Chapter Thirteen #6
The horses thundered. The crowd screamed. The lances went down and aimed for the opposing bodies. But at the last second, Dennis lowered his lance into the chest of Matthew’s charger and the beast impaled itself upon the wood.
The horse collapsed in a flying mass of flesh and armor, tearing into the guide and pitching Matthew off.
Dennis was caught in the calamity of his own doing as the momentum carried both Matthew’s charger and the guide straight into him, throwing him and his horse towards the lists in a huge cloud of dust and wood.
It had all happened in a split second. The crowd screamed in terror.
Alixandrea heard herself shriek and instead of covering her eyes, she began to run.
She heard Gaston calling after her, too loaded down with armor to sprint after the very fast Lady Wellesbourne.
The dust still hadn’t settled by the time she reached the center of the field, but her eyes nonetheless beheld the devastation.
Matthew’s horse was a dead, bloody mess, twisted in the wreckage of the guide.
Dennis’ horse, having been struck by the violent tumbling of Matthew’s steed, lay several feet away with an obviously broken leg.
Dennis was half buried under his charger and already men were trying to move him out from under the horse.
The guide was in ruins and she leapt over it, spying Matthew on the ground about twenty feet in front of her.
Men were running at him from all directions.
She raced to him as fast as her shaking legs would carry her.
“Matthew!” she cried. “Matthew!”
Luke and Mark were the first to reach him.
They fell to their knees beside him, as did Alixandrea a split second later.
Matthew was moving; that much was certain, and Mark reached down to unlatch his battered helm.
It was dented and stuck, and it took both Mark and Luke to pull it free.
Matthew’s dazed, bloodied face greeted them.
“Matt,” Mark’s voice was full of concern. “Are you hurt, man? Where are you injured?”
Matthew lay there a moment, blinking unsteadily. Flat on his back, he looked upward and could see his wife’s distraught face looking down at him. She was a mess and he lifted a weak hand in her direction.
“I… I do not believe I have broken anything,” he rasped, trying to move all of his limbs. “Alix, do not cry. I am all right, love.”
She was trying desperately not to sob. One hand went over her mouth and the other reached out to grab the gloved hand that he was extending at her. Gaston loomed over her shoulder.
“That was one of the better spills I have seen on the tournament circuit,” he said it as if it were something to be impressed about. “Are you sure you are all right?”
Matthew took a deep breath and felt a stabbing pain in his torso. He grunted. “Perhaps I spoke too soon,” he groaned. “Get me on my feet.”
“Where do you hurt?” Gaston reached down to take one arm as Mark took the other.
“My ribs,” Matthew grunted. “I may have cracked one or two.”
They managed to get him into a sitting position. By this time, John had joined them and he helped to steady his brother. The crowd, seeing that The White Lord was at least sitting up, began to cheer wildly and chant his name.
Matthew sat a moment, struggling with his breathing, before allowing Gaston and Mark to pull him to his feet.
Luke stood behind him, lifting him under the shoulders as the others pulled.
He was extremely unsteady on his legs, but managed to walk out of the arena under his own power.
There is no way in hell they were going to carry him out; the only way that would happen is if he were unconscious or dead.
Moreover, he had promised Alixandrea that all would be well in the match.
He did not want to have to admit he had been wrong.
For her sake more than anything, he had to walk out on his own two feet.
They walked past his horse on the way out. He paused by the beast, gazing down at the mess.
“He was a good horse,” he muttered. “What a damn waste.”
Alixandrea was following behind, deliberately looking away when he stopped next to the destrier.
She did not want to see it. Off to her right, someone took a hammer and put Dennis’ horse out of its misery.
The loud, sickening thud echoed off the lists.
The last she saw, they were dragging out the carcass as another group of men went to work untangling the remains of Matthew’s horse. It was a nauseating sight.
By the time Matthew left the field, he was feeling slightly better.
His head wasn’t swimming so terribly, but his ribs were killing him.
Gaston had a good grip on him so that he would not fall, but Matthew assured him that he was steady enough.
He was, in fact, more concerned about his wife than for himself.
Once clear of the field, he stopped walking and turned to her.
She was still behind him, head down, carrying his dented helm. He reached out a hand to her.
“Come here, love,” he said gently. “Walk with me.”
Alixandrea went to walk beside him, furiously blinking away the tears that threatened.
For as frightened as she was, she had done a good job of keeping her hysterics in check.
Gaston took the helm from her and took a position behind both her and Matthew.
He wanted to be close should Matthew stagger.
“I do believe that I am done for the day,” Matthew said to her. “I am looking forward to a good meal and a warm bed.”
“What about your ribs?” she could hardly speak. “We must find a physic.”
“We will,” he said. “I have had enough broken ribs to know that it is not serious. Perhaps just a crack or two.”
“What about Dennis?” Luke asked no one in particular. “Did anyone see how he fared?”
Gaston cast a glance back toward the field. Dennis had long since been removed. “He was walking unassisted when I last saw him, so it could not have been too bad.”
“Bastard,” John snarled. “He deliberately drove his lance into Matthew’s charger. Instead of going for the knight, he killed the horse. I saw everything clearly.”
“And he shall be disqualified for it,” Gaston said steadily; he suspected that Lady Wellesbourne did not want to hear all of this. “But for now, Matthew is in one piece and we can all be thankful.”
Matthew suddenly faltered and he pitched onto his knees before anyone could grab him. Mark and Luke held him steady as Gaston began unlatching his armor.
“Help me get this off of him,” he said to Alixandrea. “He cannot breathe with this heavy armor restricting him.”
Alixandrea unstrapped the stays on his dented breastplate as Gaston pulled it free.
She wasn’t very good with armor and Gaston and John ended up taking off most of it.
She simply stayed next to her husband, holding his arm steady as if to support his weight.
He smiled at her, wearily, as his brother and friend yanked off pieces of metal.
“Forgive me for giving you such an exciting end,” he said. “It did not go exactly as I had planned.”
She returned his smile, reaching out to stroke a rough cheek. “It does not matter. You did as I asked. You finished whole and in one piece.”
He lifted an eyebrow, not saying what he was thinking; when the charger went down, he was positive that he was about to break his neck. He was, in truth, astonished that he hadn’t. The last piece of armor came off and he signaled the group that he was ready to stand again.
“Someone take my wife and I back to our apartment,” he said. “I have an overwhelming desire to lie down.”
Luke and John went off in search of a carriage. Mark, holding on to Matthew’s right arm, noticed that the field marshals were attempting to get Gaston’s attention. He nudged the big knight.
“Gaston,” he said. “They’ve cleared the field. Your bout is up.”
Gaston had almost forgotten. “Will you be able to handle Matthew?”
Mark nodded. “I have for thirty-four years.”
Gaston lifted a dark eyebrow. “Take him, then. And take care of the lady, too. Mind that she does not run off somewhere in the chaos.”
Mark looked at him, puzzled and defensive at the same time. Gaston met his gaze steadily, silent implications in the smoky eyes. He did not even have to say Rosehill for Mark to know what he had meant. They both knew. Mark wondered if Matthew knew, also.
“You needn’t worry about the lady,” Mark finally said, collecting Matthew’s dented helm as Luke and John brought around a flat-bed wagon they had borrowed from another competing knight. “Nothing will happen to her.”
“I will take you on your word,” Gaston replied, hoping that was enough. “Get Matthew settled and find a physic to tend his ribs. I will see him when I am finished destroying Caernarfon.”
“What about Dennis?”
Gaston’s smoky eyes took on a distant look as if he could see things the others could not. He was The Dark Knight, after all, and there were those who said he conjured. Perhaps he was conjuring now, divining the future as he would have it.
“Rest assured, his time will come when he least expects it.”
Mark did not doubt Gaston for a minute. In the mêlée the next day, Dennis la Londe met with an unfortunate accident at the hands of Gaston de Russe that rendered him forever unable to father a child.