MATYAS

The late afternoon sun was beginning to disappear over the dense forest that covered the mountain to the west of the village of Kiskoros. Early autumn started topaint the leaves with the tint of a season only a month ortwo away. The harvest had been kind to the villagers, but now they prepared for what the heavy coat of fur on the wildlife forebodes: an impending harsh winter ahead.

There was no wind. But, in the far west, distant thunder and flashes of lightning punctuated dark skies. A storm was on its way. Villagers hurried to finish their tasks in preparation for the oncoming rain. It would be welcome although it would only make the roads and paths through the village muddier for travel. But perhaps it would force the horses and men from the north to find another path to the south and their crusade.

The Northmen were not welcome here, ravaging all villages and farms on their journey to the Holy Land.

Tasha lifted a bound bundle of branches to her shoulder and hurried to where the firewood was stacked alongside the thatched hut that was home to her parents and younger sister.

Tasha was sixteen years of age, young and vibrant. She was tall and beautiful, dressed in fabric she herself had woven from flax. Her garment had been loosened to make labor easier. It revealed her high firm breasts and lithe muscular body.  She was moist with perspiration; her body glistened in the late afternoon sun. She stood straight, arching her back after tossing the bundle on top of the other branches. The loose clothing that covered her torso fell away. She hastily recovered her garment, but not until she had wiped the perspiration from her brow and breasts.

Matyas, standing a few yards away was aroused. He, too, had been toiling with the task of piling heavier pieces of timber next to a hut across from Tasha’s. He then sat on his stack of timber and eyed Tasha. He smiled as he watched her adjust her clothing. Her eyes locked at his, and she turned her back in mock embarrassment. A slight smile was evident. Matyas laughed and approached Tasha.

He laughed loudly, “It is good for me to see what you try to hide from me.”

Tasha turned defiantly and scolded the smiling Matyas.

“You are only allowed to look from a distance,” she admonished.

“In two days, I will look at you closer,” he advised.

Matyas stopped his advance. Tasha froze his approach with her defiant eyes.

“Until then, you will keep your distance,” she warned.

“I will honor the words of the man with the Sacred Cross,” said Matyas.

“In two days, when the man with the Sacred Cross says the words that will make you a husband to me, then I will allow you to come closer,” replied Tasha.

“How can a wife give me a son from a distance? It is not possible,” protested Matyas.

Matyas stood with his hands on his hips, teasing from his vantage point across the muddy path that separated the two huts. Matyas was young and strong, dressed in the skins of his recent hunt. He wore the skins proudly, as if to show off his prowess as a man first, then  the hunter.. He posed for Tasha with his flexed muscular body and postured near the accomplishment of his toil that afternoon.

“See how much wood for fires I have collected for my mother and father. I shall make a pile twice that high for our house when we are together,” boasted Matyas.

“Wood burns too fast. We need the black stone that burns, if we are to have a warm house this winter,” responded Tasha.

“We must go to the forest. There we can find the black stone,” offered Matyas. 

“It is too late and the sun is low. It will be dark soon. Tomorrow we go to the forest,” said she.

“Tomorrow I plan for hunting. But if we hurry, we can be back before the light is gone,” said the young man.