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Le Strange was a figure of power and influence, although no one knew whether he wielded that influence in service of the king, Richard the Lionheart, or the rebels who supported the king's conniving brother, Prince John.
The trumpets sounded again, a stirring sound. Lord Yves rose.
Cassia slid forward on the wooden bench and placed her elbows on the ledge, eager to hear everything.
A hand closed on her arm, pulling her back. “Propriety, Cassia,” her father's voice came directly in her ear. “Sit back and be proper.”
She sat back and was proper as Yves began his welcome speech.
“Lords and ladies and honored guests, you are welcome to this, the greatest tournament that has ever been,” he began.
The crowd erupted into cheers. Cassia clapped too, after a nod from her father showed he approved of the excess.
Lord Yves waited until they were quiet again.
“You have come for revelry, for grandeur and glory and great deeds. You will not be disappointed. Heralds have gone out through the lands, and your chevaliers have responded.
“Knights and squires, noblemen and their entourages have come from England, Scotland, Wales, and France, for a single purpose: you. They come to display feats of courage and skill and strength to impress and delight...and to strike fear.
“This week, the lowest shall face off against the most renowned. There will be jousts and battle and tests of will. There will be men proving their honor” –cheers erupted—“or their dishonor.”
A low chorus of boos met this possibility.
Overcome by excitement, Cassia started to boo as well.
Her father stirred beside her.
Again, she sat back, barely noticing the bite of…irritation? She had no words for the banded, frustrated feeling that welled up inside her whenever her father told her to be proper.
“And they will be judged,” Yves went on, his voice loud and resonant. “Some will be found worthy, others wanting.”
A drunken member of the rabble along the rails raised his fist in joy, perhaps at the idea of noblemen being found wanting. He promptly tumbled headfirst over the railing into the jousting ring.
Lord Yves’s grim-faced soldiers ducked under and dragged him off. A chorus of heckling followed them off the field.
Cassia kept her attention fixed on Lord Yves. There was no point in attending to a commoner when a silk-clad nobleman was speaking.
Her future lay in the hands of such men.
“Let us speak plainly: these are troubled times.” Yves’s voice grew somber. “The king is held captive. There are rumors of rebellion. Everywhere, people plot and scheme.”
He looked the crowd over, as if suspecting some of them. “But here, we shall set the world's troubles aside. For the next week, we are one. You are nothing more, and certainly nothing less, than my honored guests at the greatest tournament that has ever been.”
He finished in a shout and the crowd responded, crying their approval and hammering their fists on the board walls and railings. He held up a hand and silence fell.
“In a moment, my honored guest, Lord Marcus Debar,” he gestured to a lanky, wiry nobleman sitting in his box, “will announce the rules of the tournament. But first, I have a charge to lay upon you all.”
The crowd rustled in surprise. A whiff of tension entered the festival air.
“A solemn mission for all who gather here, be they great or humble. Nay, an oath. A binding task I set upon all who attend these festivities...”
His voice dropped. Everyone in the stands and those lining the rails leaned forward, ears pricked.
“...The thing you must do above all else...”
Cassia held her breath.
