“And you returned here?” Calum asked, hardly believing what he heard.
“Aye,” answered his host, dipping his bread into the communal bowl of stew again.
“And God gave the people ears to hear,” piped up one of the little children. “That’s what you always say, Papa.”
Heddwyn reached over to tousle the lad’s hair. “Aye, I do.” He turned to Calum, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Calum…Calum…that name sounds familiar to my ears.”
“Aye, it does,” Heddwyn’s wife agreed, sipping her ale.
Calum swallowed. “I’m sure ‘tis familiar to you, Heddwyn. I…grew up in this village.”
“You don’t say!”
“Aye.” Calum met the man’s eyes as guilty tears rose into his own. “I fled on the day you made that sacrifice. I am Cairine’s brother.”
Silence. Calum was sure he could hear the mice making nests in the meadows outside.
Then rejoicing. Heddwyn gathered him into a bear hug, knocking over his stool as he did so. The children joined in, piling around Calum, kissing his shoulders, face, head, hands, anywhere they could reach. Finally, they drew away from stunned Calum.
“What…Why…” he stammered.
“You are the lost talent,” explained Heddwyn’s wife, a smile illuminating her countenance. “You are Jacob come back to your inheritance. Do you know how long we have prayed for you?”
“But…I aided in her death.”
“How?” questioned Heddwyn.
“I didn’t stop them from killing her. I didn’t even protest. I am guilty of that. I’ve carried the guilt of it with me always.” Calum stopped, sure that they would understand now that he was a curse, not the blessing they thought him to be.
Heddwyn gave him a quiet smile. “Well, lad, you know what the Lord says to that, aye?”
Calum gave him a questioning look. “What?” he gulped.
“‘Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows.’” The man of God laid his veined hand on Calum’s. “You know, whatever burdens we bear, Jesus would bear them for us. He already has, to Calvary.”
Have I carried this too far, too long? Have I not given up this burden that Christ would bear for me? The tears brimmed in Calum’s heart before they ran over the rims of his eyes.
“May I pray for you, laddie?” Heddwyn asked, his voice quiet as a mother bird’s towards her downy chicks.
Calum barely could gasp it out. “Aye,” he muttered, his head bowing to his knees. “Aye.”
Heddwyn laid a hand gently on Calum’s shoulder. Calum felt the man’s children cluster around his knees, looking for a way to love and serve Him who upheld them all by His grace. The stew sat forgotten, the bread uneaten.
And in that soft evening twilight, in a humble cottage, Calum felt the fetters begin to crumble away from his soul.
30
Camelot
The pain flooded through her too heavily for her to care whether anyone saw her sobs. Tarian fled through the torch-lit corridors, almost colliding with a guard at this corner, running into a group of court boys at another. Her gown hung loose; she had not bothered with the sash when Nia came back to her chamber. She kept tripping over the hem, sometimes falling to her knees, rising again, her hands scraped.
You knew he was unfaithful.
Her tears poured out of her eyes swiftly as she remembered the wanton clinging to her husband. Was I not enough? And what about this child within me?
Finally, her feet could carry her no farther. An open doorway stood before her, dimly lit within. The king’s chapel. No one would disturb her open-sored misery here. She stumbled inside the small room, falling prostrate before the stone altar. There she lay, weeping until the tears would no longer come.
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
As she lay there, quiet at last, she knew Jesus was there with her. Yet, she knew also that He would not take away the pain that caused her heart to throb. Man of sorrows… Is this what You mean when You say that the cost is high?
Fresh sobs shook her body. She heard footsteps behind her but didn’t turn and rise to see who had entered the chapel. She suppressed her crying as much as she could, hoping that whoever ‘twas wouldn’t come to the front of the room.
But the person did. What was more, when he saw her lying there abased, he knelt beside her, his hood falling away from his face. Through blurry eyes, she recognized Deoradhan once again.
“My lady, are you…well, ‘tis obvious you’re not alright, but are you unhurt in body?” His hand went to her shoulder. In the torchlight, she saw the compassion surfacing in his eyes.
Tarian struggled to sit up. “Aye,” she whispered. “In body, I’m fine.”
Kneeling there, surrounded by the few polished benches, Deoradhan studied her. Under his kind gaze, she felt tears brimming at her eyes again.
Deoradhan gathered her in a gentle embrace. “’Tis alright, my lady,” he murmured. His touch held no sensual connotations, and Tarian wept freely against the front of his cloak. Why couldn’t Drustan have been like this man, who is also not a believer? How will I raise my child under that pagan roof?
She didn’t know how long Deoradhan comforted her, but they still sat in the dimness when another entered the small chapel, his boots scuffling on the stone.
“What’s this, Tarian?”
At the sound of her husband’s voice, Tarian felt Deoradhan freeze. His hands dropped from her shoulders, and he pulled up his heavy hood. With a bound, he departed through another door near the altar. Tarian turned to face her husband alone.
Drustan stood there, sarcasm plating his smile. “Who was that, Tarian?”
Promise me that you’ll tell no one I’m here. Tarian hesitated. Then she spat out, “How dare you ask me that after what I witnessed in your chambers this afternoon?”
Drustan approached her. “How dare I? How dare I? What I just saw, wife, could be construed as adultery, if I chose.” He took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “Now, tell me who your secret comforter is.”
She wrenched her face away from him. “Nay, I’ll not. He’s a friend, that is all.”
Drustan raised his eyebrows. “Tell me your friend’s name.”
“Nay. I…I cannot.”
His hand struck her cheek so hard she thought her teeth might come loose. Stumbling back, Tarian fell against one of the benches. Lord God, keep my child safe! “Now tell me his name, or I’ll name him your lover,” Drustan repeated calmly.
“My…?” She shook her head, her nose and eyes running. “Nay, you know you speak lies.”
Drustan nodded slowly. “Nay. Well, Tarian,” he spoke, gripping her forearm, “We must see what the king thinks on this matter.” He strode toward the door, pulling her along with him.
Tarian couldn’t believe this was happening. Wordless, she stumbled along behind her determined husband.
~ ~ ~
In the twilight, Deoradhan mounted his gray horse, Alasdair. By the good will of the gods, Drustan did not see me. He will help Tarian.
There had been too many close encounters on this trip for Deoradhan’s liking. Besides, he had heard much to his advantage while at Camelot, much that told him he might not need to kill Arthur by his own hand. Many whispered of treachery in dark corners, murmured discontent at the king’s table, and wore weapons belted beneath their tunics.
Just yesterday, he had overheard a gristled advisor to the king ask a young guard if he wished to come to a special meeting in the night. When the young guard had refused, the advisor warned him to keep his mouth shut if he knew what was good for him and his. Deoradhan saw the guard’s face blanche, then set in determined silence.
Arthur will not live out the year. In a way, Deoradhan was relieved that this was happening. I could not have killed Arthur by my own hand. He is not Weylin.
The critical nobles, including Weylin, would get rid of Arthur in their own way. And then there would be retribution from the
majority. In the resulting upheaval, Deoradhan would have both his revenge upon Weylin and his reward as a loyal subject.
Now to Oxfield, to retrieve Aine for a spring marriage, as he had sent word at the beginning of winter. Aine, my delight. She seemed all around him in this quiet dusk, her image ever-present in his mind. Hair black as the night sky, eyes as dark as an evening pool, skin white as the still-remaining clumps of snow. A flowering spring tree, promising to bear delectable fruits for him, only for him. Nature’s goddess incarnate, with no tricks to play upon him.
She is waiting for me, he thought, his heart beating along with his horse’s hooves.
31
Oxfield
Bethan knelt beside the stream within the fortress’ walls, enjoying the warm morning sun. The water had thawed now ‘twas April, and she didn’t fear for Enid’s safety. The young girl’s laughter mingled with that of another little servant. Looking up, Bethan saw the two of them playing with their rag dolls on the opposite bank. She smiled. How sweet and carefree they were. How long ago her own childhood seemed, though she had turned only sixteen this winter.
“Bethan.”
She startled at the fluty voice. Garan. She turned, rising to her feet. “You’ve come,” she greeted him with a smile, hoping he would see and return her delight.
“Didn’t I say that I would?” he frowned slightly.
He has grown taller since I last saw him, if twenty-two-year-old men can grow taller. Bethan was at a loss. “Aye, you did, but…” she trailed off under his penetrating gaze. “I’m very glad to see you,” she finished. Perhaps now he would smile at her, bathing her in his approval.
Garan nodded and remained silent.
“It’s my morning off,” added Bethan. “Let me call Enid. She’ll want to greet you.”
Before she could call, he stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. “Nay, I’ll speak to her later. Let me tell you my plans. We’ll sit.” He waited for her to sit and then perched by her side, his sandaled feet stretched out awkwardly, as if he were more used to manmade chairs.
“Now, I wish to leave tomorrow,” he stated.
“Tomorrow?”
“Aye, tomorrow afternoon. I’ve come with a small party of like-minded men and women. We’ll be traveling toward the northern border. We, however, will go across alone after we have been married. The rest of the party will spread out along the southern part of the Lothian border. ‘Tis an area already evangelized sparsely. I wish to go where none have gone before. Are you prepared to do this with me, Bethan?” His eyes bored into her. She felt as if he could divide her soul and spirit with that gaze.
“Aye,” she managed after a few moments. “You ken I gave you my promise.”
He stared at her. “Good,” he answered, a slight smile emerging at last. “I shall need a virtuous helpmate.”
Will he come to love me? The thought came into Bethan’s mind, but she dismissed it quickly. Isn’t it better to be valued than loved?
Camelot
“My lady, the queen wishes to speak with you.” Nia stood waiting for Tarian’s approval.
Tarian raised blank eyes to Nia’s face. “Show my lady in, Nia.”
Nia nodded. “Aye, my lady.” The maidservant opened the door and admitted the king’s wife.
On shaky legs, Tarian stood as the high noblewoman entered. “My lady,” she murmured, lowering her eyes.
Gwynhwyfar rushed forward and took Tarian’s hands in hers. “Oh, Tarian, Tarian. What a terrible thing to happen!” She drew Tarian toward the chairs near the hearth. “And to happen to you, the most virtuous of us all! I envied you your goodness to such a wicked man, when I am so wicked to such a good man as I have.”
Tarian merely nodded and looked toward the fire. “And do you know what the king has decreed, my lady?” she asked, hardly caring.
Gwynhwyfar bit her lip. “I came to bring you news before the message came, Tarian. I thought it would be better from a friend. And I do count myself that to you still, Tarian. A friend.” She looked earnestly into Tarian’s eyes.
“I know you do, my lady,” Tarian replied. “So what does the king say?”
“He says,” Gwynhwyfar began, “that there is no evidence against you that can convict you of…adultery.”
Tarian let out a sigh of relief. Not the death sentence, then.
“But,” the queen went on, her green eyes troubled, “your husband has declared that he has found you unclean in his eyes. And, as you probably know, Tarian, that is enough cause to force the king to grant a divorce.”
“A divorce?” The word was terrible to her.
Gwynhwyfar nodded. “Aye. ‘Twill be as if your marriage had not occurred.”
“But I have done nothing wrong, my lady! He, he has been unfaithful to me!”
“I know. But the law and custom favor Drustan. Arthur has tried to be as lenient as possible. You take back with you your dowry.”
Tarian shook her head. “My dowry will return to the king of Cantia.” She raised tear-filled eyes to the queen. “And I? Where will I go?”
The queen was silent. Tarian knew where she must go. Back home, back to her uncle, back to her mother and father, to Cantia. The shunned former wife of a respectable lord, who had accused her of adultery.
No one will take me for a wife. All will view my child as the result of fornication. I will be a shame to my father and mother. My uncle will despise me. The king of Cantia may exile me, if he is very angry. Why, why did this have to happen, O Lord? I tried to obey You. And now what future will I have?
And commonsense answered her: No future at all.
32
Summer Country
Calum breathed deeply. His legs took long strides across the newly-greening meadow. I feel like I’m living for the first spring in my life. Lord my God, thank You. In his scrip, he felt his small volume of Scripture bounce against his leg.
But I have trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation. I will sing to the LORD, because he has dealt bountifully with me.
Ah, here was the place. Just a stade or two away from his borrowed cottage. He knelt down, setting to work immediately. Smiling, Calum remembered his brother Kieve’s words yesterday regarding this house and tract:
“’Tis yours as long as you wish, brother.” The younger man paused. “Indeed, the whole of our family’s land is yours by birthright.”
Calum had shook his head. “I’ve no wish to take it, Kieve. It’s yours and your family’s. I have received more in this visit than I ever thought I would. But I will take up your offer to let me stay in that cottage.”
“Good. For long, I hope?”
“I don’t know. I will help you with the sheep, if you’ll let me. And I have a little money from my previous work. I need time apart.”
Calum gave a heavy last blow to the wood so that it would stand firmly. He raised his eyes up to the oak tree, still wreathed with mistletoe. Cairine had died in this place. And another man, Heddwyn had received the first pangs of life here.
Her death birthed his life. Calum stood, a joy so deep running through his soul that he could not smile. ‘Tis all a mercy. ‘Twas always so, but I didn’t see it. The tears ran down his cheeks as he knelt on the grass, thanksgiving bubbling through his heart. Thank you, Lord Jesus.
After a few moments, he looked up at the waist-high cross he had just planted in the earth. Deeply carven into the wood, its letters read in Latin, “Absorta est mors in victoria.”
Death is swallowed up in victory.
Oxfield
It would be as if they’d never parted. He was sure of it. Being with Aine would help him wait out the short time before he could claim Dunpeledyr as his own. Riding toward the closed gates, their iron shining in the noon light, Deoradhan inwardly raced through them, into the courtyard, to the kitchen where Aine would stand. Her arms would open, ready to receive him.
We will marry immediately, he decided. Smiling, he remembered how he had pressed
Aine to accept his ever-more-warm embraces last autumn just before he’d left. At last, she’d pulled away from him. He’d questioned her, but she’d said that she wished to wait to be fully his until they married.
“Why?” he had asked. “The ancient customs do not dictate that. ‘Tis only the Christian way.”
“Aye,” she’d replied in her only moment of rebellion against him, “but I wish to wait. For my mother’s sake, Deoradhan. Please.”
And he’d agreed, though he desired her so. And had been faithful to her since. Now at last I shall drink my wine with my milk, as Solomon says.
He drew his gelding up before the gate. “Deoradhan, long-absent, requests entrance,” he called out.
The gates swung wide. He barely greeted his old acquaintances, seeing none of their faces. Handing the reins over to a stableboy, Deoradhan found himself running toward the kitchen door. He thrust it open and came face-to-face with Deirdre.
“Deirdre,” he greeted, breathing to calm himself. “Where’s Meghyn?”
Deirdre’s mouth fell open, and Deoradhan felt dread begin to steal away a little of his excitement. “What is it, Deirdre?” he said, looking her straight in the eyes.
She swallowed. “Come in, Deoradhan. And welcome back. Aine will be glad to see you, I know.”
Deoradhan stepped into the entryway. A couple stepped in behind him, and he turned to see who ‘twas. Oh, that country girl of whom Calum was so fond. And a tall, pale man with her. What was her name? Oh, aye. “Bethan, hello,” he said.
Alicia Roque Ruggieri Page 20
