Knight Assassin

by James Boschert

  Roger smiled. “You, too, will need your own coat of arms, Talon. You're a knight now.”

  “Is every knight meant to have a coat of arms, My Lord?”

  “It's quite new, but the answer is yes. It has recently become the fashion. Each knight should have an emblem of his own to distinguish him from all others, especially on the battlefield. He can be clearly seen in the confusion of battle and thus his men can rally to him.” Roger instructed Talon briefly on the growing art of heraldry, naming men who bore an emblem on their surcoat, the coat of cloth that was worn over the chain mail hauberk. “You will see the emblem also on men’s shields when they go into the jousting field in front of us, Talon.”

  A trumpet sounded and all stood up as the Count and his lady were led to their thrones and seated. Talon noticed Sir Guy in attendance as the honored guest who was placed to the Count’s right hand. The countess looked around, spotted her son and his friends and smiled at them. Her gaze rested on Talon briefly; she smiled, and then she turned to look forward. Talon felt his arm squeezed and looked down at Elena, who was holding onto him with a tiny frown on her face. Was it jealously, he wondered?

  There was another blast of trumpets and a man in very ornate clothes walked forward of the stands and turned to the Count. Bowing low he addressed the Count and his assembly. “My Lord, My lady, honored guests, and friends. We are to be honored today with a great show of courage and of skill with weapons and by the knights of my Lord the Count of Carcassonne and those of my Lord of Toulouse.”

  There was applause from the crowded stands. This was to be a very big mêlée involving almost sixty knights. The crowd sensed that there would be bloodshed on the field today.

  “There will first be individual bouts of knight against knight with lance and sword, followed by a mêlée of younger knights, led by the Count Roger of Carcassonne, and those of Toulouse, led by Lord Andreu and then the senior knights as the finale,” the man shouted.

  The crowd cheered and clapped at the news. Roger and Andreu, looking tense, nevertheless laughed and clapped with them.

  Roger turned to Talon. “Donate will be with Andreu. Remember, Talon, this is a joust, do not use your sword to kill, just to unseat and subdue your opponent. If you see any foul play, call to me and we will deal with it together. Andreu and Donate will be watching, too.”

  Andreu nodded. “We are friends on this field and do not want injury, although there will be some. Donate and I will watch for you, Roger.”

  Talon nodded. “I shall be careful, my Lord. I shall be watching your back, have no fear.”

  The young Count looked at him hard. “I shall fear not, my friend. I am sure I can depend upon you.”

  There was a sudden blare of trumpets and the first single combat joust began.

  Both knights were riding horses that were of much finer breeding than those he had seen at Albi and clearly knew what they were about. The men, who were clad in mail from head to foot and wearing heavy, flat-topped steel helmets with nose guards, rode sedately up to the stands to greet the Count and his guest while their grooms shouted their pedigree to the crowds.

  Roger whispered to Talon that these were the men who had had the brawl in the Count’s hall the last night. “Here is their chance to settle the dispute for all time.”

  The Count waved the two men off whereupon they cantered to either end of the field. At the call of the trumpet they began to gallop toward one another; the huge horses’ hooves tossed up clods of earth as they galloped. They came together with a crash that shook the ground as lance splintered on shield. One rider was rocked back in his deep saddle, almost coming off.

  The crowd roared its approval and urged the riders to do it again. New lances were presented and they rode back to their ends of the field. Once again they charged each other and again crashed into one another head on. This time the other knight was struck directly in the center of his shield with enough force to topple him right out of the saddle. He tumbled to the ground and lay there while his horse galloped away. The mounted knight, not wanting to lose the opportunity, hastily dismounted and ran toward the other to force the surrender, but was too late.

  His opponent had scrambled to his feet and was now waiting for him. They set to with swords and shields. It was clear that this was a grudge fight and soon some blood from superficial wounds began to show against their chain mail; both men were bleeding from the nose and other cuts to the face.

  Talon was interested to note that the fighting men knew how to use the whole of the sword from the point of the blade to the pommel and the hilt. If a blow could not distract an opponent, a thrust or a shove with the hilt of the sword at the face would, and often the edge of the shield was used as a weapon, too. Both men went at it savagely for about ten minutes with a wildly cheering crowd before one slipped to one knee and was then taken down hard by his opponent with another blow.

  He lay stunned for a few seconds, his shield discarded. His opponent seized his chance and stood high over his victim and with a shout raised his sword high overhead and brought it down hard onto the exposed neck of the man on the ground. There was a sickening crunch heard clearly across the field, as the sword cut through the untempered chain links and partially severed the man’s neck. The dying man convulsed briefly and then lay still in a gathering pool of blood.

  The victorious knight stood up and received the cheers of the crowd, which liked the sight of blood. He staggered sweating over to the Count’s enclosure, received applause from many there, and a few words from the Count. It was clear that the Count was not very pleased with the outcome, but the deed was done and in public so there was little to say. He offered a few words of admonishment and the man hobbled off, looking chastened but also relieved.

  Men came and carried the dead man off the field and threw straw over the blood-soaked grass.

  Talon watched with interest as more than a dozen bouts, of a less grudging nature this time, were fought in a similar manner, and then it was time for the young Count to lead the mêlée. They took their leave from the ladies and hastened off to arm themselves. Elena swiftly tucked a kerchief into the collar of Talon’s mail shirt which he self-consciously fingered in some surprise.

  “Do you honor me in battle, Sir Knight?” she asked him archly.

  He grinned, embarrassed. “I will surely try, My Lady.” There was some laughter at the exchange but he noticed that Elena was watching Countess Roseanna, who laughed, too.

  Talon’s chain mail evoked some interest as it was clearly of a much better make than that of the knights he was now grouped with. His was of fine-tempered steel and theirs was of iron that could not resist the thrust of a good steel blade.

  Most of the young men gathered around the Count waiting for the mêlée to begin were of much the same age and were looking forward to the bout. Everyone was armed with a sword and lance. Their hauberks of chain mail covered them from head to waist while chain trews reached to their feet. They all sported a steel helmet with a nose guard. They were familiar with the rules and were full of bravado as to what they were going to do to the other side.

  The trumpets sounded and they mounted up. The Count had loaned Talon a huge Destriere as he pointed out reasonably that Jabbar would not survive the overwhelming weight of the combined charge they were about to face. The horse was in fierce mettle and although larger than Jabbar, managed to prance, his neck arched and his eyes rolling. He shook his head, making the harness jingle, indicating that he wanted to run, and then he tried to buck. Talon, feeling that he was riding an animal of enormous energy, held him firmly with his left hand and guided him with his legs to see how responsive he might be and was pleasantly surprised to find that the animal moved well under his guidance. He was careful to keep his spurs off the sides of the animal for the time being. The horse felt ready to explode underneath him if he were not careful.

  They walked their horses onto the field and faced the other team of twenty young men who were glowering at them from
ten yards away. Talon had time to observe the others and take stock of them while the herald was announcing the bout. This was to be a simulated battle, commencing when the trumpets were blown, where men would be knocked off their horses and remain on the ground unconscious, or would have to get to their feet and continue until forced to surrender. The winners, after the trumpets had blown again, would be the ones with most men on their horses or standing on their feet.

  The herald finished his long-winded speech and the young men saluted the Count in the stands with their lances and shouted their names. They wheeled their horses and cantered to their respective ends of the lists.

  Roger turned to Talon. “Talon, stay on my shield side; we'll fight together.” He sounded tense.

  Talon nodded. “Yes, my Lord.”

  There was another blast from the trumpets and they were off. Head and body tucked in behind the shield and the lance straight out as steady as he could hold it, Talon had no trouble putting his horse into a gallop to follow the Count who was racing across the field; the Destriere wanted to run.

  There was no order to the attack. It was just a wild charge across the green field to collide with the opponents. Talon raced his horse alongside Roger’s so that as a pair they hit the other young knights charging the other way. Talon focused on a man coming directly at them slightly onto his side, pointing his blunted wooden lance at the center of the man’s shield. Another tried for Roger, who deflected that lance just as Talon’s struck the edge of his opponent’s shield. It splintered but must have slammed the shield back onto the man’s nose piece, for the young man toppled off his horse, unconscious and well out of the fight. Roger was shouting for his men to rally, waving his sword in the air and seeking combat from his foes. Talon kneed his horse alongside and received a grin from the Count.

  “That was a good hit! Have you done this before?” he yelled and then he was too busy to listen for a response. The din of mock battle was everywhere as the young men shouted and yelled taunts and challenges at one another, following this up with reckless displays of courage and fierce attempts to unhorse their opponents.

  Talon swung round just in time to deflect a blow from the sword wielded by a youth who had ridden in at a sharp angle. It was Donate.

  “Hey, Talon, now you must fight for your life,” he shouted, grinning through the flat nose piece of his helmet.

  Talon grinned back, danced the Destriere out of the way with a touch of his leg and then spurred the horse hard into Donate’s, knocking it off balance just long enough for Talon to aim a careful blow to Donate’s shield shoulder where it was exposed. It proved effective as with a curse Donate had to pull his horse up; his shoulder was suddenly numb. He slumped in pain over the pommel of his saddle. With another kick to the side of his own mount Talon brought his horse in hard just behind Donate’s which allowed him to strike Donate between the shoulder blades with the pommel of his sword. Donate’s eyes crossed and he slipped sideways off the saddle and tumbled to the ground.

  Talon looked around for Roger and saw that the young Count was surrounded by three opponents. He was fending them off vigorously, but they were about to overcome him by sheer weight of numbers. Talon danced his very hot and eager Destriere forward and with two bounds he crashed into the rump of one of the men surrounding the Count. Talon reached forward and delivered a sharp blow to that man’s sword arm just below the shoulder. It would have cut off an arm not covered with chain. As it was, it bruised the man’s arm so badly he dropped his sword and turned with a yell of pain and surprise. Talon had ridden alongside, transferred his sword to his shield hand, then seized the youth by his belt and tipped him off his horse to fall with a yell to the ground.

  Then Talon was alongside the Count, who swung his head to greet him. He grinned from behind his nose guard, sweat pouring off his face. “That was timely, Talon. I thought you had abandoned me!” he shouted hoarsely.

  “I had a little business to settle with Donate, my Lord.”

  “You unseated him? Then let’s deal with the others. I believe we're winning.”

  They set to and by dint of excellent control of their horses both managed to outmaneuver their opponents and unseat them. They paused after this to take stock of the situation. The noise of steel clashing with steel and shield still rang out. The youths were becoming hoarse and tired now, but their enthusiasm was barely diminished. They still swung their swords at each other with wild abandon, and in some cases they drew blood, but it was unintentional.

  Roger pointed to a small group of men who were doing well against his own men.

  “Come, Talon. There is Andreu, let’s go and take care of him, for then we really shall win.”

  They galloped the few yards as a tight pair and crashed into the group that failed to react in time. Talon and then Roger managed to unseat their opponents in quick succession, which left Andreu and one other well on guard and equally determined to finish the bout their way.

  Andreu went for Roger with an exuberant shout while the other, a very stocky young man, made for Talon, trying to shove him aside with his horse. But Talon’s Destriere had other ideas. It was pulling excitedly at the reins, trying to have its head, although still manageable, when suddenly it reared, striking out with its hooves at the other horse. The rider pulled up in alarm in the face of the flailing hooves. Talon rode the horse up easily and then realized that he had another tool in his armory. He spurred his animal hard just as it came down onto all four feet.

  It squealed with rage as the sharp points dug into his flanks and jumped straight at the other man and horse. Talon’s Destriere struck the other on its side with its chest just where the rider’s leg was. The rider screamed with pain, but the force continued and both horse and rider went down under the Destriere’s hooves. Talon quickly hauled his horse away to avoid hitting the downed rider, who was sprawled out, clutching his leg. Talon hoped that he had not broken it.

  Then it was over. Roger had unseated Andreu, who was ruefully holding his arm but standing. Most of the Count’s riders were still mounted. The trumpets sounded and they looked around.

  To Talon it did look like a battlefield. There were young men limping off the field or simply lying where they had landed, holding an arm or a leg. Riderless horses were either galloping about the field or calmly grazing. Broken lances discarded shields and swords were laying all about. Roger’s team cheered hoarsely, adding their shouts to the cheering crowd of supporters who were screaming applause.

  He took off his helmet and swept it in a happy flourish toward his parents, who were standing with the others, applauding. Roger wiped the sweat from his eyes and then searched the remaining men, complimenting them one by one. Then his eyes fell on Talon.

  “Sir Talon, you are a true knight. Well, you are knighted. You proved your worth today.”

  “Thank you, Sire,” Talon said. He was pleased he had escaped unscathed from any injury; some of the young men would need a physician tonight or most likely one of the dreaded Leeches, as they were known. He turned his horse to look for Donate and then rode over to his new friend. He dismounted quickly and walked the last few yards to kneel in front of where Donate was standing, watching him.

  “I hope you are not injured, my Lord?” Talon asked concerned.

  Donate laughed ruefully and shook himself. “Stand up, Sir Talon. Apart from a very sore back I am fine. You proved to us that you are a real warrior today. I am truly impressed with your horsemanship. Here is my hand for the new friendship we have, Sir Talon.” He grinned as they shook and then he clapped Talon on the back. “That was right thirsty work. I am ready for some wine. Let us join Roger and the ladies and watch the next fight.”

  Talon smiled, happy that Donate had been so sporting and gripped his arm. “I am in full agreement, my Lord.”

  “Nay, Talon, we are friends and friends will have names. I am Donate to you this day.”

  They led the still dancing Destriere back to the horse lines and Talon turned him over t
o a hovering groom. When they returned to the stands they were greeted as heroes. Talon, because he was the stranger among them and had done well, was rewarded with much praise.

  Elena flung her arms around his neck as he came up and kissed him full on the mouth. “You are truly a warrior, Talon, cunning and masterful on the horse!”

  Even the Count laughed and waved to them from his seat and Philip, who was nearby, grinned his appreciation.

  Roger was still very excited as were his companions who did not seem to be put out unduly from their loss. They exchanged banter throughout the next mêlée, which Talon was unable to pay much attention to; Elena was demanding much of his concentration.

  Soon enough the clash of arms out on the field subsided and the herald was once again standing in front of the Count. But this time he was announcing that Talon was about to put on his demonstration. Talon rushed off to the tents where Max and the Anwl were standing, holding an impatient Jabbar with the bow and quiver waiting for him. Talon mounted and took the bow and quiver, placed the quiver in its place under his left thigh and, giving an impatient Jabbar a pat on the neck, cantered onto the cleared field. He danced Jabbar slowly up to the stands and then swept an elaborate bow from the saddle toward the Count and his Lady. He noticed his newfound friends were gathered behind the chairs of the Count and his guests and were waving enthusiastically at him, to which he replied with a touch of his fingers to his cap which he now wore instead of the helmet.

  Behind him men had finished positioning a long, thin pole, about twenty feet high, to which were tied two pigeons that fluttered frantically at the end of a string tied to their feet. Talon set Jabbar into a light canter in a circle around the pole about twenty yards out from the center and lifted his bow. Taking his time he circled twice and then notched an arrow into the string and aimed. The pigeons had settled on top of the pole and seemed to be resting. Talon loosed an arrow at the pole just below the pigeons’ feet. The arrow struck the thin pole just below the birds and the crowd hummed, to them it was a near miss.