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The courtyard within was huge, better than an acre, but the walls and the towers at the corners still placed much of it in shadow this early in the morning. It was paved with patterns of colored brick, scattered with planters, and buildings were set against the walls around all sides of it; towers rose at the four corners, seeming to reach for the scattered clouds above. One flank was a great church covered in white marble, with stained-glass windows; the central rose showed the stern, bearded face of Christ Pantocrator sitting in judgment. The right seemed to be living quarters; along the south was a great feasting hall with strips of window alternating with tile-sheathed concrete piers in its wall. And there must be another courtyard beyond, with the great black tower on its southern edge.
More knights stood with their lances before them on either side, to make a passage through the crowds from the gateway to the stepped terrace at the hall's flank. Rudi firmed his mouth and dismounted; grooms hurried to take the horses.
Two thrones stood before the doors of the hall, under a striped awning. To either side was a crowd brilliant with dyed and embroidered cloth, jewels on fingers and around necks and on the hilts of daggers, wrapped headdresses: most of them women in cotte-hardis, or priests in robes, and one standing beside the larger throne in a gorgeous outfit of gold and white, with a tall mitre on his head and a crook in his hands. Some noblemen were there too, in civilian garb or the mail and leather of war, but:
Yeah, Rudi thought, taking a deep breath. But most of the men are off fighting against us. That camp outside is just part of them.
Two figures sat on the thrones. Sandra, Mathilda's mother, in pearl and dove gray and silver. And her father, warlike in black save for the gold headband, his harsh face unreadable. He was a big man; a bit bigger than Mike Havel, a little smaller than Uncle Eric, but built like either of them-strong hands, thick wrists, broad shoulders, long legs. A swordsman's build.
Rudi lifted his chin and met the man's eyes as the party tramped forward, ignoring the murmurs from the nobles on either side. The air was still; he tossed back his hair; there was a chilly feeling in his stomach, like he'd drunk too much cold water right after exercising, and the vague sensation of needing to pee. Some of the women were cooing as he passed; more called greetings to Mathilda, who smiled and waved: though not as enthusiastically as she had outside.
They halted ten paces from the dais, at the line of knights who rested unsheathed swords on their shoulders and stook like iron statues between the ruling pair and the world. At a gesture from the man they moved aside, and Mathilda suddenly gave a squeal and dashed forward.
"Daddy! Daddy!" she caroled, and burst into tears as he rose and swept her into his arms, whirling her around and holding her high, then kissing the top of her head as she gripped him like a fireman's pole.
The crowd burst into cheers, many of them waving handkerchiefs in the air.
The trumpets at the gates sounded again, and even a few of the guardian knights smiled for a moment; the noise was a deafening thunder of echoes in the great stone space. When her father put her down at last, Mathilda selfconsciously drew herself together.
"I'm so glad to be home, Mom, Dad," she said, wiping her eyes, and went to stand beside her mother.
Sandra Arminger smiled as well when she embraced her daughter, and sat holding the girl's hand, but there was an enigmatic calm in her eyes as they flickered coolly over Rudi's face.
Norman Arminger turned back, and Tiphaine went to one knee in a rustling clash of chain-mail armor, bowing her head. So did the rest of the party; Rudi knelt as well, taking off his new hat. It was only polite.
"Tiphaine Rutherton, for this rescue of my daughter and heir-"
There was a slight ripple through the crowd, a murmur like a sigh. Mathilda's eyes went a little wider. Yeah, he hadn't said she was his heir, not out loud, Rudi remembered.
"-there would be few rewards too great."
For the first time Sandra spoke aloud, her voice cool and amused. "I suspect rank, gold and land would be a good start, Norman," she said. "Don't stint."
Arminger threw back his head and laughed. "Indeed, and I won't. Approach," he went on, drawing his sword. "Rank first."Sandra Arminger rose as well as the woman in armor ascended the steps to the dais and knelt again on the last of them. The Lord Protector bowed slightly to his consort and offered her the weapon, holding it across one forearm hilt foremost-carefully. Rudi could tell it was a real sword, with an edge that would slice open your hand like a butcher knife if you pressed your flesh against it. The guard was a simple crossbar of scarred steel, the pommel a brass ball and the long hilt was wound with braided leather cord.
It wobbled ever so slightly as Sandra took the grip in one small hand. She added the other, turning and raising the blade, only a slight tightening of her mouth showing the strain. A ray of sunlight broke through cloud and made the steel shimmer; Rudi felt a prickling even then.
Something brushed the back of my neck, he thought. Or Someone.
It also gilded the kneeling woman's pale hair. The flat of the blade descended in a slap on Tiphaine's mail-clad right shoulder, hard enough to make the sword vibrate in a slight
"I dub you knight," Sandra said, her voice carrying over the hush of the crowd. Another slap on the left. "I dub you knight." Then she handed the sword back to her husband. "Receive the colle."
That was a light hand-buffet on both cheeks; Tiphaine stayed on her knee, raising her face to make it easier to strike. "I dub you knight, Lady Tiphaine," Sandra concluded. "And bid you welcome to that worshipful company."
Tiphaine drew her own sword and presented it across the palms of her gauntleted hands. Sandra took it, raised the blade before her, kissed the cross it made and returned it. "Take this sword, Tiphaine, knight of the Association, to draw it in defense of the realm and of Holy Church, or when your liege-lord and your own honor call."
"I will, my lady and liege," the new-made knight said, sliding the sword home; the guard made a slight ti
Norman Arminger smiled again. "The vigil before the altar and other ceremonial can follow."
He took a gold chain from around his neck; there was a gasp from the audience as he dropped it over Tiphaine's bowed neck.
"This for a keepsake and mark of my lasting favor. With it I make you hereditary baronet. And now, since we can't eat rank-though sometimes I think we lords of the Association breathe it, like the Society in the old days-"
A gust of laughter went through the crowd.
"-I grant this newest fief-holder of the Association one thousand rose nobles, that she may meet the immediate needs of her new state and rank, starting with a pair of golden spurs. In addition to this, as head of the Portland Protective Association, I grant to her seizin of the castle, estate and domain of Ath, previously held in demesne as my own direct possession. This grant to include the manor of Montinore, and the two knight's fees attached thereunto, with mill and press, heriot and fine and forest-right, and power of the High Justice, the Middle and the Low over all below the rank of Associate. It shall be held by her as tenant-in-chief and free vavasour, on service of three knights and their menie, and mesne tithes."
Wow, Rudi thought; a clerk was scribbling frantically at the paper on his clipboard with a quill pen. She's really getting the goods. I remember Sir Nigel saying that was the land the Protector tried to buy him with. Tenant-in-chiej, too. And baronet – that's almost like being a baron.