then bowed it as if the weight was too much for her to hold upright. “You have heard the sad news about your father’s retainer?”
“Aye, I have that,” Eleanor said gently. “I will take whatever poor comfort my words may bring to the family.” She hesitated. “It was an accident, I’ve been told, but I grieve for the wife and babes he left behind.” She knew they would not starve, but even the security of knowing that would do little more than blunt one sharp edge of the pain they were suffering.
“As do I. My father swore he’d make provisions for them. He feels responsibility for Henry’s ill-considered act that caused the horse to shy.” She shuddered. “Nonetheless, his family will long rue this horrible day.”
Where was that joy that once gave light to her friend’s eyes and a flush to her cheeks, Eleanor wondered with a growing sadness. Juliana had always had a kind heart and suffered over the death of any of God’s creatures, but her nature had been such that she had always quickly regained a delight in life, a joy that was contagious even to those who suffered the many sorrows of a mortal world. What was it, then, that had cast such a shadow on the spirit of her old playmate?
“Would you walk with me on the ramparts this morning, Juliana?” Eleanor asked. “The sight of a new day may help raise our spirits, and it has been many years since we last spoke. We have much to tell each other.”
“I would be honored,” Juliana replied, her voice almost a whisper.
“Come then and let us greet the sun. It is God’s gift even in the dark seasons,” Eleanor said and reached out to take her friend’s hand. It felt so frail and dry, like that of an aged woman nearing death. She squeezed it with tenderness.
***
High on the castle wall, the air was biting sharp to the nostrils and brought pink to the cheeks of the two women standing quietly on the stone walkway. As they looked down over the dark-wooded valley, they could see mists swirling, hiding sights from view for a moment and exposing them with teasing brevity the next. White smoke from a few of the village houses, below the hill on which Wynethorpe rose, curled upward and disappeared into the growing haze. Wives were tending stews and baking breads to sustain their men and babes over the cold day. In the center of the village, surrounded by hovels, lay a small church. The women on the castle ramparts could see a cluster of diminutive figures, dull with the colors of poverty, coming for alms as well as for the fat-soaked trenchers and discarded scraps from the dinner the castle inhabitants had enjoyed the night before. Although they could not see them through the mists, Eleanor and Juliana knew that cattle wandered in the fields between the village and the forest in search of winter-faded grass beneath the snow. Dark-haired goats stood on their hind legs to nibble on low branches and brindled sheep huddled together for warmth. Indeed, they could hear their bleating cries through the frosty air. At such a distance and with the softening of the hazy light, it was an idyllic scene.
“I have a favor to beg of you, my lady,” Juliana began, her breath turning into white curls like the outline of decorative letters in an illuminated manuscript.
Eleanor smiled at her. “My lady? Have you forgotten our youth together? We were Eleanor and Juliana once.”
“Now you are head of Tyndal Priory. As prioress, I honor you.”
“The honor is my father’s. I wear it on his behalf.”
For the first time, Juliana smiled. “From what we hear, you have earned enough on your own. George has told us how many at court sing of your wisdom and bravery.” She reached over and touched Eleanor’s arm. “He sends greetings and, aye, a brother’s love as well.”
“Were his greetings why you wished to speak to me alone?” Eleanor asked. She felt a knot of worry in her stomach. If George was sending a brother’s love, she told herself, that was a good
“Aye, I have that,” Eleanor said gently. “I will take whatever poor comfort my words may bring to the family.” She hesitated. “It was an accident, I’ve been told, but I grieve for the wife and babes he left behind.” She knew they would not starve, but even the security of knowing that would do little more than blunt one sharp edge of the pain they were suffering.
“As do I. My father swore he’d make provisions for them. He feels responsibility for Henry’s ill-considered act that caused the horse to shy.” She shuddered. “Nonetheless, his family will long rue this horrible day.”
Where was that joy that once gave light to her friend’s eyes and a flush to her cheeks, Eleanor wondered with a growing sadness. Juliana had always had a kind heart and suffered over the death of any of God’s creatures, but her nature had been such that she had always quickly regained a delight in life, a joy that was contagious even to those who suffered the many sorrows of a mortal world. What was it, then, that had cast such a shadow on the spirit of her old playmate?
“Would you walk with me on the ramparts this morning, Juliana?” Eleanor asked. “The sight of a new day may help raise our spirits, and it has been many years since we last spoke. We have much to tell each other.”
“I would be honored,” Juliana replied, her voice almost a whisper.
“Come then and let us greet the sun. It is God’s gift even in the dark seasons,” Eleanor said and reached out to take her friend’s hand. It felt so frail and dry, like that of an aged woman nearing death. She squeezed it with tenderness.
***
High on the castle wall, the air was biting sharp to the nostrils and brought pink to the cheeks of the two women standing quietly on the stone walkway. As they looked down over the dark-wooded valley, they could see mists swirling, hiding sights from view for a moment and exposing them with teasing brevity the next. White smoke from a few of the village houses, below the hill on which Wynethorpe rose, curled upward and disappeared into the growing haze. Wives were tending stews and baking breads to sustain their men and babes over the cold day. In the center of the village, surrounded by hovels, lay a small church. The women on the castle ramparts could see a cluster of diminutive figures, dull with the colors of poverty, coming for alms as well as for the fat-soaked trenchers and discarded scraps from the dinner the castle inhabitants had enjoyed the night before. Although they could not see them through the mists, Eleanor and Juliana knew that cattle wandered in the fields between the village and the forest in search of winter-faded grass beneath the snow. Dark-haired goats stood on their hind legs to nibble on low branches and brindled sheep huddled together for warmth. Indeed, they could hear their bleating cries through the frosty air. At such a distance and with the softening of the hazy light, it was an idyllic scene.
“I have a favor to beg of you, my lady,” Juliana began, her breath turning into white curls like the outline of decorative letters in an illuminated manuscript.
Eleanor smiled at her. “My lady? Have you forgotten our youth together? We were Eleanor and Juliana once.”
“Now you are head of Tyndal Priory. As prioress, I honor you.”
“The honor is my father’s. I wear it on his behalf.”
For the first time, Juliana smiled. “From what we hear, you have earned enough on your own. George has told us how many at court sing of your wisdom and bravery.” She reached over and touched Eleanor’s arm. “He sends greetings and, aye, a brother’s love as well.”
“Were his greetings why you wished to speak to me alone?” Eleanor asked. She felt a knot of worry in her stomach. If George was sending a brother’s love, she told herself, that was a good
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