competitions all day long, and from the looks of it, he would be fighting in mud for hours.
Elinor’s father returned to their tent at midday. He looked dirty and tired. He sank heavily onto a stool inside. Elinor was busy stacking some sand sacks at the entrance, to hold out the rivulets of water gathering in puddles on the field. It surprised her when her father called her name.
She went to him, carrying a pail and some rags so he could wash himself. Then she dug in one of her baskets and brought out some of the cheese she had received from Zander the night before. She set it down on a cloth near him. “How did you get like this?”
He washed his hands, then took the cheese and bit. “How do you think?”
“I don’t think anything. You leave. You return. I assume you are watching the competitions, but that would make you wet today, not filthy.”
“Is that how you think I spend my days here?”
Actually, I fear that you also spend them plotting unspeakable things that will lead you to a horrible death.
She had avoided putting words on the last part of her fear before, but images of what happened after such treason hovered like a specter on her spirit.
“When I leave here, I often go to the practice field. I’m not such a fool as to neglect that.”
She glanced at the sword he had removed upon entering the tent. He always wore it, but then most knights did. One never knew when it would be needed.
She gave him a long consideration while he finished eating, then washed the worst of the mud off his face and wiped down his tunic. He had lost some weight, but she thought it had been their poor meals doing that, not hard practice. He appeared younger as a result, and it seemed to her that he had shaved with a fine blade, not only used the pumice stones like he normally did.
“I want you to change your garments into something better,” he said. “I’ve a guest coming soon, and you should not greet him in that old gown.”
“What guest?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
She did as he bid, but resentfully. All that would happen was she would have two gowns with muddy hems to wash now. After changing, she set out two tumblers, some ale, and the rest of that cheese.
The guest arrived soon after. She almost died when she saw him. It was the man with the cunning eyes who had been talking to Sir Lionel yesterday. His name was Sir Gerwant, and as her father explained with a flourish, he was a member of Prince John’s household.
“What did you think of him?” Her father waited all of five minutes after their guest left before asking her that.
“He is a proud man and intends to become even more important than he thinks he is already.” She spoke while she washed out the tumblers and eyed the amount of ale that had been drunk. She would have to buy more now.
“He is at that. He is also unmarried at present. His wife died last year.”
“How sad.”
“I was thinking how fortunate, saints forgive me.”
It took her a moment to realize what he meant. “Did you invite him here so he could look me over? Are you mad enough to think I might replace this wife he had?”
“He did not think the notion so mad, especially after he saw you. I could tell.”
She laughed while she placed the tumblers back in their chest. “Such a man expects far more than I can bring him. What dowry would you offer?”
Her father did not respond to that. He just sat on that stool, thoughtfully.
She feared what he weighed in his head. There were dowries besides those of coin and land.
“I will not have him, so do not worry much over whether he is interested,” she said.
“You will have him if I say so,” her father snapped before getting up and leaving the tent.
Not if it requires you to do something dangerous and foolhardy, she thought.
She was still giving him a hard scold in her mind when another visitor arrived. A page, this time, from the castle. Lord Yves was inviting them to dine again but wanted to speak with Hugo of York prior to the feast.
Elinor sat at the back of a chamber in the lord’s quarters while her father spoke with Lord Yves. From the lord’s severe expression, and her father’s chagrin, she assumed he was being