„What do you mean?"
„I don't think it makes much difference who our parents were. We all take what we can get. Switch a Marena Dimura baby with a Nordmen child and when they're adults they'll act like the people who raised them. Blood doesn't have anything to do with it. Be quiet, Derel."
He and Prataxis had had the blood versus environment argument before. Derel was perfectly willing to take either side. Argument was a game with the scholar.
Inger said, „I try to believe in what you're doing, but it's hard. The most you can make out of a peasant is a peasant in pretty clothes."
„What about his children? It's the children that interest me. And the peasant himself, for that matter." Before she could reply, he added, „I'm indifferent to the quality of a man's speech and table manners, dear. It's what's up here that counts with me." He tapped his temple. „And how well he does his job."
„Like Abaca?" Her sarcasm was thick. She loathed Cre dence Abaca.
„Exactly. He has a foul mouth, abominable habits, and the best tactical mind I've ever seen. Ever. Given time, I think we can housebreak him."
„He doesn't even have the qualities of a peasant. Those disgusting people eat insects... ."
„Dear, if blood counts for that much, you and me, we're headed for a heap of trouble."
Her eyes narrowed. Her fighting smile vanished. She leaned forward. A string of blondeness fell over her left eye. „What do you mean?"
„You've got the Greyfells blood. The Greyfells have been traitors, treachers, murderers, and rebels since my grandfa ther was a pup. If blood tells, then I'd better have you watched by my fifty most faithful men."
Her face lost expression. The color drained away. She surged to her feet. Crimson replaced her pallor. She sput tered in anger.
„Sit down, darling. I was just trying to show you the hole in your argument."
„I don't think that was a very nice way."
„Maybe not. But I think you'll have to concede."
She looked at him hard. „I suppose. If I don't, I might end up sharing my life with your cronies from the Captures team. The Baroness Kartye wants to see me. I'll be back."
„You didn't change her mind," Prataxis said.
„I know. We open the Thing tomorrow. Anything you want to tell them?"
„The discussions were fruitful. The legion in the Gap will allow passage of traders beginning two weeks from tomor row. Transport and sale of weapons won't be permitted. Caravaneers will be allowed customary defensive arms. Western caravans won't be allowed east of Throyes. Deal ings with Argon, Necremnos, and their tributaries have to be handled through Throyen intermediaries. And we're advised that trade with Matayanga is contingent on the daily military situation."
„Don't sound all that unreasonable to me."
„There'll be squawkers. It's weighted toward the Throyens."
„In this country somebody is always crying about some thing. Their caravans will be in the race to get through the Gap anyway."
„Anyone who can afford to assemble a caravan has one put together already. They'll trample each other when I say the magic words."
„Then I wasted a lot of people's time, having them hang around to talk to you."
„There are thoughts to be aired. Viewpoints to share."
„They weren't sharing anything with anybody last week."
„Let me make them mad. They'll say what they're think ing."
„I don't... ."
Women screamed near Abaca's Marena Dimura group. Men shouted angrily. Ragnarson heard steel meet steel.
He flung himself off his throne. „Get the hell out of my way!" he roared as he pushed through the crowd. Taller than most of his guests, he saw the surge as the Guards moved in. Good. They had been on their toes. He had not expected to get through the evening without at least one fracas. „Will you get the hell out of my road?" he snarled at a heavy old matron. She promptly threatened a faint.
The Guards had the men separated when he got there. One was Credence Abaca. The other was a young gentleman of the Estates, the son of a baron in town for the Thingmeet. The Baron himself was shoving through the crowd.
Abaca and the youth both shouted accusations. „Shut up!" Ragnarson snapped. „You first." He indicated the younger man.
„He made improper advances to my sister." The young noble was sullen and defensive. It was an attitude increas ingly common to his class.
„Credence?"
„I asked her to dance, sir." Abaca had regained his aplomb. Perhaps he had not lost it. He was a tactician in more than the military sense. He was a master manipulator and could be as heartless as a spider. There was no apology in his manner.
„That's all?"
„On my honor, Sire."
„You have no honor, you. ..."
„Shut your mouth, boy," Ragnarson snapped. „You're in up to your ears now." He looked for the woman in question. Her father had driven her away from the confrontation. The man wore a thin smile of anticipation. Ragnarson wondered if it hadn't been Abaca who had been maneuvered this time. The Estates remained mortally offended because a Marena Dimura had been appointed second in command of the army. Only the most trustworthy Nordmen were permitted to participate professionally.
Ragnarson turned to the youth. „You dared draw a blade in the Palace? Against one of my officers?"
The Nordmen would not keep his mouth shut. „Some body has to teach these... these... animals their place. I challenge!"
„You don't have a right to challenge," Ragnarson told him.
„I'll accept anyway," Abaca said. He was a small, lean, olive man. He had big black mustachios and deep lines in his face. His dark little pupils were flakes of obsidian.
„Credence!" Bragi said. „That's enough." Abaca stepped back, relaxed. He had superb self-control. „Good." Bragi faced the youth. „Son, you committed a felony. The Estates are allowed their weapons in the Palace, but you don't have a right to use them." He indicated the Marena Dimura group. Only Abaca was armed. „That's an honor, not a right. You abused it. You forfeited your right of challenge when you broke the law. It's a capital offense. I could have you hung." The youth blanched. „But it would be a shame to do that. The real crimes here are stupidity, arrogance, and a bad choice of parents. Sergeant Wortel," he snapped at the Guardsman nearest Abaca.
„Sire?"
„Take the boy outside. Give him twenty lashes. Just hard enough to make him think next time his mouth threatens to override his common sense."
„Yes, Sire." Wortel was pleased and did not hide it. An older man of Wesson stock, he had grown up to the crack of Nordmen whips.
Ragnarson ignored the departure. The youth did a lot of yelling and threatening. When he realized that he would actually get the whipping, he became silent, pale, and scared.
Bragi faced the young man's father.
There was a new order and a new law. The Estates no longer rode roughshod over the land. Nothing had to be said. The Nordmen knew they had to pay when their old habits got the best of them.
Nevertheless, Ragnarson wanted to make a point. He asked, „Would you rather have him dead?"
The Baron croaked, „Dead?"
„He'd be dead now if I'd let them fight."
The Baron sneered. „A Marena Dimura kill him? That's ridiculous."
„Lie to yourself if you like. Baron, I considered your son's age. He's not old enough to know better. I did what I had to to save him." A cry echoed in the courtyard. Murder flared in the Baron's eye. „I'd let you fight Credence, though. I figure you put the boy up to this, so it's really your battle. Credence. Choose your weapons."