Reign of the eagle, p.162
Reign of the Eagle, page 162
“How ... how is this possible?”
“One of the guards, well, Sir Robert Tynsdale knows him. He arranged to have me moved next to you, and to provide me with a bit of sharpened metal so I might make a hole. Look down in the east corner at the floor.”
Lawrence was so disoriented and shocked that it took him a moment to realize which corner was east. But he found his way over, and he knelt on the floor. Feeling in the darkness, he touched a great deal of dust and a few larger pieces of stone that must have come from the wall.
“Holy Finster,” he whispered.
“Indeed,” Sir Franklin whispered, and Lawrence could now tell that the voice came through this small opening, not much bigger around than a straw.
“So, you are in contact with Sir Robert. Is there any news of Queen Rohesia?”
“Yes, my lord. She has safely escaped Rawdon and made her way to the Empire. The empress herself has settled her majesty into a home in Terminium.”
“And the girls?” Lawrence paused to clear his throat and will his voice not to break. “Princess Alice and my daughter, Lady Helena?”
“With her majesty and well.”
Lawrence collapsed against the wall, a sob escaping him. They were safe. His daughter and sister and niece, all safe. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
“His majesty, King Edwin, and Princess Elwyn also escaped their capture,” Sir Franklin continued. “Lord Caedmon saw them safe back to Sahasra Deva.”
Relief washed over Lawrence. When Muriel had shown him Elwyn’s knife, he had thought for certain the Sigor dynasty had officially come to an end. But Edwin not only lived, he still lived in freedom. Broderick and Muriel hadn’t won yet.
“You’ve made me happier than I have any right to deserve.”
“It has been my honor. Is there any other service I might perform for you, my lord?”
Lawrence thought of the piece of sharpened metal Sir Franklin had used to make this hole, this lifeline. Could it be wielded as a weapon to gain their freedom? Lawrence’s thin hands began to shake with anticipation, but then he thought of how weak he had become and recalled Rohesia’s letter about how Sir Franklin had been maimed in Rawdon. He doubted the man had become stronger here in the dungeon of Wealdan Castle. Although, he had said something else encouraging when mentioning how he had come to be speaking with Lawrence. “You said Sir Robert has contact with one of the guards. Do you believe that he will come rescue us?”
“I cannot say, my lord,” answered Sir Franklin, his voice hesitant for the first time. “I would hate to raise your hopes for that outcome. But you and I both know Sir Robert, and I would never be surprised at anything he might accomplish.”
It was true. The young knight—well, perhaps no longer quite so young—and natural son of King Ethelred, had become an indispensable spy and assassin for Edwin’s father, King Edgar. And ever since Edgar’s death, Sir Robert had rarely left Rohesia’s side, keeping her safe, providing a means of communication, and surely the one responsible for getting her and the girls to Terminium. If he was involved in the happenings of Wealdan Castle, well then, Lawrence’s rescue could be imminent.
He would need to get back into fighting form. It would do no good if he hindered his own rescue by being soft and sickly. And the army would never listen to a single command he gave if he stood before them with trembling, thin hands that were no longer strong enough to swing a sword.
“We shall prepare for just such an eventuality,” Lawrence declared. “Let it never be said that we were not ready for battle, Sir Franklin. We both have proud lineages to uphold.”
“Yes, my lord. But I suspect we will have some time. I think Sir Robert was intending to join Queen Rohesia in Terminium.”
“H’m,” Lawrence hummed, not really listening to Sir Franklin any longer. He rose and began pacing his cell, willing the strength back into his atrophied body.
Chapter 70
All the way from Formacaster to Erstenwell, Penny kept expecting a messenger to ride up, telling her it was all a mistake, or a joke, and that she couldn’t join the convent, after all. She thought for sure that when she arrived, her father would be there, ready to take her home by force. But when they came out of Almoner’s Woods and looked across the gentle valley, there were no army tents left at all. Her father’s troops, and those of her half-brother Halvor, were completely gone.
“It looks as if the king’s herald delivered the proclamation,” said Sister Morwen. “I’m glad they decided to bow out graciously.”
Penny didn’t think it likely that her father and Halvor had been very gracious. But they had left all the same, and now there was no one to stop her from starting her new life here at the abbey.
Somehow it all looked different now. The fields were neater; the farmers seemed friendlier. The towers of the church were grander; the convent gate looked more welcoming. This was home now. She felt a sense of perfect rightness—like the abbey had been waiting for her all her life, and now she was finally going to be in the place where she belonged. This was probably what girls felt like when they got married, at least when they married a man they really loved.
It was still a shock to think that she didn’t have to get married. She would never have to. It was such a tremendous relief. She hadn’t wanted to marry anyone, but it wasn’t until now that she realized what a terrible burden the prospect of marriage had been to her. It had always been looming off there in the distance, like death. Even before she had any notion of her parents’ plans for her, it had been a constant weight on her mind—that moment when she would have to stop being herself and would have to give up her “intellectual hobbies.”
Now she would never have to surrender herself to some man’s idea of his perfect wife. She could keep on being Penny Ostensen forever. There was a fantastic library here, with thousands of books she had never read before. And there were women like Sister Morwen to discuss those books with—women who took the life of the mind seriously and didn’t make fun of a girl if she studied hard and liked math. Penny wasn’t entirely sure what convent life would be like, but she had an idea that it would be more or less exactly like the best parts of the Atherton School with none of the disadvantages.
They crossed the river at the stone bridge and started up the long hill toward the gate. Suddenly Sister Lillian pointed out a lone figure on one of the farm roads, trudging wearily along and dragging some sort of burden.
“Maybe we could give that person a ride somewhere,” Lillian suggested.
As they drew closer, they saw it was a blonde woman in a silk dress, pulling a trunk. Closer still, and Penny recognized her. “That’s Molly Coburn,” she exclaimed.
“So it is,” said Sister Morwen. “I wonder where she’s going.”
Now Molly saw them, and she broke into a grin and waved. She was covered in dust, with streaks of sweat on her face. Her hair was matted down, and her dress was probably ruined, but even so, she looked thrilled to see them.
Penny’s first thought was that her father must have cruelly set his mistress aside. The poor girl was cast adrift in the world. Then it occurred to Penny that Molly looked awfully happy for someone who had been dumped. Perhaps Molly had decided to leave on her own. Though why she had done that out here in the middle of nowhere, rather than going back to Severn first, was a bit unclear.
“Did you need a ride?” Lillian called out.
“If you’re going to the convent, then yes,” said Molly.
Morwen stopped the cart, and Lillian and Penny jumped out to help Molly with her trunk.
Molly gasped when she recognized Penny. “Oh. Um, what are you doing here?”
“I’m starting as a postulate,” said Penny proudly. “I’m going to be a nun.”
“Oh.” Molly twisted her hands together. “I was...hoping maybe I could do the same thing.”
Morwen looked around, eyebrows raised. “Are you quite serious, Miss Coburn?”
Molly blushed, and in a small voice, she said, “If you didn’t want someone like me, of course, I’d understand.”
“I can’t imagine what you mean by ‘someone like you,’” said Lillian. “Everyone is welcome.”
“Well, yes, in theory,” said Morwen, a bit testily. “But it’s not the sort of thing a girl should decide on the spur of the moment.” She studied Molly. “Why don’t you come have a word with the abbess?”
Penny put a hand up, like she was answering a question put to her by her old governess. “Um, could Miss Coburn stay with us for a few days or a few weeks, just to see if she likes it?”
Molly gave her a grateful look, then blushed even deeper and turned away.
Morwen started the cart forward again. “We’ll see what Sister Alberta has to say.”
At the convent, they went first to the Chapel of the Well, where they all washed their faces and hands. Then Sister Lillian took the horse and cart to the stable, while Sister Morwen led both Molly and Penny up to the abbess’s solar. It was a strange little room, with high windows and full of plants. When they entered, Sister Alberta was watering a massive fern.
“So, a pair of new girls,” she said, eying them each in turn. “We have an embarrassment of riches, Sister Morwen.”
“I know you were expecting Lady Penelope,” said Morwen, “but we found Miss Coburn on her way here and picked her up.”
“H’m...yes.” Sister Alberta shrugged and set her watering can aside. “I can’t really say that either of these girls is entirely unexpected.”
“Do you mean you expected me?” asked Molly, in a voice so small it was almost a squeak.
The abbess sat down on a little metal stool next to the fern. “Why don’t you start by telling me why you want to join our community?”
Molly knitted her fingers together and looked at the floor. “I’ve done some awful things in the last few years. The one time I’ve felt I did something worthwhile was when I was here, and I was helping at the hospital.”
“That is very noble of you,” said the abbess. “Of course, you do realize that we don’t usually have dozens of wounded soldiers deposited conveniently on our doorstep. The day-to-day work of the convent is quite different from what you experienced. But I hope you would find it worthwhile, all the same.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am,” said Molly. “I’ll do anything, just so I can stay here.”
Sister Alberta smiled. “H’m. Yes, well, people who say things like that often regret it later. That’s why we make girls start as postulates. You can leave any time you like until you take your first vows as a novice. And even then, you can still quit until you take your final vows.”
“If...If you’re worried I won’t be able to keep my vows, I’d understand. But if you let me stay, I promise I’ll do my best.”
“In my experience, girls are very bad at anticipating which vows they will have trouble with. It’s rarely the obvious ones, if you take my meaning. In any case, you are very welcome here.”
Molly started tearing up, and the abbess loaned her a handkerchief. Penny had a lump in her throat, too. This was exactly the sort of place she had always wanted to live—the kind of family she had always wanted to have. It was exactly what she’d always heard about in church and school chapel—perfect forgiveness and complete acceptance in Earstien’s Light. She had never really given much thought to theology before, but now she knew this was an area of study that she could spend the rest of her life exploring.
“And what about you?” asked the abbess, turning now to Penny. “What made you want to come here?”
“Me?” said Penny. “I...I wanted to be somewhere like this.” She explained her academic interests, and how she wanted to be in a place where study and learning weren’t dismissed out of hand.
“Well. That certainly isn’t the worst reason I’ve ever heard,” said the abbess. “I suppose you’ll be disappointed to learn that we spend very little time in the library. But that is the nature of life—to be faced with disappointments and learn how to deal with them. You are welcome, too, Lady Penelope. Or, rather, Miss Ostensen. I hope you won’t mind losing your title.”
“It’s only a courtesy title,” said Penny quickly. “And I’m a republican, so titles aren’t important to me. That’s another reason I wanted to join a convent. I think the notion of a community ruling itself and electing its leaders is fascinating.”
“I fear this is another area in which we are bound to disappoint you, Miss Ostensen. Most chapter meetings are excessively boring, and if I could sleep through them, I would. Be that as it may, you’re both accepted into our community on a provisional basis.” The abbess clapped her hands. “Sister Morwen, go show them the postulates’ dormitory. And introduce them to their first duties, if you will.”
Penny was still bouncing with excitement as they left the abbess’s house. She refused to be discouraged by Sister Alberta’s admonitions. No doubt there were women who didn’t care to spend time in the library. And perhaps there were women who found parliamentary procedure boring. Penny wasn’t one of those women, though.
“I wonder what our first duties will be,” Penny whispered to Molly, as they hurried along the cloister after Sister Morwen. “Do you think we’ll have to learn scripture or something?”
Molly looked distinctly alarmed. “Oh dear. I hope not. I was terrible at school.”
Penny gave her a smile. “I’ll help you. Don’t worry.”
“No talking in the cloister, except during free hours,” Morwen called over her shoulder. “And for postulates, there are no free hours.”
They passed the infirmary, went up a narrow stairway, and went back around behind the kitchens. There was a tiny building there, little more than a shed. Penny didn’t even remember seeing it before during her time at the convent.
Sister Lillian was waiting there with a chair and a pair of steel shears. “Who wants to go first?” she asked, beaming.
“Haircuts?” asked Penny nervously, tugging on the ends of her long blonde locks. “You’re not going to...shave it completely, are you?”
“Vanity is a sin,” said Morwen, with a tiny smile. “However, you’ll be pleased to know that the Leofine Order doesn’t require its postulates and novices to be shorn like sheep.” She nodded at Lillian. “Chin length, please.”
Penny had never thought of herself as a vain person, but she nearly lost her nerve at the thought of chin-length hair. She liked her hair a great deal, and she knew it looked good on her. It made her feel very foolish to think that she had never even considered what nuns looked like under those wimples and veils.
Then Molly said, “I suppose it will be nice in the summer.”
“That’s the spirit!” said Lillian. She added in a whisper, “I shouldn’t tell you, but you get to grow it out again after you take your final vows.”
So, Penny lost three quarters of her lovely hair, but if this was the cost of being part of this convent, she was willing to pay it.
Finally, Morwen took them across the tiny yard and through the kitchens, past the massive hearth with bubbling stews and the dark ovens that still smelled of fresh bread from that morning. Then she pushed open a door, revealing a small back room and a trough of water filled almost two feet high in dirty bowls and trays and silverware.
“This,” said Morwen, “is your first duty. I would get started, if I were you. There will be a whole new set of dishes at lunch.”
She let herself out, leaving Molly and Penny to their work. Penny looked at Molly, and Molly looked back with an identical expression of dismay and disbelief.
“Please tell me it gets better from here,” said Penny weakly.
“Well, it would almost have to, wouldn’t it?” said Molly.
They both laughed, and rolled up their sleeves, and went to work.
Chapter 71
Of all the surprises of convent life, the strangest and most wonderful was that Penny Ostensen genuinely wanted to be Molly’s friend. A year earlier, when they had shared a few days of comradery washing bandages, Molly had cried on Penny’s shoulder, and Penny had assured her that she didn’t hate her. But it was still hard to believe that Lukas’s daughter carried no resentment at all over the affair.
It gradually dawned on Molly that Penny had grown up watching her father chase women. Molly’s affair with Lukas might be a central and defining event of her own life, but for Penny, it was one of a long series of affairs she had learned to ignore.
It helped, too, when Molly realized that Penny was quite serious about her republican ideals and genuinely didn’t think she was better than anyone else. She went out of her way to prove it, too—willingly volunteering for all the most revolting tasks, like cleaning the privies or scrubbing chamber pots in the infirmary. Molly didn’t care much for that sort of work, but soon she volunteered for whatever Penny wanted to do, because everything was more fun with Penny.
It wasn’t all cooking and cleaning and scrubbing, though. Penny’s first guess about their duties as postulates hadn’t been entirely wrong. Sister Ingrid Holmes, the Novice-mistress, gave them each a copy of the Leofine Rule and the Epistles of Ovida, and started quizzing them about the most obscure passages. It made Molly’s head hurt, but Penny seemed to soak up everything like a sponge.
“I wasn’t kidding,” said Molly. “I really was terrible at school. When I was 12, my tutors told my father that he was wasting his money, and that was the last time I ever had to learn anything.”
“Well, your father certainly was wasting his money if your tutors gave up so easily,” said Penny. “I promise that you can learn. It’s just that first you need to learn how to learn.”
After that, Penny and Molly studied together every evening and every morning. On their first Sunday as postulates, when they were supposed to be listening to Brother Anthony’s homily in the abbey church, Molly sat with the little set of scrap paper cards that Penny had made for her, drilling herself over and over on the intricacies of the Leofine Rule and Leafa Ivich doctrine.
