On the third morning after the oaths, Hennet woke when somebody trod upon his hand.
He had let it hang over the side of the bunk. The man passing between the beds apologised in a whisper, then knocked his shin against the next one and stopped whispering. Hennet drew his hand under the blanket and waited for his fingers to stop aching.
At home the morning began with his mother stirring the hearth. Here it began with men trying to find their boots. One had fallen asleep in his. Another had put his beneath the wrong bed and was accusing its owner of theft. The quarrel ended when Malcolm came down the aisle carrying a lamp.
"Out from under the blankets. You can find the other boot by daylight."
Hennet sat up. The new barrack smelled of damp wool, fresh timber and a great many sleeping men. A narrow piece of sky showed grey through the window. He pulled his shirt over his head, wriggled into the black coat and found that he had put the belt through only half its loops. The boy beside him had done worse. Both sleeves of his coat were inside out.
"How did you get into it yesterday?" Hennet asked.
"My brother pulled it off me."
"He went home."
"I know." The boy pushed a fist into the lining and began wrestling. Hennet helped him find the cuff. By the time they had straightened both sleeves, Malcolm was coming back.
Outside, water stood in the hollows the carts had made. Hennet stepped across one and put his other foot into the next. He had meant to keep the shoes dry. His mother had scrubbed them before he left home, using a piece of cloth she afterwards washed and put away for the next pair.
The Old Watch rose dark above the camp. Lamplight showed in a narrow slit near its foot. Along the broken curtain, scaffold poles reached into the grey sky, and bundles of thatch lay under a weighted cloth. Mairi was lifting her sewing basket from a little cart beside the guardroom. A smell of porridge came from the hall. Hennet looked towards it until Malcolm called him back.
They assembled by tens with their wooden shields. Hennet had been placed in Malcolm's. He knew the decanus's face and the men to either side; beyond them he still confused names. He had learned to answer his own quickly. When Hewyn paused over the roll, nobody wanted to be the man who made him look up twice.
Lord Jon came from the guardroom carrying his gloves. Ser Arthur followed, stooping beneath the doorway. The boy's black hair had been tied behind his head, though a pale lock at his left temple remained loose. Hennet had seen him take a spade from a grown man the day before and cut the first reach of a drain himself. He still had to remind himself that this was the child who had done it.
Wylla put an oatcake in Jon's hand as he passed. He ate while Hewyn reported, then ordered a man with a swollen ankle kept off the run until Luwin had examined him.
Tomas brought the household up the road before Jon had finished eating. Hennet knew their captain by the grey braid. Twenty-five black coats came through the gate, some with patches so neatly fitted that he had not noticed them at first. Most looked younger than the new spearmen, some by several years. Yet they moved around the standing men without shoving, and when Tomas raised a hand they found their places without being called one by one.
A knight with a worn blue cloak came beside them. Hennet had heard his name the day before. Ser Gawen took the household's horses towards the clear ground while Arthur spoke to their file leaders. Jon handed his gloves to Tomas and went to Hewyn's side.
"Shields against the rail," he said. "Coats open. Follow me."
Hennet still felt foolish loosening his ankles before the run. He had lifted wood for years without doing such things, but the stiffness in his legs eased as he followed Jon.
The path led around the foot of the rise, past the covered well and towards the run. Malcolm kept the first ten together. Hennet shortened his stride for the man beside him, lengthened it when the ground opened and discovered that it was harder to keep another man's pace than to run his own. The household took a longer turn under Tomas. He could see their black coats passing between the trees ahead.
Jon ran beside the spearmen for the lower circuit. His steps were quick, his breath audible when they came up the slope. He was no more than eight. Hennet could have outpaced him upon the straight, if that had been the task. On the stony turn the boy went lightly over ground where Hennet planted his whole foot and jarred himself to the hip.
At the top, Jon waved Malcolm's ten on, stepped aside with Arthur and walked until his breathing steadied. Hewyn sent the spears round again.
By the last climb Hennet had stopped looking at the other men. He watched Malcolm's back and the next piece of ground. The decanus called the pace down before the gate. They entered at a walk, sweating beneath their open coats.
"Keep moving," Jon told them. "You may sit at breakfast."
Hennet wanted to sit sooner. He took a cup of water, drank too quickly and coughed half of it over his sleeve. The man who had stepped on his hand thumped him once between the shoulders.
"Sorry about your hand," the man said.
"Mind the other one tonight," Hennet told him.
Hewyn sent the spears to breakfast by tens.
Two carpenters were setting a heavy oak block beside the barrack wall. Iron rings hung at either end. One man held it steady while the other drove a wedge beneath its foot. Hennet slowed as he passed. He had seen a groom whipped over such a block at Torrhen's Square, with his father's hand gripping the back of his neck to keep him watching.
"Move along," Malcolm said. Hennet followed his ten towards the hall.
At the washing barrel Malcolm stopped them to clean their hands. Hennet dipped his hands, rubbed the dirt from between his fingers and found the water cold enough to hurt. Beside him the boy with the twisted sleeves was trying to smooth his hair in the reflection.
"Does it lie down?" he asked.
"No."
He pressed harder. Hennet gave him room and went in.
The bowls were already upon the benches. Hennet sat where Malcolm pointed, accepted the bread passed from his neighbour and waited while the last men found their places. Outside, a cart rattled towards the tower. Its driver was singing badly and loudly enough to rise above the wheels.
The porridge had been thickened with peas, and fat shone in a little hollow beneath the spoon. Hennet stirred it through. At home his mother always scraped her own bowl last. Here a woman came down the aisle with another pot before he had finished, asking which ten still lacked food. Malcolm sent her to the far end, where two men were only just taking their seats.
The boy who had fought with his sleeves tore the crust from his bread and set it aside.
"Saving that?" Hennet asked.
"My sister likes the crust." He looked at the piece, then put it back beside his bowl. "She is home."
"How far?"
"Beyond the Cerwyn road. I could walk there by dinner."
"You had better ask Malcolm."
"I know that. I only said I could." He ate the crust himself. Hennet finished his porridge and took another piece when the loaf reached him, without first looking to see whether anyone would object. The noise in the hall rose as the bowls emptied. Someone wanted to trade a belt; someone else had a brother who could mend boots. At the end of the table Malcolm was telling a man where his wife could leave a bundle when she came from town.
As they came out, Lord Jon was mounting beside the gate. Arthur waited on a grey horse, with William standing by his stirrup. Jon spoke to Hewyn before the two riders followed the clockmaker down the road. Malcolm took Hennet's ten to the tool shed.
Hennet would have been glad of his father's wood axe. He knew what to do with an axe. He had cut and stacked firewood for years without a man telling him that his left foot ought to have been his right.
Malcolm gave him a spade instead.
Their ten went down behind the new barrack, where a length of drain remained choked with roots. The sun had warmed the upper yard, but here the bank kept them in shade. Hennet could smell wet earth and the sour leaves lying under the thorn. He thrust the blade in, jumped upon it and found a stone.
"I have come a long way to do this," Harwyn said. The broad man leaned upon his spade and looked along the uncut bank.
"How far?"
"Four days."
"Should have stayed where you were. We have these at home." Hennet worked his spade beneath the stone. His shoulders hurt when he tried to lift it.
The boy with the ill-fitting sleeves began laughing. His name was Lew, Hennet had learned, and he laughed readily when there was nobody important nearby.
"He promised us spears."
"You will have one after dinner," Malcolm said. "Give Hennet a hand."
Lew took the other spade. Between them they brought the stone up, rolled it clear and stood panting over the hole. Downhill, Murch's men were doing the same work, their coats hung over the thorn. Beyond them a line of soldiers passed baskets of rubble towards the broken wall. There seemed to be men everywhere now: digging, carrying, waiting beneath a beam while a carpenter fitted the joint. A month ago Hennet had known most of the faces he saw in a day.
Someone began a song about a miller's wife. Malcolm let the first verse go by, then told the singer there were women working within earshot. The man substituted a miller's goat. That made it worse.
They were still laughing when Lord Jon rode through the lower gate. Hennet put his foot upon the spade and straightened. Around him, men pulled up their breeches and reached for coats they had no time to put on.
"Carry on," Jon said.
His horse's dark mane was flecked with dust from the road. A bundle of papers rode in the bag behind the saddle, and the boy held half a pear in one gloved hand. He finished it while Hewyn came down to meet him. Ser Arthur took the reins when Jon dismounted. The men bowed as he passed between the heaps of earth.
He came to the drain and looked uphill. Hennet could see what he was looking at: the space left beneath the lane, where Woods had laid two flat stones beside an unfinished crossing.
"Bring those down," Jon told Malcolm. "We can finish the culvert before the timber cart comes back."
The stones were heavy enough for four men. Hennet took a corner with the others and carried it to the narrow channel. Jon had climbed down into it. Mud reached the tops of his boots. He cleared the ledge with a little iron trowel, then showed them where to lower the slab. Hewyn took Hennet's corner for the last of the lift.
From the bank Hennet watched Jon push small stones under the edge until the slab rested firmly. The second covered the remaining gap. When Jon climbed out, one knee of his breeches was brown and his hair had come loose against his cheek.
"Stone over the top, then gravel," he said to Malcolm. "Keep the opening clear."
Harwyn waited until Jon had gone to the next ten before looking into it.
"That will take a cart?"
Hewyn heard him. "When you have finished it."
They carried the filling up in baskets. By the time the timber wagon returned, the lane ran over the drain. Hennet stepped back while the wheel ground across the gravel. The horse flicked its tail in his face, and Lew laughed again.
The water beneath kept running.
Hennet crouched beside the opening until Lew called for the empty basket. His father would have sent for a mason before trusting a loaded wagon to that crossing.
They put away the tools when the dinner bell sounded. Hennet ate barley and onions with his coat spread over the bench to dry. By the time Malcolm called them out again, the sun had reached the ground beneath the barrack wall.
After loosening their shoulders, the men took sand sacks from beneath the shelter. Hennet pulled at the knot until Jon stopped him and brought the weight nearer his feet. The lift became easier once he could get both hands beneath it. By the time Hewyn let them put the sacks away, his legs trembled. Beyond the rail Gawen was reducing the loads for two of the younger household boys.
They took up blunted spears and formed again. Hennet's shield was sound wood faced with hide, the rim mended where another owner had split it. The coat beneath his belt was a greyish black. A strip of deeper cloth had been let into the side, and the two colours showed plainly when he lifted his arm. He had been proud of it at the oath. Now he wanted Mairi to take a little out from under the shoulder so it would stop bunching there.
On their first advance Hennet caught his neighbour's heel. On the turn his spear crossed another shaft. Jon freed them, then noticed how Hennet's coat caught beneath his shield arm. Malcolm loosened his belt so the cloth could settle and promised to send him to Mairi after drill. The ten reached the far end of the yard on the next attempt.
Benjen Stark arrived while they were returning. Hennet knew him by the black cloak and the long face, so like Lord Eddard's that he had once mistaken him at a distance. A second black brother rode behind him. The men at the gate bowed. Hennet nearly turned his head, then kept it where Hewyn had told him to keep it.
The two visitors dismounted. Jon went to his uncle, spoke briefly and brought him towards the household's ground. There Gawen had put a padded jerkin over a timber stand. It was small enough to pass for a boy, with an old black cloak over its shoulders. Arthur stood behind it holding a wooden sword.
Hennet had wondered why the household practised around a dressed post. Then Tomas called two files in, and Gawen came at them from the side.
The nearest shields turned. One file struck forward while the other closed around the stand. Arthur moved it back, and the boys gave him space without uncovering it. Gawen caught one shield, dragged it low and stepped into the opening. A second boy drove his own rim in against him. Wood knocked upon wood. Gawen yielded a pace, came again and found Tomas waiting beside the first file.
The whole movement lasted less time than Hennet had needed to untangle his spear.
Benjen said something to Jon. The boy nodded, and Gawen passed Benjen a practice sword. The black brother behind him leaned upon the rail with an expression that made Hennet want to see what would happen next.
Hewyn tapped Hennet's shield.
"Your work is here."
He faced front. They made another advance. Behind him the household's swords began knocking again, faster now. He caught a glimpse upon the turn: Benjen inside the first pair of shields, one black-coated boy falling backwards, another moving in before the ranger could follow. Nobody ran off to fight him alone.
When Hewyn gave them a rest, Hennet looked openly. Gawen was explaining something to the boy who had fallen. Benjen held his sword low and listened. Jon stood beside the timber figure, pointing out the opening to the two boys while Arthur held the wooden blade across it.
Hennet watched the shields close again around the padded figure. One of the boys had moved his rear foot first and left room for the man coming beside him. Hennet tried the step with his own shield, careful not to strike his neighbour. He would ask Malcolm to show him when the ten next rested.
Hewyn brought Malcolm's ten across to face the household. Hennet expected the smaller boys to yield easily. They stopped his first push; when Malcolm called the whole ten forward, he followed too far and found his spear turned aside. At the halt he saw the gap he had left and returned to his place, cheeks burning. On the next pass he stayed beside Harwyn, letting Malcolm choose when they pressed and when they stopped.
The household went back to their own ground. Hewyn gave the spearmen a rest. Hennet lowered his spear and worked the fingers of his shield hand, the grip warm and slippery against his palm.
Across the lane Ser Martyn had the swordsmen working in pairs. Hennet could see them from the shade beside the water cask. Some had come to the muster wearing old mail and carrying swords of their own. He had expected them to be spared much of the teaching. Martyn seemed to find more to correct in them than Hewyn found in the spearmen.
A young swordsman drove his opponent backwards with high, sweeping cuts. The lad was shorter than most of the men around him, but he struck so quickly that the other man scarcely found time to answer.
"Colin," Martyn called. "Beside Gerralt."
Fifth's centurion took his place without setting down his shield. He gave Colin room to settle, then faced another pair. Lord Jon stopped at the rail with Arthur beside him.
Gerralt's short thrust forced one opponent back. Colin reached after the other with a wide cut, eager to keep him retreating. A wooden blade came through the space between their shields and struck Gerralt beneath the arm.
Martyn called the halt.
Colin looked at the opening. Gerralt rubbed his ribs, then moved the lad's shield back beside his own.
"You have left me open twice this week," he said.
"I thought I could reach him."
"You could. So could his friend reach me."
Jon took Colin's place. Arthur passed him a wooden sword, and Gerralt settled his shield beside the smaller one. Jon kept his arm close and thrust over the joined rims. There was scarcely room for the stroke Hennet had admired, but the point reached the opposing shoulder without moving Gerralt's shield.
"Try it," Jon said, stepping aside for Colin.
The second passage looked less handsome. Colin checked his first blow, found a shorter one and stayed beside Gerralt as their opponents gave ground. Martyn stopped them at the hurdle.
Gerralt touched Colin's shield with his sword. "That one. Remember how that felt."
"Again, centurion?"
Martyn waved another pair into the lane. This time Colin caught his own mistake before the wide blow was finished. Gerralt gave him no praise; he called the next step, and Colin followed it.
Martyn spoke quietly to Jon, pointing towards Colin. Hennet could not hear the words. Malcolm called him over to loosen the coat beneath his arm again; when he looked back, Jon and Arthur had gone to the household.
Tomas spoke to Jon, who looked towards the road. Beyond the trees, sunlight caught the upper walls of Winterfell. Benjen handed the practice sword to Gawen and went to his horse.
"Come and eat," he told Jon. "Your father is expecting you."
Jon gave Hewyn the evening's orders and asked Malcolm whether he had remembered Hennet's coat. Then he mounted beside Arthur, and Tomas brought the household through the gate.
Hewyn dismissed the spears. Hennet went to find Mairi before supper. She had laid her cloth out beneath the eaves, beside a shutter kept open with a wedge. He stood bareheaded until she looked up, then showed her the place Malcolm had loosened.
"Off with it."
"Malcolm told me where it pulls." She held out her hand. Hennet gave her the coat and stood in his shirt, feeling the cool air upon the sweat between his shoulders. She turned the garment inside out, picked free a short length of stitching and spread the seam beneath her thumb. There were other coats waiting, some with new cuffs, some almost finished. His was one of the best he had ever owned, and the sight of the open seam troubled him until she began sewing it closed again with more room beneath the arm.
From the shelter he could see the road Lord Jon had taken. A stone cart was climbing towards them; downhill, men carried a long timber through the gate of the works. His father had doubted the promises made in the call. Hennet had his first pay wrapped inside his chest, and there had been meat in yesterday's stew. He meant to write home when he knew how to say that without sounding as though he thought his father a fool.
"Try it now." Mairi gave back the coat. Hennet drew it on and lifted his arm as he had with the shield. The cloth moved with him.
"Thank you, mistress."
She had already taken up the next garment. He fastened his belt outside and walked back to Malcolm's ten, making the turn once with an empty hand before he reached the hall.
Jon returned after dark. Hennet heard the horses pass beneath the barrack window while he was spreading his blanket.
The quarrel began over a boot.
Harwyn had left his wet pair upon Lew's rolled cloak. Lew knocked them to the floor. When their owner told him to pick them up, he threw one instead. It struck the man's thigh, and a moment later Lew was against a bedpost with a fist in his shirt. He hit out wildly. Harwyn drove him backwards, upsetting the stool between the bunks.
"Enough!" Malcolm came down the aisle. Hennet caught Lew's arm, but Harwyn struck once more before the decanus dragged him away. Blood ran from Lew's nose. He kept saying that the cloak was his own, as though nobody had understood him.
Malcolm took both men outside, then called Hennet after them. Jon stood beneath the guardroom lamp with his coat unfastened. Arthur had come to the doorway behind him. Hennet bowed and waited until Jon asked what he had seen.
Harwyn said Lew had attacked him without cause. Jon heard him out, then turned to Hennet. With the man staring at him, Hennet told it from the boots upon the cloak. Lew tried to interrupt.
"You will speak when I ask you," Jon said.
Lew shut his mouth. Malcolm gave his own account, including the last blow.
"You heard him call the halt?" Jon asked Harwyn.
"I was angry, my lord."
"Did you hear him?"
Harwyn looked down. "Aye."
Jon turned to Lew. "And you threw the boot."
"Yes, my lord." Lew pressed his sleeve beneath his nose. "I'll not do it again."
"Six strokes for fighting. Ten for you," Jon told Harwyn. "You struck again after your decanus ordered you to stop. At morning muster, before the cohort."
Lew's hand fell from his face. "My lord, please—"
"I warned you before you swore. The sentence stands." Jon called Hewyn from the barrack door. "Neither leaves camp this sennight. Keep them apart tonight and have the six centuries formed before breakfast."
"Aye, my lord." Hewyn sent Harwyn to sleep in the officers' shelter and took Lew inside. Hennet picked up the fallen stool before getting into his bunk. Lew lay awake across the aisle, his cloak pulled over him.
At dawn the six centuries formed on three sides of the yard. Mist clung to the broken wall. The cooks had begun stirring their kettles, and Hennet could smell oats and woodsmoke as Malcolm brought his ten to a halt. Lew and Harwyn stood beside the oak block in their shirts.
Jon came out with Arthur and walked to the open side of the square. His black coat was buttoned to the throat; the white lock showed plainly against his dark hair. Beside Hewyn he looked smaller than ever. He waited until the last men were still, then named the offences and repeated the sentences so that the rear ranks could hear.
Hewyn laid a leather scourge across the block. Lew stared at it.
"Shirt off," Hewyn told him.
Lew fumbled at the fastening. When he bent over the oak, a veteran secured his wrists to the rings. Hennet had stood beside him all afternoon, laughing when their throwing shafts went wide. Now Lew turned his face towards the wood and gripped its edge.
Jon gave Hewyn a nod.
The first stroke made Lew gasp. Hennet stiffened with him. Hewyn counted aloud, giving each stroke the same space. By the fourth Lew was crying into his forearm. Hennet looked towards Jon. His lord stood with his hands at his sides, watching; when Hewyn reached six, Jon ordered Lew released.
Malcolm helped him straighten. Harwyn had gone pale. He obeyed Hewyn without a word and bent over the block in his turn. At the eighth stroke he cursed through clenched teeth. Hewyn counted the remaining two and lowered the scourge.
"Take them to the guardroom," Jon said. "I have sent for Maester Luwin. Until he has seen them, neither drills nor carries a load." He faced the ranks. "When an officer calls a halt, you obey him. That applies in the barracks as well as the field. Centurions, dismiss your men to breakfast."
Arthur moved aside to let Malcolm bring Lew through the door. Jon followed them. Hennet stayed in his place until Malcolm's second called the ten forward. Harwyn's shirt lay folded beside the block; a soldier fetched it and hurried after him.
At breakfast the usual scramble for the loaf did not begin. Hennet passed it along and kept two pieces beside Lew's empty bowl. Outside, Hewyn hung the scourge upon an iron hook beneath the eaves.
* * *
Two afternoons later Hewyn took First Century onto newly cleared ground beyond the tower. Bracken lay heaped along the bank; an old ditch crossed the field. Malcolm's ten was short of Lew and Harwyn, still kept from drill by Luwin. They picked stones from dried peas under the cook shelter while the other companies spread across the meadow, Martyn's round shields distinct from the longer spear lines.
Jon walked the course with Hewyn and Arthur, carrying his small shield and short practice spear. He crossed the ditch and turned back towards the waiting men. Hewyn brought them forward.
For the first stretch they did well. Hennet kept his eyes upon the back of the man ahead. At the ditch the first rank slowed. The second crowded them, the third pushed on, and Hennet found himself standing with his shield against somebody's back while the man behind him trod firmly upon his heel.
"Halt!"
They disentangled themselves. One man had lost his footing on the bank and sat in the mud, furious with the two who helped him up.
Jon came through the ranks to the front.
"Malcolm, take your ten across. The rest wait."
Hennet's ten crossed easily with nobody pressing behind. Jon sent them farther into the cleared ground before calling the next ten forward. They formed raggedly—Coll's men slanted towards them, and Mallador came over too fast—but nobody was trapped in the ditch.
On the next passage Jon took a place beside Malcolm. His quick steps shortened on the slope. At the turn he brought his shield round and waited for his neighbour to come level. Hennet followed him, awkward at the shorter pace, but with his spear clear of the next man. They reached the open ground together.
Hewyn let them rest while the next company came through. Jon stood with his shield resting against his leg, breathing hard. Arthur brought him water and spoke quietly beside his ear. The boy shook his head at something, drank again, and handed over the shield before returning to Hewyn.
"He has had enough of it as well," a man behind Hennet whispered.
Hennet shifted his shield to ease the grip. He kept his answer to himself.
Malcolm looked down the ten, and the man behind Hennet fell quiet.
Later they left the long spears in the rack and took the throwing shafts to the lower field. Bundles of cut wicker stood beyond the practice line. Hewyn spread the men out, and Jon showed them how he wanted the cast made, his lighter shaft passing over his shield before it struck low in the wicker.
Hennet had thrown stones at crows all his life, but his first shaft turned sideways and fell short. Jon shifted his grip and made him cast again with the shield held high. Its rim brushed his jaw; this time the padded end struck wicker. Hennet kept his empty hand in place until he could fetch the shaft and try again.
By supper his left arm ached more than his right. He had not expected that.
* * *
The aches changed through the week. Hennet stopped feeling the run in his chest and began feeling it in his calves. The shield grip still rubbed his palm, though he no longer held it quite so desperately. Lew slept upon his stomach and had Hennet help him with his shirt. By the week's end he could dress himself, but Malcolm still kept him at the cooks' light work until Luwin permitted more.
After the morning run they ate, then went to work until dinner. Their ten cleared fallen stones from the old hall and carried them to the masons. Hennet learned which faces Ormund wanted kept whole. He learned to recognise the smell of lime before he saw the white tubs, and to tell the tower hammer from the smith's hammer downhill.
Lord Jon was at both places so often that the men began looking for his horse before they spoke too freely. Hennet saw him kneeling upon a new beam beside Woods, holding one end of a cord while the carpenter worked. Another day he found him on the riverbank with Ewan, drawing in the dirt. The two men who had come to carry stone waited bareheaded until Jon looked up and sent them to Ormund.
It was slow work, whatever his lord intended the place to become. They could spend a whole morning clearing a patch scarcely wider than the hall. Yet from Hennet's bunk the gap above the shutter no longer showed the sky. There was a roof over the next company's belongings, and the carts crossed the drain his ten had covered without stopping.
At the week's end, Perkin came with the pay chest.
Malcolm took his men to the hall after the afternoon drill. They waited along the wall while the clerk called each name. Harwyn went first. Hennet watched the coins pass across the table into his hand. Harwyn counted them, put them away, and stepped aside for Lew.
When Hennet's turn came, he took off his cap. Perkin asked his name again before paying him. The coins felt cool upon his sore palm. He had earned money before, carrying wood or helping bring in a harvest, but never while being fed as well as this. He closed his fingers over it and moved away, reluctant to put it out of sight.
Outside, Lew wanted to know whether the sennight without leave was reckoned from the fight or from the whipping.
"Ask Malcolm."
"You always say that."
"He always knows."
Hennet went back to the hall. Malcolm was sitting at the end of a table, taking a stone from his boot.
"Decanus, could you write something for me?"
Malcolm looked up. "For home?"
Hennet nodded. His mother could ask the miller to read it. She would know how to get the letter to him without his father hearing it first.
"Sit down, then." Malcolm put the boot back on. "What do you want said?"
Hennet looked down at the coins in his hand. He would keep a little for himself. The rest could go with the letter; one of the wood carters knew his village.
"Tell her I have been paid. And tell her there is some for her."
"Is that all?"
"Tell her I am eating well." He thought of the porridge, the extra bread, the meat they had twice that week. "She will ask."
Malcolm nodded and made room for him on the bench. Outside, Lew was asking someone else about Winter Town.
At the week's end Hallis took most of the Stark guards back to Winterfell; Hewyn's sworn men could now keep the lanes clear and account for the stores. Two guards stayed until the visiting lords left, with orders to bring serious trouble to Hallis. Hennet watched the grey cloaks leave while his ten cleared the gate for a wagon.
* * *
During the following days, six smaller black coats came up from the sewing room with the next clothing bundle. Their sleeves had been shortened, the hems left deep enough to let down as the boys grew. Wylla put shoes beside them and made each child try his pair upon both feet. None received a soldier's weapon or a place upon the muster roll.
Heward brought the pages to the centurions after the common drill. Geth went first to Hewyn, Timm to Rennick, Tob to Norren, Wrenn to Rymond, Nibs to Gerralt and Hake to Brus. Each officer heard when the boy was to eat and when he must be released for lessons. At the new moon they would move to the next century; Aries, already wearing Jon's small black page's coat, stayed beside his lord.
For their first errands Heward sent them with men who knew the paths. In the yard afterwards he laid seven light wooden swords on the ground, shorter even than those Jon had first learned upon. Gawen showed the grip and the first step. Nibs tried to strike Timm's blade before anyone had been told to begin.
Heward took it away, showed him where to stand, and kept him there until the other boys had finished the passage. Then he returned it.
"You may have a turn now. When Ser Gawen says."
The boy waited. Aries watched that lesson with an attention Jon had not seen over the letters. When Gawen called him forward, he kept the point down until the knight raised his own.
They finished well before the soldiers did. Gawen sent them to the pump and then to their bowls, while Heward went back to make a whole ten repeat its turn. The pages had time to hear him twice before their porridge cooled.
* * *
By then Jon's mornings belonged to the works and his afternoons to Hewyn's throwing field. He kept the little guardroom, riding to the Black Yard when the benches needed him and to Winterfell for supper with his family. Each time he came back, there was less nettle in the yard and more stone laid bare.
One morning Jon took four tens to the western boundary. Woods had set the corner stake beyond the barrack frames. They saved the turf to face the bank, carrying the ditch spoil inward and ramming it in layers. Jon worked beside Malcolm until his shoulders shook. A man in the cutting asked how high the bank would rise.
Jon rested his rammer against his hip. "Higher than you, before the timber goes on top."
The man looked from the short boy to the long row of stakes. "Aye, my lord." He put his foot upon his spade again, less cheerfully.
Arthur brought Jon to Woods at the corner. They set the tower's inner feet clear of the passage and its floor level with the wallwalk. From beyond the trees came Martyn's call to halt; one sword company had kept its morning for drill and would relieve the diggers after dinner.
When the meal bell rang, the trench reached well beyond the first heap of tools. Jon walked its length with Malcolm. No great wall stood yet, but the raw strip of soil and the packed earth beside it made the boundary plain. Men climbed out stiffly, knocking mud from their spades. Hennet lifted one of the turf squares and showed Lew a worm as long as his finger.
"Leave that for the crows," Malcolm said. "There is beef today."
Jon returned the plan to its case. His arms trembled when he fastened the strap. Arthur took the case from him and handed him a piece of bread instead; Jon ate it walking back between the barrack frames. After dinner he had an hour at the Black Yard, then the throwing field. The next party was already collecting its tools.
Hewyn began bringing the men together for the casts. Five threw abreast at first. Later that week he brought the front ten forward while the other ranks covered behind them. The practice shafts left their hands unevenly. One struck the earth almost at once; another sailed over the wicker. The last man was still drawing back his arm when the first reached for his long spear. Hewyn halted them and waited for every shaft to fall.
"No second ten," Jon said. "The front repeats until one drumbeat produces one cast. Check their grips and widen the two outer places."
"Leave the iron heads locked up," he added. They shortened the cast and used a single drumbeat for the release. Before the evening bell, most of the shafts reached the wicker together. On Hewyn's call, the throwers stepped back beneath their neighbours' shields and took up the long spear. Mallador began to shout at his ten when an outside rim wandered.
"It is the outside man, Mallador," Hewyn said. "Show him where to hold it." Mallador went to the drifting rim and spoke close. It returned.
Benjen watched from the rail with Robb and Theon. "Tomorrow half the North arrives for the harvest gathering. By supper, every lord will know why your fifth cast missed."
"They will have plenty to say about it," Jon said. He took another practice shaft from the rack.
"I want to see what Greatjon makes of it," Benjen said. At the family supper that evening, Robb asked whether Smalljon had crossed Cerwyn land, and Sansa asked whether Marna Dustin and the Manderly girls could be lodged near her. Arya asked whether Lyanna Mormont could sleep in her room. Catelyn said she would speak to Lady Maege; Arya immediately asked whether Lyra was bringing her pony again.
"Have Lady Dustin's gentlewomen come by the lower road?" Theon asked. "It was foul enough when we rode it."
"She has her own guards," Robb said.
"I was asking after the ladies. I have seen enough men in wet wool." Theon helped himself to the bread.
Benjen listened until the children had divided every expected guest between them. Jon was about to remind Theon that Barbrey Dustin owned sharp ears when a horn sounded from Winterfell's east gate. Men upon the road took it up. Beyond the castle wall, black horsehair streamed above Karstark riders, dark against a strip of clearing gold.