Warrior Knight

by Paul J Bennett

  “For Saint’s sake,” the woman cursed. Clearly she was having trouble with her buckle, but Ludwig had little concern for such things.

  “Can’t you do that elsewhere?” he demanded, a sharp tone to his words.

  “Hold on to your horse,” came the reply.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “No, nor do I care. You don’t own this road”—she looked around—“not that it’s much of a road.”

  “I have the right of way.”

  “What makes you figure that?”

  “I am a knight,” he announced. “Sir Ludwig of…” He struggled to remember his false identity.

  She finished fiddling with her belt and looked up at him, hands on hips. “Having trouble with your memory, are you?”

  “That’s none of your concern,” he snapped. “The fact of the matter is I’m clearly a knight, and you should show proper respect.”

  “Respect has to be earned.”

  “Just get out of the way, woman.”

  “Woman, is it now? Didn’t anyone ever teach you manners?”

  “Who do you think you are, lecturing me?”

  “Me? My name's Cyn.”

  “Cyn? What kind of a name is that?”

  “It’s short for Cynthia. I’m a mercenary.”

  Ludwig was overcome with amusement. “You? A mercenary? Don’t make me laugh."

  She stepped closer, moving to the side of Ludwig’s horse. “You think that’s funny?”

  He stared down at her. “You don’t look much like a warrior to me.”

  “And how many warriors do you know?”

  Ludwig waved his hand, indicating the nearby tents. “Look around. This place is filled with them.”

  Cyn took a quick glance. “Those are nothing but the spoiled sons of nobles. They wouldn’t know a battle from a privy.”

  Ludwig turned in the saddle, bending lower to make sure she heard him properly. “You should watch your tongue. It could get you into trouble.”

  “Trouble, is it?” She reached out with lightning quickness, grasping his forearm and pulling him from the saddle. He landed in the mud with a splash.

  “It’s not me who should be minding my manners,” she added.

  He stared up at her, unable to come to terms with his present circumstance. “How did you do that?”

  “Merely something I picked up in Braymoor.”

  “Never heard of the place.”

  “It’s one of the northern kingdoms. Now, have you something to say to me?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “There, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” She extended her hand. “Here, let me help you up.”

  He took the offer, getting to his feet.

  “You’re obviously new here.”

  “I am,” he confessed.

  “I’m guessing you lost your first fight.”

  “How did you know that? Were you watching?”

  “No, but the mud on your armour speaks volumes.”

  He felt his face burn with shame.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “It’ll get better. Few knights win their first competition.”

  “It’s not only that,” said Ludwig. “I lost my armour.”

  “Not necessarily,” she said, “just pay your ransom. It’s bound to be cheaper in the long run.”

  “I lack the funds.”

  “Well, don’t look at me. I scarcely have enough for drinks at the Hammer.”

  “The Hammer?”

  “It’s a big tent over yonder, a makeshift tavern of sorts, where a lot of the competitors go to drink.” She paused for a moment, looking him over. “Well, maybe not your lot, but it's good enough for us common folk. Then again, if you’ve lost everything in a joust, perhaps you are one of us now. I tell you what, if I see you over at the Hammer, I’ll buy you a drink. How's that sound?”

  “I’m already spoken for,” said Ludwig.

  “I wasn’t offering anything other than a drink. Shame on you.”

  “Sorry, this is all so overwhelming.”

  “I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got to meet Siggy.”

  “Siggy?”

  “Yes, a good friend of mine.”

  “And is she a mercenary as well?”

  Cyn laughed. “Yes, as a matter of fact, HE is.”

  “Siggy's a man?”

  “Yes, his real name is Sigwulf, and only I get to call him Siggy, but I’ve already said too much. I’m late now, thanks to you.”

  Ludwig managed a nod of his head. “Then good day to you, Mistress Cynthia."

  She managed a clumsy curtsy that looked ludicrous in her armour. “And a good day to you, Sir Knight.”

  Ludwig climbed back into the saddle and sat still, thinking things over. He would soon find himself bereft of his trappings, and with few coins to his name, what was he to do? His spurs kicked back, urging his mount forward while he pondered his situation. He hated admitting it, but Kurt had been right all along.

  His tent soon came into view, but it was not what he had expected, for the poles that held the top in place had failed, leaving little more than ripped canvas and broken wood.

  Ludwig dismounted and tied off his horse, then meandered over to examine the ruins, but there was little that could be salvaged from the remains.

  He cleared away some debris, exposing the pallet that served as his bed. Miraculously it was dry, and he gave a silent prayer of thanks to the Saints. Taking a seat, he began pulling off his gauntlets, tossing them to the ground, no longer concerned for their upkeep. If Sir Galrath were to take his armour, then to the Afterlife with them.

  Ludwig sat for some time. Off in the distance, he heard the roars of the crowd, but each cheer reminded him of his own disgrace. Slowly, he unbuckled his vambraces, then began the laborious task of removing the rest of his armour. It was a difficult task without an assistant, and he briefly thought of seeking out Brother Vernan, but the Holy Man had been quite insistent he was needed elsewhere.

  So slow was his progress that it was mid-morning by the time he was done. He stared at his sword, fondly remembering the day he had received it. It had been a gift from his father, but it was the dark-haired woman who had delivered it that had caught his attention.

  “Charlaine,” he muttered, feeling the word caress his mouth. He had known a few women in his time, but she was the only one who had somehow captured his heart. His relationship with her had led to his current circumstance, yet, try as he might, he couldn’t fault her. He knew, deep inside, he would carry her memory with him for the rest of his life. The thought gave him a sense of satisfaction. He stood, taking in the discarded armour.

  “This won’t do,” he said. “What would Charlaine think?” He began picking it up.

  4

  Ransom

  Spring 1095 SR

  * * *

  Sir Galrath arrived late in the afternoon, walking right up to what was left of the tent and looking around at the mess.

  “It appears your pavilion has seen better days,” he remarked.

  “So it has,” replied Ludwig. “But you have not come to comment on my tent, but to collect my ransom.”

  Sir Galrath rubbed his hands together. “I have indeed.”

  “Then you may take it, Sir Knight.”

  “Gladly will I relieve you of your purse, Sir Ludwig, but I see no sign of it.”

  Ludwig pointed at the armour, laying neatly on the nearby pallet. “It's there.”

  Sir Galrath frowned. “I was hoping for coins.”

  “I am afraid I lack the funds to comply with your request.”

  “Come now, surely you have a little? What if I were to reduce the ransom to, say, five hundred crowns?”

  “Five hundred or five, it makes little difference, for I have neither.”

  The knight's face fell. “Are you saying you’re penniless?”

  “I have enough for one more meal, two if I’m lucky.”

  “Had I known, I would have refused to
countenance the match.”

  “It's my own fault, Sir Galrath. I let my pride get the better of me. Take my belongings. It’s only right.”

  “Your horse I’ll take, for I can always use a spare, but what am I to do with your armour? It definitely wouldn’t fit me.”

  “Then sell it and receive the coins you covet.”

  The older knight wandered over to stare down at the neatly laid out armour. He picked up a piece, examining its workmanship. “This is fine work.”

  “Yes, made by my father's smith, though I daresay his weapons were not as ornate.”

  Sir Galrath lay down the piece, selecting Ludwig’s sword in its place. He pulled it from the scabbard and held it before him, examining the blade. “You say his weapons were not decorative, yet this blade says otherwise.”

  “That weapon was made by another, a smith from the town of Malburg.”

  “I’ve never heard of the place, but this sword is the work of a master. How did you come by it?”

  “It was a present from my father.”

  “He must be extremely fond of you. Does he still live?”

  “As far as I know. He and I are estranged.”

  Sir Galrath placed the sword back in the scabbard and set it down with great care. “Come, let us talk.”

  “Aren’t we already talking?”

  “Look, it’s clear you’re on your last legs here. What will you do now?”

  “I have no idea," said Ludwig. "I had thought to compete further, maybe in the melee, but with no weapon or armour, I cannot.”

  “What if I left you something?”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’ll take your horse, but leave you your sword and a bit of armour as well.”

  “How much armour?”

  “The padded doublet that goes beneath the plate, a helmet, and maybe even the breastplate. The rest I’ll attempt to sell, although it pains me to do so.”

  Relief flooded through Ludwig. “Thank you,” he said. “I shall not forget this kindness.”

  “There's a further price, however.”

  “Which is?”

  “You must promise to never enter the joust again.”

  Ludwig laughed. “I promise.”

  “Good. Now, have you any ale?”

  “No.”

  “Then let us go and find some so you can drown your sorrows.”

  “But I have so few coins as it is.”

  “Fear not,” said Sir Galrath, “for you are not the only knight I have vanquished this day.” He patted the purse which hung from his belt. “And unlike you, the other contestants were amply financed.”

  Ludwig swept his eyes over what was left of his camp. “What about the armour?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll send someone by later to take care of it. Now come. A drink will do you well, I’d wager.”

  * * *

  The Hammer was nothing more than a tent with kegs nestled beneath the canvas, while the majority of the patrons sat outside, soaking up the occasional ray of sun that poked its head through the clouds. Several wooden benches had been laid out alongside some rough-hewn logs that served as tables. Sir Galrath took a seat, then motioned for Ludwig to do likewise.

  “A couple of ales, Millie,” he called out.

  “This is quite the place.”

  “Yes,” said the knight. “I suppose it is.”

  They waited as the barmaid brought them two flagons, then drank deeply.

  Sir Galrath placed his cup on the table, gazing across at Ludwig. “You mentioned a place called Malburg earlier. Is that where you’re from?”

  “Not quite. I hail from Verfeld. It’s a small village close by.”

  “You’re obviously well-bred. Is your father a noble?”

  “He is, but I really don’t want to talk about him. Tell me of yourself. Did you always aspire to be a knight?”

  “I did, as a matter of fact, and I am the first in my family to do so. My family have been soldiers for generations, but I’m the first to rise up to such heights.”

  “So you just woke up one morning and decided you wanted to be a knight?”

  “Not exactly. My father taught me to ride when I was young. Once I became a man, I joined the king's army as a horseman. Of course, that was back in Talyria, before the troubles.”

  “Troubles?”

  “Yes. When the king died, he left a young prince as his heir. The chancellor was named regent until the princeling was of age. It was at that time I was knighted.”

  “For guarding a prince?”

  “No,” said Sir Galrath, chuckling. “We had some troubles on our southern border, and then Marston invaded, thinking the young prince weak.”

  “So you won your spurs in battle.”

  “I did, though my service didn’t last long. The prince died before he could be crowned. They say he was sick, but I believe he was poisoned by the chancellor. Of course, I couldn’t prove it. Things got exceedingly uncomfortable for me after that.”

  “What happened to the chancellor?”

  “He still rules. He’s given up pretending to be a chancellor, calling himself king instead. That’s when I decided to leave.”

  Ludwig took another swig, finishing his cup. “How long ago was this?”

  “Just over five years. I’ve been travelling the circuit ever since, competing for coins.”

  “But you serve the earl here, don’t you?”

  “I do," said Sir Galrath. "It puts a roof over my head and food in my belly, but doesn’t offer much in the way of funds.”

  “Are you successful at it? Jousting, that is.”

  “I’ve made a fair sum, but I can’t say I would recommend it as a way of life.”

  “Why not?”

  “Age catches up with all of us, Ludwig, and there’s always someone ready to take your place. You’d do better to find yourself a wealthy benefactor.”

  “How about you? I could work as your squire?”

  “I admire your pluck, but I already have one, and in any case, I couldn’t see myself having a noble's son as a squire, can you?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  Sir Galrath noted his empty cup and called out for two more. “You know,” he said, “you should enter the melee.”

  “Why? So I can lose even more?”

  “No, it doesn’t work like that. They don’t charge an entry fee.”

  “That means anyone can fight?” said Ludwig.

  “That’s right, it does, but knights see it as beneath them. After all, we have appearances to keep up. Good thing, too, not many people have weapons that could penetrate our armour.”

  “Tell me more about how the melee works. Is it fought in rounds like the jousting?”

  Sir Galrath watched as Millie dropped two more tankards on the table. He tossed her a coin, then took a sip, leaving Ludwig waiting.

  “Well?” pressed the younger man.

  “Well, what?” said the knight.

  “You were going to tell me about the melee?”

  “Ah, yes, the grand melee. It’s quite a sight to see, let me tell you. All the contestants are led onto the field, and then it’s last man standing.”

  “All of them?" said Ludwig. "Isn't there a limit?”

  “Only by the number of competitors. The largest I've ever heard tell of was last year, in a place called Lonkirk over in Eversham. Are you familiar with the place?”

  “Can’t say I am. How many contestants were there?”

  “I’ve heard conflicting accounts, but rumour has it there were well over a hundred.”

  “Do you suppose there’ll be that many here, in Torburg?”

  “No,” said Sir Galrath. “This is a much smaller affair. I would be surprised if there were more than forty.”

  “Still,” said Ludwig, “a lot of people to beat. How do they manage?”

  “You make temporary alliances,” offered the knight. “Stand shoulder to shoulder with them, understanding that eventually, you’l
l have to fight each other.”

  “And people truly do that?”

  “They have to. It’s the only way to get through it. It’s also an extremely demanding trial, far more difficult than using a lance. Not only do you have to attack, but you have to defend as well. How’s your swordplay?”

  “I would have said excellent, but after the thrashing you gave me today, I shouldn’t be so sure of myself.”

  “Nonsense. You did well.”

  “You unhorsed me on the first try,” said Ludwig. “In what sense did I do well?”

  “You came back and scored a point. That shows you think on your feet… or maybe your back.” Galrath chuckled. “Either way, you stood your ground, and that’s something to be proud of.”

  “I appreciate you saying so, but it doesn’t feel like it.”

  “I know you’re down on yourself right now, Ludwig, but you’ll get over it. I did.”

  “You lost your first competition?”

  “Of course,” said Sir Galrath. “My first five, if the truth be known. Jousting isn’t easy, by any means. First, you have to control your horse while the enemy thunders towards you. Next, you have to keep your shield well-placed, or you can suffer a serious hit. Lastly, you have to balance the twelve-foot pole we call a lance.”

  “You mastered it.”

  “Only after making many mistakes. Tell me, why did you want to compete?”

  “To gain notice,” admitted Ludwig.

  “To what end?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean?”

  “I mean,” continued the knight, “what type of notice did you seek? Are you in it for the glory, or are you looking to gain employment with a noble?”

  “The latter.”

  “Then jousting is a poor way to go about it.”

  “But jousting is the most popular contest.”

  “It is,” admitted Sir Galrath, “but it does little to showcase battlefield skills. If you want to seek employment as a knight, you need to show how well you can do in an actual battle.”

  “You mean go to war?”

  “Precisely.”

  “And how do I do that?”

  “Well, admittedly, this region is peaceful of late, but you know the Petty Kingdoms. It won’t take long for old disagreements to surface once again. Keep your eyes open, Ludwig. There’s bound to be employment sooner or later.”