The lady chevalier was busy looking around the merchant camp with interest; half curiosity, half tactical appraisal. If they were attacked by bandits in the night, it was well that the wagons had been brought into a circle. It would afford some defense, and break any charge that the villains might attempt. The wagons were covered, some with fabric and some with wood, bringing their height up to something that even she atop Aquilon would not have been able to jump. They were aware of the threat, it seemed, and that was good and proper.
But it was not just the camp’s temporary fortifications that interested her; she looked about at the people, smiling and nodding her head as she passed merchants, and what could only be their guards, the help that the merchant leader had spoken of. She had seen a young man with a sword; he had watched her taking her horse’s saddle off, and preparing him for the night, but from a distance; he had to be even younger than her, she decided, with a look that she immediately attributed to admiration—not jealousy, certainly not covetousness of her fine things and beast.
Another merchant came to meet her as she left Aquilon behind; a pretty woman who could not have been much older than Guillemette herself, wearing a dress that Guillemette recognized as a Jader style--more practical than the city wear of Val Royeaux, some of which were difficult to move through smaller doorways. To Guillette’s mind, the dress was fine travel attire indeed. “I have been preparing dinner--rooster in wine--I know it would not be your accustomed fare, but I hope it will suffice? I came to show you to our cook fire.”
Guillemette shook her head a little, “No, I am famished, and ‘tis better than what I would have eaten had I camped alone,” she demurred politely, even though, truth be told, coq au vin was not something she’d ever have chosen to eat, left to her own devices.
The merchant turned and started to lead Guillette towards the fire, chatting a little about their journey, mundane events that had befallen them; at least there had been no attacks from bandits. As they walked into the camp, they passed another woman, in strange garb, tall and dark of hair, with a large sword on her back. She could be nothing but one of the other guards; surely she was no merchant, nor even a normal Orleasian. Where Imenry had masked her curiosity and disdain, as the mercenary stepped aside to let Guillemette and the merchant pass, the chevalier looked back with obvious interest and curiosity. “Good evening,” she greeted politely as they passed. But the lure of supper was stronger than curiosity and, besides, if the woman was their guard, surely she would be around for Guillemette to study, after she had eaten.
The other hired guard, she found as she came upon a fire; he was a man in what looked like a city guard’s uniform somewhat modified over time, cradling a bottle of cheap wine in one hand and leaned against a log that had apparently been meant to serve as a seat. He seemed already half dead to the world, even when Guillemette greeted him. She settled down opposite the drunkard, after unbuckling her mace from her back, gave a quiet sigh, and for the moment, simply relaxed.