When Women Were Warriors

Book I: The Warrior’s Path

Chapter 9: The Council

In the morning Eramet came to bring us before the council. She looked past me at my warrior and raised her eyebrows in surprise. When I turned to look at Maara, I saw that her lip was swollen where I’d struck her and blood had dried at the corner of her mouth. I pushed past Eramet and brought some warm water to wash Maara’s face. I washed my own face too and brushed the dirt of the armory floor from our hair and clothing.

When we were ready, Eramet took us into the kitchen. The women of the council were seated around a large table. Although I knew each of them by sight and had spoken to one or two, at that moment they were a sea of grey heads and wrinkled faces. Only Fet and Fodla stood out from the rest. They were shield friends and had put away their swords and joined the council only the year before. Fet had taken to wearing a long gown like the others, but Fodla still wore her warrior garb of tunic and trousers. Neither of them looked old enough to be an elder, though they had been warriors in Merin’s house when my mother was an apprentice.

The Lady sat, not at the head of the table, but among the other women as their equal. The ovens had been fired early, so that the older women wouldn’t feel the cold. There was no place for my warrior and me to sit, but we wouldn’t have sat down in any case, out of respect.

The women of the council had been talking quietly together. When we came in, they fell silent, and the Lady rose and addressed them.

“I’m sure you all remember,” she said, “that last winter this woman came to us asking for shelter, and I admitted her to my service. Last spring she was wounded so badly that no one believed she would survive her wounds. Only her companion believed her life worth fighting for. She refused to let her warrior die.”

I had been studying my bootlaces, but I looked up in surprise when I heard the Lady mention me.

“When Maara left us at harvest time,” the Lady went on, “no one here believed she would return. Only her companion believed in her, and now she too stands before you, a witness to her warrior’s truthfulness.”

The eyes of all the women of the council turned to me. I suddenly felt very small.

The Lady faced my warrior.

“What have you to say to us?” she asked her. “Where have you been since you left us, and what news do you bring us?”

“I bring news of a threat to the safety of your house,” Maara said. “I’ve been among the northern tribes and learned something of their plans.”

My warrior’s voice was calm and steady. While she spoke, she held the Lady’s eyes. Then she paused and looked at each of the other women in turn, so that they could read her intentions in her face.

“The northerners are hungry,” she said. “Life has never been easy in the north, and the last few winters have been hard. You’ve seen for yourselves how boldly they have come into your lands and how many lives they are willing to exchange for what they need.”

Again Maara paused. Several of the women nodded in agreement.

“Now they’ve made such a bold plan that you may find it difficult to believe. They intend to attempt a river crossing. Even now a hundred warriors are traveling south on the far side of the river. At first snowfall they will cross the river south of here, at the ravine.”

“How will they bring a hundred warriors across the river?” the Lady asked her.

“The river there is wide and smooth. Small boats they can carry with them might bring them across safely. They will count on having all the time they need to make the crossing. The winter mists will conceal them while they’re on the water, and when the snow falls, the country people will bring their animals indoors and stay home by their fires.”

Several of the women spoke among themselves for a little while. Maara waited for them to finish. She stood before them so patiently and with such dignity that my heart warmed with pride in her. While I might have stammered out a few ill-chosen words to the women of the council, my warrior spoke with ease and with an eloquent simplicity. If she saw my eyes on her, she gave no sign. She kept her gaze on the women of the council. When she had their attention, she spoke again.

“If the northerners gain a foothold by the river, your warriors will have all they can do to dislodge them. The farms to the south will be at their mercy.”

She didn’t need to tell these things to the women of the council. She was giving them time to consider the implications of this new threat.

“How did you come to hear of their plans?” the Lady asked her.

It was the question I dreaded.

“I understand the language of the northern tribes,” Maara said. “In an ale house I overheard a boast that one man made, that he would bring his wife a copper cauldron from this very hearth.”

Expressions of indignation erupted around the table at this bold boast, and the question of just how my warrior had chanced to hear it was forgotten, at least for the moment.

When the women were quiet again, the Lady said to them, “I must tell you that I find it difficult to take this threat seriously.”

“Why is that?” asked Fet.

Fet and Fodla sat side by side. They looked very much alike. Both were small and dark, but they were opposites in temperament. Fet was quiet, and she could speak to anyone and not give offense. Fodla was loud and blunt and gave offense constantly.

“It seems a foolish plan,” said the Lady. “River crossings have been tried before. None have succeeded. Why would they attempt something so dangerous? I’m inclined to think this plan of theirs is no more than a foolish boast, and many a boast never goes beyond the ale house.”

“Or it could be a trick,” said Fodla, “and Maara sent to mislead us.”

“That is a possibility, of course,” the Lady said.

“If we send even half a hundred of our warriors south,” said Fodla, “we won’t be able to defend the farms along our northern border.”

The women murmured their agreement.

Fet made a small noise in her throat, and the other women all fell silent.

“What was Maara doing in an ale house among the northern tribes?”

Fodla turned to look at Fet. The others turned to look at Maara.

“I understand your doubts,” Maara said. “You have no reason to place your trust in me. As the Lady said, when I left this place at harvest time, few believed that I intended ever to return to it.”

All eyes were on her now, including mine. I knew what she was going to say, and I gave her a little shake of my head to stop her. She met my eyes and said, “The truth convinced you, little one. The truth will convince them too.” Then she turned to face the council. “It is true that I did not intend to return to Merin’s house.”

Now all the women spoke at once. The Lady had to raise her voice to make herself heard. “Let the woman speak,” she said.

“I’m grateful to you for giving me shelter when I had nowhere else to go,” said Maara, when they were all quiet again, “but I don’t belong here. I may never find a place or a people to belong to, although when I left here, I did intend to try. I followed the road taken by the caravans, far into the north. For a while I traveled in the company of traders who were glad to have another warrior with them. In a village where we spent the night, I heard of the northerners’ plans. At first I thought, as the Lady did, that such boasts seldom go beyond the ale house, but I heard the same thing in more than one village, and I saw that they were making preparations to carry out their plan.”

“So you came back to warn us,” said the Lady.

Maara nodded.

Fodla, too agitated to sit still, got to her feet and faced the women of the council. “Why should she do that? By her own admission, she wanted nothing more to do with us. Why should she care what happens here?”

“If you can’t believe I would repay your kindness if I could,” Maara said, “then remember that I owe this child a life.”

Fodla gave my warrior an appraising look. Then she sat down.

“I had forgotten that,” she said.

“I had not,” said Maara.

***

All morning the council argued. The Lady sent Maara back to the armory to wait. She told me to sit down on the hearth by the ovens in case someone wished to question me, but I think they soon forgot I was there.

Lying next to me on her pallet was Gnith, a woman so old and bent that she could no longer stand, but had to be carried from place to place. Her bones always ached from the cold, and she made her bed by the ovens all year round. Although everyone treated her with great respect, it was the general opinion that her wits had left her long ago. The first time I saw her, I would have mistaken her for a pile of rags lying on the hearth, but for her eyes, like black beads, shining in her wrinkled face.

At first the women of the council considered what was best to do. If Maara’s warning was the truth, our warriors must go south to the ravine to prepare a defense. How many should we send? How long should they remain there? And how would we defend against an attack from the north? Was Maara’s news a trick? Where did the true danger lie?

Then they spoke about the river crossing. Some said that the Mother’s river had always been the guardian of our western border and that the Mother herself would upend the boats and toss the enemy into the freezing water, as she had done once before, more years ago than most of them could remember. Others suggested that perhaps the northerners had learned to build better boats, or perhaps they were hungrier than they had ever been, as Maara had said.

Namet, a plump, rosy-cheeked woman with short, white hair that lay in soft curls around her face, told a story of a winter long past, when the enemies of her mother’s house had sent their warriors out in wintertime. Her story shed only a little light on the current threat, and more stories followed from the other women that had even less to do with the troubles that beset us now.

I grew impatient. Then I grew bored. The next thing I knew, I awakened to find old Gnith’s bony finger poking at my ribs and her face close to mine, grinning a toothless grin.

“Bunch of old women!” she whispered. “They’d put me to sleep too.”

Then I saw that the Lady was looking at me. I scrambled to my feet.

“Did you talk with your warrior last night?” she asked me.

“Yes,” I said.

“Did she tell you she hadn’t intended to come back?”

“Yes.”

In a soft voice, the Lady said, “That must have hurt.”

“Yes.”

She turned back to the elders. “Have you anything to ask her?”

“Do you believe the news your warrior brings us?” said Fodla.

“Yes,” I said.

“Why?”

“My heart tells me.”

“Your heart told you she was coming back.”

“Yes,” I said.

“So your heart was wrong.”

“Not about this.”

Fodla opened her mouth to speak again, but Fet, who sat beside her, brushed Fodla’s cheek lightly with the backs of her fingers and shook her head, and Fodla said nothing more.

“Who else would question her?” the Lady asked them.

No one spoke. The Lady turned to Eramet, who had stood all morning by the doorway. “Bring Maara here,” she said.

When Eramet had gone, the Lady came over to where I was standing by the hearth. She took my chin in her hand and lifted my face to hers.

“I am going to ask something difficult of you,” she said. “You told me once that you would trust Maara with your life. Would you still?”

“Yes,” I said.

The women of the council were restless. They had looked at the situation from every angle and had talked over every possibility. They had shared their memories and their experience. Their part was over. It was the Lady who would do what needed to be done. Fet and Fodla seemed to be the only ones who were still paying attention. The others fell to gossiping among themselves in quiet voices. Someone mentioned that it was past time for the midday meal.

Maara came into the kitchen. The Lady turned to face her.

“I’m inclined to trust your good intentions,” the Lady said. “Even if the northerners’ plans come to nothing, I can’t ignore this warning. I will send warriors south to the ravine.”

I saw relief in Maara’s eyes.

“Lives depend on what you’ve told us,” the Lady said. “If it’s the truth, you will have a place here, and anyone who shows you disrespect will know my anger. But if you have been false to us, lives will be lost, and for that you will pay a price.”

“I understand,” Maara said.

“Is a life a fair price, do you think?”

My warrior nodded. “It’s no more than I expected.”

“Good,” the Lady said. She turned to the women of the council. “I give this woman the freedom of the house. If she proves treacherous, the life she pledged is forfeit.” She turned to Maara. “And if you leave this house, I will accuse you of treachery, and you will pay the same penalty.”

“Hah!” said Fodla. “Hard to kill her if she’s gone.”

“Her life is not the price,” the Lady said. “The child has put her life into her warrior’s hands.”

A silence fell that made even the mice in the grain bins grow still. No one spoke. No one moved. My heart leaped into my throat, then fell into my boots.

Maara stared at the Lady in disbelief. “No,” she said.

The Lady turned again to face her. “If you have been truthful with us, what difference does it make whose life it is?”

I heard the whispered laughter of old Gnith. The Lady exchanged a few words with Fet, then left the room without a word to anyone else. The women of the council began to speak quietly among themselves. Servants went about their preparations for the midday meal.

I felt Maara’s eyes on me and turned to meet them. She held my gaze for a moment before she turned on her heel and left the room. I would have followed her, but a bony hand wrapped itself around my ankle. When I looked down, Gnith beckoned to me. I knelt down beside her.

“She’s caught her now,” Gnith said. A gnarled finger waved in the direction my warrior had taken. “There’ll be no more leaving for that one.”

Her dark eyes sparkled with delight, as if what had just happened had been acted out for her amusement.

I was too distracted to pay much attention to her. I could hardly comprehend that I was now a hostage in Merin’s house. The world that I had felt so safe in yesterday was gone. Nothing was as it should be.

Gnith’s fingers were still curled around my ankle. I took her hand in both of mine to free myself. Her skin was cool and as dry as fallen leaves.

“How old am I?” she asked me.

“I don’t know, Mother,” I said. “Very old, I think.”

She pulled her hand out of my grasp and touched my cheek with her fingertips. “Once I was like you.”

The world shifted beneath me. My young eyes locked with her old ones, and my mind leaped ahead in time until I saw myself lying as helpless as Gnith upon this very hearth. I tried to look back on the memories I’d made, but the past was dark.

“What lies between, Mother?” I asked her.

“Lunch,” she said.

“What?”

“Bring me some lunch,” she said.

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