Shirley Thou Jousts
Sometimes it really pays to go to a public event. The sound of a trumpet broke the early morning air.
The herald was announcing the day's events, since most of the people gathered to watch were illiterate. "The challenged will include a joust, armed combat, a gauntlet, and if any challengers remain at the end the winner will be determined by a hunt. The last contestant standing will be awarded the hand of the lovely princess Felicia, fourth born daughter of King Willard of Morning Gold!" There was much cheering. "Today's contestants include members of the finest noble and landed families in the kingdom…" More cheering as the registered participants rode out on their land's finest horses. Nothing less for a princess even if she was not a direct line to the throne.
There were many men of all ages from teenage boys to middle ages hardened warriors. About thirty of them. Counts. Dukes. Knights. A warlord or two. A few rich landlords. No actual princes, though quite a few who could claim a blood bond to such.
The field fell silent as Shirley, duchess of Kent, rode her horse onto the field and joined the line of knights and nobles. Her helm was under her left arm, golden tresses blowing in the breeze. She was a beautiful gal, the same age as the men of roughly fourteen and near fifteen years of age. Her mother had been a queen of an island to the south near her land's shores which combined with her tendency towards sunbathing gave her skin a natural golden brown coloring and tilted eyes that clashed with her hair and flashing green eyes, inherited from her father Lord Devon.
Even had she worn her helmet her armor was made for her and left no doubt in onlookers that she was indeed female, unless a lad needed a bit of extra room in the breastplate. Admittedly Lord Fergal's boy Huron was a well fed lad whose bosom rivaled those of most women in the country and sorely tested the endurance of his mount. But aside from him most of the rest of the competitors did not need such roundness in their armor and Shirley knew he would soon need yet another new one as she was still growing.
The tournament was by no means one of the more important. A bit of a diversion for the people as the fourth princess of the Land of Morning Gold had just turned seventeen and was unable to land a prince. This was no fault of hers. Princess Felicia was a well brought up lady and like her sisters and mother and aunt and, purportedly, grandmother before her was a beautiful woman. Long red hair, icy blue eyes, nearly as tall as her father, nicely round as a well fed and easy life could produce, but in a way that wore well through the years if her mother was any example, with wide birthing hips and a bust that would be hard to fit in any armor. Her only slight flaw, which Shirley found charming, was that she had inherited her father's large red nose and a pair of bunny teeth that no others in her family had, the lips just dimpling her pouting lips.
It was just that with so many daughters all the eligible princes in the area were taken. There were other kingdoms and age differences and the like. Queen Gertrude of South Glen was expecting a baby, but it was unknown if it was a boy and at her age it seemed silly for Felicia to have an engagement as long as twelve years or more. Not that any young man would mind the age gap.
Instead her father, after trying for a while, had decided to allow a lesser lord to claim her in the traditional way. It would mean a drop in rank from princess to countess or duchess or even lady,, but she was fourth in line to the throne and her elder sisters were already married to princes and the eldest two already had three children between them. If she wanted to be anything but a spinster haunting the castle ramparts forever either they would all have to die, which was unlikely and unwanted as they all loved each other deeply as family should, or she would have to settle for a slightly smaller castle. In addition while she was a chaste and proper young lady, she was still a woman and had started to get that old itch. The good kind. Her family had been bred for breeding and Felicia wanted to do so quite badly.
There were plenty of young lords who would happily marry into the king's family, look forward to a fine dowry, and wished to prove their manhood. Oh the princess was one of the better looking and healthier ladies in the kingdom. Well known for her musical skills as well. But among the nobility such things were of little consequence versus political and monetary gain. A lad could ride the countryside and have his way with any peasant woman who took his fancy and after marriage would have as many concubines as he wished to slake his lust or for love as well. As could the lady once she produced at least one legitimate heir. Legitimate meaning nobody else actually stepped forward to claim the baby. Since she was a princess the child's parentage would hardly matter.
The wedding regardless of whether the bride and groom found love with each other was more the starting signal for Felicia to at least search for love and more importantly at her young age, to satisfy the fires that burned within her. Nothing could be done in that area until the wedding commenced.
Thus they held a tournament to find her a suitable husband.
Shirley had lusted for the older girl since she was eleven and began budding into maidenhood and the two had met at one of innumerable events her family was part of as members of the nobility. Naturally she had felt that way about many such women with no hope of anything coming of it. Merely an appreciation of beauty. The way one felt when they saw the royal treasury with its glittering jewels and gold coins and would love to roll around in it, but knew they never could and would be beheaded if they tried. Fun to think about, not likely to happen.
That was until she began training in politics. She was the third child of her father, the second daughter. The spare in truth. Allowed a certain leeway because of it, but ultimately expected to marry some random lord in the kingdom or in a nearby one to eventually seal an alignment or some kind. Naturally though a noble wanted any advantage he could get and daughters were trained in things such as loyalty and how to read and understand their husband's paperwork to both help them as a wife should and of course in the hopes that if anything important came up she would slip any information to her father or brother, depending on if he had been succeeded yet.
Shirley had no doubt her father loved her, but he was a busy man. The kingdom had only been founded by the current king when he rescued the queen, then a princess, from a spell and defeated a beast ravaging the kingdom. This small land had been gifted to him by the emperor as a gift, stripped from the lord who used to own it after his revealed connection to a dark wizard. Shirley's own father had been on the land and been the third generation of their family to rule his corner after her great-grandfather had been made a duke for earning glory in several battles.
All quite interesting and at the same time fairly standard. For the average serf or soldier and even the lesser nobles it made little difference.
Shirley had taken advantage of her father's full days and the fact that she was unnecessary. Not intentionally bucking the system exactly, but certainly doing things unexpected of a young lady. In fact she watched as various lords, including her own father sent runners from their seats to talk to the king. Devon's was accompanied by a guard and one of his advisors, a man named Justin who was rather obsessed with laws and the like, often acting as an advocate in cases brought before her father. Shirley had consulted him extensively and it was his assurance that she was within her rights that had convinced her father to allow her entry into this tournament. Not to mention a few earlier less than ladylike endeavors leading up to it.
Admittedly it was also a combination of necessity and amusement that had allowed them and the current situation. A girl doing this or that? How novel. But then she was third in line and not particularly necessary. Certainly she would soon see the folly of her ways and… oh my, she pulled it off again? And again? My word. Isn't this… interesting?
If she had been first born or her goal had included one of the elder princesses this would never have worked, but there was freedom in being superfluous. She had learned much from her father's advisors including the court jester, a position that allowed a man of low birth to make sport of those in the upper echelons. Up to a point at least. One could stick a toe across the line provided you were careful where you stuck your neck.
Looking up at the startled princess Shirley was willing to risk a couple of toes. She knew it was not particularly normal for a lady to feel such things for her own gender, but it had never passed and she was well read enough o know that it also was not unheard of either in both history and legend.
Around her a few of the other young men had noticed the lady among them, especially those who rode out after. Some made as if to say something, but then stopped themselves. They were before the king and his majesty hade eyes. Unless called on to specifically address the issue saying something might very well cost a man his head. That was why a dozen messengers were descending upon the king at the moment.
Justin at their head, having foreknowledge and anticipating certain questions.
Shirley smiled as she watched an unexpected event in the day's tourney. She could not hear the words being hissed by the various representatives but could guess. Some were asking what was going on. A few whose masters had figured out she was serious as soon as she rode out were already protesting. Justin, loaded down with a number of documents chosen for this exact situation, was calmly explaining that no, the rules did not preclude a girl from participating.
She was by no means in the clear but she could already see amusement on King Willard's face from where she sat. As well as several other lords and much of the peasants lined up around the edges of the field. Even a few of the knights around her, young and old, were snickering a bit. Shirley was good with that. Laughing people rarely blocked well when you cracked them across the jaw or kicked them in the fork.
Justin had agreed to point out that she was of marrying age and Shirley's father had not yet arranged his own tournament for her hand. He noted she was of noble birth and she saw the king's eyebrows rise up as he laid out a scroll duly listing some of her deeds. Duly recorded in the royal archives. One would think a burgeoning lady warrior would have been the talk of the kingdom, but nobles and their fighters sent in such documents on a regular basis. If there was a fight rulers like to have the pick of their best warriors. Like as not the actual scroll sent in was in a stack of other unready missives and if it had been glanced at the cleric who read it had jotted it down on a list of other names without having the least clue he was even reading about a lady. If he noticed he would have sent a message back to the duke to confirm and by the time that happened the tournament would be well over. Shirley had timed it quite well.
Her deeds had been carefully planned out as well. She had kept well distant from the peasants so they had mostly only seen another knight in her father's colors from a distance. Usually while they were working on something themselves. Shirley had chosen deeds the other knights in her father's payroll had put off and probably would not have bothered writing down had they done them.
She had slain a rather nasty wolf preying on the local livestock. Broken up a few fights in the villages. Chased down a trio of bandits and turned them in for a small reward. Aided a few people in more minor ways. She had also participated and won several local challenges and prizes and had taken a leadership role in a minor skirmish her father had with a neighboring lord, taking over his soldiers and leading a successful campaign before anyone knew she was there. Officially she had done well enough that she had been declared one of his generals, just like her elder brother. Nothing had come up since but he assured her he would consider sending her in again during the next one. Not bad for the three year aspirations of a lass of fifteen.
Nothing that would attract much attention but still qualified as noble and chivalrous deeds. Combined with her clear appropriate breeding she more than qualified for the tournament and technically even if she was female the kingdom had no law saying otherwise.
Of course the king's word was law, so she still teetered on the knife's edge at the moment, whatever her arguments. She could be sent home in disgrace. She could be whipped or flogged or placed in stocks. And not in the enjoyable ways she had read about in some of the castle library's erotica selection.
The king was a good father and she saw him subtly lean over to his daughter. Normally his eldest and her husband would be at his side, but it was Felicia's special day and this whole contest was about her, so she sat at his left side opposite her mother. The other three and their mates lined up after her. It may very well be the only time it would happen while they were all in the country.
Nobody could miss the princess's confused look at Shirley, as if she expected the other woman to jump off her horse and say "Just kidding". She had clearly never considered that another woman might want her and still thought there must be some sort of trick. She also looked more than a little put out that some lesser noblewoman was using this time to steal some of the attention. Still she was used to taking a far seat from the front and it was her day.
The princess whispered something to her father. Shirley could practically read her lips. "Let the silly little tart make a fool of her self." After all she was up against all those big strong men. Surely she would be quickly eliminated from the joust, knocked on her ass with a broken lance, and sent crying back to her father's keep. Similar to spilling a drink on a lady's dress or exposing her getting laid by the stable hand while at the castle on other business.
Ah the fun to be had among women at these little social meetings. No wonder men enjoyed war so much. Compared to what their womenfolk got up to in a daily situation, often behind each other's backs, having someone try to crush your skull was a refreshingly forward way to spend the day.
The king nodded and all the little mouthpieces scattered back to their masters. He had made a decision and nobody would be allowed to question it. He nodded to the herald. The man in question stood up and spread his arms, shouting across the silent field. "Let the games begin!" There was cheer and a few jeers from the crowd and mixed from the nobles and the competitors.
She was a minor inconvenience. Something to drag down the reputation of the whole thing. Still a win was a win. Someone had to knock her out of the competition. Silly little girl.
By the noon hour there was a lot less laughter at Shirley's expense.
At first it was still funny when she knocked Lord Reece's son off his horse. After all anyone could get lucky. They were using hollow straw stuffed lances after all. No points. Anyone, even a girl, could get lucky.
By the third broken lance and bruised iron-clad backside people were not snickering so much as muttering. Shirley wondered how much free time the boys had to practice. Actually they did not. Their idea of work was training for such things. So even the most dedicated among them only did it eight hours a day. And for them it was work. For Shirley it was something to kill time. Often from wakeup to the time she chose to go to bed aching. And she did it for fun.
Superficial in the face of the fact that it was in fact war training? That she was toying with something that men spent their lives studying and dying for? Perhaps. But that was what the nobility did and she was quite good at it.
"Bloody hell; that was like being kicked by a mule," Jacks, son of the count of Wild Shire, said as Shirley bet down from her horse to help him up. He took her hand, letting her and her horse heft him to his feet. She would have gotten down to help him, but armor was heavy and
"A lady should know how to handle a lance," she said. He laughed. "Upset?"
"That I lost, but not at who beat me," he said. "That was quite the blow. I rather suspect you may be the best person out here, not that you'll find many who will admit it."
"But you will?"
"How would being beaten by less than the best benefit me?" He lifted the visor of his helm and winked. He was fairly hansom. "Watch for Hugo Mountainside. He favors his left." He lowered the helm and went to retrieve his lance and horse.
The joust was not an elimination event, unless someone got too hurt to continue. The same for the armed combat round that would follow. It was more designed to decide the order of competition.
One of the others, a grown man by the name of Sir Samuel, eventually knocked her off her horse, but by then she was third in line. Nobody was jeering any more and several made sounds of dismay when she was took that lance between her breasts. The splinters and yellow hay raining down around her as she groaned a bit. It had been a solid hit and she was already aching a bit. Riding up and down on horseback carrying a heavy stick.
"What made you think you could marry the princess?" He sneered rather than offering to help her up.
She hefted her clanking butt off the ground and said, "We're a seaside community. I plan to have a wedding onboard a rather nice ship with a captain presiding."
He sputtered at her obvious dismissal of his opinion and attempt to assert his dominance. No woman talked to him like that. However she outranked him and they were in public. If they were alone he might beat and even rape and kill her. In the future he may even end up crushing whatever man she was married off to and take his lands, titles, and wife as a slave.
For now though they were in public so he just lifted his head and rode off to see if he could get the top spot.
Her horse had run off over by the king's stand. As she approached and claimed the reins he beckoned her forth and she walked forward. She saw the queen and princesses, nodding to Felicia who remained coldly distant.
"Your majesty,' she said and took off her helm before she bowed. "I'd curtsy but this armor really isn't made for it."
He nodded. "Understood. I merely wished to ask, why?"
She knew what he meant. "Your majesty, is it so hard for you to believe that your daughter is so beautiful that it would tempt even another woman to desire her?" She turned her eyes to Felicia and saw the princess start and blush a little. "Is it flattering princess, to know that your beauty makes my heart go pitter pat?" The princess despite herself smiled a little. Shirley turned back to the king. "I would gladly give up any dowry or glory and run away with your daughter right now with only my horse, my armor, and the small coins in my pouch if not for the fact that I would rather keep her in pleasant surroundings than working our way aboard ship or some such as we flee the country.
"So rather than ride up on my charger and carry her off into the sunset I've set myself a path. I will win her hand battling against the best the kingdom has to offer and potentially get my brains bashed out. All to have her for my own." She winked. "Of course if I lose and I'm still able to walk I might just come by and elope with her anyway. I've gone a bit far to back out now."
"You wouldn't dare," the queen gasped.
Shirley smiled. "I'm here already. I've declared my intentions. The question is, if I do turn up to whisk her away, would the beauteous princess Felicia deign to go with me?" She smiled halfway as the princess's face turned redder than ever to match her hair. Was that a yes? "Not that we'll find out because I intend to win this contest. If your majesty will excuse me."
He did not look as amused as before. None of them did. Probably because Shirley had already gotten further than they had expected. Proven that she was a genuine contender. The princess was confused and possibly a little happier about that than she expected or knew how to deal with. The idea that Shirley might win was settling on the others and they were uncertain if they understood the concept let alone were okay with it.
On the other hand there were two to three events to go and there was considerable difference between holding a lance steady and besting warriors in armed combat.
Shirley beat the men. Anyone else would have been cheered. At least any man. She was greeted with stunned silence and resentful muttering. From the nobility in the stands. The peasants along the fence were far more supportive, though those nearest their lords and masters cheered a bit more nervously, torn between dread of their betters and the energy of their friends and neighbors.
It made sense that she won. Some of the fighters had probably been holding back during the joust because she was a woman and it confused them. They could not hit a woman. Not in public with their peers watching in any case. From their appearance as they lost an instinct they regretted and would happily correct in private given the chance. Others had aimed hard and fast with the intent of running her into the ground. Both were predictable and she had ended up taking third place and only being hit that last time. Only getting knocked down once.
Other men had taken multiple hits even if they stayed upright. So they were nursing a few more wounds than a sore chest and an aching backside along with some exhaustion.
Brandishing a labrys, a double headed axe, she proved remarkably adept at using it. In some ways it was due to her father, who watched with no little pride from his stand with her mother and the other minor nobles from their keep. Surrounded by loyal guards on the lookout for treachery from the other lords. In a way he had a right to be. She had first wielded an ax as a punishment as a little girl from him.
Split wood for a month. It had been a minor transgression but the duke's family had never been the type to hire a whipping boy. She had actually enjoyed herself a bit. And when it came time to learn to wield a weapon the axe had simply called to her. Swords were versatile and used by most for a reason, but convincing a woodsman to teacher how to fight for a few coins had been so much easier than the guards and knights.
Old John had been a surprisingly good teacher for a drunkard. Raised in the backwoods he claimed he mostly learned to fight by watching animals rather than people and since most of his clothes were a collection of smelly hides, one had to assume he knew of which he spoke. He was also a bare knuckle town champion and a rather nasty barroom brawler, which was how he first came to Shirley's attention.
Neither of them thought it would be a good idea for her to ruin her noble hands with calluses from sword training or punching. She needed those delicate fingers to write and be kissed at parties and hard labor was meant as a punishment, not a hard day's work. So instead he taught her hunting skills and twisted those to fight. Hunters did not as a rule actually give the prey a fair fight. They usually shot them from a safe distance aiming for broad weak points and when they did face them down close they baited them and wore them down, usually from behind safety measures like thick leather and shields.
Poke at the snout, get the teeth out of the way, and the rest was hunter's choice.
Wounded tired animals were even easier. Limps. Stretched muscles. Bite marks. Not exactly the same as having been repeatedly pummeled by the business end of a wooden shaft and thrown to the ground, but most did not land quite as well as she did even if they could take the hit. It was hard enough to move in more than a hundred pounds of steel without a twisted ankle.
Add in the things she learned
A few of the men might have beaten her, but the match-ups worked in her favor.
Take Sir Samuel, her very first opponent. "So ready to get beaten by a teenaged girl?"
"I will crush you!" Nope, no hesitation to hit a girl there. Not when he had permission in an official tournament.
It did not help that he was not using a sword either. He had a Morningstar and knew how to use it. Had she fought at all like most people, sword masters in particular, her blade would have been shattered.
Instead of attacking with it she held it out as bait and kept making comments. 'I'm wondering, do you think people will think less of you when I beat you in this tournament, or when the princess tells everyone that no man could make her as happy as me?"
"That's impossible. How could another woman hope to satisfy a female?"
"Well if you don't know then it's clear I'm going to have an easier time of it than I thought. Also explains why at your age you're out here swinging your funny little mace thing instead of having a family already." The man was over forty. By now most men were married or dead or both. "No wonder you're desperate to win this."
Incensed he began swinging wildly, usually at the shiny axe she was waving in front of his face rather than at her, until on a backswing he actually clocked himself in the head. Not hard, but it distracted him enough for Shirley to land some blows and win the match.
She kept it up, wearing them down instead of fighting them. Not a great tactic in an actual battle with an army of potential opponents, but one on one in a tournament, it kept her a lot fresher than her foes. By the end even the other winners wore out and she was left standing as the last one, whose name she did not even know, teetered over in the hot afternoon sun.
"And the winner is her grace, Shirley of Kent!" The herald announced to a lot of cheering.
At least from the peasants who were rapidly becoming enamored by their new female champion. The nobility meanwhile was less enthusiastic.
The princess however was required to give the winner a favor. Sometimes a kiss. In this case she pulled a kerchief from among her flowing robes and stood up. One of her maids came forward with a rose that she attached to the bit of cloth and stone faced bent down and handed it to "The champion!" Shirley took it, exaggerating smelling the flower and the rose both.
"Princess, I don't know which scent is more entrancing, the beautiful flower's or your own."
The princess blushed and sat down. Shirley saw the king's eyes narrow and his jaw clench. Shirley had a sudden feeling she was in much more danger from the ornamental sword by his side or the headsman's ax than her fellow warriors on the battlefield. Considering their open hostility like the fires of hell itself, that was saying something.
The gauntlet was going to be the toughest contest because there was no real way to trick her way through it. Shirley like everyone else, was just going to have to run it and do her best. Sadly it was not some obstacle course or race. It was a gauntlet in the old sense: a line of the other contestants, shorn of armor, standing in two rows face to face. Those that were left anyway. Meaning about fifteen of them including Shirley.
Each would break off from the line and run between the others who would then pummel them mercilessly. And from the look of things, the glares and sneers of the other contestants as they lined up across from one another in two rows, Shirley was going to take the brunt of it. The boys around here were barely looking at one another. Though they were still disdainful enough not to be holding back as one by one, left then right, someone at the front of the line broke off to run between them.
Those not running yet clapped in rhythm, Shirley included. She was about five in, making her the ninth that would run. A few of the guys were looking at her with something on top of the naked rage and evil plotting. It was not every day you saw a woman in armor, but seeing one in a man's tunic and leggings was nearly as rare. To make it unheard of her arms while not as bulging as those of her competitors were noticeably muscular and tanned deep gold from hard long hours in the sun. After a long day like the others she was sweaty and on her it was like a glow, matching the sheen of sunlight on her polished armor. Long brown hair hanging over her shoulders, matted a bit from being in her helmet.
She smelled a bit too, but not like the noblewomen who routinely bathed in boiled water and rubbed themselves with scented oils, later having their maids scrape it from them when the dirt became too noticeable. She smelled like a hard working peasant woman instead, a scent the men were familiar with from a young age. After all it was a nobleman's right when about in the country to have his way with any peasant wench who caught his eye. Some were okay with it, happy to have a romp with a clean noble instead of a local oaf, hoping perhaps to become gravid with their seed to buy themselves at least a place in society or perhaps a small suite in a palace as a concubine, if they took a fancy to her. Foolish girls who did not know that conceiving a bastard did not make them a princess and never would. It might even buy them a quick death drowned in the river, either at the nobleman's hand or that of his wife.
It hardly mattered though because even if they were against it, the women could be taken and forced to comply. If the noble was too weak to do it himself there would be guards to hold her down and hold off anyone who might dare come to her aid. Not that many were that foolish, even for a close relative or their own betrothed. Hal the time they blamed the girl for doing something to catch their eye. After all a girl they could hit and snarl at without risking their home being burned down for treason against their lords.
Yes, Shirley could see in their eyes that a beating was only the beginning if any of them had the chance. That she had earned merely by showing up.
She was not encouraged as the first runner came by and she took her punch. Hitting with a weapon was one thing. Flesh and steel were natural enemies. She was strong and trained and with the right blow she could knock a normal man down. But these were seasoned warriors and well trained, At least this one was. She could see more than a few noblemen eyeing their well muscled competitors with trepidation.
The winner got the princess which meant they would become a prince if they won. Mostly a knight was not fool enough o strike a lord, certainly not hard enough to break bones. Now? It was hard to tell if the brutal men, shorn of armor and many looking all too eager, would hold back for fear of eventual retaliation or if they would go full boar to knock out the competition.
Shirley did not hold back. She was not the first person to hit the guy, but there were two others ahead of her with muscles that dwarfed hers and sent that first man staggering. As well as a few nobles who bruised their knuckles with no noticeable effect. One actually turned and ran as the large man sneered, not daring to take their turn getting hit without the protection.
Already with nothing to lose Shirley hit hard. She was too short and in the wrong position to hit his face, so she aimed for his ribs and he blocked with his arm. She received a grunt in answer to the blow, but he did not stagger or even slow down. From the look of things the man had been kicked harder by mules, possibly in the face. He continued on, not quite rushing. As if running would taint his honor. He took some strong blows and almost looked to be knocked down once, but kept going before the man behind it could land a second blow. Finally, a little unsteady, he rejoined the end of the line and began clapping, looking back the way he had come obviously eager to repay a few of the hits he had taken in kind.
Two of the skinnier nobles remaining were knocked cold before they got as far as her. One of them was quick and finally she got to deliver a blow that sent him tumbling into the man across from her. He was already passing out when that man took a hit at him and the credit. Nonetheless there were cries from the stand as the thinner weaker man was picked up and passed out of the line to lie in the grass. Someone in his family was swearing vengeance. She sort of hoped it was against that man across from her, who smirked in her face, but part of her suspected that whether they saw it or not, her hit was the one that incensed them more.
"You're a dead woman," said somebody to her left. Shirley did not bother looking. Whoever said it, they were all thinking the same. Her included. After her win earlier she knew she was catching no slack.
Finally the line came to her and she knew as the last before her passed, taking her hit again without slowing, that the time had come. So instead of flinching she held up her arm, where she had tied the princess's favor, leaving the rose with her armor. Around her she heard various suppressed oaths and growling over the clapping. The anger was palpable as she reminded them of their defeat.
Suddenly she sprinted. Unlike the men she knew she had no way of gaining honor by taking their hits. No need to prove her manhood was letting them crack their knuckles on her skull or thumping into her flesh and the bones beneath. She was a woman.
Anger pushed the first few men to swing wildly. They missed as she ducked low and the next were more ready, but thrown as she leaped, ducked, and twirled. Years of courtly dance lessons coming to her aid as well as her training in fighting. Her opponents had all been men after all, no women sparring partners. She knew how they moved and attacked. More than a few times she had goaded them into attacking her fully despite being female. It had been instructive. A few clipped her as she sprinted like a doe.
Those nearer the end though were not nearly as easy to evade. They saw her coming and had plenty of time to get prepared. She felt a hit to the side. Another to the arm. Then from the other side. CRACK! Shirley gritted her teeth. If her arm was not broken she was sure the bone was cracked. Her eyes locked on the last row, forgetting their faces. Someone kicked out one of the skinnier ones who had made it past her. It was not a manly blow, but the pain to her skin from his fine boots was actually more painful than some of the punches.
She kept running. Lumps straining at their breeches in obvious rutting desire spurring her on. No telling what they would do if she fell here. The nobles would most likely look on and laugh if she fell and they mounted her as one group. Possibly join in or award her as a prize to one of the losers. Not as a bride but no doubt she would be used to entertain them for months in a variety of ways before she died.
Never. Glancing at the white cloth on her wrist she kept running.
One final fish cracked her in the jaw and spun her as she made it to the end of the line. Her body twisted with the hit and she twirled on the grass, feet slipping as she saw daylight, the clapping echoed by throbbing pain in her head.
But she stood. She did not fall. And she turned to sneer, lips stained with blood, even as she felt her face swelling from the blow. For a moment the men froze, the clapping silenced.
Shirley spit a mouthful of blood into the grass and placing one foot firmly in front of the other, so as not to risk falling and passing out, she rejoined the line and began clapping. After a moment's hesitation and with no little respect from some of them, the clapping recommenced and another man followed her into the gauntlet.
Glancing over at the stands at one point as the others focused on the next runner she caught the princess's eye? For a brief moment it looked like there might be a bit of concern, but it was gone in a flash and her eyes darted away. Nonetheless Shirley turned back, breathing heavily through the pain, and felt a grin sting her split lip.
Several of the competitors bowed out of the gauntlet. Some because they saw what they had coming ran, though not before receiving a kick from someone near them or being tripped. A couple, mostly those injured in previous rounds, walked off heads held high. Taking a lump or two for backing out. Others just ended up like that other sap, knocked cold and thrown out. Leaving only the strongest and the most stubborn.
Shirley had bound her arm. It was not bent or broken visibly, but it would be useless and unlike many of he others, she was not going to be putting her armor back on for the final event. A hunt. There were ten men and one woman left as they took their horses and lined up a cart's length apart from another at the edge of the woods.
The king barely spared Shirley a glance as she sat high in the saddle, good hand clutching her sword. That glance was not a friendly one. The nobles related or cheering for those who were in it were in carriages themselves, some distance away. Including his family, the princess taking the window seat as it was her hand they were seeking.
King Willard reached the end of the line after examining them all and said, "Men! The winner is the one who brings back the most vicious beast in the forest. My huntsmen know many and where they live. We have bears and wolves. Foxes. Hogs, both wild and feral. Only the largest and fiercest shall win my daughter's hand. You have until the sun sets." He raised and then lowered his arm and they burst forward, some slower than others.
None had made it through the previous rounds of competition unscathed. He and a few nobles looked nearly cheerful as Shirley took her hand from her sword and put them on her reins, urging her horse forward into the trees well behind the others. Many of whom had arrows or crossbows at the ready. A weapon she would not be wielding with her wounds. Clearly they would have the edge, though not entirely with the thick trees of the forest. Bolts and arrows were far more useful in open ground. She winced openly as her mount's movement jarred her arm and heard laughter from the parked coaches.
She was out, they were sure, and would be left far behind. A fine showing "for a woman" the generous among them would say, but she was doomed to fail. They could be magnanimous now that their sons would clearly show her up. Was that a defeated resigned look on the princess's face? Had she perhaps been curious how things might turn out should the woman suitor win? Shirley heard stories about women of nobility and their maids. Possibly the idea of a female duo, at least in private, was not completely alien to all of them. It certainly would explain the hostility and lack of confusion among some of them.
Head down Shirley finally disappeared in the trees.
A moment later she snapped up and turned her horse to the south, keeping inside the tree line. "Sorry boys, but all is fair in love and war." She galloped quickly, staying near the edge.
The contest had been announced months before. It was not as if such news traveled fast. Bards and heralds had been sent out and Shirley, well she was a clever girl. Not to mention highly placed to have gotten the news early enough to have plenty of time to plan and think.
She was under no illusion that she was anything other than an amusement. No amount of training would make her the strongest, fastest in the kingdom. There were men whose sole occupation was hunting or fighting. Some hunted criminals or men. Some were criminals and scoundrels hiding behind the façade of nobility. As confident as she seemed it was truly a miracle that she had made it as far as she had. Shirley had literally risked her life merely by entering this. Had she tried it in an honest attempt with an elder princess the king likely would have had her be headed then and there if the others had not beaten him to it. Such had still been a risk.
Yet with a forced marriage no doubt eventually hanging over her own head and spinsterhood as the other option, growing old and dying alone, she had not seen a better course. At least she would have been remembered. Now she had already made history. All that remained was death or victory. A loss would leave her open to retaliation, which would make a simple death a mercy.
"Fie to you, Death," she said with a grin.
It was tempting to rush into the woods. The men had, as best they all could. Only she was certain if she did then she would shortly be one of the first things to take one of those arrows. So long at it was retrieved nobody would know who delivered the killing blow. If someone saw, who would speak up? No, her body would be left for the wild animals or retrieved, but if it looked as if she was even making a show of this last chance her end was assured.
Her victory however was at hand. It was not unheard of in such cases for people to cheat at the hunt. To hide dead animals caught earlier to retrieve later or arrange for others to aid them. It had been tried before. However these were old tricks and in recent years more than a few had tried them. As if the king's huntsmen would not know the difference between a fox newly killed and one dead a day or week ahead. The forest had been well scouted incase someone had another hunter hiding among them and the game wardens had counted most of the larger animals those that would be hunted and particularly those which strayed near the edge of the forest. Not to mention patrolling the forest and making it forbidden to even the nobles to hunt until after the contest for the last few weeks.
It would take much to fool such men.
A crafty woman perhaps.
Shirley's plan was simple, but also beyond anything the nobility would think of. She spent far too much time with peasants as they said. And she had learned a thing or two that the court and possibly many hunters did not know. One fact had come about when she had bought pig carcasses to train with, hanging them up as targets for her sword.
As the king had said there were feral pigs in the forest. Escapees from farms or merchants. Most domestic animals did poorly in the wild, even hunting dogs. Pigs however tended to transform like monsters. They grew vicious, their bodies reshaped themselves; the beasts sprouted thick bristly fur and tusks. Many of them even went from a purely plan based diet to eating meat. They would even attack people and had no problem attacking farms.
And all of this could happen in a month.
Shirley's plan had been thus. She had purchased six hogs from a merchant from a neighboring kingdom. Not simple pigs, but prize winners. The kind that won prizes at the country fairs and were raised by obsessed peasants to grand sizes. Usually bought for a small fortune to grace some noble's table at a ball or more likely to celebrate a battle. When they did not need to pretend they had caught some wild animal to prove their worth, having killed men instead. Things usually too big and too well cared for to escape and go feral. Weighing nearly as much as cattle or horses in their own right.
She had taken them to a smaller forest near her home and after fencing it off let them go. Two died the first month. For all their size they were freshly released animals and her tinier woods had its predators and natural hazards. By month two she had lost a third, but even with her leaving scraps of food out for them the pigs did what they did and soon they had changed from fat and well cared for pets destined for the kitchens to monsters. She had even once espied one feasting on a freshly killed wolf and another that had a man's blade buried in its back, as if it were a mere thorn. Rumors reached her ears of a few peasants who had disappeared into those woods, not expecting such large animals to have taken up a home there.
Sad but she had no real proof that they had actually killed anyone. As said there were plenty of hazards in the woods.
Regardless she ended up with three huge brown pigs, bigger and nastier than any beast allowed to live in the kingdom. Half starved until they turned on other animals then fattened up again to muscular beasts you could lose a sword in and not slow down. Such pigs had in times past famously caused much trouble. Some growing big on human flesh and bristling with lost weapons like hedgehogs. Eventually hunted down by knights and heroes.
Of course normally they were killed before that, sighted by huntsmen or farmers. Not secretly captured and then released into the king's private forest after being lightly trained in evading people. Or better yet, fed regularly from a particular kind of melon found only in Shirley's private garden. A special treat.
No doubt by now the hogs had been noted by the huntsmen and game wardens, but the woods had been off limits to intruders and were well stocked. No reason to leave. Nobody to bother them. Not even the king. He might know about them, be licking his chops at his own chance to hunt them himself. Like as not he expected one or more to be shot by the competitors.
If so they were idiots. Those hogs weighed more than their horses. Encountered in the deep woods where the other predators, those not driven off by the new arrivals, they would be very hard to move. Actually they would be damn hard to kill. Their thick hides as hard as leather armor at least and their hunger for meat having honed them into killers. Human? Maybe. Other dangerous animals to be certain. Barring a truly impressive shot to a weak point, arrows would do little but anger these monsters whose tusks could gut a horse. And any other dangerous animals very well had likely been driven away from where even experienced hunters would expect. Most of who would be looking for piddling wolves or a bear.
Quite possible they would die. But if they did manage to kill one, so what? A horse on a smooth road of dirt or cobblestones might be able to haul a hog that size some distance, but in a forest full of rocks and twisted roots and trees it would take two or three just to heft a swollen pig corpse more than a few yards. The weight would mean walking, particularly if they were wearing armor, lest they overstrain the horse. Either way the huge body, which as the grandest of prizes in this competition could not simply be cut into pieces, would catch on a dozen obstacles every few moments. No man could carry even pieces of it, none large enough, by himself. Too precious to leave behind as well once sighted or killed.
A trap in other words. Her father had taken her to the docks once and Shirley had heard one merchant explain how they had captured something called a monkey. "You put the bait, nuts and the like, in a special place you make with a small hole. The monkey he's smart enough to reach in and grab his prize, but not to realize that making a fist over the nut makes its tiny paw too large to get back out of the hole it stuck into. And it refuses to let go of the nut. If it drops it the monkey just reaches in again."
Shirley smiled and looked into the darkness between the trees. In future times people would not understand what a real forest was like. A dark place where the canopy blocked light and the roots never saw daylight except when the leaves fell in winter. The only light from glowing mushrooms. Where lumbering bears and the rare large cat, with better senses of smell an ability to climb, ruled because the wolves most people feared could not work as well between roots the size of small streets choked with branches and bushes with thorns and smaller poisonous things hiding among them.
Hunters and woodsmen really were quite amazing and brave to go in there. Many never returned if they grew careless or had a moment's poor luck. Such as running into an unexpected feral pig larger than the king's carriage. Tee-hee.
Shirley road a league on until she found a certain place. She had not entered the forest, but her father had a number of siege weapons he had no used in quite a while. Most people thought of catapults as the large rock throwing type, but there were smaller ones. They could throw buckets of this or that. Dead animal corpses. Mud. Or melons. Specifically melons laced with herbs from the forest that caused sleep if eaten.
"Well isn't that a sight?" She said with a grin.
There was a pig, a mountain of a beast. A huge brown lump that snored where it lay and did not so much as stir at her horse's hoof beats. Unconscious but clearly alive. Not alone either. Since its arrival many other animals had found the melons. Most had taken what they could carry and run off away from the monster pig. A few more had eaten them there and fell asleep. Not as much and many had already woken up. This hog had made quite the pig of himself. Had been asleep for maybe two days.
So while there were a few traces of melon left, most of the juice from those splattered had dried up or been cleaned up. The evidence long gone except a few rinds leftover. Shirley picked up a few of the bigger pieces and put them into her saddlebags. Then she got some ropes, nice thick ones she had just for this, and began binding the heavy pig to her horse. It would not be a quick trip, but she was a lighter rider than most so her horse was fairly fresh. Fresher than the others. Also while the unconscious hog would be heavy, a dead one was more so. If it woke up the beast might even follow behind her in a drugged stupor, walking on its own.
Absently she smiled down at the heavy creature almost lovingly. "A feast fit for a royal wedding, no doubt about it."
Several of the other contestants had come back A couple had given up, unused to hunting without beaters or men at their side. One claimed to have loosed an arrow at some foul beast the size of a hill, possibly a bear. It was hard to tell in the dark, but it had escaped into the trees. Another had brought back a medium sized bear half as tall as a man. Still another had a large wolf. Another limped from the woods, bleeding but alive after an encounter with something else in the dark. A weasel of some kind from the bites. Maybe a large badger.
Stories said lions had once roamed the forest, but they had long ago been wiped out by the royals and farmers. No such creature would survive this deep in the kingdom. If there were any in there they were well hidden. Others were still in there, hunting this or that. One might have even killed one of Shirley's pigs, only to realize that it was no prize at all in a day or two, eating the meat to stay alive until they could escape the forest. If they ever did. The smell of blood would quickly draw other predators even if they survived the hog.
Nothing else they could drag from those trunks with a week of hunting would equal her prey. If such a beast existed, a dragon, a giant, or some sort of feral unicorn, how would any man pry it from the grip of the wilderness? Not in a week of sunsets with a hunting party and a cart.
So there were plenty of people to see Shirley come forth, walking her horse with a small furry whale being dragged behind them. As she approached she saw disbelief on the faces of many. Some looked suspicious. But if they followed her trail, easy enough since she had cut the sleeping pig before they left the woods and then finished it off only a short time before returning to the start point so there would be a clear blood trail, they would find tracks and evidence that maybe the pig was asleep, but there was no rule against fortune. Tracking the pig would only lead them into the woods. The fresh blood on her sword matching the wounds proved it had died by her hand, witnesses or not and they would find no proof of any aid she might have had. She had even passed by a goatherd near the edge of the woods and kindly shared the dried out bits of melon she had collected with them, neatly destroying the evidence. Though their goatherd was probably wondering why its goats were suddenly so sleepy.
She kept going until she stopped by where the dead animals the other hunters had brought in were laid out. Without a word she untied it from her grateful horse. Even the dead bear looked like a rabbit beside it. Nobody else spoke either. Actions screamed where words would never do.
Shirley bowed to the king who gave a reluctant and stunned nod.
Next she turned and limping a little, for she was not only injured and covered in lumps and bruises, but it had been a long walk along the edge of the forest. Holding her arm and jaw as still as possible she walked to the royal coach, the princess looking at her wide eyed, wondering what she intended.
When she got there Shirley dropped to one knee by the door and extended her palm, blood visible under her nails and spotted on her clothing. "Princess, I have presented myself to the kingdom, unafraid of scorn or derision from my countrymen. I have defeated the greatest in the land in joust and combat. I have faced the fists of my fellows with bravery and determination. I have gone into the woods and bloodied my sword in the beating heart of a great and terrible beast with naught but sword and a single arm without aid of man or armor and brought it to you to serve as a fine meal at a vast celebration.
"All this I have done to honor you, prove my worth as a servant of the crown, and perhaps touch your tender soul. Tell me princess, have I done thee well, or is there some other great deed you would have me perform that could more prove my worth to claim you as my bride?"
It was a risk. She should by all rights be asking the king for his daughter's hand, not her. Shirley saw the girl's eyes look back over her shoulder, presumably at her father. Then she looked down and opened the carriage door. A little uncertain she glanced back at her mother, who looked just as confused. Shirley had clearly won, besting everyone present and those still among the trees, even if the time limit had no elapsed. There probably were not enough people left in the forest to even help one of them carry another of those boars into the light, if they would even do so. The king knew what walked his hunting grounds and at this point they could slaughter the horse they rode in on and no man was going to best her.
At the same time in this position Shirley's tunic hung loose and her breasts were clearly visible through the neck. Even if Felicia had not known her of old, there was no doubt it was a woman kneeled here. Wearing men's clothes, which would scandalize any high born woman. Dirty and covered in the evidence that she might be nobility but she was no lady. Show up at the palace like this on any other day and she would be turned away or even shot for daring to approach so disheveled and after such unwomanly pursuits. Certainly she would not be invited in for tea.
The princess could turn her down though. She was a woman. Nobody would hesitate to deny Shirley any prize at all and even kill her if Felicia gave the word. Shocked or not many of the other suitors would gladly kill her now and their families in the other coaches would do so as well.
But though many were probably rubbing the handles of daggers at their belts and plotting a thousand ways to kill her, none would dare. Not until the princess had her say. Because no voice came from behind her and the princess's eyes dropped down to Shirley again, having apparently either gotten a nod from her father to make the decision or taken his silence as permission to answer in her own way. Shirley did not dare look away to check. Besides, live or die, she could accept either right now looking into Felicia's beautiful face.
After another moment the princess smiled and extended her hand, placing it into Shirley's. "Lady Shirley, I would be honored to be the one to bring you into the royal family. You have already done great deeds in my name and I happily honor my father's word, my betrothed."
Shirley smiled back, even though her jaw ached and her eye was half swollen. Nicks and cuts burned everywhere, including her lip. Nevertheless she bent and kissed the princess's hand, letting the girl's soft skin sooth a few of her aches.
The king's voice boomed out, "Winner of the tourney and my daughter's affianced chosen one, Shirley of Kent!"
There was a smattering of applause. On or two seemed to mean it, obviously impressed by Shirley's accomplishments. The rest… well when a king made such a proclamation like this, you clapped and cheered. Even the peasants in the distance seemed a little shocked. It had been a good joke, a woman in the tourney. Something to jest about later. But to have her actually win? Shirley herself had not actually expected to succeed.
In truth she had not. Not yet. For right now nobody would move, but there was no illusion that getting to the altar would be quick or easy. No doubt she would be challenged to duels, political motivations might drive the king to many actions, and assassinations would be waiting. Either before or after or even during the ceremony. A widowed princess was still a princess and a female groom might not even be considered a true spouse or to have taken her virginity.
Shirley would have to do more dancing than she had in the gauntlet if she had hope of actually claiming her prize.
It did not matter. Shirley only cared for the grin being bestowed by the princess. Felicia was enjoying the spectacle of it all. There was still some question in her eyes. No doubt many were curious how exactly this would go. Not to mention how Shirley intended to satisfy the princess on her wedding night. Let them wonder. Shirley let her hand go the princess brought it up and to her lips, touching the invisible kiss laid there to her mouth.
Looking around she was happy to see something in the eyes of the others. They might not know how she would accomplish it, but she saw no expectation of failure among the confusion in their eyes. A woman who could defeat the men of the kingdom and win the heart of a princess could do just about anything.
The End
Author's Note: Make sure you send thank you cards to the governors of Tennessee and Florida and similar thanking them for their hard work in making sure LGBT+ issues stay relevant and for turning Disneyworld Pride Positive. Because you know you'd have to be a complete idiot not to have seen that coming. "Eve, don't eat that apple." "Pandora, don't open that box." "Florida, don't say Gay". The man's a genius! And next he's going to put in a prison because nothing says "straight" like forced confinement with your own gender. I recommend cards with pictures of Bugs Bunny in Drag. Oh and lots of rainbow flags in the local Pride Parade that read Desantis 2024 with drag queens walking alongside waving sparklers. I'm sure they would appreciate the support.
Seriously though check out my book "Sapphic Spies" currently available.