Maara touched my arm and stood up. I was getting up to follow her when I heard a man’s voice speak loudly enough to be heard by all the people in the hall.
“Not much longer now,” he said. “Soon enough we’ll know what this stranger has brought upon us.”
It was the man who had looked so worried. When Maara turned to face him, he stood up.
I was furious.
“Soon enough you’ll owe her more than just an apology,” I told him.
“Hush,” my warrior said.
Fodla got to her feet.
“Sit down, Lorin,” she said, “and hold your tongue. We may soon have enough to do without also fighting among ourselves.”
Lorin sat down.
It snowed all day. In the short winter twilight, I watched from Maara’s window as blue shadows deepened quickly into black and a few stars twinkled out between the clouds. I loved the coming of winter. My mother used to tell me it was because I had been born in wintertime and my first glimpse of the world was still hidden deep inside my eyes.
“Close the shutter,” Maara said, “before you catch your death.”
She was sitting up in bed, huddled under a blanket. I put the shutter up.
Nothing is more tiring than waiting. Worry had worn me out, but my thoughts would not be still, and I lay awake for a long time. Winter had come, and we should have been preparing for the celebration of midwinter’s night, looking forward to the feasting and merrymaking, the singing and storytelling. Instead many of our people were making a cold bed in their winter camp while we waited anxiously for news.
My warrior and I were sitting in the great hall when a messenger arrived at midmorning. He spoke to no one, but went directly to the Lady’s chamber.
Maara tugged at my sleeve and gestured to me to follow her. She found us another place to sit, by the hallway that led to the kitchen. She leaned toward me and said in a low voice, “If we hear bad news, run into the armory and bar the door.” When I opened my mouth to object, she frowned and shook her head.
Word traveled quickly in that household, and soon everyone had gathered in the great hall. We waited in silence to hear the news the messenger had brought. At last the Lady came out to speak to us. She came halfway down the stairs and looked out over the assembled crowd.
“Where is Maara?” she said.
All eyes turned toward us. Everyone knew where we were.
“Come forward,” she said.
Maara stood up and went to the foot of the stairs.
“We are in your debt,” the Lady told her. To the people in the hall she said, “Yesterday everything happened as this woman said it would. Hidden by the snowfall, warriors of the northern tribes crossed the river. Our warriors too were hidden by the snowfall, and they captured the boats of the northerners as they came across. After a dozen boats made the crossing, we had taken two score of their warriors. No more came. We may have captured all of them, or perhaps the rest awaited a signal that it was safe for them to cross, or perhaps they had no more boats. Some of our warriors will remain there until the river starts to freeze, but most of them will be here this evening, and their prisoners with them.”
She paused. For the briefest moment, all were silent. Then everyone began to speak at once. Lorin came forward to stand at the foot of the stairs.
“Lady,” he called up to her. “Has anyone been hurt?”
The Lady looked down at him.
“My son is with them,” he said.
“Two of our warriors were wounded,” said the Lady. “Neither of them is your son.”
The people grew quiet again when she mentioned the wounded.
“Breda has a head wound,” she said. “Eramet was struck in the side by an arrow. One of the wagons will bring them home.”
That afternoon many of the warriors sought Maara out to thank her for the warning she had brought us. No one apologized for having doubted her. It was prudent of them to doubt her, but once her loyalty was proven, their gratitude was sincere. Lorin gave me a little smile as he made an elaborate apology to my warrior for his hasty words the day before. I will admit that I enjoyed hearing it.
It was late that afternoon when we heard that our returning warriors were in sight. Maara put on her armor and took up her sword and shield. When we went downstairs, I saw that the other warriors had also armed themselves. Even a few of the apprentices bore arms.
“Why does everyone look like they’re going into battle?” I asked Maara.
“To show the enemy our strength,” she said.
With the others we went outside the earthworks to wait. The air was clear and cold, and we saw in the distance, dark against the snowy landscape, the column of weary warriors coming home. Though they were still far away, the trees that lined the road were leafless now and could not conceal them.
The younger men hurried ahead of the others. When they started up the hill, the waiting warriors drew their swords and beat them upon the leather covers of their shields, a steady marching cadence to lighten the steps of the men trudging up the hill.
When they reached us, cups of ale were brought out to them. They were eager to tell everyone about the battle, but they all spoke at once, and each one told only what had happened to him and to his comrades beside him. I gave up trying to make sense of all their stories.
When they ran out of listeners, they went indoors to warm themselves before the fire.
The rest of our warriors, encumbered by their prisoners, were still far away. Namet came and stood beside me. She shaded her eyes with her hand and peered into the distance.
“What do you see, child, with your young eyes?” she said. “I can hardly make them out.”
The glare of sunlight on the snow made my eyes water, and I was having trouble seeing them myself.
“There’s a large group of them, all walking close together,” I told her. “They seem to be bound together, so I suppose those are the prisoners. Our warriors are behind them.”
“Are there any wagons?”
“No, Mother.”
She must be thinking of the wounded. Then I thought about the similarity of her name and Eramet’s.
“Is Eramet kin to you?” I asked her.
“Eramet is my daughter,” she replied.
“Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry she was hurt.”
Namet slipped her arm around my shoulders. Tears glistened in her eyes that were not from looking at the snow.
As the prisoners drew near, I saw that they were loosely bound with rope that looped around their upper arms and behind their backs. When they reached the bottom of the hill, our warriors again drew their swords. This time they didn’t beat a marching cadence. They pounded on their shields and raised their voices in a battle cry. Their breath hung like smoke in the cold air. The voices of the men deepened the cry into a roar. It was a dreadful sound.
The din continued until our warriors and their prisoners had climbed the hill and stood before us. I was amazed to see that almost all the prisoners were men. I saw only two women among them, though they might have been beardless boys. All of them wore tunics and trousers of fur or skins that gave them a ragged look. Long hair straggled out from under their fur caps. They had no boots. Their feet were wrapped in skins bound about their feet and legs with leather thongs. Although their beards hid their faces, I could see that their cheeks were hollow and their faces gaunt. They were taken to the men’s house, where a place had been made for them in the common room.
For several hours the healer kept me busy. There were no serious wounds to tend among our own warriors, only some slight cuts and bruises and a little frostbite. A few who were feverish with winter sickness were warmed and put to bed. If any of the prisoners needed tending, it was not our place to do it. They would have to tend their own or do without.
Long after the household had gone to bed, I waited. Maara waited with me, although I had told her more than once to go on to bed. We sat together by the embers of the fire in the great hall. N
amet had gone up to her room, but I doubted she was asleep.
Sparrow hadn’t come home with the warriors. I didn’t expect her to. She would be with Eramet.
“They may have stopped for the night,” Maara said.
“They won’t stop,” I said. “They’ll bring her home.”
I heard the groaning of axles and the tread of oxen’s feet when they were halfway up the hill. By the time they drove the wagon in through the cattle gate, Maara and I were waiting for them. The night air was so cold it made my eyes ache. When the wagon stopped, we pulled back the covering of oxhide that was stretched between the high sideboards of the wagon. A young warrior and his companion sat behind the driver. The warrior’s head was wrapped in a bloody bandage, but he seemed to be already on the mend.
At first I saw no one else. Maara brought a torch, and when she lowered it closer to the wagon bed, I saw them. On a pile of empty grain sacks, Sparrow lay with Eramet in her arms. She looked up at me. Her eyes were wild.
“She died,” she said.
The wagon driver got down from his seat and pulled the tailboard off the wagon. I jumped in and knelt down next to Sparrow. I touched Eramet’s face. It was as cold as the night air.
“Come inside,” I said.
Sparrow didn’t move. I felt Maara get into the wagon. She knelt beside me and tried to lift Eramet, but Sparrow’s arms tightened around her and wouldn’t let her go.
“We have to get you both inside,” I said.
I don’t think Sparrow heard or understood me. She was very cold. She had been lying with Eramet’s body in her arms for half the night, and Eramet’s blood had frozen on her clothing.
Maara handed me the torch and moved behind Sparrow, so that she could slip her hands under Sparrow’s arms and lift her away from Eramet. She set her by the tailboard of the wagon and jumped out. Then she took Sparrow up in her arms and carried her into the house.
There was no doubt that Eramet was dead. Her arms and legs had begun to stiffen. Her skin was white and hard, and a dusting of frost lay over her hair and eyebrows. There was nothing I could do for her, so I went inside, to do what I could for Sparrow. Maara had set her down on the hearthstone and was building up the fire.
“We need to warm her,” she said.
I brought a wooden tub from the laundry room and set it by the hearth. While I brought in buckets of warm water to fill it, Maara got Sparrow out of her frozen clothing. We put her in the tub and poured water over her until she was warm again. Then Maara carried her upstairs.
I stayed behind to clean up the mess we’d made. When I went upstairs, I found Maara in Eramet’s room. She had put Sparrow into Eramet’s bed and was standing in the doorway looking like she didn’t quite know what to do. Sparrow lay on her side facing the wall, with both arms over her head as if to ward off a blow. She was making a soft keening sound.
Maara said in a low voice close to my ear, “I’ll go see to Eramet,” and left the room.
I didn’t know what to do for Sparrow. I sat with her a while. Then I took off my boots and trousers and slipped into the bed beside her. I put my arms around her, to warm and comfort her. Soon her keening stopped, and she fell asleep.
12. Grief
When I woke in the morning, Sparrow was still asleep. She was hot with fever. I got up and dressed myself, and still she didn’t wake. Before I went downstairs, I stopped by my warrior’s room. There was no sign she had been there. I found her in the kitchen, sitting at a table with Namet. She looked like she’d been up all night.
I had forgotten about Namet.
“I’m sorry for your grief, Mother,” I told her.
“Thank you, child,” she said.
She too looked as if she had not yet been to bed.
“Can I get you something?” I asked her.
She shook her head.
I turned to Maara. “Sparrow has a fever.”
“I can fend for myself today,” she said. “Do what you can for her.”
I made Sparrow a bowl of soft porridge and milk, something she could swallow easily, and brewed her a tea of willow bark and rose hips. When I returned to her room, she was awake. She lay in the bed staring up at the ceiling.
“She died,” she said.
“I know.”
“She died.”
This time it was a whisper. It was as if, by saying so, she might convince herself that it was true.
I sat down beside her and handed her the bowl of tea. It seemed such a small thing to offer her.
I looked in on Sparrow as often as I could that day. When I found her sleeping, I didn’t wake her. To let her sleep was the kindest thing I could do for her. Whenever I found her awake, I brought her soft food and tea and sat with her a while. Although she didn’t want to talk, she seemed to take some comfort from my presence. I stroked her hair and rubbed her back until she slept again.
Maara slept for several hours that morning. She had been up all night with Namet, listening to her stories of her only child. She would say no more to me than that about it.
While Maara was sleeping, I went to the companions’ loft. I hoped I hadn’t missed hearing about the battle, but I shouldn’t have worried. The companions who had been there were delighted to tell the story over and over again to anyone who cared to listen.
“The snow began three days ago.”
“I thought it was two,” I said.
“No. Three.”
“It began day before yesterday here.”
“Well, it began three days ago at the ravine,” said Taia.
Taia was an apprentice. In another year, she would be a warrior. Her green eyes and copper hair set her apart from the others even more than her height, although she was the tallest woman in Merin’s house.
“Vintel had our warriors strung out up and down the riverbank for over a mile,” she said, “but we waited all day for nothing. They never came.”
“You should have heard the fights that night around the campfires,” said Bec with glee. Bec loved a fight.
“Some said there was no need to freeze there by the river for another night,” said Taia, “that the northerners weren’t coming. Others said we should wait and see.”
“If the strange one had been there,” said Bec, “they would have had the truth out of her one way or the other.”
It was the first time I had heard my warrior called ‘the strange one.’ I was indignant. “They had the truth out of her already.”
Bec brushed a shock of thick, black hair out of her eyes and gave me a scornful look. “Well, we know that now, but how were we to know it then?”
“At any rate,” Taia said, “the next morning Vintel sent everyone back to their places to wait. We couldn’t see a thing. The mist was so thick you could have walked off a cliff before you knew it. My warrior and I were hidden in a copse not ten paces from the river, and we couldn’t see where the water met the shore.”
“We heard the sound of the oars long before we saw the boats,” said Bec.
“And someone almost made a bad mistake.”
Taia glared at her, and Bec’s face turned red, whether from embarrassment or anger I couldn’t tell.
“We thought they’d seen us,” she said. “The first boat landed next to us. We heard them talking to one another, though we couldn’t make out a word of what they said. They walked right past us. I was sure they’d seen us, and my warrior gave the curlew’s call. That was our signal. The northerners must have heard it, but they went by us in the mist.”
“Vintel thought they would send just one boat at first,” Taia said, “to scout our side of the river and let the others know it was safe to cross. Vintel was right. After they’d been ashore a while, we heard them call to their friends across the river. By the time the next boat arrived, Vintel and Eramet had taken everyone in the first boat prisoner.”
“We captured six of them,” Gnata boasted. “There were only four of us, two warriors and two companions, and we captured six of them.”
Gnata was younger than I and had always seemed to me to be rather frail. It surprised me that her warrior had taken her along.
“How were they to know there were only four of you?” said Taia. “The mist was so thick that a score of warriors could have been right behind you.”
“But there weren’t. We captured six of them all by ourselves.”
“How did you take them without a fight?” I asked Taia.
“We waited for them to get out of their boats,” she replied. “Before they could send the boats back across the river, we walked out of the mist and told them to surrender their swords.”
“They did too,” said Bec smugly. “They had no stomach for a fight.”
“They had our swords at their necks before they knew what was happening,” Taia said. “What else could they do?”
“They were too cowardly to fight,” said Bec.
Taia turned on her. “Give them an even chance and see for yourself how cowardly they are. I doubt you’d stand long against any of them.”
Bec scowled. If Taia had been smaller, Bec might have challenged her, but she thought better of it and held her tongue.
Little by little they pieced together the story for me. I couldn’t imagine how the northerners had carried boats with them. I was thinking of the boats made from hollowed logs used by the fisher folk who fished with nets on the calmer stretches of the river. Taia explained that the boats were made of oxhide stretched over a framework of willow branches. The hides they could have carried with them, and willows grew everywhere along the riverbank.
After our warriors had captured a dozen boats, no more came. From time to time they heard voices calling from the other side of the river. None of the prisoners dared answer. Then one of them broke free of his captors and ran to the water’s edge. Before he could scramble into one of the boats and make his escape, our warriors pursued him and struck him down.
Finally I asked them how it happened that Eramet was wounded. I couldn’t help being curious, but I didn’t like to ask Sparrow about it. They were all quiet for a moment. The reminder of a life lost spoiled their delight in the story.
When Women Were Warriors Book I Page 10