CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The day following the dumping of snow dawned bright and spectacular.
On the field to the north of the castle, a small army of servants was clearing away the quickly-melting snow and spreading straw all around to help with the moisture, because very soon, the first game of the day would be played upon the field.
Already, the participants were starting to gather under the bright winter skies. Houses from as far north as Nottingham were participating, and men who were exhausted and with great aching heads from too much drink the night before were collecting around the edge of the field. The first event was to be the mass competition, a mock battle where there would be two teams fighting against one another.
The rules were simple enough. The battle went one of two ways – men could either fight on teams or it could be one giant fight where it was every man for himself. Sometimes these mass competitions were fought on horseback and sometimes on foot, and if a man was captured or stunned, he could be ransomed back to his men. It could be quite profitable, which was why so many men were willing to participate and chance getting their brains beaten in for the opportunity of obtaining some wealth.
Last night, the herald of Lord Chadlington announced at the feast that this particular mass competition would be fought on foot, as horses and sharp weapons were not allowed, and it would be every man for himself, which made it rather brutal and very exciting. Dashiell, Aston, and Bentley had already formed a group. They would help each other out in the hopes of being the last three standing. Clayton was left on his own and not invited into their group even though he spent the rest of the night trying to convince Lord Sherston to be his ally. Sherston rightfully declined, and Clayton was without anyone.
But such was the nature of the game.
At this early hour, the encampment of guests was buzzing with activity as men ate their morning meal and dressed for the coming game. Squires were busy making sure weapons were in the best possible repair and ladies were donning their finery.
Inside the tent she shared with Acacia, Belladonna was already dressed. She was wearing a beautiful blue woolen gown and a matching cloak that was lined with rabbit fur. Her hair, still curly from the night before, had been braided and now hung over one shoulder as she stood in the middle of the tent as the maid finished putting on her shoes. She wore doeskin boots this morning to keep her feet warm.
Acacia was also dressing on the other side of the tent, looking for something warm and stylish from her sister’s collection of clothing. The two women hadn’t said a word to each other all night and, even now, Acacia didn’t even ask if she could wear something of Belladonna’s. She was simply doing it.
Belladonna ignored her.
Once her shoes were on, however, the sound of the world outside of the tent drew her to the tent flap, where she stood and watched the encampment mill about. Maids brought in food to break their fast, but Belladonna wasn’t hungry. She was too excited. The anticipation soon became too much to bear and she quit the tent, going on the hunt for Dashiell.
Today was to be their day of glory.
He wasn’t hard to find. His tent was adjacent to the duke’s tent, meaning he was close at hand should he be needed. As soon as Belladonna left her tent, she could see him with Bentley and Aston, all of them crowded around a heavily-smoking fire, mostly dressed, as the squires finished buffing out marks and scratches on their weapons.
Dashiell had his back to her and she smiled at the sight of him; his auburn hair was glistening in the morning light, his fine figure of broad shoulders, narrowed torso, and big legs producing pleasing lines. Surely there was no one more magnificent to look at. Just as she summoned her courage to call to him, someone grasped her by the arm.
“You are up early,” Lily said, her breath hanging in the air in the freezing temperatures. “Have you broken your fast yet?”
Belladonna shook her head. “Not yet,” she said. “I am too excited to eat.”
Dashiell heard the chatter, turning around to see Belladonna and Lily standing several feet away. He smiled, waving them over.
“Come, ladies,” he said. “Join us. Bent says that he is still drunk from last night, Aston is complaining that he had no lovely women to dance with, and I am evidently the only one who is feeling well this morning.”
As Belladonna laughed at him, Lily looked at Aston in mock outrage. “I was dancing last night,” she said. “Are you saying that I am not lovely?”
Aston held up his hands to soothe the angry woman. “I meant outside of the House of de Vaston, of course,” he said. “Besides… you did not dance with me, else I would have nothing to complain over.”
Lily tried to maintain her outrage, but she couldn’t quite do it. She grinned at the knight. “’Tis well and good for you that you have changed your story,” she said. Then, she looked at Bentley, sitting on a stool with his head leaning on one hand. “And no wonder you are still drunk. Every time I saw you, you were downing another cup of wine.”
Bentley smiled weakly at her. “It was good wine.”
“Is it a good headache?”
He snorted. “Not that good. Mayhap I indulged a bit too much.”
Lily’s gaze upon him was loving. There was no other way to describe it. But Belladonna wasn’t looking at her sister; she had eyes only for Dashiell.
“You indulged a good deal also,” she said to him. “I am surprised you are not feeling as Bent does.”
Dashiell wriggled his eyebrows. “I am stronger than he is,” he said. “I can drink any man in England under the table.”
Next to him, Bentley made a choking sound. “I have seen you lose a drinking game or two,” he pointed out. “Remember at the tavern in Marlborough when your cousins were passing through town? You sat on one side of the table, the de Lohr brothers on the other, and you three drank a strong spirit that came all the way from Rome. I had never had anything like that in my life. Do you remember how powerful it was? It was like drinking lightning.”
Dashiell put a hand on the man’s aching head, petting it as one would pet a dog. “Precious darling,” he said with mock sympathy. “Did it burn a hole in your precious little throat?”
Bentley shot Dashiell a look to kill, but Aston was giggling like a fool. “I remember that,” he said. “It put David de Lohr to sleep after one cup, but Dash and Chris continued drinking to see who would be the last one standing.”
“And you shall be the first one falling if you continue that story,” Dashiell threatened.
But it was too late. Belladonna wanted to hear the story. “Do not stop, Aston,” she said. “What happened?”
Dashiell was glaring threateningly at Aston, who wisely moved out of his range and went to stand near Belladonna, effectively putting her in between him and Dashiell. Taking his life in his hands, he continued.
“Neither Dash nor Chris could stand up, but they continued to sit and drink the stuff,” he said. “It was a matter of pride. They were so drunk that they were holding on to the tabletop to keep from falling, and Dash only lost the game because Chris reached over and pushed him. Had he not pushed, Dash would not have fallen.”
Belladonna was greatly enjoying the tale. She looked at Dashiell. “What a terrible thing for your cousin to do.”
Dashiell shrugged, full of regret. “I would have done it to him had I thought of it.”
She laughed softly, now noticing that Lily had gone to stand next to Bentley, asking him if she could do something to help his head. The tone she used was so soft, so sweet. Somehow, it reminded Belladonna of the mess with Acacia and Clayton, and her poor eldest sister roped into a marriage with a man everyone hated. Lily didn’t deserve such a thing; she deserved a life with sweet Bentley, a man worthy of her. Her good humor faded.
“Mayhap, there will be a chance for you to redeem yourself in the future,” she said to Dashiell. “Meanwhile, you have a chance to prove yourself today in the games. I can see that men are already gathering at the field.”
They were situated on a rise, so the competition field in the distance was easily seen. Indeed, there were men already gathering as Chadlington people prepared the field. The sun was rising over the land, and the snow from the previous day was still glistening white although, in some areas, it had melted and mixed with the dirt to produce mud. Still, everything looked beautiful and crisp for the most part.
“Aye,” Dashiell said as he observed the distant field. “We are nearly ready to go down there ourselves.”
Belladonna pointed to the western side of the field. “There are lists,” she said. “I want a good seat to watch you when you destroy everyone.”
Dashiell wanted her to have a good seat, too. It was a matter of pride with him. He’d never had a favored lady in the stands cheering for him, so this was a momentous day for him as well. His gloves were tucked over the hilt of his broadsword and he pulled them forth.
“We will go there shortly,” he told her as he began to put his gloves on. “But I must check on your father first to ensure he is adequately attended while we are away. Will you go with me?”
Belladonna nodded, gathering her skirts so they wouldn’t drag in the mud, as Dashiell finished pulling on his gloves and took her politely by the elbow to escort her to her father. They made their way away from the others, heading towards the duke’s tent only to come face to face with Clayton as the man emerged from it.
Immediately, Dashiell was on his guard.
“What were you doing in there, le Cairon?” he asked.
It was evident that Clayton was surprised to see him. Dashiell always put him on the defensive and, this time, was no different. The confrontation was immediate.
“I came to see if the duke wants to go to the tournament field,” he said defiantly. “What are you doing here?”
Dashiell was growing very weary of Clayton, his belligerence and his lies. “I am preparing to go to the field and came to see to the duke’s health before I do,” he said. “It is a good thing I came when I did. Under no circumstances is he to go to the tournament field, le Cairon. Do you understand?”
Clayton frowned. “You cannot make that decision for him.”
“I can and I will. The Duke of Savernake wandering among men who are engaged in mock combat is a recipe for disaster. He could be badly injured, or worse, although I know that is your ultimate goal, Clayton. It will not work this time.”
Clayton began to turn red in the face. “You are as mad as the duke is.”
Dashiell could feel his anger rise but with Belladonna beside him, he didn’t want the conversation with Clayton to go any further. He’d already said too much.
“We shall see.”
Without another word, he pushed past Clayton and into the tent, where the duke was snoring soundly and Drusus, his minder, had a look of extreme relief upon seeing Dashiell. As Belladonna went to go check on her father, Dashiell confronted the minder.
“What did Clayton want?” he asked in a low voice.
In spite of the cold temperatures, Drusus wiped sweat from his brow. “He wanted me to rouse the duke, my lord,” he muttered. “He wants the man dressed and on his feet for the tournament.”
Dashiell’s jaw ticked, fighting down his anger. “The duke is not to go near the tournament field,” he growled. “You know what will happen – he will wander onto it and get himself killed.”
Drusus nodded nervously. Then, he dug into his pocket and pulled forth four pieces of tarnished silver. When Dashiell looked at him curiously, Drusus put the money into Dashiell’s hand.
“Sir Clayton gave it to me, my lord,” he said, his voice trembling. “He told me that it was for my troubles.”
“What troubles?”
“Dressing and preparing the duke, my lord.”
Dashiell stared at the money, realizing exactly what it was for. It was meant to buy Drusus’ loyalty and, more than likely, his complicity. Dashiell had removed one minder who had been loyal to Clayton, and now the man was trying to buy the other.
Dashiell knew what he had to do.
“You will stay here,” he told Drusus calmly. Then, his attention turned to Belladonna, who was now going through the trunk sitting near her father’s bedside, looking for warm clothing. “My lady, remain here a moment. I will return very shortly.”
Belladonna simply nodded. She had no idea where Dashiell was going and if she did, she probably wouldn’t have stopped him. She probably would have cheered him on.
Quitting the duke’s tent, Dashiell went on the hunt. It didn’t take long to find Clayton back at the tent he shared with his wife, collecting his possessions for the coming mass competition.
All Clayton would remember of that moment was that Dashiell burst into his tent without a word and, suddenly, everything went black. When he finally came to, groggy and with loose teeth, he noticed four pieces of silver had been thrown onto the ground beside him.
The stakes of the struggle between him and Dashiell had grown. Dashiell was on to him. But to Clayton, none of that mattered. The attack, he vowed, would not go unanswered. Rising slowly, he waited until the world stopped rocking before making his way back to the duke’s tent.
Dashiell would pay.
Dashiell barely missed getting his head knocked off.
The mass competition was pure and utter chaos, much more than he’d expected. Usually, there was a good-natured hint to this event, but this morning saw no evidence of such good-natured camaraderie. It was literally a boiling, nasty mass of men trying to knock each other’s heads off, and gangs of knights were roaming around, beating down those who were without such a gang. Individual knights were being summarily destroyed.
In the midst of all of the fighting, however, Dashiell couldn’t help but notice that Clayton hadn’t made it to the field. After he’d knocked the man silly and threw the money he’d paid Drusus at his feet, he hadn’t given Clayton another thought as he’d headed to the tournament field with Belladonna, Lily, Bentley, Aston, and several other senior soldiers who wanted to witness the spectacle. Such an event was only meant for the knights and nobility, so the rank and file soldiers had to watch from the sidelines and place wagers on the winner amongst themselves.
Events such as this were great fun.
Dashiell assumed that he’d injured Clayton badly enough that the man didn’t feel up to competing. It was either that, or he was fearful to show his face, afraid that Dashiell would do more than punch him in the nose this time.
Therefore, Dashiell didn’t worry too much about him because he needed to focus on the event, which was inherently dangerous. Overzealous competitors had been known to greatly injure men. And as the mass competition began, it was clear that this event would be no exception.
It was a brawl.
So far, Dashiell, Bentley, and Aston had managed to capture six fairly wealthy knights and one earl’s son, a young man who was thoroughly enraged that he’d been manhandled by Dashiell. Once the men had been subdued, there was an entire contingent of Savernake soldiers at the edge of the field who happily took the captives from the Savernake knights and tied them up, keeping them caged until the bout was over and they could be ransomed.
It was already a rich haul.
“Dash!”
A shout came from Dashiell’s right and he turned to see Lord Sherston heading in his direction. Having a fairly massive club in his hand, he lifted it as Sherston approached, but Sherston put up his hand to ease Dashiell’s battle-ready response.
“Nay, Dash,” he said, huffing with exertion. “I came to ask if I could join your group. A man on his own is on borrowed time out here.”
Dashiell thought about it, but only momentarily. Since Clayton wasn’t anywhere to be seen, it didn’t matter if Sherston allied with them. Dashiell had wanted to make sure Clayton would have no suspicions that he and Sherston were in league with each other. But if Clayton wasn’t around, then it wasn’t an issue.
“Tuck in with us,” Dashiell motioned the man over. “We have been able to accumulate quite a score.”
Lord Sherston rushed over, taking a stand beside Dashiell. “Thank you,” he said. “I thought I was going to be eaten alive for certain.”
Dashiell was watching the field now, as they were back over in a corner so he could better assess the mass competition as a whole. The muddy field had streaks of blood in it from men who had been beaten by the roving mobs. There were at least three of them now, and they were starting to beat on each other to see which gang was the strongest.
“I intend to win this, Sherston,” Dashiell said. “You had better be prepared to fight until the death.”
Sherston grinned. “I am prepared, my lord. I have a solid club that I stole. Someone put spikes in it, in fact.”
It was then that he looked at Dashiell and Bentley and Aston’s clubs; they were all spiked, all stolen from men who had tried to brain them. He ended up laughing.
“I see we are all prepared to do our worst,” he said. “God help our opponents.”
Dashiell looked out over the field again. He did take his eyes off the distant gangs for a brief second, long enough to look in the lists to see Belladonna, Lily, and Acacia sitting there, cheering them on. At least Belladonna and Lily were; Acacia was simply sitting there as if bored.
But all Dashiell wanted to do was make sure Belladonna was safe and secure; he’d been glancing into the lists ever couple of minutes since the event started. But now, he returned his focus to the mass. The event was drawing to a close, and he intended to be the last man standing.
It was time to end it.
“I would prefer that God not help them,” he said. “I intend to be very wealthy by day’s end and I cannot do that if God is not on my side. Therefore, with His help, we must organize and end this.”
“What do you have in mind, Dash?” Bentley asked over his shoulder.
Dashiell was pointing to the group of about six knights who seemed to be defeating everyone else. “See them?” he said. “That is a group of knights from Wendlebury. They fought one battle against the king and no one has seen them since. Rumor has it that they have defected to John and, from what I have seen, they are not only capturing men to ransom, but they are crippling them. All of these men have fought against the king, so that tells me there may be some truth to that rumor.”
Bentley had his eyes on the group of six knights, currently pummeling a couple of men who were putting up a valiant fight.
“I’ve seen them,” he said. “I saw them put a Malmesbury knight down so brutally that the man had to be dragged off the field. They could not even ransom him because he was bleeding so badly.”
“I wonder why the field marshals aren’t disqualifying them,” Aston wondered. “Surely their tactics are unethical.”
Dashiell cocked an eyebrow. “Mayhap they are unethical, but they are not illegal,” he said. “You know that nothing is illegal in something like this, and you must trust your opponents to be somewhat chivalrous in their treatment of you. But these men… they have no such chivalry or morals.”
“Then what do we do?” Bentley asked.
Dashiell’s gaze was fixed on the group of ruffians. “We use the element of surprise,” he said. “We attack them while they are focused on that smaller group. They are going to come after us next and I do not intend to stand here and wait for them to move. We must attack them first.”
It seemed like a logical plan, so the four of them prepared for the coming fight. Moving along the northern edge of the field, they had to fight off a few random knights, beating down each of them in succession and leaving it to the Savernake soldiers to collect them and pull them in with the rest of the captives.
Closer still, they came. There weren’t many men on the field now, making their movements more obvious, and the people in the lists began to shout encouragement, cheering them on. Dashiell didn’t dare turn to see if Belladonna was watching him, but he was certain she was. In the few times he’d looked to her, she had been looking straight at him, so he knew instinctively that she was watching him.
Now, he was about to make her terribly proud.
But that was before a booming voice suddenly echoed on the field, startling Dashiell enough that he stopped stalking the Wendlebury knights. He recognized the voice; God help him, he did. And by the time he turned to the source, Edward was making his way onto the field, holding up his hands and giving a blessing to the men in mock-battle.
“By the power of God given me this day, I absolve you of your sins, all of you, poor wretched creatures given whim to earthy sins!”
“Christ,” Dashiell hissed. “He’s going to get himself killed.”
He was already on the run, heading for Edward, who was between the group of Wendlebury knights and the group of Savernake knights. Dressed in heavy robes, Edward was like a beacon, drawing every man who wanted to extract a massive ransom right to him.
Dashiell could see that. He could see that Edward already had the attention of nearly everyone on the field, and he ran faster than he’d ever run in his life. By the time he reached Edward, who was making the sign of the cross in the direction of the lists, a few of the Wendlebury knights had reached him also.
At that point, Dashiell did the only thing he could do. He tackled the Wendlebury knights with the force of a runaway horse, plowing into them and sending at least four of them straight into the mud. As the group descended into throwing punches, Dashiell bellowed at Aston and Bentley.
“Get him out of here!”
Aston grabbed Edward and yanked the man towards the edge of the field as Bentley and Sherston went to help Dashiell. Somewhere, he’d lost his club, but his fists were doing serious damage. Bentley and Sherston jumped in with their clubs and began beating the Wendlebury knights, beating them for all they were worth. They might have been outnumbered, but they weren’t going to go down without a fight.
But they weren’t the only ones drawn in to the battle.
Sitting in the lists, Belladonna and Lily saw when their father entered the field, and it was Lily who saw Clayton standing several yards back from the edge of the tournament field, trying to conceal himself in the spectators. But he was quickly forgotten when Dashiell and Bentley went to fight off the predatory knights as Aston struggled to remove the duke from the field. Being that the duke was a big man, and healthy, he didn’t like being roughly handled, so he began to struggle against Aston as the man tried to save his life.
That was all Belladonna and Lily needed to see. Suddenly, they were bolting up from their seats, rushing from the lists and running towards the edge of the field where Aston was literally fighting with Edward now, who was confused and agitated. As Lily rushed to help Aston with her father, Belladonna ran to the edge of the field to see about Dashiell and Bentley.
She simply couldn’t leave them on their own.
Aye, it was foolish of her to want to help Dashiell, but the man had compromised himself trying to save her father. Belladonna didn’t know where her father had come from, or why he’d suddenly appeared, but the fact remained that he had, and Dashiell had done what he was required to do –
Save him.
There were groups of spectators at the edge of the field, men who were simply observing or men who had been in the fighting but had somehow managed to emerge without being captured. There were men with clubs in their hands and those without, but Belladonna was fixed on those with the clubs. In fact, as she ran past one of the men, she yanked the club right out of his hand. She kept running, pushing past observers who tried to grab her to prevent her from running onto the field.
But it didn’t work.
With a cry of pure anger, of pure anguish at her beloved Dashiell being beaten by horrid knights, Belladonna made it onto the field and began swinging the club at the heads of the men grappling with Dashiell.
The first man was smashed right in the face, destroying his nose and teeth. As blood spurted and he fell off Dashiell, Belladonna brought the club around again at the man on Dashiell’s back and hit him on the back of the neck. It wasn’t enough to really hurt him, but it did get his attention. By the time he turned around to fight back, her club was already sailing in a downward motion, catching him in the face. As he fell away, Dashiell was free and he leapt to his feet.
Seeing Belladonna on the tournament field was inarguably the most frightening thing he’d ever seen in his life. Four of the six Wendlebury knights were down and injured, leaving the remaining two for Bentley and Sherston. Dashiell didn’t even give thought to continuing the fight; he rushed at Belladonna, threw her over his shoulder, and ran from the field as fast as his shaking legs would carry him.
Bentley and Sherston were declared the winners a short time later. It was an exciting end to a most exciting mass competition.