"Tell your master that I am indebted to his hospitality of arms and that I regret that I cannot tell him who owes him a debt of gratitude. I am under vow never to show my face until certain conditions prevail. I will try to do honor to his lance."
He accepted the lance and nodded to the man at arms, who returned him a small bow. Then, belatedly, he realized just who his benefactor was. The Saxon noble on whose account Wilfred had been tossed out of his father's house upon his keester. As far as Lucas was concerned, Athelstane could have Rowena. He'd just earned her.
The red knight returned to the other side of the field to pick up another lance. There was blood coming from de la Croix's mouth.
"Andre!" said the squire, Marcel, visibly frightened at the sight of the blood when de la Croix raised the visor. The knight's eyes were unfocused.
"Water, Marcel."
The squire understood the request and knew that it was not for a drink. He ran into the pavilion and returned with a bucket of water, which he dashed in de la Croix's face. The red knight coughed and took several deep breaths.
"I may have met my match, Marcel. I do not know why this oak chose to challenge with his naked lance, unless he despises Normans. If he is a Saxon, it is something I can understand."
"But we are not Normans," said Marcel.
"We serve the Normans and it amounts to the same thing. If Saxons can breed men such as this, then John of Anjou has good reason to fear them." Andre de la Croix paused, taking several deep and ragged breaths. "But John doesn't fear them. More fool he. Well, let's have that fresh lance, Marcel. We shall see if the Lord means for me to die this day. Thus far, He has seen fit to bestow His grace upon the nameless knight. Should I fail to return, Marcel, you know what to do. And I charge you to pay the oak my compliments."
The visor was slapped down and the knights faced each other once again. Again the trumpets sounded and again they charged. Again both lances splintered on their shields and the white knight's horse stumbled and came near to falling, but was saved by the interference of the list fence, which gave beneath the animal's weight but provided the necessary purchase that allowed it to regain its footing. Both knights reeled in their saddles like willows in the wind. The red knight dropped the fleury shield and Marcel ran out to retrieve it. Lucas lost the magnification power of his helmet. The lens, being considerably weaker than the nysteel armor, cracked and was dislodged by the shock of impact. It fell to rest in pieces against his chin, cutting into the skin. Both knights obtained fresh lances. This time Lucas got one courtesy of Cedric, who said he knew him as a Saxon knight. He was wrong, but Lucas was not up to correcting him.
"This oak tree begins to irritate me," de la Croix said with a gasp. "Already he has cost me two lances."
Bois-Guilbert approached him.
"Have done with it, de la Croix! Unhorse this Saxon pig, unless you are determined to toy with him till nightfall!"
"I marked how well you toyed with him," said de la Croix. The red knight coughed and spat out some blood.
"Twice he ran at you and failed to find your weak point," Bois-Guilbert said. "Kill him and have done with it!"
"He failed to find my weak point because I do not have one," de la Croix remarked in an amused tone. "The trouble is, neither does he."
"You pick a fine time to jest!" the Templar said.
"I can think of no better time. Do you not find it amusing, Brian, two knights ramming at each other like rampant stags fighting over ground? They lower their heads, charge and smash together, horn to horn, then back off and ram once more. Perhaps in future years, someone will find a less strenuous way of making war."
"I hope I shall not live to see that day," said Bois-Guilbert, disdainfully.
"Judging by the account you gave of yourself this day, I think you have no need of concern,'' said de la Croix.
The trumpets blared their fanfare.
"Fuck," said de la Croix, slapping down the visor and spurring.
They did not ride at each other with quite the same speed the third time, but the shock of their impact seemed as great. Both knights were lifted from their saddles and, for a moment, seemed to hang suspended in the air before they both clattered to the ground like so much hardware. For a long period of time, both lay still as corpses. The men at arms ran out, but then both knights began to stir. Slowly, with great difficulty, the white knight regained his feet, having waved off the men at arms, refusing their assistance. The red knight flopped about weakly, like a fish out of water, but did not have the strength to stand without assistance. Raising the visor, de la Croix displayed a bloody, pale face and eyes that seemed to cross and announced that the white knight was the victor, since he had stood up on his own. The crowd went hoarse with cheering, especially the Saxons, who had claimed the white knight as one of their own.
Just a few moments longer, Lucas told himself. Stay conscious just a few moments longer so you can play the graceful winner and then you can slink back to your pavilion and throw up.
Someone brought his horse around and several men came to lift him into the saddle. Lucas had enough presence of mind to become dead weight in their hands, to prevent them from finding his nysteel armor unusually light. In the excitement of the occasion, no one seemed to notice. Then Lucas realized that they were spectators who had run out upon the field. They were yelling things at him, but he could not make anything out of it. He was led to stand before John and he had to hold onto his saddle with both hands for several moments to keep from falling off. It was a while before he could make out what John was saying, then he realized that he was being asked to show his face. He couldn't do that just yet, not with Cedric and Rowena watching him with glowing eyes, the unknown Saxon who had brought havoc to the Norman lists. He mumbled something about having taken a vow, similar to what he had told Athelstane's man. John did not seem too pleased with that, but chivalry demanded that he accept it.
He was babbling something about a banquet and a Queen of Love and Beauty and Lucas finally understood that he was expected to choose some lucky lady to officiate at the celebration and at the festivities the next day. Miss Blood and Guts of 1194. He was told to hold out his lance and John slipped a crown of thin, hammered gold onto its end.
Lucas had enough presence of mind to know that picking a Saxon woman to fill the office would only serve to irritate John even further and he felt that he had already done more than his share. He decided to play it safe and pick the daughter of some Norman baron. Ivanhoe, no doubt, would have picked Rowena and rubbed their noses in it, but that was the last thing he wanted to do. Besides, she was a vapid-looking blonde who looked as though her mind had never been sullied by the presence of a thought. To top it off, she simpered.
He managed to stay in the saddle somehow as he rode past the stands, looking for a likely candidate, someone who looked rich. The one he found not only wore expensive jewelry, but in point of fact, deserved the office of the Queen of Love and Beauty if it was to be handed out on the basis of looks alone. And in these times, women weren't judged on much more than that. This raven-haired young woman was enough to take anyone's breath away. Good, thought Lucas, you've got it, ma'am. You win. He dropped the crown at her feet.
Instant deathly silence.
She looked very embarrassed. Then Lucas realized his error. Even had he not seen the way she stood a bit apart from everyone around her, he should have noticed the man standing with her. He should have noted his dress, the beard and pe-yot, the Magen David he wore around his neck. He had supposed she was a Norman girl and having made his choice, he could not now take the crown back and say he'd changed his mind. He had hoped to avoid causing a scene by not picking out a Saxon girl, so he had chosen a Jewess.