“—to learn by service”

“—to act always with honor”

“—and as the guardian of the honor”

“—of the knight I serve”

“—to obey my knight and my knight’s teaching”

“—that I may learn skill and courtesy”

“—to follow always the virtues”

“—of faith and hope”

“—charity and justice”

“—of prudence, temperance and strength.”

“So I swear.”

The boy’s face was shining as he finished. Tiphaine replied, “In return for your service, and your devotion to chivalry, I swear to teach you what I can, and to find instruction for you in what I cannot. I will furnish you with arms, horse and gear as needful and see to your honorable maintenance as befits your station. You shall be my vassal in arms and my pupil, and your service is not menial or infamous. As my honor reflects upon you, so does your honor reflect upon me. Whoso deals ill with you deals also ill with me, and at their peril.”

She released his hands, wiped the point of her sword carefully on one sleeve before sheathing it and pulled a badge with her arms out of a pouch. Then she pinned it to his cap before she drew him up by his shoulders and exchanged the ritual kiss on both cheeks.

“By wearing my badge, you declare your service to me, and my sponsorship of you.”

Rigobert was beaming with fond pride; Tiphaine drew him and the broadly grinning Lioncel aside, and the other baron hugged his son. Lioncel returned the gesture, then faced Tiphaine proudly; now he was forcing himself not to finger the badge in his cap that marked his acknowledged exit from childhood and into the intermediate status of a youth.

“Lioncel, do you know why I took your oath as squire today?”

“Ah . . . no, my lady.”

“First, you deserve it. In peacetime, I’d have waited another year, but we’re at war. That leads to the second reason. You are your father’s heir, but your younger brother Diomede is my son and heir by adoption, and the Barony of Ath, title and lands, go to him and the heirs of his body.”

Lioncel nodded; he’d already started his study of feudal law—the Association’s system was based on twelfth-century England under the Anglo-Norman kings, as modified by the peace treaty at the end of the Protector’s War and more subtly by Sandra Arminger in her term as Regent since. A nobleman needed some acquaintance with it, if he weren’t to be helpless in the hands of his advisers.

“Nothing is certain in war. Your father and I may both fall in battle. I don’t expect it, but it could happen.”