Molly was a big brown warhorse. Few knights could boast owning such a handsome beast. While Francis stood off to the side of the stables making small talk with several other men his age who were retired from the games, Merle outfitted the mare…
Chapter 20 : Alliance, isn’t a long chapter. It begins with Francis Whitehall preparing to enter a melee. His squire, Merle Gilmore, is readying Francis’ horse, Molly.
Slow and without fanfare, the two-man delegation representing the mighty clan of the Griffins, exited the stables and promenaded into the flat field of clovers and grass where the melee would be contested.
Francis, as we have established in prior chapters, is pretty much on his own.
His lord, Geoffrey Clayton Wolfe, is nearly bankrupt. Francis refuses to recant his oath to him due to his family’s history with the Wolfe.
While many other knights have enormous entourages with heralds, singers, bannermen and squires, Francis has Merle.
Before the romantic pageantry of the tournaments became fashionable, before the quixotic days when the scored joust was confined to the lists and noble men and women cheered heralded warriors with lances onto victory, the major event at competitions was a grand melee.
There was a time when jousts weren’t what we have come to see in movies and faires. There was a melee, which was bascially men pretending to make war with one another. It was violent and dangerous and men sometimes got severely injured and killed. But when there were no wars, young upstarts started to think themselves heroic because they could win fortunes at these games.
For Francis, this wasn’t a game.
Francis couldn’t afford to lose. Not once. Not ever. And he was now one of the oldest knights still participating in these games – at least of those who needed to win. Others who were of his age and older were doing it for the entertainment value.
Nearly 70,000 knights, hippes, ritters, chevaliers and equites from Europe descended upon Mainz, Germany in the spring of 1184 to parade through the grasslands near the Rhine River.
Sidenote: This was an actual event, an elaborate celebration of King Henry VI’s knighthood.
I did take some artistic license placing Pero and Francis here and making is a knighting ceremony for Emperor Barbarossa’s two sons, Henry and Philip, although Barbarossa was warring somewhere else. It was more of a political statement by Henry and the Hohenstaufen family to solidify their rule.
I use the conflict between the Hohenstaufen dynasty and the Roman Catholic Church as a backdrop as well to Pero’s problems with Parthenope and the Fabbro family.
Pero is not only a foreigner at Capua, but he is also a Hohenstaufen appointee in an Italian city as well. The Fabbro family has deep ties to the Church and the two of them working together, conspire to unseat Pero.
“Caballero!” The rider with a Spanish accent impatiently howled. “Show me the device, the coat of arms your sheild bears!”
Francis has not met Pero de Alava yet.
Francis is riding out to the place where he will begin the melee when this anxious Spaniard rides up on him.
“Iya basta,” the Spaniard cursed. “That is not it.”
Iya basta is basically a modern slang term for ‘enough is enough’, but I use it throughout The Crystal Crux Series as a curse, like “shit!”
A good judge of character, he knew the youngster’s anxiousness and duress were contradictory to his spirit. Francis also took note of the explosive crest on the Spaniard’s black breastplate, a hot-scarlet star with a brilliant tail of blue and silver.
There’s a ten-year age gap between Francis and Pero, and Francis has the experience and skill to perceive that there is more to Pero than this eager forbearance. Francis takes a liking to the young man.
Still restless and uncomfortable, Pero continued to fidget in his saddle, one eye trained on Francis, the other checking his rear. He was scrutinizing the accoutrements of each passing knight.
Francis doesn’t know why but Pero is desperately seeking a certain coat of arms. So far, he has not found it.
They exchange names and learn that they are on the same team, both riding from the east.
Pero than makes an odd request of Francis.
“Perhaps,” Pero continued, “men such as we are, with few in our company, might encounter unforeseen misfortune, and have need of,” he hesitated to say it, “… aid.” Pero was dead serious. “You seem a Godly sort, Francis. Should the occasion arise, can we forge an alliance? Would that be asking too much?”
Francis was accustomed to seeing young men fighting in the games for gain and glory, but Pero didn’t seem the type for either. Francis couldn’t put a finger on what it was he was feeling, but he sensed Pero’s distress well enough to agree to such an alliance, should the need arise.
“Well, that is good to hear.” Pero did not even try to smile when he said it. It didn’t seem as if he believed it.” He looked as friendless as he did before his approach.
At this tournament in Mainz, we gain a little insight into Pero’s state of mind well before his time at Capua. He was impetuous then. Reckless. Alone. Brazen. Headstrong. And not exactly trusting.
“I have given him grief and know He is not with me. So, may God be with you, Francis Whitehall of England.” Pero spurred his Andalusian and sped on ahead, his long black mane trailing out behind him.
And lastly, we see that Pero’s rivalry with his Creator is nothing new. He seems to think the Creator never has his back. It’s not that he doesn’t believe. He all too often feels forsaken when things don’t go the way he planned – part of his recklessness.
Inquisitive as he usually was, Merle did not wait unti Pero was completely out of sight to question Francis. “Do you know him, my Lord?”
“No,” Francis replied, smiling. “I have never met Pero before today.”
And that’s all I got for today.
Next chapter, the melee begins.
Until next time, stay inspired and keep reading!
Author Allen M Werner 
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