Chapter 11 - Village VI
Ryeamund eventually became aware of light. It was colder over the night, and he had a cotton sheet half over himself. He smiled, he enjoyed waking up to the quiet on the farm. It wasn't that different from what he had grown up on, and now owned.
He sat against the cotton sheet over the taller part of the hay-pile, sitting up. Wondering what to do first. That was when he heard some 'clink' in the kitchen. Odd. Eira or one of the girls, no doubt. He tied his cotton robe shut and walked out to the kitchen, to see which of the girls it was. It was none of the girls as it turned out. It was Wulfgar himself, sitting at the kitchen table. The man looked up at him, unconcerned.
"Good morning, Rye."
"Good morning, Wolf."
"I did not think you would have tea, in a new cottage so soon. So… I brought a small tea kettle down. Some tea. Would you like some? I brought you sugar as well. It's in the pantry. I'm not really much of a farmer, myself. I did find some eggs. I brought what I call a cast iron egg pot. Yer chickens, man. I had to endure being pecked, collecting the eggs. I suppose if I am to gather up their young, and eat them, I can not hardly condemn the mothers for not liking me."
"What… kind of tea is it, meadow friend ?"
"I honestly do not know. I know, it is not the best, yet neither is it the worst. To judge by coin of the matter. Let me get you some, and if you do not like it, I will have it myself."
Wulfgar had a tiny fire going in the small oven for heating things. If there had already been small earthenware cups here, or if Wulfgar had brought them as well for his tea party, Ryeamund didn't seem to care. Wulfgar carefully got the smashed greens with other hued plants, the tea, into the earthenware bowl/cup. He poured the boiling water over it, and dropped a bunch of rock sugar into it. Handed it to the table in front of Ryeamund.
"Should be all right in a little while. Do not burn your lips. From what I heard, the serving wenches all would have your lips not burned. The dog pack? They have their own wit, such as it is. They said, thanks for leaving them only one wench all night."
Then Wulfgar winked at Ryeamund plainly. Smiled. Sipped his tea.
"Just friendly sport, mind you, from the boys. Defiler of goats."
Wulfgar chuckled, and winked again.
Ryeamund smiled. It had been a while since he had last enjoyed the male camaraderie of the woodcutters. For such a scary rough bunch at first? He soon got to miss the men's constant teasing and harassing one another. If you weren't in on the shenanigans? You weren't a full member.
"Aye, man. Declaring yourself, the Defiler of Goats, that is one thing. Then, of course, I have little Var… actually, one of my better blade students, mind you… I already know I have her out there doing this silly 'goat fucking dance' to make fun of the men. What is it, with all you fighting men, and the women as well now, with the damn goats? I can not reckon it…"
…and, Wulfgar took great care to wink at Ryeamund every so often.
"Wulfgar. We met each other three times now. All well met. You do not have to wink at me. You are Heyermannen to my Heyermannen."
"Aye, did not ye, declare ye were a man for fun? If you can? I am as well. You would not believe it, by the stories that get back to my ears, yet, I try to enjoy the simplest of pleasures in life. Do you, like to enjoy the simple pleasures, Rye? Farm, pig, goat, chicken, cow? I prefer tea, myself. Pot eggs with it, in general. I assume you have already heard such stories, as the men tell each other."
"Aye. The sweetbread bowls."
"Ah. That one, I swear, it was a joke when it started. I did not know that it made the rounds of the villages, and was being used to scare little children into bed. I about died when I learned that. By such time, it was already too late. The high king's own steward, declared that the north star himself, found it amusing. So, that was that, then."
Though he didn't show it, Ryeamund was quite surprised. The man everyone in the kingdom feared as much or more than death itself? Really, had a quite pleasant way about him, at least in private company. And the manner in which he spoke, as well. Eira in particular, as well as the girls. Even some of the oxen at times, turned this eloquence off and on at will, depending upon who they were around at the moment. The only people Ryeamund could compare it to previously? The tax man, or sometimes a well off merchant he chanced to encounter briefly. These people were obviously, all quite well educated. Something he only associated in his previous life, with nobility.
"And, I suppose you next heard, that I was a cold blooded bastard, I assume?"
"Aye."
"I am, I suppose. Is it my fault. I was born that way. I suppose I do not feel much. I try to enjoy simple pleasures. Tea, as I said. Horses and dogs and hunting? One of my favorites. Swordplay? Yet another fun game."
"Your sword arm, was mentioned. More than once, if I am not mistaken."
"That's because I am a RavinLunden. Oh, I lived with the king when I was young, but, I was raised a RavinLunden man. A hunter, and a swordsman. We RavinLunden? We have lived among the north-men so long now, we are all but one of them. When we heard gossip, a man was going to oppose the drunkard petty twat that was on the throne? Well, I just had to go and see all the fun. That's how I met the high king. And, what would later become the high king's personal steward."
"Have you seen a little street dog walking around, Wolf?"
"Little half brown dog? Yes, he's running around with the goats and chasing the chickens around. He seemed as if he was having fun."
"Well, that is good, then."
"Rye… do you wonder why I am here? Taking tea with you."
"Idle time?"
"I wish it were. Oh, it is idle time, I assure you. Yet, I bring news. Now, up here, we have a way with these words. I have GudenNus und BeidNus. Old speak, good news and bad news. The custom is, that you ask the bad news first, Rye."
"Oh. And the bad news, then…"
"The bad news is, that the Bear will not rise."
"Oh. Sorry for your man. What is the good news, then. Let us hear that."
"Oh, the good news? That the Bear will not rise."
"That is not funny. Not really."
"Not really funny, no. Yet… somewhat accurate. Am I to lie? The man had limited usefulness. I myself, often tried to talk him out of his constant examinations of the men. I never did approve. He insisted. Where did it all take him to?"
"Look where I am now. A great-house full of illiterate fighting big-men. No leader. To tell you the truth? I might let them sort it out for themselves. Elect their own leader, they prefer, from their own ranks. That would at least be entertaining, would it not?"
"What is with the wenches. Fighting. I have never seen such entertainment."
"Aye. It were Lady Eira's idea. The other three? They can not be kept from whatever the Lady Eira prefers. Yet, before that? Let us get this out of the way, then. Does it bother you, man, that I bring you Bear's death news, and I am not concerned about it? There was nothing I could do about it anyways."
"Am I to be concerned with your mood? You seem a quiet man, like me."
"Aye! That is the matter then. Does my being quiet and polite, about such news, trouble you?"
"As I said. Nay. Wulfgar's mood, is his own affair. Then are ye troubled by my mood about it, then? The man threatened to kill me dog, and for me to watch, should I lose the examination. That's how the matter went, then. As you said, he can not be talked out of it."
"We are having tea over the matter, are we not? As women take tea. With pleasant words."
"Aye…"
"I have a quiet tiny great-house, Ryeamund. My own room out back. Tiniest farm ever, enough and more for one man, such as I need… nothing to take care of. Why, I ruin farms, and I have a full pantry and have men and women over to raid it, or it would go bad. I like it quiet. You… you seem to prefer peace and quiet, do you not, Ryeamund. I noticed… most men would have the great-house hall for a home… ye prefer a cottage on a couple of acres. Bless you man. So… you do prefer things quiet, then."
"Aye. As Ryeamund? I declare… I like a peaceful, tiny, farm. And? Yer tea is nice. Here, to quiet little farms, then…"
"Oh. Just one main thing, then. A man has died and all, even such a man as he was. We have to account for it. We are all supposed to try to keep from killing one another, but, it simply can not be helped each and every single time. It's just a custom. No great matter. A light examination, with the king's high steward. He is said, to be a most pleasant man. A man of wit, and reason. Almost all report, to be fair, that they much prefer having dealings with the king's high steward. Than with the North Star himself…"
Now, Wulfgar whispered… hunkering over dramatically.
"I will whisper you, secret gossip, Ryeamund. The North Star himself? He is rumored, to be all but a madman… yet, his works are true. If that be true? I will keep my mad king. Now then man, would ye rather be examined, and lightly, by the high king's steward, a more pleasant man not to be found anywhere? Or, the rumored madman, the less pleasant, North Star himself. Which would seem easier, for yer first time, do you think?"
"Well. Since you ask my choice on the matter, then. The high king's steward… he speaks for the high king on this matter, then? Just as… 'in the name of Wulfgar, go ye North', aye?"
"Oh. Aye. The high king's own steward? Is said, to be more powerful on all matters, than the North Star himself. The steward? He is a wise and gentle man of wisdom. And learning. The North Star? Is a coarser, fighting man."
"Well. If I am to be examined lightly on the matter, the matter being… one of the king's friends died? I suppose, the gentle steward might be the wiser choice. Would you think this wise, as well."
"Sounds as a fine-plan to me. More tea?"
"Aye. Do ye get any say, on the matter, then?"
"Oh, aye. I told them it was no matter. A custom, is still a custom. Hence, another tea party for you, simply this time with the king's high steward, then. I mean, no one enjoys it, but, a man dies every now and again. It happens. It is not a large matter. I was more concerned with your plans for this winter coming up soon."
"Well, I had not thought about it. Yet, this looks like a fine place to spend a winter. Make a sausage pig. Coin for extra hay for the chickens? Aye, I never had such a good winter. I wish me father had lived to it."
"Well, they say they see all. I am sure he would be happy for you. Aye?"
"Aye."
"So, I saw Lady Eira this morning. I walked with her puttering around. Her and her uncle are quite happy, having sold the farm. Aye?"
"Aye."
"That's nice, then. You would not mind, if I had already summoned the other Oxen? Arroch, Theyer, Sooth. Hmm?"
"No matter."
"Fine. I suppose they should be here any time now. Now, for me and you? To have sport with them? My ravens were following you men for some time before the raiders got near. We were trying to see if they wanted you three, or one of us. I already know, that the king's bag never got spent for the load of extra handles, that I heard it was all your bargain, then. I will have sport with the Oxen about it… a bit of the sweetbread game, with the children. Aye?"
"Oh, the sweetbread game. Yes. Father played it with me… have fun, meadow friend."
It was about twenty minutes later, Arroch and his two men came down to the little cottage. They were a little surprised to see Wulfgar there, having one of his infamous tea parties with their new man. But then, the two had already been acquainted, in the meadow.
"Hey boys. I was just having tea with Rye here, and decided how much fun it would be to see you all in one place for a moment. Now then, I already know about Rye providing the oversize load of handles. How exactly will you convince me, and with some haste, mind you… that you three wise little oxlings were not risking a bag of the king's gold, on this man's, I will admit, very capable hands? Convince me. Arroch?"
"I told Theyer to bury the king's gold. Where only he may know of it. He's the reckoner. We were off errand, and would be in our goblet by sundown. I would not risk the north star's own sack on a wager."
"Okay. I am looking at a sack here, as I made the man tea, before he woke up in his own house. I did not open it, I jingled it a few times. It is all low coin. I hear not the ring of much silver, nor any gold in it. Not that I care how much coin a man has on him, mind you. It is his own matter… I was but bored. Making tea."
"So, Theyer?"
"Aye, Wulfgar…"
"Why are you still standing here? Why are you not fetching the kings sack, then. Off to it, man."
Theyer left to dig up the king's sack of gold and return it, unused.
"Arroch?"
"Yes, Wulfgar."
"Follow me on this, would you?"
"Aye. If I may…"
"The king's gold is intact. It is coming back as we speak. Rye's own coin is low coin, and it sits here. That was not the wager that bought this dirt, I would not reckon. It is none of my own business, yet, I would wonder where you got the rest of that coin to wager, and come up like this out of it, man."
"Eira wanted in on the sport of the wagering."
"Oh. I see. I sent women, with true skill with blades? To those bears. It was supposed to be a jest, that they can not use their swords effectively. Instead? The women were accepted. By force. Now the women are wagering along with the men. Profiting by it, now I see. Odin help us, what are your women trying to do to me, men."
"Oh, I knew what Eira wanted. I had no idea, the other three, were so serious about doing 'whatever Eira does'. I can see, I under-judged the three younger girls. Now? I know not what to do. I have created a monster. The monster? Had three little monsters more. Now? I have people from other villages, want to come and fight the wenches at the bear's den. The one, Var? She does that little goat dance, it is just the icing on the sweetbread."
"If I can not ban this, and mind you, the RavinLunden would have arrows in my back, their women are allowed to play with any weapons they want to… I have no goat fucking choice now, but to allow it. By Odin himself man, each girl's custom, is to go out and get one head. To show the men? They were serious about it."
"Did it work, then?"
"Oh, it worked. The men are all but scared of them now. At least they got the men playing tap-stick, finally, with a little skill for once. The Bears were known for many things. Their great sword-arms? Not one of those things."
Theyer must have jogged back with a still dirty bag of coin.
"Well… I never doubted you boys once, Arroch. You always seem to come through. So, if Ryeamund provided the saplings, and the saplings are more than we normally bargain for… then… this is Ryeamund's little bag of gold. As if I care, it was to go to some pampered twat down south. Ryeamund? Enhance your pantry, man. I have other matters to attend to. Enjoy the steward, as I said he is a pleasant man."
"Arroch? Theyer? Sooth? I am impressed, you FarstGeften your new man. I say, see him through a fine winter. Matters are developing, for the spring, it would seem."
Wulfgar was off. The men joke, Death comes to visit, and seems as pleasant as can be. Ryeamund asked the men what they were going to do. Theyer asked if Rye would mind if the three of them walked around, and looked at everything? Ryeamund said he would tend to the rest of the tea, it was a rare luxury for him and his father. The men bid him to enjoy his tea.
Arroch noticed glancing over his shoulder as they walked out the front door, though. Rye was smiling, and fingering the bag of sugar, and the bag of tea greens. Smiling. Not at all concerned with so much as looking at, much less counting the small bag of high gold coin Wulfgar paid him for the hard sapling wood with. Little Rye was far more pleased with the sugar and tea greens. In his world? These were treasures.
Once they were off and seemingly looking things over, they were conveniently out of earshot. Arroch continued trying to convince Theyer and Sooth, that the king's madness? Might not, after all, be madness.
Theyer, once again, took Arroch by the shoulders.
"Arroch? How many winters have we been all but kin. I tell you man, they say, that's always the way of it… a man going to the king's own madness? First always says… it is not madness… think on it, man."
"Theyer, you are a reckoner, are you not?"
"Aye."
"All right. Reckon some test. Go on. Provide it. Here, I make it easy for you, man. What do you want for, fer your plan, then."
"Aye. I need RavinLunden high reckoners, to pretend to be husband and wife lease farmers, in all ways. For at least one whole winter, then, we spring the traps. As many RavinLunden high reckoning women as we can lay hands on? That's how many districts I can cover. Each husband wife team? Gets four bigmen we trust fer sons. Now. You know that's the soil of me plan. Have yer talk with the all father over it, and see it made fer us, then."
"All right. I ask fer wisdom. In me head. Ye do not get to know. That is a fair test then, innit ?"
"Aye. A fine as a test fer madness, as ever there was. And? Yer failing such a test, man!"
"Ah, shut yer teeth. Let a man be quiet and think, will you then…"
"Sooth? Will you talk some truth into him?"
"I tried. I failed. Let us watch the test."
"How do we know when the test is over, then?"
"Arroch says, he, I do not know. But, then."
After a short time, Arroch opened his eyes. Explained that he thought it only wise to ask for things for other people to be helped, hence his inspired plan. He explained he just asked, for the rest of them, to each have their own RavinLunden… high born, high reckoning. Of the sort of woman, that had just put her coin on Ryeamund.
The three looked at one another.
Theyer started in…
"Ye are telling me, here and now, ye thought it wise, to ask for Lady Eira's three ladies in waiting. Are ye completely mad, then? Are ye trying to get us all killed in our sleep? In lands that are not our home."
"What, if my plan be worthy, provide it."
"Now what… I don't see any pretty blonde women, marking me with their blade, and dragging me off to their hay-bale, to do then goat fucking what, Odin only knows what they do to their men once they mark them and coin them."
Sooth observed.
"Aye, how long do we have to wait, to declare our big ox a madman, then. Is there coin on this?"
"No wager, man. Me and you? If Arroch can grant his plan into being, just sprout his plan, like a magic seed? I give him a large gold coin, I will. You do the same. The man going mad? Need risk no coins on it. I'd rather lose a large gold biscuit, than see my man go mad."
Sooth observed.
"Here comes Eira."
Theyer observed
"With her cast iron pot, mind you."
Arroch was grinning…
"Nay, ye fools. I ask, then the first person to speak to me? Will say something ye can omen for the answer! Watch, and listen, ye fools!"
"Oh aye, I am going to listen. To the sound of that cast iron pot upside yer helmet, man. She's had you twice with it, I know of. Three indicates yer likes it, fool."
"Arroch? As the Sooth, I must wait and see the result, then. I am so far, mildly amused. She comes quickly, man. With her iron pot… is that a good omen, do you reckon."
Arroch was oddly… brave?
"Nay! I ask, I receive! It will be bold news, man! It always is!"
"Oh, aye, ox… her iron pot? Bold news, to be sure. Will she be beating the news to ye, in the language of the fairies then, who do speak through the clanging of iron pots, upon dim witted giant skulls. Ye are all but mad… have it as you will…"
"Arroch. There you men are. You know I coined Rye last night."
"Aye. He is wearing ye coin, with his tea."
"Fine. That's the matter then…"
"Lady Eira… none of us three, I swear to ye, will interfere in yer Mannen. Arroch here? Has twice now told us the tale, of his interference in yer Mannen. Do as you will."
"No, ye fools. I wagered the girls. I said, I would give them sport. I told them, ye see a fine beast? Ye take it, and ride it. Ye inform him, he is yer man. I demonstrated it, for their benefit. That, is the matter, then."
"Eira, are ye mad? How is yer wager with yer girls, concern of mine."
"That is just it! It was little Var started it up. This morning. Now, Eira went and took an ox… so, they three want to go and each take an ox."
"Hlin said, there are three girls, and three free oxlings. They would each have one then, it was a good omen."
"Lady Eira, are not all three of your girls, full and high reckoners?"
"Aye. Who does not know this…"
"No matter. Eira, tell me then. When you said, each girl was to have an oxling each… what does that mean?"
"Well, Var said it means she wants to mark hers up, and goat fuck him at sword-point, was her exact words, if I am correct. Do any of you fancy such a thing?"
"I am afraid to ask, which girl wants which ox ?"
"The girls are fighting over it, as we speak."
Sooth piped up, surprisingly demanding.
"Lady Eira! I will know it, then… Arroch knows of this situation, with the girls, does he not?"
"Nay, how could he? I just learned it not a moment ago. I can not talk the girls out of their foolish idea to imitate me. So… what do you boys think of goat fucking at sword point, whatever that actually is. Little Var was not clear on the finer points of it."
Arroch spoke up. Grinning.
"We… are all madly in favor of the idea. Let us know when the girls are done fighting over us, then."
"As you boys wish. I brought down some bread, some milk, some meat, some smoked cheese… when you boys want to eat. Come up. To Rye's cottage, then."
Eira left, and both Theyer and Sooth just looked at one another.
"What is the matter then, my little oxen? I know what ye just felt, I been feeling it up my spine since it started happening. It is a cold chill, is it not?"
"Aye…"
"Aye…"
"So, we are in agreement, if just for the moment… that we can now just suppose I might be right… aye?"
"I'm… not going to make any sport, based on that matter, I just bore witness to. Now you be careful, with that… whatever it be, if it be real. You just now? You got us… whatever goat fucked at sword-point exactly be, man. I'm not so concerned with little Var goat-fucking me mind you."
"It is the sword-point part, that has me concerned. That sweet little Valkyrim? Has collected a goat-fucking trophy… We three? are not in trophy, man… now, you do not go consulting yer oracle, or whatever it be, without we give ye counsel! How would that be, then."
"Aye. What Heyermannen would I have been, without taking your two's counsel. Do we include Rye on this?"
"I do not know. Did you not… jest… if you were right, that you swore you thought that was Odinson, sitting up there? Having goat-fucking mint tea with Wulfgar."
"Aye. Do ye want to go explain to him, all this? We just met him. He will declare us madmen, then. He would not understand the mad king and the wise steward who serves him… he is from the south… they do not follow all the old ways anymore. I would not risk it! I ask for help? For him? For the plan? You just bore witness. So, what say ye, then?"
Theyer looked at Sooth. Sooth looked at Theyer. They now had to call it. For their Heyermannen Arroch. Theyer the smooth talker, said it first.
"Aye. It is not just Arroch then. We all caught the high king's madness. Odin save us all now."
"Who is going to ask Rye for advice."
"On what, man. Good day to you, are ye a god? Let us go get yer hammer, man. Would you respond well to such a thing? Tell me then."
"We… have to keep it under our helmet. We make a pact. We advise on… whatever the… now… divine plan requires. Pure motives only. The old stories told? You do not abuse such a thing, or you pay the dearest cost."
"Sooth. Bold idea, I like it. Your job? Is to keep us truthful."
"Arroch? What else does the plan need. We have all winter to plan this out, I would imagine. Everyone has been gossiping about hinting at some command work all over, little things, in the spring. For what else is all the sapling wood for, then."
"Well, who knows how long we truly have…"
Theyer wanted to know.
They all wanted to know what he meant by that.
"We better make haste. The girls are all three deciding on which of us they will mark up… and… Odin help me for saying this, but, sword-point goat fuck us. Does any of us three, not think all the girls are pretty?"
"They are pretty. They are without men. They… take men's heads. The goat fucking part, I agree with you on. Strangely fascinating. It is the sword-point part that has my attention now as well. I suppose there will be some bargaining on that, then?"
"How long do you plan on bargaining. Effectively I mean, against Var? or Hlin? Or the other one. She did not get to play. She might be testy… ha!"
"Maybe, just maybe… we can get the girls to keep their armor on. Ye be ridden hard at sword-point, by a Valkyrim, almost, aye?"
"We're all mad now. It is just clear to me. Might as well try to enjoy it. Perhaps, in all the old father's wisdom, being goat fucked at sword-point, by a pretty wench, is not too bad a thing."
"Aye. If ye lives the first night? Ye gets free ale for life, telling of the tale, I swear I believe it."
"Yeah, you two go pissing right on any of the girl's legs in public, like that. You will be their next trophy. To be honest, I was not planning on telling anyone if mine rides side saddle or not. No man's business."
"No man's business, and you might keep yer head…"
"Aye. This be the courage part."
"No… this be the part, soon? I want that oracle, to keep me from pissing in me trousers again. By Odin, man. Wulfgar sent for us, for morning tea. Not the best way to start out yer morning, then. I am about to be goat fucked at sword-point, by a pretty girl in armor, if I can talk her into that part of it, though… I suppose by noon meats, or, for dinner then."
"Well. I am just dying to know, which one wins me… are you not all curious… if we are to have our plan, then…"
"Odin help me, I can hear complaining out one of them from down here. We go up, we at least watch the tinder spark up. Would ye not see such sport as that."
"Aye. We can then wager, I suppose, on which one goat fucks us? Oh, It is a smashing plan. I now know why you are the reckoner, let me praise yer skills, man. I am very amused. Are ye detecting me wit, on the matter?"
"Oh, aye. Ye pictish swearing oxling."
"Aye. We go up then, and we bet on our goats…"
They could hear a somewhat mild ruckus, all things considered, and it was still under development. It concerned, among other things, who served last night so the other three could "go mannen wenching" without her… it also concerned who sat in who's lap, and how many times. There were numerous various factors on these matters, which flew fast and furiously. These three were all, sadly for the moment, high reckoners. Each of them. So naturally, they were up each other's ass like a microscope about all three's last two winters dealings with the men, and who was trying to do what to which other one's prospective man. Men whom none of the women had done any more than smile at.
After some time, the three Oxen could not detect a single of their own names, even remotely enter the picture developing. Until they heard swords clanging, and Var screaming at the top of her delicate little lungs… they made a pact that they would take turns coming out, in between earthenware bowls of mead. That was apparently yet another gift, either from Wulfgar, or Eira or her uncle. It was hard to tell. Anyone that they brushed capes with recently since on their self declared mission? Had wanted to feed them, or help them, in some way. No matter what, that had to be some kind of good omen, did it not?
"Rye. Are you enjoying the rest of yer tea, man."
"Aye. I did."
"Rye. Do ye know much of what is developing out there, then."
"Aye, I believe so…"
Rye was sipping his watered down mead.
"Well… the girls are deciding, which one of them gets to coin which mannen."
"I see this. Do you know, then… which one, has it in, for which of us?"
"No, brothers. I am not sure. Do you want mead? And, I have water… Eira brought food."
"Do we wager?"
"On what. We do not know which one wants us."
"We… wager on how they go, if they fight. One, two, three. I have no idea."
Ryeamund, ever quiet. Ever taking even strange things in stride, was slowly putting off more dry wit he picked up off of his new brothers.
"Brothers, am I to sip well watered mead, while these women go at it in my yard, with swords then? Are there neighbors to complain."
"Aye, neighbors are well used to it, I reckon. The uncle, raised four sons. Could not have been quiet out here all nights. The girls usually stay here with Eira now. You can not be telling me they are quiet as mouse farts, all the time, at the week's end. Can ye?"
"Not to be judging by this performance…"
"Are they going to be playing fer scratches, then?"
"That is what it looks like, to me…"
"Syn is not pleased. What does this have to do with Thann."
"Thann is the dog, aye?"
"The only Thann, so far as I know. How does he, be mixed all up in this. Rye, man. What part has yer new dog to play in this? Do ye know."
"Brothers, I know very little. Did I not tell you? I reckon as a Furmer, as a Blakkensmiat, and a poor one at that, and as a fine WuddenCartn. Me father, before he dies. He explains, not fully. That the less wenching I do, the better. To find a woman who likes me, and will bear me a fine strong son that will not kill the mother. I think I wear her coin. She will not have otherwise."
"You men? Are on yer own… Am I to go out there, and get in on that, then? I were more interested in the ale, I was. I already been scratched. I do not know blade work. Can you three go and separate them like unruly animals?"
"Aye. I thought separating unruly animals, the job for the farmer."
"Nay. The farmer needs to know which is the lead animal. There is no point without that, then."
"Hah! Ryeamund makes a keen point. None of the three is in charge of the other. Lady Eira should be separating them, then."
Ryeamund smiled, and wanted to know.
"Aye… would she, then?"
"That would be the normal thing, then… why?"
"Because. Lady Eira is the one that told them to settle the matter any way they saw fit."
"Well now, that was a poor choice of words, even for her…"
"I hope it is to one scratch, then. There's the matter of my coming scratch, and I only want the one."
All three of them decided to:
First, have horn number one.
Warm up with their armor, like they always did.
Have horn number two for a break. Water.
Warm up some more with their armor.
Have horn number three, water, and take their armor off.
See who had the least scratches, when they decided they were done. Apparently, the first one to suggest quitting, was a twat. They started out amiably enough. They warmed up fairly. That is to say, they didn't take cheap shots during warm up. They never did that. With only horn number one, this was a fairly safe procedure.
The crazy, if prettiest little one, Var, could not help making faces and throwing in a step of her goat dance as they stalked around, warming up with their signature rapid flashes of practiced parries and blocks.
Hlin, always had a smirk on her face. Taller then little Var, she had a reach advantage. She used it to win. Var was a little quicker, and liked to "miss" and spin either way. It was a mixed bag. She got caught a few times, but, she was adventurous to try it, when she got caught short.
The girl that had volunteered to serve the night prior, was Syn. An old name, meaning 'omen' in the old speak. The little omen, was in between each of the other two's height, and about in between their temperaments.
Little Var was a little volcano. Eira was cool and calm, and Hlin was a lot more like her, as she could muster. Syn, was again, a cross between the two. Hlin and Var were more directly competitive, for sport. Syn was amused to get in on it, it was going on anyways.
After a good twenty minutes of warming up in armor, they took their water. Then they started eyeing each other up, for their second horn. They sat and smiled, for fun. While they waited to quit sweating. Then went back to it again.
After a good ten or more minutes, they had started teasing one another a little, and were set to have horn three and water. They did so. They started unbuckling each other's armor, and chugging horns of water. And, a kind of what was obviously insider-only 'girl boasting', that the men hadn't known about previously. They realized half of the girl's boasting was for show, to be like the men did it. Their internal girl boasts were a lot more piss-y than the men's declarations.
The girls had trouble deciding whether to use two swords, or one sword each. They were already confused what to do with three of them. They went for one sword each.
Little Var was stalking around now.
"Ye know which one I want. I want my little SmuttynSeir. Let me have at Vlin, and settle that. Then you two can fight over who gets the big one."
"Deal."
"Done."
Syn agreed to sit down and watch, she had some more water. All three of them were sweating like lease farmers at harvest now, in the early morning sun. Var got tired of swishing her sword around and boasted like usual. She also looked as determined as usual. Which was a lot. She marched right in on Hlin at first opportunity, and swished as near her head as she could.
She kept aggressively coming in on Hlin, her best tactic that ever worked for her. She usually on odds, lost more often to Hlin. Did not stop her from trying, however. She finally succeeded in spinning a little closer, on a cat spring move, and scratched Hlin's thigh. Grazed her, barely a drop.
Hlin kept her cool, but wasn't happy. She came for her, which now was her best tactic. Var got another scratch that only took some of Hlins tunic. It didn't stain red.
Hlin Stopped.
"Var. Go take yer SmuttynSeir, then. Syn? Do you really want to scratch over it?"
"No. Take yer Truttn. I fancy the big one."
Little Var came over. Sweating like a farmer. Her eyes were still flashing adrenaline. She kissed Theyer, and suggested they would negotiate in the bath. Theyer smiled, and figured that was as fair of a deal as he was going to get. By the time the little bit of commotion was done, Syn and Arroch went in and Var was sitting on Theyer's lap, facing him. She had her sword behind his shoulders, laughing as she drew him in to kiss him.
"Aye. Eira be right. Ye do not bargain with him, ye inform him!"
Hlin, quieter. Explained with her blade to Sooth's neck, that she thought a man that couldn't lie to her, was a fine thing. He ended up in pretty much the same situation as Theyer had. Arroch couldn't believe Syn favored him, he didn't really complain either. Poor Ryeamund got bored. He did not want to keep watering down his ale.
Rye did look around. He saw only his dog. But, no more commotion. Thann was bid up onto the table, and he did so. They picked at the rest of the sliced cheese. The dried sausage like meat. The smoked boar they could not get rid of all of it. No noise, Ryeamund said to little Thann.
Ryeamund could not do much that looked to actually need done. He hay fed the pigs, and the goats. He talked to his dog and Thann walked around with him. Walked up bored to see Eira. Thann, Eira, Her Uncle Hagyar, and Ryeamund… played low dice for thin slices of the dried sausage. Eira's Uncle thought having a "young man around" the old place was a fine thing. Eira seemed keen on the idea. Ryeamund admitted that after his father died when he was young, he would want corrected on any error he committed with the goats and the pigs, and the chickens. He missed it.
In the course of sitting, chatting with her uncle and her new coin-man, Eira could sense something was wrong. Not the sort of impending doom that skips your heart a beat, just that tiny little feeling of… slightly off. Like any such matter, its hard to put your finger on it. She knew how old Ryeamund was, and unless he was lying, what was that sense of strangeness every time she thought about it.
So while he was talking to Thann and her uncle, she was watching him. For the umpteenth time now, sitting there, her chin in her palm. Studying everything and nothing at the same time. What was that itch? She finally gave it up and smiled easily. After a few false starts, new coin jitters always popped up. She was not committed in any way, and could back out of her relationship with Rye in a heartbeat, she risked nothing. Likewise, she had him on ice while she played and decided how much she liked this one. With no pressure, she was surely inventing some. How silly.
When she finally gave up wondering why she was being silly, she rejoined the conversation. She stood behind her big ox, and leaned her forearms and elbows down onto his broad shoulders. Smiling at her uncle as if to say with her eyes. Not bad, huh?
She tousled his hair. Some women will idly play with hair. Their own, a child's, a lover's. She evidently spent some time doing it. Smelling Ryeamund, as well. Like any lovers, they enjoyed the scent of each other. When they parted, and Rye and Thann the dog and her Uncle Hagyar went out, she was left in the kitchen. Smiling, remembering his scent.
He didn't really smell like the other men around here did. They smelled like light oil, wood-smoke, leather, and steel plate, and iron rivets. They all did, and it was no stink. It was simply their lifestyle. And so, from the kingsmen down to the local farmers and merchants? There was the smell of such things as they were about every day of their lives.
Ryeamund, she already knew, she liked because he was different. He even smelled different to her. He hadn't been a fighter, he had been a farmer. He hadn't been a kingsman, he had been a woodcutter. He still reeked of it, the woodsman. You could smell trees and the high hills and the outdoors on him. A high born, high reckoning full blooded Rhyshian whole woman… sitting here smiling like a dippy young teen girl. Infatuated with the very scent of her handsome, muscular young wood cutter.
That, of course, was the exact moment that being a high reckoner saved her. From her own human ignorance. She furrowed her brow. She was being very silly. The man hadn't shoveled pig shit in moons. He hadn't been living in the high hills any longer than to step off the road and get bundles of firewood for the oxen. He did not wear any armor, so, the light oil was only on his axes. Not on his clothing from the armor.
Wow, Eira thought. The spell of it was powerful, she was smelling the woods because the man was about the woods. Or, was she? As a high reckoner, she had been presented many different things, to see which she had interest in. Alchemy was not her strong suit. Practical healing, now there was an art that was useful to any woman surrounded by boys wanting to be big tough men one day. They needed patched up by their girls when their mommies were not around anymore.
Eira smelled her fingers. No alchemist was needed to figure this puzzle out. It was now too obvious, once she noticed it. No, the new puzzle was why. Ryeamund was far too young to care about that. Why, why, why. He would of course, as a still impressionable young man, pick up the habits and devices of the older men around him. The woodcutters. He would tend to do as they did.
Yet… if Arroch was to be believed, and yes, men have their own understandings of each other that women can not ever hope to have. Ryeamund would have been like any man joining a new group of big, scary, older men. One of those things? Is that the young man will desperately seek to blend in. Fighting men do this. They can't wait to have the same armor. The same battle standard. They crave whatever signature weapon will be bestowed upon them to carry and show off, signifying they performed 'deed X' and were now 'certified'.
Woodcutters do, but only to a point. The woodcutters, are everywhere, in all the lands. They are all but a guild of their own, with no structure around them. They have their own wisdom, they have their own customs, they have their own wit. One fairly universal wit for all the woodcutters, practically everywhere? Is a well known one, so true it was woven into everyday life.
Ask a woodcutter. If he is such a stout man, why does he drink wine instead of ale, from a small goblet. Because, aside from that little thing, he is a man among men.
The punch line, of course, is that the woodcutter will say: "Aye? Ye been misinformed. Ye watches what I do? And, that be what stout men do."
Woodcutters, unlike almost all other organizations of hard ass men? Actually go to great lengths to be each unique. Their preference in length, style, shape of handle is well known. Their choice of weight, size, shape of axe… likewise, very individualistic. They sport different capes and robes, differing boots and footwear, hairstyles.
No. Ryeamund's difference there? He would not hide it. He would show it off. Hah! I'm a woodcutter. I wear whatever color cloak I feel like wearing.
Eira sniffed her fingers again, and smiled. Practical Alchemy, the use of everyday things around all people. Different patches of dirt could be boiled for different things. Different rocks or plants ground up and tinctured for purposes. Herbs were added, and boiled down to essential oils to make them more useful.
You boiled down walnuts, of course, to get walnut oil left behind. It works wonders for staining bare wood. For both beauty and preservation. Neither of which was the purpose here. Walnut oil was also in use among the nobility. For its rare ability to beautify the wood, and make it a marvel to look at, once polished and sanded and stained by a master wood craftsman.
Eira's three girls in waiting, had put their finger on it quickly, simply without knowing anything was amiss. Why, all the girls remarked on it.
"He is handsome. Yet, sit in his lap or just stand near him, he smells like a spirited ride in the woods, does he not."
She smelled her fingers yet again. No mistaking it now… Ryeamund Thorson. A very young man. Who was from a group of men that would not obey any fashion trend.
So… why did he walnut stain his hair?