Ironfoot

by Dave Duncan

  In a company of healthy adolescents who had not been fed since the previous sunset, eating came before conversation, and filling our trenchers took precedence over anything, even sitting down. I did manage to claim a small fragment of meat in my share of the booty, a rabbit’s front leg I think it was. That day, though, even after voracious youthful appetites were almost sated, no one seemed keen to start the talk. I suppose we were all wondering what the sages would do about my action in the William problem.

  Eventually it was William himself who belched contentedly, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and said, “Assuming you’re still around after classes this afternoon, servitor, and Dandelion Head hasn’t dumped you in the cesspool, where would you like to get all the shit beaten out of you?”

  A Saxon fighting a Norman had no chance of winning. If he won the actual fight, he would still face a flogging or the hangman’s noose.

  “I’ll wait for you in the middle of the quad,” I said. “You have to hit me first or come at me with your sword. And then may God have mercy on you, because I won’t.”

  “Hear the dog yap! I do hate yappy—”

  At that moment we heard a loud thump that I, at least, recognized as the sound of a bolt being shot. Then, for the first time in my experience—and I was the most senior student present— the connecting door between the two rooms swung open. Adept Baldwin peered in. Baldwin de la Guiche was the most junior of the adepts, promoted from squire only a couple of weeks previously. His eyes sought me.

  “Varlet Durwin, the dean wants you.”

  “No, no!” William crowed. “Nobody wants Ironfoot. You heard wrongly. The dean wants rid of Varlet Durwin.”

  Silence. I took up my staff, rose to my feet, and limped around the table to the door. Baldwin, letting me past, shot me a hint of a wink, then hauled the heavy timbered slab closed and bolted it again.

  I had never been in that dining room before. At one side of the long table sat the six sages, all flaunting the short green capes that defined their status, while opposite them, when Baldwin had returned to his seat, sat the five adepts, whose capes were white. These were not normal daily wear, so this was some sort of formal gathering.

  Dean Odo le Brys sat roughly in the middle of the sages, and it was to him that I bowed. He was a tall, spare, and stooped man, a tree gnarled by age. His bare scalp was hedged around by wispy white curls that always made me think of a silver coronet, but which explained his nickname of Dandelion Head. One of the most honored sages in the land, he had founded Helmdon Academy back in the reign of the first King Henry and nurtured it into a school with a reputation for great learning. Over the last six years I had watched the old man’s powers slowly fading, but he was still the undisputed ruler.

  “Ah, Varlet, um, Durwin. You had been ordered to teach a class this morning, but you canceled it. Why?”

  “One of the pupils was flouting my authority as the appointed instructor, Your Wisdom. I ordered him to leave and he refused. I concluded that he would prevent me from teaching anyone else, so there was no point trying to do so.”

  The old man blinked a few times. When he saw I had nothing to add, he said, “Thank you. You and the, um, boy in question, were seen in talk just now, before dinner. Was he threatening you?”

  “I think he was trying to get me to threaten him, master.”

  He smiled at nowhere in particular. “Did you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Of course not. Anyone else have any questions for the varlet? No? Have you finished your meal, Durwin?”

  “Yes, master.”

  “Then you may leave by this door. Adept, pray tell Squire William to come in.”

  It seemed as if my rash action was going to produce results.

  chapter 6

  the entire student body assembled in the varlet classroom for the afternoon lecture, so both William Legier and I were present, to our mutual disgust. He showed me his teeth, but said nothing.

  Everyone rose as Sage Rolf de Mandeville shuffled in. Rolf was a brother of Count Richard of Barton, and never let anyone forget it—a fussy, flatfooted little man, with the pale and jowly face of a scholar who lived too much indoors. He shed his dripping hooded cloak, revealing that he still wore his short green cape. Either he had not bothered to return to his cottage to change, or he was hoping to impress us with his importance. I doubted he would impress William Legier if he turned himself into a spotted dragon.

  He unwrapped his beloved copy of Robert of Chester’s Liber de Compositione Alchimiae and laid it carefully on the table. Finally, chafing his hands, he nodded to the assembly and said, “Sit.”

  Rolf was the least-skilled instructor on the faculty, one who obviously hated teaching and did as little of it as he could get away with. Partly that might be because very few students were interested in his specialty, so the atmosphere in his lectures was one of universal boredom. He was also the least skilled of the sages at conveying authority and maintaining discipline in the classroom. Give him his due, when he did find a student who was genuinely eager to learn—for instance me, who sucked up knowledge like a thirsty horse at a trough—then he would make time to instruct him, and even let him read some of his precious books.

  I liked him, though. His saving grace, in my eyes, was that he was a skilled singer and musician. He also taught music and the vocal techniques of chanting, and did so magnificently. If he could only inspire his pupils in academic subjects as he could in those, then his lectures would be treats, instead of ordeals.

  “Squire William Legier.”

  William stood up. “Master?”

  “Tell the class what Dean Odo told you a little while ago.”

  The miscreant insolently folded his arms. “I don’t remember.”

  Rolf attempted a smile, but not very successfully. “Then I shall remind you. He said that any further misbehavior by you will be punished very severely.”

  “Oh, yes. I remember now. It’s exactly what he told me last week and the week before and the week before that and the—”

  “Silence! But this time he warned you that the academy has always been careful in the past that discipline shall not be carried to—I did not give you leave to sit down.”

  “I was tired of standing.” William yawned.

  He had never been this bad before, but he had picked a good victim in Rolf, who was already flushed with fury and practically gibbering. “That is the last impudence I shall put up with. Your challenge before dinner to fight a man with a crippled leg was shameful. Varlet Durwin, if you have trouble with this boy in future, send someone to summon a sage right away. There will be no fighting, either! Do you both understand?”

  We both said, “Yes, master,” but William was shaking his head. This squabble would have been childishly petty, had I not had that prediction of murder hanging over me.

  “And, Squire, the dean has authorized me to tell you that you are to hand that sword over to him before sundown and you will never bear arms within the academy grounds again. Is that absolutely crystal clear?”

  Again William said, “Yes, master,” while again shaking his head. Lawrence choked back a snigger.

  “And you have been warned that future penalties may be severe enough to injure you!”

  William yawned.

  “Now,” Rolf said, with relief, as if he had solved that problem, “we shall continue our investigation of the role of astrology in alchemy. Who can remind us of the names of the seven planets, in order of increasing distance from the earth?”

  Several hands began to rise, but all dropped rapidly when William lifted his as high as it would go.

  Rolf scowled, rightly suspecting a trap. “Yes?”

  Leaping up, William gabbled at high speed, “Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, the sun, Venus, Mercury, and the moon, master.”

  Which was the right list, but in reverse order. Rolf hesitated, but he obviously had no choice but to recognize the insolence.

  “Now give me the right answer. You obviously
know it.”

  “Well the nearest can’t be the sun, because it’s been gone for weeks. Saturn, Moon, Mercury, Jup—”

  “Stop!” Like a fighting cock, Rolf strutted over to a corner and came back with the thick birch rod that was used to prop the door open on warm days. It was not the normal hazel switch used for punishment, but twice the length, as thick as a man’s thumb, and strong enough to lean on. “That was your last chance.”

  “Last chance for what, master?” William’s eyes were wide with innocence, but he had noticed the change of implement. So had everyone. That rod was as good as a club. It could break bones.

  “To avoid five strokes of the rod. Come here.”

  That was a surprise. “You mean right now?” William asked, stepping forward. Punishment was usually administered later, in private.

  “You know I do, and any more backtalk and you’ll get another five. Bare it!”

  “Got nothing to be ashamed of!” Instead of pushing his britches down to uncover his buttocks, William shoved them all the way down to his knees, then brazenly turned to face the class and lift his shirt. Such flagrant indecency was a crime and a serious sin, punishable anywhere. The squires obediently grinned, but no one was brave enough to comment.

  “That makes ten!” Sage Rolf was almost squeaking in rage. “Turn around! Lean on . . . And remove that sword!”

  Still taking his time, William dropped his shirt, unbuckled his belt, and then balanced both sword and scabbard on Robert of Chester. Rolf squealed with annoyance, and moved his precious manuscript to the top of the chest beside the door.

  “Now lean on the table! This needs a stronger arm than mine. Durwin, come here.”

  Sweet Jesus! Was the man insane? I rose. “Master?”

  “Come here!” Rolf handed me the rod. “Use that brawny arm of yours. I’ve watched you splitting firewood. I am ordering you to give this juvenile idiot something he’ll never forget—ten strokes on his buttocks, as hard as you can.”

  William, who had already spread his torso on the table, straightened up again, glaring furiously. Being thrashed in public was apparently a chance to show off, but to be thrashed by the despised Saxon would be intolerable. And he was rightly alarmed by the much greater brawn I would bring to the task.

  I was alarmed also. If I truly followed my instructions, I might cripple him. Had the faculty agreed on this insanity, or was Rolf making it up as he went along? Whatever William’s grudge against me had been before, if I did as I was told then a great many men, especially Normans, would agree that he would be justified in taking any revenge he fancied. A nasty situation had just become enormously worse.

  “Master,” I said, “I do not feel it is appropriate for one student to beat another.”

  “Do as I say!” Rolf snapped. “Hard as you can!”

  Still wondering how to handle this situation, I first took the squire’s sword and carried it over to the chest, safely out of reach. Then I returned, testing the weight of the rod. A sage should enforce his own discipline. To order one pupil to beat another was bad enough, but to do so when the victim was of higher social rank than the perpetrator was so outrageous that I could not believe the rest of the faculty had directed it. This must be Rolf ’s own clumsy improvisation.

  William was still standing upright and glaring at me. “You touch me just once with that stick, you Saxon pig, and I’ll kill you!”

  Kill . . . murder . . . morðor . . . morðor . . . A prophecy could be taken as a warning, not necessarily a foretelling of inevitable events. But the word morðor might also be used for a fearful punishment, which was a tempting interpretation, for I had just been handed one certain way to stop William Legier from attempting anything violent in the immediate future. With ten strokes of that rod I could disable him for at least a month.

  “Oh, you refuse the punishment?” Rolf inquired in a tone that could only be described as honeyed.

  Suddenly I began to see some sense in this madness. Every sage in the academy had tried beating William Legier and he had always come back for more. Whatever pressure or bribe Legier senior had used to make Dean Odo take back his fractious son, part of the agreement must have been that he would accept punishment if he misbehaved. William had shown he was tough enough to endure whatever the faculty could hand out—or, rather, what it had been willing to hand out so far. So it seemed reasonable that if William ever balked, then he would break the contract. So was I now to be given the job of breaking William? Perhaps Rolf thought he was doing me a favor.

  “No! I’ll take it.” William glared at me. “But I’ll give you back double, you Saxon shit!” He spread himself on the table, pulling his shirt up to expose his buttocks.

  “Not this week, you won’t. As hard as I can, you said, master?”

  Still I hesitated, for truly I faced one of the hardest decisions of my life. It ought to feel like triumph—my enemy staked out before me, at my mercy. It didn’t. I wanted to fight my own battles, not be handed victory by someone else, but if I refused to obey Rolf now, then I would be knuckling under to William’s bullying, practically standing up for him. Life would become intolerable, even if I did not get expelled instead of him.

  “Get on with it,” Rolf said cheerfully.

  With a sense of jumping off a cliff into unknown waters, I wound up and swung the club. William gasped. A line of torn flesh across his buttocks at once began oozing blood. My stomach churned. A faint pink line was the usual mark.

  “Excellent!” Rolf said. “That’s one. Nine to go. Continue. Harder.”

  “You really want me to cut him like that, master?”

  “When he’s had enough he can apologize and promise to behave himself in future.”

  That was never going to happen. As a Norman himself Rolf must know that men like William would die before they would ever knuckle under to a gaggle of namby-pamby scholars. So far as I could understand the youth’s thinking, I thought he must want out of Helmdon because of the suspicion of cowardice that always hung over a knight’s son who did not follow in his father’s hoofprints. William was going to prove his manhood if it killed him. Or, in this case, if I did.

  Slash! Two cuts. This time my victim’s gasp was close to a scream. He drummed his fists on the table.

  “Squire Legier,” I said. “If I do what the sage says, I will cause you serious injury. You may be unable to walk for weeks.”

  William did not even look around, although his fists on the table were white-knuckled.

  “Go ahead, pig, and see what happens to you after.”

  That might involve Legier family and friends riding to Helmdon to stretch my neck with a hempen noose.

  So it was now a contest to see which of us could keep this up longer. Torture was the task of the public hangman, and I had no wish for that job, but the harder I hit, the sooner my victim would cry, “Enough!” Then William would be gone from my life, and Helmdon a better place.

  I raised the rod for the third stroke, but it was Rolf who cried out and fell against me, causing me to stagger. Then he crumpled to the floor, thrashing and gurgling. I had never seen convulsions before, but I had been taught about them. Steadying myself with the table, I dropped to my knees, snapped the birch rod in two, dave duncan and forced the shorter piece between the sage’s teeth to keep him from biting his tongue.

  “Tancred, Lawrence, help me hold him down!” I shouted. “Eadig, run and bring Guy or the dean. Ulf, get his other arm.”

  Everyone jumped to obey me, but hardly had the door slammed behind Eadig than the sage began to come out of his fit. His movements slackened and he tried to speak. I removed the bit from his mouth, noting the tooth marks in it.

  “Certainly . . . at once . . . evensong tomorrow . . .” Rolf ’s eyes came into focus and he stared up at all the horrified young faces above him. “What is going on? Help me up!”

  I said, “No, hold him down. Master, you should just lie there for a few minutes, until we get a sage here to look at you. Yo
u took a bad turn.”

  What sort of bad turn? Epilepsy? A stroke?

  Or a curse? Rolf had in effect been the one to shed William’s blood, for I had been only his obedient tool. I had heard of protection spells that would retaliate against an attacker, and if that were the cause of the sage’s trouble, then he was lucky to have escaped serious injury.

  In burst Sages Guy and Alain, followed a moment later by Dean Odo himself. In moments Rolf was pronounced fit to stand up, and was led off, protesting that he had merely tripped, which was certainly untrue, although he might believe it. William had dressed and returned to his place, but the rear of his smock was bloodstained before he even sat down, which he did very carefully. He glared hatred at me. His lip was also bleeding. I could not help wondering how many strokes he would have endured.

  Guy took me aside and demanded the story. I told him in as few words as I could.

  He nodded. “Come and see me right after this.”

  Then he went and whispered to the others. He and Alain departed, taking William’s sword with them. The dean remained. Unlike Sage Rolf, he could hold the attention of any audience effortlessly.

  “Squire William, are you going to behave yourself now?”

  “Yes, Dean. Always.”

  “I shall suspend your punishment for the duration of this class. If I have to take issue with your behavior, I shall reinstate it and add another ten strokes. We are going to break you, William Legier, break you to the bit, like a horse! Is that quite clear now?”

  William nodded grimly. “I hear you, sir.” He looked pale, and believingly cowed. Twenty such strokes would cripple him for life, possibly kill him. Morðor!

  Dean Odo retrieved Liber de Compositione Alchimiae from the floor, peered at the title, and laid it on the table. “I won’t attempt to instruct you gentlemen in the arcane art of alchemy. I am sure that Master Rolf has already taught you more of it than I can remember. Now if this were Master Robert’s other work, Liber Algebrae et Almucabola, I might venture to speak on advanced computation, but I think we should stick to the use of the abacus. Varlet Eadig, hand out the abaci. Now, how many of you can manage multiplication and division of large numbers? Oh, come, you are being modest . . .”