When they neared the house, Greta spoke.  “I am sorry for what I said.  I was angry and upset, but it was not fair to take it out on you.”

Hans grabbed that opening, turned, and exploded.  “I’ll say it wasn’t fair!  I won’t be able to go anywhere for a month without people laughing.  Beliona might get over it, but Vabona never forgets such things. He spoke in a baby voice, “Mama said!  Mama said…  It would have been kinder to kill me.  I will have to walk around with a sack over my head for the next ten years.”  Greta slapped him, and then she let it out.

“Hans!  I got caught by a soldier when I went looking for you.  If Drakka had not come along I might have been raped or worse.  I needed you, Hans, and you weren’t there for me!”  She quickly grabbed Hans by the lobe again, dragged him into the house and deposited him at the kitchen table where he could nurse his ear.  She went to the back and fell on her bed where she cried, and she decided if Hans thought she cried about nearly being raped, let him.  After a while, when Greta lay quietly, Hans came slowly into her little room.

“Greta.”  He spoke softly and cleared his throat.  “Greta.”

Greta sat up, turned around and hugged him.

“I’m sorry,” Hans said.  “If you ever need me I promise I’ll be there.  I promise.”

“Stop,” Greta said, and pulled away from her hug.  “You should not make promises that you might not be able to keep.  Just be my best brother and that will be enough.”

Hans hugged her again, and then went out front, but Greta decided she would just mope around for the rest of the day.

After a while, Hans got to go off somewhere with Papa.  Greta hoped that would make his birthday a little better.    Mama stopped in several times and on one of those times she told Greta that Yanda came to the door.  Greta felt crampy, though, and said she was not in the mood to go out. Papa and Hans finally came home. Mama had been cooking special things all day and only Bragi was missing to make it a real family gathering. Greta felt better for a minute or two, until Papa spoke up, even as he grabbed a hot sausage.

“Sorry, dear,” he said.  “I have to eat with the Romans tonight, dreadful as that sounds for the digestion, but things will get back to normal soon enough.”  He kissed Mama and sent Hans out to bring in the packages.  They were new dresses, and Hans got a new outfit, too.

Greta squealed, just a little, and went immediately to try it on.  The dress was soft pink, richly embroidered with white flowers all around the collar and sleeves, and cut well and fit well around her young figure. She thought it showed her off, nicely, and everyone else thought so too.

“Papa.” Greta felt thrilled, and she gave him a big hug and kiss.

Papa pulled back. “Now go take it off,” he said.  “You will need to wear that tomorrow.”

Greta started toward the back, but stopped and turned.  “Why?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” Papa said.  “Get changed.”  Greta hesitated.  “Go on.” Papa smiled.  It looked forced, but Greta went and changed.

When she came back, she saw that Mama’s dress also looked very nice, but very Mama-like. Han’s new tunic had been emblazoned with a bear and a raven, and he showed Greta every stitch; but he felt most excited about showing her the knife which hung from his belt.  It seemed a rather long and sharp weapon for a fourteen-year-old, but the knife was the thing he most prized.  Greta felt pleased to see that he could put it back in its’ sheath without cutting himself.

“Now Papa.” Greta spoke suddenly.  “You must tell me all that has been decided.  Not your daughter, but you must tell Mother Greta. And you must tell me before you go back to the Romans.”

That bit about Mother Greta caught Papa off guard.  He sat heavily, but he began without hesitation.  “All right,” he said.  “You already know about the two chiefs.  What you don’t know is the offer the Romans made to bring about the whole thing.”

“The Macromani, the Quadi, the Samartins.”  Greta said. “Neither we nor the Romans alone have the resources to keep them at bay forever.”  That took no great insight to see.  A little talk and a little logic was all that was needed.  Greta was still too young to realize how rare a little logic was in the human race.  Papa stared, so she shut-up.

“Essentially,” he said.  “The Romans have proposed that we join forces for mutual protection.  It is the Emperor, Antonius Pius’ idea to use the peoples along the border to help defend the border.”

“That is reasonable,” Mama said, trying to join in.  “If the Romans want to help us defend our villages, I say, let them.”

“And what did they offer us to fight and die for their empire?” Greta asked.

“Land,” Papa said. “They will be granting us the lush, productive land along the Old River itself.”

“And?”

“And some of the men have packed their homes already in anticipation of the riches. Others, however, mostly the young, claim to be insulted that their lives should be bought so cheaply.  They say we should see what the Samartins offer.  But the older men know better.  I still remember the rebellion and losing my father when I was Hansel’s, er, Hans’ age.”

“So?”

“So, the council elects a high chief to work the deal with the Romans, and a young war chief in Kunther, son of Kroyden, to raise and train what they are calling the Foederati troops to be used to defend the border.”

“But you don’t like the idea at all.”  Greta said. She started reading him, but he only laughed.

“I am the high chief.  Why should anyone listen to me?”  Greta stared at him until he confessed himself.  “I think it will truly divide and ruin us.  Some will pursue wealth in the lowlands.  Some will maintain their honor and live in pride in the highlands. Soon the Lowlanders will grow tired of feeding the Highlanders and the Highlanders will grow tired of defending the fight-less Lowlanders.  Then we will be fighting each other, and we might as well just give the land to the Quadi.”

“Draw lots to see who gets the rich lands,” Greta said.  “Then insist that they provide sons to fight in the first line of defense or their land will be given to a family that has sons.  Since they will have the best land, they should feel strongest about wanting to defend it.”

Papa visibly brightened.  He hardly had to think about it.  “That’s it!” he said, but then his face fell again.  “There are the young ones with Kunther.”  He leaned forward and whispered even though it was only the family in the house.  “They are talking outright rebellion and even joining the Quadi and Macromani against the Romans.”

Greta shook her head.  She had no suggestions for that one.   “One problem at a time,” she said.  “Meanwhile, there is more.”  She nearly asked where the cement was that would bind the agreement between the people and the Romans, but the hair rose-up on the back of her head and she grabbed her tongue.

Papa looked down. He began to twiddle his thumbs.  A deep sense of foreboding passed over Greta. “The Lords Marcus and Darius have taken a real liking to your brother, Hans,” he said.

“Darius gave me my knife.  He really is a great guy, ow!”   Papa kicked Hans under the table.  Greta turned toward Papa and the creepy feeling went all over her skin.

“In order to solidify our agreement and solidify our unity, the daughter of the new high chief will be betrothed in a special ceremony tomorrow at noon to the Tribune Darius.  The wedding will be in mid-summer.”  Papa stood and Hans stood with him as Mama drew in her breath.  Greta stared at Papa in shock as they left.  Then she closed her mouth.

Mama got up after a moment and fixed two plates with some of the special things she had been cooking, carefully picking out Greta’s favorites.  Greta told herself screaming would have been pointless.  She could not cry about it.  She had spent all afternoon crying.  Perhaps she could just hang herself.  Maybe Drakka could make something special with which she could hang herself, because, after all, he was such a very good friend.

Mama set Greta’s plate down and sat facing her.  “We’ll have to get straight to work if we are going to get your wedding dress ready by mid-summer,” she said.

Greta screamed. It wasn’t as pointless as she thought. When she went to bed, she was not sure if she had blinked yet, but her last thought was, well, at least he got a promotion out of the deal.

###

Greta cried in the morning on general principal.  Then Papa came in and they had to talk.  He hugged her first, but she had gone cold.

“Greta sweet.” He called her that sometimes.  “You have to try and understand how important this is.  In a way, it means the difference between war and peace.”

“Tolstoy.  I read that book,” Greta responded, without really thinking.  “I think it is about time you men fight your own fights or make your own peace without selling your daughters like cattle.”  Greta paused. She remembered Helen of Troy and realized that men used women as an excuse for all sorts of things.  She looked up at her father.  “What?”  She started to wonder what he wanted.

“Greta sweet.” He said that already.  “I was thinking, the people need their Woman of the Ways for counsel and help, especially in difficult times such as these.” He paused.  He was not sure what to ask so Greta helped him out.

“So, you want someone else to be the Woman of the Ways,” she said.  Papa nodded.  “Impossible. I did not pick this, as you know. I’ve been with Mother Hulda almost all my life and regularly for the last five years because she knew I was chosen to follow-after her.  There is no one else.”

“Mother Hulda?” Papa said, hopefully, though he knew better.

Greta shook her head and spelled it out.  “She is too old and there is not enough time for her even if there was someone else.” Greta did not say that Mother Hulda would die soon, but they both understood.

“You could pass on the gifts?”  He tried again.

“Not by mid-summer,” Greta said in a voice that was not to be questioned.  “And there is no one right now to pass them on to. Papa, I must be what I was born to be. I would cut off my right arm before giving this up.”

“I would cut off my right arm for peace,” Papa said.  “Worse, I have given my only daughter to the Romans for a pinch of hope.” He looked at the floor, ashamed of himself.  Deep inside, Greta understood, even if she despised her fate.  She kissed Papa’s cheek and spoke, though her heart was not in the words.

“I will do my duty,” she said.

Papa looked up. “I know you will.”  He kissed her forehead.  “I believe in you.”  And he rushed out the door, his cape fluttering behind.

************************

MONDAY

R5 Greta: Betrothed… but there are some twists and turns in this road.  Don’t miss it…

*

Greta got uncomfortable, so she changed the subject.  “Where’s Bragi?” she asked.

Papa shook himself from his thoughts.  “He has stayed in Ravenshold with the new war chief,” he said.

“There are two high chiefs!”  Greta blurted it out before she could stop her tongue.  She remembered what Mother Hulda said about how sometimes it would be best to keep silent.  Papa slammed his fist on the table and looked at Greta as if she had just confirmed his worst fear.  He stood and began to grumble as he paced the room.

“Two?” Mama asked.

“Two what?” Hans didn’t quite catch it.

Greta looked down at her lap where her hands were folded and her knuckles turned white. She had not intended to say anything, but she and Mother Hulda had figured it out.  Her hands began to sweat.  There were indeed times when it was best to say nothing at all.  She would let Papa explain.

Papa stopped pacing and faced the family.  “The council has decided to divide the leadership of the clan,” he said without any build up or preliminary explanations.  “I have been elected high chief, but Kunther, son of Kroyden from Grayland has been elected what they are calling the war chief.”  Papa paused, and that let Mama get a word in.

“My Vobalus elected high chief.”  Her eyes got big.  “Whatever shall I wear?” she asked.  Greta grabbed her Mama’s hand to bring her attention back to the point, but she laughed because she had thought much the same thing.

“I swear this was the Roman’s doing,” Papa continued.  “Divide and Conquer.  Especially that Lord Marcus.  You watch out for him.”  Papa pointed at Greta for some reason.  “I have never seen such political skill in one so young.”  He paused again.

Greta considered Lord Marcus and all at once her eyes rolled back and she became stiff. Papa got ready to speak, but he noticed and stopped.  Hans quickly grabbed his sister to keep her from falling.

Greta saw Marcus as an old man on a field outside Vienna.  Darius was with him and to her surprise, she was as well.  It would be the end of Marcus’ days.  “Ah!”  Greta let out a little shriek and came back to the table.  Then, she could not tell how much was the vision and how much had been a gift from one of her future lives, but she spoke what she knew before she opened her eyes.

“Marcus Aurelius,” she named the man.  “Son, or rather, adopted son of the Emperor, Antonius Pius.  He will be the next Emperor of Rome.”  She looked up and saw Hans smile, her mother with her mouth open, and her father in a fury.

“How can I do it?” Papa raged.  “How can I give such a gift to the Romans?  Hella’s breath!”  He added a few more disgusting and colorful phrases and stomped out of the house like a man on a mission.

Mama and Hans asked simultaneously.  “What was that all about?”

“I’m not sure,” Greta answered.  “But it has something to do with me.”  She smiled and took her mother’s hand because Mama looked worried.  “You know a seer is never good at seeing things concerning herself. But don’t worry.  In this case, I feel it will be all right.”

“I know your grandmother could not save herself in the last rebellion,” Mama said, thoughtfully. “She had no idea what was coming and ended up slaughtered right along with the rest of them.”  It did not exactly abate her worry, but it did turn Mama’s thoughts to her own loss and years of being without her mother.  Greta hugged her.

“Greta.” Hans interrupted, oblivious to the feelings being shared.  “Will you go with me to see the camp?”  He was being careful.  He knew he would never be allowed to go alone and if he snuck out it would be worse for him. Mama looked up, appeared to want Greta around all of those men even less, but Greta patted her hand.

“Son and daughter of the new high chief,” Greta reminded her.  They should be safe enough.  “And I should go to keep Hansel out of trouble.”  Mama agreed with that much.

Hans rankled at the name even as he jumped to the door.  “Come on,” he said.  A field full of warriors, weapons, armor, campfires, fights, drinking and stories. What more could a fourteen-year-old want for his birthday?

“All right birthday boy,” Greta said, and she followed after him.

“Keep out of the way, Hansel,” Mama shouted.

“Hansel,” Greta teased, but quietly.

“You promised!” Hans took that moment to protest, but he obviously did not feel too concerned.  He took off running, and Greta was not about to run after him.

Two hours later, Greta chided herself for not running after him.  She got angry that he took advantage of her good nature.  He had no intention of going with her.  He only told that lie to be allowed to go at all; and Greta thought the worst—he would probably swear that Greta was the one who got lost, and Mama would believe him.

“Hans! Hansel!”  She shouted.  Every time she walked between new tents, the men around that campfire would stop and stare. Still, she did not think that any of them would do anything until she came to a place where she knew no faces. One half-drunk man stood up to block her way.

“Lost your little boy, Hansel?” he asked.

“My brother,” Greta said.  She deliberately did not say little brother.  Let the man think what he would.

“Not married, eh?” He baited her.

“And not interested,” Greta said, as she tried to push passed.  He held his arms out to stop her even as his friends around the fire tried to hide their laughter.

“Aw, be kind to an old soldier,” he said, and Greta noticed he did not have many teeth left. “One kiss of those full, red lips and I could rip a lion apart with my bare hands.”

“Ugh!” Whatever made men think that sort of thing was a turn-on?  All Greta could imagine was a bloody, disgusting mess of a poor lion.

“Come on,” he said.  “One small kiss never hurt anyone.”  He began to circle his arms around her, but Greta’s hand came up into his chest and she stiffened her arms to keep him at bay.

“No,” she said, forcefully.  Something like a static electrical charge that ran up her arms and out of her hands. No white light of a goddess appeared, and no wolves caught on fire, but the man felt the shock and jumped back in surprise.  Greta felt nearly as surprised herself, but she stayed calm.  The men that sat around the fire also looked surprised.  They saw the sparks fly.

“Greta.” She heard Drakka’s voice.  “Greta.”  He came running up, leaving Sanger to follow with the cart.  Drakka quickly assessed the situation and began to whisper loudly in the man’s ears.  Greta heard the words “high chief,” and saw the man step back.  When she heard “Woman of the Ways,” and “Mother Hulda,” she watched the man move behind the protection of his fellows.

“Forgive me Little Mother.  I-I didn’t know,” he apologized, and it sounded sincere.  Every village and town had its’ healers and midwives, but the Women of the Ways were few.  Mother Hulda was the only one in the whole territory in Greta’s lifetime.  Everyone from Ravenshold to the north border and south to the Danube looked to her for many things.  Chiefs and high chiefs all called on her at one time or another. This was another part of the job that would take some getting used to.

“No harm done,” she said kindly to the man, but when Drakka and Sanger took her away in the cart, she whispered into Drakka’s ear.  “I should have turned him into a frog.”  She meant it in jest.

Drakka’s eyes got big.  “Could you really do that?” he asked, in all honesty, and Greta realized how stupid her joke had been.  She dared not say no, though that would have been the truth.  She dared not say yes for the sake of the truth, and for the future record.  She remembered Mother Hulda’s lesson about knowing when not to speak too late.  She had spoken foolishly.

“I would never do such a thing,” she spoke softly and humbly.

“Brother.”  Sanger wanted help with the cart and Drakka kept his thoughts to himself and put his back into it.  The cart had bread, meat and beer on it.  Some had been drafted to go around the camp and make sure everyone had shelter and something to eat.  Drakka spoke again at the next stop.

“Your father has appointed my father as one of his lieutenants,” he said.  “I guess that means we will be seeing a lot of each other. That will be nice.”

“Nice?” Greta did not want that word to sound the way it sounded, but Drakka did not notice.

“Sure,” he spoke frankly.  “Our fathers have always been close.  I always thought of you as one of my best friends, really, even when you were as small and pink as a newborn pig.”

Friends? This time Greta only thought the word as Sanger spoke.  “Hey!” They moved on.

At the next stop, Greta touched Drakka’s strong arm.  It made him pause, and Greta felt a kind of electricity there, too, but this kind made her heart thump.  “I’ve always liked you, too,” she said.  She looked hopefully into his eyes.  If he had any disinterest there, she could not read it.  He smiled, but quickly turned and went to work distributing bread and beer.  So, her position did not feel hopeless, Greta thought happily to herself.  Then the cart got emptied, and they went back to the main road where the supply wagons were parked.  Liselle worked there, helping-out, and Greta saw how Drakka and Liselle looked at each other and felt crushed all over again.  Then she spied Hans in a wagon with Vabona.  Too bad for him.

“Hans! Hansel!”  Greta yelled at him, insulting him in front of his friends. She trapped him in the wagon. He had nowhere he could go to escape.  He came to the wagon’s edge.

“What?” he asked, sheepishly, having a pretty good idea already.

“Your Mama told you that you could come here with me, not run off on your own.”  She got mean.

“Your Mama?” Beliona picked up on it right away.

“Get down here,” Greta yelled.  “I spent all afternoon looking for you.”  Hans looked once at his friends who were not even trying to hide their laughter.  He started to get angry as he climbed down, but his anger never had a chance.  Before his toes touched the earth, Greta had him by an ear lobe and she began to drag him off.  “You’ll be lucky if Mama doesn’t make you do the spring cleaning.”  It was the worst thing she could think of and it started some others laughing.

“Greta.” Hans found his voice.  “Go easy, sis.  It’s my birthday and you are hurting me.”

Greta felt mad and unfortunately Hans became the victim.  He got found in the wrong place at the wrong time.  She did let go of his ear, but only to grab him by the back of his neck.  He did not struggle.  He knew he had no choice.  Mama would only yell at him, but if he broke free and stayed out later, Papa would beat him or whip him for sure.  He came quietly.

Greta got up from bed as soon as she was allowed.  She busied herself with tasks to keep from thinking too hard.  Mother Hulda, patient all that time, did not say a word about it.  After three more days, Yani went into labor and Greta accompanied Mother Hulda to the house.  Under Mother Hulda’s insistence, Greta delivered the baby.  She had presided over other deliveries, to be sure, but never one where Mother Hulda went into the other room, closed the door and had tea. Yani had a beautiful baby girl. Later, Mother Hulda said Greta got everything just right, but then Greta knew she had help beyond what Mother Hulda had taught her.  About nineteen hundred years in the future from where Greta stood, she knew Doctor Mishka had delivered hundreds of babies.  Greta even heard the words, “Very nicely done,” echo in her head at one point. It sounded very much like talking to herself, but Greta knew she was not.  The Doctor praised her work, and after that, Greta thought that perhaps living all of those other lives might prove some benefit and not be the terrible burden she feared.

Yani looked up into Greta’s face when Greta handed her the baby.  “Thank you, Greta, dear,” Yani said, and with such genuine gratitude in Yani’s countenance and in her voice, Greta became temporarily speechless. Greta looked at Mother Hulda who nodded, and that reassurance helped.

“Get some rest.” Greta told Yani.  “Let your mother hold her granddaughter for a while when you are ready.”  She gave Yani a sisterly kiss and stepped away while Yani nodded, and Greta knew from that moment on she would be Yani’s doctor, and her baby’s doctor, and probably her mother’s doctor as well.

Still early morning, Greta and Mother Hulda left Yani’s house.  Mother Hulda said she had to go home.  Greta said she would accompany her.  She worried about Mother Hulda walking so far, uphill, alone.

“The question is,” Mother Hulda spoke, virtually reading Greta’s mind.  “Are you up to it?”

“I’m not sure,” Greta answered honestly with a laugh, and the two, like cripples, one old and one young, waddled up the hill.

“I saw more than you think,” Mother Hulda said, after a short way.  “The Nameless god is watching over you, even as he watches over the elves of light and dark.  If you ever needed help, I would not be surprised if he sent the spirits of life themselves to your aid.  I also saw Danna, and how Salacia is on your side as well, though that last connection is not so clear in my mind unless there is a young Roman man in your future.

“Please,” Greta protested.  “I would feel like a traitor to my own people.”  It sounded like a horrendous idea in her ears, but she considered Mother Hulda.  Mother Hulda had been taken to Rome, and some said she even took a lover there.  Greta decided that the idea did not sound nearly as horrible to her.

“All the same.” Mother Hulda said.  “I saw the powers watching over you.  I have had no such geis on my life.  My power is very small, but it has sufficed for my needs.”

“It has been sufficient for all that you have been authorized to do.”  Greta suggested.

Mother Hulda thought that through.  “A good way to put it,” she said.  “Still, it is good to have work in whatever way it comes.”  Greta waited for Mother Hulda to finish her thought.  “As for your magic, I do not know.”

“It is small,” Greta said, honestly.

“Bah!” Mother Hulda responded.  “You have two good feet and two good hands, sharp eyes, a well-ordered mind and a good heart.  You have everything you need to succeed.  Otherwise, I would not be giving my children to you, and most alive are my children, including Yani and you.”

“Giving them to me?” Greta said, innocently.

“Of course, child. I will not be here forever,” Mother Hulda said.  Greta nodded, but felt a little twist in her stomach.  She was not ready for Mother Hulda to pass on her magic wand, so to speak. Greta knew that someday she would be the village Shaman, the Witcher Woman, the Woman of the Ways, the keeper of the old ways in the knowledge of the old stories, the purveyor of wisdom, reading, writing and conversing in several languages, knowing herbs and salves, potions and medicines, being midwife and healer for the tribe and clan, the seer, and maker of magic for the benefit of the people.  It was a lot to expect, and Greta felt nowhere near ready.

“Oh, dear Mother,” Greta spoke, as she took Mother Hulda’s arm to help her over some rough spots. “You will be around for a long time yet.”  Greta felt glad Mother Hulda did not argue.  They both knew what Greta said was not true.

“And you have your task already laid out for you,” Mother Hulda said.  “The gods have been kind to you.”

“Task?” Greta questioned.  “I don’t understand.”

“Every woman who mediates the way of the gods in service to the people is given a task by the gods to prove their worth to take up the mantle of wisdom and healing.  I saw your Arabian and the wagons of weapons. I can tell you, the weapons of Trajan never made it to Rome.  I heard the goddess say it would be Greta’s task.  That is you, child.”

“But,” Greta began, but she saw no point in protesting.  Witcher Woman or not, Greta knew the job would still be hers, and every life she lived with whom she was presently in touch confirmed that feeling. Guns did not belong in the Roman Empire.  That was that.

“Well, I am sure with the gods in so generous a mood, they will also empower you to accomplish your task.  Then you will officially be the one for the people, though I feel in my heart you are already there, and you might be surprised to know that most of the people agree with me.”

Greta did feel a bit surprised to hear that, but curiosity ate at her.  “And your task?” she asked.

Mother Hulda smiled, as if she anticipated the question.  “To spend twelve years in captivity in a foreign land and not be enslaved, or worse.  To come home in one piece, free and safe.”  Greta nodded. She had guessed that, but Mother Hulda had not finished speaking.  “Do not shrink from whatever the gods may send to test you.  Obedience is better than words, and so is silence.  If there is one lesson left to learn, it is to know when to speak, when to humble yourself to refrain from more speaking, and when to keep silent.  It is a lesson, like most, that you will never master.  Only remember what you are supposed to do.”

They arrived a short time later at Mother Hulda’s door.  They kissed good-bye and Greta turned for home.  She had to go slow.  It was not easy making her tired legs take her back to bed.

###

After another two weeks, Papa finally came home.  He pushed himself to arrive on the day Hans turned fourteen.  Two days earlier, Greta caught her little brother holding hands with a thirteen-year-old girl.  The girl turned very red and ran away, but Hans made Greta swear not to tell anyone, especially the guys—as if she ever talked to them.  Greta promised, but then she could not seem to refrain from calling him Hansel all during his birthday.

During those days of waiting for her Papa, Greta discovered several things.  For one, she found it was not difficult to avoid the boys, and Drakka.  She felt a bit embarrassed by her recent, helpless condition.  Fortunately, she had no reason to hang out at the blacksmith’s shop unless she chose to do so.  Of all the boys, only Koren made the effort to catch up with her.  He seemed good about her experience, but after several sentences, Koren ran out of things to say.  They would stand awkwardly for a few minutes until Greta said she had to go. Then Koren would perk up.  He was very good at saying good-bye, but after a few such encounters, Greta felt sorry to say, she began to avoid him as well.

On the other hand, the girls seemed to always be around.  She saw Vanesca every day, and Yanda only a little less, because Yanda began to spend more time with Jodel at the blacksmith’s.  She saw Venice several times, and Venice seemed nice, but that was not surprising, because she had always been the nice one.  What felt surprising was running into Liselle twice and Karina three times.  On their own, they came across warm and friendly.  When she met them both together, Greta noted her treatment became more formal and cordial.  It reminded Greta that their friendliness came, not because she suddenly became one of the beautiful and popular people.  Rather, her position mattered.  It was always important to stay on the good side of the Woman of the Ways. Both would be needing Greta’s services in the future, and perhaps in the not-too-distant future.  They did not exactly butter her up, but Greta found her treatment far better than it used to be.  Clearly, they continued to snub Vanesca and Yanda without a second thought.

Papa came home at the front of a great column of men.  Some of the men lived in Boarshag, some came down with him from Ravenshold, and some, perhaps most, lived further down the hills, in the valley of the great river.  Some three hundred auxiliaries hailing from Dalmatia, Moesia and Gaul, and two hundred Romans, also came; almost half the contingent assigned to Ravenshold from the legion fort in Apulum.  The Lords Marcus and Darius, and another centurion named Alesander headed the columns. Greta saw them ride through town, laughing and talking as if on a hunt, or a friendly afternoon ride.  The Romans and auxiliaries took their men to camp on the hilltop south of town; the best defensive position around.  The people camped in Papa’s main field which had just been planted before the high chief died and the counsel got called.  Greta felt sure that after the camp they would not get much grain out of that field, but apparently, the men did not consider that, or they did not care.

Once the camps were set, Papa came bounding in to give Mama a big hug.  Wouldn’t you know, the first thing out of Mama’s mouth was the story of Greta’s visionary experience.  She told how Greta birthed Yani’s child, and about a couple of small healings Greta had performed in the last two weeks.  Mother Hulda made it clear to everyone that she had become too old to continue and they should look to Greta now as their Woman of the Ways. Mama sounded very proud.  She always felt her mother, Greta’s grandmother, should have had that honor.  But now, Greta being chosen seemed like vindication in her mind.  Papa, however, sat in silence at the kitchen table.  He came home dressed in his armor, like one ready to go to war, and he kept looking at Greta like one studying his enemy and searching for weak points to attack.