'Set your work aside, daughter'
My father bids me, and a dutiful daughter I do as I am asked - tying the last few curd-filled cloths above the bowls swiftly. The whey begins to drip immediately, by morning there will be sharp-tasting fresh curd cheese for my parents and myself.
I rub my rough hands against my apron, a quick clean before turning my face towards him. In my mind I am setting the dough to rise, my gaze flickers over the hearth, my work still to be done. My father sees it, his shrewd grey eyes miss little - not me, nor a bird in a wood, nor a stone ill-placed.
'Set that aside also, Ciryawen'.
There is an edge in his voice, beyond his normal somber tone. My neck prickles in anticipation - I review all that I have done in the last few days... but I see nothing there with which to find fault. As I wonder, my mother enters, bringing the crisp spring morning with her, the light from the opened doorway streaming in. Outside seems suddenly tempting ... the vivid blue sky of a cool northern day, the insistant piping of the songbirds proclaiming their territory - the world awakened from winter's slumber, fresh and filled with promise.
'Spring and new beginings' , my mother echoes my thoughts as sits beside the cold hearth. She cannot help her next action... every woman here, whatever her station .. she picks up her spindle and begins feeding and twisting the soft bundle of carded wool into thread. She listens intently, I know full well that she hears everything, knows everything, even when absorbed in a task.
Nothing comes. I wait ... they wait for each other. My quick imagination begins to leap about in the growing un-nerving silence. What have I done? Not done... or is my father leaving... and this another farewell ... he to re-assume his watch, ride out tomorrow in a grim ordered jumble of men and fresh faced lads, my mother and I to bid him a tearless farewell, stoic as befits what we are.
I lean back slightly, placing a little of my weight on the table behind me, easing the constant low ache of my mis-healed leg.
My mother finally breaks the silence. As though the words spring her into life, she looks up from her spindle, her face suddenly wreathed in smiles.
'There is an offer for your hand'.
The unexpected words hit me like a pole axe on a boar's head. Ah... pity me for my imagination ... immediately, there he is in my mind's eye. My mother sees all, knows all... she has seen where my eyes have strayed these last twelve months. I am suprised by the girlish gasp that comes from my lips. I am just a young woman, I am a maid ... though my hair is only unbound on high days and feasts, set then with the thin silver circlet of my father's mother ... I am a maid... and I dream just as any maiden would. I can see him, tall and proud, the curl of his lips, the way he sits his horse... It ill-becomes any of the maids here to sit and chatter in corners, we do not gossip of hoped for love. We watch, quiet, we are decorous, seemly ... we hope and pray our parents judge a-right for us.
My smile spans a thousand years in response. My clever, sharp eyed mother.
I try to be seemly. But I am so suprised, the spring day explodes into glory and before I can control myself one word erupts
'Yes!'
My own words suprise my father, he who seems as impassive as the stones. Did he expect such willing acquiesence? He looks at me, my mother, and back to me.
'Good! Ciryawen, you make my heart glad and at ease. I have long hoped that this would come about. It is right for you, right for him, and to the benefit of all. You are a girl blessed beyond your years to see the wisdom in this'
He holds out his broad hand to me, and I run to him, as though I were truely a little child, to be taken into the wide sweep of his arm. Oh the spring ... the birds sing louder than the greatest harpest in any land. My mother is on her feet, spindle set aside, joining this charmed circle, this perfect world.
'I will tell her now - she speaks with her son this morning'
And my mother is gone. So quick, so simple ... my life is re-ordered, arranged. I am to be married. I... Ciryawen, the crippled girl... the one whose future was lost by the chance fall of a horse. Oh the world is so very bright now. My agreement gives wings to my mother's feet. Heads lift as she bustles though the settlement, everyone knows... there are smiles, a good natured congratulation cries out...
It seems but a moment before she is back before me, face glowing.
'Your aunt is so pleased, my dear daughter. You warm every heart!'
My aunt?
My mother continues.. but her words do not register. My aunt...
The shock is ice-water running down my spine. I mouth her words back to her..
'My aunt'
And I see my imagination is a fool. The young man I have watched mounts his horse, and in my dream he wheels it about and rides on. Of course. How could he have wanted a crippled girl for a wife?
And I have said yes... to a gawky lad, all elbows and knees as he shoots rapidly up towards his full height. A boy who's jammy chin I have wiped as he toddled after the older lads. Who spent all of his eighth year appearently bent upon plaguing my every waking moment. Bow my head to him as husband and lord? My beloved... but oh so very cousinly cousin. Now a youth, bearing his own shame, the weight of that shaping him.
The wisdom of it? Oh yes... I see it. My father sees the change in me, he states the reasons though he does not need to. I know them.
It is best for me ... a chance to marry when hope had gone that any would take the crippled girl. It is good for him - marriage will steady him, set him aright, mature him... the list goes on... and in truth, other fathers look at him, assessing... wondering... what will he grow into. They have heard... Perhaps not the best youth for their daughter... It was always the hope of the elder Amlarad, this union of children, ... the family line... the history...
Best for our house - yes. I the only daughter of my father, he the only child of his. Bring two halves together, continue our long line, catch it before it withers completely ... and what...
'and what?' the words are harsh out of my mouth, useless, caught in the trap... everyone knows.
'Bring us together in hope of better grandchildren?'
