The Red Knight

The captain hadn’t seen Bad Tom as a man who embraced people. It shook him a little.

‘Hillmen,’ Ser Alcaeus said. ‘I’m quite fond of them.’

‘Your sound like you are talking about dogs,’ Mag said.

Alcaeus snorted. ‘Touche, madame. But they are more like us than you Albans. They burn hot.’

Ranald dismounted and kissed Sarah first. Then hugged the Keeper. He went to his malle, slung across the back of his horse, and took out a slim leather envelope, the size of a letter.

He tossed it to the Keeper.

The Keeper looked at it, frowning.

‘Six hundred silver leopards,’ Ranald said. ‘In a note of hand on a bank in Etrusca. That’s yours. And another twelve hundred for Sarah.’ He gave the girl a lop-sided grin. ‘I sold the herd.’

She clapped her hands together.

Men in the courtyard grinned. There were two dozen hillmen – local herdsmen, small farmers, and the like – and every one of them knew in that instant that his money wasn’t lost.

They grinned. Embraced. Gathered round Ranald and slapped his back, shook his hand.

The Red Knight laughed, to find himself so far from the centre of attention.

But the Keeper disentangled himself from the celebrations shaping in his courtyard and came forward. ‘I’m the Keeper,’ he said. ‘I’m guessing you’re the Red Knight.’

The captain nodded. ‘Men call me the captain,’ he said. ‘Friends do, anyway.’

The Keeper nodded. ‘Ay – Red Knight’s a heavy handle to carry and no mistake. Come off your horses, now, and my people will see to you. Leave your cares here, and come and be easy.’

Easy it was. The captain shucked off his riding armour and left it in a heap for Toby and went down the steps to the common room, where he found his brother and Ser Alcaeus sampling the ale.

Mag came and sat by herself, but the captain wasn’t having any of it. He walked to her table, and offered his hand. ‘Ma dame,’ he said. ‘Come and sit with us.’

‘Mag the seamstress with three belted knights?’ she asked. There was a wicked gleam in her eyes, but the words seemed sincere.

‘Play piquet, mistress?’ asked Gawin.

She let her eyes drop. ‘I know the rules,’ she said, ill-at-ease.

‘We’ll play for small stakes,’ Ser Gawin said.

‘Couldn’t we play for love?’ she asked.

Gawin gave her an odd look. ‘I haven’t felt cards in my hands for a month,’ he said. ‘They need a little fire.’

Mag looked down. ‘If he takes all my money-’

‘Then I’ll order a dozen more of your caps,’ the captain said.

Looking at the seamstress, the captain smiled inwardly. How powerful is she, Magus?

Hard to say, young man. Untrained talent. She had to learn everything for herself, from first principles.

Ah.

Possibly the greatest of us all, though. She was never trained. She has no chains.

The captain sat watching Gawin deal the cards. Something about the hawkish expression on Mag’s face gave her away.

But a very limited repertoire . . .

Harmodius spluttered in the captain’s palace. Drink some wine, so I can taste it. She may have had a limited grimmoire, but not any more – eh, young man? She has your phantasms, and mine, and all of the Abbess’s. And Amicia’s. too

As do I. As does-

Yes.

Mag sorted her cards. A boy brought an armload of sawn oak and started to lay a fire. The smell of lamb filled the common room.

Gawin sat back. ‘Captain? I need to borrow some money.’

The captain looked at him.

Mag was grinning.

‘Doubled and rebated,’ Maggie said.

‘I’ll never be wed at this rate,’ Gawin said.

‘Wed?’ asked the captain.

Ser Alcaeus smiled politely into his ale. ‘To the Queen’s Lady Mary, if I’m not mistaken,’ he said politely.

The captain laughed and laughed, remembering her. ‘A most beautiful lady,’ he said.

‘Eldest daughter of Lord Bain.’ Gawin looked off into the distance. ‘She loves me,’ he said suddenly. He choked on the words. ‘I – I’m not worthy of her regard.’

The captain reached out to his brother tentatively but Gawin didn’t seem to notice.

Youth. It’s wasted on the young.

Alcaeus barked a laugh. ‘Listen, messire. I have known a few knights. You cede worthiness to none.’

Gawin said nothing. He drank off the rest of his jack, and raised his cup to the tap-boy. ‘Wine, boy. And in truth-’ He rose. ‘I need to piss.’

Alcaeus cleared his throat when Gawin was gone. ‘I can’t help but note,’ he said with some diffidence, and paused. ‘He calls you brother.’

The captain laughed. ‘He does me that honour.’ Here we go.

‘I had thought – pardon me, messire-’ Ser Alcaeus sat back.

‘You thought I was some man’s bastard. And here’s the great Duke of Strathnith’s son, calling me brother.’ The captain leaned forward.

Alcaeus met his eye steadily. ‘Yes.’

The captain nodded. ‘I had thought – pardon me, messire – I had thought that you were a free lance, a knight on errantry, joining my company. And yet-’ He smiled. ‘Sometimes, I might be tempted to a thought. And that thought . . .’ He sat back.

Mag looked back and forth. ‘Men,’ she said quietly.

‘What thought would that be?’ Ser Alcaeus whispered.

The captain drank some excellent ale. ‘Sometimes it seems anything I say to you will go straight to the Emperor.’ He shrugged. ‘I mean no insult. You are his liege man.’

‘Yes,’ Ser Alcaeus admitted.

‘And his cousin,’ the captain went on.

‘Ah? You know this?’ Ser Alcaeus sighed.

‘I guessed. So as to my own parentage-’

Ser Alcaeus leaned forward. ‘Yes?’

‘It is not your business, messire. Am I clear?’ he said leaning forward.

Ser Alcaeus didn’t flinch. ‘Men will speculate,’ he said.

‘Let them,’ the captain said.

Mag put a hand on the table and picked up the cards – large squares, beautifully painted. ‘People are watching you, my lords. You look like two men about to draw daggers.’

Alcaeus finished his ale. ‘Beer makes men melancholy,’ he said. ‘Let’s have wine, and I’ll think no more about it.’

The captain nodded. ‘I don’t mean to be a touchy bastard. But I am.’

Alcaeus nodded and extended his hand. ‘For what it is worth, so am I. A bastard.’

The captain’s eyes widened. He reached out and took the hand. ‘Thanks for that.’

Alcaeus laughed. ‘No one has ever thanked me for being a by-blow before.’ He turned to Mag. ‘Would you like me to shuffle?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘You rich boys,’ she said. ‘You think bastardy matters? Look at yourselves – gold rings, fine swords, wool cotes worth fifty leopards. Fine horses. By the Gentle Jesu, m’lords. Do you know what a poor man