Rudi duly halted, letting himself sink backwards in the saddle to signal Epona. He waited patiently, wiping at his forehead with his sleeve; she tossed her head, thumping at the gravel-patched asphalt with one hoof and flicking ears and tail against the flies. He'd packed his jacket and folded his plaid with his blanket roll behind the crupper, but his linsey-woolsey shirt was sticking to his back and sides and making patches black with sweat. Sitting the saddle in the grilling sun in a powerful cloud of human and equine perspiration and assorted insects wasn't pleasant.
"I would be sooo glad to sit somewhere shady and have lunch," Mary said. "Something besides beans and bacon and corn bread, too."
Ingolf smiled reminiscently. "There used to be a place in Hawarden"-he nodded towards the town on the other side of the river-"that did a great pepperoni pizza. And they made a fine beer there, too."
"I'd like to have a bath," Mathilda commented. "And get some pumice to sand the calluses off my backside. How long have we been in the saddle now?"
Virginia snorted, as befitted a Rancher's daughter who'd ridden before she could walk, but then admitted:
"It's a powerful big country; I never realized how big. I thought there was a lot of the Powder River range, but it's like a little corral compared to the rest."
"I didn't realize how much… muchness… there was either until I left home," Fred replied. "We'd been on the trail for a hell of a long time before you joined up, Virginia, and then since then.. . From the way Mom and Dad talked, I'd always thought it was a lot smaller. The maps don't tell you the half of it and the old books are useless. Worse than useless-they give you the wrong idea."
Father Ignatius nodded: "In your parents' youth, it was smaller. At least in terms of how long it took to travel across it. It wasn't a surprise to me intellectually, but then the Church has to communicate all around the world. We know how big the planet has grown. And it's still a shock when you experience it in person. My admiration for the couriers the Vatican sends out from Badia knows no bounds."
"Yeah, but Mom and Dad always sort of gave me the impression that America was a country, like Idaho. It's a world."
Rudi kept one ear on the byplay, but most of his attention on the fort; there were men moving on the ramparts, and a hot bright blink of sunlight on edged metal. Then a trumpet sounded, and a platoon's worth of troops double-timed out of the open gate of the fort with a bristle of polearms. Ingolf inclined his head towards them:
"Some bored officer's playing at soldiers because he can," he said. "This is a hardship post for guys someone in Des Moines doesn't like. Most of what trade there is goes through Sioux City, farther south."
The men were in full gear, jointed two-piece breastplates, arm-pieces and thigh-guards of polished steel, helms shaped like the old American army headgear, and metal gauntlets. The ones here all had either sixteen-foot pikes or something that differed from what the Willamette country called a billhook only in detail-a chopping blade on a six-foot pole, with a spike on top and a cruel hook on the back; short straight-bladed footman's shetes hung at their waists.
Ritva spoke softly: "I saw something move behind the firing slits on the north tower. Murder machine. And there are crossbowmen on the crenellations."
Odard nodded. "If they're just going through the motions, they're going through all of them."
Rudi took off his bonnet and fanned himself with it. He gave the pikemen a look of pity; they were only the length of their own weapons away, and he could see how red their faces were. At a guess, someone had rousted them out from their midday meal or the siesta after it. Though to be sure doing that occasionally was good training; here he suspected that it was sheer frustrated spite. A minute or two later a pair of men strode down the sloping roadway from the fort.
Ah, the one in the lead is in charge, Rudi decided.
If the soldiers' armor was polished, his was blinding with a luster possible only with chrome steel, and his shete was the long curved horseman's model.
I think this is a man who stands on his dignity. He dismounted, signaling the others to do likewise. As he'll be resentful if I look down at him from the saddle.
He couldn't help being six foot two and he was cursed if he'd slouch, but fortunately the Iowan officer was only a little shorter, and his helmet with its tall horsehair plume made up the difference. As the man approached, he muttered to the one beside him.
"Oh, all right, Sergeant."
"Thank you, sir. Stand at ease! Helmets off!"
There was a rattle and thump as the polearms were grounded and leaned against shoulders. The soldiers were unexceptionable young men; big, muscular and fair-skinned for the most part with a country-boy look as if they weren't long from the plow, their hair cropped close to their heads and their faces shaved. Rudi gave them a professional glance and decided that they were strong and used to hard work, well-enough drilled, and certainly splendidly equipped. But probably not very experienced. Nobody had dared to challenge mighty Iowa lately.
No reason to think they wouldn't fight well, given good leaders, he decided. But this man isn't the one to do it, I'm thinking.
The officer had a small yellow mustache and pale green eyes set a little too close together and an expression of permanent discontent.
"I'm Captain Schlenker, Iowa National Guard," he said, his tone suggesting that the name should mean something.
Which, hereabouts, it may, Rudi thought, with an expression of polite interest.
"In the service of His Excellency Anthony Heasleroad, Governor, President Pro Tem for Life of the Provisional Republic of Iowa, the Sheriffs' Choice, Protector of Farmers and Vakis, Bossman of All Hawk-eyes. You can stop your merry band right there until you've answered a few questions."
The Iowan had a flat harsh accent much like Ingolf's, one that turned the vowels in words like Mary and marry and merry into the same sound. It sounded much less agreeable in his mouth than in their companion's.
"So, who are you people?" he asked less formally.
Rudi introduced himself. "We're travelers from the Far West, sir," he said.
It didn't hurt to be courteous on someone else's land.
"Traders?"
"It may be, if we find anything to buy in Des Moines, which is where we'll be heading, to see the remarkable sights of the city, so far-famed it is," he said.
Schlenker's eyes narrowed. "We don't allow armed vagrants to wander around Iowa," he said.
For the first time he seemed to pay real attention to the party. Rudi had left his sword slung at Epona's saddle, but there was no point in trying to conceal that they were well armed, or the quality of their horses. With Mathilda and the twins and Virginia they were slightly implausible as a bandit gang… but they looked as much like that as anything else, and it wasn't absolutely unknown for women to take up that trade. Or for genuine traveling merchants to indulge in a little banditry on the side, if they saw an opportunity.
Sure, and Mary's smile would look more reassuring without the eye patch.
They certainly didn't have the wagons or pack-animals you'd expect of serious traders, and it would be ridiculous to claim they were traveling across the continent for the pleasure of it.
"We're well able to provide for ourselves, sir," Rudi went on. "If there's a regulation for posting bond, in gold shall we say…"
According to Ingolf there wasn't, but the officer's face brightened at the diplomatic offer of a bribe. When he still hesitated, Rudi continued:
"And we'll be staying with a friend near your capital, a Farmer and Sheriff. A Colonel Heuisink, with whom you may check if you'd be wishing it."
That brought a definite change in attitude. "Let's get into the shade," Schlenker said. "Sergeant Morrison! Bring them into the fort. And pull a watermelon and some beer out of the well."
You asked what land I love the best
Iowa, 'tis Iowa,