A Taste of Copper by elin gregory

Author:elin gregory
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay, historical, knight, medieval, archery, squire, black knight
Publisher: Manifold Press

Chapter Five

When Olivier returned to their camp, he went into the shelter to check the horses again. Ira was dozing, resting one hind foot and not moving, but the gelding snorted a greeting and nosed Olivier's shoulder, huffing a whiskery breath into his ear.

"I should think of a name for you," Olivier muttered, threading his cold fingers into the thick hair on the horse's neck. Both he and the horse sighed leaning into the touch. "Something - friendly, warm. It would be nice to be warm for once."

He thought, but didn't say, how nice it would be to feel wanted, to be desired as much by Maheris as Hywel had desired him but - as the Welshman had said - he may as well yearn for the moon.

Olivier considered how best to broach the subject of surrender as he gave his horse a few beans, then carried the baskets and barrel across to the tent. Inside it was chilly and quite dark.

"Sir?" Olivier shouldered the tent flap open so he could see a little better. Maheris was still seated in his great chair, chin on fist with his eyes closed.

"The rain has set in, sir." Olivier set his burdens the table and picked up the strike-a-light. "The ground will be boggy tomorrow."

Maheris didn't reply. There was a tension in his face, a crease between his brows that Olivier knew eased in sleep. So Maheris was still brooding. There was good reason. Olivier had seen men die even in friendly jousts and any one of the champions he would face on the morrow was a fierce opponent. But three, one after another - yes, cause for concern. To surrender would be a sensible thing to do, but how to persuade Maheris?

Olivier found himself unable to dwell on it. Instead he would make the best meal he could from the provisions brought by Hywel and insist that Maheris got his rest. In the morning he would beg, on his knees if necessary. But first some light to see by.

It took two strikes of steel to flint before the tinder caught, and the glow of the charred linen was sullen and grudging. "For pity's sake, is all the world damp?" Olivier pursed his lips and blew on the scrap of cloth until it flared. The candles, simple messes of tallow with rush wicks pressed into them, gave a poor and smoky light, but it was better than nothing. Olivier closed and latched the lantern's little door and hung it from the hook on the tent pole. "Sir?" he said again. "The King has sent food and drink. Shall I bring in the brazier? We may as well be warm while we can."

Maheris raised his head and sat back in his chair, his expression unreadable. He stretched out one leg and poked a dark mass on the floor. "Hang that to dry," he ordered.

Olivier picked it up, sodden fabric chilling his hands. His master's cloak - damp and encrusted with mud at the hem.

"Yes," Maheris said.

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