The new week saw changes – small ones that heralded larger changes to come.
For example, a hoard of tailors descended on the company and cut new cloth delivered from the market stalls and suddenly the company had uniform scarlet hose and doublets, and new surcoats over their armour. Every man and every horse had Morean-style horsehair tufts in red, green, and white – one on each shoulder, and one atop their horse’s head. A set of standards appeared in the yard, made up outside the palace. One had Saint Katherine and her wheel, and the others had three lacs d’amour in gold – one pennon on white, one on green, and one on red. In the process of learning where they were to stand by the standards, the company learned that a substantial remnant of the mercenaries – the Gallish and Iberian mercenaries – who had served Duke Andronicus were now members of their company.
Ser Bescanon, for example, was now the second standard bearer, carrying Saint Katherine. Ser Milus carried the company banner – black, with three lacs d’amour. The company was divided into three parts, of unequal numbers; the first band, of one hundred lances, was commanded by Ser Jehan, with four corporals, Ser George Brewes, Ser Francis Atcourt, Ser Alfonse d’Este and Ser Gonzago d’Avia, the last two new men from the former Latinikon. The second band, of fifty lances, was commanded by Ser Gavin, and had Ranald Lachlan and Ser Michael as corporals. The third band, also of fifty lances on parchment but smaller in reality, was commanded by Gelfred, and had two corporals, one of whom was Ser Alison, and the other Ser Alcaeus. Ser Jehan’s band was white, Ser Gavin’s was red, and Gelfred’s was green. Each lance had a man-at-arms, a squire almost equally well armed and mounted, a page aspiring to become a man-at-arms, and an archer or two.
The new men were cursed, and nearly everyone on the rolls declared that the company would never recover – too many new faces, with bad attitudes and personal enmities and different languages and customs. The new archers weren’t any good, and the new men-at-arms were scarcely able to ride. Or so men said.
There were four new women among the new recruits – all Easterners from the steppes, all archers, on horse or foot. They kept to themselves and rebuffed any advances from Oak Pew or from Sauce. Or anyone else. The steppe men steered clear of them as well.
Bad Tom’s anodyne for new recruits was work.
Men with hangovers can survive being fitted by tailors. Mag led the seamstresses to work, and if she put her head on her knees once or twice and smiled a bright and brittle smile at the world, she also looked as happy as a woman can look – perhaps not quite as happy as Lady Kaitlin, who attended her wedding breakfast and then sat and sewed hose with the other skilled seamstresses under Lis the laundress’s command.
Count Zac delivered three hundred horses at the gates of the Outer Court – one he led himself. He presented it to the Megas Ducas, who accepted it with pleasure – a tall gelding, sixteen hands, jet black. Strong, but with clean lines and a fine head and a remarkably intelligent eye for a warhorse.
‘He can be a bastard,’ Zac said. He shrugged. ‘So can I. Is your Sauce single?’
If the change of subject took the Megas Ducas by surprise, he didn’t show it. ‘She virtually defines single,’ he said.
Count Zac cleared his throat. ‘She has had lovers – yes?’ His expression indicated that he was embarrassed to ask.
The Megas Ducas allowed himself the very slightest of smiles. ‘It is possible,’ he allowed.
Count Zac sighed. ‘May I court her?’ he asked.
‘Will you always bring me horses like this if I say yes?’ asked the Megas Ducas. He vaulted onto his new horse, bareback, and shot away.
An hour later, still bareback, he pulled up by Sauce, who was still being fitted for her hose by some very straight-faced tailors. She had just offered to strip to her braes.
‘Alison? I’ve traded you to Count Zac for three hundred horses,’ he said. ‘It’s not a bad deal – he’ll marry you.’
She frowned, and then nodded. ‘Three hundred sounds like a good price,’ she agreed. ‘He’s short, but I fancy him.’
He grinned at her. ‘Long time since you fancied anyone,’ he said.
‘Besides you,’ she said.
He flushed, and she laughed in his face.
‘Well, I’m glad it’s mutual,’ he said. ‘Be nice to the tailors.’
He rode to find Ser Michael, who was running the remnants of a small wedding breakfast while checking the company accounts with the notary.
The Captain came in, bowed to the remaining ladies, kissed their hands and their cheeks, and took Michael by the shoulder. Michael was instantly alert.
The two men walked out of the guardroom where the guests were drinking wine, followed by Father Arnaud, who walked with them, chatting pleasantly and in an extremely artificial way until they were inside the Captain’s rooms.
Ser Michael looked around. Toby poured him hot wine from a jug by the fire and walked out, closing the door.
The Captain took a deep breath. His chin went up – one of his rare signs of nerves.
‘I’m sorry, Michael,’ he said. ‘It’s not good, and I’ve hidden it from you so you could enjoy your wedding.’
Michael looked around. ‘Sweet Jesu, what is it?’
Father Arnaud shook his head. ‘Gabriel, that was not well done.’ He nodded to Michael. ‘Your pater has been taken as a traitor by the Captal de Ruth, acting for the King. There has been a battle, and your father lost. Badly. If he is attainted-’
Michael sat down, hard, face unmoving.
The Captain glared at the priest, who smiled beatifically.
‘I’ve called him a traitor a hundred times,’ Michael said. He looked up. ‘And he used your name.’
The Captain twitched like an angry cat. ‘I knew it was a mistake to get a chaplain.’ He looked at the priest, and then said, ‘The prior sent me a set of messages. He says Father Arnaud is to be trusted. Despite playing fast and loose with my identity. In fact, since I’ve discovered that my brother has written to my mother I suppose it doesn’t matter any more.’ He looked at Michael. ‘I’m babbling. Michael, I need you. I plan a winter campaign here – you know what that means.’
‘Par Dieu, have my pater’s troubles driven you to share your plans?’ Michael said. But he felt numb. ‘I have to help my pater.’
‘The King and the Constable have sent every Jarsay knight away from court,’ Father Arnaud said. ‘It was not done with ill will. There is some question as to whether the Captal’s actions are actually within the law, or done with the King’s sanction. The King is, not to put too fine a point on it, trying to keep the lid on the situation by keeping your pater’s supporters away from the Galles and the men who arrested the Earl.’
The Captain poured himself some wine. ‘In this, for once, I must support the King, Michael. If you insist on going – well, I won’t arrest you or use force to stop you, although I did consider it. But short of force, I’ll use any argument to keep you from going.’
Father Arnaud nodded. ‘When I left, the rumour was that your father was going to demand trial by combat. At the tournament in the spring.’ He glanced at the Duke. ‘The other matter is the new Bishop of Lorica. He’ll be elevated tomorrow and he has made his views plain – about the use of hermeticism, about the Patriarch here, about my order.’ The priest shrugged. ‘De Vrailly may be virtual master of the kingdom by summer. The Queen is virtually under siege by the Gallish faction. They hate her, and we don’t even know why.’
The Captain leaned forward. ‘We’ll be finished here by then. We could go to the tournament.’ He smiled, and it was a wicked smile. ‘Visit all together, so to speak.’
Ser Michael took a deep breath. ‘You plan a winter campaign, and you’ll escort me to Alba in the spring?’ he said. ‘You don’t plan to marry the princess and make yourself Emperor?’