Thomas pulled taut the tent rope and secured it firmly in the ground with a wooden peg. His back ached, the half-healed bruises on his hand throbbed, and he thought what a pleasant thing it would be to have an enemy to murder, like the knight in whose service he toiled. As it was, all he had to thump was tent pegs. Hundreds of them. He amused himself by pretending each one was Sir Josce. Thwak, thwak, thwak. Bloody bastard! Thwak!

‘A decent servant will be made of you yet, I daresay,' said a pleasant, lilting voice. ‘But sadly, I assume a servant is all you’ll be. I see no spurs on you. And not a hint of rebellion. How do you do it, fair Thomas? How do you keep your temper strapped as tight as your cock?’

Thomas looked up. 'Estienne,' he said, tonelessly. 'I'd bow, but I'm already bent double.'

'I prefer looking you in the eyes anyway. Stand up.'

Thomas stood, looking dully down at his dust-scuffed boots. His heart thumped painfully, the blood rising to flush his neck and cheeks rosy red. Estienne's peat-brown eyes sparkled, and his long bitter-chocolate hair was tinged with fiery amber from the sunset. He wore a long blue robe, belted with green leather and edged in primrose-yellow silk, a perfect foil for his dusky beauty.

And a mark of his high favour within the fey court. Thomas took a step back. This was no herald. 

This was trouble.

Estienne scratched his chin thoughtfully, one sharp eyebrow raised.

'I'm actually not here to tease,' he said, his sardonic manner gone. 'Far from it, in fact. I...er...oh, to the hells with it. Here.'

He stuck a hand up his sleeve and fished out half a loaf of barley bread, slightly squashed but still fragrant with yeast and honey. He held it out. 'I know you missed supper. Sir Josce's too hard on you. But eat it quickly, where he can't see. I won't risk another flogging for you on my behalf.'

Thomas took the bread. ‘What do you know about Sir Josce’s treatment of me?'

‘I have eyes, Tom. I see bruises.’

‘Pfft. I could have got them from anywhere. Training. A stumble. A kick from a horse.’ Thomas broke off a piece of bread and stuffed it in his mouth. 'I don't have the luxury of preserving a smooth hide, unlike some.'

‘I know Sir Josce. I saw him give you a beating two years ago. You’d upset a milk pail over his boots.’

The memory rose in Thomas’ brain like a rancid fog. He swallowed his mouthful of bread with difficulty. How had he not noticed someone like Estienne before? 

Estienne moved closer. ‘That little tumble he took the next day when he mounted for the tourney? I did that. A thorn under his saddle. A shame I couldn’t take credit.’

‘He was well paid for that milk-pail,’ Thomas said, his voice throaty. He coughed. ‘I owe him much more.’

'We'll see,' said Estienne, and swaggered off, a softly whistled tune on his lips.

Thomas bent again to his task. Thwak, thwak, thwak. Estienne, don't come near me! Thwak, thwak...

He wondered again how the herald was able to come and go within Sir Josce’s camp without hindrance. He had not bothered to hide his presence, dressing in the fey style and in rich fabrics too. His long hair hung, unbound, to his waist, a clear affront to the knights who wore their hair cropped short and said anything else belonged to the court ladies. 

Thomas scratched at the nape of his neck. A leather cord held his own hair bound in a tight knot, out of the sweat sticking his collar to his neck. How would it feel to let it grow so long and brush it out until it shone like bright sunlight? The twisted locks were matted with dust and sweat. It would need more than a comb and a pail of muddy water to make his hair shine.

He finished the pegs and went to the river, walking a little downstream to where the water flowed faster, though it was shallower there. He stripped and plunged in, scooping up handfuls of river-clay to scrub himself clean. He worked it through his hair and shook the tangled strands out. The water was cold, even in the heat of summer, and the blood rushed to the surface of his skin. He was in want of soap, however coarse, but the clay sufficed. Then he beat his clothes out on the rocks and spread them to dry. If Sir Josce wanted him, he’d take a beating when he wasn’t found, but he felt it worth it to be clean.

It had been a long, long time since he’d known anything like the luxury Estienne clearly lived in. He wondered how he’d managed to grow used to the squalor, the violence and hunger. To lounge in hot suds, a servant to wait on his every whim and bring him chilled wine and sugared plums would be divine.

That day would come. He swore it would. He'd take back everything that had been stolen from him, and he'd make them all pay.

 There was little chance of being accosted in Sir Josce's tent, not while he slept across his master's feet. Thomas lay, dozing, listening to the sounds of men still awake round fires, or on watch on the camp's outskirts. Coarse jokes, anecdotes and graphic tales of sexual escapades rent the still night air, and in a tent nearby a knight had clearly found a different means of entertainment, though Sir Josce had banned women from his entourage. Thomas grimaced as heat flooded his loins. Desire faded as quickly as it had come, the sounds from the nearby tent drowned by a half-shouted song the men were singing. Thomas pulled his blanket over his ears with a groan, then flung it off again as he began to sweat.

Near dawn, the call of nature could no longer be ignored, and since the camp was largely silent, Thomas crept outside in search of a bush.

'Now that is a sight I'd pay good money for,' said Estienne. Thomas stiffened, wishing he'd put a shirt on at least. The cool wind of dawn shivered along his spine, and he cupped himself protectively.

'Bugger off,' he said. 'I've made it clear I don't want you.'

His roving eyes caught sight of a long branch of hazel lying in the undergrowth. A perfect quarterstaff.

'Buggery isn't what I intend, fair Thomas,' said Estienne. 'Oh, no. I like rather more sophisticated pastimes, and I've seen you on your knees enough times to know how good you look there.'

Thomas knelt, his hand resting on the end of the hazel rod. 'Like this?' he asked, letting a hint of mischief into his voice. Let Estienne think he was going to go along with this. Let Estienne think he had only been playing hard to get. His fingers gripped.

One step, and I'll flog you senseless. Go on. Try it. Licentious bastard, just try it!

'No, not like that,' said Estienne impatiently. 'And not here. I'm not a fool! The whole camp will be rising in a heartbeat or two and I'm not about to get caught with my breeches down with your lord's favourite squire!'

Thomas relaxed a little, but he kept his fingers tight about the staff. 'I see. I hardly dare ask, and don’t you believe that I want to know - but what did you have in mind?'

Estienne pursed his lips, looking skyward. He tapped his chin. 'Mm. I'm not sure. Do you think I was out here to ambush you, fair Thomas? For a quick swive in the bushes? No, I want more from you.'

Thomas sighed. Half of him wished that a quick swive in the bushes was all Estienne wanted. Once, and nothing more. Then it would be over. But he sounded as if he intended a courtship.

A light touch feathered his shoulder and he shivered.

'In time, fair Thomas. In time,' said Estienne, and Thomas heard him walking off, his boots swishing the undergrowth as he went.

He bowed his head in shame.