The Red Knight

‘We’re losing, period,’ said the Prior. ‘In our order we have records that go back six hundred years. We are not winning this war.’ He shrugged. ‘If the Wild were not so utterly divided against itself, they’d have swept over us a thousand years ago.’

In his head, Harmodius said, Exactly. Who knew the Prior was a kindred spirit?

‘What can we do?’ the captain asked.

The Prior bent forward. ‘Well, at least you are interested. Where is your next contract?’

The captain leaned back. ‘Morea. A rebellion and a magus gone bad.’ He looked out the window. ‘What will you do with this place?’

‘Put a garrison into it, for a while. I don’t quit easily – I’ll offer a sizeable benefit and a total remission of tithes to any family who will stay here and rebuild. And I, too, will recruit – there must be younger sons south of the river looking for farms. I’ll find them.’

‘That will cost a fortune,’ the captain said.

‘I have a fortune,’ said the Prior. He leaned forward. ‘You have power.’

The captain shrugged.

The Prior shook his head. ‘Your power comes from the Wild. I’ve seen it.’

Again, the captain shrugged.

The Prior nodded. ‘Very well. But if you ever choose to talk about it there are many knights of the order who channel the Wild. We know more about it than you might think.’

The captain finished his wine, rose, accepted the Prior’s embrace and even stayed still while the man blessed him.

‘Will you not tell me why you turn your back on God?’ the Prior asked.

The captain looked at him, smiled and shook his head. ‘When you offered to make me a knight of the order, just now-’ he said.

‘The offer remains open,’ said the Prior.

‘-I’ll treasure that,’ he finished.

‘Your brother turned me down, as well,’ the Prior said.

The captain nodded. ‘Gawin is riding east with me,’ he said.

He walked out of the Commandery, and down the stone steps. A valet in de Vrailly’s arms stood by the steps up to the Hall, holding a beautiful destrier – tall and grey as steel. The captain didn’t feel the slightest need to take leave of the king. Or the Queen. Or, for that matter, their new favourite the Captal de Ruth, already known as the Victor of Lissen.

Instead, he walked to the hospital, up the steps, and to Master Random’s bedside. A trio of local farmers stood by his bed, with Master Johne the Bailli.

‘A moment, good sirs!’ cried Master Random. ‘This worthy knight must always have first call on my time. Damn my foot,’ he said, trying to twist in the bed. ‘How can it hurt so much when it isn’t there?’

The captain embraced the merchant. ‘You look better.’

‘I am better, my friend. That wonderful young lady poured her spirit into me, and I feel twenty years younger for it.’ His eyes sparkled. ‘Though if I was home, I daresay the goodwife might tell you that the deal just struck with these worthies was part to my joy. Eh?’

The captain looked around. Master Johne had acquitted himself very well against the enemy, every farmer present had carried a spear or an axe. The captain knew them by name – Raimond, Jaques, Ben Carter and young Bartholemew Lanthorn, a rogue, a scoundrel, and despite that, a very successful farmer.

‘He’s bought the whole grain crop,’ Johne the Bailli said. He smiled.

The captain glanced around. ‘Of course – it’s all in the cellars.’

‘A little messed about,’ Random noted. ‘But grain’s grain, and the need downriver – the price, when they hear of the battle and the burning of farms!’

‘How will you ship it?’ the captain asked, to be polite.

‘Boats!’ Random said. ‘All those boats which brought the Queen? Mine.’

The captain shook his head. ‘A coup, my friend. You will be rich.’

‘I’ll break even or a little better,’ Master Random said with a smile. ‘Drink with me,’ he said.

The captain nodded. ‘May I broach a small item of business, myself?’ he asked.

Random nodded. ‘Always open.’

The captain took the Prior’s note from the breast of his jupon. ‘You are a bank, are you not?’

Random sniffed. ‘Not of the size of the Etruscan banks, perhaps. But I do my – Gracious God!’ he said. His eyes snapped to the captain’s.

‘I’m investing in you,’ the captain said. ‘I may have to make some pay outs, and buy some horses, but three-quarters of this sum is at your service for at least a year.’

The captain had a cup of wine, embraced all concerned, and met the Bailli’s eye. The man nodded.

He went back through the ward, to the bed where his brother lay reading. He had his feet up, but he was fully dressed and his kit was neatly packed in wicker hampers. ‘She’s not here,’ he said. ‘Don’t even pretend you are here to see me.’

‘I won’t, then,’ the captain said. ‘Where is she?’

Gawin shrugged. ‘I need out of here, Gabriel. I’ll kill the foreigner if I stay.’

‘I’ll have another cot put in my pavilion. We ride tomorrow.’ He turned to go. ‘Where is she, Gawin?’

Gawin met his brother’s eye. ‘I’d tell you if I knew,’ he said.

Their eyes locked, and Gawin motioned with a finger. A woman’s form was outlined in the curtain of the courtyard window.