I promise to keep a better eye on the boy from now on. He is only sixteen after all and it's a shame his mother pushed him to join the Cycliad at such a young age. I am one of the few that is of the opinion that a boy be at least eighteen before he makes a decision to join the Cycliad. Irregardless, I shall keep Lionel safe and out of trouble from now on. You have my word.
I trust this letter finds you and Queen Ygraine in good health and in good spirits. I pray that your child is growing strong inside her and that the birth will go smoothly. Please don't be a stranger. You know that you are always welcome at Lindisfarne.
Sincerely,
Antolis
"What's it about?"
Ygraine's voice brought him back to the present and Gryndall looked up from the letter, quickly going through in his head which details to share with his wife and which to omit.
"I was telling you a minute ago...about Lionel."
"Yes..." the queen replied slowly from her seat in front of the mirror.
She had ceased brushing her hair and was looking at him now, waiting for him to explain.
"Well, he was caught in a compromising position with one of the shepherd's girls."
"You mean...?"
Gryndall nodded.
"And he's a monk."
"Aye. And therefore this is a serious matter."
"And...so...what? What's going to happen?" Ygraine spluttered. "Are they expelling him from the Cycliad? Oh, goodness, would that not be a blessing! Luna was a complete fool to push him into all that at such a young age."
The king waited for her to finish speaking before he continued.
"No. Actually, he was...up until recently...facing the a penalty of death."
Ygraine's face registered a look of horror. "Death? Whatever for? For canoodling with a girl his own age?"
Gryndall nodded.
"Well, no," she said, shaking her head as though the words coming from her husband's mouth couldn't be true. "That can't happen. Absolutely not. You must do something," she said hotly, looking directly at him, her eyes unblinking.
"I am doing something, Ygraine."
"What?"
Gryndall sighed and scrunched the letter up in his hand.
Ygraine stared at him, waiting for him to speak. "Well?"
"I'm paying for a new monastery," he breathed at last, hardly believing he'd actually put the words paying and monastery in the same sentence.
His father would turn over in his grave.
"A new - "
She couldn't finish the sentence her lips were pressed together so tightly.
"A new," she pushed herself, struggling to release the words, "they're...making you pay for a new monastery...in exchange for my nephew's life?"
The words finally tumbled out, one after the other, a waterfall of emotion.
The king cast his wife a sidelong glance. "Yes."
"This is...this is..."
She rose from the small ottoman she had been sitting on in front of the mirror and began to pace the floor.
"On the one hand, I'm grateful that you chose to intervene...yet...on the other...I'm repulsed by the way in which those...scoundrels...would ransom Lionel's life for a new monastery. It's extortion."
Gryndall swallowed, nodding slowly. "It's the only way, I'm afraid."
"Can we not steal my dear nephew away from them? He is far too young to be a monk anyways. Far too young. I don't know how many times I've complained to Lula - "
"What's she got to do with it? Her husband's the religious one."
"Ciaran?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Well, he hails from Riordan," said the king as though that was all the answer that was needed. "He was born and raised in that culture."
"What culture?"
He smirked, certain his wife had meant to be sarcastic, yet nonetheless willing to answer seriously. "The Celtic, Gaelic, religious one. The one that says from the minute you are born you are a sinner in need of saving and that you must spend your life repenting and refraining from temptation. That's just how they are up in Riordan."
"I know that's how they are up in Riordan. But Lula. She's the one who pushed her son into joining the Cycliad. Not her husband."
Gryndall stuffed the letter into his pocket and shooed the falcon away. It flapped its wings and launched itself from the window sill.
"Well, she's been influenced by him then."
"I'll say. Because our parents didn't raise her to be that way. My dad was in full agreement with yours - that Carthal should be secular. And my mom, well, she had her own beliefs. Naturist type stuff. Nothing dark," she added quickly.
Ygraine began to pace the floor again. "I just can't understand why Lula would have married a deeply religious man like Ciaran."
"I plan on making a visit to Lindisfarne to deliver the money for the monastery," said Gryndall, ignoring his wife's comment as he propped himself up against the window sill. "I'll try and talk some sense into the boy. Maybe I can convince him to leave. Anwir wouldn't be happy about that - in fact it's forbidden for a monk to leave once he's joined he Cycliad - but bollocks to what that old priest thinks, eh?"
Ygrained sniffed. "Yes. I never did like him."
"Funny you should say that. I found him quite disagreeable when I met with him at Brinsley."
"You met with Anwir? What about Antolis? Don't you normally - "
"Yes, I normally meet with Antolis at our quarterly meetings. But this time Anwir came, because of this thing concerning your nephew."
The queen looked at herself in the mirror, adjusting her dress to fit her form more closely. "Well, he's nothing but a pompous ass."
She pressed upwards against her breasts.
"If Lionel wants to leave, then he should be able to."
Gryndall nodded. "I agree. And like I said, I'll see if I can convince him."
Anwir sat watching the flames curl and lick at the sides of the fireplace, the light they emitted reflecting off the cold, stone walls of his darkened chamber. One of the logs suddenly popped, causing his body to jerk involuntarily. Relaxing into his chair once more, the priest stirred his mug of dandelion tea and re-positioned his feet so that they rested comfortably on the bearskin mat in front of him.
Erik the Bald required two more favours.
Two more favours from me, exalted, divine, High Priest of Lindisfarne...oh, that I were a fearless warrior with my own band of men. I wouldn't need to rely on such stinking in-breds as these Vikings. I could take Carthal myself.
The priest sipped his tea and let out a sigh, leaning sideways in his chair so he could look out the window overlooking the grounds of the monastery. Far below, three monks, swathed in their usual black vestments, were gliding across the flattened stretch of grass, laughing and talking excitedly as they went.
Oh the innocence of the young...
He returned his gaze to the fireplace, watching the thick logs inside being slowly consumed, the bark turning grey and then black as the flames did their work.
Two more favours...
The priest closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, enjoying the quiet. Krall, Erik the Bald's savage henchman, had been happy with the carriage ambush. He'd asked for more favours like it. But ambushing another carriage would be foolish. It would raise suspicions. Gryndall wasn't stupid. He'd set patrols on the roads, heighten security in the cities. His quest to take Carthal would be over before it had even begun.
Two more favours...preferably not involving carriages.
Though seizing a carriage in the north - in the Little Wood or near Riordan - wouldn't be as big a problem. In fact that might even be helpful as it would draw Gryndall and his men away from the south where Erik the Bald and his Vikings would land when it was finally time for the invasion.
Riordan...
It had been years since he'd set eyes on the city. Its winding, cobblestone streets, that snaked left and right, uphills and down. Small children with snotty noses and big, curious
eyes, standing in the doorways of inns and houses, watching you as you walked by and every now and again asking if you could you spare a shilling. Hot-headed fathers and mothers quickly apologizing and smacking them with a broom for having spoken to a stranger. At night, packs of wild dogs roving the market square, hunting for scraps of food and chasing down any animal smaller than it unfortunate enough to have been spotted.
Riordan wasn't a particularly happy place. Not that it lacked charm. It had plenty of that - its Celtic inhabitants being full of wit and always willing to spin a yarn over a pint of ale. But it was broken. Forgotten. And many families lived in filth and poverty. For the rest of Carthal treated Riordan as though it didn't exist - unless of course they were short of food and required potatoes or wheat from Riordan's farmers. Then, they were always happy to send money and gifts. But otherwise, Riordan and its people were but ghosts. Backwards, illiterate, hill people, was what most southerners thought to them. The only thing Riordan had going for it was its connection to Druidism. As such, the vast majority of Riordan's inhabitants were pious believers and there was nary a house that didn't have a five pointed star, fashioned from a willow or elderberry branch, hanging above the front door. This meant that the people inside were religious. And even though Godric, King Gryndall's father, had tried, several times, to have the star abolished, the people of Riordan held fast. Religious services, of course, were forbidden, but that didn't stop families from worshipping within the privacy of their own homes.
His family had been religious. Deeply religious. In fact, this was in part because his father claimed to be a direct descendant of Taog - the man who had arrived at Riordan from across the sea two centuries before and founded the city. As such, both his parents were extremely devout and this had, in a subconscious sort of way, pushed him into joining the Cycliad. Well, that and Julia.
His mouth twisted into an angry frown as he conjured up the image of the girl he'd once loved. Blonde hair. Sparkling blue eyes. A joyful laugh. She'd been the apple of many an eye at the small, one-room school he'd attended with twelve others - and he'd been foolish enough to think he could have her.
The priest took a sip of his tea, swirling the warm, bitter liquid around his mouth and over his tongue.
He'd waited for her after school one day. He'd worn his best shirt. Done his hair. Even cleaned his ears. She'd come out of the school with a friend of hers. A girl whose name he'd long since forgotten. He hadn't anticipated her friend being with her - and her presence had even made him a little nervous. Nervous to speak to her. But he'd already gone to the trouble to get all dressed up and prepare what he was going to say. So he'd gone through with it and asked her if he could walk her home. She'd laughed at him. Her laugh wasn't so joyful then.
"Why would I want to walk home with you?"
He'd seized up. He hadn't expected such a negative reaction. He'd been unable to speak. Tears had formed in his eyes and he'd run away. Upon arriving home, his mother had asked him what happened. He'd told her. She'd shook her head and muttered something about the pitfalls of "surrendering to the desires of the flesh".
The next day, he couldn't bear the thought of returning to school. To show his face and be laughed at, again, by Julia and her friends. And so he made the decision to quit school. His father told him that he would have to find a job. But being young and still quite small for his age, finding work proved to be an impossible endeavour; the Celts admired tall and broad-shouldered men - not slight and skinny.
And thus he'd decided to join the Cycliad, thinking that at least this would make his parents proud. It did make them proud. But they'd died of some illness not long after his arrival at Lindisfarne and the neighbours had sold his younger sister to foreign slave traders. She was neither seen nor heard from again.
The priest opened his eyes and stared into the fireplace once more, the once mighty logs now reduced to simple embers.
Julia's rejection had cost him an education. Julia's rejection had cost him his family. Julia would be his favour to Krall.
Chapter Ten
(June 12)
All nineteen Knights of the Order are assembled in the courtyard. Donal and Dalwynn stand before them. Donal is holding (and reading from) a slip of parchment.
"Alriiiiiiiight, you lot," said Donal loudly as Dalwynn stood by his side, gazing at his fellow knights. "As decided at the Assembly of two nights ago, King Gryndall has assigned you all to a town or city. You will remain there for an indefinite period of time."
“An indefinite amount of time? Merlin’s beard, isn’t that something. What am I going to do with my family?”
“Your family? What about mine. I’m the one with six kids.”
"Hush, brothers. I'll explain all that in a minute. But first, you need to know where you'll be going."
He cleared his throat before continuing. All eyes were on him.
"Allmander, Francis, and Bran. You're to go to Nairn. Crispus, Eachann and Gunn - you've been assigned to Hawthorne. Leith, Tristan, and Cato - you'll be stationed at Darnfell. Atilius, Bothan, and Marcus - you'll be at Brinsley."
"Nairn? Crikey. You'll go mad with boredom!"
"Brinsley? Lucky bastards! Won't be much work getting done there! Too many distractions - if you know what I mean."
"Can we swap places?"
Donal rapped his sword, still in its scabbard, against a nearby barrel. This seemed to quiet most of the uproar.
"That's enough! You are men of Carthal! Knights of the Order! There will be no inappropriate conduct from our men and no complaining about where you're being stationed. Any knight found to be frequenting the whore houses or engaging in other bad behaviour while on assignment will be put in stockades for a fortnight and his rations shall be reduced by a half."
The grumblings were much quieter now as Donal continued reading from the slip of parchment in his hand. "Those of you with families will receive an allowance of three crowns per month. That should be sufficient to cover any extra expense. As for the rest, Junius, Muirfinn and Conan - you're to go to Lancaster...and Dalwynn, Theo, Morcant and myself will be staying here at Clarendon. Are there any questions?"
A few muted grumblings and some excited chatter.
"Alright. There you have it, my brothers. You're to depart immediately. Pigeons are to be sent at least once a week. In your letters, you are to give a detailed report on all activity occuring within the city and the surrounding region and as well, report on any suspicious activities or anything else that might help us find the man or men responsible for the murder of Percy Goodfellow. You have your orders. We expect you gone by supper hour."
Gryndall and Ygraine are out with their horses hunting with a falcon (falconry). They're in a clearing. The castle can be seen in the distance, behind them. Beyond that are the mountains upon which the late afternoon sun, sinking slowly on the horizon, has left in partial shadow. A hundred yards to the south of Gryndall and Ygraine's position is the Great Wood. Several miles north of their position is the ocean. The warm breeze blowing inland from it flattens the tall grass and wild flowers around them. Ygraine's hair whips across her face when it blows. Both are happy and in good spirits.
"Here. Let's stop here," said Ygraine, pulling on the reins of her horse with one hand while she kept the other extended, her wrist serving as a perch for the red-tailed falcon that stood on her wrist.
Gryndall nodded and pulled his stallion to a stop.
"We did well today," he said, holding up the leather pouch which contained the falcon's catch. "That bird likes you."
Ygraine smiled and threw her husband a sidelong glance. "It's because I share the spoils with him. And on that note, fetch me one of the squirrels out of that bag. Hard work deserves fair reward."
The king issued a sound of derision as he dismounted. "And what of my hardwork cleaning and skinning these rodents?"
He held up the bag again and ambled towards her.
Ygraine laughed. "I suppose you're right. Though," she added
, rubbing her belly as she slid down from her horse, "this, is your reward. This baby inside of me. Your son or daughter. Our prince or princess."
The queen put the hood over the falcon's head and transfered the it to her saddle horn. Gryndall embraced her, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"You're right."
His right hand moved to her belly and he clasped one hand over hers.
"This is my reward. And soon we will be a proper family. With a little life to nurture and grow. And one day, yes, we'll have a little prince or princess. Though I'm hoping for a prince."
Ygraine pushed her husband away, her expression pouting and playful. "And what if I want a girl."
"Then we'll just have to make another one," Gryndall said, grinning as he pulled her once more towards him.
"And what if it is a boy? What shall we call him?"
The king had to think for a moment. "I had thought of naming him after my father."
Ygraine's expression was sarcastic. "Because that's original."
"Who said a name has to be original?"
"I do. Because it's my child and I want a name that suits his or her character. Not some name that's been already worn out on one of our parents."
"Well, how about...Marius. I've always liked that name."
Ygraine shook her head. "Too Roman."
"Conan? Ervin? Eann?"
The queen pondered these, but eventually swatted them down. "No. I want something original. An old name. A name our forefathers would have used. Something that speaks to the history of Carthal. It's strength. If it's a boy, perhaps the name of a great Carthalian warrior. What was the name of your grandfather's clan?"
"The Ilani."
"Yes. Perhaps something from there."
"And...if it's a girl?" Gryndall asked, his eyebrows raised in amused exaggeration.
Ygraine seemed not to notice his mocking expression. "Something from nature. Like wind...or fire. But an old word. What was the language that they spoke here before the Celts?"
Gryndall grunted. "You'd have to ask Copernicus that question. All I know is that our child's name had better be something I can pronounce."
The queen smiled and gave him a peck on his chin. "That won't leave us with much choice then, will it?"