Gabriel knew all about questions not to ask. He followed Long Paw through the rest of the archers, to the barricades at the main gate of the camp, where fifty men-at-arms in full harness were standing or sitting. A single pair were sparring, carefully, with sharp swords. Their slightly old-fashioned armour, fine maille and not much plate, marked them as Occitans. Again, Gabriel didn’t know them.

Tom Lachlan, known to most of the world as Bad Tom, stood at the barricades in full harness. He’d got a new harness in Venike; it was a magnificent blue-black, with latten trim burnished to a bright gold. The words Lachlan for Aa were engraved over and over all the way around the latten edging, along with a particularly complex charm that Gabriel could see in the aethereal.

“Very nice,” Gabriel said.

“It is, at that,” Tom agreed as if they’d been talking all morning.

“This is the quarter guard?” Gabriel asked.

“Aye. The archers shoot and the knights ken their swords and spears,” Tom said. He smiled. “An’ we practice that little trick ye insisted on. The one fer stormin’ a bridge.”

Gabriel nodded. “A bridge?”

Lachlan shook his head. “Ye really love yer secrets, but I ken a bridge crossing when I see one. A mickle great bridge wi’ a road atop her, twenty feet wide wall to wall. Eh? Am I right?”

Gabriel smiled back. “Ahh. That bridge.” He refused to be drawn. “Ready to move?” he asked.

“Aye,” Tom answered and then suddenly leaned forward and shouted, “Is that a lilly wand? Are ye a knight?” at the two combatants.

One of the Occitans struck the other a very hard blow. The other covered, and sparks flew.

“I don’t really need to lose any more men-at-arms,” Gabriel said.

Tom shrugged. “Ye want killers, ye must make ’em train. Training costs in time, kit, and blood. When’s the last time ye swung a sword?”

“I fought in a tournament two weeks ago. I fought you in my shirt a few days before that. I poked at Michael yesterday.” Gabriel was watching the Occitans again. Both were fighting better—half-swording very close—and suddenly they were grappling.

“Ye should exchange a few blows wi’ Long Paw,” Tom said. “He fair skewered me last night.”

Long Paw looked pleased with himself.

“I’m here on business,” Gabriel said. “I’m taking you with me.”

“Who’s taking command?” Tom said.

“Sauce,” Gabriel said.

There was a moment of silence.

Tom shrugged. “Right then,” he said.

Gabriel wanted to hug him.

Instead, he turned to Long Paw. “Care for a few blows?” he said. “I only have my flying kit.”

Long Paw nodded, leaped over the barrier with a fair display of agility for a man over fifty, and picked up a light bassinet with a very elegant, high back point and a spiky-beaked faceplate. He was wearing maille over an arming coat and an expensive, velvet-covered brigantine.

“Did everyone buy new armour in Venike?” the captain asked.