Today, I was once again on doggie-walking duty. 🙂
I’m also still hard at work at the revisions for THE BRIDE PRIZE. At the moment my characters are at a tournament (which is not exactly surprising, given that half of the novella takes place during the aforementioned tournament). As per my editor’s suggestions, I’m working on increasing the conflict between hero and heroine. In this particular scene it needs to be clearer that he regards the whole tournament thing as a rather silly affair. Sooo….. (insertions in red)
Around them the crowd fell silent as the knights retired to their tents in order to don their helmets and await the formal challenge to combat. Yes, very much in the manner of Ivanhoe (though minus the nasty Prince John and the general bloodlust of the audience) and as good a show as anything you might see on a London stage.
Here and there a few laughs could be heard as the jester rode across the field, swinging his bells in a somewhat dampened tingle over his head.
And then, finally, a blast of trumpets sounded, and the first challenge of the day was issued: the Knight of the Swan sent his defiance to the Knight of the Golden Lion. Having donned their helmets, both knights rode forth, plumes fluttering in the wind.
Everyone around the lists seemed to hold their breath. This was it! This was why they had come here from all corners of the kingdom; indeed, even from all corners of the world!
Breathless excitement gripped the stands & slopes, Robbie scribbled into his sketchbook right next to a very hasty drawing of a round gentleman staring in open-mouthed wonder at the silly spectacle unfolding in front of his eyes.
We do so need somebody for satirical illustrations, Robbie thought ruefully.
The knights took their positions on opposite sides of the barrier that had been set up for the tilting.
Miss Florence sighed happily. “Isn’t it wonderful? It’s so –“
Another blast of trumpets, and the knights rode furiously — or at least as furiously as was possible in the rain, which was not very furious at all — towards each other… further and further… and past each other, without so much as scratching their shields, let alone splintering anybody’s lances.