“You’re lucky to have it all modern. Refitting is a pain, my lady my mother talks about how much it costs. We’re only now getting all the villages up to scratch. Well, we would be except for the war delaying things.”
“Hand me some of that honey, will you?” Huon said, then poured it on a heel of the maslin. “Thanks.”
“I’m glad you had the bread,” Lioncel said, with his own mouth full. “Mom has these special hives in the gardens at the manor, or near the turn-out pasture or the demesne orchards, and it feels sort of funny to put it on dog biscuit. Though it makes it taste a lot better. The dog biscuit, not the honey.”
“Boiled turnip without salt would make dog biscuit taste better,” Huon said, and they both chuckled. Then: “Let’s take a swim. My hands and face are sticky and we’re going to be awfully busy the next couple of days. I doubt there’ll be baths.”
“Have we got time?”
“If we don’t take too long,” Huon said, with a glance at the sun and a mental estimate of the distance to Castle Maryhill. “It’s only twelve miles, maybe fourteen. Steep, but steep downhill and the road’s good.”
They stripped and ran splashing into the edge of the pond, then struck out; it was big enough to swim comfortably, though only the center was more than waist-deep. There were fish in the water, some sort of small catfish, and after a while they started trying to catch them with their hands, whooping and splashing and falling.
Wait a minute, Huon thought. That’s someone else laughing.
He stood up dripping, appalled at his own carelessness. Lioncel was an instant behind him. He could lunge for their weapons-
Girls! he thought.
For a moment he simply thought that. Then he realized that the water right here was only up to his thighs and squatted abruptly; Lioncel did too. The girls laughed again, not giggling but outright laughing. They stood side-by-side next to the saddles, but they didn’t seem to have touched anything. Huon blinked and started seeing details; one of them was about his own age, he thought, and the other a year or two older. The younger one was taller and buxom and the hair that flowed out from under her kerchief was the color of dark honey with brighter sun-streaks. The older was more slender and dark-haired like him.
They were both brown as berries with the summer sun, dressed in the short-and-long tunic combination of countrywomen, with coarse burlap aprons belted on and their under-tunics drawn up a bit for ease of movement, which exposed their calves and bare feet. Both of them had baskets woven of osier-withies full of apples, which explained what they were doing here, picking the last fruit to come ripe in the orchard.
Peasants, of course, he thought, and tried to put authority into his voice.
“What do you two think you’re doing?”
It was hard to project authority when you were squatting on your hams in slightly muddy water and were buck-naked except for your crucifix on its chain. He felt the blush running up his face.
At least it doesn’t show as much with me as it does with Lioncel, he thought.
The other boy was very pale except for his face and forearms. Then Huon rated himself for cowardice; he was the elder, he should be dealing with this.
The older girl answered through her laughter: “We’re watching the pretty little page-boys at play!”
“We’re not pages!” Lioncel burst out indignantly; it didn’t help that his voice broke in a squeak in mid-protest. “And you girls ought to be ashamed of yourselves! We’re squires, fighting-men!”
Huon pushed himself back, bobbing in the water until he could stand up, dripping, with the level about at his belly-button. Lioncel followed, crossing his arms over his chest and throwing his damp hair out of his eyes.
“Oooh, Oriabelle, they’re fighting-men,” the dark girl said. “I’m so scared.”
“Let’s bombard them, Ava! With trebuchets!”
The honey-haired girl named Oriabelle picked an apple out of her basket and took a bite out of it, then threw it at him-fairly hard, and it would have spatted on his forehead if he hadn’t caught it. The other girl threw at Lioncel, who was distracted, and it did hit him; the peasant girls seemed to think that was extremely funny.
“We ought to be ashamed of ourselves?” Oriabelle said. “Ava and I are working. You’re going around naked as frogs! We ought to run off with your clothes and leave you to ride home that way!”
Dark Ava giggled this time and did a wicked imitation of a man riding naked, clutching himself and wincing as he came into contact with the saddle.
Huon thought for an instant, took a bite out of the crisp sweetness of the apple himself, then spoke with a lofty air:
“You girls should be more respectful and kinder to strangers as the Lord commands. We might come out of the water and chase you!”
Ava threw another apple; Lioncel managed to catch it this time.
“Chase us?” she said. “You couldn’t chase us. You have nothing to wear, you’re as naked as Adam in the Garden of Eden!”
Huon pointed at the reeds. “We could grab some of those. Then we’d be clothed like Adam after the Fall.”
“You couldn’t catch us,” Oriabelle said. “Not through the hay-stubble. You have soft, white, tender feet. Gentleman’s feet, not like this.”
She put her hands on her hips and turned, standing on one foot and waggling the sole of the other at him as she looked over her shoulder. It had the calluses you’d expect on someone who didn’t wear shoes for the warmer eight months of the year. The movement also drew her tunics rather tight, and he found himself swallowing with difficulty and glad the water was cold.
“You wouldn’t dare to chase us,” Ava said, standing hipshot.
Her eyes were on Lioncel and her teeth white against her tan as she taunted:
“Why, I bet the young, cute blond one with the sweet blue eyes couldn’t chase us even as far as…oh, that haystack there.”
She pointed at the nearest one, about a hundred yards away. Huon tossed his apple aside and looked at Lioncel. The other squire met his gaze and nodded slightly.
“A nobleman is supposed to show resource and initiative,” Lioncel whispered. “Lady d’Ath told me so herself.”
“One…two…
“Three!”
They dashed for the bank in a shower of droplets, pausing for a few seconds to rip up reeds in their left hands, holding them strategically as they bounded up the bank. The girls snatched up their baskets and retreated across the hayfield. The hay-stubble was painful on soles accustomed to socks and boots, and Huon was conscious of the way he was prancing and lifting his feet; fruit bounced off his chest and shoulders as the girls made a stand near the haystack.
“No catapult can stop a knight’s charge!” Huon roared.
Ava dashed off around the corner of the stack, holding the skirts of her tunic up with both hands and giving little mock screams, with Lioncel in close pursuit. Huon caught Oriabelle around the waist and they collapsed into the prickly-sweet embrace of the hay.
Huon sat bolt upright some time later, as he heard Lioncel’s voice shout:
“Oh, sweet Jesu, look at the sun! The Grand Constable will roast us!”
He looked at the shadows and moaned himself; Her Majesty wasn’t as much of a dragon as Lady Death, but you didn’t want to slack off around her either. He darted upright and helped Oriabelle as well. They walked hand-in-hand back to the poolside willows, with Ava and Lioncel following; Huon was aware that he was smiling rather foolishly, but he hoped it wasn’t as simpleminded-looking as the younger squire’s expression.