“I cannot accept,” he said finally. He could see in his mind’s eye Annie’s youthful face, and the memory of it caused him new pain. “I cannot accept because I have recently lost my own wife, and I cannot take another so soon. I cannot do it.”
He saw at once that not one of them understood what he was saying. Angry looks appeared instantly on the faces of all. It might be that in Landover’s baronies, as in the baronies of medieval history in his own world, marriage was mostly for convenience. He didn’t know, and it was too late now to find out. He had made the wrong decision in the minds of the Lords of the Greensward.
“You are not even a whole man!” Kallendbor sneered suddenly. Shouts rang out from the other Lords in approval.
Ben stood his ground. “I am King by law.”
“You are a play-King like the others! You are a fraud!”
“He wears the medallion, Lord Kallendbor!” Questor shouted out from the far end of the table, shuffling away from his seat to come around.
“He may wear it, but it does him little good!” The red-bearded Lord had his eyes fixed on Ben. The shouts from the others continued. Kallendbor played to them, his voice rising. “He does not command the Paladin, does he? He has no champion to fight for him against man or demon! He has no one but you, Questor Thews. You had best come and get him now!”
“I need no one to stand up for me!” Ben stepped between Kallendbor and the approaching wizard. “I can stand for myself against anyone!”
The instant he had said it he wished that he hadn’t. The room went still. He saw the smile come immediately to Kallendbor’s hard face, the glint to his eye. “Would you care to test your strength against mine, High Lord?” the other asked softly.
Ben felt the dampness of sweat beneath his arms and along the crease of his back. He recognized the trap he had stepped into, but there seemed no way out of it now. “A test of strength seldom proves anything. Lord Kallendbor,” he replied, his gaze kept steady on the other.
Kallendbor’s smile turned unpleasant. “I would expect a man who relies solely on laws for his protection to say that.”
Anger flooded through Ben. “Very well. How would you suggest that I test my strength against yours?”
“High Lord, you cannot allow…” Questor began, but was silenced by the shouts of the others gathered about the table.
Kallendbor rubbed his bearded face slowly, considering. “Well, now, there are any number of possibilities, all of them…”
He was cut short by a sharp bark from the far end of the table. It was Abernathy who, in his excitement to be heard, had lapsed back momentarily into the form of communication basic to this breed. “Forgive me,” he said quickly as the snickers began to rise. “Lord Kallendbor, you seem to have forgotten the etiquette this situation demands. You were the one to issue the challenge to a contest. It is your opponent’s right, therefore, to select the game.”
Kallendbor frowned. “I assumed that because he was from another world he did not know the games of this one.”
“He need only know a variation of them,” Abernathy replied, peering at the other over his glasses. “Excuse me for one moment, please.”
He left the table walking upright, head erect. Veiled laughter rose from the gathered Lords as the dog left the room. Ben glanced quickly at Questor, who shrugged and shook his head. The wizard had no idea what the scribe was about either.
A few moments later, Abernathy was back. He carried in his hands two pairs of eight ounce boxing gloves — the ones that Ben had brought with him into Landover to keep in training.
“Fisticuffs, Lord Kallendbor,” the soft-coated Wheaten Terrier announced.
Kallendbor threw back his head and laughed. “Fisticuffs? With those? I would prefer bare knuckles to leather socks filled with stuffing!”
Abernathy brought the gloves about the table to where the combatants stood. “High Lord,” he bowed deeply, his soft eyes on Ben. “Perhaps it would be best if you forgave Lord Kallendbor his rash challenge. It would not do to see him injured because of his inability to master your weapons.”
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