by Jacky Gray
Senna nodded. “Still one of my favourite Yule feasts.”
Lyrelie had spent the day with Cal at his parents’ farm. She came back full of tales about churning the milk to make cream and butter.
“Did you bring some with you?”
“Why would I do that?”
Senna’s eager expression dimmed. “No matter. It would have complemented the spiced apple and ginger sponge nicely, but ...”
Stepping aside, Lyrelie revealed a large flagon of cream. “I was merely jesting, Mama. Cal’s ma would not let me leave without it. And she sent some butter and cheese to say thank you for your help with her little problem last moon.” She tapped the side of her nose, obviously repeating the woman’s gesture.
Senna grinned, pleased to see her daughter in such high spirits after her day away from the rigours of the healer’s duties. As they set to work preparing the apples, prunes and apricots, Senna teased her daughter. “It’s good to see you so happy. That’s what helping people will do for you.”
“Honestly, I think they helped me far more than I ever helped them. I’ve learnt so much, and I’m sure they would have completed the tasks far more quickly without me.”
“But they would have benefited from your lively curiosity, and your beautiful energy will have lifted their spirits. And it is always rewarding to teach such a willing pupil as you.”
“That’s exactly what Farmon said. He was thrilled with the bundle of herbs you sent to keep the pigs healthy over winter. He sent some liver and a skin of blood. I put them on the thrawl to keep them fresh.”
“Wonderful, thank you. We can make some blood sausage to break our fast.”
As Lyrelie stuffed the apples with the dried fruit, Senna selected the ingredients for the ginger pudding and syllabub. “I could not have a repeat of last year, and half of them died in the better weather. The new shed will help; perchance it will give them extra protection against the swine flu.”
“And he asked if you wouldn’t mind repeating the remedy you had for his cows. One of them has enflamed udders.”
“Of course. I’ll drop by with it tomorrow.” Senna put the apples in the kiln to bake and gave her daughter the basin of eggs to beat.
Lyrelie stirred the mixture, her tone casual. “I could take the note round if you would like.”
“No, it is not a note. I have to tell him in person because he cannot read or write. I usually give him a sample, and tell him the name of each herb, and the quantity he will need to add to the feed.”
“Oh.” Her face fell as she beat the eggs vigorously for a moment. Pausing, her face brightened. “But I could do that for you. And if we write it down as well, Cal can read, he can tell him, so he would not have to keep asking you.“
The gleam in Senna’s eye matched the chuckle in her voice. “Are you sure it has nothing to do with the fact you would like to meet Cal again?”
Embarrassed into silence, Lyrelie resumed her task with so much intensity, the mixture thickened within a few moments.
“Careful, we don’t want it to spoil. Put it on the thrawl stone to cool, then we can add some of your cream to make it extra special.”
They had barely a quarter hour after completing their tasks, to get ready for the eve’s feast before Alfun knocked on the door. The two families did the short dance, twirling around each other and ending with a kiss “For Freya” before grape-vining on to the next person. When everyone had exchanged kisses with everyone else, they began the journey to Marena’s house, where the dance would be repeated with the addition of the third family.
As they walked between venues, the choreography became even more complicated as each group interacted with any others they met on the short journey between houses.
Senna and Cora helped Marena to serve her delicious pasties while Alfun ensured everyone’s goblet was charged for the toast to Freya.
They had no sooner finished eating, when the door was flung open and two filthy, bedraggled men staggered inside.
19 – Day 8: Joyful Return
Despite the beard and layers of filth, Marena recognised the first man. “Dennon!” She leapt up and hugged him, oblivious to the muck staining her good robe.
Senna’s attention was drawn by his ashen-faced companion, so weak he could not support his weight as he slid down the wall, leaving an ominous dark smear.
She peered at him, discerning something of her husband’s cousin about him, but this man was far too thin and feeble.
All four females set to work promptly, removing the filthy clothes and washing away the grime so Senna and Lyrelie could set about patching them up with bandages and poultices.
Dennon’s thigh wound was healing well; between them, they’d removed the arrow cleanly. Jarl’s injuries were much more severe; he’d ridden for almost a full day with the quarrel from a crossbow buried in his shoulder. Dennon had wisely packed it with lemon balm and yarrow and bound it tightly while they made their escape.
As Senna applied a temporary poultice, she complimented him on his excellent thinking. “You have undoubtedly saved his life with your actions. The herbs will have slowed the bleeding and reduced the chance of infection. It’s most important that he eats something nourishing and sleeps until he regains his strength.”
Dennon held up the bag she’d filled with herbs for battle wounds. “This battle-bundle is the real life-saver; and we added the dandelions as you suggested. And wild garlic. There’s many a man owes you for saving a limb.”
Alfun had returned home to fetch his pony and cart so Jarl should not have even the short walk to his house. Senna insisted Dennon should travel in it as well and there was just room for herself and Marena, the babe strapped to her chest.
By the time the rest of the party arrived for the second course of the Freya-Share, Alfun had stoked up the fire, and Senna had heated the remains of Cora’s broth for the men.
Dennon insisted he was perfectly capable of eating the main meal Cora had prepared, so Senna fed the broth to Jarl a spoonful at a time, with him falling asleep between each mouthful like a bairn.
The shocking state of the two men put a bit of a damper on the meal; however, the diners were enthralled by Dennon’s tale of their adventure.
Leaving Jarl sleeping in the rocking chair by the fire, Senna ate her food quickly, marvelling at the courage of the small band as they faced the much larger, and better-prepared foe.
Dennon related how the captain leading the elite troop had been killed, leaving Jarl in charge. Realising the futility of continuing with such uneven odds, he’d sounded the retreat.
Alfun paused with a forkful of food suspended near his mouth. “So why is he in such a sorry state?” He loaded it in and chewed.
His plate wiped clean, Dennon grinned as his wife snatched it away to replenish it. He glared at Jarl. “One of the group didn’t hear, so this hero returned to rescue him from danger. But he got there too late; the man had been set upon by the rebel force.”
Alfun swallowed. “You’d have done the same.”
“Risk the lives of many for the one? I don’t know so much. We heard the poor beggar’s howls of pain, and Jarl should have known better. And he didn’t have to risk his life to lead them a merry dance through the trees so we could get away. All he did was earn himself a quarrel in the back.”
Marena set the loaded plate in front of him. “Hush now, husband, what’s done is done. Alfun’s right, ’tis only the arrow through your leg stopped you from doing the same.”
“Aye you’re right, but I’m angry because it was a needless injury, and it damn-nigh killed him.”
All thoughts of the Freya dance forgotten, it was a very subdued band which made their way down the street to Senna’s house. Once inside, Lyrelie begged help from the other two women to organise the puddings and egg nog, while her mother prepared for the short surgery after the meal.
As the others enjoyed their puddings, Alfun primed Jarl with several goblets of fortified wine, so he was well grogg
y, and much better able to sustain the pain of what must be done.
Cora was happy to take the youngsters back across to her house, and Marena agreed to accompany her, a little reluctantly because she did not want to leave her husband after only just reuniting with him.
Alfun volunteered to help hold Jarl down, along with Dennon, who was gaining his strength by the minute.
They all helped to clear the remains of the meal from the kitchen table, and Senna put down an old skin which would protect the table from staining.
Jarl was mercifully unconscious, not even waking when they manhandled him onto the table. Senna requested a moment with all of them holding hands, while she raised the energy and called on everyone and everything she knew to lend their healing power.
The poultice had done its work, teasing the angry-looking flesh away from the lump of metal. After a brief inspection, she told Lyrelie which herbs to mix into the new poultice, wishing she had more time to activate them properly.
Dennon proved to be a good choice of assistant, not being the slightest bit squeamish. More importantly, he had experience of quarrel wounds, and gladly helped her to remove it.
Despite her best efforts to minimise any additional blood loss, Senna had no choice but to break the scabs around the wound, which led to fresh bleeding. Dennon showed her the technique of using a stout piece of arrow shaft to maximise the force of the hammer blow against the end of the bolt, which came away cleanly. She packed the wound with Lyrelie’s poultice, and the cocktail of herbs soon got to work staunching the flow of blood and beginning the task of healing. The pair of them invoked the power of the spirits and directed the earth energy where it was needed most to magnify the knitting together of the flesh and various layers to make him whole again.
It took all four to transfer his dead weight from the table to the cot in the corner. The two men grabbed either side of the thick fleece to lift his upper body, while the females slipped a thinner skin under his considerably lighter legs. Using a cradling technique, they minimised the disturbance of direct contact with his body, and he remained asleep throughout the ley-line procedure.
Senna checked the integrity of the poultice; no fresh blood had leaked through, so she covered him with a linen sheet and a blanket as they cleared away the debris. She urged Lyrelie to join the two men in returning to Cora’s house, where the revelry would normally continue for an hour or two.
“But, Mama. You will miss out on all the fun. We could all come back here …”
“No, my darling. That would not make sense. Jarl needs peace and quiet so he can rest and his body can mend itself.”
“We can be quiet.” She looked at the two men for support, but neither would meet her eye.
Senna shook her head. “It is not fair to ask people to be quiet; they need to laugh and play.”
Alfun put his hand on Lyrelie’s shoulder. “You have done everything you can. I know Freya would love to have your company; do not deny her on her namesake’s day.”
“And besides, I will need to prepare a blood broth for him; you know how the smell affects you.” Senna hoped this would do the trick.
It did, as the girl’s face reflected how unwelcome that would be. “Ugh. The stench fills the house hours afterward.”
Alfun took the hint, his eyes twinkling as he made the request. “Could she spend the night at our house? Having to sleep with that smell seems a poor reward for her efforts.”
“What an excellent idea. And it means you do not have to come out into the cold to walk home.” She beamed; the solution would solve many small problems, in particular that of the sleeping arrangements.
When she had the house to herself, Senna prepared a blood-fortifying mix of dandelion leaves, marjoram and thyme, along with comfrey, yarrow and valerian for the pain. She made a batch of oaten cakes, including dried berries, orange peel and fruit juice to fight infections. Before putting them in the kiln, she added a highly-charged boost of healing.
While they baked, she poured the pig’s blood from Farmon into a small cauldron used only for this particular remedy. She chopped the liver and added it, along with the herb mixture. Stirring until all the ingredients were thoroughly mixed in, she let it stand so the magical combination would harmonise to increase the potency. As she finished, her house filled with the glorious smell of oaten cakes.
Her final task was to check on her patient, wetting his cracked lips with a dampened linen cloth. He showed no signs of fever, so she added a top quilt made from several fleeces.
She finally sank into her rocking-chair nest, wanting to be near if he should awake. Her nightmare-dream changed; no longer scenes of attack. Instead, she ran through a forest, pursued by a masked man.
Her eyes sprang open at an unfamiliar sound as Jarl thrashed about in the cot. She carried over a candle to examine him, again moistening his parched mouth. His skin shone deathly pale and felt cold to the touch, despite the blankets and fleece.
Acting on instinct, Senna threw more sheepskins on the floor by his cot and snuggled next to him. Her healing vibrations were amplified by close bodily contact, gradually subduing the violent shivering, as his ragged breathing finally settled down.
Lying in the darkness, Senna sent copious amounts of gratitude for the turn of events leading to her daughter’s absence. Lyrelie’s scant knowledge of the healing arts would not allow her to separate in her mind the value of this physical therapy with the idea of her mother spending the night in another man’s bed.
The reality of the solid, warm body next to hers was something Senna hadn’t taken into account when she instinctively lay down. Particularly with the attraction between them.
There. That was it recognised for what it was.
She liked him in that way.
Moisture crept out of the corner of her eye as she pleaded with Lyran to forgive her for having a woman’s needs. But she heard nothing; no voice reassuring her he would sanction the union.
~*~
Jarl awoke with a raging thirst and a pounding in his head as though all the local smiths were holding a horseshoe challenge in there. His first instinct was that he’d been knocked unconscious and the battle still raged around him. He knew his best action would be to lie as though dead while he worked out his escape strategy. But several things belied the battle scenario.
Firstly, even with his eyes open, it was black as pitch. No commander worth his salt would risk endangering his men by engaging a foe in total darkness; there would be battle torches in the very least.
Secondly, he was not lying on damp, cold ground but on a skin, covered by blankets. Not the grimy ones from his saddle-pack, but with the air-dried freshness which spoke of a woman’s hand. The familiarity of sensations fooled him into thinking he’d lain here before.
A tiny noise froze his body, putting his mind on alert, trying to make sense of it. The darkness made it easier for him to direct the processing power of his brain, normally reserved for deciphering visual signals, to the other senses. His nose, satisfied with its fill of the fresh, clean smell, now picked up the concoction of herbs from his shoulder, which he’d previously assumed to be from the forest floor. An exploratory finger found the bandages there, and beneath them, the unmistakable damp odour of a poultice. Someone had treated the wound in his shoulder which, now he gave it attention, began to scream its pain into his brain.
Detaching itself from this unnecessary information, his mind sought an explanation for the wonderful aroma claiming his full attention. Tantalisingly familiar, it triggered his mind to search for scenarios where that warm, musky scent had given him such pleasure in the past.
The disorientation which had fogged his brain lifted enough for him to be convinced he was under no threat. He shifted slightly and his arm came into contact with another warm human body. The sigh definitely sounded like a woman’s, rather than that of a man.
All the pieces of information from his senses collaborated together to form a cohesive picture. He was lying next
to Senna in the healing cot in her room. Satisfied of the lack of danger, his brain once more robbed his consciousness, diverting all resources into its healing task.
20 – Day 9: Queen of Winter
The ninth day was in honour of the Queen of Winter and, as she scurried across to Cora’s, Senna saw a number of women wearing their finery, topped by an ivy circlet with strands of ivy woven into their hair. The tradition decreed that husbands should treat their wives like a queen for the day. But many men forced their children into service, compelling them to take over the cooking and cleaning duties.
Alfun opened the door with a concerned expression, inviting her in and asking about their patient.
Senna hastened out of the cold. “He’s still asleep, but I want to stay with him today, so I have a couple of requests.”
“Ask away and it shall be done.”
She thought, not for the first time, how blessed he and Cora were to have found each other; they were perfectly matched with their boundless generosity and affable natures. “Firstly, I wonder if you or Cora could accompany Lyrelie to check on Marena and Lareeta.”
“Mama.” Her daughter had thrown a shawl over her nightgown, and the jumbled hair spoke of a late night as she stumbled down the stairs. “I hoped I could help you, today. Could Freya come, too?”
“Now, now, you mustn’t tax your mother with such trifles.” Cora admonished the girl with a wagging finger, but everyone could see the pretence.
She hugged Senna. “Good morn, my dear. I was planning to take a small gift for both babes, so it will fit nicely.”
“Excellent. Maybe you could ask Dennon to pop round so I can check his wound and supply a salve to speed the healing.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. We were discussing it last night and we think it’s better if he lies low for a while. It wouldn’t do for certain people to hear that he and Jarl have returned. I don’t think anyone spotted them in the cart last night, and they didn’t go home until first light.”