white knight's cranium. The memory of their joust was still fresh in his mind and he still felt the burning shame of it.
Everything about the white knight made him furious. The man would not reveal his face or state his name; he clearly showed himself to be a Saxon by declaring war upon the Norman knights and that a Saxon should prevail over a Norman . . . And on top of everything, he had chosen a Jewess as his queen, an open insult to every Norman lady and, yes, even to the Saxon wenches, as well.
Still, in spite of himself, Bois-Guilbert had to admit that the Jewess had been breathtaking. The Templars were not a celibate order; they granted themselves liberal dispensations. Bois-Guilbert was possessed of a hearty sexual appetite and, Jew or no Jew, the woman was a tasty morsel. Her lack of social standing made her quite vulnerable, a fact of which she was no doubt aware. She had absented herself from the day's festivities, leaving the Saxon girl, Rowena, to reign in her place as she had done at the previous night's banquet. Either the Jewess had chosen not to come in order to avoid any discomfort or someone had spoken to her, telling her she was not welcome. It irked Bois-Guilbert. On one hand, he was angry with the white knight for honoring a Jew and, on the other, he was irritated at her absence, since if she was not around, the chances of his getting between her legs were somewhat diminished. He was determined to take out his frustrations upon the man who had caused them all.
When both sides had taken their positions, the head marshal cried
"Laissez aller!"
and the fanfare sounded. Lances lowered, both sides thundered toward each other, crashing together in the center of the meadow with a clangor loud enough to be heard a mile away. There followed a cacophonous din, a pandemonium of metal upon metal as the knights hacked and flailed at each other with a vengeance, raising a thick cloud of dust that blew over the stands, adding the cursing and the coughing of the spectators to the general uproar.
In their first rush together, not a few knights were unhorsed and some lay still upon the field of battle, whether dead, wounded or merely stunned no one would know until their squires rescued them. It would have taken a brave squire, indeed, to rush out into such a press. Most of them waited until the dust had settled somewhat and the numbers thinned. Other knights struggled to their feet and took to bashing at each other, able to tell for which side they fought by the battle cries they voiced. Those on the side of de la Croix shouted out
"Tiens a ta foy!"
or "Hold to your faith!", the motto on the red knight's shield, while the white knight's men, to Prince John's great consternation, were instructed by their captain to cry out
"De par le roy!”
or "In the king's name!"
Lucas had less difficulty in the melee than did all the other knights. His nysteel armor allowed him to move far more freely than the others could and his helmet, though damaged from his joust with de la Croix, was still capable of filtering out much of the dust. While all around him knights sweated in their suits of armor, breathing in dust while risking heat exhaustion, Lucas felt relatively cool and unencumbered. As he lay about him with his sword, he found himself thinking that the melee was a good metaphor for the U.S. Temporal Corps. Soldiers on both sides battling it out while observers or, as in this case, marshals kept score. And even scorekeeping was a chancy proposition in this instance, as one marshal discovered who saw Philip de Malvoisin pressed against the palisade by his antagonist. The marshal pronounced Malvoisin vanquished and the attacker turned away to find another to defeat, whereupon Malvoisin promptly took advantage of the interposition of another mounted knight between himself and the stands to smite both marshal and victor with his mace.
As the spectators strained to follow their favorites, the air became choked with dust and
Everything about the white knight made him furious. The man would not reveal his face or state his name; he clearly showed himself to be a Saxon by declaring war upon the Norman knights and that a Saxon should prevail over a Norman . . . And on top of everything, he had chosen a Jewess as his queen, an open insult to every Norman lady and, yes, even to the Saxon wenches, as well.
Still, in spite of himself, Bois-Guilbert had to admit that the Jewess had been breathtaking. The Templars were not a celibate order; they granted themselves liberal dispensations. Bois-Guilbert was possessed of a hearty sexual appetite and, Jew or no Jew, the woman was a tasty morsel. Her lack of social standing made her quite vulnerable, a fact of which she was no doubt aware. She had absented herself from the day's festivities, leaving the Saxon girl, Rowena, to reign in her place as she had done at the previous night's banquet. Either the Jewess had chosen not to come in order to avoid any discomfort or someone had spoken to her, telling her she was not welcome. It irked Bois-Guilbert. On one hand, he was angry with the white knight for honoring a Jew and, on the other, he was irritated at her absence, since if she was not around, the chances of his getting between her legs were somewhat diminished. He was determined to take out his frustrations upon the man who had caused them all.
When both sides had taken their positions, the head marshal cried
"Laissez aller!"
and the fanfare sounded. Lances lowered, both sides thundered toward each other, crashing together in the center of the meadow with a clangor loud enough to be heard a mile away. There followed a cacophonous din, a pandemonium of metal upon metal as the knights hacked and flailed at each other with a vengeance, raising a thick cloud of dust that blew over the stands, adding the cursing and the coughing of the spectators to the general uproar.
In their first rush together, not a few knights were unhorsed and some lay still upon the field of battle, whether dead, wounded or merely stunned no one would know until their squires rescued them. It would have taken a brave squire, indeed, to rush out into such a press. Most of them waited until the dust had settled somewhat and the numbers thinned. Other knights struggled to their feet and took to bashing at each other, able to tell for which side they fought by the battle cries they voiced. Those on the side of de la Croix shouted out
"Tiens a ta foy!"
or "Hold to your faith!", the motto on the red knight's shield, while the white knight's men, to Prince John's great consternation, were instructed by their captain to cry out
"De par le roy!”
or "In the king's name!"
Lucas had less difficulty in the melee than did all the other knights. His nysteel armor allowed him to move far more freely than the others could and his helmet, though damaged from his joust with de la Croix, was still capable of filtering out much of the dust. While all around him knights sweated in their suits of armor, breathing in dust while risking heat exhaustion, Lucas felt relatively cool and unencumbered. As he lay about him with his sword, he found himself thinking that the melee was a good metaphor for the U.S. Temporal Corps. Soldiers on both sides battling it out while observers or, as in this case, marshals kept score. And even scorekeeping was a chancy proposition in this instance, as one marshal discovered who saw Philip de Malvoisin pressed against the palisade by his antagonist. The marshal pronounced Malvoisin vanquished and the attacker turned away to find another to defeat, whereupon Malvoisin promptly took advantage of the interposition of another mounted knight between himself and the stands to smite both marshal and victor with his mace.
As the spectators strained to follow their favorites, the air became choked with dust and
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