Secret Song (Medieval Song 4)

“Come,” he said, and slipped his hands beneath her armpits and raised her to her feet. She hadn’t the strength to support herself and sagged. He half-dragged her to the bed and laid her down. She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see him, didn’t want him to see her, not like this, not green and shaky and weak as a feeble old woman.

She felt a wet cloth on her face. Then he said, “Here, drink this. It’s cool water.”

She didn’t want it, but she allowed him to raise her head and put the goblet to her lips. She sipped at the water, then felt her stomach twist. She gasped and jerked off the bed, back to the chamber pot.

Roland watched her, feeling more helpless than he had in his life. He watched her vomit up the water, then watched her body convulse and heave. He was out of his element in this; he turned and left her.

Daria didn’t care, not about her husband’s quick defection, not about anything, save the fierce knotting and unknotting in her belly. She finally slipped onto her side, her face against the cold stone floor. She didn’t care about that either. It f

elt good, this coolness. She lay there, trapped in her weak body, content that she wasn’t heaving into the pot. She wanted nothing more. Slowly, after some minutes, she lightly brought her hand to her belly. “My child,” she said softly, feeling at once ridiculous and strangely content, “you have finally announced your presence to me. I but wish that you hadn’t done it with such vigor.”

The queen herself appeared, Roland behind her. “Ah, my poor child,” Eleanor said, rueful sympathy in her voice.

“Place her on the bed, Roland. She will be better presently.”

Daria didn’t resist, nor did she acknowledge the queen’s presence. She simply didn’t care. She didn’t look at her husband when he lifted her, cursing softly at the coldness of her body. “Move aside now and let her sip at this.”

“Please, nothing,” Daria said, her hand swatting weakly at the flagon the queen held, but the queen would have none of it.

“It will settle you, my dear. Trust me. Did I not tell you that my experience in these matters is vast? Drink, now. That’s it. Slowly, just small sips. Very good. That’s enough now. Just lie back and close your eyes.”

The queen smiled at Roland. She was pleased with his reaction to his wife’s illness. He’d come running into the great hall, interrupting the king, but not caring, so afraid was he for Daria. “Don’t worry, Roland. She will be fine. It is important that she eat lightly and very often. She has gone too long without eating, I suspect. This drink I gave her, I will give you the ingredients. When she is ill again, you will prepare this for her.”

Roland sounded appalled. “She will be ill that violently again?”

“She is with child, Roland. It is common, unfortunately, but it will pass soon. Another month or so and she will feel much better.”

Daria nearly groaned aloud. Another month. She wanted to turn her face to the wall and sleep through that month.

“Now, my dear,” the queen continued, “one of my ladies is bringing you some food. You must always eat slowly, and just a little. I will leave you now with your husband. He is as pale as you are, he was so frightened for you.”

Roland looked as if he would protest, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. He had been afraid, it was true. He thanked the queen, accepted food from Damaris, and returned to his wife. She looked small and weak, lying there on her back, her arms limp at her sides, her eyes closed. Her thick braided hair looked damp with sweat, dull and heavy.

“Daria,” he said. “Come, sit up and I will give you some food. Just a little, but you will do as the queen says.”

“Please go away, Roland. Please. I don’t want to eat, ever again, as long as I live.”

“You must. If you don’t, the babe will starve.”

That was true, and she sighed. “All right, leave the food and you go away.”

“Why? I’ve seen men vomit until they turned as white as a woman’s belly. It is no reason for you to feel embarrassed, Daria. Come now and eat. I must return shortly to the king. He demands to be foremost in all his people’s thoughts. He’ll forgive me this lapse, but only this time.”

She obeyed because she knew him well enough to realize that once Roland made up his mind to do something, he wouldn’t bend or change it. She wanted to feed herself, but gave that up. She felt too weak.

He sat beside her, feeding her small chunks of white bread, dipping some of them into the meat gravy. And he spoke to distract her. “My destrier has grown fat and lazy, but I don’t despair. Once we are in Cornwall I will work him until he is lean again.” He wiped a trickle of gravy off her chin with his finger. He paused, then said, a touch of resentment in his voice, “The king has meddled again. He fears that your uncle will roast my body over live coals if I go to Reymerstone to announce my marriage to you and demand your dowry. Thus, the king will send Burnell and a dozen of his men to do the dirty work for me.”

She felt such relief at this news she wanted to shout to the rafters with it. She knew Roland wouldn’t like that, so said instead, “You wanted to see my uncle?” She looked both appalled and surprised. “You looked forward to confronting him?” She couldn’t imagine anyone actually wishing to be in her uncle’s presence. His sarcasm, his cruelty, his viciousness. She shuddered unconsciously.

“He won’t hurt you again, so cease trembling when you speak of him. Aye, I wanted to see his face and dare him to gainsay me.” Roland gave a heartfelt sigh. “A pity, but what can I do? Edward must interfere, curse him. He enjoys playing the great mediator. In any case, you and I and several of the king’s men will travel to Cornwall whilst poor Burnell travels east to Reymerstone. I have spoken to each of the men, and they wish to join my service. They have families in Cornwall, wish to return there, and the king, since he is wallowing in his peacemaking, won’t be offended.”

Daria felt much better. The food settled in her stomach and she felt her strength returning. She finally looked at Roland. “Cornwall? You have family there? Your brother? We go to them?”

He shook his head. “Nay, my brother and all the family are near to York, in the northeast.” He paused a moment and looked past her, seeing something she couldn’t see, something that pleased him, something he wanted very much. “It’s a beautiful old keep called Thispen-Ladock, owned by a man named Sir Thomas Ladock. It’s not all that large and impressive, but Sir Thomas has no son or grandson. He has promised to sell it to me.

“The area around the keep is scarcely peopled. I want to build and charter a town and bring tradesmen there and farmers and blacksmiths.” He broke off suddenly and closed his mouth. “I speak too freely.” And too passionately, he added to himself.

“We will leave on the morrow.”