“Wake up, William,” Wat said excitedly, rousing William out of his slumber. “Ralph has a wonderful surprise for us all.”

 

William rose from where he rested and yawned tiredly. It was four days since the night at the party and they were now at Dugbe for the next tournament. Jocelyn had promised to be there, and William for sure looked forward to seeing her again.

 

“What’s it?” he drawled, half yawning.

 

“Oh, I can’t tell you,” said Wat, beaming excitedly. “You have to come see it yourself.”

 

Maybe it was his eyes, but William thought the lad was adding weight. Maybe it was his eyes, or did people add so much in four days?

 

William sighed and rose from the stack of hay he slept on. Their fate was a lot better because they could afford to eat twice everyday, but they were still peasants at the core.

 

Wat busted out of the empty stable they made room of, with William trudged closely behind. He squinted in the early morning sun but stopped short when he saw who it was that stood before him.

 

“Ralph?” William blurted. “What’re you doing here?” he turned to Roland and Geoffrey who stood beside Ralph. “What is he doing here?”

 

The men shrugged, but gave no response.

 

“I brought you this,” said Ralph, turning to the cart behind him. He flung the cloth covering the sack over and pulled out a fine, smooth armor with a pedigree close to Sir Colville’s armor. “This is what I brought you Sir Ulrich.”

 

William stared at the armor with dreamy, half opened eyes before snapping out of his reverie. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “We’re not adding any more number to the troop.”

 

“You plan to keep competing, don’t you?” asked Ralph.

 

“That I do,” said William, shooting his chest out.

 

“And you don’t plan to get a blacksmith to repair the horseshoes, armor, swords?” asked Ralph.

 

“There are blacksmiths around for that,” said William. “I’m sure we will always have a silver florin to spare for repairs.”

 

“It’s more expensive,” said Ralph.

 

“It’s affordable,” said William, stubbornly.

 

“So, I should leave with my armor?” Ralph asked, lifting the body guard up for Sir Ulrich to ogle at.

 

William gulped and sniffed. “Yes,” he said with great difficulty. “Leave with your armor.”

 

“Sir Ulrich,” said Roland, stepping forward.

 

“Don’t,” said William, raising a finger. “I will not be convinced to change my mind.”

 

“I am not trying to change your mind, my lord,” said Roland, “but Count Adhemar is jousting in this tournament.”

 

William frowned. “Are you candid?”

 

“Yes, apparently, he’s as eager to see you again as much as you’re to see him,” Roland continued.

 

“What’s your point, Roland?” asked William.

 

“Well, a less ‘quaint’ armor would do your confidence a lot of good,” said Roland, “Did you not say Lady Jocelyn will be in attendance as well? Wouldn’t she be pleased if you appeared as a knight in shining armor?”

 

William sighed. “Fine! But can we trust you? Why do you want to be with us anyways?”

 

Ralph shrugged. “My wife and I are young, we’d like to see the world a bit before the children come along.”

 

“Fine,” said William, “Where’s your wife?”

 

“She will join me in a day or two,” said Ralph, “we both agreed I should go first, and if you still refused, I should return.”

 

“Smart man, you are,” said Geoffrey, bobbing appreciatively at Ralph. “Wat, here’s a good lesson on how to use what’s above the neck.”

 

Wat reddened to almost the fiery flames of his hair. “I’ll kill you one of these days, Chaucer,” he said, foaming at the mouth.

 

Three days later and William was at the jousting list ready for a duel. Even as he made his way there, he had noticed the greedy stares from other competitors, and for the first time since he started jousting, he felt like an actual knight.

 

“Nothing beats having your own armor, Roland,” William had said. “The man who crafted Sir Hector’s put the knight’s drinking habits into consideration. That space in front of the belly always made me feel I was missing my stomach.”

 

“Yes,” said Geoffrey, helping William up the horse. “All that’s left is a new warhorse. Sometimes I fear this one will die halfway through a run.”

 

William glanced worryingly at his horse and patted it.

 

“That knight has a fine horse,” said Wat, pointing at William’s opponent on the other end of the list. The horse was a fine chestnut with white markings about the face. “I reckon it’s young and energetic, perfect for your style.”

 

“If you knock the knight off, we can have his horse,” said Roland.

 

“Who is he?” asked William, regarding the short, thick knight being carried up the horse.

 

“Arl Piers Cruisant,” Roland answered. “He’s raised the tax on his land three times in the last year alone to support his drinking habits and raise money for the tournament.”

 

“His people starve while he sits at banquets,” Wat added.

 

“Lance!” William bellowed.

 

Wat hooded a wink at Roland. “It’s probably true.”

 

The flag halfway the list went down and William charged, leaning forward and bearing his lance in the same direction. His lance connected at Arl Pier’s midrib, lifted the arl clean off the back of his horse and sent his crashing on the floor.

 

“That was impressive,” said Roland, “now we got ourselves a fine new horse.