The two birds spun groundward locked together by the attacker?s talons. They struck with a thump on the wheat stubble not far away; the peregrine shrieked its triumph and its rage, mantling and darting its ripping beak downward with cruel precision. Everyone cantered over and pulled up; the falconer dismounted and whirled his feathered lure on the end of its cord with a rattling humm. The bird cocked an eye at it and jumped, then consented to be hooded again and fed from the hand. Varlets picked up the pheasant and added it to the basket, giving the neck a quick twist to make sure. ?That?s enough for verisimilitude,? Conrad said with a sigh.?Duty calls, and so does lunch.?
Tiphaine nodded and turned her horse. They heeled their mounts into a faster pace, towards the little unwalled pavilion where the others waited. Conrad looked around at the stubble field. ?Nice work,? he said.?You can hardly see where the individual strips are.?
Montinore manor operated on the usual PPA system; the peasant families each held scattered strips in all of the Five Fields, and the crops-winter wheat, spring oats and roots like turnips or potatoes, grass and clover for fodder-were rotated through the fields in turn. Back in the early days the semi-communal arrangement had let a few real farmers supervise hordes of refugee suburbanites who?d never before done anything more rural than curse the dandelions in their lawns. Nowadays it made it easy for the manor lord to exact his share of the crop and labor service on the demesne.
Tiphaine shrugged.?I?ve got good reeves on my estates and a first-rate seneschal,? she said.?And Delia keeps them from dipping into the till while I?m away, which is too often. I like living here, and to hell with Portland and Castle Todenangst. I?m sick of spending my days in armor; being Sandra?s assassin and duelist was fun, but Grand Constable is just work. Damn the Prophet, damn the United States of Boise, and damn this war too.? ?Now you know why I was so glad to unload the job on you.? Conrad shrugged in turn.?Be glad you?ve got a nice defensive war you can really get your teeth into. We?d likely be fighting about now even if Boise and Corwin hadn?t gotten big eyes. Sandra hasn?t had us spend the last decade and change building castles and saving up money and training troops for nothing.?
Tiphaine sighed.?You?re right, of course. She?s not any less ambitious than Norman was, just a hell of a lot more patient and sneaky. Oh, well, she?s the sovereign.? ?Until Mathilda comes of age,? Conrad said, and grinned like the ornament on a cathedral waterspout.? That?s going to be interesting.? ?Then it?ll be the Changelings? turn. I suspect by then a lot of things will be different.?
They drew rein near the pavilion, under the branches of the great garry oak that shaded it; Tiphaine returned the salute of the Guard captain with a curt nod and a lift of her riding crop. ?Sir Lothair.?
He wore half-armor like the two-score mounted crossbowmen, and a peaked Montero cap with a long curling feather at one side, what she?d have called a Robin Hood hat in her youth. The dozen lancers nearby were in full fig, armored cap-a-pie on barded destriers, blazing steel statues with their visors down and eyes invisible behind the narrow vision slits. The men-at-arms would be feeling like buns in a bake oven right now, combined with a sauna. She?d experienced it often enough, and would again unless the enemy were civilized enough to fight only in cool weather.
Though oddly enough, when the weather?s really cold, full armor doesn?t give you any warmth at all. ?My lady Grand Constable,? he said after a moment?s scrutiny for form?s sake.?My lord Chancellor. You are recognized and may pass.?
Grooms took the horses as they dismounted, and the hunt servants brought up their count of pheasant and duck, quail and rabbit, for the semiritual inspection.
They are, indeed, very dead, Tiphaine thought with a trace of whimsy as she looked at the limp, bloodied forms and prodded one with a gloved finger. And someone should eat them very soon in this warm weather.
She went on aloud as Conrad handed his hawk and perching glove to his falconer:?The game to good Father Mendoza, with my compliments.?
She nodded towards the steeple of the village church a mile westward across the great common field, rising above trees and red-tiled roofs, with the Coast Range green-blue beyond it. They?d give the parish priest, his household and some of the ill or indigent a couple of good dinners.
Slyly:?And tell him that my lord the Count of Odell has graciously donated five rose nobles for the almshouse fund.? ?Gold? I didn?t say anything about?three gets you five? in gold ,? Conrad said, alarmed; that was a month?s wage for a mounted man-at-arms. ?Even for someone who started out as an accountant you are such a cheapskate, Conrad. You?ve got the whole Hood River Valley in your fief, for God?s sake. And two toll bridges. And a chartered town to tax. I?m a lowly baroness with a few manors. Show some class.?
She stripped off her gauntlet and held it out. He unwillingly dropped the little dime-sized coins inside; she folded the long cuff over and into the wrist, then tossed it into the game basket. ?Go,? she said.
The varlet gulped thankfully and jogged away. Listening to the higher nobility exchanging badinage wasn?t comfortable for someone that low on the food chain, though it would probably make excellent gossip at the village taverns, crowded as they were with the entourages of the visitors.
The pavilion was Sandra?s, and hence in exquisite taste-heavy oiled silk striped white and blue on a hidden framework of galvanized poles. Bullion tassels all around the edges were woven with glass strips that chimed lightly when they touched. Rugs covered the ground, glowing with designs of flowers and vines in wine red and green and blue. A light folding table and chairs of carved reddish wood stood within; it was quite private, and even the men-at-arms and crossbowmen of the Protector?s Guard were at a discreet distance.
Tiphaine removed her round roll-brimmed noble?s hat with the broad trailing tail and joined Conrad in two elaborate leg-and-hand-flourish bows to the pair of noblewomen within. One was Delia de Stafford, blue-eyed and black-haired and delicately beautiful and thirty to her own thirty-eight, and dressed in a daring new mode she?d pioneered for semiformal occasions away from court. It was based on what commoner women wore; a long light under-tunic and knee-length over-tunic, but with gauzy silks and lots of lace making it a fantasy in white and lavender instead of utilitarian plainness. A belt of old woven gold held a jewel-hilted ceremonial dagger to show that she was an Associate, and the equally symbolic ring of silver keys that marked her as Chatelaine of Barony d?Ath.
The other was Sandra Arminger, Lady Regent of the PPA, in a conservative pearl gray and white cotte-hardi and a silk headdress confined in a net of platinum and diamonds. To her Tiphaine and Conrad added a bend of the right knee that touched the carpet for an instant.
Although technically I should curtsey, she thought. It looks ridiculous in pants, though. ?My liege lady and Regent,? she said. And:?My lady Delia.? ?If you two are finally finished slaughtering harmless birds and quite small animals we can get to work,? Sandra Arminger said.
She folded the Weekly Trumpet she?d been reading-it was turned either to the crossword puzzle or to an article headlined:?Feudalism: God?s Will Or Just Common Sense??-and tossed the newspaper on top of two illustrated magazines, Tournaments Illuminated and The Associate?s Town and Castle Journal. Then she extended her hand to both of them in turn for the ritual kiss of homage. ?The social cover story for this is a bit of hawking,? Conrad of Odell pointed out.?It helps to actually do some hawking.?