“’Tis a pity he left so quickly, my lady,” Jane whispered. “A handsome young man indeed!” agreed Ann.
“Jane!” Margaret retorted. “He was out of bounds, in truth. And I should not have answered him. But I grant you, he is handsome,” she murmured, looking after him wistfully.
A fanfare of trumpets, shawms and sackbuts drew their attention from the herald to the impending competition. Edward had declared that a water tournament would be the sport of the day, and several contestants had stepped up to participate. A boat was anchored in themiddle of the river with a wooden quintain target attached, and one by one the tilters would try their luck at hitting the target with their lances—long, dry sticks for this occasion. Margaret and her ladies found seats on a bench close to the riverbank and watched as the first tilter stepped into the small boat equipped with four oars. The boatmen were given the signal, and William Hastings, standing in the center of the boat, was propelled toward the target, lance poised. The crowd began to cheer and the tilter readied himself for the impact, making the boat wobble precariously. Loud laughter accompanied his failed attempt to hit the quintain. He gave a mock bow to the spectators and was rowed back to shore.
Next in line was Anthony Woodville. Edward encouraged the cheering for his new friend, and Anthony was helped into the boat by his father, a striking figure in green silk who gave him a few last-minute pointers. Margaret could see from whom the younger Woodville had his looks, and although not present to prove it, Anthony’s mother, Jacquetta, was reputed to have been the most beautiful woman at court in her day. Anthony’s chestnut hair gleamed in the sun, and, clothed only in hose and shirt, his physique was admired by all the ladies present, including Margaret. Ann nudged Jane. “Sweet Jesu, I have not seen so fair a man this many a month!” she exclaimed, and then remembered her place. “Excepting our lord Edward, of course.” And she gave a nervous laugh.
Margaret patted her hand. Why do I feel so much older than these two? she asked herself for the hundredth time, and for the hundredth time she wished she had a sister. “No need to flatter me, Mistress Herbert. Sir Anthony is far fairer than my brother, in truth. Tut, tut, but you are fickle, Ann. Two minutes ago you were expounding on Master Harper’s good looks. But we should not prattle on thus! Mother would not approve.” They all laughed happily. After the winter of uncertainty, death and despair, it seemed the summer of that year would be a warm and carefree one indeed.
The signal was given, and Anthony’s oarsmen pulled hard while he kept his balance in the middle of the boat. This time, the lance hit the quintain squarely in the middle, and the wooden stick crumpled in his hand. He weaved back and forth for a few seconds before recovering his stance,and the crowd threw flowers into the water and roared their approval. He waved his bonnet and blew kisses to the ladies. Margaret found herself clapping enthusiastically, raising an eyebrow from Ann. “My lady, surely you are for our lord, the king.”
“Oh, aye, Ann. But ’twas nicely done, nonetheless!” Margaret tossed off.
Now it was Edward’s turn. The musicians piped him on board his boat, and he shouted, “Sir Anthony, now you shall see some real tilting!” and the crowd cheered him on. Again the oarsmen rowed their erect passenger forward, and Edward stood like a sturdy oak, not wavering one inch. He approached the quintain and lifted his lance, thrusting it at the target. This time, the green branch did not break. The force of the hit threw Edward off balance, and he fell ungracefully into the river. A gasp of horror went up. The crowd was on its feet as he disappeared under the dark surface. A few seconds went by, and everyone held their breath while the oarsmen sat rigid, their oars up. One peered anxiously into the water where
“Jane!” Margaret retorted. “He was out of bounds, in truth. And I should not have answered him. But I grant you, he is handsome,” she murmured, looking after him wistfully.
A fanfare of trumpets, shawms and sackbuts drew their attention from the herald to the impending competition. Edward had declared that a water tournament would be the sport of the day, and several contestants had stepped up to participate. A boat was anchored in themiddle of the river with a wooden quintain target attached, and one by one the tilters would try their luck at hitting the target with their lances—long, dry sticks for this occasion. Margaret and her ladies found seats on a bench close to the riverbank and watched as the first tilter stepped into the small boat equipped with four oars. The boatmen were given the signal, and William Hastings, standing in the center of the boat, was propelled toward the target, lance poised. The crowd began to cheer and the tilter readied himself for the impact, making the boat wobble precariously. Loud laughter accompanied his failed attempt to hit the quintain. He gave a mock bow to the spectators and was rowed back to shore.
Next in line was Anthony Woodville. Edward encouraged the cheering for his new friend, and Anthony was helped into the boat by his father, a striking figure in green silk who gave him a few last-minute pointers. Margaret could see from whom the younger Woodville had his looks, and although not present to prove it, Anthony’s mother, Jacquetta, was reputed to have been the most beautiful woman at court in her day. Anthony’s chestnut hair gleamed in the sun, and, clothed only in hose and shirt, his physique was admired by all the ladies present, including Margaret. Ann nudged Jane. “Sweet Jesu, I have not seen so fair a man this many a month!” she exclaimed, and then remembered her place. “Excepting our lord Edward, of course.” And she gave a nervous laugh.
Margaret patted her hand. Why do I feel so much older than these two? she asked herself for the hundredth time, and for the hundredth time she wished she had a sister. “No need to flatter me, Mistress Herbert. Sir Anthony is far fairer than my brother, in truth. Tut, tut, but you are fickle, Ann. Two minutes ago you were expounding on Master Harper’s good looks. But we should not prattle on thus! Mother would not approve.” They all laughed happily. After the winter of uncertainty, death and despair, it seemed the summer of that year would be a warm and carefree one indeed.
The signal was given, and Anthony’s oarsmen pulled hard while he kept his balance in the middle of the boat. This time, the lance hit the quintain squarely in the middle, and the wooden stick crumpled in his hand. He weaved back and forth for a few seconds before recovering his stance,and the crowd threw flowers into the water and roared their approval. He waved his bonnet and blew kisses to the ladies. Margaret found herself clapping enthusiastically, raising an eyebrow from Ann. “My lady, surely you are for our lord, the king.”
“Oh, aye, Ann. But ’twas nicely done, nonetheless!” Margaret tossed off.
Now it was Edward’s turn. The musicians piped him on board his boat, and he shouted, “Sir Anthony, now you shall see some real tilting!” and the crowd cheered him on. Again the oarsmen rowed their erect passenger forward, and Edward stood like a sturdy oak, not wavering one inch. He approached the quintain and lifted his lance, thrusting it at the target. This time, the green branch did not break. The force of the hit threw Edward off balance, and he fell ungracefully into the river. A gasp of horror went up. The crowd was on its feet as he disappeared under the dark surface. A few seconds went by, and everyone held their breath while the oarsmen sat rigid, their oars up. One peered anxiously into the water where
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