“It was meant to be.”
“You’re hurt because of me.”
“Njord cut me.”
“You know what I mean. You seem calm after such a public victory.”
“There is more glory in a good poem than spilling blood.”
“You won,” I state.
“A man is dead,” he replies flatly.
“Well, you helped me. Thank you.”
“I thought it was Eidunn Njord was?—”
“You barely know her.”
He snorts.
“I barely know you,” he says.
I look up his body to his eyes—he has a sly smile. Kneeling like this in front of a man sends a tingle down my spine. It’s the same view he had of me when he dried me. It’s intimate. Let’s call it a Volva’s duty.
“We’ve shared experiences,” I say slowly.
“It’s true—you did try to stab me.”
I slap his other thigh, making him laugh.
“Fair enough. How has the wound healed?” I ask as I rip flowers from their stem.
He shows me his palm. There is no scar, no sign of my attack. Very strange—I was sure I slashed him good. I remember seeing his blood by the river.
The yarrow needs crushing. A quick glance around his room shows no mortar and pestle. His space is well-kept, for a man with no wife. Some clothes lie on the floor. A bowl holds some brooches and leather straps. There are barely any items. I have more belongings than him, and I’m a thrall. I see a frying pan, some jars with herbs and fat. His blade lies on the table, already washed.
“Do you have a mortar?” I ask.
“I am no Volva.”
“But you are a cook.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Here I mostly eat at the longhouse.”
“It is,” I say, raising myself. Many men would not find it honorable to be called a cook. They view it as women’s work. “I see your blade is already washed.”
“It will rust otherwise.”
“I’ve never seen one like it.”
“It was a gift. Ancient. It’s from the south. A gladius, they call it.”
“Gladius?”
“Gladius.”
No mortar, so I place the flowers on my tongue and chew. The bitter flavor spreads around my mouth. From the south? I’ve heard stories of the great kingdoms to the south and east. Men with many crowns, one for each king they have slain. Queens with thrones and armies at their command. Stone castles that humble our longhouses. I’ve never met anyone who has traveled that far. I speak with herbs in my cheek.
