Page 149 of The Robber Knight's Love
“Laissez-lesaller!”
The two horses started forward almostsimultaneously. Only a very good observer would have noticed theslightly faster reactions of Reuben's mount. The people in theaudience were not good observers. They were too busy placing betson the Pole. It was really very sad that this nice young fellowReuben should die at such a young age, but business was business,after all...
Reuben flexed the muscles in his calves inpreparation for his move. The Pole sat on his saddle like a hugeboulder, unmoving, and, it seemed, unmovable. His huge hammer of alance, so massive that it could probably ram right through yourribcage, stayed upright and rock-steady.Yes, thought Reuben,thisenemy is powerful—powerful, but not quick. The youngknight nodded to himself. He knew exactly what to do. Carefully, helet his lance waver slightly from side to side, amateurishly. Hesaw the triumphant glint in the other knight's eyes.
I have you!he thought, triumphantly.I have you in thepalm of my hand! You think you’re better than me. Well, just waitand see.
The distance between them had shrunk tofifteen yards. The Pole leaned forward in the saddle. Reuben took adeep breath.
Ten yards.
The Pole's lance came down, in preparationfor the strike.
Seven yards.
Reuben's lance came down. The Pole roared awar cry, and spurred his horse on to even greater speed, aiming hislance directly at Reuben's torso.
Five yards. Four. Any moment now, the lancewould strike. Three yards only!
Reuben threw himself sideways.
The Pole's blow would have been devastating.It would have ripped Reuben off his horse, maybe even killed him—ifit had hit. Yet Reuben was not where the blow had been aimed atanymore. He was half off his horse, holding on to the anxious,raging animal with all his might. His muscles screamed in protestat the weight of his armor, dragging him down towards the ground,but he gritted his teeth and held on to his steed. Gracing hismetal-clad shoulder, the Pole's lance slid past him. A shower ofsparks rained down on Reuben as he swung himself upright in thesaddle again, his lance ready.
He saw a flash of the Pole's meaty facebehind his visor: a mask of shock at the fact that Reuben wassomehow, impossibly, still in the saddle, that the lance had passedhim by. Then shock was replaced by pain, as Reuben's lance struckand hammered home a devastating blow of its own.
The crowd gaped upwards as a huge, blackshape took flight and seemed to block out the sunlight for amoment. To Reuben, it seemed as if there was no noise as his lanceconnected with the other man's breastplate. His ears, his fingers,all his senses ceased to act except for his eyes, which watched thegiant float off his horse and sail through the air in one silentmoment of perfection. Then noise, feeling, force—all returned inone single, shocking second and Reuben was slammed back into thesaddle by the power of his own blow. He cantered past the figure ofthe fallen mountain of steel. The dull thuds of his horse’s hoofsechoed loudly from the castle walls in the stunned silence that layover the crowd.
Turning his horse, he rode back towards thestands. A sea of open mouths greeted him. Only the Emperor, high upin his box, wore a different expression: amusement, mingled withinterest. Reuben waited for somebody to speak. And waited. Andwaited.
Finally, the silence was broken by the voiceof the herald. “And... the victor is... Sir Reuben vonLimburg.”
It took them a few more seconds to realize:the handsome young knight was still alive. Not only alive, he hadtriumphed in a way none of them had expected. He was a master withthe lance, and he was still available. As soon as they realizedthis, the ladies in the crowd erupted into a tumult of cheers.Their hero was triumphant!
Theladies' fathers, brothers, and husbands were less enthusiastic.Most of them had bet a goodly sum against Reuben, and he saw themscowl as their tari, grani, and denari[65]vanished intothe pockets of the bookkeepers.
Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of somethingred flying past his face. He tensed, thinking that one of thesechurls was treating him the same way as the Saracen and had daredto aim a rotten tomato at him. But no—the ladies were throwingflowers! Smiling brightly, he removed his helmet and waved it atthe crowd. The ladies cheered louder. The men, meanwhile, were busytrying to find a bookmaker who hadn't had time to change his rateson Reuben yet.
A red rose flew by Reuben's left ear. Hishand shot out, and he grabbed the flower by the stem. A sigh wentup from the audience. Every lady who had been throwing roses smiledin triumph. He had caught her flower!
Bowing to the crowd, Reuben turned his horseand rode back to the two remaining knights, who were waiting besidethe stands. They were regarding him with very different expressionsnow. Sir Tomasso with mild interest, and Sir Albin with undisguisedhatred.
“When I've finished with that Sicilianbeanpole over there,” he hissed, jabbing his thumb at Sir Tomasso,“I'll run you through for what you just did to my brother!”
Reuben met his vicious gaze without blinking.“I shall look forward to meeting you in arms, Sir.”
“Sir Albin? Sir Albin, to your position,please!”
At the shout of the herald, the scrawny Polelooked over to where Sir Tomasso had, silently and quickly, alreadytaken up his position. He grunted, and then spurred his horseforward. The herald raised his arm and waited until both knightswere in their positions.
Slowly, a rumble began to rise from thecrowd, growing in strength with every repetition. “To-ma-sso!To-ma-sso! To-ma-sso!”
He was their champion. Their countryman. Whatthe crowd had seen so far of Sir Albin hadn't endeared them to thescrawny Pole. Reuben would have thought that of littlesignificance—tournaments were won by the lances of the knights, notthe cheers of the crowd—if he hadn't noticed that most of the moneythat changed hands as the two knights took up their lances wasbeing placed on Sir Tomasso. Cheers were easy to give, money wasnot.
Reuben let his gaze drift from the stands tothe lists. He was looking forward to seeing what the Sicilianbeanpole had in mind for the Polish gnome.
“Ready?” the herald asked.
Two lances moved in affirmation.
