"No, no", said Farin, rejecting the offer. "It would be too humiliating for me if she unseated me too."
The tame, harmless nag didn’t like him. The gravedigger’s son suspected that his special friend, Stinker, was behind this – Peesel, just like Growler, sensed that something evil was slumbering within Farin. The voice hadn’t been seen, or rather heard, since his visit to the scriptorium, but Farin was under no illusions, he sensed it: it was hiding in wait in the background, always ready to push its way forward in risky or totally inopportune situations, spouting its poisonous sarcasm.
Farin looked forward to his morning breakfast – it was the highlight of his day, when he sat together with Drogdan, Plaudius and Stump, and scoffed down slices of bread and honey. Duke Turgenson and his men threw him hostile looks but until now they had left him in peace. But Farin knew something was simmering there, he had a good nose for things like that.
There was a knock. "Are you awake? A message from the lord of the castle!"
Farin jumped up and opened the door. "Good morning, Markan."
The master of the bathtubs gave a friendly nod. "Knight Emicho will be looking after you personally today. Be on the training grounds near the chapel at the tenth hour."
Farin nodded with mixed feelings. Mixed – because he couldn’t decide between horror and bewilderment. So, the noble knight did find time for his squire, and during weapons training of all things.
Bullshit! I have neither a weapon nor training.
Having heard this news, he found his first steps into the new day considerably harder.
First, I’ll eat breakfast with Drogdan, Plaudius, Stump and honey, he said, consoling himself.
Farin appeared on the little meadow between castle wall and chapel at the appointed time. Scattered around were dummies and targets made of straw as well as some vertical poles. There wasn’t much time to look around because the fourteen young men he had already been permitted to see during his tour of the castle on the first day were also present. He saw that each squire was carrying a wooden sword and shield. They were being led by the trainer who had the most full-throated "faster" he had ever heard.
The man stood in front of him, legs apart. "I am Knight Hectorius from the house of Oaklands. The lord of the castle has given notice of your appearance today!" he roared, as though he were training the squires in the neighbouring castle.
The gravedigger’s son couldn’t stop himself from flinching. He nodded silently.
"Today is sword and buckler. Where’s your training vest?"
"Apologies, I didn’t know what to expect."
All the others were wearing stuffed armour, a padded helmet and leather gloves.
"Your own fault – then you’re going to fight without additional protection. That’ll be a lesson to you. I’m certain you’ll never forget your armour again." He turned to face the squires. "Till – give him your sword and buckler."
A boy of fourteen or fifteen handed Farin the wooden weapons.
"Now, get yourselves into pairs. Baraldon, you start with the newbie."
A squire of his age gave a quick bow. Whether he wanted it or not, Farin’s face looked to all the world like a desperate plea for help. What was going on here? This couldn’t be happening – how could he survive against an opponent like that?
"Get to it!" commanded the captain beside him.
The other squires paused and stared at Farin and Baraldon. The latter raised his shield and held his sword vertically beside it. Farin copied him without thinking. The wooden sword felt like a foreign body in his hand, heavier and chunkier than he’d expected. There was no time to think of an escape, for Baraldon was already on the attack. A sidestep and a simple body swerve to the right and Baraldon had already outmanoeuvred Farin, catching him on the wrong leg. A strike from the left on his sword-arm brought tears to his eyes. And then came an unexpected blow past his shield and onto his left upper arm.
He dropped the shield more out of shock than pain. "OW!" he exclaimed. His face turned deep red, nothing could be more embarrassing, more humiliating – they’d laugh him out of court and ridicule him for weeks. Baraldon lowered his sword, Farin peered left and right, nobody was laughing, only the cold wind whistled past his ears. But the faces of the squires hurt him more than any strike of a sword. Even in his home village he’d never been showered with so much scorn, so much repudiation.
"That was obviously too difficult for our newbie. Twine, you fight him. The knight picked the buckler off the ground and pressed it back into Farin’s hand.
A new fighter approached him. Shame-faced, Farin closed his eyes momentarily. The smallest in the group, a boy of twelve or younger, bowed and positioned himself in attack mode. He did his best to make his child’s face seem determined and dangerous. Suddenly, the boy’s features changed. His eyes widened, his cheeks became redder, he looked past Farin and knelt down on one knee. Everyone present was suddenly standing stock still, before bending their knee too, as if on command. "My Lord", they murmured in unison.
Knight Emicho nodded and positioned himself by Hectorius. The squires kept glancing at the lord of the castle, a clear indication to Farin that his presence meant something special.
"Carry on!" commanded the lord of the castle with an impassive look.
A little child is going to make mincemeat of you in front of everyone. Start – I’ll help you.
Stinker was a real stinker. That was all he needed. Farin wondered what it would be like to simply die on the spot. With his heart stopping for all he cared. Fall down and curtains. But he had no time for that. Also, he wanted to be a good squire, see the sea and kiss Annietta. The boy attacked, clearly spurred on by the presence of the knight.
I’ll defend myself as hard as I can!
Farin deflected the first blow from above with his shield. His response fizzled out as he fumbled with his sword in the air. The second blow hit him from the right. He should have deflected it with his sword, that became clear to him when it was far too late.
Let go! Otherwise you’ll just keep getting hit, worm.
Another blow from above, Farin yanked his shield upwards. He noticed too late it had only been a feint, he already felt a sword sweep the pit of his stomach. He folded forwards, the pain taking his breath away – the sword slipped out of his sweating hand and fell to the ground.
Not the sword! It chuckled. It’s not too late yet, I can still help you. Even without the weapon we can give the lad a hiding on his backside.
Farin shook his head while clenching his teeth. The last thing he needed was getting help from Stinker.
False pride, worm! Let go!
"No," he whispered, yet loudly enough that everybody heard him.
At which point the lad named Twine lowered his wooden sword and stepped back into the group. That was the killer blow – Farin wasn’t worth fighting against, he was dishonourable and the magnet of mockery.
The lord of the castle looked at him coldly and turned to his captain.
"Carry on with the training. Without him there – he’s coming with me." He looked over at his squire with a minimum of enthusiasm.
That was it, the abrupt ending to good intentions. The knight would pour bucketfuls of scorn over him before kicking him out. After the report from his super spy Liam, Emicho must have thought he was going to have a pure fighting machine on his hands. And the truth had unfolded before him. Farin hadn’t been able to withstand more than one blow – even against a child.
He trotted after the knight, every step alternating between shame and scandal. Emicho turned around – he still didn’t say a word but marched towards the drawbridge. Left, right, shame, scandal.
Was he going to throw him out of the castle straight away? Farin didn’t dare to ask if he could at least get his belt pouch and his cloak from the tower room. He also wanted to say goodbye to Drogdan, Plaudius and Stump – they had always been decent towards him, nicer than any other people he knew, but he didn’t dare to open his mouth.
Approximately thirty shames and scandals later, just before the bridge house, Knight Emicho veered right towards the stables. Farin shuffled, head bowed, ten steps behind. Wherever the lord of the castle went, the people showed their respect by genuflecting or curtseying. They paid no heed to the moron with the bowed head in his wake. Emicho entered a stable with empty stalls. Practice swords made of oak wood hung on one of the walls, and two iron rings contained fighting sticks of varying lengths and strengths. The knight handed one of them to Farin.
"Take it in your right hand."
"I’m allowed to stay in the castle?"
Knight Emicho rolled his eyes so much his eyebrows almost followed suit. His mighty chest rose and fell like a bellows, and then he answered: "Very often it doesn’t depend so much on how powerfully we can strike, but rather on how much we can take. And believe me, you certainly take the biscuit."
Very slowly Farin began to straighten up to his normal height. He carefully grasped the handle of the practice sword. This was all too much for him.
"Let’s cut to the chase! Hold your weapon up!"
Amazed, Farin raised his arm.
"A knight who drops his sword is no knight. Let’s start at the very beginning, with the grip. You’re holding your sword like your dick, that’ll never work." He stepped up to the gravedigger’s son. "Your fingers closer to the cross-guard, your thumb slanting over it." Emicho bent Farin’s fingers into their correct positions.
First speechless through embarrassment, now speechless through amazement at the lord of the castle’s reaction after Farin’s fiasco. He was clearly being given another chance. He weighed the weapon in his hand and already felt more control and confidence with this new grip. Still, Farin was under no illusions. He was years and countless training sessions behind the others when it came to the art of sword fighting. "I’ll never be a good squire", he whispered.
Knight Emicho stared daggers at him. "If I hear another expression like that coming from your mouth, you’ll be thrown into the shit in the castle moat – and the bridge will remain up forever as far you’re concerned, understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"How am I supposed to have faith in you if you don’t have faith in yourself?"
The very words out of my mouth – I’m getting to like this knight more and more with every passing day.
"Yes, sir."
"Let’s talk about your pathetic “no” in the fight against the suckling. In many ways I don’t give a shit about the code and the celebrated sense of honour associated with it – but we never grovel for mercy – ever."
Farin took a deep breath – his “no” during the fight had only been his rejection of the chimera’s help. He breathed out again and didn’t bother with a "yes, sir" or a justification.
No whining. Head high, Farin!
"Tell me one thing. What distinguishes a squire? What’s the most important thing for you?" he asked bluntly.
Good question!
The knight answered without hesitation. "For me there are two things: firstly – loyalty. Absolute loyalty. I must be able to rely on you, in every situation. And believe me, I have every reason to demand it. And the second thing stems from that: you must always give of your best. That means, you hold onto your sword firmly, you stay concentrated in hopeless situations, and you never give up. Like in your fight with the four scoundrels in your village. Be furious at the right moment and thoughtful at the right moment, always serving the purpose. Recognising these moments is more important than the sword or the bow and arrow."
Emicho’s words hit Farin like darts – little shafts of light that didn’t hurt, but rather gave courage and self-confidence. A feeling of gratitude overcame him. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry. "I understand."
"I’m not so sure about that – you’re still struggling too much with yourself. And your real battle is yet to begin." The knight’s dark eyebrows brought out the brightness in his eyes even more.
What was the knight talking about?
There wasn’t much time for thinking this over. Emicho continued: "Drogdan will train with you in this stable, and he’ll keep doing that until you’re able to beat one of the straw dummies in the meadow."
A silent nod.
"But don’t take too long. The grand tournament will be held here in the spring – on the meadow in front of the castle. The best knights will travel from throughout the Worldly Kingdom – a great honour for the north to be allowed to host the competition. You’ll be taking part in all the squire disciplines."
A silent nod.
"Another thing: your first opponent just now, Baraldon, was hoping for your position following the death of my old squire. The fact that I didn’t pick him is a slap in the face for him, his father and his family. If they see now which lad I picked ahead of Baraldon Turgenson, it will be an unforgiveable vilification as far as they’re concerned."
"Turgenson?"
"Exactly." The knight folded his mighty arms in front of his chest. "Baraldon is the son of your new aristocratic friend, Duke Turgenson. I didn’t want him, but you. Why the devil, God only knows."
That explained some things. Was the lord of the castle aware of everything that went on within his grey walls?
"What happened to your old squire?"
"He fell from the western watchtower – fractured skull. An accident. Maybe he’d drunk too much."
"I…won’t disappoint you, sir."
"Too late, but every disappointment is a cause for hope." He thought for a moment, then continued: "Hope – a word I haven’t used in a long while."
Emicho hung the two wooden swords back up on the wall. "Another thing – I give you permission to enter the library."
His heart gave a little joyful leap. "Thank you, sir. And…I promise you loyalty."
A searching look, a quick nod, then the lord of the castle turned and disappeared out the stable door.
Farin’s chest felt cold and hot at the same time. His life in Castle Stormwatch was to continue and there was no threat of it becoming boring. It took a while before the gravedigger’s son was able to move again. First, he went through his conversation with the lord of the castle once more in his head. This time the knight had succeeded in surprising him with his words and deeds. Emicho hadn’t dropped him at the first opportunity, quite the contrary, he’d stood behind him today even though a few things had gone wrong.
Loyalty? What is that exactly? An alliance? No, not quite – Farin felt he could sense the meaning. A bond of fidelity and steadfastness. Once again, he felt embarrassment – it hadn’t been him who had shown loyalty today, but the unpredictable, blustering knight, of all people.
If I prove my fidelity to him, and he notices that I’m trying to better myself in all the disciplines, then he’ll stick with me in future too. That’s how I’ll proceed – Emicho will be proud of me.
Farin had never been so serious about anything before.
How could he help? What could he do now? One way of proving his loyalty to the lord of the castle stuck in his mind: I’ll find out more about the death of his squire.
That evening Farin entered the dining hall with mixed feelings. Of course his disaster on the training ground had done the rounds, and everyone who relayed the story embellished it as they sniggered. What would people be telling in a month’s time? Crying, he’d thrown his sword away, called out for his mama and been chased away by a four-year-old.
"Ah! Stand up, men, here comes the hero. An expert in his field – at pleading for mercy and pissing in his pants." Duke Turgenson laughed filthily. Most of the others present followed suit. "That he has the nerve to turn up here at all." He stood in Farin’s way just as he had done the first time. "Do us all a favour and crawl back into your hole in the ground."
Duke or no duke – he couldn’t put up with that. Farin took a deep breath. "Yes, I’m far from being a swordfighter, I proved that today beyond doubt. But for so long as I’m squire to the lord of the castle I’ll eat my meal
s in this room. If it doesn’t suit you to dine with me, I’m sure you can find another venue."
The laughter stopped. Turgenson went deep purple, drew his hand back to strike, then thought otherwise. "Shameless yob. Emicho may still have his protective hand over you, you waster. But I know people like you all too well – you won’t last long. And what I’ll do with you then, you couldn’t imagine in your worst nightmare."
This high-born, spoilt shithead was trying to destroy Farin’s newly awakened self-confidence. "You know nothing about my nightmares."
The gravedigger’s son pushed his way past the duke and headed for the three familiar faces at the far corner by the window. Only now did Farin notice how much he was trembling.
"The reluctant squire", said Drogdan in greeting. "Would you define your appearance just now as “best not get into a scrap with the duke”?"
"What else was I supposed to do?"
Plaudius’s response was decidedly tight-lipped: "Turgenson was hardly exaggerating. I heard about your heroic deeds already."
"From whom?"
"From the lord of the castle himself, among others. He said, you hold your sword like your di…"
"Did he say anything else?" blurted Farin.
Drogdan joined in. "He wants me to teach you a few ground rules of swordplay." His tone of voice made no secret of his lack of enthusiasm for this task.
With eyes lowered the gravedigger’s son said: "I never learned to fight – sorry."
"I heard you dropped your sword and pleaded with the little lad not to even tap you with his wooden sword". Plaudius screwed up his nose.
"Yes, I let go of the weapon." Farin looked up and straightened his back. "Yes, I suffered a few blows. Yes, I had no chance against him. But I never gave up and no way did I beg for mercy."
Nobody said a word for a while. Farin felt Stump’s eyes examining him keenly. "Hrm", said the small one, suddenly convinced, and placed a friendly hand on his shoulder.
Drogdan’s cheekbones slowly relaxed. "If Stump believes you, then that’s the end of the matter as far as I’m concerned."
The Gravedigger’s Son and the Waif Girl 1 Page 24