Which, since there was no wind blowing in the blistering heat outside, wasn’t particularly fast. But, to judge from the blush and delighted giggle of the girl, she didn’t know that.
Rising and turning away, Reuben nodded to the servant. “Lead the way.”
“Yes, Sir Reuben.”
When they entered the throne room, Reuben saw the lady immediately: she was sitting in a chair beside the Emperor’s throne. Her head was turned towards Friedrich, so Reuben couldn’t see her face, but he was fairly certain he had never seen her before. He would have remembered that slender, elegant neck, that river of midnight-black curls falling down her back, or the silk veil that lay in her lap—
Wait a minute! Veil?
An image flashed through his mind of a proud, exotically veiled figure, sitting in the shadows of the Emperor’s box, watching him fight down in the dust. He had seen her before—during the tournament! Only, he had never seen her face or learned her name.
High time to rectify that.
“Your Imperial Majesty?” Reuben knelt. “You called?”
“Ah, yes. Rise, my dear vassal.” The Emperor’s eyes twinkled. “I have here someone I think you ought to meet. The lady has expressed a desire to be acquainted with the man who is the talk of the town these days—the glorious victor of the tournament.”
Reuben was about to make a reply, but right then, the lady in question turned and smiled at him, and his words stuck in his throat.
She wasn’t wearing a veil now. Her face was clear for everyone to see, and it was beautiful. Not merely pretty-beautiful, but hands-down certified angelically beautiful. Not that she looked anything like an angel. No, with her shining emerald eyes, sleek black hair, and that smile that went a little further up on one side, inviting you in, she looked more like an oriental princess. Too dark and entirely too desirable to be a messenger of heaven. Reuben gazed at her, transfixed.
“Sir Knight.” Half rising, she did a little sort of a curtsy, inclining her graceful neck in a way that made Reuben want to grab her and kiss her all the way down from her ear to her collarbone and maybe further down, too. With great difficulty, he refrained. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine,” he heard himself say. Grasping her delicate little hand, he lifted it to his lips and caressed the back of it with a single, reverent kiss. “And it would be an even greater pleasure if you were to grace my ears with the heavenly sound of your name, beautiful one.”
Beside him, the Emperor smiled in satisfaction, rose, and left the room. Reuben didn’t even really notice it, let alone stop to wonder why the Emperor would allow two strangers to be alone in his throne room. All his thoughts were for the beauty in front of him.
“I am Salvatrice,” she said, casting her eyes down and glancing up at him from underneath her long, dark lashes. “But you must not say such things, Sir Knight! You flatter me too much.”
“That cannot be. If a thousand angels were to sing the praises of your beauty, it would not be sufficient.” Reuben sighed. “Salvatrice…the name is as musical as the trickling of a fountain. I could have found none better to match your perfection.”
Reuben bent to kiss her hand again.
“And what is your name, oh gallant warrior?” she asked. Her voice was so melodious it made Reuben’s heart ache. “I heard people shout it at the tournament, but they were shouting in such a confusion, I did not really understand and could not keep hold of it. I only know it was something foreign. Nordic. Strong.”
“To you, I am simply the willing slave of your beauty,” Reuben said, enraptured. “But, to others, I am known as Sir Reuben von Limburg, Son of Heinrich, Duke von Limburg, Count von Berg, and High Commander of the Imperial Crusade Forces.”
A frown formed on her lovely brow. “Crusade?”
Oh no. Reuben froze in horror and closed his eyes. He should have seen this coming and kept his mouth shut! But he had been mesmerized by her exotic beauty, and now it was too late. He knew what question would follow now.
She smiled up at him adoringly, batting her long, dark lashes. “The crusade in which the ingenious tactics of the Emperor and his commander made it possible to take back the Holy City without striking a single blow at the enemy? The Crusade which surpassed all its predecessors in glory and triumph? That crusade?”
Reuben snapped his eyes open, gazing at her in utter astonishment and adoration. A smile spread across his face, and he suddenly realized that he loved this extraordinary woman with every fiber of his heart. And he wouldn’t stop loving her in a few hours or tomorrow or next week or ever, for that matter. The devil would take him before that happened!
“Yes,” he sighed. “Exactly that crusade!”
Love
Love. Real love. It was an amazing feeling. It made Reuben forget the world around him. It made him think of one thing, and one thing only: her. He didn’t notice when the servants served him his meat overcooked. He didn’t realize when it rained or when the sun shone. He didn’t notice that a few days later, the Emperor left the city on urgent business. He thought only of her.
Salvatrice.
“Salvatrice,” he sighed, leaning against the window of his chambers, gazing out over the city. “Salvatrice! Her mere name is like honey on my lips!”
“Um…yes, Sir,” said the servant standing in the corner.
“Her eyes are like emeralds, and her hair is like ebony! There is no beauty like her in the whole wide world.”
“I’m sure there isn’t, Sir. Now…do wish to inform me why you called me here?”
“If only there were some way to let her know how much I love her!”
The servant cleared his throat. “You could simply tell her, Sir.”
Reuben ignored him. “Oh, Salvatrice,” he sighed. “Salvatrice…how will you ever know of my longing for you!”
“Or you could send me to tell her,” the servant suggested. “That might not be very romantic, but quite fast. I’m quick on my feet and could be at her door in about two minutes.”
Reuben didn’t seem to hear.
“Salvatrice…oh, how I pine for you!”
Thus, Reuben spent hours in plentiful pining, and the hours turned into days. Reuben only awoke from his love-induced stupor when he heard the sounds of the town criers from outside the Palace.
“What are they saying?” he demanded of the servant who was busy brushing his boots right now.
“I don’t know, Sir Reuben.”
“It sounds like they’re announcing…but no! That would be too good to be true!” Leaning closer to the window, Reuben cupped a hand around his ear. “It…can’t be! It can’t!”
A grin spread over his face, and moments later he was rushing out of the room, jumping down the stairs three steps at a time. He only needed to stick his head out of the gate to know that yes, indeed, it was true! This was truly happening!
“…joust will be held on the day after tomorrow!” the town crier was just proclaiming. “On the following day, a great melee will test the knights’ skill in battle!”
*~*~**~*~*
The news spread like wildfire through the city of Palermo: there was going to be another tournament! Nobody had any idea why there would be one so soon after the last one. Most people attributed the announcement to the financial success of the last tournament and the new champion’s popularity with the ladies, though some voiced the opinion that now that the city had so dutifully celebrated the Emperor’s arrival, it only followed logically that it should also celebrate its being rid of him again.
Reuben didn’t care why the tournament was being held. He only cared about one thing: the chance it would give him to prove his love to Lady Salvatrice! For how else could a noble knight show a lady his devotion if not by beating the best knights in Sicily into a bloody pulp? Surely, every woman would instantly recognize such a sign of devotion for what it was: a declaration of undying love.
He had already been trying other ways to reveal his feelings: he had sp
ent hours in his room composing a love ballad to the fair maiden. Yet he wasn’t having much luck with rhyming. He had rhymed “love” with “dove,” and that was quite all right for a courtly ballad, but the only rhyme for “kiss” he had been able to find so far was “pi—
Well, it wasn’t a word you could use in a love ballad.
Reuben was desperate for the day of the tournament to arrive, especially since he had begun to suspect that he was not the only one vying for Lady Salvatrice’s affections. There was a host of young fools mooning after her, and Lord d’Altavilla was hovering around the lady like an old bat around its favorite bell in the belfry. Reuben wished he could simply challenge the slimy snake to a duel to the death and be done with it. But he feared that cutting off somebody’s head because they were in love with a lady might not be entirely compatible with the knightly ideals of temperance and restraint.
He’d just have to wait until the tournament. Then he could cut off heads as much as he wanted.
*~*~**~*~*
“This is intolerable!”
“Yes, Milord.”
“He looks at her as if he’s undressing her with his eyes! That green boy doesn’t even deserve to walk on the same ground as her, let alone look at her!”
“As you say, Milord.”
The servant watched cautiously as Lord d’Altavilla strode up and down, throwing glares like lightning bolts right and left. They were alone in the Lord’s chambers, to the servant’s considerable relief. If anybody had heard the curses issuing from Lord d’Altavilla’s mouth whenever he mentioned a certain knight from Limburg, it would have caused a court scandal.
Whirling to face him, His Lordship pointed a finger at the servant, who shrank back against the wall. “And do you know what’s worst of all?”
“N-no, Milord.”
“She encourages him!”
“No! Surely not.”
“She does! The other day, I saw her accepting a rose he had picked for her. When I confronted her about it, she said she was being polite, and that no one could ever take my place. Bah!”
“Surely she was telling the truth, my Lord. How could any woman even think of daring to cast you aside for another man?”
Particularly when you have that look on your face, the servant privately added to himself.
“I don’t know.” His Lordship ground his teeth. “But I found out that, the other day, the first day after the Emperor had us ordered up to the Royal Palace, she was invited into the throne room, and so was he! She met him there, Sergio, I’m sure of it!”
“Well, if it was at the Emperor’s request, I’m sure it was all perfectly proper. I mean, in the Emperor’s presence, what could possibly happ—“
“The Emperor left halfway during the encounter.”
“Oh.”
“Exactly! If I could get my hands on that scheming, conniving bastard of an—“
“Psht!” Terrified, Sergio sprang forward and clamped a hand over his employer’s mouth, cutting him off. There weren’t many people in this world he was more afraid of than Lord d’Altavilla, and His Imperial Majesty the Emperor Friedrich von Hohenstaufen was at the top of the list. “You know he has eyes and ears everywhere!”
Hard, cold eyes bored furiously into his. Sergio dropped his hand as if he had been burned and knelt on the floor. “I beg a thousand pardons, Milord! I acted without thinking.”
“Yes, you did.” Slowly, d’Altavilla wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “But it was out of a desire to protect me, so you shall not die for it.”
“Thank you, Milord. You are most gracious, Milord!”
“Indeed I am.” A nasty smile twisted his mouth. “Though, rest assured that, to Sir Reuben, may the devil take him, I shall not be so gracious.”
“Death to your enemies, Milord!”
“That sounds like an excellent suggestion.” Taking a deep breath, d’Altavilla stepped over to the window and gazed out at the stands that were being erected for the coming tournament all around the courtyard. His right hand tightened around his sword hilt, and a smile curved his lips. “And luckily, I shall soon have the opportunity to implement it with the whole world watching.”
*~*~**~*~*
In the days leading up to the tournament, Reuben had started to double his efforts to win Lady Salvatrice. Beyond his half-hearted attempts at poetry, he began to give her flowers, smiles, and compliments and was cheered when she always accepted them and gave him a smile in return. Yet she also wore jewelry given to her by that unspeakable man, d’Altavilla. It made Reuben insanely jealous to see them glittering around her neck. He bought her one or two trinkets, too, but he couldn’t afford the priceless pieces that Lord d’Altavilla was lavishing on her. He could have, with his father’s wealth, but not with the little money he had left from his winnings.
Just wait, he promised himself. Wait a little longer. When you win the next tournament and carry away all the prizes, you can buy her as much jewelry as you want.
And in the meantime? Well, he could try to find a better word to rhyme with “kiss.” There had to be something!
Three days later, his efforts had still gone unrewarded. But who cared? The tournament was here! The time for rhyming was past!
“Sir Reuben von Limburg!” he herald call out. “The reigning champion!”
To tumultuous cheers from the crowd, Reuben checked the straps on his helmet, raised his lance, and cantered into the courtyard, joining the other knights who were already waiting there. Some of them he knew, some he didn’t. A few hadn’t arrived at Palermo in time for the last tournament and were delighted to find another in its stead, and eager to test their skills against the new champion. Reuben didn’t care about them. He knew he could and would crush them. Sir Tomasso had returned to his manor, so the only joust Reuben really looked forward to was the one with a certain Sicilian Lord.
“I will now announce the pairs that will joust in the first round! Sir Marcello against Sir Rinaldo! Sir Claude against…”
Tuning out the herald’s voice, Reuben looked up at the Royal Box. Since the Emperor wasn’t here, a local Lord presided over the proceedings instead. But Reuben didn’t even glance at him or care to remember his name. He only had eyes for the woman sitting beside the man. She wasn’t wearing a veil today, so her beauty shone uninhibited for all to see. Reuben was at once glad for it—the whole world should be illuminated by her aura!—and despised the fact that other men besides himself could see her.
Well…if things went as he planned, he would get to see parts of her that no other man had or ever would. His eyes narrowing, he glanced over at d’Altavilla. The Sicilian lord was looking back at him, the look on his face filled with intense loathing and, moreover, a deep-seated contempt.
We’ll see how long that will last.
*~*~**~*~*
The boy was looking at him. D’Altavilla felt sullied by his gaze alone, but of course he didn’t look away. That would have looked like weakness, and he’d die before ever showing weakness in front of a stripling like that Reuben! God’s teeth! The boy was hardly old enough to be a knight! What fluke had allowed him to ascend to Champion d’Altavilla would never understand.
The first jousts were called, and together with the other waiting knights, d’Altavilla retreated from the center of the courtyard. His squire and his servant, Sergio, awaited him.
“Give me some wine, Sergio, will you?” He held out a hand.
“Do you think you will have time, Milord?”
“Oh yes.” D’Altavilla eyed the two sturdy knights who had taken up positions on opposite ends of the fields. “They’ll go at each other for a good, long while. And there are two other pairs up after them, before it’s my turn.”
“Of course, Milord. Here you go.”
Sergio held up a leather wine bottle, and Lord d’Altavilla lifted it greedily to his mouth. “Ah! The heat is killing me!”
“Indeed, Milord. It is not pleasant.”
“Especially not if you
’re boiling in this tin!” D’Altavilla tapped his armor.
A crash sounded behind them. Glancing up, d’Altavilla saw the two knights collide. Both were thrown back in their saddles, but neither fell.
“Care for a little wager?” asked another knight waiting at the sidelines. “How many runs do you think they’ll make? Two or three?”
“Three,” d’Altavilla answered without hesitation.
“Are you sure? That one seems to have a pretty strong arm to me.”
“I’m sure.”
“Sure enough for ten silver Thalers?”
“Twenty.”
“Done!”
The knights turned around for their second round. D’Altavilla’s new acquaintance watched with baited breath, but Lord d’Altavilla himself did not even glance up. He was not just an expert fighter, but an expert judge of abilities, too. When, a moment later, a crash sounded and a disappointed “ohhh” rose from the crowd as both knights still remained in the saddle, it did not take him by surprise.
He held out his hand.
The other knight cleared his throat. “Um…I do not have it on me. I—“
Without looking, Lord d’Altavilla’s hand shot out and closed around the man’s neck. He was not wearing a bevor—stupid! But that made things easier. Pulling him forward, d’Altavilla squeezed.
“I…rg…I just remembered…here! I have a purse here!”
“Good.”
D’Altavilla lightened his grip, but only slightly. Extending his other hand, he caught the purse the man threw at him and then let him go. Gasping, the man fell back onto his horse.
“A little friendly advice for the future,” d’Altavilla told him. “Do not make bets with me you cannot keep. You would not like to see me angry.”
“Sir Claude de Rémi, against Sir Reuben von Limburg!”
D’Altavilla’s ears perked up at the call. So…the boy was going for his first fight, was he? He probably would get more than a few scratches on that pretty armor of his.
“Care for another bet?” he asked the knight beside him with a smirk.
The man shook his head frantically.