Balin and Columbine (A Children of the May Novella - Book 1.5b)

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Knight of the Ice

Behind his freezing visor the Knight of the Ice watched the progress of the tournament with a giddy feeling in his heart. He was excited that he was going to be able to complete his task. Since the Ladies of the Lake had clothed him in his gleaming suit of opaque ice, the day had held nothing but entertainments.

The tourney had begun with a laugh, as King Pellam quieted the crowd gathered in the underground basilica to make his opening speech. Instead of the normal dignified words about chivalry and the knightly virtues, the king had engaged in a lengthy rant about ingratitude, focussing in particular on Sir Lancelot, who had left Spar-Longius before the tournament began (how the ladies had groaned in disappointment) and the champion of the lower lists (whose name Pellam could not bring himself to utter), who had shown himself to be contemptible and wholly unworthy of the great honours conferred upon him. Balin had been even more amused when the king had been forced by the rules of the competition to knight Damas the Fratricide as champion of the lower lists, making the bearded giant Sir Damas once more. Throughout his contact with the huge, limping brute, the king had worn a notable glower on his face, as if he would rather not have come within a sword’s length of his newest knight.

Even better than this had been the start of the tournament itself. Although Balin’s armour was made of ice, it was flexible as water. The shield the Ladies of the Lake had given him was as clear as the clearest glass, but no less strong for that. On the rare occasions his opponents had landed a lance on the shield, their points slid from its surface without leaving so much as a scratch. So far he had knocked out of the competition a very hungover Sir Dagonet, the Gaul Sir Claudine, and Sir Amant the Cornishman, without once being unhorsed himself.

The only thing that would have made his day better would have been if he could have seen Columbine to tell her that he had been healed; but he could see no sign of her in the rowdy crowd. Their celebrations would have to wait until he had achieved their revenge. He was glad the task would be accomplished without the Dolorous Stroke. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Columbine’s face when he brought her the Knight Invisible’s head.

The arrival of Lady Nemone at the tournament had been the one good thing in King Pellam’s day, and he taken great pains to make sure that the two daughters of Lady Nemue were sitting by him in the royal box. Also in the box were Merlin, the red lady from the feast, and, Balin noted with surprise, Garnish of the Mount. Balin supposed that Garnish must have made enough money from the gamblers at the lower lists to buy himself a very expensive seat at the games. Though to be honest, looking at the way the red woman slapped the back of his head every time he spoke, Garnish would probably have been better off in the cheap seats.

Balin was striding past the lower part of the cheap stand, when the Knight Invisible and Sir Damas were called against each other. It was Sir Garlon’s third bout. The Knight Invisible had been drawn in the other half of the tournament, meaning that Balin could only meet his brother’s murderer in the final tilt of the day. That didn’t bother the Knight of the Ice at all; he was more than confident in his ability to vanquish every knight in the grand basilica, especially now that Sir Lancelot was no longer part of the competition. Balin was heartened to see that Garlon was having the best of it too.

‘He started off quite badly,’ he heard the elderly pedant say to his sighing friend, ‘but Sir Garlon’s got his form back now.’

‘Aye, he looked quite weak-armed first thing,’ said the friend.

‘Insofar as he can look like anything,’ said the pedant.

‘But now he’s got his strength.’

‘All a matter of a correct warm-up, isn’t it. I think Garlon gets complacent sometimes because of his armour. He neglects the basics. But goodness, what a chop he’s got on him.’

‘Indeed,’ said the pedant’s friend. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen one knight break so many other swords.’

‘Ah, now there you’re wrong,’ said the pedant. ‘I remember there was a tournament back in Caerleon, what, seven years ago. Sir Lamorak broke ten lances on his opponents and smashed five of his rivals’ swords. Always been a smasher, has Lamorak; this is unusual from Sir Garlon.’

‘It’s not fair though, is it, being invisible? Unfair advantage,’ said a big man who was sitting behind the two commentators.

‘Well there you’re wrong, actually,’ said the pedant, turning around. Balin wandered along the fence as the pedant began discussing at length the ins and outs of appropriate magical items in the context of modern tournament jousting.

‘Sir knight, sir knight!’ a girl shouted from the crowd.

Balin looked for the shouter, and saw it was none other than curly-haired Petal, who had taken such a shine to him the night before. He couldn’t speak for fear of revealing his true identity, but he turned to her as she boosted herself up on the fence.

‘Sir knight of the Ice,’ said Petal. ‘My champion didn’t turn up today, but I like your style just as good. I know you’re the Lady of the Lake’s man, but would you wear my favour too?’ The girl had an arch look in her eyes.

Balin shrugged, so far as he was able in the suit of ice, and allowed the girl to tie a brown ribbon around his wrist.

‘Thank you, sir knight,’ said Petal, whom Balin was surprised to see blush. ‘I’ll pray for your success.’ With that she ran back to her seat and began giggling with her friends.

Balin turned back to the joust in progress. Sir Damas had been unhorsed, and was standing baffled in the dirt, trying to see from where the unseen knight’s attack might come. As Balin and Columbine had done in the forest, Damas was trying to spot the hooves of Garlon’s horse as they stirred up the dirt. Damas was hampered by Balin’s blow to his knee, and the limited range of vision allowed by the thin eye-slit of his elegant helm. Unlike the previous champion of the lower lists, Damas had chosen style over comfort when he picked from whatever was left in the wager tent.

‘Now that is some unusual athleticism from the invisible knight, there,’ Balin heard the pedant exclaim.

Garlon’s horse had suddenly appeared in the middle of the tilting ground. At almost the same moment Sir Damas disappeared, and the dirt erupted where he previously stood. The signs indicated that the Knight Invisible had leapt from his horse and landed on top of the brother-killer. When Damas reappeared, his hand was raised in the gesture of supplication. He had yielded once more.

Sir Garlon had won again. Balin rubbed his hands together, delighted with the result.