The Red Knight

Ser Alcaeus went and stood behind the old knight. He noted that the mayor wore a rich doublet of dark blue velvet trimmed in sable, and a cap to match, embroidered with irks and rabbits. He smiled – his own silk doublet was worth about fifty times the value of the mayor’s.

The irks in the mayor’s cap were ironic, to say the least.

‘This is Ser Alcaeus,’ Ser John said. ‘The Emperor’s ambassador to our king. Yesterday his convoy was attacked by hundreds of Wild creatures.’

The mayor shot a venomous glance at him. ‘So you say. Go do your fucking job, sell-sword. Aren’t you even a little humiliated to think that this man’s daughter is the plaything of monsters while you sit and drink wine?’

The man – who stood behind the mayor with a dozen other men – gave a sob and sank to a wooden bench, his fist in his mouth.

‘His daughter has been dead since yesterday and I won’t risk men to look for her corpse,’ Ser John said with casual brutality. ‘I want all the woman and children moved to the castle immediately, with victuals.’

The mayor spat. ‘I forbid it. Do you want to panic the town?’

Ser John shrugged. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘In my professional opinion-’

‘You have no professional opinion. You were a sell-sword – what? Forty years ago? And then a drinking crony of the king’s. Very professional!’ The mayor was beside himself.

Alcaeus realised the man was afraid. Terrified. And that terror made him belligerent. It was a revelation. Alcaeus was not, strictly speaking, a young man. He was twenty-nine, and he thought he knew how the world worked.

Yesterday had been a shock. And now today was a shock too. He watched the fool mayor, and watched Ser John, and understood something of their quality.

‘Messire mayor?’ he asked in his stilted Gothic. ‘Please – I am a stranger here. But the Wild is real. What I saw was real.’

The mayor turned and looked at him. ‘And who in God’s name are you?’ he asked.

‘Alcaeus Comnena, cousin to the Emperor Manual, may his name be praised, the drawn sword of Christ, the Warrior of the Dawn.’ Alcaeus bowed. His cousin was too old to draw a sword but his titles rolled off the tongue, and he was annoyed by the mayor.

The mayor was, for all his belligerence and terror, a merchant and an educated man. ‘From Morea?’ he asked.

Alcaeus thought of telling this barbarian what he thought of their casual use of Morea for the Empire. But he didn’t bother. ‘Yes,’ he shot back.

The mayor drew a breath. ‘Then if you are a true knight, you will go and rescue this man’s daughter.’

Alcaeus shook his head. ‘No. Ser John is correct. You must call in your out-farmers and move the people into the castle.’

The mayor shook his fist. ‘The convoys are coming. If we close the gates, this town will die!’ He paused. ‘For the love of God! There’s money involved.’

Ser John shrugged. ‘I hope the money helps when the boglins come,’ he said.

As if on cue, an alarm bell sounded.

After the mayor pounded out of the castle, Alcaeus went out on the wall and saw two farms burning. Ser John joined him. ‘I told him to bring the people in last night,’ he muttered. ‘Fucking idiot. Thanks for trying.’

Alcaeus watched the plumes of smoke rise and his stomach did flips. Suddenly, again, he was seeing those the irks under his horse. He had once, single-handed, fought off four assassins who were going for his mother. Irks were much, much worse. He tasted bile.

He thought of lying down.

Instead, he drank wine. After a cup, he felt strong enough to visit his page, who was recovering from terror in the resilient way teenagers so. He left his page to cuddle with a servant girl and walked wearily back to the guard room, where there was an open cask of wine.

He was on his fourth when Ser John’s fist closed around his cup. ‘I take it you are a belted knight,’ Ser John said. ‘I saw your sword, and you’ve used it. Eh?’

Ser Alcaeus got up from his chair. ‘You dared draw my sword?’ he asked. At the Emperor’s court touching a man’s sword was an offence.

The old man grinned mirthlessly. ‘Listen, messire. This town is about to be attacked. I never thought to see it in my lifetime. I gather you had a bad day yesterday. Fine. Now I need you to stop draining my stock of wine and get your armour on. They’ll go for the walls in about an hour, unless I miss my guess.’ He looked around the empty garrison room. ‘If we fight like fucking heroes and every man does everything he can, we might just make it – I’m still trying to get that fool to send the women into the castle. This is the Wild, Ser Knight. I gather you’ve tasted their mettle. Well – here they come again.’

Ser Alcaeus thought that this was a far, far cry from being a useful functionary at his uncle’s court. And he wondered if his true duty, given the message he had in his wallet, was to gather his page and ride south before the roads closed.

But there was something about the old man. And besides, the day before he’d run like a coward, even if he’d had the blood of three of the things on his sword first.