The food was heavy dough, baked by the simple method of thrusting twists of the dough on to sticks and baking over the fire; and a few thick tubers roasted in the ashes. Romilly sat beside Orain, who offered her salt from a little pouch drawn from his pocket. When the meal was done, the birds hooded and taken on their saddles again – Orain asked Romilly for help with getting the hoods back on the birds – she heard one or two of the men grumbling.
“That lad rides a horse when we make do wi’ a stag-pony each? What about it – shall we have it from him?”
‘Try it,” said Orain, turning, “and ye can ride alone in these woods, Alaric – there are no thieves and bandits in our company, and if ye’ lay one finger on the boy’s horse, it’ll be for Dom Carlo to deal with ye’!”
Romilly felt a surge of gratitude; it seemed she had found a protector in Orain, and for the moment, facing the ragged crew, she was a little frightened.
Soon or late, though, she might have to face them on her own, without a protector….
“What are the birds’ names?” she asked Orain. He grinned at her. “Does anyone name uglies like these, as if they were a child’s cagebird or the old wife’s pet cow?”
“I do,” Romilly said, “You must give any animal with which you wish to work closely, a name, so that he will read it in your mind and know it is of him – or her – that you speak, and to her you are directing your attention.”
“Is it so?” Orain asked, chuckling, “I suppose you could call them Ugly-mug One, Ugly-mug Two, and Ugly-mug Three!”
“By no means,” said Romilly with indignation. The bird on her first fluttered restlessly, and she added, “Birds are very sensitive! If you are ever to work with them, you must love them-” before the open derision in the men’s eyes she knew she was blushing, but went on nevertheless, “You must respect them, and care for them, and feel a real kindness for them. Do you think they do not know that you dislike them and are afraid of them?”
“And you don’t?” Dom Carlo asked. He sounded genuinely interested, and she turned to him with relief. She said, “Would you mock your best hunting-dog if you wanted to have a good hunt, with him working to your word or gesture? Don’t you think he would know?”
“I have not hunted since I was a young lad,” Dom Carlo said, “but certainly I would not treat any beast I sought to tame to my service, with anything but respect. Listen to what the lad says, men; he’s got the right of it. I heard the same from my own hawkmaster once. And surely-” he patted the neck of the superb black mare he rode, “we all have love and respect for our beasts, horse or chervine, who carry us so faithfully.”
“Well,” said Orain, again with that droll curl of his lip, looking down at the great gross body of the sentry-bird, “We could call this one Beauty, that one Lovely, and that one over there we might call Gorgeous. I doubt not they’re beautiful enough to one another – lovesome’s as lovesome does, or so my old Ma used to say.”
Romilly giggled. “I think that would be overdoing,” she said. “Beauty they may not have, but – let me think-I shall call them after the Virtues,” she added after a moment. “This one-” she lifted the heavy bird on to its block on Orain’s saddle, “Shall be Prudence. This one-” she went, frowned at the dirty perch and thrust the hooded bird on to Orain’s gloved fist while she dug out her knife and scraped off a disgusting accumulation of filth and droppings. “This one shall be Temperance, and this one-” turning to the third, “Diligence.”
“How are we to tell them apart?” demanded one of the men, and she said seriously, “Why, they are nothing alike. Diligence is the big one with the blue tips on her wings – see? And Temperance – you can’t see it now, it’s under the hood, but her crest is big and white-speckled. And Prudence is the little one with the extra toe on her feet – see?” She pointed out the features one by one, and Orain stared in amazement.