by Finley Aaron
“You’ll still have your fire.” Robert’s answer sounded more hopeful than confident.
“Will I? How?”
“Because you’re my Cinder, Ella. You have more fire than a thousand men.”
“But, when I’m all alone—”
“Enough questions for one night. We’ve got a long road yet to get home, and we need our rest.” Robert stood and poured water over the fire from the bucket he kept nearby every evening for that purpose.
Cinderella watched the glowing coals disappear behind a hissing cloud of steam, which billowed toward her, its scent a paradox of fire and water. The vapor spiraled skyward and fled away until there were only a few glowing coals left, and Robert took the shovel he’d used to dig the fire pit, and turned them under, stomping the damp earth to be sure there would be no stray embers to set the forest aflame while they slept.
Each stomp of his boots seemed to crush her heart just as it smothered the flames, and Cinderella stared at the blackened circle of earth and wondered if she wasn’t looking at a picture of her future.
When we reached Caprese, Nora was already in the middle of preparations for sending Ella to Madame De Bouchard’s. She’d taken Ella’s measurements before we’d left on our last merchant journey, and had prepared a fantastic wardrobe—gowns of the finest silks, as well as riding habits, traveling frocks, and simple cotton dresses for everyday wear, all sewn with extra fabric hemmed under at the ends and seams, so they could be let out as Ella grew.
Ella tried on each in turn, and stood before the great polished bronze mirror in her mother’s dressing room, marveling at her reflection.
She looked like a woman—like a real, grown woman, and not a girl. She spun and twirled and watched the fabric move with her, and giggled and thanked her mother many times over. But pleased as she was by the dresses and her mother’s obvious care in preparing such an ensemble, Ella couldn’t shake the sense that something was missing.
There were no sparring outfits, no pants at all, no leather armor such as she wore to tournaments (metal armor didn’t become common until much later, you understand—it was all quilted under-layers and hard-tanned leather for several centuries).
She enjoyed the dresses, and she appreciated them, and she loved how lovely she looked wearing them, but all the same, she felt as though a very important part of herself was being cut away, shed like the skins snakes left next to saplings, an empty shell of their former selves.
Except that she felt like the empty shell, as though the vital part of her life had slithered away and left her behind.
Two days later, Rolf stopped by on his way to Charmont. Bertie spotted him first, and with quick thinking, called out an overly-loud greeting so Ella could hear and change into Allard’s garb before Rolf or the members of his party saw her and realized she wasn’t who she claimed to be.
By the time Ella scrambled into pants and got her hair properly stuffed away under a cap, Bertie and their parents had Rolf in the parlor with tea, and everyone was talking animatedly about the tournament Rolf was traveling to see.
“Of course you’ll be there!” Rolf looked at them as though his assumption was not a matter of question.
Bertie shot an uncertain, almost apologetic look at Ella.
Robert cleared his throat. “Bertie and I were planning to go, only to watch. It’s such a large tournament. I’m afraid the children would be overwhelmed.”
“Nonsense!” Rolf protested. “This is the perfect opportunity for them to show what they’re made of! They could rise to some level of status, catch the king’s eye, be on their way to becoming knights, even!”
Now Child, you may be confused if you’ve heard that only knights could compete in tournaments in the first place. In later centuries this would prove to be true. But in Ella’s day, knights were very rare, and any tournament composed only of those knights who could prove their nobility for four generations back (as eventually became the standard) would have been a very small tournament indeed.
In those early days of tournaments, any able noble could compete, and some became knights because of it, which is how there eventually became enough knights to make the rule of only having knights competing. But as with the other changes that would evolve in later centuries, such as metal armor, the prominence of the joust, and the rule that winners could take the horses of their beaten opponents, in Ella’s day, none of that was yet true.
But all of that is quite aside from Rolf’s insistence that Allard compete.
Ella realized she needed to explain, before Rolf began to question overmuch. She stepped forward, and in her deepest voice, explained. “Bertie and I have never fought in the melee without one another. We’ve always had each other’s backs. But I turn fourteen tomorrow. I’ve given my birthdate at every tournament I’ve entered, so they’ll have it on record. I won’t be able to compete in the junior division. I’d be with the grown men.”
“And I’d be alone,” Bertie added quickly.
Rolf talked right over Bertie, burying his words as he rushed to protest Ella’s argument. “You belong with the grown men. That’s where you’ll finally break out. Isn’t that where you’ve always wanted to be? Isn’t that what you’ve been fighting for all along?”
Truth be told, and I could see it in Rolf’s eyes as well as the others could, Rolf would have given anything to have the skill with a sword that Allard possessed. He was decent enough with arrows, but sparring and melee were the big events everyone cared about (in the centuries before the joust rose to prominence). It had been one of Rolf’s greatest pleasures to see his young friends do so well in those coveted events, and because of that, it grieved him to think they might not compete.
“I’ve got to grow up and take on real responsibilities,” Ella told him. “That’s my duty, not fighting.”
While the others held this conversation, Nora sat quietly, wearing a thoughtful, almost pensive expression which I knew quite well. I’d known her since she was born, and that knowledge, combined with my particularly keen gift of intuition and familiarity with the larger situation, gave me such insight, I could well guess what Nora was thinking.
She had her reservations about sending Ella to be a handmaid for Madame De Bouchard. Had Nora really known the woman, she never would have sent Ella to stay with her. But the De Bouchard name had a sterling reputation, and if the woman was rumored to be a bit strict, well, Ella had been allowed to run a little too free for several years, and might benefit from the woman’s zealous standards (or so Nora tried to convince herself whenever anyone mentioned that Madame De Bouchard’s last three handmaids had left in tears).
Ella was made of stronger stuff than most girls. Nora believed she could succeed where others failed.
But she still had her doubts, and I could see from her expression that she was having sincere second thoughts about forcing Ella to miss the tournament. Besides that, as Nora had expressed with a certain wistfulness before, she’d never herself been allowed to try tournament fighting, and might have liked it. Probably would have, given how much she adored riding. But marrying late in life had been her great rebellion.
And tournaments were Ella’s. Nora could empathize with her daughter’s plight. But would she do anything about it?
Now, I may not have much magic, but I’m not helpless. Seeing Nora’s face thus, and sensing that she might be the only one present with the wherewithal to change their established plans (especially in light of the fact that Nora herself was the one who established those plans with Madame De Bouchard), I knew I had to act.
I gathered my strength and, growing in size from a speck the size of a dust mote, to something more along the lines of a chubby winged mosquito, I flew full-speed at Nora’s head, and barreled into her temple.
She looked dazed for an instant, then shook her head. Her eyes brightened, and she cut off whatever the men were saying (Rolf had begun to list off the other men he knew of who’d be fighting in the tournament).
“You kn
ow,” Nora said in an assertive voice, “I’ve never watched Allard fight in a tournament.”
The men all turned and looked at her, somewhat stunned.
Rolf was the first to break into a grin. He was much quicker with his wit than with the sword, and insisted, “This tournament is the perfect opportunity for you to see him fight! Charmont isn’t far from here. It’s what, half a day’s journey by carriage?”
“Less than that,” Robert corrected. “And much less by horse—there’s a faster route carriages cannot navigate.”
“What day is the melee?” Nora asked.
“Saturday,” Rolf answered, beaming with hope. “Participants can register any time, right up until the event begins. If Allard is planning to retire from fighting to attend to other responsibilities, it only makes sense to see him fight before it’s all over and he falls out of practice, yes?”
Nora looked at her husband.
He seemed puzzled, so I flew into his temple as well. That shook him from his stupor, and he laughed. “It wouldn’t hurt much, I don’t suppose.”
Ella had been listening with bated breath, hardly daring to hope she might be allowed to go.
Nora laughed as well. “I haven’t had a day in the city in nearly a year. I’m overdue.”
“So that’s it, then?” Ella had to school her voice into something deeper than a squeak. “I can compete?”
“You’ve been so good and patient about consenting to our other plans, no matter your misgivings.” If Nora held any reservations about agreeing, they disappeared when she saw the happiness blossom on her daughter’s face. “One last tournament won’t put us too far off schedule. And I want to see you fight.”
“Thank you! Thank you!” Ella hugged her parents each in turn, before Rolf insisted they ought to get in a bit of practice that very afternoon. So Ella and Bertie went outside with Rolf and the rest of his party, leaving Nora and Robert to exchange worried glances.
“Do you think we’re doing the right thing?” Nora asked. “I don’t want her to get hurt.”
“She’s never been hurt before, but she’s only ever fought against children. This is a real fight, against men.”
Robert and his wife walked to the doorway that led to the courtyard, where Ella had already picked up a sword, and matched blades with the boys, her face spread in a wide grin.
Nora sighed. “We can’t very well change our minds now. It would crush her.”
Ella fought back against the others, blocking every blow.
“She can handle it,” Robert decided aloud. “I think.”
Chapter Five
Ella was so excited about being allowed to compete, she never had time to be properly terrified about what she was about to do. Rolf supplied them all with a full schedule of events for the tournament. The family, along with Gustav (who would not have been kept away by anything), decided to travel to the city on Friday morning, which would allow them to arrive in time for Ella to compete at swords that afternoon.
The roads to Charmont, including the narrow horse path, which the family took, were filled with travelers headed to the tournament. The traffic slowed their pace, which meant they arrived later than they’d planned, and Ella just had time to scarf down a roasted chicken leg from a vendor as she made her way to the sparring ring.
She’d gone already dressed to fight, with most of her armor already in place, so that she had only to tie her leather helmet on over her cap before she fought.
Looking back, I’m convinced it was a good thing Ella was late. Had she arrived in time to look around and assess the men she’d be fighting against, she might well have lost her courage after all.
I’m not at all exaggerating when I say there were men competing that day who outweighed her three times over—or more. Given her record competing in junior tournaments (which was a matter familiar to most fans of the sport, and especially well-known by those who worked the registration tables) she was assigned for her first fight, not to a featherweight beginner, but to a full-grown man more than twice her age, who was as hairy as a bear, and whose primary fighting technique was to hold his sword above his head, roar with rage, and rush his opponent with a series of wild cuts, which were meant to intimidate especially those inexperienced swordsmen.
If Ella hadn’t several times faced boys who took much the same approach, she might have screamed and run away, and that would have been the end of the fight for her. But she’d been in the ring enough times to know exactly what to do. When the man first raised his sword and began to roar, she rushed him, but not headlong. Rather, she darted to the side of him, cutting him as she leapt past, then spinning and scoring another quick point on the man’s unguarded back.
The bear was furious with her then. Unfortunately for him, fury tended to dull his senses, and he simply whipped his sword around madly in hopes that she’d be foolish enough to get too close and run into his blade.
With two points already on her side, Ella kept her distance and waited for the man to tire, which didn’t take long. As he swung his blade in an ever-slowing circuit, she watched his pattern, predicted an opening, and scored a third point.
The bear didn’t score at all, and Ella advanced.
The win did a great deal to bolster her confidence, which was helpful, because with every round, as the losers were eliminated (technically it was double elimination—each man had to lose twice before being cut), the competition was narrowed to the strongest, most skillful swordsmen.
Ella won her second match with only one point scored against her.
By the third round, the registrars were arranging the brackets to pit undefeated swordsmen against their undefeated fellows, which meant Ella faced a man who’d gone twice unbeaten himself. By this point, she’d had enough time between rounds to watch other fights (there were a dozen different rings, all of them hosting one fight after another in rapid succession, all of them surrounded by cheering fans), and had noticed the sharp difference between this tournament and those she was used to.
It was a bigger tournament than many she’d attended, but that alone didn’t bother her. Rather, it was the fact that, at the junior tournaments, she’d grown to be one of the oldest competitors, and though not larger than most of her fellow participants, she was, at least, not terrifically dwarfed. In this tournament, everyone was older, and in most cases significantly bigger than she was.
Everyone.
And it started to unsettle her.
When she received her assignment for the next round, she didn’t recognize the name of her opponent. But Bertie was headed toward her to learn of her assignment, with an excited Rolf at his side.
“Who’d you get, Allard?” Bertie asked.
Ella scrunched her nose into a face that said she didn’t recognize the name. “Raedwald of Nordheim?”
Rolf’s mouth fell open and he looked at Bertie, who was just as unfamiliar with the name as his sister. Rolf laughed. “You don’t know who that is?”
When Ella and Bertie both shook their heads, Rolf explained, delighted to be the expert. “When the royals fight, they don’t do so under their royal names. They assume false names to hide their identities. Supposedly this is because no honorable knight would go into the ring against his king or any of those close in line for the throne. I’ve also heard it’s to keep anyone from using the fight as an excuse to assassinate a ruler they don’t like. Neither of those excuses mean much, though, because it’s no secret who they really are.”
Ella nodded, waiting to hear the true identity of the man she was scheduled to fight. When Rolf didn’t supply the name, she asked, “So, who is Raedwald of Nordheim?”
Rolf hooted gleefully, clearly relishing his exclusive knowledge. They’d ducked behind a vendor’s tent, and Rolf revealed the secret in a whisper as the three of them kept their heads bent close together in a circle. “Richard the fourth, the king’s nephew.”
“Richard?” Ella repeated, also in a whisper.
“The fourth?” Bertie
echoed.
“Yes. You know, his father is Richard the third, King Henry’s brother, third in line to the throne.”
“That makes Richard the fourth, what, fourth in line?” Ella was trying to sort out how much trouble she’d be in if she accidentally hurt the man.
“That’s it,” Rolf said. “Prince Henry is second in line. He’s the only son of the king. His sisters can’t inherit, of course, so until Prince Henry marries and has a son, the Richards are third and fourth.”
“And I’m going to fight him?” Ella asked, still grappling with the unexpected news.
“Unless you withdraw. You can withdraw on grounds of his royalty, but it will still count as a loss against you, which leaves only one loss left for you to be eliminated. And it’s considered rather poor form to withdraw on those grounds, because it exposes the fact that your opponent is a royal.”
Bertie scowled. “I thought you said everyone knew.”
“Everyone knows secretly. This would expose him openly,” Rolf explained. “They’re two very different things.” Rolf straightened and took a step back from their circle, speaking in a full voice for the first time since he’d revealed Raedwald’s true identity. “I think you should fight him.”
“Do you think he’ll win?” Bertie asked (referring to his sister as “he,” which is what Rolf thought Allard was).
“Better chance of winning if he fights than if he withdraws.”
“How good a swordsman is Raedwald?” Ella asked.
“He’s had all the best tutors and the best armor, but he angers easily, lets it go to his head, stops thinking and just swings. One of your biggest strengths, Allard, is that you’re smart. You don’t let anything rattle you.”
“Do you think I can win?”
“You’ve got as much chance as anyone, but only if you fight. Speaking of, we’d best find your ring. They’ll call your round before long.”
Ella followed the boys. She was glad to find her parents and Gustav before they reached the ring. In excited but hushed tones, Bertie and Rolf informed the others of the true identity of the man Ella would be fighting.