Part Two: The Dragon's Claw

Chapter Six

Tristan sat on his horse with his fist on his hip. He was seventeen and training to lead the armies of his father. He stared down where the squires were setting up the little two-inch joust ring. They signaled they were ready. Tristan was handed a lance. He took a deep breath and focused. His horse charged, and he aimed his lance at the target. The tip of the lance caught the ring with ease. Tristan smiled and handed his lance to a waiting squire. A few other squires taunted his success. "I never miss," he called back at them. The jeering continued. He laughed. "I am just that good."

"Tristan!" The prince turned and saw Soledad approaching him. His hair and short beard had begun to show some traces of grey. He was also spending less time in battle now and more time acting as an advisor to the king. "Your father wishes to see you, Mejo."

"Thank you, Sir Matias." He hopped off his horse and headed to see the king. "Yes, Father?" he asked on arrival.

"Ah, Tristan, yes," the king said motioning him in. His hair had finally turned completely grey, but he kept it long and wavy just past his shoulders unlike his son's which was still dark, straight, and short. His son had grown taller than he, and he felt that his belt shrunk with every passing year. "I have a few messages I'd like to share with you."

"I am ready to hear them," he replied taking a seat.

"Good. First, do you remember the young lady we spoke of?"

"Leonore? Yes."

"I have finalized arrangements with her father for your marriage."

"Will this marriage take place soon?" he asked slowly.

"We can give it a little more time. You are only seventeen, after all, and she's quite a bit younger, but I wanted to let you know."

Tristan nodded. "It's just . . . Have you ever been in love, Father?"

Philippe stared blankly for a moment. "Why? Is there someone special that I don't know about?"

Tristan shook his head. "No. I was just wondering."

Philippe shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

"What about my mother?"

"What about her?"

"Your marriage was arranged. Did you love her?"

Philippe looked away from his son. "I hardly knew her. I wasn't home much. I was out with the army much of the time."

"So you loved someone else?"

He shifted. "It's difficult to say. I was very young."

"What happened to her?"

"My father wouldn't allow it. He was a stern old man. About as harsh as the King of Leon himself."

"So you let her go?"

"Tristan, I have made many sacrifices for the sake of this kingdom. Some of them I regret, but ultimately my responsibility is to the people. It's part of being the king, and I hope you understand that some day." Tristan nodded. Eager to change the subject, Philippe continued with his news. "Also, I'm pleased to say that the prince of Leon is sympathetic to our wishes. He also wants peace."

Tristan's heart skipped a beat. He would lead his father's armies if he had too. He was no coward, but peace would be an achievement for his family—something his father had been working on for as long as he could remember. "And his father?"

"Still king and not as sympathetic. But right now, we have the advantage, and he's interested in talking of peace."

Tristan really didn't see how they had the advantage. The best knight that either realm had seen in years was in Leon. "What of Don Temple?" he asked.

"What about him?" his father asked confused.

"I've heard of him and his success. He's the Champion of Leon. He kills men by the thousands every year."

Philippe smiled. He too had heard extravagant and exaggerated tales of the great knight of Leon. "He's a great knight, but he's one man. And somehow, I think he's sympathetic to our views."

"What does the king want from you?"

"Well, I've spoken with the prince, and he seems to be dragging his father with him. We've been working on a treaty. He's suggested a tournament under banners of truce. We'll discuss more of the specifics there. Right now, whatever agreement of peace we come up with will be tenuous. But it's a start."

Carlos Temple lay spent in the grass with his wife, picking leaves and other debris from her hair. They had said little beyond greetings when he rode up on his horse surprising her. "Welcome home," she whispered.

He chuckled. "Yes. It is good to be back," he said kissing the top of her head.

She looked up at his face. "But what are you doing here? I don't mean to sound like I'm complaining, but why aren't you out in the field?"

"I bring news."

"And you were too lazy to write me?"

"I wanted to tell you in person. Besides, I probably couldn't spell it," he said with a grin.

"You could. You don't give yourself enough credit. Tell me what news, My Lord?"

"Prince Francisco has been negotiating with Philippe. They've called a truce. We are to have a tournament in the fall, and if all goes well, we shall have peace."

"Peace? Oh, Carlos, that's wonderful! Have you told Isabel?"

"Yes. She just sat and cried while Aracely danced around with our daughter."

"Oh, I could dance myself. We should celebrate."

"Yes. We shall feast tonight," he said idly brushing the hair from her face. He held her even closer and kissed her again. "This is what I've wanted for us—for our family."

She clung to him and whispered in his neck, "And I as well. And now we shall have it."

The celebration continued late into the night. Despite the revelry and the hours he had spent on the road, Carlos was unable to sleep. He had been working for peace for years, but it was finally sinking in what peace would mean for him. He was glad of it. As a boy, he remembered what it was like for him the first time he saw the "Hammer of Leon" and how glad he was that sweet Isabel never saw her husband that way. He knew he was the same. With the promise of peace, he knew his wife would never risk seeing him that way. He kissed the top of her head and pulled her closer. She stirred.

"You're still up?" she whispered. He didn't answer her. She looked up at his pensive expression. "What are you thinking?"

"That I won't ever have to say goodbye to you again. And you won't ever see what I can be—what I've become."

She lay her head back on his chest. She didn't doubt that there was another side of him that she didn't see. She pretended it didn't exist. "How old were you when you started going to battle with your uncle?"

"13."

"13! You were a child! Isabel let you go?"

"No. Neither did my uncle. I was an arrogant youth, remember?" he replied smiling.

"Oh, Carlos, what did you do?"

He began telling a story. "Do you remember me telling you that Isabel protected me as much as she could when I was little? I thought Javier was being a little too overprotective as well. . . ."

"They want us on the eastern flank," Javier Temple said to one of his officers. He saw Carlos standing nearby watching obviously eager. "What do you want, Boy?"

"I want to go."

"No. You stay with the baggage."

"Uncle, I can," he began to protest.

"No! I have ordered you to stay. And stay you will." He didn't wait for an answer, but he mounted his horse and left.

"It's for your own good," a young knight serving his uncle called out to him.

"I can help."

"We don't need it," he called out, riding away.

Carlos was tired of being babied. His uncle had let him come, but he still kept him behind. He was generally not disobedient, but he wanted to fight. He ignored the stares from the other squires as he went and grabbed a sword. He went toward the site of the battle. Once he heard the sounds of clanging steel, he inched toward them slowly drawing his sword. He saw a body lying on the ground. His face was turned away as he lay on the red earth. His heart was beating faster, and he could feel his palms begin to sweat. He stood on the edge of the battlefield. He saw bodies littered as far as his eye could tell. He spotted his uncle near him on horseback yelling orders and rallying his little band. Carlos thanked God Isabel never saw him like this. This was the man of legend that he had heard of. He hoped he could be half the soldier he was. He heard sounds growing closer. He had been spotted by the enemy. By the way the man looked at him Carlos knew he thought him a coward who was hiding from action. Carlos readied himself against the attacker, defending himself rather well against the first few blows—or so at least he thought. The common swordsman laughed. He called out to one of comrades who was nearby, "Look here! This squire's learned to dance." He attacked again—punching Carlos in the jaw. The shock of the blow sent him to the ground with his sword out of reach. Carlos looked up to see him approach and felt something he had not felt for a long time—fear. He had disobeyed his uncle and now he would pay for it with his life. He watched as his opponent's sword was about to fall. Someone rushed between them and deflected the attack. His rescuer killed both enemy swordsmen and turned to face him. It was his uncle. "What did I tell you, Boy?" he said grabbing him by the collar and jerking him off the ground. Carlos saw more coming over his uncle's shoulder. "Look out," he said shoving the older man away from danger. He picked up his sword. He knocked the first back, and after exchanging a few blows with the second, he ran him through. He discovered pulling a sword from a body wasn't as easy as he thought, but the battlefield was littered with tools for the resourceful. After throwing a discarded helmet at the first, his uncle watched him tackle the assailant. They stayed down for what seemed an eternity. Javier stood and pulled Carlos's sword from the dead man and walked over to where Carlos had regained his feet. The other man was dead. "How?" Carlos showed him a dagger held in his bloody hands. Javier looked out over the field. The enemy was retreating. His uncle held his sword up. Carlos reached for it, but Javier pulled it from his reach. "This is yours when I say it is. Understand?" Carlos nodded. "Come on," he said walking across the field. He guided him through the dead, the maimed, and the parts. Many cheered, but there was one voice he heard above the rest. A young man, not much older than himself, was lying on the ground crying. He kept saying he didn't want to die. Carlos's eyes were fixed on the dying man. A few yards away Javier turned abruptly, and Carlos almost ran into him. "That could've been you. What would I have told Isabel? Huh?" Carlos stared at the ground. "You have much to learn." He continued walking, and Carlos followed. He introduced him to an old yeoman. "I've brought you some help."

The toothless man grinned. "What good would that youth do me? I need some strong men with strong backs."

"All the same. He's so anxious to go into battle, and I want him to see every inch of it."

His uncle turned to go. Carlos grabbed his arm. "What am I supposed to be doing with this man?"

"Burying the dead."

Late that night, Carlos, covered in gore, walked up to his uncle who sat by the fire in front of his tent. Javier was glad to see him in such a state. He remembered that his first experience had made him sick as a dog. He hoped the boy learned that war was more guts than glory. "You wanted to see me, Sir?" he asked.

"Sit. What did you learn today?"

"You learn from masters, but when fighting for your life, sometimes you forget the rules and improvise."

"And from your duties this afternoon?"

"Death is impartial. High, low. Old, young. Not that it shocked me too much. I've seen death. But . . ."

"But what?"

"Blood. I've never seen so much of it." He paused. "Uncle, I . . . I'm sorry. . . ." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm a coward. The man you saved me from—all I could think of was I didn't want to die. I froze up. I couldn't think of anything else. I should have been able to defeat him. You're right. It could have been me that died today. It should have been me."

"You recovered quickly."

"Not quick enough if it hadn't been for you. Besides, what would I have told Isabel?"

"Is that the boy?" Temple jumped from his seat at the sound of Don Reyes's voice. "Looks like he got his hands dirty."

"Yes, I had him help with the dead."

"I heard you fought like a real man today. I look forward to having you with us this fall. I'll have my eye on you Temple."

Don Reyes walked away, and Carlos glanced at his uncle confused. "What was he talking about?"

". . . Then, my uncle told me about sending me to Don Reyes's, and the rest is history."

"Never again, My Love," she whispered.

"I know. Francisco and I hope so at least."

"You will succeed. You and our crown prince make such a good team."
"Yeah?"

"He has the luxury of sitting back and having you fight his battles for him."

Carlos chuckled. "I don't envy him. I'd rather fight hordes of knights than risk irking the king."

"Do you . . . I mean . . . with the peace and all . . ."

"What?" he asked when she failed to continue.

"Your father?"

He immediately tensed. "What about him?"

"Well, there won't be a war—no reason to pretend anymore."

"I'm not doing this for him."

"No. I know. But, Carlos . . ."

"No," he said forcefully shaking his head. "He didn't want me then. He can't have me or my family now." She was silent a moment. "Although," he said softening. "I should probably thank him. I wouldn't have known Javier, Isabel, Aracely, or you."

"Do you think he might try to find you?"

"I would rather he didn't. I am content as I am. The man who condemned my family to die can stay where he is." She began to speak. "Sofie, he cast me off. He never wanted me or cared enough to help. If it had been up to him, he would have left me to die in the snow. We have peace. Fine. But he didn't want to be around then; he doesn't get to now."

"I understand. I just . . . I would want to know. And I would want to know why," she said with a yawn. He could have told her then. But he didn't want to burden her. Ignorance in this case was bliss. "You were lucky though."

"I was?"

"You had your aunt and uncle. Even though I was legitimate, I had noone when my father died. I've been virtually ignored by my guardian the past decade or so."

"Then given as some prize to some penniless bastard because the rogue showed a little talent."

"How I suffer . . ." she replied laughing and trying to extricate herself from his embrace.

"You're going?"

"Mmhmmm. To check on your daughter."

"I want more. . . . more children."

"So do I, My Lord," she replied and kissed his cheek.

"Then stay."

"But . . ."

"There are a house full of people who will gladly see to that baby. Stay."

"Haven't you celebrated enough? I think you've had enough of me."

"Never. I will love you Lady Sofia Temple until the day I die."

King Philippe had succeeded in his efforts at peace thus far. The process had seemed to be moving slowly, but at least it was moving forward. He had arrived at the tournament, and all seemed to be going well. He walked down the hall with his son and the leaders of Leon. So far, the tournament was successful in uniting the kingdoms to a degree, and their hopes of peace seemed to be coming to fruition. The King of Leon was not happy, but he was going along with it. Everyone else seemed pleased at the idea of peace—well, most. There were a few grudges here and there, but the idea of peace seemed to be a welcome one. War had made every person of every class weary. Peace would be a welcome rest.

As they continued to their destination, a little girl ran up to them with flowers in her hair. A young pregnant woman followed her trying to keep up. Philippe thought she was an attractive child with her dark hair and big brown eyes. She couldn't have been much more than two years old, and when she saw him and Tristan, she shyly hid in her mother's skirts. The King of Leon spoke. "Well there is our little princess—our little Lady of Asturius." He nodded at her mother. "And the future Don Temple, we hope."

Philippe tensed slightly at the name. He looked back at the child looking for a resemblance between her and Carlos Temple.

Her mother grinned, placing a hand on her belly. "We hope so too, Your Majesty, but we'll be happy with whatever gift God gives us."

"Yes, of course. Lady Temple is ever the diplomat, even with the Almighty. My Lady, let me introduce you to our royal guests. This is King Philippe and his son Tristan. Sire, this is Lady Sofia Temple, the wife of my champion Don Temple."

"And this is his daughter?" Philippe asked.

"Yes, Your Majesty," she replied placing a hand on her dark head. "As if he could deny her though," she said with a chuckle. She looked down at the child. "Why are you being so shy? Say 'hello.'" She peeked around her mother's leg but said nothing.

Philippe knelt and took a flower that had fallen from her head to the floor. "I believe this is yours, My Lady," he said handing it to her. She shyly took it and dove back to her mother. He chuckled.

"What do you say?" her mother said.

"T'ank you."

"You are very welcome, My Lady." Philippe heard heavy footsteps approaching from down the hall. He looked up and saw a young man in his mid-twenties approaching. He could be no other than Don Carlos Temple. He recognized him though he had not seen him since he was a teenager. He couldn't help but compare him with Tristan. Temple was shorter by a few inches, and his features were less soft. They both had dark hair and brown eyes. But Temple's hair was lighter and more wavy and his eyes a little lighter, more golden brown while his complexion was darker. Temple approached holding his rage in check. Philippe knew why he was angry but did not know what Temple was going to do about it. Philippe determined to smooth things over the best he could and ignoring him would not help the situation. Right now he would do anything for the sake of peace. "Hello, Carlos, it's been a long time," he called out to him.

"I'm called Don Temple now."

"Right. Forgive me, Don Temple. You have a beautiful family, Sir." By now Temple had reached the royal personages. He stepped between them and his wife.

"Stay away from them."

"Don Temple, I was only . . ."

"Leave my family be. I'll not let you destroy their lives as you did mine," he said calmly but coldly. His wife tried to interrupt her husband, but he ignored her.

"It was never my intention . . ."

"Just leave them be."

The nobles gathered for a feast in the hall. Temple roamed, meeting and greeting various lords and ladies. "There he is! There's the man of the hour." He turned and saw an older knight approaching him that he didn't recognize. "Sir Carlos Temple. We meet again." Carlos stared at him confused. "You don't remember? Sir Leondro de Roig. I found you trespassing in Philippe's camp about twenty years ago. Then we found you in that field. You attacked King Philippe. Remember? Been fighting him ever since, huh? You've certainly made a name for yourself."

"Yes, Sir."

"My boy is gonna give you some competition. Sir Ruiz de Roig."

"I'm sure he's very talented, but I believe I am to meet someone else in the lists tomorrow."

"Yes, but it could come down to the two of you."

"Depends on how well he does against Baltasar de Soledad."

"True. True. Matias's son is a very competent knight. This is my boy's year though. He's the uncontested champion of the city of Calahorra—two years running."

Temple smiled. "Champion of Leon—over three years running." A little girl ran and grabbed Temple's leg. He picked her up. She rubbed her eyes and laid her head on his shoulder.

"That your kid? I heard you married up."

Temple glanced over at his wife who was speaking with various lords and ladies as well. "That's right. I certainly didn't marry beneath me."

Leondro nodded. "Well, good luck. You'll need it."

"Tell Sir Ruiz the same." He looked at his sleepy child. He grinned and kissed her head. "Come on. Let's go find Mama."

He approached his wife. He remained a polite distance while she spoke with some of the guests from Philippe's kingdom. "There's my husband now," she said smiling. The little girl reached for her mother, and Sofia took her. "This is Don Temple," she said introducing him. She asked if he knew the knights and lords that she was speaking to. He said he did, and his wife excused herself and went to put the little girl to bed. Temple turned back to the crowd and almost ran into a young man taller than he. He recognized him as the prince. He cocked an eyebrow in a questioning glance.

"Hi," Tristan said. Temple said nothing. "I remember you being taller."

"Things change. What do you want?"

"Just to say that I'm glad about the peace and everything, and good luck at the tournament tomorrow. I'm anxious to see you compete."

"You're still too young?"

"My father thinks so. . . . You know, all those years ago, I asked him about you. I asked him if he really killed your family."

"Did he deny it?"

"No. He said he was responsible, but he wouldn't talk about it. I was just a kid. He really does feel bad about you though. He blames himself."

"I guess that's something." Temple tried to walk away, but the young prince kept talking.

"You seem to have done well for yourself. You have a nice family."

Temple sighed, turned back, and tried to make conversation with the young prince. "Anything for the sake of peace," he reminded himself. "Your father ready to marry you off?" he asked.

"Yeah. I'm recently betrothed. Was your marriage arranged?" He nodded. "Just seems things would start out kinda awkward, huh? You seem to be a happy little family now though."

"Tristan," Temple began.

"Yeah?"

"You talk too much," he said and walked away.

After he completed his tour about the room, Temple returned to his chambers where his wife waited for him. She had put their daughter to bed and was watching for him wearing a strange look on her face. "What is it?" he asked cautiously.

"I understand now," she said softly.

"I don't . . ."

"I met your father today." His expression went blank. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what? I don't . . . You don't know . . ."

"He has your eyes."

"A lot of people have brown eyes," he replied staring at the floor.

"Not like yours. His wife must have had brown eyes too."

"What makes you say that?"

"Your brother's eyes are brown. But not like yours. Or his."

"I don't have a brother," he said coldly.

"Yes, you do. You know you do. You told me about what happened when you were held by Philippe. Why didn't you tell me you met your father?"

"I met a lot of people—guards, knights. And I didn't say I never met him. . . . And I don't even know who you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. And you know I'm right. You also knew who he was." While Temple's tone had grown more defensive, his wife's remained calm and steady. "I saw the look on your face when you saw me speaking with him."

He sighed. "I'm not supposed to know. And when they took me from that field when I was a child, I didn't know. Isabel told me before I joined Don Reyes. And it's no shock that I met him. Our paths were going to cross eventually." He shrugged helplessly. "I didn't tell you because you didn't ask. I don't see how knowing makes things any easier. Sometimes, I wish I didn't know."

"Does he know about you?"

"My mother told him."

"Does your brother know?"

"I don't know, but I doubt it."

She was silent a moment. "You should talk to him."

He tensed. "For what?"

"Hear his story."

"To hear him justify destroying my mother's life? And mine?"

"You truly think your life is that bad? Whatever happened in the past has worked out for the best. Don't you think? Carlos, the peace between us and Leon is wonderful. It will keep you home with us more. The idea of this land at peace just thrills me, but I wish to see you at peace more."

"I'm at peace."

"By ignoring it? Carlos, make peace with him. It will be good for the both of you. Let him play with his granddaughter."

"He didn't want me. What makes you think he'll have anything to do with her?"

"I think he would appreciate it. I saw the way he looked at her. And your brother is just adorable."

He smiled. "Then I shall divorce you so you can marry him. But I keep the kids," he said and collapsed on the bed.

She didn't make light of the situation. "Maybe he loved your mother. Did you think of that? I'm sure he wanted you."

"How?"

"Because I saw the way he looked at you too. I'm sure he's done what he could."

"How do you know?" he asked bitterly.

"I don't. But neither do you. You have no idea what he's been thinking the past twenty-five years. Ask him. Now is the perfect time. It may be the only time."

"We'll see."

"Carlos . . ."

"I said, 'We'll see.'"

She didn't wish to annoy him further so she let it drop. She did, however, bring it up one more time. She was leaving for Asturius to await the arrival of the baby. Temple picked up his daughter and kissed her goodbye before setting her in the coach. She looked back at him. "You go too?"

"Not today." She poked her bottom lip out, and it began to quiver. He chuckled and smoothed her hair. "I'll be home before you know it." She seemed satisfied and sat down.

"Be careful," Sofia told him reaching out and touching his arm.

"I will. And the same goes for you. I take it Aracely is staying with me to watch the tournament?"

Sofia smiled. "One of us has to keep an eye on you."

He grinned. "With all these 'dreamy' knights around, someone ought to keep an eye on her."

She paused for a moment. She then reached out and touched him. "Talk to your father. You're the Champion of Leon. He'll have to listen to you."

"I'll wait til peace is signed."

"You're stalling."

"I just . . . that'll be one less thing to deal with. When peace is signed, I'll talk to him," he said pulling her into his arms.

She sighed. "Peace? Sounds good doesn't it?"

"It does."

"What will you do with peace?" she asked smiling.

"Hmm. True. This is all I know. I guess you'll have to teach me."

"You have been more faithful with your lessons than I have with mine."

He caressed her belly. "You've been busy. You can't exactly joust or wield a sword in your condition."

"I really do hope this one's a boy. I see you playing with and training those pages and squires. You'll be great with a son."

"You think?"

"You make me laugh. Before we married, they told me you were arrogant. But you leave all that confidence on the battlefield, the lists, the garrison."

He shrugged. "That's where it serves me best."

"You will be careful?"

"Always."

She kissed his cheek. "Goodbye."

"Have a safe trip."

"Love you."

"You too. But you should go. Isabel is waiting for you."

Tristan watched the tournament idly. He watched the warriors of his own realm as well as the knights of Leon. This part of the tournament bored him. It was plain to all who would be fighting for the win. So far the most impressive were Ruiz de Roig, and Baltasar de Soledad—the champion of his father the king—and, of course, Don Temple. He remembered Temple vaguely from when he was a boy, but he knew he was talented then, and it seemed nothing or no one could stop him now. The match between Soledad and de Roig finally arrived. It was close, but Soledad became the victor. He would fight Don Temple to determine the champion.

The final day of the tournament approached, and Tristan was anxious to see who would win the day: his father's champion or the Champion of Leon. As he was dressing, his father entered. "I'm afraid, I have to return home, Mejo."

Tristan was shocked by his announcement. "But the treaty . . ."

"I know. I must return—it's a matter of importance to me."

"What could be more important than this treaty you've worked so hard for?"

"One of my father's most beloved advisors died, and I need to be at his funeral. It's a ceremonial thing. And peace is almost achieved. The Prince of Leon and I have worked everything out. All that's left is to complete the tournament and sign the treaty. I'll leave you as an assurance of my good will—also, I'd hate to take you away when the conclusion is so near. I'm sure you wish to see the end. I'm leaving Lord Chancellor Augustin to act on my behalf."

"Why can't I?"

"Too young, Mejo." Tristan shrugged. It was plain that he didn't think he was too young. "Your time will come." Tristan looked away. "So who do you think will win?" his father asked to ease the tension.

"Don't know. Soledad looks fit. But so does Temple."

"Hmm. Yes. It's going to be close. I kind of hope Temple wins. Maybe it will make Leon a little less uneasy about signing our treaty—you know, if his knight wins the tournament, at least he'll maintain some of his bragging rights."

"Father?"

"Yes?"

"Don Temple is a bastard of one of your knights, yes?"

Philippe was made nervous by Tristan's comment. "That is the tale as it was told to me," he replied cautiously. "Why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering which one?"

"Now, Tristan, I've warned you about meddling," he replied sternly.

"I'm not ten years old anymore. I just want to know how he fits. I'm going to be king someday. I need to know what's going on in my realm—what went on in my realm."

"It's . . . his father has his own obligations. His own family to think of. If he'd wanted anybody to know, he would have revealed himself long ago."

"What? Is he ashamed? Who would be ashamed to have a son like that?"

"It's complicated, Tristan. And you knowing won't benefit you any. It will only burden you. As it has me."

"You still hold yourself responsible?"

"Yes."

"He holds you responsible as well. But why you and not his father?"

Philippe shrugged. "It was my army. My responsibility. But I'm sure he holds us both equally responsible. He just takes it out on me—the public figure—because he can without revealing too much. I don't think he wants anyone to know either."

"Maybe it's because he doesn't know himself."

"I'm pretty sure he knows."

"You said his father has his own family." Philippe nodded. "Does he look like them?"

"There is a family resemblance, yes. Why?"

"He reminds me of someone. I just can't put my finger on it. I know them, don't I?"

"Tristan, I will tell you no more. You know far more than is good for you already. But before I go, I want you to promise me something."

"Anything, Father."

"Leave Temple be. You saw how he reacted when he saw me with his wife and child. You're my son—he won't treat you any better. This peace being so tenuous . . ."

"I understand."

"Good." Philippe smiled. "And when I see you again, Mejo, we shall have peace."

Tristan sat with Augustin on the dais as they watched the conclusion of the tournament. Soledad fought bravely, but in the end, he was outmatched by the knight of Leon. He yielded and Francisco, the Prince of Leon, acting as marshal of the tournament, declared Temple the winner. Temple reached out an arm and helped Soledad off the dirt. The crowd cheered for Temple, and he acknowledged them which only increased their enthusiasm. He shook Soledad's hand and approached the dais. The King of Leon offered his congratulations to his knight and announced him as the champion of not only Leon but Philippe's realm also.

"Not so fast, Sire," Augustin interrupted.

"Something you'd like to add, Chancellor?" the king asked perturbed at being interrupted.

"That is Carlos Temple, yes? It is my understanding that he is illegitimate."

"What of it?"

Temple and Tristan watched the interchange with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. "It is our policy. We do not make bastards champions. We don't even allow them to compete in our tournaments."

"We have no such rule. And my champion has defeated yours. Or were you not watching?"

Tristan felt he should speak on behalf of his father. "My Lord Chancellor, given the circumstances, I'm sure the king would allow . . ."

"Quiet, Boy. The king left me as his representative. You—to see sport. And given the circumstances, my lord the king allowed this Temple to compete as a favor, but to make him champion? I don't think so."

A violent dispute erupted between the king and Augustin. Tristan and Soledad argued against Augustin on behalf of Temple. They knew how long Philippe had worked for peace, and this was not reason enough to sacrifice it. Temple himself along with Francisco tried to calm the King of Leon—arguing that being declared champion was not that important, but the King of Leon would not be insulted in such a way, or maybe he just needed an excuse to refuse the peace that was offered to him. In the end, no agreement could be reached, and Augustin left outraged.

In the confusion, Matias de Soledad grabbed Tristan by the arm. "We're getting you out of here before the King of Leon kills you or tries to hold you for ransom."

Tristan along with Soledad and his son made their way through the crowds. When they reached the stables to get their horses, Temple was waiting for them. Matias tensed and put a hand on his sword. "What do you want, Temple?"

"Don't go," he said hoarsely.

Matias looked on confused. He replied, "I'm acting on behalf of my prince. My only concern is for his safety."

Temple nodded. He spoke, but it appeared that it pained him to say it. "Soledad, I've never asked you for anything. Not in my whole life. Please. Please. Don't leave." Tristan saw the desperate look on Temple's face, and it made him nervous. That face would forever be ingrained on his memory. "We both know what will happen if you do. If Tristan stays, my king will be reassured of Philippe's intentions. When old Gus gets to Philippe and tells him what happened, Philippe will be here with his apologies. By then, Leon will have calmed down and talks will resume, and we will have peace. If you leave, Leon will be insulted. He will hear of no talks of peace no matter how many apologies your king sends. There will be no peace. You know this."

"I have to think of Tristan's safety . . ."

"I know. And I will guard him myself with my life." Temple paused. "My wife is at home awaiting the birth of a child and news of peace. Don't make me send her a message saying I'm not coming home. That I have to return to campaigning against Philippe. That I have to break my promise to my wife. That I will miss the birth of my child because your chancellor dashed our hopes of peace. Don't make me do that to my wife."

Tristan believed him. He was about to take a step toward him and offer to stay, but Matias put a protective hand on his shoulder to stop him. "I'm sorry. I know you're right. But your king? I know you don't like to admit it, but Philippe saved you from his rage once. He's volatile at best. You know this. I know you want peace. And I know you'd do all you could to protect Tristan. But I'm sorry. I can't risk it."

Aracely paced in front of her brother's room. She wondered where he had disappeared to. Everything had been turned upside down since the king stormed from the field. She needed her brother there so she could talk to him. She needed him to explain what had just happened and what it meant. When he finally arrived, he just stared at her with a pained expression on his face. "Carlos? What's wrong? What's happening? I don't understand."

He hugged her. "I have to . . . I have to get the men ready and go back."

"'Back'? You mean home." He shook his head. "But what about the peace?"

"There will be no peace now."

"But . . . I thought . . ."

He shook his head and slumped down on a couch. "I talked to Prince Francisco. The king wants me back in the field as soon as possible. Francisco said he'd see to it that you made it home safely."

"But what about mother and Sofia?"

"Send them my love. And my apologies. Give everyone a hug and a kiss for me."

She could tell the recent events had upset him greatly. She had never seen him look so absolutely dejected. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I will. You will be careful?"

He nodded. "Take care of Sofie. And my little girl. She won't understand."

"I will. And hurry home. We'll be waiting for you."

Tristan arrived at his father's fortress and hurried to find the king. He could hear him yelling from down the hall. "I trusted you! I told you I wanted peace! At almost any cost! And this is how you repay me?" Tristan and Matias entered the room to find Philippe pacing fitfully, yelling at a calmly seated Augustin. "You couldn't make one concession! One concession!"

"I have acted as Lord Chancellor since the reign of your father. He would have supported my decision."

"Yes, well, he's dead." Philippe sighed in frustration and ran a hand over his face. "I am relieving you of your office," he said calmly.

"My Lord?"

"Soledad, congratulations. You are now my chancellor."

"Thank you, Sire," Matias replied confused.

"You can't do that!" Augustin protested jumping out of his chair.

"I just did. You've ruined our chance at peace. Leon is probably forming an army as we speak. Now go. Before I have you thrown in the dungeon for disobeying my wishes."

Augustin left along with Soledad leaving Tristan alone with his father. Philippe slumped down in a chair covering his face with his hand. Tristan pitied his father. For as long as he could remember, he had been trying for peace. Just when it was within his grasp, it slipped away. "I'm sorry, Father. I should have stayed." He related the story of Temple pleading with them to stay.

"No. Soledad was right. It was best you got out of there." Tristan was silent while his father contemplated the situation. "You and Soledad probably rank just beneath me on his hit list now though."

"I thought Temple said you killed his family. Soledad said you saved his life from the King of Leon."

"The King of Leon punished his family for tolerating me. Temple escaped. We found him and delivered him to his uncle."

"And he hates you for it? I don't understand."

"He was a frightened child then. He was confused. But I was the reason for the attack. I don't blame him for blaming me."

"What do we do now?" Tristan asked after a pause.

Philippe sighed. "Call up the troops."

The weeks went by. Whatever advantage Philippe had over Leon was lost. Leon had united under the insult, and a campaign had been launched. They were successful. Philippe's army lost battle after battle, and most of those battles were led by young Don Temple. Tristan watched as a messenger brought Philippe another message from the field. He swore. He picked up a stack of messages and threw them down one by one saying, "Temple, Temple, Temple, Temple, Temple! Every time I turn around there that boy is!" He pounded his fist on the table sending most of the contents on the table to the floor. "Will no one rid me of this man?" he yelled in frustration, and Ruiz de Roig took him at his word.