Chapter 14      Conversation

 

 

 

Lady Em touched the reins of her palfrey and the horse stopped smoothly.  Wind blew her coat, pinched her nose with cold and caused wisps of hair to flutter into her eyes.  Absently mindedly, she brushed a lock back and tucked it under her woolen hood.

Wind rushed in waves across the pastures and propelled brightly fringed clouds so low across the blue sky she felt she could reach up and catch passage on one.  As the clouds moved, so sunlight galloped across the fields in swiftly moving patches, merging with other galloping patches or cascading over far ridges.  Some patches disappeared like foxes going to ground, only to spring up again from the forest like flushed grouse.  Lady Em's pale brown eyes watered from wind and emotion.  The day was glorious and the few hours left in it begged not for waste.

The bay gelding she rode tossed his head and tested the air.  The coolness and tug of the current teased him into motion, but she touched the reins again and he calmed.

She had noticed someone standing below her on the edge of the fields and stopped when she saw who it was.  Cadmon Druce stood with his back to her, arms folded and shoulder against the pied bark of a massive sycamore, gazing into the trees across the valley, now nearly denuded of leaves.  He was without horse.

Had he heard her?  He seemed to have not.  Then, was she spying?  She felt uncomfortable as a spy, yet reluctant to intrude herself on the private thoughts of so private a man; but days had passed since their introduction in the private chambers of the tower and her husband seemed uneasy with further conversation.  Certainly, there had been ample talking in the interim, the safe kind, the kind that assumes the character of egg white, with no mention of the subjects that intrigued her.  She did not know this man, Cadmon Druce, but she determined to make his acquaintance in more than social courtesy.  He had impressed her as someone profoundly at peace with himself, and who, facing the mysteries of eternity, could resist that?  She unhooked her right leg from the horn of the side saddle and eased herself to the ground.  The motion brought pains to her back and legs.  'Tis the cold, she said to herself, but in an undercurrent of thought, she knew better.  Odd, vague pains.  What other tales could a gray hair tell?

As she looked up, she again saw Cadmon standing beside the tree, arms to his sides, this time facing her.  He smiled.

"Lady Em," he said softly, so softly that she more saw the movement of his lips than heard his words above the rush of wind.  He waved and began climbing toward her.

His head bent low as he surely placed the soles of his shoes on the slippery layers of russet colored leaves.  Wind brushed and clattered through the branches.  Squirrels gathered acorns, rooks moved like smudges of soot over the fields, and jackdaws swam and dove through the gusts like fish in the curls of waves.  Cadmon stepped up beside her.  She offered her gloved hand and he touched it briefly with his ungloved fingers.

"Lady Em," he repeated, and stood before her as easily as before his much attended old horse.  Few men could stand so easily, she remarked to herself, without feeling self conscious.  Not so, Cadmon.  Such perspective was rare.

"Call me Em," she said pleasantly.  "Under the light of skies like these, anything else sounds false."

"Em."  His voice, though matter-of-fact, had a touch of lightness.  He was waiting for her to speak.

Em frowned briefly.  His manner was so casual, so masterful.  It was disconcerting.  She sidestepped to gather her horse's reins and think.  The truth was, she wanted to talk to him.

"Sir Cadmon," she began.

"Please," he interrupted, "The sky demands familiarity."

Em smiled at the play on her own words.  "Cadmon," she laughed, "since your first conversation with husband, I confess I have been very curious about you."

He raised his chin slightly, as if saying, Oh?

"I am curious about a man who sees a holy vision and undergoes spiritual transformation as a result.  That is not every day, Cadmon.  That is not common.  And I cannot, unlike my husband, dismiss such things as uncomfortable topics of conversation.  I must know more."

Cadmon's eyes narrowed, more with humor than suspicion.  "Why?" he asked simply.

Em paused.  Why?  What a question.  She really did not know.

"Simple curiosity," she answered after a moment's hesitation.

"Among cats, perhaps," he said.  "Not so for you."  And with that, he allowed an uncomfortable silence to develop.

Em broke the silence.  "Is that a refusal?"

"No."

She sighed.  Sir Cadmon would not yield easily.  She continued, "There is a peacefulness about you, almost like that of a priest, except that your peace was approached through strength and trouble, I think, not humility and servitude."

"You are very perceptive."

"For a woman?"

"I make no distinction.  Do you like walking?"

"Yes, very much."

"Let us walk, then."

"Back?"

"If you wish.  I will take your horse."

And with no more preparation than that, Cadmon took the reins from her hand and they proceeded down the road, toward the manor house.

"What would you ask?" he said after a few steps.

"You are direct."

"The sky." He gestured upward.

Em smiled back.  The sky would work many excuses this afternoon.

"Cadmon," she began, "you stand out in a crowd."

"If that is a compliment, I am flattered."

"An observation.  You are very strange.  Foreign."

"I grew up within the walls of Norbury Manor," he replied innocently.

Em tested him with a metaphor.  "Long ago.  More than a lifetime ago."

Cadmon glanced at her expression.  She looked straight ahead, but caught the movement out of the corner of her eye.

Em continued, "Do you understand my meaning?"

"I believe so."

They walked a little while in silence.  The wind whispered among the branches.

Cadmon spoke, paraphrasing.  "Why am I here?  Am I a danger to your husband?  Do I side with King John or the French loyalists?  Do I correctly echo your concerns?"

"There is more."

He studied her a moment, then said, "I think you wonder if I have glimpsed God."

Em snapped her head around and regarded the man beside her, suddenly taken off guard.  Her eyes were troubled.

He smiled slightly.  "It is not so unusual a question, Em.  I have not read your mind, and of those who know me well, you are not the first to ask it."

Em suppressed a nervous laugh.  "Perhaps not.  As I recognized before, you are uncommonly perceptive."

"I apologize for a bad habit."

She began walking again, taking a deep breath and examining the branches of the trees as the clouds passed behind them.  The double movement of her walking and the clouds drifting played strangely against the branches and she felt dizzy.  She looked down at the road again.  He had not responded to the question, and apparently did not intend to.  Later, then.  She would not forever abandon the subject.

"To be honest, I am not used to talking to men who are so educated.  Your perceptiveness is only part of your cloak.  You have much learning."

Cadmon looked innocently at her.  She smiled easily again.

"Your secrets are not so secret."

"They never are.  That is why I have so few."

"For instance," she went on as if he had said nothing, "you have been seen reading books on several different occasions.  As many languages as I have fingers on my hands."

"I assure you, that is an exaggeration.  Your chaplain manages several languages, himself."

"Not so many as you, I think."  Again, Cadmon failed to offer anything further on the subject.  He would not be drawn out.  She continued, "As I have heard from several sources, your learning extends to Latin, French, English, German, Arabic, and several others, which our household gossips were certain to note, were different from anything else they had ever seen.  Why, simply to own that many books marks you as a man of some difference, Cadmon.  There are very few knights who can boast command of even their native tongue, and fewer still who can read it."

Cadmon shrugged, apparently bored with the subject.  "Learning comes with time, if one chooses to pursue it."

It was like screaming into a cave.  One's voice became lost in labyrinthine darkness, and no echo returned.  Cadmon did not like discussing himself, a trait significantly different from most people, male or female.  But, he was a surpassing listener.

Em regarded him thoughtfully.  Cadmon's head had the shape of those she had seen on Roman statues near Bath, but his face was more ascetic, his eyes at once shrewd and open.  His nose and chin had a Saxon flavor, his cheekbones higher than the common, almost Norse.  He claimed land in the border country of Scotland, but he was not so easily suited.  He was apart in his looks, as in his company, as in his presence.  So much from so many places.  She could imagine him as a precocious child in a vast market of talent and attribute, shopping, picking over the wares spread before him like a shrewd captain outfitting a ship for a voyage.  Long ago, he had attained a sense of spiritual comfort.  She could see that.  In a way, he was self-created.

But how much can one trust one's feelings when judging men?  How much is there?  How much is reflected back from the viewer?  There is a truly dreadful gulf between spirits trapped in corporal bodies.  Were the body not such an impediment!

She sought the features of Cadmon's face.  He stood quite still, admiring the clouds and the leafless branches as would an artist.  He possessed very little beard.  He visited the barber more often than most.  His hair grew overlong, and though clean, appeared somewhat unkempt.  It betrayed no vanity; it was, simply, hair.  Where most men retain some baby fat in their faces until extreme old age, Cadmon's face was drawn lean and cold, and would seem very hard indeed if not for the comfort of his eyes.  Yet even those, she suspected, could freeze over like a lake in winter, if driven by circumstance.  She looked about his face for something to trust, and though no single element beckoned, the combination, the whole, signaled itself as solid as any granite boulder protruding from the heath.

Without doubt, he contained an immense strength in both body and spirit, a rare combination in any degree, but those few others of her acquaintance who had impressed her with either fell into shadow beside him.  He appeared to move through life like a boundless, inchoate river, unimpeded, flowing around obstacles rather than confronting them, but reaching his subtle goals, nonetheless.  His ego seemed to lie far beyond the taunts of men, yet, beneath the surface of his waters, she felt there dwelt a leviathan, a rage which surpassed knowing.  Why did she think so?  She could not say.  He held it contained, banked by sturdy walls, but it was there.  She could sense it.

Such rage was not intended for them, and she shuddered at the thought of such rage slipping its leash.  If Cadmon held it abated for a particular man, she feared for that man, whoever he might be, whatever he might have done.

"Have I passed muster?" Cadmon asked suddenly.  He looked quizzical, in good humor.

Em winced with embarrassment.  She had been probing his face overlong.

"Now I apologize," she said.  "I am sorry."

"Yet you reached a decision, so the time was well spent."

"From my heart, I wish you would stop doing that!" she exclaimed half seriously.  "I feel as transparent as church glass."

"I simply read your expressions.  I watched your eyes, even as you were studying mine.  In them, I saw a favorable decision reached.  There is no magic in that."

Thoughtfully, Em pushed an errant wisp of hair back under her hood.  "Perhaps," she said, still a bit ruffled.

They walked several yards further, rounded a bend, and in the valley, saw the walls of Norbury Manor and the town just east of it.

"Cadmon," she said suddenly, keeping even pace and looking straight ahead, "why are you here?"

Silence followed, and Em glanced at him.  His brow was furrowed and he stared at the road abstractly.  Now, she thought with satisfaction, he was uncertain.  For some reason, his perplexity made her feel easier and better disposed towards him.

"The truth?" said Cadmon.

"Please."

"Can I have your oath it will go no further until I broach it myself?"

"So long as it does no harm to those I love, any oath you choose."

"That is enough."  He walked several steps further, the horse patiently following.

"It will sound quite dramatic, I am afraid, but England stands at a crossroad.  Of the threats afoot, you know of Philip Augustus and his son, Louis, and their waiting armies in France, and you know of the rebellious barons on this soil, who owe allegiance to the ruler who promises them most and taxes them least."

Em nodded.  "King John has not the balance of the times.  That is commonly felt."

"Yet, there are other forces at work.  Subtle forces which move in shadows, deadlier than armies, intrigues which can penetrate the cracks in old walls without making a sound or shadow."

Em shivered.  "You speak like a magician.  What is the nature of this thing?"

"Murder, Em, murder and assassination."

"Here?"

"No, elsewhere.  The attractor of such mischief is more royal than the Cotswolds produce."

"It is the King, then, is it not?  You have come to warn the king of some plot?"

Cadmon smiled thinly and asked, "Must I say more?"

Em considered.  "You are reluctant, and I can only respect your motives.  Answer this, instead," she said flatly.  "What favor will you ask of husband?"

"Now, it is you who is being perceptive."

Em laughed once, politely but humorlessly, and maintained her look of expectation.

"I need a place to stay, a sturdy man or two, provisions, and safe passage for all under William's seal."

"That is all?"

"All."

Em frowned and looked into his eyes again.

"I am not sure I should see a lie if one existed."

"These are as transparent as church glass."

"That, I doubt, Sir Cadmon.  That, I doubt."  Em stopped and reached for her horse's reins.  Cadmon silently handed them over and provided assistance in her remount.  After having situated herself, Em looked down at the knight.  "Even after so short an acquaintance, Cadmon Druce, I feel I can trust you.  It may be because of the stories I have heard on melancholy evenings about a strange boy who became a knight of surpassing skill and is still loved like a son by his uncle.  Or it may be because I do not believe I could feel so at ease near a man I could not trust.  The why of these things, I do not know, and I pray my intuition does not betray me."

"Trust yourself, Em," he said with a touch of irony.  "I do."

Em glanced again at the mark of the ring on Cadmon's wedding finger.  She contemplated his words, and wondered what subtle change in meaning he effected by his tone.  Then she nodded, much as she would have to an old friend.

"Goodbye, Cadmon," she said, and nudged her horse into a smooth trot.  She called over her shoulder, "On the morrow, we will expect you to evening dinner!"

Cadmon waved his acceptance, and Em's palfrey moved to a canter.  After she was safely away, Cadmon left the road and broke into an easy run across the fields to the manor house gate.