This is a small extract from my novel about
mediaeval Britain .
The two knights, Sir Lancemenot in blue strip
and Sir Gladhehad in red, faced each other at opposite ends of the jousting
arena. Lances and shields at the ready
they prepared to do battle.
The bee flew into Lancemenot’s helmet just as
he snapped the visor shut. For a few brief moments, metal clad limbs, thrashed
about wildly, before toppling ignominiously off the horse in a clanking,
groaning heap. The stricken knight ripped off his helmet just in time and
smiled with relief as the bee flew off without stinging him. The smile
disappeared as Gladhehad smashed his head in with his spiked ball on a chain. Lancemenot,
eyes watering, tried to stand up but his armour was too much of an impediment.
He watched helplessly as the red knight swung his sword to deliver the coup de
grace. He had just enough time to scream ‘It’ll still be my bastard’ before his
head was detached and kicked into touch. Many spectators shouted ‘Foul play’ and
‘We want our money back and Lady Guinowhere spewed up her morning sickness over the king’s dog.’
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