To Die for a Lie

Aug 2025

“A duel?” repeated Don Quixote as all those around gasped.

“Yes, a duel,” the anonymous knight–who had seemingly appeared in the courtyard out of nowhere–affirmed.

“I will certainly accept the challenge. I shall defend my honor and, more importantly, that of the peerless Dulcinea of Toboso, who truly has no equal in beauty, refinement, or virtue.”

“It is settled. We shall meet in the field just north of where we stand tomorrow morning.” And with that, the mysterious knight withdrew, along with his squire whose presence no one had even noticed in the chaotic flurry of the knight’s sudden apparition.

The Duke, Duchess, and various Duennas present were perhaps even more surprised at this proposed duel than Don Quixote and Sancho were. This was, strangely, not one of the many tricks or pranks they had been orchestrating all week on the two oblivious visitors, and so they were flummoxed at who the mysterious knight could be, or if he was a knight at all, since Don Quixote was the closest thing to a “knight” that any of them had come across in their lives.

The mysterious knight had withdrawn to the woods not far from the estate and make camp with his squire. Removing his helmet, he was revealed to be none other than the Bachelor Samson Carrasco.

“I still don’t see why you are so adamant on challenging Don Quixote to another duel.” poked his squire, who was, in reality, just a friend from Salamanca University he had recruited for the weekend sally.

“The whole plan I devised with the barber and the priest back earlier this year was meant to spare Don Quixote from going out on another one of his delusional misadventures and getting killed. I failed, losing the duel, only by some unlucky twist of fate. I feel somehow duty bound to saving Don Quixote and getting him back to our home village. Everyone is worried about him. He really is mad, you know.”

Señor Carrasco stared into the fire his squire had made for the two of them. After a long pause, he added, almost to himself, “It really was dumb chance that he beat me in that duel, you know…it won’t happen this time.”

The next morning the field was teeming with life. The Duke and Duchess had sent several pages out the previous evening, informing friends of a most comical and eventful “duel” that was to take place between their esteemed guest and a most mysterious knight. And so the field was lined with spectators. Don Quixote and Sancho calmly readied themselves at one end of the field. As Sancho fastened his master’s breastplate he asked, “Are you nervous at all, my grace?”

“Nervous, Sancho? Ha! I eagerly await combat. It is why I am here, you know, on this Earth. I take up my lance with gladness for my Dulcinea, and for the long unbroken chain of knights errant that stretches out behind me. Only you, Sancho, can be described as ‘nervous’ preceding any of our adventures, oh, poor coward that you are!”

“It may be that cowards die many times before their deaths. But, coward that I am, I would prefer a long life. Good luck my grace, as they say, diligence is the moth of good luck, and you, my grace, are ever diligent.”

“Oh Sancho, enough with your proverbs. I swear, not a sentence comes out of your mouth that is not filled with them.”

Don Quixote met the furtive knight in the middle of the field. The terms of the duel were agreed upon, and the men took their positions.

At the signal, our noble knights charged valiantly towards each other. Both men carried a steely resolve which drove them to the very heart of danger, lances in hand. As they drew near Don Quixote carefully oriented his lance at his opponent’s chest plate, bracing its handle deep in his side with all of his strength. It is a good thing Sancho had sharpened his master’s lance because Rocinante’s top speed amounted to the paltry trot of any healthy steed. The lance would need to be quite sharp to deliver any damage. And deliver damage it did, Don Quixote’s sure hand dealt a disastrous blow to the young Carrasco who went flying off his horse, landing unceremoniously on his head before bouncing and rolling to a stop. The crowd gasped in delighted horror at the carnage.

Don Quixote dismounted and approached his adversary. Sancho and Carrasco’s squire also trotted towards him. His helmet was removed and Sancho gasped, “Señor Carrasco, is it you?”

Carrasco sputtered between gasps, “I was trying to save you Señor Quixote. To bring you home.” While the lance strike did not penetrate Carrasco’s armor, its force combined with Carrasco’s horridly violent fall saw him on what Sancho claimed to be “his last legs.”

“This cannot be Señor Carrasco, he must be enchanted. Either way, you have been vanquished. Do not fear, fellow knight, for if you survive, God has blessed you with a great gift, and if you perish, you have done so in one of the most honorable ways possible. And do not babble about me needing saving, perhaps it is Spain that needs saving, after all.”

The crowd had drawn closer to hear the men’s exchange and were baffled by our heroic knight’s simultaneous madness and erudition.