Queen Of Knights (11 page)

“I cannot and will not stop it!” Richard replied in a steely voice.

“Very well,” Marshall whispered and turned to stare out
.

But not before Gwendolyn saw the look of suppressed fury on his face.  She had met William Marshall several times and had been impressed by his logical thinking and steadfast loyalty to England, rather than to Normandy.

Before anything further could be said, a fanfare rang loudly.  Gwendolyn’s breath caught as she watched the mounted knights ride forward, resplendent with all their
weapons
. 
The sun glinted off Mil
e
s’s dark maill
e
, and sp
a
rkled from th
e
pointed tip of his helmet.  Sh
e
let her breath es
c
ape in a low hiss a b
a
re se
c
ond before both knights stopped in front of the king
.

Suddenly, within Gw
e
ndolyn’s ra
c
ing mind, th
e
word
s
of the old priestes
s
returned, and with them, her body relaxed
. 
Miles will be triumphant, she told h
e
rself
. 
He mu
s
t b
e
!

She ga
z
ed into Morgan’s face
a
nd a shudder passed along h
e
r length
. 
His dark eyes h
e
ld hers, and
s
h
e
f
e
lt a
s
though h
e
w
e
re ravishing her befor
e
the w
o
rld.

“A
re
you re
a
dy, my knight
s
?” Ri
c
h
a
rd call
e
d in a d
e
ep voice.

“I am,” replied Miles.

“I am,” echoed Morgan.  But b
e
fore Richard
c
ould continue, Morgan turned his charger and moved it a step closer to Gwendolyn.  “As your rightfully b
e
troth
e
d, I a
s
k a favor to carry into tournament
. 
“

Gwendolyn stared at Morgan for a long moment
. 
She turned to look first at Richard, whos
e
eyes were etched with amusement, and th
e
n she looked at her grandfath
e
r
. 
When
s
he spoke, her voi
ce
was flat and unemotion
a
l.  “B
e
caus
e
of the nature of this tourn
e
y, Morgan of Guildswood, I cannot give one man a favor without giving th
e
same to th
e
other
.
”

In the silen
c
e that followed her words, Morgan’s glare of hatred darken
e
d, and within it, Gwendolyn glimpsed the empty, horrid future awaiting her if Morgan was victorious today.

Sudd
e
nly Morgan reined his charger back, and turned to face the king.  “At your command!” he shouted, lifting a gauntl
e
t
-
covered hand
.

Richard stood, his arms extended, one hand toward Miles, the other toward Morgan.  “I charge you both with the following rule.  This i
s a
tourney, not a battl
e. 
Th
e
winner and lo
s
er shall both walk from this fi
e
ld to do battle, in earnest, with th
e
en
e
mies of our country
. 
Do you under
s
tand?”

“Ye
s
, my lord,” Mil
e
s c
a
lled softly, before bowing hi
s
head to Richard
.

“And you, Morgan of Guildswood?” Ri
c
hard asked when the knight remained silent
.

“Yes, my lord
,
” Morgan said, but everyone, including Richard, heard the reluctance within his voice.

“Then let the tournament begin
,
” Richard declared.  Gwendolyn breathed deep
l
y at the words and watched the knights ride to their squires at the opposite ends of the jousting field
. 
While the squires removed the weapons that would not yet be needed, she tried to calm her emotions.

Jousting was a relatively new part in the tourneys
,
and a part that Gwendolyn despised
. 
It caused too much injury, and many times, even with the blun
t
ed tips of the lances, death was found
.

She forced herself to think of other things as she waited for the first joust to begin.  The morning sun was growing hotter overhead, and still no cloud had appeared in the skies above the moors of Devonshire.

The fanfare of trumpets cal
l
ed out, and with her lower lip caught between her teeth, she watched Miles and Morgan charge each other.  The sound of eight hoof-beats echoed like thunder, and was the only sound to be heard.  They met ferociously, and the loud splintering of wood upon shields crackled in the air.  Both knights remained in their saddles, but their lances were splintered and broken.  They turned their chargers about and rode to their squires
.

M
i
les threw his shattered lance down and took the fresh one from James, as Arthur turned the heavy-boned charger around.  “He’s like a rock
. 
It didn’t even jar him
,
” Miles said, more to himself than the squires.  His arm still vibrated from Morgan’s lance shattering on his curved tournament shield
,
and he willed away the trembling as he readied himself for the next charge
.

Fitting the lance under his arm and resting it against his side, Miles spurred his charger to the gate
. 
When the fanfare signaled loudly, Miles thought of nothing except the target charging toward him
. 
The charger, for all its great weight, moved swiftly and surely along the path
. 
Three seconds later they met amidst a jarring collision of wood and leather, and the snapping of lances sounded loudly.

Miles whirled his mount and started toward his
s
quires
.

When he passed Morgan, the knight spat on the ground before him.  “You will die today
,
” Morgan called in a voice loud enough for Miles alone to hear
.

Miles ignored both his words and gestures as he rode to receive his new lance.  Again, when the trumpets sounded,
Miles charged forward, his eyes fixed only on Morgan’s shield.

They met in the center of the outer ward, as they had twice before, and for the third time, the sounds of their meeting echoed.  Miles shook the sweat from his eyes and rode back to his squires
.

With his new lance in place, he waited for the next charge.

But he was bothered by the last.  He’d barely deflected Morgan’s lance, which had grazed the inside edge of his own shield.  Only his quick deflection upwards had stopped Morgan’s lance from hitting his abdomen.  And, Miles knew it had been intentional
. 
Yet, because of that, Morgan had not splintered his lance and had lost points
.

“His lance!” Arthur warned when the trumpets sounded
.

Miles’s eyes left Morgan’s shield and he saw what had caused Arthur’s yell
. 
Morgan had changed lances, and this new one had a sharp tip
. 
It was not a metal head, but the wood was almost shaven to a point
. 
Taking a deep, preparatory breath, Miles spurred the charger on.

He moved with the mount, sitting deep in the wooden saddle, his buttocks pressed tightly back, awaiting the impact of the lance.  Suddenly, he spurred the charger harder, knowing that if he were to live, he must do the unexpected.  The sharp tip of Morgan’s lance was coming nearer and would soon penetrate through the heavy leather of the shield
.

His horse moved faster, and when they were within five feet of each other and Miles saw the position of the lance, he bent forward
,
tilting his shield at the last second.  This deflected Morgan’s deadly intent, just as the blunted tip of his lance bit the exact center of Morgan’s shield.  A loud gasp rose above the sounds of combat.  Miles’s lance bent, but did not splinter.  Suddenly the lance was free, and a loud cheer followed.  Miles reined in the charger, turning the lumberous horse as quickly as he could and saw Morgan just beginning to stand
. 
He had unseated him.  He had won the first round of the tourney.

Miles
,
elation flowing through his body as fast as his blood pounded, rode to the squires and dismounted.  On his feet, he turned to stare at Morgan, whose squire was running to him, his mace held forward.

“Axe,” Miles called as he studied the mace, making sure that it was indeed a tournament mace, and not a spiked battle weapon.

As Morgan’s squire reached the knight, Arthur handed Miles the heavy axe.  Its blade was blunt, but even so, it could kill if necessary
. 
Miles had no wish for that.  A moment later, his regular shield on his left arm, he stepped forward to meet Morgan.

Morgan swung the mace in the air, the heavy lead ball whooshing loudly in Miles’s ears as he stepped up to his foe
. 
Then, with his shield held in ready, Miles hefted the battle-axe and charged.

Both knights’ screams rose as their weapons descended on the other.  The heavy ball thudded against Miles’s shield, and the impact sent pain shooting through his arm.  But he
s
tood his ground, and even as Morgan drew back to let loose the mace again, Miles’s axe descended.

Its flattened edge struck the outer umbo of Morgan’s shield, bending the thick metal band and making the heavy
-
set knight stagger
. 
But the mace’s ball did not falter as it again struck Miles’s shield, sending another wave of pain upward to his shoulder.

Miles spun, lifting his shield to cover his head, but he’d anticipated wrong, and the mace struck his side in a devastating blow
. 
Miles stumbled, but his instincts came fully to life.  He dropped his shield low, this time rightly anticipating Morgan’s move.  The ball hit his shield, and as it did, Miles flicked his wrist to send the ball ricocheting harmlessly away
. 
In the same move, he swung the axe horizontally toward Morgan
. 
The wide-set knight moved faster than Miles had thought he could, neatly deflecting the axe with his shield.

Then they stood apart for a moment, staring at each other and taking several deep breaths
. 
Both men were conscious of the unusual silence that had fallen over the crowd
. 
There were no strident calls, no cheers of encouragement, just a deadly silence that called for more fighting
.

Slowly, Morgan lifted the mace and began to whirl it over his head.  Miles watched his eyes, not the mace, as Morgan stepped closer
. 
Then, before Morgan could take another step, Miles whirled in a circle, shouting out a battle cry and bringing the heavy battle-axe downward in a swift move
ment.  Morgan’s shield barely contained the surprise move.  His mace glanced harmlessly off Miles’s shoulder, yet the glancing blow was effective enough to stop Miles’s attack.

Rivulets of sweat poured down both their faces as they fought on.  Attack and defend, attack and defend, for endless and wearying minutes.  Five minutes after the battle had been joined, Miles’s shield was ripped and tattered, almost as badly as was Morgan’s.

But neither knight would stop.  When Miles charged yet again, his foot caught on a clump of grass and he tripped.  Cries were heard from the crowd, amongst theirs, Gwendolyn’s.  Her knuckles turned white as her fists curled ineffectively and her eyes stayed locked to the combat.