Chapter Twenty Nine
Mutta watched as the relationship between Cimon and Inga developed, deepened and cemented, their joy was evident and they never seemed to take it for granted.
The village and all the settlements accepted that Inga would spend her nights with the god and return in the mornings. The only exception to this was when he went away twice a year, once before the winter snows and again after them, though he didn’t go for any length of time and was always back midway through the second moon.
Cimon had returned a few days ago much to Inga’s relief as the weather was getting much colder. She stood beneath the bare beech trees and sniffed the air.
“The snow will be here soon, I knew they’d be early this year,” she told him glancing around as he caught up with her.
He shook his head. “I don’t understand. How can you smell snow?”
Inga shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s just something we learn to do. You should be able to do it as well, your nose is far more sensitive than mine and you’ve been here almost as long.”
He considered. “I think it’s the dampness you smell. Combine that with the colour of the clouds and you think you smell snow.”
“Maybe. I’m not going to argue with you. But I like the idea that it smells.”
Cimon shook his head. “You believe that then. I’m not going to shatter your illusions.” But she was quiet, obviously thinking about something. Cimon knew her well enough to leave her until she was ready to speak, which she inevitably would.
He took her hand and they began to walk through the forest back to the sacred hill. Abruptly Inga stopped, forcing Cimon to halt as well.
“I want to stay with you this winter,” she told him without preamble.
He regarded her for a moment, somewhat taken aback by the request.
“I hate being separated from you. I know we see each other when we can, but it’s not enough. If I stayed with you, the winter would be easier for you. I’d be there to keep your levels of essence up. It makes sense.”
Cimon wasn’t so sure it was such a good idea. “It’ll be cold, Inga. The snow gets so deep you won’t be able to move much and you’ll have to stay in the building. Anyway, I’m away a lot getting the food. You’ll be bored and alone.”
Inga shook her head. “It’ll be worth it when you come back, and in the meantime I can make up herbs and bags as well as read and copy some scrolls.”
Cimon pondered the idea; she’d clearly thought about it and had a good argument. “What about Mutta? She’ll miss you. You both work hard in the winter.”
“I’ll go back when the snows let me. I’ll only be away for a few days and then others can come in and help, if she needs it. Please, Cimon. I’ll keep you warm at night,” she teased.
He smiled. She would keep him warm; he had no doubt about that. She might also be a huge distraction as well. But he knew Inga, she would keep on about it, until he agreed. He was quite sure that it wouldn’t be as romantic and idyllic as she imagined, but the only way to find out was to try it.
He nodded. “All right. When the snows come you’ll stay with me.” Inga grinned and threw her arms around him.
“Thank you. You know you won’t be disappointed.”
Unfortunately it wasn’t Cimon who was disappointed. Inga found living in the stone dwelling dull and tedious. The cold and damp seemed to be in the very walls and despite building a fire in the interior of Cimon’s home, it didn’t seem to make any impression. She spent her days huddled in the bedchamber wrapped in furs, much too cold to do any reading or translating. Cimon had warned her it would be freezing, but nothing had prepared her for this. He could live with it, because temperatures didn’t affect him in the same way, but to Inga it was unbearable.
And as predicted, she was lonely. Cimon went hunting every day, not only for her village, but for all of the others in the mountains. What usually took him a few hours would now take him most of the day due to the snow. He would provide for each settlement in a cycle: once he’d given food to all of them, then he’d go through it again and so on. Quite often he only came home after it was dark, and sometimes Inga had even been asleep before he was able to get back to her.
When the first snows of the winter melted, Inga returned to the village telling Muttta that she would be more use and better able to help the villagers if she stayed with them. Mutta had nodded wisely and not commented, clearly seeing the disappointment in the younger woman’s face.
They did eventually work out a system that would enable them to see each other. Cimon preferred to keep his distance from the rest of the village, he was supposed to be a god, and immortals didn’t usually live amongst mortal men. So to maintain the illusion, he kept away, allowing them to see him only when it was necessary or he wanted to speak with Inga. He used this now, so that when he knocked on the door to signal that he had meat, he would leave it for them and then Inga would come out and find him a few metres away of out sight of the entrance.
He tried to stick to the same time, but this wasn’t always possible.
Mutta and Inga had been stomping in a vat to crush and release the colour of certain herbs when they heard someone calling.
“Inga! Goodman’s here. Quickly.” A young hunter poked his head around the door. “He’s just dropped a fine deer off for us.”
“He’s early,” Inga said as she glanced at Mutta.
“Early or not. You’d best go to him. I’ll still be here when you get back,” Mutta told her with a smile.
Inga clambered out of the vat and raced through the door, which the hunter had left open. It was only as she reached the gate, which another man was opening for her, that she realised her feet were bare and sinking into the mud around the gate which had swallowed up the straw everywhere else. It was too late to go back now, and it didn’t matter as she could rinse them off when she returned to the hut.
Thanking the hunter, she slipped through the opening and turned left. As expected Cimon was waiting for her leaning against the wooden fence, his usual dark clothing startling in contrast with the white of the snow. He smiled when he saw her.
Moments later she was enfolded in his embrace. Sometimes it was just enough to hold him, Inga thought, feeling his moderate heat, only barely warmer than the temperature of the winter sun. And he smelt of fresh air, not the stale crowded odour of the village. Being close to him filled her mind with images of the White Mountains and bare trees.
Eventually, she took a step back and looked up. Inga could see the warmth in his brown eyes, but also the strain of hunting for all the villagers. Without saying anything, she lifted her head and tenderly pulled his face down to hers. He understood and didn’t try to resist her offer.
Carefully, he cradled her head in his hand and brushed his lips against hers. Without thinking, his thumb found her cheekbone and caressed her skin. Inga brought her hand up to stroke his face and opened her lips for him, then felt his mouth enfold her own, he pulled almost immediately, a sure sign that he was in real need of her life force. She relaxed into the exchange, feeling light and dreamy as her essence flowed from her into him.
Surprisingly, he stopped and broke the contact. But Inga knew not to move, he would be adjusting himself, ready to feed some back to her. She waited, calm and completely at ease with the process. When his lips found hers again they were warmer and seemed fuller than before. The essence was warm and sweet as it flowed into her mouth and drifted down her throat. Unconsciously, she tightened her hold on him as the heat flooded and filled her whole body, then as so often happened, the exchange became a kiss, despite the proximity of the villagers.
Eventually they remembered where they were and reluctantly, broke apart.
“I’ve missed you,” Cimon told her. “I know you hated it, but it was nice having you to come back to at night.”
Inga smiled and stroked his tunic. “I can’t go back. I’m sorry. It was too cold.”
“I know. I don’t expect y
ou to. But when it’s easier to travel will you come for the nights?”
Inga nodded. “You know I will. But though it’s clearer here, you said that the mountains were still blocked.”
Cimon regarded her for a moment. “I can make a path for you. It won’t be hard.”
She laughed and shook her head. “No, you’ve got enough to do. We can manage for a couple of nights.”
“You were snowed in for almost ten days,” he remonstrated, but there was an edge to his voice.
Inga stroked his cheek, where the beginnings of a beard were growing. “We’re apart for a lot longer than that when you go across the river.”
He sighed. “That’s different. You’re near, but out of reach.”
“I’m sorry. We could go for a walk though,” Inga suggested. “It’s not that bad out here. We could go to the trees. Oh… ” She looked down. Cimon followed her gaze and saw that she wasn’t wearing shoes.
Suddenly she felt herself being picked up. “What are you doing?” she cried.
By now Cimon had her in his arms and was heading back to the gate. “Taking you back.”
“But…” Before she could say any more, Cimon had knocked loudly on the wooden door. It was instantly opened by the same hunter who’d called her in the first place.
He had been expecting to see Inga, but instead he was confronted with the sight of Inga in the arms of their local deity.
“Carry her to Mutta’s house and don’t put her down until she’s inside,” Cimon told the dumbstruck man and promptly dumped her into his arms. Inga and the hunter could only watch as he walked away across the snowy valley floor.
“You can put me down,” she told the speechless young hunter.
He looked at her and shook his head. “I’ll do what I’m told, Inga. Sorry.” So, much to her embarrassment, Inga was carried back to Mutta’s house whilst the whole of the village watched.
Chapter Thirty
As soon as Inga finished her training, she set to creating her own record of the native herbs and plants they’d found in the forests, which she combined with some of the information she’d learnt as a wise woman. Cimon would bring back scrolls for her from his trips across the river and would hunt in the towns for medical tracts about Gaul and Germania, which could add to their knowledge. It was a huge challenge, but she was determined to create something that was unique and would benefit others after her.
Some of the other women were also curious to read about what she’d written down and with the empire so close, it was useful for the men to know Latin as well. So for a while Inga had tried to teach her own people to read. But she wasn’t a natural teacher, having little patience and she preferred to be outside. Mutta had given up learning the Roman word with Inga, but when Cimon offered to teach her instead, she’d accepted his offer and made steady progress until she’d eventually mastered both Greek and Latin, thanks to his patient encouragement. So she’d happily taken over trying to teach her people to read and as she was getting older it was the perfect solution.
The relationship between the wise woman and the seizer changed as well, from tolerant respect to genuine friendship. In fact as Mutta got older she spent more of her time with the two of them, often joining them for walks in the forest and visiting the tumulus in summer. Once Inga was fully trained, she took on more of Mutta’s responsibilities, so in the summer months, the wise woman spent more time with Cimon.
She found him fascinating and easy to be with. She especially loved hearing what he knew about the rest of the world, as he’d seen so much and lived so long. She came to know him very well and though they argued about all manner of things it was as old friends and often simply for the pleasure of a discussion. With his frequent healing her hips had stopped hurting, and though he couldn’t stop aging, and she was inevitably getting older and slower, she remained in good physical health and looked set to outlive all her contemporaries.
***
Mutta sat in the afternoon sun, warming herself and relaxing. It had been almost fifteen years since Inga had become Goodman’s priestess and to be honest not too much had changed in the valley; in fact, life had settled into a happy and stable routine.
A shout broke her quiet moment and she opened her eyes to see Inga splashing about in the river above the waterfall. She didn’t understand their fixation with water but at every opportunity, they would both dive in and swim. Like today for example, the three of them had been together on a walk to gather mushrooms, it had been hot even under the canopy, but suddenly they’d decided to go for a swim to cool down. Mutta, used to such peculiar behaviour, had found her usual stone to sit on so she could sun herself, whilst the other two had gone off to get wet.
Mutta watched them for a while, and mused that the gods couldn’t be angry that their gift was being taken for granted. Each day, she knew, they woke up delighted to be reunited and grateful for their extra time.
To her mind things were becoming rather playful in the water, so she wasn’t surprised when Inga suddenly lunged forward and pushed Cimon under the surface. She would regret that, Mutta decided, and smiled to see what revenge he’d take. He wasn’t a seizer or a creature to her any more, he hadn’t been for many years, to her he was simply a young man in love with his wife, only they weren’t married, but that didn’t matter.
Mutta watched, amused, as Inga looked around in the water. She was calling out to him, but she knew as well as Mutta that he could stay under for as long as he liked. Inga continued to call but eventually gave up and began to swim to the bank. Mutta grinned with delight when the young woman suddenly disappeared with a yelp of surprise; no sympathy, Mutta thought, and she should’ve been expecting that.
Almost immediately they both broke the surface, water streaming from them, and laughing as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Inga moved in to playfully hit Cimon who grabbed her arms and pulled her into him; inevitably it became a kiss. Mutta sighed; now at least it should be quiet for a while and she might be able to sleep a little. Sure enough, Inga drew back, but her movements were slow and languid and she stayed close and didn’t protest as Cimon hoisted her up and they kissed deeply again. Yes, definitely time for a nap, she concluded.
“Mutta, are you awake?” She opened her eyes aware that she’d fallen asleep but was now being called. Inga was standing over her drying herself. “Look, Mutta, Cimon found this.” She held something in her hand. “It’s gold.” Suddenly wide awake, Mutta stared at the tiny lump and took it from the woman.
“Where did he find it?” she asked
“In the river. He’s looking for more. Helmut will be pleased, won’t he?”
“You have no idea,” Mutta told her, examining the piece in her hand.
“I’ll see if he’s found some more,” Inga said and went back to the bank and called. Mutta heard a muffled response. Inga came back smiling. “Two pieces, apparently; he’s coming out now.”
They looked at each other, both knowing that this was an important find for the village. Mutta peered over to the bank as Cimon emerged holding the two pieces of gold in his hand. He grinned at her.
“Here,” he said holding them out for her to see. “I think there’s more so I’ll come back tomorrow,” he told Mutta.
Mutta nodded her approval. “Good idea. I don’t think we should tell Helmut where you found them. This is a sacred river remember?”
“Owh, you’re getting me wet,” Inga complained to Cimon who was still dripping. He grinned and wandered off to dry himself, whilst Mutta marvelled at the gold in her hands. This could make a huge difference to the villagers, she thought, but it had to be used wisely.
“Is that offer of a meal still going?” Mutta called to Cimon who was drying himself with his tunic.
He peered up. “Yes. I caught a boar especially for you, Mutta. It’s cooking now.”
“In that case I’ll start walking. I don’t want to hold you two up,” she told them as they made themselves ready after their impro
mptu swim.
“I’ll be right there, Mutta,” Inga told her, squeezing out her plait.
“I can manage,” she grumbled not wanting to make a fuss and began to trundle towards Goodman’s sacred hill.
***
That had been roughly six moons ago, Mutta calculated as she counted out some dried mushrooms from the batch they’d found that day. It had been quite a mild winter and the spring was coming early, which made a pleasant change. She looked up as Inga walked into the cottage and sat down on her bed. The young woman had been quiet for a while now; Cimon had gone back to the Romans after the winter, as he did every spring. Inga always missed him and came back to stay with Mutta whilst he was away. But he’d been gone for over a moon now, so he was due to be back soon, and normally Inga’s mood had improved by now, but this time she didn’t seem herself, she seemed preoccupied.
“You can help me if you’ve got nothing else to do?” Mutta suggested to her.
Inga looked up. “All right.” But she didn’t move.
“Inga? Is something wrong?”
For a moment the woman ignored her, then abruptly looked up. “I haven’t bled for two moons. Mutta.”
The older woman caught her breath. Quietly, she put down her utensils and wiped her hands on her apron and walked slowly over to the bed.
Inga was watching her. “It’s happened before, but I’ve only ever missed one bleed. Never two.”
“Does Cimon know?” she asked sitting down next to the girl.
Inga shook her head. “He knows when I miss one, but we never say anything.” She glanced at Mutta. “We did at first, but after a while, we stopped, because I always bled again the next moon as normal. We’ve just assumed that we’re too different,” she told her, plucking anxiously at her dress. “Now it seems we’re not.”
Mutta took her hand. “If I remember, wasn’t that the sadness between you both before? That you tried for children?”
Inga nodded. “We accepted this time, because well… you know. We haven’t tried. We don’t even know if it’s possible.”
“And now it looks as if it can happen. Well…” Mutta stopped and sighed. “Maybe the gods have changed their minds and decided to bless you,” she suggested to Inga and studied her waiting to see her response. Eventually the young woman looked up and smiled weakly. “Do you want me to check for you?” Mutta asked quietly.