Crusaders 2 6/7
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Chapter 5
How Forever Feels
It was as well that the brothers had already agreed to stay at St. Cross until Monday. John was too weak to rise even for Mass on Sunday and had a touch of fever, though low enough not to require blood-letting, and Dean and Samuel were too sick at heart to care for him as well as the Hospitallers did. They ate little and spoke less, and Samuel spent much of the day in prayer.
After Vespers the brothers knelt beside John’s bed while the Hospitallers were away. “Shalt be well enow to travel on the morrow?” Samuel asked.
“It matters not,” John replied. “We must away lest the new baron find us here.”
“Then by thy leave,” said Dean, “I shall send for Ælfric. He said yesternight that he should be glad to drive us back to Oxenford.”
“Nay, I can ride-”
“Da, hast forgotten how thou camest to be thus? An perchance thou art so well tomorrow, ’twould not be wise for thee to fare so far as Whitchurch.”
“And I deem Master Robert shall not give thee leave to ride so soon,” Samuel added. “He should have less cause to think ill of me an we go by wain.”
John sighed heavily. “Forgive me, lads; my head is none too clear. Ælfric, sayest thou?”
Dean nodded.
“Good lad, Ælfric. Stout lad. Aye, hast my leave, Dean.”
Dean squeezed his hand. “Rest now, Da, and let us care for all.”
John nodded and fell asleep again.
Ælfric proved a cheerful and talkative driver, gladly caring for the horses the family had ridden as well as he cared for his current lord’s and keeping the journey back to Oxenford from being as grim and silent as the journey to Winchester had been. The day of rest had helped John greatly, and his fever had broken sometime after Matins, so he was well enough to laugh and talk with Ælfric. Yet both his leg and his head seemed to trouble him, and at one stop he had perforce to tell Dean he was glad not to need to ride.
They fared as far as Abingdon ere Ælfric called a halt for the night, and they easily reached the Eagle and Child by mid-morning the next day. Ellen came out into the yard as Samuel and Dean were helping John out of the wain, and at once she began to scold him even as she took his arm about her shoulders and led him into the inn. Such a fuss made she that Ælfric’s eyes seemed like to pop out of his head.
“Is that His Lordship’s new wife?” he asked Dean quietly.
Both brothers snorted. “Nay,” said Dean. “’Tis only Ellen.”
“Well, the name fits. She is a bold one.” [1]
Samuel had to cough to keep from laughing.
By the time the lads had seen to their gear and horses, Ellen-still scolding-had set John in a cushioned chair by the fire and was bringing him food and ale. John seemed unsure whether to laugh or shout. And in a corner, Rufus and Brother Asce were fighting hard to seem more interested in the book Brother Asce was copying than in laughing at them.
Ælfric had no such qualms and laughed heartily. “Well, milord, it seems I leave you in good hands.”
John could not but laugh. “My thanks again, good Ælfric. Fare thee well.”
Ellen waited until Ælfric was gone to take up her speech again. “Sooth, John, how shalt thou go to York when faring hence to Winchester hath worn thee so?”
John groaned. “Ellen....”
“Ellen, there shall be no need,” said Dean. “We cannot wed at Rievaulx even were Father well enough. We sent for Father Seamus; he shall be here on the morrow.”
No sooner had he said that than the door opened and Robert and Joanna walked in. Joanna gasped and with a cry of “Dean!” ran sobbing to his arms.
“Here, now, love,” Dean said, holding her tight. “Have not been away so long as that, surely?”
“Nay,” Robert answered, “nor was the were so hard to slay. His Lordship the Baron of Winchester took her for a maiden of the town, an ye take my meaning, [2] and would be gainsaid only by a dagger’s blade, and then only by proof upon his person that she can wield it. He shall bear the scar to his shame, I trust.”
Dean and John both cursed at the same time, and Dean tightened his hold on Joanna.
Ellen came over to lay a motherly hand on Joanna’s back. “Father Seamus cometh tomorrow, thou sayest?”
Dean nodded. “Aye, and I would he could come sooner.”
Joanna hiccupped and looked up at him. “But Dean....”
“The banns are asked, Joanna, and ’tis best for us all an we wed now. We are all here anyway, save Cynehunde, who must mind the forge for Robert. But I’ll let no man touch thee henceforth.”
She hiccupped again, though with a shaky smile, and pressed her head against his shoulder again.
“Half do I wish we had left the bell-ghost to pull the house down about the cutthroat’s ears,” John snarled. “’Tis none o’ his by right, anyhow.”
“Aye,” Samuel countered, “and have Ælfric and the rest end up like poor Grimbold, who shall do well to live the week without his arm?”
“Mind thy tongue, Samuel.”
“Father, ’tis done. And what hope should Joanna have of a man so lordly as Dean wert thou still baron instead of this wretch?”
Dean reddened and ducked his head so that his cheek rested on Joanna’s head. Joanna hiccupped again, though this time it sounded like a laugh.
John studied them a moment, and his face softened. “Sooth, nor I so fine a daughter as she. Mary....” His voice caught. “Mary should have loved her, too.”
Samuel’s voice gentled. “Come now, Da, we shall have time enow for tears on the morrow.”
“Aye,” said Brother Asce, “and belike blood and sweat for some of us.”
“Asce!” cried Joanna, and the mingled groans and laughter of the others echoed to the roof.
Dean and Joanna were well nigh inseparable for the rest of the day, holding hands when they might not embrace, seeming to take comfort from each other’s touch. John and Robert each told the tales of their hunts, and Rufus and Brother Asce took Samuel aside to ask for more details about the bell-ghost. But the soul-wounds bled through both Dean’s looks and Joanna’s, and Samuel knew not whether to be glad they had one another or to be sorry that he could not offer such comfort to his brother.
When they had parted from the company for the night and were in their room above the stables, however, Dean turned to Samuel. “Forgive me, brother. I have forsaken thee this day.”
Samuel shrugged. “Joanna had need of thee, and thou of her.”
“Aye, but thou hast cares enow of thine own, and I gave no thought to thee.” Dean sighed. “I do not love thee less for loving her the more. Thou wist that, aye?”
And now the words were said, Samuel knew he had needed to hear them. He nodded. “Nor I thee the less for loving the Church the more.”
“That wit I right well.” Dean smiled a bit. “Art here.”
Samuel smiled sadly. “Shall not ever be. But thou hast Joanna, and she... faith, Dean, she is to be thy mate, thy helpmeet. Thou and she shall be one in ways thou and I can never be.” He paused, then put his hands on Dean’s shoulders. “I do not grudge thee that, nor envy thee for what I have renounced. And ’tis thy line shall save the world, whatsoe’er befall. I shall rejoice rather, and spend my days in prayer for you twain.”
Dean’s eyes were bright, and he pulled Samuel into a rough hug. “Then shake thou Heaven’s windows, brother mine.”
“That shall I, with a good will, and evermore.”
Dean sniffled and let Samuel go. Then he went and took aught from his pack and brought it to Samuel. “Wilt thou bear this for me until the proper time?”
Samuel gasped when he saw the silver ring wrought with protective signs and the sapphires and rubies set therein. Dean had told him not a week before that he had sought a ring in Nazareth, but all had been beyond his means. “Dean! How... where....”
“Ælfric gave it to me. He had sought it out of the treasury while we waited for Mother-’twas in her dower, he deems, for he had seen her wear it on feast days. ‘Belike I shall suffer for this,’ said he, ‘but I deem it wrong thou shalt have naught of thy inheritance.’”
“Oh, blessed Ælfric!” Samuel undid the rosary from its place on his belt, tied it about the ring, and put it back so that his robe might hide the silver. “There, it shall keep there well enow until tomorrow.”
Dean grinned, then ran a hand over his face. “Faith, I wit not whether I shall sleep this night.”
“Shalt not sleep tomorrow night.”
Dean hit Samuel on the shoulder and laughed.
The next day Ellen set Samuel to work helping her prepare the bridal feast while John and Dean talked long and low and Robert and Rufus took heed to the guests who stopped in. Those whose presence they deemed unsafe were warned away by various tales, but those whose goodwill was known to the hunters were told of the wedding, and no few wished the couple well ere Joanna retired to her room to make herself ready. Dean, too, retired not long after and returned wearing his best tunic and surcoat.
Father Seamus arrived at nightfall-and on his heels a storm. “We shall not be safe at the church door, I deem,” said he. “Had ye hopes of a Mass?”
Dean sighed. “Sooth, Father, I gave it no thought. But Father and I are still outlawed, so....”
“’Twould be unwise, aye. The banns were risk enough.” Father Seamus turned to Ellen then. “Well, lack we aught but the bride?”
Ellen chuckled. “Nay, Father. I shall fetch her.”
Samuel stood at Dean’s side as Ellen left and returned with Joanna, who was clad in a new blue kirtle that made her eyes shine, her hair unbound about her shoulders. Dean’s gulp was audible, and Samuel squeezed his shoulder to steady him. By some miracle, they said their vows with nary a stumble, though Samuel wondered betimes whether either of them heard a word in sooth. And somehow Joanna did not swoon when she saw the ring, though many others in the room did gasp.
Then made they merry while the rain fell, and none marked when Dean and Joanna made their escape to the room above the stables. The only sour note was sounded at the end of the evening, when Samuel saw how very drunk John was and rued the fact that he had chosen to spend the night in his father’s room. Yet John said little to Samuel once they were alone, and naught in anger; rather, he called out ever and anon to Mary and wept until he slept. And he slept much of the next day, which was as well, for the rain did not let. A very jolly Dean did return to the common room for food to take back with him, but else he spent the day alone with Joanna.
And Samuel, for lack of aught better to do, sought a quiet corner and prayed.
The rain had let somewhat by Friday morning, but Father Seamus feared to tarry longer lest he not return to Grentabrige in time for Mass on Sunday. So Dean and Samuel gathered John’s gear for him and helped Father Seamus put a cover on the cart he had brought, then returned to the common room to take their leave of John, who was finally sober. Though John jested lightly with Dean, he had only words of loving farewell for Samuel.
Samuel drew John into a hug. “Art ever welcome at Rievaulx, wist thou. Ever, an thou art well enow to come.”
“I thank thee, Samuel, truly. And glad I am thou art so well bestowed. Fare thee well.”
“And thee, Father.” Samuel could not but shed a tear. “God bless thee and keep thee ever.”
But as the cart at last pulled away from the inn, Samuel knew in his heart that he had looked his last upon his father in this life. And he could not but weep.
“Here, now,” said Dean, rubbing Samuel’s back gently. “Hast said thy farewell, and in it were no words of anger. ’Tis better thus than hadst thou not helped me find him.”
Samuel nodded. “Yet still would I that he live long and well.”
“I know.” Dean pulled him into a hug, and the rain fell harder.
As wet as it was, the brothers agreed to tarry in Oxenford until after Mass on Sunday, giving Dean a few more days with Joanna and giving the roads time to dry. The rain finally stopped Friday night, but the ground was still sodden when they left. And more storms beset them on the road, so it was nigh on the Feast of the Annunciation when at last they reached Rievaulx, having of course returned Samuel’s hired horse to the stable in Coxwold. But no more demons did they see, nor was there word of aught awaiting them when they arrived; the weather was but normal for the time of year. Their ordeal, it seemed, was over and done in sooth.
Dean stayed through Annunciation Day and left the morning after, with a warm farewell and many promises to return with or without John. And as Samuel watched Dean ride away, he took a deep breath and felt peace settle into his soul. He was home at last, and Dean at least he should see again ere long.
Yet somehow, though the peace was true, he did not feel wholly at rest. The visions they had seen of what was, the future they had spared no pains to prevent, troubled him. And he had still the sense that there was aught else left for them to do. The ordeal might be over; the tale, he deemed, was not.
And perchance-just perchance-he might see the angels once more after all.
Next
[1] Although the name is Greek in origin (from Helen), ellen is an Anglo-Saxon noun meaning “zeal, strength, courage”-all of which describe Ellen pretty well!
[2] Southwark was technically a separate town from London but served as London’s entertainment district for many years. It’s most famous to us as the location of the Globe Theater, but there were-ahem-other forms of entertainment available there as well, even before the advent of modern professional theater.
Chapter 5
How Forever Feels
It was as well that the brothers had already agreed to stay at St. Cross until Monday. John was too weak to rise even for Mass on Sunday and had a touch of fever, though low enough not to require blood-letting, and Dean and Samuel were too sick at heart to care for him as well as the Hospitallers did. They ate little and spoke less, and Samuel spent much of the day in prayer.
After Vespers the brothers knelt beside John’s bed while the Hospitallers were away. “Shalt be well enow to travel on the morrow?” Samuel asked.
“It matters not,” John replied. “We must away lest the new baron find us here.”
“Then by thy leave,” said Dean, “I shall send for Ælfric. He said yesternight that he should be glad to drive us back to Oxenford.”
“Nay, I can ride-”
“Da, hast forgotten how thou camest to be thus? An perchance thou art so well tomorrow, ’twould not be wise for thee to fare so far as Whitchurch.”
“And I deem Master Robert shall not give thee leave to ride so soon,” Samuel added. “He should have less cause to think ill of me an we go by wain.”
John sighed heavily. “Forgive me, lads; my head is none too clear. Ælfric, sayest thou?”
Dean nodded.
“Good lad, Ælfric. Stout lad. Aye, hast my leave, Dean.”
Dean squeezed his hand. “Rest now, Da, and let us care for all.”
John nodded and fell asleep again.
Ælfric proved a cheerful and talkative driver, gladly caring for the horses the family had ridden as well as he cared for his current lord’s and keeping the journey back to Oxenford from being as grim and silent as the journey to Winchester had been. The day of rest had helped John greatly, and his fever had broken sometime after Matins, so he was well enough to laugh and talk with Ælfric. Yet both his leg and his head seemed to trouble him, and at one stop he had perforce to tell Dean he was glad not to need to ride.
They fared as far as Abingdon ere Ælfric called a halt for the night, and they easily reached the Eagle and Child by mid-morning the next day. Ellen came out into the yard as Samuel and Dean were helping John out of the wain, and at once she began to scold him even as she took his arm about her shoulders and led him into the inn. Such a fuss made she that Ælfric’s eyes seemed like to pop out of his head.
“Is that His Lordship’s new wife?” he asked Dean quietly.
Both brothers snorted. “Nay,” said Dean. “’Tis only Ellen.”
“Well, the name fits. She is a bold one.” [1]
Samuel had to cough to keep from laughing.
By the time the lads had seen to their gear and horses, Ellen-still scolding-had set John in a cushioned chair by the fire and was bringing him food and ale. John seemed unsure whether to laugh or shout. And in a corner, Rufus and Brother Asce were fighting hard to seem more interested in the book Brother Asce was copying than in laughing at them.
Ælfric had no such qualms and laughed heartily. “Well, milord, it seems I leave you in good hands.”
John could not but laugh. “My thanks again, good Ælfric. Fare thee well.”
Ellen waited until Ælfric was gone to take up her speech again. “Sooth, John, how shalt thou go to York when faring hence to Winchester hath worn thee so?”
John groaned. “Ellen....”
“Ellen, there shall be no need,” said Dean. “We cannot wed at Rievaulx even were Father well enough. We sent for Father Seamus; he shall be here on the morrow.”
No sooner had he said that than the door opened and Robert and Joanna walked in. Joanna gasped and with a cry of “Dean!” ran sobbing to his arms.
“Here, now, love,” Dean said, holding her tight. “Have not been away so long as that, surely?”
“Nay,” Robert answered, “nor was the were so hard to slay. His Lordship the Baron of Winchester took her for a maiden of the town, an ye take my meaning, [2] and would be gainsaid only by a dagger’s blade, and then only by proof upon his person that she can wield it. He shall bear the scar to his shame, I trust.”
Dean and John both cursed at the same time, and Dean tightened his hold on Joanna.
Ellen came over to lay a motherly hand on Joanna’s back. “Father Seamus cometh tomorrow, thou sayest?”
Dean nodded. “Aye, and I would he could come sooner.”
Joanna hiccupped and looked up at him. “But Dean....”
“The banns are asked, Joanna, and ’tis best for us all an we wed now. We are all here anyway, save Cynehunde, who must mind the forge for Robert. But I’ll let no man touch thee henceforth.”
She hiccupped again, though with a shaky smile, and pressed her head against his shoulder again.
“Half do I wish we had left the bell-ghost to pull the house down about the cutthroat’s ears,” John snarled. “’Tis none o’ his by right, anyhow.”
“Aye,” Samuel countered, “and have Ælfric and the rest end up like poor Grimbold, who shall do well to live the week without his arm?”
“Mind thy tongue, Samuel.”
“Father, ’tis done. And what hope should Joanna have of a man so lordly as Dean wert thou still baron instead of this wretch?”
Dean reddened and ducked his head so that his cheek rested on Joanna’s head. Joanna hiccupped again, though this time it sounded like a laugh.
John studied them a moment, and his face softened. “Sooth, nor I so fine a daughter as she. Mary....” His voice caught. “Mary should have loved her, too.”
Samuel’s voice gentled. “Come now, Da, we shall have time enow for tears on the morrow.”
“Aye,” said Brother Asce, “and belike blood and sweat for some of us.”
“Asce!” cried Joanna, and the mingled groans and laughter of the others echoed to the roof.
Dean and Joanna were well nigh inseparable for the rest of the day, holding hands when they might not embrace, seeming to take comfort from each other’s touch. John and Robert each told the tales of their hunts, and Rufus and Brother Asce took Samuel aside to ask for more details about the bell-ghost. But the soul-wounds bled through both Dean’s looks and Joanna’s, and Samuel knew not whether to be glad they had one another or to be sorry that he could not offer such comfort to his brother.
When they had parted from the company for the night and were in their room above the stables, however, Dean turned to Samuel. “Forgive me, brother. I have forsaken thee this day.”
Samuel shrugged. “Joanna had need of thee, and thou of her.”
“Aye, but thou hast cares enow of thine own, and I gave no thought to thee.” Dean sighed. “I do not love thee less for loving her the more. Thou wist that, aye?”
And now the words were said, Samuel knew he had needed to hear them. He nodded. “Nor I thee the less for loving the Church the more.”
“That wit I right well.” Dean smiled a bit. “Art here.”
Samuel smiled sadly. “Shall not ever be. But thou hast Joanna, and she... faith, Dean, she is to be thy mate, thy helpmeet. Thou and she shall be one in ways thou and I can never be.” He paused, then put his hands on Dean’s shoulders. “I do not grudge thee that, nor envy thee for what I have renounced. And ’tis thy line shall save the world, whatsoe’er befall. I shall rejoice rather, and spend my days in prayer for you twain.”
Dean’s eyes were bright, and he pulled Samuel into a rough hug. “Then shake thou Heaven’s windows, brother mine.”
“That shall I, with a good will, and evermore.”
Dean sniffled and let Samuel go. Then he went and took aught from his pack and brought it to Samuel. “Wilt thou bear this for me until the proper time?”
Samuel gasped when he saw the silver ring wrought with protective signs and the sapphires and rubies set therein. Dean had told him not a week before that he had sought a ring in Nazareth, but all had been beyond his means. “Dean! How... where....”
“Ælfric gave it to me. He had sought it out of the treasury while we waited for Mother-’twas in her dower, he deems, for he had seen her wear it on feast days. ‘Belike I shall suffer for this,’ said he, ‘but I deem it wrong thou shalt have naught of thy inheritance.’”
“Oh, blessed Ælfric!” Samuel undid the rosary from its place on his belt, tied it about the ring, and put it back so that his robe might hide the silver. “There, it shall keep there well enow until tomorrow.”
Dean grinned, then ran a hand over his face. “Faith, I wit not whether I shall sleep this night.”
“Shalt not sleep tomorrow night.”
Dean hit Samuel on the shoulder and laughed.
The next day Ellen set Samuel to work helping her prepare the bridal feast while John and Dean talked long and low and Robert and Rufus took heed to the guests who stopped in. Those whose presence they deemed unsafe were warned away by various tales, but those whose goodwill was known to the hunters were told of the wedding, and no few wished the couple well ere Joanna retired to her room to make herself ready. Dean, too, retired not long after and returned wearing his best tunic and surcoat.
Father Seamus arrived at nightfall-and on his heels a storm. “We shall not be safe at the church door, I deem,” said he. “Had ye hopes of a Mass?”
Dean sighed. “Sooth, Father, I gave it no thought. But Father and I are still outlawed, so....”
“’Twould be unwise, aye. The banns were risk enough.” Father Seamus turned to Ellen then. “Well, lack we aught but the bride?”
Ellen chuckled. “Nay, Father. I shall fetch her.”
Samuel stood at Dean’s side as Ellen left and returned with Joanna, who was clad in a new blue kirtle that made her eyes shine, her hair unbound about her shoulders. Dean’s gulp was audible, and Samuel squeezed his shoulder to steady him. By some miracle, they said their vows with nary a stumble, though Samuel wondered betimes whether either of them heard a word in sooth. And somehow Joanna did not swoon when she saw the ring, though many others in the room did gasp.
Then made they merry while the rain fell, and none marked when Dean and Joanna made their escape to the room above the stables. The only sour note was sounded at the end of the evening, when Samuel saw how very drunk John was and rued the fact that he had chosen to spend the night in his father’s room. Yet John said little to Samuel once they were alone, and naught in anger; rather, he called out ever and anon to Mary and wept until he slept. And he slept much of the next day, which was as well, for the rain did not let. A very jolly Dean did return to the common room for food to take back with him, but else he spent the day alone with Joanna.
And Samuel, for lack of aught better to do, sought a quiet corner and prayed.
The rain had let somewhat by Friday morning, but Father Seamus feared to tarry longer lest he not return to Grentabrige in time for Mass on Sunday. So Dean and Samuel gathered John’s gear for him and helped Father Seamus put a cover on the cart he had brought, then returned to the common room to take their leave of John, who was finally sober. Though John jested lightly with Dean, he had only words of loving farewell for Samuel.
Samuel drew John into a hug. “Art ever welcome at Rievaulx, wist thou. Ever, an thou art well enow to come.”
“I thank thee, Samuel, truly. And glad I am thou art so well bestowed. Fare thee well.”
“And thee, Father.” Samuel could not but shed a tear. “God bless thee and keep thee ever.”
But as the cart at last pulled away from the inn, Samuel knew in his heart that he had looked his last upon his father in this life. And he could not but weep.
“Here, now,” said Dean, rubbing Samuel’s back gently. “Hast said thy farewell, and in it were no words of anger. ’Tis better thus than hadst thou not helped me find him.”
Samuel nodded. “Yet still would I that he live long and well.”
“I know.” Dean pulled him into a hug, and the rain fell harder.
As wet as it was, the brothers agreed to tarry in Oxenford until after Mass on Sunday, giving Dean a few more days with Joanna and giving the roads time to dry. The rain finally stopped Friday night, but the ground was still sodden when they left. And more storms beset them on the road, so it was nigh on the Feast of the Annunciation when at last they reached Rievaulx, having of course returned Samuel’s hired horse to the stable in Coxwold. But no more demons did they see, nor was there word of aught awaiting them when they arrived; the weather was but normal for the time of year. Their ordeal, it seemed, was over and done in sooth.
Dean stayed through Annunciation Day and left the morning after, with a warm farewell and many promises to return with or without John. And as Samuel watched Dean ride away, he took a deep breath and felt peace settle into his soul. He was home at last, and Dean at least he should see again ere long.
Yet somehow, though the peace was true, he did not feel wholly at rest. The visions they had seen of what was, the future they had spared no pains to prevent, troubled him. And he had still the sense that there was aught else left for them to do. The ordeal might be over; the tale, he deemed, was not.
And perchance-just perchance-he might see the angels once more after all.
Next
[1] Although the name is Greek in origin (from Helen), ellen is an Anglo-Saxon noun meaning “zeal, strength, courage”-all of which describe Ellen pretty well!
[2] Southwark was technically a separate town from London but served as London’s entertainment district for many years. It’s most famous to us as the location of the Globe Theater, but there were-ahem-other forms of entertainment available there as well, even before the advent of modern professional theater.