Mathilda hesitated. "I'm sorry about Aoife and Liath. They were great, and: I sort of think it was my fault. If I hadn't gone under the trees-"
Rudi let the grief flow through him and past him. "It wasn't your fault, Matti. I mean, we were right there, only a mile and a half from the gates of the dun. Who could have known? Even Uncle Dennis just said not to go beyond the watchpost, and we didn't get that far. Tiphaine and her bunch pulled it off really slick."
The garrison cheered and shouted as they watched the brief, spectacular match, then formed up again; Tiphaine addressed them with her sword blade resting on her right shoulder, and the other hand on her hip, shield with its new blazon hanging off her left by its guige.
"Sir Ivo and Sir Ruffin are damned good. I won't settle for anything but the best in my menie," she said. "So you're all going to be working hard from now on. When the call comes, you're going to be facing pikes and crossbows or Bearkiller lances or Mackenzie longbows, not wooden posts and targets. Anyone who doesn't like the idea can go hire on with someone else, like maybe as bouncers at the Slut and Brew in Portland."
That got a general laugh, and blades flourished in salute. "And now let's get cleaned up before the feast; I don't know whether this gambeson is trying to drown me or marry me, and if I get any hungrier I'm going over there to hack that cow apart personally. Dismissed!"
She sheathed the sword without looking down, then passed weapons belt and shield to one of the varlets. The smile was off her face as she turned to look up at the tower top; the wall was casting shadow over the courtyard, but her hair still burned bright in a stray beam.
Yeah, gonna have to be real careful, Rudi thought, ducking back. She doesn't jool easy.
Then his stomach rumbled; it had been a long while since the picnic lunch in the carriage. Mathilda punched his shoulder.
"Let's get ready for dinner," she said. "I'm clemmed."
"You're gonna have to stop talking like that," Rudi said as they walked over to the head of the stairs. "You sound like a kiltie!"
The great dining hall was the whole ground floor of the keep. With no resident lord, it had been used as an armory and storehouse until now, and spears and crossbows still stood racked around the inside of the massive concrete walls. The slight tang of oiled metal was now overlain by the sweet scent of burning fir and the savory smells of roast beef and pork, chicken and duck, vegetables and spiced gravy and fresh wheat bread. There were no openings in the two walls that faced the outer world, and only thin slits for firing through on the pair that overlooked the courtyard through thick ferroconcrete. The inside walls were plain apart from whitewash, and the concrete floors hastily covered with mats of woven straw. Open gates and portcullis let in air grown a little chill with the spring evening, but the stars were many and bright save where the moon hung on the horizon. Torches burned in brackets outside, mostly for show; the bonfires in the courtyard gave both light and warmth to the commons feasting there on tables set on the drawbridge and close by it, sending flights of sparks drifting skyward.
A fire in the great inner hearth kept the room warm despite draughts, thigh-thick fir logs crackling and booming on the iron dogs and making an occasional spit of sparks and sending out a strong, wild scent. Gasoline lanterns hanging from the ferroconcrete beams that crisscrossed above kept it bright; draughts flickered the only hanging in the room, the new banner of Ath hanging behind the high seat. The tables were set up in a T, with chairs at the upper end and benches lower down. Tiphaine sat at the center of the top bar; Mathilda and Rudi had the honor seats on her right, with Ivo and Ruffin and their soon-to-be wives just beyond; the priest of Ath, Father Peter, sat on her left along with the captain of the men-at-arms and his wife and two of their older children. Beyond the big gilt ceremonial saltcellar that marked off those of lower rank sat the ordinary men-at-arms and their families, below them the other soldiers of the garrison, their families, the primary officers of the estate and their families.
The steward was on his feet, directing carvers and servers and pourers with a white wand in his hand; a yearling shoat with an apple in its mouth stood on one stand, and a quarter of beef on another, smoking and cooling a bit before the carving.
Father Peter was a slightly plump young man with a friendly looking face; he stood and said a long grace, ending with a blessing on the Lord Protector, the Defender of the Faith, and Pope Leo. When he sat again the new overlord of Ath stood in her turn. Silence fell amid the crowded tables, and an instant later from those outside the tower gate as well, broken only by the crackle and pop of burning resinous wood. When she spoke, it was in a clear cold voice that carried without being particularly loud.
"The Portland Protective Association, through the Lord Protector and Lady Sandra, have granted seizin of this domain of Ath and its manors to me and my heirs, as tenants-in-chief, with the right of the high justice"-which meant she could hang-"the middle"-which meant she could imprison and flog-"and the low." That meant fines and extra service.
"To all the folk of the Domain of Ath I promise fair justice and good lordship, defense against attack to the limit of my strength, and punishment of wrongdoers. From them I expect due loyalty and service. I will take what the law of the Association allows, neither more nor less."
She gave a quick sidelong glance at the two knights who would hold part of it for her, and then down the table at the garrison and the officers who would carry out her will.
"And so will everyone else," she said, a slight note of warning in a tone gone flat. "I will not tolerate insolence from underlings; nor will I tolerate their mistreatment by any in my service, whether on the rolls of the Association or not."
After a moment's delay there was a cheer from the lower table, and from those seated outside. Tiphaine judged the tone and cocked an eye at the steward, who kept his face carefully blank; doubtless he was reassessing any scams he had running. She went on: "While I'm at it, we have the Princess Mathilda here as our guest, entrusted to the care of the Domain of Ath by the Lord Protector himself. This is an honor I'm sure we'll all strive to deserve."
You'd better, her tone added. Every one of you.
"And also with us is Rudi Mackenzie, son of the Chieftain of the Clan Mackenzie-"
She hesitated as Rudi came to his feet and bowed slightly to her. "Thank you, Lady dAth," he said, his treble loud and steady. "I also honor the Lady of Ath for her care of me in: ummm: difficult circumstances. I swear by: " He cocked an eye at the priest. ": by my holy things and by hers that I will not try to escape from her lands until the war ends, or my people come for me, so long as I stay here with the princess."
There was silence and a murmur after that; Tiphaine bowed, but the pale gray eyes narrowed slightly in the strong-boned impassive face; he knew she'd noticed the careful reservations in his oath.
"Thank you, young lord. As you mentioned, there is unfortunately war between the Association and the Clan and its allies at present. Therefore our other guest will be treated with all respect, but let no man allow Rudi Mackenzie beyond the gates of this castle, save with my immediate leave on each occasion, and with such escort as I order."
But I bet I'd wouldn't have been allowed out of the tower at all if I hadn't promised, Rudi thought, keeping any satisfaction off his face.
Tiphaine inclined her head again, beckoning to a guard and murmuring in his ear before she raised her glass and went on: "To the Portland Protective Association, to the Lord Protector, to my liege the Lady Sandra. May God and the Saints have them in their keeping. And to our spiritual father, Pope Leo, and to Holy Mother Church, our guides on the path of salvation."