By the tenth day of the call, the applicants' tents had spread beyond the first meadow. Hallis put two guards on the road before breakfast and two more beside the stores. Men who had arrived late were sleeping beneath their cloaks until Woods could spare poles for another shelter. Jon ordered more canvas brought from the Black Yard and walked the meadow with Hewyn before the next group was called.
There were men shaving at the water barrels, men rubbing their feet and men who had risen early to practise thrusts with sticks. A pair of brothers were arguing over which of them would wear their one good coat before the officers. Near the cookfire a man in patched mail sat upon his pack, watching all of it with the tired contempt of an old soldier.
"How many have you seen?" Jon asked.
Hewyn gave him the number. It was already more than half the strength Jon meant to raise, with most of the recruiting moon still to come.
"Keep hearing them," Jon said. "Do not fill a century because its beds are ready."
Martyn had begun with the men who claimed to know the sword. Jon joined him on the lower field. One applicant had borrowed a fine belt and could scarcely draw the blade which hung from it. Another used an old sword with such economy that Martyn stayed opposite him for several passes before lowering his own.
"Who taught you?"
"My last captain, ser."
"And before him?"
"A man who beat me for dropping the shield."
Martyn glanced at Jon. "He remembers."
Jon wanted a hundred such men, but the old soldier's ease could not be bought for all of them. Some had fought in levies; others had carried spears for years and learned little beyond where to stand. Martyn set the experienced men aside for a second trial together; his assistants worked with the others to judge what they might learn.
Across the field, Rennick brought the next group back from a run. He was a broad, flat-faced man with pale lashes, one of Hewyn's old road companions. The big youth who had lifted the heaviest sack sat with his head between his knees. Rennick crouched beside him and loosened his collar while Hewyn called the others forward.
Hewyn asked after trades, service and wounds, then tried their balance and made them repeat simple movements together. Jon watched them more closely on the second attempt. On his first ship, the quiet man who asked to be shown again had become more useful than the one who claimed to know everything.
A narrow-faced lad went back for another man's dropped bundle. Brown hair clung to his forehead; he had scarcely caught his breath himself. Jon beckoned him over. "Your name?"
"Hennet, my lord. From the Tallhart lands."
Hewyn checked the roll. "He has never held a spear."
"We have four years. We can teach him." Jon pointed to the field. "Come back tomorrow, Hennet."
The lad looked towards the ranks, then back at him. "I may try again?"
"That is what I have asked."
Hennet bowed so quickly that the bundle slipped. He caught it against his knee and took it back to its owner. Hewyn put his name beside the others worth another look.
An older man would accept the wage but would not go to sea. Jon heard him beside the tent, with Arthur and Hallis near enough to listen.
"I have kept gates before, my lord. I could keep your castle while you were gone."
"The call is for men who go with me. Give Hallis the name of your last captain; he may know someone who needs you."
The man bowed stiffly and took his pack. At the road he stopped and looked back. Jon had known men who took an unwanted posting for the pay and resented every day of it. This oath might bind a man for life; he would not take one who already wanted different terms.
He nodded to Hallis, who called the next applicant.
By dinner Perkin was rewriting the lists beneath the awning, checking the men's claims and releases from lords and masters. An apprentice without his release was sent to settle it before returning. Behind the trials, applicants carried boards for Woods in return for hire. Some would still be there when their companions began learning the spear.
A lesser lord offered twelve horses if his fourth son received a command. Jon sent a courteous refusal. The young man was welcome to try for a place, but his father's horses would not choose an officer.
The son came and handled horse and spear well. Norren, another of Hewyn's road veterans, put a crofter's son over his group. The young noble went straight to Jon. Norren followed, rain caught in his red-brown beard, his long nose reddening in the cold.
"My father commands men," the young noble protested.
"Here you would answer to Hewyn and the officers I appoint. You knew the terms before you came."
Norren waited while the young man argued, then held out a hand for the borrowed spear. He took it back without a farewell. The noble's son went home; Woods's men raised more tents, and Elspeth hired women for the additional cookfires.
Hewyn kept the trials open through the moon. While the lists filled, Jon brought Ewan a drawing of the heavy javelin Roman soldiers had thrown before closing with sword and shield. He wanted the spearmen to try it.
Ewan held the drawing against the forge light. "That is a long piece of iron for a throwing spear."
"The weight is part of its use," Jon said. "But the point must pierce a shield, and the iron must hold where it joins the wood." He indicated the fastening. "Make a few. We will see which thickness your iron will bear."
For practice they used ash shafts with padded heads and weighted leather pouches. Jon and Hewyn adjusted the balance until the point stayed forward. Arthur joined them and put one cleanly into the wicker.
Nine days later Ewan brought five iron-headed examples to the field. An old wicker shield hung before the alder planks. Hewyn's first throw punched through but split the ash at the fastening. The next head broke at the neck. Of the other three, two held in the target; one bent under the weight of its shaft when Arthur tried to lift the shield.
He had to brace the wicker with his boot to pull it free. "A man would have to throw his shield away or stop to deal with that."
"That is what I want," Jon said. He kept the two sound examples and returned the broken pieces to Ewan. "Strengthen the fastening on these. We will try the next ones against wet wood."
Ewan nodded. "I can make the neck thicker without changing the point."
Hewyn took the practice shafts back for the new centuries. The iron heads stayed at the forge until Jon and Ewan were satisfied with the pattern.
Later, in Winterfell's stable, Jon found Benjen while Hullen changed the wrapping on his gelding. The swelling had gone down, but the horse flinched when Hullen pressed the tendon.
"He needs another fortnight standing," Hullen said. "Then walking before you try a saddle."
Benjen stroked the black neck. "I cannot take him north like this."
"Take Tallow north," Jon said. "Ralf can keep this one until he is sound."
Benjen looked at him. "The clock and a horse?"
"The horse is lent."
"Then I shall bring him back." Benjen scratched beneath the gelding's mane, took Tallow's reins from a groom and followed Jon outside. Dusk had turned the wet yard purple. Smoke lay low over Winter Town, broken by the orange windows of the alehouses and the brighter lights of the works.
"Three hundred men, then," Benjen said. "When I rode in, you were still talking about the first twenty-five."
"They have done well."
"I saw." Benjen put an arm about him and drew him close. He smelled of horses, smoke and wet wool. "You have done well too. Remember to come and see me."
Jon watched his uncle lead Tallow towards the guest stable. Benjen would take him north after the harvest gathering. Arthur waited beneath the arch, then drew Jon a little way into the empty paddock, beyond hearing of the stable lads.
"Rhaegar wrote to Maester Aemon," he said.
Jon looked up. "Often?"
"Often enough that the prince kept Aemon's replies apart from his other letters. He read them himself. I saw them upon Dragonstone and at Summerhall."
"What did they write of?"
"Old histories. Summerhall. The promised prince." Arthur's thumb rested against Dawn's pommel. "Rhaegar would sometimes read a reply twice before he spoke to anyone. Aemon could tell him something he disliked, and he would still write again."
"Did Aemon know of me?"
"Not in any letter I saw."
Jon looked towards the turn where Benjen had gone. "I want to ask him about Rhaegar. What he was like before all this."
Arthur was quiet long enough that Jon looked back.
"He will remember things I never knew," the knight said. "I should like you to hear them."
"Will you come with me?"
"Aye," Arthur said. "I should like to hear him speak of Rhaegar."
Jon looked towards the keep. "When we can make the journey, then."
* * *
With four days left in the recruiting moon, Hewyn began calling back the men who had passed their first trials. One hundred and seventeen names remained on his own list; his three road veterans had others, and Martyn still had more swordsmen than places. Jon meant to hear their final choices together.
Pine had arrived late from the wolfswood. Jon rode in beside Arthur as the first wagon of rafters came through the gate, the carpenters hurrying to get it under cover before rain. Rymond was receiving the latest applicants beside it. His hair had greyed at the temples, though his heavy brows remained black. A lad asked him to repeat the way to the tents. Rymond made him point out the turning before letting him go. Most of the waiting men were older than the household boys, broad from timber yards or thin-faced from poor land.
Jon had Poole begin with the men whose releases were clear. Woods took eight volunteers who could lift, with any who had set a roof before; Hewyn and Martyn led the others to their trials. Tomas brought two household files to help with the timber, Gage kept men at the stores, and Olyver examined the unfinished hearth with Ewan.
Mallador was already at work below the tents. Water had gathered round the bedrolls before dawn, and he was cutting an outlet through the bank. He had grown since Jon refused him a place in the household. When Tomas passed, Mallador nodded once and went on with the spade.
A big black-haired youth laughed as the household filed past. Someone called him Joss. He was a butcher's son from near the market gate, broad in the back and confident of it.
"Are those the soldiers?" he asked Hewyn. "My little brother is taller."
Tomas heard and kept walking.
"Would you face their captain?" Jon asked.
Joss turned at his voice. "Gladly, my lord."
"Hewyn, give him a shield and an ash sword. Tomas."
The captain handed his load to another boy and came over. Hewyn fitted both with padded caps and sent the applicants back beyond the posts. Joss rolled his shoulders and swung the sword twice. Tomas settled his shield close and waited.
At Hewyn's call Joss came straight at him. His first blow struck the shield hard enough to sound across the yard. Tomas gave a step, turned the next stroke aside and touched Joss above the knee. Joss pressed harder. He was strong, but each swing pulled him across his own feet. Tomas moved round him, making him turn, then drove the rim of his shield into Joss's sword arm and struck his ribs.
"Dead," Hewyn called. "Enough."
Joss swung once more. Tomas caught the blow on his shield, stepped close and drove him backwards over his planted leg. Joss fell hard in the mud. Arthur took the sword from his hand before he could rise.
"He tricked me," Joss gasped.
"You struck after the halt," Jon said. "There is no place for you."
"My lord—"
"Leave the gear with Hewyn." Jon waited until the young man's father came through the rail and took him away. Tomas picked up his load and returned to the carpenters. The applicants made room for him without another laugh.
Malcolm, a miller's third son with a square face and the beginnings of a beard, arranged four men along the next beam. Mallador took the heavy end. When one lad tried to lift before the others were ready, Malcolm stopped him and moved him nearer the middle. They raised it together. While Malcolm held it steady, Mallador helped Woods fit the joint. Beron brought pegs too short for the holes; Mallador began to swear, caught himself and sent him for longer ones. Hewyn watched without comment.
Mist thickened over the yard. Heward cleared the wagon entrance while Murch counted bowls and divided bread. An ox backed towards the lime sacks. Its handler pulled at the halter, shouting until a freckled youth took the rope from him.
"Give him room. He cannot turn through you." The youth walked the ox forward, away from the white sacks, and handed the rope back.
"Symon," Hewyn told Jon. "He has worked with teams." Symon wiped the rain from his face and went to help unload the wagon.
Behind the stable, a Barrowton boy called Rafe was trying to pull on a boot without bending his swollen knee. He caught the wall when Jon approached. He had walked from Barrowton; the swelling had begun yesterday. Jon had a cart take him to Winterfell and rode up with him. Luwin received them in his chamber and made Rafe sit with the boot off. Rafe bit his sleeve as the maester pressed beside the kneecap.
Rafe stared down at his bare foot. "I came all this way, my lord."
Jon crouched beside him. "I cannot put you in a century with that leg. Garrick has a cart going to Barrowton. You can ride home when Luwin has tended it."
"Will you take me when it mends?"
"Write to Hewyn before you set out again. There may be a place then."
Rafe wiped his face with his sleeve and nodded. Jon sent for food before leaving him with the maester.
The main rafters stood when Jon returned to the Old Watch at noon. Woods brought up the first thatch and sent the volunteers to Hewyn in small groups after they ate; the other trials had continued through the morning.
Next morning Jon watched Martyn's candidates fight in pairs below the byre. They kept their patched mail and old iron along the rail where they could see it. Brus, the grizzled man Ser Rodrik had recommended, changed the pairs at Martyn's call. Yesterday Jon had watched him fight; today he watched him teach.
A carter with bent shoulders thrust over an opposing shield while his partner held the second man. Both withdrew together, shields still up.
"Gerralt," Martyn told Jon. "He served at Deepwood for four years."
"Take his name." Hewyn would give Jon spears enough for open ground. In a doorway, aboard a ship or among broken ranks, he would need men who could fight this close without losing one another.
On the lower ground Hewyn formed the applicants into ranks and taught them to advance, turn and halt. Men accustomed to hunting alone thrust too far; spearpoints caught sleeves, and shields drifted apart. He slowed the pace and had them repeat it. When the man behind Mallador trod on his heel, Mallador turned sharply, his padded spearpoint rising.
"Halt."
The point stopped. Mallador lowered it and faced front. Hewyn watched him through the next two turns before calling the following group.
The storm drove them into the new hall before dark. Rain came through the unfinished thatch, and families passed dry cloaks through the shutters. One youth had already rescued half a tent's bedding. He stood in the doorway with a chest against his belly, cropped hair plastered between his prominent ears.
"Coll, put it by mine," Murch called. "There is room."
"Not under that drip." Coll shifted the chest farther along the wall before letting its owner take it. Elspeth's women served barley stew with mutton neck and turnips. Malcolm pushed onions towards Mallador. Beron went to ask Woods about the next roof.
Jon warmed his hands on his bowl. "Bring the men you are uncertain of back tomorrow. The others can wait until we have heard Martyn and your veterans."
Hewyn brought Hennet forward again on the third morning. The lad watched his feet so closely that he missed the halt. Hewyn moved him to the end of a rank, where he could see his neighbour, and had him try again. Hennet kept his head up this time. When his spear fouled the next man's, he drew it back without being told. Jon left him in the rank.
Rennick walked beside another struggling lad until he could hold his place unaided. Norren made his tallest youth change places with the partner he blamed. The youth kept complaining, and Jon sent him away. Rymond tested what his men remembered without showing them again.
By the fourth afternoon the meadow had thinned. When Hewyn called the younger of the brothers with the good coat, both rose; the elder sat down again. Gerralt was still teaching four lads to pass a narrow gap, turning a shield caught against the hurdle so its bearer could follow. Brus had disarmed another angry loser. Jon heard both accounts and upheld the refusal.
Sunset found the officers in the hall, with Perkin's rolls spread beside Jon's unfinished supper. Rennick had come straight from the field; mud covered his boots to the ankle. Norren stood beside Rymond near the fire. Martyn made room for Gerralt and Brus at the table.
"Your first fifty?" Jon asked Hewyn.
"Chosen. Malcolm for the first ten. Symon, Coll and Murch for three more."
"And the last?"
"Mallador, if you approve him." Hewyn lowered his voice. "He still has a temper. But he listens now, and the others worked well under him at the roof."
"Keep him close," Jon said. "If he gives you cause, tell me."
"I will, my lord."
Rennick's fifty included the lad who had learned to keep his place. Norren had fifty with the angry youth removed. Jon questioned two names on Rymond's roll before Perkin laid the four spear lists together.
"Two hundred spears," Perkin said.
Martyn drew forward the remaining rolls. "Gerralt for the fifth century. Brus for the sixth. Fifty in each, with their commanders counted among them."
Jon looked at the carter. "I saw you teaching those lads. They will need it every day."
"Aye, my lord." Gerralt had folded his thick hands upon the table. "I shall see to them."
"Under Ser Martyn. You both continue learning while you teach." Brus bowed his head beside Gerralt. Jon returned the two rolls to Perkin. "Accept these as well."
Outside, a woman called for her son. The younger brother waited beneath the eaves; he would have his answer in the morning.
"Read every name back," Jon told Perkin. "Then bring the pay chest up from the Black Yard."
Before dawn Perkin finished the six rolls. Hewyn gathered the chosen men beneath the eaves and read each name himself. Hennet did not move when his was called. Murch nudged him, grinning, and he went across to Malcolm with his cap twisted between his hands.
"First ten," Malcolm told him. "Put your pack beside mine."
Hennet looked towards Jon. "May I send word home, my lord?"
"When we have finished here. Perkin will find someone going your way."
Hennet went to fetch his pack. The refused men heard their names separately. Some watched the new coats being carried past; one began gathering his things before Hewyn had finished.
Beron stood near the end, holding the cap he had worn to every trial. He could carry a beam all afternoon, but each time he returned to the field he still froze when a shield came at his face. Woods had liked his hands better than Hewyn liked his feet.
"Have you spoken to Woods again?" Jon asked him.
"Yes, my lord."
"He has work for you if you want it."
Beron swallowed. Behind Jon, men were lining up beneath the black banner. "I wanted the coat."
"I know."
The lad looked at his cap. After a while he asked what Woods would pay. Jon sent him to the carpenter to hear the terms himself.
The brothers who had shared the good coat had fared differently. One had been chosen for the spears. The other kept saying he would come again, although Hewyn had told him there were no places left in this muster. They went aside to talk. Presently the chosen man took off the coat and gave it back. His brother pulled it on, slapped dust from the sleeves harder than he needed to, then shouldered his pack.
At the cook shelter Elspeth served the departing men from the same kettle as the others. A few would not take the food. Most did. Garrick hired two for the teams, and a sawyer went to look at Woods's pit. Those bound for the same roads gathered together, their bundles smaller than when they had arrived. Jon watched Hallis send the first party through the gate, then turned back to the men waiting to swear.
The six centuries formed below the tower, spears nearest the banner and swords across the lane. Hallis cleared a carter's empty wagon through the families at the rail. When it had passed, Jon called the commanders forward; Perkin followed with the rolls.
Perkin read the commands of the First Cohort: Hewyn, Rennick, Norren and Rymond for the four spear centuries; Gerralt and Brus for Fifth and Sixth, the sword-and-shield men.
"Fifty to a century, my lord?" Rennick asked.
"For now. A hundred when we have filled them. You are their centurion." Jon faced the other commanders. "Each of you will recommend a deputy, an optio; I shall choose the optiones from your names. Each ten has a decanus. Malcolm, Symon and the others begin those duties today."
Brus repeated the unfamiliar words under his breath. Martyn leaned nearer to hear.
"Hewyn commands the cohort. Ser Martyn trains both sword centuries. Arthur and Gawen keep the household." Jon called Heward forward. The old soldier planted his staff before each step, his clean coat darned where it rubbed against the wood.
"You have kept my yard since there were twenty-five of us. As campidoctor, you oversee the training of all my men. Inspect their drills, marches and camps. Stop them and have them repeat anything they do badly."
"And the watches?" Hewyn asked.
"You post them; Heward inspects them and brings serious neglect to you. Command in the field remains with you and Tomas."
Heward turned to the centurions. "Bring your leading decani tomorrow. I want you where your rear ranks can see you."
Perkin entered the appointment. Heward would arrange his hours with Arthur, Martyn and Gawen, so men were free for his instruction before teaching their own.
Before Hewyn returned to his men, Jon beckoned to the six waiting bearers. Mairi had finished their flags the previous evening. Each was a square of black wool hanging from a short crossbar, with a large white numeral sewn above its badge. The first four bore a spearhead; the last two a round shield. I, II, III, IV, V, VI. The white cloth showed clearly even when the breeze dropped.
Jon placed the first staff in Hewyn's hand. "A vexillum for each century. Your men form upon their own flag, on the road or in camp. Choose a bearer and a man to take his place."
Hewyn turned it towards the ranks. Rennick took the next, studying the two white strokes before passing the staff to a veteran at his shoulder. Norren held the Third high and called his men forward. This time they had something to follow.
Martyn waited while the last flag went past. "Vexillum as well? Where do you find these names?"
"In my reading. They will soon know them." Jon looked towards the far ranks, where Brus was showing his men the white VI. "Let the bearers stand forward for the oath."
The six flags rose along the line. Above them all, the larger banner of House Black remained plain sable.
Mairi and three seamstresses were still working along Hewyn's ranks, pinning back sleeves that covered hands and chalking hems for alteration.
"Mine reaches my knees," Symon said, pulling at the skirt.
"It is meant to," Mallador told him.
Families crowded the rail. Malcolm's father gripped his shoulders and warned him not to gamble his first wages. A Glover widow turned her son's coat inside out to look for a pocket. Wylla promised to add one when the fitting was done. The young man endured it with his eyes fixed ahead until Hewyn called the ranks to attention. Jon stepped beneath the banner, and the talking died away.
"You have heard the terms," Jon said. "You serve House Black, and you will sail with me to Dragonstone. Hewyn commands the foot; Ser Martyn teaches the swords. While we remain here, you keep Lord Stark's peace. Fighting among yourselves will earn the lash. Bring your quarrels to your officers. I will pay and equip you, feed you and care for those hurt in my service. If you will not take that oath, step out now."
A youth in Murch's ten held up a folded letter. "Lord Cerwyn's under-steward said I should have a braid, my lord."
"Your release lets you serve. It does not appoint you over my men. Murch is your decanus."
The young man looked at the strip on Murch's shoulder, then lowered the letter. "Yes, my lord."
Hewyn lifted his staff. Malcolm came forward first and knelt upon the damp earth, his men behind him.
"I swear my service to House Black," he said. "I will keep faith with Lord Jon, obey the officers he sets over me and bear arms at his command. I will guard what is entrusted to me and stand with my fellows until I am released from service. Before the old gods, I give my word."
The others spoke after him. Jon heard their voices catch upon unfamiliar words and grow firmer towards the end. When they had finished he accepted their service and called them to their feet. Hewyn brought the next ten forward. Families pressed nearer the rail, trying to see their own men kneel.
The other centuries followed. A child called to his father and was hushed against a woman's shoulder. Water dripped from the banner onto Jon's cloak as Gerralt knelt stiffly with the Fifth. Beside him a lad who had never owned a sword watched Jon's face while he swore. Brus brought the last century forward.
When the last century had sworn, Benjen came to the rail beside Eddard. Jory stood behind them, his men between the horses and the gathered families. Three hundred men faced Jon across the yard, with Tomas's household standing apart. The tent ropes beyond them seemed suddenly very close together. He turned to Hewyn and ordered the centuries paid.
Perkin opened the pay chest beside the hall. Hallis stood at its corner while the officers brought the centuries forward. Each ordinary spearman and swordsman received a silver stag for the sennight, with food, a bed and his issued clothing besides. The officers drew the higher wages agreed at their choosing. Jon stayed beside the table for the first century.
Hennet came forward bareheaded. Perkin set a silver stag upon his palm, and the lad turned it over, rubbing its edge with his thumb. The anxious face Jon remembered from the trials broke into a smile. "Thank you, my lord."
"Next week, after the tools are put away," Perkin told him. "Come with your ten."
"Yes, master."
He closed his hand and went to Malcolm. Jon saw him open it again beyond the table, as if to be certain the money had remained there.
The paid men called to their families until Hewyn ordered them back. Hallis cleared the departing road, keeping two guards beside the chest. Jon paid the Stark guards extra for their help at the muster; those on the road would collect theirs when relieved.
Jon checked the issued spears with Hewyn. Shields came from half a dozen yards; old iron caps, boiled leather, quilted coats and repaired mail went where the drill required them. Fine armour must wait. These men would begin with what Jon could buy and mend.
"At first light, by your centuries. Hewyn and Ser Martyn have your orders." Beyond the half-built barrack, tent pegs were being driven and someone shouted for another kettle.
Eddard came across while Jon was unfastening his wet cloak. He took it before the hem could drag in the mud and handed it to Arthur.
"I thought you might ride back with me."
"I am eating with the officers." Jon glanced towards the hall, where Hewyn had stopped to hear one of his new decani. "I want to hear what they have to say now the choosing is done."
His father looked towards the waiting horses. Benjen had mounted; Jory held the chestnut's bridle. For a moment Eddard stayed where he was, with rain shining upon the shoulders of his cloak.
"Then stay," he said. "I will tell Robb."
Jon caught his sleeve before he turned. "Come down and eat with me sometimes. You need not wait for me to bring you a difficulty."
Eddard's hand closed over his. "I should like that." He released him and went to his horse. Jon watched until they had passed the first tents, then joined Hewyn beneath the hall's dripping eaves.
The new hall could hold only Hewyn's first century. The others ate at the cookfires beneath the adjoining shelters while carpenters worked on the next barracks. Elspeth sent the decani to collect bread and bowls for their tens, then had the stew carried along the benches. Malcolm waited until his last man had been served before lifting his spoon.
Jon sat at Hewyn's table with Arthur on one side and Heward nearest the fire. Tomas's household had returned to their hall by the Black Yard after the oaths; tomorrow they would ride back to drill while the foot centuries began work.
Martyn brought his bowl to the place opposite Jon. "You said you found those words in your reading. They were not in any of the histories Rodrik and I learnt from."
"I have read a great deal," Jon said. "These suit the force I mean to build."
"Which book?"
Jon reached for the bread. "There is more to it than one book. I have changed things to suit us."
Arthur had been listening. "The names are easy enough to learn. The training is what interests me. You knew how you wanted these men arranged before Hewyn brought you the first roll."
"I had time to consider it."
"You are eight, Jon." Martyn said it quietly, with a glance at the soldiers farther down the table. "I was still being put upon my pony at eight."
Jon set the bread down. "I have told you as much as I intend to about that, Martyn. I will show you the drill and explain why I chose it."
"I need to understand it myself if I am to teach it."
"Come to the yard tomorrow. We will go through it together before you bring the men out."
Martyn studied him for a moment. "Then I shall bring my shield."
Arthur passed Jon the salt. Hewyn wanted to know which century Martyn meant to begin with, and the knight turned to him.
Here, men who had come by different roads passed bread along the unfamiliar benches, still learning the names of their new companions. Murch unfolded a letter written downhill across a scrap and turned it twice.
"From your sweetheart?" Mallador asked.
"My sister," Murch said, turning the page again.
"What does she say?"
"If I knew, I would hold it right way up."
"Can you read it?" Jon asked Malcolm. The decanus nodded and took the scrap from Murch.
Malcolm read. "Your mother cried after you left. Your father says she did not. The red cow calved, and the calf is white."
Murch held out both hands for the page. "Could I learn to read it myself?"
"You will," Jon said. "Bring the letter to your lessons. Perkin will have you in small groups after drill. Men who can already read will help him. Every decanus must learn enough to read an order and keep his men's accounts as well."
Murch folded the letter carefully. "I will come."
Coll touched the grey strip at his shoulder. "I never learned either."
"Then come with him," Hewyn said. Coll nodded and returned to his stew.
After supper Hewyn assigned the First's bunks and places for their gear. Rennick sorted his century among the tents; Brus called for a man seeing his sister off. No one could leave that night without his decanus's knowledge. Families lingered over their farewells. Mallador stood alone beneath the eaves.
"Your mother?" Jon asked.
"She said she would come if I earned the place, my lord."
"Send word."
"She did not think I would."
"Give Perkin the message. He can send it with a traveller."
Mallador looked into the hall, where his fifth ten were choosing bunks. "Will there be land on Dragonstone, my lord?"
"There will be opportunities for men who serve me well," Jon said. "I have no holding to promise you tonight."
Mallador nodded and went to his men. He chose the bunk nearest the door.
* * *
Jon found Aries beneath the stairs when he returned to the Black Yard that night. The boy had fallen asleep sitting up, with Jon's spare gloves in his lap. Wylla was covering him when he woke and caught the blanket with both hands.
"I kept them."
"So I see," Jon said. "You could have put them on their peg."
"You said fetch them."
"That was before dinner."
Aries looked affronted by the hours he had wasted. Wylla helped him onto his feet and sent him to wash. When he returned, Jon had a slate upon the little table and two short pieces of chalk.
He wrote ARIES slowly, leaving room beneath it. The boy watched his hand, then studied the finished marks.
"All that is me?"
"Five letters." Jon named the first and had him follow its strokes. Aries made it too wide. The second attempt leaned into the next letter until the word resembled a broken fence.
"It's wrong." He pushed the slate away.
"The first is better. Try the second again."
"Master Perkin says I hold it wrong."
"He showed you a way that will not tire your hand. Show me."
Jon loosened the fist around the chalk and rested the boy's wrist upon the table. They made three more letters before Wylla brought their bread. Aries turned the slate face down when she looked at it.
"He has written his name," Jon told her.
"I shall see it when he chooses to show me." She put a piece of cheese beside his bread and did not reach for the slate.
Arthur came in while Aries was eating the cheese and set his gloves beside Jon's. The boy watched him sit, then looked towards the doorway, where two household guards were passing.
"Gage says the new men all knelt. What for?"
"They were swearing to serve me," Jon said.
"Heward makes them stand up."
"For drill. Today they were giving their word before witnesses. I gave mine back."
"What did you promise?"
"Pay and a place at my table. Those new beds you saw are theirs."
Aries nodded. He had been sent away from two of them that morning while looking for a place to hide Jon's gloves.
"They get paid even when there's no fighting?"
"They are learning now. Tomorrow some will guard the stores and some will help build the quarters."
The boy thought about that over the last of his bread. "But they're bigger than you."
"Most are." Jon turned his cup away from the slate. "They know I can pay them. Now I must show them I can lead them."
Arthur leaned forward, his forearms upon the table. "A man may obey a lord and still think him a fool. I have met a few who took a bow for proof that they had spoken wisely."
"Have you bowed to fools?" Aries asked.
"Yes."
"Did you tell them?"
"When it was my place." Arthur looked at Jon. "Some listened."
Jon drew the slate round again. "Ask about what you see here. Ask me when I have finished with the men, and I shall answer what I can. You will learn more than how to carry my gloves."
Aries looked down at the five letters. "Do I still have to do those?"
"Yes. Try the second letter again."
The boy chose the longer piece of chalk and pulled the slate close. He added a dot beside his name, rubbed it out, and tried to make the second letter stand straight.
After eating, Jon sent him to Gawen with a spoken message: the two quiet mares were wanted after breakfast, not before it. He made Aries repeat it first. The boy came back reporting that Gawen had said aye, and would his lordship stop letting the page race round blind corners.
"Were you running?"
Aries nodded gravely. "He nearly walked into me."
"You slowed for the return, then."
"Some."
"Walk next time," Jon told him. Before bed, Aries took the slate to Wylla and set it upon her mending. He pointed to the first letter himself.