On the road in the new hours of dawn, the sun was just clearing the horizon. Wrapped in her new cloak with the gray fur, Gray felt like a queen. She was clad in the emerald brocade surcoat but realized when she had dressed that all of her shifts were old and worn. No matter, however; she was grateful for whatever she had and would not complain. So the surcoat went over the worn shift and the new cloak had gone over that. Her blond hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck, wound into a bun that showed off the slender shape of her neck and shoulders. She looked positively elegant.
Braxton rode slightly ahead of her, turning every so often to shoot her a glance. She would merely smile at him. Dallas rode slightly ahead of Brooke while Graehm and Geoff rode behind them. The four knights and two ladies were surrounded by twenty men at arms and one of Braxton’s massive wagons that had been brought along to cart back whatever booty that happened to acquire. The rest of the men, and wagons, had been left back at Erith. The rebuild was still in full swing and the remaining soldiers could not be spared.
As Gray and Braxton passed the time exchanging meaningful glances, Brooke was involved in her own silent game. Riding on the wagon seat beside the driver sat Norman and Edgar. Brooke could feel their stares on her back and she would casually turn every so often to see what they were doing. So far this morning, Edgar had stuck his tongue out at her twice. She was keeping track. For every transgression, she was going to punch him twice. He was already racking up quite a bill.
Milnthorpe came into view much faster than Gray had anticipated. She was rather enjoying the ride, watching Braxton’s powerful form as he rode in front of her. But soon they had arrived and soon there were crowds of people going about their business all around them. The bustle of the town started well before they actually entered it. It was a busy and bright morning already.
Braxton had been to Milnthorpe a few times and knew the layout. He took the party directly to the Street of Merchants and found an area beside one of the thatched-roof stalls that was roomy enough to park the wagon. Norman and Edgar leaped off the bench, collecting the chargers as the knights dismounted. Braxton dismounted, turned his horse over to a nearby soldier, and went to help Gray.
She smiled at him as he approached, sliding gratefully into his upstretched arms. He lowered her to the ground, his hands lingering on her a moment longer than necessary. He winked at her as he let her go.
“Here we are, my lady,” he said, glancing up one side of the street and then down the other. “If I recall correctly, there are several import merchants near the western end of the avenue. They should have fabrics and goods from all over the world.”
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 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 wait, 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 may 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 w
hacked 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 was 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.
Dallas could see that Lady Brooke would not let the subject rest. It was important he return to Braxton and Lady Gray so that they could take charge of the willful little lady. He turned away from Brooke and the distant tournament field.
“Come along, lady,” he said to her. “If you want to visit the tournament, you’ll have to ask your mother.”
By the time they returned to the Street of Merchants, Braxton and Gray had just come out of the merchant stall where they had been shopping. The men at arms were piling bolts of fabric and other goods onto the wagon as Braxton stood with Graehm, supervising the loading. Hearing the approach of the errant group, he turned to them. By his expression, he did not look pleased.
“What goes on?” he asked as Dallas and Geoff approached. He eyed Edgar, in Dallas’ arms. “What happened to him?”
“He injured an ankle running from Lady Brooke,” Dallas told him. “I cannot say if it is broken, but he cannot walk on it.”
Gray had come out of the merchant stall in time to hear Dallas mention her daughter’s unruly behavior. Though Braxton had not told her about the earlier confrontation between Brooke and Edgar, she wasn’t surprised to hear of her daughter’s actions against the young lad. Brooke could be quite disruptive, and she had been known to be particularly aggressive when challenged. She frowned at her only child.
“Brooke,” she scolded. “Why were you chasing him?”
Brooke was torn between self-righteousness and regret. “Because he kicked me.”
“You kicked me first,” Edgar yelled as Dallas sat him on the wagon bench.
Gray’s expression darkened. “You did this to him?” she grabbed her child by the arm. “Tell me the truth.”
Brooke’s indignant stance was rapidly slipping. “But… Mama, he has been rude and horrid to me. He needed to be punished.”
Gray gave her daughter a small shake, silencing her. “Enough. I shall deal with you later.”
While Brooke sulked, Gray went over to the young boy with the dark hair and big blue eyes, a victim of her daughter’s misbehavior. “Remove his shoe,” she told Dallas. “Let me see the ankle.”
Dallas obliged and Gray took a close look at the joint. Brooke, hoping to distract her mother’s anger, tugged on her arm. “Mama,” she said timidly. “There is a tournament happening. May we go watch it? Edgar has said he wants to see it.”
Gray’s head came up. “Edgar?”
Brooke pointed at the lad. “Him.”
Nothing would heal a sprained ankle like entertainment. It just so happened that Brooke would also benefit from Edgar’s wish. Not strangely, Gray wasn’t buying it.
“Not today,” she said. “We have other plans.”
“But I do not want to shop,” Brooke begged. “I want to watch the tournament. I have never seen one. And it would make Edgar feel better. Please?”
“Nay, Brooke,” Gray told her, more forcefully. “We have not the time today. Mayhap another day.”
Pouting, Brooke turned away from her mother and folded her arms angrily across her chest. After a moment’s indecision, she focused on Braxton. He was standing with Geoff, watching Gray as she gently inspected Edgar’s ankle.
“Sir Braxton,” Brooke said, mock sweetness in her tone. “Have you ever been in a tournament?”
He looked at her. “Several.”
“Did you win?”
He lifted an eyebrow, searching for a correctly worded answer, when Geoff chimed in. “My lady, Sir Braxton is a master on the tournament field,” he said. “Since I have known him four years, he has competed six times and has won the joust every time. He has one lost once in the mêlée that I know of, and that was last year. Did you not have a broken shoulder during that bout, my lord?”
Braxton nodded modestly. “Broke it in the joust earlier that day.”
Geoff nodded in remembrance. “He should not have even been competing, but honor dictated otherwise.”
“Who won the mêlée?” Brooke wanted to know.
Geoff tilted his head in Dallas’ direction. “Dallas did.”
Brooke was excited with the thought of Braxton and Dallas locked in mortal combat, battling one another to the death before a throng of screaming fanatics. She looked at Dallas, his head bent over Edgar’s foot, and then looked back to Braxton.
“Would you please compete in this tournament so that I can see such a fine spectacle?” she asked.
The corner of Braxton’s mouth twitched. “I am sure the match cards are full. Moreover, I do not have any of my equipment with me. My joust poles and my banners are back at Erith.”
“But you can send one of your men back for those things,” she went to him, putting her hand on his arm. “All my life I have wanted to see a tournament, but we never had the time or money. Now we have both. Won’t you please take me?”
Gray’s head came up from Edgar’s ankle. “Brooke,” she admonished with a threatening glare. Then her eyes sought out Braxton. “Forgive her, my lord. She is young and silly.”
Braxton looked at Gray, so lovely with her hair pulled away from her face, bent over the injured boy. It suddenly occurred to him that he might like for her to witness his skills on the tournament field. He’d never had a lady in the lists cheering him on, at least not one he cared about. A strange sense of pride filled him, and perhaps a stronger sense of egotism. Though he was a warrior, and a mercenary at that, he was also a very skilled knight. Gray had never seen him in action, at least not the kind of action he would have liked her to see. He couldn’t take her to the battlefield with him. But he could take her to a tournament.
“So you really want to see a tournament?” he asked Brooke.
She nodded eagerly. “Please? Would you enter?”