The Romance of Eowain

Chapter Seven, Scene Sixteen

Lord Feoras went silent as a stone thereafter, no matter how threatened. At last, Eowain had the traitor bound and slung indignantly over a mule.

At the thorp of Monóc Hill, Eowain halted their progress for the day. A settlement of some fifty souls, the goodman Cothaid had a hostel there for travelers coming and going through Ivea. It was the last friendly stop they'd make for the next several days.

A shoemaker there did a brisk business with wayfarers. Eowain engaged her to inspect his company's boots and make repairs. Nothing ruined a soldier's morale as quickly as bad boots on a long march.

A bread-maker there specialized in muslin, the hard biscuit of barley, rye, and bean flour that lasted years if kept dry. He expected the company to number more than a hundred and thirty before they left Monóc. He wanted them to be as self-sufficient as possible. To hunt and trade for food on the road would cause delays, without any guarantee they'd find enough to feed the whole company. It was still early in the spring. The Damara bean-crop would have been harvested already, but grains would be young and green. Any farm-produce at all would be hard to come by after Ivea's hard winter. Eowain loaded the company with more biscuit.

The local ostler had a look at their mounts, both the war-steeds and the draft animals. Legs were examined, shoes re-fitted, and a few mounts traded out for better steeds from the ostler's own selection. Eowain wasn't leaving anything to chance if he could help it.

Including Eithne's safety. Good silver put Cothad and his family out of their home and secured the place for the Ladies Rathtyen, Alva, and Eithne, and their two maids. Her warriors and his guarded the thatch-and-daub roundhouse.

Eowain turned Feoras over to the custody of Cothad's constable, to be sent back to Dúnsciath and interred in the tower cellars.

By sunset, Lorcán arrived with the foot-soldiers of the King's Guard. Lorcán had left his best lieutenant to secure Gluín Hill and harass the retreating Cailech-men. The remaining skeleton-crew of the Shield Company would garrison Droma in their absence.

It was well past the dark hour of completion before Eowain finally rested his head. It was well before sunrise when Medyr shook him gently awake. "It's time, Your Grace."

Eowain rubbed the grit from his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose for a long, long moment. "Aye." He levered himself up from his field cot. A splash of cold water from a basin shocked him awake. Rivulets dribbled through his beard.

"Right." He shook the cobwebs from his mind. "Medyr?"

"Your Grace?" His minister handed him a cloth.

Eowain rubbed away the wash-water. "Do you believe Lord Feoras worked alone with Cael the Viper?"

"I think he's a treacherous bastard and not to be trusted, but no, not for a moment, Your Grace." Medyr shrugged. "Getting him to admit that your cousin encouraged him is another matter. If he fears his master more than he fears you, he'll keep quiet and pray for deliverance. And if his master has some hold over him greater than death, he may be willing to die for his silence."

Wonderful. Eowain took a deep breath and sighed. They went out to rouse the men.

Medyr led the company in the prayerful songs that welcomed the sun-god Grían back from darkness. Then they broke camp just after First Hour and set out again.

They passed the last Droma settlement on the High-King's Road, the hamlet at the hill of Fearnógrinn, just before Third Hour. As they came down the far side of the hill, a broad clearing opened around the High King's Road.

Two spiked timber hedgehogs faced each other over a narrow spit of no-man's land. Ten men in the green, white, and gold tartans of Eowain's Shield Company paced the near side of the blockade with spears, swords, and shields.

Another ten in the gold and azure tartans of the Chremthainn king's own company of warriors paced the far side, similarly accoutered.

Lorcán met with the men at the blockade. It was common practice to assess and collect tolls and tariffs from travelers there. After a few words with the lieutenants on each side, Lorcán returned.

"Two gold trimmids, six silver glynnids, and three bronze drychids for the whole company."

Eowain's brows rose. "That's more expensive than I expected."

Lorcán scowled. "That's what I said. He says his king just raised the rates."

Medyr rubbed his forehead. "Of course he did, knowing we approached, and with a large company."

Tnúthgal snorted. "That's outrageous, we're not common peddlers. Why discuss this? Just march through. They haven't enough men to stop us."

Lorcán glared at him, but replied instead to Eowain. "That'd be an inter-tribal incident, Your Grace. Dafyd would have a right to call us invaders. He only has a single company of the Rogue-Crushers, but it would still be a hard fight. And his cousin would certainly bring their whole battalion down on us. It's a long way from here to the Vale, and all through Rogue-Crusher country."

Tnúthgal shrugged. "If you want to look weak in front of the Chremthainn and let them extort more than their due, Your Grace, that's certainly your prerogative."

He certainly didn't want to look weak, but he was leading a wedding party, not a war-band.

"Pay it." Eowain eyed his cousin. "I suspect we'll have trouble enough on the road, we don't need to buy more by being stingy."

Tnúthgal smiled thinly.

They passed through the checkpoint, with the Rogue-Crusher lieutenant and one of his sergeants counting their company to be sure the proper toll was paid. Eowain left his brother to conclude the transaction.

"It's extortion," muttered Medyr.

"I'll certainly have something to say about it." Eowain had planned to meet with King Dafyd of Ivea anyway. As one of the three kings of the Fiatach tribes, and Droma's only Fiatach neighbor, it would be wise to keep peace with the man.

-33-

Look for the next installment in this Continuing Tale of The Matter of Manred: The Romance of Eowain.

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