Treastise on the Ethics of Vampires - six

six

If only my sleep lasted longer than two hours. All too soon morning bloomed bright and with it, one of the more fateful days of my life. Grandmother was still asleep when I began heating water for washing in the pharmacea so I wouldn't disturb her rest. I had one dress appropriate for today, as well as being the cleanest at the moment. Madder and woad dyed the linen tunica. The colors together made a striking purple more suited to royalty than a blacksmith's daughter. It was a gift from my mother upon my last birthday.

On every eve of February 28, we waited for March to come. When it neared Midnight, we would sing, dance before the fire, not ceasing until the Abbey's bell tolled the new day. That wee minute between the old and new day was mine alone. It was how we celebrated my birthday every year since I can remember... and this last one now marked the end of an era for me.

Upon my breast I proudly wore the necklace Grandmother Bet gifted me. My hair hung loose, and as I went to comb it I heard a knock upon the front door. Before I left the pharmacea, I heard Grandmother awaken quickly and answer it – a habit garnered from countless nights of being roused to attend a birthing. Rowan entered with Father Simon in tow. They spoke low to Grandmother and all looked my way as I entered the room. I always hated being center of attention. It still makes me feel as though I've done something wrong, when I have done naught. There were many a time I wished to blend in with the background, and with all six eyes upon me, this was one of those times.

Father Simon spoke first, “Three lads have pitched in to dig a spot next to your father. Your Grandmother has informed me of your circumstances and decision. I will waive the banns. I too have heard the rumors. You've done no wrong, girl. But best you leave before someone does something rash.“

Those words of his struck home and my chest hurt from the thought that I was truly feared, when I had done nothing but be born on an odd day. Grandmother grasped my hand and told me to focus, but I just wanted to cry for my mother, now lost; for my sister who disdained me; for Papa and now because though I tried my best to be like everyone else, it was blatantly obvious that I would never be accepted.

After that realization, the early morning became a blur from exhaustion and emotional turmoil. Rowan and the priest carried Mother to her grave, her shrouded body lain upon a board held between the two men. She was buried quickly and with little fanfare. It seemed like we had just arrived before we turned back home for the impromptu wedding. To look back upon it, I dare say I felt drugged.

Father Simon stood before the fireplace when he turned to address Rowan and myself. “Are you ready?”

Rowan looked to Grandmother Bet, and she came forward with a wreath of flowers for my head, and a small wildflower bouquet to hold. “A gift from your bridegroom, my girl. All lasses should have flowers for their wedding day, he said, and I don't disagree.” She whirled me around to face Father Simon and pushed me up to stand next to Rowan. He stifled a chuckle and Father Simon had a small smile upon his face.

I took a deep breath. To me, it felt as though this was the moment I was toeing the cliffs edge as I prepared to jump to an unknown fate. “Let us do this.”

Rowan bent down, and whispered to me, “You are not going to the gallows, Lisbet. Relax.”

I looked up at him with a dumfounded look upon my face. Relax? Did we not just bury my mother? Relax? The whole concept did not register.

Father Simon cleared his throat, and began to speak. I spoke my part, and Rowan, his. We knelt before the friar for our union to be blessed. Before I knew it, I was someone's wife.

Grandmother Bet kissed me upon my cheek. “I wish we could feast and celebrate your day, Lisbet, but 'tis best we both start anew.” She handed me a large pack. “Your mother's books, clean clothing and a few other things. You'll also be taking your mother's chest. It's ready to go.”

My mother's herb chest was a hand carved contraption that when opened, had nooks and crannies and drawers full of herbs, salves, unguents, bandages, pulled catgut and needles for stitches, linen bags of blended herbs for making tinctures and poultices... everything one could need was in that box. It had been passed through the female line of my mother's family for a few generations, and while I knew I would someday receive it, I never thought it would be this day.

Rowan followed Grandmother to the pharmacea and hefted the chest onto his shoulder. I turned to Grandmother Bet and hugged her as tight as I dared.

“Now no tears, my girl. Remember the good, forgive the bad and embrace the future. When you seek me, you will find me in the village of Tavistoke. Go now, lest I cry before you all!” She rubbed her nose, as if it were itching.

I followed Rowan out of the house to his hitched wagon, waiting outside the stone fence. He placed the chest behind the seat, and took my bundle from my arms, and placed it with the chest. He turned to help me up onto the bench, but I had already scrambled up and had taken my place. He hefted himself then gathered the reins in his hands and flicked them. The horses trotted, and with a jolt, the wagon rolled behind. It was still a cool summer's morning. The village was stirring, and we would be gone long before they realized that no one lingered to bandage their woes.

He and I kept silent until we crossed the River Dart. I turned to him and asked, “Where do we go?”

That elusive smile of his made an appearance and his eyes twinkled. “We go to Dartmouth.”

Dartmouth! Never before had I ventured any further than the Abbey, and now to Dartmouth? Never had I seen a city before.

For the vast majority of the journey, I was in a state of shock. Rowan gave me time to adjust and clear my head. Whenever we drew close to a village, town or hamlet, he would tell me the name of it and some stories about the denizens there. But we never stopped to trade goods as we made our way to the Dartmouth harbor. Already I had seen more in four days of knowing Rowan than my seventeen years in Buckfast.

In the late afternoon of the second day of traveling upon hard, dusty roads before I saw the outbuildings of our destination. When we reached Dartmouth, we went to an inn called the Rose and Pony, located on the busy and filthy docks. There, Rowan moved his wagon into a back stall of the stable then groomed and bedded the horses a wee paddock. A young boy with unkempt blonde hair and ragged clothing frowned when he spotted the stabled horses.

“'Tis me job, and now Ima gonna get beat!” the boy cried.

Rowan smiled and handed the boy a copper coin. “They still need to be fed.”

The little boy smiled and went to finish tending the horses while we walked to the inn. A thin woman was in the common room, polishing worn tabletops with a rag. “Have you a private room at the time? Master George sends his regards.” Rowan addressed the woman.

“Aye, we have a private room for a friend of Master George.” She tossed her rag onto the table and walked towards the back, waving for us to follow. “This way, dearies.”

The room she led us to had a contraption I never seen before set into the corner. A bed, I learned. In the corner of the room by the foot of the bed was a small table with three chairs. A wee fireplace lurked in another corner, and next to it, an ewer and pitcher of water.

Rowan asked the woman, “Have you anything in the kitchen?”

The woman nodded, “I shall bring you a tray. Beer, cider or wine?”

“Wine, please.” Rowan replied.

She left, shutting the door behind her and I plopped my tired bones into a worn chair. “We have reached Dartmouth. Now where to?” I asked as I stifled a yawn, hoping that we could rest a few days before going further. My bones and bottom ached in a way I never thought possible. We had slept on the ground beneath the wagon, wrapped in our cloaks as we journeyed to Dartmouth. Without a doubt, I missed my straw-and-pallet-lined bedspace.

“I must seek a ship heading to France after we eat. We go home.”

After encountering the stinking and narrow streets of Dartmouth, I had hoped to see the open countryside again. But never had I thought to trade the shores of England for French countryside.

“Where in France?” I asked, only knowing of Paris, Rouen and Calais. I knew France was much larger than England. Enthusiasm began to grow and it showed on my face.

“We go to Hareflot, unless I can find someone going to Calais. From there, down river to Evreux. I have a chateau near there.”

My jaw dropped. When he proposed marriage, I never thought he would possess French holdings. His English was too good for him to be a Frenchman... my curiosity was pricked and for the very first time began to wonder just who Rowan was in the scheme of things...was he a blessing or a curse? In a flash I remembered the dream I had of us traveling, and I recalled the feeling of being lost and following Rowan blindly toward come-what-may.

Still, the enthusiasm lasted. However, it was dampened out somewhat by me falling asleep in the chair at the table.