Page 330 of The Daughters of Avalon
Marcella made use of the kitchens to brew more philters, and meanwhile she cooked up a few hens.
Cael inventoried supplies, then devised a plan for defense.
It was to be expected, perhaps, that, after Beauchamp’s death, someone—likely the King’s men—would have swept through these grounds and seized most of the dead lord’s valuables. In fact, it could be that Beauchamp’s sister, now wed to Blaec d’Lucy, had appropriated what she could. But Cael suspected it was Eustace who’d laid the castle bare, stripping even the walls of its tapestries, if only to sell.
Surprisingly, they found no evidence of plunder on the premises—not until they discovered a small room adjacent to the lord’s chamber, which, in fact, did contain some of the relics belonging to Bury St. Edmunds.
Here, the King’s son had evidently begun to store his treasures, perhaps having seized upon Amdel as a base from which he’d intended to mount a coup against his father.
In support of this conjecture, they found evidence to that effect within the lord’s chamber, including a list of barons who might be persuaded to rally to his cause.
They also discovered maps of Winchester and the treasury at Flint Tower. More documents like these were littered about the lord’s bower. Cael gathered them all together and took everything to Giles, leaving Rhiannon to further investigate the room. It was a mess, littered with sour-smelling cups, and items of note that probably belonged to Eustace—a fine sword, a golden scabbard, a nice bow with fletching, a very nice set of ringmail armor, with all the necessary bits, all in very good shape. As it so happened, because Eustace was slight of figure, it also fit Rhiannon, so she put it aside.
The room itself smelt of spew and piss.
Evidently, Eustace had also discovered a store full of ale, and perhaps consumed every drop, judging by the horrid state of his room. It was no wonder he did not join his men on the wall; his pores had also reeked of alcohol—easy to scent at twenty paces, and more.
Evidently, he was sulking, and furious over his dispossession—a manner of depression that manifested itself with a terrible stink that he never bothered to dispel, even despite having the use of a large, ornate tub.
In fact, no one had used that tub in quite some time, Rhiannon surmised, evident by a thick layer of dust inside. She longed to fill it and bathe, because, in truth, except for a few sponge baths, she’d not even done so on the night of her nuptials. She’d donned that beautiful wedding dress with a week’s worth of grime on her person. And so, it seemed, she might yet get the chance, because when everyone claimed a room, they conveniently left the lord’s chamber for the “newly wedded couple.”
Rhiannon was quite sure it wasn’t entirely charitable; the stench of the room was difficult to bear. Therefore, after she finished placing a few more wards about the inner bailey, she mounted the stairs again to begin repairing the room as best she could.
Really, considering what they were about to face, it was perhaps of little consequence, but some small part of her longed to spend at least one night with her husband that was… special—not that she would live to remember it, mind you, but it was important to her that she at least have one moment of joy to cherish.
Indeed, she still had cause to be vexed with Cael, but the time for petty grievances was over. He was here, with her, and he had, indeed, confessed his love.
Sadly, they were not even promised one evening together, much less the morrow. Therefore, if they were still alive and breathing after the Golden Hour—which she knew intuitively would be their greatest hour of peril—she intended to make the most of her time with Cael.
At any rate, ever since her conversation with Marcella about the particulars of congress, she very much longed to…explore.
To that end, she found a lovely, but scandalously diaphanous shift hidden away in a wooden coffer that appeared as though it might be part of a bride’s trousseau. The contents were musty, but everything inside the chest was of the utmost quality—all women’s garments.
There was also a small armoire in the room with the remnants of a man’s wardrobe. Most of what it once contained was gone. Within it she discovered a singlesherte, one pair of very pointy shoes, and a rich, blue velvet surcoat that was heavy with dust.
Such as it was, there were no other signs of a woman’s touch in these quarters. The coffer, she surmised, must have been a gift in wait for a bride—very convenient, she decided, considering that she herself was a newly wedded bride.
In fact, she might have presumed this one was meant for the lord’s sister, since Cael had said she was recently wed, but the garments were not at all what Rhiannon would suppose a brother would provide for a sister.
For example: Thechainsewas as sheer as a woodland mist, and there were gowns inside that trousseau that revealed more than was prudent, or even acceptable.
To be sure, there were some women at court who dressed so outrageously, but not even Morwen had dared.
Rhiannon hadn’t any interest in those, but she did intend to make use of thesherte,exchanging it for the smelly tunic Marcella had given her. She no longer needed the maskingphilter, and though it was a little too big, she could easily tuck thesherteinto her breeches, at least until she could wash the tunic she was given. She couldn’t very well wear some silly gown whilst wielding a sword, nor could she use the ringmail without some protection for her skin.
It was easy to imagine why Marcella wore such garb. No gown was suitable for warfare. She could easily trip over the hem and injure herself, and Rhiannon didn’t intend to unintentionally aid her mother’s cause. They would need every sword arm they had to bear, even if Rhiannon’s was less than able. But at least she had hermagik, which was growing stronger and stronger by the hour.
She found a set of clean bedsheets in a storeroom, and after changing the bedding, she put the delicatechainseon the bed, turning her attention to the remainder of the room.
By the time she was finished cleaning, the sun was already lowering to the west—a beautiful view from the lord’s window, where she could peruse the outer bailey and the parklands beyond.
For the time being, the tree line in the distance revealed no sign of movement and neither was there any sign of Morwen’s birds, except for that one. For this, Rhiannon breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps they would be spared tonight—she hoped. She had a strong intuition for which there were no promises. Still, though she felt a terrible ramping of tensions in her soul, the moment right now was serene. The sky was beautiful, with shades of lavender, peach and pink, and she sighed wistfully, considering the beauty of the moment. It was no wonder these were called the Golden Hours. It was a time of limitless possibility if only one had the will to open their hearts. Here and now, it was impossible to believe that somewhere out there her mother was preparing to butcher them. And yet, Rhiannon knewit was true. There was no way that Morwen would let this be; she was like a wounded beast no longer caged.
Hic est Draco…
Here be the dragon.
Only now she truly understood what that meant—the inscription writ upon her bracelets…
