Banouin cut to the left into a narrow alley, picking his way across
wooden boards laid down over the mud. Conn followed him and they emerged onto a wider, less crowded path. ‘It is not always this busy,’ said Banouin. ‘It is the start of the trading season and thousands of merchants descend on Goriasa.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘To Travellers’ Hall. I need to speak to Garshon. He is the senior councillor in Goriasa and will take – or so I hope – two thirds of all my trade goods. We will travel on with only six ponies.’
Travellers’ Hall was an impressive structure, some two hundred feet long and sixty feet wide, built on the northern edge of Goriasa. It was a wooden building, two storeys high, with no windows, but more than a dozen doors on each side. It was the largest building Conn had ever seen. It seemed to him to be both magnificent and supremely ugly. Inside it was split into many areas. At the far end to the left there were bench tables, where men sat eating and drinking. In the centre was a large sand circle, surrounded by tiered seats. These were full and Conn could see a tall horse being led around the sand. The auctioneer was taking bids for the beast. Conn paused. The horse was a chestnut stallion, at least sixteen hands high. It would dwarf the ponies of the Rigante. He listened to the bidding. The horse went for one hundred and ten silver pieces. A fabulous sum!
Banouin tapped his arm and Conn followed him around the circle to another dining area, with tables set around a raised dais. Most of the tables were full, but Banouin found a clear area by the western wall and sat down.
‘We will eat here,’ he said. ‘The food is beyond compare.’ Conn looked around, but could see no cook fires. Several women were moving among the diners, collecting plates. Then others came in from outside, bearing trays carrying plates laden with meats and vegetables, and pottery jugs filled with ale. Banouin raised his arm and caught the eye of one of the girls. Blond and slender she moved through the throng to halt beside the table. Banouin asked her what dishes were available. Conn sat quietly as she listed the meals: roasted duck, breast of pheasant, tender loin of beef, spiced swan, cold ham, pigeon pie, ox tongue, brain of sheep, larks’ tongues. The food on offer seemed to be endless. Banouin ordered for them both and the girl moved away. Conn’s gaze followed her.
‘Very pretty,’ said Banouin. Conn blushed.
‘Did you see the horse?’ asked Conn, determined to change the subject.
‘Yes. Thassilian. Good mounts, fast and strong. Good for racing, bad for war.’
‘Why bad?’ asked Conn. ‘Are they high spirited?’
‘I told you that food is the most important aspect in a campaign. Think of the horses. They need to survive on forage alone, and sometimes not much of that. They will be ridden hard every day, sometimes for weeks. Thassilian horses need grain feeding to remain at their best. Also they have delicate constitutions and are prone to lung blight and worm.’
‘I have much to learn,’ said Conn. ‘But I will.’
Banouin smiled. ‘Aye, you will. You have a quick mind.’
The ale arrived first, and with it a loaf of brown bread, dusted with poppy seeds. It was good bread, Conn decided, though not as fine as that produced by the late Borga. But the meat dish was a delight, roasted lamb with a sauce of shredded mint and wine vinegar. Conn devoured it with relish. They finished the meal with a pie filled with red fruit. Conn leaned back in his chair. ‘That was excellent,’ he said. ‘Just as you promised.’
‘There are many delights in Goriasa,’ said Banouin. ‘Do not judge the city merely by the ugliness of its exterior. Now, I must find Garshon. You wander the hall. There are many chambers, and much to see and enjoy. I will meet you by the sand circle in a couple of hours.’ Summoning the serving girl Banouin paid her, then rose and left the table. The girl lingered.