The Captive Maiden (8 page)

Ruexner spun around and yelled something indistinct, then stalked off the field toward his pavilion, leaving his squire and attendants to bring his horse.

The field marshal declared Valten the victor, taking his right hand and lifting it in the air.

As Valten’s squire brought him his helmet, Gisela finally got a glimpse of his face. A bright red line ran across his forehead just over his left eye, from which a trickle of blood dribbled over his eyebrow and down his cheek.

The marshals conversed with Valten for a moment, and then Valten took his place at the end of the lists while his squire helped him put his helmet back on. Another opponent emerged.

Cristyne took her fingernails out of her mouth long enough to ask, “Is he fighting again?”

Gisela swallowed. “I think he must. He has more challengers.”

Valten exchanged his lance of war for a blunted one and prepared to face a foreign knight with a French-sounding name. After the flag fell, the two met in the center of the lists with a loud crash. Valten splintered his lance on his opponent’s shield, while his opponent struck Valten’s shield with only a glancing blow.

The two lined up again. The flag fell and the two horses charged forward, but the challenger’s horse reared, then shied to one side. Valten could have taken advantage of the situation and struck his opponent while he was unable to strike his own blow, but Valten halted his horse and did not strike. It was a display of courtesy, according to the rules of chivalry. The crowd shouted their approval.

The marshals allowed them to return to their places. The challenger’s horse whinnied, but then seemed to calm down. He stood still until the marshal once again flung down his flag.

Valten and the challenger met in the center again, and once again, Valten’s lance broke apart upon impact on the other
knight’s shield. The challenger was unhorsed, landing on the ground with a crash and rolling helplessly to a stop. He didn’t move as they led his horse away. His squire and attendants used a wooden litter to carry him off the field.

Valten waited at the end of the lists, accepting a new blunted lance.

Feeling reasonably assured that he wasn’t badly injured from the bleeding wound over his eye, Gisela sighed in delight at his two decisive victories. She didn’t know how many more challengers he would have to face.

A knight in shiny silver and gold armor with a bright yellow scarf around his arm entered the lists. The two waited for the flag to fall, then charged at one another. They both splintered their lances on each other’s shields. A maiden seated about twenty feet away in a dress the same shade of yellow as the scarf on the new knight’s arm started to clap and cheer. Then she and her companions giggled as the two knights made ready for their next encounter.

Hoping with all her heart that Valten would conquer the yellow lady’s knight, Gisela held her breath as they met each other again in the center of the lists. Valten aimed for the knight’s helmet and struck a good blow, while the other knight struck Valten’s shield. Neither lance broke, and though the other knight tottered a bit in the saddle, they both stayed on their horses.

For the final tilt, Valten appeared to be aiming for the other knight’s helmet again, while that knight’s lance was aimed too low and would surely strike Sieger in the shoulder. Gisela gasped. Sieger would be killed! But just before they could collide, Valten pulled the horse aside, avoiding the other knight’s lance, and missing the other knight’s shield as he passed.

Normally, Valten would have been penalized for dodging the strike, but since the other knight’s lance was aiming for Valten’s
horse, which was against the rules of the tournament, Valten was proclaimed the victor of that round.

Gisela shouted with the rest of the crowd, applauding for Valten as he paraded slowly around the field and waved a gauntleted hand at the crowd. He seemed to pause just in front of Gisela, then make a bow as Sieger also bowed one knee toward the crowd of beautiful maidens in the gallery. Gisela gave him her happiest smile, just in case he was looking.

Valten was allowed to leave the field for a short rest before he would be expected to face the rest of his challengers.

She watched two more rounds of jousts, but quickly lost interest in the rest of the knights or how they might fare and turned to Cristyne. “I think I will go look around. I’m tired of sitting.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Gisela was hoping she would say that, especially given the guard’s warning about walking around alone.

She and Cristyne made their way down the scaffold to the ground below and circled around the tournament grounds, having to skirt the edge of a wood as they walked.

In their conversation, Gisela learned that Cristyne was the youngest of nine children, and a couple of her sisters were considered great beauties and had married well. Cristyne was expected to do the same, but she rather fancied a poor yeoman farmer she’d grown up with.

“My mother says I will forget about him soon enough.” Cristyne looked sad. “Do you have anyone you hope to marry?”

“Me? No, I have no one like that.” She hoped her face didn’t display the truth about her feelings. And it wasn’t as if she hoped to marry Valten. At least, not since she’d grown up and realized how unreasonable that was.

They encountered an older woman with a large cloth-covered
basket. Gisela and Cristyne each bought one of her buns with gooseberries and honey inside.

While eating, they wandered toward the area where the knights’ pavilions were set up and where some of their horses were tethered, resting until they were required for the remainder of their jousts. Gisela wanted to see Sieger to reassure herself he was unhurt. The steel shaffron protected his head, but the rest of his body was only protected by the cloth caparison that displayed Valten’s coat of arms.

She also hoped Valten’s injury had not been serious. Perhaps she might overhear one of his attendants talking about his condition.

“Oh, my cousin and her family!” Cristyne waved at a girl who was waving back. “Do you mind if I go talk with them?”

“Go on. I will see you in a little while.” Gisela continued on as Cristyne hurried off to join her relatives.

Gisela looked all around, trying to add the scene to her favorite memories — the beautiful colors of the pavilions, the banners and coats of arms of the knights, the lavishness of the decorations. And then there were the dresses of the wealthy women and maidens … Gisela had never seen anything like this tournament. She longed to store up every detail, even though she probably looked like a country bumpkin who had never been in the wider world before.

As she wandered along, she spied Valten’s striped pavilion. She was drawn toward it but continued to look around as she wandered nearer. She could even see Sieger, as he was tethered under a small wooden shelter behind Valten’s tent.

A familiar laugh, shrill and annoying, rang out behind her. It was Irma, she was sure of it. She ducked behind a large barrel before looking behind her. Her stepmother and stepsisters stood a mere thirty feet away.

Chapter
7

Evfemia and Irma stood talking with Rainhilda
, their heads together as if they were trying to make sure no one else heard what they were saying.

While they were not looking her way, Gisela turned her back on them and hurried to get out of sight.

Sieger stood near other knights’ horses lined up on the other side of several large tented pavilions. Her stepmother and stepsisters would never go near such an area, so she headed toward him.

As she drew near, a boy who looked about twelve years old approached Sieger’s makeshift stall with a bag in his hand. He was glancing around nervously, holding the bag protectively against his body.

The boy’s odd behavior made Gisela stop and hide behind the first horse. What was he doing lurking near Valten’s destrier? Then, with a deliberate step, he approached Sieger, drew out some green leaves from his bag, and stuffed them into Sieger’s bucket. The boy turned and broke into a run, disappearing behind the horses’ stalls.

Sieger stuck his nose into the bucket, then pulled it out again, snuffling discontentedly.

Gisela hurried forward, holding up her hem so it didn’t get soiled. Once she reached Sieger, she spoke softly to him, rubbing
his nose. He nickered, nodding his head, and nudged her neck. “Hey, boy. Let me see what’s in your feed.”

She bent down and pulled out the green leaves from inside his bucket of oats, and her blood went cold. They were the leaves of a water hemlock plant.

Another young boy, who appeared about the same age as the one who’d placed the water hemlock in Sieger’s bucket, walked toward her from Valten’s tent. “May I help you, fraulein?”

Gisela caught the boy by the arm. “Someone tried to poison Valt — your master’s horse. You must tell him with all haste.” She held up the offending leaves, her hands starting to shake. If Sieger had eaten them, he might have been dead in half an hour.

Without a word, the boy turned and ran to the tent. Valten came out moments later without his heavy armor, wearing only his shirt of mail, the white under-tunic, and leather breeches.

He saw her and stopped in midstride.

“Someone tried to poison Sieger.” Gisela held out the water hemlock.

Valten strode forward, his gaze seeming to move reluctantly from Gisela’s face to the green substance in her hand.

“Hugo!” he barked. The boy came running. “Take this and bury it in the ground. Bury it deep, understand?” There was a cold, dangerous look on his face that sent a chill through Gisela, but was somehow comforting at the same time. Valten would not let anyone get away with harming a horse — or a person — he loved.

The boy took the leaves carefully into his hands. She bent and made sure there was no more in Sieger’s bucket while Valten looked into the horse’s mouth.

After the boy hurried away, Valten said quietly, his voice so deep it rumbled, “Do you think he ate any of it?”

Her heart skipped a beat at his nearness. “I don’t think so.”

The dangerous glint vanished from his eyes. “I’m glad you came when you did.”

She nodded.

“And not just because you saved Sieger’s life.” He stopped rubbing his horse and turned his body toward her. Now she could see the cut over his eye. Someone had stitched it closed, but there was still a light smear of dried blood on his skin. His hair was damp — no doubt he’d had to wash the blood out of it — making it look brown instead of blond. Up close in his shirt of mail, his shoulders seemed even broader, his chest thicker, and he looked like a warrior — a very handsome warrior.

“Did you see the person who did this?”

She nodded. “A boy, about twelve years old.”

“Could you recognize him if you saw him again?”

“I think so.”

Valten motioned to his squire. “Guard Sieger and don’t let anyone near him.”

“Yes, my lord,” the boy said.

Valten looked at Gisela. “Come.” He strode behind the horse’s stall, taking such long strides that Gisela had to hurry to keep up. He stopped in front of Ruexner’s tent. A boy was lounging outside on the grass near the front.

“That’s him,” she whispered. “That’s the person who put the water hemlock in Sieger’s food.”

“You’re sure?” The fierce look was back on his face, his jawline looking like it was carved from stone.

“I’m sure.”

Valten took a step toward the tent and stopped. He turned back to Gisela, and the look in his gray-green eyes gentled instantly. His jaw relaxed, and her breath hitched in her throat at the sudden transformation. “Go back to Sieger’s stall and wait for me there.”

She nodded.
Be careful.
She wanted to say the words but was sure a man like Valten wouldn’t appreciate, or heed, them. She made her way back. What would Valten do?

While Gisela waited, she rubbed Sieger’s side and talked with Valten’s squire. He was a polite boy from the north near the sea, the third son of a wealthy earl. She asked him about his winters there and if he wanted to be a knight. The boy was rather talkative and answered her questions well, until his eyes grew big as he seemed to be staring over her shoulder. Before Gisela could turn around, she felt a tug at her neck as someone jerked her scarf.

“Well, if it isn’t the pretty little peasant from the streets.”

Gisela turned and glared into the ugly sneer of Friedric Ruexner.

He brought the blue scarf up to his face and held it against his cheek, an unpleasant smile on his bearded face.

As the scarf slipped away from her neck, Gisela grabbed the end of it. “Give it to me.” She pulled as hard as she could but could not break his hold.

Ruexner yanked as well. Gisela lost her balance and stumbled into him. She immediately jumped back but kept hold of the fabric.

“You want me to wear your colors, don’t you?” He grinned down at her.

“Not if I live to be a hundred years old.”

Ruexner laughed raucously. “I might not want to wear it if you were a hundred years old.”

“Give her the scarf.” Valten’s voice came from behind Ruexner.