The knight pressed his heels into the side of his steed and urged it forwards. He felt the muscles under him and pushed his knees against the beast's powerful body. The cloth of the caparison rustled, and he clenched his shield firmly. Hoofs thundered upon the sandy ground and he pressed the lance against his armpit.
A terrible sound echoed over the jousting field as wood crashed into iron. The weapon was splintered, yet his opponent was still in the saddle.
The maidens cheered, the nobles applauded. Conan rode towards the tent and the pageboy held out a new lance.
" This time you'll crush the Saxon churl", he said.

Conan laughed. Saxon churl... Hear the Norman speaking. He looked at the yellow lions upon the bloodred flag. Ironic that it needed Vikings to cast these villains back into the sea.
" For Normandy!", the boy yelled.
Conan nodded.
" Normandy...", he muttered.

He turned his mount, and looked at the black armoured thane. What right did an Anglo-Saxon have to this land?
" Your lady is watching, sir Conan. Win for her."

He looked at the stand, where the Welsh girl sat. Her fiery red locks were covered with a green headdress, but he would recognize her posture and her snow white skin from afar, even if she would dress like a serf. She was as proud and independent as her people. Oh how surprised she had been when this invader knew her language.
" You have a funny accent", were the first words she had said to him, but she was nevertheless pleased that he chose the native tongue over French or English.

" Buddugoliaeth!", he heard her cry, and he saw how she raised her small fist. Her bracelets and rings sparkled in the light of the summer sun.
He laughed and raised his gauntled in reply.
" Buz! Breizh ha Kemre!"

He saw how the pageboy frowned.
" Sir?"
" When in Britain, learn their tongue, good boy."

And then he spurred his horse and shot forward. Clouds of dust were kicked up into the air, the people shouted, the hoofs were like wardrums. The knights rushed at eachother and colided violently.
Conan's lance banged against the other man's shield, yet although his arm was strong, the Saxon's legs were not, for he was thrown out off the saddle. With a noisy thud he came down. His horse ran forth as if it did not miss its rider, yet Conan guided his steed towards the fallen opponent.

" It seems you are defeated, sir knight. Take off your helmet, so that I can see who you are."

The Saxon nodded, and did as he was told. Conan smiled.

" Sir Ivanhoe... What a surprise... Still fighting for a lost cause? The Normans have taken Albion, just as the Saxons stole it. Learn to live with it."