Duel

Suddenly the lock of the front door clanged, and a fat, short-legged monk appeared on the threshold of the dungeon. He hiccupped and relaxed, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. Then he looked indifferently at the man lying on the floor, crossed his legs, and began to pick his teeth with his dirty index finger with pleasure. For about three minutes he took out the remnants of food from his mouth while grumbling contentedly and licking a thick short finger from all sides. Finally, he pulled out from behind his cheek a large piece of beet stuck between the holes of the teeth, got a good look at it, and licked it off his finger with a loud chomp. Once again, he hiccupped and looked at the prisoner again.

After a little thought, he said without malice:

“Well, why are you sprawled on the floor just like at home? Come on get up, let's go. The master has been waiting for you in the yard for half an hour.”

The prisoner opened his eyes and slightly lifted his shaggy head from the floor. Despite the cold penetrating all his lean body, he didn’t want to get up and go somewhere new, even more, he intuitively felt that this walk personally did not bode well for him.

“Well, staring at his silly eyes? Do you think that Master should wait for you in the yard in the rain all day?! Get up, come on, let's go!” barked the monk, who began to lose his complacency.

Willy-nilly, the prisoner had to get up, for his escort had already begun to show obvious impatience: he twisted his face, frowned in displeasure, and began to scratch his hefty fists unambiguously.

“Don't be angry, brother. I am a little weak today. I slept badly on the cold stone floor, and they didn’t give me food.” the messenger said conciliatory.

“And what, the master was obliged to feed you satisfyingly, and then also to give his soft feather bed? Or maybe even send a warm cook to warm your bed all night?” The monk chuckled maliciously. “Move your crutches, maybe the master will be kind today and have mercy on you. Then, God willing, you will remain intact, although I strongly doubt it! The weather is chilly these days, and our master hates dampness. Rheumatism, you know, gnaws at his old bones, so much so that there is no urine, and then he is unhappy. On such days, our master is as evil as the devil himself! Save, Lord, my sinful soul for willful words!” The monk quickly crossed himself and pushed the messenger who stopped in the doorway.

When he, accompanied by a monk, went out into the courtyard of the castle, all the knights of the order, who at that time were free from service, had already gathered there. The prisoner raised his head and looked sadly at the gray sky, from which the nasty cold fine rain continued to drizzle. The impression was that it was not summering now, but deep autumn. Sharp gusts of chilly wind pierced the prisoner's already frozen body.

And in fact, the weather this year did not work out, as if instead of summer after spring, autumn immediately came. The sky was as gloomy and inhospitable as the master himself, who sat sideways, like a raven on a wattle fence, in his wooden chair with a high carved back. To somehow shelter their master from the weather, the servants set up a tent of white silk, on which a bright red sword and a cross were woven - the symbol of the Livonian Order. Light matterrple fluttered from the gusts of wind, periodically filling the surroundings with sharp claps, ready to burst just about. The master looked sullenly in front of him and did not want to notice the people around him at all. Right behind him, in the same tent, in a dense line, and with full armor stood five of his close knights, and on his right hand perched a secretary with his arms crossed on his chest. The rest of the knights stood near the entrance to the tent, and at some distance, along the inner walls of the castle, the bollards were lined up.

“Bring this misunderstanding closer to me!” The master croaked loudly, addressing the fat monk who was escorting the messenger.

A frightened flock of crows fell from the roof of one of the castle's round towers and, with disgruntled cries, rushed away. The monk slightly pushed the prisoner in the back towards the master's tent, and the messenger, wrapping his arms around his half-naked torso and shivering from the cold, slowly spanked his bare feet along the cobblestone pavement.

“Come on, move faster! Don't make our brothers wait for you in this damned cold!” The master ordered in a sharp voice.

The messenger stopped a couple of steps from the entrance to the tent and froze in anticipation of his fate. Icy drops of rain trickled down from his wet hair and streamed down his face. Coldwater dripped on his bare chest, but the "misunderstanding" did not even dare to move a little to wipe them away, fearing to incur a new portion of the master's anger. And it was pointless to do it - the rain that morning did not even think to stop. You wipe yourself off - and in a moment you will become wet again.

“Well, explain to your brothers in the order: how did it happen that you returned to us without weapons, without your horse, and, most importantly, without important documents that you were ordered to deliver to me ?!”

“Yesterday I already told you everything,” the messenger answered quietly, dropping his head.

it's for your brothers. They also have the right to hear your explanations firsthand. In addition, I believe that it will be true: as a knight, you have the right to defend your honor in front of your brothers in the order. So, tell your brothers how everything happened to you, and we will decide what to do with you so that everything happens according to the law of the highest justice.

“The day before yesterday a gang of robbers attacked me in the forest. There were about fifty of them, and therefore I could not defend myself and save the secret message that I was carrying from my commander.”

“Were there a whole fifty vagrants in the forest?” Someone sarcastically sounded from the line of bollards.

“Maybe a little less,” slightly embarrassed. answered the messenger. ”During the battle, I had no time for counting, but they attacked continuously - one after another, and I simply did not have time to fend off the attacks of the forest robbers.”

“Or maybe there weren't any forest robbers at all? Just on the way, you turned into a tavern and drank deeply there, and had fun with the girls until your money and the message from your commander was stolen from you? There you were crushed in a drunken brawl, and he wrote to us about a formidable gang of bandits to justify himself before Mr. Master!” the owner of the mocking voice laughed.

“You have no right to accuse me of what you cannot know about!” the messenger boiled with indignation, even having stopped shivering from the cold. “By the will of the Almighty, I have been entrusted with dignified fulfillment of my duty as a warrior, and I will not step back from my knightly oath! Yes, I am guilty, so judge me according to the law, and do not blame me in vain for what was not!

“Oh! I have heard more than once about your secret trips to taverns. And how do they match your vow of knighthood?”

“Coward, pathetic idiot! You can only open your filthy mouth at me from behind your comrades! Who are you to yap at the knight? Mercenary, bastard! You and your poor parents did not even have money for a worthy horse and a weapon of reference so that you could stand in the same ranks with real knights! Here you are, on foot and dragging along the battlefields and picking up scraps after us! You don’t even really know from whom your mother gave birth to you! Maybe you are the offspring of a sick donkey ?!”

“Who would say! Look at yourself! Who do you look like now?! And this is the image of a worthy knight?! Yes, you are all in rags, as on a beggar! Here you are, for sure, a relative of the goat! Even your mug looks more like a goat's face! - the bollard laughed loudly, being pleased with his sharpness.”

“Everything! Enough bazaar squabbles here! You are in a knight's castle, and you must behave yourself!” Von Plettenberg growled, and a ringing silence was instantly established in the castle courtyard. He turned to the messenger. “I made a decision not to deprive you of your knighthood for this offense and to bring you to trial with the highest justice, like a knight who stumbled. Your fate is now in the hands of our Lord and lets him dispose of it according to his will. It will be fair, won't it, my brothers ?!”

An approving roar rolled through the courtyard of the castle, and the knights, in solidarity with the decision of the Grand Master, began to knock on their shields with short swords, and the bollards - with spear shafts on the paving stones.

“I see, my brothers, that you have accepted and approved my decision, and may it be the will of God. So, today the messenger will meet in an honest duel with the Landsknecht named Mockingbird, and may the Lord decide which of the two will survive. If the messenger wins, this will confirm the truth of his words. And if the Mockingbird wins, it means that he is more worthy of the title of a knight and will take the place of the dead enemy. I believe that this is also true, for the number of knights in our order will remain the same. As a reward, I promise to give him a horse.”

Cheers of approval rang out again, especially from the ranks of the bollards. The messenger raised his head and for the first time in all this time looking into the eyes of the master, dark as a moonless night. They did not express anything, but the head of the order was clearly pleased with his decision and looked at him dismissively, as at a victim doomed to the slaughter.

“This man gave his weapon to the forest robbers, and therefore, I think, he is not worthy to own the weapon of a knight, but I am kind today, and therefore the kitchen knife in the last battle for him will be just right,” continuing to look at the messenger with a sneer, he said slowly master. “Hey, somebody, bring a knife from the kitchen, but not a very large one.”

The Mockingbird stepped out of the line of infantrymen and demonstratively began to knead his mighty body, playing with a short sword, which inexperienced hands were a very dangerous weapon. Knecht had long dreamed of a horse and a knighthood, and today he had a chance to catch his luck by the tail. It was only necessary to fight with dignity with this loser and show the master that he is capable of much because his opponent was considered one of the most insidious warriors of the order. The Mockingbird looked at the knight appraisingly. He did not see anything outstanding in comparison with his mountain of muscles: lean, sinewy, and exceedingly small in height - a whole head shorter than himself. “Strange, the about the knights of our order tried not to start a quarrel with this ignoramus. He has not yet come across strong fighters! Well, today he will find out what real power is! " - thought the Mockingbird and laughed right in the face of his opponent.

“You, sucker, still have your mother's tits, and not get involved in the affairs of real fighters! I wonder how the mother allowed such an undersized figure to tear away from her hem! I'll smash you, dead louse, in half with one left!” the Mockingbird shouted defiantly and looked back with pleasure at his comrades, who amicably picked up his cackle.” Now I will show you how to use a weapon, but this will be the last lesson in your life. Take your kitchen knife. It suits you much more than the sword of a true knight! Because your place is among the women in the kitchen, and not among the warriors on the battlefield. And at night you must warm the bed for such real men like me! This is your true destiny!

There was another burst of laughter, and the even ranks of the bollards crumbled. The warriors, continuing to giggle at the Mockingbird's jokes, began to form a semicircle around the combatants, leaving the master enough space for a review. He continued to sit in a snow-white tent with an indifferent look, only occasionally exchanging short phrases with the secretary.

A young Landsknecht ran up to the combatants, thrust a small kitchen knife into the messenger's hands for butchering meat, and ran away. The doomed knight raised his head to look his opponent in the eye. The Mockingbird, imposingly folded his hands on his mighty chest and grinning haughtily, looked at him point-blank. From his belt hung a short and wide sword, but it was ten times longer than the messenger's kitchen knife.

The master looked up at the sky, picked up the cross with a crucifix hanging on his chest, and, kissing it, said: “Lord, our only protector and support in our deeds and thoughts, we hope in your justice! Show mercy to your slaves. We are only your foolish children, and therefore, be favorable to us, for we believe in you as our only protector and patron. Amen!”

At this time, solid clouds burst, and for a moment, a bright sun flashed. But a moment later the sky was again covered with a continuous veil, and a sharp gust of wind, picking up the edge of the master's mantle, covered von Plettenberg's face with it, as if embracing him.

“God heard my prayers! - the master exclaimed in a voice trembling with excitement and with reverence, as if touching the hand of the Lord himself, carefully removed the edge of the white robe from his face with his left hand.” The Lord approves of our today's sacrifice! May it be so! Come together!

The Mockingbird, hearing the master’s order, without hesitation drew a sharp sword from its sheath. He seemed clumsy, like a bear, but this clumsiness was deceiving. Like a forest predator, an experienced fighter rushed at the enemy with lightning speed. He hoped with an unexpected blow to immediately decide the outcome of the fight, and he almost succeeded. The messenger did not expect such a sharp attack and only at the very last moment managed to turn the body to the side. The blade of the Mockingbird's blade passed a hair from the knight's chest and easily ripped open the remnants of his wet shirt, which still somehow covered his thin body. The cloth, torn to shreds, fell in a shapeless lump on the cobblestones, right under the messenger's feet, leaving his torso completely naked in the cold streams of rain. Having fallen into the void, the bollard's sword spun around its axis, and its edge nevertheless ripped open the smooth skin of the enemy. The first drops of blood appeared from the wound, and the Mockingbird, with a cry of victory, quickly looked back at the cheering crowd behind him. But it would be better if he didn’t do it. A hundred fraction of a second was enough for the messenger to straighten up and, with the speed of lightning, direct the blade of his short knife directly to the bear-like fighter in the side, which he so imprudently exposed to the blow. Out of the corner of his eye, he managed to notice the rapid movement of the opponent but could no longer turn away. A sharply sharpened kitchen knife with an unpleasant squelching sound went right under the Mockingbird's ribs. The messenger quickly turned it around its axis several times, and unbearable pain pierced the entire body of the mighty bollard. He slowly turned his head and looked in bewilderment at his puny, short opponent. Evil devils of joy and pleasure danced in the eyes of the messenger. He grinned wryly and turned the knife sharply once more.

The castle courtyard heard the roar of a mortally wounded beast. The mockingbird tried to bring his faithful battle sword over the head of the messenger, which more than once easily ripped open the belly of enemy horses flying at him, but this time for some reason he refused to obey his master. The warrior watched helplessly as the undersized man left his knife in his side and, jumping easily, kicked the sword out of his weakening hand with his foot. For the first time in his life, he could not do anything. His body seemed to be paralyzed, and he was just a passive spectator of this monstrously unfair spectacle of life. The Mockingbird watched in bewilderment as the faithful sword flew out of his hand, and then, for some reason, for an exceptionally long time, air and falls on the cobblestones, wet from the rain. He already heard the ringing of the iron striking the stone as if from afar, and his eyes now saw only the darkening sky in front of him. In the next instant, the heavy body collapsed with a crash in the middle of the square.

The fight is over. The messenger fell to his knees, raised his folded palms to the sky, and began to pray earnestly. But suddenly it seemed to him that through the leaden clouds something huge, unknown, and therefore very terrible was looking at him with a heavy gaze. At that moment, he was even at a loss, not knowing what to do next: to continue praying or simply rejoice at the victory. To be glad that he was still alive. Finally, deciding not to do either one or the other, he got to his feet and looked at the sky again. He knew what to do. The winner, with a sense of his dignity, gratefully bowed to the sky to the very ground, then once again looked at the lifeless body of the once to the disgust of the cheerful Mockingbird and slowly walked to the master's tent.

Walter von Plettenberg closely followed the actions of the messenger, and in this brief time, while he was approaching him, he was thinking about what the most correct thing would be to do with him now. God made his decision and now waited for what he would do, and the Lord would not forgive him for his mistakes, and therefore one should think carefully before taking any action. Meanwhile, those gathered in the square silently looked at the Grand Master and awaited his verdict. The knight, who, despite his nakedness, now did not tremble and did not seem pitiful, boldly investigated the face of the owner of the castle and awaited a just sentence.

“Apparently, God was pleased to bring me closer to this person, and you can’t ignore the will of the Lord!” the master made the final decision and, generously smiling at the winner, said:

“Well, our Lord today was pleased that in a deadly but fair battle it was this person who won, and the will of the Lord is the highest law for us. The law of life and death! During a duel with a commoner, my brother, you behaved with dignity and, despite the cunning of the enemy, turned out to be stronger, showing agility and courage, and thereby confirmed that a knight can and must win in any battle. Therefore, by my command, I grant you new uniforms and transfer you to my guard. I think that you will be able to appreciate my generosity and will adequately fulfill your new responsibilities!”

“My lord, you allowed me to prove my honesty and loyalty to the order, and now I am entirely at your disposal! - still not believing his happiness, said the knight and put his right hand to his heart, after which he got down on his left knee and bowed his head in front of the master. Take charge of me and my life!”

“From now on I will give you a new name - Lucky!” Von Plettenberg grumbled cheerfully.

“Thank you, my lord!” the former messenger answered politely, but with dignity.