The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [86]
“It’s too bad the men don’t have somewhat like this to keep them busy,” Branna said. “I think I’d go mad if it weren’t for our sewing.”
“I’ve had that thought myself, dear, especially when we’d first moved out here, away from you and all my friends. The men do have their Carnoic and wooden wisdom games, but these days the gambling only seems to cause more trouble.”
“Truly. They need somewhat soothing, like.”
“Huh! No doubt they’d scorn anything quiet and peaceful.” Galla turned thoughtful. “But you know, you’ve given me an idea. I’ll suggest it to your uncle tonight.”
At breakfast on the morrow, after everyone had eaten, Cadryc stood up and yelled for silence. Once he had it, he smiled broadly all round.
“What about this, lads?” Cadryc said. “We’ll have a tournament to pass the time. I’ll send a messenger to Lord Pedrys, to see if he cares to bring some of his best men to join in. Wooden blades and wicker shields, lads, and the winner gets a silver penny from the high king’s bounty. Gerran and Mirryn will judge the combats, though I’m hoping they’ll put on an exhibition, like, when the rest of the fights are over.”
The men cheered him. Galla, sitting across from Branna at table, winked at her. All through the great hall, the talk picked up as the wagering got under way. Even though no one knew yet which fighters would face off with whom, apparently everyone already had their favorites.
“That was a splendid idea of yours, my dear,” Cadryc said with a nod Galla’s way. “Where’s my scribe got to? I want to get Pedrys’ invitation on its way.”
“I’ll fetch him, Uncle.” Branna rose and curtsied. “I overheard him say that he’d be gathering feathers for pens.”
“My thanks, child.” Cadryc turned to Galla. “Do you think we should invite that blasted young cub of a gwerbret?”
“We should,” Galla said. “And why not, since most likely he won’t come.”
Branna left them discussing the matter and hurried away, leaving by the back door of the hall. Out in the sun the day had already turned hot. As she made her way through the various sheds clustering in the ward, she could hear the geese honking and hissing. She found them at last in the kitchen garden, where they were snatching up snails and insects, pausing only to squabble among themselves. On the far side of the garden the goosegirl stood talking with Neb, who had already gathered two good handfuls of long feathers.
She was a pretty thing, dark-haired Palla, wearing only a single gray dress, torn at the neckline. She was alternately giggling and simpering as Neb told her some long involved tale. Branna walked a little closer, but before she could hear what they were saying, the geese saw her and gave the alarm. One old gander charged her, his head low, his clipped wings flapping. Branna stepped to one side and gave him a kick that sent him tumbling.
“You’d better tend your charges, lass,” Branna snapped. “They’re getting a bit above themselves.”
Palla blushed scarlet. She mumbled something conciliatory, but the look in her eyes flashed pure anger. Branna glanced Neb’s way, then walked off, heading toward the broch. In a few moments Neb caught up with her.
“Now who’s jealous?” Neb said with a smug smile.
“Huh,” Branna said. “I suppose you think I care about that flea-bitten lass. Talk with her all you want.”
“I was just telling her the sort of feathers I need for my pens.” Neb held them up. “It’s the ones with a good stout shaft. The thin ones don’t hold up well when you cut all the feathering off them.” He grinned again. “You looked jealous to me.”
“And what if I was?”
“Well, what indeed?”
“Oh, this is silly! Of course I was jealous. A bit. Just a little bit, mind. Well, actually, I wanted to