LITMIR.BIZ

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to the men, who were positioned in their triangular formation, with the tip of it ready to lead and pierce the enemy’s rank. The enemy screamed their battle cries, and we answered back with our thunderous bellows. Our men roared as raging, blood-thirsty beasts would roar to frighten their prey; the women whooped loudly as the howling winds of the steppes. Our men met the enemy, as they moved swiftly toward us. The women waited, until called upon, continuing our war chants of death.

      Even the children stood beside us chanting with their little voices, “Death be yours, my enemy!” The children, too, had weapons, with which they practiced mock killing and defense. Older children joined in the battle, behind their parents.

      We watched our army advance and saw the enemy fall, wounded or killed, slowly struggling in the throes of death. Some of our men flung rocks and fiery missiles into the throng of enemy warriors. Men whose hair had caught fire, batted their arms to extinguish the flames on their sleeves and heads.

      For hours, we watched as the battle raged. Women, such as us, scanned the slope for wounded men to retrieve and tend, or men who begged for merciful death, as they took their passage to Valhalla. The agony of the wounded men was soothed by their wives or mothers, daughters or sons. We shouted words of encouragement to them, so they would know they were mighty in battle and worthy of our respect.

      Soon, victory seemed apparent with its striking silence. We cheered as our men returned to camp. They appreciated our supportive whoops and cries,

      “Wodanaz helped our men return with victory and honor! We are victorious!” All were unified by these words and by the witnessed death of our foe. I raised my sword with Saskia’s blade crossed over mine. We were triumphant.

      The rest of the afternoon we feasted on the captured food and mead. We were filthy with sweat and blood, but later, we’d wash and tell stories over the fires that retold, in our eyes, what we had witnessed that day. The men and women danced and sung to the music, played by the lyre and drums, well into the night. We danced with them. We sang our kin’ s songs of heroic deeds, as the bodies of our enemy lay on the hillside.

      It was late when the Gepids finally slept, weary from the work of war. Saskia and I whispered our impressions of the battle. I spoke to her of one particular young man that I noticed wounded. I had cleaned his wounds and bandaged him earlier in the evening. He rested by the camp fire nearest our rock. My eyes closed and then, struggled to open, stealing one more glimpse of him. His name was Gerulf.

      At morning’s light, I awakened and saw that he still lay asleep. Gerulf was several years older than me. His parents had passed on, to join his ancestors. He came from a noble family, so he was a valiant and important man in this tribe of the Gepids. Gerulf had looked up at me with proud blue eyes, as I knelt beside him to tend his wounds last evening. Now, as I watched him sleep, he looked as vulnerable as a rabbit, curled up in a peaceful ball. I wished for him to open his eyes, so that I might see them again. I decided to kiss his forehead. He jumped and sat up a little, noticing that I was a friend, not foe.

      “I regret having to wake you, but I did not want you to starve. I have your breakfast, if you feel hungry. I’m sure you do, after that battle yesterday. If you need me to help you, I am available.” I spoke quietly, so as not to disturb others who were still in deep repose.

      “Um, sure . . . thanks,” he mumbled, “I think I can manage, but if you have a few minutes, you might keep me company while I eat.”

      I nodded my head, staring into his blue eyes. I spoke to him, brushing my long, blond hair; twisting it up in a knot, similar to the knot that the Suebian men wore. The Suebians, a Germanic tribe, were so fierce, that they constantly battled with their neighboring tribes. I once saw a woman secure her hair in this fashion, and I admired the style. So, I always wore my hair this way, as well.

      “Do you need some help?” Gerulf asked, as he swallowed the last morsel. “I use to arrange my younger sister’s hair. I swear—I know how to style a woman’s hair.”

      “I’m certain that you do. If you wouldn’t mind helping,” I said, “that would be lovely, thanks.” Gerulf swiftly brushed my strands away from my face, securely twisted and knotted my lengthy shaft of hair—one half around the other. Upon completion of the knot, he smiled admiringly at me.

      “There! All finished,” Gerulf said.

      “I didn’t realize a warrior could arrange hair,” I said.

      “I am capable of fixing hair and handling a sword.”

      “I suppose. But, you did not outmaneuver your combatant’s sword, as it scathed your neck,” I said, laughing.

      “You are correct—but, I was busy fighting another warrior at that moment.” Gerulf’s smile was as warm as his eyes were cool blue.

      “Then, why did you not hold one weapon in each hand, in anticipation of two men attacking you at the same time?” I posed.

      “Is there no winning with you, Ermentrude?” he wondered, with good humor.

      “I think not. For I am accustomed to winning any challenge. I can say, your talent with hair has truly won me over, Gerulf.” I smiled at him.

      “Perhaps you will allow me to give you a gift, for tending to my wounds.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out a lovely, polished bronze mirror. “This was my mother’s mirror when she was alive, and now, I wish to give it to a lovely and kind young woman I have just met. I don’t often give away gifts that belonged to my mother, but I’m sure you have more use for it than me.” Gerulf watched the expression on my face change from wonderment to admiration.

      “I wouldn’t normally accept such a prized gift from a stranger. I hope you expect nothing in return, for I have nothing,” I added, “Thanks, Gerulf.”

      “Ah! But, I do. I will expect you to dine with me at every meal, so that I may acquaint myself with your charming beauty and mind. Afterward, you must soothe my jarred bones with stories of your childhood, of your kin, perhaps—did you say you have a horse of your own? Please tell me its name—Wilhelmina? Kasimira? Oh, I have it—Raimunde?” he mused.

      “Brunhilda! My horse is my protector. She protects me from harm. May Brunhilda come with me to dine with you?” I asked with a serious expression.

      “Your horse? Why not? Maybe she will protect you from my advances.”

      “I’m sure Brunhilda will interfere with whatever you have planned, especially if you offer her a piece of apple.” I warned him with flirting eyes.

      “I might give her a bushel of apples, if she slowly wanders away from us . . .toward the other horses,” he gestured with his hand. His eyes were lit with merriment. I loved those eyes.

      “You are an amusing man. You make me laugh. How could I resist any meal with you,” I said. “Until the hour of midday, then. Be careful when you ride. Don’t fall off your horse!” I quipped, as I stood and returned to Saskia and our horses.

      It was a slow journey through the mountains, but one I will always remember. The day was beautiful. The air was warm and filled with the buzzing of insects. I turned toward Saskia and said,

      “I met someone with the most spectacular blue eyes.”

      She glanced at me and asked, “And what about his intentions toward you, Ermentrude?”

      “His intentions are to dine with me and make me laugh.”

      “Be careful with your heart, my dear sister,” she warned, “Some men steal your heart, and once they have it, they fling it away.”

      “I know. I will heed your words, Saskia. Your words are in my heart, and they will protect me from any man’s ill intentions,” I spoke with confidence.

      Saskia shifted her weight on her horse and said, “Pay attention to your words, Ermentrude. Do not betray your intentions by speaking too soon of love. You know your heart and your love of adventure. Never smother the flame you have for freedom with the dark coals of heated passion for a man.”

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