The Ivanhoe Gambit (TimeWars 1)

Lucas was left to battle Bois-Guilbert. "Die, Saxon pig!" screamed the Templar, hacking away at Lucas with all his might. He was becoming increasingly frustrated. The white knight had parried most of his blows, but some had gotten through and Bois-Guilbert simply couldn't understand why he had failed to draw blood. Whereas all around them lay knights who had been smashed and dented, leaving the impression that they had been dropped from some great height, the white knight's armor showed not a single mark of serious damage. It was infuriating.

Lucas, meanwhile, was beginning to grow tired. As the previous day's champion, he had had his work cut out for him, becoming the mark for every knight on the opposing side. While others had been able to pace themselves to some extent, he was constantly beset and not given even one moment's pause. His superior armor enabled him to survive unscathed, but he was still susceptible to the effects of all the pounding and he was exhausted. The timely intervention of the black knight had given him an opportunity to end it and he had every intention of taking advantage of it. He had only one shot, but one shot was all he needed. The Templar was obviously in a fine sweat from his exertions and that would serve very nicely. He waited for an opening and when Bois-Guilbert left him one, he gave him a casual swat with his sword. At the same time, he triggered the capacitor that discharged 25,000 volts at half an ampere through the blade and into the Templar's body.

The Templar spasmed and his horse broke wind prodigiously. Lucas took advantage of the moment to bash him once again, although it was more for the sake of appearances than anything else. Bois-Guilbert never even felt it. He tumbled from his horse, unconscious. Prince John threw down his truncheon in disgust.

Lucas, like the fused capacitor he ejected from his sword hilt, was completely drained. He wished he could have given Bo

is-Guilbert a lethal dose of electricity, but he was glad to settle for a TKO. He still had a part to play. Frying Bois-Guilbert would never do. What had happened had to appear to be the result of a sword strike, not a lightning strike. Just the same, he was thankful for the equipment designed to increase the odds of his survival. It was easy for a soldier from 2613 to succumb to the temptation to feel superior to a fighting man of the Middle Ages, since even the smallest modern man would be on a par at least with the largest knights. However, that did not take into account the fact that these were men who were accustomed to a harsher way of life, to more primitive conditions and, needless to say, to moving about in heavy suits of armor. These men were far from being weaklings. Lucas had taken quite a beating during the melee and much of it had come from Bois-Guilbert.

He was brought before Prince John, who was ill disposed to name him champion. The fact that Lucas had laid out John's best knights, not to mention doing so in Richard's name, did not endear him to the prince. John insisted that the white knight would not have defeated Bois-Guilbert had not the black knight ridden to his rescue. The black knight, therefore, deserved the honors. However, when the call was put forth for him, the black knight could not be found. John had him summoned three times and when he did not appear, he grudgingly acknowledged Lucas as the champion, at which point a great cheer went up from the stands.

"Come, Fitzurse, let's away from here," John grumbled. "This day has soured my stomach."

"How, Sire, have you not accomplished your purpose this day?" Fitzurse said. "The people seem well pleased. They have seen a good day's entertainment, the champion is one to their liking and if a Jewess was initially selected as the queen of this tournament, at least the mistake was rectified and the Saxon girl, Rowena, installed in the office. All in all, a good day for the Saxons, one which they'll remember. It will make the new tax perhaps a bit more palatable."

"True enough," said John, somewhat mollified. "Still, I dislike these tournaments. They are a waste of manpower. This one has cost me Front-de-Boeuf."

"True again, Sire," said Fitzurse, "but this, too, can be turned to your advantage. The fief of Ivanhoe, which you had reassigned to Front-de-Boeuf, is now once again available to be assigned to a deserving knight. Might I suggest Maurice De Bracy? He and his Free Companions would serve you better if his interests were aligned with yours."

John smiled. "You are worth your weight in gold to me, Fitzurse. An excellent suggestion. I feel much better now. Well, then, since this nameless knight has opened up the way for me to award a fiefdom to De Bracy, thereby strengthening our bond, it would be well to honor him at Ashby. See to it that he comes. I am curious to see his face. Oh, and see to it that those Saxon churls, Cedric and Athelstane, attend as well, since they seem to love him. Perhaps we'll have some sport with them, and at the same time enjoy the fair Rowena's company."

* * * *

Lucas accepted Prince John's invitation. It would have been inadvisable to turn him down. He was tired and sore, but he had already missed one royal banquet; to miss this one would constitute an insult to the prince. Besides, it was a good time to establish himself in his new identity. The Castle of Ashby was the domain of Roger de Quincy, the Earl of Winchester. While de Quincy was crusading, John had taken Ashby over for his own purposes. When the absent crusaders returned to their possessions, they would find them confiscated by the king's brother, who had strengthened his own position considerably. It would be interesting to see what effect his arrival at the banquet would have.

He had known that Ivanhoe's lands had been granted to Front-de-Boeuf. Now John obviously intended to turn the fiefdom over to another of his toadies. What would he do when Ivanhoe showed up to claim his own? More to the point, what was Ivanhoe supposed to do? Lucas realized that his own position was becoming somewhat precarious. Ashby was the key. Whatever happened next, he was certain that it would occur at Ashby.

Hooker was not in sight as he approached his tent. With any luck, thought Lucas, he's gone to get something to eat. He was starved. Tired and hungry, Lucas entered the pavilion.

Hooker was lying face down on the ground. The black knight sat helmetless upon the wooden cot. He smiled.

"King takes pawn, Mr. Priest," he said. "It's your move."

As Lucas clawed for his sword, the black knight chuckled and disappeared into thin air.

* * * *

Lucas was bending over to examine Hooker's body when he heard the sound of someone entering the pavilion, followed by a sharp intake of breath. Cursing himself for being caught off guard, he spun around, expecting to be attacked. Instead, he saw Finn Delaney and Bobby Johnson. And Corporal Hooker.

"Hooker!"

It was Hooker who had gasped. He stood looking down at his own dead body with a glassy-eyed stare. He had been garroted with a monofilament wire that had cut very deeply into his throat.

"Christ," whispered Delaney.

After the initial shock had worn off, Lucas understood. Somehow, something had gone wrong up ahead. Irving had discovered who they were. Maybe he had known from the very beginning, wherever in time the beginning was. Now he was playing with them and it was a grisly game. Somewhere in the not too distant future, Irving had killed Hooker and he had brought his body back into the past—their present—to tease them with the knowledge that he knew and that they were doomed to certain failure.

Hooker doubled over and clutched his stomach. He vomited. Delaney grabbed him, holding him and steadying him until the shaking and the heaves abated.

"Well, I guess that tears it," Bobby said, as soon as Lucas told him what had happened. "We've lost before we even had a chance to get started."

"Maybe," Delaney said. "And then again, maybe not."

"You mean maybe that's not me lying there?" said Hooker. He was trying not to look at the dead body, but his eyes kept straying back to it, as though the corpse exerted some sort of magnetism upon him. He was badly shaken and Lucas could hardly blame him. He could not imagine what his own reaction would be if he were confronted with his own corpse.

"Oh, that's you, all right," said Finn. "And I'll admit that you don't look too healthy, but that's not necessarily the way it's got to be."

"Are you telling me," said Hooker, "that that's not real?" He pointed to the body.