Death Be Not Proud

An excerpt from THE COMRADES

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Several days after the Harvest Festival, Evan passed Morleyna as he walked from the Great Hall to the administrative rooms, Owen at his side and Ranelf providing commentary on the business to follow.

Evan smiled as his eyes connected with the Princess, Cynan following, as the two made their way to the main door. Another long walk through the Keep, he imagined.

Morleyna looked at him, raising her arms slightly, the sleeves of a new gown falling from her wrists. His directive for new clothing had borne immediate fruit. A gown of fine-woven wool, so pale as to be almost white, draped her body, a clever sweep of tucks sectioning the back into panels. A masterwork of interlaced designs in gold thread bordered a square-cut bodice; Aunt's women had worked quickly and well. He could almost hear the princess’s silent admonishment -- "Such extravagance!" -- as her eye caught his, black curls dancing as she shook her head. She smiled, though.

Owen and Ranelf nodded politely, then the men continued to the priest-clerk's office.They needed to finish the law cases that survived Marrok's death. "We have our ongoing problem with the Tabbyrn estate and all the parties contending for it,” Ranelf said. "Since they know mediating contentions is one of Evan's favorite duties," Owen added.

They stopped in their tracks. A blood-curdling scream echoed down the corridor followed by the solid kraack! of something crashing in the courtyard. A chorus of shouts and the swift drum of booted feet followed. Out of the corner of his eye, Evan saw the messages meant for him fly out of Owen's hand as the two turned and began running.

"CONOR!" Owen bellowed as they ran. Conor shouted back, his words lost in the general chaos.

Evan touched one hand to the hilt of his sword. Maid-servants in the corridor blanched and hastily flattened themselves against the walls as the cousins flew past. Emerging into the main hall, he saw a skirmish had developed at the door where women had run toward the noise. Conor and others tried to push them away, clearing a path, but not before a girl who'd run out came screaming back inside, face white.

"Lord Evan! Lord Evan!" she shouted before she collapsed in a faint. He was through the doors and out on the stairs, shouldering through a crowd immobilized on the steps. Then he froze, time shuddering to a halt around him. Morleyna of Gwynedd knelt on the flags of the courtyard, about to be surrounded by troopers, all running. Her eyes rose to meet his, her face splashed with blood.

The princess's new gown was scarlet, its bodice smeared crimson. A stream of red on her collarbone hurried to join the carnage on her bodice, where a lurid stream seeped past her waist. The flagstones showed a large pool of blood.

Evan held her gaze as his hand left the hilt of his sword. Some sort of accident, then, not an attack. The troopers fell to their knees, speaking quickly. Evan ran toward her, with every face that turned to him as knowing as his. As knowing as her own.

It would be God's own miracle for someone to lose that much blood and not die.

~ ~ ~

Time slowed. It took an eternity to race across the courtyard. Evan's view widened as he drew closer. Morleyna held someone’s head on her lap. Cynan knelt behind the Princess, one hand on her shoulder, with his face and clothes smeared with blood. A broken haywain tilted at an awkward angle close to them, then a booted pair of feet appeared, lying on the flags, encased in blood-splattered breeches.

"Christ have mercy," Owen said. "It's..."

~ ~ ~

Photo © Amy 20225

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