Zander let Angus talk, even though nothing new was being said. He already knew it would be a long day of hard fighting. His mind kept wanting to dwell on Elinor and last night and the wistful mood that had claimed him after they parted. Instead, he forced his attention on the upcoming competition and trusted that once it began he would again fight like the berserker they had dubbed The Devil’s Blade.
“Did you learn the rest that I asked about?”
“You mean the knights on the other team sitting pretty with ransoms of forfeits? I did indeed.” Angus gave five names. “You won’t be alone in wanting to take them. They will be like you, fighting every man on that field.”
“I know that, old friend.”
“You’ve already done handsomely, and you are getting that prize. No need to risk too much.”
“There is another fortune for the taking out there and I’ve got a good use for it.”
Angus finished with the last shoulder plate. “You should keep that big Norseman between you and the worst of it, is how I see it. Fortunate that the lord invited him on the team too.”
Most fortunate. Zander did not plan to hide behind Sir Bjorn, but he also did not intend to venture too far away. When a man was a head taller than anyone else, he was hard to fight. More importantly, he could see more than most. That might prove useful.
Angus picked up three extra swords, an extra shield, and a battle ax. He would keep them near the refuge in case Zander needed them. “Harold is waiting with the destrier and lances,” he said.
Zander checked his armor and mail. “Let us join him.”
Angus walked to the tent’s flap, looking at Zander over his shoulder. “You are more like your old self today. More eager for the contest than you have been the last few days.”
“I’ve a worthy cause to fight for, Angus. That always gets my blood up the right way.”
Angus laughed. “Well, if spoils aren’t a good cause, I guess there isn’t one.”
Elinor was relieved that her father had no intention of fighting in the melee. He was in no condition to consider it, but that had hardly stopped him thus far at this tourney.
He did want to watch, however. “We will go to the battlements,” he announced when the hour drew near. “Put down that sewing and come with me.”
She had no choice but to go since he might need her help getting back. She would not mind seeing the melee, at least for a while. From the way her father tucked some bread into a sack, she might be there all day, however.
They walked to the town, joining a small river of people going there to buy provisions to eat during the great event. Some would crowd the edges of the field, risking the danger of the slashing swords that got too close. Others, like her father and herself, would position themselves on the town and castle walls.
Her father paused inside the gate. “We should buy some ale and food.”
“Then it is good I brought some coin. The market is this way.” She led him down the lane toward the center of the town.
The shops and carts were busy, and people jostled and shouted to get the vendors’ attention. The bakers had kept the ovens lit, and the smell of baking bread permeated the marketplace. They found a woman selling cooked chickens and Elinor bought one while her father purchased a bladder of ale.
“What with the bread, that should last us,” he said upon rejoining her. His attention shifted to a man cutting huge hunks of cheese off a wheel. “Of course, that would make sure of it.”
With a laugh, Elinor bought a chunk of cheese. “I think we are done now, no?”
“It should do.”
She looked up at the wall. “You think to climb up there?”
“I can do it. We’ll go up that side, to the left of the castle. The view of the field will be better there.”
It took time for her father to climb the stairs. They found a good position on the wall and could see the knights taking formation below. Seeing them all at once, their lances ready and their colors ablaze on their surcoats, thrilled her. The others who had taken positions near them pointed and named this knight and that.
“That over there is where any of them can go to rest, or re-arm.” Her father pointed to a roped section of the field. “It is like a sanctuary.”
She spotted Zander, wearing the green and gold of his border lord. Harold held his horses. She looked for Angus and found him by the sanctuary.
“There are a lot of them,” she said. “So many knights.”
“There is nothing like a good melee.” Her father rubbed his hands together. “’Tis the best part of a tourney.”
Lord Yves’s team lined up across the field. In the distance another line formed as well. All of them tipped their lances in the direction of the castle. Elinor strained forward and saw Lord Yves there, along with Lord Marcus and his family and Lady Judith and the other honored guests.
His team turned their horses and faced the opponents. A marshal shouted something she could not hear. Suddenly, both lines charged, their destriers’ hooves making a noise that could be heard on the wall.
An astonishing clash of lances followed, along with shouts and cries from the field. When the lines had traded places, seven knights were on the ground. A few did not stand until men ran out and assisted them off the field.
Another charge. More men fell. The knights dismounted. Then confusion erupted, and Elinor could not tell what was happening.
All around her, people shouted for this knight or that to do something, or to watch out. She barely
