Rays of early morning sunshine shimmered through the branches of the trees overhead as Nicole’s car slowly bounced its way down the winding dirt road, kicking up dust and small bits of gravel. In the seat beside her, Nicole’s best friend Rachel squirmed impatiently.

“Come on, Nicole! Speed up a little, we’re going to be late!” She said, eyeing the car’s clock.

“We’ll make it with time to spare…” Nicole reassured her. “We’re almost there.”

It had been fifteen minutes since they had pulled off the highway, heading out of town and onto a small country road, winding through farmer’s fields and open countryside. As fields, both plowed and wild, gave way to brush and densely packed trees, the country road gave out, replaced by this rough gravel one.

A minute later, the teens drove around a bend, coming into a large clearing. On one side, part of the field had been roped off for parking. About two dozen or so cars and vans were parked there already. Opposite it, a wooden palisade fence had been constructed, cordoning off a larger area. Over the tops, one could see brightly colored tents and pavilions, pennants flapping in the cool morning breeze. Close by, as they pulled off to park, the two girls could see the gates to the Fair, the brightly colored sign declaring in ornate, gothic lettering, that all were welcome to the Pevensey Renaissance Faire.

“Got the costumes?” Nicole asked, as Rachel dug into the backseat. She nodded, emerging with two paper sacks. Grabbing hers, Nicole turned towards the gate, Rachel following her. The fair wasn’t open yet, though a small crowd of hopefuls were already milling about, waiting for the ticket booths to open. About half were in street clothes, the others were in costumes, ranging from store bought knight and princess costumes to ones that might have wondered off the screen of a historical documentary.

The two teens walked past them, however, towards a smaller gate that was marked off for “Members of the Faire Company Only.” For the last two months, the two teens, along with a couple dozen men and women from the community had been meeting, in homes and community centers and later down here as the Fair grounds were being set up, practicing and rehearsing for this year’s Renaissance Fair. Now, it was about to begin!

Just inside the gate, tents were set up for people to duck into and change into their costumes. Nicole and Rachel headed into the one marked for ladies and quickly got changed. Nicole, with a little help from Miss Jones, a close friend of Rachel’s mother, had sewn the dresses.

“Voila!” Rachel said with a giggle, giving a quick twirl. The teen wore a long dress of dark blue, highlighted at the hem and cuffs and plunging neckline with white lace. Nicole helped her lace it up at the back, then went and got into her dress.

It was very much of a kind with Rachel’s, though a rich emerald color. Rachel laced her in, and helped Nicole weave her long, brown hair into a braid. The last part of their costumes were tall, peaked caps with a long flowing train of sheer cloth. A little more Hollywood medieval then historical, Nicole thought, but otherwise perfect for the town’s annual Renaissance festival.  

The girls’ regular clothes and shoes were stuffed in the bags and deposited with the rest of the players’ things. Heading out of the tents, the two continued through a second gate, onto the Fair Ground proper.

Just inside the Fairgrounds, they were met by a young man in his late twenties. His black hair was tied back in a ponytail, he’d grown out a short beard and mustache. He had on a red doublet over white and blue hose. A prop sword in a leather was belted at his side, opposite a dirk and a pewter mug on a leather strap.

“James, we’re here!” Rachel said, cheerfully.

“Hast my lady forgotten? Whilst upon the fairgrounds, one does not break character with a vulgar and modern tongue.” The man chided Rachel playfully. Unlike most of the people working the Fair, Sir James was a semi-professional reenactor, one of a small core that had been organizing and training the amateurs like the two teens.

He turned to Nicole. “And you, fair maiden of the Green, how doth the morning find you?”

“Um…” Nicole hesitated a moment, but answered him. “Good sir, I am quite well this morn. I hope, perchance that this will prove a good day for the fair.”

The man grinned and nodded. “Well said, my Lady. You, our fiery haired maiden, shalt thou try again?”

“er…I greet thee, master James. My companion and I have just now arrived by carriage and we are eager to see the fair.” Rachel managed.

“Better.” James said with a shrug. “Well, if thou will, proceed to the tourney lists, for thy first scene. I must go and hurry some other slugabeds and see they are ready before the faire gates open.” With a short bow, he turned and hurried to the changing rooms.

“Well, my lady…” Rachel said with a grin, “leadeth you on our way…”

“I thank thee and I shall!” Nicole replied, also grinning. The two teens turned and started down the path across the Fairgrounds.    

***  

It was now a few minutes past 10 o’clock. A crowd had gathered at the tourney field for the joust, the first of the Fair day. With the other performers, Nicole and Rachel took their places in the royal stands. They rose and curtsied as the King and Queen of the Fair made their appearance in the stands. From careful hidden speakers around the jousting lists, a cheerful fanfare played.

“Gallant Lords! Noble Ladies!” The king said, arms raised, his booming voice amplified by the same speakers and a small microphone hidden in the collar of his doublet. “I welcome ye to this most magnificent tournament! May you all bear witness to the chivalry, the courage and the skill of arms of the brave knights who will joust for your pleasure today! Now, let the noble knights come forth!:

There was another peal of trumpets. At the front of the lists, a gate opened and half a dozen figures rode out on horses. They were clad in shining steel plate, covered with colorful surcoats. Their horses were similarly bedecked in brightly colored barding, matching the knight’s. Each man also carried a lance, from which streamed a pennant with his heraldry. They wore no helmets, so everyone could see their faces. In the stands, the king’s herald announced the knights as they passed by, for the benefit of the crowd.

In the front of the procession was Sir Ector, the king’s champion and the marshal in charge of today’s tournament. He was a sharp faced man in his middle age, with grey hair and a short, pointed beard. He wore his sovereign’s heraldry; a gold lion on a red background. As he rode, he kept a stern, dignified pose.

Behind him came the heroic Prince Robert, come from a distant kingdom to compete in the tournament. He was dashing and handsome with long golden locks and a smooth, young face. The trumpets came back with a fanfare as his name was announced by the herald. His heraldry was a falcon on dark blue and silver. He waved to the crowd, giving a handsome smile for every pretty girl in the crowd, very much playing the dashing prince charming.

The third in line was Sir Mordred. The herald made sure to say his name in a slow and sour tone, accompanied by a minor chord from the trumpets, to let the crowd know who would be the villain this day. As if his haughty scowl and sinister colors; a fierce dragon on a black and red field, were not enough to clue them in.

Behind Sir Mordred came his two henchmen, Sir Castor and Sir Karl, in similarly sinister colors. Bringing up the rear was the boisterous Sir Bors, with a Boar’s Head on his standard and behind him the Amazon Princess Lianna, martial in her armor and weapons.

After riding around the lists once, the knights lined up facing the royal stands. All bowed low to the king, except for Sir Mordred, who held his head contemptuously. Ignoring this slight, the king again rose. “It pleases me to see such fine display of knightly valor. My Marshall, have you explained the rules of today’s tournament to the noble fighters?”

At the end of the line, Sir Ector stood in the saddle to address the other knights. “Today’s tournament is to be a friendly contest of arms. The King desires that there should be no shedding of noble blood today. All bouts shall end once an opponent has been unhorsed or yields. In the event that both riders remain astride after several passes, a winner shall be determined by lances broken. Does this please you?”

“It pleases me to match skills with such fine and excellent opponents in the spirit of friendship and chivalry today!” Prince Robert proudly declared.

“Bah!” Sir Mordred spat on the ground. “It pleases me not. There is no satisfaction in merely unseating a foe. I would see blood staining this field before the sun sets.”

“Careful, Sir Mordred.” The Marshall warned him, raising a mailed hand. “Thou wilt obey the rules of this tournament or the blood that stains the field shall be thy own.”

“We shall see, old man.” The other knight haughtily declared. “But if that is to be the King’s will, then I shall comply and pull my blows…for now.”

“Then let the Tournament begin!” The King declared with a wave. “Marshall, we would have a taste of our competitor’s skills with the lance. Let us have them joust at targets.”

The Marshall bowed his head. Wheeling his horse, he waved a hand. At his signal, several squires ran onto the lists, setting up several wooden stands, in the shape of a tall, inverted “L”. Hanging from the overhead bar were a number of large, brass rings.

One at a time, the knights spurred their mounts, trying to catch as many of the rings on the tips of their lances as possible. The squires reset the posts and rings after each pass.

After each had had a turn, the squires next set up the Quintain. This medieval training equipment consisted of a central beam, topped with a knight’s round pot helm, with a horizontal, rotating crossbar. One side had a battered shield attached to it. A weighted sack hung from the other. When the knights struck the shield with his lance, he had to ride by fast to avoid being knocked off his horse as the weight swung around at him. The knights each jousted at the Quintain, successfully knocking the shield while avoiding its riposte.

“Now that our competitors have had a chance to demonstrate their skills, they may come forward to seek the favors of the Ladies of the Court to bring them luck in coming struggle!” The King announced. The knights spurred their horses around the lists, holding their lances out towards the audience. Before the tournament, vendors had been selling favors, rings of brightly colored cloth, which the female audience members could bestow on one of the knights if they wished.

After circling the lists, the knights approached the royal stands. With a slight breath of trepidation, Nicole rose from her seat and stepped forward. From the raised position, she could look down as Prince Robert rode his mount up towards her. He extended a gauntleted hand towards her. “My Lady!” The knight said, “May I beg a favor from one so beautiful, to bring me luck in the coming bout?”

“Nay!” Sir Mordred interrupted, riding in front of the Prince and haughtily holding out his open hand. “Your favor, Maid, if you know what is best!”

Nicole raised a palm, turning her head theatrically. “My lord, I cannot. My favor is only for the one whom my heart has chosen.” The secret microphone in her dress amplified her words for the audience to hear.

Sir Mordred clenched his fist in anger. After a second, though, he seemed to relent. “So be it. I need not the good luck charms of a silly girl to bring me victory this day!”

As he turned his steed and rode away, Nicole reached out to affix her favor to the tip of Prince Robert’s lance. “May this favor bring thee luck this day.” She said.

With that, the joust began for real. While the Prince and Sir Mordred had had their scene, Sir Castor and Sir Bors had readied for the first joust. They donned helmets, took up shields and exchanged their pennant lances for rougher ones, secretly scored to ensure they broke safely on contact. As the squires and heralds cheered up the crowd, the knights took position on opposite sides of the lists.

The Marshall gave the command, accompanied by a blast of trumpets. The two riders thundered their steeds down the long field, kicking up clods of turf with each gallop. In the center, they collided. Wooden lances clashed against steel shields, shattering loudly in a spray of wood splinters. The knights reeled in their saddle, but both stayed mounted as they reached the end of the lists and reined their steeds in.

Squires rushed forward, fresh lances in hand. The two knights once more charged towards one another, meeting with a resounding crash. This time, the blows had an effect. Sir Bors reeled in the saddle. A few strides further down the field, he threw himself off his horse onto the ground.

Upon the stands, Nicole and Rachel cheered the victorious knight with the other members of the court. The teens looked over at Sir Bors, in reality a veteran reenactor named Brian. True, the turf was rather soft and the rider had staged his fall, rolling as he landed to soften the blow further, but they were relieved to see him get to his feet, squired assisting their master in staggered dramatically off to the sides of the lists.

One by one, the knights faced off and one by one were eliminated, until only the Prince and Sir Mordred remained. With evident skill, the two met, lances cracking and shattering. Finally, the Prince prevailed. The black knight tumbled from his saddle to the ground.

As Prince Robert rode his mount triumphantly around the stands towards the Royal pavilion, celebrating his victory, his defeated opponent struggled to his feet, waving off the squires who rushed to assist him, with a curse. Angrily, he stomped towards the side of the lists, where the weapons for single combat were racked and seized a sword. Throwing aside the scabbard, he approached the Royal Stands and the Prince.

“My Lady, I do dedicate my victory to your favor and the luck it has brought me this day!” Prince Robert said, extending a hand towards Nicole, pretending not to notice his approaching enemy. Nicole and the other ladies in the stands cried out in shock, echoed by the children in the audience, as Sir Mordred drew his blade back to strike. The Prince turned his head, seeing the danger, but having dropped his shield and lance, he had no way to defend himself from the treacherous strike.

At the last second, Sir Ector, the Marshall, rode in between the two knights, parrying Sir Mordred’s blade with his own sword.

“You dare to interrupt our combat!” Sir Mordred shouted, furious.

“Your combat was to the unhorsing.” Sir Ector told him, sternly. “It is at an end. Now, you will obey the rules of this tournament or I promise your head shall grace the traitors gibbet above the castle gates before sunset.”

“This is not over!” The younger knight snarled. He threw down his blade and stomped off the field.

“As the only knight to remain on his horse this day, I hereby proclaim Prince Robert to be the victor of this day’s tournament!” Sir Ector announced.

Behind Nicole, the actor playing the king rose to his feet. “Noble champion, I salute you on your victory here today. In recognition of your accomplishment, you may ask whatever you wish as your prize!”

“Your highness!” Prince Robert said, “Nothing would please me more then to request this; but a simple kiss from the lips of your lovely daughter, the Princess.”

As a chorus of “ooh’s” rose from the audience, the king laughed. “Perhaps, though that gift is not within my purview to grant. Daughter of mine, does it meet right within your heart to grant this valiant knight his request?”

“My lord and father,” Nicole said in a loud voice for the benefit of the audience, rising from her seat. “Nothing would make me happier than to see his request fulfilled.” She stepped forward, leaning over the rail of the stands, taking care to keep a firm grip on the railing. The Prince urged his horse forward a step or two, closing with her. Their lips didn’t quite meet, there was a few inches of space between them, but from the distance that was impossible to tell. Cheers and applause rose from the fairgoers as the victor of the day turned, his face beaming. A squire brought the Prince his pennant, which he raised high, riding around the lists once more, before exiting towards the stables.

As the audience slowly exited the stands, the Marshall called out, “This tournament is now over. Return at the noon hour to see the King’s Scottish regiment compete in the Pevensey Highland Games!”

Up in the Royal Box, Nicole and Rachel slowly filed out with the rest of the court. A few congratulated Nicole. “Twas a marvelous performance, my lady!” The actor playing the King said, giving her a hearty pat on the back.

“Thou didst most excellent!” Rachel said, with a grin. Nicole smiled back. “Be thou ready for our next scene?” Nicole’s smile disappeared…

***  

At the center of the fairground was the Medieval marketplace. On one side, vendors hawked fairground food. On the other side, sellers peddled handcrafted wares, medieval costumes, wooden swords and shields, and other trinkets and souvenirs.

Mixed among the crowd of visitors were the Fairground players in costume, mingling with the fairgoers and each other. Nicole and Rachel walked across the market. A few in the crowd noted Nicole, recognizing her from the tournament. Nicole politely greeted a few kids, wishing them a good day at the fair or brushing off requests to put in a good word with the prince for them. When the two had a sizable crowd watching them, Nicole nodded slightly to Rachel.

“Will the Prince meet us here, my lady?” Rachel spoke, her voice loud enough to carry to the rest of the crowd without sounding like shouting. “By my troth, was not the Prince most gallant at the tournament this day? I’ll wager there’s not been a knight like he in a good many years!”

“Indeed…” Nicole replied in the same carefully raised tone. “Yet I must say, I was most disturbed by the war Sir Mordred behaved after their bout. O fear he must plan some ill deed against the Prince.”

“Fret not, my Lady.” Rachel replied with a laugh. “After his humbling today, I don’t think that ill-bred scoundrel will show his face in our fair Kingdom before judgement day!”

Just as she said this, there came a commotion across the market square. A loud murmur rose from the crowd as a trio of figures forced their way through the crowd towards the Princess and her lady at waiting. The crowd parted, revealing Sir Mordred and his two henchmen, still in their tournament armor, with swords belted at their sides.

“Princess.” Sir Mordred said, nodding his head towards Nicole in mocking respect. “Would you grace us with your presence and accompany me hither?”

“I will go nowhere with a knight who has dishonored himself as you have.” Nicole replied, coldly. “I am waiting here to meet with a knight who is by far your superior!”

“It is that same boy of a knight whom I wish to meet as well, but not here.” Sir Mordred nodded to his henchmen. “Seize them!” He ordered. A gasp rose from the crowd as the other two knights stepped forward and grabbed Nicole and Rachel. The two struggled theatrically in their captors’ grasp. Sir Mordred drew his blade and they stopped fighting.

“My father will hear of this treason!” Nicole said in her defiant princess voice. She squirmed as her arms were drawn behind her back. A rope, already tied into a loop was slipped around her hands and cinched tight, trapping her wrists together. Beside her, Rachel was similarly tied.

The two princesses continued their protests until Sir Mordred grew tired. At a command from their master, the two henchmen pulled out bands of cloth and bound them tight across the girls’ mouths, muffling their cries.

“Away with them!” Sir Mordred told his henchmen. “Take them to the tower to await my further plans!” He then called out to the crowd. “Let all those who witness this here, inform the boy prince and the fool of a king he served to meet me upon the tournament lists when the bells chime 4, if they would see their beloved Princess again!” With that, he turned and strode past the crowd. Behind him, his two henchmen followed, dragging their captives along, helplessly.

Nicole and Rachel played their roles to the most, struggling and mumbling gag muffled pleas as they were led past the crowd of stunned onlookers. A short distance away, the small group hurried around the corner of a wooden tower, its walled painted and textured like stone. At a knock from one of the henchmen, a ‘secret door’, in the stone work swung open. The captive ladies were hustled through. As the doors closed behind them, Sir Mordred reached over and untied Nicole’s gag. Another kidnapper did the same for Rachel.

“Twas most excellently acted, Milady!” He said with a grin. “One would think they had played the damsel in distress a thousand times before!” He grinned, slightly. The others chuckled. A few years back, the two teens had taken part in a charity ‘slave auction’, where they and a number of other volunteers were ‘kidnapped’ and sold off to raise money. Sir Mordred had been one of the ‘kidnappers’ at that event.

“What now, thou fiend?” Nicole asked, playing the defiant captive princess even as she turned to present her hands to be untied. “Will it be the rack? The Spanish horse? The Bavarian Maiden?”

“Ha! Hardly…” Sir Mordred said with a laugh. “For one thing, they’re all at the Dungeon of Horrors exhibit and that’s on the other side of the fairgrounds… but we can’t have our recently captured Princess and her lady in waiting seen wandering free before the tournament, so it’s the oubliette for you two!” He guided Nicole over to one of the large support pillars keeping the ‘tower’ upright. Her hands were gently pulled behind the pillar and lashed together, more securely now that he had time to neatly loop the rope, cinching each band snug against her wrists.

Taking a long coil of rope from a supply that had been stashed with a number of other props, Sir Mordred began to wind it around Nicole’s arms, torso and the wooden beam until they were one. Bending down, he tied a second, short, length of rope around her ankles. A few feet away, facing Nicole, Rachel was lashed to a second pillar the same way.

Sir Mordred held a bottle of water up to Nicole’s lips to let her get a brief drink of water. Then, he tied her gag back in place. “Just moan if you need anything.” He told the two captives. “I’ll be back to look after my lovely prisoners soon enough! Muahahaha!” He cackled evilly, slipping back into character as he and his henchmen slipped out the secret door once more, leaving the two captive damsels to squirm helplessly and enjoy themselves…

***  

Back at the tournament field once more. A thick, tall wooden stake had been set at the far end of the lists, below the royal pavilion. Nicole and Rachel were bound to the pole, coil after coil of rope circling the two noble ladies, and trapping their hands at their sides, helplessly. A cloth pavilion, open at the top, had been raised around the pole, hiding it and its occupants from sight.

On the other side of the canvass, the two teens could hear the murmuring from the stands as the crowd began to gather together in each anticipation for the finales of the tournament. It reached its peak before a peal of trumpets silenced them. The finale had begun.            

The two heard hooves thudding on the turf and horses neighing as the heroes rode into the arena. Sir Ector, the marshal, called out in a loud voice, made booming by the speakers concealed around the tournament field. “Snake! Coward! Show your face if you dare cross steel in honorable combat rather than terrorize innocent maidens!”

From elsewhere in the jousting lists came a reply in the form of Sir Mordred’s cackling laughter. Gasps and scattered boos from the audience told Nicole that the villain and his henchmen had come into view, mounted on his warhorse. “I am here, old fool, and I will cross blades with you and the boy-prince. But it shall not be by your tired rules of chivalry but by my rules! And it shall be a fight…to the Death!”

“Fiend!” The king called down from the royal pavilion, angrily. “What hast thou done with my daughter, the Princess!?!”

“She shall be a witness to my victory!” Sir Mordred declared. “Behold!” At his signal, the two henchmen standing on either side of the tent pulled on the ropes holding it up. The pavilion collapsed, the canvass billowing out to reveal Nicole and Rachel bound to the stake.

“Princess!” Prince Robert exclaimed as gasps rose from the audience. The two teens writhed theatrically in their ropes, moaning into their gags. The prince spurred his mount forward, but stopped as one of the henchmen raised his sword towards the captives.

“Thou vile worm!” The Prince spat reigning his mount in. “I shall face thee, even to the death if that is what thy mad will demands, but release those innocent maidens from thy clutches!”

“Nay!” Sir Mordred replied evilly. “They shall stay and witness my victory. And then, perhaps the Princess shall grace me with her favor and be my Queen! If not, then she shall be my slave!” On the field below, Nicole shook her head, grunting into her gag in dramatic defiance.

Prince Robert also gave a cry of defiance, drawing his blade. In unison, Sir Ector and the Prince spurred their mounts forward. Sir Mordred sent his two henchmen after them while he hung back. Steel rang on steel as the combatants fought. After a minute, the prince swung his blade, swiping it across the chest of his opponent. The thug threw his hands up with a theatrical scream and rolled off his horse to the turf.

The prince turned his mount around. Nearby, Sir Ector had been thrown from his horse. The other henchman was preparing to strike when Prince Robert rode him down, plunging his prop blade into the wretch’s black, killing him.  

At that moment, Sir Mordred struck, galloping at the Prince while his back was turned. The Prince was dealt a hard blow across his back that sent him tumbling to the field, to the gasps of the audience. A few children shouted for the valiant knight to get up. Sir Mordred turned his mount around, and prepared to charge as the Prince struggled to his feet. At the last moment, he managed to raise his sword to block the villain’s swing, but was knocked down again. Twice more, Sir Mordred tried to ride the Prince down, who desperately dodged or parried each blow.

At last, in a bold move, Prince Robert ducked a swing from his opponent and lashed out with his own blade. Sir Mordred tumbled from the saddle. In an instant, though, the black knight was on his feet and the two squared off once more.

“Prepare to taste my steel, knave!” Sir Mordred screamed, hacking away. The fight raged in the center of the lists, steel ringing on steel for several minutes. Soon though, the Prince gained the upper hand, rallying against the attacks and pushing his opponent back. Finally, with one last blow, he knocked the wicked Sir Mordred’s sword from his hand and sent the villain tumbling to his knees.

“Mercy!” Sir Mordred cried. “I yield, spare me!”

“Very well.” The Prince nobly replied. “I’ll not stain my blade with your dishonored blood this day. You will be taken in chains to answer to the king’s justice for your crimes, but first…” The prince turned. “I must free the victims of your foul plot.” He turned and walked towards where Nicole and Rachel were bound prisoners. His sword made short work of the ropes. In no time, the two girls were freed.

But while his back was turned, the Prince did not notice his defeated opponent draw a wicked dagger from his belt. A few people in the audience called out as he stalked towards the oblivious prince, intent on murder.

“Behind you!” Nicole shouted, as Prince Robert pulled her gag off. Thus warned, he turned, bringing his sword up at the last second. Sir Mordred lunged forward, knife raised to plunge into his opponent’s turned back. Instead, the Prince’s sword found its place in the wicked knight’s chest. With a gurgle, the villain died.

“My daughter!” The King shouted, appearing down on the tournament field. “Thank God! Are you unharmed?”

“I am, father.” Nicole assured him. She turned to the hero of the day. “Thanks to my gallant savior!” To the cheers of the crowd, the Prince and princess embraced and shared a stage kiss.

“Once more, chivalry and justice have won the day!” The King announced to the audience, as he and the other players took their bows. “The tournament is now over. We have our champion. And to all of you, enjoy the rest of your visit to our gallant faire and please return next  year for another Grande Tournament!”