Had Vilon been on foot, he would have stopped dead in his tracks and stared at his squire in sheer disbelief. But he was mounted atop Chestnut,much to the stallion's restless, ear-pinning dismay, all the knight could do was shift uncomfortably in the saddle, his jaw slacking as he rocked back and forth with the horse's heavy stride.
The King's son was named Basil, too? Could it truly be...?
He thought about it, and chuckled.
As if, Vilon thought, killing a sudden, nervous chuckle by flopping his lips against the cold winter wind. He could never be the same boy.
''No he was not lad''
His own father might have called him a dull-witted fool a thousand times in his youth, but Vilon was certainly not stupid enough to believe that. A royal prince of the realm, stopping in the blood and mud of a battle's wake to deign a nameless, dirt-caked hedge knight the time of day? It was preposterous.
