There was a huddled whispering, as if the hidden soldiers were in conference. A second voice came back rapidly. “Master Flint. I do apologize. Our duty officer, Tomo here, is new on the job and had no idea that the son of our esteemed commander had decided to pay a visit … at two thirty in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Got a guest. Wants to see me old man. Says it’s urgent.”

The slits were suddenly empty of arrows. There was a grinding noise of hidden cogs as the doors slowly drew open, pulled by massive chains.

“All yours now.” Flinty stared at Petronio, hate in his eyes. “I’ll see you later.” It was either a promise or a threat. He stalked off down the woodway, his gang melting into the shadows.

“Come on, boy!” whispered Petronio, stroking Mercury’s neck. “There might be some oats for you!” He walked the horse across the drawbridge and ducked his head under the archway. The doors closed behind him with an ominous clang. There was no going back now.

The soldier who stood in the courtyard to greet him wore a scowl in place of a welcome. Petronio wondered at the chain-mail skirt. Its wraparound features might protect your bits, but it was just too girlish for his liking. The sword strapped to the man’s side was another matter. It certainly wasn’t there for ceremony.

The man’s eyes widened, taking in Petronio’s ridiculously slashed doublet and cross-gartered stockings. “What dressed-up boy’s prank is this?” His card game had been interrupted by an adolescent! A perfect hand — Ace of Trowels and King of Chestnuts. Flipping stick! A week’s wages rode on the outcome.

Petronio forced his breathing to stay calm. “I don’t see any little prank, sir!”

“Ya insolent piece of puffed-up puppy fat! Shall I ask my men to make sport wiv ya?” he snarled. “Target practice, p’raps?”

Petronio slid off his horse and stood facing the soldier, who towered over him. “Or perhaps you could take me to Julius Flint. I have a message for him.”

Some of the other soldiers spilled out of the gatehouse, ready for some entertainment.

“By yer accent, I can see yer traveled far. Tell yer what!” The soldier walked around Petronio as if he was inspecting a cut of meat. “We’ll keep yer horse, which I ’ave to admit is a rather fine specimen. Then we’ll give yer a good beatin’, ‘n’ after, when yer got the message, we might let yer wander back to whatever pompous hole yer crawled out of!”