Once a Knight

by Christina Dodd

  “Shall we go down, m’lady?” Ivo asked.

  She saw that he had bared his weapons, and it occurred to her he had come prepared to fight and die. She could do no less.

  “Aye, let’s go.” Ivo rode on one side of her, Gunnewate on the other, and she entered the castle like a warrior of old flanked by her faithful companions. Yet as they entered the outer bailey, no one challenged them. No one even seemed to notice. Everyone—servants, knights, lords, and ladies—were gathered in a circle around two figures, clad in fighting armor, who stood facing each other. From atop her horse, Alisoun had a view the others only fought for, but the warriors’ helmets covered their faces and she knew not who they were. Nor did she care, for lifted above the throng on a half-built viewing stand sat King Henry. A few of his lucky nobles, the ones powerful enough to remain at his side, stood around him, and there she sought Osbern.

  She couldn’t see him.

  “Want me t’ find out where the duke is?” Ivo asked.

  She nodded, and he urged his horse into the outer fringes of the crowd and toward a tree, laden with children who had climbed there to watch the combat. Stretching up out of the saddle, Ivo twisted the hair of a stableboy and the rumble of his voice rolled through the leaves. “Where’s the duke o’ Framlingford?”

  The children all laughed, their high-pitched voices full of scorn. The stableboy pointed at the warriors in combat. “There. He’s fightin’.”

  “Who’s he fightin’?” Ivo asked.

  “That crazy man, an’ they’re fightin’ t’ the death.”

  Cold tingled in Alisoun’s fingertips and at the tip of her nose as she overheard this exchange.

  Ivo shook the lad. “What crazy man?”

  “That crazy man, that one who walked up t’ the king today, on the first day o’ the royal visit, an’ said he was goin’ kill his champion.”

  Alisoun could no longer contain herself. “Why?” she shouted.

  “He said t’ avenge the death o’ Lord Osbern’s wife.”

  Red spots flexed and grew before her eyes. She gripped the saddle and fought to retain her balance. But she could still hear Ivo ask, “Do ye know the man’s name?”

  No one answered for a moment, then a girl’s voice piped up, “They call him Sir David. Sir David o’ Radcliffe.”

  David hated fighting. Whenever he found himself sweating beneath his hauberk, trying to see around a nose guard, gripping a sword in one hand and a shield in the other—well, then he knew how stupid combat really was.

  Of course, that was while he was still afraid, before the exhilaration of battle had swept him up and carried him away. And every time he fought, he always feared that that glory would fail to seize him, and he’d have to fight on, cold with the cowardice that no one recognized.

  Especially now. Especially facing Osbern. Osbern had defeated him before, and that gave him a powerful advantage over David.

  Osbern knew it, too. In a voice designed to carry over the shouts of the crowd, he asked, “Did your wife force you to come?”

  David saved his breath and stoically met the hacking of Osbern’s sword with his shield.

  Osbern didn’t seem to mind David’s silence. Lightly, he chatted, “She’s a powerful woman, I warned you of that, and unless you train her properly at the beginning, you’ll have no peace all your life long.” He lost that congenial tone. “Ah, but I forget. You’re going to die today, so you’ll not have to worry.”

  Osbern’s sword slashed toward David’s neck, but David stepped aside at the last moment and the steel whistled through the air.

  That angered Osbern, and he said, “A rather drastic solution to an unhappy marriage, isn’t it?”

  The crowd cheered when he lunged and his tip slid down David’s shield and caught in David’s chauss over his knee. He hadn’t used enough force to pierce the chain mail, but the kneecap snapped sideways and David went down hard beneath the weight of his armor.

  “Give it up, old man!” one of Osbern’s knights shouted. “You’re so slow you’re boring us.”

  Turning his back on David, Osbern chided the heckler. “Such manners! And from one of my own men. Haven’t I taught you respect for your elders?”

  Even as the crowd laughed, David swung the flat of his sword behind Osbern’s knees. Osbern toppled with a clatter of armor. The chanting of his people ceased, and a spattering of cheers rose from the crowd.

  Mostly feminine cheers, David noted. Looking at his prone opponent, he experienced a deep visceral satisfaction and realized that once again, his pleasure in the fight had returned. So Osbern’s taunts had been good for something. Leaning on his sword, he hoisted himself to his feet. “At least, my lord duke, I can stop your tongue.”

  As David had hoped, Osbern clambered to his feet in a fury. “My tongue will say as it pleases at your funeral.”

  “Mayhap so, my lord. Mayhap so.” They squared off again, and this time, David noticed, the tip of Osbern’s heavy sword shook just a little. He was rattled or tiring, or both, David hoped. Then the shock of taking Osbern’s first blow almost broke his shield arm, and that hope faded.

  Still, his practice with Hugh had paid off, for he met Osbern’s blows with a supple defense and even placed a few of his own. He would have placed more, but he waited, for he’d fought Osbern once before and lost, and he knew his strategy now.

  Aye, he knew it, but whether he had the skill and strength to counter it, only time would tell.

  “I’ve had her, you know.”

  Osbern’s gibe jolted David’s concentration. “Had who, my lord?”

  “Your wife. We played hilt and hair more than once.”

  Still uncomprehending, David watched Osbern swing the sword and he stepped aside. Then he asked, “Alisoun? Are you saying you swived her?” Before Osbern could concur, David burst into laughter. “I wouldn’t brag about that if I were you, Osbern. Her maidenhead remained intact for me, so if you’d been there first, your blade must be as short as your reach.”

  Osbern jabbed at David’s chest. The thrust slammed past David’s shield and pierced his hauberk. David leaped away. Blood spurted once, then slowed to a trickle, but Osbern waited no longer.

  He slashed at David, pressing him hard.

  Laughter, David realized, could get him killed.

  He concentrated on his work, but clearly Osbern had been toying with him before. Now Osbern was angry.

  But that was good, David assured himself. An angry man didn’t think clearly.

  Then Osbern brought his sword up from underneath and smashed David’s blade. The hilt jerked out of his hand and it went flying, and David looked at the tip of a sword pointed at his face.

  “On your knees,” Osbern commanded. “On your knees, and maybe I’ll spare your miserable life.”

  “It’s not worth sparing if I don’t kill you,” David said, but he did as he instructed. He remembered this from the last time. The humiliating defeat. The groveling. The magnanimous release.

  But this time, Osbern wouldn’t release him. They both knew it, but Osbern wanted to savor his full triumph, and David gladly would let him.

  His whole plan depended on Osbern playing the role as it had been played before.

  “Look at him!” Osbern called. The crowd hollered and whooped. “The former champion of the king, the legendary Sir David, on his knees before me.” Slowly, his gaze still fixed on David, he lowered his sword. “Begging for his life! And should I give it to him?”

  “But you haven’t disarmed me yet.” Moving with care, David drew his dagger from its sheath.

  Osbern started laughing as hardily as David had earlier laughed. “What are you going to do? Slash my ankles with that?”

  “Nay.” David brought the point up under Osbern’s hauberk. “I’m going to geld you.”

  Osbern froze. “Put that down.”

  The crowd quieted.

  “You have the sword, my lord duke. You have the greater weapon. Why don’t you use it?” David f
elt Osbern’s muscles quiver as he considered it. “Of course, I’ll cut until I hit bone, and I might die and you might live, but cold water will no longer hold any fear for you.”

  Osbern shifted. “So what are we going to do? Stand here until we rot?”

  “Nay, my lord. You’re going to surrender to me.”

  “Are you mad?” Osbern shrieked. Then he shrieked again as David shifted his weight forward and pressed the point closer to home.

  “I don’t think I am, but it’s possible. After all, I’m half-hoping you swing that sword, so I can be the object of praise from all womankind.”

  “I’m dropping the sword.” The fine steel blade thumped in the dirt. “I’m surrendering to you.”

  “Are you indeed?” David checked. Osbern’s dagger remained in its sheath, but David made no demand that Osbern surrender it. Instead he stood and brought his dagger up under the chain mail coif to rest on Osbern’s throat. “Take off your helmet.”

  Osbern started to jerk it off.

  “Slowly, my lord. You don’t want to alarm me, for I truly would like to kill you. You insulted and tried to murder my wife. You savagely beat your own wife. You’re a plague on the face of England, and everyone would be happier without you.”

  Now Osbern moved with infinite care, and David smiled to see the way his chin trembled when it came into sight. Loudly, David asked, “Do you freely surrender yourself to me and grant me that ransom which I require?”

  Glaring venomously, Osbern said, “I do.”

  “I demand custody of your wife, Philippa.”

  The crowd gasped and David heard King Henry calling, “What? What did he say?”

  “She’s dead.” Osbern wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Then we’ll exhume her here and now and show King Henry how you treat the heiresses he gives you.” David stepped away and turned his back on Osbern. “Let’s do it now.”

  When he heard a woman cry out he leaped away from the blow of Osbern’s dagger. While Osbern still hung off-balance, David shoved his own blade into the hollow of Osbern’s throat.

  Osbern was dead before he hit the ground.

  Osbern’s knights surrounded David before David could rearm himself. “The king’s cousin,” they shouted. “He’s killed the king’s cousin!”

  Then something drove a wedge through the knights to David, and David saw Guy of the Archers, clad in armor and carrying enough weapons to decapitate half of London.

  He promised, “We’ll fight back to back, Sir David, until we can’t fight anymore.”

  The knights around the king abandoned their posts and crowded forward to watch the fight, and if Henry could have done the same and still retained his dignity, he would have been off his chair and mingling with the crowd. As it was, he leaned forward, his hands clenched around the arms of the chair, his gaze intent on the combat. Alisoun seized her chance. Climbing onto the viewing stand, she drew her short sword and held it where the king could see it.

  Henry never moved. Only his gaze flicked along the steel glinting in the hot sun. He followed it to the hand that held it, then up to her face. She found herself gratified by his astonishment. “Lady Alisoun, what are you doing with that sword?”

  “I’m holding you hostage.” She spoke without inflection, concentrating on keeping the sword steady and hoping that her reputation as dispassionate would carry the king beyond his initial amused reaction.

  It seemed to work. Easing himself back in the chair, he asked, “May I ask why?”

  “I want you to command Osbern’s knights to cease their attack on Sir David of Radcliffe and Guy of the Archers.”

  Henry’s gaze flicked toward the field. “But Sir David and Guy of the Archers seem to be acquitting themselves well.”

  “Two cannot win against so many.” She noticed that the sword had drifted down, and jerked it back up.

  “At one time, Sir David defeated fifteen men to save my life. There are not more than twenty knights out there, and he has Guy of the Archers to protect his back.” Casually, he inquired, “Why should you care about the fate of Sir David?”

  She was holding a sword on Henry. So why should she be concerned that she had wed without his permission? Yet she was. To wed without the king’s consent could sometimes be seen as treason. Stiffening her spine, she answered him with equanimity. “Sir David is my husband.”

  “He married you? I mean…you’re married?”

  His stunned surprise could hardly be called flattering. “We are wed.”

  “I knew Sir David could fight with the best, but I never imagined him up to the challenge of—” he looked her over, “—you.”

  “We deal with each other very well, but we cannot continue to do so if he’s slaughtered in combat.”

  Gingerly, he pushed the blade away from his stomach. “Most felons stick the point somewhere and keep it there.”

  The tone of this conversation seemed almost too friendly, and she confided, “David told me if I ever needed to attack someone I should aim for the eyes, the throat, or the gut.”

  “So far, your blade has reached all three, and if it continues to droop, the future of my royal line is in danger.”

  She jerked the blade higher. “So will you order Osbern’s knights to cease their attack?”

  “I don’t think I will have to. It seems my cousin was not well liked and his passing is welcomed by at least some who are here.”

  Alisoun straightened and stared.

  Henry inched the blade away until the tip rested on the arm of his chair.

  She didn’t notice. She only saw as first one knight, then another, was removed from the fight by his woman. One by one each knight’s wife walked into the fight, took her man by the arm, and pulled him out of the combat. All conflict faltered. No man could concentrate on his swordwork while a woman walked through the battlefield.

  “The queen would be pleased with this demonstration of filial devotion,” King Henry murmured.

  “The women all know what Osbern was, even if the men didn’t know or didn’t care.”

  “A sharp reproach.” Henry touched her wrist. “But possibly well deserved.”

  At last five knights were left facing David and Guy, and Alisoun murmured, “They must be unwed.”

  Henry laughed.

  Now David and Guy assumed more aggressive stances and the five knights began to back away. “They’ll not get far,” Henry said. “Now we’ll see some expert combat, and Sir David will win ransom from them, also. They’ll learn a lesson that they’ll not soon forget.”

  As Henry predicted, David and Guy disarmed each knight. Guy took the ransom from three of the knights, David from two, leaving them even in victory for the day.

  Then David removed his helmet, and suddenly Ivo stood by his side. As Alisoun watched, she saw David’s startled reaction to her man-at-arms’ offer of service. He looked around and she knew when he spotted her, for his eyes narrowed to two tight bands. Then he accepted Ivo’s assistance with every evidence of gratitude.

  Ivo had deemed David worthy of his mistress at last.

  Bare-headed, without his weapons, but still clad in his armor, David started toward the king. The crowd yielded for him easily and he walked with solemn dignity. Yet the closer he came to the stand, the quicker he walked. When he neared enough to speak, he demanded of Alisoun, “My lady, what are you doing here?”

  The woman didn’t seem to realize how his emotions rumbled at the sight of her. In that prissy voice that so infuriated him, she said, “The same thing you are, it seems.”

  “I doubt that.” He leaped onto the stand, and his gaze fell to the shiny blade that rested on the chair’s arm. “Why do you have a sword pointed toward our sovereign lord?”

  Henry caught her wrist when she would have moved the blade. “She served as my bodyguard when your performance distracted my knights.” Waving his sheepish nobles away, he said, “Nay, nay, my lady Alisoun performed admirably in your absence. Just remain where
you are for the moment.”

  “With your permission, my liege.” David took the sword from Alisoun’s fingers.

  “It is good for a subject to ask my permission,” the king mused. “Especially in matters of marriage.”

  He knew. The king knew. David wanted to slap his forehead and whimper. Instead he said, “When trapping a wily fox, my liege, a warrior must seize the creature at the first moment it is ensnared, lest it hurt itself in the struggle.”

  “I do not appreciate being compared to a fox,” Alisoun said crisply.

  “I do not appreciate having my wife hold a sword on the king,” David answered just as crisply.

  Henry stopped them with a chuckle. Turning to Alisoun, he held up three fingers and counted them down. “Wealth, breeding, and a devotion to duty. Were not those your requirements for a husband?”

  Delicate color crept up Alisoun’s face. “I discovered, my liege, that Sir David’s devotion to duty outweighed his lack of…ah…breeding, and—” she coughed, “—wealth.”

  Henry lifted his brows. “So you wed him knowing full well he didn’t meet your requirements?”

  “I did.”

  “Then, Sir David, although it offends your lady wife, I accept your story of fox and warrior.”

  David stifled his laughter. Alisoun stood unmoving.

  Henry sighed. “Although I pity you, Sir David, a wife who shows so little emotion.”

  The king’s lack of perception shocked David. Couldn’t he see by the tilt of her chin that she was angry? That the slight tremble of her fingers signified weariness and relief? That the moisture that wet the outside corner of each eyes presaged her storm of grief at losing Philippa?

  But no, Henry saw none of those things. He saw only two unlikely people bound together by wedlock, and he had decided to be amused rather than angered by their unsanctioned union. “I will fine you,” he said. “Nothing more.”

  Familiar with Henry’s constant need for money with which to finance his warfare, David winced. But he knew they had gotten off easily, and probed the king’s mind once more. “Will I be imprisoned for killing your cousin?”