The Ill-Made Knight

Epilogue

Sir William smiled his half-smile at Master Chaucer, who was leaning his elbows on the table. Froissart was awake — wide-eyed, scribbling notes on a wax tablet. John de Blake couldn’t take his eyes off his master. Aemilie had, at some point, acquired a stool and was asleep with her head against the wall.

‘You came back, I see,’ the knight said.

Chaucer grunted. ‘What choice did I have, with your archers raising the roof?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Worse than satyrs, and louder.’

‘Such a story!’ Froissart said.

Chaucer’s eyes met Gold’s across the table. ‘Some of it’s even true,’ he said. He said it with venom, but Gold threw back his head and laughed. He roared.

And Chaucer couldn’t help it. He laughed, too.