The Red Knight

‘Am I not the greatest knight in the world!’ he roared. ‘And no craven, to basely let my liege be slain!’

His eyes flickered. ‘Get the arrow out of my chest and bandage me tight,’ he said. ‘This is my battle!’ And then the light went out of his eyes.

Gaston held his cousin tight while a pair of squires tried to staunch the flow of blood, stripping his breastplate and his haubergeon. The remnants of the vanguard pressed on.

‘He demanded it, this morning,’ said a voice behind Gaston, and suddenly the squires were bowing.

The King of Alba stood there, in Jean de Vrailly’s cote armour.

‘He said he knew of a plot to kill me, in an ambush – and he wished the honour of taking my place.’ The king shook his head. ‘He is truly a great knight.’

Gaston swallowed his thoughts, and wondered what his mad cousin had done. And why. But the mad eyes were closed forever.

Near Lissen Carak – Thurkan

Thurkan watched the king fall. His eyesight was tremendous and from two ridges away he and his clan watched the abnethog fling themselves on the knights.

Of course, he had told them that he would support their attack.

He’d told the Jacks much the same.

But Thorn was doomed, and Thurkan had no intention of letting his people suffer any more.

He turned to his sister. ‘If the men begin fighting among themselves, well and good – we will feast.’

‘I see nothing of the sort,’ Mogan said.

‘Nor I,’ Korghan said.

Behind them stood forty of their kind – enough Qwethnethog to turn the battle. ‘Go tell the Sossag and the Abenacki that the battle is lost,’ Thurkan said to his sister.

‘It isn’t lost unless we flee,’ his sister insisted. ‘By rock and flowing water – is that your will?’

Thurkan frowned, deep creases appearing in his jaw. ‘Thorn must die – now, while he is weak. Otherwise he will hunt us down.’

Mogan poked her snout close to her brother’s. ‘Do not let me believe that this is all the rivalry of two Powers,’ she spat. ‘I have lost kin – you have lost kin. We were promised a feast, and-’

‘We had a feast at Albinkirk and another on the road.’ Thurkan shook his head. ‘I do not do what I do lightly. Thorn must go. We are being-’ he flexed the talons on his forefoot, moving each digit in an intricate arc, ‘-manipulated. By something. I can feel it.’

Mogan snorted. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I obey. Under protest.’ And ran off into the trees, as fleet as a deer.

‘West,’ Thurkan told his brother.

‘I can help you,’ his brother insisted.

‘Perhaps. But Mogan cannot lead our clan or fertilize new eggs. And you can.’ The great head turned. ‘Obey, brother.’

Korghan flicked his tongue in anger. ‘Very well, brother.’

The two clan companies started west, even as the Royal Household Knights began to climb the ridge towards them.

Bill Redmede ran, loosed an arrow from his dwindling store, and ran again. His bodkin points were all but gone, and he had only hunting arrows.

The God-damned aristocrats had more plate armour than he’d ever seen. And the monsters – he’d been a fool to ever trust them and no doubt imperiled his soul, as well. He was bitter – tired, angry, and defeated.

But he’d seen the king fall. It was some consolation, but it didn’t seem to slow the rest of the aristos any, and like all his kind, he faced an ugly death if he was caught, so he waited a heartbeat, stepped from behind his tree and put a shaft under the arm of somebody’s fucking lord and turned, and ran again.

He made it up the second ridge, where they had started the morning, where the big daemon lord had issued its orders.

All the daemons were gone. Sod them, too. Oligarchs. Bad allies for free men.

The river was close now.

There were knights in red surcotes at the base of the ridge, and he could see them coming up the hill – most of them had dismounted, and a flurry of arrows told him that his boys were still fighting back. Fighting the Royal Guard.

He was damned if he was going to lose any more Jacks.

He turned and ran diagonally across the face of the ridge.

He came up behind Nat Tyler as the man loosed his last arrow. ‘Come on, Nat – the boats!’

Tyler turned like a wild thing – but he got a hold of his wits, paused, and winded his horn and whistles sounded in response.

‘Follow me!’ Bill called, and ran back up the hill – legs labouring, lungs searching for breath.

Behind him, the Jacks loosed a last arrow and ran – the sauve qui peut had been blown.

Bill ran, and the Jacks ran behind him. He paused when he saw three of his own trying to face a knight with drawn swords and bucklers, and he put a shaft to his bow – another knight burst from the trees and crossed the crest of the ridge – raised his visor-

Too good a shot to miss.