Mathilda gave a little sigh of pleasure at the aroma. ?I don?t know whether real food is a relief from trail rations, or just makes it harder to go back,? she said.?I can hardly remember what it was like when campfire cuisine was the exception.? ?I?m a good camp cook!? Rudi said, smiling at her.?And Father Ignatius is better.? ?The operative word is camp,? Odard observed dryly.?As in, scorched, raw, stale, monotonous, or all of the above.? ?You?re a lousy camp cook yourself, Odard,? Mathilda observed. ?I never wanted to learn,? he replied.?Why should I? I?m a baron , for God?s sake. It?s not my job.? ?You?re a baron with no servants, just now, or haven?t you noticed in all the time we?ve been on the trail?? Mathilda answered, taking the sting out of it with a smile.?And I?m a Princess without a retinue. Except for you, of course.? ?There?s nothing better than fresh trout done over a campfire on green sticks,? Edain observed, smacking his lips.?Or salmon baked in clay in the embers, with a few?taters beside them. Good enough for a Beltane feast, that is.? ?Trout. Right. And how often have we had that?? Odard said dryly. Edain looked up, counting on his fingers with a thumb.?Four… no, I lie, five times.? ?In the whole trip. And the twins could burn water; their idea of cooking is frying hardtack in the bacon grease, or grilling venison,? Odard said.?Virginia is no better when it?s her turn-stew, flatbread, fried steak, flatbread, stew, fried steak, flatbread. You say you?re tired of steak and stew and flatbread and she looks at you as if she was saying: you?re tired of food? ?Hey, I can fry chicken too!? Virginia said, glaring at him.?And I can make flapjacks and do beans, or eggs if we could get?em. Biscuits, if I had an oven. Fred thinks puttin? salt on the roast is fancy cooking; I?m lookin? after the kitchen when we?re hitched.? ?We could leave it all to the Southsider women now,? Ritva pointed out sweetly.?They?d be glad to burn the water for us.?

Everyone shuddered; Rudi wasn?t a fastidious man, but he?d led the effort to get them to stop spitting in the stewpot for luck before calling everyone to eat. ?Mathilda?s not bad,? he observed.?She set herself to learn, and she did. Dab hand with a pot roast, in fact.?

Mathilda nodded and pointed out:?You?d be better at it if you set your mind to enjoy it, Odard. Then you could do it the way you like. Father Ignatius is a knight-brother of the Order of the Shield, and a scholar, and he doesn?t think it?s beneath his station.?

Ignatius smiled and shrugged.?Christ Himself washed the disciples? feet,? he said.?He poured them wine and broke bread, too. Should I be more proud than God??

Odard nodded reluctantly.?Well, when you put it that way, Father

… though I still prefer a real dinner,? he said.?With someone else putting it in front of me.? ?Then treasure these memories we?re about to acquire, to bring out the next time we?re huddling against a blizzard and gnawing on hardtack and jerky and glad to get it,? Rudi said.

Odard made a face, then turned to the house and swept off his hat as he murmured through a broad smile: ?That?s our lady hostess, I should think. Not quite the way that Mother would put in an appearance back at Castle Gervais, but-?

A woman in her forties bustled out of the house, a full-figured blond with a square handsome middle-aged face and her hair piled on top of her head and escaping in wisps. She wore a belted knee-length dress of good green linen with an embroidered hem-about half the women here favored skirts, the other half the same shapeless linsey-woolsey trousers as the men. There were beaded moccasinlike shoes on her feet, and she wore a long apron that had seen recent use close to a stove or chopping-board or both, and there was a smut of flour across her nose. Other women followed her, and a few boys, all carrying trays and tankards. ?Ed!? she said accusingly.?You told me sunset! Uff da! Nothing?s ready yet! Und dere?s children-you didn?t say there would be children, I?ll have to get-? ?Wanda,? he said-and suddenly the masterful tones of the Richlander border-lord were apologetic.?They pushed hard from Soldier?s Grove, is all. Nobody told me about the kids, either. The scouts just counted the fighters.? ?Ingolf!? she half shouted, and threw herself down the stairs and into the home-come wanderer?s arms.?Mary Mother, you worthless bastard! Not even a letter in the last five years! The earth might have swallowed you and then we heard rumors you were dead!?

Ingolf roared and swept her up in a tight embrace, swinging her around effortlessly and leaving her breathless, but not speechless, when he set her down again and said: ?Mary, my sister-in-law Wanda-Wanda, Mary Havel, my intended.?

That brought a happy shriek and more embraces. The travelers gave their greetings, and their names and nations; Wanda Vogeler?s eyes went a little wide as Odard and Mathilda made their elaborate courtly bows. Wider still as Rudi and Edain put the backs of their clenched fists to their foreheads, stepped back with one foot and bowed in salute to one who was an incarnation of the Mother-whether she knew it or not. ?Merry met to the Mistress of this Hearth and all beneath her roof,? the two clansmen said; Jake of the Southsiders made a clumsy copy of the gesture.?By whatever name you know Them, may the blessings of the Mother-of-all and Her Lord be on rick, cot and tree.?

She didn?t seem to know what to make of Mary and Ritva?s hand-to-heart gesture and murmur of Mae Govannen. She pumped Fred?s hand energetically. ?My stars! You do take me back, Mr. Thurston!? she said.?I haven?t seen a black person since I was a girl in Madison before the Change! And this lady is your intended? Goodness, are those chaps? Like Woody in Toy Story, oh, Lord, how I loved that movie as a little child! And you?d be the Mr. Mackenzie we heard tell of,? she said to Rudi.?And those are your, um, clan?? she said.

Rudi cleared his throat, a little breathless at the rush of words. The Southsiders had learned a great deal beyond and besides how to wear a kilt and plaid, but they were still not the group he?d have chosen to uphold the Clan?s reputation-not yet. Not in a display of seemly manners at a feast, at least. For hunting or fighting a skirmish in the woods, he?d be glad to claim them for anyone to see. ?Ah… not exactly,? he said.?Not just the now; we met upon the way. But they will be, if you take my meaning, and they?re my people now, their welfare my responsibility.? ?Well, they can all use a beer and a snack, I?m sure. Go on, eat! Und the beer?s our own brewing, Reinheitsgebot- style like my grandfather made it.?

Rudi grinned.?That we all could use a bite and a brew is no more than the merest truth, and it?s a haven of warmth and welcome this is, after so long on the cold hard trail.?

He winked and went on:?And yourself the ministering Goddess.?

Wanda smiled back at him; he heard Mathilda snort slightly beside him, and read her thought: he was charming the ladies again.

Well, there?s nothing wrong with charm, is there, acushla? he thought, a little defensively. Even our host looks pleased; I suspect he leaves the being a human being side of his existence to his wife. .. well, he could do worse. From the look and sound of her she?s good at it.

The platters were going around. He didn?t know if the guest cup and bite were a formal rite here as they would be among his people, but he?d found for thousands of miles of walking and riding eastward that sharing food and drink made you a guest indeed where there was any goodwill at all. The food was some strong pungent soft cheese on wedges of dark dense rye bread, its crust dotted with little nutty seeds and the whole warm from the oven and chewy and richly sour-sweet; there were pastries too, their hot flaky crusts buttery, full of grilled venison and onions and potatoes and a faint tang of herbs.