The Red Knight

the hawks against the birds – those that watch the castle.’ He shrugged. ‘I know this sounds lame-’

‘Not at all,’ said the captain.

Gelfred breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I was afraid you’d think me mad. Will you trust that I can see – I can see – that some of the animals are servants of the Enemy?’ He whispered the last part.

The captain nodded. ‘Yes. I believe it. Go on.’

Jehannes shook his head. ‘It sounds blasphemous to me,’ he said.

Gelfred put his hands on his hips in exasperation. ‘I have a licence from the Bishop,’ he said.

The captain shrugged. ‘Get on with it, Gelfred.’

Gelfred brought out a game bag. It was stiff with blood, but then game bags generally were.

He extracted a dove – a very large specimen indeed – laid it on the camp table, and stretched out its wings.

‘The gyrfalcon took it down about two hours ago,’ he said. ‘No other bird we have is big enough.’

The captain was staring at the message tube on the bird’s leg.

Gelfred nodded. ‘It came out of the abbey, Captain,’ he said.

Milus handed him a tiny scroll no larger than his smallest finger. ‘Low Archaic,’ he said. ‘Has to limit the suspects.’

The captain ran his eyes over the writing. Neat, precise, and utterly damning – a list of knights, men-at-arms and archers; numbers, stores and defences. But no description. Nothing with which to catch a spy.

‘Limit the suspects in a convent?’ the captain said bitterly. ‘A hundred women, every one of whom can read and write low Archaic.’ And use power.

One of whom he knew was an Outwaller.

Gelfred nodded. ‘We have a traitor,’ he said, and the captain’s heart sank.

The captain leaned his head on his hand. ‘This is why you needed to meet me here,’ he said.

Gelfred nodded. ‘The traitor isn’t here,’ he said. ‘The traitor is in the fortress.’

The catain nodded for a while, the way a man will when he’s just heard bad news and can’t really take it all in. ‘Someone killed the Jack in the woods,’ he said. His eyes met Gelfred’s. ‘Someone stabbed Sister Hawisia in the back.’

Gelfred nodded. ‘Yes, my lord. Those are my thoughts, as well.’

‘Someone co-operated with a daemon to murder a nun.’ The captain scratched under his beard. ‘Even by my standards, that’s pretty bad.’

No one smiled.

The captain go tto his feet. ‘I’d like to have you hunt our traitor down, but I need you out in the woods,’ he said. ‘And it is going to get worse and worse out there.’

Gelfred smiled. ‘I like it.’ He looked around. ‘Better than in here, anyway.’

Lorica – Ser Gaston

Outside the town, a deputation of ten wagons full of forage, four local knights, and the town’s sheriff waited under the Royal Oak. The king rode up and embraced the sheriff, and the king’s constable accepted the four young knights and swore them to their duty. The quartermaster took charge of the wagons.

The sheriff was midway through telling the king of the burning of the Two Lions when he turned white, then red.

‘But that is the man!’ he said. ‘Your Grace! That is the man who ordered the inn burned!’ He pointed at de Vrailly.

De Vrailly shrugged. ‘Do I know you, ser?’ he asked, and rode to the king, the sheriff, and the other member’s of the Royal Household gathered under the great tree.

The sheriff sputtered. ‘You- Your Grace, this is the miscreant who ordered the inn burned! Who allowed the innkeeper to be beaten, a loyal man and a good-’

De Vrailly shook his head mildly. ‘You call me a miscreant?’

The king put his hand on de Vrailly’s bridle. ‘Hold hard, my lord. I must his this accusation.’ The king glared at his sheriff. ‘However baseless it is.’

‘Baseless?’ the sheriff shouted.

De Vrailly smiled. ‘Your Grace it is true. My squires kicked the worthless paysant and burned his inn as a lesson for his insolence.’ He raised his left eyebrow just a hair – his beautiful nostrils flared, and his lips thinned.

The king took a deep breath. Gaston watched him very carefully. He had already loosened the sword at his hip in its sheath. Not even de Vrailly would get away this time. The king’s justice could not be seen as weak in front of his own people, his vassals and his officers.

De Vrailly is insane, Gaston thought to himself.

‘Ser knight, you must explain yourself,’ the king said.

De Vrailly raised both eyebrows. ‘I am a lord, and I have the High Justice, the Middle Justice, and the Low Justice right here in my scabbard. I need no man’s leave to take a life. I have burned more peasants’ cots than a boy has pulled the wings off flies.’ De Vrailly shook his head. ‘Take my word, your Grace: the man received due payment for his foolishness. Let us hear no more about it.’

The sheriff put his hands on the pommel of his saddle as if to steady himself. ‘I have never heard the like of this. Listen, your Grace – this pompous foreigner, this so-called knight, also killed two squires of Ser Gawin Murien, and then, when I approached him, had me beaten. I was thrown into a shed, tied and bound. When I was rescued, I found the inn burned.’

Gaston pushed his horse into the angry group. ‘Your words in no way prove my lord’s guilt,’ he insisted. ‘You did not witness any of these things, yet now pronounce them truth.’

‘You were the one who hit me!’ the sheriff said.

Gaston had to restrain himself from shrugging. You are an ineffective, useless man and a shame on your king – and you were in my way. But he smiled, glanced at the king, and offered his hand. ‘For that I apologise. My cousin and I were newly landed, and failed to understand the laws of these parts.’

The king was firmly in the cleft stick of conflicting emotions, goals and needs – his indecision showed clearly on his face. He needed Jean de Vrailly’s three hundred knights and he needed to be seen to give justice. Gaston willed the sheriff to take his hand and clasp it. He willed it, and so did the king.

‘Messire, my cousin and I have joined the king to ride against the Wild.’ Gaston’s voice was low, urgent and yet soothing. ‘I beg your forgiveness before we go into battle.’

Gaston prayed that the king wasn’t looking at his cousin, whose expression at the word beg would have curdled milk.

The sheriff sniffed.

The king’s shoulders began to relax.

Almost as if against his will, the sheriff of Lorica took Gaston’s hand and clasped it. He left his glove on, which was rude enough, and he didn’t meet Gaston’s eye.

But the king seized the moment. ‘You will pay reparations to the town and to the innkeeper,’ he said. ‘The sum to be the full value of the inn and all of its goods and chattels. The sheriff will investigate the value and send a writ.’ The king turned in his saddle to address the Captal de Ruth. ‘You, who have announced your willingness to serve me, will first serve my sentence on this: your wages and those of all of your knights will be paid, in lieu of fine, to the innkeeper and to the town until the value set by the sheriff has been discharged.’

Jean de Vrailly sat on his horse, his beautiful face still and peaceful. Only Gaston knew he was considering killing the king.

‘We-’ he began, and the king turned in his saddle, showing some of the flexibility he had showed jousting.

‘Let the captal speak for himself,’ the king said. ‘You are glib in your cousin’s defence, my lord. But I must hear him speak his acceptance for himself.’

Gaston thought, He is very good at this. He has understood my cousin better than most men, and he has found a way to punish him while keeping him close and using his prowess against his enemies. Jean and his