by Robyn Carr
“See here, Conan,” Mallory said. “This could be the mark of an injustice. Someone has tampered with your lances. There are small holes bored into the wood to weaken them. I would swear that it was Tedric.”
Conan looked sharply over his shoulder to see the beaten knight leaving the lists.
“You can bring charges against him,” Mallory suggested. “It looks bad for Tedric.”
“Is there any point?” Conan asked sharply. “Tedric has done me a great service. I have no doubt those marks were made by him or someone in his service, yet no one saw the act. I have other opponents on this day. Why not one of them? Charges would be difficult to prove, but even without proof I have come to see Tedric’s methods clearly. There is little chance he will find me so disadvantaged again.”
Galen approached Conan, his eyes downcast and a bright flush on his cheeks.
“Sir Conan, ‘twas I who was set to guard your things. Though I did not leave or look away, the fault must be mine.”
Conan turned and looked at his young brother. “If this is trickery, Galen, there is no blame. You did your job well.”
Galen looked up to Conan. “Someday, Conan, I will prove my worth. Someday I will be as skilled as I am faithful. It is my promise.”
Conan smiled at him. “I have no doubts, brother. And the day is not so far away, I vow.”
When Conan turned back to his friends, he was met with Mallory’s grave and determined stare.
“Push him, Conan,” Mallory urged. “If you do not, you will find yourself faced with his treachery again.”
Conan smiled slyly and tried to bend his painful hand. “Yea, he will make another attempt one day. And I relish the opportunity.”
Udele looked to Medwin’s box and saw Chandra sitting on the edge of her seat. Her hands were folded in her lap and her back was straight, but the maid chewed her bottom lip nervously. She did not seem interested in the new knights making ready for the next contest. Rather, she intently watched the men gathered about Conan’s pavilion. Udele could nearly feel the upset churning in Chandra’s stomach. “Ah,” she thought angrily. “She loves him! It is plain!”
Lady Udele sent a page off to find out the extent of Conan’s injury, but her mind was not occupied with that. She bit her finger in concentration as she studied Chandra. It was clear that Chandra had set her sights on Conan. Udele knew Chandra to be a willful lass, and to further the burden, she was lovely and would become more beautiful with the passage of time. Already many young swains were looking in her direction.
The page returned and knelt at her feet. “Sir Conan’s hand is badly broken, lady, but he says ‘tis yet good enough to see the day well met. He wraps it tightly for the next match.”
“My lord, you must stop him,” Udele said. “He will do some further injury, and at the very least will lose because of it.” Udele touched the sleeve of Alaric’s great robe, for he did not move a muscle, but looked straight ahead to the lists. “Alaric? Stop him, I pray you.”
“Nay. His life is his own. I gave him his last command when I told him to live by his oath.”
“He will do as you order!”
“Aye, he will,” Alaric replied, looking at his wife and setting his jaw.
“We will be humiliated should he--”
“Madam, I will not have a son whose only strength comes from his father’s order. He will do as he will--and live with the result.”
Udele gritted her teeth, for she had never succeeded in moving Alaric to her will and the frustration grew greater as the years passed. “He may well live with a stump at the end of his arm. And that would please you well.”
“Silence yourself, madam! Give credit to Conan’s good judgment. It was years in the making.”
It seemed an eternity before Conan was ready to ride again. Udele held her breath as she noticed his opponent bore the crest of the black rose. Given the best circumstances, Conan would find it difficult to best Sir Garrett.
Udele cast a glance toward Chandra to find the maid giving all her attention to the contest while the other young women all around her chattered and flirted. Why would one so young give anything such serious attention? Udele wondered. To think that Chandra was ready for marriage was unsettling.
Conan and Garrett rode toward each other. Conan’s lance was braced under his right arm, but he used his left hand to steady it. Garrett’s blunted lance struck Conan’s shoulder, but glanced off. Conan’s lance did not reach his opponent. They passed, came around the tilt to change sides, and made ready to charge again. Conan shifted his lance and moved it to his left side. It was an impossible position, giving Garrett every advantage.
“See,” Udele said, tugging at Alaric’s sleeve. “Conan uses his left hand and the weapon is heavy. He will lose. He may be badly injured.”
Alaric grunted. “He may indeed, madam.”
“Give thought to the future, my lord,” she beseeched him. “What good can Conan do if he is maimed?”
“I cannot stop the contest,” Alaric said.
Conan and Garrett came together with a great smashing of armor, both knights falling to the ground. Conan threw down his lance and shield. The crowd became quiet and intent. Conan could not hold both his shield and his broadsword: he had but one good hand. Sir Garrett stood momentarily confused, not wishing to take unfair advantage of an opponent so beset. Garrett was a proud knight--beating Conan when his hand was crippled would mean little.
Conan did not wait for Garrett’s approval of the conditions of the contest. He crossed the tilt and came to stand on Garrett’s side, sword drawn and ready. Garrett hesitated, but Conan struck the first blow, removing any further doubt that he was ready to carry on the fight on foot.
Conan fought mightily, Garrett’s sword glancing off his armor and Conan’s weapon meeting most often with the shield. A blow to the shoulder caused Conan to lose his footing and hit the turf, but he rolled with an agility that belied the weight of his armor and was upright again, ready for the fight. He braced himself for Garrett’s next blow, but the opposing knight seemed stunned. The crowd stood.
Sir Garrett threw down his shield and faced Conan. It was a thing so rare that the spectators did not know how to react. Winning was so important that never did a knight give any advantage to an opponent.
“Alaric, what has he done?” Udele asked.
“It is plain, madam, that Sir Garrett will find little joy in besting an injured knight. He will meet Conan with the same advantage.”
The two came together again, void of shields, their heavy swords bouncing off each other. The sheath covering Garrett’s broadsword so that he would not do severe injury to his opponent was lost, and neither knight seemed to notice. The crowd gasped and cried out, and the men-at-arms made ready to ride onto the field.
“God above!” Udele cried. “Alaric, stop the contest!”
But Alaric was as still as stone. The men-at-arms would put a halt to the fighting before any real damage could be done, and the two combatants would not be allowed to resume until Garrett’s broadsword was fixed with the protective covering. But before the men could reach them, Conan’s sword struck home and Garrett fell to the ground, stunned and immobile.
Conan stood over him and waited for him to rise. The men-at-arms stopped where they were and waited. Conan dropped to one knee and removed his helm. He reached out a hand to shake Garrett and then threw down his sword. He helped the beaten knight to his feet and the two stood in the center of the field, Garrett slumping slightly.
Sir Garrett’s squires came running to aid their master to his pavilion, and Conan raised his hand high above his head, looking in the direction of his parents.
“It is a miracle,” Udele breathed.
“It is years of training,” Alaric corrected.
“You take this so easily,” she accused.
Alaric’s jaw tensed. “You take this easily, madam, not I. Do you imagine he would be excused from war because his hand pained him?” Udele sat back i
n her chair, prepared to hear her husband’s lecture. “It is the grandness of this tourney that befuddles your brain. It may surprise you to think of it as more than a pretty party for maids and their swains. It is a contest of arms! Whether Conan wins or loses, what he learns out there today may one day save his life.”
Udele pursed her lips and refused to look at Alaric. She despised his patronizing perception of her as a giddy and foolish woman. She understood the tourney, but she had not thought it worth sacrificing her son before he had even begun to make his way in the world.
Udele stood and brushed her skirts down to smooth them. “You must excuse me, my lord. I find watching this contest too taxing.”
“You should not leave, lady. You must be here when the tourney is over.”
“I will return before very long, my lord. Permit me a slight rest from the trials, at least while my son competes with an injury?”
“Very well, lady. Excuse yourself if you must.”
Udele was trailed back to the hall by some of her ladies, her daughter Edythe among them. As she passed Medwin’s box she glanced at Chandra. The lass stood and waved toward Conan as he left the field. Her cheeks were flushed bright and her smile was wildly enthusiastic. Chandra yearned for Sir Conan publicly, proudly.
Udele heard her women behind her as they laughed and talked. When she neared the hall she paused and turned to them. “Make yourselves at ease here, ladies, and allow me some moments of quiet. I will return anon.”
Those attending Udele remained in the courtyard and allowed her to enter the hall alone. Her step was quick and her head low as she contemplated her situation. She nearly fell over a knight sitting near the stair.
“Pardon, lady, I--”
Udele straightened herself and saw that it was Tedric. For a moment her expression was all surprise, for she had not expected to see him, then her features molded into a sneer.
“So, Sir Tedric, you are waiting out the tourney here?”
Tedric flinched with the insult. “I have been excused, lady, but my father has not heard my explanations. All will be well when I have had some time to clear my name.”
“I should think it would take much more than a few words, Tedric. There were many witnesses to your unfair assault.”
Tedric’s lips formed an insincere smile. “All will assume that Sir Conan is the just and I, the unjust. It has always been thus, in his family and in my own.”
“And you will deny it?” Udele questioned tartly. She could not help but notice the swelling of one eye and wondered, briefly, if Tedric had indeed been blinded.
“I have long sought to show my father that I can equal Conan’s strength in arms, but once again Conan shines in the wake of my misfortune.”
Udele threw her arm wide. “Go yonder, sir knight, and look at the shine of my son! He is sore injured and will not cease in the games. But they will not allow your entry, will they?”
Tedric’s mouth formed a thin, furious line and his rage was intense. “My lowly state in my father’s house leaves all to praise the Falcon and scorn my every effort to show my worth. But I vow, lady, my wealth and influence will one day match his, and even you will treat me kindly.”
Udele laughed outright. “I heartily doubt that, Tedric,” she said easily. “But the best to you in your efforts.” She turned from him and went toward the stair.
“When my betrothal to Lady Edwina is announced, you will hearken to me, lady. And one day, I will hold Phalen and be your friend and neighbor.” He bowed elaborately. “If I so choose.”
“You will marry Edwina?” Udele questioned.
Tedric smiled. He lazily seemed to judge the great lady’s surprise. “My family does not yield me much in money and land, but my father and brothers promise much in their support of arms. Sir Medwin must leave his holdings to a knight capable of preserving them. Yea, he will give me Edwina.”
Udele recovered herself and tried to smile. “Then we shall have to learn to become better friends, Tedric,” she said politely. Then, turning, she left him alone and climbed to her chamber.
Was it not enough, she thought, for Giselle to predict Conan’s marriage to a woman of slim financial means, without learning also that Tedric would gain a sizable holding and become a neighbor? The possibility that Conan and Tedric would eventually come to blows crossed her mind. While a battle between the two of them would certainly leave Conan victorious, she could not relax with that prospect, for Theodoric’s strength was not to be taken lightly. And in any battle, Theodoric would have to support his son.
Within moments the dawning came to her: Medwin had not yet approved the betrothal. Alaric wished for Conan to take one of Medwin’s daughters. Phalen was not so great, but far greater than the simple Cordell that Chandra would inherit. And the land did lie close to Anselm. If Conan could be persuaded to speak for Edwina, Medwin would immediately agree.
She made up her mind quickly. She feared Giselle’s prediction would be accurate and that the young beauty Conan was destined toward was Chandra. There was no time to begin a search for wealthier maidens, and no circumstance could more permanently remove Chandra from his reach than to have him marry her sister. She must find a way to move her son to ask for the hand of Lady Edwina. Tonight. He must ask her tonight!
The tournament came to an exciting finish, with many victorious knights ready to collect their prizes, but in the eyes of the people who had gathered to watch, Sir Conan’s victories had been the grandest. And in the eyes of the young lady Chandra, he was clearly the hero of the day.
When Chandra and her sisters returned to the hall, Edythe was waiting for them. “My lady mother wishes our presence,” she said anxiously. She gestured toward the stair. “She waits in her chamber.”
Chandra and Edwina quickly followed, but Laine had long since disappeared. The middle sister yearned more for the devotion of prayers than the excitement of tournaments and feasting.
They entered the lady’s chamber to find her sitting in her rather regal chair. “Edythe,” she called. “Come sit here by me.” Happily the girl perched on a stool at her mother’s right hand. Chandra and Edwina curtsied before her.
“Please forgive our sister, Laine,” Edwina said, her manner quiet and reserved. “She has grown ill from the long day and the hot sun. She begs to be excused.”
“Of course,” Udele replied. She reached for Chandra’s hand. “Dear Chandra, you are not so wearied,” she smiled. “You look as though the day is just beginning for you.”
“Truly, madam, I feel as though it is! Given the chance, I would spend another day thusly.”
Udele laughed softly. “Then you would not mind another chore? Could you serve me now?”
“I would be honored, madam.” Chandra bowed.
“Would you go to the hall with Edythe and see the needs of the men served? I would have Edythe act as mistress in my stead and I know she would welcome your company.”
Edythe perked up at this, for until today she was kept far from the tasks of a lady and kept mostly with the children. Though she had reached the age that her mother had been when she married, she had never been allowed to do anything of significance within the great hall.
Chandra was likewise pleased, for there was no place she would rather be than in the hall when Conan arrived. “Thank you, my lady,” she said politely, trying to conceal her great joy.
Edwina remained and Udele turned to her. “You must rest for a time before the feast so you will be at your best. Have you a rich gown to wear?”
“I have one, madam. It was made especially for this day.”
“And a fine wimple? You must let much of your hair show. You have such pretty hair.”
Edwina was confused. She touched her hair in wonder, for since Chandra had matured, and especially since the last summer, she had not received many compliments from her elders.
Udele laughed at the confusion in Edwina’s eyes. “You don’t know why I’ve called you, do you, dear heart? My son will take a
bride soon. I think you should make yourself known to him.”
“But madam, he has not noticed me at all. Truly, my sister seems to be more his desire.”
“Chandra is far too young. No doubt she will one day capture a fine husband, but Sir Conan is ready for a bride now, and he needs a woman full grown.” She reached for
Edwina’s hand and drew her near. “You are lovely, dear, and prosperous as well.”
“And you would have me, lady?”
“I would be honored. And I will speak strongly in your favor.”
“But my sister--”
“Chandra must not take Conan’s kindness to heart. He is chivalrous and courtly and would not dismiss her rudely, but in selecting a bride--ah! He must have a woman!” She patted Edwina’s hand. “Now promise me you’ll be bold.”
“I’m not a bold person, madam. I don’t know how to be.”
“Worry not, darling. Go. Make yourself beautiful. I think perhaps your knight will come to you.”
Edwina smiled shyly, intrigued by the prospect. She had not aspired to so much. Conan had never paid any attention to her and therefore she had not considered him a possibility. But Medwin would be pleased. Her reluctance to speak her preference had made her father irritable.
“But lady,” she said suddenly, “Tedric has made his honest proposal to my father--”
Udele’s laugh cut her off. “Do you think Tedric will challenge Sir Conan? Go, and smile prettily at your knight. That will be enough.”
Udele watched her leave and sat for a long while in the carved oaken chair in her chamber. With deliberate slowness, she allowed her maids to array her in a gown of great beauty: the same rose color, embellished with a gold filigree girdle and long, elaborate train. Gold bracelets and anklets adorned her, and small cloth slippers graced her feet. When she was readied, she made her way to the party below, intent on facing her son.
***
Chandra flitted about the hall, delighted to be greeting the gathering warriors. Along with Conan’s younger sister, Edythe, she kept the serving maids in check and saw that everyone’s hand held a filled mug. The chore was anything but burdensome.