And so it begins…
The hoof dug at the ground, splashing mud as the great horse tensed, eager to commence its charge. Ahead stood the official, holding a pennant on high, ready to signal the start. The flag came down, spurs dug in, and sixteen hundred pounds of warhorse sprang forward, pushing its rider back in the saddle. Hooves thundered as the beast tore down the field, throwing clumps of dirt and grass into the air in its wake.
The knight lowered his lance, placing it to the left of his horse's head, straining to keep it level as he closed in on his enemy. Then came the moment of impact, a shattering of wood as lance struck shield and splinters exploded.
The knight felt himself driven backward with the force, but his saddle held him in place, preventing a fall. His opponent, however, was knocked from his horse and crashed to the ground where he lay, unmoving. Men rushed forward, huddling around the unfortunate soul, the crowd falling into a hush. Moments later, the unhorsed knight was hoisted onto a litter and managed a wave, eliciting a cheer from the onlookers.
His warhorse, free of its rider's weight, galloped away, only slowing as it approached the end of the lists.
* * *
Ludwig Altenburg watched as the great horse come to a halt, its breath steaming in the chilly morning air. “Magnificent, isn’t it?”
“Magnificent?” said Kurt. “A man was nearly killed! I’d hardly call that something to celebrate.”
Ludwig frowned. The swordmaster was particularly gloomy this morning. “Come now,” the younger man continued, “you must admit it’s a test of courage if nothing else.”
“Courage? More like stupidity.”
“Nevertheless, it’s the very reason we came to Torburg.”
“We came here to seek employment with the duke," admonished Kurt, "not to watch men almost kill each other.”
“How better to gain his attention than by winning the joust?”
“Winning? You’ve never jousted in your life.”
Ludwig summoned up all the bravado his twenty-six years could muster. “How hard can it be?
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Contents
Map of the Continent
1. Torburg
2. Preparation
3. The Joust
4. Ransom
5. Mercenaries
6. The Grand Melee
7. Celebration
8. Secrets
9. A Soldier’s Life
10. The March
11. The Baron
12. On the Move
13. Arrival
14. Regnitz
15. Preparations
16. Assault
17. Lessons
18. The Plan
19. The Gatehouse
20. Prisoner
21. Honour
22. Comfort
23. Parley
24. Summer
25. The Siege Continues
26. Demands
27. Breakthrough
28. Aftermath
29. Command
30. Warrior’s March
31. Return to Torburg
32. Debacle
33. The Army Marches
34. The New Command
35. Rivals
36. Chermingen
37. The Enemy Comes
38. Reconnaissance
39. Amongst the Enemy
40. Withdrawal
41. The Battle Begins
42. Night Assault
43. The Battle of Chermingen
44. To the Victor, the Spoils
Epilogue
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Servant of the Crown - Prologue
Also by Paul J Bennett
About the Author
Warrior Knight
Power Ascending: Book Two
Paul J Bennett
1
Torburg
Spring 1095 SR*
(*Saints Reckoning)
* * *
The hoof dug at the ground, splashing mud as the great horse tensed, eager to commence its charge. Ahead stood the official, holding a pennant on high, ready to signal the start. The flag came down, spurs dug in, and sixteen hundred pounds of warhorse sprang forward, pushing its rider back in the saddle. Hooves thundered as the beast tore down the field, throwing clumps of dirt and grass into the air in its wake.
The knight lowered his lance, placing it to the left of his horse's head, straining to keep it level as he closed in on his enemy. Then came the moment of impact, a shattering of wood as lance struck shield and splinters exploded.
The knight felt himself driven backward with the force, but his saddle held him in place, preventing a fall. His opponent, however, was knocked from his horse and crashed to the ground where he lay, unmoving. Men rushed forward, huddling around the unfortunate soul, the crowd falling into a hush. Moments later, the unhorsed knight was hoisted onto a litter and managed a wave, eliciting a cheer from the onlookers.
His warhorse, free of its rider's weight, galloped away, only slowing as it approached the end of the lists.
* * *
Ludwig Altenburg watched as the great horse come to a halt, its breath steaming in the chilly morning air. “Magnificent, isn’t it?”
“Magnificent?” said Kurt. “A man was nearly killed! I’d hardly call that something to celebrate.”
Ludwig frowned. The swordmaster was particularly gloomy this morning. “Come now,” the younger man continued, “you must admit it’s a test of courage if nothing else.”
“Courage? More like stupidity.”
“Nevertheless, it’s the very reason we came to Torburg.”
“We came here to seek employment with the duke," admonished Kurt, "not to watch men almost kill each other.”
“How better to gain his attention than by winning the joust?”
“Winning? You’ve never jousted in your life.”
Ludwig summoned up all the bravado his twenty-six years could muster. “How hard can it be? You know how well I can ride.”
“Riding is one thing,” said Kurt, “but using a lance is a far cry from fighting a duel.”
“Nonsense. It merely complicates the matter by adding a horse.”
Kurt grabbed his arm, causing the younger man to turn towards him. “I’m serious, Ludwig. If you go out there, you’re likely to get yourself killed.”
“You’ve been training me for years. Do you now doubt the usefulne
ss of your own lessons?”
“I trained you to fight on foot, not mounted. There’s also the matter of your armour.”
“I have plate armour, not to mention one of the finest warhorses you can buy. You saw to that.”
Clearly Kurt was upset, but the man took a deep breath, lowering his voice. “You were the one who decided it was time to leave home. All I did was facilitate that by getting your gear together.”
Ludwig smiled. “Then consider it fate.”
“Fate?”
“Yes, think of it. We leave Verfeld Keep with horses and armour, and what do we stumble across? A tournament, no less. Surely the Saints are looking out for us?”
Kurt shook his head. “Fate had nothing to do with it. Tourneys are a common enough sight in these lands, so it was inevitable we should cross paths with one eventually.”
“Look,” said Ludwig. “If we're to make a living as soldiers, we must find a sponsor. What better way of doing that than by making a name for ourselves here, in the joust?”
“You don’t understand the dangers. I’ve seen my fair share of these competitions in my lifetime, and someone always gets injured. Go in there unprepared, and you may end up crippled for life.”
“I am NOT unprepared. I have, in fact, been paying close attention to the combatants.”
“And you believe that’s enough to keep you safe?” said Kurt.
“My armour will protect me.”
“That armour is meant to protect you in battle, not a headlong charge into a lance.”
“But the lances here are made to break,” Ludwig persisted. “Can you not see that? Come, let’s go and get me registered, then I’ll show you just how superior your training has been.”
He moved off, forcing the slightly older Kurt to jog in order to catch up. They pushed their way through the crowd as another pair of knights took up their positions.
“Ludwig, wait,” begged Kurt. “Surely you can’t register now? They’ve already started.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. These are only practice jousts. The real competition doesn’t begin until tomorrow.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“By listening to the crowd. You’d be amazed at what you can learn if you let your ears have free rein.”
Ludwig led them towards a tent that was bedecked with flags. Entering, he discovered a well-appointed interior where an older man, dressed in fine clothes, sat in a folding chair, sipping wine as he perused a parchment. At Ludwig’s entrance, he looked up.
“Something I can do for you?” the older man asked.
“I’m here to register for the joust.”
“Are you, now?” the man replied. “And what name do you go by?”
“Ludwig…” His voice trailed off as he realized his predicament. If he were to reveal his family name, word might get back to his father, a circumstance he would find most unfortunate. He struggled to come up with a solution, then finally spat out his answer. “Alwise, Ludwig Alwise of Garmund.”
The registrar looked at him with some amusement. “Garmund? I don’t believe I’ve heard of it.”
“It lies far to the southeast,” added Kurt, “on the way to Corassus.”
“Yes, of course.” The man looked eager to hide his ignorance. Setting down his parchment, he then stood, moving to a small table nearby, littered with papers, and selected one which was more ornate than the others. With a smile at his success, he moved once more to grab a quill and ink.
Dipping the tip in, he made ready to write, pausing a moment to look this newcomer in the eye. “I assume you have the proper equipment?”
“I do,” said Ludwig.
The man began writing with a steady hand. Ludwig waited patiently while his name was placed on the list.
“There we are. You're now officially registered. All that remains is the matter of your fee.”
Ludwig felt a knot in his stomach. “Fee?”
“Yes, the funds required to gain entry. A trifling amount, to be sure, but we can’t have any old commoner trying to make a name for themselves, now, can we?”
“No, of course not. How much is it?”
“Fifty crowns.”
Ludwig looked at Kurt, but all he received was a shake of the head.
“Of course,” said the man, “if it’s too much…”
“No, not at all.” Ludwig withdrew a bulky purse and spilled some coins onto the table, counting out the amount as he went. His task complete, he returned the excess crowns to his purse, then tucked it away.
The registrar scooped up the coins and moved over to a strongbox, taking a moment to undo the padlock and place the coins within. Once done, he turned to face his guest.
“You’re all set, Sir Ludwig Alwise of Garmund.”
Ludwig was unsure of how to proceed. “When do I start?”
The older man chuckled. “My guess is that this is your first tourney?”
“It is, or rather it’s my first as a contestant.”
“Well, your initial match won’t be until the morrow. In the meantime, you might want to set up your pavilion.”
“Pavilion?”
“Yes, your tent, man. Surely you brought one?”
“Of course,” replied Ludwig, the lie coming easily to his lips. “Where do I set up?”
“As you leave, turn right. You’ll see the area easily enough. You can’t miss the pennants.”
“Thank you,” said Ludwig, who then turned abruptly and left the tent, leaving his companion scrambling to catch up.
“Was that wise?” asked Kurt. “That was a good portion of what we had left.”
Ludwig waved away the matter. “It’s coins well spent. Now, we must find ourselves a tent if we are to keep up appearances.”
Kurt grabbed his arm. “And use up what little we have left? Are you mad?”
The young lord reddened. “I know what I’m doing,” he insisted.
“Do you? You could have fooled me. I went to great lengths to help you escape the clutches of your father. I beg you, don’t throw it all away by wasting what little we have remaining.”
“Nonsense. I’ve thought this through quite carefully. If we are to win the attention of the duke, we must appear successful. We can’t easily do that if we’re living a pauper’s life.”
“Have you no head for finance?”
“Of course I do,” said Ludwig. “I helped collect taxes from my father’s tenants.”
“That’s a far cry from understanding the concept of frugalness.”
“You worry too much.”
“And you, too little. How are we to feed ourselves?”
“Don’t worry,” said Ludwig. “The rewards will far exceed the cost of the enterprise.”
They wandered down towards the line of pavilions, each decorated with coloured standards, displaying the coats of arms or symbols of the knights within.
Those closest to the registration tent were more ornate, some as large as a small house. As they made their way down the line, however, the tents became plainer, many showing signs of prolonged use and ill-repair.
“It appears not all knights are successful,” noted Kurt. He turned when Ludwig failed to reply, only to spot him some distance back where a knight sat in front of a tent, his feet resting on a footstool while he oiled his sword. Ludwig, fascinated by the scene, had stopped to take it all in.
Kurt jogged back to join his comrade.
“What do you think?” asked Ludwig.
“Of what?” said Kurt. “His pavilion?”
“No, the man.”
Kurt shrugged. “He’s a knight. What of it?”
Ludwig failed to answer his question, instead stepping closer.
“Good day,” he said. “I am Sir Ludwig of Garmund.”
The knight looked up at him, shielding his eyes against the early morning sun. “Greetings, Sir Knight, my name is Sir Galrath.”
Ludwig looked at Kurt, but he only shrugged. The younger man turned his atten
tion back to the knight seated before him. “Are you registered for the joust?” he asked.
“I am,” Sir Galrath replied. “Is this your first tourney?”
“It is,” Ludwig confessed, “and I must admit to being a little overwhelmed.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“Have you competed much?”
“Indeed. My participation here in Torburg will mark my sixteenth tournament in five years. My experience has made me a wealthy man.”
“Whom do you serve?” asked Ludwig.
“I am sworn to the service of the Duke of Erlingen.”
“And yet, if I’m not mistaken, you don’t display his colours?”
The knight chuckled. “The duke does not wish to be represented in the games he oversees. It might be seen as trying to influence the judges.”
“Does the duke employ many such men as yourself?”
“A fair number, although I daresay there are few here this day.”
“Why do you suppose that is?” asked Ludwig. “Do they not seek to gain honour in the tourney?”
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