Propolis

by Non Bramley

  I made my report to the Archbishop, who allowed me to return to my little house at Saint Ivo’s, but first I recommended a name, a man who might just make a Reeve if he should ever wish to tread that path. The name I gave her was Aaron The Stranger.

  Winter came and I had to light the fire at night. My strength came back, and I grew fat, my belly swollen like the brown dome of a mushroom.

  I gave birth to a son. It was hard labour and I spent the days after bleeding in the abbey hospital, till I was healed enough to sit with my son in the gardens, trying to make him feed. He refused, his little coral mouth pursed in defiance. Spring was here, the sunlight bright but cold. All around me life was renewing, except in my child.

  ‘Why won’t you eat?’ I asked him, stroking his hair.

  ‘You can’t give him what he needs,’ Jón said, sitting next to me and I felt the warmth of him.

  ‘So you’re here again.’

  ‘I was never far. Our son is beautiful.’

  ‘He’s dying. For once in my life I can do nothing but watch.’

  ‘He’s not made of the same stuff as you. He’s something different. Your world can’t sustain him.’

  ‘Could yours?’ I said, turning to him. He held out his arms and I passed him the child, who was too hungry to cry.

  ‘Have you named him yet?’ he said.

  ‘No, I’m too scared to name him.’

  ‘He will be a king.’

  ‘My God, I hope not.’

  Jón smiled at me then as fallen blossom danced around our feet.

  ‘Why not name him for the place we met?’

  ‘Piskelli? No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Piskelli’s your name for it. We call it Osku Tre, Ash Tree Island.’

  Jón’s face blurred and twisted as he spoke, the bones under the skin shortening and growing fine, and Sol was there. She put the child to her breast and at last he drank.

  ‘Let me take him. He’ll thrive with me. Let me take him back to the island, please,’ she said.

  ‘So he can live in a make-believe world where nothing bad ever happens?’

  ‘Yes, so he can live. He’ll come and find you one day, I promise.’

  I have a son. He lives with the Huldufólk in a place where time and sickness can never touch him.

  Only God knows if what I did was right.

  Only time will tell.

  Propolis

  Acknowledgements

  During my research for this book, I became intrigued by the folk legends of Iceland. I’ve used elements from these wonderful stories and this fascinating culture to create the world of Olaf, Gudrun and the people of Tresgo. I ask the reader’s forgiveness if my imaginings don’t reflect the elegance of the true tradition.

  Welsh speakers who read my books will also be aware that I occasionally use Welsh phrases that are no doubt grammatically incorrect. Once again, I ask your indulgence. Welsh is just too potent a language for me to resist.

  Finally, in Chapter Three, I give Jude the phrase ‘God sleeps in the rock, dreams in the plant, stirs in the animal and awakens in us.’ These words are from the pen and mind of Ibn Arabi, who was born in the twelfth century and whose works have become influential across the globe.