“Well, and how did you manage that? Without clouting him hard enough to crack the thick stubborn skull of him, to be sure.”
Asgerd ducked her head. Edain’s mother was mistress of this household, and she knew her manners.
“Good mother, I… I just told him I’d been raised on a farm and knew what to do when a man pulled his back, and not to be foolish but to lie down so I could fix it.”
She indicated the bench. Melissa Aylward came over and looked at the dish of improvised liniment, sniffing at it.
“Essence of meadowsweet and sunflower oil. That would do nicely. I add a little mint-water when I make up a batch for the stillroom.”
“My mother does too,” Asgerd said. “But there wasn’t any to hand.”
Melissa nodded. “So it isn’t all swords with you, then, girl?”
“Oh, no,” Asgerd said, surprised; though they hadn’t had much time to talk, or she thought much inclination on the older woman’s part. “I trained to arms, we all do in Norrheim just as you do here, but I wasn’t a shield-maid until my man Sigurd… the one I was to marry
… was killed. By the Bekwa savages, led by a red-robe, a trollkjerring of the CUT. I heard that the night I first saw Edain.”
Quick sympathy lit the other woman’s face, and Asgerd turned her head aside slightly.
“That is a good loom,” she went on determinedly, walking over to where it stood tall at the other end of the big room. “My mother has one much like it-a bit higher, a little narrower.”
“Sam made it for me… sweet Brigid, twenty-three years ago last Imbolc,” Melissa said.
Asgerd touched the satiny finish of the wood, pegged and glued together from oak and ash, beech wood and maple, and carved with running vines at the joinings. Just now it was set up to weave a stretch of blue cloth with yellow flowers at the corners, half done but already lovely. One of the good things about weaving was that it could be interrupted for something more urgent and taken up again an hour or a day later; she supposed that was why it was usually woman’s work, though she’d known men who did it well. If there was anything that made for interruptions more urgent and more often than a small child, she’d never heard of it.
Melissa went on: “He copied it from Lady Juniper’s that she had from before the Change-she taught me to weave, like many another. We like to work here together in the winter afternoons, Sam and I; he’ll be at the bench, and I at the loom.”
Asgerd looked more closely, whistled under her breath, and traced one of the joints with her thumbnail. It was so close-set there was hardly even a catch when she ran it across the surface; the whole of it was like that, mortise-and-tenon joins pegged together with almost invisible smoothness. Even the king-bolts that could be taken down to disassemble the whole thing for storage were countersunk to be out of the way yet instantly accessible.
“This is beautifully made, so light and yet so strong!” she said.
Every ounce of unnecessary weight in a loom’s moving parts was something you felt in your shoulders and back after a day spent weaving; any half-competent carpenter could knock together something that relied on sheer bulk, but paring weight to a minimum without losing strength or rigidity took real art at every stage from selecting the materials on.
“Like fine cabinetwork,” she went on. “I’ve never seen better.”
Melissa swallowed. “Sam always has been proud of his carpentry and joinery, though, sure, he doesn’t talk about it much,” she said. “People came from all over to learn it from him, those first years. Bows yes, but not just those, and he made… oh, looms and churns and a dozen other things, getting ideas from books and old things from museums and then figuring out how to do them properly. And they came to learn farming from him, too, the old ways of doing it, he’d go ’round giving a hand to all and showing the way of it. There’s many alive and well today on the ridge of the world with children and grandchildren of their own, who would have starved half to death or outright died without my Sam!”
Asgerd nodded. After courage and loyalty, a man’s pride was in the strength and skill of his hands, the work that fed his children and made strong his house and kindred. She knew that love of craft as well, and the kindred pride in keeping going uncomplaining when your bones groaned with weariness and all you wanted in the world was food and bed.
“Lovely,” she said again, and sat at the weaver’s bench.
When Melissa nodded permission at her inquiring glance she ran her hands over the heddle and beater, touched her feet to the paddles that would shift the warp and weft and the cord and lever that would throw the shuttle, looked at the little wheeled baskets that held supplies out of the way and yet to hand.
“This would be a pleasure to work at,” she said. “I can feel how everything’s just where you want it.”
“That cloak you brought, was that your mother’s work? It’s well done,” Melissa said. “Only a little worn, and you must have used it fair hard on a journey like that.”
“She taught me but it’s my work, good mother,” Asgerd said, letting a little of her own pride of craft show. “That journey cloak, I sheared the sheep and cleaned and spun the wool and wove it; it’s a twin to one I made for Sigurd to use when he went in Viking to the dead cities. Just plain weaving, of course, nothing fancy like this, but it has worn well, and it’s kept me warm and dry many a time.”
“It must be nearly waterproof, done with the grease in that way,” Melissa said.
Then she sighed and sat on the bench before the loom, beside the girl.
“I’m… I know I’ve been less welcoming than I might. Than I should have been. I’ve been… anxious about things, sure and I have, and more things than one. And the Lady is taking me out from under the dominion of the Moon now, into the Wise One’s hands and near to my croning.”
That puzzled Asgerd for an instant; her people didn’t have a formal ceremony for that, as they did for coming of age. Then she nodded understanding.
“All of which I offer as some poor excuse,” Melissa said.
“Good mother, I didn’t expect a dance of joy when your son came home with a stranger, a foreign bride. You don’t know me or my kin or my very folk. I could have been an ill sort, one who did him no credit. I’m not like that, but I expected to have to prove… Well, if a man of my kindred, say one of my brothers, had come back with a Mackenzie maid for handfasting, it wouldn’t have been all hot mead and kisses at first from the women of my kindred either!”
“It’s been hard, with Edain away, hearing nothing but the odd letter, and those often of some battle or peril he’d been in and me not even knowing,” Melissa said softly, her eyes seeming to look beyond the wall.
“I can see that. I’ve been frightened for him more than once myself, even there with him! Though it was a comfort to have Artos King on hand.”
Melissa nodded. “Rudi… Artos… is a great hero, one whose song will live forever. Yet it’s perilous to stand too close to a hero in a tale! He’s been in and out of this house all his life, and I love him too; Lady Juniper was my sponsor in the Craft, and… But Edain is mine, my first son, the babe I bore beneath my heart and carried in my arms, new life in those years when it seemed death had swallowed all the world.”
“And he always will be your son,” Asgerd said. “You and the good father raised him to be a fine man, strong and kind both. My man, the one I will walk beside all my days, shipmates through life, and who will be the father of my children. The grandchildren I will lay in your arms, good mother.”
“I would like that, sure and I will like it very much indeed,” Melissa said.
Then unexpectedly, she chuckled. “Though with twins only two years old myself… I hadn’t expected that, after twelve years without a hint and not for want of trying. There’s a good many infants around this house the now!”
“The twins are fine children!” Asgerd said, with genuine enthusiasm. “So strong already, like little Ratatoskr- squirrels for dashing and climbing, so bold and fearless!”
“So hard to keep out of everything that might burn, cut, drown, crush or poison them!” Melissa said. “The great thing with grandchildren is that you can hand them back to their parents and get a moment’s rest now and then!”
Then she extended a hand. “Shall we start again, and see what comes of it, Asgerd Karlsdottir? Asgerd Aylward Mackenzie, too?”
Asgerd took it in both of hers. “I would like that. And now let me help with the rest of this feast. I can chop and mince and peel a potato and knead bread and roll pastry and baste meat, even if I don’t have all the kitchen
