Two Heirs (The Marmoros Trilogy Book 1) (24 page)

Rachel was more difficult. Not having yet achieved her full height, most of the dresses in Teresa’s wardrobe were too long and trailed across the floor. Finally, at the back of the wardrobe, they found an emerald green dress with lacy bodice and sleeves which Teresa had last worn two or three years earlier. It was only slightly too long and the girls attempted to remedy that problem by finding Rachel a pair of shoes with a raised heel. Teresa explained that they had been all the rage at court a couple of seasons ago and she had bought them from a merchant who assured her he had come directly from the High Court itself. The trouble was Rachel had never worn anything like that before and teetered precariously around the bedroom to the huge amusement of the other two.

Eventually, after a lot more practice, the trio of young ladies went in to supper no more than ten minutes late, which was an achievement in itself. The conversation that had been in full flow, died away to an absolute silence as everybody stared in amazement at the transformation that had been wrought. The men all rose to their feet together but it was Angelo who spoke first.

“Ladies, you look simply wonderful. To eat supper in the company of such beauty will be the greatest pleasure. Please join us at the table.”

Zak smiled at them and went over to kiss his beautiful wife and seat her at his side. Seeing that, Seb also went to greet the ladies but somewhat to Rachel’s surprise he walked straight past her and offered to seat Teresa at the table. Feeling a little flustered, Rachel stood there, swaying slightly on her heels until Josep and Angelo both offered an arm to escort her to the table.

The meal stretched on through the evening with easy conversation flowing backwards and forwards across the table. Rachel joined in happily, chattering about all sorts of subjects and even Seb was drawn from his usual quietness to retell, at Teresa’s pleading, the story of his uncle Symon.

“So, Rachel,” Angelo asked jovially. “Tell us your story. How did you come to join up with this family of miscreants?”

Now it was Rachel’s turn to fall silent as all eyes turned on her. Even Josep and Agnes listened with interest as neither of them had managed to worm this story out of her before.

“It’s not much of a story really,” she said eventually. “I met Josep and his family on the road one day. Actually it was at a junction of two roads. I didn’t know which road to take, so I asked Josep and then just sort of tagged along. The family have been very kind to me,” she added in a rush. “I owe them a lot.”

“You owe us nothing,” Agnes said quickly. “As we have told you many times, my dear. Whatever we have given you has been repaid twice over by the pleasure your company has given us.”

“Quite right,” Josep added and Zak and Beth murmured their agreement.

“But where are your family?” Angelo continued. “I don’t think you are Lyenar, are you? Where do you come from? How did you come to be on the road that day?”

“Angelo,” Maria broke in, catching a warning glance from Agnes. “Don’t pester the child with so many questions. Honestly, men! They need to have everything spelled out for them and set down in black and white.”

“That’s the basis of a good contract, my dear. There’s many a contract has failed through ignorance of a small detail. But you’re right and I apologise to you, young lady. I was being a bad host. You do not have to say any more.”

“No, it’s alright really,” Rachel replied. “It’s just that I don’t normally talk about it. My mother died when I was born and I never knew my father. I was brought up by my grandfather who looked after me and taught me to be a trader. Travelling around from town to town, buying and
selling, is the only life I’ve ever known.”

She fell silent again and, as nothing more appeared to be forthcoming, Angelo changed the subject before the silence could become uncomfortable.

“So tell me, old friend. What are you carrying on those wagons of yours? How can I help you tomorrow?”

“As your men have undoubtedly already informed you, most of what we have on the wagons is food; sacks of grain, salted meat, jars of honey and mead and a couple of jars of spiced fruit.”

“Well I will take the spiced fruit off your hands,” Angelo said. “I will pay you the best price you will get anywhere in the town. For the rest, we will do the rounds in the morning and see what sort of price we can negotiate.”

“If you would like the fruit, my friend, you can have one jar as a gift and pay me for the other. And Agnes does have a couple of bolts of a very fine damask which Maria may be interested in looking at. But mostly we are here to restock. Once we have sold the food, we will be looking to buy whatever is available to take on with us.”

“Nothing could be easier, old friend. Tomorrow we will make the merchants of Puerto Reis suffer. Well, all the other merchants that is.”

***

The next day dawned bright and clear and, after an early breakfast, Josep, Zak and Rachel took the wagons and followed Angelo down to the quayside. They had unloaded the damask and a few boxes of trinkets and Agnes stayed behind to go through them with Maria. Teresa was despatched on some errands for her mother and Beth volunteered to accompany her and see something of the city, much to the disappointment of Seb, who had been hoping to accompany Teresa himself.

He lounged around the house for a while but, finding nothing to amuse himself there, he went to ask Maria for directions to the nearest weapon smith.

“You’d probably have done better to have asked Angelo,” she replied, “but I believe the best weapons master is Sergio Ramirez. If you go back down the street past the goldsmiths to the main square and then cross the square diagonally to your right, there is a street running along the bank of the river close to the castle gate. There are several weapon shops there but I believe I’ve heard Angelo say that Sergio Ramirez is the best.”

Seb thanked her and let himself out through the gates onto the street. Puerto Reis was by far the largest city he had ever seen as Uncle Symon had hated crowds and tried to avoid crowded places whenever possible. Some of his uncle’s feelings surfaced in Seb as he looked down the goldsmiths’ street towards the square. Although it was not a full market day, there seemed to be more stalls in the square and many more people wandering around

To calm his nerves, he walked slowly past the goldsmiths, pausing to look at some of the trinkets on display but there was nothing there that he could even remotely afford. Besides he was very conscious of the lightness of his purse. Until he would see Josep that evening, he would not even have his share of the profits from the trip. When he reached the edge of the square, he paused for a moment to take a deep breath and then struck out in the direction Maria had given him.

He threaded his way through the crowd until he reached the drawbridge spanning the sluggish looking river outside the castle gates. Several streets converged from both left and right at that corner of the square and he peered down each one in turn until he spotted the shield and crossed swords of a weapon smith.

As Maria had said, there were four weapon shops side by side in the street overlooking the river and Seb was wondering how to find which was which until he noticed a small bronze plaque to the side of the door bearing the name of the master smith. The shop of Sergio Ramirez was the
third one in the rank and Seb stopped to take another deep breath before stepping inside into the gloom of the shop.

Inside the shop there were racks of weapons of every description all along one wall, stretching right to the back of the shop. On the other wall shields of all different shapes and sizes were pinned to the wall above pieces of armour ranging from helmets, breastplates,
vambraces
and greaves to full suits of plate armour displayed on stands. To the rear of the shop was an opening leading to the main workshop and in front of that, a bored looking apprentice sat at a bench, polishing a sword.

He looked up as Seb entered and started to rise but, after a swift appraisal of Seb’s travel stained clothing, he sat himself down again.

“Yes?” he enquired after a sufficiently rude number of seconds.

“I’m looking for a sword,” Seb replied.

“Well you won’t find one here. Not that
you
can afford anyway. Try one of the other shops.”

“I was told the shop of Sergio Ramirez was the best weapon shop in town.”

“It is the best. Which is precisely why you can’t afford it. Go away.”

“How do you know what I can afford?” Seb answered hotly. “And I wouldn’t want one of your rotten weapons anyway.”

Seb turned to go just as a man walked out from the rear workshop and cuffed the apprentice hard across the back of his head. “Wait,” the man said. “I can’t afford to have anyone walk out of my shop saying my weapons are ‘rotten’.”

Seb flushed from his neck to the tips of his ears but managed to make a small bow.

“I’m sorry, Master Ramirez. I didn’t mean to insult you or your weapons. It was just that…”

“Yes I know.” He looked down at the apprentice who was still rubbing the back of his head. “Get out of here. I will serve this customer.

“Now, what can I do for you, young sir?”

“I was looking for a sword, Master Ramirez. But not a fancy sword.
I want a working sword with good balance and one that will take and keep an edge.”

Ramirez’s eyebrows went up a notch. “I see. You know something about swords then, young sir.”

“I’m not an expert but I know what my uncle taught me.”

“Hm. I’m afraid I don’t have much that would suit you. Most of the swords I have here would be too long and too heavy for you.”

“Yes I know. Uncle Symon said that I would need one sword now and another when I reach my full height and strength.”

“Symon? Would that be Symon Waterson?”

“Yes sir. He was my uncle.”

“Was, you say. I take it then that he is no longer with you?”

“No sir. He was killed about a month ago. Did you know him sir?”

“No, unfortunately I never met him. But if you’re Symon Waterson’s boy then I may have something for you after all. Wait here.”

He disappeared into the rear workshop and reappeared a few moments later bearing a long slender bundle wrapped in a soft cloth. He laid the bundle on the bench and carefully unwrapped the cloth to reveal a plain, unadorned three quarter length sword.

“A merchant came through here about three months ago bearing a commission from your uncle. He asked me to make a three quarter length sword suitable for somebody of your size and build. I was to put it by and keep it until called for. Would you like to try it?”

“Would I.” Seb reached out and carefully lifted the sword, feeling the balance in his hand. He tried a few practice swings. “It’s absolutely beautiful and the balance is perfect. Uncle Symon let me practice with his sword sometimes. It was a good sword; too heavy for me of course but I
don’t think the balance was a good as this.”

Ramirez smiled as Seb replaced the sword on the cloth. “I’m glad you like it but there was a condition that came with the commission. Your uncle said that if he was unable to collect it himself, I was to give it to nobody but you and I was only to let you have it if I was satisfied that you knew how to handle it.”

“How do you mean, sir?”

“He meant, I think, that I have to be satisfied that you are responsible enough to go around carrying a sword without feeling the need to wave it in people’s faces all the time but that, if you do need to draw it, you would know how to use it without getting yourself killed.”

“I don’t need to show off, Master Ramirez and I do know how to defend myself but I’m not sure what I can do to prove it to you.”

“I think I’m happy enough on the first point and, as for the second, well there is a practice court out behind the workshop and I have some practice blades. Will you take a bout with me?”

“I would be honoured, sir.”

Ramirez led the way through the workshop and out into the practice square, to the surprise of several apprentices, including the one who had been so rude to him.

“There’s a rack of practice blades over there,” he said, pointing to one of the corners. “Go and choose the one that you feel happiest with.”

Seb went through the entire rack before selecting the one that was closest to his new sword. The balance was not quite as good but the length and weight were similar. He turned towards the centre of the square to find Ramirez waiting patiently for him, his own blade already in his hand.

They touched blades and began to circle each other, both threatening a few dummy attacks, looking for any weakness or a way through the other’s guard. Then Ramirez launched a full scale attack with a flurry of blows that had Seb defending furiously as he was driven half way across the square. When the onslaught eased a little, he tried a counter attack of his own that drove Ramirez back a pace or two but the master sword smith was clearly a master swordsman as well.

Seb was forced to defend far more than he was able to counter attack but he managed to avoid taking any direct hits until right at the very end when he was starting to tire. A new move from Ramirez that he had not seen before, suddenly sent his blade spinning away and he found himself flat on his back with the master’s blade at his throat. There was a ragged chorus of cheers and applause from the apprentices who had gathered to watch the fight and Ramirez rounded on them furiously.

“Get back to work,” he snarled. “There’s not one of you could have lasted half the time this young man did and, if any of you think differently, I’ll happily prove it to you right now.”

There was no answer from the apprentices who disappeared hurriedly back into the workshop. Ramirez extended his hand to Seb and pulled him to his feet.

“Well fought, young sir. You can have your sword.”

“Thank you, Master Ramirez. But how much do I owe you for it?”

“Nothing. You owe me nothing. The money for the sword came with the commission. In fact, if I check the books, I think I will find that I owe you some money. Your uncle sent a generous amount to cover the costs.”