subsided into frowning silence, and Christopher impatiently tapped the table to regain Alberon’s attention. ‘How many men are you trying to provision?’ he asked again.
‘Eighty.’
Christopher huffed and shook his head at the impossibly large number.
‘But your people are used to providing for themselves!’ cried Alberon. ‘I had supposed—’
‘Eighty full-grown men is a bloody big clan,’ said Christopher bluntly. ‘A clan that size would have to spend the entire summer stocking up for winter. They’d trade a bit, farm a bit, be living off their horses. They certainly wouldn’t just turn up in the forest with naught but their arses in hand and expect An Domhan to provide! That ain’t the way nature works, your Highness.’
‘I am not a fool, Garron! You think I don’t understand that? But my supplies are gone!’
Beneath the table, Wynter placed her hand on Christopher’s thigh. ‘Freeman Garron,’ she said, ‘his Royal Highness finds himself in need. I am certain he would be grateful for whatever aid your people may have in their power to offer.’
Christopher went to retort, then stopped. The importance of the situation seemed suddenly to make itself known to him, and she saw his irritation with Alberon gave way to an understanding of the opportunity being presented. Wynter, her expression bland, held his eye, squeezed his leg, then sat back.
‘There . . . there ain’t no magic wand that can be waved,’ he said, turning once more to Alberon. ‘Even for people as skilled as the Merron, the secret provisioning of eighty men and their horses is a monstrous task.’
‘I understand that.’
‘You need to send men into the valleys, bulk up the camp larder with at least some sacks of grain.’
‘We shall steal them if necessary, and make reparation later.’
‘It will be lean pickings . . . if there’s any pickings at all.’
‘Understood.’
Christopher was silent.
‘Your people can do it?’ prompted Alberon.
‘If anyone can, they can.’
Alberon ran his fingertips along the edge of the table. He plucked invisible fluff from his sleeve. ‘You understand,’ he said softly, ‘I would need to be very delicate with my men about this? They take great pride in their capabilities. There can be no hint that they have been in any way . . . um . . .’
Christopher smiled bitterly. ‘The Merron lords are the most diplomatic of folk,’ he said. ‘Certainly they ain’t about to ruin your men’s appetite by crowing over who provided the meal.’
Alberon regarded him very closely.
‘I swear it,’ said Christopher.
‘They are remarkably subtle when it comes to politics,’ murmured Wynter. ‘Take it from me, if it is diplomacy you need, these folk will oblige.’
‘If you wish to make use of the Merron, it might be wise to open talks with them soon,’ said Razi. ‘I will be taking Freeman Garron back to the palace with me and he will not be around to act as your liaison.’ He smiled in innocence at Alberon’s hard look. ‘I need Christopher,’ he said blandly. ‘Without him I may well get eaten by a bear. After all, I don’t know one end of a tree from the other.’
Wynter hid a smirk. Alberon went to reply, but Oliver interrupted by ducking into the tent and jerking the door shut behind him. He did not look happy. ‘The Wolves are asking for a doctor,’ he snapped. ‘They are ill. One of their slaves is near dead, the other severely afflicted.’
‘Oh, Good Christ!’ cried Alberon. ‘Have they brought the damned plague in on top of us, along with everything else?’
Oliver flickered his eyes to Razi, then away. ‘They hint at poison, Highness.’
Alberon’s face darkened. ‘Razi?’ he growled.
Razi spread his hands in denial of involvement. Christopher gazed steadily at the table. Wynter examined her nails.
‘Razi!’ demanded Alberon. ‘You were prowling about in the night! You actually sent me word that you intended to interfere with the Wolves!’
‘As I said, brother, petty vandalism, nothing more. The Wolves’ illness is nothing to do with me.’
‘Le Garou is most insistent in his calls for a doctor,’ said Oliver. He looked significantly at Razi. ‘We have none but you in camp, my Lord.’
‘There is nothing I can do for them.’
‘Razi,’ growled Alberon.
‘But there is nothing I can do,’ repeated Razi. ‘They were fool enough to eat something disagreeable and that is that.’
‘This is your opinion?’ asked Oliver. ‘They ate something disagreeable?’
‘Most disagreeable,’ murmured Christopher.
Razi gave him a warning look. ‘That is my opinion,’ he assured Alberon.
‘And you know this how, brother?’ asked Alberon tightly. ‘You simply sense it? You’re that wonderful a physician?