forest, and she looked up. “I can put approximate areas, but the locations are more precisely fixed by markers that are not shown on your map.”
He nodded, returning to his saddlebag for quill and ink and a small penknife. “Do so,” he said, passing her the items. “You will need to repair the nib. I’m not much of a scholar, or one for writing letters.”
Una busied herself inspecting the quill and trimming it to purpose for the next few moments as he sat back in his chair and poured them both another goblet of wine. After this was done, she dipped the pen in the ink and started industriously scratching away at the parchment.
“Tell me about the treasure,” Armand said, taking a sip of his drink. The wine was faintly sour and an unpleasant reminder of The Merry Wayfarer’s shortcomings.
She was silent a moment, intent on her work. When next she dipped into the ink, she looked across at him. “It is not what you might expect,” she said flatly.
He lowered his cup. “How so?”
“There are no crowns or scepters, no royal jewelry.”
He thought about this. “Gold?” he asked. “Jewels?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “But the majority of the gold or silver is in plate or coins. The jewels will be set for the most part in items of worship.”
Items of worship? His eyebrows rose. “The Northern cause fell back on ecclesiastical donation in its latter days?” he hazarded.
Una gave him a very direct look. “Donations were accepted from every quarter. The nobles and barons were expected to turn over great reserves of their wealth. When that dried up, the Northern cause stripped every house, church, monastery or abbey that its forces chanced upon.”
Armand was silent a moment. “So,” he said. “The treasure is not so much a King’s ransom as loot.”
Una inclined her head. “Yes,” she said simply.
“And your father hid some of it?”
Her smile was bitter. “My father was a fanatic. He would envision no future that did not see him set on the throne at Caer-Lyoness and covered in glory. But he had a trusted advisor, a general who was more realistic. He conspired to make caches that could be recovered in time of need.”
“And he told you their location?”
She nodded. “He made me memorize them like a catechism, lest I ever had need of them. To rally the cause in the event of disaster.”
“And what happened to this general?”
“He was executed after the battle of Kettelbrooke.” Her tone was neutral, but he thought he heard a quiver of some emotion there.
“You were fond of him?”
“He was a decent man and always considerate of me.”
He set down his sour wine and left her at her task, as he went in search of the slovenly maid who had failed to bring their hot water for washing before bed. The inn seemed largely deserted, he thought descending the stairs without seeing another living soul. Clearly its change of hands had led to a decline in patronage, and he wasn’t surprised, if their lackluster supper had been anything to judge them on.
He walked through empty room after room until he was forced to head for the kitchens in search of some service. Crossing the threshold, he found the landlord conferring with the groom, the maid, and someone in a grubby apron, who he could only guess was the cook. They wheeled around in surprise at his entrance, the landlord exclaiming hotly.
“We don’t receive guests in the kitchen, good sir! My cook is a temperamental man!”
Armand looked at the cook and thought he looked more furtive than bad-tempered. “He does not object to your stable-hand’s presence, I see,” Armand commented blandly, looking at the muddy boots of the groom who had trodden straw all over the flagstones. The landlord puffed out his cheeks and looked set to respond, but Armand forestalled him.
“I am come in search of our hot water,” he said sternly. “I was promised it would be brought up to our room after supper, and yet it has failed to make an appearance.”
The landlord turned to the sharp-faced maid and berated her roundly for her oversight. “It will be brought up shortly, good sir,” he assured Armand, ushering him out of the kitchen.
“Have you no other guests?” Armand asked. “The place seems half dead.”
The other man bridled. “We have a pilgrim lately arrived who is taking his supper in his room,” he said indignantly.
Armand’s ears pricked up. “Indeed? A devout man would eschew the dining chamber, I suppose. No doubt he