The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [77]
At last the prayers, and the service, were over. Everyone left the hidden room and in silence trooped across the ward to gather in the great hall. Honelg’s servants passed out chunks of bread, dipped in honey—whether as refreshment or as part of the ritual, Salamander didn’t know. Everyone chatted pleasantly, until, a few at a time, the farm folk left the broch, slinking through the dark like cats. As they left, Rocca stood at the door and blessed each of them.
In the torchlight of the great hall Salamander finally got a clear look at her. Her long dark hair she wore in a sloppy twist at the nape of her neck, held there by two-pronged bone pins, but a good many short wisps had escaped, framing her face. Her eyes, too, were dark, and her features so delicate that she might have been lovely had she been reasonably clean.
As it was, dirt smeared along her cheekbones and matted her hair; dirt ringed her neck and clotted under her torn fingernails. The tunic she wore over baggy brigga had once been linen-colored, but now appeared dark brown; it hung in stiff crusted folds. Her only adornment, if one could call it that, was a flat band of hammered steel curved around her right wrist. Her feet revealed how much she walked; they were huge, flat, and clublike from calluses and old scars. Salamander thought of Tieryn Cadryc, saying that Zaklof had never worn shoes in his life. Walking such long distances without them must have caused her constant pain, at least until the calluses had formed.
Rocca also reeked of sour sweat and general secretions. Salamander feigned a cough and raised his arm to shelter his nose with his sleeve, a gesture that Honelg caught. The lord elbowed him in the ribs and whispered. “They don’t wash, the Holy Ones. It shows their contempt for the things of this world.”
“I see,” Salamander whispered as well. “But don’t they get sores on their skin?”
“Horrible ones, truly. They call them Alshandra’s jewels.”
Once the last worshiper was out of the door, the priestess accepted a seat at the honor table. Lady Adranna moved down on the bench to allow Rocca to sit at the lord’s right hand, across from Salamander, who was sitting at his left. Young Matto brought her a plate of dry bread and a goblet of plain water, bowed to her, then hurried away again. Rocca said a brief prayer over the food, then picked up a chunk of bread and gestured at Salamander.
“Now who be this?” Rocca said “A stranger, but he does wear the symbol of one who does follow our goddess.”
“He does, Your Holiness,” Honelg said. “His name is Evan, though he goes by Salamander, because he’s a gerthddyn by trade.”
“And he saw Zaklof die.” Adranna leaned forward. “Do tell her, Evan.”
For the third time that day Salamander told his borrowed tale. With such an attentive audience he could no longer resist embroidering every detail. He invented speeches for the guards and sermons for Zaklof. He worked himself up to scattered tears at the appropriate places and let his voice catch with awe at others. Even the warband turned on their benches and listened in dead silence, their mugs of ale forgotten, as Salamander described Zaklof’s last hours in this world.
Salamander then turned to his own imaginary troubles, a tale of suspicious neighbors, of priests threatening to burn him alive, of a wife who reacted only with fury to his talk of Alshandra. This material held the great hall’s attention equally well, until he at last truly understood that old turn of phrase about storytellers entrancing their audience. He might as well have turned them to stone for all the restlessness or skepticism they showed.
When at last he finished, he wiped tears from his face on one sleeve with a suitably rough and masculine gesture, then allowed his hand to drop into his lap as if he were exhausted. The women at the table, including the priestess, were staring at him moist-eyed.
“How much you did suffer,” Rocca said softly, “so much will our goddess reward you.”
“Never would I claim any reward, Your Holiness,” Salamander said. “The only thing I long for is