At the high table, he and Halveric and Halveric’s wife and the two eldest sons and their wives … down the side tables, the other sons and daughters and spouses.

“It is the growing season,” Halveric said. “We do not travel much then—and I was not sure you wished many to know of your errand, so I did not try to gather a large party. It was in no disrespect of your honor, my lord Count.”

Andressat relaxed. No insult intended; a family meal merely. That was comfortable, and for a family meal, nicely laid out. Solid, good-quality dishes, southern ware, painted with flowers and birds, heavy silver, fine blown goblets and flagons, all laid on sun-bleached linen cloths. Herbs and flowers strewn the length of the tables. And the fare … he could hardly believe the northern lands produced such bounty. Platters of sliced meats, small birds spitted between unfamiliar vegetables on thin rods, roast fowl, fish, tureens of soup, bowls of vegetables, baskets of bread in three colors, small dishes of oilberries … all served at once, instead of discrete courses. Southern wines, white and red. Halveric had explained that as a courtesy to a guest who had traveled all day.

“What fish are these?” he asked Halveric. He had expected salted fish, if any, so far from the sea, but these were fresh.

“Our own,” Halveric said. “Netted from the stream this morning. We call them speck-sides.” He smiled. “I remembered your fondness for river-fish. Ours are smaller, but I thought you might like them.”

“They’re delicious.” Andressat accepted another serving. “And those meats?” He pointed with his little finger, politely.

“Beef, mutton, roast pork. The birds are ground-chucks and of course chickens.”

“And you raise all this here, yourself?”

“Estil does,” Halveric said, gesturing to his wife. Andressat had to turn, and meet that broad smile.

“Aliam’s been gone so much,” she said. “He’s left it to me, you see.”

He didn’t see, not completely. “I did not see any goats,” he said. “Do you not have goats here?”

“Not here,” she said. “Steadings closer to the mountains do. They are not happy in thicker forest.”

He understood that. At home, goats throve on hillsides too steep or barren for cattle. “But you have sheep.”

“Only in fenced pastures,” she said. “They are too hard to find, if they get loose in the forest. We keep enough sheep for wool, and eat some mutton, but we depend more on cattle for meat, though we also hunt.”

It had been long in Andressat since hunting could provide reliable food for table. “What game?” he said, turning to Halveric.

“Deer, mostly,” Halveric said. “Wild boar, on occasion. And then birds … the ground-chuck, rather like your quail in the south, and a bird we call the toris, like your hill-pheasant, only much larger. Toris are rare; I don’t hunt them anymore. They’re quite beautiful.”

Andressat tasted a little of each dish—all quite good. The wines were good, too; he recognized his own product, and remembered that Halveric had always bought directly from his factor. That was a nice compliment.