The Red Knight glared at him. ‘And yet, despite that, you came here and risked your fortune to pay my bills.’
Random met his eyes squarely. ‘That’s right, Captain.’
The Red Knight looked at Ser Michael. ‘I think that I’m learning the meaning of largesse from a merchant,’ he said.
‘I plan to joust, at the tournament,’ Random said. ‘I’ll take it out of you in lessons.’
The Red Knight looked at the hovering dove. ‘I will attend, with all my knights, fair Queen,’ he said formally.
The little dove bobbed, and flew away.
The Red Knight – the Megas Ducas, the Duke of Thrake, Gabriel Muriens – turned his horse and made it rear slightly, and raised his baton. Every eye followed him.
‘Now let’s show this so-called Duke Andronicus how to make war,’ he said.
Chapter Twelve
Lutece, Galle – The King of Galle and his Horse
The Seneschal d’Abblemont tapped a parchment scroll against the great oak table for attention, and the war council gradually came to order.
Tancred Guisarme, the Royal Constable, was not in his magnificent dragon armour, but wore a plain brigandine covered in deerhide and a pair of Etrucan steel arms; Steilker, the Master of the King’s Crossbowman, still wore his black armour with gold lettering praising God; Vasilli, the architect of the King’s castles, wore only a maille shirt. Ser Eustace de Ribeaumont, one of the Marshals of the realm and once a famous mercenary, wore black armour with golden edges and bronze maille – very elegant. Abblemont himself wore his plain Etruscan white harness. The only unarmoured man was Messire Ciamberi, a man whose role on the council was almost always left undiscussed.
D’Abblemont waved at his secretary, and the man began to read off a scroll.
Item – The Sieur de Cavalli and four hundred lances have passed from the service of Genua and are now available for employ.
Item – The Senate and Council of Ten of Venike have come to terms with the Emperor and consequently the order for sixty galleys placed to the Arsenal. The man looked up.
D’Abblemont nodded. ‘I have a note from our last meeting – it was the largest order they have ever placed, eh?’
Vasilli fingered his beard. ‘And now cancelled. A lot of out of work shipwrights.’
‘Mayhap the Emperor can employ them,’ Abblemont quipped and they all laughed.
‘And is our man in place to trim the Emperor’s feathers?’ asked the Constable.
D’Abblemonth looked around. He waved at his secretary to sit. ‘Yes. If my sense of the timing is correct, he should be ready to storm Osawa today or tomorrow. I could be off by as much as a week.’
The Constable looked pained. He looked around like a guilty child and muttered, ‘Before the Church got so high and mighty about hermeticism, we used to be able to communicate with our – missions.’
Every head turned to Messire Ciamberi, who raised both eyebrows in mock surprise.
‘My lords – if anyone were to practise such heresy, I would have to remind you that a communication covering a thousand leagues and penetrating the Wild would require more power than-’ He shrugged. ‘Than the pagan ancients ever mustered.’
Abblemont waved a hand. ‘I trust that in this case, our agent is on our timetable.’
Men nodded. The Constable shuffled on his seat. ‘Then why are we here?’ he asked.
Abblemont tossed the parchment in his hand onto the table. ‘The Count of Arelat has sent a cartel to the King, challenging him to single combat.’
Guisarme winced. ‘Bound to happen. Of course, the old Count will eat the King up like a snack – one of the best lances in the world.’
Abblemont shook his head. If the subject pained him – and it did – he hid his complete disgust well. ‘The King will not fight,’ he said.
All the men startled. ‘This is Galle!’ de Ribeaumont said. ‘He has to fight.’
Abblemont sighed. ‘Gentlemen, the King sees in this challenge an obvious ploy by the Count to re-establish the lapsed kingdom of Arelat. Defeat of the King in single combat would probably be construed that way in the Arela – don’t you agree?’
‘Christ, spare me another mountain campaign,’ Steilker said.
It was clear from their faces that neither of the knights approved.
‘Wait until de Vrailly hears that the King refused a challenge,’ de Ribeaumont said.
There was silence.
Abblemont shook his head. ‘That’s not really the core of the difficulty,’ he said and smoothed out the parchment. ‘You see, while sending us a cartel of defiance, the Count has also sent us a detailed description of a skirmish – or rather, a series of skirmishes – in which his men-at-arms seem to have faced irks.’
‘Preposterous,’ said de Ribeaumont. ‘Now I think that our young King has a head on his shoulders. The Count de Sartre is merely using this absurd pretext to rally troops. And besides, Abblemont, did you not give us your word that your niece was at fault in the little contretemps with the King?’
Abblemont didn’t wriggle. His face retained the bland, affable look that the Horse wore at all times. ‘This matter is delicate,’ he admitted. ‘Perhaps most delicate is this piece of evidence.’
At his wave, a servant opened a sack and put a severed head on the table. It reeked of rot.
It was, palpably, an irk, fangs and all.
Messire Ciamberi leaned forward. ‘Could it be faked?’ he asked.
Steilker shook his head. ‘Holy fuck.’
Gusisarme leaned forward. ‘I would hate to take you for a liar, my friend. But the Queen tells a different tale. She says that the little chit was innocent as a saint. In which case, the Count is in the right – isn’t he?’ The Constable had never been an ally of the King’s Horse. ‘He sends this head to prove he’s loyal. And he is. Isn’t he?’
Abblemont ignored the Constable’s tone. ‘It seems to me that whether the Count is loyal or not, we need to be ready in the spring with an army.’
De Ribeaumont leaned forward. ‘My lords! If we field an army in the south – that’s no men for de Vrailly and precious little for our effort in Nova Terra’s northlands.’
‘Money?’ asked the Constable.
Abblemont shrugged. ‘Not enough to buy a second army. Not even enough, I think, to pay Cavalli’s lances.’
Steilker smiled. ‘Ah, but my lords, once he’s on a ship for the Nova Terra, we don’t ever have to pay him again.’
That evening, the King listened to music with his Etruscan Queen. After the music, he went to this private solar with his Horse and was entertained with the news of the world. Finally, he was laughing as he liked. All was well with the world.
‘Did I miss a meeting of the military council? he asked suddenly.
Abblemont nodded. ‘Yes, my liege.’
‘Bah – that foolishness of the Queen’s – that I had to see her new wardrobe. Was anything important discussed?’ the King asked.
‘No,’ Abblemont said. ‘No, Your Grace.’
N’gara Castle – Bill Redmede
‘We’re losing them,’ Nat Tyler said. He was sitting in the Great Hall, watching the irk musicians play fairy tunes. Two hundred men and women watched, faces rapt.
Redmede had thought the same thing a hundred times. And he thought it of himself, because Bess’s hand lay comfortably in his under cover of the table.
‘If we’re still in this fight, we need to leave,’ Tyler spat. He glared at Redmede. ‘Or are you sorcelled too?’
Redmede sat up straighter, like a schoolboy accused by a teacher. But Bess shook her head.
‘We ain’t sorcelled, Nat Tyler. This is as close to heaven as mortal men ever get. A little work and a lot o’ play. An’ such play!’ She shook her head. ‘What’s it for? I never been so happy as the last days. Not ever. Not even-’ She paused, and a cloud passed over her face. ‘Not even as a girl.’