Read Online TW01 The Ivanhoe Gambit NEW by Simon Hawke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Simon Hawke
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saved him, but it was all that he could do to stay on his horse. And the animal didn't seem too happy about it, either.
Holy shit, he thought. He had been concerned about the Templar. Here he was, a 27th-century man, feeling superior as hell to these Neanderthals and along came de la Croix to throw cold water in his face.
He rode back to his position and saw Hooker looking at him with concern. He flashed him a helpless look, lifting his visor briefly and taking in a gasping gulp of air.
Now
what was he going to do? They didn't bring spare lances.
"The expression on your squire's face reveals your problem, nameless knight," said a voice at his side. Lucas barely heard it. He quickly slapped down his visor and turned to see a young man at arms standing by his side, holding a lance. "My lord and master, on seeing how you disposed of Front-de-Boeuf, charged me to seek out your pavilion and to bring you ale in celebration of your victory.
I could not help but notice that you lacked for some spare arms, no doubt through some inconvenience which you could not control. I reported this to my lord and he bid me offer you the use of this, his lance, should you not be too proud. The noble Athelstane would be honored if you would grace his lance by testing it in combat on this day."
The young soldier held out the lance to Lucas. So, Lucas thought, chivalry is not dead. He realized how silly that thought was the moment it occurred to him and it was all that he could do to keep from laughing out loud. It was a trait he had that, whenever he was scared out of his wits, he had the disconcerting tendency to guffaw. A nervous reaction that, under present circumstances, could be misinterpreted. He held back, swallowing his hysteria.
"Tell your master that I am indebted to his hospitality of arms and that I regret that I cannot tell him who owes him a debt of gratitude. I am under vow never to show my face until certain conditions prevail.
I will try to do honor to his lance."
He accepted the lance and nodded to the man at arms, who returned him a small bow. Then, belatedly, he realized just who his benefactor was. The Saxon noble on whose account Wilfred had been tossed out of his father's house upon his keester. As far as Lucas was concerned, Athelstane could have Rowena. He'd just earned her.
The red knight returned to the other side of the field to pick up another lance. There was blood coming from de la Croix's mouth.
"Andre!" said the squire, Marcel, visibly frightened at the sight of the blood when de la Croix raised the visor. The knight's eyes were unfocused.
"Water, Marcel."
The squire understood the request and knew that it was not for a drink. He ran into the pavilion and returned with a bucket of water, which he dashed in de la Croix's face. The red knight coughed and took several deep breaths.
"I may have met my match, Marcel. I do not know why this oak chose to challenge with his naked lance, unless he despises Normans. If he is a Saxon, it is something I can understand."
"But we are not Normans," said Marcel.
"We serve the Normans and it amounts to the same thing. If Saxons can breed men such as this, then John of Anjou has good reason to fear them." Andre de la Croix paused, taking several deep and ragged breaths. "But John doesn't fear them. More fool he. Well, let's have that fresh lance, Marcel. We shall see if the Lord means for me to die this day. Thus far, He has seen fit to bestow His grace upon the nameless knight. Should I fail to return, Marcel, you know what to do. And I charge you to pay the oak my compliments."
The visor was slapped down and the knights faced each other once again. Again the trumpets sounded and again they charged. Again both lances splintered on their shields and the white knight's horse stumbled and came near to falling, but was saved by the interference of the list fence, which gave beneath the animal's weight but provided the necessary purchase that allowed it to regain its
Holy shit, he thought. He had been concerned about the Templar. Here he was, a 27th-century man, feeling superior as hell to these Neanderthals and along came de la Croix to throw cold water in his face.
He rode back to his position and saw Hooker looking at him with concern. He flashed him a helpless look, lifting his visor briefly and taking in a gasping gulp of air.
Now
what was he going to do? They didn't bring spare lances.
"The expression on your squire's face reveals your problem, nameless knight," said a voice at his side. Lucas barely heard it. He quickly slapped down his visor and turned to see a young man at arms standing by his side, holding a lance. "My lord and master, on seeing how you disposed of Front-de-Boeuf, charged me to seek out your pavilion and to bring you ale in celebration of your victory.
I could not help but notice that you lacked for some spare arms, no doubt through some inconvenience which you could not control. I reported this to my lord and he bid me offer you the use of this, his lance, should you not be too proud. The noble Athelstane would be honored if you would grace his lance by testing it in combat on this day."
The young soldier held out the lance to Lucas. So, Lucas thought, chivalry is not dead. He realized how silly that thought was the moment it occurred to him and it was all that he could do to keep from laughing out loud. It was a trait he had that, whenever he was scared out of his wits, he had the disconcerting tendency to guffaw. A nervous reaction that, under present circumstances, could be misinterpreted. He held back, swallowing his hysteria.
"Tell your master that I am indebted to his hospitality of arms and that I regret that I cannot tell him who owes him a debt of gratitude. I am under vow never to show my face until certain conditions prevail.
I will try to do honor to his lance."
He accepted the lance and nodded to the man at arms, who returned him a small bow. Then, belatedly, he realized just who his benefactor was. The Saxon noble on whose account Wilfred had been tossed out of his father's house upon his keester. As far as Lucas was concerned, Athelstane could have Rowena. He'd just earned her.
The red knight returned to the other side of the field to pick up another lance. There was blood coming from de la Croix's mouth.
"Andre!" said the squire, Marcel, visibly frightened at the sight of the blood when de la Croix raised the visor. The knight's eyes were unfocused.
"Water, Marcel."
The squire understood the request and knew that it was not for a drink. He ran into the pavilion and returned with a bucket of water, which he dashed in de la Croix's face. The red knight coughed and took several deep breaths.
"I may have met my match, Marcel. I do not know why this oak chose to challenge with his naked lance, unless he despises Normans. If he is a Saxon, it is something I can understand."
"But we are not Normans," said Marcel.
"We serve the Normans and it amounts to the same thing. If Saxons can breed men such as this, then John of Anjou has good reason to fear them." Andre de la Croix paused, taking several deep and ragged breaths. "But John doesn't fear them. More fool he. Well, let's have that fresh lance, Marcel. We shall see if the Lord means for me to die this day. Thus far, He has seen fit to bestow His grace upon the nameless knight. Should I fail to return, Marcel, you know what to do. And I charge you to pay the oak my compliments."
The visor was slapped down and the knights faced each other once again. Again the trumpets sounded and again they charged. Again both lances splintered on their shields and the white knight's horse stumbled and came near to falling, but was saved by the interference of the list fence, which gave beneath the animal's weight but provided the necessary purchase that allowed it to regain its
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