Funeral

Roger rode a mixed-breed horse while Bitter Melon Face led Little Horseherd and the silent Louis, driving a mule cart that jolted along Milkhouse Manor's muddy roads. None of them spoke.

Attending the funeral of one's father, brother, and lord of the household was hardly a happy occasion.

They had gone more than halfway when hurried hoofbeats sounded behind them. Turning around, they saw a short, stocky man riding a black mule toward them.

The one chasing after them was Sergeant Ma'en. He had changed out of his tattered wool cloak. A tartan blanket lay over the right shoulder of his linen tunic, and he wore a traditional black-and-gray checkered kilt below. Though the people of Allen Island were not as obsessed with tartan as those Highland fellows, this was a matter of respect for the funeral.

"Young Master Roger, I wish to attend the funeral of Sir Colin and Young Master Colin," Ma'en said in a low voice. After speaking, he quietly waited for Roger's response.

"Mm." Roger answered, then turned his horse around and continued onward.

Ma'en said nothing more. He lightly nudged his mule's belly and followed half a step behind.

By the time they reached Brodick, the church bells had just faded away. Roger tilted his head to glance at the sun hanging low in the sky. It should have been three in the afternoon.

The market town no longer held yesterday's sea of people. Scattered pedestrians drifted through the muddy streets, and the filthy, shabby streetscape felt even more depressing beneath the pall of grief.

Other than the coffin shop at the very edge of town, Brodick was silent as death. Even Red Mill had shut its doors tight. Today was not a day for happiness.

Roger had set off rather late. By the time they entered Baron John's castle, more than a hundred islanders had already gathered in the graveyard at the eastern end of the castle church, packing the small area so tightly that not even water could pass through. Sir Colin of Milkhouse Manor and the squire Colin II held considerable prestige on Allen Island. Moreover, although only Campbells were buried here, this funeral was a memorial for every heroic soul slain in battle. Thus, many had come to attend. Aside from the baron's household knight who had been carried home with grave wounds, nearly every notable figure on Allen Island had arrived.

The baron's steward spotted the group entering the castle and squeezed through the crowd to Roger, who had already dismounted. "Young Master Roger, the baron and the others have been here for quite some time. They are waiting only for you."

Roger nodded, handed his reins to the approaching castle servant, and followed the steward through the crowd toward the center of the graveyard.

Saint Molaise and two generations of Campbells were buried here. Now, the third and fourth generations of the Campbell family would be buried here as well.

Funerals in this era were not so complicated. Even the deaths of ordinary nobles did not involve the cumbersome rituals of Jeolla Dojo. People dressed in dark traditional clothes and stood solemnly around the graveyard. Some ladies held blue thistles in their hands. Two coffins lay in the middle of the graveyard. One held the sleeping squire Colin II, while the other was empty.

The church's fat priest and his assistants conducted a quiet memorial service beside the two coffins, recounting the illustrious deeds of the two generations of knight Colins.

Roger had spent several years in a monastery, so religious funerals like this were naturally familiar to him. Though there was now some distance between him and those memories, it did not feel strange.

Baron John stood beside the coffins with the baroness and White-faced John, solemnly gazing at the cold body within the coffin.

Perhaps because he had barely slept, Baron John looked somewhat pale. He raised a hand and beckoned Roger forward.

Roger glanced around at the crowd whose eyes had gathered upon him, then stepped forward.

"Did you bring your father's clothes?" Baron John asked in a low voice.

Roger nodded behind him. With red-rimmed eyes, Bitter Melon Face led Louis, whose eyes also bore tear tracks, forward and handed Roger a set of his father's clothes.

"Your father's body is still in the hands of the English. Let his clothes enter the grave of his ancestors in his stead for now." Baron John raised his voice. "I will certainly bring him back for burial."

The moment he finished, he broke into a violent fit of coughing. The baroness hurried over and patted him a few times, but Baron John raised a hand to ward her off. "Begin."

Roger carefully placed the set of traditional Scottish tartan kilt and shoulder blanket into the empty coffin.

Several deacons stepped forward and closed the lids of the two coffins. Immediately afterward, the long, lingering notes of Scottish bagpipes rose from outside the graveyard, melodious and mournful. The women holding blue thistles stepped forward one after another and laid their flowers upon the coffins.

When Kate of Red Mill placed a bundle of blue thistles upon Sir Colin's coffin, she cast Roger a sidelong glance. But Roger was lost in thought as he listened to the melodious, mournful Scottish bagpipes at the edge of the graveyard.

In his previous life, he had once heard a bagpipe performance called "Amazing Grace." Though the bagpipes now were not as moving as that, in such a solemn setting, the ceaseless long notes were melodious, mournful, ethereal, and clear. The drifting notes seemed able to tear through the air, pierce the eardrums, and see straight into one's heart.

Goosebumps rose across Roger's arms.

"...In the Lord's name, welcome the souls of these great Christian warriors as they ascend into heaven. Amen."

"Amen~"

The great chorus of prayers pulled Roger back to reality. The two coffins had already been covered in flowers.

It was time to carry the coffins to their burial.

The two surviving knights who had not been gravely wounded, along with the one-armed sheriff, walked to the coffin representing Sir Colin. Four knight attendants went to Colin II's coffin.

Sir Colin's coffin was still one bearer short.

"Roger, carry your father's coffin for me," Baron John said.

Roger was puzzled as well. Normally, carrying the coffin to burial was a duty borne by those of high status. Thus, Sir Colin's coffin was to be carried by two knights and the senior one-armed sheriff. Baron John was the lord, so he would not carry a coffin himself. Usually, he would arrange for a younger generation to do it in his place.

White-faced John, who had already been preparing to carry his uncle's coffin, turned livid. He was clearly standing right beside them. How could such a matter be handed to his nephew instead?

And that nephew was even a demon. Thus, the look White-faced John cast at Roger gained another measure of resentment and hatred.

In truth, Roger's status was not particularly suited to this task either. But since his uncle, the baron, had given the order, he could not refuse him to his face. He could only walk to the empty coffin, lift it together with the other three men, slowly carry it to the grave that had long been dug, and gently lower it in.

The other coffin was likewise placed into the grave beside it.

Once the coffins had entered the graves, Baron John stepped forward, bent down, grabbed a handful of earth, and gently scattered it over the coffins in the two graves. Several islanders carrying tools then came forward and filled in the graves. Once the tombstones were made, they would be erected for future generations to behold.

Watching the two coffins gradually disappear beneath the earth, Roger suddenly felt as though his former self was being buried as well. The bagpipes by his ears still wailed mournfully, while the memories of the past slowly blurred away.

In this barbaric world where war blazed on all sides, perhaps Allen Island was already a paradise beyond the world...

"Roger."

Baron John's call woke Roger from his thoughts. Looking up, he saw that the mourners around him had already dispersed. Only Bitter Melon Face, Louis, and Ma'en remained at his side. They merely assumed Roger was still steeped in grief.

"Come to my office later. I have something to say." Baron John, who was preparing to return to the manor, paused and turned sideways to say this to Roger, then led several knights and attendants into the baron's residence.

He was probably going to distribute that meager share of spoils. Roger nodded in acknowledgment and led Bitter Melon Face, Louis, Ma'en, and the others to wait in the church.