Priscilla Royal - Tyrant of the Mind

“Will he be black as night?”

“I think that can be arranged.”

“Will he have fiery red eyes?”

Thomas paused. “Well, now, would Sir Gawain have a horse with red eyes or great brown ones like your Uncle Robert’s hunter?”

The boy thought for a moment. “Perhaps brown would be better.”

“And white mane?”

“Yes! And leather…”

Anne put her hand on Richard’s head. “Wouldn’t you like to have some surprises left, my son? Surely this will be a fine horse, whatever his trappings, and well worth the waiting.”

The boy wrinkled his forehead, trying as hard as he could to look older than his years. Failing that, he beamed with all the dazzling joy of youth. “I will wait, Uncle. It is right that I do so.” He hesitated but a second. “Will you tell me a story now?”

Thomas rose and gestured to Anne to follow him. “That I will, but first I must discuss some very dull matters with this good sister which would be of no interest to such a knight as you. Will you rest a moment while we step outside?”

“I will, Uncle, but hurry. Please?”

As they closed the door to the boy’s room, Thomas turned to Anne and grinned. “How am I doing as a new uncle?”

“Well, indeed!” Anne laughed. “I think our lady will be much surprised to find she has yet another brother, but she will approve of your new kinship.” Her smile turned gentle as she laid a hand on his arm. “The boy brightens when you visit him, brother. He heals all the better for your presence.”

“Then he continues to mend well?” Thomas asked.

“He grows stronger by the minute,” she replied, then listened to some muffled sounds coming from the boy’s room. “If you do not return soon with the story you promised, Richard will have bounced that bed to dust with his impatience!”

Eleanor rubbed her eyes. The verbal jousting with her father had left her exhausted, as had the long days of worried attendance on her nephew. When the news of Hywel’s death came, her father had left her alone at the high table but not before ordering some food brought so she might break her fast.

The morning was now fully born, although the young light was a feeble thing and the huge dining hall where she sat facing a cup of watered wine, a manchet of white bread, and a small portion of salted fish in butter was more gray than bright. Fatigue flowed over her with greater force than the sun’s light, and the exertion needed to slice bread or chew fish suddenly seemed overwhelming. She sipped at the wine and the warmth chased away some of that weariness. Perhaps a bit of that buttered fish might be worth the effort, she thought, and she reached out to retrieve a bite from the bowl.

“Alone, my lady?” There was a hint of supplication in the voice.

Eleanor looked up at sound of the once familiar voice. Juliana had entered the hall so quietly the prioress had heard no step. Her old friend was now standing, hesitantly, at the end of the long table, her thin face as colorless as the gray hood that framed it.

“Alone, indeed,” Eleanor replied. “I fear I have just my company to offer.”

“It is only your company that I seek.”

“Will you join me in…?” Eleanor gestured at the food in front of her.

Juliana shook her head, then bowed it as if the weight was too much for her to hold upright. “You have heard the sad news about your father’s retainer?”

“Aye, I have that,” Eleanor said gently. “I will take whatever poor comfort my words may bring to the family.” She hesitated. “It was an accident, I’ve been told, but I grieve for the wife and babes he left behind.” She knew they would not starve, but even the security of knowing that would do little more than blunt one sharp edge of the pain they were suffering.

“As do I. My father swore he’d make provisions for them. He feels responsibility for Henry’s ill-considered act that caused the horse to shy.” She shuddered. “Nonetheless, his family will long rue this horrible day.”

Where was that joy that once gave light to her friend’s eyes and a flush to her cheeks, Eleanor wondered with a growing sadness. Juliana had always had a kind heart and suffered over the death of any of God’s creatures, but her nature had been such that she had always quickly regained a delight in life, a joy that was contagious even to those who suffered the many sorrows of a mortal world. What was it, then, that had cast such a shadow on the spirit of her old playmate?

“Would you walk with me on the ramparts this morning, Juliana?” Eleanor asked. “The sight of a new day may help raise our spirits, and it has been many years since we last spoke. We have much to tell each other.”

“I would be honored,” Juliana replied, her voice almost a whisper.

“Come then and let us greet the sun. It is God’s gift even in the dark seasons,” Eleanor said and reached out to take her friend’s hand. It felt so frail and dry, like that of an aged woman nearing death. She squeezed it with tenderness.

***

High on the castle wall, the air was biting sharp to the nostrils and brought pink to the cheeks of the two women standing quietly on the stone walkway. As they looked down over the dark-wooded valley, they could see mists swirling, hiding sights from view for a moment and exposing them with teasing brevity the next. White smoke from a few of the village houses, below the hill on which Wynethorpe rose, curled upward and disappeared into the growing haze. Wives were tending stews and baking breads to sustain their men and babes over the cold day. In the center of the village, surrounded by hovels, lay a small church. The women on the castle ramparts could see a cluster of diminutive figures, dull with the colors of poverty, coming for alms as well as for the fat-soaked trenchers and discarded scraps from the dinner the castle inhabitants had enjoyed the night before. Although they could not see them through the mists, Eleanor and Juliana knew that cattle wandered in the fields between the village and the forest in search of winter-faded grass beneath the snow. Dark-haired goats stood on their hind legs to nibble on low branches and brindled sheep huddled together for warmth. Indeed, they could hear their bleating cries through the frosty air. At such a distance and with the softening of the hazy light, it was an idyllic scene.

“I have a favor to beg of you, my lady,” Juliana began, her breath turning into white curls like the outline of decorative letters in an illuminated manuscript.

Eleanor smiled at her. “My lady? Have you forgotten our youth together? We were Eleanor and Juliana once.”

“Now you are head of Tyndal Priory. As prioress, I honor you.”

“The honor is my father’s. I wear it on his behalf.”

For the first time, Juliana smiled. “From what we hear, you have earned enough on your own. George has told us how many at court sing of your wisdom and bravery.” She reached over and touched Eleanor’s arm. “He sends greetings and, aye, a brother’s love as well.”

“Were his greetings why you wished to speak to me alone?” Eleanor asked. She felt a knot of worry in her stomach. If George was sending a brother’s love, she told herself, that was a good sign. Perhaps he had forgiven her? Perhaps he had even married by now?

“No, my lady, but he would not have you think he had forgotten you.”

Eleanor smiled, but her friend’s words were not exactly the news she had hoped to hear. “Then tell him I send him my greetings and affection as a sister would to her dear brother.”

“He will be honored, my lady.”

For a moment Eleanor let the silence hang between them. She watched her friend’s eyes turn dark with sorrow. What little joy had briefly taken residence when she spoke of her brother now more quickly fled.