Matrona’s mount, was standing near the fallen man, who was still moaning and gasping. Her hooves had caught him in the abdomen. She looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
“What were you doing here where you could be kicked?” the Saxon asked.
“We came to call on the ladies,” Arnulf said. “To assure ourselves of their safety. None of the men seemed to be about.” His eyes raked the almost empty camp.
“They are in the tents, asleep,” the Saxon replied. “As all the just and virtuous should be at this hour.”
“It is late and the ladies are not receiving,” Regeane said. “Now, go away. See to it,” she told the Saxon curtly, then closed the tent flap.
The Saxon stood quietly and folded his arms.
Arnulf tried to stare him down. It didn’t work. The Saxon was six feet, two inches tall in his socks, two hundred and thirty-five pounds stark naked, carried a long sword with a one-handed grip that most men would have had to swing two-handed, and the expression on his face suggested he was spoiling for a fight. No one wanted to challenge him. Arnulf and his companions took the wounded man and beat an ignominious retreat.
Maeniel and Antonius were taken to a tent near the main pavilion and placed in irons. Antonius protested volubly in Latin; Frankish, the Germanic version of Latin; Gaelic, a spoken Latin similar to Italian Latin; and other less recognizable dialects. When Maeniel tried to open his mouth, Antonius cut him off.
“Retain the demeanor of a great nobleman. I am here to complain for you. This is what chamberlains, seneschals, and the like do.”
Maeniel shrugged. “I can get out of these any time I want,” he said.
“I know,” Antonius replied. “But don’t, please don’t.”
“No,” Maeniel agreed. “One thing I found out early on in my association with humanity is a maxim I keep in the forefront of my mind at all times.”
“What?”
“Nothing is ever as simple as it ought to be or that I anticipate it will be.”
“I wonder what happened?” Antonius muttered to himself.
“I cannot imagine.” Maeniel spoke in a resigned fashion.
“My lords.” A young man entered the tent. “I am Arbeo of Sens. My apologies to you, sirs, but what I have done is at the orders of my lord, the king.” Servants entered the room with a folding camp table and a bench. “Please be seated, and I will send for bread, cheese, and wine that you may refresh yourselves.”
“I understand,” Maeniel answered courteously.
It took Antonius about three seconds to take the young man’s measure. He wore an undecorated cuirass of boiled leather and the sword he carried was old with a plain, wire-wrapped pommel.
Poor
, Antonius thought,
and therefore, if courteously treated, susceptible
.
They seated themselves at the table; the young man left to procure the refreshments.
“You may understand, but I don’t,” Antonius said. “I don’t,” he repeated. “Not nearly enough. Give me one of your rings.”
On Antonius’s advice, they had all dressed to the teeth. Maeniel wore a ring on each finger. He unscrewed one and handed it to Antonius, a priceless creation of heavy gold set with a beautifully carved head of one of the Roman emperors, he didn’t know which one. But the stone was a large Indian ruby.
“My,” Antonius said. “The things you come up with. Where did you get that?”
“I forget,” Maeniel said. He hadn’t, but he wasn’t about to tell Antonius the story.
Arbeo returned, followed by a servant with a platter of bread, wine, and cheese. The servant placed it on the table. Then, at a signal from Arbeo, he retired. Just to be sure, Antonius checked Arbeo’s boots. Bad, very bad. They were over-large, so worn and scuffed as to be almost shapeless. He’d wrapped his legs in linen strips to keep out the cold; they were visible through the holes in the boots.
“Sir,” Antonius addressed Arbeo.
Obviously surprised to be so addressed, Arbeo developed an
“What were you doing here where you could be kicked?” the Saxon asked.
“We came to call on the ladies,” Arnulf said. “To assure ourselves of their safety. None of the men seemed to be about.” His eyes raked the almost empty camp.
“They are in the tents, asleep,” the Saxon replied. “As all the just and virtuous should be at this hour.”
“It is late and the ladies are not receiving,” Regeane said. “Now, go away. See to it,” she told the Saxon curtly, then closed the tent flap.
The Saxon stood quietly and folded his arms.
Arnulf tried to stare him down. It didn’t work. The Saxon was six feet, two inches tall in his socks, two hundred and thirty-five pounds stark naked, carried a long sword with a one-handed grip that most men would have had to swing two-handed, and the expression on his face suggested he was spoiling for a fight. No one wanted to challenge him. Arnulf and his companions took the wounded man and beat an ignominious retreat.
Maeniel and Antonius were taken to a tent near the main pavilion and placed in irons. Antonius protested volubly in Latin; Frankish, the Germanic version of Latin; Gaelic, a spoken Latin similar to Italian Latin; and other less recognizable dialects. When Maeniel tried to open his mouth, Antonius cut him off.
“Retain the demeanor of a great nobleman. I am here to complain for you. This is what chamberlains, seneschals, and the like do.”
Maeniel shrugged. “I can get out of these any time I want,” he said.
“I know,” Antonius replied. “But don’t, please don’t.”
“No,” Maeniel agreed. “One thing I found out early on in my association with humanity is a maxim I keep in the forefront of my mind at all times.”
“What?”
“Nothing is ever as simple as it ought to be or that I anticipate it will be.”
“I wonder what happened?” Antonius muttered to himself.
“I cannot imagine.” Maeniel spoke in a resigned fashion.
“My lords.” A young man entered the tent. “I am Arbeo of Sens. My apologies to you, sirs, but what I have done is at the orders of my lord, the king.” Servants entered the room with a folding camp table and a bench. “Please be seated, and I will send for bread, cheese, and wine that you may refresh yourselves.”
“I understand,” Maeniel answered courteously.
It took Antonius about three seconds to take the young man’s measure. He wore an undecorated cuirass of boiled leather and the sword he carried was old with a plain, wire-wrapped pommel.
Poor
, Antonius thought,
and therefore, if courteously treated, susceptible
.
They seated themselves at the table; the young man left to procure the refreshments.
“You may understand, but I don’t,” Antonius said. “I don’t,” he repeated. “Not nearly enough. Give me one of your rings.”
On Antonius’s advice, they had all dressed to the teeth. Maeniel wore a ring on each finger. He unscrewed one and handed it to Antonius, a priceless creation of heavy gold set with a beautifully carved head of one of the Roman emperors, he didn’t know which one. But the stone was a large Indian ruby.
“My,” Antonius said. “The things you come up with. Where did you get that?”
“I forget,” Maeniel said. He hadn’t, but he wasn’t about to tell Antonius the story.
Arbeo returned, followed by a servant with a platter of bread, wine, and cheese. The servant placed it on the table. Then, at a signal from Arbeo, he retired. Just to be sure, Antonius checked Arbeo’s boots. Bad, very bad. They were over-large, so worn and scuffed as to be almost shapeless. He’d wrapped his legs in linen strips to keep out the cold; they were visible through the holes in the boots.
“Sir,” Antonius addressed Arbeo.
Obviously surprised to be so addressed, Arbeo developed an
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