Coll stared; he had never realized so huge a space could be enclosed by a man-made wall. Far away against the eastern side, knights rode at quintains. All about the walls, hammers rang and forges belched smoke. A troop of soldiers practiced halberd play with quarterstaves, and serfs loaded wagons with barrels and boxes. Coll could feel the thrill, the apprehension and excitement; this was the home of an army preparing for war.
Lackeys ran to help Sir Hildebrandt dismount; he tossed his reins to one and turned to beckon to Dirk and Gar. “Come! You must meet your new liege lord.”
They dismounted, but Coll sat more firmly, willing his saddle to hold him as though he were glued to it. Sir Hildebrandt saw, though, and ordered, “Come, man! Will you let your masters go unescorted?”
Dirk gave Coll a glance of commiseration that had the firmness of command to it. The serf sighed, and followed his knight friends up the stairway that climbed the side of the keep, into its great, gaping door.
A liveried footman bowed as they entered. “Welcome, Sir Hildebrandt. We have announced your coming to the king, and he awaits you in his chambers.”
Coll was surprised that Dirk and Gar were not surprised; their land couldn’t have been so very different from his, after all. For himself, he knew, as everyone did, that it was a sentry’s job to report all who come as soon as they were in sight, and a herald’s job to know every knight by his coat of arms.
“May I know the names of your companions?” the herald asked.
“You may,” Sir Hildebrandt replied. “They are knights from a distant country, come over the sea to fight for His Majesty—Sir Gar Pike and Sir Dirk Dulaine. Their squire is one Coll.”
“Be welcome, gentlemen.” The herald gave Dirk and Gar a deferential nod, then turned back to Sir Hildebrandt. “If you would be so good as to follow, I shall announce you.”
Sir Hildebrandt gave a curt nod. “Lead on.”
They followed, Coll half dazed, his heart singing within him. A squire! Could he truly be a squire? Surely not, for neither Dirk nor Gar had told him he was any such thing! But if the herald wished to make the mistake, why, who was Coll to correct him? A mere serf, that was all—certainly not a squire!
They walked through halls as high as any cottage’s roof and halted at an elaborately carved door of dark wood, flanked by guards. The herald said, “Sir Hildebrandt, with two strange knights and a squire.”
The left-hand guard nodded. “You are expected.” The other guard swung the door wide. The herald stepped in and announced, “Sir Hildebrant de Bourse, with two newcomers, Sir Gar Pike and Sir Dirk Dulaine, with their squire Coll.”
“Show them in,” snapped a resonant baritone.
The heralds stepped aside and bowed Sir Hildebrant in. Gar and Dirk followed with Coll behind them. “Majesty!” Sir Hildebrandt bowed. “May I present Sir Gar Pike and Sir Dirk Dulaine, newly come to our land of Aggrand from a country far across the sea.”
Dirk and Gar stepped forward to bow. Coll bowed, too, but stayed back as far as he could, wishing he could slip behind a tapestry—but staring at the king nonetheless.
He wasn’t very impressive, really—no taller than Coll, and only a few years older. He stood behind a table spread with parchments—or paced, rather, pausing every now and then to look down at a map pinned there, then look up again, eyes flashing with anger. His long hair was glossy black, as was his jawline beard. He wore a short surcoat of purple velvet trimmed with ermine over a brocaded doublet of scarlet embroidered with gold thread, and scarlet hose. His face was set in a look of simmering anger as he glared at the map, his eyes black, his nose Roman over fleshy lips. His crown was scarcely more than a coronet, padded with more purple velvet trimmed with ermine, but it held a jewel in every point over a band of precious stones.
“From a far country?” the king asked. “What is its name?”
“Mélange,” Dirk replied. “There was a war, and our noblemen lost. We thought it wise to travel for our health and seek our fortunes by our swords.”
The king smiled. “You, at least, might do better to live by your wit.”
“Doesn’t every courtier?” Dirk countered.
The king actually laughed, a short, harsh bark. “True, Sir Dirk, but few of them have much to work with there. What of you, Sir Gar?”
“I fear I must leave lightness of heart and quickness of lip to my companion,” the giant said in a soft voice. “I have little to recommend me but my sword.”
Somehow, Coll knew that was anything but true, and Dirk reinforced that opinion. “His sword and his gift for organizing a battle, my lord. Some men know where the bodies are buried, but Gar always seems to know where to find the live ones.”
The king laughed again, a little more freely this time. “Let us put you to the test, then, Sir Gar. Come, look at this map and tell me where Earl Insol shall attack, and how I may counter him!”
Gar stepped around the table beside him, pursing his lips as he gazed down at the map.
4
Gar placed a finger on the map. “Is this the river ford we passed on our journey here?”
“You came from Sir Hildebrandt’s manor in the north? Yes, it is.” The king seemed surprised that Gar had found the intersection of road and river so easily.
“You’ll have it heavily defended,” Gar predicted, “and if I can see that, so can the earl. He won’t even try a crossing, though he’ll mass enough soldiers there to make you think he will. No, he’ll send his troops across the river at least a quarter mile away.”
The king stared at the map in surprise, then frowned and demanded, “How?”
“In boats,” Gar said.
“With horses? It would take far too long!”
Gar nodded. “Even so. He will send only a dozen knights by boat; the rest will be foot soldiers, but they’ll be his most experienced, his best. They’ll make enough trouble for ten times their number, and draw your troops away from the ford. Then his men will cross—but they won’t be the main body of his troops, just enough to keep your army busy, and while they’re distracting you, the rest of his soldiers will cross the river here and here”—he stabbed the map with the forefinger of each hand, wide apart—“these two fords. How distant are they from the main road to your castle? Four miles?”
“A bit more.” The king stared intently at Gar.
“Close enough to arrive before the diversion is over, then. And Insol will cross at both fords, so that he can bring his troops marching around like the pincers of a crab’s claw, with your troops between them as they shut.”
“You have guessed even as I have.” The king watched Gar narrowly. “I will have troops hidden in the forest nearby, of course, to fall upon them as they come out of the water. What else will I do?”
“Why, carry the fight to Insol, of course!” Gar said, surprised. “Your army will be ready before his, will it not?”
“It will indeed, especially since the knights near those estates will gather there rather than here.” The king turned to Sir Hildebrandt. “You will command the force that guards the center ford, though, Sir Hildebrandt. Keep half your force here; send the others back to Northford.”
“As Your Majesty wishes.” Sir Hildebrandt bowed his head, keeping a straight face.
The king turned back to Gar. “So my army shall attack from north and south at the same time, fording the river and charging out upon Insol’s hidden forces. What shall they do then?”
“Catch them sleeping, since your men will cross under cover of night. I would guess that you would send your best soldiers across first, dressed in black and moving as silently as possible, to take out Insol’s sentries, so that you can catch his camps by surprise. When they’ve slain or captured all his soldiers and knights, your forces will wait for dawn, then ride posthaste to attack his castle. With luck, you may catch him before his drawbridge goes up.”