They made the mistake of charging while he got the blonde woman back onto his horse. Ser Danved appeared from a maze of tent ropes like a trick rider and unhorsed a knight-knocking man and horse to the ground from side-on. Ser Danved was a big man, and he and his horse cut the whole column of pursuers-the men who’d passed his one-man ambush were at even odds with Ser Michael and Ser Bertran and young Toby, and were quickly unhorsed. Gavin charged into the midst of the fight, and panicked horses burst into the tent lines and men went down in all directions as their horses crashed through standing tents, and the melee became general.
“I’m Blanche,” the woman said. “In the pictures, the girl’s always behind the knight.”
Gabriel had to laugh.
It took another sharp fight to get clear of the camp; the whole of the casa, pages and archers included, proved a match for the disorganized Galles, and cut their way free.
“We could just cut our way in and get de Vrailly,” Gavin said. He was in high spirits.
“What, and just leave the Queen where we found her?” Gabriel cocked an eyebrow.
The Queen was on a good palfrey. She was as pale as milk.
They’d taken every horse of every man they’d unhorsed, so that they were like a moving livestock show-Ser Danved’s joke. Nell and the other pages were driving a herd of war horses, all still saddled.
“In a day or two, someone is going to raise an army,” Gabriel said. “Gelfred says this Du Corse has three hundred lances, and de Vrailly had the same last year.”
“More,” said Gavin.
Ser Michael swore. “And Albans who should know better-I saw men who were my father’s knights. I put Kit Crowbeard on his arse not fifteen minutes ago-the traitor.”
“Kit Crowbeard?” Gabriel asked.
“One of my father’s retinue knights. His professionals.” Michael frowned. “Did Ranald’s people save my da?”
“Ask me when we link up with Ranald,” Gabriel said. “I told him to keep his men away from the lists unless… well, he must have.” Gabriel looked south. “I hope he did. Otherwise, they’re all taken.”
Bad Tom nodded. “Aye, I didn’t linger to watch, but they were disarming the Royal Guard as soon as they could.”
Gabriel signalled a halt.
“Everyone change horses,” he ordered. He dismounted and held out his good hand to help Blanche, who ignored him and slid to the ground with neat athleticism.
“I must go to my lady,” she said. She ran off along the road.
Gabriel stretched his back and watched the distant camp. “Where’s Gelfred?” he asked Tom.
Tom Lachlan just shook his head. “No one came to the rendezvous,” he said. “Mind ye, we had to go find you!”
Gabriel winced. “Not my finest hour.”
“You found yersel’ a nice piece. You should keep her,” Tom said, in his friendly way.
“Or,” Chris Foliak put in, “if’n you don’t want her-”
“Gentlemen,” the captain snapped, “if you are quite through-”
“He’s just like himself,” Ser Danved said loudly to Ser Bertran.
“I need a rouncy or two for the ladies. Unless Nell plans to take the good sister all the way to Lorica.” He managed a smile at Amicia. “What happened?” he asked.
“The King?” she replied. “Oh, Gabriel…”
Blanche ran back to them. She curtsied in the dust of the road with a fine straight back.
“Look here, Captain,” she said. “Sir.”
Gabriel managed a bow which made his back burn as if a fire had been lit under it.
“My lady-the Queen-she can’t go much further,” Blanche said. “She’s too proud to say, but she could birth at any moment.” Blanche looked around. “You’re all a fine lot-any of you fathers? Blood and fighting brings on the birth, so they say.”
Gabriel was still watching the camp.
There was movement. They had the fire out, and he saw the glint of armour.
“Eight hours of light left,” he said. Nell brought him Abraham, his oldest and calmest riding horse. He swung into the saddle. “Nell, you’re a peach,” he said.
Nell blushed.
He rode along the column to the Queen, sitting with her back against a small tree. She looked serene-and deathly pale.
Gabriel dismounted on willpower alone and managed a creaky bow. “Your grace-I can’t stop here any longer or we will all be taken or killed.”
Her marvellous brown-gold eyes met his. “I know,” she said. “Blanche loves me, but she’s trying to mother me.” The Queen extended a hand and Gabriel got her to her feet. “I can keep him in for another few hours-days, if I must.”
“You are a woman of power,” he said.
“Of course,” she said.
“I healed you last year, when the arrow struck you,” he said. “That’s how I know. I wonder if you could share some of your ops with us-with me and with Sister Amicia.”
The Queen nodded. “Of course-whatever I can do.”
Gabriel reached out and touched her and entered into her palace-a veritable fortress. He’d never seen a palace so well guarded. In the middle of it rose walls of solid, shining gold-pure gold, so well fitted that he could scarcely see where each gold stone fitted to the last.
She led him-slim and lovely-through a doubly barred gate and into the citadel.
“Is it true-that my love is dead?” she asked.
Gabriel nodded. “Killed by an arrow,” he said.
She took a deep breath-even in the aethereal, and pursed her lips. “Later, I will see if I will mourn,” she said.
In the midst of her citadel-a storybook citadel with trellises of fruit and birds on trees-there was a well, and she dipped clear water-pure ops -from the well and gave it to him, and he drank.
“This is never a good idea in the romances,” he said.
“I would like to laugh,” she said. “I would like to run amidst flowers and feel love again.”
Gabriel finished the dipper. Then he reached out a hand and found Amicia and beckoned to her, and she came, stepping through the walls as if they were not there-because she had been invited-and the Queen gave her the dipper to drink.
And Amicia took the potentia and worked it, and healed the wounds in his side and armpit. She rubbed her thumb across the back of his left hand and frowned.
“Perhaps tomorrow,” she said.
And then Sister Amicia walked along the column, healing small hurts of men-and horses.
Tom shook his head. “She’s-” He looked around and hung his head.
Gabriel sighed. “Yes,” he admitted. “Now, let’s get out of here, before something goes wrong.”
Chapter Eight
The Company
At Second Bridge they went east again-much the same route they’d used in the morning. It was possible that someone very quick might have sent a force by the west road on the other side of First Bridge and cut them off and, healing or no, Gabriel didn’t fancy another combat.
But as they climbed the low hills of the southern Albin, so that they could see all the way along the main ridges back to Harndon, Gabriel was sure he saw a column on the main road and another moving on the far bank-there were dust clouds there.
“We should have killed ’em all while we had the chance,” Ser Michael said. “I wish I knew where Da was.”
“I am not even sure you’re wrong,” Gabriel said.
But Gavin came to his rescue. “No,” he said. “We did what we set out to do. It’s all the plan we could make. If we’d had two hundred men-at-arms…”
“Anyway,” Tom said. “That stream’s gone past, eh? It was na’ a bad fight, as such things go. We didn’t lose a man.”