“I could have them all executed,” said Anne.
“Perhaps not that,” said Granny with a smile. “But I want them made to behave themselves, and work for a living.”
The queen seemed justly happy as Granny and the others finally left her quarters and stood outside in the corridor. “Well, asked Nathan, “did you make it all work as you wanted?”
“Naturally,” said Granny with a small frown. “When have I ever failed, young man? Now, watch and learn.”
As they turned to leave the palace, a small troop of armed guards appeared from the long shadows at the other end of the corridor. Their leader approached Granny, and bowed. “I have orders to arrest Hugh and Edmund Darling for crimes as yet unspecified. They are to be taken to the Tower for questioning.” The guard poked his pike into the baron’s back, and the baron squealed. “And Master Lacey,” continued the guard, “is to be ejected from the palace, and taken to train as a carpenter with the guild.”
“What?” yelled Lacey. But the guards dragged all three of them away. The baron was bright purple in the face, and kept yelling that he had never done anything wrong, while Alice waved goodbye, and called out that he had spent his whole life doing everything wrong.
“And you’ll never, ever see me again,” called Alice with a big smile. “You secretly meant to kill me once I was your wife. I know you did. You plotted horrible things. But now I’m free and you’ll be a prisoner in the Tower for ages.”
But as they turned to go, the guard bowed again, saying, “But there is a special request and invitation from her majesty the queen. Her grace wished to invite you and your whole party to a Christmas feast at the palace tomorrow. You will now be shown to your quarters where I trust you will be most comfortable, madam. And tomorrow, the herald will announce the start of the joust, which will be followed by the celebration feast.”
“A Tudor feast, and a tournament,” breathed Nathan in excitement.
“And,” continued the guard, “her majesty has suggested that if any of the young men wish to join in the tilt, then they will be most welcome, and suitable armour and mounts will be supplied.”
Alfie was jumping up and down, and John looked as though he was about to explode with happiness. “Thank you,” said Granny, “we shall be most pleased to accept.”
“And one last request,” said the guard. “Her Majesty has asked that the young gentleman named Peter will play the lute in the royal box for their Majesties, in between bouts.”
Peter stood stock still, overcome with joy. Granny put out one arm, thinking he might faint. “Well,” she said, “what an interesting day it has been.”
“Tomorrow will be more interesting still,” said Peter, his eyes as bright as fireworks. “With Alfie and John and Nat tilting at the lists. And me playing my lute to the most important people in the land. We’ll be sitting on the royal stands. It will be the best day of my life.”
Once the baron, his brother and Lacey were dragged away, shouting and cursing, their heels scraping on the floorboards, Granny, Alice and Poppy were shown to one large guest bedchamber and all the boys to another. A very pleasant light supper was served, their beds were warmed with hot bricks from the fire, they were given a pile of candles and a tinder box and were wished a good sleep with fine dreams.
And that was exactly what they got.
Chapter Eight
The next morning dawned late. It was another cold day and the dark clouds threatened snow.
Granny, Poppy and Alice ran into the boy’s room to talk about their adventure together, and they were served a huge breakfast of roast beef and hot baked bread, which none of them could finish. Shortly afterwards, three young men entered, smiling widely.
“We’ve been ordered to be your squires for the day,” they said, bowing slightly to Nathan, Alfie and John. “Will you come with us? We’ll fit you with armour, supply horses and go through the daily programme.”
Nathan frowned. “I’m not very expert at horse-riding yet,” he muttered.
“This is of no consequence,’ smiled the young boy who was now his squire. “I shall ensure you get a gentle and experienced mount, and you will be well strapped on.”
Granny nodded to Nathan. “You’re always too cautious, my dear,” she told him. “This will be magnificent training for your own future position.”
“Well, we’ll see,’ said Nathan, following his squire from the bedroom. “If I fall off and break my back and then get speared in the face, you might change your mind.”
“Nat never thinks he’s going to do well,” sighed Poppy. “But he usually does.”
Granny turned to the others. “Now,” she said, “we will dress in our best, and have a wonderful day. Baron Cambridge and his accomplices are out of your life forever.” She was sitting on the bed, looking very pleased with herself. “And we are about to have an exciting day. Peter, I will summon up your lute for you, ready to play for the queen. Then there will be a feast to remember for the rest of our lives.” She paused a moment, then added, “We might even stay here for Christmas.”
Nathan, Alfie and John had been led outside. They found themselves in a city of tents, with the horses neighing, men in brilliant polished armour with little flags on the tops of their helms, squires rushing everywhere, shouting from every corner, The wind was bitterly cold, and it seemed as though a hundred colourful banners were being whipped and twisted in the freezing gale for every tent displayed a banner from its peak.
The Knights rushed from their tents, and returned with a clank and a rattle of armour. Every squire wore a jerkin with their master’s emblem displayed and carried great piles of swords, spurs, pikes and helmets.
The boys were led to a small central tent, one of the few not flying a banner, and ducked inside. There was a long wooden bench, several cushions, and just enough space for all of them. Then the squires began to produce the armour, and everyone started to fall over everyone else, hopping on one foot to climb into the rigid metal casing, and toppling backwards when something didn’t fit. Even the squires were laughing. It was exceedingly chilly in the tents, but the boys hardly noticed. There was a small brazier to one side, with red hot coals.
“I got me best plate armour back in Hammersmith,” sighed Alfie. “Right good stuff it is too.”
“And me,” said John, who was trying to fit his cuirass upside down in the wrong place, ‘me own armour fits me good and proper, but it ain’t here.”
“Mind that brazier. You’ll knock it over and burn us all.” Nathan, who had also been fitted with armour for the battle against the invasion of Henry Tudor, was looking even more worried than he had before.
Outside a group of heralds in the bright traditional costume bearing the king’s coat of arms, came marching between the tents, blowing their bugles, which sent all the horses snorting and neighing again. The compound where the horses were kept was also alight with brilliant colour as all the mounts were gloriously dressed in swaying caparisons, and they were helmed just like their riders.
“They’re almost as big as draught horses back home,” sighed Nathan. “I’ll never be able to sit up on one of them.”
“The young jousting apprentices get smaller horses,” smiled his squire. “These are the destriers and chargers. They’re nearly as fierce as their lords. I shall choose you a pretty gentle mare.”
“As long as no one laughs at me,” whispered Nathan.
“I shall see to it,” said his squire with a smirk.
The brazier smelled of coke and soot, but the stronger smell coming from outside was sweat from all the men rushing around, and horse dung from the compound. But no one cared. What they all smelled was excitement in the wind.
Alfie, who already knew the basic rules, set off first for the lists. John and Nathan rushed out to watch from the edge of the green. Alfie looked grand and tall in his gleaming silver, with a small blue tassel flying and bouncing from the top of his helm, and the large round shield he carried showing the same colours.<
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Sitting central in the great seating stands on the other side of the lists, were the king and his queen, and next to several of the queen’s ladies in waiting, was Peter, terribly pink with excitement as he clutched his lute.
Alfie carried a lance, balanced beneath his arm, pointing to the sky. But as he rode towards his opponent, he lowered the lance, pointing it directly at the other young man’s shield. His horse flicked its mane, and all the knotted tassels and tiny bells danced and jingled. Alfie’s lance did not quiver nor fall, and the blunted point thumped square on the other’s shield so that he toppled and was unhorsed.
The crowd cheered, and Alfie was delighted. He rode to the stands, took off his helm, bowed his head, listened as both king and queen gave him their congratulations, and then walked back to the tents, shaking with pleasure. He was very pink-faced as his young steward helped him down from the special saddle, telling him he was a hero. Alfie practically collapsed onto the long bench, beaming from ear to ear as his horse was led away, and the lance was carried off back to the supply tent.
“Me next,” said John, hopping up and down with excitement. “Don’t reckon I’ll do as well as you, Alfie. But I hopes I don’t fall off meself.” John’s horse was black and the caparison was gold and scarlet. The horse’s mane was threaded with gold ribbons, and the head was covered in a shining golden helm. “That horse is a sight prettier than me,” laughed John. “He’s right grand. Wish I could take him back to Lashtang and show ‘em wot horses is like ‘stead o’ llamas.”
The squire listened to this conversation in total bewilderment, but handed John up into the saddle, and gave him his shield and lance. John rode quickly off towards the lists as the heralds blew their bugles for the next bout.
Sam, Poppy and Alice were sitting up with Granny in the stands, some way behind the king and queen. They had been exceedingly proud when Alfie did so well.
“Wish I could have joined in,” sighed Poppy. “I think I’d do well in a Tourney.”
“Quiet,” said Granny. “Here’s John.”
John’s opponent rode fast, entering the lists as if mightily impatient. John took his time. The two combatants bowed to their Majesties, and then to each other, finally putting on their helms and riding to face the other. John’s horse was frisky and wanted to gallop. It reared, but John gripped its flanks with his spurs, and spoke softly, bending over the horse’s neck to calm it. Then the other man leapt into action. He lowered his lance and came streaming down the beaten earth towards John.
With a sudden spurt, John raced into gallop, his lance down, and the other man was taken by surprise. His own lance slid aside, while John’s crashed against his shield. He wavered in the saddle but did not fall.
Both rode to the other end, and turned, facing each other once again.
John grinned, unseen within his helm. He was using tactics and not just prowess, and was thoroughly enjoying himself. This time he bounded forwards, lance upwards, galloping so fast it seemed as though he would miss the other young man altogether. Instead, he veered and at the final moment he pointed his weapon and it pierced the blunt end of the other lance, point to point, so that his opponent once again toppled, did not fall, but dropped his lance.
The herald announced victory to John, who was cheered by everyone, and as he took off his helm and road to the stands, bowing to their Majesties, he was also greatly praised by the king himself.
As Nathan rode into the lists, it began to snow. Tiny soft flakes dithered, twisting in the wind like little flying dragonflies from Lashtang’s veil. Nathan had been nervous and lacked self-confidence, but this beauty and reminder of Lashtang made him feel suddenly strong. The snow crystals caressed his cheeks and collected in his hair and he grinned, pulled on his helm, took his shield and lance, and clamped his knees to his horse’s vivid striped caparison. This was a gentle mare as promised, but she was slim and fast, with both her mane and tail plaited with glittering silver ribbons. The swirling silver satin seemed to join the snowflakes in a shining dance, and immediately Nathan was also enjoying himself.
At the first attempt, Nathan’s opponent seemed to wobble and nearly fall, although Nathan had to admit to himself that the blow he had dealt was not much good and he thought he had missed altogether. They both turned at the end of the dividing fence, and on the opposite sides, once again faced each other and rode forwards. Nathan’s squire had told him that his adversary was also unknown at court, and probably came from France or Italy. He was much taller than Nathan, but very thin, and his armour was dark with a sheen of deep shadow, which seemed a little menacing.
But now quite happy, this didn’t bother Nathan, and he was delighted to find that his good natured horse obeyed him as if he had been riding all his life.
Once again he rode forwards, his lance pointing aggressively at the other rider, the horses’ hooves thundering down the tracks of hard beaten earth. The wind was dropping and the snow fluttered and flew in circles. Then Nathan’s lance point slid off the other’s shield, and drooped with a sad clink.
Ready to ride on and then turn for the third and last attempt, Nathan abruptly realised that everyone in the stands was cheering. He turned in astonishment. Why were they cheering when he hadn’t done anything? He saw the queen clapping, and Peter jumping up and down in excitement. The king, with a huge smile, was beckoning to him. So he looked around again and saw that his opponent was laying shaking on the ground, his lance and shield both shattered into small pieces around him. Nathan stared. It wasn’t possible. He knew he hadn’t done anything as clever as that.
And then, with a flourish, the tall man on the ground pulled off his helm, and lay there, chuckling and grinning. It was Brewster Hazlett.
There was no time to wait, but Nathan reached down one metal hand to Brewster, and helped him up onto his feet. Then riding to face their Majesties, he started to laugh. He hadn’t really won that tilt at all, but he had been made to look like a great knight and a hero, and there was the king cheering and throwing him a handful of gold coins. He was going to climb down off his horse to pick these up, but he knew he’d never be able to mount again, so he was pleased when his squire ran up and gathered them for him.
Back at the tent, both Alfie and John were thrilled and clapped him on the back, but they were also puzzled.
“He were a proper lame nut, that other ‘un,” said John. “I seen it all. You hardly touched the silly fellow.”
“You was great all the same,’ Alfie assured him.
But Nathan couldn’t stop laughing. “It was Brewster,” he explained. “I suppose he fell off for a joke.”
Now they were all laughing. “He did a proper daft somersault,” grinned Alfie. “Like you’d well nigh killed him.”
“He done rolled about on the ground too,” said John, “like he were in pain.”
“I’m not sure why he did that,” said Nathan, and stopped laughing. “He could have finished me off instead. Perhaps he just thought it was funny. Or perhaps he was saying another thank you for me saving his life ages ago in the Tower of Clarr.”
“Don’t matter which nor wot,” said John. “Tis feast time soon. First we got the real tourney. I reckons the king is gonna fight. They says how he likes showing off.”
Their squires helped them out of their armour, unbuckling and loosening the many fastenings, and taking the shining steel away. The boys quickly dressed in their proper clothes, for it was even colder than it had been before and the brazier was burning low. They had all felt heated when clothed in metal and riding at full tilt, but now the sudden change had them shivering with cold sweat. They hurried out to the stands, and squeezed in beside Granny, Sam and the girls.
Watching the experienced jousters was a fascinating entertainment, and full chivalry was adopted. Few of the knights made any attempt to hurt their opponents, merely to shatter their shields or unhorse them. But some were a little rougher, trying to make themselves look like mighty warriors.
Finally the k
ing appeared, fully coated in a massive suit of plate armour, highly decorated with scrolls and patterns. His horse was enormous, and caparisoned in flowing tapestry with gold thread and long, long tassels.
He won his bout, naturally. His opponent politely fell off his charger on the second tilt, although not quite as dramatically as Brewster had done. With a proud leap from his horse, the king received the cheers of the crowd, and marched off to his tent to get changed for the feast. Peter was now playing the lute, while the queen and her ladies were clapping and smiling at him. But eventually the stands emptied and everyone scurried back to the palace and into the warm, while the snow continued to fall outside and had started to collect in white spangles across the treetops, the roofs and the long tufty hedges.
Everyone returned to their bedchambers to wash and change and finally met up again to troop down to the huge hall, which had been set for the feast. There were a dozen long wooden tables covered in the most beautiful white linen, with the royal arms embroidered in the centre, and another long table on a dais beneath a richly patterned scarlet and golden canopy. The king and queen sat here, with their waiting lords and ladies standing behind their chairs. Everyone else sat at the other tables, and huge braziers, chandeliers of a hundred candles and sconces with flaming torches all warmed the vast space, spinning shadows like black flames across the room. A fire burned in the enormous hearth at one end, and here it was decorated with holly, strings of floating ivy, and sprigs of greenery. A loop of mistletoe was held below the chandelier, and the scent of candle wax, burning logs, and rich meat juices filled the hall even more fully.
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