As Sophia ran along the beach, she glanced up at the fortress that was Bamborough Castle, inwardly marveling at how Beon’s presence, his dark brown eyes and easy smile, brightened the dark corners of the gloomy castle she’d lived in all her life.
If only Beon could banish the scowl from Father’s brow as well, she mused, returning her focus to the beach in front of her. Was it really so taxing to be the Baron of Bamborough? Were Father’s duties truly so grim?
Another laugh from Beon let Sophia know how close he was, she squealed and ran harder. If she continued letting moments of distraction slow her down, she would lose the race yet again. Truth be told, she didn’t mind losing to Beon.
Today was that rare occasion when Beon, a young page under her father’s charge, was able to join her for some sport after completing all of his duties to Sir Lyndon, her father’s man-at-arms.
As fast as he was, Beon always won in games of chase. In fact, he won every game they played, but Sophia found she didn’t mind at all. There was very little distraction in Bamborough Castle. There was very little warmth within the cold and dim dwelling.
How could such dark eyes be so warm? The light in Beon’s brown eyes, flecked with shards of amber, somehow made its way inside the stone walls where even sunshine had no hope of entering. But Beon had, bringing something to the cold chambers that even a fire in the hearth hadn’t been able to bring. Sophia had yet to sort what that ‘something’ was exactly, but even his name was comforting as it rolled off her tongue...it had a musical quality, and Sophia loved to sing. Beon was constantly having to correct people with the pronunciation, which Sophia found amusing. “No, no, it’s bee-own,” he would say, “with the stress on the second syllable.”
Beon was older than Sophia, three years or so, and had been living with her family ever since he came to be fostered under her father’s house. Even though it was customary for a boy to leave his home at the age of seven to serve as a page under a knight, Beon had gotten a late start, which made him slightly older than other boys had been. He’d explained that being an only child with his father away at the wars against France, his mother had held him back.
Sophia had met his mother and knew how much she worshiped the lad, showering him with praise and attention. He was quite arrogant as a result. He would tell Sophia himself with his chin jutting to the heavens that there was ‘nothing he could not do, and not do well.’ What was so infuriating to the other pages and squires who lived in the castle was that his claim proved to be true.
Beon was still considered a boy at ten years old. Sophia knew he would not begin to ignore her until he became a squire at fourteen, so until that time, she would savor the much needed amusement he brought to the castle.
Sensing that Beon had lost interest in his pursuit, Sophia slowed and watched as he veered off toward her younger brother, who was quite a bit faster. They careened toward the foamy waves until the nursemaid shouted them back.
“How many times have I told you to stay away from the water!” she said.
Catching her breath, Sophia plopped down on one of the grassy knags that bordered the beach and gazed at the Farne Islands just off the coast. Even from here, she could see it abuzz with several flocks of birds. Sometimes she could even spot a seal or two. But the birds were her favorite. She could watch them for hours. A gull swooped into view and landed several feet away from her.
“Hello again, Oliver,” Sophia said.
The gull squawked in reply.
“I don’t have many crumbs for you today,” she said, as several more birds landed close by. Sophia pulled a folded piece of burlap from her skirts and opened it to reveal a few small chunks of bread. She began to pick at the bread and toss crumbs to the eager creatures.
Suddenly Beon came thundering over a dune and her winged companions scattered. Emitting a laugh, Sophia also leaped up and took flight, thrilled the chase was back on. Panting for breath, she gathered up the hem of her skirt and scurried across the sand. Beon grabbed her waist and wheeled her up and around in a circle, spinning her like a top. She giggled uncontrollably.
“Master Beon,” Nurse shouted, “Put her down this instant! Remember your manners, young man. That is no way to treat a lady, and you’ll do well to behave yourself. The Baron would give you a lashing if he saw you handle his daughter that way!”
“Yes, mum,” Beon said with a bow after setting her back on her feet.
“That’s enough frolicking for one day. You run along back to Sir Lyndon now, like a good lad.”
“Yes, mum,” Beon answered. He smiled at Sophia just before he lit off toward the castle.
Not only was Sir Lyndon her father’s man-at-arms, but he was also Father’s most trusted knight. Stories of how he’d fought alongside her father in the Scottish Wars for years before she was even born had been told so many times she would never forget them. Even now, her father would rally his troops and ride off with Sir Lyndon to defend the border against the Scots or run to the aid of some other noble house that had come under attack. Once or twice they had even fought against other fiefs, either because they had dishonored her father or because they owed him a debt. Father was always up for a fight, it seemed.
Sir Everard, Beon’s father, had sent him to foster at Bamborough Castle specifically because he would be a page to Sir Lyndon, as had been put down in the contract with Sophia’s father, Lord Gall. Tales of how Sir Lyndon and Sir Everard had come up through the ranks together and how Sir Everard had gained much favor with King Edward III, earning himself a title and lands as a vassal to his majesty, were fresh in Sophia’s mind as she made her way back toward the castle. Their day of running along the shore had come to an end.
Sophia didn’t understand it completely, but Father seemed dissatisfied that the king had sent Sir Everard to the north as a trusted colleague. Pausing to peer out over the water, Sophia caught her hair as it danced in the wind as she wondered why they’d said tensions were still very high and loyalty somewhat questionable. With the sea as calm as it was at the moment, she couldn’t fathom why Northumberland would be ‘in constant turmoil with Scotland, France, and Italy.’ If the people were truly a mix of nationalities and lineage, where could the conflict be coming from?
Sophia’s father was, indeed, a fearsome man. She, herself, was afraid of him, although she knew better than to admit it. On the rare occasion that she saw him, usually at the table, he hardly spoke a word to her, and never, ever looked at her. She would swear that if he saw her in the great hall amongst a group of people, he would not recognize her. Sophia simply kept quiet, and kept her distance, as she’d been taught.
However, her father lavished attention on her younger brother. Even at her young age, Sophia understood that this was simply the way of things. She knew in her heart that her father’s preferential treatment didn’t feel fair, but conversely, nothing seemed amiss because it was completely and utterly normal. Most men didn’t notice women, unless after they had been drinking ale in the great hall all night. Under those circumstances, Sophia had noticed that men became very attentive toward certain women. It was all very confusing. She much preferred the silence of the castle when the men were away tending to that ‘turmoil’ they kept going on about or hunting, which was most of the time. On those days, her mother would let her wander off daydreaming, or play hideaway in the castle with her brother. Sometimes even Beon would join the game...and win, of course. She could look for hours and never find him. Then she’d return to the spot in which they began the game only to come upon him casually eating an apple with his feet propped up on the table.
“What took you so long? I got hungry,” he’d say as he chewed.
However, mirth and mischief would immediately drop from his face if Father happened to enter the chamber. He would shoot a glare in Beon’s direction, his lips pursed with disapproval noting the boy’s relaxed pose. Sophia was not sure if Beon truly feared Father as much she did, but he would immediately spring to his feet and bow, showing th
e respect she knew her father expected to see. Then Beon would apologize and offer to leave or be of service. Father would either command him to do something ridiculous or completely ignore him altogether.
An air of tension seemed to follow her father around their dwelling much like gray storm clouds, threatening a torrent of wind, rain, and lightning in its wake. Sophia saw no other way to explain it but as a result of her father’s thirst for battle. When he became too restless, he would plan a hunting party, a jousting tournament, or invade a neighboring fiefdom. When he wasn’t doing any of those things, he would rage against the servants, or get into heated debates with his knights about politics, or whip a serf who was being lazy. His energy for confrontation and threshold for violence seemed boundless. When he was like this, which was basically whenever he wasn’t eating, sleeping, or talking about battle, Sophia made herself scarce.
His coarse black hair and a full beard looked prickly to touch. His giant hands were always dry and cracked with blisters and cuts. However, she could never recall a time when her father had touched her. Sophia never saw him smile and she’d never heard him laugh. She certainly never witnessed him give a kind word or gesture of affection toward her mother.
“Come along, Sophia dear, do not dally!”
With images of Father stomping through her mind, Sophia had jumped at Nurse’s words. “Yes, mum!” she answered as she gathered fistfuls of her skirts, turned away from the sea, and continued up the hill toward the castle.
As the garden entrance neared, Sophia let her thoughts drift toward Mother. In Sophia’s mind, the name Maerwynn suited the undeniable beauty of her mother. Mother’s small and fragile frame conjured up fear for her safety, however, especially when she stood beside Father with his fists clenched as they often were.
Of Scottish descent, Mother had dark orange tresses and blue eyes. Sophia would often study her parents, comparing herself as she noted which features she’d inherited. Sophia’s auburn hair was a mix of her father and mother’s shades. But she most definitely shared her mother’s eyes of blue.
So delicately striking was Maerwynn—both in her size and features—Sophia thought of her as a fairy. Mild mannered and generally content, the servants respected how she ran the house with a gentle hand, letting them go about their business without much meddling. Sophia believed they took pity on her mother, or at the very least felt a sense of protectiveness for her. Mother invoked that feeling in people due to her size and demeanor. Sophia, even at the age of seven, was nearing her mother’s height. Sophia worried she might take after her father in regards to stature, but when she compared herself to other girls her age, she found she wasn’t much taller or shorter than any of them. Father was the size of a doorway and quite sturdy of constitution. Her brother, Marcel, was of the same build, she could already tell.
Sophia suspected this size difference was the reason her mother had lost three babies, two after they’d been over a year old. It pained her to think it, but Sophia could tell her unfortunate younger brother and sister had taken after Mother and were too weak to live any longer.
To add to Sophia’s worries, Mother was with child yet again and was due within the next fortnight. Sophia prayed in the chapel every day for her mother and the unborn babe. The stillness of the chapel welcomed her, making it one of the places she enjoyed being the most. She also enjoyed taking the secret passage from the panel behind the armoire in her mother’s chambers, down the spiral staircase to a long narrow hall, and out a panel in a small vestry behind the confessional.
The secret passageways wove within the walls all over the castle. Sophia, her brother, and Beon had discovered them by accident and then explored much of them like caves by candlelight. The tunnels were a fairly new discovery, so they hadn’t yet explored them all. And with Bamborough Castle being so very large, it would take quite some time to map it all out. Creating maps had been Beon’s idea, but Sophia didn’t care much about that. To her, finding places in the castle where she couldn’t hear Father’s ranting was all that mattered.
Dropping to her knees upon the cushion in the chapel, Sophia clasped her hands in front of her, and bowed her head, saying the same prayer she said each day. “Our Father in Heaven, I come to ask that you let my little brother…or sister…live.”
After thanking God for Mother, Marcel, Beon, seashells, and seagulls, she rose up and strolled about the chapel singing, finding the spots in the room that created the largest echo. She did this every day as well because she loved singing, especially in this sacred room that sang back to her. If she stood in just the right spot, the sound would surround her with a warm, humming vibration. If she closed her eyes, the sensation made her feel as though she were floating high above the castle in the night sky.
More than once, Nurse had said she was a silly girl upon finding her singing alone like this, but Sophia thought it was better to be silly than to be grumpy like father, so she would simply giggle in response and sing louder.
When Sophia tired of singing, she meandered her way back up to Mother’s quarters and found her knitting beside the fireplace. Mother limned in yellow by the light of the flames was a welcoming sight. Smiling, Sophia nuzzled up beside her, suddenly feeling small and very much like the child she was. Mother set down her sewing and stroked Sophia’s hair, humming a soft melody. Her mother also stroked the rounded part of her belly where Sophia’s new brother or sister was growing.
“Sing to the babe, my sweet poppet,” her mother cooed.
Grinning even wider, Sophia took a breath and sang while Mother continued to run fingers through her hair. After singing several lullabies her Mother had taught her, Sophia said, “Please, tell me another story from when you were a little girl, Mama.”
“All right, dear…hmm, let’s see…well, as you know your grandpapa was vassal to the King of Scotland and he was lord of the manor over much land in Jedburgh, just over the Scottish border from here—”
When Mother stopped abruptly and sat forward, staring at the fire as her blue eyes widened, Sophia found herself clutching tighter to Mother’s skirts.
Sounding weaker than before, Mother said, “Better run and tell Nurse to fetch the midwife, poppet…my water just broke.” She smiled at Sophia and caressed her cheek, attempting to ease the fear written upon Sophia’s face. “Run along, darling… I’ll be fine until they get here.”
Chapter 2
A Prideful Page
Beon galloped toward the quintain with his lance couched tightly under his armpit, Sir Lyndon’s instruction fresh in his mind. “This is a quintain, and it is used for knighthood training, specifically jousting,” the man had said and then he’d pointed, “This circular target is affixed to a wooden arm that swivels atop a post when you strike it. Understand?”
Beon nodded as Sir Lyndon continued, “On the opposite end of the wooden arm is tied a sack filled with sand. Once the target is struck with the force of the lance, it will cause the sack to spin around and strike you, the would-be knight, in the back.” Sir Lyndon had then winked and added, “Unless you are quick enough to duck or deflect it.”
“I’ll be quick enough,” Beon had promptly replied with confidence.
Sir Lyndon blinked and Beon thought he detected a bit of mirth in the man’s dark gaze.
The pony Beon sat astride was sweating and fatigued after having made this run with several other pages before him. But it was his turn now, and he was determined to hit the target and successfully dodge the swinging sack that had knocked every other boy off the horse in succession. He knew he would get the opportunity to make this run countless times during his training, but a first impression was always paramount, especially since he was a little older than most of the other pages and thought of himself as a cut above the rest. He would show them all he was more fit to be a knight than any of them. It was true that Beon had been told a number of times that his pride was inflated and needed to be adjusted, however, he preferred to think of it as positive thinking. How could that
be a bad thing?
Mainly he wanted to impress Sir Lyndon. He had grown to think of the Knight as a second father. He was kind and light-hearted, but a firm teacher who expected the very best effort from his charges. He was the largest man Beon had ever seen. Sir Lyndon was even bigger than Lord Gall, although he was much more genteel than the Baron. He had a kind face, like a gentle giant, that could change in an instant to the face of a hardened warrior. Beon liked him immensely and respected him above all, save his own father, of course.
Knighthood training began in earnest as a page for those of noble birth or those who could afford it, and most boys started at the age of seven. Beon had been eager to begin his training too, but his duty to his family came first, and Mother had needed him. Having been ill since losing her last child, Beon had been called upon by Father to take care of her until she was able to run the household duties once again. It ended up being a full two and a half years before Mother felt strong enough to give her blessing.
He loved his mother dearly, but by the time his tenth birthday approached, Beon was anxious to get started. During those years at home when he should have been fostering, Beon absorbed as much training as he could from the man-at-arms and other knights Father had left behind to guard Brentworth. They’d fondly ruffled his hair, commenting on how impressed with his natural ability they were, praising him for his hard work and tenacity. By the time he’d arrived at Bamborough Castle and stood in front of Lord Gall, he was positively brimming with zeal. However, Lord Gall barely looked up from the maps he was studying. The Baron’s lack of interest had been difficult for Beon to adjust to at first.
“So, you’re Everard’s boy,” Lord Gall had said, glancing over at Beon.
“Yes sir, Beon Everard at your service, sir. I won’t disappoint you. I have been—”
“Too late for that. I was expecting you three years earlier.” The knights standing around Lord Gall had laughed at his remark.
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