Fully armed, Malcolm walked out of the tent and peered down the long jousting field. At the far end, he could clearly make out Albert of Aurillac pacing back and forth in front of his tent, obviously impatient to get on with the fight. The sun stood high in the sky, and Malcolm knew that the trumpet would soon sound to summon the two warriors to come before the count.

Malcolm took out his sword and checked it one more time. He knew he was physically ready now, and he also felt a reassurance that he was ready in spirit. A confidence was building in him, not an overconfidence in his abilities, but a confidence that the prayers of his newfound brothers and sisters would carry him through this ordeal.

He knew that doing battle was foreign to many of the Cathars, who shunned violence of any form, but he was thankful that Guy, Heloise, and those in their fellowship were praying that he would come through this encounter victoriously.

A trumpet blast jolted him out of his reverie. It was the call that the two combatants had been waiting for. Malcolm strode over to his horse and deftly swung into the saddle.

Guillaume walked beside him, as they slowly moved down the field towards the central grandstand where Raymond, Odo, Peter of Castelnau and the other dignitaries were seated.

A large crowd of common folks had gathered on the other side of the field. Apparently, word of the trial by combat had spread quickly amongst the townspeople. Albert's reputation had ensured that a good crowd would be there to witness this event.

Within a few minutes, Malcolm and Guillaume were standing in front of the grandstand. They hadn't spoken on the way down; all that needed to be said had already been said.

Guillaume mounted the stairs and took his seat to the right of the count. Albert and his second had arrived at about the same time. Theobald also left his cousin to take his place in the stands. Albert and Malcolm eyed each other momentarily, before a herald stood up to proclaim the purpose of the fight.

"Hear ye! Let all here gathered this day listen and understand. Today it has been decreed that these two combatants have brought their grievance, to be settled by trial of combat, before the court of Count Raymond of Toulouse. The fight shall be with swords, such as was chosen by the accused, Malcolm MacAlpin.

"You two shall mark off a distance of twenty paces, and you shall charge one another on your horses. If one of you shall fall, then he shall continue fighting dismounted. The fight shall be to the death, and may God grant strength to he whose cause is the righteous one. Go now, and take your positions. At the blast of the trumpet, the combat shall commence. So it is decreed by His Excellency, Raymond the Sixth, Count of Toulouse."

Malcolm and Albert now rode away from each other, to where a marker showed the required distance that they were to have between them at the initiation of the combat. Malcolm braced himself in the saddle, his body tense and ready for the assault which was about to begin.

Albert was bigger and burlier, but Malcolm was obviously the more athletic of the two. This was going to come down to a contest of brawn versus agility. Malcolm peered over the top of his shield at Albert, took his sword out of his sheath, and held it at his side. His left arm bore his shield, leaving his hand free to grasp the reins of his horse.

The trumpet sounded, the two riders spurred their mounts, and the horses charged towards each other. The first clash of the men's swords rang out across the field of death. The two whirled around and came at each other again. Albert's sword struck Malcolm's shield with deadly force. Malcolm reeled in his saddle and struggled to regain his balance. Desperately, Malcolm swung his sword sideways, clipping Albert's shield and almost causing it to spin off his arm.

The two turned again and charged at close range. This time they stayed locked in battle, swinging their swords at each other with all the force that they could muster. Albert was the bigger man, and his blows came down with a deadly force.

The heavy blows from Albert's sword did their damage upon Malcolm's shield. Malcolm, however, was content to absorb the pounding for now, for he was conserving his strength. Albert was swinging wildly, and Malcolm knew that the bigger man would eventually start to tire--and that would be when he would seize his chance.

But Albert was a canny fighter himself. His eyes glared at Malcolm from underneath his helmet, as he let out a continuous stream of curses.

"You foreign dog," he snarled between blows. "I shall chop you up and feed you piece by piece to the ravens. You pig! You cur! You swine!"

Albert kept up his voluble stream of curses, while Malcolm deemed it wiser to concentrate on his fighting than on cursing.

Albert spurred his horse away a few yards, then turned again to charge at Malcolm. Malcolm spun his steed around in time for his shield to meet another onslaught of blows from Albert's sword.

It was time for Malcolm to go on the offensive. He swung his blade and hit Albert's shield with a force that the Frenchman clearly had not expected. Unsteadied in his saddle, Albert leaned far to the other side. Malcolm pressed his advantage. Again and again and again he beat down upon his adversary. Suddenly, the big fellow toppled from his horse. A roar erupted from the crowd.

Jumping to his feet, Albert whirled around to meet the next charge.

Malcolm clearly had the advantage now, and was about to spur his horse on, when, as if by a sudden inspiration, he caught on to Albert's intentions. The French knight's sword was poised to strike a lethal blow to Malcolm's mount and bring the animal down, hopefully pinning Malcolm underneath. Malcolm reined his horse in.

"Come on, you coward! You scum!" Albert taunted. "Charge me!"

Malcolm quickly considered his options. A battle horse was an extremely valuable animal, and one that he could not afford to lose in such an encounter as this. Nimbly, Malcolm dismounted and gave his horse a whack on its flank to send it trotting away in the other direction. Albert's horse had already been grabbed by some attendants and led away from the battlefield.

Malcolm and Albert, now on equal terms, circled each other warily.

Albert lunged again. Malcolm, more nimble on his feet than the bigger man, deftly sidestepped. Albert charged past him.

Albert turned, his face glaring red and his eyes burning with an intense hatred. He swung again at Malcolm with all his force. Malcolm took the blow on his shield. The blow was a heavy one, and Malcolm slipped slightly. Albert tried to press home his advantage, pushing and shoving Malcolm in an attempt to topple him.

Malcolm halted, almost fell backwards, and then, mustering all of his athletic ability, threw his weight to the side. Once again the big man went flying past him. Another roar rose from the crowd.

"You think you're so smart!" said Albert. "You think you are such a swordsman! All you know how to do is run! Stand and fight!"

Malcolm now thought it time for him to reply to some of Albert's curses. "I am standing and fighting," he said. "It is you that keeps running past me!"

"Why you scummy dog!" cursed Albert, as he lunged towards Malcolm again.

The two continued swinging at each other. Malcolm tried to conserve his strength. Surely the other man must be tiring. But Albert kept up the pressure.

Then, in a momentary lapse of concentration, Malcolm missed fully parrying a blow. Albert's sword swung down and hit Malcolm on the shoulder. His coat of mail absorbed much of the blow, but some of the links broke and the sword cut through to his flesh. Blood soaked through to the blue surcoat that Malcolm was wearing, and the crowd let out a gasp. Heloise, who was standing afar off, covered her eyes, and started to sob.

Albert, clearly invigorated by being the first to draw blood, continued to aggressively attack Malcolm. Malcolm was in pain and clearly at the disadvantage, but he valiantly held up against the renewed blows of his adversary. Albert kept the pressure on.

Another heavy blow from Albert's sword forced Malcolm onto one knee. Albert lifted high his sword to swing down for the final blow. In that moment of overconfidence, he inadvertently pulled his shield away from fully guarding his front. Malcolm seized the opportunity and, with all the strength he could muster, thrust his sword into Albert. Through the mail it went, and through the heavily padded undergarment, striking flesh. Deeper the sword went, until it had come out the other side.

A look of horror and disbelief was fixed on Albert's face. He staggered backwards, reeled around once, and collapsed on the tournament field with a loud thud.

Theobald, Albert's second, and several attendants rushed over to the man. Guillaume also took to the field. Malcolm had risen to his feet, but was obviously quite wobbly. Guillaume caught the exhausted man and held him steady.

Albert lay sprawled on the field, belly up, and Malcolm's sword was still lodged deep in his chest, as it had been wrenched from Malcolm's hand when Albert had staggered backwards. His eyes, opened wide and transfixed skyward, were filled with unspeakable horror.

Theobald ran his hand over Albert's face and closed the dead man's eyes. "He's dead," he said solemnly. "You have killed him!" Without another word, Theobald walked away.

The attendants rolled Albert's body onto a litter, and with one mighty yank Guillaume pulled Malcolm's sword from the cadaver and handed it to Malcolm. The attendants carried Albert's body to his tent.

Heloise and Guy, at the far end of the grandstand, stood practically paralyzed in disbelief--and relief--at what they had just seen.

Guillaume steadied Malcolm by the shoulder again, and whispered in his ear. "Come, we must now stand before the count, so that you can receive your acquittal."

Malcolm nodded, but he was clearly exhausted from the combat. Summoning all his reserves, he tried to look as dignified as he could, as he walked over and stood before the count.

The count looked over at Odo. The prelate was white as a sheet--shocked and incredulous at what had just transpired. The mightiest knight of southern France, the knight who had championed the church, lay dead!--And Odo's scheme lay in shambles!

Castelnau glared at Odo. Without a word, the legate rose and walked off.

Raymond, summoning all his diplomatic skill, scarcely managed to hide his delight in seeing the bishop so discomfited. He arose and beckoned Malcolm to come forward.

"This day you have been vindicated, Malcolm MacAlpin. According to the laws of the Franks, which do govern this land, I hereby acquit you of all charges that have been laid before you in this court. You have proven your innocence. And to your accusers, I say: Take note. God has acquitted this man this day, and has seen fit to deliver him. Those who accused him shall now need to give account of their false testimony."

And having said that, he turned to where Bishop Odo now stood. "I will expect you to appear before me tomorrow morning.--And bring those two brigands that were in your employ, so they may give a truthful account of what happened."

The bishop looked as though he would vomit, but somehow managed to maintain his composure. "You do not have authority over such matters," he said haughtily, "for these are most certainly ecclesiastical matters which cannot be judged in a secular court--only in my court! These men were on holy business, and they therefore do not fall under your jurisdiction."

"Those two men are not clerics," the count roared back. "They are soldiers, and as such, are subject to secular law. Have them there tomorrow morning, and we will have an end of this mess!"

Turning once again to Malcolm, Count Raymond added, "God has smiled on you this day, for I did think you were a dead man!"

"Thank you, my lord," said Malcolm. "But I will be the first to admit that it was not I who had the strength today, but I felt a supernatural strength within me. I, too, thought I was a dead man, but something came upon me that I knew not of, and gave me power to slay my tormentor and silence the lies of my accusers. I lay the glory and credit at the feet of God, for I believe it was only through the earnest prayers that were said for me that I have come from this field victorious."

"Very well, then," said the count. "Go and have your wounds dressed, and when you have recovered, come and see me again. I have need of a man such as you in my service."

"Thank you, my lord," replied Malcolm.

Having so said, Malcolm's face turned a deathly pale, as if all the life had drained from him, and, to the horror of all those present, he collapsed on the ground.