“Women smiths are few amongst the Petty Kingdoms. From whence did she hail?”
“She’s a Calabrian.”
“Ah, well, that explains a lot.”
“What does that mean?”
“Merely that they have different traditions. Will you see her again, do you think?”
“No,” said Ludwig, “my father saw to that.” He suddenly looked at the Holy Brother with fear in his eyes. “You won’t repeat any of this to anyone, will you? I don’t want word getting back to him.”
“Of course not,” said Brother Vernan. “You have my word on it. Speak freely, Sir Knight, and lessen the burden on your soul.” He lifted the breastplate, placing the shoulder straps to either side of Ludwig’s head, then began buckling it to the backplate.
“I presume your father had some influence,” the man continued.
“He’s a baron,” confessed Ludwig, “and I, his only son.”
“I imagine he feels your loss keenly.”
“Which is why no word of this should reach other ears. I’m sure he’d send people after me if he knew I was here.”
“I gather you are still in love with this woman you mentioned.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“No, but then again, I have a keen insight into such matters. You’d be surprised how devastating lost love can be. What makes you think you’ll never see her again?”
“One of the conditions of her joining the Church was she be sent far from home. She’s probably hundreds of miles away by now.”
“Perhaps fate may one day bring her back to you.”
“I must say you surprise me,” said Ludwig. “I thought Holy Men such as yourself believed such relationships to be beneath them.”
“We take an oath of celibacy,” said Brother Vernan, “but that does not mean we insist others do the same.”
“And the Temple of Saint Agnes?”
The Holy Man chuckled. “Unlike the other orders of Temple Knights, the sisters of the order are free to leave at any time.” He reached down, picking up some leg armour. “The greaves next, I should think.”
Ludwig waited as the armour was strapped on, his mind racing with the implications. “You say they can leave?”
“Yes, though it's not a common occurrence. When are you competing?”
“My match is the second of the day.”
“Then we’d best hurry. Let’s get the rest of this armour on, shall we? We still have to prepare your horse.”
Ludwig took a moment to place his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Thank you, Brother Vernan.”
“For what?”
“For offering me solace in my time of need. I’m afraid I have been a bit ungracious of late.”
Brother Vernan smiled. “I do the Saint's work. It is he to whom you must give thanks.”
* * *
A little while later, Ludwig sat atop his horse, his plate armour dull in the overcast sun. He glanced down to where several wooden lances lay.
“How am I to carry all of those?”
“Fear not,” said Brother Vernan. “I should be honoured to act as your squire this day.”
“Are you sure?” said Ludwig. “Isn’t that breaking an oath or something?”
“Not at all. I am forbidden to compete in the tournament, but nothing says I cannot assist a competitor. Now come, I shall gather up your spare lances, and we'll proceed to the field of honour.”
They began making their way through the lines of pavilions to the tournament field.
“Is this your first competition?” asked Brother Vernan.
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
“It was merely an observation. I sense you are unfamiliar with such things.”
“Verfeld was far too small to host such an event, and my father refused to let me travel. I have, however, read extensively on the subject.”
“You read?” said Brother Vernan.
“Yes, why? Does that surprise you?”
“I suppose it shouldn’t, but I know of many knights who eschew the written word, refusing to learn even the basics of literacy.”
“But don't they wish to advance amongst the ranks of nobility?” asked Ludwig.
“Not all do. Many knights are perfectly comfortable with their role in society.”
“But didn’t all the knights register for this event?”
“They did,” replied the Holy Brother, “but unless I miss my guess, it was the registrar who filled in their names.”
Ludwig looked around. From his position atop his horse, he had a clear view of the neat rows of tents. At least a dozen knights were in easy sight, each preparing for the coming tournament in their own way. “So you’re saying that most of these men are illiterate?”
“I’m afraid so," said Brother Vernan, "though, I would, of course, refuse to name names.”
“You mentioned you had two brothers who were knights. Are they here today?”
“No, although both are in service to the Duke of Erlingen. The eldest dislikes these spectacles, whilst I fear my other brother prefers pursuits of a different kind.”
“Women?” suggested Ludwig.
“Precisely. A vice, I am told, is fairly common amongst the lesser nobility.”
“Lesser?”
“Yes, knights, barons, and baronets. It is not a term often used in speech, but in written form, it's pretty common.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“There are certain social differences. The higher ranks of nobility typically have marriages that have been arranged many years before a child matures. The lesser ranks, on the other hand, struggle to find suitable matches. Knights, of course, aren’t hereditary, nor are baronets.”
“Barons are, though,” said Ludwig.
“That’s true, yet on average, few rise to higher positions within society. Here in Erlingen, for example, they often spend more time at each other's throats than seeking advancement.”
“Why?”
“A baron is trapped between his obligations to those above him and the management of those beneath.”
“Surely that’s true of all nobles.”
“To a certain extent, yes,” said Brother Vernan, “but those of higher status often have more people to rely on for the day-to-day operations. How was it for your father?”
Ludwig grunted. “Much as you’ve described, if I’m being honest. That’s one of the reasons I left home.”
“I thought it was because of a woman?”
“Looking back, she was the issue that pushed me over the edge. In any event, it’s all over now.”
“Yes,” agreed the Holy Brother. “And it appears we are now at the lists. Are you ready to gain fame and glory?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
3
The Joust
Spring 1095 SR
* * *
Ludwig shifted in the saddle, trying to steel his nerves. His horse, apparently as nervous as he, shuffled its hooves and let out a snort. Before him, Sir Hendrick had managed to knock the unfortunate Sir Nathan from his horse, and now the unlucky knight was on the ground unconscious.
The spectators, mostly composed of the wealthy, gaped at the scene, eager for news. Ludwig had to wonder if he might end up in such a way, but quickly dismissed the thought. While it was true he was inexperienced in jousting, he had spent years training for combat. Of course, he also considered himself a fine horseman, but despite that, today his mount was proving difficult to control.
The flock of people around the prone knight grew thicker, and then a couple of them emerged, bearing the fallen warrior away on a litter. The crowd found this highly amusing and applauded their efforts despite the lack of movement on Sir Nathan’s part.
Sir Hendrick, the other combatant, rode towards Ludwig with his visor up, his face revealing his anguish. “'Twas a bad hit,” he confessed. “I’m afraid my lance was ill-placed, and it struck him low. I fear the wound is mortal.”
“Have they no Life M
ages here?” asked Ludwig.
Sir Hendrick looked at Brother Vernan with a nod. “The brother would know better than I.” The knight rode off in sorrow.
Ludwig looked at his temporary squire for an explanation.
“I myself am a healer,” the man began, “but only in the conventional sense. The art of Life Magic is a rare gift, and those who have it are in high demand amongst the courts of the Continent.”
Ludwig watched the litter carry the wounded man past him. “And Sir Nathan?”
“I’m afraid his fate rests with the Saints now.”
Ludwig was stricken by an image of himself, lying on the ground, dying from blood loss and a broken back. He wanted to cry out about the unfairness of life, but part of him admitted it was his own fault. He had ignored Kurt’s warnings, blustering his way through all his objections. Now he was going to die.
He scanned the crowd, desperate to find an official to end this madness, but it was too late. A horn sounded, and his opponent, Sir Galrath, trotted onto the field.
Ludwig swallowed, then urged his mount forward, taking up a position at the opposite end of the field, Brother Vernan at his side. His opponent halted, dipping his head in acknowledgement to the official, then held out his hand. A squire brought forth his helmet, and the great knight donned it, leaving the visor open.
Ludwig felt his own doom circling above him, yet something inside him made him go through the motions. He took his helmet, placing it on his head, then held out his hands as Galrath was doing. Brother Vernan handed him a lance.
“Any advice?” Ludwig asked.
“Aim high,” replied the lay brother. “The tip has a tendency to dip as you strike.
Ludwig flipped his visor down, then held on for dear life. He now had a lance in his right hand, and a shield and reins in the other, a most awkward situation and one for which he was ill-prepared. Again he cursed himself for his own stupidity.
An official stepped forward with a small flag raised above his head, holding it still for just a moment, then dramatically sweeping it down.
Sir Galrath burst into a gallop, surprising Ludwig with the suddenness of his response. Digging in deep with his spurs, Ludwig forced his own horse to rush forward, the ground thundering with the sound of hooves. As Galrath drew closer, Ludwig noticed his foe's lance was aimed straight at him. Cursing, Ludwig realized he had forgotten to lower his own weapon and quickly let it drop into place. The action felt unbalanced, and he struggled to keep his shield steady while at the same time controlling his horse. Then came the moment of impact.
Ludwig’s lance glanced off Sir Galrath’s arm, but the older knight's weapon struck true, hitting the dead centre of Ludwig's chest. After the impact of the initial punch, the next thing he knew, he was flying through the air, and then his back struck the mud, the wind knocked from him. There he lay for a few moments, struggling for breath. His visor was opened, and he saw Brother Vernan staring down at him, mouthing words.
Ludwig waited for the ringing in his ears to cease for Brother Vernan’s words to make sense. “Are you all right?” the lay brother was asking.
“I’m fine. I only had the wind knocked out of me.” He held out his arm, and Brother Vernan took it, helping him to his feet. “My horse?”
“Someone is fetching it," said the Holy Brother. "Come, let’s get that helmet off your head.”
Ludwig fumbled with the straps, then removed the helm, shaking his head to clear it. The spectators, appreciative of his efforts, clapped, although he detected little enthusiasm. The official with the flag approached.
“Are you able to continue?” he asked.
“I am,” said Ludwig.
The man turned back to the crowd. “Three points to Sir Galrath,” he announced.
Ludwig made his way to the end of the field where someone stood by with his horse. He was about to climb into the saddle when Brother Vernan grabbed his arm.
“Are you sure about this?”
“I’m fine,” Ludwig insisted.
The Holy Brother peered into his eyes. “You don’t look it.” He raised his hand, pointing to the sky. “Keep your eyes on my finger, but don’t move your head.” He moved his hand from left to right, then back again. “You’re fine,” he announced. “Merely shaken up a bit.”
Ludwig returned to the saddle, feeling an ache in his back. At the other end, his opponent had removed his helmet and was taking a sip from a chalice. His task complete, he returned the cup, then replaced his helm and pulled down the visor.
“I shall pray for you,” offered Brother Vernan.
Ludwig lowered his own visor, then took a new lance offered by the lay brother. The flag was raised once more, and Ludwig held his breath, gripping the lance tightly. As the flag came down, he dug in his spurs, and his horse responded, charging forward. It quickly built up momentum, closing the distance rapidly, but this time he was prepared. Down came his lance, hovering at chest level, his eyes locked on his target.
He felt his lance strike Sir Galrath's shield, then deflect off to the side. The force of the impact tore the lance from Ludwig’s grip, and he cursed aloud at his misfortune. Sir Galrath’s lance, meanwhile, struck him in the shield, driving Ludwig back in the saddle. This time, however, he managed to keep his seat, but his foe’s weapon splintered, sending shards of wood flying off into the air.
His horse slowed, and Ludwig turned, pleased with the results. That pleasure soon turned to despair as the herald announced Sir Galrath the winner.
Ludwig trotted back to Brother Vernan. “I don’t understand.”
"It’s pretty simple, really,” explained the lay brother. “You were unseated during the initial pass, granting Sir Galrath three points, while you received none.”
“But I struck him this time.”
“True, and that netted you a point, but his lance shattered, and that’s worth two, winning him the match.”
“These rules aren't fair.”
“That said, you agreed to them when you entered, did you not?”
Ludwig was crestfallen. “I did.”
“Then you must learn to be gracious in defeat.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the loser here.”
“Come now,” said Brother Vernan. “Sir Galrath approaches.”
Ludwig tore off his helmet and watched as his opponent drew closer.
“You did well,” said the knight. “Far better than I expected, to be honest.”
“I suppose you want the ransom now,” said Ludwig, his voice betraying his disappointment.
“We can discuss that later. You should have someone look you over. You took quite a tumble earlier.”
“I’m fine,” said Ludwig. “It’ll take more than a fall from the saddle to put me out of action.”
“I shall seek you out this evening, and we can discuss the matter of your ransom.”
“I look forward to it,” said Ludwig, though he despised the very thought. “Good day, Sir Knight.”
“And to you,” said Sir Galrath, trotting off to leave Ludwig and the Holy Brother alone.
“It is time to part,” said Brother Vernan, “for I must return to my duties, and you must prepare your ransom.”
“I’m afraid I lack the funds to pay.”
“Then you shall have to forfeit your goods. It is a matter of honour.”
“How then am I to feed myself?”
“It is a question, to be sure. Perhaps you should seek employment with one of the free companies?”
“What’s a free company?”
“A band of mercenaries,” replied Brother Vernan. “They’re fairly common in these parts. I expect if you walk around, you’ll find two or three represented here at the tournament.”
“Do they joust?”
“Saints, no, they’re commoners. The only thing they can enter is the grand melee or the archery competition. Have you ever taken up the bow?”
“I can use one,” admitted Ludwig, “but I wouldn’t stand
a chance against a professional.”
“A pity. It might have provided you with some extra coins.”
“What of this grand melee?”
“You’d need armour for that, and you just lost yours, remember?”
Ludwig felt utterly drained of energy. He had been a fool, and now he was paying the price. Having lost his very first tournament, who'd hire him now?
“Thank you for your assistance, Brother Vernan. It was greatly appreciated.”
“You’re quite welcome.” He paused a moment, possibly seeing the indecision on Ludwig’s face. “What will you do now?”
“I shall take my lumps, as befitting the foolish choices I've made.”
“In that case, I wish you well. Know that Saint Mathew watches over you, Sir Ludwig. Keep the faith, and he will provide.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
Brother Vernan smiled. “It is not me who you must believe in, but rather yourself. I sense a great future for you, my friend, but only if you can overcome your own fears.”
“I shall take your words under advisement.”
“See that you do. Now, I must be off. Come and see me later, if you wish to talk.”
“Where would I find you?”
“The mission,” replied the lay brother. “Ask anyone hereabouts, and they can give you directions.” He left, leaving Ludwig alone with his thoughts.
“Move along,” said an official. “The next contestants are coming in.”
“Sorry,” mumbled Ludwig. He urged his horse into a canter, leaving the field to seek out his tent.
Most of the other contestants were watching the competition, leaving him to wander the camp alone. His thoughts drifted back to the woman who had stolen his heart, and he wondered how she fared. Did it take long to become a Temple Knight? Perhaps he should consider it himself?
Ludwig's thoughts were interrupted by a warrior standing in the middle of the road as he adjusted his belt, leaving scant room for Ludwig to pass.
“Out of the way,” he ordered.
The man looked up, revealing the face of a youth. “In a moment.”
Ludwig shook his head, for the voice was obviously that of a female.
Warrior Knight Page 3