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This evening – as all evenings – Sir [[Padern]] was sitting by the log fire in his brand new hall, strumming distractedly at the strings of his trusted old harp. He had been finding that the quite life at home was harder to render in music and lyrics than his old adventurous life. By his side, his wife was mening his "best" set of clothes, with a frown on her face. She had seen beggars with better clothes. The truth was, they were dirt poor, even if soon-to-be-Count [[Robert]] had generously rebuilt the hall at Swallowcliffe. Long at last, the knight gave up on the love song he was trying to write (to his wife, but he did not say that); all the words he owned seemed to be about killing and [[glory]]. Tired plattitudes. He would need to invent a new language, but for tonight his old lanugage would have to do. So, thinking about his up-coming journey to Londinium, he started to write a song about a brave knight at a tourney. Soon, he had found a lively and gay tune, and started to piece together the words, looking for a word that would rhyme with "tourney" – – when his squire, suddenly stirred himself from his lethargy and asked: "Sir, what's a tourney?" "What? Oh ... um, you know, well, well, a Tourney, that is a Wonderful thing, the most Glorious thing you have ever seen!" Sir [[Padern]]'s new ways did not keep him from talking with a lot of capital letters. Rhian looked at his master with all the doubtfulness and cynicism of a teenager. "Sir, that is not an answer at all!" "Oh! I mean ... Hrmp! Well! I meant to say ... a tourney, is ... is ... well, imagine a market with finest [[sword]] smiths in the land, and best [[horses]] man has ever seen are there to be sold and bought, and bards singing new songs, the like no-one has heard, and all the most beautiful ladies in the realm, and the knights, all of them, all that are worth their salt are there with their best [[horses]] and armours and [[swords]] and, and, and whatnot!" "So it's like a market? With merchants and whores?" "No! No-no-no! '[[Horses]]' you nincompoop! No, no whores allowed." The squire looked somewhat sceptical, having problem understanding how "all" knights could be in a place and no whores at all. Usually there was one for every three knights, and five for his royal father. "But what do they ... do?" "Oh, what do they not do? They feast, and frolick, and whatnot, and then, one day, there are the Great Animal fights, they watch that, and then, another day there is the [[Bohort]]. The [[Bohort]], yes, and all the squires fight each other ..." Rhian's eyes grew larger and larger as his master told him about the [[bohort]]. That was more like it. But there was still some pieces missing in his understanding. "So all the knights do is shop and watch others fight?" he asked when there was no more to say on the [[bohort]]. "Gadzooks boy, you cannot truly believe that! That would be no [[Glory]], and for the True Knight [[Glory]] is everything. No, one one morning, the sun will rise on a green field, and there the knights will muster in two Glorious Hosts, and the Heralds will proclaim the Rules of the Game, and the let blow some trumpets. And then, then ..." Sir [[Padern]] lost himself in reverie. "Sir?" "Oh! Yes." Unthinking, he got to his feet, and started pacing the hall, voice agitated. "Then, then, squire, then they Charge into each other, the two Hosts, and have a Glorious Melee. Lances will be broken, shields shattered, [[horses]] and men thrown to the ground! Strokes exchanged, [[Glory]] won and lost, prisoners made, [[horses]] captured!" "But, Sir, that is a battle!" [[Padern]] laughed. "Yes, it is, but without hate or malice, a battle for Battles sake, just for the fun of it. And the [[Glory]]!" The squire was aghast. "But men will die"! "Oh, just a few, you are supposed to surrender and the Just Knight will show Mercy and take his man prisoner, and release him without Ransom." The squire was in awe. "And how many such Tourneys have you attended, Sire?" "What? Oh! Oh, none!" said [[Padern]] modestly. "None?" "Ehrm, well, you see, no one has. The [[Brown Knight]] of the Wilds told me all about them, them tourneys. I think it was his idea. But he has not been to one either. Must have been him that told old Sir [[Brastias]] all about them. And now [[Brastias]], beeing a Great Knight, has called for the first Tourney ever in these Lands so that the knights can win [[Glory]] and Fame!" "And to find a King to unite us agains the [[Saxons]]?" "Yes, yes, and to find a King!" [[Padern]] waved his hand impatiently. Gadzooks, that squire of his may have royal blood in his veins, but he really did not understand what was important in life. Oh well. Sir [[Padern]] sat down agian, and gave the song about a tourney another go. Yes! "Journey", it rhymes with "Tourney"!
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