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February 22, 1184
Half the convent had woken to the sounds of the man's yelling and the girl's raspy sobs, but by the time Mother Elwyna reached her study, the pair had tensed themselves to silence, broken only by the occasional cough from the girl. No one had mentioned to Elwyna how long or how far they'd traveled--she doubted either guest had told--but the man, at least, looked to be the pinnacle of health, so she guessed no further than Dovia.
But the girl was in rough shape, rougher than most who journeyed from kingdom to kingdom in the winter. What business did she have that required her to come so far in her condition? Had she been in Elwyna's charge, she would have been confined to bed.
But if they'd come all the way here, then surely they would at least tell her why. Elwyna sat herself down at her desk and met the man's eye. "How may I help you?"
"My daughter is here to join your convent."
The man's face was stoic, but his words were ice and fire at once, a subtle sidelong leer toward his daughter as he stated their relation. Elwyna looked over to the girl just quickly enough to catch a scowl. "She doesn't seem pleased with the prospect. Tell me, was this her choice, or yours?"
"I am her father. Her only choice is to obey mine." His lightning eyes threw a bolt the girl's way with a single flick. She shrunk further back into her chair, but not without a sharp breath that seemed to Elwyna like that of a cornered cat. Nothing to gain, nothing to lose, a mere hiss a last defense at certain doom. "Through her own foolish actions, she has become otherwise useless to me. Here, she can at least work toward restoring the appearance of my family's honor."
And just what honor, Elwyna ached to ask, is there in abandoning your daughter in a convent when she doesn't want to be here in the first place? "Forgive me, but I have heard no hint of a scandal in any of the major houses. Your family's honor may yet be salvageable without forcing your daughter into a life she doesn't want."
The man's line of a mouth curved just enough to frown. He had a rock of his face, but she didn't doubt it could be cracked. "With all due respect, Reverend Mother, but I hope you never said such things to your own father when he decided that you would become a nun."
"My father had nothing to do with my becoming a nun. I took my vows of my own free will, because I wanted to serve the Lord." As, she believed, every nun should have. But she'd been around long enough to know that not all did. She'd dwelt in three Dovian convents before coming to Naroni, and she'd seen many young girls whose parents had seen fit to choose their futures for them. Most who were sent to the nunnery while they were too young to want much more grew up to be fine nuns, and some of the older ones did find that they liked the life, or grew to eventually.
Some, though... some never did. Elwyna had seen girls stop eating. She'd seen the scars on their wrists from the attempts to feel something, anything; one young woman had even used the sharpened corner of her crucifix when they'd taken away her knife. Some chose to waste away to nothing, any youth they had left abandoned along with the desire to go on. One young woman, the night before she was to take her final vows, had been found dangling from the rafters. "I do not think that your daughter has been called to do the same."
"She has been marked for the church."
And how arrogant did a mortal man have to be to claim that? "The only mark is desire."
The girl raised her head a little, body shaking as her neck struggled with the weight of her matted, tangled hair. Her deep blue eyes swelled to shadows and the skin of her cheeks stretched inward, but she managed to move her mouth just enough that Elwyna got the message. She was grateful. She didn't want to be here, but she was grateful. She'd been alone on her side for far too long.
"You look very ill, my dear. Would you like to lie down?"
"No," her father answered on her behalf. "She should count herself lucky I do not make her stand."
"She..." It was a new voice--quiet, nearly broken, but nonetheless there. "She asked me, Father. Not you."
"I thought I told you! Not another word!" And there it was, the face of rock a landslide of flash-fury. Elwyna's spine stiffened, but the girl did little more than glance back down at her lap. "Were you not your grandfather's pet, I'd tear out your vile tongue."
The painting of Christ that hung behind her flashed itself in front of her eyes. Elwyna stood. Rome may have wished for all its servants to follow the book to the letter, but all too often the official way and the Christian way differed greatly. "Sir, I will not have you saying such things."
"Don't you have any idea who I am?" Said as if he thought it actually mattered to God. "I am heir to the countship of Tagrien!"
"We are not in the countship of Tagrien! This is Naroni, and this is a house of the Lord!" Kicking back her chair, she stormed around her desk and stopped a few feet short of him. He was a large man, much taller than her, but Elwyna feared neither giants nor devils. This man may have had dogma on his side, but she had right. And more importantly, she was in charge here. "Now, I will have you know that as long as I am Mother Superior here, no girl or woman shall ever join this convent unless she decides to do so freely!"
"You would deny Christ of his rightful brides?"
"Christ would not have it any other way! I don't know what heartless god you serve, but mine is not a monster!" And it only angered her more, recalling once again that far too many thought he was. "He is fair and loving and has blessed us with choice! Do not deny your daughter what God has given her!"
"And if you know what's good for you, you will not deny what I am giving you!" The man drove his fist into his own hand, thin lips pulling back to reveal gritted teeth. His breath was every bit as ugly as his words. "This is my only daughter. She has a substantial dowry. You would be a fool not to take it!"
"My integrity is not for sale, and nor are my beliefs in a righteous God!"
"A pity, then." The man's stony brows cast a hood over his eyes, hand flying back as if swatting some invisible fly. "I picked this convent so my daughter could have some distance from the family she dishonored. Thought it would be better for all of us. But if you're unwilling to take her, I'm sure somewhere in Dovia--"
"Sanctuary!"
The man scowled, face swinging toward his daughter at the steer of a loathing glare. Elwyna softened her own eyes before gazing to the girl.
"I mean... I know it's not a chapel, but I can still ask that, right?" Her head drooped forward, matted curls scraping against her unsatisfactory coat. Elwyna thought she saw a smear of mud in one lock. "If I say that..."
"Then you can stay here and recover for a while without becoming a nun," Elwyna finished for her. The girl was a sorry sight, but the request stirred in her heart a little hope. If she sought sanctuary, then she hadn't fully resigned herself to her father's wishes. There was fight in her yet. "Yes, I will allow it. Have you any family in this kingdom?"
"A few aunts and uncles, and my grandmother is the baroness."
"Hmph. Garrett and Valira, then Renata and her brood." The man sneered, not much fondness found in any name, though Elwyna caught the familiarity. Knights and nobles, many of them charitable. It would not be hard to find the girl a new home among her kin. "Bunch of bleeding hearts, the lot of them. Reverend Mother, be sure that they aren't blinded by their pity."
"It is neither your place nor mine to dictate how your relations feel about your daughter." But it was Elwyna's place to know how she felt about the girl's father, and those feelings were sinfully unchristlike. There was only one way to fix that. "Now, I will give you a choice not unlike the one I imagine you gave your daughter. You will either leave this place of your own accord, or I will call for the guards and have you forcibly removed."
NEXT CHAPTER:
November 25, 1164
"Still up, I see?"
In the dim light, the nun was scarcely more than a silhouette; there was an almost spectral air about her, a sort of ghastly omnipresence that seemed to summon all the cold in the room and concentrate it around Geneva's spine. She tried to keep her wits about her--this was a Bride of Christ, after all--but she found her rushing heart could not be slowed.
Fortunately, Geneva of Bandera had a gift for being able to maintain the appearance of calmness. "The baby's still awake; I don't want to fall asleep before he does."
Was that right? She couldn't remember; it had been a few years now since she had last mothered an infant, and even then, she had always had a nurse or two at her disposal. Ah, but it was useless to dwell on such things--in the long run, it was a moot point.
The sister nodded. "Fair enough. Is this your first baby?"
"Yes," lied Geneva, the faces of the previous five flitting about in her mind. "Sorry for imposing on you, again."
The nun gave a her reassuring smile--yet, she knew she didn't deserve it. "It's no trouble. What else could you do? Your husband died and your house burned down."
It was a relief to have been reminded of her own cover story. "Yes... still, it was very kind of you to take me in."
The nun turned around and gazed at the restless baby in the crib. "That's what we're here for, dear. My... he's a rambunctious little one, isn't he?"
Geneva stifled a laugh. "Just like his mama."
The other woman placed a kiss on the boy's head, then opened the door and stepped into the corridor. "Good night to you both. If you need anything, don't hesitate to wake me."
"Thank you."
With a last parting grin, the nun walked away, shutting the door behind her. Her smile had been warm, but that had only served to make Geneva herself feel cold in comparison. Perhaps that was her only problem with the woman; something about her made her painfully aware of her own faults.
But alas, she had always been told that a tigress could not change her stripes.
Geneva slung her legs off the bed and lifted the lid from the trunk by the window. Her own dress had been taken by the servants to be laundered, but the trunk must have been there for a reason, and that reason was probably the storage of extra clothing.
Sure enough, it held several assorted garments of reasonable quality; perhaps they were sometimes given to beggars and refugees seeking sanctuary at the orphanage. Geneva dug around for a minute or two before settling on some men's traveling clothes. They were a little on the large side, she noticed as she dressed herself, but they would have to do--at any rate, they were much more convenient than a long, flowing dress.
She folded the borrowed nightgown and placed it in the stead of her new attire. Now all she had left to do was to get her hair out of the way; she bundled it back, then, holding it in place with one hand, snatched a ribbon from the trunk and tied it into a loose ponytail. One shorter lock in the front fell out of place, but she figured it wouldn't be too much of a bother.
Not relatively, at any rate. Now, for the part she always hated most, that part that almost made her change her plans and keep from whatever would have otherwise awaited her next.
Almost.
Seeing that he was still awake, Geneva lifted the baby from the crib and hoisted him to her shoulder. He would be all right--she had fed him shortly before the nun had arrived, and there was a lactating servant sleeping in the room next door--and she knew he wouldn't remember her, but all the same, it felt wrong to leave without saying goodbye.
"You'll be safe here," she soothed him as his tiny fingers curled around her stray lock of hair. "She's a good woman--somewhat scary for a sinner like me, maybe, but you're too little to be a sinner."
"They'll take care of you here, darling. I'd take you with me if I had a home to offer you... but then again, you're better off without me anyway. Now, you just be a good boy for the sister, all right?"
The baby responded with a small whimper. Geneva kissed his forehead, then gently patted his back. "I'm sorry, love. Maybe you'll understand when you're older... but then again, most people aren't really good for the whole 'understanding' thing. Regardless, I imagine you'll grow to be a better man than most."
She looked into his wide blue eyes one last time before placing him back in his cradle. "Goodbye, my angel. I love you--even if you don't remember me, I hope you never forget that. I know I never will."
The child simply looked up at her. Geneva allowed herself to cry a single tear; it was probably a good thing that a week-old baby couldn't understand a word she was saying.
NEXT CHAPTER:
October 5, 1156
Father Quintus had finished his piece, and now Florian was nearing the end of his. Thetis had tried to pay attention to the both of them, she honestly had, but she had found herself much too preoccupied with her own thoughts to listen carefully to what they had to say.
Thetis had never liked funerals--really, who did? As if anyone needed just one more reminder of a death.
For a woman who hadn't often left her house in life, Electra seemed to have quite a few friends; at least, a good handful of people had shown up for her funeral. Thetis stood with Halford and Arydath, near Lord Severin and his steward. Sister Elwyna, the nun who would be running the orphanage, was standing with Father Quintus. She didn't appear to be particularly stern, Thetis was relieved to see--chances are, her little daughter would end up being raised by that nun.
She was surprised to see that Falidor had decided to tag along with Lord Severin. Thetis had never met any of the young steward's family, but from what she had heard, his father had died back in Dovia and his mother was very ill, and would likely not last another year. Were she in Falidor's boots, she would have avoided anything even remotely related to death at all costs, so she could at least enjoy the time that remained.
Or perhaps he was trying to surround himself with death. Perhaps he figured that he would become numb to it, and then, when his mother finally died, he would face a lesser pain than he would have otherwise. That would make sense too, she supposed.
Florian just seemed intent on avoiding all eyes as he muttered the rest of the eulogy, more to himself than to all those assembled. It was clear that he was not at his most comfortable in front of so many people, even if he had been asked to speak about something he actually enjoyed discussing. Also, the cold breeze couldn't have been good for him; it was really rather selfless of him, making sure that his wife was given a proper funeral at the risk of his own health.
"So, I guess there's really nothing left to say," sighed Florian at last. "I just want to thank you all for coming. I'm sure Electra would be honored to see that you all came. You're welcome to leave as you please; I'm sure the people watching your babies will be anxious to see you back."
That was true. Thetis had left Byrn at the baron's keep, where Evera, Setran, and Lyraina were also being taken care of--much to the horror of the rather cruel baroness, at that. Fortunately, she had a nurse for her own babies anyway, and would not have to bother with them herself, which was perfectly fine with Thetis, who really would have rather not had her children anywhere near that awful woman in the first place.
But at least she'd found somewhere to leave Byrn--it would have been a terrible waste of a day when Norwan was sleeping off a hangover in some village inn with a local prostitute if she'd had to stay home with her son. Funerals really were no place for babies.
She kept waiting for Florian to meet her eye, but he just kept staring off into space, as if trying to trace Electra's path to heaven. No... that didn't sound like the sort of thing Florian would do. Perhaps he was just trying to empty his mind, to forget exactly why he was here.
Thetis could relate. Electra had been the mother to Evera that Thetis sorely wished she could have been, and now, the little girl would never know that mother. All she would ever know now was the cold orphanage floor, and a scratchy blanket she shared with four other children. And what sort of future was there for a girl raised in an orphanage? She might become some sort of spinster servant, or perhaps a nun, or maybe even--no. Thetis could not allow herself to think such thoughts.
"It'll be all right, Thetis," she distinctly heard Falidor whisper. "Don't worry."
She wasn't sure she could reply; she didn't think she could believe him.
So instead, she just closed her eyes and began to count. Being a poor, uneducated peasant girl, Thetis only knew the numbers up to a hundred, so when she reached that, she would start over at one. Exactly how many times she did this, she didn't know; the way she saw it, it barely even mattered.
"Go home, Thetis."
It appeared that only herself and Florian remained.
"Maybe you should go too," she suggested; she had to admit, she was a little worried about his condition in this cold weather.
Florian sighed. "She should too, but we both know she's not going to."
Shaking her head, she slowly made her way toward him. "She's in a better place, now, Florian."
"She would have been in a better place anyway," he argued bitterly, "now that Setran's here. He's such a good baby--this one actually sleeps through the night."
He took a moment to erupt into a coughing fit, then regained his composure and continued to stare at the tombstone. "He's so patient, and the woman who's nursing him says he's a much more cooperative eater than her own baby. Not that I blame that other boy--I wouldn't suck those tits for all the money in Naroni. If anything, my son's got absolutely bizarre taste."
"Florian... please," Thetis urged him softly. "You're not feeling well; Electra wouldn't have wanted you sitting out in the cold like this, talking about breasts. She'd want you to be at home, with Setran and Evera."
Florian nodded, then pulled himself to his feet. "You're right. Thank you."
There was so much that she wished she could say to him, and yet, she found she did not know the words she needed. Perhaps words were not always reliable, she supposed; maybe sometimes, the only way to express oneself was with a hug.
NEXT CHAPTER:
January 3, 1156
"So, are you going to actually get some work done today, or are you just going to sit there and stare at the sky like a lazy old ass?" Arydath demanded of her husband as she approached him, their little daughter in tow.
Halford laughed. "Since I'm already done my work for the day, I'd say the latter."
Arydath couldn't help but smile slightly; what a silly man she had married! Simultaneously thoughtful and thoughtless, driven and relaxed, simple and complex... oh, but such was love. As far as Arydath was concerned, Halford could never possibly do anything that would make her stop loving him, even if he chose to be a lazy ass for the rest of his days. Well, maybe if he started being a complete prude... nah, it wouldn't be too hard to fire him up again. He was a man, after all.
"Look at the ducks, Lyraina," she cooed to her baby as she gazed at the pond at the side of the pigpen, "with all their little ducklings..."
"Maybe one day, we'll have that many ducklings," teased Halford.
Arydath sighed. "If you think I'm getting into bed with you when the memory of giving birth's this fresh in my head, think again. I'm not sleeping with you until I simply can't go another night without sex."
"So tonight, then?"
"Oh, Halford, you great stupid ox!" she snapped, holding Lyraina close. "I was thinking maybe tomorrow."
"Excuse me, good people," greeted a female voice from the road.
Arydath looked up to see two women standing on the dirt road, facing her family. The further figure was dressed in the garb of a Dovian nun, with her shapeless black dress, white habit, and a heavy bronze crucifix around her neck. The other, judging by her dark coloring and exotic dress, could only have been a gypsy, which Arydath had most definitely not been expecting; the gypsies rarely came even so far west as Dovia, so Naroni seemed quite an unlikely place to meet one.
The gypsy began to approach. "Greetings," she bade them; her voice, completely void of traces of any accent, betrayed her as the one who had spoken earlier. She was quite a bit older than Arydath, maybe in her early or mid forties, but retained a certain air of mysterious beauty about her--Arydath prayed that Halford wasn't looking at her.
But who was she kidding? Of course he was.
"Hello, good lady," he acknowledged the foreigner, staring somewhat south of the face region. "What can I do for you this fine day?"
"Well, my companion and I have been traveling for several days now," she began with a slight tilt of her head. "If we could seek shelter inside your house for an hour or so, we would very much appreciate it."
The nun nodded in agreement, but said nothing. She was a quiet, bookish-looking young woman, no great beauty, but by no means repulsive. Surely she would be no distraction for Halford--if only she had come alone.
Halford took a moment to look the two of them over, then turned back to the gypsy and told her, "Feel free. Arydath, kindly show these ladies into the house."
She didn't feel the need to reply; she simply gestured for the two women to follow her, quite keen on getting them safely out of her husband's sight. Yes, she did trust Halford... but he was a man. And men had their weaknesses.
"Your baby is lovely," the gypsy told her as they filed inside. "What is her name?"
"Lyraina," Arydath answered promptly.
The older woman smiled. "What a pretty name. She looks just like you--not a bad thing, since I doubt your husband would make a particularly attractive woman."
Despite herself, Arydath grinned slightly; the image of a female Halford was just too amusing to let slide. "Indeed. Excuse me for a minute--I think it's this little one's nap time."
Leaving her guests by the table, she hurried into Lyraina's makeshift bedroom and held her daughter at eye level.
"You're such a big baby; mind you, so are all the rest of them. There must be something strange about this place--there's yet to be a miscarriage or stillbirth, even! It's so odd..."
But why was she talking to the baby? It wasn't as if she understood, or even cared. Sighing, Arydath placed the infant in her crib, then took a deep breath and rejoined the gypsy and the nun in the kitchen.
"You must forgive my rudeness," the gypsy muttered softly as Arydath approached her. "I asked your daughter's name, but failed to inquire as to yours and your husband's."
"Oh, not to worry. I'm Arydath," she introduced herself, "and my husband is Halford Diarn."
The woman turned to face her. "You are Goodwife Diarn, the midwife?"
Arydath nodded. "You've heard of me?"
"Oh yes. You're quite famous in these parts--the only midwife this kingdom has. You must be in exhaustingly high demand."
"Well..." she admitted, "I suppose I would like to spend more time with my husband and daughter, rather than running around the kingdom delivering everyone else's babies. And my next baby, I'd prefer it if I didn't have to talk a great oaf like Halford through the whole process again."
"I see. Anyway, this woman here is Sister Elwyna," stated the gypsy, her dark eyes flickering towards the nun. "She wants to set up an orphanage here, for when there is need of one in Naroni. As for me, I am Laveria of Ashtoreth--or at least, that's what they call me in Dovia."
"I don't think I've ever heard of Ashtoreth," Arydath mused aloud, frowning, "and Laveria doesn't sound like a gypsy name. I don't think that's the name you were born with."
A sly smile appeared on Laveria's face, but she did not speak of the matter any further. "I'm only a herbalist, but I have delivered several babies in my day. I had to deliver my own baby, and he's as strong a young man as any now."
"Oh, thank God!" exclaimed Arydath in relief. "I must say, when I saw you approaching, I thought you meant trouble, but Naroni is growing, and we really do need another midwife in the kingdom. Where are you planning on setting up your home?"
"Veldorashire. I have family there."
"Oh, you'll love it there. It's quite easily the happiest shire; probably because its lord doesn't listen to a thing the king says."
Laveria grinned knowingly. "Indeed."
"The church is located in the king's shire, correct?" inquired Sister Elwyna, her gentle soprano speaking for the first time. "I daresay I shall stay there until an orphanage is built."
"Yes. I'm sure Father Quintus wouldn't mind; he's a good man," Arydath did her best to assure her.
"A rare thing these days," laughed Laveria rather bitterly. "Last time I met a good man, he was happily married."
"That's a shame," chuckled Arydath, glancing out the window in search of a trace of Halford.
"Oh no. It wasn't long after that he was not such a good man--how do you think I got my son?"
Arydath smiled, while Sister Elwyna emitted a strange sound that seemed to be some sort of offspring of a gasp and a giggle.
"But speaking of good men," Laveria pressed on, "you are familiar with the Earl of Bandera, correct?"
Curious, Arydath leaned toward her. "Queen Geneva's brother? Yes, what about him?"
Laveria sighed. "Well, unfortunately, he's become rather ill."
"The earl? Really?" demanded Arydath. "He's always been such a strong man--you can tell just by looking at him."
"It certainly is a mystery," the other woman agreed, "but either way, it does affect you. Your queen is his sister, and your Lady Veldora, his sister-in-law. Sooner or later, your nobles will be called home to Dovia for the funeral, and somehow, you will have to establish some order."
Arydath closed her eyes. "If that should happen, we should be fine. I doubt the king would bother to attend his brother-in-law's funeral; he'll still be here."
A troubled look crossed Laveria's features. "Yes, that's what worries me."
NEXT CHAPTER:
