The Comforts of Winter
The snow had already been falling for hours when Eleanor woke up and looked out. It had drifted against the sill, making it all but impossible to open the window. She wiped the steam from the glass, and tried to see through the falling snow. Everywhere was white; it lay thick on all the branches of the trees, and there was no sign of the road beneath the deep drifts that covered the ground.
Good job I cut all that wood last week, she thought. There'll be no going out in this. She dressed, uncovered the fire, and then, with some difficulty, opened the door and, clearing a path before her with a shovel, went out to feed the goats and the chickens. It was cold, and damp, but there was little wind, for a mercy, though it had blown hard in the night. The beasts seen to, she came back in and warmed up some porridge to break her fast. As she ate, she thought of what food she had in store, and for how long it might last her. It could easily be days before she could get out for more. She would have to go carefully, and make sure she had enough to last. Which meant there would be no Yuletide feast. She sighed, and wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
Eleanor's cot stood hard by the forest eaves, out of sight of any other dwelling. This was partly because she did not like to be crowded, but mostly because she was a witch. She herself preferred the term 'wise-woman', as this sounded more impressive, but nobody else ever called her that, despite many hints. She made a living dispensing healing herbs and potions, and sometimes essayed a small cantrip to try and help someone in need. She was never entirely certain if these spells actually worked or not, but they usually made the recipient feel better about themselves, and she supposed that was the important thing.
She stood at the window, drinking a hot posset, and glowering at the weather, which continued to be snowy. Not only did this mean she couldn't get out, and visit the Yuletide celebrations, but nobody was likely to come to her, and she had prepared a large batch of her finest indigestion remedies, which always sold well in the days after Yule. She cursed, as only a witch can. And then, even if it was only the late forenoon, she took a jug of her own apple brandy, poured herself a generous measure, added hot water from the kettle, and then sat and sipped it in front of the fire, wrapped in a quilt and feeling sorry for herself.
An hour or two passed, and the snow gradually ceased to fall. Eleanor looked out again, and sighed. It made no difference; the drifts were too bad for anyone to travel. This was one of those times, she reflected, when it was a shame that witches couldn't really fly on broomsticks. As she gazed gloomily out over the snow-scape, a movement caught her eye. She stiffened, and shaded her eyes, the better to see against the white background. A deer, perhaps? Wolf? Oh, please, not a bear. No, it was moving too straight, too purposefully, to be an animal. Whatever was struggling through the snow toward her cot, it was human.
She watched for several minutes as the dark figure, hooded and bundled in furs, fought its way through the drifts. As it got nearer, Eleanor wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, and with a practiced heave, opened the door a crack. She held the door chain in one hand, ready to shut it quick if need be, and in the other hand, out of sight, she held a stout cudgel, with nails in it.
"Good day," she called, as the traveller came closer. "Where might you be a-going, in weather such as this?" The traveller stood upright, leaning on a staff, and threw back the hood. Tresses of auburn hair, held in a net at the back, revealed the stranger to be a woman; a tall, handsome looking young woman, with a steady gaze and clear, bright eyes.
"Good day to you, mistress," she replied, in a ringing, confident voice. "I am travelling to Castle Chariot, in the long run, but for now I seek any shelter I might find."
"'Tis a long gait, to Castle Chariot," Eleanor replied; "was you thinking of walking all that way?"
The woman smiled, ruefully. "No, indeed not. But my horse bolted, and did not come back, when wolves set upon us. I climbed a tree, but I fear I have seen the last of that horse. It has been a weary struggle, through the forest, on foot, but I durst not stop, without fire or food or shelter. Mistress, I would be very glad of any shelter you could offer me... although I am afraid I cannot pay you much for it; most of my coin went with my mount."
"Come in, and be welcome," Eleanor said, smiling. "I should be pleased to have company over Yule, if you will accept my poor fare."
"Yule? Is it Yule already?"
"Aye; today is Yuletide Eve, as ever is."
"I have lost count, being so long on the road. I shall take your offer kindly, Mistress. But, please, forgive my lack of courtesy; I am called the Lady Isabella, of Greystones in Reath."
"Come in," Eleanor said again, "and then I can shut this blessed door against the cold. I am Eleanor, and folk call me a wise-woman."
The Lady Isabella waded through the snow and entered the cot, grateful to escape the cold. Inside, the laid down her staff and her pack, and took her cloak, crusted with snow, off. Uncloaked, Eleanor saw she was wearing a stout jerkin, riding boots, and breeches. Eleanor smiled to herself, but said nothing.
"Oh, it is good to be in the warm!" Isabella cried, removing her gloves and rubbing her hands together.
"Take a little brandy and hot water, and sit by the fire," Eleanor entreated her, and Isabella was only too willing to accept. She cast off her jerkin, and her boots, and Eleanor wrapped a warm dry blanket over her shoulders, and set her down in a chair in front of the fire,
Once Isabella had warmed up a bit, she looked more closely at her host; Eleanor was a dark-haired, slightly plump woman of about thirty summers or so, who was watching Isabella with a slightly odd smile on her face.
"Forgive me, Mistress Eleanor, but you seem a little... young, for a wise-woman."
"Not all the wise are crones, Lady Isabella. And be assured that I am in truth just as you see me; I use no arts to appear young or fair, if that's what you were thinking."
Isabella grinned. "Something of that sort," she admitted. "If it hadn't been so damned cold and wet outside I might have stayed out, for fear of being turned into a toad."
Eleanor laughed. "You are in no such danger, my Lady, as I think you know quite well. And there's no need to be calling me 'Mistress' all the while, either; it makes me feel old, and besides, I live here alone, and have no husband, or any other master."
Isabella sipped her brandy, and raised an eyebrow. "I do not know if that makes me feel safer or not," she said.
Eleanor only smiled, and the talk passed on to other things; of Isabella's journey, and of her home in Greystones, and why she was travelling so far in the bleak midwinter.
"It was not so chill, when I first set out, and I looked to be there well before the hard weather set in. But I was delayed, and there were many difficulties on the road, not least the wolves, and so I came to be here, in the forest, in the snow."
"It must be an urgent errand, to travel so far so late in the year."
"It is," Isabella said, and changed the subject.
