Read Online The Leopard Sword by Michael Cadnum - Free Book Online

glint of a sword.
    But the sun was at my assailant’s back.
    With no warning, I was on the ground, flat, hands out, feet splayed, closing and opening my eyes. My ears were ringing, but I had no impression of having fallen. I was not concerned for the moment, and felt grateful for the flat, solid earth beneath me.
    But as I lay there, I began to experience a deep puzzlement. Had I planned to do this? Surely, I mocked myself gently, this was not a good idea. I tried to imagine that the joust was over—it was time to stretch out in thankful exhaustion.
    I had to guess my way through very recent events, and I found no logic behind my position here in the sunlight, men and horses moving about me, hooves kicking up dust.When I tried to sit up, I could not move.
    Nicholas de Foss knelt over me, pressing my head down with one hand. The squire’s mail coif whispered as he bent over me.
    He lowered a couteau —a long knife—to my throat.

THIRTEEN
    A fist seized the rounded top of Nicholas’s coif and pulled him back.
    Edmund had Nicholas, and as tall as the blond squire was, my friend raised him high off the ground and threw him down.
    Edmund put the head of his war hammer on Nicholas’s chest and said, “Do not move.”
    I parted my lips, but no words came.
    â€œWhere are your hurts?” asked Edmund, kneeling beside me.
    â€œI am quite well, Edmund,” I heard myself say—a perfect lie.
    â€œHubert, can you move?” Edmund insisted.
    â€œWhen I choose,” I managed to say.
    A melee commenced, the field crowded with energetic, angry, impatient folk, excited to be battling again. Weapons made a terrible clash, shield against sword, hammer against armor.The sound makes the pit of the stomach leap, and the eyes blink. Mail-clad feet hurried around me, and the leather-bottomed boots of pikemen slipped in the bloody mud.
    Edmund stood over me, laying about him with his hammer, warning people away.The tension was easily spent, and few men had drawn swords with murderous intent. Besides, this scurvy, jaundiced, worm-eaten crowd could not fight long without fatigue. Edmund stayed right where he was, one mailed foot on either side of me, keeping me from harm. Sir Nigel’s voice rose over all the others. Just as in the Crusader camp, he won their attention, commanding men to sheathe their swords, and ordering squires to help their knights back to the tree shade where they could all drink cool wine.
    Rannulf’s voice reached me. In a calming tone he told some unseen warrior that if he did not scabbard his sword at once, he’d cleave his arm from his shoulder.
    An ostler soothed one of the warhorses, with kissing sounds and quiet urging. A water boy outfitted in Sir Jean’s worn and faded livery, a moth-eaten swift flying skyward on his breast, knelt beside Edmund.
    â€œSir Jean sends to know,” said the lad,“if Sir Nigel’s squire is badly hurt.”
    I tried to speak yet again, but could not form a further word. A great pain began to expand in my head.
    â€œGood herald,” said Edmund, his voice taut with anger, “pray ask Squire Nicholas’s attendance upon us, if it please him.”
    Squire Nicholas wore his mail hood back, his blond hair sweat-soaked.
    Edmund let the squire wait, wiping my face with a cool cloth.Then he stood and folded the cloth and made a show of bored surprise at Nicholas’s presence. Edmund had learned a great deal among the Norman knights, and no one would have guessed he was a staver’s son as he looked Nicholas up and down with nearly Frankish coolness.
    â€œUpon my honor, Nicholas de Foss,” said Edmund evenly, “and before Saint Mark, I swear that if I ever set eyes on you again I will take your life.”

FOURTEEN
    I had sometimes wondered how the trussed prize goose feels, carried from the market. I was trundled in Edmund’s arms, with Rannulf marching ahead, the veteran knight only once