Queen Of Knights Read online

  "I am not fighting you, Husband; I am doing what I must."

  "You are going to be hurt."

  "Do you think your training bad? Or do you have so little faith in my ability?"

  "You cannot face Morgan with a mace," he said.

  "I have no intention of doing so."

  "He will come after you," Miles warned.

  "Miles, please, I know what I'm doing. Morgan is a good strategist. He has baited us, and he has made you afraid for our confrontation—no," Gwendolyn said, cutting off Miles's protest. "I do not mean you fear him, but he has made you afraid for me. I must face him eventually, because we both know that by the end of this tournament only Morgan or I shall be victorious."

  "He has a bloodlust for anything of Radstock."

  "And that will be his defeat. Trust me, Husband; I know what I must do. I know as surely as I know Morgan."

  "Then do it," Miles said, relenting against what he knew would be an argument without end.

  "My lord," Gwendolyn whispered. "Your blessings?"

  "They are always with you. James! Arthur! Attend to Sir Eldwin," he shouted.

  The squires returned to finish the job Miles had interrupted, and soon Gwendolyn was ready. Hanging on a double-hooked sash was the battle-axe Miles had had fashioned for her, but in her hand she held the heavy wooden handle of a tournament mace, with its leaded morningstar hanging menacingly. That was what she and Miles had argued about. He wanted her to fight only with the axe, but Gwendolyn wanted to begin with the mace.

  What she had in mind was a risky plan, but if it succeeded, it would enable her to face Morgan late in the fighting and be better prepared.

  Although she held the same fears that Miles did, she knew Morgan would not go after her in the beginning. He wanted the crowd to see them battle, and see him defeat her. His two biggest flaws were his anger and his ego. She was confident she could use them against him.

  Finally, within the heavy protection of her chain maille armor, she heard the trumpets call the combatants to the field. With Arthur and James behind her, carrying extra maces and shields, Sir Eldwin walked to the field and joined ranks with the other knights to face King Richard and begin the third phase of the tourney.

  Of the three hundred knights who had begun the tournament, hoping to be named an earl at its conclusion, barely a hundred stood on the field. There was no naming of opponents, just a challenge from one to another. Like the jousting, the mace wielding would involve all knights. After the first combat, those who were victorious would face another, and the battle would continue until there were but two knights fighting in the final confrontation.

  Gwendolyn was troubled by Miles's outburst and his anger at her desire to fight with the mace. She knew she could handle it well, as Miles himself had often told her, But she recognized, too, the need within herself to prove she could battle as a knight, with any type of weapon.

  Gwendolyn also knew that her speed and mobility, even with the extra weight of her armor, would be an asset in this fight. Miles had spent many long hours teaching her how to move; how to fall and roll and regain her feet without conscious effort.

  The sun was burning brilliantly in the sky when the call to arms came. From the moment she stepped upon the grassy sward, she fixed her eyes on Morgan's bulky figure, watching him maneuver himself until he had chosen his spot. When he was set, Gwendolyn moved across the grass to stand on the same side as he.

  Glancing at Miles, she saw his approving smile. Sir Eldwin would not face Morgan in the first round.

  Standing beneath the blistering sun and ignoring the heat, Gwendolyn gazed through the eye-slits of her mask and chose her opponent. With a nod, and a flick of the mace's ball, she challenged the knight. The man accepted and bowed his head to her. That very gesture was being repeated along the two lines of knights, as they followed the code of chivalry that governed this tournament.

  When the trumpets sounded again, the knights came forward. Gwendolyn lifted her shield and let her opponent's ball ricochet harmlessly from it. It was a testing shot, and she felt barely a twinge on her arm; yet, she held her mace back, still waiting. She knew not to waste her strength or energy in testing an opponent with this weapon. When she was ready to strike, it would be swift and sure.

  Suddenly the knight lifted his mace and whirled it over his head. Gwendolyn did not let the movement distract her, and held her eyes on his dark brown ones. With his mace spinning in a blur, Gwendolyn dropped low, raised her shield, and flung the head of the mace in a sideways arc. The rounded ball hit the knight in his side, and, once again, Gwendolyn avoided her opponent's deadly sphere with her shield. But this time the ball landed solidly, and the shock of the contact raced along her arm.

  Ignoring it, Gwendolyn recovered. She whirled the mace's ball and charged the knight. His shield came up, but too late, as the heavy ball hit his shoulder squarely.

  She saw pain flash across the man's face, even as she back stepped and began to whirl the mace anew. But she did not attack. She waited until the knight had regained his balance, and only then did she come ahead. Respect shone in her opponent's eyes as he met her new charge.

  Time flew quickly while they traded blows. Her shoulder was becoming numb from the repeated assault on her shield, and she realized she must not let this go on much longer. Ducking a swift blow, Gwendolyn turned, holding the wooden handle behind her back. Lunging suddenly, she cast her arm forward, and the ball whistled in the air. The knight misjudged Gwendolyn's reach, and the ball skimmed over the top of his shield, crashing into his helmet.

  Gwendolyn held herself ready while she stared at the man. Then, slowly, his eyes closed, and he fell to the ground unconscious.

  Her breath came in harsh gasps as she fought to control the surging of her blood. She had won, and won with the mace. Glancing around, she saw many knights still fighting, and knew she would have a few minutes to recover.

  James ran out to her, taking her shield and mace as her opponent's squire raced to his master's prostrate form. Gwendolyn stood there waiting, watching the thin streak of blood seeping from beneath the other knight's helmet. But, by the time the squire had helped the knight to his feet, he had regained his senses.

  "Well done, Sir Eldwin," the knight called as he leaned on his squire.

  Gwendolyn bowed low to her opponent in reply. Turning, she walked back to James. "You fought well, my lord," James said.

  "But you were slow on the second assault," came Miles's voice from behind her.

  Gwendolyn spun to face him. He smiled warmly, and the tension eased from her muscles.

  "Don't be so gallant. You were lucky. Sir Jason believes in fighting honorably. Very few do. Damn it! Realize that you're facing mercenaries. They are fighting out there to win more than praise. They want an earldom, and they'll do anything they can to gain it. Don't hold back again; I want you alive," he added in a quieter voice.

  Gwendolyn stared at the hand he had balled in emphasis of his words. Silently, she covered it with her gauntleted one and pressed it tightly.

  Then, James was at her side, slipping on a new shield and handing her the mace. She glanced quickly at Miles before walking out on the field again.

  Although there had been fifty victors, only twenty knights remained. Many of the victors had been too badly hurt to continue. As Gwendolyn stepped into the ranks, she saw Morgan eye her and then join the same line as she.

  Smiling to herself, she knew she had baited him properly.

  He would face defeat rather than miss the opportunity to face her alone.

  The trumpets sounded, and Gwendolyn dipped her head formally to her new opponent, who unlike Sir Jason, ignored this formality and charged her straight on.

  Gwendolyn spun and raised her shield simultaneously, ducking under the hiss of the mace and, as the knight slipped past her, using her shield, rather than the lead ball, to hit his unprotected side in warning.

  Then, when the knight faced her, she heeded Miles's words and at
tacked him relentlessly. The mace was like lightning in her hands, as she used it in the double-circle method of striking that Miles had taught her. The other knight tried to ward off her attack, but Gwendolyn was lost to the music of the fight and the whistle of the morningstar. Nothing could prevent her charge. She heard not the cheers of the crowd, nor the sounds of the other knights in combat. All she saw was her foe before her, his shield torn to ribbons, his mace never landing upon her.

  Her attack was so furious that the knight could not stand in place and was forced to retreat. He back stepped, continually deflecting the lead ball with his shield, until there was nothing but tattered remains of the once-leather-covered wood.

  Gwendolyn, heedless of the spectators' cries for blood, continued on. Then it happened-the knight tripped over another fallen victim and lay on the ground defenseless.

  Gwendolyn, with the sweet taste of her victory filling her, jumped over the body of the first knight to stand above her opponent.

  Her mailled foot moved like lightning, pinning his wrist to the ground, his mace useless. Whirling her mace above her head, Gwendolyn saw the knight's eyes widen. She swiftly swung it down, and the dull thud of lead upon the earth, inches from the knight's head, sounded loud in her ears. Then wordlessly, she waited.

  "I yield," the knight whispered. Instantly, Gwendolyn's foot left his wrist and she stepped back. She waited for the knight to rise, and when he did, she once again bowed to her conquered opponent.

  Grudgingly he returned the courtesy before turning his back and walking from the field in defeat. Again, a loud cheering rose when Sir Eldwin looked at the crowd. Turning, Sir Eldwin looked to see who remained.

  As Gwendolyn glanced across the field, she saw Morgan standing over his opponent, his mace hanging limply in his hand. A wide, animalistic sneer was on his face as he looked at her in renewed challenge. Looking down, Gwendolyn saw his opponent unmoving upon the ground, and saw, too, a steady stream of blood flowing from beneath the cracked helmet.

  Instantly, she knew he had killed yet another of England's knights in his attempt to win everything set before him. She shook her head sadly at the sight before walking back to her position by James.

  Upon reaching James, Gwendolyn sighed loudly. "Have you been hurt?" he asked quietly.

  Gwendolyn shook her head and dropped the mace. She began to wind her arm in circles, loosening the cramps the last contest had brought out. She realized she was tiring, but fought against it with every ounce of strength she possessed.

  "Hold this," Miles said, handing her a rope encased stone. She looked at it and then at Miles. "It's much heavier than the mace. Hold it for a while, and then the mace will feel lighter."

  Gwendolyn took the heavy rock, and while she held it, Miles spoke again. "You handled the last man well. Try to end the next fight quickly. You were right; Morgan is counting on you to win. He wants you badly."

  When the trumpet sounded, Gwendolyn released the rope and took the mace from James. It was just as Miles had said. The mace felt light once again. Taking several deep, preparatory breaths, she crossed the field and stood next to Morgan. She faced her next opponent, the one she must defeat in order to meet Morgan.

  This time, instead of waiting for the call, she bowed formally. Her opponent returned the courtesy, squared his shoulders, and hefted the mace. She watched the man's eyes, tensing her body for the first attack. The trumpet sounded and, moving swiftly, Gwendolyn back stepped before the knight could strike.

  He shook his head and came on. She saw his lips moving, but did not hear his words. Then she realized he was not speaking aloud, but urging himself on. He had seen Sir Eldwin's prowess and was nerving himself to best her.

  Intuitively, Gwendolyn stopped and, even as she lifted her mace, charged the knight. She accepted the full strike of his rounded morningstar on her shield while she whipped her own mace over the leather rim. She caught the chain of his mace with her own and, still having the advantage of surprise, moved her wrist whip-like and yanked sharply.

  Before the knight realized her strategy, his mace was entangled in hers, and was ripped from his hand. The duel had taken no more than twenty seconds, but with the knight weaponless, there was no choice but to yield. Gallantly, Sir Eldwin lowered her mace, and shield and waited.

  Her opponent threw down his shield and bowed. "I yield," he said in a bitter voice.

  Again, from a multitude of voices, the name of Sir Eldwin carried across the field. But Gwendolyn did not look at the people calling her name. Instead, she watched the final battle between Morgan and his opponent. The man Morgan fought, fought well, and it seemed an even fight.

  The blows of their maces upon each other's shields were like a musician's beat. For several minutes they fought, maneuvering around each other carefully. Then Morgan turned, and Gwendolyn knew he saw her from the corner of his eye. A loud bellow spewed from his mouth and he attacked his opponent. The mace flew so fast it was barely a blur, and under his bull-like assault, the other knight gave way. Slowly, unmercifully, Morgan weakened his opponent's defenses.

  With a sudden change in direction, Morgan lashed out, and the leaded morningstar crashed through the knight's shield, splintering it to pieces. The knight fought vainly, but without his shield his body became the target of Morgan's ball.

  The fight was over, everyone saw that, but Morgan of Guildswood gave him no chance to yield. A sudden rage filled Gwendolyn, forcing her toward the fighting knights. Just as Morgan was about to raise his mace again, Sir Eldwin jumped between them, holding her shield high to protect the other knight.

  "I yield!" he shouted loud enough for all to hear.

  When Gwendolyn lowered her shield, she stared into Morgan's hate-widened eyes. Knowing he could not strike with impunity, he spat at her feet and threw down his mace. When he turned his back, Gwendolyn slipped her shield from her arm and flung it at him. It struck his shoulder and Morgan spun.

  What he saw froze him to the spot. Sir Eldwin's gauntleted hand was outstretched, a mailled index finger pointing directly at him in challenge.

  "You will not walk from this field!" he swore. Then he turned and went to his squire. While he did, James ran to Sir Eldwin, a new mace hanging from his hand. The squire picked up the discarded shield and handed it to Gwendolyn.

  The crowd had become silent. Tension filled the air, and the smell of excitement wafted from the people. While she waited for Morgan to arm himself, she glanced at Richard and saw him staring intently at her while William Marshall spoke in his ear.

  Then she sought Miles and found him standing with Arthur near her equipment. Their eyes met and locked, and Gwendolyn saw both his faith and his trust in her reach out.

  Then Morgan was crossing the field again. On his arm was a fresh shield, the dark crest of Guildswood covering its surface. Her eyes moved even as she heard the gasp from the crowd. He carried not a mace, but a Saxon axe.

  Gwendolyn's eyes narrowed as she gave James back the shield. She had hoped to lure him to her own fight and had done so. The crowd gasped when they saw James walk from the field with the kite-shaped shield and cheered when Sir Eldwin unhooked the curved-handled axe that had been affixed to the armor throughout the afternoon's fight.

  Gwendolyn stared at Morgan and, for the first time, she saw a flicker of doubt cross his face. Hefting the specially made axe, she swung it several times in the pattern she'd always used in practice.

  She stared at Morgan and bowed her head. Then she turned her back to him and bowed toward Richard. The crowd cried out, but she was prepared for Morgan's surprise attack and rolled forward in a neat somersault, letting Morgan's axe whistle harmlessly in the empty space she had occupied just a bare second before.

  Then she was on her feet, stepping toward Morgan before he could recover from the swing. Her axe whipped between them to bite into the center of his shield. With a quick two- handed jerk, she freed the head and stepped back just as Morgan swung at her again.

  Then he stoppe
d and began to gauge her. His first attempts had failed, and Morgan knew he was in for his toughest fight. He lunged forward, using the pointed backend of the axe as a lance, but Eldwin sidestepped and used her axe shaft to knock his blow aside.

  They circled each other, and suddenly Gwendolyn saw the dark aura that encased him. She tried to force it away, but could not, and thus misjudged his next attack. She was unable to move aside, and the edge of his axe hit her shoulder, biting through the chain maille and leather. She fell with the blow, letting her body be directed by its force, thus lessening the axe's strike and avoiding the sharp edge's full penetration. When she hit the ground she rolled quickly, bringing the handle of her axe across her face, knowing that Morgan would be trying for the kill.

  She ignored the pain that lanced through her shoulder and saw that she had been right. Morgan's axe was descending in a killing blur. Gwendolyn bit her lip to stop from screaming out her rage and straightened her arms.

  Morgan's axe head missed her handle, and when his handle struck hers, it was like the sound of a thunderclap. Pain raced along Gwendolyn's arms, and again she thought she would cry out.

  Morgan did not pull the axe back; rather, he leaned his weight full upon it, trying to break the lock Gwendolyn held her elbows in. Suddenly, Gwendolyn drew her knees in and lashed upward, drawing on her will power to make her muscles obey. Morgan's scream of denial rang loudly as she lifted him from the ground and, using a combination of legs, arms, and his own bulkiness, flipped him over her head.

  She rolled again and quickly stood, her breathing ragged, her muscles screaming out their protest. Still she held her ground and waited while Morgan regained his feet.

  She forced herself not to see the blackness that surrounded Morgan. She saw only his eyes, and the hatred pouring from them. Before he could move, Gwendolyn, using both hands, swung at him. Morgan stepped back, and the blade passed within an inch of his face. Relief swept across his features, but he had never seen Sir Eldwin work the battle-axe.