Chapter Five

W ho was that man talking to Papa? Enide rose higher on her tiptoes, craning her neck to see over the top of the window shutter. The handsome stranger wore a tunic of flowered silk and an ermine mantle. And what remarkable legs!

Good Graces! He dismounted! Papa took the horse by the bridle. What was going on?

Her father had been behind the house watching the crowds who had come for the joust. Merchants had set up makeshift stalls. Men were amusing themselves with dice and cards. Everything was in a state of pre-joust chaos but normal until that knight had ridden up to her father and started asking questions. And now, Papa was bringing a stranger into their house?

Enide moved away from the window. She knew better than to let herself be seen. She would stay hidden in the kitchen. But she put her ear to the door.

"Thank you, sir," came the stranger's voice. It was a young voice. Not too young. "I do need lodging and I see this town is crowded." He sounded perplexed, as though he had never heard of the Sparrow Hawk Joust.

"Tarsenesyde," Papa called. "Good daughter? Come into the hall."

Enide jumped away from the door. Into the hall? She was ill-attired in an old linen dress so full of holes it was scarcely more than an apron, covering her shabby chemise. Hot with embarrassment, she stepped from the kitchen, nearly colliding with her horrified mother who had been in the pantry.

"My lady and my daughter," Papa said.

Enide's pulse raced. She allowed herself one quick peek before dropping her gaze. The man was gaping.

"Daughter," her father said, "take this gentleman's hand and lead him to supper."

Papa had clearly lost his mind. Nevertheless, she grasped the knight's hand, a strong, warm hand, and began walking quickly. He matched her pace with his long-legged stride.

The parlor was the only room fit for entertaining a guest. Embroidered cushions and cloths on the couches hid the worn spots. A fire crackled in the hearth. The scent of roasting meat heralded a feast—of sorts. Enide directed the stranger to the place beside Licoranz.

Annette, their only servant, fetched them bread, wine, meat, and sauce. The knight and Papa talked of little things: Easter's fine weather, strong horses, fresh bread.

Tarsenesyde had taught Enide to eat little in company and to say nothing. A lady should always be quiet and demure. Unfortunately, she wasn't sure what to do with herself if she couldn't eat or talk. She tried not to stare. But the man's hound-dog brown eyes were so warm and his brown hair so…so brown. He had a cut on his face that ran down his neck and had a bruise alongside it. It looked recent and made him appear somehow fierce and vulnerable all at once.

Licoranz pushed back his bowl with a sigh. "You set a fine table, milady."

Tarsenesyde smiled. "The Lord's bounty." She signaled for Annette to begin taking things away.

The knight cleared his throat. Enide wondered if he was about to announce what business had brought him to Laluth.

"Tell me, my good host," he began, in a newly authoritative voice, "why your daughter, who is so lovely and clever, is dressed in a manner so obviously beneath her?"

Enide's mouth went dry. How could words so rude manage to sound gracious?

Licoranz leaned back in his seat and eyed the young stranger calmly.

"Naturally I'm grieved to see my darling girl reduced to such a state, but what can I do? I am sworn to aid my count in battle. This I have done for so long that all I once possessed has been lost, mortgaged, or sold." Enide heard the bitterness in his voice. "Still, she could be dressed well enough. The Count of Laluth would show her every favor and provide her with the finest gowns. He's her uncle, you see. But he demanded a father's rights in exchange."

Enide had never heard this before. She watched the frown on the knight's face deepen into a scowl as her father explained.

"The count would marry her off to his own advantage. Any nobleman in the region would gladly take her to wife, at any cost. But there is not a man among them to whom I would give my consent. She is my greatest treasure. You won't find a cleverer maiden, or one more obedient."

Enide's eyes filled with tears. Papa was the best man who ever lived.

The stranger remained oddly silent. Unmoved. She decided he was haughty.

Suddenly, he spoke again, in the same authoritative tone. "Sir, can you tell me why there is such an abundance of chivalry in this place? From the moment I entered the gate, it appeared that every street, house, and inn was full of knights, squires, and ladies."

"They have come to celebrate a contest that we will be holding tomorrow. A splendid sparrow hawk will be set on a silver perch in the square. It can be claimed only by the most beautiful maiden of all. Should anyone challenge her right to it, her champion will joust with the challenger."

Again, the knight was silent, considering. Then he changed the subject a third time.

"Fair host, can you tell me, who is the knight who passed by here with the blue-and-gold arms? Accompanied by a comely maiden and a dwarf?"

Licoranz nodded. "Sir Yder. He has won the hawk for the past six years."

"I don't like him," the stranger said. Enide sat straighter, surprised by his vehemence. "Good sir, tell me where I might quickly obtain arms to challenge him."

Licoranz's face lit. "It would be an honor to lend you mine. And you needn't worry about the quality. I have a triple-woven hauberk, fine greaves, a strong helmet, and a new shield. I can lend you horse, sword, lance, whatever you need."

"You are too generous," he said, smiling a little. "I have no wish for any other sword or horse than my own. But all the rest I will borrow and consider it a great favor." The smile fell from his face. He glanced up at Licoranz, then away. "There is one more boon I would ask. If God grants me victory, I will make just return to you for it."

"Ask boldly, friend," Licoranz said, spreading his hands wide.

"I would like to claim the hawk on your daughter's behalf."

Enide felt a wave of horror—shot through with excitement. This was exactly what her parents had dreaded. Licoranz scratched his chin. Enide felt certain he trying to figure out how to protest something he had brought on himself.

"Sir," the knight said in an odd tone, voice shaking a little, "you don't know who you have offered to shelter. My father is Lac, king of Estre-Gales. There, I am known as Prince Erec. Here, I am Sir Erec, a knight of King Arthur's court."

A Round Table knight! Enide almost choked on her gasp. In the pause that followed, she tried to remember if Alma had ever mentioned him. Yet when she saw her father's satisfaction, she realized Alma's opinion was irrelevant.

"I don't know," Sir Erec's voice dropped lower, "if any report of my father's wealth or of my own fame has ever reached Laluth, but I promise if you provide me with your daughter tomorrow, and I am blessed with victory, I will give her a crown."

A crown ? Enide held her breath, afraid to miss a word.

"You are Erec, son of Lac," Licoranz repeated, awed.

"I am."

"I have heard of you." He smacked a hand against his thigh. "I knew you were someone !"

Tarsenesyde sighed, fanning her face with her kerchief.

Licoranz snatched up Enide's hand and held it out to the knight. "You ask for my daughter? I give her to you." Sir Erec clutched it boldly across the table, his smiling brown eyes reflecting the glow from the hearth. Her father laughed, draining his cup.

Enide sat in stunned silence, her face hot from blushing, unable even to return the smile of the famous man holding her hand. One of King Arthur's knights!

And look at him! Alma would be so jealous. He was rich and important. A prince. He would be a king. She would be a queen . Surely, she was dreaming. It had all happened so quickly. And she hadn't even had to do anything!

The blood drained from her face as she realized what had, in fact, just happened.

She hadn't done anything. She felt a shiver of dismay. How clever of her.