The Dog of the North (7 page)

Mistress Eulalia rapped the table. ‘Lord Guigot, I am sure you are all hungry. Lord Thaume has made his decision and that is that.’

Guigot shrugged. Siedra said: ‘My father has said that Arren will be a valuable friend and counsellor to Oricien when he becomes Lord of Croad.’

‘He needs no such counsellor,’ said Guigot. ‘I will be at his right hand, and the blood of Lord Gaucelis flows in both our veins.’

Oricien spoke quickly: ‘The Lord of Croad can never have too many counsellors. I will welcome Arren’s advice as I do Guigot’s.’

As they spoke servants had slipped into the room on noiseless feet to array a series of dishes before them.

‘Do not wait for us, Arren,’ said Siedra with a sharp-toothed smile. ‘Eat the stew while it is hot.’

Arren looked at the implements before him. Siedra’s hands were below the table and gave no clue as to which might be the proper choice.

‘The one to your right. It is called a spoon and retains the liquid while you convey it to your mouth,’ she said in a voice of unvanquishable superiority.

‘Although you may try the fork if you wish,’ crowed Guigot.

‘At home we use a hunk of bread,’ said Arren.

Siedra merely raised an eyebrow while Guigot demonstrated the use of the spoon on his own stew. Oricien gave them an inscrutable look but said nothing.

Arren watched the group as they ate. Siedra, her golden hair brushed out and hanging loose to her waist, conveyed her food to her mouth with a delicacy so exaggerated as to be almost comical; it
disappeared with scarcely a movement of her full red lips. Guigot seemed to care little for such refinement: the food was intended to assuage his hunger, and so it did with an avidity Arren found
almost alarming. Oricien ate as he spoke, with a restrained and unobtrusive elegance.

After a while Arren settled into a routine which was not uncongenial. The schoolroom was light and airy on the top floor of the castle, overlooking the bustle of the town and
the snow-capped Ferrant Mountains to the east. It was furnished with a spartan utility, desks and chairs of rough wood constructed with little concession to comfort or luxury. Around the walls were
hung representations of the Consorts and other reminders of the Way of Harmony, silent encouragement to diligence and application.

Lord Thaume had decreed that his wards should be instructed in a wider range of disciplines than the norm, and Arren found himself forced to apply his attention to subjects he might have
preferred to avoid. While ‘Preparation for Combat’, under the knight of Emmen, Sir Langlan, provided stimulation along with a complement of cuts and bruises, the lessons on
‘Etiquette and Deportment’, with the respectable Master Guiles, and ‘Finding the Way of Harmony’ under Viator Sleech remained at best tedious.

Arren remained indifferent to ‘History and Literature’, taught with a languid melancholy by the mysterious Lady Cerisa, and the obscure realm of ‘Mathematics’, outlined
by the earnest young scholar Master Coppercake.

‘Why must we learn to push and pull numbers to our will?’ Oricien asked Coppercake one morning. ‘I have learned to multiply a sum by six, and today I learn to multiply it by
seven. These rotes are worse than Sleech’s Catechism of the Way!’

Coppercake, a tall slender man in his early twenties with neither birth nor fortune to commend him, merely laughed. ‘Can anyone answer Lord Oricien’s question? Lady Siedra, do you
know why we turn our attention to such matters?’

‘No, master,’ said Siedra, who showed animation only in Guiles’s and Cerisa’s lessons.

Guigot interjected with a didactic shake of the finger. ‘One day, through whatever quirk of fate, Oricien will be Lord of Croad. How will he be able to rule if he cannot work out whether
his taxes balance his spending, or the size of the dowry he can give his daughter, or how many troops he can spare King Arren?’

Coppercake nodded in approval. ‘Very good, Guigot. Mathematics is not a subject of dry rote and meaningless complexity: it is the most robust and practical of disciplines. Lady Siedra, I
am sure Master Guiles has taught you it is impolite to yawn when someone is addressing you, and even to you mathematics has relevance and application. When you marry, your noble lord may make you a
monthly allowance. How many new gowns will that afford you? Only mathematics will take you to the answer.’

Siedra briefly removed her attention from the world beyond the window. ‘I will not marry a man who stints me such necessities.’

‘And you, Arren. Can you see the value of our studies?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Arren. ‘A man who does not command the revenues of a city must learn to weigh his florins with exactitude, or he will find he cannot afford to fill his
belly.’

‘Correct!’ said Coppercake. ‘Now that we all see the applications of the subject, we will turn our attention to multiplication by seven. You were all asked to learn the rote
yesterday. Lady Siedra, what are eight sevens?’

‘Fifty-four.’

‘Guigot?’

‘Fifty-six, sir.’

‘Hmmph,’ sniffed Siedra. ‘Approximation is normally good enough.’

3

Lady Siedra was excused, for obvious reasons, from ‘Preparation for Combat’, but the three boys rushed to the lesson with unmatched enthusiasm. They scampered
down the stairs, pushing and laughing, to where Sir Langlan awaited them in the muddy courtyard. Sir Langlan was something of a mystery to the children. He dressed with precision and flair, and
carried the air of court about him.

‘Good morning, young sirs!’ called Sir Langlan. ‘Today we have a double lesson, and Lady Siedra will be joining us for the latter part.’

‘Are we having a mock tournament?’ cried Arren. ‘Are we fighting for the favour of the fair lady?’

Guigot snorted. ‘We would need to find one for that to occur. I shall not be exerting myself to win Siedra’s approval.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ said Oricien with a scowl, pushing his face into Guigot’s.

‘Enough, gentlemen,’ said Sir Langlan, lounging on a wooden bench as if it were a court chaise. ‘Lord Guigot, your cousins are worthy of greater respect. In any event, we are
not conducting a tournament; this evening’s programme will come as a surprise.

‘Now, let us begin: Lord Guigot, which parts of the body are most important to a swordsman?’

‘The head and the feet, sir. The feet must be nimble and the head still. All else follows from this.’

‘Good, you remember the lesson. Today we are moving on to the rapier, where the Dictum of Head and Feet is most important of all. Lord Oricien, why do we learn the rapier when the
broadsword is the weapon of war?’

Oricien furrowed his brow and looked at the ground before his eyes brightened.

‘The rapier is the gentleman’s weapon, sir. We use it for duels and other contests of honour.’

‘In addition,’ said Arren, ‘if the rapier requires the most skill to master, other weapons will be simpler to learn.’

‘Excellent, Arren. You and Oricien will fight first today. Oricien and Guigot must cool their resentments awhile.’

Guigot leaned against the wall and scowled. ‘Why can Arren fight and I must watch? I am of higher birth than Arren and it is imperative that I learn immediate mastery of the
gentleman’s weapon.’

‘Again, Lord Guigot, your sentiments do you no credit. All of you are taught alike, and Arren receives a gentleman’s education as much as you. In addition, you can learn a great deal
from observation.’

With that, Sir Langlan tossed Arren and Oricien wooden rapiers and made occasional comments as they lunged at each other. ‘Arren, move your feet! You are a sitting target. Oricien, you
must do more than parry!’

Arren surged forward with abandon, and Oricien was forced to give ground. But as he moved in to touch Oricien on the chest, he found his quarry gone, and felt a tap at his own ribs.

‘Excellent, Oricien!’ called Sir Langlan. ‘Arren, you move only in a straight line. By using his feet, Oricien is able to step aside and in a single movement catch you. Why?
Because your movements are predictable. Again, this time with Lord Guigot.’

Guigot presented Arren with a different challenge. He leaped into the attack from the outset, arms flailing and feet stamping. A year older and taller than Arren, his longer reach also presented
problems. It was all Arren could do to keep him at bay.

The Dictum of Head and Feet, thought Arren. Guigot’s feet may be moving, but so is his head. Arren essayed a sidestep as Oricien had done. Guigot continued his lunge, and as he attempted
to pull back, overbalanced and fell to the ground. Arren placed his foot on Guigot’s chest and his wooden rapier at his throat. ‘You must yield, Lord Guigot.’

Guigot rolled aside and jumped up. He brushed the mud from his breeches with a disdainful hand. ‘You were lucky that I fell over, boy.’

Sir Langlan said: ‘On the contrary, Lord Guigot. Your head moved in circles. It is no wonder your balance is questionable. Arren showed a modicum of foot movement, and this was sufficient
to topple you.’

Guigot scowled back at Sir Langlan and spat in the mud.

‘Allow me to observe, Lord Guigot, that you exhibit a belligerent disposition. I am not Viator Sleech, to explain how this blocks your path to Harmony: but as your combat instructor, I
will observe that those of contentious dispositions are more likely to find themselves duelling than those of milder temper. You, more than others, should therefore take care to ensure that your
swordplay is beyond reproach.’

4

Once their lesson had finished, Siedra joined the boys, carrying herself with fastidious precision. Guigot was still sullen and uncommunicative, although Sir Langlan
observed that his head had become more stable.

‘Tonight we have a rare experience ahead,’ said Sir Langlan as Arren looked on in anticipation. The knight was elegant in mustard pantaloons and shirt offset by a red cloak, his neat
blond beard trimmed and perfumed. ‘We shall be visiting a tavern, which should in itself prove educational, even before we take into account the display of the wondrous Illara.’

Arren was not convinced that Lord Thaume would view a visit to a bawdy tavern with approbation. He himself harboured no such concerns, and he ran on ahead with the others to reach the tavern in
good time.

There were three taverns in Croad, and Arren wondered why Sir Langlan chose to take them to The Hanged Raider, which was not regarded as the best of them. As Sir Langlan pushed through the door,
Arren looked into the gloom within while his nostrils recoiled from the sour smell of spirits.

‘Oh!’ cried Siedra. ‘Why have we come here? The room smells poorly and there are rogues within.’

Guigot grinned. Oricien looked around with no obvious emotion.

‘Sir Langlan!’ said Bardo, the innkeep. ‘Your custom is always welcome, particularly when you bring in new patrons. Beer for you, is it?’

‘A long pint for me, small beer for the lady and gentlemen. Their palates require a little coarsening. We are not too late for Illara, I hope?’

Bardo poured the mugs of beer. ‘Just in time, as it happens. She is loosening up out the back.’

‘Is “loosening” the right word, Bardo?’ said Sir Langlan, taking a long pull of his beer. ‘Bring me a jug to top this up over to the corner table, and a jug of
small beer too.’

Sir Langlan moved over to the corner table with a smooth motion, nodding and exchanging a few words with the other patrons as he did so. Arren could hear whispering as they walked past
‘—young Lord Oricien—’ ‘—would Lord Thaume say—?’ ‘—should know how his people live—’

Once in the gloom of the corner, attention soon left them. The table had an undefined stickiness and Arren was glad the dark precluded closer inspection. After a few minutes his nose became
accustomed to the smells of the tavern. The ‘small beer’ tasted foul, however, and he made note never to move on to ‘large beer’. Siedra had fastidiously set her mug aside
after a single sip, while Guigot grimaced as he quaffed his mug in two gulps. ‘Trenchant!’ he announced. Oricien sipped his beer with visible distaste, but continued to drink it
nonetheless.

Shortly after, Bardo scrambled on top of the bar: not a straightforward procedure, since he was not a lithe figure. ‘May I have your attention please!’ he called. ‘I may say,
without exaggeration, “lords, ladies and gentlemen”, since we have all in attendance in addition to our normal clientele. Tonight I am honoured to present a remarkable spectacle for
your delectation – one indeed suitable to set before any lord or lady of the city, or indeed King Arren himself!’

Arren felt himself an expert on the King’s tastes by virtue of their shared name, and was sceptical that the venue would be likely to earn the King’s favour.

‘I set before you,’ continued Bardo, inching dangerously close to the edge of the bar, ‘Illara and her Dancing Bravos!’

Applause met the announcement, and even stamping on the boards from one corner of the room. From a room in the back of the tavern, four men in black pantaloons, loose white shirts and red sashes
issued forth. Rapiers hung at their waists. These could only be the ‘Dancing Bravos’. Then, after a suitable pause, appeared a woman in similar attire, although somewhat tighter at the
haunch, waist and breast. Her red hair was confined in a fillet on top of her head. The hooting that went up from the crowd confirmed that this was Illara. Guigot attempted a wolf-whistle, but
emitted only a squeak.

From beside the bar a musician began a jig on the fanfarillo. The Dancing Bravos pulled their rapiers from their sheaths and began to swirl them in complex patterns: Illara herself waved her
arms and swayed in a dreamy rhythm. Imperceptibly she moved in towards the swords, seemingly oblivious. Arren became concerned that she might be endangering herself, but as he opened his mouth to
call a warning, Oricien nudged him in the ribs. ‘It’s part of the act,’ he hissed.

Soon Illara was leaping with abandon as the swords crisscrossed above, behind, below. How could anyone move with such precision? wondered Arren.

Faster and faster the fanfarillo played; faster and faster the rapiers whirled, and closer and closer to the leaping Illara. Then the music began to slow; Illara too slowed to match the rhythm.
Eventually the fanfarillo ceased altogether. Illara came to a halt, bowed low to the ground, and threw her arms wide to the audience.