Page 142 of The Robber Knight's Love
In unison with the other knights, Reubenlowered his lance as a sign that he understood.
“Excellent. Very well, then. The first...hmm... whom to choose first...” Mumbling, the herald hurried backto the other side of the castle, where he must have taken up hisofficial position on the stands, for the crowd fell silent inanticipation.
“Your Majesty, milords, ladies, citizens ofPalermo... I now introduce to you the brave knights who shall befighting before you today. Though the first man I shall present toyou, I think, hardly needs introduction...”
There were a few moments of semi-silence,with the faint whisper of hundreds of people in the background,then—
“Please give a hearty cheer for... SirTomasso di Zaragoza!”
Of course. Reuben nodded to himself as theSicilian spurred on his slim, elegant horse. It was only naturalfor the champion to be given precedence over his competitors. Thecrowd welcomed Sir Tomasso with a tumultuous explosion of applause.It was clear he was their favorite, and none of them had a shred ofdoubt he was going to be victorious.
A smile flickered across Reuben’s face. Well,they might be in for a surprise...
When the cheers had finally subsided, theherald called out again: “Sir Adrian Rakowski, son of CountRakowski.”
The huge Pole urged his massive mount forwardand cantered around the corner. Reuben's eyes stayed focused on himuntil he was gone. So. Another of his foes had a name now. He hadbeen right—the man was indeed Polish.
From around the castle, there was anotherround of applause, though not nearly as enthusiastic as for thenative and considerably better-looking champion.
“Sir Albin Rakowski!”
This time, it was the little Pole whocantered past. Again, Reuben's eyes followed the rider. Hm. Samename, same crest. Brothers, maybe? They didn't look much alike instature, but then, that happened sometimes.
“Sir Hermann von der Hagen, Knight Brother oftheOrdo domus Sanctæ Mariæ TheutonicorumHierosolymitanorum.”
The Teutonic Knight drove his horse pastReuben. He rode hard and mercilessly. This time, the cheer from theother side of the wall was louder. The Teutonic Knights were underthe command of the Emperor, and from all Reuben had heard, he wasworshiped in Sicily.
Then, the herald’s voice came again:“Um...”
Reuben's eyes narrowed. Never in his life hadhe heard a herald say “um.” And this was a herald in the service ofthe Emperor! He had even managed to pronounce the official title ofthe Knight Brother without tying a knot in his tongue.
“Um...Amir ibn Sharifibn Alhasan Abdul-Ahad al-Arabi, envoy of his Highnessthe Sultan of Egypt, who, um... will also be participating in thistournament.”
This time, there was no cheering. As theSaracen rode around the corner, the thuds of his horse's hoofs onthe packed earth covering the courtyard’s cobblestones echoedloudly in the silence.
Next, a number of the young knights werecalled up. One was still holding a bottle of wine and only justremembered to exchange it for a lance before he rode around thecorner. Reuben didn't give them a glance. Yet he did look when thenext man was called.
“Sir Wilhelm von Richtershalden!”
The black-bearded knight threw Reuben a darkglare before he spurred on his horse and galloped around thecorner. Reuben knew what that glare meant. The smile reappeared onhis face, and the grip on his lance tightened.
Again, a few young, Sicilian knights werecalled, until only Reuben was left. Of course. He was young, and astranger to boot. Nobody would think he had any chance, so they hadleft him till last. His smile widened into a wolfish grin.
Soon, they would learn their mistake. Soon,his name would be famous.
“And now,” the herald finally called out,“welcome the last knight in this contest of chivalry... Sir Reubenvon Limburg, son of Heinrich, Duke von Limburg, Count von Berg, andHigh Commander of the Imperial Crusade Forces.”
Even before he came around the corner, Reubenheard it—a faint whisper going through the crowd. He only caughtthe words “crusade” and “naked butts”—then he slammed his visordown and raised his lance. He would show them! He would bring honorto his name today! Giving his horse the spurs, he galloped aroundthe corner.
Coming out from behind the shadow of thecastle into the midday sun of Palermo was like stepping from nightinto the heart of the sun. A kaleidoscope of color exploded infront of him. There were hundreds of people sitting in thestands—merchants, artisans, farmers, and girls! Hundreds of girls,and most of them quite pretty.
When they saw the huge, broad-shoulderedknight on a black stallion galloping into the lists and raising hislance with an ease with which other people would raise a piece ofstraw, they stopped muttering about naked old ladies' butts andstarted getting big eyes. Reuben executed one perfect lap aroundthe courtyard and stopped right in front of the Emperor's box,where he lowered his lance in reverence to the monarch.
Friedrich's hawk eyes were fixed on him withsharp interest, his lips curved into a tiny smile.
Of course!Reuben thought to himself.He must haverecognized my father's name!
“My father sends his greetings, yourMajesty,” he said from under his helmet. It wasn't exactly true,but then, surely his father would have had him convey greetings tothe Emperor—if he had known that Reuben was going.
