The Lady in the Tower (17 page)

Damien skittered sideways and I realized I was nervous. But then the flag dropped and there was no more time to think about it. Damien plunged forward into his usual wild gallop. As we thundered down the lists, I lifted my lance high as I had watched my cousin do, and aimed for Stanton’s shoulder. I tried to steady my steed so that I could aim more carefully, but he fought the bit, careering on in the uncontrolled way he was used to.

I could see Stanton aiming low, and I guessed he would go for what he thought was my wounded left side. All my concentration was focused on getting Damien under control. There was nothing I could do to avoid Stanton’s lance. I gritted my teeth and braced myself to take the impact. As his blow struck me, his lance shattered, and knocked the wind out of me. I felt no pain at first. My own blow glanced off his shoulder with my lance intact. No points for me.

I fought for breath and hauled on Damien’s reins, bringing him almost onto his haunches. I needed air, but I dared not lift my visor. Matthew was at my side, muttering something.

‘What?’ I gasped, irritated, once I had succeeded in drawing air into my lungs once more.

‘Withdraw,’ he was saying in a low undertone. ‘You cannot take another blow like that one.’

‘I will not let him strike me again,’ I replied, still breathless.

He was right. Another blow like the last could put me in real danger. Perhaps I had been out of my mind to pit myself against so skilled a rider. It was done, however, and I would see it through.

I wheeled Damien about and faced my opponent once more. I could feel pain spreading through my side, where Stanton’s lance had struck me. ‘It is only bruising,’ I told myself inside the darkness of the helmet. ‘I have suffered worse during training.’

I could already feel Gregory’s horse gathering himself beneath me for a second charge. I took a firmer grip on the reins and fought to gain mastery over him. I wished above all else that I was riding Beau and not this brute. He had no finesse.

The flag dropped and we surged forward once more. Damien’s hooves thundered on the turf and the crowd was going wild. I rode him hard up to the bit, not allowing him to get his head. Then I focused on Stanton. He was powering towards me, aiming for my left side again. I expected that.

I took careful aim at the very centre of Stanton’s breastplate. It would have been a fine hit, but at the last minute, Damien, fighting the bit, veered to one side, and my lance went wide. Stanton, deprived of the body blow he had been aiming for, thrust his lance as I passed, shattering it on my arm instead. It snagged in a joint of the armour, penetrating it, and ripped my sleeve underneath. I felt a red-hot, searing pain and gasped. I brought Damien to a halt at the end of the lists. Gritting my teeth, I pulled the splinter from my arm. It was red with my blood.

‘Are you all right, my la … sir?’ asked Matthew, appearing beside me. I nodded, afraid to speak in case anyone but him heard my voice. There was blood oozing from my arm and the injury throbbed unpleasantly. I guessed it would hurt far more later on. For now it was a question of keeping going.

I could see people standing up in the stands, shouting and clapping, and I sensed that excitement was running high. Stanton was now in the lead, two points to none. I imagined the whole crowd was now expecting him to be victorious. I was angry at my failure. It was unlikely now that I could defeat him. But I could try.

It was time for the final gallop. And this time Damien was going to obey me.

‘Do you understand that, horse?’ I hissed at him. ‘This time you do as I tell you.’

I pulled him round to face the lists once more. I could see Stanton waiting, watching me from the far end. I imagined how he must already be counting the tournament his own. Perhaps he was even already planning when to take his ‘reward’ from me.

I felt simultaneously a soaring confidence and a nervous dread. They were so blended I scarce knew where one ended and the other began. I faced Stanton once more, and this time I allowed myself to feel the exhilaration of confronting him. I was so much better with a lance than with words. It was time to put all those hours of practice to the test.

The flag dropped. Stanton thundered towards me. I urged Damien forward, but held him under control with all my strength. He fretted as I kept him firmly to a steady canter, but this time he obeyed me.

I took my aim carefully as Stanton approached. I ignored his lance and lowered my own a fraction. At the last moment I spurred Damien onwards. He leapt forwards suddenly. It took Stanton by surprise. His aim wavered fractionally and his lance glanced harmlessly off my shoulder, remaining intact. I barely felt it.

I held my aim with all my strength and concentration. It caught Stanton square in the stomach. So central was the blow that he could not roll away from it. The impact on my injured arm was tremendous, but I held on grimly, and Stanton was knocked back, clean out of the saddle.

I did not see him fall, for I was past him in a thundering of hoof beats and flying turf, but as I turned at the top of the lists and looked back, I saw him, one foot caught in the stirrup, being dragged along the ground, his attendants running to him.

I raised my lance in triumph and shook it at the screaming crowd. People were standing up, applauding and shouting. I rode a lap of honour—I could not resist it. This was my moment of glory. I bowed to the king and to the stands. I waved to the crowd. I even singled out Feeble Phoebe for a special bow. I spared a swift glance for my opponent. I could see him being helped to his feet, so clearly he was alive.

Well-wishers were running towards me to help me from my horse. Abruptly, I was forced to leave the field and make for my cousin’s tent. Matthew was waiting at the far end of the lists and ran beside me to the tent. I flung Damien’s reins into his hands and crashed down to the ground, the weight of the armour making me land heavily. I was surprised how weak my legs felt. They shook uncontrollably beneath me.

‘Let no one come in!’ I ordered Matthew, and ducked under the flap into my cousin’s tent. Gregory tried to raise himself on one elbow, a look of painful enquiry on his pale face.

‘You are tournament champion, cousin,’ I announced triumphantly, flinging down my gauntlets and tearing off my helmet. I took a gulp of cooler air and beamed down at Gregory. ‘And you win Stanton’s horse into the bargain.’

‘No,’ breathed my cousin, and fell back. There was no joy in his face.

‘Are you not delighted?’ I cried. ‘You should be. You rode brilliantly. In the final run in any case. Cousin, why do you ride such a brute?’

As I spoke, I removed my tunic and began stripping off my armour. I fumbled frantically with the straps and cast each piece into an untidy pile as I freed myself from it. ‘Everyone’s going to be rushing here to congratulate you,’ I explained. ‘I need to make myself scarce.’ I removed my breastplate and chain shirt, and had just bent over to undo my leg straps when we heard raised voices outside.

‘You will let me in
at once
,’ I heard Maria order Matthew in a voice of cold fury. ‘I know she’s in there.’ In defiance of his anguished protests, the tent flap lifted and Maria stepped inside. I straightened up, horribly aware of my leg armour and bloodied shirt. From the corner of my eye, I saw Gregory cover his face with his hands.

Maria looked around, taking in the scene, and I could see comprehension dawning fast.

‘
Well
,’ she cried in scandalized tones, which had none of her usual insincerity. ‘This
is
unexpected.’

Both Gregory and I froze, appalled. Our deception had been discovered.

As Maria stood there staring at us, a triumphant smile curling her lips, the cheering continuing in the distance, I heard Sir Walter’s voice approaching the tent. He was loudly praising his nephew’s skills to some unseen companion. Any second now, he would walk in here and all hell would break loose.

Maria seemed to have heard him too, and the sound of his voice seemed to bring her to a decision.

‘Put your clothes back on if you have them,’ she ordered me brusquely. ‘And make all look right. I’ll delay Sir Walter if I can.’ So saying, she turned and ducked back out of the tent. Outside, we heard her rap out an order to Gregory’s squire in a fierce undertone and then greet Sir Walter in her usual voice.

‘Eleanor, move!’ Gregory urged me. I realized I was still standing frozen with shock, struggling to grasp what had happened. Surely Maria was not
helping
us? I came to my senses when Gregory threw my gown at me and then winced in pain at the movement. I hurriedly stripped off the rest of my armour and borrowed raiment, before binding my injured arm in a clean handkerchief. My arm was throbbing with pain and hampered my movements. Ignoring it, I began to drag my kirtle and gown back on. Meanwhile, Matthew ducked into the tent and helped Gregory to sit up and put his shirt back on.

‘Here,’ I said, falling on my knees beside Gregory and winding a bloodied cloth, from the pile the doctor had used, around his right arm.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked weakly.

‘You have a wounded arm, you fool,’ I muttered. ‘Gregory, listen. You scored no points in the first two runs. Stanton broke his lance on your body and then your arm. Then you unhorsed him in the final round. Do you understand?’ Gregory nodded. He was pale, and his brow glistened with sweat from the effort of sitting up. I doubted he could play the part.

I was replacing my French hood when the tent flap opened and my father and three companions entered. Maria followed, and gave me a relieved glance as she saw that all appeared well.

‘By God, Hungerford, that was the best I’ve ever seen you ride!’ roared Sir Walter. ‘We thought Stanton had you for sure until that final run. Well done!’

He grasped Gregory awkwardly by his left hand and pumped his arm up and down. Gregory gasped, and Sir Walter released him at once.

‘Has a surgeon been to you?’ he asked. ‘How bad is it?’ He indicated Gregory’s injuries with a sweep of his arm. I held my breath, praying that Gregory would not give anything away.

‘Not since the last bout, Uncle,’ said Gregory, with an effort. ‘My left side was struck afresh and troubles me somewhat.’

‘And your arm? I saw you took a nasty blow to that.’ Sir Walter pointed at my clumsily tied bandage on my cousin’s arm. Gregory blushed.

‘Oh, it’s less than nothing, sir,’ he responded truthfully.

I let out an involuntary sigh of relief. It drew my father’s eye upon me at once.

‘What are you doing here, girl?’ he asked sharply. Maria intervened swiftly:

‘Poor Eleanor was so concerned for her cousin that she rushed to tend him at the first opportunity,’ she said.

‘Well, well,’ responded my father impatiently. ‘Very touching I’m sure. But it is hardly proper for you to be here. You’ll kindly remember who you are betrothed to, madam. Not that you are to go running to
his
tent either,’ he added hastily. ‘Maria, take her off, will you?’

‘Perhaps we should all leave Hungerford to the care of his squire,’ suggested Maria tactfully.

‘Yes, very well,’ agreed Sir Walter. He turned back to Gregory. ‘Well done. You’ve made it a Hungerford victory all round, damn me, so you have. I couldn’t be prouder if I’d won it myself. Get yourself dressed for the prize giving now, there’s a good lad. We can’t keep the king waiting.’ So saying, he strode out of the tent. We followed. As I ducked out of the tent, I looked back and gave my cousin a quick wink. The look he gave me in return was anything but friendly. Outside the tent, Maria quickly straightened my hood and adjusted my gown slightly.

‘That went well enough, did it not?’ she asked lightly. ‘I believe they suspected nothing.’

I raised my eyes to hers.

‘Thank you, Maria,’ I said. ‘I don’t know why you chose to help us, but … ’

‘Hush, child,’ said Maria, giving me a quick hug. ‘Think nothing of it. If only you could bring yourself to trust me more, you would not be so surprised. I desire only to be your friend.’ She patted my cheek, and then tucked her arm in mine and guided me back towards the lists. I walked beside her feeling thoroughly confused. It seemed Maria was most truly kind after all. Perhaps I had wronged her all along. I had been blinded by her unfortunate manner and the affectations which hid her good heart. I reproached myself as we walked, but Maria interrupted me.

‘As for what you just did, child, I think the less you tell me the better. But was it truly you we all watched on Hungerford’s horse? I would never have guessed it.’

‘I learned jousting with my brother Walter, ma’am.’ I felt I owed her this confidence at least.

‘How … shocking,’ was her comment. ‘Please do take care that no one but me discovers your secret. You can trust me, of course. But others would take a very dim view of it, I fear.’

‘I shall not boast,’ I replied.

‘And how is your arm?’ Maria asked. ‘It must be very painful?’

‘I don’t mind the pain,’ I told her. ‘But it is still bleeding and I’m afraid that the blood might soak into my sleeve and show.’