Once, when she looked to her right, Evfemia and Irma were looking at her. They waved. Irma punched Contzel, who looked startled, and then she turned toward Gisela and smiled and waved too.
A chill went down Gisela’s spine, but she gave them a stiff wave in return. Why were they pretending they were happy to see her? She was sure it did not bode well. But perhaps they wanted to be nice to her, hoping she would do something for them. Perhaps they would treat her kindly now that she had been singled out by Valten. Maybe they were even sorry for the way they’d treated her in the past.
Such thinking was pure folly.
After watching three more bouts of fighting, Gisela could hardly sit still. In the third one, they took off the defeated knight’s helmet as he lay on the ground. He was unconscious and bleeding from the nose, and he had to be carried off the field on a litter.
Two more knights took the field. Cristyne came into view through the crowd and began climbing the steps toward Gisela.
When Cristyne reached her, she said, “I saw a boy who knows Valten’s squire.” Cristyne paused to catch her breath. “He says the healer told Valten his left hand was broken and he shouldn’t fight any more today.”
Poor Valten. He must be disappointed not to be able to finish the day. She hoped he wasn’t in too much pain.
Cristyne swallowed, still trying to catch her breath. They clasped each other’s hands, and Gisela was thankful for the comfort of her friend’s small fingers.
“But Valten says he will keep fighting.”
“Oh no.” Gisela noticed people leaning toward them, trying to hear. So she leaned closer to Cristyne and lowered her voice. “How many more? What will he do about his hand?”
“He is to fight two more challengers,” Cristyne whispered. “The healer will bind up his hand. He says he only needs that hand to hold the reins.”
Gisela looked into Cristyne’s eyes and pretended her stomach wasn’t churning dangerously at the thought of how painful it would be to hold the reins with a broken hand.
“Don’t worry.” Cristyne squeezed her hand. “He will be all right. He wouldn’t fight if he didn’t think he could win.”
“I’m sure he’ll be all right.” Her voice sounded raspy as she tried to reassure herself. “Thank you, Cristyne. You are a true friend.”
Cristyne smiled in that understanding way of hers, the tiny freckles wrinkling around her nose. “All will be well.” She leaned forward and whispered in Gisela’s ear. “And tomorrow night at the ball, you can see for yourself how well he is.”
Gisela would love to dance with Valten again, but at the moment she only wanted him to be taken care of. If only he could survive these next two encounters without another serious injury.
Chapter
12
When Valten came out to fight again, the crowd cheered for him as if he’d already won the tournament and been declared the day’s victor. And when his challenger came out, Gisela watched anxiously. Valten’s hand looked twice its normal size, at least partially due to the bandage covering it. He was once again mounted on Sieger.
The marshal’s flag fell and the fight began. Valten and his opponent crossed swords several times. Then Valten forced the sword out of his opponent’s hand. Rather than dismounting to continue fighting, the other knight seemed to realize that he was severely outmatched, and also perhaps realized that by fighting an injured man he would not win the crowd over, and surrendered to Valten.
Only one more battle.
His last opponent came out — and Gisela almost groaned out loud. She’d hoped it would be someone inexperienced, an easy opponent, but Sir John, the Englishman whom everyone called the black and gold knight, would not be easily defeated.
Still, Valten had surely fought with injuries before, had fought long and hard and been victorious. He could do it again.
Valten and Sir John waited for the flag to drop. When it did, they moved their horses forward and met in the middle of the lists, both thrusting at the same time, clanging their blades together, maneuvering so that their horses were side by side and there was nothing between them except their own swords. The battle was fierce, and Valten was forced to sit slightly angled in his saddle.
God, don’t let him lose his balance. He could injure his broken hand even worse if he fell. Sir John held on to the pommel with his left hand to help himself stay in the saddle, but Valten did not do the same.
They continued to cross swords, parrying each strike. How much longer could they both go on? Sometimes one seemed to be getting the better of the other, then it was the opposite. They were quite evenly matched. Perhaps the black and gold knight’s horse would make a wrong step and throw him off balance, or he would grow tired and make a mistake.