had the boot off, even some of the Quadi remarked on the smell, but I merely slipped in ‘
Venite
’ as a signal, and Donar pulled and I twisted and the expert howled and the bone came right.
Then I wrapped the ankle in bandages soaked in cold beer for want of water, and I forbade the expert to walk on it for a week, and for good measure I made up a charm which I have had said over bad sprains of my own since then by Germans who didn’t know me, and which went:
Blood to blood,
Bone to bone,
Strength to the sinew,
Skin strong as stone,
Oak strong as ash,
Elm at the end,
Earth over all.
Everybody within earshot wagged their heads and said what a powerful and efficacious charm that must be, and that you hadn’t to worry about who was going to do the magic as long as you had a Greek about, but ask them to do hard work … not likely. Then while Donar was busy helping the patient to a bench, which had to be cleared of novices sitting boasting and rubbing charcoal into their cuts to make them show up better, I slipped out. Me for bed, I thought, if only I can remember which is my hut.
Her warm arm slipped under mine, her warm body pressed to me. Out of the dark she asked:
‘Spear-bearer from the South, Greek going north, Joy-knower, Joy-bringer?’
‘And if I am?’
There had been no women at the feast. The serving women were not fit to meet the likes of us; nor were the likes of us, strangers, foreigners, of no known clan or lineage, fit to meet Haro’s wife or daughters. But this was no serving maid, these hands did not spend the mornings on the quern, grinding out the flour for the day. She smelt sweet, and her voice was gentle not shrill, as she said softly, ‘Come, come.’
At that age, that was a call I would never resist. She led me towards a tangle of huts, barns, stables, all mixed together. The tangled clouds raced past the rising moon. The wind caught my hair and hers and mixed them. She pointed up and said:
‘You hear the dogs of Wude?’
And indeed the wind sounded faintly, if you wished to think so, like a pack of hunting dogs belling. We came to one hut among many, and she pushed open the unbarred door. The floor was spread with sweet fresh rushes, and the walls hung with embroidered cloths. All round the room were bronze lamps, imported, and probably bought from the family, I thought. They lit her fair skin, her fine face, her long golden hair against my black, as she sank back on the great bed, and spread with furs, furs, a king’s ransom in furs, and spread over with silk, an Empress’s dowry in fine silk.
I asked her name.
‘Gerda,’ she told me. The wind howled in the roof.
‘Listen,’ she cried. ‘He rides! The wild hunt rides.’
It was daylight, hardly daylight, the first light. Donar was shaking me, saying:
‘Never know where to look for you when you’ve had a few. Lucky you didn’t go for the women, then you would take some finding, bit by bit. Do you know what they do up here?’ his voice went maundering on. I looked up at the sky. I lay on a mouldering pile of roof straw in a ruined hut. The door sagged from one leather hinge. Painted plaster peeled damp from the walls. Spring flowers, buds still unopened for the day, sprouted from the turf floor. The wind still howled through the rafters. Where was the huntsman now?
3
We left as soon as it was fairly light. For more days we rode across the uplands, and then through more mountains. Away to the west there rose one great peak that the Germans called the Old Father, the mountain where the world had begun. We left it behind and came down into a country of forests and marshes, and wide rivers.
Then one day about noon we were making along a forest path when there came out of the scrub two horsemen, poor men, in rags, riding on blankets, one red and blue check, the other no particular colour except dirty. They stopped by the side of the path, and watched us as we went by. They were poor. They had no swords, but they
Venite
’ as a signal, and Donar pulled and I twisted and the expert howled and the bone came right.
Then I wrapped the ankle in bandages soaked in cold beer for want of water, and I forbade the expert to walk on it for a week, and for good measure I made up a charm which I have had said over bad sprains of my own since then by Germans who didn’t know me, and which went:
Blood to blood,
Bone to bone,
Strength to the sinew,
Skin strong as stone,
Oak strong as ash,
Elm at the end,
Earth over all.
Everybody within earshot wagged their heads and said what a powerful and efficacious charm that must be, and that you hadn’t to worry about who was going to do the magic as long as you had a Greek about, but ask them to do hard work … not likely. Then while Donar was busy helping the patient to a bench, which had to be cleared of novices sitting boasting and rubbing charcoal into their cuts to make them show up better, I slipped out. Me for bed, I thought, if only I can remember which is my hut.
Her warm arm slipped under mine, her warm body pressed to me. Out of the dark she asked:
‘Spear-bearer from the South, Greek going north, Joy-knower, Joy-bringer?’
‘And if I am?’
There had been no women at the feast. The serving women were not fit to meet the likes of us; nor were the likes of us, strangers, foreigners, of no known clan or lineage, fit to meet Haro’s wife or daughters. But this was no serving maid, these hands did not spend the mornings on the quern, grinding out the flour for the day. She smelt sweet, and her voice was gentle not shrill, as she said softly, ‘Come, come.’
At that age, that was a call I would never resist. She led me towards a tangle of huts, barns, stables, all mixed together. The tangled clouds raced past the rising moon. The wind caught my hair and hers and mixed them. She pointed up and said:
‘You hear the dogs of Wude?’
And indeed the wind sounded faintly, if you wished to think so, like a pack of hunting dogs belling. We came to one hut among many, and she pushed open the unbarred door. The floor was spread with sweet fresh rushes, and the walls hung with embroidered cloths. All round the room were bronze lamps, imported, and probably bought from the family, I thought. They lit her fair skin, her fine face, her long golden hair against my black, as she sank back on the great bed, and spread with furs, furs, a king’s ransom in furs, and spread over with silk, an Empress’s dowry in fine silk.
I asked her name.
‘Gerda,’ she told me. The wind howled in the roof.
‘Listen,’ she cried. ‘He rides! The wild hunt rides.’
It was daylight, hardly daylight, the first light. Donar was shaking me, saying:
‘Never know where to look for you when you’ve had a few. Lucky you didn’t go for the women, then you would take some finding, bit by bit. Do you know what they do up here?’ his voice went maundering on. I looked up at the sky. I lay on a mouldering pile of roof straw in a ruined hut. The door sagged from one leather hinge. Painted plaster peeled damp from the walls. Spring flowers, buds still unopened for the day, sprouted from the turf floor. The wind still howled through the rafters. Where was the huntsman now?
3
We left as soon as it was fairly light. For more days we rode across the uplands, and then through more mountains. Away to the west there rose one great peak that the Germans called the Old Father, the mountain where the world had begun. We left it behind and came down into a country of forests and marshes, and wide rivers.
Then one day about noon we were making along a forest path when there came out of the scrub two horsemen, poor men, in rags, riding on blankets, one red and blue check, the other no particular colour except dirty. They stopped by the side of the path, and watched us as we went by. They were poor. They had no swords, but they
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