Chapter 6 - Village I
The road meandered and wound through the light, rolling hills. Ryeamund had been picturing sheer mountainsides in his mind, but this looked much more like pleasant rolling hills… just decidedly larger in nature than what he was used to. These "foothills" were larger than what he would have thought "mountains" back home.
Other than that, he was surprised it was, well… a village that looked much like any other. He asked if it was one of their villages. They said no, it was "Ravinlund". The great-house they were going to bore the mark of the Raven.
These kingsmen were picked out on account of their speed and dexterity, ability to run long distances, keen ears and eyes. Their favorite weapons were the bow and crossbow, and they were also great hunters. They were noted for their abilities that aided them in their hunting, of both animals and men alike.
They were some of the best at reading signs of what they were following, and were adept at concealing themselves. They were scouts and spies, and they were more "clannish" than the other high north men; they stuck together like no others.
Where most of the other north-men were more likely to stand and fight, these men were skilled at laying ambushes and traps. One good man, could be trusted to stay hidden near a spot in the road for days if need be, keeping watch for the enemy. They would hit their previously selected target they were given, usually a leader or other special prey, and seemingly disappear into the leaves.
It was said, that the best of them… a man could walk right past them and not see them, until it was too late. In the dark, the "log" you stepped over? Might rise silently and push a long dagger into a weak point in your armor. They would meticulously lift up a carpet of moss, and make a hide under it, or weave grasses and leaves into rough burlap cloaks to remain hidden. All tricks they had learned from clans to the far southwest that used them for hunting tricks.
They were some of the only far north-men that didn't regularly wear the signature big heavy armor they all wore, their armor was usually a lot lighter. If a smaller band of stout open land stand-and-fight men were engaging? A small band or two of these men would up the odds by picking the enemy off… before, during, and after the conflict. They would, if commanded, harry the enemy all the way home to aggravate their losses.
Arroch explained because they were such a different kind of hunter and fighter, they were almost a separate breed. Mutual respect, however, existed. Stand and fight men knew these men were powerful in their own right, and likewise these stealthy men knew they would not long last standing and fighting it out in the open.
Arroch explained that terrain and the circumstances dictated their use or non-use. When not at war though, their typical errands were watching roads and ports, and helping to locate enemy bandits and their remote camps they came out of. When not in use, these men loved bow hunting stag.
When Ryeamund asked why they bore the sign of the Raven, a bird… Arroch explained that the stories told that Odin had two pet Ravens that were his spies, and he used them as his eyes and ears to watch on people. Arroch explained, that they were the High King's favorite scouts and rangers, as the south men might think of them.
Arroch offered they wouldn't be stopping here at this great-house. There was no problem with it. It was just that they were so clannish, they kept to themselves, and no one questioned it much. Their village was here, so that they were able to best hit the woods and the road, to better hunt and keep an eye on things.
Everyone was friendly, however. Children ran around, and darted in and among the men, laughing and running off. Men and women were moving around, doing things Ryeamund considered ordinary for any village he had ever been in. Children were playing such games as children do everywhere. What appeared to be races, games of tag, throwing clods of earth at each other from behind their little "forts" the children made, a summertime version of snow fights.
Ryeamund watched the children darting in and out, and he could now see he had become part of the game, too. The children were taking turns running up to them and passing through and back off. The game seemed to be to dare to touch one of the company of men coming home and run off, laughing. That touched man, was more often than not, himself. In some way it amused Ryeamund to realize he was part of the children's game. None of them hated him, as his own peers had growing up. None of them feared him, as he had been forced to do with the others he grew up with.
Ryeamund was obviously well pleased, and asked.
"Are we in haste, Arroch ?"
All three looked at one another, then Arroch answered him back.
"What haste we show, is but for your own feast, Ryeamund. Delay the feast as you wish. If it pleases you."
It obviously did please him. The next time a child ran in and darted to tag him, he grabbed the little boy up, and held him under the shoulders easily, and swung him in a couple circles. The little boy squealed and kicked his legs, but was smiling and laughing as he did it, as children at play will do. He dropped the kid, and was about to run off after the kid.
He stopped and looked at his new brothers. Was this all right?
"Aye, Ryeamund. Just drop yer hand ax. It is their custom you have no edged weapon when you play with the children."
"Aye…", and Ryeamund tossed his little hand ax into the little wagon, it clanked on his bigger axes. Then, he ran off and chased the children around. He figured out the game of tag, it was similar to his own village children's game of "touch and go". The only difference seemed to be you were to attempt to touch the one that touched you, not just any other.
Arroch and Theyer walked around idly, while Sooth stayed near the wagon. No one would dare steal anything, but you didn't leave edged weapons around children. If some wee one chopped another wee one's arm off with the small hand ax, there would be a lot of hell to pay.
Arroch wondered why Ryeamund was picked out by the children to try to play with. Theyer chuckled, and pointed out to his big friend that Ryeamund didn't wear armor, and he was dressed differently from themselves in other ways as well. And lastly, the three of them were full grown men, in "all of their beard". It was easy to forget that this big, muscular beast they had taken in, scary though he could be… was a young man. He wasn't in his beard all the way yet.
When Ryeamund was done running around chasing and being chased, he went back to the wagon. He was clearly happy. When they went to set off, the tallest and likely the oldest young child in the group… ran up and clasped forearms with Ryeamund. Dipped his head slightly, then smiled and ran off back to the children he was probably watching over, as the oldest.
These villagers, not all but most of them, did not look like what Ryeamund thought of as "typical far north-men". IE, overly tall and overly muscular. But, they tended to be very tall. It was deceptive, though. From a distance, what appeared to be an otherwise average size man, in both height and weight? When you got up on him, however, the regular man vanished into a very tall man. They were as tall as any of the big far north-men, they were just of average build… for their height.
Arroch and the others were not big fans of their food, which was the main reason they were passing through to the next village, where the great-house was more like what they were used to. Arroch said these people were adept at food preservation, and were hence quite valuable in the winter.
Their dried and smoked meats, fishes, and fowls would keep longer than most. Because they ranged so much on far errands, they brought back odd spices to flavor the preserved food. They salted fish that would last "almost forever".
Wine that was allowed to "turn" into vinegar, was both used to spice up other villagers dishes, and to preserve meat and vegetables and eggs. Arroch said the standing joke was, The Ravin's take a whole month to prepare the meal; it takes the rest of the year to eat half of it.
When you were going out on errand or command? You stopped here on your way out, and you stayed the night. You told them how long you were going, and whether by land or sea, and they provided the preserved foodstuffs to help you out. Their first green's sack came from here, and after that you were to make another while you were on that one, and so on.
The dried meat that Ryeamund was in love with, was from here as well. Arroch explained, that if a man had extra "just about anything" he wasn't going to use? It was best to bring it here and they would barter back with other things you wanted.
Arroch stopped right by the great-house, and traded their great big greens sacks, and the rest of the dried meat in… on a small cask of wine vinegar. Apparently, he liked to dip his roasted meat in it, it tickled his tongue in just the right way, he said. He traded in their last unopened small wine cask, for a skin of what he said was mead, and explained it was more or less spiced honey wine. He also "donated" back in all the empty casks and the extra water skins they no longer needed to travel with.
As they took mouthfuls of the mead skin they handed back and forth, Arroch explained these people's heritage. They arrived in the time of the last great failed corridor invasion. Apparently, the petty king doing it, had previously routed village after village of these people in their homeland. Which had been on top of the world, just on top of a different part of their world, more to the east.
They were used to fjords and mountains and the seas, much like the north-men, they just fought differently. They came up the corridor ahead of the invasion, and warned the petty king of the time, what was coming soon to a corridor near you.
They were so highly pissed off at their own invasion that they took to the hills with what was left of them, banded up, and then re-split back up into raiding/hunting parties.
They tortured the big columns of the great army, non-stop, the entire way out of their land, followed them with no pause, and into the south borderlands. Greatly reducing morale and troop numbers. They were sneaking in to camps, stealing food and spoiling water, stealing the horses and weapons, simply anything they could think of, to kick the army in the balls and run. Another of their weird tactics? They would sneak in, and pour warm oil on a sleeping man, then set him on fire. They seemed to vanish.
Stories were that they had men that could sneak into the enemy camp in the middle of the wee hours, and slit throats. Men woke up to dead men next to them. The posted night guards? Were found with their heads in their laps. With "sign" on them to let them know just who did it, and they would keep on doing it. If you tried to fight them, you marched around in circles in unfamiliar empty woods. When you went back to your business? They were at you again. They couldn't "win", but, they wouldn't exactly "lose", either.
They would shoot a man or two, then stay hidden. If the army sent men up to get them? They were just "poof" gone… or? They followed the men running away… right into an ambush.
They had accurate information gleaned from all of this, that the king found very valuable. Troop numbers, camp locations, column marching speed estimations… the works. Then, while they weren't adept at stand-and-fight tactics? They ambushed the big columns coming up the long corridor, back down after they were routed by the north-men, and followed the people they now hated with a passion all the way back to their lands.
They also acted as scouts and message runners for the more heavily armored far north-men. Scouting from the hills, they could see what was coming hours before anyone else on the corridor roads; they would shoot arrows into previously arranged fields, with marks on them that indicated direction of the enemy approaching.
For all this free service, just for a chance to help beat their enemy? They were allowed to stay and form villages. Because they were so tall, they blended in over time with the north-men. The women were extra tall as well, and like the men? Surprisingly strong though appearing "normal" from a distance. A lot of the men and women were fair skinned like the north-men, but a lot of them had ice blue eyes and blonde to dirty-blonde hair. The "true" far north-men, the original giants of the mountain? Were fair-skinned with mostly dark hair and eyes, with a few redheads and red beards that kept re-appearing among them. Not bright red, like the Picts, but a darker red, that was almost but not quite light brown.
By reputation, these people were not into "raiding" back in raiding's heyday like the north-men; these people were always into trading instead. Over time, it was more than likely how the north-men got into trading and out of raiding. Among the rare items they brought back with them on these adventures, was wisdom. They brought back knowledge learned from far-away blacksmiths and hunters, and anything else they found a novelty.
Among their craft work that was notable? Really fine smith work, known in particular for razor-sharp knives. Most suited to the kitchen and shaving and skinning; the blades were not durable enough for "real weapons", although their small axes were noted for holding their edge.
"Aye, I can about reckon you on it, Ryeamund; after tending to yer pig and goat farm, ye will be spending idle time here with their blacksmiths and trading with them, I would wager. And aye, I am seeing ye eyeing up the tall, blonde women. Do you fancy a woman taller than you are, with feet as big as yours? You can share foot-furs with yer wench then, these are no dainty little things like we are used to."
"I like my women with shorter, warmer thighs… but, ye take care now… these women have a lot of high spirit. The jest is, ye best keep yer helmet on while drinking here, so the wench you pinch will only dent yer helmet, and not ye skull. You get to boasting and pinching the wenches? They won't kick and slap you gentle like women do, these women grow up playing rough with the boys, until they decide the boys are for more than fighting with. They will put a cast iron cooking pot over yer head, and it won't be a gentle caress. Ye been warned."
"The men are quiet and nice, but, ye take care with them as well… they don't go in for sport like we do, and they are skilled with bows. There's no striking with the flat of an arrow for a wager, if you are hearing the wisdom of it."
Theyer chimed in.
"You big ox. Use yer head for more than a place to stick yer helmet. Ryeamund doesn't take to boasting. He's a quiet man. If he likes a boring and quiet kind of tavern, this might be his horn of wine, don't you reckon ?"
Sooth jumped in as well on it.
"Aye, ox… Does not the Wolf himself spend a lot of days here? He's a VinterBluden like Ryeamund here. They can sit all quiet and sip their watered wine. I notice, ye don't have sport with the Wolf about his quiet ways, do ye?"
Theyer cut back in.
"You show the man who does have much sport, with Wulfgar then. The man stays out of it all, if it don't concern him or his men. As they say, the Wolf fights for all of it; or none of it… ye take yer pick."
Sooth's turn again.
"The Wolf doesn't really have much sport with anyone, now does he? You won't get many idle words out of the man. Now, you take care I am saying it plain; I won't have sport behind the man's back. I'm just saying, I tried sitting at the great-house with him a time or two… it is hard. Ye ask him something; he says Yea or Nay. He has that small goblet of water and that small goblet of wine, and, that's about how it goes. Best you get, is a little bit of words on the food or the drink. A few words about how an errand is going. I just… run out of things to talk about."
They moved out of the village, but not before Ryeamund went over to the last person with things to display. It was a portion of jerked meat. It had been rubbed in salt and honey and pepper. Ryeamund was delighted by the smell. His eyes were alight in amusement of what his nose was telling him.
The woman cut off a tiny portion and handed it to him, to try it. He tasted it, and was obviously happy with it.
"How much?"
The woman held up two fingers. Ryeamund went to his sack of small coins, and took two small copper coins out, and held them out. She nodded, and he dropped them into her hand. Turning to leave, he remembered to tap his breast and dip his head. She dipped her head back slightly. Turning once again to leave, he tossed her another small copper coin. He held his hand up; it was for her.
"We are close to your first feast, Ryeamund. Take care, you do not spoil yer belly, for all that roasted boar."
"Nay. Did ye not say we had small matters, while we wait for the food to cook?"
Ryeamund was obviously keen on food, they already knew that. When asked why he gave the woman an extra tiny copper coin on top of the agreed upon bargain?
"I want her to have something, that her lease lord will not have claim on."
"Aye, Ryeamund. You do not know our ways. That is no matter up here. You will see."
Ryeamund tried to share his chunk of flavored jerked meat with his new brothers. They had a few bites, and waved it off. Shrugging, he munched it merrily. Like a little kid getting a sweet frosted treat he is not used to having, at a festival. They exchanged knowing glances with one another. This was going to be great fun, seeing the man at a feast. He obviously wasn't used to having food around him, and in particular, meat.
It wasn't too long, before they were in the next village. It was much the same, save for the men looked more like his travel companions. Tall but with the musculature of his friends. These were far north-men, not RavinLunden. Men called out to them by name, and waved. Everyone was smiling or otherwise contented looking. People went about their day's affairs, but there was not the running Ryeamund was used to seeing.
Ryeamund asked quietly why these people were lazier than he was used to seeing men working. Theyer was nearest his side, for an explanation.
"Aye, I forget. These men? Don't have some pampered twat, stealing out their pantry. That's not our way up here. You are seeing the High King's own personal holdings. This… is the way things are supposed to be, Ryeamund."
"And… those men… sitting, smoking pipes? At mid-day? What of them."
"What of them, then. Do you run a team of horses until they foam? Nay, you water them and rest them for a time. Men need water and rest as well. They will go back to their labors, when it suits them."
"And… and those men…", seeing a gaggle of old men. Playing dice and talking.
"They are in all of their gray. They have earned what wisdom they can, with their gray hairs and gray beards. They sit in counsel. It is their job now. Someone has to counsel the men."
"Who do they counsel?"
"They are old men. They know all the stories, and the tales. They tell the stories to the wee ones. If a man needs counsel, you seek the gray beard's counsel. The old tales and stories, have wisdom. Why lose wisdom, that was bargained for already? They counsel the oldest children, who watch over the wee ones. So the wee ones get the right ideas from the start of the matter. Less problems with the young men, that way."
They had to all but drag Ryeamund into the great-house. This great-house, bore the sign of the Bear. A small mixed breed dog had been following them, and each man took turns pushing it away with his feet. It was now at Ryeamund.
"Aye, he can smell yer meat you bargained for."
And Theyer went to push the dog away yet again with his foot. Ryeamund bent down, and gave the dog a morsel of his dried and spiced meat. The little mutt was extremely happy at this, as one can imagine.
"We will go to eat now?"
"Aye. Let's get to it then."
"Hold. I will have plenty…"
And to their amazement, Ryeamund took another couple large bites. Then gathered the little mutt up into his thick muscular arms, and stood up and brought him to his breast. The little dog was keen on smelling his face, and started licking his face and close to his lips.
Ryeamund looked the happiest they had seen him yet, perhaps even more than when he got food. He rubbed his face all over the little dog's face, who returned it. He whispered in the little dog's ear, and rubbed his face with his own some more, before he put it down.
He gave the dog the big piece of salt-honey-pepper jerked stag he had left.
"Here, little one…"
The mutt ran off, and went back to under the table the old graybeards were playing dice at. He was obviously tickled pink at his treat, and he set about gnawing on it, as happy as he could be.
"All right. I can not wait for this any longer…"
And with that, they all went in to the great-house of the Bear. To feast and drink.