Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [146]
Felix turned his head and gave a short bark and laughter. “And you think you can joust better than I can?”
“I haven’t got a horse. Or a lance.” Claes’ voice was rather sad.
Felix turned fully round. He said, “Well now, that’s no difficulty. I’ll lend you one. You make yourself up a nice set of armour. We’ll make it a loan. And I’ll get the others to rig up a barrier outside the walls, say tomorrow, and we’ll see what you can do. With a proper wager, of course. If you have the spunk.”
“Felix! Claes!” said Marian de Charetty.
Her son, still carrying the lamp, brushed past her, crossed the yard and banged the door into the house, leaving yard and cellar in darkness. Behind her, she could hear Claes laughing under his breath. There was a scrape, and then new candle-light appeared behind her, sheltered from the wind by his hand. He had taken the helmet off, and looked a trifle more serious.
He said, “He wanted jousting armour. He must have it already. I wondered about the Brotherhood of the White Bear. Their big tournament after Easter.”
She stared at him. “He wouldn’t try for that!”
“He might. He’d be eligible, with the right backing. Anselm Adorne took the lance when he was very little older.”
“But he was trained. All the Adorne family were taught by tournament masters.”
“Maybe Felix is being taught by a tournament master. I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s very confident. But it might be as well to find out how good he is.”
He had begun walking, but she stayed where she was. “How good are you?” she said.
“Not very,” said Claes. “I’m hoping that we’ll be evenly matched. Whatever happens, he’ll have to win. So there’s no need to worry. Nothing can possibly happen to Felix. And it’ll be the first time on record that I’ve had a beating dressed in a full suit of armour. I could have done with it a few times in the Steen, I can tell you.”
It took two days in fact to set up the unfortunate confrontation between Felix and his mother’s servant. Most of the arrangements were made by Felix. Recruiting his friends, he began, grinding his teeth, to prepare on a scale close to that for total war. Then as time and the same friends did their work on him, he began, as usual, to forget his anger and enjoy himself. He resolved to show his paces, display his armour and score a decisive victory without undue punishment to his good if somewhat loudmouthed friend Claes. Thus, of course, winning the wager; which had reduced itself, at his mother’s insistence, to a pair of mailed gloves.
It came to him, nearer the time, that he was not supposed to have any armour outside the usual household store. He helped himself from that, but could not resist retrieving from its hiding place his own splendid helm, with the eagle’s head and the plume of red feathers. He told Guildolf de Gruuthuse to say he had lent it to him. He began to look forward to the contest. A number of his friends, stirred by the preparations, got hold of their fathers’ horses and asked to join in as well. A couple of serious town officers came round and warned him that encounters of this kind were forbidden unless properly ordered, even if only in play. He lost his temper at the word “play”, and John Bonkle had to pacify them and slip them some money.
The day dawned, cold and wet. The whole house, it seemed, emptied.
No: what nonsense. The dyesheds were full as they should be, and the fuller’s shop, and the house vibrated with the steps of its servants. But Felix left, and Claes, and the rabble of young men accompanying them, and a group of indolent horses, and a wheelbarrow full of armour, and a lot of pennants with the new paint running down them.
Long before now, Marian de Charetty had ceased to feel any apprehension over this nonsense. There was no venom in the affair now. They were all old enough to be able to manage matters, and she trusted Claes to keep both her son and himself from any real damage. Standing now at her glass