Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

The Broken Table was not what Ransom had supposed, a seedy tavern with dilapidated furniture, the skeletons of chairs in piles on the floor due to drunken brawls. Far from it, it was jovial, and the name came from the legend of King Andrew and his Ring Table. The proprietor made the dubious claim that his furniture had been made from the famous wood of that high court, long since lost to the mists of history. A fire raged in a hearth fashioned from stone blocks.

The brute mentioned by James was the huge man in charge of keeping the peace. His name was Gimmelich, and he sat in the corner with a huge tankard, keeping an eye on the customers. A scrawny minstrel played a lute on a barrel, singing a little ditty and encouraging participation from the half-sober crowd. The Younger King joined in the merriment, raising a cup as he belted out the lyrics in a surprisingly melodic voice. Sir James stood alongside him, although his pitch was off. They had all come wearing deep-hooded cloaks, which they’d doffed upon entering the establishment.

“You’re not drinking,” said Sir Simon, scooting his chair closer to Ransom’s.

“It’s best if at least one of us keeps his head,” Ransom replied. “It’s hard to protect a man if you can’t walk straight.”

“Very true,” replied the knight, taking a small sip from his cup. “It’s usually me that remains sober. Glad I won’t be alone this time.”

“Where is Holmberg, Sir Simon?”

“It’s in the duchy of Southport. A coastal town.” Sir Simon was modest in size, but he had a look of wisdom in his eyes. He glanced around the room repeatedly, keeping aware of his surroundings. There was a wariness to him.

“Are you nervous?” Ransom asked him.

“No, just trying to keep track of how much everyone is drinking. Here comes Sir Robert with his third cup. Some of the tavern keepers try charging us extra for our drinks. I hate it when the prince decides to pay for everyone’s. Sometimes I don’t have enough coin with me.”

Ransom could appreciate the quandary. “He’s just showing his generosity, as a good lord should.”

“Oh, he’s generous,” said Simon under his breath. “If only his father were.”

“The king is wealthy, is he not?” Ransom said. “With the revenues from all his lands, his worth must rival that of King Lewis by now.”

“Wealthy he is. Generous he is not.”

Sir Robert slumped down in a chair at their table, stifling a belch. “Where is your cup, Sir Ransom?” he asked, giving him a hearty thump on the back.

“I think you’re drinking for both of us tonight,” Ransom said.

“That’s commendable, thank you,” said Sir Robert with a lopsided grin. “However, Sir Simon would disapprove. And I already owe him money for the trinket I bought that lass before leaving Dundrennan. She will mourn me, I fear. Poor lass.” His words didn’t ring true.

“Since you brought up the topic of your debt,” said Simon, “shall I remind you that you were to reimburse the royal purse after the steward paid you?”

“I haven’t seen the steward yet. After the coronation.” He tipped his cup and drank some more.

“It better be, or I’ll charge usury.”

“No one likes a miser, Simon.”

“Or a debtor either,” said Ransom. “A knight pays his obligations.”

Clapping started up in the center of the room as the minstrel began plucking a dancing tune on his lute. Someone joined with a flute, and soon a wheel of people had formed in the center of the floor for the dance. James and Devon were quick to join it. More patrons continued to flood into the establishment, the crowd so thick it made Ransom uneasy. Word must have spread that the Younger King would be present tonight.

“And you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” said Sir Robert with a taunting look. “Five thousand the queen paid for you, was it not? What did she ask in return?”

Ransom could see he was already drunk, or nearly so. Men tended to say things they regretted later when less than sober. Sir Simon’s eyes widened at the insult, and he slowly leaned away. He clearly expected some sort of reprisal to be exacted, and Ransom did imagine punching Sir Robert on the jaw. His cup would spill, and the scrap would likely bring Gimmelich over in a hurry. But then he let go of his anger, choosing to ignore the insult instead. As a prisoner among DeVaux’s men, he had learned some patience.

He’d use words instead of fists. “She told me that the Younger King’s knights need a little discipline. I can see she was right.”

“I am a knight, just as you are,” said Sir Robert, his face twisting with anger.

“Prove it with your deeds,” said Ransom, then turned away and folded his arms. He wondered if Robert might be foolish enough to start a fight with him. The matter was quickly decided when the bout of dancing ended and Devon and James returned to the table, both of them laughing and breathing hard.

Devon lounged in a chair, his long legs stretched out. He looked around for something to drink, then nodded to Simon to get something. The long-suffering knight set off to do so.

“Do you dance, Sir Ransom?” Devon asked between breaths. The collar of his pomegranate tunic had been tugged open even more.

“My leg is still healing, my lord. But I know a few Occitanian ones,” he answered.

“I should like to see them. You are so serious, I cannot picture you in a reel. I’m still trying to take your measure.”

James grunted. “Why, he’s taller than me but not so tall as Your Grace.”

“I don’t mean measure him like a horse,” said Devon, chuckling. Simon returned to the table with a serving maiden who carried a couple of full cups. Devon took one of them and thanked her before taking his first gulp. He winced, shook his head. “Not the finest grog tonight, I’m afraid. Sorry, lads. I think they are saving the better stuff for after the coronation.”

“And a fine celebration that will be,” James said, accepting a cup from her as well.

Devon set his down, shifting his body to face Ransom, putting his elbows on the table. “I heard from my mother that DeVaux’s men had to use a lance to bring you down. That they speared it through your leg.”

“That they did,” Ransom said. “And the scar will prove it.”

Sir Robert rolled his eyes and looked away, but Devon was clearly interested. “I’m surprised you didn’t lose it. A normal man wouldn’t have survived such a wound.”