“I was occupied with other things,” Adrian said without apology. “You know Valentine will be late any matter. He can barely tear himself away from little Mariette long enough to run through Beckham the stolen cargo Francisco brings in.”
“I’d go see them next week,” Dori said, ignoring completely the fact that they were discussing piracy on English soil. “Before it snows again.”
Constantine rose from his chair and took a leaning step toward Dori to place a kiss on the crown of her head. “If it’s too late, we’ll stay in the village with Roman and Isra.”
“I don’t think so,” Dori called out in a singsong voice.
He followed Adrian from the room with a smile, reaching down to ruffle Christian’s hair and poke at William’s ribs as he left, eliciting grins from both boys.
“I’ll return in a bit,” he said.
Christian nodded. “I know, Papa.”
* * *
“I don’t see why we have to do this tonight,” Constantine complained as they rode through the frosty evening toward Benningsgate. “It’s dark and cold. The wine was good and warm. So is my wife.”
Adrian glanced at Constantine. “You really don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
“It’s a year ago today you left Melk.”
Constantine looked around himself at the countryside, crisp in the cold, bright moonlight, and took a deep breath, realizing Adrian spoke true. Only one year ago he had been certain his life was over. His chest tightened, and he was glad his friend allowed the silence to ride between them the rest of the way to Benningsgate.
They came into the village past the new barns and the recently graveled section of road leading past the skeletal structure of the manor house where Roman and Isra would eventually live, and on to the little rise where Benningsgate folk had been buried for years.
Where Patrice was buried, now under a finely hewn stone crafted by Roman himself.
Constantine saw the black outlines of the three men waiting for them on the hill, the slender shadows of stakes marking the squared corners of the chapel that would soon be built. He and Dori would bring their sons to that chapel once the keep proper was finished, leaving Adrian and Maisie to oversee Thurston Hold in guardianship for William.
“Good evening, Father,” Constantine called to Victor as he swung down from his horse. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“It’s no trouble, Constantine.” The old abbot smiled. “Brother Valentine only arrived a quarter hour ago.”
“Right again,” Adrian murmured smugly.
“Allow me to guess: he only told you about the meeting . . . when? Two hours past supper, I say,” Valentine queried. “I had no wish to stand out in this freezing weather for longer than I need.”
Roman swung his arms and took a deep breath. “It’s not even cold, Val.”
Valentine flapped a hand in a rolling motion. “Victor? Can we just get on with it, please?”
Constantine looked down at the large, square stone set near a shallow hole between a pair of tapered stakes. Without word, the men begin rifling through their tunics and satchels, producing small items they kept hidden in their hands.
Victor looked at each man in turn, waiting for their nod. And then the old abbot brought forth a prayer book and opened it in the moonlight, calling down God’s blessing upon Fallen Angels Chapel. He looked up at Valentine, who tossed a small round item into the air over the hole. The moonlight glinted off the gold as it spun and then fell into the dark square with a soft plunk.
“May we and all who seek solace here hold close to the family we have found and the families we will create,” he said in a tone of rare solemnity. “Knowing that it is the greatest wealth.”
Adrian stepped forward and then knelt in the soft, cold loam to place his Chastellet coin deliberately in the bottom of the hole, next to Valentine’s. “May we always be wise enough to believe in one another and in miracles.” He paused there a moment, his eyes closed in the foggy glow, before rising to his feet.
“My hope is that we remember how strong each of us has had to be on our own,” Roman said, leaning forward to drop his own coin in the hole. “And how much stronger we proved to be together.”
Constantine felt the weight of his friends’ gazes resting on him as he bounced the coin in his palm, looking into the dark hole for a long moment. “May we always remember our duties. And remind one another of them should we forget or become lost.” Stan dropped his coin into the hole, hearing its clink as it joined the other three.
Victor recited a final prayer from the book before closing it and placing a reverent kiss on its worn leather cover. He bent and laid it atop the Chastellet gold.
The four men moved at once and without comment to the square stone, each taking a side and straining to slide the heavy rock into place over the hole, covering their pasts, sealing the promise of their futures. Their hands met in the center of the chapel’s cornerstone for a brief moment.
