Chapter Eleven
The blue silk ribbon was pinned safely to the neck of his tunic.
It was dawn as Lioncross Abbey and the tournament field began to come alive. A glistening of dew covered the ground, making everything smell fresh and new, as the sun’s golden fingers began to caress the land. The world was lighting up, glowing, and a new day was upon them.
The competitors for the tournament finals were ready.
That included Essien.
He’d been up before dawn, seeing to his horse, a muscular steed named Peggy.
It was a stallion, in truth, and his name had been Pegasus, but over the years, it had been reduced to Peggy and that was all anyone ever called him.
Peggy was a glorious roan, gray-brown in color, with a dappled rump and four black-and-white socks.
He was quite a handsome horse and much the envy of other competitors.
Essien treated the horse like a pampered dog.
The grooms were fussing over the horse this morning, making sure his tack was precisely placed, precisely fastened, as Essien stood by and watched, chomping on an apple that he eventually gave over to the horse because Peggy ate like a pig.
If there was food around, he wanted it. And much like the horse, Essien had his own preparations to go through, so he began to don his clothing for the coming joust with the help of Christopher’s sons, Douglas and Roi.
Douglas had seen fifteen summers and Roi was about nine years older.
They were good lads, and Essien liked them a great deal.
He’d watched them grow up, so they were more like brothers to him than his liege’s sons.
He stood still, arms raised, as Douglas and Roi dressed him for the day.
Essien didn’t normally utilize squires, although he had a couple of lads back at Raisbeck Castle, his garrison, who tended to him. They simply hadn’t made this trip.
Therefore, Douglas and Roi were more than happy to prepare the man they expected to win the tournament today.
The God of Vengeance was a hell of a competitor and they were honored that he’d asked for their assistance.
The pairs for the finals hadn’t been drawn yet, but one of the stable boys had been running back and forth from the marshal’s station to see if anything had been posted yet.
They knew the pairs would soon be drawn.
Finally, they were.
The stable boy came running back to the staging area at high speed, his flushed face full of excitement.
“Oy!” he exclaimed. “Sir Essien against Sir William!”
Essien started laughing. “So I’ve drawn the Wolfe, have I?” he said. “That’s fine with me. I will beat that dog to a pulp. And my brother?”
“He drew Sir Jonathan!”
Essien laughed harder. “Wolfie?” he said. “Now, that’s the bout I want to see. God’s Blood, that is going to be a battle.”
As he stood there, snorting, he was joined by Ashton. The big blond knight wandered over, an amused expression on his face as he came to stand next to Essien.
“Did you see the matches?” he asked.
Essien nodded. “I was just told,” he said. “Me against the littlest de Wolfe. He’s going to be spanked today, I can feel it.”
Ashton chuckled. “Not strangely, he has said the same thing about you.”
Essien’s smile vanished unnaturally fast. “Did he?” he said. “That little whelp. Once I unseat him, I’m going to put him over my knee and lash the arrogance right out of him.”
That only made Ashton laugh harder. “Again,” he said, “not strangely, he said the same thing about you.”
Essien looked at him, scowling. “Ash,” he said frankly, “in a bout between the two of us, who would you put your money on to emerge the victor?”
Ashton scratched his head. “Let me think a moment,” he said, watching Essien fume. “The littlest Wolfe has size and strength going for him. William is taller than you are.”
Essien frowned. “Taller and dumber,” he said. “Do you honestly think that whelp can beat me in a tournament?”
Ashton shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “Riding tournaments was your business for quite some time, and no one does it better than you and your brother. But do not underestimate William, because he is more devious than you are. If he can figure out a way to take you down, he will.”
That both flattered and worried Essien. He knew William and knew the lad was crafty. Not evil, but crafty. With de Norville and Hage out of the competition, at least all he had to worry about was the youngest de Wolfe brother.
And his own brother.
Or Wolfie.
Hell, he had to worry about all of them.
“Who else made the finals?” he asked. “I did not see the rest of the matchups.”
“Not me,” Ashton said indignantly, referring to being knocked out in the semifinals. “Your brother saw to that. But to answer your question, Cassian and Rolf Deinhold make the third pair.”
“Ah,” Essien said. “The Dark Conqueror and the Sword of Tyr. That should be exciting. Deinhold may look like someone who was scraped out of the sewer, but he is nothing to be trifled with on a tournament field. The man will send you to the ground if you are not careful.”
Ashton knew that. “Indeed,” he said. “You are up first. According to the marshal’s list, the winners between Wolfie and your brother, and Cassian and Deinhold, will ride against each other. Then you will ride against the winner. What will you do if you must face your brother?”
The only reason Essian had the privileged position of facing the final winner between four competitors was because he’d won the overall joust at the last exhibition on the tournament circuit in Bath.
Because he’d made it this far in this particular tournament, the marshals were giving him the honor of only having to face one more competitor should he win his bout.
He could do away with de Wolfe and then…
“Addax and I have faced each other before,” he said. “Nineteen times over the years, to be exact.”
“And?”
“And Addax has me beat, ten victories to nine.”
Ashton shook his head, putting a hand on Essien’s shoulder. “Not this time,” he said in a low voice. “This time, you will send him to the ground and take your horse back. He’ll be riding it, you know. He is preparing that animal right now for today’s bouts.”
Essien grinned. “He’s doing that on purpose,” he said. “He will not give my horse back to me, or sell him back to me, but he’ll let me win him. It’s an incentive.”
Ashton chuckled. “Will it work?”
“Let’s hope so.”
“My lord?”
A call came from behind, and they both turned to see one of the marshals standing there. He was looking at Essien.
“Your bout is coming up shortly,” the man said. “You are requested to attend to the field immediately.”
Essien nodded and the man walked away. Ashton began helping him with the rest of his protection, instructing the two de Lohr brothers to gather his things and get the horse ready.
As the activity picked up in preparation for the coming bout, Ashton finished securing what amounted to a stiff leather breastplate that would remain underneath the tunic Essien would wear.
It was meant to protect the chest area from the blow of a lance, a little extra reassurance.
“De Wolfe sits low in his saddle,” Ashton muttered as he secured the straps on the breastplate. “That makes him difficult to unseat, so you are going to have to force him out of that crouch.”
Essien was listening. “Aim for his head.”
“Exactly,” Ashton said. “Aim for his head, and when he realizes that, he’ll try to move to the side.
That will shift his balance. Hit him on the shoulder he drops, which will probably be his right, and he will fall.
That is, if you can get past the lance. The man uses a sword with his left, but a lance with his right.
You may not be able to go around the lance unless you, too, shift your position in the saddle. That leaves you vulnerable.”
Essien took it all in. He’d gone against William before, twice, and each of them had a victory. This time, however, Essien was going to come out on top. He wasn’t going to let the knight who’d tried to hide exploding lances get a win out of this.
William de Wolfe was going down.
*
“We did not arrive in time yesterday to see the bouts,” Harald said. “At least, we did not make it over in time once our encampment was established. Today should be excellent entertainment, and given that your betrothed is competing, I’d say we’re in for a fine day.”
Catalina, Harald, Adabella, and Ines were sitting in the lists this morning, facing the vacant tournament field. It was a chilly morning, and damp, but the sun was up and the sky was bright. A light breeze wafted through the tournament grounds, lifting the standards that were flying over the field.
As Harald had said, they were in for a fine day.
Catalina sat next to her father with Ines on her lap, wrapped in one of her mother’s cloaks because she was cold.
Adabella sat next to her mother, the cloak partially on her legs.
She was cold, too, but she would never admit it, so Catalina simply put the cloak over Adabella’s legs and said no more about it.
This morning, her father had insisted they all go to the tournament field at dawn, being unusually nice to Catalina, and she knew why.
She was now betrothed to Essien al-Kort, a good man of means, a prince to his people, so there was every reason to be nice to the daughter he would soon be rid of.
She would have every chance in the world now to provide him with grandsons, so he could afford a little benevolence.
He’d behaved in much the same way when she married Alfred, so this wasn’t unexpected.
But it was disappointing.
“I’ve never seen a championship bout,” she said, pulling the cloak more tightly around Ines. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Harald seemed particularly interested in the marshals that were starting to come onto the field. That meant the bout wasn’t far behind.