10th April 1103

“And what does a horse say Riandur?” Alexis grinned at his son whose soft brow was furrowed with concentration.

Riandur had a pudgy, doughy face with round eyes that narrowed when he was cross or tired. His body was strong, with fat little hands and wrists that looked as though someone had tied a piece of string very tightly so they bulged on either side. He had fat little legs, strong legs which could kick, legs which he could totter around on for long moments before he had to cling to his father’s hand. He was a big boy for his age, a strong boy. It sometimes seemed that he had robbed his brother of that strength, that in the womb somehow Riandur had taken more than his fair share of nourishment

Where Riandur was strong and fat and healthy, Colthan was pale and small and wan.

“Ney!” Riandur shouted in glee at the top of his longs causing his mother to start.

Alexis glanced over at his wife who was staring down at her hands as though amazed by how swollen they had grown. Along with her growing belly her fingers and feet had ballooned, so the skin stretched taut, uncomfortable and shiny. Her face had swollen too, the dark pouches under her eyes distended above her flushed cheeks.

It had been a long, long time since he had lain with his wife. He had barely touched her for weeks since she could not bear the pressure of his hand, the heat of skin. They lay, on separate sides of the bed, Alexis on his back like a corpse afraid to accidently brush against her.

There had been other women of course, but it was a long time since he had managed any kind of satisfaction. Even as they lay beneath him squirming and moaning all he could think about was his wife’s swollen features and her dull eyes staring up at him.

“And what’s the horses name?” Alexis asked.

Riandur looked put out at having to answer such a ridiculous question.

“’orse,” he whinged.

“’Orse? You mean h-orse. Isn’t that a rather boring name for a horse. Wouldn’t you rather call it something moe heroic like Gallant or Whitewithers?”

Riandur scowled at him and Alexis felt the impending tantrum. Riandur was a funny boy, and was prone to suddenly changes from grins and giggles to full blown shrieking rages.

He grinned at Morven. They always though it rather a joke to watch their dark-haired son stamp his tiny feet and screw up his face into an ugly red ball.

Morven was not looking at him or their child. She stared straight ahead, her eyes glazed, her mouth slightly open. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, the flush from her cheeks spreading down her neck. It was as though she was gazing inward, listening to some sound deep inside her body. Alexis hoped it was the baby she heard.

He had begged Hepsie for some cure to her pain, some assurance that his wife would be fine and healthy once more. But good-hearted, little Hepzebah couldn’t give him any. She had given Morven some medicines to take but that was all she could do. It would be difficult for his wife, she had told him. The baby was causing a strain on her system and the only thing that could help her was the birth of their child. It was still months away and Alexis carried with him a silent dread that it would be too late. He almost hated the unborn child for slowly sucking the life and vitality from his mother.

“No!” Riandur squeaked, “no, no, no. ‘Orse! ‘Orse! No witewivvers! No!”

His son clenched his tiny fists and stamped his fat little feet. Alexis couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Alright fine. No witewivvers then. ‘Orse it is.”

Riandur’s face slowly lightened from purple to its usual shiny, scrubbed pink. He stood up as though challenging his father. He pointed to the horse.

“Fine you little monster. Whatever you want. It’s your horse after all,” Alexis leant over to tousle his son’s thick hair.

Riandur lost his balance tumbling with a thump onto his solid behind. He opened his mouth to scream but then his eyes went wide and he pointed at his brother.

Alexis followed his gaze and saw that Colthan had shakely pulled himself to his feet. It had been many months since Riandur first stood, his brother sitting silently, watching with a pale, intense look as his brother trundled round the room with father in tow. Alexis had tried many times to coax the boy to his feet, but every time the small child had hung limp from his arms, his weak legs refusing to hold him.

And now he stood.

Alexis smiled with relief at his wife, “Morven love, look! Colthan is standing! The little mite is finally on his feet.”

“Mama,” Colthan murmured, staring up at his mother, swaying in place as though waiting for her answer. His tiny head was inclined towards her, and Alexis knew he was staring up at her with his watery, blue eyes.

He took a tentative step forward, “Mama.”

He clutched frantically, his hands too far from her skirts.

“Morven, he wants you!” Alexis cried, tearing his eyes from his son to gaze at his wife.

Her baggy eyes were pressed tightly shut so that only the tips of her lashes protruded from between the bulging sacks of her eyelids.

It was as though she didn’t even hear him. Or if she did, she no longer cared.

Alexis swept his shaking son into his arms, staring into the tiny boys face with the wet tears that were running silently down his cheeks.

“Well done little man. Well done. You are quite the stander is seems,” he murmured, planting a kiss on the boys forehead.

Without a word Morven rose ponderously to her feet, her body swaying drunkenly as she lurched towards the door. So it was these days. When Morven retired to lie down in the dark she did not even see fit to tell her husband. He let her go.

Colthan clung timidly to his father’s neck, his tiny pawing hands curling around the draw strings of Alexi’s silken shirt.

“Don’t worry little man, Mama will be alright. We’ll all be alright.”

Alexis only wished he believed it himself.