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The champion was looking daggers at me.

A day ago, that’s all it was. I was standing in the crowd as Lady Seen pleaded for her life. This was the way it was now, the rich got richer, the less rich got fucked, and the poor were just grateful to wake up the next day. Lady Seen was one of the less rich. Her father had died, her brother had got himself killed in the crusade against the infidel. So she had inherited the estate. She was half-Saxon, so it was said, mixed race crap, I heard one soldier say. He was probably 9 parts in ten a Saxon, but he had joined the Earl’s force, forcing peasants to pay all their profit to him, and then some. But he was still willing to bad mouth a Lady when he could see which way the wind blew.

I felt sorry for her. She was rich, well-dressed; and I was a freeman, that was as far as I’d ever get, and I was sorry for her. Having been left to inherit the estate – a woman alone; the Earl had chosen to accuse her of witchcraft. She had to be a witch to have arranged for her father to die – he had caught the pox from a doxy in a brothel, how was that witchcraft? - and her brother to die in the Holy Land – where almost all the knights had died, had she arranged for them all to die? So she was accused; and because he was an Earl, the accusation was not dismissed out of hand.

Oh, it helped that his brother was the bishop. They had, no doubt, cooked up the charges together. The Earl would get the port, the church would get the lands, donated by the humble and religious brother. All he wanted really was the port. This sea coast had only one inlet, a crack in the cliffs. The Earl’s lands reached the sea, but the cliffs were 100 feet, and the rocks offshore were, in one place, called the ‘widow makers’ - that sums them up.

Lady Seen’s lands were a crescent around the mouth of the River Afonbouche. What a name! River mouthmouth! I speak Norman, Latin, and some Celtic. I’m blessed by God, the people say, because I taught myself. Those lands encompassed the town of Afonton. Ships could get in to the narrow river mouth at most states of the tide; there was a tight turn behind the cliffs and a wide beach hidden from the sea. A safe place to pull up onto the sand and unload. And it was the only place for twenty leagues in either direction along the coast. The only safe mooring. One or two other cracks in the cliffs worked for small fishing cobles, but not for trading ships. It was a very attractive place to own; but the Earl would never have challenged her father, or even her brother; the family were related to the king, via a cousin. But a woman? She was fair game. If he had been unmarried, he would have forced her to marry him, probably. But his wife was Esmeralda deToughton, and he couldn’t afford to lose that family’s support at court, so he chose the second approach, if a woman was unmarried, she must either be a nun (and couldn’t inherit) or a witch (and could be burned).

“Will no-one stand champion for me?! For the sake of the Blessed Virgin! I plead with you.”

The assembled group of soldiers and knights stayed silent. Her own retinue had been spirited away (some killed, some bribed, some simply sent on missions whilst his accusation was heard). No-one raised a voice on her behalf. She was accused of witchcraft and her ‘trial’ was to be – so the church, in the form of the bishop, said – was to be trial by combat; an eminently fair way of settling a case. If God was on your side, then he’d let you live, stood to reason. But she couldn’t fight herself, so she needed a champion.

Otherwise, she was guilty. The estate was forfeit to the Crown, and the church would lobby the king for it to be given to the Earl, who would give the lands to the church and establish an abbey (and the people who lived on the land could go to hell; literally, since they would starve to death). At least, that’s what I assumed; maybe I’m just a cynical git; or maybe the world is cruel, evil and in need of salvation. Maybe I should have become a monk, as some people say.

Trouble with the monks is they are as bad as we are. Worse. A young girl – thirteen – was waylaid by a man of God in the woods last year. The church condemned her for a harlot for leading a monk astray. The monk got off Scot-free. Not subject to the law see? Not our laws, anyway; only church law. And that doesn’t seem to have laws against fornification, drinking, theft or buggery. No, I couldn’t be a monk; I believe in God too much.

She was pleading with the knights, and not one stood for her.

It was unfair, it was unjust.

I don’t know why. Why did I? “I’ll fight for you, madam.” I heard my voice say. It was as if I was Moses, the crowd parted like that sea and I was left standing alone. I repeated my offer, bolder, I’d started, so... “I WILL FIGHT FOR YOU MY LADY!”

The earl looked bug-eyed at me, then burst out laughing. The lady walked down to me. “Don’t be foolish. Have you seen his champion? Why should two of us die?”

“My lady, it is unjust that you are not allowed to take this trial as the law allows. And, if the Godly law allows, I should win, should I not?” She looked at me, as if I was stupid. I know. It was stupid.

The Earl intervened “I am very sorry, my Lady Seen, but my champion, Sir Magnus can hardly fight a commoner, it would not be right.”

The Bishop, Earl Blaine’s brother, joined in: “Oh, no indeed, that would be contrary to the law.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “But, my Lord Bishop, church law is above the law of the country, is it not? You do not allow your monks or nuns to be tried by the state commissioners. Surely, since Trial by Combat is deemed to be the chance for God to decide who is right, then the church should stand above such petty restrictions as you mention? And I may be a commoner, but I am a freeman; may that not be enough for God to decide for me ... or for My Lady Seen?” I thought, ‘and anyway, I’ll lose, what do you care?’, but even in death, one has to maintain standards.

“These are theological matters that are too complex for you. It would not be right for a noble to fight a commoner. No no, never.”

“Except in a battle?”

“Yes, yes, quite so, except in a battle.”

“Or to defend himself against attack?”

“Yes, quite. Obviously.”

“So if I was to attack Sir Magnus, then he could defend himself and we could have Trial By Combat.”

The Earl came back now: “No, you maggot. If you attacked Sir Magnus, then he would kill you and if he did not, then I would; and Lady Seen would still be under the charge.”

I bowed low to the ground. I knew the ice I was on was so thin as to crack at any moment. If the Earl or the Bishop thought I was being disrespectful, then a good whipping would be in order. Flesh stripped from my back, left to live or die (and it usually meant die) in the castle yard overnight. “Forgive my temerity. I was seeking to give a noble lady the opportunity to have a fair trial.” I emphasised the word ‘fair’, whether they thought I was being sarcastic was up to them. “My Lord Bishop, one further question, if I may? The Trial By Combat allows our sovereign lord to decide who is in the right doesn’t it?” he nodded “Then surely the Earl could put forward his weediest, meagre soldier as champion and the miracle would still allow him to win for the Earl would not have raised this issue if he did not believe with all his heart the Lady Seen is a witch. Is Sir Magnus the champion to help God make the right decision?” Sir Magnus was well over six feet tall, built like a bull (with the brains to match), and skillful in battle. He had killed two other people in such ‘trials’ when they were in the way of the Earl’s ambitions.

I knew I had gone too far. The crowd were laughing in spite of themselves. They didn’t want to annoy the Bishop or the Earl, but the thought of a small, slight champion was too good an image not to laugh it. The point was, nobody believed God got involved. The Earl used his best fighter because he knew that was the way to win.

The Bishop said nothing, he was not used to being questioned, and I was cleverer than him, he knew that to engage in a debate would mean he would look even more of a fool than we knew him to be. A fool and a hypocrite, it was well-known that two nuns had been sent away to have his children in secret. If two were known about, there were probably more. And I bet he ate meat on Fridays!

The Earl looked at me with a fixed and evil smile. “I think, My Lady, that I see a possible solution. My Lord Bishop, there are none other to champion the lady’s cause, is that not so? And this guttersnipe is not able to fight my champion because he is too lowly born. -”

“Then I shall knight him!” shouted out Lady Seen.

“- ahh, would that you could. But a man can only be knighted by a knight, and it has to be as a result of combat. So, if he was to win against Sir Magnus, then I would willingly knight him and thus he would have the noble qualifications to fight Magnus. But since he cannot be knighted before the fight, he has no nobility and so cannot fight. But, if I may continue?” We all looked at him and waited. “I see a solution. If he was to marry a member of the nobility, then he would be, de-facto, nobility himself; and therefore he could fight for your cause.

What say you, Lady Seen, would you marry your would-be champion?”

Lady Seen was a beauty, everybody knew that. Her high forehead was adorned with thick locks of golden hair, her blue eyes shone like the jewel that Earl Blaine wore on his right hand, whilst her cheeks had the lustre of a maid’s blush on her wedding day. I should not have noticed the rise and fall of her bosom beneath her linen dress (unlike the Earl, she did not flaunt her wealth with silk and satin, she was plain and simple; and yes, perhaps I was in love above my station), now the perfectly rounded haunches lower down that walk like the most noble horse in Christendom. She looked from Earl to Bishop and then Bishop to Earl. She was trapped, if she accepted, she would marry a man not fit to wipe her boots (well, maybe just her boots), if she refused, she would be burned summarily on the grounds that no-one would defend her because all knew the truth of the accusation.

“I cannot marry you.” She said to me quietly “Though you show nobility beyond any other here. But would just mean we both die.”

Equally quietly, I replied “I have pulled the Earl’s beard and – forgive my language – kicked the Bishop’s backside in my speech. I have shown no respect. I will be dead before or after you, it is no matter. And perhaps God will protect me?” She still looked at me as if she pitied me. “But I would not have you stoop so low as to marry me, My Lady.”

“Oh, all very touching. But time passes. What is it to be? Must we prolong this ridiculous pantomime until tomorrow? If you refuse to marry him, then justice can be dispensed today. See? The funeral pyre is prepared, ready and waiting.”

She raised her voice “Before God, and before you My Lord Bishop, and before all the assembly here, I proclaim my innocence. I will marry this, my only protector. And do you, before all these witnesses, My Lord Earl, accept that if my husband-champion wins, then God has issued his judgement, and you will accept it and seek no more intrusion on my rights or my people?”

It was a bold move, in the very unlikely event that I won, the Earl would have publicly sworn that he would accept the judgement. To seek vengeance on me or her or her lands or her people would be to put himself outside secular and church law. He would be excommunicated, the Bishop would have no choice with so many witnesses. But he happily swore, after all, Sir Magnus was taller, stronger and fitter than me; I was going to lose.

And that was how I came to be married by a Bishop to a noble lady. Not something that a commoner, the son of a commoner with rights of pannage, estover, agistment, and turbary in the local forest, would have dreamt of happening in his wildest dreams. They were the reason for my being there that day. The Earl was seeking to curtail our rights, saying we had none, he wanted to fence the forest and drive out our pigs and cattle. I had come to the hearing to explain and show our ancient charter. Others were there for the same reason. My father had not come, he said that what the Earl wanted, the Earl would get and we should accept it and leave. Ironically, now I had made his statement true. Whatever happened tomorrow, the Earl would have his revenge on my family; they would have to leave anyway.

We had to be married that day so I could be a ‘Sir’ tomorrow. Apparently it only takes place after midnight. So marrying on the day I was to die would not be enough. The wedding was a brief and brusque affair. “Will you sleep in my guest chamber? You lovebirds.” The Earl cooed. He was enjoying his joke. It was too far to return to her lands, even if he would have let her, so she agreed. I was sure he would do her no harm under his own roof.

“Thank you my lord, but I must pray before retiring. And collect my weapons.” Such as they were. There isn’t much call for a sword when you are cutting turf.

“I can furnish you with armour and a sword. I should hate to feel it was not a fair fight. But use the chapel, by all means. You may wish to scurry home in any case, to say goodbye.” he added with the kind of grin that the Carpenter’s Guild put on the Devils face for their mystery play at Easter.

I did, indeed wish to scurry home. I wished to run as hard as I could and not stop. What had I done? Why had I done this stupid thing? Surely not only because of the tear in her eye and the shape of her calf? No, I told myself, it was a noble, honest act. But I knew it was tainted a little.

“Will you return and join me in my chamber?” Asked Lady Seen. She was offering her untouched body to me in gratitude. At least here, my reply was genuinely noble.

“No, my lady. I must collect the weapons I know how to use, and warn my family. Then I shall pray in the chapel until dawn. Fear not, I shall not desert you.”

“I should not blame you if you did. You are brave and foolish. Just such as we read about in Morte d’Arthur; but that do not exist in reality. Run whilst you have the chance.” At that moment I loved her completely. She was trying to save my life which would make her life forfeit. And I was bound to her by that love. I would return no matter what the consequences.

My journey home was uneventful, though when I reached home (ten miles from the castle), my family had already heard. Good news travels fast, bad news travels faster. “Come, pack your things, you fool. We must fly.”

“No, father, I have made a promise. Foolish as it is, I shall stick to my promise. I am married -”

“Not consummated I think? Then it counts for nothing my son.” my mother said. “Please, come with us.” but I could tell from her tone, she knew I would not. My brother, I hugged and kissed and told him he would soon be the heir to his father. Then I went to collect my tools and my thick leather jerkin. Not a chain mail coat, but good protection against the thickest brambles, and, once, against a mad dog that attacked my in the wood.

I told my family to head for the port, there to wait for news and take the earliest ship if news came of my death. I expected the news would travel quickly. Then I returned, laid my armoury, such as it was, wrapped in a canvas bag near by and knelt and prayed for hope and a swift death for myself and my new lady wife. This latter I had taken some precautions to procure.

At dawn, I moved to her chamber and gave her a hurried and whispered conversation: “Here, this pouch contains mole killing powder. You put it in the worms and the moles eat them. If ... when ... I lose, take it all. You will die with some pain, but not as much as the flames. And it will anger your enemies that they have missed their prey.”

“You are a good man, Silas. Thank you. God grant you a swift death, husband” I already knew that was unlikely, a sympathetic guard had warned me that Earl Blaine had told his champion to slice me slow and prolong my death. Apparently Sir Magnus knew much about where to stab to cause much pain but not immediate death. I liked that she had finished with that word ‘husband’. Me, a simple forester; not even that, only allowed to cut turf in the bog and take fallen branches. But now I was husband to a noble lady not that far removed from the king (if fifty two other cousins were to die, so I had heard once), albeit only for a day.

I walked with a beautiful lady on my arm to the great hall where the trial would take place. People were already claiming places, everyone likes a good killing. It’s entertainment for the boring days between holy days and celebrations.

The Bishop arrived with his retinue and took his place on the throne. So like the humble nature of the son of God that we follow, I thought sarcastically. I bowed to him and held my peace, I was in enough trouble. The Earl arrived fashionably late, I could see the irritation on his brother’s face. Then the champion, Sir Magnus, strode in.

I had to admit, he looked impressive. Dressed in his chain mail suit that reached his knees, with a breast plate with his lord’s crest on it, a back plate of dulled metal, half cylinders of plate mail on each arm, connected at the elbow to give plenty of manoeuvrability. His neck was protected by a high collar of steel, and under his arm he carried a helmet with long cheek and nose guards. A lucky strike under the cheek guard might ram up into his skull, but I’d have to be so close that I’d almost certainly already be dead. His chain mail protected all his vitals. His two squires carried shield and sword. The sword was long and heavy. This man must be strong as an ox, I thought.

But even an ox gets tired, and surely he could not run with all that on? We bowed to each other; did I detect a small hint of respect for me the brave challenger? No, I don’t think I did.

“Approach” said the Bishop, and we advanced for his blessing. “Oh Lord! Give us the grace of your perfection. Let us learn the truth of the accusations in this trial to the death, may the miscreant fall and the pure be saved. Amen” And, I thought, bear in mind, Lord, that the Earl will give your church substantial lands when he wins. “Whomsoever fights, fights for their name contestant in this trial. Whomoever wins, wins for God and Truth.” We were sent to our corners, the Bishop sat in the centre of the hall, at the side. The Earl and his champion were at one end, in one corner, Lady Seen and her poor champion (me) diagonally opposite. I unwrapped my weapons, and the champion looked and shouted.

“What is that?”

“This? This is a pig sticker.” I replied.

And that’s why he was looking daggers at me. He saw this as an insult. He thought I was saying he was a pig to be stuck. I sent a boy to explain that it really was a weapon for sticking pigs. It was all I had. Broad and strong for two thirds if its length, it then narrowed to pointed stick that was as sharp as a boar’s tusks. For that was what it was really for. Not the pigs we kept, they were dispatched with a lump hammer to the head, haul up and slit their throats and bleed them. But if you were in the forest and a boar took exception to you, this could save your life. The long steel point could break the boar’s tough hide and travel far enough to rip open its heart. I was good with it, I’d killed a few in my time. The alternative was to climb a tree; Billy Walnut did that when he was attacked by a large male with two sows and their young. He was kept in that tree for three days.

There were wild cattle in the woods too, this might save your life; though I’d climbed a tree when threatened by a cow and her calf one summer’s day the previous year. I’m not fond of false bravery; and it seemed unfair to kill the cow for protecting its young.

Besides the sword and my leather jerkin, I had a billhook in a sling on my back; a long flensing knife for stripping the skin, or bark; and a whittling knife with a six inch blade. I wasn’t very good at whittling, I had discovered, but I kept the knife for sharpening stakes for rabbit snares or wattle fences.

I don’t know if Magnus understood, or just hated me for being lowly born, but he looked no happier when we were given leave to begin the fight. He took four steps, and then broke into a charge. I had a vision of that female cow charging me last year. He was like a bull, roaring and shouting and clumping towards me in his long steel toed riding boots. It made it oddly familiar. I had never been in battle, but I had been charged before, and I could see that he would turn less easily than a boar or a bull.

I moved towards him, but leaped sideways as he swung his sword. He roared angrily, swinging his sword round behind him, which was a neat trick for allowing him to spin surprisingly quickly. I jumped back; and the battle was on. I had been relying on the idea that I could out-manoeuvre him, keep out of his way until he was exhausted. After all, he was weighed down with armour. It was my only chance.

Now I discovered two things; one that he was much more agile than I would have imagined. All that metal work was carefully crafted to allow him to twist and turn with relative ease. I suppose it was obvious; a man wouldn’t want to trust to being encased in a castle, he had to be able to turn to face any enemy from any direction.

Second, Sir Magnus really was strong as an ox, and though I’d known that, I hadn’t realised that he would have stamina too.

My choices seemed to be to stay well clear of him, or to get in close so I could jump clear. Staying well clear allowed him to block off parts of the hall and herd me to a corner, then I had to jump past an increasingly angry man. And the onlookers weren’t above shoving me further into the combat zone if they could. Seems everyone was allowed to give God a helping hand in killing me. But being close was exhausting. I had to jump and skip around his whirling sword. I even had to parry blows away with my weapon. The trouble with that was it had no guard, it wasn’t designed for combat with another sword wielder, but for stabbing hard and deep onto an animal. When Sir Magnus’s sword started sliding down mine, I had to move fast to avoid losing fingers. His sword wasn’t as sharp as mine, but its ragged edge would slice my flesh easily.

I twisted away from him and heard his heavy weapon clang on the flag stone floor behind me. Turning to face him, I heard as ‘swish’ and the sword swept past my face. Damn me! He was much faster than I’d expected, even dressed in his metal coat. Seconds later, I realised that the sword hadn’t entirely passed my face. The tip of my nose has been torn open and, being the nose, was bleeding heavily. I was starting to tire and lose focus. The sword came back and, this time I just managed to lean back enough. There was a gasp from the people watching as the draught from the sword caught blood and swept in across my face. They thought I had been slashed open; Sir Magnus maybe thought that too, I don’t know. I stepped back and swung my much lighter, less dangerous weapon, connecting to his and making him stagger slightly. At least that gave me respite.

Now it seemed to be a matter of time. He was still strong and capable, and I knew my gamble was failing. I was losing my strength, becoming fatigued faster than he was. Then he stopped, leaning on his sword. Inside he must have been sweating like a hog, so overdressed he was. Outside in the fields, fine, but in the great hall, with a fire at one end for the lords and ladies (well, two lords – the earl and bishop, and two ladies: the earl’s wife and Lady Seen. Earl Blaine’s son was there too, a weasel look on his face. He was the proof that nobility doesn’t breed noble bearing). Pulling out my whittling knife, rushed in and sliced up. It was razor sharp and cut one of his leather ties holding the upper arm plate armour protecting. I could not cut the other, nor penetrate the chain mail, but, actually, this was to the good. As he swung his sword at me, the piece of armour swung round and hit him, it was a nuisance now. If only I could cut the left one too.

He charged forward, and we had the unedifying spectacle of a run around the hall a couple of times. Still he didn’t seem to tire. I realise now that a true warrior takes rests when he can, but can summon up reserves for new efforts when called upon. I am not a true warrior. I can walk the hills all day without rest, but this fighting to the maximum is something I cannot do. We ended up back at the same spot.

What I hadn’t realised, as he swung his sword, loudly uttering oaths as the plate mail came round to hit him again – oaths that I feel the blacksmith would blanch to hear, I jumped back and my footing slipped on the stone floor; wet as is was with my blood. I fell back and cracked my skull on the floor. I even saw stars!

Now, surely it was all over. He strode towards me, lifting his heavy sword high to cleave my head in twaine, standing over me like a Hercules. In one, desperate, move. I stabbed up with my pig sticker. Standing as he was, his nether regions were exposed. His chain mail skirt reached his knees, providing ample protection from a standing enemy, but one beneath him had access to the open bottom of this chain mail. My sharp pointed sword went up and connected with his vitals, I pushed hard. Normally I would hesitate to kill another, but this was kill or be killed (probably kill and be killed, I thought, even as I stabbed up). The pointed third travelled deep into his body, and then the broader blade stuck firm and would not travel up or down. Wedged into his bone I think.

He roared! Not like a stuck pig at all, which squeals in pain and fear. He roared in pain and anger. I think he knew he was dead. The injury I had delivered was too great for the nuns of St Breda to cure. He would bleed out and die. But he would kill me first.

I could not retrieve my sword, I slid away and stood, he stepped back – which must have been agony – bent down and yanked out the weapon. I hated him with a desperate and unChristian hatred, but I respected him, nevertheless. But he still had his sword, and I had only a flensing knife, a bill hook and a whittling knife. Painfully, he approached, leaving a streamlet of blood (and brown fluids from his ripped bowels – I knew this from poor butchery in the past). I drew my flensing knife, ducked under his less accurate sword stroke and stabbed his right arm. The flensing knife was strong and broke a ring in the mail. His arm fell as the knife cut into his flesh.

But he transferred to his left arm, dropping his shield. A good warrior can use either arm. Magnus was the best. I just had to survive, I told myself, he would die soon. Then I saw it! The gap between helmet and chain mail collar. Before it would have been impossible to reach, but now, the slower enemy made it a possible target. He pulled out the knife from his arm and flung it away with the same disdain he had showed for my sword. He was bleeding profusely as I opted to attack rather than wait for my enemy to bleed to death. Perhaps I had some nobility of spirit? Charging in, I leapt and dropped the knife into the narrow gap with all my weight behind it. A bubbling, frothy, second stream appeared; but still he stayed standing, swearing that he would disembowel me and see the dogs lick my bones.

As the frothing blood bubbled up, be removed his helmet. Was it an invitation? He leant on his sword and looked at me. Close too, I heard him say “You have won, finish it.” All I had was my billhook. It wasn’t the best death for a brave – if despicable – champion; I stepped in and swung; and his body collapsed with his head only half attached. The crowd were shouting, some in anger, some in disgust, one or two in triumph.

I stood and looked at the body, then bowed low to him. It seemed the least I could do for a champion who had simply been unlucky on this day. I could not believe that God had given me this victory, even though that was what the law said, it just didn’t seem that God would want to make choices like this. Still ... I’d won!

I bowed to Bishop Blaine, and then to Earl Blaine. I had no smart comment to make. The earl had publicly stated that he would respect God’s decision in choosing the winner; he could hardly have me clapped in irons now. Lady Seen stood “My Lord Earl, now that our own dear Lord has seen to bless my side in the case with victory, I trust there will be no bad feeling?” The Earl looked angry, but said nothing, he couldn’t disagree with her in such a public space. Even the bishop would have to back her up now. “I wonder if, as neighbours, we might start on good terms by you doing me a small favour? Now that my husband has fought in battle, since I am not able to knight him, perhaps you would? I realise he is a knight by marriage, but a knight by noble right would, I am sure, be preferable to him.”

And that is how I came to be knighted by my recent enemy. It was elegantly done, I have to say. He might have let the sword slip, he might have slapped it hard on my shoulder. But no, there and then, as I continued to seep blood from the open wound on my nose, he knighted me. We rode away, husband and wife Sir Silas Malchester and Lady Seen Malchester – I had opted to take her name since the estate was hers; that seemed right.