Free LordoftheHunt by Anonymous Author

seek a
worthy punishment for such stupidity.”
    * * * * *
    Joan and Edwina followed Del up the outer steps to the wall
walk. He elbowed aside a few lads from the wash house to make space and set an
empty nail keg down for Edwina to stand upon.
    “This will do,” Edwina said. She patted Del’s beefy arm.
    Joan propped her arms on the stone ledge of the wall and
looked across the crowded bailey. “I’ve not seen such finery since last King
John visited.”
    Below, a seating area ringed an open patch of clipped grass,
like a bed of lush summer flowers. Flowers formed of the bright colors of the
ladies’ gowns and men’s tunics.
    Next to Joan, Del wagered with a few spectators. Edwina
nudged Joan’s ribs. “Step aside, I’d like some of that play.”
    Joan curtsied, smiled, and stepped back so Edwina could join
in the wagering. When Edwina resumed her position, Joan searched the spectators
for Nat, but did not see him.
    “I hope Nat’s not making wagers,” she said.
    “He’s no sense to ‘im. He’ll wager on a man ‘e likes rather
than on one with the strength to win.”
    “Or worse, on the advice of others who know as little as he.
Do you see him? Should I look for him?”
    Edwina held Joan’s arm. “Leave the man be. He’s probably
with the hounds. He has little interest in wrestling.”
    “I have little interest in it either. How watching sweaty
men grapple will help decide whether a man will make a good husband, I cannot
say.”
    “And I suppose ye think she should judge him on his
kindness?” Edwina grinned.
    “And why not?”
    “A kind man is most likely a weak man, is why. Our lady
would be just as happy picking the finest-looking man. He, at least, might
please in bed.”
    The wagering men laughed and Joan looked away. “Edwina—”
    “Hush.” The laundress pointed down at the circle of grass
marked off with ropes. The bishop took his seat in the tiers of benches
constructed for favored spectators. All others must watch from where they
could. Mathilda sat between the bishop and the wife of one of Ravenswood’s
knights.
    An expectant hush fell on the crowd when two men walked to the
center of the grass. They wore only their braies. They were barefoot and
weaponless.
    The bishop outlined the rules. The winner must throw his
opponent to the ground such that he hit on at least three-points. The bishop
alone would determine the winner.
    Gravant called out for the contest to begin and the two men
circled each other, arms extended. Along with the start came a swell of
shouting for one man or the other.
    Joan tore her gaze from the bishop. Her hatred of him surely
meant a long stint in purgatory.
    “What do you know of this pair?” a woman near Edwina asked.
    Edwina gave the lineage of each man. “They’ve a poor chance
o’ winning the lady. They may be finer of face than Roger Artois, but they
haven’t his wealth or influence. De Harcourt has my money. He’ll make a fine
match there,” she nodded at the small arena “as well as for the lady—” Edwina
broke off.
    One of the wrestlers put the other on his back.
    Shouts of derision accompanied the winner and loser as they
left the circle. Edwina sighed and handed a penny to Del.
    The bishop raised two fingers. The bishop’s silent signals
to his minions had given Joan the idea for taking control of the hounds. It had
been watching the scurrying to please Gravant that made Joan realize she might
be able to save Nat from the man’s unkindness—nay, the word was too mild.
    The bishop had no kindness. Or patience. He begrudged the
smallest compliment to the servants. Over the past month, he’d evicted any
number of tenants for petty reasons so he might set his own men in their
places. The manor was in an uproar. These festivities mocked the people’s mood.
    And Nat wandered vaguely through his tasks, accomplishing
all of them, but not always in as timely a manner as he once had.
    Fear of the bishop’s wrath, his quick dismissal of men