The Road to Coventre (Richard)

[Richard Cabal]

Richard would have been bored if he had not had an idea. For the past three days he kept his day activities an secret, telling white lies to Grace when she inquired. Striding along behind Grace, he laughed at her antics. Right now, she seemed to be the young girl he had once known. Care free and full of love for beauty.

"Walk with me and tell me what ye found." Richard told her. They had not been able to talk much at the Abbey lest they arouse suspicion. Now he too felt like he had shed a wimple. It was good to be able to speak freely. Without explaining where they were going, Richard led Grace to Albion forest. To parts they had not been together. The trees were bigger where he was leading them, mushrooms hidden amongst damp leaves and the land writhing with life.

[Grace de Beaumont]

Grace squealed a laugh as Richard made her jump over a small log, but in truth, she was glad to enter the heavy woods. The air smelled incredibly fresh after the close quarters of the abbey packed with frequently unwashed bodies. Scratching the back of her neck, Grace looked around. "I don't suppose you know of a stream or pool anywhere abouts? I need a wash."

Richard reminded her of their mission, so Grace pulled a small sheaf of papers from her clothing, flipping through the pages. As they walked she read the pages aloud as Richard could not read, allowing him to steer her around.

"So..." she finished, mood grimmer. "There are some valuable clues here, well worth the journey, I think and they all lead in one particular direction. Oswyn, Earl of Tunstall had several disputes with father over some judgments he made against some of Oswyn's knights, ruffians who had attacked several small outlying villages in eastern Mercia. The Earl sent several emissaries to father and when he refused them entry, on they went to the King. They received the same lack of welcome." Grace chewed her lip. "Perhaps those same knights were the ones who attacked that night?"

Glancing at Richard, Grace added, "Did you ever hear of talk among father's knights of such a group?"

[Richard Cabal]

"Aye, but not from the knights. Remember lass, I am not of noble blood, the knights would ignore me. Especially if I beat them at one of yer da's tourneys." He led them down a thin path, used mostly by deer and other animals than humans. The bird calling here was loud, as if they were entering the source of something vibrant.

"Amongst the common guards we heard o' these knights. I remember my weapons master sayin' twas nothing new. Knights always attacked the unprotected when there was no war. I do know tha' they could be the reason for the raids closer in Hwicee. Remember the bandit attacks? Yer da would often lead us out and we'd puzzle because they fought as trained men. Not as if they were desperate for food."

"So yer da had him charged in court for crimes? An' he only had to pay coin in return as his victims were common? Not nobles?" The path widened out to a small clearing. The clearing was framed by heavy trees and tangled roots. In the center was a stream, cool and sweet. "We should ask around Camelot for mention of this Earl." He sat down and hugged a knee to his chest casually, his other leg stretched before him.

"Have you ever met the Earl?"

[Grace de Beaumont]

Grace snorted as she knelt by the stream. "The knights did NOT ignore you. Most times as I heard it, they were scared witless of you. They were just too priggishly proud to show it." Fishing in Richard's pack, Grace found a small cake of soap. Dipping the edge of the wimple to the water, she began to vigorously wash her hands and face. The water was freezing and the air not far behind, being the beginning of winter but Grace didn't care. She wanted... no needed to be clean.

"He wasn't charged exactly.... the Earl I mean. It was his favorite knights; quite a brutish group it sounds like." Unclasping a few buttons at her neck, Grace pushed her cloak and tunic off her shoulders slightly so she could reach her neck better, running the wet soapy cloth under her chin and hair. Briefly she thought of having Richard start a fire so she could wash her body more thoroughly, but they still had a portion of the day ahead of them and were likely to keep walking. Wait until the evening.

Toweling around an ear as she turned to Richard, Grace looked thoughtful. "I don't remember meeting him, but many people came to our court to speak with father. There were several who gave me the shivers when they looked at me though." As the only daughter and entering into marriageable age, Grace had been ogled by many a courtier, young and old alike.

[Richard Cabal]

Richard knew precisely what Grace was talking about when she spoke of those who gave her the shivers. Plenty of folk had traveled through her da's hallways and looked at someone wrong and Richard or the other guards would suddenly turn attention to that one. Watching closely. Warning with their eyes.

He wondered if he had ever seen this Earl, but decided it was no worth if he had. It wasn't often he learned names.

"Come on lass," Richard jumped to his feet and snatched the towel from Grace. That was stuffed into his pack. "I want ta be at tonight's camp ground by night fall."

Richard led them down thinner paths. Sometimes the path looked fresh, as if he had recently been through. They startled more animals here. A badger hissed at them until Richard growled back, birds jumped down from twigs to peer at them. He saw the flick of a squirrels tail. They reached a steep descent. Richard slid on the fallen leaves towards a tree, catching himself with it before he fell. Then he turned to catch Grace when she slid after him.

"Now, as much as I respected yer parents. I think they only taught you the rituals, the rules, the dry and dull stuff. Important things to be sure, things expected of ye. But they never taught ye to be more than expected. Does tha' sound right?"

[Grace de Beaumont]

Grunting a little as she tumbled awkwardly after Richard, Grace was glad for his help as she landed awkwardly. Straightening herself and her skirts, Grace frowned curiously.

"You mean of the Old Religion? Ye-e-es." Her tone sounding doubtful, Grace wondered if Richard was going to strike on with more lessons. After three days of droning prayers, rituals and solemn-faced nuns, the last thing Grace wanted was more of the same from the 'other side'. Devout though Richard may be and she DID owe him a lot.... but she really didn't want to sit for any more religious learning.

Her eyes narrowing suspiciously, Grace planted her fists on her hips. "What are you after, Richard Cabal?" Her eyes circled the woods surrounding, realizing now they were far from the road. "Is that why you've dragged me through oak, bracken and brush?"

[Richard Cabal]

"Nah, nah, nah," Richard shook his head at Grace and went sliding to the next tree. "I'm talking about everything lass. Your duty to land and people, your position as lady o' the court and aye, religion. Both of 'em."

"I'm dragging ye through oak, bracken and bush to a clearing. Tis a wonderous place an aye, we will practice with the dagger. An' I'll show you some more tools that ye can use in life." He grinned at her, his face open and shining. "That's all I want Grace. For ye to be more than was expected of ye an' ta have many tools that ye can use in life. What tools and lessons ye choose to use, that is all up to you." When Grace was steady with him, he slid down to the next tree and dislodged an old branch on the way. It landed with a heavy thud and slid down the path until it hit some bushes. Richard checked for more old branches, heart pounding from the sudden noise.

"Its clear," he beckoned to her.

[Grace de Beaumont]

Though she still felt like scowling, Richard's enthusiasm was catching and very endearing. It was rare she saw the stoic man so relaxed or excited. She caught flickers of the boy he must have once been.

So too, gallivanting after the man past tree trunks, fern-lined paths and down embankments reminded Grace sharply of chasing after her brothers, games they used to play as children. The youngest by far, Grace had ever been after her older siblings. They always seemed to be doing more exciting things than she was.

Dagger practice? That made a little bit more sense. Grace could call herself quite proficient at flipping and retrieving her dagger from her belt. The belt was currently under her outer tunic; she didn't suppose the officials at the abbey would have approved of her openly wearing it about church.

Grace panted lightly after Richard. "Do you know what this reminds me of? When I wandered off and you found me? When I was little?"

[Richard Cabal]

"If that's a hint, I ain't carrying you." His response was tart and finally they reached the bottom of the descent. Breaking through thick trees, Richard halted and gestured. The bones were huge and plants had climbed over them, tangling amongst massive teeth and settling over what could only be an eye socket. There were broken rocks around the skull and as Richard walked up to it, it became clear that the skull was so tall he could barely touch the teeth. Someone had painted woad onto the sides, the symbols were ancient and unrecognizable.

"Tis hard to feel any wonder about the world when in that wimple and being preached to. I wonder if sometimes all religion has forgotten the reason why we praise the creator? Who ever it might be." Richard ran his fingers over the bone. "Its because life is wonderous. And with that love, we hope for something better in the afterlife. Whether it be somethin' as grand as heaven or small as a second chance. When all the rituals are put aside, all the holidays and rules, we're left with awe."

[Grace de Beaumont]

Stumbling into the clearing, Grace gave one look then let out a startled yelp as she leaped backwards. Heart thumping, she clutched onto Richard's arm, staring at the bones.

"What is that? Is it a.... a dragon?"

Richard ignored her question, lost in his world of reverence. His strong hands stroked the skeleton, his touch gentle and awed. Grace finally overcame her fear and tip-toes after, alternately staring at the carvings and up at the man's face.

Richard had always had a bit of poet about him. In the few days after fleeing her murdered family, Grace had been nearly catatonic in her grief, alternately crying and staring at nothing in stunned shock. Nights had been the worst -- cold and full of noises. Grace had never slept out-of-doors in her life before that time. But Richard stayed very close, holding her when she'd been limp with sobs, quietly smoothing leaves and dew from her hair in the mornings, speaking soothing words she did not hear but still somehow seemed to draw comfort from.

Just as he did now. Her grey eyes circled the clearing, wariness turning to calm. "This is a lovely place. Why did it die here?" Her finger tentatively reached out to trace a sigil. "Who carved these?"

[Richard Cabal]

"I do not know what it is, or why it died here." His fingertips lightly touched a sigil. "I think these are druidic. But I've no way to tell for sure. 'Sides, you're the one who can read." Closing his eyes, Richard pressed his forehead against the bone. Death was here, the touch of it was warm, as warm as it had been while he hovered close to the end of his life. So warm, warm enough to slip peacefully into eternity.

Life however was a noisy intrusion, bird sounds pressing against his ears. His heart thud-thudding and breath moving his chest. Or when his daughters had been in his wife's belly, they had been kicking against his stomach as he lay with her. Noisier still when they were born. Shrieking lustily.

"Can ye imagine having this on your land? Or being in charge of so many lives and deaths." Richard rested his cheek against the bone so he could see Grace. "Ye have such a burden, sweet lass. But ye have such a gift too."

[Grace de Beaumont]

"I cannot read the old symbols," Grace murmured absently, walking slowly around the creature. In truth, it was his other words that were sinking into her soul.

Bitterness and resignation began to color the beauty of the glade to grey. Grace was no fool; she knew what Richard was doing, his abrupt reversal of tutelage the last few weeks to aggressive defense, his gentle but insistent reminders of her duty and responsibility.

"I have no gift," Grace said abruptly, lifting her skirt to step over a skeletal foot. Circling about the creature, the young woman spoke over her shoulder. "I was not taught to lead; I was taught to keep house. To weave the tapestries depicting men's triumphs. To supervise the dying of wool for the best colors. To select the right sauce to go with venison or quail. To make guests comfortable. That is no gift."

Grace sighed and looked about the clearing, trying to shake the unease. Her gaze returned to Richard, eying him through the ribcage of the great beast. "I know what you are doing, Richard. Trying to wake me to my duties. I'm trying, I really am but I can't help but feel that.... a part of me will die away when I accept that responsibility fully." Grace turned her back on the skeleton. "But I suppose it's time."

[Richard Cabal]

Richard walked towards Grace and when he reached her he put his hands on her shoulders. His ached for how little she thought of herself. It seemed she was always playing down her abilities or viewing the task ahead as monumental.

"Wee lass, something will die when ye accept the place given to you. I believe it is called childhood. You will let that die to become an adult. Now as to yer gift." Richard lifted his eyes to the sky, where the clouds chased each other like sheep.

"You inspire loyalty. I think it annoys ye, how willing people are to protect you or do things for ye. I can't explain that to you. How it works an' all that. Its just a quality some people have and some don't. Now other gifts, ye want justice an' you have not been afraid of seeking it. Afraid you'll never succeed aye, but never have ye told me that we should give up. It ain't worth it." Richard walked around Grace so they were face to face and he slid his fingers under her chin. Tilting her face up to him.

"I have two questions for ye. Why don't you trust yourself and what sauce goes with venison?"

[Grace de Beaumont]

"I don't inspire loyalty; I invoke pity." But Grace smiled despite herself, turning her cheek to warm the chilled skin against Richard's warm hand. "Is it so wrong to want to remain a child forever?" She held up her hand, still smiling. "Don't answer that.... I know already."

Grace sobered and looked up into Richard's face. "I have a hard time trusting anything anymore, let alone myself. I feel like I'm.... still trying to get to my feet again after taking a very hard fall. Dear Richard....." Grace put her hand over his, gratitude and warmth in her eyes. "What would I do without you as my steadying hand?"

Impulsively, Grace moved to give the larger man a quick embrace, wrapping her hands around his sides. Then she stood away, smoothing out his tunic. "And the best sauces for venison are Garlic Sauce if the meat is gamey, or Cameline Sauce if it is young and tender."

[Richard Cabal]

"Gamey Garlic Sauce, Tender Cameline." Richard intoned to help him remember that little morsel of etiquette. Then he said it again to make sure the lesson stuck. After that he gripped Grace's wrists and gently moved them away because her fussing reminded him of Clarine.

"If it wasn't me, it'd be someone else. Or no one an' ye'd battle along by yourself. Its possible," his voice lowered unconsciously. He hated revealing insecurities to Grace. "Remember, I lost my family after my parents. I was alone an' hating myself for a long time. I think it was worse cus I was surrounded by people. You'll be back on your feet soon." He tossed his head as if throwing the memory aside. Those had been dark days indeed and ones he did not care to reveal.

"Grace, you do know that . . . well the only person in this clearing who pity's ye is well, yourself."