A King's Betrayal (24 page)

Thirty Three

Summer had almost gone and the autumn was beginning to make itself felt with cold nights and frosty mornings, the leaves turning to red, gold and brown as they set the woods aflame with colour.  Beth woke to a feeling of nausea and grabbing the velvet cloak, which she wore over her each night, she ran out to be sick behind the shed where she kept her stores.  Wiping the bitter vomit from her mouth, she wondered what she had eaten that made her feel so ill in the mornings.  Indeed, she had scarcely eaten anything for the past few days, because anything she swallowed seemed to come up again.

             
‘Am I ill?’ she wondered aloud.  ‘What would you tell me to do if you were here, Marthe?’

             
Beth knew there would be no answer to her questions.  Marthe had spoken to her but rarely in the last months of her life and it was almost as if she had never been.  If she heard voices in her dreams it was the soft voice she half remembered from her childhood.  In her loneliness she talked to the mother of her dreams more often, needing to feel that there was someone somewhere who cared for her.

             
If only Marthe had given her a name, told her where she might find her mother – but perhaps she hadn’t known.  If she’d found Beth wandering after the men snatched her and the woman they had so cruelly raped, she might have no way of knowing who she was or where she had come from.  She’d saved the gown and the necklace, both of which would have fetched money for food had she chosen to sell them – but she’d saved them for Beth, and perhaps it was her way of apologising for all the years when she’d hidden the truth from her.

             
It was as she was bathing at the edge of her pool later that morning that Beth realised her breasts felt tender, and her stomach seemed a little swollen.  The change in her body must be the reason she had been so violently sick on rising, but she wasn’t sure what had caused the strange symptoms.  She’d found some dried herbs, with which Marthe had made a potion to help sickness and she’d soaked them in water from the spring.  When she got home she would drink a little of the cure and hope that it would help her nausea – but why should her breasts feel different?

             
On her return to the hut, she collected some fungi and mushrooms and was considering whether she might be able to eat a little of the reheated stew she’d made the previous day when she saw Mistress Grey walking towards her.

             
‘Good morrow, mistress,’ she said and smiled for the woman’s visits were such a pleasure to her.  ‘Have you come for some lotion for your hands?’

             
‘I still have a little, though I shall need more soon,’ Mistress Grey said.  ‘I came because my son’s children are ill.  They have a rash and a fever and I think it may be what some call the smallpox, though in truth I do not know for certain.’

             
‘Yes, I remember that there was an outbreak of it three winters ago.  Marthe made a cooling lotion to help soothe the irritation and a mixture to ease the fever.’

             
‘Her cure helped some of those who had the sickness then; it eased the fever and the lotion was cooling on the scabs, relieving the itching - but three died.  I think many die of such a sickness.  Do you think you could make something to ease my grandchildren, Beth?’

             
‘I remember all the cures Marthe made, because I learned them carefully.  I would have written them down had I charcoal or a slate, but because we had none I repeated them over and over in my head so that I should not forget.  I will make the cures for your grandchildren, Mistress Grey – but you will not be angry if they do not work.  I think sometimes Marthe used enchantments to aid her cures, but I know naught of them.’

             
‘You can only do your best,’ Mistress Grey said.  ‘Do not come to the village, Beth.  I shall come myself to fetch the cures myself.’

             
‘You think it would not be safe for me to visit?’

             
‘We have a new priest.  He is very strict, worse than the old one – and he preaches against magic, threatening everyone with the fires of hell if they dabble with spells and witchcraft.  I know you never use the dark arts but others may whisper if they see you.  Living here as you do they have forgotten you.’

             
‘I am safe here,’ Beth agreed, though her throat tightened for she would sometimes like to be with other people, if only to watch them – or to wear her silk gown. ‘Does the lord allow the new priest to threaten the people?  He sent the other one away because of what he did to Marthe.’

             
‘Sir William went away somewhere,’ Mistress Grey said.  ‘Before he left, he asked me how you were and said that I was to look out for you.  You know that I would do whatever I could – but this new priest frightens me, Beth.  The way he looks at me – and other women in the village - is strange.  He has imposed a penance for small misdemeanours and it is always the women who are punished most. ‘Tis as if he thinks we are all evil and would like nothing better than to put us all to the test. He says nothing of God’s love but only of His vengeance.’

             
‘Come into the hut while I make up your lotions,’ Beth said.  ‘I might as well do them now to save you another journey.  You must not come too often in case the priest wonders where you go and follows.  If he believes I am a witch he might think you are my familiar and punish you too.’

             
‘I think he might,’ Mistress Grey looked unhappy.  ‘If the lord came back I am certain he would send the priest packing, but he left soon after Marthe was killed and we do not know when he may return.  His steward might send for him if he knew how the priest was behaving, but no one wants to be the one to complain.  To speak out might bring the priest’s wrath down on us.’

             
‘You had best be careful,’ Beth agreed.  ‘I shall not come to the village until Sir William returns and deals with the priest, but if you or anyone else is in need of a cure that I can make I shall do so.  You have only to ask…’ Feeling sick of a sudden, Beth put her hand to her mouth and jerked away to vomit.  Wiping her mouth, she turned back to her friend with a look of apology.  ‘Forgive me.  I hope I do not have a sickness that will affect you.  It is something I have not had before.  I am sick, mostly in the mornings, and my breasts are tender – and my stomach is a little swollen.  Marthe never told me what to do for such symptoms, but I shall take a cure to stop sickness when I get home.’

             
‘Be careful what you take,’ Mistress Grey said, her eyes going over her.  ‘You do not look ill…’ Her gaze narrowed.  ‘’Tis not my business but you have no mother – tell me, Beth, have you been with a man?  Might you be with child?’

             
‘With child?’  Beth stared at her, then nodded.  ‘I remember now – your daughter asked for a potion to cure sickness when she was carrying her first child.’  She put her hands to her belly, her heart beating faster.  ‘I think I might be carrying a child…yes, ‘tis possible.’

             
‘Would he wed you?  Is it one of the men from our village?’

             
‘No, it was not one of the village men – and he would not wed me.  He is a knight and I am too far beneath him.’

             
Mistress Grey frowned but said no more.  Beth sensed that she suspected Sir William was to blame and she did not deny it.  For the first few days after she’d lain with the Knight of the Raven she had looked for him at the pool and hoped that he might return to claim his cloak but as the weeks passed she had ceased to look for him.  Had he cared anything for her he would have woken her before he left and told her that he would return one day, but he had stolen away as she slept, leaving his cloak.  Men had paid Marthe a coin to lie with her.  When she was young they had given her a silver penny but as she got older they gave her a few groats.  Beth had received a velvet cloak.  It was different but still it felt as if she had been paid and that tarnished her bright dream a little.

             
It was useless to repine.  There was no sense in dwelling on the past.  She must take what came from life and fend for herself, as Marthe had taught her.

             
‘I wish I could tell you to come to your cottage,’ Mistress Grey said.  ‘Until the lord returns it would not be safe – but when your time comes I shall try to be with you and help you.’

             
‘I have seen a doe give birth in the woods, and a cat have her kittens.  It cannot be so very different – can it?’

             
‘Marthe did not do her duty by you as she ought,’ Mistress Grey said and made a clucking sound of distress.  ‘For women giving birth is painful and sometimes dangerous for the mother may die if there is no one to help her.  From now on I shall visit you once every few weeks and when I judge the time is near I shall come each day.’

             
‘You are a good friend to me,’ Beth said.  ‘Would your son take some things to the market to sell for me and buy me a nanny goat?  If I had milk it would help me through the winter months.  I need flour too and oats.’

             
‘What do you wish to barter?’

             
‘I have a gown that I think may have been Marthe’s wedding gown.  I would not have sold it yet but if there is a child growing inside me I must be sure of food for the babe’s sake.’

             
‘Give me the things you wish to sell.  I shall not tell anyone they belonged to Marthe for people might not buy them.  I have a nanny goat you may have.  She has just given birth to a  fine kid.  If you watch them together it may teach you something.’

             
‘I do not know if the gown is payment enough?’

             
‘You give me many cures.  It will be enough.’  Mistress Grey smiled at her.  ‘You may have enough for your flour and oats – and perhaps a piece of cheese too.’

After Mistress Grey had gone, Beth went to the coffer that had been Mistress Soames’s and took out the silk gown and the child’s dress she had found with Marthe’s things.  They would have fetched more than the clothes she’d given to her friend to sell but she could not bear to part with them.  The idea that she was to have a child was a source of both pleasure and fear to her.  She did not fear the birth so much, for despite what she had been told, she believed it natural.  Beth had seen the animals she shared the wood with giving birth and imagined it would be much the same for her – but how would she be able to care for a babe?  Had Marthe still been living she would have helped her, even if she’d scolded her for bringing trouble on them.

             
She thought longingly of the cottage in the village.  It was hers by right and had she taken it when it was given to her, she might be living there now.  She might have made more friends, women who would share their knowledge of child rearing with her – but had she lived there she would not now be carrying the knight’s child.

             
Placing her hands on her belly, Beth smiled.  Now she would always have something to remind her of that enchanted night when her beautiful knight had loved her so sweetly.  He had given her more than his cloak after all, something she would treasure and love for the rest of her life.

             
Courage flowed back and her doubts receded. She had always been resilient and able to take care of herself.  Living with Marthe had taught her not to rely on anyone for help and her moment of weakness had passed.  She would manage somehow and when the child came…perhaps she would ask Mistress Grey if she would buy a small cradle for her.  She had the gold chain that had been hers as a child.  It was too small for her to wear so she would not miss it.  The cross was always beneath her gown on a silk ribbon, but she would exchange the chain for a cradle if need be and then she would take her things and leave here – go somewhere she was not known as the witch’s daughter.  She might find work or a place to live in safety with her child.  She did not know what work she could do, but there must be some way to earn her living.  The lord had said there was work at the castle, but he wanted to make her his whore.  Perhaps she could find work in the kitchens of another great house.

             
Beth had no idea what would be required of her, but she was not afraid of hard work.  She could cook and she’d taught herself to sew fine stitches – and she could make simple cures that helped ease a headache or soothe sore hands.  Surely she could find somewhere that she would be welcome?

             
The thought came to her mind that if the lord were at his castle she might put on her fine dress and go to him once the child was born.  She would not lie to him about the child but perhaps he might give her a place to sleep in his kitchens.  At least it would be warm in winter and she could earn her keep by scrubbing pots or waiting at table.

             
She needed no help until her child was born.  Perhaps the lord would return to his castle soon and then she would ask him for help.  If he agreed to protect her she might be able to live in the village and raise pigs in her back yard.