‘I always pay my way,’ said Will. ‘It’s an old habit.’
Grame the Smith delivered the Baron’s grey stallions and left the Citadel. It had been no surprise when the Baron failed to pay for the work, and Grame had been expecting nothing more. He wandered through the town, and considered buying a meal at the Blue Duck tavern. Roast pork with crackling was a speciality there. Grame tapped his ample stomach. ‘You’re getting old and fat,’ he told himself. There was a time when he’d been considered one of the handsomest men in Cilfallen, and he had grown used to the eyes of women lingering on him as he passed. They didn’t linger much now. His hair had long since departed his skull, and sprouted unattractively from his shoulders and back. He’d lost three front teeth and had his lips crushed at Golden Moor, the teeth smashed from his head by an iron club wielded by an Outland soldier. God, that hurt, he remembered. It was a kind of double pain. As he fell he knew his good looks were gone for ever.
Now he sported the bushiest white beard, with a long, drooping moustache to cover the mouth.
He reluctantly passed the Blue Duck and continued along Market Street, catching sight of Sigarni talking to two soldiers. The first was a tall man, middle-aged,with the look of the warrior about him. The second was smaller; this one took hold of Sigarni’s arm, but she spoke to him and moved away. Grame saw the man’s face turn crimson. The smith chuckled, and made his way to where Sigarni was standing before a knick-knack stall. She was examining a brass tail-bell.
‘Good day to you,’ said Grame. Sigarni gave him a friendly smile, but he saw her cast her eyes back towards where the two soldiers were standing.
‘I’m thinking of buying Abby a bell,’ she said. ‘All the other hawks here have them.’
‘For what purpose?’ asked the smith, ‘apart from the fact that all the others have them?’
Sigarni thought about it for a moment, then grinned. ‘I don’t know, Grame,’ she admitted. ‘But they are pretty, don’t you think?’
Grame took the bell from her fingers and looked at it closely. They’re well made,’ he said, ‘and they’d be silent in flight. Falconers use them to locate their birds. You can hear them when they land in a tree. Do you have trouble with Abby? Do you lose her?’
‘Never.’
‘Then you don’t need a bell. What brings you to Citadel?”
‘There is a hawking tourney, with a money prize of two gold guineas. I think Abby could win it.’
Grame scratched at his thick white beard. ‘Maybe. It will depend on how they structure the contest. If obedience is marked highly you would have a good chance. But speed? The goshawk is lighter and faster than Abby.’
‘You surprise me, Grame. I didn’t know you understood falconry.’
‘Had a gos myself once. Beautiful creature .. . but wilful. Lost her in the year before Golden. I take it you’re trying to get Abby used to crowds before the tourney?’
‘Yes,’ answered Sigarni, stroking Abby’s sleek head. ‘They don’t seem to bother her. She’s baited a few times, but I think she’ll perform well. I’ll bring her again tomorrow.’
‘Is there an entrance fee to this tournament?’
‘Yes. One silver penny. I paid it this morning.’ Sigarni’s expression changed. ‘The cleric had to get permission from the Captain of the Tourney to allow me to enter. He wasn’t sure if women were permitted to take part.’
Grame chuckled. ‘Well, it is unusual, girl. They don’t understand that Highland women are … shall we say different.’
‘From what?’ she countered.
‘From their own timid females,’ said Grame. ‘Their women have no rights. When they marry, all their fortunes become the property of their husbands. They can be beaten, humiliated and cast aside, with no recourse to the law.’
‘That is awful. Why do the women stand for it?’
Grame shrugged. ‘Habit? God only knows. Their fathers choose their husbands, their husbands dominate their lives. It’s a world ruled by men. So, the Captain of the Tourney allowed your entry? He must be an enlightened man.’