Then I gave Benedict another opening.
He drove in, as he had before, and I managed to stop him again. He pressed the attack even harder after that, pushing me back to the edge of the black road.
There, I stopped and held my ground, shifting my position to the spot I had chosen. I would have to hold him just a few moments longer, to set him up. . . .
They were very rough moments, but I fought furiously and readied myself.
Then I gave him the same opening again.
I knew he would come in the same as before, and my right leg was across and back behind my left, then straightening, as he did. I gave his blade but the barest beat to the side as I sprang backward onto the black road, immediately extending my arm full length to discourage a balaestra.
Then he did what I had hoped. He beat at my blade and advanced normally when I dropped it into quarte . . .
. . . causing him to step into the patch of black grasses over which I had leaped.
I dared not look down at first. I simply stood my ground and gave the flora a chance.
It only took a few moments. Benedict became aware of it the next time that he tried to move. I saw the puzzled expression flash across his face, then the strain. It had him, I knew.
I doubted, though, that it could hold him very long, so I moved immediately.
I danced to the right, out of range of his blade, rushed forward and sprang across the grasses, off the black road once again. He tried to turn, but they had twined themselves about his legs all the way up to his knees. He swayed for a moment, but retained his balance.
I passed behind him and to his right. One easy thrust and he was a dead man, but of course there was no reason to do it now.
He swung his arm back behind his neck and turned his head, pointing the blade at me. He began pulling his left leg free.
But I feinted toward his right, and when he moved to parry it I slapped him across the back of the neck with the flat of Grayswandir.
It stunned him, and I was able to move in and punch him in the kidney with my left hand. He bent slightly and I blocked his sword arm and struck him in the back of the neck again, this time with my fist, hard. He fell, unconscious, and I removed his blade from his hand and cast it aside. The blood from his left ear lobe trailed down his neck like some exotic earring.
I put Grayswandir aside, seized Benedict under the armpits, and dragged him back from the black road. The grasses resisted mightily, but I strained against them and finally had him free.
Ganelon had gotten to his feet by then. He limped up and stood beside me, looking down at Benedict.
“What a fellow he is,” he said. “What a fellow he is. . . . What are we going to do with him?”
I picked him up in a fireman‘s carry and stood.
“Take him back toward the wagon right now,” I said. “Will you bring the blades?”
“All right.”
I headed up the road and Benedict remained unconscious—which was good, because I did not want to have to hit him again if I could help it. I deposited him at the base of a sturdy tree beside the road near the wagon.
I resheathed our blades when Ganelon came up, and set him to stripping ropes from several of the cases. While he did this, I searched Benedict and found what I was looking for.
I bound him to the tree then, while Ganelon fetched his horse. We tethered it to a nearby bush, upon which I also hung his blade.
Then I mounted to the driver‘s seat of the wagon and Ganelon came up alongside.
“Are you just going to leave him there?” he asked.
“For now,” I said.
We moved on up the road. I did not look back, but Ganelon did.