My Lady's Favour

Chapter 15

Elena

Thus far, I've been obliged to watch a skirmish amongst the squires and several fights on foot between the knights. Gilbert's bout with Richard is expected to be the best contest of arms, so has been kept back until the end.

I'm trying to look decorous, sitting on the grass beside Dorigen, sharing an aged woollen tapestry as a rug. Isabella, for whom I found some shoes, sits beside us in Dame Aline's carved dinner chair. The lady of the castle herself, doubtless feeling that she's been most generous to her daughter, is seated on a cushion-covered chest. She can look over the cordon of slender wooden stakes and rope that delineates the battle ground, while we peer between the stakes, close enough to see the fight, but out of harm's way.

Dorigen gazes at Gilbert and Richard. 'They both look very fine, do they not?'

'I suppose so,' I mutter. I don't want to think about how splendid Richard looks.

She turns to face me. 'Elena, you are not yourself, and have been distant all day. Can I fetch you a tonic?'

'Nay, I'm well.'

'Are you still concerned that Richard is not fit to fight after his injury yesterday? I'm sure he must be—his face looks ruddy enough.'

'That's because he's hot.' He must be hot, for his blood is hot; I felt the heat of his touch yesterday. Add to that a warm sunny day and a casing of steel, and he must be truly stifling. He should never have touched me—it was unchivalrous and I shouldn't waste my concern on him.

'Oh!' Dorigen draws my attention to the combat, as Richard parries Gilbert's first strike. The mace comes down heavily on his shield but he's already stepping away from the blow and doesn't suffer its full weight. Richard jumps nimbly to one side, his mace hitting Gilbert on the ribs beneath his arm. He has already sprung away before the heavier Gilbert can swing round to land his next blow.

I can't tear my eyes away. This is the spectacle my guardian hoped for—both men are extremely skilled fighters, so far as I can judge. Richard is slighter though a little taller than his opponent, so swifter, even if he can't land so heavy a blow. Gilbert has weight on his side because, although he's slower, his blows can do more damage. As the ferocity of the fight increases, my heart beats faster and my breath becomes shallow. Neither knight will finish this combat unhurt.

Eventually, a strike from Richard makes Gilbert drop his mace. The battle's suspended for a few moments while both men retire for a skin of water and a change of weapon. The next in play is the morning star, notoriously difficult to master and bone-crushing in its power. Richard's light-footedness will be to great advantage here. Thank heaven.

My heart refuses to cease its panicked thumping. 'Think you Gilbert is pressing a little too hard upon Richard?' I ask Dorigen.

'What makes you say that? Maybe 'tis just that he's the better knight.'

'After Richard had his fall and I was watching over him, Gilbert came in. I don't know what he thought he saw, but I was leaning quite close to Richard. Mayhap Gilbert misunderstood, and means to punish him.'

Dorigen chuckles, then murmurs in my ear, 'So, you think your Gilbert was pricked by a dart of jealousy? Not before time! It seems to me he has always taken you too much for granted. If he thinks there's something between you and Richard, it can only be to your advantage. Mayhap he will woo you better.'

'But it can't be to Richard's good!' Thank heaven no one else knows what happened on the stair that night, especially Gilbert. If he can be made jealous by me just being too close to Richard, what would he have made of last night's caresses and soft words? As Richard falls back before a particularly powerful swing of Gilbert's, I pray the man will never know!

The battle of the morning stars looks well-matched until Richard's weapon fails when the chain breaks. Thereafter, the men fight with swords. There are shouts and cheering—the sword-fight's much faster than what has gone before, with both combatants striking and parrying, darting forward and darting back, trying to get a hit on each other's breastplates. Tempered steel clangs against the metal-covered shields as both men circle around one another, looking for a gap into which to thrust. Both keep their blades low, neither wishing to cause any head injury to the other—despite the apparent viciousness, it's still meant to be a friendly bout.

Richard lands a savage blow on Gilbert's shield and his blade lodges into the metal. For a brief moment, he's trapped, giving Gilbert the opportunity for which he's waited so long. Raising his weapon, he brings it crashing down towards Richard's shoulder. Richard raises his shield in defence, but he's still too close in to Gilbert. As the blade comes down, it bites so deeply into his shield, the whole thing cleaves in two, and Gilbert's sword strikes Richard's arm, denting his armour.

I leap to my feet, but I can hardly bear to watch, or even breathe. Richard staggers, then drops to his knees, stunned by the force of the blow. The shouting ceases as he rests a moment, recovering himself. Then, swaying slightly, he turns his sword around and offers it, hilt outwards, to the victor.

Cheering breaks out but Gilbert removes his helm, and hushes everyone with a gesture. 'It can be no victory when the other's gear fails,' he proclaims, his expression stern. 'If you cheer for me, you must cheer for my cousin as well.'

Everyone immediately applauds both knights, but my hands are frozen to my sides. Fortunately, as Gilbert marches off, his helm beneath his arm, he spares me not a glance. Should I be proud of the man, for treating the loser so courteously? Does his apparent chivalry atone for the fact that he sought this battle with an injured man? Is it enough to exonerate him from the crime of taking a skivvy to his bed?

Where has Richard gone? Ah, he's striding back to his tent, trying to brush off his squire and dragging his gauntlets off, clearly not at all pleased at his defeat. But something else is wrong. It takes a moment, but then I see the problem.

From the gap where Richard's armour was parted by Gilbert's sword, a dark stain is spreading.