For My Lady's Heart by Laura Kinsale Page B

edge through the metal, was
    enough to make him shout pax. He was bleeding at the temple when his squire
    pulled off his helmet.
    They did not proceed to the sword combat.
    While the musicians played harmonious melodies and Mclanthe sat calmly
    beside Lancaster, her champion smashed the pretensions of three more
    challengers. Two lances were shattered on him, but no contender fought as
    far as the swords, and one left the first course of axes with a broken hand.
    Outside the lists, where common men-at-arms mingled with the squires and
    pages, there was a small but growing band of onlookers who met the Green
    Sire’s victories with a ragged volley of cheers. Melanthe made no sign
    herself, but a feeling of pleasant awe began to steal over her, watching him
    fight.
Berserker,
indeed. It only remained to see that Lancaster be
    fired to face her champion again.
    Melanthe already suspected the duke’s intention. To allow a goodly number
    of challengers, wearing his rival down and painting him invincible at the
    same time... then perhaps a private visitation by some secret “friend,”
    warning him of his prince’s displeasure and designed to shake his nerve...
    and somehow Lancaster, fresh from hours of relaxation in the stands, would
    find a reason to meet the Green Sire at the end of the day.
    She could appreciate Lancaster’s design. It required a fine judgment—Melanthe
    smiled inwardly as he lifted a finger to communicate with the marshal of the
    lists, who instantly caused the heralding of a new set of combatants,
    allowing the Green Sire his first rest. It would not do to have him appear
    too easy—and just as vital to properly exhaust him before the
coup de
    grace.
    Melanthe prepared to ensure that the duke misjudged his moment.
    She toyed with the jeweled jesses, turning a disinterested look on the
    new jousters. “Tell me of my champion,” she said. “He is nameless in truth?”
    “Nameless, yea, my lady. A nobody. He gives homage and claims our
    service, but brings no men of his own beyond that malformed squire.”
    “No lands, then? But such rich gear, and a great war-horse. He has won
    many prizes in tournament, I expect?”
    The duke laughed. “Few enough, for I’ve better use for him in real
    fighting, but it is true that when he enters the lists, he prevails. I have
    sometimes sent him on a dragon hunt, for sport, but he brings me no prize
    yet.”
    “And still he has not proved himself worthy of his name?”
    Lancaster turned his palm up casually. “The fortunes of war and dragons,
    my lady. All must await their great chance at honor, if it ever comes.” He
    shrugged. “Haps he has no name. God only must know where he thieved his
    gear. It’s my thought that he’s naught but a freeman.”
    “A freeman!” Melanthe turned in amazement.
    “Else why hide his lineage? That falcon device is recorded on no roll of
    rightful arms, so say the heralds. But the Green Sire has a talent to lead
    common soldiers. What men he commands, they come to love him, and the French
    dread his name. No great chivalry in that, but it is a useful art.” He
    leaned back in his chair and smiled. “So we tolerate his odds and his
    unlawful device and green horse, Princess—and if he likes to call you his
    liege lady for a fantasy, then we will enjoy the game.”
    Melanthe swung the jesses lightly between her fingers, drawing them over
    the back of his hand. “A poor game to the present, my lord! Know you of no
    man strong enough to win my favor from this odd knight?”
    Lancaster caught up the jesses and kissed them. The bells rang brightly.
    “I shall find one, Princess,” he murmured. “Fear not for that.”
    Furious shouts drowned the music as a fistfight broke out between a foot
    soldier and a youth from the retinue of a defeated challenger. Lancaster
    watched until some of the guards had separated them, and then turned again
    to Melanthe. “Will you take wine, my lady? The dust rises.”
    At his words, Cara