| Subject: Honor on the Field, 9 |
Author:
Nell
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Date Posted: Thursday, November 10, 10:47:03am
In reply to:
Nell
's message, "Honor on the Field" on Tuesday, November 01, 08:53:54pm
~*~*~*~*~*Honor on the Field, Chapter 9*~*~*~*~*~
London Championships, September 1362
"Dammit m'lord, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Walter exclaimed as he pushed Rouen roughly down onto a stool to examine a fresh gash on his cheek. "If you don't get better control of yourself, you're going to kill someone out there."
“I am in control."
"And I'm a princess of the blood." Walter frowned. "Shit. This is going to need stitches."
"I'll be fine."
"Umhm. Right after I sew you up."
Walter fussed over to his satchel and started searching through its contents for the things he would need to patch up his lord. "What possessed you to take up the broad axe at your age, anyway?"
"I'm winning."
Walter snorted, then bellowed, "Jason! Where the hell are you boy?"
Rouen's herald appeared in the door of the stable. "I'm right here. How is he?"
"He'll be fine, he says." Walter shrugged, exchanging a look of long suffering with the brown haired youth before him. "I need some clean water, and some strong ale."
Walter dragged over another stool and started cleaning the cut, relieved that it wasn't quite as deep as he had feared and that it was a clean line. "This should heal without a scar."
"I'm not worried about scars."
"No," Walter agreed. " You're obsessed with beating a man who hasn't competed on the circuit in nearly a decade, and whose prime was a good five years or more before that. My lord."
"Yes."
"Yes, what?
“My Lord.”
Walter sewed up Rouen's cheek without saying another word.
~*~*~*~*~*
The ground shook as the heavy horses thundered toward each other down the stretch, their riders clad in plate and chain and crouching low, lances held so steadily they appeared to float freely in the air above the fray.
One moment the horses seemed miles apart, the packed crowd rising to their feet lest they miss a second of the match, in the next the horses were passing each other in the middle of the field, meeting, merging and moving on in the blink of an eye, accompanied by the resounding crash of a lance making full contact with one of the riders, lifting him completely out of his saddle and tossing him to the ground with a negligent flick of the arm. The crowd burst into cheers and stomped their feet, making the wooden stands appear to bounce in time to their deep throated roar, "Samuelle, Samuelle, Samuelle!"
As the crowd lost momentum, the master of the games screamed through his megaphone, "That's it! That's IT! Samuelle's done it! He's titled in three events! The first knight to do it in twenty-five years! That's IT! That's IT! I can't believe it! Three Events! The Broad Axe! The Sword! The Joust! It's unbelievable! This is incredible! What an historic day this is!"
Samuelle dismounted on the edge of the field, tossing his reigns to his groom, and rolled his shoulders as he lifted off his helm and waited for Walter and Henri to unbuckle his hauberk, releasing him from the heavy, sweltering confines of his plate.
Ignoring the continuing screaming babble coming from the master of the games, Samuelle called to his groom over the noise, "What's the horse like?" nodding in the direction of the animal he'd just won by unseating it's rider.
"Bad horse, my lord. Old, not much left. Going off in the right rear, I'm thinking."
Walter and Henri finished with his buckles, pulling his armor free as they stepped back. Samuelle nodded his thanks as Henri said, "good run, my lord."
Briefly gripping Henri’s shoulder in acknowledgment, Samuelle headed back onto the field where his fallen opponent was being lifted up by his own retainers. As he drew close, he heard one of them say to his lord, "He's unstoppable this year, sir. A man possessed they say. Unseated eight riders this tourney alone. But think of it, sir! You'll be famous! Years from now, people will say, 'who did Samuelle beat to win the Triple Crown in ‘62?' And the answer will be, Sir Robin Erdrington of King's Cross!"
Swallowing his smile, Samuelle held his hand out to the very young knight who was just again on his feet. "Sir Robin?"
"Sir? My Lord?" The boy gasped in surprise, his face going white then red as he beheld Samuelle.
"On the field I'm just Samuelle, another knight like yourself, seeking glory in the joust."
Samuelle smiled encouragingly and the boy took his hand, looking for all the world like he might faint. Samuelle said, "you had a good run, this tourney - to make it into the finals in your first season is impressive."
The boy's face flamed again, this time in pleasure and pride. "Thank you sir."
"Nice round today." Samuelle nodded, then said, "and you should keep your horse. You'll need a good experienced animal like that to train for next season."
"Sir?"
"I'll look forward to seeing you again." Samuelle smiled again, gripped the stripling's upper arm in the clasp of one knight to another, nodded, and turned on his heel and headed for the exit, Erdrington’s gabbled thanks trailing behind him.
~*~*~*~*~*~
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