Volume One: The Knight of the Forest Chapter 69: The Wager

After listening to Count Greer's family secrets, Berion's thoughts still lingered on Lady Andy. At last, he understood why that gentle and beautiful young noblewoman, despite her exalted status, always carried a hint of sorrow in her brow. So, every family has its burdens to bear, he mused. Thinking of this, Berion felt a wave of sympathy rise within him.

Gamgee, who had just finished his lengthy account, was waiting for Berion’s response, but to his surprise, the young knight had fallen into deep thought. Gamgee nudged him gently and asked, “What are you thinking about? Don’t tell me you’ve got a way to help Count Greer have a child?”

Berion almost choked on his drink at that. “To enable someone who cannot bear children to do so—well, apart from the Fire God, I suppose only a demon could manage that.”

He poured himself another cup of wine and continued, “But, logically, after having one child, there shouldn’t be a reason to be unable to have more. I suspect there might be some trickery involved, though that’s just my wild guess.”

“Whatever it is, it’s none of our business, and there’s nothing we can do about it anyway. The world of the mighty is far too complicated for us. We just need to look after ourselves,” Gamgee sighed.

While Berion and Gamgee were muttering to each other, someone suddenly knocked on the door of their private box. Bran opened it to admit a middle-aged man, who greeted Gamgee. It turned out he was a bookmaker, inviting Gamgee to place bets on the outcomes of the day’s matches.

Gamgee said he’d wait to watch a couple of bouts before deciding, and the man left with a grin, telling Gamgee that if he made up his mind on which knight to back, he could send someone to find him at the central tavern on the second floor. That was where the bookmakers would be.

He also mentioned that a list of the knights participating in the tournament would be brought over soon to make betting easier.

When the man was gone, Gamgee smiled and asked Berion, “Brother Berion, care to place a wager together later? Or do you have any advice on which knight I should back? I’m sure you have a sharper eye than I do.”

“Haha! Sure, let’s watch the first two matches, then I’ll place a bet with you,” Berion replied, which made Gamgee beam with delight as he settled in to await the start of the tournament.

Out in the lists, the clowns were performing tricks, occasionally pulling off some slapstick stunts that sent the audience roaring with laughter. Around the arena, dancing girls performed with hand drums, swaying their bodies and shaking the drums to entice the crowd to toss them coins. The atmosphere was lively and festive.

But the merriment didn’t last long. Once Count Greer entered, fully armed soldiers drove the clowns, dancers, and all other unidentified riffraff from the grounds. The spectators, seeing this display, immediately fell silent.

Next came the parade of knights—about sixty or seventy in all—each led by his own squire holding the reins. The knights rode in, bearing their banners, and formed ranks in the center of the field, awaiting the inspection of Count Greer, the tournament’s host.

Every one of them was clad in full armor, with a thick coat of plate over their mail shirts. Though the lances used in tournaments lacked sharp tips, every year there were knights injured or even killed by splintered wood, so one could never be too careful with armor.

The poorest helmet among the competitors was a simple great helm, with many sporting bizarrely shaped headpieces, even the peculiar frog-mouth helm. As a former enthusiast of medieval weaponry, Berion was delighted.

Over their armor, the knights wore surcoats emblazoned with their arms, as did their steeds. Watching them, Berion recalled how people on the forums in his past life had called French knights “the Bed-sheet Cavaliers.”

Looking at the spectacle before him, he realized the moniker was apt—each knight looked as though he were draped in a bed sheet, every one different, creating a dazzling array of colors and patterns.

Once the knights were arrayed, Count Greer rose to make a speech. He first gave thanks to the Fire God and the sovereign, and after many more words of gratitude, the audience was nearly lulled to sleep before he finally got to the main point.

He welcomed all the knights to the tournament and wished them success, then briefly outlined the rules and the prizes. This year’s champion would receive a purse of twenty thousand dinars and a golden statue of a knight worth another twenty thousand. The victor would also be invited to a private banquet with the count.

The crowd gasped at such a reward. Twenty thousand dinars was a fortune for an ordinary family.

The knights in the center of the field were clearly stirred as well—such a sum would buy a large estate of several hundred acres even in poorer regions.

Many of those competing were second sons, with no inheritance awaiting them at home. They had come seeking fortune and the favor of the powerful, for tournaments like this were among the few opportunities, outside of war, to change their fates.

After Count Greer’s address, the deputy commander of the Royal Order, representing the court, gave a speech extolling the monarch’s support for the tournament and wishing the knights success.

He was followed by a viscount from the north and two barons. Their speeches, identical, tedious, and interminable, nearly put Berion and Gamgee to sleep, and the audience all around them yawned and shifted restlessly.

The knights’ expressions were hidden by their helms, but their horses’ restless pawing and the squires’ sun-sodden, impatient faces left little doubt that the sentiments were shared on the field as well.

At last, the speeches ended and the tournament proper began. The first pair to compete were a middle-aged knight from Carvey County at the foot of the Blue Mountains and a young knight from Upper Saintlake County.

The knight from Carvey, by the look of him, was not well off. His mail was well cared for, but over it he wore only a double-layered leather coat, which was worn and battered. He was attended by only one squire, an elderly man with graying temples, and lacked even the customary servant to announce his entry—an austere showing.

Knights from the mountains were often poor, coming to tournaments mainly to earn money—both the purse for each victory and the armor, horses, and other spoils from defeated foes.

Yet their martial skills were usually excellent, honed by hunting and frequent combat with bandits in the hills. The harshness of their lives forged resilience and an indomitable spirit.

When this middle-aged knight entered, he removed his helmet and bowed to the audience. Though his weathered face looked more like a farmer’s, his piercing gaze betrayed his fortitude and strength.

The young knight from Upper Saintlake, by contrast, was the opposite in every way. He wore a brand-new suit of mail, with polished iron plates over the vital areas of chest and back, gleaming in the midday sun.

His helm was an ornate great helm, its front lavishly gilded with the golden triangle of the Fire God, much as Berion recalled seeing crosses in his previous life.

His warhorse was splendid and clearly costly. Gamgee estimated that the knight’s equipment and mount together must be worth at least fifteen thousand dinars.

Upper Saintlake was a district favored by the higher nobility of the Brick Court, wealthier and more prestigious than the lower Saintlake territory where Berion’s own lands lay. This young knight was here to make a name for himself, hoping that fame would win him higher office at court.

He entered attended by three squires—one to tend his horse, one to carry his lance, and one to announce him.

When the four of them arrived, the announcing squire climbed onto a small platform, bowed to Count Greer and the other dignitaries, and began loudly extolling his master. From him, Berion learned that the young knight came from a line of knights stretching back a century, and was the second son of a court viscount.

He had, the squire claimed, been rigorously trained since childhood; he was kind and brave, had aided the suffering in countless ways—from helping old ladies cross the street to carrying water for widows—and single-handedly slain fifty bandits and hunted thirty wolves alone in the forest. Berion nearly laughed aloud at the tall tales; only a superhero could accomplish such feats.

But the crowd loved it, swept up by the squire’s near-bardic performance, and began to cheer wildly for the young knight.

Berion glanced at Gamgee and saw he was just as moved, caught up in the excitement. At that moment, the lists of competing knights and betting slips arrived.

Berion tapped the engrossed Gamgee and asked, “I’m going to place a bet. Are you in?”

Gamgee nodded eagerly. “Yes, I’ll bet on the one from Upper Saintlake.”

Berion smiled. “I’ll back the one from the Blue Mountain foothills. I trust the mountain knight to win.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” Gamgee asked, puzzled.

“My intuition,” Berion replied firmly.

Gamgee shrugged. “For now, I’ll trust my own hunch. But if you win this round, I’ll follow your lead with my bets from then on.”

Berion nodded and had Bran bring out the money pouch—one hundred dinars in all. Berion put it all on the line. The odds for this bout were three-to-one, so if Berion’s knight won, he’d walk away with three hundred dinars; if not, he’d lose it all.

Seeing Berion’s bold wager, Gamgee decided to match him, staking a hundred dinars of his own—a sum he could well afford to lose. The young man delivering the betting slips was thrilled to receive wagers from two important men, and was about to wish them good luck when Bran, clutching the coins, quickly ushered him out.