Ivanhoe Gambit

15

"I've found him," Hunter said.

"What, so quickly?" Andre shook her head in wonder. "And this is not sorcery, you say. You vanish before my very eyes and then appear again as if by magic, and yet it is not magic. I wish that I could accept this."

"You will," said Hunter. "It won't take a bargain with the devil, either. There's a way to gain a lot of knowledge very quickly. There are others like me, in other times and other places. We speak in many different languages, yet we understand each other. We are a strong society." He grinned. "There's such a thing as an implant that can't be traced. You don't know what that is yet, but it will enable you to learn and understand. Meanwhile, there still remains the matter of your revenge."

"Where is Bois-Guilbert? Take me to him!"

"It's not as simple as that," said Hunter. "I found him for you. But he won't be easy to get at. He's very well protected. He fled to Templestowe with Rebecca of York as a hostage."

"The Jewess?"

Hunter nodded. "No doubt, he wanted to set up light housekeeping at the Templars' residence. The only problem is, there's a shake up in the works."

"A… shake up?"

"I beg your pardon. A series of radical reforms. Albert Beaumanoir, Grand Master of the Order of the Knights Templars, has arrived at Templestowe with the intent of showing his warrior priests the error of their ways. Consequently, it would look bad for Bois-Guilbert to co-habit with a woman at this time, and a Jew no less."

"So he is in disfavor with his superiors," said Andre. "How can this work against me?"

"Well, he would have been in trouble with the Grand Master if it wasn't for the fact that friends interceded for him. They convinced Beaumanoir that Sir Brian's been ensorcelled by Rebecca and the poor woman was made to stand trial for witchcraft. Naturally, they convicted her."

"The countryside teems with sorcerers these days," said Andre wryly.

"That poor girl has been made a victim, by Bois-Guilbert and now by Beaumanoir. She's to be burned at the stake. But she has appealed for trial by combat. Bois-Guilbert's advice, no doubt. She'd never have thought of it on her own."

"It is good advice," said Andre. "If Bois-Guilbert appears in the lists as her champion, the matter will be decided by the will of God. Should Bois-Guilbert win, and there are few who could defeat him, then he could not have been ensorcelled, since God would have granted him the victory. Rebecca will be cleared of the charge of witchcraft and Sir Brian will be free to find another way to keep her. A sound plan."

"Only the plan has a hitch," said Hunter. "It seems that the Grand Master has selected Bois-Guilbert to champion the Temple. I guess they don't mind if an ensorcelled knight represents them."

Andre smiled. "Sir Brian has been neatly outflanked. If he loses, he forfeits his life and the charge is proven true. If he wins, as he must strive to do, since he will not want to give up life and breath for a lowly Jewess, then God will have overpowered the enchantment. Rebecca will die and Bois-Guilbert will have to go into retreat for purification. If he chooses not to enter the lists, then he is disgraced. He will lose his rank and armor and his dreams of leading the Knights Templars will come to nought. And if no champion appears to defend Rebecca, she dies at the stake."

"Isaac of York is desperately trying to find a champion to represent his daughter," Hunter said.

"There are few who would undertake such a cause, even for money," Andre said. "Brian's prowess is well known. Yet she will have a champion. I will appear for her."

"I was expecting you to say that," Hunter said. "But I just want you to be aware of the risk involved."

"There is no risk," said Andre. "With this armor made by those master artisans you spoke of, Brian will stand no chance against me. It will all go as before, when he should have died beneath my blade."

"Yes, well, that's precisely why it's risky," Hunter said. "The nysteel will protect you, but it won't make you completely invulnerable. You'll have to get it over with quickly. If you and Bois-Guilbert spend any time slamming away at each other, they're bound to notice that the combat is affecting his armor and not yours. Remember, they'll be primed for a witch burning. If you are seen to take his strongest blows with barely any visible damage to your armor, they just might decide that one witch has summoned another to defend her. And you can be brought down if they attack you in sufficient numbers."

"It is a risk that I will have to take," said Andre.

"I figured that you'd say that, too. So here, take this, then."

He handed her a PRU.

"The wizard's charm?"

"Call it a charm, if you like," said Hunter. "I control it now. Keep it as my favor when you fight with Bois-Guilbert."

"I will keep it."

"Just don't lose it."

"I do not accept a favor lightly," Andre said stiffly. "I will not lose it and I will try to do it honor."

Hunter smiled. "That's all I ask."

A great crowd had gathered at Templestowe to witness the witchburning and, with any luck, a lethal passage at arms, as well. A little sport before the roasting would be a welcome diversion, but no one truly expected it. All they had to do was look at Isaac to see that the man held out no hope at all for the deliverance of his daughter.

Isaac had offered up everything he owned in an effort to recruit a champion to represent his daughter, but there had been no takers. A fortune would be of little use if one did not live to spend it, and Bois-Guilbert was held in high esteem by those who had tilted at him in the lists and lived to tell the tale.

Only two knights were known to have bested him, Ivanhoe and Coeur de Lion, himself. Perhaps it was a lot of money, but to die fighting for a Jewess? Surely, it would be best to offer up one's life in a more fitting cause and one whose outcome was in some greater doubt.

Isaac wandered among the rapidly filling galleries, shredding his clothes and wailing. He called on God to visit whatever sins he had committed upon himself, rather than on his innocent daughter. There was absolutely nothing he could do except pray and he did not honestly expect his prayers to be answered.

A fanfare sounded and the gates of the preceptory were thrown open to the procession, which came forth beneath Le Beau-seant, the black and white standard of the Knights Templars. Bois-Guilbert rode just behind the standard bearers, looking proud and defiant in his brightly polished armor. Behind him, two squires carried his helmet and weapons, along with his shield.

His old shield had been rendered useless in his fight with de la Croix and there had not been time to obtain another from an armorer, made to his specification. In his flight from Torquilstone, he had grabbed the first shield that came to hand. It seemed unusually light, but he had tested it somewhat and was satisfied that it was well made and very strong. The only modification he had made was to have his skull-bearing raven painted over the uprooted oak.

Rebecca was brought out on foot. She wore a simple white dress, a stark contrast to the attire and livery of the Templars. Placed in the center of the procession, she was paraded past the galleries and the place of honor occupied by Beaumanoir, then brought to a black chair placed near the stake which would be her funeral pyre.

She watched silently as the members of the court took their places. The words of the heralds and the ceremonial accepting of the glove by the Grand Master, the charging of Bois-Guilbert with his pledge and vows, all were lost on her as her attention became focused inward. She was aware of the breeze upon her skin and she was acutely sensitive to the firmness of the chair upon which she sat. She felt the sun warming her face and wondered how much warmer the fire would feel when it began to eat away her flesh. She registered, to those who watched her, a calm, stoic acceptance of her fate. Yet, in fact, she had not accepted it, could not accept it. Intellectually, she realized that she was going to die an agonizing death. Emotionally, she was unable to deal with it. She knew only that she did not deserve to die and she could not understand why the court had thought she should. They had brought witnesses against her, people she did not even know, had never seen before. They had lied, perjuring themselves before God, ascribing to her all sorts of powers and evil deeds. Why? What purpose would her death serve?

She entertained, briefly, the thought that it was all the will of God, that the Lord was testing her and making her a martyr, but she could not accept that, either. She did not want to be a martyr, and martyrs were made of sterner stuff than she. To think that God intended a purging flame for her in order for her to become a martyr was an incredible conceit and, whatever other sins she might have committed, she would not go to her death having been guilty of the sin of pride. So she was left with nothing. She could see no rhyme or reason to their actions, she could take no comfort in knowing they were wrong. Silently, she began to weep. They called for her champion. There was total silence. They waited. No champion appeared. They summoned her champion once more. Again, the silence, longer this time. Broken by the voice of Bois-Guilbert, who had ridden up beside her.

"Rebecca," he said softly, "know that I did not intend this. I would have fought as your champion, had not Beaumanoir appointed me to defend the Temple. I have no wish to see you die. To perish by the flame is not a pleasant death. Before your last breath leaves you, you will suffer the agonies of the damned. And your death would serve no purpose. I desired you more than I ever wanted any woman. I still desire you. I have no wish to be a party to your death."

"I do not see how you can absolve yourself of it," Rebecca said. "I take no comfort in knowing the strength of your desire. It was that which brought me to my ruin." "Rebecca-"

"A champion!" someone cried, and the cry was taken up by others. "A champion appears!" Bois-Guilbert glanced up and saw a mounted knight approaching at the gallop. He frowned. "I can't see… de la Croix!"

The assembled crowd began to cheer. There would be combat, after all! Isaac sank to his knees and offered up a prayer of thanks to God.

"Rebecca," Bois-Guilbert said quickly, "listen to me. There is still a way for you to avoid the grisly fate awaiting you. If I fail to appear in the lists, I forfeit my rank and honor. I will be disgraced and all that I have worked for will have come to nought. All this would I bear for you if you were to say to me, 'Bois-Guilbert, I accept you as my lover.' Climb up behind me and we will quit this place. My horse will easily outdistance all pursuit. We can go to Palestine, where my friend, the Marquis of Montserrat, will give us shelter. I could ally myself with Saladin and form new paths to greatness. Let Beaumanoir speak the doom which I despise, let them erase the name of Bois-Guilbert from their list of monastic slaves! I will wash out with blood whatever blot they may dare cast upon my scutcheon!"

"Foul tempter!" said Rebecca. "I would rather die than betray my faith and become the concubine of a bloody warlord! I will look to God for my salvation."

"Then look your last upon the sun and burn," said Bois-Guilbert. "I will not lay down my life and all that I hold dear for an ungrateful wench!"

He spurred his horse and rode away from her.

Andre de la Croix rode up to the Grand Master and, to the herald who had summoned her, she replied, "My name is Andre de la Croix, and I am a knight errant come to sustain with lance and sword the just and lawful quarrel of this damsel, Rebecca, daughter of Isaac of York; to uphold the doom pronounced against her to be false and truthless, and to defy Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert as a traitor, a murderer, and liar, as I will prove in the field with my body against his by the aid of God."

"The words traitor and murderer coming from your lips are, indeed, an irony," said Bois-Guilbert. "You, who have slain Maurice De Bracy in a manner most foul and reprehensible, dare to impute my honor!"

"Does the Grand Master allow me the combat?" said de la Croix.

"I may not deny the challenge, provided the maiden accepts you as her champion, Sir Knight," said Beaumanoir. "If she does, then let whatever quarrel be between you and Bois-Guilbert be settled on this day, as well."

Andre rode up to Rebecca. "Do you accept me as your champion, Rebecca of York?"

"I do, Sir Knight," she said, "but you do not even know me. Why would you risk your life for mine?"

"Bois-Guilbert murdered my brother," Andre said. "His name was Marcel, and he was just a child. That, in itself, is reason enough that I should meet him with my sword, but there is yet another. A man who takes a woman against her will is a repugnant creature and deserves nothing less than death."

"Then my prayers go with you."

Both knights assumed their places at opposite ends of the lists. The herald announced that none, on pain of instant death, should dare to interfere with the combatants. The Grand Master, after a long moment of anticipatory silence, threw down Rebecca's glove and cried out the words, "Laissez aller!"

Hunter watched with a scope from a distance.

Bois-Guilbert and Andre spurred their horses and galloped at each other, lances couched. They came together hard, each taking the other's lance upon their shields. Both were unhorsed. Hunter could hear the crowd cheering the spectacle from where he stood, in the shelter of the trees. There was a moment during which both lay stunned upon the ground, then Bois-Guilbert got up, followed almost immediately by Andre. They drew their swords, advancing on each other on foot.

They struck at each other furiously, exchanging blow after blow, and Hunter wondered how long they would be able to keep up such a pace. Andre's nysteel armor should have given her a marked advantage, but Bois-Guilbert was taking the best she had to give and coming back. There was a limit to how much punishment a shield could take. If it was an ordinary shield. That was when Hunter remembered that Bois-Guilbert had seized Priest's nysteel armor.

He didn't think that Bois-Guilbert could fit into a suit of armor made for Lucas and still fight comfortably. It would be too large for him. But he could use the shield with no difficulty. As he watched the fight, he saw both of them slow down a little and then more as the effort took its toll. Andre and Bois-Guilbert had both managed to penetrate the other's guard and his armor showed some of the effects of her assault, even if his shield did not. They were now moving almost ponderously, as if in slow motion, both exhausted from the prodigious amount of energy they had expended during the first moments of their fight. The shields would sustain them; now it would only be a matter of who tired first. Andre raised her sword and, using her whole body to throw her weight into the stroke, brought it down on Bois-Guilbert's shield. Slowly, he raised his own blade and smashed it down on her shield. The recovery time of each was getting longer. They looked like two blacksmiths pounding at each other, like some grotesque wind-up toy that was running down.

The sound of distant hoofbeats distracted Hunter from the scene. He looked up and saw an armed party of men riding hard toward the tiltyard of Templestowe. He raised his scope. They rode under the banner of Coeur de Lion. Another imposter, but history would never know the difference.

It was going to be close. Hunter put down his scope and bent over the chronoplate on the ground before him, checking its programming. Then he picked up his laser and attached the scope to it. He raised it and sighted. Then he fired, aiming at Bois-Guilbert's visor.

Those who saw it weren't certain afterward that they had not imagined it. The flash of light had been astonishingly brief. Others insisted that it was the hand of God. An impossibly bright shaft of light, straight as an arrow, had struck Bois-Guilbert and he had grabbed at his helmet, dropping his shield and giving de la Croix the necessary opening to thrust into his throat.

As Bois-Guilbert fell to the ground, the knights rode into the tiltyard and there was no one who did not recognize the three lions on the chest of the one who led them. As they raised a welcoming cry for Richard of England, Andre raised her visor and slowly backed away from the corpse of Bois-Guilbert.

What happened? Why hadn't he defended himself? Had he been blinded by the sun?

Rebecca started to run across the field toward de la Croix. At the same moment, "Richard" saw Andre and motioned to several of the knights behind him, but they were somewhat hampered in their progress toward the red knight by the crowd which pressed around them. When they had broken through, they could no longer see de la Croix. The red knight had disappeared.

Rebecca stood stock still in the middle of the tiltyard. Isaac came running up to her with tears in his eyes and he threw his arms around her, burying his head in her shoulder and sobbing, giving thanks to God.

Rebecca hardly even heard him. She stood staring, eyes glazed, at the spot where Andre de la Croix had stood. The knight had vanished before her very eyes.