The Lady in the Tower (15 page)

‘Are you dying to see the joust? I can hardly breathe with excitement! Your father says you simply must be seated with us to watch.’

I forced myself to smile.

‘Of course I shall do so,’ I promised.

‘And on whom do you bestow your favour?’ Maria asked slyly. ‘On your betrothed, no doubt. He is expected to win, you know. Or do you perhaps favour your cousin?’ she asked with an arch look. ‘He seems to be quite a favourite with you, I’ve noticed.’

I could feel her watching me closely and tried to keep my face blank.

‘Oh, I really haven’t decided yet,’ I replied carelessly. ‘Jousting doesn’t interest me much.’ I still hoped to get away before I was forced to bestow my favour on Stanton. ‘And what about you, Maria?’ I asked, trying to be polite.

Maria simpered.

‘Well, the king does not ride—his leg is paining him, you know, after the dancing last night. He told me this morning that he would be forced to withdraw from the tournament.’ Maria spoke loudly, and looked around her, to make sure everyone at our table heard that she had spoken to the king. She then sighed theatrically. ‘And our dear host, your father, chooses not to ride also … so I scarce know
whom
I shall bestow my favour on.’

My goodness, did she really think anyone was interested? I had noticed no queues of eager suitors languishing for her favour.

With a flourish, Maria unfastened her silk scarf and called a serving boy to her side. She whispered to him and pointed. He went scuttling across the hall with the scarf and presented it, with a bow, to Lord Stanton, who looked mildly surprised when the boy told him who it was from. He bowed politely in Maria’s direction and she pretended to blush and hide her face. Then Stanton caught my eye. He indicated my lack of scarf with a questioning lift of his brows.

‘Oh dear, I’ve forgotten my scarf,’ I said to Maria, feigning surprise. ‘How vexatious. I shall have to run and fetch it. Please excuse me, Maria.’

‘Oh, my dear Eleanor, I declare, I cannot eat another bite. I shall accompany you. Then we can go to the lists together.’

‘No, please, there’s no need to trouble yourself. I’ll be back in a moment.’ I was beginning to panic, thinking my carefully planned ruse was going to fail completely.

‘It’s no trouble, for you shall tell me on the way who your favour is destined for,’ said Maria, taking a firm hold on my arm and propelling me from the hall. At the doorway, she paused. ‘Oh, look, Eleanor! Mistress Phoebe favours Gregory. Well, that’s no surprise.’

I looked round and saw my cousin kissing a pale pink silk scarf and bowing across the hall. Mistress Phoebe was blushing. It suits her to blush, I thought. It puts some colour in her complexion. Poor Phoebe. Feeble Phoebe. I felt annoyed with my cousin for bestowing his affections on such a dull girl. Then my father caught my eye.

‘Maria, Sir Walter wants you,’ I said, relief flooding through me. And indeed, my father was attempting to catch her attention.

‘Very well,’ said Maria, releasing me. ‘Wait for me a moment.’

‘I will,’ I lied, and as soon as her back was turned, I fled.

Dear Mother,

I am coming for you as soon as possible.

With love

Eleanor

I found a harassed Betsey in the kitchen, struggling to keep up with the demands of serving meals to so many. She was gutting and preparing chickens for the evening banquet. As each one was done, she threw it onto a pile on a freshly-scrubbed table. Watching her made me realize how much extra work the guests were causing. There was a whole army of servants working in the kitchen, already preparing the midday and evening meals. Others were carrying breakfast things into the scullery to be washed. They worked as though every minute was precious, as though their very lives depended on it. Betsey had laid out a tray for Mother, but had not yet put any food upon it.

‘Betsey, can I make the tray up for Mother? For you have so much to do with all these guests,’ I asked her.

‘That I have, Mistress,’ she replied. ‘I’d give anything to see the men riding today meself, given half a chance, but I’m stuck in here gutting birds for their suppers, ain’t I?’ The next carcass went the same way as the last. ‘So I’ll thank you kindly for any help, my dear.’

I laid out some bread and some meats on the tray and added a slice of plum pudding. Betsey, poor dear, had to do this every day, knowing full well the chaplain, that hog, stuffed most of it in his own belly, and Mother dared not touch the rest for fear of poison.

I reached up to the shelf where the tankards were kept, and selected a pewter goblet for Mother’s wine. I carried it over to the barrel, stumbling in my eagerness. Crouching down, my back to the kitchen, pretending to be filling the goblet with wine, I shook the twist of paper out of my sleeve. My fingers shook so much I couldn’t undo it. As I fumbled with it, a most unwelcome voice sounded in my ears:

‘
There
you are, Eleanor. I have been looking for you all over.’

I jumped so guiltily that both the goblet and the paper fell from my hands. The goblet clattered loudly on the flagstones, and a little of the precious sleeping powder spilled from the paper. I bent hurriedly to retrieve them both, stuffing the paper back into my sleeve, and then straightened up, my heart thumping.

‘Why, Maria,’ I managed to say, ‘what … what brings you to the kitchen?’

‘You, of course,’ said Maria impatiently. ‘I asked you to wait for me! Hurry now, or we shall miss the opening of the joust.’

‘I was helping Betsey prepare my mother’s tray,’ I stammered. As I spoke, the chaplain entered the kitchen, his keys jangling at his waist. I filled the goblet with wine and almost screamed out loud with frustration. I could not add the powder with both of them watching. I placed the wine on the tray with the food. Looking up briefly, I met the chaplain’s eyes.

‘How very touching,’ he sneered softly, before picking up the tray and departing. Maria looked around the kitchen disdainfully. She called me to her side, and led me off to my room, where she fussed over some last minute adjustments to our apparel.

‘Eleanor, you are about to forget your scarf again!’ she said coyly as we left the room. I was obliged to turn back and pick it up off the bed.

I ground my teeth as we walked. Maria had foiled me. There would be no escape for Mother and me this morning. A minor setback, I comforted myself as I took my seat in the stands overlooking the lists. Mother had told me that she was still very weak. Perhaps another few hours rest would see her more restored. I would try again this evening. I fretted that Arianna and Beau would stand saddled and bridled in their stalls all day without riders, but there was no way of getting a message to Tom.

The king was seated in a great chair with an awning over it to protect him from the sun. My father, Cromwell, and a few other favourites were seated around him. The rest of us were seated according to rank in the open stands. From my seat beside Maria, I had an excellent view of the lists.

Maria nudged me.

‘Eleanor, you are wanted,’ she said, far too loud.

Lord Stanton was before us, sitting his splendid black horse with ease. He had not yet donned his helmet and his dark hair gleamed in the sun. As I met his eyes, he bowed and my heart sank. I had not even managed to escape this. Stanton smiled his lazy smile at me.

‘Will Mistress Eleanor honour me with her favour?’ he asked softly.

Most unwillingly, I thought. But there were many pairs of eyes on us, including my father’s, and I dared not refuse. Nor did I quite dare fling it ungraciously in his face, as I longed to do. Instead, I pulled it from my neck, knotted it loosely, and dropped it over the tip of the lance that he held up to me. A cheer went up from the spectators around us, and I flushed with annoyance. Stanton raised the scarf ostentatiously to his lips and kissed it for all to see. Then he tied it beside the half a dozen others that were already secured to his lance.

‘Among so many, my poor offering can have little significance, I fear,’ I remarked.

‘On the contrary, madam. Your favour carries a most particular honour,’ he responded.

I sat back and folded my arms. He had managed to best me yet again. Go ahead and triumph over me, I thought to myself. I’ll pray I see you flat on your back before this tournament is done.

A blast on the horn, and the knights left the ground to make way for the first competitors. Stanton rode to the far end of the lists and donned his helmet. He was due to ride in the opening tilt. I watched him calmly sitting his restless horse until the flag was dropped. Then he rode forward, apparently effortlessly, horse and rider moving fluidly together. He knocked his opponent to the ground in the first run, and a great cheer went up from the crowd. He had not only won that heat, but by unhorsing his opponent, he had won his steed as well. I had to admit—with the greatest reluctance—that the man had consummate skill on a horse. It only made me hate him more. But surely he must have a weakness? As I was forced to stay and watch, I would observe him and report my findings to my cousin.

Despite the weightier matters on my mind, I became deeply engrossed in the tournament. There were many riders engaged to joust, and the thunder of hooves and the clash of lance upon armour filled me with excitement. The crowd cheered and screamed, and I found myself cheering with them. I longed to pit myself against the competitors. I was sure I had more skill than many of them.

I observed my cousin and my betrothed closely as they rode their several heats. Gregory was a courageous and a dashing rider and defeated his opponents with style. But he had weaknesses. He took risks, and in my opinion he aimed consistently too high, which gave a skilled jouster the possibility of rolling back from the blow. He also rode fast and furiously down the lists. While this was intimidating to his opponent, and gave him greater power in his blows, it also gave him less time to aim accurately or respond to his opponents’ tactics.

Stanton, on the other hand, I could not fault. I watched him closely and had to concede him a grudging admiration. He was unpredictable, riding and striking differently each time. He seemed to know each opponent’s weak points and use them. This was explained when I saw him on the benches between his own heats, observing each rider as closely as I. His pose was negligent; he sat at ease, but his eyes did not leave the combatants as they rode. He was watching them, deciding the best way to defeat them. And defeat them he did. In every bout he rode throughout the morning, he was victorious.

The sun rose higher in the sky and the day grew warm. The familiar smell of horses and harness grew stronger in the sun. Ladies were fanning themselves and complaining of the heat when the gong was sounded for the midday break.

Sir Walter had caused huge tables to be set up in the shade of some large oak trees, loaded with refreshments of every kind. Competitors and spectators alike drifted over to select pastries, meats, and cooling drinks. I sought out Gregory and drew him apart from his friends.

‘Cousin,’ I said urgently. ‘If you ride against Stanton this afternoon, you must alter your tactics. Do something he doesn’t expect. He has been watching you, and knows how you ride.’

My cousin regarded me, a bemused look on his face. ‘Since when have you been an expert in the joust?’ he asked mildly.

‘I … I have watched and advised my brother Walter for years,’ I said, slightly hesitantly. ‘And I learned with you both, four years ago. Don’t you remember?’

‘That was long ago, Eleanor,’ Gregory said dismissively.

I was tempted to tell him the truth, but for the fear that I might be overheard. ‘Walter takes my advice,’ I said instead. ‘And he did well, did he not?’

‘True. In the junior event,’ replied Gregory.

‘Trust me,’ I urged him. ‘Ride slower and aim lower if you face him.’

Gregory smiled. ‘No, cousin. He would flatten me.’

‘He’ll flatten you if you ride as you usually do,’ I assured him. Gregory’s face closed, and I could tell I had gone too far. ‘I’m only trying to help,’ I said softly, putting one hand on his arm. He looked as though he would like to have shaken my hand off, but restrained himself.

‘Cousin,’ he said stiffly, ‘I cannot allow a lady to be the judge of how I joust. Not even so redoubtable a lady as yourself.’ He bowed slightly and walked away. I stood alone feeling both hurt and annoyed.

‘If only you would direct such a heartfelt look at me, Mistress Eleanor,’ said a hated voice in my ear. I drew myself up stiffly, but did not look round. ‘In fact,’ continued the voice, ‘I am beginning to think that I shall have to challenge your cousin Hungerford to a duel to remind him whose bride you are intended to be.’

‘There is no need, I assure you, sir,’ I responded. ‘And no danger at all of you allowing me to forget our promises.’ I turned as I spoke and saw to my great annoyance that Stanton had shed his armour and was wearing my scarf, loosely knotted in his belt. He saw me looking at it and touched it lightly, smiling.

‘I’m honoured that you treasure my poor favour so highly,’ I said, attempting to imitate his own sarcasm.