The last was good news. The end seemed to be in sight. It appeared to Zeni that she might actually reach it unscathed. She wasn’t quite sure why Derek had made himself so scarce, though she had to wonder if the plastic surgery threat had as much to do with it as his business interests.
Plans for the medieval fair proceeded without letup. Several committee meetings were held at the Watering Hole, some calm and some not, as ways and means of working around the needs of the movie company were decided. A faery queen was chosen, along with her ladies. Booths were knocked together, decorated and set up out at the fairgrounds. Crafts and baked goods with English names, if no English origins, were stockpiled. Everyone who owned a sewing machine overheated it as they sewed yard upon yard of velvet, silk and satin polyester or fake leather for costumes.
The fair weekend finally arrived, kicked off by the annual parade. Its various floats rolled down Main Street in all their splendor and tackiness, a cavalcade led by a police escort, fire trucks with blasting horns, and several cars of waving, candy throwing politicians.
The whole thing was more splendid than in past years, and had better participation because it included a float representing the movie. This was a glorious thing decked out with real flowers, giant replicas of burning candles, and a huge image of Shakespeare in recognition of the film’s title, Brief Candles, even if any connection to the Bard’s work was purely accidental.
The parade route was also noisier, since Trey’s bicycle club put in an appearance, riding in a group on their Harleys to remind folks about the ring tournament. It was a cool day, one of the first of the fall season, and the guys wore new black motorcycle jackets, each embroidered with a shield superimposed upon an outline of the state of Louisiana and the name they had recently given themselves, the Louisiana Knights.
Zeni was supposed to be on duty, though the coffee shop was empty. She ran for her camera as the motorcycle club roared down the street, circling, stopping and starting, popping the occasional wheelie as they kept to the parade’s slow pace. On the sidewalk outside, she ran into Carla and Mandy, both with their cameras clicking as they immortalized the floats while waiting for Beau and Lance to come even with where they stood.
“They look incredible, don’t they?” Carla said with a fond smile. “The ring tournament tonight should be something.”
That was the expectation, one that had caused it to be set as the opening event for the fair. That it wasn’t exactly medieval was also a factor. The committee wanted it out of the way so it wouldn’t steal attention from the more authentic tumbling, jousting and mock melee that would follow.
The high expectations made Trey nervous, however, as Zeni well knew. He was afraid the tournament might not be as sensational as some envisioned, so people would be disappointed.
“Love the jackets. When did they have them made?” Zeni stepped out onto the brick cobbled street for a long-distance shot as she spoke.
“They were delivered by the little brown truck last night,” Mandy said, her attention on the photo screen of her phone.
“Jake came up with the idea, and even drew the logo,” Carla added. “Too bad Beau is getting to wear their cousin’s jacket before he does.”
Zeni lowered her phone to meet Carla’s compassionate gaze. “I was going to ask about Jake. He’s still doing okay, right?”
“Good enough, though he’s had a few short and not-so-sweet words to say about the neck brace he’s being forced to wear. Fair committee wanted him to ride on the movie company float and throw candy to the kids, but his doctor advised against it. He’s in the lead police car with Lance’s chief deputy.”
“That’s his Harley that Beau’s riding then?”
“It is,” Carla said in dry agreement, “though he gave it a thorough going over to be sure it was no worse for the accident. Beau will be taking his place in the tournament, too.”
“Really?”
Mandy entered the conversation then. “And of course Lance, not to be outdone, will also be competing.”
“That’s mainly to support Trey. One of the other guys dropped out, claiming it was too dangerous. Lance is taking that man’s place.”
“If you say so.” Mandy pulled a face at Carla. “I still think he just couldn’t stand being left out of the excitement.”
“Or to pass up such a great excuse for being on hand in case something goes wrong?”
“There is that.”
Zeni, listening to the two of them, recognized the worry behind their dry comments. The thought of another accident made her feel cold inside. “Lance really thinks something might happen?”
Mandy looked grim. “He doesn’t know, but he’s taking no chances. Extra security has been added.”
“You don’t mess with a Benedict in Tunica Parish,” Carla said with a nod.
All that should’ve been reassuring, but wasn’t. If the first so-called accident had been directed at Trey, then why wouldn’t whoever was behind it try again?
“Speaking of the tournament, you’ll be there, won’t you?” The question came from Mandy, but Carla also turned her head to look at Zeni in lively expectation.
“Oh, yeah. No way I’d miss it.”
“Then you should come and sit with us since all the guys will be on the field. We Benedict women have to stick together.”
Benedict women.
Trey Benedict’s woman.
Zeni’s throat closed up tight at the idea of it. She didn’t deserve the title or belong to that elite group, but could pretend for now. Too soon, the day would come when pretending would be at an end.
“That—that will be great,” she said finally. “Absolutely perfect.”
Chapter 16
The weather gods smiled on Chamelot for the beginning of the fair; not only had it been warm and sunny with low humidity during the parade, but the night was just as pleasant for the ring tournament. Not too cool and not too warm, it came with a nice breeze that cleared the air of gnats and mosquitoes. The wind also stirred the brightly colored pennants on poles that were set up around the arena and was natural air conditioning for the people that crowded onto the open bleachers of weathered gray wood.
Attendees kept pouring in, filling the walkways, lining the open space behind the highest benches and using the steps as seats. Beyond the tournament itself, the fact that the event was going to be filmed was a major attraction. Folks gazed around at the two huge cameras set up at each end of the announcement booth and others filling strategic spots, and figured out that amount of camera power meant a person could be caught on film at any minute. They could all turn out to be extras in Brief Candles, now couldn’t they?
The town baseball field had been robbed of its stadium lights to supplement those on four sides of the arena. The school’s band, heavy on the brass, was set up below the announcement booth. That booth, with its commanding view, had been taken over by the movie crew. Derek, back from California, was plainly to be seen in the bank of lights along the front. His assistant, also on hand, moved around him like a satellite caught in his magnetic orbit.
As Zeni emerged from the entranceway between the bleachers, she waved at Gloria who was sitting with some of her friends, also at Granny Chauvin with one of her grandsons. A shout from above drew her attention then. It was Mandy, waving with both arms to catch her attention, and pointing at the seat between her and Carla.
The location the two Benedict wives had secured was super, the equivalent of sitting at the 50-yard line if this were a football game. Three rows up from the railing that kept people from falling into the arena, it allowed a good view over the heads of the standees gathered there.
“How did you get such good seats? You must’ve been here since the middle of the afternoon.” Zeni’s greeting for Mandy was admiring and a little breathless from pushing through the crowd and climbing bleachers.
“Almost,” Lance’s wife agreed with a grin. “Carla and I took turns holding the seats. It’s great that you made it. We had about
decided we’d missed seeing you come in.”
“I’d have been here sooner, but I had to chase customers out of the Watering Hole before I could close the doors.”
“That’s the way it goes,” Carla said in wry understanding.
What Zeni failed to mention was that she’d also waited to see if Trey meant to come by before going to the fairgrounds, maybe to eat a little something first. He hadn’t showed. It was silly to be disappointed when she suspected he was checking the arena one last time, but she was anyway.
“You made it before the guys come riding in and things get started, which is what matters,” Mandy said, and reached out to touch her hand as Zeni sat down beside her.
It was good of her to try to make her feel better, but that was Mandy. She liked it when everyone was included, as with her invitation this morning. Looking at her and Carla now, however, Zeni didn’t feel much like she belonged. She had come as she was in her denim skirt and tank top. By contrast, Carla appeared cool and sophisticated in cream colored pants and a pale blue silk shirt and Mandy wore a loosely fitted dress in pink linen. They were all southern style and charm and she was—what? Not exactly trailer trash, though not far from it.
“Listen,” Carla said, cocking her head to one side. “I think that’s the guys now.”
Faint above the noise of the crowd could be heard the steady drone of engines. The sound grew louder and more commanding. Hearing it, people in the bleachers quieted and craned their necks, trying to discover the source. The rumbling became a roar that seemed to shake the stadium lights on their stands and echo like thunder against the dark night sky above.
The shrill sound of a whistle cut through the noise. Abruptly, the band struck up a spirited rendition of “Born to Be Wild.”
Zeni looked toward the bandstand with everyone else. That was, until she noticed that the movie cameras were focused on a white gate directly across from where she and the other women sat. She turned in time to see that barrier slide open, and to glimpse movement and vibrating lights in the darkness beyond it.
In they came, riding in single file, nine men on custom-painted Harleys, strong and erect yet at ease on their powerful machines. They circled the arena once, twice, and a third time. Then they swung to a halt, one by one, and lined up in a row in front of their gated entrance, each machine a precise distance from the other, each man balancing with his legs at the same angle. In unison, they removed their matching helmets with black gloved hands and held them in the crooks of their left arms.
Gone were the leather jackets of the morning. In their place, the riders wore long-sleeved black shirts covered by tunics of silver chain mail, and black leather pants with black boots. From the shoulders of the tunics hung short cloaks of black edged in metallic silver lamé and centered by the map and shield logo of the Louisiana Knights.
They were impressive and dramatic; Zeni knew she should’ve been proud. She was, and yet she had to choke down the stupid rise of tears.
Applause broke out, a tumultuous welcome and gesture of warm, hometown appreciation for the display. As it went on and on, Zeni leaned toward Mandy, speaking under its cover. “I thought they were supposed to be wearing metal armor and old-style knight’s helms.”
“They were, but our guys got their heads together and decided the armor was too bulky and the helms made it hard to see. They put the problem to Peabody’s people, and they came up with the chain mail and normal helmets instead.”
“Because of Jake’s accident, too, I suppose.”
“In part, though he’d have been fine except for that board covered by dirt. Mainly it was for better safety all around.”
She should’ve known about the change, might have if she’d seen more of Trey since the New Orleans trip. He’d been in and out at the coffee shop but was always in a hurry, always had some of the bikers with him. She’d wondered if he was regretting their weird engagement or maybe the expensive ring he’d bought, but hadn’t wanted to ask. It seemed needy for one thing, but he also owed her nothing. More than that, the odd situation between them would soon be over. If they weren’t too lovey-dovey when together, as in recent days, it might not come as a huge surprise when the engagement came to nothing.
And if she missed him with a deep, persistent ache, no one needed to know it, least of all Trey.
The sound system squealed as a microphone malfunctioned. It was a signal that the mayor was about to speak. Standing in the booth’s glare of lights, she raised her hands for quiet and waited for the band to come to a stopping place. She welcomed everyone to the tournament and to the opening of the medieval fair. With the most profound pleasure, she introduced the knights who would be riding in the modernized version of the ring tournament.
They appeared as knights indeed as their names were called out one by one, standing so tall and somehow noble astride their motorized steeds while the night wind lifted their hair and waved the cloaks that hung from their wide shoulders. They were everything that was inventive and hardworking, daring and courageous.
And there was Trey in the center of the line, with Beau on one side and Lance on the other. Trey, who had given her a job, a place to live and his friendship when she had no one, and who had done nothing except protect her while asking nothing in return. Trey, the truest knight of them all, at least in her eyes.
Zeni’s heart swelled inside her as she watched him, throbbing in painful bursts with the knowledge that she loved him and had for a long time. She loved him, no matter how she’d denied it or had fought against it. She loved him, for what good it did her, or ever would.
Now the mayor was introducing a young high school girl who would sing the national anthem. She did a far better job of it with her sweet, clear voice and simple phrasing than many a recording star tapped for some major event. The invocation was given by a local pastor. Finally, her honor the mayor welcomed the producer/director and star of the marvelous upcoming movie Brief Candles to Chamelot yet again, told him how delighted the town was to be chosen for his film, and turned the floor over to him for an explanation of exactly what a ring tournament was and how it fit into the movie he was filming.
Derek actually did a fair job of it, not too surprising since he was a showman of sorts with an actor’s trained voice. It helped, no doubt, that he had his speech written out in front of him.
The ring tournament had a long history in Louisiana, he said, one dating from the Romantic Period of the nineteenth century until at least two decades after the Civil War. Tonight’s tournament with Harleys instead of horses was a definite departure from tradition, but would follow the same general rules as in the old days. Each biker would be given a lance. One after the other, the riders would then use them to spear the rings that were suspended from a large arch located in the center of the field. As each ring was taken, it would remain on the rider’s lance. The riders would continue until all rings were collected. There would be three different rounds of nine rings each, and the arch holding the rings would be changed between each round. The rider who had the most rings collected on his lance at the end of the final round would be declared the winner of the tournament and given the opportunity to crown his ladylove queen of the tournament.
Derek paused for applause from the crowd at this development, but went on again. The ring tournament was being filmed for Brief Candles as one of several dream sequences in the script, he said. It might not be used in its entirety, but would serve a vital and colorful purpose. His production company appreciated the opportunity to work in this fine community, and was grateful to the Louisiana Knights for allowing him to film their tournament. He and his entire staff saluted their skill and daring. He was sure it was a spectacle that would be long remembered in Chamelot and wherever the film might be shown. He wished them all the best of luck, and would leave them with that ancient challenge: May the best man win!
It happened more or less as described.
The riders rode to the far side of the arena, on Zeni’s right. The great
arch was moved into position, one made of what appeared to be PVC pipe that had been spray-painted silver and set on wheels. From its center hung nine evenly spaced silver rings hanging on heavy cords, shining in the lights.
The rings weren’t that large, being about the diameter of one of Zeni’s big hoop earrings. She thought that’s exactly what they might be for a moment, but Carla said they were actually heavier. They had come from the plumbing shop where Beau bought his greenhouse supplies and, like the arch, spray-painted silver for effect.
The riders lined up in single file. The first man was given a lance, perhaps ten feet long, tapered from the point to the hilt and decorated in colors that matched his bike. As he took off, carrying it while he circled the arena once, twice, and a third time to gather speed before racing toward the rings, the next man in line received his lance. So it went, one man after the other, circling, circling in ever increasing noise and dust, ever increasing smells of churned sand and engine fumes. After a few minutes it was almost impossible to tell the men apart; they looked so similar with their same costumes, same helmets, same speeding bikes—though a few machines had colored LED lights that gave some hint of identity when they could be seen through the dust.
The audience got into it. A correctly caught ring was greeted with shouts, whistles and applause, while a miss that set the ring swinging earned groans of sympathy and calls of better luck next time. People tried to keep count, but the rings slid down to lodge halfway to the hilt, making them difficult to see, difficult to track given the constant movement of the bikes. Added to that, the mobile cameramen often blocked the view. Irate audience members began to yell at them to get out of the way, to go home, go back to Hollywood. Before they knew it, however, all the rings had been collected and the first round was over.
Vendors came out while the arch was wheeled away to be reloaded with rings for the second round. Moving among the crowd, they sold fall favorites of candied apples, popcorn balls rich with molasses and butter, bags of roasted peanuts and cotton candy. Cold drinks were provided to wash it all down, but no beer; it was a family outing after all. Everyone was exhorted to eat, drink and be merry, because the proceeds would be used to defray the expense of extra security for the fair and the movie company. Most paid attention, since the delectable smells wafting over the crowd were enough to make anyone hungry. Anyone, that is, except Zeni; apprehension tied her stomach in such knots that she couldn’t even think about it.
Tristan on a Harley (Louisiana Knights Book 3) Page 16