Page 107 of An Inconvenient Vow

“Ah.” She nodded. “I saw both of them at the banquet last night. They both seemed very capable-looking.” Jeffree had tossed some coins onto the table by her plate that morning, for any expenses she might incur throughout the day, and Sabina tipped Laurence up front, asking him to lead her to a nice, sheltered spot.

The sheer amount of people packed into the stands was a little overwhelming at first, and Sabina was not keen to be squeezed in among a press of spectators or exposed to the July sun which would no doubt be beating down fiercely later.

She had been, perhaps, a little naïve, she realized as Laurence led her up many flights of stairs to a large, elevated box filled with many pretty gowns and veils. Of course, she need not have been worried she would be crammed into the standing spaces. Despite her plain dress, she would be sat among the nobility.

Laurence gallantly saw her seated and then slipped to the side of the box where the other attendants were smartly lined up. Seeing him jostle another boy with his elbow, she wondered if that might be Wilf before looking about the box curiously in spite of herself.

The courtiers were certainly dressed to impress. She saw several hard stares leveled her way, and a few ladies speaking behind their hands before their companions looked her up and down in open surprise. Sabina was grateful for her concealing headdress. When asked, they would not even be able to comment on the color of Sir Jeffree’s wife’s hair, she told herself comfortingly.

For all they knew, she could be secretly dripping in jewels, for the wimple hid all of her neck and bosom. Of course, it would be unlikely, in such plain dress, but still, they could not know for sure. Fleetingly, she thought of the ruby and pearl necklace and matching ring which Jeffree’s mother had passed on to her. Sabina had locked it in a cupboard at Morecotte without even trying them on. She wondered if she should have brought them with her. Too late now of course.

Everyone shot to their feet and Sabina followed suit without even realizing why, until she noticed movement in the royal box as two crowned figures accompanied by many attendants were seated. Sabina gazed her fill at the dark lovely queen with her green-jeweled collar and the King beside her in a puffed sleeve tunic who waved at the crowd by rotating his hand and nodding his head.

She would certainly have plenty to tell Mother and Aunt Mabel, she thought, making note of the royal blue backdrop in their stand. She had seen the Argent Lion himself, she thought dazedly, though King Wymer did not look particularly leonine, in her opinion. He was a little on the short side too, if she was not mistaken.

Down in the arena below, Wymer’s colors and standard were paraded, and then the banners and pennants of all the competitors were displayed one by one to the expectant crowd. Some of them were so popular they caused a spontaneous cheer, such as the red banner with the black panther. Others caused a groan or a ripple of excitement, such as the black heart oozing three drops of red blood or the golden portcullis on a field of blue.

Sabina was not familiar with any of the heraldic devices, so none of them meant anything to her until she saw the black tree on white. Her heart leaped then, for she knew full well that was the De Crecy crest. The arena was deathly quiet, save for a few disgruntled murmurings, though she realized that in the noble’s box, several faces had turned her way and a low buzz of speculation started to rise.

Sabina frowned, and for a minute, she could not think what the source of the conjecture could be. Then she heard a footfall to her right and Lawrence’s hurried whisper. “The Queen!” he hissed in her ear. The Queen? Sabina turned to look across at the royal box and found the Queen leaning forward and staring straight at her, her expression alight with interest.

Sabina gave a start and felt her face start to fill with color. How was she supposed to conduct herself now? And how in heaven did the Queen know who she was? At a complete loss, Sabina bobbed her head. “What do I do?” she asked Lawrence in a strangled voice.

“Naught.” He shrugged. “Just let her look her fill of you.” A look of sympathy crept into his eyes. “Try not to fret; she’s always interested in brides,” he consoled her. “Shall I fetch you a drink?”

“Oh please, Lawrence,” she agreed gratefully, reaching for the alms purse suspended from her belt. “Take this and get whatever you like for you and your friend.”

Lawrence’s expression brightened and he grinned. “I shan’t be long, my lady,” he promised and skipped away. Still feeling the Queen’s intent gaze, Sabina looked blankly ahead, hoping she looked more composed than she felt. She could only be grateful when activity down below distracted everyone from staring at her.

She had to sit up very straight-backed in her seat to see past the tall steeple headdresses of the three ladies in front of her, but she managed it after only a moment’s shifting around. The first spectacle seemed to be a procession of small horse-drawn chariots which wheeled about as those driving them shot bows at targets that had been set up around the ring.

Despite the undoubted skill involved, Sabina found herself wholly uninterested in these proceedings. Resisting the impulse to check if the Queen watched her still, Sabina let her attention wander about the box. To her surprise, various well-dressed people were moving up and down the rows exchanging greetings and huddling in little groups to talk. It almost seemed like a social meeting place rather than a spectator event. Sabina was just noticing the arrival of a very pretty, young woman in a heraldic gown of blue and yellow when Lawrence arrived back at her elbow holding a cup of ale out to her.

“Tell me,” she hissed as she accepted the drink, “who is that lady, for surely I have seen those colors already this day.”

Lawrence glanced across. “That is the new wife of Lord Kentigern,” he answered discreetly, his mouth barely moving. “They all stare for her father is a rich merchant, and though low-born, she is now a baroness by rights.”

Sabina’s eyes widened. A merchant’s daughter and a lord? She had never heard of such a disparate match. Maybe it was partly because Lady Kentigern was flanked on both sides by such plain older women, but to Sabina, she looked almost radiant in beauty.

Such a lovely girl would surely present a cruel contrast to her heavily scarred spouse, Sabina pondered. Yet here she was practically flaunting her new husband’s banner on her person. “Lord Kentigern is most fortunate in his wife,” Sabina murmured, glancing about and noticing that Lawrence spoke naught but the truth. Everyone was now staring raptly at Baroness Kentigern as she descended the steps.

“Aye, for their marriage hath restored to him the castle and all the lands he lost after the war,” Lawrence replied quietly. “But look out,” he warned, “for she is sitting now on the bench directly behind you.”

Sabina nodded and faced forward again. She drank her ale as the ring was made ready for the next event which seemed to be a sort of mock battle between two sides in different colored armbands of yellow and green. Sabina watched the lines form without much interest until she suddenly recognized Jeffree among their number wearing a yellow sash at his arm.

This did make her sit up. She had not realized there would be group events as well as jousting. Having said that, she could not see much evidence of camaraderie between Jeffree and the other participants even on his own team. To her surprise, it looked as though the battle would take the form of a mounted charge, despite the fact they all had swords drawn. Would not spears be more appropriate?

Acknowledging she was far from knowledgeable on such things, Sabina shrugged and simply settled in to watch the repeated charges. It was a hot, dry day and between the dust kicked up by the horses, and the impact of various heavily armored bodies hitting the floor, proceedings were rather hard for her to follow.

Sabina rubbed her eyes as she watched the fallen half-dragged, half-carried out of the arena. As each knight was eliminated, their pennants were pulled down off the display to signify their exit from the competition. In truth, it was only by checking Jeffree’s crest still remained on the board that Sabina could be sure he had not been knocked out already.

The sun blazed down, and the number of knights left on their horses dwindled considerably until there were so few remaining it was a good deal easier to see who was who. Sabina could now make out Jeffree’s shield as an additional identifier, and she pinned her gaze to it as best she could. It was surely nearing the end of proceedings now, Sabina thought, realizing how dry her throat was and wondering how soon Lawrence would return to fetch her another drink.

In that momentary distraction, disaster struck. Sabina’s eyes widened as she saw both Jeffree and his direct opposite number unseated. Indeed, it looked to her eye as though Jeffree unbalanced himself by the fury of his sword swing. Both men rolled in the dust a moment until Sabina realized they were still trading blows, this time with their gauntleted fists.

Surely that was not permitted. She glanced about uneasily to make out what her neighbors made of such unruly conduct, but in truth, the various nobles did not seem to be paying much attention to the melee at all. She beckoned to Lawrence who came hurrying over. “What is happening?” she asked. “Why are they being allowed to fight on and no one putting a stop it?”

Lawrence gave her a lop-sided grin. “Oh, they will be separated alright, as soon as someone gets up the courage to step in,” he assured her. “Listen to the crowd.”