‘For a day or two you’d best be one of us,’ Rhys said.
‘My thanks!’ Cavan put the surcoat on and pulled it round to cover his silver dagger. ‘I hope the marshals have short memories.’
‘I’ll hope and pray,’ Alyssa said, ‘that the men from King’s will fill their memories with less than pleasant thoughts.’ She dropped Cavan a curtsy. ‘My thanks again!’
He bowed to her. ‘It would gladden my heart to see you again.’
‘If you’re in residence here, no doubt you will.’
With Cavan safely hidden in Rhys’s collegium, Alyssa hurried back to her own hive. She walked into the women’s great hall to find Lady Tay standing by the cold hearth in a state of sheer fury. She was talking with the two chaperones, and she punctuated her words by slapping the tiny roll of pabrus she held in her right hand against her left palm. Alyssa stepped toward the wall to stay out of the lady’s line of sight, but Tay saw her before she could sneak upstairs.
‘Alyssa!’ Lady Tay called out. ‘I have unpleasant news for you.’
Alyssa was so sure that she was about to be sent away that she felt sick to her stomach. In the spirit of a hound who’s stolen meat from the table, she slunk over to the three ladies and curtsied to all of them.
‘We’ve heard about Cradoc’s remains,’ Lady Tay said. ‘The gwerbret’s refusing to give them over to anyone but his kin and clan.’
‘What?’ Outrage mingled with relief, both so profound that Alyssa had to gulp for breath before she could continue. ‘Forgive my discourtesy, my lady! But Cradoc has no living kin or clan.’
‘Precisely! And I’d wager high that our ever-so-noble lord knows that as well as we do.’ Lady Tay shook the pabrus roll vaguely in the direction of the gwerbretal dun. ‘This message came from Malyc Penvardd but a few moments ago. He’s composing a flyting song, he tells me. His journeymen will make sure it goes out with the mail coaches for the entire kingdom to hear.’
‘Will that matter to Gwerbret Ladoic?’ Werra put in.
‘I doubt it, but what else can we do? His Grace says that he’ll have the body “disposed of properly”. Disposed of!’ Lady Tay’s voice shook and snarled. ‘As if he were a dead horse! Here!’ She held out the roll. ‘You’ll find Lady Dovina in our bookchamber. Take this to her! Well, my apologies. Would you please—’
‘Of course, my lady.’ Alyssa curtsied again and took the message.
As she hurried up the staircase, Alyssa reminded herself that far more important matters burdened Lady Tay’s mind than one of her students kissing a silver dagger. With luck, the lady would never hear of the incident at all. The heckler in the market square, of course, was a rather more serious thing. She should have realized, she told herself, that trouble might erupt. A gwerbretal spy – a dropped lantern in a pile of straw. You’ve really done it this time. When she remembered her brother Alwen’s remark, she felt half-sick with fear.
The hive’s bookchamber occupied the very top floor of the main broch. A circular room, some fifty feet across, it had windows all round. Wooden shutters covered in oxhides stood ready to keep out the rain. Every spring, the women moved a lectern under each window to catch the best light, and every winter they moved them back to the center of the room away from the damp. Unlike the men’s collegia, they had no money to pay for glass windows. Bookshelves stood around in profusion, each a few feet away from the stone walls.
On this sunny afternoon all the shutters stood open. Lady Dovina sat at a table near a view of the harbor far below and peered at an open book through her reading-glass. When Alyssa held out the pabrus message, Dovina looked up and took it.
‘Have you heard about Cradoc’s body?’ Alyssa said.
‘I have, and it’s just like Father to be so stubborn.’ Dovina paused to unroll the pabrus and read the message. ‘Good for the penvardd!’
‘Well, a noble lord is supposed to be stubborn.’
‘According to our beloved Mael the Seer, truly, but in other places he does praise moderation in all things. Stubbornness is only one of the noble qualities, after all. And last time I looked, greed in the law courts wasn’t one of them.’
‘True spoken indeed.’ Alyssa looked over her shoulder at the open book. ‘Is this the one you were remembering?’
‘Indeed it is, Dwvoryc’s Annals of the Dawntime.’ Dovina rubbed her hands together and cackled like a witch. ‘It says here, very clearly, that in the olden days, gwerbretion were called vergobretes. They didn’t inherit their position, they were elected.’
‘Elected! Ye gods!’
‘All the free men of a tribe would come together and say yea or nay as each candidate was presented to them. The one with the loudest number of yeas got the job.’
‘That must have changed a thousand years ago.’
‘Mostly, but why do you think there’s a Council of Electors? That’s how my clan got the gwerbretrhyn, isn’t it, when the Maelwaedds died out? The Council met and voted and chose us over the Bears. The Electors are the last remnant of this tradition.’ Dovina gave the book a wicked grin. ‘And how will Father like that ancient folkway, I wonder?’
Dovina got her chance to find out only a few moments later, when Mavva came hurrying up the stairs to join them.
‘My lady!’ Mavva appeared in the doorway. ‘Your father’s at the gates. Lady Werra told him you lay abed with a headache, but he didn’t believe her. He used such coarse language that she’s quite upset. He’s demanding to speak with you.’
‘Does he have armed men with him?’ Dovina said.
‘A few, and a councillor.’
Dovina rolled her eyes. ‘I want to show the stubborn old dog this book, so I suppose I can pretend to surrender. Mavva, if I may trouble you, would you go tell His Grace that I’m rising at his command and will be down once I’m decently dressed? Lyss, will you accompany me?’
‘Gladly,’ Alyssa said. ‘I want to see what happens.’
As a sop to Dovina’s rank, Alyssa insisted on carrying the book. Since it had been written onto Bardek pabrus it weighed far less than one of their old parchment volumes, but it still made a tidy armful. They arrived at the closed and locked iron gates to find the gwerbret pacing irritably outside them while his attendants huddled off to one side.
Gwerbret Ladoic was a tall man, heavily muscled if somewhat bow-legged from all the years he’d spent on horseback. He wore his gray hair cropped close to his skull, though he sported a thick, drooping moustache as if in compensation. Although his brown breeches were as plain as a commoner’s, his waistcoat was made of the Fox tartan and fastened with big silver knots for buttons. His shirt sported the Fox blazon at the yokes and on the sleeves.
‘Ah, there you are,’ he said. ‘So you deigned to come down? I want to talk with you. Call a servant, please, and have him open these gates.’
‘All the servants are busy with the noon meal,’ Dovina said. ‘We can see each other well enough through the bars. What did you want to talk about?’
‘This rebellion of yours. There are men dead over it, and I want it stopped.’
‘It’s a bit late for that, Father. Cradoc’s death, for one thing. How could you have done it, just let him starve like that?’
Ladoic started to speak but said nothing.
‘You thought he’d give in, didn’t you?’ Dovina continued. ‘Break his fast, and you’d win. The honor of the thing, not giving in, lords should be stubborn and all the rest of it. Well, wasn’t it?’
‘What’s