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Surrounded by his men, Amoro crossed the practice field to where a groom waited with his horse. A sinister atmosphere hung over the crowd. Savonian warriors laughed and shouted wagers. Retorts and cross talk about the prowess of their liege lords tore through the space.
Anticipation of a combat likely to result in bloodshed created a feverish, anticipatory mood.
Amoro ignored the banter. Before any battle, he focused his thoughts on the upcoming challenge. Morena’s future depended upon this particular encounter and his concentration intensified because of it.
When he reached the groom who waited with his mount, Amoro checked the bridle and girth and ran his hand over his horse’s haunches.
The stallion, a spirited Arab, could endure long distances, but was too small and light for combat. Ernesto would likely ride a destrier. He insisted the encounter be mounted, no doubt to gain an advantage because of the disparity between their steeds.
Although confident in his own abilities with sword and lance, Amoro realized he knew very little about Ernesto’s skills. He cast a quick glance across the field for a first assessment of his opponent. Amoro wore chain mail and a cuirass. Ernesto wore full body armour. Amoro carried a blunt lance. Ernesto held a war lance, sharper and shorter.
It took little time for Amoro to prepare. Nevertheless, Roberto took his time securing the straps and buckles that held his cuirass-guards in place. He tested every item of the stallion’s tack and trappings. Roberto affixed the Dragone standard to Amoro’s lance, aided him to mount, and handed him up his shield with the red dragon on a gold background.
The crowd clapped as Ernesto, heavily plated, rode out onto the practice field on a splendid bay. An assemblage of guardsmen followed.
A squire led a destrier behind him. He raised his visor with a gauntleted hand. “Dragone! I bring you a proper battle horse, fit and sound. I don’t wish it to be said that I won the match because you were disadvantaged.”
“I thank you for your generous offer, but I prefer my own mount,” Amoro quipped with artificial cheeriness. “Keep your second horse at the ready, however, for when I unseat you, a fresh steed might be useful to help carry you off the field.”
Ernesto snickered. “Gloat while you still breathe, Dragone. Hell awaits you.” He reined his horse around and trotted off to the opposite end of the field. The sun flared in Amoro’s eyes.
“Amoro, you must protest. He has taken the advantage,” Roberto urged.
“It is of no importance, Roberto, I think he needs it. Hand me my lance.”
“Take this small mace and keep it behind your shield.”
“No. Ernesto and I agreed to fight with lance and sword only. I’ll not dishonour my name by having it said I fought unfairly.”
“But by forcing you to face the sun, he has already put you at a disadvantage. The combat will not be fair. Who knows what other tricks he may bring into action? He rides a bigger, more rested horse and he wears more armour. I cannot explain why, but my senses tell me you should take the mace, if only as a safeguard.” He held up the short-handled, densely barbed mace strong enough to pierce even the thickest armour if wielded with enough force.
“No. Take it away before anyone sees it. Those gathered may think I doubt my ability to win if I use a forbidden weapon.” With his gauntleted hand, Amoro pushed aside the proffered mace. He inhaled a deep breath and glanced at the castle behind him. From a window on the uppermost level, Morena peered at him with blackened, almost swollen-shut eyes. A powerful rage ignited within him. Curses fell from his mouth.
With a face so sad and forlorn, Morena raised her hand to her mouth and blew him a kiss. Amoro kept his eyes fixed upon her. He memorized every swollen cut and bruise. For every hurt she bore, he vowed to deliver double to Ernesto. A man who beats a woman is not worth the dirt beneath my boots. Breathless with intense anger, he turned back around, ready to extract blood from his foe.
Across the field, his nemesis sat his mount. Ernesto’s man paced out into the centre of the field. Roberto did the same. When they met, they gave a constrained bow to each other. They negotiated the rules - the starting signal, weapons, how to determine the end of the match. Then Roberto veered around to face Amoro and raised his arm. The crowd waited in silence. Not even a nervous cough wrent the air. Swiftly, Roberto swung it back down. The fight began.
Amoro slammed down his visor. He pointed and steadied his lance, kicked his spurs, and cantered his eager mount forward. The small practice field didn’t provide an adequate distance in which to attain maximum speed. The morning sun shone strong in Amoro’s eyes. He kept his glance lowered to counter the effect. With every hoof beat of his stallion, his desire to strike his opponent heightened.
When only a few strides remained, Ernesto thrust his lance at Amoro.
The blow struck Amoro’s shield, but he didn’t counter and plunged on past. Resolute, he reined back and around. The stallion’s forelegs pawed the air. In an instant, he managed to turn around and spur back towards Ernesto.
Ernesto had not yet turned around, but he must have sensed something amiss because he glanced back to find Amoro hard at his heels.
The crowd howled in mirth. Amoro knew it looked as if Ernesto fled with his adversary in pursuit.
Ernesto reined about to face Amoro, their positions reversed. The sun shone so brightly into Ernesto’s eyes that he came to a stop, unable to advance.
Amoro raced toward him in full attack mode.
Ernesto didn’t have enough time to avoid the action or to gather speed. He aimed his lance and frantically spurred his mount.
Amoro came at him at a full gallop.
Due to its immense size, Ernesto’s mount mustered little more than a lumbering trot.
The two men met with a thunderous crash. Both took the blows on their shields. The momentum forced each back violently.
Amoro rode to the edge of the field. Once again, the sun blazed into his eyes as he and Ernesto made another run at each other. Ernesto aimed his lance with his right hand. With his left, he reached behind him and raised a mace into the air and hurled it at Amoro. The mace dented Amoro’s helm and struck his horse’s neck. The blow felled the animal.
Amoro tumbled to the ground with a mighty clatter and his lance flew from his hands. Chaos ensued as his men charged upon the field. The Savonians swarmed them. Unable to move, he felt the world spin around until darkness crashed down on him.