Altene laughed as if the idea were ridiculous. “No, my lord. A Dor woman could never lead. That is only for men. Yes, all young women are trained to fight. It comes to serve later when they are mothers and left behind in the villages while the men go to raid. If they were ever attacked, they would not be defenseless.”
“So the men are in charge, make all the decisions, but not who they marry? They must wait for a woman to pick them?” Jarl asked.
“Yes.” Altene nodded.
Jarl frowned and shook his head. “Can the woman choose anyone? What if the man doesn’t wish to be chosen?”
Altene laughed. “Of course the man must also be willing. He would indicate his willingness in advance to the woman, as would others. Higher ranking men usually will only do that with women of equal or higher status.” She paused. “But it is a great honor for a man to be chosen, and the younger he is chosen, the greater that honor. Because of this, many men have an open willingness to being chosen by any woman. Though they will go to great lengths to impress a woman they prefer. They bring gifts to show they can support her. They compete in tournaments like this one to demonstrate their superior battle skills over other men. To vanquish a rival in front of a woman is powerful medicine in the eyes of the gods.”
Altene’s words transported Nena back to her trip to the tournament only three short days before. She was astride Nightwing again, still a day’s ride out from their destination, when her brother had dropped back to ride beside her. Her younger brother, Ruga, so brave, so sure of himself. “I shall fight hard, Sister. If there is a man in this village who can defeat me, then the gods will know he is worthy of your immediate choice. Unfortunately, that means you will yet have to remain a warrior, because none will best me.” It was his first tournament outside of their own tribe. His excitement at being chosen to attend as his father’s second, an honor normally reserved for their older brother, Lothor, could not be contained.
“Eventually the gods will have to choose one for you, of course—but a second place champion to be sure.” Though said in jest, Ruga’s words were true. Her brothers were both great warriors; Lothor undefeated. And even though Lothor was not present, any man who could defeat Ruga would have to earn the gods’ strong consideration. “And when I win the tournament, I shall find the most beautiful woman there and offer her alone my willingness, so that I am not chosen by the wrong one. Not like Belka.”
Nena knew the story, but listened as he told it again, as if she did not. “Belka entered a tournament with his eyes on the chief’s beautiful daughter, but left himself open to the choosing. When he won, a big fat maid claimed him before any other could, and he had to marry her.” Her younger brother rolled with laughter. Nena had no idea of the truth of the tale. Belka was, in fact, married to a large woman, but she had given him many strong sons, and he seemed happy. Besides, it was the gods who chose, and in Belka’s case, she felt it was a good match.
Nena could still see the sunlight shining on his dark hair as he teased her. Ruga, so sensitive and carefree underneath the well-trained surface—so different from the stern Lothor. Was he dead? Was her father dead? If she trusted Altene’s words, she knew now they were not enduring the shame of being taken. They could still be alive. As much as she wanted to hold onto that hope, Nena knew in her heart the men of her family would never run from a fight, much as she had intended to fight until her last breath—until Jarl had intervened. Nena felt her throat constricting. Tears threatened her eyes. She grit her teeth. She would not cry, not in front of this Northern dog and his Klarta whore.
“Do men ever take more than one wife?” Jarl’s next question interrupted Nena’s thoughts. “I mean, can a man be chosen by two women?” he clarified.
Altene shook her head adamantly at first, then paused. “When I was in the pleasure house in Anbai, I heard of such things in far off tribes, many moons ride from here, but only there. A Dor man may have more than one woman under his roof, his mother or sisters, but only one wife.”
“So women usually choose from within their own village?”
“The gods can choose anyone, but usually it is from within their tribe, yes. There are also great tournaments once every few years where friendly tribes meet and compete. Blood is mixed that way,” Altene added.
“And that is what was happening here?”
“Not exactly. No other tribes were invited to this tournament, only the chief of the Teclan and his family. The Eastern Plains chief would not have wanted to risk her choosing a warrior from another tribe; an alliance with the Teclan would have meant a very prosperous change in their fortunes. The men would have been competing for their own women also, but the top contenders would have all put forward their willingness to be chosen by her. And I am sure the local women would have been under strict instruction to delay their choosing until after she had done so.”
Nena listened deep into the night as Jarl continued to ask specifics on their customs, their beliefs, their lives. Anything and everything Dor. She could tell by Altene’s elated expression and almost giddy responses, it had never happened before. She was eager to tell him anything he wanted to know, thrilled by his attention, however motivated.
When Nena thought she could not possibly keep her eyes open another moment, Jarl sent Altene away and
