The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [92]
“I had a rather sad letter from Solla of Cengarn,” Galla said. “It’s really time for her brother to marry, and she was wondering if she could have a place here as one of my servingwomen after he did. She seems convinced that she’ll be unwelcome in his dun.”
“Oh, please!” Omaena rolled her eyes. “She probably will be, but I’ll wager that’s not why she wrote to you.”
“What?”
Omaena smirked, then helped herself to more watered wine before she continued. “It’s your husband’s captain,” Omaena said. “The poor lass is absolutely besotted with Gerran, common-born or not.”
“She is?” Branna could feel herself grinning. “How wonderful!”
Omaena turned in her chair and gave her a puzzled look while Galla stifled a laugh.
“It seemed to me,” Omaena said, rather stiffly, “that the situation was more difficult than wonderful.”
“Truly?” Branna arranged her best vacuous expression. “I was just thinking that true love’s always so splendid.”
“I suppose that at your age I would have thought the same,” Omaena said. “May I have another of those little cakes, Galla dear? I seem to be so hungry these days.”
Branna returned to her mending with a sense of deep relief. She had never wanted to break anyone’s heart, much less Gerran’s, whom she’d known and liked all her life. With a beauty like Solla to console him, his heart would doubtless remain in one piece. I want to marry Neb, she thought. There! I’ve put it into words.
The morning of the tourney dawned clear and hot. Servants carried benches and chairs for the ladies and Tieryn Cadryc down to the meadow behind the dun and set them up at the head of the marked contest ground. The men in the warbands sat on the ground along the sides, though well back from the ribands in case one of the fighters came crashing through. Thanks to Lord Veddyn’s great age, his bench had a back, and Neb had brought a cushion for the chamberlain to sit upon.
When Neb sat down next to Veddyn, Branna made sure to get her chair placed beside his bench and on his side of it, too. Omaena sat next to her, but fortunately she was in the middle of an earnest conversation with Galla about, of course, babies. Neb grinned at Branna and slid over until they were but a few feet apart.
Branna had seen so many of these mock combats over the years that they profoundly bored her. They all followed the same pattern: the men of the warband would pair off, then fight, one pair at a time, with wooden sword and wicker shield till one combatant made three touches on the other. The winners of the first round formed new pairs and so on until only one pair was left for the final round. During this predictable course of action, the riders wagered furiously before each combat, then yelled and cheered their favorites on during them.
After the first round had run its course, Gerran brought out his pages and introduced them to the assembled warbands. While the men who were going to fight in the second round rested, the two older pages, Coryn and Clae, showed off what they’d been learning. The boys carried small wooden swords and cut down wicker shields, and each wore a little helm, again made of wicker, to protect their young heads.
The lads faced off, then began to spar, though they swung and banged on each other with a lot more enthusiasm than skill. The men in the warbands laughed and jeered, but always in the most friendly way possible. Branna noticed Neb watching with real interest and cheering his brother on. The two lads seemed evenly matched, and they also seemed ready to lunge and swing all afternoon. Gerran, however, decided when they’d had enough and stepped in between them.
“I declare the match a draw,” Gerran said. “Well done, lads!”
When the warbands cheered them, they both blushed and ran off the field. Branna watched them for a moment as they pulled off their helms and piled them up with their swords and shields. Gerran strolled over to Neb.
“Your brother’s doing well,” Gerran said.
“Splendid!” Neb said. “I’ve not seen him this happy in some years. He never wanted to take up our father’s craft. I