William POV ***

 

William was sitting at the market in front of the cathedral. While Lady Jocelyn was around in Noem, she still refused to talk to him the whole time. For William this was a torture far worse than the times before the letter; those times when he did not see her and so could not talk to her. However, she was both present before him and silent to him as though she knew not who she was.

 

Just the last evening, her handmaiden, Christiana, had told Roland her mistress desired to see Sir Ulrich at the cathedral. Even the handmaiden was giving him the cold shoulder. He bit his fingernails, it was all he could do to keep from pulling at his hair in desperate madness.

 

His eyes picked a familiar figure waltzing through the crowd and William rose immediately, slapping imaginary dust off his clothes.

 

He looked around for incoming horses, and finding none, delved into the traffic of thronging humans. He raised his head again just as she disappeared into the arched, tall door of the Noem Dame.

 

The calm inside the cathedral was surprising. Unsettling even. It was like running from a buffeting cold rain outside into the dry warmth of a roadside tavern.

 

And there was silence. For the first time in months, William could hear the voice of the thoughts in his head.

 

I should come here more often, he thought.

 

He found Lady Jocelyn standing at the end of the left pew. Her face raised to the rainbow-colored stained glass window up the wall.

 

“You favor cathedrals,” said William, standing a short distance away from her. She still looked as beautiful as the first time he set his eyes on her. Her hair was straight and simple, her face set and calm. William thought he saw her eyes flickered when he spoke; he hoped in all good faith that her heart wasn’t frozen to him completely.

 

“If I did not, then we never would have met,” said Lady Jocelyn, pausing. “I came here for confession. And the glass, a riot of color in a constantly gray world. What do you think?”

 

“It is beautiful,” William said, quietly. Even if his eyes were focused on the side of the Lady Jocelyn’s face. From a corner of his eyes, he saw Christiana taking her leave with the quiet of the masked assassins of the east.

 

“I feel the same way too,” said the fair lady, fondling her hands. “About the letter you sent.”

 

“I’m glad,” said William, feeling the weight of the brooch in his pocket. He had been worried it was Wat who bought him the brooch to save him from heartbreak.

 

“Speak to me,” said Lady Jocelyn, turning to face William for the first time. “Speak those words to me.”

 

William swallowed. “Do you want me to tell you how I’ve seen seven new moons but not you? Or how the days without you feel like exile in the icy ends of the world? Or how I fear that one day, you will turn away from me and it will be the last I ever see of you? You already know the words Jocelyn, I fear that you want more.”

 

“Yes,” the lady snapped at him. “I do want more.”

 

“I will win the tournament for you,” said William, stepping forward to hold one frail hand in his. “I will win this tournament in your name.”

 

Lady Jocelyn scoffed and pulled her hand away from his. “Win is all you have ever done, Sir Ulrich. I demand a different show of love if you are so intent on proving your intentions.”

 

William frowned. “I don’t understand…”

 

“Lose,” said the lady, “Lose against your character, Sir Ulrich. All you have done the whole time is win and I even hear that you are one of the favorites to win at this one as well. So this time, lose. Perform badly in your fights. Suffer for my sake.”

 

“What? I cannot do that! I never lose, I cannot lose,” William exasperated.

 

“Then you do not love,” answer the lady, spurring around with her hands folded across her chest.

 

“What?!” William fumed, but cast one glance around and remembered where it is that he was. Sure enough, the eyes of those who had come to pray rested on them both.

 

He gulped, twitched furiously and departed from the cathedral in leaping strides.

 

He didn’t tell the rest what it was that transpired between himself and Lady Jocelyn despite the hungry faces they wore. That night, he starved them of whatever gist they had hoped to get from him.

 

The next morning arrived and William was certain he knew what he wanted, and that list didn’t include losing at the game that meant so much to him. He noticed the crew were especially nice to him that morning, not that there was a time when they were not, but he was almost spoon fed by Kate.

 

They wore his armor and would not allow him do as much as carry his own helmet.

 

“You just go in there and smash the lance in the face of your enemies,” Wat had said to him.

 

“Unhorse them if you can,” said Roland, “we will earn a name by giving their horses back at no charge. It’s charity, Sir Ulrich, some of these knights are poorer than us when we first started.”

 

There was a loud roar in the stands when William arrived at the list. The people were either jumping or yelling at the top of their lungs. Half the crowd had painted their faces the green and charcoal color of William’s shield. Some held up banners with a phoenix of William’s shield drawn on them.

 

“What is happening here?” asked William.

 

“Every one has heard of the knight of Gelderland who has conquered the entire land of Borish. They are all here to watch you win again,” said Geoffrey.

 

William cast his eyes on all those at the stands with pride swelling in his heart. He noted that even some of the nobles of Messers were applauding him; he was a star!

 

And then there was Lady Jocelyn. Their eyes met for a brief, stiff second; it was a furious stare, like two rival tigers sizing each other up.

 

“Helmet,” William said to Wat.

 

Geoffrey Chaucer did not walk the ground when he was summoned to announce Sir Ulrich. Instead, he climbed the divide that separated the crowd’s stand from the list with his hands spread to everyone in a welcome embrace.

 

“Welcome every one,” he said, knitting his blond brows together. “You are all blessed to have witnessed this day again, for every day that my liege competes is blessed. He is the Keeper of the Flame of Aragon! The lance that thrilled Borish! The harasser of Paraser! Enforcer of the Lord God! Sir Ulriccccch von Lichtenstein!”

 

William lowered his visor and over his terrible countenance. He grabbed the reins of his horse; a chestnut with white hair splashed like paint all over it. William saw Chaucer clap hands with Wat, Roland, Ralph. It was as though they were all in on a secret that he knew nothing of.

 

The official bearing the flag hurried to the center of the list and raised the flag up. The crowd gasped in anticipation and keenness. Then… it came down.

 

William’s opponent kicked his huge horse into a run, and the same Roland and Wat make to follow William but they just ran past him. Now, the thing with jousting is that it is impossible to run past the knight, simply because they are riding a horse.

 

Roland glanced at the opponent galloping at William at frightening speed while William sat on his horse, frozen like the woman who dared to look back at the burning city.

 

“What are you doing?!” asked Roland, horror written all over his face.

 

“Losing,” William replied behind his visor.

 

“What?!” Roland barked. “I don’t understand.”

 

“Neither do I!” William replied, sitting on his horse like a wooden duck on water.

 

Roland took another look behind him, and was only able to jump in time as William’s opponent smashed his lance into William’s chest. The opponent returned the horse to the starting mark, while William just sat motionless on his horse.

 

“Are you blind?” asked Geoffrey, pulling at his hair. “The flag!”

 

“I saw it, Chaucer,” William answer, groaning a bit.

 

Wat ran over. “I know! You want to drop behind for a more dramatic victory! Is It not?” he said with eyes widened from excitement and fear.

 

But William simply shook his head at this theory. “Jocelyn said that I should lose to prove my love,” he said.

 

Geoffrey gawked. “I would rather you were blind,” he said.

 

“Don’t be foolish, Will,” said Roland, “each woman wants prove, that is all.”

 

“Proof of what?” asked William.

 

“Proof that their legs have not uncrossed for nothing,” Roland said, frustrating seeping into his features.

 

“But I haven’t uncrossed her legs,” said William.

 

“So why in the name of St. Swithin are we doing this?” screamed Wat.

 

William cocked his head. “Because…”

 

A loud crack like wood splitting sounded as William’s opponent crushed his lance into his chest again.

 

“… because,” he continued, groaning aloud. “I love her.”

 

Geoffrey POV ***

 

Wat looked as though his eyes were going to pop out of his sockets. He swelled and reddened, and had to be led away by Roland while William sat on his horse, taking blow after blow from the knights that walked up the list.

 

“You!” said Wat, making for Geoffrey only to be held back by Roland. “I’m going to lose everything!”

 

Geoffrey snorted. “That’s why it is called gambling,” he said.

 

“It is very romantic though,” said Kate, leaning into her husband.

 

“Pardon me if I don’t see the romance in it,” said Ralph, her husband. “But I see our savings going to the drain because someone is in love.”

 

“You have me,” said Kate, pecking Ralph on the cheek.

 

“I have nothing,” Wat said, falling to his knees and sobbing.

 

After rounds of consecutive battering, William was led to the medical pavilion by Ralph and Kate. He was stripped to the waist and the rest gasped when they saw the black, blue, deep red bruises on his body.

 

“I checked with the scorer,” said Geoffrey, “no knight has distanced themselves from victory yet. If you were to win all your remaining matches and they lost some key ones, you might make it up to the semis or even the finals.”

 

“Yes, but we need to ask him first,” said Wat, angrily. “Sir Ulrich, have you proven your love yet?”

 

William shook his head, no.

 

“You’ll kill yourself, William,” said Roland, worriedly.

 

“I love her, Roland,” said William, breathing laboriously.

 

“Then withdraw,” said Roland, “lose that way! But don’t take this beating anymore.”

 

Wat grabbed a bottle of balm and began to apply it on William’s arm. He pulled and twisted while William screamed in pain.

 

“Wat,” said Kate, taking the hand from him. “Are you trying to help him or break what’s left of his hands?”

 

“He is going to lose,” said Wat, “Might as well give home a good reason to.”

 

Someone cleared the throat behind them and they turned immediately to see who it was.

 

Christiana.

 

Wat scowled darkly, Geoffrey glared, only Roland and the blacksmith couple managed to keep their emotions out of their faces.

 

“My lady sends this message,” said Christiana, “If you love her—”

 

“I know, I know,” said William, spitefully. “I must lose. Isn’t she watching?”

 

Christiana smiled. “She said that if you love her, you will not lose another match. She said that if you love her, you will win this tournament.”

 

William sighed. His eyes cold and glassy. He gritted his teeth and crunched his knuckles.

 

Then they were back at the list for the second half of the tournament. William on his horse, putting on his helmet. The look of uncertainty when he jousted the first round was gone, and in its place was a hard gaze as focused as the sun in high noon.

 

“There she is,” said Geoffrey, painting towards the stand. “The embodiment of your love, your Venus.”

 

“Oh,” said William, before shutting his visor down. “And now I hate her.”

 

The first three knights that attacked suffered such disastrous run against William. He smashed the lance into one without getting hit the whole time, threw one from the back of his horse to the flat of his back, and for the last, he knocked his helmet off so it flew into the sky and landed in the midst of the crowd.

 

Geoffrey, Wat, Roland, Ralph and Kate took an early leave that night and hurried over to the tavern where they’d placed their bets.

 

“Gentlemen,” said Geoffrey with the air of a magician during a performance. “How about you pay your debts for a runny mouth now?”

 

He fetched a pouch, pulled the mouth wide open and went before them. One golden coin after the other did they drop into the pouch till they agreed fifty was in the pouch.

 

“Thank you gentlemen,” said Geoffrey, smiling. “It was excellent doing business with you. Do look us up if you ever show up in Borish, the world championships maybe.”

 

The grumpy men said nothing, all the jest had evacuated their body, along with virtue in the form of gold.

 

William POV ***

 

While the rest were gone, William took the liberty to step outside the tent for a while. Even if it felt as though every bone in his body was broken, and every inch of skin he had was bruised and torn somewhere.

 

He limped outside the tent and sat on a rock. His eyes went up to the starless sky, and he sighed.

 

“Sir Ulrich?” a familiar voice called.

 

William felt a rush of adrenaline burst through him. His heart swelled and joy pumped all over him. He turned in direction of the voice and saw a woman with her face covered behind a veil. But veil or no veil, he knew that voice too well to not know who it was.

 

Then, panic set in.

 

“You shouldn’t be out so late at night,” said William, glancing around. “It is dangerous for your life and name.”

 

“I know,” said Lady Jocelyn, walking closer to him. “But I could not bear to keep away from you any longer.”

 

The tides of excitement rose again and he smiled.

 

“We missed you at the banquet sir,” she said, taking a seat beside him.

 

William frowned. “We?”

 

“I. Jocelyn. Your prize,” said the lady behind the veil.

 

“I am not worthy,” William replied, closing his eyes. He took in the scent of her; the scent of peace.

 

“If you’re not worthy, then who is? My maid tells me sometimes, your varlets call you William.”

 

The breath in his lungs ceased in that moment, suddenly, the air became too stuffy and his heartbeat became dragged and heavy.

 

“Yes, it is so,” said William after a moment’s hesitation.

 

She put a hand on his. “Your name makes no matter to me,” she reassured. “So long I get to call you my own.”

 

“I am your own,” said William, wincing.

 

“You should see a surgeon,” she said to him noticing his injuries.

 

“He’s been,” William replied, grunting. “He says I’ll live though it doesn’t feel that way.”

 

“This pain is my doing,” said Lady Jocelyn.

 

“My father always taught me to take the good with the bad,” said William, shaking his head.

 

Lady Jocelyn took the veil off and William panicked again.

 

“What if someone sees you?” he asked.

 

“It’s night,” she said, “they wouldn’t recognize.”

 

She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his forehead. William closed his eyes when her soft lips touch his skin. Again, he was lost in the scent of her… always.

 

She put the veil over her head and walked away just as silently as she had come. And William would never know if that night was real, or if it was just a good dream.

 

Author’s thoughts: Hey everyone, I hope you’ve been enjoying “A knight’s tale.” I really want to hear what you guys think, please leave a comment or even better a review. Thank you I really appreciate it.