“She’s very smart,” Ogier said. “And pretty, too; and our children would be heirs to a County, even if it’s a bit of a damp, remote one. But I won’t have to worry about my wife knocking me off my horse at a tourney, if you know what I mean.”

“Neither will the High King,” Huon pointed out. “Sweet St. Michael, have you ever seen the man spar? I did just a couple of days ago. He makes the Protector’s Guard knights take him on two or three at a time so he’ll have to really work.”

Ogier nodded and gave a grunt of agreement. “And he deals with them like he was stropping a razor,” he said. “He may be a pagan, but by God he’s a fighting man!”

Then he clanked off to take up his duties; he was in charge of the inner guard this watch. A bell rang from somewhere nearby, and was echoed across the encampment. The royal pavilion wasn’t very large, but it had a tall flag post with the banner of Montival at its peak; now that was lowered, and respectfully folded by a detail. From here you could see a dozen separate encampments, the contingents of the gathering host. It was six—just time for the Angelus—and a haze of woodsmoke lay over the rolling hills and their coat of golden sun-dried grass, with here and there a patch of reaped wheat.

The bell rang again, and the household all knelt except the guards on duty. Chancellor Ignatius had come in today with a wagonload of paperwork, and he led the Angelus. Huon sank to his knees with the others, his crucifix in his hands, and let the comforting familiarity of the words roll over him:

“Angelus Domini, nuntiavit Mariae;
Et concepit de Spiritu Sancto.
Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum . . .”

To the final Amen.

Varlets set up the folding tables and chairs. Mathilda looked up suddenly at the beat of hooves. Her face was no more than ordinarily pretty with youth and health. But as she smiled she suddenly looked beautiful for a moment.

That’s what the troubadours sing about, Huon thought; and suddenly felt a little ashamed about fumblings with servant girls. Will I love someone like that someday?

The High King and his escort reined in; Huon hurried over with the others to hold the horses. He was in Associate-style tunic and trews, and he leapt down with a foot-over style that kept his back to the horse. Then he caught Mathilda up and whirled her around, despite a laughing protest.

“There’ll be time enough for state and pomp, sure and there will,” he said, and kissed her. “In the meantime, I’ve brought guests to the bounteous epicurean feast we’re laying out this eve.”