The Vardariotes were merely the first of the regiments of the casa to return from the campaign in Galle, and as the day wore on, the Nordikaans rode in, and then the guildsmen, and then Ser Thomas Lachlan himself leading the lances of the imperial bodyguard, as they had taken, somewhat mockingly, to styling themselves. Some wag had painted a small banner on silk, the black silhouette of a tusked Umroth with a red line through it per pale on an ivory ground.

The man under the Umroth banner was Ser Tobias, and he couldn’t keep the grin off his face, and neither could Francis Atcourt or de Beause or any of the other household knights.

The emperor’s inspection was detailed and personal, but it was clear that the men were ready; horses groomed, kit clean.

The emperor reined in by Kessin. “You’ve lost weight,” he said.

“Vittles was poor, Cap’n,” Kessin said with a smile. He was still a big, broad-shouldered man with a heavy gut, but his eyes no longer vanished when he grinned. He dismounted and produced fifty-two arrows, a long coil of rope, his section of a portable scaling ladder and a clean, rust-free shirt of maille and a brigantine, a steel bridle gauntlet, and a fine storta, a curved Etruscan saber. His hardened steel basinet was polished like a mirror and had a fine red and white silk turban woven around it in an intricate pattern.

Kessin saw the emperor looking at the turban. “Which Ser Pavalo showed us a better way o’ windin’ her,” he said. “Cap’n. Sir. Highness.”

The emperor walked around Kessin’s horse, looked at the shoes, and then back at Bad Tom. “Are all the horses in this good shape?” he asked.

Tom nodded in satisfaction. “The Venikans gave us the best horses,” he said. “And I bought some remounts from the Ifriquy’ans. And we just had almost a week on good grass wi’ oats.” He nodded. “Lookin’ good, Kessin.”

“He needs a bath,” Gabriel said with a smile. “And some food. He’s starving away to nothing.”

“I am, that,” Kessin said.

Gabriel gave him a Rose Leopard and rode over to Ser Tobias.

“Me?” Ser Tobias asked. He dismounted, and began to strip out of his harness, and his squire came forward to help him strip his kit. In a minute, it was laid out on the ground: armour, maille, cloak and eating kit, purse and sword and dagger, a small Ifriquy’an war hammer, and a heavy wool hood.

“You’re the newest,” the emperor said with a smile. “Who taught you to clean armour anyway?”

“You,” Ser Tobias said. “And Jehan.”

Gabriel swatted his former squire on the back. “Tom? Any other awkward sods I ought to examine?”

Tom shook his head. “Not a one.”

“Ser Michael has your tent assignments. Gentlemen and ladies, the gate is waking up. We will be fighting in four days. Eat well and rest.” He mounted up.

“Just like hisself.” Kessin nodded to Cully.