by Jill Hughey
The men pushed off each other to begin circling again. Sweat rolled down their faces. The sun flashed off the heavy blades as they whistled through the air, attack and defend, parry and thrust. Rochelle found it difficult to stay seated. She clutched her fingers around the seat of her chair and tried not to join in the screaming of the crowd. They would only question for whom she cheered.
Riculf began to tire from his dancing. Now David circled him, like a sculptor around a block of marble, or a wolf around an exhausted deer. They moved close enough to the platform that she could hear the rasp of their labored breathing.
“He plans his strategy?” Rochelle whispered, recognizing the sharpness in David’s eyes.
“Yes, he is ready to finish him,” Theo replied.
As soon as the words entered her ear, David attacked, his spata slashing three times in quick succession. Riculf’s blade spiraled through the air eliciting a frightened gasp from the crowd. Everyone had been so captivated by the flying weapon, they missed David’s denouement. The edge of his blade lay under Riculf’s chin. Even Louis was slow to respond, finally calling. “It is done, and done well! David wins this round!”
Riculf had lost! Her miserable plot had failed! She clapped until her hands stung and smiled broadly, not caring who watched.
Riculf spit on the ground as David released him. Riculf glared up at Rochelle. “Skinny bitch, who would want her anyway?” he said, loudly enough for all on the platform to hear.
Louis chastised him. David merely smiled as he checked the edge of his spata. Rochelle detected blood on his arm as he turned the blade. Her heart leaped to her throat.
“He is bleeding,” she said urgently to Theo.
“Yes, Riculf caught him in the shoulder early, with the lance.”
“Early? He must be tended to.”
“Not allowed. It has not slowed him.”
“But, he is bleeding!”
“Look. The Black comes.”
And indeed he was, looking like a bear that had rolled in a soot pile. In contrast to Riculf’s dancing, The Black lumbered forward methodically, lance in hand, coming straight for David as if he intended to walk right over him. At the last second he lifted his lance, apparently to pound David over the head with it. David blocked him with his own lance, the wooden shafts clapping together with a sharp crack. The Black lifted his weapon, twisting it to hit David across his injured shoulder. David answered by nearly gutting him with the point of his own lance.
The Black laughed and backed away.
So began a brawl entirely different than the previous fight, with no finesse or civility. They swung their weapons like clubs, kicked, punched, yelled at each other in Bavarian. The Black landed one sharp blow on David’s helm. David cut a deep gash into The Black’s thigh that seeped blood into his matted fur.
The lances locked over David’s head with The Black pressing down, trying to force David to the ground. Rochelle groped beside her until her mother grabbed her hands to provide comfort. They clung to each other while mesmerized by the raw violence before them.
Theo was on his feet, shouting, “Get out! Get out!” when David purposely dropped and with unbelievable strength rolled backwards with The Black, forcing him over and off. “Great Christ!” Theo cursed as he dropped limply into his chair, only to burst up again.
David sprang to his feet, discarding the lance to pull out his sparta. The Black was still on the ground and David hacked at him, blocked by his shield and the wooden shaft of the lance until The Black bought himself some time by flinging the lance at David’s face. He unsheathed his own spata, swinging it wildly while regaining his feet.
They pounded at one another with the blades. If the contest with Riculf had the blades singing, this one made them scream. They sought soft flesh, but most often found unforgiving metal. The combatants circled for a moment, then engaged again with new fury. The Black’s spata slashed down for David’s arm. David blocked and spun away, swinging for The Black’s torso. The Black countered and shoved David backward, coming up fast with the blade pointed at his heart. The blades locked and shuddered. Their arms were twisted at impossible angles, faces contorted and reddening with the strain. One of the spatas suddenly sprang free, tumbling to the ground several feet away.
It was David’s.
He leaped back and drew his short semi-sparta.
The Black laughed as he marched forward.
“If you are going to take it, take it high,” Theo muttered.
“What?” Rochelle cried. “What do you mean?”
She saw David rushing forward, straight at the blade. She bit her lip against her scream. He ducked at the last minute, causing The Black’s spata to slice across the top of the brunia at his shoulder instead of into his gut. David slammed into The Black with his shield up, forcing him to the ground with David’s semi-spata at the side of his filthy throat and his shield pressing into his face. They struggled on the ground, David straining to keep the brute under him.
“Done!” the emperor roared, “Done!” as the battlemaster tried to disengage the two men, finally stepping on The Black’s arm to stop him from flailing about with his blade.
David climbed off to step away, breathing hard. The Black roared to his feet, blood running from his obviously broken nose.
“Here now,” the battlemaster shouted. “You had your chance.” He shoved the defeated soldier toward the gate as the crowd screamed in excitement.
David pulled off his helm and wiped his hand across his forehead. Sweat rolled down his face. He walked toward his spata. A motion to his right attracted Rochelle’s attention. The Black crept back toward him, a rounded rock palmed in one hand. She looked frantically for the battlemaster, but he was at the gate, talking to Sewell. Was no one else seeing this? Her eyes settled for an instant on Doeg who watched – almost eagerly – from the fence.
Rochelle threw up her arm to point over Louis’s head, finally choking out one word. “Theo!”
Her companion took in the scene immediately, in turn bellowing, “Behind you!” Rochelle had never heard such a sound come from his mouth, never would have dreamed he had it in him. David responded to the warning instantly, their years of partnership in battle evident. He crouched low and spun, deftly pulling his semi-spata out to attack while raising his shield arm to defend. The rock was already crashing down. The motion of his arm and his changed body position deflected it so that it grazed along the top of his forehead.
He dropped like a sack of wheat as Rochelle’s scream rent the air.
“David!” Rochelle yelled. Her vision contracted to a small circle with David’s still form in the center. She heard nothing but her own strangled cries.
She scrambled over the emperor’s shoulder to vault the barrier before her, crashing to her knees after the drop from the platform. Lurching to her feet, she raced to David’s side, dropping into the dirt beside him. “David,” she pleaded even as she pushed his hair back to assess the damage. He lay completely inert except for his breathing. Magnus slid up next to her, wheeling to snarl at the air around them.
“David,” she begged, trying to wrest the heavy shield off of him. He lashed out without warning. His elbow plowed into her chest, knocking her flat on her back several feet away.
“Jesu!” Theo shouted as he came running at full tilt. He dropped to his knees to hold David’s shoulders with all his weight. “Easy now, rest easy. It is I, Theo. Lay still, we are only your friends here.”
Rochelle saw stars as she rolled to her side and crawled back to David, her breathing short and raspy. He moved ineffectually in the dirt, his eyes squinting. “Look at me,” she gasped, fearing his eyes would be too dilated, or unable to focus on her, or would close again to never reopen. Grabbing his face between both her hands, she demanded his attention in her most authoritative voice. “Look at me!”
He shook his head, trying to clear it. “Give me a moment.”
He blinked several times before he focused on her. She c
ould almost see the question play in his mind. Why was he suddenly laying in the dirt? She knew when the answer came. His jaw set. “Theo, where is that damn Bavarian because I need to kill him.”
“I think you may have already done it, old friend. Uncanny ability to get under the armor when someone tries to brain you. You nearly gutted him, just like the Breton.”
“Good. Help me up.” Theo gripped him by one arm. Rochelle tried to help on the other side. He shook her off. “How much time until the next?”
“Next…” Rochelle breathed, still kneeling in the dirt. She’d completely forgotten about Sewell. Already soldiers were pushing spectators off the field.
“Let me through! Let me through to my daughter, ye beasts!” Marian fought past the soldiers, shoving grown men aside with both hands.
“Mother, do you have my bag?” Rochelle asked, relieved when Marian held it out to her. “Quickly, quickly,” she said to herself as she rummaged through it, handing her mother the skin of liquid and a small pot of ointment.
“No time for that now,” the battlemaster called gruffly, a comfortable distance from Magnus. “You ladies clear out. Now.”
“He needs care,” Rochelle argued as her mother helped her to her feet. “His shoulder. And now his head!”
“It is my job to keep this thing going,” the man said.
“It is also your job to keep contestants from having their heads bashed in between rounds!” she shouted back, marching forward to stand toe to toe with him.
The man glared.
David lurched forward. “Get her out of here, Theo! I want to finish this.”
Theo gripped her elbow. “Let us go to the side here. It will be over soon enough.”
“No! Just give me a minute to help him!” She tried to twist away, but could not escape Theo’s iron hold. What did Theo mean by what he had said? Was David certain to lose, after all this? And to Sewell of all people? She walked sightlessly with Theo on one side and Marian on the other. They climbed over the fence, the ladies in a distinctly unladylike fashion, turning in time to see David gathering his weapons, including the semi-spata left bloodied in the dirt. Each time David bent, he had to balance himself carefully before straightening. He methodically replaced each blade in its scabbard. He lumbered to the end nearest the platform to retrieve the lance. He gripped it in one hand over his shoulder.
There was no sign of The Black, though his blood trailed across the ground to the gate at the end of the field where Sewell sat, white-faced, on his horse.
“Someone is in trouble,” Theo muttered.
“What? What? Who?” Rochelle badgered, but was immediately distracted by clanging to her left.
Sewell came dashing across the field on his little farm pony. The horse was terrified, and wouldn’t hold a straight line, dashing this way and that despite Sewell’s best attempts to rein it. David swayed on his feet, squinting in general toward the motion of the horse, struggling to focus. Rochelle felt her fingernails dig into the wood of the barrier. “Please God. Please God. Please God,” she heard herself repeating. Sewell and his mount clattered closer and closer. He raised his rusty sword as David hefted the lance lightly in his hand, testing the weight and balance.
The entire crowd gasped as one.
David tossed the lance. It sung low through the air, quickly coming to a vibrating stop in the ground at the plunging horse’s front feet. The pony, already wild-eyed, skidded to a dead halt, nearly tossing Sewell over his head, then reared up while backing wildly off the lance it could no longer see but could feel against its belly. Sewell slid off backwards in a heap, rolling to avoid the stamping hooves. David was on him in a thrice, pulling back his head and aiming his spata at his jugular.
“Done and done!” the emperor shouted. “David of Bavaria has defended his betrothal to Rochelle of Alda. Let no man question it further!”
Theo chuckled. “God forgive me, I never tire of that trick either.”
David shoved Sewell away, then dropped heavily to his knees. Rochelle’s concern for him overwhelmed any feelings of relief or joy. She began to climb the fence again. Theo stopped her. “Wait here,” he said. “I will bring him to you.” He turned away, then added, “He is a bit of a bear after battle. Do not get your feelings hurt.”
Spectators already surrounded him. It worried her. What if someone attacked him now? In a moment, she could see his sweaty head above the crowd, Theo’s spectacular cap close by. As they approached, she found herself speechless, unsure what to say. Not to mention that he looked downright mean. The blood and dirt were bad enough, but there was fury in his face. The high emotions of the fight could apparently not be turned off by victory.
She thrust the skin of liquid at him.
“Are you going to try to poison me now?” he said sharply.
She reeled back as if he had struck her again, clutching the medicine to her chest.
Marian grabbed it from her to push it at him again. “It is for yer head, ye great big lout. Go soak in it if ye do not want to drink it. She has paid enough for her sins.”
Theo grabbed the pouch, then cuffed David on his good shoulder. “What is wrong with you? She came to your aid! She only wants to help you.”
“The Black kept going for my head,” David shouted. “Who else could have told him to do that?”
“Your damned brother, that is who!” Theo yelled back at him. “Rochelle is the one who saw The Black coming after you with that rock, you jackass. Without her, I never would have warned you in time.”
David’s eyes met hers. An unholy fire blazed there, burning away any soft feelings he had ever had for her. She had lost him. Knowing what he did about Riculf, of course he assumed she had also betrayed him with The Black. He would never believe Theo’s words in defense of her. She blinked her eyes against the prickle of tears. She would not weep. Not here. Not again. “I admitted everything to you last night,” she said firmly. “Everything!”
Marian put her arm around Rochelle’s shoulders protectively. “Think nothing of it, girlie. He has just got the bloodlust to work out. Better to let him do it on his own.”
A man shouted to David. “The emperor wishes to see you in his camp immediately.”
“Of course he does,” David yelled back hotly, not at all pleased with another demand on his time. “Let me get cleaned up first.”
“You are expected before sunset.”
“Theo, go with her to your house. I will see all of you back there later.”
He wavered a bit on his feet. Rochelle could see he was still dazed from the blow to his head. As he moved toward his tent, the crowd surged around him. Among them could be Doeg or God only knew who else.
“You must go with him,” Rochelle begged Theo. “Even if he does not understand the real threat, you do. You must go with him! Here, put this on the wounds and there are clean bandages in here, too.”
He nodded. “I will stay with him. I might just hit him over the head myself, once or twice, before I start nursing him back to health.” Several of Theo’s men had found him. He ordered them to see Rochelle and Marian safely back to the house.
Rochelle watched until Theo caught up with David before she allowed the guards to help her and Marian slowly through the crowd. Perhaps she would never see him again. The idea panicked her. The press of the crowd added its own claustrophobic anxiety. As she searched for an escape route, her eyes fell on Doeg. He did not see her. His face was contorted with anger, but at least he appeared to be leaving the area as well. As if he felt her eyes on him, he swiveled his head to look at her. He glared for a moment with those frigid blue eyes, then cleared the anger from his expression, replacing it with one of patronizing victory. Whatever the purpose of his battle against her, he considered himself the ultimate victor, though he was not completely satisfied with today’s outcome. He was happy to see her disgraced, but had not wanted David to win. With a curt nod, he disappeared into the sea of people.
Chapter Twenty-Six
&nb
sp; Rochelle sat in the dark shadows of Theo’s porch, her back against the chilly stone wall, her knees under her chin, her cloak pulled closely around her. The sun had set about an hour before and people passed on the street without seeing her. It did not matter if they did. She hadn’t changed her clothes or tidied her hair, and she did not care who knew how wretched she was.
She’d had no sign or word of David, but she had no delusions about her future. If he believed her capable of using her knowledge of his head wound against him, there was not much hope he would want to marry her. She wasn’t out here waiting for him or hoping he would hurry. As she saw it, he could delay his inevitable rejection of her and the accompanying eviction from Alda as long as he wished.
No, she’d come out here because she simply could not bear the festival atmosphere in Theo’s hall on the day when she had lost everything. The Damsels, in fact most of the people she’d encountered, watched her with an unsettling combination of disdain, pity and envy. The most obviously handsome and able warrior, the victorious warrior, had been the one she’d betrayed, hence the disdain. He’d not only knocked her into the dirt and shouted at her during the course of the event, hence the pity. In spite of all that, she was betrothed to him, hence the envy, however short-lived it would be.
The denouement had yet to be acted out. His decision to break with her would certainly be made public soon enough, and would set her forever in their eyes as an object worthy of little attention at all. She would be the one rejected by David of Bavaria. Poor. Unlanded. Nobody.
Only she knew the most important thing she’d lost: the love of her life. She’d thrown it away before she’d even known what she had.
Two forms on horseback materialized from the darkness. Torches in the pillars of the porch cast light on Theo and David as they dismounted. David had obviously bathed, now wearing a fine set of clothing and a warm black cloak lined with fur. He did not look at all like a man who, just hours before, had been stabbed and nearly had his skull crushed. He was, in fact, so handsome her heart clenched. He was surely not hers any more, and the sight of him brought a sinking pain.
