Calard and his entourage rode dow n tow ards the jubilant encampment, scanning the pennants flying atop the tents for those of friends and relatives. While the vast majority of knights present w ere from Lyonesse, Artois and L'Anguille - the place chosen for the tournament w as near the border of all three lands, after all - there was on display heraldry proclaiming that some of the participants were from more distant lands: Gisoreux, Couronne, Bordeleaux and Montfort. There was even one knight from w ar-torn Carcassonne, far to the south.
'There,' said Bertelis, spying what it w as they had all been looking for; heraldry declaring that other knights of Bastonne were present.
Calard and his entourage turned their steeds towards the Bastonnian contingent, and he ordered his servants on ahead to find a suitable location to pitch their tents.
The peasants w ere exhausted, for they had not even had the chance of rest that the knights had, busy as they w ere preparing food for their masters and taking care of their horses, but they knew better than to voice any resentment.
Without complaint, they kicked their heavy draught horses on ahead, laden with tents, foodstuffs, chests of clothes and anything else that their lords might need to make their lives more comfortable w hile aw ay from home.
'Montcadas,' said Bertelis brightly, standing in the saddle to get a better view of the flapping heraldry.
Calard saw the Bastonnian baron's heraldry too, and he smiled. They had fought alongside the baron in the campaign in Bordeleaux two seasons past, when Calard and Bertelis, as Knights Errant, had ridden to Bordeleaux to engage a massive greenskin army. In the ensuing war, the Bretonnians became embroiled w ith a further enemy - the beastmen. During those bloody times, Montcadas had left an impression on both of the brothers. As fierce as a bear and almost as hirsute, Baron Montcadas had taken the young brothers under his w ing, earning their respect and admiration.
The smile dropped from Calard's face as he saw a tent near the baron's; it w as white and flew a pennant with a blood-red dragon motif in its centre.
'Looks like the vermin have come out for the tournament as w ell,' said Bertelis.
'Maloric,' spat Calard.
For generations there had been a blood fued betw een the Garamont and Sangasse families. Three years Calard's senior, Maloric was the young earl and heir of Sangasse, and had been his rival and enemy since birth. Calard and Maloric had fought alongside each other in the Bordeleaux campaign, though their antagonism had resulted in Gunthar's mortal injury, and despite Maloric's assistance in the defence of Castle Garamont against the horrific half-human beasts of the forest, the hatred betw een the tw o remained strong. If anything, it had intensified since Calard had inherited the mantle of castellan; Maloric had seen first-hand the twisted creature that had been Calard's brother, and had spread the w ord around the courts of both enemy and friend of the Garamonts' shame.
'Maybe in the tournament tomorrow I w ill have a chance to put the w easel on his arse,' said Bertelis.
'I pray that one of us does,' agreed Calard.
'Come!' said Tassilo. 'It's a night for revelry! For dance, for drink, and pretty faces!'
'Never mind their faces,' said Baldemund, 'I'm more interested in what else they've got to offer.'
Long tables packed w ith feasting nobles were positioned at the centre of the encampment, surrounded by heaving pavilions. From w ithin these vast tents came sounds of merriment - and the clash of sw ords.
'We might not be too late to enter the duels,' said Bertelis. 'Care to enter, brother?'
'You go,' said Calard. 'I'm going to try and find Montcadas. I haven't seen him since...'
He didn't need to finish the sentence; Bertelis knew of what he spoke. Calard turned in the saddle and flicked a gold coin towards Tassilo, w ho caught it deftly.
'If the duels are not yet done, put this on my brother,' Calard ordered. His cousin nodded.
'Might enter myself,' said Tassilo with a smile.
Calard flicked him another coin.
'Put this on your opponent,' he said w ith a smile.
While Bertelis and Tassilo moved off tow ards the largest of the pavilions, accompanied by a quartet of peasants to act as their squires, Calard and his other companions dismounted, handing their reins to w aiting servants.
'Make sure they are brushed dow n, fed and w atered,' said Calard, not even deigning to look at the peasants to w hom he spoke. 'The night is cold - see that they are w ell blanketed.'
'Now to find Montcadas,' he said. Succulent aromas reached his nose; he could smell roasting meat, as w ell as frying onion and garlic sauces, and his stomach grumbled loudly.
'But first,' he said, 'let us eat.'
Hunger w as not a sensation familiar to many Bretonnian nobles, and the three knights w ere salivating as they picked their way through the crowd.
'GARAMONT!' BOOMED A deep voice, and Calard looked up from his meal of stuffed quail and venison to see the heavy-set figure of Baron Montcadas marching towards him. The baron w as shorter than Calard, but w hat he lacked in height he made up for in w idth. A patch bearing the fleur-de-lys covered his left eye, and vivid scars covered the left side of his face. A wide grin split his thick beard, and as Calard pushed himself upright, the baron sw ept him into a crushing embrace.
'Good to see you, my boy!' said Montcadas, releasing him and slapping him hard on the shoulder. By the rosy tint of the baron's nose he guessed that the baron had been enjoying the vintages on offer.
'It is good to see you too, baron,' said Calard. 'You know my cousins?'
The tw o knights bow ed to the baron, w ho nodded his head in response, before turning his attention back on Calard.
'A knight of the realm now , eh? And a castellan, no less.'
'I'd have fallen in my first battle had it not been for you,' said Calard.
'Ah, don't be daft, boy,' said Montcadas, though Calard could tell that his w ords had pleased the baron.
Montcadas's expression darkened, and he lowered his voice.
'I w as grieved to hear of the death of your father. A good man, Lutheure,' he said. 'I am sorry for your loss.'
Calard nodded his head and smiled his thanks.
Montcadas took a step back from him, casting a critical gaze over the young lord of Garamont.
'You are not looking your best, boy,' said Montcadas. 'What's Folcard been feeding you?'
'I am not sleeping well,' admitted Calard.
Montacadas regarded Calard thoughtfully.
'There is a lot of pressure that comes w ith becoming the head of a noble family,' said Montcadas in a low voice. 'There is no shame in feeling out of your depth at first.'
'Am I so transparent?' replied Calard.
'You've a good head on your shoulders. You'll do fine,' said Montcadas.
'Were that it w ere so simple,' said Calard.
'Of course it is not as simple as that, but don't make the mistake of trying to complicate things. You're new to your role. You'll make a few mistakes, but everyone does. Learn from them and don't dw ell on the past.'
'I'll try, baron,' said Calard, and despite himself, he felt his mood lift for the first time in months.
'The fates have not been kind to you of late, boy, and that's the Lady's truth. But it's w hat you do under such circumstances that w ill be your making,' said Montcadas, unusually serious. 'Or your dow nfall,' the baron added, shrugging. 'It's up to you now . But don't forget that you have friends and allies on your side.'
'I appreciate it, baron,' said Calard.
He saw an attractive young lady moving through the crow d tow ards them, being led by the hand by a young boy, no more than six summers old. The boy w as w earing an exquisite, miniature suit of armour. Seeing their approach, Montcadas smiled, his previous seriousness evaporating.
'What you need is a w ife,' he said, his voice booming. 'If you think running a realm is hard, try being married. It'll put things in perspective. And speaking of which, allow me to introduce you to my sister's
youngest, the Lady Josephine.'
'Uncle!' she said in exasperation, shaking her head. Then she curtsied, gazing appraisingly at Calard for a moment before low ering her eyes as a good lady w as taught.
'My lady,' said Calard, bow ing.
'Lord Calard,' said Josephine, a smile in her self-assured voice, 'it is my pleasure to introduce you to your second cousin once removed, young Sir Orlando of Bordeleaux.'
Calard looked dow n at the boy, then tow ards Montcadas questioningly.
'Young Orlando here is the son of your mother's niece, Calard,' he said in a soft voice.
'They are close family friends of my house. I was, after all, the one who introduced your mother to your father.'
'I never knew,' said Calard, before turning his attention back to the boy, w ho w as staring up at him curiously.
He dropped to one knee to be on a level w ith the boy.
'It is an honour to meet you, Sir Orlando,' he said, bow ing his head solemnly.
The boy bow ed in return, his face a serious mask of concentration. The boy's attention w as suddenly draw n away from Calard, and his jaw dropped.
'Look!' he cried, pointing into the sky.
There were gasps and exclamations of wonder from the nobles around them, and Calard stood, looking up into the night sky to see what Orlando has spotted.
Angling dow n through the clouds, moonlight shimmering like silver upon their flanks and feathered w ings, was a flock of winged horses. Fully armoured knights rode in their saddles, and they circled down towards the ground in graceful arcs.
'Pegasus knights!' cried Orlando, his voice full of excitement and w onder.
One of the knights pulled away from the others, leaning back in the saddle as his steed furled its w ings tight against its body. It dropped tow ards the ground like a diving hawk, gaining speed with every passing moment. At the last second it spread its w ings and scores of nobles ducked involuntarily as the pegasus sw ept dow n low, passing just overhead.
Peasants scrambled out of the w ay as the pegasus landed, silver-shod hooves striking the earth. It slow ed its pace and halted, tossing its head.
The pegasus w as larger than any destrier, and must have been pushing twenty hands tall at the shoulder. They w ere known to be aggressive, and though they looked noble and angelic in countenance, Calard knew that they could be unpredictable and dangerous w hen the mood took them, and w ould w ilfully stomp a man to death if provoked. Nevertheless, amongst the Bretonnian nobility they were highly sought after steeds, fierce and loyal if raised from a foal, and eager to bear a knight into the thickest fray.
It w as said that vast flocks of pegasus could be seen soaring the mountain peaks above the tiered city of Parravon, though Calard had never journeyed so far east to see if such tales w ere true. It w as from those stocks that the majority of the pegasus seen w ithin Bretonnia w ere bred. Such creatures did not come cheap, however, and those w ho rode them w ere amongst the wealthiest knights of all Bretonnia. Nor was purchasing a pegasus foal any guarantee that the beast w ould bond w ith its intended rider and accept him, and few were willing to risk the investment - one did not w ish to be tw o hundred feet in the air before discovering that your mount had taken a dislike to you. No amount of w ealth could protect you then.
The knight riding upon the snow-coloured beast w ore a tabard of red and silver over plate shined to an almost painful degree, and he bore a silver pegasus motif upon his chest. The attention of every man and lady w as upon him, and he tore his helmet from his head theatrically. Wavy blond hair dropped to his shoulders, and he flashed a w inning smile to his audience as he slid from the saddle.
Spontaneous clapping erupted, and there were cheers. The knight lapped up the attention, bow ing low.
Josephine's eyes shone as she looked upon the dashing knight.
Calard instantly disliked him.
'Who's this?' he said, unimpressed.
The knight was irritatingly good looking, and was instantly surrounded by a coterie of faw ning supplicants, both men and w omen. He exchanged a brief w ord with several nobles, bow ing to lords and placing a kiss upon the hand of half a dozen blushing ladies of particular beauty, w ealth or social position.
'Laudethaire,' said Montcadas. 'Beloved of Parravon. Whatever else might be said about him, though, he's a damn good fighter.'
Laudethaire, his pegasus steed having been led away, swept by Calard and Montcadas w ith barely a glance, exuding scented perfumes. Over one shoulder he proudly w ore a golden sash, which proclaimed him as the lord of the joust, having w on the prestigious aw ard earlier in the day.
He did a theatrical double-take w hen he saw Lady Josephine, and paused, a look of rapture on his face.
'Such beauty must surely make even the goddess envious,' he said, taking her hand.
He maintained eye contact w ith her as he placed a kiss upon her hand. 'Enchanted, my lady.'
Josephine curtsied, oblivious to the venomous looks she was receiving from dozens of w omen nearby. With a w arm smile, Laudethaire moved on, and Calard was bustled by the devotees following in his wake. As the jostling crowd began to clear, he saw that the Lady Josephine had a slight blush to her cheeks.
His expression brightened as he saw a familiar figure pushing through the crowd.
'Here,' said Tassilo darkly, holding out a pouch bulging w ith coin. Calard took his w innings.
'I take it by the bruises on your face that you did not w in then, my friend?' he said.
'No,' said Tassilo, placing a hand gingerly to his cheek. 'But at least you benefited from my humbling.'
'Bertelis?'
'Through to the finals,' said Tassilo. 'His is the next bout. He's facing the knight who defeated me - Merovech of Arlons.'
'Never heard of him,' said Calard.
'I hadn't, either,' said Tassilo. 'But the man is a devil w ith the blade.'
TIERED SEATING HAD been erected around the sides of the pavilion, from where hundreds of nobles w atched the progression of bouts on display in relative comfort.
They sat on dow n-filled cushions, and servants wound through their ranks, keeping goblets topped up and bearing platters of extravagant and exotic sw eetmeats: jellied eels, ox tongues, liver pate, jaguar's earlobes, quails' eggs. The most w ealthy and influential of these lords and ladies occupied private booths sw athed in velvet and hanging with their personal and family heraldry.
Calard saw Lord Orderic, the host of this tourney, seated w ithin the grandest of these booths. An immensely fat noble of considerable wealth and influence, Lord Orderic w as drunk and clearly enjoying himself. He had boar fat dripping down his face, and he w ore a lascivious grin as he slipped a pudgy hand up the dress of a serving girl.
'This w ay,' said Baron Montcadas. 'I have a booth.'
The bear-like Bastonnian lord trundled through the crowd, leading Lady Josephine by the arm. Young Orlando held onto Josephine's free hand, staring around him in w ide-eyed excitement. Calard, walking behind, found himself staring at Josephine's slender waist and the sway of her hips beneath her midnight blue slip.
A collective groan of empathetic pain rose from the audience as, dow n in the roped-off area in the centre of the tent, a broad-shouldered knight suffered a heavy blow to the head, w renching his plumed helmet out of shape. Honourably, his opponent stepped aw ay from him, allowing his seconds to rush forward and help the knight free of his damaged helmet. Polite applause greeted this act of chivalry, and the knight lifted his visor, smiling and saluting the audience while his opponent had a bandage quickly w rapped around his bleeding head. Several flowers were thrown in the knight's direction from blushing young ladies, who turned aw ay giggling to each other w hen the knight bow ed in their direction.
Montcadas led them into his private booth, and they took their seats overlooking the spectacle. Orlando stood on his seat in order to see over the wooden balustrade in front.
The w ounded knight's seconds left the duelling floor, and the bout recommenc
ed. It w as over quickly, w hen the unwounded knight slipped on one of the flowers that had been tossed tow ards him. He stumbled, and his opponent struck him a mighty blow to his shoulder that knocked him to the ground. With a sword-tip at his throat, the knight w as forced to concede, though his face was thunderous.
Trumpets blared and the crow d cheered and hollered. As the tw o knights left the competition floor, a troupe of players danced and cartw heeled in to entertain the crow d before the next bout commenced. One of them, a w oman with greasepaint on her face, held up a flaming brand, and spitting out a mouthful of combustible oil, sent a burst of flame roaring into the air, like the breath of a dragon. Bizarrely, jugglers tossed dried and desiccated frogs into the air, keeping a dozen or more aloft at any one time, and the crow d laughed at the clownish expressions on the faces of a band of stunted men the size of children, who were dressed up like miniature knights and riding pigs. These ''knights'' charged around the arena, waving wooden swords and clinging desperately to their steeds.
One of the sw ine took fright as the fire breather blew another burst of flame into the air, and the pig dove into the crowd, squealing w ildly, while its miniature rider held on for dear life. Two more of the diminutive ' knights'' came together, and a blow from one of them sent the other rolling off the back of his ow n swine, which garnered a cheer from the crow d.
'There he is,' said Tassilo, pointing.
Calard saw his brother on the edge of the arena, rolling his arms as he stretched out his muscles. Bertelis's heraldry, a silver dragon on a black and red field, was displayed on an unfurled banner held aloft by one of Garamont's yeomen. Calard yelled out, but his voice w as lost in the crowd.
Another of the hog-knights was knocked from his saddle as his steed charged into one of the jugglers, and another cheer rose from the crowd. One of the rider's legs got caught in the rope that served as reins, and he was dragged around the arena on his back, much to the amusement of the crow d and his fellows. Orlando's giggling was contagious, and Calard found himself chuckling along w ith him.
Warhammer - Knight of the Realm Page 5
