Read Online Kingdom of the Grail by Judith Tarr - Free Book Online Page B

set about helping Olivier with his. Olivier’s fair cheeks were scarlet with the razor’s burn and the fever of excitement. “Did you see that sword?” he kept asking. “Did you see it? Where do you think it came from? Spain? Araby? India?”
    â€œFire and water,” Roland said without thinking.
    No one took much notice. Roland was always saying things that no one else could make sense of; sometimes, as now, not even himself.
    â€œIt is a marvel of a blade,” Turpin said. “I wonder what its name is.”
    â€œDo Saracens name their swords?” Olivier asked.
    That stopped them all. After a moment Ascelin said, “No. No, I don’t think they do.”
    Ascelin was a Gascon. They were not always friends to the Franks, and as often as not they were allies of the Saracens. When it came to infidels, Ascelin knew more than most.
    â€œWell,” Olivier said, “then how do they acknowledge the power that’s in a blade?”
    Thibaut snorted. “That should matter? They can fight. The rest is ceremony.”
    â€œThey’d fight better if they knew who their weapons were,” said Olivier.
    â€œThen it’s well for us they don’t,” Turpin said. “Here, are we ready? Shall we go?”
    Everyone was ready, even Milun, whose servant handed him his helmet.
    â€œLet us go, then,” said Turpin, “and may God bless us all. And if He doesn’t choose to grant that I should win the sword—then may it go to another of us.”
    â€œOr the king,” Milun said, “in the Lord Jesus’ name.”
    They crossed themselves and bowed their heads. Turpin blessed them all, marking a cross on each forehead and sealing it with a kiss.
    Roland was last, as it happened. Turpin held him for a moment, smiling a remarkably sweet smile. Roland returned it. His heart was suddenly as light as air.
    â€œFight well, brother falcon,” his friend said.
    â€œAnd you, brother bear,” said Roland.
    They laughed and embraced, and followed the others into the bright daylight.
    While the Franks prepared, the emir’s men together with a great company of the king’s servants had readied the field of the assembly for a trial by combat. Its boundaries were marked, and places set for those who would watch. Therewas a canopy for the queens and their ladies, and another for the Saracens of rank and their attendants.
    They would all fight as they were accustomed to do, in mock battle, ranked as they would be in war: lord by lord and company by company. The Companions took places at the king’s back.
    The emir Al-Arabi rode down the lines on his fiery little mare, with a following of men in Saracen armor. He bowed as he passed the king, and there paused. “My lords,” he said, “and men of the Franks, here is the challenge I set you: to draw lots, and so divide, left hand and right. One side, my lord king, of your grace you will command. For the other, let one be chosen who is a strong commander in battle. He who drives his opponent’s forces back, even to the border of the field, shall be counted victor.”
    â€œAnd win the sword?” Charles asked.
    â€œWhy, no, my lord,” said Al-Arabi. “For the victors we have prizes of gold and fine jewels, silks and treasures of my people—and the right to contest for sword when the melee is done, in single combat, man against man.”
    Charles laughed and applauded. “That is grand sport!” he declared. “Shall we begin?”
    Battle was battle, whether mock battle against friends and brothers, or battle to the death against the enemies of the Franks. First the waiting as the captains settled sides and drew lots for command against the king; then further waiting as they took ranks on either side of the broad windswept field. The sun was direct overhead. The sky was clear blue. The wind caught the pennons: gold for the king, green for the other,