The Captive Maiden

Each knight was introduced, his parentage and ancestry were declared, and the crowd applauded and called out approval for the local knights. But for the foreign knights, only a smattering of clapping could be heard, and even a few cries of derision arose for some.

 

Valten wore only his stripes of green, gold, and black. He wore no scarves or any other adornment on either his helmet or his arm. Gisela looked down at the scarf Ava had made her wear around her neck and imagined it tied to Valten’s arm as he competed in the joust today. But it was a silly thought.

 

When it was Valten’s turn to be announced, he nudged Sieger, and his horse made a graceful bow, bending one knee and lowering his head as Valten in turn bowed his head and dipped his lance toward the crowd. A roaring cheer arose.

 

When Friedric Ruexner was introduced, a few hisses spread through the crowd, as his reputation as Valten’s chief nemesis had preceded him. The visor of his helmet was open, and he seemed to be staring at her as he raised his fist defiantly.

 

After they’d all been introduced, many of the knights walked their horses over and banged on another knight’s shield. Gisela watched as Friedric Ruexner made his way to Valten’s shield and banged it forcefully with the end of his lance. At least he had struck Valten’s shield of peace and not the shield of war. A few more tapped their lances on Valten’s shield of peace. As far as Gisela and Cristyne could tell, and according to the spectators around them, none of the knights had touched a shield of war, all choosing to fight with wooden-tipped lances rather than the sharp metal tips of war. They were probably saving those for the second day of the tournament.

 

After the challenges were made, the knights dispersed to their pavilions to await their turn at tilting with their opponents.

 

Ulrich von Rechberg, a local knight and Cristyne’s childhood acquaintance, readied himself to meet his challenger, Count Adolf Burgkmair of Thuringia. Cristyne exchanged a look of excitement with Gisela and said, “For his mother’s sake, I hope Ulrich doesn’t break his head.”

 

The two waited for the signal from the marshal at the middle of the south end. At last, the man held aloft a white flag. As he let the flag fall, the two knights spurred their horses forward, lances aimed at the shield of their opponent. They struck their marks, and both lances splintered, with pieces of the wooden spears flying in every direction. But the knights kept their saddles.

 

They returned to their places at the east and west ends of the list, where their squires brought them each a new lance. When the marshal’s flag dipped, they charged each other once again at terrible speed. This time both lances held firm, and once again both men kept their seats. For their third and final tilt, they once again came toward each other at full speed. Count Burgkmair’s lance glanced off Ulrich’s shield, while Ulrich aimed for the count’s helmet instead of his shield. The count ended up on the ground, unhelmed, with a bloody gash on his forehead.

 

Several ladies gasped, while Ulrich, the victor, pumped his hand in the air. The crowd cheered for the Hagenheim youth. Cristyne shouted over the noisy crowd, “He trains with Lord Hamlin.”

 

The count was helped up by his squire and attendants and was able to walk off the field. The crowd clapped for him. As the loser of the encounter, he would have to forfeit his horse and armor to the conqueror. However, it was customary for the victor to allow the loser to ransom either or both for an agreed-upon sum. That must have been how Valten had been able to hold onto Sieger while competing in so many jousts.

 

Cristyne leaned closer to Gisela. “Do you think anyone will get killed today?”

 

“I hope not. My friend Ava says men crave danger, or at least adventure. They like to think they are strong and powerful.” Gisela supposed Ava must know what she was talking about, since she had seven brothers.

 

“My mother says the same.” Cristyne nodded. “I have three brothers. Sometimes I think they care naught for life or limb.”

 

Valten entered the lists mounted on Sieger, and Gisela’s heart jumped into her throat. He sat so straight in the saddle, the picture of manly grace and strength. His armor was bright silver with intricate carvings and decoration, and his helmet was a pleasing shape, high and rounded at the top.

 

Ruexner’s helmet was like an enormous beak, the way the visor jutted forward. On the top was a spike, to which was attached a profusion of gray and white feathers. His armor was black. A skull marked his shield and his surcoat.

 

Valten and Ruexner took their places, and Gisela placed her hand over her heart in a vain effort to keep it from beating so hard. Sieger stood perfectly still as Valten lifted his lance parallel to the ground. Ruexner’s beast stamped his hooves impatiently, and the marshal seemed to be waiting for the challenger to get his horse under control. When the destrier stilled, the marshal dropped the flag.

 

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