A great wave of relief fountained through Ruck. He wanted to go down on his knees again and beg forgiveness, but he kept his feet, only saying, "For the honor of the Princess, my dread lord."

Lancaster laid his head back and laughed. His eyes focused from their drift with a sharper look at Ruck. "She has made fools of us both, has she not? Hell-born bitch."

"My lord's grace—" Sir Robert said warningly.

"Ah, but my sentiment will not leave this chamber, if this green fellow hopes to avoid my most grievous displeasure, and such jeopardy for him as that may entail."

"My life is at my lord's pleasure," Ruck said.

Lancaster sat up, leaning forward on his good arm, his mouth tightened against the pain of the movement. "See that thou dost not forget it. What is thy judgment of the temper outside?"

Ruck hesitated. Then he said, "Uneasy, my lord."

"Clear the streets, sire," Felton said.

Lancaster turned a sneer on the constable. "With what? Your men-at-arms? They're the ones in the streets, making mischief in the name of this green nobody."

"They have not been paid, my lord," Felton said, without embarrassment.

"And is that my fault?" Lancaster shouted, and then squeezed his eyes shut, laying his head back. "I'll run my own coffers dry in the defense of your damned Gascon barons."

"The prince your brother—"

"The prince my brother is sick unto death. He is to know nothing of this! Do not disturb him."

There was a little silence. Then the constable said tentatively, "I believe—if my lord's grace appeared with this knight"—he made a faint gesture toward Ruck—"they would obey this man, my lord, if he ordered them to submit to curfew."

"By God," Lancaster exclaimed, "he knocks me off my horse and holds his sword to my neck, and now I'm to stand by him while he gives orders to the men-at-arms? Why not appoint him lieutenant and be done with it?"

Ruck pressed his lips together, appalled. He had felt the threat hovering over him; now it crystallized into real danger. He had never thought Lancaster would imprison him for pride—but suddenly a new and horrifying vista opened.

The duke seemed to catch his mute response, for he looked again at Ruck. He stared for a long, speculative moment, an assessment that chilled Ruck to the bone.

"What thinkest thee, Green Sire," he said, in a serious voice. "Canst thou control them?"

"My lord's grace has the right of it," Ruck said. "Me think it not seemly."

"But thou canst do it?"

"It be unmeet, my lord," Ruck repeated, trying to prevent any note of alarm from entering his voice. "It be not wise."

"But if I cannot command them, nor their own constable here, and thou only canst keep the city from strife and riot?"

Ruck shook his head. "I pray you, dread lord, ask it not of me."

"I ask it of thee. I command thee to take charge of the garrison and the men-at-arms and control them."

Yesterday such a command would have been a wonder for Ruck, a victory. Today it was the edge of a pit: the precipice of war between nobles and common soldiers, rebellion with himself at the center.

"My lord," he burst out, "reconsider! Your head pains you to folly." He sucked in his breath, as if he could take back the brazen words as soon as they escaped.

Lancaster rubbed his face with his good hand and looked to Sir Robert. "My head pains me in truth," he said, with something of a smile. "What think you of him?"

Knolleys shrugged. "He will be a loss to us."

"A loss," Lancaster repeated in a silken voice, looking at Ruck from beneath lazy eyelids. "Well for thee, that thou didst not leap at the command. Some here have counseled me that thou art a sly rebel, Green Sire. That thou hast kept thy name secret for something less than honor, and wormed thy way into a place and gained the love of my men only to inflame disloyalty and rebellion with this spectacle today. That thou hast conspired with the princess to weaken us, in preparation for a French attack tonight or tomorrow."

Ruck dropped to his knees. "Nay, my lord! By Almighty God!"

"Who stands behind the Princess Melanthe, traitor?" Knolleys demanded.

"I know not!" Ruck exclaimed. "I'm no traitor to you, my lord, I swear on my father's soul. Her man told me that she wished me to issue challenge in her name."

"Against thy liege?" Sir Robert demanded. "And thou took her up?"

"My beloved lord, I meant you no insult. I was to challenge all comers. I am sworn to her. Years ago—and far from here. I knew not even her name until yesterday. I never thought to see her again. She was..." He paused. "I swore myself to her service. I know not why. It was long ago." He shook his head helplessly. "I cannot explain it, my lord."

Lancaster lifted his brows. "Canst not explain it?" He burst out in caustic laughter and held his head. "Has she bewitched us or besotted us?"

"Send for the inquisitor," his brother said. "If she's a sorceress, he will discover it."

"And whiles? There's no time for the inquisitor." Lancaster rested his head against the throne. "Much as I should like to see her burn." He drew a deep breath and sighed. "But here—I find I cannot imprison or execute my green companion-in-arms, in spite of my aching head and dislocate joint. I have a fellow feeling for him, the love-struck ass. Moreover, it provokes riot."

"Nor let him walk free," Knolleys said.

"Nor let him free, for if he wills or no, the men gather to him, and with the temper of the nobles, we'd have disorder enough to burn this city down. I want no rivals to my command. I need my men to fight France, not one another."

Ruck knelt silently, awaiting his fate, watching his future dissolve before his eyes.

Lancaster gazed at him with that sleepy speculation. "Tell me, Green Sire, what is it thou hoped to gain of me, to join my court?"

"My liege..." Ruck's voice trailed off. He had not envisioned that his moment with Lancaster would come this way.

"Position? Lands? A fine marriage? I hear that the ladies admire thee."

"Nay." Ruck lowered his face. "I ask naught of you now, my lord."

"And I offer naught," Lancaster said, "for I want no more of thee. I have detained Princess Melanthe at the gate, so that thou wilt be seen alive and well to escort her into the city. At dawn thou must be off, with thy princess and all her train." He smiled sourly. "And look thee to see me at the quay, to bid you both a cordial farewell."

* * *

It was for her protection, the message said. Melanthe pulled her cloak close about her in the cold darkness outside the city gate. Her little hunting entourage huddled before her. Behind lay the distant fires and tents of the tourneyers who had no lodging within the walls. That the gate was still open this late was strange. The guards were men in Lancaster's and the prince's livery—not the usual gatekeepers. She could see torches and hear drunken shouting from within.

If she had had another choice, she would have turned away. The message—and signs of riot inside—were ominous. She did not think real trouble had erupted yet, but it might flare at any moment. Her presence alone might be enough to spark it. She much doubted that Lancaster's message to await an escort at the gate had been sent with loving concern for her safety.

Gryngolet fluffed her feathers to keep out the cold, perching quietly upon the saddlebow. The greyhound sat shivering. Melanthe had not dressed for darkness. Even in gauntlets, her fingers were cold. She looked into the blackness behind her, sparked by open fires, and admitted wryly to herself that nothing stopped her at the moment from fading into the gloom, as free as she dreamed of being, except for the mystery of how to live as anything but what she was.

"My lady—" One of the guardsmen came striding from beneath the black bulk of the gatehouse over the bridge. "Your escort."

Even as he spoke, the arch brightened with the flare of many torches. At the head of a score of armed men her green knight rode toward her beneath the gate.

The torches behind him lit his mount's breath and his own in transparent gusts of frost. He wore no armor now, only a light helmet over a bandage that shone white across his forehead. The bridge thudded with the sound of hooves and boots.

He never looked directly at her. With a perfunctory bow he made a motion to the men to surround her horse. Placing half of the company before them, and half behind, he wheeled his mount next to hers, swept his sword from its sheath, and shouted the order to march.

She rode beneath the archway beside him. Inside the city walls, the streets were full of men. They stared and shouted and ran beside the company. Melanthe kept her eyes straight ahead and up. Her palfrey felt very small next to the destrier, and the score of men a thin wall against violence. In some of the side streets other knights sat their mounts, swords unsheathed, staring malevolently as her escort passed. Limp bodies lay in doorways—drunk or dead, she could not tell. The high bulk of the keep itself was a welcome sight, until she saw the crowd milling and pressing below it. As her escort came into view a cheer went up, confounded with outrage and spiced by drink.

The Green Sire shouted an order. The men ahead halted. He lifted his sword over his head, and the men-at-arms spun their sharpened pikes, forcing the nearest of the crowd to give room. The pikes stopped with their points at chest-level, a bristle of protection.