In medieval times a sport arose. Embraced by noble and peasant fans alike though only noble knights could compete. The sport was jousting.
For one of these knights, an over-the-hill former champion, it was the end. But for his peasant squire William, it was merely the beginning.
"Shall we help him?" Roland asked, looking at the knight who laid against a tree to rest.
"Well, he must be in the list in two minutes; two minutes or forfeit. Mary," he turned to me. "You're his lady waiting."
"And?" I begged him to clarify his meaning.
"Go wait on him!"
"Not bloody likely! William, you can't even approach without nose plugs. I'm not even sure there is a knight in there for me to wait on," I exclaimed gesturing towards the armour slumped against the tree in rest.
Roland rolled his eyes at our sibling bickering, plugged his nose and walked towards the metal figure. "Dead!" he declared. William and I just stood there aghast.
"Three scores to none after two lances! All Sir Ector needs to do is not fall off his horse and we've won!" Wat said, out of breath and dripping with excitement. Finally having joined us, he had no inkling of the news Roland just bestowed upon us.
The quiet was deafening.
"What?" he asked.
"He's dead," Roland broke the news again as the smell of the former knight spread toward us.
"What do you mean, dead?" Wat asked in disbelief.
"The spark of his life is smothered in shite. His spirit is gone, but his stench remains. Does that answer your question?" Roland answered with a face that showed his severity. Wat wouldn't be able to deny the facts, but he sure tried.
"No, no, no, no, no!" Wat cried as his face fell.
"Yes, Wat. Ector is gone," I tried to stop his denial before it truly began.
"No! He sleeps, rouse him! We are minutes from victory. I haven't eaten in three days, Mary Jane. Three days!" He reminded me.
"Don't you 'Mary Jane' me! I haven't eaten in three days' time, same as you!" I threw back. Wat was always the most dramatic of us.
"None of us have!" William ended our bickering. Between all the verbal tiffs William, Wat, and I get into, Roland almost has to act as our parental. William and I are siblings; we have an excuse. Wat has anger and annoyance rooted to his very core, and that's his excuse.
"We need to fetch a priest," Roland said, standing up and leaving the late Sir Ector behind.
"No, he is not dead!" Wat cried out as he ran forward and began yelling at the body. "Wake up! Come on, huh? Come on! You manky git…" As his frustration grew and Wat began kicking and beating the dead knight, one of the tournament's heralds came over.
"Ho, squire. Sir Ector must report at once or forfeit the match," the herald looked at Roland expectantly. As the pit of anguish filled my empty stomach from the realization of another day without food, I closed my eyes awaiting Roland's response. It was my brother's voice I heard instead.
"He's on his way!"
The herald nodded, giving a questioning look toward Wat. Wat was still kicking and verbally attacking the fallen knight. "Three days! What're you doing?... I'll do you in… I'll kill you!"
Roland and I just stared at WIlliam wide-eyed as the herald departed.
"Have you gone mad?!" I yelled at my brother.
"I'll ride in his place," he suggested.
"Oh my, he has gone mad…"
"No I haven't, MJ. Wat strip his armour. I'm riding in his place," he called out to Wat. It landed on deaf ears as Wat just continued to kick Ector. "Wat! Stop kicking and strip his armour. Calm down, I'm riding in his place. Help me, please."
I stood frozen, as Wat tried to comprehend and Roland tried to knock sense into my brother.
"What's your name William? I am asking you, William Thatcher, to answer me with your name. It's not Sir William. It's not Count or Duke or Earl William. It certainly is not King William! You have to be of noble birth to compete, in case you forgot."
"The landscape is food. Do you want to eat or don't you?" William asked, looking between Roland and .
"You better pray the nobles don't find out, or there'll be the devil to pay," I told him, before walking over to my dead liege to begin stripping him.
After getting William into Sir Ector's armour, he mounted the horse and we rushed back to the stadium. Nobles and peasants alike were pounding on the stands in anticipation. Wat handed William the lance as the herald, began to address us and the crowd.
"The score stands at three lances to none, in favour of Sir Ector. Lord Philip of Aragon, stand you ready?" the herald asked the opponent, to which he raised his lance. "Sir Ector, stand you ready?" he asked William who mimicked his opponent.
"Ready?" Wat asked my brother.
"Of course," he stated with ease. You could never say my brother lacks confidence or courage, that's for sure. "I have tilted against Sir Ector many times, you know."
"In practice lists, as his target. You were never allowed to strike him!" Wat reminded him.
"Wat, don't badger him. You need only stay on your horse to win, William. He needs three points to beat you, so a broken lance won't do. Stay on that horse, William. Or Wat will be cutting off your hand for dinner… and I won't stop him," I threatened, my hunger getting to me. Despite the ache in my abdomen, I was very concerned with what my brother had gotten himself into.
"I know how to score, MJ… I've waited my whole life for this moment," William said dreamily. Ever since he was young, he dreamed of jousting as a knight, changing his stars, just like our father said we could.
The joust began and William willed the horse forward, pointing his lance. Wat, Roland, and I stood yelling at him from behind, "GET IT IN THE CRADLE!"
Lord Philip and him sped toward each other, with William barely holding onto his lance. He looked to his hand to fix his grip and when he looked back up, Lord Philip's lance struck my brother straight in his visor, bending the metal around his face. My heart jumped into my throat, with fear of William's well-being. Roland, Wat, and I ran to him.
"YES!" Wat cheered.
"William?" I asked, praying for an answer.
"WE WON!" Wat continued.
"William!" Roland and I kept prodding for a response.
We received a small groan and Roland called out, "He's breathing! He's breathing! Oh thank the stars, he's breathing."
And with that air finally entered my lungs again.