Now all good things must come to an end and the Marquis d'Ascoyne resisted the change of age and its effect on his flesh and bones.   He resisted, but time is the great equalizer and eventually the marquis realized he had no more of himself to give to the tournaments.  

 However when word reached him that some young Bretonnian Knights wanted treasures and rewards and prizes he rose up and entered his Last Tournament.

His Last Tournament

The Marquis d’Ascoyne had arrived two days early. His caravan consisted of four wagons. The first was his personal wagon in the manner of the gypsies, drawn by four strong horses. His wife; the Lady Dianne rode in the wagon beside him. Riding alongside were his two daughters, AndreaLyn and Cobina and an Elf Warrior named Taurengataur,

His presence raised a few eyebrows and dropped a few jaws. For it had been rumored that the Marquis had granted an Elf Warrior permission to court his oldest daughter and now the very proof rode with the d’Ascoyne family. Of course tongues wagged! Gossip flourishes well in the fertile fields of imagination and ignorance, but the Marquis had schooled the man from Athel Loren Well.

Upon arriving he personally oversaw the distribution of food stuffs into the kitchens. Once done he went over to another wagon to check on the delivery of medical supplies, including ointments, salves, powders, bandages and the powder made from the willow trees which acted as a reliever of headaches and something of a controller of pain. He saw Lady Gandolfyn moving a small ornately carved chest from the second wagon. She repulsed his offer to help. “Tis medicine from the Wood Elves for treatment of life threatening wounds, Hercule. It is under my protection.” He left for the third wagon and then on to the fourth wagon. Satisfied with his tour of duties, he went to his tent to take a quick afternoon nap.

Dinner Preamble

That evening he decided to enter the feasting hall early to check the seating and stole a quick look around the room. He saw the table for he and his wife quite easily. He looked about the room and saw that AndreaLyn and her consort were seated at a table shared by Sir Hillier and Georgal of Entraglia. That left Cobina and he found her chair at the same table as her sister. At his table he noticed the flag of Estalia next to the crest of the d’Ascoynes and to the other side the crest of Lady Caroline du Bonaparte.

Now Lady Bonaparte had never forgiven the slight caused by a very young Hercule d’Ascoyne to her grandmother 40 long years in the past. Ironically, she was not present at the offence. In truth she was born 15 years after the fact. But her grandmother told the story so many times, and her mother told variations on the same theme, it was as if she had been present.

Grandmama had inquired of the young Knight Errant what orcs did with the ir prisoners and he had responded it was not for the delicate ears of a Lady of the Court to hear such things. Grandmother had pressed the issue by following the Young Errant Knight around the Great hall at Parravon until finally his resistance crumbled and he told her. Bluntly. With Description. Dear Grandmama turned white as a sheet, fainted and made rude noises for a few moments before regaining her composure. When they tried to pick her off the floor she slipped and down she went, twisting her ankle. For all the calumnitous actions she carried the scars “burned deep across my heart.”

He went to the table and sat down and made himself comfortable. Fortunately his wife’s place separated him from the young Bonaparte and that was good. He reflected on being sixty He was past his prime. He was resigned to old age and the infirmities of same. He was now a dottering, palsy laden, desolute figure of a grand warrior gone to seed and probably ready for composting. As he swam in this pool of doubt, the Estalian ambassador arrived with his companion. The Estalian ambassador waved graciously to the Marquis and the old warrior returned the gesture. He had opened the choklat market in Estalia and the trade was good. Aaaah, he sighed, a fitting end for so fine a warrior as myself-. The two shook hands and sat down at their table as the Lady d’Ascoyne entered the room. Seeing her husband next to the Ambassador, she came quickly to the table and welcome the newcomer in his native tongue. It took both men by surprise. They conversed a bit in Estalian before Lady d’Ascoyne was introduced to the Estalians companion.

The Estalian Ambassador’s companion removed her cloak which was taken by servants and the first thing the Marquis noticed was the beautiful choker necklace around her neck fashioned from Emeralds and Rubies From the cleft of her collar bone down some 7 inches or so, a semi rigid chain ending in the finest example of Lustrian Bluestone he had ever seen! The fact that this wonderful jewel was flanked by a magnificent heaving bosom only made the viewing more enjoyable. She looked so biblical, so lo and behold.

He rallied! Out of the compost pit my spirit! Egad my desolute figure becomes firm once again!! The palsy leaves my hands and I no longer dotter for my spirit is revived!! He tore his gaze from the bejeweled display and saw his wife engaged in conversation with Lady Bonaparte..

Egad, she hath not found me out. She will not quickly transform into the serpent coiffed monster known as Medusa, the Gorgon!

The Dinner

The Dinner lasted near three hours. The Introduction and welcoming was brief, The Entertainment wonderful and the food first rate. The conversation between the Estalian ambassador and the Marquis was very professional. The Marquis gave the ambassador his full attention, which was made all the more harder by the ambassador’s consort leaning this way and that, or stretching ladylike and laughing politely at every little jest the Marquis made. His wife separated the Marquis from the Bonaparte female and they were engaged in conversation as well. He could not help overhear bits and snippets of his wife talking about Life at the Sentinel.

At just over an hour Lady Bonaparte excused herself graciously to talk with an old friend and the Estalian Ambassador and his companion left to dance a bit., leaving the d’Ascoyne’s to talk to each other. A moment of silence passed and then the chatting began. She informed him that the young Bonaparte girl was absolutely nothing like her grandmother or her mother for that matter and that they were getting along quite well and wasn’t it wonderful to meet Don Salvatore again and his lovely companion and how lovely that necklace was and such a bauble must have cost a small fortune and did you see how she was dressed in that lovely gown which, alas I would never wear as I am too modest to wear such a costume but that is the way of Estalia and Estalians, don’t you think so my dear?

“Yes” he answered.

“Oh darling husband, did you see who is here? That lout DuQuesne and his cohorts. How that man became a knight is beyond my ken, I’ll tell you and that hired thug , Burgot, is with him. All the manners of a swine. Speaking of swine tonight they will have roast pig and mint jelly, you like the mint jelly don’t you dear and-” She paused to wave to Three ladies of the court “Oooh tghere is Baroness Fouchet and her sister in law Lady Bouchet. I must chart them up a bit. “

Excusing herself she walked over to speak to the small group. Watching her enjoying herself delighted him to no end, but what he required was an old companion . He asked a servant for a jeroboam of his Personal Applejack and it was brought postehaste. He turned the spigot and out flowed the amber fluid. First he sipped it and closed his eyes in delight, savoring the rich aroma and taste.

A hand grasped his shoulder and he looked up into the eyes of his wife. She kissed him on the cheek and then on the mouth and announced that she and the ladies were off to - He interrupted her, looking her straight in the eyes. “Wife of many years I care not what you and the coven-“ and he noticed that six of the Ladies were standing behind his wife looking at him. He coughed “I mean the covey of quail may do for I trust thee. I am a fallible man who readily acquiesces to the charms of a loving wife.”

That softened the eyes of the Ladies and they began chatting in earnest as they left the table.

He returned to the business at hand. “Once more dear friends into the breach!” and he poured a second flagon of Applejack, closing his eyes as the magic of the drink loosened the very strings of his demeanor.

And the evening wore on with him sipping and observing his friends. Le Courageax stopped by and was offered some Applejack. He liked it. Next came Georgal of Entraglia followed by Sir Hiiler, then de Giselles, de Rochefort and Charles the Mighty. Soon a second Jeroboam was ordered as 30 knights surrounded the Marquis’ table and the Apple Jack flowed freely. By the start of the third hour he was again alone, but he didn’t care. There was but a single bottle uncorked of Applejack on the table, the two Jeroboams having died. The room was emptying now, but he didn’t care. He sliced a pear and ate it with some cheese and bread. He tried to stand up and did so slowly. “Egad! I have forgotten how to walk!” and he sat down and closed his eyes.

A hand grasped his shoulder and he looked up into the deepest blue radiance he had ever seen. He smiled. “How Lovely” and his gaze took in the field of ivory skin, near falling out of brocaded bodice. “Reminds me of home” he whispered, thinking of the two hillocks that flanked the Leopard Gate. The Estalian Ambassador’s companion sat down in the Ambassador’s chair and asked to taste the applejack and he poured her a small glass. After the third small glass, she began to smack her lips. “I like the taste of it”, she said, “ and I like the scent of it as well.”

She smiled and looked of into space. “I believe I could create a series of delicacies flavored with this apple jack infused into fresh fruits such as pears, apples and certain berries, each covered in very rich chocolate.”

Within the next few moments he learned she was a confectioners daughter and knew how to candy fruits and berries. At the end of fortyfive minutes the conversation was progressing well.

Lord DuQuesne looked at the Marquis and sneered “The old weasel has trapped another chicken” he said and his toadies laughed. “By the stars he hath enchanted her.” Said Giles Garnier, Scribe to the DuQuesne court. Pierre Burgot tore off meat from a bone and spoke while chewing “Love’s pillows never looked so bountiful” as the grease ran down his chin. There were seven of these churlish louts gawking at the Marquis and the Estalian female..

Garnier became excited. “Here comes the Don Salvatore di Raggio, let us see how the old weasel handles this!” and they watched.

Dear Reader, understand that men have little if any understanding of the female spirit. Women’s minds are a labyrinth of twists and curves, of loops and variances. What a woman deplores in a consort she may relish in a white haired old man who looks remarkably like Grandfather Winter. The Estallian Ambassador arrived and his companion explained that the good Marquis [who couldn’t move if they had greased his boots] and she were embarking on a business of chocolate covered candied fruits and berries, which she would called cordials.

Burgot laughed lustily as he heard this, which caused the Ambassador to snap his head up with sheer malevolence in his eyes. Burgot choked on his meal.

Estallans are masters of the duel. With a rapier they are magnificent. Estalians have secret brotherhoods called Familias which , for a small fee, remove obstacles, arrange compromises, negotiate dealings between groups. It was rumored that the Estalian Ambassador was the head of such a familia.

The companion sealed Burgot’s fate by making a sniffling, ladylike complaint that the group of men , here she indicated Lord DuQuesne and his companions had been eavesdropping. The Ambassador gestured to three rather large stewards in his employ who walked towards DuQuesne and Duquesne and his party mingled through the diminishing crowd.

The Ambassador and his companion bade farewell to the good Marquis, allowing him not to rise and they were gone in an instant.

“Casualties; one churlish follower of that twit DuQuesne, two Jeroboams of Applejack and my legs”. He gathered his remaining wits and stood up. It amazed him he kept his balance. He turned to see Lady Caroline Bonaparte apparently sleeping. He smiled. He thought to call a servant to make her departure as quiet as possible, but this was not to be.

A tugging at his sleeve caused him to turn as she pulled herself upright. She was drunk. Extremely drunk and he knew this from experience. Like this evening.

She eyed him coldly almost challenging him to a duel. She slowly looked him over from head to toe and back to head. Her grip on his arm had not loosened. He smiled a courteous smile and leaned forwards to receive the blow from this drunken little goose, but none came. She leaned forward, stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the nose.

“Goodnight Grandfather Winter” and the last syllable merged with a girlish giggle and she turned abruptly and started to leave. She had not released the Marquis’ arm and was anchored by the old warrior. She turned slowly around and gingerly released the captive arm “I shall see you in my dreams”, she said and kissed him a second time on the nose and left swiftly.

Those remaining saw the spectacle and dismissing the young Bonaparte’s behavior to coquettish intoxication, stared at the Marquis with critical eyes. He withdrew a silk kerchief from his sleeve and daubed his nose. He put the kerchief back and began to walk away from the hallway. His carriage was positively regal . Sir Le Courageax whispered to Sir Hillier “The old fox is going to pull this off! He walks as a proud Bretonnian Noble. Notice how he addresses all he meets with courtesy” Lord Cadfael shook his head and said under his breath “Let the trumpets sound for d’Ascoyne is in the house.” He faltered trying to remember what was said when the Marquis first saw the Round table.

Sir Hillier chuckled seeing the Marquis approach them. “Let us play up to this pantomime” and when the Marquis passed buy, grasping each by the hand and with a firm handshake, bade them good night. All three responded by clicking their heels together in the Empirical style and bowed. As they then stood up at attention, their sword arms crossed their respective chests and they gave him a warrior’s salute ending with rolling eyes and mischief on their faces.

The Marquis, having been found out, chuckled which rolled into laughter as he left the banquet hall.

Aftermath

Lady Dianne can honestly be considered a Mountain of Patience and Understanding. Her marriage had made her the stuff of legend, She was gracious and kind and far better a woman than the Marquis deserved thought many. Now she was listening to a young woman who, although fully composed, was struggling with a confession of her fully felt transgression the night before. As Lady Bonaparte took full responsibility for her actions, Lady Dianne made no reaction. The only time she faltered in her confession was telling how she had realized she had been carrying the grudge so long and without cause, how the Marquis looked remarkably like Grandfather Winter and – here her voice broke with emotion- how she had kissed him on the nose not once but twice!

Lady Gandolfyn bit her lip llightly. AndreaLyn dabbed at her lips with a scarf and Cobina just stared off into space. Lady Dianne asked if there was anything more and Lady Bonaparte said no, she was leaving the Tourny and returning home and Lady Dianne said-

“Nonsense! I won’t hear of it!” Lady Bonaparte kept to her course saying she could not face the other ladies of the court. It was Cobina who said “Oh those old biddies” which prompted a stifled laugh from the penitent Bonaparte..

“ You must understand that word of your actions reached my ears as we left the tents this morning and-“ Lady Bonaparte gasped and waited for the judgement. “I rebuffed the gossip. Grandfather Winter and my husband do look remarkably alike and I can see where one unaccustomed to the powers of applejack could be easily misled.” Lady Dianne presented the young penitent with a small ornate carved box of Opar wood. “This I give thee for thy honesty and good heart.” The Lady Bonaparte opened the small box and gasped a second time, a fine broach in Gold! She made to reply, but Lady Dianne raised her hand and spoke, saying “Ye are a good woman, Caroline du Bonaparte, but must learn something quickly. In every strata of Bretonnian familia from Peasant to Merchant to Noble to King, there are people who are gracious and kind and of good tolerance. These qualities come from within them and are part of them like their heart and their blood. To these pattern your life” Lady Caroline du Bonaparte smiled.

Lady Dianne continued, “For what makes us all Bretonnian is our love of life, our love of freedom and our respect of other people. Treat others as you would have them treat you” She called for some fresh juice. “True, In every strata of Bretonnian familia from Peasant to Merchant to Noble to King, there are also people who are small minded gossips, pompous asses, people without real virtue and think only of themselves. Avoid these charlatans.”

Lady Caroline lowered here eyes and then asked timidly, “Where doth the Marquis stand in these stratae?”

The pause near cost the Marquis his hiding place. It lasted but five seconds, but seemed more like hours.

It was Lady Gandolfyn who broke the silence. “ On the one hand he embodies all that is good in Bretonnia and on the other hand is his lack of pretense. He was the son of a Noble and would inherit the title, yet all attempts to school him in the art of court etiquette failed miserably. He rebelled at what he called the affectations of Nancy Boys..” She paused while that was absorbed.

Cobina asked if her papa was a rebel and Lady Gandolfyn arched an eyebrow as she narrowed her eyes.

“Never!!” she hissed. “He upholds the laws of the Lady of the Lake and of Chivalry better than most Bretonnians.” Her visage changed to one of sweetness again. “It is against ignorance he rallies and he has no time for ignorant people.”

“He is his ‘own man’” said Lady Bonaparte. “Exactly”, replied Lady Gandolfyn, “and that is why he loves his beloved Carcassonne, far away from what he calls the lathering of words.”

A pang of remorse swept over the Marquis. He should not be here listening to this! He should be somewhere else doing something to his liking, but not here as a petty eavesdropper. His head fell in shame and he prayed for forgiveness from the Lady of the Lake.

“Come let us away from this place and back into the market, for there are some glass beads from Elsinore and some Cathayan silk available on the other side of the market near the Arabian Tents.

Oh forgive my errant heart, he thought, Arabian tents did the prophetess say? He counted to thirty before he peeked from behind the Ferns and shrubbery to see his family and their new friend some 70 feet away and he was off like a shot from an Empirical Cannon.

He moved quickly and avoided any contact with people, It was like charging through Infantry to get to the enemy General. He saw his path and took it as he moved ahead to the Arabian tents. Looking across he saw his family fall behind him on a slightly different course away from his direction, they would never see him. The first thing his senses told him was the smells of the Arabian foods and drink were attainable. As he sighted the inviting open flaps of the Tent itself, he could hear the music. He stopped abruptly at the door was told to enter and he did, ordering coffee and baklava and lamb sheshkabob and hummous and he sat near the floor to watch the dancers. About 700 pounds of them and there were but three.

He smiled the wannest of smiles and sipped his beverage, dipped the lamb in the hummous and ate the bakalava.. He had not the appetite he had imagined. Yet he noted that the dancers still moved effortlessy and with a grace of their slimmer counterparts. A cane dance was performed and the old warrior rewarded the dancers with a sack of gold coin. He stayed for near thirty minutes after the dancers had finished and then left. He exited right into the middle of his family.

The resultant conversation made the Storm of Chaos seem like a walk in the garden.

 Joust

The moment he put on the Armor of Agilulf, he was years younger in thinking, flexibility and combat expertise. Yet rather than spin about and perform some acrobatic turns he sat in his Tourney chair and thought about Tournaments past. His eyes closed he saw through his mind’s eye his first opponent, Sir Theo Bettincour, who he bested three times out of three; the manied faces came and went as did his memories of warhorsers and foremost was Thunderbolt, his destrier, killed in the Storm of Chaos. A solitary tear ran from the corner of his left eye and down his cheek.. He called for his squire and Cobina entered. They exchanged looks and she got him his parchment, his quill, ink, seal and wax. He enjoyed the new found ability to move easily whilst wearing the enchanted armor.

He completed the written instructions and sealed it with the d’Ascoyne seal. He got up and began to remove the armor. Within minutes all his aches and pains and stiffness returned. He wrapped each piece of armor in linen and put it back into his Chest of Opar wood. This he placed on the table. He took the Sword of the Lady’s Champion and placed that into its box as well. The Weapons box he placed atop the Armor box.. He placed candles at either end of the weapons box and lit them. He got down on his knees and prayed to the Lady of the Lake.

“Mlady, I present myself before you and I thank you for all my blessings, both those known to me and the myriad of blessings which you have bestowed without telling me. I pray you receive my words and adjudge my heart after having seen it.”

He stopped praying. It was the same prayer beginning he had used since he was 10 years of age. He thought a bit. What was a prayer but a conversation with a powerful deity? He would have the conversation, but without the flowery phrases.

“Lady of the Lake, I stand before you asking for a sign, a judgement. You know who I am. I have drawn the precious fluid from the Grail which you gave me after slaying the Iranna Dragon. I have looked into your eyes and have sworn my allegiance to you. Throughout my life I have defended my country, my family and your shrines. The reason I have put up the Armor of Angilulf and the Lady’s Champion Sword is simple; I have no need to wear it in this simple Tournament! I am your thrall and will not sully sacred armor nor purpose for a simple contest.

I only ask that when I bruise, it be lightly done as my bones are old and creak with age.” A roguish look and a spreading grin across his face. “If that is what you wish, M’Lady. This old warrior still serves with a willing heart.”

The story continues in  

Just Before the Tournament - a chance encounter