All around him was an incredibly beautiful green parkland. There seemed to be huge trees everywhere, and the grass was neatly manicured. They trotted down a well-paved road. Here and there through the greensward and trees he could see great houses of shining white marble. He had never imagined a place such as this within the City, and Susanna had said nothing about it. How like her, he smiled to himself, to want him to be surprised, and see for himself. And it was quiet. Several feet past the entrance the cacophony of the City had disappeared entirely. He wondered if the Garden District, where the Crusader Knights lived, was quiet like this, too. A man could actually think in such quiet.

John grew alert once more as the cart in which he traveled turned down a narrow road of white gravel. As his transport passed by, liveried servants stepped from behind the flowering bushes to rake the path smooth again. Such a thing would have never occurred to him had he not seen it for himself, he thought, amazed. The cart drew up before the house now. He had no time to observe but that it had a rotunda over the main entrance, before a servant stepped forward to help him from his transport and usher him into the building. He was taken to a wide marble bench in the rotunda, and told to sit. Before him was a rectangular pool at one end of which was a bronze boy on a dolphin. Water spouted gently from the fish’s mouth. There were green water hyacinths floating in the pool.

“Someone will come for you when the master can see you,” the servant said, and then he was gone.

John Swiftsword sat. The day was warm. He was thirsty, and had had nothing to eat as he had departed early from his hovel. First he had gone to the armorer to be measured for the suit of armor he would need, and then he had walked across the City to the Golden District. A cup of water would have been nice, he considered, but John Swiftsword knew he was of little importance, and would be offered no refreshment. He waited. He was startled when a small goldfish leaped up from the pool, splashing back down into the water. The sun reached its zenith, and poured into the rotunda. The air was still, and it grew hot. He struggled not to doze in the still heat. It had not seemed so warm in the City outside of the Golden District this morning. And then finally a man came forward, and spoke to John.

“I am one of Gaius Prospero’s secretaries. You will come with me.” He turned without waiting for any reply. John stood and quickly followed the man into a side hallway, down its length and into a large room. “Wait here,” the secretary said, and disappeared through a door at the end of the room.

John Swiftsword stood quietly. In the center of the room was a great round black-and-gold-flecked marble table with solid gold legs that had gold balls and claw feet. Upon the table was a great round polished stone vase from which a colorful arrangement of exotic blooms spilled. One side of the room was an open colonnade, and beyond it a small garden. He would have liked to have looked into that garden, but he dared not move. His manners, for he did have them, overcame his curiosity.

“Come this way,” the secretary’s voice snapped, breaking his reverie.

He was ushered into another large room where sitting at a long marble table was the man he had come to see, for it could only be Gaius Prospero in that thronelike chair.

“You may go, Jonah,” Gaius Prospero told the secretary. Then he looked at John Swiftsword.

The mercenary bowed politely, and waited for the Master of the Merchants to speak. You did not speak unless spoken to by a great man, he knew.

“So you are to become a Crusader Knight,” Gaius Prospero began.

“I should like to, but nothing is certain, my lord, as you surely know,” the mercenary replied.

“It should please me if you did,” came the surprising reply. “And there are others who agree with me. Your battle skills are legend, John Swiftsword. The Order of Crusader Knights is where you rightfully belong.”

“Thank you, my lord,” John said.

“This will be, of course, about your decision to sell me your beautiful daughter,” Gaius Prospero began the negotiation.

“Yes, my lord,” John replied.

“I had your wife remove her garment. She is exquisitely made. Every Pleasure House in the City will want her. The bidding will be unprecedented. And I had my physician validate her virginity. I am pleased that she is fully intact. Her first-night rights will bring her owner a fortune.” He smiled. “And she is half faerie, if I understood your wife correctly?”

His temples were throbbing. They had stripped his daughter of her clothing to examine her? They had probed her innocence? He blinked back the bloodred in his eyes, swallowed hard and said, “Yes, my lord. Her mother was a faerie woman called Ilona. She was my first woman, and came to me on a Midsummer’s Eve.”

“A most powerful time,” Gaius Prospero remarked. “Now, John Swiftsword, are you willing to sell your daughter to me?”

This was the moment he had dreaded. Closing his eyes briefly, he nodded and said, “Aye, I will sell Lara to you, my lord.” He wanted to weep. He wanted to run from the room where he now stood before the great Master of the Merchants. But he did not. He opened his eyes, and looked directly at Gaius Prospero.

“Excellent! And a most wise decision on your part, John Swiftsword. I am pleased to see you are not restrained by any foolish sentiments for the girl. I shall have Jonah bring the papers for you to sign now. You do write, don’t you?”

“I both read and write,” the mercenary responded, “as does my daughter.”

The Master of the Merchants raised an eyebrow. “Then the girl is even more priceless,” he said. “Magical beauty, innocence and an education.” He rubbed his hands.

“I beg one boon of you, my lord,” John Swiftsword quickly interjected.

“And that is?” Gaius Prospero asked. What could the man possibly want? He was being paid a fortune for his merchandise.

“Please, my lord, I will sign your papers today, but let my daughter remain with me until the time of the tournament.”

So the mercenary loved his child. “You will need monies for your clothing, your armor and your weapons,” the Master of the Merchants reminded John Swiftsword.

“I will ask only what my wife needs for materials,” John said, “and a down payment to the armorer and the swordsmith. They are my friends, and will accept a final payment after the tourney ends.”

Gaius Prospero considered the request. “The girl will not run away?” he asked.

“Nay, she is an obedient lass, and my wife and I will explain all the advantages this change in her circumstances will afford her. Lara is not a stupid girl. She will understand that this future we have planned for her will be a good future. Please, my lord. It is unlikely I shall ever see my child again once she leaves me.”

The mercenary was right, of course. Crusader Knights were family men who generally cleaved to their wives, although he knew some who had the morals of alley cats. Still, it was unlikely this father and daughter would meet again. Gaius Prospero loved his own two daughters dearly, and this was an area in which he was disposed to be reasonable. “I will have it written into our agreement,” he said.

Then he struck a bronze gong that sat on the table, and almost immediately the secretary Jonah was there, bowing to his master. The Master of the Merchants gave him his instructions. “And be quick. John Swiftsword will want to tell his wife and daughter of our agreement today, and he must walk across the City before dark. And I have promised my daughters that we are going to the farm for a few days. Send a message to my wife that we will leave within the hour, and have the traveling vehicle ready.” Then the Master of the Merchants turned to John Swiftsword and said, “Perhaps you would enjoy waiting in my little garden. Jonah will come for you when the papers are ready for us to sign.”

The mercenary bowed, turned and followed Jonah into the anteroom. When the secretary had disappeared in a cloud of his own importance John Swiftsword walked through the colonnade into the small garden. One day he would have a house with a garden like this. A garden where Susanna could sit at her loom, or with her sewing on the warm days. A garden where Mikhail could play in safety. And when he had that garden he would remember Lara with silent thanks. He sighed and sat down on a small marble bench, looking about him more carefully. There was a small fishpond in the middle of the walled garden. There was a miniature flowering tree at the end of each flowerbed. The beds were filled with blooms. Reds and pinks. Purples and lavenders. Yellow, orange and blues. And white flowers that perfumed the little garden with an incredible sweetness. It was so beautiful, and so perfect he felt near to weeping. Or was it the garden? He brushed the tears from his eyes.

He had no other choice. He knew with certainty that if he entered the tourney he would win a place for himself among the Crusader Knights, and in doing so he, Susanna and Mikhail would ascend to a higher social strata. They would never be poor again. Even if he were injured in his duties, and unable to serve his order further, he and his family would be taken care of. To remain a mercenary could only lead to eventual disaster. Susanna was right. His daughter was the only valuable thing he possessed. To retain Lara in his custody would be to doom them all to continued poverty and misfortune. He must put his sentiment, his memories, firmly aside and do what was right for all of them. He heard an impatient cough, and looking up saw the secretary, Jonah.

“My master is ready for you,” the secretary said haughtily.

“Where are the papers?” John Swiftsword asked.