Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [153]
Toward noon of the next day, Rhodry’s army reached Corbyn’s demesne. Everywhere the farmhouses were shut up tight, with not so much as a chicken out in the farmyard. From bitter experience the farmers knew that the army of even a lord like Rhodry would steal any fresh food that came its way. Corbyn’s dun stood at the top of a low artificial hill in the middle of a big stretch of open pasture, but none of his lordship’s cows were to be seen when the army reached it. Leaving the carts behind, they trotted over, fully armed and ready in case Corbyn stupidly tried to sally, but they found the heavy iron-bound gates shut. Up on the catwalks men stood half hidden by the merlons. Defiant at the top of the broch flew Corbyn’s green banner. Rhodry ordered his men to fan out and surround the fort. The investment had officially begun.
Just as the carts arrived, Corbyn sent out a herald, his aged chamberlain Graemyn, trembling even though he carried the beribboned staff that would have kept him safe from even the most murderous lord in all Deverry. When he saw the portly old man puffing down the hill, Rhodry dismounted and honorably walked a few steps to meet him—but he made sure he stayed out of bowshot of the dun.
“Greetings, Lord Rhodry. My lord Corbyn requests that you withdraw from his lands.”
“Tell your lord that I respectfully decline to fulfill his request. He is a rebel and under my proscription.”
“Indeed?” Graemyn licked nervous lips. “Even now messengers are riding to Gwerbret Rhys to sue for his intervention in this affair of war.”
“Then I’ll wait here with my army until His Grace arrives. You may consider yourselves under full siege until the gwerbret personally orders me to withdraw. Tell your lord also that he’s harboring a murderer, Loddlaen, his councillor, and that I demand he be turned over to me speedily for trial.”
Graemyn blinked twice, then trembled a little harder.
“I have sworn witnesses to Loddlaen’s crimes,” Rhodry said. “If Loddlaen is not delivered to me by nightfall, then your lord is twice in rebellion. There’s one more thing, good herald. Although I’m determined to prosecute this war against Corbyn, I’m extending pardon to Nowec and his men. All they have to do ride out and ask for it.”
Graemyn turned and fled, trotting as fast as his short breath would allow. Rhodry laughed, then walked back, shouting out orders to the army to settle in and start digging earthworks.
Needless to say, nightfall came without Loddlaen being handed over, but by then the army was firmly entrenched. The carts were drawn up in a circle and guarded by a narrow ditch and bank; the tents were raised and surrounded by a broader one. Armed patrols trotted endlessly round the hill in case Corbyn tried to escape. As the men settled down to their well-earned dinner, Rhodry and Sligyn walked through the camp for an inspection.
“I wonder if any of this will do us the least bit of good,” Sligyn said gloomily. “It’s all very well for Aderyn to ramble on about stopping the messengers, but what could he have done? Can’t see one old man murdering them on the road, eh?”
“After all the cursed dweomer I’ve seen, I’m ready to believe anything. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
As it turned out, the wait was a short one. Round noon the next day, a guard ran up to Rhodry with the news that a noble lord, come with an escort of twelve men, was waiting just outside the camp. The lord turned out to be Talidd of Belglaedd, who owed direct fealty to the gwerbret. Since Rhodry could