* * *
Every night there was an elaborate dinner for the king and his entourage. These feasts went well into the evening, with some guests lingering around till the next morning. Throughout all this, patrols needed to be carried out. Both Gerald and Beverly were pulling double duty; patrols during the day, and Royal Entourage handholding in the evenings.
In the three days since the king arrived, the incessant needs of the guests were enough to provoke Beverly into actions not befitting the lady of the house. She had been groped on more than one occasion and had even broken the nose of a drunken Royal Guardsman after he propositioned her. She had tried to be diplomatic, and when he didn’t get the hint, she drove the palm of her hand into the bridge of his nose. The man gave a yell, and others came running, whereupon she explained that he had walked into the wall. The matter never came up again, and she was left alone from that point forward.
It was early in the morning of the fourth day, the sun was up, but the vast majority of the guests were not. The king, always an early riser, wished to see the barony and had asked the baron for a tour of the lands. Lord Fitzwilliam had quickly assembled a troop, under Gerald’s command, to accompany the king and his usual dozen knights. Beverly, eager to get out of the Keep, and her role as lady of the manor, armoured up and joined the men in Gerald’s group.
They rode out of the gate to a sunny day, the sky exceptionally clear, and it was looking like it would be nice and warm with a gentle breeze. The baron rode with the king to the west, the Royal Knights keeping close behind them, and the Bodden soldiers taking up the rear guard. Beverly remained silent; she was so sick of the Royal Guard and didn’t want any reason to have to interact with them. Riding past the farms, she saw her father describing the great efforts they had gone to move the farms closer to the Keep. The king appeared bored with the conversation, but looked to be enjoying the scenery, at least. Turning north, they entered the wild lands, where there was little in the way of civilization. Beverly always liked this part of her patrols, for the land was wild, feral even, and she found it reassuring that the presence of man had not destroyed the land.
They continued on until noon, and then the procession stopped by a stream to water the horses. A servant brought food to the king, who sat down on the ground to eat, more relaxed than Beverly had seen him since his arrival. He was quite jovial, chatting with her father, laughing at a joke. She watched them and wondered about the responsibility that must rest on the king’s shoulders. She thought of her father's words, being trapped by their position in society. Was the king as much a prisoner as they were?
Once the king was finished, the expedition set off, this time travelling east for a while, then turning south, which would have them returning to the Keep in time for dinner. Off to the east Beverly caught sight of the edge of the Whitewood and she remembered her encounter with Albreda. Was she watching them now, from the trees, or did she use her hawk to observe them at a distance?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a cry from Gerald, “To the north, raiders!”
Hearing this, Baron Fitzwilliam rode up beside the king, “Your Majesty,” he said, “I fear we must prematurely end the tour. Will you permit me to return you to the Keep?”
“By all means,” the king said, rather nonchalantly.
The column picked up the pace, and Gerald brought up the rear, signalling Beverly to stay with him. As the others marched he leaned in close, “Take a look, Beverly; your eyes are better than mine, what do you see?”
She strained, trying to make out the details, but as the raiders drew closer, she swore.
“Damn, there must be almost two hundred of them; we have to tell Father.”
“Maintain your position," Gerald said, "and keep the back of the line moving, I’ll go tell the baron. The enemy won’t catch up to us for quite a while.”
Gerald rode ahead, and Beverly lost sight of him amongst the knights in front who were slowing the whole precession down; the fancy horses of the Royal Guard were poor cross-country travellers. They were large beasts, used to pomp and circumstance, not countryside patrols. She cursed at them under her breath as their pace began to visibly decrease.
Far to the south, the outline of Bodden Keep was growing steadily larger. If they could just make the gates, all would be well. She glanced back at the raiders and noted there weren’t enough for a siege, but they were a real threat to the king's safety. Horns suddenly sounded, and she turned back to see the enemy surging forward. It would be a race to the gate, but they had a significant lead, all they had to do was maintain their course.
One of the Royal Guard must have glanced back, and seeing the cloud of dust being raised, panicked; there was no other word for it. One moment the expedition was a carefully maintained line of horsemen, two riders wide, and the next it was an incoherent mess, with each rider pushing his steed to the maximum to get to Bodden Keep as quickly as possible. Beverly didn’t panic; she kept her pace even, for there was plenty of time, she had run this race before. They were about to top the last rise before Bodden. The mob in front of her continued to rush onward, the panic spreading as riders were suddenly overcome with fear when a different horn sounded from the west.
A second group of raiders emerged, and it appeared they would cut the king's guards off from the haven of Bodden Keep. Her eyes went wide, something must be done, or there would be a slaughter. She saw Gerald and his men break off, heading west to intercept the new group. She urged Lightning forward to join them, then reconsidered; Gerald was more than capable of dealing with this new threat. The fight was brief, but it was effective in drawing the men away in pursuit, wasting valuable time. She turned, looking back towards the king, to observe a catastrophic development.
Unnoticed, a third group of raiders had snuck up from the east and were thundering down on the king. The royal party would have been safe, but the king’s horse suddenly stumbled. She couldn’t see what happened, perhaps the horse had hit a rabbit hole, or maybe it had tripped on a rock, she couldn’t be sure, but the king went down unobserved, while the rest of his guard carried on in the direction of the Keep. Gerald was returning from the west, but wouldn’t make it in time; the king's survival was in her hands alone. She instinctively charged into this new enemy, drawing her sword as she closed the distance. She struck the enemy cavalry head on. Lightning sideswiped the lead rider, while she swung her sword high, decapitating the man. As she passed by, she bashed the rider on the left with her shield and then swerved behind him to engage the next horse, who was approaching from her right side. She drove her sword down onto the horse’s head, felling it instantly, sending the rider flying, the enemy horses’ rears colliding with each other in the fray.
She advanced towards the king, swinging again only to be blocked by a shield, so she drew back and viciously thrust, penetrating her attacker’s stomach, and he fell forward, trapped in the saddle by the blade. She let go of the sword and grabbed her hammer which hung from her saddle. She whirled it around to see the next rider flinch back. Seizing the opening, she struck him in the chest, knocking him from his mount. She was surrounded by mounted raiders, lost in a maelstrom of combat. She blocked a sword strike, using the hammer like a hook to pull the sword from the enemy's grip. Twisting in her saddle, she drove the hammer in a backhand blow against another opponent to her right. Abruptly, they were all gone; there was no one left in front of her to strike. The enemy was running. She glanced over to where she had seen the king’s horse go down. The king was trying to stand, but it appeared as if his leg was injured. More raiders were bearing down on him, and she looked to Gerald for help. The sergeant had his own troubles, for no sooner had he turned from his pursuit than raiders from the north had come surging down on him. He disappeared in a whirlwind of horses, but she had no time to worry, she must protect the king.
King Andred could not stand and sank to the ground, in obvious agony. The other members of the party had reached the gate before noticing he was missing, and were onl
y now turning their horses about. Thundering toward the king, Beverly's charge was blocked as two raiders cut across in front of her in their own pursuit of the king. She let out a blood-curdling scream, grabbing their attention as she bore down on them. They rotated their horses around to meet her charge. As they pulled even, she ducked unexpectedly, and the first man's swing went over her head. She brought the hammer up from the ground into his face, feeling the impact as steel met bone; the helmet flying through the air. The raider on the left landed a savage blow to her shoulder, but the metal plate held, the sword sliding off easily. Her shield was positioned low, enabling her to ram the edge into her foe's face, sending him tumbling off his horse. She didn’t stay to see the outcome, for she knew the king was still in mortal danger. Riding to his side and dismounting, she decided to throw him onto Lightning, but the enemy had other ideas.
Four riders approached as she was trying to help him up, and then they surrounded her, striking her from all directions. She pushed the king to the ground and stood over him, yelling for Lightning. A man groaned as a savage kick from her steed hit him. Her shield buckled from a heavy strike, and she looked to see yet another adversary wielding a massive mace. Again and again, he struck, and she struggled to keep her balance. Had she the room, she could have easily stepped back and recovered quickly, but the king must be her priority, so she held her position. A final blow landed, and she discarded the ruined shield, swinging her hammer in a wide arc to gain some manoeuvring space. Her left hand sought out her dagger, and she stood, waiting. The riders were around her, four of them and one of them came forward. This time, as he swung, she bent at the waist and used her hammer to snag the mace, pulling him off balance. He went down, and she drove the dagger into the back of his head. She felt a sword strike her back and once again her armour saved her. She twisted on her heels and smashed the hammer into the next one's arms, causing him to cry out in pain as he dropped his weapon.
There were only two men left, and they must have concluded who she was protecting, for they came on in a fury of blows. She took the first hit to the back of her forearm then struck with the dagger. She missed, but her attacker pulled back, fearful of the blade. She turned again to see her final opponent, now on foot, about to defeat her with a two-handed overhead strike. She let the blow come, shifting slightly at the last moment to see the blade strike the ground harmlessly. She stepped forward head-butting him, and as he fell, she drove the dagger into his chest.
The one she disarmed came back again and tried to run her down, but Lightning smashed into his horse, knocking it sideways. The man swung in a desperate last attack, and the blow hit her helmet. All she could hear was a large ringing sound, and she shook her head trying to focus her eyes. She swung her hammer wildly but missed. Without warning, she was once again encircled, voices were yelling, and she shook her head, finally aware of her surroundings; the Royal Guard had arrived. The king’s captain, Valmar, was pulling the king onto his horse. She looked for Lightning and finding the great beast waiting, hauled herself into the saddle. The next thing she was aware of was the thunder of horse's hooves, and she realized they were riding over cobblestones; they had reached the gates of the Keep. The entrance was crowded with knights and soldiers. She saw her father, looking on with concern at the warriors who had just made it to the safety.
She dismounted, trying to catch her breath, too spent even to remove her helmet. She bent over at the waist, taking deep breaths, while she felt somebody patting her on the back. She slowly became aware that the courtyard was quiet, and then her arm was gripped, and she was pulled upright.
The king stood before her, staring intensely.
“You are brave, sir, braver, it seems, than my entire guard.” He turned to face the assembled people. “Be it known that this soldier, this exceptional warrior, has earned the king's gratitude and shall this day forth be considered a Knight of the Realm.” He turned back to Beverly, “Kneel,” he said.
Beverly dropped to one knee, her head still reeling. The king drew his blade and placed it on her left shoulder. “In the name of the king,” he said, and then moved the blade to the right shoulder, “and in the name of the throne, I now knight thee, Sir…”
He paused a moment, with a look of dismay on his face. “Remove your helmet and tell us your name that we might celebrate your achievements,” he commanded.
Beverly removed her helmet and her red hair, which had been tied up in a bun, cascaded down her shoulders. “Lady Beverly Fitzwilliam, Your Majesty.”
There was a collective gasp from the crowd, and the king smiled. “Very well,” he said, “I now pronounce thee Knight of the Realm. Arise, Sir…Dame Beverly Fitzwilliam.”
She had done it; she had accomplished the impossible, she had achieved her life's ambition. Her head swam, and she felt faint. The crowd roared with applause, and she struggled to stand, felt hands helping her, and then she was being borne along by the crowd. They carried her over to her father who was smiling widely. She thought of Aldwin and looked for him, but couldn’t find him in the crowd. They deposited her beside her father, and he embraced her, beaming with pride as he congratulated her. The whole situation was somehow surreal. She was smiling from ear to ear and turned to talk to Gerald and then remembered he had gone down.
She glanced about frantically, “Gerald?” she asked, desperate to know his fate.
“He’s here, my dear,” said her father, "but he’s wounded, they’ve taken him to the surgeon.”
She hugged her father again, and as the crowd cheered, she turned, grasped her father's hand, and then raised it into the air. There was a great change coming, Albreda had said, and Beverly suddenly understood that the great change had already begun.
Fifteen
Interim
Spring/Summer 952 MC
The king left Bodden the day after the assault, escorted by the small army he had brought with him. Baron Fitzwilliam believed that the raiders had somehow known of the royal visit, but without proof, there was little that could be done. Life at the Keep reverted to the way it was before the king had graced them with his presence. Beverly, just returning from her first patrol since being knighted, was called to the map room. Leaving Lightning in capable hands, she quickly made her way there, for it was an uncommon thing for her to be summoned like this.
She arrived to see her father talking with Sir Walter, while they scanned over the map.
“Ah, my dear,” her father said, “come in, come in, we were just going over a few things, nothing that might concern you.”
“You called for me, Father?” she enquired.
“Yes, sit down. Let me pour you some wine.”
Her father's behaviour alarmed her more than any enemy army. He usually got straight to the point, and now he looked to be overly concerned with frivolities. She sat down at the table and waited while he poured her some wine. He wandered over to the window and looked out, surveying the land.
“Well?” she prompted.
“Well what?” he replied.
“You didn’t summon me here to pour me wine. What is it, Father?”
He turned to face her, then wandered back over to the table. “It’s Gerald,” he said at last.
“What about him?” she said with a sense of rising panic.
“I’m afraid his leg wound is worse than we thought.”
“Surely they're not going to amputate?”
“No, but the wound is giving him pain, and I’m afraid he’s not able to fulfill his duties anymore.”
“Maybe not as a warrior, but he’s still your most trusted advisor, Father.”
“Oh, I know, my dear, I know. But I think I have a better idea. I wanted to run it by you.”
“Go ahead,” she said cautiously.
“I’m going to send him to Wincaster.”
“Wincaster?” she said incredulously. “Why Wincaster?”
“That’s where the King’s Healer lives.”
“But surely our healer here-”
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“No, you don’t understand, my dear, the King’s Healer is a Life Mage. He can use magic to cure Gerald’s leg.”
“But,” she said, thinking it over, “the king only lets the healer work on him or his family.”
“True enough,” said the baron, “but we may have someone who could influence him otherwise.”
She thought about this carefully. She knew the king was very selfish; who could convince him to share his mage's services? The queen? Unlikely, those two were only seen together on rare public occasions. The king’s mistress? Also unlikely, as she was as possessive as he was. She gave up trying to figure it out. “Who?” she finally asked.
“What do you remember about the battle?” he asked.
“It was all rather confusing, but I think I remember most of the details,” she said.
“At the end of the fight,” he continued, “after you defeated that last raider, Captain Valmar led a group of knights out to rescue the king.”
“I remember,” she said, still not sure where he was going with this.
“Well,” he paused for dramatic effect, “the king decided to make him his new marshal-general.”
“Marshal-General? In charge of the whole army? But, Father, you’re more qualified than Valmar, he’s just a guard captain!”
“Let’s not argue over the king’s decision, he is the king, after all. Besides, I’m needed here in Bodden more than they need me in the capital.”
Beverly put down her drink. There was wisdom in what he said, and she marvelled at how calmly he appeared to take it. “So you think that Valmar, pardon me, Marshal-General Valmar, might put in a good word and get Gerald healed?”
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