The Birth Of The Beta

23. WINTER IS OUR FRIEND

In the days after Cornelius’ collapse, nobody had seen him and the atmosphere in the Ludus moved between monotonous and miserable on a continual rota. Unless you included Aoife, who was in a mind frame of mutiny. Magnus had taken over running Heaton House on his father’s behalf, and although he had a lot of profitable ideas, he valued the money over his duty of care. Insisting on still having morning meetings, Aoife wanted to laugh at his attempts to achieve authority. He demanded that she stand in the middle of the office with her fingers interlinked behind her back. She avoided looking at him, focussing on the statues along the edge of the office. Cornelius had loved telling her the history of each person.

“The days of sitting on this desk are over,” Magnus informed her.

Aoife wanted to laugh at the idea that he thought this would be a punishment for her. She wanted to stay as far away from him as possible. She had wanted to suggest shouting her report to him while he stood on the balcony and she glared at him from the sands, but was mindful to hold her tongue for her pup’s sake.

One particular morning after a meeting with Magnus, which was more of another chance for him to criticise the gladiators, she looked out to see the roof of Heaton House shimmering like silver dust. The bundles of frost looked like tiny floral buds of glass on the bare and beautiful landscape. She raced to her and Pepin’s room to escape the sharp frozen temperature that savaged her uncovered skin.

Pepin was waiting for her with a blanket out stretched in his arms to bundle her into. He rubbed his hands over the outside of the blanket, hoping the friction would warm her up. Sitting on his thighs, enjoying the heat from his wolf, she appreciated the closeness.

“I’ve been thinking about how we will keep Magnus and Antonia from learning about our little pup. Your bump will be showing soon,” Pepin voiced his concern.

“I know, I have some ideas, but the Moon Goddess has blessed us because this will be the coldest winter in memory,” Aoife said excitedly, and then laughed at Pepin’s perplexed expression.

“I’ll need to make sure I’m well covered for the snow they say will come. Magnus and Antonia hardly know anything about wolves, they don’t know that we are warmer blooded,” Aoife continued.

Finally, Pepin understood her plan.

“You are going to hide your bump in winter clothes?” He confirmed.

“Yes, Winnie has started making me a coat from an old dress I had. She said I'd only need to pull it over my head and it would cover me like a huge blanket. She said I should just imagine a tent with a hole for my head to go through,” She laughed at the idea of walking around looking like such a sight.

“Did you tell Winnie?” Pepin asked.

“No, I just genuinely complained about the cold, it was fortuitous that she had the answer to both issues,” She calmed his worries, and gave a kiss to his forehead.

Pepin reached over and handed Aoife the flute he had bought her. She picked it up and played a lively tune, it was so fast that Aoife’s fingers seemed to trip over each other in the race to cover the correct hole and expel the perfect note. He could feel his heart beating faster with the tempo of the song, and for the first time in weeks the fear and worry were lifting off him. When the tune was finished, she turned to look at him with her face flushed and beaming.

“That might be my favourite one, my warrior,” Pepin complimented.

“I just thought we should put the worry to one side, and concentrate on the joy we have in our lives,” She rationalised.

“I agree. There isn’t a day I wake up that I am not thankful to the Goddess for you, and our pup. You make me become the things I was scared to hope for, a mate and a father,” Pepin professed.

Aoife blushed a deeper shade of pink at his words, but she was equally enraptured by them. His steady heartbeat proved the sincerity behind his words. She knew he loved her, as she loved him. His hand found its way to her stomach where he rubbed his thumb over the slight bump, as if the baby would be able to feel his love and caress. Tiny flutters rippled like startled eyelashes beneath where he lay his hand. Aoife wasn’t sure if these were caused by their pup, or her own joy at the family they were becoming.

Since Cornelius’ illness, the gladiators were no longer allowed to eat in the atrium. Most kept to their rooms, or ate on the sands where they trained if they wanted the company of their friends. Pepin made his way to the culina to fetch their evening meal. On arrival, he was confronted with the most amusing sight he had seen for a while. Winnifred was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a tray at her side, covered in bird feathers. The number of feathers was so extreme, Pepin couldn’t even tell what headband she had on today.

“What’s going on, Winnie?” Pepin asked her, but he was shocked by the sudden burst of tears which contrasted with her current appearance.

“Magnus and Antonia are hosting their friends tomorrow. They only told me this afternoon, and they only wanted to have poultry on the menu. I’ve been plucking ever since,” Pepin tried to be sensitive and hold in his laugh, but the despair she emphasised on the word ‘plucking’ was too much for him to keep merriment contained.

“I’ll help you, how about I bag up the feathers? It’s hard to see if you are, our Winnie, or some kind of exotic, giant bird, then while I’m tidying up you go and wash up,” Pepin suggested, and her relief was so immense, that she only just remembered to call out a belated ‘thank-you’ when she was half way to her room.

Grabbing the canvas bags, Pepin proceeded to fill them with the various coloured feathers. Somewhere between the seventh and eighth bags, an idea took shape that was fully formed by the time the last bag was filled. Wanting to help Winnie, he prepared the last of the meat, and readied the kitchen so she could cook as soon as she was ready. Balancing three bags, a plate of food, and a goblet for them to share, plus a jar of birch glue in the hook of his elbow, he returned to their room later than expected.

To Aoife’s surprise, Pepin burst in like a huge calamity, spilling some of their water on the floor as he aimed to place their food on the weapons chest whilst being attacked by what looked like three bags of feathers, all the while he protected a jar of glue from the chaos.

“Will I get to know what this makeshift work-shop is for?” Aoife mocked, with good humour.

“Hopefully, by the time I’m done, you’ll be wearing what this workshop produces,” Pepin jibed back, before cupping his jaw in his hand and slightly frowning.

He took a deep breath, sat on the floor and began his masterpiece. Perplexed, Aoife watched him as she picked at the food he had brought them. She tried to fight the heaviness of her eyelids, curious as to what he was doing, but eventually sleep conquered her and the last image she could remember was Pepin holding up the glue brush, as his tongue poked slightly out of his lips.

When Aoife woke up the next morning, slightly irritated as she hadn’t been wrapped in Pepin’s arms like she normally was, she was awed by the vision in front of her. Pepin was presenting her with a beautiful feather coat. Amazed, she reached out her hand to touch the delicate feathers, the gorgeous grey plume of a guinea fowl’s adornment started at the shoulder, each feather overlapping and covering up to her waist. Then it faded into a charcoal grey that was the same shade as a duck’s tail. Finally, it descended into the striking ebony of a black bird’s beauty.

“I can’t believe you did this, it’s beautiful, and all this trouble you went to…I just can’t believe it!” Aoife exclaimed.

“Nothing I do will ever be too much trouble, if it is done for you, my love,” Pepin countered, kissing her hand.

Encouraged by her reaction, he held up the coat for her, and gestured for her to try it on. It fit perfectly, with space for the pup as he or she would grow, and the feathers made it bulky enough to hide their joy. Aoife looked like a warrior queen, the dark colours symbolising her deadliness were softened by the lighter greys that reflected her gentleness. Like a metaphor for her personality: a kind killer. She spun around observing the movement of the coat.

“I love it!”

“I’m glad,” he replied. “I managed to make this with the remaining feathers,” he pulled out a pillow that was a long fat tube shape, handing it over to her.

“I thought when our pup gets bigger, you might want to put this under your bump when you sleep, he explained bashfully.

She ran up to him, pressing her lips against his own, conveying all the love she could through their kiss.

“I’ll make you clothes more often, if that is the payment,” Pepin joked.

“That was the payment for you just being you. I love you. I love you. I love you!” She repeated softly.

“And I love you!” He affirmed.