“You would think your past was gold, Master, the way you hoard it.”
She replied quickly, angrily: “And you would think your words were piss, Girton, the way you strew them about so carelessly.” I heard her turn away on the small truckle bed.
“Why do you always treat me like a child?” and as I said it I heard the whine in my voice.
When she spoke again she sounded tired. “Go to sleep. Tomorrow will no doubt be another long day.”
Interlude
This is a dream of what was.
He doesn’t understand what she is doing.
He doesn’t understand what he has done wrong.
They have stopped outside a small village, no more than a couple of falling-down huts built on a rare bit of solid land in a place where the trees and grasses grow out of stinking water and sucking mud. It is easy to imagine hedgings in the wood, in the water. Has she bought him for them?
She has a thin rope, the type that can be used as a lash. She is looping it in her hands. The rope scares him. When she walks over to him he steps back. She says, “No,” and he is more scared than ever. What did Slave-Father always say? “Running only makes it worse.” She kneels down so she is at his height and looking into his eyes. “I am not going to hurt you.” She stretches out a hand, but even that gentle movement makes him flinch. She looks at the ground. He is sure he has made her angry. She drops the rope in the dirt, walking away into one of the tumbledown houses.
Low voices murmur.
The skies whisper out an infinity.
It never occurs to him to run away.
When she comes back she has a whip. The whip is the type he knows the sting of. A thin wooden handle that can be used for striking. Attached to that are four knotted leather strands that will cut the skin and rip the flesh. A whip hurts far more than a rope. Running only makes it worse. She strides over to him with the whip gathered in one hand, holding it out so he can see it clearly.
She is tall, she is dark, she is frightening.
“You know what this is?”
He nods, trying so very hard not to cry because crying only makes it worse as well.
“I will never,” she says and she grabs the whip by each end of the handle. “Never—” the word as hard any whipcrack and she brings the whip down on her knee, breaking it in half.“—Never—” she throws the broken whip into the filthy water and the ripples go on and on and on. “—Never use something like that on you, boy. Do you understand? Never.”
In the way she says “never” there is a vehemence that, even as a six-year-old, he hears as a promise. He recognises it as a promise given utterly and totally and for ever and he nods, scarcely able to believe it.
“Good.” She smiles at him and uses the same gentle voice she uses to coax the giant warmount, Xus, into doing her bidding. She holds out her hand. “Now, I can’t call you boy. I shall call you Girton, it is a good name.” She puts out her hand. “Come, Girton.”
He takes her hand and she lifts him onto the saddle of the mount.
It feels like flying.
This is a dream of what was.
Chapter 8
I woke to find my master sitting cross-legged on the floor with a tray of bread and pork in her lap. She was ignoring the food and reapplying her make-up with thick sticks of animal grease impregnated with pigment.
“What will you do today, Girton?” she said, smearing on black grease.
Rubbing sleep from my eyes I avoided her gaze, feeling foolish for my outburst last night—though she knows everything about me where I know almost nothing about her. “Go to training, collect more bruises.” I smiled at her. My way of letting her know I was not angry with her any longer. My master never carries grudges and her anger is like the rain—sudden, furious and gone as quickly as it comes.
“I am glad you are not sulking, Girton.”
“I never sulk, Master.” This was not entirely true. “Will Aydor really be high king?”
“Why do you ask?
“I do not think he would make a good king, never mind a good high king.”
“You are probably right, but kings are chosen by accidents of birth, not suitability.” She put down the black panstick. “It surprised me. Adran said it to be truthful.” She picked up the white panstick. “It was a dangerous bluff to play if it was not true and the high king’s sister is no more interested in men than our high king is in women.”
“Queen Adran seemed very sure of herself.”
“Yes. She did.”
“Maybe the high king wants to secure the succession?”
“Possibly. But he has cousins to inherit.”
“Do you think Adran plans war?” I asked quietly.
My master glanced around our small room as if looking for spies. Then she lowered her voice. “She would be a fool to go to war. The Landsmen would destroy any army she could bring to the field. Doran ap Mennix had the support of all his blessed when he warred, but you have seen him now. He is not about to head an army and the blessed do not like or trust Adran.” She shrugged and started to smear white onto her face. “But the future succession at Ceadoc does not concern us. Who wants Aydor dead does, and with that in mind I have managed to set up some meetings for you. You are popular at the moment, Girton. Important people always want to meet a new hostage in case there is something in it for them. I want to hear what you think of them, and I want you to familiarise yourself with their rooms, you will no doubt be going back uninvited at some point.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Do you have other things to do?”
“I was hoping to check on Xus, is all.”
She paused in applying her make-up
“You think the stablehands will not look after him properly?”
“The stablemaster, Leiss, I do not trust with our mount at all. The girl though, Drusl, she seems to know her job.” My master stared at me for a moment and then shook her head.
“I have never known you to be interested in stabling before, Girton.” I could feel my face reddening as my master, clearly amused, stood up. “I am sure you will be able to find a moment to check on Xus,” she said, brushing dust from her black trews.
I grabbed a piece of bread from the plate.
“Have you found the assassin yet, Master?”
“It is in hand, do not worry about that.”
“Good.” I stuffed bread into my mouth and almost choked trying to speak through it. “I should get to the training yard, Master. I do not want to be late and make any more of a bad impression. They already think me unable to hold a sword without falling over it.”