Matt decided he had just about had enough of this disguise. He was ready for something a bit more genteel, and a little smoother on the skin. Time to check up on the moods of the aristocracy. Accordingly, he ambled out of the fair and the rudimentary town that had grown up around it-only a couple of blocks of houses and more permanent shops. The houses were long and low, built of fieldstone, but large enough for four big rooms-more than your average peasant expected, but just about right for town dwellers. The shops were two-storied and half-timbered, with the living quarters upstairs and the shop downstairs-the pride of their owners, no doubt, until their cousins from Latruria had started bragging. That was all there was to it; two blocks of that, and he was out of the town. No city wall or anything-this was a burg that hadn’t really decided to be permanent yet. Of course, Matt could have taken the road, but he had reasons to want to avoid any undue amount of notice.
He hiked across the fields, being careful where he stepped, heading for a barn he saw in the distance. It turned out to be a communal barn-the townsfolk ran some livestock of their own, at a guess. It was certainly big enough for a knight’s estate. Fortunately, the cows were all out grazing at the moment, and the pigs were wallowing in the spring mud and the May sunshine. Matt ducked into a stall, found a patch of clean straw, and pulled a doublet and hose out of his pack. Okay, they were wrinkled-but what would you expect, for a minor lord who had been on the road for a week? Which was exactly what Matt planned to claim, and it was true enough, in its way. He changed clothes, packed his peasant’s tunic and leggings away, and sauntered out of the barn, feeling a bit more his old self, in spite of the pack slung over his shoulder. Now he wanted to meet the owner-or whoever was in charge. There he was, or at least a likely source of information: a middle-aged peasant, chewing a stalk of hay while he leaned on his shovel, surveying the pasture and counting cows. Matt sauntered up to him. “Ho there, goodman!”
The man looked up, startled. “Ho yoursel - uh, good day, milord.” But he darted a suspicious glance at the peddler’s pack. Matt swung it around to the ground. “I found an old packman hard up on his luck. I took pity on him and bought it all for three pieces of gold.”
The herdsman stared; the sum was enough for retirement, if you didn’t mind living skinny. “However, I’ve no mind to go lugging it about,” Matt said. Would you store it for me? And if I don’t come back for it by Christmas, give it to some deserving lad who wants an excuse to travel for a bit.“
“To be sure, my lord.” The gears were grinding inside the peasant’s head; Matt could have sworn he could hear them. If this foolish lord had given three pieces of gold in charity, what might there be in that pack that could even begin to justify such a sum? Matt had a notion that if there were anything of real worth, it wouldn’t make it to Midsummer, let alone Christmas. “My horse went lame,” Matt went on, “and someone told me I might be able to hire one here.”
“Well, not hire,” the man said slowly, “but Angle the cartwright has a colt he is willing to sell for five ducats.”
“Five?” Matt stared. “What is it, a racehorse?”
“It is high, I know,” the peasant said apologetically, “but the beast is still too young to discover if he will be worth anything as a warhorse, and Angle does not wish to chance losing money. Myself, if the colt were mine, I would bargain-but since it is not, I can only direct you to Angle’s shop.”
Matt sighed. “No, I’ve no wish to go hiking back to town.” He really didn’t, especially after that tangle with the Watch-having a peasant recognize him in lord’s clothing would be bad enough, but having a watchman catch him at impersonating a lord could be a lot worse. Real trouble, in fact, with the upshot being him having to reveal his true identity-and he wasn’t quite ready to do that. “Well, five ducats is far too much, but if I must pay it, I must. I’ve only the royals of Merovence, though. Will you take four of those?”
“Gladly!” the herdsman said, and watched with avid attention as Matt counted the golden coins into his hand. Well he might, Matt reflected sourly-the royal was worth almost two of the ducats; he was paying about seven ducats for a nag that couldn’t be worth more than two! It was significant, though, that the man had asked for the coins of Latruria, rather than those of Merovence. He hoped it indicated nothing more than Latruria’s nearness. Surely the peasants of Merovence couldn’t have more faith in a foreign king than in their own queen! At least, when he saw the colt, he could see it was worth two ducats-though the distinction between a plow horse and a warhorse was a bit ambiguous, when the chargers had to be built to carry a full load of armor. This draft animal was testimony to the fact that a smart stallion, scenting a mare in heat, can outwit even the strongest stable and the smartest groom, for the colt was at least half Percheron. The other half wasn’t much smaller or less massive, either-but the colt was a hand or two short of a Clydesdale and built a little more lightly; it wouldn’t quite have blended in with a team of horses pulling a TV beer wagon. All in all, Matt didn’t feel too badly about having been robbed, especially since the herdsman threw in a saddle and bridle. They were old and cracked, but they worked. So, mounted as befitted the dignity of a wandering knight, Matt rode up to the local castle, braced for them to ask where his armor was.
Chapter 2
The lords and ladies of King Boncorro’s court laughed, clinked glasses, drank, and laughed some more. Here and there a man slipped a hand beneath the long table to stroke a lady’s thigh there and here the lady returned the gesture. Some were bolder and more open, kissing and caressing above the board, where all could see; in fact, there was as much fondling as conversation. The only rule seemed to be that the interplay had to be with someone else’s spouse, but even this was not always followed to the letter. The married couples who kissed, though, did shock their neighbors. A Puritan would have said that the surroundings encouraged such behavior, for King Boncorro’s great hall was hung with tapestries depicting scenes from the newly rediscovered classics ferreted out of moldering libraries by lapsed clerics. Here Venus cuddled within the circle of Adonis’ arm; there she reached out to Mars while Vulcan stood by, fuming. Danae stood in her shower of gold; Europa rode off on the back of the white bull; Cupid gazed down at Psyche, asleep in the posture of a wanton. All of them, true to the spirit of the Classical statues that had been unearthed, were completely nude. King Boncorro, though, seemed to be quite pleased with the overall effect. He leaned back in his chair at the high table, gazing at his court over the rim of his goblet with a feeling of satisfaction as he watched the high spirits below him. “It is good to watch my courtiers enjoy themselves, Rebozo.”