"Have a seat, Smith," Severn said as he stood and motioned to the stool. "My squire will wash you."
"I will not!" Zared said, but then she looked at her brother, saw the way his eyes narrowed.
I should have stayed at home, Zared thought once again as the Howard enemy sat on the stool before her. She soaped her hands and ran them over his back. She was cursing him to herself, cursing all men everywhere, since it was her brother who had made her do the disagreeable task, when he spoke.
"It is like bathing Colbrand?" Tearle said softly over his shoulder. "I hear that you washed him also."
"I washed him, but I enjoyed that," she said under her breath.
"And you do not enjoy touching me?"
"How could I? You are my enemy."
"But first I am a man."
"If man you can be called. A weak-limbed, puny thing like you."
"Puny? I?"
Zared hated when he taunted her, but then she hated everything about him. He was a weak-limbed… She looked down at the body under her hands. There was nothing small or weak about the muscles that moved under his skin. He wasn't quite as large as Colbrand… or maybe he was. Maybe he was even more
muscular.
She straightened and moved away from him. Perhaps he had the look of a man, but she knew he was but a soft, weak, spineless demi-man. All his muscle was fat. He was—
"Do you waste my time dawdling?" Severn snapped at her. "Have you no armor to clean? No horse to see to? Do you sharpen only the swords of my enemy?"
Zared threw cold water over Tearle, threw a dirty drying cloth in his general direction, and began to run to get ready. She was not going to be accused of being a laggard.
Within an hour she had Severn dressed in his armor and mounted on his war-horse, ready to go. All morning he was to face competitors at the lists.
A low wall of wooden planks had been built before the stands, and the jousters were to run at each other, wooden lances tucked under their right arms, and try to break the lances against each other. Points were awarded to each man according to where he struck his opponent's body (no hitting below the waist), the number of lances broken, the number of courses each man ran, and the number of times a man was struck, whether the lance broke or not.
Severn, riding toward his first opponent, had to move aside to miss being struck at the same time that he broke his lance giving a clear, solid hit to the other man's body. If at all possible, it was best to maneuver so that your opponent's lance struck your saddle or your horse, for demerits were given then.
A cheer went up at the first loud thwack of lance hitting steel. Severn rode to the far end, and Zared was waiting with a fresh lance as Severn rode again.
Severn rode again and again and again, knocking men from their horses and breaking several lances against his opponents' armor.
"He is good," Tearle said to Zared. "The people like him."
"Yes," she said, her voice full of pride. "They care not that he wears no plume on his helmet, and they do not remember the procession. He is heroic now."
Tearle had to agree with her as, with each pass Severn made, the cheers of the crowd grew louder. Only Colbrand received as much attention.
"Who will you want to win when your brother fights Colbrand?" Tearle asked.
"My brother, of course," she said, but only after a moment's pause. She looked away.
There were other jousters besides Severn, and between turns he would stand by Zared, downing huge mugs full of beer, while he watched the other men, trying to ascertain their weak and strong points.
"He will not win the Lady Anne," said a spiteful voice in Zared's ear.
She turned to see Colbrand's squire, Jamie, sweaty, just as she was, from running to fetch lances and help his master.
"My brother may not want the woman," Zared said haughtily, too well remembering Lady Anne's words about Severn.
"Ha!" Jamie said. "The lady's father approves of my master. He does not care for the filth of a Peregrine."