The Greatest Knight by Elizabeth Chadwick Page A

get your bruises seen to.” He gave the boy to Hodierna, which was in itself something of a humiliation, for Henry saw himself as being almost too old for a nurse these days, especially one who was making as much fuss as an old hen. The Earl dispersed the crowd with a wave of his arm, but with a sudden lunge caught Richard back by the scruff. “You saw what happened to your brother,” he warned, shaking him like a terrier with a rat. “Don’t ever think of doing the same.”
    “I won’t.” Richard put his hands together like an angel. However as soon as Salisbury released him he added cheekily, “For a start, I wouldn’t fall off.” He was gone in a duck and a rapid flash of heels.
    Salisbury dug his fingers through his hair. “Young devil,” he muttered, but there was reluctant humour in his eyes.
    “You let him off lightly too,” William said.
    “True,” Salisbury replied, “but they’ve still got to run the gauntlet of their mother, and there’ll be no mercy from her.”
    ***
    “Lame,” announced the groom with the relish of the eternal pessimist proven right. “Said yesterday afternoon that foreleg looked dicey.”
    William laid one hand to Blancart’s shoulder, and ran it firmly down the affected leg. The knee was hot to the touch and the destrier flinched and shied with a grunt of pain.
    “Strained it good and proper, the lad has,” the groom continued. In this instance, the “lad” referred to was Prince Henry, not the stallion. “Horse’ll not be carrying you anywhere for a sennight at least. I’ll get a poultice put on it straight away but…” He clucked his tongue, shook his head, and rumpled his hair. “A sennight,” he repeated.
    William cursed. The stable yard was busy as Salisbury’s knights mounted up and prepared to escort the Queen to a neighbouring castle. Eleanor had not yet arrived, but the moment she did, the troop would depart and Salisbury would only have sharp words for laggards.
    Beckoning to his squire, William collected his bridle and saddle from the tack room at the side of the stables and set about harnessing his second destrier. Fortunately, Fauvel was as dozy as a gelding and saddling him only took half as long as it did with Blancart. William buckled the bridle and fastened the breast-band while his squire cinched the girths. By the time he led Fauvel out to join the escort, the Queen was just entering the yard with two of her women. Eleanor wore a riding gown of blue wool and a light cloak of leaf-green edged with silver braid and fastened with a magnificent cloisonné clasp. Silver spurs glinted at her heels. Her bright gaze settled briefly on William and Fauvel before she nodded to Salisbury.
    “The Princes are not accompanying you, madam?” the Earl enquired as he boosted her into the saddle of a dappled Barbary mare.
    “No,” she said, “they are not, although perhaps I should have made Henry ride with us and suffer in the saddle for yesterday’s folly. As it is, I have allowed my sons the pleasure of a day’s extra tuition in Latin and on the subject of the responsibilities of kings.”
    Salisbury gave a laconic grin. “I am sure they will benefit, madam.”
    “Then you are more certain than their mother,” Eleanor replied with exasperation.
    The company rode out into the bright spring morning. Initially William was morose at having to ride his second destrier, but the fine weather and the festive atmosphere soon lightened his humour. He was the only man wearing his hauberk. The other knights had brought their mail and weapons, but carried them on sumpter horses or rolled behind their saddles—as William would have done had he not been testing the fit of the repaired garment.
    “If my son has caused injury to your stallion by his prank, then I will have him reimburse you,” Eleanor said, joining William as the party rode along a rutted cart track. Sunlight dappled through the new leaves, the hawthorn sprays were in bud, and the breeze was as