by Susan Price
She saw the same shock in Windsor’s face. The sword he’d been given was in no way symbolic or ceremonial. It wasn’t a theatrical prop, or a quaint antique, but an everyday tool for killing people. It had come to vicious life in his hand, and had thrown him a little.
Isobel was giving Bryce a dagger with an elaborate hilt that suggested it had been made to match the sword given to Windsor. Expensive and generous gifts. Andrea wondered who had owned them before they’d come into the Sterkarms’ possession.
“Thank you!” Windsor said. “I’m sure I speak both for myself and Mr. Bryce when I say I’m delighted to do business with people so charming and hospitable, and we look forward to a long continuing connection in the future. We shall treasure these gifts.”
Bryce was nodding emphatically as he admired his dagger.
To Andrea, Windsor went on, “Can you add anything that’s proper?” He wondered how much the sword would be worth 21st side. Once FUP’s project really got moving, the bottom was going to fall right out of the market for sixteenth-century antiques, so if he was going to sell, he’d better sell quick.
Andrea translated his speech. She added, “Elf-Windsor says that this beautiful sword will always remind him of Sterkarms’ friendship and generosity. He feels himself honored to be trading with a family as renowned for their courage and pride, for their weapon skill and vindictiveness as Sterkarms.”
Toorkild and Isobel beamed, and Andrea felt quite proud of herself. The Sterkarms loved to be called proud and vindictive. It was nothing more than the truth: They did value themselves highly, above others, and they were prone and quick to seek revenge. They considered both to be excellent qualities.
Toorkild was so pleased by what he believed Windsor to have said that he pulled Windsor up from his chair to hug and kiss him again, and then, while Isobel was kissing Windsor, he pulled Bryce up from the bench to embrace him. Both 21st men were startled but carried it off. Cuddy became excited and jumped about, flailing them with her tail, and making the strangled whining noise that was the closest she could get to a bark. Toorkild gave a shattering roar of “Down, Cuddy!”
“I have presents too!” Windsor said, and stooped for his briefcase. He took from it two whole packs of aspirin, each containing twenty-four tablets, one for Toorkild and one for Isobel. As an afterthought, he tossed another pack onto the table. “And one for their son.”
The Sterkarms had never seen so many aspirins before. Isobel cooed over the pretty neatness and bright, clear colors of the little cardboard boxes, and held one up for Toorkild to admire. “Elven be greatest of our friends!” Toorkild said, as someone knocked at the door. “My brother will envy me—he has a wife and three sons and a daughter too.”
Isobel had gone to open the door, while struggling to hold Cuddy. Two kitchen girls came in, carrying a pot between them on a wooden bar. As Andrea was translating, Isobel caught her eye. She never liked to hear talk of her brother-in-law’s bevy of children, especially not when her only living child was out of her sight.
Windsor, taking the hint, found two more packs of aspirin in his briefcase and dropped them on the table. “I don’t have any more with me, but perhaps I could get some more.” He met Toorkild’s eye as Andrea translated this and thought they understood each other.
Isobel had shooed away the kitchen girls and now served the main part of the meal: a sort of meat pudding. Andrea went to help her. In honor of the guests they were using plates instead of trenchers, silver gilt for Windsor and Bryce, pewter for Toorkild and Andrea, wood for Isobel. They slopped lumps of the meat pudding onto the plates, together with its gravy, while Andrea translated Windsor’s remarks about how good it smelled and how hungry he was.
“Good appetite!” she said, as she passed him his plate.
Both Bryce and Windsor found the venison sausage hard work but tried not to show it. The meat was gamy and had some rather unusual textures, and they were expected to eat it with a knife and spoon, and the help of lumps of heavy bread, full of seeds and grit. Meat kept falling off the spoons and splashing in the gravy, and Windsor got some drops on his sleeve. Looking up, he saw Toorkild and Isobel eating with gusto and licking their fingers clean.
“This is wonderful,” Windsor said bravely. “Can you ask Mrs. Sterkarm how she made it?”
Isobel fixed him with her round blue eyes and smiled. “I sent our Per to fetch a deer. He brought home a beauty—I’ve set it to hang. Then I took its heart, its lungs, its liver and its kidneys, and I chopped them all small and mixed them with oats and thyme and sage, and then I cleaned out stomach and stuffed it with mix and boiled it.”
Windsor looked at his plate, nerving himself to take another bite. Bryce seemed unconcerned.
“Our Per will be sad he missed it,” Toorkild said.
“He would eat whole pudding himself if I let him,” said Isobel. “I saved some for him.” She gave a firm little nod. “Saved him a big slice.”
“Don’t worry,” Andrea whispered to her, knowing that Isobel had put the slice of pudding aside in the manner of a spell—it was being saved for Per, therefore he must come home safely to eat it Isobel glanced at her and patted her knee.
The venison pudding eaten, Isobel fetched from the cupboard a bowl of water and towels, for them to wash their hands. She also brought over little wooden bowls, one full of honey, the other of a thick mess of stewed fruit: bilberries, raspberries and blackberries, gathered from the moors. The last course was another bowl of groats, this time served with the honey and fruit.
“A wonderful meal!” Windsor said, when his bowl was empty. “I want to thank my host and my delightful hostess for providing us with such wonderful food—the best possible precursor to business.” He hoped the slight churning in his guts was only his imagination.
Andrea passed this on, except that she left out the mention of Isobel being delightful. She was fairly sure Toorkild wouldn’t appreciate it.
At the mention of business, Isobel rose. “You must excuse me, I have many things to look into—but you are always welcome, and you must come again soon. Are you sure there’s nothing more you want? More food? There is plenty more groats and fruit …”
Bryce and Windsor protested that they’d eaten more than enough and it had all been delicious. Isobel listened, and then filled their bowls with what was left of the groats, honey and fruit. “It will only go to waste if you don’t eat it …” Which was a plain lie. There were plenty in the tower who would be glad to eat it. “Will I pour you more ale?” She filled their cups without waiting for an answer. “Would you like fire built up? Entraya, tha’ll keep fire in, good lass. Will either of you have another cushion?”
No, no, Bryce and Windsor assured her. They were warm enough, quite comfortable, well fed. There was nothing they needed.
“There be beds made up,” Isobel said, “if you would stay night. You are more than welcome.”
Toorkild was standing, holding Cuddy by the collar so she shouldn’t escape when Isobel finally left the room. “If there be anything you’d like?” she said pleadingly.
“Woman,” Toorkild said, “away wi’ thee.” He said it quite pleasantly, and Andrea didn’t bother to translate. Isobel went to her husband, clutched his arm and kissed the cheek he stooped toward her before she left. It wasn’t so much a show of affection as a reminder that Isobel expected to be told everything that was said while she was out of the room. If she disagreed with anything Toorkild decided, she would express her views forcibly—Andrea had heard her do so on other occasions. Indeed, when Toorkild asked for time to consider any deal, what he usually meant was a chance to ask his wife’s advice. All the men of the extended Sterkarm family knew that he was going to ask Isobel’s advice—just as they asked their wives—but everyone politely maintained the fiction that men’s business was nothing to do with women.
“Now we can talk,” Toorkild said, settling himself into
his chair. He smiled but, behind the smile, was wary. Though he pretended to believe that the Elves had come on a friendly visit, bringing gifts to bind friend to friend, he knew there was something more to it.
“Yes,” Windsor said, nodding to Andrea to translate. “I’m glad to have a chance to talk, because we’re a team.” He smiled. “We’re a team, Toorkild, you and I.”
Andrea had to expand a little in translating this. Toorkild knew what teams were, but thought of them in a purely frivolous sense, as people banded together on holidays, to win tugs-of-war, to race horses, or play wild, murderous, day-long games of football. It wouldn’t do to use the word “family” instead since, no matter how honored a guest Windsor was, Toorkild would strongly resent the suggestion that he was family. She said, “Mr. Windsor says, ‘We deal well together.’ You and he.”
Toorkild nodded and smiled. His beard hid much of his face, and his smile was so genial that even Andrea, who knew him well, found it hard to see any trace of his skepticism.
Encouraged, Windsor said, “We have the same long-term objective.” Andrea groaned inwardly. “We both want to see the Sterkarms prosper,” Windsor went on, which was at least easier to translate.
“It’s difficult,” Windsor went on, “when some members of the team aren’t playing with the others. There has to be full cooperation on both sides.”
“We have to help each other as much as we can,” Andrea said to Toorkild, who beamed and nodded.
“We at FUP have all the skills to score the goals,” Windsor said, “but some members of the team seem to be playing for the other side.”
“His son,” Bryce put in. “And his nephews.”
Andrea hesitated about passing that on to Toorkild.
“We have to work together, Toorkild,” Windsor said. “We have to play on the same side, for the same team, to score the goals for us!”
Well, Toorkild did understand the concept of a football game, even if his idea of a good, fair game was Windsor’s idea of a riot between football hooligans. Andrea translated closely. Toorkild sat back in his chair, his face carefully blank.
“We at FUP are sending out survey teams,” Windsor said, “and they are being robbed.”
Andrea passed this on.
Toorkild sat straight in his chair and slapped the palms of both hands on the table. “Reiving? Who has been reived? Who is reiving anyone?” Toorkild knew that the best way to silence an accusation was to respond fiercely, with injured innocence, to speak of your slighted honor and threaten to revenge it. “There has been no reiving.”
Andrea couldn’t meet Windsor’s eye as she translated this for him. She didn’t know herself how far to believe Toorkild. He had to know how Per had acquired the wristwatch he’d given him, but was Toorkild only lying to protect his son after the event, or had he known about the robbery of the survey team all along? The Sterkarms always did seem to have difficulty in grasping the meaning of the word “robbery.” If someone took Toorkild’s cattle, he would agree that was robbery. That was an insult to his honor, an unforgivable slight, demanding instant and full revenge. But if he rode and took someone else’s cattle, well, that was only natural, and repayment for some time in the past when they’d taken his. Besides, he needed the cattle. Riding was what the Sterkarms did. They were good at it. It was only right they should go on doing it.
“I’m afraid another of our survey teams has been robbed,” Windsor said. “Their clothes, boots, tools, ponies and food were all taken. Now, I have a problem with this, Toorkild.”
Bryce waited for Andrea to translate that, and then said, “We have good reason to think that the robbery was led by Per May and the Gobbyssons.”
Toorkild recognized his son’s name, and his eyes darted to Bryce’s face. He scowled. “We’re always blamed! If anyone’s reived in whole country round, we’re blamed! If we reived all people we’re said to have reived, we’d have no rest by day or night! Is this why they came to share our salt? To call me a reiver to my face? To call my sweet lad a reiver? If there’s been any reiving done round here, it was done by Grannams! Tell him”—one thick forefinger jabbed toward Windsor—“that my Per is a good lad and wouldn’t hurt a midge, and he’d be safe home with his daddy and his mammy easy in her mind if it wasn’t for thieving Grannams. Let him go and talk to Grannams if he wants to talk about reiving. Down, Cuddy!” The dog, excited by her master’s shouting and the mention of Per’s name, had jumped up and was pacing to and fro.
Andrea relayed the gist of this to Windsor and Bryce, who both seemed taken aback by the energy of Toorkild’s response.
“We are holding talks with the Grannams too,” Windsor said, “as he very well knows.”
“And our people gave us a description of the band who robbed them,” Bryce said. “Tall, fair-haired, blue-eyed, led by two young men and a boy, with horses. The boy was about fourteen. One of the others had what they called a ‘girlish’ face. Ask him if his son isn’t known as ‘Per the Girl.’ The other two sound to me like Little Toorkild Gobbysson and Ingram Gobbysson.” Bryce had been checking in his files. He nodded to Andrea. “Ask him what he thinks.”
Windsor and Bryce watched Toorkild steadily as Andrea translated.
Toorkild made a contemptuous sound with his lips and waved one hand. “That could be anyone,” he said.
Even as Andrea put this into modern English, the stolen watches were in the chest a few feet from her, and Per was away on a ride.
Windsor pushed together the packs of aspirins, and then shoved them down the table toward Toorkild. Their eyes met. “I hear you get a touch of arthritis when the weather’s damp. I hope the aspirins help.”
Toorkild leaned forward. “Before Elven came into our country, we did without wee white pills. When Elven have gone away from us, we shall do without wee white pills. Away into pit with your wee white pills!”
Toorkild spoke with obvious displeasure, but neither Windsor nor Bryce understood, as yet, exactly what he’d said. Andrea couldn’t see any point in translating words which could only make the whole situation worse.
“Hang on a moment,” she said to Windsor and Bryce. “I must make sure of this. I just have to check …” Turning to Toorkild, she slid her hand across the table to his, beside which it looked small, plump and pale. “Master Toorkild, sir. There are gifts between us, between you and Elves.”
He smiled and took her hand. “We be ‘thou’ to each other, Dearling. And thou’rt no one of them. Thou’rt one of us, all but one of us.”
“It gladdens me to hear that. But I am an Elf, and I’m bound by my word to them. And it hurts us, Master Toorkild, that when we’ve bought friendship between us, with good gifts, that thy people reive our people. I know, I know tha can’t watch all of thy people all of time, but I thought thy word was more feared than this.”
Toorkild looked furious at the suggestion that his people had disobeyed him. He was both pricked in his honor and set on his mettle to prove that he could govern them.
“I didn’t tell Elven,” Andrea told him, “what tha said about wee white pills. Why fall out with them? Thou’rt better off staying friends.” She didn’t know if she was right to try and patch up the quarrel like this, when it would almost certainly break out again in a little while. But it seemed to her that playing for time would give the Sterkarms and FUP a better chance to settle down into some kind of working relationship.
She could see Toorkild thinking it over. Then he said, impressively, “If my people have taken anything from your people, they shall bring it here, you shall have it back. Every last horse, every last boot. You shall have it!”
Andrea wondered if that included watches, but she passed what Toorkild had said on to Windsor, who was leaning back in his chair with a wary expression she didn’t like.
Windsor had been watching Toorkild and Andrea carefully as they spoke together. He couldn’t understand wha
t they said, but he was suspicious of Toorkild’s sudden capitulation. Of course, louts like Old Sterkarm, who threw their weight about, beat their chests and frightened a lot of small people might well cave in when they met someone who wasn’t intimidated by their bluster, but … “What exactly did you say to him?” Windsor asked Andrea.
“I wasn’t sure,” she said. “I mean, I wanted to make sure that he understood. I was just going over what you’d said before and making sure everything was absolutely clear.”
“If you’d done that in the first place …” Windsor said.
Andrea let it pass. It was more important to have helped Toorkild keep his supply of wee white pills than to defend her own linguistic skills.
“Tell him I’ll have an inventory drawn up of everything that was stolen,” Windsor said.
Andrea thought she’d better not interfere anymore, or she’d have suggested granting an amnesty, allowing the Sterkarms to keep what they’d already stolen in exchange for agreeing not to steal anymore. But it was like Windsor to insist on everything being returned. He liked to be strict. “Playing tough” he called it. Perhaps he was right. The Sterkarms certainly had no respect for anything that seemed weak. But they didn’t respect strength either. If they met strength, they fought harder or, if beaten, became resentful and bided their time for revenge. It was hard to know how best to deal with them.
“I certainly hope we’ll have less trouble from the—the Grannams in the future,” Windsor said, nodding to Andrea to translate. “Because there is talk of sending armed guards out with the teams. He might like to let ‘the Grannams’ know. We’d hate anyone to get hurt.” Bryce was quiet and kept his face noncommittal.
Toorkild showed no concern at the possibility of armed guards. He was probably surprised to learn that the teams his people had robbed hadn’t been armed.
“I’m glad we’ve been able to settle this amicably,” Windsor said. He looked down into his briefcase. “Oh look. Here’s another pack of aspirins I hadn’t noticed.” He tossed them onto the table with the others.
