Michael, JECKS - The Tournament of Blood

It was Mother’s jealousy, Edith decided. Margaret couldn’t bear the thought that her daughter was more beautiful than her. Pure spite, that’s what it was. Well, she’d have to change her mind, that was all. Edith refused to be tied to the house just because of the misguided emotions of her mother. There were times when Edith almost thought she hated her mother.

‘Hello, my Lady.’

She glanced up at the sound of the voice, low and respectful, with a hint of passion. ‘Good day,’ she said coldly. Although she had liked the look of him earlier, she had not forgotten the group standing at the fence, one of them making that disgusting sign to her. This squire was with them, she recalled, sitting upon the fence.

‘I have never before met a woman with such an enchanting smile. You make the sun seem dim.’

She tried unsuccessfully to keep her features neutral. ‘I think you’re a little over fulsome, sir,’ she lied.

‘I am not. I was drawn to this place just by the magnetic power of your beauty, which would outshine Helen of Troy or Venus herself. Your smile could cure a man’s wounds, your touch would make him invincible, your–’

‘Enough! God’s blood, sir! After your friend was so crude and unpleasant, too.’

‘My friend?’ he enquired.

‘Your friend, that nasty boy who was with you earlier and made an unpleasant sign to me. And now you try to make me dizzy with your hyperbole. Do you always wait until your companions have insulted a woman and then introduce yourself to her in such terms?’

‘Never! May I fall dead if I ever praise another woman!’ he swore with well-concealed dishonesty, a hand pounding his breast. ‘I have seen you, and I can wish for no other. If a friend of mine annoys you, point him out to me and I shall make him regret his words or deeds. My heart is engaged. Whatever I do from now on, I do in your honour; whatever prowess I display, I do so to demonstrate the magnificence which you yourself possess; any feats of arms I achieve, I achieve solely by the power which your beauty lends to my arm. Everything good I do from now on, I do for love of you.’

Her heart fluttered and she felt a sudden faintness. All thoughts of her parents were gone as she studied his face from beneath lowered eyelashes. Tall, well-formed, with good thighs and ankles, he had the body of an athlete, with strong shoulders and thick biceps. His handsome face was to her very finely moulded, with a small scar over one brow. His eyes exhibited only fervent desire for her. This was the first time a man had expressed such devotion – especially at such short notice – and it was intensely gratifying. Once more she struggled to keep her smile at bay while trying to sound mature and reproachful.

‘You think me some easy woman to tempt with your vows just because I am young? I am scarcely of Canonical age, when you must be full five years older.’

‘What does age mean to lovers? We are old enough to marry, my love. Would you consider me?’

She held up a hand, seriously startled. There was a definite feeling of attraction to this fellow, but to speak of marriage was one step too far.

‘Ah – I have scared her! My love is too strong for her, may God forgive me. I shall leave you, my Lady. If my death would remove the fear I have put into your eyes, I shall seek it instantly.’

‘Be quiet a moment!’ she scolded. ‘Are you always this overblown? I won’t speak of marriage. It’s ridiculous! If I were to marry a man without asking permission of my father, it would be a man whom I loved, and I can hardly love you. I don’t know you.’

‘I don’t know you, but I love you already,’ he countered with a sly grin.

That sudden twist to his mouth made him more normal, reduced his previous words to the level of flirting. She was comfortable with that, and could herself smile. ‘Perhaps, but I doubt even after all this whether you’d seriously want to wed quite yet. And I couldn’t wed a mere squire, anyway,’ she added, glancing away, feigning disinterest. ‘My father would hardly be happy to see me thrown away on a nobody.’

‘Then tomorrow, when I gain my spurs… ’ he teased.

‘You will?’ she gasped, then recovered herself. ‘Yes, well, I daresay several lads will be knighted.’

‘Ah, not so many. I shall be riding in the joust with some others, and when all is done, I shall be taken before the Lord and will accept my spurs and sword from him. And I shall wear the favour of my Lady, if she will permit me?’

She eyed him haughtily and sniffed. ‘Oh, you think so? I am not so sure.’

‘My Lady, please. A small token, anything. It will spur me on to great feats in your name. Without it, I must surely lose. Perhaps even die for longing.’

‘Nonsense,’ Edith said.

‘How can you doubt me?’

‘Easily,’ she retorted.

‘Let me persuade you, then.’

She peered over his shoulder. ‘I have to find my mother.’

‘Can I see you later?’

‘I suppose we shall see each other at the feast,’ she said.

‘But how can we meet alone?’

‘Well… ’ She was reluctant to deliberately disobey her father, but surely if Simon knew what a pleasant fellow this was, he couldn’t object.

‘Perhaps if I speak to the heralds, one of them can arrange to bring a message to you,’ William said.

‘Perhaps,’ she agreed noncommittally.

‘So may I wear a token of yours?’ he asked.

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ she said, and refused to discuss the matter further, but unaccountably, when they separated, she dropped her neck-scarf apparently without noticing.

Baldwin smiled at Margaret while she spoke but he was concerned to hear her words. He had heard from another friend that young girls needed to be whipped more than any hound to be kept in line, but Margaret’s complaints brought home to him how unprepared he was for fatherhood. How would he feel in later years, when Richalda brought home some wayward minstrel and proposed to wed him, or perhaps she might decide to marry some gormless peasant boy? Baldwin felt his cods shrivel at the thought.

Leaving Hugh to protect Margaret, he went to seek more wine. It was while waiting to be served that he saw a squire stumbling near the river. The lad appeared to be upset, walking with a clumsy gait like a man who was ill, and Baldwin watched him some little while before setting off after him.

‘Who are you?’ Geoffrey demanded.

Baldwin was some distance away still and all the squire could see was a large, square-built man trailing after him. True, his tunic was a plain cream colour unlike Andrew’s red hose and shirt under a jack, but Geoffrey was not of a mood to notice details.

‘I am Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, Keeper of the King’s Peace. Are you all right?’

Geoffrey couldn’t meet Baldwin’s eye as the knight approached. He looked down at his feet and took a deep breath, then sniffed and walked on. Seeing Squire Andrew here was appalling. Dreadful. If Alice got to hear of his behaviour at Boroughbridge, she would surely throw him over. The shame – to be disgraced before everyone, and just when Geoffrey had thought things were going so well. His messages were being delivered and the responses fired his heart with hope. Alice was happy to repeat her love for him. They would declare their wedding before Lord Hugh as soon as Geoffrey had won his spurs.

‘You are a squire?’ Baldwin asked gently.

‘Yes. To Sir Ralph Sturrey.’

‘Sir Ralph? I saw him only a few weeks ago and he had no squire,’ Baldwin said mildly. Sir Ralph was an old friend and had bemoaned his lack.

‘I joined him only three months ago,’ Geoffrey admitted. ‘Before that I served Sir Hector Barr, but he fell at Boroughbridge.’