The Road to Coventre (Richard)

[Grace de Beaumont]

Grace scratched under the wool wimple; the thing was itchy even though the heavy cloth was welcome in the cool morning walking the road to the small convent village of Coventre. The forest of Arden was to their left, a long expanse of brown pasture to their right. The morning air was occasionally tickled by the bleating of sheep, their white bodies scattered about the pasture. Two shepherds and an assortment of dogs watched she and Richard's progress as they walked the road.

Grace was dressed as a pilgrim, head to toe in brown homespun, white wimple surrounding her face and neck, and a headcover, only her face and hands showing skin. Richard looked much the same as he always was, sword, mail and bare head telling all he was no pilgrim but a mercenary hired to protect one. It was not an unusual practice for lower caste nobles and their families to hire guards when members of their families made pilgrimage. The open road was sometimes dangerous even to the pious; as long as the mercenaries minded their manners, they were tolerated within the confines of an abbey.

"We should arrive just after Matins and Prime -- that's the morning prayers -- and then should have three hours until Terce -- that's the noon prayers. During that time, I should be allowed access to the scriptorium and libraries, but while the monks are in prayers, they are cloistered and we'll have to be outside of the gates. I'll have to spend some time in prayer...." Grace sighed in an aggrieved tone, "... to keep my subterfuge. You, as a heathen, can partake of their food and ale and relax." Grace grinned impishly at Richard. "Don't swear or spit though.... you may be subject to a thrashing."

[Richard Cabal]

"Bloody pilgrims," Richard swore and spat onto the ground. "I'll be glad when this job is done. What would ye have that's worth stealin' eh? A sign of your false God? All hail Morrigan and Cernunnos ai say." He winked at Grace and drew his sword, pretending to be a cocky mercenary. He made a series of blocks and parries at the air, finally thrusting down where a leg might be, then stabbing up with the dagger he had drawn while he was showing off.

"Soooo what's with all prayin'? Yer big daddy deaf or sommat? Can't hear ye the first time?" Sliding his blades back into their scabbards, Richard dropped the cocky mercenary act.

"You'll remember to copy everything o' interest?" He asked like a fussy father. "Don't drop the act when you think you're alone either. An' you hate me, I'm a heathen and proud o' it. Violence is distasteful to yer holier sensibilities anyway."

[Grace de Beaumont]

Grace giggled and hopped out of the way of Richard's antics, swishing her voluminous brown shirts out of the way. She twitched at the crudely carved wood cross hanging around her neck.

"Don't blaspheme, you godless blackguard," Grace said primly, but her eyes were twinkling with merriment. Her voice took on a tutorial tone, channeling the voice of Sister Ermelinda. "The repetition of prayers is soothing to the soul. It sets the Holy words deep within the body's every crevice and cleanses the mind of impure thoughts, deeds, desires, and impulses." Eyeballing Richard, Grace held her prissy pose a moment before bursting into laughter.

"Yes, yes...." Grace sighed, still in good humor. "I'll copy everything I can, but I'm not sure how much parchment the brothers will let me have. It's devilish expensive and there may be a fee." She turned to Richard, growing a little serious. "I dearly hope there will be something there. The records at the Abbey of St. Osburga are supposed to be some of the best in the land for all things religious, political and secular. Father came here often to consult with some of the judicial precedents in his work."

[Richard Cabal]

Richard laughed at Grace's response but he was thinking up his rebuttal. Not wanting the mood to turn serious, Richard smiled reassuringly at her.

"Then there will be something there. Tell the brother's I can work for 'em if they want compensation." Walking ahead, he put a swagger in his step and lifted his chin. "So tis the repetition that is soothing, aye? Then all repetition is good. Includin' sword practice. What kind of stuff is 'impure'?"

[Grace de Beaumont]

Waving a hand, Grace answered with indifference in her voice. "Oh, the usual. Sins of the flesh, excessive drinking, fornication, gambling. All the fun stuff, my brother used to say." Grace sighed. "It was one of those excruciating things my mother made me learn to make me a well-rounded marriage prospect, learning Christianity. In this day and age, you couldn't tell if a perspective husband would keep to the Old Religion or the New. So thusly, I learned the Psalms right next to the Moon Chants. And neither appeals greatly to me, if I were to be brutally honest."

Grace looked over at Richard, then down at his sword in alarm. "You're not going to make me learn to use a sword, are you? Richard, we've only just started with a dagger! How many ways do you want me to cut myself?" Grace waved one hand, wrapped with a bandage at an unfortunate accident during one of their lessons. I should have flipped forward instead of back.

Lifting her head in mock ire, Grace looked forward and tucked her hands behind her back like someone trying to ignore their companion. "You are making me a brute, aren't you. I shall become all muscle-bound and mannish, and so skilled with blades, no one will recognize me as a woman, and no man will want to marry me. For a perspective husband would never take a woman to wife who could out-beat him with a blade?" Grace glanced side-long at Richard to see his reaction, stifling a giggle.

[Richard Cabal]

Richard stared at Grace in surprise. Either she didn't believe in the Old Ways or she just disliked the chanting. The chanting he could understand, but not believing in the Old and True ways? Nay, they were real. He knew it in his gut. As Grace continued talking, surprise gave way to an amused smile.

"Such a husband would truly be a man an' worthy of ye. Such a man would also see beauty when a woman performs tasks she is skilled in. Besides, dagger fighting -- not sword fighting, there's no need for ye to learn that -- is as much about grace and agility as strength. Yer walk will change an' you'll turn more heads than you do already." He wondered if Grace had been expecting a serious answer.

"Now answer me true. Do you believe in the Old Ways?"

[Grace de Beaumont]

Grace shook her head as she walked. "No Richard. Most men -- most noble men -- like their women soft and pliable, needy and submissive. Mother taught me so and I saw it with my own eyes at court. They may say they respect a female who is strong, but they certainly do not want her as wife and mother of their heirs. A court wife is an ornament.... to look pretty but be preferrably silent." Grace averted her eyes, cheeks dimpling in a sly grin. "However, my maid Lorica used to say that a woman's real strength came from the bedchamber, and in there, she was as a warrior."

Looking a little startled, Grace touched her own face. "My walk will change? Just from learning the dagger? How curious!" The throught rather pleased the vain part of Grace. The young lady was growing heartily tired of playing the peasant and being ignored as part of the masses.

Shrugging at Richard's next question, Grace completely missed Richard's perplexed tone. "I do not know what I believe. I know that when I walk in the forest, I feel a reverence. Does that come from the Gods of the Woods or the God of the Cross, I do not know. But I know this...." Grace glanced over at Richard pointedly. "Neither was there the night my family was killed. Nor were they there when your family died of the plague. Therefore, I have little use for them."

Feeling like her words might sound harsh to a man who was obviously devout to his own religion, Grace smiled gently. "Perhaps I will be pursuaded to think differently someday."

[Richard Cabal]

"Nobles have no sense. I can think o' no better mother than a strong woman. Strength creates strength. Your maid did though." Richard grinned back at Grace then chuckled as she touched her face.

"Ye've got our gods all wrong, wee lass. They're not there to make things better, ta hold our hands and and fix all our troubles. They make tis world and they gives us abilities an' we make the best of what we have. They give the trees and plants abilities too, which we can use if we so learn. When it is our time, the Bean-nighe will wash our blood-stained garments, a sign that it is time to go back to the place beyond." His eyes shone as he spoke, "they will give us the tools to succeed but they will never directly help us. If one of the magical creatures enters yer life, tis a sure time of trouble as they will only do it for mischief." Then he grinned, bright from talk of the Old Ways.

"That feeling in the forest? It comes from within, not something granted to ye by any god."

[Grace de Beaumont]

Grace walked along beside Richard, listening thoughtfully and silently to his words. Much of what he said made sense; the world was given to you as is, and what you made of it was either your own triumph or your own failure. But Grace couldn't help a heavy sigh. "You know? Would it hurt the various deities even a little to give a girl a hand up every now and again?" Grace smiled gratefully at Richard for his attempt to instill her with his religion, something so obviously near and dear to his heart.

Her eyes wandered to the depths of the forest they walked beside. The Forest of Arden was supposed to contain many magical creatures. "I would love to see a unicorn sometime. I wonder if any are left in this wood?" She glanced back at Richard. "Do you have any stories about them?"

[Richard Cabal]

"Maybe that's why I still live." He mused innocently. "Perhaps I'm a tool to give a girl a hand up every now and then. Or perhaps not. Whatever gives you comfort." Grace's question earned another perplexed look, what in the world was an unicorn? The name rang at some part of his memory but whatever it was, it was not part of the Old Ways.

"Nay. Do ye have a story about this unicorn? I've never heard of them."

[Grace de Beaumont]

Grace flashed a half-irritated, half-amused look at her guardian. "Honestly Richard, are you a holy man in disguise, set out to recruit my unbeliever heart? You could talk the birdies down from the trees."

Surprised that Richard hadn't heard of unicorns, Grace decided they were probably a court thing, fables sung by bards which Richard may not have heard. "We had one traveling bard sing a song about them. White beasts looking like something between a horse and a goat with a single golden horn in the middle of their foreheads. Said to be very fierce and protective of their woodland territories, able to take any hunting dog or knight down with a thrust of their horn. But..." Her eyes twinkled. "They become instantly tamed when in the presence of a virgin maiden. They will lay at her feet, place their head in the maid's laps, tame as house dogs. To touch them is to know absolute love and peace."

Lacing her fingers behind her back, Grace looked to the air in remembrance. "I remember I cried when I heard his song. A tale of a greedy king who wanted to possess the unicorn's horn, which was said could cure poisons and produce gold. In order to trap the unicorn, the king sent his youngest daughter to the forest, all unknowing, followed secretly by his knights. The unicorn appeared to the girl and fell in love with her instantly, bowing to her feet. The knights sprang their trap, netting the poor unicorn with barbed metal hooks and cruel nets, and it died pierced by their lances. The horrified girl fell to the unicorn's side, cradling the head with the bloody stump of the horn and refused to leave. She died a day later of grief and exposure." Grace sighed. "All the ladies in the court who heard that song wept."

[Richard Cabal]

Richard had the grace to look embarrassed, even ducking his head. "Sorry. I just can't . . . imagine not believing." Although the idea of this unicorn sounded nice, Richard could not help but think this was some kind of creature created by priestly minds to keep women from enjoying the flesh. From what Grace had said earlier they didn't much believe in pleasure. Still, he could see the glamor of unicorns.

"A sad tale then. I suppose they dislike men?" Richard grinned at Grace. "Are there happier tales of them? Or are they tragic figures." Halting, he gestured towards the Forest of Arden and there was something like longing in his eyes. "Do you want to go in?"

[Grace de Beaumont]

Noticing Richard's sudden discomfort, Grace felt instantly sorry, bumping her shoulder against his arm to show it. "Sorry. Maybe.... someday? When I'm less.... bitter."

His question gave her pause. "You know? That's a good point, unicorns not liking men. Perhaps it's because men are more violent? You know, chopping down trees in the forest, killing animals, making war, things like that? And no, I've not heard any more tales of them, other than they are very rare. And solitary."

Grace glanced over her shoulder into the forest and thought seriously about accepting Richard's offer, but after a moment's thought, she shook her head. "No, let's not go in just yet. Let's go to the Abbey, I'll see what I can find, then on our way back we can camp in the forest of Arden instead of staying at the inn." Grace grinned. "Sleep out in the open like we used to do."

[Richard Cabal]

Richard snorted, shaking his head in amusement. "So no woman has ever cut down a tree, killed a person, slaughtered an animal, started a war . . . and things like that. Sounds alot like people bein' judged for wha' they are an' what they have experienced . . . rather than how to choose act an' why."

As they kept walking, Richard looked again at the forest, feeling that Grace's suggestion was excellent. He sometimes missed the open sky, the chill breeze and hard ground was comforting in a way. He always slept better in those conditions. Later they arrived at the abbey, Richard went back in character, looking down his nose at the other pilgrims and sneering at the signs of this new religion. Finally spitting at the ground, winking at Grace and stalking to a stump to sit.

[Grace de Beaumont]

Her hands disappearing into opposite sleeves, Grace's back stiffened in indignation at Richard's spitting, even as her eyes twinkled merrily in secret. "Thank the Lord," she murmured as a nun approached. "More time spent in the company of this heathen brute my uncle hired as guard and my immortal soul would have been in peril!" Grace tinged her voice with just enough piety heavily laced with a noble's disdain for underlings to give the religieuse a clear notion of her station.

"You!" Grace called over her shoulder to Richard. "This is a holy place! Mind your manners or you'll not be paid!" With a sniff, she turned on her heel and followed the beckoning sister.

Three days later and Grace walked stiffly around the bend of the road leading away from the Abbey of St. Osburga, her hands clasped together before her, eyes straight on the road. Once past the corner when the great trees covered their exit, she exhaled loudly and gave a small whoop!, pulling off the confining wimple and headdress. Her long blond hair tumbled down as Grace laughed, shaking it out.

"Thank heavens! Freedom!"