“You are kind to me, Lord Orain,” said Caryl simply. “I have enjoyed this trip, but I do not like to think of my father’s grief, or my mother’s if she knows I am not safe in Nevarsin where she thought me.”
“I’ll see to it, soon as we reach the inn,” said Orain, and led the way toward a long, low building, with stables at the back, and a sign with a crudely-painted hawk. “Here at the Sign of the Hawk we can dine well and rest after that miserable trip through the snows. And how many of you would like to order a bath, as well? There are hot springs in the city and a bath-house not ten doors away.”
That roused another cheer, but Romilly thought, a little glumly, that it did her no good; she certainly could not risk a man’s bath-house, though she felt grubby and longed to be clear! Well, there was no help for it. She saw the horses and chervines properly stabled, cared for the sentry-birds, and after washing her face and hands as well as she could, went in for the good meal Orain had commanded in the inn. He had ordered rooms for them all to sleep, saying that he had taken the best room the inn offered for young Caryl, as his rank demanded.
“And you are yourself welcome to share my own quarters, Rumal, lad.”
“It is kind of you,” Romilly said warily, “but I will stay in the stable with my charges, lest the sentry-birds be restless in a strange place.”
Orain shrugged. “As you will,” he said. “But another thing I would ask you over dinner.”
“What you wish, sir.”
They went in to the dining-room; there was fresh-baked bread and baked roots, plump and golden, as well as some roasted birds and a stew of vegetables; everyone ate hugely after the long spartan fare of the travelling, and Orain had commanded plenty of wine and beer as well. But he refused Caryl wine, in a kind and fatherly way, and frowned at Romilly when she would have taken her second mug of it
“You know very well you’ve no head for it,” he scolded, “Waiter! Bring the boys some cider with spiceroot in it.”
“Aw,” Alaric teased good-naturedly, for once, “Old Mammy Orain, will ye put them to bed and sing ’em a lullabye, while the rest of us are all off to soak out our long travel in the bath-house?”
“Nay,” said Orain, “I’m for the baths with the rest of you.”
“And for a house of women soon after that,” called out one of the man, taking a great spoonful of the stewed fruits that had finished the meal, “I haven’t looked at a woman for Zandru knows how long!”
“Aye, and I mean to do more than look,” called another one, and Orain said, “Do what you like, but this is ill talk before the children.”
“I hope for a bath too,” said Caryl, but Orain shook his head.
“The bath-house here in the city is not like the one in the monastery, my boy, but a place of resort for whores and such like as well; I can take care of myself, but it’s no place for a respectable lad of your years. I’ll order you a tub of water in your own room, where you may wash and soak and then to bed and rest well. You too,” he said, scowling faintly at Romilly, “You’re young for the rough folk at the bath-house; see you that the lad here washes his feet well, and then call for a bath for yourself; you’d be too easy prey for the lowlife folk who hang about such places, as much so as if you were a young and respectable maiden.”
“Why coddle the boy?” demanded Alaric, “Let him see something of life, as no doubt you did when you were of his years, Lord Orain!”
Orain scowled. “What I may have done is not to the point; the boy’s in my charge, and so is Lyondri’s son here, and it’s not fit a Hastur should go without service. You stay here, Rumal, and look after the lad, see him into his bed. You’ll get a bath to yourself then.”