Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [149]
"And …?" I asked.
"Well, he's nearly honor-bound to make a raid, isn't he?" Kinadius asked cheerfully. "He's abided by the Cruarch's will and shown good faith. Now he's obliged to test your mettle, and like as not he will before the weather turns." He tapped his woad-marked brow. "He can claim insult because you're not a fit warrior.”
"Name of Elua!" I laughed in disbelief. "Are you jesting?”
"He's not, I fear," Breidaia said calmly. " 'Tis how young men earn their marks in peacetime.”
"And clan-lords increase their herds," Kinadius added.
"By raiding cattle they don't need from friendly estates?" I asked.
"Well, yes," he said.
"That's foolish," Alais observed.
Kinadius grinned at her. "You're allowed to think that. You're a girl.”
Alais wrinkled her nose at him. I pushed away an inadvertent memory of Sidonie that seeped through my bindings, scratching my wrists and thinking. I was sick and tired of being bound by all manner of strictures and unable to act. "But I've a right to my first warrior's mark, Kinadius, you said so yourself. I chose not to receive it because it's not a D'Angeline custom.”
"Aye, and you didn't want to mar your pretty face." He eyed me. "So?”
"So," I said slowly, "if Leodan mab Nonna claims I'm not a proper warrior, then he's calling me a liar. And as such, he's given insult, hasn't he?”
"What are you plotting?" Dorelei asked suspiciously.
I shrugged. "What if we claim insult and raid Briclaedh first?”
There was a little silence around the table, then Kinadius let out an excited whoop. "I'd say you're beginning to think like a Prince of Alba," Dorelei said, a mixture of pride and rue in her voice.
It was a pointless undertaking, an exercise in the enduring folly of mankind and, most especially, the violent futility of masculine pride. And in one fell swoop, it endeared me to the folk of Clunderry in a manner that months and months of sober behavior, hard work, and courtesy wouldn't have accomplished.
Urist, seasoned, sensible Urist, loved the notion. It surprised me a little.
"Ah, how not!" The Cruithne commander jabbed at me with his forefinger. "Do you think I'm not a man, lad? Do you think I don't want to serve a lord I can be proud of? Aye, and the men I command, too?”
"No, of course not," I said.
He fixed me with a hard gaze. "Afraid, are you? Having second thoughts?”
"Afraid, no." I frowned. "Second thoughts, yes.”
We were sitting in his garrison-chamber, a tiny cell scarce large enough to hold a bed, a chest for his belongings, and a pair of chairs. "Listen, lad." Urist laid his hands on his knees and faced me squarely. "I've an idea you're loath to make enemies. But 'tis a friendly skirmish, nothing more. You're not going to incur a blood-feud over a cattle-raid. Showing your mettle before anyone dares test it is the best idea you've had since you set foot on Alban soil.”
"And if Briclaedh retaliates?" I asked.
"They might." He shrugged. "If they do, they'll seek to reclaim what's theirs, no more, and consider the score settled. You'll still come out of it with the upper hand. Do you see?”
"I suppose," I said reluctantly.
Urist transferred one hand to my left knee and squeezed hard. "Good lad!”
Thus it was that my first real act as a Prince of Alba, a role I'd agreed to play for the purpose of fostering peace and prosperity, was to stage a cattle-raid on my nearest neighbor.
Once the matter was decided, plans were implemented swiftly lest word leak to Briclaedh, only a day and a half away. Urist chose a raiding party of thirty men, a mix of veterans and green lads. He informed me cheerfully that if I wanted to garner any measure of respect, I would have to lead them myself, to be the first into battle and the last to retreat.
I tried to imagine explaining my actions to everyone at home and failed miserably. There was a good reason, I thought, that Drustan downplayed Alba's dangers. It wasn't that they were so terribly dire, but that the culture was unfathomable to a D'Angeline mind. To be sure, Terre d'Ange had known periods