The ruse of passing himself off as Theodore simply by putting on armor that bore the man’s ensign seemed too simplistic to work. No one in Noel’s own time would swallow it, but while men and women here might scheme and connive, they still apparently took coats of arms and insignia at face value. Frederick was not yet entirely over his shock at this duplicity. Noel decided if Leon could show these folks how to break a few rules, he might as well do the same. Besides, Theodore had started it by having Noel take his place once already.
Swathed in a cloak to conceal himself from the watchful eyes of guards patrolling everywhere, a tense, silent Noel rode a nondescript palfrey along the streets to the tent enclosure. Noel opened his cloak to show the emblems on his surcoat, and the guard waved them through with scarcely a glance.
Indeed, there were armored knights and squires milling everywhere in such confusion no one had time to be suspicious. Most were comparing wounds or complaining that the tournament field and tents should have been closer together. It was an awkward arrangement, mostly for the squires who had to dash back and forth for mislaid gauntlets or forgotten weapons.
At the d’Angelier tents, Frederick and the other squires set to work transferring Noel from the gentle palfrey to a massive war destrier dappled gray with a black mane and tail. The animal’s head was nearly as long as Noel’s torso; his shaggy feet were the size of dinner plates. Noel stared up at the creature’s back with trepidation and barely stopped himself from asking for a stepladder.
“Percheron?” he asked, drymouthed.
“Yes, indeed.” Frederick patted the horse’s shoulder with visible pride. “Bloodlines all the way back to Normandy. He is a steady old campaigner. He knows every trick of the jousting field. Leave him his head once you start down the tiltyard. Do not attempt to rein him short.”
Noel watched the brute prance around like a yearling colt while his bardings were put on. He might be huge, but that didn’t prevent him from being frisky. Although horses were extinct in Noel’s century, the Time Institute had brought a few specimens back for training purposes. Noel knew that Percherons were considered the most spirited of the big draft breeds.
It took two men to lift the heavy chanfron and buckle it on the horse’s head. Constructed of wood and leather, it made the animal fret and snap. Smooth mail and plate covered his chest and shoulders, and his rump was draped with a massive leather crupper at least two inches thick. Feeling as though the horse was better protected than he, Noel wondered if it could even move, much less run with so much weight to carry.
Once up in the saddle, Noel had to close his eyes a moment against a wave of unexpected weakness. He wasn’t sure how long Cleope’s opium mixture was going to last, especially under exertion.
Handling the reins, Noel quickly discovered his mount had a mouth of iron and the temperament to match. It was like trying to ride a moving mountain.
Frederick climbed into his own saddle and another squire handed him a bound bundle of lances. Another moved ahead of Noel and unfurled a gonfalon of black and gold silk. The wind made the colors swirl. Noel cast off his cloak and wished himself luck.
As they rode through the town in their own miniature procession, people paused to look, then to point. Word flashed ahead, and by the time he rode past the round Byzantine church with its red tile roof and bell tower, and reached the stone bridge spanning the river, spectators had begun to gather beside the road. Many of them cheered, and Noel felt like a complete impostor as he lifted his hand in return.
“ Jesu mea,” muttered Frederick as the cheering grew louder, swelling ahead of them in a wave. “Do not open your visor for any reason. I vow this will goad Sir Magnin like tossing water on a hornet.”
“Good,” said Noel. ‘That’s what we want.“
He saw the field ahead on the flat plain. People thronged the stands. Gonfalons waved in a myriad of colors. Sweating horses stood tied to their saddles out of the way. Knights yet to compete roamed restlessly on horseback, their visors up, colorful pennons fluttering from their lances. Others stood about, flirting with ladies in the stands. A boy and girl in servant’s homespun were rolling in the hay beneath the stands, half-concealed by the cloths hanging over the support posts. Food sellers hawked their wares from wooden trays slung around their necks. The smell of seasoned goat meat in the hot afternoon air made Noel queasy. Broken lances had been thrown in careless piles. Five corpses wrapped in blankets lay stacked for burial later. Noel averted his eyes quickly and tried not to listen to the buzzing flies.
Two combatants were in the tiltyard now, careening toward each other at full gallop, their lances blunted for the contest. They came together with a crunching smack that made Noel flinch. The crowd screamed in frenzy. One man in pale blue went flying over the hindquarters of his horse. He landed on his feet, staggered a few steps to catch his balance, and bowed in rueful acknowledgment of defeat.
Other onlookers, already losing interest, craned to see Noel as he edged his horse onto the field. A few recognized his ensign. Some rose to their feet. The noise receded for a few shocked seconds, then swelled.
One of the four judges in crimson gestured at a herald, who came trotting over to Noel on horseback.
“Your name, sir knight.”
“I wish to make challenge,” said Noel.
“We do no challenges today. This is a joust of celebration and good spirit, intended to honor our new governor.”
“I am Theodore of Albania,” said Noel loudly. “Rightly appointed governor of Mistra by Andronicus, your liege and sovereign emperor. I have come to challenge Magnin Phrangopoulos and lay claim to what is mine.”
The herald’s face turned as pale as his linen. “My lord prince,” he gasped. “What-”
“I have brought challenge,” said Noel. He gestured and a grim-faced Frederick brought forward a gauntlet stitched and embroidered with Theodore’s coat of arms on one side, the two-headed eagle of Byzantium on the other. ‘Take my glove to Sir Magnin.“
The herald swallowed and although Frederick held out the glove, the man did not take it. “My lord, I dare not-”
“What is this?” demanded one of the judges, riding up. He scowled beneath his crimson cap. “You are delaying the tournament, sir. Take your place or stand aside for others.”
The herald turned in his distinctive tabard and murmured quickly to the judge. The man also turned pale. He glanced at Noel and coughed.
“My lord, we have no-”
“Stand aside,” said Noel.
The two men swung the horses from his path. Taking the gauntlet, Noel spurred his destrier hard. Startled, the old horse lumbered into a gallop and picked up speed as they crossed the field. Reining sharply before the canopied section of the stand where Sir Magnin’s court sat transfixed with amazement, Noel flung the gauntlet with more force than aim. By sheer luck, it hit Sir Magnin in the face.
He slapped it away and jerked to his feet. Decked out in cloth of gold and saffron-colored hose, a feathered cap cocked on his long black hair, Sir Magnin wore a heavy gold chain studded with thumb-sized emeralds across his chest. His handsome face blazed scarlet, and his eyes held murder. “What is the meaning of this outrage?” he shouted. “You pathetic whelp, how dare you challenge me-”
Noel bowed in the saddle. “I challenge you to a fight to see who will run this province in the name of the emperor.”
Leon, who had been sitting quietly to one side, looking gray-faced and ill, jumped at the sound of Noel’s voice. He tugged at Sir Magnin’s sleeve, only to be brushed off like a fly.
“The name of the emperor no longer matters here,” said Sir Magnin.
“It matters to many,” said Noel.
A flicker in Sir Magnin’s black eyes told Noel he was right. Sir Magnin’s position here was still shaky. Noel pressed the point.
“Is this grand tournament an attempt to create allies for yourself? Do you think you can feed men and throw them some entertainment and expect them to commit treason for you? Do you expect them to break their oaths of fealty to the emperor?”