The Falls of Erith (17 page)

Brooke
clapped her hands in excitement and skipped back over to the merchant stall
where she had dropped her sack of candy when she attacked Edgar. Gray, of
course, had been listening to the entire conversation; leaving Edgar, she went
over to Braxton.

“Braxton,”
she said quietly. “You do not need to do this to impress my daughter. A
tournament is a serious sport. You cannot simply jump in and compete. It takes
training and preparation.”

He
blue-green eyes were soft on her. “No worries, sweetheart,” he said softly. “I
can joust in my sleep.”

“But…”
she gestured towards Edgar. “The lad is injured. We must return him to Erith.”

“We’ll
make sure he stays off of the ankle,” he told her. “He’ll be fine. Besides, he
likes a good tournament, too. Your daughter seems convinced it will heal his
injury.”

She
stared at him, realizing he was quite casual about something as serious as a
tournament. She furthermore realized that she did not want him to compete.  Men
in tournaments were often hurt. She did not want him to get hurt.

“Please
don’t do this,” she almost whispered.

He
reached up, stroking her jaw tenderly before letting his hand fall back down
again. “You needn’t worry,” he told her gently. “You’ll be greatly entertained,
I promise.”

She
did not look at all pleased. He collected her hand, kissed it, and tucked it
into the crook of his elbow.

“Shall
we go and look at more goods while we are waiting for Dallas?” he asked,
attempting to distract her.

She
shook her head. “I must tend the boy’s ankle. Is there an apothecary around
here?”

“What
for?”

“Wraps
and healing herbs.  His ankle is swelling and he is in pain.”

“Is
it that bad? Boys are fairly resilient.”

“It’s
bad, Braxton. It needs to be wrapped.”

He
looked around, trying to recall if he had seen a shop during his past visits to
this place. “I am not sure where an apothecary might be, but we shall find
one.”

Leaving
Brooke and her candy with Geoff and Norman, Gray and Braxton struck off in
search of an apothecary.  After asking a few of the merchants where such a
place might be, they found their way onto the next avenue where a small
medicament shop was wedged in between two larger merchant stalls. 

This
street was busier than the one they had just left. People bustled all about
them, quickly going about their business. Gray almost got run over, twice. The
first time was from a busy farmer that crossed her path. The second was a
knight on horseback, a big black knight with eyes like obsidian.  Though she
paid no mind to him, he paid a great mind to her. Fortunately, Braxton did not
notice; he was more concerned with getting her out of the traffic.

The
apothecary shop was so small that Braxton had to bend over to enter it; once
inside, there were odd smells and strange implements all around them. A tiny
little man sat behind a cluttered table at the far end of the shop, ignoring
them. He either hadn’t heard the pair enter or didn’t care.  As Braxton and
Gray made their way toward the old man, a fat white cat jumped into their
path.  It hissed. Gray shoved the beast away with her foot.

Braxton
went straight for the old man. “We are need of healing aids for a young boy’s
ankle,” he said. “Do you have such things?”

The
old man blinked up at Braxton, then at Gray standing behind him. He was a frail
old soul, with a long yellowed beard and most of his teeth missing. He blinked
again.

“What’s
this you say? You want a young boy?”

Braxton
shook his head. “Nay. We are in need of pain medicaments for.…”

“Ah!”
the old man threw up his hand and turned his back on them, rummaging through a
cluttered shelf. “I have something that will help your wife bear a strong young
son and crushed root that will take care of her pain in childbirth,” he yanked
forth a glass phial with dark powder. He thrust it at Braxton. “Pessaries.
Guaranteed to produce a son. You place it into your wife before coupling. It
will magnify your seed so that a strong lad is produced.”

Shocked
at the bizarre path the conversation had taken, Braxton looked at Gray. “Is
that what I really said?” he muttered to her. “I don’t recall asking for
pessaries to produce a son.”

Gray
was struggling not to laugh.  After the initial surprise wore off, she found
the senile old man absolutely hilarious. “Perhaps you should,” she whispered.
“Perhaps then we will receive pain medicaments to help a swollen ankle.”

He
wriggled his eyebrows at her, turning around just as the little man pulled
forth another phial containing a clear liquid with dark floaters on the
bottom.  The old gentleman swirled it around, mesmerized by the drift of the
fluid.

“For
the pain, my lady,” he said. “Boy infants always produce more pain than girl
infants. I do not know why. It has always been thus.”

Gray
struggled not to erupt into giggles. “Perhaps you could provide us with
medicines to produce twins. Two male children at once would be most… uh,
pleasant.”

She
had no idea why she asked, only that the entire conversation, and visit, seemed
so absurd. She wanted to see if she could somehow steer the old man towards
what they were really seeking.  True enough, the old man’s face lit up.

“Ah!”
he threw up a hand again. “I have just what you need for an aching joint. ‘Tis
over here, somewhere. It will help with the pain and reduce any swelling.”

Gray
and Braxton looked at each other. She bit her lip to fight off the laughter
while he simply shook his head.  He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling
her up against him.

“Unbelievable,”
he muttered, kissing her temple. “It worked.”

The
old man sold them a solution of willow and ergot, and a viscous cream that was
supposed to dull away any aches. It smelled strongly of mint.  He also sold
Braxton the pessaries and the clear liquid for childbirth because Braxton was
sure he could not explain to the man that he did not need such things. He just
paid for them and left.  By the time they reached the street, Gray was nearly
doubled over with laughter.

He
grinned at her. “So you think that funny, do you?”

She
tried to catch her breath. “Oh, Braxton, that was hilarious. Do you think the
old man was hard of hearing or was he just insane?”

“Probably
a little of both,” Braxton reached out and pulled her to him, stealing a
passionate kiss as they passed in an alleyway between the avenues.  They paused
a moment in the shadows between the buildings, gazing into one another’s eyes.
“On second thought, I should hang on to these pessaries. I may need them some
day.”

He
meant with her.  Her cheeks flushed again, now for an entirely different
reason.  “Perhaps,” was all she would say.

He
took her hand again, leading her out into the sunshine of the Street of
Merchants. To their left, Brooke was now sitting up on the wagon bench beside
Edgar, apparently sharing her candy with him.  Braxton lifted an eyebrow at the
sight.

“Do
you think she poisoned the candy?” he asked quietly.

Gray
shrieked softly, giving him a little pinch. “How dare you speak so cruelly of
my child. And I would not be surprised if she did.”

He
winked at her as they came upon the wagon. Edgar had his mouth stuffed with
vanilla candy and Brooke was sitting beside him quite innocently.  The young
boy looked fearful as Gray began to lay out the medicaments on the wagon bed.  

“I
will need a long strip of cloth, preferable linen,” she said to Braxton. “Do
you have something that might fit that description?”

He
shrugged. “If not, I can find one somewhere.”

A
half hour later, Edgar’s ankle was slathered with the smelly cream and bound
tightly in a strip of linen that Geoff had provided from his saddlebag.  Just
as Gray finished the final tug of the ankle wrap, Brooke caught sight of
Dallas’ return at the far end of the avenue.  She leapt off the wagon and ran
to him, dodging customers and merchants as she dashed down the road. 

Everyone,
including Braxton and Gray, turned to watch as Brooke said something to Dallas
and the knight nodded his head.  Even though Braxton hadn’t heard the words, he
had seen the response and presumed what it meant. He began to feel the familiar
excitement swell within him.

There
would be a bit of sport that afternoon.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

The
Milnthorpe tournament was only about half full. In a field open to 20 knights,
there were twelve competing. The addition of Braxton, Dallas, Geoff and Graehm
filled up the cards and bulked up the excitement.  The matches were schedule
through late morning but in an unusual move, because of Braxton’s impressive
Patins – or résumé of lineage and bouts – the field marshals had agreed to let
Braxton and his men compete against the winners of the morning rounds.  There
would only be six of them, with four going against Braxton and his knights and
the remaining two matched against each other.

Six
men at arms and Norman had taken the wagon back to Erith to unload the goods
purchased that morning and to collect their knights’ equipment, including
shields, additional swords, joust poles, pennants and banners, a list of
Patins, and additional armor.  Norman knew what Braxton and his men would need
and ably directed the men at arms to collect and load it back into the wagon. 
He even brought along two additional chargers, young animals that were still
being trained.  Not only would it be good to bring them in case one of the
other chargers broke down, but Braxton might decide to ride one of them just to
give them the experience. It had been over a year since Braxton had competed in
a tournament and the men left behind at Erith were disappointed that they did
not get to go.

A
swift wagon could make the trip between Erith and Milnthorpe in less than an
hour.  It had taken them less than an hour to return to Erith, the loading had
also taken less than an hour, and soon they were back on their way.  One of the
young chargers was acting up and Norman ended up riding the horse all the way
to Milnthorpe. 

They
met up with Braxton and the others near the southwest end of the tournament
area.  Braxton’s men immediately began unloading equipment and pitched two
large tents, both well-made shelters in Braxton’s colors of crimson, white,
green and gold. The more Gray spent time with the man and saw how he
functioned, the more she realized that Braxton de Nerra was no ordinary knight
bannerette; he had an entire world that revolved around him, in spite of the
fact he was considered a knight without property. 

Braxton
put Brooke and Edgar up in the wagon to keep them from being run down by the
men setting up tents and offloading equipment.  Strangely, they had been
sitting together eating Brooke’s candy since Gray had wrapped the boy’s ankle
with nary a harsh word between them. Gray stayed with Braxton, watching him
direct his men coming to understand a little bit more about the man and his
personality.  She noticed that he never had to say much; more often than not,
he merely pointed or directed with a short word and his men leapt to do his
bidding. He wasn’t heavy-handed, but he was firm.  She liked the way his
strong, quiet authority carried.  And he always had the right answer for any
question.

He
caught her staring at him a couple of times, a quizzical look on her face. She
would merely smile and he would smile back.  As the sun approached its zenith
and the little encampment was finally and carefully organized, the knights began
to change from the battle armor they had worn for the ride to Milnthorpe into
lighter-weight, more pristine protection.

Gray
stood in the larger tent, watching curiously as Norman unfastened all of
Braxton’s heavy, dented armor and began replacing it with nicer-appearing body
armor.

“Why
are you changing armor?” she asked the inevitable question.

He
glanced up from adjusting the hang of the breastplate. “Because this is armor
specifically designed for tournaments. It’s easier to move in, easier to joust
in, yet provides some protection from a blow.”

She
looked dubious. “I do not understand.”

He
smiled faintly at her. “The heavier stuff that I wear all of the time is made
for battle. It can be restricting, but the protection it provides is worth the
difficulty of movement. When you are in close quarters battling to the death,
you want something heavy to protect yourself with. When I am up on a charger
with a joust pole in my hand, the only protection I need is against my chest,
arms and head. The rest of it is superfluous.”  He held up the lighter weight
armor pieces. “See this? It is designed for my right arm and shoulder. See how
the section of armor here that fastens to the breast plate is large and
circular shaped, like a platter? It’s designed to not only protect my right
shoulder, which the opposition will be aiming for, but to deflect the blow
because it is shaped like bowl.  This armor is designed especially for a joust.
For the mêlée, I will wear my heavier armor.”