necessity of swooning and possibly missing a moment of the excitement.
He was assisted into the saddle of his destrier by two nervous squires and a terrified groomsman. Not a morsel of food was chewed nor a mouthful of ale supped while the black knight took up his weapons: a steel lance twenty feet long and tapered to a deadly spearhead at one end, and a huge black bat-wing of a shield emblazoned with the snarling figurehead of a wolf wrought in gold.
On his command, the destrier paced forward, mane and tail streaming white against the uncompromising black. The fount of dark plumes on Mirebeau’s helm danced up and down with each prancing step as the ranks of the spectators melted back, their hands sweaty, their mouths lax with awe. He completed his progress around the field in total silence, breaking only once from a stately gait to pause before the dais and tip his lance in a mocking salute to the regent. Formalities observed, he then steered his horse back to the end of the palisades to await the appearance of his opponent.
A second murmur, like a swarm of bees passing over a meadow, buzzed through the crowd, surging into a rousing tribute as Lord Wardieu, Baron de Gournay stepped out of his tent into the bright wash of sunlight. The hearts of the women fluttered wildly within their breasts as he lifted a mailed gauntlet in salute. His armour shone like the purest silver, his raiment was blue enough to rival the colour of the skies. Bareheaded, his hair shone gold against the bronzed glory of his tanned complexion, and a swoon or two could not be avoided as he raised the hood of his mail coif and accepted the polished steel helm from his squire.
With a casual glance toward the waiting black knight, he mounted his destrier—an enormous beast, as white and fierce as the driven snow—and took his own weapons to hand. By the time he had completed his progress, the voices of those who had been the most raucous and scornful throughout the long afternoon were struck dumb.
En masse, the crowd leaned forward as the herald, dressed in a parti-coloured tunic and plumed cap, proclaimed the nature of this, the final contest of the day.
“In the king’s name,” he declared solemnly, “a test of skill between Lord Randwulf de la Seyne Sur Mer, and Lord Lucien Wardieu, Baron de Gournay. The winner of this bout—”
“The winner of this bout,” shouted Prince John from the dais, “will be decided by God’s mercy. The fight will be to the death. The participants have waived the limit of three passes, as well as any and all restrictions pertaining to weaponry and tactics. Any foul is hereby declared fair; any rule may thus be broken.”
The guests, momentarily too stunned to react, glanced from one end of the list to the other. From his seat on the dais, Friar felt a disturbing prickle of apprehension chill his flesh. A quick glance around the borders of the field—surely the only pair of eyes not glued to the combatants—confirmed his earlier suspicion that all was not what it should be. There were far too many of De Gournay’s guards present, and now, acting on some unseen signal, they were pressing forward, forming a solid wall of steel and bullhide around the field. Here and there a familiar face, paled by indecision, looked to Friar for guidance, but he could only warn them against any rash action with a slight shake of his head.
“Further,” the regent continued in his most pompous manner, “it has also come to our attention that this is no mere challenge of valour and skill, but a pitting of one man’s honour against another. And since a knight’s name and honour are those things which he should value most above all else, it has been agreed by both parties that the winner shall take all: trophies of armour and gear, as well as lands, titles, and such wealth as both men have acquired through purchase or battle during their lifetimes. Before God and His witnesses, is it so agreed?”
A flurry of shocked gasps was marked by a general, swirling collapse of delicate figures in the Bower of Beauty.
“I will abide by God’s decision,” the Wolf said promptly.
“Or die by it,” the Dragon declared, and reached up to drop his slitted visor into place.
The herald, an astonished bystander to this point, looked from one end of the lists to the other