“That may be, but God is on my side.”
“Don’t be a fool, Alcuin!” Flavio Diacono cut in. “Izam is a skilled soldier. At the first thrust, he will strew your intestines across the yard.”
“I trust in God.”
“For goodness’ sake! Perhaps you shouldn’t trust Him quite so much.”
Alcuin seemed to ponder it. After a while, he stood up, newly animated. “A champion. That’s what I need.”
He reminded them that in an ordeal, the offended party could designate a defender. “Theodor, perhaps,” he suggested. “He’s strong as a bull and a full head taller than Izam.”
“Theodor’s useless. If he had to peel an onion, he would lose his fingers with the first cut,” Wilfred said. “We have to think of someone else.”
“What about Hoos Larsson?” Flavio Diacono suggested.
“Hoos?” said Wilfred, surprised. “I agree he is able, but why would he want to help us?”
“For money,” Flavio declared.
Alcuin admitted that the young man in question had the required vigor and skill for the duel, but he was not confident that he would willingly take on the risk. However, not only was Flavio sure of it, but he offered to be the one to convince him, so Wilfred and Alcuin agreed.
Before the dawn of the next day, an emissary appeared at Izam’s ship to inform him that he was required at the fortress walls. The order was confirmed by a tablet with Drogo’s seal, so Izam picked up his crossbow and several darts, belted his scramasax, protected himself from the rain with a fur overcoat, and followed the envoy to the gates. Inside, the emissary led him around the moat until they reached the point nearest the parade ground at the foot of the tower.
At the base of the tower, the remains of the scaffolding climbed steeply up to the trunk of the beam that acted as a support between the tower and the walls. When the servant informed Izam that he was to climb the scaffolding, Izam didn’t believe him.
“Why should we have to fight up there?” he inquired.
The emissary shrugged and pointed to the top. Izam looked up to see Drogo looking down onto the parade ground from a considerable height. The missus signaled to him to climb the scaffolding. But before he began, the emissary asked him to hand over his crossbow. Izam complied, then crossed himself before beginning the climb.
At first the scaffolding seemed solid, but as he ascended, the framework of poles and ropes creaked as if on the verge of collapse, so he made sure to step on only the most secure joints. His wounded leg throbbed, but his hands clasped the projections like claws. The higher he ascended, the more it swayed. Two-thirds of the way up, he stopped to catch his breath, with the rain and wind lashing against his face. Far below in the moat, a bed of rock seemed to be waiting for his strength to fail. He sucked in some air and continued to climb to the top, right to where the wooden trunk buttressed the watchtower to the wall.
When he reached the top, he had no time to recover. On the other side stood Wilfred, Flavio Diacono, Drogo, and Alcuin.
Far below them Izam could see two soldiers guarding Theresa, who was not hooded but still gagged. Despite the distance, he could see the terror in her eyes. Standing next to Izam was a tall man carrying an axe. His heart skipped a beat. At that moment Drogo stepped forward and asked Izam to swear.
“In the name of the Lord, cross yourself and prepare for combat. Alcuin puts forward a champion,” he shouted, pointing to the man with the axe. “Because he is the offended party, this is his right. Now swear loyalty to God. May He guide your weapons.”
Izam swore. Then Drogo turned to the champion, and told him to make ready. “Honor for the winner, and hell for he who falls!”
Izam realized that they had intended for the duel to take place on the trunk that spanned the void. He quickly studied the trunk, observing that the top had been crudely planed. It looked as though some time ago it had served as a bridge between tower and wall. Even so, keeping balance would be difficult in the pouring rain. He also noticed that halfway along the trunk, secured to its flat surface, were several small wineskins. He couldn’t think what their purpose might be, nor what they could be possibly be filled with that made them bulge the way they did.
He lifted his gaze and saw his opponent preparing to climb over the tower’s parapet to reach the trunk. The man used his axe as an aid. His torso was protected with a leather jerkin, and he wore studded boots. Without a doubt, Izam could tell that it was Hoos Larsson. The tattoos gave him away.
But Izam was swifter than Hoos and reached the trunk first. He made his way along it toward the wall, withdrawing his dagger and preparing for combat.
The others quickly made their way to the bottom of the tower. From the parade ground, Drogo ordered Hoos to lose the axe. With one blow, Hoos Larsson drove it into the trunk and then drew his scramasax. He advanced toward Izam without even looking where he trod. Izam moved forward, too, noting with concern the stabbing pain in his leg.
They approached each other like two cornered beasts. Izam’s face was wet with rain. Hoos was unperturbed, as if going hunting. The trunk creaked as they both drew close to its center. Hoos made the first feint, but Izam parried the thrust without stepping back, responding with a jab that Hoos easily blocked.
Hoos smiled. He was an expert with the knife, and his studded boots kept him steady on the trunk. He lunged again, making his opponent retreat. Izam readied himself, but Hoos suddenly stepped back, too, as if he wanted to enjoy what was about to happen. At that moment, Drogo ordered his archers to shoot, and a number of arrows flew through the air, piercing the little wineskins between the combatants.
“What do you reckon?” snickered Hoos. “Will it hurt when you hit the rocks down below?”
This time Hoos treaded more carefully, for the perforated wineskins oozed oil onto the trunk, turning it into a deadly trap. Taking advantage of Izam’s surprise, Hoos launched another attack, and though Izam managed to avoid it, he slipped and dropped his weapon into the abyss. Fortunately, he recovered his balance before Hoos could reach him with his knife. Izam quickly removed his belt and used it as a whip to stop Hoos from getting any closer.