The Knight sat and honed his sword, watching the preparations for the forthcoming engagement. To a casual onlooker, and there were many, he looked totally impassive. He seemed as unconcerned as a one who would remain a spectator to the afternoon's events rather than a participant. His equanimity was more puzzling to the majority who believed he would not survive what was to come.
But his horse, more used to his master's moods than any human, could sense the growing anticipation and excitement in the big man's frame. The steed's harness jingled as he tossed his head and whickered gently. "Easy, Stonehoof," the Knight muttered, "save your breath. I may have need of it before this day is done."
The Knight had hoped that he would never have call to put on his armour and take up his sword again. It was the last thing he wished to do. But it had become apparent that there was no other course of action open to him.
Sheathing his sword he stood to survey the site for the tournament. The green meadow nestled between the town's walls and a bend in the slow flowing river. He watched a wagon splashing across the ford, bringing produce to this day's market and spectators to the battle. Whilst the sun was bright a light breeze cooled the temperature and snapped the gaily coloured pennants flying from the turrets above the gate. Savouring the scents of Spring on the breeze he whispered under his breath, "A good day to.........fight."
His reverie was broken by the brazen tone of trumpets, calling the combatants to the lists. Hitching his cloak over his shield he walked towards the tents and hastily erected seating, already full with townsfolk.
As he approached the knot of people in front of the largest tent the first thing he saw was the reason for his presence here, the Lady Angel. Her beauty pierced him, once again, like an arrow through his armour. In an instant he was carried back to his first glimpse of her.
He had not intended to tarry in the town. The language of the locals was foreign to him and his accent and clothes marked him out as an 'outlander'. To these insular folk a foreigner was not to be trusted and to be called 'outlander' was amongst the worst insults they could muster. But then he had seen her sad face through the window of a carriage as it passed through the Market Square. Smitten by her beauty he asked passers-by who it was, so beautiful yet sad, that had just passed by. Overcoming their reluctance to talk to a foreigner he learned of Angel and her fate.
She had been the fiancée of the King's Constable, Ilbem. Not yet ennobled Ilbem was ambitious for advancement according to those the Knight spoke to. They told of how he had abandoned Angel when he found another woman to marry. A woman who could give him the money and connections he now craved to continue climbing in power and position. Despite the fact that Ilbem had called off the marriage it was Angel's honour that had been ruined. The Knight discovered more as the tale was told. The men and women he questioned, especially the women, allowed the pleasure of reliving such a scandal to conquer their reluctance to talk to a foreigner. They told him that she was unlikely to find a husband now. The only way to restore her honour was for a champion to defeat Ilbem in 'Trial by Combat'. But an old fishwife put paid to that idea. 'She'll find none to challenge Ilbem. He is renowned as a swordsman throughout this land'.
So that first sight of Angel had stolen his heart. But when his sense of chivalry was aroused as well, his fate was sealed. He had issued the challenge to trial by combat, under the Market Cross as required by tradition. If he defeated Ilbem her honour would be restored. As he mulled over these facts he thought of himself. 'Her honour is restored, but what for me?' He snorted silently, 'A few more dents in my armour is probably the least worst outcome.'
Now, seeing her again, all the doubts that had been growing in his soul since that time were swept away. Whilst he could not fail to see the dark shadows of sadness etched under her eyes he was buoyed by the tiniest, trembling smile that she ventured in his direction.
As his heart leapt his attention was diverted from the Lady Angel by the approach of Ilbem, accompanied by pages and the town's Mayor. The Constable was certainly an imposing figure. His armour was of the latest design and it was obvious that no expense has been spared. His emblem, a serpent entwined with a dagger, was embroidered in gold thread on his cloak and accentuated with jewels. The Knight was conscious of the audience drawing comparisons between this finery and his own travel stained garb and dented mail. But he felt no shame. His clothes and arms were for use, not for show. The many tales he has been told of the Constable's reputation as a swordsman come to mind now but caused him no concern. He has his own reputation as a warrior.
Observing no traditions of chivalry Ilbem thrust his face close to the Knight and hissed. "I hope you have made peace with whatever pagan god you worship 'Outlander'. Today you will die for your stupidity in meddling in my affairs."
The Knight was less perturbed by this insult than those townsfolk who heard it. The Knight quietly replied. "I have nothing to atone for when I met my Maker, Sir. Can thou say the same?"
