Chapter IX - The Tournament
The announcement came at last. Her Royal Majesty Queen Christiana of Lifbau would marry her cousin Sigmond, Duke of Kirsau. All of the events which had been tentatively planned were now set and ready; a ball, dinners, horse races, and even a tournament. I had thought myself busy until now, but with the announcement the work piled on. It was not too hard to handle, but I began to suspect that Bloch was purposefully putting extra work on me. He had begun to act rather funny lately, watching me at odd moments when he thought I was not looking. It got to be irritating at times, but it always ended precisely at seven, when Bloch went home. He always left then, no matter how much work there was yet to do. He just left it to Philip. Actually that was probably wise of him, as the work went better when he was gone.
The stable was completely full, and I am told there were many guests who had to stable their beasts elsewhere. I know the marquis removed two of his three mounts to his own stables in the country. I like being around lots of horses, and the work was not that bad. There were more stalls to clean, of course, but most of the work was pleasant and lighter. We did a lot of grooming and saddling and bridling, and in the evenings we usually cleaned and maintained the tack, if there had been no time to do it during the day.
That was what we were doing the night after the official announcement. We sat around and gabbed in the tack room under Philip’s apartment. Hans came back after dinner to help out and he and Philip sat in the corner by the little potbellied stove with an enormous harness in their laps. I was oiling the marquis’ bridle and saddle. I was to be his personal groom for the tournament the next day, and I wanted his tack to be perfect. The other live-in stableboys were there, Charles, the blond boy with the freckles, and two other boys, Frederick and Roderick, who were brothers. They were actually footmen, and I do not think they liked having to do common grubby work like the rest of us, but if Philip did it they could hardly refuse, so they satisfied themselves with polishing stirrups, buckles and bits.
I did not have much to add to the conversation, since it covered mainly things I knew nothing about, but I liked to listen. Grooms, I discovered, are the worst gossips in the world. I was most interested, though, when they got onto the royal wedding.
“Do you think it’ll really happen?” Roderick commented more than asked.
“Nah,” said Charles. “Why would anyone want to marry her?”
“Because she’s queen, dunderhead,” said Frederick.
“The question is,” said Philip, dipping his rag in the can of hot oil on the stove, “why would anyone want to marry him?” There was a general round of sniggering, except for Frederick, who looked quite serious.
“She knows what’s good for her,” he said. Philip just shrugged and rubbed the oil into his harness.
“Is it really good for her?” I said. “Just to make peace with Hugo? I don’t think so.”
Seeing as I had directed my question at Philip, he knitted his eyebrows and considered. Then he gave me a half grin.
“Well I know one other person who doesn’t like it for certain,” he replied. Charlie snickered.
“Who?”
“Your friend and ours, the Marquis of Furlenhaur.”
“Oh, that I know. He thinks Hugo is up to something,” I said. “So do I, for that matter.”
“He doesn’t get it,” said Charlie.
“Hugo isn’t what’s bothering him, Albert,” said Philip.
“He isn’t?”
“No, he’s jealous!” said Charlie.
“You mean of Sigmond? No!”
“Sure!”
“They do try to hide it,” said Philip. “But whenever the queen and her devoted servant are together.... Well, I drive her Landau, so take my word for it.”
“She ought to marry him then,” I said. Everybody chuckled. “Well, why hide it?”
“Politics,” said Frederick as if I was an idiot.
“Neither one of ‘em likes the idea,” said Hans. “Sigmond less than her.”
“You’re crazy,” said Frederick. “Sigmond’s the one who wanted the marriage in the first place.”
“Don’t let them fool you,” said Hans, slapping authoritatively at a sluggish fly. “It’s Hugo that wants it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“We were there when it started, weren’t we?” said Hans. “Philip and me. Remember last year when Hugo had that summer party? You should have heard the fight, Albert. Hugo and Sigmond were yelling half the night. You couldn’t hear what they said, but....”
“You see, you don’t even know what they were fighting about!”
“I know!” said Hans. “Ask Philip. His girl told us.”
“What girl?” said Philip.
“That foreigner!”
“Oh, her. English,” Philip said, nodding and smiling.
“She was a lady’s maid, in the next room,” Hans went on. “She heard it all.”
“She was a funny one. Didn’t hardly speak German, but talked a blue streak.”
“Ha! See?” said Frederick. “She couldn’t understand the language.”
“She understood enough,” said Hans, getting frustrated.
“She understood they were talking about marriage all right,” added Philip. “That’s one thing she understood in any language, I can tell you.”
“She said that Hugo wanted Sigmond to marry the queen,” Hans cut in, “and Sigmond kept calling her a—what was it?”
“An insipid mouse.”
“That’s right, ‘an insipid mouse of a woman,’ and he said he’d never marry her. Then Tybalt got there and the argument went right through the roof. They finally had to send for a doctor for Hugo.”
“I wonder what Tybalt said,” I said.
“Whatever was most likely to make trouble,” said Philip. “Probably took Sigmond’s side.”
“You know,” said Frederick. “Maybe that maid got it mixed up. We all think that Hugo is for it because he’s supporting it now, but maybe he lost the argument. That’s why they had to send for a doctor.”
“That could be,” said Philip. “But would Sigmond struggle so hard to marry a woman he considered an insipid mouse?”
“Maybe she got that part wrong too.”
“No, she was clear on that.”
“Unless Hugo wanted him to marry some other mouse,” I said. “But Sigmond had bigger ideas.”
“That’s possible,” said Philip, looking at Hans.
“All right,” said Hans. “So maybe Sigmond does want to marry her. I still don’t think he acts like it.”
“Keeps his passion private,” said Roderick.
“Well,” said Frederick. “After all, she really is a mouse. She just happens to be Queen Mouse.”
The conversation went off again to things I knew nothing about, and I did not take part. I sat back and rubbed some more oil into the marquis’ reins. So the marquis was in love with the queen, and Sigmond certainly was not. I liked the idea, not that it surprised me any. Not about Sigmond anyway. Not that it made me blame him either. It would not be fun to have Hugo pushing you around all your life, like a political pawn. That was, unless Frederick was right and it was Sigmond who wanted the marriage for his own political gains. Then what ever Hugo was up to could be an attempt to stop the marriage.
Then a more sinister thought occurred to me. What if Hugo did not particularly care about the marriage or Sigmond, but realized he could use them to discredit the queen. It did not matter if an unmarried queen loved her marquis, but it she were married to a duke, well that was another matter entirely. I was sure that the marquis had thought of that already. I hoped he had, because I really did not want to bring the matter up to him anyway. It would be too embarrassing.
I wondered about the English maid. How much had she heard and understood? Where was she now? I remembered that Mrs. MacGuffin was Scottish, which to us in Lifbau is the same as English.
Then I realized that the woman I met was certainly not a maid, and she spoke German very well. Unless she was a spy for the queen and was pretending to be a maid...but that was silly. If she was a spy the marquis would have told me so, or not told me anything. He would not have made up an elaborate story about the mysterious note, and not knowing who she was. I was just beginning to confuse myself because I did not know enough yet. I turned back to my bridle and hoped to hear more.
The next day I popped out of bed extra early, but already the rest of the palace was waking up. Everyone wanted to get their work done early to watch the parade and competition. The yard was already full of soldiers in their polished black boots and their gleaming helmets and dark green and silver uniforms. They were the queen’s guard, and all of their horses were Lifbauan Bays from the Royal Stud. There were other troops outside the palace, getting ready in the park. They were dressed in the grey and gold of Hugo’s men, or in the various bright colors of lesser nobles. Lifbau was such a small country and we did not really have much of an organized military. What we had was still rather feudal, with each troop loyal to his patron. It made for beautiful parades, but somewhat chaotic politics. I began to see in this patchwork of soldiery how important popularity was to the queen. If the lesser nobles withdrew their loyalty, Hugo’s army would nearly match the queen’s, and if they all threw their support behind Hugo, there would be no doubt. Hugo would be king. In a way, the queen was lucky the lesser nobles were so disorganized; Hugo could never get them all to agree. I hoped.
“Albert! Work!” Bloch’s sharp reminder brought me back into the stable, but I did not much mind. I would not have that much work to do that day. As the marquis’ personal groom, I would get to see the whole competition, and all I really had to do was get his horse ready and hold him when he was not being ridden. The rest of the job was just to watch and have a good time.
Bayberry, the marquis’ horse, shone like one of the soldiers’ boots when I got through with him. It took those soldiers three months of daily spit-polishing to get them that shiny, and I felt as if I had put in just as much work in that morning. I dashed out to see to the saddle next, when Tybalt appeared in front of me, blocking my path.
“Alvin!” he said. “I need a boy to look after Regis for the tournament.”
“Albert,” I said, and started to push past him, but he caught my arm.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Why not? You get along best with him. I want you. You’re the best stableboy.”
“Thank you, no,” I said, my nose in the air. Unfortunately I had to look up at him anyway, so it spoiled the effect. “I’m already groom to Johan.”
“Johan, is it?” he said. “Oh ho! Getting rather familiar, aren’t we.”
“He said I could call him Johan.”
“In private, I’ll wager.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be proper to call him Johan in front of the queen.”
“Not proper. Ha! You can call me Tybalt in front of the queen if you like. You can call me Tyb. Tybbie. Anything you like. Just as long as it is not proper.” He pushed me aside and looked around. “Since I can’t have you, where’s your pal?”
“Hans?”
“That’s the name. Hans!” he shouted. “Come here, Hans, my boy. I need you!”
As he wandered away I had to smile. I did like it when he showed up. He always had something surprising, or at least interesting, to say, even if he did always seem to be trying to draw me into some conspiracy of mischief.
A viewing stand was set up in the park behind the palace. Directly in front of the stand, on a large flat field, were three poles, about four and a half feet high, each with a lemon speared on the end. Across from the lemons was another set of poles. These were taller and each had an arm. From each arm dangled a ring about three inches across.
This was for the sabre contest. The point was for each officer to gallop by the lemons and slice each fruit in half without slowing or wavering, then to circle and raise out of the saddle in a full cavalry charge, sword extended from the shoulder, and catch each of the three rings. The contest was also timed to break ties in skill, so the ride had to be fast. The rings were considered prizes in themselves, but the winner was to get a pair of silver spurs from the queen herself.
The prize was on display in the viewing stand. They lay on a green velvet pillow between two royal guards. Hans and I paused before them as we led the horses around the ring to get them used to the changed surroundings
“I’d like to win a pair of spurs like that,” I said.
“Wouldn’t everyone,” said Hans, fending off a playful nip from Regis. He had filled his pockets with carrots as a bribe for good behavior, but now I think he was beginning to regret it. “You don’t have to worry about that though,” he added. “The way you ride you’re headed for the queen’s cavalry. You’ll have lots of chances.”
I shook my head and did not answer. The cavalry was one place I was definitely not headed for, and I did not know about my chances of winning anything like those spurs. Of course, I could always go home and put on a sweet look like Celeste and beg my father for a pair of spurs like them. I would probably get them, but it would not be the same.
“The contest is going to start soon,” said Hans, as Regis gave a stamp and began to prance around. He was trying first to nip my horse, Bayberry, and then to kick him. I gave him a poke in the ribs to push him back. He lurched forward and we headed back out to the starting area.
“Good job, Albert,” said the marquis, as he looked over his horse. “He looks fine.”
“He seems in good spirits today, too, sir,” I said. “He knows he’s in a contest. Acting like a colt.”
“Ah, that’s good,” said the marquis, taking a stirrup to mount.
“Sir? Are you going to win the spurs?” I asked.
“Well, Albert, I’m going to give it a good try.”
“Try and try again, Furlenhaur,” said a young officer nearby. “You’ll never win them from me.”
“Would you like to make a small wager on that, Captain?” said the marquis as he settled into the saddle and trotted Bayberry over to speak to the man.
“I’ll take a part of that bet,” I heard Tybalt say. “In spite of the fact that it is not a fair contest.”
“Not fair?” protested the marquis. “How not fair?”
“It’s set up for right handers,” said Tybalt. “Alfred, take a look at those rings.”
I did, and I saw that it was set up so a left handed man would have his sword on the wrong side. “He’s right,” I said, nodding.
“You should have taken it up with Sergeant Helmer earlier. I doubt he’s set up a course here before,” said the young officer. “It probably never occurred to him that there would be someone abnormal in the group,” he added with a grin.
“Perhaps he’ll start you from the other side,” suggested the marquis.
“I asked him about that. The matter seems to have perplexed him out of all reason. He doesn’t think it can be done. It seems he’s set up the judging stand too close on that side. I’ll beat you anyway. I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”
“I’m sure you do,” said the marquis and the two of them joined the young officer to negotiate the wager.
“Psst! Albert!” Hans called in a hushed voice. I turned to see him pulling with all his might as Regis backed in an erratic circle, somehow managing to keep at least three hooves off the ground at any one time. “Come on you beast!” Hans said.
“Don’t pull on him,” I said. “He’s bigger than you are. Just hold him.”
“I’m trying!”
Regis, seeing it was now going to be two against one, changed his tactics and burst forward before I could get a hand on his bridle.
“Just hold him,” I repeated.
Hans held. Though Regis kicked and pulled and reared and galloped in a little circle the length of Hans arm, he held, a
nd after a few minutes of getting nowhere the beast gave up, or at least he paused, blowing hard.
“See, it’s not so bad, is it?” I said. “When you just hold him until he sees he can’t get anywhere, he stops.”
“And thinks up something else,” said Hans. “Why do I always get the rotten ones? Hold him a minute, will you?” I took the bridle while Hans wiped the sweat off his forehead. “You know, he’s not just bigger than I am, he’s got more energy. Where’s he get it all?”
“Hot blooded, that’s all,” I said. “Maybe we give him too much grain.”
“Maybe we should cut it down then,” said Hans with a grumble, but he slipped Regis a carrot.
“Boy! My horse!” Tybalt shouted across the crowd.
“Now there’s one who needs his feed cut down,” muttered Hans. I nodded as we led the horse between us. Tybalt was having none of that.
“You! Get away from there,” he said, pointing his whip at me. “You’re not my groom.”
I relinquished my hold on the cheekpiece and stepped aside. Regis took that as his cue and leapt sideways to follow me, but Hans held. The two of them dragged each other around in a circle around Tybalt. Hans brought him to a halt, but he pranced energetically in place.
“Hold him still, blast you,” said Tybalt. Hans gave Tybalt a long slow look, which I find hard to describe, but it took Tybalt aback, I can tell you. I thought Hans was going to say something, but silently he moved in front of the horse and took a hold of both sides of the bridle to hold his head still. Regis quieted, and Tybalt leapt to the saddle and galloped off almost before Hans could get out of the way.
“You’re right,” he said as he walked determinedly back to me. “It isn’t so bad.”
“I’ve never seen you mad before,” I said.
“Well?” he said, his determination beginning to dissolve. “Why do I always get the rotten ones?”
“Next thing you know you’ll be standing up to your uncle,” I said, snapping my fingers. “Just like that.”
“No,” said Hans, shaking his head, but grinning. “Oh, no. I think about it sometimes when he’s gone, but when he’s there...no.”
“You almost stood up there to Tybalt.”
“I don’t have to face him every day for the rest of my life,” said Hans. “Besides, you don’t know Uncle Wil like I do. He doesn’t forget things—unless you do him a favor—and he pays back everything that’s done against him. You know, you should watch out for him, Albert. He’s been asking questions about you.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Who you are, where you come from,” said Hans. “Anything he can find out.”
“Has he found out anything?”
“Not from me.” Hans shrugged. “Nobody knows anything about you anyway. Now he’s got everyone curious. If you’ve got anything to hide from him, Albert, don’t tell anybody else. Of course, I would never tell him anything.”
“Thanks, Hans,” I said, thinking.
“You look a little worried.”
“It’s all right,” I said. “Maybe sometime later I can tell you about it.”
“Don’t worry too much. I’ll keep an eye on Uncle Wil to see what he’s doing. You just watch out for him.”
“I will,” I said.
The competition began with the younger officers. They were not very good. There were no perfect scores, except that there were a number of perfect failures, with no lemons hit nor rings captured. I think that they went first to show the difficulty of the feat.
The marquis stood with me after he had finished warming up, and watched the early competition draw to a close.
“Now it’s time for the real contest to start,” I said. The marquis only laughed and checked his tack once more. He put his hand in his pocket.
“Oh,” he said. “I forgot. You don’t happen to have a carrot on you, do you?”
“No,” I said. “But Hans did. Do you want me to go find him?”
“Yes, but be quick. I’ll be riding soon.”
I knew Hans could not be far with the main competition about to begin. I found him holding on to Regis for all he was worth.
“Hans!” I called. Regis gave a jump. He was not being so disobedient now as being excitable. “Hans, you got a carrot?”
“Yeah, I got a few left,” he said, reaching carefully into his pocket. The horse cocked his head. He knew what was in there.
“Thanks,” I said as he gave it to me. Regis put his ears back, but Hans had brought out two carrots, and he stuck the second in Regis’ mouth before the beast could bite him.
“Where’s Tybalt?” I said. “The contest’s going to start.”
Hans nodded his head toward the back of the viewing stand where Tybalt was approaching another fellow. I recognized the other man. He was the blond scarecrow who had been in on the kidnapping party.
“I’ll see you later,” I said to Hans, and I dashed through the crowd of horses, soldiers and stablemen to follow Tybalt. I was lucky. They went behind the viewing stand when they met and I was able to conceal myself at the corner to listen in.
“Bartleby is in England,” said the blond fellow. “Visiting relatives, just like he said he was going to.”
“You’re sure they’re relatives.”
“A widow Bartleby and her eleven little Bartlebys. That’s what Klaus said. And Bartleby hasn’t even left her house. It looks like you are wrong.”
“He wouldn’t have left Lifbau at a time like this. Not just to visit relatives,” Tybalt insisted. “He is up to something. Get to the telegraph office. Tell our friend there to double his watch for all communications from, or to, Bartleby. For that matter, let me know about everything that comes in to Furlenhaur, or even the queen and her secretaries.”
“Do you know how many messages come in to that office since the announcement?”
“I don’t care,” Tybalt said. “I want to see them all. Now see to it. I’ve got some spurs to win.”
I ducked back into the crowd and ran to the marquis. He was already mounted and headed for the course. He waved at me and I held up the carrot. I supposed that what I heard could wait, at least until after the contest.
The marquis paused in the middle of the field and raised his sword to his face to salute the queen. Then he headed for the starter at a canter. It was an easy pace, but he picked up speed as he approached the first lemon, his sword raised high. The metal flashed as he brought it down. Half the fruit fell to the ground. The crowd began to applaud the accuracy. Then he struck the second precisely in the middle, and the third. So far only one man had hit all three lemons, and he not accurately. I let out a yell with the crowd as the marquis slowed to make his turn for the rings. I thought he slowed too much as he aligned Bayberry for the final charge. He raised his sabre and urged Bayberry into a faster canter. The first ring fell into place, and the second, and then as the marquis finally picked up some speed, the third joined the others on his hilt.
A perfect score. No one had done that so far. The marquis held his sword aloft and cantered in a circle to once again salute the queen. Then he trotted up to drop the prized rings at her feet. The crowd let out a great cheer and the marquis galloped back toward me. I let out another yell and jumped in the air.
“You’re going to win!” I said.
“What was my time?” he asked, more cautiously.
“Not very good,” I said. The timer was near by, and he told us exactly. Twenty-one seconds.
“Well,” said the marquis. “We’ll just have to hope there are no more perfect scores.”
“There won’t be,” I said.
“Get away with you!” he said. “Here comes Captain Kohlman.”
“You’re a turtle, Furlenhaur,” he said. “But a perfect one. I see I’ll have to be careful.”
One of Hugo’s officers rode before the captain, and almost did well, hitting all three lemons, but cutt
ing in too quickly toward the rings and missing the first two.
The captain, however, took more care. He set a faster pace than the marquis had, but he was still accurate. The fruits split each in turn, and he turned well, and quickly, lining himself up for the last charge. Then when he urged his horse forward and rose from the saddle, something happened. The captain fell slightly to his right. He recovered quickly, but not in time to catch the first ring. He struck it, though, and it fell to the ground. He got the next two rings.
He saluted the queen and gave his rings to a young woman at the edge of the crowd before cantering back to us.
“What happened there?” asked the marquis, stepping forward to greet him.
“I don’t know,” Captain Kohlman replied. “My off stirrup gave way.”
As he dismounted I took a look at the stirrup and leather. It looked all right, until I pulled the buckle out from under its flap.
“Look here, sir,” I said. “I think it’s been cut.”
There was a vertical tear in the leather connecting the buckle holes. The buckle held until weight was put on it, then it slipped down a hole longer.
“I can’t hold you to our wager with this,” said the marquis.
“No, no,” said the captain. “If someone has cheated it was my luck. I should have checked my tack more carefully.”
“Who could have done this?”
Kohlman looked at Tybalt, who was fussing loudly at Hans again in the distance.
“Stenbau?”
“I could never prove it,” said Kohlman. “But the only time I left my horse unattended was when I went to greet Duke Sigmond, and Tybalt was there. I’m afraid I don’t have a vigilant boy, as you do.”
The forth rider scratched because of some trouble with his horse. Tybalt was the next and last.
“Too bad, Kohlman,” he said as he rode by. “And too bad to you too, my dear Marquis the Snail.”
He trotted out and gave the queen an elaborate salute, and turned to give a second to his mother, who sat in a box near the end. Then horse and rider threw themselves sideways and galloped recklessly around the timer as Tybalt began his approach to the lemons. He brought his sword down with such ferocity that I winced as it struck. There was a loud crack, and a hunk of wood came away with the massacred fruit. The second and third lemons suffered a similar fate.
He wheeled around and paused momentarily before his charge. He raised the sword to shoulder height, and I saw again that it was on the wrong side to catch the rings, but then he rotated his wrist and brought it across his crest to an underhand, and rather backhand, position. Regis flattened his ears and burst forward into a full gallop, and Tybalt easily hooked the first ring, but the second must have come too quickly after it, for he missed that one. He let out a loud curse and made a wild swipe at the third, with more anger than accuracy. He never should have caught it, but he did, and he held aloft two rings.
“You won!” I said to the marquis, as Tybalt saluted the queen with very bad grace.
“Where’s that carrot?” said the marquis. I gave it to him and he gave it to Bayberry. “A good horse and a steady hand, Albert.”
Tybalt, in the meantime, had paused at his mother’s box, but she had a look on her face like Sea Sprite when he is about to snap, so he dumped the rings in the lap of the pretty young woman seated beside her.
“For you, Claire, my dear,” he said.
“Harrumph!” said the old viscountess. “Two? A paltry gift, I must say. Give it back to him, Claire dear.”
Tybalt gave her an angry look and tossed aside his sabre. He galloped back onto the field.
“Look at that,” I said to the marquis, who was still fussing over Bayberry.
Regis was galloping without control across the field, while Tybalt hung from the saddle and picked something up. He raced back to his mother’s box and threw a lemon half at her.
“There,” he said. “A lemon for an old sourpuss.”
“Ah, fresh fruit,” she replied and tossed it to Claire. “Here dear. You’ll need it for your complexion.” Claire simply look perplexed.
“Do you think I could learn to hang from the saddle like that?” I asked the marquis.
He took a breath. “Tybalt is rather reckless,” he said, and mounted for the award ceremony.