Almost seamlessly, the Queen was brought to the work table, seated in a chair almost worthy of her, her cloak taken, and given wine by Toby on bended knee.
“You must have ridden like the very wind itself,” she said.
Young Galahad stayed on one knee and made no answer.
Blanche watched Ser Gabriel. He did not fidget with impatience. His hands, however, were trembling slightly.
Under the table, one foot was grinding, grinding, as if it could cut a hole through the stone flags.
Somewhere high above them, the damned soul screamed its torment again.
“Damn,” the captain said.
The Queen looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
He cleared his throat.
“We are all anxious to hear your messages,” the Queen said.
Galahad D’Acon nodded. “Your grace, I found Ser John-that is, the Count of Albinkirk-in fine spirits, well dug in with almost five hundred lances at Gilson’s Hole.”
Blanche saw the captain pound a fist into his own left palm-he and Ser Michael shared a grin.
“He reports…” Galahad dropped his voice. “The defeat suffered by the Emperor on Monday at the Inn of Dorling. The Emperor is dead, and his army badly beaten up. He’s mustered more than a thousand survivors at Gilson’s Hole and intends to cover their retreat.”
Blanche saw it on all their faces-all the men and women that she’d come to know on the road. She knew they’d served the Emperor. She knew that they had friends in that army.
She saw Ser Christos, who was always courtly and fine to her with his pretty accent and his funny manners, turn grey and age a year. She saw Michael wince. But most of all she saw Ser Gabriel.
His face did not change. He swallowed carefully, but she’d been watching him for more than a week. She saw the blow go home as surely as if he’d been punched in the jaw.
His voice was even. “And Ser Milus?” he asked.
Galahad knew he was delivering bad news. “No word, my lord, except that your company was not with the Emperor.”
The Red Knight nodded. “Of course not. They lost all their horses. Where is the Emperor’s body?”
Ser Christos looked at him. For the Moreans, it was the right question. She saw that, too.
“At Gilson’s Hole, under the guard of the surviving Nordikaans. Ser John wished to send them here, but not until he feels the road is secure.”
Ser Christos shot to his feet. “I would like to volunteer,” he said thickly. All the Moreans in the hall were on their feet.
Ser Gabriel met the Morean’s eye. He glanced at the Queen. She looked puzzled.
“Go and fetch the Emperor,” he said. “Take fifty knights. Chris, it is all I can spare. You know I would send more.”
Ser Christos bowed. He was crying. He paused to bend a knee to the barbarian Queen, and Ser Alcaeus stepped up behind him.
“Your grace, it is almost a thousand years since an Emperor has been lost in battle,” he said.
Desiderata was not slow. “Please, gentlemen…” she said. She rose. “Please give these gentlemen every assistance. I know that the loss of my husband bade fair to cripple me-I cannot imagine what effect the loss of the Emperor has on his people.”
Ser Gabriel walked with Ser Christos and Ser Alcaeus to the door of the great hall, talking softly. The only thing she heard was, “Don’t let the Nordikaans suicide.”
Then the Moreans were gone, and with them, most of the company knights who had gone to the joust-so long before.
The second messenger was from Lissen Carak-an Order volunteer.
“Diccon Twig, your grace,” he said with a bow. “I bring news that the Faery Knight is at the fortress with an army of the Wild.”
Before anyone could speak, the Queen raised her hand-the sharpest gesture Blanche had seen her use.
“And seeks alliance with you,” he went on. “If your grace allows, he will come here with his captains for parley under safe conduct.”
“Give him my sacred word,” the Queen said solemnly. “Let him have this, my regal ring with my seal, that he knows we mean what we say.”
Diccon bowed. “My other message is more private,” he said.
He looked around. “Is the Earl of Towbray’s son, Ser Michael, here?”
Ser Michael shot forward.
“Ah, my lord-your wife is delivered of a daughter, already christened at first light: Mary. And your lady wife and babe do well.” Young Twig bowed.
Ser Michael hugged him and kissed both his cheeks, to the younger man’s acute embarrassment.
“You must send her here to us, that we may play with our children together,” the Queen said.
The thing in the tower screamed again, and the Queen, standing-everyone was standing-shook her head. “What is that?” she asked in her beautifully authoritative voice.
The Red Knight flushed. “If it please your grace,” he said. “It’s probably my griffon. It needs company, and food. Would you care to see it? And perhaps we can find all these ladies and gentlemen food and lodging.”
Blanche gave him a nod.
Luck-and a little shoving-got her a second at the turning of a stair.
“She’s more alone than she’s ever been. She needs you.” She got those words out before Ser Michael realized who was interrupting.
Gabriel nodded. “Got it,” he said tersely, and continued up the stairs. Michael pressed her from behind, and she climbed.
There were rooms in both big towers. Blanche looked into several and they were empty-empty of all but heavy chests which probably held wall hangings. It was a start.
She paused on a landing, let Ser Michael pass, and waited until Nicomedes came.
“Can we get Sukey and put her in charge of the castle?” she asked.
Nicomedes shook his dark, ascetic head. “She is managing a great camp,” he said. His voice was sober, and it struck her that he, too, was Morean.
“If I start issuing rooms?” Blanche said.
Nicomedes nodded sharply. “I’ll back you,” he said.
“I need a tablet,” she said.
Prior Wishart, passing, stopped. “For what, daughter?” he asked.
“Father, I need to assign people rooms. I need to get everyone out of their travel clothes. There needs to be food and drink…”
The great Prior handed her his ivory tablets. “All my knights can share one room,” he said, “or sleep with the soldiers in the barracks.”
She took him at his word. Before the court had climbed to the top-she never got to see the monster that afternoon, although she wanted to something fierce-she was all the way down the other stair. She found the senior servant, a handsome woman in a good blue wool gown with two dozen silver buttons.
“I’m Lady Blanche Gold, and I’ll be handling the Queen’s arrangements,” she said. She gave the woman a brief, professional smile.
The woman shook her head. “We can’t, my lady. We just can’t-all the men are out with the militia, and we’ve no one here but laundry staff and cooks.”
Blanche took a deep breath. “We’re not afraid of work,” she said. “There’s a war. I’m going to put people into rooms. Your staff can just take them bedding. Let them see to it themselves. Are there empty houses in the town? Looked like it to me. What’s your name?”
“I’m Elizabeth Gelling. This is Cook-we call her Cook.” The woman in blue nodded.
Cook sketched a curtsey. “Your ladyship.”
It almost made Blanche shout: “I’m one of you.”
Almost. But that moment of honesty would lose her the battle. Ladies could give orders that laundry maids could not.
“May I have two maids to run for me?” she asked.
Two maids-barely old enough to be away from leading strings-were pushed forward.
Blanche didn’t look back. “Attend me,” she said. She turned and moved swiftly back to the great hall.
As she’d hoped, she found Toby and Robin setting for a campaign dinner in a great hall.
“I need you two,” she said. She carried them with looks and smile-she knew how.