Free Sword of Justice (White Knight Series) by Jude Chapman Page A

him across the kidneys. The giant toppled. The earth trembled and pitched. Both men wallowed in collective misery, spitting out rushes and nursing mammoth bruises.
    “You’re not Stephen,” Baldric rasped. “You’re Drake.”
    “If it soothes your pride any,” said Drake, rasping likewise, “so be it.” He sat upright. The Winchester night spun sickeningly. The giant laughed jovially and slapped him on the back. Though the buffet was a friendly one, Drake struggled to catch his breath.
    Still laughing, Baldric reached down and hoisted him off the ground. “Come.” He took Drake to a dilapidated shack down by the river. Outside, a tall roan of fine breeding and good legs was tethered to a tree. Inside, the air was damp, musty, and stank with the foul odor of river water. Shuffling over an earthen floor, Baldric lit tapers and gestured toward a stool for Drake to sit. “Since no one wanted the use of it except the vermin, I moved in, so I did.”
    “Cozy.” Drake took in the squalor.
    “Aye, a touch of home, it is.”
    “Which is where?”
    “Here, there, and everywhere.” He slapped a ewer along with two earthenware goblets onto a rough-hewn board balanced over tree stumps. “I’m an itinerant knight who’s seen more bad times than good. I follow the tourneys and hire out my services when there’s pay to be had.”
    “And a man to be hanged?”
    “That,” he said, claiming the remaining stool, “comes without charge.” Baldric braced his back against the daub-and-wattle wall and spread his enormous legs outward like a wishbone. “Like old times,” he said, holding a goblet aloft. “Except for you being hog-tied like a sacrificial lamb.”
    “It gladdens my heart to know someone was passing a pleasant evening.”
    The giant drank deeply and let out a belch. “Aye, the Twyfords are exemplary hosts, particularly when leaving castle and hearth in the hands of their spoilt son.”
    “Was the wine good?”
    “Plentiful might be a better word.”
    “The Twyfords are known for getting by on show instead of substance.”
    “So I noticed.”
    Drake brought the goblet to his mouth, sniffed, and drank. Instantly repentant, he wheezed, “What’s this brewed from? Cow dung?”
    A broad smile rose on the giant’s fat lips. “You like?”
    “It has a certain … punch.”
    “Brewed it myself, I did.” Baldric sucked and slurped, then sighed with a gust of wind.
    “Why am I not surprised?” Drake took another taste. The brew clearly had curative value. “You needn’t have tied the ropes so tight.”
    “’Tis true, Drake, I will not deny my part in your near demise. Acted upon my code as a righteous knight, I did, against what I believed to be a depraved killer, serving justice where justice cried out for revenge.”
    “God save me from righteous mercenaries.”
    “But when I ascertained you were a victim, likely as much as our dear departed Maynard, I did what was within my power.”
    “Tied the knots tighter?”
    “After Graham lit out with Satan on his shoulder, for certes I knew we had been betrayed.”
    “As in you and me?”
    “I was prepared to save your skinny neck from the rope. But … as it came about … you rescued yourself.” Drake’s eyes leapt up. “Aye, I watched from a distance. Wouldn’t have believed you had the cunning did I not see it with my own eyes.”
    “And let me run around in circles.”
    “Who was I to intrude on a family reunion?”
    “We could have gone for ale and celebrated properly.”
    “The way you rearranged Rufus and Seward was a mark of courage, not to mention skill. I hold a great deal of respect for you, Drake, make no mistake.”
    Drake took another swallow, each one bringing him nearer the Elysian Fields.
    “Tell me, your father received no ransom note?”
    “As well you know.”
    “I know nothing until I am told. I am but a knight who heeded the hue and cry of my fellow knights.”
    “Only too eager to hang an innocent man, not knowing