The Legends of old Lies

5 - The Stranger

Deep wrinkles stretched across the woman's forehead. Apparently her expression became grim and serious even if it was only the choice of scarf she was pondering about. At least, that was what the good-for-nothing husband had claimed, that dragged strange foreign women into the house long after sunset. Cold had sloshed over the doorstep with him and the unconscious body, although it had been pleasant during the day. Sunny and warm enough to let the windows stay open longer than a month ago.

Even now there seemed to be a strange chill in the walls, although the sun was shining and the stranger was outside again. Perhaps it only seemed that way to her because this time she didn't just look anxious for the expression she seemed to get when she concentrated, this time it was what she really felt. That was why her rough fingers kept running over the hardened leather she had peeled from the soaked, icy body the night before.

Symbols were branded on it. One she knew well. It was a little different. It had a coarser sweep and less detail. But all in all, it was the same and showed the outline of an open rose.

The door opened behind her and with a jerk she dropped the heavy leather back onto the pile beside the bed. She turned around and rubbed her hands as if she had burned herself. When it was only her husband that stomped inside the parlour, she was almost relieved.

"What is she doing now?" she asked, looking past him as if the stranger might follow at any moment.

Her husband shrugged his shoulders. "I dropped her off near the sheep at the stable, she said the air would do her good and she needed to think."

"Think?"

He snorted lightly. "What do I know. Maybe that's what they say where she comes from."

The wife frowned. "Did you ask her where she came from?"

"No."

"You should have."

"It's none of my business."

Groaning softly, she shook her head. "She is in our house! It is our business! She was wearing that... armour or whatever it was. What if she's one of the soldiers?" She gestured back uneasily at the pile, which she had looked at more closely, just a few minutes ago. Metallic, scratched plates were attached to it. It was not clothing that looked pretty or offered comfort. These were meant to offer protection. And although she had not been able to find any other wounds on the stranger's body apart from scratches, bumps and bruises, the material around the belly had been soaked with blood even after the involuntary washing in the deep waters. With a deep tear in the fabric, as would be fitting for a large wound. Maybe from the weapon that belonged in the holder on her belt. In any case, she hadn't had one with her.

"Soldiers wear uniforms, not leather armour," the farmer said, even if he didn't seem quite sure.

"Maybe just not the ones we know. You saw the symbols on it just as I did. The seal!" Her lips tightened and her voice softened cautiously as she murmured, "She's one of them."

Shaking his head, he waved it off. "She would have said so. Anyone would have said it. Anyone would have loved to say it."

"Unless she's done something wrong and she's on the run," his wife pointed out with raised eyebrows. It made him falter and lower his head to look at his fingers, which were like always darkened by work.

"Would she stay here and do nothing then?" he asked doubtfully. "She didn't seem to be in a hurry."

"Maybe! I don't know!" The woman walked away from the bedside and towards one of the square stained glass windows.

"Maybe you're right and she hit her head," her husband said again, looking for an explanation. "Then maybe she just forgot why she was there."

"And also what she is?" she doubted this time.

"When Morben was hit by a log while cutting wood he forgot how to put on trousers. He had them on his head!"

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "Morben has also worn a tablecloth as a skirt before because he thought his clothes would dry faster if he held them in the fire. He's not the best comparison."

An offended grunt was the only thing her husband gave in response. But he could not really disagree with the accurate assessment of his friend. "She doesn't seem dangerous.", he then mumbled.

"You should still take her to the gendarmes," she suggested. "Just to be sure."

"In the city?"

"No in the chicken coop! In the city, of course! If she's done something wrong, they'll take care of it. If not, they'll take care of it too."

He thought again. A slow calmness he probably took from his sheep. "I was going to take the ordered wool away anyway. Brunjo is loading everything into the wagon now. Whether I go today or tomorrow doesn't matter."

She nodded. Then she jerked her head to the side and as she spoke her voice took on an unmistakable nervous edge. "Brunjo is in the stable? With the sheep?"

Irritated, he looked up at her. "Yes."

She gasped. "Where you left her? You left him with her?"

"Is that... a problem?" Confused, the shepherd scratched his already partially greying beard.

"By the saints if it's a problem he asks! I love the boy but every fly thinks further than him! If she really belongs to them now and he blabs! What do you think will happen then?" For a moment they just looked at each other, then almost simultaneously they started moving and hurried out of the door.