My Beloved (29 page)

O
ne of the benefits of his new position as aide to the Marshal was the ability to be absent from the brotherhood on D'Aubry's business. But Gregory's return to Montvichet was not on the Marshal's business but for his own. He wanted to discover the truth about the Grail, and the only person who could substantiate his suspicions was his brother.

He stood on the other side of the mountain, called out across the gorge, “Sebastian!” The sound of his brother's name ricocheted back to him. Either he was refusing to answer him, or was too weakened by lack of food and water.

It took him nearly the whole day to form a crude ladder, After several tests to ensure himself it would hold his weight, he laid it across the gorge. He threw his sword into the gateway of Montvichet, then crawled slowly across his ladder.

Once there, he pulled the ladder to safety and left it leaning against a stone wall. He bent to retrieve his sword, then walked slowly into the courtyard.

“Brother!” No response, only the sound of flapping wings as a bird was disturbed from its nest.

He held his sword in front of him, bulwark
against what he might find. But there were some things against which a sword was no protection. Whispers, soft and faint, the sound of a child's cry. It was the wind, the gentle breeze that soughed through Montvichet. Even as he told himself that, he doubted the truth of it.

He walked through each sleeping chamber, noted how neat and tidy everything looked. A doll rested upon a pillow, and he looked away. The refectory was empty, there was no sign of food or even recent occupation. Finally, he walked through the scriptorium. The dust there was not as thick as elsewhere, and it looked as if the table to the side of the room had once been cleaned and used.

He walked back to the courtyard, his confusion deepening. Sebastian was not there. Nor was the woman.

When he saw the opening, he walked toward it, his smile growing wider with each footfall. He descended the curving steps slowly, feeling his way in the darkness. Halfway down weak sunlight illuminated the way. A few moments later he emerged at the bottom, near the place where he'd left his horse tied.

He retraced his steps, walked to the gateway, and tossed his makeshift ladder into the gorge. This place needed no intrusion, no casual visitors. Indeed, if he could have covered it with dust and blocked its existence from the world, he would have. There were hints of things he did not understand and an air of sadness that threatened to seep into his bones.

He turned and headed for the hidden steps again. Before descending, he turned and looked around him. He was grateful that he'd had no part in the siege of Montvichet.

Had the leper's robe and disease been another of
Sebastian's lies? He felt a reluctant admiration for his brother's cleverness. He had fooled them all.

Should he send men to England to force the truth from Sebastian? If he did so, others would discover that he had been tricked. He had nothing to gain by telling the truth. Instead, he would be a laughingstock. No, worse. He would be sent on some endless round of inspections again, making a tally of sheep and cows and lecturing the monastic brothers in how to keep better records.

If he pretended the Grail was real, his own career would be advanced, and the honor of the Templars would be enhanced. Only he and Sebastian would know that the Grail they revered was a false relic. And who would believe Sebastian, a lover of heretics, over the word of a Templar? It took him less than a moment to come to that conclusion, and the decision, once reached, drew a broad smile from him.

Gregory descended the steps and disappeared from sight.

The breeze began to blow, catching dust and flinging it into the air, swirling the bits of dried leaves and fluttering the stems and flowers of late-blooming plants that grew on the roof and between the stones.

From somewhere came the sound of laughter, a faint and reminiscent echo. Then there was only silence enveloping Montvichet again.

 

There was such a look of disgust on Sebastian's face that Juliana laughed. He frowned at her amusement, then scraped another gall from high atop the tree trunk.

“You do not have to eat them, Sebastian,” she said.

“At least you do not ask me to help you scrape your hides. Has that been done yet?” There was such a look of repugnance on his face that her lips trembled in amusement. Who would have thought that the great knight Sebastian of Langlinais had no stomach for certain things?

She nodded.

“There must be a better way to make parchment. And to make ink. Nor can I understand why it needs to be made so often.”

She shrugged. “It goes bad, Sebastian, just like wine.”

“But these are bugs.” He scowled down at the mess in his hand and shook his fingers over the basket.

Her laughter echoed through the wood.

“We'll see how much you laugh when we go falconing this afternoon.”

It was a bargain between them. She would overcome her dislike of the mews and the birds, and he would help her fetch some oak galls from the trees.

“Must we?” Juliana had vowed to avoid the mews, a separate building built with high-arched doors and airy slits that made it appear larger than it was. She had never been around hunting birds before, but the gyrfalcons, the sakers, the lanners, all used to pluck ducks and geese from the sky seemed like fierce, angry creatures. There were two falconers in attendance, an old man and his apprentice, who spent more than an hour introducing her to all their charges and explaining their various stages of training. Though she smiled and thanked them for their information, she was grateful to leave the building.

“We must,” he said, smiling down at her. He grabbed a branch and swung himself up into the tree. “Care to join me, my lady wife? It is a good
sturdy branch.” He rested against the trunk, one leg aligned along the branch, the other dangling. His grin was infectious, his invitation too tempting to resist. She placed the basket on the ground, extended her left hand to him and found a toehold in the large burl of the oak. Sebastian simply pulled her into place, grabbing her waist and holding her steady until she was in position.

She sat on the branch, her legs dangling before her. A posture not fitting for a chatelaine of a great castle, surely. But the Lord of Langlinais sat beside her, idly twirling the end of her braid.

“What is Ned building, Sebastian?” She watched as the carpenter, his wife, and his son gathered branches from the forest floor.

“Nothing. He's gathering the wood to make charcoal.”

She frowned, perplexed. “What does a carpenter need with charcoal?”

“He provides it to the smith, and in return, the smith keeps his tools sharp. There is nothing about our demesne that isn't linked in some way, Juliana.” He settled himself into the notch of the tree, staring out at the view before them. The denuded branches of the large oaks allowed them to see the sweeping vista of Langlinais, the upper bailey, the first bend in the river, all three tall towers. “The millstone is kept sharp by the people of Langlinais, and the miller, in turn, charges only a small fee to grind the wheat brought to him. The weaver provides good quality cloth for the castle and in return his loom is kept in good repair by the carpenter. Every person has a duty, and every duty leads to another person. Even if a man has no trade, he's put to work thatching roofs, spreading dung, or whitewashing the castle walls.”

“And the Lord of Langlinais? What duty has he?”

He smiled down at her, swung his legs beside hers.

“Perhaps the most onerous and difficult. Pleasing his lady. My present obligation, besides harvesting bugs, is to convince her to share our new bathing chamber.”

She turned her head to look at him. There was a boyish grin on his face, and his eyes seemed dark with mischief. She shook her head and looked away from him. “I'll tell Jerard not to make the water too hot. That together we'll warm it,” he said in a coaxing voice.

She reached over and pinched his thigh.

He only laughed.

“You are a lusty man, Sebastian of Langlinais. I see that now. Perhaps even a satyr.” Her mock frown made light of her words.

He pulled her to his side, bent and kissed her on the nose, a tender gesture that surprised her. She smiled at him.

“Are you happy, my lady wife?”

His voice had changed so quickly from amused to somber that she knew the question was a serious one. She reached over and placed her hand on his sleeve. “I do not see how anyone can be happier than I am.”

He seemed to study her in the afternoon light. “I remember once, at Montvichet, thinking that I would never be able to see your smile or hear your laughter again.”

“Is that why you are so generous to me? Why you give me things like rare ink and a scriptorium and build a bathing chamber?”

“To see you smile? Any gift is a paltry expense.”

“Will such generosity excuse me from the mews?” she asked, her smile returning.

He shook his head. “You'll come to respect the birds, Juliana.”

“I respect them now.”

“Then you'll come to like falconing.”

“Will I?”

“You must trust me in these things. You do not mind sitting in a tree do you? Despite your fear of heights?”

She looked down at the ground beneath their feet. In truth, they were not all that high.

“I've given up my fears, Sebastian. I think you were right all along. I think being afraid is something I learned.”

“I am a wise man,” he said smugly.

She made a face at him. His laughter made her frown.

“There she is, the child I knew.” His fingers framed her chin as he turned her face to one side and then the other. “I knew she would come again if I was patient.”

“She has grown, Sebastian, and now possesses a husband who is arrogant and lofty-headed.”

“Come with me falconing,” he said in his most persuasive voice. “You may grow to love the sport. But at the very least, you should attempt it.” He smiled again, and the place in her chest that was once hollow expanded again with love. “I wish to share my life with you, my joys, my interests.”

She looked away. There were some things they could not share. Not now, not yet. She felt a measure of guilt for not confiding in him. He had said that he wanted no more secrets between them. But this secret needed to be kept hidden for a day or two
more. That's all she needed, and then she would tell him everything.

“Juliana?”

She glanced back at him. “Very well, Sebastian, but before we go to play with your precious birds, my entire basket must be filled with galls.”

His look of disgust kept her amused as he helped her down from the branch.

 

Juliana avoided the presence of the master mason, a sober man with a face that appeared as quarried as the stone he chiseled. She skirted the north tower, entering through the door now framed in timber. For months the mason and his apprentices had been shoring up the north tower. Now the structure, once used to store armament, stood empty.

The workers, like the rest of the people of Langlinais, were sharing their noon meal in the great hall. She must hurry. Any moment, Sebastian would be looking for her to join him at the dais. Today Jerard would leave Langlinais forever, and she must be there to bid him farewell.

But first, she must find the perfect spot.

One way to correct the damage done by the flood was to demolish the tower completely and build it over again, an expensive undertaking. Another alternative would have been to allow the tower to remain empty, but even that was not acceptable, since eventually the structure might topple. The easiest way to solve the problem of the crumbling foundations was to build an interior wall. It would be like slipping one quill inside another, thereby strengthening both.

A few moments later, she found what she needed. The stone was thicker behind the first flight of stairs. The space between the new masonry and the old
stone was wide enough to conceal the coffer she held. Inside was her own version of the codex, with notes as to how the original had been found and the tale of the chalice. She knelt and wedged it into place, then smoothed the mortar where her fingers had rested.

Grazide frowned at her as she entered the great hall. “My lady, you are cold, and such things are not good for you. Come into the warmth and have your ale. I have told my lord that you were about the castle, but didn't know your destination nor your purpose, and he has not stopped asking me this quarter hour.”

She pulled loose the toque from her chin, handed it to Grazide, who took it, then extended a hand to rearrange Juliana's braid.

“Not that I wish to know, my lady, but I am counseled with your welfare. What you do is your concern, of course, but when my lord asks of me so often, I feel foolish not knowing.”

Juliana walked beside Grazide, headed for the dais. Sebastian sat there, his gaze fixed on her. She warmed at his look. They'd had little sleep last night, the hours given over to laughter and love. His sudden smile reminded her of it.

She was no longer the girl who had sat in the great hall frightened of her future. Juliana the Timid, Juliana the Mouse had been replaced by a woman who knew herself well. She loved her work, and would always be thankful for the ability to continue it. But it was no longer all that she was, would no longer be the only way she measured her life.

Instead, there was Langlinais, and the people she'd come to know and love. There was the future, promising despite the threats they faced. But above all, there was Sebastian.

She felt a surge of love for the man who sat watching her, a small smile playing over his mouth. He was ennobled not only by birth but by honor. It was not a banner or a series of tourneys won that made him a great man. It was his character, his nobility. Sebastian had sacrificed his freedom that a vassal might escape, had planned on exile rather than imperil her, had been willing to give away his birthright in order to shield her.