ramble on.”
“I enjoy your enthusiasm. Would you like to go down and look around? Irene is not yet done setting out our meal.” She pointed to an elderly woman who was placing platters of sliced fruit, cheese, olives, and honey bread, along with the cups of some beverage, on a round table, beside which were several chairs.
“Oh, yea, I would,” she said, and followed Ianthe down a set of steep steps, apparently the only entrance into the garden. Urns sat along the balcony and on every other step, spilling ivy and an aromatic type of trailing rose.
Although it was early morning, the air was already hot and very humid. Good for the plants but not so good for the body. Ianthe, her hair parted in the center and coiled off either side of her face, was dressed appropriately for the weather in a chiton , the traditional sleeveless, ankle-length tunic favored by Greek women, today in a pretty shade of sky blue. The garment appeared cool, with the shoulders, neck, and arms exposed. Drifa, on the other hand, was sweltering in her long-sleeved, ankle-length gunna , covered with an open-sided apron. Even though her hair was pulled off her face in a single braid, she could feel perspiration beading along her hairline and under her arms. She determined then and there to purchase cooler garments today in the marketplace, or buy fabrics to have them made.
The gurgling fountain and a flowering fig tree gave the garden a welcoming aura. In addition, on one side there was an odd tree with heart-shaped leaves. The tree was not much taller than one of her Viking guardsmen, with gnarled widespread branches as wide as it was tall.
As Drifa’s brow furrowed studying the tree, Ianthe said, “We call this the Judas tree. Supposedly the same tree from which Judas Iscariot, the betrayer of Christ, hanged himself.”
“I love the dark rose flowers.” Some of the flowers grew right out of the trunk of the tree.
Ianthe pulled several pods, resembling long pole beans, off the tree and handed them to her, but not before opening one of them and showing her the seeds inside. “ ’Tis said that the flowers of this tree were once white, but turned dark with shame after Judas sinned by taking his own life on it.”
A fanciful story. If she took the seeds back to the Norselands, which she would definitely do, the Vikings would no doubt invent their own Norse myth, perchance involving Baldr, who was similar in many ways to the One-God religion’s Jesus Christ.
As they walked about, Drifa noted lilies, roses, and many, many irises in colors from white to blue, purple, and bright yellow. Ianthe explained that she had a particular liking for the strong-rooted flower. Friends who traveled about the world often brought her roots from any new species they saw. As a result, she now had fifty or more varieties. “It occurs to me, Drifa, that this flower would grow well in your homeland. Once mine are done blooming, I could separate the roots and give you some samples of each different color to take home.”
Drifa was touched by her generosity. “You would do that for me?”
“With pleasure.”
Guilt swamped Drifa suddenly because of her association with Sidroc, even though it was Sidroc who was the guilty party. She squeezed Ianthe’s arm. “I will come and help you dig them up. Let us say two sennights from now?”
“Oh, I do not know. It does not seem appropriate for a woman of your high station to be digging in the dirt.”
Drifa put a hand on each hip. “Who do you think does all the digging in my gardens at home? Certainly not my father. And I would not trust the servants with my precious flowers. They do not know a rose from a radish.”
They were back up on the balcony eating the lovely first meal, which was fortunately not too heavy in the heat, when Drifa brought up a subject that had been nagging at her. “Do not be offended, Ianthe, but are you able to support yourself independently here?”
Ianthe smiled. “You mean, must I
“I enjoy your enthusiasm. Would you like to go down and look around? Irene is not yet done setting out our meal.” She pointed to an elderly woman who was placing platters of sliced fruit, cheese, olives, and honey bread, along with the cups of some beverage, on a round table, beside which were several chairs.
“Oh, yea, I would,” she said, and followed Ianthe down a set of steep steps, apparently the only entrance into the garden. Urns sat along the balcony and on every other step, spilling ivy and an aromatic type of trailing rose.
Although it was early morning, the air was already hot and very humid. Good for the plants but not so good for the body. Ianthe, her hair parted in the center and coiled off either side of her face, was dressed appropriately for the weather in a chiton , the traditional sleeveless, ankle-length tunic favored by Greek women, today in a pretty shade of sky blue. The garment appeared cool, with the shoulders, neck, and arms exposed. Drifa, on the other hand, was sweltering in her long-sleeved, ankle-length gunna , covered with an open-sided apron. Even though her hair was pulled off her face in a single braid, she could feel perspiration beading along her hairline and under her arms. She determined then and there to purchase cooler garments today in the marketplace, or buy fabrics to have them made.
The gurgling fountain and a flowering fig tree gave the garden a welcoming aura. In addition, on one side there was an odd tree with heart-shaped leaves. The tree was not much taller than one of her Viking guardsmen, with gnarled widespread branches as wide as it was tall.
As Drifa’s brow furrowed studying the tree, Ianthe said, “We call this the Judas tree. Supposedly the same tree from which Judas Iscariot, the betrayer of Christ, hanged himself.”
“I love the dark rose flowers.” Some of the flowers grew right out of the trunk of the tree.
Ianthe pulled several pods, resembling long pole beans, off the tree and handed them to her, but not before opening one of them and showing her the seeds inside. “ ’Tis said that the flowers of this tree were once white, but turned dark with shame after Judas sinned by taking his own life on it.”
A fanciful story. If she took the seeds back to the Norselands, which she would definitely do, the Vikings would no doubt invent their own Norse myth, perchance involving Baldr, who was similar in many ways to the One-God religion’s Jesus Christ.
As they walked about, Drifa noted lilies, roses, and many, many irises in colors from white to blue, purple, and bright yellow. Ianthe explained that she had a particular liking for the strong-rooted flower. Friends who traveled about the world often brought her roots from any new species they saw. As a result, she now had fifty or more varieties. “It occurs to me, Drifa, that this flower would grow well in your homeland. Once mine are done blooming, I could separate the roots and give you some samples of each different color to take home.”
Drifa was touched by her generosity. “You would do that for me?”
“With pleasure.”
Guilt swamped Drifa suddenly because of her association with Sidroc, even though it was Sidroc who was the guilty party. She squeezed Ianthe’s arm. “I will come and help you dig them up. Let us say two sennights from now?”
“Oh, I do not know. It does not seem appropriate for a woman of your high station to be digging in the dirt.”
Drifa put a hand on each hip. “Who do you think does all the digging in my gardens at home? Certainly not my father. And I would not trust the servants with my precious flowers. They do not know a rose from a radish.”
They were back up on the balcony eating the lovely first meal, which was fortunately not too heavy in the heat, when Drifa brought up a subject that had been nagging at her. “Do not be offended, Ianthe, but are you able to support yourself independently here?”
Ianthe smiled. “You mean, must I
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