Alred Asks a Favor of Githa

Young Lord Dunstan had awoken early and had been howling for attention in his room. Alred had decided he would let his wife rest, with the baby’s birth just weeks away now, and gone to his son.

But as he carried little Dunstan to the kitchen for breakfast, the old pain struck him hard across the chest, and he nearly dropped the boy. With the last of his strength, he sat Dunstan on the floor and then leaned hard against the wall, his mouth open but unable to breathe. Dunstan watched his father, wondering whether this were some kind of new game.

After a moment, Alred no longer saw the boy, but felt himself being pulled backwards, farther and farther away from his kitchen and his son and his life, which seemed to grow smaller until they were just a tiny brownish point in the blackness. “This is what it’s like to die,” he thought, and realized he didn’t mind so much after all.

And then there was a spinning, and a growing light, and then he was standing in the hall again, the rough boards scratching the naked skin of his shoulder, and Dunstan at his feet, still staring up at him.

He hadn’t been to see Githa Selle since the day he had had an attack at her farm, but he knew now that he needed any help she could give. He would go to see her that afternoon.

Githa was pleased as ever to see him, as was sleepy-​eyed little Athelis, whose nap he had interrupted, and who was almost the same age as his own son.

Githa had been to see her mother, and had returned with a pot of the medicine her mother made for her father. As she opened the pot, Alred leaned over to have a look at the yellowish, oily stuff inside, but a moment later stumbled back as the smell hit him. “I’m supposed to swallow that?” he asked.

“No, silly,” Githa laughed. “It’s an ointment. You’re to rub it on your chest and back every night.”

Alred frowned. With such a stink, he couldn’t very well take it home if he didn’t want to tell his wife about his problem, and he didn’t want to worry her now of all times.

Githa saw his frown, and mirrored it. “You haven’t told your wife, have you?”

Alred shook his head. “Not now.”

Githa nodded. She knew the Duchess had been having a difficult pregnancy.

“Could I use it in the morning instead? The smell should fade by evening, shouldn’t it? And I can always say it’s something I’m using on the horses.”

She shrugged. “I suppose so.”

“That’s what I shall do then. And I shall even keep it in the stable. And perhaps dab some on the horses now and again, to keep it convincing. If I thought they would forgive me,” he laughed. “But who can I find to rub it on my ba—” He stopped, blushing.

Githa blushed even redder. “You truly must tell Her Grace after the baby comes,” she squeaked.

He nodded earnestly.

Poor, shy Githa! She was torn between her desire to help her friend, and her consciousness that her friend was a young man and that helping him involved laying her hands on him. But she thought of the dear, pale Matilda and how she had suffered these past months, and what losing her husband would mean to her…

Alred picked up the pot of ointment and began to fidget in the general direction of the door as Githa hestitated.

“I—” she began, and froze.

Alred smiled encouragement, embarassed to be hoping that she would make the offer, but hoping all the same, as it would solve a difficult problem for him.

“I could do it,” she murmured at last.

“That’s an excellent idea! No one need know but you and I.”

Githa smiled weakly. “Until the baby comes,” she reminded him gently.

“Of course, of course.” He handed her the pot and stood expectantly before her.

“Would you… take off your…” she stammered, gesturing at his tunic.

“Oh! Of course, of course,” he laughed, nervously.

Githa turned her back to him and walked over to the cradle where Athelis lay, her round cheeks flushed with sleep. She gazed at her little blonde-​haired girl, her own image, while Alred fumbled noisily with his clothing.

“All ready,” he said.

When Githa turned she was mortified to see that he had taken off his leggings as well, and stood before her clad in only his loincloth. But she was entirely too shy to point out that a bare back was all that was necessary, and instead walked over to him with the pot of ointment as if nothing were the matter.

Githa swept his dark hair over one shoulder and then opened the pot.

“By Jupiter, I would be ‘thunderous’ too if I had this ratsbane applied to my back every night!” he exclaimed.

Githa gingerly dotted a bit of ointment onto his back and began to rub it in with her fingertips.

“That smell is going to wake Athelis, if it doesn’t wake the dead,” he went on. “Say, I bet your parents didn’t have any more children after your mother found this recipe,” he joked, hoping to ease the embarassment of the situation, but immediately realizing that it was perhaps a bit crude for the gentle Githa.

“I am their only child,” she said quietly as she dabbed at his other shoulder blade.

“Well then, I suppose they saw they weren’t likely to do any better than you, and decided to stop there,” he said awkwardly.

Githa said nothing, and concentrated on his back. At first she had tried not to think about it, but as she worked, she began to notice how different his body was from her husband’s. She had thought that all men must be mostly the same, but here was something quite new.

Theobald was relatively wealthy and had a dozen or so men working for him, but there was no job on his farm that he was above doing. All day he worked hard, lifting and pulling and swinging and carrying. Some nights, as he lay snoring on his side, Githa would creep against him, drawing her knees up into the small of his back and laying her cheek against his shoulders, or curling up into his furry chest if he were lying the other way, and she would marvel at the muscles moving just beneath the skin, as she did when she laid her hand on the neck of one of the tall draft horses that pulled the plow.

And here was the young Duke, the same age as her husband, but whose only physical activities were riding, hunting, and occasionally swinging swords with the King. His back was slender, her fingertips dented his soft skin before reaching the muscle underneath, and she had seen only a few stray hairs across his chest. There was something almost effeminate… or no, rather childlike about him. Something maternal filled her then, and she relaxed as she kneaded the ointment into his back.

Alred sighed with contentment. Matilda was never known for the rubbing of backs, as that is something a servant might do. He wondered whether she would agree to do this for him—even if she knew he was ill. He was happy he had Githa to do it for now.