The Knight of Silk and Steel by Terry Deary Page B

young Ulrich moaned, and sipped his rich, red wine. “My master went off to a joust – a mighty show of knights. Each knight takes it in turn to charge another knight with his lance. The knight who breaks the tip off his lance is the winner. He goes on to fight again and again till there is just one knight left … the champion.”
    “Your master fought to be the champion and win his lady’s heart?” Meg asked.
    “He fought,” young Ulrich sighed.
    “And lost?”
    “And worse. A knight from France smashed his lance against my master’s shield. The broken splints of lance went through the eyepiece of his helmet, through his eye and clean into his brain!”

    “I bet that hurt,” Richard the rabbit-catcher gasped.
    Helen the harpist sat up straight. “Don’t be a fool!” she cried. “It wouldn’t hurt at all, for it would kill him dead!”
    “It did,” said Ulrich. “Such a mess.” He supped his wine, as red as dead knight’s blood. “I took his armour and vowed that I’d fight on. I’d win the lady’s love, I’d fight a hundred knights – five hundred if I must.”

    “All very well,” old John the gong-farmer said. “So you set off around the world to fight five hundred knights. There is a name for knights like that … I can’t remember what it is…”

    “Knight errant is the name I think you want,” Simon the snaggle-bodger smiled (so pleased to show how much he knew).
    “Knight errant if you like,” old John went on. “But still you have to tell us why you wear the dress!”

    Ulrich nodded. “The Lady Isabel is married, so I cannot name her as my love. Instead, I fight for Venus, she’s the mighty goddess of all love. I fight for Venus and, to make it plain, I dress as Venus! Venus wig and Venus dress,” he said.
    “And Venus beard?” Meg put in.
    “No, I set off from Venice at least two years ago. And when you travel on the dusty roads it’s hard to find a village with a barber who can give a shave. Some larger towns from time to time.”
    “Ah ha!” the crowd smiled. This was starting to make sense.

    “So, here you are,” the landlord said. “You’ll stop the night?”
    “I will.”
    “And then you’ll travel on again.”
    The young knight spread his rein-stained hands and said, “I’d like a fight!” He drew his sword. The crowd stepped back. “Oh, not with you, my friends. I meant I want to find a knight to fight. The lord, perhaps, that owns this land?”

Chaper Four
Breakfast and Butler
    “Oooo-arrrrgh!” cried Simon the snaggle-bodger. “What you want’s Lord Edmund up at Seckau Castle. He’s your man, yes, he’s your man.”
    “The Red Knight’s what they call him,” Helen the harpist laughed, then lay back on the floor.
    “Red Knight, eh? Because he is a warrior, bold and mighty, dressed in armour scarlet red?”
    “Nah!” sneered Tom Fool cruelly. “His old armour’s red with rust.”
    Ulrich reached inside his dress and pulled out some parchment. “Here’s a challenge to your lord. Take this to him. Tell him I’ll meet him in the fields outside the castle after he has dined tomorrow noon.”

    “I’ll take that!” Simon the snaggle-bodger said. He hurried through the door into the falling night. He whistled through the woods and haunting owls hooted back.
    “I’m scared of bears!” poor Simon cried. “I must be mad to walk the woods on such a night.”
    But he soon saw the castle on the hill and flaming torches lit the gate. The guards were sleeping sloppily, the way they always did.

    Simon simply walked right past and hurried up into the hall.
    The lord of Seckau sat back, fat and full after his feast. “Ha! Simon! What do you want, lad?” he cried.
    “A challenge, lord, from some young knight,” the snaggle-bodger said, and waved the piece of parchment.
    “Oh, I love a good fight!” Old Lord Seckau smiled and rubbed his hands with joy.

    He called a skinny, white-haired servant dressed in black to stand beside his