In the King's Service Page 12

  A sweetly sung hymn of welcome met them even before they passed through the rainbow-arched doorway—the combined voices both of sisters and of students; and though the day had been bleak and wintry for the ride to Arc-en-Ciel, the Chapel of the Rainbow was a place of lightness and peace, purest white where stained glass did not pierce the outer walls, and ablaze with color at east and west, both from glorious rose windows and from scores of candles set behind shades of vari-colored glass around the altar.

  Enfolded in light and sound and a hint of floral incense, they followed the two sisters down a stretch of carpet woven to give the impression of walking along a rainbow, passing between the center-facing choir stalls of the students and community. Jessamy came out to meet them as they advanced, conducting them thence to the sanctuary steps, where the three of them paused to reverence the altar beyond.

  Before that altar, Mother Iris Judiana rose from a simple stool to receive them, accepting Jessamy’s curtsy with a nod and a smile, then opening her arms to embrace her. Alyce and Marie had also dipped in respect as Jessamy made her reverence, and now curtsied more deeply as Jessamy drew back from the mother superior and turned to present them.

  “Mother Iris Judiana, I have the honor to present my heart-daughters, the demoiselles Alyce and Marie, children of my dear friend Stevana de Corwyn, the late heiress of Corwyn. Their dear brother will be Duke of Corwyn when he comes of age, and likewise Earl of Lendour upon the death of their father, Keryell of Lendour, who has asked that they be given into your care to learn the gentle arts suitable to their rank.”

  “I am pleased to receive them, dear Jessamy,” said Mother Iris Judiana, smiling as she extended her hands to the two girls. “May they be a credit to this house, and cleave cheerfully to its discipline. Let them now be enrolled under the favor and protection of our Lady of the Rainbow, signifying the same by their signatures in the great book of our house.”

  With those words, she signaled them to rise, Jessamy leading them before a small table to one side, where lay an open book displaying a mostly empty page. Two much younger girls stood to either side of the table—students, by their dress—holding a rainbow-striped canopy above it. A somewhat older one in novice habit stood behind the table, bearing a quill and inkwell, and curtsied to the pair of them as she held out her implements.

  “Darlings, this is my daughter, Sister Iris Jessilde,” Jessamy said softly, nodding fondly to the girl holding the quill. “It will be her honor to enroll you under the Rainbow.”

  “It is for the schooling only,” Alyce said in final confirmation of their intent, as Jessilde put the quill in her hand. “We make no vow save to keep the discipline of this school.”

  The older girl answered with a merry smile beneath her rainbow-edged white veil, amusement crinkling at the corners of eyes as blue as cornflowers, and the two girls holding the canopy giggled good-naturedly.

  “Be assured, there is no trickery here,” Jessilde murmured. “You are perfectly free to stay or to go—save that the wishes of your father or guardians may require what you would otherwise, of course. But this is not a prison. No one will try to force a religious vocation that does not exist.”

  The assurance rang of truth—and Alyce had been probing gently to be certain of it—but she still turned briefly to the previous page of the book to confirm what she was signing. A heading on that page declared it to be the first entries for the term begun the previous Michaelmas.

  Feeling somewhat foolish, she signed her name with care and handed the quill to Marie, who also seized courage and affixed her name beneath that of her older sister. When they had done, Jessamy moved between them and took a hand from each, leading them back before the mother superior, with the rainbow canopy accompanying them.

  There, at a sign from Jessamy, the pair of them knelt at the feet of Mother Iris Judiana, who took a pine sprig from a silver pot offered by another of the girls and sprinkled them with holy water in the sign of the Cross.

  “Let these daughters be veiled according to the custom of our house,” she said in signal to two more girls, who approached with fine white linen draped over their arms.

  The veiling itself was something of an anticlimax. As Jessamy removed the dried floral wreaths from both bowed heads, the girls with the veils performed their offices, bidding Alyce and Marie to hold the front edges of the veils in place while rainbow-plaited fillets were bound across their foreheads, entirely suitable for the lives they were to lead for the next few years. Once veiled, the pair were conducted by Mother Judiana herself to seats in the back row of the students’ choir stalls, these to be their assigned places henceforth.

  There followed a sparse few words of welcome and of notification regarding the rest of the day’s schedule, and then an adjournment to the refectory for a plain but substantial supper. Shortly after that, they were shown to the rooms they would share, each with a roommate. Alyce’s was a lively red-headed girl called Cerys; Marie was paired with a younger girl called Iery. To their surprise, the rooms were cozy and warm, if sparse, each with a heavy wool curtain covering its single small window and several rushlights set in wall niches.

  “I know it must seem rather modest, compared to what you’ve been accustomed to,” Cerys told her, indicating the whitewashed walls of their room, “but in truth, we don’t spend much time here, other than to sleep. We each have a coffer in the common room, for our clothing—except for our night gowns. Those go under our pillows. And you do have an aumbry cupboard there, on your side of the bed, for a few personal items.”

  Alyce noted the arched cupboard door set into the wall on the left side of the wide bed, the crucifix at its head, and also the tiny fireplace in one corner of the room, radiating a comforting amount of heat. There was also a close stool in another corner of the room, for use during the night.

  “We’re allowed a fire in the morning and at night,” Cerys added, noting her new roommate’s scrutiny. “A lay servant cleans out the night ashes and starts the morning fires, and comes back later to lay the night fire, but we have to clean out our own morning ashes after morning prayers and breakfast, and empty our own chamber pot. We usually take turns doing that. Sister Iris Anthony says that it’s good experience for well-bred girls to perform such duties for themselves, so that we’ll know what’s involved when we must manage our own domestic servants.”

  “That’s probably true,” Alyce said, somewhat surprised that there had been no trace of resentment in the other girl’s tone. She tried the edge of the bed and glanced at her companion. “Cerys, do you like it here? I mean, really.”

  “Oh, I do,” Cerys replied. “Mind you, I wouldn’t want to stay here forever—I don’t think I could ever be a nun!—but my father is only a simple knight. If I expect to marry well, I must be properly prepared to run a noble household.”

  “I see,” Alyce murmured.

  For the next little while, until time for evening prayers, Cerys chattered away about life at the school and Alyce mostly just listened, though it did give her a somewhat better idea what to expect. She saw Marie briefly before evening prayers, and met Iery, who was quiet but seemed to have a sense of humor.

  “I like her,” Marie whispered, as they settled into their stalls for the final service of the night. “Maybe this will be all right after all.”

  Bed followed evening prayers, and Alyce lay awake far longer than she usually did, close beside Cerys for warmth. When she finally did sleep, she did not dream.

  Chapter 9

  “Stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way, and walk therein.”

  —JEREMIAH 6:16

  THEIR new life at Arc-en-Ciel began in earnest the next morning. Jessamy and Jesiana had stayed the night, and rose for early Mass in the convent’s chapel, then broke their fast with Jessilde and the rest of the community before making their good-byes, leaving Alyce and Marie to settle into their new situation as best they could.

  By and large, this proved far le
ss difficult than they had feared. The nuns, for the most part, were gentle and kind, and quickly warmed to the lively and talented sisters from Lendour. Acceptance came more slowly from the other girls, but they, too, gradually began to relax and include the newcomers among them. Marie and Iery got on famously, and Cerys proved to be amiable and genuinely kind, and soon included Alyce in her friendship with another girl their age, called Zoë, who would quickly become Alyce’s particular friend.

  For the rest, Alyce soon decided not worry. If a few of the girls kept their distance—and some of the nuns as well—most of them were no worse than indifferent, and seemed not to mind that two more Deryni were now among them. The way had been paved by Jessilde, who apparently had long since proven her harmlessness to the satisfaction of the community.

  Which left the demoiselles de Corwyn to contend with the reason they had come to Arc-en-Ciel in the first place: to continue their education as young ladies of gentle breeding.

  They found the cycle of instruction in the convent school somewhat different from what they had known in their father’s hall, where they had studied many of the same subjects as their brother. Though Alyce had always been the stronger student, both were competent in the basic skills of reading, writing, and ciphering, and had a far better background than most of their classmates in history, the classics, and languages.

  These accomplishments, while acknowledged as commendable, were considered far less useful than the domestic skills that were the focal point of the curriculum at Arc-en-Ciel: household management, simple physicking, and even surgery, along with the regular regimen of devotion and religious instruction that one might expect in a religious establishment.

  And of course, there was the ubiquitous needlework to occupy hands not busy with other tasks: sempstering and fine embroidery, mending, spinning and weaving—all reckoned to be essential skills in the repertoire of all gentlewomen, if only so that they might oversee such work by others when, eventually, they must run their own households. Music, drawing, and dance provided a further soupçon of gentler diversion. The purity of Marie’s voice soon singled her out for extra tutelage in choir and musical ensemble. Alyce’s fine calligraphic hand raised appreciative eyebrows in the convent’s scriptorium.

  “Your calligraphy is exceptionally clear, my dear,” Sister Iris Althea told her, casting her gimlet glance over a fluent practice page. “Already, your work is more than good enough to serve in any lord’s secretariat. If you continue to apply yourself, you could be a true artist.”

  “Thank you, Sister,” Alyce murmured. “I have been fortunate enough to have excellent teachers.”

  “And they have had a worthy pupil,” Sister Iris Althea said graciously. “I wonder if you would be willing to try your hand at some fine copy work for the library? We have several volumes that have become finger-soiled and difficult to read, despite the reminders I give our girls to take care in their handling, and I have been wishing to replace them for some time.”

  Alyce allowed herself a shy smile, unused to being acknowledged for an adult accomplishment.

  “I hope that I may be of assistance, Sister—if you truly think my work is good enough.”

  “Oh, ’tis more than good enough, child—or, I should say ‘Lady Alyce,’ for this is not a child’s work. As you come to know our library, you will find many manuscripts in regular use that are not nearly so fine.” She smiled and gently cupped Alyce’s cheek, smiling with genuine warmth. “I shall speak to Mother Judiana about you, dear. It seems that Lady Jessamy has brought us yet another treasure.”

  The very next day, Alyce was given her own carrel in the scriptorium, close to one of the fireplaces and near to a glazed window, though the winter sun offered little in the way of illumination. Still, there were candles aplenty, as many as she needed, and the space became a favorite personal haven in the days and months ahead. In time, it also became a place to tutor other students of promise, including her friend Zoë Morgan, whose quick wit and sense of humor often brightened her day.

  Half a dozen others gradually admitted Alyce to their circles of more particular friends. Marie likewise found a few special friends with whom to share girlish confidences.

  As for the rest, those who were indifferent at least were not hostile, and soon allowed the newcomers to settle into quite tolerable anonymity. The two sisters found that the school habit helped a bit, since everyone looked more or less the same, differing largely in height and girth and the color of the braids hanging from beneath each shoulder-length veil or kerchief.

  Among the sisters, Alyce found somewhat more ready acceptance. Sister Iris Rose shifted from mere acquaintance to actual friend, as did Iris Mary; and Jessilde MacAthan became a friend as well. And ruling them all, Mother Judiana showed herself unfailingly benevolent, wise, and fair-minded.

  The sole note of discord that gradually arose was the antipathy that soon developed between Alyce and the chaplain of whom they had been warned. There were three priests responsible for the community’s spiritual well-being—offering daily Mass, hearing confessions, and teaching the odd catechism class or bit of church history in the convent school— and with two of them, she had no problem. The eldest, called Father Deuel, was a semi-invalid, and could be crotchety when his arthritis was bothering him, but seemed to embody everyone’s idea of what the perfect uncle or grandfather should be: genuinely fond of all his charges, and inclined to turn an indulgent eye on all but the most serious transgressions.

  The next in seniority, Father Benroy, was equally indulgent, with a fine calligraphic hand and failing eyesight that kept him mostly confined to the very close work of the scriptorium. Over the first few weeks of Alyce’s regular presence there, the pair of them developed a cordial working relationship based on mutual respect for one another’s artistry, and Benroy soon began to offer her extra tutelage.

  The third man had none of the positive qualities of the first two: Father Septimus de Nore, who taught catechism, prepared the girls for Confirmation, and was known to be an extremely punctilious confessor, especially of Deryni. Only a few days after their arrival, Jessilde repeated Sister Iris Rose’s warning, and stressed the importance of absolutely avoiding him at confession.

  “He abuses his office, if there’s any whiff of a Deryni ‘taint’—and you and I and Marie are more than merely tainted,” Jessilde confided, during the hour of recreation the girls were allowed with the community before evening prayers. “There’s nothing to be done about the classes he gives. He’ll try to bait you, but you mustn’t let yourself be drawn into argument with him. Eventually he’ll win, whether he’s right or not—and as a priest, he has the authority to make life difficult for us.”

  “That hardly seems fair,” Alyce muttered. “Who does he think he is?”

  Jessilde gave her a sidelong glance. “‘Fair’ has nothing to do with it, Alyce. He’s the brother of a bishop—and moreover, a bishop who hates our kind. There’s been many a burning in Carthane attributed to Oliver de Nore—and the two brothers are cut from the same cloth. If Father Septimus chooses to enforce the letter of law—and he usually does—he can be extremely difficult.”

  “He couldn’t burn anyone—could he?” Alyce asked, shocked.

  “Not here—and certainly not without cause that absolutely couldn’t be ignored,” Jessilde replied, with a shake of her head. “I’m sure that you would never be so foolish as to give him such cause.

  “As for lesser transgressions—well, fortunately, Mother Judiana has enough rank to protect us usually.” She cast a fond glance toward one of the fireplaces in the common room, where Judiana sat laughing and smiling with two other sisters and several of the older students. “She’s a duke’s daughter by birth—and the superior of Arc-en-Ciel always ranks as a baroness in her own right: one of the perquisites of it being a royal convent. We were founded by a Bremagni princess, you know.”

  Alyce nodded thoughtfully. “I knew that,” she said vaguely. “But—is she really the daughter
of a duke? I wonder that she’d be allowed to take the veil.”

  Jessilde laughed gently. “You don’t yet know Mother very well. She’s a very strong-minded woman, and a very kind and good one. But she comes from a very large family—two brothers and four sisters—so I’m sure her father was happy enough to see her enter the convent. I know he sent her with a handsome dowry. She was the favorite of his daughters, and she found her vocation at a very early age.”

  Alyce guessed that such a background probably would make Mother Judiana a very formidable opponent, if crossed. Fortunately, she soon learned that this formidable nature was focused on being advocate and defender for those in her charge, whether sister or pupil. Though Father Septimus blustered a great deal, and settled into a pattern of confrontations with Alyce in catechism class, his frustration only mounted as he discovered himself unable to follow through on any of his veiled threats.

  “I don’t expect that you are even capable of understanding the concept of redemption, Mistress de Corwyn,” he muttered so that only Alyce could hear, one afternoon as she tried to slip out of his classroom after a particularly acrimonious class debate on salvation and redemption. “And I don’t recall that I have ever seen you at confession. Of course, I would expect a soulless Deryni like yourself to avoid that sacrament whenever possible—and to lie, if you cannot. Your kind are damned anyway.”

  Alyce held her temper only with the greatest of effort. The rest of the class had already fled from the classroom, but the priest had moved between her and the doorway to block her escape. Beyond, she could see Zoë and Cerys lingering just outside the open door.

  “With all respect, Father, you are, of course, entitled to your opinion,” she said quietly. “However, Father Benroy is my confessor, not you, and will vouch for my faithfulness to my religious duties.”

  “You insolent hussy!” Septimus hissed, stepping closer and glaring down at her. “Pretending piety and innocence, when every word that passes your lips spreads corruption! I will check with him, you know.”