In An Age Before – Part 205
Chapter One Hundred thirty-four
The Mylnweard, the Ferrière, and the Orch – The Third Age of the Sun
Much changed for the Northmen with the return of King Marhwini and Captain Hrólfr from the wars in the south and the east. The king and his cavalry had gleaned not only glory, but four hundred fifty-seven horses. Most of these were lighter mounts than those to which the riders were accustomed, but they proved blessed with great speed and endurance, and their bloodlines were treasured amongst the Northmen after.
From the East Bight had come seven hundred and thirty-nine liberated slaves, and these were welcomed as sundered kin. Indeed no few were reunited with blood relatives in their new home, parents, or aunts and uncles left behind decades aforetime, that found the children whose escapes they had ensured. Some now had nephews and nieces, or grand nephews and grand nieces in whom they rejoiced. Younger freed men and women discovered cousins, or aging aunts and uncles amongst the settlements in the Vale of Anduin. And though some were disappointed to find no kin in their new home, none of them were sorry to have left slavery behind.
The newcomers were granted plots of land and stocks of seed if they knew the ways of farming, or donated animals to breed if they knew livestock. Captain Hrólfr recalled the willing valor of a particular family he had met early in the rebellion, and he brought them south from Nýr Vera to aid him in furthering a notion he had contemplated since 1897 when he had first seen Norðr-vestandóttir's farm.
…the woman's farm was built 'round a core of 'nigh twenty acres, and could support a company of thirty riders, or perhaps a score of knights and their families, more if some fought afoot. She could probably double that if she had but a half-dozen field hands to aid her at farming. 'Twas potentially a lordly estate capable of projecting significant military power, a safeguard to protect the mill and his southern flank.
Seated in the bed of a wagon were an old man, once a soldier and vassal of Lord Álfvinr, two elderly women, a wife, a son, and two daughters. Riding beside him was the farmer who had taken up his father-in-law's sword and shied not in battle. For forty-three years that family had nursed a dream, and when the time came, they had helped to make it come true.
"I bring ye to the farm of Norðr-vestandóttir," the captain said. "She farms twenty acres, both crops and livestock, as ye shall see. We deem her the most successful farmer in Nýr Vera, yet she manages all unaided. I would see her have experienced help for a while, for her crops shall support many of those newcome 'til they are established in their own right."
At this, the farmer stared at Hrólfr. This Northwestern Daughter farmed twenty acres alone? Farms were the undertaking of whole families and even a young Man could but scratch out a subsistence living if he worked the land unaided. From a lone woman, perhaps growing some vegetables or the gathering of fruits and nuts to enrich the table could be expected. He began to suspect that the lord would use his family to bail out a struggling vassal, perhaps one who had recently lost a husband, and 'twas not the new start he had envisioned.
"My lord, we are accustomed to tilling our own land and managing our own affairs. To start our abiding in this new land as tenants to another was not our hope," he said.
"Tell me, Ierþling¹, what yield of wheat would thou expect from two acres?" Hrólfr asked. ¹(Ierþling, Ploughman Old English)
"In the Bight we harvested twenty-five stone per acre, so fifty stone of wheat berries, or seven hundred pounds of flour, more or less."
Captain Hrólfr nodded to the Man, recalling the account that Norðr-vestandóttir had given of her crop yields.
"In 1897, she claimed that from two acres each of wheat, rye, oats, and lucerne, she harvested 'two hundred twenty stone of wheat flour, one hundred fifty stone of rye flour, two hundred stone of oat groats, and of the lucerne, supplemental forage for the horses, cows, and sheep through the winter and early spring.' In that same year, she had o'er thirty horses, 'nigh thirty milk cows, twenty-five sheep, and countless chickens. That was shortly after a grist mill was established downstream and she had doubled her tillage. With thy aid, I would see her double it again."
Ierþling gave Hrólfr a look of disbelief. Such yields were o'er four times what farmers in the East Bight had expected from their fields. He doubted the soil or the weather were so different on this side of the forest. Perhaps the seed was better? He could only guess, but his skepticism was foremost. He decided he would only know for sure when he examined the farm himself. 'Til then, he would enjoy the ride. The woods here were more open than the forest had been. Rather than an eternal twilight, the sun shone down 'twixt branches and trunks and he suffered not the oppressive and threatening atmosphere he had felt whilst standing on the eaves of so great a bastion of trees. 'Twas not so forbidding or strange here, and though he could pinpoint no single cause, his heart felt lighter in this land. Aforetime, he had simply ascribed that emotion to being free.
They rode through an open space 'twixt fence posts amidst the trees, where split rails led off out of sight in both directions. Ierþling was surprised to find no gate. As they passed through, they were hailed from the woods outside the fence. Turning, they saw a tall hunter of 'round thirty, with cloak and trousers of drab green, black boots, well worn but carefully shined, bearing a powerful bow and a quiver of arrows o'er his shoulder. A game bag hung from his other shoulder and swung at his waist.
"Good day to thee, my lord," the hunter said, offering a graceful if somewhat theatrical bow to Captain Hrólfr.
"Good day, Master Ivar¹," the captain said with a smile, "how goes thy hunt?" ¹(Ivar, Archer Old Norse)
The hunter laughed and replied, "as e'er, I seek after the white hart, yet I shall be glad of his lesser kin this day. I have but snared a coney thus far."
"A meal in thy bag is worth two in the bush," Hrólfr said, to which both Men chuckled.
At the look of alarm on Ierþling's face, the captain asked, "what if thou should be blessed to come upon the white stag after all these years, Ivar?"
"Then I should look upon him in wonder and thanksgiving," the hunter said, offering a grin and a wink. "My hunt for him is…philosophical."
The look of relief on the farmer's face was well 'nigh comical to the captain, but he stifled his mirth and bid the archer a successful hunt. By then, the two daughters had been whispering and giggling 'twixt themselves, deeming the hunter quite handsome, with a rascally mien.
They parted from Ivar and continued on through the woods, and after several furlongs, passed from 'neath the trees and rode alongside a hillock that stood to their west. Ahead lay the river, whilst a short ways to their east they saw another gap in the fence as it ran down to the bank. Hrólfr led them west on a track beside the water, and they soon passed a copse of trees surrounded by a sprawling bramble of raspberry and blackberry whose shoots and branches were laden with fruit. Another furlong off, a couple dozen horses watched their approach and then walked away to the north.
"She shall know of our approach now," the captain said, prompting questioning looks from the farmer and his family.
'Round the hillock they rode, and there before them was the herd of horses and their first view of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý. Ierþling and his family saw the cabin with its stockpile of firewood and the three apple trees shading it. They saw the vegetable garden and the field of wildflowers with the beehives on stilts. There was a small smokehouse with a light haze wafting from its thatched roof, and further, split rail fencing surrounding a field of wheat, thick and lush and green, and heavy with seed heads waving in a slight breeze. The density of the plants was itself a shock to them. A young woman came towards them from 'round the corner of the cabin, carrying a basket of eggs. She set the basket down on the doorstep of the cabin and then walked towards them as they came 'nigh.
"Good day to thee, my Lord Hrólfr," she said, offering the captain a bow.
"Good day to thee, Norðr-vestandóttir. How fare thee this day?"
"One of the milk cows calved this morn, a late season heifer, and so I deem 'tis a fine day," she said, a smile on her face. She looked o'er the strangers and nodded to acknowledge them. "I see thou hast brought company, my lord."
"Aye, this is Ierþling," he said, nodding towards the Man riding beside him, "his mother, wife, wife's parents, son, and daughters. They have come from the East Bight where they were farmers aforetime."
"Welcome," Norðr-vestandóttir said. "Have ye chosen to settle in Nýr Vera?"
At her question, the farmer only shrugged and his mother gave him a sharp look. His son was still staring at the horses and one of his daughters sighed whilst the other rolled her eyes.
The old Man said, "aye", whilst his wife said, "nay."
Puzzled, Norðr-vestandóttir looked back and forth 'twixt them. They looked to each other in uncertainty, and finally looked to Hrólfr, as if to say, 'you explain this'.
The old captain stifled a groan, collected his thoughts, and then proceeded to diplomacy.
"I have a proposal for ye that I hope shall be of benefit to all involved," he said. "Norðr-vestandóttir, for forty-three years thou hast managed thy farm alone and I doubt not that 'tis a mighty labor. Thou hast had great success, indeed more so than any of us, and thou hast already given much to our people, yet now I would ask more of thee whilst providing thee aid at the same time."
The woman had hearkened to him and stood regarding him with her full attention, head slightly cocked to the side, even ignoring the thumb-sized honey bee that circled her face and alighted for a moment in her hair. The family blinked, thinking they had misheard…forty-three years? She looked to be no more than twenty-five.
"Pray explain, my lord," she said, disputing none of his words, "thou know I shall aid our people as I can."
Hrólfr nodded to her. Much of the wheat and all of the honey and berries in the cram that had fed his four hundred rebels had come from her farm.
"This family I would settle with thee, at least for a while. I would that they learn your ways of farming whilst thou gain aid from their labor. They were farmers in the East Bight and know tillage. Ierþling fought valiantly in the East Bight Rebellion. Eadmundr¹, his father-in-law, was a soldier of my comrade Lord Álfvinr." ¹(Eadmundr, Edmond Old Norse)
Norðr-vestandóttir nodded that she understood. If the family were already farmers, she was uncertain of what more she could teach them, and she had little need of added labor, for she already grew far more than she required. Housing would have to be built for the family of eight, and that would require a lot of wood. Trees would have to be felled and the logs sawn, thatching gathered, and yet more firewood cut. Stone would have to be stacked for a hearth. In her mind's eye, she reckoned the labor of accommodating them was greater than the labor they could offer. Still, Hrólfr had been her friend now for many years and she could scarce refuse her lord.
"My lord, I shall do what I can," she said simply, adding a dip of her head in respect. "I shall have to fence another hundred acres of woodland to provide for construction ere winter and firewood after."
Captain Hrólfr nodded his agreement to her request. 'Twas reasonable considering the added resources required by eight souls, and in any case, none of them yet lived in a keep of stone.
Eadmundr had closely watched all that had come to pass 'twixt the woman and her lord. The ease with which she had agreed to house and feed eight strangers, and then requested a grant of land greater than the hamlet his family had lived in, was a shock by itself. The lord's ready agreement was just as telling. 'Twas not the expected exchange 'twixt a young vassal and an aging lord; indeed 'twas more akin to the speech of peers and kin. The old soldier was intrigued.
Having agreed their course, Hrólfr dismounted and walked a short distance away with Norðr-vestandóttir that they might speak in privacy. They looked as if they could be father and daughter, or perhaps uncle and niece.
"I know thou need not their aid, and indeed the need is far more on their part. By whate'er skills, thou hast long exceeded the yields of any others amongst us, and I would have them learn 'aught that thou can teach of crops and livestock. Some day, I would that all our farmers increase in their yields that our realm can support more people and a stronger defense. Men who spend half their time tilling the earth have not the grace to be full time soldiers, scribes, teachers, healers, or 'aught else that enriches a society without directly providing a meal.
More than this though, I saw the hidden potential in thy estate, Norðr-vestandóttir. Being able to provide for many gives thee the opportunity to have many seek thy patronage. The position of thy farm is important too. It could one day guard the south of Nýr Vera, and certainly the mill. 'Twas only by chance that the Yrch came to Gamall Vera in 1871, rather than here. The next attack might not pass thee by. If such should happen one day, I would that thou art able to defend this place, bread basket of our settlement."
Norðr-vestandóttir looked at the old lord in surprise. She had ne'er thought of her farm as a potential defensive position, yet it made sense. With more food could come more people, and some of them would be soldiers. She recalled the night in 1871 when all those she had known were slain in spite of both she and the captain's company riding to Vera's aid. To forestall such a catastrophe coming to pass again, the woman would do much. Yet she reckoned there was more in the lord's intent.
"Thou would make of my farm a fort, and of me, its lady?" She asked, looking to the captain in shock.
"Aye, that I would," Hrólfr admitted. "Despite thy appearance of youth, we are akin in age, and though our paths have differed, thou hast proven capable of ordering a place by thy will, and thou hast e'er supported the needs of our people. What more could one ask of their liege?"
"But…I know not my kin, nor the standing of their house," she protested. For a moment she recalled the kindly Lord Khamûl she had once met. Ere she knew 'aught about him, she had felt the aura of authority that surrounded him. "I would feel a pretender should I adopt some title."
Yet the captain waved away her concern.
"Norðr-vestandóttir, of all the princely houses of Rhovanion, dost thou know how many have survived to this day?" He asked. When she shook her head, 'nay', he answered, "two only, the royal house of King Marhwini, and mine. Many centuries ago, they were founded by those most powerful, most wealthy, most lucky, or most conniving of their times. Their names are lost now, yet 'twas e'er about power. We have come to a new land and leaders of merit are few. 'Tis the perfect time to found a noble line."
He chuckled at the look of astonishment on her face.
"Think on it," he said, ere he walked back to the wagon where the family had dismounted and stood in the yard staring 'round. "I believe Norðr-vestandóttir shall begin by giving ye a tour."
He hitched the horses that he and Ierþling had ridden to the back of the wagon, and then mounted to the bench and turned the team. As he drove away, he saw Norðr-vestandóttir shake her head and break from her paralysis. She marched o'er to the family and began talking to them, gesturing to the cabin. They walked o'er and she reclaimed the basket of eggs as he passed out of sight.
Just as Lord Hrólfr had expected, Norðr-vestandóttir began her orientation of Eadmundr's extended family by giving them a tour of the farm. It gave her time to regain some sense of normalcy following the unsettling discussion with the captain. Truth be told, she had ne'er really pondered the distinction 'twixt nobles and commoners, having e'er assigned herself to the latter. Of course, she admitted to herself that the nobility must have arisen from something. Eru had not decreed who amongst Men would be rulers and who would be vassals, so far as she had e'er heard tell. Still, Hrólfr's assertion that, 'many centuries ago, (the noble houses), were founded by those most powerful, most wealthy, most lucky, or most conniving of their times. Their names are lost now, yet 'twas e'er about power', struck her as a bit cynical. Could they not instead have been the most courageous, the most just, or the most steadfast of their times? Yet if their names were lost to the years, none would e'er know. She sighed and answered yet another question from Ierþling on how she maintained the fertility of her fields year after year.
During their tour, she came to realize that the farmer and his family were actually quite knowledgeable. 'Twas just that their expectations were low, their resources had been lacking, and their motivation had been dictated by surviving in spite of their hated o'erlords.
They came to a paddock, one of the few they had seen that was gated and wholly fenced, and there stood an old stallion, grazing at his leisure. When he saw Norðr-vestandóttir, he raised his head and walked o'er to the fence to greet her. The family saw his swayed back and the resulting prominence of his withers, as well as his reduced muscle mass. As he came 'nigh, they marked the wear on his teeth, the forward angling of his incisors, and the grey hairs 'round his face and in his mane and tail.
The horse came and laid his neck o'er the fence to nuzzle the woman, and she stroked his cheeks and rubbed 'round his ears as he blew on her. She offered him apple slices, juicy and fresh from the tree.
"Annar-hestr¹, how art thou, old friend?" She asked. ¹(Annar-hestr, Second stallion Old Norse)
The aging horse produced a soft whiffle and butted her hand, seeking another treat.
"I have not seen a horse so aged," Ierþling said. "The Wainriders culled them for leather and meat at 20 years."
"His sire was Hestr-einn, the first colt born on my farm in the spring of 1857, and the first that I rode. Annar-einn was foaled here in 1865."
The horse standing before them was thirty-four years old.
"'Tis thirteen years since he bore a rider, and for another four he loved to run. I would come and run with him, 'round and 'round the paddock. These past couple years he has not broken from a trot. I think his time is soon to come." There was genuine sadness in her eyes.
The family was silent. Forty-two years had passed since her first colt had been born here. The woman looked to be no more than twenty-five and yet, she must be in her late-sixties, as old as Ierþling's mother and his wife's parents. They recalled Hrólfr's words as they had first greeted her…for forty-three years thou hast managed thy farm alone. They had not believed 'aught he had said and had put the claim out of mind.
Eadmundr believed he now understood more clearly the interaction 'twixt the lord and the farmer. They were indeed of an age, but peers? He thought not. Hrólfr clearly showed his age, whilst she did not. Surely she must have Dúnedain blood in her veins, the people of the kings.
Some of that folk he had met at The Battle of the Plains; a knight who looked thirty and had been eighty-seven, and his captain who counted one hundred thirty-two winters and looked forty-five. King Narmacil had been one hundred seventy-two when he was slain in battle in 1856, still fell and far from dotard. She shall outlive my granddaughters, the old soldier thought. With that, he came to a decision about the family's prospects.
"Norðr-vestandóttir, t'would please us greatly to aid thee in thy farming, if thou would have us," he said, drawing looks from his wife and son-in-law telling of a future discussion to be had.
The woman looked him in the eyes and then dipped her head to honor his offer.
"If thou art resolved in this, then I accept thy aid with gladness and shall do what I can to elevate thy station," she said. She saw the family members nod their agreement, some with more certainty than others.
In that simple exchange of offer and acceptance, Norðr-vestandóttir acquired the allegiance of her first vassals and offered the patronage of a gentlewoman. In other realms and stations the words were formal oaths of fealty, but what was spoken on that day was taken no less seriously by the principals.
More subtle was the increasing inclusion of the woman in the feudal society of the Northmen. 'Twas Hrólfr's wish, promoted on behalf of his king, to bring Norðr-vestandóttir into the nobility, for he deemed a title would cost his lord less than the benefits of her potential to the realm. She had long claimed her farmland and her aid had been freely forthcoming. Yet now she had accepted eight of her king's subjects as dependants, and received a grant of land from the crown. He deemed she simply needed focus and time would do the rest. As the requirements of supporting the newcomers decreased, so her surpluses would increase, as would her capacity to mount a defense of his own fief, Nýr Vera. All this, his son and the king's heir would inherit, and thereby solidify the stability and strength of the realm.
Now of the other spoils of war, the Easterling horses taken on Dagorlad were reserved for the first two years, for by the king's decree, these would be bred to mingle bloodlines with the lineages of Anduin ere they were passed along to private owners.
Of those matings came many foals the following spring, and in the second year, yet more cross bred foals were born. These proved less diminished in stature than some had feared, but were changed somewhat in form, being more gracile than their western parents, yet possessed of greater speed, agility, and endurance as a legacy from the east. They tended to be calmer in temperament than some of the Northmen's war horses, and for the most part, highly intelligent. If 'aught was to be complained about, 'twas that if neglected, they would become bored and amuse themselves at human expense. For those who paid them heed, trained, and worked with them daily, they proved quick learners and eventually, helpful and attentive companions.
In his wisdom, King Marhwini had also preserved the eastern bloodline undiluted. Tending his herd of purebred Easterling steeds became a full time occupation for him. In those years, 1899 and 1900, he gradually ceded the responsibility of rule to his heir, and Prince Forthwini was able to gain experience without having the crown suddenly thrust upon him 'neath duress, as had been the case for his sire. In his final act as lord of the Northmen, he formalized the name of his people as the Éothéod, the Horse-People. By 1901, Marhwini son of Marhari had effectively retired to his horse farm outside of Nýrheim and Forthwini was acknowledged king.
For all her aid in the wars, the old and new kings gave Norðr-vestandóttir their thanks. Each of those years, with her new farm hands and their neighbor the miller, she had arranged to send two hundred stone of wheat flour, one hundred fifty stone of rye flour, and one hundred eighty stone of oat groats for the making of cram, cooked cereal, and the baking of bread. To increase the wholesomeness and appeal of what was baked, she sent ten gallons of honey, six bushels each of dried blackberries and raspberries, and ten bushels of dried sliced apples. The woman sent cheeses and carded wool, potatoes and onions, and each day, eggs and milk. Cows, sheep, and chickens she had donated to the resettlement of the new refugees. She left it to others to weave the wool into garments, supply firewood, hunt for meat, make sausages, and provide leather goods.
Eventually, in 1901, to express his thanks for her aid, Marhwini sent her a small breeding herd of six Easterling horses, a stallion, two mares, two yearlings, and a foal. 'Twas the exact same compliment of animals with which she had founded her farm in 1856. With them, for the first time in her experience, came three saddles and full complements of tack. They had been delivered from the old king in Nýrheim to the home of his vassal Lord Hrólfr, and from there were brought to her farm by Rekkr Hrólfrsonr, the new Lord of Nýr Vera. Rekkr greeted Norðr-vestandóttir, for they had become fast in friendship o'er the years, and he offered her a letter from the old king.
She accepted the parchment and read the words in halting fashion, for in this life she had had little cause to spend much time learning her letters.
My greetings to thee, Norðr-vestandóttir, and my thanks for thine unfailing aid to our people recently liberated from the East Bight. In token of thy good deeds, I send to thee these horses of the Eastern stock. They too were liberated from service to our foes, the Wainriders. Pray hold it not against them. I have found them even tempered, swift and tireless, curious, and wise after the fashion of their kind. I pray thee enjoy their company and help them to thrive. Good fortune to thee, Norðr-vestandóttir. ~Marhwini son of Marhari, Fréa Éothéod.
"'Tis a mighty gift the king sends to me," she said, not trying to hide her surprise. "Greatly do I value his generosity, though I deem that I have done 'naught more than any other blessed with good harvests would do."
"Norðr-vestandóttir," Rekkr said, chuckling, "there are no other farmers in Nýr Vera with such good yields from their fields, nor any who grow so many different crops. 'Tis thy generosity our king rewards, yet I deem there is also a deeper intent in his gift."
She cocked her head to him in question.
"He hath sent thee tack to go with these mounts, blankets, saddles, stirrups, headstalls, bits, and reins, and these horses are accustomed to carrying riders whilst attired thus," Rekkr told her. "We all know thou hast e'er ridden bareback, and I deem that the king hopes thou shalt learn to ride our way at last. He sees thee as a great breeder of steeds, and in days to come, perhaps a breeder to the Éoherë¹ as well. Yet for thy horses to carry our Men to war, they must be trained to the saddle as are the Men who shall ride them." ¹(Éoherë, Horse Army replacing the term hors earm Old English)
Norðr-vestandóttir recalled the discomfort of Bláinn son of Glámr when he had been forced to ride two miles bareback to Nýr Vera. Lord Rekkr's reasoning was sound, as was that of King Marhwini. To learn the use of saddles, bridles, and other tack so that it became as second nature to her, she would need to learn it from experienced Northmen and practice it on a daily basis. Her own mounts had ne'er worn any such accoutrements and could not help her learn. And so, having horses accustomed to the saddle was as necessary for her own training as was having the saddles themselves. She nodded to herself.
"Very wise is King Marhwini," she said, "and I shall do my best to honor his wisdom. I shall learn the ways of such tacks as are used by the Éoherë, and I shall learn to ride as do the Éothéod. I pray that someday, horses I have bred and trained shall bear thy riders to great renown and many victories."
Lord Rekkr nodded to her and said, "I shall send a groom and a veteran rider from Nýr Vera to instruct thee, Norðr-vestandóttir, and I doubt not that thou shalt learn these skills as well as all else thou hast learnt aforetime."
"I shall await them, lord," Norðr-vestandóttir said. "My thanks for bringing the horses. They shall find a home here. Pray offer my gratitude to King Marhwini for this opportunity."
And so after forty-five years, it finally came to pass that Norðr-vestandóttir learnt the horsemanship of the Northmen. As the new horses came of age, she accustomed them to accept the halter, to be still or led on a lead rope, to accept the bit and reins, and to carrying weight on their backs. At first 'twas just moving to a touch in those places where her legs would go whilst riding, then the presence of a blanket on the horse's back, and later, the weight of the saddle, the presence and tightening of a girth strap, and finally, the presence of the stirrups. 'Round the time a horse was in its third year, she would lay 'cross its back to accustom it to weight there, and once the horse was comfortable, she would finally mount to the saddle.
In one thing she was advantaged whilst working with the new horses. They saw the trust that her existing herd had in her. They also saw her ride bareback, and so they knew she meant them no harm. That perception of trust was fundamental to her success with them.
Along with the eastern horses and those crossbred with her own herd, Norðr-vestandóttir taught e'ery horse coming of age on her farm to accept the saddle and other tack. After five years, she had a dozen young riding horses that were trained to the saddle, and many more that were not. She had not tried to retrain her older horses that were accustomed to being ridden bareback. Yet 'twixt 1901 when she had received the eastern horses and their tack from Marhwini, and 1906, much had come to pass in Nýr Vera.
True to his word, Lord Rekkr had sent both a groom and a skilled rider of the Éoherë from Nýr Vera to instruct Norðr-vestandóttir in the use, maintenance, and training of horses with the tack of the Northmen. They spent three months coming daily to the farm, and 'neath their intense tutelage she learnt all she needed to know of the basics required to practice riding and training horses in the manner of the Éothéod.
During that time and continuing after, the interest of Ierþling's son Egill in the horses, which had been kindled on his first visit to the farm, grew to an apprenticeship as a stable master. The young teen had followed the groom that Lord Rekkr sent like a puppy, and Norðr-vestandóttir had encouraged him. Ere he turned eighteen in 1904, he was capable of managing the stable of forty-odd horses and seeing to their tack. He was still learning the finer points of training and ministering to horses, from the care of their hooves and hocks, or adjusting their nutrition, to attending the foaling, or arranging the matings and 'aught else the woman could teach him of the care she offered her friends. He learnt all with a tireless thirst, and sensing his genuine devotion to them, the horses came to trust him as they did Norðr-vestandóttir. His parents glowed with pride, seeing that he would become more than a slave who farmed dirt.
Egill's parents, Ierþling and his wife Ælla¹, continued to farm the dirt, but they did it now as freemen. In short order, Ierþling became well 'nigh obsessed with achieving the same yields that Norðr-vestandóttir had coaxed from her fields. He saw no reason why he could not duplicate her results using her methods, and eventually this proved true. Ælla was simply determined to learn to do 'aught that Norðr-vestandóttir did. As a previously oppressed woman, she was inspired by the independent lady of the farm, and having seen what was possible, Ælla aspired to follow her example. ¹(Ælla, Aella f. name attr. to an Amazon serving Queen Hyppolita, it originally meant 'Whirlwind'. Also the name of several Saxon kings of the 5th to 9th centuries C.E. Later, the f. ver. of Allen)
"I would do as thou, yet my hands cannot cease their shaking," Ælla declared in disgust one summer afternoon.
"But thou hast already done what I have not," Norðr-vestandóttir told her as they sat together, taking a break whilst harvesting honey from the bee hives. The woman had been trying hard to master her fear of the stinging insects and had become frustrated. The bees were huge to her eyes.
"How so?" Ælla asked, for Norðr-vestandóttir seemed able to do 'aught that she tried.
"Thou hast a son and two daughters," the woman said. "Thou art a wife and mother and that counts for much. Whilst I grow crops to feed the people, thou grow the people."
Ælla looked carefully at the woman, seeking for any hint of jest, yet all she saw was honest admiration. In that moment she felt a sense of kinship. Norðr-vestandóttir was not some supernatural, perfect being, ageless and able to achieve with ease what she struggled with. Lord Hrólfr's words on the day they first met came back to her, for forty-three years thou hast managed thy farm alone. She had remained alone since. Ælla could not truly feel sorry for her, but her preoccupation with competing against her seemed to fade, and she realized that she had been wont to diminish herself through comparison. She recalled the close attention the woman had paid to the groom and the rider, both young enough to be her grandchildren, yet treated as her masters for their knowledge. Norðr-vestandóttir had ne'er belittled herself with arrogance.
In Ælla's parents, Norðr-vestandóttir found both good conversation and a couple surprisingly well acquainted with letters and numbers. They had both learnt these in their youth. To them, the woman committed the management of her farm. Aforetime, she had carried records of yields, dates, profits and losses from trade, and quantities donated, all in her head. She found it a joy to be unencumbered by such details and able to simply ask for the recall of sums several years old, or for comparisons of results o'er time to judge the value of changes made.
She sat with Eadmundr and Ælla's mother Milde¹ to create the lineage charts of her herd. Some of the first horses she had ne'er named, and others through the years she had to work to recall, yet by the end of their labor, well 'nigh e'ery horse that had called Norðr-vestandóttir Bý home was listed. ¹(Milde, Mild, gentle, merciful Old English)
In Ierþling's mother Lyft¹, the farm gained a proficient weaver. She had spent a lifetime turning wool into clothing for an increasing number of family members, and if her muscles and joints protested field work, they were fine for carding, spinning, and sitting before a loom. But 'twas when she picked up her single-point knitting needles that her expertise clearly showed. ¹(Lyft, Sky Old English) (Search ox-bEaVaKLs and 4ibP2YH6QCI)
With the butt end of the right needle stabilized in a hole in her belt and the left needle held horizontal at a right angle, she fed the yarn 'neath her right forearm to her first two fingers. The actual knitting was done at the very tips of the needles. Small movements of the left needle engaged the stationary tip of the right needle through the loop of the next stitch, whilst a small rotation of her right hand wrapped the yarn 'round the right needle tip. She ne'er split her fingers, ne'er moved from the elbow, nor moved either needle to change their relative angles. All the hand movements were made from the wrist and the result was 'nigh two hundred stitches per minute. This she did whilst engaged in an animated conversation with Norðr-vestandóttir, who watched the fine, insect-like movements of her hands with obvious admiration.
Farmer Ierþling's two daughters each found their place on Norðr-vestandóttir's farm. Sumor¹ the elder by two years, was a year younger than her brother. She had been twelve in the year her family fled the East Bight, and coming to their new home, she was surrounded by peace. For the first time, no threat of the Wainriders hung o'er her head. During the early weeks, aside from the chores her mother assigned to her, she spent her time wandering the nearer farmland, but always staying within the fences. She picked berries at the copse, sat by the river with her feet dangling in the cool water, watching minnows and crawfish, and the iridescent dragonflies that hovered and stared at her with eyes that made up most of their heads. ¹(Sumor, Summer Old English)
One afternoon she took several apples for snacking and wandered past the fields of wheat and rye to a path that led up a gentle hill. At the top, she stopped and sat in the grass, having gained a view of Norðr-vestandóttir's cabin, the construction site of her family's future house, the vegetable garden, and the field of wildflowers with its bee hives. She lay back and stared up at fluffy clouds sailing 'cross a sky that she swore was bluer on this side of the forest. For a while, Sumor simply daydreamed, losing track of time and exercising the birthright of the young to enjoy an idle moment. Eventually she closed her eyes and dozed in the warm sunlight.
When she woke, 'twas because something wriggled in the pocket of her frock. She opened an eye and came face to face with a sheep that had pushed its nose into her pocket, following the scent of apples. The ewe stared at her from one eye not two hand lengths away. Sumor giggled and it backed off a pace, so the girl sat upright. During her nap, the flock had come to graze the hilltop and now surrounded her. They looked at her, drawn by her movement, but as she was no taller than they whilst sitting and made no aggressive moves, they soon returned to their meal.
Now Sumor was charmed by the peaceful animals. She took an apple from her pocket and bit into it. The ewe was now watching her intently as she chewed, and it seemed natural enough to break off a piece of the fruit and offer it on a hand outstretched. Having come halfway, the ewe met her, taking a step forward and lowering its muzzle to her palm. Sumor wound up feeding the sheep the rest of the apple, one piece at a time. The scent and the activity drew the next closest two, and she handfed them as well. She was rewarded by being able to pet the sheep and feel the springy softness of their coats. Little did she know that these sheep were accustomed to the touch and friendship of people, for Norðr-vestandóttir had oft petted and hand fed them aforetime, especially when they were lambs.
Eventually, Sumor marked Anor sinking towards the west. There would be chores waiting, aiding her mother in preparing the evening meal foremost amongst them. The girl bid her new friends good afternoon and rose, then made her way downhill and back to the farmyard. She had enjoyed a pleasant and peaceful adventure and a smile graced her face the rest of the day. This her mother clearly marked as they sat slicing vegetables, and Ælla enquired of her daughter what brought her joy.
"I have spent the most pleasant afternoon, mother," the girl said, "lying on a warm hill, watching clouds, daydreaming, and greeting fluffy sheep. They looked like clouds themselves, floating o'er a sky of grass, though their coats are only half-regrown from shearing."
Ælla smiled at her daughter. Sumor had been far less grim since they had come west, and yet more relaxed still since they had settled on the farm. Indeed their new life had been a benefit to all her children, and she deemed that a good thing, as any mother would.
"Perhaps thou shalt see them again," Ælla said.
"I hope to," Sumor replied, "tomorrow."
Now Sumor indeed went up the hill the next day, with pockets full of apples in hope of meeting her new friends. She had to walk a bit further that day, for the herd had moved two hills west by then, but when she softly walked amongst them, they greeted her with 'bahhhs' and then went about their grazing. 'Twas another beautiful day and Sumor sat, taking an apple from her pocket and biting into it, enjoying the crunchy sweetness.
Soon enough, several ewes came to her and stood watching 'til she offered them pieces of the fruit. Just as Norðr-vestandóttir had won the friendship of her first herd of horses, so now Sumor won the friendship of the herd of sheep. One by one they came to join her, and one by one she distributed the fruit 'til all was gone. By then, she had managed to pet each and e'ery one. When she looked up, Anor was already westering and she deemed she would be late home, for she had further to go this day.
The girl rose to her feet, and turned to go, offering the herd a 'bahhhh' of farewell, and then she hastened east, back to the path that led down through the fields of grain. She had missed the attention of many heads rising from the grass to watch her back recede 'til it disappeared down the hillside. A few took a step or two to follow, but then resumed their grazing as she vanished.
Now o'er the next fortnight, on each fine day, Sumor went to visit her friends, and in doing so she learnt the hilltops and places they favored, and during those days she reckoned that they circulated 'twixt many pastures, though whether for the change of scenery or to ensure that they could pick of the tenderest shoots, she could not tell. Still, she was soon able to set her feet towards a particular pasture, knowing with good certainty that she would find the sheep there. So 'twas that she would go to meet her friends, and she would sit amongst them and offer them pieces of fruit when they came 'nigh.
'Twas on one such day as Sumor sat amongst the herd that the behavior of the ewes suddenly changed. No longer did they graze at ease a few body lengths apart, save those that had clustered 'round her. She marked the shift in their demeanor immediately, for she had ne'er seen such aforetime. Now the ewes clustered tightly with their spring lambs in the center of the flock, and they faced outwards 'til a dark shape slinking from the woods to the southwest was seen slowly ascending the hill. The whole formation turned their faces towards the threat.
Sumor found herself outside the clustered flock and soon marked that the interloper was a hund¹. Her short-lived fear that 'twas a wolf evaporated and she advanced a few strides and shouted at the animal, commanding it to be gone. 'Naught happened at first, but after advancing a few more strides and shouting repeatedly, the hund finally rose from its stalking crouch, gave a bark of frustration, and trotted off back into the woods. When she turned 'round, she found that the flock had advanced and now stood but a fathom behind her. They were slow to relax, but they shied not from her and accepted her petting and calming words. Eventually, all returned to normal. ¹(hund, dog Old English)
That evening, Sumor was upset and spoke of the incident to her mother, and Ælla told the tale in turn to Norðr-vestandóttir. The woman nodded her thanks for the tidings. She had been spending much of her time with Ierþling, Egill, and a crew of Men from Nýr Vera whom she had engaged to aid in building the family's new house, and she had not been minding the flock.
"What shall thou do, m'lady?" A very worried Sumor asked of her.
"I deem against a single hund, the ewes are well capable of protecting their lambs now that those are a season in age, yet we shall make sure of it," Norðr-vestandóttir told the girl. "Come with me and see. Thy fears shall be put to rest."
Sumor and Ælla both followed the woman out of the cabin. Norðr-vestandóttir picked up an apple fallen from a tree and collected a small bucket of oats ere she led them 'round the back of the cabin and past the wildflower garden to a spacious paddock closed with a gate. Therein stood the resident bull and the resident ram, studiously ignoring each other.
The two animals perked up and paid heed when they saw the women approaching. Norðr-vestandóttir went 'round the fence 'til she came 'nigh the bull. She reached through the fence and laid the bucket of oats on the ground and the mighty bull walked o'er and sank his muzzle into the grain. The woman walked back 'round the fence and came 'nigh the ram. He had been watching her closely and she did not disappoint him.
When she reached the gate, she opened it wide enough to step through and then approached the ram, offering pieces of the apple on her palm. The ram trotted o'er to her straightaway and took the fruit from her hand. She backed off a few paces and when he again looked to her, she offered more fruit. Again the ram followed, and now he stood in the open gate, taking the pieces of apple from her hand. She knelt and petted his face as she fed him the last. Then she called Sumor o'er to join them.
The ram immediately perked up again and sniffed her, hands and frock. He snorted and pawed the earth. Then he raised his head and sampled the breeze. After a few moments, he trotted off 'cross the garden and towards the grain fields, heading north. Norðr-vestandóttir closed the gate and then went 'round to retrieve her bucket from the bull.
As they walked back to the cabin, the woman explained to Sumor why she need worry no further for the well-being of the ewes.
"Mihtig Ramm¹ could smell both the ewes and their fear on your hands and clothes. His nose is very good. Now he goes to find the flock and he will defend them if needed, for he has known them in rut, and they also know him. The spring lambs are his," she said, adding, "I do hope he returns after, for soon the season shall come when rams normally contest with other rams 'til the ewes are ready to mate in the fall, but perhaps 'tis still early enough this year." ¹(Mihtig Ramm, Mighty Ram Old English)
The following day, Norðr-vestandóttir came to Sumor and said, "Today I shall go to visit the flock. I bid thee remain here this afternoon. Pray favor me by collecting the fallen apples and such of the raspberries and blackberries as are ripe."
Though disappointed that she would not see her friends this day, the girl could but agree with the lady of the farm and take baskets in which to collect the fruit. Being closest, she began with the apples, a dozen and a half, sun ripened and dropped. After setting them within Norðr-vestandóttir's cabin, she hefted two broad, shallow baskets and headed for the river. There she came to the bramble, and with great care to avoid thorns, threaded her way 'twixt the runners and shoots, slowly filling the baskets with such fruit as came easily from the plants. When she could reach no more, she brought her baskets back and set those too within the cabin.
Through the remainder of the morn, the girl found herself oft glancing towards the path that ran up past the grain fields, hoping to be first to mark Norðr-vestandóttir's return. This came to pass but a couple hours after noon, though it seemed a year to her. The woman was walking slowly back down the path led by Mihtig Ramm, the rope 'round his neck making it look as if he were leading her. 'Cross her shoulders she carried the limp and broken body of a large hund with dark coat and cream belly. Sumor ran to meet her, but stopped dead and froze when the ram bleated a challenge and lowered his head whilst pawing the ground.
"Calm, calm," Norðr-vestandóttir warned. "He hath known combat this morn."
The ram gave her a sniff as he passed, but paid her no further heed. Sumor wound up trailing behind the ram and the woman 'til she had coaxed him back into the paddock. The carcass of the hund she tossed into the bed of the small cart that she kept for shopping trips into Nýr Vera.
"Hast thou chores for they mother?" Norðr-vestandóttir asked of Sumor.
"Nay, not 'til this eve preparing supper," Sumor said.
"Pray tell thy mother I need thee an hour or so, and that we go to the mill," the woman said. After a moment's thought, she added, "Bring the fruit thou picked this day."
The girl rushed into the cabin to tell Ælla, and returned straightaway. When she reached the cart with the baskets of fruit, Norðr-vestandóttir was walking back from the stable, ere she made her way to the smoke house and brought forth a half-dozen cheeses. These she set in the cart bed, and she gestured for Sumor to add the baskets of fruit. Shortly later, Egill led a grey mare forth from the stable that he hitched 'twixt the cart shafts. The woman patted the wagon bench and Sumor hopped up to take the seat beside her. With a gentle flick of the reins and a soft, "go on girl," they started out towards the river bank.
"Whyfor do we go thither?" Sumor asked, meaning the mill. She had not gone aforetime.
"'Tis the mylnweard's¹ hund, or 'twas," Norðr-vestandóttir said, canting her head to the cart bed. "He deserves to know what became of him." ¹(mylnweard, mill-keeper, miller Old English)
They came 'nigh the bank and turned west, taking the wagon track that led downstream. The ride was pleasant, and soon they came 'neath scattered trees that in places grew right down to the water's edge. After a half mile, they saw the tall structure of the mill house, with its water wheel slowly turning in the river's current. A soft rumble came from within. Norðr-vestandóttir drove the cart up to a loading dock raised four feet above the ground, and there she parked.
"Come, we go to meet the mylnweard," Norðr-vestandóttir said, beckoning Sumor from the cart's bench.
They stepped out onto the loading dock and passed into the mill through the spacious receiving bay within. Several barrels of grain stood waiting and a thin film of dust lay o'er e'erything. The scent of flour and meal permeated the air and the rumbling sound of the mill wheel turning was louder inside the building's walls. Behind a safety lattice towards the center of the bay, the drive shaft leading from the water wheel and the gears attached to it rotated at a stately pace. A barrel lift stood 'nigh, to raise the grist to the grinding floor.
They took a flight of wooden stairs that ran up the inside of the wall, and Sumor briefly glanced through a window at the interior of the paddle wheel where the mylnweard could check the juncture of the drive shaft and wheel for damage. At the top, they entered the grinding floor. The miller was hauling on the line of a block and tackle attached to the rafters, raising a barrel of grain to a low mezzanine where it could be poured into a hopper whence a chute delivered it to the open damsel at the center of the rotating runner stone. Both the runner stone, and the unmoving nether stone that lay just 'neath it were wholly encased within a wooden vat that resembled a squat barrel, and 'naught of either stone was to be seen. The rumbling came from within the vat, and from the base of the vat led a chute conveying the ground flour to a bin in the receiving bay whence it would be loaded back into the farmers' barrels.
The mylnweard was a handsome Man of middle age, tall and good-natured, with muscles earned by hefting many barrels and many tons of grain. He looked o'er when they approached, smiled, and offered a greeting.
"Fair day to ye," he said, his voice raised o'er the sounds of the mill, "'tis good to see thee, Norðr-vestandóttir. Hast thou brought a comely maiden for me to grind?"
The woman laughed and said, "Fair day to thee, Kátmaðr¹. My grist is Sumor Ælladóttir, who may become a shepherdess if not ground to meal first." ¹(Kátmaðr, Cheerful Man Old Norse)
He chuckled at the shocked expression their jests had provoked on Sumor's face, but gave her a smile and a wink. On the mezzanine above, a youth of thirteen years struggled to tilt the hanging barrel so its contents fell cleanly into the chute. He nodded to the two women and his eyes lingered a moment on Sumor.
"Ware, ware, Alrekr," Kátmaðr chided the youth, "there be no saving thee if thou fall in, sonr."
The teen rolled his eyes and gave his father a long-suffering grimace, but with a heave, he managed to tilt the barrel so the grain fell into the hopper without spillage. A triumphant smile graced his face when the last of the grist fell out and he could relax and release the barrel. His father lowered it to the floor, detached the line, and rolled it on its rim o'er to the barrel lift. With a few turns of a hand crank, it disappeared through the floor and back down to the loading bay to be filled with the newly ground flour. Alrekr had descended from the mezzanine and stood trading awkward glances and smiles with Sumor.
"And so what may I do for thee this day, Norðr-vestandóttir?" Kátmaðr asked.
"'Tis rather what we must do for thee, good Kátmaðr," Norðr-vestandóttir said with a grimace.
The mylnweard cocked his head to her in uncertainty, bidding her elaborate.
"Thou hast a hund gone missing of late, I wager," the woman said. Beside her, Sumor cringed.
Kátmaðr's lip curled in anger at the mention of the creature.
"Wretched cur went feral on a sudden," he declared. "'Twas friendly enough upon a time, but it took to baring its teeth at my wife and heeded 'naught she said. Growled and snapped at my boy too, and then carried off a couple of the chickens thou gifted us. It finally took off for good a week past and good riddance, I say. I'd rather suffer the rats."
"He was a good hund for long, faðir¹," Alrekr said, "a friend for half my years." ¹(faðir, father Old Norse)
Kátmaðr gave his son a sad nod, "he was at that, and I know thou miss him as he was."
"'Tis sad and he met a sad end," Norðr-vestandóttir said, drawing looks from Kátmaðr and Alrekr. "Yesterday he stalked my ewes whilst Sumor attended them, and so I released the ram to guard them. The flock was nervous this morn when I went to them, and towards the crown of the hill east I found thy hund. He had been butted and his ribs crushed."
Beside her, Sumor nodded and said, "he gave up the hunt yesterday when I shouted and the ewes bunched to face him."
"They had spring lambs to protect and I wager those were the temptation that drew him back," Norðr-vestandóttir said, shaking her head. "We brought his body in the cart."
Kátmaðr nodded, accepting their account. It made sense to him that the hund would meet an ill fate, for he had not grown up hunting and had not all of a hunter's wisdom. With a gesture of his head, he indicated the stairs and the four descended to the bay and went out onto the loading dock. The cart stood 'nigh and they saw the hund's carcass lying in the bed. Alrekr regarded the carcass with obvious sorrow. He looked to his father and Kátmaðr gave him a sad smile.
"The body we shall take for burial, in memory of better times," he said.
The mylnweard lifted the broken hund from the cart and set him on the loading dock. Norðr-vestandóttir began offloading the apples and berries and cheeses. When she was done, she shared a sad smile with her friend.
"Thank the lady, Alrekr," Kátmaðr told his son. "She pays thee wergild for the loss of thy friend."
The teen looked back and forth 'twixt the lady and his father, obviously surprised that 'aught was being offered for a hund gone bad that had threatened a neighbor's sheep. Finally, he set his right hand o'er his heart and offered a bow.
"My thanks to thee, Lady Norðr-vestandóttir. Thy consideration of our loss honors us both 'neath the law," he recited with a steady voice.
Beside him, his father nodded and pride shone in his eyes, for his son had conducted himself as a Man. This had been a valuable life lesson, learnt without the true heartbreak of losing family.
Norðr-vestandóttir dipped her head to honor the youth's words, adding, "We are sorry for thy loss, Master Alrekr, and acknowledge that this returns him not."
"'Twas good to see thee, Norðr-vestandóttir. Thou hast my thanks," he said, shifting his eyes toward his son and receiving a nod in return. "Return with our welcome, Sumor," Kátmaðr said as the women prepared to drive home after.
On the way back from the gristmill, Sumor was quiet. Norðr-vestandóttir reckoned that she was digesting the experience of seeing a traditional custom applied to the situation. In fact, Sumor was thinking to herself how mature Alrekr had acted, and that perhaps he would one day be as strong and handsome as his father. For the present, he was just cute. She resolved to visit again in the future, hopefully without having to kill another dog as an excuse.
To Be Continued