Wicked Weaves

by Lavene, Joyce

  She looked down at me. “Are you speaking to us, Troubadour?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” I bowed my head both to her and her position, even if it was only queen of sales. “I am speaking to you. You must release me from your entourage so that I may still find the murderous monk.”

  She waved her hand at me as three ladies adjusted her gown so she could sit on her throne. “Troubadour, we are not amused by your actions. Sing us a pleasant song. Where is your lute?”

  “Majesty, I do not play the lute.”

  “A lute!” she called out. “This troubadour needs a lute.”

  Several of them were shoved in my face. No doubt, all the lute-carrying members of the queen’s court were glad to let me have the honor. “I apologize, Your Majesty,” I tried again. What was wrong with this woman, anyway? “I cannot sing nor play the lute.”

  Livy deigned to look at me again. It wasn’t a good thing. “How can you be a troubadour if you cannot sing or play the lute? Thou must be a false troubadour. Forsooth, we think you are a knave in troubadour’s clothing. Guard, take the knave away to the kitchen where she might serve dinner and learn her lesson.”

  I’m as much into character as the next resident of the Village. But this was taking it too far. I knew Harry and Livy were absolute monarchs at the feast. If they said go to the kitchen, you went to the kitchen. I needed an opportunity to look around. The kitchen wasn’t going to allow me that freedom.

  I grabbed the closest lute and started singing. I had no idea how to play the instrument, but I figured it couldn’t be much different than the guitar. I’d learned to play the guitar in high school along with half of my sophomore class. There was no better instrument for teenage angst than the guitar.

  I hopped around a little and tried to be entertaining. Livy looked the other way, but Harry seemed to be amused.

  Not one to miss an opportunity, I worked on entertaining him. Anything was better than the kitchen. Serving food to a few hundred half drunk lords and ladies was not my idea of a good time. Every plate was the same: one little chicken, one baked potato, one roll, and a boiled egg. That was as close as they could come to a Renaissance feast. Dessert was plum pudding with plums. Like I’d said, imperfect history.

  King Harry was highly amused with my singing and dancing. I made sure to shake enough of my body to ring my bells. “Thou art entertaining, Troubadour. Come join our court.”

  This didn’t sit well with Livy. “The troubadour is ours, sir. She will remain with us or be taken to the kitchen.”

  Harry chuckled. “You forget yourself, my royal wife. We are king here. We say the troubadour stays.”

  I felt like one of the little chickens. No one really wanted me, but I was cheap and fit on the plate without too much trouble. I didn’t dare say anything that might interrupt their royal argument.

  The other courtiers stood around buffing their nails or playing with their hair—and those were the men. The women looked bored, except for those who were worried about their breasts tumbling out of their low-cut gowns. You could always tell them because they kept their arms folded across their chests.

  I tried to back away as the argument ensued. Livy saw me and had her royal guard hold me until their highnesses could make a decision.

  “We shall settle this on the field of honor,” she finally decided. “My champion, Sir Reginald, will face your champion, the Black Knight, for the fate of this troubadour.”

  The king agreed. “An admirable solution, my dear. Where is my Black Knight?”

  I hated to be the bearer of bad news, but Tony was gone, and there probably hadn’t been enough time to hire a new Black Knight. I kept my mouth shut as our visitors began to eat and the noise level in the great hall increased.

  Jugglers, singers, belly dancers, and other performers wove their way through the crowd while Harry decided what to do about his lost Black Knight. The smell of roasting chicken mingled with the smell of horses as Sir Reginald presented his red and gold standard to the queen in hope of her favor.

  “You do please us so, Sir Reginald.” Livy giggled and presented him with her scarf. Sir Reginald bowed low, then took the silver scarf from the end of his lance. He wrapped it around his neck, then bowed again.

  “This cannot be a contest without our Black Knight,” Harry complained. “Which of our brave courtiers will take the field against the queen’s champion?”

  Not surprisingly, no one volunteered. It was different being up on the dais with the king and queen than it was being down in the sawdust with the horses. I wouldn’t have volunteered, either.

  “Is there no one, no brave knight, who will pit himself against Sir Reginald?” Harry yelled out over the sound of the crowd.

  Hardly anyone heard him. The trumpeters had started, not realizing the Black Knight had gone to Las Vegas with a fairy. They were set for the tournament just like any other feast night. There were knight replacements in the Village, but either they didn’t want to step forward, or they were playing hooky from the feast.

  The courtiers parted amid the sound of starched ruffles and sequins. Chase bowed low to the king and queen. “Your Majesties, I am here on Village business to question yon troubadour on a matter of urgency.”

  The queen smiled at Chase. “Sir Bailiff! Thou art always a welcome sight!”

  Harry growled. “Perhaps your loyal bailiff will joust as the Black Knight this evening.”

  “I would love nothing more,” Chase lied. “But I would be forced to fight against my queen’s champion.”

  “Never fear, dear boy.” Livy smoothed her hand down his deep blue dress tunic. “We shall discharge Sir Reginald for the king’s use this evening. You shall represent us in the troubling matter of this troubadour.”

  I could see Chase had run out of ideas. He’d started at the Village as a knight, the Black Knight, until someone else got the job. He couldn’t deny that he knew how to joust. This was a valuable commodity during the feast or if they ran out of knights for the jousting tournaments during the day.

  He looked at me and shrugged. He knew the rule of absolute monarchy at the feast as well as I did. He didn’t have much choice. He bowed low to the queen. “I would be honored to represent you, Your Majesty.”

  Livy giggled again and leaned forward dangerously from her throne. “Sir Reginald!” she sang out in her high-pitched voice. “Give Sir Bailiff my standard.”

  Sir Reginald didn’t look too happy about that. “I ride for the queen. I am not the King’s Black Knight.”

  Livy stood up and put her hand on Chase’s arm. She was getting uncomfortably familiar with my boyfriend. “Posh! You will do as we say, sir, or you will suffer the consequences. The kitchen is still shorthanded.”

  The visitors, sensing a confrontation, put their half-eaten chickens down long enough to see what was going to happen.

  But Sir Reginald knew the rule of absolute monarchy as well. He bowed his head to Queen Olivia’s decision. “I will represent the king, but only because you command it, Your Majesty. And I will rip yon knight to pieces before your eyes!”

  I had worked as a squire many times, and Livy had granted my request to aid her knight. I noticed The silver armor was heavy as I helped Chase buckle it on in one of the staging rooms off of the arena. It wasn’t real, but it felt real. “Are you sure about this?”

  Chase paused in putting on his helmet to kiss me. “Absolutely. Tell me again what happened with Abraham. Did you lose him completely?”

  “He and I got separated in the crowd.” I adjusted his breastplate. That was the part that would take the full brunt of the lance. The lances were rigged to fall apart on impact, but I’d seen my share of knights who were bruised anyway. “I don’t know where he went. But I think we’ve found our killer.”

  “Whoa! Just because he was wearing a monk’s robe doesn’t make him a killer.”

  “It makes him responsible for what happened to Ham. We’ve got a witness to that event.”

  “Jessie,
I hope you never become a cop. Alex saw a man in a monk’s robe standing near Ham. He didn’t see him hit him or anything else. He said he couldn’t identify the man. How does that make Abraham the killer?”

  “It stands to reason.”

  “Just like Jah’s bad temper makes him the killer, right?”

  “I didn’t say that.” I helped him put on his gauntlets. “But you have to admit he was mean to Mary. I think that’s a little suspicious.”

  “But where was his monk’s robe?” Chase wiggled his fingers in his heavy gloves. “I think we have to give these men the benefit of the doubt. They’re innocent until proven guilty.”

  “I can tell you’ve worked as a pretend defense attorney.” I held the midnight-black horse that would carry Chase onto the field of honor, the red and gold livery identifying the queen’s champion. “I’d be a prosecutor, if I was bent enough to be a lawyer.”

  He laughed as he stepped up on the block to climb on the horse. “I think you would. Just be careful, huh? Somebody really killed Joshua, and that person might or might not be involved with the attack on Ham. They might come after you if you ask too many questions. Or chase them through the castle.”

  I looked up at him from the sawdust-strewn floor. He was gorgeous: tall, broad-shouldered, everything a knight should be. No wonder Livy wanted him. He brought to mind all the books I’d read on King Arthur and the days of chivalry. It was what had first inspired me to study history. The Renaissance was still my favorite time. “Be careful out there. I think Reggie might think there’s something going on between you and Livy.”

  Chase made a face. “You didn’t have to put that picture in my mind before I went out to fight.”

  “Don’t worry. I was about to slam her if she didn’t quit rubbing her hands all over you up there. Maybe I could take the throne. What do you think about Queen Jessie?”

  “I think you better get the lances and let’s get this over with.” He put down his visor and rode out into the center of the arena.

  While we’d been getting ready for the joust, the rabble rousers, or cheerleaders in tunics and tights as I preferred to think of them, were egging on the crowd. Sir Reginald’s side of the arena booed heartily as they saw Chase. Little chicken bones flew across the sawdust at the horse’s feet.

  The same thing happened from the queen’s side of the arena when they saw Sir Reginald, his shining silver armor now exchanged for black. The booing was long and loud, and one of the chicken bones bounced off his shoulder.

  Both sides cheered when the two knights faced each other with the master of ceremonies, Lord Dunstable, telling them and the audience the rules. Dunstable was the queen’s second favorite. “If either man is unseated, his loss is immediate on that round. There will be three rounds where each knight will be tested for strength, courage, and agility. Whichever knight is victorious for two of the three rounds will be the winner. If there is a tie, the princess Isabel will make the final decision by giving her favor to one or the other of the knights.”

  Chase’s horse seemed a little hard to control. The big Percheron wanted to dance around the arena instead of waiting for the joust. I had to move quickly to avoid being stepped on by the huge hooves. “He’s kind of feisty.” I handed Chase his first lance.

  “I know. He probably wasn’t ridden much today. I seem to be the only one who likes the big horses.”

  “That’s because you know the little horses wouldn’t be able to hold you up, especially in armor.”

  “Remind me to laugh when I get back.” He pushed down his face protector and advanced onto the field.

  Sir Reginald, in the meantime, was chasing his squire around, threatening to beat the boy, much to the amusement of the crowd. It seemed the young squire had given the knight the wrong lance. Sir Reginald became all business when he saw Chase riding toward him.

  “Okay, you two,” Lord Dunstable said into the microphone, a modern device but one necessary to be heard over the crowd. “We want a clean fight this evening. No cheating. Especially from you, Black Knight.”

  The crowd alternately booed and applauded, depending on the sign their rabble rouser held up. Historically, the Black Knight was the bad guy and the cheat who’d do anything to win the joust. Sir Reginald, despite normally being the queen’s favorite, was perfect for the role, especially with Livy’s attention on the line. He might flirt with the fairies, but Reggie wanted to be with Livy. It was a complicated situation.

  Both knights cantered their horses to the end of the arena to ask for favor from the queen and king. Livy gave Chase her necklace. Harry hung his coin purse on the end of Sir Reginald’s lance.

  Each man went to his own corner. They paused, then rode sharply at each other. Lances went down toward the other knight’s chest. I closed my eyes and waited for the sound of wood hitting steel.

  Chase’s horse neighed loudly, and I opened my eyes to see his lance splinter on Sir Reginald’s chest. It didn’t unseat the other knight, unfortunately. Sir Reginald’s lance glanced off the side of Chase’s arm. The crowd booed on the Black Knight’s side as Chase was awarded the points for the first joust.

  The next joust was a test of skill. Each knight had to catch colored rings on their lance. It was up to the squires to throw the rings into the air.

  The queen decided to change the rules. “I believe we should allow the troubadour, who plays at being yon knight’s squire, to stand in the middle and throw the rings for both men. What say you, Your Majesty?”

  King Harold waved his hand, too absorbed in one of the courtiers’ cleavage to care one way or the other. “As you wish, my dear.”

  I took the colored rings from our side, and Sir Reginald’s squire gave me his rings. “Better you than me,” he muttered. “They don’t pay enough for this job. I never knew horses smelled so bad.”

  I climbed up on the barrel in the middle of the arena and got ready to throw the rings into the air. I didn’t think much about it. I’d done it plenty of times in the outside jousting area when one of the squires didn’t show up. It wasn’t like I was the target.

  I tossed the red ring up first for each knight. Each man caught the ring on his lance. I tossed the green ring for each knight. Each man caught the green ring, although Sir Reginald barely made the catch. He gave me a sour look. Like I had anything to do with it. I wasn’t a baseball pitcher.

  It was time for the last ring when Livy’s voice rang out over the microphone. “We weary of this sport. We are looking for more excitement. What say you, citizens? Are you looking for more excitement as well?”

  Both sides of the arena roared and stomped their feet while they threw chicken bones all over the arena. I raked one out of my hair and tried to stand behind the two knights.

  “We believe both knights to be equally matched. We require them now to show their bravery and skill by catching the last ring blindfolded.” Livy smiled and held up her scepter that Daisy had made for her.

  The crowd yelled, “Huzzah!” until it sounded like the rafters would fall in. Blindfolded? I looked at Chase, who shrugged and came closer as the young squire for Sir Reginald retrieved the blindfolds from the king’s page. He brought them to me, and I tied one on each man.

  This was one of the craziest stunts I’d ever seen here. And I wasn’t sure about my position on the barrel being so safe anymore. Was that the idea? Would the queen be happy if one of them hit me with the lance or knocked me off the barrel?

  Both men, blindfolded, took their positions. I climbed back up on the barrel and yelled out as I tossed up the last yellow rings.

  Thirteen

  Did anyone else think this was insane? I was screaming inside, but outside I was standing on the barrel like one of the lunatics. Had years of being here, considering the king and queen’s commands valid, turned my entire brain to mashed potatoes?

  The horses thundered toward me as I threw the rings in the air. The crowd cheered and stomped; a hail of chicken bones flew into the arena. Apparently, th
is was excitement at its best.

  I felt frozen there, watching Chase and Sir Reginald gallop toward me as they lowered their lances. There was no way either one of them knew where the rings were. Sir Reginald’s ring fell on the floor and rolled through the sawdust. He didn’t slow his horse. He obviously wasn’t cheating by looking around his blindfold or he planned on hitting me.

  The lance would break, I kept telling myself. Except that I wasn’t wearing armor, so it would break off inside me. I had to get off the barrel and run out of the arena. But I didn’t move.

  Looking back on it later, I realized it was one of those fight-or-flight moments. There was no way I could fight two men on horses with lances. Flight should’ve been the obvious answer, but my legs refused to move. I was scared brainless.