Page 73 of Warrior Queen
The long trek back was made worse by Medraut’s constant moaning. He complained about everything– about not wanting to walk, about how his legs hurt, about the stones he kept getting in his shoes, about being too hot and too thirsty, about needing to pee, and about it not being fair that the two girls got to ride when he didn’t. Morgawse, her face like thunder as she clearly thought I should have given in to him, stayed stonily silent. Which in turn I could tell made Maia angry.
Then, as we started up the steep track to the south gates, Medraut managed to push Amhar over and make him cry, which set Archfedd to wailing as well, in sympathy with her brother. On top of that, the climb made me sweat in my far too thick clothes, and the horseflies came out in strength to try and bite us. A frustrated and tetchy group finally reached the gates in the height of the afternoon’s heat.
“You take the children,” I said to Morgawse and Maia. “I’ll go and sort Seren out.”
Morgawse, whose face had grown ever more fed up as Medraut’s constant complaints rose, threw me a dirty look and stomped off dragging a still moaning Medraut after her. I had a moment of smugness that for once he hadn’t had his way, and she’d had to get cross with him, before turning back to Maia.
“I’ll take ’em to your chamber, shall I?” she asked, lifting Archfedd down from her panier. “Get them playin’ nicely?”
I nodded as I lifted down Reaghan, already halfway decided I was going to abandon Maia with them for a while. I’d had more than enough of moaning children today, and what was the point of having a maid if you couldn’t palm your children off on her when you got fed up with them? My old friend Sian would have been shocked at how spoiled I was getting.
Maia, who never lost her patience, set off up the road to the Great Hall, walking slowly so Archfedd could toddle at her side. As for me, I hurried Seren through the maze of narrow passageways that would take me to her pen, a sense of guilty relief blossoming in my heart. Seren went gladly– maybe she was as fed up with children as I was.
She shared a paddock with Llacheu’s beautiful black cob, Saeth, and, as soon as he saw her coming, he trotted up to the slip rail, nickering a welcome. Little Seren, only the size of a modern Welsh Mountain Pony, nickered a greeting back, small gray ears pricked.
Having divested her of her panniers and shoved the over-eager Saeth back out of the way, I maneuvered his friend through the slip rails. With her bridle removed, she tossed her head and cantered off on a circuit of the paddock, Saeth running behind her. She might have been much smaller than him, but she wore the trousers in their relationship. At their dusty rolling spot, she sank to the ground to rub off the sweat of the day’s work, short legs waving in the air.
As I replaced the slip rails and bent to pick up the panniers, movement caught my eye. The large, open-fronted barns overlooking the horse pens were almost full of new hay for the winter, and, from high up in the one nearest, a pale face regarded me– Llacheu. A pile of loose hay on the floor marked where he’d climbed up. If anyone caught him, he’d be in trouble. No baling machinery in this world– the hay came in loose and had to be forked many times over and carefully stacked. Anyone who messed with it once it was stored was in for severe punishment.
I hooked the panniers on the fence and looked up at the sullen little face staring down at me. “You’d better come out of there before anyone else sees you,” I said, setting my hands on my hips.
He was about three feet above my eye level, right up under the low rafters and lying on his stomach with his chin on his folded arms. He scowled at me. “I don’t care who sees me.”
“You will if you get a beating for messing with the winter’s hay,” I retorted. “I wouldn’t do that, but your father might. Come down.”
“Don’t want to.”
I sighed. “Have you been up there since yesterday?”
He nodded.
He must be starving. “If you come down now, we could sit and talk.”
His mouth worked for a moment as though he were trying to get the words out. “Don’t want to talk.”
Just like his father. Well, just like most men. Not many of them even in my time wanted to talk about their feelings in depth. Real men suffer in silence. Huh. “Well, how about a hug then?” I asked, smiling at him. “You look like you could do with one.”
He blinked at me, chewed his bottom lip, frowned, then retreated into the barn. A moment later his booted feet appeared, and he slithered to the ground in front of me, bringing a lot more loose hay with him.
I held out my arms. “Come here.”
He threw himself into them so hard he nearly knocked me over. I wrapped him in a tight hold, pressing him close, one hand on the back of his hay-snared head.
His body shook as he gave in to tears. No, sobs. I held him for a long time while he cried and cried, making my shoulder and the front of my gown wet. No one came and disturbed us, although after a bit I heard an inquisitive snort from Saeth or Seren.
I waited until his sobs began to subside before I gently extricated myself from his embrace. Then I set my hands on his shoulders much as Arthur had done the day before, and held him at arm’s length, studying him.
An unlovely spectacle: puffy red eyes, a runny nose, and not only his hair but also his clothes covered in bits of hay. He wiped the snot off his face with the back of his hand, then wiped his hand on his braccae, leaving a long smear. He followed this up with an enormous sniffling snort, and peered up at me.
“There,” I said, keeping my voice firm. “Does that feel better now?”
He shrugged, then must have thought better of it and nodded.
I smiled. “A good cry always helps you work things out of your system. It’s not the right thing every time to force yourself to be a man and not cry.” I paused. “Shall I let you in on a secret?”
He nodded again and snorted a second time. His nose must be very blocked from all that crying.
“Your father cries sometimes.” Not wise to tell the boy it had been over Rhiwallon. It might set him off again.
