“No,” Ransom agreed. But while everything Sir William said made sense, he still remembered the way the old king had saved his life. He’d had compassion for a little boy, even though he’d known that very compassion would condemn him.
Perhaps he had not been a good king, but he’d been a good man. In some ways that was more important.
They awoke before dawn and prepared provender for the horses while putting together their gear for the last part of the journey. The tournament had started back in Chessy, and Ransom couldn’t help thinking about it as they passed through the village of Usson. Would Claire miss him? Would his friend the blacksmith worry what had become of him?
They did not stop, even though some of the townsfolk came out to observe the knights passing through. The looks from the villagers were wary and distrustful. Men held pitchforks or spades, wielding them like weapons in case the knights attacked.
After leaving Usson behind, the queen insisted that they hurry. Ransom knew they were getting closer to Auxaunce because of the sculpted farms they passed on the roads. Hedges along the road had been groomed to pen in sheep and farm animals. Some had openings or gates, leading to farmsteads in the distance. Plump sheep grazed within those boundaries. They passed various fruit orchards and vineyards, and Ransom was gazing at some ripening apricots in a nearby grove when he heard Lord Rakestraw’s bellowed command to halt.
Ransom pulled back on the reins and did so. When he turned, his stomach lurched. Riders were coming up from behind them, the sun glinting off their armor and the metal tips of their lances. There were too many to count, at least fifty or so, and judging from their speed, their horses were fresher by far. It wouldn’t be long before they caught up.
“Who is it?” Sir William asked, turning his destrier around.
“Do you recognize them, my lady?” Lord Dyron asked in a nervous tone.
The queen’s face had gone pale, paler than the cream riding gloves sheathing her arms. She gazed at the approaching men, who were not far behind them. The other knights clustered around her.
“I don’t see any banners. They’re trying to stop us before we reach Auxaunce.”
“How far is the castle?” Rakestraw asked.
“A league . . . maybe two. Our horses are winded. If it comes down to a chase, they’ll overtake us.”
The constable’s brow furrowed with anger. “Someone saw us. Got word out.”
“How could they have caught up so quickly?” the queen asked. “No one knew we were coming. We sent no message ahead of us for fear it might be intercepted by Lewis’s spies.”
“We can’t argue about this, my lady. Ride on to Auxaunce. Send knights back to help us. We’ll hold them here.”
Ransom’s stomach shriveled at the thought. There were at least forty to fifty riders bearing down on them.
“We can parlay with them,” the queen suggested.
The constable shook his head. “Any parlay will lead to your capture and ransom. My orders from the king were to see you safely to Auxaunce. We fight them here and hold the road. If they try crossing the hedges, it’ll slow them down. Go!”
The queen looked at him fiercely, then nodded. She leaned forward in the saddle and urged her horse into a gallop, launching back down the road. Ransom wanted to go with her, to see she made it safely, but he was duty bound to follow the constable’s orders.
“They’re not slowing down, my lord,” announced one of the knights, his voice grim.
“And we’re not budging,” Rakestraw said. He turned his destrier around and hefted his lance from its sheath. They each had only one. Ransom pulled his out as well. His stomach churned with dread at the approaching conflict. He could see the knights more clearly as they charged forward, most of them wearing full armor. The glint of metal was not from polish. These were battle-hardened knights with mud and dirt spattered on their shields.
Rakestraw’s knights formed a line, four across and two deep, blocking the road.
Ransom gripped his lance, feeling his ears tingle, his skin begin to itch. The constable’s knights only wore hauberks, which would not stop the tip of a sharpened lance. That meant their only chance was to strike first and unhorse their foes with better skill.
“On the ready,” Lord Rakestraw said.
Ransom saw the look of dread in the eyes of his fellows. But they faced the task without flinching. The road shuddered under the force of the stampede. Ransom licked his lips, glancing down at the bracelet attached to his forearm. He brought it up to his mouth and kissed it.