“Your cousin did well. No one has unhorsed Benjamin since his first tournament.”
“I knew he could do it. Calvin has been training his whole life.”
Tristan nodded and suddenly, with no warning, pulled Grace into a kiss. It only lasted a moment, but felt a good deal longer to Grace. Tristan pulled away and continued to lead Grace over to where Calvin was. She was as breathless and shocked as the first time he kissed her. Were these things normal in the court? The boys who stole kisses in Arganis did so after much hand-holding and blushing. It was never so quick or treated like it happened all the time. Tristan looked back to Grace and winked, and stopped her three more times before reaching Calvin to get a kiss.
However, once she saw Calvin she forgot about Tristan’s kisses and rushed at her cousin to throw her arms around him. He hugged back with his left arm. Grace pulled away and moved to hug Donald. It was a bit of his victory as well.
“Grace, will you be joining us at the sword fighting ring? Calvin is to fight there in less than ten minutes.”
“Would I miss seeing Calvin win again? Of course I will join you.” She turned to Tristan. “Will you join us?”
“I am afraid not. I have my own jousting match soon.” He gave Grace a peck on the cheek. “But we shall see each other later.”
Grace blushed, knowing Calvin and Donald were staring intently. The boys she grew up with were not used to seeing Grace being fawned over by men. “I do believe our young Grace is becoming a woman,” Calvin said with a laugh, and then he and Donald started toward the sword fighting ring. Grace trailed them, scowling a bit; knowing they would never let up on the teasing.
~*~*~
Calvin was fighting against Tomas. The knight who Grace saw win the day before had advanced far, and proved to be a worthy opponent. Grace had no doubt of her cousin’s victory, though. The knights stepped into the ring and then it hit Grace: Calvin was not going to win this time.
He held his sword in his left hand. He was taught how to fight with both hands, but his right was dominant. It puzzled Grace why Calvin would switch sword hands now. She looked at his right arm and saw that it hung helplessly at his side. The fight began and Grace knew it was already lost for Calvin.
Calvin’s right arm became dead weight and he could not use it even to block. Grace looked away to spare herself from watching Calvin lose. The fight ended quickly and Calvin stormed from the ring. He was far enough ahead in the sword to stay within the tournament, but he would need to win his next match to stay in. His next match was scheduled in half an hour. Grace and Donald followed him closely all the way back to his chambers.
~*~*~
Calvin sat on his bed in his breeches and riding boots while Grace tended to his shoulder. There was little she could do. Cassandra was ready with a bowl of warm water and a rag for them.
“Benjamin’s lance hit a weak spot in my armor. I felt my shoulder shift, and now it’s useless.”
“You need to go see the healer,” Donald said. His blue eyes were filled with concern as he looked at Calvin.
“Your shoulder is not beyond repair, Calvin.” Grace helped Calvin off his bed. “If we have you tended now, you’ll be as good as new in a few days.”
“I will have to withdraw from the next round of the sword. I am supposed to duel against Prince Drake in fifteen minutes. I will tell the herald I must forfeit, and then I will go to the healer.”
“No, you see the healer first. Donald and I will go to the herald for you.” Grace looked at Cassandra. “Can you take him to the castle healer?”
“Of course. Come on, Calvin. You will be good as new before you know it, and next year you will be able to win in the joust and the sword.” Cassandra helped Calvin to his feet and led him from the room; chattering happily about the glory he would gain the next year.
When Cassandra and Calvin left the chambers, Donald sighed. “I guess it’s best if we do this now.”
Grace looked at Donald and shook her head. “Donald, help me into Calvin’s armor.”
Four
It was sweltering in the armor, especially since Grace had to wear extra clothing to make Calvin’s armor less loose on her body. It helped a bit, but for the most part it made her sweat uncontrollably and even hampered her movements. Her biggest fear was the two inches in height she lacked that Calvin possessed. If anyone noticed this height difference, she would be in a great deal of trouble. So far, the people she and Donald walked by only noticed the coat of arms Grace bore on Calvin’s shield. She received many pats on the back for Calvin’s recent triumph against Benjamin.
Beads of sweat trickled down her face, and although she desperately wanted to wipe them away, the helmet prevented her from doing so. She wondered how knights went to war in the summer with such garb. Barely fifteen minutes had passed since she got in the armor and she was ready to faint from the heat. To sit in this all day without sweating to death…that was a gift from the gods.
Grace strode alongside Donald to the sword fighting ring. The manservant had not even tried to stop her. She knew that Donald hated the thought of Arganis pulling out due to injury, especially after the absence of so many years. It felt too much like dishonor. Grace felt the same. The young manservant was confident Grace could fight in Calvin’s stead. He had seen her duel before, and though she wasn’t as well-trained as the knights, she could at least convince the crowd she was Calvin. If they could do that, win or lose, they could maintain Arganis's honor. Neither thought beyond the minutes spent in the ring. What would happen when it was confirmed Calvin was at the healer at the same time he was in the sword ring?
Donald stopped Grace on their side of the ring and handed Calvin’s sword to her. She was unused to the heft of such a blade; the one she carried was smaller and lighter. She gave it a few test swings to get used to the feel of the armor, extra clothing, and sword and shield.
Donald moved closer so that only she could hear. “Prince Drake has only lost a few times, mostly to Sir Gerald and Sir Benjamin. I’ve seen him duel before and he’s quite adept, but he moves early and hard. Let him strike first, early, and often. Block as much as you can before moving against him. He’s more practiced with heavy swords and shield than you. If you attack first, you’ll tire faster. With any luck, he’s already worn out from his earlier matches this morning. He’s had at least one duel in the sword and one joust today, and if I’m not mistaken even a round in archery.” Grace raised an eyebrow no one could see under the helmet. This seemed like too many events for one man in a day. “The King likes his son to show the world he is the best at everything. Now, if you follow my instructions, with any luck he’ll tire quickly.”
Grace nodded. “I have seen him in the sword ring as well. Drake will not be easy to best, especially since my skills with this sword are none too good. They may be fine enough against untrained brutes, but this man is a knight of the realm.”
“You don’t need to win. Just see to it that Arganis doesn’t forfeit in disgrace.”
Grace had fought against Calvin for a few years, but when they did they were armed with wooden practice swords or short swords. She bested him enough times to be confident in her sword technique, but now she was being thrown into the ring with a knight whose proficiencies far outweighed her own.
She looked at Donald through the eye slits of her helmet. He nodded and patted her shoulder. The herald stood in the middle of the ring, and in a thundering voice spoke and announced Drake and “Calvin.” The King, Queen, and Princess, along with many other important nobles, came down to witness the Prince in the sword fighting ring. A special podium had been set up so the royal family didn’t have to crowd around like commoners to see. Everyone cheered as Grace and Drake stepped into the ring, but Grace was deaf to it all as she watched the armored figure of Drake from across the ring. They crossed swords and bowed to one another, and then the herald waved a flag and it began.
Donald watched anxiously as Grace blocked Drake’s
first blow. As he hoped, Drake was going to attack first and often. “Come on then, you yellow-bellied fop!” Drake taunted; following an old tradition of the sword ring.
The two circled each other; Drake taunting, Grace silent. Again, the prince moved to attack and brought his sword down toward Grace’s head. She moved to catch the blade with her own, but Drake had her in a bad position. He bore down on her from overhead; forcing Grace to her knees. If Grace was smarter, she would have dodged rather than try to catch the blade. As Grace neared the ground, she rolled away and toward the corner of the ring where Donald stood watching.
“He hits like a hammer,” she gasped. She was on her feet swiftly enough and dodged another blow from the Prince.
It was now Grace’s turn to be on the offensive. With his next attack Drake showed he was slowing down; from the heat, if nothing else. Grace was no better, but her arms weren’t as tired as the Prince’s and she hadn’t been competing for days. That made her fresh, even if the heat didn’t. She lunged at the Prince. He was just fast enough to dodge, but not fast enough to stop her rapid second attack.
Something in the crowd caught Donald’s eye and he was distracted from the action in the ring. Grace looked over to see Calvin and Cassandra near the King and Queen’s special podium, and then the dawning fury on the King’s face as he saw them. Donald saw the anger in King Frederick’s face and the horror that was painted on Calvin and Cassandra’s.
“Stop! Run! Get out!” Donald yelled, but his voice was lost in the cheers as Grace brought her sword up. Drake didn’t move fast enough and Grace was able to knock the sword from him. The applause was thunderous from everywhere, except those by the King. Grace smiled under the helmet and looked around, but when she looked up toward the King, her smile vanished.
“Impostor!” the King yelled at Grace, and the crowd fell silent. “You have stolen Sir Calvin’s armor and fought under his identity! This is an offense that calls for your execution!”
Guards grabbed Donald from behind and dragged him forward. More guards dragged Grace forward and forced them in front of the King and Queen and the rest of the court. The two were forced down to their knees. Donald looked at Calvin, who forced his face into one of anger, furrowing his brows and gnashing his teeth, but fear was in his eyes.
“How dare you?” Calvin snapped.
Grace looked out from her helmet and knew her cousin was not really angry. He had probably already guessed who was in the sword ring in his stead. A great hush fell over the crowd. She looked around the faces and saw that many were waiting in shocked awe. Her eyes fell on Tristan, who looked annoyed and full of scorn.
“This is a great crime, impersonating a knight of the King,” Frederick bellowed; his face red with anger. He fought to keep his voice level but was losing the battle. “Remove his helmet! I wish to see who would have the nerve to destroy years of tradition and break our code of chivalry.”
Grace felt someone wrench the helmet from her head and once her hair tumbled down, not a word was spoken. The very air seemed to have been sucked from her lungs. From the onset she knew putting on the armor and being caught meant death, but she never believed anyone would actually learn the truth. Grace dared to look up. Tristan’s face was bright red, Henry looked utterly confused, Calvin and Cassandra had matching expressions of utter horror, and the King was angriest of all.
“A woman,” he whispered. His anger robbed him of his voice. “A woman?” he said, this time louder. “A woman!” he finally screamed. “A woman parading around as a man? And a nobleman, at that! Who taught you how courtly ladies should act? Women are not permitted to hold titles, and yet here one wears the armor of a knight! And this boy! This young man who pledged his service to Sir Calvin – he aids her willingly. Have these two forgotten their places? This affair reeks of witchcraft! Hang her immediately, for impersonating a knight and practicing witchcraft. Hang the manservant too, for aiding her in this mischief.”
“Witchcraft?” Calvin said; looking at the King.
“How else could a woman beat a knight so well trained as Drake? Clearly she put a spell on him to ensure her victory. She must be killed for these heinous crimes.”
“Your Majesty,” Calvin broke in again. “Grace is my family, my only cousin, and though I am filled with a great anger toward her over this, there is still a family bond. We are of the same blood, the same proud lineage. Please, she must be punished, but can you not banish her? Banish her and my manservant, or force them into religious service?” Calvin looked pained just saying it. Grace lowered her eyes; this was not going to end well.
“You want to save the woman who made a mockery of your house in Arganis? Who disgraced herself and your fine stock? And to think the temples would want such heretics?” Calvin nodded. Frederick was as annoyed as he was angry. “The offended knight shows his mercy and I must respect that. If another will speak for this witch and the boy, then I shall see to it that they stand trial for heresy. Then shall justice be dispensed to your liking, Sir Calvin?”
Calvin bit his lip. If the King was convinced Grace was guilty of practicing witchcraft, then how could a court be persuaded otherwise? However, agreeing would allow time for him to perhaps protect her. He nodded and said, “That would be both wise and merciful of you, your Majesty.”
“Then let someone else speak for this witch and her aid’s trial.”
No one spoke. Tears welled in Grace’s eyes. Not a soul in the whole court would speak for either one. “Hang her!” Grace looked up and saw the voice belonged to Tristan. “She mocks us with her very presence. She has come into this court and bewitched us all, and now she must meet the hangman’s noose.”
Grace saw so much hate in his eyes. How could this be? He tried to win her over earlier, and now she was lower than dirt to him.
“I will speak for the girl,” Henry said. “A witch may change her ways when given a second chance. Let them both stand trial and receive a fair hearing.”
“I will speak for her as well.” Everyone was surprised when Drake spoke up. He removed his helmet and handed it over to his squire. People murmured, unsure why their prince spoke for a woman who had just bested him in the sword ring. He walked forward to stand before his father. “I agree with Sir Henry. A wrongdoer may change her ways when mercy is shown.”
“Very well,” Frederick growled. He waved his hand to the guards. “Take her and the manservant to the pillory. Let them spend the night locked there, and in the morning we will let justice be dealt. Strip away that armor while you are taking them away. She mocks us by wearing it. I have been merciful this day, witch,” Frederick said dismissively.
Grace lifted her head and locked eyes with Frederick; seeing his eyes filled with a fiery rage as he glared down at her. Grace’s eyes narrowed as the guards grabbed her and Donald and pulled them away toward the pillory. She hated the King in that moment and wished to go for his eyes with her nails.
~*~*~
Grace’s hands were locked up in the stocks. The heavy oak bar lay across her neck and her back cramped at the uncomfortable position she was in. The rest of the day passed with an amount of misery she once reserved for matters that involved her father. Humiliated, stripped of her inheritance and charged as a witch, certainly this was not what Leon and George wanted for her when they insisted she go to the tournament.
That entire afternoon, people came to stare at the unfortunate duo. Some just came out of curiosity, while others came to insult and throw things at the “witch.” The reek of moldy cabbage and rotten tomatoes wafted up to Grace’s nostrils. She and Donald each received their fair share of dirt and food thrown at them.
Losing all claims to her former life did not bother her as much as Tristan’s reaction. He followed them to the stable and slapped Grace after she removed the armor. It stung not only because it hit her bruises, but also because he had tried to win her affection so soon before. He called her a witch and spat at her feet, saying she mocked everything sacr
ed about the tournament by daring to compete. Then he claimed his feelings for her had been one of her spells. The final injury came when he said he would kill her himself if they ever met again. Then there was the guilt over Donald. He was not a bad man. A friend, a loyal servant, and yet now his honor was reduced to filth like hers. He hadn’t said a word since they were taken away. Now night surrounded him, and the young man who was helpless in the pillory was humming.
The tune was one favored by fishermen in Arganis. The song told the tale of a beautiful maiden who became lost among the waves of the sea, waiting for her love to return. She cast herself down to the waves when she believed he’d never come home. Eventually he did, and upon hearing of her demise, he took to wandering the forests and letting his spirit inhabit the trees.
“The Lady Vivaine and her man, Joshua, despaired,” Donald said upon finishing his tune. “That’s why they both died as they did.”
The light surrounding them was weak, but Grace thought she could make out tear stains on Donald’s cheek, though it may have been a trick from the nearby torchlight. She knew her own face was soaked with salty tears. They mingled with the dirt, causing her to look sticky and dirty. Luckily no one would see her as she was now.
“Oh, Donald, what have I done to us?” Her voice broke at the end as a new wave of tears overtook her. “Even if we live, we will never be allowed to return to decent places.” Grace halted in her despair, too overcome to continue vocalizing her grief.
“No doubt word is moving fast to all areas of Cesernan about this. But Sir Leon will never see his only niece cast out in the world, and Lord George never need know you returned to Arganis. We’ll survive the trial and go straight back to your uncles.” Donald’s voice cracked just as Grace’s had. His tears destroyed any hope Grace had of being comforted by his idea.
King Frederick had already marked them as guilty, and no one could hope to survive that. “We’ll return to Arganis, you’ll see,” Donald said again, softer this time.