The Summer Solcetrie: Part I

A shaft of white light illuminated the darkness as Sir Alloiah peaked out through the canvas. His brother Sir Keilhija waited patiently at the back of the tent. He was older and more experienced than Alloiah, and quietly hummed a tune to his self while kicking back in his chair.

“Alloiah, my brother, have peace,” he piped cheerily. “We always win. Always.”

“Ah! But Keily! Benukuk is getting very experienced, and he is not nearly as reckless as you.”

“Reckless? You must kid me. When nothing can go wrong, recklessness is imaginary. But I’ll have nothing of this cowardice. Don’t make a fool of yourself and just keep your head.” A horn blew and Keilhija strutted out boldly. Alloiah followed reluctantly.

Keilhija was taller than his brother, well over six feet tall, and had short, wavy blonde hair. Both men were blue-eyed, but Keilhija’s were paler. Keilhija was a well-built man—broad shouldered and thick-limbed. Alloiah was thinner and shorter, but still well built.

The sun shone down gladly through a bright blue sky dotted by puffy white clouds. Its exuberant rays glowed upon banners of red, yellow, and blue. The flags danced and fluttered in the breeze with flaps and rustles of laughter. It was the summer games in Holstend, a prosperous kingdom of all classes of people, each knowing his place and glad of it. The kings loved the peasants and the peasants worshipped the kings; they knew they needed each other. Of course, there were always those of a superstitious and prejudiced nature who would have nothing to do with those of other classes and, as a general rule, each class did stick to itself—except today.

Today was the Summer Solcetrie, a massive party in honor of the king himself. A Solcetrie took place every season, except in times of war, and consisted of jousting, archery, swordplay, wrestling, and competitions for the children among other activities. So far, the two knight brothers Keilhija and Alloiah were winning every competition. However, this year the prince Benukuk was having a good time of it too and seemed to be growing in strength with each competition. In fact, if he continued this increase in skill, he would likely win against at least one of the brothers this round. Alloiah felt certain it would be him.

A horn blew and the trumpets rang out a royal tune as the king rose to the pedestal. The crowds were jubilant with laughs and acclamations of praise as he smiled through his golden beard. He was King Bensheldok, son of King Ortshekuk. He wore his ceremonial garb of flowing scarlet robe fringed with royal purple and a large golden crown embedded with jewels of green, white, and red. His eyes were full of kindness and wisdom and warmth. A little child staggered out of the crowd and waddled toward the king smiling with joy and anticipation before his mother ran out and hauled him back. The king laughed heartily and then, quite suddenly, lunged his lance into the air with vigor and strength. The crowds fell completely silent.

“Good people of Holstend!” His deep voice rolled out like a clap of thunder and wonder at such richness in a tongue struck the people, even those who had heard him a hundred times before. “Good people of this kingdom! High and low! Strong and week! Harsh and gentle! We are one on this earth today! Everyone may compete! No one is left on the fields! It is Solcetrie!” Cheers rang out once again and the trumpets called out an uproarious note. The lance was raised again and all the citizens of that land, save a cricket under one of the tent canvases, fell totally silent once more. Even the birds stopped singing. “This is the pivotal point in these games.” They had thought it impossible, but the king had lowered his voice to an even deeper tone. “You are about to see the finest men in this kingdom. Archery is played by all, and won by the hunters. Wrestling victory goes to the strongest arms and quickest grapple. But jousting is for the knights. These men have given their lives for serving others. They, at a call, join me in war, even at great loss. Sometimes the loss of their lives.” The silence was now audible and the cricket had ceased his insolence. “So enjoy yourselves.” There was a pause, and the cricket resumed his chirping. Then the whole crowd burst into cheers and a chant of “blessings to our king” spread across the multitude.

The horns sounded again, when they thought they might finally be heard, and the first contestants mounted their noble steeds. Both were decked in full suits of shining armor and, upon their breasts, they proudly wore their family emblems. The horses stomped the ground and flashes of hot air shot from their nostrils. The horses, too, were armored, and large embroidered rugs were draped over their withers, also displaying the family emblems. A short blow from the horn and the lances were hoisted from their holders and pointed out to meet the opponent. Another blast from the horn, and they charged. Lances collided with shields and the jolt nearly knocked both off their horses. At the end of the corral, they turned again and charged once more. If it had of been a battle, and there had been no padding on the end of the lances, the collision would have killed the contestants. But, it being only a game, the unfortunate looser found himself being flung from the back of his horse and his shield ricocheted out of his steal-clad hand. He was almost run over by the passing horse of his winning opponent. The horn blew again, though it wasn’t really necessary. Everyone knew that joust was over.

Many more jousts followed, much like the first, but sometimes lasting several rounds. Finally, Prince Benukuk entered the competition and quickly and effectively unsaddled every other competitor. The knight brothers also proved effective on their turns, never having any trouble with their opponents, but perhaps giving them more of a sporting chance. Sometimes Keilhija would toy with them. He was a favorite, to be sure, somehow managing to turn his opponents in the wrong direction in the saddle, sometimes knocking them off wile standing on his steed, sometimes locking lances and shields before simply reaching over and shoving his competitor off of his mount. A shrug to the crowd would excite them considerably, especially the young ladies. But it was the prince’s sister Selterine that he sought to impress most, sometimes standing up as he competed and, removing his helmet, would bow in her direction before sending another hapless knight thirty feet behind his horse. Benukuk didn’t do nearly as much trickery and unnecessary comedy, and that made him a far faster and more efficient competitor.

Suddenly, the crowd stopped, amazed. The jousting competition had come down to the last three contestants. They were, of course, the two brothers and the prince. The cheering stopped and the first two contestants mounted their horses. It would be Keilhija and Benukuk first.

Benukuk was a much heavier man than Keilhija, and even broader shouldered. His dark skin, dark eyes, and dark hair made him stick out among the fairer skinned citizens of Holstend. They loved him and he disserved it, though he seldom said anything at all.

The king was clearly interested in this duel and kept commenting to Selterine the princess. He was smiling, amused at the prospect of the joust, but Selterine had grown sober. As steads were prepared for the joist, she turned urgently to her father. The words on her lips were easily read and Keilhija saw them. “Stop it.” The king smiled knowingly and gave his daughter a pat on the shoulder. Both men were of the finest breed of gentleman and there was no danger except what was common at these jousts. However, Selterine continued to fidget uneasily.

The princess was tall for a woman, nearing six feet in height, and blonde wavy hair reached nearly to her heals. Her posture was straight and noble, but her eyes were worried and fearful. Her soft cheeks and small round nose reddened as her eyebrows furrowed.

Noticing Selterine’s uneasiness, Keilhija stood up and waived in her direction. Though to far away to hear him, she too could read the words on his lips. “I will win for you, my lady!”

“Save your breath, friend.” Prince Benukuk had placed his hand on the knight’s shoulder. “Don’t make promises you might not keep.” His dark eyes twinkled from the tanned skin under his helmet. “I will win, if I can help it.”

Keilhija laughed heartily, and moved the prince’s hand from his shoulder. “I’m afraid we have little time for pleasant conversation, Benukuk. To your side, pompous royalty! I’ll be sending you there again by action, rather than word, shortly.”

Benukuk slowly turned his stead, glancing uneasily at the overconfident knight. It would, indeed, be a dangerous fight.

The horn blasted its first note and the two competitors charged. To everyone’s surprise, Keilhija leaped up in his saddle and saluted to Selterine, standing on his horses back. She gasped and leapt to her feet, terrified by his extremely vulnerable position. However, just as Benukuk spurred his horse in for the blow, Keilhija dropped back into his saddle and his lance landed precisely between Benukuk’s shoulders. The prince shifted his body to a slant, allowing the lance to slide of his right side, across his chest. Hugging the lance, he forced Keilhija to loose his grip. To keep from slipping out of his saddle, Keilhija dug his heals into his screaming horse and both men came to a halt. Locked momentarily, between these two men, the lance began to bend as if it would break. Benukuk’s mind was racing, evidenced by his wildly determined eyes, but Keilhija felt his pride had been hurt. Suddenly, with amazing strength that made the crowds go wild, Keilhija spun his horse around behind his opponent’s, forcing Benukuk to slide off his saddle, but he still had one leg over his steads back. The loss of balance should have caused Benukuk to loose his hold on the lance but, to uproarious applause, Benukuk began to right himself with the lance. Caught between two extreme forces, Keilhija’s lance splintered at its middle and then cracked into two halves.

Sweating from the effort, Keilhija strut to his perspective side of the ring. This would not be the fun victory of games he was used to. He would have to work hard to win this duel. His armor-bearer threw him a second lance and the enraged knight threw down the broken handle. Steam seemed to rise from the vents in his helmet and the crowd could see his shoulders were heaving mightily.

Suddenly, the horn blasted again and, Benukuk, already prepared for a second encounter, charged from the opposite side. Keilhija spurred his stead on late. With a yell like a war cry, Keilhija landed the most skillful blow of any contestant, simultaneously dodging Benukuk’s blow of nearly equivalent skill. How he avoided Benukuk’s lance was a mater disputed among the townsfolk for years to come. Some said an angel allowed the lance to pass without harming him. Others said the flexibility his body required to avoid such aim was impossible considering his suit of armor. But nonetheless, he did avoid it, blowing Benukuk off his horse.

Benukuk was a man of great determination however, and, for a moment, it looked as if the prince would right himself back onto his stead. Unfortunately, in a stroke of bad luck, Benukuk’s horse’s hind leg kicked back and knocked his fingers from their hold on the quilt. He fell into the mud clutching his disfigured hand. To everyone’s surprise, Keilhija weald around and charged a second time, with his lance aimed at the fallen princes face. The trumpeters hurriedly sounded the blast, announcing the end of the duel, but Keilhija kept his course. People yelled in protest and Princess Selterine screamed. At the last second, Keilhija pulled back on his reigns and the lance stopped inches from Benukuk’s helmet. Everyone fell silent. Suddenly, Keilhija pushed his spear forward, catching the rim of Benukuk’s helm. With a flick of his wrist, the helmet flew skyward, leaving Benukuk’s black hair to fall over his shoulders.

“Vanquished!” Keilhija yelled to the shocked onlookers. As Keilhija burst into jovial laughter, the people relaxed. They soon realized that Sir Keilhija was merely making a jest of another defeated knight. They cheered his name and commended his humor. “I could have killed you, Benukuk,” Keilhija said quietly.

“Then I am glad these are only games.” Benukuk was still clutching his hand, but he was smiling. Keilhija stared in disbelief, unable to comprehend how the prince could smile in the face of such humiliation. “I hope we can play again soon,” the vanquished prince bowed. People cheered. Keilhija wanted to knock the prince off his feet again, but that would ruin his reputation. Could nothing break the prince’s spirit? He was certainly the son of his Highness.

After a rest, the next duel was prepared. Only two more duels remained to find the best, and the second best. With his hand bandaged in white rags, Benukuk prepared to face Keilhija’s brother Alloiah. Sweeping his long blonde hair behind his ears, Alloiah pulled his helmet over his worried brow.

“He is talented, my brother,” Keilhija handed his brother his lance, “but not so talented for you.”

“He nearly had you, Keily. I don’t think this is a joust I can win.”

“Nonsense. You are to par with my skill, just rid yourself of that ridiculous lack of confidence.”

“You mean I should acquire your only weakness.”

“Foolishness. Pride is a strength.”

The horn blasted and, at once, Alloiah raced out to meet his challenger. Benukuk’s bandaged hand, like a beacon of weakness, was heartening. The two knights collided head on and both reeled in their saddles. The people gasped, but the duel was not half as interesting as when Keilhija was in the ring. Benukuk’s and Alloiah’s more conventional methods made the joust more typical in it’s dynamics. The two knights turned at the end of the row and charged back. This time, Alloiah tried a daring move that Benukuk did not anticipate, riding dangerously close to the barrier fence, Alloiah hoped to avoid Benukuk’s lance and oust him with a blow to his side. Benukuk saw the strategy coming too late and, in a desperate attempt to deflect the well-aimed blow, he raised his only good hand to try to knock up the lance’s tip over his shoulder. Completely by chance and accident, Benukuk’s lance flew up with his hand and was caught under Alloiah’s arm, cutting the chest armor from his body. Benukuk’s defensive move was not fast enough, however, and Alloiah’s lance gave the prince a heavy blow to the head. Benukuk, dazed, fell of his horse. There was really little chance of his victory anyways, with a broken hand. He leaned over and removed his helmet, accepting his defeat. However, a startling scene was being played out before him.

Alloiah was dead, his back broken when he fell from his horse onto the wooden barrier. Benukuk’s lance had not only cut off the young knight’s chest piece, making his midsection vulnerable, but had also knocked him off his horse onto the narrow, hard barrier. It snapped his spine before he knew what had happened.

Keilhija was running out onto the lane, yelling wildly. He clutched his brother and embraced his limp body, weeping bitterly. Suddenly, heaving with rage, Keilhija snatched his sword from his surprised armor bearer and advanced on Benukuk, still sitting in the mud, shocked.

“Sir!” Benukuk’s armor bearer threw him his sword and the prince jumped to his feet.

“It was an accident, I swear, Keilhija!” Benukuk backed away, aware of his vulnerable position.

“Wasn’t it enough, Benukuk, to humiliate me before your sister?”

“I beg your forgiveness!”

“Ask God for his.” Keilhija lunged onto Benukuk, who parried valiantly. Unfortunately, Keilhija’s energy, coupled with his superior skill, soon sent Benukuk’s blade flying out of his hand. “I’ll slay you blood-thirsty hellion!” Keilhija raised his sword over the terrified prince to plunge it into his heart, but a double-edged sword of astounding length and weight, knocked Keilhija’s blade far from his grasp and came to rest upon the knights chest.

“Back away from my son, good knight.” King Bensheldok pressed his blade against Keilhija’s breastplate. Taken aback by the king’s interference, Keilhija stepped away and began to sob.

“I am so sorry, Keilhija.” Benukuk whispered, and his father led him off the playing grounds.