Chapter 6
Francis was not in a hurry for tomorrow to begin, but he was so tired that as soon as his head hit the silk pillows, he was out for the count. It felt as though he had merely blinked his eyes closed before it was morning, and attendants had arrived in his rooms with new clothes to wear, and tea.
Blearily, Francis rubbed his eyes and yawned. Time to get up and face this tournament.
Francis sipped a cup of chai as he selected another Turkish outfit to wear. He declined any assistance to get dressed. These clothes were effortlessly easy to put on and he loved that. He was dressed in no time at all.
Two more attendants arrived with a tray of breakfast foods; slices of fresh fruit, dates, white cheese, spiced meat, and some exotic looking bread.
Gustav trailed in as well with Archie in tow.
“Good morning, your royal highness,” Gustav greeted with a bow.
Archie was less formal. “Good morning, sir!” He looked Francis up and down, and chuckled. “Turning native, too, I see.”
Gustav frowned, but otherwise ignored Archie. “Shall we break our fast in the parlour room, sir?”
“Yes, good idea.”
Gustav nodded and directed the servants to set breakfast on the parlour table, so that Francis and his companions could sit down to eat.
“How was your evening?” Francis asked Archie. “No problems, I hope?”
“Oh, we had a smashing supper,” Archie said with a grin. “So many courses, I slept very soundly. And how was yours, sir?”
“Yes, pleasant enough,” Francis fibbed.
Gustav tactfully said nothing.
“Did you meet the king?” Archie asked.
“Um…not as such,” Francis said. “Glimpsed from afar.”
“Afar?” Archie raised an eyebrow, then looked at Gustav. “What is he? Shy?”
Gustav became flustered. “He, um, well, um…”
Francis stepped in. “I think it’s obvious, at least to me, that this is all some sort of grand experiment. The king not greeting us personally, nor interacting with us himself, is putting the more nervous guests on edge. It is a tactic.”
“Oh? Hm,” Archie said, seeming surprised. “That sounds like a lot of work just to find a consort.”
Francis was inclined to agree, but there was little to be done about it.
“Where are Christian and Maddie?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Christian is sketching the palace interiors and getting tetchy about it,” Archie reported. “Maddie is with him to keep him out of trouble.”
Francis smiled. “And who is keeping you out of trouble?”
Archie grinned. “I thought I should accompany you today, sir. It’s a tournament, isn’t it?”
They both looked at Gustav in question.
“As far as I’m aware, sir,” the older man replied.
“See?” Archie said. “Best I accompany you. We don’t know what you’ll be expected to do or if the palace provides aides or not. You don’t want to be without.”
“We shall go together, then,” Francis said. In truth he felt better having Archie along for moral support.
They continued to eat their breakfast.
“Actually, Gustav, I did have a question,” Francis said. “Where are these infamous one thousand cats? I’ve not seen a single one at this palace.”
“I believe they reside in the garden, sir,” Gustav said. “That’s as much as I know.”
“Hopefully I’ll see them later, then.”
Francis would hate to come all this way only to not pet a cat.
* * * *
After breakfast, they made their way to the lower level of the palace to find out where they needed to be.
It wasn’t hard to figure out where the tournament was to take place. All they had to do was follow the noise and bustle of several other guests and their aides as they swept down the palace’s inner hallways, and through to an outdoor courtyard.
Francis balked at going outside without protection, but on glancing at the sky he noted there were some clouds this morning. Hopefully they would provide ample cover for his delicate skin.
He couldn’t bow out of the competition for fear of a sunburnt face. Granny would be cross with him.
In the courtyard were several Turkish clerks taking inventory of the suitors intending to compete and directing them to a path that led through a stone archway and presumably into the garden.
When it was Francis’s turn, the clerk wanted Gustav and Archie to head for the spectators’ area.
Archie was reluctant to leave, but Francis saw that everyone else was dismissing their aides as the clerks asked, and he didn’t want to be different.
“It’s all right, Archie,” Francis assured him. “Go with Gustav. I’ll be fine.”
Once separated, Francis followed the other competitors down the mosaic tiled path. They came out on an impressive lawn, framed by trees in the distance. The lawn was set up like an Olympiad with set areas arranged for different sports.
A rather fabulous Bedouin style tent had been erected on the far side of the lawn for the spectators to gather and watch them.
Francis looked around for a royal tent but saw none, nor any royal family. Only clerks, dozens of palace clerks with ledgers and ink pens at the ready, watching his every move.
The clerks would likely report back to the king, then.
Distantly, Francis heard the dull drone of Montferrat’s voice, and he tried not to roll his eyes.
Amidst all this activity, Francis was disappointed to see no cats at all. A few birds, including a large peacock, wandered the grounds, but no cats.
Then again, if he were a cat and fifty men and hundreds of other guests descended on his home at once, he would probably hide too.
The competitors were divided into two groups, and Francis’s group would first be tackling archery.
That was a pleasant relief.
Francis was good at archery, and best of all he wouldn’t have to speak to anyone.
At least, that’s what he’d thought, until to his greatest dismay he found himself sandwiched between Montferrat and Wittensbach.
How awful.
Francis did his best to ignore them both and focused on his equipment. This bow was uniquely different from the European bow he was used to.
The two men, however, did their best to distract Francis.
“Don’t miss, little prince,” Montferrat teased.
“You’ll never hit that target, Stormburg,” Wittensbach sneered.
On the first round of shooting, Francis hit his target close to the centre. Closer than his opponents on either side; Wittensbach’s arrow went wide and almost hit a stray peacock. The bird squawked indignantly before strutting away.
They shot another round. Francis was getting the hang of this curved bow, but Wittensbach wasn’t.
Montferrat fared slightly better, but he was no match for Francis.
The archery went on for a couple of hours, as those with the lowest scores were shooed off to the spectators’ tent, and those with the highest scores left to compete against each other.
The final round was between Francis, and Prince Hiro of Japan.
The clerks just behind them scribbled away in their ledgers, always watching. The spectators cheered, although some jeered.
He focused on his target, let the background noise fade away. Francis shot his arrow and got his arrow quite close to his earlier dead centre shot.
Prince Hiro, looking very dashing in his billowing golden robes and long black hair, shot his arrow dead on and split the first.
No one was beating that.
The crowd applauded. Francis smiled and bowed his head politely in a show of sportsmanship.
Prince Hiro returned the bow in what Francis took to be a sign of respect, but when Hiro raised his eyes at Francis, he shot him a very dirty look.
Francis was taken aback for a moment, until he remembered this was a competition, and it seemed he had made a new enemy.
* * * *
After archery was done, they all broke for refreshments.
Francis was parched and selected a drink from what was on offer. Lemonade, if he were to guess from the colour of the liquid in the glasses.
He’d barely raised the glass to his lips before a stray elbow knocked his arm, and he ended up wearing his drink.
Francis looked around to see who had bumped into him.
Montferrat. Again.
Francis had a mind to follow the scoundrel and tell him what for, but decided that giving the man attention would only be playing into his hand. Best to ignore him instead.
When Gustav and Francis’s friends found him, Francis asked for a handkerchief to dry himself off. Maddie and Christian offered theirs first.
“You spilled your drink?” Archie teased.
“I didn’t,” Francis said, dabbing at his wet clothes. “Montferrat did.”
“Again?” Maddie whispered. “Outrageous.”
“Indeed,” Christian agreed.
“Shall I go and slap him, sir?” Archie offered, as Gustav looked horrified.
“You shall do no such thing,” Francis told him. “Montferrat is a sore loser. Just ignore him.”
“I concur,” Gustav said.
“You did do awfully well, sir,” Christian commented.
“Yes! Bravo,” Maddie said. “A fine start indeed.”
“Thank you.”
Gustav fetched him another drink, and Francis was able to quench his thirst at last.
“Is the king in attendance?” he asked.
“The royal family is observing from the palace balcony, sir,” Gustav explained.
“Oh?” Francis looked at the palace across the lawn, squinting to see in the sun. His cheeks and nose protested as he did, having been out in the sunlight for far too long already. “Isn’t it…far away?”
“We asked that,” Archie said with a scoff. “Gustav made enquiries.”
“They apparently have a telescope, sir,” Gustav explained.
“Oh,” Francis said, immediately feeling uncomfortable at being spied on so closely. “I’m sorry but I must escape the sun.”
“Here.” Maddie tilted her parasol toward him.
Francis shook his head. “Not here, Maddie.”
He didn’t need to make himself even more of a target than he already was.
They retreated to the spectators’ tent instead.
After the break was over, the announcer with the long grey beard, Yusuf, declared in several languages that they were moving onto the second segment of the day.
Fencing.
Francis liked to fence, as long as he had a decent fencing partner. He’d grown up with brothers who liked to cheat, and Francis didn’t appreciate their dirty style of fighting.