A Stern Lord for My Lady by R.R. Vane

Chapter 13

Bertran felt well rested and light of heart the next day, telling himself that, whatever the outcome of the joust, he felt now sure his fears regarding Sir Erec and his lady had been silly. His lady’s eyes had shone fierce and true when she’d told him she belonged to him only, and a husband could not truly ask for more.

His joust with Sir Erec was to open the tournament, which would span three days, with more jousts during the first day, and with sword fights on the second. The main event, the melee, would take place on the third day. Henry would allow for only a small tournament, prepared in haste, with a small number of knights, but it was better than nothing, since Henry himself usually disapproved of tournaments.

Bertran kissed his lady ardently before he urged her to join the stalls that had been readied for the audience, looking upon the tournament field. Lady Alicia graciously offered to help while his squires assisted him with the pieces of his armour, but he declined her offer with a smile.

“My squires are well able to handle things. So off you go, my lady,” he told her. “’Tis best you get a good seat to watch this joust. I mean to win it, you know.”

Alicia had never seen him joust or engage in a sword fight, and he meant to show her he was a husband worthy of her, even if she’d not thought him good enough at first. She’d come to see his worth in the bedchamber and by her side, yet, he thought with a suppressed grin, she’d never had occasion to see his worth as a knight. Today he meant to show her he was indeed worthy of her hand.

Alicia glanced upon him, returning his smile.

“Well then, my lord, I hope your lance will strike well and true and you’ll be the victor,” she said brushing a feather-light kiss on his lips.

He stared after her as she went away, telling himself there was no other course for him but to win the joust with De Jarnac. Now that he knew he had his lady’s full regard, he felt confident he would win.

There was plenty of time left before the joust, and Bertran went to check on his destrier one last time. He had faith in his squires, but he always liked to see to his horse himself before a fight or a tournament. Once he’d made sure the spirited animal that he called Noir was well rested and shod, and fully ready for the charge, he headed towards the tent to get into his hauberk and into the rest of his armour.

“Good luck, sir knight!” He heard a voice from behind him, and at first he attempted to pretend he had not heard the call.

It was a voice he’d recognized as belonging to the lady Edith, and Lady Edith was the last person he wished to talk to before the joust. Her malicious gossip had done him harm enough as it was, and he didn’t want to exchange any words with her. Yet he was forced to stop and bow his head graciously when the lady caught up with him.

“I will be cheering for your victory against the fop, De Jarnac,” Lady Edith said with a sickeningly sweet smile.

He nodded and started to walk away.

“I saw your wife just exchange words with him and it seemed she was wishing him luck,” Lady Edith added behind him.

Bertran shook his head, telling himself it was best not to listen to whatever she was saying. He walked ahead, but it seemed Lady Edith’s loud voice was intent on following him.

“Of course, it’s gracious of her to look upon her husband’s opponent, and I am sure it was kindly meant. After all, she and Erec grew up together and they’ve been close since childhood.”

Bertran took a deep breath recalling only too well that Alicia had told him she was not so well acquainted with Erec, even if she’d known him a long time. Lady Edith was obviously lying.

“And I am sure your lady wife is well pleased with you as her husband now,” Lady Edith’s hateful voice still followed. “I told her she was sobbing for naught when I helped prepare her for the bedding on her wedding night. It was plain she was still pining for Sir Erec, and some of us heard her whisper his name between sobs.”

Another lie, Bertran told himself firmly, as he walked away with long hurried strides to reach his tent, not sparing Lady Edith another glance. Before the bedding, it had been natural for Alicia to feel distressed, because their rushed wedding had taken place right after a harsh spanking from him. Yet he doubted she’d ever called De Jarnac’s name.

He dismissed the hateful words, knowing Lady Edith to be malicious and full of sheer spite for others. He put them away from his mind as he readied for the joust, and strove to focus on vanquishing his opponent. He thought on Sir Erec and of this knight’s fame as a tourneyer. It was not the first time he met Sir Erec in the field. They’d jousted against one another three other times, and had fought with swords twice in a tournament. Bertran was proud to have won both sword fights against De Jarnac. Yet, he’d only won one joust. Sir Erec had managed to win the other two.

As he headed for the field, now fully armoured, Bertran thought more on Sir Erec. He had to admit that De Jarnac was a worthy opponent. Sir Erec’s family was also of better rank and wealth than his own family, and Erec had not been born a bastard. Bertran knew only too well all ladies admired Sir Erec’s appearance. Some of us heard her whisper his name between sobs. The hateful words rang in his mind, and no matter how much he pushed them away, they would not let him be. It seemed as if he was walking in his sleep when he got on his destrier and his squire handed him his lance for the first charge out of three against Sir Erec. Sir Erec… whom his lady had sought to marry. He strived to focus on the charge as he spurred his horse, trying to make his lance strike true and his shield hold firm, knowing the knight who was riding menacingly in his direction was a force to be reckoned with.

The charge passed in a lightning-fast whirl. Stunned, Bertran belatedly understood he was already lying on the ground, and De Jarnac’s lance had already managed to unhorse him. He cursed, foully, tasting blood and realizing he’d bitten hard upon his tongue during the fall. Yet he soon rose, aided by his squire’s helping hands, feeling his flank and back throb fiercely.

“This is just one, my lord. There’s two more to go,” one of his squires told him encouragingly, and he nodded, knowing now he had to win points in both the next charge and the one after the next.

He did not dare to look towards the stalls where the courtiers were avidly watching and cheering. He knew his lady wife had seen him fall, unhorsed by the man she’d meant to marry and whom she’d thought worthier than him. Lady Edith’s hateful words rang in his ears. He imagined the triumphant smirk De Jarnac was now wearing upon his face as he was waiting for the next charge. A dark, determined rage descended over him. He would make him fall. Both times he would make De Jarnac fall. And he grimly hoped one of the falls may end up killing him.

* * *

Alicia strivedhard to keep her composure, as deep relief coursed through her, when she saw her husband had risen from his fall, and was heading for the next lance charge. The moment he’d fallen, she’d feared he was grievously injured. Even death by a fall was not uncommon in jousts. Oh, why hadn’t she tried to dissuade Bertran from entering the tournament? She now found she did not care at all for his knightly pride, for Henry’s command or for Eleanor’s plans. She just wanted her husband to be safe.

Two more charges. And she watched with a thumping heart as both opponents galloped towards one another. She prayed within herself that Bertran would finish the joust hale and safe. She no longer cared for the outcome of it. She only wanted Bertran to be safe. She shouted with sheer joy when her husband’s lance struck the other knight with swift precision. The lance broke on his opponent’s chest, which meant Bertran was already the victor of this charge and he would get points. For a moment, it seemed De Jarnac would remain on his horse, yet in the end he was unable to hang on, because Bertran’s lance had shattered against his chest with rending force. And Sir Erec went down.

Alicia suppressed a deep sigh, happy that, for now, Bertran was whole. However, she also felt relieved when Sir Erec was able to rise from his dangerous fall. The points were, at this moment, even. This meant the fate of the joust would be decided on the last charge. Alicia would have wanted to close her eyes until the whole thing was over, yet she could not do so when her husband’s safety was at stake. So she watched on, striving to appear calm and confident, knowing if Bertran happened to glance at her from where he was, he would feel encouraged by her good cheer. The last charge soon began, and Alicia clenched her fists, wishing with all her might no harm should come to the man she loved.

Her heart skipped with joy as her husband’s lance struck a blow even mightier than the one before, swiftly unhorsing his opponent, then she felt ashamed at rejoicing so when a man as amiable as Sir Erec lay on the ground and might be wounded. Yet she could not help but feel happy for her husband’s victory. It was then she unwittingly perceived Godfrey Haughton, whom she’d seen locked in an embrace with Erec, go as white as a sheet and look about to faint when Sir Erec wouldn’t rise from his fall and had to be carried away from the field by his squires. She also perceived some eyes were already glancing in curiosity towards Haughton, whose own family supported King Henry and who was supposed to rejoice in Bertran’s victory.

She instantly understood questions might be asked if more eyes fell upon Godfrey Haughton and his obvious distress. So she took it upon herself to cry the motto her husband had claimed for himself, ever since he’d decided he would keep the name FitzRolf rather than revert to De Morne:

“Non sans droict!” she cried in a loud, triumphant voice, drawing all gazes upon herself.

Non sans droict. Not without right. She saw her husband raise his helmeted head from the field to look upon her, but she could not help but cast an anguished glance in Haughton’s direction. She did not want her husband’s victory to cause the downfall of two men. And she fervently hoped Haughton had recovered enough to prevent more prying eyes upon his distress.

“Young Haughton seems to take Sir Erec’s defeat so very hard. I wonder why.” She heard Lady Edith’s hateful, venomous voice behind her.

She made up her mind quickly, knowing there was a way to help. She fervently hoped Sir Erec was not grievously wounded, and he would immediately send word to his lover he was hale. Yet she had no way of knowing. So she decided to slip away, unobtrusively, to look upon her husband’s vanquished opponent. Since everyone had already gathered around the victor, it was easy to do so, and she made her way, without seeking to hide her intent, to the tent where Sir Erec’s squires had helped carry their lord. It would have looked suspicious if she’d gone stealthily, so she did not go for stealth. She intended not to hide what she’d done from Bertran, and she already knew he would not object, because she’d vowed to him she was unquestionably his. He would certainly approve of her concern for a vanquished opponent, since he no longer had any cause for jealousy.

She breathed in full relief when she saw Sir Erec was now on his feet, out of his hauberk, wearing his padded tunic. He was nursing a bumped head, but there seemed to be nothing more grievous than that.

Sir Erec instantly dismissed his squires when he glanced upon her.

“Milady?” he asked in a concerned voice.

Alicia spoke urgently.

“It’s Godfrey. You need to tell your squires to reassure him as soon as can be. Otherwise… I fear people have started casting suspicious glances. He seemed very distressed when you fell… and he looked as if he might faint.”

Sir Erec cursed under his breath.

“The fool!” he muttered. “He may well have been the cause of my last fall. I knew he was fretting over me during the joust, and I could not help but glance at his distress.”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“You are more valiant than he is. After the first joust, I looked upon you to make sure you were well. You did not even bat an eyelid when your husband fell. That is the right way to behave when one’s beloved is in a joust. One needn’t show fear.”

Alicia suppressed a smile. She had been, in fact, mortally afraid for Bertran. Yet she’d known it would serve nothing if she showed her fear. She did not look down upon Haughton for his tender heart.

“Send word to Godfrey somehow! Right now!” she said in haste. “I’m glad you’re well. I must go to my husband.”

Sir Erec nodded and smiled somewhat begrudgingly.

“His lance hits like a hammer, I’ll give him that. Less skill than I have, yet more strength. You should tell him I don’t begrudge him his victory. We had a fair fight. It was my own fault my mind was elsewhere.”

Alicia cast Erec a hasty smile, and hurried to leave the tent, hoping in the cheering for her husband’s victory no one had paid much mind to her. She was reassured when she came upon a crowd of people surrounding her husband, who had yet to shed his hauberk and helmet, as well as the rest of his armour.

“Make way,” she called, making her voice unconcerned and letting the joy she felt slip through it. “I need to see my lord.”

She glanced upon Sir Bertran in full relief when she could get near him. His posture indicated he had sustained no wound from his earlier fall. Her heart skipped a beat because he looked just as formidable in his full knightly armour as he had looked upon his horse when he’d wielded his lance. He was a valiant knight, and she was proud he was her husband. She had been truly afraid he would get hurt, but now relief and elation were taking hold of her. He was hale. And he had done what his liege had asked of him. All was well then, and she could put her arms around him when they were finally alone, away from the prying eyes of the crowd.

She wanted to speak to her husband, yet she saw King Henry was by his side, beaming.

“A fine beginning for the tournament!” the king was saying. “And it is only the first joust. There’ll be the melee the day after tomorrow and we’ll have occasion to see even more of your prowess, won’t we, Sir Bertran?”

“Yes, my liege,” her husband acquiesced.

She caught his glance upon her, and she smiled, a brilliant smile meant to show him the relief she felt that he was safe and sound, and all had gone according to his wishes. He did not return her smile, but Alicia knew he must be weary and still somewhat battle-frenzied. She retreated, knowing they would have the chance to talk at length later when they regained their home. And she steeled herself against ever showing her husband any fear she felt for his safety. She understood why Sir Erec had been angry with Godfrey. A knight had to focus on the task ahead, without any distractions. And this was only the first joust of the tournament. Her husband would face more challenges, and she knew he held his tourneyer skills very dear. She did not want to distract him by sharing her fears with him. So she decided to show herself calm and smiling, so she would not be a burden for him in the days ahead.

* * *

Bertran had never thoughtthat place in his body could ache so fiercely. It was, he understood, the place where his heart was. Yet there shouldn’t have been any ache in that side of his body. His flank and hip hurt, from the fall he’d taken when de Jarnac had unhorsed him, yet his heart should be fine. It wasn’t though.

She had not come. She had not come running to him when he’d had his victory, and he’d had to stand in the crowd around him, with no sign of his lady wife to rejoice for what he’d done in order to prove himself worthy of her. Instead of Alicia’s sweet face, he’d had to put up with a crowd of strangers who did not genuinely care for him. And he did not care for crowds. He cared for his wife, yet his wife had not been there.

He replayed in his head Lady Edith’s hurtful words before the joust. They couldn’t be true, could they? And even if they were true and his wife still harboured tender feelings for De Jarnac, he had been able to show her, on the jousting field, he was the better man. Hadn’t he? Now she would no longer care for her former, vanquished lover.

Bertran chased away these thoughts, disgusted with himself. It was as if he was begging for his wife’s regard. He strived to appear unconcerned, and to curve his lips into a victorious smile, as he began to head for the tent where his squires would assist him in the removing of his armour.

From the corner of his eye, he could now perceive Lady Edith casting him mocking glances as she was conferring with a couple of ladies by her side. For some moments, it seemed they were already laughing at him, but he pretended not to notice.

It was in some relief he saw his lady wife was already waiting for him in the tent, standing by as his squires helped him remove his helmet, hauberk, chain mail muffs and chausses, until he was left only in his padded gambeson and braies. Alicia then helped him strip off his gambeson and presented him with a fresh tunic. When Bertran dismissed his squires, he was finally alone with his wife, and he allowed her to embrace and kiss him on the lips passionately, although he still felt very cross with her for not being there when he’d wanted her by his side.

“Where were you?” he asked tersely, when they finally disentangled from each other.

She looked into his eyes levelly.

“I went to Sir Erec’s tent,” she told him, confirming his fears. “I had to make sure he was not grievously wounded. You know well it is only the proper thing to inquire after a vanquished opponent. I wanted to be gracious.”

He nodded, hiding the deep pain that pierced his chest upon the words. Her words were proper. It was indeed the courtly, gracious thing to inquire after a vanquished rival. Yet he knew too well who this vanquished opponent was. She’d once thought to marry Sir Erec. And if one was to believe Lady Edith’s hateful words, his wife cared deeply for this man.

Lady Alicia was now smiling at him, and he noted she was not telling him she’d feared for his safety. He recalled his mother, who always tried to hide her anguish and failed, whenever her husband or sons fought other knights for a prize. But all day Lady Alicia had looked calm and composed, and had seemed to harbour no anguish for him whatsoever. Perhaps Lady Alicia did not truly care for him.

He did not know what to say to her at this time, and felt the hollowness of his victory. It seemed he had not vanquished Sir Erec. Not when his wife had sought to inquire after Sir Erec’s health before she’d gone to look upon her own husband.

“I am mightily glad this is done and over with,” Lady Alicia muttered. “Still, there are more jousts and the melee to be had, and more tournament days ahead of you.”

He searched for any kind of anguish in her voice, yet he could discern none. And then his friends burst into the tent, to give him effusive tokens of admiration, and he saw Lady Alicia step aside as they began to talk of the lance charges with him.

The tournament days that followed went on in a sort of daze, and he strived hard not to think upon the pain in his heart or upon his wife. He did well. Yet he was wise enough to let the king’s son, Young Henry, rob him of the prize that should have been his. He sensed that Young Henry had more need of the prize than he did, and he also sensed Henry’s royal father, while he despised tournaments, was not entirely blind to his eldest son’s accomplishments. So he downplayed his own skill in the melee fight, in order to let the young king win. He felt his own triumph was less important than the future of the entire country. Young Henry would be appeased by this prize at least for a while. And perchance his improved humour might lead to a reconciliation with his father.

De Jarnac came in third place for the tournament, having managed to defeat most of his opponents. It was a very close third to his second, and Bertran had already begun to suspect that, like himself, Sir Erec had downplayed his own skill in order to let the young king win.

It was in the last day of the tournament that Sir Erec came to speak to him, holding out his hand. Bertran took the hand that was offered, begrudgingly, because he had naught to reproach his opponent on the field. The fight had been fair and honourable.

“Next time, Sir Bertran,” Sir Erec said with an infuriatingly handsome smile. “Next time I swear the outcome of our encounter will be different.”

Bertran narrowed his eyes at his rival. He measured him, knowing the fiend was handsome. He’d heard all the ladies at Court were swooning over him. And, unlike his own face, Erec’s face was unmarred by a battle scar. It was the first time in his life that Bertran had ever cared about his own appearance. He nearly cursed under his breath. The fault lay entirely with his wife, who still carried a torch for this man.

“I think not. I mean to always be the victor,” he growled in response to Sir Erec’s teasing tone.

If things had been different, he would have answered Sir Erec’s teasing with good humour and a pat on the back, but things were not different.

“Mark my words, if I as much as see you glance again upon my lady wife, I’ll have your blood,” he added softly, lacing menace inside his voice.

It seemed to him Sir Erec’s eyes widened in surprise and he saw him open his mouth. Yet what Sir Erec had meant to say was cut by a call from King Henry who was standing behind them. They both stood to attention, since it was their sovereign who was calling upon them, so Bertran never found out what Sir Erec had meant to say. Besides, he told himself with an angry sneer, he had no wish to know what Erec would have to say.