Timeline by Michael Crichton

Author:Michael Crichton
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3, pdf
Tags: France - History - 14th century, High Tech, Fiction - Espionage, General, Fiction, Science Fiction, Twenty-first century, 14th century, Suspense, Time travel, Historians, Technological, Quantum Theory, France, Thriller, History
ISBN: 9780345468260
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 2003-11-04T17:49:14.869000+00:00

TIMELINE

:

According to the medieval texts, the great challenge of the joust was not to carry the lance, or to aim it at this target or that. The challenge was to hold the line of the charge and not to veer away from the impact — not to give in to the panic that swept over nearly every rider as he galloped toward his opponent.

Marek had read the old texts, but now he suddenly understood them: he felt shivery and loose, weak in his limbs, his thighs trembling as he squeezed his mount. He forced himself to concentrate, to focus, to line up his lance with Sir Charles. But the tip of his lance whipped up and down as he charged. He raised it from the pommel, couched it in the crook of his arm. Steadier. His breathing was better. He felt his strength return. He lined up. Eighty yards now.

Charging hard.

He saw Sir Charles adjust his lance, angling it upward. He was going for the head. Or was it a feint? Jousting riders were known to change their aim at the last moment. Would he?

Sixty yards.

The head strike was risky if both riders were not aiming for it. A straight lance to the torso would impact a fraction of a second sooner than a lance to the head: it was a matter of the angles. The first impact would move both riders, making the head strike less certain. But a skilled knight might extend his lance farther forward, taking it out of couched position, to get six or eight inches of extra length, and thus the first impact. You had to have enormous arm strength to absorb the instant of impact, and control the lance as it socked back, so the horse would bear the brunt; but you were more likely to throw off the opponent’s aim and timing.

Fifty yards.

Sir Charles still held his lance high. But now he couched it, leaning forward in the saddle. He had more control of the lance now. Would he feint again?

Forty yards.

There was no way to know. Marek decided to go for the chest strike. He put his lance in position. He would not move it again.

Thirty yards.

He heard the thunder of hooves, the roar of the crowd. The medieval texts warned, “Do not close your eyes at the moment of impact. Keep your eyes open to make the hit.”

Twenty yards.

His eyes were open.

Ten.

The bastard raised his lance.

He was going for the head.

Impact.

:

The crack of wood sounded like a gunshot. Marek felt a pain in his left shoulder, stabbing upward and hard. He rode on to the end of the course, dropped his shattered lance, extended his hand out for another. But the pages were just staring at the field behind him.

Looking back, he saw that Sir Charles was down, lying on the ground, not moving.

And then he saw Sir Guy prancing and wheeling around Chris’s fallen body. That would be his solution, Marek thought. He’d trample Chris to death.

Marek turned and drew his sword.

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