The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [151]
Jill walked over as slowly and as insolently as she dared.
“What’s your name, lad?”
“Gilyn. What’s it to you?”
“Naught, scum, if that’s the stance you’re going to take. Do you know a man named Rhodry of Aberwyn? He’s a member of your band.”
“I do. Last time I saw him was up in Cerrgonney. What are you looking for him for?”
“Naught that concerns you.” He started to turn away, then glanced back with a conciliatory smile. “Here, I’ll tell you this, though. I swear on my honor that we mean him good, not ill. He’s not wanted for a crime or suchlike. If you see him, tell him that, will you? It’s worth gold in his hand if he’ll just come to His Grace’s dun.”
“I will, then.”
The gwerbret’s men stomped out again, and the tavern’s customers gave a unison sigh of relief. The tavernman turned to Jill.
“Do you believe what they said about your friend?”
“I do, at that, because Rhodry’s a strange kind of man.” She paused for a sip of ale. “He’s never said a word about his past, and silver daggers don’t pry into what a man may have done, but I’ll wager he was noble-born.”
“Indeed?” His eyes widened. “A lord with the dagger?”
She noticed that a number of people had paused to listen.
“Well, he wasn’t a lord anymore, but he had the manners of the noble-born, all bows and courtesy, and he knew bard lore, too. And then there was the way he sat on a horse. You don’t ride that splendidly unless your noble father’s riding master put you on a pony when you were but three years old.”
“I wonder what he did to be shamed?” a wench said with a melancholy sigh. “It sounds a sad tale. Was he handsome?”
“I suppose.” Jill shrugged as if indifferent. “I was more interested in how well he fought.”
“No doubt. Men!” She flounced off again to wait on a pair of staggering sailors in the corner.
Every one else smiled and drifted back to their tankards and talk. Jill was honestly startled at how well they accepted her as a lad. As she thought about it, she did have a dark voice for a woman in a country where a clear tenor was the most highly prized voice for a man, and no doubt they assumed her young, too, but she still was vaguely troubled when she realized just how much her years on the road had hardened her.
In a few minutes the tavernman and the wenches began passing out bowls of stew, which turned out to be surprisingly good, as was the bread served to sop it up with. When Jill found a place to sit down and eat, she was joined by a gray-haired man she judged to be a wandering peddler from his bent shoulders and the callus across his forehead from a pack strap.
“Tell me somewhat, silver dagger,” he said, wasting no time in pleasantries. “Is this Rhodry a typical Eldidd man, with black hair and dark blue eyes?”
“He is, and built narrow from shoulder to hip.”
“Hah. I think me I saw him two nights ago. He was in a tavern in the crafters’ part of town. It stuck in my mind, like, because you don’t often see a silver dagger doing his drinking among the potters and blacksmiths.”
“True-spoken. Maybe you should tell that to one of the gwerbret’s men.”
“Maybe so. They might pay for it, like. Our Rhodry was calling himself Benoic, by the way. I wonder if he’s lying ill somewhere, and that’s why they can’t find him.”
“Ill? Did he look ill?”
“Not that I could see, but he was asking about herbmen. There seemed to be a particular old man he wanted, too. Not just any herbman would do. It had to be this one and his granddaughter.”
“Nevyn.”
“That was the name, truly. Strange sort of name, think I.”
“It is. Well, the granddaughter’s a pretty wench, you see.”
“Ah.” The peddler grinned and winked. “Well, maybe I’ll step out after dinner and see if I can find one of the town wardens.”
“I would if I were you. If they’ve got the warband out as well as the wardens, it must be important.”
With a nod, the peddler devoted himself to his stew. Feeling close to despair, Jill ate mechanically,