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foot of this field. I’ll lend you my spare clothes and you can go and scrub the filth of the road from your body. We’re eating at Arnaud de Cerizay’s family fire, and that’s a privilege worth using soap for. It was Arnaud’s wife and daughter who came to care for you yesterday, Clemence and Monday. Arnaud took care of your horse.’
    Alexander had vague recollections of a small, competent woman with lines of laughter and of care at her mouth corners, and of a girl with a clear grey stare, and a shining plait of golden-brown hair.
    ‘Arnaud and me usually fight together as a team,’ Hervi said as he led Alexander back to the tent to find the replacement clothes. ‘He has no great stature on the field, but few men ever get past his guard. His wife is the daughter of Thomas FitzParnell of Stafford,’ he added with a little shake of his head, as if at some misfortune.
    Alexander’s ears pricked with interest. ‘Stafford and his son are patrons of Cranwell Priory.’
    Hervi stared at him. ‘Thomas of Stafford a patron of monks?’ he said in disbelief. ‘Pigs might fly!’
    ‘Oh, it’s all kindling and no fire,’ Alexander replied as they entered the tent. ‘He’s like Reginald. Pays lip service because it is essential for every man of standing to be thought of as generous and godly even when the opposite is true. He didn’t take a crusader’s vow, he paid silver to Cranwell instead – and half of the coins were clipped.’
    ‘I can believe that. I doubt FitzParnell has a single generous bone in his body.’
    Alexander looked curiously at Hervi. ‘What is his daughter doing on the tourney circuits?’
    Hervi rummaged among the debris scattered around the tent and found a linen bag fastened with a braid drawstring. ‘She fell in love with Arnaud de Cerizay, who was a penniless knight recently employed by her father, and ran away with him rather than marry the man chosen for her. There was a huge scandal at the time, but you wouldn’t remember, you were little more than a babe in arms when it happened.’
    ‘No, I don’t.’
    ‘Arnaud took me under his wing when I first joined the tourney route as an aspiring champion with more dreams than good sense. We’ve watched each other’s back ever since, shared the triumphs and the failures – of which there have been many. There’s a clean shirt and some linens in here.’ Hervi thrust the bag into Alexander’s hand, delved again, and came up with a crumpled but reasonable tunic of sage-green wool. ‘First town we come to, we’ll find you some fabric for new clothes.’ He bundled the tunic on top of the bag, together with a leather jar of liquid soap. ‘Go on, get you down to the stream.’
    Alexander made his way slowly down the field. His legs were aching and there was a gentle throb of renewed weariness behind his temples, but at least he was free. There was fresh air on his skin and the grey clouds had thinned to show streaks of blue between. He had a place in the world of his own choosing, and the wherewithal to climb fortune’s ladder.
    The stream was lined with sedges and stood about ten yards wide at its broadest point. A moorhen paddled frantically away from him in a race of silver droplets. Reeds long as jousting lances clacked and swayed together at the water’s edge. Alexander dropped the clean garments on a patch of lush grass on the bank and sat down. For a moment he rested, a glint of afternoon sunshine warming his spine. In the distance he could hear the shouts of men practising their art and the thud of a lance against a quintain target. He imagined himself astride a warhorse, a lance couched beneath his arm, a shield braced across the left side of his body. The smooth power beneath him, carrying him towards the moment of impact. The shock of steel upon wood, pressuring him back against the high saddle cantle. Cries of adulation for his prowess. As he set about disrobing, a faraway smile played at his mouth corners.
    The water came