When she knew she had their undivided attention, she let out a loud whistle, and the squires were pushed aside by Lightning, who burst out of his stall and came thundering towards her. The horse skidded to a stop, turned and knelt, while she completed a swing with her sword and then suddenly leapt into the saddle.
The squires stood, open-mouthed with amazement. Using only her legs to command her mount, she left the now silenced squires dumbstruck in the stables behind her. The bond between her and her steed was so complete that Lightning knew instinctively what she wanted.
Ten
Sir Harold
Summer 950 MC
The summer of ‘50 was milder than most, and the farmers despaired, for they expected a bad harvest. Beverly continued with her training, but it was becoming apparent that there was not much left that anyone at Bodden could teach her. Her proficiency with melee weapons had grown immensely, and there was little in the way of fighting skills that she hadn’t learned. It was now a matter of her growing, for she was still not the tall, towering knight that she yearned to be. She diligently carried out her drills, and Gerald patiently watched her, but found little to critique. He could still beat her in a fight, as she was excellent at blocking, but lacked the necessary physical strength to prevent him from knocking her back; this would come in time, of course, but she was growing impatient.
No one questioned her equestrian skills, and even the stable master frequently came to her for help with new mounts. Since that day long ago in the stable with the two squires, she had earned the grudging respect of all the knights. She was brushing down Lightning when an old man rode into the courtyard wearing an out-dated style of armour, seated upon a large horse, similar to her own. She watched him as he dismounted, noticing his weathered face and the ragged state of his clothing, and yet there was a sense of danger about him. Unexpectedly, her father came out of the Keep, walked up to the stranger and shook his hand. Much to her surprise, they came toward the stable, her father breaking into a smile when he caught sight of her.
“Ah, there you are, my dear. Allow me to introduce, Sir Harold of Stilldale.”
Beverly immediately recognized his name! Everyone in Merceria knew of him, for Sir Harold was a hero, renowned for his actions at the siege of Colbridge many years ago when Westland had attempted to take the city. Since then, he'd had a long and glorious career that spanned decades. He was looked upon by many as the gold standard of knights. She was overcome by awe and could only stammer out a few words.
“I thought you were dead,” she said, and then blushed furiously. She felt so stupid; meeting a hero of the realm, only to make such an inane comment.
“I’m sure you’re not the only one,” the man smiled. “You must be Lady Beverly Fitzwilliam of Bodden.” He bowed deeply, in the old style, extending his right leg as he did so. It would look ludicrous for a knight to do so in court these days, and yet on Sir Harold, it looked elegant and refined, an echo of days long passed.
“Pleased to meet you,” she recovered. “Might I enquire as to why you’re visiting us? We don’t get many guests in Bodden.”
“Sir Harold,” explained the baron, “is here to see you.”
Beverly was shocked, “Me?”
“Yes, your father wrote to me. Apparently, he can teach you little more, and so I volunteered to come and train you myself.”
“You're going to train me?” She was incredulous.
“Yes, if that’s all right with you?”
She curtsied, trying to be as elegant as he, “I would be honoured.”
“Very well,” Sir Harold responded. “Allow me to get settled in and we’ll make a start. Have you a regular training schedule?”
“Yes, I’m due to practise melee after lunch.”
“Lunch. What an excellent idea. Baron, would you be so kind as to lead the way?”
They headed off to the dining room, with Beverly left behind to ponder this new development. Sir Harold’s legacy was inspiring! She realized that her father had gone to extraordinary lengths to arrange this training. She was, she felt, the luckiest girl in the whole kingdom.
* * *
With the arrival of Sir Harold, the training ramped up considerably, and Beverly found herself struggling to keep pace. Just as she came to grips with one thing, another would be introduced. Her knowledge and skill set grew by leaps and bounds. He pushed her hard, and each evening she would trundle down to the smithy to see Aldwin, her muscles aching from the day's strain.
She was now fifteen and had grown both taller and broader. Her muscles had hardened considerably, allowing her to handle any weapon with ease, including the great sword, though its massive size still gave her a bit of trouble. Even Lightning no longer kneeled when she mounted, and she leaped into the saddle effortlessly.
Sir Harold was taking her training seriously; he had her riding her horse, swinging at targets with a mace, all the while he was watching carefully, quick to notice any errors. Lean back, lean forward, shift weight, it was an endless list of corrections, but Beverly learned and soon the movements became second nature.
She had just completed a run and trotted down the line, preparing to repeat the procedure, when Sir Harold called her over. She rode up, halting in front of him.
He looked up at her and then struck a thoughtful pose, his hand stroking his beard absently. “Come down here,” he requested, and she dismounted in a fluid motion.
“Stand there a moment,” he pointed while walking around her. Making a complete circuit, he paused in front of her. “We need to get you some real armour, not this padded stuff.” He felt her arm muscle, “I think you’re ready for it, let’s see about getting you fitted. Do you have an armourer here that can make chain?”
“Yes,” she responded, “the smith’s apprentice has been making chain for months.”
“Well, it’s time we go see this apprentice then.”
They dropped Lightning off at the stables, making their way to the smithy. Entering, Beverly noticed the sudden change of temperature, for though the day was mild, it was like an oven in here.
Old Man Grady was pulling a sword out of the forge and hammering away at it, occasionally quenching it in a pool of liquid. Aldwin came over to the workbench when he saw them enter; this was now the normal routine for Grady did not like dealing with people.
“M’lady,” he greeted them, “my lord. How may I be of assistance?”
It was Sir Harold that spoke up first, “The Lady Beverly is in need of a chain coat. Can you make such an item?”
Aldwin was, perhaps, a little too eager and immediately blurted out, “Yes, of course, my lord.”
“Then you must start taking measurements right away; these things take time.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Sir Harold turned to Beverly, “Take that leather jacket off Beverly; he’ll need to measure you for the chain vest.”
Beverly turned bright red, her eyes opening wide. They had just left the practise field, and she was covered in sweat. All she had beneath her jacket was a light linen shirt. She looked at Sir Harold, hoping he would see her embarrassment, but evidently, he failed to grasp the issue.
“I would suggest that the light might be better over there,” the knight said, pointing to a window. “I’ll drop by later to see how you’re doing.” He strode off, leaving Beverly with Aldwin, who was getting a strip of leather to take her measurements. She drew a deep breath, then undid the jerkin, peeling it from her skin as the sweat had made it stick. She felt a slight breeze on her damp shirt, making her shiver. Aldwin returned and prepared to measure her shoulders and chest, then stopped. She could feel his eyes on her, and a little quiver ran through her body. He immediately looked at her face and cleared his throat.
“I'll have to measure your shoulders first, m’lady,” he said.
He walked around behind her, and then she felt the soft touch of his hands on her shoulders. He ran the strip of leather across her back, and she swore she could feel the war
mth of his body near her. She felt flustered. She took a deep breath in, closing her eyes as she released the air. In a moment he was finished, and he walked around in front of her. She opened her eyes to see his grey eyes gazing into hers.
“Are you all right, m’lady?” he asked, in a soft voice.
She cleared her throat, “I’m fine Aldwin, please continue.”
He stretched the strip out between his open arms and paused. He had to stretch all the way around her chest to make the measurement; he was embarrassed, she could tell.
“I won’t bite, you know,” she said, trying to reassure him.
He suddenly reached forward, as if to embrace her and her eyes went wide. His arms passed underneath hers and she realized he was reaching around her back to take the measurement. He pressed his face close to hers, looking behind her, trying to mark the measurement on the strip of leather. She felt the heat of him on her cheek.
He stepped back nervously, and she realized she was trembling. She saw a look of concern cross his face and he appeared to be about to say something, so she quickly interrupted him, “It’s a trifle hot in here. Can I just get some air?”
He nodded his agreement, and she ran from the room with a quick, “I’ll be just a moment.”
The instant she entered the courtyard, she gulped in the fresh air. She was shaking, and for a brief moment she wondered if she had a fever, then the fresh air hit her face, and she sat down on a step. This was silly, she thought, she had known Aldwin for years, there was no reason to feel nervous. After all, he had to take her measurements; you can’t just wear any armour. And he had to be able to touch her to take those measurements. She sucked in great gasps of air and steadied herself. She wandered over to the water barrel and splashed her face. It was time to get down to business.
She walked calmly back to the smithy where Aldwin was patiently waiting.
She resumed her previous position, ready to start again.
“You may touch me now,” she said, then realized what she had just uttered. “I mean you may take my measurements now,” she corrected.
It was an awkward situation and years later she would look back and remember it with fondness, but for now, she found it terrifying, and yet exhilarating at the same time.
Aldwin continued measuring her; arm length, body length and a multitude of other small measurements, that were required. Beverly fought to keep control and began to relax. It was near the end that it became obvious that Aldwin was hesitant about something.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked.
Aldwin looked her straight in the eyes. “I have to measure your…” his voice trailed off.
“My what?” she prompted.
“Your chest, m’lady.”
“My chest?”
“Yes, if the armour is too constrictive, it won’t be comfortable.”
“So what’s the problem, go ahead and measure them.”
“Um…it’s not that simple. I have to allow for…growth.”
“Growth? What do you mean growth?”
“Well,” he rambled, “how do I put this? You’re still young, and you haven’t fully…developed yet. I have to allow for future growth.”
Her jaw dropped open as she took in the full meaning of his words. She snapped her mouth shut and looked him straight in the eyes. She could almost feel herself being drawn in as she stammered out, “You’ll have to improvise, make a best guess.”
He drew the leather across her breasts and around her back. Once again he had to lean into her, and she closed her eyes, smelling him as his face brushed against hers. She wanted the moment to last, wanted to hug him and hold him, but she knew that could never be, their class difference prevented it.
Aldwin stepped back, holding the strip of leather in his right hand. “I’m all done, m’lady,” he said, in a husky voice.
“Thank you, Aldwin,” said Beverly, and she ran from the room in a flood of emotions.
* * *
That evening at dinner, she was picking at her food. Sir Harold and her father were there, and they had invited Gerald to join them. Beverly was lost in her thoughts as Sir Harold was regaling them with stories of his past. The room suddenly went quiet, and she looked up to see them all looking at her.
“Beverly?” her father prompted.
“Yes, Papa?” she said, oblivious to what they had been talking about.
“How did it go?” asked the baron.
“How did what go?”
“You went down to the smithy today?” he reminded her.
She blushed, “How did you know about that?”
“Sir Harold told me,” he explained.
“How did…” she blushed again.
“He said you went to get your armour fitted. I was wondering how it went? What are you talking about?”
“Oh, nothing, Father. I was lost on another subject.”
“Well,” persisted the baron, “did Grady set you up?”
“No,” she replied, “it was Aldwin who took my measurements. He’ll be making the mail.”
Baron Fitzwilliam looked at Gerald, and then back at Beverly. “I think it’s time we had a little talk, Beverly.”
“Father!” she was shocked. “Here, in front of guests?”
“No, not that talk, for goodness sake. I told you about that years ago. No, I’m talking about the armourer talk.”
“The armourer talk?”
“Yes, my dear, you see when someone makes you armour, they have to measure, well, everything. There has to be a level of trust between the armourer and the warrior. Now for most of us, it’s not a big deal, but, well, you're a young woman, and the problem is that Aldwin is a young man.”
“Yes, I know that, Father.”
“Er, well, there’s likely to be some, close measurements taken. That sort of thing can be, well, uncomfortable. You mustn’t confuse that for feelings. After all, Aldwin is a commoner, and you are a noble. It wouldn’t do to have-”
“I know what’s right, Father,” she interrupted. “Aldwin is a friend, nothing more. Naturally, he has to be…intimate to take my measurements, but that’s normal under the circumstances. I don’t have feelings for Aldwin; he’s my armourer, that’s all.”
Her father nodded his head wisely, “Very well, I think we’ve said all that’s needed on this subject.”
Beverly smiled and nodded but felt guilty. She hadn’t been entirely honest with him or with herself, for that matter.
* * *
Sir Harold's training continued throughout the summer, and by late autumn Aldwin had completed her chainmail shirt. It required a few adjustments, but the fit was as close to perfect as was practical, under the circumstances. Beneath the chainmail, she wore a padded shirt that was made by the local seamstress. Beverly found it too constricting and insisted on cutting away the material under the arms to allow for freer movement. Sir Harold gave some suggestions which Aldwin duly made a note of, for future reference.
Beverly insisted that any damage to her mail be fixed immediately, so after every practise she would make her way down to the smithy, where Aldwin would pour over the armour looking for rents, dents or cuts. It became a ritual, and the day her practise was cancelled due to Sir Harold feeling ill, she was disappointed. She meandered about the Keep like a lost puppy, out of sorts. She finally resolved to go to the smithy to see Aldwin anyway, perhaps the poor lad was starving, as Old man Grady was notoriously cheap when it came to feeding his apprentice.
They ended up talking into the wee hours of the night, for Aldwin had decided she should have plate over her mail. He was already learning how to work metal and felt he could make her some leg greaves without too much trouble.
She finally made her way back to the Keep to find servants scurrying around. The fact that it was such a late hour was worrying to her, and she sought out her father in the great hall. He was talking with Gerald in a quiet voice.
He saw her enter the room and turned to face her. “I’m sorry, my
dear, but I have some bad news,” he said. “I’m afraid Sir Harold has passed away in his sleep; he was very old."
She looked at her father, feeling tears come to her eyes. “It’s all right, Father; it was always his wish to die peacefully in bed.”
“Beverly,” he said, “I know this might not be the best time to bring this up, but Sir Harold believed that your training was complete. Yesterday, he suggested that you were ready to assume the duties of a warrior, that the best way to continue your training would be to accompany Gerald on patrols. ”
“Truly, Father?”
“I believe you're ready to take up arms to protect the people of Bodden. Are you prepared to assume that mantle?”
“I am, Father,” she vowed solemnly, “I most definitely am.”
Eleven
First Blood
Summer 950 MC
The burial ceremony for Sir Harold was a solemn occasion held in the Bodden Chapel. Holy Father Baldrim had a great many words of praise for the fallen hero before the body was ready to be laid to rest. Beverly, along with her father, Gerald, and three other knights, bore the casket to the place of internment, slowly walking by all the soldiers of the garrison who stood to attention. It was pronounced a day of mourning with festivities limited to celebrations in honour of the great knight.
Beverly felt abandoned. In his short time at Bodden, Sir Harold had taught her so much, things that she didn’t even think about until he mentioned them. She had always thought of knights as heroic warriors, defending the helpless, protecting the weak, sacrificing themselves nobly. He taught her that no victory is complete without survival. Yes, a knight must sometimes sacrifice himself, but only if there was no other choice. There was no such thing as a fight of honour, for there was no honour in killing.
These words she took to heart, and she observed the other knights carefully from that day forth. She knew her father hated killing, knew he would do all in his power to prevent a fight, but sometimes there was no choice. This she understood. Other knights lived for combat, loved to engage the enemy and prove their mettle. These knights often overextended themselves or left many dead on the battlefield.
Sword of the Crown Page 7