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His father's head was lopped off by one smooth, heavy stroke. The knight and his horse circled the twitching body, pacing so as not to step on the hot corpse. The boy, not yet fourteen, ignored the body and looked for his father's head. He found it, tugged at the beard and removed the head from its helmet. His father's eyes were rolled back, and the boy thought it true that the last thing his father had seen was the soul departing. The boy placed the helmet on his own head, thick blood oozing down the cold metal, dripping into his ears and stinging his eyes. He found his father's sword and carried it by the hilt with the point trailing on the ground. The knight watched the skinny boy step into his dead father's stirrup and mount the pale horse. He went to the boy's side and said, "What in God's name are you doing lad?" The boy did not answer and adjusted the reigns in his hands. "Boy, you mustn't do this." The boy spurred his horse and took his place at the far end of the field. He raised his sword. The pale horse was calm. "Bloody hell," said the knight, and he took his place opposite the boy. He waited to see if the boy would charge. The boy charged and so did the knight. The knight aimed at the pale horse, though just as he intended to strike, a swipe from the boy cracked his helmet and nearly dismounted him. "Holy Mother of God!" the knight said as he wheeled around to prepare for the next pass. This time the pale horse was stomping and foaming. The boy held his sword--in weight a third his own mass--high in the air. When they charged again, the boy was screaming. His shrill sang of rage and death and was tinged with the madness that the steel shell protected. The knight was afraid. He aimed, carefully this time, to block the boy's blow with his own swing. For a moment he anticipated the feeling of his sword sinking into flesh and the snap of young bones. But instead the knight's blade rang as it kissed the boy's sword, glanced off and rang again against the boys's helmeted head--his heavy swing disarmed and dismounted the fatherless boy. The knight dropped from his horse and saw the boy, unhurt, looking for his weapon in the tall grass. Seeing the knight approach, the boy abandoned his search and charged again. The knight threw his own sword as far as he could into the field. He could hear the boy's muffled cries from inside the bloody helmet as he swore and cursed and cried and hammered the knight's armor with his fists. "That's it boy. Fight it out." The boy broke, collapsed, hands bleeding, to the ground at the knight's feet. He hugged the knight's ankles and shivered. It was quiet, and soon the boy was asleep. "Heaven help us," the knight said. He crossed himself and left the broken boy.
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