Valley of Dry Bones

Chapter Twenty-six

As they strolled along the path from the chapel to the guest lodging, Eliduc stole a look at the Lady Avelina. Her expression was too sad for such a bright day. Stopping, he bent over a yellow wild flower, as if admiring its simple beauty. “Do you remain troubled in spirit?”

Her hands, modestly folded against her waist, began to twist and intertwine with nervous distress. “Although I should not be, the turmoil does continue.”

Plucking the flower out of the ground, he straightened and continued to study the delicate color in the petals. “Simon is with the local hermit.” He turned to look at her. “That he has stayed with the holy man this long, speaks well for your son. Methinks he wishes a better understanding of God’s desires. Although his longing may be recently discovered, our Lord must be pleased.”

“Is it sinful of me to doubt that my son has found a deeper faith?”

“I cannot imagine what other reason he would have to choose the hermit’s company.” Bringing the flower closer to his eyes, he touched one petal with the tip of a finger. Lacking moisture to sustain it in the heat, the flower was beginning to wilt. He frowned.

“He has always desired a warrior’s life and never shown any inclination to serve God by taking vows.”

“Saint Paul actively persecuted the faithful until he traveled the road to Damascus.”

She paled. “I do not want my son to suffer such a hard revelation! A mother’s heart never wants to see her child in pain.”

“We all come to God by differing paths. Perhaps Simon has finally set aside childish things and become a man, as that same Saint Paul once said to the Corinthians.”

Her forehead marked with anxiety, she walked on.

He tossed the flower aside and followed.

Avelina turned and waited for him to catch up. “He swears I shall never succeed in regaining his father’s lands and title.”

“Do you truly have any hope of it?” Eliduc shaded his eyes from the bright sun and looked over her shoulder to watch the lay brothers hoeing in the priory garden. From the chapel he heard the raucous banging on drums and winced, fearing it was practice for the advent of Darius the Mede in the liturgical drama. He had longed for delicately plucked harps and lightly rung finger cymbals. Subtlety was evidently beyond rustic novices, as he had dreaded from the start. He prayed he might endure this performance of Daniel.

“I thought I did until…” She shook her head and fell silent.

“As God’s priest, you may speak freely with me, my lady.” His teeth flashed white under the shadow cast by his hand. “I would never tell any man about the secrets confided in me.”

“You have bestowed so much kindness on us, Father. I am grateful for the interest you have shown my poor lad as well as the time you have spent soothing my own weary soul.”

With undeniable modesty, he bowed his head. “Such is the duty of God’s servant.”

“An obligation that you perform with a benevolence worthy of your calling.” After a moment of hesitation, she continued. “My son is often imprudent and, I fear, did destroy the one possibility he had to regain at least some of his lands. A man of rank showed willingness to argue Simon’s case before the king, then my son cruelly beat the man’s daughter when she refused to lie with him. Although the father was absent when this happened, her mother was outraged and, I fear, will most certainly tell her husband of the act.”

“Perhaps he might permit your son to marry his child.”

“He had greater plans for her than union with a boy of unfortunate paternity, no wealth, and little standing at court.” She shook her head. “Even this man never led me to believe that the king would return both title and all the land to my lad. Now Simon must remain poor, thanks not only to his father’s injudicious acts but because he was foolish as well.”

“Does Simon realize the gravity of his error in offending a man who might have supported his claims?”

Her smile twisted with bitterness. “He protests that he is cursed by the perfidy of women and even hates the rule of his own mother because I am Eve’s daughter as well.” Realizing she had failed to hide her frustration, she glanced at the priest to see how he responded to this indiscretion.

He met her eyes, his features transforming into an expression of sweet compassion.

“He longs to earn his fortune by jousting in tournaments,” Avelina said.

“For that, he needs horse, armor…” Eliduc nodded encouragement for her to continue.

“All of which requires more than I can give him or borrow.” She shifted her gaze so the priest could not see her eyes. “Recently, he suggested he has made contact with a man outside England who might help him with his ambitions.”

Raising an eyebrow, the priest spoke in tones of innocent curiosity while probing for dark sins. “In France, perhaps? Or even Scotland?” There were de Montfort supporters in France, many of whom had escaped into exile with Countess Eleanor short months after the earl’s death. And those cattle thieves to the north were always happy to trouble the English.

Avelina rested a hand over her throat. “France, I think. Are there not many tournaments there where Englishmen often go?”

“The events were prohibited in England while King Henry lived. Now that the Lord Edward is king, he has also failed to show them favor.” He smiled. France suggested contact with those who plotted the king’s death, or at least held little love for Edward in their hearts.

“Our lord king ignored his own father’s prohibition often enough on this matter of tournaments.” Her words were sharply spoken.

“Our new lord is no longer a prince. He must now be a king, my lady. Boys often take on their father’s ways when they reach a man’s estate.”

Avelina cried out, her hand pressed hard against her heart.

“Are you ill, my lady? Shall I call for…?”

“It is no matter, gentle priest.” She dropped her hand but her face remained pale. “I am well enough. I suffer only the sorrow of a mother who has birthed a child too much like his father in his willful ways.”

“If I troubled you with some thoughtless remark, I beg pardon.” His forehead creased with concern while his lips twitched into a fleeting smile.

She began to moan. Tears flowed down her cheeks which she did nothing to hide.

“I can promise you God’s peace, if you will let Him into your heart,” he murmured, stepping closer to encourage any confidence she might long to reveal.

Each word broken in two by sobs, she whispered, “Will He forgive treason?”

“Surely you have not done such a thing,” he said, his tone a purr of comfort with no hint of condemnation.

“My son may have. Baron Otes visited me the evening before we arrived at this priory and claimed that Simon’s name had been mentioned in the company of others who regret de Montfort’s death. These others are men who plot to assassinate our new king because, they believe, he has turned his back on the principles of monarchial restraint for which the earl stood.”

“Did you believe this story? The baron was not always correct about details or fully honest in his accusations.” He waved a hand. “You son may have uttered little more than ill-advised words. Perhaps something about wishing his father had not been killed at Evesham so Simon would not be obliged to seek charity, or that his godfather showed him favor as a child. Innocent enough remarks by themselves, if Baron Otes did not tint them with a darker hue and suggest a deeper disaffection.”

Avelina shook her head. “I did not have the courage to question the lad before he went to see the hermit. I pray you are right.” Hope returned color to her cheeks. “My boy often says and does things without thinking, things that are truly of little note.” Then the short-lived optimism faded. “Yet he hated the baron and was unwise in voicing his feelings. Might someone have overheard Simon and thought he had something to do with his death?”

“Your son is still a boy. Surely no one thinks him a threat. Was he not with you the night of the murder? He and I spoke some little while, then he said he intended to return to your side.”

“In truth, I cannot confirm where he slept that night. In the morning, when I arose, he had left for the hermit’s hut.” All color fled Avelina’s face. “Wasn’t the baron found near that place? Did he not die just after we arrived here? Oh, I pray no one has thought to accuse Simon! I do fear for my son.” She wrung her hands. “Child though he may be in my heart, he has the body of a man. That does not argue for his innocence if someone heard him speak ill of Baron Otes!”

Eliduc dismissed her fears with a smile. “I have heard no rumors about your son, either here or at the court. As for any accusation of murder, if others in this party had overheard Simon speak in anger against the baron, they would surely have accused the lad by now of the murder. Your son may own a man’s body, but he speaks like a child as many know well enough. Nay, my lady, have no fear. Instead, go back to the chapel and pray for your son to find a true vocation serving God. With no hope of worldly wealth and a tendency to ill-conceived ideas, Simon might find safety and purpose serving the Church.”

She nodded, the muscles in her face sagging with weariness.

This time he did not trouble himself to hide a satisfied smirk.