Rain had fallen during the night following their arrival, causing the ground to become muddied and unpleasant.
Richard was finding it difficult to sleep as the uncertainties lying deep in the pit of his stomach, bothered him. He was searching for answers to the many unanswered questions going through his mind. It appeared as if he was constantly on the receiving end of the royal's might.
Was Edward posing a serious threat to the lands he now held? What was the real reason he was here? The more he reasoned, the more he tossed - sleep evading him until the early hours of the morning. He dozed fitfully, still not absolutely sure where they had ended up. He'd heard a rumour it was not a long way from the Welsh border, and not being familiar with the area, made things even more mysterious.
When dawn finally broke, waking from a restless night, Richard and the other men who had accompanied him, began stirring. With a deep sense of unease gripping him, the mood surrounding them all was subdued. The threat of more rain hung in the air, casting a shadowy gloom over the scene, the ground under foot already wet.
The camp was already a hive of activity - fires were being lit and food prepared. It was still not apparent exactly what the prince had in store for them, leaving them with feelings of worrying uncertainty, each man harbouring different thoughts.
Richard started pondering whether he had done the right thing bringing Dafydd. Perhaps the boy didn't really have much to do with why they were summoned, but in time he would find out - if at all. He had acted on impulse, deciding it was the right thing to do, the youngster becoming an asset to have around. He was fitting in well, learning his duties of becoming his squire, with quiet efficiency.
Yes, he thought, it was necessary to have brought Dafydd and he wouldn't regret it, not now or in the future.
After the departure of Richard, Katherine remained resolute she would fight the threat of loneliness and longing, putting her energies into worthwhile tasks. She shared her father's distaste for self indulgence with any negativity, holding him in high esteem when problems confronted him.
A distant cousin on her father's side of the family, was needful of a home. She'd met Sara only the once several years ago and they'd got on well. Now Katherine saw fit to engage her as a companion, or personal maid. She liked her cousin and thought Richard would be in agreement with her decision. Sara was three years younger and had possessed a pleasant temperament and kindly manner.
She arrived escorted by two assistants of her father, an extra horse bearing her belongings. As she moved a little unsure through the doorway, Wallace ushering her in with a slow nod of the head, Lady Katherine moved forward to welcome her.
'I'm pleased you are able to join us,' she smiled, with a gracious gesture of arms outstretched.
Wallace reached for the small pouch Sara held firmly to her waist, no doubt containing a few personal items. A small coffer would be installed later with all that Sara had brought with her.
She shook her head, preferring to hold onto it for now, obviously feeling nervous at the different surroundings and meeting her cousin for only the second time.
'Thank you my...my lady.' Sara gave a timid smile in response and a quick curtsey.
Katherine took pity on her. 'If you prefer, you can call me Katherine.' After all she thought, they were more or less related.
'Thank you my..., Katherine. It is a pleasure to be here,' she added, still not at all certain deep down, her gaze briefly taking in the room they were now standing in, her bright blue eyes alert, arms beginning to relax, still clasping the leather pouch.
'You must be tired after your journey,' Katherine added. Would you like to freshen up a little, then we can have a chat? I'd like to hear more about the family.'
Sara smiled again, preferring to remain quiet as she followed Katherine up some stairs to a small room. At least she was fortunate to have a room to herself she thought, entering through the arched doorway - not always the way in other homes, with someone such as herself.
As the sun rose higher, a brief meal was undertaken before a messenger delivered a verbal message to Richard. It was the same man who had ridden to the manor several days ago. His tall stance and serious expression unchanged since that day. He delivered the message nonchalantly, containing an invitation for him to join the prince at a tournament given in honour of his father, the king.
Although Edward had been at odds with king Henry about certain decisions on and after the Dictum of Kenilworth, he had obviously decided to put to rest any further disagreements. There were some who wondered if he now had designs on Wales, and it was even rumoured the Earl of Gloucester was causing trouble in several counties not too far away.
Edward wasn't king yet, but was of a strong frame of mind, and for now, set about smoothing over a few inconsistencies. He was beholden to nobody, least of all an insignificant knight like Sir Richard Trowbridge. Although he had acquitted himself well at Kenilworth, Edward still had serious doubts about Sir Richard's loyalties, and in his case it wasn't so much about smoothing things over, but for one thing there was the little matter of a new staff member he had engaged. Still with misgivings, Edward needed reassurance as to where Sir Richard's loyalties lay.
Before the tournament got underway, Richard and Dafydd went before the prince, obviously to clear up any uncertainties. Dafydd's legs were starting to tremble as they approached the more lavish tent, where Edward was temporarily housed. Two men guarded its entrance and were at first reluctant to allow Richard and Dafydd entry. Richard informed them they were expected, and after a moment's pause, were ushered inside.
The boy's legs were quaking beneath him, his head lowered as they approached the man sitting at a trestle table with only two advisors standing close-by. He didn't dare look up at the face of the man, who's eyes he felt boring into his very soul. Dafydd felt his heart pounding so hard, he thought his chest would burst. He'd never been in the company of a prince before.
Both Sir Richard and his young assistant, bowed deeply to the man sitting behind the table, before bending the knee to him - his lord eyeing a reminder to the lad accompanying him.
They waited for Edward to speak first. There was a lengthy pause before the prince looked up, stroked his chin and reached for a cup of wine in front of him. The waiting for young Dafydd, was becoming intolerable, his knees were quivering, and he hoped no one would notice.
Edward sat back in his chair. 'Perhaps you should introduce me Sir Richard' - to which Richard immediately responded.
'This young man sir, will in time become my squire. His name being Dafydd, originally from the Marches.'
Edward took another long, more thoughtful sip from the wine cup, placing it slowly back on the table in front of him. He looked up again, his expression serious. 'I'm assuming it was his father who had been a keen supporter of Simon de Montfort?'
' Indeed sir, that is correct.'
Edward glanced at something on the table, before looking at the two standing in front of him.
'Hmmm...! I wasn't aware he was so young. It appears my advisors have misinformed me.'
Edward beckoned to a servant nearby, who immediately refilled his cup. He took another long draught before holding the cup out, appearing to study it. Then his gaze fell once again upon Richard and Dafydd, eyes boring into those of the lad, who was strangely becoming more confident, enough to face the prince. He stared for a moment at what he saw, aware of the power and influence someone like Edward must possess. It was more like a fascination. Dafydd began taking in the prince's features, but still unable to look him in the eyes for long. He lowered his gaze, before he heard Edward addressing him.
'How old are you lad?' He drained his wine cup, pouring himself more from a jug.
'I'm...I'm twelve years of age sir...at least I think so.' Dafydd plucked up courage to face the prince again face to face, thinking he could see the corners of his mouth twitch.
'Is that so?'
'Yes sir.'
'Were you aware of your father's loyalties to Simon de Montfort?'
'I think so sir, but...'
'But what?' The prince was almost enjoying himself, aware that the boy realized in the nick of time, not to speak unless spoken to - then smiled to himself.
Dafydd continued slowly. 'But I thought Simon was dead now sir.'
Edward was thinking, by God this boy has some pluck.
Richard found it unnecessary to interrupt, being amazed at the braveness of the boy - or was he being foolhardy and outspoken? He held his breath.
Edward sat back in his chair, a hand smoothing his chin. 'You see lad, Simon de Montfort lead the barons into rebelling against the wishes of my father, the king. He caused a lot of trouble, but hopefully that's all in the past now. Simon did indeed die on the battlefield at Evesham.'
'Yes sir.'
After another pause, Edward concluded that this matter was now closed. He was satisfied the boy would be of no further threat whatsoever. He wasn't interested in continuing, considering it a waste of his time. He was not pleased with how he had been misinformed.
Before dismissing them, he looked at Sir Richard.
'Soon there will be a tournament held in my honour, and you are welcome to challenge in the lists.'
Richard was astonished at the change of attitude. He bowed again to the prince.
'Thank you my lord. It will indeed be an honour.' He was wondering why the sudden change in the prince's attitude and tone, becoming more than a little suspicious.
Later Dafydd was helping Richard with some equipment, preparing it for his lord to meet his match at jousting, neither knowing who his opponents would be at this stage.
'You did well in there.' Richard nodded toward the prince's tent.
'Thank you sir. I...I was very nervous. My legs wouldn't stop shaking.'
'I was proud of you. It may have turned out a lot different, but you conducted yourself admirably. I think you may even have charmed Edward.'
'Did I my lord? I wasn't aware of that.'
Dafydd continued conscientiously with cleaning Richard's bridle and adjusting the stirrups, knowing his master preferred them long if anything. That way he could get his legs firmly against his horse to steer it, which was important, particularly at a time like this.
Richard was given a long lance and he tested it for balance, thinking he was glad he had remained fit, his arm at last getting its strength back after being wounded. Bedwyr was on his toes, knowing that something was about to happen, sensing it. At first Richard cursed him, hoping he would soon calm, but on the other hand it was necessary for his horse to remain alert and ready for action. He had been trained well in the art of combat.
The tournament was well underway as rain started to fall, gently at first, becoming more persistent. In the tilt yard several knights were pitting their strengths and sense of timing against one another in practice. Some had ended up on the ground, unhorsed and beaten. There was a definite skill involved and Sir Richard had practiced many times at home, becoming quite adept at knocking his opponents from their horse.
Today he wasn't sure who his opponent would be, hoping too he would make a good clean job of it.
Tournaments were popular events, both for the knights who took part in them and for those who watched. In this instance, several pavilions had been erected specially for the occasion, as had a special type of grandstand for the noble lords and a few of their ladies who looked on. It appeared to have been hastily erected, as a few carpenters were adding the finishing touches to some timbers.
In his younger years, Richard having entered several tournaments, won himself a few purses of money. But at one stage, having lost badly, had to forfeit his horse and his specially made armour, a gift from his father, costing him much he could least afford in those days. He had been eager to gain a good reputation in the lists, a field in close proximity to a castle some distance from home.
Then it became his turn. Richard trotted to the start up one end of a long field, noticing his opponent doing the same. Upon a signal, both horses went into a slow gallop, then faster as they approached each other. The lances were coming very close to their target, but each man returning to the start for another try. Upon the second attempt, Richard felt himself really leaning into it, confidence rising with each moment. Beneath him, Bedwyr was anxious and keen to get on with it, still on his toes and almost dancing. Richard took a deep breath, balancing his lance to one side of his horse, pulling his visor over his face to protect it, as rain began falling.
At the signal, both opponents approached each other as many looked on cheering from the grandstand. Many of the locals were perched beside the lists or sitting on the ground. Richard concentrated, pinpointing the target and as his horse lurched. This time he hit the target dead center, resulting in the weight swinging wildly hitting his opponent square on the back of his head. At first he held his balance, then his horse partially lost its footing, the rain not helping. It stumbled slightly and its rider fell to the ground with a thud. Richard pulled up and before trotting back to where his opponent was sitting, was shocked to see someone darting out from where two horses awaited their turn. A young lad was standing in front of the fallen rider hoping he could help, any rules of chivalry ignored as he offered a helping hand. Everyone looking on, were shocked at the audacity of this person. Then Richard realized it was Dafydd.
What on earth was the boy thinking? Richard made haste to where the knight had fallen, dismounting immediately.
Then it was Richard who was shocked.
Edward raised his visor first, then removed his helmet.
'My lord prince!' Richard exclaimed. 'I had no idea it was you I have...'
'Never mind that. Help me up. I'm not one to rest in the mud for long.'
'But sir, your horse slipped at the last minute unseating you.' Richard was feeling embarrassed and at a loss what to say next.
As Dafydd looked on sheepishly, not knowing what to do now, Richard turned and scowled at him, wondering why on earth the boy was there at all. It was not permitted. Had it been a fair exchange under these conditions? It was now his turn to feel nervous. He didn't want to humiliate Edward in front of the watching audience, nor give the boy a roasting just at this moment.
Dafydd slowly looked up at Richard, his face colouring deeply, for he had realized before anyone else that it had been the prince who had fallen, his immediate thought was to go to his aid. The crowd had gone quiet, waiting.
'Sir, I...I just wanted to help,' he blurted out. 'I saw it was the prince who had fallen...
I'm sorry sir for what I did.'
Richard was at a loss as to what to say, for the moment shaking his head.
Edward got to his feet unaided, brushing some of the mud from his clothes. They had given no indication he was royalty.
'It was a fair exchange.' he said, voice lowered, as he walked the few steps to where his horse was being held by Dafydd.
Richard scowled at the lad, feeling annoyed at what he'd just witnessed.
Later, much later into the evening when the dust of the day had settled into pools of thoughts after the rain, Dafydd explained to his master that he'd remembered how his father had fallen from his horse in battle, the vivid memories often returning to haunt him.
Richard listened as he held a cup of ale to his lips, listened also to the sound of droplets on the temporary shelter above his head, a faint drumming of the wind - a song singing through trees on a nearby hill.
Replacing the cup onto a makeshift table, he turned and smiled slightly at the boy.
'It's alright lad, I understand.'
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