Page 7 of Peregrine's Call
“Perhaps you should share your wisdom with the empress,” Cecily added, now with a tartness to her voice. “She’d end her fight for the throne the moment you tell her women can’t be involved in war.” She then turned and stormed out.
“There’s my true wife,” Alric muttered. “For a moment I was worried.” He put his face in his hands for a moment, but then laughed. “I thought marriage would be less dangerous than battle. I was wrong.”
“You’re happy to be married, though.”
“Every day.” Alric smiled. “You should consider it.”
“I’m not in a position to marry,” Octavian said. It was true. While Alric had chosen Cecily for love, he also possessed some lands and could have provided for her even if she lost her own holdings. Octavian had no land in England or France or anywhere else. “I can’t even be certain of where I will be from one month to the next. Lord Denis could order me to Paris, or Rouen. Or Acre.”
“And you don’t mind?”
Octavian shrugged. “Not at all. I was born to wander. I’ll wander all my life, and after I die, I hope to wander heaven.”
“A true peregrinus,” Alric said. Then he stood up. “I’d best go soothe Cecily’s ruffled feathers. Tomorrow we’ll find those men and hear what they know of the Ardenwood.”
“Good night,” Tav said.
Tav recalled Alric’s words later that night as he got ready for sleep. Peregrinus, the name for the far-ranging falcon, but also the name for pilgrims, those who trudged along countless roads to reach holy places, hoping to find some connection to the divine. That was Octavian. He always felt the need to move on, to see new places, to know the world God had created. As such, he’d mastered a spare, ascetic way of living. He had no possessions he couldn’t carry with him. He had no property and no financial interests. He didn’t particularly care about worldly matters. True, he fought on the side of King Stephen, but only because he served Lord Denis, who backed Stephen out of loyalty to an oath sworn many years ago. Octavian kept apprised of politics because it was prudent to know what was happening. But the many shifts in power, or the news of a lord changing sides, meant little to him personally.
But the other side of that coin was a sense of isolation, a lack of connection to a larger group. Octavian was truly a man without a country, and in a world were allegiance mattered greatly, that set him apart. He valued the freedom he had—he could always move on. But that was a drawback too—he could always move on.
So he was extremely grateful for the small group of friends he’d made while in Britain. He’d met Alric, Luc, and Rafe while all of them were fighting a battle on the side of the king. Separated from his own company, Octavian had stumbled into their group by chance…or by divine guidance, considering that he probably would have been killed in that battle if not for those knights. He’d repaid the favor in future battles, and now he counted the three among his true friends.
He wished one of them could join him on this sortie north. But he seemed doomed to face the challenge alone.
Chapter 3
The next morning, Robin roseearly, hoping to find Octavian while he was unoccupied by whatever matters he’d been discussing with Alric the night before. Usually, Robin was permitted to listen to such things. In the war between these royal cousins, ordinary people’s lives hinged on seemingly distant matters.
However, in this case, no one told Robin anything. Octavian didn’t mention a word beyond his first revelation that he was on the king’s business. And then Alric spirited him away to the small chamber to talk. Their reticence worried Robin the more she thought about it. What was Octavian doing, and why could he not give a hint of it to Robin? She was nobody! She was the safest person in the world to tell, because who would she share the secret with?
But no one told her. Octavian and Alric were off somewhere around the manor, and when Cecily found her at breakfast, she announced that the morning would be devoted to sewing, causing Robin to heave a sigh of despair.
Sewing took place in the bright room known as the solar for its generous number of windows. Despite the light, Robin still hated the work.
“So fussy,” she muttered, stabbing the needle into the wool in her lap. “This shouldn’t be so difficult.”
“Watch the seam, dear. If your stitch wanders, the garment will bunch up in that spot, and it may chafe at the skin. Not to mention look sloppy.”
Robin sighed, tugging the fabric flat and pulling out her last few stitches. She understood what Cecily was saying perfectly well. It was just that Robin could hardly stand to mend a tear, let alone sew a whole gown on her own—even the simplest pattern for the most basic style. She glanced at Cecily’s quick-moving hand as she ruched the elbows of the sleeves of her own gown.
“I can’t concentrate,” she confessed. “What were they talking about all last night?”
“Discussing Octavian’s mission, which is urgent,” Cecily said absently, her eyes still intent on her work. “I do wish he could stay longer, but his orders are clear, and he must reach the Ardenwood as soon as he can.”
Robin nearly pricked her finger with the needle. “The Ardenwood! What takes him there?”
Having inadvertently revealed one key detail, Cecily must have decided that it mattered not to tell the rest. She explained how Octavian had intended to learn more of the forest from the absent Rainald.
Robin blinked in confusion. “I know far more of the Ardenwood than Rainald. Why not ask me?”
“The men fear that Octavian’s questions would raise unpleasant memories. You are a lady now, Robin, and ladies must always be treated with care.”
“Do they honestly think me too delicate to remember my past?” Robin had never felt so annoyed by the restrictions of womanhood.
Cecily gave a little shrug. “In any case, it’s unlikely that you could tell Octavian what he needs to know in a day, or at all. Your knowledge of the forest is inseparable from your own feet and hands and eyes and nose. You couldn’t tell him of the secret paths you used to travel, because you knew them through a hundred tiny signs that you couldn’t possibly explain to another. You knew where to ford a creek, or which tree was the turning point on the path to reach Rainald’s camp. That can’t be taught in words.”
“True enough,” Robin said. She could use her knowledge, but she couldn’t translate it.
