Unbidden (The Evolution Series) (30 page)

Marian and Rochelle rode toward the tournament field at midday, escorted by Theo and followed by a few of his men. It was slow going as the streets of Ribeauville and the road leading out of town were full of pedestrians. The clear chilly air fairly crackled with anticipation that reached a fever pitch when Rochelle rode past. Despite her reclusiveness, every man, woman and child knew her by sight. They pointed at her like royalty.

She did not disappoint. She held herself stick straight, her head up with pride
. At least her days of cowering in Theo’s hall were done. The day of reckoning was come. Having done all she could do to right her wrongs, and having failed, she could only hope for the best.

S
he had dressed for David, trying to make her appearance something of which he might be proud, even if on the inside she still felt worthless. She wore her finest wool tunic of deep green, dagged in small Vs across her chest and embroidered in gold and green. A heavy matching cloak was thrown back over her shoulders, clasped with a thick gold brooch ornamented with one polished emerald and many small garnets. The cloak sported a deep hood that she pulled up over her head, giving her a mysterious air. Her eyes flashed as she absorbed the hectic activity around them. Across her hips the glint of her heaviest gold girdle shone in the brilliant sun. The fact that she rode an impressive black gelding and had a large dog trotting beside her, with both animals rumored to be connected to the betrothed who had ignored her all week, only added to her mystique.

“Can you explain what will happen today?” Rochelle asked Theo, trying to ignore all the stares.

“Certainly,” Theo nodded. Marian listened attentively from his other side. “The tournament field is a fenced area. Spectators remain behind the fence. We have built a special platform for the emperor and a few others with a particular interest in the outcome, including the three of us. There will be a brief ceremony, an explanation of the rules, then it will begin.”

“Who judges the fight?”

“A battlemaster will start each fight and make sure there is no undue brutality. Louis himself will determine when each challenge is over.”

“Undue brutality,” Rochelle repeated, a chill running down her spine
. “Will someone die today, Theo?”

He shrugged
. “Probably not.”

If he expected his reply to be reassuring, it was not
. Rochelle placed her hand on the bag of remedies tied to her saddle. It bulged with bandages, a small skin of her headache cure, soothing ointments, everything she could think to bring. If David was hurt today, then as God was her witness, she would heal him.

They passed the emperor’s encampment where all manner of gentry and servants hustled amid the hundred or so tents
. A short distance beyond, Rochelle saw the tournament field. The emperor’s banners flew above the platform built at the height of the fence. A railing ran the length of it, and several rows of chairs sat on it. As they came closer, she could see Louis already enthroned there with men she did not know flanking him. He clearly enjoyed the public display, nodding regally at his subjects, who cheered and waved back at him.

“Where is David?” Rochelle asked.

Theo gestured to four tents at the opposite end of the field. “They each have a tent.”

“Will he rest there between challengers?”

“No, no rest.”

Her brows sailed upwards.

“Take heart, Rochelle. Fight of his life, but he is ready. He is determined to win.”

Theo’s men took the horses a safe distance away
. Marian walked onto the platform first, followed by Rochelle and Theo into the row directly behind the emperor. Louis greeted them warmly, even complimenting Marian on the beauty and intelligence of her daughter. If he found the presence of a dog on his royal platform unusual, he made no mention of it. Rochelle carefully placed her healing supplies between her chair and Marian’s.

From here
, she could see Woden tied near one of the tents, and, with some surprise, she noted Samuel’s thin form at his bridle. Crowds jostled around the fence of the field, pressing for the best view. A short man carrying a stubby club entered the field. He walked the perimeter, giving some kind of instruction to the spectators. Rochelle pushed her hood off her head so she could easily see the entire field.

“That is the battlemaster,” Theo explained
. “Warning the people to stay behind the fence.”

“Why are you not with David?” she asked abruptly.

“He wanted me to stay with you,” Theo answered kindly, his eyes sympathetic.

The conflicting messages of David’s actions finally overwhelmed her
. “I want this to be over, Theo. I cannot do this much longer.”

“Soon
. You see, here they come now.”

The four combatants rode toward a narrow gate opposite the platform, three of them on war horses, and Sewell on the same terrified farm pony he’d ridden to Alda
. The crowd began to shout wildly.

“The horses are just for show
. They will fight on the ground, or at least David will.”

David came in first
. She recognized Woden of course, and she knew the build of David’s body, but she’d never seen him in full armor before. It was a frightening sight. His head and nose were covered with a leather helm studded with metal plates. His shoulders and torso were shrouded in a leather brunia plated with spotless metal, and his arms and legs were sheathed with metal and leather, as well. A long lance was strapped to his back, a round shield with a metal boss rested on his left arm, and his spata and semi-spata hung from sheaths on his belt. The portion of his face she could see was devoid of expression. He rode as effortlessly as if he were on the fields of Alda.

F
ollowing David came Riculf, gap-toothed mouth smiling widely. He waved to the crowd, obviously enjoying his notoriety. He was armored similarly to David, though his leather was stained and his metal did not flash in the sunlight.

After Riculf came the one she could on
ly assume was The Black, built like a wine cask wrapped in black leather. Tufts of thick black hair poked out of every gap in his armor. Even his face bore a dirty black beard above which dark, unintelligent eyes peered. He seemed disoriented by the noise and attention, but looked as if he could wrestle an ox and win on both strength and smell. Rochelle shuddered.

The crowd began to laugh as Sewell bounced onto the field
. He clattered and clanged like cookpots in a kitchen. The poor boy had no idea what to do with the heavy shield hanging from his arm. A sheathed spata stuck out from his belt at an odd angle. His helm slipped down over his eyes and as he pushed it back the weight of his shield nearly dragged him off the horse’s back.

Riculf and The Bla
ck openly jeered at Sewell. David merely waited for the three of them to line up with him before they rode forward as a group to the emperor. The spectators began shushing one another when they sensed the beginning of the real spectacle.

Louis rose and Theo indicated that Rochelle and Marian should stand as well
. Louis began a brief speech:

“Today we will all witness a great tournament between individual men to determine who will assume owner
ship of Alda, a prosperous Frank estate. This spectacle is merely a representation on a smaller scale of what is happening in our empire. There are those who would usurp the rights of your emperor and question my very rule. I am here to show you that my judgments are right, that those loyal to me will stand behind me and that they are the best and strongest in the land. I chose David, a Bavarian, to have Rochelle of Alda’s hand, along with the estate.”  He indicated her behind him, prompting jeers from the crowd. “Some believe I was in error. Being a just and benevolent ruler, I will let them prove themselves wrong.”

He continued to speak, but
, as in the aula palatina, Rochelle found it difficult to attend his words. She stared at David, unable to tear her eyes away. He glanced sharply at her when the crowd booed her, then focused on Louis’s feet, his lips pursed in a thin line. Her mind wandered. What would they be doing today if she had said “yes” one of the many times she could have?  Having a picnic lunch at the river?  Or perhaps talking at the table in Alda’s hall?  When had she fallen in love with him?  When had her distaste for marriage been overwhelmed by her regard for this man among men before her?

He had been in her grasp. S
he had shoved him away. His love, his companionship, his children, had all been there for her to claim. She had pushed him away with all the force she could muster.

“Is this acceptable to all of you?” Louis called to the four men.

David nodded curtly. The Black blurted, “She’s pretty.”

David’s eyes slid over to him and Rochelle saw the hardness, the resolve
. He was determined to win, Theo had said. David had told her last night he would. She prayed it was so, and that he would consider her part of his winnings.

“Then it ends here,” Louis continued
. “When I announce the victor of each challenge, my word is law. The battlemaster will begin each match and make sure each man is treated fairly. I will end it.”  After a long pause, he shouted. “Let us begin!”

Chapter Twenty-Five

The four men left the field
, a wave of sound from the excited onlookers following them. David was the first to return, this time on foot. He walked straight to the center to wait, his posture relaxed. Riculf entered, his lance balanced in his right hand.

“The lance is David’s least favorite weapon, and Riculf knows it,” Theo commented.

Rochelle inanely stored that bit of information away:  lance is David’s least favorite weapon. It seemed important to learn everything she could, to save little tidbits that might carry her through the long winter her life would become without access to more.

Despite his size,
Riculf was light on his feet. He began dancing about. David pulled his own lance off his back and hunched slightly, swaying from side to side as he waited for Riculf to move within range. He allowed Riculf to float around him, answering every darting attack, but not expending the energy to chase him about the field.

Riculf’s thrusts were swift and precise, like the stings of a swarm of pesky flies
. David would counter, then Riculf would dash away, only to return. This went on for ten minutes, until David finally caught the lugs of his own lance on Riculf’s and wrenched the weapon from his grasp, flinging it far out of reach. Riculf bounced backward as he quickly drew his spata.

“Stand still and fight like a man,” Theo muttered.

“I agree,” Marian chimed. “David would break him in half if he would but stop flitting for a bit.”

David cast his own lance aside, unsheathing his spata in time to counter Riculf’s first strike
. The singing of metal scraping on metal sung through the enthralled crowd. It was punctuated by the percussive chime of a blade colliding with a shield and the grunts of the two men. To Rochelle the sounds of the blades sliding together said “You-ou-ou did it!  You-ou-ou did it!”

The men pushed off each other to begin circling again
. Sweat rolled down their faces. The sun flashed off the heavy blades as they whistled through the air, attack and defend, parry and thrust. Rochelle found it difficult to stay seated. She clutched her fingers around the seat of her chair and tried not to join in the screaming of the crowd. They would only question for whom she cheered.

Riculf began to tire from his dancing
. Now David circled him, like a sculptor around a block of marble, or a wolf around an exhausted deer. They moved close enough to the platform that she could hear the rasp of their labored breathing.

“He plans his strategy?” Rochelle whispered, recognizing the sharpness in David’s eyes.

“Yes, he is ready to finish him,” Theo replied.

As soon as the words entered her ear, David attacked, his spata slashing three times in quick succession
. Riculf’s blade spiraled through the air eliciting a frightened gasp from the crowd. Everyone had been so captivated by the flying weapon, they missed David’s denouement. The edge of his blade lay under Riculf’s chin. Even Louis was slow to respond, finally calling. “It is done, and done well!  David wins this round!”

Riculf had lost!  Her miserable plot had failed!  She clapped until her hands stung and smiled broadly, not caring who watched.

Riculf spit on the ground as David released him. Riculf glared up at Rochelle. “Skinny bitch, who would want her anyway?” he said, loudly enough for all on the platform to hear.

Louis chastised him
. David merely smiled as he checked the edge of his spata. Rochelle detected blood on his arm as he turned the blade. Her heart leaped to her throat.

“He is bleeding,” she said urgently to Theo.

“Yes, Riculf caught him in the shoulder early, with the lance.”

“Early?  H
e must be tended to.”

“Not allowed. It has not slowed him.”

“But, he is bleeding!”

“Look. The Black comes
.”

And indeed he was, looking like a bear that had rolled in a soot pile
. In contrast to Riculf’s dancing, The Black lumbered forward methodically, lance in hand, coming straight for David as if he intended to walk right over him. At the last second he lifted his lance, apparently to pound David over the head with it. David blocked him with his own lance, the wooden shafts clapping together with a sharp crack. The Black lifted his weapon, twisting it to hit David across his injured shoulder. David answered by nearly gutting him with the point of his own lance.

The Black laughed and backed away.

So began a brawl entirely different than the previous fight, with no finesse or civility. They swung their weapons like clubs, kicked, punched, yelled at each other in Bavarian. The Black landed one sharp blow on David’s helm. David cut a deep gash into The Black’s thigh that seeped blood into his matted fur.

The lances locked over David’s head with The Black pressing down, trying to force David to the ground
. Rochelle groped beside her until her mother grabbed her hands to provide comfort. They clung to each other while mesmerized by the raw violence before them.

Theo was on his feet, shouting,  “Get out!  Get out!” when David purposely dropped and with unbelievable strength rolled backwards with The Black, forcing him over and off
. “Great Christ!” Theo cursed as he dropped limply into his chair, only to burst up again.

David sprang to his feet, discarding the lance to pull out his sparta
. The Black was still on the ground and David hacked at him, blocked by his shield and the wooden shaft of the lance until The Black bought himself some time by flinging the lance at David’s face. He unsheathed his own spata, swinging it wildly while regaining his feet.

They pounded at one another with the blades
. If the contest with Riculf had the blades singing, this one made them scream. They sought soft flesh, but most often found unforgiving metal. The combatants circled for a moment, then engaged again with new fury. The Black’s spata slashed down for David’s arm. David blocked and spun away, swinging for The Black’s torso. The Black countered and shoved David backward, coming up fast with the blade pointed at his heart. The blades locked and shuddered. Their arms were twisted at impossible angles, faces contorted and reddening with the strain. One of the spatas suddenly sprang free, tumbling to the ground several feet away.

It was David’s.

He leaped back and drew his short semi-sparta.

The Black laughed as he marched forward.

“If you are going to take it, take it high,” Theo muttered.

“What?” Rochelle cried
. “What do you mean?”

S
he saw David rushing forward, straight at the blade. She bit her lip against her scream. He ducked at the last minute, causing The Black’s spata to slice across the top of the brunia at his shoulder instead of into his gut. David slammed into The Black with his shield up, forcing him to the ground with David’s semi-spata at the side of his filthy throat and his shield pressing into his face. They struggled on the ground, David straining to keep the brute under him.

“Done!” the emperor roared, “Done!” as the battlemaster tried to disengage the two men, finally stepping on The Black’s arm to stop him from flailing about with his blade.

David climbed off to step away, breathing hard. The Black roared to his feet, blood running from his obviously broken nose.

“Here now,” the battlemaster shouted
. “You had your chance.”  He shoved the defeated soldier toward the gate as the crowd screamed in excitement.

David pulled off his helm and wiped his hand across his forehead
. Sweat rolled down his face. He walked toward his spata. A motion to his right attracted Rochelle’s attention. The Black crept back toward him, a rounded rock palmed in one hand. She looked frantically for the battlemaster, but he was at the gate, talking to Sewell. Was no one else seeing this?  Her eyes settled for an instant on Doeg who watched – almost eagerly – from the fence.

Rochelle threw up her arm to point over Louis’s hea
d, finally choking out one word. “Theo!”

Her companion took in the scene immediately, in turn bellowing
, “Behind you!”  Rochelle had never heard such a sound come from his mouth, never would have dreamed he had it in him. David responded to the warning instantly, their years of partnership in battle evident. He crouched low and spun, deftly pulling his semi-spata out to attack while raising his shield arm to defend. The rock was already crashing down. The motion of his arm and his changed body position deflected it so that it grazed along the top of his forehead.

He dropped like a sack of wheat as Rochelle’s scream rent the air.

“David!” Rochelle yelled. Her vision contracted to a small circle with David’s still form in the center. She heard nothing but her own strangled cries.

She scrambled over the emperor’s shoulder to vault the barrier before her, crashing to her knees after the drop from the platform
. Lurching to her feet, she raced to David’s side, dropping into the dirt beside him. “David,” she pleaded even as she pushed his hair back to assess the damage. He lay completely inert except for his breathing. Magnus slid up next to her, wheeling to snarl at the air around them.

“David,” she begged, trying to wrest the heavy shield off of him
. He lashed out without warning. His elbow plowed into her chest, knocking her flat on her back several feet away.

“Jesu!”  Theo shouted as he came running at full tilt
. He dropped to his knees to hold David’s shoulders with all his weight. “Easy now, rest easy. It is I, Theo. Lay still, we are only your friends here.”

Rochelle saw stars as
she rolled to her side and crawled back to David, her breathing short and raspy. He moved ineffectually in the dirt, his eyes squinting. “Look at me,” she gasped, fearing his eyes would be too dilated, or unable to focus on her, or would close again to never reopen. Grabbing his face between both her hands, she demanded his attention in her most authoritative voice. “Look at me!”

He shook his head, trying to clear it
. “Give me a moment.”

He blinked several times before he focused on her
. She could almost see the question play in his mind. Why was he suddenly laying in the dirt?  She knew when the answer came. His jaw set. “Theo, where is that damn Bavarian because I need to kill him.”

“I think you may have already done it, old friend
. Uncanny ability to get under the armor when someone tries to brain you. You nearly gutted him, just like the Breton.”

“Good
. Help me up.”  Theo gripped him by one arm. Rochelle tried to help on the other side. He shook her off. “How much time until the next?”

“Next…” Rochelle breathed, still kneeling in the dirt
. She’d completely forgotten about Sewell. Already soldiers were pushing spectators off the field.

“Let me through!  Let me through to my daughter, ye beasts!”  Marian fought past the soldiers, shoving grown men aside with both hands.

“Mother, do you have my bag?” Rochelle asked, relieved when Marian held it out to her. “Quickly, quickly,”  she said to herself as she rummaged through it, handing her mother the skin of liquid and a small pot of ointment.

“No time for that now,” the battlemaster called gruffly, a comfortable distance from Magnus
. “You ladies clear out. Now.”

“H
e needs care,” Rochelle argued as her mother helped her to her feet. “His shoulder. And now his head!”

“It is my job to keep this thing going,” the man said.

“It is also your job to keep contestants from having their heads bashed in between rounds!” she shouted back, marching forward to stand toe to toe with him.

The man glared.

David lurched forward. “Get her out of here, Theo!  I want to finish this.” 

Theo gripped her elbow
. “Let us go to the side here. It will be over soon enough.”

“No!  Just give me a minute to help him!”  She tried to twist away, but could not
escape Theo’s iron hold. What did Theo mean by what he had said?  Was David certain to lose, after all this?  And to Sewell of all people?  She walked sightlessly with Theo on one side and Marian on the other. They climbed over the fence, the ladies in a distinctly unladylike fashion, turning in time to see David gathering his weapons, including the semi-spata left bloodied in the dirt. Each time David bent, he had to balance himself carefully before straightening. He methodically replaced each blade in its scabbard. He lumbered to the end nearest the platform to retrieve the lance. He gripped it in one hand over his shoulder.

There was no sign of The Black, though his blood trailed across the ground to the gate at the end of the field where Sewell sat, white-faced, on his horse
.

“Someone i
s in trouble,” Theo muttered.

“What? What?  Who?” Rochelle badgered, but was immediately distracted by clanging to her left.

Sewell came dashing across the field on his little farm pony. The horse was terrified, and wouldn’t hold a straight line, dashing this way and that despite Sewell’s best attempts to rein it. David swayed on his feet, squinting in general toward the motion of the horse, struggling to focus. Rochelle felt her fingernails dig into the wood of the barrier. “Please God. Please God. Please God,” she heard herself repeating. Sewell and his mount clattered closer and closer. He raised his rusty sword as David hefted the lance lightly in his hand, testing the weight and balance.