Freyas Saga Ch. 11

"Lady," said the oldest councilman, "your valour and your skill have saved our city."

"You'll pay those lads," said Five, indicating the three squires.

"They shall be paid."

"Now," Five said.

Freya put her arm around Five's shoulders.

"Now," agreed the councilman, and another councilman ran over to the squires and beckoned a servant, who came with a bag of gold, and Five watched as the squires stared with astonishment at Freya as the gold was counted over to them.

"Lady," said the old man, "who are you?"

"I am done," Freya said, turning away from him and dismissing him with a wave of her hand. She grasped Five's shoulder and sagged for a moment, then he led her over to their gear and she sat down on the ground.

He took water from his flask, still fresh, and she shut her eyes and he washed her face. Then, she sat patiently while he took the precious salve Sophy had given him and rubbed it gently into the wound.

Freya sat there and he could only imagine the pain she would have been feeling as he applied the ointment to the fresh wound, but although her eyes streamed, she glanced up at him and smiled grimly.

"Woe upon the Hargest name," she whispered, "for none now shall husband me."

He recognised the meter of the old song and couldn't help giggling.

"Marred is your beauty now," he said, "and precious few shall find you fair."

"What say you, Snorri's Five," she whispered, "for any chance of mine to wed?"

She was smirking. He felt it was worth being bold.

"Lucky you will be indeed," he said, "to suck the cock of a night-soil man."

Freya laughed silently, so much that he had to urge her not to, because it was messing up his dressing of her wound. But presently she had a bandage in place, tied across her face with a bandage around her head, and he felt he had to say something.

"Lady," he said, "if no-one can see that a wound like that is a badge of honour, well, I mean ..."

She looked up at him inquiringly.

"I'll marry you," he said lightly.

Her shoulders shook for a moment, and she stared into the middle distance, then looked up at him again.

"You will need to talk to my father," she whispered, her voice muffled by the bandage on her lip.

He blinked, and looked at her to see if she was joking, and she looked back at him, all innocence.

"Do you," he began. "I mean ... did you ..."

"You were mocking me?" she whispered, giving him a cool stare.

"No," he said hastily, "but, I mean, you're you, and I'm me, and I know we're joined in blood an' all, but I mean, obviously, I'd marry you, like a shot, I mean, o' course, but ..."

He was sweating. Had she really been joking?

She looked up at him, her face still darkened with soot and dried blood, the thick bandage over her nose and cheek and half her mouth.

"Talk to my father," she said, and rose to her feet, gave him a pat on the shoulder, and went over to their horses.

***

The squires came over to them, a trio of adoring lads, none of them much younger than Five, but compared to them he felt like a craggy veteran of many combats. They wanted to pledge themselves to her, but she smilingly shook her head no.

"But who will we say did this deed?" said one of them.

"We're not going by a name," said Five.

"But you must be someone."

"Aye," said Five, feeling fantastically mysterious. "Reckon we must."

"But otherwise this glory goes to no-one!" burst out the youngest-looking one.

"Up to you to see that it doesn't, wouldn't you say?" said Five.

By the time they were on their horses and ambling out of the city, the people were coming back in again. The only smoke rising from the city now came from the burning corpse of the worm. As they left the city gates, they encountered Jaranc Horneth and his wife and baby on their wagon, trundling back in.

Five saw the look on Jaranc's face as he looked at Freya and saw how scorched and wounded she was. Freya lifted a nonchalant finger to her brow and saluted them.

Jaranc's wife just stared at them, looking partly horrified, partly as though she still couldn't shake off the notion that it had all been some trick they'd played.

The baby beamed and waved at them. Five waved back.

They rode out of the city and soon left the road and hooked around to the east.

***

When they set camp, Freya seemed preoccupied and sombre. Refusing any official payment for the slaying of the worm had not stopped the news of what they had done from reaching the people, and they had been showered with gifts and provisions, some of which were more useful than others.

Five was very happy to fry up some salt pork and serve it with fresh greens and good bread and some excellent ale that a publican had thrust upon them. Freya ate well, but he could tell she wasn't happy.

Why? he thought. We won, didn't we? We said we'd beat it and we did.

Yeah, came the answer, but look at her. She is burned and scarred.

"You're not happy," Five said, putting his plate down.

She looked up at him vacantly, and then seemed to see him properly, and for a moment he thought she was about to pretend that it had all been fine, but then she sagged and put her hand to her face and shook her head.

"We won," he said quietly.

She looked up at him and nodded wearily, but he could see how the fight had taken it out of her.

"I cannot fight every fight thus," she mouthed.

"No," he said, "so how can we make it easier?"

She picked up a piece of salt pork and put it in her mouth and chewed, and then looked at him briefly, pointed to her plate and nodded appreciatively. Then she thought again, and after a long moment, she shrugged.

"Well," he said, "we will work it out, lady."

She nodded and went back to eating. She ate ravenously, but as she finished her food and drank back her ale, he saw her beginning to sag, and it dawned on him just how much the rage cost her, and how it was not something that they could rely upon.

She took a long pull on her flask and then as she took it away he could see that food, drink and tiredness were sending her to sleep for she was keeling over. He quickly gathered her in his arms and wrapped her bedroll around her and guided a rolled blanket under her head, and only when he had ensured that her scorched, gashed body was fast asleep, did he wash the cooking tools and make his own bed and roll himself up and sleep.