Justus was still entrenched in their conversation, his heart still heavy and his mood morose. “Not much,” he said, watching his boys rifle through the possessions of the dead knight. “I think he is related to Wallingford.”
Mathias’ head came up. “Viscount Wallingford? He fought with Edward. If I recall correctly, he was killed during the Despenser conflict. I was a fairly young knight at the time but I seem to remember hearing that.”
Justus nodded slowly; for some reason, he couldn’t look his sons in the eye. Perhaps it was fear for what they were planning on doing. Whatever the case, he kept his eyes on the table with the armor on it. “I believe so,” he said. “The Patins should have Wallingford on it somehow. I also seem to remember hearing there was a de Braose in the family.”
As the storm whistled outside and their three horses stirred restlessly in the nearby stalls, as the smithy stall also had a small stable attached, Mathias and Sebastian bent over the items to see what was serviceable. They began pulling things apart, organizing them, and eventually Justus joined them with a large lantern with oil from pressed fruit pits. Soon enough, he was looking through the equipment, too, to see what needed to be repaired before Mathias took his life in his hands and entered the tournament set for sunrise in two days.
They didn’t have much time.
CHAPTER SIX
“How fortunate thatthe rain has moved on,” Cathlina said, shielding her eyes as she gazed up into the brilliant morning sky. “Father, do you suppose we will make it before the events begin?”
Astride his fat Belgian charger that was hairy to the point of distraction, Saer surveyed the sunrise as well. Clad in his battle armor, he discovered it was too tight that morning as he had put it on, resulting in a foul mood. Everything either cut into his flesh or chaffed. He thought someone had switched armor with him, not wanting to admit he had grown too fat to wear it. Regardless, he had squeezed into it and was now coming to regret that decision.
“Aye,” he said, rubbing his irritated eyes. “The morning will be spent on men dressing and preparing their weapons. We should see the mêlée by the nooning meal, and that will more than likely last until sunset.”
“Will you compete, Father?” Roxane asked.
Before Saer could reply, his wife Rosalund responded with a rude snort. “He willnot,” she said firmly. “He will remain with his family where he belongs. Tournaments are for younger men, not old men who have seen better days.”
Saer mumbled a curse under his breath at his mouthy wife. As most marriages were, it had been an arranged one between him and the Lady Rosalund de Ferrers almost twenty-two years ago. It had never been a love match. Sometimes he tolerated her, sometimes he actually liked her, but more often than not he couldn’t stand to be around the abrasive and foolish woman.
Rosalund was, oddly enough, a good mother to their girls, although he secretly resented the fact that she had never produced a surviving son. The one she had given birth to when Abechail had been two years old had died within a few days. Since then, no more babies and no more heirs, and that fact had prompted Saer to act recklessly and have a son with one of the serving women. Rosalund had found out and sent the boy and his mother away. These days, Saer felt rather hollow and numb to everything, his family included. It was a sad way to exist.
“I do not expect to compete,” he said, making sure he got the last word in against the wife. “I have not done so in years and have no desire to make an easy target for younger, faster men.”
“But you have more experience, Papa,” Cathlina insisted. “You do not need to be swift when you have more experience.”
Saer turned to smile at his middle child. He did feel something for Cathlina, perhaps the only daughter he had that was worth something in his mind. Roxane was plain and demanding while Abechail would more than likely not live to see adulthood. That was what the physics said, in any case. He would feel sad when he thought about that prediction but then the numbness would swallow him up again.
The women were riding in a carriage behind him, a fine vehicle with cushioned seats and an open cab. They rarely used it, as Rosalund would only allow it to be used when she was traveling, so it was in excellent condition. Rosalund and Abechail rode in on the bench facing forward while Roxane and Cathlina sat on the bench facing backwards, but Cathlina had a difficult time remaining in her seat and was on her knees facing forward, looking over the back of the seat and down the road. She was thrilled with the trip, knowing she would see Mathias at some point. That was the only true reason she had wanted to come.
But it was a trip she almost didn’t make. For her disobedience riding to town alone, her father had threatened not to take her to the tournament but she knew he would relent. Watching the back of his bald head, she knew her father would refuse her nothing if she truly wanted it. She wondered how he was going to accept the fact that she wanted Mathias.
Saer knew she had ridden into town to deliver some treats to thank the men that saved her and Abechail from the one-eyed attacker, and the truth was that he was not in complete disagreement with her actions. He was, however, furious that she had gone alone, but he didn’t imagine why. All Cathlina would tell him was that she didn’t want to be a bother and that she could travel faster alone. He had thought it a bunch of nonsense. Any mention of Mathias had been in context with his brother, so Saer was never the wiser as to Cathlina’s true motives.
She intended to keep it that way. Regaining her seat next to Roxane, who was holding a small bronze hand mirror to check her careful hairstyle, Cathlina fussed with her clothing, hoping she looked attractive enough to garner Mathias’ attention. While her mother and elder sister were dressed in complicated surcoats and kirtles, Cathlina was dressed in a pale blue surcoat of simple design.
The snug bodice had a rather low neckline, displaying her white cleavage, while long sleeves held her arms tight and served as a showcase for her slender shoulders and graceful neck. The waistline was dropped and the skirt voluminous and belled, trailing behind her slightly as she walked. Although she had a heavy cloak should the rain and cold return, she wore a white shawl made from the finest linen that draped elegantly around her shoulders and arms, and her shiny dark hair had been pulled into an elaborate braid that cascaded over her left shoulder.
The truth was that she looked utterly divine, outshining Roxane in her complex red and yellow surcoat and a matchingbarbettehat, which was a round hat with a chinstrap made of delicate and soft material. Beneath it, Roxane’s frizzy brown hair had been brushed and pinned and smoothed with grease to keep it from getting out of control. It was difficult being the older, and plainer, sister and Roxane was very good at being a martyr at it. She liked to make Cathlina feel guilty for the simple fact that she had been born beautiful.
But Cathlina wasn’t thinking about her petty sister at the moment. She was thinking about Mathias and how she could slip away from the festivities to visit him at his stall. She had an excuse, of course, and that was to collect the basket she had brought the treats in, and she was positive he would be very busy today of all days. Perhaps he would only give her a few moments of his time. Perhaps he would only give her a smile and a word. Whatever he gave her, she would take it and gladly. She had thought of nothing else but Mathias for the past two days.
As she sat there and daydreamed over the tall, dark smithy, the carriage bumped down the road towards Brampton. The ground was heavily saturated from the rains that had pummeled the land for the past two days, miraculously cleared up before dawn. Even now, birds sailed against the blue expanse, searching for a meal, as the party from Kirklinton Castle kept up a clipped pace.
Saer, Beauson, and Dunstan were at the head of the group while ten men-at-arms followed the carriage, also driven by two soldiers. The road was relatively empty for the most part but as they drew closer to town, the traffic picked up. People were coming in from Carlisle to the west and points as far east as Hexham. The ladies in the carriage grew more excited as the traffic increased, straining to see all of the lords and ladies in their fine clothing. With the rains gone, it seemed that everyonewanted to be out and about. The closer they drew to town, the more it became a parade.
Entering the city limits, people were everywhere. Abechail ended up on Cathlina’s lap, both girls watching the crowds curiously. A party of nobles arrived with men in silks and a fine lady in a tall wimple walking two skinny dogs on gold leashes. They saw another fine lady with a pet rabbit in her arms, and still another with a fat white goat who rode on the horse with its master. It was all quite thrilling and Abechail began to lament the fact that she did not have a pet.
It was truly a day to see and be seen, but as the sun advanced in the sky, so did the temperature. The roads were quickly drying out and the muddy puddles all over town were starting to evaporate, but along with the evaporation came the smells of human habitation and dirty animals. When they reached the point on the avenue that seemed to be down-wind from the town’s sludge pit, a big gusty breeze blew the foul stench right across their path. Abechail put her fingers to her nose.
“The smell!” she exclaimed, looking at Cathlina. “It smells so awful!”
Cathlina agreed, putting her fingers to her nose, too. “Papa, are we almost there?”
Saer could see that they had set up the tournament field to the north side of the village where temporary lists had been constructed. Bright red banners on tall poles were snapping in the wind, announcing the location of the games and drawing people towards the area like moths to the flame. He nodded to Cathlina.
