Stargate Atlantis: Latitude

Chapter 7 - Hospitality

Rodney had decided that alien mule-things were not his favourite mode of transport. The jolting gait of the animal was bruising him in places he didn't want to think about and more than once he thought he was going to slide off to one side or the other. John, behind him, just seemed to relax into the motion and balance; Rodney suspected he was actually asleep as he had been jabbed in the back by John's chin a couple of times when his head nodded. Now he could feel John's forehead resting against his neck and shoulder. Rodney rode with one hand gripping the short tufts of the mule's mane together with the reins (although he was convinced the mule wouldn't take a blind bit of notice of him no matter what he did with the reins) and one hand gripping both of John's, holding them round his waist. Whether this was helping John or Rodney to stay on was debatable.

The mules slowed as they began to climb a rocky track and Rodney breathed a sigh of relief at the change from the bruising up and down jolt to a broad swaying motion. He looked up to see a wooden palisade which surrounded the top of a low hill, a solid black shape against the indigo blue of the night sky.

Geran came up alongside Rodney.

"We approach my Hall!" he said. "And then you will see what hospitality the folk of Tarrana can offer. My wife, the Lady Tarva will be waiting with hot baths and meat and drink prepared for us!"

Rodney almost whimpered in anticipation, but managed just to smile and nod his thanks.

Geran looked at John.

"Does your friend come from a people such as mine? He rides in his sleep as one born in the saddle."

"I think he's just good at that kind of thing," said Rodney, tentatively turning his head to look over his shoulder. "And very tired. And," he squirmed to touch John's forehead with his chin, "hot."

"Do not worry, Lady Tarva will know what to do!"

Tall gates in the palisade opened and Rodney saw that a large wooden building took up about half of the space within, the rest being given over to mule pens and smaller storage buildings. The Hall was thatched and smoke rose from openings in the roof. A welcoming glow of firelight shone out into the night as well as the even more welcoming aroma of roasting meat. Rodney's stomach churned in painful hollowness.

The mules came to a halt and the riders began to dismount. A woman, dressed in a long, severely cut gown, stood before the entrance to the hall, standing stiff and straight with her chin lifted as if in anticipation of conflict. Her hair, Rodney observed, was parted and braided with mathematical precision, the two long, tight braids framing her face and falling as straight as rulers to her waist.

"My Lord," she said, with a falsely sweet smile, "I expected you long since! Did you not think to send a rider ahead to inform you poor lady wife that you had chosen to tarry over your journey?"

Geran dismounted from his mule and kissed his wife dutifully.

"We met some strangers on the road, my dear," he replied, with an anxious smile. "Travelers from the far South in need of help!"

The Lady's eyes skimmed critically across Rodney and John, taking in their filthy, tattered and unshaven appearance. Two phrases popped into Rodney's mind. The first, one used frequently by his maternal grandmother, 'an expression that would have curdled milk' fitted Tarva quite well. The other phrase, that he had heard uttered in a broad Northern English accent by one of his minions, 'a face like a slapped arse' seemed even more appropriate. She did not look like a woman who relished the thought of offering hospitality to two such disreputable looking travelers. She turned to her husband and began speaking, fast and low, with many sharp hand gestures.