"You are too kind, my lady. Your Eastern potions are truly marvellous; they could raise the dead."
Embarrassed to be gushing out such fulsome praise, Sir Tancred added quickly, "There is a new warrior come down from the north, Sir Ranulf of Fredenwyke, said to be the foremost knight in the kingdom. He jousts in black armour."
"Like the prince of your English?"
"Of England," he tenderly corrected, his spirits soaring like a young page's as she lavished on him another smile.
"Of England," she repeated softly.
"He is known to be a doughty fighter. You may see him in combat today, my lady. It is claimed he sends the rich prizes he wins from jousts to his castles in the wilds of the north, to spread bounty among his people.”
“But no one is certain?”
Sir Tancred whistled softly through his missing teeth, not sure if he should agree, and then recalled another rumour. “It is said he fights in memory of his late wife, and wears no token save hers."
The princess nodded her shining head. "He loved her very much, then, and I shall not see him outside my tent."
"I do not think that likely."
"And you know a little more still concerning this knight."
He felt himself blush. She always knew when he was holding back.
"It is the blackest gossip, Princess, and less than savoury, but I have heard that no one knows how the lady Olwen died."
"And no one dares to ask the grim lord who jousts in her name? That is the way of men, is it not?" She lightly clapped her gloved hands together. "But we should say no more of this, and I must complete my preparations."
At once he stepped back to take his leave, his mood soaring as he pictured the princess as she would soon appear to the common masses: exotic and veiled and with jewels in her hair.
Chapter 3
The jousts would begin after terce and go on until sunset. First there was a procession—not as rich or elaborate as those of the King's, or as long as those Ranulf had been in through London, but a goodly spectacle and, if it pleased the folk of the castle and the ladies, then why not?
The theme of the procession was unknown knights and mysterious damsels. Giles had already told him that Lady Blanche of Fitneyclare had instructed that those knights taking part in the joust should be masked and in disguise: no distinctive armour or badges or heraldry until they entered the ground itself.
"An idiotic notion and the women are masked, too," grumbled Giles. "I will probably pick a troll and have to appear delighted when she removes her veiling."
"A mask is simple enough to make," Ranulf said easily. "A few twigs and feathers on a cloth." He closed his ears to the rest of Giles's moans while he considered the theme afresh. It seemed peculiarly apt, with the mystery princess of the East within the camp. Had Lady Blanche suggested the theme as an honour to her, or as a jibe?
No matter, but it will be amusing to escort the princess, he thought. I will know her by Sir Tancred: if that fellow can disguise himself, I will be mightily astonished.
That had been an hour ago. Now Ranulf was waiting in the bailey of the castle as the members of the procession jostled and gathered into their lines and the waiting crowd, smaller than in previous years, waved their flower garlands and nervously cheered. He felt himself quite ridiculous, but it was no matter. He had made a cap of moss and feathers and covered the lower half of his face with a dark strip of cloth. For the rest, he had sent on his black armour to the fighting ground with his squire and Offa, who had made a rapid recovery from his sickness once it was certain he would not be sent on his way until the following morning. Covered by a baggy cloak smeared with more moss he called himself Sir Jade, in honour of the mythical green knight.
The cloth across his chin itched. Ranulf scratched his cheek with his thumb, settling into that waiting state he was familiar with at mêlées. The damsels had yet to arrive from the castle, led by Lady Blanche.
"Fleas are the very devil, are they not? My lady gave me a potion to go in my bath and clothes and I have been free of them since."
Ranulf recognized the jutting grey beard. "Well met, Sir Tancred."
"Sir Dew of the Moon, if you please." The older man turned on the spot, showing off a costume of loose white and silver robes smothered in pearls and silver coins. He had a cap on, too, that looked very much like a nightcap, but one that trailed more ropes of coins.
"Have you a troop of seamstress with you?" Ranulf asked, grinning to show he meant no ill-will.
"Nay, but my lady guessed it would be unknown knights. It is a popular theme."
"Indeed." A dormant streak of mischief, long banished since he had been a squire, stirred in Ranulf. He knew very well who Sir Tancred's lady was. "Would you swap masks and costumes with me?"
There was a rustle of cloth and coins as the older knight shook his head. "I have promised to escort my lady."
"May I escort her also? We could stroll on either side: Sir Dew and Sir Jade."
"I do not think my lady would like this..."
"If you allow it, I will joust in your amour and you keep the prizes."
"Agreed!"
As they shook hands, a rattle of drums sounded and a woman robed in yellow, scarlet and blue came down the castle steps, arm in arm with a short, burly man, wearing a mask of tall, sweeping peacock feathers and a feather cloak.
"Lady Rainbow and Lord Phoenix!" roared an iron-throated herald, to a pattering of applause.
Behind these came the other ladies, gaudy in tight, long sleeved gowns of blue and scarlet, purple and gold. Ranulf saw Giles, whom he recognized by his cocksure air and costume of long blue robe and black mask—the role of sea knight, which Giles had played at other jousts—rush to escort a lady who seemed to be a sparkle of gold.
"Beauty needs no foil," he murmured. He wagered that once the ladies unmasked, Giles would be disappointed.
"And are you beautiful, sir knight?" asked a new voice behind him.
"My lady!" Sir Tancred bowed so low that a rope of coins and the tip of his headdress touched the dirt. "We looked for you, Sir Jade and myself. We did not see you come with the other damsels. Where, too, are your attendants?"
"I chose another way, my lord, a way less crowded," came the calm response. "Sir Jade?"
His heart hammering as it never did when he was about to tilt, Ranulf determined to be equally reserved. "You will know jade, my lady, being as you are from far away." He patted his moss-strewn chest. "I am the English kind. But I see you disapprove of me."
He looked down, straight into a veiled face dominated by a pair of brilliant eyes, as large as a falcon's, and as piercing.
"Sir Jade, you are mistaken." Turning away from him without more ado, the lady threaded a narrow hand deftly through Sir Tancred's waiting arm. "I congratulate you on the elegance and wit of your mask and costume, Sir Dew. This fore-noon you will dazzle us all."
She had not answered his question on her lack of servants, but the older man straightened and stroked his white robes as if they were the finest ermine. “It is because of you, my lady. You were my inspiration.”
"What do you think of mine?" Ranulf interrupted. Usually he had no time for such folly; play like this reminded him of Olwen, of what he had lost. Yet this cool veiled green damsel piqued him: perversely he wanted her to think well of him.
The cool bright eyes studied him. "I find you apt, sir. Today I am the lady of jade." She offered him her free hand. "What do you think of me?"
She stepped closer as if daring him to touch. A sweet, rich perfume rose from her as she moved.
"You are as green as Roman glass, my lady," he remarked.
"And as slippery?" she countered.
"As green as jade," Sir Dew/Tancred put in, keen not to be left out of this encounter.
"I did not say that," Ranulf answered, disliking to have thoughts assumed of him, even if they were right. "Are you always veiled?"
"It is the custom of my people. Women go veiled. Some men, to
o."
"The old and ugly," said Tancred, but Ranulf ignored him.
"Are such loose clothes also the custom?" he asked. She was a pale green shimmer, clad head to toe in a filmy, billowing sheet of something—whether robe, tunic or gown, he could not say.
"These are the clothes I wear and how I wear them when I am walking," she said. "When I am watching the joust, I will be so," and she twisted her arms.
At once the sheet about her settled snugly over her hips and became a single slender rope across her left shoulder, running cross-wise over her narrow waist and surprisingly full breasts. Beside him and around him Ranulf heard the gasps and sensed the stares—he would be gawping, too, he wagered. Beneath the green shimmer, which he could not honestly call a cloak, but then he had no other words to describe it, the lady was all but naked.
She hides her face but still wears less than a tavern wench, was his astonished thought.
Truly, she wore a tiny golden bodice or jerkin over her bosom, cut to show the tops of her arms and breasts, and stopping before the last of her ribs, so that her upper arms and her middle were bare, naked and bare. Ranulf found himself leaning in to her, almost reaching for her slender waist and copper-coloured, smooth-as-silk skin. He was reminded now, crudely and starkly, that he had not lain with any woman for months. The blood thumping in his ears and more painfully elsewhere, his mind flashed to the little modest maid of the morning, who had darted off. Two different kinds of challenges.
"You are the very season for lilies, princess, "he said, making a play of breathing in slowly and commenting on her perfume because she expected him to scold or praise her costume.
"Today I am the Lady Jade," she reminded him anew, nodding to a belt of green beads wound about her hips and several bracelets of green bangles. One of the nearby knights started to say something in French, but Ranulf stared at him and the man instantly went quiet. He clasped the hand she offered, amazed that she should be wearing gloves up to her elbows.
"Have you a favour in that costume for me?" he asked, while the knights about hitched their eyebrows at her strange attire and the ladies in masks made a point of not glancing her way.
"Alas, Sir Jade! My favours are all given out."
“Your face-veil is green and we shall soon be unmasking. ’Tis considered unmannerly to remain masked when the lord and lady are not.”
"Thank you for pointing out that custom, Sir Jade. To be sure, I did not know it."
"To be sure you did, princess." Ranulf squeezed her fingers, tempted to shake her until her bracelets and beads rattled.
"I will remove that veil when we reach the place of tourney," she replied, not in the least discomforted by his outright denial.
They were moving by this time, strolling to the jousting ground, the princess in her fantastic costume floating like a low green cloud between him and Sir Tancred.
"May I claim it?" he asked. "I am jade, as you."
"Huurph!" grunted Sir Tancred.
"Forgive me, sir, but I cannot grant your request. To do so would be to break faith with others."
"I understand completely," Ranulf replied, looking over the princess's veiled head at Sir Tancred. "We must honour our agreements."
He had been her kindly knight of the river, but now he was different, arrogant and brazen, judging her. Were it not for the agile way he moved and his resonant voice, she would not have known him. It was disillusioning and she angry at herself for hoping to keep her illusions alive a little longer. She had not expected to encounter him again so soon, which was nonsense, given where they were.
He was a fighter who had sought her out. Why? And should she believe him over his jade costume and name?
Gregory would have called it a godly coincidence, that we are the lord and lady of jade, but what meaning has it really? None. It is but chance. There are no signs, no portents, merely accidents.
He was appalled by her costume—these lusty knights always were.
Sir Jade, or whatever he is called, never saw me at the forge, working and sweating stripped to the waist.
Yet what did it matter? Her "eastern dress" was a creation of her grandfather's memories and drawings, pieces of traded cloth and her own devising. Over these last months, she had discovered that the more startling her costumes, the fewer questions she had to fend off. Men were too busy ogling and women too envious.
It worked well. It was all working supremely well. Instead of breaking their backs, weeding in the wheat fields and strips of beans, her fellow villagers of former Warren Hemlet were at ease in the great tent. Walter had some new eye glasses—the gift of a grateful knight to the Lady of Lilies—which meant that he could carve wood again. Maria, who was with child, could rest on the couch and not fear the reeve's lash. All could enjoy the daily bounty of food and gifts which were given to her by her lordly admirers.
If they knew who you were, you would all be killed, chided Gregory in her mind. Trying to escape him, Edith lengthened her stride.
“Your servants loll in corners this day?” the exasperating and all-together-too sharp Sir Jade now asked, as he effortlessly matched her pace. “I wonder at their allowing you to wander alone: a joust is no place for an unguarded damsel.” He nodded to the bystanders. Every man gathered by the processional path was watching her, ogling, staring. One or two were drooling.
She had seen it before and would have waved her hand, had he not been gripping it. “I have my knights.”
“You consider all knights yours?”
“Those who sport my favour. Look about, Sir Jade.”
“Alas! I can see nothing but green.”
She laughed, tickled by the image, and his dark eyes gleamed in response. For an instant he was again her knight of the stream, but then he returned to the attack.
"Sir Dew here tells me you predict the outcomes of challenges."
"Sir Dew of the Moon," protested Sir Tancred, attempting to shoo away a huckster who had broken through the ranks of onlookers to join them, copying her walk and "veiling" his grubby face with his grubbier hands. This was a constant irritant in processions and one she silently endured.
“Sir Jade” however was having none of it. He glared at the fellow, raising a threatening fist, and the pie-man stepped sharply back into the ragged line of spectators. "What do you see for me?" he demanded, then.
"Many prizes." It was a safe enough answer.
"And if I fight against your knights?"
She saw Sir Tancred's eyes widen and spotted the mottled blush rising past his beard. Something was afoot here, between these two.
"But you will not do so. Sir Jade does not strive against the knights of Lady Jade."
"Well spoken, my lady."
He patronized her, but since he had not disagreed she took it as a promise of intent and breathed a little more easily.
They had reached the circle of caravans and wagons, passing through a wicker hurdle gate to the jousting field. Here the ladies were being led off to the stand that was even now being loaded with cushions, while maids waited close by with drinks and cups, lest their “betters“ should be thirsty. The steady mumble of chatter sharpened as damsels wished their knights God speed and valour. Heralds and the more nimble ladies hurried about the huge field to issue challenges and bestow more favours.
The men and women were also unmasking, casting aside their costumes. Edith watched more maids scooping up the discarded masks and cloaks, thrown casually onto the grass, and felt a rage at their thoughtless obedience. In these times of pestilence, why should the old order matter? Why should the ladies and lords not work?
They do the labour of governance, said Gregory in her mind.
"They should try cutting the standing wheat, instead," she muttered, in the old Hemlet dialect that, with a few added clicks and groans, passed for her own Chinese language.
"My lady? Was that a new prediction?" Sir Dew/Tancred lowered his head to her, eager to hear more.
"It was a prayer, for you and for Si
r Jade," she replied blandly.
"I need none." Rude and coarse as his interruption, Sir Jade let go of her hand and stalked straight ahead of her, putting his mossy figure directly in her way. "Should you not be divesting yourself, Lady Jade? That is, if you have anything you can remove, without causing riot."
"It is for the lord to go first," she answered, inwardly seething. She knew the brute only spoke his thought, that all he said was only what the other men thought, but none had been bold enough to speak before him. To have it flung at her was profoundly irritating. Feeling the blood pounding into her face, she was glad of the veil.
"Is that indeed the custom of the East? Here it is a lady's privilege, but I will grant your wish."
He swept her a mocking bow, tumbling off his baggy costume at the same time. When he straightened, seeming taller and rangier than ever, he was already pointing. "Now you, Jade Lady."
She had anticipated this, and deftly removed the green face-veil to show off the primrose yellow veil beneath. Handing the delicate cloth to Sir Dew/Tancred, who received it with a genuine bow, she smiled up at her unknown knight of the stream. "See? I have done my part, my lord."
There was a rush of applause from more onlookers, and a shout of "The Lady of Lilies!" before both died away. Her knight said nothing, but he looked almost as grim as he had by the water, when she had glimpsed that ancient grief. Still without speaking, he turned away and strode off, marching in the direction of the stream where, only that morning, they had met together in peace. Sir Dew/Tancred meanwhile was staring desperately at the far horizon, as if he longed to be anywhere else.
"Will you escort me to my seat?" she asked softly.
He did so, silently and courteously, taking care she had sufficient cushions and that the awning over her head was to her liking, and she burned with shame.
Chapter 4
Sir Tancred's armour was hotter than his own, and lighter. As his squire buckled on the older knight's sword, Ranulf felt to be wearing a burning egg-shell.
The man had kept his word, though: he had swapped armour and horse for the day. As the black knight, Sir Tancred had retired to Ranulf's tent, giving out that he was unwell. In these days of pestilence, such a message ensured he would have no visitors.
Love and Chivalry: Four Medieval Historical Romances Page 87