"I remembered…the beating. They were King's Men, other King's Men, like me. We were camping. They were teasing me, calling me a faggot. And they were drinking. It just got more and more violent. They …" His voice was choked off by another sob.
"I know what they did to you," Father Mallory told him. Keiran's eyes widened. "You forget, I'm the one who cleaned you up and salved your wounds." Keiran flushed scarlet, turning away. Father Mallory sighed deeply. "I have watched you both work so hard to resist becoming fond of one another. For you, Keiran, the problem is that you believe men loving men is a sin. For you, Gleve, it’s a matter of being unprofessional as a Healer and knowing it might be dangerous to share too much with someone who might someday return to King Anglewart's service. But think, both of you. All is now changed. Keiran cannot return to his world. He is a wanted man; to return would mean death. And what is there for him to return to anyway? His beloved brother is gone. He will stay here, find some destiny among us." He turned back to Keiran, "Among a people who value the love between men, if that is part of your destiny."
A long silence followed this speech, Father Mallory looking back and forth from one troubled young face to the other. Finally he rose to his feet. "I think you should talk." He started toward the door, but turned back, to Gleve. "And you must have a talk with Lynna as well. You can't put that off any longer."
Gleve nodded and the old man left, softly closing the door behind him. Talk, but Gleve could think of no words. He found it difficult even to look at Keiran. After a short time there was a rustle as Keiran turned away and pulled the covers over his head. Gleve stood there awhile longer, but eventually there was no choice but to turn and leave.
Apparently Father Mallory had said something to Lynna, or she had overhead some of their conversation. Gleve winced when he saw the pain on her face. She said nothing. Nor did he, since he couldn't think what to say. She did not look either of the two young men in the eye for weeks and her disappointment radiated from her in waves, affecting the whole household.
As Keiran recovered his strength, though, he began first to help her with the heavier tasks, such as hauling firewood and water, then took them over altogether. Then he began to help more and more with the cooking, gardening and cleaning. This left Lynna free to study Father Mallory's collection of Journals. Both Healers devised questions and tests to reinforce her growing store of knowledge. When there was Healing to be done, either patients treated by Father Mallory at the cottage or those Gleve visited all over the district, Lynna became a constant presence, watching, questioning, assisting, trying her hand at the skills she must learn to become a fully qualified Healer herself. She was gifted. Their appreciation for her grew and they never forgot to let her know. In turn her confidence grew. She found her place as an Apprentice in this ancient craft and gradually let go of her dream of a different kind of partnership with the handsome young Gleve.
The handsome young Gleve, however, was miserable, since he also could not have the partnership he wanted. He bitterly regretted ever showing his feelings to Keiran, and the tension between the two young men seeped into every crevace of the small cottage.
Chapter 47: Maida
Mother Peg and Rafe departed for their journey with a rare feast in their pack. Liandra had decided that all of her food should be shared, so the travellers carried cured meats, fruits and cheeses rarely seen among the People of the Land, even a flagon of beer. Liandra and Maida stood side by side in the yard as the journey-lantern disappeared up the path to the east.
“Would you normally go with them on a Healing trip like this?” Liandra asked.
“I would go if we planned to be back the same night, but not a longer trip like this. If I went, who would care for the animals?”
“I suppose so. I was just afraid maybe you were staying because of me. I’m not as afraid of being here as I was at first.”
Maida smiled at her, “I know.”
Maida had set up two planks across a pair of sawhorses against the side wall of the cabin. A pair of lanterns hung from hooks on the wall, lighting the rough work surface. Two stools stood beside it, and baskets of freshly harvested herbs sat in a row on the ground. “Show me what to do,” Liandra said to Maida as they approached this improvised worktable.
Maida showed the Princess how to sort the herbs and tie them in bundles for drying, collect seeds and spread them to dry for planting the next year. Liandra soon gathered up the tattered lace on her cuff and tucked it into her sleeve because of its tendency to brush plants and seeds off the table.
Maida pulled some parchment scraps from her pocket. A quill pen and inkwell already stood on the outside window ledge. She began to make labels.
“Was it hard to learn to read and write?” Liandra asked.
“At first.”
“ But the King’s laws makes it illegal for women to learn.”
“Long ago when King Gallward decreed that Healers were to be protected in the Realm he also made an exemption for female Healers to learn to read and write, and to be useful to a Healer, a servant has to know a bit too, for example, to be able to make labels for herbs.”
Maida returned to writing her label. Liandra sighed. “I would like to learn to read.”
“Well, why not? I could teach you a little while you’re here. We already have one secret about a breach of the King’s laws.”
“That would be wonderful!” Liandra went back to her work smiling. “I wish my mother could meet you. She always wanted to read and write. She wanted it so badly she tried to learn secretly when she was a child. Fortunately, she was found out by her nanny, who loved and protected her. It would have been a lot more serious if someone else had caught her.”
There were a few moments of silent work. Liandra broke it: “I wonder what happened, why it was announced that she died, why she’s in the Women’s Retreat House. I wonder if Imelda is with her—Imelda is the nanny who raised my mother and us as well.”
“Maybe you’ll find out when you go back.”
“I hope so. It will be difficult, though. Clearly it’s a secret, and as soon as I go back, I’ll be involved in preparation for my wedding, and then the wedding itself, and then I’ll go off to live in the Southlands.” She had lost her smile.
“Do you want to marry and go to the Southlands?”
“I did want to. Prince Locheil is very handsome, and wealthy, and he kisses well!” She giggled.
“And how do you know that?”
“We were allowed to take a walk together, to get to know each other. There were chaperones following, but they fell behind, and there were trees …”
Maida laughed. Liandra continued. “He is also second in line for the throne of the Southlands. I could possibly be Queen some day. But I’m not so sure now, about wanting that.”
“Now?”
“Well, after the Dragon attack, and losing Ortrude, and now whatever has happened to Mother and Imelda, and … being here. Life is different here. I’m …”
“Changing?”
“Yes, I guess I am.”
“Speaking of changing, when will you be finished sewing your Woman of the Land outfit?”
“I’m nearly done. Just the holes for the lacing to finish edging. I can probably do that this morning.”
“Can’t wait to see you!” Maida teased.
As morning light began to brighten the kitchen window, Maida finished cleaning up supper and putting away the milk while Liandra finished her new outfit. She stood and held up the blouse. “How do you like it?”
“Beautiful!” Maida walked over and felt one of the seams. “I could never sew like that.”
“Well I’ll probably never read as well as you.”
“Let’s have a reading lesson this morning, before we go to bed.” Maida went into Mother Peg’s room and emerged with Folk Tales of the Eastlands in her hands.
Liandra looked hungrily at the book. “Yes, let’s! But first I want to try on my new clothes.” She ran up the step
s to the loft. Maida set the book down on the table and followed.
Maida undid all the hooks on the back of the ruined silk dress, with difficulty, since the stitches that held them were stretched almost out of the fabric.
Liandra took a fine silk chemise from her trunk and pulled it on over her head. As it fell over her belly, Maida was sure it was rounder than before.
Maida helped the Princess pull the blouse over her head, step into the skirt and shrug her shoulders into the bodice. She threaded new laces through the carefully edged holes Liandra had just finished making. She began to tighten them.
“Liandra …you measured for this … how many weeks ago?”
Liandra looked down at her body, placed her hands over her belly and paled a little. “You’re not saying … No … no … I’ve just gained a little weight while I’ve been here.”
“Liandra, it could be …”
“No!”
“When you kissed Prince Locheil, was there more?”
“Well, we felt a little under each other’s clothes, but that’s all, there were chaperones!”
“Have you ever felt under any other man’s or boy’s clothes?”
“Well, a little, in play, with noblemens’ sons, even servants’ sons. Doesn’t everyone do that? But I’ve never ‘lain with a man.’ God, you sound like my mother.”
“Well, you don’t have to actually lie with a man to …”
The Princess raised her voice. “I don’t want to talk about this any more.” She began pulling off her new clothes and throwing them into a corner of the loft. “I’m going to bed. Leave me!”
Maida woke suddenly on her pallet in the kitchen. Someone had screamed. “Liandra?” she called out. There was no response, but she could hear whimpering coming from the loft. She threw back her cover and hiked up her shift to climb the stairs. The Princess was curled tightly into a ball, the covers pulled up over her head. The whimpering came from her. Maida sat on the side of the bed and laid a hand on her shoulder through the blanket. “Liandra, what’s wrong?” The princess went on whimpering and now Maida could feel that she was shivering as well. She began to rub the trembling shoulder.
Gradually, Liandra calmed. Eventually, she uncurled and emerged from under the blanket, her eyes red. “I … I am pregnant, aren’t I?” Maida nodded, not sure what to say. “But I don’t want to give birth!” Liandra shuddered. “My mother nearly died having my youngest brother. She screamed and screamed! I know. I was there!”
“What do you mean, you were there?” Maida asked her.
Liandra sat up, and Maida helped pull a pillow up behind her back. The princess drew her long hair back from her tear-stained face. “A royal birth isn’t private like the childbed of other women,” she told Maida. “The King assigns some of his Bailiffs as witnesses, so they can testify that the child is truly an heir of the royal house. Otherwise, someone could switch babies, or take the real heir, or who knows what. And as they come and go, other people can come in if they want, like curious older sisters.”
“So you were there when your youngest brother was born? And it was a difficult labour?”
“I had gone back to my own room by the time he was born, but I could hear her all the way down the hall.” Liandra shuddered. “It was terrible.”
Maida had assisted Mother Peg at difficult births. It could be terrifying. Death always hovered in the room during a birth, animal or human, but you could almost feel her breathing on the back of your neck during a difficult one. She gathered Liandra into her arms. “Oh my dear, it’s all right. It’s all right. First of all, very few births are like that. Most go smoothly, just as they are supposed to. Second, Mother Peg has brought many, many children safely into the world. She must have midwived hundreds in her life. She’s considered one of the best midwives in all the Realms.”
“But even the good births hurt a lot. I was there when my second youngest brother was born too.”
“There are ways to help with that. Mother Peg uses teas that ease the pain. Some are strong enough that women say they feel like they’re floating, that the pain is far, far away. Also, Women of the Land give birth squatting on the floor, not lying in a bed like the King’s women do. It helps the baby come faster.”
“Really? Don’t the woman’s legs get tired?”
“The assistant sits behind the birthing woman and helps hold her up. That’s my job when I help Mother Peg. And another thing, there are exercises, breathing exercises, that help you move the pain through you and out, into the Earth beneath you.”
“Can you teach me?”
“I’ve watched Mother Peg teach them often enough. But now, sleep.” Maida helped Liandra ease down into her bed again.
The Princess turned to the wall and curled into a tight ball. Maida began to tuck the blankets in, but stopped. After a moment, she lifted them instead and slid into the bed behind Liandra. She began to massage the Princess’s neck and shoulders. Her hands worked down Liandra’s back, easing the tension from the muscles. Liandra gradually relaxed, began to doze. Maida, her hands tiring, curled against Liandra’s back and slid an arm around her waist.
Liandra tensed again and, after a moment, pulled away and turned to face Maida. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “You aren’t filled with Dragon Spirit, are you? The Warror God condemns women like that.”
Maida was now wide awake as well. “What are you talking about?”
“You know, women who touch other women like men.”
“What? Your Warrior God condemns women who love one another with their bodies?”
“Of course. It’s wrong. Unnatural.”
Maida laughed, softly. “What is unnatural about love? Lots of women touch and caress one another, in all kinds of ways. For some it’s sweet friendship, for others release or pleasure. For some it’s a life-long bond of love together.”
“But the Warrior God …”
“We follow the Earth Mother. We are all part of Her, including our bodies, especially our bodies, and she loves being touched.”
“Really?” Liandra studied Maida’s face in the day-lit loft. She tentatively stroked Maida’s brown cheek, once, again. When Maida began to unlace the front of Liandra’s night shift, the Princess stretched forward to receive the young servant’s gentle hand on her breast.
Chapter 48: Melisande
Melisande sat at a writing table set against the wall of her room. She had a small book open before her, a list of words beside it. She struggled, joyfully, to read. Gradually becoming aware that her back was aching, she stopped to stretch and turned around to smile at Imelda, sitting in a chair just behind her. Imelda put down the piece of embroidery she was working on. “You are happy, my child?”
“Very. You, more than anyone, know how long I have dreamed of learning to read.”
“But is it difficult? At your age?”
“I suppose it’s difficult at first at any age. It starts to come easier when you understand what sound comes from each letter.”
“What are you reading?”
“It’s the story of the Warrior God killing the Dragons. It helps that I’ve heard it a thousand times in Chapel.” Melisande stood up and walked thoughtfully to the window, looking down over the courtyard where servants and Sisters moved back and forth at various tasks, their lanterns bobbing. On the other side lanterns shone in tiers of windows just like her own. “Imelda, do you think the Warrior God really killed Dragons when he was on earth?”
“How would I know that, my Lady?” Imelda looked up from her work, startled by the question.
“The Kings and Nobles always portray themselves killing Dragons in tapestries and paintings, but I’ve never heard of one really doing it. In fact, it’s the other way around. The Dragon kills the knight! Or the knight barely escapes with his life.”
“My Lady, I suppose it was one of the Warrior God’s miracles.”
“I tried to say this to Torrie, did I tell you?”
Imelda’s hands were stil
l. “I don’t think so.”
“ It was just before the night of the poison. I came upon him in the chapel, on his knees before the Warrior God. All I could think of was how much like a baby bird he looked, with his hair cut so short and that scraggly little mustache he was trying to grow, but he was deadly serious. He was praying that his father would let him raise an army of young men to go after the Dragons. ‘It’s our generation’s turn,’ he told me. ‘The Dragons multiply and grow stronger if we do not challenge them. Each generation must do what it can to drive them back. Someday there will be a generation that finally ends their rule of the Realms,’ he said, obviously hoping that it would be his. I tried to tell him that it is the Dragons that drive us back in each generation. He could not hear me.”
“Why won’t Anglewart let him raise an army?” Imelda asked. “He’s right. Every generation of young nobles takes their turn at it.”
“I wish I knew, although I’m glad he’s holding them back. I don’t want another generation’s blood feeding the roots of the mountains, especially the blood of my own beautiful sons.” Melisande shuddered, then took a breath and sighed deeply. “I wish I knew Anglewart’s mind on anything. There was a time when we would talk late into the night …” The Queen’s voice petered out, lost among her thoughts. Imelda had gone back to her embroidery before her mistress spoke again. “They are beautiful, in a way, aren’t they?”
“What?”
“Dragons … When I think about that creature Anglewart had chained to the wall of the small courtyard, usually all I can think of is Liandra and Ortrude lying face down in the snow, and the blood …”
“My Lady …” Imelda began to set aside her work and get to her feet.
“It’s all right. I can finally say such things without weeping—sometimes.” Imelda, seeing that Melisande was truly all right, settled back into her chair, but did not pick up the embroidery hoop again. Instead she gave her former mistress her full attention.
Melisande continued. “I sometimes think about him before that terrible day, when he was small and tame. He was so beautiful! Remember how the sun sparkled on his scales, bringing all those colours out in a background of sky blue? Elegant creature--he moved with such grace. And remember his eyes? They glowed, and so expressive …”
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