The Red Knight

Father Henry looked as if he’d been on the cross. His face was streaked in old, dried blood. His robe was flayed and fell around his waist, showing his ascetic body, lacerated with further cuts.

The people parted for him. He walked between them like a king.

‘Sluts and harlots. Are these your allies, Satan?’ He stopped at the edge of the crowd.

‘Not all of us are sluts, priest,’ said Master Random, and he burrowed into the crowd. ‘Adrian! Allan Pargeter! What are you doing with this man? Fomenting mischief? Master Random walked into the crowd, looking for other apprentices he knew.

‘You killed the Abbess,’ the captain said.

Father Henry drew himself up, and the captain knew he had his man. He was too proud to deny the crime.

Fool.

‘She was a witch, a creature of Satan who chose to put her own appetites against-’

The stone hit the priest in the head. He snapped around, eyes blazing, and just for a moment, he didn’t look like a gentle and crucified Jesus. He looked like a madman. His eyes raged.

‘Take that man,’ the Red Knight said. He pointed his baton.

Bad Tom reached out with his pole-axe, caught the priest’s foot with the head, and pulled, and the priest fell. Tom kicked him viciously, his armoured foot making a distinctive meaty sound as it connected with the priest’s gut.

The priest retched.

Two archers grabbed him and hoisted him. He tried to speak, and he got the butt of Tom’s pole-axe in the arch of his foot. He screeched.

And suddenly, there was no crowd. Just frightened people, looking for salvation.

And most of them asked – Where is the king?

Chapter Fifteen

Long Paw

Albinkirk (Southford) – Ranald Lachlan

When Ranald Lachlan led his scouts down to the edge of the Albin River, he could scarcely believe his eyes.

Fifty great boats, like galleys, lay in the river opposite the landing. The river fleet covered the river in four long files of boats, and their oars went back and forth like the legs of water-running insects.

At his back, the Royal Standard of Alba fluttered in the breeze over the gate-towers of Albinkirk, and the fields by the great bridge were empty of foes. It was like a dream, because the familiar ground was so empty.

Ranald sat his horse, watching the big river craft row, and even as he watched, they turned, all together, at a flash of a great bronze shield, and suddenly the whole fleet went from four columns advancing west to four lines heading toward the north shore. His shore.

He walked his horse out onto the landing stage where the ferry had run, in better times, and waved.

A woman in the bow of the largest galley waved back. An awe-inspiringly beautiful woman in a flowing white overkirtle. It took an effort of will to tear his eyes away from her, and he knew her well, from his years in the south.

Queen Desiderata.

Unbidden, a smile came to his face, and he laughed.

Albinkirk – Desiderata

Who is that?’ Desiderata said to her maidens teasingly. She was standing in the bow, waving. ‘I feel I know him.’

Lady Almspend stood and waved. ‘Ranald the barbarous hillman, my lady,’ she said brightly.

Desiderata smiled at her secretary. ‘You seem happy enough to see him,’ the Queen said.

Lady Almspend sat a little too suddenly. ‘He – gave me the most wonderful book,’ she said haltingly.

The other ladies laughed, but not unkindly.

‘Was it a big book?’ one asked.

‘Very old?’ asked another.

‘Perhaps more like a nice, thick scroll?’ suggested Lady Mary.

‘Ladies,’ the Queen said. The oarsmen were losing the stroke, laughing so hard. But the bank was rushing at them, despite the current.

As they rowed into the landing, the Queen stepped lightly up on the gunwale and leaped onto the pier.

Ranald Lachlan, who she remembered perfectly well, bowed deeply and then knelt.

She gave him her hand. ‘It is a long way, since you were in my bridal guard.’

He smiled at her. ‘A pleasure, my lady.’

She looked past him, up the tall bank, where Donald Redmane had the lads dismounted. ‘You have a small army of your people here. Come to aid the king?’

He shrugged. ‘My cousin lost a small army, my lady. We’ve already fought the Outwallers. But I have a thousand head of beeves and some sheep, and I’m looking to sell them to the Royal Army.’

She nodded. ‘I will buy them all. What’s your asking price?’

If he was surprised by her tone or manner, he hid it well. ‘Three silver marks a head,’ he said.

She laughed. ‘You drive a hard bargain.’ She said. ‘Is it chivalrous for a knight to bargain with his Queen?’

Ranald shrugged, but he couldn’t stop looking into her eyes. ‘Lady, I could say I’m no knight, but a drover. And I could say I’m a hillman, and not in any way your subject.’ He grinned, and knelt. ‘But he’d be a rude bastard and no kind of a man, who ever failed to acknowledge you as his Queen.’

She clapped her hands delightedly. ‘You are the very spirit of the north, Ser Ranald. One mark per beeve.’