The pleasant after-dinner talk was truncated by a knock on the door. All three men lurched to their feet and Saday gave a fearful squeak, but it was Robinton who reached the door first, forestailing further unpleasantness.
Groghe stood in the doorway, a glowbasket in one hand and his pipe in the other.
“Damned near broke my neck over that sharding wall,” he muttered under his breath. “Are you finished eating, Journeyman Robinton, so that we can have the soothing benefit of new songs?”
A glowbasket appeared in Tortole’s hand. Shawls and jackets appeared on the Tortole contingent as they all stepped out, forming a sort of cordon which moved with Robinton.
“Pessia, grab my gitar, would you please?” he asked, pointing to the side room where he had put his things.
Once she returned, smiling at being given such an honourable task, he joined Groghe and they all made their way to the post where he had said he would sing. The Sucho group had brought out chairs, and instantly Tortole ordered his sons to bring seating for his folk.
“Lovely evening,” Robinton said as Groghe found himself a seat on the broken wall and settled down. The harper returned the Holder’s wink with a nod and a grin and tuned his gitan
Despite this being a very small gathering, he started off with the Duty Song, Groghe joining him with his pipes.
The look on the faces in the light of the glowbasket, their hunger for music, for companionship – which made this estrangement over a wall even more ridiculous – was a scene which Robinton doubted he would forget. And one which made his profession all the more important in his own eyes. He had taken so much for granted in his life.
He played and sang until he went hoarse. As the gathering progressed, one after another of his listeners began to sing choruses with him. In fact, by the time he could sing no more he had quite a good chorus going, with three-part harmony in places.
It was Groghe who called a halt. Robinton could no longer feel his buttocks, they’d been mashed against the post so long.
“We have a long day’s travel, my friends, and you have a wall to build tomorrow,” the Holder said. “You have sung in harmony this evening. Continue that mood tomorrow.”
“I’ll only build my half of the wall,” Tortole said, unwilling to concede.
“And Sucho will build his,” Robinton said quickly, pointing at Sucho who hesitated briefly before nodding. “Your women don’t need you two fighting,” he added. “They are lonely enough up on this hill without being unable to share their lives with another family.”
The women agreed loudly.
The two families were already at work – the women of both working together to mix new mortar and crack the old off the stones -by the time Groghe and Robinton were ready to mount. Robinton’s
parting gift was a sheaf of songs, which he gave to Pessia.
“You have a good, strong alto. Get them singing again.”
“I will. I’ve missed it fearfully,” she said, holding on to his hand a moment before taking the music. “Thank you,” she added under her breath.
By the time they had reached the trail winding through the forest, Groghe kicked Robinton’s stirruped foot, grinning. “A wall has two sides, indeed! You’ve a glib tongue on you, Harper, but what a great notion! My father will howl with laughten”
Robinton grinned, though the image of the dignified Lord Grogellan howling with laughter was more than he could manage.
He was, in truth, rather pleased with himself because of the success of their interference.
CHAPTER TWELVE
By the time they reached Tillek Hold, however, he had got tired of hearing Groghe repeat the tale of their little foray into arbitration at every hold they sheltered in on the long coastline leading to the tip of Tillek and the Hold. Lord Melongel was relieved to hear that the situation had been remedied – and very pleased to procure Journeyman Robinton’s addition to his staff with such an instance of his abilities in the field. To offset this minor success, Robinton felt obliged to explain the circumstances under which he had left Benden Hold.