Several weeks earlier, their paths had crossed in the market square. Freydis was as tall as her sire, a Rider of great renown; and Éowyn had caught a glimpse of her flaxen hair and had hurried across the square to greet her. Years before, Éowyn had met this woman during a journey to Aldburg, and now they had embraced like long-lost comrades. Freydis had asked Éowyn to honor her home with a visit, so they had walked together to an ancient house in the second circle. There, over wine and cakes, Éowyn had heard the tale of how Fréawine's daughter had come to live in Mundberg.
Freydis' first husband had been a Rider from the Eastmark, but his luck had run out during a night patrol along the Anduin. Freydis had been left a widow with three young children. Her second husband had caught her eye as he rode into Aldburg, sitting with careless ease on a tall, clean-limbed horse. "A handsome pair of bays," Freydis had told Éowyn with a throaty laugh. "He is one of the errand-riders, and a fine horseman for a man of Gondor." Since Freydis' second marriage, two more children had joined the troop.
Two husbands and five babes? She is an old campaigner, Éowyn told herself as she hurried to the second circle. The charred shells of houses still stood where the Enemy's missiles had fallen; in the narrow streets, the bodyguard followed close at her heels. The last of the orcs had long since been hunted from these ruins, but still this was a desolate place. At Freydis' house, a great boarhound kept watch. The beast lifted his black head then rose to his feet and growled warily as they walked under the arch of the doorway. As was the custom in Gondor, a walled courtyard stood between the house and the street. Clay pots of flowering lavender and marigolds nestled beside the sun-warmed walls. Water dripped through the cracked basin of the fountain and trickled in a dark line across the paving stones. Two boys chattered loudly in the mingled tongues of Gondor and the Mark as they tried to build a dam from mud and sticks. Their heads nearly touched as they bent over their work; the one was dark-haired and the other flaxen-pale. So will it be with our children, Éowyn thought, and a longing that was tinged with sadness caught at her heart as she watched them.
"Good day," she called out. "Is your noble mother within?" She tried not to smile as the boys scrambled to their feet and bowed their heads shyly. Their arms were plastered to the elbow with mud.
"Wilcume, Hlæfdige Hwite. You honor our house with this visit," the elder of the two replied with grave courtesy. "And greetings to you, Captain Haldan, sir," he said to the bodyguard in the Common Speech. The boarhound paced and watched them closely, as the younger boy ran to fetch his mother.
Éowyn was led to the seat of honor, a carved oaken chair. The long table was crowded with baskets of fresh vegetables, ready to be cleaned and stored in the cellar. As the two women partook of wine and honey cakes, they spoke of the small doings of their households and the latest news from the Mark. Through an open window, Éowyn watched the children playing in the courtyard. The earthworks had been abandoned; now Freydis' muddy sons were perched on the edge of the fountain, trying to push each other in. The bodyguard stood among the pots of lavender and pretended to sharpen a throwing knife.
Freydis followed her glance out the window. "I pray that your offspring are not as wild as those two. They are half Eorling, half Gondorian, and half troll. Enjoy a peaceful household while you may, my lady. The babes will arrive soon enough." Freydis tilted her head to one side and raised an eyebrow. "Though you have hardly touched that wine, and I deem you look a bit pale. Perhaps you already have a loaf in the oven, as we used to say in Aldburg."
Laughing at this frank speech, Éowyn replied, "No, I am not yet with child." Her heart felt lighter as she spoke the words; for it seemed a great relief to speak at last of this matter. Better this forthright questioning than the sidelong glances of the ladies of the court.
"Well, it has been no more than a month since your wedding, for the moon was then just one night past his full. Indeed, I would be surprised if you had conceived so soon. You do know to stay away from certain foods?"
"No, I had not heard it." Indeed, Éowyn wondered what else she did not know.
"After your lady mother was gone, who was there to teach you such things? Pomegranates and figs will cause you to miscarry. Likewise candied angelica. Oh, and the chance of making a child is better if the man lies on top."
Éowyn nodded, trying to hide her surprise. The man need not lie on top?
"And after you lie with your husband, put your feet up on a pillow. That is said to help the seed to run toward the womb, though I know not if it is true. You can also tell your husband that he has to rub your back and bring you warm spiced wine."
"That will help with the begetting?"
"No, but I like it and he does not know any better."
Éowyn pondered these words for a moment; she had much to learn about being a wife. But now the time seemed ripe to broach the matter of her errand. "Never did I care if men found me pleasing. I fled their soft words and hungry eyes." She tried not to shudder as she thought of Grima Wormtongue. "And I deemed that the coupling of man and woman was little more than the mounting of a mare. Yet now that I am wed, I see that I was mistaken." In a low voice, she added, "I fear that he must find me sadly lacking, no match for other women he has known. When we lie in bed, I know not what to do."
Shaking her head, Freydis smiled and said, "Trust me, my lady, a husband's needs are very simple, be he Steward or errand-rider. You are young and fair, and it is plain to see that Lord Faramir is happily bedded. He has that stunned look, as if a pole axe had struck him in the head. I deem that your worry is needless, but I will be glad to offer what counsel I may."
With the heavy grinding of wheels on stone, a cart rolled down the street, while in the courtyard, the two boys shouted as they splashed their feet in the fountain. Fréawine's daughter sat in silent thought; then with a short laugh, she reached into a basket on the table and pulled out a long cucumber. Grasping the vegetable at its base and holding it aloft, Freydis said, "This looks like…just like what it looks like. To make a man happy, just grab it at the bottom and –"
Éowyn laughed, even as she felt her face turning red. Waving the cucumber and a head of cabbage, Freydis taught her the surprising ways that vegetables could cavort in their beds. Indeed, Éowyn learned that the woman need not lie planted on her back nor need she be as lifeless as a wilted leaf of cabbage. Éowyn thought that vegetables would never look the same to her.
Then Freydis led her to the small kitchen garden and showed her herbs whose very smell would fill a man with desire. Sharp-scented branches were cut and put in a basket. Freydis also told her the names of foodstuffs which, by their very shape or taste, caused lustful urges. "Though luring men to bed is rarely a struggle," the good wife added with a laugh. Giggling like a pair of young maids, they pulled up long carrots and hairy leeks from the garden bed.
"I deem the steward of Gondor will be surprised tonight." Freydis brandished a cucumber like a sword.
"I know not how to thank you," Éowyn said. "For you have given me the counsel of a friend." She remembered the lonely years at Edoras, when no one had shared her hopes and fears, and she drew the other woman into a quick embrace.
The shadows were growing long in the courtyard, so she bid Freydis and her sons farewell. Ignoring the bodyguard's protests, she carried the precious basket on one hip. After stopping in the market square to buy certain foodstuffs, Éowyn turned her steps to the seventh circle, hurrying toward her husband and home.
To be continued…
Note: "Wilcume, Hlæfdige Hwite is Anglo-Saxon for "Welcome, White Lady." At least, I hope it is. Any grammatical errors are mine.
Many thanks to Raksha for beta-reading this story!
