V. O, Glory of the Tournament! (8)
V. O, Glory of the Tournament! (8)
"He who has insulted my house, come forth at once and accept an honorable duel!"
Sir Tolle of House Lombard had a broad, flat face and a permanent scowl, as though he were perpetually angry.
Keldric stared at Sir Tolle with a flat, unimpressed gaze. Standing in the path into the inn and bellowing at the top of his lungs did not make a favorable impression.
The hand he had wrapped around his mace twitched.
A duel, the man said. Fine words. If Keldric caved Sir Tolle's skull in right here, it would cause problems—but if it were a duel, those problems would be mitigated to some extent.
Still, Keldric rose first, intending to settle it with words. Getting dragged into a wretched affair like this before the tournament had even begun was hardly desirable.
"Sir Tolle of House Lombard, is it?"
"And you're... uh, ah."
And the single most effective element for settling things with words was, of course, force.
A heavy lump of steel resting on his shoulder, Keldric looked silently down at Sir Tolle. His dark-blue eyes glinted coldly.
Sir Tolle's build was excellent, as befitted a knight. But compared to Keldric as he stood, there were indeed many points to fault.
Keldric eyed the excess flesh clinging to Sir Tolle's body here and there.
He couldn't be sure if it was bulk deliberately cultivated for weight, or simply flab from stuffing his face without restraint.
"If I'm the man you're looking for, I believe it's me."
"Ah, hm."
"Keldric of House Bellaf. I've heard well of the honorable House Lombard."
Keldric knew nothing about Lombard or whatever else, but to resolve the situation amicably he let the pleasant words flow smoothly.
Not that Keldric would lose anything if he stepped out and fought a duel on the spot, but with the tournament ahead, he couldn't afford an injury in an unexpected place from exerting himself in a pointless brawl.
Above all, Keldric was not the sort of man who enjoyed beating people.
Better to resolve things amicably when possible, rather than resorting to fists the moment a conflict arose.
Tap. Tap.
The mace, bearing the chill unique to metal, tapped Keldric's shoulder. Sir Tolle's mouth clamped shut at the sight.
"Sir Tolle. Rather than raising a ruckus in the inn like this, why don't we step outside and talk for a moment."
"Ah... y-yes, let's."
Rigid with tension, Sir Tolle exited the inn first, and Keldric followed.
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The reason Sir Tolle had sought out Keldric so recklessly was simple.
With his own attendants returning beaten and then coming to inform him, his pride wouldn't survive simply sitting back and ignoring it.
"It... it was like that. It seems I failed to look into it properly. I'm sorry, Sir Keldric."
"Not at all. Mistakes happen."
A humiliated expression flickered across Sir Tolle's face as he apologized to Keldric.
No matter how much he was in the wrong, for a knight of high pride to offer a sincere apology to another knight was quite humiliating.
Fortunately, they were in a quiet spot with no one around. Had Sir Tolle rampaged inside the inn, he would've had to bow his head before a great many watching eyes.
"Your attendants didn't tell you that much?"
"They did not. I, on my part, only understood that you had beaten my attendants without cause."
The reason for Sir Tolle's misunderstanding was simple.
His attendants had entirely omitted the wrongs they had committed against Keldric and reported only the fact that they had been beaten by him.
What was more, Sir Tolle had no knowledge of them going to Kurt and making a scene, so his already humiliated face flushed bright red with shame.
If his attendants were at fault, then responsibility rested to some extent not only with the attendants but with the master as well. The fault, so to speak, of negligent management.
Even more so if that fault involved rudeness toward another knight.
Nor was it unreasonable for Sir Tolle to take Keldric at his word.
His attendants, who had accompanied him for years—or a giant knight with a mace on his shoulder. If he had to choose one to believe, naturally it had to be the latter.
"Did you commission a weapon?"
"I asked him to make a sword. I had just ordered the attendants to go and fetch it."
According to Sir Tolle, it was true that he had commissioned Kurt to craft a weapon.
The problem was, that was the only part that was true.
"It should have been in my hands a week ago, clearly, but every time I sent the attendants, they returned empty-handed. I assumed Kurt—the fellow—had simply pocketed my money."
Overcome by greed, the attendants had received their master's weapon yet concealed it. Then they went to Kurt and demanded, "When is the item coming out?"
Kurt, infuriated, might have tried asking Sir Tolle to confirm, but Sir Tolle—who had truly never received the weapon—had no cause to doubt his own attendants.
Thus Kurt, who had made the item properly and handed it over, was left in a predicament.
"Sir. It isn't my place to say this, but... it seems you might need to manage your attendants a little."
"Hrrrm... When I return, I shall impose a suitable punishment."
To Keldric's eye, Sir Tolle was not a knight of pleasant character. Strictly speaking, he fell squarely into the category Keldric had fretted about repeatedly—'a knight with a shit personality.'
It was only because this was a conversation between fellow knights that things were proceeding amicably, with a reasonable degree of give-and-take. Keldric had little trouble imagining how Sir Tolle would treat his attendants the moment he went back.
The way he had kicked open the inn door was of a piece. Had the man who stepped forward to face Sir Tolle not been Keldric but some other knight, things might truly have gone the distance.
"I am truly sorry for this affair, Sir Keldric."
"No, well. You weren't personally at fault, were you? It was your attendants who did wrong."
"If not for you, I would have nearly made a grave error. My honor would have been dashed to the ground."
Sir Tolle's manner was quite respectful.
However foul his personality, he wasn't the sort of knight to blindly press another knight when his own fault was clear.
Just as packs of mongrels have their own rules, so too do knights have rules among knights.
Keldric gave Sir Tolle a couple of pats on the shoulder.
Bad personality or not, it was fine as long as he caused no harm to Keldric.
"Sir Keldric. I should like to repay you as a token of my apology. Would you happen to be free the day after tomorrow?"
"Hm?"
"Since my attendants committed the error, it is only proper that I repay you. Besides, you would be able to confirm that the attendants have been firmly punished."
If his attendants had committed some wrong and insulted another knight, a foul temper was neither here nor there. Sir Tolle himself was a knight first.
No knight would stand by and merely watch while another knight was disrespected. That was a matter directly linked to his own honor.
Here, for Sir Tolle's dignity, the proper response would be to agree, but the day after tomorrow Keldric had a very important engagement.
"The day after tomorrow... well. I have to participate in the tournament."
"Ah! You are a tournament participant?"
"That's right... and you, Sir?"
"I, too, wish to participate, but I have a matter that needs resolving at the family level. That, too, is why I have been staying in Bogenberg for nearly a month now."
Keldric did not pry further into House Lombard's affairs.
He detested meddling in other families' business. Such things generally tended to spiral into complicated tangles between nobles.
"I see. That's unfortunate."
"Unfortunate?"
"I had wanted to cross blades with you at least once, Sir Tolle. Wouldn't it be grand to meet on the honorable tournament field?"
"Ah, well... hm. Yes, it would."
"In any case, it seems I'll be unavailable starting the day after tomorrow."
Keldric was curious as to what Sir Tolle's "repayment" might be, but naturally, the tournament was more important.
He also had, to some degree, no desire to watch attendants being whipped.
"It's regrettable, but... I shall have to look forward to the next opportunity."
"If you find time later, come to Bogenberg Castle and ask for me. I will repay you properly then."
"I'll do that."
"...And, that mace—do put it away. It's rather unsettling to look at."
With that, Sir Tolle departed. For a man who had stormed into the inn with such momentum, it was not a particularly pleasant ending.
Watching Sir Tolle's back as he mounted his horse and vanished into the alley, Keldric, turning the man's words over in his mind, suddenly realized something.
'...He's staying at the castle?'
Generally, when a knight visits a fief ruled by a noble, it is proper to invite him to one's home or castle and extend hospitality—but the number of knights participating in a tournament was beyond count.
They could not all stay at Bogenberg Castle.
Those lodging at the castle during such a period were, in most cases, likely sons of powerful nobles or affiliated with renowned knightly houses.
Keldric's gaze returned to the alley corner where Sir Tolle had disappeared.
But Sir Tolle, who could have resolved that curiosity, was already gone. Keldric clicked his tongue in regret.
Of course, there was no need to be in any urgent hurry.
In any case, if he was a distinguished guest staying at the castle, they would inevitably encounter one another again at the tournament grounds.
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Two days passed in the blink of an eye.
As time went on, Bogenberg became utter pandemonium during the daytime, when the gates stood open, packed with crowds of people.
Most of them were parties of knights participating in the tournament, or nobles attending the event and their retinues.
Even when Keldric had arrived, entering through the gate meant standing in line and waiting, and as the tournament drew right to their doorsteps, the congestion grew worse.
Keldric regarded the queue stretching endlessly before the gate with a bored expression.
'Why are there so many?'
Crowds clogging the road were one thing, but this was on an entirely different scale from the line of peddlers he'd seen in Bellam.
As it happened, among that enormous throng, the citizens of the city were not particularly numerous.
Being an important tournament held to commemorate the fiftieth birthday of the Count of Bogenberg, not just anyone could simply be admitted as a spectator.
To begin with, entering the stands cost money.
The price of the stands was enough to make Keldric click his tongue when he heard it, and the seats with the best view of the field were even more expensive.
"Sir. Are you nervous?"
As Keldric stood staring blankly at the vast crowd, Sir Henri, who had approached at some point, gave his arm a teasing tap with a mischievous look on his face.
Nervous? Of course he was.
Keldric was not one to grow overly tense in the average fight, but competing against other knights before the watching eyes of this multitude was a slightly different matter.
"My stomach is churning."
"Hahaha! Small wonder. And to think, of all days, your first match is scheduled for today."
"It's an honorable affair. Lord Bogenberg himself will be observing in person."
"Sir Alan. Wouldn't it be better for you to simply not participate? People will jeer if a feeble knight gets smashed in spectacular fashion."
"Sir Henri. Such fretting is the province of cowardly knights who won't even enter the lists alongside you."
While Sir Henri ran his mouth, Sir Alan, who had been standing beside him projecting every conceivable sort of gravitas, added a remark.
Just as he said, Keldric's match had been scheduled for the very first day of the tournament.
And he had only learned of it last night, the day before the tournament opened, from a messenger sent by the castle.
The same applied to Sir Alan, who was also participating in the tournament—so it was possible Keldric might even face him.
"So, what is today's contest?"
"The joust. Lord Bogenberg is giving us something this entertaining right from the first day."
The joust. Keldric's brow furrowed slightly at the words.
'I don't have much experience with the jousting lance.'
Keldric had obtained a lance as spoils at Schaffendorf, but he had practically no experience at all in actually leveling that lance while mounted on Boreas.
This was precisely what he had overlooked.
A small-scale tournament might be different, but simply calling it a "tournament" did not mean only one type of contest was held.
When knights entered, they conducted jousts, and also team combats where they formed sides and competed bearing their own weapons.
Keldric was far more confident in the latter. But a joust, of all things.
"Don't worry. Sir Keldric will smash them all and seize the glory of victory."
"Have you watched Sir Keldric fight?"
"...No, I haven't."
The one silver lining, if it could be called that, was that he wouldn't have to switch to a different horse for the joust.
Because the field of participants was so large, only a single chance was given in the joust. Keldric merely had to fight one match, against whichever opponent was drawn.
Keldric gave Boreas's mane a rough, vigorous scratching. As if pleased, Boreas tossed his head and snorted. The tournament weapons lashed behind the saddle shook roughly.
The lifeblood of the joust was strength, instantaneous explosiveness, and dynamic visual acuity.
And for Keldric, for whom the joust was unfamiliar, those three qualities were sufficient.
"Sir Keldric. I'll be cheering for you."
"Thank you, Alisa. Put your money on me."
"Yes. Of course."
Like Alisa, Keldric, who had brought his entire fortune, felt his chest swell with anticipation.
Wealth, honor, renown.
In the tournament, all of these could be gained.
And Keldric was confident he could seize all of them.