By Right of Arms (44 page)

But Ryland was the evil one. Hollis was ugly and stupid and mean-tempered, but Ryland was the one who plotted and schemed and planned out acts of viciousness and murder. It was Ryland who devised the plan to clothe Hollis’s archers in monk’s robes to attack De la Noye, and Faon had smiled slyly, though carefully, when Hollis returned, defeated, and told the story of the battle. Somehow they had known he was coming, Hollis raged. Hyatt’s troops emerged from down the road, from the woods, from the keep. And the gate was not opened. The priest must have warned them.

And the lady yet lived.

Faon heard Hollis leave the room, slamming the door, and sighed in relief that she had been forgotten. She sat up gingerly, rubbing her back. Her whole body ached. She longed for a bath, for though she had never been fastidious about her personal cleanliness, she had not been granted servants or grooming tools since leaving De la Noye. No mercy was bestowed on her even after it was learned that Aurélie lived. She no longer knew why she was kept with them.

The door opened and with a start she pulled the blanket to her chest, covering herself. It was not Hollis, but Ryland. And he smiled with ruthless superiority.

“Good morning, my love. Dress yourself in something. We’re going out to find where Sir Hyatt keeps his lodgings.”

She glared at him without response.

“You are not interested in your lover any longer? Well, I am. And you shall help me.”

Faon said nothing. For once she feared to open her mouth, for between Hollis and Ryland she had suffered enough beatings.

“Tomorrow is the contest that Prince Edward will view for the pleasure of his victorious court … and your lover’s challenge will be met. You would not wish to lie abed while Sir Hyatt and Sir Hollis do battle, would you?”

“What is it you wish of me now, Ryland?”

“You shall help me secure Hyatt’s son.”

“My
son, Ryland,” she said, rising in the bed, a note of panic in her voice. “You would not harm my son!”

“Do you pretend to care for the boy? Well, perhaps you shall see him again, in that case. He is here, in Bordeaux, with Hyatt’s household.” Ryland laughed. “I could have sworn that you disliked the child, and used him to gain a place in Hyatt’s household.”

“Ryland,” she said in a desperate whisper, “you must not hurt the boy!”

“I do not mean to harm him, dear Faon. But do you see? If Hyatt should somehow best Hollis, we shall find ourselves in a sorry state. I have very little silver left to feed the hungry bear. I think it wise to keep a little booty at hand. You do wish to be reunited with your son, do you not?”

“If you plot against Hollis, he will kill you.”

Ryland laughed heartily. “Good God, dear Faon, I am not that kind of fool. Now get up! I am in no mood to tarry.”

* * *

Hyatt took a drink of wine and passed the chalice to Girvin, who took a drink. The huge warrior looked down at Hyatt. “I don’t think I shall like this plan. I have always ridden at your side or guarded your back.”

Hyatt slapped his gauntlets into his open palm. “That was before there was so much more to guard. And Sir Verel wishes a chance to prove himself.”

“He is not as good as I,” Girvin grumbled.

“You are right; he is not. That is why you have each been given your proper chores.”

Girvin gave a slow nod. “All will be well, Hyatt.”

Hyatt stepped outside his pavilion where the destriers, saddled, decorated, and being fed from grain bags, waited. He looked to the spectators and saw the faint blur of rose-colored velvet that was his wife’s new cloak. Across the field there was a wide expanse of blue that was Hollis’s tent.

Hyatt looked around at the collection of men that would ride in the melee. Some were his own of many years; six were of de Pourvre’s troop who had practiced with them before leaving De la Noye. All were ready and wore serious faces. If Hollis somehow managed to win, most of these men would be serving a new lord. The stakes were quite high; if there was not loss of life, the knights would be ransomed to the extent of their worldly goods.

The two knights had met with Prince Edward and Sir John Chandos the day prior, and Hollis was confident of his skills, easily putting on the line his own conquered keep, plus the costly armor that outfitted his entire troop and each destrier they rode. Hyatt nearly winced at the cost, but covered his shock. Before he spoke, Chandos whispered in his ear. “Finish with Hollis once and for all, Hyatt. All or nothing!”

Hyatt had glanced briefly at the shrewd, handsome eyes of the young prince. Edward could hardly criticize the warring skills of one such as Hollis, but did not rest easy while the same man held property in his demesne. A good mercenary did not often make a good lord of lands. Hollis’s troop was comprised mostly of criminals with orders of pardon bought by Hollis. Hollis and his group were a good war-machine to take to battle, but sorry keepers of the larder. Could the prince be so confident of Hyatt’s skill in the contest that he would risk having Hollis own it all?

In the eyes of the prince there was a firm request to finish Hollis’s treachery … before it worked against England. And Hyatt obliged. He had pledged his worldly goods to the outcome of the contest, and Hollis had smiled with an evil gleam in his eye.

The trumpets sounded and the knights mounted up. Squires began to race around the tents and pavilions, readying lances, swords, shields, and additional armaments. Hyatt led his troop around the field and paused before the prince, bowing low over his horse. Edward was young, strong, and in his glory. He held the King of France and many French lords and knights. The ransoms were high and to be paid by Christmas. A great deal of wealth was changing hands even now, and Prince Edward sat in the midst of it all.

King John occupied a prominent, if heavily guarded, position to observe the contest. Not many places to his right, Aurélie slowly stood. She was proud and erect, her eyes alive with courage and love. She touched her fingers to her lips. She did not show the fear that Hyatt knew had burned in her heart. He was aware of her restless loss of sleep, her distracted mood, and the slight frown of worry that creased her brow.

Hyatt rode on and Hollis presented his troop to the prince and the spectators. Hyatt rode the length of the gallery and back to his pavilion to stand ready. He looked over his shoulder at Sir Girvin and slowly shook his head. Girvin disappeared instantly.

Hyatt had only one opportunity to look closely at Hollis’s pavilion as he passed. He scanned the grounds and saw Thormond standing among the tents and horses. And nearby was the young squire whom Hyatt had asked to watch the scoundrel. He counted that matter done; Thormond would not ride in the melee, but it was important to see what he did later.

The rules of the contest were read, and cheers from the crowd went up all around when the trumpets sounded. Hyatt wiped his hands on a cloth, tossed it to a page, and pulled on his gauntlets. He accepted a blunted lance, for it was property for which they fought and not to the death. He looked at the line of one dozen fully fettled knights wearing his livery. “For De la Noye,” he said. He heard the cheer. He looked directly behind him. He met Sir Verel’s eyes. “Let us best this devil for my lady’s sake, Sir Verel.”

“For my lady and De la Noye.” Verel’s strong voice carried conviction.

Hyatt turned back toward the field and dropped his visor. His hands were steady, his mind focused on one thing only. Hollis. The mark of a good leader was to give orders and believe them done. He had assigned each man to an important task in the melee, and if any one failed, they might all lose. But if each did as he was instructed, the contest would be between Hyatt and Hollis. Now that the plan of attack was set, he could not dwell on the details. He focused on the huge knight whose destrier stood ahead of the rest. At the trumpet’s blast, he heard their visors all drop. Lances were braced; squires released the reins and ran out of the way. A third blast was the call to charge.

The destriers crashed together. The sound of cracking lances, grunts, and cheers filled the air. Only two were unseated; one from each side. The felled knights ran for new horses and the remaining group, now lined up before their opponent’s pavilions, waited for the trumpet sound to repeat the charge.

Hyatt’s lance held through the second charge, but he threw it down and called for a replacement. As he passed Hollis, he noted a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. After three passes, six knights were unseated and had almost depleted their allotted number of new destriers. Hyatt meant to keep throughout the steed he was riding. At the fourth pass a total of nine were unseated and points were awarded to Hyatt, whose troop had the most astride. The crowd was wild with cheers. But Hyatt longed for the strength in Aurélie’s clear blue eyes.

At the fifth pass Hyatt’s blunted lance found Hollis’s chest and the man was pushed back, his feet hard in the stirrups and his knees tight on the horse, but Hollis was too heavy. He fell. More points to Hyatt’s side, for a leader had been unhorsed. And the crowd roared with pleasure. Hyatt knew by the sound there were very few spectators yearning for Hollis’s success. But the position of the crowd was the least of his concern. He knew, as he had known from the first, that there was more at stake than De la Noye. He knew it because Ryland was somehow pulling the strings that caused the puppet knight, Hollis, to work.

Hyatt looked around the field. He had the advantage still, for his side had more men astride. He dismounted and pulled out his broadsword, while Hollis chose the mace. Hyatt’s steed was whisked away by a squire. He dared not look about to see what his men did, for if they followed their orders, they would busily push back Hollis’s men. The win was not so important, at the moment, as keeping the opposing side at bay, for it would be like Hollis to have a plan to worry Hyatt from the rear.

Hollis swung the mace as he approached. “Come, bastard,” he growled.

Hyatt heard the clanging of metal and crunching of armor all around him, but there was not the slightest indication that any of Hollis’s men approached his back. To turn and look would give an advantage to Hollis, and he reminded himself to trust his men to do their part. He fended the mace aside with his sword, sweat running down his forehead under his visor and into his eyes. He swung and stabbed and swung again, and the dust around their feet rose in a choking cloud. He saw blood dampen Hollis’s gauntlets from the fierce grip the latter had on the chain. The mace whirred past Hyatt’s stomach and as it passed he crouched suddenly, bringing his blunted broadsword into the fat knight’s side.

Hollis grunted in pain and fell to one knee. Hyatt gave him leave to rise, which was the rule of the chivalrous match. By the cheers, the move had been seen and counted. Hollis rose with a growl, the mace wildly swinging toward Hyatt’s head. It struck the side, dazing him for a moment, his helm so badly dented that he pulled it off and let it fall, but his opponent did not give him time to recover from the blow, but brought the mace back around on the backswing. Despite the fact that Hyatt’s vision was clouded with pain, he saw the bulk descend on him and rather than trying to escape the second blow, he raised a knee to Hollis’s gut. A round of booing and hissing from the gallery could be heard as Hollis stumbled back. Hollis would not give a felled knight a chance to rise, despite the rules.

“You’re losing the contest, Hollis. Don’t be a fool.”

Hollis growled again and righted himself. He glanced toward the prince’s pavilion and slowly pulled off his helm, casting it aside. Hyatt did not seize the moment when Hollis looked away, but waited as he should, wondering at his opponent’s next move. It appeared that Hollis meant to equalize their terms by taking off his helm.

Hollis swung the mace and his eyes gleamed. “Fall to my next blow, bastard, and you may have your wife and son.”

Hyatt did not look at the pavilion that housed the spectators. Instead he smiled shrewdly. “Fall to mine, and you may have your life.”

The mace whistled as it came close to Hyatt’s face. He ducked and swung the mighty blade, hitting Hollis again in the gut. Hollis grunted in pain again, falling to one knee. He looked up at Hyatt with blood lust in his eyes. “I have your wife and son,” Hollis growled. “If I lose the match, they shall be ransomed.”

“Nay, Hollis. It is you and I … at last.”

“Look for yourself, fool!”

Hyatt did not glance around. By the lack of clanking armor and grunts he knew the field was nearly clear; there was an almost fearful quiet. He did not know the points collected, but he realized that the others had finished their contests. If Hollis’s men had bettered his own, he could still take the day by beating the leader.

Hollis rose uneasily under his own weight. His face was streaked with dirt and sweat and he charged like a wild boar with a snarl of hatred on his lips. But Hyatt’s lighter weight served him well as he jumped out of the way of the swinging mace and applied his sword again to the same side he had struck twice before. This time Hollis sprawled.

Hyatt looked down at his opponent. “You’re a fool,” Hollis muttered. “Ryland has them. He will kill them.”

“You’re the fool. If you get up, I shall only have to knock you down again. Yield the day!”

Hyatt watched as the man rolled in pain, his mace lying far from his hand. Hyatt turned, bowed to the gallery, and plunged his sword into the dirt beside his victim. He began to walk toward the prince, straining his eyes not for Edward, but for the rose hue that marked Aurélie’s cloak. Blood ran from his temple into his right eye, but his left was clear.

Aurélie was not there. Hyatt mumbled a prayer that bore the name of Girvin.

He had taken twenty paces, panic rising, when the audience seemed to rise as one and the sound of a galloping horse could be heard. He looked first in the direction of the horse and saw Verel charging onto the field, an unsheathed broadsword raised high. He was gaining on Hollis, who was charging with Hyatt’s broadsword. A moment of stunned wonder paralyzed Hyatt. Hollis would attack his back.

Hyatt dove out of the way, sliding into the dust, while Verel screamed a battle cry that held all the outrage the lad had stored for many months. The sword Hollis held was blunted, but Verel’s was not.