the first muster of Abbot Hugo’s personal army. Arguing that no abbot worthy of the name could long exist without a bodyguard to protect him as he performed his sacred office in a blighted wilderness full of hostile and bloodthirsty barbarians, Abbot Hugo had prevailed upon Baron de Braose to send troops for his protection and, Gysburne had no doubt, prestige. Indeed, the abbot seemed determined to create his own fiefdom within Elfael, right under de Braose’s long, aristocratic nose.
Having arrived while Gysburne was away visiting his father in the north country, the seven newcomers had spent the last few days practising and idling in the town’s market square. As Sir Guy watched them now, he found little to dislike. Though they were young men, judging from the way each deftly lunged and parried all were skilled in their weapons. Guy supposed that they had received their training in Aquitaine or Angevin before being recruited to join the baron’s forces. Indeed, they reminded him of himself only a few short years ago: keen as the steel in their hands for a chance to prove themselves and win advancement in the baron’s favour, not to mention increased fortune for themselves.
All the same, it would have surprised Guy if any of the newcomers had ever drawn human blood with their painstakingly oiled and sharpened blades, much less fought in a battle.
God willing, that would come. Just now, however, it was time to make the acquaintance of his new army. On a whim, Guy decided to take them hunting; a day in the saddle would give him a chance to see what manner of men they were, and it would do the fresh soldiers good to learn something of the territory that was their new home.
He walked out to meet his men in the square.
“To me!” he called, using the rally cry of the commander in the field. The soldiers stopped their practice and turned to see the lanky, fair-haired marshal striding across the square.
“Lord Gysburne!” shouted one of the knights to his fellows. “Put up! Lord Gysburne has returned.”
The others stopped their swordplay and drew together to meet their commander. “At your service, Lord,” said the foremost knight, a bull-necked, broad-shouldered youth who, like the others, had the thick wrists and slightly bowed legs of one who has spent most of his short life on the back of a horse, with a sword in his hand. The others, Guy noted, seemed to defer to him as leader of the band and spokesman.
“The sergeant said you were away,” the young knight explained. “I thought best to keep our blades busy until you returned.” He smiled, the sun lighting his blue eyes. “Jocelin de Turquétil at your service.”
“My best regards, Jocelin,” replied Guy. “And to you all,” he said, turning to the others. “Welcome to Elfael. Now then, if any of the rest of you have names, let’s hear them.”
They proceeded to introduce themselves around the ring: Alard, Osbert,Warin, Ernald, Baldwin, and Hamo. They spoke with the easy exuberance of men for whom the day held only possibilities, never disappointment. As Guy had surmised, two came from Angevin and three from the baron’s lands in Aquitaine; the others had been born in England, but raised in Normandie. This was their first sojourn in Wallia, but all had heard of the ferocity of the native Britons and were eager to try their strength at arms against them.
Sergeant Jeremias appeared in the yard just then and, seeing the marshal, hurried to greet him. “God be good to you, my lord. We’ve been expecting you these last days. I trust you had a peaceful journey.”
“Entirely uneventful,” replied Guy.
“And your father is well?”
“He thrives.” Regarding the soldiers gathered around him, he said, “It seems our ranks have grown in my absence.”
“As you see, Lord Marshal,” agreed Jeremias. “And, if I may say so, they are second to none. The abbot is well pleased.”
“Then who am I to disagree with the abbot?” remarked Guy, and ordered his new cohort to saddle their horses and prepare for a day’s hunting. The soldiers hurried off to ready their mounts, leaving the marshal and sergeant in the yard.
“See all is ready,” instructed Guy. “I must go inform the abbot that I have returned.”
“Ah,” said the sergeant, “no need. He is away and not expected back before Saint Vincent’s Day.”
“Well, then, we will just have to struggle on as best we can,” said Guy, his heart lifting at the thought of not having