Read Online TW01 The Ivanhoe Gambit NEW by Simon Hawke - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Simon Hawke
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Bois-Guilbert's tuille and caught him a glancing blow along his skirt of tasses, but it had been sufficient to unhorse him. He could not complain. With his sonic device out of commission, he hadn't done too badly. As he passed the hung up Templar, he gave him a shot with the butt end of his lance, an ignoble assist to his efforts to dislodge himself. The Templar clattered to the ground like so much scrap metal.
Prince John was furious.
"In the name of Heaven, this is too much to bear! First a Saxon tinker shames my archers and now this nameless knight deprives me of Front-de-Boeuf, pricks De Bracy and leaves the Templar draped over the lists like a dressed and hung up stag! Is there no one who can put an end to this effrontery?"
"There still remains the sanguine de la Croix," Fitzurse said.
John scowled. "It irks me to have to depend upon that smirking Basque with his invented name. He costs me more dearly than half De Bracy's Free Companions. Were he not well worth the cost, I'd pay just as dearly to be rid of his soft speech and laughing eyes."
"The impertinence of de la Croix is characteristic of his people," said Fitzurse. "And if his soft and mannered ways seem to be a mockery of ours, they are more than offset by his prowess on the field of battle, a quality that, with all due respect, Sire, you can ill afford to overlook."
"True, too true," grumbled John. "Let us hope he proves worthy of the fees he charges. This white knight has embarrassed my best men."
The object of their conversation sat quietly astride a chestnut stallion, staring thoughtfully out at the field as the white knight returned to the far end of the lists. The red knight's squire fastened de la Croix's headgear, then handed up the lance and shield.
"Do you think you can best him, Andre?" said the squire.
"I don't know, little brother," de la Croix replied. "There is something very strange about him. He comes in fast and low, and did you mark how easily he moves inside his armor? His shield has borne the brunt of strong assaults without a mark of damage. He found De Bracy's weakness in his shoulder in an instant, perceived a flaw in Bois-Guilbert's defense where the Templar rarely leaves one and I will not soon forget the blow he dealt to Front-de-Boeuf. There is more to this uprooted oak than meets the eye, Marcel. Still, we shall make a gallant effort, eh?"
The red knight clapped the squire lightly on the shoulder with a gauntleted hand before accepting the shield with its fleury cross in white on red. The fanfare called the start and de la Croix set spurs to the chestnut war horse.
The red knight's horse was fresher than the white knight's stallion, but still they sped toward one another like shafts shot from a crossbow. Each knight aligned his lance, each took perfect position. They came together in the center of the lists with a resounding crash that reverberated throughout the valley like the ringing of a hammer on an anvil. Both knights were nearly thrown from their horses by the force of the impact, each shield taking a lance strike. The meeting brought them to a grinding, shuddering halt as both horses sank to their knees. Both lances shattered. Neither was unhorsed.
Lucas stared at the stump of his lance and could not believe what had just happened. It felt as though someone had stuck his head inside a giant gong and then let loose with a pounding that threatened to burst his skull like a melon. His lance broke! It was not supposed to break! First the sonic device malfunctioned, now the entire lance! And one was all he had! Where in Christ's name would he get another?
He rode slowly back to his end of the lists, tasting blood, his vision blurred. His nose was bleeding from both nostrils. It felt as though he had been hit by a locomotive. He could see the crowd going totally insane, but he could not hear them. The only sound he heard was an
ung-ung-ung
inside his head, a never ceasing echo of the crash. His armor and his shield had
Prince John was furious.
"In the name of Heaven, this is too much to bear! First a Saxon tinker shames my archers and now this nameless knight deprives me of Front-de-Boeuf, pricks De Bracy and leaves the Templar draped over the lists like a dressed and hung up stag! Is there no one who can put an end to this effrontery?"
"There still remains the sanguine de la Croix," Fitzurse said.
John scowled. "It irks me to have to depend upon that smirking Basque with his invented name. He costs me more dearly than half De Bracy's Free Companions. Were he not well worth the cost, I'd pay just as dearly to be rid of his soft speech and laughing eyes."
"The impertinence of de la Croix is characteristic of his people," said Fitzurse. "And if his soft and mannered ways seem to be a mockery of ours, they are more than offset by his prowess on the field of battle, a quality that, with all due respect, Sire, you can ill afford to overlook."
"True, too true," grumbled John. "Let us hope he proves worthy of the fees he charges. This white knight has embarrassed my best men."
The object of their conversation sat quietly astride a chestnut stallion, staring thoughtfully out at the field as the white knight returned to the far end of the lists. The red knight's squire fastened de la Croix's headgear, then handed up the lance and shield.
"Do you think you can best him, Andre?" said the squire.
"I don't know, little brother," de la Croix replied. "There is something very strange about him. He comes in fast and low, and did you mark how easily he moves inside his armor? His shield has borne the brunt of strong assaults without a mark of damage. He found De Bracy's weakness in his shoulder in an instant, perceived a flaw in Bois-Guilbert's defense where the Templar rarely leaves one and I will not soon forget the blow he dealt to Front-de-Boeuf. There is more to this uprooted oak than meets the eye, Marcel. Still, we shall make a gallant effort, eh?"
The red knight clapped the squire lightly on the shoulder with a gauntleted hand before accepting the shield with its fleury cross in white on red. The fanfare called the start and de la Croix set spurs to the chestnut war horse.
The red knight's horse was fresher than the white knight's stallion, but still they sped toward one another like shafts shot from a crossbow. Each knight aligned his lance, each took perfect position. They came together in the center of the lists with a resounding crash that reverberated throughout the valley like the ringing of a hammer on an anvil. Both knights were nearly thrown from their horses by the force of the impact, each shield taking a lance strike. The meeting brought them to a grinding, shuddering halt as both horses sank to their knees. Both lances shattered. Neither was unhorsed.
Lucas stared at the stump of his lance and could not believe what had just happened. It felt as though someone had stuck his head inside a giant gong and then let loose with a pounding that threatened to burst his skull like a melon. His lance broke! It was not supposed to break! First the sonic device malfunctioned, now the entire lance! And one was all he had! Where in Christ's name would he get another?
He rode slowly back to his end of the lists, tasting blood, his vision blurred. His nose was bleeding from both nostrils. It felt as though he had been hit by a locomotive. He could see the crowd going totally insane, but he could not hear them. The only sound he heard was an
ung-ung-ung
inside his head, a never ceasing echo of the crash. His armor and his shield had
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