Authors: L. M. Roth
It was with a
heavy heart that Dag took leave of his dear friend Marcus. It had been good to
see him once more, and share each other’s news, as well as spend time in one
another’s company. How long ago it was that they had shared their adventures,
and what changes had come since then!
Dag knew that
the days and months ahead would be hard and difficult for the family. Not only
had they lost their dear Brenus, but they would be saddled with the presence of
his widow who bore his child. That she brought nothing but pain to his family
he knew all too well.
How he wished
that she would return from whence she came, but with the coming of the child
she decided to remain in Leith. That Judoc looked forward to the birth he was
well aware. But he also caught the glances of hostility that his eldest
daughter cast on Melisande, and saw trouble ahead in the days to come.
Melisande
herself had the appearance of a cat that has just eaten a mouse it had stalked
for a long time. Her eyes narrowed and her jaw squared when she looked at her
father-in-law, and a little smile curled around the corners of her lips but
never reached her cold green eyes. She had a way of wrapping her body into a
chair that brought to mind a cat curling itself around the legs of someone it
wished to annoy, and the sight set Dag’s teeth on edge.
He studied her
when she was unaware of it, usually when she sat in animated conversation with
Nolwenn, who regarded Melisande with awe for some reason that Dag had never
been able to fathom. So often had he seen their heads bent together in
whispered conversation as giggles erupted from their lips, only to be hushed in
the presence of the family. What did they whisper of, he wondered silently.
His younger
son Brand was shy in Melisande’s presence, but frequently brought her small
gifts since the death of Brenus in an attempt to cheer her. The wildflowers
were now out in abundance and they found their way from the woods to
Melisande’s hut, via the hands of her gentle young brother-in-law. He blushed
under her thanks, and darted away as embarrassment overcame him.
Dirk also
brought little gifts to the widow, mainly gifts of meat from the deer and
rabbits he hunted in the woods. He never brought back game from the family
table without taking an offering to Melisande. If she joined the family that
evening she generously brought her portion to the table to share. Dirk was more
eloquent in his conversation than his younger brother, and bowed when his
sister-in-law proffered her thanks.
On this
occasion Cort and Siv, along with Brit, had joined the family dinner. Judoc
wanted the rest of her children about her in a vain attempt to forget the loss
of Brenus. It was as if a large gathering blotted out the horror of her son’s
death, and consoled her with the sound of many voices sharing the events of the
day, and partaking of the evening meal together in the days before Brenus’
marriage and subsequent discord with Cort.
“Nolwenn, I
shall soon have to chase the young men away from you as I do Maelys,” Dirk
teased his sister, as he ruffled the mane of dark hair that flowed freely down
her back.
Nolwenn
blushed and glanced furtively at Melisande, who stifled a sudden giggle. Why
this should be Dag did not know, but wondered what was so amusing in the
remark. His daughter was a comely young maiden, and although not as striking in
appearance as Maelys, would have her share of suitors competing for her hand.
“Stop teasing
her, brother!” Maelys admonished him. “She is too young and you shall frighten
her so that no man shall stand a chance with her.”
“Is it
possible that you are jealous, Maelys?” Dirk queried in a mocking tone. “Ah!
That is it, is it not? You do not wish to share attention with Nolwenn.”
“Oh,
do
stop it, Dirk!” Nolwenn implored. “I am far too young, and am happy as I am. I
have no wish to rush into marriage, and shall take my time when deciding on a
mate.”
Dirk laughed,
but ruffled her hair once more. Maelys shook her head severely at him, and gave
her attention to her plate. Dag looked with concern at Nolwenn and saw her cast
an anxious glance at Melisande, who looked at the table with a vacant
expression in her eyes and chewed on her bottom lip in an apparent state of
abstraction.
What is going
on with those two, he wondered. He looked around the room and noticed that
Maelys also was watching Nolwenn and Melisande furtively, her eyes darting back
and forth from one to the other as a frown wrinkled her smooth white forehead.
But she said nothing.
It was Cort
who broke the awkward silence that followed this exchange.
“Melisande,”
he began, giving his sister-in-law the rare courtesy of his attention, “what
shall you do once the child is born? Shall you remain here or return to your
people?”
It was as if
someone had shot a flaming arrow into an enemy camp. Melisande gasped and shot
a look of such venomous fury on Cort that Dag nearly gasped in return. She
seemed like a kitten that had suddenly revealed the fangs of a lioness.
“Of course, I
shall stay here, Cort,” she spat out between teeth clenched so tightly that her
lips all but disappeared. “Where else would I bring up my husband’s child?”
“Oh, I thought
perhaps you might want to raise the child among your own people,” he said
airily, ignoring the baleful spite of her glance.
“I have no
people to raise the child among,” she said in a steely voice as she warned him
to silence with her glare. “My family is Brenus’ now; that is the only family I
have.”
She raised her
chin and stared at him with a defiant air, the atmosphere ringing with the
sound of her unspoken threats. Cort grinned at her slowly and with obvious
pleasure in what he was about to do.
“Oh, come now,
I am certain that Pascal and Gaelle would be most upset to hear that statement.
Why, you make it sound as if you disown them. How cruel of you, Melisande.”
Melisande
gasped and paled, and she shook with a fury that she struggled to control. But
it was in vain: Dag had heard Cort’s words.
“Pascal?
Gaelle?” he repeated, in a voice that proclaimed his disbelief in what he had
just heard. “What have they to do with you, Melisande?”
Melisande’s
mouth dropped in dismay, and she quailed before her father-in-law. Then she
faced Cort with hatred seething from every pore in her body.
“Why, nothing,
Dag, nothing at all. Cort is merely making sport of me. Aren’t you, Cort?” she
challenged him with eyes so wide that they dwarfed her other features.
Cort noted
with satisfaction that there was not a trace of color in Melisande’s face, so
pale was it with fear. He smiled mockingly into her face, and tilted his chair
back on its feet, enjoying her consternation.
“Of course,
Melisande,” he chuckled. “I am merely making sport.”
Dag pretended
to accept this explanation, but Cort’s words and Melisande’s reaction to them
haunted him. He had not thought of Fanchon since the day he met Judoc, and the
mention of her parents brought back memories too painful to dwell on. He
decided that he would talk to Cort at the first opportunity.
It was two
days later that Dag confronted Cort in the fields. What, he asked did he mean
by upsetting Melisande, she who carried his brother’s child? And what was this
talk of Pascal and Gaelle; what possible connection could they have to his
daughter-in-law?
Cort braced
himself to see pain in his father’s eyes. He did not like to remind him of
those days of his betrothal so many years ago, yet he did not trust Fanchon’s
daughter, and felt it was best for Dag to know her identity. And to question
her motives in traveling to Eirinia and marrying Brenus.
Briefly he
related Melisande’s history, and her account of Fanchon’s death by her own
hand. He flinched only when he informed Dag that Melisande blamed him for her
death.
Dag heard Cort
out, and took a step backward, passing his hand over his eyes, and suddenly
appearing much older than his years. His knees buckled and he sat down abruptly
on the ground beneath his feet. He sat with his eyes riveted on the ground;
when he glanced up at Cort, he saw that they were wet.
“Fanchon,” he
murmured in a strangled voice. “Little Fanchon, always so gay and glad. How
could she? Oh, how could she have killed herself!”
The great man
bellowed with the sound of a wounded bull, and Cort felt tears well up in his
own eyes. He placed a comforting hand on his father’s shoulder, and Dag briefly
covered it with his own. Then Dag shuddered and a long drawn out sigh escaped
his lips.
“It is not my
fault, though,” he muttered. “I can not take the blame for what she did; it was
her choice alone.”
“Yes, that is
exactly right, Dag,” Cort assured him. “Melisande blames you unfairly and I
told her that. But she would not listen to me, would not listen to reason.”
“She is in
great pain; that is why she will not listen to reason,” Dag informed him with a
nod of his shaggy head. “We must be kind and show her the love of Dominio all
the more.”
“All the
more,” he repeated as he saw the look of protest on Cort’s face.
“Yes, Father,”
Cort sighed reluctantly.
“And we shall
not repeat this to Judoc, if you please,” Dag said sternly.
“Of course
not,” Cort hastened to assure him.
He would not
for the world hurt the woman who had raised him as one of her own by sharing
news of his father’s former betrothed that would only hurt her and raise
questions between her and her husband. Naught but pain would come of it, and he
saw Dag’s wisdom in keeping Melisande’s parentage quiet.
He had to
admit that sharing Melisande’s secret with Dag had lightened his heart. It had
weighed it down to keep such knowledge to himself. Now, however, Dag would be
on the alert for any possible retaliation from his daughter-in-law, who hated
him so and blamed him for her mother’s death when she was still a child.
Cort decided
that it was now time for him to take Siv and his mother and leave the village
for a while. His grief for Brenus was intense, and the sight of his widow
gloating over the coming birth of their child only deepened the pain he bore.
And he could no longer stand the sight of his brother’s widow, challenging him,
and so obviously seeking opportunities to catch him alone.
Now that he
had informed Dag of Melisande’s past, Cort felt that he was safe. He would be
watchful of her behavior and alert for any trouble that she might attempt to
bring on the family. He knew that he had been a big help to Dag on the farm,
but Dirk was now strong and hearty and could take his place. He was also
skilled with a bow and could supply the family table with game as Brenus once
did.
A day came
when Melisande did not appear at the family table. According to Nolwenn she did
not feel well due to the child and stayed in her own hut for the evening. She
would take a plate to her after the family had eaten.
Cort chose
that moment to make his announcement. He first looked at his wife, who silently
nodded her head. Siv also found Melisande’s continued presence intolerable, and
eagerly anticipated a chance to get away from it. In her eyes he found the
strength he needed to break his news to the family.
“Father,
Mother,” he began. “I have news I would like to share.”
He waited
until he had the attention of his brothers and sisters as well. Strange, he
thought in that moment, they are not really my brothers and sisters, yet they
are all the family I have except for my sister back in Trekur Lende. He
realized with a pang that he would miss them dearly.
One by one
they all turned to face him with questions in their eyes. Only Dag appeared to
sense what was coming. Cort knew that he would not truly be surprised, although
it would bring him pain.
“After much
discussion with Siv and my mother, we have decided it is time for us to leave
Leith for a while and journey on. Where I do not know, but I feel the need for
a change, and they have agreed to go where I go.”
A general gasp
circled the room before coming back to rest in front of Cort. He ignored it and
continued speaking.
“We shall
leave the day after tomorrow.”
Judoc choked
on a cry and sprang to her feet to embrace Cort. He permitted her to cling to
him, but he stood firm in his resolve. He must think of Siv now, and it was
clear that she and Melisande would never get on, and the tension between them
at the family meals was intolerable. In his heart Cort would not admit that he
feared Melisande might bring some harm upon his wife.
Dag remained
impassive, although grief was etched in every line of his face. Cort knew that
of all of his children, it was his adopted son that held first place in Dag’s
heart, a bond borne from compassion for a small boy alone in the world, who
hailed from his own homeland, and shared the memories of that place.
His brothers
and younger sister greeted the news with a wail, but Maelys merely nodded her
head in understanding. Then she rose to embrace first Cort, then Siv, and even
Brit. She kissed Siv tenderly on the cheek and wiped a tear from her swimming
eyes. Cort knew that his sister was genuinely fond of his wife and it wounded
him to know that he would inflict a hurt upon his sister by depriving her of
her friend. Yet there was nothing else to be done.
The rest of
the meal passed in somber silence, broken only when someone attempted to
lighten the atmosphere. It would have been easier to amuse the mourners at a
funeral, Cort thought. After it was over the girls joined their mother in
clearing the table, and Dag took Cort aside into the family room.
“Are you
sure?” he asked Cort. “Is this what you feel you should do?”
Cort nodded,
even as his tears started to fall stealthily down his cheeks.
“Yes, it is
for the best,” he said. “Siv can not endure Melisande, and she still watches me
with some evil intent in mind. But now that I have told you her secret I feel
better about leaving. At least you know now who she is, and will be on your
guard against her.”
“Yes,” Dag
nodded, although the nod was slow and heavy. “You must think of your wife. It
is not good to keep her where she feels her happiness spoiled by the malice of
another. And I think also that Melisande is not through causing trouble for
you.”
Cort suddenly
choked back tears and gave Dag the hug he used to give him when he was an
impulsive child. He clung to him and stifled his sobs against his shoulder. Dag
patted his back and stroked his blond curls just as he did when Cort was a
child.
After a moment
they drew apart and exchanged a smile of love and respect that soothed the ache
in Cort’s heart. How hard it would be to say goodbye to this good man who had
loved him as tenderly as though he were his own son! But it had to be…
“I shall write
and let you and Judoc know where we are and how we fare,” he promised. “I do
not know where we shall go; we may travel for a while. Siv and my mother have
seen nothing of the world but Trekur Lende and Eirinia, and it would be an
adventure for them to see new places. I may take them to Lycenium and visit
Marcus and Tullia, or to Solone and introduce them to our old friend Kyrene.
Who knows?”
He said this
last with a lilt in his voice, and Dag remembered that Cort had always loved
new places and experiences. He hoped that his travels would bring him only joy
and no sorrow.
Cort suddenly
gave Dag a long look that held all of his unspoken love for this man in his
eyes. Then he smiled slowly at him.
“But, I shall
come back to you one day, Father,” he whispered. “I promise you that.”
The next day
Cort packed up the family belongings and managed to avoid Melisande. According
to Nolwenn she felt unwell and kept to her bed. Cort enjoined his younger
sister to keep silent regarding his plans to leave with his wife and mother.
It would only
distress Melisande to see them go, he told her, and Nolwenn would not wish to
upset her, would she?
A week after
Cort’s departure Dag fell ill with a cold. It did not visit him lightly, but
seemed determined to settle in for a long stay. Dag hated colds, disliking the
stuffy nose, sore throat, and heavy head that accompanied them. Judoc bade him
to stay home from the fields and rest in bed, the quicker to recover.
Privately she
suspected that Cort’s departure and the reason behind it wounded Dag to the
point of being unable to resist illness. It was his heart that ailed, but she
could not point that out to her stoic husband.
Dag spent a
fitful week tossing and turning in his bed, seeming unable to find a position
of comfort. His cold appeared worse to Judoc and she began to worry about him.
She plied him with soothing drinks for his throat and sang softly to him, the
lullabies she had crooned over their children when they were babes. One in
particular had always been their favorite, and this she sang to him now.
“Hush my babe
and I’ll sing to you,
Of a land that
is green and fair,
Where sea
mists meet the morning dew,
And the songs
of birds fill the air.
There my heart
will forever dwell,
No matter
where my feet may roam.
For that land
of emerald dell,
Is the place
that I will call home.”
This calmed
Dag and a smile creased his lips when she finished. She kissed his forehead
tenderly and stroked his brow. As she turned from his she saw her youngest
daughter enter the room.
Nolwenn
appeared worried about her father, and coming on the heels of Cort’s leaving
the family, her concern wrung the heart of her mother. Nolwenn had always had a
tender affection for her father, and it displayed itself during his illness
with offers of comfort, of laying her hand on his brow, of reading quietly to
him as he lay in bed.
Judoc rose and
went to the kitchen to prepare the evening meal, and Nolwenn announced that she
had made a soothing drink for her father that would greatly improve his
comfort. She raised him slightly in his bed and put the drink to his lips. Dag
smiled at her affectionately and sipped the drink. He made a wry face, but
Nolwenn urged him to finish it.
“Come,
Father,” she urged. “You must drink all of it if you are to get well. It
distresses me so to see you in such discomfort, and this will help, truly it
will.”
“If you say
so,” Dag smiled indulgently at her.
He permitted
her to raise the cup to his lips and he braced himself to swallow the entire
draught. Before he had finished, however, his lips puckered, and he was
overcome by a dry cough that hacked at his body, doubling him over as he
struggled to stop. His breath suddenly strangled in his throat, and Nolwenn saw
with alarm that he was turning blue.
Dag raised his
hands to his throat, and clawed at it. His breath was coming in shallow gasps
now, and a rattling noise erupted from his throat. Aware now that something was
wrong, Nolwenn put an arm around his back and lifted him to a full sitting
position.
Abruptly the
sound of gasping ceased, and Dag went limp. Nolwenn stared into his face; only
staring eyes met her gaze. Chills raced up and down her body as she looked at
the face of her father, so silent, so pale…
Judoc entered
the room at that moment and took in the scene with one glance. A cry erupted
from her lips and she tore to Dag’s side. She clutched him in her arms and put
her head to his chest. But only silence met her…
“Dag!” she
wailed in agony, as tears streamed down her face gone ashen with fear. “Dag, answer
me!”
Her screams
brought Dirk, who was just entering the hut, running to her side. He took one
look at Dag’s face and took command.
“Father!” he
shouted. “Father, breathe deeply.”
“He is dead!”
Judoc said, her voice choked with tears. “He is dead.”
Dirk listened
to Dag’s chest.
“No, he is not
dead, Mother,” he assured her. “Although I believe he is close to it.”
He suddenly
grabbed Judoc’s hands.
“Come, we must
pray,” he urged her.
Judoc
attempted to recover herself, smitten with remorse by the look of panic on
Nolwenn’s face. She took her daughter’s hand and the three of them drew closely
together in a circle.
“Dominio,”
Dirk prayed, “please grant mercy and preserve my father’s life. He loves You,
Dominio, and has many years to serve You yet. We ask that You preserve him and
restore him now to full health.”
No sooner had
the words left Dirk’s lips than Judoc noticed a new sound in the room.
Dag was
breathing once more, taking deep and easy breaths that were no longer racked
with pain. She cried out in joy and rushed to him.
“Oh, Dag,” she
whimpered as she kissed first his forehead, then his cheek, and then his lips,
“oh, Dag, my darling. I could not have borne it if I had lost you.”
He turned to
face her and tenderly wound one of her coppery tendrils around his finger; then
looked over his shoulder to the anxious faces of his children.
“I feel
better,” he pronounced. “I had my doubts, Nolwenn, but whatever was in that cup
you gave me did something.”
Dirk snorted
impatiently.
“It certainly
did, Father,” he fumed. “It nearly killed you. It was our prayers to Dominio
that saved your life. Were it not for Dominio, you would have joined Brenus in
his eternal rest.”