His Grace, the Duke of Blackbat Lord Bruce Wayne, rode stiffly on his mount, tired from the long journey from London. Though he detested London and was glad to leave it, his destination was not a looked forward to place. Court had moved from London to Hartfordshire, where Lord Harvey Dent was holding a jousting tournament in honor of the king. Behind him rode his three servants. Richard Grayson, his squire and soon-to-be-knight, was attending his first joust as a competitor instead of Lord Wayne's squire. Timothy Drake was to replace Richard as squire and seemed eager to do so. Perhaps too eager but Lord Wayne had no doubt that such enthusiasm would serve the boy well through his rigorous training.
The extremely bad singing stopped and mutterings followed," Perhaps'lair' or maybe he should love her as he might dare?" The mutterings continued, bringing a reluctant smile to Lord Wayne's lips. One must admire the young minstrel's tenacity if not talent. Unfortunately, his entourage was not as generous as he was, considering the remarks he'd been ignoring since leaving London and picking up the young hanger-on.
"Could we possibly kill him and put such insulting 'music' to rest forever?" inquired Richard, riding a little closer to his lord.
"Nay, we do not kill no matter the provocation."
"This is quite a provocation." Richard pulled back again with that parting shot.
Young Timothy rode forward in Richard's place. "You say we do not kill, but I have seen you in battle, sire. You kill there."
"I kill for my king and for my family name. Not else. Remember, Timothy, honor in these times are everything, even beyond death. Uphold honor, king, country and religion, and you shall come ahead when judged by your peers." Lord Wayne fell silent again, nudging Midnight forward. The great black charger began to lope, sensing that their final destination was near.
Lord Harvey Dent walked around the grounds where the jousting was to be held, testing the ground for unevenness. He also checked to make sure that the point where his assassin would wait to strike the king was a good position for an excellent shot by an excellent marksmen. Finding an excellent bow marksmen was no problem; finding one without scruples was a little harder. Yet, he had faith that it would go off without a hitch.
The camp followers were already setting up the tents, ready to start business on the next days of jousting and tournaments. Shade, a woman of indeterminate years, had been set up for several hours now and was watching the competing knights enter the grounds all afternoon. Her two pet dogs, wild in appearance, yet seemingly tame in her presence, sat by her side, relaxed but wary of all their surroundings.
Bad music and singing carried on the breeze, causing Shade to wince in pain. "Who sings so horribly, my friends?" she asked the two canines. They cocked their heads and then laid their ears down flat in disgust.
A handsome knight, resplendent in black armor and black steed, followed by a small yet impressive entourage seemed to be the source of the horrendous caterwauling. Shade's attention was drawn from the noise to the knight for a short time. He was most handsome. His black hair shone with a bluish tinge in the sunlight. His banner fluttered in the breeze, proclaiming his name as Lord Blackbat. Shade shuddered. Lord Bruce Wayne's reputation preceded him where ever he went; therefore, this joust would be most profitable for a gypsy woman of...questionable morals and intent. Obviously, breaking out the flimsy outfits would be a wise course of action.
The caterwauling ceased, causing Shade to look for it's source a little more closer. A young lad, following Blackbat's entourage, was tuning a lute, missing the correct tuning with every twist of the fret. Sighing in disgust at the youth's lack of instrumental knowledge, Shade walked over to the young man and stated, "Let someone who knows what the hell that's used for tune that and you might sound like you are actually singing, not mourning a dead cat."
"Aye, and how would you know?" asked the young lad, cheekily.
"I am gypsy, fool. I know these things." Shade snatched the instrument from the it's owner's grip and began to tune it automatically. At the small yet loud discussion, Grayson turned around in the vain hope that someone killed that boy. No such luck, though. He was hitting on a gypsy.
"My lord, we seem to have entertainment." Grayson announced this in a loud enough voice that it gained his lord's attention. Wayne stopped his mount and turned in the saddle to gaze upon the scene behind him. It was most comical.
A gypsy was tuning the erstwhile musician's strings. His brief thought was "Please, tune it right." His second thought was "How am I going to get that wench into my bed?" Shade, not completely oblivious to the knight's lusty gaze, ignored it for the most part. She was used to it, and besides, Lord Harvey Dent would not be pleased if she fraternized with one of the best knights in the kingdom during this particular time. Smiling charmingly at the squires and bowing low enough to show a healthy amount of cleavage to the lord, she turned back to her growling pets with a sassy twitch to her hips, after handing back the instrument. Lord Wayne watched her until she disappeared into her tent. Noting the tent and its location, Lord Wayne resolved to make a visit if time was allowable.
"Wayne! How good of you to come!" Harvey Dent kissed the air on either side of Bruce's cheek. Bruce failed to control completely the shudder that went through his body at such close contact with Dent. It was well-known that Dent's foppishness irritated Bruce.
"I came at my King's command." Wayne glanced around the great hall ofthe Castille de Deux. Legend told of two lover's who committed suicide in this very hall, thus the name. Wayne was not impressed.
Dent was unimpressed with Wayne's answer. "Of course. You don't like me much."
"My Lord likes very few people," interjected Grayson, brushing back a long strand of black hair that had fallen into his face. Young Drake seemed awed by the grandiose surroundings.
Dent's lips twitched in hidden amusement. "Very knightly of you, Blackbat. Again welcome. You are honored, I am sure, to stay in the castle with myself and the king?"
Bruce shuttered the distrust he felt and replied, "Alas, I thank you for the offer, but I will stay in my tent this tournament. Young Drake's training is going well enough that we plan on training him in preparing me for tournament. Such precision takes a well-trained eye at every moment."
Young Drake looked surprised, considering he had been helping his lord prepare for three months now, but a poke in the side by Squire Grayson made him realise that something was going on.
Dent looked at Drake's embarassment and smiled knowingly. "I understand you are a fast leaner, young squire. Mayhap you will aide this knight into more greatness someday." Timothy bowed low at the compliment. "I understand this will be your first tournament, young Grayson. I wish you well."
"I thank you, Lord Dent. Such an honor to be on your field for my debute. I hope I will do my lord, king, and country proud with my skills on the morrow." Richard also bowed low at the compliment, but answered with confidence and assurance of a certain victory. Bruce felt his chest swell with pride. Richard and Timothy were as close to sons as he felt he would ever have, and he felt pride in their accomplishments, knowing that he aided in their personal greatness.
"Well, gentlemen, I must prepare for the evening meal. I suppose you will be wanting to set up camp, but you are welcome to sup with us if you wish." Dent swept out of the hall, not really expecting an answer and not receiving one.
Once outside again, Timothy shuddered and whispered loud enough the other two could hear, "That man is a horrible man. Not fit to be in our king's company."
"Aye, I will agree with that, but King Alfred considers Dent an ally, therefore, we must tolerate him until he slips up," Grayson agreed, looking to Bruce for confirmation.
"And when he slips up we will nail his nasty hide to the wall." Lord Blackbat looked at the castle, with it's well-fortified towers and the full moat. "This castle is a great strategic spot against invaders from the North. It must remain on the side of our king, lest England be overrun with barbarians of all nations."
"Vikings are vicious creatures, my lord." Grayson interjected.
"The Celts are worse." This statement caused silence. The Celts were closer to home and always unpredictable. Defending against such ungodly enemies tended to give even the most stalwart of knights pause.
"Well," Bruce rubbed his hands together and began to remove his tunic top, "shall we set up camp?"
Shade felt herself tense as soon as she walked into the private chamber. She knew entering Dent's chamber unattended was a bad idea, but she also knew how badly he needed her services, so she felt safe enough. For now. Dent was sitting in a tall-back chair, gazing out over the colorful tents scattered on his grounds.
"Day after tomorrow is when King Alfred will wish to view his favorite knight in tournament. He always enjoys Blackbat's fighting skills for some reason. While Blackbat is on tournament grounds is when I expect the king to be murdered." Dent did not look at her and spoke unemotionally.
"Aye, my lord. I have one question. If I use my own knives, I will be easily traced. Shall we frame someone or use a common-looking knife? I refuse to have my neck stretched for any king, for any reason." Shade tried to act as unfeeling as Dent when the man turned to face her. He got up and paced the room, glancing at her ever so often.
"You are clever and suspicious, are you not?"
"My lord?"
"You think I will point the finger at you at the first moment I have?"
"It is what I would do, my lord. I am a gypsy, it is likely my people will be blamed anyway. I just don't want to be on the list of suspects when this occurs." Shade smiled impudently at Dent, using all her feminine charms to her best advantage.
"Yes, I see your point and I commend you. That was what I had planned. Now, however, I will make you a deal. If Blackbat does not even participate in the tournament, I will find another to take the blame for the king's untimely demise. If Blackbat does not survive this tournament, you will be more than paid handsomely. I will give you your heart's desire, is this understood?"
"Yes, my lord. Blackbat strikes me as a very shrewd man. He would not follow you once you take the throne for yourself. He may even cause a revolution against you."
Dent began to laugh. "Very good, my girl. If I weren't hiring you for a very unethical business I would be tempted to offer you an immoral business deal. A woman who thinks as I do is rare indeed."
"The honor is all yours, my lord." Shade tried not to grimace at the thought of sharing Dent's bed. It made her ill.
"Hold your impudent tongue, girl. Is the deal made?"
"Must he be in the tournament or can he die this very eve?" Shade thought of the look on the knight's face that afternoon. Very little persuasion could be made to get him into her tent. Once a good tussle was over, the nasty business would be concluded and the body found the next morning in a convenient location for a murder. Knights tended to wander off before battle. This story would be bought quickly. Blackbat had many enemies, no doubt.
"I don't care, as long as it's done."
"Then consider the deal sealed, my lord, and I wish it in writing." Dent laughed again but complied. With the papers signed, Shade felt satisfied and began to plan.
The three tents were up with the Wayne banner whipping around in the dusky sky. The horse was stabled in one tent, the lord and his equipmentin the larger tent and the two squires had the last with the tack and extraequipment. A very generous arrangement considering the situations of other squires. They usually wound up in more uncomfortable quarters. Bruce sat in front of his tent, writing in his journal and nodding to acquaintences as they passed. The evening was turning slightly cool, but the temperature was still comfortable enough for very little clothing.
"My lord?" The young minstrel timidly walked to the seated knight and began to fidget, waiting for the lord's acknowledgement.
"Yes, minstrel?" Blackbat looked up at the gangly youth, marveling with a jolt how feminine the boy's features were. Mayhap with some battle training he would fill out nicely.
"I have a matter of urgency to speak to you about. I . . ."
Blackbat's attention was suddenly diverted by the gypsy woman they had seen earlier. Slightly hidden by some shrubs, she was removing her clothing for a purpose Bruce couldn't discern or even care about. "May we discuss this later, perhaps tomorrow? I promise to give you my full attention then." With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the boy.
Jeanine Belle Anderson tried valiantly not to blurt out the situation. Such non-decorum would get her nowhere. When Blackbat went into his tent a short moment later, she decided to talk to him no matter what. Posing as a minstrel was risky business, but what she had overheard was even more urgent.
Jeanine was by birth a Scottish noblewoman, the youngest child and the only daughter to her family. Her father was an ambitious man, knowing of Lord Dent's desire for England's throne had promised Lord Dent money and troops to secure it. To seal the deal and ensure his family's place of honor, he had offered his only daughter in marriage. Dent, being no fool, accepted both the supplies and the bride.
However the "bride" had objections. On the eve of her wedding she disappeared from her father's castle. From that day on she took the guise of a common minstrel and had survived on her own ever since. After surviving her brothers pranks and tricks, wandering England's roads seemed simple to the plucky young woman. The hardest thing was hiding her "charms" from prying eyes.
Now things were different, a plot to kill the king was afoot and Jeanine knew that Lord Blackbat was the only person brave enough to stop such a horrid plan. But currently his lordship seemed more interested in bedding a gypsy wench than listening to her tales of treason. She turned back to the tent thinking on what to do, she couldn't just walk in, his two squires would surely stop her. The older of the pair, though quite handsome in her eyes, would most likely kill her, he had wanted to since they left London and she did not feel like giving him a chance to act on his desire. A memory came to her of a nasty prank she had played on one of her brothers, he always wondered how she got the sheep inside his tent, and it reminded her that their was more than one way to get inside a tent. She began to slip around to the back.
Moments after entering his tent Lord Wayne came out after putting away his journal, he stated to his squires, "I'll be occupied for the remainder of the evening, keep an eye out for thieves, and be prepared for an early practice in the morning." He wandered in the direction of the gypsy they had seen earlier. After a brief discussion the two of them walked toward her tent.
Richard Grayson shook his head, only Bruce Wayne could enjoy an evening of wenching and still be capable of jousting practice at the crack of dawn. "And they say that endurance only matters on the battlefield," he muttered.
"Where else does it matter?" inquired young Timothy.
Richard grinned. "I'll explain it when you are a bit older, lad." He clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's check the tack tonight and mayhap we'll not have to do it in the morning." With that the two of them went back into their tent.
By the time Jeanine had slipped under the back flap of the tent Lord Wayne was gone. She cursed under her breath using every word in her extensive Scottish vocabulary and accidentally hit the stand where the armor sat. With a loud crash the armor landed and Jeanine looked for the nearest exit only to find it blocked by a very angry Squire Grayson.
"What, by God, are you doing!" he snarled. Timothy stood behind him and wondered if he was going to have to stop Richard from killing the lad.
"Looking for the way out," she replied with all honesty, glancing behind him. "Oh, there it is!" she continued while making for the door.
"No you don't!" he hissed grabbing her shirt and dragging in back. "Is your music so bad you have to resort to stealing?"
"No," she snarled while trying to squirm free. "Let me go! I just needed to talk to his lordship," continuing to struggle against his grip. Richard was contemplating on tossing the lad into DeDeux's dungeons when the lad's cap fell off. To the shock of everybody, Richard was no longer holding a gangly lad, but a young woman and a very attractive one as well. The cap had hidden long, soft brown hair that now fell in soft waves to her waist. Once the initial shock passed he asked "Who are you?" His voice became husky.
Jeanine thought fast. According to her maids there was only one way to divert a man's attention, and it was not with long discussion. Her instincts told her that time was short and she must speak with Lord Blackbat soon. Taking her courage in her hands, along with the front of Richard's shirt, she pulled him close and kissed him.
The minute his grip relaxed as he began to enjoy the kiss she punched him in the stomach. She then grabbed her hat and was out of the tent before Timothy could pick up his jaw from the ground. Richard quickly got his breath back and croaked, "After her!"
Cramming her hair back under her hat Jeanine made a beeline toward the Gypsy camp and prayed she remembered which tent the gypsy wench she saw earlier used. Glancing over her shoulder she spotted the two squires on her trail like a pair or hounds from hell. The tent with the pair of large dogs just outside of it shone like a beacon as she made for it's entrance.
Shade had spent a very enjoyable evening. So did Lord Wayne. As he drowsed next to her, Shade sighed thinking what a waste it was to kill such a fine man, but she had a job to do and now was the best time to do it as she pulled her knife out from it's hiding place. Just as she was about to do the deed a timely interruption stopped her. The minstrel that was following Blackbat's entourage burst in seeing the situation the lad blushed, then seeing the knife in Shade's hand about to strike the lad's jaw dropped. Lord Wayne sat up, Shade tossed the knife under the bed, and the minstrel was about to explain when Wayne's squire Grayson barged in grabbing the minstrel. Shade groaned inwardly and contemplated charging Lord Dent double for this one. Lord Wayne could keep silent no longer. "Richard!" he roared. "What is the meaning of this!"
Richard took in the situation and quickly explained. "Sorry about the interruption, my lord. This little scamp ran in here before I could stop her." Using one hand to hold the squirming minstrel and the other to shove Timothy out of the tent before he saw much.
"Her?" Lord Wayne's eyebrow went up. Had his squire gone mad?
"Yes," replied Richard, pulling off the minstrel's hat causing her hair to come tumbling out, "Her."
Shade was impressed. Not too many people could fool her, and this girl had duped everybody, herself included, into thinking she was a he. She must of had a gypsy help her with this thought Shade smugly, no other people could have taught her to pull this off. Lord Wayne on the other hand was not impressed with the girl's antics. "What is the meaning of this girl?" he snarled. Richard groaned, wishing he could disappear, disturbing Bruce at this delicate moment was not one of his wiser moves. He was going to pay for this during practice later today.
Jeanine also believed that disappearing was the best course of action, Lord Blackbat was never going to believe her story at this point. "I'm sorry for the interruption my lord." When she wasn't trying to sound like a boy her voice was quite lovely. "There is a matter that most urgently requires your attention but I will explain all at a more opportune time and place."
"Nonsense," he replied, "you will explain your actions now young lady." His voice brooked no refusal.
"I am afraid that I must insist, my lord." With that she kicked the tent pole that stood in the center of the tent down.
Young Timothy was waiting outside the tent listening to the shouting match when all of a sudden the tent collapsed upon itself. As he moved to free the people inside from the tangled cloth he spied the young girl they and followed free herself and run as if the devil himself was on her heals and quickly vanish. Richard was the first to poke his head out. "Where is she?" he muttered.
"Ran off, sir," Timothy replied, "Into the forest."
"Blast!" he muttered brushing his hair from his face.
By this point his lordship had found his britches and climbed out from the mess that was once a tent and fixed both of his squires with a steely gaze. "Let us go," he hissed and stalked he way back to their tents. The squires meekly followed.
After a few more minutes Shade crawled out considering how best to kill that girl when she got her hands on her. She sighed and began to re-set her tent, after the mess was cleaned up Shade spotted the young girl's hat on the ground. As she picked it up she murmured, "Mayhap I'll see that little scamp again, eh my friends?" glancing in her pet's direction. They barked their answer.
Jeanine was running through the woods with all possible speed. While resting against a large tree she considered what the best course of action would be. Going back to try to explain things to Blackbat was out of the question until he had a chance to calm down a bit. But first of all she had more pressing matters to attend to, finding a new set of clothes was her first objective. No doubt that Lord Blackbat, his two squires, and the gypsy would keep an eye out for her, and most likely do great harm to her person when they found her. She began to creep up to the camp again thinking to perhaps steal a new set of clothes. She had no qualms about stealing, a girl had to do what she could to survive. As she gazed about looking for a suitable attire her glance rested upon one of the tents. It seemed vaguely familiar to her, after a few moments thought she remembered where she had seen it before. She began to smile, perhaps God was still looking out for her after all.
Blade was a young gypsy who, as is name implied, was an expert at throwing knives. He had an almost uncanny knack to always his target. He made a good living by challenging the nobility to knife throwing contests. The trick was always the same, he pretended to be a poor shot until the gold was on the table then proceeded to bleed them dry. As he was practicing his trained falcon cried out to tell him someone approached. He looked up to see Shade stalk by madder than he had ever seen her. "Whatever is amiss?" he inquired in Rom.
"Have you seen a minstrel wandering about?" she replied.
"There are so many of them about, to which one do you refer?" he grinned back.
"One who cannot sing," she was starting to get irritated with the man.
"I repeat my previous question." Blade's grin grew broader.
"The one who burst into my tent while I was ah....entertaining.....a member of the nobility." Shade replied.
"Well if I see a lad walking around in shock, I will know I found him," he snickered. "Up to your usual tricks eh, Shade?"
"That is none of your concern." she grumbled before stalking off.
To his credit Blade was able to hide his laughter until she was out of earshot. He turned to his raptor "Nightwing, my girl, I would give a week's earnings to have seen her face when Shade was interrupted during her business."
"It was a sight." whispered a voice from a nearby bush.
Blade froze, not sure if he heard right. He casually walked over to the bush and glanced down to see a sheepish Jeanine smiling back. With a grumbled curse he glanced about to make sure nobody was about before grabbing her and tossing her into his tent. She spun around with hands on hips. "Is this any way to great your sister?" she asked.
"Half-sister" he corrected, "And what the devil is going on, Belle?"
She sighed sitting on a trunk. "It's a very long story. But I can tell you the shorter version." he handed her some water and urged her to continue. "As a minstrel I overhear things I should not. I overheard a plot by Lord Dent to dispose of the King at this very tourney." She took a deep breath and continued. "He was talking to the killer at the time, I couldn't tell who it was but I also heard Dent promise a greater reward if Lord Blackbat didn't even participate in the tournament."
Blade whistled. "It would make sense, Blackbat would never accept Dent as King. I take it that you tried to talk to him?"
"And failed," she replied.
He began to smile. "So you're the one Shade is looking for!"
Jeanine nodded. "When I ran into the tent she was about to stab Lord Wayne." She swallowed. "I think she is the one Lord Dent hired to do his dirty work."
Blade swallowed, he had no loyalty to either the King or England, but if he could help discredit Dent it may free Jeanine, or Belle as he called her, from the pledge that demanded she marry him. He had met her while spying on her father's castle. His mother was a gypsy who had caught Lord Anderson's attention and later died in childbirth. Wanting some form a revenge he snuck around the castle hoping a plan would come to him. He tried to steal some horses when Jeanine walked into the stables. Instead of screaming and panicking she grabbed a pitch fork and went after him. Once he decided that pretending to surrender would be the best course of action she demanded to know who he was. For some odd reason he told her the truth, and for even stranger reasons she believed him. From that point on the two became allies and friends. Over the years he helped her find the courage to stand up to her brothers, and she aided him and his fellows get supplies from her father's stores. When she was promised to Dent in marriage it was hard to tell who was more angry. So he helped her escape from the castle. It had been a year since he last saw her. He sighed. "You had better stay here while I sound out both Shade and Lord Blackbat." She nodded in agreement, after he left she lay down on the furs that served as a bed and tried to get some sleep.
More to come..