The Gauntlet Pt. 05 - Finale

Again, the sound of the collision was violent and shook the entire abbey. People blocks away heard the noise and wondered which of the knights had died. Jean's steel lancehead struck Jacques le Gris square in the visor, causing his head to snap back and denting the metal, driving it into the new knight's nose.

Jacques' lance glanced off the polished dome of Sir Jean's bascinet, with a loud clang, which deafened the knight momentarily. Each man kept his horse under control and reach the end of the list, breathing hard and taking a moment to gather his strength. They stared across the courtyard at each other, each man determined to kill the other.

Jean marched his horse in a canter in a slow circle at the end of the list near the gate he had entered just moments before. It seemed an eternity away at that moment to Jean. He heard a soft cackling laugh ringing in his ears.

"She will burn when you're dead," whispered the voice of his first wife.

"Marguerite!" Sir Jean shouted and spurred his horse into a gallop.

Jacques responded in kind, sending his horse back across the list and lowering his lance.

*****

Back in the De Carrouges chambers the night before the duel.

"You have done nothing, my child, save try to live in this crazy world of ours," he said as he stroked her hair, holding her for comfort. "Jean has chosen this course of action, not you. He has forced you to be here now. But, all is not yet lost." He stood and kissed her forehead. "I will be back in just a few moments."

"Please, father," she cried, "Don't leave me! I'm terrified! I don't want to die!"

"I will be right back," he said, "I promise."

She grabbed for him, but he quickly crossed the room and exited, leaving the door ajar. A few moments later, the door opened, and she called out, "Father!"

"No, I'm sorry, it isn't," Jacques le Gris said as he stood before Marguerite.

She stared in shock at Jacques, unsure whether she truly saw him or was hallucinating, then ran to him, kissed him, and clung to him with everything she had in her.

"Oh, Jacques! I'm so sorry!" she cried. "I am so sorry to have caused this!"

"It's alright, Marguerite," he told her, holding her tightly and kissing her cheeks. "It is alright. I understand."

"I had to lie! He would have killed me!" She cried desperately. "I have doomed us all! Please forgive me!"

"Oh, Marguerite," he said softly, "I forgave you long ago. I was angry at first, but I know Jean. I know what he is capable of doing. I know he forced you to say the things you did. I just want you to know that I love you and I forgive you."

He smiled at her, sadly. She could see the finality in his eyes, and she knew immediately.

"You plan to lose tomorrow!" She exclaimed. "You cannot do that!"

He shook his head, "I cannot live, knowing that because I live, you will die. I will not be responsible for your death."

"There is another way," Sir Robert said as he re-entered the room. "Come away with me now. I have a boat waiting. We can escape to Italy, and you and Marguerite can be together and live out your lives as man and wife."

"I cannot do that!" Jacques replied.

Marguerite was just beginning to feel hope, but Jacques response stopped it. "It is the best answer!" she cried, "don't you see? If you and I flee now, then no one needs to die!"

"How so?" Jacques asked.

Sir Robert answered for her. "If you flee with Marguerite, then you will be both be convicted in absentia, but you will be safely ensconced at my villa in Tuscania. Jean will be declared the winner by default and will live. Everyone lives!"

"I cannot abandon my family and my honor," Jacques said steadfastly.

"Why is honor so bloody important?" Sir Robert asked.

"It is easy for a man with no honor, who betrayed his King twice, to deride others for having it!" Jacques replied, his words striking Marguerite's father like a blow.

"I am betraying my King a third time, right now," he replied. "I would betray him a hundred times if it meant my daughter would live and be happy."

"But, I cannot," Jacques explained. "I cannot flee. That would be no life for you, Marguerite. You must stay here, married to Jean, and raise your son."

She took Jacques hand and kissed it. "I have another confession to make. The boy is not Jean's. It is yours. Jean and I did not bed the night he returned from Scotland. He was too sick. The only man I have been with in the past year is you. He is your son."

Jacques stared long and hard at Marguerite, then smiled softly. "I am happy. Thank you for telling me. Now, I know my duty even more than before."

"No! You must not die! I could not bear to be the cause of your death!" Jacques please, you must come away with us now. You must!"

"I cannot!"

Marguerite broke down crying.

"Did you offer this same arrangement to Jean," Jacques asked Sir Robert. He nodded.

"And he refused as well?"

He nodded again.

Jacques laughed. "Did you expect less of me than of your husband, Marguerite?"

"I expected more!" she cried. "I expected you to love me enough to overcome your pride and honor and live with me and raise our son together."

"Because I love you and my son," he said, "I will not shame either of you by fleeing. I will fight tomorrow."

"Then, you must win!" she cried out. "You must win! Kill Jean, take our son and raise him!"

"I will not be the cause of your death," he replied.

"Do you love me?" Marguerite asked.

"With all of my heart," Jacques replied.

"Then, you must live! Damn you! Swear to me that you will fight and win!"

"I will not promise you something I cannot guarantee," Jacques replied.

"Then promise me you will fight and let God decide the outcome!" she begged.

Jacques nodded his head and lied. "Alright, Marguerite. I will let God decide, but I must know something."

"What is it?"

"Do you love him?" Jacques asked, without mentioning her husband's name.

"Is it so wrong for a woman to love two men?" Marguerite asked in response to his question.

"You see the cost of that love," Jacques replied.

Just then someone banged on the door loudly. Sir Robert looked with shock to Jacques. "No one can find you here!"

Jacques quickly stepped into the shadows beyond the curtain that separated the sleeping quarters from the main room. Sir Robert opened the door, and two armed guards and a monk entered.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Sir Robert.

The monk spoke. "We are here to prepare the Lady Marguerite for her trial tomorrow. She is the be bathed and shorn and may sit vigil to find peace with God."

"I will never make peace with God," she replied angrily. She started to protest but went with the men. Her father cast one last look into the shadows, then left to accompany Marguerite. After they left, Jacques stepped out of the shadows and left the room, knowing what he needed to do.

*****

December 29, 1386

The Duel

Third pass

Sir Jean de Carrouges in his bright red surcoat and Sir Jacques le Gris in white, charged across the field a third time. It seemed as if time slowed. The horses' hooves slammed into the ground, propelling the horses forward. Each knight looked through his visors across the narrowing distance at his enemy. Each knight raised and then lowered the tip of his lance, aiming for the center of mass, intending to impale his opponent.

The hooves make a thrumming sound as they rushed forward.

Step by step.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Time seemed to freeze and hang in the air, life suspended on the tip of a needle.

Two lances struck two breastplates simultaneously. The shafts of the lances shattered into a thousand brittle splinters, forming a cloud of debris around each man, with wooden shards flying into the crowd.

Then the riders flew past each other, Neither man was unhorsed. As the horses slowed to a canter, then a trot, Jacques was the first to react. He reached down and unclipped his war axe from the saddle and raised it, turning his horse and charging toward Jean. Now, without lances, he ran straight at his opponent.

Jean heard him coming and turned his horse. It reared up on its back two legs and seemed to coil then release, leaping forward into a gallop. Jean reached for his axe, but it would not come free. He pulled harder and harder, to no avail. As the distance rapidly closed, he began to panic. Jean steered the horse with his legs and used both hands to wrench the axe free, just as Le Gris swung for his head.

Jean ducked. Jacques steel axe blade glancing off of his helmet. He feebly swung his own axe, which bounced off Le Gris armored shoulder. The two men kept their horses side-by-side, exchanging blows with the axes. Each man blocked or parried most blows. A few landed but did no damage, unable to penetrate the heavy plate armor. Le Gris changed tactics and urged his horse away, separating himself from his opponent to get a running start.

They both charged again, almost at the same time. Jacques raised his axe high, and as the riders passed each other, he swung with all his might. Jean again ducked, the blade just whizzing past him, catching his horse on the neck, just behind the end of its neck armor. The axe head bit into the horse flesh deeply, severing its spinal cord and nearly decapitating the beast. Blood erupted from the severed neck, showering Jean in red spray, as the horse's legs gave out. It crashed at full speed to the ground, and rolled over, multiple times before coming to a stop.

Jean, an experienced warrior, anticipated the crash, freed his legs and leaped from the back of the dead beast, to land hard, stunned. He tried to stand but fell to his hands and knees in the bloody sand. Across the sand, Le Gris sensed victory and charged again. Jean scampered wildly on all fours and found his axe just as Le Gris was upon him.

Jacques swung for Jean' head, but he dove to the ground, rolled forward and came up on his knees, swinging his ass in a low arc that his Le Gris' horse at the breastbone. As Le Gris continued his charge past De Carrouges, Jean turned and drew the axe across the belly of the beast, splitting the horse open and spilling its entrails into the sand.

The horse shrieked in agony and began to thrash about the courtyard, bucking and screaming, before collapsing onto the sand. Jacques managed to ride the beast to the ground, then leaped off, landing on his feet. He walked over and pulled the long, two-handed sword from the saddle harness, then swung it high over his head and down, giving his horse mercy.

Jean took the opportunity to get to his feet and retrieve his own two-handed sword. Exhausted, he slowly walked toward Jacques, who turned to face his opponent. The two men began a dance macabre, stepping forward while the other stepped back, lunging one way, then the other, swinging and blocking, parrying, and reposting. The courtyard was filled with the sound of metal on metal.

Each man landed many strong, powerful blows on the other, but the armor was too thick, they were too well protected. Jean was beyond fatigued. He knew he needed to end this and end it soon, or he ran the risk of being too tired to defend himself. Jacques was in better condition and could easily outlast him. Jacques sensed the weakness of his former friend and knew that time worked in his favor. He was content to exhaust Jean, then move in for the coup de grâce.

They continued the dance, circling and trying to out position each other, swinging and defending, attacking and protecting. Jean was growing weaker and weaker with every swing of the heavy blade. Then his block came a fraction of a second too slow, and Jacques blade bit into the flesh of Jean's upper thigh. Blood squirted from the cut onto the sand, and Jean stumbled.

Instead of taking advantage and pressing the attack, Jacques stepped back. He knew that the wound could prove fatal by letting Jean bleed to death. The blood loss would make him weaker and weaker, as well. So Jacques watched and waited, circling Jean and forcing the wounded knight to walk on the injured leg.

Jean saw his mortality. The wound was bad, but not directly fatal. Fortunately, no major arteries had been severed. If they had, he would have bled out in seconds. Time became a much more critical factor. In a battle of attrition, he was doomed. He needed to do something unexpected. He was a veteran of hundreds of battles and had a big back of tricks.

Jean feigned that his wound was worse than it was and nearly fell, then limped badly trying to get distance from Jacques. Jacques sensed Jean was finished and lunged forward. Just then, Jean threw his two-handed sword down and drew the longsword from his hip. He lowered his head and drove forward with all of his weight and power, crashing headfirst into the onrushing Le Gris' breastplate.

The force of the blow winded Le Gris and sent him falling hard onto his back. Jean landed on top of him and straddled the fallen knight's chest. He immediately began to bash and thrash Jacques with his sword, pounding hard, blow after blow. Jacques used his arms to try to ward off the strikes, but most of them landed on his chest and faceplate. The armor did its job, though, and none of the blows could cut through. The worst of the hits were bruising but livable.

Jean realized the futility of his attack. He had Jacques vulnerable, but he could not finish him. Sooner or later, he would tire, and Jacques would kill him. He tossed his sword away and drew his dagger. Jacque saw it and began trying to grapple for the blade. If Jean could penetrate a wear area like under the arm or groin, he would be dead. So, Jacque s fought wildly.

Jacque flipped the dagger over and began to bash the pommel into Jean's faceplate as hard as he could. The faceplate dented worse and worse. Blood oozed through the perforations, but still, Jacques fought. Jean targeted the bolted clasp that held the visor closed, bashing it over and over and over with the pommel. Suddenly, it snapped loose. Jean grabbed the visor and shoved it open, looking down into the bloody face of Jacque le Gris. His nose was crushed and bloody as was his mouth, with several broken teeth.

"Confess!" Jean yelled loud enough for everyone to hear, "Confess and live!"

Jacque tried to speak through his split lips, spitting blood and bits of tooth. He managed to speak in a raspy voice, just loud enough for Jean to make out what he said and no one else.

"I swear to you, Jean, I did not rape her," Jacques said. "I love her, and she loves me."

Jean stared into his rival's eyes and smiled. "I know," Jean admitted. "Say hello to Jeanne in Hell!"

He plunged his dagger into Jacques le Gris neck and blood sprayed out of the open visor, into Jean's face. He held the blade there, until Jacques stopped twitching, then staggered to his feet and looked around the arena. He stumbled to stand before the King, dropping the bloody dagger, and pulling off his helmet.

The King stood and spoke.

"Sir Jean de Carrouges, you are victorious. I hereby declare that Sir Jacques le Gris is guilty of rape. You and your wife are cleared of all charges and are free to go."

Jean slowly staggered to the platform where Sir Robert was busily unchaining his wife. As soon as she was free, Marguerite ran down the stairs onto the sand. Jean threw his arms around her and collapsed to his knees. Marguerite cradled Jean in her arms as her tears fell onto his face. She glanced at the dead body of Jacques le Gris lying twenty feet away, then back to her husband. Jean looked up into her face and asked, "Now are you mine?"

Marguerite nodded and said, "Yes, I am."

*****

Epilogue

In the aftermath of the duel, Parlement voted to forever outlaw trial by combat, making the contest between Sir Jean de Carrouges and Sir Jacques le Gris the last judicial duel ever fought in France.

Jean and Marguerite went on to have more sons and lived happily together. They moved to Paris as the medieval equivalent of major celebrities. She got her wish to become a courtier and live in aristocratic society.

Jean was named Knight of Honor and was made King Charles VI personal bodyguard. He served the king loyally for many years, eventually dying as a soldier, on campaign against the Turks in Hungary.

Jacque le Gris is remembered by history as a rapist. However, no one knows for sure what really happened between Jacques and Marguerite. Was she raped, or were they lovers?

God will decide it.