I am going to propose to her this summer. I will give her a wedding gift of amber beads from the coast. Do you think she will treasure it as a gift of my love?” Adalwulf searched my face for approval.
I smiled and told him, “Amalia will accept your proposal of marriage because she thinks you are quite handsome and brave.” He returned my compliment with a hug. Arnold and Bertram watched, hopeful that I would regard them with such affection someday.
Our conversation continued during the next hour. It was apparent that I had to persuade Arnold and Bertram to give up their thoughts of betrothal to me. I thought them handsome and charming, but dull.
Late in the day, I helped Mama to prepare a simple meal of cheese and bread, when she spoke to me of the day’s events. I told her about Adalwulf’s insistence that I marry one of his friends, Arnold or Bertram. I asked what she thought, before revealing my intentions. She grinned and disclosed that Father had already discussed the matter with her. She also told me that Arnold and Bertram each had a valuable gift for me if I accepted marriage to either of them.
“Your father secretly told me this . . . last night. Isn’t this exciting, Ermentrude? You may choose who you feel is better suited to you. You will marry a strong, handsome, noble man, either way. We have known their families for a long time. They have many cows, sheep, and go . . .” she was suddenly distracted by my tears. “What is the matter, Ermentrude? Surely you must be happy with tears?”
“Mama! How can you insist on my marrying a stranger? I don’t want to marry a stranger! I don’t want to marry anyone! I only think about leaving after the summer festival to help win battles against the enemy tribes. I only think of traveling far away from here. Perhaps, one day I will marry someone—someone I love in my own way,” I said, feeling betrayed.
Mama swallowed her words and turned away from me, as though I had extinguished the fire in her heart and the hope in her eyes. She would not speak to me of these dreams I had for myself. She thought only of her dreams. Did she not deserve little grandchildren running about the house?
She sighed, “Your father will decide what is best for you, Ermentrude.”
I gasped at her words, “Att-a will listen to me, Mama. He knows what is in my heart. I am sorry to disappoint you.” I turned and walked outside to find my father. I would soon learn of his thoughts.
Father was with the horses, speaking to them in quiet tones, soothing them, as they were disturbed by something outside the barn. I entered abruptly and spoke to him.
“Att-a, I must speak with you, please, Att-a.” He could see my tears and sense that I was upset.
“Yes, Ermentrude. You must speak, and I must speak as well . . . of your betrothal to one of your suitors. Have you decided who it will be? Who do you choose to marry?” he asked patiently, knowing that I was upset at being told to marry. “You have the choice of who you want to marry.”
I heaved a sigh in my breast and walked closer. I reached out my arms to embrace him, as I attempted to explain how I felt. His mind was made up.
He replied patiently, saying, “Ermentrude, I know marriage to a stranger is not easy for you, just as it will not be easy for us, when you leave us with a husband. You will learn to appreciate and maybe love the one you decide to wed. That is how it was for your mother.”
I looked up into his eyes and accepted my fate, at least for now. I hugged him again and left, disheartened. I think he was relieved that he didn’t have an argument with me.
“Let us know your decision, daughter! You must decide by summer’s end,” he said.
Turning back, I said, “I see that I have no choice, Att-a, so I will think hard upon this matter. I will tell you of my decision soon,” I assured him. I knew in my heart, what I would choose to do. I sent a message with a slave to my friend, Saskia, who lived in the next village an hour away.
Early next morning, I left home. I took the horse that my father had promised would be mine someday. I rode Brunhilda into the darkness and fog, to meet Saskia. After half an hour’s ride, I met Saskia at the river. We were both determined to live our own adventures.
“Saskia! I am very happy to see you! It was good that you arrived before the light of morning. Did you bring some food and water . . . warm clothing for the cool nights, and your weapons?” I excitedly asked.
“Ja! Of course I brought what is needed. Stop gabbing and ride with me now. We must ride far enough, so our kinsmen will not follow us. We must ride up the river bed, so our tracks cannot be seen. Let’s go, quickly!” Saskia was a fine horse woman and a sincere friend. She always told you what she thought and rarely changed her mind.
We both rode together finding our way through Middle Earth. We would search for a tribe to join, or a band of people going off to battle. We would find someone to love perhaps, but we would know their soul, and they would know our passions. We were sad to leave our homes and kin, but, we thought selfishly . . . only of ourselves.
“Ermentrude, let’s ride until we reach the forest upstream. We will make our breakfast and rest the horses,” Saskia said. The sunlight streamed through the lifting fog. “We must continue to ride, or we will be found and made to return.”
“I am so tired, but I will not fall asleep on Brunhilda.”
“I am so hungry, I could eat Brunhilda!” Saskia laughed. I always appreciated Saskia’s humor, but I quickly said, “No one eats Brunhilda! Not even the wild beasts in the forest.” We rode up the course of the rippling Wisla River, which flowed down from the Carpathian Mountains in the distance.
After several hours, we rested at the edge of a small forest near the Wisla. The great mountains rose above the vast, grassy lowlands. We could see for many miles, down the river from where we came. We unpacked our loaf of bread and cheese, gulped a bit of water with our meal, washed the dust off our faces in the cool river, and rubbed our sore behinds.
“Aaah! It feels wonderful to be off our horses with a bit of food and drink in our bellies, ne?” I said, as I swatted a fly from my brow. “Saskia, would you do me a kind favor?”
“Anything for you, my dear, best friend,” Saskia answered.
“Would you please tie my hair in a knot off my face? My hair gets in my eyes. I did not have time to tie up my hair when I left home,” I said. I was always conscious of my hair no matter where I roamed.
“Well, I didn’t have much time either, so I will first help you, and then you can help me with my tangled hair.” Saskia replied, shaking her reddish blond tresses. We quickly took turns tying each other’s unmanageable locks, for we knew we must ride for many hours before sleeping.
Mounted on our horses again, we traveled through the forest to gain some time lost in navigating the rocky river bed. We rode through a narrow and sparsely populated forest of trees, nothing similar to the dark, endless forests of the Albis (Elbe) River, which had been described by tribes that passed through our villages. We felt safe together with our swords and knives by our side.
Saskia brought an old ax that her mother had found buried years ago. It was probably from the early times when men first roamed the Middle Earth. Saskia thought it would be useful for chopping wood for a warm fire in the evenings. She was skilled in surviving the wilderness.
Her father had taken her along on many hunting trips and to a number of battles. He had no sons, so Saskia was treated as one.
