Page 147 of The Robber Knight
The crowd exploded in applause and shouts oftriumph.
“Sir Adrian! Sir Adrian!” The Pole's namerose towards the sky out of hundreds of mouths. He spurred on hishorse, riding around the courtyard, his lance held high, bathing inthe acclaim of the crowd. He didn't slow his horse down when heneared the spot where the Saracen still lay. Reuben tensed. Thechurl wouldn't just ride over...
He would.
And the Saracen seemed to realize that at thelast possible moment. Suddenly, he jerked to the side, just in timeto avoid the thundering hoofs of Sir Adrian's giant charger,hitting the packed earth where just a moment ago, his head hadlain. He sprang up and ducked behind the stands, pulled his helmetoff, and leant against the wood, gasping for air. But apart fromhaving the breath knocked out of him, there didn't seem to beanything wrong with him. Reuben found himself confirmed in hisjudgment. The lance might not be the heathen's weapon of choice,but he was tough fighter. Just before the dark-skinned mandisappeared behind the castle, Reuben saw him throw one last glanceat Sir Adrian.
Reuben felt the smile tug at the corner ofhis mouth again. Later in the tournament, there would come a timewhen the knights would fight with swords, not with lances. Hedidn't wish to be in Sir Adrian Rakowski's shoes when that timecame.
“And the winner is Sir Adrian!” the heraldannounced, as Sir Adrian started on a second round around thecourtyard. “Thank you, Sir Adrian. If you would be so kind as tomake way for the next pair of fighters...”
Unwillingly, Sir Adrian withdrew. The crowdstill kept shouting, “God wills it! God wills it!”
“Sir Goffredo Terzi.” the herald called overthe tumult, “against Sir Reuben von Limburg.”
The female half of the crowd immediatelyceased their shouts of “Deus le vult.” That God got what he wantedwas fair enough, but here was somethingtheywanted, which was much more interesting.Reuben felt their eyes on him as he rode out into the courtyard,and felt a surge of pleasure. These tournaments at Palermo weredefinitely more interesting than the provincial affairs back athome.
The two knights took up their positions atopposite ends of the lists, and Reuben smiled brightly, waving atthe crowd, not sparing a glimpse for his opponent. He calmlyreached for his helmet, which he had removed so as not to have hisbrains boiled in a pot by the scorching Sicilian sun, and put iton.
The moment the metal covered his face, hisexpression changed. The smile disappeared, and his eyes flicked tohis enemy. The other man was just reaching for his lance. He didn'tlook quite as foolish as the other young Sicilian knights who hadfought before. Reuben thought he might have to put on a little moreof a show for this one.
The herald's arm came down. The signal tostart.
“Laissez-lesaller!”
Spurring on his horse, he got an iron grip onhis lance. He would need it, for the kind of trick he was planning.He only dared attempt it because he knew his own strength. It mightbreak the arm of a weaker man.
The other knight had also spurred his horseforward by now, and was approaching at a rapid pace. He was a goodrider, Reuben had to give him that much. But the grip on his lancewasn't secure. Well, all the better. They raced towards each other.They lowered their lances, ready for the strike.
Then, at the last moment, Reuben moved hislance so it lay flat across the path of his opponent. He heard thegasp from the crowd and knew what it must look like: a clumsy youngknight, losing the grip on his lance. He felt the familiar crushingforce on his left arm as the other's lance hit his shield. Yet heknew, this time, the worst was still to come.
It came only seconds later. The flat lengthof his outstretched lance smashed into his opponent. There was amoment of surging pressure, and suddenly pain shot up Reuben's arm,making him feel as if it were being pulled out of its socket.Gritting his teeth, Reuben held on to his lance for one momentlonger. Then, he heard it: the blessed sound of splintering wood.Abruptly, the pressure on his arm ceased, and the broken stump ofhis lance fell to the ground, useless.
Several ladies in the audience cried out inanxiety. A few actually got up to see if he was all right. Theyneed not have worried. Reuben was already straight in the saddleagain, and accepting a replacement lance from the pursuivant at theother end of the lists. He slowly turned his horse around, takingthe time to stretch his arm and check if it moved correctly inevery way. Yes. Nothing was damaged. His iron muscles had onceagain held.
On the other side of the courtyard, hisopponent was getting ready to charge again, his lance held evenlooser than before, obviously convinced that Reuben was not much ofa threat.
Ha! Time to teach the fool a lesson.
“Hüa!” With a shout, Reuben drove his mountforward. “Hüa! Hüa!”
He raced down the lists, gathering speed ashe went. Faster and faster he came, much faster than the otherrider, who only now seemed to realize that this time, the fightmight go differently. That realization came far too late.
The sun flashed on the tip of Reuben's lanceas it went past the other knight's shield, towards his torso. Theforce of the blow was greater than Reuben had intended. In hiseagerness to teach the fellow a lesson, he had used his fullstrength. It sent the young knight flying not five yards, not six,or seven, but eight full yards before he crashed onto the groundright in front of the herald's feet, who, having believed himselfwell out of danger, sprang back with a startled yelp.
A sigh went up from the female audience, andthe men weren’t far behind. There was an explosion of applause evenlouder than the one for Sir Adrian. None of the spectators had seensuch a throw in their lives. And to see it come from such a youngand splendid knight, the stuff of a fairy tale, roused the spiritsof the people to even greater heights.
“Sir Reuben!” the shout went up. “Sir Reubenvon Limburg! Sir Reuben von Limburg!”
Reuben didn't make a round around the lists.He simply halted once more before the box of the Emperor and gaveanother bow. And when the Emperor again returned this with a nod ofhis head, the crowd cheered only louder. Their new favorite was theEmperor's favorite!
Reuben almost started whistling a merry tune,he was so pleased with himself.
On the way back to his place among thewaiting knights, he passed the graceful figure of Sir Tomasso. Thechampion had removed his helmet and gave Reuben a smile. “Quite afeat that,” he said with a lilting Sicilian accent. “I congratulateyou, Sir.”
“The throw?” Reuben waved his hand,deprecatingly. “That was nothing special.”
“Oh, I was not referring to the throw.” Theknight’s smile was distant and discerning. “Though that was quiteremarkable. Rather, I was referring to the fact that you did notcry out when your lance was ripped out of your hand and broken. Itis almost as though you had been prepared for the event. As if youwere... expecting it. Hmm?”
