The Captive Maiden

by Melanie Dickerson

  He had no time to ponder it. He had a long string of knights to defeat, knights who would love nothing better than to beat him into the ground and make names for themselves by defeating the seldom-defeated Valten Gerstenberg.

  Valten resheathed his sword. His whole body felt as taut as a bowstring. He was ready.

  Gisela awoke wondering what she would wear. She had only the blue dress she’d worn the day before. Would she disgrace herself by wearing the same dress again?

  The sun was peeking through the narrow window in Margaretha’s chamber as Gisela slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Valten’s sister. But as she stood, Margaretha rolled over and opened her eyes.

  “Good morning, Gisela.” She stretched her arms over her head. “Oh, I’m so excited about today.” She pushed the blanket away and sprang out of bed. “Tournaments are wonderful, don’t you think? The servant should be bringing us some breakfast soon.” A maid entered through a side door. “There she is now! It was as if my speaking about it made our breakfast appear.” Margaretha’s cheerfulness was so unique in Gisela’s limited experience of people, she found herself raptly anticipating her next exclamation of delight.

  Adela and Kirstyn, who were sharing the chamber, awakened and sat up. When they saw the servants with the food, they climbed out of bed, rubbing their faces.

  “Come, Gisela.” Margaretha motioned her toward the small table where their repast was being laid out. “Let us eat so we can be ready when the tournament begins. We mustn’t be late.”

  While the three sisters chattered happily, Gisela tried to comply. But the buttery bread stuck in her throat. Must she wear her mother’s blue dress? What would people think of the Queen of Beauty and Love having only one suitable gown?

  She let the girls draw her into their conversation as they ate the delicious pastries, stewed fruit, and cold meat.

  Two maids entered the room and began helping Kirstyn and Adela with their dresses. Gisela glanced around but did not see her own dress.

  “Your hair is so beautiful.” Margaretha stood up from the table. “May I brush it for you?” Gisela sat on a stool while Margaretha did just that — and talked.

  The maids finished readying the two younger girls, then one said, “Miss Margaretha, are you ready to dress?”

  “Oh! I almost forgot. Gisela, I can’t wait for Valten to see you wearing this dress.”

  She hurried over to a corner of the room and gathered up a crimson dress that was draped over a trunk. “This color is perfect for you. The blue you wore yesterday was perfect too, but this red” — she held the gown up to Gisela’s chin —”goes wonderfully with your skin and hair.”

  Still holding it up, Margaretha looked as satisfied as a mama cat with her kittens. “Do you like it?”

  The dress was a deep red with intricate embroidery around the square neckline and the hem. “I can’t tell you how thankful I am.” Tears filled Gisela’s eyes.

  Margaretha didn’t seem to notice. “We had a servant girl once who was in love with a cobbler’s son, but he never paid her any notice. So I dressed her up and taught her to dance, and at the next Midsummer’s Eve festival in the Marktplatz, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.” Margaretha smiled smugly. “They’re married now and expecting their first child in a few months.”

  Gisela stared openmouthed at Margaretha, then laughed. “Margaretha the Matchmaker.” Would Margaretha be able to work her matchmaking influence on Gisela and Valten? But that was too much to hope for.

  Though this red dress was a hope builder. The enormous sleeves flared at the elbows and hung down in a point. The belt was of the same material and embroidery as the border, and the bodice looked like it might be too small.

  “What if it doesn’t fit?”

  “We’ll put it on you and see.”

  Margaretha and the servant helped pull the elaborate dress over Gisela’s long white chemise, then adjusted it into place and laced it up in the back. “It fits perfectly!” she crowed. “I thought it would. I hope you don’t mind that it was made for my mother, but she declared that red wasn’t her color and gave it to me. Red is not my color any more than it is hers, but it looks as if it was made just for you, Gisela.” Margaretha beamed as she threw open the window shutters.

  The light streamed in and made the beautiful fabric shimmer. Gisela smoothed her hands over her waist, amazed at how well the gown fit. It was by far the most beautiful and extravagant dress she’d ever worn. Mentally comparing this dress to the ones she wore every day at home made Gisela feel she had exchanged her servant rags for a princess’s ball gown.

  “I shall be sure and return it to you.”

  “Oh, no, it is my gift to you.” Margaretha looked her over from head to foot. “It has found its rightful owner.”

  Gisela threw her arms around Valten’s sister. “Thank you.”

  Margaretha hugged her tight. “But we must hurry and get ready. You are our tournament queen and you mustn’t be late. I’m not sure they can start the day’s bouts without you.”

  Gisela submitted to the ministrations of a servant, who prepared her hair in loose curls and dressed it with small braids, ribbons, and a circlet and veil. She did the same for Margaretha, who dressed in a lovely pale green dress. As soon as the servants were finished with them, she grabbed Gisela’s arm and ran out of the chamber.

  “Oh, I forgot something.” Margaretha ran back inside her chamber and came back out with a long red scarf the same color as Gisela’s dress. “Valten will want to wear this today.” She grinned at Gisela and together they ran down the steps.

  What other delights would this day hold? Or would the next twenty-four hours be quite different from the last?

  Valten and Sieger waited for their first challenger. Gisela’s red scarf dangled from where Margaretha had tied it around his arm. He liked it there.

  And he liked looking up into the center of the south gallery and seeing Gisela sitting in her special place as the queen. She was there because he chose her, and every person at the tournament knew it.

  He let his gaze stray to her again and again. The red of her dress seemed to emphasize her beauty. She was the most beautiful woman in Hagenheim.

  Hagenheim? She was the most beautiful woman he’d seen anywhere. He looked forward to being able to talk to her again.

  His first opponent came out onto the lists, a young knight from Burgundy who had distinguished himself in a few tournaments. He had chosen the sword as the weapon they would use. They waited until the marshal dropped his flag, then ambled their horses toward the middle of the empty field, holding their swords at the ready.

  Both horses held steady as they neared each other. Valten nudged Sieger forward, closing the gap between them, then struck at the young knight, clashing blades with him.

  The man fought well as Valten tested him, biding his time and hoping to wear him down. Valten would miss fighting—a little — but by stepping away from tournament life, he could do other things, and his mother and father would be happy.

  Just then, the Burgundian knight landed two quick blows; the second one Valten wasn’t quite prepared for, and he was only able to block it partially. The tip of the blade struck Valten’s shoulder.

  He’d let his mind wander, and he never did that.

  Valten began to attack, careful to stay solidly in the saddle and turn his horse instead of his body. If he got off balance he could easily fall, and falling off one’s horse placed a man at a decided disadvantage. Armor was heavy and made it difficult to get up quickly, and a knight’s opponent could dismount, stand over him, and be declared the winner before he was even able to get to his feet.

  Sieger nimbly maneuvered exactly where Valten needed him to go, and soon Valten had the upper hand, forcing his opponent to parry his every strike. The Burgundian knight was barely able to keep his blade between Valten’s sword and his own body armor. Soon, the young knight was leaning back in the saddle and his horse was backing up. Valten pressed harder until he
had his opponent twisted at an odd angle in his saddle. Quickly, Valten flipped his sword around the other knight’s blade, and though the Burgundian knight hung on to his weapon, he lost his balance and fell, landing on his side in the dirt and churned-up grass of the field.

  This was a familiar position for Valten. He dismounted and stood over the young knight, crossing his sword with the downed knight’s before he could stand up. He didn’t have a chance and shouted his surrender, as the marshals were running toward them to halt the fight and declare Valten the victor.

  Valten immediately backed off.

  One bout finished, several more to go. And Gisela was smiling and clapping her hands and looking as lovely as she had the night before when he’d danced with her.

  Gisela heaved a sigh of relief when Valten knocked his opponent off his horse. When he stood over him in triumph, she allowed herself to cheer and applaud with the rest of the crowd. The sight of him, looking valiant in his armor, his feet planted solidly, and her red scarf flying on his arm, made her heart soar, and she couldn’t have repressed her smile if she’d wanted to.

  Sitting on her “throne” in the gallery, Gisela felt honored, and also a little ridiculous. To be looked upon as the Queen of Beauty and Love was both enjoyable and awkward, but knowing she’d been chosen by Valten … that was by far the best part. And he was wearing the red scarf Margaretha had given him. She remembered how he had looked at her when she tied her blue scarf to his arm. She wished she could have tied this one on too, but she’d had to hurry to her place. The duke’s own guard had escorted her there, and he stood nearby, as though keeping watch over her.

  Gisela felt a bit lonely by herself, but she soon saw Cristyne and motioned for her to come sit with her. She wished Margaretha could be with her too, but she was with her family on the opposite side of the lists. Cristyne and her cousin, who came with her, kept up a friendly chatter that soothed the uncomfortable feeling that the entire crowd was watching her. The children in the crowd had continued to stare and make comments about her, as if she couldn’t hear them.

  Out of the corner of her eye she couldn’t help but see the jealous glares of Rainhilda and her friends, and she’d made note of where Evfemia, Irma, and Contzel were sitting. She felt, rather than saw, their eyes on her but refused to allow them to ruin the day.

  She instead focused on Valten while he was before her, and once or twice she fancied that he was looking at her too. But he kept his visor down and she couldn’t see inside the dark helm.

  Dear Lord God, I know this day can’t last, but I will remember it forever. She caught her breath at the fervency of her own feelings. But she couldn’t expect Valten to feel as much for her as she did for him. And though everyone might expect Valten to marry the lady he chose to be the Queen of Beauty and Love — hadn’t everyone expected him to choose Rainhilda, and to marry her? — no one would expect him to marry an orphaned servant.

  But he felt something for her, at least. No matter what might happen in the future, he at least thought of her now. And she had never dared dream of being noticed by him.

  No, that wasn’t true. She had dreamed.

  Valten’s second challenger rode onto the field. Friedric Ruexner was easily distinguishable by his black armor and the ugly gray skull on his surcoat and his horse’s caparison. The spike on his helmet was not crowned by feathers this time. There was no extra decoration besides the gray skull on a black background. It made the red scarf on Valten’s arm seem to stand out even more.

  Her heart beat faster. She had to swallow the nervous lump in her throat as she thought about the malice in Ruexner’s eyes when he’d looked at Valten, and the fact that the man would do anything to defeat Valten, even poison his horse.

  O God, please protect Valten from any malicious tricks. Ruexner would take any unfair advantage he could, as he did not adhere to the rules of honorable conduct that knights swore to uphold. But Valten would never violate the codes of chivalry, putting him at a disadvantage.

  Knowing people might be watching for her reaction, Gisela strove to keep herself from looking anxious. She would convey complete confidence in her champion. Making an effort to keep her hands unclenched, she stared as impassively as possible at the scene before her. She had always been good at concealing her true feelings from her stepmother and stepsisters, laughing in their faces when she wanted to cry, hiding her anger and contempt to avoid punishment, and refusing to let them see how much their cruel words hurt her. So surely she could conceal, from this rough crowd, her anxiety for Valten’s safety.

  She concentrated on breathing evenly as they all anticipated the moment the marshal would lower his flag. Valten and Sieger waited, still and quiet, while Ruexner and his mount fidgeted, his horse pawing the ground a bit and lifting his head and pricking his ears forward. Ruexner pulled on the reins with one hand and flexed his other hand around his sword hilt, while his mount whinnied nervously.

  The flag dropped, and both horses sprang forward at the same time.

  Instead of slowing when he approached, Ruexner continued to charge his horse forward. With an enraged roar, he slashed his sword downward as he reached Valten, slamming the blade onto Valten’s head and shoulder as he thundered past. Valten, unable to turn Sieger out of the way without forcing him into Ruexner’s horse, took the full force of Ruexner’s blow, but he dealt a blow of his own to Ruexner’s helmet.

  Valten, as far as Gisela could tell, was unfazed, but Ruexner’s head hung low. After a moment, he straightened and turned his horse around. As soon as he did, Valten was upon him. Ruexner raised his sword just in time to block the blow.

  The two crossed swords again and again, the sound of clanging blades ringing through the open air as they parried each the other’s strike. Please don’t let him make a mistake, Gisela prayed, clutching the arms of her chair. The fight was punctuated by Ruexner’s roars and growls as he seemed to fight out of an evil fury, a special hatred for Valten. But Valten’s experience and skill were legendary. He would defeat this foe as he had defeated many others. Please, God, let it be so.

  Valten seemed to get the upper hand, and forced Ruexner to lean away from him and turn in his saddle. If he could throw Ruexner off balance … Suddenly Ruexner slashed downward, farther than necessary. Valten pulled on Sieger’s reins to move him aside, but it was too late to prevent Ruexner from deliberately striking Valten’s horse. Sieger screamed.

  Valten took advantage of Ruexner’s lowered sword and awkward angle to thrust his blade into the small space under Ruexner’s arm that was unprotected, between his plates of armor.

  Sieger, still reacting to being struck, reared, unseating Valten as Ruexner roared with pain and rage, and both Valten and Ruexner went down.

  The crowd gasped as the two warriors landed on the ground at the same time, their horses sidestepping out of the way.

  Gisela prayed under her breath, hardly knowing what she was saying. She clasped her hands over her mouth as Valten and Ruexner scrambled to be the first to get to their feet.

  Chapter

  11

  Valten braced himself as he hit the ground, barely feeling the impact as he focused on keeping a hold on his sword, getting to his feet before Ruexner, and trying to land the first blow. He was unable to see where Ruexner had struck Sieger, but he hoped the blow had been a glancing one, and that the saddle and the fabric of his horse’s caparison had saved him from significant injury.

  Ruexner was still struggling, moving slow as he rolled over. Valten got himself to one knee and was pushing himself up with his sword when he was hit in the eyes with stinging sand.

  The dirt came through the eye slit in his visor and the air holes in his bevor, choking him and obstructing his vision. He clawed at his helmet with his free hand but it was futile; he couldn’t do anything to wipe the dirt from his eyes. He blinked, and the sand seemed to cut his eyelids.

  Forcing his eyes open, he stared through the dust, holding his sword in a defensive position. He c
ould barely see and couldn’t find Ruexner at all. Where had the devil gone? Or was he there in front of him, still trying to get to his feet, and Valten just couldn’t see him through all the grit in his eyes?

  This sort of behavior would not win over the crowd. And striking Valten’s horse was a violation of the tournament rules. He couldn’t tell Ruexner that, even if he’d wanted to, because his throat was too clogged with dust.

  He fought the urge to close his eyes, ignoring the burning and the tears streaming down his face.

  Ruexner roared, then Valten saw him running toward him, his sword high over his head.

  Valten stood still, waiting; then, just before Ruexner’s sword landed its blow, Valten lunged to the side, slashing Ruexner under his other arm.

  The man must be bleeding from under both arms. But Ruexner spun around and came after Valten again, still roaring his fury, as he struck over and over. Valten parried and landed a few blows that forced Ruexner back. Then Ruexner surprised him and struck at his left side, landing a blow on Valten’s unprotected left hand, as he wore a gauntlet only on his right. Valten ignored the pain, and while Ruexner was stretching for Valten’s left side, Valten used his foot to cut Ruexner’s feet out from under him. As the man fell, Valten’s sword wrapped around his opponent’s blade and sent Ruexner’s weapon flying. It landed in the dirt some thirty feet away.

  Valten stood over his foe, his foot on Ruexner’s chest and his sword tip under Ruexner’s chin, pushing his head back.

  “Surrender to me! And swear you’ll never challenge me again.” Valten said the last part quietly, for only Ruexner’s ears. He was sick of this man’s grudge. “Or should I dispatch you to your maker?” He deserved it, the dishonorable cur.