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Deirdre

Maiwenn promised Issylte they would inquire in the village of any recent news of the castle after the disturbing vision of her father covered with leeches, the ominous man in black, and the wicked queen standing beside the bed-ridden king.

The yellow eyes of a snake haunted Issylte’s dreams as much as the chilling numbness of her stepmother’s icy hands.

She was desperate to hear news of her father as they headed into town.

They chatted with several merchants as they bartered for provisions.

They heard rumors that the king had been quite ill since his daughter’s death.

That the worried queen had sent for a powerful healer, who had administered potent remedies and numerous bloodlettings, all to no avail.

Some even said—although never too loudly, for one dared not speak against the queen—that the healer, Lord Voldurk, was more of a dark wizard than a physician and was likely the queen’s lover as well as her spiritual advisor.

As they entered the blacksmith shop, Issylte noticed that Branoc was occupied, showing a new plow to a farmer, but that Deirdre was greeting customers from behind the counter. Maiwenn kissed her grandson’s wife on each cheek in greeting— la bise of her native Bretagne .

“Good morning, Dee! How are you today, dear?” Maiwenn said cheerfully.

“I’m fine, thank you, Mamie . Branoc’s busy at the moment, but he’ll be over shortly to say hello.

We’ve had quite a few customers this morning, and with the warmer weather, lots of new orders, especially for weapons and armor.

It seems like every week, there’s dozens of knights comin’ in, needin’ their horses shod, or some chain mail for their squires, or a fancy shield.

Branoc is even takin’ on an engraver, to do the gold and silver inlays on the shields for the wealthier knights.

Business is good, and we are indeed grateful.

At least we’ll be able to pay the new taxes that the queen is imposin’.

Most folks are havin’ a real hard time of it, I hear. ”

Branoc, wiping his hands on his apron, came over to greet Maiwenn and Issylte, kissing them both on each cheek with a friendly grin.

“It’s good to see you, Mamie and églantine!

I’m sorry I don’t have much time for a visit now, but I’ll come by the cottage soon and have a look at your fence.

I noticed there’s a section that’s rusted and will need replacin’. ”

When another customer needed his attention, Branoc excused himself, kissed the two women once again, and returned to work. Maiwenn and Issylte kissed Deirdre goodbye, promising to stop in again next Saturday, and left the blacksmith shop to return home to their stone cottage in the woods.

That evening, Issylte was in the kitchen preparing a mushroom omelette with fresh spinach for their supper, when she saw Maiwenn quietly and surreptitiously leave the cottage.

Intrigued, Issylte glanced out the front window to see her tatie speaking urgently with four small men.

Taking in their dark, weathered skin, their otherworldly faces, the homespun clothing in the dark green and brown colors of the forest, Issylte realized that these were the Little Folk, who had left the trail of églantines to help her find the way to Maiwenn’s cottage.

The woodland creatures were listening intently, nodding in comprehension, as if Maiwenn were conveying a message of utmost importance.

They quickly disappeared, and Issylte watched as Maiwenn brushed off her apron and straightened her dress, perhaps to regain her composure before entering the cottage.

Issylte rushed back to the kitchen to resume chopping the mushrooms. After Maiwenn had come in, closed and latched the front door, Issylte asked, “Where did you go, Tatie ?”

Seeming flustered and ill at ease, the old woman responded, a bit too quickly. “Ah, one of the villagers needed a remedy for a stomach ailment. I gave him some ginger and fennel, so all should be fine in a day or two.”

As they enjoyed the delicious omelette , Issylte wondered why her tatie was lying.

The only plausible reason why Maiwenn had not disclosed the truth was that the message to the woodland creatures must have been about Issylte.

But why would her tatie keep something from her? A tight fist clenched her heavy heart.

The weeks passed, and summer returned. Issylte spent the days exploring the Hazelwood Forest, collecting mirabelle plums, fresh strawberries, plants, and herbs.

She often helped Maiwenn hang herbs to dry from the ceiling of their workshop, using mortar and pestle to grind and prepare the tinctures and elixirs they brought to the village.

Sometimes, Issylte would find a little basket with a garland of églantines —the lovely pink roses called “sweetbriar” here in Ireland—and some of the groseilles, or red currants, that Maiwenn especially loved.

One morning, while Issylte was out gathering fruit and herbs in the forest, Maiwenn heard the pounding hooves of horses approaching the front entrance of the cottage.

She opened the door, delightfully surprised to see Branoc and Deirdre dismounting, bringing tools for her garden.

She kissed them both in greeting and exclaimed, “Bran! Dee! What a pleasant surprise! I wasn’t expecting you today. Come in, both of you! Welcome!”

The two visitors entered the cozy cottage. Maiwenn closed the door after them and said to her grandson, “What brings you here today, dear?”

Branoc glanced around the kitchen as he laid the basket on the shelf.

“I’ve brought these tools for your garden, Mamie .

And I’ve come to see about that rusted section of your fence.

I can craft the chain links in my shop and replace it easy enough.

Shouldn’t take me but a week or two.” As Deirdre sat down at the little table, he asked, “Where is églantine?”

Maiwenn dried her hands on her apron. “She’s out gathering some berries and herbs, as she does most mornings.

She’ll be back in an hour or two. Won’t you stay for dinner?

églantine and I went to the lake yesterday, and we’ve plenty of trout.

If she brings back some of the sweet plums, I can even make a tarte aux mirabelles for dessert! How does that sound?”

Branoc grinned. “Sounds perfect, Mamie!” Kissing Deirdre’s cheek, he suggested, “Why don’t you two have a tisane, and I’ll go check out the fence?”

After Branoc had left, Maiwenn could sense that something was troubling Deirdre, but knew enough to wait patiently until her grandson’s wife could muster the courage to find her words.

Finally, the younger woman, seeming a bit embarrassed, asked Maiwenn, “ Mamie , do you have any herbs that could help me to conceive a babe? Each month, my courses come, and it just breaks my heart. We’ve been tryin’ for so long…

Can you give me anything that might help? ”

Patting Deirdre’s hand in a gesture of comfort, Maiwenn replied, “I do indeed, Dee. I have just the herbal remedy for that.” She went to her cupboard and took out some white willow bark, yarrow, and wild raspberry leaves.

She measured each herb, placed the mixture in a small pouch and handed it to Deirdre.

“Add a teaspoon of this into a cup and pour boiling water over it to make a tisane. Let it steep for three or four minutes, strain out the leaves and drink the tea each morning and night. It’s helped a few women in the village, so I hope it will help you as well. ”

Deirdre was exuberant, nearly jumping from her chair with joy as she accepted the precious pouch and kissed Maiwenn’s cheek. “Oh, Mamie! Thank you so much! It means the world to me. I want a baby so much, it’s just killin’ me, you know. Thank you, Mamie . Truly.”

Heading to the door, Deirdre turned and said, “I’ll go say hello to Florette and the hens and see how Bran’s doin’ with the fence. Then I’ll come back in and help you peel the vegetables for dinner. Thank you again, dear Mamie !”

Maiwenn busied herself in the kitchen, assembling the pots and utensils she would need to prepare a lovely meal for her unexpected guests.

églantine should be home soon and, hopefully, she’d have some mirabelles with her.

Otherwise, there were still plenty of wild strawberries that would be delicious with some fresh cream.

As Maiwenn prepared the herbed trout and fresh vegetables, Deirdre wandered into the back yard where the animals were enclosed within the metal fence.

The hens were picking at the pile of vegetable scraps, searching for the grubs they loved so much, and Florette was grazing in the grass.

Deirdre stroked the goat’s soft white fur, searching for Branoc.

She saw the rusted area of the fence that he wanted to replace for Mamie and his tools on the ground, but he was nowhere to be found.

Wondering where he’d wandered off to, Deirdre let herself out through the door of the gate, closing it behind her so the animals would not stray, and ventured into the forest to find her husband.

Following the stream, she walked for a few minutes until she heard splashing and what sounded like a woman’s voice humming.

Perplexed at the singing and the rushing of water, Deirdre scanned the forest and noticed Branoc up ahead, in the strangest position.

He was crouched behind a cluster of trees, as if he were hiding from view.

He was staring intently at something in front of him, just beyond the trees.

He’s hunting . He must have spotted a hare, or maybe even a stag!

Yet, as she observed more closely, she realized that he had no bow and arrow, nor did he have a dagger.

Still, he had the look of a predator on his face, and Deirdre was determined to discover what held her husband’s rapt attention.

Taking a few steps to her left, Deirdre saw how the stream near the cottage flowed into a large pool just up ahead from where she stood.

A splendid waterfall cascaded down over a high wall of smooth rocks into a deep, natural basin.

As she watched in disbelief, she saw a totally nude églantine bathing in the pool, rinsing soap from her hair as she stood beneath the waterfall.

Deirdre had never seen églantine’s hair, for it had always been pinned up and covered by a scarf.

But now, as she stood with her mouth agape, Deirdre saw the pale blond tresses which fell to églantine’s curved hips.

Mesmerized, Deirdre stared in horror as the blond woman turned, revealing full, round breasts and hips, a small, delicate waist, and a tuft of blond hair between her long legs.

Numb with shock, Deirdre returned her gaze to her husband and was mortified to see that he had the front of his breeches open, his erect manhood in his hand, pleasuring himself while he stared at églantine!

As she watched in horror, Branoc convulsed with pleasure, his sacred seed spewing forth in an arc which puddled in a pool of waste on the forest floor.

I want him to spill his seed in me, not waste it on her! Here I am trying to conceive a child, and he throws it away! He can’t bed her, so he does this instead. By the Goddess, I hate her! Why did she have to come into our lives?

Trembling, shaking, sickened with jealousy, Deirdre backed slowly away in silence, not wanting her husband to see that she had witnessed his lust, his longing, his sexual act for another woman.

She felt betrayed, as if he had committed adultery.

She hated églantine for enticing him, for seducing him.

Deirdre had seen the way her husband’s eyes followed églantine everywhere, how his gaze lingered on her breasts, how he watched her hips sway as she walked . She has bewitched him. I hate her!

Deirdre staggered into the cottage, and Mamie rushed to her side, helping her into a chair at the little table. Mamie pulled up a chair, taking Deirdre’s trembling hands into her own. “Dee! What happened, dear? You’re so pale. You’ve had a terrible shock. What is it, dear?”

Horrified, ashamed and humiliated, Deirdre recovered enough to reply.

“I feel quite ill, Mamie . I’m afraid we can’t stay for dinner.

I want to go home. I feel sick to my stomach.

I’m sorry, Mamie .” Tears welled up in her eyes, and it was all she could do to hold them back until she got home, where she would allow herself to weep until her eyes were dry.

Branoc strolled in a few minutes later, aglow with pleasure, a contented smile plastered upon his traitorous face.

He saw Deirdre and his face dropped. He glanced at his grandmother, as if sensing the tension in the air.

At the obvious distress on his wife’s face, he rushed to her side and dropped to his knee. “What is it, Dee? What’s wrong?”

He tried to comfort her by touching her cheek. Deirdre thought of what he had just done with that filthy hand, and she recoiled from his touch. She replied coldly, “I feel quite ill. I want to go home. I told Mamie we can’t stay for dinner. Please, Bran, let’s go home. I feel sick to my stomach.”

She couldn’t hide her pallor, her obvious distress. She couldn’t breathe. And her legs were shaking uncontrollably.

Branoc replied, his voice filled with concern, “Of course, Dee. I’ll go see to the horses and be right back.

I’ll just be a few moments.” He gathered his tools and saddled the horses.

Returning, he said sadly to his grandmother, “I’m sorry, Mamie.

We’ll see you Saturday when you come into town. Give our regards to églantine.”

At the mention of her name, Deirdre once again envisioned the nude body in the pool, her husband’s lust, the opened breeches, and the wasted seed that could perhaps have given her the child she so desperately wanted.

Overcome with jealous rage, she rushed outside and heaved the contents of her stomach onto the ground, just as her husband had heaved his precious seed in the forest.

They rode in silence back to the village, the image of églantine’s voluptuous body taunting Deirdre as her jealous mind kept chanting, I hate her! I hate her! I hate her!

The summer evolved, and her husband stopped touching her altogether.

He blamed fatigue or the increased workload in the shop.

Still, he found plenty of reasons to visit the cottage frequently, bringing a new plow he had fashioned to till Mamie’s garden, repairing the thatch on her roof, or replacing yet another section of the fence.

And, as the Hazelwood Forest bloomed, verdant and fertile, Deirdre’s heart withered, as barren and empty as her womb.