Chapter 8

"The forgotten paths of forgotten lands lay buried under snow-

Early Winter 3133, Highbridge

Lady Elise Gendry sat sobbing in her chambers. Her Lord Husband was meeting with Duke Gendry as they prepared to ride in search of her Lord Father. Perhaps they would come back headless as well. At least that way she would not have to hear her husband drone on about their empty bed again.

Lady Bettyn Orgreave turned her son first left, then right, peering at him intently, tugging various pieces of his clothing to test the fit.

"Very good, Hyrium," she told the old seamstress who stood behind her. "The breeches fit him well. He'll only outgrow them by summer, like as not."

"Thanks you, M'Lady," Hyrium replied with a nod of her head. "Young Master Paeter is growing so quickly. He'll be as tall as his Lord Father before you know it! And he looks so much like his father, If not for his hair, I would swear-"

"That will be all, Hyrium," Bettyn cut her off.

The Seamstress nodded and gathered up her sewing needles and threads and left the room. She knew better than to stay and chat when the Lady of the house made it clear they were finished speaking together. Bettyn took her young son by the hand and sat him on her lap. He smiled at her with his brown eyes and thin pale hair. He looked better, she thought. He had been ill for several months, as was common with the boy. His skin was white and he looked half the skeleton when he wore no shirt. Still, the dark rings below his eyes had faded somewhat, and a touch of color had finally returned to his face. His hair was still a sickly white that looked entirely out of place on the head of a child.

"Mummy's little boy is feeling much better, isn't he?" She said to him, holding his curly head close to her breast. For the first time in weeks, he did not feel like he had a fever. Perhaps he is outgrowing the sickliness! He will be strong yet!

The boy looked up at her and nodded his head. He did not speak. Ever. The doctors cold find no reason for his silence, only that they could find no medical reason that he could not speak. "It is often a malady of the mind rather than an affliction of the body." One had told her. She had him sent off to Bordeau. There is nothing wrong with my son! He will speak! Give him time!

She argued with the doctors on a daily basis. Now look! Her son was getting well! They had been wrong, and soon they would all be put to shame when he began speaking.

"Mummy's little boy will show them all, won't you Paeter?" She cooed.

Despite the presence of her son, she really could not relax. Usually, her son was her only solace from the realities of her life- this keep, the weather, her husband, his father- but not today. She had spent the previous evening with Elise Gendry, telling her about the body and the chance that her new husband was dead.

I should have told her it would be a blessing if her husband died! She should be celebrating.

Of course, Bettyn could say no such thing, and played the role of supportive kinswoman instead.

"Don't you worry, child," she had said, "My Lord Husband will bring your Marten home safely!"

"Pah!" She spat. The memory of speaking such drivel brought a sour taste to her mouth and she spat on the carpet. He son looked at her face with a puzzled and confused look in his innocent eyes.

"Madam?" asked her maid, Merie, from the far corner of the bedchamber.

"Merie, Merie," began Bettyn, "Why must I always be the consoler, the caring voice? Am I not of Lordly blood?"

Merie said nothing. Bettyn ignored her silence and continued speaking out loud to herself.

"We will all be better served when that little trollop is gone from our house! Gendry this and Gendry that! Pah! The Orgreave line is older than Gendry. My father's line is older still! Yet my spineless husband is content playing banner boy to those drunken savages from Greywater Deep! Has he no ambition? Has he no pride?"

Merie stirred, unsure if Bettyn was expecting some answer or if she was merely ranting, as was often the case.

"Stop staring at me like a mule, girl!" Betty scolded her. "You live in this house! You are friendly with the men of the keep- don't act innocent, girl, I've heard the rumors of your late night trips to the stables!- What do his men say of him? Do they respect him? Do they love him as the heir to their lord? Speak up, girl!"

Merie still said nothing for a moment. Her face was twisted in thought, her mind searching for the right words. Bettyn felt her ire rising with each passing second of silence.

"Madam," began Merie in her slow, child-like voice, "Perhaps you think more of my relationships than is the truth, but I hear nothing from the knights of the keep. And I assure you, Madam, that these rumors of trips to the stable for-"

"Say nothing if you will not speak the truth to me, girl. You will speak the truth to me at all times, or I will send you back to your father's shanty in the western hills. You would like that, yes? Back in that muddy hovel your father calls his hall?"

"Apologies, madam." Said Merie. "The men, Madam, they love your husband. They call him 'Lord' already, and his Lord Father is still strong and healthy. He drinks with them, laughs with them, fights and trains with them. He is one of them, My Lady. They love him for it."

"He laughs with them, you say?" asked Bettyn, turning her eyes back to her son whose eyelids were beginning to droop. It was well past his nap time. "And me? What do they say about me?"

"Well Madam," began Merie, "They say very little. They are most respectful, but I have heard…"

Merie's voice trailed off, her eyes darted this way and that as if she was nervous.

"'You have heard' what, girl?" Bettyn demanded so sternly that Paeter stirred in his sleep.

Merie cleared her throat and touched her fingers to the small scar on her forehead. She paused a moment, then spoke.

"It seems, madam, as if they know of the, uh, troubles, between you and your Lord husband. I have heard that he visits the brothels from time to time."

"Brothels?" Bettyn asked, a look of self-satisfaction on her face. She laughed quietly. "Better the whores deal with his foul breath than I."

Merie relaxed visibly. Bettyn was amused, as always, by the nervousness of her maid. Did she think I would be so angry over this news? I have heard this rumor before.

Merie, her voice slightly more relaxed, shifted in her seat a bit.

"Madam, I've heard other stories…" She said.

"Such as?" Bettyn fixed her eyes on Merie, and held them there. The young girl quickly became restless with nervousness and anxiety.

"They say…" She paused, knowing this would indeed make Bettyn quite angry, "they say Paeter is demon-spawn, that Lord Garrett wishes him dead. They say he means to have a bastard with one of his whores to replace Paeter with."

"DEMON SPAWN!?!" Bettyn stood, clutching her son to her breast as if someone meant to steal him away from her then and there. She strode toward Merie, who was cowering in her chair from the sudden outburts. Paeter was awake and screaming.

Merie jumped to her feet, backing into the corner and cowering there.

Bettyn's eyes were wild. She kicked at the chair Merie had just been sitting in, sending it crashing into the poor girl who was huddled in the corner. Merie screamed as the wooden stool bounced off her body with a heavy thud. Paeter clung to his mother's dress for his dear life, his legs swinging wildly as she kicked at her maid.

"How DARE you, you little trollop? How DARE you come into MY bedchambers and speak such, such LIES? I'll have you sent back to that hole you came from! No, better yet! I'll send you to the brothels! I will! How would you like that you little trickster, you lying WHORE?"

She stopped suddenly, her senses returning. Merie lie sobbing on the floor, her dress tattered and torn from the sudden beating. Her exposed arms were already bruised, and there was a large gash over her left eye where a splinter of the chair had glanced off her forehead when it smashed into her body.

"Please, madam! Please madam!" was all she could say in a near whisper between her sobs.

When Merie realized the beating was finished, she looked up from her corner. Bettyn still stood over her.

"Now there," Bettyn said. "You see what you have made me do? I hope you are happy, young lady. I certainly hope you've had a jolly good time. You've made Paeter cry! Go wash up, and change that filthy dress. I won't have you getting dirt and blood all over my son!"

Bettyn stood back, allowing the poor girl room to leave the chamber. Merie stood cautiously, favoring her left leg where she had been kicked, and limped quickly out of the room. Bettyn followed her to the door, which she slammed to after the maid had left. Paeter still clung to her like a rag doll, his eyes buried in her shoulder as he cried softly.

Bettyn pulled the small chain near the door to call for the servants. In only a few moments, a knock came at the door, and the door opened just enough to allow one of the keep's servants to poke her head through.

"M'Lady?" she asked.

"My son is hungry," Bettyn answered. "Send for his wet nurse."