The next spear century came to the Blackworks for its helms with straw still clinging to the old leather liners. One man had folded a rag beneath a cap that had belonged to his father. He took it out before Noll measured him. Another laid a split cheek strap upon the bench and asked whether the new one would last longer.
The third year of the lease had begun. Hewyn kept the men moving between the fittings and the practice lane. Most had sworn in the first year and worn those caps through two years of marches, building and drill. The sixty taken the following year were less weathered, though they no longer needed leading through every turn. Jon watched one file advance, halt and cast, then sent its men back to Noll wherever an edge caught the collar.
Cressen came to the bench with a stores order folded in his glove. His cowlick had escaped above his narrow face, still damp where the cap had pressed it. Noll reached for the order, but Cressen unfolded it himself.
"Six collars to the proof yard," Cressen read. "Two to stay here for the new pattern. Which two, master?"
Noll pointed to the red-bound pair. Cressen left those and wrapped the other six. Jon remembered Olyver writing "bread" and "board" for Cressen beneath the eaves. Before the second year ended, Cadan and Lucan had heard all twenty-five read unfamiliar orders and letters in several hands. Some were slow; none needed a clerk. Tomas now posted watch changes as well as calling them. On Jon's ships, reading an instruction had scarcely been remarkable. He watched Cressen close the bundle, pleased by how ordinary it was becoming here.
"Take the receipt back to Abel," Jon told Cressen.
"Aye, my lord." Cressen tucked the order away. "He says the last two went into the issue book before Noll had finished them."
"Then he can enter these when the proof is done." Noll put the red-bound pair beneath his bench and called the next man forward.
The third call brought more applicants than Hewyn expected. They waited below the practice field, some with spears, others with bundles of clothes, all watching the black steel. Behind the six barrack ranges, clock money had paid for new sleeping bays within the finished bank. Gangs levelled the outer field; Woods had lengthened the exercise room for another set of bars and Ewan's weights. Clock wagons left so often that carters complained when anyone blocked the loading space. One White Harbor load had carried Wyman's chess set, Jon's rules tucked inside.
Perkin and Abel brought the completed year's accounts beneath the armour-shed eaves. Jon held his bread and cold chicken clear of the pages. Ten thousand two hundred dragons had come from finished clocks; timber, metal, wages, fitting and carriage had taken two thousand eight hundred. Of the seven thousand four hundred clear, more than half had gone to the men, works, stores and four merchant hulls.
Two cogs had joined Captain Denys first, then two broad roundships. Their White Harbor calls were now frequent enough for Garrick to know which masters kept a clock chest dry. With ten warships beside them, House Black had ships enough to carry more than its own orders.
"Four thousand six hundred remains, counting the older money," Abel reported. "Three thousand for wages, grain and the new men's first issue. Sixteen hundred free."
Jon checked the commissions in Perkin's margin. Hornwood, Deepwood Motte, Torrhen's Square, Stone Hedge, Raventree Hall—and Riverrun. Hoster had paid for the larger case upon Jon's terms. His finger rested there a moment before he passed the account back.
William was finishing the second falcon for the Gates of the Moon and Tywin's smaller clock. Merryweather, Redwyne and merchants in Gulltown, Lannisport and White Harbor filled the other benches. Their earnest remained apart from the completed sales.
Gawen found them with a bridle over his arm. "Twenty-five geldings I would put the new boys upon. A hundred and eighty dragons, if Ralf approves the last four."
"Buy them if he does. Send them in small groups." Jon turned to Abel. "Have the hundred and twenty foot's wages and first issue ready for the oath."
Perkin held out two more letters. A Pentoshi merchant wanted a clock for his reception room; a Braavosi factor asked for two, with the price of fitters, shipping and repairs. Jon read the second twice and gave it to Arthur.
"William can price the work. Osric must reckon the passage from White Harbor—and from Dragonstone. Promise no delivery season yet."
"Dragonstone?" Perkin repeated.
"Ethan needs William's requirements before he sets out the clock rooms. Send him copies. He ought to know who is beginning to ask."
Arthur tapped the Braavosi letter. "He has thought about what happens after it arrives."
"Then he is worth answering." Jon wiped his fingers. Beyond the eaves the waiting applicants were moving into pairs. "The offers can remain letters until we agree the work. Abel has enough for these men." He went to join Martyn.
Four crows picked through the earth beyond the waiting men. The grey-throated hen had joined the others that summer. She still flew off at a sudden movement, but in the evenings she came to Jon's sill. Twice he had sat with Arthur and looked down from her perch, returning to his own body before the candles burned low.
Jon went down to the practice lane with Martyn. A lad in a good leather jack had just knocked the practice sword from his partner's hand. He grinned towards the waiting men. When Martyn put them together again and told him to keep behind the shield, he lowered it to try the same stroke.
"Enough," Jon said. "Give Gerralt the sword."
Gerralt held out his hand from beside the rack. The grin vanished. The other lad was still rubbing his knuckles.
"You stay," Jon told the other lad. "Pick it up. Ser Martyn will show you where your hand went wrong."
For six days Jon came after the morning run, heard the officers' choices and tried the doubtful men himself. Good listeners often outlasted lads with finer weapons. By the last evening he had chosen a hundred and twenty who had seen enough of the work to know what they were swearing to.
After the oath each centurion received twenty men, bringing every century to eighty. Jon mixed them with seasoned soldiers; no decanus received a whole ten who had never held a shield in line.
The new men marched to the lower ford after drill, in plate or their old leather and mail as issue allowed. Jon went in his armour and had little breath left at the gate, where Arthur waited with his horse for Winterfell.
Over the following weeks Hewyn lengthened the road: first half a day, then from before sunrise, bedding and food on carrying forks and shared loads on pack beasts. An officer brought the newer tens home early. Jon walked the level stretches with the rest and rode the longer rises, falling back to watch the rear. They came home late, dust white on their coats, and were back in the shield lanes next morning.
* * *
After a fortnight's work, Otho's fabri brought the travelling catapult to the upper ground. Henly's six libritors assembled it while Emrick's six helped Otho bed it above the ditch. The short frame lengths fitted army wagons; matched iron shoes and removable bearings would make repairs easier. Henly's spare bearing, tried only on the bench, slipped into this frame without a chisel. Emrick turned the shaft freely.
Three stones fell close together, drawing wagers from Hewyn, Martyn and Gerralt. Jon brought up the relief crew and made the caller take each man's answer separately before Emrick gave the signal. Their first stone landed farther out, within the cleared ground. By late afternoon Henly had a dozen shots to compare, including the heavier stone Jon had allowed him to try.
"Take it down," Jon told them. "Tomorrow these same men carry it round the hill and raise it again. All its pieces together."
Henly went to settle the load with the carter. Jon rode down to see how the youngest swordsmen had managed without Gerralt beside them.
* * *
The rolling frame was ready that same moon. Its Blackworks shed had stood unfinished through the end of the second year while Ewan and Woods built the machinery. Bennard cast the short, heavy iron rolls. Jon and Ewan finished them on their powered lathe, cutting each roll smooth and round, with narrower ends to rest in hand-fitted bronze bearings. A forged-iron frame held the pair in place. Ewan had taken more pains over the two screws governing their gap than over any armour he had made.
Now he stood beside the finished machine with Noll. A broad billet of iron waited in the reheating hearth. Jon had drawn its intended length upon a board, and Ewan kept looking at the line.
"The hammer would do it," he said. "I know what the hammer asks of the iron. I cannot see those taking hold of so much at once."
"They will take a little with each passage." Jon set the screws while Ewan watched. "We keep the rolls apart enough to catch it, then bring them closer."
Otho came in from the new wheelhouse with his book. They had spent the previous afternoon measuring the water through its channel. He pointed to the marked opening on the sluice drawing.
"The hammer and grinding wheel must wait while this runs, my lord. The bellows can keep their water."
Jon followed the figures with his finger. "Leave their sluice as it stands. Ewan, have your men bring the next billets to heat while we work this one."
Jon tied back his hair, pulled on his apron and took the long tongs. Otho raised the sluice. As water struck the wheel, the rolls turned towards their gap, filling the shed with a low grinding unlike the hammer.
Ewan helped lift the iron onto the feeding support. Jon brought its end forward until the rolls caught, then opened the tongs and drew them clear. A longer flat emerged onto the receiving bed, shedding black scale.
Ewan leaned forward. "Gods."
Ewan fetched the second tongs. They reheated the flat when it cooled, matching the screw turns to keep the upper roll level. He set the next billet himself. By the time the waiting iron was worked, all three flats took the same gauge.
Noll had gone to fetch a billet of their plate steel. "My lord, will you try this while I am here?"
Jon took it to the hearth. "We can draw the blank for an arm defence. You will still raise it to shape and give it its final heat."
"I know what remains." Noll looked at the three flats. "I have men spending half their morning getting stock ready for it."
Ewan stayed at Jon's shoulder through the steel's passages, asking how much narrower they could set the rolls and whether wider ones would require another wheel. The blank came out long enough for Noll to lay his arm pattern along it. He held the pattern clear of the hot surface, smiling broadly.
Ewan pulled his apron round and sat upon a stool beside Jon's drawings. "Show me how you chose their breadth, my lord. Before we make another pair." He called Bennard back. "Bring the sizes the benches keep asking for. And the cartwright's list. We shall want those here."
Jon sat beside him and turned to a clean page. Noll remained standing with his pattern in his hand, waiting to have his own sizes entered first.
* * *
Later that moon rain drove Branoc and his six new barrack signs beneath the hall's eaves. White letters shone on black, four spearheads and two round shields; the weathered planks lay face down in the mud. The centurions sheltered beside the new signs while the sword centuries trotted home with shields over their heads.
Malcolm was still working First. Its rear rank had been slow on the turn; he made them repeat it, called the others back and tried the whole line. This time it held. He dismissed them and came under the eaves, water running from his beard.
"Hewyn has spoken for you," Jon told him. "You will command First Century."
Malcolm's square face went still. "Centurion, my lord?"
"You have been doing most of it already," Hewyn reminded him. "The other five keep me busy enough."
"The pay goes with it," Jon added. "Bring me your choice of an optio after supper."
"I will, my lord." Malcolm stepped clear of Jon's boots, belatedly noticing the water dripping from him. "Thank you."
Jon called Rennick and the other centurions over. They made room for Malcolm among them. Gerralt clapped his shoulder; Brus asked whether this meant First would arrive before Sixth at tomorrow's march.
"We have been waiting for you all week," Malcolm said.
Hewyn grinned and held out his hand for the First's sign. "You can quarrel about that when you are dry."
Abel joined them under the shelter and unrolled the larger establishment. Ten cohort spaces filled the page. Only the first had been entered.
"The First Legion," Jon said.
Robb had ridden down after lessons. He came closer to read the empty spaces, Jory waiting at the shelter's edge. "You mean to fill all that?"
"In time, if I have land and work for them. This is the beginning."
Jon held the sheet until Robb had read the names, then rolled it at Jory's reminder about supper.
The signs were hung when the rain eased. Men ducked beneath the familiar names without pausing, more concerned with dry stockings and supper. Malcolm stopped at the First's door to speak with Mallador, then followed his men inside.
Jon left Hewyn to the centuries and rode up to Winterfell with Robb. At the Great Keep stair they parted. Robb went to change his wet coat; Jon carried the list of unfilled places to his father's solar.
Eddard had the shutters open despite the rain. A mason had left a loose piece of facing stone upon his desk, with grit scattered over the corner of a letter. Jon moved his own paper clear of it and set down the list.
"First's new centurion has his command," he said. "I shall begin choosing for the household next."
Eddard read down the six centuries. "How many places remain before you reach the six hundred?"
"A hundred and twenty. Twenty in each century, to be taken next year. The household will have its fifty this summer."
"Then I shall want to see them together before you sail."
"You shall. I want the household call read in the town and at the nearer holds. Tomas can begin the trials as soon as they come."
"Send Luwin the words. The same terms as before: no sworn man without his lord's release." Eddard folded the list and set it beside the stone. "Will you stay to eat?"
Jon unfastened his damp cloak. "That was my intention."
His father set a clean sheet over the unfinished letter and rose. They went down together; Robb had changed his coat and kept the place beside him.
Next morning Jon ran with First and joined Malcolm at the lifting stones. Heward was watching a man favour one shoulder. Murch noticed, took away the heavier weight and sent him to Lorren; the man had admitted nothing before the work began. Heward left Murch to oversee the next row of men. When they had stretched and loosened their shoulders, Jon fetched his shield for drill.
Robb joined him at the trough after drill, flushed from his ride and carrying his coat. Jon sluiced his neck and wrung out his loosened hair.
"You are nearly as tall as I am," Robb said.
"Stand straight, then."
Robb did, at once. Jon laughed and gave him room. His brother still had the broader chest, though Jon felt his own shoulders filling his shirt as he pulled it over his head.
They followed the first file to breakfast, Robb asking to try the heavier stones. Jon stopped him at the door to scrape his boots. Elspeth could see them from the hearth.
During the afternoon's weapons drill, Jon heard the weighted javelin given its old name again. Some men still preferred it.
"Heavy dart," someone muttered behind the second rank.
"Pilum," Jon corrected.
"Aye, my lord." The man picked up another shaft.
The pilum's long iron shank left old shields sagging beneath lodged shafts. A man might survive the cast and still have to drop his shield before the spears reached him. Jon had argued over pila in books and museum reconstructions for pleasure; here a mistake in his memory could cost a man's life.
These weapons flew differently from the padded practice shafts. Hewyn kept the men behind a rope while Jon checked each batch, altered shafts that fell short and returned a split socket to the forge. By the week's end the front ranks were striking the shields, and few needed reminding of the name.
* * *
Martyn had trained both sword-and-shield centuries since their first oaths beneath the ruined tower. Now Gerralt's century took its new plates through the lanes it knew in leather and mail: a four-shield gate, uneven stairs, a twice-bent alley and a platform that shifted upon buried timbers. High strokes hit ash rods; wide cuts caught a neighbour's shield. Men stabbed around rims, punched with the boss and replaced the front pair without turning their backs.
One coat rubbed a man raw beneath the arm. At the rest, Lorren brought water while the men loosened collars and retied points. Martyn used the pause to teach each pair how to lift a senseless comrade out of his harness.
"A naked man is faster," one swordsman said while Lorren dressed the raw skin under his arm.
"Try the march naked, then," Lorren said. "See what the midges leave of you."
The Blackworks altered the armholes and sent Mairi new measures. By the second month the century could run five miles in armour, fight ten minutes in the lane, withdraw and pitch shelter before taking it off. Men still cursed the weight, but knew where to find oil rag, spare thong, rivets and repair wire.
Fourth and the second sword century received their steel through the following months. Between fittings Jon visited the clock rooms, where William was preparing the Rock's smaller clock and keeping a bench clear for repairs. A White Harbor keeper had driven a nail through a case to hang a lamp. William had sent back a drawing to prevent a second mishap.
A Lannisport factor was disputing the colour of his master's case when Jon came in. William held the door beside the oak sample sent with the order. In the grey window light they matched.
"It looked darker by his hearth."
"So will this." William sent an apprentice for a lamp.
The warmed colour satisfied the factor. Jon held the lamp while William showed him the winding and let him hear the bell. At the next bench a man kept filing through every stroke. The factor paid the remaining hundred and thirty dragons, and Perkin wrote the receipt.
Jon left them arranging collection. Outside, seven men of Fourth were still wearing old caps; Noll would fit the missing bowls after drill. The others were learning to check one another's straps without being called back to the bench.
Hewyn wiped the old tallies from the board beside the drill ground. The six white numerals stood above clean spaces. Martyn watched Jon lay cords across the new practice lanes.
Two crooked lanes opened into a square barely broad enough for ten shields abreast. Jon walked one approach, moved a stake where the turn favoured the left-hand side, and tried the other.
"Ten against ten," Jon told the centurions. "A different ten each time; every century meets the other five. Whoever holds the square at the last horn earns the stroke. If neither holds it, neither earns one."
The winning century would have its chosen supper and an afternoon free, divided by Hewyn so the gates kept their guards.
Malcolm glanced towards Gerralt. Fifth's centurion had already begun choosing men.
Martyn sent them apart before either could study the other's order. First waited in the western lane, shields braced at the turn. Fifth's men came from the east, their wooden blades held low.
At the horn, First rushed the square. Its leading pair reached the middle while the men behind were still turning. Fifth came through together. A shield caught First's foremost man sideways; his neighbour stepped back to cover him, and the narrow opening filled with black shields.
"Bring them through!" Malcolm called.
The rear pair pushed forward, but there was no room left. Martyn blew the last horn with Fifth across the square and First crowded against its own corner.
Gerralt took the chalk. One white stroke appeared beside V.
Malcolm took his leading pair back to the corner, first without shields, then with them. Jon watched their second passage before going to Third's helms. Behind him Fifth's men discussed which pies Elspeth made best.
After Fifth's first victory, Gerralt kept two of his younger men at the rail while the others went to the water. Colin put their shields beside one another and showed where First's leading pair had separated at the turn. He had learned to make the lesson with his feet as well as his mouth. When one of the lads crowded him, he stopped and brought him through the corner again.
Gerralt watched without helping until Colin began explaining a third time.
"Let him try it."
Colin stepped back. The other lad made the turn badly, tried again and found the space.
Jon came from the armour bench with Arthur. Colin, who had once lunged at every opening, now waited while his partner learned to keep up.
"You have given him men to teach," Jon said.
"Two for now," Gerralt answered. "More when he stops telling them everything at once."
"Do you mean him for a ten?"
"I do, my lord. Not yet. He must learn to hear a complaint without taking it for an argument." Gerralt raised his voice. "Colin. Fresh pair."
Colin fetched his shield. Across the field Heward halted the household's next pairs; after Rylas finished, Arthur brought the serjeant to Gerralt's lane.
"Try Colin against someone he does not teach."
Gerralt sent Colin in. His grin had gone by the time Rylas settled his shield.
The household serjeant gave him no broad stroke to turn. Short thrusts pressed Colin towards the hurdle; Rylas caught his shield rim and touched above the knee. Colin backed clear before the return reached his chest. On the next passage he waited, freed his shield and caught Rylas's forearm as the serjeant changed his grip.
Rylas glanced at the place, then raised his sword again. Colin lost the last exchange. He came out breathing hard, with a red mark below one knee and no claim that the hurdle had hindered him.
"Again tomorrow?" he asked.
"After Gerralt has finished with you," Rylas said.
Gerralt took Colin's wooden sword and tried a nick with his thumb. "He has two lads to bring along before he goes hunting better opponents." He kept him to hear Rylas explain the final opening while Jon watched beside Arthur.
"He is quick enough for the household," Jon said.
"With a sword," Arthur answered. "Gawen would want to see more of him on a horse."
"Have him ride with the spare mounts twice a week. Gerralt can release him after the morning drill."
Gerralt came over when Jon beckoned. The centurion of the Fifth Sword-and-Shield Century listened to the order, then looked back at Colin.
"He has a place to earn here too, my lord."
"I know," Jon said. "His century comes first while he serves in it. I want to know what else he can do."
Gerralt inclined his head. At the rail Colin was settling a borrowed shield on the younger man's arm, showing him where the strap had twisted. His centurion watched until it lay flat.
Matches continued between ordinary drills. Second beat Fourth and lost to Sixth. Third held Fifth to a draw, then lost the rematch. Men stopped before the board on their way to breakfast and counted with a fingertip.
During Second's bout against Third, a bearded recruit struck again after Martyn's halt. His opponent had lowered his shield and stepped outside the cord. The wooden blade caught him above the eye. Martyn seized the recruit's wrist; Hewyn pulled him clear before he could swing again.
Jon stopped the next pair at the lane. "Ten strokes for striking after the halt. At morning muster." The recruit's shoulders slackened in Hewyn's grip; he looked towards his centurion.
Lorren took the injured man inside while two veterans held the recruit and Jon dismissed the other tens. Before supper Jon found the cut stitched. The eye was unharmed, but the man's head ached; Lorren kept him overnight.
At morning muster Hewyn counted ten strokes at the oak block. Jon ordered the recruit released to Lorren and kept on light duties until his back healed.
The games resumed that afternoon. The injured spearman watched with his head bandaged; Lorren kept him from weapons for a sennight. He returned with the swelling gone and the cut closing cleanly.
When each century had met the other five, First and Fifth alone had four wins. Jon ordered a last bout between them. Malcolm sent a ten that had watched its comrades lose from the rail. This time the front pair waited at the bend. Their shields entered the square together; when Fifth drove against them, the men behind took the weight without crowding the turn.
The last horn found First holding the ground.
Malcolm gave the chalk to the decanus who had led the winning ten. When he marked the fifth stroke beside I, First's spearmen roared.
Gerralt studied the tallies, then turned to Hewyn.
"When do we wipe those clean and start counting again?"
Elspeth came out to hear what First wanted for supper. Eighty men began answering at once.
Roast pork came down their tables that night, with apples baked beneath it. Jon gave Malcolm the afternoons Hewyn had agreed for their leave, two tens at a time. Across the yard, Fifth's men called that they would see them hungry next moon. First answered by holding up the bones.