“A constant round of drink and song!”
Matt reflected gloomily that he had been right-Alisande needed to start a university. He wondered how quickly he could get it up and running. “My parents must let me go to the queen’s capital!” one pretty young maid proclaimed. “They will not” Another like her sat sulking. “They will say the expense is too great, and I can do well enough wedding Squire Knocknee our neighbor!”
“Squire Knocknee! Why, he is forty if he is a day, and fat and balding, and half his teeth are gone!”
“Aye, and his breath is putrid,” the girl said bitterly. “Only think! These young ladies of Latruria can circulate among handsome young bucks with sweet breath, and find themselves husbands for love, not their parents’ convenience!”
“So might we, if Queen Alisande would allow it,” her brother grumbled. “Where is she to get the money?” his friend said with sad practicality. “Where does King Boncorro get his?”
“Aye, and why is he willing to spend it on the young?”
“Why, because he is himself young, and does not wish to be surrounded by antiques!”
“The queen is young, too.”
“Aye, but she is married already,” a young girl said bitterly. “Married, and with a kingdom in hand-and therefore does she think like an aged parent, not a young lass seeking love!”
Matt bridled-she had sought love and found it, thank you! Maybe not the most romantic suitor in the world, but-He sawed back on his own reins. He wasn’t me world’s most romantic husband, was he? Maybe he needed to work on that… Pascal came back, chatting agreeably enough with Charlotte, but somewhat absentmindedly. She didn’t seem to mind it this time, though. They took their seats again, and Matt asked, “Was I right?”
“Hm?” Pascal looked up. “You can still be friends if you agree you’re not going to get married.”
“Oh! Aye. My father will raise the roof, I doubt not-but Charlotte should be free of blame, since ‘tis I who will not have the marriage.”
“Not completely free,” Charlotte said darkly. “I doubt not Mother and Father will both rail at me for not being able to win your favor, good Pascal-but even as you say, it will be you who bears the brunt of it. I would I could aid you.”
Pascal shrugged. “If ‘tis too strenuous, I shall simply leave home.”
Charlotte’s eyes went wide. “Will your father allow that?”
Pascal gave her a bleak smile. “If the quarrel goes as I suspect it shall, he will end by banishing me from his house.”
“I do not wish that!” Charlotte cried. “Nor do I, really,” Pascal said slowly. “I would prefer to leave with his blessing-but leave I must”
Matt didn’t like the sound of this at all. “Why?”
Pascal turned back to him, then glanced away uneasily. Charlotte looked up at him, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze, then said to Matt, “He loves another.”
Matt sat still for a minute. Then he said, “Oh.”
After that, he said, “That explains a few things.”
“Aye.” Charlotte went misty-eyed. “If I had known that, I would never have been…” She hesitated. “Never have been hurt by his frostiness,” Matt finished for her. “But how does that tie in with your wanting to leave home, Pascal?”
The young man glanced quickly to either side, then sat down again. “The lady I love is my cousin-but she dwells in Latruria.”
“His fourth cousin.” Charlotte, too, had taken her seat again, leaning forward in conspiratorial secrecy. “Once removed.”
“Perfectly legal and perfectly moral, then. But how did you meet her, if the border has been closed all these years?”
“It has been open for the last few,” Charlotte reminded him, “at least, to common folk and gentry.”
Pascal nodded. “Last summer both families met at long last and were again one family reunited-and I met Panegyra.” He gazed off into space, a foolish smile coming over his face. “Oh, she is the picture of beauty itself, the loveliest and most gentle creature imaginable!”
Charlotte looked down, clasping her hands, and her knuckles went white. Matt interrupted quickly. “Are you of the same station?”
Pascal turned back to him, startled. “Aye-both children of squires, who were themselves children of squires.”
Matt frowned. “Nobody wanted to become a knight?”
Pascal’s smile thinned into bitterness. “My grandfather Aiello became a squire not by serving a knight, sir, but by virtue of having had a wizard for a father, before the evil king Maledicto usurped the throne.”
“Squire?” Matt frowned. “But wouldn’t he have become a wizard in his own turn, not… Oh! Of course!”
“Aye.” Pascal nodded. “Under King Maledicto, white wizardry was banned, even those small magics that drew only slightly on the font of Goodness. It was only by the grace of his lord that Grandfather Aiello became a squire, rather than a peasant or serf.”
“His lord’s grace, and the money and land his father had accumulated?” Matt guessed. Charlotte smiled, amused. “If a man has land, you must either give him rank in proportion, or take it away from him.”
“And his lord was a good man who refused to confiscate.” Matt nodded. “Perhaps,” Pascal allowed, “though family legends speak of a debt owed… Well, no matter. The long and the short of it is that my father is a squire, and so is Panegyra’s, but I can never become a knight, though she may become a lady.” His tone was liquid-pure vermouth. “By marrying a knight, you mean.”
Pascal closed his eyes, shuddering. “Please! My nightmares are enough!”
“I see your point,” Matt agreed. “So you want to leave home to woo your cousin, and-”
A blow rocked him. Matt looked up, glaring; that punch had hurt! But he was a knight, and chivalry restrained him until he knew whether it had been an accident or not. It was Camano, the Count d’Arrete’s son, grinning down at him. “Your pardon, Sir Knight! I had not seen you there.”
“Seen him! Why, you stared directly at him from ten feet away!” Charlotte said indignantly. “As he might have, if he had any vestige of courtesy.” Camano’s grin hardened. “He might have given his hosts a glance, now and again.”
Matt knew very well that he had-and that Camano had been looking at him at least two of those times. But he was aware of the three young bloods at Camano’s back with their hands on the hilts of their rapiers, and he chose his words carefully. “Your pardon, Sir Camano. I became so engrossed in your guests and the beauties of your great hall that I-”
“Engrossed!” Camano cried, and two of the young bloods hooted. “Gross you must be indeed, to be so laggard in courtesy! And as to admiring the beauties, aye, I have seen your gaze roam to every beauteous young damsel in this place. Are you not ashamed, an old goat like yourself?”
Matt was still in his early thirties. “There is no shame where there is no cause,” he said slowly, “but he who has given cause should indeed be shamed.”
“An insult!” Camano crowed in delight. “You have heard it, my friends-have I not been given insult?”
“Oh, aye!”
“Verily!”
“A most grievous insult indeed!” said his backup group. “Not a bit!” Pascal cried indignantly. “He has given no cause for offense, but-”
Camano’s glove caught him across the cheek. “Be still, peasant!”
Matt rose slowly, his hand on his own sword. “Now, that was definitely unchivalrous, Sir Camano!”
“Then prove it upon my body, Sir Matthew of Bath!” Camano cried, suddenly angry. His sword whipped out. “If you are truly a knight, or truly Matthew of Bath!”
“I am Sir Matthew indeed.” Matt drew his sword, and with a massive shriek, the ladies leapt from their places and crowded back. The men shouted with delight and rose, too, to clear the tables back, and a space fifty feet across suddenly opened around the two men. “Your people are used to this, I see.” Matt glanced at the count and his lady, but they were sitting back complacently, as were conte and Contessa. The young folk were leaning forward eagerly. “I gather we’re the prime entertainment for the evening.”