Nature's Tribe

by Jacky Gray

  Smiling warmly at him, she tried to draw him into the discussion about digging the well, but he would not meet her eye, muttering something about needing more men and some proper shovels before they could tackle the project. She felt Jarl’s gaze and he winked at her, raising his beaker of ale, toasting her with it before draining it and slamming it on the table with a loud belch.

  Senna slapped his arm. “I’ll thank you not to bring your tavern manners here.”

  “Sorry, my sweet. I could not resist. I felt my first ale in this new world deserved a bit of recognition.”

  Eanje narrowed her eyes. Somehow, their behaviour seemed a little extreme, as though he were deliberately playing up his baser side and she were being overtly prim. Both of these seemed out of character, but she put it down to the strain they were all under.

  She was not aware of dreaming that night until, shortly before dawn, her gruesome stalker attacked her with a knife. Once again, Lyran appeared, soothing her mind with his words and calming her trembling body.

  When she regained full consciousness, her hands flew up to her head and she breathed a sigh of relief as her fingers tangled in lustrous locks.

  “Why would someone cut off your hair?” She heard the frown in his voice. “From your reaction, it seemed some manner of punishment.”

  She shook her head, pausing to choose her words. “It was a tradition at the convent to wear the hair short, and I overheard my grandfather plotting to sell my hair in payment for the burden I had been on him.”

  “He sounds like such a charming fellow.”

  “You could not be further from the truth.”

  “I know. You mentioned him already. I merely attempted to lesson his power over you by using levity.”

  She shuddered. “Please do so often; his grasp is tight.”

  He pulled her close so she matched his length, wrapping his arms around her. “I will hold you tighter to chase away his hold over you.”

  With a giggle, she described how she foiled his plans by cutting it off herself and offering it to the Abbess. “She told me to keep it safe, and only cut my hair every three years.”

  “Did she think you would use it to make a rope or stuff a cushion?”

  “Do you mock me?” She pulled away, twisting to determine his expression in the gloom.

  “Absolutely not. I know horse’s hair is used for both.”

  “During her travels in Frankia, she met a craftsman who wove the hair into perruques. People wear them to cover heads gone bald through disease or age, and rich people will pay a lot for them. She said by the time I left, I would have enough to make a fine perruque which would fund my travels.”

  “An interesting tale.”

  Eanje knew it did not explain why she would be in fear of someone cutting off her hair, but she hoped it would satisfy him for now. She did not want to remember the other occasions when she had lost it. Settling back into his arms, she asked him to tell her something of his childhood.

  He stroked her hair as he related one of his earliest memories, and she recognised Oxford from his description.

  Unless she imagined it, he deliberately chose a deep, soothing tone which seemed to flow over her skin like a warm caress, producing all manner of pleasurable sensations, relaxing her mind and body.

  As her eyelids drooped, she imagined she heard a noise outside the room, but it sounded slight – the scuffling of a small animal, perhaps.

  3 – Waxing Moon

  Waxing Gibbous moon: between half and full, a powerful time, particularly for spiritual development. A good time for money, love and protection spells.

  Eanje

  The following morn, she awoke to the sound of uproar and staggered out to the main room to find Jarl the subject of everyone’s ire.

  Senna fussed over him, cleaning a river of blood from the wound in his head, bemoaning the fact she had to tear up her only underskirt to create a bandage.

  No stranger to such sights, Eanje did not understand the prickling sensation which swept through her body, making her scalp tingle. Nor the way her legs buckled, unable to support her weight.

  Lyran caught her before she swooned to the ground, helping her to the bench and gesturing to Bryce for a beaker of water.

  He handed it over with a chuckle, directing his comment at Jarl. “’Twas only ever a matter of time before your ugly mug caused a lady to swoon.”

  For once, the soldier had no cheeky riposte, submitting to his wife’s anything-but-gentle ministrations with no comment as she chided him. “I don’t know what it is about this place which makes people run off to do dangerous things. First Eanje, now you.”

  “Catching a horse, dangerous? I’ve done it many times.”

  “Maybe in the other place, but not here. I cannot believe you would try something so daft on your own.”

  “Something woke me and I couldn’t get back to sleep. I thought if we had a horse we could bring back much more stone from the quarry.”

  “Exactly how were you planning to keep it here without fences or stables? Were you going to lock it in the church?”

  He shrugged. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I suppose I thought to tether it to a tree.”

  “So you’d already made a bridle, then?” The look on Senna’s face suggested more behind her questions than the desire to humiliate her husband.

  Jarl’s eyebrows furrowed. “No, I – I …” He stared around the room as though only just realising where he was. “How peculiar. I must have dreamed of being back in the old place. I definitely remember picking up a bridle. And a couple of oatencakes.”

  Tasker walked in. “I swear I saw a black horse munching on the grass. Where did he come from?”

  Lyran’s sheepish expression suggested he had not meant to cause such contention. “Sorry, Senna. I should have told you before now.” He addressed Jarl directly. “You were not imagining things, cuz. I got Shayla and Quinn to pack a few hides with some of the things we cannot manufacture here yet, but cannot do what we have to without them.”

  “Aye, and very useful they were, yesterday.” Bryce nodded. “We managed to create a couple of carts to help us move the stones more easily.”

  “And the chisels have helped no end to break up the larger stones. We might make some progress now.”

  “I didn’t imagine the bridle?” Jarl’s relief was comical.

  “Nor the oatencakes. My apologies, dear husband. I could not reconcile such rash behaviour with the man I know. I worried something in the ale might have addled your brain.”

  “So when you call me reckless …” He grinned as she blushed.

  “Maybe I should say fearless. But you would never go into danger without working out the risks first.” She slid a sideways glance. “Unless your mind was not your own.”

  “Well, we cannot sit around here worrying after Jarl’s welfare when we have so much work. It is probably as well you spend another day on light duties, cuz.”

  This time, Jarl did not protest. “Fine. If you have a knife, there are many things I can do to improve our lot. Or I could see about fetching another horse …”

  “No!” Both Senna and Lyran spoke together.

  “We have nowhere to keep them for now. Best you do not frighten them off. Exactly how did you get the gash? Tell me you didn’t try to mount it?”

  “I’m not that daft. It was nothing to do with the horse; I merely tripped on a root and an ash trunk broke my fall.”

  As Senna handed out the bundles of food she had prepared for each man, Eanje spotted her exchanging an eloquent glance with Lyran, its meaning clear. “Keep an eye on him.”

  They started the day with another foraging expedition, exploring the fields on the other side of the village. They came across a meadow where the nettles had grown tall and stringy. Jarl described a technique which would allow them to extract the long fibres, but first they needed to find a way of harvesting them without getting stung. “Some kind of scythe, I think.”

  “I
could fashion some mittens to protect our hands.”

  “Mitten? What I need is a gauntlet.”

  “I’m not thinking of thin linen gloves. I imagined making something more robust from cow hide.”

  “And maybe fold it double to stiffen them.” Eanje tried to support her friend.

  Jarl wouldn’t let it rest, teasing her about ribbons and bows as they continued down toward Silbury Hill.

  There they discovered their best find yet – a small orchard. The pears had all gone, and any remaining plums were brown with decay and spotted with yeasts which Jarl said would make a fine wine. The ground was littered with apples, and the women exclaimed with delight, gathering the fallen fruit.

  Helping herself to one of the reddest apples, Eanje bit into the crisp flesh, savouring the burst of sweetness on her tongue. “This is wonderful, much nicer than the ones I remember from home.”

  Jarl tried one, frowning. “It is exactly the same.”

  “Do you not think the texture is much creamier?”

  Senna smiled at her. “I thought so, too. And the flavour is different. Smokier, somehow.”

  “The very word I sought. More like honey.”

  “Tastes like an apple to me.” Jarl glanced from one to the other, evidently not sure whether they were having a jest at his expense.

  Eanje swapped a covert glance with Senna which suggested some of the differences between men and women would never alter. However, they appreciated his help and practical advice as they discussed the most pressing tasks.

  Senna bemoaned the lack of jars for preserving the fruit, but Eanje remembered the latticework shelves the gardener made so the apples would not touch each other.

  “We kept them in a wooden box outside the house, and the apples were still fresh and juicy at Imbolc.”

  “I think you are just thinking of another use for those willow branches of yours.” Senna smiled.

  “That’s perfect. The willow will add her healing energy. You are so clever. And all the branches which have hardened on the ground will be perfect for this.” As they walked, her mind brimmed with possibilities. “And we can use the fallen branches from other trees to make a framework for the shelves to sit upon.”

  “No doubt bound together by more willow strands.” Jarl winked at Senna. “If I were that poor tree, I’d be gathering up my branches and making a run for it. She’ll have none left by the time you have finished.”

  “Don’t be such a fool. You know full well the ground is littered with unwanted branches. I don’t know who decided it is a man’s duty to tease women so, but sometimes I wish you would take the task a little less seriously.”

  “Well said, sister.” Senna winked at Eanje. “He is not as good a jester as he thinks.”

  “Ganging up on me? That’s not fair. You will miss me tomorrow when I’m out working with the men.”

  When they reached the river, he bade them to continue back without him.

  Senna frowned. “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere dangerous. I’ll probably be back before you.”

  “So we’ll wait.” She folded her arms.

  He gave a little-boy pout. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “After this morn, I want no more surprises. I would rather know you were not doing something reckless.”

  “I am merely going to catch a couple of fish for our supper. Even I cannot be in danger tickling trout.”

  “Apologies, husband mine. I never meant to cast aspersions on your talents, I merely fear losing you.”

  Her passion clearly mollified him, but he shooed her away grumpily. “Away with ye. Your scolding is scaring away the fish. I promise I’ll be back before you have had time to make an infusion.”

  He pretended to endure her hug, with impatience, but Eanje could tell his wife’s concern delighted him. She shook her head. Men! How they loved to tease.

  As predicted, his return came several minutes before the water had heated sufficiently for an infusion, and he delighted in both women’s praise for the three fish.

  With harmony restored, the good-natured banter continued as they turned their efforts to milling, baking and preparing an even more complex meal which included Jarl’s trout, baked in lime leaves with some wild garlic and mushrooms, served with Bryce’s tasty bread twists.

  The centrepiece had to be the pudding. Apples baked with rowan and elderberries, wrapped in clover root leaves, with a few roots adding a pungent, clove-like flavour.

  Lyran tried a sip of the ale, declaring it passable, so they all had a small beaker with the meal, celebrating another successful day.

  One of the consequences of their recent experiences was the frequent need for comfort and reassurance, resulting in many hugs. The shared trauma had formed a strong bond among the first six to make it through to this new place, and they sat around the small fire, sharing tales of the day with another beaker of the ale.

  Bryce stood first, declaring it had been a long, hard, day. “I’ll be away tae me cot.”

  Senna and Jarl followed shortly after and Tasker made his excuses, citing an early start on the morrow.

  When he stumbled outside, Eanje chuckled. “Poor man. I don’t think he’s ever forgiven me for tipping a beaker of ale over his head.”

  Lyran grinned. “That was him? Jarl told me about the incident, but I never connected it to Tasker. It explains why he doesn’t know how to behave around you. He’s never as tongue-tied with Senna.”

  “Maybe he’s worried I will do it again.”

  “Why would you? Unless, of course, he manhandles you again.”

  “I can’t see him trying. Unless, of course, he has more than a couple of beakers of your falling down juice.”

  He sniffed the brew before quaffing the lot. “It is rather potent. Maybe we malted the barley too long.”

  Having no idea about the process for ale-making, she merely shrugged, watching as Tasker return to his cot.

  The silence stretched into minutes as Lyran stared into the dying flames, his mind on something she suspected had nothing to do with ale. Her ears snagged on various small sounds of the place settling down as the other four fell asleep. The general shuffling, whispering and rustling gradually hushed to deep, even breathing and snores.

  Lyran’s move came as a surprise; he held her in a bear hug as he had the night before. “Tell me what happened when you left the convent.”

  She stiffened. “Why?”

  “Because I want to rid you of those memories which turned that bright, beautiful girl into the sort of woman who would drown a man in his own ale.”

  “I never did …” Her voice sounded loud in the quiet and she lowered it. “I would rather not relive that horror.”

  “Only tell me as much or little as you are comfortable with. If you remember, you need to relax and loosen your mind and be guided by my questions. Are you comfortable here?”

  The thought of either Bryce or Tasker hearing the details chilled her skin, so they relocated to her cot, where she lay in his comforting arms, and he covered them with a hide to ward off the chill, away from the fire’s warmth.

  He asked her to recall her favourite time at the convent, and she described teaching a class of young novates, helping them to see the truth and beauty in the geometrical patterns in the floor tiles in the Abbey.

  “It sounds rewarding. How old were you?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “I thought they only took students until their fourteenth birthday.”

  “Normally, yes. But when father journeyed, my grandfather refused to have anything to do with me. I was lucky to have impressed the Abbess, and she kept me on to teach the younger girls.”

  “I don’t believe luck came into it.” He paused. “Sorry. I interrupted. Why did you leave?”

  She swallowed. “Th – the Abbess had been poorly for a while, and she died shortly after my sixteenth birthday.”

  “That must have been difficult.”

  Eanje nodded, her head
bobbing against his chest. “She was in so much pain in the last few moons she refused to see anyone except me. Some of the other nuns were resentful. Especially the one who took over from her.”

  “So she tried to get rid of you.”

  “Not merely tried; she succeeded. Papa had not returned from his last trip and she offered my services to nobles.”

  “Trying to ingratiate herself, no doubt.”

  “Certainly. She was a much younger woman with social ambitions and no scruples about how she achieved her aims. In theory, I was hired as a governess to a baron’s three youngest children.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “Except they were spoiled beyond measure and directed in their malicious schemes by a vindictive older sister.”

  “I can imagine. But in reality …?”

  “She sold me for my purity. To an impotent old man and his twisted son.”

  He drew in breath sharply.

  “They were very clever to begin with; the baron would act very strict, while his son pretended to woo me with sympathy and tender smiles.” Pausing, she realised the possibility of more than just the two men being party to her debasement. She continued in a flat voice. “The baroness forced me to wear what she called a uniform, but the kirtle barely fitted – as though cast off from her daughter. The first time he tore it off me, I had to stand there and stitch it up again …” Her breath hitched.

  He said nothing, merely held her as she described the awful things the pair of them had forced her to do, always in the name of repentance for her sins.

  “I had never had so much a kiss when he … when they …” She could not bring herself to say the words aloud. “The names they called me hurt the most – all the time they said I was dirty and sinful and unworthy.” Her voice cracked on the last word and she gave in to the cleansing, healing tears.

  As he held her, she became aware of him as a man in a way she never had before. Previously, he had always been Senna’s husband, and therefore untouchable. Since he had died and been reborn into this new world, the relationship between them had changed. It had to.