The Tournament Read Online Free Page A

Her blue one, he said, was not appropriate for an overland journey across the Continent—dressing so would almost certainly attract the attention of bandits. Elsie could barely contain her delight at this exchange.
    Mr Ascham dressed for our journey in a fashion that I feel warrants further description.
    In Hertfordshire he always wore the stiff formal attire of a gentleman: ruff, gown, bulging breeches and stockinged feet. But now he donned an outfit that was decidedly different: full-length brown trousers of a sturdy weave, knee-high brown riding boots and a brown jerkin made of tough Spanish leather. Over this he draped a longcoat of oiled black canvas that reached all the way to his ankles. On his head he placed a broad-brimmed brown hat that seemed impervious to rain.
    All this gave my beloved schoolmaster a far more rugged appearance than that to which I was accustomed. He looked more like an explorer or an adventurer than a little girl’s teacher from Hertfordshire.
    He looked harder, rougher, and perhaps even a little dashing.
    We made good progress through France.
    Although nominally my father was the King of France, such an appellation seemed a sore point to the local inhabitants, so we travelled through the lands of the Franks incognito, disguising our status to the extent that we did not even stay overnight in the homes of royal relatives.
    Instead we lodged at taverns and public houses which were usually foul-smelling and rancid places not suitable for dogs let alone human beings. On a handful of occasions—yes, it’s true!—we even slept in our wagons by the side of the road while our guards stood watch in the firelight.
    While I’d been somewhat saddened at Whitehall by the entertainments of my fellow Englishmen, I was shocked by the ways of the French countryfolk: at their wanton drinking and revelling, and their appalling personal hygiene. A man would piss into the gutter and then immediately use his unwashed hands to grasp a chicken leg and eat it.
    I mentioned this to my teacher, asking what such sights could possibly add to my royal education.
    ‘Bess,’ he said. ‘The majority at court may not think that you will ever sit on the throne of England, but in matters of succession one should never discount even the most remote heir. Should Edward catch smallpox and Mary, with her zealous faith, put the court offside, then you will find yourself Queen of England, Ireland and France. And if you do, then the education you receive from me will be decisive in whether or not you are a good queen of England. This journey will be the easiest lesson I shall ever give you, for all you have to do is watch. Watch and observe the customs, activities and proclivities of real people, for it is real people over whom a king or queen rules.’
    Although not entirely convinced, I said that I would do so.
    Each evening, wherever we happened to be staying, Mr Ascham and Mr Giles would play chess. Usually Mr Giles won, but not before the game had lasted some time and only a few pawns and the kings remained on the board. I would often retire before they finished.
    One day I asked my teacher why, if Mr Giles was such a highly regarded chess player, he needed to play every evening.
    Mr Ascham said, ‘It is especially important that Mr Giles keep his mind fresh and alert. Playing chess is no different from any other sport. As with jousting or archery, one must keep one’s muscles practised and prepared.’
    ‘Sport? You call chess a sport?’
    ‘Why, of course!’ Mr Ascham seemed shocked. ‘It is the greatest of all sports, for it pits the player against his foe on an absolutely equal footing. Size is no advantage in chess. Nor is age or even—young miss—gender. Both players have the same pieces, which all move in accordance with the same rules. Chess is the sport of sports.’
    ‘But a sport is a physical activity. Must not the definition of a sport be that a player is made weary from the exertions involved in its