Chapter 59: The Bedroom in the Tower of the Hand
Having just resolved the issue of grain for the Clegane Old Lands, Herschel found himself with a new headache concerning another matter in the territory.
With the growing fame of the Thorn Legion, the Clegane spearwives were becoming increasingly brazen in their conduct.
Herschel, who also served as the Governor of Mermaid's Port, had received several reports from the constable about spearwives forcibly carrying off men.
As Mermaid's Port developed, the number of daily visitors grew, and the "victims" were often these outsiders.
Faced with the audacious Clegane spearwives, the average man was truly helpless.
Herschel's only consolation was that the men who were "assaulted" by the spearwives were too embarrassed to publicize their encounters. They would proactively keep their mouths shut, so for the time being, the good name of Mermaid's Port would not be tarnished.
According to the Lord's vision, the majority of the Clegane territory's future trade would be concentrated in Mermaid's Port.
Therefore, this could not be delayed; it had to be dealt with promptly. If it went on for too long, the reputation of Mermaid's Port would suffer sooner or later.
...
This practice of carrying off men was not unfamiliar to Herschel.
The custom had long existed within the Clegane Territory.
According to knowledge passed down through generations of Herschel's family, previous generations of Clegane lords had deliberately tried to manage this custom in order to "adapt" to the noble circles and improve the territory's "image."
But at that time, the Clegane Territory—the place now referred to as the Old Lands—was vast, and its people were widely scattered. Coupled with the fact that the Clegane ancestors were not skilled in governance, their efforts were always superficial, and the custom continued to thrive in private.
It was not until after the Usurper's War that Glyn's mother, Lady Clegane, led her people in a migration to the current new lands. With the populace gathered together, she issued a clear decree banning the practice, and only then was there a thorough improvement.
Under Lady Clegane's rule for over a decade, the custom had all but vanished.
Now, with a continuous influx of wildlings being absorbed as Clegane subjects, the custom was showing signs of resurgence.
What troubled Herschel was that Lady Clegane had only issued a territorial decree banning the "abduction of women," not the "abduction of men."
Thinking of Lady Clegane, Herschel felt it was time to regulate the Clegane spearwives.
The matter of the spearwives "abducting men" could only be reined in by a direct order from the Lord himself.
Before receiving an order from Glyn, Steward Herschel could only urge the constable to intensify patrols for now. Steward Herschel picked up his quill again and added this matter to the bottom of his letter to Glyn.
...
A long hunting party from the Kingswood was proceeding slowly southward along the high road.
Glyn, having just reported the day's general itinerary to a Queen Cersei who seemed even more beautiful than usual, was now riding abreast with Lancel.
Though not as handsome as Jaime, the comely Lancel was also very popular with noble ladies and their handmaidens.
Glyn, whom they viewed with regional prejudice, actually felt a small twinge of envy and jealousy toward Lancel.
Lancel maintained a constant, beaming smile. "Glyn, I feel like they're all secretly sizing me up, and they keep deliberately striking up conversations with me. It's a very strange feeling, but also quite wonderful!"
Glyn glanced at Lancel's delicate face. He felt that the noble ladies must all adore him.
Wonderful? A malicious thought crossed Glyn's mind. Should he secretly arrange to send the innocent Lancel into the noble ladies' tents, leaving an indelible, wonderful memory in his life?
Heh heh heh.
Lancel lowered his voice again. "Don't worry, Glyn, I remember your warning. I'll keep a good distance."
Sitting up straight, Glyn nodded slightly. "I trust you can handle it."
Hearing the affirmation in Glyn's words made Lancel very happy, and he nodded emphatically.
...
Lancel raised an eyebrow and asked Glyn, "Glyn, how about you? I remember you aren't married yet. You were patrolling the column all day yesterday. Did you see anyone who caught your eye?"
Glyn gently tugged the reins, adjusting his horse's direction. "They are not suitable for me," he said. "I don't want to waste my time."
A look of confusion appeared on Lancel's handsome face. "Not suitable?"
Glyn turned his head to look at Lancel. "I have just reclaimed my House's Old Lands. My territory will not be stable for some time."
Lancel nodded slightly, and Glyn continued, "The nobles of the Crownlands live as comfortably as ewes. The daughter of a ewe cannot adapt to a mountain forest full of wild beasts."
Lancel strongly agreed. His own House Lannister was a pride of lions; before the Lannisters, the other nobles were merely a flock of sheep.
...
Alas, Glyn was right. His father would never agree to him finding a mate from a flock of sheep.
Lancel felt that Glyn's plight was not as easy as he made it seem.
The naive Lancel secretly pitied Glyn. *My sister is too young, otherwise they would surely be suitable. Father would probably be very satisfied with Glyn, too.*
Lancel was referring to his own sister, Jenny Lannister, who had just been born this year.
As Lancel's imagination ran wild atop his horse, a rich variety of expressions flickered across his face.
Glyn was a bit speechless. He felt that this generation of Lannisters all had their own unique characteristics.
...
The Red Keep, the bedroom in the Tower of the Hand.
Leaning against the head of the bed, Lord Jon Arryn's face was even more gaunt, making him appear increasingly frail and old.
Standing by the bedside, Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin, was reporting on the affairs of the realm to Lord Jon Arryn.
"Petyr, has His Grace, Robert, returned yet?"
Lord Petyr shook his head slightly. "My Lord Hand, the King is already on his way back."
Lord Jon let out a weary sigh. After a moment of silence, he spoke, "The taxes... I won't ask about them. I trust you will handle everything well without my needing to say more. Petyr, you are a trustworthy man."
A decorous smile appeared on Lord Petyr's face as he nodded in thanks.
"Petyr, you are a man I trust. My physical condition forces me to consider what comes after, and to do so early. In your opinion, who would be a suitable successor for the Hand of the King after me?"
Lord Petyr's eyes trembled slightly. "My Lord Hand, Grand Maester Pycelle has assured me that you will be well again very soon."
Lord Petyr's words still failed to comfort Lord Jon.
Lord Jon nodded slightly. "Life is like the weather, unpredictable. To be prepared for anything is to avoid panic and disarray. This is my duty."
Instead of immediately answering Lord Jon's query, Lord Petyr asked in return, "My esteemed lord, have you already chosen someone?"
After a moment of thought, Lord Jon spoke, "Sigh, there is one, but it will be very difficult. I know him. I don't think he will be willing to take up the post of Hand of the King. He dislikes the atmosphere here. But he is the most suitable for His Grace, Robert."
*He is the most suitable for His Grace, Robert?* Petyr's mind raced. He had already guessed the identity of the "he" Lord Jon spoke of.
Will the hungry wolf come south?
(end of chapter)