A Perfect Knight

There was no doubt that it would be a good match for Alayne. She needed an iron hand in a velvet mitt to tame her, for there was fire in her though she pretended to modesty. The baron loved her and was therefore the best person to be on the watch for her safety. Besides, Ralph had been thinking about that whispered conversation and he suspected that whoever had been thinking of entering the lists against de Froissart plotted some mischief. It would be as well to warn the baron of his own danger and Alayne’s.

He was out of sight of the palace and at the edge of the forest when he heard the shouts and sounds of fighting. Someone was being attacked! Ralph was wearing court dress and no armour, but he did have his sword at his side. He found it wiser to have his weapon to hand at all times when outside the palace.

Running towards the sounds of the struggle he saw what he had half-expected to find—the Baron de Froissart was surrounded by six ruffians. They were not knights but stout fellows armed with cudgels and were laying about de Froissart as if they meant to kill him. Giving a cry of outrage at such knavery, Ralph charged into the fray, his sword drawn. As they heard his battle cry the men turned, looked startled, and then fled as one into the forest.

Ralph did not bother to give chase. De Froissart was lying on the ground and, from the moans issuing from his lips, Ralph knew that he had not arrived in time to save him from injury. He knelt on the ground at his side, turning him over gently and frowning as he saw the blood on his head and more seeping through the sleeve of his tunic.

‘Forgive me, I should have come sooner,’ he said as he helped the baron to rise and heard his muffled cry of pain. ‘What harm have those scurvy knaves done you, sir? I think you have suffered a wound to your arm, but what more?’

‘A few blows to the head, but I think my right arm is worst. It may be broken.’ A moan of pain broke from the baron, but he gritted his teeth and allowed his rescuer to tend him.

Ralph gently rolled back his sleeve and examined the arm with gentle fingers, then he nodded his head. ‘Yes, I believe there may be some damage, but not, I think, a serious break. Let me help you back to the palace and summon a surgeon, my friend. I think you will mend in time for I have seen much worse wounds than this recover.’

‘I thank you for your help,’ de Froissart said, swaying slightly as Ralph helped him to his feet. ‘Had you not arrived, I fear they would have killed me.’

‘I had not realised you were in danger until this morning,’ Ralph said. ‘I knew someone meant to win that tournament and the Lady Alayne by fair means or foul—but I am at fault, for I did not realise this was his plan, to disable you first.’

‘Pray tell me more!’ de Froissart glared at him. ‘Do you say this was a plot to stop me taking part in the tourney?’

‘I believe it may have been,’ Ralph replied. ‘It was to warn you of a possible plot against you that I followed you when you left the Lady Alayne a few minutes ago. I believe someone is desperate to win her and her fortune and will do whatever he thinks necessary to stop any rival from carrying her off as his bride.’

‘What knave has done this? I’ll spit him like the swine he is!’ de Froissart cried and then half-fell as the pain in his arm almost overcame him. ‘At least, I shall when I am myself again.’

‘I know not his name. I heard only a few whispers last night in the gardens.’ Ralph smiled at his frustration. ‘At first I did not realise what they meant and then it was too late to discover the identity of the plotters. I can promise you the time will come when you may repay this debt,’ he said, ‘but not soon enough for you to win the tourney.’

‘But that was his purpose!’ de Froissart said and winced as he tried to move his arm. ‘If I do not take part, some other fool will win the chance to court her—possibly Baron de Bracey’s son Renaldo. I know his father covets her lands and he covets her. Between them they are the veriest rogues, the son worse than the father. This is the kind of thing they would plot between them!’

‘There were two of them,’ Ralph agreed. ‘One seemed to hesitate while the other ordered. It may be that you are right and it was de Bracey and his son. I do not think I know them, but you will have your squire point them out to me and I shall keep an eye on them.’

‘But you must do more than that,’ de Froissart said and halted his slow, painful walk to fix him with a fierce stare. ‘You must enter the lists and defeat de Bracey. If he wins, Alayne must let him be her champion for at least a few hours and I do not trust that scurvy knave. He will find some way to take advantage of her.’

‘I believe you care for the lady?’

‘Damn your eyes! What business is it of yours?’ de Froissart growled. ‘If you must know, I would marry her if she would have me—but that father of hers soured her for marriage. She was forced to take a man near old enough to be her grandfather and I believe he treated her badly, though she will never speak of it to anyone. The Queen whispered to me that she was most unhappy in her marriage and would not easily trust another man, and so I have been gentle in my courtship of her. I cannot tell whether she loves me in return—but I would do whatever she asked of me.’

‘You would protect her,’ Ralph agreed, ‘and she is in sore need of protection. We must do something to make certain that de Bracey’s son cannot win the right to court her. Is there no one apart from me who would fight in your stead?’

De Froissart’s eyes narrowed in reply. ‘I have heard that you are a worthy fighter, de Banewulf. Fight as my champion and protect the lady from those rogues, for my arm will not be stout enough to do it myself.’

‘It is a while since I entered the lists,’ Ralph replied reluctantly. He had no love of the tourney—too many men were injured in what was a vain cause and he fought only in a just one. ‘I train as always, for I believe it keeps the body well and the mind alert—but I have no heart for fighting. The last time I fought I killed a man who was my friend. I fought in anger and vowed I would not fight other than for my King and country again.’

‘We have all done things we would rather forget,’ de Froissart said, his interest caught by Ralph’s unthinking confession. ‘Did you intend to kill him?’

‘No. He was trying to tell me something I did not wish to hear,’ Ralph said. ‘I grew angry and we fought. I knocked him to the ground and he struck his head against a metal anvil—we were in the stable-yard near the blacksmith’s forge—and his skull cracked open. We did all we could to save him, but it was hopeless. Later, as he lay dying, he told me that he had lied to make me angry to bring me out of my grief, and then he smiled at me before he died.’

‘What was the lie that made you so angry?’

‘He told me that the child that led to my wife’s death was not mine but his.’ Ralph’s face was dark with sorrow. ‘But he lied and I knew that he lied. My anger was as much for myself as for him. I killed her by my unkindness and I killed him in my anger. For a time I considered taking up the Cross as my penance, but I knew that I was not worthy. God’s knight must be worthy of the honour to bear his symbol.’

‘I know what you mean,’ de Froissart said, nodding. ‘I too have killed in anger and that is why I will not take up the Cross again—but you wrong yourself, de Banewulf. You did only what other men have done before you and your sin is not so great as many.’

‘Yet I cannot forgive myself.’

‘Then make this tourney your penance.’ de Froissart threw the challenge at him. ‘If you feel you owe your friend and your wife a debt, take up the sword in their names as well as mine. For if you do not, I fear for the Lady Alayne’s safety.’

Ralph stared at him in silence for a long moment, and then inclined his head. It meant that he must break a sacred vow, but he would speak to the priest and ask for a penance to set him free.

‘I shall do as you ask, but I cannot promise that I shall be victorious. I have trained with my men as I told you, but I have not fought to win since the day I killed Christian Payton.’

‘Have the surgeon patch me up and I shall watch you train,’ de Froissart told him. ‘Then we shall see what we shall see…’

‘You should be in your bed, my friend.’

‘I am no weakling,’ de Froissart growled and stifled a moan of pain. ‘Let me only have my arm bound and give me a glass of good strong wine and I will watch you fight. Aye, and cheer the loudest of them all when you beat those knaves!’

Ralph smiled, realising that he had begun to like the man despite himself. ‘I bow to your judgement and pray that I may do your faith in me justice.’

Alayne listened to the gossip circulating that evening. The courtiers could talk of nothing but the attack on Baron de Froissart. Most cried shame that such a thing could have happened, for it was whispered by all that whoever was behind the attack had hoped to take unfair advantage by making it impossible for de Froissart to participate in the tourney.

‘It was wicked knavery,’ Marguerite said to Alayne. ‘Who would do such a terrible thing?’

‘I do not know.’ Alayne frowned. She was feeling chilled as she had on the day of the hunt, when the tourney was first suggested.

The Queen frowned over what had happened and spoke of cancelling the tournament, but the courtiers begged her not to spoil their fun, and when de Froissart put in a belated appearance at supper that evening he added his pleas to the others.

‘I beg your Grace will not cancel the tourney,’ he said in a loud voice so that all might hear him. ‘For whoever has done this thing will be thwarted by my champion if he thinks to win by foul means.’

‘Your champion?’ Everyone was agog to know who he meant and whispered one to the other as they tried to name the knight who would fight in de Froissart’s name. ‘But who will you choose? Is he a stranger to court?’

‘He has been here but a few days,’ de Froissart said and smiled at Ralph, who stood just behind him. He was in great pain, for he had drunk only wine and refused the healing potion the surgeon had given him, saying that he would not sleep until he was certain that honour had been satisfied. ‘I speak of Sir Ralph de Banewulf…’ Hearing the murmurs of surprise, he held up his uninjured arm for silence. ‘Sir Ralph saved my life, for I foolishly went unarmed too near the forest and was attacked by those foul brigands. Had he not arrived in time, I fear I might be dead—but as you see, I am not.’

Alayne’s heart caught as she heard his words. The English knight had not wanted to fight in the tourney—why had he changed his mind?

Queen Eleanor was looking at him. ‘Is this true, Sir Ralph? Do you fight as de Froissart’s champion?’

‘Yes, for he has asked it of me and I am in honour bound to do as he asks.’

She inclined her head, a little gleam in her eye. ‘I believe this tourney may be interesting after all. Since you make it a matter of honour, sir, I shall let the contest continue—with but one small change. You fight for a gold bangle and for the honour of sitting with the Lady Alayne at the high table as we feast afterwards. I know there was some foolish talk of fighting for the honour of courting the lady, but this I forbid. Whoever wins has only the bangle and her companionship for the evening, nothing more.’ Her eyes swept over the assembled company. ‘Do you all agree, good knights?’

There were murmurs of agreement all round, but Ralph noticed the scowling faces of a few knights, and he whispered to de Froissart who looked in the direction of two men standing together. It was clear by their harsh dark looks that they were father and son, though the father had run to fat, his face and hands podgy and white. If he was not mistaken, the knave was riddled with the pox, thought Sir Ralph—and that was the man who had thought to seize the Lady Alayne for himself! Or was it for his son? The younger man looked healthier, but his mouth was vicious.

No, by heaven, they should not have her! Ralph made the silent vow to himself, angered that they should have dared to think themselves worthy to approach her. Yet they had thought to steal her from de Froissart by secretly disabling him—perhaps they had thought to murder him, and might have had he not overheard their plotting.

‘I am so sorry you are wounded, sir.’

Hearing a gentle voice behind them, Ralph saw that the Lady Marguerite had approached them and was talking to de Froissart.

‘It was a mere scratch,’ de Froissart replied nobly, if not entirely truthfully.

‘You should be resting. It was a mercy that Sir Ralph was close by to help you, my lord.’

‘I have much to thank him for,’ de Froissart replied.

Ralph’s attention wandered, his eyes searching the company, looking for Alayne. She was standing a little apart from the other ladies, a pensive expression on her face that touched him. Why was she so sad? He had thought her light-hearted and teasing, a temptress who enjoyed her power over the knights, but now, seeing her when she thought herself unobserved, he realised that there was more to the lady than he had first thought.

‘Excuse me, I shall leave you for a moment,’ he said to de Froissart, but was cut off as the Queen stood up to address her company.

‘I do not know whether the attack on Baron de Froissart was by brigands or not,’ she said and her expression was stern. ‘But if I discover that this was an attempt to stop him fighting in the tourney—or if anything similar should happen to his champion—I shall banish the perpetrators for life, and their estates shall be forfeit.’

There was a gasp of surprise from the courtiers, for this was a harsh punishment and they had seldom heard their Queen speak so coldly to them. It was clear that she was very angry, and that she would not hesitate to carry out her threat if she were disobeyed. Banishment from the court and the confiscation of lands was something that most knights would not risk. Defeat in the tourney meant the loss of armour, but that was a mere trifle compared with this threat.

‘Did someone try to harm you because of the tourney?’ Marguerite asked and looked at de Froissart in distress. ‘That was a terrible thing to do, sir.’

‘We may never know their reason,’ was all that de Froissart would say. ‘I thank you for your concern, but I think that if you will excuse me, lady, I must follow your advice and seek my bed.’

Marguerite looked concerned. ‘Yes, of course. Do you wish for help?’

‘My friend here will help me. I fear I should be too heavy a burden for you, fair lady.’ He made her a shaky bow and then hissed at Ralph. ‘Get me out of here!’

‘Foolish,’ Ralph scolded as he put his arm about the baron, who was almost fainting on his feet, but had insisted on accompanying him to the hall. He forgot his intention to seek out Alayne as he hastened to assist de Froissart. ‘Come, I shall see you to your bed—and you shall take the surgeon’s potion to make you sleep or I shall know the reason why. I need your help to hone my skills in the morning or this tourney will be lost—and, despite the Queen’s decree, I dare swear the victor will claim his rights as he sees fit.’

‘And you must be the victor,’ de Froissart said and scowled at him. The pain in his arm was fierce, but it receded a little as they argued, which was of course the other’s intent. ‘You fight well enough, but must put your heart into it, de Banewulf. As my champion you shall not shame me—or you shall answer for it when I am well again.’

Ralph laughed, though he believed the threat real enough. They understood each other and had formed a bond of friendship. De Froissart was a true knight and would make the Lady Alayne a good husband. Something deep inside Ralph protested at the thought of her wed to any knight other than himself, but he quashed it ruthlessly. She was not for him. He would not take another bride.

Alayne watched as they left the hall together. She had been shocked and distressed to hear the news of such a wicked assault on the baron, the more so because she was afraid that de Froissart might have been attacked because of her. But who would do such a thing? Surely none of the courtiers was so base as to take unfair advantage? Yet there were some that she distrusted, some she took good care to avoid.

Glancing across the room, she saw that both Baron de Bracey and his son Renaldo were present this evening. A little quiver went over her and she felt afraid. She would need no warning from Sir Ralph to stay close to her friends this night.

She was not sure which of the de Bracey men she disliked the most. The baron was revolting and diseased, if rumour be true, but the son was evil. He had come to her home with his father once as a boy and she had seen him tormenting her kittens. When she had remonstrated with him, he had laughed in her face and told her she would wake up and find them missing one day. She never had, but she had lived in fear of it for months.

And this was the family into which her father would have her marry! She knew her father did not hold her in affection, but how could he contemplate such a match? She had only seen the de Bracey men at court a few times; they were not popular and did not come as often as some. Why were they here now? Was it possible that Baron de Bracey had made up his differences with her father? Her father would force her into any marriage that showed him some advantage, she knew—but she would rather die than be married to either of the de Bracey men!

She looked away, controlling her feeling of revulsion towards the men as she saw the Queen beckoning to her. Crossing the room to Eleanor’s side, she made her curtsy and, taking up a lyre, began to sing for the company. She ought to have gone to de Froissart as Marguerite had, she thought regretfully. It would have been polite and kind after his courtesy to her, but his declaration that morning had made her a little afraid of him. As a courtly lover she found him acceptable, but as a husband…no, that was impossible. Alayne sighed. She was not sure that she would ever find any man acceptable to her in that way.

Yet even as she denied it, the features of the English knight came to her mind. She recalled the way his eyes had seemed to devour her in the garden the previous night, his expression in part angry, in part—what? Perhaps hungry was the best way to describe the look he had given her. She could not be sure. She knew only that she had not felt the fear or revulsion that came to her when other men looked at her that way.

There was something that drew her to Ralph de Banewulf, though she was afraid to admit it, even to herself. It could not be that she had begun to fall in love with him—could it?

No, no, she was sure that she could never love, so what was it that caused such restlessness in her, making it almost impossible for her to sleep? Why was it that she had such fevered dreams, dreams in which the English knight took her in his arms and kissed her so sweetly that it made her whole body sing?

Sunday was for devotion and Alayne attended mass four times in the royal chapel. At all other times there was feasting, music and dancing in the halls of the palace, but on the Lord’s day the courtiers were expected to be sober and respectful.

The ladies spent most of the day at their devotions and their needlework, while the men often went out riding. Alayne suspected that they sometimes found taverns in the villages where they could drink and sport with the wenches, though, of course, some of the knights were genuinely devout and refrained from sport of any kind.

It was after supper, which the Queen had taken privately rather than in the hall, that she first heard the whisper from Marguerite.

‘They say that Sir Ralph asked her Majesty’s permission to keep a vigil in the chapel last night,’ she told Alayne as they were going up to their chamber. An early night had been decreed so that all might be ready to gather on the common at first light for the tourney to begin. ‘It seems he had vowed never to fight in such a tourney again, and the priest granted him absolution of his vow, his penance to lie prostrate before the cross all night.’

‘I wonder why he took such a vow,’ Alayne said, her brow wrinkling in thought. ‘Do you think he had committed some great sin?’

‘My father thinks him a good man,’ Marguerite told her. ‘There are bound to be rumours, of course, but I cannot think him capable of evil. And he is devoted to his wife’s memory. She died suddenly, they say, of a fever.’

‘I thought she died after giving birth to her child?’

‘My father told me she had recovered, but then her illness returned suddenly. Sir Ralph thought she was well again and they say he blamed himself for neglecting her—but it cannot have been his fault. He is a good man, do you not think so, Alayne?’

‘Perhaps. I do not know him, but I do not think him evil,’ Alayne replied, avoiding Marguerite’s gaze. The English knight confused her and she did not wish to continue speaking of him. ‘Have you heard aught of the Baron de Froissart? I have seen nothing of him since the other night and I asked the Lady Angelica for news, but she said she had heard he was prostrate on his bed this afternoon.’

‘Well, I do not know how that may be,’ Marguerite said. ‘My father told me the baron was watching Sir Ralph practise with the sword this morning for three hours.’

Alayne nodded, looking at her curiously. ‘Has your father said anything more of your marriage?’

‘No…but he says that he may take me to the English court soon. My Uncle Godolphin is much favoured by the King and it seems that my Aunt Isabelle wishes to see me. I have cousins of marriageable age.’

‘Then mayhap your father has not made up his mind about your marriage yet,’ Alayne said. ‘Perhaps your squire may yet be knighted in time.’

‘Oh, no,’ Marguerite denied and glanced away, her cheeks pink. Alayne sensed that she was embarrassed, perhaps wished that she had not mentioned her feelings for the young squire. ‘That was but a foolish fancy. He is too young to be married and I—I believe an older man might make a better husband.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ Alayne agreed, ‘though not too old. You would not like that, Marguerite, believe me. I think Sir Ralph and de Froissart are perhaps of a similar age…’

‘The Baron de Froissart is the elder of the two by some three years,’ Marguerite said and blushed again as Alayne gave her an inquiring look. ‘My father told me that Sir Ralph is the same age as my brother Eduardo and I—I know that de Froissart is older than my brother, for they were once good friends.’

‘You did not tell me that,’ Alayne said. Perhaps it was because Sir Ralph was so stern in his manner that she had thought him older. ‘I thought you did not like de Froissart?’

‘Well, it is not exactly that I do not like him…’ The lady blushed. ‘I should not have said what I did to you, Alayne. There was some quarrel between Eduardo and Pierre de Froissart when they were training together as squires. I thought it more serious than it was. My brother told me the truth of it recently and it was merely a squabble, because Eduardo was disciplined by his master—for some minor transgression that Pierre had reported. He was but thirteen at the time Pierre went off to the crusades and resented that he was too young to go with him.’

‘Oh, I see,’ Alayne replied, noticing that her friend was overcome with her embarrassment and that she had used the baron’s familiar name several times. ‘So you think that de Froissart is trustworthy after all?’

‘As much as any man,’ Marguerite said and turned away as they entered their chamber. She yawned as she disrobed, clearly wanting to change the subject. ‘I am tired and we must be up early if we are to be ready in time.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Alayne replied. She was beginning to suspect that her friend was more interested in de Froissart than she would admit, and that her story of being in love with a young squire might not be true. Why should Marguerite have lied about her feelings? Unless she had believed that Alayne was interested in Baron de Froissart herself? Could she have been a little jealous and spoken hastily? ‘Goodnight, and may the Lord bless and keep us.’