Patronage from Ugelor

Rachel was mounted on her roan mare and riding on the western road from Ughelor. With her was Art on a horse of his own. He carried his sword but left armor behind. There was no danger for them waiting at the end of the road to Durmhall. They had spirited out of the castle in a shroud of mist that the siege camp wouldn't have looked twice at, and now rode the road openly. This day she wore gold and white, the colors of harvesttime. She braided her hair in a crown around her head and wore a necklace made from plates of gold the height of a thumb as a collar for her neck.

Over the tops of Drumhall's buildings she saw the church that was her destination. When they arrived at the foot of the small and rustic church Art dismounted and knelt to allow her to climb down from her own horse by stepping on his knee. "Thank you, Arthur," she said, handing him her riding gloves and reins. He accepted them and brought the horses over to the church's stable. She wasn't waiting for very long when an old man in a black habit stumbled out through the doors of the church. His head was tonsured, but he didn't have much hair left to make the ring.

"Lady Rachel?" the wizened priest said. He hadn't been expecting her.

She threw out her arms, beckoning him into a hug. He hesitated for a moment before accepting. "It's good to see you, Hresman," she said. She ignored his title not only out of familiarity, but because she didn't see him as a priest at all to boot.

"To what, uh, do we owe the occasion, milady?" said the priest. He glanced nervously at the door. As far as she could remember, Rachel hadn't ever given him reason to fear her. Maybe he's got some curvaceous young thing hidden in his parsonage, she thought with glee. If he did it would certainly improve her opinion of him.

"Can't a woman come visit her subjects without a reason?" she asked. In certain terms the people of Durmhall and the other villages near Ughelor owed her nothing, and arguably owed Cador nothing either; he held no royal writ to rule there, for no king would dare to think he could dictate the foul castle's affairs. But if his mastery over the land was only a question of formalities, Hresman knew that hers was, or should have been, more so. They were not married. She had been at Ughelor for most of a year and still had not married.

But he also knew not to contradict her. "Right, dolt that I am," muttered Hresman.

"How goes the festival preparations?" Her father's men had chosen the time of their arrival for a reason. Soon the peasants would bring in the harvest, and soon after they would deliver the portion that Cador called his due. They thought they could starve Ughelor by keeping the farmers' carts away. If Cador were a robber baron like any other it would've worked. But the harvest tax was only a sacrifice for his masters, and they were patient. The knights would make just as good a gift.

"Well," said Hresman. He looked preoccupied. "Tomorrow it all begins. I'm told the girls are already finished their dresses."

"For the harvest crown?" Rachel's eyes flashed at him. He failed to meet them.

"That's right," he said.

"Ah. It's a wonderful tradition."

Hresman swallowed. He could sense her coming, and knew to fear. But what he feared was that she would insist on a noblewoman's privilege. The festivities would become about her and her pride, and distracted from the giving of thanks to the gods. "Yes," he said.

"Oh, don't you think it would be wonderful if I took part too?" she said, clapping her hands together giddily.

His smile was like a brittle branch. "It's all just peasant foolishness," he said. "You shouldn't concern yourself with..."

She took a step closer to him. He was near enough to smell the roses and peonies in her perfume. "Everyone's been so generous since I arrived. I think it's only right that I appreciate your traditions fully," she said. She didn't need to convince him. He didn't dare refuse her.

His eyebrow jumped with concern as he looked at the road out of Durmhall. "We were afraid there was an army coming," he said. "Some of the boys saw a full battalion, or thought so, at least. Is there trouble at the castle...?" Trouble that you should be spending your time on, he means, thought Rachel.

"None at all," she said with saccharine reassurance. "Men from my father, the baron of Losk. Friends! Have you ever been to Losk, Hresman? You absolutely must some day. I'll bring you." And hang your skull from the door of the cathedral.

"No," said Hresman.

"A pity. I've an idea. Why don't I stay here tonight? Lord Cador won't miss me or Art, and I want to see every moment of the festival. Look at my dress - don't you think it's fit for the harvest competition?" she asked, pinching it between her fingers and holding it out for him to see. In doing it she pulled it back to press her breasts against the silk. The priest's eyes were as wide as saucers.

"As you say, milady," he said.