Page 50 of Forbidden
“Simon…I have two men-at-arms with that name.”
Simon nodded. It was hardly an uncommon name.
“Who was your last lord?” Erik asked.
“Robert.”
“There are many Roberts.”
“Aye.”
Erik turned to Alfred. The knight’s features were as blunt as a fist, but he was a fine man in a fight.
“Not much for talk, is he?” Erik asked Alfred dryly. “Has he taken a vow?”
“He is talkative enough with that black sword he wears,” Alfred said. “He had Donald and Malcolm on their backs before they knew what happened.”
Erik turned back to Simon.
“Impressive,” Erik said. “Have you been blooded?”
“Aye.”
“Where?”
“In the Holy War.”
Erik nodded, unsurprised. “There is a Saracen look to your blade.”
“It drinks outlaw blood as readily as Turkish,” Simon said calmly.
Erik smiled. “And Norse?”
“The blade cares not.”
“Well, we have outlaws in plenty.”
“You have three less than formerly.”
Tawny eyebrows lifted in a combination of amusement and surprise.
“When?” Erik asked.
“Two days past.”
“Where?”
“Near a lightning-struck tree and a stream coming from a cleft in the mountainside,” Simon said.
“’Tis the boundary of Lord Robert’s lands,” Erik said.
Simon shrugged. “It looked like no man’s land to me.”
“That will change.”
In silence, Erik measured the knight for a long moment, taking in the well-used, well-made clothes and weapons, and the excellent lines of the horse Simon rode.
“Have you armor?” he asked.
