Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)(38)

“I would be honored to serve my queen,” he said, bowing.

“Your service is to Lord Rakestraw,” she said. “He is the one my husband has given the duty of seeing me safely to Auxaunce. I think all is well, Lord Dyron. Perform the oath.”

“Of course, my lady,” he said. Lord Rakestraw turned and faced Ransom, putting his meaty hand on his left shoulder. “I hereby accept thee, Ransom Barton, as my sworn man, a knight of my household and due its protection and privileges. This I swear before my queen.”

A tingle went down Ransom’s spine. He heard the gentle lapping of waters and felt a rush of raw emotion. He reached out his right hand and put it on Lord Dyron’s left shoulder. He knew the words and the pose, having seen it done before. This was the reason for the salute he’d exchanged with other knights—a knight taking an oath did so by touching the oath holder’s left shoulder. The salute was a reminder of that oath and the duty of loyalty attached to it.

“I hereby swear my fealty to thee, Lord Rakestraw. I am your sworn man.”

Lord Dyron smiled and lowered his arm. “We ride at dawn. Leave your suit of armor here at camp but wear your hauberk. Bring your destrier, a lance, and be prepared to ride hard. Her Highness is a skilled horsewoman. We’ll be pressed to keep up with her. Once we reach Auxaunce, we’ll have our gear brought to us. I’ll have one of the pages collect yours. Make ready now. We aim to arrive in Auxaunce in two days.”

“How many are riding with us?” Ransom asked.

Lord Dyron turned and looked at Sir William. “Eight knights, plus Her Highness. You and Sir William will ride in front in case we’re stopped by anyone too curious. Your job is to convince them we’re knights from Pree who were sent home by our masters after performing poorly in the early bouts.”

“I will go prepare,” Ransom said.

“Good. Sir William will go with you. Not that I don’t trust you, lad, but I’m a cautious man by nature, and we’re in Occitania right now. I don’t trust them. Not at all.”



An early morning mist hung over the camp—not a thick fog but thin streamers that had settled. Ransom’s page had arrived to help him don his armor, but he dismissed the boy and said he was going for a ride with an old friend. He introduced him to Sir William, and Tanner murmured a polite greeting and hurried off, grateful to have been let off his duties so early. Ransom even gave him two silver livres to spend at the merchants’ tables.

“It’s a fine destrier,” Sir William said, stroking the beast while Ransom saddled him. “What’s his name?”

“Manhault,” Ransom answered. He checked and double-checked the girth straps and grabbed one of the ash lances that leaned against his tent pole and deposited it into the quiver attached to the saddle. He checked his belongings and packed his coin purse. Although the bag was hefty and full of silver, he had some more coin stored in a lockbox with Anders Scarbrow in his tent. He had the urge to tell the blacksmith about the sudden change in his fortunes, but he’d promised not to reveal anything.

He checked his gear once more, earning a laugh from Sir William.

“We’re not riding far, Ransom. Everything you own will be brought to Tatton Grange, I promise you.”

Ransom shrugged and mounted his destrier. Sir William, who’d walked his horse to Ransom’s tent, did the same. As they directed their mounts toward the road, Ransom’s gaze shot down to the braided cord on his wrist, the silver tips gleaming in the morning light. How he wished he could talk to Claire, or at least send her a message. But he couldn’t risk doing something that might unintentionally reveal them. He was a sworn man now, a knight who served the constable of Westmarch, the largest and most powerful duchy in Ceredigion. A giddy feeling danced up his spine.

They dodged through the camps as the knights, many suffering from severe headaches by the looks on their faces, rose to prepare for the first day of the tournament. Ransom had hoped to compete in it, to win some money and hopefully find a lord to serve. He’d never expected his fate to change so abruptly, and before the competition even started.

When they reached the road, which was thronged with carts from Pree packed with melons, pies, cooked skewers of meat, and other dishes, he spied Lord Rakestraw already mounted with several other knights. He saw the queen, disguised in a cloak and a riding dress, sitting sidesaddle as the ladies did. A scarf covered part of her face, but it was cold enough to warrant it. Her horse was an impressive animal, but it didn’t stand out as anything out of the ordinary. Many lords rode to the lists with their wives or daughters with them.

As they approached the others, Lord Rakestraw nodded to both of them to lead the way, and they moved to the head of the group. Their pace was slowed by the flood of those trying to reach Chessy, but by midmorning the tidewaters of commerce had ebbed, and they were able to increase their pace significantly. Ransom knew the road to Pree very well, and while they wouldn’t be stopping in the city, it was the most direct way to get to the Vexin.

At midday they halted to eat and to rest the horses, but they were soon riding again. Ransom could hear the war horses behind them, the pounding of the hooves urging him and William to ride ever faster to keep ahead of the queen. He sensed she was setting the pace deliberately, pushing the beasts past their normal limits. But her steed handled it effortlessly, clearly accustomed to the punishing pace. They passed Pree from the north, but it was too far away to see, and crossed the river on a bridge leading north to Mainz. Ransom used his Occitanian to banter with the bridge keepers, who wore the black of the prince’s guard.