The next morning dawned bright and clear, and Ismene awoke to someone
roughly shaking her shoulder. Her hand went to her dagger as she opened her
eyes and jumped to her feet, but she quickly relaxed and broke into a grin
when she saw who had woken her.
"Thomas! Good to see you!" she hugged him forcefully and looked him up and down.
Thomas Milton, at age 20, was only just taller than Ismene, and of a slight build. He had short dark hair, blue eyes, and absolutely awful teeth, although he refused to see a dentist. He was a milliner's son from London, and wore finer clothes than his female friend.
"Good to see you too! Where's your horse?" he asked, looking round. "Don't tell me you lost him. Was he stolen?"
"No, I left him with a blacksmith." Ismene replied. "The one who's fixing your sword." She winked. "Actually, I don't suppose you have any money, do you? Its just.I left him as insurance and until we win something I probably won't get him back."
She and Thomas began walking towards the camp, Thomas leading his roan mare.
"I'm afraid not. Not enough to pay a blacksmith anyway, unless you want me to go to The King's Arms and get the money back on our rooms so you can sleep outside again tonight?"
"Erm, no, I think I'd rather have a bed. Did your business go well?"
Thomas's father had been widening his business over the past few years, exporting cloth to the continent, and the two had met when Thomas had been travelling the country to act as his father's representative, trying to drum up trade.
"Yes, my father now owns a third of London's linen shops, although he still sees fit to pay me a pittance." He scowled. "It seems that whenever some deal needs to be clinched he sends for me, but when its all said and done I'm redundant again."
"Well, tomorrow we shall begin to make our fortunes." Ismene consoled him.
Thomas laughed. "How many times have I heard you say that?"
~**~
"Hello? Anyone there?" Ismene called into the dim interior of the blacksmith's tent.
Orthos was still tethered outside, and she and Thomas had stopped to pet the beast and tie the roan, Plato, beside it. A flap lifted in the back of the tent and a woman's head poked out.
"Oh, it you!" she exclaimed. "I've finished your mail, and the sword's good as new." She came out into the forge proper and picked them up from beside an anvil. "Here they are."
Thomas took the blade and examined it, then handed it to Ismene, who swung it slowly back and forth. "That's great, thank you." she said. Kate looked from her to the slight man - shouldn't he be the one testing it?
"I'm Thomas Milton." He stuck out his hand and smiled, showing a half set of crooked teeth.
"Nice to meet you" Kate shook his hand and smiled back, despite the feeling of revulsion on looking at his mouth. Just then, loud voices were heard approaching from the street, and a rotund man, followed by a squabbling Geoffrey Chaucer and red-headed fellow, entered the tent. The large man stopped when he saw the two visitors, and the red-head walked straight into him, swearing loudly.
"Watch where you're bloody g.oh!" he shut his mouth as Kate began to laugh.
"Visitors!"
"Miss Levoux, how delightful to see you again!" Geoffrey's face brightened as he stepped round Roland and took her hand, kissing it in a courtly fashion. Ismene was dismayed to feel herself blush. "This is your friend, I take it?" he offered his hand to the man with her, who shook it firmly.
"Count Thomas of Bavaria, but you can call me Thomas Milton. That's my name outside the castle" he grinned. "And you are.?"
"Geoffrey Chaucer. You may have heard of me?" Thomas shook his head, and Geoffrey shrugged. "This is Roland," he pointed to the large man, who was grinning from Thomas to Ismene. "and this fine fellow is Wat." The redhead nodded. "You've already met Kate?"
"Yes." Thomas said. "Just about." He smiled at the blacksmith, and Ismene could tell by the look on his face that he'd seen something he liked.
"Was Orthos any trouble?" Ismene asked Kate, who looked puzzled for a moment. "My horse" she prompted.
"Oh, no, he was fine!" she replied. "Although if you need him now I'll have to take payment."
"I don't need him yet." Ismene assured her. "But you'll have payment tomorrow if Thomas wins, which he will." she looked to Thomas who nodded confidently. Kate wondered how they would make money from his win, as prizes weren't awarded until the end of the event, but Geoffrey guessed their plan - they'd bet on the outcome.
"Erm.this isn't a social call." Roland interrupted, holding up some coloured cloth. He glanced up at Chaucer, who had begun asking Ismene and Thomas where they were staying for the duration. "Not for some of us, anyway. Could you put this emblem onto Sir Villeux's breastplate?" he held out the jerkin with its swan design, and Kate scrutinised it carefully.
"I think so." she said. "Just leave it with me and I'll do it for tomorrow."
"Great" Roland handed her the cloth. "Come on now Geoffrey - we've got work to do!"
Geoffrey looked up, slightly annoyed that his conversation with the object of his curiosity had been interrupted. "A herald doesn't work until the day of the tournament!"
"Not this one." Roland replied. "Sir Villeux told me to tell you to go and see him, as soon as you had a moment."
Geoffrey sighed. "Will we be seeing you later?" he asked Ismene and her friend. Ismene nodded.
"I think so" she said. "We'll be at The King's Arms anyway, if you need us."
When the three men had left, Thomas and Ismene thanked Kate and led Plato through the encampment towards the practise ring, where they would study the other knights' methods of fighting.
"What did you go and tell them where we're staying for?" Thomas demanded. "You know what'll happen if people find out - they'll be on us like a ton of bricks!"
Ismene shook her head. "They seem like good people."
"You mean Chaucer seems like a good person." Thomas accused. "You'd not even met the other blokes before, had you?"
"Well, no." Ismene conceded. "But, well.we kind of went for dinner last night."
Thomas raised an eyebrow. "You what?"
"He won all my money at cards and then offered to buy me dinner, and I said yes."
Thomas opened and shut his mouth a few times. "Firstly, what the hell were you doing gambling? Secondly, I thought you had a thing about secrecy, especially about not letting strange men take you out, and thirdly.god, there is no thirdly, but what's bloody come over you?!"
Ismene slapped him on the arm. "I don't know! It seemed like a good idea at the time, but then he started asking questions." she saw the look on her friend's face. "but I didn't tell him anything, don't worry."
"Good." Thomas scowled. "I'd hate to think you were letting your lustful feelings get in the way of earning a living."
Ismene spluttered into laughter. "'Lustful feelings'?" she mimicked. "That's a bit poetic for you! Anyway, why can't I have dinner with a nice man - its not exactly often I meet one! But you're one to talk, I saw the way you looked at that blacksmith." she nudged him in the side playfully. "Why don't you ask *her* out to dinner, hmm?"
"I couldn't afford it. She'd have to buy *me* dinner." Thomas laughed, not angry anymore. "I could ask her out for something free though. What's free?"
They were now leaning against the fence of the practise ring, watching two knights spar with each other, swords clanging and glinting in the sunlight.
"A walk? Some stargazing? A ride on your horse?" Ismene looked at Thomas as he laughed. "That wasn't meant as a metaphor, you know."
She began to watch the opponents in the ring in earnest. A man standing to one side of them acting as referee wore a yellow jerkin embroidered with a red cockerel. Both men wore light chain mail, but one man was a lot bigger than the other - his long golden hair was matted back from his face by sweat, and his expression as he swung at his opponent was one of anger and determination.
"He's certainly getting into the spirit of things." Thomas observed as the man knocked his opponent off his feet with a brutal slap to the face with the flat of his sword.
"Who is he?" Ismene asked a nearby squire, dressed in blue, who was probably there for the same reason as her and Thomas.
"That's Lord Chiswick the Younger." The squire replied. "He's said to be the favourite for the sword-fighting, and you can see why." Chiswick had now pulled the other man to his feet, only to punch him in the stomach causing him to keel over in pain.
"His brother - Lord Chiswick the Elder, is taking part in the joust. They're both as bad as each other." The squire shook his head in disgust. "If you take my advice you'll stay away from them."
"Thanks.I think I will." Ismene agreed. "But.who's his opponent?" she wondered who would let the big man beat them up like that. Surely not another knight - not *before* the competition?
"That's his squire." The squire shuddered. "I wouldn't want to be him right now."
The man in blue was called by his master, and Thomas and Ismene were left alone to watch the carnage.
"Are you sure you want to fight him?" Thomas asked. "I mean, I know you're good, but you're not exactly that strong."
"Hey!" Ismene pretended to be insulted. "I'm as strong as an ox! Well, a small ox - more like a calf, really." she started laughing. "Look, I'll be wearing mail, and you know its against the rules to actually stab people. All I have to do is exercise my *far* superior skill."
"Yes.*all* you have to do." Thomas sighed. "Well, good luck." He turned away from the ring, bored of watching some poor soul get the life beaten out of him. "Have you ever thought about making a will?"
~**~
That day was the day for entering the lists, so Thomas, Ismene, and all the other knights and heralds made their way to the long oak table where scribes and judges sat ready to take down proof of eligibility. The queue was long, and Thomas sat down on the ground to wait until things started moving.
"It's a nice day" he observed.
"Yeah.I hope its good weather tomorrow. I hate fighting in the rain."
"You mean, you hate watching fighting in the rain?"
"That's what I said." Ismene shrugged. Its not like anyone was listening to them - everyone in the queue was too busy preparing their 'evidence', or trying to work out how to spell their master's names. She scanned the crowd. Everyone wore the colours of the house they worked for - her and Thomas were almost the only people dressed plainly - they'd probably be taken for a squire and a handmaiden at first, but Thomas had in his pocket a piece of parchment that proved his noble identity. The queue next to theirs seemed to be moving a lot faster, something Thomas was not long in commenting on.
"Why do I always choose the slow queue?" he demanded of the sky. "Why?"
"Sod's law" Ismene said.
"What's a sod, anyway?"
"I don't know. I always thought it was like, dirt."
"Isn't that a clod?"
They were interrupted from their intellectual conversation by the queue, which suddenly shortened considerably as a knight led his 10-strong entourage away from the tables. Thomas got to his feet, and it was not long before they stood before a judge and his scribe.
"Event?" the scribe asked without looking up.
"Sword-on-foot" Ismene answered.
"Ancestry?"
Thomas took the scroll from his pocket and unfurled it for the judge to see. The red-faced old man scrutinised it, then began to read aloud so the scribe could take it all down.
All of a sudden, Ismene felt inexplicably watched. She looked at the man at the head of the line next to her, and her eyes met Chaucer's. He smiled at her, but was obviously listening intently to what the judge was saying as he read Thomas's list.
"Count Thomas of Bavaria, son of Count Alfrede III of Bavaria, son of Count Alfrede II of Bavaria, son of Count Alfrede I of Bavaria." he paused. "Alfrede a family name eh?" Thomas nodded. "Where was I? Ah yes, Count Alfrede I of Bavaria, son of Count Oscar of Bavaria, son of Count Alexander of Bavaria. Well, I can't say I know much about Bavarian Counts, but this all seems to be in order." The scribe hurriedly finished writing, then made Thomas hand over a board with his crest on - a black lion on a grey background, which was placed alongside the other crests under the sword-on- foot sign.
"Thank you sir" the scribe said dismissively, then called to the next man in the line; "Event?"
Thomas and Ismene left the table, but stopped a few feet away to wait whilst Chaucer finished introducing his knight. The man was young, perhaps mid-twenties, with dark hair and a handsome face. His clothes, Thomas noted, were made of rich fabric and expensively dyed. He stood silent, allowing his herald to do his job, and within a few minutes his coat of arms was placed under 'Joust'. As they turned away from the table the writer scanned the crowd, and his eyes rested upon Thomas and Ismene.
"Count Thomas!" he smiled as he led his knight over to them. "Count Thomas of Bavaria, and Ismene Levoux, may I introduce Count Francois Villeux." The knight and Thomas bowed to each other, then started some inane small-talk which noblemen seemed so fond of. Where they had estates, how long they had been in England.Ismene only half-listened to what Thomas was making up - Geoffrey was looking at her intently, and she met his eyes questioningly.
~**~
It was another coincidence - or was it fate, he wondered? - which brought Geoffrey and the young woman together again at the registration table. He had planned to make his way to The King's Arms that night, but a chance of being in her company had come sooner than he could have hoped! Once again things had become strange - the night before, as he lay in bed, he'd been able to convince himself that Ismene was just a woman travelling alone, understandably paranoid, and although her name was interesting and she surely had a tale to tell, there was nothing too unusual about her. Then he'd met Count Thomas, who looked less like a Count than any he'd ever seen. Unless it was normal for noblemen on the continent to have such foul teeth, and be so undernourished - he was barely taller than the girl herself!
There was something about his ancestry too - having forged one of his own (a most expert and elaborate piece of vellum if he did say so himself) he had a good idea of what made a history genuine, and something just wasn't right about Thomas's. Maybe it was the region; Bavaria seemed to general - most counts were of fiefdoms or towns, but Bavaria was a big place and the title just seemed too anonymous. Whatever the reason, Geoffrey was again suspicious, and now he listened to his master's chitchat with only half an ear - he was regarding Ismene as if she might reveal something just by meeting his gaze.
"Well, we really must be off." Count Villeux said in French-accented English. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Sir Thomas."
"And you." Thomas bowed politely, and nodded to Chaucer as Villeux started walking and asking his herald about how he would be announced the next day.
"He seemed nice." Thomas said. "A bit rich, but nice"
"And he's French" Ismene observed. Thomas couldn't speak it, but Ismene's father had taught her from birth and she spoke it as well as she did English. "I think Chaucer was listening to your history though - are you sure its good enough?"
Thomas frowned, but then shook his head. "Of course - it duped the judge, didn't it? He probably just wanted to see if I had better credentials than his own master!"
Ismene laughed - he could be right. It was no use worrying now anyway, they were in the tournament and preparation for the next day had to begin. And be finished by that night - Thomas was already talking about how much he was going to drink at the inn, which was a sure sign he'd get no work done that evening.
~**~
As night fell, Wat excitedly entered Geoffrey's tent to inform the writer and Roland that they had been given the night off.
"I had the night off anyway" Geoffrey pointed out. He was already putting on clean clothes in preparation for the trip into Oxford. He wanted to look half-decent when he went into The King's Arms. Wat was scowling at him.
"Well, you can do what you like, but I'm going to drink! Drink drink drink!" his face reddened as he shouted the word in glee, and Geoffrey cringed.
"Where are you two planning to go tonight then?" he asked nonchalantly.
Roland grinned. "Well now, we were thinking about dropping into The King's Arms, weren't we Wat?" Wat looked confused but nodded anyway. "I've heard it's a good inn." He watched Geoffrey closely for signs of a reaction - he knew the French girl was staying there, and it was obviously where the tall man had been planning on going.
"Well, I suppose I might as well join you" he sighed as if the thought had never crossed his mind. Wat's face fell, but Geoffrey was too busy pulling on his coat to notice. "Shall we get going?"
~**~
The King's Arms was a large establishment, and it seemed that half the camp had amassed there that night. Wat, skills honed by years of practise, immediately spied a free table, but drinks were a commodity even he could not provide. He, Roland, Kate and Geoffrey sat at the table, peering round for the barman. A fight seemed to have started near the door, and Wat was the only one of the group who did not regret this choice of inn. Geoffrey was even more disconsolate because there was no sign of Ismene. Convincing himself it was just too early in the evening, he slouched in his chair and contented himself with watching Wat watch the fight, his hands unconsciously mimicking those of the combatants. Suddenly, Kate and Roland looked at a spot in the air somewhere behind Geoffrey's head and grinned, waving. He sat up quickly and turned in time to see Thomas and Ismene making their way past the crowded bar towards their table.
"Good evening" Thomas said, pulling up a chair between Kate and Roland. "How are you all?
"Well, thanks" Roland replied. "You?"
"Not so bad" Ismene sat down next to Geoffrey and Wat, and gave the writer an almost shy smile which melted his heart, and which he half-feared he'd imagined.
"Where's the barkeep in this place?!" Wat demanded of Ismene. "I want a drink!"
Ismene was a little startled - she wasn't sure if this fiery-haired man was dangerous, but it was true that none of the company had drinks. She looked round, caught the eye of a man in a dirty apron, and motioned him over.
"How did you.?" Wat was at a loss for words.
"What can I get you?" the barman asked, looking from the pretty girl in front of him, to the irate man next to her.
"Beer!" Wat cried. "Lots of beer!"
"I'll have a beer too" Roland said.
"So will I" Kate put in.
"Me too"
"Yeah, beer please"
"A pint of your finest ale" said Geoffrey.
"Right, so erm, six beers then. Be right back." The barkeep hurried off, and Thomas tried to start up a conversation with Kate about horses. Ismene smiled a little as she watched him. He was in awe of her, it was obvious - but she was sure he'd have a better chance if only he'd see a dentist.Geoffrey interrupted her reverie with a question.
"You got home safely last night I trust?"
Ismene remembered how she'd left him without really thanking him properly for taking her out, and she cringed inwardly as she felt herself blush. "Erm.yes, thank you. Listen - I'm sorry if I came across as, well, defensive. It's just, well." she stopped, unsure of how to go on, especially when Wat and Roland seemed to be listening. Geoffrey's eyes met hers, and he seemed to understand.
"Of course" he said. "No need to apologise" and he turned the conversation to another topic, and their drinks arrived and the night was filled with laughter and tales of adventure. Thomas found himself liking the group more than he could have imagined, and Ismene felt sometimes that she and Geoffrey were sharing subtleties the others missed, but she wasn't sure if she liked it or was afraid of what it might bring.
~**~
Geoffrey left the inn that night with Roland alone. Wat had wanted to go on drinking despite his work on the morrow, Ismene had retired to bed, and Kate had left earlier with Count Thomas, who'd said that although he couldn't buy her dinner, "a moonlit walk is free." Geoffrey sighed. So was love, supposedly.
Roland, interpreting this sigh to be one of longing, turned to his friend as they entered the camp. "She's pretty" he observed. Geoffrey looked round to see who he could be talking about.
"Who?"
"You know who. Ismene."
"Oh!" Geoffrey realised. "She's not pretty. She's beautiful."
"Now Geoff, don't get all melancholy on me - she may be beautiful, but is she worth it? You've been all weird since you met her."
Geoffrey sighed again. The night before, when they'd had dinner, he hadn't doubted her intellect and she'd been charming at times, but tonight she'd proved to be excellent company. She'd told of how herself and Thomas had once found themselves in a besieged city in France, and had escaped through the town sewers just before the place was burned down. It would make a good story, if only someone would write it down. Despite all her charms however, he still got the feeling that she and the Count were not what they seemed. That mystery only enticed him further.
"I think she is" he said at length.
~**~
Geoffrey was not the only one that night with his thoughts concentrated on a woman, but he wasn't as lucky as some. Kate had allowed Thomas to take her for a walk, and now they sat beside the Thames which ran through Oxford before making its way to London, looking at the stars. He told her tales of the Gods and Goddesses whose forms they showed which he'd learned from Ismene, and Kate leaned against him for warmth, enjoying the sound of his voice and the feel of his arm around her. He was a lovely man - so down to earth she could hardly imagine he was noble. He had no qualms about drinking with common folk, and she got the feeling that his attentions were given to her because he genuinely liked her, not because she was some wench who could be taken whenever he wanted. Besides, if he thought he could try it on, she'd soon show him differently.
"And now he stands in the sky, with his faithful hound." Thomas said of Orion. "He watches over hunters - makes sure the kill is good."
"Do you hunt often?" Kate asked. She had made arrowheads in the past - she knew how effective they could be at felling both small prey when hunting, and men in war.
"Not as much as I'd like to." Thomas said. "I have an estate in Bavaria which is excellent for deer. The only trouble is I'm hardly ever at home."
"What brings you to England?" Kate asked. Thomas barely had to think - he'd rehearsed this story so many times he could recite it in his sleep.
"Money, mostly. You may have noticed I'm not exactly rich." Kate nodded, laughing softly. "I'm planning to hire my services to the king. There's fortunes to be made in plunder."
"Plunder isn't just about money though is it?" Kate asked. "Usually villages burn and women are dishonoured. Would you take part in that too?"
Thomas stiffened. "No. I'm not that sort of man."
Kate sat up to face him. "I'm sorry" she said. "I know you're not like that."
She leaned towards him, and a pang of guilt shot through Thomas as he realised he'd only really made her like him through a pack of lies, but the feeling quickly fled as her lips pressed softly against his.
~**~
Ismene lay awake that night, sometimes wondering what Wat was doing in the bar downstairs, sometimes about if Thomas had managed to seduce Kate, and sometimes thinking about Chaucer.
The more she saw him the more she liked him. She was hardly ever attracted to men - most of them were either repulsive or only after one thing - but the herald was different - kind, gentle, intelligent; he made her laugh, and there was something about those intent blue eyes and the suggestion of strength in his lean frame that made her heart beat faster. She closed her eyes and sighed. Tomorrow was the first day of reckoning - definitely not the time for girlish fantasies.
"Thomas! Good to see you!" she hugged him forcefully and looked him up and down.
Thomas Milton, at age 20, was only just taller than Ismene, and of a slight build. He had short dark hair, blue eyes, and absolutely awful teeth, although he refused to see a dentist. He was a milliner's son from London, and wore finer clothes than his female friend.
"Good to see you too! Where's your horse?" he asked, looking round. "Don't tell me you lost him. Was he stolen?"
"No, I left him with a blacksmith." Ismene replied. "The one who's fixing your sword." She winked. "Actually, I don't suppose you have any money, do you? Its just.I left him as insurance and until we win something I probably won't get him back."
She and Thomas began walking towards the camp, Thomas leading his roan mare.
"I'm afraid not. Not enough to pay a blacksmith anyway, unless you want me to go to The King's Arms and get the money back on our rooms so you can sleep outside again tonight?"
"Erm, no, I think I'd rather have a bed. Did your business go well?"
Thomas's father had been widening his business over the past few years, exporting cloth to the continent, and the two had met when Thomas had been travelling the country to act as his father's representative, trying to drum up trade.
"Yes, my father now owns a third of London's linen shops, although he still sees fit to pay me a pittance." He scowled. "It seems that whenever some deal needs to be clinched he sends for me, but when its all said and done I'm redundant again."
"Well, tomorrow we shall begin to make our fortunes." Ismene consoled him.
Thomas laughed. "How many times have I heard you say that?"
~**~
"Hello? Anyone there?" Ismene called into the dim interior of the blacksmith's tent.
Orthos was still tethered outside, and she and Thomas had stopped to pet the beast and tie the roan, Plato, beside it. A flap lifted in the back of the tent and a woman's head poked out.
"Oh, it you!" she exclaimed. "I've finished your mail, and the sword's good as new." She came out into the forge proper and picked them up from beside an anvil. "Here they are."
Thomas took the blade and examined it, then handed it to Ismene, who swung it slowly back and forth. "That's great, thank you." she said. Kate looked from her to the slight man - shouldn't he be the one testing it?
"I'm Thomas Milton." He stuck out his hand and smiled, showing a half set of crooked teeth.
"Nice to meet you" Kate shook his hand and smiled back, despite the feeling of revulsion on looking at his mouth. Just then, loud voices were heard approaching from the street, and a rotund man, followed by a squabbling Geoffrey Chaucer and red-headed fellow, entered the tent. The large man stopped when he saw the two visitors, and the red-head walked straight into him, swearing loudly.
"Watch where you're bloody g.oh!" he shut his mouth as Kate began to laugh.
"Visitors!"
"Miss Levoux, how delightful to see you again!" Geoffrey's face brightened as he stepped round Roland and took her hand, kissing it in a courtly fashion. Ismene was dismayed to feel herself blush. "This is your friend, I take it?" he offered his hand to the man with her, who shook it firmly.
"Count Thomas of Bavaria, but you can call me Thomas Milton. That's my name outside the castle" he grinned. "And you are.?"
"Geoffrey Chaucer. You may have heard of me?" Thomas shook his head, and Geoffrey shrugged. "This is Roland," he pointed to the large man, who was grinning from Thomas to Ismene. "and this fine fellow is Wat." The redhead nodded. "You've already met Kate?"
"Yes." Thomas said. "Just about." He smiled at the blacksmith, and Ismene could tell by the look on his face that he'd seen something he liked.
"Was Orthos any trouble?" Ismene asked Kate, who looked puzzled for a moment. "My horse" she prompted.
"Oh, no, he was fine!" she replied. "Although if you need him now I'll have to take payment."
"I don't need him yet." Ismene assured her. "But you'll have payment tomorrow if Thomas wins, which he will." she looked to Thomas who nodded confidently. Kate wondered how they would make money from his win, as prizes weren't awarded until the end of the event, but Geoffrey guessed their plan - they'd bet on the outcome.
"Erm.this isn't a social call." Roland interrupted, holding up some coloured cloth. He glanced up at Chaucer, who had begun asking Ismene and Thomas where they were staying for the duration. "Not for some of us, anyway. Could you put this emblem onto Sir Villeux's breastplate?" he held out the jerkin with its swan design, and Kate scrutinised it carefully.
"I think so." she said. "Just leave it with me and I'll do it for tomorrow."
"Great" Roland handed her the cloth. "Come on now Geoffrey - we've got work to do!"
Geoffrey looked up, slightly annoyed that his conversation with the object of his curiosity had been interrupted. "A herald doesn't work until the day of the tournament!"
"Not this one." Roland replied. "Sir Villeux told me to tell you to go and see him, as soon as you had a moment."
Geoffrey sighed. "Will we be seeing you later?" he asked Ismene and her friend. Ismene nodded.
"I think so" she said. "We'll be at The King's Arms anyway, if you need us."
When the three men had left, Thomas and Ismene thanked Kate and led Plato through the encampment towards the practise ring, where they would study the other knights' methods of fighting.
"What did you go and tell them where we're staying for?" Thomas demanded. "You know what'll happen if people find out - they'll be on us like a ton of bricks!"
Ismene shook her head. "They seem like good people."
"You mean Chaucer seems like a good person." Thomas accused. "You'd not even met the other blokes before, had you?"
"Well, no." Ismene conceded. "But, well.we kind of went for dinner last night."
Thomas raised an eyebrow. "You what?"
"He won all my money at cards and then offered to buy me dinner, and I said yes."
Thomas opened and shut his mouth a few times. "Firstly, what the hell were you doing gambling? Secondly, I thought you had a thing about secrecy, especially about not letting strange men take you out, and thirdly.god, there is no thirdly, but what's bloody come over you?!"
Ismene slapped him on the arm. "I don't know! It seemed like a good idea at the time, but then he started asking questions." she saw the look on her friend's face. "but I didn't tell him anything, don't worry."
"Good." Thomas scowled. "I'd hate to think you were letting your lustful feelings get in the way of earning a living."
Ismene spluttered into laughter. "'Lustful feelings'?" she mimicked. "That's a bit poetic for you! Anyway, why can't I have dinner with a nice man - its not exactly often I meet one! But you're one to talk, I saw the way you looked at that blacksmith." she nudged him in the side playfully. "Why don't you ask *her* out to dinner, hmm?"
"I couldn't afford it. She'd have to buy *me* dinner." Thomas laughed, not angry anymore. "I could ask her out for something free though. What's free?"
They were now leaning against the fence of the practise ring, watching two knights spar with each other, swords clanging and glinting in the sunlight.
"A walk? Some stargazing? A ride on your horse?" Ismene looked at Thomas as he laughed. "That wasn't meant as a metaphor, you know."
She began to watch the opponents in the ring in earnest. A man standing to one side of them acting as referee wore a yellow jerkin embroidered with a red cockerel. Both men wore light chain mail, but one man was a lot bigger than the other - his long golden hair was matted back from his face by sweat, and his expression as he swung at his opponent was one of anger and determination.
"He's certainly getting into the spirit of things." Thomas observed as the man knocked his opponent off his feet with a brutal slap to the face with the flat of his sword.
"Who is he?" Ismene asked a nearby squire, dressed in blue, who was probably there for the same reason as her and Thomas.
"That's Lord Chiswick the Younger." The squire replied. "He's said to be the favourite for the sword-fighting, and you can see why." Chiswick had now pulled the other man to his feet, only to punch him in the stomach causing him to keel over in pain.
"His brother - Lord Chiswick the Elder, is taking part in the joust. They're both as bad as each other." The squire shook his head in disgust. "If you take my advice you'll stay away from them."
"Thanks.I think I will." Ismene agreed. "But.who's his opponent?" she wondered who would let the big man beat them up like that. Surely not another knight - not *before* the competition?
"That's his squire." The squire shuddered. "I wouldn't want to be him right now."
The man in blue was called by his master, and Thomas and Ismene were left alone to watch the carnage.
"Are you sure you want to fight him?" Thomas asked. "I mean, I know you're good, but you're not exactly that strong."
"Hey!" Ismene pretended to be insulted. "I'm as strong as an ox! Well, a small ox - more like a calf, really." she started laughing. "Look, I'll be wearing mail, and you know its against the rules to actually stab people. All I have to do is exercise my *far* superior skill."
"Yes.*all* you have to do." Thomas sighed. "Well, good luck." He turned away from the ring, bored of watching some poor soul get the life beaten out of him. "Have you ever thought about making a will?"
~**~
That day was the day for entering the lists, so Thomas, Ismene, and all the other knights and heralds made their way to the long oak table where scribes and judges sat ready to take down proof of eligibility. The queue was long, and Thomas sat down on the ground to wait until things started moving.
"It's a nice day" he observed.
"Yeah.I hope its good weather tomorrow. I hate fighting in the rain."
"You mean, you hate watching fighting in the rain?"
"That's what I said." Ismene shrugged. Its not like anyone was listening to them - everyone in the queue was too busy preparing their 'evidence', or trying to work out how to spell their master's names. She scanned the crowd. Everyone wore the colours of the house they worked for - her and Thomas were almost the only people dressed plainly - they'd probably be taken for a squire and a handmaiden at first, but Thomas had in his pocket a piece of parchment that proved his noble identity. The queue next to theirs seemed to be moving a lot faster, something Thomas was not long in commenting on.
"Why do I always choose the slow queue?" he demanded of the sky. "Why?"
"Sod's law" Ismene said.
"What's a sod, anyway?"
"I don't know. I always thought it was like, dirt."
"Isn't that a clod?"
They were interrupted from their intellectual conversation by the queue, which suddenly shortened considerably as a knight led his 10-strong entourage away from the tables. Thomas got to his feet, and it was not long before they stood before a judge and his scribe.
"Event?" the scribe asked without looking up.
"Sword-on-foot" Ismene answered.
"Ancestry?"
Thomas took the scroll from his pocket and unfurled it for the judge to see. The red-faced old man scrutinised it, then began to read aloud so the scribe could take it all down.
All of a sudden, Ismene felt inexplicably watched. She looked at the man at the head of the line next to her, and her eyes met Chaucer's. He smiled at her, but was obviously listening intently to what the judge was saying as he read Thomas's list.
"Count Thomas of Bavaria, son of Count Alfrede III of Bavaria, son of Count Alfrede II of Bavaria, son of Count Alfrede I of Bavaria." he paused. "Alfrede a family name eh?" Thomas nodded. "Where was I? Ah yes, Count Alfrede I of Bavaria, son of Count Oscar of Bavaria, son of Count Alexander of Bavaria. Well, I can't say I know much about Bavarian Counts, but this all seems to be in order." The scribe hurriedly finished writing, then made Thomas hand over a board with his crest on - a black lion on a grey background, which was placed alongside the other crests under the sword-on- foot sign.
"Thank you sir" the scribe said dismissively, then called to the next man in the line; "Event?"
Thomas and Ismene left the table, but stopped a few feet away to wait whilst Chaucer finished introducing his knight. The man was young, perhaps mid-twenties, with dark hair and a handsome face. His clothes, Thomas noted, were made of rich fabric and expensively dyed. He stood silent, allowing his herald to do his job, and within a few minutes his coat of arms was placed under 'Joust'. As they turned away from the table the writer scanned the crowd, and his eyes rested upon Thomas and Ismene.
"Count Thomas!" he smiled as he led his knight over to them. "Count Thomas of Bavaria, and Ismene Levoux, may I introduce Count Francois Villeux." The knight and Thomas bowed to each other, then started some inane small-talk which noblemen seemed so fond of. Where they had estates, how long they had been in England.Ismene only half-listened to what Thomas was making up - Geoffrey was looking at her intently, and she met his eyes questioningly.
~**~
It was another coincidence - or was it fate, he wondered? - which brought Geoffrey and the young woman together again at the registration table. He had planned to make his way to The King's Arms that night, but a chance of being in her company had come sooner than he could have hoped! Once again things had become strange - the night before, as he lay in bed, he'd been able to convince himself that Ismene was just a woman travelling alone, understandably paranoid, and although her name was interesting and she surely had a tale to tell, there was nothing too unusual about her. Then he'd met Count Thomas, who looked less like a Count than any he'd ever seen. Unless it was normal for noblemen on the continent to have such foul teeth, and be so undernourished - he was barely taller than the girl herself!
There was something about his ancestry too - having forged one of his own (a most expert and elaborate piece of vellum if he did say so himself) he had a good idea of what made a history genuine, and something just wasn't right about Thomas's. Maybe it was the region; Bavaria seemed to general - most counts were of fiefdoms or towns, but Bavaria was a big place and the title just seemed too anonymous. Whatever the reason, Geoffrey was again suspicious, and now he listened to his master's chitchat with only half an ear - he was regarding Ismene as if she might reveal something just by meeting his gaze.
"Well, we really must be off." Count Villeux said in French-accented English. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Sir Thomas."
"And you." Thomas bowed politely, and nodded to Chaucer as Villeux started walking and asking his herald about how he would be announced the next day.
"He seemed nice." Thomas said. "A bit rich, but nice"
"And he's French" Ismene observed. Thomas couldn't speak it, but Ismene's father had taught her from birth and she spoke it as well as she did English. "I think Chaucer was listening to your history though - are you sure its good enough?"
Thomas frowned, but then shook his head. "Of course - it duped the judge, didn't it? He probably just wanted to see if I had better credentials than his own master!"
Ismene laughed - he could be right. It was no use worrying now anyway, they were in the tournament and preparation for the next day had to begin. And be finished by that night - Thomas was already talking about how much he was going to drink at the inn, which was a sure sign he'd get no work done that evening.
~**~
As night fell, Wat excitedly entered Geoffrey's tent to inform the writer and Roland that they had been given the night off.
"I had the night off anyway" Geoffrey pointed out. He was already putting on clean clothes in preparation for the trip into Oxford. He wanted to look half-decent when he went into The King's Arms. Wat was scowling at him.
"Well, you can do what you like, but I'm going to drink! Drink drink drink!" his face reddened as he shouted the word in glee, and Geoffrey cringed.
"Where are you two planning to go tonight then?" he asked nonchalantly.
Roland grinned. "Well now, we were thinking about dropping into The King's Arms, weren't we Wat?" Wat looked confused but nodded anyway. "I've heard it's a good inn." He watched Geoffrey closely for signs of a reaction - he knew the French girl was staying there, and it was obviously where the tall man had been planning on going.
"Well, I suppose I might as well join you" he sighed as if the thought had never crossed his mind. Wat's face fell, but Geoffrey was too busy pulling on his coat to notice. "Shall we get going?"
~**~
The King's Arms was a large establishment, and it seemed that half the camp had amassed there that night. Wat, skills honed by years of practise, immediately spied a free table, but drinks were a commodity even he could not provide. He, Roland, Kate and Geoffrey sat at the table, peering round for the barman. A fight seemed to have started near the door, and Wat was the only one of the group who did not regret this choice of inn. Geoffrey was even more disconsolate because there was no sign of Ismene. Convincing himself it was just too early in the evening, he slouched in his chair and contented himself with watching Wat watch the fight, his hands unconsciously mimicking those of the combatants. Suddenly, Kate and Roland looked at a spot in the air somewhere behind Geoffrey's head and grinned, waving. He sat up quickly and turned in time to see Thomas and Ismene making their way past the crowded bar towards their table.
"Good evening" Thomas said, pulling up a chair between Kate and Roland. "How are you all?
"Well, thanks" Roland replied. "You?"
"Not so bad" Ismene sat down next to Geoffrey and Wat, and gave the writer an almost shy smile which melted his heart, and which he half-feared he'd imagined.
"Where's the barkeep in this place?!" Wat demanded of Ismene. "I want a drink!"
Ismene was a little startled - she wasn't sure if this fiery-haired man was dangerous, but it was true that none of the company had drinks. She looked round, caught the eye of a man in a dirty apron, and motioned him over.
"How did you.?" Wat was at a loss for words.
"What can I get you?" the barman asked, looking from the pretty girl in front of him, to the irate man next to her.
"Beer!" Wat cried. "Lots of beer!"
"I'll have a beer too" Roland said.
"So will I" Kate put in.
"Me too"
"Yeah, beer please"
"A pint of your finest ale" said Geoffrey.
"Right, so erm, six beers then. Be right back." The barkeep hurried off, and Thomas tried to start up a conversation with Kate about horses. Ismene smiled a little as she watched him. He was in awe of her, it was obvious - but she was sure he'd have a better chance if only he'd see a dentist.Geoffrey interrupted her reverie with a question.
"You got home safely last night I trust?"
Ismene remembered how she'd left him without really thanking him properly for taking her out, and she cringed inwardly as she felt herself blush. "Erm.yes, thank you. Listen - I'm sorry if I came across as, well, defensive. It's just, well." she stopped, unsure of how to go on, especially when Wat and Roland seemed to be listening. Geoffrey's eyes met hers, and he seemed to understand.
"Of course" he said. "No need to apologise" and he turned the conversation to another topic, and their drinks arrived and the night was filled with laughter and tales of adventure. Thomas found himself liking the group more than he could have imagined, and Ismene felt sometimes that she and Geoffrey were sharing subtleties the others missed, but she wasn't sure if she liked it or was afraid of what it might bring.
~**~
Geoffrey left the inn that night with Roland alone. Wat had wanted to go on drinking despite his work on the morrow, Ismene had retired to bed, and Kate had left earlier with Count Thomas, who'd said that although he couldn't buy her dinner, "a moonlit walk is free." Geoffrey sighed. So was love, supposedly.
Roland, interpreting this sigh to be one of longing, turned to his friend as they entered the camp. "She's pretty" he observed. Geoffrey looked round to see who he could be talking about.
"Who?"
"You know who. Ismene."
"Oh!" Geoffrey realised. "She's not pretty. She's beautiful."
"Now Geoff, don't get all melancholy on me - she may be beautiful, but is she worth it? You've been all weird since you met her."
Geoffrey sighed again. The night before, when they'd had dinner, he hadn't doubted her intellect and she'd been charming at times, but tonight she'd proved to be excellent company. She'd told of how herself and Thomas had once found themselves in a besieged city in France, and had escaped through the town sewers just before the place was burned down. It would make a good story, if only someone would write it down. Despite all her charms however, he still got the feeling that she and the Count were not what they seemed. That mystery only enticed him further.
"I think she is" he said at length.
~**~
Geoffrey was not the only one that night with his thoughts concentrated on a woman, but he wasn't as lucky as some. Kate had allowed Thomas to take her for a walk, and now they sat beside the Thames which ran through Oxford before making its way to London, looking at the stars. He told her tales of the Gods and Goddesses whose forms they showed which he'd learned from Ismene, and Kate leaned against him for warmth, enjoying the sound of his voice and the feel of his arm around her. He was a lovely man - so down to earth she could hardly imagine he was noble. He had no qualms about drinking with common folk, and she got the feeling that his attentions were given to her because he genuinely liked her, not because she was some wench who could be taken whenever he wanted. Besides, if he thought he could try it on, she'd soon show him differently.
"And now he stands in the sky, with his faithful hound." Thomas said of Orion. "He watches over hunters - makes sure the kill is good."
"Do you hunt often?" Kate asked. She had made arrowheads in the past - she knew how effective they could be at felling both small prey when hunting, and men in war.
"Not as much as I'd like to." Thomas said. "I have an estate in Bavaria which is excellent for deer. The only trouble is I'm hardly ever at home."
"What brings you to England?" Kate asked. Thomas barely had to think - he'd rehearsed this story so many times he could recite it in his sleep.
"Money, mostly. You may have noticed I'm not exactly rich." Kate nodded, laughing softly. "I'm planning to hire my services to the king. There's fortunes to be made in plunder."
"Plunder isn't just about money though is it?" Kate asked. "Usually villages burn and women are dishonoured. Would you take part in that too?"
Thomas stiffened. "No. I'm not that sort of man."
Kate sat up to face him. "I'm sorry" she said. "I know you're not like that."
She leaned towards him, and a pang of guilt shot through Thomas as he realised he'd only really made her like him through a pack of lies, but the feeling quickly fled as her lips pressed softly against his.
~**~
Ismene lay awake that night, sometimes wondering what Wat was doing in the bar downstairs, sometimes about if Thomas had managed to seduce Kate, and sometimes thinking about Chaucer.
The more she saw him the more she liked him. She was hardly ever attracted to men - most of them were either repulsive or only after one thing - but the herald was different - kind, gentle, intelligent; he made her laugh, and there was something about those intent blue eyes and the suggestion of strength in his lean frame that made her heart beat faster. She closed her eyes and sighed. Tomorrow was the first day of reckoning - definitely not the time for girlish fantasies.