observe, half the reason his monastic career had foundered. Ignoring Hervi’s strictures concerning remaining in safety, he grasped the spare spear for protection and darted out to do what he could.
Together he and the youth took the knight’s arms and dragged him towards the enclosure. They were paid scant attention, for the fighting was concentrated down at the far end of the field, and they had almost reached safety when the competitor in the red and yellow returned to claim the ransom price from his victim.
‘Duredent!’ he bellowed, the sound a muffled boom emerging through the vent holes in his jousting helm. He swung the flail around his head, threatening the boys, his stallion plunging close.
Without pause for thought, Alexander grasped the spear in both hands and thrust it at the whirling flail. The shaft caught in the chain, and with a violent jerk, the momentum was suspended. The spear tore out of Alexander’s grip almost dislocating his arms, but that same force and the sudden clumsiness of the trapped spear unbalanced the man in the saddle. His horse reared, and he was thrown, thudding down heavily at the horrified Alexander’s feet.
Appalled, feeling sick, Alexander retrieved Hervi’s spear, the flail still wound around the head socket, and retreated behind the barrier where the knight he had run out to rescue was now removing his helm.
The warrior in the parti-coloured surcoat sat up and stared around, his breathing stertorous through the slits in his helm. Then he lumbered to his feet, and drawing his sword, advanced upon the withy enclosure. Alexander backed, the spear braced. The knight ducked beneath it, closed his fist around the trapped flail and yanked it free. Then he seized a fistful of Alexander’s tunic, lifted him bodily off his feet and slammed him down on his back.
‘You want to fight, boy?’ he snarled. ‘I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll not forget.’
‘This is sanctuary!’ Alexander yelled through the pain. ‘You can’t touch me in here!’
‘That’s right, le Boucher, you can’t!’ declared one of the spectators, a stocky man wearing a stained apron, one eye hidden behind a large leather patch. ‘You know the rule.’
The knight stared round the compound at the gathered, uneasy crowd of onlookers. He returned his sword to its sheath and nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said. Stooping, he grabbed Alexander by the scruff and hauled him back out on to the field. ‘Now he’s not in sanctuary; I can do as I choose with him.’
Alexander struggled against the bunched fist holding him captive. He was aware of the stunned faces watching from the enclosure, but no one was prepared to go beyond words to help him. Once more he was flung to the ground, and the huge knight stood over him.
‘I doubt you’re even worth the bother, vermin, but I’m going to lesson you anyway.’ Eudo le Boucher drew the flail through his hand in a gesture that was almost sensual.
Across the battlefield, Hervi disengaged from his opponent to gain his breath, and glanced around. The eye slits in his tourney helm did not yield a good view of the field, but at least it was not dusty, as it would be later on in the season when visibility was frequently nil. To his right, Arnaud had just defeated one knight and beaten off another in a rare display of pure aggression. Usually Arnaud’s performance was laconic, but today there seemed to be a burr beneath his buttocks.
There would be a ransom to share now, a good omen since the tourney was less than an hour old and there was still plenty of opportunity to reap the field. Hervi signalled to his companion, indicating that they should retire to the enclosure and take a brief respite before the next assault. His throat was parched and he needed a drink.
The two men started back up the field at a modest canter, their senses alert for a sudden attack. Then Arnaud swore, shook Hervi’s sleeve and pointed towards the sanctuary. What Hervi saw made his
Together he and the youth took the knight’s arms and dragged him towards the enclosure. They were paid scant attention, for the fighting was concentrated down at the far end of the field, and they had almost reached safety when the competitor in the red and yellow returned to claim the ransom price from his victim.
‘Duredent!’ he bellowed, the sound a muffled boom emerging through the vent holes in his jousting helm. He swung the flail around his head, threatening the boys, his stallion plunging close.
Without pause for thought, Alexander grasped the spear in both hands and thrust it at the whirling flail. The shaft caught in the chain, and with a violent jerk, the momentum was suspended. The spear tore out of Alexander’s grip almost dislocating his arms, but that same force and the sudden clumsiness of the trapped spear unbalanced the man in the saddle. His horse reared, and he was thrown, thudding down heavily at the horrified Alexander’s feet.
Appalled, feeling sick, Alexander retrieved Hervi’s spear, the flail still wound around the head socket, and retreated behind the barrier where the knight he had run out to rescue was now removing his helm.
The warrior in the parti-coloured surcoat sat up and stared around, his breathing stertorous through the slits in his helm. Then he lumbered to his feet, and drawing his sword, advanced upon the withy enclosure. Alexander backed, the spear braced. The knight ducked beneath it, closed his fist around the trapped flail and yanked it free. Then he seized a fistful of Alexander’s tunic, lifted him bodily off his feet and slammed him down on his back.
‘You want to fight, boy?’ he snarled. ‘I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll not forget.’
‘This is sanctuary!’ Alexander yelled through the pain. ‘You can’t touch me in here!’
‘That’s right, le Boucher, you can’t!’ declared one of the spectators, a stocky man wearing a stained apron, one eye hidden behind a large leather patch. ‘You know the rule.’
The knight stared round the compound at the gathered, uneasy crowd of onlookers. He returned his sword to its sheath and nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said. Stooping, he grabbed Alexander by the scruff and hauled him back out on to the field. ‘Now he’s not in sanctuary; I can do as I choose with him.’
Alexander struggled against the bunched fist holding him captive. He was aware of the stunned faces watching from the enclosure, but no one was prepared to go beyond words to help him. Once more he was flung to the ground, and the huge knight stood over him.
‘I doubt you’re even worth the bother, vermin, but I’m going to lesson you anyway.’ Eudo le Boucher drew the flail through his hand in a gesture that was almost sensual.
Across the battlefield, Hervi disengaged from his opponent to gain his breath, and glanced around. The eye slits in his tourney helm did not yield a good view of the field, but at least it was not dusty, as it would be later on in the season when visibility was frequently nil. To his right, Arnaud had just defeated one knight and beaten off another in a rare display of pure aggression. Usually Arnaud’s performance was laconic, but today there seemed to be a burr beneath his buttocks.
There would be a ransom to share now, a good omen since the tourney was less than an hour old and there was still plenty of opportunity to reap the field. Hervi signalled to his companion, indicating that they should retire to the enclosure and take a brief respite before the next assault. His throat was parched and he needed a drink.
The two men started back up the field at a modest canter, their senses alert for a sudden attack. Then Arnaud swore, shook Hervi’s sleeve and pointed towards the sanctuary. What Hervi saw made his
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