“Then tell the marshals or I will.”
The roar of the crowd suddenly caught their attention, and they turned to see that another bout was about to go off. It was one of the semifinal rounds, the same round that Essien had just competed in against de Norville. The start of a new game had them all momentarily distracted as they strained to catch a glimpse of who was about to compete.
“My lord, that is your son, Curtis,” William pointed out. “He’s riding against Kieran Hage.”
Christopher frowned, taking a few steps toward the lists and spying his heir’s standards on the body of a silver charger. “I thought he was going this afternoon,” he said. “And when we last spoke, he did not tell me he was going against Hage.”
There was some concern in that statement because Sir Kieran Hage was, perhaps, the strongest man in all of England. He wasn’t the fastest, or even the most cunning, but he was aspowerful as a bull and hell with a sword. He had no equal in battle. He also happened to be William’s closest friend, along with Paris. The three of them were sometimes called the Terrible Trio, or the Troublesome Trio, depending on what they’d done and just how badly they had behaved. Stories of their gambling exploits were legendary, even at their young age.
But Christopher wasn’t thinking about that. Three spirited knights didn’t concern him. But his son going up against the knight known as Goliath on the tournament circuit did.
No wonder Curtis hadn’t told him.
“Christ,” he muttered. “De Wolfe, is Hage using that exploding wood for his lance, also?”
William hesitated for a moment. “Aye,” he said. “We all have them.”
Christopher whirled on him. “Then you had better stop this bout immediately and tell Hage to switch out his lance for one that is legal,” he said. “If he makes a pass at Curtis and that thing breaks and drives wood into him, I will have you and your friends banished from every tournament from Kent to the Shetlands, and then I will take pleasure in beating each and every one of you until your backs are raw and my hands are broken. Do you hear me?”
William was on the run. He bolted onto the tournament field itself just as Curtis and Kieran were taking positions against one another. As Christopher watched the situation carefully, he felt a body standing to his right.
“What’s that about?”
Christopher recognized the voice of his son-in-law, Alexander de Sherrington. The man had been helping Curtis prepare for his bout and now stood on the sidelines, watching like everyone else. Alexander had married Christopher’s eldest daughter, Christin, several years ago and they had quite a brood of wild sons, in whom Christopher took great delight. He knew alittle something about incorrigible lads because he’d fathered six of them.
Perhaps he understood them better than most.
“The Terrible Trio is at it again,” Christopher muttered.
Alexander looked at him, puzzled. “Why do you say that?”
“Because de Norville was using a lance of softwood,” Christopher replied. “William told me that they were testing them out because they hoped they would be more of an advantage in the joust, but they did not tell the marshals, so they are using illegal tools. Hage has one, too.”
“And you are stopping the bout?”
“I am forcing William to inform the marshals.”
Alexander frowned, looking out to the field once more to where de Wolfe was holding up the first run as he spoke with the marshals. “My God,” he said in disgust. “Why can that trio not use their cunning and intelligence for good? Why must they always cause so much mayhem?”
Christopher snorted softly. “It is never evil,” he said. “They aren’t the type. But they’re naughty children and have been ever since they learned to talk. Edward de Wolfe was constantly lamenting about his youngest son and how chaotically brilliant he was. William is, if nothing else, entertaining.”
Alexander didn’t happen to think so. “Why are they using softwood lances?”
Christopher shrugged. “Presumably to avoid the breakage like we saw on Essien,” he said, turning around to see that Essien was stripped and Ashton was cleaning the blood from Essien’s face as Addax supervised. “A softer wood would be more flexible in the joust. But you saw how that lance exploded, did you not?”
Alexander nodded. “I did,” he said. “I was just at the base of the lists trying to explain that phenomenon to some worried women.”
“Your wife and her mother?”
“Aye,” Alexander said, pointing toward the middle of the lists. “Lady Hereford is in her usual seat, next to yours. When I was finished assisting Curtis, she wanted me to see to Essien. How is he?”
“Tell her that he is well,” Christopher said. Then he looked pointedly at Alexander. “And tell Rebecca that he is well. That is why you really came, was it not?”
Alexander fought off a grin. “Rebecca saw the blow,” he said. “She is… concerned.”
Christopher sighed heavily. “She is too young to be concerned for him.”
“She has seen eighteen summers, Chris.”
