The Knights circled the fields, each one seeking to gain an advantage. Their war-steeds chuffed and snorted, glaring at one another with no less intensity than those their riders did. Helms had long since been lowered, yet still no lance would come down, no lance would be pointed until prepared for a charge. This was the longest it had taken them to prepare to charge one another, as neither of the men who dominated the field at that moment was a fool. One was Léon de Roven, a knight sworn to the service of the Duc de Norléan, and the other was Chrétien de Vaugrimée, one of the most southerly kingdoms, his liege was the King Ferdan 'Blackhammer' or 'Martel-Noire'.
Neither one of them was eager to prove themselves foolish, and when they at last did charge, it was long after the wind had swept through the field, and the sun had dipped. Forward they went almost as one, with the first to have moved Léon, soon unhorsed as Chrétien properly put him in his place, praying beneath his breath before his own charge. Later, he was to be heard crediting the war-god Ziu, with his victory even as he was to do obeisance in the old way, to of all ladies the lady Seonag. This horrified some of the nobler women, who were so infuriated that an outsider should receive so great an honour. Such being the way of such women, who, though they might feign fondness for outsiders, had no great desire to see one of their men do honour to a foreign woman.
Seonag, for her part, made timid at the honour done to her, did not entirely know what to do, how to respond, and looked for direction from Augustine. The lovely blonde-haired woman was to whisper to her the correct words and the correct gesture with a warmth that an older sister might well have bequeathed upon her favourite younger sister.
"I thank you, Sir Knight, for this grand victory of unmatched splendour. I am moved and thank the goddess Marianne for having kept you safe and for having granted you this victory!" Seonag almost yelled in her slightly accented voice, her voice carrying over to the peasants who were seated in their own box across from those of the nobility.
Chrétien, for his part, was to bow his head and turn to go, her favour-cloth held high by him as he smiled proudly, pleased to have honoured so good a lady. Timidity being a common virtue among Gallian ladies, he therefore thought nothing of her hesitancy, hardly noticing that in her reluctance her own eyes had gone instinctively to Salomon, who stood to one side, his visor already lowered.
His lack of response and clear indifference had wounded her. She had come to quite like the handsome Knight, yet for him to be so cold towards her was a reminder of her own outsider status in these lands.
Seeing her lower her eyes once more after Chrétien had departed towards another part of the fields, Augustine, seeing her hurt, took her hand up in her own. Solicitous and kind, she knew well what troubled the other maiden, and that it was not simply the absence of her brother and kindly Augustin, but also the lack of visible affection by Sir Salomon.
"Fear not, he shall ask for thy favour, never fear Seonag," Augustine assured her, thinking to do her a kindness.
Seonag tried to smile. Truly, she did. It was difficult, however, as her heart longed for even one gesture of recognition, a glance, mayhap, while her soul questioned if she had somehow betrayed Marculf by not accompanying her brother.
*****
Where Ruaidhrí had taken up the path to the mountains, with nary a thought to his sister or to the warnings of those others whose path he had crossed, Seonag had preferred to remain in the castle. Though hardly of patrician birth, hers was the brightest and most lovely face to be found amongst all the flowering ones that sat in the stands near where the jousts were to take place. Dressed in finery she had never worn before, or imagined she might ever wear, Seonag knew little of the effect that she had had upon those around her.
She knew only that a great many stared in the direction of the stands where she sat. Seated a short distance from where Pierre's eldest daughter, Augustine, herself sat, Seonag imagined it to be the other woman was the source of so much awe. The greatest of his daughters, and the most beloved, it was she who might ordinarily have attracted every gaze, but this was not so. Yet Pierre and Gisèle had raised their daughters well, for there was little in the way of jealousy or hatred that invaded their being when they realized who it was that everyone stared at.
To the contrary, they were relieved and happy, and Augustine was happiest of them all since the only gaze that did not seem as drawn to Seonag was that of the haughty Mathieu. Mathieu, for his part, did occasionally risk glances at his host's daughter, but these were short-lived affairs that Augustine treasured more than the baubles, dress, or shoes that she wore.
What brought about more than a little misery to her heart was when Mathieu did at last glance in the direction of Seonag. Even he was to gaze on her admiringly, so that it was only about noon when he did so that the daughter of Pierre at last felt some sense of envy and insecurity. Yet still, she sought not as might have a lesser woman to undermine or otherwise wound the other woman, seeking instead to place herself above most other ladies. She did this by behaving as a true lady ought, even as a part of her felt herself grow colder towards Mathieu.
If she was at all honest with herself, she might well have admitted to the true cause for her sudden coldness, and her volunteering her favour to the lance of one of the men who trotted forward in defiance of him. However, good as she is, true as she was always, even such a lady can at times prove herself fickle. This demonstration also won good lady Augustine the favour of her father Pierre, and if she was over-concerned for the man she encouraged against the man from eastern Norençia, it was out of guilt and the sense that she had somehow misled him.
The man in question, though, had no great illusions, for he did what he did for love of the sport. How could he not? Jousting was the noblest of pursuits one could aim towards at that time, just as hunting was. It was thus, with this passion in mind and heart,that the two men were to demonstrate their masculinity in the manner so beloved by the noblest of Gallia's sons.
To one side of the vast fields was Mathieu and those who had followed him west, from the lands of his beloved father. On the other end of the field, to the east of the stands, where the people of Norençia sat, were the tents belonging to the likes of those noblemen and knights aligned with other greater nobles. It was as he trotted back to his own side, the favour of Augustine tied about his lance, Guilhèm, one of the finest warriors there before the noble people of Arvon, that the warrior was allowed to prepare himself for the great charge against Mathieu and his followers.
Excited, they could hardly restrain themselves, with their horses letting slip impatient noises that only served to heighten the men's desire to charge. Still, though, the son of Havion would not charge or allow any to do so; such was his desire to properly conquer the likes of Guilhèm.
It was with the lowering of his visor, the acceptance of his lance from a nearby squire, that the warrior did not thank. This won him the irritation of the squire in question; he was to back away with a frown on his lips and with a glance to some of those around him.
Many of the followers and knights sworn to the service of the heir of Havion were familiar with his brusque ways. Few there were who could better sympathize with the likes of the squire or the troubled lady of Arvois. Always he had been this sort of fellow, in complete opposition to an affable father who disliked confrontation and was amenable and prone to diffusing all conflicts. Save for those against his King or his family, of course, whereas the son was quite a bit less thick-skinned and more prone to iciness, as his mother was.
It was these quirks of his that had made him so many rivals and foes, had angered a great many, such as Salomon, against him. It was this quality within the man that so offended Pierre, and was the cause of why he frowned when he saw how wounded his eldest was by the bitter son of Havion. If this was wrong, it was a sin he carried with a great deal of enthusiasm and one he did not intend at that moment to ever seek absolution for.
By his very nature, hardly different from Pierre in his respect for politeness, courtesy, and respect for the dignity of others, Salomon was a man of great largesse, great boasts, and fine speech. He was the most respected man from whence he came, and easily the finest knight. What other, after all, could have carried his family's livery and emblem upon his hauberk half so well? Truly, thought those who looked on him, this man was the most magnificent who had ever trotted into one of the Comte's tourneys.
His was hardly the most popular of the lances that were raised, or figures that trotted across the fields, as he charged out into the field in counter to the Sir Walter of Auldchester. The Brittian knight was a remarkable man who had left the isle in favour of Norençia and the service of Mathieu. Famous for his chivalry, as he was for his goodness and great laugh, none who looked upon him held any grudges, nor could they imagine doing so against his great person. Such was his warm disposition that all who knew him had come to appreciate the man; this was how men of Brittia were at their most natural.
No matter how cheerful and popular though he was, his lance true and strong, narrow and fierce though it was, and though it stabbed through the air, this was to be all that it cut through. Neither did it shatter upon his foe's buckler, nor did he achieve the glory he had set out to do on behalf of his friend and liege. Hardly incompetent, his talents, considerable as they were, were as naught in comparison to those of the likes of the valiant Salomon.
When he had finished the unhorsing of his foe, he moved to unhorse the next man who was to have little more in the way of fortune. Hardly the skilled rider Sir Walter was, this next man was almost half his age and half his talent. Paul was his name, and he was a mighty youth, yet one who had little in the way of success that the knight racing against him had had.
Felling two knights from their horses, with nearly the same lance-swing, Salomon abruptly turned his horse about to cross near the nobility's box. Yet not before he allowed his steed the opportunity to kick up the dirt and filth of the earth in the direction of Mathieu.
It was this gesture, along with his offering up his lance to Seonag, only to withdraw it when she went to tie her favour upon it.
Turning away, he returned to the other side of the fields, leaving behind several confused ladies, a red-faced Pierre, and a thin-lipped Gisèle. Humiliated, Seonag resumed her seat in utter defeat, lowering her gaze and trying to keep from allowing her face to become as scarlet as her mane.
This display of rudeness had not gone unnoticed as whispering kicked up and began to race about the fields, from thither to hither and here and there. None could resist the temptation to gossip about what had been done. The dishonour inflicted upon both Lady Seonag and the likes of Knight Mathieu.
Pierre, for all his disdain towards the son of his rival, found both displays sickening. "What a brusque little pup, I daresay he ought to be removed from the lists at once! Never has any man shown such disrespect towards one of my guests or any participant in all the years I have hosted one of these events! And to show such disdain and disrespect for a lady also!"
"Calm yourself, my dear," Gisèle murmured, laying a hand upon his shoulder, "And I had thought you misliked Sir Havion."
"I most certainly do, however, this is a point of honour!"
*****
"He does not seem to be particularly polite," Augustine complained, seeking to be solicitous towards her newfound friend, in spite of her hurt over the poor comportment of the cold Mathieu.
"Men of his rank often seem to share that particular flaw," Seonag replied a little dispirited, only to smile a little wanly. "My own little brother has begun to become surly as they are, and even Marculf could be. Though Marculf's nature is far warmer deep down, and far in a way more sincere in his kindnesses than many others are."
"This Marculf is your brother or father?"
"Hardly, though at times he seems as though he might well be both, I do know that Ruaidhrí looks on him as such," Seonag admitted nervously, eager to try to please her young hostess, whom she had already begun to revere as one might the distant suns in the heavens. "He is an Ogre who took us on as his wards of sorts, and had us brought into the household of his Master Wiglaf, when we were cast out from Norwend. We were servants in the castle when the previous King died along with his heir, leaving only his youngest son to succeed him. The Regent, the lad's uncle, had no great love for us, and so we chose to depart with Marculf."
"That was very kind of him," Gisèle remarked, having been listening in on the girls as they spoke, a genial smile on her lips. Turning to Pierre, she murmured to him, "Do you not think so, Pierre?"
"Bah, I suppose, though it is to be expected for one of our Ogres," He replied disinterestedly, his eyes fixed upon the distant fields as he measured the distance and the speed of the two Knights. Turning to his court fool, the renowned Yvain, he was to say to him whilst plucking a satchel from his belt. "I daresay that the one to the right has the way of it; he shall win the next joust, and the left one shall fall. He has leaned too much to the right and seems to have bruised his side and seeks to compensate for it."
"I see, I still do not think he shall have the right of it," Yvain replied stubbornly, convinced as always that where matters of tourneys were concerned that his liege had made a mistake.
"Shall we say forty bronze lilies?" Pierre proposed genially, with a gleam in his eyes, to which his friend nodded eagerly, already counting the coin in his head.
It was the way of the Comte to gamble on every round in the tourney. He had learnt this habit in his youth, when he had gone south to serve at the royal court. It was one that he had never wholly broken from, and had actually grown worse with as gambling allowed him, when unable to go jousting himself, to partake in some measure of risks. He loved risks. They made him feel alive, and as though he were still youthful, no matter how much Gisèle disapproved, or his late father had as part of his promises to them, though, and out of consideration to his subjects, he only ever gambled in bronze coins and never in silver. This way, it was only the sort of coin necessary for two cows that might be lost, and not that of whole farms or a castle. He had the coin to spare; however, even he felt embarrassed and ashamed of those lords who gambled whole farms on such things. And heavens knew that gold was far, far too valuable to be used for such things, better to hoard it and use it for precious goods or to pay tithes and such owed to the Temple or High-King.
The two men, as predicted, readied their lances, both of them chuffing almost as loudly as their horses. Tearing himself free from memories of his father and also of his time at Clovis' court in their youth, Pierre wondered briefly what his friend might have made of this display just before the knights began their charge.
"He may have unhorsed Walter, but he shall not succeed against Casimir. I have never heard of any man being able to unhorse him," Mathieu was heard to remark to those around him, proud of his closest friend. The man had returned late to the joust, whereupon he had spent undue amounts of time staring in the direction of Seonag and Augustine; however, once in the field, Mathieu knew he would steady himself and seize victory. "He shall triumph."
"And if he does not?"
"Bah, you are too modest, Monseigneur, all know that your lance is the only one finer than that of Casimir," Walter retorted cheerfully, having already forgotten his own defeat.
Mathieu pretended he did not hear the other man's praise. Never one to indulge at the slightest moment, he was rather more interested in staring intently as Casimir and Salomon steadied themselves. There was certainly a great deal of talent to be seen in Salomon's abilities with the lance. Yet all the same, he had been bruised in the first round that he had participated in, the one before Walter, so that he leaned far too much to one side.
This Mathieu noted with the same glee that the even more experienced Pierre had, and like him, had he been asked to bet on the odds of the man's victory, he would have sided against him. It was thus with considerable interest that they observed this joust.
The first turning, so to speak, resulted in a pair of broken jousting lances. Both men struck out at the other's shield. Somehow, Salomon did not fall from his horse and did quite well in barely remaining upon his horse.
It was in the second round, as they threw themselves with renewed fury, that all changed. A song on his lips, one that Casimir took but poorly, and that set Seonag's heart ablaze as it leapt from her throat and soared higher, and higher than the Highland peaks of her homeland, to the heavens above.
"In days of yore,
By raging waves,
In e'ery hour,
Steely as Orcus' will,
Mighty as the tides,
The suns' rays be as swill,
Neither as fierce as my lance that divides
Foe as it dost all fear as in days,
Of yore, Lo! Onwards, O Lance!
Hew, gut, and sever limb and valour alike!
Yet remember; my heat and ride
Be naught as the northern maid
Of the flashing curls bright as the suns'!"
It was Salomon's battle song. This was the old tradition, the oldest perhaps of all the knights of Gallia, with songs and cries of joy often bursting forth from their lips when in the grips of the most euphoric battle-joy imaginable. This is perhaps unimaginable to those not of Caled, Ériu, or Gallian blood; however, there is a love of battle, a love of violence in them that shan't be equalled nor understood by those not of their tribes.
Such was his euphoria as he shifted far more visibly to his right, giving more force to his lance than the other man had expected. No longer slouching to one side, he was also to kick with his spurs his horse into a faster forward momentum, one that carried him with greater swiftness than Casimir had expected.
It was with considerable consternation and shock that all stared in surprise as Salomon threw his foe from his horse. Doing so with such force as to shatter the man's shield and throw him almost a full three meters behind the great steed. Carrying forward with his great charge, the knight from Breizh was to circle about and with a great chortle that echoed throughout the fields and that soon captivated the whole of the crowds, he returned hither to where the nobility's box was to be found.
It was there that he comported himself with a great deal more courtesy than he had before, bowing ever so slightly at the waist and being certain to also bow his head even as he removed his helm. Doing so with a great chuckle and a proud smirk upon his lips, he was to extend his lance, the second he had used in the joust.
Amazed at the victory, Pierre was quick to give over the bag of coins to his fool, who, no less stunned, almost returned it.
Where the two men were slow to believe their own eyes, the ladies present were far swifter, most notably Seonag was eager to demonstrate her favour. Quick to tie her favour about the lance, she was, however, to do so with a great deal of confusion.
"Why refuse the lady's favour before now?" Pierre demanded of the young man as he continued to blink his eyes in surprise.
"Simple milord; I had no wish to sully it with so ignominious a fellow such as he." Salomon replied with a cheeky grin, "Only the final round is worthy of so beauteous, and magnificent a lady as she."
This last remark, though boastful and full of ego, made Seonag flush a brighter shade of scarlet than even her hair, all the way up to her ears. She had never felt so flattered. Not even when she had been complimented by the heir of the Tahara clan in distant Zipangu, or by the likes of the Prince of Floriana. Flustered and unsure of herself, she was to glance about very briefly, only to bite her lip and attempt to hurry to tie the cloth about the lance.
So distracted was she by her beating heart that she not only failed to properly tie the knot but in her haste let slip the cloth. A mistake that stunned and horrified her, so that she turned all the more crimson out of shame, only for her to try to throw herself after the cloth (while avoiding the large, sharp point of the lance).
The cloth, had it been muddied, would have been the ultimate shame. Yet Salomon, though abrupt at earlier times and rude and slanderous towards those around him, was not so uncivil as to let such a thing happen. It was with considerable ease that he caught the cloth in his other hand, releasing his buckler as he did so.
The favour he held, he treated with no disrespect, for he was a man born full of honour and dignity in spite of his own poor comportment earlier that day. Bringing the cloth to his lips, he was to embrace it with them even as he looked at her with a warm, scintillating gaze. The amusement in his eyes and warmth there reminded Seonag of what she had once been told by Wiglaf: that where love was concerned, Gallians, Ériu-folk, and Caleds were concerned, they were of one tribe, and it was best they keep to it. Only one of them could have made her heart beat so; only they could have understood one another half so well.
Smiling at him with all her teeth, Seonag could not help but cling very briefly to the side of the lance, hugging it against her as one would a lover. It was all she could do to convey the affection that welled up within her breast for him.
Moved by her visible joy, Salomon, when she released the lance, was to wordlessly return to her the favour-cloth she had dropped. Seonag would not only reach down to it, but would refuse it. A smile on her lips, she was to behave with far more boldness than she had otherwise believed herself capable of, when she not only refused it but gave over a second cloth.
Amazed, the smile that he gave her in return outshone her own.
*****
"I had no notion you could be so bold, Seonag," Augustine remarked to her, with a wide smile that could well have put the suns to shame.
Amused and pleased by her friend's comportment, she was to tease her even more thereafter, yet never meanly. Even her sisters joined in, though they were to make cooing sounds and envious noises as they remarked upon the good looks, the chivalry and the heroism, and the dignity of noble Salomon. He was now as a half-god in some of their eyes, so that Seonag felt thrice as thrilled and ten times as blessed to have won his favour, even as she was proud to have given over a second favour to him.
The watchful peasants had, of course, cheered at the gestures, with the whole of their part of the fields abuzz with rumours and noise, as all gave way to considerable enthusiasm at what they had seen. A people who lived for not only good, hearty meals but also sportsmanship Gallians had a passion for love and life, and enjoyed seeing lovers come together. So that such a public show had won their hearts and thrilled them, so that men spoke approvingly of Salomon, women swooned, and even their much beloved dogs barked joyously.
Mathieu, for all his iciness, was to complain that after such a demonstration, how could he think of attempting to unhorse the other man? The man had earned his spurs, far more than any other present there, with his nobility and goodness of character towards the Lady Seonag. "He has put me to shame thrice now! First by his squalid comportment, then by his unhorsing Walter, and now by comporting himself so well, so that only a block of stone would not be won over by him!"
He was not alone in echoing this statement. Though when Sir Walter did, he did not do so from the perspective of one who was twice humiliated. A genial fellow, he was of a mind that what had happened to him in the jousts was only natural. It was the returning of the affection that Salomon bore for Seonag that embarrassed him.
Yet, as all true Brittians of lowly birth are prone to, he took it in good standing and even chuckled louder than most others did. Claiming as he did so that he had had the last laugh in this matter, rather than Salomon himself. "The man has certainly earned her favour, and earned his glory in spite of how he must sleep in the stable!"
This jest, and the warmth that lay behind it, won him many hearts also amongst the peasants who observed this strange tourney. Certainly, he could have been mistaken for the villain, where the affections of Seonag were concerned, but he never lowered himself to base villainy as might another man have done. Noble, kindly, and of great and high dignity, he would not allow himself to give way to envy, that was for lesser men to give sway to.
If Walter refused to commit himself to so base and boorish a demonstration, Casimir was of quite a different stock, so to speak. His was a lesser nature, as his previous good behaviour and empathic disposition gave way to red-faced fury.
Embarrassed at the trick that had been played upon him, he was to become swept up by a great wave of red-hot fury that carried him forward. His anger swelling to such heights that he pulled from his horse's scabbard his sword, given to him by his father many years ago. His rage grew worse when he saw the exchange that had taken place between Salomon and the Lady Seonag.
It was his conviction since the moment he had first set eyes upon the beauteous sister of Ruaidhrí that she was to be his. It was in no way the sort of rationale passion that had seized hold of Salomon or even the good lady herself, but rather a black thing. It was the sort that spread fear in the breasts of all good women, and disgust in those of other men. It was the sort that had pushed the likes of Agamemnon or Guðrun to ruin the lives of countless men and women.
This dread thing that had planted its roots in him had also done so with regards towards Augustine, whom he desired also though that was also out of spite.
In all, Casimir came near to making a terrible mistake at that moment, as he arrayed himself in steel and hatred, only to be stopped by one man, threw him aside in his haste, and was brought up short by Mathieu. "Hold! Hold, the joust is at an end, Casimir, what has possessed you, and where do you go with that look in thine eyes and steel in hand?"
It was a good question, even if the answer was apparent to any with eyes. Yet for men who count themselves loved ones, love often leaves them blind and hardly able to see what lies in the hearts of others. This could leave them also full of folly, just as it might leave them at times full of wisdom. Mathieu, blind and loyal thus could no more see what lay before him than Salomon could with his back turned to the angered Casimir.
However, if he was blind, then the peasants were not, nor were their beloved lord or his honoured guest. Each of them stared in anger in horror as the defeated Knight attempted to push his way past the other man, yelling and shouting even as Mathieu, astride his horse, sought to reason with him.
The first after Mathieu to react was Pierre, who rising to his feet bellowed, "What is the meaning of this?! You dare to draw steel in my presence and that of my guests?"
It was at this moment that Casimir's better judgment once more returned. Struck by his own actions, he was to fall to his knees, face burning and bright scarlet. No less embarrassed by the actions and strange mood that had overtaken his friend, Mathieu continued to stare at him a moment longer before he turned to defend his friend from the Comte.
"Forgive my friend, in the heat of the moment, he had forgotten himself," Mathieu pleaded at his most earnest.
"That is no excuse for rudeness," Pierre growled, incensed by the gall of Casimir to disrespect another of the guests he had extended his courtesy towards. What made it all the worse was the shaken glance that Seonag had thrown in the man's direction; women in his view were precious things to be protected, not to see drawn steel used when one did not get their own way. Honour demanded that they be treated with respect, even as those men who failed to show it merited death when in the wrong.
"I must heartily agree, Yves, take him back to his tent," Mathieu said, turning to one of his knights who was already moving to guide Casimir away. When the man threw off the preferred hand, it was time for the heir of Havion to lose patience. "Go, Casimir, ere I lose my own patience with you! Truly, I shan't understand what has come over you! You speak always of calmness, of reason, yet since we have arrived in these lands, it seems as though reason had departed from thee,and not unlike an arrow that leaves its bow."
Following the thirty-six-year-old man with his eyes, Pierre left no doubt in any mind of his own innate hostility towards Casimir. Or that he intended to retain him as a guest, and in this, as in so many other times when he acted, he had the full support of his people, who were of very similar minds on matters to him.
Suspicious of those who broke the creeds of chivalry, broke with the ideals of honour, his people had even less patience for the likes of Casimir than their ancestors might well have had. It was not only the Comte who had been marked by the likes of the dark knight of Vifombre.
The shadow that the brigand had cast over him was one that he had defied and pushed back, for a number of years, yet it seemed now, when he wished it present the least, it returned in full fury. Angered and annoyed by this, he was to throw up his arms in a fit, and pushed his way forward back towards the castle, surrounded by his women and his household troops.
"This tourney is adjourned for the day, people must tend their farms, workshops, and the like, and I must see to administrative matters." He ground out from between his clenched teeth, in a fit of fury that made more than one man prefer not to persist in demanding his attention.
*****
Frustrated, Mathieu was to round upon Casimir in a cold fury, growling as he did so, "What in the name of all the twelve gods could have possessed you to behave so stupidly and atrociously? By all that is good and reasonable, I had never taken you for a fool, Casimir. I had thought our friendship to have counted for something."
"It hardly matters at present, all is after all in place and shall resolve itself as I have deemed it," Casimir hissed at him, turning away from his friend.
Confused, Mathieu was made to follow the other man when one of his companions, a man by the name of Michel, intervened. Previously, a man who had served his father, the Comte d'Havion, Michel interposed himself between them. "Casimir is wearied and needs rest, Master Mathieu, leave him to his rest."
"Out of my way, Michel."
"I cannot abide by that order," Michel snapped with a twist to his ugly, brutish face as he stared down at the slightly shorter Knight.
Furious at this defiance on the part of his own servant, Mathieu might well have resorted to violence were it not for Sir Walter's intervention. A stalwart friend and loyal vassal, he threw himself between them more to help shield his young liege from the menacing numbers arrayed against him. And make no mistake, there were greater numbers on the side of Casimir, for much of the party of knights were no longer of a mind to serve Mathieu or his father. This was the greatest proof of the subversion, of the usurpation of his place in command of the bevy of knights that had followed him out from Havion on their pilgrimage and journey through the north of Gallia, along with some parts of the south.
They had been on the road for more than several months, during which time they had added to their numbers and had sent away some, back to Havion. Typically, most had been sent back for familial reasons or to inform his father of his recent adventures' happenings, so that it always seemed as though he was not far from home. He had thought that this signified that these men,who had accompanied him, no matter when they had leapt off or onto the adventure, were bound to him as tightly as any men could ever be.
Staring at Michel, all that Mathieu could do was turn away. Unnerved, he realized with a start that he had never been in command of this troupe. This small band of warriors he had left on pilgrimage with had been replaced by something hideous and unrecognizable and seething with rage; he was to order his squire to move his own tent further away from that of Casimir. Few chose to follow him, yet those that did he knew to be true, even as he cast dark looks in the direction of those that did not. This was not the end of the matter; he knew, and he swore that no matter what might be, he would exact justice upon them, no matter the cost.
*****
It was after Pierre had declared the day's jousts at an end. Doing so as much out of respect for the horses that he cherished no less than men, for Pierre at his core was as soft of heart as he was fierce, where animals were concerned. It was why his many daughters revered him so, and why he clung to them in turn with every bit of his great heart. His was a nature that had never forgotten how his father had first when he was a squire, assigned him the task of helping the stable-hands and houndsmen with their tasks. At that time, he had fallen in love with both steeds and canines, coming to appreciate their gentility, their warmth, and their nigh on obsessive loyalty. How could he not? There was not a man alive who called himself thus who did not love horses and dogs, and did not wish to shield them from all of the elements and from all that the most wicked of men might inflict upon them.
What was more was that the noble Seigneur of Arvois could see the Knights after ten hours of jousting, of competition, and of continuous struggle had begun to weary. They had not eaten since the morn', and though most could continue to test themselves against one another, he had no wish to push them to do so. It was his view that these were meant to be leisurely contests, not an actual war in which men had to strive continuously against one another with nary any rest.
The care of his guests, of their steeds and hounds, was as important to him as was the care of any guests that came to his door. It was why, in spite of his brusque ways, he had not turned away the likes of Salomon or even Mathieu when they had first arrived before him. This he did in spite of how both had offended him in different ways; one by speaking of the terrible Vifombre, and the other of the Comte d'Havion. Both were men he had long detested, though the former's name was of greater offence to him, due to how the man had once stolen him away as a child.
It was in thus in a foul mood, he was to decide upon the removal of the likes of Casimir, Mathieu, and all others of their troupe from his house. It had happened that to his mind he had been more than patient with them, and they had been well-treated only for them to flout his kindness and besmirch the honour of his house.
Announcing the decision after the crowds had gone home, or gone back to their fields, with some such as his wife, Gisèle, trailing after him as she and his closest advisors sought to soothe his temper. "I will not have either of them in my house, or any of their knights, not even noble Sir Walter, or the likes of Yves, the man who intervened to calm that Casimir from his rash actions. I will hear no more of it, Mathieu and his ilk must leave at once! I will not have them within my house!"
"Calm yourself, my love," Gisèle cried out, keen to appease him as always before he took rash action against those who won his dislike or otherwise upset him. "Remember that though you rule here, a ruler must prove himself temperate! Remember the example of His Grace the King."
"Bah! I have had quite enough of temperance and would have justice," Pierre snapped in a ferocious mood.
All knew that though he could at times do things he might later regret, and that at such times it was best not to obey him at once, for he would, when his temper cooled, recall his orders. This was not one of those humours; to the contrary, he was beyond reason. In the view of his desperate wife, he was liable to make a mistake of some sort, while to his household servants, they, for what felt to be the first time, took his side over that of his beloved and quite popular spouse of nigh on thirty-five years.
"Milord, I bring news!" a voice cried out from one side, racing forward from amidst the crowd that had followed after the Comte. The speaker, he saw, was the boy who had accompanied Seonag, along with the woodcutter he had expelled from his house alongside Salomon.
"Ah, good, I had hoped to see you, my boy. I had thought to move you from the stables to the Tower along with your friends, out of respect for Sir Salomon's heroics. This is also because of how atrociously the heir of Havion and his friends have comported themselves." Pierre proclaimed loudly, still in a temper at what had taken place nigh on two hours prior.
"That is hardly important," Ruaidhrí replied, panting as he leapt from the horse he had been astride with the shaken peasant behind him.
"What? Do you mean to refuse my kindness?" Pierre demanded, offended. No Gallian liked to have their kindnesses refused under any circumstances, and the heir of Augustin II was by no means the exception to this rule.
"No, it is only that you must deploy a retinue of knights to the monastery in the valley at once," Ruaidhrí yelled back at him, with no less great a burst of temper. Fierce and intemperate, the youth had, in spite of his myriad clashes with the Comte, won the older man's appreciation. He fancied that as a youth, he had been no less intrepid and hot-tempered by nature than this young boy was.
"Why must I do such a foolish action as that?!" Pierre barked, utterly horrified by so rash a command, from one who was, in his view, despite his respect for the boy, so far beneath him as to be closer to a blade of grass than an equal.
"Because,Vifombre and his bandits have over-taken the monastery!" Ruaidhrí revealed with a flash of his furious eyes.
This exclamation drew a number of gasps from all around him. Some who had heard the news from the other night were not as surprised, though they nonetheless shook their heads. In a state of dazed shock, all that they could do was stare at him. No less stunned, those peasants around them (both those who had participated in viewing the jousts and those who had not) shuddered and looked aghast at the notion that the dreaded Vifombre could possibly have returned. Many began to mutter and whisper among themselves to the consternation of the mighty Pierre, who glared furiously at the pair that knelt before him.
The glare he cast in their direction was far, in a way, worse than any Ruaidhrí had suffered in the distant east, such as in the lands of those of the High-Elves, or even at the court of the Castillion King Ferdinand III to the distant south. Even the Ogre Duke Waltar over in Korax could not cast looks half so dark or half so hostile as that which the heir of Augustin II of famous memory now threw in their direction.
"Bah, nonsense," Pierre growled, furious and unrelenting in his doubt of the youth.
It was Seonag, though, who threw herself forward to plead with the furious Comte, saying to him, "Monseigneur, you must investigate this; my brother would not lie about something of this magnitude!"
When Pierre looked prepared to refuse once more, he was to examine the newly returned pair more closely, studying them with keen eyes even as Salomon stepped forward to add. "I shall go thither to the monastery alone if necessary, and investigate this matter myself. That is if you lack the courage to do so, Lord Arvois."
Grinding his teeth at this insult to his honour, Pierre was to meet his eyes and declare, "None who have questioned my honour and valour hitherto now, have long lived to tell the tale, Sir Salomon." Salomon did not answer him, preferring to stare him down in silence; he was to prove his mettle in this manner. Despite himself, Pierre found himself approving of the younger man and was to respond in that manner. "I must say, though, it takes considerable courage and integrity to do what you have done, Salomon. I must commend you for this; though I disbelieve these rumours that your friends seem determined to spread, you have committed yourself to them. Any man who commits himself so earnestly to his friends, without having seen what they have seen, is one of a rare quality."
"Thank you, Monseigneur," Salomon replied at once.
"If I may ask, who was it that raised you to think so? Who instilled these ideas in your head in spite of the innate pompousness you seem naturally imbued with?" Pierre asked him curiously, as they stood before the gates to the castle.
"My father raised me so, it was he I also squired for," Salomon replied at once, with visible earnestness in his voice and a great deal of awe in his voice when he spoke of the man who had raised him. "He taught me that a man is not a man if he does not commit himself and all of his being to what is righteous."
"And he was?"
"The baron of Léogran," Salomon admitted proudly.
"A good man, I must confess I spoke poorly of before recklessly and foolishly," Pierre replied with considerable embarrassment.
He did not say much more on this topic, not at first. The men, though, took his meaning, for he motioned for those who had gone to the monastery to join him. This they did, and soon he gleaned from them all there was to know about the situation in the monastery. He continued to disbelieve them, no risk, as he was wont to say, could be taken where his people and the clergy were concerned. As a shepherd cares for his flock, so too did the valorous Pierre care for his beloved people.
Resolved to disprove the statements regarding the shadow that had descended upon the Cell-in-the-Valley, Pierre was to assemble a small clutch of troops. Notably, he called for a number of his personal knights, if discreetly so. Having no wish to cause a panic, he was to order them to gather their horses in the utmost secrecy.
Saying as he did so, "It will not do for us to be caught, and to be exposed to the masses, for I have no desire to cause a panic. Ours is to be a secret mission, one conducted in the dead of night with nary any but the most skilled and trusted to accompany us on this journey."
Departing in the dead of night, Pierre was to leave with the likes of Salomon and Ruaidhrí for company, alongside two dozen others. This was but a small company, the smallest one could imagine him bringing along with him, and this he hoped would prove enough to smash through the forces of the local bandits and put them to flight if they were truly there.
*****
It was just as the last vestiges of the men-folk disappeared into the night that Gisèle ordered the gates shut up. Though she did this, she was of good heart and was to turn away from them with many whispered words of reassurance to the worried Seonag.
This she did as they turned away from the gates, with the older woman stopping alongside Augustine when she heard the young woman from Norwend mutter. "But what of Ruaidhrí? I do hope he will be safe!"
"You must put him out of your mind, lest you go mad with grief ere there has been any ill-fate that befalls him. To grieve before he has fallen is to presage his doom, or so we believe in these parts; therefore, take heart, eat well, and wait for him. Pierre may at times be quite brusque and rude, but he is a good man who would sooner perish than let some ill-fate befall any child within his sight." Gisèle replied sweetly, if with considerable resolve in her voice, "I must do this always when my Pierre leaves for battle, and when our sons' louts that they are did this."
"Mother, you cannot speak of Augustin and Alexandre that way, they are as Hector and Paris to those of us within the boundaries of this county and most especially the walls of Arvon!" Augustine objected immediately.
The women made to return hither into the home that was the only one that Augustine had ever known and that Gisèle had known for nigh on thirty-five years since she first married her beloved Pierre at sixteen years of age. A day she still looked back upon with more than a little warmth and pride, he had been a year younger than she and was utterly smitten with her, from the first moment he saw her.
So caught up was she in her own thoughts that she hardly took notice at first when she was called upon by some of the sentries atop the walls of the castle. "Milady, it is the knights of Havion, they have come requesting permission to stay the night once more."
"Havion?" Seonag asked thoughtfully, "I do not think I should want them here."
"Now, now, my dear, forgiveness was part of what the Saviour preached to us, and therefore we shall uphold his teachings. We shall forgive, even as we shall uphold his justice." Gisèle retorted gently.
"But father said not to allow them entry," Augustine replied with a worried glance at her mother.
"Perhaps, but until his return, I command here." Gisèle retorted evenly, "What trouble there might have been with that Casimir fellow, I highly doubt that Mathieu would allow him back into his company. Therefore, we shall open our doors to Mathieu, who did right by Salomon and you, Seonag."
The gates were ordered opened, and what awaited the women and the knights in command of the keep was not the quiet, repentant Mathieu and his meek warrior. In place of the likes of Sir Walter, Chrétien, and others, they found themselves thrown aside or seized and thrown onto the horses of the likes of Casimir, Yves, and others.
"Take them, take the keep and close those gates!" Casimir bellowed as he took hold of the castle, to the shock and horror of a great number of the residents.
Seonag, who had been seized and thrown onto his knees, attempted to resist, yet could not quite do so. Her only satisfaction was that her younger brother and Salomon, along with Augustin, were still free, and they and Pierre would soon return. This was her only hope; she only hoped they would return soon.