twenty-foot steel lance lowered and to aim no higher than the shoulder for a strike. Breastplates of twice-tempered iron would usually absorb and deflect the blows, thus preventing serious injury while still sending the unlucky knight sprawling to defeat on the trammeled ground.
Squires stood by to catch the horses. Adjudicators were positioned along the alleys to judge fair or foul play. A win gained through a deliberate foul was negated in the rules, and if the victim died as a result of the foul, his gear— armour, saddle, weapons, and horse—was given to the surviving heirs, not the winner. Few knights who found themselves staring down the lists at a hated enemy cared for rules of chivalric behaviour and gladly forfeited their prizes for the chance to send their rivals to perdition. But for the most part, the entrants were well behaved, and matches set up to avoid pitting known antagonists together.
Naturally, the match between the Dragon of Bloodmoor Keep and the Scourge of Mirebeau was causing the most excitement. The two were undefeated champions on their home terrain and it was eagerly assumed the codes of chivalry would be drenched in gore before the end of the day.
What both men were doing to prepare themselves for the upcoming match was the subject of much speculation, for neither had been present in the great hall for the morning repast.
“What do you mean you cannot find him?” De Gournay asked, his anger causing him to thrust aside the helping hands of the servant endevouring to dress him.
Rowlens, the castle seneschal and chamberlain, swallowed hard and wiped at the beads of sweat trickling down to his chin.
“My lord, he is nowhere he should be expected to be. My men have searched the stables, the baileys, the barracks. He has not been seen at the smithy or the armoury since yester_ tide. He was not at chapel this morning, nor at table as is his wont early of a morning.”
“Well, now that we know where he has not been,” Wardieu snarled, “what I wish to know and what I command you to find out, is where he is now!”
“My lord, surely another squire could be fetched to assist you—”
“I do not want another squire, damn you!” Wardieu roared, sending a spray of flying crockery against the wall. “I want Eduard! I want him brought here to me, in chains if need be, and I want to see him without any further delays or excuses!”
“My lord?”
The two men whirled to stare at the door. One of them melted instantly with relief, the other clenched his hands into fists and advanced ominously toward the guileless figure who stood there.
“Where” the Dragon seethed, “by God’s holy ordinance, have you been?”
Eduard looked calmly from the seneschal to his master, to the raven-haired Nicolaa de la Haye who was lounging close by in a tunic so red it burned the eyes.
“I … was at the armourers,” Eduard said, glancing back at Wardieu. “I was ensuring your lances were all—”
“Liar!” The flat of De Gournay’s hand lashed out and caught the squire on the side of his face, smashing him sideways against the stone wall. “You were not at the armourers! You have not been seen at the armourers since yesterday!”
Eduard straightened, his hand cupped to his mouth to catch the slippery warmth of blood that flowed from his torn lip. He was dazed and reeling slightly; his cheek and forehead had struck hard against the stone, and the flesh was serrated a raw red.
“I will only ask once more,” De Gournay threatened. “Where have you been all night and morning? And I warn you now, if you dare another lie, I will have the skin flayed from your body in bloody strips.”
Eduard’s gray eyes flickered with pain, but did not waver from Wardieu’s.
“I was with the maid Glyneth,” he said hoarsely. “I … we overslept, my lord, and I have just been explaining to Mary, the cook, that the fault was mine and Glyneth should be spared a beating.”
“You have been wenching?” Nicolaa asked with a wry sneer. “How positively true to the Wardieu bloodlines.”
“Nicolaa—have you nowhere else to be right now?”
“My, my,” she said, the narrowed green eyes slicing to De Gournay. “We are full of vinegar this morning, are we not? Two servants sent for a flogging because they spilled a few crumbs of bread. A guard railed for a torn tunic and … dear oh dear … now a lad knocked half senseless for sharing