The Red Knight

The captain finished his cup. Michael poured him more, and he didn’t say no. And then he said, ‘She’s taking orders as a nun, Tom.’

Tom shrugged as if all women were one and the same. ‘Best find another one then,’ he said. And then, as if the collapse of the captain’s hopes was not the most important thing in the world, he said, ‘So we want leave to go to the Wyrm.’

The captain shook his head. ‘I have a better idea,’ he said. ‘Let’s all go.’

Ranald looked at him and raised an eyebrow at his brother.

‘I love him,’ Tom said to his brother. ‘He’s mad as an adder.’

Ranald smiled. ‘So we all go? The company?’

Yes. This is important.

The captain suddenly had a piercing pain between his eyes.

Be quiet. You’re a guest.

You are getting drunk because you’ve been spurned by a woman. How romantic of you. Of course, that note might have confessed her undying love for you and her willingness to elope tonight to face the future as a mercenary captain’s whore. Hmm? But you burned it, so you’ll never know. Youth is wasted on the young.

Shut up. Fuck off.

Listen, young man. The Prior is right – humanity is losing. But he is also wrong – as I will endeavour to prove. The world is not as I thought it was, and your going to see the Wyrm is the very best idea I have ever heard. You must go to the Wyrm. The stakes of this game are immense. The consequences of failure are extermination – the death of our race. Your dalliance with some novice – albeit one imbued with power of the very highest order – is not quite in the same league.

The captain put his head in his hands.

Tom grinned at him. ‘You’re drunk, my lord.’

The captain looked around for Jacques, but of course he was dead. The last piece of his old life – the last man to connect him with-

I’m conveniently dead, too. Prince Gabriel.

The captain took a deep breath. ‘I have a headache,’ he said. ‘I find it unfair that I have the hangover before I’m done with the drunk.’

Michael leaned forward and poured more wine.

Ser Jehannes came in with Ser Milus, both of them drunk too. They were singing ‘Green Grow the Rushes’ with their arms around Sauce, who seemed to be carrying them.

Three, three, the lily white boys, clothed all in green, oh,

Two, two the rivals.

And one is one and all alone, and ever more shall be, oh.

Their attempt at harmony was almost as horrible as a charge of boglins.

Tom started to laugh.

Jehannes poured a cup of wine, sat on a stool, and raised his cup. ‘Absent friends,’ he said.

Tom’s laughter stopped. He rose to his feet, and so did the rest. ‘Victory and defeat are for amateurs,’ Tom said. ‘For us, there is only life and death.’

They all raised their cups, and drank. ‘Absent friends,’ they chanted, one by one.

The captain put his cup down on the table carefully, because it seemed to be a long way away and it moved slightly, and he leaned on the table to make sure he could stay on his feet. ‘They will bury the old Abbess tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I’d like every man and woman at that service in their best kit. But with the camp struck first, ready to march.’

His corporals nodded.

‘The Prior paid me today,’ he said. ‘With a success bonus and a tallage for the horses we lost. A pretty sum. I invested it. But none of you needs to fight for a living. Your shares will be a hundred gold nobles or more. Enough to buy a knight’s fee.’

Jehannes shrugged.

Tom sneered.

Sauce looked away.

Michael laughed.

Ranald smiled. ‘Wish it was mine,’ he said.

‘It will be,’ the captain said. ‘We have a new contract, and I mean to wrap it up quickly.’ He felt a little better. ‘Sauce, come here.’

She was dressed in old hose and a well-cut man’s doublet – something of a brag, since it flattered her figure as much as any kirtle. She leered at him. ‘Any time, Captain,’ she said, with a spark of her old sauce.

‘Kneel,’ the captain said. He held out his hand to Michael.

Michael handed him his war sword.

Sauce paused and knelt. On the edge of a double entendre, she stopped.

Tom nodded. ‘Do it.’

The captain raised his sword. ‘By the virtue of knighthood and my birth, I dub thee knight,’ he said. He didn’t slur the words. His sword pressed down hard on each of her shoulders.

She burst into tears.

Tom smacked her, quite hard, on the shoulder. ‘Let that be the last blow you ever accept without reprisal,’ he said. He grinned.

‘Michael, kneel,’ the captain said.

Michael knelt.

‘By the virtue of knighthood and my birth, I dub thee knight,’ the captain said.

Michael accepted the slap from Tom, rocked back on his heels, and smiled.

The captain took his wine cup. ‘I meant to do it on the battlefield,’ he said. And shrugged. ‘We were busy.’

Michael stood up. ‘I’m a knight?’ he laughed. ‘A man-at-arms and not a squire?’ He laughed again.

‘I’ll need a new squire,’ the captain said.

Sauce was still crying. ‘Is it real?’ she asked.

Tom put an arm around her shoulder. ‘Of course it is, lass. He wouldn’t mock you with such.’

The captain sat back down. ‘We need twenty new men-at-arms. We need as many squires and a dozen valets and some archers.’ He shrugged. ‘My brother Gawin is one. Johne the Bailli is another. Both have their own harness, and they’ll ride away with us. Ser Alcaeus himself, despite negotiating our contract, will be joining us. Any other prospects?’

Jehannes nodded. ‘I have half a dozen younger sons ready to sign articles – all with harness and horses.’

Ranald shrugged. ‘All my lads, too,’ he said. ‘We have no other means of employment, at least for the balance of the year.’

Tom leaned forward. ‘Daniel Favor. Likeliest man-at-arms I’ve ever seen. He signed with me. And two of the Lanthorn boys – dangerous boys. Murderous.’ He grinned. ‘Archers.’

Jehannes nodded. ‘I made out a watchbill,’ he said. ‘If we go to one man-at-arms, one squire, one valet and two archers to a lance, we have a company.’ He looked at the captain. ‘Gelfred should start arming as a man-at- arms too.’

The captain nodded. ‘We could use twenty more lances,’ he said. ‘I wrote a contract for forty, and we only have what – twenty?’ He sat up, decided that was a mistake, and shuffled to his feet. ‘Tomorrow night we’ll be on the road. Less wine.’ He raised his cup. ‘To the company,’ he said.

They all drank.

‘Now, since it’s my tent I’m going to bed,’ he said. And motioned to the door.

One by one they ducked under the awning and left, until it was Michael and Sauce – each seeming to want the other gone first. Finally Michael spoke.

‘Can I help you, my lord? I’m not above myself yet.’ He laughed.

‘I’m guessing you already have a nice pair of solid gold spurs to go on those heels, and you’ll have them on your boots in the morning,’ the captain said, slapping his shoulder. ‘Just send me young Toby.’