He liked the acclaim. All the fame and attention had assuaged his hurt pride after his betrothed chose to marry his brother, but he was tired of that life. What was he accomplishing? What good did it do anyone for him to win another tournament? What good did it do him?
He continued through the marketplace. Most people stayed out of his way and didn’t make eye contact. He was used to that; men of his size were often hired soldiers or guards, and sometimes bullies. Valten had been away so long that his people — the people he would lead upon his father’s death—didn’t recognize him. He wore his hair shorter, he had new scars on his face from his many battles, and today he was wearing nondescript clothing—a knee-length cotehardie of brown leather that laced up the sides and made him look like a farmer just come to town to buy and sell. A few people did stare, as though trying to remember him, but Valten kept walking.
As he wandered, a girl of perhaps seventeen or eighteen years caught his eye. Truthfully, it was her hair that fixed his attention — Jong and blonde, and somehow it reminded him of his sister Margaretha’s hair, even though his sister’s was reddish brown. It must have been the thick wildness of it, and that, instead of being covered or braided, it was tied at the end, at her waist, with a piece of rough twine. It also reminded him of someone else, someone he’d seen recently … Yes. The girl he’d seen riding at great speed across the meadow just outside the town wall.
The girl’s coarse gray overgown was covered with patches and odd seams where someone had mended it.
She was arguing with a man over something he was selling.
“You told me it cost three marks and now you say five.” Her speech sounded strangely cultured, not like an ignorant country girl.
Also at odds with her dress was the horse whose bridle she was holding. He was magnificent, a horse worthy of carrying a king. Had the girl stolen him?
“I never told you three,” the man yelled back. “You’re daft.”
“I’m not daft, but you are a liar.”
“You dare call me a liar?” The man leaned toward her menacingly.
The horse reared, striking the man’s flimsy, makeshift counter with his front hoof. The man threw his arms up in front of his face as the rough beam of wood crashed down. The side of his awning gave way, and a rope hung with leather goods fell to the ground, the collapsed fabric on top of it.
“Give me my money back,” the girl said, unruffled by the chaos her horse had caused, “and I’ll give you back your saddlebag.”
“Get your crazy horse out of here!” The man slung his arm wide, cursing under his breath as he stared at the mess at his feet. “Be gone, and take the saddlebag with you.” He shook his head, muttering and stooping to pick up his goods, then struggling to push the wooden beam back into place in order to set his booth to rights again.
The girl, whose face Valten still couldn’t see, walked away, a leather saddlebag in her hand and her now-calm horse beside her.
Valten followed, almost certain she and her horse were the same horse and rider he’d seen two mornings ago. He continued to admire both her hair and her horse. In fact, the animal looked almost exactly like Valten’s own horse, Sieger, the faithful destrier he’d ridden in every tournament. This horse could be his twin.
The girl bought a sweet roll from a plump old woman, then pulled a piece of carrot from her pocket and gave it to the horse, who deftly plucked it from her palm. She gave him a second carrot, then ate her bun as she made her way between the rows of vendors.
Valten admired the way she walked: confident, flowing, graceful, but with a hint of boyishness, as if her horse was more important to her than her hair or clothing. Yes, she was the type to ride astride, instead of sidesaddle, especially if no one was looking. He recalled how she’d given that remarkable beast a free rein when they’d galloped across the open meadow. Her hair had looked like liquid gold in the sun, streaming behind her. But he still hadn’t gotten a good look at her face.
Her horse was limping slightly. Had she noticed? The girl was leaving the Marktplatz now and heading toward a side street. He wanted to see where she was going, but more than that, he was curious to see her face.
Just before she entered the side street, Friedric Ruexner appeared around a half-timbered building from the opposite direction, laughing and walking toward them with his squire and two other bearded, unkempt men.
Valten stopped and waited beside a bakery doorway. His nemesis approached the girl. Friedric Ruexner sneered, which drew his lips back and showed his yellow teeth.
The girl planted her feet on the cobblestones in a defiant stance as she stared Ruexner in the eye. Her horse snorted and shook his head restlessly.
Valten was close enough to catch most of their words. “… Too much horse for a girl like you. Where are you going with that fine beast?” Ruexner asked her.