< previous page page_212 next page >

Page 212
At last, above the rising noise of battle, as his own men firmed into squads and began to resist, Simon heard what he had been listening for. Horses were coming across the fields. "Roi Richard!" Simon bellowed, and loosened the reins that had restrained his battlewise mount from joining the melee at its very beginning. The horse sprang forward, sidestepped a group of men who were engaged, and burst out into the open.
All around the village the King's name rang out as if Simon's voice had wakened a multitude of echoes. These echoes, however, had substance. Men rode out of the shadows that had concealed them, crying "King Richard" and wielding swords.
Simon swung at an oncoming rider, felt the blow parried, heard a gasp, drew and swung hard againto be rewarded by a choked cry and a darkness that disappeared. He spurred his horse, and the beast moved forward. Simon strained his eyes, cursing the dark. He could see no one else. Beorn, a little behind him, was cursing also.
"They have slipped by us, lord," he cried.
Slipped by? It was impossible. Simon turned right, spurring into a gallop, praying his horse would not stumble and throw them both. Still, it was minutes before he found another opponent. Again the clang of blades, but this time Simon did not need to strike another blow. Beorn, unopposed, struck from behind and felled the Welshman.
They set off again, circling the village wide. A rider thundered toward them. "Richard," Simon cried as he raised his sword. "Richard," the other replied, wrenching his horse sideways to avoid his commander.
"Where is the battle?" Simon asked.
"I do not know, lord," the man replied. "There were four against the ten of us from where I was. We cut them down. I heard weapons this way, so I came."
"Back to the village," Simon ordered.

 
< previous page page_212 next page >