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Nevertheless, the nobility insisted on lumping all non-nobles together as a common breed. “Of the good towns, merchants and working men,” wrote a noble at the court of the last Duke of Burgundy, “no long description is necessary, for, among other things, this estate is not capable of great attributes because it is of servile degree.”
    The object of the noble’s function, in theory, was not fighting for fighting’s sake, but defense of the two other estates and the maintenance of justice and order. He was supposed to protect the people from oppression, to combat tyranny, and to cultivate virtue—that is, the higher qualities of humanity of which the mud-stained ignorant peasant was considered incapable by his contemporaries in Christianity, if not by its founder.
    In his capacity as protector, the noble earned exemption from direct taxation by poll or hearth-tax, although not from the aids or sales taxes. These, however, took proportionately more from the poor than from the rich. The assumption was that taxpaying was ignoble; the knight’s sword arm provided his service to the state, as prayers provided the clergy’s and exempted them too from the hearth-tax. Justification for the nobles lay in the “exposure of their bodies and property in war,” but in practice the rules were as changeable and diffuse as clouds in a windy sky. The tax status of the clergy, too, when it came to money for the defense of the realm, was the subject of chronic and fierce dispute.
    Taxation like usury rested on principles that were anything but clearly defined and so muddled by ad hoc additions, exemptions, and arrangements that it was impossible to count on a definite amount of returns. The basic principle was that the King should “live of his own” under ordinary circumstances, but since his own revenues might not suffice for defense of the realm or other governmental purposes, his subjects could be taxed to enable him, as Thomas Aquinas neatly phrased it, “to provide for the common good from the common goods.” This obligation derived from the deeper principle that “princes are instituted by God not to seek their own gain but the common good of the people.”
    A man born to the noble estate clung to the sword as the sign of his identity, not only for the sake of tax-exemption but for self-image. “Not one of us had a father who died at home,” insisted a knight in a 13th century
chanson de geste;
“all have died in the battle of cold steel.”
    The horse was the seat of the noble, the mount that lifted him above other men. In every language except English, the word forknight—
chevalier
in French—meant the man on horseback. “A brave man mounted on a good horse,” it was acknowledged, “can do more in an hour of fighting than ten or maybe one hundred could do afoot.” The
destrier
or war-horse was bred to be “strong, fiery, swift, and faithful” and ridden only in combat. En route the knight rode his palfrey, high-bred but of quieter disposition, while his squire led the
destrier
at his right hand—hence its name, from
dexter
. In fulfilling military service, horse and knight were considered inseparable; without a mount the knight was a mere man.
    Battle was his exaltation. “If I had one foot already in Paradise,” exclaimedGarin li Loherains, the hero of a
chanson de geste
, “I would withdraw it to go and fight!” The troubadour Bertrand de Born, himself a noble, was more explicit.
    My heart is filled with gladness when I see
    Strong castles besieged, stockades broken and overwhelmed,
    Many vassals struck down,
    Horses of the dead and wounded roving at random.
    And when battle is joined, let all men of good lineage
    Think of naught but the breaking of heads and arms,
    For it is better to die than be vanquished and live.…
    I tell you I have no such joy as when I hear the shout
    “On! On!” from both sides and the neighing of riderless steeds,
    And groans of “Help me! Help me!”
    And when I see