The Chessboard Queen (29 page)

• • •

“You’re sure, darling, that you’ll be warm enough?” Sidra asked. “I have a fleece-lined blanket I can give you, too.”

“Mother, I will be fine. It’s quite warm today and the sun has almost cleared the fog. We’ll stop tomorrow night at Guinevere’s parents and you know they will see to it that I’m clean and presentable and very healthy before I leave. Please, don’t worry.”

“Who said I was worried?” Sidra retorted. “I’m only concerned a little.”

She was angry with herself. “Too late!” she kept thinking. “I can’t make her go through each stage of childhood again, just because I missed the first times. Oh, how I want to hold her and rock her and make her my baby again.”

She was careful not to let the young woman beside her know she had such designs on her. Yet she wanted so much to bind her daughter just a little to her. There must be something Lydia could take that would remind her of her mother.

“Wait just one more minute, dear,” Sidra said as they were preparing to go. “I won’t be long.”

She hurried to her room and threw open one of the chests, searching among the good linens. Finally her hand struck something hard and she drew it out. Her eyes clouded as she rested her hands upon the polished surface of the box. Then she shook herself and hurried back out to the waiting group.

“I’m sorry, my love,” she panted slightly. “I wanted to find this for you.”

She handed Lydia the box. It was of a rich auburn wood inlaid with oak, upon which was painted the likeness of a man and a woman. They seemed familiar to Lydia, but she couldn’t place them.

“Your grandfather had it made for me when your father and I were married. The artist was a Greek. My mother’s jewels and a few other things are in it. I was saving it for your wedding, but take it with you, in case I can’t get away to see it. Please, dear, to remember me?”

Lydia dismounted and carefully stowed the box among her clothes. She wavered a minute and then flung herself into Sidra’s arms.

“I won’t forget you, Mother,” she wept. “I love you terribly. I’ll stay if you want. I wouldn’t be unhappy here with you.”

Sidra soothed her back, content with the reception of the gift. “Maybe not, my dearest, but you will be happier where you are going. If your father approves, I will be glad to see you next fall with this Cei of yours. It’s about time one of you gave a thought to marriage. Constantine . . . well, never mind. I know you’re eager to be off. Take care of her, Geraldus.”

Sidra watched them as they slowly picked their way among the rocks up to the road. They would be out of sight soon—a turn, a bend, and the stones obscured them. She sighed and put her mind to the day’s work.

“Cornelius! Lamden! Isn’t it your turn to curry the horses? John, get a crew to bring some water from the well. What are you girls doing? Standing? Take advantage of the sunlight, bring your work out here!”

She bustled back into the castle. She was glad that they had eaten early today to give Geraldus and Lydia a good meal before they left. It kept her from having to oversee the fosterlings now while she still ached from the parting. A few hours alone, struggling with accounts and reports, would do her good. She gave the sky one look before she went inside. Perhaps it would be a nice day. The fog had almost gone; there was just a strip left clinging to the shoreline. The sun would burn it off soon. Spring might have reached the coast, after all.

She had not reached the first staircase when she heard the strangled screams from the guard tower. She froze only long enough to catch the startled cries and the sudden clink of metal.

The children! She raced back outside. The girls were still gossiping in the courtyard. Thank God, they hadn’t obeyed her!

“Cornelius!” she cried. “Get all the horses out and put the girls on them at once. Take them into the forest . . . far! No, Merith, you can’t go back for your shawl!” She pushed the girl toward the stables.

“We’re being invaded! Hurry! Go! Get help!”

They seemed paralyzed. She shoved at them and screeched again for the boys with the horses. They came loping out, each holding two sets of reins. Sidra fairly threw the girls on, two to a horse, and sent them off as the boys went back for more mounts.

“Go on! Faster! This is no time to cry, child. You’re a soldier’s daughter. Now you boys, both on one horse. I need some for the others inside. Stay with the girls and don’t any of you come back for any reason. Do you understand?”

She slapped the rump of the final horse as it went off. The screams were becoming louder. Who else was still inside? Some of the boys were working there, she knew, and a few servants. They must have heard the noise by now. If only someone had the sense to grab a torch and head for the signal pyre, always dry and ready. She smelled smoke. Good. But she had no illusion that help would come in time. Her only hope was to get everyone but the guards safely away.

Odd. The smell of smoke was stronger as she entered the interior of Cador castle. She started coughing, her eyes watering. In the great hall it was impossible to see or breathe and she had to feel her way around the wall to the far door, the one leading out to the ocean and the pyre. She was choking by now and crawling, pulling air from the crevices in the stone. She bumped into something. She recoiled from it and then reached out her hand again.

“Oh, no! My poor boy! Whatever am I going to tell your father?”

One brave child had kept his head and run to give the signal. But he had been seen as he raced down the corridors, flaming torch in hand. He had traveled only a few yards after the spear struck him. The torch flew from his grasp as he staggered and fell and the oily straw on the floor had picked up the flame and carried it across the room to the wooden tables and chairs and the cloth hangings.

Sidra dragged herself out into the air. In her horror and near suffocation, she had not noticed that the sounds of battle had ceased. In the open air, she heard the crackle of the growing conflagration behind her. Then she saw them. Her smoke-scorched eyes were almost blinded as the sun struck their silver hair and golden trappings. She reached for the knife at her belt. She also was a soldier’s daughter—and a soldier’s wife and a soldier’s mother. Sidra had no intention of giving the Saxons a hostage.

Her last comfort was the knowledge that Lydia was safely away.

• • •

Lydia and Geraldus had not hurried after they left. There was no need to rush. Geraldus was deep in a recital of the new piece and Lydia deep in her dreams when the first of the girls caught up with them.

She was sobbing violently as she fell from her horse. The girl behind her tried to push out a few words between gasps.

“Saxons . . . guards . . . attack. . . ! Sidra . . . sent us. We can’t stop. Hurry, hurry!” she panted as she tried to pull the other girl back on.

The other girls and the two boys were just behind them. Lydia gaped at them a moment and then her face went blank.

“Mother!” she screamed and turned her horse back toward the ocean.

Geraldus was bewildered by the cries and garbled noise around him, which was mixed with the continued singing of his chorus. But he knew at once that Lydia had to be stopped. He nudged old Plotinus to a trot, but the ancient beast could manage nothing faster. Geraldus strained forward. She was getting too far ahead. With a rush of panic, he dug his heels hard into Plotinus’ flanks. The horse was so shocked that he actually broke into a run.

They would not have caught up with her, though, if she had not stopped at the top of the path when she saw the thick brown smoke rising from the castle and the two Saxon men near the wall.

“Mother!” she screamed again. They looked up and spotted her.

Geraldus called out to her. But she did not heed him. She was intent on reaching the castle. Plotinus made one last effort and cut her off. Geraldus grabbed the reins and turned Lydia’s horse around.

“There is nothing you can do!” he yelled at her. "We must go back to safety!”

He felt the thump against his cloak as a hard shock and thought someone must have thrown a rock at him. He prayed that the horses would give them the advantage and that the Saxons would not try to follow. It was not until they reached the comparative haven of the forest that the pain began to grow, sharp and hot across his back and his left side. Lydia twisted around on her horse to berate him for pulling her back. When she saw him, her face went white.

The spear must not have entered up to the barb. If he had been wearing leather mail, it might not have penetrated at all. At any rate, it must have struck him as he fled and then clattered back onto the stones. Blood was running freely down his side, staining Plotinus’ flank and dripping to the earth.

Lydia eased him to the ground and tried to staunch the flow with a gown from her bag, but the bright red seeped through and onto her hands. She wrapped him in all the bedding and pillowed his head in her lap. The sunshine receded from beneath the trees as she sat there, her hands pressed tightly over the wound, trying to keep his life within him. She spoke to him, but he only cried out or murmured words she could not understand.

To Geraidus it seemed that the fog had returned, accompanied by an occasional stab of light, which was his pain. Sounds around him were muffled and his music had ceased altogether. As the day lengthened, he thought he saw hands reaching to him through the mist, but he could not tell if they meant to rescue him or snatch him away. Once he opened his eyes and saw Lydia’s face inverted above him. It wavered and then vanished.

“I must help her,” he thought. But his body would not respond.

The light was getting brighter, a fire burning into his heart. He tried to breathe, but could not feel the rush of air.

“What is wrong?” He made an effort to form the words. The fog was growing thicker and cold. “I am dying!” He heard a voice, not angelic, but alto.

“Geraidus, Geraidus, please. We haven’t much time. In another few moments there will be no choice. We don’t know what happens to humans when you leave your bodies. We can promise you nothing. But now, and only now, you may decide to stay with us. We are not immortal. Our lives will reach only to the end of this world. After that, we have no clue. We offer you a place of honor among us for that time. We want you so much, Geraidus—
I
want you so. But you must choose. It has been said that man has been promised eternal rest and bliss. We can offer you only ourselves as you know us. Geraidus?”

Odd how the agony had faded. He felt nothing. He could see nothing. But he had the feeling that somewhere in front of him there was a door and that on the other side of it he would be welcome. She was asking him to turn aside from it and go with her. He thought of all the nights she had shared his bed. He had never seen her, but he never doubted that she was as she felt and sounded. He had not tired of her voice in over twenty years. And the others! The chorus was just beginning to take form. There was so much more to do. It might be the end of the world before they sang the way he wanted them to.

Yet he wanted desperately to see the other side of the door.

If only he could have one glimpse of her. It would make it easier to decide. Geraldus felt the beat of his life slowing and stopping.

All at once he was sure. “I have not finished my work. I won’t leave you until it is done. If my soul is lost for this, then so be it.”

The fog vanished. There she was, standing before him, beautiful and radiant, with tears of joy blotching her face. She gave him a shy smile.

“Can you bear a millennium with me, do you think?”

His last thread of human existence broke and fluttered away. The pain was gone, the loneliness, the sense of belonging nowhere. Geraldus found himself surrounded by people shaking his hands, clapping him on the back, all overjoyed to see him.

“Thank you, Master, thank you!” they exclaimed, and they all tried to speak at once, making promises, offering shelter and tribute, trying to tell him about their place on the earth. Over it all, he caught the eyes of his alto.

“We’re not what you expected, are we?” she asked.

He shook his head. They were not all beautiful or young. They were not of the same race, but mixtures of many. They were so different and the possibilities of life with them so far beyond what he had imagined that he was suffused with delight and eagerness.

They were all standing together in the clearing. A little way from them, a drab shadow compared to the vividness of the chorus, sat Lydia, alone, in despair, sobbing over the body that had once been his, crying for him, for her mother, and for the fear of being left alone in the dark. Geraldus took a step toward her, but the alto stopped him.

“There is nothing you can do. We can only watch. She is not one of those who can see us. It is hard sometimes. But I can tell you that someone is coming soon who can give her some comfort.”

“Can we stay until then? I can’t bear to leave her yet.”

“It would be better to go, I think. It is hard to watch such suffering. They will mourn you, you know. I first discovered

I could touch you on a night of such sadness. In all my life, I was never before able to give a human my solace.”

He drew her close to him. “But in all this time, you never gave me your name!”

She laughed. “I’m afraid it would sound ugly to your ears. Let us find a new one for me. In a hundred years or so, there may be one we like.”

A hundred years! He kissed her. And that would only be the beginning!

• • •

In the darkening clearing, Lydia shivered and cried until she could cry no more.

Chapter Sixteen

Guinevere hung over the watchtower wall, the guard stiffly on duty behind her. He wished violently that she would stop her mooning and go find something to do. His back was killing him.

She paid him no attention. All her life she had found that the only solution to a troubled mind was to look at the world from the highest place possible. The guard’s discomfort was his own problem.