When Women Were Warriors Book I: The Warrior's Path Page 13

  “The last thing I want is another war,” the Lady said. “When I was young, I learned the ways of war, but no one taught me how to keep the peace. If anyone knows how to do that, she must be the wisest woman in the world.”

  § § §

  A fire roared on the hearth in the great hall. It was the warmest place in the house except for the kitchen, and almost the entire household had gathered there.

  I didn’t see Maara at first. I finally found her sitting on a bench in a dark corner. As crowded as the room was, no one was sitting near her. I was not at all surprised. Her arms were folded across her chest, and her face wore a fierce expression. I knew her well enough to know she meant nothing by it, but I understood how she must appear to other people.

  “Have you eaten?” I asked her.

  She nodded without looking at me.

  I’d had no breakfast, and I was hungry.

  “I haven’t,” I said. “Shall I go now?”

  “Yes, go ahead.”

  She sounded impatient with me. Before I could ask her why, I saw Sparrow coming down the stairs. I waved to her, and she saw me and waved back. Maara seemed lost in her own thoughts, so I said nothing more to her and went with Sparrow into the kitchen. We filled our bowls with porridge and sat down on the floor in a corner of the kitchen where we wouldn’t be in the way.

  “What did the Lady want?” Sparrow asked me.

  “I’m not sure.”

  I had a bit of a guilty conscience about speaking for the prisoners. After all, it was Sparrow, not I, who had been injured by them. Though I didn’t believe for a minute that the Lady would consider seriously anything I’d said, I didn’t like to keep what I had done from Sparrow.

  “Do you hate the man who killed Eramet?” I asked her.

  She had been about to put a spoonful of porridge into her mouth. She stopped and set the spoon down in her bowl.

  “Why?” she said.

  “I told the Lady what happened to him.”

  Sparrow frowned. “Vintel shouldn’t have done that.”

  I was surprised to hear her say so. “Why not?”

  “Because he was helpless, and because his cry is still ringing in my ears. I wish the man had never been born, but I don’t wish him dead now.”

  “Vintel never told the Lady what she did.”

  “No, she wouldn’t. Vintel has her own way of doing things, and she sees no need to explain to anyone what she does or why she does it.”

  I wondered if Sparrow knew that Vintel and the warriors with her had once failed to protect Maara, and if she knew Vintel well enough to tell me why.

  “Why did you tell the Lady about it?” Sparrow asked me.

  “I asked her what she was going to do with the prisoners,” I replied. “She asked me what I would do with them, and I told her I would let them go home. She reminded me that one of their warriors had killed one of ours, so I told her the price he had already paid for it.”

  I watched Sparrow’s face, to see if she objected to what I’d done, but she only nodded and took a spoonful of porridge.

  “Do you think I did wrong?”

  Sparrow shook her head. “Did the Lady summon you to ask your advice about the prisoners?” Now she was teasing me.

  “No,” I said. “I doubt she’ll pay any attention to my advice.”

  “What did she want, then?”

  “She asked me if I was frightened.”

  “Because she took you hostage?”

  I nodded. “She said I had nothing to fear from her.”

  “I didn’t think so,” Sparrow said.

  “I think she wanted to make sure of me. I think she wanted to draw me close to her again. She wanted to know if I still trust her.”

  “Do you?”

  Ever since the idea came into my head of leaving the Lady’s household, I was cautious about revealing my thoughts to anyone. I trusted Sparrow, but I knew better than to tell her I was contemplating treachery. I nodded, and it occurred to me that I was lying to Sparrow as much to protect her as to protect myself. It was the same reason Maara had lied to me.

  “I don’t believe the Lady ever meant to harm me,” I said. That much was true.

  The healer came into the kitchen.

  “There you are,” she said, when her eyes found me.

  Sparrow and I stood up to greet her.

  “I need your help,” she said to me. “One of the prisoners is badly injured. The Lady has asked me to tend him.”

  Sparrow and I glanced at each other. I thought I knew which prisoner it was, and I was certain of it when the healer said, “I hope you have a strong stomach.”

  “There are some things I need to do,” said Sparrow. She gave me a sympathetic look and left the kitchen.

  I helped the healer make a poultice. I set a cloth to soak in sage water while she crushed a collection of herbs in a mortar. She pounded them vigorously, muttering to herself all the while. I think she didn’t care much for the idea of tending strangers.

  She laid out the cloth and spread the crushed herbs over it. Then she folded it over several times. She searched through the contents of a basket, drew out a flint knife, and tested its edge. While she was gathering what she needed, I slipped into the drying room and wrapped a generous handful of valerian root in a clean cloth.

  § § §

  The men’s house smelled strange to me. I looked around with curiosity. It was half the size of the main house, and the entire downstairs was one large common room. The prisoners were crowded together at the end farthest from the fire. Half a dozen armed men guarded them, though it was hardly necessary. They seemed to have no inclination to resist their captivity. Many of them were asleep on the floor. All of them looked worn out. They had been fed, and scattered around them were empty bowls that had been licked clean. Not a crust of bread remained among them. I saw a few men pick crumbs from their clothing, or even from the floor, and put them into their mouths.

  The injured man lay moaning in a corner. He burned with fever and was unaware of us until the healer touched him. Then he threw out his uninjured arm and would have knocked her over if the man beside him had not caught it first.

  The healer called for several of the prisoners to come and help her. She motioned to them to hold his arms and legs while she carefully unwrapped the makeshift bandage from his injured arm. The smell turned my stomach. Although I tried not to look, my eyes glanced at his mangled flesh against my will. Some of it was black. The healer took out her flint knife to trim it away.

  The man beside him shouted at her and took hold of the hand that held the knife. Two of our warriors had come to stand beside us while we were among the prisoners, and one of them would have struck the man, if the healer hadn’t stopped him. She understood the man’s fear for his friend and showed him by signs what she was going to do. He nodded that he understood. Then she began to trim the injured man’s blackened flesh away. He screamed once and struggled for a moment. Then he grew still.

  “Is he dead?” I asked the healer.

  “No,” she said. “His spirit left his body for a while, because of the pain.”

  I had recovered from my revulsion, and I watched, fascinated, while the healer worked. Now that the man’s spirit had fled, she cut more deeply into his flesh and pulled slivers of broken bone from the wound. Then she freed a flap of skin large enough to cover the raw flesh. She had the wound stitched up and the poultice applied to it before the man’s spirit returned.

  “I wish I’d brought something for his pain,” she said.

  I reached into the pocket of my tunic and drew out the package of valerian root. She smiled and took it from me.

  “You have a healer’s heart,” she said. She took one of the empty bowls from the floor and handed it to me. “Fill this.”

  I went to the hearth, where there was a cauldron of hot water. I dipped some into the bowl and took it back to the healer. She showed the injured man’s friend how to measure out the powder in the palm of his
hand, so that he didn’t use too much of it. Then she stirred it into the hot water. When it had steeped a while, she gave some to the injured man.

  As we left the men’s house, several of our warriors gave us puzzled looks. I didn’t mind. I felt much better about everything.

  § § §

  That evening, when the household gathered for the evening meal, the Lady rose from her place at the high table and stood patiently until the hall was quiet. She gave no introduction. She spoke plainly what was in her mind.

  “There are many here who remember the war.”

  She paused to look around the room at the faces of the people. The young ones waited expectantly for her to go on, but the ones with wrinkled faces and grey showing at their temples grew solemn at her words.

  “For the first time in many years,” the Lady said, “strangers have set foot upon our land. They have come, not because we have done them an injury or because they seek adventure, but because they are hungry.”

  A few puzzled looks appeared on the faces around me.

  “Today I was reminded of a story my mother used to tell me. I’m sure you have all heard it. It is sometimes called ‘The Queen’s Mirror,’ and it contains a wisdom I’d forgotten. After I thought about that story for a while, I called together the women of the council. They agree with me that we should allow the strangers to return to their homeland.”

  The Lady waited for the protests she evidently expected, but no one said a word. I think everyone was too surprised to speak.

  “Out of the bounty the Mother has given us this year,” she said, “I will send with them two dozen of our cattle and all the grain they can carry.”

  I hardly saw the stunned faces of the people around me. I was too stunned myself to see them. I couldn’t comprehend what I had done. Letting the prisoners go was an idea that had just come into my head. Now it had become real. Now it was going to happen.

  “I wish I could explain to you the wisdom of this plan,” the Lady said. “I can’t. But one thing I do know. If these men are lost, more will take their place. Then they will come, not for food alone, but also to avenge their dead, and they will take our blood to ease their hearts.”

  The Lady paused for a few moments to study the faces around her. I think she was surprised that the silence still remained unbroken.

  “There is one thing more we must decide,” she said. “We have lost one of our own. Those to whom she belonged have a right to ease their hearts with blood. I want any person here who feels that injury to tell me now, will you give up that right or will you demand a life?”

  Namet, who sat next to her, stood up. “I give up my right,” she said.

  The Lady looked around the room until her eyes found Sparrow, who was sitting next to me at the companions’ table.

  Sparrow stood up and said, “I give up my right.”

  The Lady’s eyes went next to Vintel, who sat gazing into her bowl, as if she was thinking only of her supper.

  “Vintel,” the Lady said at last. “Do you give up your right?”

  Vintel looked up. “Eramet did not belong to me,” she said.

  Although there was no longer a formal bond between them, Eramet had been Vintel’s apprentice. From what Sparrow had told me, I knew there was still a bond of love between them, and from Vintel’s actions at the river, it was plain that she felt the injury keenly, whether or not she claimed her right to feel it.

  Vintel said nothing more.

  “Then we are agreed,” the Lady said.

  She sat down and motioned to the servants to bring the evening meal.

  § § §

  The companions had little to say about the Lady’s plan. They were surprised, but what happened to the prisoners was the Lady’s responsibility, and they only shrugged their shoulders and went on to talk about things they found more interesting.

  I looked around the room and saw doubt in many faces. Some of the older people clearly had misgivings. A few spoke quietly among themselves. Perhaps they would protest privately to the Lady, but none of them would challenge her in front of the household, especially as she had the consent of the council.

  Sparrow leaned close to me and whispered, “I’ll be sleeping in the companions’ loft tonight.”

  I nodded.

  “Are you still sleeping in your warrior’s room?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Too bad. I’ll miss you.”

  I blushed.

  “That’s all right,” she said. “I understand.”

  § § §

  After the evening meal, Maara went upstairs. I followed her, and from the landing at the top of the stairs, I saw her stop in the doorway of Namet’s room. She said a few words I couldn’t hear, then went on into her own room. When I joined her, she was coiling the braided thong around her fingers.

  “I suppose we don’t need this now,” she said, and handed the coiled thong to me.

  As I took it from her, I felt a pang of regret.

  “Do you know the story?” she asked me.

  “What story?”

  “The story the Lady was talking about.”

  I nodded. “I was the one who reminded her of it.”

  “I thought so,” she said. “The Lady told me her plan was your idea.”

  “She did?”

  “She spoke to me this afternoon. She seems to think I know all about these people.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “I have some knowledge of the northern tribes, but I don’t believe these men are northerners, although I think they have been used by them.”

  “What did the Lady say to you?”

  “She asked me what I thought of your idea.”

  “I never thought she’d pay any attention to my idea. What if it’s a mistake? What if they come back and do us harm?”

  “The Lady must bear the responsibility for that,” she said. “The Lady and the council. It was their decision.”

  “But it was my idea.”

  “It was a good idea. What made you think of it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “They just didn’t seem that dangerous to me.”

  “They are very dangerous, but your plan will make them much less so.”

  Her approval reassured me. All the same, I resolved not to be so quick to open my mouth the next time someone asked me for advice.

  Maara settled herself on her bed. “Tell me the story,” she said.

  In ancient days, when only women were warriors, lived a race of magicians and sorcerers who wielded great power. To defeat their enemies, they had no need to resort to arms. Their seers saw from afar any army that marched against them, and their sorcerers wrapped their lands in a mist in which their enemies would wander, lost and afraid.

  But when strangers came in peace, the people made a feast for them. Venison from their forests and game birds from their meadows filled the bellies of their guests. Then singers and poets and musicians entertained them, until, overcome by these delights, they closed their eyes and slept. When they awoke, they would find themselves encamped on the borders of the lands from which they’d come, and by each of them would be a gift according to the deepest wish of each one’s heart.

  In a far country lived a queen whose lands were rich and prosperous and whose people never lacked for any of life’s necessities or comforts. Her own wealth was great. She ate from golden dishes and drank from silver goblets. Around her she kept things of beauty, so many that she never wanted for something to delight the eye. She too had musicians to fill her ears with sweet sounds and poets to fill her heart with stories of love and war.

  One day a woman and her two daughters came to the queen’s household. They asked for hospitality and were made welcome. The queen invited them to dine with her. She served them the best she had to give. Meat and bread and fruit and wine she offered them. After they had eaten their fill, the queen had her musicians and her storytellers entertain them. When her guests grew sleepy, she showed them to a room in which there
was a soft bed for each of them and bade them each good night.

  In the morning the queen and her guests broke their fast together. Before they left her to continue their journey, the woman and her daughters thanked the queen and praised her generosity, saying that with only one exception they had never enjoyed such hospitality anywhere.

  The queen wished to know whose hospitality surpassed her own. Her guests assured her that none but a mysterious race of magical people could rival her. They told her of the strange land that vanished from the sight of those who intended to do harm, but whose people practiced the greatest generosity toward all who came in friendship. They told her of the wonders they had seen there, and they showed her the gifts they had been given. The elder daughter had received a sword. The younger had received a bow and a quiver of arrows. Both of these weapons were enchanted, for the sword moved on its own and would prevail over the most skilled opponent, while the arrows never failed to find their target. Their mother had been given only a dream, but she was the most pleased with her gift, because the dream promised that her wish for grandchildren would come true.

  The queen asked her guests where she could find this enchanted land.

  “Follow the setting sun,” they told her. “It is farther than you can imagine, but nearer than your heart’s desire.”

  After her guests had gone, the queen thought about what they had told her of the land of sorcerers. She saw that she could spare her people much grief in time of war if her warriors possessed enchanted weapons. And if dreams that could foretell the future were within the gift of these magicians, any threat to her people could be foreseen and perhaps forestalled.

  The queen had her servants make preparations for a long journey. Then she called together the warriors of her household. She told them of the enchanted land and asked which of them would accompany her there. All of them were eager to go with her, and the next day they began their journey.

  They traveled for many days, until they came to the land of which they had heard such wonderful tales. They were invited to a feast, and it was all they could have wished. Dishes were served to them that they had never before tasted, and sweet wine was given them to drink. Songs were sung and stories told that spoke to each of them and brought back into memory the enchanted tales of childhood and the heroic deeds of youth. When their hearts were so full that they could listen no more, they fell asleep. In the morning they awoke on the border of the queen’s own lands, and each of them had received a gift. Although there were no enchanted weapons among them, each one was delighted with the gift she had been given.