Free Alas My Love by Tracie Peterson Page B

sepulcher were extinguished. A single candle, the great Paschal candle, was lit as an all-night vigil of the clergy began. Arianne watched with Helena, deeply disappointed that Richard had not yet returned. Helena felt her lady’s sorrow and reached out a hand to reassure the duchess.
    They walked back to the castle in silence, a procession of knights and their families following behind. Many parted at the castle gatehouse for their own homes, while unmarried knights took refuge in the barracks provided for them within the castle walls.
    To Helena it seemed as though a great shroud had been placed upon them. The silence fell heavy in an almost smothering way. Each sound seemed magnified against the stillness; each footstep rustling against the rushes upon the floor echoed loudly within the dark, damp halls. It was a hallowed time.
    Matilda handed Arianne a cresset lamp with oil. Without being told, she lit the wick and nodded, as though words would somehow have been a blasphemy of the moment. Arianne, bearing the lamp, went upstairs with Helena following closely behind her. They parted at Helena’s room, Arianne placing a silent kiss upon her cheek.
    “Let us pray that Richard returns soon and,” she added almost as an afterthought, “that Devon will return and bring Richard’s brother home.”
    Helena nodded and sought the refuge of her room. The fire burned low, and Helena knew it would only be a matter of time before the castle curfew or “cover fire” would be upon them and the watchman would make his rounds to stoke up the hearth fires for the night.
    Feeling the cold and damp penetrate her skin, she readied herself for bed. A song came to her lips, and only when she began to sing did Helena realize it was a requiem. The mournful words flooded the room, while the haunting melody seemed to drip down from the walls and flood the stones below.
    With slow, almost practiced steps, Helena went to the bed and knelt on the turned-back covers. Reaching up, she loosed the ties that held back the canopy curtains surrounding the bed and closed them around her.
    Heavy brocade snuffed out the light from the hearth. It was like burying herself in the sepulcher, Helena thought. She pulled the covers high to her chin and settled upon the satin-covered pillow. Then with a will of its own, her mouth opened and again the eerie strains of mourning filled the night’s silence.
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    Arianne stood at the window of her bedroom. While the priests kept vigil in the church, she kept her own for Richard’s return. Silently, she brushed her copper hair and with each stroke thought of her husband’s absence and the longing she felt for his return. Had it only been weeks? It truly felt as though a lifetime had passed since she’d last felt his arms around her or heard his boyish laughter ringing in the halls.
    Putting the brush aside, Arianne hugged her arms to her body and looked out upon the darkened lands.
    “Oh, Richard,” she whispered. Just then, Helena’s sad voice came through in a muffled song.
    Arianne strained to hear the words, but couldn’t make them out. She thought of how blessed Helena was. The voice of an angel, Matilda had said, and Arianne thought perhaps even angels would behold Helena’s voice in awe.
    But tonight was different, Arianne thought. Usually Helena’s songs were light, lyrical, and joyful. This was music for the dead, and Arianne knew that it came from deep within Helena’s own heart. Was she wishing that she were dead?
    “Dear Father,” Arianne prayed in earnest, “go to her and give her peace.” Then glancing out again to a world that would offer no hope of her husband’s return, Arianne pleaded for the same comfort for herself.
    “Bring him home, Lord,” she begged. “Bring Richard home soon and with him Devon and Tancred, as well.”
    Timothy began to fuss, and Arianne went to the cradle and tenderly took him in hand. Taking him with her to the bed, Arianne settled down to nurse him. She