But something told him there was much more going on than he realized.
“Then you must be weary if you are on a mission to save your friend,” he said. “Come. I will show you where you can rest. There is a corral off to the north where you can put your horses but, first, let me show you where you may sleep while you are with us.”
The knights knew they couldn’t refuse his hospitality. So, while St. Hèver remained with the horses, the rest of them followed Antillius to a long stone structure that turned out to be a convening hall. There were elders in the village and this was where they met to discuss any issues of concern.
Built of the same rock as the rest of the village, the convening hall had a fire pit in the center of it and a sod roof, slightly pitched, with holes near the top of the walls for smoke to escape and ventilation. It also had stone benches and faded images of pagan gods drawn on the walls that, at one time, had been painted. But the colors had faded, leaving only shadows of images, something the knights found both disconcerting and fascinating. However, it was a roof over their heads, something they hadn’t had in days, and the simple comfort of it was welcome.
Antillius left his guests settling in to the convening hall while he went to seek his daughters to inform them of their guests, and then on to the elders of the village to tell them about the enormous warriors from across the sea. Certainly, they would all be interested to know what was happening on the outside, but in order for the warriors to speak more freely, they would need an incentive.
Copious amounts of alcohol, made from apples and fermented grains, were soon being prepared for the coming meal.
In vino veritas….
After carefully examining the torn stitches in Ghislaine’s thigh, the old woman simply removed the broken stitches and then sewed the wound up again with thread made from hemp. It was very strong but it was also painful as the woman poked the sore skin and carefully stitched.
Ghislaine sat on the floor in the old woman’s neat house. It was a tiny structure with a tiny bed, a small fire pit in the center, and clutter that one would expect from an old woman living alone. Camulos, her guardian, was lying on one side while Gaetan was crouched on the other, holding her hand as the woman poked and stitched, squeezing her hand now and again as she gasped and made faces because it damn well hurt.
Aramis and Téo stood in the open door, watching the procedure, but they were both watching it from completely different perspectives. Aramis was watching Ghislaine and Gaetan, his misery gaining steam, while Téo was watching Aramis. In fact, that was the only reason he’d come. He’d seen the looks between Gaetan and Ghislaine, and subsequently Aramis and Gaetan, so he came to ensure that nothing got out of hand between Gaetan and Aramis.
It was clear that Gaetan had the lady’s attention but Aramis wasn’t so subtle about his interest towards her. Téo had seen this situation developing from the start and he was quite concerned for Aramis. The man didn’t say much, nor did he ever react to much, but he was reacting openly to Ghislaine. At some point, Gaetan was going to have his fill of it. Therefore, Téo had come to make sure nothing happened between two men vying for the same woman.
He was dreading the moment when it did.
“How does the leg look, Gate?” he asked Gaetan.
Gaetan was watching the old woman finish up her careful stitches. “Not as bad as I thought,” he said. “There was so much blood it was difficult to see, but it is not as bad as it could be.”
The old woman was on her final stitch. “It will heal,” she croaked in that odd Latin that Antillius also spoke. “The lady must stay still. She must rest until it heals.”
Ghislaine made out most of what the old woman said. She looked to Gaetan in distress. “I cannot stay still until it heals,” she said. “You must go to Tenebris and I must go with you. We cannot wait more than a day or two at most.”
Gaetan patted her hand. “You will not worry about that today,” he said. “Today, you will rest all day. Tomorrow, we shall discuss this further.”
Ghislaine wasn’t so sure. As she sat there and fretted, there was movement at the door and she looked up to see three young women approaching. Téo and Aramis, also by the door, caught sight of the young women and they immediately stood back so as not to crowd the timid women. Also, they were inherently interested in them. The women were, by all accounts, young and quite pretty.
But the young women were fearful of the big knights as they huddled near the door, eyeing the warriors while trying to gain sight of the old woman inside.
“Pullum?” one of them called. “Pater has sent us. He has told us to help you with the injured lady.”
The old woman finished with the last stitch and sat there, surveying her handiwork. But she paused a moment to wave the young women in, and they darted into the tiny hut in a frightened bunch.
“Aye, I will need your assistance,” she said. “This young woman has a wound that must heal. After I wrap the leg, you will assist the lady in bathing and cleaning herself. She is quite dirty and, I would presume, wishes to be comfortable. Will you tend her?”
The girls nodded, looking at Ghislaine, who was gazing back at the three of them somewhat warily. Ghislaine had very few female friends, given the fact that she had been a warrior most of her life, so female companionship was rare in her world.
In truth, it was also somewhat unwelcome. She didn’t like silly women and their petty problems. But she also knew she couldn’t refuse the hospitality being offered. As her gaze moved from the young women to Gaetan to see what his reaction was to all of this, the first young woman spoke again.
“I am Lygia, daughter of Antillius,” she introduced herself timidly. “These are my sisters, Verity and Atia. What is your name?”
Ghislaine looked at them fearfully before her gaze moved to Gaetan. Odd how she was quite fearless in the face of men and battle, but being approached by three young women had her tongue-tied. He smiled wearily at her.
“Tell them your name,” he said. “They will not bite you.”
Ghislaine’s focus moved back to the young women but when she spoke, it was hesitantly. “I am Ghislaine of Mercia.”
Lygia was a pretty girl with soft blonde hair and a big-toothed smile. “Welcome, Ghislaine of Mercia,” she said, sensing the woman’s standoffishness. Without anything more to say, she turned to the old woman. “We will go and gather what we need and return shortly.”