The Champion by Elizabeth Chadwick Read Free Book Online Page B

‘Each man shouts the name of his patron lord. And if he does not own one, then he is fighting for himself.
    I am Geoffrey Duredent’s man today. His opponent is Saer de Quinci. So, any man who cries “De Quinci!” on the field is fodder for the taking!’ He reined the horse about. ‘Keep sharp – and don’t move from this enclosure. If you do, you become prey, and I don’t want to afford a ransom for you!’
    Alexander gave a rueful shrug. ‘Small chance of that,’ he said. ‘I can scarcely lift this shield, let alone use it. Take care yourself.’
    Hervi smiled. ‘My watchdog will do that.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the scarlet-and-black-clad figure of Arnaud de Cerizay, who was encouraging a rangy bay stallion to perform circles and back-kicks. With a final salute to Alexander, Hervi set off across the field.
    Alexander unslung the shield from his aching left arm, deposited it on the ground, and leaning his spear against the withy barrier, looked over the top at the tourney field. The knights were beginning to collect in two ragged lines. Men riding out to join their prospective team occasionally clashed lances with an opponent, testing strength and bravado. Horses whinnied, clods of soil were flung from pounding hooves, and the smell of excitement filled the air. Alexander’s throat grew dry and his heart began to hammer as if he too were physically involved in the proceedings.
    ‘De Quinci!’ yelled the youth next to him in the enclosure, and thumped the withy fencing. ‘Quinci, Quinci!’
    Alexander considered retorting with his own cry of ‘Duredent!’ but seeing the size of the youth, the bulging muscles beneath the leather jerkin, he kept his voice in his throat. Tonight, when the day’s activity was over, he would compose a song to encapsulate all that he was feeling.
    Above the shouts, the thud of hooves and rattle of weapons, a hunting horn blared a single, sustained note. There was a moment when the sound absorbed all other noise and movement, suspending them in its resonance, and then the two lines tore free and charged towards one another in a roar of motion.
    The ground shook to the thunder of destrier hooves and the air glittered with the colours of linen and silk, the bright flash of spears like fish writhing in a net. The shock of individual impacts felt all as one to Alexander. With fists clenched on the withy barrier, he watched the blend and swirl of men, horses and weapons, and tried to follow the progress of Hervi’s blue and gold, and the scarlet and black of de Cerizay. The thump and thud of weapons meeting shields lodged in his gut and tendrils of excitement unfurled through his veins.
    A riderless horse thundered past the enclosure, a mounted knight in hot pursuit, his own mount straining under the burden.
    ‘De Quinci!’ screamed Alexander’s neighbour, beside himself with excitement as the knight closed on the loose horse, a fine animal, richly caparisoned and well worth capturing.
    Another competitor galloped up fast from the opposite side, his surcoat parti-coloured red and yellow to match the quartering on his shield. His right arm was raised, churning a flail in the air, and he brought the weapon round and down on the other man’s helm with devastating effect. The knight had no time to defend himself. Although his helm saved him from serious hurt, the force of the blow and the clang of the flail against the iron stunned him and he was easy prey for his attacker to unseat. He struck the ground with bone-jarring force, and suddenly there were two loose horses.
    The knight in the red and yellow caught the bridle of the nearest destrier and rode away to deposit his prize. At Alexander’s side, the youth had ceased to shout, his eyes dark with shock. The unhorsed man slowly rolled over and started to crawl toward the enclosure. Biting his lip, the youth sped out to help him. Alexander’s hesitation was brief. He did not have the ability to passively