Robinton had seen the guards slip hands to their belts and did the same with his own hand when the dragonriders rose. But as there was no sign from Fax, who continued to howl with contemptuous laughter, they all relaxed and some even had half-grins of snide amusement.
The lady beside F'lar, Lady Tela, was obviously concerned about Lady Gemma, but clearly didn't know what to do. Someone had better help her, Robinton thought. She was in obvious pain and distress.
It was F'lar who acted, bending to assist her out of her chair. She grabbed his arm and murmured something, her lips turned away from Fax's eyes. F'lar's eyebrows rose, and Robinton saw him press her hands reassuringly. He wondered what they were saying.
F'lar beckoned to two of the Warder's men and pushed Lady Tela to Gemma's side.
"What do you need?" the bronze rider asked her, his voice carrying.
Fax snorted.
"Oh, oh ..." Her face was twisted with panic. "Water, hot, clean. Cloths. And a birthing-woman. Oh, yes, we must have a birthing-woman."
F'lar looked about the Hall, then signalled to the Warder. "Have you one in this Hold?"
"Of course." The Warder sounded affronted.
"Then send for her."
The Warder caught Fax's nod and then kicked the drudge on the floor.
"You ... you! Whatever your name is, go get her from the Crafthold. You must know who she is."
With a nimbleness probably developed from turns of avoiding kicks, the drudge moved with astonishing speed and scurried across the Hall and out of the door to the kitchen.
Fax came down to the platter of roast and began slicing meat, which he speared on the point of his knife and ate from the blade.
Occasionally he would glance up in the direction the women had taken and bark out a laugh. F'lar sauntered down to the carcass and, without waiting for a direct invitation, began to carve neat slices, beckoning his men over Those of Fax's men who were seated at the table waited, however, until Fax had eaten his fill.
The men standing on guard were not relieved, and the proximity to food became almost unendurable. Bad as the roast was, it was food, and Robinton's belly rumbled. He was also very thirsty, and his feet hurt. His whole body hurt, for that matter. He vowed not to get so unfit ever again. A MasterHarper ought to be ready for anything.
Clearly he was not.
The drudge returned rather more quickly than he had thought possible. She strode right through the main door, leading a woman at least slightly cleaner than herself, though almost as ancient. The birthing-woman stopped in the doorway, frozen by the sight of those in the Hall.
F'lar strode up to her and took her by the arm, leading her towards the steps.
"Go quickly, woman. Lady Gemma is before her time." He was frowning with concern. The drudge caught the other arm and pulled the old woman past the guards and to the stairway.
F'lar stood watching until they disappeared into the upper level.
Then he made his way to the riders' table, where he spoke quietly to F'nor and the rider Robinton recognized as bronze Pianth's rider, K'net.
Robinton would have given anything to sit, or to have a piece of the trimmed bread which lay in a bowl two strides from him on the guards' table. He noticed that the other two guards were surreptitiously shifting their feet and easing their shoulders.
The waiting continued. Nothing could be heard from the upper level, but there were sounds of weeping and scufflings rising from the kitchen: no doubt the Warder rewarding the drudges for their efforts.
Then suddenly there was a screeching, and one of the women came running out of the upper hall and paused briefly at the top.
"She's dead ... dead ... dead ..." Her cry reverberated down the staircase and through the Hall, causing yet more crawlers to be loosened from their strands.
"Dead?" Fax whirled, watching the woman's hysterical progress down the stairs.
"Oh, dead, dead, poor Gemma. Oh, Lord Fax, we did all we could, but the journey ..." She ran to where Fax was sitting.
Casually, Fax slapped her and she fell sobbing in a heap at his feet.
Robinton saw F'lar reach for his dagger hilt. Women in the Weyr were rarely treated in such a harsh manner. It would definitely go against a dragonrider's grain. Robinton tightened his hands into fists, willing the bronze rider to relax.
The men were muttering, not all of them as happy to hear such news about their Lady as their Lord, who was decidedly pleased.
"The child lives," cried a voice from the top of the stairs, and there was the drudge who had gone for the birthing woman. "It is male." Her voice was rough with anger and, perhaps, hatred.
Robinton was astonished to recognize the two emotions. Fax was on his feet, kicking aside the weeping woman, scowling viciously at the drudge. "What are you saying, woman'?."
"The child lives. It is male," she repeated in a firm voice, belying her apparent age.
Incredulity and rage suffused Fax's face. The Warder's men stifled their cheers.
"Ruatha has a new lord," the astonishing drudge continued, making her way down the stairs.
The dragons roared.
The drudge's eyes appeared to be focused on Fax as she made her way down the stairs. Robinton was altogether astonished at her sudden, assertive behaviour, as well as the robust quality of her voice. She even seemed oblivious to the roar of the dragons outside.
She didn't see her danger, as Robinton certainly did, when Fax erupted into action, leaping across the intervening space, bellowing denials of her news. Before the drudge could realize his intent, his fist crashed across her face. She was swept off her feet and off the steps, and fell heavily to the stone floor where she lay motionless, a bundle of dirty rags.
"Hold, Fax!" F'lar cried as the Lord of the High Reaches lifted his foot to kick the unconscious body.
Robinton had started forward too, but caught himself before he inadvertently dropped out of disguise.
Fax whirled, his hand closing on his knife hilt.
"It was heard and witnessed, Fax," F'lar cautioned him, one hand outstretched, "by dragonmen. Stand by your sworn and witnessed oath!"
In spite of himself, Robinton shook his head at such a challenge, made to Fax of all people.
"Witnessed? By dragonmen?" cried Fax. He gave a derisive laugh, his eyes blazing with contempt, one sweeping gesture of scorn dismissing them all -just as he had dismissed the Lord Holders and Masters in the Hall at Nabol "Dragonwomen, you mean."
But he took a backward step as the dragonrider moved forward, knife in hand.
Dragonwomen?" F'lar queried, his voice dangerously soft.
Glowlight flickered off his circling blade as he advanced on Fax.
That's right, F'lar, Robinton thought, remembering another scene all too vividly. But this young man had his temper well in hand, unlike his father, and he had the same lean, powerful build the younger F'lon had possessed.
"Women! Parasites on Pern. The Weyr power is over! Over for good," roared Fax, leaping forward to land in a combat crouch.
Robinton spared a look at the others in the Hall. Fax's men were obviously looking forward to a good fight and the death of this unwary adversary. The dragonriders had spread out, circling, as if to keep the guards from interfering. Their expressions reflected confidence in the abilities of their wingleader, especially C'gan whose grinning face reassured Robinton.
Fax feinted, and F'lar neatly swayed away. They crouched again, facing each other across six feet of space, knife hands weaving, their free hands, spread-fingered, ready to grab.
Again Fax pressed the attack. F'lar allowed him to close, just near enough to dodge away with a back-handed swipe. Fabric tore and Fax snarled. He lunged immediately, faster on his feet than Robinton would have expected for such a bulky man. F'lar was forced again to dodge; this time Fax's knife scored across the dragonrider's jerkin.
Fax ploughed in again, trying to corner F'lar between the raised platform and the wall. Robinton caught his breath, hoping that neither would stumble over the unconscious drudge.