Freyas Saga Ch. 06

Sometimes she thought of Freya, and wondered what had really become of her. Had she been left as a corpse outside the village? Had Siegfa really seen what he thought he'd seen?

As time went by, Freya came to seem more and more of ... a model? Something to aspire to, perhaps. Carfryn could wield a sword. She had strength and stamina and speed. She was a woman, which was a major stumbling-block to being accepted. But why couldn't she be a swordsman? What, other than custom, prevented her?

She would brood on this and drink more ale, and then the image of Siegfa would come before her: his beauty, his chivalry, his gentleness, his fierceness.

Why did I not tell him sooner. Why did I not.

Because I feared he would reject me.

As he did.

After a few mugs Carfryn would stumble upstairs to bed and lie there and reach between her thighs and work herself with one hand and weep and call Siegfa's name. Then she would sleep, without dream and without rest, until she woke up to another day without him.

One day, she would think, staring at the beams across the ceiling, this must end.

***

Carfryn was so preoccupied with her own grief that she failed to notice that the others staying at the inn were becoming more and more preoccupied with her.

The red-face merchant's name was Hinchin Brood, and he was celebrating a deal he'd brokered to sell a hundredweight of salt pork, sight unseen, to the army of a local warlord who'd been desperate for provisions on account of a long-running feud he'd been conducting with his bigger and richer neighbour. Hinchin had turned the deal in such a way that the warlord wouldn't find out until much later that the salt pork he had paid good money for was green and flyblown. By then, Hinchin would be leagues away.

The youth with the pike was named Gavan, and had recently run away from the house of his father, a wealthy local landowner, on account of being the sixth of six sons and not seeing any chance of inheriting anything of value any time soon. He'd stolen the pike from a sleeping man-at-arms he'd encountered. Just to be sure that the man wouldn't wake up and chase him, Gavan had also killed the sleeping man with a rock, and was now at once very nervous of being discovered, and also puffed up with the idea that he was a desperate fellow because he'd killed a man. The fact that the dead man had happened to be asleep at the time made no difference to Gavan's sense of his own bravery.

Hinchin Brood noticed the attractive young aristocrat and immediately turned on her the full force of his charm, throwing amusing little observations her way, offering her pieces of food, trying to draw her into the conversation after supper. Carfryn at first smiled politely at the observations, declined politely the food and soon began to ignore him completely. His demeanour stayed cheery. Hinchin had long ago learned to conceal his rage beneath a veneer of manly good cheer.

Gavan looked at the woman from afar and lusted after her; she had dark round eyes and high cheekbones and a long, smooth nose, a small, serious mouth and a grave expression, but he could see from her clothes that she was a ripe one. She reminded him of the girls his eldest brothers had married, the ones who mostly regarded him as being an annoying little squirt. He knew that if he tried to say anything to her, she'd look at him like he was an annoying little squirt. She had no idea that he'd killed a man. He was a serious man, a killer. But she had no idea.

The mercenary, Owyn Durberry, had once been a man who had managed to combine enterprise and honour. He'd sold his sword to many lords and had fought bravely and conscientiously, but as peace had taken hold in the land it had got harder to find work, and he'd become less choosy about who he fought for. And so, in the course of things, he'd become more aware of the contrast between the nasty little jobs he did now, and the great and noble causes he'd been paid to fight for in the past.

He saw the young woman, too, and he was too smart to believe that she was interested in any of them, or would ever be. She was clearly upper-class, clearly on the run from something, but there was more to her than that. He could see from her shiny hands that they were calloused. What was her story? She clearly had one.

He'd had women like her. Not with their consent, it was true. In the course of sacking the odd capital, he'd had to subdue the occasional female prisoner from time to time. There was nothing like fucking a rich girl. Smooth, clean, usually disease-free, and generally too well-bred to fight back. He sat and watched her and wondered what she would look like naked.

The fourth man, Dovid Berman, the bookman, was an itinerant student. Like the others, he had not failed to notice the slender young woman in what appeared to be man's clothes, although it did not do to pay too much attention to the appearance of women of the word, because they had wiles, and could lure a man from the path of virtue. This young woman was perplexingly dressed as a man, which was further evidence of her dangerousness. And yet she was of surpassing beauty, even in her mannish garb; pale, dark-haired, fine-featured, although small and slight, and hardly with a childbearing body.

Dovid felt ashamed of having the woman in his thoughts, for she was a woman of the word, and he was a man of the book. People of the word had no notion of the immensity and complexity of God's creation, and thought that He could be praised and worshipped by keeping in their frail heads a few trite sayings and childrens' stories. Dovid, on the other hand, was a student of the book, and the book was to the word as the world is to a child's drawing of the world.

He had been noted early as a studious little boy and his parents, who were of course both people of the book, were delighted when their youngest son was accepted as a student. He had been a student of the book now for fifteen years, and felt confident to pronounce on most of the better-known aspects of about six or seven of its eleven hundred pages. He revered the great scholars of the book: Ben Smuel, Ben Ashman, the great Mavonian. He knew that in about ten more years he would qualify to be examined for the priesthood. In the meantime, study, study, study. He had gone to this inn to get away from the noise of home and his older and younger brothers and sisters. He'd known that at an inn, he could expect to find lone men of the word and no distractions, because they wouldn't want to go bothering a bookman, having no interest in that kind of thing. One day he would be charged with awakening their interest, because the people of the book wanted everyone to be a person of the book, because who wouldn't want to be one? But for now, he had not the skills for that task, and his job was to learn what it would one day be his job to teach others.

Carfryn, for her part, ignored the men, although she found herself curious about the bookman.

She had been brought up in Hargest, where bookmen were rare and exotic, and on the whole she believed what she'd always heard about them; they were weird, they ate strange food, they were obsessed with money and they thought that they were better than everyone else. The men all had beards and the women all wore scarves over their faces in public.

But this bookman was shy, kept himself to himself and if she happened to meet him in a corridor at night he stepped aside politely and bowed his head to let her pass. He seemed to have none of the airs she'd always heard ascribed to people of his kind. He was young, and the lower half of his face was hidden by his enormous beard, but he was slim and although he never took his hat off, his hair was dark.

But she wasn't curious about him. She was curious about his book.

Carfryn had never been very religious, but after what happened to Siegfa she was afflicted with a painful sense of guilt. She wanted to avenge his death, even though she didn't know on whom to avenge it, other perhaps than Sir Ulf, who was now hundreds of miles away.

And so it was that, one evening, after her second beer, she worked up the courage to approach the bookman where he sat in the corner, poring over his enormous copy of the Book.

"God be with you, sir," she said.

He looked up, and she couldn't help being faintly amused by the look of panic in his face.

"... Yes?" he said, somewhat rudely.

"I don't wish to disturb your evening study," she said, "but I have heard it said that bookmen carry about spare copies of the Book, and if a bookless one should ask for a copy, your people consider it a duty to give them one."

"There are differing opinions on the matter," he said primly. "The school of Haneth believes in such a duty, whereas the school of Xander believes that bookless ones should be directed to the library. There is virtue in both positions, but the school of Manai has asserted that it is the duty of ..."

"Forgive my interruption," she said, "but to which school do you belong?"

"Haneth," he said after a pause.

"So, do you have spare copies?" she said.

"I have," he said.

"Would you give me one?"

"I would," he said, and paused, staring at her patiently.

She waited for a long moment, and then, realising that he was a young man of a certain turn of mind, said "Then please be so good as to do so."

He reached under the table and pulled a small, fat book from his bag. It was cheaply produced, the paper was wafer thin and the printing was hasty, but it was the same book he was studying; just much smaller, less well-made, and without the vast critical apparatus of his own copy.

"Take it," he said, handing it over, "and may the book bring you life."

"I hope it will," she said, smiling. "Thank you, sir."

Carfryn took the book upstairs to her room.

***

Dovid sat in the corner sipping his broth and working his way through the commentary on Hafesh 12:56.

Sin, said Ben Fashzi, was a characteristic of people. Sinful people did bad things. No, said Ben Mishpocheh, sin was something that humans did, not something that they were. Sin entered the world when people did evil, but people did evil because they allowed themselves to be distracted from the right.

"So," said a voice off to his right. "That posh lassie."

"Mmmm," said another. The hired sword, Dovid thought.

"How to do it is the question," said the first voice.

He closed his ears to their chatter. They were distracting him from the right.

He didn't notice anything else they said, until the word "quiet" grabbed his attention and wouldn't let it go. Reluctantly he listened to them.

"If she does make noise, and she will," one of them was saying, "I say we stop her mouth, because we don't want to be interrupted."

Dovid wondered what they were talking about and wondered why he had been compelled to listen to their nonsense.

"We could use her clothes or something," said a third voice.

"Exactly," said the first voice. "But to speak truth, I doubt we'll have any trouble. Mine host can hardly be bothered about what happens in his rooms with the door shut, and I seriously doubt that the little bookman is going to be interested."

'His kind look after their own," said the third voice. "You wouldn't see him lift a finger to help a girl who wasn't one of his."

"Maybe we should ask him to join in," said the first voice, and laughed.

"I doubt he's got the ink in his quill," said the hired sword.

"You never know with these bookmen," said the first voice. "They breed like fucking rabbits. But I'm sure if he did make any trouble, we could take him."

"I could take him myself," said the third voice, a young and rather callow one.

"No doubt, laddie," said the first voice. "But between us we will be able to handle him."

Dovid sat there, his finger poised over the Book, trembling with indecision. He forced himself to assess the situation.

On the face of it, the three other men of the word were planning to do something to the young woman, presumably without her consent. Dovid was a virgin, but he was not ignorant. He knew how children were conceived. The Book was very clear about how it happened: men and women had sex with each other, which involved the man inserting his organ of reproduction into that of the woman, a process which was specifically designed by G-d to be pleasurable for both parties, and if it wasn't then you were doing it wrong. The Book went on to say that it was the man who was responsible for making sure that the woman enjoyed the procedure, and not the other way around, and that if either of the two parties found the procedure utterly repugnant when performed with the other party, then that was grounds for divorce.

He guessed that the men were planning to insert their reproductive organs into that of the woman, who was married to none of them. Since she had shown no interest in any of them, Dovid speculated boldly that this was something that she would not, in the normal run of things, give her consent to.

There were three of them, they were men and she was a woman, and she was small and two of the men were quite large. The other one being, Dovid would have said, relatively normal in stature.

This was unfair.

However, the Book had nothing to say about whether or not a person of the Book should intervene in the private business of people of the word. People of the word were to be urged to convert to being people of the Book, and if they chose not to do so, they were to be shunned.

So I should do nothing, he thought, as he heard the men talking about the young woman's charms and about what she probably looked like without clothes on. I should do nothing because I am not commanded to do anything, and I am not physically capable of intervening, being untrained in physical combat and having a weak chest.

But it was unfair.

G-d, he thought, help me. I am no prophet, but give me a sign as to what I should do. I do not want to do anything because I might get hurt, but that does not seem a sufficient reason to not help prevent a great wrong.

He looked at the table opposite him and under it he saw movement.

A mouse was nibbling at scraps fallen on the floor.

Let the mouse be emblematic of something, Dovid thought. G-d, teach me a lesson with this mouse. Let me know what I should do.

The inn cat strolled in, large and well fed, and the mouse froze.

The cat sauntered over towards the fire, lazily. The mouse remained motionless.

The cat sat down and started licking its nether parts. The mouse picked up a crumb and ate it.

The cat looked up sharply, and Dovid found himself grabbing his own trouser legs in excitement.

The mouse darted towards the skirting, and the cat launched itself in pursuit.

The mouse reached the skirting and tucked itself into a narrow gap and disappeared. The cat slowed, halted, hissed, and then turned, and went back towards the fire.

That was frustratingly ambiguous, G-d, Dovid thought. I am not sure if I am take that to mean that the girl, represented by the mouse, will escape without harm, or whether the men, represented by the mouse, will refrain from wrong-doing if sufficiently scared by a perceived stronger threat, or whether the men, represented by the cat, will back down at the last minute and not do their deed because it does not seem worth it. It would have been good to have an incident with a clearer moral, mighty G-d.

He sat for a moment, and then without knowing really what he was going to do, he silently gathered up the Book and his bag and slid off his bench and went quietly out of the common room.

Dovid went upstairs and remembered that the young woman was in room five. He found it and knocked on the door.

After a moment, she answered, her pretty oval face looking at him seriously. She was still wearing her men's clothes. Her hair hung in a ragged mop around her head. He was very aware of her physical presence.

"Can I help you?" she said. She was, he noticed, holding the Book in her hand. So she had been reading it all along. He was pleased.

"I wanted to give you some, um, warning," he said. "It seems the other men, downstairs, plan to enter your room and have conjugal relations with you by force."

"What," she said in a cold flat voice.

"I overheard them," he said nervously. "They were discussing how to go about it. I think you would be well-advised to hide or flee before they make their attempt."

"They plan to rape me?" she said, and a dangerous smile crossed her face.

"I believe so," he said. "I came to warn you."

She nodded her head thoughtfully, and looked him in the eye.

"Thank you," she said seriously. "I will await their arrival."

"I do not think that that is a good idea," he said.

"I think you'll find," she said, "that they will have a surprise."

"Maybe they will," he said, "but I still think you should either hide or flee."

"Can I trust you with a secret?" she said.

"I would prefer not to be trusted with one," he admitted.

"I am an expert swordswoman," she said. "They will not find me so easy as you imagine."

She walked rapidly over to a chair and picked up a sword and drew it. She made a few moves with it; Dovid knew nothing of swordsmanship but it looked very impressive.

"Ah," he said. "Well then. It seems that you have the situation in hand."

"I thank you for your concern, bookman," she said. "You will not find me ungrateful."

"I am glad to think that you will be safe," he said. "If you're sure."

"I am sure," she said. "Thank you."

She smiled at him, a warm smile with a hint of sadness to it, which touched his heart, even if he was slightly annoyed at being addressed as "bookman", but then they all called his people that when they didn't know your name.

She shut the door and he heard noises inside of clanking metal, which he took to be some kind of pre-combat preparatory activity on her part.

He went down the corridor to his own room and shut the door and put a chair up against it.

He sat down to wait.

***

Carfryn moved swiftly, putting on Siegfa's armour, which fit her better than she had thought it would, but still not as well as she would have liked, and warming up with her sword.,

So they were going to try it with her? Then she would be ready. This was the sign she had been waiting for, this was the kick she needed to resume her real life. It felt good to move about in the room and refresh her memory of the moves and feints and parries and strikes. She'd have to be fast, and nimble, and use everything she'd learned. This was for Siegfa; unlike him she would be ready, and unlike him, she would fight for and keep her virtue. It was good of the bookman to have given the warning but like so many of his kind, he had a flawed idea of the virtue of Northwomen.

When she felt warmed up, she sat on the edge of the bed and waited, watching the door.

It happened sooner rather than later. She heard the footsteps coming down the corridor, and then she heard the knock. She ignored it, pretending to be asleep. Presently, there was a groaning sound of wood bending, and then the door was forced, by the sword of the mercenary. He entered and stopped, looking at her, and then the merchant followed and the youth.

"Ah," said the mercenary. "So you've got armour. Interesting."

"The bookman told me you were planning a visit," she said. "I thought I should make myself presentable."

"I take it that sword's not just for show, then," said the mercenary.

"No," Carfryn said.

"Know how to use it, do you?"

"I have sparred all my life," she said.

"What's your name?"

"Carfryn."

"I've never heard of you."

"I'm from the North," she said, "and in my land, they have heard of me. I think you would be well-advised to go back to your own rooms and think on the fact that the three of you ganged up on a lone woman."