Sword of the Crown

by Paul J Bennett

  She was surprised by his civility; he was known as a difficult and obstinate man. She sat down, waiting for him to speak.

  “I’ve been trying to decide what to do with you,” he said, pausing to take a sip. “I think it might be wise to use your talents to protect the princess.”

  She smiled, “Thank you, Marshal-General."

  “How much do you know about her?” he asked.

  “She’s nine years old?” she offered hesitantly.

  “Yes, that’s correct. She only comes to the capital in the company of the queen, and as you probably already know, the king and queen are rarely in the capital at the same time.”

  Beverly nodded. She was very familiar with the habits of the king and queen, and with the influence of the king’s mistress. It would be disastrous if she and the queen were to meet, so they were rarely in the same place at the same time.

  “What are to be my precise duties?” she asked.

  “You are to remain in the company of the princess whenever the queen desires it. That means you may only see her once or twice a week or, if the queen likes you, you might be utilized more often. You'll be commanded by the queen, so your precise orders will depend on her.”

  “Yes, Marshal-General,” she said.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” he said, as she was about to stand. “You won’t need to wear that armour.”

  “I beg your pardon, Marshal-General?” she responded, not sure if she had heard properly.

  “You'll need to wear attire appropriate to the court,” he explained. “It would be unladylike to wear armour or carry a sword, and Princess Margaret is not to be confused about how a proper lady is to behave. You do know how a lady behaves, don't you?”

  “Of course, Marshal-General,” she said, “I AM a baron’s daughter.”

  “Well, see to it that you remember that.”

  “But sir,” she objected, “how am I to protect the princess if I’m not to carry a sword or wear armour?”

  “Frankly,” he replied, “I don’t care. You were only knighted because the king didn’t know you were a woman, but what’s done is done, and we can’t undo it, or the king will lose face. Of course, if you don’t like it, you can always leave the Order of the Sword, and return to Bodden to resume your life there. Is that what you’d like to do?”

  “No sir,” she replied.

  “Pity, it would have made things so much easier.” He stared into his tankard for a moment before continuing, “The queen is hosting a Midwinter Gala next week. You’ll need to be in attendance. You should take a few days to acquire a suitable wardrobe; at the expense of the crown, of course. Report to the queen on the seventeenth, that’s the day before the gala. Do you understand?”

  She felt like telling him she was not an idiot but thought it was better if she didn’t. She simply replied, “Yes, Marshal-General,” nodded, and left the room.

  Thankfully, nobody was waiting outside the office to witness her, as she stormed away, seething with anger. After weeks of trying to procure a real assignment, she finally secured what should have been a prime position, only to have it hurled in her face. She would be a glorified babysitter; a job that could easily have been done by a lady-in-waiting or a maid.

  * * *

  She spent a considerable amount of time trying to ascertain what type of dress was most appropriate for her new role at court. It was difficult to determine, for the position had never existed before. The objective was not to overshadow the royals, but to at least display the importance of the position. In the end, she opted for a plainer dress, made of superior material. She located a capable seamstress in town that had some additional suggestions, and by the time the date arrived, she had three new dresses in her wardrobe. She ended up wearing the green dress with a gold belt, which circled her waist, hanging down the front. She completed the ensemble with a dagger; a popular accessory at court that could also be used at mealtimes.

  Reporting to the queen on the seventeenth of the month, Beverly found her to be stern of countenance. The queen smiled little, seemingly unimpressed by having a new member assigned to her entourage.

  The Midwinter Festival was a popular celebration marking the middle of the season and reminding people that spring would be coming before long. Bodden had always hosted a feast, and part of the celebration would be her father and others visiting the poor with gifts of food and coin. Here in Wincaster, the tradition was much different. The Midwinter Gala was a party for the influential members of society. Only the titled and important people were invited to attend. The king spent the winter in the south, usually Shrewesdale, and the prominent men of the kingdom would follow him there, the better to represent their interests. Their wives, on the other hand, would come to Wincaster to socialize with the queen. Beverly had seen the guest list and was astonished at the number of unaccompanied women that were due to attend. It was easier to track who would not be gathering than who would. Of course, she knew her father would not be present, he was far too busy on the frontier. She recognized many names, but she knew them only by reputation. There were few in attendance that she had ever met, and both her aunt and uncle were noticeably absent from the list.

  With the festivities starting just after midday, she arrived early at the Palace, as per the queen's request and was surprised when the guests began arriving shortly thereafter. With no actual orders, she chose to spend the first few hours helping nobles from their coaches. It was amusing to watch each trying to outdo the others with their grand entrances.

  Upon arriving, guests were escorted into the great hall, which had been decorated with bright ribbons to celebrate the season. Many of the nobles had brought their children along, and they ran about the hall, mostly unsupervised. There were many knights in attendance, and Beverly was annoyed to see that they were all in their best armour, although bereft of helmets. She recognized them of course, for they were all billeted together in the barracks. Noticing that only a few were here, she wondered how they had been chosen for this duty, for they varied from veterans to newly knighted. She put the thought from her mind as she made her way into the hall escorting the Duchess of Colbridge to be introduced to the queen, and then left to make her way around the festivities.

  The Gala was not a feast in the traditional sense. Instead of a great table heaped with food and chairs all around, they had adopted the new style of celebration with tables to the side of the room and people standing around eating off plates. The centre was left open for dancing later in the evening. This intrigued Beverly, for the only dancing she had ever witnessed was that of the commoners in Bodden. She had heard that the dances in Wincaster were highly organized affairs requiring careful study and practise.

  Someone rapped a staff on the floor to get everyone's attention just as she had made her way over to the food table to sample the delights heaped upon it. The guests were instructed to take their places on the dance floor. She watched in interest as they lined themselves up in two rows. One row was all women, and the other, facing them, were men, including some knights. Beverly wondered how on earth they would dance in armour, but as she watched she realized it would not be difficult, for the dance consisted of carefully planned walking while holding their partner's hand. It was perhaps the strangest thing she had ever seen, and she wondered where this idea had come from.

  Most of the afternoon and evening consisted of her snacking on food and watching the dancing. She was even asked to dance by a young noble but politely declined, as she was on duty. The man was gracious and commented that perhaps she might take up his offer at a later date. She was flattered and didn’t want to offend him, so she replied, “Perhaps.”

  She spied Princess Margaret sitting with a group of like-aged children. They were eating small cakes and pastries while drinking some sort of pale cider.

  As the evening wore on it became readily apparent that there was no threat here to either the princess or the queen. She found the entire gala to be a surreal event; it was a different wor
ld here in the capital, a world that she just couldn’t quite grasp.

  She left the room briefly to use the garderobe and ran across the Duchess of Colbridge. The woman was chatting with a knight. On her return she saw them head out of the room, climb the stairs, with the Duchess leading, holding the young knight’s hand. Beverly shook her head, mistrusting what her eyes beheld. The Duchess was not a young woman; in fact, she was old enough to be the knight’s mother, if truth be told.

  It was upon her return to the gala that the reality of the situation hit her. She looked around the room to observe that most of the knights were paired up with the noble ladies. All of them were young and handsome, prime examples of manhood. Her discovery shocked and disgusted her. Here were the wives of the most powerful men of the kingdom, and they were carrying on scandalously. She thought of Valmar’s words to her and realized the irony in them. He was worried about her being a bad influence, but in truth, the nobles were far worse.

  Eventually, she was summoned by the queen. Princess Margaret was getting tired, she was told, and needed to be escorted to bed. Beverly was tasked with the job, in the company of a maidservant.

  She escorted them to the princess's chambers, where the maid changed her and put her to bed. Margaret was lying in bed being tucked in when she suddenly spoke to Beverly.

  “You’re that lady knight, aren’t you?” she enquired.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Beverly replied.

  “Can I ask you a question?” the little girl asked.

  “Certainly,” she responded.

  She was expecting questions about knighthood but was surprised by the young child’s question.

  “Are you a noble?”

  “Yes, my father’s the Baron of Bodden.”

  “Can you tell me how marriages are arranged?” she asked bluntly.

  “I beg your pardon?” Beverly was unsure how to respond to such a question.

  “Well, I suspect that noble marriages and royal marriages must work the same way. How was your marriage arranged?”

  “My marriage?” she asked, with a look of shock on her face.

  “Well, aren’t you married? You look old enough. Surely your father had to have arranged one by now. I was wondering how that’s done.”

  Beverly blushed and immediately thought of Aldwin. Of course, she could never marry Aldwin, but she had decided that if she couldn’t have Aldwin, then no one else would do. She had no intention of explaining that to the princess.

  She must have mulled this over longer than she thought for suddenly the princess spoke again.

  “Well? Are you promised?”

  “No, Your Highness,” she replied, thinking fast. “Bodden, where I come from, is on the frontier and we were kept far too busy to deal with such matters.”

  “Oh well, I was hoping to learn how it all works. Never mind, you can go now.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” she bowed and left the room, leaving her in the capable hands of her maidservant.

  * * *

  The Gala proved to be the high point of her royal assignment, for the queen had little use for her afterwards. Although she was always on call, she was seldom required and found herself with lots of free time. Left to her own devices, she practised with her weapons every day, even finding some new ones in the Palace Armoury. Soon, she was proficient with every weapon there but had no cause to use them.

  Spring eventually arrived and with it came warmer weather allowing for casual riding, and the queen again requested her services. It was conveyed to her that armour was not necessary, and she was forbidden to ride Lightning, lest the great horse scare the princess. Instead, she was given a much smaller horse, a well behaved, docile creature which looked ridiculously easy to handle.

  The queen and her entourage arrived at the stables as Beverly was checking her mount’s tackle. Beverly looked up, noticing the princess was not in attendance and wondered why. The queen beckoned her over.

  “I need you to go and collect the princess,” she said. “She’ll be at her afternoon lessons. Make sure you tell the tutor she’ll be back at dinner time. He is to continue her lessons upon her return. Have you got that, girl?”

  The queen always treated her like an idiot, but she had come to expect that from everyone at the Palace. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she replied, making her way to the sun room where the princess traditionally took her lessons.

  She knocked on the door and was granted leave to enter. Inside, the princess was sitting on a chair and the tutor, a man named William Renfrew, was drawing on a chalk slate that was sitting on an easel.

  As she opened the door, the tutor glanced over at her with a slight look of distaste. “Is there something I can do for you?” he said with a sneer.

  “Her Majesty, the queen, has requested the presence of the princess at the stables. They are to go riding today.”

  The princess jumped out of her chair with a smile. “Thank you,” she said, “I shall be glad to head to the stables as soon as I change.”

  She headed straight for the door, two ladies-in-waiting accompanying her, leaving Beverly in the room with the tutor.

  “I am also instructed to inform you that the queen would like you to continue the lesson upon the princess's return.”

  Renfrew looked up from the slate that he was erasing and stared at her for a moment. “Very well,” he finally said.

  She turned to leave, but he spoke again, “Hold on a moment,” he said, “you’re that knight, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said, turning, “Dame Beverly Fitzwilliam.”

  “Fitzwilliam, I know that name. You must be from the frontier.”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  He walked up to her, and she felt his eyes roaming over her body. “How are you finding life at the Palace, my dear?” he said.

  Beverly was immediately on the defensive. She hated being called ‘dear’ by anyone other than her father, but chose not to show her displeasure.

  “It's…interesting,” she said at last.

  “You know Wincaster is a very large city, I’d be happy to show you around if you like.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” she said, “but unnecessary. I’ve become quite familiar with the layout of the city.”

  “You know, I could also show you around the Palace. There are many rooms we could investigate together.”

  She watched him move his head, this time he eyed her up and down. Finishing his inspection, he settled his eyes on her breasts, and let out a little sigh.

  “That dress looks a little tight, perhaps we should loosen it.”

  She was about to respond when he reached up and pulled the string that held the top of her dress closed. She pushed his hand away, and he suddenly grabbed her by the dress and tried to pull her into him.

  “Come on, you little tart,” he said, “I know what you want.”

  She pushed him back with more force than she expected, causing him to stumble, but he kept his footing. He laughed and moved towards her again.

  “Oh, playing hard to get,” the tutor sneered. “I love a challenge.”

  “Challenge this,” she said and slapped him hard across the face.

  Renfrew spun around and fell, grabbing his face with his hand as his body impacted with the floor. He squirmed on the ground, and then rolled over on to his back, looking up at her.

  She stepped toward him, and his eyes went wild with fear. He shuffled backwards, and she heard a small cry of despair coming from his mouth. She raised her hands in the air as if in surrender, and turned to leave the room. As the door closed behind her, she heard him yelling.

  “You bitch,” he was yelling, “you’ll pay for this.”

  * * *

  The next morning she received a summons to report to Marshal-General Valmar. She entered the room to see him sitting behind his desk. His face looked plump and red, and she made out the movement of his jaw, as if he was biting down hard.

  Even before she sat down, he was in action. “A
re you pleased with yourself?” he asked venomously.

  “I beg your pardon?” she said, not sure what this was about.

  “I have it on good authority that you have been acting in a most un-ladylike manner,” he said, “and setting a bad example for Princess Margaret.” His voice was rising both in volume and in pitch. “And I specifically told you that you had to behave like a lady. Now I hear you’ve been putting all sorts of strange ideas into the princess's head.”

  Beverly’s mouth hung open, unsure of how to respond. “Who has made these accusations?” she finally requested.

  “They have been made by the Royal Tutor, a man with great integrity.”

  She looked appalled. The tutor, Renfrew, was the one responsible; her humiliation of the man had come back to haunt her.

  “I have been informed by the queen that your services as bodyguard are no longer required. Congratulations ‘Dame Beverly’, you've just managed to disgrace both your name and the order.”

  “I must protest,” she said at last. “This is completely unfair-”

  “Unfair?” he interrupted. “I’ll tell you what’s unfair. Being stuck with you is unfair. Do what is right, renounce the order, leave this city and return to the pigsty that is Bodden.”

  “I will not leave the order!” she declared obstinately.

  “Then I have little left to offer you.”

  He looked down at papers scattered across his desk.

  “I am hereby reassigning you. I may be forced to tolerate you in Wincaster, but I’ll be damned if I have to have you at the Palace. You are ordered to the barracks of the Wincaster Light Horse. There, you'll assume the temporary command of the company, and stay until further notice.”

  She knew what the posting meant. The light horse was used for picket duties and for running messages, it wasn’t a company in the real sense of the word, merely a collection of runners and messengers. Putting a knight in charge of such a unit was an insult, and could be seen as nothing more, but she had to bear it. She was about to open her mouth when he interrupted her.