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“Who are you?” the elder asked. “What’s your business in Autun?” He indicated the child with the blade of his spear. “Beggars not allowed in Autun. Go elsewhere.”
“I found this child abandoned in the woods. Has the biscop no foundling home? Is there no monastery nearby that takes in orphans?”
“I don’t know,” said the man, “but not likely, I’d say. Haven’t grain enough to feed the lady’s household and her army. Certain there isn’t spare for a dirty crippled brat like that one. See you there, Jochim,” he said to the lad, “see his twisted legs.”
“He’s crippled,” said the lad brightly.
“So he is, but was he born with the twisted legs? Or did his mam or uncle gave it a twist so as folk would pity him and give bread and coin?”
“Nay.” The lad shook his head. “Nay, no mam would do that. Would she?”
“Some might. Or a handsome uncle, like this one who carries him. Look at his decent clothes, who leaves a babe wrapped in only a bit of torn cloth. He found a babe forgot in the woods? I know what lurks in the woods. All those driven out of town by my lady’s order. Thieves and whores and murderers. Nay, fellow.” He lowered his spear to block the path. In the distance a pair of farmers looked their way. “We want none of your kind in our town.”
“His cloak is shorn off,” said the lad. “See? That’s what the babe is wearing. Why would he tear his own cloak, if it’s true he cares nothing for the babe but only his own comfort? He could buy a rag from a peddler for nothing and save the cloak.”
“Dog,” said the child.
“Unless he were kicked out of town and the babe’s rag lost in the wood.”
Alain sighed. “I’m no beggar. If you’ll tell me where I can find a foundling home, I’ll take this child there.”
They shrugged. The youth seemed eager to depart. The elder lingered. “Don’t matter whether I believe you or think you’re lying. You can’t enter the city with that begging child. Everyone can see he’s a beggar’s child. No entrance.”
“Are there no poor sitting in the lady’s hall, fed by her stewards?” asked Alain. “Can it be she has forgotten the ancient custom? Did not King Henry feed a dozen beggars every day off his very own table?”
The elder spat. “Get on. Speak not of Henry, the usurper. Well! He’s gone now. Some say he’s dead.”
“Did he so?” asked the youth. “A dozen beggars, every day?”
“Or more, on feast days,” said Alain, standing his ground.
“How do you know?” demanded the elder. “How could a man such as you know? How could you have stood in the hall where noble folk took their supper?”
“I was a Lion, once.” And more besides, but he would not speak of those days to this man.
“A Lion!” The youth whistled appreciatively, with a look of respect. “A Lion! They take some tough fighting, it’s said. Duke Conrad takes in any Lions that come this way. Strays, like.”
The gaze of the older soldier had shifted in an intangible way. “Were you now? Seen any fighting? Ever kill a man?”
Weary, Alain met his gaze. “I have seen fighting. I killed a man.” One who was already dying.
“Huh. I believe you. Huh.” He glanced toward the town walls where twin banners curled limply at the height of the tower, concealing their sigils. The clouds moved sluggishly overhead, although it often seemed to Alain that they did not move at all, not anymore. “The lady needs soldiers. There’s a bed and a meal every day if you join up with her. Interested?”
“What of the child?”
“Is he some kinsman of yours?”
“I found him abandoned in the woods, just as I said.”
“Then why burden yourself with him? Look at him! That child’s half dead, crippled, useless. Can it even speak?”
“Dog,” said the babe.
“Dog!” snorted the youth. “A good name, don’t you think? We could clean him up and take him in the barracks as a mascot, Calos. Put him up on a chair by the door and teach him to say ‘dog’ every time one of Captain Alfonse’s Salian braggarts comes past.”
Calos choked down a laugh, but it was easy to see the notion amused him.
“The lady has Salian soldiers in her retinue?” Alain asked.
