S. Stirling - The High King of Montival

“It’s proud I am of you, my hearts, every man and every woman, for you’ve been all that a lord might wish in his companions,” he said. “But my friend Bjarni’s advice is good. Do remember that looking too often into the bottle is not an excuse for violations of hospitality. Also remember, those of you who haven’t seen Montival yet, that if a man forces a woman, we Mackenzies bury him-alive-at a crossroads with a spear in the dirt above his coffin, to turn aside the wrath of the Mother and appease the Earth Powers.”

“Ah. . you actually do that?” McGillvery said, as they walked on.

“Such a stuffy death,” Ignatius murmured, which Mathilda seemed to find amusing for some reason.

“To be sure, we do,” Artos said. “You hang men, in the same circumstances, I believe.”

“Well. . yes, these days we do. My father says they just put them in a prison in the old days.”

“Odd.” Artos shrugged. “Very odd, to make honest folk pay to support the wicked.”

McGillvery shrugged as well. “Didn’t even make them work, according to the old man,” he said.

The Rancher was about a decade older than the Mackenzie, which meant his first real memories were of the years just after the Change. Those had been times with even less room for waste than nowadays.

All was nearly ready for the feast when a scout rode in and hauled his lathered horse to a halt before the Rancher; the beast’s sweat smelled musky-strong in the cooling evening air, and its eyes rolled white against shadow.

“Sioux, sir, a big bunch of ’em heading this way. They’ve got a peace flag up, though.”

McGillvery looked alarmed, and Artos grinned as he spoke:

“I think I know who those are.”

At the Rancher’s questioning look, he went on: “You may remember that I said few of the enemy would cross the border into the CUT’s territories alive?”

McGillvery whistled softly. “You do like to arrange things neatly, don’t you, Mr. Mackenzie?”

“I find it saves trouble,” Artos said gravely.

“I’ll go tell them to put a few more head on the grills,” the Rancher said. “Not the first time the Lakota have ever eaten Anchor Bar Seven beef, but it’s probably the first time I’ve given them any. And I’d better warn everyone. Wouldn’t want any misunderstandings.”

Ignatius and Mathilda sent him odd looks as well; the more so when the Sioux war-party rode up a little later, just as the sun was finally slipping below the western horizon. The civilians and the various forces made a broad corridor for them; there were around three hundred, with many horses driven behind them, and fresh scalps on their shields or spears or belts. They all wore light shirts of good riveted mail, and two scorpions bounced along at the rear with their packhorses, Iowan-made like the armor. As Red Leaf had said, when it rained soup a sensible man took off his hat and replaced it with a bucket.

Their leader reined in and raised a hand in the peace sign; he had red paint striped with black on his forehead, eagle quills at the back of his steel cap, strings of hollow bone cylinders across his chest, and his long brown braids were bound in quillwork and fur thongs.

“ Hau, Rudi ,” he said as he slid from his horse like a seal from a rock. “Father,” to Ignatius. And: “ Hau, wigopa ,” to Mathilda; which meant hiya, pretty girl , more or less. It was brotherly. . also more or less.

“ Hau, blotahu? ka ,” Artos said, as they touched fists; it meant Greetings, war-chief.

Then he continued in the same tongue: “ I see it has been a good day, a day when the Sun shone on the hawk and on the quarry. The knives and arrowheads of your brave ones are red; you have taken many horses, many scalps. ”

“No shit, Sherlo-” Rick Mat’o Yamni-Three Bears-began boastfully; then he did a sudden double take that set his braids swinging.

“What the hell ? Since when did you speak Lakota, Rudi?”

Artos shrugged. “Rudi didn’t. Artos the First”-he touched the hilt of the Sword-“apparently does. It’s a bit like having a wackin’ great library in your head, I find. Among other things. Though it’s hard to organize it without drowning in knowledge. Things. . appear when I need them. Well, the Lakota are to be part of the High Kingdom, so the High King should speak their language, eh?”

“ Shee ,” Rick said, and shook his head.

“Let me show you where you can camp,” Artos said. “And let’s see to your wounded. . and there’s a big blowout planned, to which you’re all invited.”

The young Sioux leader cocked a hazel eye at him. It had a tint of green in it in certain lights; his mother was called Sungila Win , Fox Woman, from the color of her hair. His tone was dry as he asked:

“You sure about that invitation? ’Cause I headed up here real quick when my great-uncle-”

“The pejula wacasa ?”

“Yeah, the scary old dude who did your adoption ceremony. . anyway, he told me the Spirit People said I’d better make tracks this way quick, and then stick to you like glue for the rest of this war, if I wanted things to turn out right. So I picked up a lot of these guys near the border and they, ah, know their way around here.”

Mathilda snorted laughter. “Now why, why, why would that be, Rick?”

Three Bears looked at her with a crooked smile. “Oh, some of ’em might have come up here to ride around in the dark a little one time or another, maybe stumble across a few horses and cattle. .”

“. . and steal them,” Mathilda finished.

“Did I say steal?” He cocked an eye at Father Ignatius, who was quietly telling his rosary. “Wouldn’t want to shock the good Father here.”

The warrior-monk smiled. “My son, I do not shock as easily as you apparently think. Also I am a soldier and a ruler’s advisor, as well as a priest and a monk. And I doubt you need fear that memories of old misdeeds will make you unwelcome tonight. Your riding in with. . ah, concrete evidence of finishing off most of the raiders who attacked this place put. . how shall I express this. . the cherry on the cake for most of the people here.”

Artos chuckled. “Rick, my friend, as High King I officially know nothing of such things. I will not promise these good people that I will stop the Lakota from lifting horses-”

“Even with that Sword, Rudi, you wouldn’t have a prayer. You might as well promise to make rain fall up .”

“That’s one reason. Another. . have you ever heard of the Tain Bo Cuailnge ?”

“No. . wait a minute, wasn’t that some sort of ancient Irish thing about a big cattle raid?”

“That it is, and a fine rollicking story to boot. It’s also an illustration of why it would ill behoove a Gael to be too sanctimonious about a passion for other people’s livestock. However, I will do nothing whatsoever to stop the Drumhellers from punishing any light-fingered souls they find on their own land absconding with their sheep. Just as I would ignore any protests they made about you dealing with any of their folk you found prowling about your herds.”

“Oh, not sheep . Never sheep. Have you ever tried to make sheep run fast?”

“A point. And there is this; if such persons were to kill anyone in the course of. . riding around in the dark, shall we say. . the Drumhellers may hang them, and I will most certainly hang them myself if they make it back to Montival, for the sake of peace between the realms. Exactly as I would insist, on pain of war, that they hang any of their own who did the same to you.”

“Oh. Oh, well, I can see that, sorta.”

“I’m going back to the ranch,” Mathilda said. “Father, would you come with me? I want to confess and be communicated before the feast starts, if it’s not too much trouble.”