“His Majesty’s men have been going about looking at every haystack,” as Azant said, “and the land’s taxed poor already, Your Grace.”
“Arm your young men for the spring,” Tristen said to them. “By any means you can, see them ready. I’ve not had the accountings yet, but I know what His Majesty intends, which is the defense of the southern bridges. And I must count on you to send out to the villages and advise them.”
“Your Grace says we will not see war in Amefel,” Azant objected.
“Not by His Majesty’s intent, or mine. But to be under arms and at the bridgeheads will assure we see less. If his plans for Amefel go awry, Tasmôrden may find his men having less heart for war against us orthe northern provinces. But we cannot have Elwynim camping in the hills as they did this summer without our knowledge, sirs. And the villages must report any strangers as quickly as feet can run here.”
“My district will do so,” the earl said. “But we are suffering already in His Majesty’s wars.”
Crissand had not come to their small festivity and it had not seemed right to ask him. The house of Meiden was mourning its dead, so Uwen said; and there were many to bury, not alone in the town, but out in the villages. Those sad carts had gained permission to pass the gates, too, and there would be mourning out across the sweep of Meiden land, once the terrible news reached villages that had lost half their young men.
“We also have Meiden’s burden to carry through the winter,” he said, for he had had Uwen’s report, and Anwyll’s, regarding the extent of Meiden’s plight and how the muster in the spring would affect them and other villages. “Earl Crissand is sending supplies for the villages that have suffered, to see them through the winter, but we should all stand ready to send supplies. And oxen.”
(“Which where a village has lost so many men, ain’t so bad at the first o’ winter, wi’ the harvest all in,” Uwen had said in reporting it, “but there’s chores all winter wi’ livestock, that’s hard, an’ spring wi’ the mud an’ th’ plowin’… there’s brutal work. Oxen is the best help, oxen an’ a good plow, an’ all the oxen an’ carts goin’ for the war, that’s hard on them villages, where th’ widows an’ orphans is settin’ in a crop.”)
“On that account I’ve determined we’ll move supplies this winter, then,” he said. “Fortify the river margin and give Tasmôrden reason for concern. We shall own the bridges, and have supplies we need not move in the spring on muddy roads, if we move now.”
“A hard winter for men under canvas, hard for men and beast.” So Azant objected.
“But the oxen will have done their work, and be home for plowing,” Tristen said. “Will they not, sirs? And our supplies will be there waiting for us, and a camp already made. That means our army will move with far greater speed; and our mounted troops can be there in far shorter time to answer any massing of Elwynim forces.”
“Supplies that will lure Tasmôrden, if nothing else, my lord,” Cuthan said. “We may draw war to us, and lose everything.”
“The bridges are undecked, are they not? And by us. Wehave the timbers. They cannot cross else, in any force, without bringing timbers to the bridges, which occasion oxen, with all that entails. Once we have supplies in place, our garrison is supplied for the winter and we need only maintain a watchfire ready.”
“We have never mustered in the winter,” Azant said.
He searched his recollection, whether that was true, and thought it was not, but that such a muster of Amefel might have been very long ago. “Nevertheless,” he said, not thinking of the vast movement of armies, and snow, and dark shapes confronting them. There were sober faces at the table with him.
“To have the supply made,” Azant said. “There’s much relief to the villages in that, but bitter cold, and hard duty…”
“What would we have all winter?” Tristen said. “Who will guard those bridges, else? Do we plan to sit in Henas’amef and trust Tasmôrden’s men are not more hardy and more brave? What shall we deserve, sirs, if we leave the bridges unguarded, and if you were in Tasmôrden’s place, what would you do?”
There was silence. Azant shifted a glance to Anwyll, conspicuous now in Marhanen scarlet: the Dragon Guard had assumed its own colors and emblem, and taken off the black Amefin Eagle. The Eagle banner hung full-spread on the wall, green Aswydd draperies on either hand, the heraldry of this, the great hall.
And did they say by that glance they expected the king’s garrison to defend the border, and themselves to sit in their homes all winter?
“If Amefel will be defended,” Tristen said, “ wewill defend it. The Guelens and the Dragons will go home with the spring; or possibly before. If we fail, the border may fall, sirs, and your lands and your houses and the houses and fields of your villagers are at risk. If Tasmôrden laid plans to come this direction to support Edwyll, he may not know the situation here, or he may find it out and still continue with his plan if only to try to draw the war to these fields, where he has, sirs, better maps. We dare not trust otherwise. And yes, we shall do exactly that: winter camp, return the ox teams to the villages, and arm ourselves against whatever comes. We may have help from Lanfarnesse, from Ivanor and Olmern, and even Imor; or we may not, if His Majesty calls them north to open an attack there. The king bade me defend Amefel, and Amefin men will take up arms this winter, and exercise in the snow. When Amefel does move, it will be at the pace of horses, not oxen. So Amefel used to do. So it will do again.“
There was a silence lately obdurate, then the slow nodding of Drumman’s head, and then Azant’s.
“Does Your Grace have sure word of the king’s intent?” Azant asked. “And how does Her Grace fare in Guelessar?”
It was more than a question regarding Ninévrisë’s happiness or Cefwyn’s: it was a wary, canny question under the eyes of Guelenmen.
“Direct word, sir, and his promise. There’s no question. He will marry Her Grace and the treaty has not changed from what they swore here in Amefel.” Azant had asked a question he had held back; he himself had reserved one. “Does anyone have current knowledge of dealings inside Elwynor?”
Glances did not quite meet his. Only Cuthan looked at him directly in that instant.
“I think Your Grace is quite correct: there were messages. Meiden might know; but I would never assert that to be so.”
Drumman’s sister was Edwyll’s wife, and Crissand’s mother. Uwen had reported it to him, and yet no one had mentioned that fact, not even Drumman. The lady had taken refuge in Drumman’s house when the fighting began, and had not come back when Crissand had gone home, though Crissand had called on Lord Drumman’s residence and spoken to her there in the morning… understandable, certainly.
Crissand had buried his father. His mother had not attended the ceremony. And Lord Drumman sat silent at the table when the matter of messages to Elwynor was raised, silent whether held by honorable restraint, or by guilty consciousness of his folly with Edwyll. Drumman had not yet mentioned his sister, or her whereabouts. Now, perhaps, he found himself with an unwelcome secret and nowhere to deliver it.
“Lord Drumman?”
Drumman flushed red and looked at him. But his stare, no, had nothing of fear, only estimation. “I will be your firm ally, my lord, and will fight your enemies. There are rash men in this court, made rash by outrageous tax and the promise of more of it. There is your truth, my lord. Will we be taxed again?”
“His Majesty said nothing to me of more taxes. I have clerks who will inform me what may be needed; my wants are few, save I feed and house and horse the staff I have and see the bridges defended. If you know particular things that were done amiss, advise me. I will not have the spring planting forgotten, I will not remove both men and oxen from the villages, and I will not see hunger in the villages.” The last was Uwen’s advice, direct and simple. “The men who will stand behind the lords of Amefel will be well-fed, well-armed, and trained with their weapons; and they will know their villages are in good order.”