Warrior Knight Page 6

  “Then choose your weapon. One of these must be suitable. Do you prefer one or two-handed?”

  Ludwig looked them over, finally selecting a sword with a three-foot blade. He swung it around experimentally, then nodded his head. “This one will do.”

  “Did you bring your armour?”

  Ludwig frowned. “I’m afraid not. The truth is, I didn’t even remember I was coming here till I was out of camp.”

  “Not to worry, we have spares.” Sigwulf nodded at a pile of jackets. “Pick yourself out a gambeson.”

  Ludwig moved over to the jackets and fished through them. They were a motley collection of long-sleeved, padded jackets, all in various states of disrepair. Many had cuts and tears while others were stained dark by blood. He selected one that looked like it might fit and began pulling it on. Once dressed, he turned to Sigwulf, who tossed him a helmet.

  “Do you use a shield?”

  “I do,” said Ludwig.

  Sigwulf moved farther down the fence, retrieving a shield. He returned, handing it over.

  “This is wooden,” said Ludwig. “Have you no shields of steel?”

  “Not for you,” said Sigwulf.

  “We save them for battle,” called out Cyn. “Now, are you ready to fight me, or are you just going to stand there and chat with Siggy all day?”

  Ludwig moved away from the fence and took up a defensive position, his sword in middle guard, his shield held to his front.

  Cyn moved in quickly, using her shield to deflect his sword while her mace struck out against his own shield. Stunned by the speed of the attack, Ludwig backed up.

  “Come on,” she urged. “Show a little spirit.”

  He took a breath, then advanced, remembering his training. Cyn's attacks were quick, but he soon realized they lacked strength. By watching her feet, he could predict her movements, and soon he was winning each bout. She shifted her tactics, relying instead on the use of her shield to bash him, even going so far as to use its edge against him. Her tactics baffled him, for he was used to the duels of court, not the ‘anything goes’ tactics of a real battlefield.

  By the time they halted at noon, Ludwig felt utterly exhausted, but Cyn was full of energy, rushing over to Siggy, but slowed when she saw him talking to a well-dressed, older man.

  “Who’s that?” asked Ludwig.

  “Captain Ecke,” she explained, “the company commander.”

  “I wonder what he wants?”

  Cyn smiled. “Let’s go and find out, shall we?”

  They made their way to the fence, but the captain left without acknowledging them.

  “What was all that about?” asked Cyn.

  “The captain was watching you two fight.” He turned to Ludwig. “He wants to meet you.”

  “Well then,” said Cyn. “You’d best clean yourself up, and then I’ll take you there.”

  “You?” said Sigwulf.

  “Yes,” she replied. “Why not me?”

  “Well, for one thing, you’ve been sweating all morning and could use a wash."

  “Then you take him.”

  Sigwulf looked put out, but then smiled. “I see what you did there. Very clever.”

  “Oh?” said Cyn. “And what is it you think I did?”

  “You manoeuvred me into taking him. That was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

  In answer, she smiled. “I can’t help it if I sweat while I fight!”

  * * *

  The office of Captain Waldemar Ecke was a simple tent, nearly the same size as a knight's pavilion, but whereas a pavilion was often decorated with furniture and carpets, Ecke’s abode had little save for a pallet, chest, and a small foldable table with two stools.

  The captain stood as they entered. “Sir Ludwig, good of you to agree to see me.”

  “I wasn’t aware I had a choice,” replied the young noble.

  Ecke looked at Sigwulf. “It’s all right, I won’t be needing you.” The great man bowed, then left.

  “Can I offer you a drink?”

  “No, thank you all the same,” said Ludwig. “I’d prefer to keep my wits about me. I’m afraid I’ve had more than my fill in the last day or so.”

  The captain appeared amused. “Still feeling the effects?”

  “Let’s put it this way, I’ve learned an important lesson.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You can’t drink away your memories.”

  Ecke chuckled. “Many have tried. Now tell me, what do you know of the Grim Defenders?”

  “Nothing much,” said Ludwig, “other than the fact you’re mercenaries.”

  “I formed this company almost a year ago. Does that surprise you?”

  “I would imagine it took a lot of coins to do so.”

  “It did at that, and in all that time, I've never had a problem finding recruits. Do you know why?”

  Ludwig took a guess. “Because there are a lot of unemployed soldiers?”

  “I suppose that’s true to a certain extent, but no, that’s not the reason why. I handpick my people, Sir Ludwig, and they know they can trust me.”

  “What has that to do with me?”

  “You’re a knight, and I’ve heard you’re low on funds.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Knights are well-trained warriors, even the bad ones, just the type of man who’s needed to whip others into shape. I saw you today, sparring with Cyn. You’re good.”

  “Thank you. I had an experienced swordmaster.”

  “Are you proficient in other weapons?”

  “I am,” said Ludwig. “My training included mace and hammer, though not to the same degree. Why do you ask?”

  “The sword is seldom used against a heavily armoured opponent. What of polearms? Ever use them?”

  “Never,” spat out Ludwig. “They’re the weapons of peasants.”

  “I should not dismiss them out of hand if I were you. When properly employed, they can wreak havoc amongst well-armoured foes.”

  “Are you trying to recruit me?”

  “Not at this time, no. However, do well in the melee, and I may change my mind.”

  “And you called me here to tell me that?”

  “No,” said Ecke. “I called you here to assess you. Sigwulf tells me you’re entering the melee. It’s important for me to know what Cyn’s up against.”

  “Why the interest in Cyn? Surely you have other entries amongst your ranks?”

  “Captain Hoffman, Cyn’s father, was a good friend of mine. He led a free company called the Crossed Swords. Ever heard of them?”

  “Can’t say that I have,” said Ludwig. “Why?”

  “Last year, they were under contract to a baron in Braymoor; I shan’t mention his name. After serving him for some months, the fool withheld payment, forcing them to disband. Well, as you can imagine, they were forced to ravage the countryside, looking for anything they could eat. Eventually, the king sent royal troops to restore order. Captain Hoffman was hanged, along with several others.”

  “Let me guess, Cyn and Sigwulf escaped.”

  “They did,” the captain confirmed. “You see, Cyn was raised amongst the Crossed Swords, spent her whole life learning the ways of warriors. I hired them on as soon as I learned of their misfortune, so you can understand why I have a vested interest in her success. Who knows, maybe one day she’ll form a mercenary band of her own.”

  “Or take over this one?” suggested Ludwig.

  Ecke shrugged. “Perhaps. After all, I can’t keep this up forever.”

  “If you’re not recruiting me, what exactly are you proposing?”

  “That I put a few coins in your purse. All you’d have to do in return is help Cyn prepare for the melee.”

  “But I want to compete myself!”

  “Go ahead, I won’t stop you. Anyway, the grand melee isn’t for another two days, and I can offer you coins upfront if you’re interested?”

  “How much?”

  In answer, the captain reached into his
own purse and tossed some coins onto the table. “How’s that for two day's work?”

  Ludwig scooped them up. “In that case, I agree.”

  6

  The Grand Melee

  Spring 1095 SR

  * * *

  The Hammer was a busy place. With the grand melee only a night away, contestants were eager to drown their nerves with ale. Ludwig sat at a table, feasting on a large bowl of stew while Sigwulf and Cyn were opposite him.

  He looked across at the huge man. “Are you not having a bowl?”

  “No,” said Sigwulf. “The bowls here are too small for my appetite.”

  Right as he finished, Millie arrived, depositing two bowls of stew before the man and a plate of chicken in front of Cyn.

  “I thought you weren’t having any?” said Ludwig.

  “No,” corrected Sigwulf. “You asked if I was having ‘a’ bowl, and I’m not. I’m having TWO.” He roared out with laughter.

  Cyn shook her head and started tearing the leg off her chicken. “Tell me,” she said, “who taught you to fight?”

  “My father hired a swordmaster named Kurt Wasser,” said Ludwig. “He came highly recommended.”

  “Well,” she replied, “he certainly earned his keep today. You surprised me with some of those techniques.”

  “Yes,” agreed Sigwulf. “Too bad he didn’t train you properly in the use of a shield.”

  Ludwig snorted, almost choking on his stew. He caught his breath, then continued. “I was trained for courtly duels, not actual battle. They frown on shields in such a fight.”

  “I’ll never understand why,” offered Sigwulf.

  “You have to understand courtly etiquette.”

  “What makes you assume I don’t?”

  Ludwig stared at the man, trying to determine if he was being duped. “You’ve been to a court?”

  “I have,” said Sigwulf, his voice betraying no deception. “Does that surprise you?”

  “It does. I didn’t think mercenaries favoured such places.”

  “They don’t, but I wasn’t always a mercenary.”

  “You have intrigued me,” said Ludwig. “Tell me, are you a noble?”

  “Do I look like a noble?”

  “You might if you cleaned yourself up a bit.”

  Sigwulf turned red. “You think I look unclean?”

  “Take it as a compliment, Siggy,” suggested Cyn. “I’m sure that’s how it was intended. Isn’t that right, Ludwig?”

  “Of course. I meant no disrespect. So you served in Braymoor,” continued Ludwig. “Is that where you two met?”

  “It was,” said Cyn. “Siggy here joined the Crossed Swords. I took a liking to him right away.”

  “So it was love at first sight?”

  She sent a quick glance Sigwulf’s way. “Not exactly. Let’s just say it took a few months for him to come around.”

  “You can’t blame me,” the big man interjected. “She was the captain’s daughter. That’s a mite intimidating.”

  Cyn burst out laughing. “I still recall the time he caught us in a tent together. Do you remember?”

  “I could hardly forget,” said Sigwulf. “He had me on sentry duty for two months!”

  Ludwig smiled. “Let me guess, he didn’t approve?”

  “He came around eventually,” said Cyn, “but it took a lot of work.”

  Someone appeared behind Ludwig. He craned his neck around to see Brother Vernan, waiting patiently.

  “Am I interrupting?” asked the lay brother.

  “What brings you to the Hammer?” asked Ludwig.

  “I was, in truth, looking for you. May I sit?”

  Ludwig shuffled along the bench. “By all means.”

  Brother Vernan eyed the small band. “I see you’ve made some new friends.”

  “I have. Allow me to introduce you. This is Sigwulf, and this is Cyn.”

  “And you are?” said Cyn.

  “Brother Vernan. As you can plainly see by my cassock, I am a lay brother of Saint Mathew.”

  “I hope you’re not here to lecture us on morals,” she said.

  “Not at all.”

  “Ludwig has been helping me with my melee skills.”

  “Has he, now?”

  “Yes,” added Sigwulf. “We were just saying how he needs help with the use of his shield. I don’t suppose they teach such things in your order, do they?”

  “Saints, no,” said Brother Vernan. “I’m not a Temple Knight, merely a lay brother. Normally I assist down at the mission in Torburg, but my fellow brothers and I are here to help with the wounded.”

  Ludwig swallowed a mouthful of stew. “Do Temple Knights ever participate in tournaments?”

  “No, it's forbidden.”

  “Lucky for us,” said Cyn. “I’d hate to go up against one in the melee.”

  “On that, we are in full agreement,” said Sigwulf. “One of those Temple Knights of yours would likely defeat us all without breaking a sweat.”

  “Possibly a slight exaggeration,” said Brother Vernan, “but not too far from the truth.”

  “The Temple Knights wear that expensive plate armour,” said Sigwulf. “Far better than the gear we can afford.”

  Ludwig remembered his own armour, now mostly in the possession of Sir Galrath. He had been a fool to risk it and had ultimately paid the price. “I suppose you could always have some made?”

  Sigwulf frowned. “Have you any idea how much that stuff costs? If I had that much, I could retire.”

  “Not to mention the nobles,” added Cyn. “They don’t look kindly on common folk having access to such things.”

  “I suppose,” said Ludwig, “you could always get yourself knighted, then a wealthy patron would equip you.”

  Cyn raised her cup. “Now that’s a thought. Here’s a toast to a wealthy benefactor.”

  As they all raised their drinks in salute, Ludwig realized Brother Vernan had no cup. “My apologies, Brother, it seems we've forgotten you.” He raised his hand, catching the attention of the server. “Two more, Millie,” he called out. She nodded, then disappeared into the tent.

  “Are you sure it’s wise, drinking the night before the big competition?” asked the Holy Brother.

  “I’m taking it slowly,” explained Ludwig. “And in any case, I can’t leave you to drink alone. That would be rude.”

  Millie soon appeared, depositing two tankards. The foam sloshed over the edge, soaking the table, but everyone ignored it.

  “Here’s to the grand melee,” said Brother Vernan.

  They all raised their cups, knocking them together and causing more ale to spill. Everyone drank deeply, then lowered their cups.

  “You said you were looking for me,” said Ludwig. “Was it for something specific?”

  “I thought you’d wish to hear of Sir Nathan.”

  “And how is our gallant knight?”

  “I’m afraid he passed away this afternoon.”

  The table fell silent.

  Ludwig set down his drink. “He was alive when they carried him from the field,” he said. “I’m surprised he couldn’t be helped.”

  “He died from internal bleeding,” explained Brother Vernan. “I’m afraid there was little we could do for him other than make him comfortable while life remained within him.”

  “A grim fate for a noble warrior,” said Sigwulf. He looked at Cyn, worry on his face. “Fighting in such competitions can be particularly dangerous.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “I’ve been training for this, and anyway, it's not the first melee I’ve entered.”

  “True,” replied the giant, “but it's the largest. They say there’ll be more than fifty contestants tomorrow.”

  “More like sixty,” corrected Brother Vernan. "I saw the list this very afternoon.” He turned to Ludwig. “Did you decide to compete?”

  “I did, although the closer we get, the more I fret over my choice. Have you any advice for us?”

 
; “You must be vigilant,” offered the Holy Brother, “and keep the faith. Saint Mathew will watch over you.”

  “Is that all you’ve got?” asked Cyn. “No disrespect, but don’t the Saints watch over us all?”

  “They do.”

  “Then how do they know who to help?”

  The Holy Brother's face betrayed his confusion while everyone else broke out into fits of laughter.

  “Don’t worry,” said Cyn, finally catching her breath. “I know you mean well.”

  “Are you coming to the match tomorrow?” asked Ludwig.

  “Definitely,” replied Brother Vernan. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

  * * *

  Ludwig stared up at the sky. Rain had come overnight, drenching the field, but at last, it was clearing. He stood in line, along with Cyn, waiting to enter the competition. A rough circle had been marked off in front of the stands, a low fence denoting its perimeter. Into this area were four gaps, each crammed with contestants eager to begin.

  Someone in the stands was talking, likely the duke himself, but Ludwig could make out none of his actual words. He stood on his toes, trying to see the man, but the press of warriors in his group was too tight, so he had to make do with waiting patiently.

  “For Saint’s sake,” he cursed.

  “Swearing won’t do you any good,” said Cyn.

  “What are you, a Holy Sister or something? It makes me feel better.”

  She forced a smile. “In that case, keep on cursing. Not that it’ll help speed up any of this.”

  “When are they going to start? It feels like we’ve been standing here the best part of the morning.”

  “Hush now. It won’t be much longer.”

  A cheer erupted from the crowd, marking an end to the speeches. At the sound of a horn, their line began creeping forward. Each group started making their way onto the field, though perhaps mud pit would have been a more apt name. The grass had been worn to dirt over the course of the tournament, and the overnight shower had turned it into a boot-sucking mess.

  The grand melee was an affair of honour, and competitors were required to leave the field should they fall, but with so many coins at stake, Temple Knights had been enlisted to enforce the rules. Should someone refuse to leave, they would drag the hapless fool out.