by Tony Davis
“M is for mace, to be swung with great might, and N is for Nudge, the smallest white knight.”
“Not bad,” said Humphrey. “But I have a better one than that, better one than that.
“M is for mace, to be swung till they flee,” he yelled, rushing in again with his sword. “And N is for no one, ’cause that’s who’ll beat me.”
Roland slipped back, not to defend himself from the blow, but to think of the next letters—and a good rhyme.
At that moment Jenny appeared. There were tears in her eyes. She ran up to Roland and threw her arms around him, squashing Nudge, who was lying in his top pocket.
“They said yes! I’m to be trained as a maid, to help Lady Mary.”
Nudge whimpered and, when scooped out, gave Roland—and Jenny—the foulest glare.
“I just wish my mother could see me now,” added Jenny, wiping her eyes. “Lady Mary said I could perhaps one day become a lady-in-waiting.”
“Does that mean,” Morris interrupted, “that you’re a lady-in-waiting to be a lady-in-waiting?”
Jenny turned to Morris, glared at him and breathed out in disgust. “I won’t be waiting on you, no matter what happens.”
For one of the few times in his life, Morris found himself with nothing else to say. He slinked away.
“Who’s this?” Humphrey asked Roland. “A little lady friend of yours, a little lady friend?”
“She’s not a friend,” Roland said a bit too forcefully. “She’s a neighbor. Well, she was a neighbor.”
Roland was embarrassed. He felt sorry for Jenny, now she was an orphan. But he wasn’t sure he wanted her at Twofold Castle all the time. And he certainly didn’t want anyone calling her his lady friend.
How unlikely it all was: two of them from the same little village living in the King’s castle, and both linked to Lady Mary.
“I have to go,” Roland mumbled. He walked back across the bailey, lost in his thoughts. Jenny, the tourney and the elephant were all passing through Roland’s mind when Humphrey ran up, swinging his sword.
“Not so fast! You still owe me two more letters, two more letters.”
Roland clenched his fists, stuck out his bottom lip and yelled triumphantly, “O is for outlaws, to chase and to strike, P’s for a pole-axe, a page and a pike.”
That left Humphrey with Q and R. He shook his long blond hair, scratched his head, then smiled broadly and began to speak. Roland never heard Humphrey’s couplet, however, because Hector again barged in and talked over the top of it.
“This tournament is going to be exciting, s-s-s-s. Do you know why, you little redheaded squirt? Because I’ve organized a surprise for you. Ha, ha, ha.”
Five
The First Joust
“Flaming catapults, Nudge!” Roland knew no other expression that summed up what he could see. Except perhaps “Fry my gizzards.”
There were more suits of armor and more weapons than he had seen in his whole life. They gleamed in the sun so brightly that at times Roland had to cover his eyes.
There were more horses than Roland had seen in one place too. Some were being watered or fed; others were being led around the tournament field, clopping along proudly like royalty. Almost all the horses were wearing brightly colored cloth trappers splashed with the colors of their knights.
There were pennants tied to lances that had been thrust into the ground. They flapped in the breeze outside the arming tents, where the knights would don their armor and prepare their weapons. These tents were also decorated with colors and emblems. The whole field was awash with reds, blues, golds and purples, and dragons, eagles, griffins, suns and crosses.
Roland’s nostrils were filled with the scent of freshly ripped-up grass, earth and the newly sawn wood used to build a long barrier down the middle of the lists—the field where the jousting would soon take place.
There was the aroma of cooked meat too, with large plates of it being carried toward the royal tents along with enormous jugs of ale.
Sir Geoffrey was practicing on a nearby hill. Twofold Castle’s biggest knight wore a fancy helmet with a huge red plume on top. He rode a fine white horse and dropped the tip of his lance with each burst of speed. The noise of his charging carried across the fields.
Roland walked up to an arming tent. He knew the coat of arms—a leaping white unicorn against a gold background—and recognized the squire who was polishing the armor and arranging a selection of new white silk scarves. It was Sir Lucas’s tent, though there was no sign of the man himself.
Despite his excitement, Roland sensed that something was not quite right. It was nothing to do with Hector’s surprise, though that was a worry. It was to do with Sir Lucas.
Alongside the tent was a rack with a dozen spare lances, each painted gold and with a little unicorn on the handle. Sir Lucas must have been confident he would break many lances against the armor of his opponents. Yet Roland’s stomach produced an uneasy stirring.
His stomach kept twisting and turning as he walked onto the lists. It felt no better when he looked up at the row of raised seats where the King, Queen and other important people would sit and watch the competition.
“Roland!” It was Sir Gallawood. “Exciting stuff, isn’t it?”
“My first proper tourney,” Roland said with an uncertain smile.
“I thought I’d stay on after delivering young Jenny Winterbottom, so I could see the King’s best knights in combat. I think it will be terrific.”
“I think so too, Sir Gallawood, but you’ll need to tell me how it all works.”
“Of course, Roland. Ah, look—here comes the Queen.”
Roland stood to attention as Sir Gallawood added under his breath, “She always insists on handling her own horse.”
Queen Margaret swept into the grounds, and Roland immediately pushed Nudge into his top pocket. The Queen’s long dark hair trailed behind her as she raced along sidesaddle on a magnificent brown and white stallion—which she rode straight into the side of an arming tent.
“Arrrrhh!” the Queen growled in a most unqueenly way as she slid off the horse and bounced across the low roof of the tent.
A loud “Ouch!” came from inside the canvas walls, and a knight in his undergarments ran out. He began to shout at whoever had stupidly barreled into the side of his pavilion, but then he realized who it was.
“Your Majesty,” he said, changing his tone. “My most gracious Queen Margaret …”
The knight began bowing, while trying to cover himself up. “I can but most humbly apologize, Your Majesty, for so carelessly putting my inconsequential structure in your path.”
Sir Gallawood rolled his eyes and gave Roland a friendly punch to the shoulder that almost knocked him into the nearby barrier.
“The knights have been split into two teams, Roland, just like in a battle. Sir Lucas, Sir Geoffrey, Sir Tobias and nine others are in the Tenans, and the other side is known as the Venans.
“The knights will joust for their teams, and their points—or number of broken lances—will be added together at the end. A winning side will be announced. More importantly, an individual champion will be declared—a new heir to the throne.”
Roland looked across to see foot servants, who had been breathlessly running behind the Queen, help her climb down from the roof of the tent and remount. Her Majesty then turned her horse around and knocked over a herald who was unrolling his scroll to announce her arrival.
As always, Roland had a million questions. “What is the long barrier in the middle of the lists, Sir Gallawood?”
“A good question, Roland. It is a very new idea. It’s called a tiltline and keeps the jousting knights apart as they run toward each other.
“At my last tournament there was no such barrier. Two jousters ran straight into each other, killing their horses and badly injuring themselves.”
“What about the dragon?” gushed Roland. “The tame one that breathes real fire?”
“I haven’t seen
him,” replied Sir Gallawood, looking befuddled. “Maybe he had somewhere more exciting to go.”
A short while later Roland saw Sir Lucas, and that queasy feeling returned. Sir Lucas had a longsword in hand and a fresh white scarf wrapped around his neck. He was stepping and passing and stepping and passing, as if taking part in a dance.
“Do you still need to practice your footwork, Sir Lucas?”
The knight took his time to answer, as usual. “Hmmm. Of course, Master Roland, I perform exercises every day to make sure I’m in top form for longswords, rapiers, lances, the melee, jousting or any other form of combat.
“The best-prepared man has a big advantage, Roland, and ladies appreciate it too.”
“Sir Lucas, you will be safe, won’t you?” Roland had never before worried about such things. But then, he’d never seen someone he knew well fight in a dangerous competition.
Sir Lucas smiled and flashed his green eyes as he stepped and passed and stepped and passed. “I was chatting to Sir Gallawood on that subject. He says he has ordered a suit of Wright Armor and will receive it in a few months. I told him that I too shall order some.”
“Fry my gizzards!” said Roland. “I could go to the village with you, sir, and help you, and see my father and Shelby.”
“Hmmm, that would be good.” Step, pass, step, pass.
Thoughts of the village set Roland off on another daydream. He imagined himself sitting down to a meal with his father and brother. He was telling them of his adventures, but also listening to his father explain what had been happening in the village, and hearing Shelby say how much he enjoyed training as an armorer.
With Nudge on his shoulder, and still lost in his thoughts, Roland wandered through the rows of tents and past a line of trumpeters readying to announce the first contest. He wished he could be taking this walk with his father and brother. He imagined too that he was a jouster, and that his father and brother were here to see Roland Wright declared champion … maybe even the heir to the throne.
“Oops … sorry!” Roland had walked straight into the legs of Sir Tobias, who was sitting on a very wide chair outside his arming tent. Roland fell flat on his face, but for once his pet mouse didn’t share his pain. Nudge managed to jump off just before Roland hit the ground.
“Hello, Roland; hello, Nudge,” said Sir Tobias, rubbing his right knee and talking at the speed of a flying arrow. “You’re probably wondering why I’m not practicing my footwork, sword swings or lance grips.”
“In truth,” said Roland, spitting out blades of grass, “I was daydreaming about my family.”
Nudge watched Roland pull yet more grass off his tongue, and let out what sounded like a mouse-sized giggle.
“As it turns out, I’m just catching up on my reading,” Sir Tobias said, holding up a large and weighty book and gently shaking his curly white hair. “Knights need to be studious and clever, as well as brave and strong. Although maybe, of course, I’m none of them. This is called Slay a Dragon a Day, but there’s quite a lot about lance work in here.
“Lance work is what we’ll be doing first up. So if I read this properly, when I get beaten I’ll know what I did wrong.”
Roland spat out what he hoped was the last of the greenery. “Slay a Dragon a Day? Isn’t that by Lord Urbunkum?”
“That’s right,” said Sir Tobias. “Once we thought we could get by without an expert. But as the King says—or is it the expert himself?—the time that people like us waste doing things is the time Lord Urbunkum spends studying how those things can be done better.”
Sir Tobias picked up a flute and turned his eyes back to the book. He played just a few slow notes as he read, but the melody was so pure and charming that people all around stopped what they were doing to listen.
Among those drawn to the music were Lady Mary and Jenny. “A good day to you, sir, and best of luck in the jousts,” Lady Mary said when Tobias had finished playing his little air. “I should introduce Jenny Winterbottom, newly arrived at the castle and soon to be trained as a maid. Roland is a friend of hers.”
Jenny looked at Sir Tobias. “He’s not a friend,” she said as the sound of two horses running at each other filled the air. “He’s a neighbor.
“Well, he was a neighbor,” she added above the almighty thwack! of a lance breaking against armor.
“We’re missing the first joust,” screeched Roland. “Nudge—let’s go!”
Roland ran to the lists in time to see Sir Geoffrey jumping off his horse with a broken lance still in his hand. Halfway along the tiltline another knight lay on the ground, squirming with pain. Sir Geoffrey threw down the lance and ran toward him.
“A victory to the Silent Knight,” bellowed the King’s constable, who seemed to be in charge of the tournament as well as the castle. “He has unhorsed his opponent on the first pass,” the constable added with his huge rusty-hinge voice.
Roland sighed. “Nudge, how silly to be talking when we could have been watching Sir Geoffrey joust so brilliantly for the Tenans.”
As Roland and Nudge watched the knight from the Venans carried from the lists, a voice sounded from very close behind.
“That man’s in better shape, s-s-s-s, than you’ll be in by the end of the day, peasant boy.”
Six
Expert Opinion
Roland watched spellbound as one knight after another galloped down the tiltline, smashing his lance into splinters against his opponent’s armor.
He saw the Tenans gain the upper hand. He saw the Venans fight back. He even saw two knights drop their lance tips in perfect unison and knock each other off their horses at exactly the same time. They ended up sitting on the grass a few yards from each other, dizzily trying to work out what had happened.
Roland loved the pounding on the grass as the knights charged, the sun bouncing off the helmets and the shouting of the crowd when lance hit shield or armor.
Between the jousts, though, were long speeches that Roland could have done without. And just when Sir Lucas was about to fight for the first time, Roland was called away to help a squire move an arming tent from the route the Queen was expected to follow home. He ran back to hear that Sir Lucas had won, though only just.
“Maybe my hunch was wrong, Nudge,” he whispered to his pocket as Sir Geoffrey prepared to joust again.
Roland watched the charge, the crash and the people in the raised seats clapping and shouting as the knight from the Venans twisted in his saddle and somehow managed to stay on his horse.
“Flaming catapults, Nudge!” Roland said as Sir Geoffrey threw away his broken lance and called for a new one. “Did you see how hard he hit him? What skill! What power! Go, Tenans!”
Sir Geoffrey broke his lance twice more. But in the third and final pass the other knight broke his, too, so the final score was three lances to one. It was good to see Sir Geoffrey win again, but Roland was really waiting for just one thing: Sir Lucas’s next joust.
It was against Sir Sterling, a knight Roland didn’t really know. Fortunately, if points were given for looking good, Sir Lucas had the upper hand. The corner of his white scarf stuck out from the bottom of his helmet, and the sight of the unicorn and gold on his shield, surcoat and horse’s trapper made Roland feel much more confident.
Mind you, Sir Sterling wore the whitest armor Roland had ever seen, and the front of his helmet was completely smooth except for the tiniest slit for his eyes. A tall green feather was mounted on top to match the green background on Sir Sterling’s crest of arms.
“I’m nervouser than ever before, Nudge,” Roland said, and then sighed when he realized there’d be a further delay. Yes, it was another speech, this time by Lord Urbunkum.
“Your Majesty King John, Your Majesty Queen Margaret, honored knights, ladies and gentlemen.” Lord Urbunkum stood at the side of the lists and puffed out his chest. “As the King’s personal expert, I’ve been developing improved techniques for all situations, including jousting.
“In earlier b
outs I examined Sir Lucas’s brave but unscientific style. I have now explained to him that he needs to fight differently—and hold the lance differently—if he’s to achieve true excellence.”
Lord Urbunkum coughed a few times, then added, “Those of you who admired Sir Lucas’s narrow victory earlier today are now going to see something truly special.”
Sir Lucas adjusted his scarf with his gauntlet, then winked at Roland and dropped his visor. But even to someone who knew as little about jousting as Roland, Sir Lucas looked uncomfortable. He was holding his lance out farther from his body than normal.
“Come on, Sir Lucas. Go, Tenans!” chanted Roland nonetheless. “Knock Sir Sterling off his horse, knock him to kingdom come!”
The crowd went silent. All that could be heard was the snorting of horses, the flapping of flags, banners and pennants, and some hammering from an arming tent where a helmet was being repaired.
“This is the bout many of us have been waiting for,” the constable yelled, with his big black eyebrows and mustache bouncing up and down in time with the words. “Between two knights with the best statistics in the sport. A matching of power and accuracy … a contest that will surely bring us closer to finding our champion.”
Sir Lucas’s nervous horse moved away from the end of the tiltline. It wouldn’t line back up, and Sir Lucas had to complete several turns to calm it down.
While Nudge chewed a small piece of splintered lance, Roland smiled toward Lady Mary, who was sitting in the stands, and Jenny, who was leaning against them. It was to say, “This is my special knight and he’s going to win in fine style.”
Roland just hoped he was right.
At last Sir Lucas lifted his lance to signal he was ready. The horses charged noisily. Both men dropped their lance tips from on high at the last moment to create extra thrust, and they hit each other’s shields right in the middle. Thumpppp!
