Page 24 of Wed By Proxy

“Do not anger Maven,” Old Helga warned mildly. “All who sit at my hearth are bound by a sacred truce.”

Rob shifted uneasily. “So long as we all abide by it,” he said grimly.

Tancred winked one wicked black eye at Mathilde, and gave a mirthless cackle. Helga reached to her belt and unknotted a small cloth bag which she held out in front of her at arm’s length and then turned upside down. Several flat stones tumbled to the floor. Helga glanced down at them and grunted. Tancred also craned his head to look. It seemed to Mathilde that there were scratched symbols on their surfaces, but they were not letters as she knew them.

“This is you,” said Helga, pointing to a small blue stone. “The traveler on his quest. The hero.” Mathilde’s eyes went very wide. She was the hero? She felt her cheeks flush with pleasure.

“This here,” said Helga pointing, “is your foe.”

“My foe?” Mathilde squinted down at the large shiny gray stone with a rough surface.

Helga nodded slowly. “A wise hero knows his true foe.”

Mathilde frowned. The carter? she wondered. She could think of no other enemy.

“With a man like yours,” Old Helga said suddenly. “You need to give all of yourself over. Hold nothing back.”

Mathilde started. “My husband?” she blurted in surprise, her breath coming fast. “He’s not my enemy!”

Helga paid no heed to her outburst. “His past has left him suspicious and bruised. You must needs shower him with your affections.”

Mathilde’s heart was beating so loud now, that she could almost fancy she heard it pounding in her ears. “I can do that,” she said eagerly. “I too…” she broke off, looking across at Robin. Was it suitable to speak of such things in front of him? “I have plenty to give,” she said in a stifled voice.

Again, Helga continued without acknowledging Mathilde’s response. “He tells himself and everyone, he does not like tenderness, that he does not need it. But that is a lie.” Helga nodded. “Deep inside, he craves it desperately.” She shot a look of challenge Mathilde’s way.

Mathilde clasped her hands together. “I — I can do that. I will!” she vowed. “What else Granny?” she said pleadingly, addressing her in familiar terms as she had heard Robin do. On the road, Robin had addressed all women as “Aunty” or “Mother,” all old ladies as “Granny.” Often it had earned him an extra spoonful of stew, a soft word, kindly advice.

Helga opened her mouth as if to speak and then hesitated. Both women turned as one, to look at Robin, who was staring fixedly at the ground, a wooden, uncomfortable look on his face. This was no conversation for him to hear, thought Mathilde awkwardly. Helga gave a quick gesture of one hand and the cat sauntered forward from its position in the circle and butted its head against his knee.

“Hey pretty girl,” murmured Robin, lifting her onto his lap. As Mathilde watched, he grew wholly absorbed in fondling the cat’s ears and whispering to her.

“Men. So easily distracted by the female of the species,” said Helga with a wry chuckle.

Mathilde leant forward. “Please continue with your advice, Granny,” she whispered. “I am listening.”

Helga gave a considering nod. She reached down and ran her fingers lightly over the other stones where they lay. “Each time you water the dried up seeds of his affections,” she carried on in a low voice. “Fresh shoots will burst forth.” She gave a short laugh. “He will not be able to help himself. Already…where all was shriveled, near-deadened, now is pulsing with sap.” Something about the old woman’s words made Mathilde’s cheeks redden. She was glad Rob was not listening. Old Helga shot her a keen, assessing look. “You’re sure you know what you’re doing?” she asked, screwing up her eyes.

Was she? Mathilde bit her lip. “I am,” she said raising her chin. After all, everyone knew fortune favored the bold. The trouble was, practically everyone she knew thought her timorous in the extreme. “I am twice a widow,” she bluffed, “and no child.”

Old Helga angled her head as if sharply assessing her words. She was watching her closely. “Twice widowed…” she repeated, as if trying out the words on her tongue and finding them puzzling. With a frown she reached down and quickly gathered the stones, throwing down them again. Mathilde held her breath. “You do not lie in word,” the old woman agreed, “yet they are twisted in meaning.” She shot a knowing look at Mathilde, who flushed scarlet. Helga’s gaze narrowed. “You have traveled a long way…” she mused thoughtfully. “And I do not speak of distance.” She screwed up her eyes. “The traveler has been tested,” she said dreamily. “Through many trials and learned many things.”

“I have,” Mathilde agreed earnestly. “I have learned many, many things. How to whittle, swear an oath, swagger like a boy—”

“Those lessons will not help you now, child,” said Helga dismissively. “You need to learn some new tricks, and fast.”

Mathilde’s face fell and she darted a quick glance at Robin who was now playing with the cat and a piece of string. “Can you teach me, Granny?” she asked humbly.

The old woman shook her head. “I took another path, and know nothing of such things. But perhaps I can help point the way,” she mused, tapping her chin. She sat up straight and then held her hands palm out to her sides, muttering under her breath. Mathilde craned her ears, but still could not make out the words which sounded guttural and coarse on the old woman’s tongue. “Fetch me that sack from the corner,” she said suddenly, and the change of tone was so abrupt it was almost startling.

Helga pointed and Mathilde obediently climbed to her feet, and retrieved a dusty hessian sack from the corner. It had something in it from its weight, although it was not heavy by any means. She handed it obediently to the old woman, who reached inside and pulled out a book. All the animals in the circle turned to look with interest, but none of them looked as astonished by the appearance of the leather bound volume as Helga herself. She stared at it as if she had never even seen one before. Then she shrugged, and handed it to Mathilde.

“Thank you,” Mathilde said politely, though in truth it felt a little anticlimactic. She turned the book over in her hands. In the murky interior she could not make out the words contained in its pages. “I’m sure it will be very instructive.”

“Buggered if I know,” said Old Helga dismissively. “I never read one.”

XII

“What did she give you?” asked Rob curiously as they made their way back to the lodge. Mathilde had surreptitiously stolen a look at the title page as soon as they had left Helga’s cottage.