Free Beatrice and Benedick by Marina Fiorato Page B

and swept out before the dolts could stop me, saying as I went: ‘My uncle’s orders; another knight has arrived.’ Expecting to be stopped at all times I slipped through the archway, across the small cloister and into the unlocked chapel.
    I carried my booty to the nave, which I knew would be empty at this hour, for the friar was not a man to wear out his knees with prayer between the bells – and, in fact, I had already seen him in the throng outside. Still, I went behind the rood screen to change, and a parade of saints in the fresco watched me with disapproval. One of those who looked down in judgement was St James the Great – admonishing me with perhaps the very finger that waited to be won in the courtyard. With shaking hands, I took off my gown as quickly as I could – and pulled on the suit and visor. If I was caught in the chapel as Beatrice I could say I was praying for the knights; if I was caught as a knight I could likewise say I was praying for my own success – but to be discovered in my shift and stockings would take a little more explanation.
    The white plastron fitted like a skin. Fortunately I was tall too, and had a decent pair of shoulders, and small breasts, so once the suit was on and the breastplate was in place, there was nothing to betray my female form. I put on the helmet and passed a hand before my face – I was satisfied, from myobservation of the other knights, that no one could see my face through the dense grille of the mask.
    When I returned to the courtyard the servers were handing round goblets, and there seemed to be some lull in the fighting. I picked a fellow in the crowd I didn’t know. He had a Trinacria tied around his throat like a kerchief. ‘What is happening?’
    He turned to me. ‘Signor Mountanto has won,’ he said sourly, ‘unless another comes to challenge him.’
    I walked straight up to the loge before my courage failed, and bowed to the prince.
    Don Pedro put down his goblet next to the reliquary. ‘A latecomer!’ he cried, always diverted by novelty. He beckoned the marshal of the lists with his beringed hand. ‘Will you show us your face?’
    I held a hand to my visor, and shook my head. Don Pedro’s interest was piqued. ‘The unknown knight. Well, if we may not know your face, may we at least know your name, señor?’
    â€˜Signor Arcobaleno,’ I said, lowering my voice to a growl, my tones obscured anyway by the visor. I’d thought the alias witty, and it had come to me upon the spur of the moment from the sight of all the different pennants flying here today. Signor Rainbow; I was not of one colour, but all of them.
    There was a titter among the ladies. Don Pedro raised one dark brow.
    â€˜Signor Arcobaleno,’ he said. ‘Despite your name, you must choose a colour.’
    â€˜Since Your Highness is winning the day, I will wear the girdle of my host.’
    Don Pedro, untroubled, nodded, and my uncle Leonato gave me my sky-blue sash without a flicker of recognition. I knotted it about my heaving stomach and turned to face Signor Benedick, who was busy juggling apricots.
    He threw the fruits into the crowd, where three luckychildren caught them with a cheer, then he turned to face me. Only I stood between him and the priceless reliquary, and suddenly he was deadly serious. We bowed, then moved our weapons to the commencement position; rapier high, dagger low.
    His first blow stung my arm all the way to my shoulder, and I knew from that first strike that I had made a mistake. He was taller than me, and tougher than I expected, and I remembered those strong arms around me when he’d taken me to my chamber. My knees buckled as with rapier and dagger I desperately tried to fend off the stinging blows. I had the advantage only in my weight and agility and I did my best to dodge the strikes by moving fast. I was also out of practice – it was a month since I had