Wicked Weaves
ISBN: 978-0-425-22127-3
From Berkley Prime Crime
“We believe he is dead, faithful squire,” Queen Olivia pronounced in grand, dramatic fashion. “The tournament belongs to our favorite, Sir Reginald.”
“You are right as always, Your Majesty.” The Master at Arms used one foot to push the Black Knight’s head down when he tried to stand up after being forced from his horse during the joust.
The crowd on Sir Reginald’s side of the field roared its approval. The other side booed, of course. This was Renaissance Village, after all. A faithful replica of an English Renaissance town where one could expect to find fairies flitting about, William Shakespeare creating odes, and strong knights competing in rugged jousts. Or so the flyers from the parent company which owned three other Villages said.
“Sir Reginald,” the queen trilled as the handsome knight kissed her hand, “you truly know the meaning of a good knight kiss.”
The crowd laughed at the queen’s double entendre. I waited impatiently at the side of the hay covered dirt field, flipping a swath of sweaty brown hair from my forehead. Late June wasn’t the best time to dress in Renaissance costumes, especially in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, but that was part of the show.
No one in the crowd paid any attention as I bent down to help the Black Knight aka my brother, Tony, to his feet. They were all watching Sir Reginald depart the jousting field accompanied by the queen and her court. Queen Olivia was in a flirtatious mood, bending close to her favorite and slapping her fan at one of her ladies-in-waiting when she came too near.
Considering the king already knew about the queen’s recent brief affair with Sir Reginald and the fact that the lady-in-question was actually the handsome knight’s wife, I knew there were fireworks to come.
It wasn’t unusual. Fortunately, it was difficult for the crowd to tell the difference between what was real and what was play acting for the people who lived and worked at the year round Renaissance Faire. They were dazzled by the actors who came from high school and college drama departments across the state to keep up with crowds during the summer months when visitor traffic was at its height.
Last year, Queen Olivia punched King Harold so hard he fell off the royal dais. The crowd laughed, not realizing Livy had actually caught Harry fondling one of the flower ladies who walked through the Village selling her wares . . . of one kind or another.
Our Favorite Renaissance Links
Available at:
Back
to Joyce and Jim's Main Page