by Robert Thier
As is only proper, Reuben thought, and breathed in the delicious scent of the food with relish. How could a mere commoner expect a nobleman such as himself to think about such lowly matters as money? His noble presence alone should be enough payment.
Taking up the tray, Reuben sat at the table and took up the spoon. Normally, he would insist on being waited on by the house's servants, but since he had thrown both servants out of the house a few days ago and in the process given them both a good number of sprains and bruises, he supposed they weren't very eager to come near him. And the meal smelled so delicious...
Without much delay, Reuben dug into his food. He believed himself to be a true knight, following all of the ideals of the codes of chivalry—it was only the idea of mâze, the restraint towards all the desires of the body, that he had slight problems with from time to time, especially when such a delicious dish was standing in front of him and his stomach was growling like an angry dog.
But, Reuben promised himself, as soon as he had finished his meal, he would go back to his ideal of restraint. Then, he would be the most restrained knight in all of Palermo. Until the next meal.
The roast which his host had prepared was truly a masterpiece. Reuben's heart softened a little towards the Sicilian innkeeper. It wasn't his fault that he had been born a commoner, and thus had a sense of honor and propriety akin to that of a porker. Noblemen such as he himself had to forgive such inferior beings and continue on their righteous path in spite of their hindrance.
Reuben washed down the roast with a few glasses of the excellent Sicilian wine the innkeeper had also provided, and then rose from his chair. His hunger was sated, his abode assured—it was time to explore the wondrous city of Palermo some more. The Emperor was approaching. After having heard so much about him in his father's tales, Reuben wanted very much to see this man, one of the most powerful rulers of the Christian world.
The streets were packed with people. Nevertheless, Reuben noted with pleasure, he had no trouble reaching his goal: the people of Palermo made way for him wherever he went. They seemed to have the proper respect for his superior station. Though, the fact that he was two heads taller than most of them and three times as muscular also probably had something to do with it.
When he reached the street that led to the city gates, an excited crowd had already gathered. There were people of all countries and stations assembled here, men and women both. Reuben noted that there were several dozen young Sicilian maidens in the crowd, with dark eyes, bright smiles, and intriguing forms. His gaze lingered on them. And why not? The Emperor hadn’t arrived yet, and there was no sin in looking. Even if there was, he could confess it later...
Suddenly, the crowd in front of Reuben started backing up, gasping, and crossing themselves. That surely could only mean one thing: they had beheld the exalted presence of the Emperor. Yet although Reuben could see over the heads of the crowd, he could not see the man he had come to see. Emperor Friedrich still had to be beyond the city walls, and Reuben pushed to the front of the crowd to be able to see through the gate. People got out of his way very quickly.
When he stood in the first row, Reuben looked through the gate and saw a procession coming from between the hills around the city: gilded wagons drawn by white horses, knights in all colors on powerful steads, falconers displaying their charges on their outstretched arms, musicians accompanying the procession with sweet tones of the harp and flute.
And at the very front was...
Reuben frowned. That couldn't be the Emperor, could it? If it was, his father's descriptions had not been very accurate. In fact, now that the thing was slowly coming closer, Reuben could see it looked more like an animal. A huge animal, huge and gray. No, this definitely wasn't the Emperor. Or if it was, Reuben would quickly emigrate to another empire.
Around him, the crowd drew back with gasps of mingled horror and fascination as the gray thing approached the gate. None of them had ever seen something like this before. The thing raised its gigantic nozzle and trumpeted like a battalion of buglers. With cries and a cacophony of Sicilian curses, the people retreated further. Even the guards, who were supposed to be lining the streets, ducked into alleys to cower in the shadows. Only Reuben stayed where he was. Bravery was one of the most important chivalric virtues. He would stay where he was, even if he was about to wet himself—which of course he wasn't. Not at all.
The giant gray beast wasn’t alone at the head of the procession: soldiers marched on either side of it, some in Sicilian, some in German, some in Saracen garb. And it wasn't guideless either: on its neck, like a pea on a pumpkin, sat a young man with pitch-black skin and curious headgear such as Reuben had sometimes seen Saracens wearing in the books of his father's library.
Behind the black youth, a wooden sedan chair[54] rested on the back of the beast. At the very moment it passed the first guard outside the city gates, who was cowering behind a bush, the curtain on the sedan chair swung aside, and there he was: Friedrich II von Hohenstaufen, by God's grace elected Roman Emperor, exalted sovereign, at all times furtherer of the Realm and King in Sicily, Germany, and Jerusalem.
Reuben had to admit, the man's titles were even more impressive than his own. This didn't go for his looks, though. Reuben was perfectly well aware that he was a superb specimen of manhood. The Emperor, in comparison, appeared to him a rather thin man, with longish red hair a neatly-trimmed red beard. His smile was pleasant, though not charming. All in all, he would have been a rather average looking man...
Would have been, were it not for his eyes.
They were as clear and sharp as a hawk's. Even at this distance, Reuben could feel their gaze piercing him. He suddenly understood why his father had followed this man all the way to Jerusalem and back, even with old women showing him their derrieres on the w—?
Hurriedly, he shook his head. No. He would not think of that today. Today was a day for celebration.
The beast raised its nozzle again and trumpeted so loud Reuben's ears hurt and he twitched back. The Emperor just smiled and raised his hand, greeting the crowd as leisurely as if he were riding on a sweet-tempered gelding.
Oh yes. Reuben swallowed. He could definitely see how this man had become Emperor.
“What kind of monster is that?” a German merchant in the crowd whispered.
One of the Sicilians shook his head. “No monster, Signore. This is what is called an elephant—a magnificent beast given to the Emperor as a present by a Saracen king, they say.[55] In their strange land, such beasts roam free.”
Staring up at the massive gray form which eyed the people around him with supreme indifference, Reuben made a promise to himself to one day visit these lands. What a thrill it must be to hunt such gigantic prey!
With a gracious nod at the crowd, the Emperor motioned to his black servant to continue, and the elephant, surrounded by soldiers and musicians, marched up the street towards the Royal Palace. People flooded after it, starting to cheer and call out the Emperor's name.
As he followed the Imperial procession up to the palace, where all the knights competing at the tournament would first assemble, Reuben caught a glimpse of Sir Wilhelm in the crowd. He smiled, remembering the last part of his discussion with the herald, a few days earlier. Reuben had been about to leave, when he had remembered that he had forgotten something important.
Turning, he had said to the herald: “Just one thing more...”
“Yes?”
“My opponent in the joust. Could it be arranged for me to joust with a particular knight, you know, one I may have a score to settle with?”
“Well... it has been done before, Sir, though unofficially. Would you wish me to...?”
“That would be very kind.”
“And which knight, if I may inquire, Sir?” asked the herald, taking up another, larger piece of slate.
Reuben smiled. “Sir Wilhelm von Richtershalden.”
The Dressing of the World
Reuben's horse waited for him
where he had left it, tied to an iron ring in a wall not far from the main road. He had left it behind before approaching the procession, thinking that it would be presumptuous to be on the same level as the Emperor when his majesty rode into the city.
As things were, he thought with an ironic glance at the retreating backside of the gray monster, at least twelve feet in height, he need not have bothered.
Quickly, he untied the horse and swung himself into the saddle. Apart from his helmet, he was already in full armor. Some knights waited till the last moment to arm up, to conserve their strength, but Reuben spurned such behavior. As if his strength could ever be spent!
“Hüa!”
Calling out encouragement to his noble steed, Reuben spurred Ajax on. The few people who had not yet gone off after the Emperor's elephant, yelled in surprise and sprang out of the way as the huge horse galloped past them over the cobblestones, up the main road.
It took Reuben only half a minute to catch up to the rear of the procession. He rode in its wake, and as it moved up through the city and towards the castle and jousting ground, more knights joined him, coming out of alleys to the right and left, their bright surcoats and shields displaying their crests in full splendor.
His eyes narrowing, Reuben took in the knights. He wasn't merely gawping, like the hundreds of commoners on either side of the street. He was examining the competition. And competition they would be, for unlike in the small tournaments near his father's residence at Burg Castle,[56] there wouldn't just be the local lads here, whom Reuben had surpassed long ago and beaten into the dirt a dozen times each. This was the Emperor's Court. Here, there were real knights.
He could see a mountain of metal up ahead; his dark red surcoat and shield bore a double-barred white cross. Polish, maybe? Reuben fancied he’d seen the arms before. To the gigantic knight’s left, looking almost as if he were riding in the other man's shade to shield himself from the hot sun, was a tiny, wiry fellow bearing the same arms, who looked as if he couldn't last two minutes in a joust, let alone a melee.[57]
Yet there he was, still alive, and not a scar on his face, looking serene and relaxed. Reuben immediately made a mental note not to underestimate him.
His eye passed over a few young fellows who were joking and passing around a bottle of wine. By the time everybody had reached the castle, they would be too drunk to stay on a horse. You would hardly have to give them a nudge to make them fall.
Wandering beyond the drinking knights, his gaze fell on something black and white, and immediately snapped to the man displaying the colors. His first glance had not betrayed him. The man wore a black cross on white ground, the official crest of the Ordo domus Sanctæ Mariæ Theutonicorum Hierosolymitanorum, or as they were known by people who had no desire to tie a knot into their tongue, the Teutonic Knights.[58] Whoever this man was, he had probably fought in the Holy Land,[59] Egypt, Arabia, and other places Reuben had never heard of. He held himself stiffly erect, already clad in his armor, and, unlike Reuben, already wearing his great helmet. The metal shone brightly in the midday sun, seeming to make the eyes beyond the visor darker than they already were.
Again, Reuben's eyes flitted over a few knights who were obviously green, and not because their coat of arms contained that color. The next knight his gaze fastened on was... well. He was not sure whether this man should be called a knight at all. Yet the mere fact that the others did not challenge his presence here spoke volumes. His skin was dark, dark as ebony. On his head, he wore a peculiar spiked helmet which left his face free. He wore a round shield, the only device[60] of which was a crescent moon. Reuben did not have to be an expert in heraldry to guess where this man came from.
“Who is that?” he heard one of the drunken knights whisper.
One of his friends muttered a low oath. “An infidel, of course! Can't you recognize the devil by his blackened skin? I can't for the life of me remember his name. He's some sort of envoy from one of their bastard kings, and I've heard that as a 'diplomatic gesture' the Emperor has allowed him to compete in the tournament.”
“Ha! More likely so we can show him what a true Christian whose arm is strengthened by God is capable of!”
The Saracen, who seemed to have heard the last words, turned his head and regarded the two young men for a moment with the air of a tiger looking at two deer, contemplating which he should sink his teeth into first. Reuben had a feeling that the true Christians next to him would soon find out what a black devil was capable of, one whose arms had been strengthened by years of violent combat.
His hand slid down his side, until it came to rest on the pommel of his sword.
Well, if the Saracen got past those two, all the better. That would leave the infidel for him.
Reuben's eyes moved on once more, finally landing on the sight they had saved till last.
Ah!
The man was tall, almost as tall as Reuben. His stature, though, was completely different: slim and sinuous, with long limbs that moved in swift, graceful little movements as he directed his horse this way and that. His face was slim, too, with high cheekbones and deep-set dark brown eyes: an aristocratic face. Reuben didn't let the slightly overbearing set of the knight's features mislead him, though. It was the way he moved that mattered. And his grace and swiftness told Reuben this man had more than enough reason to be proud of his skills.
He, too, was already in armor. But he didn't wear his helmet yet, so Reuben could see the darkness of his skin—by no means as dark as that of the Saracen, but still hinting at years spent under a burning sun. The man met Reuben's eyes. For a moment, their gazes locked. Then they disengaged again. Reuben could almost hear the slither of steel on steel.
He leaned sideways to the drinking knights. “Excuse me, Sir, but who is that?”
The knight, who was even younger than Reuben, so young that he had probably only recently received his accolade,[61] followed Reuben's gaze. “That? You don't know who that is? Heavens, man, where have you been?”
“Until a few days ago, on a ship somewhere in the Mediterranean.”
The young knight laughed joyfully. “Well, that explains it. That's Sir Tomasso di Zaragoza, the Sicilian champion. Everybody says he's a wizard with the lance.” He pointed to the lance resting on the Sicilian knight's pack horse. It was just as long and slim as its owner. Reuben realized immediately you would need enormous strength to hold it, but it would give you an invaluable advantage against knights with shorter lances. Raising his bottle of wine, the young man winked at Reuben. “Supposedly he’s the best in the whole of Italy. I mean to find out if it's true.”
Reuben doubted very much the inebriated youth would last long enough in the jousting to have a chance to meet this paragon. But he himself might. And he was looking forward to it very much.
By now, the Imperial procession, with the long line of knights behind it, had almost reached the top of the hill on which the Royal Palace was situated. In front of them lay the castle courtyard, surrounded by high wooden stands. The crowd, which by now had lost most of its fear of the mighty elephant, surged in behind the procession to fill the stands and every other available spot around the lists, the roped-off area in which the knights were to ride against each other.
A pursuivant[62] in a Hohenstaufen[63] surcoat, doubtless one of the apprentices of the herald Reuben had met before, stepped into the middle of the courtyard and raised his hands.
The crowd quieted. The knights reined in their horses. Only the Emperor and his company continued on, until they were arrayed behind the pursuivant. It was a majestic picture: the Emperor on his living gray throne, surrounded by his people, faced by his loyal knights.
Well, apart from the Saracen, who was probably hatching plans for an invasion. But, Reuben reflected, you couldn't have everything, even as an emperor.
“Welcome!” the pursuivant called out. “Welcome in the name of his Majesty Friedrich II von Hohenstaufen, by God's grace elected Roman Emperor, exalted sovereign, at all times f
urtherer of the Realm and King in Sicily, Germany, and Jerusalem. On this beautiful day and in the presence of our Lord who ever blesses his Majesty the Emperor in all his endeavors, his Majesty has ruled to hold a tournament in this royal city of Palermo, at which all the loyal knights of the Empire may measure their skills against each other, and against travelers from far away,” he gave a courteous bow to the Saracen and the two Poles, “so their arms might grow in strength and their swords ever stay sharp in the defense of the Empire. And you, the people,” he added, opening his arms, “have been invited to behold your noble lords' strength, so you may know that you are protected and can sleep safely at night.”
And, of course, it was also a splendid opportunity to revel and carouse. However, the herald didn't mention that. Reuben knew that such things were rarely given as the official reasons for tournaments.
“Now, my lords, ladies, gentlemen, and citizens of Palermo, while the Emperor takes a short rest from his travels, there will be music and song for your entertainment!” The pursuivant pointed to the steps of the castle, where several bards had taken up positions. The crowd roared their approval. “Meanwhile, will the noble knights please prepare for the fight...”
He left the sentence hanging in the air, promising, and the crowd roared again. Then the music began playing, and the pursuivant bowed to the knights, marching off the courtyard, around the castle, and beckoning them to follow him.
Reuben, who had been patiently waiting all the time, gave his horse the spurs and followed the other knights around to the back of the castle, where tents had been erected for all the warriors to change into their armor. Most of them availed themselves of the courtesy. Reuben, however, already in his armor, simply got off his horse so as not to exhaust the animal and slowly went through a series of simple exercises to warm and relax his muscles. He wanted to be perfectly ready.