The Born Queen - J. Gregory Keyes [37]
“I rather expected to see you riding in from the other direction,” Geoffrysen said.
“Well, if one comes, one must go back,” Aradal replied.
“Not necessarily,” Geoffrysen said with a wicked little smile.
“But today,” Aradal replied, wagging a finger.
“Today,” the marhgreft agreed. “And I’d be pleased if you would take the hospitality of my house.”
“We’ve accommodations arranged in town,” Muriele told him. “But your offer is more than kind.”
Geoffrysen looked surprised. “In town? Not in Suthschild?”
“It will be too dark before we reach Suthschild and past the dinner hour,” Aradal said. “No, we shall be at the Wexrohzen.”
“On the Hansan side.”
“I suppose it is. But can you think of a better accommodation?”
“Mine,” the marhgreft said stubbornly.
“I am in good hands, Marhgreft,” Muriele assured the old man. “Aradal is my escort to Kaithbaurg. I leave these matters to him.”
“Better leave the watching of piglets to a wolf,” Geoffrysen blurted. “Stay here, Majesty, and tomorrow let me escort you safely home.”
Neil tensed and with a sidewise glance caught Sir Edhmon’s eye.
“Marhgreft,” Muriele said softly, “that is uncalled for. For one thing, I am not a piglet.”
“Majesty, they have gathered troops at Suthschild. They are marching even now in the north.”
“That will be enough, my lord,” Muriele said. “I hope to enjoy your hospitality on my return.”
Geoffrysen was red in the face. He swallowed hard, then nodded. “As you say, Highness.”
“It is,” Muriele gently agreed.
Neil could almost hear muscles relaxing. He nodded a salute at the marhgreft as they rode past.
After a moment’s thought, Neil rode up alongside Aradal.
“Sir Neil,” Aradal acknowledged.
“My lord. May I have a word with you?”
“Of course.”
“What did the marhgreft mean by ‘the Hansan side’?”
“Ah. Never been to Bitaenstath before?”
“No, my lord.”
“Well, there it is.”
They had been riding over an old earthwork, probably the remains of an earlier castle, but now Neil could see houses and shops. Most of them hugged the road closely, but some sprawled out from it. Beyond, perhaps a third of a league distant, he saw the towers of another castle.
“That’s Suthschild, our counterpart to Northwatch,” he said. “The border of our countries is out there. I think long ago there were two towns, one near each fortress, but over the years they’ve grown together. After all, a miller doesn’t care which side buys his flour, nor a whore whose soldiers she’s servicing.”
“But what happens during war?”
“It hasn’t come up in a hundred years,” Aradal pointed out. “But castles always have villages, and villages are always at risk when war comes.” He nodded. “This is Southmarket. When the marhgreft needs beer or broadcloth, it’s here he’ll likely get it. But if he throws a feast, he’ll want mead or svartbier, and to get that he’ll send to Northmarket.”
“There are no border guards?”
“Do you see a border?”
Neil didn’t. There was no wall, no standing stones, no pickets to mark where Crotheny became Hansa.
Most of Southmarket seemed to be shutting down for the evening, except for the inns and bierrohsen, from which issued cheerful singing and the savory scents of roasting beef. Some of the patrons had taken their cups into the street and stood in little circles, talking and laughing. Many looked like farmers, still in their sweat-soaked shirts. Others were cleaner and more neatly dressed and seemed likely to be tradesmen. The few women he saw appeared to be working, not drinking.
As they moved toward the center of town, the look of the people appeared richer. The taverns had tables and chairs outside and lanterns to keep the night away. The houses and shops were grander, too, some with glass windows. The road went from dirt to gravel to paved, and not much later they found themselves in a largish village square, which at one end had an imposing, high-timbered hall with great doors swung open and dance music playing within.
“Just in time,” Aradal said, pointing up.
Neil looked and saw the first stars appearing in the rose sky.
“That’s our destination?