him.”
“Ah.” William glanced at his jeering audience and continued to stroke the destrier’s quivering neck and shoulder. After a time, he set his hand to the saddle bow, placed his foot to the stirrup, and swung astride. Immediately the stallion lashed out and sidled crabwise. “Whoa, softly now, softly,” William crooned and gingerly set his hands to the reins, exerting no pressure. Its ears flickered, and it continued to prink and dance. William applied firm pressure with his heels and the destrier sprang across the ward towards the watching knights. When William drew on the rein to pull him round the stallion fought the bit, plunging, sawing his head, and swishing his tail. The audience scattered amid a welter of curses. William had no time to laugh at them for he was too busy trying to stay astride a dervish. Dropping the reins he grabbed the mane instead, gripped with his thighs, and clung like a limpet. As soon as the pressure on its mouth relaxed, the horse quietened and after a moment, William was able to leap down from its back.
“Let’s see you win a tourney prize with that!” sneered Yqueboeuf from the corner into which he had leaped. Stone dust and cobwebs streaked the shoulder of his tunic.
William’s open smile was belied by the narrowness of his eyes and his swift breathing. “How much would you wager?”
“You’re a pauper, Marshal,” Yqueboeuf scoffed, dusting himself down. “What have you got that I could possibly want?”
“My sword,” William replied. “I will wager my sword. What will you put up?”
Yqueboeuf laughed nastily. “If a sword is what you want to lose, then I’ll put my own up against it—even though it’s worth more.”
William raised his brow but managed not to comment that half a sword’s value lay in the fist that wielded it. “Agreed,” he said curtly, and turning back to the horse set about removing the bridle and examining the bit.
***
The morning of the tourney dawned fine and bright and the Chamberlain’s company was up early.
“Where’s Marshal?” de Tancarville demanded, for the young knight’s tent was empty and his bed roll neatly folded up. The Chamberlain had half expected to find William still sleeping, as was his wont.
“Probably breaking his fast at one of the bakers’ booths,” said Gadefer de Lorys with a knowing roll of his eyes.
“No, my lord,” said a squire. “He’s been working half the night on a new bridle for his horse, and he’s gone to try it out.”
De Tancarville quirked a brow at the information. “Which horse did he take yesterday?” he asked de Lorys.
“The Spanish grey,” said the knight in a neutral tone. “He was late to the choosing and it was the only one left. It has a ruined mouth.”
De Tancarville frowned and hitched his belt in an irritated gesture. “That’s unfortunate,” he said. “I wanted to give the boy a chance.” Glancing down the rows of striped tents and pavilions, he saw William striding cheerfully towards them and shook his head. Predictably the young knight’s right hand was occupied by a large hunk of bread and his jaw was in motion. He was wearing his padded undertunic so was at least part dressed for the joust and his expression was one of almost childlike delight. Stopping short when he saw de Tancarville and de Lorys outside his pavilion, he hastily swallowed the mouthful he had been chewing and his gaze grew anxious.
“My lord, is there some trouble? Did you want me?”
“Only to wonder where you were, but I’ve been told you were tending your horse. I understand you had some difficulty with it yesterday?”
“Nothing that can’t be solved,” William replied enthusiastically. “I have let out the bridle by three finger-widths so that the bit’s lower in his mouth and not resting on the part that hurts him.”
“You’ll not have the control,” de Lorys warned, folding his arms.
“At least I’ll have a rideable mount. I’ve been out practising, and