4th October 1102

The porridge was sticking again, burning to the sides of the big, cast-iron pot in claggy, blackened clumps. Maire flailed the ladle clamped in her hand around the edges in a feeble attempt to detach the rapidly solidifying globs. Polina would have her hide if she burnt the breakfast again.

The pot swung, pendulous above the licking flames as she stirred. The hot liquid slopped up the edges with a wet slap, then slid into the gelatinous depths with ominous sucking noises. The ladle grated roughly against the bottom, stirring up gritty, soot-coloured lumps. They broke through the roiling surface like schools of foul bottom-dwelling fish, swallowed rapidly by the dull, milky gruel as they dived beneath it again. Tiny, dark scales flaked from their hardened bodies intermingling with the coagulating curd, turning it a dirty yellow. With a frustrated sigh she dropped the ladle into the pot, ready to give up since her desperate fumbling was only making matters worse. In defiance, the heavy iron body of the ladle sent up a final splatter of boiling porridge that rained down on Maire’s forearm.

She squealed in pain, clutching the scalded arm against the folds of her ragged dress.

She clamped her eyes shut holding back the hot tears that were threatening to pour down her cheeks to drip down into the porridge below. They would only sizzle on the surface for a moment and then be sucked below to be swallowed by some ravenous mouth at the breakfast table. Perhaps they would be spooned up hungrily by Kelgar himself, sliding over his sweet lips and tongue to be slowly digested in the depths of his warm belly. He would taste her pain for one brief moment and think to himself that whoever had made the gruel had added a little too much salt today. But she did not let her tears fall and they trickled silently down the back of her throat.

She straightened with a start as the heavy wooden door blew open with a thud. It was only Igrayne, unconsciously pushing back a strand of hair that had come loose in the autumn wind. Her fingers paused briefly for a moment on the rippled skin beside her left eye, fingertips resting lightly on the rumpled, reddened folds.

Her face cracked into a grin as she saw Maire, the healing skin buckling as the corner of her mouth pulled it taut.

“Maire”, she gasped her face flushed from the cold, “I was hoping to find yew… you here”.

Maire tried to twist her mouth into a matching grin but the corners drooped slightly, the skin on her arm stinging painfully.

Igrayne’s eyes drooped to the injured arm which Maire was holding out at an awkward angle lest the scratchy folds of her dress brush against the tender skin.

“Oh little chicken, what have yew done with yer arm then”, she asked gently tenderly taking Maire’s sore arm between her hands to examine the scald.

“Oh it’s bein’ nothin’ really, just a bit of hot porridge is all”, reminded of her task she gazed in dismay at the porridge which was beginning to look like dirty snow.

“Nonsense silly… go and pour some cold water over it. It will stop the stinging and do it a world of good. I’ll stir this here porridge. I haven’t forgotten all the tricks of a kitchen maid so very quickly”.

“Thankin’ yew”, Maire mumbled turning to the wash basin.

She gingerly began to pour a jug of icy water over her arm, wincing in pain as the chill traveled up through her arm and set her teeth chattering.

“Feels better don’t it?”, Igrayne called over from the stove.

Maire nodded feebly, scampering back with some relief to the warmth of the fire. It was a bitterly cold morning and Maire realised with some dismay that she would have to go and draw water to replace what she had just wasted.

“Bloody ‘ell, now I got be be goin’ out in the freezin’ cold again”, she felt her sore arm carefully, “does feel better though, yew were bein’ right about that”.

“Polina’s goin’ to be killin’ me now that I burnt the blinkin’ porridge again”, she moaned, “I wish they’d all be goin’ away. I’m that sick of their scoldin’ an’ bitchin’. I’m even sick of their gossipin’”.

“I thought yew… you liked gossip, yer always wanting to know what them nobles are doin’”.

“That’s bein’ different, excitin’ stuff yew know. All I’ve got ter listen to stupid stuff… fer instance they already be pickin’ out a husband fer that poor Illewen an’ her husbands not been in the ground not much more’n a month”.

“Oh”, Igrayne gazed at her curiously, “Who do they think she should be marryin’?”

“Well”, she leaned in conspiratorially, “these last weeks they’ve been sayin’ that poor ole’ Arran Barran. I guess then they can be miserable together eh?”

Her giggle was cut short by the wistful expression on her friends face, “Oh… is that what he’s wanting too?”

With a rush of glee she realised what the dejected look on Igrayne’s face meant.

“Why Igrayne… ?”, she tittered with a jovial grin spreading across her face, “Could it be that yer wantin’ a shy, akward farmhand all fer yerself then”.

“What… me?”, Igrayne blustered, “Why would you be sayin’ something like that?”

Maire waggled her finger in the other girl’s direction, “I be knowin’ a lovestruck girly when I see one, an yew got all the signs honey. Yew can’t be hidin’ it from me, I’m knowin’ yew too damn well”.

“Alright Maire, yer right”, Igrayne sighed in resignation, her wide eyes turning to the floor, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Of course I’m bein’ right. I’m just surprised I couldn’ see it before. But in my defense… Arran Barran? Yew always used to be makin’ fun of him. I guess I didn’ really see him as yer type. He’s bein such a shy, funny young fella… seems so innocent… but then imagine the things yew could be teachin’ him Graney”.

“I don’t want to teach him anythin’”, Igrayne grasped at Maire uninjured arm, “‘It’s not bein’ like that. I don’t know what to be doin’. I don’t even know anythin’ to teach him besides”.

She blushed scarlet red, “I just feel like a fool when I’m around him. An’ now this… perraps I should be leaving him to Illewen. She’s a bein’ a much better person than I, an’ her with a little girl to take care of. He’d like a child to take care of like his own I think”.

Maire was quite surprised by her friends admission. Maire had always assumed that Igrayne, being the older of the two had an innate knowledge of these things and perhaps had even tried them. Maire for one, always pretended she had more experience than she truly did but it had never occurred to her that Igrayne might have been too.

“Well then it should be bein’ one with big ole’ green eyes an’ little blonde plaits silly. The last thing that poor girl is needin’ right now is another man forcin’ his way into her bed. Yew’d almost be doin’ her a favour. An’ anyway Graney… this might be yer only chance… she’s had hers an’ at least she’s got a little baby out of it. It bein’ yer turn sweet an’ I think yew shouldn’ step aside fer noone”.

“But I don’t know what to do anymore”, Igrayne mumbled miserably.

“Good thing yew be comin’ an’ askin’ old wise Mairey for advice then”, Maire said with a knowing grin, easily ignoring the fact that she was neither old nor wise.

“I’ll help yew catch yer little Arran Barran fishy. What are friends fer after all?”