’s mood, Katherina patted his forearm again and said, “Two steps forward, one step back.”

  #

  They arrived at the Hall for Lady Guests just as the sun set. Patrick and Geoffrey dismounted and helped the sleepy women descend from the wagon. Aimeé came last, and with his hands still on her waist, Patrick steadied her on the ground, keeping the wagon between them and Lilliana. He looked deeply into her eyes.

  “I’m sorry about leaving the girls with Geoffr
ey,” he whispered. “It was thoughtless of me.”

  Aimeé looked up into his face and accepted the apology with a curt nod.

  His hands lingered on her hips. “When next we have the chance, I’ll be happy to listen to your flute... and I’ll bring all the pickles I can find.”

  Aimeé smiled and her hands squeezed his arms. Her green eyes stirred butterflies in his stomach and he found himself leaning towards her lips.

  A scuffing noise to his right broke the moment. When he looked, his heart skipped a beat when at first he thought the Other stepped into the gate’s torchlight, but then froze as the individual removed his hood.

  “Sir Lucan,” Patrick said as he and Aimeé clumsily disentangled from each other. “What brings you here this evening?”

  “Good evening,” he said impassively. His eyes clung to Aimeé. “I am to escort the Lady Lilliana back to the pavilions.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Lilliana announced cheerfully from the far side of the wagon. “The Lady Katherina has graciously invited me to stay the night, and fulfilled my wish to sleep in a real bed. But thank you for your diligence.”

  “As you wish, my lady,” Lucan replied, still studying Aimeé strangely.

  “I best be going and help the others,” she said, trying to sound normal, but her voice shook. “Goodnight, Sir Patrick. Thank you for your assistance today.”

  Patrick cleared his throat. “Of course, mademoiselle, good evening.”

  Not liking how Lucan’s eyes followed her to the hall entrance, Patrick stepped in front of the man, arms crossed.

  “You needn’t worry,” Lucan said. “Your secret is safe with me, but if you truly care for her, you’ll let her go.” His eyes shifted to Lilliana as she disappeared into the hall. “They only hurt you in the end.”

  #

  When they had extinguished the candle and Mother Superior had bid them goodnight, Lilliana rolled towards Katherina on the bed.

  “This is wonderful,” she said. “A real mattress. Thank you, Kat.”

  “You’re very welcome,” Katherina said. “It’s the least I can do. The day didn’t seem to sit well with you, in the end.”

  Lilliana sniffed, rolling to her back. “I care not what a scullery maid thinks.”

  Despite the elder woman’s pretenses, Katherina sensed smoldering anger. She also felt the emptiness in the bed when Lilliana rolled away. “I think you’re beautiful whether you can have children or not.”

  Lilliana’s imperious sniff turned to a strained scoff. “The nitwit of a French girl thinks I’m some freak, just because...”

  Her voice caught short when Katherina fumbled in the darkness and found the bony roughness of one of Lilliana’s hands.

  “Shh,” Katherina said, squeezing, “talk to me of something else. Tell me about your husbands and your adventures with them.”

  In the darkness, Katherina could hear Lilliana’s lips part as if nonplussed. After a moment, Lilliana rolled back and strongly returned the squeeze. As strong as a man.

  “Well, first came Clay. A beautiful man, but very gullible. He only wanted to tend his silly garden. His father did not approve of me, and so banished me from Clay and the garden. Then came Cain, a real man’s man. Hair all over...”

  As Lilliana’s voice whispered into the night, Katherina snuggled closer, the fresh scent of soap on Lilliana’s skin caressing her nose. For the first time in a long time, she felt comfortable.

  #

  The following morning, Lilliana heard voices as she approached the entrance to Cardinal Teodorico’s pavilion, and judging by their repetition and the respectable distance the guards kept from the door flap, she knew what the cardinal was doing. Indeed, even before moving the flap aside, she could hear him spell out, “C-O-N-T...”

  She entered just the same, and moved to a table and poured herself a flagon of wine. Then she settled herself on one of the couches near the cardinal’s throne-like chaise.

  “...R-O-L,” Teodorico finished and took a deep breath.

  “Now hold it,” Sister Abigail said, standing before him. “Sit straight, expand your torso, and picture tossing a ball into the air. When in your mind’s eye you see the ball start to come back to earth, slowly release your breath... good... and let it all out when you have pictured the ball resting in your hand again.”

  She emphasized with her hands as she gave instruction.

  “C-O-N-T...” Teodorico began again.

  “Good, slow, controlled,” the nun encouraged.

  “...R-O-L. CONTROL,” the cardinal finished with conviction.

  His smile indicated he felt quite pleased with his progress.

  “Now, close your eyes and imagine the ball going gently into the air. Draw in a breath as it climbs upward. As it stops momentarily at its height, begin to release your breath slowly, and finish exhaling as it lands back in your hand. Good.” Sister Abigail, too, seemed pleased with the cardinal’s performance.

  “Control,” Teodorico said evenly, and with a smile as he opened his eyes.

  “Very good!” The nun clapped her hands.

  “Thank you, Sister,” Teodorico responded, without the slightest hint of a stutter. “Your skills have been a tremendous asset during these negotiations. Indeed, they have been a tremendous asset to my career. Without your guidance, I’d be nothing more than a stammering fool.”

  “Now you’re just a fool,” Lilliana laughed, rising from the couch and coming forward.

  “Now, now. Let that be our secret,” he laughed with her, taking the cup from her hand and taking a drink.

  Lilliana leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

  “Your career is due solely to your strength of will,” Sister Abigail said. “Any lesser man would have let his disability hold him back. You, on the other hand, sought me out and humbled yourself before God, and He has seen fit to help you overcome your affliction.”

  The cardinal said, “You must give yourself some credit, too, Sister. You have transformed my life, as well as the lives of many others who suffer from a number of maladies for which society would have condemned them.”

  “And you have made that work possible,” Abigail returned. “Your contributions to Saint Peter’s Orphanage and our work there have been invaluable.”

  “Greensprings. Saint Peter’s. I do my best to carry out Christ’s lessons. Or, perhaps it’s just that I know what it means to be a misfit,” Teodorico said, then added, “Would you care for a drink, Sister?”

  “No, thank you, Your Eminence,” Abigail replied, “but may I be candid about something?”

  “Of course,” Teodorico said, blinking at the sudden change in tone.

  Sister Abigail wrung her hands, obviously struggling for right words.

  “It’s the children,” she said at last. “Taking them out of their accustomed environment and transporting them vast distances alone has been stressful. They are disoriented and agitated. Despite that, they still have discerned what your intentions are for them. They may come across as simpletons, and in a sense they are, but even they know what you have planned for them and it weighs heavily.”

  The muscle in Teodorico’s jaw moved visibly and a tinge of red rose in his cheeks. Rather than make eye contact with the nun as she spoke, he turned his attention to the trunk next to his chair and ran his finger across the gold filigree designs. He then cracked the lid and began to move it up and down with an annoying squeaking sound.

  “The stress of all this has caused the children’s afflictions to become pronounced,” she continued, despite the distraction, “and under any more stress, they could truly become unstable. Especially with Chansonne. You know perfectly well what she is capable of. Such passions race around the cup as it is. It can only become worse if the children become involved. Who knows what would happen. I must protest their involvement. For their sake, and everyone else’s.”

  “Is that why you moved them to the keep?” the cardinal said coldly, lifting the trunk’s lid completely to
reveal an empty space. He let the lid drop with a loud bang and turned his attention back to the nun. “So they could be ‘safe’ from me and my villainous influence?”

  He said this last part with a smile, but it shown strained and contrived.

  “I moved them into the keep so they could be closer to the chanteuse Katherina as you suggested,” Sister Abigail responded, back stiffening, “and so I could have some help managing them in their agitated state.”

  “But of course,” Teodorico said with just a hint of flippancy.

  “Not that I’m not appreciative of what you have done for us,” she added, “and not that I don’t believe in what you’re trying to accomplish—it’s just that I don’t think you need the children to do it. By pushing them, the results could be... tragic.”

  Victor entered the pavilion.

  “Duly noted, Sister,” Teodorico replied coolly. “Perhaps you’re right and we won’t need them, but I like to have options. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have some business to discuss. Go in peace.”

  He made the sign of the cross, and his tone suggested the matter closed.

  Sister Abigail hesitated as if to muster courage to continue her argument, but decided to bow and leave.

  “Is she going to be a problem, my love?” Lilliana asked when the nun had left.

  “I sincerely hope not,” Teodorico responded, frowning at the tent flap through which she had left, “because despite what I just told her, the children are our best chance for success. Victor, how stands the council on the matter of the cup?”

  “Divided, with a compromise as the best solution to date,” Victor replied. “With the cup presently untouchable, the suggestion made by the Merchant’s Guild has gained traction: to divide logistical control for shuttling pilgrims—and the profits gained from such an activity—among the various factions on a rotating basis.”

  “And if the cup can suddenly be held?” Teodorico asked, taking a drink of wine.

  Victor smiled. “Why, then I’d imagine the faction holding it takes ownership. Winner takes all.”

  “Excellent,” Teodorico purred. He turned to Lilliana. “What is the status of the ‘gift’ from our good patron, the young King Henry? When will it arrive?”