By the time the sun approached the horizon it was only the heavy wagons coming in, and the first of the distributions of grain was being made, sacks dumped off a wagon beginning not with the King’s tent, but from the established edge of the camp and on, as the wagon rolled and the men aboard heaved grain sacks off into the waiting arms of men belonging to those tents, and a youthful scribe sat atop the stacks at the front of the wagon ticking off the sacks on a tablet.

It was all quite remarkable to watch. It went very quickly, considering the number of men involved, many of whom had not had drill; but there were enough soldiers who did know, who yelled instructions or imprecations as appropriate.

Cefwyn offered supper to them in his own tent, and Uwen and Idrys, and the lady and her two ladies all came, which was a fair number for a tent to accommodate. They brought their own folding-chairs, and the dining table was the map-case set on two chests, adequate only to hold the cooking-pots from which they served: the young ladies were very tentative, and had no idea at all how to manage, but Ninévrisé was well at home, and laid a slice of hard bread into a bowl and had Annas put the stew on it.

Then the ladies thought that it was proper to do that, too.

They were, Tristen thought, as young as he had been when he arrived among the folk of Amefel.

It was a simple, hasty stew; but it came very welcome after no sleep and a day of leave-takings and moderate confusion. So did a cup or two of wine. Tristen marked how Cefwyn’s face was drawn and how his hand would steal surreptitiously to his leg. But after a little wine the pain seemed to ease.

Idrys came in, and had his supper; from outside came the smell of fires and cookery. Someone in the distance had a pipe, and played it quietly and well. They sat in warmth and pleasant company and discussed the day and the weather and their situation, while now and again reports came in—Gwywyn and Kerdin managed that, and Idrys, on whose shoulders a good deal of the effort of ordering the march had rested, stretched out his long legs in front of him, drank two cups of wine and relaxed. Gwywyn came in once to report that the outriders had met the returning messenger from the outpost at Emwy ruin, nearest Tasien’s camp: and, their intelligence consequently extending all the way to the river, they could state with assurance that the field beyond Emwy was clear and their line of march toward Emwy and Lewen plain was secure:

Aséyneddin had not crossed the river—and that was very good news.

That brought a third cup of wine, and there were far lighter expressions. The lady said then she was for bed, and so they all said.

“We shall break camp before light,” Cefwyn reminded them, and they were beginning to take their leave of him, and went out into the dark, Ninévrisé to the north and himself to the south.

But just then came a rider thundering down the road and, by the sound of it, to their very door. The guards shouted angrily outside, and the rider kept going past the tent, hoofbeats fading in the distance.

Cefwyn had started from his chair. Idrys had been quicker, and at the door of the tent a Guelen guardsman was on his way in.

“Your Majesty,” that man said, distraught and angry.

But in just that small interval——came another such rider thundering past, and another angry outcry from the guards, as the rider passed.

Cefwyn cursed and walked past Idrys’ questions and the guard’s attempt at explanation—and stopped still in the doorway of the tent.

Tristen came and stood at Cefwyn’s shoulder. The only oddity he could discover was his own banner, which had stood alone a short distance from the Marhanen Dragon and the Eagle of the Amefin of Henas’amef.

Two poles now stood imbedded in the earth, bearing village standards of the Amefin, at angles crossing his own black banner.

Another rider came speeding through the camp, village standard flying from the spear he held.

“Damn,” said Idrys, and would have gone out.

“No,” said Cefwyn sharply; and to his guards, “No altercation.”

That man came by and flung his spear—and another standard joined the Sihhé banner.

Came a body of men afoot, right behind him, and four more of the Amefin standards went into place about the Tower and Star. Without seeming to notice the guards or them watching, they planted their standards, troubling themselves to straighten and make firm the standards hastily set. Then they turned and walked away.

“Plague on them!” Idrys muttered; and Tristen felt cold and isolate-somehow at fault for what he understood as a shifting of allegiances of the Amefin—to his banner, which he neither wanted, nor knew what to do with. He thought that he ought to say something, to protest that he was against it, but he did not know what had caused it, and the words stuck in his throat.

“Orien,” Cefwyn said. “Damn her!” There was another rider coming.

“We should stop this,” Idrys said, and by now Gwywyn and Kerdin and a number of the Guelen guard were near the door, from their tent at the rear. But Cefwyn said, “No, damn it, let them do as they will. Do nothing! I’ll not break what unity we have!”

Cefwyn thrust past them back into the tent, and before Annas could intervene, Cefwyn poured himself more wine and flung himself down into his chair. A frown was on his face in the candle-light, and Tristen came back to stand uncertainly facing him.

“What shall I do?” Tristen asked. There was such anger and resentment in the look that Cefwyn gave him, a gnawing sort of anger, hurt and small and frightening to him. “Can I stop it? I will. I shall go and talk to them.”

A moment Cefwyn seemed unable even to speak to him, but sat with his hand clenched on his chair-arm. Then Cefwyn gave a great sigh and shook his head. “No.”

“I would go with Idrys.”

“No,” Cefwyn said again, and looked up at him with a wry expression, made strained, Tristen hoped, by the lantern-light. “This is a fact. I am Marhanen. I am not loved. And Orien Aswydd has chosen her proxy.

Quite clearly she has gotten a message out somehow, to arrange this.”

“They are Amefin, all,” Idrys said from the door. “And my lord King will recall, the bond between the Amefin and Althalen. Well that they have allegiances they will follow.”

“And may follow on the field. If they will—if they will, then well enough. I said I would as lief have you lord of Amefel.”

“There are good men of Amefel,” Tristen said tentatively, “and if the Aswyddim are gone, still——one of them would expect, would he not—?”

“Then let the Amefin lords exert authority to prevent it,” Cefwyn said shortly, and with a glance at the two pale-faced Amefin ladies who attended Ninévrisé “I see none of them doing so. The earls fear their own commons. —And what matter, as long as they attach themselves to a loyal man? Orien wished a rift between us, but it will work against her wishes, because I shall not be jealous and Tristen is my friend. Go, take your chairs, peaceful sleep. I shall sleep soundly, I assure you. They have answered my question, and if no Amefin earl durst step in, I shall appoint you over them. You should regard that as a threat, my friend, not a benefice. First I advise you appoint a taxman who is not a moneylender.”

“I know nothing of such things,” Tristen protested.

“So appoint men who do. You could do no worse than the Aswyddim.”

“I want no more men following me,” Tristen said. “I have enough, my lord King. I need no more.”

“Go to bed, I say.” Cefwyn moved his injured leg, and crossed his ankles before him. “I want my rest. —My gracious lady, forgive me. I am not a gentle host tonight.”

“We should go to our tents,” Ninévrisé said, and they went to the doors. Uwen gathered up their two chairs, the Amefin ladies took the others, in which Annas intervened and called a page to help them.