Chapter 15: Three Rings
The horses' gear was redistributed; Gareth's big horse was stumbling-weary and was relieved of all but a halter. The men decided to walk, Willa also insisted on walking for awhile, "to save the horses;" Margaret knew that she was glad to be off horseback. Only Margaret rode, with Tamlyn leading Star, and her arm in a sling high on her chest.
Willa again surprised the men by setting a valiant pace on her sturdy legs with her face set like flint in front of her, her face shiny and her cheeks red. Margaret also wished to walk but knew that the bleeding would only worsen, and she was no sturdy kitchen-maid, but would only slow progress. For the first time in her life she found herself chafing at her exalted position but forced to resign herself to it.
Walking south, they followed descending ridges. An occasional promontory showed the fertile fields of Briardene nearing; then crossing a wide creek which Tamlyn called Laughingbrook, they found the Hartsfall-Deermont road, which soon gave out into pastures and fields, and they mounted their horses there. Soon they saw the towers of St. Savior's.
Gray stone walls rose foursquare on a rise above the village with orchards stretching away behind. Within the walls, the cloisters, ivy-wrapped with red clay tile roofs, surrounded a courtyard; the church angled toward the town invitingly. Margaret was wan and exhausted by the time they reached the gate and were welcomed in, and more thankful than she could have anticipated to be taken under the wings of nuns who brought her wine and bread and broth and a hot water bath with soap and clean dressings for her hands. Tamlyn had poured wine into the wound and stitched it closed with tiny sutures. Gareth, behind her, braced her against himself, his strong arms across her shoulders. Margaret turned her head away and tried not to make any sound. After that, her weariness and blood loss combined with the wine and the hot water of the bath had her swooning and nodding before they had laid her in an unoccupied cell, where the hard pallet with good linen sheets over bedstraw was like a cloud in Heaven to her tired body.
The men also were regaled with hot baths and bread and wine and beds, and their horses rubbed and fed and bedded with the abbey's oxen. They all slept until Prime next morning.
Margaret had returned Galorian's ring to Tamlyn in the forest. Now he sat in the morning sun, rolling it in his palm in the sunlight, much as Margaret had done many times. His blue eyes regarded it both sternly and warmly. In its yellow circle many memories, happy and sad, were bound up with the scruple that it was not really his. It had not been his to give, and as a result, he was bound to do something he dreaded: he must return it to her who had entrusted it to him together with a charge which he had not succeeded in keeping.
He had lit many good fires with the ring, while in the woods on forays, to cook silver fish and gray rock doves he had caught to feed himself. He had in this way eaten the trout from Cloud Brook for days on end so that he might watch to see Margaret again when he knew she was coming. He had even learned to spin from it a few flashes of flame merely for amusement; but had long since tired of using such a wonderful thing in such light wise. But it had never been his to give away. He knew what he must do.
He resolved to discuss his plans with Gareth and then to find Margaret, who was having her dressings changed at great and fussy length by the Sisters. But as he approached the ivy-covered cottage where they were boarded, the priest's son came running in the front gate, crying, "News! News!"
The priest and his wife appeared at the door and bade the boy catch his breath, and waited patiently, rolling his eyes at the boy's drama.
"The Lords of the Fiefs of Bradmead, Tolebrough, Saint Fay, and Jonsmoor have allied themselves against King Fearnon," the boy recited what had been cried in the village. "They besieged the city of Hearthbrough, and committed ravages in the countryside and the city when it fell. King Fearnon led 600 lances and 750 archers against them, and beat them back across the Brad River, but they have captured knights banneret and bachelor, 40 in all, and demand ransom from King Fearnon. Captives include Lord Clewode and his squires, the twin sons of his sister, Lady Roelle; Lord Gregory of Aldene, Duke of Briardene; his squire, his own son Aelfred; and…"
Tamlyn raced for the stables, where he led forth his horse, threw on bit and bridle and leapt to its bare back. He rode the main street, trotting tightly around pedestrians and livestock that milled about, until he found the crier, in a knot of persons before the public water trough.
Tamlyn listened carefully. What the boy had said the crier repeated almost verbatim, and then he went on, listing the names of all forty knights captured. "Ransom moneys are being collected against promissory that they will be restored when the rebellious alliance is quelled and the perpetrators of crimes against the citizenry are punished, for the King has sworn that he will not tolerate brigands and pillage in Ardinéa. The King and his companies are mustering in the walled city of Salimont. Ransoms are being solicited and collected there; runners are sent to every town of Ardinéa."
Tamlyn dismounted and led his gray to the watering trough. The plash of the water covered the noises of the town, helping him to think.
If he left here to war against Bradmead, Margaret was vulnerable to Moruan. Margaret would be safe for a time in St. Savior's. But what then? If he went after Moruan, she would have no protector, for Gareth must surely ride after Lord Gregory, or to Aldene to raise ransom for Gregory and his knights- his release would be delayed by several days, and the chance of Gregory's being killed would grow each day. If he were killed, whoever was then guardian of Margaret would have no obligation to Tamlyn, but would probably use her hand for reward to one of his allies or champions, as Coulomb had once been offered to him. If Gregory were ransomed and released, he might think himself no longer obligated to honor the betrothal.
Margaret had sacrificed too much for his sake, to let her be passed off onto one she did not desire, her struggles in vain, and her hope dead.
Tamlyn could not simply give the ransom money to Gareth, though he had enough gold hidden in his saddle pouches, and more. If Tamlyn should not return from the path he must now take, his family would make considerable trouble over that.
In the bustle around the fountain Tamlyn prayed. One solution stood out in his mind, and he turned and walked back to St. Savior's leading his horse. When he arrived, he found his saddlebag, drew a package from it, and after gazing thoughtfully at it for a moment, went to see Margaret.
Willa arrayed Margaret in a velvet gown she had brought to wear at Braewode. Sir Gareth gave her away before the door at St. Savior's. Word had reached the townspeople that a Lord and Lady would be wed after Vespers, and the churchyard was full of onlookers. Trembling, breathless with joy, Margaret walked to the door where Tamlyn waited, who wore a white tunic she had embroidered for him at Aldene, and Gareth raised the veil, kissed her cheek, and gave her hand to Tamlyn. They spoke their vows, they placed rings on each other's hands, and Tamlyn kissed her mouth. They knelt and worshipped, they rose, and walked together, husband and wife, from the door of the church, showered with flower petals.
The guest cottage had been cleared of other occupants. Sir Gareth, with John and Geven, rode from the church door toward Salimont, with Gregory's ransom in his hand from Tamlyn. Gilling had ridden on his way on a loaned horse to King's Leigh, his purse filled. Willa and the priest's wife had swept and scrubbed the cottage, laying out such things as Margaret had, and had hung the bed with a length of fine, snowy linen; with garlands of roses and rose petals. The small room welcomed the bridegroom and bride. "It is like a nuptial tent," said Margaret, enchanted. Suddenly she was shaking. She turned away and began to fuss with her veil, folding it corner to corner with bandaged hand and trembling fingers...
"Lady Braewode," said Tamlyn. She looked up and smiled miserably at him. "Oh, Margaret, I know this is not at all what you dreamed of, nor is it what you deserve." Her face collapsed in tears, but she was almost laughing. He wrapped his arms around her, and she around him.
"That isn't it at all…" sh
e sniffled into his shirt.
"Then what, my bride, come, tell me?" He said, lifting her chin to gaze in her eyes. Margaret saw her reflection there, floating on a sapphire tarn in snow. Then he had a kerchief in his hand and was so softly wiping away her tears. For a moment they were standing by Cloud Brook, thrushes singing and water softly playing.
"I...I love you, Sievan," she sighed, and he covered her mouth, so gently, with his own.
Something God puts in men and women that learns to desire another, longs to draw closer, and deeper, and to give and reveal of oneself the intimate regions denied the world, to trust and to open and to receive and to know and to give. Something to be shared with only one, for God is one, and in this longing He gives our nature there is reflected the soul's need and passion to know the One Who made it, the only One it may forever trust. Only to one, may one give all.
One to one, all given, all received-- this is love, and it is altogether lovely.
Morning came stealing through the open windows to intrude within the white linen curtains in which the married couple breathed dreamlessly, long blond and brown locks twined together. With the light and birdsong and chapel bells and the fresh, almost cold air, came inevitability, came preparations, came words fewer and quieter and farther between.
There was a long, silent embrace by the gate. Then Tamlyn mounted his gray horse and rode away, galloping. Margaret stood valiant but with tears flowing, her throbbing hand held to her chest. As she watched him disappear down the road, she whispered the old blessing.
"Christ beside thee, Christ before thee, Christ behind thee, Christ within thee. Christ beneath thee, Christ above thee, Christ to the right of thee, Christ to the left of thee. Christ in thy lying, thy sitting, thy rising. Christ in heart of all who know thee, Christ on tongue of all who meet thee; Christ in eye of all who see thee; Christ in ear of all who hear thee."
Willa came from behind, sliding her hand into Margaret's elbow. Bravely in the pincer grip of exultation and grief, she stood immobile until the rain began.
The gray horse rode east under cobble and over rill, until Tamlyn stood on top of that fateful mountain. There was no trail left to follow. In his mail he stalked the perimeter of the stony hilltop and even called Moruan's name into the echoing void. He lit a fire in plain sight on the mountaintop, using the ring. In its glow he examined the wedding ring on his left hand. He thought of his bride and their one night together. He prayed for wisdom. He sat up most of the night, sleeping when dawn showed over the eastern mountain range.
In the late morning he turned northeast. Through silent forests where few men ever tread, and the trees were large around as cottages, and the moss that grew upon them as deep as a fleece, and it would have been easy to ride ten men abreast under them, and the leaves were turning yellow as gold, he rode to a mountain in the shadow of Arvanne.
Dread he squelched as he approached the hollow hill in the evening. He dismounted by a spring, drinking of the freshet, where moss and lichen with its tiny gray cups covered the knees of an oak growing over the pool. There he shed his mail and all his steel and iron. He closed his eyes in prayer for a long time. When he opened them, the stars shone like day. He rose and turned.
The Elf before him was Siarsian, who regarded him calmly, his hair long and silver-white, a necklace of raindrops around his neck. In the Elven tongue he said only, "Come," and turned away. Tamlyn followed, leaving his horse. They walked and walked. They passed into a chamber bright with peat fire, and even brighter with the presence of the golden-haired Queen of Elvenkind, whose light was nevertheless dimmed with grief. She knelt, wrapped around a bloody figure: Moruan. Her sorrow was eloquent in the very syllables of the Elven tongue in which she spoke.
"His father Finrel was a flowering tree among the sons of the forest, and when the dragon's flame took him from me, the light died from ere my eyes. This child was my heart's resurrection. Now his life slips away. Though he was evil, he is my only son." Tamlyn stood silent. "He wanted that to which he had no right. Is Sievan not also guilty of this?"
"Aye, Queen, it is true. For me there is forgiveness with God. For him, I know not."
"The evil one is the father of lies. Sons of Adam are deceived. We are not. We know evil for what it is. A few choose it. Why? It is a mystery. My son coveted things not his to have. He was of the wind, but craved the fire."
"He makes His angels winds, and His servants flames of fire," Tamlyn murmured, bowing his head in sorrow.
"No servant was Moruan, to Him of whom you speak."
"I return to the fire to you now, Queen. I am not wise enough to handle it. I gave it to a daughter of Eve to win her heart, unthinking of the peril. Even though she had already given it freely," he murmured, placing the beautiful ring before her. She picked it up, compressing it in her palm for a moment, her face hard edged and unreadable by human eyes. Her palm opened and there was a sputter of vanishing yellow flame, and a brilliant blue drop of water in her hand. She turned the palm so that the water ran down her own face and on Moruan's. Her face softened to tenderness that was anguish to look upon.
"There, my son, the only tears that I may shed for you. Go, be the storm wind and beat the ice clouds around the sky." She released the lifeless body. A shiver of wind blew through the chamber and where Moruan had lain, there was nothing.
Galorian knelt bowed for a long time, her face hidden within the shimmering curtain of her hair, queenly even in wretchedness. Tamlyn waited, weeping the tears that Galorian would not allow herself. Finally her lioness face turned to him. "Sievan, you did not kill my son."
"It was my sword, he was my adversary, he was wounded in my defense by one who never would have had anything to do with him, had I not ensnared her in my foolishness," he cried. "I am errant here, intending to seek his death in order to protect her, and to keep from him the ring. I wielded not the sword alone, but I killed Moruan."
"You have spoken well. You know the atonement is not demanded, but given freely; not for your sake, but for mine?"
Tamlyn's mouth was dry, he closed his eyes. No, no, no!
"I know it."
"You know, Sievan, that because he was fallen, and not free, it would not be as a free son, but as a bondman?"
His heart was compressed as though he would cry blood tears. His head bowed down. I have a wife in the other world. But here is she to whom I owe my soul. Oh God, forgive me-
"Behold your servant, my Queen, for the sake of your son Moruan."
Siarsian stepped up behind him with a crystal dagger in his hand. He gathered Tamlyn's golden, waist-length locks in one long-fingered hand and with the other, slowly severed them.
To Lord Gregory Aldene, Duke of Briardene. My Dear Father, I write this letter hoping and praying that it finds you well and at liberty, and Aelfred as well. After we parted last, we encountered some misadventures in the Wilds, to which Sir Gareth, who was with me as protector as you wished, was witness and party. He has hopefully had opportunity to explain all these things to you. He is in no way to be blamed for what befell us, for he discharged his duty honorably and admirably.
My father, I know it has not been exactly as you would have wished, but I am wed, and I trust you will give your blessing to us. We thought not only of our own happiness, but by marrying me Tamlyn was able to put in my hand the price of your ransom, which Gareth carried; and also to assure that your wishes as concerns me be carried out in case your captivity were to end not in the release for which we are fervently praying at the several offices each day.
I remain for the present time at Saint Savior's until you are restored to us and until matters concerning my receipt of the house and lands Tamlyn has given me are resolved, or until he returns from the errand which Gareth will also hopefully have explained to you.
I am recovering well from my wound, and Willa is a great comfort to me.
Your loving daughter, Maggie
Lady Margaret Braewode