The Given Sacrifice c-7

by S. M. Stirling

  “Merino?” Mathilda asked.

  “Corriedales. The wool fetches nearly as much and the yield is better and they make better mutton carcasses,” Delia said.

  “The sheep actually make most of the returns so far-don’t judge the rest of this estate by St. Athena manor, we started here,” Tiphaine added. “Most of the land is still native grazing.”

  “I resemble that remark,” Rigobert said. “We’re running six thousand head in our flocks on Barony Pomeroy this year.”

  The silent Sir Julio spoke for virtually the first time: “You haven’t worked as hard at your grant as Lady Delia has on this.”

  “I’m leaving something for Lioncel to do, now that he’s a belted knight and his father can put him to work,” Rigobert said. “When he gets back from visiting Huon Liu at Gervais. He’s there to attend his friend’s knighting vigil.”

  “When he gets back from mooning over Huon’s sister Yseult, you mean, Rigoberto mio,” Julio said dryly.

  “She’s a nice girl, well-dowered, and beautiful. Smart, too,” Rigobert said.

  “She is. She is also too old for him, she has an acknowledged lover who carries her favor in the tournies and whom she will almost certainly marry soon, and she does not squash his tender young heart like a bug beneath her shapely foot solely for her brother’s sake because Huon is Lioncel’s brother-in-arms.”

  “Hopeless passion is good for a knight’s soul. They say,” Helissent de Grimmond said.

  The adults all found that funny, for some reason.

  “Lioncel and Huon both did very well in the war as squires,” Mathilda said, and Lady Tiphaine nodded. “And afterwards in the San Luis expedition-that was more diplomacy than fighting, of course. It’s a pity about Yseult in a way, but there you are.”

  Maugis de Grimmond spoke: “I’m surprised at how much both of you have gotten done, starting from nothing with land mostly abandoned since the Change or at least since the Foundation Wars or the border skirmishes with Boise back in the old days. We’re only now getting back to where we were before the Prophet’s War on Barony Tucannon, and we brought nearly all the people through, which is the important thing.”

  “We moved some younger peasant families in from our manors in the west,” Delia said briskly. “One’s not in line to inherit holdings if we didn’t assart land from the waste or common, which we’re not doing there for obvious reasons.”

  “And there were broken men, refugees from the interior, looking for a place where someone would lend them the price of the tools and seed. That’s drying up, now,” Rigobert added. “Lioncel really will still be working on this when he’s my age, particularly since we can’t neglect Forest Grove.”

  “And Diomede will be working here,” Delia said. “At least when Yolande and Heuradys come of age they’ll have manors on the estates. That will make it easier for them whatever they decide to do. A girl who’s heir to three manors is in a different position from one with an annuity.”

  Órlaith’s father leaned back and cleared his throat as the desserts were brought out; she wiggled a little and nudged Heuradys with her elbow, knowing that was something he did before he surprised people.

  There was an ice-cream cake carved into the shape of a ship, which she knew was deliciously studded with hazelnuts and fruits; a smaller but identical one had been served at the children’s dinner earlier. She had gotten an extra two servings to bribe Yolande to watch John while they were supposed to be playing quietly in the nursery-Yolande was nice, but she didn’t like sneaking around as much as Órlaith or her own older sister did.

  “You’re both of you”-the King nodded towards Lady Tiphaine and Lord Rigobert-“doing the Protectorate and the High Kingdom well here. Still, this County is mostly a wasteland.”

  “Tell me,” Tiphaine said.

  “There are still bandits, too,” Rigobert said. “I think some of them may even be deserters from the Cutter army still at large, at least the core of them. There aren’t enough people living here to keep eyes on all the likely pockets where the scum can hide. And you can tell Fred Thurston from me that his patrols don’t do enough in the hill country east of here over the old border. There are jurisdictional bunfights over hot pursuit both ways all the time, and there have been what, four Crown castellans at Campscapell since the war? As soon as one learns his business and the country here he gets reassigned. I’ve lost livestock, and we had a shepherd killed last year.”

  Rudi nodded gravely. “It’s a puzzlement to find a Crown castellan who’s both able and not needed more urgently elsewhere. Which is why, Rigobert, you’re going to spend your old age working harder than you want. Here.”

  He slid a parchment he took from the wide trailing sleeve of his houppelande across the table. Rigobert glanced at it and choked on his sip of brandy.

  “Congratulations, Sir Rigobert de Stafford, Baron of Forest Grove. . Baron of Pomeroy. . and Count Campscapell. We’ll have the ceremonial investiture later in Portland-Matti will be appointing you, strictly speaking.”

  There was a lot of noise for a moment, and Lord Rigobert stopped gaping and coughing; his friend Sir Julio pounded him on the back.

  “And as for a Castellan and second-in-command, well, that will be your responsibility. I’ve heard good things of a certain Julio Alvarez de Soto, though.”

  Wow, Órlaith thought. Campscapell is a big castle.

  There was a murmur of congratulations from below. Heuradys sighed very slightly, getting a bit bored, but Órlaith loved to watch her parents being King and Queen, even if she didn’t understand it all yet.

  Delia stopped with a snifter halfway to her lips. “And Lioncel. . Lioncel will be a Count!”

  “Only when I’m dead, Delia,” Rigobert grinned, and she blushed. “I might point out that you are now a Countess. Don’t be alarmed, I think I can handle it without demanding Baroness d’Ath give up her Châtelaine.”

  “You’ll do a good job of it, Rigobert,” Tiphaine said. “Better than I would. You’re better at getting people to cooperate, especially in peacetime, but you’ve got an excellent record in the Prophet’s War too.”

  “And in my fifties, people have different expectations. I can delegate. . certain matters.”

  Sir Julio laughed, a low sound that made Órlaith feel a bit shivery, and flexed his sword-hand.

  “Speaking of jobs,” Rudi said. “Lord Maugis, you did say most of the war damage has been repaired on your Barony of Tucannon?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. The basics; only time will cure some things. My vassals and everyone down to the very cottars worked like heroes, just as they fought during the war.”

  “Good. Then I won’t be taking you away from your folk in their hour of greatest need.”

  He produced two more parchments, and slid one to Lady Tiphaine and one to Baron Tucannon. Maugis read his, frowning and then blurting:

  “Grand Constable of the Association?”

  Tiphaine spoke simultaneously: “Marshal-Commander of the High King’s Hosts?”

  Her father threw back his head and laughed. “That’s squeal-of-complaint followed by Your Majesty, if you please, my lord, my lady.”

  Maugis rose from his chair and went down on one knee, bending his head. Aleaume was fighting to keep an incredulous grin off his face.

  “Your Majesty, I am not worthy of this honor.”

  “That is for your sovereigns to decide, and we have,” Mathilda said. “Do you accept the office, my lord?”

  That’s me-and-Da ‘we,’ not the other type of ‘we,’ Órlaith decided.

  Maugis sighed, and looked at his wife. She nodded. . after an instant’s hesitation. “Yes, your Majesty,” he said.

  “You needn’t look as if I’d sent you to the mines, Lord Maugis,” Órlaith’s father said. “Get back up and enjoy your cake, for all love.”

  Mathilda spoke: “I wanted an able man for this, one with a good war record in independent commands, administrative talents. . and one who was not heir to a
Duke, which is why Érard Renfrew Viscount of Odell isn’t getting it, to be blunt. Also I trust your liege Count Felipe to be sensible about it, given that you’re not a tenant-in-chief.”

  Maugis sat back down slowly, and Lady Helissent gripped his hand. “I. . I will do my best to fulfill the trust you have shown me, Your Majesties. Though it will be hard, following such a Grand Constable as the one who led the Association through the war.”

  Tiphaine had been frowning. When she spoke it was slow and considering, her voice even more cool than usual. “Your Majesty, you’re appointing me commander-in-chief for Montival as a whole? Creating a new ministry and me to head it?”

  “Exactly. You’re fit for the job, and you’re also the only Associate most of the rest of the realm would accept. Being, as it were. . unconventional.”

  “But you don’t have a Host in peacetime for a Marshal-Commander to command. All you have is a Royal guard regiment and some people the provinces send in rotation. You need a general the way a bull needs a mandolin! It would be like calling me a Lord High Admiral because you gave me a rubber duckie for my bathtub. If you and Matti don’t want me as Grand Constable anymore, fine-the job’s routine now anyway and I’m tired of it and the Gray-Eyed knows I’ve got enough other things to do. But this is make-work. I don’t need my feelings soothed.”

  Órlaith’s father raised a hand. “The job’s organizational, not operational, yes, but none the less real for that. I need a staff structure that will be there and ready if. . when, alas. . it’s needed and I call up contingents.”

  Tiphaine started to nod, then glanced sharply at her Châtelaine’s carefully concealed delight.

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “This is an appointment by the High King.”

  “And High Queen,” Mathilda put in.

  “Both of you, yes. That does mean you could punish anyone who challenged me, have their head and forbid the encounter; the High King’s ministers are immune, extraterritorial, even if they’re Associates.”

  “That’s in the Great Charter, yes, Marshal-Commander.”

  “I don’t need protection-” she began sharply.

  “Shut up!”

  Órlaith blinked; that was her mother, and she’d accompanied it by a cracking slap of her palm on the table, and she was using the High Queen’s voice.

  She wasn’t the only one surprised; she could see that all the grown-ups were too, except maybe Lady Delia. Mathilda pointed a finger at the silent face of Lady Tiphaine:

  “Look, d’Ath, you’ve been carrying water for House Arminger since you were fourteen years old. You rescued me when I was ten. You saved Rudi’s life not long after. You held the Prophet out of most of Montival until the Quest got back. You only killed what’s-his-name’s uncle-

  “Sir Vladimir. Minor Stavarov connection. The late young idiot who just bit it trying to avenge his uncle was Sir Bogdan.”

  “Sir Vladimir in the first place because it was politically convenient for my mother to deliver a pointed message after the Protector’s War. Do you think that we-that I-am going to let Lady Delia and the children be left alone because of blowback you earned serving us?”

  “I’m not asking-”

  “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you, Tiph. It’s good lordship to protect a vassal, and you’re going to get our good lordship whether you like it or not.”

  Tiphaine opened her mouth. Rigobert leaned forward. “Tiph, don’t be an ass,” he drawled. “And if you think either of us has anything to prove at this late date, that would be exactly the case. With gray fur and long ears yet.”

  “Darling, please,” Delia added.

  Slowly, Tiphaine subsided back into her chair and sipped her brandy. “All right,” she said grudgingly. Then to Rudi and Mathilda: “I’ll do it. Your Majesties.”

  Rudi sighed. “Thank you. And now, friends, why don’t we have another drink, and perhaps some songs? And tomorrow. . I understand the partridge are plump and plentiful hereabouts this time of year, by the kisses of Angus Og MacDagda. And that Marshall d’Ath has most excellent falcons.”

  “Wow,” Heuradys whispered to Órlaith. “Your mom is something. I’ve never seen anyone tell Lady Tiph off like that!”

  “Mom and Dad are really something!” Órlaith said.

  A voice whispered not far behind her in a Mackenzie lilt: “And the pair of you are little monkeys.”

  The horn tip of a bowstave rapped her behind the ear, just enough to sting a little. Heuradys gave a small squeak, hastily stifled with a hand. Órlaith slowly turned her head. Edain Aylward Mackenzie was standing there, scowling; she hadn’t even noticed him slipping away from the table. Behind him was Dame Emelina, with her arms crossed and a foot beginning to tap.

  “Ooops,” Heuradys said.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  County of Sonoma, Province of Westria

  (Formerly central California)

  High Kingdom of Montival

  (Formerly western North America)

  May 10th, Change Year 39/2037 AD

  “Dang, what a bargain!” Ingolf Vogeler said, looking out over the tall grass, brush and trees of the grant. “To think we got all this for free. Well, for free and a few years’. . twelve years’. . work.”

  About a hundred yards away a wild gobbler stuck its head out of a berry thicket, a bit longer-legged and a bit more buff-colored than the variety he’d grown up around but with the same look of idiot turkey indignation. It cocked a suspicious eye at the tents and horses and people and then dashed back into cover. Birds were tweeting away in the giant oak overhead. . and a tiger-skin was tacked to it for scraping and drying preparatory to tanning. There were about a dozen arrow-holes in the skin, which detracted from its value as a rug or coat, but had made acquiring it a lot less nerve-wracking when kittie had tried to get into their horse-corral last night. They’d turned a lantern on the green eyes and then cut loose.

  Some people liked hunting tigers with spears; but then some people thought the sound of bolts and roundshot going by their ears an inch away was invigorating. If he’d had a catapult handy he’d have used that. In a ravine not far from here some coyotes were probably happy, and he wished them a satisfying dinner.

  “Ingolf, my esteemed brother-in-law, back where I was born there would still be snow this time of year,” Ian Kovalevsky said. “Whereas this land is green and pleasant and, pardon the expression, fucking green already. There are pomegranates growing here, and grapes and figs and apricots and olives. I think there are oranges around someplace. Stuff I’ve never seen before except in pictures. Some guys would complain if you hung them with a golden rope.”

  Ingolf put his thumbs in his sword belt and chewed meditatively on a long stem of grass, enjoying the warm spring air and smells of wood smoke and horse and wilderness and the blue arch of the sky. They’d landed at Sausalito Marina from the Ark, a Corvallan merchantman out of Newport, one that usually worked the Hawaii run but came here occasionally. That had been more than enough room for the two-score Rangers and their equipment and stock, and though the horses had been no happier about ocean travel than usual they hadn’t lost any to equine hissy-fit hysterics during the week’s cruise.

  They’d hurried the wagons and livestock north through the zone of ruins as fast as possible-there were Eaters there, though not many, the collapse in urban California had been very swift-and made tracks northward. It wasn’t his first glimpse of the grant, of course; the Dúnedain had been reconnoitering now for years, mostly in long overland treks. And with his salvage experience before the war, he’d been a natural to lead several of those expeditions. Those preparatory outings had updated the maps and cleared some of the obstacles, so the wagons could get straight through with a little effort. But this time they’d come to stay.

  He had to admit it was a pretty spot. . one of the reasons he’d picked it for the Ranger station that would send out patrols to guard the road to the salvage fields around the Bay and help with resettling this area. There was a
ctually a civilized holding a couple of days’ travel away, closer to the coast around Cape Mendocino, one of the very few that had managed to pull through the Change Year. It was tucked behind some low mountains and hard to get to, which helped account for its survival.

  As far as he could tell from the signs, everyone had simply left this place in the hills east of the Sonoma valley within the first few months. If bands of savage wildmen had passed through since, they hadn’t left much trace.

  “I’ve got to admit you picked it right, and not just for looks,” Ian said with farmboy practicality; his family were well-to-do yeomen up in their fertile but frigid homeland. “This stuff is going to save us a lot of work.”

  Sonoma Mountain and the Mayacamas were behind them, with a few last wisps of sea-fog dissolving as the morning warmed up. The rolling land about was a mixture of flower-starred green-gold grass with scattered oaks and oak-groves-tanbark oak, live oak, black oak-and ancient overgrown vineyards and orchards, and dense woods on the steeper bits of everything from fir to eucalyptus to millennia-old redwoods in the west-facing ravines. Things wild and those run wild tumbled together in a happy mélange, including all the usual animals and some weird-looking African ones as well, beasts that had run from zoos and parks and survived in this mild climate. The flowers were dense, everything from California poppy to feral rosebushes that rioted over some thick ruined walls nearby to leave them just a shape beneath green leaf and crimson blossom.

  Besides the vines and fruit-trees-the surviving ones could be reconditioned a lot faster than planting from scratch, and some were in flower now-the big plus had been the buildings. There was a fair-sized H-shaped house built of lava boulders cemented together, solid as the hills and even defensible against anything short of artillery, with a long portico running out from the front on arches at right angles to the main building. The roof was good baked tile, and had mostly held despite the years and storms; fortunately someone had boarded up the windows before the house was abandoned. The water damage inside was serious but not structural, and could be repaired before fall.