Eowain rubbed his head. So if there are one-hundred thirty-three people, and each person needs five pounds of grain per day, that's... He scribbled on a sheet of paper with a charcoal stick. Five-hundred thirty-two pounds of grain. He wrote that number on another sheet.

And each person needs half a pound of meat and half a pound of vegetables per day, so that's... He scribbled again. Sixty-seven pounds each of meat and vegetables. He wrote that number on the second sheet.

Each cavalry horse needs ten pounds of grain per day. We'll have thirty-three cavalry mounts. That's three-hundred thirty pounds of grain. And a draft horse for Rathtyen's wagon, that needs thirteen pounds of grain per day. He wrote that down.

How much grain do two ponies need each day? He guessed at eight pounds each.

There was a knock. His chamberlain opened the door. "Your Grace," she said, "Please forgive the intrusion. Merchant-Master Winoc of the House Pelan to see you. He has an appointment, sir."

"Yes, thank Gods, see him in." Eowain had always detested his maths.

The merchant came in a cloud of velvet robes and aped at aristocracy and bowed. The Lord-Drymyn's acolyte and the merchant's son, who'd given him the bear-skin, entered too, with a Foreigner mercenary behind them.

"Zhank you for seeing us, Dread Sovereign. Your time is precious, zeh point, to it I will come." He put a finger to his ear. "You are planning zeh caravan north? I see it in zeh market, zeh buying patterns of your men, yes? Your miller, he is in short supply of zeh muslin biscuit." The Aukrian merchant shrugged and tugged at his ear. "One hears things. From zeh birds."

Eowain saw no reason he shouldn't know. The kingdom needed to know and there was no better way than by telling the merchant. "In a few days time. Why?"

The Aukrian shrugged. "If it would be alright with you, Dread Sovereign, my son shall accompany you? I would like to send an honest scout with you into the north-hills. To see how matters stand there."

"It's a dangerous journey. Those are the lands of the Fiatach tribes. No friends of ours, save maybe the Gwynn now that Eithne and her father travel with us. There are no roads or trails that can truly be called safe. Hostile tribes and bandits and only the Gods know what else might hinder us. We might not make it." Eowain shook his head. The Aukrian was as cold-blooded as a marsh-lizard. "I wouldn't make the journey myself if I didn't have to."

The acolyte spoke up. "Your Grace, if I may?" Eowain dealt him into the discussion. "I'm to travel with the Lord-Drymyn anyway. The merchant's son and I know each other well. His mercenary and your scout Corvac have also grown close. If I were to travel with he and his mercenary, and the scout Corvac, in the Lord-Drymyn's company, sir? Would that be permissible, sir? The Lord-Drymyn's company would be a shield to them, sir."

Medyr looked in behind them. He nodded with finger to lip, then withdrew.

Eowain considered the merchant and the acolyte. "You understand the risks?"

They agreed they did. "Very well. But you'll have to provision yourselves. Keep it light."

Pleased, they left. Eowain returned with a sigh to his own provisioning. Where was I? He looked at his scribbles. Right, grain for two ponies per day. So then... He rubbed his head.

If it takes us eleven days to travel fifty miles, we'll need... He scribbled at the first sheet again. Nine thousand eight-hundred and one pounds of grain? He looked at the figure and scratched his beard.

He stared at the second parchment. Is that right?

Lord-Drymyn Medyr knocked at the door. "Forgive me, may I—?"

"Gods, yes!" He threw down the charcoal stick. "What is it?"

"The Cailech, my lord. A hundred Cailech men, with their women and children, have come boiling across the border at Gluintír."

"What? When?"

"In the early hours after dawn, my lord. They've seized the fort on Gluin Hill for their own, and it seems they mean to keep it."

Eowain marched from the room. Medyr was close on his heels. "How did this happen?"

"I don't know, Your Highness. Our patrols reported nothing. They must have come across the eastern hills in the night."

Eowain remembered the matter of the herd of cattle. In the courtyard, his horse was saddled. One of his servants stood nearby with arms and armor. He started to dress. "What about the garrison at Bántobar?"

"Surprised, my lord. Before they could mount a counter-thrust, the Cailech seized the hill-enclosure."

From the gatehouse, Lady Eithne, her father, and the matron Alva emerged while he strapped on arms and armor.

Damn it. They had plans for another fickle-game. And maybe an answer to his question? Or was this some kind of challenge. "My lady, forgive me. There's urgent business across the kingdom, I'm needed at once." He took her hands in his. "Why does it seem we can never have a moment's peace?"

"Is it serious?"

"Deadly so. The Cailech have seized one of our eastern provinces. I must repel them."

Her eyes grew troubled. "But the journey to the Vale? We have to leave soon if we're to arrive there by Cétshamain-day."

"I can't let this stand until we return. The Cailech can't just seize our territory."

She put a hand on his mailed chest. "Don't you see? It's a diversion." Her voice trembled. "They mean to draw you out. They mean to kill you, and scuttle our alliance."

He placed his hand over hers and leaned in to speak to her. "Of course it is. But if I refuse battle? I'll lose my honor and my throne more surely than my life." There was no question in his mind. The Cailech had deliberately used their wayward cattle as a pretext to seize his territory. Maybe even to overthrow him. There was no way in Annwn he could let that happen. He took her hand from his chest to kiss, but shook his head. "No."

She pulled the hand away. "Damn you! Listen to reason."

Eowain stiffened and drew himself up, lifted his chin. "I am king here, lady. I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. I need to do this thing, so it's going to get done." He put a hand on Medyr's shoulder. "You'll start the journey tomorrow without me, with the Lady Eithne and her party, and all the men we discussed. I'll meet you in two days' time on the road."

Medyr bowed.

Eithne glared at him.

He went on. "Have the chamberlain and the quartermaster prepare supplies for the journey. Don't depend overmuch on the kindness of the Chremthainn. The figures are on my desk. Tell her to check my maths." He nodded to Eithne. "Good day, my lady."

—33—

Look for the next installment in this Continuing Tale of The Matter of Manred: The Romance of Eowain.

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