The Last Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (40 page)

“You know I do. Are you going to be good for Padraig?”

“Kerrin’ll be the one looking after that old fool,” Devlin said with a snort.

“Watch who you are calling names, or I might get it in mind to give you an extra nose. Perched just above your arse,” Padraig said, pushing past him into the room.

Kerrin immediately brightened and laughed and Fallon wondered how the old drunkard could make his son happy when he could not. It did not seem right, but he did not know how to change things.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine,” Padraig told him.

It was a strange thing to think but Fallon could not help feeling that the sack of Baltimore had been good for the old wizard. He had not drunk anything in days and that, as well as the good food, had filled him out. His eyes looked clearer and he was making more sense with every new day. It was as if he knew he had to step up and help.

“Will you get out of the room? I need to get dressed,” he told them.

“Hark at the Prince’s man. All ready to go eat with the King? Make sure you slip some of the silverware into your pocket and bring me a bag of treats,” Padraig said.

“Me too!” Kerrin said, Caley barking her agreement.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Fallon said. “If you all get out!”

A few turns of the hourglass later, he was wondering at his light-hearted talk about stealing spoons and pocketing treats. The dinner was like nothing he had ever expected.

It had started normally enough, with guests being shown into the banquet room in strict order of importance. Fallon had found that amusing, seeing the minor nobles bickering among each other and complaining to the King’s Chamberlain Regan that they deserved to wait longer, rather than be taken in early. After seeing what they wore in the throne room, he suspected their clothes would be indulgent, but he was shocked by just how ridiculous they were. Their outfits made the richness of their daytime clothes look like pieces of sacking worn by peasants. Many wore feathers in their hair, while they dripped with even more jewels, each of them enough to feed a family for a moon. And the women were dressed even more outrageously. They alternated between jewels, gold, silks and flesh, lots of flesh. Fallon had ridden past plenty of whores over the years in the streets of Lunster, women who left little to the imagination because snaring another customer was the only way they and their children would eat that night. But even they would have been shocked by some of the things the younger women were wearing. Fallon had to look away because all that ripe flesh on offer only reminded him more sharply that Bridgit was lost to him. And the smell! If Caley the dog had been down there, she would probably have gone mad with it. Strange scents that fought each other and washed over all around them. He wanted to rage against them, tell them that children were starving tonight so they could have jewels hanging from parts of the body he never imagined could even be pierced.

“Highness, are these their wives?” he whispered.

Cavan gave him a strange look. “Fallon, their wives are back at their home counties. These are their mistresses.”

“And the King allows it?” Fallon asked indignantly.

“As you will see, he allows this and much more,” Cavan said ominously.

Fallon bit back on his anger as he watched the young women flirt with the overweight, greying dukes and earls. Was this how the nobles spent the taxes earned with such hard work by the people? A glance at Brendan and Gallagher told him they were thinking much the same thing and he forced himself to keep his anger under control.

“Save it all for later. Remember they will lose all this when Cavan comes to the throne,” he whispered and saw his friends take comfort from that. He wished he could. Cavan could change many things but he feared stopping the greed of these arseholes was not one of them.

At long last the chattering nobles were all inside and Regan nodded to Prince Cavan.

“Your brother is not eating with us tonight, so now it is time for you to enter, highness,” he said slowly and calmly.

Cavan nodded to Fallon, who led the way in. He, Gallagher and Brendan would take position behind Cavan’s chair, charged with watching him at all times, saying, eating and drinking nothing. They had eaten earlier and Fallon doubted the dishes would be to their taste anyway. He thought of Bridgit’s lamb stew with a sudden pang as he walked into the banquet room.

It took all his discipline not to react as he saw it properly for the first time. The throne room had been amazing with the way the vast space had been filled. The banquet room was smaller, which meant everything was closer and more overwhelming. Crystal glasses, silver spoons and knives, strange plates, huge silver decorations – everywhere he looked, money was on display. Everything from the huge chandeliers hanging from the ceiling to the stunning tapestries and rugs was there to stimulate the senses. And more than just the senses. Fallon held back a gasp as he saw several of the tapestries portrayed naked couples entwined in full detail, some of them in ways he had never imagined before.

The nobles ignored the three friends from Baltimore – they might as well have been furniture themselves – but the chairs scraped back as they stood for the Crown Prince.

Cavan took a seat of honor to the left of his father’s chair and stood behind it, while Fallon led Brendan and Gallagher further on until they were lined up in front of one of the obscene tapestries, looking down the wide table at two dozen grinning nobles.

The smiles began to wane, however, as the King kept everyone waiting. Fallon shifted slightly on his feet but many of the nobles were leaning on their chairs or the table, only to spring to attention when Regan rapped on the door.

“My lords and ladies, King Aidan of Gaelland!” he shouted.

They cheered as the King strode in, followed by Kelty and a handful of his guards. Kelty gave Fallon a cool nod of welcome as his men lined up alongside Brendan and the King took his seat.

“What are you standing for? Begin! I am hungry!” Aidan roared.

Almost before the last of the nobles had drawn back their chairs and sat down, servants came running in with food and drink. As each placed a jug of drink or a plate of food on the table, he bowed and backed away, letting others take his place.

Fallon had no idea what some of them were eating. One plate was filled with strange red creatures clad in some sort of armor, which had to be broken open with small hammers before the soft white flesh could be prised out. There were also tureens of meat swimming in yellow sauce, which gave off an unpleasant smell that made the eyes water.

But then things began to get even stranger.

The King picked up one of the red-armored creatures and smashed open the shell, sucking the contents into his mouth. A moment later he spat it out across the table.

“Revolting!” he pronounced. “How can you eat something that crunches like that? Something else!”

Instantly everyone eating that dish stopped, dropping what they had in their hands back onto plates as a new rush of servants appeared to take away all evidence of the dish that had offended the King.

“Wait!” Aidan commanded.

Servants froze in mid-step, plates held in their hands.

“Bring me the cook who made this up!” Aidan bawled.

Everyone waited in silence while the poor unfortunate was brought up from the kitchens, where he cowered in front of the King.

“What was that rubbish?” Aidan demanded.

“It is called lobster, sire,” the chef said nervously.

“I don’t like it!” the King shouted and hurled the lobster carcass at the chef.

The man covered up but it slammed into his shoulder and he cried out in pain.

“That’s more fun! Everyone do that!” Aidan roared.

Nobles eagerly grabbed bits of lobster and pelted them at the cook, who sobbed and wailed and covered up – although he did not dare run away – until the only one left was in the King’s hands. Aidan held it threateningly at the cook. “Where did this come from?” he demanded.

“A new dish from Kotterman, your majesty,” the cook said, sweat pouring down his face and pieces of lobster in his hair. “It is a delicacy there and Kottermanis have to train to go under the water in special suits to bring them out …”

“A dish from Kotterman, eh? Why didn’t you say so?” the King demanded. “We should all eat it.”

He returned to the table and broke open the lobster with the hammer and began scooping out the flesh while everyone watched.

“Delicious!” Aidan pronounced. “Why aren’t you all eating them?”

Next moment there was a rush as the nobles and their mistresses hurried to pick up chunks of lobster from the floor and put them back on plates.

“Better! Now clean up and bring me something else!” Aidan ordered.

The bruised cook slunk away while servants cleaned up and new dishes were brought in. Fallon was ready to storm forwards but an urgent look from Cavan reminded him of his promise to do nothing and say nothing, no matter what he witnessed. He had a feeling that was going to be a hard promise to keep.

The King busied himself with a plate of oysters and Fallon began to think things were calming down when a pair of servants got tangled up taking away one dish and presenting another, with some of the weird-smelling yellow sauce slopping into an over-dressed noble’s lap.

“How dare you? Do you know how much this cost? More than you earn in a year, you miserable worm!” the noble yelled.

As the servant backed away apologizing, the noble kicked out at him, knocking him over with a clatter of dropped dishes.

“What is that?” Aidan left his oysters and peered down the table.

Fallon relaxed a little, thinking the King was about to restore order, when Aidan surged to his feet.

“We don’t punish them like that!” he shouted.

Fallon nodded silent agreement.

“We do it properly. Form a gauntlet!”

Fallon exchanged horrified looks with Gallagher and Brendan.

“Come on, we haven’t got all day!” the King shouted and nobles tumbled out of their seats, hurrying to form two lines, some with nothing in their hands, others holding a variety of plates, bowls, cutlery and cups. Some of their mistresses joined them, also clutching cups and plates and laughing excitedly. Guards grabbed the terrified servant and dragged him to the head of the line.

“You have to get to me for the punishment to stop!” Aidan announced and the nobles roared agreement.

The guards dragged the man up and kicked him between the baying nobles. Instantly both sides punched at him, or tried to hit him with silver plates and cups, or jab him with forks. The servant reeled from side to side, hands covering his head, yelping and crying piteously with each fresh blow.

Fallon clenched his fists and forced himself to watch the progress of the servant. A swung plate glanced off his brow and a fine sprinkling of blood made the closest mistresses squeal with mock fear and excitement. The man staggered onwards, bruised and bleeding, blood from a dozen small wounds on his arms and back showing through his tunic. But the end of the line was close now and he tried to run, dodging a wild swing from a noble with a large silver jug. A cup was dented on his shoulder and a punch to the head sent him reeling, but he staggered to a stop in front of the King, panting and crying.

“You reached me, so your punishment stops,” Aidan said loudly, silencing the cheers of the nobles and their ladies.

The servant looked up hopefully, his arms dropping away from where they had covered his face.

Instantly the King stepped in, swinging a huge silver ladle, smashing it into the man’s face. Blood spurted as his nose and cheek were crushed and he dropped like a sack of potatoes to lie writhing weakly.

The King dropped the dented ladle onto the servant’s body. “Let that be a lesson to you all. Have the cost of that ladle taken out of his pay, then kick him out onto the streets,” he ordered his guards.

The moaning servant, his face a bloodied mess, was dragged out by his limp arms as the nobles and their ladies watched in silence.

“Next course! I feel hungry after that!” Aidan called and they cheered him and themselves, roaring their victory over a helpless, unarmed man.

White-faced servants rushed out, a little slower now, clearing away plates and placing new food and drink before the nobles.

It was warm in the hall but Fallon felt like ice inside.

As more and more wine was drunk, the nobles got even wilder. Servants had to time their approaches to the table carefully, as wine and food was sent in all directions. Two nobles got into an argument over something, shouting and hurling chunks of food at each other, being joined by others until nearly half the table was pelting each other with food.

“Enough!” Aidan finally roared, when an oyster flew too close to him. “Do it properly!”

The nobles seemed to know what he meant, for they scrambled out of their seats, forming a rough circle that enclosed the pair that had begun the fight. Those two then flew at each other with fists, swinging wildly and being shoved back into the fight if they tried to back away and struck the circle. Neither was a good fighter and both eventually slumped to the ground in exhaustion, to the boos of their fellows.

They were left there to rejoin the table as even stranger dishes came out. Fallon was familiar with honey cakes – a favorite of Kerrin’s – but he had never seen anything like this. Strange mountains of sugared confections, dyed in a variety of colors that stained teeth and even faces of those that ate them.

“The latest delicacies from Kotterman!” the King explained, stuffing a handful into his mouth.

The laughter had grown even louder and the faces even redder and Fallon thought that had to be the end of the revolting display. Surely most of them would fall asleep or collapse soon.

“Wait! Who is that?” Aidan pointed down the table.

Silence fell and heads swiveled to see him picking out one of the young ladies, her face red from drink, jewels hanging from her ears and a dress of red silk slashed down the front almost to her waist, allowing those around her to peek at her breasts when she leaned forwards to take something from the table.