A Kingdom's Cost, a Historical Novel of Scotland by J. R. Tomlin Read Free Book Online Page A

and treason.
    James hadn't broken his fast when the
others had, his stomach all knotted with nerves. He passed one of the braziers
where a man turned sausages over a flame. Fragrant smoke of pork and sage rose
from the dripping fat. His stomach rumbled. It was no good having a belly so
empty that his hand was unsteady, so he bought a sausage and swallowed it down.
He licked the grease off his fingers.
    The merchant gave him a friendly smile. "Luck,
young sir."
    "I'm no sir yet. But if I please the
king--" James waved as he went on.
    He came within sight of the lists and the temporary
galleries packed with people. At the end in their own stand, sat the king and
queen surrounded by their familiars. The king's three younger brothers, Edward,
Alexander and Thomas, stood about talking. Near the queen sat Isabella MacDuff,
slender, full-breasted in her tightly-laced gown, graceful as she leaned to
whisper to the queen, a honey-colored braid falling over a shoulder to her waist.
He'd heard whispers that she'd never return to her husband, who'd sworn to kill
the king for the death of his cousin at Greyfriars Church. James caught his
breath, but grunted softly. This was no time to be thinking of a woman. Winning
to show the king what he could do should be what he thought of this day.
    He walked along the edge of the field,
leading his charger, smaller than the destriers some rode. He liked one light
enough to take a turn when needed. The monstrous destriers, once started, were
lumbering oxen that took yards to change direction.
    The lists were torn from the pounding
hooves of the huge beasts. A servant ran out and raked at the ground to smooth
it, but it wouldn't last. James walked down the line of lances, now only a
quarter filled, running his finger up one here and there. At last, he took one
and hefted it.
    The purse for the squire who won wouldn't
match that of the knights, but winning it would still be a fine thing. The king
had forbidden forfeiting armor or horses. They rode for gold and glory.
    At the other end of the field, Thomas
Randolph paced. He was a year older and heavier through the shoulders, the
king's nephew. His armor gleamed silver in the sunlight. Mayhap later, they'd
tilt against each other.
    At the end of the field, all a-dazzle in
gold, Sir Nigel Bruce raised a hand to the cheers and screams of delight from
the gallery. He kicked his horse to a thunderous gallop, lance couched. Sir
Niall Campbell leaned sideways adjusting his aim. Nigel shifted and kicked his
horse to an even faster gallop. They crashed together. Nigel's lance exploded
from the impact. Sir Niall Campbell seemed to fly from the saddle and land flat
with a jarring thud. The gallery erupted in cheers. Sir Niall's squire ran out
to him to unfasten his helm and lift his head. Nigel rode a victory circuit of
the field bowing as he went, stopping to bend down and kiss one of the women. Finally,
he stopped in front of his brother. As the queen gave him the champion's purse,
Sir Niall limped off the field.
    Now the squires had their turn, and James's
heart was thumping in his chest. Only a score had entered the lists. Many
didn't have the armor or mount for it, but this was James's first chance to
show the king his mettle. He wouldn't waste it.
    James jumped into the saddle, shoving his
feet into the irons and glancing towards his opponent, Sir Nigel's own squire. Riding
a caparisoned destrier, much heavier than James's charger, the squire couched
his lance and nudged his horse to walk to the end of the field.
    James settled into the high-backed saddle. On
that beast, his opponent could hit like thunder but once started it couldn't
swerve. If his opponent landed a good blow... James laughed. He'd see that
didn't happen. A trumpet blew. James kicked his lighter steed to a gallop. Steady,
letting him get a good aim, James rode straight ahead. At the last second,
James jerked the reins and his horse danced aside. With every bit of his strength,
he turned