“You’re right, Father. Maybe it is time I think about getting married.”
His father cleared his throat. He was surprised, no doubt, at Valten’s easy acquiescence.
“That’s very mature of you, son.”
“We will have a banquet after the tournament.” Already his mother’s voice sounded happier—almost giddy, in fact. “And we can have a ball and invite eligible maidens of the region. Unless you wish me to invite the titled men of the Empire and their eligible daughters. But that will take more time …”
“The girls of Hagenheim will be sufficient, I believe.”
His father clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, son. The restless feeling will go away in time. You are young, but you’ve seen and done more than most men twice your age.” He added softly, “God will give you a new purpose, if you ask him.”
Valten wished he had the confidence that his father always seemed to have when it came to the idea of God-given purpose. But Valten did believe that God had been with him many times in the lists and in his travels. Often he’d been saved from danger or injury by the thinnest of margins. He’d gathered quite a lot of followers as well — other knights who’d allied themselves with him, traveled with him, said that God’s favor rested on him and that God was watching over him. But Valten figured it was mostly superstition.
Most men who claimed allegiance to God were more afraid of the devil than they were of God, and were careful to do what they thought would appease evil spirits. They put money in the poor box and carried a splinter of the supposed holy cross of Jesus around in their saddlebag to ward off bad luck, but they would carry a witch’s charm or utter an old Druid spell just as readily. Many never set foot in a church, but they were quick to enter into debauchery.
The thought of God giving him a purpose, other than winning tournaments, was appealing, but asking God for something did not mean he would get it. Still, he should pray, and perhaps he would also ask the priest to ask God what his purpose was.
There must be more to life than tournaments.
He couldn’t believe he was saying this, but … “A ball is a good idea, Mother.”
“I will go make a list of who to invite.” His mother’s smile was as bright as the sun and almost as wide. “I’ll get Margaretha and Rainhilda to help.”
“Will you invite all the marriageable girls in the region?” It was important that she invited Gisela, but he still didn’t know who she was. After all, Gisela was a common name. There could be a hundred Giselas in Hagenheim.
“I can’t invite all the marriageable girls.” Mother raised her brows as she smiled at him. “They wouldn’t fit in the Great Hall.” She squeezed his arm. “I’ll invite as many as I can.”
He might need to enlist Rainhilda’s help in order to make sure Gisela attended this ball. She obviously knew Gisela’s family, though he didn’t think she would be happy to help him find her.
Otherwise, he would have to find Gisela at the tournament and invite her himself. Surely she would be there.
He was counting on it.
Chapter
5
“You can’t go to the tournament. You have too much work to do.” Evfemia looked down her long nose at Gisela. She was even taller than bean pole Irma, who stood at the foot of the stairs, smirking with Contzel.
Today the tournament would take place in Hagenheim. Although it was unlikely Gisela would get a chance to speak with Valten at the tournament, she desperately wanted to see him again, even if it was only from afar. It would be worth going just to see him defeat that nasty Friedric Ruexner. She hoped Valten knocked him out of the saddle and onto his pompous derriere. And she didn’t want to just hear about it; she wanted to see it.
But she didn’t argue with her stepmother. She simply continued scouring the walls. The soot from the fires that burned all winter did build up on the walls, but Gisela had just cleaned them a few weeks ago. While her stepmother watched her, Gisela scrubbed diligently.
“Besides, you don’t have any clothes fit to be seated in the gallery,” Evfemia went on. “You’d have to stand below with the yeoman farmers and peasants.”
Irma and Contzel snorted and whispered from the other side of the room.
Gisela pretended not to hear. She wouldn’t be goaded into saying what she was thinking—that her stepmother was a mean, selfish, petty-minded she-devil. If she bad-mouthed Evfemia, it would be an excuse to lock Gisela in her room. Then she’d have no chance at all of getting to the tournament.
Gisela continued cleaning, planning how she would arrange her hair. Irma and Contzel had already dressed, with Gisela’s help. They were wearing elaborate gowns made from the finest materials. Irma’s was a dark red silk with enormous bag sleeves and a jeweled belt that almost succeeded in hiding how emaciated she looked. But the color didn’t become her at all. The red heightened her sallow complexion. And Contzel’s emerald green dress was fitted with a lace-up bodice that was low-cut enough to show her ample cleavage. Though the green was a beautiful shade, it gave her the distinct look of a bullfrog. Gisela was sorry to think such ugly thoughts, but every time she glanced at Contzel, she imagined the girl sitting on a lily pad, catching a fly with her tongue.
Evfemia’s new dress was a gaudy gold, embroidered with a pattern of large red leaves. The bodice and hem were trimmed with ermine. All three of them had matching headdresses in the popular two-horned style, with flowing headrails hanging down around the sides and back to disguise the limpness of their dull brown hair. A jeweled pin adorned the front.
Gisela planned to wear her mother’s wedding dress, which she had kept carefully packed away in a trunk in her attic chamber, hidden in the corner. The dress was a lovely sapphire blue. Though plain compared with the current fashion, Gisela knew the color made her eyes look even bluer, and was a good match for her skin color and blonde hair.
“Look after the horses while we’re gone — not that you would forget your darlings.” Evfemia rolled her eyes.
“Yes, my lady.” Gisela tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She would pretend submission, pretend she wasn’t planning to do anything that day except what her stepmother told her to do, and accept the consequences later if she was caught.
“Irma! Contzel!” Evfemia called out in her imperiously shrill voice.
“We’re right here, Mother. You don’t have to shout.”
Evfemia gave Irma a withering look. “It is time to leave.”
“You’re stepping on my hem!” Contzel elbowed her sister.
“If your hem wasn’t as big as a tent, I might not step on it. You’re too slow!”
“Stop pushing me! Ow!”
A scuffling noise, then screams, but Gisela didn’t turn to look. She hoped they would hurry on out the door so she could go get ready.
“Stop that!” Evfemia screamed. “Stop this moment! If you make a mess of your headdresses, I will —”
The two sisters stopped squealing, and the only sound was the swishing of their many layers of clothing and the scuff of their slippers on the floor.
Gisela glanced up as they reached the door. Her stepmother stood staring coldly at her. Irma and Contzel stopped and followed suit.
“Gisela,” Evfemia began in her calmest voice, “if you get anywhere near the tournament lists, I shall sell every horse. Every. Single. One. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lady.” Gisela gave her an equally cold stare.
“Good.” She turned and swept out the door, holding up the hem of her ermine-trimmed cape.
Gisela’s teeth began to ache as she realized she’d been clenching her jaw. Evfemia would eventually empty the stables, continuing to sell everything off, whether Gisela obeyed her or not. But her stepmother’s threat still had its desired effect.
But with God’s favor, her stepmother might not see her at the lists. They wouldn’t be expecting to see her, after all, especially not wearing her mother’s blue gown. Evfemia did not even know the gown existed.
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Gisela waited until her stepmother’s carriage had started down the long lane that led away from the house to the main road, where it would no doubt join the crowds on their way to the tournament. She threw her cloth in the bucket of water and ran up the stairs. Quickly, she took off her ragged work clothes, pulled on a clean white chemise, and dressed in her mother’s silk gown, with its long, detached angel sleeves and plain belt.
Even though Evfemia had worn an ermine-trimmed cloak, the late spring weather was blessedly too warm to actually need one. It was a good thing, since Gisela didn’t own a decent one.
Hurriedly, she brushed out her hair and braided a small section on either side, wrapping the braids around her head and pinning a plain veil to them. She studied her reflection in the cracked, cloudy looking glass. Her hair wasn’t hanging in perfect ringlets like Rainhilda’s would be, but she liked the effect of her long hair flowing over her shoulders and down her back, the contrast of the blonde and the dark blue gown.
She ran out and saddled Kaeleb, then mounted sidesaddle. She rode slowly, reining her horse in so he didn’t kick up mud onto her skirt or make a mess of her hair as she traveled to her neighbor, Ava von Setenstete’s house. Ava had insisted she let her take her to the tournament. “That old Evfemia”—Ava had wrinkled up her nose with distaste at the woman’s name—”will find an excuse not to let you go. Promise me you will come here and let me take you in my carriage.” But that had been two months ago, when they’d first heard about the tournament. Now Ava was heavy with child and probably wouldn’t be able to go.
Ava’s husband was a wool merchant who was often away from home for months at a time, which had led to Gisela visiting as often as possible to keep her friend company. Gisela arrived at the impressive house, which, as a wealthy merchant, von Setenstete was well able to afford. It was even larger and grander than Gisela’s stone and half-timber home.
Gisela knocked at the door. A servant let her in and led her to Ava’s chamber.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you.” Gisela saw that Ava was still in bed.
“Nonsense. You are not disturbing me. I should get up. It’s just easier to lie here.” Ava laughed — a delicate sound, like little bells. She pulled herself into a sitting position, her large, pregnant belly protruding under the bedclothes.
“Are you not coming to the tournament?”
“No, my dear.” She reached out and squeezed Gisela’s hand. “I am too close to my time. But you may still use my carriage.”
“I can ride Kaeleb.”
“I insist you ride in my carriage.” She gave Gisela her sternest look, which wasn’t very stern. “I don’t want you mussing your beautiful hair or that dress.”
Ava was only a few years older than Gisela, but she had such a motherly way about her. She’d had a child already, but the baby had died shortly after birth.
“How did you ever get that dress past that old witch, Evfemia?”
Gisela laughed. “I put it on after she left.”
“That color … it looks beautiful on you.” She smiled, and in that moment Gisela thought there was no one more beautiful than Ava, with her kind gray eyes, flawless face, and pouty lips. Then her eyes flew wide. “Wait! I have a scarf that very color. You must take it with you, in case you find a knight who wishes to wear your color.”
“That’s silly, Ava.” Gisela shook her head at the thought. Ava the Hopeful.
“Go to that trunk over there.” She pointed in the corner. “Open it up. Look on the right side. See it?”
Gisela lifted out a handful of gauzy blue material that indeed matched her dress perfectly.
“Now wrap it around your neck. Come here. Let me do it.”
Gisela, feeling a bit foolish, leaned down to allow Ava to wrap the scarf and drape it over her shoulders and down her back so that it didn’t detract from her dress.
“Now you must go. The knights will be inspired to fight ever more valiantly with you watching them.” She winked.
“Do you want me to help you get up and get dressed?” Her friend looked so uncomfortable, though she also looked … content.
“No, no. Gudda will do that. You go now. I’ve already had the coachman get the carriage ready. He will drive you.” She flicked her hand at her.
Gisela leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”
On arriving at the tournament grounds — a natural amphitheater with gently sloping sides, grassy and green in the late spring sunshine — Gisela alighted from the carriage with the help of Otto, Ava’s coachman, and felt almost as if she was someone special. She could still remember how it felt to be cared about, to have a father who would bring her to a tournament in a carriage like this one. But it had been so long ago that it seemed like another life, another person.
Otto drove away, leaving her before the flat expanse outside the south side of the walled town of Hagenheim. Teeming with people, the profusion of color was dazzling, with bright hues of red, yellow, green, and blue, more extensive than the rainbow. Knights appeared here and there. Over their heavy breastplates and mail they wore a surcoat with their coat of arms in bright colors. Their horses were decked in similar mantles called caparisons, each in various patterns matching their rider.
Her eyes were drawn to blue and red checks on one caparison, red and black stripes on another, and on yet another, a bright yellow background with the repeating pattern of a white lion on a shield of black. Banners waved in the breeze from atop brightly striped or checked pavilions that dotted the field outside the lists. Ladies’ scarves flew from some of the knights’ helmets or from around their arms, displaying the colors of the knight’s lady-love.
Joy swelled inside her. She was here, actually here, at the Hagenheim tournament. All she had to do was avoid being seen and get home before her stepmother and stepsisters. But for the moment, she hardly cared if she got caught. Being here and seeing this spectacle was worth it.
She couldn’t help searching the grounds for Valten. He would no doubt be wearing his family’s coat of arms and the Gerstenberg colors of green, black, and gold. Perhaps she might even sneak away and see Sieger, when he wasn’t needed in the competition. But she didn’t see Valten or his steed in the crowd of people.
She made her way toward the tournament lists, along with everyone else around her. There was standing room around the perimeter of the field, with a light wooden barrier between the spectators and the combatants’ field of play. Many men, wearing the garb of farmer and peasant, stood and mingled there. Behind them, on the longer north and south sides of the large rectangle, great galleries had been built, the middle part shaded by large awnings that were graced with cushioned benches and wooden steps for the nobles, their ladies, and the wealthier citizens of Hagenheim.
As she neared the lists, she saw that several attendants and the younger Gerstenberg children—Valten’s brothers and sisters — were already seated in the north side gallery. As she watched, a flourish of trumpets announced Wilhelm Gerstenberg, Duke of Hagenheim, and his wife, Lady Rose, as they rode two beautiful black horses toward the stands. The duke dismounted then helped his wife dismount, and they climbed the steps to the seats of honor.
Many people, dressed in their vibrant finery, made their way toward the choice seats surrounding the duke and his family. Similarly, on the opposite side of the field, the more well-dressed people hurried to find seats in the south gallery.
A few dirty, raggedly dressed children tried to sit on the benches meant for the upper classes but were shooed away by the guards patrolling the perimeter. In the center of the gallery was a seat of honor, a throne-like chair placed there for the lady who would be crowned the Queen of Beauty and Love. Every tournament had to have its queen, and this one would be no different. Duke Wilhelm, as the sponsor of the tournament, would be expected to choose a queen, but rumor said that he would confer that right on the tournament champion. The queen would have the honor of bestowing on the winner his prize, and, in turn, receiving fr
om him … a kiss. Then she would be led by the champion knight to the banquet, which was by invitation only, at Hagenheim Castle.
Gisela was sure the day’s winner would be Valten, but who would he pick to be his lady? The prospects made her feel slightly ill.
Her most pertinent question for the moment was where she was to sit. A man stared at her as she made her way toward the gallery. More than one man was staring, actually. One well-dressed burgher stepped toward her. “Beautiful maiden, I would be honored if you would sit with me.”
“The pretty girl doesn’t want to sit with you, Hugh. She wants to sit with me.” This from a man equally well-dressed but with a belly as huge as a sow.
“Excuse me, good sirs, but I am sitting elsewhere.” She pretended to see her place farther down at the other end of the gallery, but a guard approached her.
“Fraulein, I am charged with seating the fairest young maidens in the center section of the gallery, from whom the champion will choose a queen.” He held out his arm to assist her up the steps.
The other men moved away, grumbling under their breath, for which Gisela was thankful. She looked the guard in the eyes. He had a kind face and was old enough to be her father.
“Are you sure you want me to sit here?” she asked. Perhaps he had only meant to scare away those men.
“Of course. And”—he lowered his voice—”you are too beautiful to be wandering around without an escort.”
She placed her hand on his gauntleted wrist and let him lead her up the wooden steps. As they climbed higher, her eye caught sight of Rainhilda sitting near the top of the gallery to the left, on the other side of the empty throne. Her nose was stuck high in the air, but Gisela had to admit she looked gorgeous. Her dress was made of panels of pale pink and pale violet silk that brought out the flawlessness of her skin. Instead of the big horned turban on the heads of many of the ladies, she wore a simple veil attached to a jeweled circlet, which better displayed her honey-gold hair, styled as always in ringlets that cascaded over her shoulders.