Wulfrun

Malkyn

“How many times, Mother? I will not go.” Malkyn set her jaw as she made her way out of the cottage, two grey hens struggling under her arms. They had brought the beasts inside during the storm, but though the skies had now cleared the chickens evidently preferred the warmth of the hearth to their muddy pen.

“Oh but why?” Adela whined, following her daughter outside, exasperated, “It is your right! It is our right – stop that, you’re filthy already!” She tutted as Malkyn began to sweep the muck left behind by the animals out of their home, “Leave it for the girl to do, it’s what we pay her for!”

“We don’t pay Maude, Mother, he does.” The younger woman responded, sharply. “We barely even have a need for her, look around yourself. We are not regal Ladies, and I will not feast with them.”

“Ha.” Adela watched her, petulant as a child. “Not a regal Lady, I see. Sweeping up shit, I suppose that’s the future you dream for yourself with Tam Swineherd.”

 “This again!” Malkyn threw up her hands, “Tam is a good man! He loves me.”

“Pah! When I think of the dreams I had for you! My little princess…”

“Your little bastard.” Malkyn muttered.

“You break my heart, Malkyn. We are invited tonight, by the King himself, your father. It is our rightful place, your birth right.”

“No.”

It had always been so. Before Malkyn had known the word ‘Mama’, she had known who her father was. Everyone knew; Adela bore her indiscretions as proudly as a bridal wreath. Aelfric had been good to them, there was no denying that; they were never hungry or cold, never in need of anything. Perhaps he had truly loved her once, many years ago. Adela had been beautiful and age had not diminished that, though her breasts were not as full and her skin not as smooth. Her eyes still glittered with the kind of wickedness men liked, her sensual charms were still apparent in her every move. However, it had been years since Aelfric called for her; his dark haired witch-eyed whore. He had kept a respectful distance since the birth of his daughters – his true daughters. Adela pined for him desperately, and longing had become bitterness.

“Please, my sweet?” Adela changed tact, now speaking softly, “My little Malkyn? Your father has invited us, and we have not been up to the castle in so long – he must want to see you, he misses you…”

“I suppose you had nothing to do with it?” Her daughter narrowed her eyes.

“You think so little of me! All I have ever wanted was the best for you.”

Malkyn sighed, closing her eyes. What girl knew her mother’s sacrifices better than she? “Very well, I will go. But we will sit further from his table, and you will avert your eyes from her, do you hear me, Mother?”

Adela smirked. If there was anyone on earth she hated, it was Lady Elinor. For it was the moment she came of age that Aelfric left her bed cold. Each yellow haired child that young princess birthed only acted as proof against her own daughters illegitimacy. Malkyn herself had never borne the queen any ill-will. After all, she was happy with her lot and would not swap her quiet little life of moderate comfort and hard work for any of Elinor’s duties or expectations.

Both women stepped back into their cottage which glowed with warm firelight and smelled rich and welcoming with the herbs of Adela’s trade. Malkyn went to tend to the stove, where the previous day’s pottage simmered, and the meaty smell made her stomach growl. She ladled out two bowls and sat beside her mother to eat.  

“We mustn’t fill ourselves up,” Adela murmured, her eyes darting around the walls of the cottage where they hung their dresses, “there will be plenty to eat at the feast.” She gave her daughter a sideways glance, “Pork, I’m sure, as that is so much to your taste these days.”

Malkyn rolled her eyes, “I’m sure we’ll be hungry.”

“You will wear the red, I think.” Adela stood now, casting her half-empty bowl aside and running her hands across the fabric of each woollen kirtle that hung before them.

“No. You know that Elinor will wear red, it is Aelfric’s colour.”

“Hmph. Blue, then. Better to stand out, yes, and very fine against your hair…”

Malkyn sighed deeply. Nothing could deter Adela now, she would be unsettled all day. She thought perhaps she might go to visit Tam, though quickly decided against it. His mother was an anxious, superstitious woman who did not take at all well to her son courting Malkyn Pellar. She certainly did not consider it a privilege to be the daughter of a king and a cunning woman. If Malkyn went visiting today she might even accuse her of causing the storm.

Tam was a tall, slender young man only a year older than her, with straw coloured hair and blue eyes. He had never minded who her mother was; he loved her anyway, and had been saving everything he could so that they could build a home together and marry. That time was fast approaching, though she hadn’t told Adela yet.

“Daydreaming is so unlike you, my pet,” Adela said, eyes narrow, “Thinking of your boar and your future little piglets?”

Malkyn threw her a disgusted look, “I don’t understand why you can’t be happy for me, Mother. A girl like me should be so lucky to have a man with a steady trade.”

“Pah. A girl like you should know better. Blundering into marriage like a lovesick lamb, I thought you had learned something, working beside me all these years. All those love charms, all those tears. A savvy girl takes her pleasure in a man and moves on, mark me.”

Malkyn bit back her reply, knowing it would only hurt Adela. She saw a sad future for her mother, who was more lovesick than any woman she knew. Devoting her early life to pleasure had not bought Adela any lasting joys.

Adela smiled, pulling down a finely woven garment. It was the yellow of buttercups, and Malkyn knew, the colour of attraction. “I will wear this, I think.” Adela purred.

That was that, they would go to the feast, wearing colours that any other women of their birth should be ashamed of. Malkyn decided to give this final gift to her mother, before she left her forever to become Tam’s wife. There was a sudden rapping at the door. Adela turned quickly and put back the gaudy dresses, smoothing down her skirts and clearing her throat. The first of the day’s customers had arrived; perhaps a new wife hoping for a child, or the baker, who had lost his wife’s broach again and needed a finding charm.

The people of the city kept their distance from the Pellar’s in public, but they certainly proved welcoming enough in times of need.

---

Later that day, both women had bathed and combed out their hair. Malkyn gazed at herself in their scrying glass. Her reflection blinked slowly back at her. She looked very much like her mother; she had the same wide set mouth, dark eyes and black hair. Her hips were broad now, though she was still skinny as an alley cat.

Her blue kirtle was the colour of twilight, and gleamed against her long raven hair. She refused to adorn herself in any other way, as she watched Adela weaving strings of brightly coloured glass beads around her neck, weaving gold thread into her braids. “We’ll be late,” the young woman said, softly. Adela was nervous, but so was Malkyn. The truth was, she was embarrassed to show herself at the castle, and had spent much of her life avoiding the place.

But this was her last gift to her mother, and after tonight she would be free.