Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [14]
Not long after he saw a grey-haired man hobbling along with the aid of a long stick. He wore a stained, torn linen shirt and a filthy pair of brigga that once might have been grey, but for all that he looked like a beggar, Oggyn strode forward to meet him. They spoke just loudly enough for Branoic to catch part of the conversation. Apparently the lame fellow wished to speak with Prince Maryn, and apparently Oggyn was telling him that such was impossible. At length the man produced a silver coin from the pouch at his belt. Oggyn became all smiles as he took the coin; he bit it, then slid it into the pouch at his own belt. For a moment more they talked together; then Oggyn strode off back in the direction of the main broch complex. The other man wiped tears from his face on his dirty sleeve, then began to hobble off. Branoic left his hiding place and ran after him.
“Wait! Good sir!” Branoic caught up with him near the kitchen hut. “You've just been robbed.”
Uncomprehending, he stared up at Branoic with rheumy eyes.
“The prince will listen to anyone that comes to him,” Branoic said. “You didn't need to give Oggyn a copper, much less a blasted silver piece.” He glanced around and saw the councillor lurking in the doorway to the side tower. “Slimy Oggo! Get yourself over here!”
With a toss of his head Oggyn disappeared inside. Branoic laid a friendly hand on the old man's shoulder.
“Just come with me,” he said. “We'll get that silver piece back for you at dinner tonight.”
“My thanks, my profound thanks,” the fellow said. “It's all the coin I have in the world.”
Whether or not Maryn officially reigned as king, his decisions were the only justice that Dun Deverry had. Every night after dinner he lingered in the great hall so that suppliants could come to him with disputes and complaints they wished settled. And we'll have a fine show tonight, Branoic thought. Slimy Oggo's gone too far this time.
Just that morning, Otho the silversmith had finished the silver token for Maddyn, and Princess Bellyra took care to present it to her bard as openly as she could. With the muster nearly complete, close to a hundred lords ate in the great hall at the tables of honor. Servants had combed the dun and crammed every table and bench they could find into the riders' side of the hall, but still, most of the men from the warbands ate outside. The prince's silver daggers, however, stayed in his presence, eating just beyond the ranks of the noble-born.
As Maryn's wife, Bellyra ate beside him and shared his trencher. That particular evening, before she and her women withdrew to the quiet safety of their hall, Bellyra took the pin from her kirtle.
“I nearly forgot,” she said to Maryn. “I've got a little gift for your bard, to thank him for being so patient all winter.”
“Good.” Maryn held out his hand. “May I?”
“By all means.” Bellyra gave him the pin. “It's awfully nice, I thought.”
“It is indeed.” Maryn held the slender silver rose, barely an inch long, twixt thumb and forefinger. “Must be Otho's work.”
“It is. He looted some silver when you took the dun. Er, or I should say, he miraculously found some silver that no one was using.”
Grinning, Maryn handed it back, then got up, glancing around the hall. At length he gestured to one of the waiting pages.
“Maddyn the bard's sitting over by the front door,” the prince said. “Go fetch him for me.”
With a bow the lad trotted off. Just as Maryn sat back down again, Branoic strode in the back door and headed for the prince's chair. Limping along after him came a grey-haired man, dressed in a linen shirt and wool brigga made of cloth that had been once