A long moment later, the main gate was unbraced and the two doors swung open. “Enter, Majori.” His greeting lacked warmth, but he reverenced the men as they rode through, and he clapped his hands to summon his few slaves to take charge of the horses and mules. “I suppose you want a meal?”
Otfrid coughed. “For ourselves and our mounts,” he said. “Fratre Angelomus eats no meat, so bread and fish will suffice him, or cheese. My men and I would like more substantial fare.”
The landlord made a gesture of compliance. “I have a goat on the spit and I can roast geese for you, if you don’t mind having to wait a bit.”
“If you can give us wine and cheese, we’ll be glad to wait,” said Otfrid with a warning glance at the men accompanying him. “Magnatus Rakoczy has taken care of food for himself since we began this journey. I don’t suppose he’ll impose on you for his repast.” He looked at Rakoczy, who was still mounted, ducking his head. “Not that I mean to speak for you.”
“You are quite right,” said Rakoczy. “Good landlord, is there provision in your stable for my man and me to sleep tonight?”
The landlord regarded the stranger with shock. “Surely your man would—”
Rakoczy interrupted him. “I am traveling with valuable materials, some of which are part of the work Great Karlus has summoned me to do. I would prefer to guard them myself, than entrust them to others who do not understand their worth.” He did not add that he far preferred sleeping in a stable than in the cramped, windowless confines of the inn.
Fratre Angelomus interjected his own remark before the landlord could speak. “Do permit it, I ask you in the Name of Our Savior. He has done this all the way from the Wendish lands.” He sounded tired and annoyed. “It is better to let him do as he wishes.”
The landlord stared at Rakoczy, but knew better than to set himself against so august a guest. He reverenced the man again and pointed in the direction of the stable; the peculiarities of the Illustri were not his to question, and it was not worth the loss of his inn to argue. “My slaves will show you what you ask for.” He stepped back to give room to the soldiers and monk as they dismounted and surrendered their reins to the three slaves who had answered the landlord’s summons.
One of the slaves had brought an oil-lamp, and holding it aloft, he led the way back to the rear of the inn-yard to the stable. “There is water in the trough, hay in the loft, saddle pegs on the end-wall, storage in the aisles, and a smithy behind all.” He recited this as he had done many times in the past, without inflection or emphasis of any kind; he did not look directly at Rakoczy or Rorthger.
“Do you have grain for the horses?” Rakoczy asked as he led his grey to the long manger that reached the length of the stalls.
“That is extra. You will have to pay my master.” He bent double, then took up the task of unsaddling and brushing the horses the escort had been riding, taking care to check their legs and feet for cuts, strains, and stones. He worked slowly and with care, knowing any unreported hurt would result in a beating.
Rakoczy and Rorthger tended to their horses and mules, their work quick and easy, made so by long practice. The mules were the most tired, hardy though they were, and therefore in obstreperous states of mind. The largest mule attempted to nip Rakoczy and received a slap on the nose for his trouble. “Mars is in a bad mood,” Rakoczy remarked in the Latin of Imperial Rome as he went on unloading the packsaddle.
“He has been for the last few days,” Rorthger agreed in the same language. “But he’s eating well.”
“It’s probably the heat. I’ll add some salt to his hay. I’ll do it for all of them.” He piled the last of the crates in the aisle that ran down the center of the stable. “Break out my mattress, will you? Before I pile more chests on top of it.”
“Of course,”
Otfrid coughed. “For ourselves and our mounts,” he said. “Fratre Angelomus eats no meat, so bread and fish will suffice him, or cheese. My men and I would like more substantial fare.”
The landlord made a gesture of compliance. “I have a goat on the spit and I can roast geese for you, if you don’t mind having to wait a bit.”
“If you can give us wine and cheese, we’ll be glad to wait,” said Otfrid with a warning glance at the men accompanying him. “Magnatus Rakoczy has taken care of food for himself since we began this journey. I don’t suppose he’ll impose on you for his repast.” He looked at Rakoczy, who was still mounted, ducking his head. “Not that I mean to speak for you.”
“You are quite right,” said Rakoczy. “Good landlord, is there provision in your stable for my man and me to sleep tonight?”
The landlord regarded the stranger with shock. “Surely your man would—”
Rakoczy interrupted him. “I am traveling with valuable materials, some of which are part of the work Great Karlus has summoned me to do. I would prefer to guard them myself, than entrust them to others who do not understand their worth.” He did not add that he far preferred sleeping in a stable than in the cramped, windowless confines of the inn.
Fratre Angelomus interjected his own remark before the landlord could speak. “Do permit it, I ask you in the Name of Our Savior. He has done this all the way from the Wendish lands.” He sounded tired and annoyed. “It is better to let him do as he wishes.”
The landlord stared at Rakoczy, but knew better than to set himself against so august a guest. He reverenced the man again and pointed in the direction of the stable; the peculiarities of the Illustri were not his to question, and it was not worth the loss of his inn to argue. “My slaves will show you what you ask for.” He stepped back to give room to the soldiers and monk as they dismounted and surrendered their reins to the three slaves who had answered the landlord’s summons.
One of the slaves had brought an oil-lamp, and holding it aloft, he led the way back to the rear of the inn-yard to the stable. “There is water in the trough, hay in the loft, saddle pegs on the end-wall, storage in the aisles, and a smithy behind all.” He recited this as he had done many times in the past, without inflection or emphasis of any kind; he did not look directly at Rakoczy or Rorthger.
“Do you have grain for the horses?” Rakoczy asked as he led his grey to the long manger that reached the length of the stalls.
“That is extra. You will have to pay my master.” He bent double, then took up the task of unsaddling and brushing the horses the escort had been riding, taking care to check their legs and feet for cuts, strains, and stones. He worked slowly and with care, knowing any unreported hurt would result in a beating.
Rakoczy and Rorthger tended to their horses and mules, their work quick and easy, made so by long practice. The mules were the most tired, hardy though they were, and therefore in obstreperous states of mind. The largest mule attempted to nip Rakoczy and received a slap on the nose for his trouble. “Mars is in a bad mood,” Rakoczy remarked in the Latin of Imperial Rome as he went on unloading the packsaddle.
“He has been for the last few days,” Rorthger agreed in the same language. “But he’s eating well.”
“It’s probably the heat. I’ll add some salt to his hay. I’ll do it for all of them.” He piled the last of the crates in the aisle that ran down the center of the stable. “Break out my mattress, will you? Before I pile more chests on top of it.”
“Of course,”
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