The Red Knight

She took his left hand and started to unwrap the bandage. That hurt. A little later, Tom opened one eye. The captain did not particularly enjoy watching him admire her hips and her breasts as she moved with her back and side to him.

He winked at the captain.

The captain did not wink back.

After she’d put a oregano poultice on his hand and wrapped it in linen, she nodded. ‘Try not to seize the sharp bits when fighting grim beasts in future, messire,’ she said.

He smiled, she smiled, their silence forgotten, and he left feeling as light as air. It lasted all the way down the steeply turning stairs, until he saw the twenty-three tight-wrapped white bundles under an awning in the otherwise empty courtyard.

In the aftermath of the battle, the Abbess had ordered all of her people to stay indoors. No one would sleep in the open air, no matter how balmy and spring-laden it was. Services were held in a side chapel – the main chapel was now sleeping quarters.

He passed under the arch to his Commandery, and found Michael, who was busy writing, with Ser Adrian, the company’s professional clerk. Michael rose stiffly and bowed. Adrian kept writing.

The captain couldn’t help but smile at his squire, who was obviously alive and not one of the bundles in the courtyard. His face asked the question.

‘Two broken ribs. Worse than when I tried to ride my father’s destrier,’ Michael said ruefully.

‘In a business where we take daring and courage for granted, yours was a brave act,’ the captain said, and Michael glowed. ‘Stupid,’ the captain continued, putting a hand on the young man’s shoulder, ‘and a little pointless. But brave.’

Michael continued to beam with happiness.

The captain sighed and went to his table, which was stacked high with scrolls and tubes. He found the updated roster. It was due the first of every month, and tomorrow was the first of May.

Why had he even considered telling her why he cursed God?

People were often stupid, but he wasn’t used to being one of them.

He read through the roster. Thirty-one lances – thirty, because Hugo was dead and that broke his lance. He needed a good man-at-arms – not that there seemed to be any to be found in this near wilderness. There must be local knights – younger sons eager for glory, or for a little cash, or with a pregnancy to avoid.

The whole stack of paperwork made him tired. But he still needed men, and then there was the Wild to consider as well.

‘I need to talk to Bad Tom when he’s well enough. And to the archers from last night. Who was most senior?’ he asked.

Michael took a deep breath. The captain knew he was testing the bounds of the pain against the inside of the bandage with that breath – knew this from having broken so many ribs himself.

‘Long Paw was the senior man. He’s awake – I saw him eating.’ Michael rose to his feet.

The captain held up a hand. ‘I’ll see him with Tom. If he can leave the infirmary.’ His hand was throbbing. He initialled the muster roll. ‘Get them, please.’

Michael paused, and the captain swallowed a sigh of irritation. ‘Yes?’

‘What – what happened last night?’ Michael shrugged. ‘I mean, all the men feel we won a great victory, but I don’t even know what we did. Beyond killing the wyverns,’ he said, with the casual dismissiveness of youth.

The captain felt like yelling, We killed two wyverns, you useless fop. But he understood the boy’s attitude, albeit unspoken.

The captain sat carefully in a low backed folding chair made of a series of arches linked at the base – it was a beautiful chair with a red velvet cushion which welcomed him, and he leaned back. ‘Are you the apprentice captain asking? Or my squire?’

Michael raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m the apprentice captain,’ he said.

The captain allowed the younger man a small smile. ‘Good. Tell me what you think we did.’

Michael snorted. ‘Saw that coming. Very well. All day we sent out patrols to gather in farmers. I didn’t realise it at the time, but more patrols went out than came back.’

The captain nodded. ‘Good. Yes. We’re being watched, all the time. But the creatures watching us aren’t very bright. Do you have any of the power?’

Michael shrugged. ‘I studied it but I can’t hold all the images in my mind. All the phantasms.’

‘If you capture a beast and bend it to your will, you can look through its eyes – it’s a potent phantasm but it is wasteful. Because you must first overcome the will of another creature – a massive effort, there – and then direct that effort. And in this case you must do so over distance.’

Michael listened, utterly fascinated. Even Ser Adrian had stopped writing.

The captain glanced at him, and the clerk shook his head and started to get to his feet. ‘Sorry, ‘he mumbled. ‘No one ever talks about this stuff.’