To Map The World [6]

'Ther are no newe words,' seid I to Thérose as she told Kathryne our tale. 'My brother Mark yet looks E'st on foes. Forbirn his Northern enemy alleso grows stronger. But whan war is asterte we shal be to Welldyr.' I sat adoun, weri and feble; Kathryne saten biside me.1

'Whatso is doon,' I seyd to Kathryne who semed disturbid, 'ye be not bisi for us. You se, I am nat tremblyng.' 2

'No,' seid she, and hir face was liyter. Silence felde on us and a cloud fleten over the eerly sun.3

'Thou ben on my herte,' she seyd. 'I desirid you to come for a long tyme. Thy Thérose was precious to me as my owene damsel. Let us be like sistris ayen, you nat gretter than I or far awei and I no lesse or stranglid with cares.' I lovede her, and kisside her. Whan I had take hir honds my girdil felde from the bed. Thérose . Kathryne laughed. 'Secrets,' she said.4

I held my head up. 'No,' I said. 'Na, they're not.' 5

'Daet,' said Kathryne mysteriously, and translated. 'Right then.' She inclined her chin so sharply that her red hair swayed.6

At soupe, there was an abundance of misunderstanding. My father was used to the post-Llygadaen English, and Lord Nathanel spoke only the Southern tongue - an outdated dialect sprinkled with Welsh. My mother spoke a little of the speech she knew from the far north - the tongue in which I write - but it only made matters worse. Kathryne and I were closer to being able to communicate than were our families.7

It was two daies later when we left. My fadir and modir were hagged by then. And I nyst nat why, but the face of Kathryne was adredde. She kiste me sweetly and cride whan we wer gone, but she semed more a womman than a mayde. I was sorry for hir.8