Once upon a Pillow

CHAPTER 1 "Get those pigs off the tilting field!" Simon Gundry, sheriff of Trecombe, hollered at the children.The two boys, eager not to postpone the promised entertainment, complied without complaint, hieing after their father's escaped sows, sliding and whooping across the icy uneven ground. Simon watched until they'd cordoned the pigs off by the tanner's stall and turned back to the task at hand."It is agreed then," he bellowed with as much authority as he could muster, "whoever is unhorsed by his opponent first, will withdraw his claim for the lands abutting the river."Simon watched as the knights mounted their destriers at opposite ends of the long jousting field which was separated lengthwise by a low rail. He blew into his hands and shivered in the raw March wind. It was early in the day yet and the field was still frozen. Later, the sun would turn the ground into an ice-clotted mire. Not that the cold had kept spectators from turning out.The young gentlemen from Teague Manor milled about the far end of the list, while their ladies, wrapped snug in rabbit-lined pelisses, their hoods drawn tight about rosy faces, roosted on rough benches hauled out by their servants. Along the rest of the field's length stood the free folk of Trecombe. Even the holy brothers from tiny St. Albion's abbey stood in the crowd.And why not? Simon thought. Trecombe was too small and remote to attract tournaments the way the cathedral cities and market towns did. Trecombe's only annual tournament was the one held on Saint Neot's name day. Therefore, for the common people of Trecombe, this was a rare holiday, while for manor-born sons and daughters, it was an escape from a long winter of boredom.Simon, however, being neither manor-born nor bored, but instead in charge of all the civil justice in the shire, was unhappy. He did not like this. Not at all.A dispute between knights regarding property should properly await the king's assize. Unhappily, as knights, the two combatants had every right to demand judgment by combat rather than await the king's justice, and consequentially endure the loss of a valuable planting season.Aye, Simon understood the reasoning behind the challenge. But he liked it no more for the understanding. He stomped his feet and offered a quick prayer that his role here did not come back to haunt him. Then he cupped his hands and hollered, "Are you ready, Sir Moore?"Pretty as a maid with his golden hair and ruddy cheeks, Sir Guy Moore looked born to the brilliant raiment he wore, presents his proud parent had bestowed upon him at his knighting nine months past. Since then, he'd already won three tournaments. Now, he dug his golden spurs into his destrier's milk-white sides. The brute arched its neck, rolling its eyes and drumming its hooves anxiously upon the hoar-touched ground.A cheer rose from the crowd in response. Simon, who'd seen his share of knightly posturing and had known Guy Moore when he was a spoiled bit of snot hanging from his father's nose, wasn't so easily impressed."I am ready!" Guy shouted, his voice ripe with confidence.Simon turned toward where the other knight, a stranger here, fought his borrowed warhorse to a standstill. It was woefully apparent that he was not ready. The crowd eyed him without warmth. A few snickered.The stranger looked like Hotfoot compared to Guy Moore's Gabriel. Where Moore was fair, smooth, and light, this one was dark, bearded, and huge. Where Moore looked like greenwood, supple and tensile, this man looked to be carved from a bole, hard and obdurate.He was a crusader, knighted, rumor had it, upon a bloody battlefield by Richard himself before following that same Richard to the Holy Lands. It was a good story, Simon admitted, but Trecombe had seen crusaders before and knew all too well that knightly armor as oft shielded vice as virtue. After all, Sir Gerent Corbet had been a knight, and only think oDodd, Christina is the author of 'Once upon a Pillow' with ISBN 9780743459464 and ISBN 0743459466.