EPILOGUE
The nunnery appeared deserted as I rode through the main gate, but there was no doubt I had already been watched for some time. It was a beautiful winter morning, spring would be here soon, and it would be welcome. Last evening I had spent a great deal of time polishing my chain mail and sword, and they glinted in the warm sunlight. In Dover, I had been newly outfitted with boots and mail, and my white tunic had remained relatively mud-free on my morning ride.
I dismounted and tied Charlemagne to a nearby hitching post. The old plow horse stamped his foot at the grass beneath the light dusting of snow as I waited patiently in the courtyard.
Finally the main door opened and an elderly nun made her way down the steps, approaching me cautiously.
“Greetings to you, traveler,” she said meekly.
“Thank you, Sister. My name is Tris. . Sir Tristan”-I still was getting used to the sound of it-“of the Knights Templar and I wonder if you could help me.” When I told her what I wanted, she smiled and, pulling her cloak up tightly around her, led me behind the nunnery to a small gated cemetery. She pointed out a small stone inside the graveyard and left me there alone.
I knelt before her marker, the final resting place of my mother, Rosamund Clifford.
Looking up at the sky, I closed my eyes, letting the warm sun strike my face, and for a moment I imagined the sunlight was her touch embracing me. I prayed silently, asking God to grant her peace had he not already done so. I crossed myself and stood. Then I removed Sir Thomas’ Templar ring from my cloak and placed it upon the stone marker. I did not think the nuns would accept it from me if I offered it to them directly. But they would find it when I left, and such a ring when sold would feed the nunnery for many months. I thought it would make Sir Thomas happy. Besides, I now had my own Templar ring to wear.
Looking down at the marker one last time, I said good-bye to my mother. I left the cemetery, closing the gate behind me, and returned to the courtyard where Charlemagne waited patiently for me. Jumping into the saddle, I gave a small salute to the nuns I knew were watching from the windows.
Then I turned the gentle plow horse toward the gate, and together we rode off into the cool, fine morning.
