Chapter 28 - Ryeamund's Garden III
Eira had lain in bed, alone, for quite a while until she had fallen asleep. Wondering and worrying. Worrying about her man, and wondering about that voice she had been addressed in. It was not his voice. It did not sound like him. It was not his cadence of speech, and it had not even been his choice of words and phrases. A high fever, with no sweating? That shouldn't be possible.
She finally awoke a couple hours before dawn, when she felt Ryeamund's considerable bulk set on the bed, then lay down. She waited to roll over to him, as she did not know if he was 'back', as silly as the thought was to her.
His hand on her shoulder, and the way he sidled up to her, told her all she needed to know without words. He pulled her in to spoon with him. His skin was back to normal temperature. They slept together without talking about what had happened for the few hours before dawn broke and spread to full light.
Eira didn't bring it up. There seemed to be no point to it. She hoped it was something errant that would pass, that had already passed. Ryeamund was normal about breakfast in his own little cottage. Eira made him his morning food and tea as was normal. The only difference she could detect in him, was that he was a lot quieter than was normal, even for him.
A group of muscular big-men appeared slowly over the hill, having come past her and her uncle's farm, down to Ryeamund's. It was a normal day. They all had their own axes with them. Ryeamund was in good cheer, though a little quieter than normal. Ryeamund and all of them fanned out, and slowly and carefully tended to various small chores about the farm.
They were all part of the team, that was supposed to become indistinguishable from farmers and woodcutters. Each would become both, so that they were more versatile and useful in their command work, when it finally happened.
They were only here, because that indicated they had already done everything they could think of on her and her uncle's farm. They were all, Ryeamund claimed, more than ready. To pass for smith helpers. To pass for farmers son's. To pass for woodcutters, although only ground men. Ryeamund would spend a portion of any day taking them out to cut wood, acting as the high woodcutter.
They saw Little Rye, perform tree work. So they were used to it, and would not stand and gawk when it happened. That would give the game away. Woodcutters are no great reckoners, but they know their own and can smell a rat at ten paces.
They had learned to be useful at felling trees, and in such a manner they would blend in. They would seem as if woodcutters drifted to the area for whatever reason they claimed. They had grown used to the labor. They could do and follow without being asked. They knew the high hills around these parts? Were much steeper than the lowland high hills, they would seem useful on the trot. They all knew that the only difference would be, they would be cutting mainly hard wood, not soft wood they were used to up here.
Ryeamund had wasted hard timbers, so they could see the difference. They cut the long hardwood timbers into small logs. Not for the logs, merely to get as much practice out of it as possible. Hard timbers? Were expensive up here, on account of the rarity and the labor to transport them here for this purpose.
They all spent a portion of each day practicing their own individual ax tricks that they liked and came to them. No woodcutter of any real age would be caught dead without having some tricks to show off after all, it was a woodcutter thing. They had all learned to pick out clothing and footwear slowly that would be as woodcutters did, a slowly developed personal expression of themselves.
As farmer's sons? Everyone had to learn all the animals and their care, and the various crops they might end up tending. Naturally, each of them had their own preferences they enjoyed less or more.
Eira conducted her now routine daily short sword-arm instruction. Mostly with sticks, but with swords as well at times. When the time came? They would be much more useful at that end of the matter as well.
This exact scenario was playing out on three other farms. Each of the oxen was 'playing Ryeamund' and each of their coin wenches was 'playing Eira'.
They had more precious time to enhance and put into practice their divine plan that Arroch and Theyer and Sooth had come up with.