“This is nice,” said Caryl admiringly, “Men never make a camp as comfortable as this.”
Janni chuckled. “There is no reason they should not,” she said, “They are as good at cookery and hunting as we women are, and they would tell you so if you asked them; but maybe they think it unmanly to seek for comfort in the fields, and enjoy hard living because it makes them feel tough and strong. As for me, I have no love for sleeping in the rain, and I am not ashamed to admit I like to be comfortable.”
“So do I,” said Caryl, gnawing on the ends of his bone, This is good, Janni. Thank you.”
One of the women, not one that Romilly knew well, whose name was Lauria, took a small hand-harp from her pack and began to play a tune. They sat around the fire, singing mountain ballards, for half an hour or so. Caryl listened, bright-eyed, but after a time he fell back, drowsily, half asleep.
Janni signed to Romilly, and said, ‘Take off his boots, will you, and get him into his sleeping-roll?”
“Of course,” Romilly said, and began to pull off Caryl’s boots. He sat up and protested sleepily. Lauria said, grumbling, “Let the boy wait on himself, Romy! Janni, why should one of our sisters wait on this young man, who is our prisoner? We’re no subjects or servants to the Hastur-kind!”
“He’s only a boy,” Janni said, placatingly, “and we’re being well-paid to care for him.”
“Still, the Sisterhood are no slaves to one of these men,” grumbled Lauria, “I wonder at you, Janni, that for money you’d take a commission to escort some boy-child through the mountains.”
“Boy child or girl, the boy cannot travel alone,” said Janni, “and needs not be drawn into the quarrels of his elders! And Romilly is willing to care for him.”
“I doubt not,” said one of the strange women with a sneer, “One of those women who still think her duty in life is to wait on some man, hand and foot -she would disgrace her earring-”
“I look after him because he is sleepy, too sleepy to wait on himself,” Romilly flared, “and because he is about the age of my own little brothers! Didn’t you look after your own little brother if you had one, or did you think yourself too good to look after anyone but yourself? If the Holy Bearer of Burdens could carry the World-child on his shoulders across the River of Life, shall I not care for any child who comes into my hands?”
“Oh, a cristoforo” sneered one of the younger women, “Do you recite the Creed of Chastity before you sleep, then, Romy?”
Romilly started to fling back an angry retort – she made no rude remarks about the Gods of others, they could keep their mouths off her own religion – but then she saw Janni’s frown and said, mildly, “I can think of worse things I might be saying.” She turned her back on the angry girl, and went to spread out Caryl’s blanket beside her own.
“Are we to have a male in our tent to sleep with us?” the girl who had protested asked angrily, “This is a tent for women.”
“Oh, hush, Mhari, the boy can hardly sleep out in the rain with the horses,” Janni said crossly. “The rule of the Sisterhood is intended for common sense, and the boy’s no more than a baby! Are you fool enough to think he’ll come into our blankets and ravish one of us?”
“It is a matter of principle,” said Mhari sullenly, “Because the brat is a Hastur, are we to let him intrude into a place of the Sisterhood? I would feel the same if he were no more than two years old!”
“Then I hope you will never have the bad taste to bear a son instead of a daughter,” said Janni lightly, “or will you, out of principle, refuse to feed a male at your breast? Go to
sleep, Mhari; the child can sleep between me and Romilly, and we’ll guard your virtue.”
Caryl opened his mouth; Romilly poked him in the ribs, and he subsided without speaking. She saw that he was trying not to giggle aloud. It seemed a little silly to her, but she supposed they had their rules and principles, just as the brothers of Nevarsin did. She lay down beside Caryl, and slept.