good men and good dogs. He can tend the flock for you."
"Birgit will tend to things at home. I take care of the animals."
He said nothing, but kept swinging his improvised crook, redirecting strays. She could hardly deny it took both of them to move the flock along.
Earlier this day, he had sent his men up the valley with their flock of black-faces for the first time, and Ronan suspected that was likely the reason she sought to move her animals now. Sheep were notorious for cropping grass too close. She must fear that the Northmen would find and use up all the good pasture before she got there. Ronan wished he could find a way to persuade her he meant to help.
"It is a good thing Tanni's bitch will whelp soon. You are going to need some good dogs."
"We can do without."
"But why do you want to, Arienh? You need not suffer any longer, nor the other women. We have more than enough for all."
"We would rather die than to take from your kind. You do not fool us with your gifts."
He sighed. "There are those of us who wonder if we should not simply take brides and be done with it."
"Slaves, you mean. You have already taken our land. Do not think we will come so easily. Celtic women will never submit."
"Perhaps we could make an agreement. We will tend your flock for you, and in exchange, take some of Birgit's fine cloth."
"We do not want to deal with you. We only want you to go away."
"But we will not go away, Arienh. Ask Birgit if she will trade."
"She cannot. The cloth she makes now is already promised. It is Mildread's wool she weaves now."
"Oh? She weaves for everyone?"
"Aye, as she cannot-she is the best weaver. So everyone spins for her loom. They bring her other things in return."
"Oh. Well, it is a good thing. She does not seem to be of much use at anything else."
Arienh's jaw dropped open. "She is not useless. She can do anything anyone else can do. She just chooses to weave."
An odd response. "I did not mean she was useless. Not when she can weave the way she does."
"Well, she isn't."
"Of course not. I suppose you are right. She spends so much time weaving that she does not have time to do other things. And it matters not, when her weaving is so fine. Not even Flanders wool is so well done."
Arienh glared and swung her crook at a stray.
In the upper valley, short grass was already growing tall enough to graze, although snow still clung to the high slopes. Arienh chose her spot to graze on the far side of the valley from the flock of black-faces, perhaps purposely. Ronan lowered the small lamb from his shoulders to the ground and gave a swat to its hindquarters. The little creature bawled as loud as a calf, and its ewe trotted up. He had always been amazed at how a mother could identify its own.
The sheep quickly settled in to their task of devouring everything in sight, and no longer needed close watching. Arienh left the flock to its grazing and climbed a deeply worn path uphill along rocky slopes. He followed.
"Where are you going?"
"To the stone circle."
"Stone circle?"
"I must move the stones."
Ronan hadn't the slightest idea what she meant, and she obviously didn't intend to explain. He climbed after her. She reached a lightly sloped plateau, backed by a tall mount, overlooking the sea. The stiff breeze ruffled the golden curls that escaped her tight braid.
In the new green grass, tall, upright stones, mostly about the height of a man, marked a broad circle on the ground. Just within the perimeter circled another ring made up of low, weathered posts. Arienh walked up to one rotting post and picked up a red stone at its base, then paced around, counting off the posts.
"Yan, tan, tether…"
"An odd way to count," he said. He leaned back against one of the larger stones and folded his arms to watch.
"What is odd about it? That is the way we always count."
"It is not the way other Celts count."
"Well, I care not. It is how we count."
Arienh continued her count as she carried the marker
"Birgit will tend to things at home. I take care of the animals."
He said nothing, but kept swinging his improvised crook, redirecting strays. She could hardly deny it took both of them to move the flock along.
Earlier this day, he had sent his men up the valley with their flock of black-faces for the first time, and Ronan suspected that was likely the reason she sought to move her animals now. Sheep were notorious for cropping grass too close. She must fear that the Northmen would find and use up all the good pasture before she got there. Ronan wished he could find a way to persuade her he meant to help.
"It is a good thing Tanni's bitch will whelp soon. You are going to need some good dogs."
"We can do without."
"But why do you want to, Arienh? You need not suffer any longer, nor the other women. We have more than enough for all."
"We would rather die than to take from your kind. You do not fool us with your gifts."
He sighed. "There are those of us who wonder if we should not simply take brides and be done with it."
"Slaves, you mean. You have already taken our land. Do not think we will come so easily. Celtic women will never submit."
"Perhaps we could make an agreement. We will tend your flock for you, and in exchange, take some of Birgit's fine cloth."
"We do not want to deal with you. We only want you to go away."
"But we will not go away, Arienh. Ask Birgit if she will trade."
"She cannot. The cloth she makes now is already promised. It is Mildread's wool she weaves now."
"Oh? She weaves for everyone?"
"Aye, as she cannot-she is the best weaver. So everyone spins for her loom. They bring her other things in return."
"Oh. Well, it is a good thing. She does not seem to be of much use at anything else."
Arienh's jaw dropped open. "She is not useless. She can do anything anyone else can do. She just chooses to weave."
An odd response. "I did not mean she was useless. Not when she can weave the way she does."
"Well, she isn't."
"Of course not. I suppose you are right. She spends so much time weaving that she does not have time to do other things. And it matters not, when her weaving is so fine. Not even Flanders wool is so well done."
Arienh glared and swung her crook at a stray.
In the upper valley, short grass was already growing tall enough to graze, although snow still clung to the high slopes. Arienh chose her spot to graze on the far side of the valley from the flock of black-faces, perhaps purposely. Ronan lowered the small lamb from his shoulders to the ground and gave a swat to its hindquarters. The little creature bawled as loud as a calf, and its ewe trotted up. He had always been amazed at how a mother could identify its own.
The sheep quickly settled in to their task of devouring everything in sight, and no longer needed close watching. Arienh left the flock to its grazing and climbed a deeply worn path uphill along rocky slopes. He followed.
"Where are you going?"
"To the stone circle."
"Stone circle?"
"I must move the stones."
Ronan hadn't the slightest idea what she meant, and she obviously didn't intend to explain. He climbed after her. She reached a lightly sloped plateau, backed by a tall mount, overlooking the sea. The stiff breeze ruffled the golden curls that escaped her tight braid.
In the new green grass, tall, upright stones, mostly about the height of a man, marked a broad circle on the ground. Just within the perimeter circled another ring made up of low, weathered posts. Arienh walked up to one rotting post and picked up a red stone at its base, then paced around, counting off the posts.
"Yan, tan, tether…"
"An odd way to count," he said. He leaned back against one of the larger stones and folded his arms to watch.
"What is odd about it? That is the way we always count."
"It is not the way other Celts count."
"Well, I care not. It is how we count."
Arienh continued her count as she carried the marker
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