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Authors: Sarah Zettel

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BOOK: Under Camelot's Banner
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But Laurel, drew. “We do not yet know more may come.”

Lynet finished dressing, and hurried to the chapel to make her morning devotions. Bishop Austell looked quizzically at her as she knelt alone in prayer, but he did not question her. While he recited the liturgy, she had toyed with the idea of telling him all that had happened. but decided against it. Father would be back today. That would be soon enough for the Bishop to find out about Colan's scheming.

Outside, the world was wrapped in a blanket of fog. Cold, grey mist rose from the land and descended from the sky. The sun was nothing but a pale blur above them and drops of water covered each surface. Despite its chill that reached down her throat, Lynet welcomed the fog. It was a sign of warmth to come, and of the thaw beginning in earnest.

The fires roared in the ovens and Lynet lingered near them, although Meg had the day's baking well in hand. Those who had spent the night bedded down in the hall were beginning to stir, scratching and stretching, Women poked up the three fires and sent children scampering for fuel and for water. Slowly, the slouching, shuffling folk began clearing pallets to make way for the tables and benches. Some could not manage so much, and hunched in the darkest corners, holding their heads.

Lynet helped with the breakfast. Kettles were hung over the fire to boil the porridge of oats, nuts and dried apple. Malted bread was set on the tables alongside soft, white cheese fresh from the dairy and slabs of bacon and smoked fish. Jorey, the ancient stores master, had an unusually sour face as he saw the bounty filling the boards, with still more coming in the form of crockery jugs of small beer, cider and milk. Well, the roads would be drying soon. There would be trade and tribute, and not all the trouble in Christendom could stop the spring and the harvest it brought from woods and sea.

Praise God.

When Peran came to the hall, he had four men in train behind him. Lynet steeled herself.

“God be with you this morning, Master Peran.” She moved forward to greet him with what she hoped was a placid countenance. “Will you come to your place?” She gestured toward the high table on its dais. “The food is laid to break your fast. I hope you will find it to your liking.”

“An' I thank you,” he said, his answer remained as plain and courteous as her question. “The hospitality of this house is all that I was led to expect and I am grateful.”

You have good reason to be.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lynet saw Peran's men helping themselves from the kettles and settling down peaceably at the lower tables. Reassured, she led Peran to the high table. She filled his cups with cider and ale. Peran raised a cup politely to her, but watched her appraisingly over the rim as he drained it. Lynet felt a furious blush spread across her cheeks. Because of her part in the drama of Sir Tristan and Queen Iseult, she was no longer seen as an honorable maiden. She could be readily considered as something for any man's taking, willing or no.

Lynet set the cider jug down within Peran's reach and returned to the kettles, pretending to concern herself with judging the amounts that remained within them.

Before she could reach any decision, Mesek stumped into the hall. He too had his men with him, but, much to Lynet's relief, Bishop Austell walked beside him, making companionable conversation that she could not hear over the rest of the voices in the hall.

God bless you, Bishop.
Decorum and precedence meant she could seat the Bishop between the two chieftains, letting him take up the role of diplomat for the table. From the slight smile Bishop Austell gave her she saw that he understood this. She hoped he saw the silent “thank you,” she returned.

“God be with you, Lady Lynet,” boomed Mesek, tucking his calloused thumbs into his belt. “Are we in time, or are all the dainties gone?” He was watching some point over her shoulder, and she knew he must be looking toward Peran, already seated and served.

The suggestion that their house was poor or miserly left a sour taste in Lynet's mouth. “I regret our house has only humble fare to offer, Master Mesek,” she said. “But such plenty as the land can offer, we, by God's blessing, may share with all our guests.”

It was a stiff and overly-pious answer, and served only to make Mesek smile. With a wave he dispersed his men to their own meals. “And your brother, my young Lord Colan?” Mesek's eyes turned to slits as he gazed about the hall. “He is not here yet?”

“I fear some of our house may be late to rise after our feast day,” Bishop Austell said pleasantly, as steering Mesek to the table. “You must forgive us, Master.”

“Must I?” Mesek cocked his brows at Lynet, ignoring that it was Austell who spoke. He sat in the chair she indicated, stretching out his arms and resting his hands on the table, so that he might claim possession of as much of the board as possible. Peran abandoned all pretense of paying attention to his food and drink and instead watched his enemy make himself comfortable. “Tell me, my Lady Lynet, what else must I forgive you?” Mesek went on.

“I had not realized you'd taken holy orders, Master Mesek,” said the bishop before Mesek could go any farther. “Do you turn confessor for my lady?”

“It was the lady I spoke to, Bishop.” A warning note crept into Mesek's voice.

Where are you, Colan?
Lynet concentrated on filling Mesek's mug with small beer. She suddenly felt very much in need of her brother's easy smile and quick courtesy. “Have we offended, Master Mesek?”

“Offended?” Mesek pushed his chair back, his air all mocking surprise. “Offended? When your brother offers justice with one hand and deals with my enemy from. the other? What perfect courtesy is that! Surely learned from that king of courtesy, Arthur himself.” Mesek's grin spread out as broadly as his reach. “But no, it was from someone else you learned all your ways, was it not, my lady?”

God have mercy.
Lynet flinched as if she had been struck. She could hear Peran's hard, ragged breathing, but she did not dare turn toward him.

“It does not suit with your honor to insult the blameless lady of the house, Master Mesek,” said Bishop Austell coldly.

“Oh, I would not worry, your eminence.” Mesek leaned back, crossing his ankles beneath the table and his arms across his chest. “From what I have heard, it has been a long time since honor entered here.”

“You certainly brought none with you,” grated Peran.

“Now then, now then, Peran.” Mesek waggled one thick, dirty finger at the other man. “You've settled your quarrel. Wait in patience for the judgment you bought.”

“Mesek,” Peran's voice was so low and so hoarse, he barely sounded human. “Do you accuse me?”

“Accuse you!” Mesek let out a bark of angry laughter. “Aye, I accuse you. Your son's death has driven that weak mind of yours madder than old king Mark. You know you're a liar, but you won't accept the consequences. You must recruit a boy too drunk with his own little power too …”

But Peran was already on his feet, his hand closing around the table knife. Before she had time to think on what she did, Lynet dodged sideways, putting herself him and Mesek.

“For shame, Master Peran!” cried Bishop Austell who was also on his feet. “Would you break the laws of God and man?”

The hall around them had gone still. Her people and her father's men filled this place. All of them would be at her side as quick as man could move, but at that moment the gulf between her and them seemed wider than the sea. Every line of Peran's wiry form said he was ready to strike. His chest heaved hard with the force of his rage. Behind her, Mesek just grinned.

“Master Peran, you will put down that knife,” Lynet said, her voice low, her hands gripping the crock she carried so tightly she feared for one ludicrous moment she might shatter it. “You will not break the law here and lose all hope of judgment.”

It was his good hand that clutched the knife and held it ready a handspan above the table. His wounded hand flexed, also ready, to block or to shove, or to hold. “I will not be insulted by the man who murdered my son!”

She did not know what strength kept her there, but she held her place. “Nor will you turn murderer in front of witnesses.”
Mother of Mercy, keep Mesek silent.
“You will not become what you hate.”

She watched her words sink into him, watched the anger and hatred on his face shift to unwanted understanding. Then, slowly, as if it took all his strength, Peran loosened his grip on the knife. It clattered onto the board.

“Well done, my lady,” snickered Mesek. “But then, you've learned well how to charm a man, haven't you?”

Lynet rounded on Mesek, patience, shame and fear all gone. “Say what you will to me and of me, Mesek Kynhoem. It is no more than I deserve. But you will not break the peace of this house!”

“Peace.” Mesek stuck his thumbs in his belt and spat out the word. “How much we hear of peace these days. Mark's peace. Arthur's peace. The whole of Dumonii united in a great peace with those pirates of Eire. Peace is a woman's skirt to hide behind while men take up a knife and poison against those they cannot defeat in a fair fight. Meantimes, our lords and their dogs stand about and say how great this peace is that spreads so wide.”

Peran's breath rasped hard in his wounded throat. The blood drained from Lynet's face and hands. Peran might have come here ready to buy his vengeance, but Mesek came ready to start a war.

“What is God's name is this!”

Every head turned. Relief poured through Lynet. Lord Kenan, the Steward of Cambryn, strode into the hall. He was a tall man, square and broad. His great sword slapped at his hip with each step. Laurel and Colan both hurried behind him, and behind them came a host of familiar faces; Hale, their granite-grey Captain, his wiry son Lock, and a dozen men at arms, men she had known since childhood and who had followed her father on every campaign only to come back again with new scars and new tales. Lynet was seized with the desire to leap from the dais and take shelter behind their backs, and their blades.

“And here comes the one who sired these pups,” muttered Mesek.

Lynet ignored him. She moved out from behind the table to make a deep courtesy to her father. “God be praised for your safe return, Lord Father,” she murmured.

Father rested his hand briefly on her head in blessing, then tilted her chin up, studying her for signs of hurt or fear. If his wife and eldest children were of the sea, Kenan was of the earth. He was solid and craggy as the cliffs and the standing stones, with brown hair, brown beard, brown skin, brown eyes, and hands strong enough to lift a boulder the size of a man's head and hurl it thirty paces. “And glad I am to be home, Lynet,” he murmured softly. “I'm sorry you were left to bear this much more.

“Mesek! Peran!” Father raised his voice to carry past her. Lynet, quickly and gratefully slipped aside to take her place next to Laurel. She did not dare glance at Colan.

“I am told there exists some quarrel between you,” their father boomed as he looked from one of the chieftains to the other.

Hearing this blunt understatement seemed to rob both men of their voices. Belatedly, they remembered they owed the steward at least the sign of their obeisance, and both bowed.

“What's the news from Tintagel?” breathed Lynet to Laurel. Father's hands were on his hips, and she could read nothing but annoyance in his stance.

Laurel shook her head minutely and Lynet swallowed a curse. King Mark had been unmoved by the pleas of his lords. He would not break from his self-made cloister.

“Aye, a quarrel there is,” said Mesek as he straightened from his bow. “And we were promised we would be heard in all fairness.” He stared daggers at Colan, who seemed not to notice.

“That you shall. Clear the hall!” Father called to his men. The men Mesek and Peran had brought with them hesitated, but the men of Cambryn spread out at their steward's word. Captain Hale moved about the hall, politely but persistently herding those who did not move quickly enough toward the door, reminding some of their work, mentioning to others that they should stay close to Mesek's folk, or to Peran's, to prevent mischief. Lynet's heart was weak with relief. It felt as if after a full day on a storm-tossed sea she stood firm and safe on land again.

“You stay with us, Bishop,” said father as Austell too moved to go. “It may be we need to hear God's word in this matter.”

The bishop bowed his head in assent, and moved to the end of the table.

“And Colan?” whispered Lynet to Laurel. But she was not quiet enough, for their brother turned toward her, his glance knowing, hopeful, assured. She bent her lips into a smile for him, and could only pray he did not see it was false.

“Our brother greets our father with all joy,” murmured Laurel.

Captain Hale closed the doors with a resounding thump. He and his son Lock flanked the portals while the others ranged themselves about the hall. The fact of their isolation descended onto Peran and Mesek, and that brought a return to proper manners. In movements so perfectly matched they might have been part of a ritual mass, the chieftains descended the dais steps, one on each side, trying to eye each other and the steward at the same time.

Had the situation not brought them so close to war and tragedy, Lynet would have laughed.

The remains of the food lay everywhere, filling the air with tempting smells, but none moved toward it save father. Apparently satisfied that his authority had been remembered, Lord Kenan mounted the dais and sat himself in the center of the table. He lifted a cup and Lynet hurried to reclaim her crock and fill the silver vessel to brimming. As she withdrew, he touched her arm in reassurance, and Lynet smiled.

Lord Kenan drank off his cup of cider and set the mug down. “Now.” He wiped his mouth and beard. “What business could not wait for my return?”

BOOK: Under Camelot's Banner
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