by kps
Rodrigo couldn't find an argument against her sentimentality, but he cautioned, "I ask only that you do not embarrass me by shedding tears, Jena. You know my dislike for displays of uncontrolled emotion."
Jenny looked down again, bowing her head, and replied, just above a whisper, "No, Rodrigo, I will not cry; you have my promise."
Satisfied with that, Rodrigo turned his attention to the preparations for the toumament.Across from the pavilion, with its bright red awning embroidered with the Vargas coat of arms, the populace was gathering, crowding against the ropes that held them back from the field of action. Venders were already moving through the throngs of peasants and commoners, hawking their trays of sweet-meats and pasties.
The weather was excellent for this type of activity, and a tournament always drew spectators from all the strata of Beann Gowd'en's citizenry. The blue of the sky was dotted with airy puffs of white cloud, and a gentle breeze brushed them into ever-changing shapes that amused the children who made a game of finding images in them.
At opposite ends of the field, tents had been set up to serve the knights as temporary quarters, and pennants flew from their standards proclaiming the colors of each knight.
Pages and squires helped their masters into the heavy layers of armor and padding, and the smith, at his temporary forge, attended to last-minute repairs to mail, chain link, and horseshoes.
The armor here had been adapted to fit the climate; it was light to allow for its wearer comfort and mobility, yet still to give protection from the coronels, the blunt crowns affixed to the points of lances. As it had in the Old World, the tournament in Beann Gowd'en had evolved to a carnival form of contest, lacking the violent bloodshed that had been the hallmark of the early medieval tourney. There were games of sport employing the quintains.
These were cut-out figures of wood, padded and attired in the colors of the old enemy, England-each figure "armed" with a shield in one hand, a sword in the other. The quintains were attached to vertical poles at one end of the field, fixed to pivot, and a mounted knight charged the figures, with the aim of breaking his lance against his immobile opponent. It was not entirely a one-sided combat, for if a knight miscalculated his stroke, the quintain would rotate and deal him a blow in passing.
The champions could be seen now, standing outside their tents as they gave a last-minute inspection to their mounts' harness and trapping-the light, quilted covering that gave protection from the chanfron covering the horse's nose and the chafing metal links of the flanchard, the armor that shielded the flanks. The crowd was beginning to buzz with excited whispers, and their enthusiasm carried to the occupants of the pavilion, where the knights who were not competing in today's lists were wagering over the outcome of the various matches. Seated below her mistress, Shiona offered a goblet of cool, sugared lemon water to Jenny. The gentle young girl had traces of tears in her eyes in sympathy for the distress she knew her lady felt but had been ordered to restrain.
The first match was between Raddock: styled the "Knight of the Loch" for the tourney, and Sir Blaise of Graeburn, the "Knight of the Gerfalcon." Two heralds, liveried in surcoats of multicolor red and gold, blew a fanfare on their raised comets; then, to the pattering accompaniment of a drum roll, the High Steward bowed to Rodrigo and announced in a clear, ringing voice that the tournament would commence. He raised a parchment scroll, reading the titles of the contestants in order of their appearance, the rules that governed the jousting, and the terms that would disqualify a combatant from the prizes to be awarded.
Most of these rules had been established to avoid the violence that could occur in the heated rivalries between the participants. The tilting lists were to be a show of strength: and dexterity, of agile horsemanship as well as chivalrous character, and not the display of brute power and bloody gore that they once had been.
The crowd quieted to a respectful hush as the two knights brought their chargers ambling down the field of honor, acknowledged each other with a nod of their heads and reined the mounts in, leading them toward the pavilion at a walk, pausing there to touch the coronels of their lances to the 'ground in tribute to the Laird. Rodrigo canted his head to one side in acknowledgment and gestured. The lances were raised, pointing to the sky, while the two knights awaited a customary announcement from their leader.
"I am looking forward to a display of your gallant combat, champions of Beann Gowd'en.
Both of you will no doubt, give us a contest that is well fought and fair."
Rodrigo turned toward Jenny, a haughty smile upon his face as he suggested that she honor Sir Blaise with a token to carry into battle. A few shocked gasps came from the surrounding courtiers. As the Laird's lady, Jenny had the right to chose one of the two knights to carry a scarf or some other small offering into the joust, in memory of the days when a lady's honor was upheld by such a champion. But Sir Raddock, whom everyone knew to be Lady Fiona's man, already sported a short veil of hers, tied just above the funnel-shaped lance vamplate that served to protect his hand from the shock of the blows he struck. In singling out Sir Blaise for the honor, Rodrigo had figuratively thrown down the gauntlet to the proud Raddock, and though the visor of his helm shadowed his eyes, an intense look of hatred blazed forth. The crowd of commoners was silent, not sure what was happening, and those in the pavilion, aware only that their deposed, herditary leader,Fiona, was missing, awaited the outcome of the extrordinary breach of courtesy Rodrigo had shown the "Knight of the Loch."
A gentle breeze caught Jenny's veil, tugging at the fragile material as she stood and glanced from one knight to the other. Sir Blaise's charger shifted nervously, as if he sensed his master's embarrassment, and as Jenny turned to Raddock, having decided that Blaise would not mind if he were not the recipient, she drew the garland of flowers from her head and said, "Sir Raddock, you would give me great pleasure by wearing this beside your lady's token." She held it before her and, after a moment's hesitation, Raddock lowered his weapon and Jenny was able to slip it over the coronel. "Of course, my wishes for a safe contest extend equally to you both," she added solemnly.
His triumph was evident in the vigor with which Raddock raised the lance, letting the garland of bright red flowers hang aloft for a second before it slid down to the vamplate to join Fiona's token. A might)' roar of approval went up from the crowd, including some of the braver spectators seated in the pavilion. Rodrigo frowned as the two knights wheeled the destriers away and cantered the length of the field to their opposite encampments.
Everyone but Shiona was too excited by the beginning of the tilts to notice that Rodrigo's hand had closed around his wife's wrist and jerked her back into her seat. He kept his fingers in a painfully tight grasp around her slender arm as he leaned close and whispered. "You will pay for that, Jena. When I am through with you, you will know true pain. Take pleasure in the little act of rebellion, and pray that Graebum wins, or my fury will increase tenfold!"
But even as Rodrigo threatened, the two knights galloped their mounts down the field, separated by the toyle, the barrier of cloth that kept combatants from colliding, their lances couched as each concentrated upon unseating his adversary. They came together near the center of the pavilion, and Raddock's well-aimed blow at Graeburn's mail-covered chest lifted the less adept knight into the air and sent him tumbling backwards, while his 'own lance bounced harmlessly against the flanchardof Raddock's charger.
A cheer went up and Sir Blaise's squire and pages came running onto the field to collect him.
With their help, he stood, lifting his arm to show that he had suffered nothing but bruises and a blow to his pride.
Raddock paraded down the field once, as befitted a champion victorious and then retired to rest until the call to quintains would bring him forth again. The next two contenders were readying themselves for the tilt, and Rodrigo still held his wife's arm in his pitiless grasp, bruising the tender flesh beneath the soft white linen.
Because she knew what would come after the
last match of the lists and the quintains that followed them, the time seemed to speed by for Jenny. She hardly felt the remorseless pressure of her husband's fingers. For Rodrigo, anticipating the ultimate pleasure of putting his wife's lover to death before her eyes, the same period of time passed with infinite slowness, as though each second were a minute.
Finally the sport of the quintains was finished, with only one of the knights, the youngest and Ieast experienced, having suffered the humiliation of receiving a retaliatory blow from the wooden figures. The crowd opposite the pavilion was allowed onto the field now, and rumors spread that Rodrigo was to make an important announcement, an announcement that directly concerned their Lady Fiona. The temper of the milling throng of people was hostile, despite their enjoyment of the afternoon's sporting entertainments.
They had never truly accepted the usurper's reign over their strongly independent country; but because of the threat of his mercenaries, who even now were stationed throughout the crowd, there had been no organized revolt. Some of the scheduled participants were moving onto the field, though Raddock and his brother Cameron were nowhere in evidence.
Rodrigo checked to see that his men were well-deployed and that his personal bodyguard, the three best gunmen he had, were close at hand, then stood and raised his hands for silence. There were distinct sounds of grumbling in the shifting sea of faceless people, though no one dared to make himself a target of Rodrigo's wrath by raising his voice in protest at the rumor that Lady Fiona had been taken prisoner.
"I have words to speak with you, citizens of Beann Gowd'en," Rodrigo cried out, and a sullen quiet fell over the mob, enabling him to lessen the strain on his voice. "I have discovered, and foiled, a treasonous plot to overthrow my rule!" Some of the courtiers were moving from their seats, sensing the violence that lay just beneath the surface of the watching throng, and Rodrigo glared at them, mentally taking note of which of them he would later punish for their lack of support. Jenny was still next to him, sitting quietly with her gaze directed downward and as Rodrigo glanced at her, Shiona moved closer to Jenny as though she were protecting her, placing her arms around her mistress's waist like a shield. Jenny almost absently stroked the girl's pale blonde head with a comforting gesture; it was unclear who was protecting whom, but the two women drawing together in shared solace annoyed Rodrigo and he silently vowed to separate them when this was over. He turned back to the crowd with a cruel smile as he anticipated the delight he would find in giving the meek little Shiona to one of his men.
Again he held up his hands. "The' two principal plotters are in my control and have been since the past evening. One will be pardoned, the other put to death."
He turned to one of his men and issued an order that the prisoners be brought forth. "I will have justice done to the man who was behind this treachery. The man's name is Devlan Cantrell, a foreigner who came here and was shielded and given succor by none other than Lady Fiona of Loch Gowd!"
The crowd was beyond murmurs of protest. The idea that the tyrant Rodrigo had laid hands on their rightful leader rekindled the spark of hatred that had long smouldered within them.
There were shouts and catcalls, a raising of fists in anger, and Rodrigo signalled his men to draw their weapons. Someone shouted that whoever he was, this Cantrell was a hero, not a man of treason.
Rodrigo's eyes burned with fanatic belief in his right to rule and in his own immortality, and it was because he had stepped forward with a furious glare and his fist raised against the crowd's insolent behavior that the stone cast by one of the men in the mob struck Jenny, grazing her right cheek and drawing blood.
She did not cry out, merely touched her cheek in a dazed manner, but Shiona screamed, and began to weep as she clutched at Jenny. Rodrigo whirled, saw the blood that smeared his wife's cheek and, though he'd hurt her earlier himself, grew outraged at the audacity and shouted an order for his men to search out and find the culprit.
Outside the tent where Rodrigo's own banner flew, set a good thirty yards to the fear of the pavilion, the two guards who were escorting the prisoners forward were halted by Raddock's order to drop their guns. He and Cameron each held a pistol against the mercenaries' spines, and the loyalty the gunmen had shown to Rodrigo evaporated instantly at the threat to their own lives. Their guns were thrown carefully to one side and quickly retrieved by other armed knights.
The rescue had been achieved without a single shot. Fiona urgently questioned Raddock as he untied Dev's bonds. "M'men are closin' in on the 'Laird'. 'Twon't be but a few minutes longer, an' the devil'll be naught but a dead carcass!" Then he had Dev free and exclaimed,
"Och, Dev, but ye'r back's all bloody tore up! Ye'r in nae fine fettle for a fight. Looks like he near did ye in."
Suddenly a' volley of shots rang out. Dev forgot the ache of his torn flesh as he grabbed Raddock's gun and started to run."There were others racing behind him, but no one could match his speed. None of them had a loved one seated right in the line of fire, positioned next to the target everyone wanted to hit.
A few more shots sounded as Dev reached the back of the pavilion, and he paused for a split second, catching his breath and warily glancing around for any of Rodrigo's men. The shooting was' over, though. Those few mercenaries who hadn't made a stand were disarmed and under guard. Dev had taught his knights well. Rodrigo's men who had followed orders to fire on the crowd were dead, sprawled where they'd fallen.
As Dev worked his way through the crowd, pushing the shoving people aside until he was near the front of the tiered row of seats, hysteria still seized the people and a man shouted,
"He's dead, the tyrant's gone!" while another man cried, "Ye'r wrong, lad I just saw him take a breath." Some of the women were crying, calling out for children who'd wandered away.
Jenny was on her knees, still in the position where Shiona had pulled her when the bullets began to fly.
Rodrigo lay on the boards of the pavilion, his temple bleeding. His head lay cradled in Jenny's lap, where she had pulled him after the bullet that had slammed into the right side of his collarbone had knocked his body back and sent it slumping to the boards. The wound seeped its own dark red onto Rodrigo's port wine surcoat, and crimson stains were splattered over the fine white linen of Jenny's gown, as though a garden of the red jasmine that had decorated her hair earlier had sprung up from its snowy folds.
Dev stood at the bottom of the steps, a watcher in the crowd. Rodrigo looked up at his wife, trying to focus on her face. Tears flowed down that face, and he blinked, the beginnings of a frown at the comers of his mouth. "You ... knew, eh, Jen ... a?" he managed to say. Jenny nodded, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she closed her eyes against the reality of the scene she had witnessed so many times. "So, this ... is the jus ... tice ... perhaps you were ... right." The citizens of Beann Gowd'en were still milling restlessly before the stands, those toward the back of the assembly unable to see what was going on calling out to friends and neighbors.
Jenny heard nothing but the wet, gurgling cough Rodrigo gave, and she leaned forward to hear what he was trying to say. "The tears ... you ... promised me." He coughed once more, and with his dying breath, gasped, " ... forgive ... " A trickle of blood flowed from the comer of his mouth, and his head rolled to the side.
For a moment Jenny's head remained bowed, then she lifted it and stared off, unseeing, into the crowd. Shiona still held her, clinging to her waist, weeping with frightened abandon, like a small child who is inconsolable. Dev shook his head, clearing away the trance-like daze that had seized him as he had watched the man's last, dying moments. His heart skipped a beat as he noticed blood welling from a cut on Jenny's forehead, but then he realized it was a scratch and not the bullet wound he'd feared.
He was near enough to hear her voice as Jenny seemed to come out of her shocked state of immobility, looking startled to find Shiona so distraught by her side. "What is this?" she said softly. "Can a star weep? Don't cry, my darling!" Jenny stroked the g
irl's shining blonde hair, her voice soothing and strong. "Rise, Shiona, your moment is coming. Weep not for me ...
the long darkness is lifting. "
Then Jenny looked up and saw Dev. Her expression was transformed by an angelic sweetness as a glimmer of recognition brightened her eyes. "Thomas!" she cried out before the light faded and she fell, fainting, to the ground. Dev moved forward in a few sure strides, pushed Rodrigo's body aside, and scooped Jenny into his arms, ordering the frightened Shiona to follow.
The fact that Jenny had called him Thomas was in no way alarming. When Mara had told him of her belief that Jenny had once lived as Elainn, he had doubted her. Now he did not. How could he, when he had responded to that name with a recognition of his own, with a leaping joy in his heart at the knowledge of a love that was so strong it had spanned centuries to bring two lovers together again? Thomas's agony had ended.
With Shiona nervously trailing behind, Dev carried Jenny through the crowd. It parted like the waves of the sea roIling back to allow him a passage. He took long, confident strides and held his head high, hardly hearing a voice jeer, "Leave the whore wi' her dead lover!" or even the fervent shout of "Death to all intruders!" At the edge of the crowd he came upon Fiona, flanked by her loyal knights and breathless with the excitement of the cheers that had greeted her.
She glanced at Jenny's limp body, saw the blood that soaked the white pown, and asked in a voice that was at once triumphant and hesitant, "Is she dead?"
"No," Dev said, tightening his protective grip on his wife's body. She was his now, in more ways than one. His voice was bitterly contemptuous as he replied, "Her death would have made your day complete, wouldn't it? A total victory over Rodrigo wasn't good enough. Be happy with what you've gained, Fiona." He looked around at the people who were shouting for a speech from her, acclaiming her as their rightful leader once more. "You have the whole of Beann Gowd'en as your lover now. That should satisfy any frustrations you might be feeling."