Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,94

clash, the impromptu bohort seemed more like a genuine tournament, and Richard’s unusual participation ratcheted up the excitement. The knights lined up on opposite sides of the field, and since no one had a trumpet, the signal was the battle cry of the first crusade. “Deus vult!” “God wills it!” Their stallions kicking up clouds of dust, the men charged toward one another as the spectators shouted and cheered.

Just as André had suspected, Richard headed straight for Guillaume des Barres, his path as true as an arrow. Guillaume urged his mount forward and they came together in the center of the field. Richard got the worst of the exchange, for his cane broke when Guillaume parried the blow. He was circling around to get another cane from one of his squires when he saw the triumphant smile on the other man’s face. Disregarding the outstretched cane, he spurred his stallion forward as if they were on the battlefield, slamming into Guillaume’s bay with such force that he stumbled and Guillaume would have gone sailing over his head had he not grabbed the mane. But Richard had not emerged unscathed, for the impact loosened his cinch and his saddle started to slip. He swiftly dismounted, snatched the reins of the nearest horse, and vaulted up into the saddle to continue the attack.

By now they had attracted the attention of the spectators and even some of the men on the field, who’d lowered their canes to watch. Guillaume had managed to regain his balance. When Richard’s stallion charged him again, his bay shied and only his skilled horsemanship kept him from falling. Before he could right himself, Richard grabbed his arm and yanked, expecting to pull him from the saddle. He had not often encountered a foe with his physical strength, but now he found himself unable to dislodge the other man. Guillaume clutched his horse’s neck, clasping his knees tightly against the animal’s sides, and when Richard angrily demanded that he yield, he stubbornly refused, resisting the English king’s attempts to unseat him as if his very life depended upon the outcome.

All eyes were riveted upon them, the French dismayed to see one of their own in danger of being publicly humiliated, the English cheering their king on. But gradually the spectators fell silent, worried by the ferocity of the struggle, so utterly out of place in the midst of a bohort. It was the newly titled Earl of Leicester who sought to break the impasse. Impulsively spurring his stallion forward, he reined in beside Guillaume and reached out to grab the French knight. He had good intentions, wanting only to help his king. He did not know Richard that well, though. Those who did, winced.

“Get away!” Richard snarled. “This is between the two of us!” By now their exertion had begun to take a toll. Both men were flushed and panting, their chests heaving and their tunics soaked in sweat, their faces smeared with dust. After Leicester’s brutal rebuff, none dared to intervene. They could only hope that neither man would draw his sword and turn this bizarre duel of wills into a combat to the death.

“Yield, you misbegotten son of a whore!” Again and again Richard pulled with all of his considerable strength, but to no avail. The other man clung to his horse like a barnacle, refusing to admit defeat. At last Richard released his grip and drew back. Feeling as if his arm had been wrenched from its socket, Guillaume straightened up in the saddle, keeping his eyes warily upon the English king, for Richard’s fury showed no sign of abating. To the contrary, he was staring at Guillaume with such utter and implacable hatred that the Frenchman felt a chill, for now that the red haze of battle was subsiding, he was realizing how grievously his pride had led him astray.

He had no chance to offer an olive branch, though. “Get yourself from my sight,” Richard said, his words all the more alarming for the flat, measured tone in which they were uttered, “and take care never to come before me again. From now on, you are my enemy and there is no place for you in our army.”

Guillaume gasped, for that sounded ominously like a sentence of banishment. That was how the other men took it, too, and an uneasy silence fell, no one quite understanding how a friendly game with canes could end in an ultimatum and exile.

GUILLAUME DES BARRES was too edgy to