The fourth and eldest of Sief’s surviving daughters was not present: Sieffany, who lived many days' ride to the west with her husband and young family. Contentedly wed to a son of Michon de Courcy, Sieffany might have heard the news by now — Jessamy had caught a glimpse of Michon himself, as she entered the cathedral. But even if Sieffany knew, her attendance at the funeral would have been far too dangerous even to consider; for only through Deryni auspices could she have learned of the event so quickly, and only by the use of a Portal could she have reached Rhemuth in time. In the prevailing climate regarding Deryni, it was best that humans were not reminded that such things even existed.
That had not deterred some of those now assembling. From where Jessamy sat behind her daughters, black-gowned and heavily veiled, she was able to single out several whom she recognized as being friends of her father's, all those years ago, some undoubtedly come by way of Portal — little though the rest of the mourners would realize that. She knew of several Portals in and around Rhemuth. One lay within the precincts of this very cathedral.
Strangely enough, she found that the presence of these men no longer frightened her the way it once would have done. She wondered whether she still frightened them. For her own part, she found that with Sief’s death had come a lightening of many of the constraints by which he had bound her — or by which she had felt herself bound — and her status as a grieving widow would give her added protection that had not existed while Sief still lived. Let them think what they liked — that she was the renegade daughter of a renegade Deryni — but she would take many secrets to her grave, just as her husband was taking his secrets to his.
The muffled bell ceased its tolling, the last strike lingering on the silence. At the thud of a verger's staff on the floor in the west, the congregation rose as the king's council and then the king himself entered the cathedral, all of them in black, the black-clad queen and her ladies also in dutiful attendance. Following them came the cathedral choristers, who began the solemn chant of the introit: «Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua lucent eis…» Then the processional cross and torch-bearers, a thurifer, and finally the celebrants for the Requiem Mass now beginning, the archbishop himself to preside.
Jessamy waited until the king's party had reached the transept crossing before tottering to her feet. Having risen from childbed to be present, she was content to let observers think she was weaker than she was, affecting to lean on the arm of the maid who had accompanied her. She had become a consummate actress during her long years at court.
Now she played the role of grieving widow as befitted her dead husband's rank and station, meekly kneeling with her daughters for their father's Requiem, confident that her façade of grief would not be broached by any of the other Deryni present. Indeed, the grief of her daughters was genuine, in varying degrees, and would reinforce her own illusion.
Jessilde's was well contained, already being channeled into the serenity and acceptance come of convent discipline, though her pretty face within her rainbow-edged veil was pale and drawn. Seffira, the four-year-old, was hardly old enough to understand that it was her father who lay in the coffin before them, but Jesiana, the nine-year-old, wept inconsolably, for she had been the apple of her father's eye.
When Mass was ended, both Donal and his queen accompanied the procession down into the cathedral's crypt as Sief’s coffin was carried to its final resting place, destined for honored interment in a vault very near the tombs of Donal's own ancestors — for the king had made it known that he regarded Sir Sief MacAthan as a friend as well as a loyal servant of the Crown, worthy to lie near the Haldanes in death as he had served them in life. The place was also very near the final resting place of several of Sief’s children — fitting enough, Jessamy supposed, but it also meant that she would have to pass his tomb every time she came to visit the little ones.
In the meantime, in the days until the stonemasons had finished their preparations, the coffined body would lie atop the table-like tomb-slab of another long-ago good servant of the Haldane Crown: Sir Ferrol Howard, slain with King Urien more than fifty years before at the Battle of Killingford. A tattered banner from that battle hung above Sir Ferrol's tomb, honoring his sacrifice, and its edge trailed over the floral tributes now laid atop the polished oak of Sief’s coffin, after the pall was removed. Before leaving, Jessamy had offered lilies on behalf of her absent daughter, and a single red rose for the infant Krispin, who would never know the man whose name, but not blood, he bore.
Afterward, up in the cathedral narthex, she and her daughters lingered briefly to receive condolences from a few of those who had come to pay their last respects — though not many showed such fortitude. While mere association with Deryni no longer carried quite the stigma it once had done, most deemed it prudent not to attract unwelcome scrutiny from those less tolerant of such associations. Archbishop William was known to be one such individual, though he had chosen not to offend the king by declining to celebrate Sief’s Requiem Mass; but even the power of a king might not be enough to protect those who fell into the archbishop's active disfavor.
Both king and archbishop were standing on the cathedral steps as Jessamy and her daughters emerged through the great west door, the queen and her ladies already heading down to the horses waiting in the square below. Maintaining a façade of meekness, Jessamy paid her respects to the archbishop and followed, the king trailing behind with several retainers when he, too, had taken his leave.
That night, while Jessamy cradled her infant son and pondered his future — and hers — and the king likewise considered what might come of what he had done, two men of whom both of them had cause to be wary were making their way back to Rhemuth Cathedral. The pair's mission required that neither of them be seen, so they came by way of the Portal in the cathedral's sacristy.
They arrived after the last of the night offices, when the monks of the cathedral chapter were likely not to be about again until Matins, several hours hence. The cathedral was deserted, as they had hoped it would be after the day's obsequies. Racks of votive candles in the various side chapels spilled wavering patches of illumination across the cavernous darkness of the nave as Seisyll Arilan and Michon de Courcy made their way silently back to the mouth of the stairwell that led to the royal crypts. There, while Michon kept watch, Seisyll used his powers to shift the tumblers in the lock that secured the gate to the stair, stilling any sound it might have made as they swung it open far enough to slip through.
Quickly they ghosted down the worn steps, their way now dimly lit by the faint violet glow of handfire that Seisyll conjured for that purpose. He kept it small, and shielded it with his hands as best he could, for brass grilles pierced the ceiling of the crypt to admit air and light from the nave above — and would also betray their presence, if anyone entered the nave and noticed light from below. But some light they must have to make their way among the tombs to where Sief’s coffin lay.
Threading their way between the tombs of generations of dead Haldanes, they came at last to the side vault where Sief’s coffin awaited proper interment. Here were no ceiling grilles to betray them, but the scent of the wilting floral tributes was strong, and Seisyll found himself stifling a sneeze as he and Michon eased to either side of the coffin. He was already pulling a pry bar from his belt as Michon began moving the flowers to one side. They had known the coffin was sealed, so they had come prepared.