Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [437]
Morgaine feigned anger. “I will not live in a house that is kept like a pig’s byre! Look at all these unwashed napkins, they stink of baby shit! Take them down now, and give them to the washwoman, and then sweep and air this room—must I put on a clout and do all the sweeping myself?”
“No, madam,” said the servant, cringing, and took the fouled cloths that Morgaine heaped in her arms. Morgaine tucked the bronze ring inside her bodice and went down to have the cook heat water for Uwaine’s wound; that must be done first, and somehow she must order things in this house so that she would be idle and alone this afternoon. . . . She sent for the best surgeon to bring his tools and made Uwaine sit down and open his mouth so that she could help to find the broken root of his tooth. He endured the probing and pulling stoically (though the tooth broke off in his jaw and again had to be dug for; fortunately it was numb and swollen), and finally when all the tooth was out, she dropped some of her strongest numbing medicine into the wound and poulticed the sore swollen cheek again. Finally it was done and Uwaine sent to bed with a strong dram of liquor inside him; he protested, arguing that he had ridden and even fought when he was in worse case than this, but she firmly ordered him to go to his bed and let her medicines take their full effect. So Uwaine, too, was safely out of the way and beyond suspicion. And since she had sent the servants to do washing, there were none of these, either, so that Maline began to complain. “If we are to have new gowns for Pentecost, and if Avalloch is to have his cloak finished—you do not like to spin, Mother, but I must weave at Avalloch’s cloak, and all the women are heating kettles of water for the washing and getting out their beating paddles—”
“Oh, dear, I had forgotten that,” said Morgaine. “Well, there is no help for it, I must spin then—unless you would have me do the weaving.” Better, she thought, even than the arm ring, a cloak made to his measure by his wife.
“Would you do that then, Mother? But you have the king’s new cloak set up on the other loom—”
“Uriens does not need it so much as Avalloch,” Morgaine said. “I will weave at Avalloch’s cloak.” And when I am done, she thought, a shudder running through her heart, he will never need a cloak anymore. . . .
“Then I will spin,” said Maline, “and I will be grateful to you, Mother—you weave better than I.” She came and pressed her cheek to her mother-in-law’s. “You are always kind to me, lady Morgaine.”
But you do not know what I shall be weaving today, child.
Maline sat down and picked up the distaff. She paused for a moment, pressing her hands to her back.
“Are you not well, daughter-in-law?”
Maline said, “It is nothing—my courses are four days late. I am afraid I have gotten with child again, and I had hoped I could nurse the baby another year—” She sighed. “Avalloch has women enough in the village, but I think he never loses hope I will give him another son to take Conn’s place! He doesn’t care anything for the girls—he did not even weep when Maeva died last year, just before I was brought to bed with the baby, and when she was another girl, he was really angry with me. Morgaine, if you truly know any charms, could you give me a charm so that I would bear a son next time I am brought to bed?”
Morgaine smiled, putting the shuttle to the threads. She said, “Father Eian will not like it, if you ask me for charms. He would tell you to pray to the Virgin Mother for a son.”
“Well, her son was a miracle, and I am beginning to think that if I ever have another son it would be another miracle,” said Maline. “But perhaps it is only this dismal chilly weather.”
“I will make you some tea for that,