The Greatest Knight by Elizabeth Chadwick

the vanquished.
    William started forward and Henry’s attention turned. Fear and defiance constricted the elation, but it didn’t vanish entirely. The lad fixed William with an imperious stare, which William ignored. He would kneel to the King and the Queen and yield deference to the royal children in a formal situation. But this wasn’t a formal situation and young Henry had just broken the code of chivalry and needed teaching a lesson. However, before he could reach horse and boy and secure them both, Blancart gave an irritated buck. Henry was flung backwards, his spine striking the hard wood of the cantle. He dropped the lance, grabbed the reins in panic, and yanked on them. The stallion went wild, twisting, kicking, plunging. Prince Henry tried to hold on but he stood no chance for he was straddling a whirlwind. The inevitable moment arrived when he lost his grip, sailed from the saddle, and hit the ground with a breath-jarring thud. Blancart bolted, punctuating his gallop with a series of violent bucks and kicks.
    Salisbury ran to the Prince who was bleeding from the nose and mouth. William chased after the agitated stallion and managed to seize the trailing rein before the horse could put his hoof through the loop, fall, and break a leg. Speaking firmly and slowly, standing side on, William slid his hands up the rein until he was close enough to grip the cheek strap. He laid his palm to the sweating, trembling neck, grabbed a fistful of mane, and swung into the saddle. Blancart shuddered, but with a familiar solid weight across his back rather than a child’s flimsiness, he steadied. Using knees and thighs, putting no pressure on the reins, William rode over to the fallen prince, his heart filled with dread. “ Christ, let him be all right ,” he prayed, crossing himself. A crowd had gathered around the boy, including the senior royal nurse, Hodierna, who was weeping and wringing her hands.
    Salisbury looked up as William arrived. Henry was sitting up, hugging his body, his face twisted with pain. Closer now, William could see that the blood in his mouth was from a bitten lip and the nosebleed had already stopped.
    “Bruised ribs, I would say,” Salisbury said. “He bounced well. Is the horse all right?”
    “Hard to tell, my lord. It hasn’t done his temper much good.” William rubbed his hand reassuringly along Blancart’s neck and crest and felt the horse shiver under his touch.
    “Stop panicking, woman, he’s not dead,” Salisbury snapped at Hodierna as she continued to wail. He gripped Henry’s shoulder and squeezed hard. “What do you think you were doing?”
    The boy gasped. His eyes were glassy with the tears he would not let fall. “I wanted to ride a real destrier. Richard said I couldn’t do it, but I did.” He raised his chin, suddenly defiant.
    “And might have died. If that horse is injured through your stupidity, you will owe Messire William the price of its tending or replacement. A King’s heir or not, you’re a young fool!”
    Henry compressed his lips. Clearly in pain, he rose to his feet and gingerly turned, clutching his ribs, to face William. “I am sorry, Messire Marshal. He is such a fine horse that I could not help myself.”
    “Then you have much to learn about self-discipline,” growled Salisbury.
    William’s heart was still pounding in reaction to the incident, but something about the lad’s manner, the look in the eyes, the set of the mouth, softened his anger. He understood the emotions: the need to prove oneself before one’s peers and siblings; the need itself when one was thirteen and raised among sharp swords and valuable horses. “Lord Henry has learned from his prank the painful way,” William said with a warning look at the boy. “I don’t think he’ll be attempting it again?”
    Henry stared at William through his fringe and mutely shook his head.
    Salisbury grunted and looked severe. “You’re getting off lightly,” he told Henry. “Best go and