The Black Lyon

excitement and pranced, threatening to overcome their riders.
    Lyonene thought of Brent and knew he rode with his father. She wished there had been time to sew him a garment of the Malvoisin colors.
    The great oak gate to the new castle walls was lowered, and the procession began. The noise of the waiting people drowned all thought as the riders slowly made their way to the lists. For weeks the people had been arriving: freemen, serfs whose masters attended the celebrations, women whose profession was to entertain, and merchants—hundreds of merchants.
    The lists themselves stood atop a small rise, and they were alive with banners and buntings. Two sets of raised benches had been built on either side of the barrier fence, one for the nobility and canopied in a red and white striped serge, the other for the ladies of the lesser knights who entered the contests, with its roof open to the spring sky. At each end of the long, narrow field were tents. One end held the tents of the challengers, the other the comers. Lyonene could see the pennant of the Black Lion among the challengers’ tents.
    Behind the wooden seats and the tents were the small tents and wagons of the merchants, the guild pennants easily discernible. Among the cheering crowd were many men with flat boxes strapped to them that held food, drink, cloth, saints’ relics, medicines guaranteed to cure all and ornaments from the world over.
    The fences threatened to break with the teeming masses that strained against them to see the richly clad men and women. As Hugo Fitz Waren entered the gate, his horse stepping onto the soft, sand-covered field, a cry went up for the Black Lion. Lyonene was especially pleased and smiled at the people, but a quick glance at Ranulf showed he did not acknowledge the cheer. In truth, he was more than a little formidable in his black attire, his back straight as a steel rod.
    The next group waited as the Earl of Malvoisin rode with his wife and his men around the edges of the jousting field. It seemed to Lyonene that the people cheered louder for them, but of course, she chided herself, that was her vain pride telling her so.
    They left the far gate and entered the tent grounds at the far end. This area too was enclosed, reserved for the use of the king’s chosen men only.
    There were three tents sporting the Malvoisin colors, two for his men and one for Ranulf. It was the largest tent that the Earl and Countess of Malvoisin now entered.
    Lyonene could not help the memories of her dance that filled her at the sight of the cream silk walls. Ranulf stopped his undressing to stare at her. Then a slow smile curved his lips. He began humming a tune from that night.
    Lyonene laughed. “I think you have forgiven me for hiding away and coming to Wales.”
    “I have said I would forgive you aught.”
    She did not like his smugness. “I should test that.”
    “Do not dare,” he growled and then saw she teased.
    Brent burst into the tent. “I come, my lord, to help you dress. Is it proper that a lady be present in a knight’s tent?”
    Lyonene narrowed her eyes at Brent’s back.
    “It is an honor, Brent,” Ranulf said to the boy. “No knight may go into battle, even mock battle, without his lady’s favor. Now, come and help me prepare for the wrestling. You may help apply the oil over my body.”
    Lyonene muttered something about pages having most delightful duties and turned away when Ranulf stared at her. She called out when she heard Berengaria’s voice, and her friend entered.
    “I have ever wanted to see this tent.” She fingered the silk of the walls. “Lord Ranulf, I think you take the wrestling this day.”
    “Aye. I have had Edward make eight gold cups, each set with emeralds for the prizes.”
    Berengaria raised her eyebrows to Lyonene, who smiled in answer.
    “My lord, is it an honor for two ladies to be present?” Brent’s voice was exasperated.
    Berengaria laughed. “He is a de Lacy, ever impatient and rude. You have taken on a monster, Lyonene. Come and let us find a seat and watch your husband’s triumph.
    “You may sit with my wife in the section for Malvoisin. I do not think you will find it difficult to see from there.”
    The two women left the tent. “How do we women bear such arrogance?” They looked at each other and laughed.
    Ranulf had been correct; green and black ropes sectioned off a good piece of the tiered benches. There was room for about a dozen people. Lyonene and Berengaria took