Tournament Prize

by Ling, Maria

  Besides, they were all enjoying themselves. Anything that brought final victory closer also shortened the open tourney.

  "I grant you mercy," Alan said, "against your promise of ransom for yourself and all your men."

  "At what price?" de Niege asked.

  Alan made swift calculations in his head, and named a sum that would please his companions without enraging the baron. Who sighed, and nodded, and rose to offer congratulations.

  "Haven't been taken down so hard in a long while," he mused. "You have a sharp touch, young man."

  Alan bowed. De Niege let a couple of men help him back onto his horse, and led his retinue away across the field in search of a weaker enemy.

  Which left Alan facing his nemesis. De Rous rode forward, to regard Alan with the same supercilious contempt he'd dared show towards Caroline.

  "You'll turn that ransom over to me," de Rous said.

  "Not on your life," Alan replied.

  De Rous snapped out a command. His retinue moved to pen Alan's group against the wood. "I think you will."

  "You can't ransom us," Alan argued. He strove for a calm tone, but his chest seethed. "We're drawn for the same side."

  "I don't need to ransom petty knights," the lord said. "I keep those in my own employ. But you'll turn over to me the rights to the ransom for the baron de Niege and his retinue, or else I'll have my men beat that pretty face of yours to a pulp."

  "You'll have to fight for the chance," Guillaume snarled. Alan flicked a hand in grateful acknowledgement.

  "A strength like mine against four men and a woman?" de Rous sneered. "Any time you wish to do battle, please feel at liberty to declare against me."

  Alan drew in breath, and suddenly felt entirely calm. Here was one bully who'd got away with far too much for far too long, and deserved a punch in the teeth. Fairness and chivalry were fine things, but this man cared for neither and deserved no protection from the principles he betrayed.

  "I do so declare." Alan fixed de Rous with a stare of utter contempt. "I regard you as my enemy, and you will give way to me or fall."

  De Rous laughed with cold contempt, and gave the cry for attack. Alan burst forward with a quick low dip that took down the nearest man, swung up hard backhanded and levelled another.

  "Into the wood," Geoffrey snapped. "That'll give us cover."

  Alan fought down the temptation to hold his ground. The suggestion made far better sense, when numbers were so uneven -- and there was still the farm on the other side of the wood, with Roland's plan fresh in everyone's mind.

  "As before," Alan said, and was reassured by the quick curt agreements that flew at him from the rest. They moved as one, back into the trees, hewing at the most forward of de Rous's men as they went. Sheltered within the stand of trunks and branches, withdrew smartly along the winding path that led towards the farm.

  Soon they burst into bright open air, with a few lengths' distance between themselves and the men in pursuit -- and met a wall of men who'd circled around to catch them as they emerged.

  "Wheel right!" Alan yelled, because there lay the only undefended space. They stormed into it, a grassy gap between the copse and the barn, where no doubt cattle grazed as a rule. All cleared away now, open ground where he could hold, and turn, and range himself against the oncoming foe.

  Who advanced slowly, confident of triumph, with sneers and snickers and lazy threats. They were all out of sight of the stands here: no marshals would intervene, no witnesses speak for them after. It would be only Alan's word against de Rous's, no matter where the victory lay.

  So he might as well do some damage. Alan levelled sword and shield, took aim at the cockiest figure of them all, and charged.

  ***

  CHAPTER 5

  "Whatever's happened to them?" Caroline asked, quivering with anxiety. Alan's group had withdrawn into the trees, while de Rous' force circled around to the far side and out of sight. She didn't like that at all, it smelled too strongly of a trap, and fear of what might happen to Alan and his friends made her cold all over.

  Perhaps she ought not have given him that favour. It had been a foolish impulse. She should have kept aloof from it all, not got tangled into a situation she barely understood. All for a silly fancy, and petulance against a man who'd offended her. Now others might suffer because of it, men whom she'd given no choice but to take up her cause and defend it with their own bodies.

  Caroline berated herself, even while she stared stung-eyed towards the trees. Throughout the fields battle still continued, yells and crashes echoed across the countryside, but she barely heard any of it. All her awareness remained fixed on those silent motionless trees, secretive and dark.

  Until a force emerged from the far side of the wood, moving slowly. Something was odd about it, wrong almost, and it took her several moments of puzzled squinting to work out what it was.

  They were walking. Unhorsed. All of them.

  Here came the horses now, far too great a herd to have been captured from Alan's little band. And there, behind those masterless beasts, a group of mounted men in dusty surcoats. Caroline squinted hard. She was certain -- almost certain -- who they were.

  "Heavens," Leofe breathed.

  "I don't understand," Caroline said weakly. "Weren't they supposed to fight on the same side?"

  "Men sometimes come to blows regardless of alliance," Leofe explained. "It's not supposed to happen, but it does. The tournament field is a big place, with plenty of fighting on hand to cover private disagreements. And, of course, they may have fought against each other at other meets, and feel they have scores still to settle." She fell silent, her eyes fixed with anxious concern on that distant group. "I hope none of them are injured. That's a large body of men to have stood against. Though I rather guess they brought down de Rous himself, and he ordered his men to surrender. See, there is. Walking."

  Caroline permitted a smirk. Her nemesis was indeed on foot, escorted back towards the stand by a slim upright figure with a glint of blue. "I hope it won't lead to any reprisals," she said, as her triumph waned and fear spiralled through her chest. That troop was indeed a large body of men, and de Rous himself not a man lightly defied. Her mother had told her as much, and at some length.

  "So do I," Leofe said slowly, likewise watching the grim procession. "There are too many ways to take revenge." Her hand drifted to her belly and rested there, while her face grew determined. "But if they try, Roland and his friends will see them off."

  And me, Caroline thought, somewhat to her own surprise. She didn't know what she could offer by way of resistance or revenge. But surely it ought not to be beyond her to think of something, or else all the time she'd spent in study and thought must be considered altogether wasted. What else was knowledge for, if not to train the mind for action?

  They passed her by at some distance: no parade before the stand this time, no overt show of triumph, just a calm steady progress towards the pen for captives, where benches and refreshments were set out. No sense in adding to the injured pride of the fallen, her father had explained, and Caroline nodded anew at the careful thought that went into each aspect of organising a tournament. She could grow to like this world.

  But there never would be any more tournaments for her. This event had a single purpose only, to marry her off, and she forgot it at her peril. She must choose a husband, or her parents would choose one for her.

  Not de Rous, by the grace of God. And surely this escapade would dent his arrogance. The smirk crept back onto Caroline's face. All around her flew muted whispers, as women confided to each other what a disgrace it was for him to have been captured so ignobly by a small band of lordless men.

  "I suppose he relied on his retinue to defend him," Caroline offered by way of mitigation to a nearby lady, who had watched de Niege's downfall with benign resignation and now gave her opinion as to the worthlessness of de Rous.

  "Then he's a coward as well as a fool," the lady replied. "My husband's troops ripped
the guts out of them. Pity that he fell -- but he did a great deal of damage first. De Rous should have known they lacked the stomach for more. Though I'm a little confused -- I thought those young scoundrels were drawn for those within?"

  "They are," Caroline admitted.

  "Dear me, such impudence." The lady raised her shoulders, dignity unruffled. "Never mind. Let them fight among themselves, it only leaves better pickings for my Ralph." She smiled fondly at a dashing figure who was busy ravaging the opposite flank of those without.

  Of course. Caroline berated herself. This was the baroness de Niege. They had met at the banquet two days ago, but she had been seated elsewhere throughout yesterday. "Your husband spoke very highly of him," Caroline said pleasantly. "I wish him great success."

  "He'll win the day, no question." The lady shot Caroline a significant glance. "Quite the hero, my Ralph. All the girls are after him, you know. I was saying to your mother earlier, it will be a relief to see him married again. Such a shame about his wife. A dear girl she was. Died in childbed fever two years ago, and the child with her. Ralph was inconsolable, of course. But he's recovered. A new wife would be just the thing for him. Someone with a fondness for tourneys. He can never keep away from the field. That's his father in him." She waved to the pen for captives, and received rueful acknowledgement from a stooped figure, grey-haired without his helmet.

  Caroline bit her lip. She'd flinched at that clumsy allusion to her own marriagable status. But she liked this lady, and didn't want to seem rude.

  "They've both done some damage for their respective sides," Caroline said, in as neutral a tone as she could manage.

  "Oh yes," the baroness agreed happily, and began to enumerate the men taken, both here and at other meets. Caroline listened with half an ear, expressed appropriate admiration, and watched Alan and his friends take to the field once more.

  "It must be exhausting work," Caroline said eventually, when the flood of boasting slowed. "To be on horseback and fighting for hours, all through the day."

  "They don't feel it," the lady assured her. "Not while their spirits are high. Afterwards -- yes. Be assured there will be stiff limbs and sore bones tomorrow. But that's what baths and liniments are for."

  Caroline looked at her with new interest. "You've always travelled with your husband?"

  "Oh yes. Where else would I want to be? We raised our children on the road, you know. And in truth, with estates as extensive as ours, we'd be forever travelling in any case. Drop in here and there, listen to the steward's report, make any decisions that are necessary, and then move on again. If we take in a tournament or two along the way, it keeps the men happy and the ladies and children entertained." She turned aside to busy herself with one of her daughter's brood.

  Caroline pondered the notion of life on the road, ever on the move from one estate to another. She still didn't much care for the idea.

  A less wealthy man would do well for her, she decided. One with a manor or two to his name, willing to settle here in the neighbourhood, but with an interest in tourneys. Her father would love that, and her mother had sparkled so as she took her seat this morning.

  Caroline threw a surreptitious glance at her mother, who was engaged in animated conversation with an elderly lady who expressed a clear preference for the ordered charge. The habitual expression of disapproval had vanished entirely, to be replaced by shining eyes and a voice that rang with delight.

  For the first time in her life, Caroline reflected how odd it must be for a woman to spend years raising children and always seeing to their needs, when before she must have had interests of her own. Watching her mother now, Caroline marvelled that they had never discussed these matters before.

  Perhaps the fault was her own. She'd always thought of herself as her father's daughter, more than her mother's. It might be time for that to change.

  Leofe gave a sudden laugh. "I don't believe it. See, they've caught another one."

  Caroline watched her own chosen man exchange words with a cluster of drooping knights, who then stalked off in the direction of the pen. "Quite a day they're having."

  "Best of the pickings are gone, I think." The lady on Leofe's far side cast the field a critical stare. "They'll be scrabbling for scraps now, and still enjoy themselves. I'm surprised they're not taking more words for ransom, and letting their foes fight on."

  "It's the food," another lady suggested. "I saw the feast laid out below. Small blame if they're hungry. I know I am." She received sufficient assents to organise a little party to the stalls that huddled beneath the stands.

  Caroline gratefully received the sustenance passed up to her. She had cast aside her fur cloak, for the sun had proved warmer than expected. Now, as she ate, she found herself reaching for it again. Seldom had she spent this long out of doors.

  Ordinarily, she would be wishing to get back to her books. But while Alan fought on, she watched and cheered and never tired.

  ***

  It had grown chilly, and the shadows were long, when the trumpets finally declared the battle over and recalled all men to the base of those within. As men and horses swarmed over the countryside, Caroline shivered a little despite her fur cloak. This was her moment, and the part she had to play in it was already laid down.

  The herald, deep in consultation with her parents, would tell her what name to choose. That would be the man who'd earned both kiss and purse of gold and the right to her company during the banquet that followed. Probably one of the defenders, because the attacking side had not succeeded in breaking through the barriers, though the matter had been close fought at times.

  "Very well." The herald rose and made his way towards her, then leaned to speak close by her ear. "I have a name for you. Ralph de Niege."

  Caroline fought with herself. She was pleased for his kindly parents, and he'd certainly been much spoken of and praised by others among those seated around her. But she couldn't help but suspect a plot by her mother -- especially since the baroness had once again hinted that he was on the hunt for a wife. Caroline threw a suspicious glance at Madeline, who appeared not to notice.

  Alan rode past, dusty and slumped but still able to salute Caroline with an energy that made excitement bubble within her. She smiled and waved and wished she could go to him at once, see that he was tended, listen to his account of every moment of the battle. He would be tired, he must ache now with exertion, it was a miracle how long and hard he'd fought. All of them, really, though he was the man she felt most concern for.

  "I think Alan de la Falaise fought exceedingly well," she told the herald.

  "His name was not under consideration."

  "Well, consider it." Caroline heard the petulance in her tone and strove to improve. "Did the marshals not see how well he did?"

  "There has been a complaint made against him."

  Caroline started. "What sort of complaint?"

  "Sufficient to render him an unsuitable choice for champion. My lord your father would not wish to displease an honoured guest."

  Caroline glanced at her father, who chatted happily with friends and appeared not in the least concerned about any reputed wrongdoing.

  "I'll wager I know just who made it," Caroline said, tight-lipped. "When must I announce the winner?"

  "This moment. The men are assembled now."

  They were: she could see them, massed in their ranks, even the captives -- having given their names to the marshals, and being out of consideration for the day's prize -- armed and mounted once again, ready to hear the name of the man singled out for her attention.

  "Wait." Caroline scrambled from her seat and joined her parents, who stood side by side with beaming smiles. "I want to choose a man for myself."

  "Certainly not," Madeline said. "That would be most unseemly."

  "And foolish," her father added. "What do you know about fighting, girl? Make your announcement and have done. Everyone is tired and cold, and the horses need tending."

  Caroline gl
ared at them. And then remembered that the things of the world were the things of the body, accidental and material, whereas her soul was her own, complete within itself, perfect in its own divine essence. She need not rage in order to get her way.

  "You are quite right," she said peacefully. "I know nothing of fighting, and I owe you great thanks for all your care of me during my life. But if you insist that I name a man to care for, you must permit me to make my own choice."

  "Don't be absurd," her father said. "No one's asking you to marry the man. Just acknowledge that he fought best and most successfully during today."

  "Oh." Caroline blinked at him, bewildered. "I thought -- "

  "Don't," her mother interrupted. "Please. For once in your life, stop trying to think. Let us have no more discourses on philosophy and theology and the forms of argument. Just do this one simple task, and be pleasant to our guests at the banquet that follows."

  Caroline looked at her mother -- really looked, as if for the first time, and saw the love and care and worn lines that netted all across that familiar and beloved face.

  "I'm sorry," she said slowly. "I've been very selfish. Yes, of course I am happy to be guided by your choice."

  "Not mine," Madeline said with her usual crispness. "I made some other suggestions. And I thought young Guillaume did very well."

  "Handsome boy, too," Charles teased.

  "That has nothing to do with it."

  "I'd better make the announcement," Caroline said, and withdrew in haste. This was one marital disagreement she had no wish to hear.

  She spoke the name in as loud and composed a tone as she could manage, smiled through the cheers, acknowledged the man's salute. Then made her way down from the stands, while the men rode off to their respective quarters to wash and change and make themselves presentable for the banquet to follow.

  ***

  CHAPTER 6