The Red Knight

‘My people are very, very good at this. We have worked on the Continent for many years, and now we are back in Alba. Where you need us. You needed us a year ago. I may be a hard man, lady, but let us agree that no more Sister Hawisias need die? Yes?’ He leaned forward to seal the deal, the wine cup between his hands, and suddenly the weight of his armour made him tired and his back hurt.

‘I’m sure Satan is charming if you get to know him,’ she said quietly. ‘And I’m sure that if you aren’t paid, your interest in the Sister Hawisia’s of this world will vanish like snow in strong sunshine.’ She gave him a thin-lipped smile. ‘Unless you can kiss them – and even then, I doubt you stay with them long. Or they with you.’

He frowned.

‘For every steading damaged by your men, I will deduct the price of a lance,’ she said. ‘For every man of mine injured in a brawl, for every woman who complains to me of your men, the price of a corporal. If a single one of my sisters is injured – or violated – by your Satan’s spawn, even so much as a lewd hand laid to her or an unseemly comment made, I will deduct your fee. Do you agree? Since,’ she said with icy contempt, ‘Your men are so well disciplined?’

She really does like me, he thought. Despite all. He was more used to people who disliked him. And he wondered if she would give him Amicia. She’d certainly put the beautiful novice where he could see her. How calculating was the old witch? She seemed the type who would try to lure him with more than coin – but he’d already pricked her with his comment about Sister Hawisia.

‘What’s the traitor worth?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘I do not believe in your traitor,’ she said, pointing on the enamel leaf on a wooden platter by her side. ‘You carry this foul thing with you to trick fools. And I am not a fool.’

He shrugged. ‘My lady, you are allowing your dislike for my kind to cloud your judgment. Consider: what could make me to lie to you about such a thing? How many people should have been at that steading?’ he asked.

She met his eye – she had no trouble with that, which pleased him. ‘There should have been seven confreres to work the fields,’ she allowed.

‘We found your good sister and six other corpses,’ the captain countered. ‘It is all straightforward enough, lady Abbess.’ He sipped more wine. ‘One is missing when none could have escaped. None.’ He paused. ‘Some of your sheep have grown teeth. And no longer wish to be part of your flock.’ He had a sudden thought. ‘What was Sister Hawisia doing there? She was a nun of the convent, not a labourer?’

She took a sharp breath. ‘Very well. If you can prove there is a traitor – or traitors – there will be reward. You must trust that I will be fair.’

‘Then you must understand: my men will behave badly – it is months since they were paid, and longer since they’ve been anywhere they might spend what they don’t have. The writ of my discipline does not run to stopping tavern brawls or lewd remarks.’ He tried to look serious, though his heart was all but singing with the joy of work and gold to pay the company. ‘You must trust that I will do my best to keep them to order.’

‘Perhaps you’ll have to lead by example?’ she said. ‘Or get the task done quickly and move on to greener pastures?’ she asked sweetly. ‘I understand the whores are quite comely south of the river. In the Albin.’

He thought of the value of this contract – she hadn’t quibbled at his inflated prices.

‘I’ll decide which seems more attractive when I’ve seen the colour of your money,’ he said.

‘Money?’ she asked.

‘Payment due a month in advance, lady Abbess. We never fight for free.’

Lorica – A Golden Bear

The bear was huge. All of the people in the market said so.

The bear sat in its chains, legs fully extended like an exhausted dancer, head down. It had leg manacles, one on each leg, and the chains had been wrought cunningly so that the manacles were connected by running links that limited the beast’s movement.

Both of its hind paws were matted with blood – the manacles were also lined in small spikes.

‘See the bear! See the bear!’

The bear keeper was a big man, fat as a lord, with legs like tree trunks and arms like hams. His two boys were small and fast and looked as if they might have a second profession in crime.

‘A golden bear of the Wild! Today only!’ he bellowed, and his boys roamed through the market, shouting ‘Come and see the bear! The golden bear!’

The market was full, as market can only be at the first breath of spring when every farmer and petty-merchant has been cooped up in a croft or a town house all winter. Every goodwife had new-made baskets to sell. Careful farmers had sound winter apples and carefully hoarded grain on offer. There were new linens – shirts and caps. A knife grinder did a brisk trade, and a dozen other tradesmen and women shouted their wares – fresh oysters from the coast, lambs for sale, tanned leather.