fair-haired beautiful woman, Lady Joanna, called to her daughter, a smaller version of herself, with dark auburn hair tied back with silk ribbons.
‘Eleanor,’ her mother complained in a weary voice, ‘do stop jumping up and down and craning your neck like a swineherd. It is most unladylike.’
‘But I cannot see Rupert,’ Ellie responded, sitting down upon the bench and trying to peer through the dust and the glinting armour and the crowd of horses, with blushes and youthful awkwardness disguising her interest in one knight who was not her kin. And was he not the most handsome, the most strong, of all knights? Her heart glowed and fluttered as she gazed upon the face that been naught but a memory for so long.
‘He’ll be well to the back,’ said her father, reclining in his chair and leaning over to pick up her mother’s hand and kiss her knuckles.
Ellie rolled her eyes skywards, exasperated. Why couldn’t her parents be like normal people? They were for ever kissing and cosseting, much to her embarrassment.
‘What is that look for, demoiselle?’ demanded her father, with a small smile touching the corners of his mouth, ‘Your mother is worried. Might I not comfort her with a kiss?’
Ellie folded her arms over her waist and hunched her shoulders, looking away as she muttered, ‘In private, aye, but not here, where everyone can see.’
‘There is naught wrong with a little affection,’ rebuffed her father, and then added quickly, all too aware that his daughter was no longer a child, ‘between married couples, that is.’
Lady Joanna smiled at her husband, and murmured in her low, serene voice, ‘Leave her be, Hal. She chafes that it is her brother who rides in the joust and not herself.’
‘Hah!’ snorted Lord Henry, ‘that will be the day! ’Tis sport for men, not maidens, and you would do well to remember that, young Ellie.’
Ellie sighed. ‘Yes, Father.’ Her reply was dutiful and full of respect, for she had much love and admiration for her father, yet she burned and fretted against the restrictions of her sex, for more reasons than were apparently obvious. How she longed to run to Troye de Valois and throw her arms around his neck and tell him how much she loved him! Suddenly, unable to contain herself any longer, she leapt to her feet and pointed, with an excited shriek, ‘There he is!’ She ran to the rails and waved. ‘Rupert! Rupert!’
Her brother steadfastly ignored her, his eyes averted as the cavalcade rode by, exiting from the stadium, yet he felt a blush creep up his cheeks as the other knights made ribald comments about the pretty red-haired wench clamouring from the stands.
‘’Tis my sister,’ barked Rupert with a scowl, ‘so shut your mouths!’
This only brought forth more raucous crows and teasing quips, and some serious speculation that resulted in sudden overtures of friendship, in the hope of making an introduction to a wealthy young heiress who was not only of noble English blood, but beautiful too. Rupert, though only eighteen years old, had a sensible head on his young shoulders and was wise to their stratagems. What he knew of these knights, having fought and caroused alongside them all this summer past, in Scotland and Gascony, left him in no doubt that they fought hard, and played harder. The thought of such men making close acquaintance with his little sister somehow made him bristle and leap to protect her. Besides, it was not his say-so regarding Ellie—any honourable intentions must go through his father first.
While the knights retired to their arming tents in the field beyond, the crowd was entertained by the heralds, who gave eloquent, and often extravagant, introductions, relaying to all and sundry not only their master’s name and country of origin, but his ancestry, heraldic banner, victories and character. Only knighted nobles were allowed to participate in the joust and this was part of the glamour that attracted the commonfolk: for them the knights were men not of their ilk, but demigods—stronger, faster, braver than any mere mortal man—or so they wished to believe.
Ellie sat bored and fidgeting, fanning herself in the sultry afternoon heat while the speeches droned on, sucking on a lemon sherbet that too quickly melted and left her with sticky hands. She was desperately eager to see Rupert and speak with him, remind him to keep his guard steady and not to look away too soon, naïvely convinced that without her advice he would fail. Conveniently she forgot that so far he had survived quite well without her. This was his first summer on the tournament circuit, and it had taken some persuading to convince her mother to make the journey to London to watch him compete. Lady Joanna had not wanted Rupert to participate in the joust in the first place, and sought to avoid the spectacle of her son being attacked at all cost. Yet she had been worn down by the pleadings of her husband and her daughter and had seen the necessity and opportunity of making a suitable match for Eleanor amongst the great gathering of nobility.
On Ellie’s other side sat her Aunt Beatrice, her dark hair streaked with silver and yet her brown eyes and soft skin still beautiful despite her middling years. ‘Shall I go and find Uncle Remy for you?’ asked Eleanor artfully, seeing how her aunt darted frequent and worried looks to the entrance.
‘Nay…’ Lady Beatrice patted her hand ‘…he will be in the arming tent giving Rupert some last-minute advice, no doubt, and ’tis no fit place for a lady. He will be here anon.’
Ellie pursed her lips in frustration, and slumped inelegantly on the bench, disgruntled with her lot in life and earning a reprimand from her mother, who was ever mindful of the fact that beautiful, unmarried and privileged girls like Eleanor were constantly watched and appraised.
Ellie was roused from her maudlin mood when a blast of trumpets heralded the first joust of the day. At this stage of the tournament it was the young, inexperienced knights who rode first, and Rupert was amongst them. Eleanor looked up as a pair of boots pounded on the wooden steps and along the narrow gangway of the gallery. Her Uncle Remy ran lithely to where they sat, casting a smile on his wife as he sat down, and leaning forwards to reassure Lady Joanna that all would be well for Rupert.
‘Did you tell him to keep his guard up?’ asked Eleanor urgently. ‘He tends to look away too soon.’
‘Aye,’ laughed her uncle, his blue eyes bright with a teasing glint. ‘Don’t fret, little one, he is a man full grown and this is not his first joust.’
‘Though ’tis the first I have watched,’ complained Lady Joanna, her lips pinched white in a worried grimace.
When at last Rupert brought his caparisoned charger on to the field and faced his opponent, it was his sister who leapt to her feet, shouting encouragement along with the commonfolk who cheered from the far side of the lists. Until, that is, her mother gripped her wrist and jerked her down, with a swift admonishment to sit still and be quiet. Her father and her uncle laughed, and then they too were leaping to their feet and shouting as the ground thundered to the pounding of galloping hooves and the air vibrated with rowdy cheering.
Rupert was drawn three times in the list, and three times he vanquished. As the sun dipped in the afternoon sky and the joust came to an end at seven in the evening, there was much rejoicing in the Ashton camp. Ellie and her family retired to their pavilions, pitched in the meadows beyond Cheapside. It was inexpensive and convenient accommodation, compared to the taverns of London that were infested with disease and thieves, but still it lacked in homely comforts. Lady Joanna and Lady Beatrice supervised the boiling of hot water and the cooking of supper upon vast cast-iron cauldrons set on open fires. Rupert had his own tent amongst the competing knights, on the far side of the same crowded meadow. Ellie endeavoured to slip away and to rush to her brother, eager to hear from his own lips how it had felt to be victor three times today,
