Mildreth woke Theophanna early. Sigfried had not returned until the early hours and had not troubled her with his attentions. The fact that he had not smelled of wine told her that his meeting with Baron Hletrig had not been a social one. There was a tension in her lord that she did not like, something was afoot and she didn’t understand what it was. Why had he summoned her here? Perhaps to dress his arm and show off to other lords but perhaps for other reasons. In the past he had sought her advice, sometimes taking it, other times not and she wondered if she was to be brought into his confidence. That was for later, for now Mildreth sponged her off with cool water and helped her into her stays, then laced her into a gown of deep green silk. Then she sat while the maid performed a hundred strokes with an ivory comb, then braided and coiled her hair before securing it with a caul of gold chains fastened with pearls. Finally she affixed a wimple of lace that would have been invisible if it wasn’t such a pristine white. Mildreth produced a mirror of polished silver so Theophanna could inspect herself then provided her with a simple breakfast of dry bread and a glass of watered wine.


“Do you have plans for the day mistress?” Mildreth asked as she took the empty goblet away for the scullery maid to clean. The Orbai party must include a score of servants as well as it’s complement of knights and armsmen and most of them were up and moving around quietly. Theophanna considered it. There were things that needed doing: letters to be written to the Reverend Mother and to her Themearch, she needed to read the book of the heavens also if Aristophanna’s claim of trouble in Vence was true, calls to make on other noble women who were in attendance. She thought of the things she had lost when the carriage had been smashed. Many of those things would be difficult to replace,  at least without setting more tongues wagging than she was willing to risk.  None of those options immediately appealed.


“Perhaps I should watch some of the fighting?” Theophanna pondered. Though the question was not directed at her, Mildreth nodded enthusiastically.

“Squire Gilroy is to compete at the brass arena at noon, perhaps if you will not need me?” the maid wheedled. Theophanna did not roll her eyes. If Mildreth was sweet on Gilroy she was bound to be disappointed. His father was one of her husband's vassals and a  grasping ambitious man determined to thrust his son forward where he himself had been denied what he fondly imagined was his due. Gilroy of Loronel would not be marrying some servant girl, no matter how many bastards he might get on her.


“Very well Mildreth,” Theophanna relented. If the girl wanted to moon after Gilroy, who was she to stand in the way? The thought brought Torm to her mind.

“What of our new squire, Torm?” she asked. Mildreth nodded her head enthusiastically. 

“He is to compete in the soldiers' melee this morning,” Mildreth informed her, “did he truly save you from bandits?”

“We will attend then,” Theophanna decided, ignoring the second part of the question. If the silly chit could ask the question then she already knew the answer. No doubt everyone in the household and probably half the city had heard the tale by now, rumor was winged and truth was lamed, as Saint Jacinta had said.

“At the Sourdough arena, is it… entirely proper m’lady?” Mildred balked.

“And why should it not be?” Theophanna demanded. The girl shifted uncomfortably. 
“It might be considered beneath you my lady,” Mildreth said, wringing her hands slightly. It was true that higher nobility tended to restrict themselves to the jousting and the arena of champions where elaborate stands and boxes had been created where they could watch in comfort but Theophanna doubted that such strictures were in any way formal. Perhaps for a Duchess the idea of sitting on her bottom without the intercession of a dozen pillows was a problem, but Theophanna who had spent the last few days on a coach bouncing across the rutted roads of western Avrin suspected she would be able to handle it.
“Fetch my cloak,  the ermine trimmed one,” Theophanna directed and then slid into satin slippers. She would have to wear the wooden clogs while in the street to avoid mud and dust of course or should she ride? Riding would necessitate the grooms finding a horse for her and before she knew it half the household would be roused. The clogs would be fine.


The melee had not started by the time Theophanna and Mildreth reached the field. A pair of liveried armsmen had joined them proclaiming the need to protect the countess though Theophanna suspected they were more interested in getting to see the fight rather than standing around the tents bored out of their brains. Men were beginning to rank up for the fight as she approached the rail and bets were furiously being placed. A few men gasped when they saw her and scrambled out of her way tugging their forelocks. Theophanna ignored them disdainfully and surveyed the Orbai contingent. She could not pick Torm out by his armor but his logos was bright in her eyes. The leader of the Orbai team saw her and snapped out an order, the men coming to a rough kind of attention.

“My Lady, you honor us with your presence,” he told her. His name was Corban? Corden? Something like that.

“Thank you sergeant Cordan,” Theophanna told him, dredging the name up from her memory just in time. He stood a little straighter when he realised he knew her name. It was an old Convent trick, nothing built rapport with people like remembering who they were and reminding them that you did so.

“Has squire Draufkrieg reported?” she asked. Cordan nodded and cast an eye over his shoulder to an armored form in an antique helm.

“Barely, just got here, would have been late if the fight hadn’t been delayed,” Cordan grumped. Theophanna nodded.

“Good luck to you Sergeant, I know you will do us proud,” Theophanna told him, then climbed up into the stand where a few lesser nobles hastily made space for her. She settled in to watch the show.