The Joust
“Stay calm,” said Guy of Lucent as he held Henry’s steed by the reins.
“Easy for you to say Sir Guy; you’ve done this before,” replied Henry, the nascent knight in shining armor.
“And so have you.”
“Only on the practice field against you, and we both know how that turned out.”
“I was just showing you the ropes and hardening you for this moment,” explained Guy.
“Hardening is right, if you had hardened me any more I’d be a corpse pushing up daisies.”
“But you aren’t, and now you sit here on your warhorse ready to joust with Geoffrey of Ghent and impress this splendid crowd.”
“I’ll just be happy to survive this performance with my head still screwed on.”
“If he goes for your head – whatever you do – don’t raise your shield,” Guy warned.
“Why the hell not!”
“It will block your view. What you must do is tilt your head this way or that to avoid the blow while at the same time unseating Geoffrey by directing you lance dead center on his shield.”
“Again; easy for you to say.”
“And easy to do; child’s play once you get the hang of it.”
“If you live long enough to get the hang of it,” Henry couldn’t help saying.
“I suppose that’s true. As I recall there were a few of my fellow squires back in the day that never made the grade.”
“Meaning they died in their first joust.”
“Or in practice,” Guy qualified.
“Great.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll do fine. I’ve trained you well and Geoffrey’s not at the top of his game as of late.”
“How so?” asked Henry.
“The rumor is he picked something up in the nether regions, crabs no doubt. I can tell you from experience that they are hard to get rid of and can be very distracting. He’s probably itching to get out of his armor at this very moment.”
“I am too, but not for the same reason.”
“Come now. This is your chance to win some glory and show your betrothed how gallant you are.”
My betrothed doesn’t care how gallant I am. All she cares about are pastries and pottages.”
“Both delicacies that I am fond of as well; but surely she must have some interests outside of food.”
“She likes to play croquet.”
“What else?” asked Guy.
“Let’s see. . . she loves the antics or her buffoon. . . she enjoys her beer – ”
“Who doesn’t,” Guy opined.
“She likes to embroider and is fond of her cat.”
“All and all she sounds like a fair prize. She has wide hips too, which bodes well for giving birth to your children.”
“If I can get up the passion to mount her.”
“Tut, tut. That’s not the right attitude,” rebuked Guy.
“But it’s the attitude I have. If she weren’t the daughter of the Count of Lorraine I’d have never given her a second look.”
“But she is the daughter of the Count, and there’s no two ways about it; you must wed her and you must bed her.”
“Alas, such is the case,” sighed Henry.
“Buck up, lad. There are worse fates.”
“Right; well let’s get this joust over with. Remind me, what do I do next?”
“Ride over to the grandstand, tip your lance to Lenore to receive her scarf and return to me,” said Guy, releasing the reins of the warhorse.
“I think I can manage that much,” said Henry.
With that Henry nudged his steed forward and made his entrance onto the jousting field to the applause of his admirers. To his right was the grandstand filled with the nobility. The King, the Queen, the Count and Lenore were elevated on a dais for all to see more clearly. The buffoon sat on a stool next to Lenore like her pet. Lord Phillip, Friar Bede and others of note surrounded the dais. To his left commoners sat on makeshift benches, stood upright or leaned against the railings of the arena. They were a mostly ragged looking lot. But among them Lady Tremaine and her two biological daughters sat haughtily in their finest attire, waving fans even though it wasn’t that hot out. Lady Tremaine, striving to make eye contact with her Phillip, finally succeeded. She was rewarded with a guarded salute, and so absorbed with the spectacle that she did not notice that Cinderella had skipped out on her chores and joined the festivities.
Henry guided his warhorse to the grandstand. He bowed to his royal parents and tipped his lance to Lenore. She bequeathed her scarf on him and then scolded the buffoon when he made a ribald comment about how long Henry’s lance was. Henry raised his lance to let the scarf slide down to him, but instead it fluttered off and landed on the jousting field. The buffoon, seizing the moment, hopped off his stool, bounded down to the jousting field, picked up the scarf and with a flourish handed it to the mortified Henry. This elicited a great deal of laughter from the rabble and some shaking of the heads from the nobility. Guy, who had entered the jousting field to take his place, said half out loud: “Not a good start.”
Henry wrapped the unwanted scarf around his neck and retreated to Guy.
“I am beyond embarrassed,” Henry said to Guy.
“Could happen to anyone,” consoled Guy.
“Did it ever happen to you?”
“Once: but fortunately there was no buffoon around to make it worse.”
“That buffoon has got it in for me. This isn’t the first time he’s made a joke at my expense.”
“That’s what buffoons do, you dunderhead; don’t let it bother you.”
“You haven’t called me dunderhead in years,” observed Henry.
“Haven’t I. Well you’re still a dunderhead and to me you always will be.”
“Thanks Guy, and you’ll always be my closest friend.”
“Friend! I’m not your friend. Now go out there and show me I haven’t wasted my old age training you.”
Guy gave Henry his helmet and tightened the cinch on the saddle one last time. Henry put on his helmet, adjusted his visor and indicated he was ready with a nod of his head. Geoffrey did the same, and the herald signaled the commencement of the joust by waving a pennant. Both Henry and Geoffrey spurred their mounts and as they approached each other leveled their blunted lances. The two hundred feet that separated them was covered in a few breathtaking seconds. The crowd grew hushed. The Queen squeezed the King’s arm. The Count leaned forward. Friar Bede squinted so he could see more clearly what was happening. Phillip clenched his fists. Lenore yawned. The buffoon tried to catch a fly in mid-air. Lady Tremaine stopped waving her fan. Cinderella bit her lower lip. Guy crossed his fingers. They and everyone else saw the same thing: Henry’s lance glanced off of Geoffrey’s shield and Geoffrey’s lance splintered as it hit Henry’s shield dead center and sent Henry hurtling to ground in an awkward heap. The crowd gasped and Geoffrey dismounted to check on his vanquished foe. Dazed but not seriously injured, Henry, with help of Geoffrey, sat up and weakly gave a ‘thumbs up’ to the onlookers. This resulted in a cheer incommensurate with what Henry had achieved. But he had survived and that was what counted.
“That didn’t look like a descendant of Charlemagne to me,” said the Count above the cheering.
“It was his first joust and Geoffrey of Ghent is a seasoned knight,” excused the Queen.
“Who apparently didn’t hold anything back,” added King Charles.
“Nonetheless, an inauspicious beginning for my future son-in-law; I hope he swings a broadsword better than he wields a lance.”
“He’s quite proficient with a sword, isn’t he brother,” said the King.
“Yes, he has mastered it well,” Lord Phillip vouchsafed.
“And he’ll make a good tactician, once he gets some experience under his belt,” Queen Bernadette said.
“And how do you know that?” asked the Count.
“Because he’s outmaneuvered me more than once on the chess board,” answered the Queen.
“You play chess?” asked the Count incredulously.
“She most certainly does. You should see what she can do with a rook,” King Charles exclaimed.
“I’d rather not. I consider it wholly unnatural for a woman to play chess. Better she spend her time with domestic duties and keeping her husband happy.”
“But she does keep me happy,” said the King.
“And the King keeps me happy,” added the Queen.
“Father, I’m hungry. When are we going to eat?” broke in Lenore.
“Eat, you’ve been snacking on honeyed hazelnuts all morning,” said the Count.
“Yes, but I’m still hungry. Isn’t anyone else?”
“I am,” volunteered Friar Bede.
“Me, too; what if we three get a head start for the pavilion tent and see what’s been laid out,” suggested Queen Bernadette.
“Excellent idea,” seconded the doughty Friar Bede.
“Go ahead. The King and I will be along after we’ve discussed a few things,” the Count said.
“Very well, we’ll see you posthaste,” the Queen said.
Lenore, Queen Bernadette, Friar Bede and of course the buffoon – who the Queen had failed to count – rose from their seats and departed, as did most of the other nobility.
“Your queen is a tad mouthy if you don’t mind me saying so,” said the grumpy old Count.
“She’s an acquired taste,” the King responded diplomatically.
“If you say so. Listen, about the Saxons; I think I should invite their leaders to a feast and slit their throats before they find out we formed an alliance.”
“They’ve probably already found out. It’s been five years since we made our arrangement,” said the King.
“You may be right. What do you think we should do?”
“Undertake a full scale invasion of their lands,” Lord Phillip advised.
“Perhaps. But on what pretext?” asked King Charles.
“Who needs a pretext,” said the Count.
“My wife always says. . . I mean my father always used to say that it’s best to have a pretext.”
“Might is right I’ve always said, and we have the might,” the Count said.
“Like you did when you and the Saxons invaded us?” King Charles asked.
“Yes, and if the Saxons hadn’t botched the siege you’d be in my dungeon right now.”
“So it was the Saxons who planned to infiltrate our castle through the south gate.”
“No, it was me. It was the Saxons who failed to hold the camp against your midnight raid. That was well done on your part by the way. I couldn’t help but admire your audacity.”
“Thank you Count; desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“Getting back to our little problem; should we or should we not launch an all-out attack on the Saxons?” asked the Count.
“Why don’t we talk about it on a full stomach,” the King proposed.
“I see no problem with that as long as we can do it without your queen’s involvement,” said the Count.
“I’m sure we can,” the King assured his ally.
On that note the conference on the dais concluded and the three warriors made their way to the Pavilion tent. They arrived to see Lenore throwing grapes into the gaping mouth of her buffoon while she chewed on a pigeon leg. The Count told her to show more decorum and promptly helped himself to a pig knuckle.
More jousters and nobles filtered into the pavilion tent as time went on; mixing and helping themselves to some of the lighter fare of the sumptuous banquet and to the intoxicating beers, wine and ales. There were fried eels, a roasted goat, pigeon, truffles, cow tongues, blackberries, pungent cheeses, meat pies, boiled asparagus, freshly baked French breads, savory crepes, honey mustard eggs, pike, salmon, a swan, hares, strawberries, thrushes, plums, cherries and sweet tarts. Lady Tremaine – who had not been invited but went unchallenged because she had dressed appropriately – acted nonchalant when she made her entrance and approached Geoffrey of Ghent.
“What a nice little picnic,” she said to the champion of the tournament.
“It is indeed. My name is Geoffrey of Ghent.”
“I know, I saw you in the lists. You unhorsed the Prince quite properly.”
“Thank you, it was a lucky blow. You have me at a disadvantage.”
“Lady Tremaine,” she said, holding out her hand.
Geoffrey took her hand and gave it a gentlemanly kiss.
“Sir Geoffrey, will you be with us long?”
“No, Lady Tremaine, there’s another tournament in Reims awaiting me.”
“That’s too bad,” she said, picking up a plum and biting into it sensually.
“Yes, the natives are quite friendly here,” Geoffrey replied.
“You have no idea,” she whispered.
“Lady Tremaine!” interrupted Lord Phillip.
“Lord Phillip,” she said.
“I thought you were indisposed today,” the brother of the King said.
“I was until I wasn’t.”
“Well, I’m glad you could make it. I have something to show you.”
“That sounds intriguing,” said Tremaine.
“Oh, I’m sure you will like it. Will you excuse us Sir Geoffrey?”
“Certainly Lord Phillip, a pleasure meeting you Lady Tremaine.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” Tremaine said.
Phillip proceeded to take Lady Tremaine aside and asked her what she thought she was doing.
“I was having a little fun,” she answered.
“If it’s fun you´re after, now is the perfect time to show you my dungeon.”
“No.”
“Yes, everyone is here and we won’t be noticed.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Shall we?”
“By all means.”
They slipped away and walked to the castle on foot; a short journey during which the jealous Lord informed his mistress that Geoffrey had crabs and if she had dallied with him she would have caught crabs and then she would have given them to him – which would have been unacceptable because pubic lice were worse than body lice and could spread to one’s chest hair, armpits and even beard. To this Lady Tremaine argued that head lice were worse than both body and pubic lice because they not only infested the hair on your head, but your eyebrows and eyelashes. The discussion ended as they passed through the castle’s gatehouse and entered the passageway that led down to the dungeon. It grew darker, colder and damper with each step they took down the stairs. They stopped where the stairs took a corner, and Lord Phillip, the brother of the King, the hunchback and the torturer of prisoners took a piece of flint and iron and struck a spark into a tinderbox, igniting it. He then transferred the flame to a torch with a wooden splint.
“This way Milady,” he said.
They continued down the stairs, guided by the flickering light, into the depths of the castle. Here it was not only dark, cold and musty; it was oppressively silent and you could almost feel the heaviness of the castle’s bulk weighing down on you.
“This is delightful,” said Tremaine.
“Wait until you see the torture chamber,” Lord Phillip told her.
He led her past the three holding cells, which to Tremaine’s chagrin were empty, and into the chamber of horrors. Taking center stage was ‘old reliable’; the rack that never failed to produce results. The iron maiden stood in one corner, a chair fitted with the thumb screws stood in another. In the remaining corners there was a breaking wheel and a strappado – a simple but effective rope and pulley system.
“How does that work,” asked Tremaine, indicating the strappado.
“We simply tie the subject’s arms behind them and hoist them off their feet. Most men and some women faint from the shock. But when you throw some water in their face and they wake up they are ready to talk, confess or do anything else you want.”
“You’ve had women down here?” Tremaine asked.
“Yes, in the old days before the King married Bernadette and she put a stop to it.”
“Who were they?”
“Witches, all witches.”
“Did they try to cast spells on you to save themselves?”
“If they did, it never worked.”
Lady Tremaine pointed to the breaking wheel next, and asked how it functioned.
“It functions as a fulcrum that we strap a prisoner to so we can rotate him while we bludgeon him with a club and break virtually every bone in his body. It also is quite good for extracting information.”
“Wonderful, simply wonderful,” said Lady Tremaine.
“Instruments of justice and statecraft to be sure.”
“If I could avail myself of these contraptions I’m positive I wouldn’t have any more trouble with Cinderella.”
“Has she been misbehaving again?”
“Does she do anything else; getting her to do her chores is like pulling teeth, she talks back to me and she is eating me out of house and home.”
“Yet, she is slimmer than your other daughters,” observed Lord Phillip.
“My real daughters, you mean. And that can be explained. She’s infested with tapeworms.”
“I see. That’s regrettable.”
“I’ve tried to get her to take a potion from the apothecary for her worms but she stubbornly refuses to do so. She just goes on eating and eating and eating. I can tell you it’s a real strain on my budget. Plus she is always wearing out clothes and asking for a new outfit. And can you believe it; she once asked me for a hand mirror.”
“Very precocious of her,” the hunchback said, putting the handle of the torch in a stanchion.
“I tell you I am at the end of my wits. What a burden she is.”
“Why don’t you turn her out or marry her off to some rube?”
“I would, but then who would wash the dishes, scrub the floors, make the beds, do the laundry, tend the garden, mend our clothing, take out the chamber pots, brush my girls hair, clip my toenails, dust the house top to bottom, polish the silverware, run errands, cook and fetch water.”
“You are in a predicament.”
“I’ll say,” agreed the martyred Tremaine.
“Have you given her the leather strap?”
“Until my arm wears out; she is just recalcitrant. But if you gave me five minutes down here with her that might do the trick.”
“I’m sorry, my sweet. That I cannot do. We restrict ourselves to torturing criminals and enemies of the state in this facility. But there are no rules against playing paddy cakes.”
“Oh, I’m not in the mood for that,” said Tremaine, seductively drawing her index finger along the surface of the rack.”
“Are you sure? We may never get another chance to make the angels sing in this place.”
“Every time we’re together you want to make the angels sing,” she said.
“Guilty as charged.”
“Well, maybe if you let me try out the wheel on you; just a spin or two.”
“Not a chance,” he said, lifting her onto the rack and spreading her legs.
“Is this any way to treat a lady,” murmured Tremaine.
“It’s the only way to treat a lady,” the hunchback grunted.
Back at the pavilion tent everyone was sitting down to the feast, except the buffoon who – to the amusement of all – was juggling three plums while standing on one foot and hopping to the other periodically. The Count was seated in the place of honor, to the right of the royal couple and next to Lenore who was bordered on the other side by Friar Bede. On the opposite side of the Queen sat the bruised Henry and next to him was the conspicuously empty chair of Lord Phillip. Guy was seated on the other side of this empty chair and after him came Geoffrey and several other jousters. The King raised his glass and made a toast: “To the Count and his lovely daughter. We are so pleased to finally show our hospitality to them.”
“Here, here,” the assembly raggedly saluted and then dug eagerly into their victuals. The swan went fast as did the salmon, the honey mustard eggs and asparagus. But there was no shortage of goat and pike or much else for that matter. The beer, ale and wine flowed freely as well, and tongues loosened. Guy reminisced about his tournament days. The Count recalled a nearly fatal encounter he had had with Henry the First. The King expounded upon the excellence of his hounds. Geoffrey expressed an admiration for the beauty of Ardennia’s countryside. Henry praised Geoffrey’s skill on the jousting field and said that his aching body was proof of it.
“To Geoffrey’s victory and Henry’s baptism,” toasted Guy at that point.
“Here, here,” saluted those who were still paying attention to toasts.
“And too our hosts,” sallied forth the Count.
“Here, here.”
“Count, I am so glad that you are enjoying the banquet,” said the Queen.
“You put on a good spread; my compliments,” he replied, quaffing his cup of ale.
“Thank you, the culinary arts are one of my interests,” she said.
“As well they should be,” the Count said.
“Coinage is too.”
“Coinage, yes; one can never have too much coinage.”
“That’s so true, and that’s why I’ve been thinking our two realms should work together to establish a mint and put a coinage with our stamp on it into circulation. Would you like some more ale?”
“I most definitely would.”
The Queen refilled the Count’s cup and continued: “We could place your image on one side and my husband’s on the other.”
“I support anything that will put more silver in my coffers.”
“A mint would certainly do that, but more importantly it would stimulate trade in our territories.”
“How so?”
“By providing a standardized currency that would facilitate the buying and selling of goods more efficiently than the bartering system.”
“That makes sense. And I would certainly prefer to collect taxes in the form of coinage than in goods,” the Count said, rubbing his chin.
“Then you agree?”
“I’ll have to think more about it.”
“Well we are going to start a mint with or without you so don’t think about it too long.”
“Humph, if we did start a mint what would be the denomination?”
“A silver denier – the value of a penny – of exactly one point five grams with the same fineness as Charlemagne’s denarii.”
“You’ve given this considerable thought,” said the Count, putting down his cup.
“I have, just as I do before I make a move in chess,” she challenged him.
The Count stared at her with narrowed eyes as if he was re-measuring her.
“I’m in; I assume you are willing and able to handle the enterprise,” he said at length.
“I’ve already put the wheels in motion. All you need to do is transport the silver bullion in your treasury to Ligny where the mint works are under construction,” she replied.
“Ligny; it is well situated,” observed the Count.
“Yes, a bustling market town that is just this side of our border with you. Furthermore it is well fortified,” the Queen said.
“An important point; I will send a message to my chamberlain tomorrow instructing him to deliver half our silver bullion to Ligny,” said the Count.
“And we will match that,” the Queen replied.
The King, who had remained mute during the entire exchange, put his cup in the air and said: “To the Mint.”
“Here, here.”
This last ‘here, here’ was taken by the buffoon as a cue to leave off his juggling. He grabbed a sizable piece of goat meat and retired from the scene. Lenore dipped her fingers in her water bowl to cleanse off the debris of her meal as Henry watched her with dismay. The Queen noticed his dismay. The King began on a sweet tart to cap off his repast. The Count quaffed another cup of ale. Friar Bede nibbled on a strawberry. Geoffrey told Guy that ash was the best wood to make a lance of. Guy whispered in Geoffrey’s ear the best cure for crabs. Lord Phillip finally made his appearance much pleased with himself and hungry as a horse. As he was pinioning the mid-section of an eel with his dagger a man attired as a French courier ran into the pavilion tent.
“My lords,” he gasped breathlessly: “Burgundy has laid siege to Paris. The King of France is in dire need of your succor.”
The gay banter under the pavilion tent ceased and everyone’s attention focused on the King who put his sweet tart aside.
“Return to Paris and tell your King we will come to his aid within a fortnight,” said King Charles, after a moment of contemplation.
“Thank you, Sire,” said the courier.
“But first take some sustenance. After that we will supply you with a fresh mount,” added the Queen.
“You are too kind my Grace; forsooth I am ravenous,” the courier said.
As the courier attacked a mince pie the King addressed his guests: “This sudden news distresses us. But we will not fail in our obligations to the French. My lords and magnates of the realm, you will immediately depart to your lands, gather your liegeman and return here in three days fully armed and provisioned. Knights of the joust, I propose that you form a free company and join our march to relieve Paris for which you will be handsomely paid. Count, this is not your fight but I would invite your participation as an observer.”
“And me?” asked the King’s brother.
“Lord Phillip, you must stay behind with a small garrison and safeguard the castle,” said the King.
“And miss all the fun,” Lord Phillip protested.
“I am sorry. Someone has to stand guard over Ardennia,” apologized King Charles.
“What about me?” Lenore asked.
“She is welcome to stay here. It will be a good opportunity for us to get to know each other better,” said the Queen.
“An excellent idea,” the Count said.
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