“Useless?” the hunter said with a chuckle. “I found the Torvian Gap and saved you thirty leagues of riding. How is that useless?”
“The worst part about him,” Collier continued to Maia, ignoring the comment, “is that he cannot hold his tongue. He talks all day long and snores and babbles all night. Even in his sleep he longs to talk. But I do not need to tell that to you. You have clearly endured hardships while roaming the mountains with him, so you must have learned these things for yourself.”
Maia did not like being the focus of attention. This man was clearly trying to engage her in conversation, and it made her uncomfortable. But she knew she would need to speak eventually.
“You are the king’s collier,” Maia said, trying to keep her Dahomeyjan plain. “What is that?”
“He shovels the king’s stables,” Tayt said wryly. “Not even the king’s horses smell like daisies.”
“You are insufferable,” Collier said to Jon Tayt, shaking his head, his brow wrinkling. It smoothed as soon as he shifted his gaze to Maia, regarding her with interest. “My lady, a collier is Master of Horses—the king’s, in my case.”
“And is the Mark here?” Tayt asked dryly.
“You keep calling him that and he will have your head,” Collier said with annoyance. “My master is encamped with the army thirty leagues away.” He saw the look of confusion on Maia’s face and explained. “Tayt calls the King of Dahomey the Mark because he’s rather fond of coins and luxuries—”
“And women,” the hunter interrupted.
Collier waved him down. “Yes, he does have a reputation for that as well. He once promised to pay Tayt a thousand marks to become his hunter, and Tayt refused. He is totally daft, as you already know. Stubborn as an unripe walnut.”
“Ah, but you cannot purchase loyalty,” the hunter said, winning Maia’s respect even more.
Collier waved over a servant, who arrived moments later with a large platter filled, puzzlingly enough, with raw meat and loaves of bread. Once the servant had left the platter on the table, Collier continued. “I am known as the king’s collier because when I was a boy, I shoveled his stables. I learned everything I could about horses and keeping them, in order to be useful. I am entrusted on many errands throughout the realm, which suits my personality, for I truly loathe being in one place for very long. Life in the saddle suits my personality.”
“And with the Mark riding hither and yon with his army all the time,” Jon Tayt said, “he sends Collier to deliver messages and prepare others for his arrival as he goes this way and that. He knows the roads of the kingdom almost as well as I do. The mountain passes . . . passably well. Did you like the play on words?” He chuckled to himself. “He can unshoe or shoe a hoof as well as any blacksmith . . . but not as well as me.”
“Of course, there is only one proper way to shoe a horse!” He rolled his eyes and belted out a laugh.
“One more thing you should know about him,” Jon Tayt said. “He is also called Collier because he is a wretched, and they take on the name of their profession. The old king of Dahomey had quite a brood of children. Most of them born on the right side of the sheets. Save one. Which abbey were you abandoned at?”
That news startled Maia, and she saw the crack in Collier’s mask of frivolity. A darkness seemed to shadow the man’s face. He was staring at her again, his bright blue eyes slightly narrowed, but after a moment of silence, he smiled self-deprecatingly and shrugged. “Lisyeux Abbey. We cannot any of us choose our station in life,” he said. “We only choose what we make of it. I have a good life. I do what I most enjoy. And for the most part, I am unmolested as I ride dangerous roads because thieves and villains think twice when they see me coming. They know I do not fight fair.” His expression turned more thoughtful. He lightly jabbed a finger at her. “I will not hesitate to stab out an eye or cut off a hand when it suits me. Enough about my name and who I am. Who are you, my lady? What Hundred do you hail from?”
Maia was not sure what she wanted to say, but she was certain she could not reveal her true identity to him. She was rocked by the strange contradictions in his life and his demeanor. He was handsome, to be sure, but his agreeableness was clearly not born of rank or station.
“I will also add,” Jon Tayt said, interrupting again, “that Collier is a notorious flirt, so do not answer any of his questions. He is a rogue himself, despite his talk of bandits and thieves. Leave the talking to me.”
“When can we not leave the talking to you?”
“You have done very well for yourself, Collier. Push the tray nearer and I may be more quiet.”