Sir Cathvart reined in his horse at the bridge. He held up his mailed fist to signal the rest of his troop to stop. Standing on the bridge was a man in rusty armour, but holding a well-kept sword.

"Out of my way. I am on a mission for the King."

"You may not pass."

"Come now," the knight dismounted and walked toward the man on the bridge, "We are both honour bound to obey the King's desires."

"Honour is a lie."

"Honour is everything. It is our honour as knights that makes us who we are."

The other man remained silent. Sir Cathvart could see that he was an older man, but there were remains of heraldic colours on his armour.

"We will have a test of arms. If you prevail, then my men will turn away and not bother you anymore. You hear?" he called, "If this good knight wins the day, then you are to pass by without molesting him. There. They will obey as men of honour."

The older man's answer was to lunge, quick as a snake. The point of his sword scraped across the paint of Cathvart's chest plate. Cathvart threw himself backwards but he rolled to his feet with sword in hand.

The rusty knight might have been older, but he was no slower or frailer than Sir Cathvart himself. After his first precipitate lunge, he followed up with several double handed blows that would have cleaved in a helm even if Cathvart were wearing one. The younger knight was able to push the blows to one side, but he wasn't able to set himself solidly.

He was forced back onto the road where his men had to scramble to get their horses out of the way. Finally, the old knight over extended just slightly, but Cathvart stepped aside and pushed him off balance. The knight stumbled to one knee. Cathvart stepped back and waited for the older man to right himself.

"You fight well."

"For an old man."

"I mean you fight well. You should come to the tourney. You would do well in the lists."

"I don't fight for fun." The older man began his attack again, but this time Cathvart was ready for him. Blows that would have split his armour open were pushed to the side. He saw an opening and tried an attack of his own. The rusty armour turned his blade and he leapt back to be ready for the next onslaught. The older man surprised him by chuckling and switching to a more subtle fencing style.

Now his sword came at him in feints and lunges that were much harder to parry than the graceless pounding that had started the fight. Cathvart found himself giving ground again.

"You are a strong fighter." Cathvart gasped, "Join our quest."

"And what is it this time? The horns from a golden cow? The hair of a mermaid?"

"You mock us." Cathvart managed to lock their swords for a brief moment. "The King is bringing peace to all the land. He will rule through his knights. They will rule with honour."

The older knight pushed him away and came very close to taking Cathvart's head.

"I told you," the old man said. "Honour is a lie."

The two knights circled on the road. While the older knight had a seemingly endless repertoire of attacks and feints, the younger knight was stronger and well trained. The mounted troop watched and occasionally hissed or cheered. On the other side of the bridge some peasants had heard the sound of battle and come to peer through the bushes to watch.

Both men were gasping for air now and their blows more often wide of their target. There was no more conversation. A strap on Sir Cathvart's right greave broke and the plate protecting his leg dangled lose. As he stepped back to adjust it he realized that the other man was going to strike at his vulnerable leg. It wasn't so much a plan as instinct which put his sword where it would catch the old knight's arm as he struck.

The blade sliced through the leather arm-guard and the rusty-armoured knight's sword fell to the dust.

"Well fought, but now you must let us pass." Cathvart let exhaustion pull his sword point down.

The old man swept up his sword with his left hand and ran through Cathvart's unprotected leg.

"I told you," the old man snarled, "I don't fight for fun." He tried to pull the sword out and finish the younger knight, but the steel was jammed in the powerful muscle of the thigh. That second of hesitation was enough for Cathvart's sword to find the man's throat.

Cathvart looked at the man he had killed.

"He was a strange man, but he died with honour."

"What should we do with them?" his lieutenant asked, pointing at the peasants.

"They are on the King's land. Kill them all."

Cathvart sat while his surgeon bandaged his leg. He wished he could join his troop in clearing the King's land. There was no honour in killing peasants, but it was practice of a sort. Instead he had to sit here and just listen to the screams.