“It seems that you do not know much of this world, but be assured, you will feel strong again in no time. I may have said that I did not have the full meal of a king to offer you, but even a king would be hard pressed to exceed such fine meat,” Gunther replied with a hint of pride. He paused for a moment, before adding in a voice laden with seriousness, “Truthfully, many good men have gotten killed hunting the type of large boar whose meat you will enjoy tonight. It is a very dangerous quarry, for even the best of hunters.”
Gunther’s brow furrowed, and Lee followed the woodsman’s look to see the open grimace spread upon Erin’s face. It was exaggerated by the flickering shadows cast by the fire blazing nearby in the hearth.
“She does not like to eat meat,” Lee interjected quickly, not knowing how else to explain her sour reaction to the woodsman. He knew that the man would likely find it to be a very odd disposition for someone to have. “It is a belief of hers.”
Gunther looked at her for a moment. “It is not one of the fasting days of the Church, if that is what you are worried about. Second day of the week. You should not worry needlessly.”
Lee was puzzled for a moment, before comprehending that Gunther had attributed Erin’s reluctance to some sort of religious practice familiar to his own world.
“No, it has nothing to do with religious belief,” Lee informed the woodsman. “She just… cannot bring herself to eat meat, at anytime. Please do not feel offended.”
“What a terrible affliction,” Gunther replied, his eyes widened somewhat with surprise. The man’s response was not sarcastic, or in jest, as he had a genuine look of sympathy. “I could not bear to be stricken with such a burden. Your misfortune is truly bad.”
Erin said nothing, staring glumly down at the bowl in front of her.
“Well, I do not have such a burden, thank the All-Father,” Gunther said with a shrug, leaning over and taking the bowl back from her.
He tore off a piece of bread from his chunk and dipped it into the pottage, waiting for a moment to let it soak, before scooping up a nice portion of it with the bread.
Putting it into his mouth, he chewed on it slowly. After swallowing, he remarked to Erin, “They say that you cannot live on bread alone, but beyond this stew, you will have to do with bread only if you are hungry. Except perhaps for some nuts, I have nothing much else to offer you, until I can scout tomorrow.”
Erin’s eyes narrowed and her expression darkened. Lee knew what was passing through her mind. She was realizing that Gunther truly deemed her situation to be her own problem to handle, and not his to worry about.
Out of the corner of Lee’s eye, he saw Lynn shoot Erin a sharp, warning look. He agreed with Lynn’s sentiments, hoping that Erin did not do or say anything to annoy their host.
Erin’s face relaxed a little, catching the warning glance.
Lee felt the hard bread, flat and far from leavened, and rather coarse in texture. To his best estimation, it was wheat bread, but he understood quickly why Gunther had dipped his in the pottage.
The others had made similar discoveries, and imitated Gunther as they tore off pieces of the bread and dipped it into their own bowls. Lee could see why Gunther waited for it to soak for a second, as the bread was harder and tougher than any bread that he had ever been given before.
The pottage was predominantly a mix of legumes, grain, and the salted boar’s meat. As hungry as he was, Lee was not about to complain. The food was palatable enough. Chewing the bread thoroughly, Lee glanced towards their host.
Gunther was facing towards Ryan, who had an alarmed expression on his face. Ryan had evidently tried to take a bite without waiting long enough for the bread to fully soften, as Gunther commented to the young man, “The bread is good wheat bread. It is not too old. But you must be a little patient and allow it to soften.”
Gunther picked up the clay jug and proceeded to pour a dark, rather thick liquid into each of the alderwood cups. Erin sat sullenly, but did not object as the last vessel was filled to the brim and handed over to her.
“I hope your burdens do not include well-crafted mead, for you will not find a better drink in this area. I had been saving this in a small barrel for a special time. I suppose that this is such an occasion,” he remarked. “It took my best hunting skills to gain enough to trade for it.”
He passed around the other two cups, letting the others drink first before he took a deep draught himself. Gunther gave a light grin as he smacked his lips, a light foam settling upon his beard and upper lip. He uttered a contented sigh, as he refilled the cup in his hands.
Lee had taken a substantial sip, but realized that the mead would be an acquired taste, very different from anything that he had ever imbibed. Though made from the honey of bees, and containing a certain level of sweetness, the drink felt very thick as it traveled down Lee’s throat.
One among their number, however, was more than ready to embrace the beverage. Ryan soon was exhibiting the potency of the beverage, after draining a couple of cups. Lee’s own blood had already begun to tingle after taking just a few more draughts, and he was not in the least bit surprised that the effects were showing quickly on his young friend, who was downing the mead at a much faster rate.
“I think I will come to like this very much,” Ryan announced, the foam giving him an artificial moustache of his own. He looked to be a little lightheaded as he spoke to Gunther, “Can I have more?”
“A man with some good taste,” complimented Gunther, who appeared more than happy to oblige the young man. His serious expression was brightened by the trace of a mischievous smirk. “It looks like the mead has chosen to give you the moustache of a Saxan thane.”
Ryan, his mouth full with a large bite of bread sopped generously in the porridge-stew, replied slowly, in a muffled voice. “I think I could get very used to this.”
Gunther shook his head, and let another amused smirk escape. “We will not always be able to drink so well, though you are fortunate that I am a good hunter, and can hunt these woods freely.”
There was no arrogance in his voice, the tone simply being that of a statement of fact. The woodsman then shot a quick glance towards Erin. “Meat is much more scarce in the villages, and I get good trade value for it. Mead, on the other hand, is a real luxury. Elfrida, wife of Leodulf, from the village near Dragon’s Back Ridge in Beordenshire, is most skilled in the making of mead. Ale is much more common in these lands. I live with no woman, so I have learned to make my own ale. I will give you some of it soon, so that you can judge my skill for yourself.”
Ryan finished off another cup of the treasured mead.
“Slow down, young lad,” Gunther cautioned Ryan. “You may not yet realize the full power of that mead. Elfrida puts great strength into it. Nonetheless, I do wish to provide you all a good welcome feast, as best I can.”
Taking another mouthful of food, Gunther stood up and took the empty pitcher over to a corner of the room, where he refilled it from the contents of a small wooden barrel. Returning back to his stool, he leaned over and refilled Ryan’s cup again, up to the brim, with a little sloshing over the edge.
“If it would okay to ask you, where does that door go to?” Lee asked Gunther, as the woodsman settled back down, pointing over towards the closed door in the back of the room.
Gunther nodded slowly to Lee, his mouth occupied for a moment as he took another prodigious draught of the mead. He set the cup down upon the trestle board, glancing briefly towards the door as all of his guests waited expectantly for his answer.
“To the abode of the Unguhur. It is the reason why I chose this place to build my home… once I made myself known to them, and knew of their presence here,” Gunther began, as his eyes took on a more faraway gaze.