Saracen, pagan Khamshem, but you’re a real good friend of mine, I rescued you from a dragon or some cock-and-bull story like that. They’ll eat it up. I got it! You’re the Saracen Wolf-there’s a famous knight by that name. You’ve been journeying in disguise, hoping to find me and pay me back for saving you from the dragon. I’m too hurt to break another lance with funem Laksfalk-that’s no lie; I’m so stiff and sore I can hardly move-and you’re taking up the gauntlet for me.”
Wolff asked what excuse he would give for not using the lance.
Kickaha said, “I’ll give them some story. Say a thieving knight stole your lance and you’ve sworn never to use one until you get the stolen one back. They’ll accept that. They’re always making some goofy vow or other. They act just like a bunch of knights from King Arthur’s Round Table. No such knights ever existed on Earth, but it must have pleased the Lord to make these act as if they just rode out of Camelot. He was a romantic, whatever else you can say about him.”
Wolff said he was reluctant, but if it would help speed them to von Elgers’, he would do anything. Kickaha’s own armor was not large enough for Wolff, so the armor of a Yidshe knight Kickaha had killed the day before was brought in. The retainers clad him in blue plates and chain-mail and then led him out to his horse. This was a beautiful palomino mare that had also belonged to the knight Kickaha had slain, the Ritter oyf Roytfeldz. With only a little difficulty, Wolff mounted the charger. He had expected that the armor would be so heavy a crane would have to lift him upon the saddle. Kickaha told him that that might have once been true here, but the knights had long since gone back to lighter plates and more chain-mail.
The Yidshe go-between came to announce that funem Laksfalk had accepted the challenge despite the Saracen Wolfs lack of credentials. If the valiant and honorable robber Baron Horst von Horstmann vouched for the Wolf, that was good enough for funem Laksfalk. The speech was a formality. The Yidshe champion would not for one moment have thought of turning down a challenge.
“Face is the big thing here,” Kickaha said to Wolff. Having managed to limp out of his tent, he was giving his friend last-minute instructions. “Man, am I glad you came along. I couldn’t have taken one more fall, and I didn’t dare back out.”
Again, the trumpets flourished. The palomino and the black broke into a headlong gallop. They passed each other going at full speed, during which time both men swung their swords. They clanged together; a paralyzing shock ran down Wolff’s hand and arm. However, when he turned his charger, he saw that his antagonist’s sword was on the ground. The Yidshe was dismounting swiftly to get to the blade before Wolff. He was in such a hurry he slipped and fell headlong onto the ground.
Wolff rode his horse up slowly and took his time dismounting to allow the other to recover. At this chivalrous move, both camps broke into cheers. By the rules, Wolff could have stayed in the saddle and cut funem Laksfalk down without permitting him to pick up his weapon.
On the ground, they faced each other. The Yidshe knight raised his visor, revealing a handsome face.
He had a thick moustache and pale blue eyes. He said, “I pray you let me see your face, noble one. You are a true knight for not striking me down while helpless.”
Wolff lifted his visor for a few seconds. Both then advanced and brought their blades together again. Once more, Wolff’s stroke was so powerful that it tore the blade of the other from his grip.
Funem Laksfalk raised his visor, this time with his left arm. He said, “I cannot use my right arm. If you will permit me to use my left?”
Wolff saluted and stepped back. His opponent gripped the long hilt of his sword and, stepping close, brought it around from the side with all his force. Once more, the shock of Wolff’s stroke broke the Yidshe’s grasp.