smile in which he found himself engaged. The blows from the flat of the sword rained on his helmet and hauberk with stunning force. Swynford handled his sword as his ancestors had used the battle-axe. Through the slit in the visor Roger could see the glint of murderous eyes and hear a panting drone of fury.
Roger parried the blows as best he could, but the blood was bursting in his ears and nose; he stumbled and fell to one knee while the crashing shocks of steel redoubled on his helmet and shoulders. He struggled to his feet and made a desperate lunge, and at the same moment he felt a flash of fire in his neck. The lead foil had come off Hugh's sword.
Hugh, berserk with blood lust, did not know it, the marshals, watchful as they were of each separate combat, had not seen it - but the Duke saw.
Lionel had not yet signalled for the beginning of the third course, and John had been watching Swynford and de Cheyne uneasily. He saw the younger knight stagger and a spray of crimson spurt through the joint between the helmet and gorget, he saw the naked sword-tip flash, and he galloped up, shouting, "Halt, Swynford!"
But Hugh did not hear. He knew only that his quarry was weakened at last, and he beat down harder.
John might have stopped Hugh with a blow from his lance except for the rule that a mounted man must not touch one afoot, so he flung himself out of the saddle and ran up, drawing his sword; then, lifting it high, sliced it down between the two knights as barrier. Hugh staggered back for a moment, and Roger slumped prone on the ground. His squire darted over with a pursuivant, and the two men carried his limp body off the field.
But Hugh could see little through the visor slit, and his eyes were half blinded with sweat. He knew only that here in the moment of victory over de Cheyne there was somehow new battle. And he turned on the Duke.
There was a rumble of astonishment from those spectators who had noticed this particular engagement, whispers of "Lancaster's unhorsed! Who's he fighting? What happened?"
One of the marshals galloped up and then paused uncertainly. By the rules of combat any knight on the one side might singly engage any one of the opponents, but in actual practice nowadays this was unusual, and the two princely leaders were tacitly reserved for each other.
But Blanche knew what was happening. She stood up, marble-still, her eyes fixed on the figures across the lists. And Katherine knew. She had held her breath while she watched the fight between Roger and Hugh, but the spectacle had not seemed very real; it was like the banging, slashing battles the mummers played, and there had been room in her heart for a primitive female thrill, since the two knights fought over her.
But when she saw that the Duke had somehow taken Roger's place her detachment fled and fear rushed in. She gasped at each of Hugh's lunges and tightened as though to receive them on her own body; her lips moved incessantly. "Make him win, Blessed Mother, make him win," and it was the Duke that she meant.
It lasted only three minutes. Hugh's crazy rage did not abate, but he was no match for John of Gaunt, whose cool head, lean, powerful body and chivalrous training from babyhood had made him the most accomplished knight at court. John parried the vicious blows and waited until Hugh's right arm was raised, then he hit the gauntleted hand a tremendous blow. Hugh's sword went spinning down the field.
The Duke with studied deliberation lowered his own sword and thrust it into the ground, while thundering applause shook the loges, and the King, cupping his hands, shouted, "Well done, Lancaster! Well done, fair son!"
It was then that Hugh realised who his opponent was. He staggered backwards, raising his visor. "My Lord Duke, I'm honoured."
John gazed at him with icy eyes. "You're not honoured, Swynford, you're disgraced. Look at your sword-" He pointed with his mailed shoe at the unguarded point of Hugh's sword as it lay in the dust.
Roger parried the blows as best he could, but the blood was bursting in his ears and nose; he stumbled and fell to one knee while the crashing shocks of steel redoubled on his helmet and shoulders. He struggled to his feet and made a desperate lunge, and at the same moment he felt a flash of fire in his neck. The lead foil had come off Hugh's sword.
Hugh, berserk with blood lust, did not know it, the marshals, watchful as they were of each separate combat, had not seen it - but the Duke saw.
Lionel had not yet signalled for the beginning of the third course, and John had been watching Swynford and de Cheyne uneasily. He saw the younger knight stagger and a spray of crimson spurt through the joint between the helmet and gorget, he saw the naked sword-tip flash, and he galloped up, shouting, "Halt, Swynford!"
But Hugh did not hear. He knew only that his quarry was weakened at last, and he beat down harder.
John might have stopped Hugh with a blow from his lance except for the rule that a mounted man must not touch one afoot, so he flung himself out of the saddle and ran up, drawing his sword; then, lifting it high, sliced it down between the two knights as barrier. Hugh staggered back for a moment, and Roger slumped prone on the ground. His squire darted over with a pursuivant, and the two men carried his limp body off the field.
But Hugh could see little through the visor slit, and his eyes were half blinded with sweat. He knew only that here in the moment of victory over de Cheyne there was somehow new battle. And he turned on the Duke.
There was a rumble of astonishment from those spectators who had noticed this particular engagement, whispers of "Lancaster's unhorsed! Who's he fighting? What happened?"
One of the marshals galloped up and then paused uncertainly. By the rules of combat any knight on the one side might singly engage any one of the opponents, but in actual practice nowadays this was unusual, and the two princely leaders were tacitly reserved for each other.
But Blanche knew what was happening. She stood up, marble-still, her eyes fixed on the figures across the lists. And Katherine knew. She had held her breath while she watched the fight between Roger and Hugh, but the spectacle had not seemed very real; it was like the banging, slashing battles the mummers played, and there had been room in her heart for a primitive female thrill, since the two knights fought over her.
But when she saw that the Duke had somehow taken Roger's place her detachment fled and fear rushed in. She gasped at each of Hugh's lunges and tightened as though to receive them on her own body; her lips moved incessantly. "Make him win, Blessed Mother, make him win," and it was the Duke that she meant.
It lasted only three minutes. Hugh's crazy rage did not abate, but he was no match for John of Gaunt, whose cool head, lean, powerful body and chivalrous training from babyhood had made him the most accomplished knight at court. John parried the vicious blows and waited until Hugh's right arm was raised, then he hit the gauntleted hand a tremendous blow. Hugh's sword went spinning down the field.
The Duke with studied deliberation lowered his own sword and thrust it into the ground, while thundering applause shook the loges, and the King, cupping his hands, shouted, "Well done, Lancaster! Well done, fair son!"
It was then that Hugh realised who his opponent was. He staggered backwards, raising his visor. "My Lord Duke, I'm honoured."
John gazed at him with icy eyes. "You're not honoured, Swynford, you're disgraced. Look at your sword-" He pointed with his mailed shoe at the unguarded point of Hugh's sword as it lay in the dust.
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