A Perfect Knight. Anne Herries

the ladies.

      But what was happening? Sir Ralph was riding towards where Alayne and the ladies sat. He tipped his lance towards them, and then cried out in a loud voice, ‘I challenge all those who would wish to ride against me. I will fight all comers in the name of Baron de Froissart, the Lady Alayne and my late wife, the Lady Berenice. If unhorsed, we will fight on in hand-to-hand combat should the unhorsed knight wish to continue.’

      Alayne looked at the Queen, her heart beating wildly.

      ‘Can he do that?’ she asked, for she had never known such a challenge to be thrown down before. It was usual for the victors of the first round to ride perhaps twice or thrice more before the eventual victor was declared.

      ‘That is a matter for you, your Majesty,’ Queen Eleanor said and smiled at her. ‘Such judgements are in your power. It means that some knights will be saved from riding again, because only those that wish to fight on under the new terms need do so, while the others retire with honour—and retain their armour.’

      ‘I see,’ Alayne said as she realised that this would save some knights from unnecessary pain and injury. Having proved their worth by surviving the first round, they could now retire with honour and make sure of keeping their costly armour. It was a brave and generous offer on the part of the English knight, and one that she approved. She got to her feet and smiled down at Sir Ralph, taking a scarf and holding it out to him. He lifted his lance so that she could tie it on. ‘With this token I make you my champion. To win this tourney all must defeat the English knight, Ralph de Banewulf.’

      ‘You do me honour, lady,’ he said, saluted with his lance once more and rode away.

      Alayne’s heart hammered in her breast. By throwing down his challenge, Sir Ralph had saved others pain and humiliation, but what of him? He must meet each knight who chose to ride against him, and for how long could he remain undefeated? She almost wished that she had refused permission, yet somehow she knew that he had thrown down his challenge for a reason.

      ‘How brave and bold he is,’ Marguerite said. ‘I do not think that many will take up the challenge.’

      ‘I pray they will not.’

      There was an excited buzz around the field, for the contest had taken a new direction. Before it had been no different from a dozen other contests held here previously, but now a new sense of purpose held the spectators in thrall. This English knight was clearly a bold warrior for all that he had not fought a tourney for some time, and only the bravest of the French knights would dare to take up the challenge he had thrown down.

      Some few minutes passed before the heralds blew a fanfare and then announced that two men had taken up the challenge. One was Lord Malmont, the other Sir Renaldo de Bracey; Lord Malmont was to try his hand first.

      The two knights rode fiercely at each other; Lord Malmont’s lance snapped as it hit the shield of the English knight, but he was not thrown. He wheeled his horse about, riding back to take a new lance from his squire, and then rode hard at Sir Ralph once more. This time the blow he received lifted him in the saddle and he was thrown from his charger’s back, landing on the ground and lying as if winded for some moments, before rising to his feet.

      ‘Will you fight on, sir?’ Sir Ralph asked, but Malmont lifted his hands and shook his head.

      ‘Nay, I am well defeated, my friend. I yield to you…’ he said and then, on a little sigh, he swooned and fell to the ground once more as his squire came running to assist him.

      ‘Your champion does well,’ Queen Eleanor said as she leaned towards Alayne, a gleam in her eyes. ‘I think we have been misled. He is a worthier warrior than we had thought.’

      ‘He said only that he did not wish to fight, your Grace,’ Alayne said, feeling a strange urge to protect his honour. ‘He never claimed that he was not well able to acquit himself if he so chose.’

      ‘You do well to speak up for your champion,’ the Queen replied, a little smile flickering on her mouth, but quickly hidden. This tourney was proving even more amusing than she had expected.

      There was a few minutes’ pause before the herald announced Renaldo de Bracey’s arrival. The two knights faced each other across the space between them and the atmosphere became suddenly tense; if all the other contests had been fought in a spirit of comradeship, this would not be. There was something about de Bracey’s manner that seemed to bode ill for the brave English knight. De Bracey was not much liked by his fellow knights, and yet he was respected for his skill with the lance and the broad sword. He would not yield so easily!