“Honor has been served, and this combat will cease!”
That sudden shout came from King Edward, Damien realized, when against every instinct he forced himself to lift his gaze away from the man pinned at the end of his blade. The king had leaped to his feet, and he appeared aghast at how near a death-combat this proclaimed joust of peace had become.
Damien’s arm quivered with the desire to follow through with the last part of the sequence for this move, to drive the blade point straight into Hugh’s throat and make an end of this. But the king had commanded that they cease the battle, and whether or not Hugh had cheated, this was supposed to be apas d’armes. Damien could do no less than obey his sovereign’s command.
Pulling his sword up and away from Hugh’s throat, Damien turned to face the sovereign; he sheathed his blade and stood at attention, while Hugh scrambled up from the dirt, cursing, to stand next to him, holding his injured arm. Only then did Damien notice the silence that had spread over the lists and scaffolds, and for the first time he saw the looks of shock, worry, and blatant interest that were directed toward them.
“Honor has been served on both sides!” the king called out, “and as We have no desire to see any of Our subjects maim each other in a joust of peace, We will say that this tournament is concluded, with the prize to be divided equally between Lord Harwick and Sir Damien.”
“Nay, sire!”
The call had come from Hugh, and Damien turned his head to look at his rival, thinking either that he had lost his mind, or Hugh was up to no good. Another moment more proved that Damien’s mind was as sound as ever.
“I would beg Your Majesty’s retraction of that decision, for I assert that Sir Damien used devilish trickery in attempting to best me in combat. In fact—”
“You lie!”
Damien swung around to face Hugh again, reaching his hand across to rest it on his sword hilt, in preparation for drawing it again and finishing the task his king had bid him leave off moments ago. “It isyouwho violated the rules ofpas d’armesby using a sharpened lance during the joust!”
As Damien leveled that accusation, Hugh stumbled toward his blade, which still lay in the dust of the lists, taking it up and turning back to Damien with a look of bitterness on his face that Damien had seen before, in the expressions of men who could not accept defeat.
Such men usually ended up dead, he had found, and he could not say that he would be sorry to see that probability played out in such a way now.
“Put away your blades, gentlemen, lest you risk all, for We have forbid any further combat between you.”
This time the king’s voice rang out in royal ire, and a few of the ladies in the lists nearest the silk-draped scaffolding reacted to the thought that many were likely harboring at the moment, that one or both of the combatants might not comply and might therefore end this day with naught for his troubles but his head upon a pike at the city gates.
Hugh glared again at Damien before sheathing his sword, and though his arm itched to do otherwise, Damien also forced himself to release his grip on his hilt. When they both faced the royal box once more, the king addressed them together.
“These are serious charges you have leveled. What proofs have either of you to offer in support of your claims?”
Hugh said nothing, having no evidence except that of his word, but Damien glanced to Thomas, who stood at the end of the lists. Well-trained squire that he was, Thomas had run onto the field after his master had been unhorsed to retrieve the steed and any lances that might have been dropped or broken in the combat. Clearly, he had been quicker than Hugh’s man, for he now held up the sharpened lance that Hugh had used against Damien and grinned as he nodded affirmation of the booty.
“Your Majesty,” Damien said, bowing his head to show his respect before meeting his sovereign’s gaze again. “I have the sharpened lance Lord Harwick used against me to show as proof of my claim.”
A ripple of gasps and murmuring erupted amongst the spectators as he finished by nodding to the end of the lists and saying, “My squire holds it, having retrieved it from the field during the combat. He awaits but your command to bring it forward in evidence.”
As the rumble of gossip swelled anew, Damien’s gaze caught on a movement in the scaffolding—a woman dressed in a flutter of deep blue trimmed in gold, her glossy, dark tresses swept up in waves intertwined with ribbon and flowers.
Alissende.
She was making her way closer to him, moving past other courtiers and excusing herself as she stepped by several earls and their wives, approaching the edge of the arena nearest to him. Her beautiful face was filled with worry, and he met her gaze for an instant, trying to offer her encouragement.
“What you claim proves nothing except the lengths to which you will go to play your trickeries on this court,” Hugh grated, drawing Damien’s gaze again even as Hugh gestured toward Thomas. “It is Ashby’s own lance the boy holds, and none of mine.”
“I am beginning to think that every word that comes from your mouth is a falsehood, my lord,” Damien said in a voice that was quiet, yet deep enough to carry to the king and those around him.
“I would not deem it a falsehood were I you, Ashby, to hear me say that your hours are numbered. You dare much to insult me as you have, from the day I learned of your presence in England, a corrupt Templar Knight tainted by heresy, impudent enough to take my promised bride as your own, against all the precepts of the Brotherhood to which you professed to belong…against our king’s command, and against God Himself!”
Damien heard the crowd react with a renewed surge of exclamations, but it faded to a blur of sound as he spun sideways and in one, blinding movement gripped Hugh by the throat for just long enough to mutter into his face, “But that my king has forbidden me use of a weapon against you right now, you would feel the cold steel of my blade between your ribs. Yet you will answer later, rest assured.”
And then he thrust Hugh away with such force that Hugh stumbled backward, kept from launching at Damien again only by the grip of the guards the king had ordered dispatched to the arena. Another two guards took hold of Damien’s arms, though unlike Hugh, he did not struggle against them and make a spectacle of himself.
“Not another word will be spoken by either one of you unless We command it, nor will you come within ten paces of each other until you are given leave to do so!” King Edward glared at them both, clearly pushed beyond his limits this day. “Though it is Our duty to see this quarrel honorably resolved, We admit to being sorely tempted to see you both clapped in irons and cast into the dungeons here at Odiham until you have regained some sense.”
His regal glower passed from Hugh, to Damien, and then back to Hugh again. “Provided that neither of you breaks Our command in the next few moments, We are prepared to offer a solution to this dilemma.” He directed the full force of the cold, Plantagenet stare upon them, asking in a voice dripping with sarcasm, “Have We your leave to continue?”
“Aye, sire,” Damien said, bowing his head, the response and action echoed in turn by Hugh.
