My Lady's Favour

Chapter 14

Richard

A couple of hours after noon, my uncle's guests and the castle's inhabitants throng out onto the greensward of the outer bailey, ready for the afternoon's entertainments. I'm looking forward to these, because I enjoy contests of arms, but also because they'll stop me thinking about her.

There'll be several combats, all friendly, to give us practice with a variety of weapons. I've chosen to be buckled into my armour here, in my pavilion—I was loath to ask Geoffrey to carry all my gear up to my borrowed chamber in the keep. It's been safe enough here—my faithful squire spends most waking hours in the tent and virtually sleeps on top of my equipment at night-time. I shake my head, amused at his diligence. As if Baron Humphrey were to number thieves amongst his followers!

It's going to be a hot fight, with such exceedingly warm weather for the time of year. The blossom on Dame Aline's fruit trees now stands fully open and bees buzz heavily around it. The warm air carries the scents from the walled garden, mixing them with the strong odour of horses, the rancid smell of saddle grease and the stench from the middens. I confess to preferring the former smells—I'm used to the wild sea-winds of Cornwall, that bring fresh and salty air.

I sit on my travelling chest while Geoffrey kneels, lacing my sabbatons over my shoes. I shift obediently as he fastens the shining greaves below my knees, but my mind is elsewhere. I'd hoped to wake up this morn, returned to my full senses, laughing at myself for the foolishness of the night before. That hope has not been realised.

'Up, prithee.'

I stand, allowing Geoffrey access to my thighs so he can buckle the cuisses on. Now the mail skirt follows, and the essential breastplate, protection for heart and other vital organs. Mine has seen many battles, but the dents are always beaten out and the steel buffed up to a shine once more.

I sigh. Not even the weight of my armour and knowledge of the test to come can interrupt the deluge of my thoughts. I went in search of Elena earlier, eager to make reparation and apologise for my unchivalrous behaviour. I found her—and all my practised words forsook me. It wasn't her fault—she was ladylike and distant as she should be, not even looking at me. Yet still I felt roused, angry with both myself and her. It pains me that I cannot be easy with the woman Gilbert is to marry, but mayhap I need not come to Waltham ever again. Indeed, I have only made the journey now because of Baron Humphrey's concerns about the belligerent French—and because it would have been a dereliction of duty not to come. This visit must be my last.

'Arms, sir, I pray you,' mutters Geoffrey, a leather lace clamped between his teeth. I drag myself back to the needs of the moment, making sure the rerebraces over my biceps and the vambraces on my forearms aren't likely to slip. No matter how well-protected a knight may be, he's useless as a fighter if badly fastened armour impedes the swing of his arm. I must say—young Geoffrey is thorough. If any of the steel plate fails, it will be my bad luck that causes it, not any lack of care on my squire's part.

Will Elena come to watch the fight? If she does, we needn't speak, for the ladies are kept well out of harm's way. A morning star coming loose from its chain, or a broken blade flying, could kill an unprotected observer. I repress a shudder. If anything were to happen to the Lady Elena, would my heart ever be whole again?

Curse it! She's not my concern. I bend a knee while Geoffrey settles my red tunic, with the arms of my house emblazoned upon it, on my back. I pull on my gauntlets and survey my armoury.

'What will you take, sir?' asks Geoffrey.

Even if I do chance to speak to the Lady Elena, it won't be in private. I'll simply have to bear it, knowing she thinks ill of me. The coming fight will do me good; it will give vent to all my pent-up energy.

'I'll take them all. When one fails—which it will, because of my poor luck—I'll use another. But not the battle axe—you can leave that behind. Where's my buckler?'

As I take my shield on my arm, pride surges. Apart from my father, whom I hated, the St Aubyn family boasts the best knights and the bravest soldiers in the centuries since the Conquest. When I lift my shield, I am one with them. May their good fortune rub off on me.

I smile, offering up my usual prayer to the Virgin Mary—mayhap one day, she'll answer! For good measure, I tuck my metal token with the Eye engraved upon it into the back of my gauntlet. With the kind of luck I'm accustomed to, it's as well to propitiate as many deities as possible—who knows which ones might hold your fate in their hand at any given moment?

As I stride out into the sunshine, armour clanking companionably, I try not to bemoan my ill-luck at falling for a woman who belongs to someone else.

'Good day, cousin—I trust you are well enough to fight?'

Speak of the Devil...

Golden head bared to the spring sunshine, Gilbert stands with his shield under his arm, eyes examining me from my metal-shod feet to my face. Professional to the last, he'll refuse to countenance any win caused by an opponents' bad armour or poor weaponry—combat should be a test of skill, nothing else.

He looks solemn—grim, even—so I try not to laugh. As if I would have spent the last hour getting accoutred in metal if I were not well enough to fight!

I grin at him. 'Of course. As you see.'

There is no reciprocal smile. 'Weapons?'

'Mace, morning star, short sword, as agreed.'

'I've no complaint. We'll have our special bout right at the end of the contest—give them all a spectacle to remember.'

I'll certainly try. Gilbert hates to lose, but when watched by those I need to impress, so do I. This afternoon will be a test in more ways than one.