Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)(28)

Ransom stood and strapped on his sword belt and shook pine needles from his blanket before rolling it up. The palfrey, which was called Rust, shied from him before he loaded the armor and gear onto its back. The loss of Gemmell still blistered inside him. But he shook his head, unwilling to dwell anymore on his misfortunes, and untied the lead rope. The palfrey followed him out of the wood and back toward the road.

The countryside of Occitania looked just the same as Westmarch. But he dared not wear the badge of Averanche, which he had buried deep in his pocket. He knew from his studies of the various kingdoms that the duchy of Brythonica lay directly to the north. He’d heard rumors that the young duchess was in negotiations to marry King Devon’s third son, Goff, who was several years her junior. The eldest son, named after his father, had married the sister of the Occitanian prince, but they were both still children and lived in their respective courts. The second oldest, Benedict—whom the family called Bennett—had been promised to the daughter of a Vexin nobleman. King Devon was making peace with his most powerful neighbor, while fighting off Atabyrion and Brugia, and restoring order in Legault. The Brugian defeat would give him a respite from one of his enemies, but for how long?

“Come on, nag,” Ransom said, tugging at the lead rope as the palfrey balked out of pure stubbornness. Maybe the Occitanian meadow grass didn’t taste as sweet. Ransom had a few coins in his purse, but it wouldn’t take him very far. He might have to sell the palfrey once he reached his destination. Although the road he traveled would end in Pree, his goal was the town of Chessy on the eastern outskirts.

Sir William wasn’t the only one who’d told him of the tournaments in Chessy. He’d heard boastful talk from Lord Kinghorn’s knights over the years. Ransom didn’t want to hope that Gervase’s knight might still be there. It had been five years, after all, but Chessy was a place he could continue his training and hope to earn enough silver livres to eventually replace his ruined armor and dead steed. He’d ultimately decided against returning to the Heath. If he were to return home, it would not be to beg for money. His mother had provided his first opportunity, which he’d wasted, and he didn’t trust in his brother Marcus’s generosity. After the betrayal of James Wigant, he didn’t know if he could ever trust anyone again.

The words the other boy had spoken still burned. But Ransom buried those feelings and hoped to get his revenge by becoming someone worthy of respect—the kind of knight any lord would want to take into service.

The journey was pleasant, and his Occitanian was put to the test. Many of the locals he met on the road asked if he was on his way to Chessy—the armor bulging in the net on the palfrey’s saddle a giveaway. He responded as fluently as he could, but there was no misunderstanding his accent. Still, they were pleasant, and one even offered him something to eat, which he accepted gratefully.

He expected it would take three days to walk to Chessy, and it did. The walk was long, but he knew the palfrey would die if he attempted to ride it while it carried his burdens. How he missed Gemmell’s strength.

As he approached Chessy, he saw a haze of smoke rising up from the walled fortress of Pree in the distance. While Kingfountain was built on a hill next to the river and falls, Pree was built around a river itself, the river Mer. Even from this distance, he could see the identical slate-colored spires and towers. It was a larger city than Kingfountain, with a famous sanctuary on each of the four main roads leading out of it.

Chessy wasn’t fortified at all, but it was built alongside a great forested preserve called the Bois de Meridienne. The woods were part of the tournament grounds, and it was illegal to hunt there, Ransom had heard, without the express permission of the king. One of the contests the knights underwent in Chessy was hunting, and the Bois de Meridienne provided the game.

As he walked down the road, following carts and travelers on their way to Pree, he saw pavilions set up on either side. He heard the clatter of weapons and saw mounted knights with lances facing off behind a fence. Wooden stands, empty now save a few spectators, overlooked the area where the knights challenged each other. More fences separated the large yard into different sections.

The charging knights shattered their lances against each other’s shields, but neither were unhorsed. A smile came to Ransom’s face as he watched them ride back, fetching fresh ash lances from the young boys supporting them. He saw another match happening simultaneously, a man with a bastard sword going against a knight with a battle axe. The two smashed into each other, both heavily armored, and sought to disarm the other.

There were literally hundreds of knights assembled there, and Ransom felt like he was coming home. He didn’t recognize any of the standards flapping in the breeze above the pavilions. They couldn’t all be Occitanian, could they?

As he rode farther into the town, he saw a few wooden stables, but most of the structures were large tents, from which came the sound of blacksmiths hammering away and delicious scents from cooking tents. Hawkers of different ages and sexes wandered back and forth, offering their wares.

A young lass with long golden hair approached Ransom. “Would you like a confection, brave sir? From the finest penuche maker in Pree! One bite, brave sir! You will want more!”

Ransom saw the little brown square she teased him with and reached into his purse to grab a coin.

“No, brave knight! This is for free. You will want more, I assure you. Visit the tent of Master Croque!” She gave it to him and then hurried away to hand out more.