“I’ll wear the scarlet gown,” she stated.
“Splendid. You will look absolutely lovely.”
It seemed that in mere moments she was dressed, her damp tresses brushed dry and plaited down her back with silver ribbons. But when Blanche draped the short matching veil over her head, Leila snatched it from her hair.
“This will not do. Where I come from, women cloak themselves in long head scarfs and face veils out of modesty. It is indecent for a woman to flaunt her beauty to the world. If you don’t mind, I will finish dressing by myself.” Receiving startled looks from every woman in the room, Leila felt a twinge of guilt for spurning their kindnesses, but she quickly shrugged it off. She was determined to prove that she was no more like them than a fish to fowl.
“What are you going to do?” Matilda asked, rushing to her side as Leila grabbed a small knife from a food tray and picked up the royal-blue kirtle.
“Make myself a proper head scarf, one that reaches almost to the floor. I plan to use this scarlet veil to cover my face.”
“But its a new gown!” the countess exclaimed incredulously.
Leila lifted her chin stubbornly. “I will not leave this room without a proper kufiyya.”
Glancing at Margaret and Blanche, who looked just as bewildered, Matilda shook her head and threw up her hands. “Very well, my dear. Do what you must. All I ask is that you hurry.”
Leila smiled to herself as she cut the gown in two at the waist. She could hardly wait to see Guy’s face.
***
Walking toward the covered pavilion a short while later, Leila felt smug satisfaction. She knew with amusing certainty that her choice of clothing was creating quite a stir.
No sooner had she emerged from her bedchamber, with the hastily constructed head scarf wrapped around her body like a blue silk cocoon and the scarlet veil covering her face below her eyes, when a serving woman—bearing a large tray and gaping at Leila in open-mouthed surprise—collided around a corner with a manservant carrying buckets of steaming water. The palace hall had echoed with a loud crash of crockery, high-pitched shrieking, and disgruntled male cursing, while behind her opaque veil Leila had merely smiled.
Activity had ceased in each room she and her three female companions passed: servants’ brushes and brooms fell still; ladies stared aghast and whispered like buzzing bees; several knights watched her with a fascinated gleam in their eyes. It had been all she could do not to laugh aloud at the silly exclamations she overheard.
“God’s teeth, will you look at that? For a moment I thought I was back in the Holy Land—on crusade! I wouldn’t be surprised if next a camel crossed our path!”
“Who is she?”
“I believe Lady de Warenne, and oh, just look at the poor countess of Surrey. I’ve never seen Matilda’s face so red! It’s shocking, I tell you. Such a heathen display—shocking!”
Then, once outside the palace, Leila’s exotic attire spooked a horse which tumbled its hapless rider into a bed of russet chrysanthemums. She didn’t bother to stop, though Margaret rushed over to inquire after the poor man’s health. Leila kept fight on walking until she reached the pavilion, where she gracefully climbed the steps and followed Blanche to a bench in the second row.
Leila swept a glance across the assembled lords and ladies, who had suddenly grown silent with her appearance among them. She could see that virtually every pair of eyes was upon her. To Leila, they resembled so many gaping fish, almost as strange a sight to her as she must appear to them. With a surge of defiance, she faced front and sat down—determined not to give their astonished scrutiny a second thought. It was they who were dressed inappropriately, not she! Drawing her kufiyya more closely around her, Leila looked out across a dirt field cluttered with a half dozen long, boarded enclosures. She was amazed by the hundreds of spectators ringing the rough-hewn fence that had been constructed along the field’s perimeter. The air of excitement was incredible, the crowd’s roar deafening. It seemed the common folk on the field were so busy jostling one another, they had paid her little notice.
“I can hardly believe we made it here in time,” the countess said, glancing with annoyance at Leila as she plopped onto the cushioned bench in the front row. She leaned toward her burly husband. “Has there been some delay, my lord?”
“Aye, there was a dispute over the pairings for today’s round of jousting,” John de Warenne answered in a deep voice, clearly trying but failing not to stare at Leila’s veiled figure. “But the matter has been resolved. The opening pageant should start at any moment.”
“What problem?” Matilda persisted. “I hope nothing serious. That would truly mar the day.”
“Not serious, though it could have been. It seems Lord Gervais wanted to be paired with a certain knight even though he did not draw the man’s name for today’s round.”
Leila had not meant to eavesdrop, but now she listened intently. She sensed Blanche and Margaret, who flanked her, were doing the same, for they had ceased chattering with their neighbors.
“Which knight, my lord husband?”
“I’ll give you one guess, Matilda.”
Her heart pounding, Leila knew even before Matilda’s soft gasp that they were referring to Guy.
“And what happened?”
“Edward himself told Gervais that he must obey the rules of the tournament. The king said he had no doubt Roger would meet this knight on the field at some point during the next few days, seeing as they were both champions with the lance.”
“The cheek of that wretched man!” Matilda blurted heatedly. Her next words were drowned out as a rousing blare of trumpets and the beating of drums sounded from the foot of the pavilion where the heralds stood in their particolored tunics and hose.
Leila’s eyes widened as a long line of knights galloped into the enclosed field on the largest horses she had ever seen. The crowd began to roar even louder as the armored riders and their mounts formed a thunderous procession just inside the fence.
There must have been at least three hundred knights, each man dressed in a calf-length surcoat over polished chain mail which blindingly reflected the sunlight, and a metal helmet that completely covered the head, with only slits to allow vision and vertical vents for breathing. Most of the helmets were flat-topped, but some had steel wings or menacing horns projecting from the crown. All the knights held twelve-foot-long lances raised to the sky, brightly colored pennons fluttering at the tips, while across their opposite shoulders were slung large triangular shields.
“How do you tell them apart?” Leila wondered aloud, searching for Guy among the knights who were slowing to a trot as they rode past the pavilion. She spied a few powerfully built men, one of whom might be Guy or her brother, but she wasn’t sure because of the helmets.
“It can be quite difficult unless you’re able to recognize each particular coat of arms,” Margaret explained, glancing uncomfortably over her shoulder at some women behind them who were gossiping about Leila’s strange attire. “Do you see how each knight has the same symbols embroidered onto his surcoat as he has painted on his shield?”
“Yes, I see them,” Leila replied, proudly ignoring the women. She focused instead on the myriad colorful devices represented on the field. How would she ever find Guy? The only thing she had ever seen emblazoned on his surcoat was the crusaders’ crimson cross. “The symbols are even painted on the long cloth coverings worn by the horses,” she added with a touch of exasperation.
Margaret turned to the field, expertly scanning the circling knights riding two by two. “If you’re looking for your husband, he is … there, on that huge roan stallion. His coat of arms is the fierce mythical griffin, half eagle, half lion.”
Leila followed Margaret’s gaze, her heart lurching in her breast as she spied Guy at last. She could not deny she was secretly thrilled by his magnificent appearance; it unsettled her just how thrilled she was.
She took in every detail, from his winged helmet and dark blue surc
oat to the matched trappings on his warhorse. She had thought him forbidding when she had first seen him in chain mail. Now, seeing him like this, astride his powerful destrier, she could understand why the crusader knights had always struck fear into Arab hearts. Guy looked invincible, like a god, and she could not tear her eyes away.
As he circled closer to the pavilion, her pulse raced in anticipation of his fury at her appearance. Then he was in front of her, and his deep blue eyes were fixed on her as he rode by. To her acute disappointment, she saw no anger, only a flicker of amusement.
At another loud blare of trumpets, the knights ceased the grand procession and turned to face the pavilion. Leila dragged her gaze from Guy’s distant form in time to see King Edward rise from his chair, a radiant Eleanor at his side. An expectant hush fell over the crowd.
“I, Edward, your newly crowned king, and my beautiful Queen Eleanor bid you welcome!”
A huge clamor of huzzahs, swords battering upon shields, and applause filled the air, which after a few moments was silenced as Edward raised his hand.
“One of these valiant knights before you will prove the champion three days from now during the final round of jousting. So without further delay, I say, let the tournament begin. Those knights who have drawn the first match, come forward.”
“Oh, look! Raymond is in this match,” Margaret exclaimed.
The young woman watched with obvious pride as her husband rode toward the pavilion along with eleven other men while the rest of the participants left the field. But her face fell when Raymond reined in his steed beside a knight dressed all in black, from the thick plume gracing his flat-topped helm to the midnight destrier pawing restlessly beneath him. Upon the man’s black shield was a gold dragon with seven writhing heads.
“Lord Gervais,” Margaret murmured, suddenly subdued.
Leila felt a chill as she studied her brother, thinking he looked menacing indeed. But why would this pairing so upset Margaret? Surely her husband appeared strong enough to hold his own against Roger.
“If you’ve a lady in the stands,” Edward spoke out again, addressing the assembled knights, “go to her now and let her bestow upon you a token of good fortune.”
“What’s this?” Leila asked as Raymond veered his destrier toward where they were sitting. “A token?”
“‘Tis the custom,” Blanche replied. “The lady bestows upon her knight some charm to guard his person during the joust.”
“What a silly notion,” she declared. “No charm can protect a man from his kismet.”
From the color spotting Blanche’s cheeks, Leila realized she had clearly taken offense. “And what is kismet?” Blanche asked.
“Fate.” Leila watched as Margaret stood and tossed to her husband a delicate white lace veil she had pulled from her sleeve. Raymond caught it, brought it gallantly to his breast, then tucked it into his dark green surcoat.
“God grant you victory, my husband,” Margaret said quietly, her eyes fixed upon him as he rode back toward the king.
Leila’s gaze flew to the opposite side of the pavilion where she spied Maude tying a gold veil around Roger’s lowered lance. Then he, too, veered his snorting stallion back to where the other knights were waiting.
“My lords, take your places at the lists!” came a voice other than Edward’s, who had retaken his seat next to Eleanor.
“That man is the master of the joust,” Blanche explained stiffly, indicating the portly gentleman standing below the royal box. “He will officiate for the remainder of the tournament.”
Leila’s eyes followed Roger and Raymond as they rode to the second closest of the six boarded enclosures. They entered and separated, her brother galloping to one end and lowering his lance while Margaret’s husband went to the opposite side. Another hush descended over the spectators as the last knights took their places. The only sounds were the nervous nickering of horses and the flapping of pennants in the light autumn breeze.
All that changed when the master of the joust suddenly dropped the gold banner he had been holding high over his head. A great cry went up from a thousand throats as the twelve knights kicked their destriers into a hard canter and rode full tilt at their opponents, shields raised and lances taking aim.
Leila winced at the loud, sickening thwacks that filled the air. Four knights hit the ground with bone-shattering force. Only the victors and two pairs of opponents remained in the saddle, Raymond and Roger and the knights in the sixth list. It seemed she had no more drawn a breath than they were riding hard at each other again.
This time Raymond fell, but he did not stumble to his feet as had the other unseated knights. He lay crumpled upon the ground until four de Warenne squires came running and carried him from the field, his limbs dangling limply between them.
“I must go to him,” Margaret said distractedly, her face ashen as she rose from the bench. “I must go to him.”
“Come, my lady, I’ll escort you,” the earl of Surrey offered tersely, glancing at his wife as he stood and took Margaret’s arm. “I want to see if there has been some impropriety …” He did not finish, but led away the shaken young woman.
“Impropriety?” Leila asked, jarred herself by what she had just witnessed. What a brutal sport!
Matilda’s expression was serious. “My husband needs to know if Lord Gray merely suffered a hard fall or if Lord Gervais failed to blunt his lance and thus injured him. We shall pray that that is not the case, especially for Margaret’s and her children’s sakes.”
Leila clasped her hands tightly as Blanche added, “Men have been known to use the jousts to settle personal scores, though at the king’s own tournament I cannot imagine how anyone would dare. I only hope my Hubert does not select your brother’s name on the morrow if he wins his match today. Lord Gervais’s skill with the lance is renowned. He has never been beaten.”
No wonder Margaret had become so distressed when she had discovered her husband’s opponent, Leila thought uneasily. And Blanche’s statement about settling scores would certainly explain why Roger had wanted to be paired with Guy.
If any men carried grudge upon grudge against each other, it was those two, and from what she had seen in the abbey yesterday, her marriage to Guy had only made things worse between them. It made perfect sense that Roger would want revenge against Guy for ruining all his plans. Had he decided to vent his wrath on Raymond, a de Warenne knight, since he was not paired with the opponent he truly wanted? She hoped not.
“There is only one man who shares Lord Gervais’s record,” Blanche continued, raising her voice to be heard above the blast of trumpets that signaled another match. “Your husband. Whenever they have met in the lists, it has always been a draw.”
Pondering this news, Leila reluctantly watched the next four matches. She was relieved to see that the unseated knights usually staggered to their feet with little assistance. During the fifth match, the earl of Surrey returned to the pavilion, but without Lady Margaret.
“How is Raymond?” Matilda gripped her husband’s arm when he sat down heavily. “He’s not …”
“No, he lives, though he’ll carry quite a knot on his head for several days,” John replied. “Gervais’s lance struck him in the helmet, knocking him unconscious. Margaret has gone with him back to the palace. He needs rest.”
“And was the lance blunted?”
“Aye.”
Grateful her brother had not done anything foolish, Leila focused her attention on the field as another set of twelve knights rode toward the pavilion. Her heart skipped a beat when she spied Guy among them, but what startled her even more was that Roger was in this group.
Matilda had also noticed. “What is this? Lord Gervais is jousting again? How can this be, my lord? Each man was to joust in only one match today.”
John shook his head in disgust. “Gervais somehow managed to persuade Guy’s opponent to give up his place. Probably by threat of life and limb, I’d wager.”
“But can he do thi
s? What of the rules?”
“The rules allow a replacement if consent is given by all, and Guy has consented, I think out of anger for what happened to Raymond. When Margaret and I arrived at the de Warenne tent, we found him incensed. He claims Roger did not wait for the signal the second time around, but gained a lead on Raymond which gave him an unfair advantage. I did not see this, but who can say?”
“Oh dear,” Matilda said as the knights began to form into pairs in front of the royal box. “Just listen to the crowd. ‘Tis the favored match they’ve been awaiting, and two days earlier than expected.”
Matilda was right, Leila thought, her head whirling from the clamor. The throng of spectators was going wild. Some people were even jumping over the fence to get closer to the lists, but the king’s men-at-arms were catching them and throwing them back. Was this melee erupting simply because Guy and Roger were both champions at the joust, or was it due to the mutual enmity they made no effort to hide? Perhaps the crowd expected more than a joust from these men. Perhaps they expected a duel to the death.
Cold fear gripped her throat at this grim realization, her thoughts running away with her.
Dear God, what if Roger’s skill with the lance proved superior and Guy was killed in this match?
The next moments passed in a haze as the master of the joust confirmed the change in opponents. It was only when the knights fanned out to receive their tokens, Guy halting his destrier right in front of her, that Leila felt a more poignant emotion.
Was this the last time she would ever look into his eyes? Would she ever again feel his powerful arms around her, the warmth of his kiss?
“Leila, you’re holding up the match,” Blanche hissed in her ear. “Everybody is waiting. Give him your face veil.”
Leila started, Blanche’s words reminding her of her defiant plan. “I cannot,” she murmured shakily, but loud enough for Guy to hear. “I would have nothing else with which to cover my face. I will not compromise my beliefs for this barbaric sport.”
A shocked gasp went up from Blanche and the spectators surrounding her, but everyone grew still when Guy pressed his hand over his heart. His voice was muffled behind the helmet, but it clearly held humor.
Captive Rose Page 28
