A Tournament at Midsummer

"Calm down, Thibault. It's not what you think. I have much to tell you about the intrigues that are going on beneath our noses."

"Intrigue is all well and good, but you have to ride early in the lists this morning and time is running out. I was afraid you would forfeit."

"Perish the thought," Vesian replied. "Who am I tilting against?"

"Baron Tancred de Vouille," Thibault replied, and Vesian started. "He has fared well enough so far, though he is usually not a strong contender."

Thibault turned and saw Vesian's expression. "What is it?"

"We had better go inside," Vesian replied, and the three of them ducked into his tent. It was a small affair, for he was a mere knight errant depending on the magnanimity of the king and the Order, but it suited him and his squire well enough. They seated themselves on his traveling chests while he and Adeline informed Thibault of what they had discovered the night before. Thibault sat in silence until they were done.

"Who is this sorcerer's pawn?" he asked at last. "And how can we stop him?"

"We don't know, but the first step will be to stop him from winning the tournament. If we break his aura of invincibility, we break the spell. Then he is just a man."

"But how do we break his aura of invincibility? Is the spell making him a better fighter, or is it just making it seem that he is a better fighter?"

"That I also do not know. But I do know that the baron is involved."

"Could he be the sorcerer's pawn?"

"Perhaps, though he seemed deferential to Sir Dagobert," Vesian mused. "But he must be removed from the board, as it were."

"How will you do that if he cannot be beaten?"

"Anyone can be beaten," Vesian replied. "I just have to find out how to do it."

"Baron Tancred has done well so far, but he should be easy to defeat for someone like you."

"Unless he is the sorcerer's pawn," Adeline countered. "Would that my father kept a sorcerer of his own, but he has never liked their kind."

"Who else could be the pawn? Sir Dagobert?"

"There may be other plotters," Vesian sighed. "They mentioned someone else, but I do not know whom. It may have just been the sorcerer."

"Or there might be many more," Thibault countered. "This plot is more extensive than we know, and we are walking in largely blind."

"We must disrupt it, then," the princess put in. "We must force them to change their plans."

"Defeating the baron in a joust would do that," Vesian replied.

"But they may have planned for that. We need to reduce the size of this conspiracy. It may cause other plotters to change their plans and expose themselves."

"You want me to kill him?" Vesian asked, somewhat incredulously. Adeline started in surprise.

"What? No! Never! But a tournament is a dangerous thing. If we could deal him some wound that might put him up in bed for a few days, even just an afternoon, it might hamstring the conspiracy. This is the last day, they must succeed now or else it will all come to naught."

"Wound the baron," Vesian mused. He disliked the thought. Injuries and even deaths were always risks in these tournaments, but he hated to be the cause of them and had never so far been the cause of one. But the stakes were high here.

"Even if you defeat him, he is still in play," Thibault added. "He might not be the scheme's linchpin and then it matters not if we defeat him."

"And he did not show much concern when he heard about Tilde's death, did he?" Adeline asked darkly. Vesian shook his head.

"No, he did not. I would rather do this to Sir Dagobert, but fortune has not fallen entirely to my liking. Nonetheless, I see the wisdom in what you say."

"You will do it?" Adeline asked. "It should be no trouble at all for a knight like you."

"You stand to lose much," Thibault said with rising concern. "They'll erase your name from the lists if they think you did it deliberately!"

"Then I must make it look like an accident. And perhaps I could count on a good word in the king's ear?" he looked to Adeline, who nodded nervously.

"I will say what I can, but please, make it look accidental. I only have so much sway."

"I will do my best. Though now I feel like we are plotters as well.

"We do what we have to," Adeline replied. Thibault did not seem convinced, but kept his tongue still.

"If I have to," Vesian sighed. Adeline nodded solemnly and stood up.

"I must return to my chambers and prepare." She moved toward the exit.

"Your highness," Vesian caught the princess at the tent entrance. "Before you go, I wondered if you might do me the honor of letting me wear your favor in the lists?"

Adeline bit her lower lip to contain her giddy smile as she considered his request. From underneath her cowl, she looked up at him with clear blue eyes and wrapped her arms about her chest.

"You wish to wear my favor?" she asked, her cheeks turning rosy.

"I do indeed," Vesian replied. "Knights fare better when jousting on behalf of a lady. And there is no lady fairer than you."

Her cheeks now turned scarlet, and Adeline shyly cast her eyes to the ground. Behind him, Vesian could almost hear Thibault's eyes rolling inside his head.

"I would be honored," Adeline replied, idly playing with a lock of hair as she avoided his gaze.

"Hold out your hand," she said as she drew an embroidered scarf from her pocket. Vesian obeyed. "May it bring you good fortune and victory," she giggled as she tied it about his wrist. "I've never given a knight my favor before," she continued. Her eyes turned up into his again, and she convulsed with excitement.

"I won't disappoint," Vesian replied. "I intend to win this tournament, and hope that your favor will carry me the rest of the way."

The princess giggled again, her shoulders shaking as she struggled to contain her excitement.

"I must go now," she said softly, still hesitating to tear herself away. "I must dress the part of a princess and that takes time. Look for me in the royal box."

"I will," Vesian replied. "Now go, princess. I will do your favor no disgrace out there."

Giddily, Adeline hurried away through the increasingly crowded tournament grounds with a skip in her step. Vesian smiled as he watched her go, then turned to preparing for the joust.

He had time before he was to report to the lists, yet he wasted none in armoring and arming himself. He donned a coat of mail that hung to his knees, then chausses, mittens, and a heavy iron cuirass to protect his chest from lanceheads, for even blunted they could kill a man by sheer force. He strapped on his longsword in its scabbard. While useless in the joust, the tournament rules allowed for the possibility of a tiebreaker round, to be fought on foot with weapons of choice. At last, he took the decorated frog-mouthed helm from Thibault and settled it upon his head.

Thibault retrieved Vesian's borrowed charger from the stable and brought it to him. Working together, they saddled the beast and laid upon it the caparison emblazoned with the Order's coat-o-arms. Vesian made one final check of his equipment before he swung himself into the saddle.

"Alright," he proclaimed. "I am ready to begin."

"Sir Vesian," Thibault began before he could ride off. "Don't do anything foolish with the princess, assuming you haven't already. We don't need the king's wrath coming down on us for interfering with his daughter."

"Always the pessimist, Thibault," Vesian chided airily. "There is nothing to worry about. The princess has already resisted my charms, I am sure she can do so again."

"Resisted? You already tried something?!"

"I tried nothing. I can't be helped if my natural charm sometimes makes women want me to come to bed with them. But worry no more. Whatever happens, she will be alright with it."

"It's not her opinion I'm worried about," Thibault replied darkly. "His majesty is a most wise and noble king, but he has a fiery temper and is most protective of his children."

"The princess can keep a secret," Vesian replied. "Now go, I have a tilt to win."

Vesian rode to the staging area until the heralds called for him. There, he watched as several other knights rode and were unhorsed. Sir Dagobert was first, seemingly undisturbed by the murder the prior night, he unhorsed Countess Tiburge's sworn sword, Sir Jaufré de Gaisor. The crowd roared with delight, the stands thunderously shaking under the beating of feet and raucous applause. The pitch was still muddy from the night's rains, despite the best efforts of the royal groundskeepers, and those unhorsed were left splattered with mud in a most undignified manner. Angry and wiping mud from his surcoat and visor, Sir Jaufré stalked from the pitch without a word, leaving his squire to retrieve his horse.

"Sir Dagobert is the victor!" the judge proclaimed. "For the next tilt, Sir Vesian de Surrac, a knight errant of the Order of the Griffon, and Baron Tancred de Vouille!"

At the opposite end of the pitch, Vesian saw the baron ride into view. He was mounted on a tall white destrier, caparisoned in a snow-white cloth emblazoned with a black lion rampant. At the heralds' signals, both riders spurred their steeds forward and emerged into the lists, hooves squelching in the mud. The crowd roared with delight again and Vesian raised a hand to give them a wave. He twirled his lancepoint in the breeze, letting Adeline's favor flutter about like a pennant.

He espied the princess at her father's side again, resplendent in a gown of deep blue trimmed with white and a pointed hennin wrapped in ivy vines atop her head. A constellation of jewels glittered on her breast, exposed by a low-cut, lacy bodice. She smiled giddily as he rode out onto the muddy pitch, her white hands applauding furiously. A different maid sat beside her, her demeanor stiff and unfamiliar. She gave the princess a suspicious look as Vesian stopped before the royal box.

The king gave both jousters a grandiose nod and spoke. "Welcome to you both. I congratulate you on your success so far and will commiserate with the loser and congratulate the victor when it is finished. The winner of this tilt will ride in the final tilt for a chance to be crowned grand champion! Now, let us see who is blessed by the gods today! Let the tilt begin!"

Count Theobald stood up in his pulpit and signaled the jousters. Brass trumpets blared, and Vesian gave the king one last nod. His eyes swept over Princess Adeline as he turned away and she bit her lower lip to contain her smile.

Vesian rode to take his place and spotted Countess Tiburge in the stands. She was flanked by a pair of handsome young knights, both of whom Vesian recognized as victors earlier in the tournament. She smiled and raised her wine goblet in salute to him as he rode by. He gave her a nod and returned her smile, though she likely could not see it under his helm.

The thought of deliberately injuring Tancred sprang again into his head and he wracked his mind for alternative options as he took his place at the far end of the pitch. The baron gave him a nod of acknowledgement, though he showed no signs of recognizing Vesian from the previous night. Vesian smiled grimly underneath his helm and signaled his readiness to the heralds. Count Theobald raised his arms above his head.

"We are ready to begin. Heralds!"

Two flags were raised at either end of the pitch and the crowd quieted to a murmur. Vesian gritted his teeth. The flags fell.

He spurred his destrier forward and the horse surged to a gallop straight away. Gripping the reins in his shield hand, Vesian lowered his lance into position, Princess Adeline's embroidered scarf fluttering from it as he thundered down the lists. The crowd began to chatter and cheer, somewhere over the din of clattering armor and beating hooves, he thought he could hear Adeline calling out to him. The baron was a rapidly growing figure through the narrow vision slit of his helm, and Vesian steadied his lancehead amid the rising and falling motion in the saddle.

I am going to do it, he heard himself say inside his head, or perhaps he had actually said it in the cavernous space of his helm. He steeled himself for the dishonorable act, thinking not of himself but of the sinister plot targeted at his king. As the two riders closed, he let his lance begin to waver. The last yards fell away and he dipped his lance at the last moment, driving the blunted head into the baron's left knee.

They came together in a great crash, and he heard the baron cry out amid it all. Their lances shattered, his own shield splintered, and the baron teetered in his saddle. Vesian himself was shaken by the blow and only by twisting his body and digging in his heels did he remain in the saddle. He heard the crowd gasp in shock, rising to their feet as the two riders came apart and the horses slowed to a trot.

As they separated, Vesian heard the baron cry out in pain once again, then a great crash of armor and wood as he fell through the wooden barrier between the opposing sides. Now concerned that he had done greater damage than planned, Vesian turned his horse about.

Everyone in the royal box was standing, crowded close to the rail out of concern for the fallen baron. Near where they had come together, Princess Adeline's favor lay in the muddy dirt. Vesian sighed.

The crowd had fallen nearly silent as the king's servants emerged to help Baron Tancred up. He was unable to put any weight on his injured knee, which could now be seen to bleed, and the heralds were forced to call for stretchers to bear him away.

Count Theobald leaned in to confer with the king. Behind them, Adeline and her maids huddled together while the king's brother glowered from his seat. Murmurs rippled through the crowd and he felt the stare of thousands of eyes on him at once. The tourney judge turned to him and pointed to the ground before the royal seats.

Guilt weighing heavily on him, Vesian slowly spurred his horse forward to stand before the royal box.

"Sir Vesian," the count began, "Your competitor is injured by your lance. How do you explain this?"

"I apologize to you, to him, and to his majesty for allowing such an unfortunate incident in the midst of all these grandiose festivities that he has arranged for us. I was careless with my lance point, and let it fall to the baron's knee. It was a mere accident, yet I am a knight of the Order of the Griffon and have no excuse for this carelessness."

"The punishment for injuring a competitor is to be erased from the lists," Duke Sigismund declared from his seat. Count Theobald did not turn around, but many other heads turned toward the duke who sat with a balled-up fist on his armrest. "And to be expelled from the tournament grounds straight away."

"That is the punishment for deliberately injuring a competitor," Theobald replied loudly. "Sir Vesian insists this was an accident."

"It was no accident," the duke hissed. "We are all experienced jousters. We can all see that he aimed for the baron's knee."

"Let the judge make his decision, Sigismund," the king said, quietly enough to not be overheard by the far ends of the lists, but still loud enough for Vesian and many others to overhear. "That is why he is there, to be the judge."

"Your judge is a fool if he believes that," the duke snapped.

"And I am no fool," Theobald added. "Sir Vesian, I find it hard to believe that you, a knight long seasoned by both battle and tournaments, could make such a novice error with your lance."

"I had a long night last night, my lord," Vesian replied with as much fatigue in his voice as he could muster. "And perhaps more to drink than I thought I had."

"Indeed," Theobald replied, unconvinced.

"Count Theobald, if I may interrupt?" Princess Adeline stepped forward to stand by the judge's side. "I know Sir Vesian's reputation, and it speaks strongly to his defense. He would never deliberately wound another competitor."

"I am aware of his reputation as well, your highness. While neither malice nor incompetence are among his qualities, the evidence speaks toward malice more strongly."

"Be reasonable, my lord," pleaded the princess. "It was a careless mistake, nothing more."

Theobald chewed the thought over, then bent to confer with his deputy. Their whispered conversation dragged on, all the while Vesian felt the crowd's eyes on him. He looked up to Adeline, and the princess gave him a hopeful shrug. Vesian sighed. It was now in the hands of the gods.

At last, Theobald raised his head from the conference and returned to the railing of his pulpit.

"I find your defense convincing enough," he announced, and Vesian breathed a sigh of relief. "However, your negligence was appalling. Whatever the costs the baron will incur among his healers will be borne by you, as well as any repairs to his armor or replacement of his horse."

Vesian winced. The horse was likely unharmed, but the armor repairs would be expensive. But he would be allowed to continue on in the tournament, and then kept his chances of defeating the sorcerer's plot alive, so he considered it a win.

"Now," the count continued. "You have earned a place in the final tilt, so go forth and rest up."

Vesian bowed in the saddle. "Thank you for your understanding, my lord. I will not disappoint again."

Thibault appeared from the staging area to collect his helm and lead his horse. Vesian made to hand over his helm, but spotted Adeline's scarf lying in the mud. With a discrete gesture, he directed Thibault to retrieve it for him, then dismounted and made their way out of the lists with the crowd's stares hot on his back.

"That was a close one," Thibault muttered under his breath as they returned to the staging area. "Of course, now that you got away with it, I expect you to continue ignoring my warnings in the future."

"Of course," Vesian replied with a slap on his squire's back. "It's gotten us this far, why stop now?"

Thibault rolled his eyes and sighed. Vesian put his arm around the squire's shoulder.

"But you weren't wrong, it was a risk. But I felt it needed to be taken. With Tancred injured, the plotters will have to change their plan and that opens them up to making a mistake."

"We still don't know if he was even a major part of their plan," Thibault protested. They exited the lists to find themselves back in the staging area surrounded by other knights preparing to joust. Some looked down on Vesian with disdain, others refused to meet his gaze at all. Only a few looked on him with pity for what they saw as an honest mistake that might befall any of them. Vesian avoided their gazes, feigning shame long enough to gather his things and leave.

Once out on the mostly deserted streets of the tournament grounds, he let himself lighten up.

"Hungry?" he asked Thibault, and his squire sighed. "It's a bit early for lunch, but I need something to take my mind off that mess. Come on, there's a vendor who sells chicken drumsticks doused in this spicy pepper sauce from the south. You'll love it."

Thibault sighed as he realized he had no choice but to follow, and they headed for the vendor's stall. They found it in a row of food stalls, each one awash in mouth-watering aromas that mingled together to form a heady scent that only made him hungrier, no doubt an intentional effect. They bought a bowl of five drumsticks each and seated themselves at benches in the middle of the row. Without hesitation, Vesian bit into one.

The sauce was delicious and the meat tender. It stung his mouth and fingers as he ate, though the merchant insisted they would develop a resistance to it over time. Vesian cared little, for he found his money well spent and his food to his liking. Thibault shared his opinion, based on how eagerly he dug into his own bowl.

"This is divine," he managed around a mouthful. "Where is this spice from?"