CHAPTER ONE
Zander surveyed the field from the battlements of Rose Citadel. The activity spread out below him might appear chaotic to many an eye, but he saw method amidst the chaos. Pavilions rose on poles, establishing encampments. Horses paced in a large paddock built of timbers. Pennants waved, announcing the identities of knights who had arrived for the tournament.
“There are quite a few late arrivals,” he said. “They missed the feast last night and today’s parade and early jousts. Word has it the road to York was almost impassible from last week’s rain.”
“I assumed the legalities would discourage some of them,” Lord Yves said. “Apparently not.”
“It is a fine way to spend midsummer. Warriors grow restless when the days are long and there are no battles to fight.”
“And no spoils to enjoy.”
That was the whole of it. The large prize for the tournament’s champion had drawn most of these knights. It was the main reason Zander had come. Since the law mostly rested with the lord of the manor, who was going to enforce the prohibition on tournaments if he was hosting the event?
“With such a horde descending, I will double the guard for the curfew in the town,” Lord Yves said. “Also to discourage brawls such as we had this morning.”
“It will protect the women, at least.”
One of Lord Yves’s dark eyebrows arched into a peak. “Are you suggesting the knights’ honor will not be enough protection?”
They both chuckled, since such niceties did not count for much when fighting raised men’s blood and ale dimmed their good sense.
Lord Yves’s attention kept turning to some encampments near the river. A circle of pavilions implied men gathered in some alliance. Zander had called Lord Yves to the wall specifically to witness the placement of those tents.
“They may just be old comrades in arms,” Lord Yves said.
“Or conspirators making use of your tournament to gather for plotting treason.”
“Fitzwarryn sent you to keep an eye on things, no doubt. His time on the northern marches makes him too cautious. His letter to me in late spring urging me to cancel this tournament was presumptuous.”
“He intended no insult. He merely sought to suggest that a gathering such as this can turn dangerous fast. Factions may decide to make this a little war of sorts, to engender support for their preferred royal brother.” Zander pointed to that circle. “If those are Prince John’s men, anyone with sympathies to him will seek them out. It is how trouble starts.”
“If they are John’s, I assume it will become apparent soon. Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me when it does.”
Zander doubted Lord Yves was as ignorant as he claimed. No one knew this man’s thinking on the struggle between brothers that occupied the lords and knights. With King Richard out of the realm, and a ransom being raised for him that would burden everyone, Prince John had become bolder. Those loyal to either brother would be on that field. Such a pot of stew often came to a boil.
“I will gladly tell you once I find out myself.”
Lord Yves left the wall. Zander remained there, watching the activity below. His own pavilion had been raised by his squires two days ago, but he did not sleep in it. Lord Yves had given him a chamber in the castle, one of the small cells set into the keep’s thick walls. Zander himself had not been the person honored by that hospitality, but Zander’s lord, Jean Fitzwarryn, who had sent Zander to the tourney as his champion. Also, as Lord Yves had surmised, Lord Jean wanted a man here to observe and report on any intrigues plotted between the feasts and jousts.
He watched a long time. The large field that had become a temporary town. Tents for living, and a marketplace for goods could be seen. A large cloth roof on the far edge covered a temporary tavern. Some distance away, near the river, a forge had been constructed to allow an itinerant armorer to repair arms. Behind it tents housed the whores who offered goods other than mercery and iron.
Something diverted his attention. Over by the river, one of the latecomer’s tents had been completed. Two men now unfurled a banner outside it. Crimson cloth caught the breeze. Zander watched the red spot flap, curl, straighten, and curl again. It showed a crimson field with an azure lion rampant.
Its presence surprised him. Sir Hugo of York was here.
Elinor gestured to the edge of the space spanned by the tent. “Put those chests there.”
Two townsmen lugged in the chests and dropped them. One turned with his hand out. She gave him one of her precious half pennies. The townspeople were charging high amounts for their labor, and she resented how much had been demanded for simply moving chests off a cart. If this continued, she and her father would be living in a ditch after this madness was done.
She examined her home for the next week. The tent needed mending, and one of the chests looked ready to fall apart after its days on the cart that brought them here.
She had already noticed that many of the visitors to this tournament displayed more wealth than she would ever see for herself. Women in fine gowns strolled down from the castle, their feet in high pattens and their hair adorned with headdresses made with luxurious fabrics. The parade had been earlier in the day, and she guessed it had been an incredible display of everyone’s best garments and the knights’ full pageantry.
She did not envy the good fortune of the women now passing along toward the lists, but she would rather not be the poorest among them. Bad roads had made them late to arrive, but at least it had caused them to miss that parade, and the grand feast last night at which expensive clothing would have been expected.
She threw open her chest. She held up a blue dress and considered whether she could improve it before the grand feast when the tournament ended. A bit of embroidery inside the long open sleeves might help, and some new lacing on the side, but nothing could mask that the lightweight wool had been well worn over the years.
One by one she checked the contents of the other chests. She removed a crucifix and set it near her father’s pallet. An old little painting of the Virgin Mary, brought back from Crusade by her father, went near her own. She set out pots near the tent’s flap, so they would be handy for cooking, along with a basket for gathering fuel and also some bladders to collect water from the river.
