I stared at them a moment and said, “I am to bed. I will see you here in the morning? I like a bath in the morning even if I have had one the night before.” I hurtled up the steps, wrapped myself in a linen and dried my skin vigorously. I pulled my shift and fall dress, a dark teal color, over my head, shoved my feet into my boots and left the baths. I did not look over my shoulder to see if they watched me.
You’re in love.
“No, no, no,” I muttered to myself, running to our room. I had not been careful. Ever since speaking with Mother Earth, I had let my heart feel whatever it wanted to feel, because that mostly entailed rejoicing at a goddess knowing who I was and speaking to me. And somewhere in that exultation, I started to love a man, a man of whom I was unsure, a man unreadable, unknowable. A man who had given his heart away to someone long before he met and wed me.
“You will not cry,” I said out loud. “He will return soon and you will not cry.” I found the jug of whiskey he often kept on the desk and took a swig instead of a sip, almost choking on the burn in my throat. It was flavored with apples but I still coughed.
There was a knock at the door. There he was, the man I loved.
I did not reply because I sat there in a stunned silence at my own admission.
67. Wolf
The door swung inward and in came my husband, dirt-streaked from head to toe, blood on his face and limping. From his right hand, his shield clattered to the floor.
“Gods, what happened?” I exclaimed, abandoning my self-pitying vigil at the desk.
He held up a hand. “It is a cut on the face, much like yours from the rock field. It will soon stop.”
“You look halfway to death,” I said, approaching him.
He stood there staring at me but not seeing. “Edith, I need you to help me with my breastplate. Just—” he held up his hand again at my open mouth. “Just do it, please.”
I circled him and undid the straps and buckles at his back and then returned to the front of him and helped him pry it from his chest. Underneath, his tunic was soaked in sweat and dirt and more blood. It was cumbersome to hold and I had to swing it upwards twice before I could hang it from its designated hook. I returned to him and reached around his waist to undo his belt. The sword was so heavy, I just laid it on the ground next to the shield, feeling disrespectful, but unable to lift it.
“You need a bath,” I said. “You need to get this mud off of you and clean that cut.”
“I cannot,” he whispered. "I cannot move. If I go down there right now, I will shame myself in front of a hundred men. I do not know how I made it up the steps here.”
“What happened?” I asked again. “You will tell me.”
“You scold like an old wife.”
I glared at him until his eyes reached mine.
“The last few boys today were strong,” he sighed. “One of them bested me.” He pointed to his face. “I am better at fists at the end of the day. I can swing a sword well, but… I am overworked today.”
“And you don’t want all of these boys to see that you are not invincible, so you will not bathe alongside them,” I surmised.
He nodded, eyes not meeting mine.
“Can you walk back down the stairs?” I asked.
“I told you. I will not show my frailty—”
“We’re not going to the men’s baths. Can you walk back down the stairs?” I repeated.
He nodded again, confused.
I went to the hook where my apron hung and fished out the key. “I am going to show you something I would prefer you keep between us.”
He was curious but too tired to ask anything.
I poured him a little whiskey and added a drop of lightleaf.
He drank it without question.
I gathered a clean change of clothes for him and hung them over my shoulder. I lit a candle and led him all the way down to the little door that looked like it led to a linen closet, inserting the key and turning it. He followed me down the narrow steps to the private bathing chamber of Gareth Pope. His movements were constrained and I sensed he gritted his teeth.
