As he arrived, Ser Alcaeus unhorsed a young Occitan spectacularly, dropping the man without appearing to alter his own seat. He swept down the list with his unbroken lance tip high.
There were twenty women and a hundred men watching. They applauded.
Ser Michael entered the lists at the eastern end, and Bad Tom entered from the west. They were plainly armoured, without surcoats or fancy harness, and both wore great helms for jousting instead of their bascinets.
They flicked salutes at each other and the horses moved.
Ser Henri nodded approval. “These are very good,” he said.
They met-and passed. Both lances broke in a spray of ash splinters. Both men were as erect as equestrian statues.
Ser John smiled grimly. “They are very good,” he said. “If you’d care to play, just take a place in the line down there.” Below them was a chute, with a line of mounted men on war horses. War horses that fidgeted, farted, and threatened to kick or bite.
Ser Henri rode down into the chute, and so did Ser Aneas. A few of the other men-at-arms joined in. Others dismounted, gave their horses to grooms, and began to spar with swords or wooden wasters-or just to stop at the barriers and watch.
Ser Gavin broke a lance on Ser Bescanon, who got his lance tip on Ser Gavin’s helmet but failed to strike the crest.
Ser Phillipe caught a young knight from Jarsay in the shoulder, and his strike destroyed the other man’s pauldron and injured his shoulder. A dozen men took the injured knight away, and Ser Phillipe, visibly shaken, had his shield dismounted and withdrew.
Two unremarkable courses were run, and Ser Henri rode forward. He took a lance from Toby, who was serving every man-at-arms on that side of the lists.
Ser Gabriel was seen to move his horse forward, past Ser Francis Atcourt, who raised his visor and said something in derision.
Ser Henri saluted, and charged. Seconds later, he was lying unconscious on the sand, and the Red Knight all but rode over him returning. Ser Gavin was seen to speak sharply to his brother.
Ser Aneas, one of the youngest men to joust that day, readied himself to meet Ser Gavin, his brother. He conceded nothing; his horse rode at the very edge of the barrier, and he put his lance into his older brother’s visor.
Both spears exploded-and both men lost their helms, split by the blows, and rode bareheaded in opposite directions. They were wildly applauded.
Ser Henri was quick to recover, and insisted he’d never been fully unconscious.
Ser Gavin had an odd look when Ser John approached him. “That looked-rough,” Ser John said.
Ser Gavin looked away. “He was our jousting instructor. From boyhood.”
Ser John laughed. “A case of the biter bit?” he asked.
Ser Gavin met his eye. “Don’t let my brother face him again,” he said.
Ser John nodded. “I have run lists afore. But I’ll bear that in mind. Your lady mother wishes to see you both.”
Ser Gavin nodded. “So I gather from the string of pages we’ve had. But our mater wants to see Gabriel first, so I’ll cool my heels.”
Ser John scratched under his aventail. “In that case, I wonder if we might gather all the captains for a brief-mmm. A meeting before the council.”
Ser Gavin looked at Ser Henri, helmet off and a pair of pages serving him water. “That might be a fine notion,” he said.
Before three more courses had been run, a table was waiting in the outer yard and wine was served. Ser Gabriel sat in harness with Ser Gavin, Ser Michael and Ser Thomas. Ser Henri sat with Ser Aneas. Ser John sat with Ser Ricar Fitzalan. Ser Alcaeus joined them after a final course with Count Zac, who was perhaps the most unconventional jouster anyone had ever seen.
Ser John got straight to the point. “Gentles all-my thanks. The council is for politics. But it seems to me-with so many puissant gentlemen all gathered together-that we could send a small army into the field right now, and perhaps put the Wild back on its haunches.”
Ser Gabriel drank off his wine. “That’s blunt. You’d like to use my lances-my professionals-for free.”
Ser John nodded. “Yes.”
Ser Thomas the Drover raised an eyebrow. “And all my cousins, too? Who’ll command ’em? Hillmen don’t take orders from everyone.”
Gabriel laughed. “In my experience, from anyone.”
Bad Tom grinned.
Ser John looked at Ser Ricar. “The Captain of the King’s Guard will take the field.”
Ser Ricar rose. “If you gentlemen agree, I’ll call a muster. I’ll pay king’s wages for ten days. We’ll sweep the north bank of the Cohocton and cover the fair. With a hundred lances and the support of the sisters of the Order there’s not likely to be anything we can’t handle.”
“Ten days!” Ser Thomas shook his head. “The forage by Southford won’t feed my beasts ten days.”
“If we don’t cover the fair…” Ser John shrugged. “The convoys are just coming in from the south,” he said. “I’m trying to keep the roads clear, but-”
Ser Gabriel-the mercenary-surprised them all. He stood. “I’m for it. Tom, let’s give them a week and then see where we all are. Ser Ricar, can you make do with a week, and an option for a few more days if required?”
Ser Henri raised an eyebrow. “It is not my choice but my lady’s,” he said. “But it sounds worthy, and certes, Ticondaga would be better knowing the south was safe.”
Zac raised two bushy eyebrows at Ser Gabriel. He gave a slight nod.
“Count Zac is an officer of the Emperor,” he said. “He serves with me in my person as the Megas Dukas of the Empire. He will join you for your spring hunt.”
Ser Ricar clanked over to the dapper easterner and shook his hand. Ser Alcaeus took out a wax tablet and began to write at his captain’s elbow. “We have forty lances and another twenty stradiotes,” he said. “Ser Henri?”
The Etruscan rubbed his head. “If the duchess agrees,” he said carefully, “I have twenty lances. And four huntsmen who know the enemy intimately.”
Ser Ricar nodded. “I also have forty lances, though eight of them are on patrol even now.”
“So-with the count’s imperial troops, we can muster as many as six hundred men,” Ser Ricar said with relish. “By God, gentlemen.”
Bad Tom sighed. “Well, I can gi’ ye another hundred who’ll face anything in the Wild.”
“I count this a favourable sign, gentlemen,” Ser John said. “The council has not even begun, and we have an army in the field.” He turned to Ser Ricar. “When will you march?”
“Dawn,” Ser Ricar said. “I’ll open the ball with a sweep along the west road. I know our fathers all taught us not to split a force, but I’ll send half north of the Cohocton and half south, and we’ll clear the whole convoy route on both banks.”
Ser Gabriel rose. “Then, if you gentlemen will settle the minutiae of what you have clearly planned, I will release my soldiers under Ser Bescanon. I must visit my mother.”
He bowed to all-even Ser Henri-and walked across the springy turf to where his squire waited.
“Why does he set my teeth on edge?” asked Ser Ricar.
“He was not like this as a boy,” Ser Henri said. “He was a most unmanly boy, much given to-”
Ser Gavin appeared between them, and there was no more reminiscence.
Ser Gabriel unarmed carefully, and went to his room to bathe. In his room, alone with Toby, Nell, and two of his Thrakian servants, he drank two cups of malmsey and put on a suit of red wool worked with his arms, a golden spur rowel of six points that might have been mistaken for an hermetical symbol. He put on his gold belt of knighthood. He didn’t wear a sword, but he didn’t disdain his ivory-gripped baselard.
Nell and Toby had some idea what he was going to. They both tried to smile.
He had time to wish he had Tom, or Alison. Or Arnaud.
He walked to the small balcony his room had, high above the valley. He took one breath, drank off the last of his wine, and set the cup down a little too hard.