A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr [127]
“And is your bilge-mouthed brother in town today?”
“He’s not. What’s it to you?”
“Well, I brought you somewhat of a present from Aberwyn, and I didn’t want him to see me give it to you.” Maer took a packet wrapped in a bit of white linen out of his shirt and handed it over.
“My thanks, Maer. Truly.”
He merely smiled, watching as she unwrapped the cloth and found a small bronze mirror, a circle that fit neatly into the palm of her hand. On one side was a bit of silvered glass, held in place by a band of knotwork wires; on the other was a fancy design of laced spirals.
“I wanted to get you the silver one,” Maer said, sighing, “but coins flee from silver daggers like chickens run from foxes.”
“It doesn’t matter. This is lovely. Ye gods, I’ve never had a mirror before. My thanks. Truly, my thanks.”
Glaenara held the mirror up. By angling her head, she could see her reflection a bit at a time, and a lot more clearly than in the reflection from a bucket of water. Much to her horror, there was a bit of dirt on her cheek. Hastily she wiped it off.
“A pretty lass like you should have a mirror of her own.”
“Do you truly think I’m pretty? I don’t.”
He looked so shocked that she was embarrassed.
“Well,” Maer said thoughtfully. “Truly, pretty isn’t the right word, is it? As handsome as a wild horse or a trout leaping from a stream, not pretty like a rose in some lord’s garden.”
“Then my thanks.” Glaenara busied herself with wrapping the mirror up in the cloth again, but she felt herself blush in sheer pleasure. “And what errand are you running?”
“Well, our Badger wanted a word with Ganedd the merchant’s son. Cursed if I know why, but I’m taking the lad a letter. I can’t read, or I would have sneaked a look. It’s not sealed.”
“It would have been dishonorable.”
“Of course, but ye gods, I’ve always been a curious sort of man. Ah, well, it’s beyond me anyway, all this wretched writing. Will you come into town next week?”
“I might, I might not. It depends on the chickens.”
“Then I’ll pray to the Goddess to let them lay more eggs than your family can possibly eat and that my lord will let me come down to town.”
After Maer left, Glaenara counted up her coin. She had just enough to buy a length of cloth to make herself that new dress that Nalyn had been nagging her about. If she worked hard, sitting outside every evening to get the last of the sunlight, she could have the dress finished by next market day.
Ganedd sat uneasily on the edge of his chair and held his goblet of mead in nervous fingers. The lad was wearing a pair of blue-and-gray-checked brigga and a shirt heavily worked in flowers—his best clothes, Pertyc assumed, for his visit to the noble-born.
“No doubt you’re wondering why I asked you up here. I’ll come straight to the point. My silver dagger told me that you voted against the rebellion in Aberwyn. I’m holding for the king myself. It gladdens my heart that you do the same.”
“My thanks, my lord, but I don’t know what the two of us can do about it.”
“Naught more than what we can, truly, but we’ve got to try. I want to ask you to take my service. There’s going to be a war in the spring, lad, and I’ve no doubt that our rebels will want me dead before they march against the king.”
“I’m no warrior, my lord, but if you want me to join your men, I’ll do my best to fight.”
Pertyc was both surprised and ashamed of himself. He’d been dismissing this young man as nothing but a merchant, little more than a farmer and most likely a coward to boot.
“Well, actually,” Pertyc said, “I was hoping you’d run an errand for me. You deal with the Westfolk all the time, don’t you? You must know where to find them and all that.”
“I do, my lord.” Ganedd looked puzzled; then he grinned. “Longbows.”
“Just that. If I load you up with every bit of iron goods and fancy cloth and jewelry and so on that I can scrape together, do you think you could get me enough bows for the warband? I wouldn’t take a few extra archers amiss, either, if you can recruit some.”
“Well,