Chapter Twelve
They were all on the rail.
David, Peter, Rhys, Maddoc, Ashton, Kieran, Paris, Christopher, Curtis, Roi, and Douglas were all standing on the rail, just below the lists, watching the tournament field from a bird’s-eye vantage.
When the competitors lined up on their assigned ends and the marshal dropped the flag, Essien and William thundered toward one another, lances brought to bear, pointing at one another.
As an entire arena watched in anticipation, de Wolfe’s lance glanced off Essien’s hip and Essien managed to catch William in the shoulder.
There was a lot of noise, and Essien’s lance splintered, but both knights remained upright.
The crowd roared.
“That was a good pass,” Rhys said to Christopher.
Christopher grunted. “Aye,” he said. “Essien is immovable in the saddle. If de Wolfe is able to unseat him, I will be surprised.”
Rhys smiled faintly as they watched the knights swing around and return to their starting positions.
“It is still remarkable to me that the dying child we found in the Levant has grown into such a powerful man,” he said.
“The last time I saw Essien and Addax was, in fact, before we left the Levant. They had gone over to serve the Thuringian knights right before we departed.”
Christopher thought back to that time for a moment.
“It was difficult to let them go, but I had little choice at that point,” he said.
“I was returning home to face an unwanted marriage, and I would be preventing John from stealing the country from Richard, so I simply could not watch over Essien and Addax any longer. I knew the Thuringians would be good to them. And they were.”
Rhys grunted in agreement. “It would seem so,” he said. “I heard they trained in Flanders and ended up on the tournament circuit before coming to England.”
Christopher nodded. “That was a few years ago,” he said. “When they came to these shores, Cole de Velt recruited them for the Executioner Knights. They became part of the Unholy Trinity.”
Rhys bobbed his head faintly in acknowledgment.
“The Devil, the Fallen Angel, and the Unholy Spirit,” he said, referring to the Unholy Trinity that was a running joke in the Executioner Knights organization because the work they did was often quite morally gray.
“Thankfully, my days as an Executioner Knight are over, but it was great fun while it lasted.”
“Does Maddoc ever express interest?”
Rhys shrugged. “He has,” he said. “But David keeps him busy, so the distraction is welcome. Being an Executioner Knight is a difficult life. I do not know if I want that for my son.”
Christopher couldn’t disagree. “It is not for the faint of heart,” he said. “But it can also make a boy become a man. The spy business has a way of doing that.”
“True,” Rhys agreed. “It was certainly instrumental in my life, although I wasn’t involved to the extent that some men were.
After the mission involving my wife, and all that entailed, I landed in France and remained there.
I left the intrigue and danger of England behind me for a bucolic life in Navarre. ”
Christopher was watching William as the man seemed to be having difficulty with a strap on his lance.
“I think de Wolfe would serve the Executioner Knights well, but he is too headstrong,” he said.
“He is a free thinker, a man who follows his own heart, so I am not entirely sure that he would remain satisfied with the constraints of the Executioner Knights. He’s destined for great things, that one. ”
“You and his father were great friends,” Rhys said. “It is a tragedy that Edward did not live to see his sons reach their potential.”
“I think he did,” Christopher said, referring to Edward de Wolfe, one of his closest friends, who had passed away some years back.
“He saw William fight in great battles when he was not even knighted yet. He saw Jonathan serve the Crown with distinction. Edward was very proud of his boys, you know. The man was a bore because he could speak of nothing else.”
Rhys chuckled. “Speaking of distinction, there is something I wish to discuss with you.”
“What is it?”
The marshal shouted at that moment, driving everyone’s attention to the arena floor as William and Essien lined up for the second time. All conversation halted as a marshal dropped the flag and the two competitors charged at one another.
That was when a potential tragedy unfolded.
The guide that separated the competitors, a big wooden pole with several pillars that held it aloft and steady, suddenly lurched a little in William’s direction.
One of the pillars had come loose and leaned slightly, probably brought on by the shaking of the ground as the horses charged one another.
But that movement into William’s path of travel startled his horse so much that the animal stumbled, pitching William off and sending him crashing into the guide.
Essien had only a split second to avoid trampling William as the man fell in front of him.
He reined his horse sharply to the right, away from the guide, narrowly missing de Wolfe’s head.
He had his lance in his right hand, however, and the sharp motion of turning his horse away from the guide knocked the weight of the lance back into Essien.
He was forced to let it go so he could keep his balance, and his lance crashed to the dirt as he finally reined his horse to a halt.
Then he was off the animal, running in William’s direction.
“William!” he bellowed, reaching the downed knight just after two of the marshals had reached him. “William? Are you injured?”
William was moving. He rolled onto his back as Essien fell to his knees and pulled the man’s helm off. William’s hazel eyes stared up to the sky, dazed.
“William?” Essien said again. “Can you hear me?”
“I can,” William said, blinking his eyes as if to shake off the bells ringing in his ears. “I’m not dead, am I?”
Before Essien could answer, Christopher was crouched next to him, as were David and Alexander, who had been standing on the west side of the arena. He’d seen the entire crash from his vantage point. Paris, too, came running up, standing at William’s feet with his fair features full of concern.
“Nay, lad, you’re not dead,” Christopher replied to William’s question. “Come on, now. Let’s get you to your feet.”
William let a host of older, seasoned knights pull him to his feet.
He was still a little dazed, and his ears were ringing because his head had hit the dirt, but he was alive.
The moment he stood up, the crowd cheered wildly for him, and he lifted a hand to acknowledge them.
Servants were rushing about, collecting what had fallen on the arena floor when he’d been pitched through the guide, but the horse was being tended to by Kieran.
As Paris went to bolster his friend up, they made their way over to the horse.
“Is he injured?” William asked. “Did the broken guide pierce him?”
Kieran was kneeling down by the horse’s left front leg, his hands on the fetlock. “Nay, it did not pierce him,” he said. “But he is lame. He took a bad step, William. He cannot compete any longer.”
That meant William was done for the day.
Even if he’d had another horse, he wasn’t entirely sure he could ride it.
Or if they would let him ride. When he’d fallen, he’d gone head over heels, essentially landing on his head and shoulders.
Everything was still ringing and he was woozy.
It was difficult for him to admit defeat, but he had no choice.
“I suppose I cannot compete either,” he said, looking over at the two marshals who were standing around him. “I will not continue. I will withdraw.”
One marshal walked away to signal the end of the bout while the other one nodded in agreement. “Understood, my lord,” he said. “You will not be given a loss, but a non-finish.”
That was almost as good as a victory. In any case, it did not go against his tournament record, so William would have to be satisfied. Standing next to the disappointed knight, Essien put his hand on the side of William’s head.
“Are you sure you are well?” he said. “That was a hard fall.”
William smiled weakly. “I am lucky to be alive,” he said. “I thought for certain I was going to be trampled by your horse, but you saved my life with your superior control of the beast. I am in your debt, Essien. Thank you.”
Essien smiled in return. “The next time I see you on the ground, I will charge right for you and make sure you are ground into a pulp,” he said, watching William chuckle.
But then he noticed Paris standing next to him and, realizing they’d not really spoken since the exploding lance incident, narrowed his eyes at the fair-haired man.
“And you—the next time you use an unsanctioned lance on me, I will beat you with it and throw your body in the river.”
Paris was unmoved by the threat. “What are you complaining about?” he said. “You are in the finals, are you not? Do not be ungrateful, al-Kort. My failure was your gain.”
He meant it, too. Greatly annoyed, Essien was about to throttle the man, but Peter pulled him away.
He pushed him toward Ashton, who escorted Essien back to his horse, who was nervous and sweating from the unexpected incident.
Peggy was a sensitive creature, and Essien patted the animal affectionately on the head, trying to comfort him.
As the arena floor cleared, Essien and Peter led the horse back to the staging area to regroup for his final round.
That left Rhys and Christopher standing in the middle of the arena, watching the marshals and a couple of carpenters struggle to repair the guide.
“It must have jarred loose when Essien’s lance struck it on the first pass,” Rhys said. “Did you notice that?”