at the base of the hill grinned and paused to shade their eyes. ‘If it’s true that a soldier walks further on a full belly then you two have, once again, lengthened our stride!’
Alberon’s strong voice carried far across the sleepy camp and, at once, an answering cheer rang back from the darkening tents. He cut an impressive figure, gilded in evening light, his strong arms raised over his head, his pale hair rimmed with the last of the dying sun. Razi and Wynter watched carefully as his men gathered in the purple shadows of the thoroughfare and gazed up at their prince, smiling.
‘The Italians have filled our cook-pots once again!’ he called. ‘What say you, men? Once we are safe returned to my father’s palace, and settled again within the arms of our families, do you think perhaps that two swarthy brothers might find themselves granted licence to hunt and provender for my father’s kitchen?’
There was a roar of approval and several good-humoured catcalls from the gathered men. The two Italians at the base of the hill pucked each other and grinned in delight. Alberon nodded to them, smiling, and they bowed.
‘Now shift that wood, you laggards! Or I’ll have ye tarred.’
More laughter, and the camp quieted as the men returned to their dinners and their work. In the civilian quarters, smoke was drifting from the roof-holes of the Haun shelters. The Combermen were seated in the shadows of their awning, their figures intermittently outlined in the dim glow from their pipes. The Merron were busy settling themselves down. Wynter discreetly craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Christopher, but all she could see was Wari crouched outside the main door of their borrowed tent, blowing a fire to flame. Alberon stood for a moment, his eyes on the blue Midland pavilion. He shifted his gaze to the Merron tent, then he sighed. Tiredly, he ran his hand across his forehead and turned to smile at his guards.
‘You may go eat now,’ he said. ‘I shall not need you again till morning.’
The men’s eyes slid warily to Razi, and Alberon chuckled.
‘Charles,’ he said, and one of the men snapped to attention. ‘You may fetch the Lord Razi his weapons; also those of the Protector Lady. They shall be my protection for tonight.’ The men’s eyes widened in ill-concealed alarm, and Alberon chuckled again. ‘Go,’ he said, and the soldiers reluctantly obeyed, glancing over their shoulders all the while, their disquiet obvious on their faces. Alberon watched them retreat down the hill.
‘Your men love you,’ said Razi softly.
‘They have risked all for me, and for my father’s kingdom. They are men of gold.’
Alberon watched as his soldiers approached the civilian quarters; then he crossed to sit at the table. Wynter thought he seemed spent suddenly, all his sparkle gone.
‘Light the candles, will you, Anthony?’ he sighed. ‘And have someone bring wood for the brazier. I do not want the Protector Lady to get cold.’ He glanced up when the boy hesitated. ‘There are no more candles?’ he asked.
‘I can look for some, your Highness, but . . .’
‘Never mind. Go on now, get that fire built, good lad. It will give us light enough, along with the heat . . . Oh, Anthony?’
‘Aye, your Highness?’
‘Make certain that Sir Oliver eats tonight.’
‘Aye, your Highness.’
The boy left them, and there was silence between the friends as they watched Alberon’s guards clatter up the hill with Razi and Wynter’s weapons.
‘That chop-fingered savage didn’t want to give ’em up,’ muttered one of the soldiers, handing over the weapons. ‘He’s a right difficult cur, that ’un.’
Wynter leaned out and saw Christopher standing at the base of the hill, a pale spectre in the rapidly falling twilight. She discreetly lifted her hand. All is well. He stood for a moment watching her, then he padded away into the shadows. Wynter tried to follow his progress, hoping to see him return to the safety of the Merron tents, but he was lost almost as soon as he turned from her. When she faced back to the table, Alberon was watching her closely.
‘You seem well in with the Merron,’ he said.
Wynter found herself momentarily lost for words, certain that any attempt to define her relationship with the Merron would betray her feelings for Christopher. Alberon frowned at her silent discomfort. He glanced down at the shadows where Christopher had been standing.
‘I . . . I would not say we are well in with them,’ ventured Wynter,