Essien grinned. “He’s doing that on purpose,” he said. “He will not give my horse back to me, or sell him back to me, but he’ll let me win him. It’s an incentive.”
Ashton chuckled. “Will it work?”
“Let’s hope so.”
“My lord?”
A call came from behind, and they both turned to see one of the marshals standing there. He was looking at Essien.
“Your bout is coming up shortly,” the man said. “You are requested to attend to the field immediately.”
Essien nodded and the man walked away. Ashton began helping him with the rest of his protection, instructing the two de Lohr brothers to gather his things and get the horse ready. As the activity picked up in preparation for the coming bout, Ashton finished securing what amounted to a stiff leather breastplate that would remain underneath the tunic Essien would wear. It was meant to protect the chest area from the blow of a lance, a little extra reassurance.
“De Wolfe sits low in his saddle,” Ashton muttered as he secured the straps on the breastplate. “That makes him difficult to unseat, so you are going to have to force him out of that crouch.”
Essien was listening. “Aim for his head.”
“Exactly,” Ashton said. “Aim for his head, and when he realizes that, he’ll try to move to the side. That will shift his balance. Hit him on the shoulder he drops, which will probably be his right, and he will fall. That is, if you can get past the lance. The man uses a sword with his left, but a lance with his right. You may not be able to go around the lance unless you, too, shift your position in the saddle. That leaves you vulnerable.”
Essien took it all in. He’d gone against William before, twice, and each of them had a victory. This time, however, Essien was going to come out on top. He wasn’t going to let the knight who’d tried to hide exploding lances get a win out of this.
William de Wolfe was going down.
*
“We did notarrive in time yesterday to see the bouts,” Harald said. “At least, we did not make it over in time once our encampment was established. Today should be excellent entertainment, and given that your betrothed is competing, I’d say we’re in for a fine day.”
Catalina, Harald, Adabella, and Ines were sitting in the lists this morning, facing the vacant tournament field. It was a chilly morning, and damp, but the sun was up and the sky was bright. A light breeze wafted through the tournament grounds, lifting the standards that were flying over the field.
As Harald had said, they were in for a fine day.
Catalina sat next to her father with Ines on her lap, wrapped in one of her mother’s cloaks because she was cold. Adabella sat next to her mother, the cloak partially on her legs. She was cold, too, but she would never admit it, so Catalina simply put the cloak over Adabella’s legs and said no more about it.
This morning, her father had insisted they all go to the tournament field at dawn, being unusually nice to Catalina, and she knew why. She was now betrothed to Essien al-Kort, a good man of means, a prince to his people, so there was every reason to be nice to the daughter he would soon be rid of. She would have every chance in the world now to provide him with grandsons, so he could afford a little benevolence. He’d behaved in much the same way when she married Alfred, so this wasn’t unexpected.
But it was disappointing.
“I’ve never seen a championship bout,” she said, pulling the cloak more tightly around Ines. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Harald seemed particularly interested in the marshals that were starting to come onto the field. That meant the bout wasn’t far behind.
“The marshals are carrying the standards of today’s competitors,” he said, trying to get a good look at them. “I didnot look at the list of competitors today, but your betrothed is one of them. We know that for certain.”
“Do you know the color of his standard?”
“Nay,” Harald said, finally standing up to gain a better view of the standards on the field. “I see a green standard with a wolf’s head. That belongs to William de Wolfe because I’ve seen it before. And next to it… Wait… I see a yellow-and-black standard with a falcon head and a shield. I wonder if that is al-Kort?”
“Greetings, Lord Eckington.”
Harald was distracted by a polite greeting and turned to see Lady Hereford on the approach with a few of her children. Dustin Barringdon de Lohr, Lady Hereford, was a petite woman with a thick, long mane of blonde hair, bound up in a bun at the nape of her neck, and a face that could only be described as angelic. She had been married to Christopher for many years and they had nine children between them. In fact, right behind her were her daughters, all four of them, and the eldest two had their younger children in tow.
Harald found himself looking at a parade of de Lohrs as they took the row immediately below him and Catalina, spreading out on the benches while Dustin stood next to the only chair facing the field. Next to it was another big chair, meant for Christopher.
The great Lady Hereford had arrived.
“Ah,” he said. “Lady Hereford, how good to see you again.”
Dustin smiled. “And you,” she said, her gaze moving to Catalina and her girls. “And these lovely young women are with you?”
