The Sword of the Lady

CHAPTER TWENTY

KALKSTHORPE, LAND OF THE KALKINGS,

NORRHEIM (FORMERLY ROBBINSTON, MAINE) JANUARY 10, CHANGE YEAR 24/2023 AD

'You are the man Abdou'' Rudi asked, leaning back in the chair.

That put his back to the window, which would make him an outline against the daylight and his face less readable, always an advantage. Mathilda sat at his right hand and Father Ignatius on the other; the seidhkona's sprawling household had found Matti Norrheimer woman's garb while their own was repaired and cleaned, a dark blue wool dress, head scarf and long apron of embroidered white linen and shoulder brooches of silver and jet. The pale winter light shone through the broad stretch windows and on his captive; this was an upper chamber, with a loom pushed up against the wall.

The Moor wasn't bound, but Edain stood behind him with his bow slung and his hand on the hilt of his sword, his square face wary and grim. 'I Abdou. And I commander of fighting men, just same like you.'

The pirate captain was a tall man, as tall as Rudi himself, though more slender. Stripped of armor and outerwear he had a long robelike blue tunic embroidered at the shoulders and loose white pantaloons, both filthy and stained. There was stubble on his cheeks apart from the tuft of chin beard, and straws in his wiry hair beneath his skullcap; he smelled of sweat and dried blood and general misery, but he stood like a prince, his dark brown hawk-face calm despite the bruises and scabs. His injured right arm was in a sling. 'Why did you come to make war here'' Rudi probed. 'Because I think I win… just same like you.'

Rudi laughed; the least shadow of a smile touched the corners of the prisoner's mouth for an instant. The clansman spoke: 'I am Rudi Mackenzie of the Clan Mackenzie; also called Artos, High King of Montival.' 'I Abdou al-Naari al-Kaolacki, lord,' the man said.'You say with English… Abdou the Moor from Kaolack.' 'You're not all Moors'' Rudi asked, curious. 'No, lord. The peoples of north to the… Senegal River, you call it… are Moor. Beni Hassan. Many comed to south after the Change; my father be… one Moor. Comed Kaolack, comed sailor. Most there, they Wolof, Serer tribes.'

The world is so wide; its folk and their Gods and ways so many! Rudi thought. Wistfully: And one man's life is not enough to learn them all, even if he had no other business.

The corsair's English was understandable, as long as he spoke slowly. Besides the thick accent, Rudi thought he'd learned from someone who spoke an English dialect unlike any used in Montival; now and then it reminded him a little of the way Sam Aylward sounded. Occasionally he spoke first in a liquid, pleasant-sounding tongue that was probably his own, and then translated. 'You are well'' Rudi went on.

Again the slightest smile turned up the corners of the man's mouth; he moved the fingers of his hand in the sling, and touched his temple with the other. ' Suma bop dey meti,' he said.'I a headache, wounds pain little bit. My father is… fighter for Emir. Myself too. Captain of the Bouel-Mogdad. Hurt not… not big new thing.' 'You were a captain,' Rudi said sternly.'You are pirates, who came here to plunder; and you were taken in arms. So your lives are forfeit, and by right of battle you and your ship and your men belong to me, who spared you and took your surrender. You are mine to deal with as I will. Is this not so, Abdou al-Naari'' 'Inshallah,' Abdou said.'All things as God wills. No God except God; Muhammed is Prophet of God. What you do to me, that is will of God too. If you kill me, I am martyr for Faith and go to Paradise, sins forgiven.'

That little speech was partly a bargaining gambit, he thought. And partly what the man actually believes.

It wasn't that a brave man was impossible to threaten. You just had to do it carefully. 'Who spoke of killing'' he said, spreading his hands.'Have you been treated well' Do you have what you need'' 'There food and straw and blankets and fire, medicine for our hurt. Two die, maybe one more soon. Others heal; my son Ahmed heal.' He shrugged.'Inshallah. Need more water to wash, and how say, soap.' 'You shall have it. And now, why did you come here, Abdou al-Naari' This place in particular, I mean.' 'Marabout… Holy Man… say he have… how you say English… see in head thing far away.' 'A vision.' 'Yes, vision from God. Say followers of Prophet need help, Muslim like us. Also rich plunder. And worshippers of many false gods…' 'Pagans,' Mathilda said helpfully.

Abdou nodded without deigning to look at her.'Pagans, Norrheim men… fight our people, many time. Fight on sea, fight in dead cities. We teach lesson.' 'The men with the sun sign on their chests met you near here' Led by one in a red robe'' Rudi asked. 'Yes. Marabout say, them men believers in Prophet.'

His voice sounded dryly skeptical. Father Ignatius leaned forward from Rudi's other side. 'Followers of a Prophet, Abdou al-Naari. Not of your Prophet; of a living man who claims that title.'

Rudi could see shock on the corsair leader's face, and for the first time there was heat in his voice: 'Muhammed is last of prophets, peace upon him! Some before-Issa, Jesus you nasrani call him, and Ibrahim before Issa. They prophets with message from God. No more after Muhammed! Is haraam… unclean thing, from Shaitan!' 'Blasphemy,' Ignatius said helpfully.

Abdou nodded vigorously, winced and repeated the gesture despite the pain. 'Blasphemy,' he agreed.'Is that word.'

And he believes it, Rudi noted with interest. This one is no fool. Even a short acquaintance with the Cutters would have shown him they weren't really of his faith. And this Holy Man… he must be also a servant of whatever Power the Cutters follow. 'The folk here would kill you,' Rudi said.'For vengeance, the which you have earned by falling on them without cause or warning. And they don't keep slaves. But I have a use for you and your ship.'

Abdou's spine stiffened a little further.'Will not aid you against believers, my friends,' he said.'Kill us all first.'

Rudi shook his head.'I wouldn't ask you to fight your own folk,' he said, and added to himself: Nor would I trust you if you said you would. Loyalty to clan and tribe and one's own blood isn't the only call on a man. But it's the foundation of all else. He believed that with all his heart. There weren't many people alive a generation after the Change who didn't. Aloud he went on: 'I need a ship to take me and my followers to an island-'

They talked back and forth for a few minutes; Abdou had never heard the word Nantucket, or seen it except on old maps. His eyes went wide as he realized what his captor meant. 'Isle of the Accursed!' he said.'There magic there! Sorcery, strong magic.' 'And to be sure, there is,' Rudi said implacably.'Yet there I need to go; and my hosts here can spare neither crew nor ship, after the damage you did them. So it is to there I require your service. There, and back again.'

The Moor thought for a moment.'You give back ship of my, I do this thing for you''

Rudi threw back his head and laughed; the man might be a shameless saltwater bandit, but he had courage, to bargain so, alone amongst angry strangers and with a sword hung over his neck. 'You don't lack for stones, that's plain, Abdou al-Naari!' he said.'No. What you get for this service is your lives and the clothes you wear, no more. The ship and its cargo and gear goes to the folk of Kalksthorpe, as compensation for their losses.' 'As wergild,' Heidhveig said sternly.'Blood price. Count yourself lucky that our friend Rudi Mikesson needs you. And that he's a man of honor, and that we honor his wishes because of our debt to him.'

The Moor looked at her. She sat like the spirit of the soil itself; the orange tabby-cat in her lap added its golden stare. The pirate captain blinked and nodded silently with wary respect, making a furtive sign with his good hand. Rudi went on: 'Once we're back you and your men will be held until an English ship puts in-and the Norrheimers have agreed to not ask them to hang you as pirates and enemies of humankind. They'll say you were shipwrecked here, which in a way is true enough.'

Abdou winced slightly.'Big money English make our families pay,' he said. 'Ransom.' 'Ransom, yes.' Then he shrugged.'Money come, money go, maybe come again, inshallah. Dead man dead always. We do. Go to Sorcerer's Island, take you.'

He looked down at his arm.'I can navigate, another day, three, four, arm strong enough to hold sextant. Not enough my men able to work ship goodly. Only ten, not hurt bad too much. Wait, more ready with more days, crew big to sail ship with you.'

This time Rudi's smile was thin; he didn't think Abdou al-Naari was stupid… and the Moor probably didn't think Rudi was stupid enough to entrust himself to a crew composed wholly of his corsairs, though he also probably thought there was no harm trying. And while Rudi couldn't navigate, he did know enough to keep an eye on the compass and the stars, so al-Naari wouldn't be sailing them off to Dakar or the Saloum delta. 'I have some men who've sailed,' he said.'I have sailed myself, a little. More who can pull on a rope at need. I'll be bringing all my war band along; thirty-two of us. With your ten, that should do nicely for a short voyage of no great difficulty in a schooner. The others can stay here and heal from their wounds.'

Al-Naari made that almost-smile again. And be hostages, especially your son, went silently between them.

It was good when men understood each other. The dark aquiline face was wholly grave when the book they'd found in his cabin was borne in, unwrapped and placed before him. 'And you will swear on your own holy things,' Rudi said.'Let your own God hear your oath.'

A week later two ravens swirled around the masts in Kalksthorpe's little harbor, on a day that dawned with bleak brightness in the east and a brittle cold in the wind out of the west. Rudi cocked an eye up at the dark forms. This was a natural place for the birds to congregate; the Norrheimer were a cleanly folk, but a fishing haven always had something for the birds. That tang of fish and fish guts was there, and silt, cold seawater, a faint reek of smoke even this long after the raid. There were plenty of gulls, too, though the great black birds ignored those. They perched for a moment on the foremast, and then took off southward along the coast.

The Bouel-Mogdad rose and fell slightly at her mooring at the end of the long T-shaped pier; she was a bit bigger than any of the Kalksthorpe ships. Kalk Shipwright himself prodded at her railing near the wheel and binnacle with his carved staff. 'I don't like this squared stern,' he sniffed.'Weakens the stem, to my way of thinking. But the wood's sound. We don't have timber like this! The way it's worked… some is good. Some's strange.'

Rudi nodded gravely. Kalk was old-nearly bald save for a fringe of white hair, stooped, his scalp and gnarled hands liver-spotted. His face reminded the Mackenzie of a turtle's, ready to snap out from beneath its shell. But his pale eyes were still keen, and so was the mind behind them.

As far as the Mackenzie could see the Bouel-Mogdad — it was bad luck to rename a ship-was in fine condition; he'd seen ships often enough in Astoria and Newport, sailed up and down the coast and studied the art of their making a little in shipyards he'd visited. The corsair vessel was a two-master and rigged all fore and aft, which made her a schooner, technically; about a hundred and ten feet long and thirty at its widest a third back from the sharply raked bow. The poop deck was about four feet above the level of the main; the fantail at the rear held one turntable-mounted war engine, crouching like a dragon of coils and angles behind its sloped steel shield. Another like it was placed in the bows-those two had been dismounted for the siege, and were now back in place-and three more sat on each broadside on limited-traverse mounts.

He could appraise the murder-machines with a true expert's eye, if not the ship. They differed from the ones made in Montival-to-be in a hundred details, but the laws of the mechanic arts knew no boundaries. They had about the same performance as a six-pounder scorpion, though they were marked for three kilos instead.

A net full of barrels swung by overhead, with one of the ship's spars used as a crane, then dropped smoothly into the hold. That was stores for the voyage, though mostly they'd added rock ballast to keep the lightened vessel stable. Folk swarmed about, working at the last touches to make her seaworthy; even the dark grained wood of the deck shone. Ashore a gang were singing as they dragged a long bundled sail down the pier, like a great beige snake with many legs.

The tune was a good one to work to, and it had a fine stormy rhythm:

'And there's more mortise-and-tenon work in the hull framing than I like. Bolts hold better with a sheering strain,' Kalk went on, after a pause that made Rudi think the elderly Norrheimer might have dozed. 'Easier to replace.'

Abdou al-Naari had his right arm out of the sling, though it would be a while before it regained full strength. He touched brow and lips and heart, and bowed to Kalk as one craftsman to another. 'You make good ship here,' he said; his English had improved perceptibly in his brief time as a prisoner.'But we Kaolack men, first in Emir's country make more than big-big-big canoe after Change. We know skill of hands. I help build this ship, draw plans, see all make. Pick trees for her, too.'

The master of Kalksthorpe glared at him, then nodded unwillingly. 'She's yare,' he said.'Good work is good work.' 'What is word, yare'' Abdou asked.

More barrels and bales swung on board. There was plenty of room. They'd sent ashore the cargo picked up as the Moors cruised north along the coast, carefully selected metals, alloy steel, copper and brass and aluminum, lenses and telescopes and binoculars and microscopes, glassware, fine pre-Change cloth preserved as if new in sealed packages, wrought gold and silver and jewels, ball bearings, surgical instruments, springs and gears and light machine tools, circular saw blades and medicines and chemicals. 'Yare is… eager. Ready. Fit,' the old man said.

Wealth couldn't bring the dead back, but the gold and gear would mean the Kalksthorpe folk wouldn't have to risk any voyages of their own southward in the coming year or two. That would save lives in itself. 'I glad you like ship,' Abdou said quietly, and with obvious pride.'She good, fast, ride storm like bird. Yare, like you say.'

Kalk gave him a hard smile from under tufted white brows.'So by Njordh, we'll get good use out of her, now that she's ours, blaumann.'

Abdou winced; he'd seemed to grow an inch when he trod his ship's deck again. The song grew louder as the work gang approached, mounting the forward gangplank and feeding their burden down into the hold:

Kalk looked around nodded once more, then headed down the gangplank himself, his staff going thunk… thunk…, a hollow sound on the boards.

And I do think he's envious of us, Rudi thought. He sniffed the air, with its scents of pine and pitch and salt. Not that I blame him! I've done deeds of some weight, but this will be the strangest of all my farings.

Rudi and Mathilda followed. The seidhkona and a small group of her townsfolk waited on the dock. The rest had said their farewells, and the day's work didn't wait with repair and rebuilding added to the usual labors. Thorlind looked at Rudi: 'You haven't taken all my vengeance yet, Artos King.' 'I will, lady,' he said soberly, with a slight bow.'It's not a peaceful voyage I'm sailing on. Earth must be fed-and the sea, too, is always hungry. If I come back hale, you'll know the tale of it.'

As if to comment on that, the last of the chanty came from the hold:

Heidhveig raised a hand in blessing; Rudi bowed in acknowledgment, and they went back on the waiting ship. The others waited for them; most on the main deck, which was a few feet down from the low poop that held the wheel, binnacle and compass. Rudi took his stance by the wheel, watching carefully. Two of Abdou's corsairs held it; that was skilled work. The Norrheimer skipper acting as harbor pilot was ready there too, arms crossed on his chest and dark hair flowing free in the cold breeze.

Other Moors stood ready on the deck, each with three of Rudi's folk close by, ready to help and under orders to learn all that they could. The pirate bosun looked up to his commander.

Abdou spoke, in his own language and then English: 'Cast off!'

Townsfolk unlooped the hawsers from the bollards on the pier and the sailors pulled them back on deck, coiling them neatly. A Kalksthorpe boat was already secured to a towing hitch forward; the upright oars swung down, ten on a side, and dug into the blue-gray water. A deep chant echoed to time the stroke: 'Tyr hold us!

Ye Tyr, ye Odhinn Tyr hold us!

Ye Tyr, ye Odhinn-'

The pilot pointed silently as way came on the ship with a jerk that made some stagger. The two helmsmen spun the wheel to keep the ship in the tugboat's wake; the underwater obstacles were intended to keep hostile ships out, but they'd do just as well to rip the bottom out of a ship that was leaving. Beyond the last of them the movement of the Bouel-Mogdad changed, longer and harder as her bow turned into the swells. The little galley came alongside after it cast off the towrope, and Rudi shook hands with the pilot; it was Thorleif Heidhveigsson, he who'd captured her on Rudi's urging, and he grinned at the younger man. 'Now we'll have to rearrange some of them,' he said.

He nodded overside to where one of the outsize spearheads was just below the surface. 'Cold work,' Rudi said.'But a warm greeting for rovers. I'll see you again, Thorleif, and the Lord and Lady willing it won't be long.' 'Don't count any man lucky until he's dead,' Thorleif said, and touched the silver Hammer that lay beneath his jacket.'Thor ward you with his might, Rudi Mackenzie.' 'And yourself, my friend. Merry met, and merry part, and merry meet again!'

The wind was out of the west; it contributed to the hard pitch and roll as the waves took the ship under the quarter. Abdou looked at the sky with its high lines of mare's-tail cloud, at the compass, and then ordered in two languages: 'Make sail all! Up, up!'

His bosun shoved teams into position; Ingolf followed him, watching closely. A high screech brought both ready, and then they heaved, hauling the lines in hand-over-hand. Pulleys squealed. The long gaff-sails slid up the masts and then swung out as the booms turned. A thuttering like snapping branches and then the canvas snapped taut, swelling out into a series of curves and triangles, and the ship heeled to port until the dark planks sloped like the roof of a house. A fore-and-aft ship like this was economical of men, and the sails could be managed from the deck for the most part.

The bowsprit dug in, then broke free in a burst of crystal spray that shot back along the deck to sting Rudi's cheeks with an icy salt benediction. The motion turned to a long lunging swoop, and waves of white curled back from the sharp prow. Gray and white and blue, Mother Sea stretched ahead of them, the manes of her snowy horses running to the very horizon. A whale spouted in the middle distance, twin plumes rising from the water before its slate-colored length slid back below, and the flukes slapped foam into the air. 'Glad to be back at sea, Abdou al-Naari'' he asked.

The Moor looked at him; he was bundled in wool and felt until only his face showed. He snorted: 'In Dakar my lord the Emir have… has powerful machine, his hakims make. Wind turns, much thump. Pistons. Makes ice come. Put in drink juice on hot day. Ice is very good there.'

Rudi felt his legs flex and turn to take the rocking motion of the deck; it was easier than a trick like standing in the saddle of a galloping horse. Mathilda smiled at him a little shakily, her face pale, but she faced into the breeze and breathed deeply and grew steadier. Edain smiled as well-and then rushed for the leeward rail. Asgerd followed him and waited politely until the first racking heaves were over, then offered him a cup of water from one of the butts. When he'd spat and cleared his mouth, she asked sweetly: 'Feeling better, master bowman' Hunger weakens a man, they say. What you need is food.' 'Please-errrrk-' 'Why not have some fried fat salt pork, nearly fresh' Or cod cooked in cream with onions-'

Edain gave a wordless cry and dashed back to the rail. Half the watchers laughed, except for a few hanging over it themselves. The rest mostly grinned; even Matti did, and she was usually tenderhearted and liked Edain well. Virginia Kane-Virginia Thurston now, since Lady Heidhveig laid the Hammer in her lap at the handfasting ceremony two days ago-fairly staggered about hooting with mirth. Fred Thurston was looking a little queasy himself, but not enough to join the fish-feeding chorus line.

Seasickness was one of those things everyone found humorous except the sufferer, who wished for death and wasn't granted it. The only one wholly sympathetic was Garbh, who curled against Edain with whines and nuzzles and ears laid back above anxious eyes.

But it can be no joke, if it goes on long enough, for weeks of sweating misery. I don't think any here will. Edain always runs to the rail and always recovers quickly, if I remember our boating trips rightly. 'We keep this tack,' Abdou said to Rudi, after he'd cocked a tolerant eye at the sufferers and their audience.'Long tack, as long as wind is steady. Like… so.'

He pointed southeast.'Clear Cape Cod. Then turn for Sorcerer's Isle. Maybe have to beat up into Sound; that take more time, more work.'

And to be sure, his English is much better when it comes to nautical matters. 'How long'' Rudi asked.

He could feel his skin itching with the need, now. The Sword glowed in his mind, brighter than the winter dawn. 'Seven days, maybe. Winds… might come on storm; then have to run for open ocean get sea room. Inshallah.'

Rudi sighed. Every man has a right to his faith. But I could come to hate that word, sure and I could.

In the meantime… 'All of you!' he called.'Those who aren't tending the rigging. We'll drill with these deck engines; there's plenty of ammunition-'

Or at least plenty of roundshot beautifully worked from heavy granite, which the corsairs used for ballast. The four-foot javelins and globes of napalm the engines could also throw were far too valuable to use here where they couldn't be recovered. '-and it's my thought the work will do us no harm.'

Edain and the other sufferers mostly staggered erect at that; something to distract them from their miseries would be good… and somehow he doubted it would be a simple matter of sailing, this last league of his quest. Mathilda came to his side after the exercise was over. Most were set to sparring with individual weapons, but the two of them had done more than their share of the artillery practice.

Sparring on crowded, shifting ship timber required learning new reflexes. Once again he noticed how Abdou and his folk ignored her and the other women; he wasn't sure if that was courtesy, scorn, or a mixture of both. Mathilda was beginning to notice it too, and in no kindly spirit. 'What do you think of our Norrheimers, acushla'' he asked her.

Quickly appraising people and how to get the best from them was the most basic of the ruler's arts, or a commander's. She turned to the matter seriously at once; the daughter of Sandra and Norman Arminger would always take the trade of kingcraft seriously. He felt a sudden rush of warmth as he watched her frown and wind a lock of seal-brown hair around one forefinger. If he was to be High King, there would always be someone by his side he could share all his mind with. And their strengths and weaknesses complemented each other; he was a better field commander, though she was far from bad at it, but she excelled him equally on the administrative side. 'Most of them were… good enough,' she said thoughtfully.

They'd sworn in seven new recruits in Eriksgarth; one had died in the street fighting against the Cutters and their pirate allies, and another had been too badly wounded to come along afterwards. They'd both been fair-to-middling youngsters, and too little-known for him to feel any great personal grief beyond the regret a lord had for any follower who fell. Still, leading men into battle meant accepting that some would die. That was a cost of doing business, and he didn't ask anyone to risk what he would not. Three of the remainder were promising beginners, luckier than their fallen friends rather than more skillful. Two… 'Hrolf Homersson is the best of them,' Mathilda said, watching the exercise.'Remarkable, in fact.'

Rudi nodded; the man gave a guttural shout as he leapt to the rail and back and again, swinging his great ax against a target dancing on the end of a pole and turning the massive weapon as if it were a willow switch. The light on the honed edge made sparkling patterns, cold as the wind that keened and whipped bits of ice from the rigging. 'He's as strong as I,' Rudi said.'Maybe a bit more, in fact.'

He was about three inches taller than the Mackenzie, and considerably heavier too. Not as fast, but not a lumbering ox either. More of a'swift enough,' and thoroughly agile too, which wasn't quite the same thing. He had a mouse-brown beard that he wore in a braid that reached halfway down his chest, and his long ax bore a war hammer's serrated head opposite the curved blade. 'Though I wouldn't have thought even a man that size could use that… that thing… effectively,' Mathilda said.'He can, though. Blasted right through a lot of parries and he never had to hit the same man twice.'

She winced slightly; some of the wounds it had dealt had been grisly even among the usual butcher's-shop horrors of a battlefield ruled by edged metal driven with desperate strength and savagery. Speed let you dodge or block a blow. Weight and strength could make it count even so, crush a shield or brush aside or snap a parrying blade. 'I wouldn't care to stand and take a blow from it, even in a suit of plate,' Rudi agreed.'Ulfhild the Black there is next on that list, I think.'

She was not actually very dark; black of hair and eye and with skin of a medium olive. Back home he'd have thought she was Hispano with a fair dash of Indian and nothing remarkable, but those looks were much rarer here-and the Norrheimers thought beauty in a woman meant fairness. All their songs and legends spoke of women who looked like Asgerd, or Rudi's half sisters, or their mother, Signe, and aunt Astrid. That must have been a burden to her, that and the small-eyed, heavy-jawed looks that were three notches down from Mathilda's pretty-plain features even in the flush of youth. She was about Mathilda's five-eight-and-a-bit, too, but thirty or forty pounds heavier; not fat but solid and…

Meaty, he thought.

Ingolf stumbled back with a yell as her blunt, padded lath practice blade slammed painfully under his mail-clad ribs in a wicked rising stroke before he could get his shield in the way. The narrow edge of a live steel sword might well have broken bone there, could possibly have severed the rings and would certainly have hurt badly. 'Fast as a viper,' Rudi said approvingly.

Not as fast as he, but he'd only met two warriors in all the world who were. Both were women, oddly enough: Tiphaine d'Ath and Lady Astrid of the Rangers. Though perhaps not so very oddly. Fighting women were less common than men even among Mackenzies or Dunedain and still more so elsewhere, but the ones who stuck with it as a trade and survived any length of time tended to be exceptional. They had to be, and the way for a woman to excel at weapon play was to be very quick indeed. 'Perfect balance, too, even on a pitching deck and this the first time for her at that,' Rudi continued.'Good technique, though there's room for improvement there. And plenty of fire in the belly. Ulfhild will be valuable, I'm thinking.' 'Yes, you're right,' Matti said, while her lips made a moue.'But I don't like her. She's… disagreeable.'

Rudi nodded; that was true too. Sour, in fact; short-spoken to the point of rudeness, and sullen. Folk like that could be formidable fighters, but they could also breed trouble in a war band. Rudi thought there was a little more in Mathilda's expression of distaste. He wasn't vain of his looks, and the other sex were less affected by sheer eye-comeliness than men anyway, but he could tell total disinterest when it flicked across him in a woman's gaze.

He kept his thoughts there to a raised eyebrow and did not say: the Grand Constable and Lady Delia don't make you frown that way, now!

Saving things like incest or oaths of fidelity Mackenzies just didn't care who lay with who or how, as long as all parties were of age and consenting. The Goddess Herself had said All acts of love and pleasure are My rituals. Catholics had more things that were geasa, forbidden. Sins, in their terms. In his experience they also broke their taboos more often than his clansfolk did, and were more likely to practice hypocrisy, and also to wrack themselves with guilt.

Indeed, sometimes they're happier to wallow in guilt at a sin than to avoid it in the first place! I don't know exactly how the Norrheimers arrange such matters, but they're more straitlaced than we, I think. How most tribes of humankind do make tangles for themselves!

A snort told him Mathilda had been following his thoughts with uncomfortable precision. That had been happening more and more; they'd always been close, but now they'd been so long in each other's sporrans it was becoming a little eerie at times. 'It just struck me,' he said casually,'that if I'm to be High King of all Montival, it won't do to be saying: Well, and how simple it would be, if only you poor deluded fools would do things sensibly, as Mackenzies do!' 'I can remember how much doing that made everyone love you in Association territory,' she said dryly, and nudged him in the ribs.'A couple of times.' 'Well, I get on well enough with Father Ignatius,' he said.'And Abbot Dmwoski at Mt. Angel.' 'That's not going to help you with all the Catholics,' Mathilda said.'I like the Order of the Shield myself-they're mostly very holy men, and to tell you the truth I think Father Ignatius is a saint-but a lot of the secular clergy and some of the other Orders really dislike them, so you can't show them too much favor. You'll have to watch that.' 'I'll have you to watch it for me, praise the Gods!'

She shook her head vehemently.'No, Rudi. Artos! You'll need to handle the Church directly, and not just in Portland's territory. I can be Lady Protector there, but you'll have to deal with the Archbishop-Cardinal; he'll be Rome's man to head the Church in the whole realm. That's not just… preaching and the sacraments… that's land, that's wealth and influence, that's power. It's the only two universities in Montival apart from Corvallis, too.'

Rudi mock-groaned.'Next you'll be saying I need to think about taxes!' 'You do,' Mathilda said bluntly.'A King needs his own revenues, that nobody else can interrupt, so-' 'So he can reward his supporters, yes, and buy weapons and make gifts and give aid in times of disaster. Matti, I'm not altogether gormless!'

She flashed a smile.'Sorry, darling. You'll have the Lord Protector's lands and dues and tithes through me, and so will our heir-'

He winked at her, and she blushed and continued doggedly:'But that will make its own problems.' 'Portland already weighs heavier in the realms of the Meeting than many like, true. But there's Fred.'

They both looked over to where the son of the first President of Boise was testing his long saber against Asgerd's sword and shield. 'When he's President there, he's promised me that the US of Boise shall be part of Montival. It was his father's dream to reunite the lands… and if this is a bit of a different way to do it, he's content with that.' 'And he doesn't insist on being the one ruling the whole, unlike his elder brother,' she said.'I'm glad. I like him, but I wouldn't risk our chil drens' inheritance just on that. Fred keeps his oaths, though; he'll be a good vassal.' 'There is that. He hasn't decided how to settle the succession there-'

Mathilda smiled grimly; for a moment she looked very much like her mother, though in face and form she took more after Norman Arminger. When she spoke her voice was definite: 'I've come to know Virginia. Unless she's childless, it's settled. He just doesn't know it quite yet.'

Rudi shrugged; it wasn't all that important. Fred was a young man yet, younger than Rudi. Any reasonable length of reign would make things solid. 'And Boise is smaller than the Association lands, but it has more than twice the population and wealth,' he said.'That'll keep things in balance; that and bringing Pendleton and the rest of the eastern plains into the kingdom. For the future… there's all the lands to the south of Ashland, empty.'

She chuckled.'Mom's Westria Project.'

They shared the joke, and Rudi went on airily:'There's just the little matter of beating the Prophet and Martin Thurston of Boise, the creatures, before we set all in order.'

She nodded and took his arm.'No great problem.'

He looked out to sea to hide the bleakness that rested in his eyes for a moment.

I calculate our odds as about even, when we have the Sword. And even then… how many will live to see the victory' How many will lie for the scald crows' There are victories that leave you with wounds that cannot fully heal. And not just in the Histories of the Dunedain. 'Well, then, that's the fate of the High West settled,' Rudi said. 'Now let's keep our fearless followers from recalling their stomachs by working them a bit more. You take one half, I the other, and we'll play at storming and defending the poop deck by turns, eh''

He leapt lightly down to the main deck; despite his two-hundred-odd pounds of bone and muscle and armor he landed lightly as a cat. 'All of you! We have to learn to fight with a ship as a battlefield. We'll divide into two teams and each into three squads. Hrolf Blood-ax and Ulfhild Swift-sword, you'll be with me…'

The big Bjorning grinned, setting aside his murderous weapon for the practice version. Ulfhild nodded silently, but her face flushed with pleasure at the new use-name.