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loyally. She could not be induced to serve another man. Why should she not be called honourable?’
    I summoned my wits. ‘I would say, sir, that honour stems from a freedom to act in one way or another – for good or ill. And I did not think that a bird can act in any way that is not part of her nature, or instilled by months of training.’
    There was a silence. The lord of Falaise stared at me over his beak of a nose. The silence stretched out long and painfully thin. I felt an overwhelming urge to fill the quiet. ‘And a bird, the Bible teaches us, has no soul,’ I said. ‘Can a creature without a soul have honour?’
    As soon as I said it, I wished the words back in my mouth.
    ‘All men have souls,’ said de Burgh. ‘But many of them have no honour. Some so-called men look only to their own advantage without the slightest regard for oaths to their rightful lord, for their avowed loyalty … For example, a mercenary such as your good self fights only for silver’ – I could feel blood rushing to my cheeks – ‘can you truly trust someone like that? Would you, for instance, sell your sword elsewhere, to Duke Arthur or King Philip, perhaps, if offered a fatter purse?’
    His question was a whisker from a mortal insult. He was saying he thought I had no honour and that soldiers such as me were little better than greedy merchants.
    ‘I serve the Earl of Locksley,’ I said, through clenched teeth. ‘I swore an oath a long time ago that I would be loyal to him until death. I will never break that oath. His enemies are my enemies, and I will serve no other. That is my honour.’
    ‘But he, too, fights for silver, does he not?’
    I had had enough of this conversation. I remained silent.
    ‘Well,’ said Lord de Burgh after a long pause, ‘I mustn’t keep you. Your men will no doubt be hungry – better feed them before they steal all the bread from the pantry. Ha-ha! Bertier, my steward, will see them housed and fed, and their horses stabled. You will find him in the kitchens at this hour. Down the staircase and take the passage to your right. You will find quarters suitable for you and your servant in the East Tower, on the other side of the courtyard. Perhaps you would be so good as to dine with me and the other knights tomorrow. At noon.’
    I bowed silently and made to leave. ‘One more thing, Sir Alan. The bath house is in the east of the castle. Perhaps you would care to visit it before you next present yourself to me. I must not question your honour but the knights of this garrison, both hirelings and those who serve out of a sense of duty to their lord, are expected to maintain certain standards. Remember that.’
    I walked out of the hall with my guts seething and, as I approached the head of the stone spiral stairs, I turned to Kit to say something further about his failure to do his duty by me as my squire – and was knocked flying by a man sprinting up the stairs and smashing into me with his shoulder. I leaped back to my feet, my hand reaching for the dagger at my waist and glared at the man.
    ‘Mind where you are going, oaf,’ he said coolly.
    I was an instant from burying the blade in his belly.
    ‘You, sir, knocked into me,’ I said icily.
    ‘You dare to answer back, cur – don’t you know who I am?’ said this fellow, a tall, big-boned fattish creature dressed in a fine red satin tunic, with a sword and a jewelled dagger at his belt. He was a knight at the very least, more likely a lord, but he seemed to me very young, not yet twenty. His lank black hair was greasy, though well combed and a rash of pimples adorned his plump cheeks and ample chin. He, too, had his hand on his dagger hilt.
    ‘Cur?’ I said. I was past boiling point by now, and if he wanted a fight …
    ‘He doesn’t know who you are, Benedict,’ said a calm voice behind me. ‘How could he? He only arrived this hour.’
    Hubert de Burgh was at my shoulder.
    ‘May I present, Sir Alan Dale, a knight in the service