It was Cassandra's idea to honeymoon in the British Isles. When Jenkins asked her where she would like to go, he expected her to name some warm, romantic, tropical location, especially considering that they were marrying in late January. But she surprised him, and asked instead to go to the places in Britain connected with his youth and young manhood. She wanted to see where he was born, where he had grown up, where Camelot had been located, the battlefields where he had fought as a knight of the Round Table—all of it. He was taken aback by the request, and Jenkins had stared at her for a moment before finally finding his voice to ask why; the Librarian responded simply, saying that she wanted to learn everything she could about his past, and that the beginning was the best place to start. At first the ancient immortal balked at her request, but in the end he acquiesced. He decided that perhaps this was a good opportunity to finally bury some of the old ghosts that still haunted him.
Many of the places she wanted to go to he hadn't visited in centuries. Some locations held such bad memories for him that once he had left them he never laid eyes on them again. The Northumberland seacoast town now known as Bamburgh was one of those places. He left it at the age of sixteen and never looked back. Until today.
The inquisitive Librarian, in the course of her research in preparation for their trip, had discovered that Bamburgh Castle was traditionally linked with the home castle of Sir Lancelot, and so of course she wanted to see it. Bamburgh Castle was not Lancelot's actual home—that had been destroyed ages ago, in the aftermath of the fall of Camelot, when the armies of Morgan le Fay and Mordred laid waste to Arthur's domain after his defeat at the Battle of Camlann. The current castle, sitting like a crouched beast on a rise of land overlooking the town with its back against the sea, had been built on the site where Lancelot's castle, named Joyous Gard, had once stood. It was in Joyous Gard that young Galahad was brought to live at the age of fourteen after his father knighted him. It was here over the next two years that Galahad received the education he needed to be a knight of the prestigious Court of Camelot.
The newlyweds arrived in Bamburgh near noontime. They leisurely drove from London, preferring to rent a car rather than keep popping through the magic door of the Annex whenever they moved from place to place. For Cassandra it was a pleasant way to take in the English countryside, and this way they could stop along the way at a moment's notice if Jenkins saw something or passed through a location that jogged his memory.
At least it was pleasant for most of the way. While she did the driving, Jenkins napped part of the way, but his sleep was uneasy. He made quiet sounds of distress as he slept, mumbling in the old Celtic dialect he had grown up speaking. Some time ago Cassandra had finally convinced Jenkins to begin teaching her the ancient language to her, but she wasn't nearly fluent enough yet to understand very much of what he said. She caught the words for 'father', 'no' and 'please', but everything else was lost to her. She kept hearing one word repeated over and over again, and even though she didn't know what the word meant, she got the distinct feeling that it wasn't something good. She said nothing about it when he finally awoke, and he didn't say anything about the dream he had been having.
After checking in at their hotel and leaving their luggage there, they made the easy walk to the massive castle, grateful for a chance to stretch their legs after the long drive. As the couple approached the Main Gate of the castle, Cassandra immediately noticed a change in her new husband. Actually, she felt the change more than she saw it; it was uncomfortably similar to what she had felt in the car on the way to Bamburgh. Not long after their Sealing, Jenkins had explained to her that because they were now bound by the Seal of their Tree of Love, the magic of the Tree enabled them to literally feel what the other was feeling, if the emotion was strong enough. In the car, as he dreamed, she had noticed a strange sensation in the very core of her being, a feeling of fear or dread, mixed with something she couldn't describe. 'Nausea' was the closest word she could come up with.
As they toured the castle, Jenkins became quiet and reflective, answering most of her questions in monosyllables or with vague, wordless sounds. Eventually she stopped asking questions altogether and simply observed him, the strange queasy feeling from the car returning to the pit of her stomach. Eventually they entered the part of the castle now called the Kings Hall; in medieval times it had been called the Great Hall, where receptions and feasts had been held by the rulers of Northumberland. Cassandra noticed with alarm that the knight's face paled to a deathly white and he visibly shuddered.
"Jenkins, are you all right?" she whispered, her brow furrowed with concern. Jenkins looked down at her with a distant look on his chalky face for a few seconds, as though he had trouble recognizing her, then blinked owlishly.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine, my dear," he said faintly, dismissively. "It's just the cold. These old castles can be rather drafty and chilly, you know."
She came alongside the tall man and slipped her arm through his; she could feel him trembling slightly beneath the several layers of clothing he had on that day, but she said nothing.
Once they left the grounds of the castle, he was more like his old self, but still subdued. Though the weather in Britain at this time of the year was less than ideal for sight-seeing, it turned out not to be all bad. In fact, one unforeseen benefit was that it provided plenty of opportunities for snuggling beneath thick blankets in front of cheerily crackling fireplaces—terribly romantic settings that could easily lead to more than just snuggling on many occasions, this evening being no exception.
When they returned to their hotel early in the evening, they had a light dinner and retired to their room. Jenkins built a cozy fire for them in the small antique fireplace. As soon as it was burning steadily, Jenkins climbed to his feet, dusting off his knees. Without warning, Cassandra wrapped her arms around his waist from behind and hugged him tightly. He carefully turned around in her arms, then wound his own around the slight redhead, bending his head to kiss her chastely on the forehead. The young woman tipped her face up and began to kiss him on the mouth eagerly, gently biting his lower lip as her hands moved slowly over his large body. He returned her kiss at first, but as soon as it became clear that she wanted more than just a kiss, the immortal suddenly pulled back from her brusquely and freed himself from her embrace.
"I'm sorry, Cassandra, I can't," he said awkwardly, staring uncomfortably at the floor. "I know we're on our honeymoon, but…I just can't. Not here, not in this place. I…I'm sorry." The young Librarian, perplexed, but not very surprised, stepped toward him and took hold of his fidgeting hands.
"It's okay, sweetheart, we don't have to," she said mildly. She lowered her head and tried to peer up into his lowered face. He glanced nervously at her and then quickly looked away again, but she was sure she saw shame in his troubled brown eyes.
"Let's just get into our jammies and sit here in front of this nice fire you've made for us. It'll be nice to just cuddle together and talk, if you want to—how does that sound?" She smiled brightly at him and gently tugged on his hands to get him moving. Jenkins returned her smile wanly in reply and obediently followed her to the bedroom where they had left their luggage earlier.
They changed quickly and moved back to the sitting room. The Caretaker dropped onto the large sofa, sighing heavily in relief as he made himself comfortable, then Cassandra positioned herself next to him, propping herself against his chest as she curled her slim legs beneath her. She spread a quilt over them and burrowed herself further against her husband as she made herself comfortable. He wrapped his arms around her and held her gently, lowering his head to kiss her temple as he distractedly watched the flames dancing in the fireplace.
She chattered about inconsequential things—sights they had seen that day, people she had observed, the lovely tea they just had. The only real contribution to the conversation he made was to comment that the tearoom's cucumber sandwiches were nowhere near as good as Cassandra's. The compliment pleased her greatly, but it was overshadowed by her husband's melancholy. She suspected it had something to do with how he behaved at the castle earlier and the dream in the car; she decided now was a good time to find out.
"Jenkins, can I ask you something?" she ventured as he idly nuzzled the Librarian's neck and ear.
The Caretaker nibbled affectionately on her ear lobe. "Anything, my dear," he rumbled softly.
"What does the word 'branwyn' mean?" Immediately he stopped nibbling and she felt his body tense; she knew then that she had just stumbled onto something sensitive.
The immortal hesitated a moment, then unconsciously tightened his arms protectively around Cassandra. His first instinct was to lie to her, tell her a story that would protect her from the ugly secret that word represented, but he instantly forced himself to dismiss that idea. She had been understanding and supportive in the past when he had shared unpleasant episodes from his past with her; he hoped that she would be so again now. Fear still pricked the back of his mind, though, fear that there was a limit to how much of his past could she take before it simply became too much for her to deal with, and she had to distance herself from him for her own sanity. He forced that thought from his mind, too. Cassandra was his wife now, they were Sealed, he reminded himself; he had nothing to fear now. And perhaps the time had simply come for him to share this particular secret with her.
"It's not a happy story, I'm afraid," he said carefully. "But I'll tell it to you if you really want to hear it."
The young woman stroked Jenkins's arm with her hand. "I do," she said. "You're my husband now. I want to learn as much about you as I can, good or bad. And help you, if I can."
The immortal pushed himself fully upright on the sofa, Cassandra adjusting her position to match him. As they settled themselves against each other again, Jenkins took a deep breath and prepared himself. The Librarian placed her small hand over his and squeezed the large fingers together in encouragement as she looked up at him, and he gave her a small, nervous smile.
"First, Cassandra, I must ask how you know that word?" She felt his body tense again, detected a small note of distress in his voice.
"You said it several times in your sleep, in the car on the way here. It sounded like you were having a bad dream." She tried to keep her voice as neutral as possible. "You were speaking your native language again, so I couldn't understand very much, but you sounded...scared. And upset."
He was silent for several long moments, taking another deep breath before leaning over and giving her a quick, gentle hug.
"Once upon a time," he began, his voice low and resigned. "There was a very young, very naive knight named Galahad." He paused as long-suppressed memories began welling up far too easily within him.
"I was raised by nuns, you know," he continued, taking her small, fine hand in his. "From the age of seven onward, in a convent in what is now Wales. We'll see it later on, or what little is left of it, at any rate." He paused for a moment. Every fiber of his being resisted saying another word, but he forced himself to continue the story. He had kept this secret for far too long already.
"A distant relative of my mother's was the Mother Superior. I was very sheltered there, cut off from the rest of the world in practically every way for the most part, especially when it came to the more practical aspects of life. For example: Sex and everything associated with it was never discussed, except to condemn it as a sin. Even sex within a marriage was considered sinful, and one wasn't supposed to enjoy it. It was a necessary evil for the production of children, nothing more."
Cassandra raised her head and gaped at him, a small sound of dismay in the back of her throat. "Oh, my God, that's awful!" she exclaimed.
Jenkins chuckled quietly at her reaction. "It wasn't called 'the Dark Ages' for nothing, my dear," he said earnestly, then returned to his story.
"My father came for me when I was 14 years old, and knighted me at a nearby manor house. I was innocent as a lamb." He shook his silver-white head in wonder at the simple, guileless boy he had been all those centuries ago.
"My father was appalled at my lack of worldliness, and so over the next two years he put a great deal of effort into filling in the gaps in my education." Jenkins leaned over and buried his face in his wife's soft, red hair, breathing in her scent, a heady mixture of honey and violets.
"Did you know, my dear, that the code of chivalry addressing how a knight is expected to treat a lady technically only applies to women of noble or royal birth?" he asked.
"No, I didn't," Cassandra answered, puzzled at the seeming change of subject.
"It's true," he affirmed soberly. "Peasants didn't really count as people in those days. They were literally the property of their feudal lords, to do with as they pleased, more or less. The lords, naturally, were expected to treat their serfs well and humanely, but the hard truth is, they were nothing but chattel." His voice became distant as he continued to speak.
"One of the things that my father introduced me to was the pleasures of the fairer sex." Jenkins dropped his eyes, oddly feeling once again that same heavy twist of tightness and shame in his gut that he'd felt when his father had first brought up the topic. "He taught me how to flirt with girls, flatter them, seduce them, bed them. It was his expectation that I would 'practice' on the peasant girls in the village. I was hesitant to go any further than flirting, though. The nuns had drilled the 'sex is sinful' lesson deep into my conscience. And, the truth be told, I was a little afraid of the whole idea of courting and marriage and everything that went with it." He smiled mirthlessly.
"Here I was, this great, long-shanked, handsome boy—yes, I was very handsome in those days, stop your giggling, woman!—full to the brim with hormones that would send any other teen-aged boy into a frenzy of lustful rutting...and I was still a virgin, much to my father's irritation and embarrassment."
"Why would he be embarrassed?" the Librarian asked curiously.
"Because a man's worth in those days was in large part tied to his sexual prowess," he sighed. "And adulthood started much earlier back then, don't forget. By the age of sixteen I should have already at least bedded several girls, perhaps even sired a child or two."
"Seriously? By sixteen?" Cassandra exclaimed.
"Thereabouts, yes," Jenkins replied grimly. "And my father took that very seriously. He needed to know that I was capable of siring children, it was crucial to his long-term plans for the family's political future." Cassandra looked up at him in confusion.
"How?" she asked. Her husband shook his head.
"It was his ultimate goal for our family to rule as High Kings of Britain," he said. "I was illegitimate, however, so I would never be permitted to sit on the throne, but he hoped that perhaps one of my sons would rule. My father hoped to arrange a marriage for me with the daughter of a very old, politically very well-connected family. " A dark look crossed Jenkins's face at the memory, then it was gone.
"But before the girl's family would consent to the match, they wanted proof of my...virility."
Cassandra's brow wrinkled in consternation; she was appalled at how cold and calculating Jenkins's father treated his son.
"But what about the Holy Grail? Wasn't it foretold that you were the one who would find it? And in order to find it, didn't you have to be a virgin? How could you be married and have kids and still be 'pure enough' to find the Grail?" The old knight snorted softly.
"I'm afraid you have to read those legends with a grain of salt, my dear," he said. "Over the centuries they've accrued quite a bit of embroidery and gilding. Various entities have used them to promote or to validate their own their own agendas—first the Church, then the kings who ruled Britain after Arthur, all the way down to the Victorians. I shudder sometimes when I think of the damage those stories have done over the centuries—what you read in Malory and his ilk bears very little resemblance to the truth." He paused for a moment to organize his thoughts.
"As far as the Grail is concerned, purity of heart and spirit was what was important; not so much purity of body, though that would have been considered ideal in combination with the other, naturally. That's partly why I was sent to the convent, to ensure the purity of both. But one can be married, sire children and still be pure of heart, just as one can be pure in body but impure of heart. Which of those two do you think would be found worthy enough to behold something as holy as the Grail?"
"The first one," answered Cassandra promptly. Jenkins grunted softly in affirmation.
"Foreordination to find the Grail aside, I was my father's only child; the entire future of the family rested on me and my ability to sire heirs. He was disgusted by what he perceived as weakness on my part in my reluctance to take what he believed was my 'due' as a nobleman—to take advantage of the peasant girls available to me and 'sow some wild oats', as the expression goes." The tone in the Caretaker's voice changed to something cold and dead.
"He felt so strongly about it, in fact, that one day he took the opportunity to illustrate his point." Cassandra felt ice-cold dread go through her chest like a blade.
"What did he do?" she asked, afraid of the answer. She knew very well what Dulaque was capable of.
"Are you sure you want to hear this, Cassandra?" he asked, dropping his gaze in discomfiture. "As I've said before, it's not…pleasant." The young woman took his hand and squeezed it tightly.
"Yes, I do," she responded softly, a gentle smile of encouragement on her lips, but he could see the dread in her blue eyes when he quickly glanced at them. He squeezed her hand back and continued his story.
"One night my father was hosting a feast after a successful hunt. Everyone was in high spirits, and my father was especially generous with the wine and ale. We were all of us intoxicated. At one point in the evening, someone in the Great Hall called for a bard, but the one my father kept on at Joyous Gard was passed out with drink by that time. One of the servants told my father that a maid named Branwyn was a gifted singer, and so he called for her." Jenkins kept his eyes fixed on the fire as he spoke. Cassandra noted that the old knight never used his father's name as he spoke of him, nor even referred to Dulaque as 'Father'—only as 'my father'.
"Branwyn was my age, perhaps a bit younger. She was one of the kitchen maids in my father's castle. She and I were actually friends, or at least as much as we could be, given our social positions. My new life in my father's house was very difficult for me at times. As you can guess by now, there was a great deal for me to adjust to, and oftentimes I found it discouraging. My father had very high standards that he expected me to live up to, but I'm afraid I often came up short."
Jenkins then smiled faintly. "Branwyn always seemed to notice whenever I'd had a difficult day, and she would speak kind words to me, encouraging words. Sometimes she would even leave small, simple gifts for me to find to raise my spirits—a wildflower, an unusual stone, a perfect, polished red apple." The smile then disappeared.
"My father didn't like that."
"Why not?"
"Because, my heart, she and I belonged to two completely different worlds. I know it might be difficult for a modern person to understand, but the social hierarchy was very strictly enforced in those days. Nobility simply didn't socialize with the peasantry or servants. The peasants themselves adhered to it just as strictly as the nobility did." Jenkins smiled wryly.
"I suppose the nuns also drilled the idea of humility into me a little too deeply, because I treated Branwyn as an equal, and she seemed to appreciate that. Towards the end we used to steal away for short periods of time and just talk. She was a great comfort to me; I like to think that I was the same for her as well." The old knight became lost in his memories for a few moments.
Cassandra watched his face carefully. "Were you in love with her?" she asked softly.
Jenkins took a breath and answered honestly. "Yes, I think so. Or I was at least in the process of falling in love with her. She was very kind-hearted, very generous. Intelligent. But strong-willed, too; had a bit of a temper. She could be very stubborn sometimes!" Cassandra hid a smile and she was tempted to ask if Branwyn had red hair, but she held her tongue.
"My father saw what was happening. He seemed to see everything. And he did not approve one bit. He seized the opportunity at the feast to…correct my behavior." The Caretaker paused, and glanced fretfully at the woman next to him before continuing.
"He called Branwyn from the kitchens and had her sing for everyone. Such a lovely voice she had—high, pure and sweet, like honey straight from the comb." Jenkins's eyes grew misty, and his voice was now beginning to waver. From her position against his chest, Cassandra could feel his heart begin to pound.
"My father asked me if I thought she was a good singer, and I said yes. He then asked me if I fancied the girl. I told him that I thought she was pretty, which was true. But I, in my foolishness, didn't understand what he meant by the question, I didn't understand what he wanted me to do."
"I don't understand," the Librarian said. "What did he want you to do?"
Jenkins withdrew his arm from her and tightly clasped his hands in his lap, head down, shoulders hunched forward, as if they bore a great weight. It was some time before he could answer her question.
"He wanted me to...to force myself on her," he answered haltingly, shame filling his voice.
Cassandra turned so that she could face him, her jaw hanging slack, completely shocked.
"What?" she breathed, just audible.
"And I was tempted to do it!" he blurted out. Misery and humiliation showed clearly on his face as the words spilled out of him.
"I wanted to please my father so much, to gain his approval! It seemed as though nothing I did was ever to his liking. I was drunk, I was embarrassed to be so inexperienced, to still be a virgin! I didn't want to embarrass my father in front his friends and peers, and I…" Jenkins fell silent. Cassandra could see his jaw clench tightly and his lower lip tremble slightly as he fought to remain in control of himself. The Librarian felt sick. She didn't want to ask the next logical question, but she had to know the truth.
"You...you raped her…?" She was barely able to whisper the words.
Jenkins turned his head slowly to face her, his eyes at first confused. Then they flew wide in horror as her question finally registered with him.
"No! NO! God…NO, Cassandra!" He nearly sobbed as he grabbed her and hugged her close to reassure her. "I could never do anything like that, Cassandra! But…I was tempted to; for a moment, I was actually willing to do it, just to please my father!" His choked words were heavy with bitter self-condemnation.
Cassandra was dizzy with relief. She didn't know what she would've done had she learned her husband had committed such vile act. She shuddered and pushed the thought far from her mind as she turned her attention back to the distraught immortal.
"But, if you didn't go through with it, why are you so...?" The redhead fell silent as she realized where his story was going.
"Oh, Jenkins, NO!" she breathed in dismay. "Dulaque—he didn't..." Expressions of pain, disgust and loathing crossed the older man's face, and he shut his eyes tight.
"He called out to everyone in the hall. He apologized for my childish behavior, said that thanks to my mother he now had a virgin monk for a son. He said I still needed some schooling in the facts of life, in how to be a man, that perhaps now was as good a time as any for a lesson." A tear slipped from beneath one eyelid and fell down his cheek.
"He ordered his men to hold me, ordered them to make sure that I was watching. He said that I needed to see how a real man...takes what he wants, how a real man takes what is his." Jenkins let his head fall back slightly, his eyes still shut as the awful scene burst to the surface of his conscious mind for the first time in centuries. He opened his eyes again and stared blankly at the ceiling; he couldn't bear to look at Cassandra as he spoke of the foul act.
"She screamed, cried, begged him to stop, pleaded with him! But he ignored her. He only laughed at her! They all laughed, it was great sport for them. Then she began to plead with me to help her, the entire time he was...attacking her. But I couldn't help her! I tried, but I just couldn't!" His voice was ragged with emotion and shaking badly.
"I begged my father to let her go, to not do such an unspeakable thing to a defenseless girl! I begged him! I swore to him, swore on everything that was holy, that I would do whatever he wanted me to do, but only let her go!" By now Jenkins was bent over on the sofa, his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach as if in pain, his voice close to a plaintive wail. Cassandra, numb with horror, could only sit and listen.
"He said that he would stop his assault only if I took his place. I couldn't do that! I just couldn't! I continued to beg, I promised him that I would anything else but that! But he only laughed at me and continued to…" He unwrapped his arms and buried his face in his large hands.
"When he was finished with her, he pushed her away, just shoved her to the floor, like she was a piece of garbage! She lay there, crying. He didn't even look at her again, just went back to his place at the table and began eating and drinking. I tried to go to her, but his men still held me." Jenkins began a gentle rocking motion, distressed by the memories, but unable to stop talking about them now. Cassandra remained silent, both of her hands covering her mouth, stunned by Dulaque's brutality.
"He offered her to any other man who wanted her," the immortal continued relentlessly, croaking the hateful words. "There were several who accepted, much to the amusement of the others. By the end she wasn't even crying anymore, she was just…silent. She just laid there, staring. Not even trying to fight them anymore." The knight shuddered and uttered a ragged sob as he raked his fingers frantically through his hair.
"When it was finally over, I tried to go to her, but my father forbade it. He said he would kill her if I so much as touched her. I didn't know what else to do so I...so I left her alone; I knew he would do it, I knew he would kill her if I tried to help her!" The Librarian believed him.
Jenkins stopped speaking, his now-aching head still lowered, eyes staring vacantly at the Persian rug on the floor. His arms were wrapped again around himself, so tightly that his fingers were white. Cassandra tentatively reached out one trembling hand and lightly laid it on his shoulder. Starting at her touch, he sat up straight and turned to her. He immediately dropped his gaze. Cassandra saw large tears slide down his weathered cheeks as he stoically tried to blink them away. He turned his head and, finally unwrapping his arms, brushed them roughly from his face.
After a few minutes of shocked silence, the woman shifted her position on the sofa so that she could more easily reach him. Cassandra numbly took the immortal's tortured face between her hands and gently pulled him to herself.
"Come here," she whispered.
He resisted at first, but quickly gave in and leaned into her arms. The young Librarian wrapped them tightly around the old Caretaker's wide shoulders and held him, kissing his tousled white head. He slowly encircled her small body with his own long arms and hugged her back, burying his face again in her long coppery locks.
As Cassandra began to stroke his thick hair, she heard a sob catch in his throat. Unconsciously, she began to gently rock with him as she tried to comfort the wretched, guilt-ridden man. She soon became aware that he was weeping, almost completely silently, the only signs being the slight shaking of his shoulders and the feel of his warm tears on the bare skin of her neck as they fell.
She let him cry. A very few audible coughs and sobs escaped him, but for the most part he grieved silently. After several minutes she broke their embrace and held his face out so she could see him. Still overwhelmed with shame, he couldn't bring himself to look into her eyes. Moved with sympathy for both the traumatized boy and the heartbroken man in front of her, she kissed his wet cheeks, then pulled the edge of the quilt up and dried his tears with it. His eyes flicked upward and briefly met hers, but he dropped them again immediately, shaking his head as fresh tears threatened to spill again. The knowledge that he had carried this awful thing inside of himself for so long nearly broke her heart.
Tears welled in her own eyes as she drew him to herself again, this time guiding him to lie down on the oversized sofa. She lay down next to him, facing him, and slipped her arms protectively around him. She cuddled him, his head resting on her chest and his arms around her waist. She began to stroke his hair again, and he sighed raggedly. Neither spoke for a long time. When she broke the silence, her voice was low.
"What happened after that, Galahad?" He drew a deep, shaky breath.
"She never returned to Joyous Gard," he murmured, the name of the castle sounding like a curse. "I learned a few months later that she was pregnant, doubtless by someone that night." He closed his eyes, but had to open them again almost immediately in order to dispel the long-repressed images of the past that now engulfed his memory.
"It wasn't like it is now—an unmarried girl, pregnant; no one thinks twice about it nowadays," he went on. "Back then, though, she was ostracized, condemned by the other villagers. The poor girl was so shamed, so humiliated. Her own family shunned her. She couldn't bear it." Cassandra felt more of his tears burn her skin.
"What did she do, sweetheart?" she prompted him gently.
"One day she went into the forest and hung herself." Cassandra shut her eyes, her chest aching as she literally shared his anguish.
He was whispering by now. "Her family refuted her even more strenuously because of the manner of her death. They refused to even see to a burial for her. I took it upon myself to go to the priest, and I begged him, on my knees, to allow her to be buried in the churchyard, in consecrated ground. I know how superstitious it sounds, but in those days suicides weren't allowed a Christian burial; they were considered to be automatically damned for having taken their own lives. I couldn't bear the thought of her going into the afterlife without at least some of the final rites due to her—she'd been a faithful believer her whole life, it would've caused her so much suffering to know she had been denied that. It wasn't her fault what happened to her, why should be punished for it so harshly?"
Jenkins closed his eyes, his head now pounding with the strain of keeping his emotions so tightly in check.
"Guilt, and genuine affection for Branwyn, drove me to do it," he went on relentlessly. "I pleaded with the priest, I explained what had happened, confessed my role in it. Fortunately for both of us, he was a compassionate man with a good heart. He tried to convince me that I had not committed any sin. He agreed that Branwyn was guiltless as well, but she simply could not be buried in the churchyard. Instead, he suggested burying her in the forest, and he would bless the grave so that she could at least rest in holy ground. She couldn't receive the full rites, he would've been censured by his superiors for that and I didn't want him to get into trouble on my account. He could only do the minimum, a simple graveside service, and even that had to be held at night so the other villagers wouldn't know. But that was enough." The Caretaker's voice was rough now as he ground out the words.
"He and I were the only ones to attend her burial. I dug the grave myself and filled it in afterward. I marked it with a stone that the ocean had worn a hole through that I found on the seashore one day. It couldn't even bear her name—a shabby memorial for someone who'd suffered so horribly, but it was the best I could do." His sad face then darkened with hate, his eyes cold as onyx.
"I left Joyous Gard the next morning as soon as I awoke. I never laid eyes on this place again until today. I never had anything to do with my father again unless my duties as a knight forced me to. When I left Joyous Gard I buried the incident and tried to forget it as quickly as I could. Tried to forget her." He fell silent.
"I'm so sorry, Galahad," Cassandra whispered, but he didn't seem to hear her.
"I should have helped her," he said, bitterness and regret in his voice. "I wish to God now that I would have stood up to him!"
The Librarian remembered the scar that ran from her husband's brow and across the bridge of his nose, received from Dulaque for having displeased him on another occasion. "And I wonder where that psycho would've scarred you then, if you had?" she muttered angrily. "You were a boy, Galahad. It's not your fault!"
"I was a man!" he shot back angrily, his voice rasping. "I was a knight, and not just any knight—I was Galahad, a knight of the Round Table! The one foretold who would find the Holy Grail, the 'pure knight of virtue'! The so-called 'best knight in all the world'!" He pushed up into a sitting position he continued speaking.
"I had already killed enemies in battle by then, overcame the test of the Siege Perilous! I swore an oath to protect the weak! I swore to protect those who couldn't defend themselves!" His voice cracked and broke as he struck his knees violently with his fists.
"I failed her, Cassandra! My oath meant nothing, all the achievements I had accomplished, all the prophecies, all of that high-sounding nonsense about nobility and bravery and chivalry didn't help me in the least, and it certainly didn't help her! I was a coward! And because of weakness, my cowardice I failed the one person who needed that knight the most...!"
She put her arms around his neck and cuddled him against her body. "You didn't fail Branwyn, Galahad. There was nothing you could do, otherwise I know you would've done it. I shouldn't have asked about that name. I wouldn't have if I'd known it would hurt you this much. I'm so sorry."
"No," he said quickly as he returned her embrace. "Don't be sorry, my love." He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
"Being alone for so long, I've grown so used to keeping things to myself, to keeping secrets. It's comforting, having someone to share them with," he said weakly; he suddenly felt drained. Cassandra smiled sadly.
"I'll always be here for you, sweetheart," she said kindly. "Anytime you want to talk about anything, I'm here. You can tell me anything, and I'm not going to judge you. I promise."
Jenkins made a sound that was half gasp, half sob, and tightened his arms around her, clinging to her. "I have so many secrets, Cassandra," he said in a raw whisper. "Too many..."
"No," she firmly interrupted him. "Never too many, not for me. I'm in this relationship for the long haul, don't ever forget that! I just don't know how you've been able to live with this for so long!"
Jenkins closed his eyes and said nothing more for a very long time. He listened instead to the steady, soothing rhythm of her heart and lost himself in it.
"It took me a long time to come to terms with what I saw that night," he finally said. "Ironically, my father—who was very bitter about his own failure to find the Grail—was the reason I was successful in my quest. I was so traumatized by what I witnessed that night that I was terrified of women afterward. For several years I was afraid to talk to them, even just be around them. I was afraid that any association with me would bring them misfortune as well—maybe not in the same way as Branwyn, but something equally horrible might befall them."
He was quiet again for several minutes, staring into the now-dying fire with glassy eyes. Cassandra said nothing, only made sure that he could feel her touching him, that he could feel her support and love for him. When Jenkins finally spoke again, he sounded exhausted.
"For a long time just the thought of touching a woman made me ill. For a long time I was afraid that if I let myself become…intimate…with a woman, I would…" He stopped speaking and squeezed his eyes tightly shut in agitation.
"Anytime I saw a woman that I thought was attractive, I immediately remembered that night, and all I could see was myself repeating what my father had done, all I could see was me…forcing myself on them." Cassandra squeezed his arm.
"You would never do that, Jenkins, you said so yourself earlier," she reminded him. He turned to look at her, his expression hard and unforgiving.
"I wouldn't now, but back then I wasn't so sure. Even now, though, I still wonder sometimes if I might one day become like him. I am my father's son, after all, Cassandra. You've doubtless heard the saying about how the sins of the father are visited on his offspring; I bear his genes, so who's to say that I might not take after him in that regard?" he questioned bitterly. "Who's to say that one day, under the right circumstances, I might not become just like him?"
"I say!" the Librarian hissed, her eyes suddenly blazing. She pushed herself away from him so he could see her face.
"Jenkins, let me ask you a question, and I want an honest answer: In your entire life, have you ever raped anyone, male or female?" The Caretaker flinched visibly at the bluntness of her question, but he quickly shook his head.
"NO, never!"
"Have you ever hit anyone when you were angry? I don't mean in self-defense or when you were defending someone else; I mean have you ever just completely lost your temper and started beating the hell out of someone out of frustration or to try and dominate them?"
"NO!" he said, appalled. Cassandra grasped his hand.
"Do you hear yourself, Galahad? In over 1,500 years, you've never deliberately or maliciously hurt anyone. Can Dulaque say the same thing?" She laid her other hand on his cheek and locked her blue eyes onto his.
"You know what my parents are like, especially my mother. Do you think that one day I'll become just like her? Do you think that one day I'll start henpecking you, criticizing everything you do and say, emasculating you, dominating you? I'm my mother's daughter, after all!" He sighed as a sheepish look came to his face.
"Of course not," he conceded, shaking his head. Cassandra smiled and stroked his cheek.
"You are nothing like Dulaque, Galahad—don't even think that! You're a good man—I've told you that before, and I'll keep saying it until you finally believe me, I don't care how long it takes!" She took his face between her hands, her eyes still fixed on his. "I love you, sweetheart, with all my heart. I hope that, thanks to our Tree, you can feel that, every day!" Jenkins put is arms around his wife and gently pressed her to his chest, closing his eyes as he rested his chin on top of her head.
"I do," he rumbled fervently. "I hope you can feel how very much I love you." Cassandra nodded her head.
"Every day!" she murmured happily. She leaned into him, and they rested against each other quietly for a few moments. The fire by now had died down to glowing embers in the fireplace, leaving them in almost complete darkness.
"I wish I could find her grave," he said softly, breaking the silence between them again. "I'd like to pay my respects." Cassandra pulled away and sat back from him.
"Why can't you?" she asked. Jenkins sighed and shook his head.
"The area has changed too much since then, I'm afraid. The forest is gone, there are fields and houses everywhere now. The land itself has changed a great deal. I'd never be able to find it now." The Librarian grinned in response.
"I can find it!" she declared. "It would be just like when I located the Grandmother Tree when we went to team-building camp, the same principals are involved! I can help you find it, if that's what you really want to do." There a brief moment of hesitancy in the immortal's eyes, but then it was gone.
"Yes," he said with certainty. "I do want to find it. First thing in the morning?" Cassandra nodded her head as she stood up and pulled on his hands, urging him to stand as well.
"First thing in the morning," she agreed, leading him towards the bedroom. "Now, let's go get some quality snuggling in before we fall asleep!"