The Widow and the King by John Dickinson Page A

him a wolf ?
    ‘And you must be careful what you do say. The less the better. Talk about shaving if you like. Let me do the rest, until we know more.’
    ‘What do you think he'll do?’ he asked.
    ‘He'll have supper with us and go to bed and go on his way when he's rested.’
    ‘But …’
    ‘Never you mind what else he
might
do,’ she said sharply. ‘I don't doubt he is honourable enough …
    ‘He'll tell us when he's ready, I expect,’ she added. Ambrose clamped his mouth shut. It was exactly as he had thought. She was going to enjoy the man's company, but he wasn't allowed to. It was
Take Care
again: don't go near the stream when it's high; don't burn yourself at the pot; don't talk to the only man ever to have come to the house.
    She was bending over the pot in which the water was warming.
    ‘That will do,’ she said. ‘It mustn't be too hot. You can take this out to him now. And help me put the broth back on the hearth. And when you've done out there you can come back with your bowl. I don't forget bad manners, Amba; but just for tonight I think you had better have a full belly despite them. And … yes, after you've done those other things, I want you to make sure you have all your white pebbles.’
    Ambrose sighed inwardly. Those wretched pebbles again!
    ‘They're all there,’ he said.
    ‘Don't argue, Amba. I want you to make sure. Now take this and hurry. I think he's waiting for you.’
    Released at last, Ambrose took the water and carried it out, eager at least to see the mystery of a man shaving away his beard.
    She had told him about great houses, where the boys of knights and nobles waited on their elders at table. She had played games with him, pretending to be a strict and stern lord, and making him carry her cup and bowl to her with his back stiff and his head high. So that evening he did as he had been shown, carrying the water, the dried fish and the weak root-broth in turn, first to her, and then to the guest. He stepped slowly and kept his face solemn, lingering each time to make sure the man had what he wanted, and to steal another close look at him.
    He was still fascinated by the way the man's face had slowly changed as his beard had come away under the knife. It had become leaner and more pointed. The cheeks were hollow, and now they glowed an angry red. They must be sore, he thought. But the man had never complained. He had talked all the while in an easy, friendly way, asking questions about Ambrose and his mother, and the mountains, all of which Ambrose had thought harmless enough. And he had explained about shaving, and how to make knives sharp enough to do it. It had taken a long while, and yet it had all been over too quickly for Ambrose. He wanted the man to talk to him again. He wanted the man to look up from the table and speak to him now. She couldn't stop him answering if that happened.
    The man was hungry. He took a large cut of the precious cheese that Ambrose brought to him. He took most of the dried fruits from the bowl that was to serve the three of them. He did not look up. Instead all his attention was on her, as he talked about happenings in the Kingdom. Most of hers was on him, except now and again when she gave Ambrose a sign to bring something to the table.
    A nod of her head sent Ambrose scurrying for more dried fruits. As he ducked out into the courtyard with the bowl in his hands he heard her laughing lightly at something the man had told her.
    Did she trust him now? Or was she just pretending? Ambrose had never known her pretend at anything. He didn't know whether she was any good at it. But she always seemed to know when Ambrose was pretending, so maybe she was very good at it indeed.
    In the storeroom he took a moment to steal some of the dried fruit and stuff it into his mouth. He might as well reward himself for doing this chore. And if they weren't even going to look at him, they wouldn't see how his cheeks were bulging. Then he filled the bowl and hurried