Chapter 2

We had arrived four days early and the women spent twelve hours a day sewing dresses and making hair ribbons. Even the Duke’s wife sent for them, and they made her one of the silk dresses and another for her daughter. Surprisingly to the girls, the entire bolt of silk was quickly used up. Inga made ribbons from many of the leftover pieces, even giving one as a gift to the Duke’s sixteen-year-old daughter who had taken a liking to Inga.

In addition to sewing ribbons, Inga sewed twenty tri-color banners that combined both the banner of the Earl I had served, and the banner of my Father who was also an Earl. One banner flew proudly over each pavilion and the others would be worn by my squires during the Melee to identify them as my squires.

I managed to find eight squires besides the ones the French knights offered to loan me, although the older boys would hardly qualify as squires under normal circumstances. Most were simply local farm boys who knew how to ride a horse. They were eager for the opportunity, not only to earn money as my squire, but also to earn additional money for every Knight I defeated whom they escorted back to my pavilion.

Surprisingly, there were only eight challenges for our team. Somehow, I found myself chosen team captain and the forty-seven other Knights cheered when I accepted. Between the French knights and the eight who didn’t make the team of forty, I had more than enough equipment for the Melee a Cheval, including a destrier, a sturdier horse than the courser I bought in Antwerp. The courser is an excellent riding horse, even for riding into battle. It is strong, yet agile. It just isn’t big enough or strong enough to carry the extra weight of the heavy armor used for the joust like the destrier is.

For the review before the tourney, all eighty Knights making up the two teams paraded before the Duke, his family, assembled guests, and the excited spectators. The Westphalia contingent went first, led by their Captain. I led our team, surprised to see the Duke’s daughter pointing excitedly at me as she whispered to her mother. She and her mother were both wearing the silk dresses.

After the review, I returned to the dais where the Duke was sitting, and I dismounted. Kneeling, I waited until he motioned for me to rise, and then approached. “I ask your Grace’s permission to correct a grievous oversight,” I stated loudly and with great theatrical flair.

He motioned for me to continue. “With so many brave and noble Knights here, I am unable to believe that the fairest maiden in attendance has no Champion. I beg his Grace’s consent to ask permission of Lady Matilda to be her Champion,” I proclaimed boldly.

The Duke was doing his best to remain solemn as he granted me permission to ask his daughter. “Fair Lady Matilda, I beseech you to allow me to dedicate my performance to you today,” I pled. Bouncing excitedly, Matilda hurried to the railing of their dais and untied the silk hair ribbon Inga had given her, letting it drop into my hand. Bowing, I stepped backwards, tied the ribbon around my arm, and remounted my horse.

The French knights teased me about looking for another woman to use for lance practice. Inga was excited that I was the Champion for her friend.

The next hour was a familiar time of chaos as all the equipment was checked and then double-checked. The six real squires I borrowed from the French Knights were each given a lance to re-arm me with in the event I needed them. I made sure they knew who was to approach first, second, and so on. The farm boy squires would stay nearby. Two would have a travois in case someone needed to be helped to the physician; the others would escort any Knight who yielded or who was judged to have been defeated back to my pavilion. That assumes I wasn’t defeated first, but I was reasonably certain I could avoid that.

Well outside of town, with nobles and spectators filling every possible vantage point from which to watch, both teams lined up across from each other, separated by two hundred feet. When the horn sounded, the Saxon line charged. Ours did, too, except the Knights formed into a wedge with me at the point. We’d break through their line, and then turn on them. If some of the Saxon Knights on the outside of their line began to turn towards us early, Knights farther back in our formation would break out of our formation to attack them.

Surprised by our tactic, the Saxon Knights were confused as to how to respond. As a result, we annihilated their charge. Their Captain ended up knocked from his horse and I quickly turned to find any of the remaining Saxon Knights who were still mounted. I saw one of my squires helping the Saxon Captain to his feet as I took aim at a second mounted Saxon Knight. Our second charge finished unseating all of the Saxon Knights, so I dismounted. Climbing from my horse and unsheathing my dull sword, I waded into the cluster of Saxons wielding swords, maces, and battleaxes, and began swinging my own sword.

Some melees last until dark settles in. This one was over in two hours, the valiant Saxon Knights having been “vanquished.” I was happy to hear there had been no deaths, and only a few serious injuries. The French knights led the praises directed at me by both our team and the Saxon Knights. Hilda, Ymma, and Inga kept the ale and mead flowing while we talked and laughed, and in some cases, waited for the “ransom” to be paid. While I didn’t remember so many defeated foes, I was credited for eight defeated Saxon Knights and my squires were stunned at what I ended up paying them, far more than their usual monthly wage.

One of the younger Saxon Knights, Alfwold, spoke nervously with me. He didn’t have the ransom, and hoped I wouldn’t be upset by having to accept his weapons, armor, and horse. Accepting the arms and horse was a common ransom and I had no problem doing so. His father had sent him after being assured there was no way the Saxon Knights could lose. They needed the money he hoped to gain from the ransoms.

One look at his horse and I was glad he didn’t have the ransom. I told him to keep everything else; the horse was worth a small fortune. That praise got him started bragging about the horses they raised. His father knew Alfwold was weak at jousting, but hoped the horse would give him confidence. “It gave me plenty of confidence, just not the competence to go with it,” he admitted. When I found out he was from Dortmund, I decided that we were going that way when we left here. I wanted to buy another of these magnificent horses. The destrier I left behind in Norfolk had been a personal gift from the King and had won me many tournaments. This horse was a hand taller and much more solidly muscled.

The banquet that night was lavish, as was the praise the Duke heaped on me. Already familiar to the Duke, Hilda, Ymma, and Inga were asked to help serve (for pay) at the banquet. The loudest cheer of the night was when The Duke’s daughter brazenly kissed my cheek, blushing bright red as she did.

Well after dinner, and after most of the Knights were either passed out, had staggered their way home, or were too drunk to care, the Duke took me aside. I had learned my lesson at my first tournament and rarely drank more than one mug of ale or mead with each meal during the tournament; hence, I was completely sober when he approached me. He thanked me for making his daughter’s day and praised me privately for what I managed to do today.

Then he shocked the hell out of me, explaining, “Shortly before my wife gave birth to our daughter, I became deathly ill. I recovered, but neither my wife nor any of my concubines have conceived since then. I need a male heir and wonder if you would be willing to discretely assist us.”

I explained that I wasn’t opposed to helping them, but wondered about wagging tongues. In reply, he suggested that I begin acting drunk. He would have his staff help me to one of the rooms, one with a secret passage. Sometime during the night, the Duchess would visit me. After tonight, I would be his honored guest for a week or so, hoping the time would be enough to accomplish the task. He even allowed my three women to join me that night to help alleviate any suspicion if sounds of passion were heard coming from my room.

Draca remained at the travel carriage, his meal (and probably too much ale) being provided by the women who came along to attend to the French knights. My women were stunned when I whispered the plan to them, but promised never to speak of it. I could see a look of pride in Hilda’s eyes, even more than after the Melee today.

I had actually fallen asleep before the Duchess crept into our room. A quiet but drawn-out squeak as the secret door from the opening of the passageway woke me. In the light of the single candle still burning in the room, the exceedingly beautiful Duchess appeared. She giggled when I gave Hilda a gentle slap on the butt to wake her so she could move over, and I stood to greet the Duchess.

Nervously, she came to me, allowing me to draw her to me. “Your women speak as proudly of your exploits every night as the men did your exploits today,” she whispered.

“I try to make them as happy as they make me,” I replied as I lifted her face and kissed her. I slipped her robe off her shoulders and carried her to the bed, putting her robe on the bed with us so it would be warm when she redressed.

After we finished, she teased me that she was surprised that her daughter hadn’t tried to sneak into my room. All day and all night, I was all Matilda could talk about.

“You may rest assured that were she to visit, she would be returned to her room with her virtue intact,” I promised the Duchess.

“If you can promise that, then don’t be too hasty in returning her to her room,” the Duchess replied in a sultry voice as she gave me one last kiss, slipped her robe back on, and slipped back into the passage. The door squeaked much less as it closed than when it opened.

A young serving girl woke us in time for breakfast. She pointedly waited in our room to make sure she got a good look at my “lance,” all while she pretended that she was tidying up our room.

Since today was (mostly) a rest day, the women were drafted to make another silk dress for the Duchess and her daughter. I started to give them money to buy the silk but they reminded me that they still had all of the money they had earned so far since I hadn’t yet collected it from them.

“Buy anything you need or want in town. Just remember that we have limited space. We’re probably going to need another wagon to carry the pavilion tents when we take them down,” I commented. I was glad Ymma had been learning how to drive the wagon, and told Hilda she should probably show Draca how since he was old enough. I gave Hilda enough to get another travel carriage, too, if they found one available.

I headed for the tournament field. There would be contests of skill today in both archery and the staff.

Nobody survives the Melee a Cheval completely unscathed. The force of an opponent’s lance striking, hopefully against your shield, bruises you. Even your own lance striking an opponent bruises you. Then the fighting on foot is always good for bruises and maybe even a minor sprain when you step or trip on something or someone on the ground. Those Knights with only minor injuries are lucky. I considered myself extremely lucky this morning. Half an hour of stretching managed to work out the stiffness enough that I would be able to ignore it.

I hung one of my distinctive tri-color banners on a branch of the tree near the butts where the archery contest would be held. Another was tied to the tree where the staff challenges would be held. One of the farm boy squires waited anxiously at each field, ready to find me when the contests started.

The archery began mid-morning. Only ten Knights participated, eight of them Saxons. The French Knights wagered heavily on me, having previously seen my prowess with a longbow. Considering that everyone else here was using a standard bow, what I consider a short bow, I already had a distinct advantage.

Tohrwulf, the Saxon captain, and I fended off all challengers. Finally, it was just the two of us. At two hundred yards, he was just as good with his short bow as I was with the longbow. Beyond that, though, he couldn’t maintain the accuracy and I beat him at two hundred thirty yards. He was gracious, teasing me over lunch and ale by asking if I wasn’t Saxon myself.

The afternoon found Tohrwulf and me again facing each other after the other challengers had been sent packing. He was definitely good with the staff. My six-inch height and reach advantage finally wore him down enough that I managed to topple him. Still, it took nearly half an hour and we had drawn a huge crowd. I noticed Matilda watching and cheering amidst her retinue of the Duke’s soldiers. I also noticed that the friend with her was the same serving girl who had awakened us this morning.

Tohrwulf and I sat together at the dinner feast that night. He was the Captain of the Earl’s soldiers in Soest and invited us to visit there. I promised that we would. My three girls were serving tables again tonight. I noticed Matilda looking at me constantly through the night. I pointedly did NOT look at the Duchess, not even once.

With the final event of the tourney tomorrow, the amount of ale consumed around the boisterous tables decreased dramatically. The Duke asked me how I ended up being so good at everything, so I told the tale of my childhood.

My father is an Earl and an adamant supporter of the King. I have a brother two years older than I am who will succeed him. From an early age, my brother and I competed against each other in everything. As dearly as I love my brother, he and I fought constantly growing up. The fighting wasn’t due to a dislike of each other; rather, it was due to our competitive natures. Before we were old enough for weapons training, we wrestled each other.

My father stands 6’ 2”, two inches shorter than my brother, and four inches shorter than me. He is a large, well-muscled man but my brother is bigger and stronger. I am even bigger and stronger than my brother is. At age eight, I picked up an admittedly short longsword and took it everywhere with me until I could properly carry it. At age nine, I could swing the sword, much to the amazement of my father’s arms master. By age ten, I could wield the longsword, having begun arms training at age nine using wooden practice swords. Daily, the arms master would pit my brother and me against each other with wooden practice swords and we would beat on each other until one of us collapsed. By the time I was eleven, it was usually my brother who collapsed first. By age twelve, I was taller and heavier than most of my father’s soldiers and was formally introduced to the broadsword.

When I was fourteen, the King called for troops to fight the Scots. I was adamant that I be allowed to go. The arms master agreed that I was more than ready; my mother was adamantly opposed. My father, brother, and I set out towards Scotland with two hundred of Father’s men.

There had been two battles before we arrived, neither decisive. The day of the decisive battle, twenty thousand men faced off against each other across the battlefield. I remember the horn that signaled for our troops to charge. Everything after that was a blur until sometime after the battle was over.