Heart of the Crown

2. News from Court

Two

News from Court

Spring 960 MC

The brisk wind blowing in from the east cooled the day as Alric joined his uncle Edwin in the Royal Box. Below, the sight of the men armouring up was quite riveting.

"I hope I haven't missed anything, Uncle," said Alric, peering down at the contestants.

"No, Alric. They're still preparing. It looks to be a good turnout today."

"Who do we favour?" asked the young prince.

"Keep an eye on young Jack, Alric. I think he might surprise you."

"Why is that, Uncle?"

"Take a look," he said, pointing. "See that older man down there, the one with the neatly trimmed grey beard? Do you know who that is?"

Alric stood to get a better view. "Can't say that I do. Is he someone important?"

Edwin smiled, "That's Ned Hathaway. He was the champion of Weldwyn years ago. He's come out of retirement to help Jack Marlowe."

"Marlowe, I know that name," pondered Alric.

"So you should, he's the son of the Viscount of Aynsbury.

"Aynsbury, that's where Father purchased my horse."

"Yes, the Viscount is quite proud of his stables. His breeding stock is said to be the best in the kingdom."

"I'm surprised," said Alric, "that the viscount allows his son to joust. Isn't it dangerous?"

Edwin chuckled, "Young Jack has always been headstrong. He'll do whatever he wants, and his father will simply have to put up with it; he's the only son, you see. Besides, I think secretly, the viscount is proud of his boy."

"They're mounting," interrupted Alric, the excitement raising his voice.

Lord Jack Marlowe hoisted himself into the saddle with ease, then held out his hand, waiting, while a servant rushed up with his helm. The young cavalier looked around the assembled crowd, spotting a group of women sitting near the lists. Jack was a good looking man, and he knew it. The cocky warrior smiled at the ladies as he placed his helm upon his head, the crowd cheering him on. Seizing his lance, he expertly guided his horse to one end of the lists.

His opponent, an imposing man, clad in a red surcoat, waited restlessly at the other end, his horse pawing at the ground. The two combatants nodded at each other, and then the man in red lowered his visor and set his lance. With a yell from the official, the horses began their trot toward the inevitable clash of steel. They quickly picked up speed, the trotting soon replaced by the thunder of galloping, and the crowd's yells grew in intensity as they approached each other.

There was a collective holding of breath at the moment of impact. The younger cavalier had placed his lance to perfection, catching his rival squarely on the chest. His opponent flew backwards, hurtling from his saddle, crashing into the ground below. Jack galloped on, only slowing his horse's pace as he arrived at the opposite end. He manoeuvred his mount into the turn, then looked back at his foe, removing his helmet to gain a better view. The red cavalier lay still, a group of men rushing towards him. Alric, noticing the local Life Mage running to assist, wondered how it felt, being struck from a horse. A moment later the mage began incanting and, much to everyone's relief, the man in red waved his arm to indicate he was fine.

"Outstanding," exclaimed Edwin. "Did you see how Jack twisted in the saddle, just before impact?"

Alric had been too excited to notice, but feigned acknowledgement, "Yes. Is that rare?"

"Rare?" uttered his uncle. "I'll say it's rare. I've never seen its like. If his timing had been off, he'd have been skewered."

"How did that help?" asked Alric, eager to learn.

"Well, you see, Alric, by twisting as he did, he angled his shield to deflect his opponent's blow."

"Couldn't he have just moved his shield?"

"Shifting his body put more weight into the deflection. It was a masterstroke! The man must be a lunatic to try that. Let's go down and meet him, shall we?"

"Now? What about the next joust?"

"Oh, we have plenty of time. When they call the healer in, there's always a break. They'll want to make sure he's all right before they continue."

"Very well, Uncle, lead on."

The two of them made their way out from the box, which was slightly raised at the centre of the tournament field. Edwin led them onto the grass, and as they strolled toward Lord Jack, Alric spotted the man waving to the young women. He had ridden over to the seats and was leaning from his saddle as a lady gave him her kerchief.

"I see he has supporters," remarked Edwin.

"Supporters?"

"Yes, people who admire him. It's half the reason they joust, I think."

As they drew closer, Edwin called out, "Lord Jack?"

The young cavalier turned from the ladies to see his approaching visitors. A smile of recognition erupted on his face, and he bowed in respect.

"Your Highness, Lord Edwin."

"An impressive display," remarked Edwin. "I take it you've been keeping that in reserve?"

"Indeed," Jack replied. "I have a few tricks I'm saving."

"A risky tactic, I should say," Edwin stated.

"The rewards make the risk worthwhile," Jack replied, casting his eyes at the beauties nearby. "Tell me, Your Highness, what did you think?" he asked, now looking towards Alric.

"I think you're mad, Jack. You could have been killed."

The cavalier smiled at the comment, "Mad Jack, I like it. Suits me, don't you think?" Once again he glanced at the young ladies, who smiled in delight.

"Well," continued Edwin, "I shouldn't like to keep you from your duties, Jack."

"That's awfully kind of you, Lord Edwin," Jack replied. "I would hate to disappoint my supporters."

"Come along, Alric," Edwin prompted, "the other competitors are lining up. We need to get back to our seats."

They began making their way back to the Royal Box. "What do you make of it, Alric," his uncle asked.

"I've always wanted to joust," he replied. "I'd be a cavalier myself, if I could."

Edwin laughed, "Your father would never allow it. You're a royal, how would it look to have you speared in a tournament?"

"I know, I know, but I can dream, can't I?"

Edwin tussled his hair, "That's the spirit, Alric, never say die."

"Never say what?"

"Die, Alric. Never say die. It's an old expression, your father used to say it a lot when we were young. It means never give up, keep the hope alive."

"Of course, I knew that."

They sat back down in their box, waiting for the next round to begin.

"You seem distracted lately, Alric. Is something bothering you?"

Alric kept staring at the cavaliers gathering below as he answered, "Just the usual. I don't know my place. I'm not the heir, and I'm not the spare. I'm just... well, I don't know what I am."

"You're still young Alric, give it some time. You'll figure it out."

"I suppose so, Uncle."

"Tell you what," Edwin continued, "after the tourney, I'll take you down to the stables. We can talk to the competitors, maybe invite them back to the Palace for a drink."

"We can do that?"

"Of course we can, you're a prince, aren't you? Might as well have some fun with it."

Alric smiled, it was true. He might not have any real responsibilities, but he damn well had coins, so he might as well take advantage of it.

It turned out that cavaliers can't resist free ale, and so a number of them had taken the young prince up on his invitation. Alric was enthralled by their stories, though he suspected many of them were made up; there were far too many battles mentioned, at least to his mind. If all the stories were true, the kingdom would still be at war, even now! Once the alcohol was flowing freely, the conversation turned to another type of conquest; that of women and Alric felt out of his depth. It was his uncle who finally came to his rescue.

Alric sat on a chair, nursing a tankard of ale as the cavaliers regaled each other with tales of their accomplishments, ignoring the young prince. Each boast was louder and more ribald, in a quest to outdo their peers. Edwin rose from his chair, coming to stand over Alric, his shadow blocking what was left of the late afternoon sun which peered through the window.

"Heard enough?" he asked.

Alric looked up, his uncle appearing to his mind like some overpowering ancient hero. "I think so, Uncle," he replied, his voice slurring slightly.

"I think you've had enough of this," Edwin said, removing the tankard from the young prince's hand. "We should get you out of here."

"What about the cavaliers?" asked Alric.

"Let them be, they've earned it. I'll have them chased out later." Alric made to stand and found his legs were having difficulty working. "Easy there, now," urged Edwin, "take your time. There's no hurry."

His uncle, taking his arm to steady him, led Alric from the room, the noise of the champions of Weldwyn dying in the background as they made their way through the Palace.

"I think," said Alric, stopping suddenly, "that I might have to be sick."

Edwin's eyes opened wide, "Let's get you seated, and I'll arrange a bowl of some sort. We can't have you vomiting all over the Palace now, can we? What would your mother say?"

He sat down rather heavily onto a bench seat that was in the hallway.

"I'll be fine," he said, "I just need some water."

His uncle disappeared down the hallway, a concerned look on his face. Alric sat back, resting his head against the wall, willing the ale to remain undisturbed in his stomach. He heard a door open, and then the familiar voice of his oldest brother, Alstan.

"He left early this morning, Father. I doubt he'll show his face around here anymore. There's nothing left for him in Weldwyn."

His father's voice, deeper but similar to his son's, boomed out, "About time. I can't stand people who work against their sovereign; it's the worse crime imaginable, in my opinion. You must remember that Alstan, for one day you'll be king."

"Yes, Father," the elder brother replied. "Do you think he'll cause any further problems?"

"I've made it quite plain in the capital that no one is to support his plan to rebel against the King of Merceria. We can't afford a war right now."

"Should we be taking precautions?" Alstan asked.

"I've sent word to the cities on the border. They'll keep an eye out for him. Hopefully, he'll skulk back under whatever rock he crawled out from and never be heard from again."

"So," muttered Alric, "the usurper has left. I suppose it'll be back to boring again. Pity, I was looking forward to a little excitement, not much happens around here these days."

He thought back to the joust and saw himself mounted on a large black horse. He was Alric the jouster, champion of all the cavaliers! A hand shook him awake, and he opened his eyes to see the face of his father looming over him.

"Alric? Are you all right?"

"Yes, Father," he stammered out, surprised at the interruption.

"Then get yourself to bed, boy. The last thing we need is a drunken prince passed out in the hallway."

Alric slowly rose to his feet and stood, wobbling, as he straightened his tunic. "Yes, Father," he said and staggered down the hall.

"And there," remarked Alstan, "goes the future of Weldwyn."