Sabra shook her head, helpless. "But you've only to look at him-his face and form tell all."

Richard looked and saw his younger self mirrored there. Michel was now a strong young man of one and twenty perhaps, with a proud carriage beyond his rank, and those eyes... like chips of winter blue ice. They stared over the short distance, meeting Richard's gaze, challenging, arrogant.

Dear God. He caught hold of a tent pole to steady himself. "I've no words. No thoughts." Only feelings, a terrible roiling mix of them. "What am I to do?"

"Nothing." "But you said he's to die this day?" He spoke less to Sabra than to himself, his voice so thin he did not recognize it.

"Why?"

She spread her hands, still helpless.

"Why tell me now? Is this some cruel joke?" He could scarce believe the Goddess would be so petty.

Sabra shut her eyes, as though to look inward for an answer. After a moment, she took a deep breath, like a swimmer starved for air. "To spare you. The Goddess would spare you."

"From what? From ever knowing I had an heir of my body?"

"From... from being the one who kills him."

He released Sabra, falling back a step. "What mean you?"

"If you'd gone on the field in ignorance... There are two paths for him; both lead to death. Richard, one of them led to you. You would have been the one to kill him."

"Where leads the other path? Name me that man!"

"I cannot-she denies it to me. This is his fate. I know not why it must be so; she has reasons beyond our wisdom."

"That shall not be."

"It shall, Richard. There's naught to be done to save him."

"Fate be damned," he snapped, and set off. Sabra cried his name-his real name-out once in anguish, then he heard no more.

Michel d'Orleans squared himself as Richard approached. The young man's expression was guarded yet amused.

"Come for a second trial at arms?" he asked, impolitely speaking first. He made no bow.

Richard stopped before him, searching this stranger's face for signs of recognition. "Michel... do you know who I am?"

"I know who you were. You've made a good place for yourself since that day you yielded all to me. Defeat served you well in the end."

"But do you know me?"

He shrugged. "You are the King's Champion here, by another name than your own. Many hold you in high esteem. I'm not one of them."

Now was not the time to reveal his paternity. He would not be believed. "How came you here?"

"The duke sent me. When news of this tourney came to the keep, I asked his leave to champion him. He granted it.

He warned me that I might meet you again. He knows what you've been up to all these years."

That was a surprise. "He cares what I do?"

"He cares to keep watch over his enemies, and he gave me enjoinment on what to do should we meet."

"Which is... ?"

Michel smiled unpleasantly, hand straying to the sword on his hip. It had once been Richard's own blade. "You can answer that for yourself... old man."

The jibe held no sting for him now; it inspired only desperation. "You may kill me as we stand here, Michel, I care not, only please, listen to me."

"What trickery is this?"

"None. I bear you no malice over that day, boy. The past is gone; the present is all, and you must listen to me..."

Richard put forth his will, pouring it out like a river. "Hear my words... and obey them, Michel."

Above them, thunder crackled threateningly. The Goddess was not pleased. Then damnation to her. He could not stand idle.

"Obey you?" Michel questioned, fighting off his influence. "I have my liege-lord. You are nothing to me."

"I am your way to life; hear me out!"

Michel glared at him, sullen. His face was flushed. There was wine on his breath. Had he had too much to be susceptible? Richard focused hard. "There is a seeress here, a prophet. All that she says comes true. The king himself will swear to it. She foretold that your path on this field goes straight to your death."

That took him aback, but he quickly recovered. "You lie. You just don't want to meet defeat again from me."

"By Jesu's wounds I am charged to keep you alive!"

Despite the force behind the words, Michel held to a stubborn face.

Dear God, he is my son. How could I have not seen? Richard tried a different tack. "I ask-ask-that you simply not fight me this day, just this one day. In return, you will have all that is mine as your prize." He gestured at his tent, far richer than the one Michel had originally taken from him. "Everything is yours, horses, weapons, all, if you retire now. I will vouch for you and say you took sick. None will question your honor or my word."

His gaze strayed to the tent, but Michel caught himself. "You mock me. I owe fealty to my lord Montague-this is some ruse to insult him and disgrace me."

"Not a ruse! Run me through now if it will please you and Montague, only promise you will not fight this day.

Should you wish it we can make a test of arms later, but-"

Michel snorted. "You're bewitched! The duke warned me you'd been enspelled into madness by the lady of the lake.

Seeress! Sorceress more like. I'll not be caught in her web-"

Enough was enough. He'd sworn to Sabra not to raise a weapon to Michel, but had made no promise concerning his fists. He clouted the younger man solidly on the jaw, knocking him flat. Michel lay like a stone and would stay that way for some time to come.

Their exchange was seen by many, and now the herald hurried over. Several others came with him.

"What means this, Lord Lancelot?" He was highly offended at such a gross breach of conduct, but restrained himself before the King's Champion.

" 'Twas a private quarrel, nothing of import."

"It is here, before this throng. What am I to say to the king?"

"Whatever you please. I'll speak to him later on it." Richard walked away quickly, leaving the man and his foolish questions behind.

In the tent he found Sabra slumped on the bed, still in her squire's clothing. She raised up when he came in. Her eyes were red with spilled sorrow. "He did not hear you," she stated.

His mouth twitched. "Yet I made him listen."

"Richard..."

"No! Not one more word. I have obeyed the Goddess in all things, but not this. She asks too much."

"There are destinies even she cannot command. This is one of them."

"Who commands is nothing to me. The boy will be spared this day, I pledge my life on that."

She went bone white. "Take care, Richard." There was fear in her whisper.

Thunder. A deafening roar and crack of it, that made them both flinch.

Richard looked up, as though to see the sky through the tent's ceiling, as though to see the face of the Goddess herself. "Be angry with me as you will," he shouted. "Strike me down if you must, but let him live."

You don't even know him.

The voice was unexpected. His heart faltered at the sound. It was in his head, like a whisper of doom.

From Sabra's stricken look, she'd also heard.

He mustered himself, bolstered by righteous anger. "I don't have to know him! What do you expect of me? Did you think I would do less? If so, then you know me not at all!"

The thunder without rumbled, going on and on, yet no rain fell. Eventually, the noise faded. The air grew thick and hard to breathe.

"Has she more to say?" he asked Sabra. "I don't know."

"None of this is your fault," he declared. "I hope she understands that."

"Nor is it yours. You are who you are, Richard."

"You may have to explain that to her. I must go now."

"Godspeed," she blurted, as he reached the tent flap.

He turned and came back, just long enough to frame her face with his hands, then kiss her. He wiped her tears away with his fingers, touching the salt wetness to his lips. "Here do I wear thy tokens, Lady du Lac," he said, then left.

He fought as one struck mad, as Lancelot had never been seen to fight before.

Gone was consideration of his opponents' moves, gone was planning; he fought recklessly, taking sword blows like fly swats, beating down all who dared to test him. The crowds cheered him, but he heard them not. One after another, he disarmed or knocked them unconscious or wounded the warriors in his frenzy. The fallen were taken away to the safe areas cordoned off between the flags. He fought on.

He was dimly aware of Lavaine sometimes being at his side, sometimes at his back. Richard was neither thankful for the alliance, nor against it; it was simply part of the day's ordeal. All he wanted was to end the melee quickly. If Michel recovered himself too soon...

No, he'd taken a well-judged knock. Enough to keep him out, but not permanently. Richard had had years to practice; he knew his craft.

"Here's another charge for us," huffed Lavaine.

Bors, Ector, and Lionel had formed a temporary alliance with nearly a dozen of their kinsmen, and were making havoc against the lone fighters on the field.

"Shall we break them?" Lavaine asked, grinning. Despite the cool of the dark day, he streamed sweat. His mail was rent from various cuts, his shield scarred from use, his helm battered. Blood crept down his neck where someone had shaved off a slice of his earlobe.

"Do what thou wilt," said Richard, not caring.

His manner had no ill effect on the always cheerful Lavaine, who shouted challenge to the others. Bors heard and raised his spear overhead in acknowledgment. He and his men would come when they'd seen to their current task of clearance. Lavaine waited them out, resting while the others tired themselves.

"Soon," he said, all anticipation.

Richard used the pause to survey activity off the field; this included Michel's tent. Throughout the contest he'd kept such watch as he could manage in that direction. There was no sign of movement yet. Good. If it held so until the hidden sun truly set...

"That big Norman you felled is back," said Lavaine, pointing in the opposite direction.

Richard whirled. No!

Michel, looking fully recovered, had armed himself and was in the process of hurrying toward them. There was murder in his eye.

Richard stepped in front of Lavaine. "He's mine. Touch him and I'll kill you."

Lavaine snorted, nettled by the threat, but gave way. "As you please. What is your quarrel with him?"

Richard made no answer, busy meeting Michel's rush. The boy was better than before, but then he'd had five years to hone his talents. He ruthlessly pressed the least opening, but took care not to overextend himself. Richard used his sword and shield to deflect what came to him, but nothing more. This puzzled Michel, who dodged return strikes that never fell.

"Afraid, old man?" he taunted, holding his arms wide. "Fight me, damn you! Let me take back my honor!"

Richard held his sword blade downward, and slammed it against Michel's shield. The force staggered him backward a few paces, but not off balance. He returned the attack, withholding nothing, roaring out his fury. Still, Richard managed to keep clear of harm. He retreated a step, as though beaten back. Michel followed. Richard continued to retreat, not being obvious about it, but slowly drawing Michel away from the main knot of fighters. Once they were clear, he'd step in and knock the boy out again.

He thought of surrendering to him, but then Michel would only rejoin the battle. No. He had to be taken from it completely; then later, with cooler heads they could talk. Richard had no idea what he would say, but knew that he must- With savage cries, Bors and his people bore down on them.

Lavaine, thrust aside in the rush, was trying to regain his ground while fending off Ector and two others. He shouted at Richard for help even as he swung the flat of his blade against a man's legs to trip him.

Richard had no mind for him. He lowered his head to get under Michel's guard and butted him clear of the charge, using his shield and sheer muscle. Michel grunted a curse and lost his footing, flying back to roll down a slight rise.

One of Bors' men went after him, sword raised high.

Richard got between them just in time and with the edge of his shield hit the man's helm hard enough to break it.

He dropped. Another Richard beat back using his sword in earnest, surprising the noble with his energy. Bors intervened, his spear shaft taking what would have been a death blow. Richard's blade bit deep, cutting it halfway through, close to the spearhead.

"Retire, Lancelot!" he boomed. "Retire before you kill someone!"