Post by Queen Beathag Aberdeen on Jan 3, 2012 1:16:30 GMT -6
(This is an excerpt from a Journal on the old HoS boards, from winter of 08 before we began Skye. Bess had only mentioned her real name again, Beathag, due to Adam. She was a dock woman. Ships and shipping her her business. Love, for one who had lost so much, was undoing her. To this day a fun fact: She still refers to her private journal as "Booke")
-- Beathag came to the castle, her home for now, when the guard along the docks changed. As per agreement, she followed the retiring centries back to the place where a gate and stone shut out the rest of the Inverness. Armor clanged and voices called out instruction, request, or mundane bits of castaway tidings from the days running headlong into one another. "My Lady, won't you come down from the horse," asked the man who saw her home, "so I can have him stabled, and you might go in, where it is warm. Lady Beathag?" It had been this way since the men had left. Little by little she was prone to drift to places where sound couldn't touch her ears. Then as if shaking off the moment entirely she came to life again ,"Aye, aye. Time for ye rest, Caldonhan.." She slid down his back while clutching her children close. Steps were quick to her chambers for reasons she spoke not of. Passing pages, lady's maids, and all manner of servant she bolted the door to her room. There was barely time to lay them down..to kiss their brows...to utter a prayer before coming to a chair for she could go no further. What sense of urgency was this? Only the pages of bound book would know --
Booke,
That is what ye are, so that is what I will call you. Maybe the purpose in your name is to make you a man or woman o' flesh n' bone n' blood. It would be a lie to say tha' precious few understand me except the pages, but Booke, precious few know the depths of how it goes with me because I do not say it or if so, it be easy to lose. My words are garbled under a thick Scotts tha' is hard to ken no matter how much I try to make it soft with the common tongue. It can nay be helped when your Gaelic sleeps alongside your Norse. M'tongue twists and gets heavy, I speak slower by the hour. But I be tryin. I want someone to ken what it is I have to say. I need someone to understand.
But who be wantin' to listenin' to a woman what does more listenin' than talkin'? I'm fadin', Booke, hardly able tae contain it anymore. Runnin' down the halls like a mad lass to this room to bolt the door n' bed m'children for the night. Nay a wink o' rest for me! Not with a mind like this. Dark and vial things follow me e'erywhere I gae and my mind is surely slippin' from the mooring. I hear words in m'head come from no mouths around me. See things tha' can nay be seen. Tears pour out o' my eyes like a ne'er ending rain and it is becoming harder n' harder to hold it at bay.
I am comin' undone, Booke, I am comin' undone.
How do you find the words tae tell someone tha' the day ye lover left ye could hardly hold the banner for nearly fallin' from the horse, crumbling in the mud? The humiliation at nay bein' able to linger until the last man could not be seen beats down on my back with the fire of a cracked whip. Chastising my foolishness, my folly, for feeling. Aye, to feel this is a folly. Booke do you know what it does to me? I look upon the black and gold, the gryphon, all on the flag Adam made. He glorifies the name o' Aberdeen and I, the daughter o' that name these near thirty five years, sully it. There are times I go from the docks to look on the cottage he built when the gates of the city are opened. Aye, I can see it nay far, really, amidst the other good houses that hold land surroundin'. It lays empty, dark, and cold without him in it. M'arms feel empty without him. Gods help me.
I have nay loved a man like this since my Caibre, since I was a girl o' fifteen come to wife. Since a woman o' twenty one with him killed infront of me. The dreams have come again and he bleeds to death in them with his blood stainin' my hands forever. Was it my battles tha' killed him, or the war? I think tha' each day when I think 'pon Adam, my Adam, in battle. Oh, he is a fine figure until he is cut down and before he dies he turns to me sayin, " I love ye and I'll wait." Too many people wait for me as it be! Booke, I am scared...
- Her hands began to spasm so much the quill dropped in the middle of the page, leaving a blot as it bled through. One hand gripped up into limp hair, while the other resumed to purge her thoughts -
I am scared o' losin' him before we even begin. There is more. I am scared to see any o' them die. Whatever Gods or God listens, may he not take the lives of o' our kith and kin. One man is m'lover, two are as m'brothers come to life again, and one is a brother I ne'er had. Adam, Agravaine, Eamonn, Zahak. You may ne'er now what you mean to me, or if you do, forgive me if in tellin' it you do nay understand.
Still more to say, I want to tell ye Booke tha' m'fears run deeper still. I work ceaslessly because I can nay sleep, and I can nay sleep because my mind runs ceaseless and I run from it. There was a line that snapped on the dock and I heard a whip. The rustling of strapping chain binding things down and I hear prison chains. Bars. I feel the cold, slimy floors for my boots are wearin' thin when I walk on the cobblestone streets. A man yells to his fellow and I hear the shouts of the men that tried to break so man.
Booke, I was torchured. Captured and torchured from here down tae England. Somewhere in a cell in the bowels of the earth. How far from home I was or where can nay be said. But I can say they beat me e'ery bit o' the way there. Caught me, killed others before m'eyes ..burned and scourged while my hands were bound. Struck me with whips laced with bits o' glass n'metal. Struck m'face, m'belly and sides, my legs until all o' me was black and blue. I lay on wood tables and little wheels in wood were turned tae pull my limbs near apart. My screams broke out o' me until I could nay speak. I was choked, Booke. My body violated by the jailers, by soliders, by people I can nay e'en recall for I steeled m'self against them. Legs were locked in what they called the boot, book, wet leather and straps they pull...turnin' the leg to jelly. Hot irons. Nay food, water. Boards with nails pressed in the skin for they got nothin' they wished to know from me. The noose around me only tae be cut down n' strung up again to find m'neck would nay break. Months and months..six, seven..a year o' it until the day came when freedom was mine. But at a price that will always be paid.
A part of me has ne'er recovered from that. It began when I saw the body of a boy who had been torchured..and it gets harder tae hide. Twitched eye, the shakin, the headaches and sounds. I can smell the waste and get sick e'en now. Somewhere in England, there is someone endurin' what I endured unless someone saw it was nay e'en fit for the dogs. It took me nearly seven years to put it away. And here it is again. M'sickness o' a mind rememberin' too much. And is being vunerable an illness too? The healers surely haven't anythin' for it.
Whiskey, drams of medicine wine, herbs. I can nay afford to be put to sleep for who will look after me children? There are few in this world I entrust them too. Edme came to me an oprhan and now she is my little sweetin'. Aodhan is my bright boy. Who will care for them, if nay me? Mayhaps an hour passin or two at most..but I can nay bare to be away from them long.
When I was threatened I care nay, but when my children are threatened...my heart stops. Does someone out there want to take from me m'everythin? Oh Booke..make me stop. Tell m'head to quiet and my eyes to close. Tell the scars on my body to stop hurtin' and my heart to stop achin' for what it can nay have now. Help me to soften m'voice so that I can tell someone so they may understand.
I am comin' undone.
-- Beathag came to the castle, her home for now, when the guard along the docks changed. As per agreement, she followed the retiring centries back to the place where a gate and stone shut out the rest of the Inverness. Armor clanged and voices called out instruction, request, or mundane bits of castaway tidings from the days running headlong into one another. "My Lady, won't you come down from the horse," asked the man who saw her home, "so I can have him stabled, and you might go in, where it is warm. Lady Beathag?" It had been this way since the men had left. Little by little she was prone to drift to places where sound couldn't touch her ears. Then as if shaking off the moment entirely she came to life again ,"Aye, aye. Time for ye rest, Caldonhan.." She slid down his back while clutching her children close. Steps were quick to her chambers for reasons she spoke not of. Passing pages, lady's maids, and all manner of servant she bolted the door to her room. There was barely time to lay them down..to kiss their brows...to utter a prayer before coming to a chair for she could go no further. What sense of urgency was this? Only the pages of bound book would know --
Booke,
That is what ye are, so that is what I will call you. Maybe the purpose in your name is to make you a man or woman o' flesh n' bone n' blood. It would be a lie to say tha' precious few understand me except the pages, but Booke, precious few know the depths of how it goes with me because I do not say it or if so, it be easy to lose. My words are garbled under a thick Scotts tha' is hard to ken no matter how much I try to make it soft with the common tongue. It can nay be helped when your Gaelic sleeps alongside your Norse. M'tongue twists and gets heavy, I speak slower by the hour. But I be tryin. I want someone to ken what it is I have to say. I need someone to understand.
But who be wantin' to listenin' to a woman what does more listenin' than talkin'? I'm fadin', Booke, hardly able tae contain it anymore. Runnin' down the halls like a mad lass to this room to bolt the door n' bed m'children for the night. Nay a wink o' rest for me! Not with a mind like this. Dark and vial things follow me e'erywhere I gae and my mind is surely slippin' from the mooring. I hear words in m'head come from no mouths around me. See things tha' can nay be seen. Tears pour out o' my eyes like a ne'er ending rain and it is becoming harder n' harder to hold it at bay.
I am comin' undone, Booke, I am comin' undone.
How do you find the words tae tell someone tha' the day ye lover left ye could hardly hold the banner for nearly fallin' from the horse, crumbling in the mud? The humiliation at nay bein' able to linger until the last man could not be seen beats down on my back with the fire of a cracked whip. Chastising my foolishness, my folly, for feeling. Aye, to feel this is a folly. Booke do you know what it does to me? I look upon the black and gold, the gryphon, all on the flag Adam made. He glorifies the name o' Aberdeen and I, the daughter o' that name these near thirty five years, sully it. There are times I go from the docks to look on the cottage he built when the gates of the city are opened. Aye, I can see it nay far, really, amidst the other good houses that hold land surroundin'. It lays empty, dark, and cold without him in it. M'arms feel empty without him. Gods help me.
I have nay loved a man like this since my Caibre, since I was a girl o' fifteen come to wife. Since a woman o' twenty one with him killed infront of me. The dreams have come again and he bleeds to death in them with his blood stainin' my hands forever. Was it my battles tha' killed him, or the war? I think tha' each day when I think 'pon Adam, my Adam, in battle. Oh, he is a fine figure until he is cut down and before he dies he turns to me sayin, " I love ye and I'll wait." Too many people wait for me as it be! Booke, I am scared...
- Her hands began to spasm so much the quill dropped in the middle of the page, leaving a blot as it bled through. One hand gripped up into limp hair, while the other resumed to purge her thoughts -
I am scared o' losin' him before we even begin. There is more. I am scared to see any o' them die. Whatever Gods or God listens, may he not take the lives of o' our kith and kin. One man is m'lover, two are as m'brothers come to life again, and one is a brother I ne'er had. Adam, Agravaine, Eamonn, Zahak. You may ne'er now what you mean to me, or if you do, forgive me if in tellin' it you do nay understand.
Still more to say, I want to tell ye Booke tha' m'fears run deeper still. I work ceaslessly because I can nay sleep, and I can nay sleep because my mind runs ceaseless and I run from it. There was a line that snapped on the dock and I heard a whip. The rustling of strapping chain binding things down and I hear prison chains. Bars. I feel the cold, slimy floors for my boots are wearin' thin when I walk on the cobblestone streets. A man yells to his fellow and I hear the shouts of the men that tried to break so man.
Booke, I was torchured. Captured and torchured from here down tae England. Somewhere in a cell in the bowels of the earth. How far from home I was or where can nay be said. But I can say they beat me e'ery bit o' the way there. Caught me, killed others before m'eyes ..burned and scourged while my hands were bound. Struck me with whips laced with bits o' glass n'metal. Struck m'face, m'belly and sides, my legs until all o' me was black and blue. I lay on wood tables and little wheels in wood were turned tae pull my limbs near apart. My screams broke out o' me until I could nay speak. I was choked, Booke. My body violated by the jailers, by soliders, by people I can nay e'en recall for I steeled m'self against them. Legs were locked in what they called the boot, book, wet leather and straps they pull...turnin' the leg to jelly. Hot irons. Nay food, water. Boards with nails pressed in the skin for they got nothin' they wished to know from me. The noose around me only tae be cut down n' strung up again to find m'neck would nay break. Months and months..six, seven..a year o' it until the day came when freedom was mine. But at a price that will always be paid.
A part of me has ne'er recovered from that. It began when I saw the body of a boy who had been torchured..and it gets harder tae hide. Twitched eye, the shakin, the headaches and sounds. I can smell the waste and get sick e'en now. Somewhere in England, there is someone endurin' what I endured unless someone saw it was nay e'en fit for the dogs. It took me nearly seven years to put it away. And here it is again. M'sickness o' a mind rememberin' too much. And is being vunerable an illness too? The healers surely haven't anythin' for it.
Whiskey, drams of medicine wine, herbs. I can nay afford to be put to sleep for who will look after me children? There are few in this world I entrust them too. Edme came to me an oprhan and now she is my little sweetin'. Aodhan is my bright boy. Who will care for them, if nay me? Mayhaps an hour passin or two at most..but I can nay bare to be away from them long.
When I was threatened I care nay, but when my children are threatened...my heart stops. Does someone out there want to take from me m'everythin? Oh Booke..make me stop. Tell m'head to quiet and my eyes to close. Tell the scars on my body to stop hurtin' and my heart to stop achin' for what it can nay have now. Help me to soften m'voice so that I can tell someone so they may understand.
I am comin' undone.
