The Banished of Muirwood(23)
“As fair as it is to tease a man about his swordsmanship?” Collier answered, quick as a whip. Both men chuckled. “By Cheshu,” he continued with a mocking lilt in his voice, “but you both look hungry. Share my table. There is room for all, even your skulking friend over there. I was bound for Argus tomorrow anyway to find you, Tayt, so I thank you for sparing me the journey.”
“I never refuse to eat at another man’s expense,” Jon Tayt said and sat down at the table. Argus curled up beneath his chair, wary.
After Maia had seated herself, Collier followed her example and then leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. “Tayt knows everything about everything. I am sure you have realized this already. The best way to care for a horse. The best way to sharpen an axe. How to construct a sturdy building. How to find water where there is none. No man in Dahomey is as prolific in his knowledge of useless things as our friend here.”
“Useless?” the hunter said with a chuckle. “I found the Torvian Gap and saved you thirty leagues of riding. How is that useless?”
“The worst part about him,” Collier continued to Maia, ignoring the comment, “is that he cannot hold his tongue. He talks all day long and snores and babbles all night. Even in his sleep he longs to talk. But I do not need to tell that to you. You have clearly endured hardships while roaming the mountains with him, so you must have learned these things for yourself.”
Maia did not like being the focus of attention. This man was clearly trying to engage her in conversation, and it made her uncomfortable. But she knew she would need to speak eventually.
“You are the king’s collier,” Maia said, trying to keep her Dahomeyjan plain. “What is that?”
“He shovels the king’s stables,” Tayt said wryly. “Not even the king’s horses smell like daisies.”
“You are insufferable,” Collier said to Jon Tayt, shaking his head, his brow wrinkling. It smoothed as soon as he shifted his gaze to Maia, regarding her with interest. “My lady, a collier is Master of Horses—the king’s, in my case.”
“And is the Mark here?” Tayt asked dryly.
“You keep calling him that and he will have your head,” Collier said with annoyance. “My master is encamped with the army thirty leagues away.” He saw the look of confusion on Maia’s face and explained. “Tayt calls the King of Dahomey the Mark because he’s rather fond of coins and luxuries—”
“And women,” the hunter interrupted.
Collier waved him down. “Yes, he does have a reputation for that as well. He once promised to pay Tayt a thousand marks to become his hunter, and Tayt refused. He is totally daft, as you already know. Stubborn as an unripe walnut.”
“Ah, but you cannot purchase loyalty,” the hunter said, winning Maia’s respect even more.
Collier waved over a servant, who arrived moments later with a large platter filled, puzzlingly enough, with raw meat and loaves of bread. Once the servant had left the platter on the table, Collier continued. “I am known as the king’s collier because when I was a boy, I shoveled his stables. I learned everything I could about horses and keeping them, in order to be useful. I am entrusted on many errands throughout the realm, which suits my personality, for I truly loathe being in one place for very long. Life in the saddle suits my personality.”
“And with the Mark riding hither and yon with his army all the time,” Jon Tayt said, “he sends Collier to deliver messages and prepare others for his arrival as he goes this way and that. He knows the roads of the kingdom almost as well as I do. The mountain passes . . . passably well. Did you like the play on words?” He chuckled to himself. “He can unshoe or shoe a hoof as well as any blacksmith . . . but not as well as me.”
“Of course, there is only one proper way to shoe a horse!” He rolled his eyes and belted out a laugh.
“One more thing you should know about him,” Jon Tayt said. “He is also called Collier because he is a wretched, and they take on the name of their profession. The old king of Dahomey had quite a brood of children. Most of them born on the right side of the sheets. Save one. Which abbey were you abandoned at?”
That news startled Maia, and she saw the crack in Collier’s mask of frivolity. A darkness seemed to shadow the man’s face. He was staring at her again, his bright blue eyes slightly narrowed, but after a moment of silence, he smiled self-deprecatingly and shrugged. “Lisyeux Abbey. We cannot any of us choose our station in life,” he said. “We only choose what we make of it. I have a good life. I do what I most enjoy. And for the most part, I am unmolested as I ride dangerous roads because thieves and villains think twice when they see me coming. They know I do not fight fair.” His expression turned more thoughtful. He lightly jabbed a finger at her. “I will not hesitate to stab out an eye or cut off a hand when it suits me. Enough about my name and who I am. Who are you, my lady? What Hundred do you hail from?”