Following Orders: Chapter One

Chapter One

            

My eyes strayed from my now still fingers across the courtyard, leaving my gaze on the fully armored figure of Sir Gawain. He had his arm draped casually across a man’s shoulder and was talking to another knight. He threw back his head and laughed jovially.

            I closed my eyes and imagined myself in that armor. It would glisten by day and shimmer by night, hung on the wall filled with the swords of my vanquished enemies. I would sit by the fire with a mug full of ale as I told the tale of my most recent exploits to the most famous knights in the kingdom. They would gaze at me in awe, clinging to my every word. I would reach the climax and pause. Waiting for just the right moment to –

            “Get back to work you good for nothing boy!” I opened my eyes just in time to receive a clout on the head for my daydreaming.

            “Yes sir.” I bent over the breastplate I was holding and scrubbed furiously. After a moment, I glanced up to make sure my abuser’s footsteps had retreated before relaxing my pace. I lifted a hand to the back of my head. “Ow.”

            Ronald snorted next to me.

            “What?” I asked indignantly.

            He shook his head. “If you would just do your work rather than daydreaming about doing someone else’s, you wouldn’t get as many headaches.” My friend’s Scottish accent never ceased to entertain me. It was just something about the way he rolled the words off of his tongue that caught my attention.

            “There’s nothing to do!” I threw down the breastplate. “This old thing is as clean as it’s going to get. Sir Manchmal’s just too cheap to get another one.”

            “Just yesterday you were complaining about having too much work to do. Which is it?”

            I threw up my hands. “It’s both! It’s too much boring work and not enough interesting work.”

            “And by interesting you mean training, right?” His bright blue eyes glistened up at me from where he was still polishing his master’s greaves.

            “Exactly! At least your master’s willing to train you. Mine couldn’t care less whether I end up a knight or kitchen boy!”

            “You know, I don’t think you would make a very good kitchen boy seeing as you steal all that you can from Chef.”

            I shoved Ronald in the shoulder and he laughed.

            “Well I’m afraid I can’t help you very much there. Sir Gawain might be willing to train you but I doubt it.”

            “And why’s that?” I crossed my arms over my chest in a challenge.

            “You’ve heard him talking yourself. He’s real particular about who he’ll take on as squire. You’re just not quite…his type.”

            Ronald’s freckled face looked up at me in complete honesty. I sat down next to him so that we could look each other in the eye. “His type?” I knew what the response would be but I wasn’t in the mood to be turned down. “What exactly is that supposed to mean? Quiet and patient and nice?”

            Ronald cocked his head, letting his loose red curls fall wherever they pleased. “Well. Yeah, I guess so. There’s nothin’ wrong with the way you are Will. It’s just…not Sir Gawain’s type.” He lifted his right hand in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know what else to say.”

            I sighed and reluctantly lifted the dull breastplate back onto my lap to begin shining again. “Well I really don’t care who it is who trains me so long as someone does it. I could even put up with Sir Manchmal if he would so much as give it a second thought. But he won’t.”

            Ronald slapped me on the back. “Come on now, Will. Cheer up! Why should you wait around for old Manchmal to train you? I can do it!”

            “Would you?”

            He laughed at my eager expression. “Sure. I mean, I don’t know much myself, but I can show you what I do know and that’s at least something right?”

            I leapt to my feet. “That would be great! Thanks so much Ronald! You’re a real good bloke, you know that? A first class friend!”

            “Okay okay. I get it, you’re excited. It’s not that big a deal.” He tugged on my wrist. “Just sit down and get to work before you get in trouble again, will ya? We can start when we finish our chores. How much do you have today?”

            I sat back down and began polishing with a new energy. “I have to finish up this armor and then sweep the room and then groom the horse.” Sir Manchmal’s horse didn’t have a name. He was just “the horse.” I, on the other hand, didn’t even have a horse to name. But now that I was going to learn how to be a knight, I would have to get one, right?

            “Well ‘at’s not so bad now is it? What’ll it take you? Maybe an hour? I’ve got about an hour’s worth too. What say we meet back here in one hour? Alright by you?”

            “Alright by me.”

            Ronald was right about my impatience and I knew it. He was way more patient than I was. We were both the same age – sixteen. The way I saw it, he was just way beyond normal maturity and I was at a normal level. Nothin’ wrong with that.

            The hour passed slowly but I was waiting for Ronald when he arrived. He carried two poles about two feet long each. They were straight and smooth and as he approached, he swung them skillfully through the air. Swoosh, swoosh. I leapt to my feet.

            “For sword fighting.” Ronald handed me one of the poles and immediately leapt back.

            “What are you doing?” I asked.

            He smiled wryly. “Just didn’t want to be in the way if you decided to start swinging that thing right off.”

            “Very funny. Now let’s get to work.”

            “Sounds good to me.” He took a few steps back and raised his stick. “Now I want you to strike like this.” He did a rapid jab with his right arm. I imitated the movement. “Not quite.” Ronald adjusted the angle of my arm and then moved it slowly through the strike. “Like this. Now you try.” I did. “Much better! Now keep doing that.”

            I jabbed and jabbed again. Ronald did the same across from me. “Hey, I think I’m finally getting the hang of this!” I grunted as I jabbed harder and harder, watching my imaginary sword dart forward. I paused, breathing a little harder than usual. “What’s next? Um, Ronald?”

            My friend had stopped moving. His sword had fallen to the ground and he was staring open mouthed at something behind me. “What is it?” I turned to follow his gaze. “Oh,” I breathed. The end of my stick touched the dusty earth by my foot. I swallowed hard.

            The tall gate in the castle wall had opened and there was a line of people slowly streaming in. I looked more closely and saw that they were all men – knights and soldiers. Many makeshift stretchers held still forms and were carried by those that should have been on them themselves. Out of every three fighters, two could be seen who had blood dried on some part of their body or armor. Slings and crutches were abundant. Those still on their feet were not walking. They were trudging, limping, tripping. All of the faces were grim and haggard. Not a man spoke and as they entered the courtyard, the sounds of daily castle life died out too. The sun was peering over the stone walls, but no armor or swords glistened. If anything, they seemed to burn dimly.

Stable hands and servants from every corner of the courtyard rushed as one body to help them. Stretchers were gently stolen from worn and broken hands and crutches were replaced by strong arms. It was like a silent dance, the steps well practiced and well known. The women had already brought out basket upon basket of bandages, salves, and needles and thread. Some of the Chef’s boys were carrying large vats of stew and setting them on quickly assembled tables only to return with stacks of bowls and handfuls of spoons.

The stretchers were set in rows upon the ground, neatly laid out with enough space to walk between them. Bowls and buckets of water were ferried to each prone warrior. Some of them, the strong ones, drank from them. Others were tended to by anyone who could treat a wound. The castle’s doctor could already be seen working on one man and immediately moving to another. Blood stained hands and tears stained faces.

This wasn’t the first time this castle had known such a scene. I remembered the last time. I was there. It had looked much the same as it did now, the courtyard full of the wounded. But instead of watching the men stream in, I had run to meet them. My eyes searched every face eagerly. A few had met my gaze and then looked quickly away. Some had ignored me completely. Others gave me sympathetic looks. I saw face after face. I examined every fighter, be they soldier or knight. Not a single man returning to the castle that day had been missed by my roving eye.

But the one I was looking for had not returned to the castle that day. I didn’t find him in the healthy. I didn’t find him in the sick. I didn’t find him in the wounded. I didn’t even find him in the dead.

I had settled down in a corner to wait. Maybe he would come. Maybe he had just stayed in some town for a few days on the way back. Maybe he was too sick and was healing up. He would return as soon as he could.

A battle worn knight had caught sight of my small eight year old form. He came over and settled down next to me. My eyes landed on his hand first. It was bandaged up. His right hand. He wouldn't be able to fight again. I looked up at his face and recognized the grey eyes that were more tired than the last time I saw them and the scraggly beard that was longer.

“Where is he, Sir Manchmal?”

The old family friend had licked his lips and then looked down to meet my young, eager gaze. “This isn’t going to be an easy thing to hear, young Will.”

“What do you mean? Is he waiting in another town until he’s well enough to travel?” It was the hope, the dream I was clinging to with every ounce of my child’s mind. I blinked innocently, awaiting the tired man’s answer.

He wrapped a strong arm around my shoulder. “No, son. He’s not coming home. Your father died a brave man, saving my life.”

But my young head refused to believe such an outrageous thing. I laughed. “No, that’s not possible. My father is a good fighter – he’s a strong warrior!”

“Yes he was, my boy. I know it’s hard to accept, but your father won’t be coming back to the castle. He had a good funeral. Sir Gawain’s orders. Many people were saved by your father’s sword.”

I went numb. “That’s…that’s not funny, Sir Manchmal. It’s…it’s not funny.”

“I’m sorry Will.”

It hadn’t taken long for the crying to start and when it did, the kind man comforted me.

As if the blow of my father’s death weren’t enough, the news was even harder on my mother. She had loved my father with all her heart and losing him took its toll. She was with child. Both were lost in less than a week.

I was alone in the world, or so I thought.

“Come on Will. You can stay with me. I’ll train you up to be the best knight that ever lived, just like your father.” Sir Manchmal had taken me in.

“But my father wasn’t a knight. He was just a soldier.”

“Aye, but if he had had the chance, he would have been the finest of all the knights in the world.”