"Pay no heed to it." Alisande's smile was full of gentle understanding as she took his arm. "When you have learned our ways, such things will come to you as quickly and lightly as breath."
"Yes, of course," Matt said, with a sardonic smile. "Till then, I suppose I'll just have to muddle through, won't I?"
He reflected that some things are the same in any culture, for instance, a setup.
CHAPTER 6
"Ho!" cried a distant voice.
Matt whirled about, startled.
And there he was - a real, authentic, plate-armor knight, way out there in the meadow, trotting toward them. The armor was black, and the horse was humongous. The knight held an oversized toothpick slanting up at an angle, waving the pennant at its tip.
Matt squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh, no. Tell me I didn't see it."
"Wherefore, Lord Wizard?" The princess knit her brows, puzzled. "Dost fear him?"
"Well, now that you mention it, yes - though that wasn't exactly what I had in mind. You'll pardon the cynicism, Princess, but as we stand now, I think we're better off assuming any stranger's an enemy, until he proves otherwise."
"But you need not fear a knight!" she protested. "They are all bound by honor, sir - even those who oppose us!"
"Even Malingo's knights?"
The princess reddened and lifted her chin a few notches. "They are foul, treacherous brutes who may lay no claim at all to the title of knight."
"Oh, definitely not. The fact that they ride Percherons, wear armor, and carry great big, sharp swords has nothing to do with it."
"Exactly." She beamed. "You learn our ways quickly, Lord Wizard."
It took Matt a minute to realize she was quite serious.
He turned back to the approaching rider, who was about fifty yards off now. "Yes, but how can we be sure this guy isn't one of Malingo's?"
"Why, because he wears black armor."
Matt dipped his head and came up looking at her. "Whoa, now! Isn't that supposed to mean he's an evil one, or something like that?"
"Why, no." Alisande seemed genuinely astonished. "In Heaven's name, Lord Matthew, what could let you think that? His armor means simply that he is a free lance, a knight unsworn to any lord - that is all."
Matt held her eyes for a long moment; then he spoke slowly. "Yes, of course - no economic security. He doesn't have the money or facilities to keep his armor polished. That it?"
"Precisely; and therefore doth he paint it black."
"Very practical." Matt turned back to the approaching rider. "But what's to keep one of Malingo's boys from painting his armor black?"
"Why, twould be dishonest, sir!",
Matt bit back the natural response.
The Black Knight pulled up his horse a little away from them and swung his lance upright in salute. "Hail, most fair lady! Hail, sir! Hail, you of the most free!"
"Well met, Sir Knight," Stegoman answered. Matt nodded acknowledgment; but Alisande said, "Well met indeed, Sir Knight! Your name and your arms?"
The knight laughed, amused, and hauled an empty, black-painted shield around to face them. "These are my arms, lady; any others I own, I may not reveal till an oath be fulfilled. As for my name, I am Sir Guy Losobal, for all men to know!"
Why not? Matt reflected sourly. "Losobal" was close enough to the French "Le Sable" for Matt to be pretty sure it was this universe's equivalent. In other words, Sir Guy the Black Knight. Very informative.
But he couldn't be outdone for courtesy, could he? "Well met, Sir Guy. I am Matthew Mantrell, liegeman to this lady."
"Ah, a liegeman!" From the tone, Sir Guy was licking his chops. "Come, then! Will you not break a lance with me?"
Matt goggled.
Recovering, he managed a feeble grin. "Gee, thanks for the invitation, Sir Guy, but I don't think I'm hard enough. It would just go right through me."
Sir Guy chuckled. "Most amusing, sir! But come - will you not ride against me, with a lance in your hand?"
"I'd love to oblige you," Matt hedged, "but I - don't have a lance. Not to mention little things such as armor or a horse."
"Why, how is this?" Sir Guy's lance drooped. "A knight without armor or arms?"
"You labor under a misapprehension," Alisande informed him. "Lord Matthew is my liegeman, but is not a knight."
Sir Guy sat very still for a moment.
Inwardly, Matt groaned. Didn't this princess know never to give free information to the opposition? If he was a lord, and her liegeman, what was she?
Sir Guy turned toward Matt and asked in a rather cool tone, "How can you be lordly, without being knighted?" Then, before Matt could answer, he nodded. "Of course! You are a wizard!"
"Quick thinking," Matt approved. In fact, maybe too quick. "You'll understand, then, that I'm not exactly outfitted for a tournament."
"Nay, certes! One could not expect a wizard to fight with sword or lance!" Sir Guy's voice became velvet itself. "It would seem, then, that we must find weapons we both may use, with good conscience."
Matt shrugged. "Got any handy?"
"These." Sir Guy yanked off his gauntlets and held up his fists. "The peasant's weapons, that all men do own to."
Matt's smile vanished. Sure, he'd done the usual fist fighting when he was a boy and had even had a YMCA boxing class when he was a teenager - but that had been more than ten years ago. Still, a knight might be very well-trained with sword, spear, lance, mace, and battle-axe-but wrestling was for peasants, and Matt couldn't remember offhand any reference to boxing in medieval literature.
He nodded slowly. "Sounds good, Sir Guy. I'll try you a couple of rounds."
He walked past the Princess's shocked stare, shrugging off his sport coat. Sir Guy grinned, swung down from his horse, and got busy unbuckling his armor.
"Art thou mad?" Stegoman demanded, lumbering up near him. "This knight is trained in all forms of martial exercise!"
"All forms?" Matt raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I didn't think there was much training in fist fighting here."
"Indeed, 'tis mere brawling and could not be glorified with study of system and method; yet he is a warrior. And thou?"
"I," Matt said grimly, "have had some training in the use of my fists, including the system and method you sneer at - which should give me an edge, even in so lowly a sport."
"Sport? Nay, good Lord Matthew! Be assured, this knight will not fight in jest!"
"A point to consider," Matt said, nodding. "Even if this is more of a social bout than anything else, he'll still fight for keeps. Thanks for the reminder."
"Are you in readiness?" Sir Guy asked, stepping out into the meadow and holding up his fists. He'd stripped down to a loose linen shirt and trousers. Matt eyed the padding he'd tossed on top of his armor and decided the man might be ethical.
"Ready whenever you are, Sir Guy." He stepped forward, holding up - his own fists.
He was right about having an edge. Sir Guy had the right crouch, but his fists were only chest-high, and at the same distance from his body. Which one did he think he was going to block with?
Good question - but Matt remembered Sir Guy holding his lance in his right hand. No, he wasn't a southpaw.
Matt started circling, warily. Sir Guy held his ground, rotating to follow him. Matt realized the knight was studying him closely, taking his measure, and returned the compliment. Sir Guy was on the short side, by Matt's standards - five eight or so. Of course, that was above average height here. But he was heavily muscled, with shoulders that would have done credit to an ox, and with an oiled smoothness to his movements that spoke of speed and precision. He had shiny black hair, cut straight across the forehead in front, ear-length at the temples, and halfway down his neck behind the ears. Very military-no hair to get in his eyes, but enough at the back to help protect his neck, in case chain mail and quilted padding didn't quite make it. He had a sleek black moustache that trailed down past the corners of his mouth, a square chin, large eyes set wide apart, and a nose that had been broken at least once. All in all, though, he looked friendly, cheerful - and wide open.