Chapter 12: Mary

For all her tiredness, Elizabeth could only imagine how Darcy was feeling. When she had awoke, Darcy was already up, and she suspected that he in fact had not slept at all. Wickham, after roasting some more fish, left before Lydia was up. Darcy had said nothing at all to her; he made it impossible for them to exchange words as he walked off with Wickham and did not make his presence known again until Lydia was fully awake.

With as few words as language would allow, Darcy had let it be known it was time to leave, and their silent journey began once more.

Elizabeth desperately wanted to speak to Darcy, but held back. Not only did Darcy make it very clear in his manner that he preferred silence, she also had no idea what she would say.

She was still upset with Darcy for having kept her in the dark.

Darcy was undoubtedly arrogant; so self-assured and certain in his own views and opinions that it had been infuriating to find out that Lydia had been bitten by a dragon, and Darcy had hidden that from her.

But Elizabeth regretted her outburst. She had been tired and upset and had taken it out on Darcy. Her comment about Lydia not being his sister was unconscionable, not only because she knew that his own sister had taken her own life, but also because Darcy was risking his hourly to protect Lydia.

Elizabeth also had enough self-awareness to know that Darcy had been right in that she had taken out much of her frustrations on him. She felt utterly helpless in the face of real danger. Her father, after what could only have been an extended absence had found them, only to immediately abandon them. Darcy's comment to her father about how it had fallen on him to protect Sir Bennet's daughters had not been lost on Elizabeth. While she could not understand her father's departure, it had shamed and upset her.

It also scared Elizabeth, how well Darcy could see into her. She was just beginning to regain her memories of him, and he, he knew her better than she knew herself! She who, for as long as she recalled had been stumbling about in the dark, now had met someone who knew everything about her, and knew her own feelings as well as she did.

Darcy had accused her of not feeling. He was wrong. It was not that she didn't feel. It was that she was awash in fear.

Fear of memories, fear of forgetting again, and above all, fear of feelings that she wasn't able to quite understand and rationalise.

With the afternoon sun filling the chamber, Elizabeth looked out of the window to see what appeared to be the entire community - more than forty monks - waiting in clusters all around the courtyard. There was a furtive mood among them, as if they were keen their words were not overheard even by those in their own ranks, and Elizabeth could see hostile glances exchanged. Their habits were all of the same brown cloth, sometimes missing a hood or a sleeve. They seemed anxious to go into the large stone building opposite, but there had been a delay and their impatience was palpable.

When her party had finally arrived at the monastery, Elizabeth had been crushed to find out that her father had not returned. The monk that had welcomed them had something about Sir Bennet being expected at any moment, but he seemed furtive and Elizabeth did not trust those words.

Though he still had not spoken above five words to her, Elizabeth had almost fallen at Darcy's feet in relief when the warrior had muttered something about not leaving them just yet.

If Darcy had any inkling at how much a feeling of safety and security that his mere presence brought to Elizabeth, he would have laughed at the foolishness of their previous fight; however, as it was, Elizabeth was too scared and confused to tell him anything.

Elizabeth had been gazing down on the courtyard for several moments when a noise made her lean further out of the window and look directly beneath. She had seen then the outer wall of the building, its pale stone revealing yellow hues in the sun, and the staircase cut into it rising from the ground towards her. Midway up these stairs Elizabeth could see the top of the head of a monk, holding a tray laden with food and a jug of milk. The man was pausing to rebalance the tray, and Elizabeth watched the manoeuvre with alarm, knowing how these steps were worn unevenly, and that with no rail on the outside, one had always to keep pressed to the wall to be sure not to plunge down onto the hard cobbles. On top of it all, the monk now ascending appeared to have a limp, yet he kept coming, slowly and steadily.

Elizabeth went to the door to relieve the man of the tray, but the monk - Father Brian, as they were soon to learn he was called - insisted on carrying it to the table himself, saying "You are our guests, so let me serve you as such."

Darcy was nowhere to be found, and Elizabeth thought that perhaps the sound of woodcutting that was ringing through the air was attributable to him. So, she and Lydia sat down at the wooden table and devoured gratefully the bread, fruit and milk. Much to Lydia's consternation, Elizabeth insisted wrapping a portion of the food aside for Darcy.

As they ate, Father Brian had chatted happily, sometimes dreamily, about past visitors, the fish to be caught in nearby streams, a stray dog that had lived with them until its death the previous winter. Sometimes Father Brian, an elderly but sprightly man, got up from the table and shuffled about the room dragging about his bad leg, talking all the while, every now and then going to the window to check on his colleagues below.

Meanwhile, above their heads, there were birds who had been criss-crossing the underside of the roof, their feathers occasionally drifting down to blemish the surface of the milk. Elizabeth found them scary and creepy, and she heard a low, guttural growl from Lydia when the sounds of the birds became too strong.

Elizabeth had been tempted to chase off these birds, but had refrained in case the monks regarded them with affection. She was taken aback then when rapid footsteps came up the stairs outside, and a large monk with a dark beard and a flushed face burst into the room.

"Demons! Demons!" he shouted, glaring up at the rafters. "I'll see them soak in blood!"

The newcomer was carrying a straw bag, and he now reached into it, brought out a stone and hurled it up at the birds. "Demons! Foul demons, demons, demons!"

As the first stone ricocheted down to the ground, he threw a second and then a third. The stones were landing away from the table, but Lydia instinctively covered her head with her hands, crouching under the table defensively. Elizabeth stood up, but then paused, unsure of what she should do as to not give offense.

Father Brian reached the monk, and clutching both the man's arms, said "Brother Irasmus, I beg you! Stop this and calm yourself!"

The birds by now were screeching and flying in all directions, and the bearded monk shouted over the commotion, "I know them! I know them!"

"Calm yourself, brother!"

"Don't you stop me, father! They're agents of the devil!"

"They may yet be agents of God, Irasmus. We don't yet know."

"I know them to be of the devil! Look at their eyes! How can they be of God and gaze at us with such eyes?"

"Irasmus, calm yourself. We have guests present."

At these words, the bearded monk became aware of Elizabeth. Whether he could see Lydia crouching under the table was uncertain.

He stared angrily at Elizabeth, then said to Father Brian "Why bring guests into the house at a time like this? Why do they come here?"

"They're Sir Bennet's children, brother, and we're happy to give them hospitality as is ever our custom."

"Father Brian, you're a fool to tell strangers of our affairs! Look, they spy on us!"

"They spy on no one, nor do they have any interest in our problems, having plenty of their own, I don't doubt."

Suddenly the bearded man drew out another stone and prepared to hurl it, but Father Brian managed to prevent him. "Go back down, Irasmus, and let go this bag. Here, leave it with me. It won't do, carrying it everywhere the way you do."

The bearded man shook off the older monk, and clutched his sack jealously to his chest. Father Brian, allowing Irasmus this small victory, ushered him to the doorway, and even as the latter turned to glare again at the roof, pushed him gently out onto the stairway.

"Go back down, Irasmus. They miss you down there. Go back down and take care you don't fall."

When the man had finally gone, Father Brian came back into the room, waving his hand at the feathers floating in the air. "My apologies to you both. He's a good man, but this way of life no longer suits him. Please be seated again and finish your meal in peace."

"And yet, father," Elizabeth said, "that fellow may be right when he says we intrude on you at an uneasy time. We've no desire to increase your burdens here. As I had said earlier, in the absence of my father, if you'll only let us quickly consult Father Jonus, whose wisdom's well known, perhaps the other monks such as Father Irasmus would feel calmer. Is there word yet if we might see him?"

Father Brian shook his head. "It's as I told you earlier, Miss. Jonus has been unwell, and the abbot's given strict orders no one will disturb him other than with permission given by the abbot himself. Knowing of your desire to meet with Jonus, you being Sir Bennet's children, and the pains you took to come here, I've been trying since your arrival to attract the abbot's ear. Yet as you see, you come at a busy time, and now there's a visitor of some importance arrived for the abbot, delaying our conference further. The abbot's even now gone back to his study to talk with the visitor while the rest of us wait for him."

Lydia had crawled out from underneath the table to go stand at the window to watch the bearded monk's departure down the stone steps, and she now pointed, saying "Isn't that the abbot returning now?"

Elizabeth went to Lydia's side, saw a gaunt figure striding with authority into the centre of the courtyard. The monks, breaking from their conversations, were all moving towards him.

"Ah yes, there's the abbot returned. Now finish your meal in peace. And regarding Jonus, be patient, for I fear I'll not be able to bring you the abbot's decision till after this conference is over. Yet I'll not forget, I promise, and will petition well for you."

Elizabeth tried to extracted a promise from Lydia to stay in the room, to no avail. Recalling then how Darcy always calmed Lydia with his horse, Elizabeth undertook the same. She walked Lydia to the stables, and this time had little problem in obtaining her sister's word to not leave the side of Darcy's horse.

Elizabeth saw the monks filing into the building opposite, as she went in search of Darcy. She found him in the woodshed.

"That seems like more than sufficient wood," Elizabeth noted, as she offered Darcy the parcel of food. "You have been at this endeavour for some time."

Darcy took the food gratefully, and silently looked about before speaking. Elizabeth wondered if he was merely seeing if anyone else could hear them, or if he was making a decision as to trust her with crucial information.

Darcy moved to the high monastery wall overlooking the surrounding forest, and Elizabeth followed him.

"The woodshed is well positioned," Darcy finally explained. "I am able to keep good watch on the comings and goings while I work. Even better, when I delivered the wood where it was needed, I roamed at will to inspect the surroundings, even if a few doors stayed barred to me."

The monks had long gone into their meeting by then, and a hush had fallen over the grounds. Darcy was looking down on the dense foliage below.

"But why go to such trouble, Darcy?" Elizabeth asked. "Can it be you're suspicious of these good monks here?"

"When we were climbing that path earlier, I wanted nothing but to curl in a corner adrift in my dreams. Yet now we're here, I can't keep away the feeling this place holds dangers."

"It must be weariness that makes your suspicions keen. I do not believe that you have slept at all. What can trouble you here, amongst these old monks? Surely you and your sword are no match for any of them."

"Nothing yet I can point to with conviction. But consider this. When I returned to the stables earlier to see all was well with the horse, I heard sounds coming from the stall behind. I mean this other stall was separated by a wall, but I could hear another horse beyond, though no horse was there when we first arrived and I led in my horse. Then when I walked to the other side, I found there the stable door shut and a great lock hanging on it only a key would release. It would seem since our own arrival some other visitor has come, and one anxious to keep his presence hidden."

"Yes…Father Brian, the monk who brought us food, made mention of an important visitor arriving for the abbot, and their great conference being delayed on account of his coming. It cannot have anything to do with us, given that our arrival was unplanned and unannounced."

Darcy nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps you're right and a little sleep would calm my suspicions. Even so, I wandered further from this place, and not too long ago I heard a groaning from those quarters over there" and Darcy turned and pointed, "as of a man in pain. Creeping indoors after this sound, I saw marks of blood both old and fresh outside a closed chamber."

"Curious certainly. Yet there'd be no mystery in a monk meeting some unfortunate accident, perhaps tripping on these very steps."

Darcy looked at Elizabeth intently. "I fear that my suspicions are making you afraid. I concede, Miss, I've no hard reason to suppose anything amiss here. Perhaps it's a warrior's instinct makes me wish my sword was in my belt and I was done pretending to be a farmboy. Or maybe my fears derive simply from what these walls whisper to me of days gone by."

That somehow caught Elizabeth's attention. "What can you mean?"

"Only that not long ago, this place was surely no monastery, but a hillfort, and one well made to fight off foes. You recall the exhausting road we climbed? How the path turned back and forth as though eager to drain our strength? Look down there now, see the battlements running above those same paths. It's from there the defenders once showered their guests from above with arrows, rocks, boiling water. It would have been a feat merely to reach the gate."

"I see it now, from this vantage."

"Also, look around you Princess. You're too smart to not notice. I'd wager this fort was once in Saxon hands, for I see about it many signs of my kin. Look there" Darcy said, pointing down to a cobbled yard below hemmed in by walls. "I fancy just there stood a second gate, much stronger than the first, yet hidden to invaders climbing the road. They saw only the first and strained to storm it, but that gate would have been what we Saxons call a watergate, after those barriers that control a river's flow. Through this watergate would be let past, quite deliberately, a measured number of the enemy. Then the watergate would close on those following. Now those isolated between the two gates, in that space just there, would find themselves outnumbered, and once again, attacked from above. They would be slaughtered before the next group let through. You see how it worked. This is today a place of peace and prayer, yet you needn't gaze so deep to find blood and terror."

"You read it well, and I shudder at what you show me."

"I'd wager too there were Saxon families here, fled from far and wide seeking protection in this fort. Women, children, wounded, old, sick. See over there, the yard where the monks gathered earlier. All but the weakest would have come out and stood there, all the better to witness the invaders squeal like trapped mice between the two gates."

"They would surely have hidden themselves below and prayed for deliverance!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"Only the most cowardly of them. Most would have stood there in that yard, or even come up here where we now stand, happy to risk an arrow or spear to enjoy the agonies below."

Elizabeth shook her head in disbelief. "Surely the sort of people you speak of would take no pleasure in bloodshed, even of the enemy."

"On the contrary. I speak of people at the end of a brutal road, having seen their children and kin mutilated and ravished. They've reached this, their sanctuary, only after long torment, death chasing at their heels. And now comes an invading army of overwhelming size. The fort may hold several days, perhaps even a week or two. But they know in the end they will face their own slaughter. They know the infants they circle in their arms will before long be bloodied toys kicked about these cobbles. They know because they've seen it already, from whence they fled. They've seen the enemy burn and cut, take turns to rape young girls even as they lie dying of their wounds. They know this is to come, and so must cherish the earlier days of the siege, when the enemy first pay the price for what they will later do. In other words, it's vengeance to be relished in advance by those not able to take it in its proper place."

"How is it possible to hate so deeply for deeds not yet done? The good people who once took shelter here would have kept alive their hopes to the end, and surely watched all suffering, of friend and foe, with pity and horror."

Darcy exhaled deeply. "I've seen dark hatred as bottomless as the sea on the faces of old women and tender children, and some days felt such hatred myself."

"We talk of a barbarous past hopefully gone for ever. Our argument need never be put to the test, thank God."

The warrior looked strangely at Elizabeth. He appeared about to say something, then to change his mind.

"What is it? You…Darcy, please?"

"Elizabeth, I have felt such hatred myself. And so have you."

"Please talk to me. Please tell me."

"I…we met as the war was at an end." Darcy spoke with such a sadness in his voice that Elizabeth's heart turned. "You do not remember, of course. Or, perhaps not the details. And this is not the time nor place for this discussion. Perhaps after we speak to Jonus. Perhaps after I have a better idea of what is happening here in this monastery. But I need you to…for your own well-being, of course! I need you to at least remember this, even if you have no recollection and no feeling of it.

Sir Bennet fought in the war, yes, but you had been in the frontlines too. You had been a bit of a medicine woman, and your services were needed. You saw death. You lived through the barbarous past as a very young woman. Your sister…" Darcy looked down. "You do not recall her now. You had a younger sister Mary. She was killed during the war. Your mother too, was a victim of the war. There was a time without this peace, aye, but also without this dullness in mind, spirit, and feeling. You felt a great deal more then than you do now."

Mary.

She had had a sister…dead…killed in a war she had no recollection of…Elizabeth's throat was dry and she felt her head spin. Near the oak, when her father had been speaking of Arthur, there had been a nagging, uneasy feeling in her. There had been a fragment of memory, of her standing inside a tent, a large one of the sort an army erects near a battlefield. Nighttime, with a heavy candle flickering, others in the tent with her. She had been angry about something, but had understood the importance of hiding her anger.

Now the full force of that memory hit her.

MARY. Mary was dead, lying on the ground amongst other bodies. Covered in blood, beyond the capacity of her own limited ministrations. Rage, red hot rage, flowing through her veins. Her father the knight, who had insisted that Mary, too young to have been on a battlefield, be there to help Elizabeth. Her father, absent at the death of his third daughter. Mary, buried without the rites due to the dead.

This is why she had been unable to stop watching as Darcy dug a grave for Ivor…Ivor, whom they had buried with all the respect necessary in death, the respect that she had never been able to give Mary.

She looked up as Darcy squeezed her shoulder and offered her his cloth. It was then that Elizabeth realised that there were tears running down her face.

"How…how do you know? Were you there with me?"

Darcy shook his head. "You told me."