Chapter 32

December 29, 1386

The Duel

Third pass

Sir Jean de Carrouges in his bright red surcoat and Sir Jacques le Gris in white, charged across the field a third time. It seemed as if time slowed. The horses’ hooves slammed into the ground, propelling the horses forward. Each knight looked through his visors across the narrowing distance at his enemy. Each knight raised and then lowered the tip of his lance, aiming for the center of mass, intending to impale his opponent.

The hooves make a thrumming sound as they rushed forward.

Step by step.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Time seemed to freeze and hang in the air, life suspended on the tip of a needle.

Two lances struck two breastplates simultaneously. The shafts of the lances shattered into a thousand brittle splinters, forming a cloud of debris around each man, with wooden shards flying into the crowd.

Then the riders flew past each other, Neither man was unhorsed. As the horses slowed to a canter, then a trot, Jacques was the first to react. He reached down and unclipped his war axe from the saddle and raised it, turning his horse and charging toward Jean. Now, without lances, he ran straight at his opponent.

Jean heard him coming and turned his horse. It reared up on its back two legs and seemed to coil then release, leaping forward into a gallop. Jean reached for his axe, but it would not come free. He pulled harder and harder, to no avail. As the distance rapidly closed, he began to panic. Jean steered the horse with his legs and used both hands to wrench the axe free, just as Le Gris swung for his head.

Jean ducked. Jacques steel axe blade glancing off of his helmet. He feebly swung his own axe, which bounced off Le Gris armored shoulder. The two men kept their horses side-by-side, exchanging blows with the axes. Each man blocked or parried most blows. A few landed but did no damage, unable to penetrate the heavy plate armor. Le Gris changed tactics and urged his horse away, separating himself from his opponent to get a running start.

They both charged again, almost at the same time. Jacques raised his axe high, and as the riders passed each other, he swung with all his might. Jean again ducked, the blade just whizzing past him, catching his horse on the neck, just behind the end of its neck armor. The axe head bit into the horse flesh deeply, severing its spinal cord and nearly decapitating the beast. Blood erupted from the severed neck, showering Jean in red spray, as the horse’s legs gave out. It crashed at full speed to the ground, and rolled over, multiple times before coming to a stop.

Jean, an experienced warrior, anticipated the crash, freed his legs and leaped from the back of the dead beast, to land hard, stunned. He tried to stand but fell to his hands and knees in the bloody sand. Across the sand, Le Gris sensed victory and charged again. Jean scampered wildly on all fours and found his axe just as Le Gris was upon him.

Jacques swung for Jean’ head, but he dove to the ground, rolled forward and came up on his knees, swinging his ass in a low arc that his Le Gris’ horse at the breastbone. As Le Gris continued his charge past De Carrouges, Jean turned and drew the axe across the belly of the beast, splitting the horse open and spilling its entrails into the sand.

The horse shrieked in agony and began to thrash about the courtyard, bucking and screaming, before collapsing onto the sand. Jacques managed to ride the beast to the ground, then leaped off, landing on his feet. He walked over and pulled the long, two-handed sword from the saddle harness, then swung it high over his head and down, giving his horse mercy.

Jean took the opportunity to get to his feet and retrieve his own two-handed sword. Exhausted, he slowly walked toward Jacques, who turned to face his opponent. The two men began a dance macabre, stepping forward while the other stepped back, lunging one way, then the other, swinging and blocking, parrying, and reposting. The courtyard was filled with the sound of metal on metal.

Each man landed many strong, powerful blows on the other, but the armor was too thick, they were too well protected. Jean was beyond fatigued. He knew he needed to end this and end it soon, or he ran the risk of being too tired to defend himself. Jacques was in better condition and could easily outlast him. Jacques sensed the weakness of his former friend and knew that time worked in his favor. He was content to exhaust Jean, then move in for the coup de grâce.

They continued the dance, circling and trying to out position each other, swinging and defending, attacking and protecting. Jean was growing weaker and weaker with every swing of the heavy blade. Then his block came a fraction of a second too slow, and Jacques blade bit into the flesh of Jean’s upper thigh. Blood squirted from the cut onto the sand, and Jean stumbled.