บท 8: The abbey
Some footsteps echoed in the long and dark corridor of the abbey. It was ten in the morning, about four hours after the celebration of the usual morning mass and about three hours before pilgrims or beggars were welcomed into the cellars of the friars to enjoy a hot meal. Diane had never really been able to see beggars or pilgrims up close, and that made her completely melancholy. She missed being able to see people or even just shake hands or bow to a noble. In her sixteenth years of age, all she could do was just sit still, and sometimes take a look out from the bars of her room.
She was there alone, in the darkness of her room, kneeling on the cold floor and praying. Her prayer was not so much of thanks as of despair. It had been two long years since she was there and this was making her particularly nervous. Diane had a magnificent body, she had long hair as black as night and puffy, which gave her a particular beauty. Some of her hair was tied in tight braids that ended up coming together at the back of her neck. Her eyes were large, like those of a young fawn and blue like the sea, her dark skin made the colour of her eyes even more vivid and bright on her young face.
The young woman loved her body and would have loved in that moment to be able to wear different clothes from a long black tunic, she would have liked to be able to take off that long veil from her black curls and show the world that she was free. She was looking nostalgically out of her window.
-Sister Diane- the voice of one of the other nuns was heard outside the door -a letter for you, from your brother- the young woman didn't even turn around, but in her heart she was full of joy. She hadn't heard from her brother since he had left to fight the War of Wales. She was happy and knew inside her heart that her brother was not dead, he was still alive.
She took light steps towards the parchment that had slowly been pushed through under the door. She took it in her hands, toyed with it, ran it through her fingers until she broke the wax seal that had been pressed over the soft paper. The young woman slowly opened the letter, saw the neat handwriting, smelled the dry ink that the pen had brought on the sheet and stroked it until it was smooth again. She read the black ink signature, Gilbert Stanley, it was definitely her brother's signature. Diane grabbed the letter and held it tight to her chest, almost as if it were her own brother, as if they were back together again. She missed her brother incredibly, and it was strange, she knew it, but both had always shared their past, and although Gilbert had always been a man that loved to play with other's feelings, in their childhood they had shared a lot.
In fact the two were not completely siblings, they had the same father and the same surname, but their mothers were completely different. She had never met Gilbert's mother personally, nor had she ever been told much about her. The only thing she knew about her was that she was no longer there, she didn't know, Diane had never asked for much more. It was still unknown to her whether the woman was still alive or had died.
Diane was born some time after the woman's alleged death, about seven years after. She recognised her own mother immediately, from her early years. She was one of the many lovers that the Viscount of the Isle of Man used to have, but finally married. In addition to Gilbert, Diane had other older half-brothers, even older than Gilbert, their name were Walter, Marcus and Samuel, but she hardly ever heard from them anyway.
In any case, despite their eight years of age difference, Diane and Gilbert had always understood each other very well, they were the only ones who immediately felt such a strong attachment to each other. Her brother was for her a bit like the father figure that she always missed. He had raised her, had spent time with her, had played with her, and he had even been the first to teach the art of combat to the young woman for a few years.
Unfortunately, the time came, she didn't remember how old she was exactly, maybe seven or eight. It came the day when the viscount decided to form the spirit of his youngest son by sending him to fight for the English homeland. His father said, to bring honour to the family, and it was since then that she had never been able to spend time or even see Gilbert again. Diane felt lonely, she was sad, she wanted to meet her brother again, to be able to caress his long red hair again, she wanted to hold him close to her and run away with him.
Diane turned her big blue eyes towards the window and without any further hesitation she moved again to look outside of it, she would go out there one day, she would run away, she would finally be free. But that day would apparently and as she feared not arrive in a short time. She sat down again on an hard, uncomfortable wooden stool and looked at the sky outside her window. It was cloudy, dark and everything around her was so cold, it was about to start raining.
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