When ducking down beneath an overhanging limb, Dunk plucked a leaf and crumpled it between his fingers. It fell apart like thousand-year-old parchment in his hand. "There was no need to cut that man", he told Bennis.

"A tickle on the cheek was all it was, to teach him to mind his tongue. I should of cut his bloody throat for him, only then the rest would of run like rabbits, and we'd of had to ride down the lot o' them".

"You'd kill twenty men?" Dunk said, incredulous.

"Twenty– two. That's two more'n all your fingers and your toes, lunk. You have to kill them all, else they go telling tales". They circled round a deadfall. "We should of told Ser Useless the drought dried up his little pissant stream".

"Ser Eustace . You would have lied to him".

"Aye, and why not? Who's to tell him any different? The flies?" Bennis grinned a wet red grin. "Ser Useless never leaves the tower, except to see the boys down in the blackberries".

"A sworn sword owes his lord the truth".

"There's truths and truths, lunk. Some don't serve". He spat. "The gods make droughts. A man can't do a bloody buggering thing about the gods. The Red Widow, though… we tell Useless that bitch dog took his water, he'll feel honor-bound to take it back. Wait and see. He'll think he's got to do something ".

"He should. Our smallfolk need that water for their crops".

" Our smallfolk?" Ser Bennis brayed his laughter. "Was I off having a squat when Ser Useless made you his heir? How many smallfolk you figure you got? Ten? And that's counting Squinty Jeyne's half-wit son that don't know which end o' the ax to hold. Go make knights o' every one, and we'll have half as many as the Widow, and never mind her squires and her archers and the rest. You'd need both hands and both feet to count all them, and your bald-head boy's fingers and toes, too".