The Cup of the World by John Dickinson Read Free Book Online

the coarse-bouldered roads more competently than some of the grander animals in the cavalcade. Now, as they crawled up the broad slope of Redes Hill in the heat of the late afternoon, he seemed to notice that he was nearing home. Hullo, his ears said as they went up. Haven't I been here before? Let's go and see.
    Phaedra let him take her ahead of the party, and onup the slope. The track curved to the right, through olive trees where goats scuffed and nickered at the thin grass. After half a mile it rounded the shoulder of the down, and the world changed.
    There, Collen seemed to say as he tossed his head. What did I tell you?
    Derewater lay before them. Suddenly, after the days of dry grasslands, the great lake stretched away to left and right until it blended with the sky at the opposite horizons. Its level face wrinkled a deep blue in the late afternoon. Below her, fishing boats crept upon the water, with their sails like little diamonds, curved and pale upon the dark surface. She could see the further shore clearly today. She could make out the shadow of woods and the paleness of grass on the hillsides. Far beyond, the mountains loomed.
    It was a relief to be home, after days of strange places and new faces. It was good to see the water after the parched landscapes of the journey and the frenzies of the King's house. Peace, whispered the lake breeze in the branches. The air was a little cooler here among the scented groves than it had been upon the sunbeaten road. The trees were heavy with their small fruits. There would be an olive harvest soon.
    Hoofbeats sounded behind her. To her surprise, it was the Baron Lackmere and his two guards. The rest of the party were still out of sight below the curve of the ridge.
    ‘Is this country tame enough that you wander so far ahead without care? I am little use to you myself indeed. But it seemed to me that if I joined you these two fellows would not be far behind, and then we should be better placed if any ill befell.’
    ‘You are good, sir, but it was needless. This is my father's land. Look.’ She pointed to the lake.
    ‘I have seen. How far, now?’
    ‘The road follows the lakeside. We should see Trant from the next rise.’
    ‘Let us go, then. Is that a manor?’
    Below them, and to their left, she could glimpse between the trunks the familiar roofs of Manor Gowden.
    ‘One of my father's holdings, sir.’
    ‘Rich?’
    ‘I do not know if you would call it so. There is a large house of wood and stone, surrounded by huts and farm buildings, all within a stockade, and outside that strip fields and orchards.’
    ‘But much land?’
    ‘From the ridge to the lake and a half-hour's walk in either direction. There is a fishing hamlet on the shore that is counted part of it.’
    The track bore them on round to the right through the olive trees, and ran gently downhill. The baron stooped in his stirrups to peer among the whispering, deep-smelling trees.
    ‘So green, so green,’ he said. ‘What do you grow here?’
    ‘Why olives, as you see, sir. And vines, fruits and grain. We have oak woods too, from which we take our badge. For livestock we have mostly sheep and goats. What do you have in Lackmere?’
    ‘The same – where we can. But it is poorer country. A man needs much land to make a fair living – much more than your Gowden. And there are no big towns to bring us wealth or rich goods.’
    ‘Is it very dry? Is that why they call you Lackmere?’
    ‘We have nothing like this,’ he said, gesturing to the lake. ‘Not one tenth nor one hundredth of the size. Our streams and pools are mostly waterless in summer, and the grass is as yellow as straw. It is not desert, but thorn forest. Many miles of it. Good land for wolves. Hard land for shepherds and goatherds, who must guard their flocks with sometimes no more than a cut-thorn staff’ He touched his badge.
    ‘Wolves? Are they big and fierce?’
    He looked at her. His eyes were green. ‘Small and scrawny and