“You knew well enough!” The king was regaining some enthusiasm. “And have you learned nothing more for me, while you were ‘lost’?”
All those weeks with the players had at least taught Gar how to take a cue. “I have learned that Trangray has sent to all the dukes to league with him in attacking Your Majesty, and that four have said they will come; moreover, rumor has it that they march already. But your spies have surely told you as much.”
“They have told me that four dukes march toward me,” the king replied, “but they haven’t told me that Trangray summoned them to an alliance! How did you learn this, Sir Gar?”
Gar shrugged. “Rumor has many tongues, Your Majesty.”
“Yes, and you seem to speak them all! But tell me now, Sir Gar: How shall we go about whipping these arrogant dukes home, eh? For surely, their forces must outnumber mine by ten to one!”
“Seven to one, if Rumor speaks truth,” Gar told him, “though I have found that Rumor’s estimates grow as they travel. Probably he will have only five men to your one—but it won’t hurt us to plan on seven.” He glanced about him. “Beyond that, I’m reluctant to speak more without seeing Your Majesty’s maps, and learning all that your spies have told you.”
The king was no genius, but he was shrewd; he took the hint that, with twenty guards and soldiers plus a dozen courtiers, there might very well be spies of Duke Trangray’s listening. He nodded. “Away to my solar, then! Knights, you may leave us! Sir Gar, come!” He turned to go.
Gar stepped quickly to follow, and Coll and Dirk jumped to catch up. The King’s bodyguard gathered around them. Gar turned to give a wave of thanks to the knight who had brought them in. Bemused, the knight waved back.
Up the stairs they went, and swept into the solar, lately Earl Insol’s—but his escutcheon had been removed, and the king’s installed. A bank of tall windows opened onto the courtyard, spreading light over a map of the kingdom. His Majesty stepped behind the table and pointed down, looking up at Gar—then stared at Coll. “What is this common soldier doing here?”
“He is my sergeant,” Gar explained, “and serves me in place of a squire. He must know everything I know, or he cannot serve me well. He is as trustworthy as Sir Dirk himself.”
Dirk bowed his head in acknowledgment of the praise. But Coll noticed that Gar hadn’t said just how far Dirk was to be trusted. The former serf was learning subtlety.
15
The planning session droned on, and Coll’s attention wandered—to Ciare, of course. Unwise—thinking of her raised an ache in him, of loss and grief. The way she had raged at him, she was surely lost to him forever! Of course, it could be that Mama had been right, that Ciare had only flared with the moment’s anger, and would realize that he was still devoted to her and would come back as soon as he was…
“Coll.”
He jolted out of his trance, blinked, and focused on Dirk’s face. “Outside,” the knight told him. “You’re not doing any good for us here, and even less for yourself. Go circulate among the soldiers and see if you can pick up any … news.”
Coll stared back at him, wondering about the emphasis on the last word. Then it struck him—Dirk meant for him to find out if there were any cells here, in the castle! Coll nodded. “As you wish, Master Dirk.” He turned away, and the guards, frowning, opened the door to let him out. Purpose thrilled through him now, keeping him from brooding, though he had to work hard to keep Ciare from his thoughts. He asked servants twice for directions to the door and finally found himself in the courtyard.
It was a hive of activity. A metallic tattoo rang out from the forges against the eastern wall, where a dozen smiths beat iron into blades and spear points; wagons rolled to and from the granary, with oats and hay for horses and wheat for the kitchens, which belched smoke and wafted the smell of roasting meat over the courtyard. Servants scurried back and forth on a dozen errands, and groups of soldiers practiced archery and spear drill in the center of the yard, while other groups lounged around them, watching and waiting for their turns.
That was Coll’s goal. He threaded his way between running servants, jumped out of the way of rumbling carts, and came up behind the soldiers. For a while, he did nothing more than wander from group to group, listening to the eternal soldiers’ griping. Then he began to join in—you could always talk about how bad the food was, and the weather, and the officers. He chatted with a dozen different soldiers before he struck up a conversation with a sergeant consisting of guesses about what the cooks used to do for a living before they joined the army. “We had one that must have been a mason,” he told one group. “At least, his bread was hard as rock.”
The soldier nodded. “I know what you mean. We had one who must have been a charcoal burner, to judge by what he did to our meat.”
Coll laughed. “Of course, our cook said it wasn’t his fault—that no one could have made soft bread from the grain he was given. He said it was so hard that only the mills of the gods could have ground it into flour.”
There was an edge to the soldier’s laugh—or did Coll only imagine it? The sergeant turned easily to watch the rest of his friends step up to take their places at practice. “Come on, Galwin!” another sergeant called.
“Not just yet,” Galwin called back. His mates shrugged and turned to swipe at one another. “Even if you could get that grain to the mills of the gods,” Galwin said, “you’d wait a long, long time for your flour.”
Coll’s whole system seemed to leap into higher speed. “Yes, because the mills of the gods grind slowly.”
“But they grind exceedingly small,” the sergeant returned. They exchanged a knowing, wary glance, then turned back to watch the practice and stood silent for several minutes.
“So what do you have to tell me?” Galwin asked. “Nothing to tell,” Coll returned. “Only to ask. How many cells are there in the king’s army?”
“Almost half.” Galwin didn’t even have to stop to think about it.
“Is there any contact with the armies of the dukes?” The soldier nodded. “A peasant came in this morning to sell vegetables. He says that almost all of Duke Trangray’s men are with us, and at least a third of the armies of each of the other dukes.”
Coll stood for a moment, amazed. Admittedly, they had been building this movement for four months, but still, it had happened with amazing speed. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll come watch practice now and again.”
“You’d better be part of it, or the knights will wonder at your coming,” the sergeant advised.
“Good idea. Let’s try.”
Galwin nodded and stepped out to join the practice bout. Coll borrowed a wooden-headed spear from another man and went with him.
It felt good to strive against another man without worrying about killing or being killed. Coll learned a few tricks and taught the sergeant some, then clapped him on the back in thanks, thanked all the other soldiers for letting him join their practice, and came back to the keep just as Dirk and Gar were coming out, their faces expressionless.
That woodenness made Coll brace himself. “Did the planning go well?”
“Very well,” Gar assured him. “I need to survey the defenses, though. Let’s walk about a while.”
Coll understood, and fell in beside Gar. The only way they could be sure they wouldn’t be overheard was to be out in the open—and busy as it was, the courtyard was huge enough that they could be sure no one was near.