Julian rushed to his side. “Are you well? What happened?”
Baldwin clenched his lips together, his mustache drooping about them.
Julian looked him over. There was no large bloodstains, no obviously twisted arms, or legs. No one had run him through. Why had Gilbert been so frantic? Then he noticed a bag on the floor beside Baldwin. “What’s this?”
“You have no time for that woman if you want to be the best,” Baldwin grumbled. “And I have no time to waste training you if you are not serious.”
Julian glanced at the sack again. He didn’t understand.
Baldwin rose, and Julian stood with him. “What do you want more? To win the final joust and become the champion, or her?”
Caught off guard, Julian hesitated, his eyebrows rising in surprise.
Baldwin scoffed. “You’ve already decided.” He shook his head and bent to his sleeping mat. He grabbed his daggers and some leftover bread and shoved them inside the bag.
Julian stared in confusion. “What are you doing?”
“You don’t need me to win a woman.”
Julian took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He knelt at Baldwin’s side and began taking the bread out of his bag. “Don’t do that,” Julian pleaded.
Baldwin seized the bread from his hand and shoved it back in the bag. He began to roll up his sleeping mat. “I haven’t come all this way to see you lose. I wanted to train a winner. A knight who desired to be champion above all else.”
“Baldwin,” Julian pleaded, sitting on his heels. “Idowant to be champion.”
“But you won’t be. Not the way you’ve been practicing. Every time she calls, you run to her, forsaking all else. A picnic for the love of St. Michael!” He shook his head, disgusted. He poked a finger into Julian’s chest. “You have to train to win.”
“I won!” Julian pointed toward the field of honor. “I’ve won all the jousts I’ve competed in.”
“And you’ve made enemies. Why aren’t you trying to discover who sabotaged your lances?”
Julian slouched slightly. Baldwin was right about the lances. He hadn’t even investigated the matter. He had been too worried about Osmont’s threat to Ellie.
“Your mind is always on the woman. Where is she? Is she in the stands? Is she at the citadel?” Baldwin leaned close to him. “Give up the woman.”
Stunned Baldwin would even ask him to do that, Julian stared. “You’re asking me to give up the air I breathe.”
“Pah. You’re not a romantic. You’re a knight. There will always be women.” He continued throwing items into his bag and stood. “I would win the championship joust myself, but I’m not young enough. I thought you were the one with the desire. You have the skill. But you are distracted.” He shook his head.
“Baldwin,” he pleaded. Baldwin was his mentor. His trainer, his friend. “I can’t do this without you.”
“No. You can’t.” He walked to the tent flap. “But apparently, you can’t do it with me, either. I won’t watch you fail. Give up the woman if you want to win.”
And then, he was gone.
Julian stared as the tent flap rippled and then settled. His thoughts swirled. Why would Baldwin do this? Why would he leave now? But at the same time, Julian knew why. It was Baldwin’s dream to see him become champion, as much as it was Julian’s. And Baldwin didn’t think he could win.
He stood waiting, half-expecting Baldwin to walk back through the flap at any moment. Baldwin was more than a trainer. He was the closest thing to a father that Julian had.
Julian remembered the day he met Baldwin. He’d been twelve summers. He had just had a sword fighting session with his father. Julian had held back. He never wanted to hurt his father. His father had attacked him relentlessly, calling him weak and useless, but Julian didn’t fight him. He’d defended himself against the constant onslaught of his father’s punishing blows, all the while his father’s words slashed his mind. “Weak and useless.” Tiring, he had tripped over a branch. His father had loomed over him; his lips twisted in contempt. Julian had thought his father would strike him.
Instead, he’d hurled words at him. “You’ll never amount to anything. You’ll never be a knight. You are weak, and you have no skills. You are worthless.” His father had turned, sheathed his sword, and marched off into the setting sun.
Julian had left his sword and dashed in the opposite direction, tears streaming from his eyes. He could never please his father. He could never be what his father wanted. He would never have his father’s love. He had run into Baldwin’s camp, falling flat on his stomach. He had never returned to his father.
When Baldwin didn’t reenter the tent, Julian ducked outside. He looked this way and that, but Baldwin was gone. Shocked and hurt, Julian stood. Baldwin had left him. His mentor and friend had abandoned him. Just like his father. Old feelings of betrayal rose within him. His teeth tightened. If Baldwin didn’t believe he could win, if he didn’t want to stand by his side, then Julian didn’t need him. He clenched his fists, and his muscles quivered.
“I can do it!” he shouted. “I don’t need you!”
