Towers of Midnight (The Wheel of Time #13)

Mat blinked. “Really? She said things like that?”

Setalle nodded.

“Burn me,” he said. “Almost makes me feel bad for painting her mouth blue. But you wouldn’t have known she thought that way, considering how she treated me.”

“Speaking such things to a man inflates his opinion of himself. One would think that the way she treated you would have been enough.”

“She’s Aes Sedai,” Mat muttered. “She treats everyone like they’re mud to be scraped off her boots.”

Setalle glared at him. She had a stately way about her, part grandmother, part court lady, part no-nonsense innkeeper.

“Sorry,” he said. “Some Aes Sedai aren’t as bad as others. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“I’ll take that for a compliment,” Setalle said. “Though I’m not Aes Sedai.”

Mat shrugged, finding a nice small rock at his feet. He used it to replace his boot atop the stack of paper. The rains of the last few days had passed, leaving a crisp freshness to the air. “I know you said it didn’t hurt,” Mat said. “But…what does it feel like? The thing you lost?”

She pursed her lips. “What is the most delightful food you enjoy, Master Cauthon? The one thing that you would eat above all others?”

“Ma’s sweet pies,” Mat said immediately.

“Well, it is like that,” Setalle said. “Knowing that you used to be able to enjoy those pies every day, but now they have been denied you. Your friends, they can have as many of those pies as they want. You envy them, and you hurt, but at the same time you’re happy. At least someone can enjoy what you cannot.”

Mat nodded slowly.

“Why is it that you hate Aes Sedai so, Master Cauthon?” Setalle asked.

“I don’t hate them,” Mat said. “Burn me, but I don’t. But sometimes, a man can’t seem to do two things without women wanting him to do one of those things a different way and ignore the other one completely.”

“You aren’t forced to take their advice, and I warrant that much of the time, you eventually admit it is good advice.”

Mat shrugged. “Sometimes, a man just likes to do what he wants, without someone telling him what’s wrong with it and what’s wrong with him. That’s all.”

“And it has nothing to do with your…peculiar views of nobles? Most Aes Sedai act as if they were noblewomen, after all.”

“I have nothing against nobles,” Mat said, straightening his coat. “I just don’t fancy being one myself.”

“Why is that, then?”

Mat sat for a moment. Why was it? Finally, he looked down at his foot, then replaced his boot. “It’s boots.”

“Boots?” Setalle looked confused.

“Boots,” Mat said with a nod, tying his laces. “It’s all about the boots.”

“But—”

“You see,” Mat said, pulling the laces tight, “a lot of men don’t have to worry much about what boots to wear. They’re the poorest of folks. If you ask one of them ‘What boots are you going to wear today, Mop?’ their answer is easy. ‘Well, Mat. I only have one pair, so I guess I’m gonna wear that pair.’”

Mat hesitated. “Or, I guess they wouldn’t say that to you, Setalle, since you’re not me and all. They wouldn’t call you Mat, you understand.”

“I understand,” she said, sounding amused.

“Anyway, for people that have a little coin, the question of which boots to wear is harder. You see, average men, men like me….” He eyed her. “And I’m an average man, mind you.”

“Of course you are.”

“Bloody right I am,” Mat said, finishing with his laces and sitting up. “An average man might have three pairs of boots. Your third best pair of boots, those are the boots you wear when you’re working at something unpleasant. They might rub after a few paces, and they might have a few holes, but they’re good enough to keep your footing. You don’t mind mucking them up in the fields or the barn.”

“All right,” Setalle said.

“Then you have your second best pair of boots,” Mat said. “Those are your day-to-day boots. You wear those if you are going over to dinner at the neighbors’. Or, in my case, you wear those if you’re going to battle. They’re nice boots, give you good footing, and you don’t mind being seen in them or anything.”

“And your best pair of boots?” Setalle asked. “You wear those to social events, like a ball or dining with a local dignitary?”

“Balls? Dignitaries? Bloody ashes, woman. I thought you were an innkeeper.”

Setalle blushed faintly.

“We’re not going to any balls,” Mat said. “But if we had to, I suspect we’d wear our second best pair of boots. If they’re good enough for visiting old lady Hembrew next door, then they’re bloody well good enough for stepping on the toes of any woman fool enough to dance with us.”

“Then what are the best boots for?”

“Walking,” Mat said. “Any farmer knows the value of good boots when you go walking a distance.”

Setalle looked thoughtful. “All right. But what does this have to do with being a nobleman?”

“Everything,” Mat said. “Don’t you see? If you’re an average fellow, you know exactly when to use your boots. A man can keep track of three pairs of boots. Life is simple when you have three pairs of boots. But noblemen…Talmanes claims he has forty different pairs of boots at home. Forty pairs, can you imagine that?”

She smiled in amusement.

“Forty pairs,” Mat repeated, shaking his head. “Forty bloody pairs. And, they aren’t all the same kind of boots either. There is a pair for each outfit, and a dozen pairs in different styles that will match any number of half your outfits. You have boots for kings, boots for high lords, and boots for normal people. You have boots for winter and boots for summer, boots for rainy days and boots for dry days. You have bloody shoes that you wear only when you’re walking to the bathing chamber. Lopin used to complain that I didn’t have a pair to wear to the privy at night!”

“I see…. So you’re using boots as a metaphor for the onus of responsibility and decision placed upon the aristocracy as they assume leadership of complex political and