Page 58 of The Bear's Heart
Morgawse was the one who spoke up. “She is my sister, and sister to the king. To both kings. She must be treated well, but kept under guard until Arthur returns. He will know what to do with her.”
Morgana shot her younger sister a sharp look before schooling her face to equanimity. She must have known no one would dare touch her. It was written in her every haughty move. We ate in hungry and awkward silence.
Eventually, Melvina returned, but without Ummidia and her daughters. She told us she’d put them all together in a guest room after their bath and had food sent there. None of them had wanted to eat in company.
I would have liked a bath myself, but now, replete with food, I was far too tired, and all I wanted to do was sleep. Even thoughts of Arthur and the battle couldn’t keep my eyes open a moment longer.
Perhaps, I thought, a little later as I drifted off in my bed, he’d be there beside me when I woke, and all of this would be a bad dream.
*
The next morning,on waking, the first thing I did was sleepily reach over expecting to feel him there by my side, only to find a cold void. This jolted me awake immediately, and without any hesitation, I pushed the covers off and got up. Yesterday’s clothes lay strewn on the floor, redolent of body odor and horses, but I put most of them on anyway, leaving the stinky undershirt lying where I’d found it. It was cooler in just my tunic. Then I set off to find Caswallan and ask if he’d heard any news of the battle.
In the empty dining room the remains of breakfast still lay on the table, so I took a hunk of bread and some hard cheese. Eating them, I walked down into Caswallan’s farmyard to find him organizing his work force for haymaking. Not even the urgency of battle could displace the cycle of farming.
Caswallan spotted me at the gate, where I’d halted, searching for any sign of a messenger from Arthur, but seeing none.
He hurried over, clad in only a tunic and sandals, as were his workmen, his long, rather sinewy legs burnt brown by the sun. “Milady.” He performed an elaborate bow that looked most incongruous in the farmyard and gave me a good view of his bald spot. “This is no place for a queen. I trust you slept well? Are you rested?” His eyes alit on my hunks of half-eaten bread and cheese. “That’s no breakfast for a queen. Let me take you back inside and find you something better.”
I held up an imperious hand. “I like bread and cheese. And I also like farmyards. But I’m not here to look at your farm. I’m here to find out if you’ve heard anything from my husband’s army.”
His face fell, and he shook his head nervously. “Nothing, milady. Nothing at all as yet.” He looked around at his men who were harnessing a pair of sturdy cobs to an empty hay cart. “I hope you’ll excuse me getting my men out to fetch in the hay. It’s been drying these five days and rain is coming. If I don’t get it in today, it’ll spoil.”
I squinted up at the sky, but there wasn’t a cloud in sight. I wished it would rain. It was far too hot to be wearing braccae and boots, but we’d left Din Cadan such a long time ago I’d not brought anything lighter with me.
Caswallan’s face softened as though he were a mind-reader. “You’re going to be too hot in those clothes, milady. Why don’t you go and see my wife. She’ll find something cooler for you. As soon as we hear anything, you’ll be the first to know.”
Thanking him, I abandoned the farmyard with reluctance, and walked back up to the house. His wife, Melvina, was in the garden picking roses. She looked up at me with a welcoming smile. “Milady.”
Even after nearly eight months, I couldn’t get used to receiving so much respect. “Please,” I said quickly. “Call me Gwen.”
Melvina looked surprised and pleased at the same time. She was of indeterminate middle-age, like her husband, with a soft, wrinkled face and blue eyes surrounded by laughter lines. I couldn’t help but like her.
I went on. “I’m afraid I smell a bit. I’d very much like a bath and something to wear that’s less likely to make me sweat. Your husband suggested I should ask you.”
The villa possessed its own bath suite, which I used, and then put on a loose, sleeveless gown and sandals which Melvina found for me. Feeling a whole lot better, I decided it would be a good idea to go and find Ummidia and her daughters. I wasn’t looking forward to facing them, but it needed to be done.
Timidly, I knocked on their door, with no firm idea of what I was going to say.
The shutters had been closed and the room was cool and gloomy. Only the shafts of piercing sunlight filtering through the gaps in the shutters lit it, and, when I entered, the light from the door. I left it open.
The two girls sat on one of the beds, not touching one another, knees drawn up to their chests and heads down, like a pair of beaten puppies. Gone were the ebullient teenagers I remembered. Ummidia sat alone on the cushioned bench in their room. I knew nothing about how to treat women who’d been raped, but surely locking yourself away in the dark couldn’t be the answer.
I sat down next to Ummidia, instinct stopping me from reaching out and touching her, which was what I really wanted to do. She looked up. Her face was swollen and bruised from the beating the driver had given her, her lips thickened and split. I schooled my face not to look shocked.
She didn’t beat about the bush. “This is your husband’s fault,” she spat, harsh bitterness in her voice. “If my Euddolen hadn’t supported him in his bid for the throne of Dumnonia, none of this would have happened.”
I recoiled in undisguisable surprise, but she ignored me and went on. “My husband would still be alive, and still be Seneschal to the king. My girls would be untouched by any man, happy playing together in the gardens of the Domus Alba.”
I swallowed. Of all the reactions I’d imagined, it hadn’t been this one. And the worst thing was, I agreed with her.
“I don’t mind for myself,” Ummidia continued. “I’m old and my life is nearing its end. But my girls–” She halted on a choking sob, turning to look at where they sat huddled on the bed. “They were untouched. On the brink of womanhood, preparing to one day soon become brides. Who will take them now? Broken and dirtied as they are. Filthy hands have touched them. Filthy, sweating, vile soldiers have slaked their lust on my girls. They’d be better off dead than left like this.”
I sought for words of comfort. “It-it might seem unsurmountable now,” I began, not feeling at all confident. “But, one day, maybe long in the future, it won’t be so bad…I’m sure.” I felt like an idiot and was conscious that my words made me sound like one.
“How can you know?” Ummidia spat back at me. “Have you ever been raped by a regiment of filthy Saxon soldiers?”
Words of futile apology sprang to my lips. “I-I can’t possibly know what you’re feeling. I’m just trying to offer you comfort.”
