Part 24 (2/2)

Tears flooded Servanne's eyes as she watched Eduard brush past her and run out of the room. She wanted to go after him-he was just a boy, regardless of how manly he tried to act!-to take him by the arms and shake some sense into him. But she knew it would be to no avail. She felt helpless, caught between the unbreachable honour of the father and now the son.

”Ohhh ...” She looked for something to break, something to smash into a million bits to vent some of her frustration, and when she turned, she saw Biddy standing a few paces away. The maid had been wakened by Eduard's last heart-wrenching shout, and while she had not been privy to their conversation, she could see the extent of her lamb's pain and fear.

Her chins trembling, she stretched her arms out with an offer of solace, and Servanne accepted gratefully, stumbling forward into Biddy's protective embrace.

”Oh Biddy ... what shall I do? What shall I do? Why did we ever leave Wymondham? Why did you not prevail upon me to enter a convent and live out my days behind st.u.r.dy walls of peace and solitude?”

Biddy pursed her lips. ”Because you would always have craved the life outside those walls, my child. Your eyes would always have turned toward the horizon and your heart would have ached to be free.”

”It aches now. Almost too unbearably to endure.”

”I know. I feared as much. But you must not let the ache cloud your judgment. Nor should you insist upon bearing the burden alone. Tell me what ails you, lamb. A shared trouble is only half so much the worry.”

Servanne buried her face in Biddy's bosom. ”There is so much,” she sobbed. ”I do not know where to begin.”

”There, there. It cannot be as bad as all this.”

”It is, Biddy! It is even worse!”

”Worse than you sending me off on some fool's errand so you could slip away in the company of that scoundrel Friar?”

Servanne choked back a half-formed sob and lifted her head. ”You knew? You saw us?”

”I may be old and tending to dribble my soup on my chin, but I am not blind. So now, out with it, missy. Where did you go and who were you with until-saints preserve us, it must be nigh on dawn! And what was all this shouting about fathers and sons and breaking of oaths of honour?”

”Eduard saved me from being discovered in the Dragon's bedchamber. He and I were both trapped in the wardrobe and overheard Nicolaa de la Haye telling the baron that his brother is Randwulf de la Seyne Sur Mer. And And she called him Etienne, Biddy! she called him Etienne, Biddy! She called him Etienne!” She called him Etienne!”

”She called who Etienne ... Eduard?”

”No ... the baron! baron! The baron is Etienne Wardieu, and Randwulf de la Seyne Sur Mer is Lucien Wardieu!” The baron is Etienne Wardieu, and Randwulf de la Seyne Sur Mer is Lucien Wardieu!”

Biddy regarded her young mistress as one might regard an inmate bound for Bedlam. ”And you believe this?”

”Of course I believe it,” Servanne exclaimed. ”I was with Lucien for most of the night. We ... we pledged our love.”

Biddy used her wimple to dab at the sweat beading across her brow. ”First ... you claim you have been convinced the Black Wolf of Lincoln is Lucien Wardieu; now you say the Scourge of Mirebeau is Lucien Wardieu. Which is it to be?”

”Both. All three are the same man. I know it sounds confusing-it is is confusing, and must be even more so for poor Eduard who has just now found out the man he had thought was his father is really his uncle, and the man his uncle intends to kill on the morrow is really his father.” confusing, and must be even more so for poor Eduard who has just now found out the man he had thought was his father is really his uncle, and the man his uncle intends to kill on the morrow is really his father.”

It was too much for Biddy to absorb. Her knees began to wobble and she plumped down heavily on the bench Servanne rushed to place beneath her.

”What shall I do, Biddy? Lucien must be told, he must be warned of the danger now that his brother knows his secret.”

”Yes. Yes, child, we will think of something.”

Servanne stood for another moment, then sank slowly onto her knees beside Biddy. The older woman cradled the golden head in her lap and smoothed a wrinkled hand over the s.h.i.+ny, sleek crown of waves, feeling very much like her own heart, or mind, or both were about to explode.

”Hush now,” she advised sagely. ”Another hour and the dawn will be full upon us. We can think then of what we must do. We can think then.”

23.

Long before the dusty pink clouds tumbled away below the horizon, the tilting grounds bustled with activity. The tournament was to be held on a wide green field that was part of the outer bailey, and overnight silk pavilions in every shade of the rainbow had sprung up like mushrooms in the shadow of the towering ramparts. The lists were enclosed in temporary wooden palisades. A dais had been built in the middle to allow the privileged spectators and guests of honour to watch the activities on the tilting fields or, by a turning of their chair, the archery contests, wrestling matches, jugglers, and tumblers.

Forming a wing along one side of the dais was a second area of tiered seating reserved mainly for the ladies and their serving-women. This was the Bower of Beauty and usually the scene of much amused scandal and gossip, for a knight entering the lists would often pause here to tilt his lance to a favoured damosel and collect his token-a scarf of bit of coloured lace-in returned acknowledgment. By midday, the bower would be filled with ladies who glowed in brilliant tunics and glittered in an array of gemstones, all of them laughing and fluttering amongst themselves like a flock of sun-drenched b.u.t.terflies.

The De Gournay colours were prominent everywhere, interspersed with flags, pennants and crests of visiting knights and lords. The air was still enough at dawn to render the ocean of parti-hued silks limp and listless, but as the sun rose higher in the crisp blue sky, a salty breeze came in from the sea to whip and snap the flags to attention.

While he guests dressed in their finery and filed into the great has to break their fasts, the castle's men-at-arms, wearing full protective armour of stiffened bullhide, took up their positions along the borders of the tilting grounds. Earliest to the field, they discouraged children from playing too close to the pavilions, and ominously warned away any persons who had not a specific task to perform in preparing for the games.

Sentries lined up like crows along the crenellated battlements. Each wore full armour, their b.r.e.a.s.t.s and backs protected by added plates of steel sewn over the leather. Every tenth man wore chain mail and carried a kite-shaped s.h.i.+eld emblazoned with the De Gournay dragon and wolf. They wore swords strapped at their waists and held their crossbows with the casual ease of men trained to shoot first and query later.

The two-ton portcullis gate remained down, although there was a large crowd gathering outside who had ventured from local villages in hopes of watching the spectacle. The Dragon of Bloodmoor Keep had never opened his castle to the general rabble in the past, and probably would not do so today, but they gathered and grumbled anyway, and craned their necks to see through the iron teeth of the portcullis. Enterprising vendors set up their carts to sell cakes and meat pasties, and a second party of minstrels, jugglers, and revelers added colour and sound to the bleak backdrop of the moor.

There were a few admitted to the castle through the narrow oak gates of one of the barbican towers. Late arrivals who could produce proof of an invitation were pa.s.sed through the heavily armed guards. Minstrels and jongleurs who could win a grudging smile were beckoned through, but only if they were dressed in such a way as to boast success at their profession, and only if they could pay the exorbitant bribes demanded by the sentries.

One pair of minstrels and their diminutive, tumbling companion won particular applause from crowds on both sides of the gates. Twins as strikingly alike as peas in a pod played the lute and viol, while beside them, the peasants were awed by the antics of a curly-haired dwarf who could produce coins from ears and bouquets of feathers from ordinary twigs.

Five crossbowmen thumbed aside the safety latches on their weapons simultaneously and sighted their bolts on an enormous, barrel-chested Welshman who strode through the gates scowling like a hungry bear. He planted his seven-foot frame in the middle of a cleared court and waited until every eye in the crowd was fixed on him. A grizzly smile slashed through the wire fuzz of his beard and in a smooth stroke, he unfastened and tossed his huge flowing mantle aside. As one, the crowed gasped and pressed back. The giant was naked from the waist up, the marbled slabs of muscle were oiled and gleaming under the morning sun. Almost instantly, a second well-greased, semi-naked wrestler stepped out of the crowd to accept the mute challenge, and, spitting voraciously into the palms of their hands, the adversaries dropped into a crouch and began circling.

Squires, pages, and servants belonging to the knights who were slated to partic.i.p.ate in the tournament, bustled to and from the pavilions laying out armour and weapons, inspecting all for flaws or defects, and soundly boxing the ears of anyone responsible for a smudge or spot of tarnish.

As the excitement mounted and the spectators' seats began to fill, the jongleurs and minstrels took to the field to entertain their appreciative-and captive-audience. Providing background noises were the whinnies and screams of the destriers who were paraded up from the stables to be groomed and fretted. They would have to look their most magnificent today, bedecked in plumes and silk trappings, their manes and tails plaited and bound with ribbons, ta.s.sles, and heavy gold braid. Few stood less than eighteen hands high, none were reluctant to nip at the men and boys who tended them. These war-horses were specially trained to run a course without slowing, swerving, or balking; to respond to the commands given through the rider's thighs, since most knights needed both hands free for weapons. In battle, these beasts would react savagely to the scent of blood, and not even their own masters, if sorely wounded in a confrontation, were safe from the threat of crus.h.i.+ng hooves.

Other dangers were minimized as much as possible if the tournament was being staged for entertainment. Lances were blunted and swords sheathed in leather. Such protective measures did not mean to say a man split from his saddle could not break his neck or his back in a fall, or that the impact of a lance striking square in the chest could not crush the ribs inward and pierce through the heart. It was a generally accepted rule in such games to keep the tip of the twenty-foot steel lance lowered and to aim no higher than the shoulder for a strike. Breastplates of twice-tempered iron would usually absorb and deflect the blows, thus preventing serious injury while still sending the unlucky knight sprawling to defeat on the trammeled ground.

Squires stood by to catch the horses. Adjudicators were positioned along the alleys to judge fair or foul play. A win gained through a deliberate foul was negated in the rules, and if the victim died as a result of the foul, his gear- armour, saddle, weapons, and horse-was given to the surviving heirs, not the winner. Few knights who found themselves staring down the lists at a hated enemy cared for rules of chivalric behaviour and gladly forfeited their prizes for the chance to send their rivals to perdition. But for the most part, the entrants were well behaved, and matches set up to avoid pitting known antagonists together.

Naturally, the match between the Dragon of Bloodmoor Keep and the Scourge of Mirebeau was causing the most excitement. The two were undefeated champions on their home terrain and it was eagerly a.s.sumed the codes of chivalry would be drenched in gore before the end of the day.

What both men were doing to prepare themselves for the upcoming match was the subject of much speculation, for neither had been present in the great hall for the morning repast.

”What do you mean you cannot find him?” De Gournay asked, his anger causing him to thrust aside the helping hands of the servant endevouring to dress him.

Rowlens, the castle seneschal and chamberlain, swallowed hard and wiped at the beads of sweat trickling down to his chin.

”My lord, he is nowhere he should be expected to be. My men have searched the stables, the baileys, the barracks. He has not been seen at the smithy or the armoury since yester_ tide. He was not at chapel this morning, nor at table as is his wont early of a morning.”

”Well, now that we know where he has not been,” Wardieu snarled, ”what I wish to know and what I command you to find out, is where he is now!” where he is now!”

”My lord, surely another squire could be fetched to a.s.sist you-”

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