William squinted in the harsh afternoon sun. The armor he wore was giving him the sensation of bread in an oven, and he could feel sweat trickling its way down the middle of his back. His companions, with whom he now shared a snail and shell relationship were beside him, red and melting from the sweltering heat of the day. As it was not yet his turn to tilt, they all stood at the stand for commoners to watch the tilt.

 

“You said that Count Adhemar is up next?” he asked of Roland.

 

“Yes,” said Roland, wiping the sweat off his face. “And it is against your friend, Sir Thomas Colville that he’ll be tilting against.”

 

“Good,” said William, bobbing his head. “If anyone has the technique to beat Count Adhemar, then it’s Sir Thomas Colville.”

 

“Yes, Sir Thomas looks fit again,” said Roland, “And for sure he’ll give Count Adhemar a taste of perfect style and technique. However, it’s still hard to imagine the Count losing. A draw seems the more likely option here.”

 

“Talk of the devil and he appears on a black steed,” said Wat, glaring the direction of the emerging knights.

 

Count Adhemar, clad in his jet-black armor, appeared on his horse flanked on either side by squires bearing flags and Germaine singing his praise. The crowd in the stands cheered his name – as champion of many countries, only absolute greenhorns at the game of joust had never heard of Count Adhemar, Master of the Free Companies.

 

Sir Thomas emerged behind Count Adhemar; he still wore his smooth silver armor with gold accent at the edges. His helmet was on, and the visor shut close.

 

Germaine stepped forward and stood before the host of the tournament, and bowed before him. “My Lords… and my ladies…”

 

William noticed a light flashing over Germaine’s face as he spoke. It was almost as though someone put a mirror towards the sun and directed the reflection on the herald’s face. He tried to trace the direction of the mischief, and sure enough, it was Geoffrey holding a small round glass in his hand, happy to torment the poor Germaine.

 

“…My lord, the Count Adhemar…son of Phillipe de Vitry…” Germaine continued.

 

Geoffrey flashed the light right into his eyes.

 

“…son of Gilles… master of the free companies… defender of his enormous manhood…”

 

William couldn’t help but glance at Count Adhemar at the last line from his herald, sure enough, the Count wore the fury of hell on his face.

 

“…a shining example of chivalry… and champagne,” Germaine put a hand to his chest and bowed. The crowd booed and laughed and sniggered at the herald who couldn’t introduce his master eloquently.

 

“Cleverly done, Geoff,” William said to Geoffrey. “But do not try it again. We should be different, no dirty games.”

 

Geoffrey nodded in acquiesce and bowed. However, William was not convinced his herald wouldn’t flash a mirror in someone else’s face again.

 

Up next was Sir Thomas’s herald; a lanky, frail man with an aquiline nose and creamy pallor, stepped forward and bowed.

 

“My lords and ladies, allow me introduce my liege, second son of Sir Wallace Percival. It is my deepest honor to present to you, the illustrious Sir Thomas Colville!”

 

While the crowd clapped, William noticed Count Adhemar’s herald hurrying over to the master-of-arms and conversing with him in whispers and manners that tickled suspicion. Suddenly, it was as though the master-of-arms was poked with a charged rod, he started and threw a stare at Sir Thomas Colville before hurrying to the scoreboard and raising three white flags in quick succession over the knight’s flag.

 

“What’s happening?” asked Wat, looking left and right. “The fight has not even started yet and Sir Thomas has three points?!”

 

There was a groan of disappointment from the crowd, but that was not all to be seen. Germaine hurried over to Count Adhemar’s flag on the scoreboard and threw a white cloth over it.

 

“Count Adhemar has withdrawn,” said William, apparently surprised.

 

“A withdrawal like that can only mean one thing…” said Roland, rubbing nonexistent beards.

 

Wat’s eyes brightened as realization dawned on him. “Ah…” he exclaimed softly. “Royalty…”

 

“Count Adhemar’s withdrawal means that you face him next, William,” said Geoffrey, sighing. “I will see what I can find out.” On that note, he jumped over the barricade keeping the crowds from spilling onto the list tracks and disappeared.

 

William still didn’t understand what was going on at all. He could see that Count Adhemar was turning his horse away, leaving the list. Meanwhile, Sir Thomas Colville had raised his visor up and was wearing a pained and disappointed look on his face.

 

“Sir Thomas looks disappointed,” William said to Roland.

 

“Everyone is disappointed, William,” said Roland, “no one likes it when a list gets canceled as it is about to start.”

 

The master-of-arms walked to the middle of the track and cleared his throat. The next duel will be between Sir Ulrich von Lichtenstein of Gelderland and Sir Thomas Colville of Borish. All competitors should prepare to tilt in the next five minutes.”

 

“We’re up,” said Wat, “I’ll go bring the horse around.”

 

Wat exited the stands and hurried to go fetch the horse while William and Roland made their way slowly to the other side of the list. Sir Thomas was on the other side of the list, his visor still opened, and that pained expression was replaced now by fear.

 

This disturbed William the more. He wondered hard what a knight like Sir Colville was scared of.

 

Wat arrived with the horse a short while later, and the master-of-arms handed four unbroken lances to William’s party for the tilt.

 

William looked around but there was no sign of Geoffrey yet; which meant he had to continue with the tilt without ever knowing why Count Adhemar forfeited. William put on his helmet, climbed the horse and grabbed the rein tight in one hand.

 

The official walked up to the middle of the list with a flag in hand, raised up. Sir Thomas was on the other end of the list, staring at William.

 

“He stares at me as though he expects me to quit on him as well,” William said to Roland.

 

“Yes,” Roland said, “I have noticed that too. I wonder what Geoffrey has found out.”

 

“Hand me the lance, Wat,” William said, holding out a hand covered in gauntlet.

 

“Wait!” Geoffrey yelled from afar.

 

There was an urgency in his voice, almost like a spy hurrying to report a camp of enemy soldiers outside the city gates. Wat and Roland exchanged curious glances, while William merely swallowed. His eyes went round the crowd in the stands again; the commoners excited and terribly furious at the outcome of events so far. His eyes met with Lady Jocelyn’s briefly where she sat in the stand for nobles, her handmaiden beside her.

 

“What’s it?” asked Roland with Geoffrey white and out of breath.

 

Geoffrey put a hand on William’s horse to balance himself. “It is not what,” he said, quite out of breath. “It’s who! I found out Sir Thomas Colville is actually Edward, the Black Prince of Lemerick, heir to Borish’s throne.”

 

Roland and Wat shuddered like two rats cornered by a mouse. Wat especially began to sweat ten times more than he was before. His face was picking a hue the red of his hair.

 

But William merely looked nodded. “He is in disguise like me so he can compete,” he said, calmly.

 

“He has never met an enemy without victory, never attacked a town he did not take—”

 

“We’re Borish, Geoff!” Wat snapped. “We know who he is.”

 

“You must withdraw, Will,” said Roland, before turning to Geoffrey. “Go tell them Sir Ulrich has withdrawn.”

 

“Absolutely!” said Geoffrey, with the alertness of a soldier in active duty. He turned on his heels and headed straight for William’s banner on the scoreboard; covering the banner with a white cloth would be a sign of surrender or withdrawal.

 

William sighed. He allowed his eyes roam over to Sir Thomas, or rather Prince Edward, and he thought he saw disappointment written on the man’s face. One thing was certain though, Sir Thomas was royalty, and attacking royalty was a capital crime.

 

However. William thought in that moment that denying royalty the thrill of a normal life was a capital crime against humanity.

 

“Give me the lance,” said Wat, beside William.

 

William looked from Wat below him to the lance in his hand. He saw Geoffrey unrolling a white cloth and covering his banner with it. The crowd around groaned in disappointment, but even more disappointed was the Prince, who looked crestfallen.

 

William realized that he and the Prince were no different from each other. Take out the fact that if he was caught, he’d be hung on the gallows while the Prince gets a banquet. The truth here was that they both had to hide who they were to compete in the game. And if life didn’t deny him the privilege, why should he deny another the same?

 

“William, give me the lance!” Wat exasperated. “Don’t listen to the devil sitting over your shoulder, William. Give me the lance.”

 

“No,” said William, slapped his visor down. He kicked the horse into a trot and bore his lance forward. William thought he saw a smile flit across the Prince’s face as he snatched his lance from his squire.

 

A loud cheer broke in the stands as both horses galloped at frightening speed from opposite ends.

 

A loud crashing sound broke as the men struck each other with their lances. The master-of-arms raised a flag on Sir Colville’s banner and William’s as well.

 

“The tilt is a draw!” he yelled.

 

Both men spurned their horses around to meet each other at the center. William saw Roland and Wat wore an expression of ultimate horror on their faces, while Geoffrey hurried to the end of the list with an horrified look on his face.

 

“Are you stark staring mad? You knowingly endanger a member of the royal family?” he asked between clenched teeth.

 

“Lance, Wat,” said William, reaching towards Sir Ulrich’s squire. “You worry too much, Chaucer. The Prince knowingly endangers himself.”

 

William spun his horse around again, and sure enough, Sir Thomas was ready for the second tilt. William nudged the horse and it neighed before breaking into a powerful run.

 

William and the Prince shattered their lances into each other’s sides again and they returned to get another lance for the last run.

 

“Wat, give me the lance,” said William, “And, Geoffrey, close your mouth.”

 

“Better to eat a fly than charge against a prince,” said Geoffrey.

 

“A prince? I’m tilting against Sir Thomas Colville,” said William, taking the lance from Wat.

 

“I just told you he is a prince!” Geoffrey exasperated.

 

“We’ll say we didn’t know,” Roland suggested, since the deed was done, best to salvage the situation.

 

“But his own squire told me,” said Geoffrey, aghast. “I heard it from his own squire.”

 

“Then we’ll say you didn’t tell us,” said Wat.

 

Geoffrey looked as though he was going to fong the entire team up the arse. “God be with you all, but if it comes down on your heads, you’ll bearing it alone.”

 

William chuckled and turned his horse around again, ready for the last run of the tilt. The horse charged forward with the zeal of a general leading an army into battle while William pointed his lance at his equally charging opponent.

 

The crowd whooped and screamed and cheered in utter excitement as both men crash their lances into each other.

 

“The match ends a draw!” the master-of-arms announced.

 

William rode towards Sir Thomas who was also riding on his direction. They met at the middle of the list and William opened his visor, although, Sir Thomas left his closed.

 

“Well fought, Sir Ulrich,” said Sir Thomas, behind his visor. “As it was in Rouen.”

 

“And you as well,” said William, bobbing his head. “Prince Edward.”

 

The Prince opened his visor, a surprised look on his face. “The word is out then?” he asked of William.

 

William nodded, yes.

 

“Fie!” Prince Edward exclaimed, chuckling. “No more sport for me then, until I can take on another convincing identity. But, when did you know it was the royal heir you were tilting against?”

 

“Before the tilt,” said William, holding his restless horse steady.

 

Prince Edward raised a brow in utter surprise. “You knew it was I and still you rode?"

 

“It’s not in me to withdraw,” said William, shrugging.

 

“Nor me,” said Prince Edward, before adding. “Though it happens. Farewell, Sir Ulrich. I have a feeling we will meet again.”

 

The men saluted each other and William watched as the Prince rode away before returning to his own crew.

 

They were all staring at him as though he was one of the three Nebuchadnezzar threw into the fiery flame.

 

“Don’t say a word, I still have a sword fight for today,” said William, “If I win it, then I’ll be champion at two events.”