The Iron Castle (Outlaw Chronicles) by Angus Donald Read Free Book Online Page A

be rich. As your captain, I will take a share of one fifth, Claes and Little John, as my officers, will take a one-fifth share between them, and the rest – three-fifths – will be divided equally between the men.’
    ‘Can’t say fairer than that, captain,’ said Little Niels. ‘Two-fifths for our three officers, three-fifths for all thirty-three men.’
    I looked at his bright-eyed red-cheeked face to see if he was making mock of me. It was impossible to tell: his expression was quizzical but perfectly respectful.
    ‘Just one more question, captain.’
    ‘Go on,’ I frowned at him.
    ‘How would I go about becoming an officer?’
    His question was greeted with a roar of laughter from behind us and Little John’s bellow: ‘Niels, you get back in the ranks, you impertinent little shit, or I will personally tear you several new ones. Get back here where you belong, lad.’
    I turned in my saddle and addressed the horsemen. ‘Any man here might one day become an officer. If you obey my orders, keep my rules and fight with the valour of lions when the time comes – any one of you might rise to become a vintenar.’
    I paused for a heartbeat. ‘Even Little Niels.’
    My quip was met with more laughter, genuine as far as I could tell. And for a mile or so Little Niels was subjected to some gentle ribbing from his fellows who called him ‘the captain-general’ and ‘my gracious lord’. They seemed a contented group, to my eyes. Spirited but not lawless. There was no doubt that a few of the Wolves were genuinely bad men – bandits by trade, or murderers on the run from their manors – but most were poor men driven to take up arms to put food in their bellies. I liked them, to be honest, and for the most part they seemed to like me.
    The patrol returned to Falaise without event a little before noon, and I had ample time to wash and be dressed by Kit in the best clothes that I possessed: a decent blue silk tunic and grey hose – which were clean but a little saggy at the knee as a result of their advanced age and Kit’s clumsy laundering – good kidskin shoes, and a black felt hat with an eagle’s feather fixed in place with a blue enamel broach. Kit had laboured long and hard over the outfit and, while I was never going to be mistaken for a prince of royal blood, I hoped for his sake and mine that I would not disgrace myself with my apparel.
    The meal was a dull one. I was placed far from Hubert de Burgh and his fat nephew Benedict, at the end of the long table – which did not displease me in itself except that it emphasised the point that as a paid warrior I was scarcely respectable; indeed not much better than a servant. There were a dozen other knights at the meal, little wine was served and only a dozen platters of food emerged from the kitchens for the twenty or so guests. There was no music, and the only entertainment was a sad-faced juggler standing in the corner, who did amazing things with three, four and five silver balls that he kept aloft with great skill; although his air of abject misery prevented me from enjoying the performance overmuch. I spoke little and, apart from a chilly nod from de Burgh at the beginning of the repast, I was ignored by the company. Young Benedict refused to recognise me at all – indeed he paid little attention to anyone and seemed determined to eat as much as he possibly could – but I cannot say it grieved me sorely.
    I returned to my chamber in the East Tower mid-afternoon, sober and reflecting that I had not impressed my new lord, nor yet made any friends in my new home. So be it, I told myself. I would keep my head down, attend to my duties with the Wolves and wait for Robin’s call to arms.
    So the days passed in an uneventful, repetitive parade. I went out with the Wolves three or four days a week, patrolling the countryside south to Maine and west as far as the Brittany border. We spent long chilly nights on the battlements, doing our share of the sentry