The Greatest Knight Read Online Free

and knew that the worst thing he could do was sulk in a corner or lash out. The ribbing was well meant and behind it, there was warning and good advice. “You are right, my lord,” he agreed with de Mandeville. The shrug he gave made him wince and brought a softer burst of laughter. “I didn’t think. Next time I will be more heedful. I promise you will receive your harness yet.”
    “Hah!” retorted the Earl of Essex. “You’ve to get yourself a new horse first, and they don’t come cheaply.”
    On retiring to his pallet that night, William lay awake for some time despite his weariness. His mind as well as his body felt bludgeoned. The images of the day returned to him in vivid flashes: some, like his desperate fight with the Flemish footsoldiers, repeating over and over again; others no more than a swift dazzle like sharp sun on water, there and gone. And through it all, running like a thread woven into a tapestry was de Mandeville’s jest that wasn’t a jest at all, but hard truth. Fight for your lord, fight for his honour, but never forget that you were fighting for yourself too.

Two
    The cloak that William had received at his knighting was of Flemish weave, felted and thrice-dyed in woad to deepen the blue, and edged with sable. The garment was designed to cover the wearer from throat to ankle in a splendid semi-circular sweep of fabric. Brushing his palm over the expertly napped cloth, William’s heart was heavy with reluctance, regret, and shame.
    “I will give you fifteen shillings for it,” the clothes-trader said, rubbing his forefinger under his nose and assessing William with crafty eyes.
    “It’s worth twice that!” William protested.
    “Keep it then, messire.” The trader shrugged. “I’ve a wife and five children to feed. I cannot afford to give charity.”
    William rubbed the back of his neck. He had no choice but to sell his cloak because he needed the money to buy another horse. The Sire de Tancarville had shown no inclination to replace the chestnut. A lord’s largesse towards his retainers only went so far and it was up to the individual knight to account for the rest. William was not at fault for losing a valuable warhorse in battle; his blame lay in his omission to recoup that loss from the men he had defeated. His problem was compounded by the fact that the Kings of England and France had made peace and Lord Guillaume no longer needed so many knights in his retinue—especially inexperienced ones lacking funds and equipment.
    “Being as it’s never been worn, and it’s a fine garment, I’ll give you eighteen,” the merchant relented.
    William’s gaze was steel. “No less than twenty-five.”
    “Then find another buyer. Twenty-two, and that’s my final offer. I’m robbing myself blind at that.” The trader folded his arms, and William realised that this was the sticking point. For a moment he nearly walked away, but his need was too great and although the taste was bitter, he swallowed his pride and agreed to the terms.
    Leaving the stall he hefted the pouch of silver. Twenty-two Angevin shillings was nowhere near enough to buy a warhorse. It might just pay for his passage home across the Narrow Sea with his light palfrey and pack beast, but arriving at his family’s door in such a penurious state would be tantamount to holding out a begging bowl. It would have been difficult enough were his father still alive, but now that William’s older brother John had inherited the Marshal lands, he would rather starve than receive his grudging charity.
    Forced to a grim decision, he used the coin to buy a solid riding horse from a serjeant’s widow whose husband had been killed in the fight for Drincourt. It was a decent beast, well schooled and, although a trifle long in the tooth, had plenty of riding left in it—but it wasn’t a destrier.
    Having stabled the beast, he visited the kitchens and availed himself of bread, cheese, and a pitcher of cider, hoping that the latter