A Man Rides Through (25 page)

He baffled her a bit. "What makes you sure?"

He indicated the house with a lift of one shoulder. "You were in the room with the Domne," he explained, "and now he's taking a nap. He trusts you. So you must be all right. You aren't the reason Geraden's unhappy."

Minick's confidence was so unjustified that Terisa felt compelled to say, "It's probably more complicated than that. Sometimes I think I
am
the reason he's unhappy—sort of. I have a lot to do with a lot of things that hurt him."

"No." Minick shook his head mildly. "It isn't complicated. You're like him. He always thinks things are complicated. But they aren't. Important things are simple. He needs somebody to love him. That's simple. The Domne trusts you. That's simple. So now I can be glad to meet you, when I wasn't sure before."

Unexpectedly, she found herself relaxing. "I guess you're right."

A world of difficulties apparently evaporated when Minick touched them. "I hadn't thought of it that way.

"Let's go see Geraden."

"Oh, no." Minick became suddenly serious. "That isn't what he wants. He's too busy." For a second, the brown man almost shuddered. "When he gets like this, he yells at people a lot. He thinks they're fast. He's fast, and he thinks they are, too. But they aren't fast. They're just farmers and shepherds. They're like me. They like having things explained to them."

The thought of Geraden ranting with impatience was so incongruous that Terisa nearly laughed aloud. At the same time, it gave her a pang. Poor man, he must be almost out of his mind. Deliberately, she controlled herself. "I don't understand. I thought you said he sent you to get me."

Minick nodded. "He did. I thought he was just making an excuse to send me away. But since you're glad to be here I guess I was wrong.

"He sent me to show you around. The Domne can't walk very far, and Tholden is too busy, and Quiss prefers to stay at home with Ruesha. Geraden said, 'She likes tours. She might like a tour of Houseldon.' So I came to get you."

Terisa accepted the suggestion, despite the vexed spirit in which Geraden had probably made it. She understood how he felt. And she wanted to see more of Houseldon. She suspected—in an entirely uncritical way—that there wasn't a great deal to see. On the other hand, if Master Eremis launched an attack soon, she might need to know everything she could learn about the Domne's seat.

Giving Minick a smile which would have astonished Reverend Thatcher—or her father—she went with him to explore Houseldon.

In fact, there was more to see in Houseldon than she had expected. At any rate, Minick thought there was a great deal to see. And he liked to see it all thoroughly, with an attention to detail which was both loving and analytical. For instance, Houseldon contained no less than three livery stables, to accommodate the numbers of people who came here from all over the Care, as well as from other regions of Mordant. Each of these was exactly what it claimed to be: a place where horses were left and cared for while their masters transacted business, visited relatives, appealed for justice, pursued crafts or apprenticeships. Yet to Minick each was worth looking at closely; each had virtues and drawbacks which required evaluation; each prospered or declined according to factors which he took pains to understand.

And he was a motherlode of information. He knew exactly where all the drainage pipes had been laid, and when, and how many square yards of leachfield they required. He knew who had first conceived the idea of trussing the eaves-thatch of the roofs with
that
particular kind of binding, and why it was superior to the way eaves-thatch used to be trussed. He knew where Houseldon's supplies of tallow came from, and how long they would last in an emergency. And he knew every child he saw by name, parentage, and predilection for mischief.

In a short time, Terisa realized that she had only two choices. She could cut off the tour now, before he drove her to distraction. Or she could relax and let him do whatever he wanted. With him there wasn't any middle ground.

Well, that fit, she mused. In their separate ways, Geraden, Artagel, and Nyle were all intolerant of middle ground. Wester was said to be a fanatic about wool. Stead couldn't keep his hands off women. Geraden had called Tholden
a compulsive fertilizer.
The Domne himself had given up on middle ground when he first met King Joyse. Why should Minick be any different?

Just for a minute, she considered stopping him—telling him that she had had enough, going her own way. But then she noticed that in his company she did very little except smile; he filled her alternately with amusement and affection. He was perfectly capable of distinguishing precisely between good workmanship and bad, sensible husbandry and careless, forethought and its absence; but he liked everybody around him; he loved the details he expounded for her. The more he talked, the more gentle and companionable he seemed. And the more she listened, the more she could feel her tensions and fears going to sleep.

Instead of stopping, she relaxed and let him give her the whole tour.

As a result, the day seemed to evaporate the way complexities did when he analyzed them. He began showing her around a little before noon—and then the shadows were slanting toward late afternoon, and her legs hurt gently with so much walking and standing, and her boots had rubbed a sore place onto one of her toes, and her heart was full of rest for the first time since she could remember.

Minick wasn't just amusing, likable, and meticulous: he was a healer. Somewhere in Houseldon, she knew, preparations were being made for battle—but they didn't come near him; he seemed to carry peace with him wherever he went. Now, she thought, all she needed was one really good night's sleep, and then she would be ready to start thinking again.

So when he brought her back to the Domne's house and started to say good-bye, she didn't want him to leave. "Where are you going?" she asked to forestall him.

This time his grin was shy in a new way, self-conscious about things which hadn't come up before. "I like to go home before supper," he murmured, "and play with the children for a while. It gives their mother a chance to cook. And it uses up some of their energy so they go to bed more easily."

The thought of this earnest brown man playing with his children delighted her—and reminded her that during the whole afternoon he hadn't said anything personal about himself or his life. Maybe he would have considered it presumptuous to talk about himself. Impulsively, because he had done her so much good and hadn't asked her for anything, she leaned forward and thanked him with a quick kiss.

His eyes widened; he stared at her for a moment. Then he ducked his head as if he were blushing.

"I think I'm not going to tell my wife you did that," he said softly. "She might not be pleased." It was obvious that he was enormously pleased. "I like her to be pleased. She's the only other woman who's ever been so patient with me.

"Good-bye, Terisa."

After he left, she went up the steps, across the porch, and into the bustle of Quiss' cooking. Her cheeks ached from smiling so much. Clearly, those muscles needed the exercise.

The scene in the front room stopped her as soon as she came through the doorway.

Quiss was stirring what looked like enough stew to feed half of Houseldon. Her cheeks were red from heat and exertion; sweat made her hair stick to the sides of her face in streaks. Behind her, servants clattered around the room, setting platters, utensils, and pitchers on the table, bringing pots and tureens and trays from a back kitchen Terisa hadn't seen—and talking to each other loudly through the din. The Domne and Tholden sat together at the end of the table, discussing something intently, raising their voices to make themselves heard. In one corner of the room, a boy perhaps fifteen years old and a girl somewhat younger were arguing hotly; but the only part of their discussion Terisa could make out was the part that went: Did so. Did not. Did so! Did not! Another boy, this one no older than eight or nine, sat near Tholden trying to sharpen a wooden sword with a piece of tile for a whetstone. A third, still-younger boy used a stick the size of a club to experiment with the resonant qualities of a tin washbasin.

For a second, the clamor seemed so intimidating—so at odds with the peace inside her—that Terisa almost turned away. Nothing in her life with her parents, or in her life alone, had prepared her for a home where people acted like this.

But then Quiss raised her head, saw Terisa, and smiled.

Quiss' pleasure changed the meaning of the din altogether. Or changed the way Terisa saw it. All this noise and activity wasn't angry, distressed, or alarmed, didn't represent pain: it was just loud. As soon as Quiss smiled, Terisa knew that Tholden's wife was in her element, flourishing precisely because her family and her household were so busy, so noisy; so full of themselves and each other. And then Terisa understood that the tumult was just another form of peace—hot and hectic, of course; not particularly restful to a novice like herself; but completely without fear.

Smiling back at Quiss, she came forward to meet the noise.

"I understand you spent the afternoon with Minick." Quiss was nearly shouting, but Terisa could hardly hear her. "The whole afternoon? Letting him show you around?"

Terisa nodded.

"Good for you. I knew I liked you as soon as I saw you. He's your friend for life. Most people aren't willing to listen to him that long."

"They ought to give it a try." Terisa tried to speak loudly enough to be audible. "He's nice."

It was Quiss' turn to nod. "Fortunately, his nieces and nephews dote on him." She indicated the children at the other end of the room. "I mean, fortunately for them.

"If his wife weren't so shy, he'd be here tonight. I know it saddens him sometimes that he can't spend more time with us. But I think the poor woman panics every time she sets foot outside her house." Quiss started to laugh, but Terisa couldn't hear what her laughter sounded like through the noise. "They must have had a rousing courtship."

Terisa grinned again, then raised her hands to rub the muscles in her cheeks.

A serving woman appeared in front of her, carrying a foaming tankard on a tray. "Do you like ale? My husband brews for the Domne. You won't find a better ale in the Care."

"Thanks." Terisa didn't know anything about ale, but she knew she was thirsty; she accepted the tankard and sampled it. The serving woman watched her while she discovered that the ale had a bite which wasn't quite sour, wasn't quite bitter, but which seemed to be both. After a second taste, however, the flavor had improved dramatically. Soon it became wonderful. She beamed her approval, and the serving woman went away delighted.

"Terisa!" Tholden gestured to her. She went over to him, and he pulled out a chair for her. "Sit down. I want to tell you what we're doing to get ready. Maybe you can think of something I've forgotten."

The Domne looked a little skeptical; he may have been sensitive to her general bewilderment. Nevertheless he nodded as if he also wanted to hear what she might say. At once, Tholden began to describe his specific arrangements for the possibility of battle.

She couldn't absorb them. In fact, she only heard every third word; the rest of his explanation was lost in a chorus directed at the Domne: Da, it's her fault, No, it's his fault, she did it first,
he
did it first! And she couldn't help noticing that even the Domne appeared more interested in the bickering of the children than in Tholden's preparations. Feeling vaguely irresponsible—but not enough to worry about it—she said once, "Maybe it'll be quieter after supper," then drank her ale and stopped trying to listen.

The chaos of getting supper ready seemed to approach a climax as an inner door burst open and a squall of children blew into the room. They were all about Ruesha's size and age—too many of them too close together in age to belong to any one family. Or any three families. They were all buck naked, full of glee, and glistening with water. And they were followed by Geraden, dripping copiously. He had a couple of towels in his hands, but they were too wet to be much use.

"Come back here, you little monsters!" he roared. "I'm going to towel you until your heads fall off!"

Squealing with delight, small, naked bodies scattered in all directions.

Terisa hadn't seen Geraden for most of the day. She looked at him eagerly, and saw at once that he was still clenched and dour, knotted inside himself. Perhaps for the sake of the children, however, he had pushed his hardness into the background. Or perhaps they elicited that response from him involuntarily: perhaps it was something they did for him, rather than he for them.