Queen Of Knights (21 page)

Reacting quickly, Gwendolyn pressed her knee into the charger's side and the horse moved over a foot.  This move took Morgan by surprise and he lifted the lance higher while he maneuvered his mount anew.

Then there was no time for him to readjust as their lances met.  Gwendolyn, her teeth clenched and her body ready, accepted the full force of his lance on her shield, and even as the wood met the leather, her arm moved instinctively, deflecting the blow as her lance hit the center of his shield.  This time, unlike the previous jousts, Gwendolyn did not let her lance waver mercifully, but instead tightened her arm against her side and kept the long wooden pole firm.

She heard a loud cry of denial and saw Morgan's arms fly in the air as her lance ripped his shield from its binding.  Then Morgan was flying backward, even as she passed him and slowed her mount.  Everything returned to normal, and time resumed its usual fast pace.

Turning, Gwendolyn watched Morgan rise to his feet and glare at her.  Although she did not hear his words, she read his lips plainly.

"I will have your life," he mouthed.

Then she could not watch any longer as James took the reins of the charger and led the hooded knight before King Richard.

She dismounted quickly and knelt before the king.

"Rise, Sir Eldwin, champion of the jousts, victor of the first day of our tournament," he said in a loud voice.

Gwendolyn did as she was told and faced her king.  But when she looked at him, she also saw Miles behind him, a smile on his face, his green eyes sparkling proudly.

Richard placed the scarlet sash over her head and stepped back.  "I have heard of your vows and accept them as they are meant."

Gwendolyn bowed low before Richard and then turned to the crowd.  The spectators rose to their feet and cheered.  Many women, seeing a mystery beneath the masked face, threw wildflowers at Sir Eldwin's feet when she walked toward the edge of the tournament field.  They would return tomorrow to urge on this unknown knight in his quest for victory.  The crowd now had a champion, and such a one as only the legends of their forefathers had spoken of.

Chapter Twelve

The
night of the first day's tourney was one of celebration.  The great hall was filled with people, as was the entire keep and the streets of the tent city.  Within the great hall, knights talked of the day's joust, pointing out to each other just where they had made their mistakes.  Boasting would then begin anew of how each of them would regain their prominence the next day, with bow, axe, or mace.

Richard, sitting at the High Table, joined in with his own comments, telling each of the bested knights what he had done wrong.  But, as Miles watched, he wondered if Richard was but goading each of them so that his own blood thirst could be sated.

Miles understood that for Richard, who had spent his life fighting, to sit and watch a tournament was a form of torture to the young monarch.  Yet Richard, as king, could not be a part of this tournament.

Lifting his pewter cup, Miles sipped the wine and continued to watch the knights in the room.  He wanted to be with Gwendolyn, for their time together was coming to an end.  He would soon have to honor his obligation to Richard and leave with the king for the Holy Land.  But the hour was still early, and the revelry in the hall not fully underway, and, therefore, he could not leave yet.

"Morgan is coming," whispered Arthur, covering his words by pouring Miles more wine.  Following the direction of the squire's gaze, Miles saw Morgan of Guildswood enter the great hall.

Morgan wore a short tunic with the crest of Guildswood on his breast.  Full leggings covered powerful thighs and calves, and a tong dagger rested against one hip.  Halfway across the hall his eyes met Miles's and he stopped.  Hatred sparked from Morgan's dark orbs, but rather than react to it, Miles lifted his cup in salute.

The gesture caught Morgan off guard, and he turned from Miles to speak with another knight standing near him.  Just then, Richard leaned over and called to Miles.

"Your Sir Eldwin has caught the people's fancy," remarked Richard.

"Their fancy?" Miles questioned, his eyes still on Morgan.

"All I have heard about since the end of this day's fighting has been about your knight.  The people love this mysterious man.  But Miles," Richard said, and the tone of his voice forced Miles's eyes from Morgan's, "will he win tomorrow, and the next day?"

"I believe Eldwin will be the victor when the tourney ends, Sire," Miles replied in a low voice.

"Morgan is not one to let it happen easily," came the deep voice of William Marshall as he took the seat between Miles and Richard.

"I have faith in Eldwin," Miles declared.

"You must.  Wasn't that one of your squires attending him?" Richard asked.

"Yes, Sire.  I have given James over to Sir Eldwin's service."

"Why have I never seen or heard of this knight before?"Marshall asked suddenly.  His dark blue eyes probed Miles's face intensely.

Miles knew he was being tested by both men.  "His father and mine were friends.  My father made a deathbed promise that he would see to the young boy's training.  But before he could, his uncle claimed him and there was nothing my father could do."

"A petition to the king?" Marshall queried.

"No, sir; the uncle took the boy to northern Wales.  We could not go after him at the time; King Henry forbade it.  It seemed your father," Miles said pointedly to Richard, "had plans for that area of Wales and did not want my father to do anything that would hold him back."

"That sounds familiar," Richard muttered.

"Then how did he come to your service?" Marshall asked, again proving that he never let anything deter him from his goal.

"Five years ago, his uncle died.  Eldwin escaped and made his way to Radstock.  There, he came to me and told me who he was.  From that day on, he trained as a knight as my father had promised," Miles finished.

"But why the oath?" Richard asked, drawn into the story as only one who had felt the restraining hand of battling guardians could.

"Sire, it seems Eldwin had a very powerful vision, and because of that he took his oath."

"He must be strong-willed," Marshall muttered.

"Sir Eldwin is more than that," Miles shot back, holding Marshall's challenging stare with his own.

"No matter what he is, and no matter if he wins the tournament or not, I shall knight him for this day's victory alone, if need be," Richard said.

Miles held his face expressionless, but felt relief.  Richard believed the story, and that was what mattered.  Yet Marshall's face still held some doubt.

"No, Sire.  Eldwin will not accept that.  He wants to prove himself and earn his reward."

"He is prideful," Richard said after a moment.

"Sir Eldwin is as idealistic as he is good.  He will win," Miles declared.

"He will not!" came the coarse voice of Morgan who had come to the High Table unobserved by those in conversation.

Miles gazed into Morgan's sneering features and felt a cold chill.  He shook his head slowly and insultingly turned back to Richard.  "As I have said, my lord," Miles repeated, "Sir Eldwin will be victorious."

"Or dead!" Morgan stated as his hand went to the hilt of his dagger.  Miles refused to look at the knight, and kept his eyes level with the king's.

"You fought well today, Morgan of Guildswood.  There is no shame in losing to Eldwin," Richard told the angered knight.

"It was but a trick.  He swerved his horse at the last moment," Morgan defended.

"Do you think a Saracen would do elseways?" William Marshall cut in.  Morgan, again caught off guard, glared at Marshall.

"I would expect such from them, but not from a Frankish knight, as they call us."

"Was not your lance held low?" Miles asked in a mild voice.

"Do not anger me, Delong, or there will be yet more blood spilled!"

Miles had trained himself to hold his anger in check, but Morgan's brash threat broke his will power and a sudden rage took hold of him.  Standing quickly, he grasped the handle of his dagger and faced Morgan across the wide table.

"If it's blood you hunger for, perhaps you should drink of your own," Miles spat, drawing his dagger.  Morgan's blade was out in a flash.  A sudden silence fell in the hall, as all eyes focused on the two knights.  Before anything could happen, Marshall grabbed Miles, pinning his arms to his sides.

"There will be no fighting among my men!" decreed Richard, who stood, glaring at both Miles and Morgan.  "May I suggest, Sir Morgan, that you save your energy for the field.  You have points to regain."

Shaking with anger, Morgan bowed to Richard.  "As you say, Sire." Morgan sheathed his blade and walked from the great hall with every eye following his exit.

"That was stupid," Marshall chided.

"The man angers me," Miles replied after he sheathed his dagger.

"You took something from him; he seeks revenge.  I hope your Sir Eldwin does not fall victim to it," Richard said.

"Or to the women who have besieged his tent," Marshall added with a laugh.

"Besieged?" asked Miles, taken aback by the old knight's words.

“Aye, it seems the bards are already telling the tale of the masked knight.  He is a romantic figure to all the maidens, and to quite a few who are far from that age."

Smiling, Miles shook his head slowly.

"Do you know something we should?" Marshall asked when he saw Miles's strange reaction.

"No, I find it amusing that with all the men who seek the maidens' charms, they should chase the only one whom they cannot have."

"He has taken a vow of chastity, also?" Richard asked, incredulously.

"Hardly, Sire, but when in tournament, he reserves his strength for his opponents."

"Perhaps a few of these men should learn from that example," Marshall said with a barking laugh as he swept his hand around the room.  Miles and Richard both joined in his laughter as they saw various knights fondling whatever women came within reach.

A moment later, Miles called Arthur to him and whispered orders.  Arthur quickly departed, and within half an hour, Miles bid his king and Marshall good-night.

"We look forward to seeing your knight upon the field tomorrow," Richard called in parting.

Miles left the great hall and walked directly to the tents of Radstock.  Twenty feet from the tent he froze.  The path was five deep in people, and most were the peasant women of whom Marshall had spoken.  They stood patiently, awaiting just a glimpse of their new champion, and more than one lewd comment reached Miles's ears.

Taking a deep breath, Miles headed into the crowd.  The insignia of his rank opened a path and, without looking at the people, he went-straight to the tent's opening where Arthur and James stood guard at the entrance.  When Miles reached it, they opened the flap and let him in, following quickly behind.

When he stood in the center, Gwendolyn rose and embraced him.  "What do they want of me?" she asked when they parted.

"You are their hero today.  They just want to see you again.  Put on your surcoat and mask."

With her mask in place, Gwendolyn paused by her equipment.  She didn't know why, but some inner sense warned her to take the sword.  Carrying it unsheathed, she stood next to Miles.

James and Arthur went first, and then Miles.  Finally, Gwendolyn stepped into the night, and as she did, a loud cry rang out.  Her throat tightened when she surveyed the crowd.  Slowly, she bowed her head.  The name of Sir Eldwin rose from fifty throats, and Gwendolyn lifted the silver sword high.

Satisfied that their hero had come out to greet them, many in the crowd began to leave.  Miles turned to Gwendolyn, smiling as he motioned the squires to open the tent's entrance.

When she turned, Gwendolyn's senses flared in warning and, lifting the sword, she spun around at the ready.  The whistling of an arrow sounded loud in her ears, and her hand, guided without her realizing it, moved in a blur.

The sound of an arrowhead hitting metal echoed distinctly.  Everyone froze as a feathered shaft fell to the ground.  Then a new cheer rang out, for those who had witnessed Sir Eldwin's deflection of the arrow by the sword cried out a new belief of their champion.  Miles, reacting quickly, ushered Gwendolyn and the squires inside.

"Why?" Gwendolyn asked after she took off her mask.  "Morgan." Miles spat and related the tale of what had happened in the great hall between him and Morgan.

"He will pay for this," Gwendolyn swore.

"No!" Miles stated fiercely.

"He tried to kill one of us," Gwendolyn whispered.

"Not one of us—you.  But he failed.  Gwendolyn, how did you know?"

"I didn't.  I sensed something, and it happened.  Miles, I can't explain it.  My arm seemed to move of itself."

"Arthur, I want three of my knights posted outside ...Guy, Poole, and Talen.  Tell them what has happened, and to be on the watch for any of Guildswood's men.  James, stand the first watch until the men arrive.  Then I want you and Arthur to sleep in my tent.  Answer no summons except for mine," he ordered.

When the squires were gone, Miles held Gwendolyn's hand tightly.  "Do not let this disturb you; you need your concentration for tomorrow."

"You were wrong," she told him when the squires had gone.

"Wrong?"

"The arrow-it was not meant for me, it was meant for you."

"No."

"Yes.  Miles, if you were killed, Morgan would be free to take me from Radstock.  He would petition Richard and show prior claim.  He would also take the lands."

"I think not."

"It is so.  Miles, I did not stop that shaft.  I heard it and my arm moved.  But I did not do anything!"

"Your instincts are good," Miles argued, choosing to ignore the meaning of her words.

Gwendolyn sighed and shrugged her shoulders.  "Miles, I .  .  ." But she could not go on.

"Come, let us sleep together.  You must rest and be fresh for the morrow."

"Yes, my lord," Gwendolyn replied.  And in that moment she realized Miles had known the destination of the shaft all along.

The morning of the second day of the tournament was as cloudless as the first.  The air was crisp, and the scents of the cooking fires chased away the smells of the overcrowded streets.

Within the tent of Sir Eldwin, James was dressing the knight for the tournament while Arthur checked each shaft that Gwendolyn would shoot.

"It will be a long day," Miles warned as he began to explain to Gwendolyn what she would be facing today.  "They say the archery will be the fiercest in years.  Richard has once again shown his greed and opened the competition to all, even peasants.  If a peasant wins, he will gain a gold purse, but they have also paid dearly."

"You have taught me the longbow's use quite well," Gwendolyn replied confidently.

"I speak of this only because I want you to know that if you do not win, it has no effect on the tournament as a whole."

"I shall do my best."

"It is this afternoon that worries me," Miles admitted.