“These are the practice yards,” my sponsor said. He pointed to a solidly built squire. “Owen of Jesslaw. He’s fierce in wrestling matches.”

“Sir Myles’s squire? I hear he’s brilliant.”

“Always has top marks.” He shrugged.

Owen was alone, practicing staff work against a straw dummy. His expression was intense and sweat poured down his back. He stopped and grinned in our direction. With a jaunty wave, he wiped his brown and got back to training.

“He’s... happy.”

“Owen’s like Lord Wyldon. Always happiest in the face of hard work.” My sponsor frowned, but his tone of voice exposed his admiration.