The Common Fate Of All

Prologue

1174 A.D.

Alice completed the circle with a self-satisfied smile firmly affixed to her lips. "What say you, Melania, will this do?" The magnificent bilaut of patterned silk fit her perfectly, its soft rosy colour enhancing the beauty of the wearer. The cloth harboured golden lines crossing one another in a great multitude of diamonds which very nearly resembled the light colour of Alice's hair. Bright red cendal lined the insides, visible as the girl moved out her arms, presumably to allow her present companion a better view. The linen of her chemise poked from beneath the heavily ornate hem of the pleated skirts. She looked fit to sup at the king's table.

"Simply lovely," Maria answered, pushing back one of the heavy braids which had fallen over her shoulder. "Your uncle is very generous." The man certainly spared no expense when it came to his niece's possessions. She had received substantial gifts in order to celebrate her upcoming marriage to the Lord of Beirut. "I expect many a troubadour shall in the coming years sing longingly of the fair Lady of Beirut." The young woman coloured becomingly and giggled, half-hiding her face away.

"That is too much," laughed her friend.

Maria stamped down upon the thin tendril of envy which sprung to life within her. Gentle Alice fully deserved her good fortune and she would not mar the occasion with sullenness or petulance. The Lord of Beirut owed the choice to his distinguished taste and fine eyesight. And might be the interference of his lady mother. In any event, it was no slight against Maria. Burying the discontent behind a solid wall of shame, she smiled upon the fortunate winner of affections and helpfully held out the linen which was to serve as veil.

"Not too much in the least," assured she, offering up the circlet which would secure the last piece of the ensemble. They were fine garments, she could not help but think yet again, looking down upon her own plain kyrtle. But not as fine as the wearer, Maria quickly affirmed in the silence of her own ill-advised dissatisfaction. She would pray to the Virgin and the saints and the good God above them to make a clean heart in her breast and soften a rejection that had ever even truly been. "You shall both be very happy together, I deem."

"My happiness would be complete if only I could take you with me." For a brief moment, Alice's face looked as though she might cry. Maria set out to comfort her, wrapping both arms around the taller figure.

In truth she had little desire to see the man who had taken her fancy in embrace with her dearest friend. Well-suited though they might be for one another and excellent a match as it was for the families involved, Maria had a heart all of her own to guard. And the sight of what would never be hers could make her bitter, she feared, and in the end poison all that was beautiful in her friendship with Alice. From a distance, however, absent Hugh's handsome face, she could be trusted to be sincere in her joy and true in her prayers, though she might yet struggle.

"But I am perfectly content here," she made answer, still holding onto present company. "The abbess is very kind to me and treats me well. She might in time even allow me to take the veil." Looking up, she witnessed Alice biting down upon her lip. They both knew the obvious objection to that course. "Worry not, my friend, I shall be well-looked after. And you will be too much taken with your husband to give though to such matters."

"Melania! That is not true." Pushing slightly back, the elder of the two gave her a thundering glare. "Your mother trusted that I would look after you and so I shall. 'Tis only that I require a bit of time. Once I am established as Lady of Beirut, I will call you to my side. You may trust that."

"Now, do not take an oath on it, my lady; I know you mean well, but there is naught wrong with remaining where I am." Save for her own lack of sufficient calling to become a bride of Christ, Maria truly had ever so little to regret by choosing to stay with the abbess. Hugh of Saint Omer had been a pleasant dream, but naught more; as might be expected of any other knight in his stead. "You know there is no skill I could give to the world without these walls that would be of interest. Here, at least, I have my scribal toil." And a proper shield against all that could never be hers.