‘I’ll pray so.’ Elyssa sighed, glancing out the window with exhausted eyes. ‘Anything for a little hope.’
‘Should we send off another messenger? Nevyn will want to know that she’s –’ Lilli could not bring herself to use the word mad, ‘– unwell.’
‘That’s true.’ Elyssa considered this for a moment. ‘But even if he does know, what can he do? He won’t be leaving the prince’s side.’
‘He can’t, truly. I suppose we’ll just have to wait till the men ride home again.’
‘Just so.’ Elyssa looked up, studying the sky as if it could report the prince’s progress. ‘Now, the messengers we sent off about the new baby? They should be reaching Maryn soon. He’ll send them back to us with news.’
‘And then I can write Nevyn a letter to go back with them. Well and good, then. Do you want me to come visit her highness?’
‘In a few days. This – this illness always seems to affect her the worst at the very beginning. In about an eightnight she settles down, like.’
After Elyssa left, Lilli spent some time trying to think of other ways she might help Bellyra. She failed, except for the one obvious course of action: end her love affair with the prince. That, she felt, would be a harder thing for her to work than the mightiest dweomer in the world.
The princess’s messengers caught up with the army just at sunset, as it was making camp in a grassy meadow beside a stream. In the midst of the purposeful confusion Nevyn was standing with the prince, waiting for the servants to finish setting up their tents. A sentry led up the two men, all dusty from the road.
‘Messages, your highness. From your lady.’
The messengers knelt to the prince. Maryn grabbed the silver tube and shook out the tightly rolled letter inside. He glanced at it, laughed, then began to read it aloud.
‘To my husband, greetings. I was delivered of yet another wretched son, who now awaits your choosing of a name. I had my heart so set upon a daughter that I neglected to think of any suitable for a lad. At the moment my women are calling him Dumpling which, while plebian, will serve until the end of your campaigning.’
At that point Maryn began reading to himself, a rare trick in those days and one he had learned from Nevyn. From his smile, Nevyn could guess that the message was unfit for public ears. At last Maryn looked up and turned to the messengers. ‘You must be hungry,’ the prince said. ‘My apologies for forgetting you. Here, sentry! Get these men fed, and then spread the news of the new prince among the noble-born.’
Soon enough, Maryn’s vassals began appearing in twos and threes to congratulate him on the new prince’s birth, but none of them lingered. The smell of cooking in the camp drew them quickly back to their own fires. When Gwerbret Daeryc arrived, though, Maryn bade him stay a while. The servants brought out a wooden stool, and he sat down by the fire with the prince and Nevyn.
‘From the maps I have,’ Maryn said, ‘we’re nearly to Glasloc. Do you think that’s correct?’
‘I do, my liege,’ Daeryc said. ‘Once we reach the lake, and that’ll be in about two more days, we’ll have arrived at the edge of the Boar clan’s holdings. If I remember rightly, Glasloc marks half the distance twixt the Holy City and Cantrae town.’
‘I see,’ Maryn said with a nod. ‘I’ll wager Braemys will meet us before we start trampling on his lands.’ He glanced at Nevyn. ‘Do you know the lay of the land twixt here and Glasloc? Is it flat?’
‘Mostly, my liege.’ Nevyn turned to Daeryc to explain. ‘When I was younger, your grace, I lived near Cantrae.’
‘Good, good,’ the gwerbret said. ‘I haven’t been there since I was but a little lad, and we’ll need someone who knows the lie of things better than I do.’ He rose with a bow Maryn’s way. ‘If you’ll forgive me, your highness, I’ll be leaving you. I’m hungry enough to eat a wolf, pelt and all.’
Provisions for the silver daggers travelled in their own cart, tended by a stout carter and his skinny son. That particular night, Maddyn was sitting with Owaen when the son, young Garro, brought the two captains a chunk of salt pork impaled on a stick. Green mould marbled the fat.
‘My Da,’ Garro announced, ‘says it been in the barrel too long. Weren’t salted enough, either, Da says.’
‘Your Da’s no doubt right.’ Maddyn took the stick from the boy. ‘Owaen, what do you think?’
‘We’ve had worse,’ Owaen said. ‘Any maggots?’
Maddyn twirled the stick this way and that to catch the sunset light. ‘None that I can see.’
‘Weren’t none in the barrel, neither,’ Garro said.
‘Then it should do. Let’s see.’ Maddyn drew his dagger. He cut off the green streaks and took a few bites of the rest. ‘It’s not bad but it’s not good, either. It wouldn’t be worth fretting about, except I’ll wager this is Oggyn’s doing.’
Owaen swore so furiously that Garro cringed.
‘I’m not angry with you,’ Owaen snapped. ‘Go thank your da for us. Now. Give me that, Maddo. Let’s go shove it up the bald bastard’s arse.’
Unfortunately for Owaen’s plans, they found Oggyn attending upon the prince in front of the royal tent. Since not even Owaen could get away with violence there, the two silver daggers knelt not far from the prince’s chair and waited. Oggyn was congratulating Maryn for the birth of the new son in all sorts of long words and fulsome metaphors – as if, Maddyn thought bitterly, Bellyra had naught to do with it. Exposed to the open air, the pork began to announce that truly, it was rotten. Once Oggyn paused for breath, the two silver daggers, or their complaint, caught Maryn’s attention.
‘What’s that stench?’ Maryn glanced around. ‘Ye gods, Owaen! What have you brought me, a dead rat?’
‘I’ve not, my liege,’ Owaen said. ‘The rat is kneeling there beside you.’
In the firelight Maddyn could see Oggyn’s face blanch.
‘Spoiled rations, my liege,’ Owaen went on, waving the bit of pork. ‘Your councillor there assigns the provisions, and I think me he gave the silver daggers the last of the winter’s stores.’
‘What?’ Oggyn squeaked. ‘No such thing! If you received spoiled food, then one of the servants made a mistake.’ He glanced at Maryn. ‘Your highness, if you’ll release me, I’d best go have a look at the barrel that meat came from. I’ll wager it doesn’t have my mark upon it.’
‘I’ll do better that than,’ Maryn said, grinning. ‘I’ll come with you. Lead on, captains.’
Maddyn received a sudden portent of futility. No doubt Oggyn had been too clever to leave evidence lying about. The two silver daggers led the prince and his councillor back to their camp and the provision cart, where Garro and his da hauled down the offending barrel. By the light of a lantern Oggyn examined the lid with Maryn looking on.
‘Not a mark on it,’ Oggyn said triumphantly. ‘This barrel should have been emptied for the dun’s dogs, not carted for the army.’
‘Well, make sure it’s dumped now,’ Maryn said. ‘But a fair bit away. I don’t like the smell of it.’
‘Of course, your highness,’ Oggyn said. ‘I’ll have a replacement sent round from my personal stores.’
All at once Maddyn wondered if he should have sampled the pork. Too late now, he thought, and truly, we’ve eaten worse over the years. He put the matter out of his mind, but it remained, alas, in his stomach. He woke well before dawn, rolled out of his blankets, and rushed for the latrine ditch just beyond the encampment. He managed to reach it before the flux overwhelmed his self-control.
‘Nevyn, my lord Nevyn!’