Michael, JECKS - The Tournament of Blood

He released the vizor and it fell down heavily. Immediately his breath became stertorous in his ears, and the world was barred by the grille in front of his eyes. Leaning forward he could see the lists ahead and the King Herald. There was the signal! William slammed his heels back into Pomers’s flanks and felt the surge of power beneath him as the mount angrily leaped forward.

The jolting acceleration made him feel he would fall from the back of his saddle, but the immense cantle supported him. Reckless now, he kicked again at the horse, urging the beast on, and Pomers responded. The rattling and squeaking of complaining metal and leather grew into a raucous din that deafened. Dust rose and filled his helmet, making his nose tickle and itch. He had to blink away the dirt from streaming eyes.

His opponent was close. He could see Geoffrey’s shape lumbering towards him. William drew his lips back from his teeth in a snarl of defiance and allowed the point of the lance to begin its fall from the vertical.

It was a fine calculation. Too early and the point would fall below the aiming-point; too late and the lance would miss the mark and slip past the enemy’s shoulder while William absorbed the full weight of Geoffrey’s own point. Unbalanced, William would have to fall and he had no intention of making himself look a fool before all these people.

His horse was a stable base beneath him. He was assured of Pomers’s gait. The lance-tip fell gradually even as he caught sight of the approaching lance-point dropping slowly to point at him. It didn’t make him flinch. The thing was irrelevant. All that mattered was getting his own lance to hit well. He shifted his grip so that the butt was jammed under his armpit and took a deep breath.

An explosion of noise; a slamming thud against his left shoulder; a rattling clamour of metal; a sharp view of a horse’s nostrils, then he was past. His arm was all right, he reckoned. Just hit hard. His shield was probably wrecked, but that was how it went in the tilt. Those were his first thoughts before he realised that something was wrong. He wasn’t settled properly in his saddle. Slowly he could feel himself sliding sideways.

Hauling upon Pomers’s reins, he tried to regain his seat but it was too late. With a despairing wail he felt himself slip from the saddle and, through the grille of the helmet, saw the ground rushing up to meet him.

Alice could feel her heart pounding as she saw her man spur his mount into the attack. It was terrifying, truly scary, but awesome too, and exciting. Seeing her husband preparing to risk his all like this made her want to scream with pride, especially when she saw that Geoffrey was wearing her token. It streamed out from his helmet like a feather, an ethereal statement of ownership: she owned him, he owned her. She could hardly dare watch as the two men spurred their mounts on, accelerating in a deadly, lunatic gallop towards each other.

She couldn’t watch. As if some premonition warned her, she closed her eyes and covered them, praying as the lances lowered and the two men aimed their weapons at each other.

A sudden silence in the crowds, as if all were holding their breath. Then the appalling din of the collision.

It was like an anvil being struck with a large, flat-headed hammer, then a thousand horseshoes hurled onto a sheet of steel. A sigh went up from some people in the audience, while from others there was a hoarse cry of cruel delight.

And opening her eyes she saw that her husband was fallen. Even as she felt the disappointment grip at her throat, Alice realised that something was very wrong. Usually a man would struggle to regain his feet, would roll to clamber to his hands and knees preparatory to levering himself upwards. That was what William was doing, raising himself upwards and tugging at his vizor.

But Geoffrey remained lying on his back, and her fists rose to her mouth as if to smother a scream.

A herald was cantering towards his body. It was the man Odo. Alice had met him earlier during the procession, but now her attention only registered him in passing. She was staring in horror and terror at her man.

Odo rode to Geoffrey and swung down from his mount with both feet out of the stirrups. He landed before the horse had fully halted, and darted to Geoffrey’s side. All men-at-arms knew that the first thing to do was to let the poor fellow breathe.

The helmet was a complicated one and it took some time to work loose the hinged clips. Then he lifted away the vizor and was about to begin to pat Geoffrey’s face and try to waken him, when he stopped. Beneath the neck of Geoffrey’s tunic there was a blossoming crimson stain. ‘Jesus!’ Odo muttered in shock. Then, ‘Someone find a priest and a physician. Quickly!’

In the distance he thought he heard a woman wailing, but he had no time to concern himself over the feelings of a girl. He busied himself with the squire’s armour, ignoring the slow movement towards him from the stands. There was nothing new in a crowd wanting to see the dead victim of a bout.

Edith smothered her cry as she saw William fall. Her heart literally stopped. She was literally frozen with horror. She’d never felt like this before. It was terrible . She couldn’t believe it. Her William, poor William was dead .

Without further thought, she darted from the ber frois and ran through the loungers who stood contemplating the scene. ‘Oh, William,’ she cried.

He knelt dazedly, his vizor open, but bent after the impact. It must have been hard for him to focus, from the way he peered about him. ‘My head… Is he all right?’

‘I don’t know. Oh William, I was so scared you had been killed,’ Edith said and burst into tears, dropping to her knees at his side to the delight of the throng about them.

William spat blood. When he hit the ground the jolt had slammed his jaw closed and a tooth had snapped. He wanted to rinse his mouth. ‘You didn’t bring any wine, did you?’ he asked plaintively.

Odo gestured for the other heralds to help and pushed men back. ‘Give him space. Do you want to kill him? Give him space!’

The muttering groups of men withdrew unwillingly and Odo was pleased to see Mark Tyler leading a dark-clothed physician towards him.

‘How is he?’ the physician asked.

‘I don’t know. He looks dreadful and he snores like a sleeping man. There’s blood here and… ’

Odo withdrew as the physician crouched and began his examination. A hand caught at his shoulder.

‘Sir, will he die?’

‘Lady Alice, I do not know,’ he replied heavily. ‘He took a bad fall.’

‘He can’t die. He mustn’t !’ Alice declared, distraught.

‘Your husband is in God’s hands,’ Odo told her compassionately.

‘Geoffrey!’ Alice wailed, and fainted.

Odo caught her, but as he looked about him, he saw only the shocked expression on Squire William’s face.

Edith had seen her father’s eye on her as she wept at the side of her lover. There was no concealing her feelings and she hadn’t even considered his, but now she was worried that he would have something to say about her rushing to William’s side. Probably quite a lot, she feared.

Even though she was convinced he was being unreasonable about William, she hated upsetting him; she loved him too much to see him sad. The trouble was, he didn’t seem to realise she was a woman now, not some baby. Christ Jesus! Edith was old enough to wed and bear children. How much more proof did he need?

Margaret and Baldwin were approaching her now. Edith had waited while William was given some wine, then helped away. Geoffrey had been removed from his armour and carried off on a stretcher, and now Edith stood in a thinning crowd desperately trying to avoid glancing in her father’s direction. She knew what she would see in his eyes: angry confusion at her behaviour, and hurt.