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back.
Erik was busy studying the scene. Things were happening down at the village. Hastily someone was closing the gate. Below them, the proctor who had led the charge was staggering to his feet.
"What cowardice is this?" roared one of the older Ritters. "Now we'll have to ram that gate."
Szpak, riding up behind him, knocked him off his horse too. He pointed down at the hamlet. "There's a cross on that building down there, fools. It's a Christian settlement."
"They're pretending," said Von Naid. "They put up a cross and they think they're safe to go out raiding. Burn them, I say. I was a confrere Knight of the Holy Trinity once, and you shame the order. Fritz—you saw them. They've got our captives and kine, they made an unprovoked attack on one of us. Killed one of us." He turned on Szpak. "If you're too cowardly, Pole peasant, I'll lead the attack myself! To me, Ritters!"
"Hold," said Mecklen. It was said with the grim authority of command.
"Who do you think you are to give orders?" said one of the older knights to Mecklen, jerking at his horse's mouth, turning toward the hamlet.
Mecklen leaned over and grabbed the reins. "I am an Archimandrite in the order," he said, "And I am authorized by the Abbot-General himself to give force to the orders of his representative, Prince Manfred of Brittany. You have been ordered to stand. Who are you?"
The older knight gaped. "Ritter Denen."
But Szpak saw more. He saw, as Erik did, that the situation was far from under control. And, as he'd told Erik, most of these young men had seen no action before. "Form up," he yelled. "An orderly formation now . You. Denen. Dismount and see what can be done for Ritter Von Aasen. The Knights of the Holy Trinity obey orders from their officers. We do not take them from ex-confreres." Then he turned on Von Naid. "And I'll settle any doubts you have about my courage, on your body, personally."
Most of the knights had been squires under Szpak. Several of them actually laughed, despite the situation. The idea that anyone would doubt the Polish proctor's courage was more than a little ludicrous to them. Almost as ridiculous as picking a fight with their ex-instructor. And they were used to being ordered around by him, so they obeyed, unquestioningly.
Mecklen was plainly used to being in command, too. And he'd had to keep a still tongue between his teeth for some weeks now. He turned on the formed-up troop of knights. "This is one of the most disgustingly sloppy operations I have ever had the misfortune to witness. No scouts. No proper order of march, no forward planning, and no proper military discipline exercised. Now. Someone fired an arrow from that copse over there. You. Proctor Szpak. You seem to be the only man blessed with any brains and military training in all Skåne or Småland. Send out a patrol. Now. See if you can find the bowman. He can't have got far."
"Sir." Szpak saluted and turned back to the knights and began issuing orders.
Mecklen looked at Manfred. "If we could have a private word, Prince."
Erik walked his horse over to Szpak, en route to join Manfred and Mecklen. "Von Naid or his men may try to run, Juzef," he said, quietly.
"I've already spoken to six of my . . . boys," said the Polish knight grimly. "He's not getting away before I've dealt with him."
Erik rode over to the Archimandrite, smiling a little. Their wheat winnowing had brought better rewards than he'd expected.
"Well? Just what is happening here, Your Highness?" Mecklen asked Manfred as Erik rode up.
Manfred scratched his jaw. "I think somehow word came from Denmark about Francesca's activities and what I am supposed to be doing here. A messenger arrived two nights ago, and I think that the local powers-that-be put together a clumsy attempt to get me involved in a really messy butchery of a Christian settlement. Good for blackmail, good for convincing a green and spoiled nobleman that this was a dangerous part of the world and
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