“So, you are a loon. We’re to ride into the lion’s den at your back and watch you win or lose, and then, if’n you win, we snatch the Queen before the King changes his mind and we ride free to Lorica. Mind ye, if you lose or they decide to cheat or arrest ye, then we’re all taken and die horribly on the rack, or being ripped apart by horses. Have I covered yer plan?” He flicked his chin in an offensive Hill gesture. “It’s not yer best plan.”

“Do you have a better?” Gabriel spat back. He did not like to be questioned. “Perhaps you can lead us in and out.”

“When do I get to sell my beasties?” Tom asked.

“At Lorica,” Gabriel said.

“Going to cover me for three days while I hold a market?” Tom asked.

“If I have to,” Ser Gabriel said.

He and Bad Tom locked eyes. “It’s over-bold even for me,” Tom said.

Ser Gabriel looked around. “I agree. It’s a crap plan. It is all I have, made with clay and straw. Because what we ought to do is retreat to Albinkirk, let the Galles kill the Queen, and raise our own army. We ought to, but that would play directly into the Galles’ hands and my beloved mother’s. If we pull this off instead, we can save a generation from war. And that, gentlemen, is our duty as knights.”

“You are a pitiful excuse for a sell-sword,” Bad Tom said. “I’ll send to Donald Dhu to start selling now. We’ll gain a day or two.”

“You’re in?” Ser Gabriel said.

“Oh, aye,” Tom said. “I’d follow ye anywhere—if only to find out where y’re goin’.”

The knights pushed back their chairs. But the Red Knight’s brother put a hand on the table by his brother.

“I’m the best lance,” he said.

All conversation stopped.

“I’ve beaten you since we were boys, and I beat you at Christmas,” Ser Gavin said.

Ser Gabriel turned and smiled at his brother. “It’s true, brother,” he said.

“I’ve sworn to kill him,” Gavin said.

Ser Gabriel nodded. “The Queen asked me,” he said.

Gavin’s face grew red, and then white. “So you’ll say me nay?” he hissed.

Ser Gabriel shook his head. “Gavin, we’ll be lucky if we get to fight their champion. Anything that raises the odds of the fight helps us. I have the Queen’s note and guerdon. They almost have to let me fight. Not you.”

“Fine—then I’ll wear your colours and keep my visor shut. You’re being greedy, brother. It always has to be you. I say: let me do it. And I say: no power on earth will keep me from putting de Vrailly in the dirt.”