Cerdic watched the two young
men with some amusement during lunch. Rick would inch towards Manny, trying to
be subtle. Once Manny realized what he was doing, he’d either tense but remain
where he was or move away, all the time seemingly unable to keep his eyes off
of Rick. It became a comic ballet in several acts but eventually Cerdic grew
tired of it.
“Boys, if you’re feeling
antsy, and from what I am seeing I believe you are, might I suggest you work it
off by chopping wood for the fireplaces. It may be warm outside at the moment,
but by this evening the temperature will have dropped considerably.”
Manny and Godric immediately
jumped up, stopping at the sink long enough to wash up their dishes before
heading back outside. Cerdic waited until they had left and then refilled his
coffee cup, taking it with him to the bench by the large picture window in the
main room.
He looked around the room,
once again marveling at how it took him back to a time long ago when life had
been so different. Here, and only here, did he truly feel at home.
Leaning against the back of
the bench, he studied each of the tapestries in turn, recalling when he had
acquired each one and why. The three largest had been woven by his mother and
sisters and depicted the history of the family. Two centuries after his death
he had made the acquaintance of another Scriostóir and, through not so subtle
blackmail, had convinced her to return to the period just before he had slain
his family and bring those tapestries back with her. Of course, once she had,
he felt it necessary to kill her, not wanting word of what he’d forced her to
do to reach the ears of those who might not understand.
A shaft of early afternoon
sun through the window behind him hit one of the tapestries. The women of his
family, including his new sister-in-law had finished it a mere months before
their deaths. It depicted the weddings of his father and brothers in sequence.
As he focused in on the sunlit portion, he felt a chill. Standing quickly, he
strode over for a closer look.
“Now I know,” he spat out as
he stared at the portrayal of his youngest brother’s wedding. The bride stood
shyly beside her new husband. “It’s in the eyes, and the lips,” Cerdic growled.
“What are you, Rick Ward, or to be more precise, Godric Aylward? Scriostóir
sent to spy on me or Caomhnóir here to slay me?”
Taking a deep breath to rein
in his rage, Cerdic returned to the window to stare out at the two boys.
“Whichever you are, you will not make it through the night alive, Godric.”
No comments:
Post a Comment