Purpleland: Chapter 17

When I woke I could only wish it had been death that took me. Body and soul the pain felt bottomless and endless. I grieved for Alena as a friend and as one who I loved for her own sake but at the same time there had been some small remnant of hope that Marcus would leave her a widow. After all his father had not been very old when he died, and that perhaps I could then make Alena my wife. I had even thought of abdicating in favor of you so she would not have to be queen.

I vacillated but finally decided to attend the funeral. I had Roland find peasant’s clothes for me and followed the crush of people going to see their Lady for the last time. It seemed to take an age to reach the gates of the castle square where the public funeral was to take place. As we entered the gates I saw Marcus before anything else. His face was white and his eyes hollow. His mouth had that pinched look I had seen only once before, when he had been thrown from a horse and his leg had been broken in three places. For a moment I wanted to run to him and throw my arms around the only brother I had ever know. I wished to forgive everything, to tell everything, to let our mutual grief bridge the cavern between us. Then I remembered Shay’s words “Marcus would not send you word” and all of the bitterness of the last five year enveloped me again.

Beside Marcus stood his small son, looking lost and valiantly holding back tears. Over the sounds of the crowd I could hear the wail of Alena’s tiny daughter, ensconced in some nursemaid’s arms. It took longer to pick out Shay. She was standing with her Brother’s family and she alone was crying freely. We stood as the words of departure were spoken over her cold, white body, stood as the wooden coffin was closed for the last time, and stood as Marcus placed his hand on the box that held his wife in the traditional gesture of farewell. That gesture was a sign to us that it was our turn. We sang the songs of departure as I have never heard them sung before or since. Perhaps you have not heard the songs, they are rarely sung in the south these days, cold ancient tunes for one purpose, they were made before the founders. I could wish that they be sung for me.

I felt at one with these people grieving their Lady and finally let the tears that had been building like a tidal wave flow. It was at the beginning of the third verse, when the song changes and builds in intensity, that Shay’s eyes met mine. I knew that she recognized me, but she made no sign.