“Remember what I said, milady!” Duchess Danyel calls after us. “Syr Phillip loves to get the ladies out of their dresses!”
Syr Phillip has gone beet red. I don’t know whether to laugh or be mortified.
“You’ll have to excuse Duchess Danyel,” Syr Phillip finally says. “She’s known me since I was a teenager, and she likes to ahhh, make fun of me.”
“I see,” I say, edging away from him a little.
“Please don’t take what she says about me ‘getting the ladies out of their dresses’ seriously,” Syr Phillip says, a desperate edge to his voice. “There was a time in my youth when I was a little. . .overenthusiastic towards the ladies. But now that I’m older, and knighted, it’s my duty to be chivalrous at all times. I hope you don’t think that my suggestion that you change your dress is—“
I turn and look at Syr Phillip and notice that he seems almost near tears.
“Is what?” I ask.
“Is ahhh, suggestive in any way. I certainly don’t mean you any disrespect—“
“Of course not,” I say, taking one of Syr Phillip’s gauntleted hands. “You’ve been a true gentleman to me all morning.”
Syr Phillip looks relieved. “Duchess Danyel is from the ‘old school’ of SCA too. She’s been in since the early seventies and still likes to drink barrels of mead and revel until the wee hours. She’s been queen of the Middle Kingdom twice and of the East Kingdom once—all more than twenty years ago. Back when I was younger, just after my sister died, she was somewhat of a surrogate mother to me, even if she wasn’t necessarily a good role model where chivalry is concerned.”
“She certainly seems—rambunctious,” I say.
“Oh, Duchess Danyel is a pistol, that’s for sure. She had a brief affair with my father just after my mother died. My father always used to say that the affair was so hot and heavy it gave him a heart attack—literally.”
I giggle again, despite myself. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh at your father having a heart attack. It just seems—well, Duchess Danyel seems like she could give practically anyone a heart attack.”
We sit down at a battered picnic table to eat. “You’re probably right on that score,” Syr Phillip says, spreading a paper napkin over the dirty wooden tabletop. “Did you know that she has served as Queen Consort with three different kings? Not a one of them her husband? I think that’s an SCA record. I don’t think her mundane husband is even in the SCA.”
“How does someone get to be queen with somebody other than her husband?” I ask, taking a bite of my meat pie, which tastes sort of like a clove-flavored hamburger. “How does somebody get to be queen or a duchess at all? Does that have something to do with that whole giving-a-favor thing?”
“Actually, yes, that’s it exactly,” Syr Phillip pulls up the cuff of his gauntlet to reveal a watch, which he taps impatiently. “But we can talk more about that later. I apologize if I sound dismissive, Lisa, but it seems I’ve lost track of the time. I need to finish eating and skedaddle, because I’m due back in the bear pit—that’s what we call the fighting ring in SCA—in fifteen minutes.”
“Do you need me to go with you? I mean, since I’m like your—lady for the day and everything?”
“No, take your time eating. Feel free to stroll around the grounds to check things out. I’ll see if I can get a message to my seamstress friend to find you, get you a new dress and charge it to me. Just be sure you’re back to the gym by three o’clock—that’s the final round, for the tournament title.” With that, Syr Phillip gobbles up his slice of meat pie, guzzles his Diet Coke, and takes off toward the gymnasium for his next bear-pit battle—which will most likely be forfeited to him anyway.
I savor the remains of my meat pie and sip my Diet Coke while I try to understand everything that’s happened to me so far this morning. I hope Syr Phillip’s seamstress friend finds me soon—my corset rash has reached incendiary level. Just as I reach around to scratch it, I feel a strong jab on my right shoulder.
“Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” seethes a familiar voice. I turn around to find Pegeen/Pegonia, resplendent in her heavy fur-trimmed cloak and gown of green and red velvet despite the heat of the day. She’s grinding her teeth and her face has turned a shade that matches her gown. “I’ve been looking all over for you. We need to talk. Now.”
Chapter 5
“What the hell is going on, Lisa?” Pegeen/Pegonia hisses, stamping her velvet-slippered foot on the dewy grass of the football field sidelines.
“What the hell is going on with what?”
“You know what I mean,” Pegeen/Pegonia snaps. “What’s going on with you and Syr Phillip? An hour ago you give him a torn piece of polyester as a favor, and now rumor has it you two are practically married. I even heard he’s going to fight for you at Crown Tournament—“
“Huh? Fight for me at Crown Tournament? What the hell does that mean? And what’s Crown Tournament?”
Pegeen/Pegonia stamps her foot again. “Don’t you play dumb with me, Lees. I know you better than that.”
I bite my tongue before responding. “Pegeen, pardon me, but things have been happening pretty fast here today.” Too fast, in fact. “I’ve barely had enough time to eat lunch, let alone grasp the entire SCA social order.”
Pegeen rolls her eyes. “Well, allow me to enlighten you, Lees. Pretty much everyone here at the Blood and Roses Tournament can see that you’ve practically got the boy eating out of your hand. Do you know how many women absolutely hate you now? And hate me, for bringing you here?”
“Pegeen, I—“
“Pegonia. At SCA events you are to address me as Pegonia.”
“All right, Pegonia. I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about. I don’t even know anybody here besides you—and now, Syr Phillip—so I really don’t see how anyone can hate me when I only know two people at the whole stinking event.”
Pegeen/Pegonia sighs, exasperated. “I will have you know that I have spent the past half an hour apologizing to everyone for you. I feel responsible for what’s happened, since I brought you here.”
“Pegeen—“
“Pegonia.”
“Whatever. Pegonia, I still don’t get what the big deal is. I even heard you shout ‘You go girl’ back in the gym when I gave Syr Phillip my favor.”
“Well, that was before I realized how mad it would make everybody.” Pegeen/Pegonia twists a tie from her cloak around and around her little finger until it turns blue.
“Who’s everybody?” I ask, guzzling the dregs of my Diet Coke.
“Well, pretty much every single SCA female within a two-hundred-mile radius, that’s who.”
“Including you?”
“Well, not at first,” Pegeen/Pegonia admits sheepishly. “At first I was kind of happy for you. I mean, Syr Phillip is mondo hot and all, and I know you’ve been in kind of a big need for a date lately—“
“Pegeen—“
“Pegonia, please. I even bragged to some people about how you managed to get a knight to carry your favor less than two hours after you showed up at your first event. That’s got to be an SCA record—jeez. I mean, I was pretty proud of you Lisa. At first. But—“
“But what?”
“Well, that’s kind of when the trouble started. First off, those ladies you beat out in the favor-giving contest are not exactly thrilled by the fact they lost to a clueless newbie whose favor was nothing but a torn polyester rag. I mean, some of those ladies have worked for months embroidering their favors, with all kinds of fancy, elaborate stitches, in hopes that some handsome fighter or other would be proud to carry it for them. And you—well, you didn’t do anything except rip something off your dress. Your ugly dress—no offense—which isn’t even yours. The Gold Key people are pretty mad about that, by the way. You’re going to have to pay for the dress.”
“Pay? For this dress? It’s giving me a rash, you know. My whole backside is turning into a science experiment.
They should pay me for having to wear it.”
Pegeen wrinkles her nose in disgust.
“Pegeen—I mean, Pegonia, listen. There’s something else about this dress, and Syr Phillip, that you don’t know—“
Pegeen/Pegonia is having none of it. “Do you know how hard it is for SCA women to get a man to carry their favor?” She is near tears. “Do you realize that not all of the men in the SCA are fighters, let alone knights? Do you know how competitive it is for ladies just to get dates with the fighters? Do you know that the odds of a newbie landing a knight at her first event are roughly equivalent to winning the lottery? Do you realize how much you have upset the whole SCA social balance here?”
“No, not really, Pegeen. I don’t know anything about how the SCA works. You just dragged me here this morning—forcibly, I might add.”
Pegeen isn’t listening. “What the hell did you do to Syr Phillip to get him practically worshipping the ground you walk on within an hour of meeting him, anyway? All the single women at the Blood and Roses Tournament, if not the entire Middle Kingdom, are dying to know your secret. Do you realize how rare a good-looking, young, and single knight is in the SCA? Most of the knights are over 40, fat, and married—either that or they’re ugly. That makes Syr Phillip practically the catch of the century. And do you realize how many women have been practically throwing themselves at Syr Phillip ever since he broke up with his last girlfriend two months ago? Throwing themselves, sewing favors, giving gifts, presenting who-knows-what kinds of offers, and he has ignored them all? That is, until you showed up.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yep. And then he takes just one look at you and poof! Every other female within a two-hundred-mile radius might as well not exist. And mind you, this is despite the fact that Syr Phillip has had quite a reputation for being a ladies’ man in the past. You made a lot of enemies today, Lisa. A lot. I’d be your enemy too, only I don’t really go in for knights myself. They’re bound by too many rules of chivalry and stuff, and you know how I feel about rules. That’s why I go for plain ol’ fighters—they’re more down to earth—“
“You’re rambling, Pegeen.”
“Pegonia. Anyway, Lisa, just so you know, you aren’t going to find a whole lot of friendly faces here at the tournament today. And of course, that means I can’t be seen with you. So, you’ll of course understand that I have to ditch you, at least until we go to the feast site tonight. I hope that’s OK with you.”
“Fine,” I hiss. “Whatever.”
“Good,” Pegeen/Pegonia says, adjusting her towering headdress higher up on her forehead. “But before I do ditch you, answer me this. You know, in the spirit of the longtime best girlfriends that we are. What did you do to Syr Phillip? Did you give him some good head when nobody was looking? Do you give fabulous back massages? Did you flash him in the hallway? What?”
“You know, you can be really crude sometimes, Pegeen.”
Pegeen/Pegonia just shrugs. “You didn’t answer my question.”
I take a deep breath. “He said I remind him of his sister. His dead sister.”
Pegeen/Pegonia’s eyes nearly pop out of her skull. “Are you serious?”
“Yep. He even said his sister wore this same dress I’m wearing at her first event about twenty years ago, and when he saw me wearing it and saw how much I look like his dead sister, he thought he absolutely had to carry my favor. Like it was some kind of cosmic karma or the dead visiting from beyond the grave or something.”
Pegeen/Pegonia shudders and shakes her head. “Fuck,” she whispers.
“What?”
“Lisa, I’m really sorry about how I just went off on you—had I known, I never would have taken sides with all those other ladies. It’s obvious you had no control over what happened.”
“Well, duh!” I toss my empty pop can and shepherd’s pie carton in a nearby trash can and get up to leave. I don’t think I can take much more of Pegeen right now, best friend or no best friend.
“Lisa, wait.” Pegeen beckons for me to come back, and reluctantly, I go to stand beside her. Pegeen/Pegonia leans in close and whispers, “Did he tell you how his sister died?”
“He said she died in a car accident. I think he said something about his mom being dead, too.”
“Shit, that’s what I thought,” Pegeen shakes her head again, and almost knocks off her headdress. “Listen. I don’t know for sure, but I’ve heard some rumors about how one of the reasons Syr Phillip got made a knight so young was because his mom and his sister got killed at the Pennsic War, and that he fights to avenge their honor or something.”
“Are you saying that his mom and his sister were murdered or something? And what the hell is the Pennsic War?”
“Pennsic is the SCA’s biggest event. It happens every summer out in Pennsylvania—more than ten thousand people show up for it every year. Or so I hear. Look, I don’t know if they got murdered, or died in a car accident, or got hit by lightning, or what. All I know is, I’ve heard a lot of weird rumors about it. And word on the street is, you’re never supposed to make mention of Syr Phillip’s sister, mother, or father in his presence. That he’ll get really upset if you do. Syr Phillip—he’s kind of mysterious.”
“I’ll say.”
Pegeen/Pegonia chews her pinky nail thoughtfully. “Well Lisa, not mentioning the sister and mom I can see, because they’re dead. But I don’t know what the deal is about him not mentioning his dad. Especially since Syr Phillip’s dad is currently the king of Aethelmarc.”
“What’s Aethelmarc?”
Pegeen sighs. “The SCA kingdom just east of Ohio. Rumor has it Syr Phillip isn’t on speaking terms with his dad, which is pretty odd, considering Syr Phillip’s a knight and so is his dad, and his dad is also a sitting SCA king. And Syr Phillip wouldn’t even be in the SCA at all if his dad hadn’t brought him into it as a teenager. Supposedly they haven’t spoken for years. But of course, that’s just a rumor.”
“You sure hear a lot of rumors, Pegonia.”
Pegeen/Pegonia smiles. “Yep, I’m finding that getting all the good SCA gossip is one of my talents. Anyhoo, remember what I said. Don’t bring up Syr Phillip’s sister, his mom, and definitely not his dad. Otherwise, he’ll get upset. And I probably wouldn’t mention that your parents died in a car accident, either. Might seem like too much of a coincidence.”
“Well, I don’t know how accurate your information is, Pegonia. Because he did sort of talk a little bit about all three of them when we were hanging out this morning. He also told me about how his dad used to date the duchess who runs the shepherd’s pie stand.”
“Okay, fine, whatever.” Pegeen/Pegonia rolls her eyes and wraps her cloak around herself, exasperated. “I guess it’s okay to talk about them if he brings them up. Just you don’t be the one to bring it up. How does that sound?”
“I think I can do that. And what exactly is this Pennsic War you keep talking about? Does the SCA actually have wars with people?”
“How about I explain that at the feast tonight? That is, if I’m done ditching you by then.” Pegeen/Pegonia starts off in the direction of the parking lot. “Gotta go! Remember, I’m ditching you until, tonight, maybe longer. At least until things calm down about you snagging Syr Phillip in such a hurry. Who knows—maybe it won’t be such a big deal if he ends up losing the tournament.”
“I thought you said he was the best fighter in the kingdom,” I say.
“He is,” Pegeen/Pegonia replies curtly. “So you can pretty much forget about him losing.”
With that, Pegeen/Pegonia disappears between the rows of cars—or dragons, as they’re called in the SCA. As I watch her go, I start feeling sick to my stomach. I don’t know if it’s from the corset rash, the midday heat, or if I’m just afraid of what’s in store for me the rest of the day.
I decide it’s probably a combination of all three.
Chapter 6
I try to shake off my rising nausea by walking briskly b
ack towards Neil Armstrong High School. I have about an hour until Syr Phillip fights in the final round, so I decide to explore a bit and see if I can find some of the other favor ladies I beat out for Syr Phillip’s attentions this morning—maybe then I can apologize to them. I don’t know exactly what I should be apologizing for—perhaps just for looking more like Syr Phillip’s dead sister than they do. The more I think about it, the more I believe that Syr Phillip’s designs on me are purely fraternal in nature.
I think I recognize one of the women from this morning’s favor-waving lineup leaning against the outside wall of the high school. I notice that she’s chain-smoking, pulling her next cig from a pack stored in her cleavage before she’s even done with the first one. Cleavage storage must be standard practice in the SCA, since I haven’t seen anyone carrying a purse or shoulder bag around. That may prove a problem for me, given that even in this super-tight corset getup I have almost no cleavage to speak of.
“Excuse me, miss,” I say to the chain-smoking woman.
“The proper way to address a woman in the Society is ‘milady’,” she hisses, and takes a deep drag on her noxious menthol cigarette. “But you’re new here, so I guess you don’t know that, do you?”
“That’s right, I don’t. I am definitely new around here. And I just wanted to say, you know, that I hope we didn’t get off on the wrong foot or anything this morning with the favor-giving. You know, with Syr Phillip and all. Anyway, I just wanted to come over and introduce myself. I’m Lisa.”
I hold out my hand. The chain smoker doesn’t take it. She just looks down her nose at me. “I’m Lady Ramona of North Fields,” she finally snarls. “I outrank you, you know. I have an Award of Arms.”
“What’s an Award of Arms?”
“It means I outrank you, Lisa. I have the title of Lady. The rest you’ll have to figure out for yourself. Lisa.” She says my name with a curled lip and a growl of contempt. She stubs her cigarette out, turns on her heel, and goes back inside.
I don’t know what to think. I guess Pegeen wasn’t lying when she said I ruffled a few feathers among the single SCA women. That much I can understand. But all this mumbo-jumbo about ranks and titles, Crown Tournaments, and kings, queens, and duchesses is getting pretty hard for me to follow. And I’ll readily admit that I’ve never exactly been the sharpest knife in the drawer. Between my rampant dyslexia and complete lack of public speaking abilities, it’s a wonder I can function in adult society at all.
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