The Red Knight by Miles Cameron Page B

greater prize than our love
– especially to the young.’ She looked at each in turn. ‘Who does not yearn for the strong yet tender embrace? Who does not sigh for skin soft as fine leather over muscles as hard
as wood? But get with child—’ she locked eyes with Mary, ‘—and they
will
call you a whore. And you may
die
, bearing that bastard. Or worse, perhaps; find
yourself living meanly, rearing his bastard child, while he rides to glory.’ She looked at the window. ‘If you are not locked away in a convent.’
    Emmota raised her head. ‘But what of love?’ she asked.
    ‘Make your love a reward, not a raw emotion,’ the Queen said. ‘Any two rutting animals feel the emotion, child. Here, we are only interested in what is
best.
Rutting is
not best. Do you understand?’
    The girl swallowed carefully. ‘Yes, I think so,’ she said. ‘But then – why would we ever lie with any man?’
    The Queen laughed aloud. ‘Artemis come to earth! Why, because it is for the love of us that they face terror, girl! Do you think it is some light thing to ride out into the Wild? To sleep
with the Wild, eat with it, live with it? To face it and fight it and kill it?’ The Queen leaned down until her nose almost touched the sharp point of Emmota’s nose. ‘Do you think
they do it for the good of humanity, my dear? Perhaps the older ones – the thoughtful ones. They face the dangers for us all because they have seen the alternative.’ She shook her head.
‘But the young ones face the foe for just one thing – to be deemed worthy of you, my dear. And you control
them
. When you let a knight into your lap you reward him for his
courage. His prowess. His
worth.
You must judge that it has been earned. Yes? You understand?’
    Emmota gazed into the eyes of her Queen with worship. ‘I understand,’ she said.
    ‘The Old Men – the Archaics of long ago – they asked “Who shall guard the guardians?”’ The Queen looked around. ‘We shall, ladies. We choose the best of
them. We may also choose to punish the worst. Hard Hands was not deserving, and the king found him out. We should have known first – should we not? Did none of you suspect he was merely a
braggart? Did none of you wonder where his prowess lay, that he made no show or trial of it?’
    Mary burst into tears. ‘I protest, madame.’
    The Queen gave her a small embrace. ‘I relent. He is a good man-at-arms. Let him go prove it to the king. And prove himself worthy of you.’
    Mary curtsied.
    The Queen nodded, and rose to her feet. ‘I go to attend the king. Think of this. It is our duty. Love – our love – is no light thing. It is be the crown of glory, available to
the best and only the best. It should be hard won. Think on it.’
    She listened to them she went up the stairs – broad marble stairs of that the Old Men had wrought. They didn’t giggle, which pleased her.
    The king was in the Arming Room, with two squires – Simon and Oggbert, as like as two peas in a pod, with matching freckles and matching pimples. He was down to his shirt and his hose and
his braes. His leg harnesses still lay on the floor having been removed, and each squire held a vambrace, wiping them down with chamois.
    She smiled radiantly at them. ‘Begone,’ she said.
    They fled, as adolescent boys do when faced with beautiful women.
    The king sat back on his bench. ‘Ah! I see I have won your esteem!’ he grinned, and for a moment he was twenty years younger.
    She knelt and undid a garter. ‘You are the king. You, and you alone, need never
win
my esteem.’
    He watched her unbuckle the other garter. She buckled the two of them together and placed his leg harnesses together on a table behind her, and then, without hurry, she sat in his lap and put
her arms around his neck and kissed him until she felt him stir.
    And then she rose to her feet and unlaced her gown. She did it methodically, carefully, without taking her eyes off him.
    He watched her the way a