The Conqueror by Louis Shalako Page A

there.
    “ Ah.”
    “ Sire.”
    He smiled, and the young serving girl,
busy sweeping up the old rushes from the hard-beaten dirt floor,
blushed and curtsied, eyes averted and head held low.
    “ Would you please bring the
gentlemen some ale, and perhaps some cold meat, young
lady?”
    “ Bread, and cheese, and
bacon and whatevers.” Bibbs was being his usual irrepressible self.
“Potatoes, and gravy, and cakes and pies and tarts would be well,
my dear girl.”
    Her eyes darted back and forth, and
nodding profusely, the unfamiliar servant turned and bolted for the
kitchen, taking the rake with her. Lowren looked down dubiously at
the pile of soiled rushes, but no doubt someone would get back to
it soon enough.
    “ You’ve frightened her off,
you good-for-nothing individual.”
    Bibbs stood right there, eyebrows
climbing in speculative manner.
    “ Wot damme. Forgive me
sire, but that was one sweet young thing.”
    “ Well, don’t get your hopes
up too high, Bibbs” Lowren’s tone was pleasant, even
humorous.
    People brought into the household very
often married out of it—when they were of age, and if they were of
a mind to, and if there was no moral, social or legal encumbrance
to say otherwise.
    “ She seems a bit young yet,
my fine fellow.” Garvin slapped Bibbs hard on the back in
sympathy.
    Kann, Thoma and Garvin had headed
straight for the rear wall and their habitual long table where they
were close to the fire and could see everything coming and going.
It was a good habit for desperate men, as one might say.
    “ Ale, the man said. What
about wine? Or even strong liquor.” Thoma shook his head in
disgust.
    Bibbs followed along at a relaxed
pace.
    “ Ye shall have all you can
hold, trooper, or I perhaps have failed to understand our master’s
temperament after all.” Garvin was looking around, and his eye fell
on a pale oblong box made of some soft, light wood, perhaps
poplar.
    It was always there, on the shelf over
the hearth.
    There was a catch on the side and it
opened up to the game with its dark and light triangles, a word he
would have cheerfully acknowledged that he couldn’t even spell. He
got up and ambled lazily over.
    “’ Gammon,
anyone?”
    Kann pulled an adjacent bench closer,
on the opposite side, and having put his back to the table, lifted
his aching feet to the seat.
    “ Oh, damn.” He sighed,
putting his elbows up and crossing his hands across his stomach.
“Home at last.”
    It was the morning of the third day,
just as the skipper had foretold, and none too soon for one such as
Kann. Holy, Mother of Aphrodite—he hadn’t been seasick or anything,
but three days and three nights on a ship were almost worse than
three days and three nights on horseback. As for three days and
three nights on foot, that was another thing entirely.
    Which, to be fair, he had never
actually done. It wasn’t a fair comparison, but you had to have
something.
    There was always something, wasn’t
there?
    “ Mother must be about here
somewhere. It’s awful early in the day for her to retire.” Lowren
turned his back and strode off.
    Just outside the main arch lay the
stairs to the upper chambers.
    The wooden keep was typical, a stout
outer wall, and a tower with a small footprint but built to a
commanding height for strength and security. One or two more men
wandered in, with the party’s horses all cleaned and combed and
pastured. One would think they had the tack sorted out and hung
up.
    Kann pursed his lips and grimaced. Some
of the younger ones were so eager to avoid him, they’d be going
around to the back door of the kitchen. But he’d been away for a
few days and they tended to slack off when the Serjeant at Arms
wasn’t around. He’d been a bit shocked, upon arrival, by the state
of one or two things. His mind reeled with exhaustion
sometimes.
    Not for the first time, he wondered
aloud if he was getting older.
    There were grins and nods as the other
men sagged at their seats.
    They