What did that, Da?
A catapult, no doubt.
The ward was silent and empty except for a flock of big white geese, poking for snails in the ivy-covered rubble. When Cullyn called out a halloo, a young boy with a dirty red-and-gray tabard over his shirt and brigga ran out of the broch.
Who are you?
Cullyn of Cerrmor. I want to speak with your lord.
Well, Das talking to him right now, but they wont mind if you just come in.
Now, here! Youre supposed to bow to me and say, Ill see, good sir, but the great Tieryn Braedd may have important business afoot.
But he doesnt. He never does anything unless hes fighting with Lord Ynydd, and he isnt today.
Tieryn Braedds great hall had once been great indeed, a vast circular room encompassing the entire ground floor of the broch. At either side were two massive stone hearths, carved with bands of interlacement and lions. In between stretched enough space to hold two hundred men at their feasting. Now, however, the far hearth served as a kitchen, where a slatternly lass stood at a battered table and chopped carrots and turnips while a joint of mutton roasted on a spit. By the nearer hearth were three tables and unsteady-looking benches. Two men were sitting and drinking at one of them: a man of solid years, with a soft black beard, and a tall, pale lad of about seventeen with a long nose that reminded Jill of a rabbit. Since he was wearing plaid brigga and a shirt embroidered with lions, the lad had to be the tieryn. The young page skipped up to the table and tugged on the tieryns sleeve.
Your Grace? Theres a silver dagger here named Cullyn of Cerrmor.
Indeed? Braedd rose from his chair. Now, this is a handy thing. Come join me.
Without ceremony Braedd sat Jill and Cullyn down on a bench, sent the boy, Abryn, to fetch more ale all round, and introduced the older man as Glyn, his councillor. When the tieryn sat down again, his chair creaked alarmingly.
I met a pair of your men in the oak wood, Your Grace, Cullyn said. They told me of your feud.
Ah, Ynydd, that bastard-born son of a slug! Braedd took a moody sip of ale. Truly, I want to offer you a hire, but my treasury matches my dun walls. He glanced at Glyn. Could we squeeze out something?
A horse, I suppose, my lord. He could always sell it in town for the coin.
True. Braedd suddenly grinned. Or here, what about cabbages? Ive got fields and fields of those. Here, silver dagger, think of all the uses cabbages have. You can let them rot, then throw them at enemies in the street, or if youre courting a wench, you can give her a bouquet of fresh ones, and thats something shell have never seen before, or
Your Grace? Glyn broke in.
Well, truly, I ramble a bit. Braedd had another long swallow of ale. But if youll take a horse, and your maintenance, and maintenance for your page, of course?
I will, Cullyn said. Done, Your Grace. Im on. But this is my daughter, actually, not a page.
So she is. Braedd leaned closer. Do you honor your father, child?
More than any man in the world, except the King, of course, but Ive never even met him.
Well spoken. Braedd belched profoundly. What a pity that the pusboil Ynydd doesnt have the respect for the King that we see in this innocent little lass.
Cullyn turned to address his questions to Councillor Glyn.
Whats this feud about, good sir? The riders only told me that the woods were in dispute.
Well, more or less. Glyn stroked his beard thoughtfully. The feud goes back a long time, when Lord Ynydds grandfather declared war on His Graces grandfather. In those days, they were fighting over who should be tieryn, and many other grave matters, but bit by bit, the things gotten itself settled. The woods, you see, lie on the border of two demesnes. Theyre the last thing left to squabble over.
So Ynydd thinks. Braedd slammed his hand onto the table. A councillor from the High King himself judged the matter and awarded the claim to me.
Now, Your Grace, Glyn said soothingly. Ynydds only disputing part of the judgment. Hes ceded you the trees.
But the bastard! Insisting he has ancient and prior claim to swine rights.
Swine rights? Cullyn said.
Swine rights, Glyn said. In the fall, you see, the peasants take the swine into the woods to eat the acorns. Now, theres only enough acorns for one herd of swinehis or ours.
And the withered testicle of a sterile donkey says its his, Braedd broke in. His men killed one of my riders when the lad turned Ynydds hogs out of the woods last fall.
Cullyn sighed and had a very long swallow of ale.
Da, I dont understand, Jill broke in. You mean someone was killed over pig food?
Its the honor of the thing! Braedd slammed his tankard on the table so hard that the ale jumped out and spilled. Never will I let a man take whats rightfully mine. The honor of my warband calls out for vengeance! Well fight to the last man.
Pity we cant arm the swine, Cullyn said. Everyone will fight for their own food.
Now, splendid! Braedd gave him a delighted grin. They shall have little helms, with their tusks for swords, and we shall teach them to trot at the sound of a horn.
Your Grace? Glyn moaned.
Well, truly, I ramble again.
Glyn and Abryn, the councillors son as it turned out, took Jill and Cullyn out to the last building standing in the ward, the barracks. As was usually the case, the warband slept directly above the stables. In the winter, the body heat from the horses helped keep the men warm, but now, on this warm summer day, the smell of horse was overwhelming. Glyn showed Cullyn a pair of unoccupied bunks, then lingered to watch as Cullyn began to stow away their gear.
You know, silver dagger, I dont mind admitting that it gladdens my heart to have a man of your experience joining the warband.
My thanks. Have you served the tieryn long, good sir?
All his life. I served his father first, you see, and truly, he was a great man. Hes the one who settled the war, and more by law than the sword. I fear me that Tieryn Braedd takes more after his grandfather. Glyn paused, turning to Abryn. Now, Abryn, Jill is our guest, so be courteous to her and take her outside to play.
That means youre going to say somewhat interesting, Abryn whined.
Jill, Cullyn said. Out.
Jill grabbed Abryns arm and hustled him out of the barracks fast. They lingered by the stables and watched the geese waddling through the rubble.
Do those geese bite? Jill said.
They do. Huh, I bet youre scared.
Oh, do you, now?
Youre a lass. Lasses are always scared.
We are not.
You are, too. And youve got a funny name. Jills not a real name. Its a bondwomans name.
So what?
What do you mean, so what? Its the worst thing, being one of the bondfolk. You shouldnt be wearing those brigga, either.
I am not a bondwoman! And my da gave me these brigga.
Your das a silver dagger, and theyre all scum.
Jill hauled back and hit him in the face as hard as she could. Abryn shrieked and hit back, but she dodged and punched him on the ear. With a howl, he leapt for her and knocked her down. But she shoved her elbow into his stomach until he let go. They wrestled, kicking, punching, and writhing, until Jill heard Cullyn and Glyn yelling at them to stop. Suddenly Cullyn grabbed Jill by the shoulders and pulled her off the helpless Abryn.
Now, whats all this?
He said silver daggers were all scum. So I hit him.
Abryn sat up sniveling and wiping his bloody nose. Cullyn gave Jill a broad grin, then hastily looked stern again.
Now, here, Abryn! Glyn grabbed the boy. Thats a nasty way to treat a guest! If you dont learn courtesy, how can you serve a great lord someday?
Berating him all the while, Glyn hauled Abryn off into the broch. Cullyn began brushing the dirt off Jills clothes.
By the asses of the gods, my sweet, how did you learn to fight like that?
Back in Bobyr, you know? All the children always called me a bastard, and they said I had a bondwomans name, and so Id hit them. And then I learned how to win.
Well, so you did. Ye gods, youre Cullyn of Cerrmors daughter, sure enough.
For the rest of the day, Jill and Abryn scrupulously avoided each other, but on the morrow morning Abryn came up to her. He looked at the ground near her feet and kicked a lump of dirt with the toe of his clog.
Im sorry I said your da was scum, and my da said you can have any name you want to, and you can wear brigga if you want to, and Im sorry about all of it.
My thanks. And Im sorry I made your nose bleed. I didnt mean to hit you that hard.
Abryn looked up grinning.
Want to play warrior? Ive got two wooden swords.
For the next couple of days, life went on quietly in Tieryn Braedds dun. In the mornings, Cullyn and two of the riders rode out to patrol the oak wood; in the afternoons, the tieryn and the other two riders relieved them. Jill helped Abryn with his tasks round the dun, which left them plenty of time to play at swords or with Abryns leather ball. Jills only problem was Abryns mother, who believed Jill should be learning needlework instead of playing outside. Jill grew quite clever at avoiding her. At meals, the warband ate at one table in the great hall, while the tieryn and Glyns family ate at another. Once the councillor retired to his chambers, however, Braedd would come drink with the riders. He always talked about the feud, which he knew year by year, from the events that had happened long before he was born down to the most recent insult.
Finally, after about a week of this pleasant routine, Braedd hurried over to the warbands table one evening with his pale eyes gleaming. He had news: a servant had been to the local village and overheard gossip about Ynydds plans.
The baseborn pusboil! Hes claiming that since the swine rights are his, he can send in his swine any time he likes, summer or fall. They say hes planning on sending a few pigs in under armed guard.
Except for Cullyn, the warband began cursing and slamming their tankards on the table.
And I say he wont set one trotter in my woods, Braedd went on. From now on, the full warbands going to ride on patrol.
The warband cheered.
Your Grace? Cullyn broke in. If I may speak?
By all means. I value your experience in the field highly.