All characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. [This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 11-15-2004 @ 09:18 PM).]
The shouts of the gathered boys and the cloud of dust rising and spreading made it impossible for the old man to not take notice or to go about his usual business of the day. Not that his usual wandering about this small English town situated a short way from the castle was particularly pressing at the moment. Indeed it wasn't, but he didn't especially like his daily routine disrupted like this or his senses assaulted by the yelling going on. So he changed direction and with the aid of the staff he now carried, made his way to the overly excited gaggle of youths.
At the outskirts of the surging circle, the old man paused to straighten himself up, then dipping his staff parallel to the ground, the thickly knotted head pointed directly at the center, he mustered up the commanding voice he once used to direct his soldiers, and ordered the boys to move aside.
"Aside I say!" he bellowed at the top of his aging lungs. "I mean far aside!" He used the knob of his staff to bump the shoulders of one boy who seemed oblivious. "Move, lad! I have business in there." The boy glanced back surprised, but did as he was told. "And you too!" Another boy stepped aside.
Gradually the path to the center opened and like drawn drapery over the window in the Great Hall what was beyond was revealed. Two boys wrestled with each other on the dry dusty dirt of the ground. No blows were being struck, but it was obvious that these two 12-year-olds were exerting every bit of boyish strength they each possessed, and that soon enough there would be blows and all manner of injury resulting.
"Stop it! Stop it now!" the old man yelled. They heard him he knew because one of the two glanced at him and the other seemed briefly to cease his struggling. However, it was very brief indeed, for the grunting, twisting and turning began anew soon afterwards. The old man reached into his once formidable strength and bellowed out a command none could ignore, "By the sword of St. George, I will have the two of you whipped by your masters if you don't cease wrestling this minute!"
The word "whipped" yielded the effect the old man desired. The boys slowly, reluctantly began to release each other, then pushed themselves away and to their feet. The old man looked from one face to the other. Few features on their dirt covered faces were visible other than a pair of brown eyes and a pair of blue eyes, both boys sporting unkept, thoroughly disturbed, dust matted dark brown hair. The boys eyed the old man and eyed each other, but neither of them made any other move.
"What's this wrestling all about?" the old man began.
A child's voice from the crowd answered his question while the two boys silently glared at each other. "Nay, sir, they were not wrestling. They were fighting!"
"Fighting? But why?" The old man found the face in the crowd who had spoken and saw its mouth open again. "Lad! Let them tell me. They were the ones fighting, not you." Something about the look in the old man's eyes made the boy go silent.
"Now then, why were you fighting?"
The two combatants looked at the old man and then at each other. He waited patiently to see which one of the two boys would speak first. The wait was brief. The boy with the brown eyes decided to get said what had to be said. "Because his master's a coward!"
The blue-eyed boy bellowed a epithet and made a move towards the other boy at the same time shouting back, "He is not!" The thick head of the old man's staff suddenly appeared between them, and both stepped away from each other as before without making contact.
"If the good Lord intended for words like that to be said," observed the old man, "He Himself would have placed them in the Bible..." The blue-eyed boy's rage didn't subside, but the import of the old man's words sunk home. "I.. I didn't mean it to sound that way... I..."
The old man ignored the boy's stammering and turned to the brown-eyed boy. "Why do you say this about his master?" The boys in the circle about them almost as one leaned in to hear the boy's explanation and to see if the old man agreed.
[This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 11-14-2004 @ 11:29 PM).]
"Hrummph! Name first, boy. What's your name?"
"Eric, sir. I'm the merchant's apprentice, if it pleases you, sir."
"Hmmmm. Maybe it will and maybe it won't. We'll have to see." The old man observed the brown-eyed boy blink and hesitate. The old man was sure the boy was befuddled by the man's appearance. Old he was, but he was not without means. His clothes were fresh, well made, but not luxurious. These were everyday wear of finely woven wool, suitable for a mid-spring day free of rain. The old man was new to these parts this year, but not so new if any remembered him from many years past. Few did. Few spoke of him. None spoke "Galan, sir. The blacksmith's apprentice." "I see," nodded the old man. "And neither of you have any chores?" The two boys looked at him, then down at the ground. "Some, sir, still," said Galan. "But I will get mine done. I always do." "Good. After this, see that you do. Now, where were we. Oh yes. Eric, why did you say of the blacksmith that he is a coward?" Eric stiffened up and elevated his chin to show he was not afraid to reply. "Because the blacksmith will not compete in the games! He's afraid!" "THAT'S NOT TRUE!" Galan bellowed. CLUMP! The top of the old man's staff struck a vicious blow at the earth right between the boys where they stood. "There will be no shouting," said the old man in a calm voice that belied the ferocity of the blow from the staff he carried. The boys both gulped. "Continue, Eric. What games are these?" Eric nodded. "Each spring, the town arranges for games of strength and skill, some being great challenges frought with danger that comes from a slipped axe or a fall from a mount. The blacksmith refuses to accept the challenge of the games. He won't say why. He's been petitioned by the town elders and still he will not compete. They laugh at him. We laugh at him. They and we think him a coward and that's the reason he won't compete." Eric finished and this time Galan made as if to say something, then thought better of it and remained silent. "I see," said the old man. He turned his gaze to Galan. "You do not agree?" "I do not think my master a coward. He works hard all day and treats me well... uhh, except when I do something wrong. Then I'm scolded. I deserve it usually. I learn from it too. The scoldings become fewer the more I learn." Galan shifted and looked sideways at Eric. "I've asked my master why he will not compete." "And he says?" "He says to me, 'Galan, the games are for naught and should they cost the townsfolk the services of the only blacksmith around, what good will come of it for them or for you' that's what he says to me." "He is the only blacksmith?" "Yes, for a great distance." The old man studied Galan's face, what he could see of it through the dirt widely dusted over his pale white features. As he did so Galan asked the question that troubled him deeply. "Is he in fact a coward for saying that, sir?" The old man pursed his lips thinking back to the time in this village when... He made up his mind just that quickly. "You must answer the question yourself. But first I must show you something to help you understand. There, over there is a rain barrel. Wash your faces the both of you. If I'm going to show you something and have it speak to you of the past then you must be presentable." "Where are we going, sir?" a boy in the crowd asked as they stood around the rain barrel waiting for Eric and Galan to douse their faces in yesterday's cold rain water. "Who is going to speak to us?" "We are going to the church cemetary, that's where. To the grave of a knight. And it is he who will speak to you from the past." The boys took in a collective sharp breath. The old man laughed inwardly at the shocked look on their faces. "You're not afraid are you?" Soft gulps answered his question. [This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 11-15-2004 @ 09:08 PM).]
As they progressed down the street, the sound of footsteps behind him seemed to diminish little by little. Here and there he heard footsteps that seemed to fan out from behind him and then move to one side or another and go silent. The old man never looked back. He smiled to himself for he knew full well the gaggle of boys would be very diminished by the time they reached the cemetary. They will be very quiet about cowardice in the future he surmised, and that is what he hoped would be the result. Near the blacksmith's shop he stopped without warning. The two remaining boys, Galan and Eric, stopped as well if only to avoid colliding with the old man's back.
"Wait here, both of you," he said to them. Then the old man, the point of his staff tap, tap, tapping the dirt as he walked, covered the ten meters between the boys and the busy blacksmith who was pumping air into his hearth to superheat an iron horseshoe he was fabricating for a client's beast. Just as the old man entered the blacksmith's iron works, the blacksmith dunked the reddened iron shoe into a bucket of water sending up a cloud of steam and a hissing spray of disturbed water droplets. "Good day, sir," acknowledged the blacksmith. "Can I be of help to you?"
"You can, blacksmith. It's about your apprentice..."
As the boy watched the two men talk, too far from hearing to know what they were saying, they both saw the blacksmith nod and hold out his hand to take something from the old man. So quickly it was there and then gone, the glint of the sun off of something small, yellowish, the boys could not guess what it might have been. A coin maybe? Payment for a service the old man requested? He had no horse they knew about. Maybe it's stabled somewhere in the village? The blacksmith inclined his head as if to render a courteous yet not overly obvious bow. The old man turned about and returned to the two boys, all that was left of the crowd that started the walk.
"To the church now, Galan and Eric. You, young Galan, have chores to do; but I gained for you a brief reprieve."
"I don't!" contributed Eric.
"Then you musn't have enough work to keep you busy unlike Galan here."
"I did them already... I mean, what chores I had... Uhhh. This isn't my busy day... I mean." Eric glared at Galan just to ward off whatever pleasure the other boy might be taking in Eric's discomfort.
"Idle time, idle youth, idle lives..." muttered the old man. "We are near the church now. Follow me."
They did, but as Galan walked he decided to break the silence with one question. "Where are the other boys? Why did they leave? Were they too afraid of what they might see or hear?" He surprised himself that one question so quickly became three.
"Many questions, young one," sighed the old man. "You will find your answers in the story." They walked the narrow path to the consecrated ground behind the village church.
"What story, sir?" asked Eric, who himself was interested in the answers to Galan's questions he would have asked himself if he had the... ahem, if he had thought to ask them sooner.
Ahead of them lay cultivated ground with low grass, clipped bushes, nestled in the shade of three trees planted and growing tall, casting strong shadows on the stone crosses and columns at the head of rounded green mounds. The markers of this triangular shaped cemetary all seemed to stand with their carved inscriptions to the center, where stood the tallest of the monuments. It was to this monument resting atop a shallow mound that the old man guided the two boys. It was there he answered Eric's question. "This story, Eric." So saying he pointed to the inscription on the monument which spoke of the body buried below with these words:
THE KNIGHT WHO WOULD NOT JOUST THE BRAVEST AMONG US ALL REST IN PEACE [This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 11-16-2004 @ 04:17 PM).]
SIR RICHARD OF THE GLEN
"Really? You think so?" asked the old man as he placed himself carefully on a stone bench someone thoughtfully had placed in front of the monument for those like him who wished to sit and speak to others or simply to rest and think. "You haven't heard the story."
"Then tell us the story, please," Galan said as he sat on the grass in front of the old man, his blue eyes fixed on the old man's face. "I would like to hear the story."
"And now you shall," replied the old man. He pointed to a grassy spot near Galan. "Sit beside him, Eric, so you can hear it clearly as well." Eric mumbled something about "stupid" but sat where the old man indicated. Here is the story the old man recited.
In this very village the tale began. The castle in the distance was newer and far more active then with a Duke and Duchess, their two daughters, gentlemen and ladies, handmaidens and servants, and five knights all in attendance. It was such a fine Duchey that the Duke of Marl thought it should be his. But to his utter frustration, the rightful Duke of Alder would not surrender the castle or the Duchey to Marl no matter how much Marl fumed, blustered or threatened. Two youths by the name of Robin and Gregor began the day much like you two did, by wrestling each other in the dirt because of what one said to the other. They wrestled mightily until their masters found them and each yanked his squire up by the collar and chided him for fighting. You see, Robin was the squire of Sir Richard of the Glen and Gregor was the squire of Sir Sedgwick of Alder Forest. "What's this all about!?" said Sir Sedgwick as he shook his squire roughly. "Speak boy, or do I have to whip it out of you!" Gregor shook from head to toe, but answered dutifully. "I... I was defending your honor, Sir." Sedgwick started a little at the boy's words. "Defend my honor...? I can defend my own honor if it becomes necessary, boy." Sedgewick glanced at Robin, still in the firm grip of his master, Sir Richard, the boy manifesting an intense frown and sending a glare in Gregor's direction. "Why? What was said?" "That you are a liar, Sir Sedgwick." A brow-furrowing, forehead creasing frown crossed Sir Sedgwick's face as it turned substantially pink with irritation and welling anger. "How have I lied?" Encouraged, Gregor told him. "I said that you told me Sir Richard is a coward. He (Gregor pointed to Robin) said you were a liar! I was defending my master from being called a liar." Squire Robin made an effort to break loose from Richard's grip but was held tightly and told by Richard, "Easy lad. I see what has happened." "But you are not a coward!" protested Robin. "How could I let that... that boy say such about you! I had to stop him!" Richard's tone became increasingly soothing, calming, yet firm. "Stand here, lad. This is now my business." Richard released Robin and the boy did as he was told, a look of gratification now replacing the anger visible there before. Richard took deliberate steps towards Sedgwick. "Is your squire speaking truly? Did you say such about me?" Sedgwick stood a few centimeters taller than Richard and was greater as well at the shoulders. His face was bearded and youthful, without the mark of sun or scar. His eyes were brown, his nose prominent and his jaw square. This was a powerful man in strength and appearance. Richard looked him squarely in the eyes while waiting for his answer. Sedgwick released his grip on Squire Gregor. "The boy speaks the truth. I did say those words." "Why?" "Because, Sir Richard of the Glen, Knight of Alder, you are the only knight who will not joust at the upcoming tournament." [This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 11-17-2004 @ 04:27 PM).]
"That is correct, Sir Sedgwick. I shall not joust," replied Richard calmly, almost emotionlessly.
Sedgwick blinked. He expected anger, threats, a gauntlet... anything but that. Taking the initiative yielded to him, Sedgwick pressed his assumed advantage. "Then I should be the one to ask 'why' next, Sir Knight."
"Because, Sir Sedgwick, there is no worth in the tournament. We are few enough in number and Marl is constantly threatening. What benefit if we maim each other needlessly?"
Sedgewick hesitated. There was reason there, but lacking the spirit of knighthood to his way of thinking. "For the glory," he retorted. "The glory of the joust! The celebration of chivalry!"
"When last was chivalry honored in true practice among nobility? It is extolled for our benefit but practiced not when advantage can be gained by its abandonment. We must be on the alert for this, not waste our health or our lives on the game of the joust. As I have said before, Sir Sedgwick, I shall not joust nor participate in the tournament next week. Think and say what you will."
Speaking these last words, Richard turned about and began to walk away, motioning to his bewildered squire to follow him. Robin did as ordered, but couldn't resist looking dejectedly over his shoulder at a gloating Gregor who watched as Robin and his knight walked away and out of sight somewhere in the village.
Sedgwick stared after Richard, an odd expression of puzzlement and irritation on his face. "He makes a strange argument," the knight observed. Squire Gregor was of a different opinion. "He uses words to justify his cowardice."
Sedgwick looked at his squire. "There is strength in the man, Gregor. Do not be so hasty as to parrot words you hear and do not understand. Yes, he appears the coward; but I sense something else I cannot explain."
"Sir, indeed I do not understand," protested Gregor. "He made no challenge to your accusation. No bid to joust against him at the tournament as would another knight if accused of cowardice in the lists. I already spoke about the man to the other squires, and they to their knights and I suspect the knights to the Duke. This will simply add more grist to the mill of talk about Sir Richard."
Sedgwick's face became much redder the more the boy talked. "Squire Gregor, you have a mouth that shall learn the limit of what it may say! Follow me!"
Gregor realized belatedly that he had overstepped his bounds. That which would follow, however, would be much less painful in his mind than what he believed was in the mind of Robin this very minute. As he followed his master, Gregor consoled himself with that thought.
[This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 12-09-2004 @ 07:57 PM).]
All in all, it was an enjoyable excursion and Sedgwick was deep in appreciation of the fine day only to have his reverie diverted to the sound of horse hoofs striking the earth with great force followed by a reverberating THUMP. This happened twice in succession, just long enough for Sedgwick to cock his ears in the direction from which it came and turn his horse's head that way, encouraging the animal forward with a press of his heels.
Carefully Sedgwich guided the horse through a gathering of bush emerging from the other side into a copse of trees that not only gave himself and his mount cover from the sun, but foliage that also hid him from the view of anyone on the field below. There were two there who did not notice him. One was a young boy in a squire's dress, and the other was an armored rider of a great war horse, a knight, bearing a shield enscribed with the crest of The Glen.
"Richard!" Sedgwick said under his breath. "What's he doing there?" he asked the nearest most tree as if it could possibly know.
Richard it was who guided his horse to a rack of lances, pulled one, steadied it in his hand, then gave his war horse a swift kick of his heels. The horse galloped forward in the direction of a shield-bearing simulated knight of straw on a wood framed imitation of a horse. Richard's dutiful squire was manipulating the false knight by moving it up and down, adding just enough instability to its position to give the appearance it was riding against Sir Richard, though it moved forward not at all.
Forward Sir Richard galloped, his lance held at an elevated angle between earth and sky. At the last possible moment, he lowered his lance into position to strike the straw knight. Just before contact he made a final adjustment as he expertly calculated just the right place to strike his false opponent's shield to drive the straw knight from his mount. Lance struck shield and the straw knight soon afterwards looked up at the sky from its place on the ground with unblinking, sightless eyes.
Marvelous! A perfect hit. As good as any in a training exercise he had ever seen. Sedgwick watched this exercise of Sir Richard's as the skillful knight repeated his assault on the repositioned target three more times. Each pass was perfect. Some better than perfect. And this knight won't joust? Where does his fear originate?
Additional targets were assembled on the field and Sir Richard assaulted these with ball and chain, mace, waraxe and broadsword. Richard's handling of these weapons was expert. His movement smooth, his posture efficient, his approach reflecting the finest training and application of skill. The targets were demolished, no matter how vigorously Squire Robin operated their mechanisms to make their movement difficult to anticipate. Yet, concluded Sedgwick, it is fact that these "opponents" were not real men. Maybe that was the problem with Sir Richard. Maybe he was master of skills but not master of himself. A live opponent was too much for him. The tournament with its live competitors was more than Sir Richard could bear.
Still unseen, Sedgwick turned his horse about and re-entered the brush, regaining the road he had been following until then. Back in the village he decided to keep this observation to himself. To an extent he regretted his words about Richard's cowardice, true as they might be. He especially regretted their spread in public. He sighed. "Oh well, what is done is done. We go on from here," he said to his horse, which nodded its head not in agreement, but because an especially annoying fly found attraction in the animal's left ear.
Then it occurred to Sedgwick he might succeed in breaking Richard's reticence with a direct challenge. Unlike the last occasion when he expected a challenge to come from Richard, perhaps he could challenge the knight directly and in no uncertain terms. Hmmm... How to do that... An idea occurred to him and he vowed to pursue his freeborn strategy that very day or on the morrow if not today.
[This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 11-19-2004 @ 04:37 PM).]
Purposefully, Sedgwick ripped the leg off the roasted hen he was consuming and as he bit into the bird's fleshy thigh he eyed Richard sitting across the oaken table. "Good roast this evening," Sedgwick commented.
"A fine feast as always," Richard replied,waiting tactfully for a servant to pass by just as he said these words. "Well cooked and well served." The servant, a young girl of about 14 years, hesitated a moment as she passed, looked at Richard out of the corner of her eyes and smiled slightly, then went on about her duties.
Sedgwick chuckled. "You're a man who knows the right time for things, Sir Richard." The other three knights of Alder said nothing, choosing instead to feast and watch. One was Sir Donnally of the Glade, another was Sir Beltran of the Briar and the third was Sir Conlon of the Meadow. Little had been said among them that included Richard, ever since Sedgwick's squire spread the word of Richard's reluctance to joust.
"I suppose," answered Richard.
"Why, I suspect all this time you've been fooling us about the tournament and you intend to joust, cleverly catching us by surprise at just the right moment."
"I suspect not," replied Richard, his mouth frozen in midbite on the breast of chicken he held in his hand. He elevated his eyes to look squarely back at the knight across from him doing his best to spoil Richard's supper. "You have misunderstood somehow, Sir Sedgwick."
There were those eyes again. Unblinking, steady, purposeful. Sedgwick hesitated a brief moment then spoke. "If not so, why have you been practicing so steadily in the meadow outside of this village?"
"How would you know about that?" said Richard, slowly lowering the piece of chicken in his hand.
"Because I saw you two days ago at practice. I learned you did so again today."
Richard placed the meat in his pewter plate and wiped his hands on the rag cloth left there for that purpose by the servant. He reached for his goblet of ale and with his eyes steadily looking at Sedgwick, Richard swallowed two moderate gulps of the brew. "What you say is correct. I have practiced, as all knights should. Why should this matter to you."
"Because," said Sir Sedgwick, "I think you are primed for the tournament and I challenge you here and now to a joust."
The room went silent as all in it, knights and servants alike, stopped what they were doing or eating and waited for Richard's answer. The 14 year old servant girl looked at Richard the light of adoration sparkling in her eyes, hope radiating from the smile of expectation curving her lips and plumping her rosy cheeks.
Richard put down his goblet. "I have told you, Sir Knight, I will not joust in a tournament. Respectfully, I decline your challenge. Good evening, Sir Sedgwick. I shall be leaving now." Richard stood up, shoving the wooden chair on which he previously sat away from him with the heel of his shoe. Without further word, he left the serving room and all of its stunned occupants in silence.
The young serving girl's smile disappeared as if dashed from her face. How dare he humiliate her like that, after she smiled at him and he said such nice words about her. She just couldn't stand the man, and she would be the first to say so to her friends among the servants. Why... Why... He's nothing more than a coward. The squire was right after all.
Outside the stone structure that served as both a serving hall and part of the wall of the castle Richard stopped walking. He turned and looked back at the door he had closed as he left. "They will not understand will they, my brother," he said to himself. "Only you and I understand why I shall not joust; and you, my brother, cannot tell them from your grave just how wasteful is this tournament. You, my brother, who died needlessly answering a challenge just like that. And when they finally came to take our land, you could not be there to defend us. So we fell to their swords and what was ours was no more. This they will not understand, but I must try. Still I must try."
The voice of a young woman interrupted him. "I see you are enjoying the night air, Sir Knight." Such a lovely voice, with musical notes attached to every word she spoke. Richard turned to see that it was the Duke's youngest daughter, Eylene, only 17 years of age, who had spoken to him. He bowed respectfully upon recognition. Eylene's handmaiden, a more mature woman accompanying the much younger Duke's daughter, studied Sir Richard but said nothing. The young woman in her care smiled, revealing dimples in both cheeks. Her bundled blonde hair reflected bits and pieces of moonlight shining on her from the white orb in this night's clear sky. She was dressed in a peach colored, high necked gown that reached but judiciously missed the dirt of the courtyard's floor. Even in the greyish dark of the evening, Richard could see her blue eyes sparkling at him with amusement and interest.
"A very good evening to you, Milady," offered Richard in reply. "I am indeed enjoying this rare Spring night. You are as well?"
"Yes, ever so much. You are Sir Richard, are you not? Recently of service to my father?"
"Yes, Milady. I am Sir Richard."
"Well met, Sir Richard."
"Yes, Lady Eylene. Well met."
Eylene tilted her head, the smile on her face easing somewhat. "I trust you will attend the Tournament Ball this Saturday, Sir Richard. You have been invited I understand."
"I... uh... Well, Milady, there were obligations and I..."
"Nonsense! No knight of Alder ever misses the Ball unless they are in ill health, and you Sir Knight give no impression of being in ill health. I shall consider it a personal favor to me that you attend. May I count on your being there... Sir Richard?"
Richard sighed. "Yes, Milady. I shall do my very best." The smile on Lady Eylene's face brightened considerably. Richard nearly fell first into one dimple and then the other. "Now if I may be permitted, Milady, I shall be leaving."
"Permitted yes, but with reluctance. Good night, Sir Richard."
"Good night, Milady." Richard bowed and then walked purposefully to his cottage which he shared with his squire. Eylene watched him leave, her eyes appraising Richard's composure and gait, and calculating his worth. The sum must have been substantial, for she spoke of nobody else and asked questions about nobody else that night speaking to her handmaiden only about Richard and what the Tournament Ball would bring.
The entrance opening framed a large rectangular room which the Duke called his Great Hall. Two huge hand built chandeliers of blackened wrought iron held sixteen stout candles each as wide in diameter as a man's thigh. The ceiling was reinforced with solid wood beams and from just below these beams hung a succession of tapestries depicting in bright dye idyllic pastoral scenes of plump peasants working in shops and fields in clothing seemingly freshly woven.
Melodies flowed from a quintet of musicians, one playing a recorder, another a viola da gamba, the third a violin, the fourth a mandolin and the last a small drum. To these melodies the guests either listened or danced. Those who danced maintained proper distance, orderly lines and only touched the hands of their partners when the dance called for them to step inwards or circle. The ladies averted their eyes as they touched, as this was proper etiquette during the dance.
The Hall was filled with the scent of people, but something more. There was an underlying pleasant scent of spring, for many of the women, and some of the men, had discretely placed in the disguised pockets of their clothing, the crushed petals of spring flowers. This was a pleasant tradition that countered the effects of a winter of icy cold water that discouraged them from bathing.
Sir Richard motioned to the servant standing in the doorway that he wished not to be announced. Almost too quickly and agreeably the servant unsmilingly complied. Richard entered the room in such a way that hardly anyone noticed, their eyes observing the dancers or the Duke and their ears filled with conversation or music.
[This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 11-23-2004 @ 08:04 PM).]
The dance concluded, a gavotte if Richard recalled correctly, and the ladies and gentlemen of the Ball sought their proper places to await the pleasure of the Duke. He had not sought to dance at that time, but now he could no longer avoid his social duty. He stood and offered his hand to the Duchess of Alder and motioned to his daughters to select from among the gentlemen present, as was the custom for the first dance they would enjoy that night. The eldest daughter, Charity, selected Sir Sedgwick. The youngest, Eylene, made no immediate selection. Instead, much to her father's confusion and impatience, she left his side and began to slowly, deliberately survey the room as if looking at all of the candidates appraisingly.
Her ice-blue eyes sought out first one gentleman then another. In turn, each possible partner for the dance sighed in disappointment as first the young woman's eyes settled on him but then abandoned their look to find another. She thoroughly surveyed each candidate slowly progressing across the center of the Hall. She passed by the other three knights of Alder who were congregated on the far wall. She passed by the young son of the wealthiest merchant in the area. She rejected with a mere glance the handsome son of her father's general. All of these as she progressed counterclockwise from the head of the Great Hall to its foot.
Suddenly she paused and blinked. She squinted her eyes prettily to make her vision clear and to confirm what she thought she saw. She was almost sure, but a closer look was necessary to confirm. She walked smoothly as if gliding, her shoulders barely dipping as she stepped, towards a place against the wall where stood a gaggle of men. Each of them but one had the same thought. "It's me she'll choose! How fortunate! How gratifying!" The one who thought differently than the others tried to shrink back into the wall, to become part of the moulding placed on the dark wood to give it decorative character.
Eylene came to a stop before the crowd of eager men and looked straight through them at the one who would hide if he could. "I choose you," she said once the closeness in distance confirmed it was the one she sought.
"Why thank you, Milady. I am most honored. I..." The over presumptive man in front of the one Eylene chose began to step forward but was interrupted immediately by Eylene's hand wave.
"Not you good Sir. You are a fine gentleman, but not my choice for this dance. He is. The one behind you." As if one, all of the men turned to see who Lady Eylene indicated. Sir Richard turned somewhat red for he knew now without doubt that he was the one she meant. Lady Eylene confirmed that immediately. "Yes, Sir Richard. I am indicating you. Will you take my hand and guide me please, Sir Knight?" Having no courteous choice, he emerged from the corner and offered his hand so Eylene could touch the top of his hand with her fingertips, which she did.
The Great Hall went stone silent. Sir Richard? That...knight...is her choice? What could the young woman be thinking? The knight who will not joust? The Duke's face mirrored the general disapproval in the Great Hall. The Duchess' face was pink with embarassment. Older sister Charity glanced and then smiled at Sir Sedgwick, all the while inwardly gloating at the miserable social failure that was her younger sibling that evening. The silence of the Hall slowly inexorably changed into whispered confidences among the guests and glances among the servants.
The Duke saw no other alternative but to signal the musicians to begin the music of the dance. Once the Duke and Duchess took their positions followed by their daughters and their chosen partners, others from the guests took their positions as well. Right foot pointed, hands on hips, when the introductory bars of the music concluded, the men who must step first began the dance.
Each time eyes found a chance to look Sir Richard's way, they were in the form of stares or in a few cases glares. It mattered not whether it was woman or man. All that differed was the intensity of the stare or the vehemence of the glare. Why not? What's to fear from the knight without courage? The only one who did neither was Sir Sedgwick. While he took pleasure in guiding the hand of the eldest daughter, he took no pleasure in what he saw directed Sir Richard's way. If only the knight had accepted the challenge. Win or lose, he would at least be respected. He, Sedgwick, had lost a few jousts. None recently, but he never refused a challenge. What is it that makes him so?
The music progressed to its end and so did the dance. As was proper, Sir Richard guided Lady Eylene to her father's side and bowed respectfully. The Duke looked the other way. Everyone noticed. Sir Richard did as well. The Lady Eylene would have none of this. "Sir Richard, would you be ever so kind as to bring for me a cup of drink from the great bowl? Either from dance or warmth, but I do have a sudden thirst."
Sir Richard bowed. "Of course, Milady."
"And Sir Richard?"
"Yes, Milady?"
"Perhaps, instead, you would be willing to allow me to accompany you on your mission? My father's permission of course?" She turned about and cast her blue eyes expectently on her father. The Duke's ears were already red but seemed to turn redder still. He tried to calm himself. No scene now. No spoiling of the Tournament Ball for others no matter how much it would pleasure him.
"I trust my daughter to your protection for the while, Sir Richard," said the Duke after a long pause. "See to this duty and remember your vows."
"I shall, Milord. I am but her servant in this." said Sir Richard. The knight offered his hand as before and Eylene placed her finger tips on it as before, offering a dazzling smile first to him and then to her father. The Duke could only shake his head before turning to his other social duties.
Obtaining a beverage from the bowl took only a few minutes of walking, selecting a cup and ladling drink from the huge pewter vessel into the smaller empty pewter cup he selected. Sipping on its contents, Lady Eylene suggested they step just outside of the Great Hall as she wished to speak with him. Sir Richard obliged, and that is how he came to find himself alone with the Duke's daughter in the light of the Moon in the courtyard outside of the Great Hall.
[This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 11-23-2004 @ 09:21 PM).]
How could he say no, especially when he did not know the questions. "As you command, Milady."
"This is not a command. Just a request."
"Yes, Milady. I will answer as best I can."
"Eylene."
"Milady?"
"My name is Eylene. Say my name."
"Yes, Milady... uh, Eylene."
"That's much better. Here is my first question: From where do you hail, Sir Richard? I am told it is not from Alder."
"That is correct, Mi..., I mean Eylene. I am from Marl."
Eylene frowned. "Not the answer I expected, Sir Richard. Why do you not serve the Duke of Marl?"
"Because the Duke of Marl murdered my family."
"Oh." Eylene paused while studying Richard's face. She did not smile. Marl and murder of families was a topic sometimes discussed around their noble born banquet table. It was their own murder at the hands of Marl they usually addressed. "Tell me how it happened, please."
How could Richard refuse. Nearby was a bench seat made of oak. Both sat on the bench and then Richard began his story.
"The Duke of Marl coveted our land, ours and those around us. Our Earl had but one knight, my elder brother, and a small troop of soldiers to defend his desmenes. The Duke's forces were not much greater, but outnumbered the Earl's by at least half. The Duke staged a tournament to which my brother was invited. At the tournament he was challenged by the Duke's champion. My brother was unhorsed and seriously injured. As he lay on his bed in our cottage, the Duke invaded the Earl's land and the Earl's force, denied the services of my brother's leadership, fell to the Duke. Soldiers of the Duke washed over the land like locusts driving peasants loyal to the Earl away and killing the rest who would not leave. My family fought back. My father and mother were killed. My brother was pulled from his bed and his head severed from his body by the stroke of their Captain's broadsword. I alone was spared, for I was a boy at the time and of no consequence to the Duke or his soldiers. I fled the land and came here, only to see the Duke of Marl extend his holdings until they border Alder. His army I am told is much larger now."
Eylene's eyes never left Richard's face. The blue in them shined slightly, but not from moonlight in the same way as before. They shined as if rays were playing off thin pools of water. She closed them before tears could begin to roll down her cheeks. Then she opened them again showing greater understanding than when she first asked her question. "Is that why you became a knight?"
"Yes, to take the role in my family my brother once held."
"To avenge him?"
"No. Vengeance is for the cruel of heart who are no better in what they do than those against whom they seek vengeance."
"You say your brother was injured in a tournament and unable to lead his men in defense? Sir Richard, your word as a Kight of Alder, Is this why you will not joust?"
"Yes, Lady Eylene. With Marl on our border, I must not allow to happen to me what happened to my brother, and to Alder what happened to the Earl and ultimately to my family."
"They said you would not joust, but none ever said why."
"They did not accept my answer."
"I accept your answer, Sir Richard of the Glen. And I shall make sure the Duke hears it as well."
"Thank you, Lady Eylene."
"One last thing."
"Yes... Eylene?"
"This." Eylene leaned across unexpectedly and placed a warm kiss on Richard's cheek. He sat stone still with surprise. "Now, Sir Knight, please escort me to my father."
"By... Uh, by your command, Milady," he responded with stammering speech and rose from his seat to comply.
Soon afterwards, they passed under the portal into the Great Hall but could not progress far since the man who mistakenly thought he was Eylene's choice obstructed their way with his back. "Sir," began Richard. "You are blocking our passage. Would you please permit us to pass?"
The man turned about as his shoulder was tapped by Richard to get his attention. "Why strike me down this minute. If it isn't the knight who will not joust." His eyes were red. His face was flushed. He stood unsteadily on his feet. All of this left no doubt the man was inebriated. "Brave man escorting the Duke's lovely daughter." The Great Hall went silent as more and more heard the exchange, for the sodden man's voice grew stronger and louder with each word and the Hall's silence grew increasingly so. "Maybe there is no need for a tournament. Maybe I should challenge you here and now for the privilege of escorting the Lady Eylene." Encouraged by Richard's steady silence he continued. "And so I shall..."
"You are drunk, Sir, and smell of it," admonished Richard. "You do not know what you say. Let us pass, please."
"Not until you accept my challenge, coward," the man replied. So saying he cast the content of his cup at Richard, hitting the knight full in the face and chest with the fermented liquid. "Now you smell of it as well, Sir Coward."
Richard's hand trembled. It balled and unballed then balled and unballed once more. Strangely and unexpectedly, a change came over him, one of passivity and outward calm. "Please step aside as I must bring the Lady Eylene to her father. It is her command."
Eylene permitted nothing more to be exchanged. "That is correct, Sir. Do you wish to impede the daughter of the Duke?"
The man looked first to Richard and then to Eylene. "Well... No, Milady... I thought you should know..."
"I know enough about two men this moment, one being this knight and the other being you." She took two bold steps until she was a short arm's length from the guest. "Shall I give you my appraisal."
"That's... Uh... That's your privilege, Milady."
"Yes it is." She swung her arm with the greatest force she could muster and with the open palm of her hand, Eylene slapped the drunk as hard as she could, sending him reeling backwards, his unsteadiness making him fall to floor on his derriere. All in the Great Hall gasped with shock. Eylene offered her hand to Richard, who took it in the proper manner and immediately escorted her through the spreading channel between the gathered guests opening between themselves and her father, the Duke.
Before the Duke, Richard bowed. "I return your daughter to you, Milord, safe as commanded." The Duke said nothing, disapproval and anger making his facial muscles twitch. Richard bowed once more and turned. Before him stood the whole of the guests at the Ball, not a face among them friendly towards him, except perhaps Sedgwick's, and only in so far as his face mirrored neither approval nor condemnation.
Richard did not smile. He did not acknowledge any of them. Instead, he steadied his eyes on the doorway leading from the Great Hall and without looking left or right, walked directly towards it. Guests stepped back from him to allow him to pass. They did so not in fear, but in apparent disgust. Words such as "coward" and "protected by a lady" trailed after him. He did not say anything in response. Instead he left the Hall behind and never stopped walking until he reached his cottage on the village's edge. There he pushed open the door and fell onto his cot saying nothing to his squire. Anger abated, melancholy grabbed hold and only the sleep that comes from black depression gave him any relief from the misery in his mind and soul.
[This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 12-07-2004 @ 03:28 PM).]
The four other Knights of Alder were there, each giving dutiful praise and attending to the instruction of the priest who conducted the service. Besides Sir Richard, missing too was the fifth knight who responded to the Alder Challenge. He was from Marl, so his absence came as no surprise to any from Alder who were present. Marl was not noted to be a land of piety or charity. No churches were active there and no priests attended the Duke of Marl.
With the sun at its zenith to ensure equal exposure to its glare, the tournament was announced by the brass trumpeting of six brightly polished horns. Colorful lengths of varietally-dyed cloth decorated the otherwise austere stands overlooking the length of the lists in which the knights would joust. Seated in the stands were the aristocracy of Alder, and the favorites of the men who would participate. In the center with the best vantage point sat the Duke of Alder, the Duchess and their two daughters: eldest on the left of the Duke and the youngest, Eylene, on the right of the Duchess. The eldest daughter had eyes only for Sir Sedgwick. Lady Eylene sought out the one face she hoped she would see, but found it nowhere among those in the stands, or among the peasants in their dull brown clothing who stood to the left or right in any place they could find with at least some kind of unobstructed view.
The horns sounded again and the parade of knights began. Sir Sedgwick led the Knights of Alder through the lists, his lance held high, the banner of Alder snapping noisily at its tip from the breeze of the early afternoon. The four knights were followed by the visiting knights of which there was but one, Sir Helton of Thorne, Knight of Marl. His dull grey armor reflected little of the sun but instead hinted by its dimensions at the size of the man within. The black falcon painted on Sir Helton's shield and the black and white feathering atop his helmet suggested little in the way of mercy might be expected and instead a funeral pyre might be more in keeping with the message the decorations conveyed.
All five knights finished their wordless parade punctuated by cheers from the crowd by turning and facing the Duke in the space before the stands where he sat about three lance lengths away from the knights. As the First Knight of Alder, Sir Sedgwich addressed the Duke. "Milord, we knights are gathered before you and request your permission to begin the joust."
The Duke rose from his high-back throne-like hewn wood chair. "The Tournament may begin!" he said in a loud voice all in the stands and all scattered about the grassy field could clearly hear. "Announce the challenges!"
A gruff voice from among the knights interrupted the proceedings almost immediately. "Duke of Alder! The Duke of Marl sends his greetings!" This was Sir Helton. "I claim visitor's privilege and demand my challenges be announced and supersede all others!"
"You have a reason for this, uh, unusual request?" said the Duke, suspicion edging his voice.
"I do." Alder noted the absence of 'Milord' and such other words of chivalrous respect.
"May we know the reason?"
"You shall, once I have unseated your vaunted five knights of Alder." Helton swiveled about in his saddle. "I do note only four Alder knights present. I had heard one would not joust. Is one of your five less brave than these foolish four?"
The faces of the Alder knights turned red with anger. The Duke struggled to maintain his outward appearance of calm. "There is a fifth," the Duke acknowledged. "He is indisposed this day." The peasants and others grumbled among themselves, especially those among them who knew the "truth" of the situation.
"I see," said Sir Helton, a knowing smirk on his face. His dark brown eyes surveyed the women to the right and left of the Duke, his eyes spending most of their time on Lady Eylene. "You have a handsome family of fine women. They remind me to ask the nature of the trophy this day."
"A purse of ten gold coins to the knight left seated."
"I can think of a finer trophy; but that can wait. Shall my challenges be honored first?!"
"They shall. The Tournament Clerk shall read them."
"No need, Duke of Alder. I shall pronounce them. One by one I shall strike each of the Knights of Alder from their mounts. I challenge them all to a match of skill and courage in the lists. They need only choose which of them shall fall first and I shall oblige them in succession!"
"Challenge accepted!" shouted an infuriated Sir Sedgwick, at which the crowd around the lists and in the stands let loose a great cheer in appreciation for Sedgwick's vigorous, forceful reply.
Helton smiled smugly and nodded. The joust was on.
[This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 11-29-2004 @ 04:13 PM).]
Sir Donnally was followed by Sir Beltran of the Briar and Sir Conlon of the Meadow. Both fallen knights had little knowledge of how they were carried off the field or how they were attended to by the Duke's physicians. They woke up on their cots, the pain of their defeats indicating where the damage to their bodies would demand time for healing aided by bandages or not.
Sir Sedgwick was lifted into his saddle next by the pulley and rope device necessary to compensate for the weight of his war armor. He rode out to meet Sir Helton knowing full well the responsibility to defeat the Knight of Marl was now in his sole hands and lancework. The trumpets sounded and he hard prodded his warhorse into action.
The wood railing between them ensured neither knight nor horse would collide. Sir Sedgwick could see Sir Helton galloping towards him, Helton's lance point at the ready. He reciprocated almost immediately. The distance between them shrank almost as if in slow motion. Helton's lance dropped to the position of attack. Sedgwick did likewise. Repeatedly Sedgwick calculated and recalculated the distance and angle of his own lance point and that of Helton's. Sedgwick adjusted the shield on his left arm preparing to ward off Helton's lance. Concurrently, he shifted the point of his own lance slightly to the left for better contact. The distance shrank measurably during these adjustments.
As suddenly as the match started, it ended; but not silently. Helton shifted his lance at the last minute and unexpectedly leaned away from Sedgwick positioning Helton's lance on the inside half of Sedgwick's shield, far closer to Sedgwick's chest armor than safe. With a sudden crash of metal tip on metal shield Helton's lance struck Sedgwick's shield, just as Sedgwick desperately tried to shift his lance point towards Helton's new position and the center of Helton's shield. Failure! A sad and frightening miss! Sedgwick felt the iron point of Helton's lance strike his own shield and then glide upwards towards the inside of his right shoulder.
If Helton's aim were more true, the point would have buried itself deeply in Sedgwick's shoulder, perhaps inflicting a mortal wound. But that did not happen. Instead, the point of Helton's unbroken lance caught in the collar of Sedgwick's armor at the place where Sedgwick's neck emerged, and the momentum of the blow lifted Sedgwick out of his saddle and sent him tumbling in the air head over heals onto the dirt floor of the list. There Sedgwick lay, senseless, until carried off the field and to the Duke's physicians. The tournament ended. Marl was victorious.
Sir Helton guided his mount to the grandstand, halting his great warhorse before the seated Duke of Alder. "As I predicted Duke of Alder, a victory for myself and Marl! Convincing?"
The Duke's face was criss-crossed with emotion straining against the constraints placed on their exposure by the frustrated, angry Duke of Alder. "You have won, Sir Knight. I shall present you with your prize." But as the Duke turned to grasp the purse of 10 coins he heard Sir Helton's tone change and words spoken he feared would be said one day, but not on this particular day or by this particular ambassador of Marl.
"The devil take your pittance of a prize, Alder!" growled Helton. "I and my liege seek greater than a purse of 10 gold coins! We seek Alder!"
The Duke of Alder froze in place, then slowly turned to face Marl's insolent emissary. Lady Eylene stared open mouth at Helton and at her father hoping against hope what she feared was in fact not actually happening before her very eyes. Her hopes were fruitless.
"Listen well, Alder. You have lost your knights but one, he who you say is indisposed, who I have heard is otherwise. We of Marl come with our forces to send you and your unworthy knights away. We shall be at your castle gate within the next day. You have that time to surrender and save your family the harm we shall inflict on them all if you don't. Without your knights you cannot prevail, and you know that as well as the Duke of Marl!"
"You say I have no choice."
"Oh, yes. You have a choice. Milord, Duke of Marl, is a chivalrous man. He does not wish to lay waste your holdings in a battle you cannot win. He offers you an alternative."
"It is?"
Sir Helton's voice barely held back the derisive laughter his next words conveyed. "Send one of your knights, your illustrious, victorious knights to mortal combat with me. A fight to the death. Your knight wins, Milord Duke of Marl leaves. Your knight loses, Alder becomes Marl. You may leave for some other land, if one will have a weakling, fallen Duke upon its land." The derision was seeping through like a breeched dike. "Oh, the assumption is you have a knight who can be your champion. It seems after today more than one is indisposed. How sad." Laughter. Cold, humorless, abrasive laughter. "And the one, your fifth knight, is not indisposed at all but a coward isn't he? What a fine place this is, Duke of Alder. It deserves Marl. It deserves one who can rule!"
Lady Eylene leaped from her chair. "You and your Duke can... can...! How dare you speak to my father this way!"
Helton looked at Eylene with eyes that appraised her body purposefully from head to toe. "I shall look forward to my victory either way. Actually, I would much prefer my liege to sack this worthless land instead so I can have my share of the booty." He paused meaningfully as he stared at Eylene. "I know precisely what will be amongst my new possessions."
Alder's voice interrupted Helton's leering stares. "Tell Marl he will have his answer should I see him before the gate of my castle. Now leave this place. You are an abomination to the vows of knighthood and neither you nor your Duke are welcome here!"
Helton stared at Alder for a brief moment. Then he grinned a darkly suggestive grin. "As you wish, Alder. Enjoy your last moments as Duke of this land. You will be hearing from your new master shortly." With that, Sir Helton turned his horse about and left behind the grandstand and its stunned, silent occupants.
Alder eyed each of the men before him, his knights of Alder, all but one in various states of pain, discomfort and depressed thoughts. When summoned, Donnally and Beltran had limped into the room to take their seats. Conlon was longer in coming, the aid of a servant required to help him up the steep steps to the Duke's chamber. Sir Sedgwick was more mobile, but his body felt as if it had been compressed and then sprung free. None of them retained fond memories of their encounter with Sir Helton.
Only Richard seemed able and spry. The other knights knew precisely why and resented the man's cowardice and his position among them, all that is except Sir Sedgwick. As various pains coursed through his body, he thought he might be understanding this knight a little more than before. He was far ahead of the others in that regard. Sir Sedgwick's eyes moved from Alder to Richard and back again as he considered what the Duke had in store for them.
"We must not be naive, my knights," began Alder. "The choice is between these two options: A fight to the death between Sir Helton and my champion, or the castle will be beseiged and all who resist will risk their own slaughter if the castle is breached."
"Then the servants and others say truly," observed Sedgwick. "We knights were defeated as part of a test. Marl is confident of victory either way and confronts us. Why, if only I knew..."
Alder raised his hand. "What would you have done, Sir Sedgwick? Doubled your effort? I think you did your best this day and you know that to be a fact."
Sedgwick motioned as if to reply but rethought his comment. He nodded. The Duke spoke accurately.
"Do not blame yourselves, knights. Sir Helton is a powerful, skilled knight in such things. Battles between armies is a different matter. That's what we must address tonight."
[This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 12-08-2004 @ 04:30 PM).]
"We are more skilled," interjected Donnally somewhat pridefully.
The Duke's expression mirrored diplomatic acknowledgement of Donnally's words, but not obvious agreement. "We deported ourselves well this day at the tournament, but the issue is unsettled regarding skill, don't you think?"
Donnally opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it just as quickly, then stared at the table top to avoid Alder's eyes.
The Duke again gave his attention to all of the knights, glancing only briefly, discountingly at Richard. "We have been given a choice under the rules of chivalry. Trial by combat as it were. Either way, there will be combat, unless I surrender these demesnes. Marl promises safe conduct for my family. At least Helton rather scornfully implied as such. My assessment is that we cannot hold this castle against a sustained siege by Marl; and therefore, it is my decision we should yield to him, if only to ensure the safety of those who live here."
Sedgwick would have risen to his feet, but bruises gave him caution. Nonetheless he protested loudly, "Milord! You cannot surrender so readily. I think it will ensure yours' and the peoples enslavement, not safety!"
"Well said!" added Donnally and Beltran. Conlon merely nodded. His injuries were the more severe among the four. Richard said nothing, but looked silently at something remembered far and away beyond the land of Alder. The Duke hardly noticed him.
"My knights, what am I to do? Allow the siege and what might result? Enslavement for all, death for some, yourselves perhaps, the Duchess imprisoned, and my daughters..." He didn't want to think too much on these latter possibilities.
"We fight!" exclaimed Donnally, slamming his closed fist on the thick wood of the table.
"How, Sir Donnally? Are you able to lead an army? Cast boulders? Fight from the battlements? How?
"Why I... I mean, I can fight. Some help would give me even greater ability." Donnally looked at Beltran, Conlon and Sedgwick for support. His eyes ignored Richard.
A voice as yet unheard finally drew the eyes of all in the room. "Single combat. One life risked. Then victory or banishment, Milord." The voice belonged to Sir Richard, who as he spoke shifted his eyes to Alder and then to the four knights in turn.
Alder's eyes narrowed. "I have considered that option, but I seem to have no knights healthy, capable or... willing."
"I see men whose pride is bruised and their bodies somewhat abused, but except for Sir Conlon, I do not see lack of capability or health," countered Sir Richard.
Donnally snorted, "Look who is speaking. Willing! Willing, Sir Knight!"
Richard turned in his oak chair to stare unblinking at Donnally. "Then, Sir Donnally, you who advocates violence should be the first to offer your services to the Duke. Or do you prefer stone heights and battlements to mortal combat knight to knight on the open field?"
Donnally at first stared back at Richard as he thought Richard's words over. "I should be honored to be Milord's champion, except... well... except..."
"Except what?" pressed Richard.
"Well, I did take a mighty fall, and I'm not able to assure victory... I mean..."
"I know what you mean," said Richard. "Too risky for you, Sir Knight. What about you, Sir Beltran?"
"I am not the Duke's champion. That distinction belongs to Sir Sedgwick by tradition of Alder."
"I see," commented Sir Richard. "How fortunate that tradition dictates such opportunities." Beltran's face turned red. This was not anger, but embarrassment. He fell silent.
Richard glanced at Conlon. "Sir Conlon, you are not well. Rest easy. Richard turned his attention to Sedgwick. "You according to tradition and Beltran should be the champion, Sir Sedgwick. "I salute our declared champion." Richard stood up from his chair and executed an elaborate bow. The Duke observed all of this silently, keenly giving attention to Richard and his other knights in turn. He wondered how Sedgwick would receive his apparent anointing. The answer came swiftly from Sedgwick's mouth.
The Duke of Alder's expression changed from one of expectation to grave disappointment and sadness as the import of Sedgwick's response came to him. He had risen to accept his champion's agreement. Now he sat down heavily as thoughts of dire consequences flowed following Sedgwick's rejection. Consequences affecting his wife, his daughters, his holdings. "Then I must surrender for no castle has withstood Marl, and his reprisals for resistance are well known. I thought there was one among my knights who would... Well, I suppose I am mistaken."
"You are not, Milord. There is one who will heed your call."
Alder gave Sir Richard, who said these words, a puzzled look. "Who might that be?"
"Myself, Milord."
"You?" replied the Duke, his voice showing little belief. "The knight who would not joust?"
"This is not a joust, Milord. This is the duty of a Knight of Alder. This is not a game."
The Duke felt a little reassurance creep back into his being. "A fight to the death, Sir Richard. Are you sure of what you are saying?"
Richard straightened his back to stand as tall as his frame permitted. "A fight to the death, against the chosen Knight of Marl, for the safety of Alder. Yes, Milord. I know what I am saying."
"But why, Sir Knight?" countered the Duke sweeping his hand before him to indicate the other four knights. "None of the others share your willingness. Why you?"
"The Duke of Marl must be stopped somewhere, Milord. Here is where the fight shall begin, maybe where it will end. I came here to see that it should end. I will not seek another home by act of the Duke of Marl! Nor should you, Milord, or your family!"
"Then, Sir Richard, should Marl show himself before my castle with his army, you shall be my champion!"
Richard bowed to signal his acceptance. "By your leave, Milord. I think matters are settled for now if I'm not mistaken. I should like to leave if I may."
"They are, Sir Richard, and you may. And know that I deeply appreciate what you have pledged to do."
"My duty, Milord. Just my duty." Sir Richard bowed once more and turned in time to hear a young woman's voice cry out, "Father! What have you done! No! I shan't allow it!" Lady Eylene, lately listening unobtrusively at the door, finally understood what the exchange meant. She hurried into the room, the front of her gown lifted to prevent tripping, her blond hair streaming backwards behind her. She flew by Richard giving him a panicked glance and stopped her rush right in front of her father. "You cannot send him to his death, Father!" she pleaded, tears streaming down her agonized red face.
"He claims it is his duty, Eylene. He has already accepted."
"No Father, don't do this. Let us flee instead!"
"But why, Eylene?"
"Because... Because... He might be killed! And... And... I love him! That's why!"
Eyes turned from Eylene to Richard and back again.
[This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 12-10-2004 @ 08:32 PM).]
"Milord, I have said nothing to her. I am as surprised as you," the knight protested, a part of him confused and the other part flattered.
"He is speaking the truth, Father," interjected Eylene, putting her hands on her father's wrists to add touch to her plea. "He has said nothing to me. Oh, I wanted to tell him, but I didn't, so he cannot possibly know. He has been honorable towards me all of these days, not knowing how I contrived and plotted to casually be in his gaze or his presence whenever I could. Now you send him to battle, one from which he may not return alive. I won't have it, Father. I simply won't!" She stamped her foot on the wooden floor of the hall just to be sure her father knew she meant business.
"Daughter, he is a knight. He has accepted a mission, volunteered for it the truth be known. I did not ask him to do this. Now that he has, chivalry and honor dictate that he fulfill his mission to the best of his ability. I cannot direct him to do otherwise."
"Not even if I beg you?"
"No daughter, not even if you beg."
Lady Eylene looked as if she wanted to say something else, but instead she clenched her fists and looked at the four other knights giving them all a look that would whither the Forest of Alder. She angrily turned her head away to signal her disgust and stomped out of the Hall through the door at the opposite end. Her father watched her leave and turned to Richard once more. "It seems you have a heartfelt admirer," said Alder.
"I am unworthy of her heart," said Richard looking at the floor. I am not a part of nobiity."
The Duke made as if to answer but Sedgwick did so in his place. A sad, humiliated expression drawn on his face, Sedgwick rose from his chair and said, "Sir Richard, you have shown us this day what nobility of soul truly means. We have nothing in kind to offer. Forgive us, Sir Richard. Forgive Then Sedgwick turned to the Duke and requested his permission to leave the hall. It was granted. In fact, all were permitted to leave, for the business at hand was resolved for the moment when Richard accepted the role of Champion of Alder. Richard's squire Robin, when told of Richard's charge, was tortured by twin emotions of unquenchable pride in his knightly master, and unconquerable worry about what might befall them both. Robin knew that as a knight's squire he would have to accompany Richard outside of the walls and into the lair of the army of Marl to assist and observe the battle that would follow. He had never had such a duty before, and no matter the length and breadth of the consoling words spoken to him by Sir Richard, the conflict between the joy of vindication and the scrape of gnawing fear would not allow him any peace within. Less than two days later, banners flying, drums beating, horses whinneying, pikemen and archers marching precisely, knights reflecting light off armor, the Army of Marl appeared before the walls of Alder. The Duke looked out upon the massed humanity in front of the castle and noted it was twice the size of his force, and fully equipped with battering rams, trebuchets and wagon upon wagon of ladders and supplies. Marl had planned his campaign well. Alder knew on first glance the fate of the village, the castle and the people rested solely on the shoulders of Sir Richard. [This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 12-10-2004 @ 11:44 PM).]
Alder hesitated, Richard's reluctance to joust still itching at the back of his mind. He heard Richard's voice behind him. "Milord, do not hesitate. I shall fulfill my vow." The Duke's hesitation evaporated.
"Advise the Duke of Marl that he is not welcome here! Now and forever! I shall send my champion! You have challenged, we shall select the weapons!" The Duke paused waiting for Richard's confirmation. Alder relayed Richard's words to Helton. "A single jousting lance, then spiked ball and chain, and broadsword. Name the time and place!" As the Duke finished he could see the self-satisfied grin form on Sir Helton's face.
"Tomorrow morning, sunrise. In this field on yonder level ground. I shall meet your champion then. His name?"
"Sir Richard of the Glen!"
"I know him not!"
"You will remember his name after tomorrow if you are still able!"
Helton snorted. "Alder, I shall remember his name only in so far as it is written for all to see on his gravestone! This parley is ended." Saying this, Helton put spur to horse and rode swiftly towards the still assembled Army of Marl and to his Duke to report Alder's words.
Patches of clouds floated by and obscurred stars in the evening sky, then relented and passed by permitting them to sparkle once more. Richard sat at the table of his home within the walls of the castle checking every hinge, binding and knot of his armor, as well as checking the sharpness of his sword and strength of the chain where it linked to the spiked ball. His squire was nearby polishing the knight's shield. Both looked up, distracted by the soft knock at the structure's door. Richard nodded in Robin's direction and the boy rose from his chair and unlocked the door. Opening it, his eyes enlarged to twice their size when he saw that it was a young woman standing there, her head wrapped in a shawl hiding all but the cheeks of her face and her eyes.
"S...s... Sir! A lady!" he stammered. Richard rose immediately. A lady? But who? He walked to the door.
"Please, Sir Richard. Let me enter quickly. I shouldn't be seen here." The voice was unmistakably Eylene's.
"Hurry, come in then," offered Richard, happy to see her and concerned as well that she not be seen. "Robin, open the door wider boy, and close your mouth lest the birds nest in it!"
"Y... Yes, Sir Richard. "Uh, where shall I... I mean... What do I... I mean..."
"Start with closing the door."
"Uh yes, of course." He stared at Lady Eylene as she let the shawl drop from her head onto her shoulders exposing her pink complected face, blue eyes and blundled blonde hair. Robin remembered his manners at last and bowed to Lady Eylene. She smiled.
"So you are Squire Robin. I've heard many complementary things about you, your loyalty especially. I hope you will eventually follow in Sir Richard's footsteps and become a great knight some day."
Robin blushed. "Y... yes, Milady. I would like to."
Richard smiled as well. "Milady, why have you come here? Your father, the Duke, will not be pleased with me if he knew you were here."
"Do not worry about that, Sir Richard. I have matters to discuss with you before tomorrow. In private."
Richard stared at her, trying to read in her eyes what she had on her mind, all of this to no avail. "Squire Robin, you are assigned to see after my horse. Please check its well-being in the stable. I shall rely greatly upon it tomorrow as much as I am relying upon you tonight."
Robin looked from Richard to Eylene and back again. He knew there was no need to check, he had done so just hours before. Well, since they wanted to be alone and he was commanded to leave, he had no choice. As Robin walked the dirt path to the stable he wondered what Richard and Eylene were saying to each other.
[This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 12-13-2004 @ 04:13 PM).]
Robin jogged back to his master's dwelling but stopped at the door just as the impulse to open it and enter washed over him. The boy had the presence of mind to let it pass and knock instead.
"Enter," came the response in Richard's voice. Robin opened the door and walked inside. To his surprise, only Richard was there.
"Master, what did she say? Will you tell me? Please?" he begged. Richard smiled in return.
"You are a curious one, squire," he mildly chided. "Yes, we talked." Squire Robin's eyes fell then on something Richard held in his hand. It was a length of fine cloth, sky blue.
"Did she give that to you?"
"Yes. Her scarf..." Richard's eyes were focussed on something beyond the walls of their abode. "To wear tomorrow as a mark of her favor."
"Wonderful, Sir. I'm just a boy, Sir Richard, but she "You will not be a boy for much longer, Robin, I think. And yes, it is good for a knight to have a lady's favor. I am very fortunate it is Lady Eylene's favor that shines on me. Can you keep a secret, lad?" "Yes Sir, if you ask me to." "I do, Robin. The secret is this: the Lady Eylene intends for me to become her husband. She told me this tonight when she gave me her cloth." "Isn't that considered forward for a lady, Sir Richard?" "Yes." "What did you say to her?" "I said, 'If God wills it so, I should be forever hers to command.' She left only a short moment before you returned." Richard could still feel the warmth of Lady Eylene's kisses on his face, and the last long kiss on his lips. His eyes took on that faraway look once again and Robin keenly determined it would be best to leave his master to his thoughts and return to the task of readying his weapons and armor. [This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 12-15-2004 @ 04:02 PM).]
Squire Robin took a moment when the situation permitted to look over his shoulder at the walls of Alder's castle. Along the parapets stood the Duke, the Duchess and his daughters. Also there were his knights and on either side of them three archers per side, each of them bearing a crossbow loaded with a bolt. Robin felt only minimally reassured by the archers since the gates were closed, blocked with a stout beam, and there was nowhere to flee if things went bad.
Robin shivered a little as he looked across the distant way at the Army of Marl aligned in long, multiple rows behind their champion, Sir Helton. The Duke of Marl was there in his black armor on his black horse, as were his nine other knights. Robin began to understand why Alder decided to offer a champion instead of general combat. The Army of Marl was quite formidable and very well equipped. There was little in what he saw that would inspire Alder's confidence in a sure victory.
Helton's horse seemed increasingly eager for battle. It bobbed its head and snorted, then stamped its right foreleg on the damp earth. "My horse feels the time is now, Sir Richard of the Glen!" shouted Helton. "Are you ready to meet your doom?!"
"When you are, Sir Helton!" shouted back Sir Richard without hesitation.
"Arm yourself then!"
Richard reached down for his lance and his squire quickly lifted it within his reach. Richard grasped it with his right hand and elevated it to point at the sky. He shifted slightly in his saddle for comfort and position and turned his horse to face Sir Helton. Squire Robin noticed that the blue cloth given to him by Lady Eylene was tied around his lance bearing arm and easily visible by all.
Helton armed himself as well and he too was poised to advance, his lance pointed skyward. The moment the trumpet sounded from the lines of Marl, Helton put spur to horse, as did Richard, and galloping forward lowered his weapon towards but not all of the way parallel to the ground. The distance closed rapidly, both knights slowly lowering their lance points into position as the distance between them became less and less. Silence followed them from the arrayed Army of Marl and from the walls of Alder.
About mid-field the distance between them shrank to nothing. Lances down, points aimed, no wooden wall to separate them, their weapons collided point-on-shield. Such was the blow struck each other that the resounding clang of metal point on shield echoed in all directions. Both men drove each other back in their saddles by the force of their respective blows, but neither was unhorsed. Two great cheers arose from around them, one for Helton from Marl and the other for Richard from Alder.
Now on the opposite ends of the field from where they started, both knights aligned themselves for another charge. They ignored their opposing squires, the boys were of no immediate consequence to the battle anyway. Lance points dropped again, this time no trumpet call signaled a charge. Helton advanced and Richard followed his lead. Another collision rang out across the field. This time two distinct cracking sounds occurred as well. The shattered lances of both knights lay about them in the field. Still, both were in their saddles, Helton being most annoyed that his success against the other knights of Alder was not being repeated quite so readily against Sir Richard. Both knights spurred their horses back to their squires to get the next weapon available for combat, spiked ball and chain.
Re-armed, Helton and Richard met in the middle of the battlefield, guiding their horses with their knees while seeking an opening to strike each other with their iron weapons. Brightly polished, smooth-faced shields became scored and battered as blow upon blow rained down upon them wielded by determined men each seeking to destroy the other.
Lady Eylene's stomach twisted, knotted with each clash of man and weapon. Manuevering horses sometimes blocked her view of the weapons and where they hit. But there was no mistaking the clear sound of a blow struck true. Her heart leaped to her throat when she saw one particularly nasty blow miss Richard's shield and strike him on the shoulder instead. In the agony of the moment tears formed in her eyes as she clutched her hands before her face, and tightened them even more as Richard seemed to reel on his mount.
Sir Richard's horse seemed to sense all was not well. Pressure on his sides guiding him seemed to slacken off. For lack of guidance, the horse drew back on its training and remembered to return to the man-child. It promptly pulled back from engagement with Helton, and the Marl knight's next blow found nothing but air. Badly unbalanced, it was all Helton could do to keep his seat, thoughts of finishing Richard pushed aside of necessity. He recovered his balance, but too slowly to follow Richard immediately.
A moment later, the press of knees on his sides returned and Richard's horse knew that its master was in charge once more. Snorting, stomping, turning on command it felt the distinct knee-directed order to advance once more. It did so exactly as commanded. Lady Eylene felt a brief moment of relief surge through her when she saw Richard straighten himself and rejoin the battle, his spiked ball and chain swinging overhead and being readied for its next blow.
[This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 12-16-2004 @ 04:19 PM).]
The force of the blow drove Richard back in his saddle to lean right, fighting for balance. Recovering, he jarred his horse's right side with his knee causing the horse to step sideways into the right ribs of Helton's horse. The momentum of the horse's movement and Richard's righting himself in his saddle gave Richard the opportunity to return the blow in kind with his own shield. This he did, delivering a strike to Helton's body that nearly unseated the knight from Marl.
Helton in a near panic lost control of his horse. The beast pulled away from Richard's horse while the knights' weapons were still entangled. Unwilling to let go of their weapons, the event had the unexpected effect on the knights of doing to them both what each had tried to do to each other. In the swift passing of a moment, both knights lay on the ground, their horses elsewhere, their weapons still entangled and now virtually useless; for trying to swing entangled spiked balls is as dangerous to the wielder as it is to the man being targeted.
Good squires know the right time to bring aid to their masters under the rules of chivalry. A single weapon remained to Helton and Richard, their broadswords. Seeing their knights fall and neither still armed, the two young squires grasped broadswords and ran as fast as they could to their knights. Meanwhile, Richard and Helton struggled to their feet against the weight of the armor they were obliged to wear. If the knights had been dressed for massed combat, their armor would have been even heavier and of severe disadvantage to them once unhorsed. This combat armor was lighter, but not light enough to make gaining their feet an easy task. Regardless, both were now standing and looking about for aid from their squires.
Richard and Helton adjusted their helmets, reseating them for best if not perfect vision in anticipation of this final phase of battle. Use of broadswords was exhausting, but in the end, these weapons would unquestionably secure victory for one or the other. Richard heard his squire approach and quickly grasped the sword offered to him by Robin. "Well done, lad," he said, his breathing moderately labored from exertion. Richard turned to see that Helton's squire had just then armed the knight of Marl with his broadsword as well.
Wordlessly the combatants cautiously approached each other, both holding their swords with two hands, the points of their respective swords aimed at the ground. Helton was particularly annoyed as he had not anticipated the battle to last this long. He could imagine what might be passing through the mind of the Duke of Marl. Helton did not want to think more upon the subject, but instead to focus his growing irritation on its cause.
Richard had never seen Helton before this day. He had not been at the tournament when Helton presented the Duke's ultimatum. Yet something about the man seemed familiar: the way he moved, his handling of weapons... it seemed years ago, but...
Helton stepped in and raised his broadsword to strike at an opening he thought he saw in Richard's defense. The opening, if any, disappeared immediately. Sword edge found sword edge as Richard parried Helton's attack with deft movements of his own weapon. Again metal clanged against metal as each knight used the weight of his sword and his own strength to exhaust and strike down the other. There was no swordplay, no feints, no manuevering, just brute strength and applied might till one or the other dropped his guard out of sheer exhaustion.
Used to despatching an opponent quickly, this long drawn out battle wore heavily on Helton, the older of the two. He was breathing hard in comparison to Richard, who himself labored, but not as much. Richard paused a moment to consider his next move. Helton advanced. Richard swung his sword in an arc and slammed its marred blade into the flat side of Helton's sword driving it sideways. An opening! As Helton recovered Richard swung his sword the opposite direction catching Helton leaning in. Richard's sword struck the crown of Helton's helmet and knocked it off his head, uncovering the knight of Marl's face for the first time.
Shock coursed through Richard's body and soul like the strike of lightning from a summer storm. "The Captain," his mind screamed at him. "The Captain!" The man who severed his injured brother's head from his shoulders after dragging him from his room and out the door of their cottage when Richard was just a boy. He could never forget the man's face, and there it was before him again, standing opposed to him, in a life and death struggle like the one imposed on his family once before by Marl.
Richard suppressed the hatred threatening to rise within, and replaced it with determination. Instead of a howl of animal rage, Richard's voice grew calm in the way that so confused his fellow knights of Alder. "We meet again, Captain," he said in a deliberate, measured tone. "We shall not meet this way again." Saying this, Richard brought forward every reserve of strength he could find within and channeled it to his arms, legs, shoulders and sword, and advanced on Helton with the single intention of ending combat now and on his own terms.
[This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 12-17-2004 @ 07:57 PM).]
"I'm the boy whose knighted brother you dragged from his cot and beheaded unceremoniously and whose parents you murdered in their cottage in the act of gaining Marl." Richard stepped forward working his sword back and forth.
"There were... I mean... I can't remember..." Helton stepped back trying to anticipate Richard and set his defense accordingly.
"I remember. That is enough." Richard swung his sword and delivered the hardest blow he could muster. It struck Helton's sword, and despite the bigger man's strength, Richard's determined blow shoved Helton's sword sideways exposing the knights armored shoulder. The upper quarter of Richard's blade buried intself sideways into Helton's shoulder. Helton's arm hung weakly afterwards, blood beginning its trek down his arm towards his gauntlet.
Richard didn't wait to evaluate the full effect of his sword point on Helton. He swung his sword again, this time from the opposite direction. It struck Helton's other shoulder, virtually unimpeded by Helton's sword, held up defensively with Helton's one strong arm. Helton's sword fell to the ground out of reach of the knight and Richard's sword viciously buried itself in Helton's other shoulder rendering the Knight of Marl incapable of defending himself. He fell to his knees, his eyes begging, his voice pleading, "Mercy, Sir Knight!"
In the only display of emotion anyone remembered of Richard, he pulled his own helmet off, showing a face wet with perspiration and an expression of pure hatred. "They say we look similarly, my dead brother and I. Remember now?!"
Recollection finally flooded Helton's panicked mind. "War, Sir Knight. It was an act of war! Mercy, in the name of chivalry!"
Richard gripped his sword tightly, his hands reddening with exertion. He gritted his teeth, and through his gritted teeth answered, "In the name of chivalry, Helton of Marl, I give you the same mercy you gave my brother!"
The sword flashed once in its arc, catching the rays of the morning sun only briefly, before it traced a path across Helton's shoulders and through his neck. In less than a second, Helton's head lay 2 meter's away from where Helton's headless body lay twitching in the trodded down grass of the field.
Silence.
Then a great roar ascended from the walls of Alder! Shouts of joy showered down with the name of Sir Richard of the Glen prominently encased! So loud were the cheers that lost was the hate-filled howl of the Duke from Marl in his black armor. Even as Richard turned to face the walls of Alder and salute the Duke of Alder with his bloodstained sword; even as Squire Robin ran to him to offer whatever help his master might need; even then, Marl had seized a loaded crossbow from a mounted archer and despite his knights' protest was galloping at Richard with a murderous look in his eyes.
Lost in the cheering was the cry of warning from those on the wall who saw the Duke's ride. Richard, back turned to Marl, was oblivious. Finally, Squire Robin saw the Duke's onrush and screamed at Richard, "Turn around! The Duke!"
Richard turned as quickly as he could in his heavy armor and instinctively raised his sword. At the same time, now in dead shot range, Marl elevated his crossbow and fired its bolt at Richard. The bolt missed Richard's broadsword but found Richard's chest instead, breaking through Richard's armor by the force of its release to bury itself deeply in Richard's left lung. Marl waisted no time observing its flight, but pulled his sword and struck down Squire Robin with a single sweep across the boy's unarmored body. "Thus die unchivalrous cheats!" he bellowed at the suddenly silent walls of Alder. He advanced his horse towards Alder, stopping it seven meters away from the wall where stood a mortified Duke of Alder, his family, knights and archers. Lady Eylene was weeping uncontrollably into the shoulder of her mother, the Duchess.
"I claim the right to rectify unchivalrous cheating!" cried out Marl. "Your champion deliberately fouled Sir Helton's horse. I saw it. The victory is nullified! Yield your holdings, Alder. You may not keep them under false pretenses! If you do not yield I shall seize what should be mine!"
"There was no foul act but yours, Marl! Sir Richard's win was proper. Your knight challenged and failed! Leave Alder!"
Marl let fly a coarse, phlegmy laugh. "You heard me, Alder! There is no alternative!"
The Duke of Alder's face hardened. His fists clenched. His anger raged from within to the very skin of his entire body. "Yes, there is..." he said through teeth so tightly clenched they could have shattered with only a little more effort. "Archers, ready your crossbows!"
Marl's eyes opened to their widest. "NO! You wouldn't. I cry chivalry!" The Duke of Marl quickly snapped the reins of his horse and turned it, ready to put spur to its flanks. Alder shouted after him, "Chivalry and Marl be cursed! Release!" A flight of six bolts left all at the same time and pursued Marl in his flight from Alder.
Of the six bolts, two found the ground, one found an exposed flank on Marl's horse which went down immediately; and three found Marl's back, two of them burying themselves deeply, mortally wounding the Duke. His life ebbed quickly, as quickly as the flood flowed from his penetrated and shattered body. Nearby lay the squire he murdered, and beyond the body of the squire lay Richard, motionless, the bolt protruding from his chest.
The doors of Alder flew open and the four knights of Alder and twenty five mounted soldiers galloped their horses into the battlefield at the same time the remaining knights of Marl spurred their horses forward as well. They met in the center, but the knights of Marl did not pull their weapons. Instead they halted their horses before the arrayed horsemen of Alder, while one of their number rode forward, his hand elevated, palm open to Alder.
"Men of Alder, we do not seek battle. We do not want this war. We pledged ourselves to the Duke and were obligated by chivalry to follow his orders. He is dead. Our vows are voided. We seek to take his body and return to our homes, that is all."
"Take him, then," said Sir Sedgwick. "Do not return."
"We understand. May there be peace between us now and forever."
"It shall be by the example you set after this day."
The knight of Marl nodded and ordered his men to bring forward a means to carry the dead Duke and his champion off the field. A groan broke their concentration and caused the men of Alder to look around for its source as well. No, it was not the Duke of Marl. Certainly not Helton. It was Richard! He was still alive!
Hurriedly, Sedgwick ordered him carried off the field and into the care of the Alder physician. Well before the sun reached its zenith, Richard was in a castle bed, the bolt extracted, his wound wrapped in cloth, while the injured knight struggled to breathe with his severely damaged lung and to keep his blood depleted body alive.
[This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 12-20-2004 @ 10:06 PM).]
The Duke nodded and glanced at Lady Eylene, her eyes red from crying and at Sedgwick, whose long face mirrored both sadness and shame. He motioned to both to enter the room with him.
Richard lay in his bed, perspiration gathered on his brow. His chest rose and fell with the hint of a strange whistling noise, perhaps from his punctured lung. The cloth over his chest was mostly white, but across his left side were the telltale signs of seeping blood. His eyes were open, and though nothing else moved, the dark pupils noticed their entrance and followed all three, especially Lady Eylene, across the room as they approached his bed. "Sir Richard," began the Duke, "can you hear me?"
Richard moved his head up and down very slowly to signify that he could. Satisfied, the Duke continued. "Sir Richard of the Glen, I name you Chief Knight of Alder, My Champion, and am prepared to give you the reward of your choosing if it is in my power to do so." Richard's mouth slowly spread into a smile, but he said nothing. "What is your choosing, Sir Knight?"
Richard's eyes slowly turned to Eylene. "Eylene... Hand... Mar...ry." The last word wheezed from his throat. The whistling worsened. Richard grimaced and went silent.
The Duke looked at his daughter whose eyes said YES in the most pleading of ways. "Granted." The smile returned to Richard's face even as the strain gripping his features intensified. Richard raised the index finger of his right hand and pointed towards Sedgwick. "Speak... Sedgwick."
The Duke stepped away and permitted Sedgwick to take his place near Richard. Richard motioned to Sedgwick to lean in so that he could whisper something in his ear, so as to ease the strain on his tortured breathing. Sedgwick did so and as Richard whispered his personal messsage into Sedgwick's ear, the kneeling knight could barely fight back the tears struggling to wet his manly face. When Richard finished, Sedgwick reached for the knight's unmoving hand and removed from it the Ring of Knighthood Richard himself pulled from his beheaded brother's hand before fleeing Marl. Now he had entrusted it to Sedgwick, who himself felt unworthy but could not refuse the man his request. Clutching the ring tightly, Sedgwick rose and stepped back from the bed.
Lady Eylene took his place. Richard smiled once again. His smile slowly increased even more as she reached for his ringless right hand and grasped it, pressing it to her bosom. In that moment, as Eylene held his hand closely, Richard slowly closed his eyes and opened them. Eylene saw the pupils within them refocus on her, but then his eyes glazed over, the smile faded and the whistling sound ceased. His hand went limp and from that moment on, there was no life to be found in the man lying on the bed. Eylene placed Richard's hand gently on his tortured chest, laid her head on his shoulder and cried till her tears were drained dry.
Richard was lowered into the earth in an empty section of consecrated ground behind the small stone village church. The Duke decreed that all surrounding burials would face Richard's resting place as if to honor the one among them most worthy. The Lady Eylene and Sir Sedgwick personally saw to the raising of a monument paying homage to The Knight Who Would Not Joust, declaring for all posterity that Sir Richard was The Bravest Among Them All. And there it stands to this day.
Lady Eylene later married a good man who she honored, but who could never be her true love. She died in childbirth, as did the child. Some say down deep she desired it so, for the husband she wanted she could never have and the child was mere duty. Sir Sedgwick carried Richard's ring far and wide even as chivalry died, searching for one who could wear it without shame, unlike himself. For though Richard charged him to wear it, Sir Sedgwick could not, and vowed over Richard's tomb to find a man as worthy as Richard to wear it before Sedgwick's days ended.
The two boys looked at the old man and then at each other. Galan was the first to speak. "Sir, did Sedgwick ever find the man he sought?" "Maybe... Not where he expected... But maybe. You see..." The old man's comment was interrupted by a violent clanging of the cast iron village bell, sounded only in time of attack or emergency. The boys looked in its direction and noticed a thin spiral of smoke climbing into the sky where there shouldn't have been that much smoke at all. Impulsively, both leaped to their feet and went running in its direction leaving the old man and all thoughts of knights and ladies behind. Soon enough, as they rounded the corner, they saw the cause of the alarm: flames were beginning to eat their way up the far side of a cottage where lived a woman and her child, her husband having been killed accidentally in one of the village games a year ago. The boys raced up the street leaving the slowly walking old man to navigate the way as quickly as his aged legs could carry him. Running in that direction as well was the blacksmith. [This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 12-20-2004 @ 09:39 PM).]
Suddenly she sat upright and let out a wail, "My baby! My baby!" she cried.
Stalwart men of the village stepped forward. "Where's your baby, Mrs. Cooper?"
"In the cottage. Save him! He's all I have left! Save him, please!"
The men looked at the cottage noting the flames were denser and going higher still. The merchant, one of the men, Eric's master, hesitated. "I don't know, Mrs. Cooper. The fire is far along. I don't know if we can do it. We'll have to talk it over."
"No. Don't talk! There isn't time!" she pleaded. "Save him, please! Oh, please!
"Well we..." His words were interrupted by a strong hand reaching in, shoving him aside, and unceremoniously taking the blanket from Mrs. Cooper's shoulders. One of the attending women made a noise in protest which the blacksmith ignored as he ran blanket in hand towards the cottage.
But he didn't enter right away. Instead he plunged his body and the blanket he carried into a trough filled with water from which thirsty horses could drink. Thoroughly soaked, the muscular blacksmith with great effort raised himself from the trough and made his work strengthened legs carry himself at as fast a run as he could muster through the open door and into the cottage.
The villagers stared after him, surprised at what he had done. Time measured in precious seconds passed slowly it seemed to everyone, most of all to Widow Cooper. Meanwhile the fire reached the thatching, and if not for the opposing direction of the wind would have raced towards the part of the cottage where the baby would be sleeping. Regardless, the fire was steadily consuming the cottage, and there was nothing anyone could do to halt its relentless growth.
Hope began to fade as more time passed. Suddenly the shutters on the wall at the far left of the cottage exploded outwards as if slugged from the back by a powerful club. Two arms held out something wrapped in a blanket. Villagers ran to take the well protected baby from the blacksmith's shaking hands and then, before the blacksmith could fall backwards into the cottage, other men of the village grasped his arms and pulled him through the opening and onto the grounds outside of the cottage.
More men rushed in and as a group lifted the blacksmith and carried him to the place where the widow, her breast heaving with sobs, her face streaming grateful tears, clutched her baby to herself, the infant seemingly well and uninjured. Not so the blacksmith. Here and there, where flaming embers had had their way, he was spot burned. Smoke still rose from the burned cloth. Wherever the cloth was burned the villagers could see the red of burned skin. But the Lord had mercy on the blacksmith that day. None of the injuries, however painful or scarring, would be fatal. A coughing fit seized the blacksmith's body and made him sit up and grasp his legs at the knees to stop the chest wracking fit.
Then was the moment Galan first noticed something different about the blacksmith's right hand. Despite the soot and scorching on it, the boy saw the hint of a bright shining object on the blacksmith's ring finger. "Master? Can you speak?"
"Yes (cough) Galan. I (cough) can. (cough, cough)"
"Master, what is that ring you wear? I never saw its like before."
A voice behind him answered Galan's question. The voice of the old man. "A Ring of Knighthood, Galan. That is what your master the blacksmith wears. The ring of Sir Richard of the Glen."
Galan rose and turned towards the old man. "But Sir, that was long ago and was given to Sir Sedgwick. That's what you told Eric and me."
"So I did. And the blacksmith, the bravest among all of you, wears it now, most deservedly." He glanced around at all of the villagers, and especially at the menfolk, face by face, pointedly, who were still gathered there. "Yes, the bravest of all... Goodbye, Galan. Serve your master well and learn from him. There is far more to learn from him than just the trade."
Saying this, the old man turned around and began to walk towards the village church. It seemed that as he walked he stooped more and more, his legs appearing to fail him the more steps he took, the farther he traveled. He leaned very heavily on his staff all of the way. Upon reaching the corner of the church where he must turn to enter the cemetary where Sir Richard lay, the old man stopped and looked over his shoulder. Clutching the stone of the wall with one hand for support, he lifted his other hand and waved a farewell to the villagers gathered in the street. The blacksmith raised his hand, as did Galan, to reply in kind. Then the old man disappeared into the shade cast by the church's stone wall and entered the Cemetary.
"Master?" said Galan.
"Yes."
"He never told us his name."
"Don't you know what it is Galan? Can't you guess?" answered the blacksmith, wiping soot from the ring to expose its noble features.
"But it couldn't be..."
"Why not, Galan?"
"You mean..."
"Yes."
Galan looked again at the church behind which the old man had gone. "Sir Sedgwick? It really was Sir Sedgwick?"
"Yes, Galan. The old man was Sir Sedgwick."
"I should run after him. Help him. I mean, he's so old!"
"I think not Galan," said the blacksmith, gently grasping Galan's arm. "I think he would rather be left alone. I think he will appreciate our help later, once he has finished his mission."
"Not now?"
"No, Galan. Later. I think he will be with us after this for a long, long time. For all eternity. Near Sir Richard. Just like all the others. Resting peacefully among those he once knew. We will find him there. Only later."
Under his breath so that only he would hear, Galan whispered, "Farewell, Sir Knight. I would have been proud to be your squire."
[This message has been edited by Civis Romanus (edited 12-23-2004 @ 01:29 PM).]
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