Читать книгу The Blacksmith's Wife - Elisabeth Hobbes - Страница 11

Chapter Three

‘Are you coming to the tournament today?’

They were the first words Roger had spoken to Hal since the previous night. Both had returned to the camp separately and Roger had stamped around the tent, reminding Hal of when they were both children.

‘I wasn’t intending to,’ Hal answered, earning a petulant scowl from Roger who took the cup of warm milk Hal offered.

‘I’m allowing you to share my tent so the least you could do is help me prepare. You know my armour better than my squire,’ Roger grumbled. ‘You’d have made a better squire too if you hadn’t been so proud.’

Hal ignored the jibe. ‘You know I have matters of my own to attend to.’

‘Your work is all you think of. I’m on the lists before midday,’ Roger wheedled. ‘You’ll have plenty of time.’

Hal took a cloth-wrapped package from the chest at the end of his bed, laid it carefully on the table and unfolded it to reveal the sword he had crafted. The edge gleamed in the light as he drew it from the scabbard and weighed it in his hand.

Roger whistled in genuine appreciation. ‘I don’t know why you want to enter the guild. You’re a good blacksmith already.’

Hal laid it carefully back on the cloth and ran his fingers over the wide, flat blade.

‘Would you be content to stay aiming at wooden targets?’

Roger snorted. ‘Of course not!’

‘I don’t want to spend my life shoeing horses and hammering plough blades. There are other skills and other metals.’

‘Do you have plans for the weapon after you’ve presented it?’ Roger asked hopefully. ‘Something so fine deserves to be wielded by a knight.’ He couldn’t hide the note of longing in his voice and Hal’s throat tightened in annoyance.

‘I’m keeping it. Whatever you think, you are not entitled to lay claim to everything I possess,’ he said archly.

Roger snapped his fingers to summon his page. Hal drank his milk, feeling his stomach beginning to settle. He had not intended to drink so much the previous night, but after leaving the feast he had stalked around the city until he found a tavern where he could mull over what he had witnessed between Roger and Joanna. No doubt she would be at the joust. Anyone could see the foolish girl was blinded by the thrill of the tournament and her dreams of winning his brother’s heart.

‘When you spoke to Joanna last night did you mention your task today?’ Roger asked.

Hal started as the name he was thinking was spoken aloud. ‘Why would I tell her about that?’

Roger smirked. ‘I thought you might have told her about your sword, that’s all.’

‘I doubt your lady would care about my sword. I think her interest lies entirely in the jousting,’ Hal said.

Now Roger had introduced the subject Hal felt entitled to continue. Joanna was not the first woman Roger had caused to become infatuated and certainly would not be the last. If she was foolish enough to believe the sweet words that spun from Roger’s lips it was no concern of Hal’s, but her eyes brimming with sadness as Roger repeatedly ignored her presence had pricked Hal’s heart. Moreover she intrigued him. He’d seen energy in her when she bickered with him that she hid from Roger, to whom she had submitted meekly.

Which was the real woman? He’d like to find out. A worm of guilt wriggled in his belly as he remembered trying to persuade his brother’s woman to dance.

‘Did you speak to her last night as I told you to?’ he asked.

‘No, she left early and I was caught up with other matters. I’ll speak to her today,’ Roger said with a careless wave of his hand. ‘Now, for the final time, will you come help me this morning? If you’re seen with me it will increase your standing in the eyes of the Guild members.’

Hal doubted how much influence a young knight of middling wealth from the North York Moors might have, but to say so would be churlish. Roger would not stop until he had the answer he wanted and it was better to be busy than wait here until he had to present his work. ‘Very well. I’ll spare an hour, no more. I cannot be late to the Guild Hall.’

‘Good.’ Roger swung his legs to the floor. ‘I’m not entering the mêlée, but I could use a bout of swordplay to wake my senses. How about you pit your weapon against mine?’

Hal ran his fingers reverentially over the pommel and cross guard of the falchion. However much he craved it, Roger would not get this weapon.

‘I’ll spar with you, but not with this.’ He slid it back into its sheath and folded the cloth around it. ‘I’m not doing anything that might risk my chances of admittance to the Guild.’

* * *

Joanna could scarcely draw breath; her chest was tight with excitement. Last night Simon had secured admission from Sir Bartholomew’s steward to one of the most prominent stands at the tournament ground. This morning a messenger had called him away, leaving Joanna seated alone amid guests of the castle.

She did not care that her dress was of linen, not silk, and the band drawing back her hair was embroidered with flax, not spun gold. She was closer than she had ever been to the knights and Sir Roger would not fail to notice her today.

Trumpets sounded and the knights processed in. They paraded around the field, each with his entourage of pages and squires. Joanna craned her neck to find Sir Roger and spotted two heads of black curls walking side by side. She gave a small cry of surprise, causing the woman next to her to glance round.

The procession reached Joanna’s stand. She leaned forward once more, smiling and cheering along with the crowd. She waved at Sir Roger, but he did not see her. Beside him Hal turned and his eyes met Joanna’s, lingering on her in a manner that sent an unexpected shudder rippling through her. Unsettled, she raised an eyebrow haughtily. He stared at her unsmiling, a small frown knotting his brow, then carried on walking. Dressed in a dark wool tunic, Hal was out of place among the procession of squires who wore their masters’ colours proudly. From his bearing he could easily be a knight himself.

The knights took their places. Hal muttered something to his brother and both men stared in Joanna’s direction. She raised a hand and Sir Roger inclined his head ever so slightly towards her. He turned away to talk to the knight who stood beside him. Joanna lowered her hand slowly, her smile feeling suddenly tighter and forced. Hal patted the horse, his gaze still on Joanna. She dropped her eyes, unnerved by his gaze.

* * *

The first three bouts passed in a blur, Joanna barely watching until it was Sir Roger’s turn. He mounted his horse and trotted to where Sir Bartholomew sat. This was the moment Joanna had been waiting for, when each knight would choose a lady to present him with a favour to wear as he rode. Sir Roger turned his horse in Joanna’s direction and paused in front of her stand. She slipped the silk scarf from around her neck, her heart beating rapidly.

‘Will you give me a favour to wear, my lady?’

Sir Roger’s voice sounded loud across the tiltyard. Joanna’s heart stopped. He was not speaking to her. Slowly she felt the blood drain from her face.

Further along the stand a woman slipped a scarf of vibrant green over the tip of Sir Roger’s lance. Through swimming eyes Joanna recognised the dark curls of the woman Sir Roger had danced with the previous night. The crowd cheered. Oblivious to what followed, Joanna slumped back on to the bench. She gazed at the wisp of pale-yellow silk that lay across her lap.

What had gone wrong? She had not been able to speak to Sir Roger since she had submitted to his touch in such an indiscreet manner the night before. He had seemed pleased with her then, so why now was he so cold?

She raised her eyes. Across the field Hal was watching her still, his frown deepening. Joanna narrowed her eyes as she stared back. In response Hal’s lips twisted into a sneer. Unable to bear the knowledge that he was watching her humiliation, Joanna dropped her gaze. She bundled the scarf tightly in her hand, digging her fingernails in her palms until a series of red half-moons marred the pale flesh. When she glanced up again Hal had gone.

The bout began. Joanna barely noticed as his opponent’s lance splintered against Sir Roger’s chest. As the crowd surged to its feet she slipped out of the stand and made her way to the gate at the end of the field that led to the arena where the knights waited. Head down she collided with someone. Opening her mouth to apologise, she discovered Hal blocking her path. He planted his feet firmly apart, the large knapsack over his shoulder swinging around.

‘Let me past,’ Joanna said, trying to dodge around him.

Hal put his hands on Joanna’s arms. His grip was firm but not painful.

‘Don’t go in there,’ he said gently.

‘I need to speak to Sir Roger,’ Joanna answered. Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked furiously.

‘It isn’t a good idea,’ Hal insisted. There was a loud roar from the lists. Joanna turned in the direction of the tilt but could see nothing past Hal’s broad frame.

‘You can’t stop me!’ Joanna struggled against Hal and he loosened his grip. He stood back and raked his fingers through his hair.

‘No, I can’t.’ He sighed, his tone heavy with exasperation. ‘I have an appointment I must keep, but I advise you not to confront Roger today.’

He hitched his burden higher over his shoulder and stepped to one side. Joanna stood motionless, uncertain what to do. She nodded in defeat. Hal smiled in apparent satisfaction and walked away.

Another roar, this time accompanied by cries of astonishment, thundered in Joanna’s ears. In an instant she changed her mind and rushed through the gateway into the field. Sir Roger was on foot and leading his horse away from the tilt. Joanna stared in disbelief. He had been unseated. Her anger forgotten, she rushed towards him.

‘Are you hurt?’ she gasped.

Sir Roger glared at her and she stepped back in alarm.

‘Why are you here?’ he snapped.

He sounded so cold he might have been a stranger in the street. Joanna swallowed nervously, wishing she had followed Hal’s advice and not come. She raised her chin and spoke with as much dignity as she could, but her voice was no more than a whisper.

‘You did not choose my favour.’

Sir Roger’s cheeks turned crimson. He threw his arms out wide. ‘Is that all you can think of at a time like this?’

‘It would have been a sign of our intent to wed...’

Her voice tailed off as Sir Roger’s face reddened further. ‘Marriage? How can you talk of marriage at a time like this?’

A low buzzing filled Joanna’s ears. ‘But what we did last night? The way you touched me!’

Sir Roger gripped her shoulders tightly. Her throat constricted as if he was squeezing it. She tried not to picture him dancing with the dark-haired woman, nor Hal’s observation that she was not the only woman trying to catch a knight.

‘What does last night matter? I lost the bout and the winner’s purse. I have no money to wed! Any money I have must fund my campaigns.’

‘I’m sure you will win future contests,’ Joanna said with a confidence she suddenly did not feel.

Sir Roger’s lip curled and she lapsed into silence. He turned his back on her and took hold of his horse’s reins. ‘The king has planned a tournament for St George’s Day in Windsor. I intend to be there. I shall be leaving York tomorrow.’

‘But you will return to York for the Lammas Day Tournament as always? That’s six months away. Perhaps then...’

‘I have no means to marry now. Nor the intention to do so at this time.’

Sir Roger ran his hands through his hair in a gesture similar to Hal’s.

‘Farewell, Joanna,’ he muttered through clenched teeth. He led his horse out of the courtyard, leaving Joanna standing alone. She covered her face with her hands, her fingers slick with tears. The crowd moved around her and she wiped her hand across her face. She could not stay here at the scene of her humiliation.

She pushed her way out, stumbling towards the city. Her feet led her on a path towards home but she could not go inside. Not yet. Not to admit to her uncle what had happened. She turned and walked through crooked streets of the city until her feet began to ache and her stomach cramped, reminding her she had not eaten all day.

For the first time she took notice of her surroundings. Unconsciously her feet had brought her back to Aldwark, opposite the Smiths’ Guild Hall. She gave a wry smile. She could wait for Simon in the gardens and inform him of her failure when he came out. Better he vent his disappointment there than in front of her aunt and cousins.

A fountain stood in the centre of the gardens. Wearily Joanna trailed her hand in the cool water, scooping up the heavy copper cup and drank. She sat on the step behind the basin and leaned back against the carved stone edge. She drew her knees up and, unwatched by anyone, started to weep in earnest.

* * *

Five guild officials sat at a long, oak table, chains around their necks and well-fed bellies bulging under tunics of fur and velvet, the visible signs of their prosperity. The calluses and scars on hands that now bore ornate gold rings were the only indications that they had once been in Hal’s position: young and untrained, used to the heat of the furnace and the weight of a hammer. Admittance to the guild would set him on the path they had walked.

On the table before them lay Hal’s sword. The Guild Master stood and placed his hands on the table either side of Hal’s work. He affixed Hal with a steely gaze.

‘An interesting choice of subject for your masterwork. You have pretentions to be an armourer? How many knights do you meet in your moorland village?’

A ripple of laughter ran around the room. Hal did his best to smile at the feeble jest. The Guild Master picked the weapon up, scrutinised it, then passed it on. Hal held his breath as each man examined it before it was returned to the centre of the table.

‘Wait outside,’ the Master commanded.

Hal walked to the outer chamber as the men turned to each other, muttering in low voices. He struggled to discern anything from their tone or expressions. Lulled by the heat of the fire on what had developed into another mild day his mind began to wander.

What had the roars from the tiltyard meant? Had Roger won or lost? He hoped Joanna had had the sense to heed his warning and save her confrontation. The shock on her face when Roger had chosen another woman’s favour had caused Hal’s heart to throb unexpectedly. Perhaps now she would understand how fickle Roger’s affection was.

He realised his name was being called and snapped his attention back to the present. He re-entered the chamber and the Guild Master beckoned him forward, gazing down his crooked nose.

‘You are young,’ the Guild Master stated. ‘Eight months out of being a journeyman, you said?’

Hal nodded slowly, locking eyes with the Guild Master.

‘Your work lacks finesse,’ the Guild Master announced stiffly. ‘The blade is good, but the work on the quillon lacks technique.’ There were murmurs of agreement from around the room.

‘No subtlety in the ornamentation,’ another man interjected. There was a familiarity about the man. Hal couldn’t place the resemblance but something in the straw-coloured hair and pale eyes clawed at his memory.

‘Your ambitions outstrip your skill at this time,’ a third added.

A burning ache began to grow in the pit of Hal’s stomach as he took in the meaning of their words. He had failed.

‘Go back to your village, young man,’ the second man said with a stiff smile. Once more the turn of the man’s lips reminded Hal of someone, though now he did not care about remembering who it was.

The Guild Master stood. ‘Practise your trade. Take a wife and increase your standing. Perhaps in a few years you will have acquired the necessary skills to see beyond the bare form of the metal.’ He gestured at the weapon on the table.

Hal stepped forward and wrapped it in the cloth, casting his eyes over the twisted knots of the cross guard.

‘Thank you, sirs,’ he said as politely as his disappointment would allow. He walked out, head high. It was only when the door had closed quietly behind his back that he allowed his frustration full vent.

With a growl he turned and kicked the gate. It was childish but it relieved some of his disappointment. A greasy-haired man standing at the street corner with a tray of pies gave him a suspicious stare. Hal glared back and took a breath that rasped in his throat. He needed a drink. Water first to quench his thirst, then something more potent to numb the disappointment.

He strode to the fountain in the gardens and lifted the chained cup to his lips, drinking deeply. The lion’s head grinned at him, its sightless iron eyes mocking. Irritated, Hal flung the cup back into the basin sending water slopping over the edge.

A cry of annoyance made him start. He had not noticed the figure sitting on the step at the other side of the fountain, but now a woman stood and rounded on him furiously.

‘Watch what you’re doing, you great oaf!’

Joanna stood before him. She seemed to register who she was speaking to for the first time.

‘You!’ She wiped her hands over her damp dress. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Did your brother send you to find me?’

‘Do you take me for his lackey?’ Hal said bitterly. ‘I have better things to do than traipse around the city on errands for him!’

‘Then why are you here?’

Joanna folded her arms across her chest with indignation.

‘Don’t annoy me, woman,’ Hal growled. ‘I have no idea what brought you to this part of the city, but I am here on my own business and I am most definitely not in the mood to listen to your accusations.’

Joanna’s eyes glinted brightly and she gave a sob. Her eyes were red and swollen.

‘You ignored my advice, I take it.’ Hal sighed.

She bit her lip and nodded guiltily as if expecting recriminations while somehow still contriving to scowl at Hal from beneath long lashes. Being glared at by Joanna was like being scolded by a kitten.

‘He said he cannot marry me. He chose another’s favour.’

Remorse stabbed Hal’s guts. He had been instrumental in bringing her to this state. He had told Roger to make his intentions clear but the girl had not deserved such public rejection. He mentally cursed his brother’s unthinking cruelty. Assuming it was unthinking, of course.

His craving for a cup of wine increased but he could not leave the blasted woman here. Already they had attracted the attention of the pie seller who was eyeing Joanna with open interest. Recklessly he reached for her hand.

‘What are you doing?’ Joanna demanded, pulling against him.

‘You’re not the only one to have suffered a disappointment this afternoon,’ Hal said firmly. ‘I’m going to find a drink. I don’t want to leave you somewhere this isolated alone so I’m taking you with me!’