A Time of War. Katharine KerrЧитать онлайн книгу.
be cleaning himself up,’ Rhodry said. ‘I thought he’d be in by now. Why?’
‘Just asking, wondering if he’s up for a game of carnoic or suchlike.’ Draudd yawned profoundly. ‘He plays cursed well. Here, Rhodry, some of the men have a wager on, like, that Yraen’s noble-born.’
‘Do they now? I hope they don’t go asking him outright and hope to live to collect it. Prying into a silver dagger’s past is bad for a man’s health.’
Draudd snorted into his ale.
‘I’m not having a jest on you,’ Rhodry spoke quietly, levelly. ‘Tell them to lay off.’
Draudd looked up sharply, his good cheer gone.
‘And another thing,’ Rhodry went on. ‘Am I included in this little game?’
Draudd turned beet-red in silent confession. Rhodry grabbed him by a twist of shirt that nearly choked him and hauled him face to face.
‘Lay it off, lad. Do you understand me?’ He let Draudd go with a thrust of his wrist that sent the lad reeling. ‘Do you?’
‘I do, and I will, then.’ He hesitated, rubbing his throat with one hand, then swung himself free of the bench. ‘I’ll just go have a word with the captain, like.’
Rhodry realized that a clot of men were hovering in the door and watching. He ignored them and picked up his tankard again. When he checked a few moments later, he found them gone.
Soon after, Jill appeared at the far side of the great hall and hurried up to the gwerbret’s table, where Cadmar himself rose to greet her, insisting she take the place of honour at his right hand. Although he was too far away to hear their talk, Rhodry could guess that the gwerbret was trying to winkle information out of her – never the easiest task in the world. Rhodry suspected that she knew a great deal more than she was saying about this mysterious bard from so far away. In a few minutes the gwerbret’s other vassal in residence, Lord Gwinardd, joined the honour table, a young man, brown-haired and bland, his title newly inherited, sitting diffidently at the far end from his overlord and not saying a word.
As the afternoon drowsed on, Rhodry started keeping a watch for Lord Matyc, who would be expected to join the other noble-born men for the evening meal if not before, but he had a long wait before Matyc finally strode in. Right behind him came Yraen. Rhodry allowed himself a small smile as the two parted company, Matyc to greet his overlord, Yraen to stroll down and join Rhodry.
‘And where have you been?’ Rhodry said.
‘Keeping an eye on his lordship. What do you think? I caught him showing a bit too much interest in those prisoners for my taste, so I stood on guard for a while. When he kept hovering round, I distracted him, like, with talk of horses, and manoeuvred him into taking a look at the gwerbret’s new mare and suchlike.’
‘And how did our lordship take that?’
‘Badly.’ Yraen shrugged. ‘Let him. I don’t like the look of the man. Somewhat about him turns my gut.’
‘Mine, too. I’ll try to get a word with Jill, and as soon as I can. I wouldn’t mind having our prisoners moved to some fresh place, and that without our lordship knowing.’
Round sunset the jailor brought Jahdo and Meer a fresh loaf of bread, more water, chunks of cheese, stiff with rind but not bad tasting and plenty of it, and a couple of fresh peaches, which, he said, came by Rhodry’s direct order. Although he was glad of the food, thinking that they were dependent on the good will of the man who’d killed Meer’s brother and then captured them made Jahdo profoundly uneasy.
‘I do feel that we shouldn’t eat it,’ he said to Meer.
‘Slaves take what they can get, lad.’
‘I know that, but then it really creeps my flesh, thinking what will happen to us if Rhodry’s killed or suchlike. How will someone else treat us?’
‘Slaves live one day at a time, as well.’
While they ate, sitting in the straw, Jahdo looked up and out the barred window on the opposite wall. Outside the sky, streaked here and there with gold clouds, was darkening to a velvet blue. He could hear voices passing, harried servants, laughing men, the occasional bark of a dog or whinny of a horse. When he was done, he walked over to the window and found below it on the wall a couple of uneven stone blocks. By stepping on them and grabbing the window bars to hoist himself up, he could look out to a view of two storage sheds, the pigsty and, in the distance, the massive outer walls of the dun, all of which he described to Meer, mostly to pass the time.
‘And then round the top of the dun there’s these wooden catwalks, like we have back home, for the militia to walk round on and guard things. These are kind of broken in places, though, like they haven’t been kept up right. Maybe they don’t have a lot of wars here or suchlike.’
‘This dun seems to be the strong point of the entire area and not very likely to be attacked. I wonder what a gwerbret is? The lord of this place, obviously, but I’ve never heard the word before.’
‘Neither have I.’
Meer considered the problem for a moment, then felt for his staff, lying near him in the straw.
‘Do you need the bucket?’ Jahdo said.
‘I don’t. Help me to stand, lad.’
When Jahdo did so, Meer tapped his way to the door and felt for the little window. Once it was found, he put his face close to the bars.
‘Jailor!’ he roared. ‘Jailor! Come here!’
He kept it up until the old man appeared, cursing and complaining as he stumped down the hallway. A whiff of sour ale came with him.
‘And what’s wrong with you, you hairy cow? Disturbing an honest man at his hard-earned meal, not that I’ll be making much of a profit, feeding the likes of you, and that worm-riddled silver dagger giving me orders.’
‘I require the meaning of a word.’
The jailor stared, his mouth flopping open and silent.
‘I am Meer, bard and loremaster,’ Meer bellowed. ‘Tell me what this word, gwerbret, means. Such lore is my due.’
With a shake the jailor recovered himself.
‘Oh is it now? Since when do hairy dogs have bards?’
‘You better watch your tongue!’ Jahdo snapped.
‘Hush!’ Meer waved him away. ‘Old man, first you called me a cow, now a dog. In my homeland you would have been publicly strangled for those insults. Here, as a slave, I have no choice but to forgive you. Yet even a slave-bard is a bard still. You will answer me my question, or I’ll call down the wrath of the gods.’
‘Call away. I’ll not be telling you one wretched thing.’
As the jailor turned to go, Meer sang a high, piercing note whose harsh texture made Jahdo squirm. Louder and louder he sang, and longer and longer, until the jailor shrieked.
‘Very well! Hold your ugly tongue, bard! I’ll tell you. I should have known that hairy savages like you would be as ignorant as you are ugly. A gwerbret’s a kind of lord, see, the most powerful lord there is, except for the princes and suchlike of the blood royal. He’s got vassals what owe him service and pay him dues. And he judges criminals and suchlike, and I hope to every god that when it comes to the judging of you, he hangs you good and proper.’
This time when the old man hurried off, Meer let him go.
‘May his heart burst within him,’ Meer remarked. ‘Or better yet, may the gods plug his kidneys so that he dies in a stink of piss. Ah well. At least I’ve got my bit of new lore.’
Jahdo felt a profound relief. Obviously Meer had truly decided to live if he’d go worrying about some funny name. He got the bard settled, then climbed back to his window perch to watch