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Michael went hurriedly to look out the window. "A
knight," he reported. "A Knight of the Rose, by his armor."
"We must make him welcome," said Nikol.
The Measure dictated the treatment of a guest, who was
said to be a "jewel upon the pillow of hospitality." The
honor of the knighthood bound Nikol to offer shelter, food,
whatever comfort her home could provide to the stranger.
She stirred, rose from her chair. Glancing down at her
shabby men's clothes, she seemed perplexed.
"I'm not dressed to receive visitors. My father was very
strict about that. We always put on our finest clothes to
honor the guest. My father wore his ceremonial sword...."
Looking around, as if she thought a dress might
materialize from out of the air, she caught sight of her
brother's sword, standing in its place upon the weapons'
rack. She buckled the sword about her waist, and went to
make the guest welcome - her first voluntary actions in
days.
Michael followed her, silently thanking this knight,
whoever he was, whatever his reason for being here. The
man obviously had traveled far; his black horse was coated
with dust and sweat.
Nikol entered the courtyard. If the strange knight was
shocked at her shabby appearance, he politely gave no
indication. In this day and age, perhaps he was used to the
sight of impoverished members of the knighthood. He drew
his sword, held it to his helm, blade upward, in gesture of
salute and peace.
"My lord," he said. "I regret that I have no squire to
ride forward and give notice of my coming
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