The contest took place outside the castle on the land facing the Welsh border. Cadwgan ap Bleddyn and his men formed a wide circle around the combatants. The body of Goronwy had been discreetly moved from the scene and lay under sacking in the back of one of the carts. Reunited with her father, Angharad did not dare to watch the duel. She had at least been rescued from the ordeal of marriage to Goronwy and that was a big consolation. Omri had been released from the castle to join his compatriots. Though he could not view the contest, he would later celebrate it in song.
Idwal did all he could to stop the bloodshed, shuttling between the Norman and the Welsh onlookers with bilingual excitement, but finding no support. Richard Orbec wanted to take Ralph’s place against Damville, but the challenge had already been thrown down. Ilbert Malvoisin and his men had also arrived to witness the event.
Gervase Bret made a final attempt to dissuade his friend.
“This is not your fight, Ralph,” he argued.
“I have made it so.”
“If anyone should meet him, it should be me. I was the victim of Damville’s machination. Let me confront him.”
“He is too fierce an opponent for you, Gervase.”
“I can use a sword.”
“Damville has chosen a lance first,” said Ralph. “It needs a trained soldier to go up against him. Leave this to me. I’ll meet him on even terms.”
“Five years ago, perhaps.”
“What’s that you say?”
“You are not quite as young as you once were,” said Gervase with tact. “Time slows a man down. That could be fatal.”
“I am as strong and lusty as ever I was,” said Ralph, hurt by any suggestion of weakness on his part. “I’ll fight three Maurice Damvilles, one after the other.”
The sheriff called the men to order and Gervase moved reluctantly away. Maurice Damville deserved the ultimate punishment, but he was an expert soldier at the height of his powers. Sitting in commission with Gervase and the others was not the best preparation for Ralph Delchard. The latter would have to draw deep on his experience if he were to survive the duel.
Ilbert Malvoisin reminded the two men of the rules of combat, then withdrew to the edge of the circle. Ralph Delchard and Maurice Damville mounted their horses, put on their helms, and took the long, oval shields that were handed to them. Their left arms went through the two vertical straps on the back of the shield and gripped the reins. From shoulder to shin, they were now covered on the undefended side. The spears came next to be used as lances for thrust-ing. Ralph adjusted his grip as he searched for the right balance.
Maurice Damville had supreme confidence that he would rip his opponent apart at the first charge. There would be immense satisfaction in that. But for the arrival of the royal commissioners, Damville’s plans would have succeeded. Single combat might frighten some, but he embraced it gladly. In killing Ralph Delchard, he would escape trial at the hands of the sheriff. Exile would follow, but at least he would live to rebuild his shattered dreams of power. All he had to do was disappoint his audience by destroying their champion.
The sheriff gave the signal and the contest began. After prancing on their toes, the high-spirited destriers were at last released into action. They cantered towards each other at a steady pace that allowed their riders to sit firm in the saddle. Dipped lances rose to strike and shields were held ready to parry. Ralph watched his man every inch of the way, banking down the exhilaration of combat with the cool judgment of experience. There was no margin for error. Damville would be an extremely difficult opponent.
Immediate proof was given of his expertise. There was a resound-ing clash as the two men closed and thrust hard with their weapons.
Ralph’s spear was easily deflected upward by his opponent’s shield, but his own defence was not quite as sound. Damville’s lance chose a sharper angle and a lower point of contact, striking the shield with such force that Ralph was knocked off balance and unseated. A gasp came from the watching throng as he was dragged along the ground with one foot still caught in the stirrup.
Kicking himself free, he rolled over to meet the attack that would certainly come. His spear had been knocked from his hand on impact, but the shield was still on his arm. He used it with more care this time, watching the lance that now came hurtling towards him, taking its point in the centre of his shield and parrying it away. Damville’s speed took him past Ralph and gave him time to pull out his sword. As his adversary swung his horse around again, Ralph had a means of attack as well as defence.
Damville came in more slowly to pick his spot, jabbing with the lance as he circled his quarry. Ralph swung his sword at the swirling shield, but his attacks were met firmly. The spear kept him at bay. He simply could not get close enough to land a telling blow on body or limbs. As he dodged another vicious thrust, therefore, Ralph changed his tactics, feinting to lash at the body, but taking his sword down sharply in the opposite direction instead. Damville’s spear was severed in two, its head rolling in the dust.
They were now on equal terms. Hurting the stump of his spear at Ralph, his furious opponent leaped from the saddle and pulled out his own sword, unleashing such a barrage of blows that Ralph was driven back several yards by the onslaught. He recovered enough to hold his ground, but Damville was getting the better of the exchange. When their shields met with a clatter, it was Ralph who was finally pushed away. Sensing victory, Damville came after him with renewed energy.
Ralph fought well and parried the iron whirlwind with his own sword. His temper was up now. Maurice Damville had committed terrible crimes and he was the chosen executioner. Such a man could not be allowed to live. Ralph came back at him with a flurry of blows and put him on the defensive. For the first time, Damville was forced to give ground. It hurt his pride. Ralph now had the surge of strength, but Damville had more mobility. The ankle which had caught in the stirrup was burning. Ralph found it increasingly painful to put his full weight on it.
Damville took advantage of the weakness, giving more ground to make Ralph lurch after him, then dodging and weaving to put more strain on the twisted ankle. As Ralph lunged in again, Damville parried his sword blows, then dropped to a knee to slash at his feet. The blade passed beneath the bottom of the shield and caught the damaged ankle a glancing blow. Ralph yelled in pain and danced on one foot When Damville pounded away at his shield, Ralph was knocked to the ground.
Even in such disarray, he had the instincts of a survivor. He heard the roar of triumph and saw the open-mouthed grin. His opponent was coming in for the kill. Ralph was ready for him. As Damville discarded his shield and used both hands to bring the weapon straight for the unprotected heart, Ralph rolled quickly to the side. One sword sank several inches into the ground, but another found its target with deadly accuracy. Thrusting with every ounce of energy he could muster, Ralph drove the weapon through the open mouth and up into the brain.
Maurice Damville let out a gurgle of pain and collapsed on top of Ralph Delchard. Blood was still gushing from his mouth as they lifted him off. Cheers of congratulation rang out on every side. In one gruesome death, many debts had been paid. English and Welsh hearts were reconciled at last.
Gervase Bret was the first to run to the aid of his friend. As he was pulled to his feet, Ralph was jocular.
“Thanks, Gervase. I’m not quite as young as I once was.”
Richard Orbec was sorry to bid farewell to Angharad. When he was introduced to her father, he was very touched by the kind things that she said about him. He was unused to compliments and awkward in his replies. Idwal was their interpreter.
“She asks about the clothing, my lord.”
“Tell her to keep it.”
“But she said it was very special to you.”