POPPI INVITED HIS Master-ship to sit.
He lowered his bulk onto the fireplace bench. “You think Shoni will not return quickly?”
“Begging your pardon, Master, my daughter has the gripes. If you tell us what you came to say, we’ll inform her, too.”
He considered this, and I held my breath.
“No. I want you all to hear at once.”
We waited in silence. His Master-ship ran his fingers around the edge of the salver. Minutes ticked by. I turned an idea over in my mind.
“I’ll see what’s keeping your goodwife, Adeer, and that won’t sweeten my words.” He stood.
“Master, we have three gold coins,” I said. “They’re hidden. Not here, begging your pardon.”
Three gold coins were a substantial sum, even for the Lakti. A horse sold for two.
“Three . . . gold . . . coins. Give them to me.”
“First we must agree on terms, begging your pardon, Mas—”
“I’ll have you flogged!”
I shrugged. “I’m an old lady and haven’t many more years.” I added, thinking fast, “I’m the only one who knows where the coins are.”
He’d been thinking, too. “I’ll have the boy flogged, not you.”
No! I’d just give him the coins.
But Poppi squinted. “Apologies, Master. Do you believe the village will let you whip a child, whatever the consequences to us?”
He was right. We wouldn’t. There were enough of us to best the Ships, the widow, and the two soldiers.
“When King Canute sends troops . . .” He stopped, thinking about it. When the soldiers came—if they came—he would only lose by mentioning the coins. “What do you want?”
He agreed that he wouldn’t concern himself about the whereabouts of anyone in my family and that no one else in Gavrel would be flogged by his order. He said he couldn’t speak for the widow.
His conditions, to which I agreed, were that I would turn over the coins and our cooking would be as it had been before the rebellion. Left unsaid was that the rest of the revolt would continue and he wouldn’t rescind his appeal to King Canute for aid. I promised to bring the coins when we came to cook.
Before leaving, he said, looking canny, “If there happen to be more coins or another salver, I may be disposed to help again.”
That bloodsucker!
I asked, “Beg pardon, Master, what had you come to tell us?”
He grinned. “That you would eat a portion of whatever you prepared for us, but now I don’t want you to. What will you cook for our dinner today?”
Annet returned half an hour later. On her last step coming home, the magic boot had landed her in a wagon rut in the road, and she’d twisted her ankle. She’d hobbled four miles and twice had had to hide in bushes to keep from being seen by parties of traveling Lakti.
As soon as she showed us the swelling, I left to fetch Goodman Walde, though I wanted to learn how she’d fared before her accident.
Instead, I witnessed the goodman’s astonishment and joy over the prince. He was too awed to touch him, but he embraced the rest of us. “Bamarre’s future; Bamarre’s freedom. Maybe I’ll still be alive when we win it.”
Annet had to cough to remind him her ankle needed tending.
Word spread. While Mama and I were cooking, people visited our cottage to see Prince Bruce for themselves. They were sad about Prince Dahn’s death and even more worried now about their own children, but the little prince still gave them hope.
They’d also been delighted with the king’s letter, which assured them that what we were doing was right. Only old Goodwife Petina had asked how we’d come by the letter and how the prince had reached us.
Annet chuckled. “I told her she was safer not knowing and recited the good luck saying.”
I knew that one:
Good fortune flies
And won’t come back
If asked how or why.
That evening, Mama and Poppi argued which of them should wear the boot in Annet’s place. Each wanted to be the one to go into danger.
How the Beneficences had changed the Bamarre!
I broke in. “Mama! Poppi!”
Prince Bruce turned a startled face to me because of my Lakti-like interruption.
“Begging your pardon . . .” I curtsied to the prince. “Poppi should go, in my opinion. I’m leaving, and someone will have to cook.” Meaning that if anything befell one of them, it should be Poppi.
Had I chosen death for him?
“Begging your pardon, where are you going?” Annet said from her pallet.
“To the Kyngoll.” And then to Lord Tove.
I spoke over their protests, surprising the prince again. “The Kyngoll can help us. They’ll be glad to know about our rebellion, and I’ll ask them to look for Drualt.”
My parents stopped arguing. Drualt, the child they’d raised, was more precious than I was.
Prince Bruce chimed in. “Why does the grandmother always have to go? She should rest. Beg pardon, but you’re as bad as a Lakti to her. Goodwife Shoni can travel to the Kyngoll.”
I had to grin.
Everyone else seemed frozen in surprise.
Finally, Annet said, “It’s her lot, Prince Bruce, begging your pardon. Aunt Nadira has always been in servitude for us, more than anyone, even when she didn’t know it.” She added softly, “And I didn’t know it, either.”
“I don’t want to stop!” I blinked back tears.
Annet held her arms out to me. I knelt by her pallet, and we hugged.
I left in the morning, carrying the magic shell in my purse and a satchel containing a magic boot, the magic tablecloth, and half of Prince Bruce’s strawberries, because he wanted the Kyngoll to have a gift from him. Perhaps the tablecloth’s return would soften Sir Lerrin toward me.
If he was still alive.
Although Drualt would be unlikely to be headed there, because it was so far west, I decided to return to the front where I’d been before, where I knew the terrain, and where Sir Lerrin’s command had been.
The Kyngoll would know how to locate Lord Tove. I wondered if Sir Noll continued as his close adviser and if Willem might be with him. Willem, are you fighting again?
Keep up your shield! Don’t forget the power in your back leg!
But he could be anywhere, and I might never find him.
The boot took me into the barrens and landed me just a few yards from the tower that had been my prison.
I walked north through an empty landscape, prepared to don my magic boot if the shell carried any alarming sounds. But, unless the war had suddenly ended, the Lakti had taken the fight north into Kyngoll. They were winning.
Suspecting that a boot step would take me to the battle more quickly than hiking would, I donned the magic boot again. In a blink I passed the town Willem and I had been taken to. Then I careered through a clash of swords, arrows, and spears and sped on.
The boot stopped on a road near three Maze cypress trees. I listened in the shell.
Hooves! Pounding the road behind me. I whirled. Dust. Figures in the dust. Nowhere to hide.
Tassel?
Tassel. Keep it on. Sir Lerrin had admired the Bamarre.
I occupied a bench in the Kyngoll mess tent, waiting for the day’s fighting to end. A kitchen maid had been assigned to guard the grandmother, and the two cooks were supposed to watch me, too. No one would say if Sir Lerrin was fighting—or alive.
My tassel had been taken. The Kyngoll thought me a Lakti spy pretending to be a Bamarre, but too old to be dangerous.
Hah. Kitchen knives. Boiling water. Hot coals. More than enough for a Lakti grandmother to disable the three of them.
If I had been a spy, I would have gleaned valuable information. The camp was low on supplies. The sacks of flour, beans, and nuts were mostly collapsed. Supper was to be thin pottage. The riders who had overtaken me had been coming to join the fight, though all were either elderly or very young. The Kyngoll losses must have been severe.
Dusk fell. A horse whinnied. I heard hooves, voices. I wished I could listen in the shell, but I didn’t dare take it out.
Instead, I removed the tablecloth from my sack. The kitchen maid frowned, but I kept it folded in my lap, and she relaxed.
After a few minutes, a dozen soldiers came into the mess, and then a dozen more.
“Good tablecloth, please set thyself.”
It rose and spread itself, though it failed to entirely cover the long mess table. Dishes began popping out of the air. Soldiers crowded around, exclaiming, questioning, reaching for food.
My stomach rumbled. The food stopped arriving, then started again as more soldiers came. Finally, not an inch of tablecloth showed between platters and bowls.
I ate a cheese puff and decided mine were just as good.
“The Lakti are sending grandmothers to spy on us?”
I knew that grand, round voice. The second cheese puff lodged in my throat.
Sir Lerrin shouldered his way through the crowd. Alive, but thinner and with the beginnings of a beard. He was taller than I now. “Where did you get the tablecloth, Grandmother?”
He wouldn’t believe the truth without a longer story, and perhaps not even then. “From my great-niece, if you please. She’s glad to see you’re alive.”
He raised his eyebrows. “How does she know?” He didn’t waste time on this. “You’re Lord Tove’s aunt? Or Lady Klausine’s?”
“Begging your pardon, I’m a Bamarre. Your people took my tassel.”
He filled a bowl from the table and told everyone they could eat, though, with Kyngoll independence, they already were. To me, he said, “Come.” He carried the bowl out with him.
I slung the satchel over my shoulder and followed. Farewell, magic tablecloth.
Outside, a thunderstorm was on the way. I asked if Lord Tove was leading the force against him.
“I’m sure you know.”
This camp, since it wasn’t in a town, was more like Lord Tove’s, but not as bustling. Sir Lerrin’s tent sat in the middle. A soldier guarded the flap. Sir Lerrin led me in and then ducked out. I began to untie my purse strings to get my magic shell, but he returned. He seemed not to see my hand jump away as if burned.
The tent, strewn with fresh rushes, was furnished with a domed chest, three camp chairs, and a low wooden table covered with maps, which were weighted with the same wooden cat carving I’d used to bludgeon him.
He saw me look at it. “Your great-niece thumped me on the head with that.” He sat in the chair that faced the tent opening. “Sit if you like.”
I sat but didn’t lower myself as an old woman would, as I had learned to do. If I was going to persuade him of the truth, I should act it out.
He said, “I see that Lakti muscles refuse to give with age. What I don’t understand is why Lord Tove returned the tablecloth.” He held up a hand to stop any argument. “Tove is the mind behind the throne. I understand the tassel and why he’d send an old woman even if she is his aunt or his wife’s aunt, because he’d rather lose an aunt than a soldier.”
Outside, thunder growled.
Sir Lerrin ate several spoonfuls from his bowl. “But why send you at all?”
I heard the tent flap open behind me. When I turned, my heart rose into my throat. Willem!