Gradually the number of competitors was reduced until only a few skilled riders were left.
My cousin rode his penultimate bout against one Sir Peter. I rather thought he was the man my cousin had named as a contender to win, but from what I could see, my cousin had a better chance of defeating Stanton himself.
I found it hard to stay in my seat, so desperate was I for Gregory to succeed. My hands were balled into fists and I was holding my breath as the two riders approached one another. Gregory struck his opponent successfully once, and then twice. But as they rode towards each other for the third time, I could see at once that something was wrong. Gregory was sitting less straight and his aim went wide. His opponent struck him hard on his left side. Time slowed. I watched my cousin drop his lance and sway in the saddle. He crumpled forward over his horse’s neck.
‘Stay on,’ I muttered, and then I shouted it: ‘Hold on, cousin!’ I no longer felt detached and tired. I passionately wanted my cousin to win. My voice was joined by a sea of shouts, as the excitement mounted. If my cousin fell, he would lose his horse and he would not be riding in the last round.
Somehow Gregory hung on. Crooked and clinging to his saddle, he reached the end of the lists. The result was announced, and Gregory had won the bout on points. He slid off his horse rather than dismounting. I saw his squire catch and support him as they left the lists. I jumped to my feet. I had to know at once how badly hurt Gregory was.
‘Maria, I must go and see my cousin,’ I said. ‘He is injured.’
Maria looked taken aback. ‘But, Eleanor, they will be tending to him. You cannot … ’
I did not wait to hear her objections. I left the stands and ran to the end of the lists. It was some moments before I could locate his tent among the sea of competitors’ tents beyond the stands.
When I found it, I burst in unceremoniously and was confronted with the sight of Gregory stripped to the waist, having a nasty gash in his side tended to. Around the wound, bruising was already evident. The doctor, the squire, and Gregory himself all looked horrified at the sight of me. I cared not.
‘Madam, you intrude,’ the doctor pointed out politely. I ignored him and stepped forward.
‘How do you fare, cousin?’ I asked him.
‘Not dead this time, Eleanor,’ he said with a wry grin, and I could hear he was steadying his voice against the pain.
‘I have just been telling Hungerford that he cannot ride again today,’ the doctor explained, as he resumed examining the wound. ‘There is at least one rib broken here, and some severe contusions. I could not answer for the consequences.’
‘Withdraw?’ I gasped, horrified. ‘Gregory, no!’ My cousin grimaced as the doctor dusted his wound with some powder and began bandaging it. I could see how white his face was. Even his lips seemed drained of colour. ‘You’ve come so far…’ I said hopelessly.
He shook his head sadly at me.
‘Shall I go and announce the withdrawal, sir?’ asked Gregory’s squire.
His words brought me to life. ‘No!’ I said firmly. ‘Not until I’ve spoken to Gregory. In private.’
My cousin didn’t countermand my order, and the doctor continued bandaging, muttering dire warnings against the wiles of females under his breath. The doctor left at last, and my cousin lay carefully down, his breathing coming in short gasps. He was clearly in considerable pain.
‘Wait outside would you, Matthew,’ he ordered his squire. Then he closed his eyes. ‘Eleanor, I’m sorry to disappoint you. But I can scarce hold onto consciousness lying here, let alone mount my horse,’ he whispered. ‘And I could not lift my lance if my life depended on it.’
I knelt beside him and clasped his hand in both mine. ‘I have a better idea,’ I murmured low. ‘Is your servant trustworthy? Does he keep your secrets?’
‘Of course,’ muttered Gregory. ‘Why?’
‘I’ll ride in your place.’
Gregory’s eyes flew open at that. ‘What? Tell me I misheard you.’
‘You did not mishear me. I’ll don your armour and ride. We’re near the same height. No one will ever know.’
‘They’ll know soon enough,’ exclaimed my cousin scornfully, and I was pleased to see a little colour return to his cheeks. ‘Good God, Eleanor. You won’t even be able to mount my horse in full armour! Or hold the lance!’
‘I will,’ I promised him. ‘I’ve jousted every day for the last four years. I train with Walter, and he cannot touch me.’
Gregory groaned. ‘You think because you can defeat an eight year old, that qualifies you to ride against Lord Stanton, do you? For it is him I face in the final bout. You’re mad. Go away and leave me in peace.’
‘I won’t,’ I said stubbornly.
‘Why do you wish to do this? Is this just the stupid bet you told me of?’
‘It is that and more,’ I told him fiercely. ‘The bet was conceived to humiliate me. If Stanton wins, I must kiss him!’ I hoped my voice conveyed the disgust I felt.
Gregory laughed weakly and then grimaced with pain. ‘Eleanor, you are about to marry him. You’ll have to do more than just kiss him then!’
‘I will be gone before the wedding. In any case, it’s about more than that. He gets the better of me every time we meet. He is so arrogant and sure he will win. And also … ’ I hesitated, unsure whether to continue. Gregory opened his eyes.
‘Yes?’
‘Also I have dreamed for years of riding in a tournament such as this.’
My cousin groaned.
‘Eleanor,’ he pleaded, eyes shut again. ‘If you are wounded, there’ll be no hiding it. It’s deception. Cheating. Imagine the shame for us both.’ Gregory was white about the mouth again. He needed to rest. I had a momentary twinge of guilt, but I didn’t let it stop me.
‘Just lie quietly and get some sleep,’ I told him. ‘And don’t worry. All you need to do is get well.’
So saying, I called in his squire. ‘Matthew, your name is? Good. I am to secretly ride in your master’s place in the final,’ I informed the astonished youth. ‘Time is short. Please help me find some suitable clothing and assist me in donning your master’s armour.’
Matthew gawped at me open-mouthed. Then he turned to Gregory.
‘Sir, you’ll never let her … ’ he managed to gasp at last.
‘He’s in no position to prevent me,’ I replied quickly, removing my hood and flinging it aside. I stripped off my gown and threw it down on the ground and my kirtle followed it. I did not even stop to consider the need for modesty. Excitement was coursing through me. I bundled my clothes under Gregory’s things. ‘Come, Matthew! A shirt. Some hose. Look lively!’
Matthew looked at Gregory lying helplessly on his palliasse. He was as pale as death and made no move to stop me. I wondered if he had fainted.
Bemused, Matthew handed me spare hose. He blushed and averted his eyes as I rolled them onto my legs.
‘There’s no shirt, Mistress,’ he stammered. ‘Only this one.’ So saying he held up the sweaty, bloody, and torn shirt that Gregory had recently shed. I grimaced.
‘Oh well. So be it.’ Gingerly I pulled it on. I also tied back my hair and stuffed it down the back of my shirt. ‘Now, my armour.’ I clicked my fingers at the bemused Matthew and then turned to my cousin. ‘Is he always this slow?’ Gregory did not reply.
As Matthew began buckling my cousin’s armour on to me, I felt a wild joy. I was going to ride! It felt so good to be doing something at last after so many days of frustration. That this would not help free Mother, I did not pause to think.
I needed to surprise Stanton. He was expecting Gregory Hungerford, not Eleanor Hungerford. That might be surprise enough. I had also the advantage of being completely fresh, while Stanton had ridden many bouts already today.
Gregory was right. A serious injury would mean my unmasking. It was a risk, but I relished it.
‘Now, Matthew,’ I ordered the hapless squire once my armour was in place, and I had pulled on my c
ousin’s tunic, bearing the Hungerford device of the sickle. ‘You must accompany me and speak for me if anyone tries to talk to me, otherwise we’ll be undone. I’ll pretend to be injured, you’ll be supporting me. Let’s go. Did you say something, cousin?’ I turned to Gregory, who had been muttering something about deception and dishonour again. ‘No doubt you wished me good luck?’ I asked him. Gregory lay silent, eyes shut. I grinned, pulled down my visor and limped from the tent, leaning heavily on my faithful squire. ‘Close the tent after us,’ I muttered. ‘We don’t want anyone finding Gregory.’
Fellow knights slapped me on the back, making me stagger, and wished me luck as I reached the lists. Matthew helped me onto my cousin’s horse. The horse sidled and fretted, snorting and pawing the ground nervously. He knew he had a strange rider on his back. The crowd saw only Gregory Hungerford, however, the Hungerford coat of arms on my horse’s cloth, and the device on my tunic. The spectators set up a great cheer, which I acknowledged by raising my armoured right hand. I could see Stanton at the other end of the lists and my excitement steadied into a fierce concentration. I felt serious now.
I bent forward as though in pain, hoping Stanton was watching and triumphing. I could hear the crowd murmuring uneasily, and grinned to myself. I knew as sure as if he’d told me where Stanton would aim. That gave me a huge advantage.
I patted my steed. ‘Good boy, Damien,’ I whispered. ‘You can trust me.’ Damien wasn’t reassured, and backed up anxiously, arching his neck. I gathered the reins and drove him forward to the starting point. Our heralds announced us and we saluted one another. I could hear the crowd cheering, and it was thrilling. Though I had jousted so many times before, I had never known the excitement of a tournament.
Damien skittered sideways and I realized I was nervous. But then the flag dropped and there was no more time to think about it. Damien plunged forward into his usual wild gallop. As we thundered down the lists, I lifted my lance high as I had watched my cousin do, and aimed for Stanton’s shoulder. I tried to steady my steed so that I could aim more carefully, but he fought the bit, careering on in the uncontrolled way he was used to.
I could see Stanton aiming low, and I guessed he would go for what he thought was my wounded left side. All my concentration was focused on getting Damien under control. There was nothing I could do to avoid Stanton’s lance. I gritted my teeth and braced myself to take the impact. As his blow struck me, his lance shattered, and knocked the wind out of me. I felt no pain at first. My own blow glanced off his shoulder with my lance intact. No points for me.
I fought for breath and hauled on Damien’s reins, bringing him almost onto his haunches. I needed air, but I dared not lift my visor. Matthew was at my side, muttering something.
‘What?’ I gasped, irritated, once I had succeeded in drawing air into my lungs once more.
‘Withdraw,’ he was saying in a low undertone. ‘You cannot take another blow like that one.’
‘I will not let him strike me again,’ I replied, still breathless.
He was right. Another blow like the last could put me in real danger. Perhaps I had been out of my mind to pit myself against so skilled a rider. It was done, however, and I would see it through.
I wheeled Damien about and faced my opponent once more. I could feel pain spreading through my side, where Stanton’s lance had struck me. ‘It is only bruising,’ I told myself inside the darkness of the helmet. ‘I have suffered worse during training.’
I could already feel Gregory’s horse gathering himself beneath me for a second charge. I took a firmer grip on the reins and fought to gain mastery over him. I wished above all else that I was riding Beau and not this brute. He had no finesse.
The flag dropped and we surged forward once more. Damien’s hooves thundered on the turf and the crowd was going wild. I rode him hard up to the bit, not allowing him to get his head. Then I focused on Stanton. He was powering towards me, aiming for my left side again. I expected that.
I took careful aim at the very centre of Stanton’s breastplate. It would have been a fine hit, but at the last minute, Damien, fighting the bit, veered to one side, and my lance went wide. Stanton, deprived of the body blow he had been aiming for, thrust his lance as I passed, shattering it on my arm instead. It snagged in a joint of the armour, penetrating it, and ripped my sleeve underneath. I felt a red-hot, searing pain and gasped. I brought Damien to a halt at the end of the lists. Gritting my teeth, I pulled the splinter from my arm. It was red with my blood.
‘Are you all right, my la … sir?’ asked Matthew, appearing beside me. I nodded, afraid to speak in case anyone but him heard my voice. There was blood oozing from my arm and the injury throbbed unpleasantly. I guessed it would hurt far more later on. For now it was a question of keeping going.
I could see people standing up in the stands, shouting and clapping, and I sensed that excitement was running high. Stanton was now in the lead, two points to none. I imagined the whole crowd was now expecting him to be victorious. I was angry at my failure. It was unlikely now that I could defeat him. But I could try.
It was time for the final gallop. And this time Damien was going to obey me.
‘Do you understand that, horse?’ I hissed at him. ‘This time you do as I tell you.’
I pulled him round to face the lists once more. I could see Stanton waiting, watching me from the far end. I imagined how he must already be counting the tournament his own. Perhaps he was even already planning when to take his ‘reward’ from me.
I felt simultaneously a soaring confidence and a nervous dread. They were so blended I scarce knew where one ended and the other began. I faced Stanton once more, and this time I allowed myself to feel the exhilaration of confronting him. I was so much better with a lance than with words. It was time to put all those hours of practice to the test.
The flag dropped. Stanton thundered towards me. I urged Damien forward, but held him under control with all my strength. He fretted as I kept him firmly to a steady canter, but this time he obeyed me.
I took my aim carefully as Stanton approached. I ignored his lance and lowered my own a fraction. At the last moment I spurred Damien onwards. He leapt forwards suddenly. It took Stanton by surprise. His aim wavered fractionally and his lance glanced harmlessly off my shoulder, remaining intact. I barely felt it.
I held my aim with all my strength and concentration. It caught Stanton square in the stomach. So central was the blow that he could not roll away from it. The impact on my injured arm was tremendous, but I held on grimly, and Stanton was knocked back, clean out of the saddle.
I did not see him fall, for I was past him in a thundering of hoof beats and flying turf, but as I turned at the top of the lists and looked back, I saw him, one foot caught in the stirrup, being dragged along the ground, his attendants running to him.
I raised my lance in triumph and shook it at the screaming crowd. People were standing up, applauding and shouting. I rode a lap of honour—I could not resist it. This was my moment of glory. I bowed to the king and to the stands. I waved to the crowd. I even singled out Feeble Phoebe for a special bow. I spared a swift glance for my opponent. I could see him being helped to his feet, so clearly he was alive.
Well-wishers were running towards me to help me from my horse. Abruptly, I was forced to leave the field and make for my cousin’s tent. Matthew was waiting at the far end of the lists and ran beside me to the tent. I flung Damien’s reins into his hands and crashed down to the ground, the weight of the armour making me land heavily. I was surprised how weak my legs felt. They shook uncontrollably beneath me.
‘Let no one come in!’ I ordered Matthew, and ducked under the flap into my cousin’s tent. Gregory tried to raise himself on one elbow, a look of painful enquiry on his pale face.
‘You are tournament champion, cousin,’ I announced triumphantly, flinging down my gauntlets and tearing off my helmet. I took a gulp of cooler air and beamed down at Gregory. ‘And you win Stanton’s horse int
o the bargain.’
‘No,’ breathed my cousin, and fell back. There was no joy in his face.
‘Are you not delighted?’ I cried. ‘You should be. You rode brilliantly. In the final run in any case. Cousin, why do you ride such a brute?’
As I spoke, I removed my tunic and began stripping off my armour. I fumbled frantically with the straps and cast each piece into an untidy pile as I freed myself from it. ‘Everyone’s going to be rushing here to congratulate you,’ I explained. ‘I need to make myself scarce.’ I removed my breastplate and chain shirt, and had just bent over to undo my leg straps when we heard raised voices outside.
‘You will let me in at once,’ I heard Maria order Matthew in a voice of cold fury. ‘I know she’s in there.’ In defiance of his anguished protests, the tent flap lifted and Maria stepped inside. I straightened up, horribly aware of my leg armour and bloodied shirt. From the corner of my eye, I saw Gregory cover his face with his hands.
Maria looked around, taking in the scene, and I could see comprehension dawning fast.
‘Well,’ she cried in scandalized tones, which had none of her usual insincerity. ‘This is unexpected.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Both Gregory and I froze, appalled. Our deception had been discovered.
As Maria stood there staring at us, a triumphant smile curling her lips, the cheering continuing in the distance, I heard Sir Walter’s voice approaching the tent. He was loudly praising his nephew’s skills to some unseen companion. Any second now, he would walk in here and all hell would break loose.
Maria seemed to have heard him too, and the sound of his voice seemed to bring her to a decision.
‘Put your clothes back on if you have them,’ she ordered me brusquely. ‘And make all look right. I’ll delay Sir Walter if I can.’ So saying, she turned and ducked back out of the tent. Outside, we heard her rap out an order to Gregory’s squire in a fierce undertone and then greet Sir Walter in her usual voice.
‘Eleanor, move!’ Gregory urged me. I realized I was still standing frozen with shock, struggling to grasp what had happened. Surely Maria was not helping us? I came to my senses when Gregory threw my gown at me and then winced in pain at the movement. I hurriedly stripped off the rest of my armour and borrowed raiment, before binding my injured arm in a clean handkerchief. My arm was throbbing with pain and hampered my movements. Ignoring it, I began to drag my kirtle and gown back on. Meanwhile, Matthew ducked into the tent and helped Gregory to sit up and put his shirt back on.
The Lady in the Tower Page 12
