by Helen Gosney
“Aye, Uncle Rowan,” a little voice quavered.
**********
Rowan ignored the ladder and simply swarmed up the tree as quickly and easily as a possum. He stopped for a moment to get his bearings. Ah yes, there he was, the silly little ratbag. Mind you, he’d done damned well to get so high, but he didn’t think he should share that thought with anyone else.
“Nearly there, Steffie lad,” he said as he climbed higher, “Did you think you were a forester too? ‘Tis too high for you, laddie. Your poor Ma’s beside herself down there.”
“Aye, Uncle Rowan… but I… I just wanted to see how high I could get and… and then I… I looked down to see, and… and… I don’t like it…” Stefan sniffled.
“’Tis all right, laddie, you’re all right. I won’t let you fall,” Rowan said as he came up beside him, “Now, just let me put this around you before I tell you off.” He quickly roped the little boy and himself to the branch and put an arm around him as he made himself comfortable next to him. “Well, at least you picked a nice big branch to come out on. What would we have done if it’d been a little skinny thing that wouldn’t hold me as well as you, you daft bugger?”
“I… I don’t…” Stefan sniffled again, “I don’t know…”
Rowan looked at the boy carefully. He and his brothers were so like Fess that it always made him smile. Not now though. This was serious.
“Steffie, lad, you know you shouldn’t have come up here, don’t you? Didn’t I hear your Pa say that you three lads are supposed to look after your Ma and your little sister while he’s not here?”
“Aye, Sir,” Stefan replied, shamefaced.
“Well, you can’t bloody look after them from up here, can you? And you’d do an even worse job if you’d fallen out and broken your silly neck. Steffie, your poor Ma is really worried, she thought you were going to fall and kill yourself.”
“So… so did I…” Stefan quavered, clutching Rowan a bit more tightly. He felt a lot better with Rowan sitting there beside him so casually, but it was still very high.
“Well, you were damned lucky you didn’t. Stefan, I was going to tan your backside for you when we get down, and I can’t promise that your Ma won’t, or your Pa either when he hears about this, and he will hear about it because there’s a lot more troopers down there now, but…” Rowan looked at the tearstained, woebegone little face and sighed. He and Glyn had climbed trees bigger than this when they’d been this lad’s age, but they’d been taught properly and they’d never got stuck in one. He could feel Stefan trembling as the boy snuggled against him. “You look like you’ve learned your lesson. But you must promise me that you won’t try this again. I mightn’t be here to come and get you another time and between you and me the troopers are bloody hopeless climbers. You’d have to stay up here. I want you to stick to climbing Johan’s apple tree. Promise?” He solemnly spat in his palm and held it out.
“Aye, Uncle Rowan, I promise,” Stefan spat in his own grubby hand and gravely shook Rowan’s. “’Tis too scary up here… ‘tis too high and… and … it moves too much … I don’t like it…”
Rowan sat on the branch, perfectly happy as the wind gusted through the leaves though Stefan looked around nervously. He’d often come up here during his time at Den Siddon, both as Lieutenant and Captain, and it had been a welcome refuge from the ongoing incomprehensible problems with the Commandant. He should come up here again sometime, he thought, sometime when young Stefan wasn’t around. And when Sword Master Stefan wasn’t around either; he’d be sure to nag about possibly breaking a leg or worse. But now he’d better get the poor lad down.
“Good lad, Steffie. Now, do you want to climb down with me to help you, or would you rather go on my back?”
“On… on your back, please,” Stefan sniffled again.
“Aye, ‘tis probably better that way. ‘Tis a good long climb down and I’m sure you’re feeling a bit worn out by now,” Rowan smiled at him, “Wipe your eyes and blow your nose, laddie. ‘Tis all right. I won’t let you fall. Let me just fix the rope, like this… and like this… Now, hold on tight and don’t wriggle about, my brave lad, here we go… Bugger me! Not that bloody tight, Steffie! I still have to breathe!”
Rowan came down the tree as easily as he’d gone up, in spite of the limpet on his back. The ladder was still in the wrong place so he dropped the last ten feet, landed lightly on his feet and untied the rope so Stefan could totter over to his mother. There really were quite a lot of troopers milling about, he saw. Fess would certainly hear about it long before Bella had a chance to tell him.
“Here he is, Bella love, safe and sound. He promised me he won’t go up there again,” he said quietly.
“Thank you, Rowan. Thank you.” Bella stood and kissed Rowan’s cheek and then hugged her very chastened middle son. “But it won’t save his backside.”
“Now, you lads,” she said to her sons, “Go home and take little Zara with you. I’ll be there in a minute,” she watched them head off towards the Captain’s Cottage. The eldest at eight, Rowan, carefully held his little sister’s hand as she toddled along beside him. Bella wiped her eyes and turned to the men who were still standing around.
“Thank you again, Rowan, and thank you all too, for trying to help. Especially the lad who ran to the circles for me,” she smiled at Anton as he blushed scarlet, “ I’ll have to tie young Stefan up, I think.”
“Don’t do that, Bella,” Rowan grinned at her as the troopers rescued their ladder, replaced the bench and went off about their business, “I truly think he’s learnt his lesson and if not, a sore backside can be a wonderful aid to learning for some.”
**********
16. “Consider yourselves, er… dead.”
Telli joined Fess at the practice ground. There were quite a few troopers there, silently watching a match in progress. They saluted their Commandant quickly and turned their attention back to the bout.
Rowan was sparring with Stefan and Corran and they were all very intent on what they were doing.
Rowan had regained his legendary speed and the others were finding him quite a challenge, but they managed to box him up in a small arc of the circle. He glanced from one man to the other and then with a blindingly fast movement he knocked Corran’s sword from his hand, reversed the stroke, lunged forward and twisted his wrist just… so. There was a sharp clang as Stefan’s sabre landed beside Corran’s. The two men stared at their hands and then at each other, dismay written all over them.
“Sorry, lads. Too close together,” Rowan smiled at them, “Consider yourselves, er… well, I’m truly sorry to say it… dead.”
“Bloody Hells, Rowan. Not again!” Stefan laughed, “We’ll have to try it with three next time.”
Rowan grinned at him.
“It’d be a bit crowded in this damned circle, Stefan. We could try it outside, I suppose.”
“No, you don’t! You run us ragged as it is, we’re not letting you out to run as you like,” Corran chuckled.
Fess had seen Rowan take on four or five men at a time at Messton and still come out victorious. Of course things were a lot different in a battle, people did extraordinary things that they couldn’t and wouldn’t normally do, but still… Fess wouldn’t like to be the third swordsman trying to beat Rowan when he was really trying.
“You’re just not fit enough, Corran, that’s your trouble,” Rowan said with a laugh, “You need to run up and down the tower a bit more, get some strength into those legs of yours. And a bit of wood chopping would help the shoulders too.”
“You cheeky bugger. I’ll give you running up and down the bloody tower. Right now in fact, old man.” Corran laughed again. He was very nearly as fearsomely fit as Rowan and some ten years younger. But even he wasn’t mad enough to challenge a forester to a woodchopping contest.
Rowan nodded, pleased that most of the troopers in the squad had finally stopped calling him ‘Sir’, in fact generally treated him as one of themselves. Of course t
here were some who were still hesitant, despite his best efforts.
“Fine. And then twice around the battlements as well,” he said, “After you, laddie…”
The watching troopers cheered and made way for them as the two men set off, the Wirran in the lead and Rowan happy to lope along behind him.
“Great Gods, Fess! They’re bloody madmen!” Telli exclaimed in amazement.
“Aye, they are. I think Corran will find he’s bitten off a bit more than he can chew though,” Fess chuckled. “Rowan can run all bloody day with the hunters at home.”
“Aye, Rowan will be a couple of feet behind until they’re halfway around the battlements the last time and then he’ll leave poor Corran for dead,” Stefan said, “I truly don’t think anyone can outlast a forester.”
“Certainly not one that can keep up with their hunters,” Telli laughed. “That was a good bout, Stefan, but two of you…?”
The Sword Master smiled.
“It’s the only way we can hope to beat him now. I can’t believe how bloody fast he is…” Stefan shook his head, “When he first came here he said he’d lost a bit of speed and he was so damned fast then that I truly didn’t think it was possible, but…”
“Aye, he’s bloody fast all right, and strong. Always has been. Got wonderful balance too… So, is he going to win the Trophy, do you think?” Fess wanted to know.
“Aye, he is… barring injuries of course.”
“You truly think he can win it for the third time? Nobody’s ever done it,” Telli said, surprised. He could see that Rowan had lost none of his skill, but still…
Stefan shrugged.
“Nobody’d ever won it twice either, Sir.”
“No, true,” Telli nodded his head slowly, “Well, if anyone can do it, it’s Rowan, I suppose. He’s just as amazing with a sabre as he ever was. What about his shoulder though? The right one? He seems to use his left hand more now…”
Stefan nodded.
“Aye, he does. By the look of that scar on the right there was a fair bit of damage done to it…”
“Aye, there was. It was a hell of a mess,” Fess agreed. “It took a long time to heal and a lot of hard work to make it useful again. He says himself it’s not what it might be. So now I suppose he’s like the rest of us, only got one arm to really depend on?”
“Not really, Sir,” Stefan smiled, “He’s still bloody good with the right hand, he can still beat me or Corran, but not always both of us together.”
“Bloody Hells,” said Telli fervently.
**********
Rowan trotted back to the circles, his long easy stride deceptively fast.
“What have you done with Corran?” Stefan said, though he thought he could make a good guess.
Rowan shrugged as he stretched himself a bit and then washed the light sweat from his body.
“Nothing, Stefan, truly. I just ran him along a bit faster than he thought. He’ll be along in a moment,” he raised his head and looked back the way he’d come, “Here he comes now.”
Stefan nodded as Corran arrived.
“Dammit, Rowan. It’s not enough that you wipe the floor with me in the circles, now you’re doing it to me running as well,” Corran said, disgusted with himself.
“I’m sorry, Corran. ‘Twasn’t fair to do that to you,” Rowan smiled at him, “You went up the tower too fast when we were running the battlements as well, that’s where you went wrong.”
“Aye, I did too,” Corran said ruefully, “I thought I’d lost you there and then bugger me, you passed me like I was standing bloody still. Next time, lad… next time…”
“We’ll see,” Rowan laughed at him. Some of the hunters at home could outrun him, but not many; he knew he could outrun Corran and anyone else in the garrison and the further they went, the more he’d outrun them by.
He moved Scrap off his shirt and vest, put them on, and put the kitten on his shoulder as he usually did. He’d put the little creature down when they were away from all the training squad and their big feet and it’d run around and follow him perfectly happily.
“Are you going back now, Telli? I’ll come with you, if that’s all right,” he said.
“Aye, I am. Fess?” Telli smiled as Fess shook his head, “Just you and me and your little shadow, then, lad. He’s growing fast, isn’t he?” He reached up and tickled the kitten’s whiskers.
“Aye, he is. Getting cheekier too,” Rowan grinned as Scrap tried to nibble at Telli’s fingers. “Don’t chew his hand off, little monster,” he said, trying to sound stern. “Sorry, Telli, he’s getting his new teeth, ‘tis like having a child only he’s easier to train.”
“He’s fine, Rowan. He’d need bigger fangs than that to chew through these calluses,” Telli laughed. “Now, more importantly, are you going to win the Trophy again?” Telli looked at Rowan closely.
Rowan smiled at him again.
“It depends on whether you listen to the usual naysayers…” he said, “I’m too bloody old; nobody’s ever done it; I’ve been rattling around in the forests too long; my leg won’t hold up, though it’s been fine for years; my right shoulder’s not what it might be, as if I’ve not got another damned arm to use; the stress of it all will be too much for me… and, of course, nobody’s ever bloody done it!” He laughed for a moment and then became serious again. “Truly, the only thing I wondered about was if my memories of Messton and Trill would stop me. But no, this is all just a game, ‘tisn’t as if anyone’s trying to kill anybody.”
And even if they were, he knew he’d be all right. His fight against Beldar at Plausant Bron had proved that. No, unless an unheralded young swordsman from the Woopsies appeared and took all before him, just as he had himself all those years ago, Rowan thought he had a damned good chance of winning the Trophy again.
“Ask me again when all of the lads are here for the contest. But aye, Telli, I think maybe I am. Especially if the rest of the lads let themselves be beaten by my reputation before they even set foot in the damned circle.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that, Telli. Some of the lads that spar with me, they…” he shook his head, baffled, “Telli, I don’t know if they expected me to have two heads, or what the problem is, but they’re so much in awe of me… ‘tis bloody ridiculous. A few are still so damned worried about my reputation that they’re beaten before they or I even set foot in the cursed circle. Truly, sometimes I hardly have to do a thing. If I said ‘boo’ to a couple of these lads, they’d collapse, I think, and I can’t imagine the ones from other garrisons will be any different.” He frowned. “Maybe I should just withdraw from the Trophy. ‘Tisn’t right like this…”
He meant it too, Telli saw. He wouldn’t want to win the Trophy just because his opponents were all too much in awe of him to do their best. Mind you, his reputation was very bloody impressive.
Even Sword Master Stefan himself had been awestruck when he’d first met Rowan. But he hadn’t been too overcome to try his luck against the Champion; he said it was an honour that he’d never expected to have and he’d made the most of it. The two were becoming good friends as they trained together.
“Great Beldar’s breeks! No, Rowan! Don’t do that!” Telli said quickly. “If these silly lads are overawed then they need to learn not to be, and pretty damned smartly. But how…?”
“I don’t know, Telli, but the job is nearly done before I even set foot in the circle. That’s partly why I want them to just call me by my name, and why I let Scrap come down here with me… so they don’t let their imaginations run away with them. ‘Tis one thing to be beaten by a man, but to let his reputation do the job for him before he’s even set foot in the circle is just plain daft. Reputations mean nothing, as you always told me, and you were right.”
Telli looked at him closely again.
“Rowan, how did you feel when you first met Johan? You were only eighteen and he was the defending Champion…”
Rowan smiled at the memory. He’d be
en surprised when the Champion had wanted to meet him, but certainly not intimidated.
“I felt honoured to meet him, Telli. Truly honoured.”
“And what did you think when you realised he was your next opponent in the Trophy? Were you worried? Nervous? Frightened?” Telli couldn’t remember Rowan having been any of those things at the time, but perhaps he was wrong.
Rowan shook his head slowly as he thought about it.
“No, Telli, truly nothing like that,” he said, “I remember I was excited about it, excited to have the chance to go up against him and see how I’d go, but I wasn’t worried about it. I had nothing to lose.”
“And you weren’t worried that he’d wipe the floor with you? Make you look second-rate?”
“No. If he did, he did. All I could do was my best… And without wanting to sound arrogant about it, my best had been pretty good up to then. I was looking forward to it, but then…” Rowan looked down at the long scar on his forearm for a moment.
“But then what?” Telli asked, surprised, “I don’t remember you getting cold feet at the last minute, lad.” He remembered Rowan had been remarkably calm and collected, particularly for such a young lad. Fess had seemed far more excited and tense than Rowan had, and he’d only been a spectator.
“No, ‘twasn’t that. But when he cut my arm I was worried they’d stop the bout,” Rowan smiled slightly, “It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d beaten me, if I simply hadn’t been good enough. Well, no, I’d have been disappointed of course, after all that bloody hard work, but… truly, I didn’t want to lose just because of a damned cut. My other arm was fine. I just wanted to see what I could do against the Champion.”
Telli smiled as he remembered the bout. He’d never seen another like it in all his years of attending tournaments. The abilities of the Champion Johan Bendtsen and his challenger Rowan had been simply stunning.
“He said you pushed him harder than anyone ever had.” Telli truly believed that Johan would have been the first dual Champion if Rowan hadn’t been in that tournament.