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‘It’s a common name in Vere,’ said Young Charls.
‘More common with every day,’ said Lamen.
The guard turned towards the Akielon voice, and Lamen smiled at him, an easy smile full of his good nature, his tousled curls, and the relaxed temperament of his southern Akielon birth. He had a dimple in his left cheek. Charls watched the guard unwinch a fraction.
They had to wait while a runner was sent to the house, and wait longer for him to return (panting). The guard waved them through. The call went up, whips flicked, the wagons trundled. Young Charls was welcome.
Old Charls was feeling very low. But of course they must have somewhere to stay. He felt a hand clasp his forearm, and he looked up in surprise as the Prince said, ‘Let’s get to the bottom of this, shall we?’
Kaenas was delighted to entertain a young merchant with stories of the Veretian court, and she had arranged exactly the sort of evening under awnings in the gardens that Charls had envisaged, except that Charls was not invited. Charls took a smaller repast in the servant quarters.
It struck him that he too was now pretending to be of a lower station, eating humbly with Lamen. If the Prince could maintain this fiction, so could Charls, he thought. Certainly he did not want Lamen to think he was too self-important to eat with an assistant. In fact he often shared meals with Guilliame on the road. Besides, the simple food was tasty, and Lamen though of modest origins was a thoughtful young man who spoke Veretian very well, even if his knowledge of cloth was lacking.
‘I thought highborn Veretian men weren’t allowed to be alone with women,’ said Lamen, with a slight frown, when their meal was crumbs and the Prince had not yet returned.
‘This is Akielos,’ said Charls.
‘I thought that—’
‘Kaenas’s household is present,’ said Charls, reassuringly and with some approval. Lamen’s concern for the Prince was very proper. ‘It counts as a chaperone.’
A soft knock came at their door, followed by a face looking in, an older woman, with brown, thinning hair. ‘Doris?’ said Charls in surprise.
‘It is you,’ Doris took a step inside the room, which was small to hold three people. ‘Charls . . . I want you to know, I don’t believe a word of what they’re saying about you.’
Charls felt the cold touch of concern. ‘What are they saying?’
He had met Doris two years ago. She was a seamstress and he had complimented her on the quality of her work. They had had several stimulating conversations since then, including a wonderful talk on the qualities of Isthima linen. Now her face was concerned.
‘A merchant stopped here, three days back. He said you were here because you weren’t welcome in the capital. He said you tricked the King of Akielos with a bad trade.’
‘No, he didn’t,’ said Lamen, standing.
Charls was moved by Lamen’s belief in him. ‘That is good of you to say, Lamen,’ said Charls. ‘But your word sadly counts for very little against that of a renowned merchant.’
He could hear the worry in his own voice, and he made a conscious effort to relax. It would do no good to concern the others with his troubles. ‘Thank you for coming, Doris. I’m sure it’s just a simple misunderstanding.’
‘Take care on the road, Charls,’ said Doris. ‘Aegina is a rough province, and no one knows much about this trader.’
‘His name is Makon,’ said the Prince, padding in from the dinner several hours later. He had an enervated look that subtly relaxed his posture, and a glitter in his eyes from an evening of entertainments. ‘He’s an Akielon trying to establish trade routes through to Patras. Born in Isthima. Heir to a reputable trading company. A brunet. Nice eyes. Not as nice as mine. He’s thirty five and handsome and unmarried, and I’m afraid he’s had terribly unflattering things to say about you, Charls.’
‘You do have nice eyes,’ said Lamen.
‘Did you miss me? I brought you something.’ The Prince tossed a sweetmeat to Lamen, who caught it with a hint of amusement.
‘It seems you have a rival in trade. And he has three days on you.’
‘Your Highness, I am deeply sorry to have caused you this inconvenience. I will happily accompany you back to Acquitart.’ Charls bowed low.
Reputation was everything to a merchant, and his position was already precarious as a Veretian in northern Akielos. Charls thought of rumours planted, relationships soured, doors closed. But most of all he thought how much he had disappointed his Prince, who ought to ride only in the best company.
The Prince leaned his shoulder against the thick stone of the wall. ‘What’s your next trade stop?’
‘It’s north east, to Semea,’ said Charls.
‘Then we go north, to Kalamos,’ said the Prince. ‘And get ahead of him.’
Trade was often a race: first to cross the mountains in spring, first to reach a port, a household, a patron. The orange wagons were not built for a sprint, but Lamen had an excellent work ethic and the sort of physique that was very good at rearranging heavy bolts of cloth. He also had a startling effect on the six hire-guards, coupled with a knowledge of terrain that had them making good time on the country roads.
