The sun had begun to set as Quirinus walked across the farmlands - his farmlands. He had finally noted Thorold of the Mazur clan disembarking from his lands. The trip wouldn’t be long. Santoki was only a few days’ trip from the Helvig farm.
He preferred his silence over the conversation that often filled his farmlands. He smelled the calm air that consumed the land about it. Nothing could compare to the softness of the air and the smell of the fresh grain and grass. It smelled of new Earth and soil about itself.
There was fear that came with this solitude, however. Quirinus’ anxiety crowded his mind. His oldest son was utterly useless to the Helvig clan, and his youngest showed no interest in becoming the new clan leader in the years to come. A sad situation from the side of the Helvig people. A future clan leader who may not even come to be, leaving the people leaderless.
The day was quite sunny. The summertime proved fruitful for the land and sky. The sun shined widely upon the land, as the fresh air lifted itself into the sky. The flowers bloomed in the distance.
Quirinus walked to the longhouse, walking inside. He avoided eating the evening meal with his family. He felt as though he had better things to do. He walked towards the right side of the house all the way to the end. He saw his wife reading by their bed. She didn’t acknowledge him as she continued reading.
She sat on the bench infront of their bed. Animal furs lined the small room - even a large bear fur. “Betla?” Quirinus asked, while staring right at her.
The woman looked much like their eldest son, Torold. You could easily tell whose looks he had taken from. Rumors of course spread on the legitimacy of his birth. Torold would never grow to become a ruler with such gossip.
“Yes?” She replied, annoyed, not even looking from her book. Her husband ignored her and fell into their bed, not even taking his shoes off. “Why couldn’t you have more children?” He asked, suddenly, staring at her.
Betla refused to look up from her book, utterly annoyed at his constant banter. “You ask this constantly, it wasn’t my choice,” she answered.
Her husband sat up, still staring at her. “You could have at least tried,” he said. He felt anger rise inside of him. He wanted nothing more than to beat her. He watched as she got up from the room and left, ignoring his sighing at the sight.
Betla walked down the hallway, as she heard her husband calling her name, she could stand it no longer. She wanted nothing more than to leave this place. She missed her family she was forced to leave so long ago. She walked out from their longhouse and toward the slave huts on the eastern side of the longhouse. It was a far walk but enough to get away from this place.
The smell of the air calmed her and gave her piece of mind as she walked toward the slave huts. They were in the distance. Betla could barely make them out as she walked toward them. She thought of only how much she hated her husband - the mistakes of her father brought her here.
There were nine slave huts. All made of stone, with wooden roofs. All circular in shape. She felt tears coming down as she entered the first slave hut along the stone path. “Sou po?” A woman inside the hut asked, rushing towards her. The woman was blonde with blue eyes and freckles. She wore a cloth over her hair that was put in a low-hanging bun. Her clothing was much different from Betla’s. She wore a blue dress, with white sleeves and an apron that was covered in dirt. With the woman was another similar looking, but an older woman.
The inside of the hut was minimal, with a table in the center, and two large beds, with several blankets for sleeping laying on the floor.
“I hate this life, Anne,” Betla cried, falling into the woman. She was shorter than the slave, and easily fell into her without causing her to fall.
“It alright,” Anne replied, rubbing the woman’s head, soothing her. She gently hummed to Betla.
Betla sobbed into the woman’s chest, wrapping her arms around her. “I-I wish… I could live… as you,” She cried soaking Anne’s apron, while the older woman frowned in the background.
“What happened?” The older woman asked, still frowning.
Anne slowly helped Betla to sit at their table in the center of the hut. Betla paid little mind to the woman’s question and continued to sob into her hands while thinking of nothing but wanting this all to be a dream. “It Soe po again?” Anne asked, tenderly, while stroking Betla’s hair.
Betla nodded. “He- hes blaming me for not having more children. You know the rumors. He doesn’t think Torold is his child,” she answered, looking up. Her eyes were red and swollen from tears. Her hair stuck to her face from the tears. The woman’s wrinkles showed despite her young age of twenty-six.
“He does this constantly. I hate it so much. I hate him. I hate my father for losing that ridiculous war and selling me off like cattle. I’m glad I don’t have daughters, I couldn’t imagine selling them off like that,” she continued. She rubbed her eyes with her smooth hands. Hands so different from Anne’s and the older woman’s. Both of them were rough and scarred from hard labor.
“BETLA!” A deep voice called from the distance. Betla felt fear, as the other two women looked around. “Why don’t you go home and finish reading that book you’ve told me about?” Anne asked, standing up to help Betla up.
Quirinus stomped his way into the hut while having a concerned look on his face. “Staying with the slaves again, are we?” He asked, annoyed. “You might as well move in with them.”
He walked toward Betla slowly and slapped her. Her whole head shifted to the side as she felt the burning sensation across her face. Her hair brushed itself against her face, as she put her hand up to her face. “I’m sorry,” she said.
The two women seemingly didn’t look shocked. The older woman’s expression remained neutral. While the younger woman became even ore sad than before, as she awkwardly tried to ignore the situation at hand. Betla’s face stung from Quirinus’ rough hand hitting it.
“Why don’t you move in? You can’t get me more children! You might as well be a slave then!” He shouted at her, angrily. “LEAVE!” He shouted at the two slaves in the background. As soon as he said it, they obligated and left their own hut. Quirinus sat down opposite from his wife at the table in the center of the hut. He placed his head in his hands and sighed heavily, while Betla stood shocked. He suddenly slammed his hand into the table, causing his wife to jump slightly from it.
His mind boiled from the anger reaching into his mind and consuming his soul. “Do you even know how it feels to hear constant gossip from the people? Even from slaves and peasants?” He asked, staring at her, even if she didn’t look back.
There was silence for many seconds between the two. Only the slow wind could be heard from the open doorway. “Do you?!” He shouted, slamming his hand against the table again.
Betla turned around to look at him. She tried to tenderly smile through her tears. “No,” she answered. “I couldn’t imagine,” she continued.
“I’m supposed to be the clan leader, Betla. Don’t you understand that?” He asked again, this time calmer. He began to cry, and placed his head in his hands again. “I don’t think you do. I never asked for this,” he stated, while quietly sobbing.
Betla tried to remain emotion-free, but she felt as though she was fuming inside. She wanted to kill him. He had never hit her before. In all of their twelve years of marriage, he had never hurt her. She thought before that he wasn’t like the others. She knew that her father would beat her mother. She heard it many times, along with her six siblings. But her own husband had never done anything like that before. She never thought he had it in him to do such a thing. They had a lot of passive aggressiveness and arguments of her inability to have more children.
She thought they had enough children. Two son’s to heir the clan would be enough to continue it. They need not have more children - there was no point.
Quirinus suddenly stood up and walked from the slave hut. “ANNE! AGNES! HERE NOW!” He shouted, angrily again.
Betla exited from the hut fastly and walked back toward the longhouse. She didn’t dare look back as she heard her husband shouting at them. “IF I DARE HEAR ANY GOSSIP FROM ANY OF YOU!” She drowned out the noise as she saw the longhouse in the distance.
Her mind remained mostly blank as she entered the longhouse, and laid down in the bed she shared with Quirinus. Her mind was crowded with thoughts as she began to cry again. She wondered if her children had gone to sleep, but the questions quickly passed her by. She fell asleep crying.
The next morning she woke up to see her husband sleeping next to her. She was surprised, during arguments and all, she would rather sleep elsewhere. She didn’t know where, she assumed it was with other women. But a bastard would never be a real heir to the Helvig clan.
She got up, still wearing the same clothing from yesterday. She walked down the hall and peeked into her children’s sleeping area. Torold and Eudel slept soundly next to one another. The two boys were close, sharing a sibling bond that could never be broken.
She walked outside and saw the sun had not risen yet. The sky remained mostly dark with light entering the horizon. She walked towards a hut that sat close to the longhouse. It was a small square-shaped brick building, with a wooden roof. She opened the door to see the washhouse for the family. It was small, with two wardrobes for clothing, on the end of the house sat a two-foot deep tub into the ground. Near the wardrobe, was a large mirror. Betla looked in the mirror to see the side of her face was slightly bruised and still red. Nothing could help save her from this. She would remain here until her death, she wanted to try and appease him. Perhaps their marriage was still worth saving to ensure the happiness of both. Or more so, the happiness of Quirinus Helvig.
“Mum, it’s not bath day,” Eudel said, walking into the washhouse. She turned to him and smiled. “Good morning,” she replied.
She hugged him. Despite his young age, he was nearly as tall as his short mother. He looked much like his father. The dark hair and tanned skin made him nearly identical. Even his nose was the same. But the boy was nothing like his father. Betla had heard of how her father-in-law was. Luckily he died shortly after she was married off to his son.
She felt lucky to have two loving sons. The culture said that a child only took looks from his father, and the brains of the mother. Torold took after his mother mostly. Rumors said he was another man’s child. Betla knew that was not true, even if it spread like wildfire.
“Is your brother still sleeping,” she asked, still smiling.
Eudel nodded. “Why don’t you see to breakfast?” His mother asked, pushing him away from the doorway and into the outside.
She watched him skip toward the slave huts further down. They would be men soon. Both of them. She wanted to keep their childhood in shape forever, but there was almost no use to it now. Their father would prepare Eudel to become the next clan leader, and Torold would be married off in ten years from now, to a girl seven years younger. All around similar to her marriage to Quirinus.
In the distance she saw her husband exit the longhouse, walking toward her.
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