Chapter 31: The Sixth Roof
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In the third moon of the lease, Jon stood inside the sixth of the first sleeping sheds and watched a swallow turn between the wall plates at its open end. It flew out over Woods's head with a wisp of straw in its beak.
"It has begun before us," Robb said.
"It need not house fifty," Jon answered.
Robb and Theon had arrived while the carpenters laid out the last truss. Their horses stood outside with Arthur's grey. Jon's coat hung upon a peg; lime dust whitened his black breeches, and a shaving had lodged in the pale lock beside his left eye.
Munin perched above the coat, turning a bent nail between her claws. When Woods reached for it she flew to the next post. Robb began to laugh, then covered his purse with one hand.
Beyond the doorway, rain had dulled the first barracks' shingles to old honey; the newest still shone yellow. Men were carrying bundles into the fifth. One had wrapped an astonishing number of possessions in his blanket. Another brought only boots and a wooden bowl. Clay stopped the gaps between rough planks upon low stone footings. Once this roof was covered, the last men could leave their tents. Proper stone barracks and passages would follow the tower work; Woods had framed the roofs so their sound timbers could be lifted and used again.
"Where did you find room for all this?" Robb asked. "There were nettles here."
"You helped cut them."
"There seemed rather more nettles than ground."
Jon smiled and took the measuring cord from Woods. The pegged triangular truss lay over the scratched lines used for its fellows, ready to fill the roof's last short bay. He checked its width and the two feet that would rest upon the wall plates.
"Hold there, Symon."
The spearman kept his end while Jon checked the second measure. Woods took the cord, coiled it, and waved the waiting men closer.
Robb picked up a short brace and fitted its angled end against the truss.
"Not there," Woods told him. "It goes between this frame and the next, to keep the roof from leaning in the wind."
Theon reached for another. "There are a great many."
"You can help fit them after dinner," Jon offered. Theon put his down, but Woods had heard.
The last truss lay close to the end wall. Two stout poles rose above it, lashed together at their heads, with the tackle hanging between them. The lifting line ran to a windlass bolted upon a heavy timber bed. Woods had made its drum; Ewan had cut the teeth for the wheels Jon drew beside it. Within the open framing, the little wheel at the handle meshed with a much larger one on the drum.
"We have a windlass at Pyke," Theon said. He followed the rope with his eyes. "It takes more than those two to work it."
"Try the handle when they have taken the slack." Jon laid his hand upon the smaller wheel. "This turns several times before the drum turns once. You will have farther to wind, but less weight on each turn."
Theon looked up at the great beam, then at the two spearmen beside the handles. "That is a roof timber."
"I know what it weighs." Jon called Woods over to check the sling. "Leave the handles where I have set them. The men can change places without stopping the lift."
Jon crossed to the spearmen. Black coats lay along the wall beside water bottles and a loaf wrapped in a sleeve. Farther up the lane Hewyn's shouted commands punctuated the scrape of another century's feet.
Jon chose the men for the guide ropes and put Woods where he could see both ends of the beam. Arthur brought Robb and Theon beside the windlass.
"Take up."
Rope wound upon the drum and the truss rose, shedding wood chips. Once its whole weight hung clear, Theon glanced at Arthur. The knight stepped aside.
"Keep it moving," Jon told the nearer spearman. "Lord Theon, take his place."
Theon caught the handle as it came round. He braced for the weight; his first turn carried him farther than he intended. He found his footing, turned again, and looked up. The beam was still rising.
Robb left Arthur to see it from the other side. "You are doing it."
"I can see that." Theon was breathing harder now, but his grin had spread. He made another turn before letting the spearman take over. For once he left the questions to Robb.
Jon followed the nearer end towards the pencil line marking its seat. The guide ropes steadied the frame beyond the men's reach; Woods climbed the short ladder and put a shoulder behind his bar.
"Keep winding."
The beam came level with the wall. Jon moved outside, where he could see the far end.
"Towards me a little. That will do. Lower."
Wood settled against wood with a deep knock. Woods drove the first peg while his man secured the other end. Jon waited until they had fitted the braces, then had the men ease the windlass. Above him, the last frame stood against the pale sky.
A shingler put down his bundle and bent to examine the windlass. "Could I have a drawing of this?"
"Come back with Woods after dinner," Jon said. The man put on his cap and fetched his shingles.
The lifting crew drank at the well while Hewyn's century came to relieve them, each side making the usual remarks about easy mornings. A man with three water bottles stopped to give one to a friend. Beyond the last sleeping hall, Fourth packed turf along the western bank, now above a man's head. Each week Jon extended the work, taking different tens as drill allowed.
Ormund came from the tower with mortar upon his leather apron. The mason looked along the barrack plinth before approaching Jon.
"The hearth is ready, my lord. I have left the screen wall for after they move in. It will not hinder them."
Sun lay across the red hearth bricks and swept floor. Bed spaces lined a clear central passage; Woods's opposing windows let air move through the room.
"Finish the tower stair next," Jon said. "Wylla still has to go round by the yard whenever she wants the stores."
"We can begin after dinner."
Ormund went back to his men. Robb wandered to a window and leaned out, trying to see the kitchen fires. Theon looked at the rows of empty bed frames awaiting their straw mattresses.
"They will be pleased when it rains."
"They were pleased after the last rain," Arthur said. "They could see their roof timber coming up the road."
Jon took his coat from the peg. Across the run, men were extending the wheel pit's channel while a barrow brought foundation stone. The wheel remained a covered stack of timber beside the unfinished shelter for Ewan's work.
Wylla had set cold beef, mustard and baked onions beneath an awning. Theon washed; Jon found soot from the hearth bricks upon his own palms and joined him. Robb's bread split beneath a hot onion, and he reached for another piece.
"Your father asks whether you are coming tomorrow," Wylla told Jon.
"After the morning drill. Tell him I shall stay to supper."
"Sansa wants you to hear what she has learned upon the harp."
Robb swallowed. "She wants all of us. Septa Mordane made us sit through it yesterday."
"Was she good?" Jon asked.
"Better the second time."
"There were three times," Theon said.
Wylla set the mustard beside them. "Then she is practising."
A rider appeared at the gate with Perkin's boy, and Jon put down his onion. Osric's letter had come through White Harbor in a merchant's packet.
Osric was still near the Citadel, checking the nine candidates' work with their former masters. Jon read the mason's son's letter twice, then took Arthur into the guardroom to prepare a reply.
On his clothing chest he laid the simpler plan of the wheelhouse, keeping the machinery drawing aside. Beside it went Hewyn's notes and a sketch of the javelin ironwork that had troubled Ewan.
"Let the mason's son show how he would carry the water away," he told Arthur. "The smiths can explain how they would make this. I want to see what they can do."
He asked the healer for an account of patients he had tended, and the accountant for a page in his own hand. Osric was to bring the strongest candidates when his enquiries were finished.
Arthur turned the building plan towards the light. "You mean to take them all south?"
"If I keep them. They will have time to learn beside me here." Jon rubbed a spot of dried mud from the corner. "Ethan can hire a mason. What I want is a man who knows why I put a drain where I do, and can lay the next one without sending across the sea to ask me."
"And when he disagrees with you?"
"He can show me his ground." Jon smiled faintly. "I still decide what we build."
By late afternoon the last stretch of shingles lay beneath the mallets. Robb was holding a ladder for Woods while Theon passed bundles up to him, his fine grey sleeves rolled and his smile growing thinner with each bundle.
Jon crossed to the tent ground with Martyn. Men shook old straw from their blankets; one crawled inside for a lost knife while another waited barefoot for a friend to find his shoes. Pale, flattened patches marked where they had slept.
Woods sent a boy back for a mallet left on the ridge, then called the men in. A broad young swordsman entered carrying two mattresses, reconsidered the window bed and dragged one farther inside. His companions followed so closely that Martyn had to clear the passage.
Jon stood in the smell of pine and fresh straw while the last tent poles went past. Voices filled the windows. Beneath a new bed, muddy boots stood carefully together.
Woods came beside him, looking up at the timbers. Beyond the far doorway Wylla was calling Robb and Theon to wash before they rode home. Robb shouted that they were coming. Theon was still brushing wood dust from his sleeves when they reached her.
The next day Jon rode up to Winterfell after drill. He left Arthur speaking to Jory in the lower yard and went through the Great Keep, following the broken phrases of a harp. Sansa sat by the family-room window with Jeyne Poole beside her. The tune was one Domeric had played at harvest; she managed the troublesome turn, saw Jon in the doorway and lost the next note.
"You remembered."
"I promised, didn't I?" Jon took the chair she had cleared for him. "Finish it. You had it right until you looked up."
She began again, this time keeping her eyes upon the strings. At the last note Jeyne shut the little book with satisfaction. Septa Mordane gave a nod from beside the hearth.
"Better. Put it away carefully." She turned to Jon. "She will want to practise the dance as well, Lord Black. She has been saving it for your visit."
"I promised her."
"Then move the spare chair before you begin." She returned to her sewing. Jon put it against the wall and sat down again. He could work with that much civility.
Sansa put away the harp, then came back with quite a different book. She opened it across Jon's knees at a coloured picture of a queen and her ladies. Their sleeves trailed almost to the floor; the queen wore a net of pearls over her hair.
"Wynafryd says they still dress like that at some of the southern courts. Not the crowns, of course."
Jon examined a blue sleeve. "You would trail that in every dish you reached for."
"You fold it over your wrist. Mother showed me." Sansa demonstrated with the narrower sleeve of her own gown. "You do not reach across a table anyway."
"Robb does," Jeyne said.
"Robb is not a queen."
"He would eat as much if he were," Jon said, and Sansa laughed before the septa looked up.
Thread marked pictures of riders before a pavilion and a feast with musicians in a gallery. Jon turned the book towards the window. Beneath the queen's chair sat a small dog; at the back, the painter had given two men little more than noses.
"Would King's Landing look like this?" Sansa asked.
"I have never seen its court."
"Uncle Arthur has. He tells me who rode in the lists, but never who danced afterwards, or what the ladies wore. He says he does not remember."
"He probably remembers which doors he had to guard."
"Then you must remember when you go south. Properly. Not merely whether your dinner was hot." She touched the painted pavilion. "I should like to see the entry of the knights. The banners and all the horses dressed together. Here half the men come to supper in whatever they wore in the yard."
"You would miss the ones who did."
"I would write to them. And they could visit."
The door opened. Arya entered with a pair of shoes dangling from her fingers and a look of innocence Jon did not trust. Robb followed her, carrying Bran because the little boy had refused to be left with his nurse.
"I found these outside," Arya said. She set Sansa's dancing shoes very neatly beside the chair.
"They were in my chamber."
"Then I found them there."
Sansa reached for the nearer shoe. Something rattled inside it. She tipped a little heap of dried peas into her hand while Jeyne covered her mouth. Robb put Bran down and turned towards the window, shoulders shaking.
Arya lifted her skirts in a curtsey so deep that her hair fell over her face. "For the princess. So everyone will hear her coming."
"Those are my new shoes." Sansa's voice had gone thin. "You have stretched the stitching."
"No, I haven't."
"They are Sansa's shoes, Arya," Jon said.
Arya's grey eyes narrowed as though he had joined the wrong army. Jon held out the other shoe. A pea rolled beneath his chair.
"Empty it."
"It was only a jest."
"Then you can finish it by picking them up."
Septa Mordane set down her sewing. Arya's face changed at once; she bent to the floor before the septa could begin. Sansa drew both shoes into her lap and inspected the soft seams.
"You are a baby," Arya muttered.
"And you are filthy. Look at your hands."
"They are clean enough."
"They are not coming near my things again."
Jeyne shifted closer to Sansa. Arya looked from one girl to the other. "Lyanna would have laughed." Neither answered. She gathered the peas in the hem of her gown, dropped one, and snatched it up before anyone could help her.
Robb made room at the window for Bran. Jon put the book on the table and bent to look at the shoes in Sansa's lap. The stitching had held. He told her so, but she still put them safely behind her chair.
"I wanted to practise," she said. "You promised."
"I did." Jon stood. "Which dance?"
"The one Wynafryd showed us. You go back too soon."
He let her place his hands. The first movement was slow enough that Jeyne could call it out from beside the table. Sansa watched Jon's feet, corrected his turn and began again. Soon she forgot to be angry long enough to smile when he managed it.
Arya stayed by the hearth. When Robb beckoned her to join him, she shook her head.
"I do not want to. You cannot even run in those shoes."
"Then do not," Sansa said. "No one is making you."
Bran wanted Robb to carry him through the turn. They nearly overturned the chair, and the septa sent them into the passage, where Jon found them after the dance.
Bran had taken one of the wooden swords from the nursery box. He thrust it towards Jon's belt.
"My sword," Bran said. He held it up for Jon to admire.
"A fine one. Will you let me pass?"
Bran lowered it and reached for Jon's belt instead. "Yours."
"Mine stays where it is." Jon caught the reaching hand. "Come down to the yard. We can find a shield for yours, and Arthur can show you how to hold it."
Behind them Sansa and Jeyne were arguing over the painted queen's sleeves. Arya went the other way with the peas, without saying goodbye to her sister.
Two mornings later Mairi spread an emptied tent across a bench. A rope had torn through its corner, and the cloth smelled of wet straw. She held Jon's drawing beside it.
"Room for a ten, my lord?"
"With their bedding. The cooking stays outside."
She marked an extra strip where wet cloth would pull hardest. They would use stout linen, leather beneath the rope holes and pole ends, a low ridge and flaps overlapping at either end. While she cut, Woods shortened the first pole sections to fit Ralf's panniers. Ewan brought tools with replaceable handles; Elspeth lent a pot until dinner.
Malcolm and Symon tried Woods's wooden carrying forks, blankets above the food bags, cups and spare hose beneath oiled cloth. Malcolm tucked his knocking cup under a strap. Arthur lifted the smaller fork made for Jon.
"What do you call this one?"
"The fork is a furca. The bundle is a sarcina." Jon shouldered it and reached for his shield. "Malcolm, let us see how quickly we can put these down."
Malcolm's food bag dragged in the dust. They raised its fastening, strengthened a seam and tied a loose pole pin with a thong. Ralf balanced tent, pot and tools in the panniers, checked the saddle clear of the mule's spine and led it through a tight turn. Jon tied the repair pouch within reach.
"One ten first," he told Woods. "They will carry it and mend what fails. Keep the patterns when we have put that right."
Perkin noted the linen and iron and sought pack beasts in small lots, working towards thirty for the cohort. Men would carry bedding and food; beasts and carts took the shared loads. Further tents, tools and blankets must be priced before another recruiting call.
Elspeth sent a boy for her pot before they had finished packing. Jon gave it back and told Perkin to add another to the order; they would need their own for the next trial.
* * *
A fortnight later Lew and Hennet set the last lifting stone upon its timber pad in the exercise room. Smaller stones stood beneath the windows, a climbing rope at the far end. Jon and Arthur tested the bar while Woods watched its joints; then Heward brought two tens in.
Jon showed Malcolm and Symon how to lift a sack close to the body. They would teach their tens under Heward's eye. Lew chose stones too heavy to lower without twisting.
"Down. The pair by your left boot," Heward ordered.
"I can lift these, Campidoctor."
"I saw. Now show me one you can put down as well."
Lew exchanged them, red-faced. Hennet kept the smaller pair. Before the household arrived, Heward had stopped Symon exercising instead of watching his men and brought a tiring lad down from the rope. Tomorrow the two decani would teach the next pair under his eye. Mairi took away a sack with a pulling seam; Tomas brought the household in as the spearmen left.
* * *
The next dry afternoon Jon raised a tally board beside the trough, six columns marked with white numerals above the century flags. At the last drill of each sennight they would contest throws and shield games, changing the men each time. The best century at the moon's end could choose its supper.
"If Elspeth can make it," Hewyn warned. "Or they will ask her to roast an aurochs."
"Then she may refuse them." Jon gave him the chalk.
At the first contest Coll won a silver stag for the final cast; Hennet received a copper for his improvement. He kept turning it between his fingers until Lew said it would buy no more for being polished. First lost the shield square to Third. Norren chalked the win beneath III while Malcolm sent his arguing four to supper.
Men stopped beneath the board after work even when they had watched the matches. Third finished the moon ahead, and Jon joined Norren as Elspeth's women brought in mutton pies. Outside, First's men were asking Malcolm whom he meant to put in their next four.
* * *
In the fifth moon, the First Cohort marched out to spend two nights beside the wolfswood. Poole had hired a rough pasture above a stream. There was no barrack waiting there, no cookhouse and no bank already cut. The men carried their bedding and food; the new tents went with the pack animals, together with older canvas which Mairi had patched for the journey.
The pages stayed with Wylla. Aries had put his bedroll beside Jon's until Gawen carried it upstairs again. He was still learning to ride within the yard. Jon left him three short lines for Perkin and promised to hear them upon returning.
Hennet had liked the carrying fork upon the short roads round the Old Watch. After half a day his right shoulder had grown sore. He shifted the shaft to his left, caught his cup against Lew's helm and received a curse for it. Ahead, men crowded at a narrow crossing. The rear ranks kept walking until Malcolm raised his voice.
Jon came back along the stopped column on foot, leading his horse. He watched Rennick's first ten clear the crossing before turning to Malcolm.
"Leave that distance when you move. If they stop again, you will have room to put your loads down."
Malcolm brought his men back a few paces. Jon waited beside the crossing until the next two tens had passed.
They reached the pasture with three hours of daylight left. A clump of ash trees stood beside the stream. Lew pointed towards their shade, already easing the fork from his shoulder. Malcolm stopped him before he could untie the blanket.
"We have not been given our ground."
First's flag went up beside a stake driven into the higher grass. Jon called the six centurions to him. Tomas had already taken the household beyond the field, leaving pairs upon the approaches.
Jon walked the ground with the officers before allowing the animals in. He took them first to the stream, where the mud showed the edge of its last rise. Grass lay flat beneath the ash roots. He scraped a shallow hole with the heel of his boot; water gleamed in it before they had finished speaking.
"No beds here," he said. "Drinking water from above that bend. Horses below the crossing. The privies go beyond the southern hedge, away from this stream."
Hewyn looked towards the higher slope. "First and Second there?"
Jon laid the first cord from the entrance across the field, with Arthur at its far end. The centurions set their flags in the barrack order: four spear centuries in their familiar places, swordsmen beside the two entrances. Fourth's rear tents would run down into wet ground; Jon moved them forward.
"Walk it with your decani," he told Rymond. "They must be able to find their own tents after dark."
Malcolm brought First through the entrance and found Sixth's canvas across the lane. Its bearers had put the bundles down where the pack animals stopped. Men behind Malcolm began spreading out to pass them.
"Keep your ten together," Jon called. He took one end of the nearest bundle while its owner caught the other. They carried it to Sixth's flag. "Unload at the tents. This road stays open."
Brus sent two men for the rest. A mule squeezed past, its pannier almost brushing Hennet's chest.
Hewyn divided the work. Some men remained armed while the digging parties took spades; others carried canvas and fetched water. Jon joined Malcolm's ten at the northern ditch, took off his coat and borrowed a spade. Hennet watched him begin cutting turf.
The ground was dry at the surface and heavy beneath. Jon lifted smaller pieces than the men beside him. He laid the first sods grass-down upon a cloth, then scraped the bottom until the cut was broad enough to work in. Malcolm knelt to judge its depth.
"Only this?"
"For two nights. The Old Watch has to hold through years of weather." Jon pointed to the stakes lying inside the cord. "We still need room for those on the bank. Keep the loose earth back from the lip."
Hennet cut until his shoulders ached worse than they had upon the road. When the relief came he surrendered the spade gladly. His hands were dark with soil, and there was still a tent to raise.
Lew forgot a retaining pin when they raised the ridge. The pole sleeve parted, dropping canvas over Hennet's head. Jon helped them lower it and fit the pin before trying again. He stayed until Lew had moved two pegs into firmer ground and Hennet had shifted his blanket clear of the cloth. The low clouds over the trees promised to test their work before morning.
By supper the ditch was continuous except at the entrances. One of Third's tents leaned; Gerralt had Fifth move a rope from the path to the water. The cooking fires stood clear of the canvas, but their pots were slower than Elspeth's kettles. Lew tried the barley and found it hard.
Jon ate with the centurions beside the northern entrance. Arthur sat upon a rolled cloak, his sword across his knees. Beyond them men lay back in the grass rather than return to the tents they had spent so long raising.
"Fifth have put their boots outside," Arthur said.
"They will fetch them when it rains." Jon scraped the last onion from his bowl. "Malcolm's men still have a drain to finish."
Hewyn looked towards First. "What has he left?"
"The channel above their tents stops short of the lane drain. Malcolm said it was finished. I want him to look again."
Hewyn called the decanus over. Malcolm went back with Jon, carrying a lantern. The shallow cut looked sound until they reached its lower end. There a ridge of untouched grass stood between it and the open drain. Malcolm set the lantern down and put his heel against the ridge.
"I meant to send them back."
"Then you should not have told me it was done. Fetch a spade."
They opened the end together. Jon poured half a bucket into the upper reach. Water crept down towards them, gathered in a hollow and stopped. He made Malcolm follow it back with the lantern, then scraped away the higher patch below the hollow. The next water ran through to the lane.
Malcolm reached for the spade. "I will bring them out to see it."
"Bring the two who cut it. The others have their own work." Jon wiped the handle before giving it back. "Tomorrow you take this tent down and choose another place for it. I want them to know what they are looking for."
Rain began while the lamps were being put out. Hennet heard it moving through the grass before it struck the canvas. He drew his feet farther into the blanket. Water whispered in the little channel outside; his bedding remained dry. Across the lane a man swore loudly enough to wake Sixth, and somebody called that he ought to have fetched his boots.
At the first change of watch, one of First's sentries came back alone. He had heard the relief being called and left his place before the next man reached it. Heward met him between the tents with his cloak over his nightshirt.
"Who has your post?"
The man pointed towards the tent from which the next watch was coming.
"That is not the post." Heward sent Tomas's nearest guard to stand there, then took the sentry to Hewyn. He had Malcolm fetched as well.
Jon came out with his cloak round his shoulders. Heward named the empty entrance and its temporary guard; he had checked that the other approach's relief was complete.
"I heard my replacement called," the sentry said.
"Called out of bed," Hewyn answered. "You left before he reached you."
Malcolm admitted that he had not walked the post with the new men. He had told them the length of the watch and where to stand.
Jon took them back to the entrance. He called the relief forward and stood between the two men while the first showed where the path disappeared beneath the trees.
"You leave when he has taken your place," he said. "Now tell him what you heard before you came in."
The man named a loose horse beyond the stream, then corrected himself. He had heard hoofs; he had seen nothing. Jon made the new sentry repeat it before dismissing the old one.
Hewyn kept him beside the entrance. "No leave for a sennight when we return. Malcolm will go with you at the next changes until you can be trusted to complete one." He turned to the decanus. "Show every man in your ten. Not just these two."
Heward brought the other duty decani to witness the next change. Jon and Tomas checked the remaining posts, hearing each sentry's report before he left.
Morning brought wet canvas, stiff fingers and no cookhouse to hide in. Jon had the tents opened to air. Malcolm moved his shelter, walking the ten along its new outfall before bedding went down. Lew tested the corner pegs; Hennet kept his blanket rolled until the pole pins were in.
Over breakfast Jon asked Hennet where he would put the tent in the next field. He pointed uphill, then stopped to look towards the stream.
"I should walk it first, my lord."
"Do that." Jon held out his bowl for the pot. The barley was softer this time.
When they struck camp, the men filled the pits and ditches and laid back the turf. Jon walked the pasture with the owner before they left. Two rails needed replacing. Hewyn paid the agreed damage from the journey purse and kept the reckoning for their return.
At the Old Watch, Hewyn asked when the whole cohort would go out again.
"In three moons. Different ground, two nights at least. Each time, change the men who dig, cook and keep the stores." Jon looked through the open barrack door, where Hennet was setting his cup upon its dry shelf. "Keep the shorter marches between. They have plenty left to learn."
Hewyn went to tell the centurions. When Malcolm brought the news, Lew fell backwards onto his bed and covered his face with a stocking. Hennet rubbed his sore shoulder and listened to the rain upon a roof somebody else would have to mend.
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