They all rode around the lists in procession, and the princess awarded the prize of honour to Ser Gavin – very much against her will, the crowd could see, and they roared for the Red Knight nonetheless.
And then they trooped back to their pavilions.
‘I am so sorry,’ Ser Gavin said.
‘I’m not – that was magical,’ the Red Knight said. ‘I think you may be the best jouster I’ve ever faced.’
Francis Atcourt shook his head. ‘Someone stuck you with a crossbow bolt, and you are still jousting?’
The Red Knight winced. One of the two Scholae – young Mortirmir – raised a hand, and a third Academician stepped forward and a line of power connected them – the junior student passing raw ops to his classmate.
‘I hoped he might be stupid enough to try again,’ the Red Knight said. ‘Any luck, Morgan?’
The Alban student shrugged. ‘We’re seeking the weapon, but whoever did this knows enough to break the connection between bow and arrow,’ he said, his voice deeper and strangely confident for an adolescent.
Toby, head down and clearly ashamed, said, ‘I’m too used to having Ser Thomas. And Ser Ranald. I was lax.’
The Red Knight reached out and tweaked his squire’s cheek. ‘Horse shit, Toby, we’re all a little stretched right now. And this bastard is good. He chose his moment well. We covered it.’
‘Why do you have to go back out there?’ Ser Michael asked.
The Duke’s eyes rested on his – sardonic and dark and a little too glittery. And glinting red in their depths. ‘Michael – if I go down all hell will break loose. I promise you. If they don’t even see me hesitate-’ he smiled, ‘-then they’re going to have some fractures of their own.’
‘Who is this they?’ Ser George asked.
Ser Gavin pushed forward. ‘Fuck that!’ he said angrily. ‘This place can burn for all of me.’
The Red Knight shook his head. ‘Gentles all, we may have a busy Christmas night. We knew it was coming – Gelfred got a messenger, but there must have been a duplicate.’ He sat up. He was very pale. ‘However, if I survive the public dancing, we should be fine. If I don’t, let me take this moment to tell you all what a pleasure it has been to be your Captain.’
Atcourt turned to Ser Michael. ‘He’s insane. Make him go to bed. And shouldn’t we warn the princess?’
The Red Knight’s face closed.
‘Warn her?’ Ser Michael spat. He turned and looked at Ser Alcaeus, who stood with his arms folded.
The Morean knight shook his head, looking ten years older, but said nothing.
It was Ser Alison who took up the gauntlet. She laughed, and her raucous laugh rang out like a challenge to fate. ‘Warn the princess? She’s probably paying the fucking assassin.’
Harndon – The Queen
The Queen had tidied her apartments with Diota, and she’d busied herself, first meeting with Master Pye, who’d brought her gift for the King, and then wrapping it. Then she’d dressed carefully in brown velvet with bronze and gold beads and emeralds the size of nail-heads. Her belly showed, but Diota had worked a miracle of her own, recutting the brown velvet to match her latest expansion.
‘Where is Rebecca? And Emota? And my other ladies?’ she asked, as the winter darkness began to roll over the snow. She watched the shadows lengthen – the towers appearing to creep across the dirty snow in the main yard – and thought with a shudder of the other darkness in the corridors under the Old Palace.
‘Sweet, they’re late. Everyone’s late,’ Diota said, with her usual practicality. ‘Because it is Christmas, sweeting, and that’s what happens at Christmas.’
‘I’m fat,’ the Queen said. She glanced at her nurse. ‘Emota worries me. She looks ill.’
Diota rolled her eyes. ‘You are having a baby, Your Grace.’ She grinned. ‘It’s been known to add a few pounds.’ She looked thoughtfully at the mirror. ‘Emota – I’m a coarse old woman. I’d say she chose the wrong door at the stable.’
‘Emota? She is no light of love,’ the Queen said.
Her nurse shrugged. ‘Men are pigs. And they behave accordingly.’
‘What do you know?’ the Queen asked.
‘Know? Nothing. But I think that one of the Galles has turned her head, and the little bitch has been spying on us for them.’ Diota seized a hairbrush and yanked too hard at her mistress’s hair. ‘I heard one o’ they calling her a slut and a whore.’
The Queen shook her head. ‘Why are they so stupid? Blessed Virgin – my own husband thinks I was unfaithful,’ Desiderata said. Suddenly she sobbed. She hadn’t said the words aloud before.
‘He’s a fool,’ Diota said. ‘But he’s a man, and that’s the way of men.’
‘How can he even think it?’ the Queen shouted. She hadn’t meant to shout. The anger appeared, almost out of the air.
The privy door opened, and Lady Rebecca entered. She curtsied, her face as pale as new milk.
‘Oh, Becca, what’s wrong?’ the Queen asked.
Almspend shook her head, pursed her lips and said nothing.
‘I command you,’ the Queen said.
‘It is Christmas, and like everyone else, I am late,’ her secretary said. ‘Men in the halls are saying endless foul things.’
‘You have been attacked by one of the Galles!’ Diota cried.
Almspend smiled. ‘Unlikely,’ she said quietly. ‘Or rather, unlikely to happen more than once.’
The Queen sighed. ‘If only Mary – bah. She’ll come back after Epiphany.’ She looked out the window. ‘I would give much to leave the poison of this court. To go to a nunnery and have some peace until my baby is delivered.’ The thought of her baby clearly cheered her. She allowed a small smile to penetrate her anger.
Almspend made an effort, drew herself together and picked up a brush and began to work on the Queen’s hair.
Diota looked at her. The two exchanged glances.
‘Where is Emota?’ asked the Queen.
Almspend shrugged. ‘Busy, I expect, Your Grace.’ She was careful, but the Queen’s head turned.
‘Lying down for her Gallish lover,’ Diota spat.
Almspend glared at her. ‘That’s not how I’ve heard it,’ she said.
‘Nurse, do not be crude. Emota is the youngest of my ladies and perhaps not the brightest.’ The Queen smiled. ‘But she has my love all the same.’
‘You should keep it,’ Lady Emota said from the doorway. ‘I am not bright. I am dull, and stupid, and foolish. And pregnant. Can we share that, Your Grace? Like you, I will bear a bastard child.’
The Queen turned so fast that Almspend’s brush tangled in her hair and stayed there. ‘Emota!’ she said.
Emota pointed a finger at the Queen. ‘I am ruined because you are a slut. I believed you. I believed all that instruction about protecting the protectors and guarding the guardians and all I will have for my idles is a swollen belly and the reputation of being a whore just like my Queen.’ She burst into tears and threw herself on the carpet.
‘What has happened?’ the Queen asked. She looked at the other women.
Almspend got hold of the hairbrush and began to work it loose from the Queen’s hair.
Diota rolled the prostrate girl over and slapped her – none too gently – on the cheek. ‘Get up, you silly woman,’ she said.
‘He is the best knight!’ Emota said. ‘And he treated me like – like-’
‘Are you leman to Jean de Vrailly?’ the Queen asked.