Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

Knights of Averanche

The countryside of Westmarch was lush and beautiful, but the heat that built up within Ransom’s armor stifled him. None of the soldiers wore helmets, though these were within easy reach, as were two ash-wood lances fixed within saddle harnesses. Farmers and other travelers cleared the road for the knights as they rode through, but Ransom had never felt dustier in his life.

They reached the village of Menonval, where Lord Kinghorn and the full company of his knights were billeted for the evening. Their horses were all secured in front of the mayor’s manor, which had the look of a castle but lacked any fortifications. Two rounded towers flanked the main door, a double-wide oak structure that wouldn’t stand long against a battering ram. The towers were brick and had cone-shaped peaks. The walls, constructed of wood and mud, were highly sloped with soot stains and ivy creeping on them.

Ransom and the others dismounted, and a page hurried up to take Gemmell’s reins. Captain Baldwin gave some orders to the youths about caring for the horses. Ransom was surprised to see the other war horses had not yet been stabled, but perhaps the mayor lacked sufficient space for them all. One by one, the young men entered the building through the huge oak doors. Ransom was weary but excited to join the knights he knew from training. Sir Jude was leaning against a wall near the entrance, a scowl on his face. Sir Gordon and Sir Beckett were at hand as well, along with several others. They all had serious, concerned expressions. Despite the blazing fire in the hearth, there was a distinct chill in the room.

Lord Kinghorn stood in the center of the room, his helmet resting in the crook of his arm, his eyes somber.

Something was wrong.

Captain Baldwin pushed his way in, past the young men, and immediately noticed the mood.

“We’ve arrived, my lord,” he said gruffly. “Why does everyone look so greensick? Is there a plague in this village?”

The lord of Averanche didn’t smile at the attempted jest. “You arrived not a moment too soon, Baldwin. We’ve not been here long ourselves. A courier from the constable of Westmarch arrived shortly after we did to warn the mayor.”

“The constable?” Baldwin asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Aye. The Brugians evaded his army. They’ve penetrated deeper than expected and intend to go farther yet, keeping us guessing as to their intentions. Their advance should reach Menonval soon. We’re all that stand in the way of them pillaging the countryside.”

The news explained the somber expressions on everyone’s faces. Ransom felt a prickle of apprehension. He wanted to ask how many were coming, but he didn’t want to seem a coward. He wasn’t afraid to face their enemies. This was what he had spent years training for. He wanted to go back and mount his horse, worried that the enemy would arrive while they were standing around.

“Bad tidings,” Baldwin said. “What will we do?”

“I’ve had counsel from my knights,” Lord Kinghorn said, “but I’d hear your thoughts, old friend.”

The captain sniffed and adjusted his belt. He was a big man, and he’d been in many battles during the civil war. “This is the king’s home duchy. I reckon he’ll want us to defend it on his behalf. Let’s fight the maggots.”

Lord Kinghorn smiled. His eyes wandered over the young men who had just arrived. Was he worried about them? His face betrayed no emotion.

Ransom couldn’t hold his tongue. “Let’s meet them on the road, my lord. Show them the stuff we’re made of.”

The remark earned a knowing smile from his kinsman. “Aye, lad. That’s what we’ll be doing. We were waiting for the rest of you to catch up so we could go together. We don’t know how many of them there will be, and neither do they know our numbers. They’ve dodged a confrontation so far, seeking to raid and plunder along the way. Finding us in Menonval might be a surprise to them. With any luck, it might cause them to turn heel and flee.” He approached the young men and put a big hand on James’s shoulder. Ransom looked at his companion and saw determination and a hint of fear in his eyes. Good. James no longer saw this as a game. “The road is being watched, and we’ll leave shortly. But not before we’ve taken a moment to invoke the Fountain’s blessing. Today you fight with knights of the realm. Today you will face your foes as knights yourselves. Kneel.”

Ransom’s heart flared with surprise and the warm glow of anticipation. It was an unexpected honor. They each felt they’d earned the rank, but it had to be given and only by one who had authority to give it.

As one, the young men Ransom had trained with dropped to a knee before Lord Kinghorn. Ransom had seen the knighting ceremony as a boy when King Gervase had granted the honor to some of his men-at-arms. But that was at the palace of Kingfountain, amidst pomp and decorum. Trumpets had blared. The thing he remembered best was the way each knight had been struck across the cheek as part of the ceremony. The blow was known as the collier.

Lord Kinghorn crossed his gauntlets in front of him and bowed his head. “May fortune shine on us this day. Grant us courage and determination. Banish our fears. We fight in the name of our king, His Majesty, Devon Argentine, defending our land, our homes, and our most precious treasure . . . our families. Let us do no murder, speak no falsehoods, and stand bold before our enemies. In the name of Our Lady we pray. Amen.”