Guinevere by Sharan Newman

Author:Sharan Newman
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Historical Romance
ISBN: 9780312862336
Publisher: Tor Books
Published: 1980-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

The room in which Flora lay was white and the ceiling low. From her bed, she could only turn her eyes from one empty surface to another. She heard her faithful attendants enter and leave, knew they were feeding and cleaning her and raged at the shame of it. Except when a face bent over hers, she might already have been in her sarcophagus, reclining peacefully in her tomb. More than anything she wished for the dignity and release of death, but she knew it would not be given her until she redeemed herself.

“It is the cardinal sin,” her mind repeated. “You withheld the sacrifice. You must pay, you must pay. The punishment will not fall upon the victim. Mother! Most high! Give me strength and I will fulfill the prophecy; only let me move and I will do so in your service!”

They all came to see her every day. Guenlian patted her hand and spoke as if she had lost her reason instead of her body’s strength.

“Here’s some lovely soup for you. Isn’t it just lovely? And here’s a warm comforter. Let me wrap it around you.”

Leodegrance would come and yell as if she’d gone deaf, “HOW ARE YOU TODAY?”

Caet sneaked in once with a gift of flowers. He laid them on her pillow like an offering at a tomb. But his eyes were sad as he kissed her cheek, and of all of them she felt he best knew the degradation she suffered.

Guinevere came, too, and for an hour every day sat next to the bed and prattled as always. The only difference was that now Flora could not interrupt. Guinevere never looked at her. Flora wished she would. Even without words she knew she could have made the child be still.

Constantly her spirit railed at her body, admonishing it to obey, and all the while she repeated her prayer: “Give me strength long enough to do my duty, only that long and no more. I must be allowed to atone!”

But the weeks passed and her muscles remained unresponsive. Her terror grew until she barely heard the platitudes of her visitors. Only her own pleading echoed in her ears.

Outside the white room, life was becoming joyous again. Geraldus cheered everyone. He made them smile without feeling guilty. He sang. Although the winter solstice approached, the villa was warm and merry. It wasn’t hard to remember the rebirth of nature with the new life growing before them.

Only in Flora’s room was it winter. Pincerna and Tenuantius discussed it.

“She won’t let go,” the butler worried. “Her body is gone, useless to her, and I believe her mind is going too. She doesn’t seem to recognize us anymore. Yet she refuses to face her own end. Why won’t she accept it? She has had a longer life than most.”

“She’s not one of us,” Tenuantius said, as if that explained the matter. “Tacitus and Sidulus have some very interesting comments on people of her race. You must come by my room some evening and I will read them to you.

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