It was not an unreasonable thing, to prepare the wrong room. Before this, he had always slept in the small room in the west tower. And Aymer had slept in the apartments in the north tower. Those had been built and furnished for the visiting king a century ago, and Aymer had thought them more suited to his own greatness simply because they had been intended for royalty.

But this room where they stood now, above the hall, was the lord’s chamber of old, before there was any lord named Aymer. Of course the servants would not know it. He had only written to Hugh Wisbech that he would move into the lord’s chamber.

“These will be my rooms,” he said simply. “Come, cover the floor and bring my bath, and waste no time. The meal awaits us all.”

The servants immediately began to bustle about under the direction of Hugh.

Ranulf handed his ale to Davydd and bid the boy to drink while the bath was prepared. This one, at least, did not shrink from his every move. He could not think of the boy as a servant, nor even as her squire – not when she wore no armor. He thought to treat Davydd as an honored kinsman, but he could not be sure if that was what she wished for the boy’s training. He would ask her, but for now he only wanted the boy to take his ease after the long days of riding, no matter how it might look to the servants.

At last the bath was ready. He reached to pull off his boots, and found the dog still there at his feet, looking hopefully up at him. He could not quite bring himself to kick it, but it was small enough to push away with his foot. It stumbled away a few steps, then trotted back and sat down an inch from his foot.

Hugh Wisbech, in the midst of ordering servants about, noticed this and hurried over.

“My lord must not think we did not know of your displeasure with the beast when last you were here.”

“And the time before that,” he felt compelled to point out. He did not dislike dogs. It was only that this one was forever at his heels.

“Aye my lord, and you did also charge me to keep the household safe and prosperous. So it was that when we discovered the dog to be an uncommon good ratter, I thought it best to keep as guard to the pantry.”

“This,” he muttered as he stripped himself of his linen, “is not a pantry. Take it out, and leave me to my bath.”

In moments, it was done. Rush mats and a carpet on the floor, fire laid and bath steaming, servants filing out, the dog under one of their arms. A bustling and happy household it was, with showers of petals and hot baths and mongrels underfoot.