Chapter Twelve #3
It was a matter of individual preference how the man rode and not an indication of inexperience, however.
Avalyn’s hand went to her throat as she watched them draw closer and closer still.
Sounds of thundering hooves shook the ground.
Barton was faster, but Brogan was moving firm and steady like a mountain.
As they came upon each other, Avalyn wanted to put her hands over her eyes but somehow didn’t move fast enough; as everyone watched, Barton’s lance plowed into Brogan’s shield and splintered in a million pieces.
But then, a strange thing happened; somehow, Brogan had managed to lift his lance above Barton’s head and as the knight moved past him, he swung it back around and caught St. John in the back of the head.
It was literally sweeping the man off his horse, and plunge off his horse Barton did.
He ended up in a heap as Brogan circled around at the north end of the field.
It all happened so fast. St. John was in a seated position quickly and obviously not hurt as Brogan came upon him, his lance propped up on his right knee and still quite intact. St. John flipped up his visor and gazed up at him.
“That,” he said slowly, “was an illegal move.”
Brogan lifted an eyebrow. “In tournament, aye. But this is not a tournament. It is a demonstration of my skill.”
“I would say you used more strength than skill with that move.”
“Then let us make another pass and I shall play by tournament rules.”
Barton shook his head and rolled to his knees.
His squires were there, making sure he was uninjured as they helped him to his feet.
He motioned to his horse. “Bring me my sword,” he bellowed, eyeing Brogan as someone raced to give him his weapon.
“Let us see how you fight, Gervaise. Now that I know you are tricky, you’ll not catch me with my guard down. ”
Brogan grinned and dismounted his steed. St. Alban came to him as quickly as his fat body was able to move and silently took the horse as Brogan unsheathed the broadsword strapped to the saddle.
The old man gazed at Brogan steadily, wanting to impart a few final words before the foot battle began, but Brogan wasn’t looking at him.
He was focused on St. John in a manner that St. Alban had seen many a time in battle, only this wasn’t a battle.
He genuinely feared for Barton’s safety.
The past two weeks training Brogan to fight as a knight had shown the man to be completely fearless and bordering on madness at times.
St. Alban himself had taken a few good slices from Brogan during practice as the result of the man’s intensity in battle.
St. Alban knew that Brogan had difficulty drawing the line between practice or play and a real battle.
The instinct to kill was quick to surface.
“Tygor,” St. Alban said loud enough to be heard. When Brogan looked at him, the old man lifted his eyebrows for emphasis. “A practice round only. You are not out to kill the man.”
Brogan merely nodded, his attention refocusing on Barton, who suddenly rushed at him with his sword aloft and delivered a seriously heavy blow that sent Brogan stumbling backwards.
A series of sharp, skilled thrusts followed the initial blow and Brogan was on the defensive.
Barton’s skill with a weapon was blatantly evident and Brogan let the man have his way for a few minutes as he studied the way he moved.
Since part of Brogan’s job at The Tower was to train new soldier recruits, he knew better than most the skills and tactics of swordplay.
He sized up his opponent by studying his methods.
On foot, Brogan was in his element and St. John would soon be the one on the defensive.
It didn’t take long for Brogan to come to life and charge after Barton.
With a double-handed grip, he lodged three strong thrusts at St. John that, had the man been any slower, would have taken his head off.
It was evident very quickly that Brogan was far stronger than Barton.
As those around them watched, Brogan turned into the animal he was so often accused of being on the battlefield. It turned into a serious confrontation.
In the lists, Avalyn still stood with her hand on her throat, watching the vicious session progress. Barton was staying alive by sheer skill alone, as he was no match for Brogan’s strength. Terrified for both men, she put her hand on Charles’ arm.
“My lord,” she said, her eyes never leaving the field. “Perhaps you should stop this before someone gets hurt.”
Charles, too, was riveted to the battle. “My God,” he breathed. “That man is a beast. Look how he tries to overpower Barton.”
“I see,” she said, clipped. “I do not like this. Please order it stopped.”
Charles tore his eyes away from the battle long enough to look at her.
He could see she was not enjoying it in the least, although he personally lived for a good fight.
There was something exciting in the brutality of it.
Though he would have liked to continue marveling at Gervaise’s power, he would, as always, bow to the lady’s wish.
“Enough,” he finally roared, loud enough to cause Avalyn to start. “I have seen enough. Both of you; come here.”
Barton stopped immediately; Brogan was a split second slower.
Sweating with exertion, the two men made their way over to Aubrey and stood before him, breathing heavily.
Their massive broadswords hung at their sides, still gripped in the gloved hands, still ready to lift at any moment and continue. Aubrey’s gaze moved between the two.
“Barton,” he addressed his knight. “What is your opinion of Gervaise’s skills?”
Barton flipped up his three-point visor and flicked the sweat from his eyes. “He is careless and, at times, unethical with his tactics, but I can state with certainty that he is the strongest opponent I have ever faced.”
Aubrey’s attention moved back to Brogan. “I see,” he said, still speaking with Barton though his eyes were on his massive adversary. “Would you say that he would be an excellent addition to our knightly ranks?”
“I would, my lord.”
“Then I shall accept his pledge.” Charles moved to the edge of the list, almost eye to eye with Brogan from where he stood. “Welcome to Guerdley Cross, Sir Tygor. May we have a long and pleasant association together.”
Brogan bowed to his new liege. “You have my loyalty and my sword, my lord.”
With that, Charles turned away from him and took Avalyn by the hand.
Carefully escorting her off the list, his focus was solely on the lady as the knights behind him disbanded to collect their things.
Only Inglesbatch followed several paces behind them, deliberately ignoring Brogan and St. Alban as the men sheathed swords and collected the rest of Brogan’s equipment.
So, the first test had been passed. Brogan was now sworn to Aubrey.
Inglesbatch honestly didn’t know if he felt better or worse about that.
There was a relief to it and also a sickening sensation.
So much of him wanted to aid Avalyn in her quest for happiness, but with Brogan now entrenched in Aubrey’s ranks, an entirely new crop of problems would arise.
William knew that the sooner Brogan left with Avalyn, the better, for the longer he lingered, the greater the chance for discovery.
Already, their drive to be together was difficult to control.
William wondered how much longer he could keep them in check, or if they could see beyond their emotions long enough to restrain tale-tell actions.
He caught a flash of material from the corner of his eye, turning to see Thel and Aggie walking beside him.
The ladies had their heads down, watching the ground pass beneath their feet.
William’s gaze lingered on Thel a moment; so many people were involved in this.
So many people to be in jeopardy. It wasn’t simply him any longer.
He knew Avalyn realized the gravity of it. He wondered if Brogan really did.
As the crowd wandered off the field, the last of the soldiers lingered, watching the knights and lord and lady disburse and cleaning up the remnants of the skirmish from the grounds.
One soldier was even up on the list, sweeping off the stool and setting it back out of the elements.
The older warrior who had acted as field marshal was standing with another old soldier of rank, a sergeant, who had served Aubrey’s father.
Both men had seen a good deal of action and discussed the tactics and skill of St. John’s fight.
“Sir Barton has the skill, but the other – what is his name? – clearly has more strength,” the field marshal was saying. “Should I be on the battle field, it would be far better to be that man’s ally than his foe. I’ve never seen such power.”
The sergeant nodded, watching as one of the squires kicked the other in the arse and laughed when the youth went sprawling. “He’ll be a great advantage when we go against Edward’s armies,” he said. Then, he cocked his head. “That Germanic knight looks very familiar to me. Can’t place him, though.”
The marshal chased the fighting squires away. “Do you know him?”
“I do not know how I possibly could. I’ve never been to Germania.”
“Then he looks like someone you know.”
“Nay,” the sergeant shook his head slowly. “He fights like someone I’ve seen before.”
The old marshal began to walk back to the barracks. “You’ve fought a great many battles, Hackley. Years back, for Edward and Warwick. You’ve fought with a good many men.”
Hackley followed the old man, scratching his chin. “Thirty years I’ve been doing battle.” He finally shrugged his shoulders. “Ah, well, it will come to me. I never forget a fighting man.”