He gave Hugh a wry look. “Will you do the archery as well, Hugh?”
Hugh was better than he was.
The boy shook his head. “If you are going to compete, then I will cheer for you.”
Nigel, who had won the archery for the last four years, was a little embarrassed at how grateful he was for that response.
After supper was finished, all of the knights and ladies and squires and pages retreated to their tents for a good night’s rest. Or at least, that was what they were supposed to do.
In reality, the ladies’ tent was busy all night long, as women went in and out, keeping the assignations they had made during suppertime. Lying awake, her sleep disturbed by all the coming and going, Cristen wondered bitterly if any of Guy’s vassals could boast of a faithful wife or daughter.
What terrible marriages they must have, she thought sadly. She herself had been fortunate in being the product of one of the few happy unions that she knew of. In fact, it often seemed to her that women of the lower classes, whose marriages were made for compatibility and not for land, had a better life than the women of the aristocracy, who all too often were married to much older men with whom they had little or nothing in common.
She thought of Sir Richard, and shuddered.
Thank God she had a father who cared about her happiness. She was well aware that most girls were not in such a fortunate situation.
If I were married to Sir Richard, maybe I would cheat, too, she thought grimly.
Unbidden, her thoughts turned to Hugh. What was going to happen on the morrow?
8
When Philip and Father Anselm finally reached Somerford Castle on a warm September evening, they found it virtually deserted.
“They are all gone to the tournament at Chippenham,” the men at arms who were manning the outer gate told them.
Philip knew about the tournament, but he hadn’t realized that it was going to interfere with his mission.
“Here’s a coil,” he said to the priest, who was riding beside him on the horse Philip had rented for him in Winchester. “I hadn’t counted on this.”
“Has the boy known as Hugh Corbaille gone to Chippenham with Sir Nigel?” Father Anselm said to the men at the gate.
“Aye,” one replied. “All the knights went. And Lady Cristen and her ladies as well. It’s a great tournament, you know. All of Lord Guy’s vassals participate.”
“Hugh will bring home prizes, too,” the other man at arms said approvingly. “He’s that good.”
The pretender had evidently wormed his way into the good graces of the entire castle, Philip thought sourly.
Father Anselm looked at Philip. “Then we must go to Chippenham as well.”
Philip frowned. “Is that wise, Father? Would it not be better for us to await their return here at Somerford?”
“No,” the priest said positively. “The Lady Isabel must not be kept in doubt for any longer than is necessary.”
Philip couldn’t disagree with that. The sooner she discovered that this man was not her son, the sooner she would regain her peace of mind.
“All right,” he said. “But it is too late to start for Chippenham now.”
“You can spend the night at Somerford,” one of the gatekeepers said promptly. “Lady Cristen would never turn away a priest.”
“Very well,” Philip said. “Thank you, that is what we will do. And in the morning we will leave for the tournament.”
The grounds in front of Chippenham were ablaze with color when Philip and Father Anselm rode out of the surrounding woods the following afternoon. Men and boys and horses were scattered everywhere on the dry, packed earth of the tournament field. Striped pavilions glowed in the sun, and the scarlet flags of the Earl of Wiltshire vied in brilliance with the colors of the flags of all of Wiltshire’s vassals.
On the section of the field nearest to the woods, a quintain had been set up and, one after another, boys were tilting at it recklessly. Hoots or cheers greeted the results, depending on how successful each contender was.
A large number of boys appeared to be hitting the ground as they misjudged their hits and the quintain swung back and swatted them out of the saddle.
The part of the field nearest to the castle walls had been roped off and set up as an obstacle course, which a single horse and rider were attempting to negotiate. Wooden stands had been erected along one side of the course, and this was where the ladies were sitting. The brilliant colors of their gowns and veils glowed in the golden September sunshine.
Philip signaled to a squire who was leading a horse across the field in front of them. “Hey there! Can you tell me where I might find Sir Nigel Haslin?”
“Most of the knights are watching the horsemanship contest,” the boy replied.
Philip looked at the crowds of men standing around the roped-off obstacle course. Then he turned to the priest at his side. “Would you know this Nigel if you saw him, Father?”
“I think so,” the priest said.
They dismounted, found a page to hold their horses, walked across the dry and dusty field to the crowd around the obstacle course, and began to search for Nigel. Both men were dressed in plain riding clothes, and Father Anselm wore his hood pulled up to cover his tonsure. The church had banned all tournaments, and if it was seen that he was a priest they were sure to attract the kind of attention they did not want. As it was, two men of their unusual height were noteworthy enough.
They found Nigel ten minutes later, standing with a group of his men near the stands that held the ladies.
“Sir Nigel,” Father Anselm said.
Nigel’s head swung around.
“The Lady Isabel de Leon sent me,” the priest said softly. “My name is Father Anselm. I was Lord Roger’s chaplain and I knew Hugh well when he was a child.”
Nigel’s brown eyes searched the priest’s face. “I think I remember you.”
Father Anselm bowed his hooded head. Then he glanced at Philip. “This is Philip Demain. He is a knight of Simon of Evesham’s. He fetched me from Winchester and brought me here.”
Nigel’s brows had snapped together at the mention of Simon’s name. He was well aware of Isabel’s brother’s allegiance to Robert of Gloucester. “I see,” he said stiffly.
“We are here to see if Father Anselm can identify this man you have taken up as Lady Isabel’s son,” Philip said coolly. “Once we have done that, we will be on our way again. In the meanwhile, if you will allow us to pass as members of your retinue, we would be grateful.”
“Of course,” Nigel said, even more stiffly than before. “Although I must say, I hardly expected that you would follow me to Chippenham.”
“I do not wish to keep the Lady Isabel waiting any longer than she must,” Father Anselm said. “You can imagine her anxiety.”
Nigel’s aristocratic face softened. “Of course. Of course.” He gestured toward the obstacle course. “Hugh is riding in the competition. You will have to wait until he is finished before you can meet him.”
Philip crossed his arms over his chest, spread his legs a little and settled himself to watch the man and horse presently on the field.
“We will wait,” he said.
He watched while six men and horses went through the obstacle course, to the accompaniment of encouraging cheers from the knights of their retinues.
They had varying degrees of success. One horse-and-rider combination came to grief at the small bridge that was decorated with many strings of fluttering flags. Every time the knight brought his horse up to the start of the bridge, the stallion would shy away. After three such refusals, the pair was disqualified.
A second contestant had trouble with the series of three small, brightly painted jumps, which had a multitude of flags hanging off their standards. The horse went over the first jump, but stopped dead in front of the second, snorting and pawing and shaking his head. The knight circled him around and headed him at the first jump again, and this time he refused that. The knight tried again, with the same results. He was disqualified.