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When they returned to bow before the altar, Mother Judiana with the veil over one arm, the new postulant wore the pale blue habit of the order, much as she had done while a student with the other girls, but now with a snowy wimple close-covering her hair — save for the bright-flame tail of it, now braided and hanging down her back — and the wreath of roses now set atop.
This she removed and lifted up in offering before laying it reverently on the altar. Then she came down off the altar pace and lay prostrate in the midst of the choir, arms outstretched, Judiana covering her from head to toe with the fine veil she had worn and then kneeling beside her, while the community sang a litany of the saints in antiphon, answered by the choir of the school.
When they had finished, Judiana assisted Cerys to rise and led her back to the stool at the foot of the altar steps, sitting as the new novice knelt to offer up her joined hands between Judiana's and made her first profession of chastity, stability, fidelity to monastic life, and obedience. After that, she returned briefly to the altar to sign a copy of the promises she had just made, before kneeling again before the community's superior.
All that remained was the veiling of the new novice, accomplished very simply as two novice members of the community brought the white veil with its rainbow edge and held it taut above her bowed head while Judiana pronounced the formal words of blessing:
«Dearest daughter in Christ, henceforth to be known among us as Sister Iris Cerys, receive this veil in token of your chastity, and as a sign that you are enfolded in our Lady's grace and received within the embrace of the rainbow, a symbol not only of God's promise to have mercy on His people, but of our Lady's reassurance that she shall be our Advocate in the day of final Judgment.
«And though you now shall endeavor to dwell beneath the rainbow, turning your face toward the brightening sun, may the cloud-white of the novice veil remind you that you have yet to achieve the fullness of that rainbow-vision that comes with true knowledge of the Son of God».
She draped the rainbow-edge over the new novice's wimple, arranged the veil's folds on her shoulders, then set her hand on it as she pronounced the words of final blessing, «In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen».
With that, while the choir sang a joyful Alleluia, Judiana traced a cross on the new novice's brow, conducted Sister Iris Cerys to the place in choir that henceforth would be hers, and returned to the stool before the altar.
On a visual level, the reception of Jessilde's final vows was far simpler, though it held a greater poignancy for those who understood its greater import. Coming before the community's superior, Jessilde placed her hands between those of Judiana and pledged her lifelong promises, repeating the traditional monastic vows Cerys had just made — and she, like Cerys, went to the altar to sign her agreement to the vows just sworn.
But then, instead of lying prostrate before the altar, she stood close before it and spread her arms in self-offering, leaning forward then to rest her forehead against the snowy altar linens as she sang an exhortation from the Psalms, repeated by the choir:
«Suscipe me, Domine, secundum eloquium tuum, et vivam…» Receive me, O Lord, as Thou hast promised, and I shall live; and disappoint me not in my hope..
This exchange they sang three times, Jessilde beginning on a slightly higher note with each repetition and the choir answering, after which she came to kneel once more before Judiana, bowing her head as the white veil of a novice was removed, shears brought on a silver tray, and the back of her wimple loosened so that Judiana might release the coiled braid of her hair and cut it off, close at the nape.
This time two vowed sisters brought the rainbow-edged blue veil that would replace the white one; but before doing that, Judiana removed the plain blue scapular that Jessilde had worn as a novice and replaced it with one embroidered along the lower edges with rainbow bands. Her words, as she laid the pale blue veil across Jessilde's head, were similar to those she had spoken earlier:
«Dearest daughter in Christ, known among us as Sister Iris Jessilde, receive now the veil of a fully vowed member of this order, the clear, celestial blue of our Lady's mantle, enfolding you in the bright rainbow that signifies God's promise and our Lady's benison. May you dwell ever in the Son-light that creates this Sign, In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen».
As she had done for Cerys, now she traced a cross on Jessilde's forehead, before placing a gold ring on the marriage finger of her left hand. Jessilde raised that hand above her head, so that all could see the ring, then bent to kiss Judiana's hand before being raised up.
After that, she took back the coiled braid of her hair from the silver salver and laid it on the altar in offering, as Cerys had offered up her flower crown. One day, in one of their sessions with Father Paschal, he had told Alyce and Marie and Jessilde that, in the days before the great persecutions, the men of the all-Deryni Order of Saint Gabriel had worn a similar braid, though of four strands, never cutting their hair once they had made their vows; and if forced by circumstance to cut their braids, had been obliged to dispose of the braid in ritual far more intricate than Jessilde's simple offering.
Alyce thought about that parallel all through the Mass that followed, wondering how many others within these walls were aware of that ancient Deryni custom besides those Father Paschal had told.
Michon de Courcy knew, though he would have been surprised to learn how many others present were also privy to that knowledge. His purpose in attending Jessilde MacAthan's final profession, while ostensibly to honor this important milestone in the life of his son's sister-in-law, was actually a long awaited opportunity to hopefully gain him access for that closer look at her younger brother; for there had been little doubt in Michon's mind that the boy's mother, Jessamy, would ride up from Rhemuth for the event, and probably would bring all of her younger children — as, indeed, she had done.
Not that she had been pleased to see Michon in the party with her eldest daughter — though, given his familial connection, he was certain that no one else would have thought his presence inappropriate. The king and queen certainly had been cordial enough.
But he suspected that it was Jessamy who, to remove young Krispin from such close proximity to a man who might uncover the truth about him, had instigated the boy's sudden dash forward to sit with the princes — though Krispin's impulsive action was not altogether inappropriate or unexpected, under the circumstances. The young princes had occupied the best seats in the house for a close view of the proceedings; and though, by special dispensation, the Mass ran well into the afternoon, the three boys had been quite well behaved, given their young ages.
But though Michon had feared that the change of seating arrangement might stymie any chance of success in the true purpose of his presence, he found his opportunity later that evening when, after supper in the refectory with the rest of the close family and friends invited to stay the night, he chanced to be walking in the cloister garden. After pausing to chat briefly with Sir Kenneth Morgan and his daughter — and Lady Alyce de Corwyn, in whose presence he kept himself carefully shielded — he noticed three dark heads clustered somewhat conspiratorially in a sheltered corner of the garden, one of their owners poking at something on the ground. Wandering closer, he saw that the object of their interest was a very small, very dead bird — a swallow, by the look of it, not yet fully fledged.
«What a pity», he said, as he crouched down casually among them. «What do you suppose happened?»
There in the convent garden, none of the three showed any sign of wariness, for they had seen Michon in the church, sitting behind Krispin's mother, and knew he was kin to one of the nuns.
«I think he falled out of his nest», said Prince Brion, who was senior of the three both by age and by rank. Under the eaves above them, Michon could see the bulges of several tiny nests plastered close against the rafters.
«But, why didn't he fly?» Blaine said plaintively.
«Because his wings are too small», Brion replied, grasping the tips of both tiny wings and stretching them out to display their juvenile state. «See, they're only little. But I think he was going to be a swallow, like those up there».
He glanced upward at a nest tucked up under the eaves, with several little heads looking down at them with beady little eyes. Nearby, several adult swallows were clinging to precarious toeholds amid the ends of the rafters, heads swiveling to watch them.
«I see more babies up there!» Blaine cried.
At the same time, Brion started to turn the bird over for a closer look at the markings on its throat, but Krispin recoiled, wrinkling up his nose in disgust.
«Ugh, it's got crawly things on it! Leave it alone!»
Brion abandoned the bird at once, wiping both hands against his crimson tunic, and Blaine hastily backed off a step, lower lip a-quiver. He collided with the crouching Michon, who slipped a comforting arm around him and also took the opportunity to do the same to Krispin.
«It's all right, son. That's part of nature's way», he said, reassuring young Blaine and, at the same time, quickly daring a very gentle touch of the other boy's mind — and then a deeper probe, when the first touch seemed not to be noticed. «Do you think we ought to bury him?»
«That's a good idea», Brion said. Already showing signs of leadership, he immediately started to scoop out a suitable hole with his bare hands.
«Maybe he's just sleeping», young Blaine said hopefully, as he watched his brother dig.
«No, I'm afraid he's dead, son», Michon replied.
«But — why did he falled out of the nest?» Blaine insisted. «Why didn't the mama bird or the papa bird help him?»
«I'm sure they wanted to», Michon assured him, redirecting the boy's attention to the adult swallows watching from above. «I'm sure they're very sad. Don't you see them looking down at us? They're watching to make sure we take good care of their baby».
«Oh», said Blaine, apparently satisfied with this explanation.
«Shouldn't we wrap him in something soft then, before we bury him?» Krispin asked, turning to look at Michon. «I can get a handkerchief from Mama…».
«I have another idea», Michon replied, for he did not want the boy to go just yet. «Birds are nature's creatures. Why don't you line his little grave with leaves, or flower petals? That would make him a very soft bed».
«An' it will make him smell better, too!» Brion said, looking up with a pixie grin as he continued to scoop fresh earth. «Blaine, you go get some flowers».
As Blaine raced off to pillage the nearest rosebush, ruthlessly pulling off the heads of several blown blooms, Krispin glanced up again at Michon, still taking comfort from his embrace.
«You know a lot about birds, don't you, sir?» he asked.
«Well, I know a lot about a few things and a little about a lot of things», Michon admitted. «I do know that your particular bird would have grown up to be a very fine swallow. I love watching them wheel in the sun…».
And as Blaine returned and the three boys set about shredding roses and lining the little grave, Michon continued to crouch among them to encourage and advise — and was able to probe undetected into young Krispin's mind, discovering most of what he had come there to learn.
I've finally managed a look at Krispin MacAthan», Michon announced to the Camberian Council a few days later, accessing their meeting place from the Portal at Rhemuth Cathedral. «I cannot tell you for certain that he is Donal Haldane's son; but I can tell you that I do not believe Sief can have been his father».
After deflecting their startled flurry of questions and demands for clarification, he reached his arms to either side to link hands with Barrett and Vivienne, flanking him left and right, and waited while the others did likewise, drawing them quickly into a deep rapport that enabled them to share what he had learned. When they came out of the trance, his fellow councilors glanced uneasily among themselves, uncertain what it all meant.
«Far more useful, of course, would have been to question Jessamy directly», Michon reminded them. «Krispin himself knows nothing of the man whose name he bears, save what he has been told. And if Donal Haldane is his father, I still have no idea how that came to pass».
«In the usual way, one would assume», Oisín murmured, in a droll aside to Seisyll.