Page 35 of Chivalry in the Meadow
At the far end of the fair, was a large area roped off where the Jousting would be held, in front of a viewing stand for the royalty to sit and watch.
“Hurry, the joust tournament is about to begin,” Lilly said. “We took too long picking out ribbons, and we need to get good spots where we can see. I think near the viewing stand, as they will stop in front of it, before they joust, and then after. We’ll see them closer that way.”
“Okay,” Mia said, picking up the pace, as she saw people starting to gather around the ropes, and more fairgoers like the two of them, heading toward the jousting field.
The summer sun now turned the lists to gold, casting long shadows over the tournament field. Pennants snapped in the breeze, each bearing a knight’s colors, bright against the blue sky.
The crowd’s chatter swelled with anticipation, their eager faces watching.
Mia and Lilly moved through the crowd, as the populace pressed close to the ropes.
The horns blew, and the herald wearing bright red and purple, stood on the viewing stand.
“He’s very colorful,” Lilly said.
“Yes, he is,” Mia said.
“Hear ye, hear ye!” he said. “Welcome, my lords, my ladies, and gentles.”
The crowd quieted to listen.
Cheeks flushed with excitement, Mia and Lilly found a spot near the front, next to the viewing stand, close enough to smell the leather and horse sweat.
“This first joust of the day brings together six of the bravest and strongest knights from the surrounding kingdoms. Let the tournament begin!”
The ground vibrated beneath their feet as the first two destriers pawed the turf before the list. They wore draped cloths in colors to match their knight’s tunic and pennant.
Sir Cedric entered first, his golden hair glinting beneath the open-faced helm, that golden hair catching the light like a storybook hero’s. His white and gold surcoat streamed behind him, and he raised his lance in salute, directly toward Mia, his blue eyes intent upon her.
Her breath caught.
His roguish grin, directed at her, flashed just before the visor on his helm dropped.
He still had the ability to dazzle her with his appearance and performance, even though he’d lowered the esteem she’d felt for him with his behavior this morning.
From the opposite gate came Sir Rowan, Sir Cedric’s long-standing rival, riding in clad in red and black. His visor was already down, his shoulders taut with readiness. Where Sir Cedric moved with theatrical grace, Sir Rowan was all precision and cold efficiency.
The tension between the two was tangible, like a drawn bowstring.
The marshal dropped the flag. The two chargers surged forward, hooves pounding, lances lowering in perfect synchronization.
The impact cracked like thunder, making Mia jump as Sir Rowan’s lance splintered, shattered across Sir Cedric’s shield, but Sir Cedric stayed firm in the saddle, his own strike glancing off Sir Rowan’s pauldron.
The crowd roared, but Mia barely heard as her heart hammered.
This didn’t seem like acting. Not when real pieces of wood hit hard like that and broke. Were they following a script? They must be. Otherwise, they could seriously hurt each other.
Soon Sir Cedric was declared the winner according to his points.
The next tilt brought Sir Alaric forward.
Her eyes and her heart lit at the sight of him.
The dark, brooding knight whose silver-gray metal armor gleamed like wet steel, rode astride his destrier, a massive black warhorse that moved with predatory power, carrying the colors of black and gold.
His black horse was much more intimidating than Sir Cedric’s white horse. She couldn’t help but think of his stallion as a warhorse, even though it was all make-believe at the ren faire.
Or was it?
