your left hand. Now, take this.’ He handed over the lance. Adam struggled with the twelve-foot pole, sliding off balance and making his horse dance. Martin held its bridle until it calmed again. ‘All right. You haven’t used one the proper length before, have you?’ Adam shook his head, his face looking worried inside the padded hood. ‘You’ll be fine. Couch it level now, before you start, and just canter towards the quintain. You probably won’t hit it first time, but we’ll see how you get on.’
Adam clasped his right hand around the lance and brought it down so that it lay level, gripping it under his right arm and pointing over the left side of his horse’s neck. Martin let go of the bridle and stood back to watch.
As Adam rode forward Martin could see that the lance was wobbling all over the place. There was a huge difference between using one of the eight-foot poles he’d been training with up until now, and a proper one. Still, he was fourteen now and he needed to learn. Martin was unsurprised as Adam missed the hanging shield completely, but he did manage to retain hold of everything as he reined in his mount and turned to come back. The pony remained calm, having done the same exercise with generations of pages and squires over the years; it ambled back and waited for Adam to collect himself and start his run once more.
He missed again the second time. That was the problem with the longer lances – it only took the tiniest tremble of the hand to make the tip of the lance sway quite dramatically from side to side. But Adam would get the hang of it. He had proved himself adept in practice before – not strong, but accurate. He never hit any target hard enough to knock it right over, but he was able to thread the lance through a hanging ring at quite some speed. He just needed to get used to the full-size equipment, that was all.
At his third tilt, Adam managed to graze the hanging shield. It was a glancing blow which hardly made the quintain move at all, but it was progress, and Martin shouted his encouragement. The he realised he needed to get ready himself, so he bent to start putting on his gear. As he pulled the thick gambeson over his body, strapped some padding to his legs and arranged the hood on his head, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Adam rode up and down efficiently.
After a few more tries Martin signalled to him to stop and dismount. Together they moved the quintain’s arms up a notch to account for the taller horse, and then Martin told Adam to take a rest as he mounted. All the padding made him slightly stiffer as he settled himself in the saddle, but it was nowhere near as uncomfortable as wearing full mail – he tried to avoid that whenever possible as it was incredibly heavy and he didn’t like restricting his movement so much. Anyway, this was fine – a bit warm, to be sure, but still moveable.
Adam tethered his pony and held out a lance to him. Martin hefted the familiar weight, keeping the pole upright until he started moving, then bringing it down level into the couched position. He’d had the instructions drummed into him so often over so many years that he could hear Sir Geoffrey’s voice in his head. The weight of the lance should be supported by the palm of the hand, not the fingers. Press your feet down in the stirrups, squeeze your legs tight and allow yourself to go with the rhythm of the movement of the horse. The lance should be held steady at three points: by the hand that supports it, by the arm that holds it tight, and by the chest against part of which it is being held. Focus on the shield – look at the target and don’t get distracted by the tip of the lance. And keep your eyes open while you hit it.
He struck the shield a solid blow, remembering to dodge the bag of sand as it came swinging round. Satisfied, he turned and rode back to start again.
He hit the target satisfactorily every time, as he had known he would, feeling himself enjoying
Adam clasped his right hand around the lance and brought it down so that it lay level, gripping it under his right arm and pointing over the left side of his horse’s neck. Martin let go of the bridle and stood back to watch.
As Adam rode forward Martin could see that the lance was wobbling all over the place. There was a huge difference between using one of the eight-foot poles he’d been training with up until now, and a proper one. Still, he was fourteen now and he needed to learn. Martin was unsurprised as Adam missed the hanging shield completely, but he did manage to retain hold of everything as he reined in his mount and turned to come back. The pony remained calm, having done the same exercise with generations of pages and squires over the years; it ambled back and waited for Adam to collect himself and start his run once more.
He missed again the second time. That was the problem with the longer lances – it only took the tiniest tremble of the hand to make the tip of the lance sway quite dramatically from side to side. But Adam would get the hang of it. He had proved himself adept in practice before – not strong, but accurate. He never hit any target hard enough to knock it right over, but he was able to thread the lance through a hanging ring at quite some speed. He just needed to get used to the full-size equipment, that was all.
At his third tilt, Adam managed to graze the hanging shield. It was a glancing blow which hardly made the quintain move at all, but it was progress, and Martin shouted his encouragement. The he realised he needed to get ready himself, so he bent to start putting on his gear. As he pulled the thick gambeson over his body, strapped some padding to his legs and arranged the hood on his head, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Adam rode up and down efficiently.
After a few more tries Martin signalled to him to stop and dismount. Together they moved the quintain’s arms up a notch to account for the taller horse, and then Martin told Adam to take a rest as he mounted. All the padding made him slightly stiffer as he settled himself in the saddle, but it was nowhere near as uncomfortable as wearing full mail – he tried to avoid that whenever possible as it was incredibly heavy and he didn’t like restricting his movement so much. Anyway, this was fine – a bit warm, to be sure, but still moveable.
Adam tethered his pony and held out a lance to him. Martin hefted the familiar weight, keeping the pole upright until he started moving, then bringing it down level into the couched position. He’d had the instructions drummed into him so often over so many years that he could hear Sir Geoffrey’s voice in his head. The weight of the lance should be supported by the palm of the hand, not the fingers. Press your feet down in the stirrups, squeeze your legs tight and allow yourself to go with the rhythm of the movement of the horse. The lance should be held steady at three points: by the hand that supports it, by the arm that holds it tight, and by the chest against part of which it is being held. Focus on the shield – look at the target and don’t get distracted by the tip of the lance. And keep your eyes open while you hit it.
He struck the shield a solid blow, remembering to dodge the bag of sand as it came swinging round. Satisfied, he turned and rode back to start again.
He hit the target satisfactorily every time, as he had known he would, feeling himself enjoying
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