by Lara Blunte
"I will!"
"Then," said Isobel. "I would very much like to learn."
THE CROWNING
Tameas lay on his face on the stone ground, his arms outstretched to the sides.
He smelled the incense and heard the archbishop's words in Latin as the prelate stepped around him, throwing holy water on his body. He saw the feet of the bishops follow.
He felt the red velvet cape trimmed with ermine descending on his back as the voice continued, "Judica me, Deus, et discerne causam meam de gente non sancta: ab homine iniquo et doloso erue me..."
Judge me, O God, and distinguish my cause from the unholy nation, deliver me from the unjust and deceitful man...
Then there was the question, also in Latin, "Will you rise, and be king?"
"Possum et volo," Tameas replied, I can and I will.
Several pairs of hands took hold of his arms and lifted him.
He knelt and made the sign of the cross before the enormous gold crucifix, then turned with the archbishop, walking behind him towards the nave, from which the altar had been removed so that he could cross directly to the throne that had been set in its place, facing the pews filled with his subjects.
The nobles there knelt as Tameas stood before them for a moment, then sat, but their faces were firmly turned towards him, and they missed no detail of the ceremony.
The purple canopy with the royal emblem, carried by Donnet and three other noble knights in livery, was held over his head.
Facing Tameas, the archbishop motioned to a bishop on his right, who walked forward with the silver urn filled with oil. The archbishop raised the urn, offering it to the cross, then dipped a finger of his right hand in it to anoint Tameas on the forehead, then the shoulders, arms, hands and heart.
Another bishop came forward with a golden urn. Moving his lips silently, the archbishop dipped two fingers into the new urn, and with the holy oil of Saint Eustace, he anointed the king's head.
Finally, a bishop approached with the crown on a red pillow, kneeling before Tameas as if offering it to him. The archbishop took the crown, held it up and then set it upon his head, making the sign of the cross over him and saying, "In nomine Dei!" In the name of God.
The scepter and orb were brought, and handed to the king.
Isobel rose from her seat in the front pew and was escorted by two bishops to her chair, next to her husband. The canopy and the oil were gone, and the crown was simply put on her head, as the archbishop made the sign of the cross over her.
Backing away the prelate held his hands up and said in a loud voice, which rang out as far as the door, "Blessed be King Tameas, the first of his name. Blessed be his wife, Queen Isobel."
"Blessed be the king! Blessed be the queen!" the congregation repeated.
The king and queen rose, and walked down the steps and onto the aisle, as everyone along their way bowed and curtsied. The flourish of the trumpets was elaborate as they moved slowly, Isobel's hand on top of Tameas'.
At the end of the nave Lord Jollan was waiting, and, bowing low to the king, he said, "The people must see you, Sire." He motioned towards a narrow stone staircase that twisted upward. Tameas had to go before Isobel, climbing higher and higher.
Finally, he was at the very top of the tall cathedral, and a stone balcony opened before him. As he approached it, he saw the capital, spreading before him, the city his father had created, and below there was a sea of people standing so close together that they could hardly move. There were people as far as the eye could see, many thousands, all waiting to have a glimpse of their new king.
He took two steps forward and was standing in the light, his crown shining.
There was a roar from the crowd, as the bells in all churches rang in jubilation. The people couldn't stop screaming, waving their arms, throwing hats and flowers in the air.
He raised his hand and waved. The crowd roared. He knew that later they would want to walk where he had walked, touch what he had touched, because he had been anointed by God today, and he was His emissary on earth.
Tameas I, he thought as he waved, You impostor. You great lie.
A JOUSTING MATCH
The lists were ready on the open field, a few miles from the castle.
The king and queen, as well as their party, would sit under a large canopy at about the middle of the lists and to their right side, at almost the same height, would sit the local nobility, as well as the visiting nobles and ambassadors. To their left side, at a lower height, would sit the knights and the wealthy people of Lathia.
Nobles and knights had sworn fealty to Tameas that morning. The king had also received ambassadors of countries as far off as the Levant, with more gifts and professions of friendship from their rulers.
It had been a morning of ceremony and diplomacy, it was to be an afternoon of jousting and games, and then an evening of revelry.
Servants were putting cushions on the benches for the nobles, having waited till now in case it rained. Bales of hay had been placed across the jousting area for the common people and the yeomen, and they were already being occupied, since tournaments were extremely popular. There were not many occasions when knights could be seen showing their skills outside a battle.
Beyond the lists, tents had been set up for the contending knights and their shields had been hung at the entrance. There were Sir Donnet's winged griffin, Sir Harry's burning eagle and the charging boar, the serpent, the unicorn, the tower and other arms on eighteen tents.
Betting men, on the strength of repute, were laying their money on Sir Donnet or Sir Harry.
As the squires prepared the contenders, the seats began to fill and the king's party started to arrive: the Queen Dowager and her brother, the Earl of Angiers, with Princess Agnetta, Duke Benedikt and his young sons, Lord Jollan, Sir Jochim, Lord Adalbert and Sir Paulus.
Finally the king arrived on Dancer, his white steed, wearing a simple doublet and breeches but with the banded crown on his head; the queen rode at his side on a white filly, dressed in a gown of deep red. Her hair was coiffed in braids coiled over her ears,and her crown was of simple gold set with turquoise and amethysts.
The arrival of the beautiful young couple drove everyone to their feet, and they clapped, bowed and curtsied as the sovereigns rode up and down the lists, first saluting the nobles, then the common people on the other side, who cheered even more loudly, unaccustomed to such good manners from their betters.
Tameas and Isobel took their place and the Master of Jousts walked onto the field to stand before the king and announce, "Sire, Your Grace, m'lords and ladies! The pairing in the jousting will take place according to the luck of the draw, until only two contestants remain, and they will tilt against each other for the title of champion. There are five strikes of the lance allowed per pairing and if neither is unseated, points will have to decide the match."
The master smiled amply at his audience, as this was a part that everyone loved: "The champion will crown the Queen of Love and Beauty today, taking his pick from all the fair ladies sitting in this assembly!"
The king clapped and everyone followed suit, "Let the contest begin, then!"
Isobel glanced sideways at her husband. She could see that he had no great patience for gatherings and festivities, though he hid his tedium behind smiles and compliments.
Since he had become king the way people talked to him had inevitably changed, and so had the way he had of dealing with them. It was almost an imperceptible change, an inflection of voice, a manner of looking, a cast of expression that made people desist from what they might have wanted to say or do. She had seen it clearly in the throne room that morning, when lords had arrived clutching petitions or grievances, but had found themselves bowing in silence as Tameas stared them down.
If before he had used his wit to defeat them, now there was something else, some strength he had borrowed from his office but which might always have lain dormant in him.
She could only hope that it would incr
ease with time, since the lords, knights, and even the ambassadors now gathered in Lathia had made her think of a pit of snakes or a nest of wasps. They all had hungry looks, and some had cold, calculating eyes that she did not like at all.
For now Tameas was in his place, with his crown firmly on his head, and the joust was about to begin. Isobel's heart beat a little faster when she saw, to the right, the black-clad knight with the burning eagle on his breastplate and shield. Even without his sigil and with his visor down, Isobel would have recognized the tall, broad-shouldered frame anywhere. Sir Harry was already mounted on his black steed, and the lance, decorated with the black and silver of his house, was being handed to him by his squire.
The knights were jousting with blunt lances, as no one wanted blood spilled during the coronation festivities, but there could always be a splintered lance that made its way through a visor, or a bad fall from a horse. And yet Isobel did not fear for Harry.
She looked to the left and saw a large knight with the boar on his shield. His horse pawed the ground, eager to run.
The master announced, gesturing one way, and then the other, "Sir Alston of Barrington and Sir Harry of Stonemount"
The sign was given and the knights began riding at each other, gathering speed as they went. Sir Alston held his lance in a strong grip, and urged his mount forward with rallying cries, but Sir Harry rode forward silently and steadily. Harry unseated his opponent with a mighty blow of the lance to his chest, without ever being touched.
There was much cheering, especially from Duke Benedikt and his sons. Isobel controlled her expression of joy and clapped politely, her gold bracelets jangling. Tameas was applauding, and did not even glance at her.
The next two knights were more evenly matched, and went at each other three times before one managed to unseat the other.
Then Sir Donnet was on his horse to the left, the griffin on his shield and breastplate, and the knight with the charging boar on his to the right. Isobel saw Agnetta take her brother's hand.
Much like Harry, Donnet rode well and aimed his lance too skillfully to give the other knight a chance. His opponent flew off his horse in an arc and landed with a painful thud.
The crowd went wild, as Donnet was Lathia's champion, and he rode by the canopy, raising his visor to nod at the king and wink at Agnetta.
Poor darling, Isobel thought, smiling when she saw Agnetta's delight, she is just as I was with Harry. Her smile died down when she thought of it. She already cared for Agnetta, and hoped the princess would fare better in love than she had; she hoped that the girl could marry Donnet, and not some man who would be chosen for reasons of state.
Whatever she thought of her husband, she knew that the love he had for his sister was so absolute that he would put her happiness above all things. She watched as they held hands and remarked on Sir Donnet's attack, laughing. She knew she ought to wish for Donnet's victory, as it would please the most people, the people whose queen she now was. It was the feast for Tameas' coronation, and she ought to wish that the greatest amount of honor should befall him.
But it was her coronation too, paid with her sacrifice, and the splendid man she had given up was riding on the lists in all the glory of his courage and skill.
Against her will, she started to wish that the final match should be between Donnet and Harry. Though she had no great cause to dislike Donnet, who was always pleasant to her, that feeling could not compare to the passion she felt for Harry, and her excessive pride in him.
Besides, she wanted her husband, who had disdained her, to see what Harry could do. The king, who had never taken up arms, who couldn't tilt on the lists because he had no training, ought to see what a great knight was.
It was wrong of her, but she could not help it. She started to wish it with all her heart.
When the final match was to be decided between Donnet and Harry, she knew it could hardly have been any different. They were the most evenly matched pair, and much more skillful than the other knights. Both were champions of their states, in war as well as in peace. Unless some accident had happened to prevent it, they were bound to meet on the lists.
As their squires prepared them to ride, Isobel thought again with contempt that should her husband not have spent his life consorting with monks and women, he would be on a horse tilting with a lance. But no, he was sitting under a canopy, making comments, clapping, mock-wincing when a collision or a fall was very bad.
The knights were ready, and in a moment their horses' hooves were thundering on the earth and they were riding at full speed against each other.
It was a hit for both. Donnet's lance splintered on Harry's shield, and Harry's touched his breastplate a second after. The noise was loud, and both men reeled slightly in their saddles, but neither was unseated.
There was applause and they rode back to their squires for another lance.
The second match was a hit for Donnet against Harry's armored shoulder, and a miss for Harry. Isobel's right hand clenched into a nervous fist, but when she glanced sideways at her husband, he showed no sign of having seen her movement; he was clapping instead.
Agnetta was leaning forward to look at her and smile, and she smiled back. Oh, yes, not only this gentle girl, who meant the things she said and did, but all the people sitting there must present their best faces, whoever won. It was called civility, and it was expected.
Yet Isobel was furiously clutching her handkerchief the third time they rode. It turned out to be an advantage for Harry, whose lance hit Donnet on the breast once more with such force that the Lathian champion’s saddle moved sideways.
But Donnet didn't fall; he kept his feet locked on the stirrup and raised his body back onto the horse through the strength of his thighs and stomach, without losing hold of the bridle. Isobel had seen the king touch his chest in sympathy for his friend when Harry's lance had struck.
The match was decided by the fourth lance. The two champions, of Lathia and Stonemount, rode again, showing no signs of fatigue, showing only determination.
People were on the edge of their seats, some even half standing as the contestants approached each other at high speed. Isobel could see Agnetta leaning forward, her hand on her brother's arm; she could see that Tameas was quiet but tense, and by the time the riders were about to meet she clutched the arms of her chair without even knowing that she was doing it.
There was a mighty crash of wood against steel, and the lances splintered. The knights had both hit each other with enormous force. Isobel saw Harry reel backwards and gasped out lout, "Harry!"
But he didn't fall. It was Donnet who keeled sideways, his saddle going with him. He hit the ground with a thud so hard that Isobel almost fancied she could feel the earth move beneath her feet. Donnet's body rolled several times on the dirt with a rattle of armor.
Agnetta stood up in agony, but her brother held her arm. He had seen Donnet's hand pummeling the ground. "He is fine," Tameas said.
What Isobel didn't know, until she looked around, was that she was also standing up, and that people were looking at her. Harry had recovered his seat on the horse and was riding towards the canopy, the broken lance still in his hand.
Applause broke out, as well as a roaring from the northerners. Kayetan and Lodewicus were waving small flags with Benedikt's arms on it and cheering. The applause from the Lathians got warmer as Harry rode down the lists towards the king; he cut a magnificent figure, and had won gallantly.
Donnet, in the meantime, had pushed any offered help away and stood up on his own. Agnetta sat down again.
The defeated knight had to exit the field, to concede it to the victor. Isobel also sat down, her heart beating wildly in her throat. Tameas was not looking at her at all, but she had seen her father's frown, upbraiding her silently.
She had not done it on purpose. The clash had been so violent that she had thought both men would be hurt. She looked around at the people clapping, even cheering, and clapped as well, her composure regain
ed.
Harry threw the lance down and bowed his head at Tameas, who was applauding him, together with everyone else.
The Master of Jousts returned, "Victory to Sir Harry of Stonemount!" he announced unnecessarily. Another lance was being brought to Harry, and the master took a crown of beautifully woven flowers and addressed Sir Harry, "As the champion, it is your duty and pleasure to crown the Queen of Love and Beauty today!"
Harry lowered his lance and the crown was placed at the tip.
Isobel's heart beat more and more violently. She could feel her husband's tension and saw her father's frown turn into a scowl.
No, Harry! she thought.
Another knight would have ridden up and down the lists, scanning the crowd for the woman he meant to crown ─ finding his beloved, or a stranger he admired. It was a moment that was much enjoyed by all at jousting matches.
But there was only one woman for Harry, and he didn't care to pretend otherwise.
It was a straight line from where he sat on his horse to the canopy, where he offered the garland at the tip of his lance to Isobel. "Your Grace," he said.
There were gasps, and silence. Isobel stared at the garland before her, and her triumph was replaced by horror. What was she to do? By this action Harry was delivering a slap in the face of a newly married and newly crowned king, in front of his nobles, of his people.
She heard the clapping, and looked at the king, who was smiling at Sir Harry and slightly bowing his head. Tameas then turned to her, lifting an eyebrow, waiting for her to move. Everyone was still looking, and she had no choice but to take the crown of flowers.
The public followed the king's example and applauded as she placed it on her head, on top of her real crown, and only Agnetta and Benedikt looked discomfited.
Through the raised visor she saw Harry's indomitable eyes, the firm line of his mouth. He didn't care if his head were cut off for treason, he didn't care if he were thrown into a dungeon or banished. He only cared for her.