A Princely Banquet

The fires were bright and warm in Ugelor's great hall. Outside the castle walls the herald winds of autumn's end were blowing, making the men of the camp miserable. While they suffered their leaders enjoyed every luxury at Cador's command. There was wine in abundance and much more meat than he'd promised. Already they were beginning to wonder whether they had been wrong to believe the legends of the prince's brutal nature or his cavorting with spirits long condemned by the church. Stationed by the door were luters and drummers and singers that Rachel had bragged were the pride of Chigwiy, a village only a few hours away. They were truthfully from Chigwiy, and it had taken her only a few hours to summon them, but Chigwiy was a land of fire and desolation, and they were monsters in the forms of men.

At the high table sat Cador in his finest tunic of silver and gold. It made him look like he was in vigil, praying over his sword, asking the gods to bless his life of chivalry. On his left was Rachel. She wore a blue dress with leaping deer around her collar. It was chaste and moderate, nearly humble. With the help of Cerise, her lady-in-waiting, she had braided her hair up. The sight of her neck was enough to make the men stumble when they tried to address her.

John Osteler and Lefwith ate on Cador's other side. Like all his men he and his clothes were tousled by the journey. They hadn't expected to be dining with the man who had captured Rachel, and so had nothing more than chainmail and cloaks to wear. John, ever the canny operator, had at least repurposed his sword's oil to slick his hair into something presentable. "I hate to admit it, sir, but you were right. This venison is sublime," he said to Cador.

The deep champion grinned. "I'd hoped you would," he said. "And you, men? How does it all serve you?"

The other knights and Art had been seated at round tables just below Cador's. Having talked among themselves enough in the days from Losk, they ate almost in silence. Cador's squire didn't interest them much. But while they didn't have the presence of mind to speak, they watched their other companion with much interest: Cerise sat with them. It must have been weeks since they'd seen blonde hair like hers, and her bust was great enough that it was impossible for her bodice to look modest. She played the ingenue. Asking them about their mission and Losk, Cerise talked of how she'd never known the world outside Ughelor.

They often looked at Rachel for a moment when Cerise asked them a question. Their passions make them feel guilty, she thought. They had come to save her and she had become an object to them. Chivalrous objects soon became objects of fantasy, and seeing her face and the body hidden beneath her dress had only intensified their secret thoughts. Each of them, even Odo, wondered what grace she would offer them when they returned her to her father. But Cerise's nearness made them think of her instead for just a moment. If they accepted the deep they would learn there's no reason for guilt, thought Rachel. Shame was for the light of day. On her first night in Ugelor she'd brought a procession of maidens before Cador and watched him ravish them all. Their cries of pleasure had been music to her. When they begged him for another chance to share his bed, she'd enjoyed riding him instead, and making them watch. Bodies and the spaces between them were petty things to the gods below. How much happier these knights would have been if they realized they could take everything they wanted.

One of their guests paid less attention to his plate than the others. The young knight who had sneered at her, Graeme of Hewes, now couldn't stop looking in her direction. She favored him with courteous smiles and nods each time to stress that she had noticed them all. No matter how he blushed with resentment he would look up at her again before five minutes had passed. This will be easier than I expected, she thought.

When the meat was finished the servants brought more wine. Ugelor's cellar was unending, a passage into realms where time did not exist and grapes could be aged with a thought. Slowly the men grew drunk. Even Cador sang with them, old songs of victories over foreign enemies and of blushing maids. Cador's great performance, kneeling at Rachel's foot and belting a song of legendary Sowena's beauty, earned him riotous applause from the knights. And so began the first night.