‘I’ve taken the liberty of inviting him to the tournament,’ the Queen said. She watched the king like a hawk.
He didn’t flinch.
‘Ah,’ he said.
Morea – The Red Knight
The camp was snug on the late summer evening. And the return had been enough like a homecoming to make him cry. He smiled a great deal, and rode through the camp.
Gelfred was sitting on a wagon, feeding-
‘Goodness gracious, Gelfred! Do we have Parcival?’ The captain slid down from his riding horse and shocked his hunt master with an embrace.
The eagle bated and said squaaack.
Gelfred nodded. ‘Wonderful bird.’ He looked around. ‘Not quite right, of course. Neither you, nor, pardon me, the Abbess is a king. Or queen.’ He grimaced.
The captain gave him a quick nod. ‘We’ll ask the Emperor for a special chrysobull, shall we?’ he laughed. ‘Although, to be honest, I’m pretty sure the Abbess almost was the Queen.’
Gelfred looked shocked.
Ser Alcaeus nodded. ‘I suspected the same.’
Ser Gawin looked at the captain. ‘I’ll be the slow brother. What are we talking about?’
In the captain’s head, Harmodius laughed. A nasty, gossipy laugh. So! You did see who she was.
‘The old king’s mistress, Gelfred. That’s what men called her. Sophia Rae. To whom Hawthor the Great offered marriage after the Battle of Chevin, and was refused.’ The captain smiled. ‘Imagine having been Hawthor’s lover and Richard Plangere’s at the same time.’ He shook his head. ‘And then an Abbess for thirty years.’ He reached out and smoothed the bird’s plumage. ‘Hawthor must have given her the bird. He must be quite ancient.’
The bird’s eyes were fathomless and gold, with a black centre.
‘I’ve heard of them living fifty years,’ said Gelfred.
The bird’s grumpy eyes locked with the captain’s.
‘I see,’ he said.
Mag sat with Johne the Bailli in the last of the light. He had camp stools – comfortable enough, but backless, and she wasn’t getting any younger. He was watching the stars.
‘I see a lot of unfamiliar faces,’ she said, watching two men-at-arms go by. They paused in the light of Johne’s lanterns, gave her an appraising look, and bowed.
‘We did some recruiting,’ he admitted. He ran a hand down her back. Turned his head, and smiled. ‘All right, they all but attacked us. As soon as we made camp – every younger son in the North Country. Some Moreans, too. By the Saviour I would expect we have a hundred lances.’
She sighed. ‘So many,’ she said.
He sat back. ‘Won’t he be pleased? The young captain?’
She leaned over and kissed him gently. ‘I’m a sinful old woman, and I don’t need to be seduced, if that’s what your hand is supposed to be doing.’
He stiffened, but then grinned. ‘My lady, I am out of practice.’
They didn’t talk much, for a moment.
‘Am I clumsy?’ he murmured.
‘No,’ she said. She was thinking of blowing out the lanterns and lying on the carpet shamelessly. ‘No,’ she said.
‘What then?’ he asked.
She made a dismissive gesture and went to blow out the candles.
‘You can tell me,’ he said.
‘I’m just thinking of the captain. Of him being pleased.’ She shrugged. ‘You all think he’s fine, and he is not. He’s like a horse that’s taken a wound, and keeps going. He looks fine, right up until he falls stone dead.’ She found she was leaning back into him.
He held onto her. ‘When I was young, I wanted nothing so much as to be a knight,’ he said. ‘I wanted it, and I fought for it. And I did not get it. And after more time and some bad things, I met your husband, and we survived a bad time. And then I became a decent man in a small town. I had some dark days and some good days.’ He shrugged. ‘And now – par dieu, now it seems that I may get to be a knight. And I may have you, my lady.’ He held her tight. ‘Which is by way of saying – our little captain will take many hurts. If they break him?’ he shrugged. ‘Then they do. That is the way of it.’
She nodded. And slipped a little closer to the carpet of their tent.
The captain sat with Ser Alcaeus and his brother in the last light. The great eagle sat on a perch in the shaded end of the tent, head muffled, squawking softly. The captain went and petted the bird and calmed him, and while he was doing so, Toby poured him wine. Ser Jehannes knocked at the captain’s tent poles.
‘Come,’ said the captain.
Ser Jehannes had Ser Thomas and Ser Antigone, and Toby poured them all wine. In the distance, Oak Pew slammed a fist into Wilful Murder’s head. The archer sat suddenly. The captain shook his head.
‘It’s good to be home,’ he said.
Jehannes held out a leather wallet. ‘I know this is supposed to be a night to revel,’ he said. ‘But the messengers who brought these have been like bluebottles on horse manure, m’lord. Dispatches and letters,’ he said. He grimaced. ‘Most for our well-born recruit here.’ He motioned at Alcaeus. ‘Your uncle seems determined to hear from you.’
‘Your pardon,’ Alcaeus said, and broke the seal on a scroll tube of dark wood.
While he did so, Jehannes handed an ivory tube to the captain. He glanced at the seal and smiled.
‘The Queen, gentlemen.’
They all drank. Even Sauce.
He broke the seal while Alcaeus was still reading.
Alcaeus looked up. ‘M’lord,’ he said formally. ‘The situation has worsened. I must ask, in the Emperor’s name, that we ride with all dispatch.’
The captain was till reading his own. ‘Relax, gentles,’ he said. ‘We aren’t riding anywhere tonight.’
Alcaeus looked at white as a sheet. ‘The Emperor has been – taken. Hostage. A week and more ago.’
The captain looked up and fingered his beard. ‘All right. That does constitute a crisis. Tom?’
‘Ready to ride at first light it is.’ Tom grinned. ‘Never a dull moment.’
‘We live in interesting times,’ the captain said. ‘Everyone get sleep. We will be moving fast. May I assume this is part of the same – er – trouble for which your uncle is hiring us?’
Alcaeus shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’ He shuffled. ‘I don’t even know if he is alive, or still Emperor.’
The captain nodded. ‘Dawn, then,’ he said. ‘We’ll pick up information as we go.’
Jehannes looked at the other parchment. ‘And the Queen?’
The captain sighed. ‘An invitation to a Deed of Arms,’ he said. ‘In the spring.’ He smiled. He looked out into the darkness. He was smiling. ‘Someone has kidnapped the Emperor, and we are going to be called on to save him,’ he said quietly. ‘I think we’ll have to miss the tournament.’
He looked around the table. ‘Remember this night, friends. Breathe the air, and savour the wine. Because tonight, it’s all in the balance. I can feel it.’
‘What is?’ Sauce asked. She raised an eyebrow at Tom, as if to say Is he drunk?
‘Everything,’ the captain said. He laughed aloud. ‘Everything.’
Acknowledgements
This book is the culmination of thirty ears of study, chivalric martial arts, real life, and role-playing. To be fair to all my influences, I’d have to thank everyone I’ve ever known. There’s a Somali man who worked for me in Kenya in this book; a woman I met once in Marseille; a chivalric fighter I sparred with at a tournament a few years back – it’s like that.
But several groups of people deserve my special thanks.
First, the friends of my days in university. Joe and Regina Harley, Robert Sulentic, Robert Gallasch, Gail Morse, Celia Friedman, Steven Callahan, Jevon Garrett, and another dozen – who played in the original Alba campaign. I am an unashamed nerd. Without you people, there would be little life on these bones.
Second, the friends of my reenactment hobby – most especially those who attend our yearly historic trek, where we wander off into the Adirondacks with eighteenth century equipment – or fourteenth century equipment – to learn what it is like to live with the past. We pack it in on our backs and we go places that – in some instances – no person has been in fifty years. These experiences have helped me write this book and I owe you all a debt of thanks for putting up with me. And all the people with whom I spar, in and out of armour – here, and in Ottawa and in Finland and Greece.