The Fallen One (8 page)

    
“Here,” Sebastian
pushed into the room and laid the equipment out on the hacked-up, sturdy work
table that was nearly in the center of the stall. “This is all of it, Mat.
 
There is almost a complete set of armor plus
various smaller weapons, tunics, banners, and based on the missive regarding de
Lovern’s father, we could have one of the priests at Lanercost Priory draw up a
bill of Patins. You will need it to enter the tournament.”

    
Mathias, finished
feeling sorry for himself for the moment, began rummaging through the armor and
pieces of mail, all of which had been left by the unfortunate de Lovern.
 
He could feel the familiar excitement filling
his veins with thoughts of competitive combat and the thrill of the joust.
 
It seemed like forever ago when last he
competed.

    
“We will have to pay
the priest well for his cooperation,” Mathias said as he held up the section of
shoulder armor for inspection. “We will also have to create an entire lineage
for Banbury. Da, what do you know of the Earl of Banbury?”

    
Justus was still
entrenched in their conversation, his heart still heavy and his mood morose.
“Not much,” he said, watching his boys rifle through the possessions of the
dead knight. “I think he is related to Wallingford.”

    
Mathias’ head came up.
“Viscount Wallingford? He fought with Edward. If I recall correctly, he was
killed during the Despenser conflict. I was a fairly young knight at the time
but I seem to remember hearing that.”

    
Justus nodded slowly;
for some reason, he couldn’t look his sons in the eye. Perhaps it was fear for
what they were planning on doing; whatever the case, he kept his eyes on the
table with the armor on it. “I believe so,” he said. “The patins should have
Wallingford on it somehow. I also seem to remember hearing there was a de
Braose in the family.”

As the storm whistled outside and their
three horses stirred restlessly in their nearby stalls, as the smithy stall
also had a small stable attached, Mathias and Sebastian bent over the items to
see what was serviceable.
 
They began
pulling things a part, organizing them, and eventually Justus joined them with
a large lantern with oil from pressed fruit pits.
 
Soon enough, he was looking through the
equipment, too, to see what needed to be repaired before Mathias took his life
in his hands and entered the tournament set for sunrise in two days.

They didn’t have much time.

CHAPTER SIX

“How fortunate that the rain has moved on,”
Cathlina said, shielding her eyes as she gazed up into the brilliant morning
sky. “Father, do you suppose we will make it before the events begin?”

Astride his fat Belgian charger that was
hairy to the point of distraction, Saer surveyed the sunrise as well.
 
Clad in his battle armor, he discovered it
was too tight that morning as he had put it on, resulting in a foul mood.
 
Everything either cut into his flesh or
chaffed. He thought someone one had switched armor with him, not wanting to
admit he had grown too fat to wear it.
 
Regardless, he had squeezed into it and was now coming to regret that
decision.

“Aye,” he said, rubbing his irritated eyes.
“The morning will be spent on men dressing and preparing their weapons. We
should see the mêlée by the nooning meal, and that will more than likely last
until sun set.”

“Will you compete, Father?” Roxane asked.

Before Saer could reply, his wife Rosalund
responded with a rude snort. “He will
not
,”
she said firmly. “He will remain with his family where he belongs.
 
Tournaments are for younger men, not old men
who have seen better days.”

Saer mumbled a curse under his breath at
his mouthy wife.
 
As most marriages were,
it had been an arranged one between him and the Lady Rosalund de Ferrers almost
twenty-two years ago.
 
It had never been
a love match. Sometimes he tolerated her, sometimes he actually liked her, but
more often than not he couldn’t stand to be around the abrasive and foolish
woman.

Rosalund was, oddly enough, a good mother
to their girls, although he secretly resented the fact that she had never
produced a surviving son.
 
The one she
had given birth to when Abechail had been two years old had died within a few days.
 
Since then, no more babies and no more heirs,
and that fact had prompted Saer to act recklessly and have a son with one of
the serving women.
 
Rosalund had found
out and sent the boy and his mother away.
 
These days, Saer felt rather hollow and numb to everything, his family
included. It was a sad way to exist.

“I do not expect to compete,” he said,
making sure he got the last word in against the wife. “I have not done so in
years and have no desire to make an easy target for younger, faster men.”

“But you have more experience, Papa,”
Cathlina insisted. “You do not need to be swift when you have more experience.”

Saer turned to smile at his middle child;
he did feel something for Cathlina, perhaps the only daughter he had that was
worth something in his mind.
 
Roxane was
plain and demanding while Abechail would more than likely not live to see
adulthood. That was what the physics said, in any case. He would feel sad when
he thought about that prediction but then the numbness would swallow him up
again.

The women were riding in a carriage behind him,
a fine vehicle with cushioned seats and an open cab. They rarely used it, as
Rosalund would only allow it to be used when she was traveling, so it was in
excellent condition.
 
Rosalund and
Abechail rode in on the bench facing forward while Roxane and Cathlina sat on
the bench facing backwards, but Cathlina had a difficult time remaining in her
seat and was on her knees facing forward, looking over the back of the seat and
down the road.
 
She was thrilled with the
trip, knowing she would see Mathias at some point. That was the only true
reason she had wanted to come.

But it was a trip she almost didn’t
make.
 
For her disobedience riding to
town alone, her father had threatened not to take her to the tournament but she
knew he would relent; watching the back of his bald head, she knew her father
would refuse her nothing if she truly wanted it.
 
She wondered how he was going to accept the
fact that she wanted Mathias.

Saer knew she had ridden into town to
deliver some treats to thank the men that saved her and Abechail from the
one-eyed attacker, and the truth was that he was not in complete disagreement
with her actions. He was, however, furious that she had gone alone, but he
didn’t imagine why.
 
All Cathlina would
tell him was that she didn’t want to be a bother and that she could travel
faster alone. He had thought it a bunch of nonsense. Any mention of Mathias had
been in context with his brother, so Saer was never the wiser as to Cathlina’s
true motives.

She intended to keep it that way.
 
Regaining her seat next to Roxane, who was holding
a small bronze hand mirror to check her careful hairstyle, Cathlina fussed with
her clothing, hoping she looked attractive enough to garner Mathias’
attention.
 
While her mother and elder
sister were dressed in complicated surcoats and kirtles, Cathlina was dressed
in a pale blue surcoat of simple design.
 

The snug bodice had a rather low neckline,
displaying her white cleavage, while long sleeves held tight her arms and
served as a showcase for her slender shoulders and graceful neck.
 
The waistline was dropped and the skirt
voluminous and belled, trailing behind her slightly as she walked.
 
Although she had a heavy cloak should the
rain and cold return, she wore a white shawl made from the finest linen that draped
elegantly around her shoulders and arms, and her shiny dark hair had been
pulled into an elaborate braid that cascaded over her left shoulder.

The truth was that she looked utterly
divine, outshining Roxane in her complex red and yellow surcoat and a matching
barbette
hat, which was a round hat with
a chinstrap made of delicate and soft material.
  
Beneath it, Roxane’s frizzy brown hair had
been brushed and pinned and smoothed with grease to keep it from getting out of
control.
 
It was difficult being the
older, and plainer, sister, and Roxane was very good at being a martyr at it.
She liked to make Cathlina feel guilty for the simple fact that she had been
born beautiful.

But Cathlina wasn’t thinking about her
petty sister at the moment. She was thinking about Mathias and how she could slip
away from the festivities to visit him at his stall.
 
She had an excuse, of course, and that was to
collect the basket she had brought the treats in, and she was positive he would
be very busy today of all days.
 
Perhaps
he would only give her a few moments of his time; perhaps he would only give
her a smile and a word.
 
Whatever he gave
her, she would take it and gladly. She had thought of nothing else but Mathias
for the past two days.

As she sat there and daydreamed over the
tall, dark smithy, the carriage bumped down the road towards Brampton.
 
The ground was heavily saturated from the
rains that had pummeled the land for the past two days, miraculously cleared up
before dawn.
 
Even now, birds sailed
against the blue expanse, searching for a meal, as the party from Kirklinton
Castle kept up a clipped pace.
 

Saer, Beauson, and Dunstan were at the head
of the group while ten men at arms followed the carriage, also driven by two
soldiers.
 
The road was relatively empty
for the most part but as they drew closer to town, the traffic picked up.
 
People were coming in from Carlisle to the
west and points as far east as Hexham.
 
The ladies in the carriage grew more excited as the traffic increased,
straining to see all of the lords and ladies in their fine clothing.
 
With the rains gone, it seemed that everyone
wanted to be out and about.
 
The closer
they drew to town, the more it became a parade.

Entering the city limits, people were
everywhere.
 
Abechail ended up on
Cathlina’s lap, both girls watching the crowds curiously.
 
A party of nobles arrived with men in silks
and a fine lady in a tall wimple walking two skinny dogs on gold leashes.
 
They saw another fine lady with a pet rabbit
in her arms, and still another with a fat white goat who road on the horse with
its master. It was all quite thrilling and Abechail began to lament the fact
that she did not have a pet.

It was truly a day to see and be seen, but
as the sun advanced in the sky, so did the temperature. The roads were quickly
drying out and the muddy puddles all over town were starting to evaporate, but
along with the evaporation came the smells of human habitation and dirty
animals.
 
When they reached the point on
the avenue that seemed to be down-wind from the town’s sludge pit, a big gusty
breeze blew the foul stench right across their path. Abechail put her fingers
to her nose.

“The smell!” she exclaimed, looking at
Cathlina. “It smells so awful!”

Cathlina agreed, putting her fingers to her
nose, too. “Papa, are we almost there?”

Saer could see that they had set up the
tournament field to the north side of the village where temporary lists had
been constructed.
 
Bright red banners on
tall poles were snapping in the wind, announcing the location of the games and
drawing people towards the area like moths to the flame.
 
He nodded to Cathlina’s.

“Up ahead,” he said, pointing. “We shall be
there shortly.”

Cathlina and her sisters ended up on their
knees on the seats, straining to catch a glimpse of the tournament field and
the banners. They entered the town from the road leading northeast, following
the flow of people but veering off towards the northwest once they permeated
the edge of the village.
 
Saer wanted to
circumvent the crowds that were herding towards the main entrance, taking his
party through a less-crowded section of the berg and down a couple of the narrow,
cramped streets.

It was mostly residential here, away from
the merchants and heart of town.
 
It was
also away from Mathias’ stall near the town square.
 
Cathlina was no longer looking forward but
gazing back, now watching the road to the town center fade from view.
  
When it was gone completely, she sadly
turned away, wondering now when she would have the opportunity to see Mathias.

As she formulated a plan, Saer took his
party off of the avenue when they passed through a row of small homes and onto
some open land.
 
The sun had worked its
magic and dried up the overly-wet grass and Saer called a halt and commanded
that their two tents be set up.
 
There
were a few other parties around at this end of town, setting up small
encampments, and Saer noticed a very big one almost immediately.
 
He made his way over to the carriage.

“Look,” he said, pointing to a series of
tents with a big crimson and gold standard flying over them. “If I am not mistaken,
that is the Earl of Carlisle.”

“Cousin Tate?” Rosalund strained to catch a
glimpse. “If this is true, then we must go and greet him immediately.”

Saer couldn’t disagree. He grasped her arm
to steady her as she climbed from the carriage. “I should have known he would
come,” he said. “This tournament is practically in his garden, it ‘tis so
close.
 
I cannot recall the last time I
saw the man.”

Rosalund was straightening her gown, her
eyes on the encampment in the distance. “At Christmas,” she reminded her
forgetful husband. “He extended an invitation for us to come to Carlisle Castle
and we did.”

Saer nodded at the memory. “Ah, yes,” he
said, tugging at the mail that was chaffing his arm pit.
 
“I remember now.
 
I also remember there were quite a few children
running about. He has quite a brood now, does he not?”

“Five children,” Rosalund said, distracted
as she motioned her daughters out of the carriage. “Come along, my girls.
 
We must greet Cousin Tate.”

Roxane climbed out, fussing with her hair,
as Cathlina took Abechail in hand and gently helped her out.
 
Abechail stumbled on the uneven ground but
Cathlina steadied her.
 
The gentle breeze
blew her pale blue skirt about, and the white shawl waving softly against her
body as she straightened out Abechail’s simply green surcoat with the white
ruffles around the neckline.

“You look very lovely today,” she told her
little sister. “Are you excited for the games?”

Abechail nodded, curiously inspecting their
surroundings. “I have never been to a tournament, you know.”

“I know.”

“Do men really try to spear each other?”

“Who told you that?”

“Rainey,” she replied, referring to their
cook’s young son. “He said men drive big daggers into each other!”

Cathlina grinned. “He was also the one who
told you that knights cannot see out of their visors.”