Gold Lake was a prosperous town, made that way by the plentiful trade across the lake and down the river. Sir Rowland, and those who took care of his interests in the town while he was away, helped ensure that prosperity by keeping the town well policed, but otherwise keeping their noses out of the merchants' business.
Rowland and his family kept a manor house a little ways around the lake from the town. In this well populated and established area, there was little need for the sturdy fortresses that abounded further north. Tyke, riding back to the manor after a day's jaunt into town, thought the manor seemed far less welcoming than any of the northern forts.
"Why's Romilda such a sour old lady?" she asked Jerril. The soldier had been sent along with her and Coban today. Rowland had said it was because the land wasn't safe enough for two children to go riding unprotected, even if fortresses weren't necessary here; Tyke rather thought it was because Romilda didn't like Jerril, and Rowland tried not to antagonize his wife more than necessary.
Beside her, Ban choked back a laugh, while Jerril tried to look as disapproving as they all knew Rowland would be if he heard Tyke call Romilda a 'sour old lady.' "Sir Rowland don't give a jot for his bufflebrained children, but he'll take you all over the country with him. Romilda isn't best pleased by that, I promise you," he said in his blunt way. Most of the men skipped around an issue when Tyke asked questions. Jerril never did. Tyke was inclined to think that was one reason Romilda disliked him so much.
"They aren't bufflebrained, are they?" Tyke asked anxiously.
Jerril spat. "What do you think?"
Tyke thought about the three children she'd met over the past few days. Job was twelve, and would grow into a big, burly man like his father. He seemed shy, though, and a couple of times she'd caught him staring off into space, obviously daydreaming about being somewhere far away. If that one ever becomes a knight, it will be because he thinks it's romantic, she thought scornfully. Jezebel was ten, like Tyke herself, although she never missed the opportunity to point out that she would be eleven soon, while Tyke had only just turned ten. Tyke might not have minded her so much if she was just sky and quiet like her older brother; instead, Jezebel delighted in visiting the yard where the company trained, watching the younger men (Tyke had always thought them boys, for all the youngest was four years her senior) almost hungrily. That annoyed Tyke no end, because she had always considered the men of Sir Rowland's company to be hers, in a way, especially the younger ones that still occasionally got sick at the sight of blood, and she was damned if she was going to let some bufflebrained chit anywhere near them. Last, but certainly not least in his own mind, was Merd, who was the apple of his mother's eye and spoiled completely rotten. The little bugger had had the audacity to tell Ban – her Coban! – that he wasn't good enough to stay in the main house with the rest of them. She had almost pummeled the rat, except she knew Rowland wouldn't have liked that.
Sensing her brooding thoughts, Coban clucked to her. "Be nice, now, me lassie, ye might turn out to be as bufflebrained as they. Or wasn't that a dress we were just buying?"
Tyke stuck her tongue out at him. "I don't like dresses, but Hag Romilda says I don't get to eat tonight if I'm not properly dressed for dinner."
"And ye like to eat, don't ye, lass?"
"Shut your mouth, boy," she teased right back, "or we'll find you a dress to wear too. Hag Romilda will have some that will fit. They might be too short, but they'll be wide enough."
Ban grinned down at her. "Are ye calling me fat, lassie? Ye wound me, that ye do." Tyke giggled.
"Here now, none of that you two," Jerril broke in. "If Sir Rowland heard you saying that about his wife, all three of us would catch it double quick. We'll be at the house soon, and not a word out of either of you against the missus."
"Ye don't like her either," Ban pointed out reasonably.
"But I like my life and my career well enough, chuffbrain. Now quiet!"
Tyke leaned towards Ban to whisper to him. He had to stoop low in his saddle to hear her. "Aye, I'd be a right old biddy too, if I looked like that hag!" Ban grinned, then shushed her.
Dinner that night was as bad as Tyke had feared. Jerril, being a common soldier, was excused from Hag Romilda's table, and got to eat in the barracks with everyone else. Tyke, Coban, and Captain Narl sat stone-faced through the meal, while the hag chattered, Julius made his stupid, conceited comments, and Rowland tried to start an intelligent conversation with his squalling, idiot offspring.
"Why Lord Coban," Hag said at one point, "might I ask why you serve as a common soldier? Anyone with eyes can see you belong among your own kind with Squire Julius."
Ban turned very red, and Tyke looked at her big friend with concern. She'd never questioned why Ban wanted to be a soldier like any of the other men, instead of a stuck up squire like Julius.
At last Ban said, "My father knighted me before I joined Sir Rowland," he said at last. "I served as a squire for two years before that." He looked her full in the face, and his gaze called her the hag Tyke had named her, even if his words didn't. "I decided not to do that again."
"Oh, but you're a knight," Hag all but cried. Tyke noticed how Jezebel shut up and started listening intently, gazing almost raptly at Coban all the while. Tyke, feeling annoyed and sick and hating her dress, couldn't wait for supper to end.