BOOK IV
The Shifting Tide
Chapter X – The Tournament Begins
As the first rays of light peeked over the horizon, marking the dawn of Friday, July 18, 1230, Alexios Chrysasphes shivered. He stood in his armour, ready for battle. At his side was his trusty horse, and there with him also were his brother, Alexandros, the Crown Prince masquerading as Imbert Nikolaidos, and the real Imbert as well. Alexios was first up for battle, facing off against Demetrios the Kalabrian. He began to nod his head up and down, repeating to himself, “I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.”
Alexandros placed a reassuring hand on his twin brother’s shoulder and said, “I know you can do it, brother.”
The real Imbert nodded and said, “Demetrios is a proud descendant of St. Alexios. He will trust in his ancestor’s spirit to help him. Just hit him with the moves I’ve taught you, and he’s all yours.”
The Prince motioned to the field, “Look, there! He’s coming out to be announced!”
At the far end of the tournament grounds, Alexios could see his opponent ride out on his war horse, lance in hand, helmet tilted up so the crowd could see his face. A herald came out with him and proclaimed, “My master, the Prince Demetrios Dekanos of Kalabria, descendant of St. Alexios himself!”
Demetrios raised his lance and received the cheers of the crowd, all of whom loved St. Alexios as the patron saint of the Kingdom. This automatically made Demetrios and his cousin, also named Demetrios, instant fan favourites. After the noise died down, Demetrios lowered his helmet and moved into position to begin the tournament.
Alexios mounted his steed and gulped. He was twenty years old. He shouldn’t be scared anymore. But the thought of a lance striking him hard in the chest always gave him the jitters. Nevertheless, he received his lance from his brother, and rode out into the field, the real Imbert at his side, posing as a squire.
The Tournament Grounds in Korinthos
When they were in full public view, Imbert proclaimed in a loud voice, “Alexios Chrysasphes, son of Protodeacon Andronikos! Knight of Sardinia!”
Some moderate applause were heard, nothing like the reception Demetrios had received. Alexios snorted and muttered, “How do you like that?” He then lowered his own helmet and moved into position.
When the two knights were facing each other, a herald proclaimed in a loud voice, “The joint sword-joust tournament is about to begin! A knight, when un-horsed, is not automatically disqualified. He has the option of rising, drawing his blade, and continuing the fight. Matches shall proceed until one combatant yields, or until otherwise declared by an official. And now, His Majesty, King Georgios III, shall initiate the tournament!”
With a nearly imperceptible wave of his very weak hand, the seventy year-old monarch motioned for the tournament to begin. The herald shouted, “The sign has been given! Let the tournament commence!”
Demetrios spurred his mount on towards his foe, and almost immediately thereafter, Alexios followed suit. The two warriors sped down the course towards each other, ready for the combat. All thoughts of fear fled Alexios’ mind in the wake of adrenaline. As they closed, the Chrysasphid knight let out a loud yell, and smashed his lance into Prince Demetrios’ chest. The Kalabrian fell from his horse onto the ground with a
thud. Alexios raised his lance in the air, cheering in victory.
Demetrios was not ready to give up, though. He rose up from the ground and rushed at Alexios with his lance. The younger knight had not been expecting this, and was subsequently thrown from his horse by the collision. Alexios rolled out of the way just in time as Demetrios brought his lance down to crush him. Rising to his feet, Alexios drew his wooden blade and rushed into the fray. But Demetrios was ready for him. Without even using his sword, still holding his unbroken lance, the Kalabrian swung with full force and his weapon collided with Alexios’ head, sending him reeling. Another two heavy blows fell, and young Alexios lay on the ground. He raised his right hand for a moment, before it sank back into the dust. An official came onto the field of battle and waved his flag, signaling an end to the fight. He took Demetrios’ hand and lifted it on high, proclaiming, “Our first winner is Prince Demetrios of Kalabria, victorious over Alexios Chrysasphes! The next fight will begin in twenty minutes: Tobromeros Poniros, Knight of Euboia versus Orestes Dasios, Knight of Naxos!”
Alexios’ brother rushed onto the field, followed closely by the Crown Prince and the real Imbert. They knelt to the ground and helped the fallen knight to his feet. Konstantinos took the warrior’s helmet off to help him breathe, and beheld the bruised and bloody visage of his friend. Alexios forced a weak smile onto his face and said, “Did I beat him yet?”
None of them said anymore as they helped him walk off the field, amid the cheers of the Dekanid Prince’s adoring crowd.
- - -
“You can’t go through with it. I forbid you to!” said Imbert sternly.
Exasperated, Konstantinos replied, “How are you going to stop me?”
“I could reveal your true identity. They would force you to withdraw then.”
The Crown Prince rolled his eyes, “Why now? Why are you doing this now?”
“Did you see Alexios’ face?” demanded Imbert, pointing to their bloodied comrade. “If you should lose a match, that could be
you. The
last thing we need is for the heir to the throne to get
that battered and beaten before he’s even sixteen years old!”
In the background they could hear the herald proclaim, “Our winner is Tobromeros Poniros, victorious over Orestes Dasios! The next fight will begin in twenty minutes: Imbert Nikolaidos, Knight of Sardinia versus Nikolaos Angelos, Heir to the County of Consenza!”
Konstantinos indicated with a motion of his head towards the field and said, “It’s my turn to fight in a minute. If you’re that worried about me, then pray to St. Alexios I don’t lose.” With that, he put his helmet on and went to make sure his trust horse,
Basileios was ready for action.
- - -
As the two warriors sat mounted on their horses, facing down the line towards each other, Nikolaos Angelos’ herald came into the field and proclaimed, “My lord, Nikolaos Angelos, eldest son and heir of Count Nikolaos of Consenza, here representing his father!” There was some cheering from the crowd.
Next, the real Imbert came forward, as he had done for Alexios, and announced, “Captain Imbert Nikolaidos, Knight of Sardinia and head of the bodyguard unit of the Crown Prince, here by order of the Prince himself, and representing his majesty both on the field and off! He is a master at arms, fearless, and devout. God is with him!”
As he left the field, he walked past the Prince, who looked down from his horse and said with a wink, “I don’t know who you were really trying to praise with that introduction, me or you?”
The real Imbert patted his pupil’s arm and said, “If I have to play the part, I might as well enjoy myself. But I did speak the truth about you. Every word. Knock him senseless, my boy. Show him, and everyone here, what the heir to King Georgios I can do!”
Konstantinos nodded and said, “Thank you, Imbert.” He was about to lower his helmet for the match when a cry rang out through the stadium, “Sir Imbert! Sir Imbert, over here!” He looked, and there was Sophia, sitting in the stands near the King. She was waving a handkerchief as she beckoned to him. He rode his horse over to her and said, “How may I be of service, milady?”
She tossed the handkerchief to him and said, “You can wear this favour, and ride in my honour.”
As he caught it, the Crown Prince opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Sophia’s brother, Konstantinos Orestes, who said, “Tread carefully, Nikolaidos. This is a woman of Palaeologid blood you court, daughter to the Prince of Imeretia. You wear her favour, and thus her honour. If you should shame my sister with defeat, you will have made a true enemy of me, and not merely a rival.”
The Prince just smiled and said, “I was unaware that competitors prepared for battle in the stands, Konstantinos Orestes Palaeologus. Or have you withdrawn from the tournament?”
The Imeretian sneered and said, “I do not fight for another two hours. Rest assured, I will be ready when the time comes. I do hope you survive this fight, Imbert. I would hate to see someone else spoil for me the treat of defeating you in this tournament.”
Ignoring this last statement, Konstantinos looked back to Sophia and said, “Milady, I thank you for your favour. I shall bring you honour, and win this tournament for you!” With that he rode back to his starting position.
The herald asked, in a rather annoyed voice, “Do we have any
other distractions?” After a brief pause, with no apparent answer to his question, he exclaimed, “Good! Then let the joust begin!”
The flag was waved and the two competitors sped towards each other. As the distance closed, Konstantinos held his lance firmly, yet not rigidly. He aimed for Nikolaos’ upper left chest, hoping the force of the thrust would send him flying. Suddenly there was a loud “
crunch!” and his lance exploded from the force of striking its opponent. He was also jostled by the force of Nikolaos’ lance striking him square in the centre of his torso. The Prince was able to remain mounted, despite the blow. Nikolaos was not so fortunate. He was unhorsed and struck the ground with a
thud.
Konstantinos discarded his broken lance and drew his wooden blade. Nikolaos arose and also drew his blade. As Konstantinos made a pass at him, Nikolaos rolled out of the way. The Angelid dynast taunted, “Is that all you’ve got! Ha!”
The Prince called his horse to a halt, dismounted, and began to walk towards his opponent, sternly silent.
Nikolaos continued to taunt, “Come on, Knight! Let’s see what you’ve got! You’ve got nothing, eh? Bring it!”
As the Angelid spoke that last taunt, Konstantinos had come within sword range. With a single forceful blow made contact with the point between Nikolaos’ neck and his left shoulder. The Angelid sank to the ground, in shock. The Prince looked down at him and said, “Next time, more fighting. Less talking.” He then raised his wooden blade into the air and let out a cry of victory. There were some cheers from the crowd, but the Prince was disappointed in their lack of enthusiasm. Evidently his fight had not been exciting enough. They were here to see combat, not to see one knight quickly beat the tar out of another. He remounted his horse and rode off of the field while the herald proclaimed, “Our winner is Imbert Nikolaidos, victorious over Nikolaos Angelos! The next fight will begin in twenty minutes: Leonidas Palaeologus, representing his father, Prince Leonidas of Butrinto, versus Arcill di Aversa, Count of Benevento!”
- - -
“That’s not how I taught you to fight,” said Imbert.
The Prince rolled his eyes, “I beat him, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” conceded the elder of the two, “but only because he was more of an idiot than you were. If you try to pull a stunt like that tomorrow, you’ll lose this tournament for sure.”
“Anselmo taught me to go for the enemy’s weakness. Strike swiftly, strike deadly. That’s what he taught me.” Konstantinos was insistent.
“Ah yes, the Italian with a sword as thin as my finger!” said Imbert. “Yes, if you fight like him, all of Europe will laugh.”
“You never had any respect for him!” shouted the young Prince.
“And you’ve never had any respect for me!” was the shouted reply.
“Maybe that’s because we’re always fighting and shouting!” With that, the Prince stormed off, bringing his horse with him.
Imbert watched as his young pupil marched away, angry again. Once the boy was out of sight, Imbert sank to the ground, buried his face in his hands, and said, “Oh God, why do I always argue with that boy?”
Alexios shrugged, “You just have a very… unusual way of showing you care is all.”
Alexandros shook his head, “As usual, Alexios, you really don’t have anything constructive to say, do you?” Then, sitting down next to Imbert, he said, “Imbert, my friend, you can’t approach him like a soldier. Remember what we talked about last night? He’s a genius, and a reborn Achilles to be sure, but he’s still a fifteen year-old boy. You’ve got to treat him like one.”
“I know. I know,” replied Imbert. “I keep telling myself that I’m hard on him because he needs it. But the truth is, I’m scared to lose him. I’ve practically raised him after his parents died. And now, Grand Master Stephanos, right before he died, assigned me to take the young boy Manuel Angelos to Abkhazia. He told me I have until this tournament ends, and then I am to leave Konstantinos. I haven’t broken the news to him yet. How can I? I can’t tell him about my secret mission. Only we members of the Order are allowed to know about that. But the truth is, the last day of the tournament is my last day as his mentor and surrogate father. And that day is only five days away. Oh God, I need to stop treating him like this. I don’t want this to be how he remembers me.”
“There are other ways of guiding him than to yell at him and attack everything he does,” said Alexandros. “Yes, the boy was too headstrong in this battle. But next time, praise him first for a job well done, then
gently point out his mistakes. After that, give a little more encouragement. Let him know you are
proud of him, not just angry that he did something stupid.”
Imbert glanced at him and said, “Are you sure you’re only twenty years-old, Alexandros?”
The Chrysasphid knight chuckled, “Last time I checked.”
“You are wise beyond your years,” said Imbert. “Our Prince is smart, strong, and fast. But you possess the wisdom he lacks. Promise me something Alexandros.”
Alexandros said, “Anything.”
“Promise me that when I leave for Abkhazia, you will become the Prince’s mentor. Never leave his side, Alexandros. Alexios, you promise me, too. I want you two to be there for him always. Help him to become a good man, a good King. And keep him safe.”
The two young knights both put their right fists over their hearts and said, “I swear.”
In the background they could hear the herald, “Our winner is Leonidas Palaeologus, victorious over Arcill di Aversa! The next battle shall begin in twenty minutes: Alexios de Hauteville, Count of Messina versus Alexandros Chrysasphes, Knight of Sardinia.”
Alexandros then said, “Well, I’d better get ready. Looks like it’s my turn.”
Alexios smiled and said, “Give him hell, brother!”