Erik and Tramma’s Night at the Holymolders

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 1 PM – The Holymolders]

The departure of the wizards Finfin and Mithi left Tramma and Erik alone
with their hosts. Many of the Holymolders were still cleaning up around
the Chief’s fire, and a lot of the others had gone back to their own
wigwams away from the homes of the leaders. There was still a good crowd
gathered in the central area used for Councils and other gatherings
socializing, telling tales, or enjoying a dessert or libation after the
big feast.

“Do you think your tribe would like some entertainment,” Tramma asked
the old Medicine Woman as her gaze wandered around the gathering? She
was making a point of using the tribe’s own language. Her command of the
Holymolder dialect of the Celtic-derived Máthairtheanga was good enough
to pass for a native. She already knew that Lord Erik also spoke the
tongue fluently, if not with her facile, idiomatic mastery. On the other
hand, he had the advantage of growing up in a culture more closely
related to the local tribes than her own childhood in the cosmopolitan
cities of Yeltanar. Both of them could easily manage doing the polite
thing and speaking their language.

“We were all hoping you might,” Rayga chuckled. “If you are not too
tired from your travels.”

“I don’t really do tired,” Tramma told the ancient Medicine Woman with a
self-depreciating grin. “As long as the coffee holds out, or some of
your lovely yaupon tea.”

“I can get either for you, friend Tramma,” the gorgeous Medicine Acolyte
Morden offered. “There is yaupon ready by the fire, and perhaps even
coffee. Some of our hunters have taken a liking to it, and we make sure
to keep some on hand for Wagon People visitors. I made sure to have a
pot brewed, but who knows if it has survived this long.”

“Or something stronger,” Sabia suggested cheerily. “There’s plenty of
our best barley beer and corn liquor, and if you are REALLY brave I
think I saw some koumiss from the Horse Tribes across the river being
passed around.”

“I usually avoid drinking,” Tramma made a face. “A sip or two of koumiss
or beer occasionally is about my limit. Your corn liquor is definitely a
bit much for me, especially when the goal is to stay awake and have fun.
Besides, you both know my grasp on reality is tenuous to start with.”

“But you are so FUNNY when you are high,” Sabia observed slyly. “We have
more of those herbs we found for you last moon.”

“Shells, I can’t afford to trip out,” Tramma sighed. “I’ll just have to
get my fix the other way.”

“That won’t be hard,” Morden giggled. “Every man in the tribe and a lot
of the women have their eye on you. In fact-”

She leaned closer and the three young women began whispering together
conspiratorially. Erik had an uneasy feeling that some of what they were
giggling about might be centered upon him given some of the hungry ‘come
hither’ glances the two tribal women sent his way, but he also could see
that Tramma was working her usual deft conversational magic.

Even as the ladies schemed together he could see the avid glimpses
soften to something more like admiration and sympathy. His guess was
that Tramma had not forgotten her promise to help him politely fend off
any offers of passionate hospitality for the night. When he saw a moment
she was looking his way, Erik made eye contact with Tramma and gave her
a nod of thanks. A quick flash of a brilliant, heart-warming smile
acknowledged the wordless message.

“I am never sure who is a bad influence on who with those three,”
‘Grandma’ Rayga observed to Erik as she watched the three younger women
fondly. “They are all three good-hearted but more than a bit
mischievous. Believe it or not, I was like that when I was their age.”
She chuckled warmly at the memory.

“We were all young and foolish at one point, some more than others,”
Erik observed a bit ruefully. “I figured out my calling earlier than
most of my peers and missed out on some of the youthful mistakes, or as
my mentor called them, learning opportunities.”

Before too long, Tramma was out by the central fire telling jokes,
spreading the news she thought they might find of interest, singing
bawdy comic songs, dancing suggestively, and, of course, flirting
outrageously with the delighted Holymolders. Erik sat on the sidelines
of the crowd that had gathered for her performance, chatting amiably
with Chief Glodd, ‘Grandma’ Rayga, and the tribe’s Champion Oluld. Other
than occasional questions about some of the news Tramma shared in her
light-hearted fashion, nobody seemed inclined to discuss business. They
were simply enjoying the novelty of Tramma’s impromptu show.

She had accompaniment from some of the musically inclined among the
crowd, and frequent audience participation that might have raised a few
eyebrows back in some parts of the settlements. Erik had no doubt at all
that some lucky member of the tribe would be getting to know the
exuberant silver-haired entertainer a lot better when the show ended… if
she waited that long. No, that was unfair, it was obvious to him that
promiscuous as Tramma might be, she kept her act JUST the right side of
tasteful and what the Forest People at least would consider
child-friendly. The ribald jokes and lascivious dancing fit right in
with the tribe’s notions of entertainment, and made a fine way for the
sultry chanteuse to audition mutually with potential partners for a
later, more private show.

Erik had only a few opportunities to speak with Tramma as the evening
wore on. Whatever the bard had arranged on his behalf after the evening
ended and everyone had been shown to their guest quarters had clearly
been effective. The Lord of Fort Resolute had not been privy to the
details, but the results were unmistakable, and most welcome; he was
left entirely on his own for the night. Clearly Tramma had been able to
convince the locals that the Holy Knight really would prefer an
overnight without eligible company.

That was, however, not to say that his overnight stay in his well
appointed guest wigwam had been entirely undisturbed. While he had no
night time offers of company, he could not help but overhear that his
neighbour in a nearby guest wigwam had made an entirely different
decision regarding overnight company, and the resulting activity. The
identity of his neighbour was no mystery; Erik could readily recognize
Tramma’s voice raised in pure joy. But as he couldn’t help but overhear
the bard’s enthusiastic appreciation of her selected date’s efforts, the
Lord of Fort Resolute began to suspect that Tramma was at least trying
to stifle her gleeful sounds of rapture. Unfortunately, with indifferent
success.

It was unfair of Erik to wish the bard had a better grip on herself, the
knight acknowledged to himself. But fairness when being kept awake as an
involuntary audial witness to the goings on next door at this hour of
the night was admittedly difficult to achieve. But Church Knights are
well trained to tackle challenges, and if Tramma’s self control was
lacking at the moment, Erik’s was more than equal to the task. He was
easily able to order his own thoughts, setting aside any unwelcome
distractions filtering in from next door.

Focusing his mind in devout prayer, he was easily able to armor his mind
against any distractions of what his neighbour might be up to. Just when
the sounds of carnal celebration subsided, Erik could not readily say.
By the time he emerged from his deep meditative prayer, all was quiet in
the camp, and he could then proceed to an undisturbed sleep.