A Perfect Knight

She looked away, controlling her feeling of revulsion towards the men as she saw the Queen beckoning to her. Crossing the room to Eleanor’s side, she made her curtsy and, taking up a lyre, began to sing for the company. She ought to have gone to de Froissart as Marguerite had, she thought regretfully. It would have been polite and kind after his courtesy to her, but his declaration that morning had made her a little afraid of him. As a courtly lover she found him acceptable, but as a husband…no, that was impossible. Alayne sighed. She was not sure that she would ever find any man acceptable to her in that way.

Yet even as she denied it, the features of the English knight came to her mind. She recalled the way his eyes had seemed to devour her in the garden the previous night, his expression in part angry, in part—what? Perhaps hungry was the best way to describe the look he had given her. She could not be sure. She knew only that she had not felt the fear or revulsion that came to her when other men looked at her that way.

There was something that drew her to Ralph de Banewulf, though she was afraid to admit it, even to herself. It could not be that she had begun to fall in love with him—could it?

No, no, she was sure that she could never love, so what was it that caused such restlessness in her, making it almost impossible for her to sleep? Why was it that she had such fevered dreams, dreams in which the English knight took her in his arms and kissed her so sweetly that it made her whole body sing?

Sunday was for devotion and Alayne attended mass four times in the royal chapel. At all other times there was feasting, music and dancing in the halls of the palace, but on the Lord’s day the courtiers were expected to be sober and respectful.

The ladies spent most of the day at their devotions and their needlework, while the men often went out riding. Alayne suspected that they sometimes found taverns in the villages where they could drink and sport with the wenches, though, of course, some of the knights were genuinely devout and refrained from sport of any kind.

It was after supper, which the Queen had taken privately rather than in the hall, that she first heard the whisper from Marguerite.

‘They say that Sir Ralph asked her Majesty’s permission to keep a vigil in the chapel last night,’ she told Alayne as they were going up to their chamber. An early night had been decreed so that all might be ready to gather on the common at first light for the tourney to begin. ‘It seems he had vowed never to fight in such a tourney again, and the priest granted him absolution of his vow, his penance to lie prostrate before the cross all night.’

‘I wonder why he took such a vow,’ Alayne said, her brow wrinkling in thought. ‘Do you think he had committed some great sin?’

‘My father thinks him a good man,’ Marguerite told her. ‘There are bound to be rumours, of course, but I cannot think him capable of evil. And he is devoted to his wife’s memory. She died suddenly, they say, of a fever.’

‘I thought she died after giving birth to her child?’

‘My father told me she had recovered, but then her illness returned suddenly. Sir Ralph thought she was well again and they say he blamed himself for neglecting her—but it cannot have been his fault. He is a good man, do you not think so, Alayne?’

‘Perhaps. I do not know him, but I do not think him evil,’ Alayne replied, avoiding Marguerite’s gaze. The English knight confused her and she did not wish to continue speaking of him. ‘Have you heard aught of the Baron de Froissart? I have seen nothing of him since the other night and I asked the Lady Angelica for news, but she said she had heard he was prostrate on his bed this afternoon.’

‘Well, I do not know how that may be,’ Marguerite said. ‘My father told me the baron was watching Sir Ralph practise with the sword this morning for three hours.’

Alayne nodded, looking at her curiously. ‘Has your father said anything more of your marriage?’

‘No…but he says that he may take me to the English court soon. My Uncle Godolphin is much favoured by the King and it seems that my Aunt Isabelle wishes to see me. I have cousins of marriageable age.’

‘Then mayhap your father has not made up his mind about your marriage yet,’ Alayne said. ‘Perhaps your squire may yet be knighted in time.’

‘Oh, no,’ Marguerite denied and glanced away, her cheeks pink. Alayne sensed that she was embarrassed, perhaps wished that she had not mentioned her feelings for the young squire. ‘That was but a foolish fancy. He is too young to be married and I—I believe an older man might make a better husband.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ Alayne agreed, ‘though not too old. You would not like that, Marguerite, believe me. I think Sir Ralph and de Froissart are perhaps of a similar age…’

‘The Baron de Froissart is the elder of the two by some three years,’ Marguerite said and blushed again as Alayne gave her an inquiring look. ‘My father told me that Sir Ralph is the same age as my brother Eduardo and I—I know that de Froissart is older than my brother, for they were once good friends.’

‘You did not tell me that,’ Alayne said. Perhaps it was because Sir Ralph was so stern in his manner that she had thought him older. ‘I thought you did not like de Froissart?’

‘Well, it is not exactly that I do not like him…’ The lady blushed. ‘I should not have said what I did to you, Alayne. There was some quarrel between Eduardo and Pierre de Froissart when they were training together as squires. I thought it more serious than it was. My brother told me the truth of it recently and it was merely a squabble, because Eduardo was disciplined by his master—for some minor transgression that Pierre had reported. He was but thirteen at the time Pierre went off to the crusades and resented that he was too young to go with him.’

‘Oh, I see,’ Alayne replied, noticing that her friend was overcome with her embarrassment and that she had used the baron’s familiar name several times. ‘So you think that de Froissart is trustworthy after all?’

‘As much as any man,’ Marguerite said and turned away as they entered their chamber. She yawned as she disrobed, clearly wanting to change the subject. ‘I am tired and we must be up early if we are to be ready in time.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Alayne replied. She was beginning to suspect that her friend was more interested in de Froissart than she would admit, and that her story of being in love with a young squire might not be true. Why should Marguerite have lied about her feelings? Unless she had believed that Alayne was interested in Baron de Froissart herself? Could she have been a little jealous and spoken hastily? ‘Goodnight, and may the Lord bless and keep us.’

Marguerite was already snuggling down beneath the covers, her eyes closed. Alayne slipped in beside her, closing her eyes and trying to sleep, but her thoughts were crowding in on her, making her restless. It seemed that Marguerite was as uncertain of her feelings as Alayne was herself—and that the girl knew the Baron de Froissart much better than she had imagined. If Marguerite’s brother had been de Froissart’s friend, it was likely that the families had met often…

Something was still puzzling Alayne as she finally fell asleep, but she could not quite grasp it. Besides, it did not matter now—far more important was the contest the next day, and the identity of the eventual winner.

As her eyes closed and she drifted into a pleasant dream, Alayne saw the face of the victor as she handed him his prize.

People were crowding on to the common land where the tourney was to be held that morning. Men, women and children of all ages, talking excitedly, the young ones running around like playful puppies, pulling at their mother’s skirt and begging for treats from the hot pie seller. When the Queen and her ladies arrived there was already a sea of faces assembled. Merchants and their wives, dressed in their best, labourers taking an unexpected holiday from their constant round of toil, beggars looking to steal or beg a few coins, peddlers carrying their wares on trays and entertainers of all kinds, the atmosphere one of excitement and anticipation.

‘Isn’t it thrilling?’ Marguerite whispered to her. ‘Oh, do look at that man eating fire! It must cause him pain, wouldn’t you think?’

‘I expect it is a trick,’ Alayne said. ‘My nurse told me that all such entertainers trick us in some way.’ She smiled as she saw the doubts in Marguerite’s eyes. ‘But it is exciting to watch, I do agree with that.’

However, she could not help feeling excited herself as, with a fanfare from the heralds, she was led to the place of honour on the dais, which had been erected beneath a canopy of billowing silk. The ladies of the court were chattering, watching as she was announced the Queen of the tourney, some a little jealously, some merely pleased to be a part of all the excitement of the day.

Her heart was beating nervously as she took her seat to the cheers of the people. For one day her rule was law, at least in matters of the tourney and the knights who competed for the honour of sitting with her that night at feast. As was her due, she was being enthusiastically hailed as the Queen of Youth and Beauty, taking precedence over the true Queen for the moment.

It felt strange to be seated higher than the Queen, but, when Alayne hesitated, her friend and protector smiled at her and nodded approvingly.

‘It is your right,’ she said. ‘Be wise, my lady, for remember, today your word must be obeyed.’

‘I pray that I shall be worthy of the honour, your Majesty.’

Alayne looked about her. To one side were the tents and banners of the knights taking part in the contest. Their squires had worked through the night to have everything ready for their masters, and it was a matter of honour with them that their lord should wear the best armour and ride the best prepared charger.

‘Listen, Alayne,’ the Queen said. ‘They are ready to begin.’

The heralds had begun to blow a fanfare before announcing the names of the knights who had entered the lists. Then a great cheer went up as the people shouted for their favourites. Mounted on great chargers, the heavy horses snorting, their breath making clouds on the morning air, the knights began to parade before the courtiers. Each rode along the line of ladies and gentlemen, bringing his destrier to a halt before the ladies and bowing both to the Queen of the day and Queen Eleanor. Each knight tipped his lance in salute as he paraded and confirmed his willingness for the contest.

Some of the knights were wearing favours tied to their arms, which had been given by the ladies they admired. A few of the knights looked hopefully at Alayne, but she merely smiled. She would show favour to none, even though her heart did a strange flip when Sir Ralph de Banewulf tipped his lance to her. She noticed that he wore no favours, and that his colours of black and silver were more impressive than most. He was a proud knight, his stern features giving no sign of his own feelings about this contest.

‘I shall pray for Sir Ralph to win,’ Marguerite whispered as he rode away. ‘But it is a real challenge this time, for they say that he is not battle hardened and will not last the course.’

‘I pray that he may not be hurt,’ Alayne said and discovered that the palms of her hands were warm and damp for some reason. Why should it matter to her what happened to this knight?

‘I believe he may surprise us all,’ the Queen said, her eyes bright with anticipation. The English knight had added some spice to the tourney.

‘What will happen now?’ Alayne asked, gripping her hands tightly together so that they would not tremble and reveal her inner tension.

Queen Eleanor explained that there were different forms that a tourney could take. Sometimes the knights rode into the mêlée, meeting opponents at random, unhorsing those they could, fighting on foot if they were unhorsed for as long as they could.

‘Any who are still on their feet at the end retain their honour and their armour,’ Eleanor said. ‘However, the vanquished are obliged to give it up to the victors.’

‘Let us pray that is all they lose,’ Alayne said in a low voice that only those closest to her could hear.

She knew that sometimes those unhorsed fell, never to rise again, dying of their wounds, and carried off by faithful squires and pages. She thought that she would find it unbearable should the English knight lose not only his armour but also his life.

This day, however, the knights were to meet in single combat. To be unhorsed meant the loser must retire from the lists. Quite often a knight would be satisfied if he remained unhorsed and did not enter again, for it was often a way of settling personal quarrels, but the victors could all ride again if they wished until the last challenger was vanquished and the victor remained. The stewards of the day were responsible for matching the first pairs and they announced the names of the knights who would ride against each other in the first contest. Alayne strained to hear as the pairings were announced.

‘Sir Renaldo de Bracey to meet Sir Jonquil de Fontainbleau,’ announced the herald. ‘Lord Malmont to meet Sir Henry…’