While Angels Slept Read Online Free PDF Page B

where his son fell, will give him a sense of vengeance. Perhaps it
will end this madness he displays.”
    She looked up at
him, those magnificent lavender eyes full of tears that she quickly blinked
away. “I would be grateful, my lord.”
    He almost
reached out to pat her arm, an innocent gesture of reassurance, but he stopped
himself. It was not appropriate, harmless as it was. But it did not prevent him
from giving her a tight smile, one full of regret and pity, as he left her
side. Charles was still on his knees and Tevin paused a few moments beside him,
speaking low words that Cantia could not hear. Very soon, Charles stiffly stood
up and released Hunt. Woodenly, he followed his liege from the yard.
    Hunt’s sweet
face watched his grandfather go. He was wracked with confusion, with grief, as
only a youngster could understand it. He looked up at his mother when she
walked up beside him and took his little hand.
    “Isth
Grandfather going to be all right?” he asked.
    Cantia did the
only thing she could do; she nodded. “Aye, he will.” She touched his face, so
very grateful that he was unharmed. “You were very brave, Hunt. I am sorry if
your grandfather frightened you.”
    They stared to
leave the yard. “I wathn’t scared,” he declared boldly. “But I wath afraid that
Grandfather would hurt himself.”
    “You saved your
grandfather. I am proud of you.”
    Hunt didn’t
understand the all of that statement so he shrugged. He looked at the gate
where his grandfather and the viscount had just disappeared. “Where are they
going now?”
    “To prepare for
your father’s funeral.”
    “Isth it going
to be grand?”
    “The grandest.”
    Hunt fell silent
as they crossed the threshold of the yard gate and continued out into the
bailey.
    “Mam?”
    “Aye, my love?”
    “Can we bury my
father with my sword?”
    The ever-present
tears sprang to Cantia’s eyes but she held them back. She would not let Hunt
see her devastation at the poignancy of his sweet question.
    “Aye, my
darling,” she said tightly. “I think he would like that.”
     
    ***
     
    As Tevin had
told her, the funeral commenced at dusk. Every man, woman and child at
Rochester held a single taper that, when lit, created an unearthly glow that
illuminated the entire ward. Shadows danced against the massive stone walls,
undulating shades of grays and blacks. The knights were in full armor, their
mail coats glistening wickedly in the candlelight, as the mood of the place lay
heavy in the air. It was Brac Penden’s final time and all were appropriately
somber.
    The populace
moved from the gates of the castle, heading down the road for the great
cathedral of Rochester. It was a long, slow procession, full of bleak grief and
the uncertainty of the times. Down the road went the ghostly wraiths, some on
horseback, most walking, all of the carrying the light of hundreds of candles.
The illumination gave the procession a surreal glow, as grand as Hunt could
have ever hoped. Once inside the massive house of worship built by the bishop
Gundulf in the year ten hundred eighty, the cavernous hall filled quickly to
capacity.
    Brac had been
placed near the altar, dressed in his finest and draped with flowers from his
wife’s garden. Stalks of foxgloves mingled with roses from the vine. Myles and
the knights from the Viscount Winterton’s army had carefully cleaned and
dressed Brac for his viewing. Lady Penden had been enormously thankful for
their care of him. He looked peaceful and ready for eternal sleep.
    The cathedral
was lit with dozens of fat tapers as the soft wail of the monks droned in the
background. The Archbishop of Rochester had been called to preside over the
funeral, but the messenger had not been able to get through to London where the
Bishop was in residence. Therefore, a local clergyman from Northaven was
summoned to do the duty.
    After the lament
of the monks ceased, the priest began the funeral liturgy. Cantia stood in the
front of the