Dragonblade Trilogy - 02 - Island of Glass (10 page)

A husband had never been in her
plans. ‘Twas not that she never planned to marry; it was simply that she had
never actively sought to marry. Her entire life had been her father, St.
Wenburgh, and the knowledge she had acquired there. Sometimes her mother
entered her world, but never long enough. Graciela was too weak to sustain
herself. 

Graciela’s feeble character had
hurt Aubrielle. She had always wished she had been blessed with a mother who
had loved and supported her. Graciela had simply cowered to her, and when she
could not handle her, she cast her off. In her stronger moments, Graciela said
she understood Aubrielle’s desires. She had understood them so well, in fact,
that she had fled from them.

Aubrielle moved away from the
window, wandering over to the bed where her satchels rested. There were two;
one was completely full of clothing, cloaks, gloves and the like. The second
also held clothing, but it also held parchment, quill, ink, and several vellums
that she had taken with her from St. Wenburgh. This was her most valuable bag.

She ran her fingers over the
leather. The bags had belonged to her father. She felt the pangs of longing for
him, but quickly chased them away. She could no longer waste her energy on
grief, though it had been long years since she had felt it fresh. But one death
reminded her of another and she knew that vespers was approaching. It was her
duty, as Kenneth had said, to pay respects to the man who had left her a vast
empire and fortune to match. She didn’t really care about the money, though it
was a good thing to have. Perhaps St. Héver would be so kind some day to inform
her of how much Garson had passed to them. Perhaps she would buy more books and
items of learning. That was about the extent of her concern for the riches she
had inherited.

A serving woman had been in and
out of the chamber all day, helping her pack, making sure she took toiletries
with her.  She was a small woman with missing teeth and a pale face. The next
time she came around, Aubrielle asked for some warm water to wash in. The
servant returned with a big copper tub and buckets of hot water.  Not
remembering the last time she bathed, Aubrielle enjoyed a long, hot bath.  The
serving woman had managed to stir up violet-scented soap and washed her hair
with flat ale.  Not strangely, there were still clumps of St. Hèver’s blood in
her locks from when they had met two days before.

Aubrielle was cleaner than she
had anticipated by the time the water was cool.  The sun was lowering and the
serving woman had stoked the blaze in the hearth so that she could dry herself.
She thought it odd that, as she sat on the small three-legged stool while the
servant brushed out her hair, her thoughts were centering more around St. Héver
than their impending journey.  She felt a small amount of guilt that her thoughts
weren’t centered around her dead uncle at all, but that could not be helped.
She was selfish just as St. Héver said she was.  Suddenly, different dimensions
of her life were coming into focus and she was greedily fixed on them.

A soft white linen sheath was the
first thing to touch her newly-dry, violet-scented skin. Tender-soft pantalets
followed. The serving woman then helped her into a heavy brocade gown of rich
black, woven on the sleeves and the neckline in filigree silver. If Aubrielle
had one vice other than her hunger for learning, it was for pretty clothes. Her
mother had started her early with that. She appreciated the craftsmanship of a
finely made gown and an interesting fabric. This garment was no exception and
was gloriously made. With the whalebone girdle of black and silver, her slender
torso was emphasized and the overall picture, magnificent.

When the gown went on, she sat
back down on the stool as the serving woman put on her woolen hose and garters.
She pulled her shoes on herself as the servant went back to brushing her long,
silky hair. The ale had brought out the natural wave and the woman formed loose
curls with her hands as it dried. All the while, Aubrielle sat with a distant
look on her face, wondering why she couldn’t seem to focus on anything in
particular. It occurred to her that she was looking forward to the funeral
because she knew that Kenneth would be there.

A foolish thought, but a true
one. She felt like an idiot. Her hair was almost completely dry by the time a
knock at the door came. Aubrielle stood up from the stool, light-headed with
excitement. Kenneth had come for her. But her anticipation was shot when
Everett appeared.

Everett was unable to conceal his
delight at so beautiful a lady. He stood in the door, dressed in his finest,
looking fit and handsome. He smiled warily at Aubrielle.

“Sir Kenneth thought to give me
the opportunity to escort you to the chapel, my lady,” he said, “provided that
you do not take a poker to me again.”

Aubrielle lifted an eyebrow. “Not
tonight, Sir Everett. I have no desire to end up in the vault again.”

His smile broadened and he held
out his forearm, indicating it was time to go. “If my lady pleases.”

She pulled on a black glove,
holding her other glove in that hand as she put her uncovered one on Everett’s
forearm. She knew she looked plausibly stunning, and smelled sweetly of
violets.  The expression on Everett’s face told her he was fairly impressed
with her ability to look like a lady when it was required.

The keep was dark and quiet but
for a few servants moving about. Everett escorted her down the stairs
carefully, admonishing her more than once to watch her step. He led her out of
the keep and down the retractable wooden stairs to the bailey below. It was
still and reasonably quiet in the cavernous yard, the night cool with a hint of
moisture to it.  They drew near the small circular chapel located near the
towering outer wall.

 The warm glow of candlelight
emitted from the thin lancet windows that were carved into the walls of the
stone edifice. The ancestral burial place of the Mortimers was able to seat
nearly thirty people, but as they entered, the only people inside were three
priests, a couple of altar boys, Lucius, Reid, Bradley, Max the squire, and
Kenneth.

Aubrielle’s attention was drawn
to Kenneth, standing on the opposite side of the dimly lit chapel. Their eyes
met and she could feel the heat from his gaze. She watched him as he made his
way towards her; he, too, was dressed in his finest ceremonial armor bearing
the seal of Wrexham. Somewhere during the day he had shaved and washed, lending
weight to his handsome appearance. The more she studied the man, the more
attractive he became.

 “We are ready to commence, my
lady.”

 “Is this all?” she whispered,
looking around. “No more to attend?”

Kenneth shook his head. “The earl
did not want a large funeral. In fact, he was rather adamant about it. He
wanted to be put in the ground, as he so eloquently stated, and be done with
it.”

 He escorted her to the front of
the chapel where the crypt bearing her uncle’s body had been opened. Next to
his effigy was another feminine one. Aubrielle recognized her aunt, Isobel,
Garson’s beloved wife. Lucius was there, and he bowed to Aubrielle as she
approached. She could smell the stale rank of alcohol on him.

“My lady,” he greeted her
tightly.

She looked at Lucius but wasted
no time analyzing his manner. He had been strange since the betrothal had been
announced, but she had no desire to burden herself with his reasons. She had
known Lucius for many years and they had never been compatible.  Lucius was the
type of man who, at times, was more concerned with making himself a shadow of
his liege to gain favor rather than doing his job.

 “Do you require a chair, my
lady?” Kenneth asked quietly.

She shook her head. “I doubt I’d
be able to sit with the licking you gave me earlier.”

Kenneth cleared his throat loudly
as she spoke, hoping it would drown out her words to anyone listening. “Much is
your misfortune, my lady.”

She looked at him, smiling knowingly
as their eyes met. Kenneth was trying to pay attention to the priests as they
prepared to begin, but it didn’t stop him from giving her a wink.  He hoped she
had learned a lesson from this morning. Time would tell if she was truly giving
thought to her behavior or merely trying to fool him into believing so.

The funeral mass began with a
short prayer. If one thing was as strong as his devotion to his knighthood, it
was Kenneth’s devotion to the Faith.  He was deeply religious. Perhaps that was
why it was so hard for him to understand Aubrielle’s quest to locate the
Grail.  It was sacred to him, and to most Christians, and his opinion of her search
was torn between blasphemy and approval.

The priest made the sign of the
True Cross and lapsed into the first reading, chosen by the earl himself.  It
was relayed in the traditional Latin.  For Aubrielle, it was a second language
and she easily understood it. The priests at St. Wenburgh had conversed and
taught in the language.

  “O Lord, see how my enemies persecute
me! Have mercy and lift me up from the gates of death, that I may declare your
praises in the gates of the Daughter of Zion and there rejoice in your
salvation.”

There were more verses after
that, followed by a prayer and a short homily. The topic of the homily was, not
strangely, the importance of humility to God’s Will while on Earth. The
conclusion was set with the liturgy for all in attendance, the sacred communion
of Christ. The priest blessed the congregation by making the sign of the True Cross
once again, to which Aubrielle and the knights responded by also crossing
themselves.

 The funeral for Garson Mortimer,
1st Earl of Wrexham, had taken less than a quarter of an hour. It had been
oddly unfulfilling. When it was over, Lucius vacated the chapel without a word.
He was followed by the rest of the knights and the squire. Only Kenneth
remained behind, standing quietly as Aubrielle passed a final glace over the
crypt bearing her aunt and uncle’s effigies. It was unclear what she was
thinking; perhaps she was contemplating her future. Together, they walked from
the chapel.

The ambiance of the bailey was
bright with moonlight and the silence between them was comfortable. Aubrielle
gazed up at the stars, finding the constellations that the monks had taught
her. Astronomy had been a favorite subject, one usually forbidden to women. She
had, not surprisingly, insisted upon instruction.

“Do you know anything about the
stars, sir knight?” she asked.

Kenneth noticed her focus and he,
too, looked up to the sky.  “Nay, my lady,” he said, although it wasn’t the
truth. He actually knew a great deal about them for navigating travel but he
didn’t want to sound as if he knew everything. “My focus has always been on
warfare.”

As they walked, they were
unconsciously wandering closer and closer to one another.  Aubrielle pointed up
into the sky. “The word ‘astronomy’ is a Greek word. It literally means ‘law of
the stars’. There is a document called the Rig-Veda that is thousands of years
old and identifies many of the star clusters we now know.”

“I see,” he strolled casually.
“Did the monks teach you that?”

“That and more. The Rig-Veda is a
Hindu writing, the earliest known scripture from that religion. It is part of a
bigger group of writings called the Mandalas. Have you ever heard of them?”

“I have not. But, then again, my
formal education was confined to those subjects related to my vocation.”

Aubrielle could have gone for
hours about astronomy. She was fascinated by it. But for the first time in her
life, she was hesitant to reveal her knowledge. She did not want Kenneth to
think she was displaying her intellectual superiority.

“I have not read them myself,
only about them,” she said. “If you would ever like to know about Astronomy, I
could tell you what I have learned.”

“By all means, tell me.” He
didn’t sound threatened by her offer in the least. They had wandered so close
together that he took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. “I
cannot promise to be a good student, but I am willing to try.”

“Did you never complete formal
education?”

 He nodded. “As every young lad
does. During the time I fostered, I was schooled in reading, writing,
mathematics, military tactics, the art of warfare, weapons, military history
and theory, and other subjects related to the knighthood.”

He was seriously downplaying the
fact that he was quite brilliant in just about every subject, but his modesty
prevented him from telling her that.  The woman prided herself on being highly
educated and he would allow her to believe that between the two of them, she
was the smartest. It meant a great deal to her, he suspected.

Oblivious to his chivalrous
thoughts, Aubrielle smiled knowingly at him. “Let me guess,” she lifted an
eyebrow. “You excelled in military tactics, warfare, weapons, and military
history and theory.”

“I did,” he conceded humbly. “In
fact, those subjects came too easily to even categorize them as a study. To me,
they simply flowed.  I was also quite good in mathematics.”

“Well,” she said thoughtfully,
“then I believe we are even. Those subjects do not flow easily to me, but the
others do. Perhaps somehow we will balance one another out.”