But as they came near the village green, a voice behind them called, “One side! Make way!”
They had been in medieval Europe long enough to know what that meant. They scurried to the side of the road and watched the knight come trotting past, grinning, with a dozen men-at-arms behind him. Several of them leered at Mama, but apparently decided she was too old, and turned away with scorn.
“You may relax, husband,” Mama said gently. “They could see I was old enough to be their mother.”
“Really?” Papa turned to her with a smile, relaxing a little. “To me, you always look to be nineteen.”
Mama gave him a roguish smile, then turned serious. “Let us follow quickly, husband. There is something about that entourage that troubles me.”
The knight drew up in front of the inn, crying, “A fabulous victory! A grand triumph! I stood beside Prince John as he cut down the Count Haltain! I was his shield mate as he hewed and hacked like a madman! The king is still king and has locked the queen into a castle for a prison! Bretanglia is whole again!”
“How did he spell that?” But Papa spoke absently; he was watching the parents and sons of the village crowd around the warriors with loud cries of praise while the young women turned away, not daring to run. Taken by surprise, they could do no better than turn their faces to the nearest wall.
From his mount, the knight caught sight of a form that was shapely even in the baggy peasant skirt and blouse. He pushed his horse through, grinning at the lone despairing cry, and leaned down to catch the peasant girl by the shoulder and turn her around. “Here, lass! Let’s have a look at your face!”
The girl tried to twist away, but the knight caught her chin and held it fast. He wet his lips and nodded. “Not bad, not bad at all.” He dropped her chin, caught her by the arm, and tossed her to one of his men. “Here, Sergeant! Bring her to my chamber! Landlord, take me to your finest room, and quickly!”
But the girl managed to twist free from the sergeant’s hold and dodge behind the broad back of the innkeeper. “Father, no! Hide me!”
“Oh, she’s your get, is she?” The knight grinned, reveling in the double pain he would cause. “Well, you should be honored to send her to a knight.”
“Nay, sir!” the innkeeper protested, looking up at the knight. “She is still a virgin!”
“What, at her age?” the knight said in scornful disbelief. “She can have one of me or twelve of my men, innkeeper. Choose!”
“Why, you scoundrel!” Mama cried, and ran to put herself between the knight and the innkeeper. “How dare you call yourself a man of chivalry when you would debauch a virgin?”
Papa stiffened in alarm, but the innkeeper, with vast relief, turned to a boy nearby and snapped, “Friar Thomas! Run as you never have!”
The boy sped away, even as the knight turned purple and roared, “How dare you so address a belted knight, fishwife? Aside!” He swung a backhanded blow at her.
It struck hard against Papa’s staff. The knight howled and cursed, then called to his men, “Strike down this impertinent cur!”
Mama whipped out her wand and chanted a quick Spanish couplet.
The men-at-arms shouted in anger and charged Papa—but he swung his staff in a circle, hand over hand like an airplane’s propeller, and a series of knocks sounded as the first three men reached him. They fell back into the men behind them, who jammed back against the six still trying to get forward, and the whole dozen churned into a scrambled, shouting mass.
“Witchcraft!” the knight cried, whipping out his sword.
“Overconfidence, more likely,” Papa replied. “Haven’t you taught your men never to underestimate an enemy?”
The knight froze with his sword high, glowering down from his mount in suspicion. “You do not talk like a peasant.”
“A man’s rank should make no difference to a true knight,” Papa lectured. “Chivalry extends to all regardless of rank, and a virgin peasant should be as sacred to you as any lady of the highest station.”
Anger warred with wariness in the knight’s face. “Who are you to school me so?”
“A schoolmaster and scholar indeed,” Papa replied, and probably would have gone on at some length if a lanky man in a brown robe hadn’t come running up, the top of his head shaved in a tonsure. “Here now, Sir Knight!” he scolded. “Would you break your vows of chivalry by robbing a woman of her virtue?”
The knight looked up in surprise, men darted a glare of pure venom at the innkeeper. He turned to the friar, snapping, “It is no concern of yours, shave-pate!”
“The welfare of every soul in this parish is my concern!” The friar took up a stance between Mama and the knight. They stood four deep between him and his quarry now—the friar, Papa, Mama, and the innkeeper. “You are in my parish this moment, so your soul, too, is in my care! Remember the Commandments, O Man of Might! Remember especially the Sixth Commandment!”
“She isn’t married, if she’s truly a virgin, as her father says,” the knight grunted. “That’s not adultery.”
“No, but it is fornication, which is almost as bad, and the despoiling of a virgin makes it far worse! Then, too, if she is not willing, which she plainly is not, you speak of rape, which is worse than either! Our Lord Himself has commanded us to refrain from fornication—and scandal! If your actions lead a child into sin, it would be better for you to be cast into a river with a millstone tied around your neck!”
The knight swung his sword high with an oath. “Who says so?”
“Our Lord said so!” The friar stood stiff and unflinching before that blade. “What, Sir Knight! Will you imperil your immortal soul for mere amusement? Will you send yourself to an eternity of torture for a few minutes’ pleasure?”
The knight sat his horse, sword poised, wavering.
Mama made a small set of gestures, and her lips moved, but her voice came from the middle of the crowd, behind the knight’s back:
Everyone looked up and about, startled by the sweet sounds, eyes widening as joy burst within them—and even the knight’s face was transformed. He sheathed his sword, nodding in acceptance. “Even as you have said, Father! Nay, let the lass stay whole—and I thank you for saving my soul!”
He turned to his men. “Away and go! We’ll spend this night at another village’s inn!”
A murmur of relief swept through the crowd as the entourage rode away—but the friar beckoned the little boy to him and said, “Take two friends and run to Renved Village by the beeline through the woods. Tell Friar Nollid there to welcome these men as they come into his parish, or there may yet be mischief this night.”
The boy dashed off, feeling very important, and the friar turned to the innkeeper. “You are safe now, Goodman Dalran, Maid Darsti.”
“Yes, thanks to you, friar!” The innkeeper wrung the clergyman’s hand, then turned to Mama and Papa. “And to you, good friends! By what magic you held the knight at bay until the friar could arrive, I know not, but I thank you deeply!”
Darsti caught Mama’s hand and covered it with kisses.
“It was our pleasure,” Mama assured him. “No woman should be subject to the whims of such a bully, virgin or not!”
“No woman should be forced, most certainly,” the friar said with feeling.
“You must be my guests this night!” the innkeeper said.
“It shall be my honor to serve you myself,” Darsti assured them.