After assigning their tasks, Clay did not leave the training yard immediately. Instead, he sat down and chatted with the gloomy-faced members of the cadet branches.
This time, Clay no longer needed little tricks to reinforce their hierarchy as he had before. He listened attentively as each of them described his circumstances, trying to commit as much as possible to memory.
Once all twenty had finished their introductions, some long and some short, Clay mentally summed up the characteristics of these Manderly sons whose families had fallen on hard times. Simply put, there were three:
First, although their families had declined and could no longer remotely be called noble, they or their families still had a little money to spare, enough to put together a full or partial suit of crude armor.
Second, nearly all their fathers had followed his grandfather into battle. Some had fought in the War of the Usurper, while others had joined the royal fleet led by Stannis Baratheon in campaigns against pirates in the Narrow Sea. Most belonged to the latter group, but at least they knew what war was.
Third, House Manderly had lived in White Harbor for so many years that there were hundreds, if not a thousand, members of cadet branches who still bore the Manderly name. For his grandfather and Ser Marlon to find men with uncomplicated social and family ties who would be easy to manage amid such a tangled web of relationships must truly have been a difficult task.
Clay picked out a few men and casually asked about the wars they or their fathers had experienced. If they had been the commanders, how would they have directed the fighting?
This question tested their ability to think independently, because until now, every one of them had been a levy soldier ordered about by noble lords on the battlefield, knowing only how to follow orders.
As the conversation deepened, these farm boys, initially too timid to speak, gradually loosened up. The atmosphere grew lively, and answers to Clay's questions came from every direction in all their variety.
Although the vast majority of their battle plans struck Clay as utterly impractical-plainly put, they were nothing but ways to feed the enemy kills-he was still quite pleased. At least none of them put on a fawning smile and offered blood-pressure-raising flattery like, "Whatever you say, my lord."
The afternoon slipped by in conversation. These members of House Manderly's cadet branches discovered that the young master Clay they would be following possessed a quality that won their willing respect. His analyses of battles some of them had taken part in were incisive, far superior to the lousy ideas they had come up with.
Although young master Clay might have possessed more wisdom than the gods had granted all of them combined, he kept encouraging them to think and offer their own opinions.
What was more, when they cautiously voiced their opinions, they were not scolded. This made each of them feel that the young master valued him. This was the future heir to White Harbor, whose standing was far nobler than theirs.
None of them noticed the passage of time. Only when the shadows of the massive walls and soaring towers fell across them did their young master Clay end the conversation.
The White Harbor Guard, who had long been waiting at a distance, came forward to meet Clay and escorted him away beneath the gazes of the Manderly cadet branches. Meanwhile, a tall, stern-faced guard captain approached them and told them to form up so he could take them to eat.
From this day onward, they were members of the White Harbor Guard.
To the melodious tolling of the bell tower marking the hour, Clay stepped into the New Castle. Since his return, Earl Wyman had developed a habit of calling the family's direct descendants together for dinner every evening, something he had not done before.
Looking at his young, handsome grandson, Earl Wyman, who was sipping from a wine cup, asked with a chuckle:
"Well? These men meet your requirements, don't they?" As he spoke, the old man gave him a slight wink.
Inwardly amused, Clay naturally understood that his grandfather was warning him not to let slip the true purpose behind selecting these men. In Clay's opinion, the old man was worrying needlessly. How could he fail to understand the importance of keeping this secret?
He pulled out a chair fitted with a silk-covered cushion and sat beside his elder sister, Wynafryd. Unlike Duke Eddard, who kept strict discipline at home, his grandfather did not forbid his grandchildren from drinking. After all, he was a heavy drinker himself.
The quiet-natured Wynafryd gave Clay a gentle, ladylike smile, picked up the wine jug, and poured him a cup, saying softly:
"Clay, the white salmon is very good today. You should have some more."
Clay returned his sister's smile naturally and stood on no ceremony. He accepted the cup, took a sip, and began working on the salmon before him.
His father, Ser Wendel, who had practically been living in the barracks, was also at dinner that evening. His uncle Wylis was in poor health and had been taking medicine, so he had not attended.
Wendel had actually wanted to talk with his son for some time, but White Harbor's army was replacing its equipment lately. As the infantry commander, he had to keep watching over the process. If he left it to his subordinates, there was no telling how much embezzlement would occur.
"Clay, are you recruiting your personal guard?" Wendel asked his son.
"Yes, Father." Still chewing, Clay nodded.
"Have you chosen the men yet? Let me tell you, your personal guards are the ones who take sword blows and arrows for you on the battlefield. You can't choose short, scrawny men. If you don't have anyone, I can get you a few from the army. It's no trouble. They're all veterans who've survived the battlefield."
Ser Wendel was a very straightforward man. In truth, he had never known how to communicate with his son and could only help him in the field he knew best, though he did not realize that the moment he made his proposal, his father had already rejected it in his mind.
"That's enough, Wendel. Just look after your soldiers. I'll handle Clay's personal guard. Keep your sword ready, and cut down anyone who dares meddle with the soldiers' equipment. I don't want to see the soldiers end up with worse armor after replacing it."
Wendel nodded instinctively. He had resolutely followed his father's instructions for decades. Like his elder brother Wylis, he was a capable soldier and general, but this was also what dissatisfied Earl Wyman most.
Wylla, who had recovered from her dejection over what had happened at Winterfell, had returned to her mischievous self. She chattered away in Clay's and Wynafryd's ears, telling sailor stories she had heard from who knew where.
After dinner, Clay was just about to return to his room when his sister Wynafryd stopped him.
Not knowing what she wanted, he followed his sister into the castle garden. After hesitating for a long while, Wynafryd asked Clay:
"Are you going to the Twins to meet those Freys?"
"Did Grandfather tell you?"
Clay found it rather strange. Ser Marlon would not speak of this, so it could only have been his grandfather.
"Yes. Can I ask you a favor?"
"What is it?"
"If anyone from House Frey brings up marrying me, Clay, you must refuse them!"