The door opened and a manservant entered, followed by a young woman Joseph knew only by face. He stood up, a smile on his face.
“Elizabeth. Good, the food will get cold soon,” the General said, standing. “This is my daughter. This is Joseph of Rishown, but I believe you’ve met.”
“I didn’t know your name, my lady,” Joseph said, nodding at her awkwardly. Elizabeth smiled at him and gave a small curtsy.
Before she could reply the door opened, letting in a drift of chilly air into the warm room. The General’s wife came in, a strained expression on her face.
“My dear...” Hays began, stepping towards her. “I hope you are well.” The woman nodded at her husband slowly and took her place, the chair farthest away from Joseph. Placing a lace napkin in her lap, she folded her hands and looked down the table at her husband.
“My dear General, pray say the blessing,” she said, in an icy voice. Joseph waited until Elizabeth sat down before sitting himself. Dutifully, Hays said a brief prayer then began talking to Joseph again, glad of some company. His wife watched the ‘peasant’ closely, and noted that her daughter did as well.
Some minutes later, when the food had been served, the Colonel’s wife glanced sidelong at Joseph.
“Your name again was...” she intoned, clutching her fork. Joseph looked straight at her.
“Joseph of Rishown,” he replied. His face betrayed no trace of nervousness.
“And... where, exactly, is that?” the lady of the house said, as if forcing the words out and not looking directly at her guest.
“A small village a day’s ride west of the King’s City,” Joseph replied. After a brief pause, he smiled. “This is such a wonderful meal that you have made. You must have worked all day preparing it.” The General suddenly coughed and buried his face into his napkin, marking his wife’s shocked expression and the calm smile that Joseph wore.
Elizabeth spoke up.
“Ah... the servants cook our meals, sir,” she explained, ignoring her mother’s sharp glance. “Tell us, did you learn blacksmithing in your town?”
“No,” Joseph replied, looking at her. “I have not been to Rishown since I was ten years old. My trade...”
“I can see that my daughter thinks a great deal of you,” the General’s wife interrupted. “You know, I am sure, that we cannot have a peasant courting our daughter. You are not of noble birth, you have no money, and you are a stranger here...”
“My dear,” General Hays said, rapping on the table with his spoon. “This is not the time for such talk.”
“This is quite the time, my dear. The upstart cannot think that he...”
Joseph stood up from the table, placing the folded napkin on its surface. Turning to the General, he extended a hand.
“Thank you, sir for the invitation. I appreciated your hospitality.” He turned also to the General’s wife, bowing slightly. “Thank you, madam, for your eloquent advice. I am sure it was well-meant.” Looking at Elizabeth--who was quite red with shame--Joseph bowed shortly and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
As he collected Belator from Harold at the General’s stables, Elizabeth ran up to him. The young woman blinked tears in her eyes.
“I can only apologize for my mother’s rudeness,” she said, looking up at Joseph. “I am not ashamed to know you.” Joseph pretended to concentrate on Belator’s bridle and did not look at her.
“Are you certain you want to know a peasant?” he asked, shortly. “To marry a peasant?” He looked down into her troubled face.
Elizabeth took a deep breath. Taking the gold cross from around her neck. Placing it in Joseph’s work calloused hand, Te closed his fingers over it.
“You are no mere peasant,” she told him. “Neither are you proud; you work harder than any officer does. If God told me to marry you, I would... in spite of my mother’s feelings.”
Joseph’s face softened at her words; he even allowed himself to smile at her.
“There is much I need to tell you,” he said, glacning back at the fine house. “I will write to you.”
“You write?” Elizabeth asked him, surprised. Joseph nodded at her,his smile fading.. “Forgive me, but my mother told me that peasants don’t go to school.”
Joseph looked away, letting out a short breath. Elizabeth bit her lip. “Harold goes to the market each day,” she continued, brightening at the thought of correspondence. “I have not been forbidden to write to you.” Joseph looked back at her. “If you give him your letters, I will reply.”
Bringing a small, fine velvet sack from his coat Joseph took Elizabeth’s hand and gave it to her.
“I will write to you... soon,” he told her, swinging up into Belator’s saddle. Harold stood nearby, dabbing at his eyes with part of his tunic. Elizabeth stood beside him as Joseph rode out of the courtyard, listening until Belator’s hooves could no longer be heard.
“He has a fine horse for a blacksmith,” Harold said. “And that is a costly pouch that he gave you, my lady.” Elizabeth had all but forgotten the gift. Opening the little sack, she drew out a delicate silver necklace, from which dangled an unusual, black stone; the stone gave off a small glow in the evening dusk. Pleasantly surprised she scrutinized the strange gem.
“I have never seen a stone like this,” she said. “I wonder where it came from.” Harold, too, was looking intently at the stone; an awed look came over his face.
“I have seen stones like this before, my lady,” he said, his voice incredulous. “Once I accompanied the General to the King’s Palace, atop the great citadel. You were only a few months old then. Your father went into the throne room; I walked outside with the King’s servants into a beautiful garden, such that few have seen. All around the roses were stones just like that one. The servants told me they came from a huge rock that fell from the sky a long time ago and shattered into tiny pieces.”
“A rock... from the sky?” Elizabeth echoed; her eyes widened a little as she spoke. Harold nodded.
“The servants also told me that on moonless nights--when all lights are out--the stones glow so brightly that you can see clearly by them,” he continued in hushed tones.
Elizabeth stood a moment looking at the anomaly in the gathering dark. She wondered how Joseph Asher had come into possession of such a treasure. He was not one to steal, she knew. Indeed Joseph seemed to take pride in earning everything, from his wages to respect from officers to townsfolk. Perhaps--Elizabeth mused--it was a gift... a prized possession he’d fashioned into a necklace, for her. She looked at the delicate chain, an awed expression upon her face.
Next to her Harold glanced apprehensively at the distant treeline.
“My lady, let us go inside,” he told her. “Night approaches and we must go in. Soon the wolves will be about.”
TWELVE
Joseph did not go to the sparring matches the day after his visit to General Hays’ estate. He had other work in mind. Grier sat on his usual barrel at the forge. Surprise flitted across his wan face at Joseph’s appearance.
“What’s this?” the old smith asked, scowling. “You don’t work today.” Joseph took out four silver coins and put them on the barrel.
“I’m hiring the forge for the day,” he said, firmly. “Double price to be left alone.” Sweeping the coins up hurriedly, Grier counted them.
“Don’t break anything, boy,” he said, eying Joseph suspiciously. “I’ll be watching from the house.”
When the smith was gone Joseph stoked the fire and went over to a caravan of merchants he’d seen a day before. The merchants were from a far away land, selling a new type of cooking pot. It seemed to be made from a light, strong metal that was unknown to Joseph. Buying four of them, he hauled them--in a sack over his shoulder--to the smithy. For that entire day smoke poured from the forge chimneys in black coils. Joseph exhausted himself pumping up the bellows harder than ever before to melt the pots. Eventually they melted, though not without copious coal. He worked the long shaft
of the newly formed sword, re-heating it over and over until it began to shape the way he wanted. Laboriously he hammered, cooled and re-heated and sharpened until the sword shone smooth.
Looking up from his labor some hours later, Joseph glanced out the door.
“Just a few hours of daylight left,” he murmured. He dunked his head in a barrel of cold water to rid himself of the sweat and grime. Taking up engraving tools, he heated the weapon again, falling to work once more.
Three hours later Joseph closed up the forge, carrying his sword under his cloak. Dropping into his corner of the stables he leaned back against the wall, exhausted. Belator came over to his master, nibbling at Joseph’s hair.
“See this?” he said, showing the sword to his horse. “It’s light and strong. A new metal; it was a trouble to carve the words, though.” He pointed all down the length of the blade; engraved in it were three phrases, separated by tiny marks. “This is Latin... and this Greek.” Joseph continued, as Belator sniffed at the sword. “Both phrases say: ‘the Lord is my witness’. He’s the only one who sees everything. From Him nothing is hidden.” Placing the sword beneath the hay he laid on, Joseph knelt to pray. “I give thanks for the food, shelter and clothes you give me, Lord. May I serve you with reverence and fear... and may my enemies not triumph over me.”
Early next morning Joseph readied Belator for riding to the sparring matches. He tucked his new blade under his cloak out of sight. About to lead his horse out, the sound of cursing and banging metal halted the young man’s steps. There were other shouts besides Grier’s and commotion. Joseph quickly tied Belator in his stall again and ran out towards the forge. Grier ran out one of the side doors, his face red and gnarled in anger. Spying Joseph he shook his fist at his assistant.
“Three soldiers are in there looking for you!” he yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. “They are wrecking my shop! Get them out of there, and then you get out! You and your no-good horse! I don’t want to see your face again!” As the man screamed, Von Curtis and two other officers came out of the forge. Spying Joseph, Von Curtis drew his sword, clutching the handle until his knuckles were white.
“Peasant!” the captain yelled, stepping forward. “You cost me a lot of money by not showing yesterday, and now what do I hear? You have the gall to pursue the General’s daughter? You are not even an officer! You are merely a filthy blacksmith!”
“Not here he’s not!” Grier bawled, still red-faced. “I don’t want him here!” Von Curtis’ face twisted into a cruel smile.
“So, merely a filthy peasant then,” he leered. “A stranger without a borrowed sword...”
Joseph did not speak. He kept his glare steady on Von Curtis and the other two. He stood at ease, as an officer would. Seeing, this Von Curtis’ smile vanished. Taking a large bag of coins from his doublet Von Curtis tossed it at Grier’s feet.
“This is for the damage,” Von Curtis said, quietly, “... and your silence. I trust it is enough.” Grier picked up the bag and looked inside; his weazon face lit up at the sight of gold.
“Good day, sir and God bless you!” the grimy old man said, walking away; he disappeared into his forge.
The two officers with Von Curtis drew their swords as well, stepping around to encircle Joseph. Von Curtis lunged forward, aiming for Joseph’s stomach. In a flash Joseph’s sword caught the sun as he blocked the attack. He swung his sword back and hit Von Curtis’s blade with such force it flew from the surprised captain’s grasp, slicing the young antagonist neatly on the shoulder. Von Curtis fell back--holding his wound--his face a wall of shock. Joseph did not wait for the others to attack. Turning, he dealt a hard blow to one officer’s head with the flat of his sword, and then whipped around to face the other. The young captain brought his sword forward in a nervous movement. Joseph was ready and met him with a clanging blow. The officer’s sword tip landed on the grass a few feet away, the rest of the useless weapon still in his hand. Dropping it, the young man fled.
“Coward!” Von Curtis screamed, struggling to get up. “Come back here!” Joseph stood nearby watching the captain as Von Curtis tightly held his shoulder, looking for his sword. It was thirty feet away; Von Curtis looked at Joseph, enraged. “You’ll be hung!” the captain yelled, backing away. “You attacked me and stole my gold! The whole town will see you hung as a thief... Elizabeth as well! Help! Thief! Thief!” Backing away, Von Curtis bent down for his sword and vanished behind the smithy.
Standing in the trampled grass Joseph put away his sword and picking up the broken weapon one of the captains had dropped. It bore the officer’s name, engraved in gold letters on the hilt. Wrapping it up in a rag Joseph snatched up his satchel and led Belator out of the stables. Mounting his horse he galloped madly towards the fort.
GENERAL HAYS sat at his desk before a small stack of parchment, a stone mug of steaming tea nearby. The door opened, and then closed again. The general, engrossed in his work, did not look up but said:
“Leave it on the table. I’ll see you in a moment.” Instead of a scroll, a sword in two pieces was placed on the table. Hays looked up, startled to see Joseph standing there.
“In a few moments, officers will come here asking for my arrest,” Joseph stated as the General stood. “Von Curtis--and two others officers--attacked me behind the smithy near the marketplace. I defended myself,” he explained, tapping the blade. Hays picked up the tip of the sword, looking at its broken edge. “I’ve done no wrong and I came to you to say so.”
Hays raised an eyebrow at the young man, standing by his table.
“You could have been out of town by now, Joseph of Rishown,” the aging officer said, sitting down again. “Let me see your sword.” Pulling out the blade, Joseph gave it to the General, hilt first.
Inspecting the weapon closely Hays looked at Joseph.
“No blood,” he said, after a moment.
“I did not wound anyone,” Joseph told him, gravely. “Von Curtis’s own blade cut him; I left one captain lying in the grass with a blow to the head, but he will wake up soon.” Hays got up, laying the shiny sword down next to the broken one.
“Sit down, Joseph,” he instructed. He went to the door and spoke to one of the officer’s outside. “Behind the smithy is an unconscious officer. Go and fetch him back here, quickly.” Closing the door Hays came back to the table. Joseph sat calmly, waiting.
“You do not look fearful, Joseph,” Hays commented, after studying the young man for a moment.
“Only the guilty have fear,” Joseph replied, looking at his sword. Hays fingered the shiny blade.
“This is lighter than mine. A fine weapon. Recently forged, from the look of it.” The general ran his hand over the blade appreciatively. “One of yours?” Joseph nodded.
Hays’ eyes widened as he saw the engraved lettering.
“This is Latin!” he said, incredulously. “And Greek...” Joseph remained silent. Hays looked up at the young man at his table, then looked the lettering again. “The... Lord... is... my,” Hays read, his face marred in concentration.
“Witness,” Joseph finished for him.
His face a mask of surprise, Hays laid the blade back down.
“You inscribed this?” Again, Joseph nodded. “This name here... Joseph Asher. Is that your surname... Asher?” At this Joseph rose from the chair and went to the shadowy corner window; he looked out over the fortress green.
“It is,” he answered.
The door of the office flew open, suddenly. In came Von Curtis--half-dragged, half-carried by one of his fellows--moaning and wrapped in blood-soaked cloths.
“General!” Von Curtis called out, hoarsely. “General, I have been attacked! In the alley behind the smithy! The blaggard smith assistant snuck up behind me and stole my money! He cut me here... I was alone... he came at me from behind!”
Hays put on a serious face as the young man spoke, drawing some papers over the swords on his table.
“That is terrible, Captain,” he said, sitting do
wn. “How are you certain it was the smith’s assistant, seeing he attacked you from behind?”
Von Curtis hesitated.
“I saw his coward face as he ran off,” the captain replied, stoutly.
“Give me your sword, Von Curtis,” Hays instructed suddenly, holding out his hand. The captain, complied, somewhat puzzled.
“Sir?” Von Curtis inquired. Hays looked at the blade; there were traces of blood along one edge.
“Did you get a chance to draw your weapon on him?” Hays inquired.
“I did!” Von Curtis said, drawing himself up to stand straight. “I got him in the chest; he may be fleeing from the town at this moment, but with a wound like that he will not get far!”
“You should rest, captain,” Hays said, laying Von Curtis’ sword down on the table, on top of the papers. “Get him over to the infirmary,” he instructed one of the officers.
A few moments of silence ensued as Hays sat, deep in thought. The door opened again some minutes later; another officer was helped in. Hays glanced at the silent figure in the corner by the window, and made motions for the man to be brought in.
“Close the door,” the General said, quietly. “Sit here. What happened to you, captain?”
The young man was still dizzy and had a huge red welt on one side of his face, split by a thin, straight line of red. A dark purple bruise was forming fast.
“I... Sir, I heard a commotion behind the smithy,” the young man said, with difficulty; his hands held one side of his head. “Von Curtis was being robbed... by, er, the smith who works there. I tried to help him, but my horse reared. I guess I hit my head.”
Hays stood and walked around the table to the young captain; he looked at the wound closely.
“How did that long cut get there? It looks like you were hit with the flat of a sword.” The young man cringed and searched for an answer.
“I must ... have fallen on my sword, sir. I cannot remember,” the captain said, looking at the floor.
“This young smith,” began the General. “Is this the same peasant who has been sparring over the last year with the officers? The one that fights to a draw?”
The Road To The King (Book 1) Page 16