Chapter Seven #2
Gray was essentially along for the ride.
Braxton had a definite plan and she would simply follow him.
The man was pretending the turmoil of the previous day never happened and she was glad to go along, including the shopping trip he had planned for them before the crisis of yesterday.
Taking her hand and tucking it into his elbow, he motioned for Dallas to take charge of Brooke.
The tall blond knight took the young lady in hand, escorting her after her mother.
With Graehm, Edgar, Norman, and about ten men at arms in tow, the party moved into the avenue and left the rest the group behind.
Gray’s trips into the town of Leven, the nearest village to Erith, had rarely involved anything other than basic needs.
But this trip was different and she was a little dazed by all of it; they were going shopping for things they did not need.
The concept was mind-boggling. As she soaked up the sights, Braxton paused by an open stall with various fragrant oils displayed.
He sniffed the myrrh oil, liked it, and bought it on the spot for a full piece of gold.
The merchant wrapped it in a pretty piece of cloth and tied it with a ribbon, handing it over to the knight who, in turn, handed it to an astonished Gray.
As they continued their walk, Gray clutched the oil as if was the most precious gift she had ever received.
The merchant stall he had in mind was a large stall that anchored the entire avenue.
The man that owned it wore a strange little cap on his head; Gray would not learn until later that he was a Jew and his shop happened to be the most lucrative shop in Milnthorpe.
Entering the dark, cool place, Gray was struck by how packed it was with items. Porcelain, fabric, belts, and phials of secret liquids were strewn all over the place.
Awed, she stood by the door for a moment, absorbing the scene, before Braxton gently nudged her inside.
She followed him, straight over to the bolts of fabric.
Dallas and Brooke followed them inside while Geoff and Graehm, the men at arms, and Edgar and Norman stood just outside.
But the two squires were very curious about the place and strained to catch a look inside.
It was a dark and mysterious place inside the wide-mouthed door.
Suddenly, Brooke popped out with Dallas on her heels.
She almost bumped into Norman, who quickly excused himself.
She smiled briefly at Norman but cast Edgar a vicious glare.
“Come, Sir Dallas,” she said grandly. “I would like to find a merchant who has spun sugar and treats.”
She made sure to show Edgar the coin Braxton had given her, sticking her tongue out at him as Dallas escorted her across the street.
Edgar watched her go, angrily. He wanted some spun sugar, too.
Norman slapped him lightly on the back of the head and made him go back and stand near the open doorway.
As the men at arms waited patiently and the boys waited, not so patiently, for Braxton and Gray to reemerge, Brooke and Dallas came back from their unknown destination down the Street of Merchants.
Brooke was carrying a sack, holding it with her left hand while her right hand burrowed deep inside.
She pulled forth a piece of hard candy and popped it in her mouth, making sure that Edgar saw her do it.
She came upon the squires where they sat against the wall next to the door.
“Would you like a piece of candy, Norman?” she pulled out a chunk of gold-colored candy. “It’s made from burnt sugar, honey, and vanilla. It’s delicious.”
Norman nodded and held up his hand. Edgar didn’t even ask; he knew she would not give him any. Norman broke his piece in two and handed a half to Edgar.
“Why are you giving him some of your candy?” Brooke wanted to know. “He’s done nothing to earn it.”
Norman shrugged. “He is my brother. I give him whatever I have.”
She stuck her lip out in a frown. “You should not give him anything. He does not deserve it.”
Edgar chewed the candy, alternately glaring at Brooke and looking at his feet. She looked pointedly at the boy. “If you were nicer to me, I would give you some. But you are a horrid creature.”
Edgar didn’t say anything; he’d been warned by Dallas against violence involving young ladies and he had promised never to strike one again. But Brooke continued to push him.
“And you are very mean and nasty.”
Edgar swallowed the candy. “And you are skinny and ugly!”
She kicked him. He kicked her back. Brooke forgot about the candy in her hand, her new surcoat, and everything else. She leapt over Norman and grabbed Edgar by the hair. The boy howled and tried to get up and run, but she held him fast.
“You apologize, Edgar,” Brooke shouted.
Edgar’s response was to kick her again, right in the knee. Brooke lost her grip and it was enough for him to pull away. He took off with Brooke on his heels, yelling like a banshee.
Norman was up, racing after the pair. Two of the men at arms broke away from the main body of the group and also made chase.
Dallas and Geoff, having been standing in quiet conversation just inside the door, heard the commotion and came out just as Norman and the men at arms took off at a run.
They bolted after them, leaving Graehm to wait for Braxton and Lady Gray.
Edgar was fast. He plowed through the crowd on the street, dashing behind some stalls and coming out on a street on the other side.
He could hear Brooke behind him, yelling threats, so he broke right and continued running.
Edgar might have been fast, but Brooke was relentless.
Edgar left the avenue and crossed a small lot, only to stick his foot in a rabbit hole and twist his ankle.
He collapsed in pain as Brooke caught up to him. She jumped on him.
She whacked him on his arms, head and chest. They were open handed slaps, not particularly painful, but loud. Edgar just laid there and moaned about his leg.
“And that’s for sticking your tongue out at me!” she told him as she slapped him on the shoulder.
Edgar didn’t fight back. His ankle hurt too badly. Brooke gradually became aware of this and slowed her attack just as Norman ran up on them. By the time the big brother arrived, she had stopped completely.
“You are a coward and a faker, Edgar,” she scolded him. “You are not hurt in the least. You are just crying because you got beat by a girl.”
But Edgar’s foot was still in the hole. Both Brooke and Norman turned to see that the foot was indeed lodged. Brooke climbed off of him as Norman tried to remove his brother’s foot from the narrow pit. Edgar yelled.
By this time, the men at arms, Geoff and Dallas had arrived.
They could see what had happened. Dallas lifted Edgar up gently as Geoff pulled his foot free.
Then they sat the boy down on his buttocks so they could take a look at the ankle.
Edgar was trying not to cry, furiously wiping at his eyes so no one would see his tears.
It hurt terribly and Brooke tried not to look at his face, tried not to feel guilty.
Dallas knelt beside Edgar, running his hands over the joint. The boy flinched. “Well,” Dallas said after a moment. “I cannot say if it is broken, but it is certainly sprained. Let’s get him up and back to the wagon.”
He reached down and lifted the boy in his arms. They began to retrace their steps back in the direction they had come when the sound of trumpets caught their attention.
Off to the northwest were the tournament grounds and banners flew high over the lists.
There seemed to be a moderate crowd on hand; they could hear the rumble and roar.
“What is that?” Brooke wanted to know.
Dallas, Geoff and Norman came to a halt, gazing off into the distance. “A tournament,” Dallas said. “Probably just a local one.”
“What does that mean, ‘probably just a local one’?” she asked.
“Just that. Only local contenders; no reputable names to speak of,” Geoff elaborated. “Matches like that are usually sloppy spectacles. The big matches with reputable knights are the true essence of the sport.”
The men started to walk away, but Brooke just stood there, watching the pennants flap in the mild breeze and listening to the ebb and flow of the crowd in the distance.
“Have you been in many tournaments, Sir Geoff?”
Geoff paused. “Aye, my lady.”
“Have you won any?”
“One or two. Mostly in the mêlée.”
“What’s that?”
“When knights see who can out sword-play each other. The combatants are on their feet, not on horseback as they are with the joust. The mêlée is mostly about strength and stamina, whereas the joust is mostly about skill and tactics.”
She turned to look at the field in the distance. “What about you, Sir Dallas?”
Dallas was far enough away that he barely heard her, but he politely came to a stop. “I have known a few in my time,” he said. “I tend to be more successful in the joust. Geoff wins the mêlée simply because he’s so tall. No one can get a good strike at him.”
Geoff and Dallas exchanged amused glances as Brooke continued to stare at the distant field. “I want to see this one.”
Dallas lifted an eyebrow. “You must ask Sir Braxton and your mother.”
“They will let me,” she said confidently. Then she turned to look at the knight, with Edgar in his arms. “Edgar wants to see the match, too. Don’t you, Edgar?”
She was nodding her head at him as she asked the question. The boy made a face at her and she puckered her lips angrily. “Don’t you want to see the tournament? We can sit in the lists and eat custard.”
The lure of custard had his attention. Edgar looked at his brother, at Dallas. “I would like to eat custard,” he said timidly.