“Watch out for his tactics.”
“I intend to.”
“And do not lose St. Héver’s horse. He will murder you.”
Beneath his lowered visor, Mathias wriggled his eyebrows in agreement. That was an understatement.
The field marshals made the call for ready and Sebastian scattered as Mathias moved his horse into position. The pole went down, into the cradle position as it was called, and the marshals dropped their flags. The game was on.
Mathias kept his eye on Tate as their steeds thundered toward each other. He had blocked out the crowd and everything else, focused on his opponent. More thunder and the distance closed swiftly. Tate brought the tip of his pole up, right at Mathias’ neck, but Mathias was fast. He shifted in the seat so the pole brushed past him, while at the same time, he aimed for de Lara’s big head. Rather than spear the man head-on, he turned it so the broadside of it hit de Lara right in the forehead.
The earl teetered but he didn’t go down. He did, however, drop his pole, which was considered a victory for Mathias. The crowd, seeing that perhaps this unknown de Lovern was indeedas worthy contender, cheered the man for his small victory. Mathias, without a scratch, headed back to the starting point. Sebastian was there to meet him.
“He will be out for blood now,” Sebastian said, a grin on his face. “You made a brilliant move.”
Mathias handed the joust pole to his brother while he flipped up his visor and re-adjusted his gloves. “He is going to aim for my head the next time. I will need to be vigilant or he will push me right off the horse.”
Sebastian was still grinning. “How does it feel?”
Mathias looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“The tournament,” he said, his voice softening. “How does it feel to be back?”
The corner of Mathias’ mouth twitched. “Like I never left,” he said. “Where is Father?”
Sebastian looked over his shoulder towards the crowd. “He is here, watching. He is terrified for you.”
Mathias snorted. “Mayhap, but at this moment he is as excited as we are, I promise you.”
Sebastian chuckled, handing the joust pole back to his brother. As the field marshals called for the opponents to take position, Mathias slapped his visor down and spurred the charger to the start position. The flags were dropped and the destriers lurched forward.
Sebastian had been correct. Tate aimed for Mathias’ head but it didn’t come until the last second. Mathias had to move out of the way quickly to avoid being unseated and in doing so, ended up hitting Tate squarely in the chest. The wooden support of the joust pole splintered, sending shards flying into Tate. It wasn’t until the earl reined his charger to a halt at the end of the guide that he realized two big shards had punctured him; one in the hip and one in the shoulder. They were embedded fairly deep, deeply enough so that he had to be helped from his charger.
As Mathias and the crowd awaited the verdict on whether or not Tate could continue, it took both the physic and Lady de Lara to convince Tate to forfeit the match. The projectile embedded in his hip was causing a great deal of bleeding and Lady de Lara was very distressed about it. Reluctantly, the Earl of Carlisle conceded his match to Chanson de Lovern.
The crowd, sensing that perhaps they had a people’s champion in de Lovern, began to cheer him madly as he made his way off the field. But before Mathias left completely, he turned towards the lists where Cathlina was leaning on the rail.
Cathlina saw him coming. She’d been at the rail since the bout had started, her heart in her throat at the two violent passes that Tate and Mathias had made against each other. She was only now starting to breathe easy, easier still when she saw Mathias heading in her direction. In fact, her heart began to beat madly and her palms began to sweat, so very thrilled that he was about to acknowledge her. But that was before her father came to stand next to her, scrutinizing the man who had forced his cousin to withdraw. Her excitement took a pause.
“Who is that knight?” he demanded.
Cathlina looked at her father. “His name is Chanson de Lovern.”
Saer scowled. “I know his name,” he said. “What I want to know is who he is. Where does he come from? And why did he ask you for your favor?”
Cathlina patted her father patiently on the shoulder. “Father, do not work yourself into a fit,” she said. “He was very polite to me. He seems to be rather skilled, don’t you think?”
Saer pursed his lips irritably. “Either he is very skilled or suffers the blessing of blind luck to oust Tate de Lara from the first round,” he grumbled, turning away from the rail. “I will go and see how my cousin fares.”
Cathlina continued to pat him on the shoulder even as he walked away. Frankly, she was thrilled he was leaving. “Make sure he is well tended, Papa,” she called after him. “Stay with him if you must.”
Saer acknowledged her with a wave, muttering something more to his wife as he left the stands. Meanwhile, Cathlina had returned her attention to Mathias, who had resumed his quick pace towards her. He had paused when he saw Saer, waiting to see which direction the man would take. As his charger, sweaty and foaming, bumped up against the railing, he flipped up his visor.
“How was that?” he asked. “Did you enjoy it?”
Cathlina beamed. “You are very skilled. Most impressive.”
His dark brows lifted. “It was unfortunate the lance splintered,” he said. “I was looking forward to confiscating de Lara’s horse.”
