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prise, believing that Comnenus had come at last to challenge them. They charged forward, only to stumble against each other in amazement as the Emperor and his suite veered off and rode away, some even dropping their elaborate beribboned lances for fear they would impede the speed of the mounts. Trailing behind, caught up in the rush, was some poor common soldier's horse. With a roar of joy, Richard leapt for the cord reins, seized a cast-away lance, and vaulted to the sack saddle. |
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"My lord!" Simon screamed. |
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That was a waste of breath. Simon ran, laboring under the weight of arms that was never meant to be carried afoot. He could hear Richard shouting a challenge to single combat and mentally cursed the King who could always judge correctly when an army should charge or wait but flung himself into terrible danger without a single thought. Then, just before his heart burst with the strain, there was another horse. With one last desperate effort, Simon seized the reins, made it into the saddle, and roweled the frightened beast into movement. He could only pray he was following Richard. There was only blackness shot with lurid streaks of red before his eyes and an unnatural roaring in his ears. |
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Eventually Simon's vision cleared a little. He was covered in cold sweat and deadly sick. Clinging to the saddle with his left hand, he leaned over to the side and vomited. When he was able to straighten up, he could really see again. Ahead, Richard still pursued the retreating Emperor and his suite. By the mercy of God, the distance between them was widening. If he had to fight, Simon knew he would die. His arms were like lead. He doubted he could have found the strength even to lift the sword around which the fingers of his right hand were frozen; certainly he could never strike with it. Soon it became apparent to the King that his spavined mount would never overtake the chargers |
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