Page 1 of Touched By Maen Llia
I
King’s Palace, Maridunum, Kingdom of Dyfed, Britain, 506AD.
When Ianto grew tired of beating her, Catrin crept out to the old orchard where no one else went. She found a patch of shade beneath the apricot tree, and carefully rested her shoulder against the gnarled old trunk. She couldn’t put her back to it.
It was just after the midday meal and the sun was high overhead, blazing in a cloudless sky, beating down upon the dried earth between the trees. The weeds which had once softened the paths between the trees had gasped their last breath days ago, had withered and blown away. The vines on the old Roman walls surrounding the orchard were brittle, the leaves curled. When a breeze caught at them, they clattered, like a drummer’s sticks, but there was no breeze today.
The grapes which grew across the pergola were ailing. The apple tree in the corner drooped. Only the apricot tree thrived in the heat. Some said the apricot tree had been growing in this orchard since before Merlin’s time. They said Merlin had sat beneath the apricot tree and that the orchard had been a favourite place of his. Perhaps that was why it had never been torn down, even though few of the trees bore fruit, anymore.
Catrin wondered if the great wizard had come here to escape, as she did. She suspected not. Who would dare beat Merlin? He would have changed them into toads if they tried.
Thinking of wizards brought her thoughts back to Ianto, with his drooping moustache and cold black eyes. Catrin didn’t want to think about him at all. She hissed her annoyance as the bark on the trunk of the tree dug into a painful spot on her flesh. She shifted so only her outer shoulder touched the tree.
Then she rested her head against it and listened to a cricket swiftly tick in the corner of the little walled garden. Far overhead, a gull cawed. She could smell the heat rising from the soil around her, but it was not rich with earthy, green smells. Instead, it smelled dusty and tickled her nose.
Silence dropped over the orchard, as if the heat had blasted away the wind and rendered every human and creature incapable of movement.
Her senses told her she wasn’t alone anymore. Catrin turned to scan the gate.
The woman standing in front of the just-closing gate was nearly as tall as Catrin, with long silver hair flowing down her back. She favoured blue for her gowns, which tested the dying skills of the women of the court, but the Queen always got her way. The blue matched Eira’s eyes, which watched Catrin steadily. Her crooked fingers gripped the top of the staff she used to help her walk, ever since she had been thrown from her horse twelve years ago.
“My lady,” Catrin said, pushing herself up from the earth. Then she hissed again and paused as her back throbbed. Yet to make the Queen wait brought its own penalties, so she gritted her teeth together and rose to her feet.
“How bad is it?” Eira demanded. Her voice was rough with age.
“It is nothing,” Catrin lied. “Is there something you wish me to do?”
The Queen walked forward, the tip of the staff tapping hollowly on the baked earth. “Let me see this nothing and judge for myself.”
Catrin hesitated. She could not refuse. Eira was a queen.TheQueen of Dyfed, at least until the next king was chosen from among the two cousins who claimed the throne was rightfully theirs. On the other hand, Catrin’s status was barely higher than a slave.
She was a bastard, the daughter of a servant. It was only because Queen Eira liked her that Catrin had any sort of position in the King’s house.
Only, revealing her back would be the same as declaring she was incapable of working. To work, to do every task and chore given to her, was why she was allowed to remain in the old Roman villa.
Yet the Queen had commanded. Catrin turned and slipped her arm out of the old tunic, then the other one, and let the tunic fall about her waist.
“Your hair,” Eira said, as she came closer.
Catrin gathered up the red wavy locks and pulled them over her shoulder, her heart thudding.
Eira studied her back for long moments. Then she sighed. “For a man made of naught but bones and skin, Ianto has a heavy hand. Sit on the bench over here. I’ve brought something which will help take the hurt out of the bruises.”
Catrin looked over her shoulder, startled. “You cannot mean to tend my back yourself? I can do it.”
Eira’s faded blue eyes met her gaze. “You can barely get up without help. Who else should do this?”
“Well, I suppose…” Catrin bit her lip. For minor aches and ailments, everyone in the palace consulted Ianto. “This is not proper,” she added, as Eira pushed her toward the bench, then gripped her shoulder with a hand that still had all its youthful strength and pushed her onto the hot stone.
“Oh, hush, child,” Eira muttered, sitting beside her. She propped the staff against the bench and pulled a small pot of unguent out of her pocket and removed the lid. “Turn so I can reach your back. Turn, I say.”
Catrin turned her back on the Queen. “The court would be horrified if they saw their Queen tending a servant.”
“Which is why I followed you to where no one else dares come, for they are all too afraid of the shade of Merlin.” Eira gave a “psh” sound, declaring that fear as nonsense. “You are too useful a companion and the lack of your company would be too great an inconvenience for me.”
The salvedidsoothe her hurts. It was cool against her heated flesh and spread relief across her back as Eira quickly spread it.
“I will not deprive myself of your conversation because I am too proud to minister to a girl who should know better than to dispute the King’s mage,” Eira added, her tone matter-of-fact.
