Hradec: The Pursuit and a Shieldmaiden’s Dream

Hradec

It was noon on the first day after Noren had been thrown from her horse.

The young woman lay prone on her bed, a maidservant carefully applying a hot compress to the bruises marring her back. Every so often, a soft hiss or groan of pain escaped her lips. After yesterday’s ice treatment, the palm-sized bruises on her back had shrunk to the size of a fist.

Nearly a day had passed, and the hot compress was meant to disperse the congealed blood. Yet, Noren, sharp-witted and acutely sensitive to pain, found her entire back throbbing today, a stark contrast to when adrenaline had dulled the ache yesterday. It was likely that her latissimus dorsi, trapezius, and other muscles had sustained contusions of varying severity.

“That damnable Ogmund! I’ll tear him limb from… *hiss*…”

“Just apply it! Why are you pressing?” she roared, turning her head.

Startled, the maidservant dropped the hot towel and stammered apologies, “Forg-forgive me, my lady, I… I…”

“Enough. You may leave,” Noren waved her hand dismissively.

“Yes, my lady.” The maidservant picked up the fallen cloth, draped it over the wooden basin, and with her head bowed, slowly retreated.

The door creaked shut.

No sooner had the maid departed than someone returned, their heavy footsteps echoing on the wooden floor.

Noren remained motionless, still prone, the contusions on her back making her impatient with pain. “Did I not tell you to leave?”

Yet, the person walked directly to the bedside, lifted the cloth strip covering the young woman’s back, and lightly touched her with a finger.

“Hiss!” Noren scrambled up, one arm instinctively shielding the gem on her cerulean warhammer, though a faint aura still leaked from it. She glared, her eyes blazing. “Are you mad?”

Her furious expression, however, quickly shifted to surprise.

“Aunt?”

Anna’s face was etched with weariness and heartache. “I heard you were thrown from your horse.”

The young woman patted her chest, reassuringly. “I am robust and strong; it was merely a horse.”

Yet, her arm movements were connected to her back muscles, and she gritted her teeth against the pain, forcing a strained smile.

“I’m sorry,” Anna said, removing her helmet and resting it on her joined thighs. “He rode too fast; we couldn’t catch him.”

“Could he have headed towards Opava?”

“Let us hope so.”

“Then let us pursue him quickly! I am coming this time too. Until that unscrupulous merchant is captured, my heart will know no peace.”

Anna’s brow furrowed with concern. “But you… I do not doubt your courage or your resilience, but during my time in the ‘great cities,’ I witnessed countless warriors die after being thrown from their horses. I believe you still need to recover from your injuries.”

“No, I must go,” Noren ground her back teeth. “I will capture that fat pig with my own hands, mince him into a paste to feed to pigs, and fashion his skull into a bowl to display at the gates of Hradec, a stark warning to those treacherous merchants!”

“Just like your father, stubborn as a stone,” Anna sighed, a helpless smile gracing her lips.

****

“Hup!”

Outside a small village ten miles north of Hradec, a cloud of dust rose, accompanied by the thunderous beat of hooves.

An old farmer, tilling his field, straightened his back and watched the troop of cavalry with curiosity.

The tall soldier leading them leaped from their warhorse, their armor clinking with metallic sounds as they strode towards the old farmer.

“Good day, noble lord,” the old farmer greeted respectfully, removing his straw hat.

A mature female voice, muffled and buzzing through the iron of the full-face helmet, responded.

“Did a caravan pass through here yesterday morning?” the woman inquired.

“Uh… forgive me, my lady, I cannot recall,” the old farmer scratched his head. “However, my nephew is sure to know. He spends his days idle, always observing the passing gentry. He also brews an excellent wine, and I am certain that if any lords feel parched, they would be most welcome to pause their journey in our village, water their horses, and savor a drink.”

Anna glanced back at her soldiers. They had been in pursuit since yesterday, with only brief periods of rest. Their horses, too, required respite. Her current warhorse, though tall and sturdy, was no longer the heavy steed she had ridden from the Roman Empire; even a ten-mile gallop was taxing on its stamina.

“Very well. Summon your nephew, and in the meantime, bring each of us a cool, refreshing mug of ale. Fruit wine would also suffice.”

Anna removed her helmet to breathe, signaling her company to rest where they stood.

The old farmer beamed, dropped his hoe, and ran towards the cluster of thatched cottages, shouting as he went, “Bill! Bring out the good wine! The lords are thirsty!”

Before long, a young man with a slender face and prominent cheekbones, accompanied by several girls, brought out the drinks.

Anna questioned the young man for details, while Noren sat on a large boulder, rotating her arm. ‘My back aches terribly. Why hasn’t the swelling gone down?’

A little girl with braided pigtails offered Noren a drink, holding it in both hands. “My lady, please drink.”

Noren took the cup and sipped, finding it sweet and sour, somewhat akin to apple cider.

The little girl gazed at the jeweled sword at Noren’s waist with a hint of awe, perhaps intimidated by her imposing stature, yet she still asked, her voice bright and clear, “My lady, can women also wield swords in battle, or become brave warriors?”

Noren did not answer her directly, instead pointing towards Anna. “Why don’t you ask her?”

“She isn’t as beautiful as you.”

The young woman let out a silent laugh, struck by such simple values.

She pondered the braided girl’s question for a moment before replying, “Because I am a Norsewoman. Every Norse woman has the opportunity to become a ‘shieldmaiden’ (TL Note: ‘Skjaldmær’ in Old Norse, referring to a female warrior or shieldmaiden), a female warrior who carries a shield.”

The braided girl repeated “shieldmaiden” a few times in what she imagined was Norse, then looked up at Noren expectantly. “Then, my lady, can I become a shieldmaiden?”

Noren’s fingernail dug into the rim of the wooden cup, chipping a small notch, which she then pressed and rubbed with her thumb. “Perhaps… I am not certain if Opava has such a tradition.”

A gentle smile touched her lips. “Why do you wish to become a female warrior?”

The girl watched as Noren’s large hand gently stroked her head, her voice tinged with a hint of grievance. “B-because I want to eat more. I have a father, a mother, a brother, and a sister at home, but our land is so scarce, only a few small plots, and the wheat we grow is never enough to feed us all…”

But the little girl’s spirits quickly brightened. “But if I become a female warrior, I could earn many, many silver coins! Then my brother wouldn’t have to toil collecting wild fruits to make wine, and my sister and mother wouldn’t always go hungry.”

“Then, my lady, can I become a shieldmaiden?” the braided girl asked again, her eyes filled with hope.

Noren’s stroking hand paused, her fingers curling back as she withdrew it. She no longer met the girl’s gaze, instead taking a sip of the fruit wine from her cup.

After a brief moment, she spoke. “I am afraid not.”

The little girl’s light faded, her entire being losing its vibrancy.

“However, you could work as a maid in the castle, or find employment in Hradec, perhaps as a textile worker, a tavern maid, a courtes… *cough*, in short, becoming a female warrior is unlikely, but eating your fill would not be an issue.” Noren nearly stumbled over her words, covering her embarrassment with a cough.

Born into the warrior class (pray, work, fight), she overlooked a crucial point: not everyone could simply find work in the city. Many who yearned for urban life were brought to cities by traffickers, only to be taken back to the countryside. Svein’s presence and her innate physical attributes had made her life too easy. While she understood the hardships of medieval people, having not climbed from the very bottom, she often overlooked these “thresholds,” leading her to offer a response akin to asking, “Why don’t they eat cake?” (TL Note: An idiom from ancient China, akin to ‘Let them eat cake,’ used to describe someone from a privileged background who is oblivious to the hardships of the common people.)

“Then, could my brother…” The girl’s words were cut short as the old farmer grabbed her.

The old man scolded the braided girl. “Who told you to disturb the lady’s rest? Go help your brother serve the wine!”

After spitting his reprimand, the old man turned to Noren with a fawning expression. “My lady, my youngest daughter is thoughtless; please forgive her.”

‘Youngest daughter?’ Noren subtly glanced at the man. Europeans generally aged quickly, yet Anna, despite being forty, still looked quite youthful.

The young woman poured silver coins from her purse, plucked out one, and tossed it to the old farmer. “For the wine. If others have already paid, there’s no need to return it to me.”

“A generous lady,” the old man offered a word of praise.

After a brief respite, they mounted their horses and resumed their journey.