over the support posts. Food sellers hawked their wares from wooden trays slung around their necks. The smell of seasoned goat meat in the hot afternoon air made Noel queasy. Broken lances had been thrown in careless piles. Five corpses wrapped in blankets lay stacked for burial later. Noel averted his eyes quickly and tried not to listen to the buzzing flies.
Two combatants were in the tiltyard now, careening toward each other at full gallop, their lances blunted for the contest. They came together with a crunching smack that made Noel flinch. The crowd screamed in frenzy. One man in pale blue went flying over the hindquarters of his horse. He landed on his feet, staggered a few steps to catch his balance, and bowed in rueful acknowledgment of defeat.
Other onlookers, already losing interest, craned to see Noel as he edged his horse onto the field. A few recognized his ensign. Some rose to their feet. The noise receded for a few shocked seconds, then swelled.
One of the four judges in crimson gestured at a herald, who came trotting over to Noel on horseback.
“Your name, sir knight.”
“I wish to make challenge,” said Noel.
“We do no challenges today. This is a joust of celebration and good spirit, intended to honor our new governor.”
“I am Theodore of Albania,” said Noel loudly. “Rightly appointed governor of Mistra by Andronicus, your liege and sovereign emperor. I have come to challenge Magnin Phrangopoulos and lay claim to what is mine.”
The herald’s face turned as pale as his linen. “My lord prince,” he gasped. “What-”
“I have brought challenge,” said Noel. He gestured and a grim-faced Frederick brought forward a gauntlet stitched and embroidered with Theodore’s coat of arms on one side, the two-headed eagle of Byzantium on the other. ‘Take my glove to Sir Magnin.“
The herald swallowed and although Frederick held out the glove, the man did not take it. “My lord, I dare not-”
“What is this?” demanded one of the judges, riding up. He scowled beneath his crimson cap. “You are delaying the tournament, sir. Take your place or stand aside for others.”
The herald turned in his distinctive tabard and murmured quickly to the judge. The man also turned pale. He glanced at Noel and coughed.
“My lord, we have no-”
“Stand aside,” said Noel.
The two men swung the horses from his path. Taking the gauntlet, Noel spurred his destrier hard. Startled, the old horse lumbered into a gallop and picked up speed as they crossed the field. Reining sharply before the canopied section of the stand where Sir Magnin’s court sat transfixed with amazement, Noel flung the gauntlet with more force than aim. By sheer luck, it hit Sir Magnin in the face.
He slapped it away and jerked to his feet. Decked out in cloth of gold and saffron-colored hose, a feathered cap cocked on his long black hair, Sir Magnin wore a heavy gold chain studded with thumb-sized emeralds across his chest. His handsome face blazed scarlet, and his eyes held murder. “What is the meaning of this outrage?” he shouted. “You pathetic whelp, how dare you challenge me-”
Noel bowed in the saddle. “I challenge you to a fight to see who will run this province in the name of the emperor.”
Leon, who had been sitting quietly to one side, looking gray-faced and ill, jumped at the sound of Noel’s voice. He tugged at Sir Magnin’s sleeve, only to be brushed off like a fly.
“The name of the emperor no longer matters here,” said Sir Magnin.
“It matters to many,” said Noel.
A flicker in Sir Magnin’s black eyes told Noel he was right. Sir Magnin’s position here was still shaky. Noel pressed the point.
“Is this grand tournament an attempt to create allies for yourself? Do you think you can feed men and throw them some entertainment and expect them to commit treason for you? Do you expect them to break their oaths of fealty to the emperor?”
“Enough!” shouted Sir Magnin.
“You are a dastardly coward without honor, a man who stabs in the back, a man who must wait until darkness to attack his enemy. Can’t you face me man to man, in the open, for all to see?”
“By God, I shall,” said Sir Magnin forcefully. “I vow you’ll regret those charges when I ram them down your throat.”
Noel barely listened. His attention was on Leon, searching for the LOC. But other than a huge silver cross slung around his neck, Leon wore no other visible jewelry. Disappointment surged through Noel. Where had Leon hidden it? It was all Noel could do to keep himself from jumping off his horse and shaking the answer from his double.
“I’ll teach you what honor is,” Sir Magnin went on. “I’ll show you who is-”
“On the field, sir,” said Noel.
‘This instant.“ Sir Magnin pushed his councillors aside. ”Stand back. Stop gibbering among yourselves, and send for my squires and my horse! Move!“
“Wait, excellency,” said Leon. “He is not-”
Sir Magnin’s hand shoved him hard, and Leon went sprawling into the laps of several onlookers. “Out of my way, you mewling wretch! I’ve heard enough drivel about witchcraft and portents. Where are my arms?”
Ignored by Sir Magnin, who strode off the stands, still shouting orders, Leon picked himself up and shot Noel a look of pure malice before merging with the excited crowd. Noel forgot all his good intentions and swung himself from the saddle, intending to go after him.
Frederick, however, appeared as though from nowhere and caught Noel before his foot touched the ground.
“ Nom de Dieu, what are you doing?” he demanded. “Running away, now that you’ve baited him like a gadfly on the nose of a bull? He will kill you sure.”
Noel kicked, trying to free his ankle from Frederick’s grasp. The destrier sidled, snorting, and Noel had to climb back into the saddle. “He’s getting away,” said Noel in pure frustration. “While I’m stuck with this damned joust, he has plenty of time to leave town.”
“Soft,” said Frederick, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one overhead them. “You have begun this. You cannot stop it now. I shall go after this thieving twin of yours-”
Gratitude surged through Noel, making him feel lightheaded. He bent over, although it made him dizzy, and gripped Frederick’s shoulder. “Then do it! After him now, before he gets away. You’ve got to get my bracelet back.”
“Yes, yes. I do not understand its importance, but I shall do my best.”
Noel’s gaze bored into his through the visor. He had to make Frederick see how vital it was. But how? The inability to explain frustrated him. He gestured. “Go then. Just go!”
Frederick gripped his stirrup and gazed up at him with open worry. “God strengthen you in this contest. Do not fail us now. We have risked all on this gamble.”
“I know,” said Noel impatiently.
Frederick stepped away and gestured to the other squire, blond-headed and middle-aged, his weathered face set with stoic resignation. “See to his needs, Tobin.”
“Aye, Master Frederick.” Tobin spat on the ground and led Noel’s mount to the far end of the field. “Ain’t right to send the boy off alone into that crowd,” he commented when they were apart from anyone who could overhear. “Magnin’s brutes know whose side the d’Angeliers are on. They be spoiling for a chance to catch us in the wrong.”
“Frederick can take care of himself,” said Noel. He flipped up his visor and wiped his face, ignoring Tobin’s alarmed protest. Snapping down the visor, Noel said, “Some water, please.”
‘The hell you’ll drink any,“ said Tobin in outrage. ”Lady Cleope said you were to eat and drink nothing. It will dilute the-“
“And what do you know about that?”
“Master Frederick gave me full instructions.”
Noel glared at him, but the man looked stubborn. “The potion is holding fine-”
“Hush, sir, I pray you!” Tobin glanced about fearfully. “Let us have less talk of potions if you please. Do you
