‘So we may hope, your highness,’ Maddyn said.
‘I’ve got a little trinket for you,’ Bellyra said. ‘May it bring you luck in the wars.’
‘My lady is too generous,’ Maddyn said.
‘You deserve somewhat for escorting me round to all those dusty rooms all winter.’
Smiling, Maryn nodded at Maddyn, as if to say ‘take it’. When Maddyn held out his hand, Bellyra dropped it into his open palm. The bard looked at the rose pin, then grinned up at her.
‘It’s beautiful, my lady,’ Maddyn said. ‘You and your husband have my humble thanks.’
‘Most welcome,’ Bellyra said with a little nod.
Maddyn pinned the rose to his shirt collar. ‘I’ll treasure it always, your highness.’
‘That gladdens my heart. And now I think I’d best summon my women and get back to our hall.’ Bellyra rose, glancing idly away, as if Maddyn’s smile meant naught to her.
At the end of the table Elyssa stood waiting for her, but Degwa seemed to have left already. Oh gods! Bellyra thought. Poor Decci, having to watch all that! With a wave to Elyssa to follow, she left the table and hurried for the stairs, but by the time the two women reached the upper landing, neither Nevyn, Oggyn, nor Degwa were anywhere to be seen.
Nevyn had led Oggyn into the first empty chamber they came to, a tiny room containing naught but one chair. Oggyn sank down upon it and allowed himself to sob aloud. Repeatedly he ran his face over his sleeve, and eventually the tears stopped coming. Nevyn leaned against the wall and waited while Oggyn pulled a rag from his pocket and blew his nose. He shoved the rag back, then sat slumped, his hands hanging limply between his knees.
‘Ah ye gods,’ Oggyn moaned. ‘My life is over.’
‘Oh come now!’ Nevyn said. ‘It’s not as bad as all that.’
‘But I’ll have to leave court. How can I possibly stay in the prince’s service now?’
‘The prince will consider you amply punished and forget the matter.’
‘But the shame! Ye gods, everyone will talk of this for years.’
‘They won’t. You forget their vanity.’
Oggyn looked up, startled.
‘The noble born in particular,’ Nevyn went on, ‘think of very little but their own doings. The servants will remember for a few days, truly, but with the wars starting, soon everyone will have plenty of gossip, fears, and bereavements to occupy them. Besides, you’ll be riding with the army, and you won’t even be here to snicker at.’
‘You’re right, truly. My thanks, Nevyn! A thousand thanks and more!’ Oggyn sat up, squaring his shoulders like a warrior. ‘If I can just get through the next few days …’
‘You’ll have plenty to keep you busy, with all the provisions to tally.’
‘Right again. But I don’t think I’ll go straight back to the great hall.’
‘I wouldn’t either if I were you.’ Nevyn stood up. ‘Shall we go?’
As they were leaving the chamber, they saw Lady Degwa, trotting towards them. Her widow’s black headscarf had slipped back, and locks of her curly dark hair dangled free around her face.
‘There you are!’ she burst out. ‘My poor Oggo! I simply had to see you. That awful bard, that awful song!’
When Oggyn held out his hands, she took them in hers and stared up at him. From her puffy eyes and trembling lower lip Nevyn could tell she’d been weeping. Nevyn made them both an unobserved bow.
‘My pardons,’ Nevyn said. ‘I’ll just be getting back to the great hall.’
He strode off, but at the staircase he paused and turned to look back. Oggyn and Degwa stood just as he’d left them, hands clasped. Oggyn had bent his head to speak to her in what seemed to be an anguished flood of words, while Degwa stared up adoringly, nodding her agreement now and again. For the first time it occurred to Nevyn that his fellow councillor actually cared for the lady as much as he did for her title. The insight made him end his eavesdropping and hurry downstairs.
In the great hall Grodyn was waiting for him, leaning on his stick over by the hearth of honour. The winter had not been kind to the man who had formerly been the head chirurgeon in Dun Deverry. When Maryn’s forces had taken the dun the summer past, Grodyn had fled with the other servitors of the Boar clan, only to find that Lord Braemys distrusted him.
‘It’s been a long walk you’ve had,’ Nevyn said. ‘All the way here from Cantrae.’
‘I’m surprised I lived through it, good councillor,’ Grodyn said. ‘Especially after I ruined my knee in that fall. It gladdens my heart that you’d take an interest in my plight.’
‘Ah, I take it you don’t remember me.’
Grodyn blinked, stared at him, then swore under his breath. ‘The herbman,’ he said, ‘that old herbman who came to the dun – ye gods, how many years ago was it?’
‘I don’t remember either, but a good long while.’
‘I take it you were a spy?’
‘I wasn’t, oddly enough. I merely decided that I’d find no place in Dun Deverry, so I moved on to Pyrdon, where the prince’s father took me into his service. Here, let’s sit down.’
At Nevyn’s order, a page placed two chairs in the curve of the wall, where they could talk without being easily overheard. Grodyn sat down with a long sigh and propped his stick against the wall near at hand.
‘Did you ever get to plead your cause to the prince?’ Nevyn said.
‘I did, and a well-spoken man he is,’ Grodyn said. ‘But alas, he couldn’t help me. When I fled the dun, you see, I was forced to leave some books behind, and I was hoping to reclaim them. He knew naught about them.’
‘I may well have them. Any books came to me as my share of the looting – not that anyone else wanted them. Did yours discuss Bardekian physic and medicinals?’
‘They did. With those in hand, I might be able to find a place in some great lord’s dun. Without them, well, why should they believe a shabby beggar like me when I tell them I’m a chirurgeon?’
‘True spoken. You shall have them back.’ Nevyn hesitated, considering. ‘Or even – what would you think about staying here and taking the prince’s service?’
‘Would he have me?’
‘If I recommended you.’
Grodyn leaned back and looked out over the great hall. ‘I served the Boar clan for years,’ he said at length.
‘Not as I remember it. You served the king’s clan when I first met you, and I’m willing to wager high that you hated the Boars then and hated them even more later.’
‘You have sharp eyes.’ Grodyn smiled thinly. ‘Very well. If the prince can forgive me my former service, I’ll be glad to have done with all this cursed travelling.’
‘I’ll speak to him in the morning. There’s someone else here, by the by, who might well remember you: Caudyr, your young apprentice who got himself run out by the Boars.’
‘Ye gods! Did he end up in the prince’s service too?’
‘He did. He’s the chirurgeon for the prince’s bodyguard, the silver daggers.’
‘Ai.’ Grodyn shook his head. ‘How the world changes, eh?’
‘It does, it does.’ Nevyn rose and held out a hand. ‘The stairs to my chambers are a bit steep, but come with me. You can wait down at the foot.’
‘My thanks.’
As they were making their slow way across the ward, Nevyn saw Lilli walking alone and hailed her. ‘There’s my apprentice,’ he said to Grodyn. ‘We’ll just send her up instead.’
Grodyn clasped his stick with both hands and leaned on it while he stared open-mouthed at Lilli. ‘Your apprentice?’ he whispered. ‘Ye gods! That’s Lady Lillorigga of the Boar! Apprenticed to a chirurgeon?’
‘She’s a daughter of the Rams of Hendyr now, and I’m not exactly a chirurgeon.’
Smiling, Lilli trotted over, dropped them a curtsey, then suddenly stared at Grodyn in turn.
‘It is me,’ the chirurgeon said. ‘I fear me your cousin Braemys refused me shelter in Dun Cantrae last autumn, and wintering on the roads has left me changed.’
‘No doubt it would,’ Lilli said. ‘It saddens my heart to think of Braemys being so miserly. That’s not like him.’
‘Wasn’t miserliness.’ Grodyn’s voice turned sour. ‘He accused me of being a poisoner.’
Lilli considered him narrow-eyed.
‘It’s doubtless a long tale,’ Nevyn broke in. ‘Lilli, up in my chamber are three books of Bardekian medical lore. Would you bring them down? They belong to Grodyn here.’
‘I shall, my lord.’
Lilli curtsied again, then trotted off on her errand. Just then Branoic popped out of the back door to the great hall, looked around, made a sketchy bow Nevyn’s way, and took out running after her – a good thing, since the books were heavy. Nevyn turned back to Grodyn.
‘Tell me somewhat,’ Nevyn said. ‘This business of poisons. Is Lady Merodda mixed up in this?’
‘She was, truly,’ Grodyn said. ‘I heard, by the by, that your prince had her hanged. I have to admit that the news didn’t ache my heart. Braemys accused me of supplying her with poisons. I did naught of the sort, I assure you.’
‘Oh, I believe you. Here, why don’t you shelter in the dun tonight? The prince is a generous man and won’t begrudge you bread and board whether or not you take his service in the morning. I’d like to hear what you know about Lady Merodda.’
After he left the great hall, Maddyn considered going back to the barracks, then decided to climb up to the outer wall and make his way along the catwalk for some privacy. By then the sun was just setting, and a soft twilight was gathering over the dun. To the east a few stars gleamed against the darkening sky. With the firelight and lantern light flickering at the windows, the central broch looked for those few moments almost inviting. At the top of the wall Maddyn squeezed himself into a crenel and looked out over the hillside below. Near the bottom of the hill little fires bloomed in the encampment where the assembled warbands sheltered behind the outermost wall. For all its size, Dun Deverry could never have quartered the entire army.
Maddyn’s blue sprite materialized in mid-air, bringing a trace of silvery glow with her.
‘Well, there you are,’ Maddyn said. ‘I’ve not seen you in days.’
She smiled with a gleam of needle-sharp teeth.
‘You weren’t in the great hall just now,’ Maddyn went on. ‘And a cursed good thing, too. I played a song I wish I’d never composed.’
She cocked her head to one side as if she were trying to understand.
‘Having a bit of fun with Slimy Oggo is one thing. Tearing the poor bastard’s pride to bits was quite another. Ah ye gods! That was the sourest revenge I’ve ever taken.’
The sprite looked at him for a long solemn moment, then shrugged and disappeared. Maddyn climbed back down from the wall and headed for the barracks. He wanted the company of his own kind.
Lilli heard about Oggyn’s shaming from her maid, Clodda, who had watched the entire spectacle from the servant’s side of the hall. She had, she told Lilli, climbed up onto a table for a good view.
‘It was ever so awful, my lady,’ Clodda said, but she was grinning, and her eyes snapped with something suspiciously like delight. ‘Poor old Slimy Oggo. That’s what the silver daggers call him, you know.’
‘Oh really?’ Lilli was smiling herself. ‘And how would you know? You’ve not been consorting with silver daggers, have you?’
Clodda blushed scarlet and busied herself with straightening the bed clothes. Morning sun poured in the window. Lilli moved her chair round so that she could sit in the warmth.
‘It feels so good,’ she remarked. ‘Did you see Lord Nevyn in the great hall?’
‘I did, my lady. He told me he’d be up in a bit.’
Nevyn appeared but a few moments after. Clodda made a hurried excuse and fled the chamber; like most of the servants, she believed him to be a sorcerer of the sort found in bards’ tales, who can turn men into frogs and talk with the spirits of dead – though in a way, Nevyn told Lilli, he’d been if not raising a spirit then at least discussing one.
‘Grodyn told me many an interesting tale last night,’ Nevyn said. ‘About your mother, that is.’
‘Indeed?’ Lilli shivered, suddenly chilled. ‘The poor man! Did he truly walk all the way here from Cantrae?’
‘He rode at first, but his horse threw a shoe and stumbled badly. That’s how he injured the knee. But about your mother, unpleasant subject though she is? He confirmed my suspicions about that woman who died from the tainted meat.’
‘Lady Caetha?’
‘The very one. Grodyn attended both her and your mother when they were both supposedly so ill. Caetha was ill, all right. He caught your mother drinking an infusion of bitter herbs to make herself vomit convincingly. It wasn’t the meat they shared that killed Caetha.’
Lilli felt as if someone had slapped her. Tears gathered and threatened to fall. Nevyn leaned over and caught her hand in both of his.
‘I’ve upset you badly,’ Nevyn said. ‘My apologies.’
‘Not your fault,’ Lilli said. ‘She really was a murderess. Oh gods! My own mother!’
‘It’s not a pleasant bit of news, is it?’ Nevyn stood up. ‘And I’m afraid I have to leave you with it. The prince is holding a proper council of war this morning. The muster’s nearly complete.’
One of the last lords to lead his men to Dun Deverry was Tieryn Anasyn, the Ram of Dun Hendyr. A messenger had preceded him to ensure that the prince knew Anasyn was merely late, not traitorous, and that he’d be bringing a contingent of thirty riders, five more than demanded, to make up for his fault. On the day that he was due to arrive, Lilli kept a watch on the gates from her window. As eager as she was to see her foster-brother, she was frightened as well. How would he take the news that she was the prince’s mistress? She decided that it might be better to keep it from him, if she possibly could, but if his wife was coming with him to shelter with the princess during the summer’s fighting, the cause was hopeless. When it came to gossip, Lady Abrwnna could hunt with the best of them.
Lilli sat at the window with the dweomer book propped against her table. Every time she turned a page, she would pause and look out, watching the shadows of the towers creep across the cobbled ward. The sun had nearly disappeared behind the western-most broch when she finally heard shouting out in the ward, servants calling, ‘The Ram, the Ram!’ She laid the book on the table and leaned out of her window to see six men riding through the inner gate, each with the ram shield of Hendyr hanging from their saddle peaks.
She left her chamber, rushed down the stairs, and ran out to the ward in time to see Anasyn and his honour guard dismounting. He was a tall man, grown somewhat stouter since last she’d seen him, with a long face and a long thin nose. As well as the extra weight he’d also grown a full moustache, thick enough to hide most of his upper lip.
‘Sanno!’ Lilli called.
With a laugh he threw his reins to a waiting groom and ran to greet her with a bear hug. She threw her arms around his neck and let him swing her free of the ground, as he used to when they were small children. After a few circles he set her down again.
‘You look well, little sister.’ He was smiling at her. ‘Still as scrawny as ever, though.’
‘So do you, brother, though you’re getting fat about the middle, I see. Where’s your lady?’
‘Back in Hendyr.’ He smiled in an exceedingly sly way. ‘She’s too heavy with child to travel.’
‘My congratulations to you both!’
‘My thanks. It would be a splendid thing if the child were a son.’ His smile vanished. ‘I’d ride with a lighter heart if I knew Hendyr had an heir.’
‘Just so.’ Lilli felt her voice catch and looked away.
Murmuring among themselves, the grooms were leading away the horses, while Anasyn’s guard waited patiently by the door of the main broch. While Lilli watched, the view suddenly blurred. With a muttered oath she reached up and wiped the tears away.
‘Don’t weep, little sister.’ Anasyn laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s in the hands of Wyrd, and what man knows the ways of that?’ He shrugged the moment away. ‘I’d best go present myself to the prince, but dine with me tonight, will you? You can tell me how things stand here in the dun.’
Thinking of Bellyra, Lilli hesitated, but only briefly. ‘Of course, gladly. And you can tell me how Hendyr fares.’
Since as a mere tieryn Anasyn was seated some distance from the royal table, Lilli managed to keep a safe distance from the prince and princess both, though, just as the meal finished, she did see Degwa making her way through the crowded hall. Lilli smiled and waved, but Degwa hurried right past their table without a word.
‘And just who was that fine lady,’ Anasyn muttered, ‘to treat you so coldly?’
‘Someone who’s been my enemy from the day we rode into Cerrmor,’ Lilli said. ‘She’s a daughter of the Wolf clan, and she’s never forgiven me for having been born a Boar.’
Anasyn was about to reply when Gwerbret Daeryc strolled over. During the muster Lilli had only seen him from a distance, and now she noticed that he’d lost more teeth over the winter – one side of his face looked positively caved in. Anasyn scrambled up and bowed to his overlord, but Daeryc motioned to Lilli to stay seated.
‘I only want a word with your brother,’ Daeryc said, ‘about this business of the white mare.’
‘They’ve not found one, have they?’ Anasyn said.
‘They’ve not, or so they say.’ Daeryc looked profoundly gloomy. ‘Who can trust what priests say, eh? But without the mare, the temple won’t perform the kingship rite before the campaigning begins.’
‘Indeed?’ Lilli put in. ‘That’s a pity, but is it all that important?’
‘Important?’ Daeryc snorted. ‘You could say that twice and loudly, too.’
‘If the wretched priests of Bel,’ Anasyn said to her, ‘would condescend to proclaim our liege king before we all rode out, we could count on plenty of deserters from Braemys’s army. I’m willing to wager high that a lot of the lords still loyal to the Boars would come over if they had some noble reason to do it. They don’t want to besmirch their honour, but if Maryn were the king? Well, then.’
‘I’d wager along with you,’ Daeryc said. ‘Braemys just might have found his army disappearing like food on a glutton’s table. But now?’ He shrugged. ‘The good men will hold loyal till the end, most like.’
After the meal Lilli went up to Nevyn’s tower room, where she discovered that the delay in confirming Maryn’s kingship was preying upon her master’s mind as well. Nevyn delivered himself of a few choice oaths on the subject before explaining.
‘They have their reason all polished and ready, of course. The lack of the proper white mare for the rites. Huh. Let Maryn win the summer’s war, and white mares will doubtless pop up all over the landscape.’
‘There’s somewhat I don’t understand,’ Lilli said. ‘Does great Bel really care about the colour of Maryn’s horse? Would we really be cursed if he rode a grey mare in the procession?’
‘Of course not. But the lords and the priests and perhaps even the common folk would believe that he was cursed, and they’d look at him with different eyes. And Maryn himself – he’s as pious as any great lord is, which is to say, as pious as the times are hard, but he truly does believe that the gods have power over him. If he thought himself cursed, wouldn’t he doubt his judgment and his luck?’
‘I see. And he might do a reckless thing, or shrink back from a fight, and his men would think he’d lost his dweomer luck.’
‘Exactly. And they’ve followed him for many a long year now, through famine and battle, mostly because they believe in his luck and the gods both.’
Lilli considered this while the old man watched her from his seat on the window sill. ‘But then,’ she said finally, ‘the gods don’t truly care what happens to their worshippers. It that what you mean?’
‘Close enough. In time, I’ll tell you a great deal more about the gods – this autumn, when we have more leisure. But for now, remember that the gods want homage and little else from their ordinary worshippers. Does the high king care about each and every man who tends his fields? Not so long as that man hands over his taxes and dues.’
‘That makes the gods seem so cold, though, and so very far away.’
‘They are. Think well on this. Which you’ll have plenty of time to do once I’ve gone with the prince.’
‘Anasyn was the last lord to ride in, wasn’t he?’ Lilli felt her heart turn over. ‘You’ll all be marching on the morrow.’
‘I’m afraid so.’ Nevyn glanced away, abruptly sad. ‘And may the gods all grant that this summer sees the end of it.’
As she walked down the stairs of Nevyn’s tower, Lilli was thinking of Branoic. Although she wanted to say farewell to him, her rank kept her from going to a place as lowly as the silver daggers’ barracks. She stepped inside the great hall, stood in the doorway on the riders’ side, and tried to catch the attention of one of the servant lasses, who would be glad to carry a message for her in return for a copper. In the smoky room, crammed with fighting men of every rank, the lasses were trotting back and forth, bringing ale, serving bread, dodging the men’s wandering hands and answering back as smartly as they could to the various remarks they were getting. Lilli found herself thinking that she was as lucky as Prince Maryn. The summer past her clan had been destroyed, and she herself might have ended up carrying slops in some lord’s hall had it not been for Princess Bellyra’s generosity.
‘Lilli?’ A dark voice sounded behind her.
With a little shriek Lilli spun around to find Branoic grinning at her.
‘I didn’t mean to scare you out of your skin,’ he said. ‘I got one of my feelings, like, that mayhap you wanted to talk with me.’
‘I do.’ She managed a laugh. ‘I was just remembering last summer. It seems like a twenty’s worth of years ago, not just one.’
‘The best summer of my life, it was.’
‘Truly? Why?’
‘You silly goose!’ Branoic was grinning at her. ‘Because I met you, of course.’
‘I don’t deserve you, I truly don’t.’
‘Spare me that, if you please.’ Branoic reached out and engulfed her small soft hands with his, all battle-hard and callused. ‘If our prince objects to my kissing my betrothed farewell, then bad cess to him.’
Clasped tight in his arms she felt safe, as if his embrace could shut out the entire war-torn world around them. Oh dear Goddess! she prayed. Let him come home to me!
On the morrow, Prince Maryn rode out at the head of his army to settle things once and for all with Regent Braemys. At the head of the line of march rode a pair of young lads carrying the red wyvern banner of Dun Deverry and the three ships banner of Cerrmor. Behind them rode Prince Maryn with Nevyn for company, and directly after, his silver daggers. The rest of the army arranged itself behind, each warband headed by its own lord in order of rank. At the rear came the provision wagons, servants, grooms with extra horses, and chirurgeons, all guarded by the foot soldiers – spearmen, mostly, under Oggyn’s command – owed to the prince by the various free cities in his dominions. All in all, they numbered over four thousand men, less than the summer before, but still one of the largest armies Deverry had ever seen.
Thanks to the carts and their slab wheels, this massive force could make about twelve miles a day on flat terrain. In the hilly country that lay ahead, they would be lucky to manage ten. Since clever manoeuvres were out of the question, the prince had decided upon a simple strategy. In his message Braemys had announced his intention of riding to Dun Deverry by Beltane. Maryn saw no reason to doubt him; Braemys had not the men to take the dun or even besiege it successfully. Maryn’s vassals had agreed that they should lead their army east towards Cantrae, over two hundred miles away. Somewhere, when the gods and their Wyrd decided the time was right, they would meet Braemys and his men upon the road.
‘Which is not to say,’ Maryn said, ‘that the little pisspot won’t try some sort of trick. Last summer we saw how clever he can be.’
‘So we did, your highness,’ Nevyn said. ‘It’s a good thing I can scout for you.’
