Beneath the ruins
17th November 1102
“Bring the torch closer so I can see”, barked Lochan.
Obligingly Noah knelt, the flickering light of the flare casting eery shadows over the weathered tiles.
They go down below
17th November 1102
Tiny flakes of snow swirled through the chill air netting themselves in the heavy weave of Harndall’s cloak which was already sodden with their melting bodies. Behind them the hollow shell of the ruined church loomed, blackened arches curving upwards like the ribcage of some giant rotting creature.
All around him were men, men with swords, their sharp edges menacingly slicing through the soft forms of the unfortunate snowflakes whose suicidal trajectories intersected them.
Igrayne gets a new dress
“I just can’t quite believe she’s so small”, Lisbet mused, cradling the tiny infant against her shoulder.
Eidel was making small snuffling noises through her open mouth as she squirmed against her. Lisbet sighed, hoping fervently that she wasn’t about to spit up again. She did not have many gowns that fit her swollen body, and her other was already spattered with milk splodges which Eidel had burped up after her last feeding. And she had forgotten to bring a cloth to cover her shoulder with in case it happened again.
She softly patted Eidel’s back whispering into her tiny shell-shaped ear, “Please be a dear and don’t spit up on your Ma again”.
Cindra giggled, hoisting Atholt into the air, “I know. They always seem so very tiny at that age don’t they. You remember what Atholt looked like, he was as wrinkled and tiny as a dear little raisin. I could’ve have eaten him up in one bite”
She gazed at the baby speculatively, “You wouldn’t think it to look at him now though, would you?”.
The baby gave her a gummy smile, chuckling breathily. He waved his chubby arms frantically, kicking his legs with all his might.
“I mean would you just look at this fat little tummy”, she lifted him up to her face, kissing and blowing raspberries on his round belly.
He squealed in delight, desperately patting at his mother’s head with his waving hands, his legs pedaling in the air.
He was such a happy baby. All Eidel seemed to do was cry till her face was a squishy red blob and then burp up, bubbly milk all over Lisbet. Lisbet felt guilty for wishing she could have a wet nurse, but it didn’t matter anyway. There just wasn’t the possibility.
And it wasn’t that she didn’t love her daughter. She did. She could not help but look at her in awe, marvelling at the tiny fingers and toes and her husband’s soft grey eyes blinking up at her from the baby’s cradle.
She was just completely exhausted. Eidel had such bad colic and it was lucky if she slept an hour without hearing the trembling high-pitched wail starting up from the cradle. Hepsie had told her that soon things would be better, that Eidel would start sleeping through the night but Lisbet was beginning to despair that it would never happen.
“Give Eidel a nice smile like you just showed me”, Cindra giggled, turning the baby towards Lisbet and her daughter.
Eidel screwed up her face into a tight red ball and began to wail. Atholt looked at her in horror, trying to shrink back to the comfort of his mother’s soft breast.
Lisbet stroked Eidel’s face, wiping away the tears and hoisited her up onto her shoulder again until the baby’s crying subsided.
“Trying to play matchmaker with our children already Cindra”, she asked with a wry smile.
“Oh… no, well it would be so very sweet don’t you think?”, she grinned blushing.
“Somehow I think your husband might have higher aspirations for little Atholt than the daughter of a knight”, Lisbet had not meant to sound so bitter.
“Oh, let’s not think about that now, I can’t bear the thought of Atholt growing up to be a big hairy man. I want him to stay my chubby little baby forever”, Cindra hugged her son tightly against her ignoring his uncomfortable wriggling.
There was a knock at the door.
“Oh, that must be Igrayne. Come in dear”.
“Good day yer Ladyships”, Igrayne said shyly, peeking around the door.
Lisbet grimaced then hastily smoothed her features into an indifferent smile. Cindra had warned her about the girls face, but it was more of a wreck than she had expected. Lines of pale new skin were tugging at the corner of her lip. She suspected Igrayne’s loose hair was hiding the worst of it too, she caught a hint of ragged puckered skin peeking from beneath the curtain of golden hair that was flowing down Igrayne’s shoulders. Her skin had lost its ruddy sun-kissed complexion, even the freckles had begun to fade from the long weeks spent indoors. Her green eyes were tired and surrounded by dark circles like tiny tendrils of moss growing deep in the shadow of the towering canopy.
She was suddenly glad Cordell had escaped with only a clean cut across his cheek. She would hate to see his dear face mangled so.
“Oh! Is this bein’ little Atholt then”, she cried, bending over to tug at his toes, “Why, isn’t he a chubby little thing!”
“We were just saying the very same thing!”, Cindra replied with a giggle, “I’m glad you like him though. Hold him for a minute”.
She thrust the baby into Igrayne’s arms. By the way the girl was juggling the baby, trying to support his head as he squirmed in her arms, Lisbet could see she had never held one before. She knew exactly what that felt like. She well remembered the first time she had held a baby, her sister’s firstborn scrunching it’s face up into a wrinkly, red ball and wailing at her. She had been terrified that it would simply fall to pieces in her hands, so tiny and fragile was it. And now she had her own and it was, if possible even tinier and more fragile.
“Oh you don’t have to worry about his head dear, once they get to a certain age they can support it themselves and Atholt’s neck is definitely fat enough to hold up the weight”, Cindra said, turning to the chest of drawers and rummaging around inside tossing gowns this way and that, “Now… where is it”.
“Beeee”, Atholt squealed, happily clutching two big fistfuls of Igrayne’s long hair and pulling as hard as he could.
“Ah, here we go”, she tossed a gown onto the bed and began to disentangle Igrayne from Atholt’s grasping paws, “Give me this big lump. It’s time for his nap”.
She desposited the baby into the cradle and turned to Igrayne with her arms spread wide.
“So my dear, Mistress Rawtharn is already finished with your new dress, and I thought you might like to try it on”.
“Oh, yes that would be bein’, I mean that would be lovely”, Igrayne stuttered.
“I hope you don’t mind but I’m going to put Eidel in with Atholt, she’s finally sleeping and my arms are aching that much”, she peered down into the cradle.
“You wouldn’t believe it but Atholt’s already asleep!”
“Just like his father”, Cindra’s face went momentarily dark like a cloud crossing before the sun and then she grinned again and winked at Lisbet, “just you watched he keeps his hands to himself. They’re a bit too young to marry”.
Lisbet flopped down on the bed with relief., “God knows, I ache all over. And I’m that tired I think I could fall asleep right here sitting up”.
Cindra came to sit beside her as Igrayne changed into the dress.
Lisbet gazed enviously at the young woman’s body as she stripped down to her shift. Her stomach was trim and flat beneath the thin fabric, her breasts pert. Lisbet ran her hands over her own rippling belly. She could feel the sagging weight of her breasts on the back of her wrists.
“I used to have a fine body like that”, she whined, “my stomach was flat too! When will it come back?”
“Oh you’ll get it back honey, it always feels the worst this first month”, Cindra replied soothingly.
It was well and good for Cindra to say, but then she still looked like a round little butterball. Lisbet thought she had scarcely changed with her pregnancy, whereas she had used to be thin and lithe, and now she felt fat and lumpy. And it was the strangest thing to squeeze out a baby the size of Eidel and still have this round swollen belly. To know that she was suddenly empty inside, a bit hollow cavity and yet it was still there bulging on the outside. She felt disgusting. It was no wonder Cordell had not bedded her since the baby was born. Of course they had both been too exhausted to do anything but sleep in the short intervals when Eidel was not crying. But still.
And now that she though about it she remembered that he had wanted to a few nights before and it had been she that refused. And he didn’t think her swollen breasts and round belly ugly, he had praised them and told her she was beautiful. Still it did not help, she still felt disgusting.
“Oh you look beautiful!”, Cindra cried in delight and Lisbet looked up to see that Igrayne had wriggled into the dress.
It fit perfectly, the heavy folds hugging her trim hips and then flowing graciously to the floor. The shining golden trim matched the colour of her hair beautifully. There was no doubt about it, Mistress Rawtharn was a talented seamstress. Perhaps when her body was back to the way it had been Lisbet would commission her to make her a dress. She still had some material. If her body ever returned to normal, she thought with a sigh.
“Oh oh, I know!”, Cindra clapped her hands in excitement, “I can put your hair up too and show you how to wear it nicely”.
“But won’t my scars show then”, Igrayne asked softly.
“Oh you poor dear heart. They are not so very bad and they are fading every day. And I promise you nobody is going to notice any scars with a body like yours poured into a dress like that”.
Lisbet felt an guilty ache for the poor girl. While her body would return to approximately its original shape, Igrayne would wear those scars for the rest of her life, “Don’t worry love, Cindra is very good at this. There’s nothing she loves better than to do someone’s hair and have a good gossip”.
“Oh well then, I guess I’ll have to be doin’ my best with the gossipin’ too then, though it’s like to be awful hard for me”, Igrayne replied with a naughty snicker.
“See Lisbet, I told you. She’ll do just fine with us. Now hold still”, she began to part Igrayne’s hair.
Lisbet leaned her head against that backboard of the bed. Perhaps she would just close her eyes for a moment…
“Come now, I’m done! Come and look at yourself in the mirror”, Cindra wrapped her arm around Igrayne’s tugging her to her feet.
She had wound Igrayne’s hair into a pretty knot, pulling her hair down to partly cover the scarred side of her face. It did not do much to hide the torn skin, but they young woman looked beautiful nonetheless. Suddenly she had transformed from a ragged, messy kitchen maid, to a distinguished lady’s maid. Once again Cindra had worked her wonders.
She planted Igrayne in front of the mirror. Lisbet saw the young girl’s look of surprise at her appearance reflected in the mirror.
“You look beautiful”, Cindra whispered.
“That’s for sure Igrayne. The menfolk aren’t going to know what’s hit them the next time you saunter by”, Lisbet called from the bed.
She could not help it, she was jealous. She couldn’t imagine men’s eyes turning to watch her anymore as her lumpy figure waddled past them, with a shrieking baby perched on her dimpled hip.
“Yes, you look simply delicious. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble attracting whichever man you want. Speaking of which, have you got your eye on anyone in particular”, she waggled her eyebrows comically, “Oh do tell Igrayne. I am simply dying to know and then I can help you catch him”.
“Oh well Yer Ladyship, I dunno… there ain’t bein’ than many men to choose from after all are there”, Igrayne replied blushing pink.
“There is someone isn’t there! Oh who is it Igrayne, you simply must tell me. And please, do call me Cindra. Your ladyship sounds so stuffy and formal”.
The door suddenly swung open and Garrick stumbled in, grumbling and rubbing his head. Lisbet could see there was a freshly bleeding cut at his hairline.
He looked up in surprise, as he noticed his room was full of women.
“Sorry ladies, I didn’t mean to disturb you”, he mumbled gruffly.
“And I’m sorry Garrick, I seem to have taken your place in the bed”, she said with a congenial smile rising to her feet.
“Come Igrayne, we should be leaving them in peace”, she leant down to pick up her sleeping daughter, “How about you bring Atholt and we continue our gossiping elsewhere and let these two have some alone time”.
She knew that Cindra and Garrick were barely speaking these days and she was desperate for her friends to be happy again. Cindra hid it well, but at moments when she though noone was looking it made Lisbet almost cry just looking at her little crumpled face.
“You kids be nice to each other”, she said and carefully shutting the door behind her.
Cindra runs once around the ship
“Well then my dear Cindra”, Lisbet clasped her hands as she spoke, a gleeful grin spreading across her face, “I think you and I both know your time has come”.
“But Lisbet!”, Cindra cried with an exaggerated shiver, “it is so very cold outside tonight and here I am with nought but a flimsy nightgown”.
“Would you be so very cruel as to send me out on a night like this”, she battered her eyelids with her most endearing look, clasping her hands beneath her chin for added effect.
“Very cold my big fat belly!”, Lisbet retorted.
“Oh!”, Cindra cried in mock dismay, “oh how can you say such terribly crass things. I would not have expected it from a lady such as yourself. I shall feel ashamed to be seated in your company”.
They could not hold in a snigger at this, thinking about the earlier altercation of the day. That Nyawe really was too much.
“Now Cindra, there is no escaping your duty tonight… you have already made every excuse under the sun and it is positively barmy outside this evening. So you better hike up the skirts of that flimsy nightgown of yours and get going around the ship on your pretty little ankles”, she looked down appraisingly, “which are decidedly not swollen and for that very fact you should be exceedingly glad. Oh to run again…”.
“I on the other hand, am going to go inside, rest my dreadful ankles on something soft and watch your progress through the window”.
“But Lisbet!”, Cindra quickly scrabbled around for an excuse she had not already used, “it is so dark. What if I fall and twist one of these pretty little ankles? What will we do if we only have one lovely ankle between the two of us. Someone needs to draw the eyes of the menfolk, else they be continuously focused on the slender ankles of a certain black-haired hussy. And to be honest with you, I just don’t think one will be sufficient”.
“Oh Cindra… truly, you are killing me. Enough with the excuses. You lost the bet. I won. Therefore the end result is you, this ship and three times a nightgown clad run”.
“Beside”, Lisbet gazed upwards, “There is a full moon tonight so I think those ankles of yours are safe”.
“Now my lady, do you think you are up to the task or must I admit that my friend is a coward who cannot keep her promise”.
“Now, now Lisbet, don’t be too hasty to bring out such words. There is not a doubt that I am braver than most, I simply had a few concerns that needed to be dealt with. Do I not look like I am up to the task”.
She paused, lifting her arms in the air in mockery of their husbands posing before an arm wrestle, “Can you not see these bulging biceps”.
“Yes dearest, but I don’t expect you to walk on your hands so what use is a bulging bicep to me”, she giggled as Cindra began to grab a the hem of her nightgown, “No no! Put your skirt down, I am sure you have strong thighs, you are already indecent enough as it is without displaying any more skin”.
“Now off with you and I don’t want to see you again until you have been thrice around the entire ship”.
Cindra began an awkward run down the stairs hearing Lisbet’s giggle behind her. Laugh as she may Cindra was a Baroness and she would run like one. Unfortunately her short stature and the lack of a corset to hold in her jiggly bits were making it a little more awkward than she had anticipated.
Also the waterlogged floorboards were really quite cold under her barefeet despite the warmth of the spring evening, meaning that she felt disinclined to leave them there for too long. This had an undesired effect on turning what would have been a graceful gallop, into a clumsy trot.
She wondered what Garrick was doing. Probably in the galley drinking again. She would wake up after some dreadful dream about his dead sister to find him snoring, stinking of ale. She was so involved in scowling that she wasn’t paying attention as she ran up the stairs and she almost ran into a shadowy figure leaning over the railing.
A large portion of the shadowy figure suddenly detached and she heard both a female and male gasp. Then Alexis and Nyawe were standing before her with sheepish grins.
She stood fixed to the spot in shock. She and Lisbet had whispered many things about Nyawe but they had never thought of her and Sir Hwratar. In fact they had never had any proof of their imaginings at all and so, she realised, this was a moment to be savoured.
“Oh… oh your Ladyship”, Alexis said still unconciously gripping the arm of the steward’s wife, “How fortunate you are here”, his gaze wandered downwards to the buttons along the front of her nightgown, “taking some exercise in your… err… night attire”.
She stared haughtily at him until his eyes moved back up to hers, “I… I was just trying to help Mistress Elmvarn. She… she has something in her eye”.
Nyawe tore her arm from Alexis’ grasp and began to rub furiously at her eye for effect, “Yes.. ow.. it’s really hurting. I can’t think what on earth it might be”.
Cindra desperately tried to keep a straight face and not come up with helpful suggestions as to what might have accidentally lodged there. They stood before her, faces flushed, hair dishevelled, their eyes wide in the moonlight. It really was too perfect.
“Do you have any suggestions”, Alexis asked with a winning smile.
Cindra pretended to consider for a moment while he shifted feet awkwardly.
“Why yes Sir Hwratar. I have always thought that perhaps in such moments, the application of one’s tongue to the mouth is perhaps the least useful method of removal of the offensive object. You might have better luck asking Goodwife Cade for help”.
She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively although she was unsure they could see it in the moonlight, probably a good thing on second thought since she suspected she may have looked ridiculous.
“I’m sure she will try a different method. Lord knows how many times the tongue-in-mouth procedure has been employed without a significant result. But really you weren’t to know that it was out of fashion”.
She turned on her heel, scampering down the stairs and onto the lower deck. When she was out of site, she nigh exploded with pent up laughter, leaning against a mast for support.
Really it was too much, to watch them floundering before her, to have her revenge against that woman who had flirted so outrageously and openly with her husband.
She laughed until her sides ached and she was bent over, clutching at her shaking belly. She couldn’t wait to tell Lisbet. But first she had to make it twice more around the ship.
The women spend an awkward afternoon
“Isn’t it wonderful news that the Countess has finally awoken?” Lisbet said brightly, trying to alleviate the awkward silence.
The room was so quiet one could almost hear the soft rustle of the thread running through the fabric as they sat with their various tasks. Lisbet was carefully embroidering a pattern of horses on a tiny white gown. Every so often she would pause to marvel at its delicacy, the miniature sleeves flaring out from the smallest of holes meant for chubby little arms. She could scarcely believe that soon she would be holding the creature small enough to dress in such an item.
She gazed across at Cindra who was sitting opposite her, her features set in an uncomfortable smile, nodding her head in agreement.
It was Cindra who had convinced her to come along and she felt sorely out of place amongst women of such a higher rank than herself. But Cindra had whined and pleaded until she had finally agreed but she was definitely beginning to regret that decision as she waited for someone to reply to her desperate attempt at conversation.
“Hmmm… yes I’m sure that the Count is going to be very pleased about that fact… and do you know what else I think?”, Nyawe spoke up.
Lisbet bristled, there was nothing she could not stand more than that women. At least the addition of Nyawe to the small party meant that she was not of the lowest rank, but even so Lisbet wished she were not there. Most of the women despised the Queen’s maid, wife to the King’s steward. But the Queen was very fond of her, and so she was often included where she should not be.
And she knew that they only despised her because of the way she could transfix a man merely by sashaying past him. And she did not like the sideways glances Nyawe threw at her husband with her catlike eyes when she thought Lisbet was not looking.
Cindra spoke up, her tone flat and her eyes flaring, “No, actually Nyawe, I don’t think anyone is particularly interested in what you think”.
Lisbet knew that her friend hated the woman. She had once found her chatting flirtatiously with Garrick in the kitchen during one of his drinking binges and now she could barely stand to be in the same room as her.
“Oh shush Cindra, don’t be silly”, the Queen snapped, “of course we want to hear what you think Nyawe. Please do go on”.
“Well…”, she paused for effect, “I think he’s not the only one who will be pleased. I am under the impression that there is something going on between the lovely Countess and our pious Father Harndall”.
“Have you seen the way they look at each other? I mean, during his sermons his eyes always fall on her and once they are there they are stuck for good. Although I am not that surprised with that dress she often wears. Any man would find it hard to look away when greeted with a sight like that”.
Her eyes flicked down for a moment, probably to make sure her own dress was displaying her assets to advantage.
“Not only that”, she continued barely drawing breath, “but I heard that when they were found the Father had his arm around her. Which begs the question why were they together in the first place doesn’t it?”.
Lisbet could feel anger boiling up inside of her. She glanced at the Queen whose expression suggested she was definitely wishing that she had not encouraged Nyawe to speak.
She was about to open her mouth and speak when Isaura began to cough, a dreadful hacking sound which shuddered through her tiny frame and burst from her mouth. She paused for a moment and an inaudible relief washed through the room. Then suddenly it began again, her mouth open as her frail hands flew up, trying to hold it in, her swollen belly heaving with the effort.
When it finally ended she dabbed her lips with a handkerchief held between her shaking fingers. Lisbet was distressed to see bright splatters of blood staining the petals of the tiny flowers embroidered there red.
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry about that”, the poor thing raised her face, obviously embarrassed although there did not seem enough life left in her to let a blush rise in her pale cheeks.
“You poor thing, don’t you be worrying your dear heart silly”, Cindra reassured her, “it is not trouble”.
She looked at Lisbet with an overly, wide-eyed innocent look, “Now what were we talking about, oh that’s right, Nyawe was saying how she was sure that Father Harndall was behaving in a undignified manner with the Countess. Isn’t that right?.
She could feel her friends gaze directly upon her waiting for her reaction and she knew Cindra was just stirring her up because she was bored, but she did not care. The return of anger was a familiar fiery rush in her belly, and she did not try to fight it.
“Yes, that’s right. Nyawe was just slandering the good Father for her own amusement. Shall we continue with that?” Lisbet spat.
Nyawe looked up at her, with a shocked expression but it did not deter her. She could not bear to hear such rumours spread about the kind, gentle Father who had held her hand while she sobbed and comforted her while they prayed together over her dying husband’s bed. He was a good man and it was wrong to say such things as this.
She noticed that the Queen was staring at her rather icicly but she did not care. Somebody needed to put Nyawe in her place and she was going to be the one to do it.
“I mean, have some decency woman! You are speaking of people who have been extremely ill… nearly died in fact. And you come in here saying these dreadful things as though you knew them to be true”.
“You only think the worst of people because perhaps that is the way you feel inside. Maybe you have no qualms about making eyes at other women’s husbands but that does not mean that everyone is like you!”.
She looked up to see Cindra making a pained face at her and she knew she had gone too far but she was so infuriated she was beyond the point of caring.
“You come in here and sit with us, and pretend to be a lady but all that comes out of your mouth is filthy lies about good people. And Father Harndall is a good man. He does not deserve such treatment and neither does the Countess. Just because you spend most of your time entertaining men who are otherwise, does not mean that standard should be applied to all of them”.
“That’s enough Lisbet!”, the Queen hissed, “You have no right to make such claims about her. In making them you bring yourself down to the level of the common gossip you claim to be standing so far above”.
Lisbet was about to retort, about to reply, to challenge the Queen even though Cindra’s frantic eyes signalled wildly to her that it was a stupid idea. But she was angry now and Lisbet was not a woman who was good at controlling herself when she in this state. Who cared if she burnt bridges? Who cared if she was not welcome in the Queen’s society anymore? It didn’t matter as long as she proved her point.
She drew breath and was about to speak when suddenly Isaura began coughing again, this time so hard that her body was bent over, her breath wheezing painfully between her teeth, a small dribble of bloodstained spittle drooling from her mouth.
“Oh for goodness sake”, the Queen said curtly, “Nyawe would you be so kind as to get the poor Duchess a tonic from my room”.
Nyawe gracefully rose to her feet standing before them, her hips tilting defiantly but her features soft and her voice as placid as a kitten’s mew, “Of course Your Highness. I will only be a minute”.
And with that she turned, slinking out the doore her hips swaying rhythmically, a habit so entrained that she did it automatically despite the lack of a male audience. Once again the room was silent.