“Shouldn’t the stable boys be doing that?” she asked, a little shocked.
“The midwife’s got them running errands. Look here,” he said, “grab that rake over there and lend a hand.”
She picked up the rake, and he showed her how to use it.
“It’s humbling,” he said, “to do manual labour. Nobles should do it more frequently; it helps us appreciate the work that others do.”
She joined her father in raking out the stalls and then gathered buckets to draw water from the well to fill the trough for the horses. “You know, I’ve been thinking,” said the baron. “It’s about time we got a proper horse for you. You can’t ride a pony forever, now can you? What do you think?”
“Really?” she asked incredulously. “That would be wonderful.”
“You’d have to learn to care for it yourself. A horse is more work than a pony.
“I promise I’ll do everything,” she agreed quickly. “Thank you, Papa.”
The baron smiled. “Now,” he said, “I think we’re about done here. I'll just drop by to see how the stable master’s family is doing. Why don’t you run along back to the Keep? I’ll write to your Uncle Robert tomorrow, and we’ll see about getting you a nice horse.”
“Aren’t there horses here, Papa?” she asked.
“Yes, my dear,” he replied, “but your Uncle Robert Brandon raises horses, some of the finest war horses in the kingdom.”
Her eyes lit up. A war horse! This was almost too good to be true. It would definitely be worth the wait.
The idea of her very own warhorse kept her busy, and it was with some guilt that she noticed the sun had gone down and she had not returned to the smithy. She rushed down the Keep's stairs, hoping it was not too late and came around the corner to the door to the smithy. Just before she entered, she heard Grady talking.
“You soiled rat,” he was saying, “what d’you mean by working for free. All the work done here is paid. You think I can afford to give things away for free?”
“But Master Grady,” Aldwin was saying, “it was for Lady Beverly.”
“I don’t care if it was for the Queen of Merceria herself,” he yelled, and then Beverly heard a slap.
She opened the door to see a scene she would never forget. Grady was towering over Aldwin, who lay sprawled on the floor, holding the side of his face. She was shocked; she had heard of people beating others but had never seen it for herself.
“What’s going on here?” she demanded.
Old man Grady turned to see her standing in the doorway. “Sorry m’lady,” he said, “I was just dealing with an internal matter. It seems the young lad is having a hearing problem. Is there something I can help your ladyship with?” his voice was all syrup, but his face was vinegar.
“I came,” said Beverly, thinking quickly, “to find out if the hammer was ready and to arrange payment.”
Grady was surprised and glanced down at Aldwin who had crawled away from him. He looked back at Beverly. “Yes m’lady,” he said and looked around the room. “Go and get the hammer, Aldwin, there’s a good lad.”
Aldwin retrieved the hammer, removing it from the vice and carrying it over to the table. Beverly looked at him, but he would not meet her gaze. The side of his face looked red and slightly swollen.
“How much do I owe you?” Beverly asked.
Grady looked over the hammer as it sat on the table. “Well, I’ve wrapped the handle carefully, as you can see, and it’s quite a complicated procedure, I can tell you. I’ve even used some glue?” this he asked out loud, without thinking about it as he glanced again at Aldwin for confirmation. “It'll be about fifteen shillings, m’lady.”
“Thank you, master smith,” she said. “I trust I can pay later?”
“Of course m’lady,” he said. “You can bring the payment any time you like. Or I can add it to your father's accounts if you wish?”
“No, I insist on paying my own debts,” she said, for she had a sneaking suspicion that the bill to her father would grow more expensive. “I’ll bring it by tomorrow, if that’s acceptable?”
“Certainly m’lady,” he said as he picked up the hammer and handed it to her.
She looked over the weapon carefully, noticing the fine work that Aldwin had done. She still wanted to balance it but didn’t want to get Aldwin into any more trouble, so she swung it back and forth a few times in the air, then nodded at Grady and left.
That evening, Beverly waited for her father's return. As he stepped through the doorway to the great hall, she charged up to him impatiently, interrupting his conversation with Gerald. “Father,” she blurted, “I have to talk to you immediately!”
The baron, stunned by the explosion of emotions, stopped talking in the middle of his sentence, staring back at her, then composed himself. “My dear, what is it that has you so vexed?”
“It’s Aldwin,” she blurted out, “the smith is beating him!”
“Calm down,” he soothed, “and tell me what happened.”
“I went down to collect my warhammer, as I was having the grip re-done. Old Man Grady hit Aldwin; his face was all red on one side.”
“It’s the right of the smith to discipline his apprentice, my dear.”
“You don’t understand, Father. He took the credit for Aldwin’s work, and when I offered to pay-“
“You what?”
There was a moment of silence before Beverly replied. “I offered to pay. He said it would be fifteen shillings.”
The baron looked to his Sergeant-at-Arms, and Beverly sensed a moment of understanding between them.
“What is it, Father, I don’t understand?”
It was Gerald who answered. “The smith serves the baron, Beverly. He shouldn’t be charging the baron anything. After all, it was the baron that had the smithy built.”
“Yes,” the baron agreed, “and by extension, that includes you. The scoundrel must have decided he could make some quick coin. Probably thought you wouldn’t say anything.”
“Should I take care of it, my lord?” offered Gerald.
“No, Gerald, I’ll see to this myself.”
“What should I do, Father?” asked Beverly.
“You wait here, my dear. I’ll go have a chat with the smith about his duties,” he paused, looking at his daughter, “and his treatment of his apprentice.” He left the room without another word.
“Your father’s upset,” remarked Gerald.
“Without a doubt. What do you think he’ll do?” asked Beverly.
“He’ll take care of it, he always does. Your father likes to tackle problems head-on. I wouldn’t like to be in Old Man Grady’s shoes.”
* * *
The next day when she tried to deliver the coins to Grady, the old man said little, refusing the offer. She couldn’t help but notice swelling around his eye, and though she decided not to mention it, she resolved to keep a closer watch on the smith from this point forward. Later, when Grady left for the night, she returned to the smithy to check in on Aldwin.
He was making some sketches and looked up as she approached. “M’lady,” he said, a smile crossing his face, “is there something I can do for you?”
She was unsure how to broach the subject and struggled to find her words. “I was just…How are things, Aldwin? I understand my father visited here earlier.”
“Yes, he had words with Master Grady.”
“Is everything all right?” she asked, concern creasing her brow.
“Everything’s fine,” he responded. “My master has suddenly developed a concern for my well-being.”
“My father can be a very persuasive man."
“So it seems,” he agreed. “Is there something I can do for you m’lady?”
“Not really, Aldwin,” she said, glancing around the room. “Tell me, what is it you’re doing?”
“I’ve been making some sketches,” he said. “I’ve been examining some of the armour worn by the knights from Wincaster,”
&nbs
p; She looked down at his sketches, the charcoal image was very lifelike, and she marvelled at his skill. “That’s incredible,” she gushed, then tried to compose herself. “I mean, you show remarkable skill.”
“One day, I’m going to make armour like this,” he said, “and become the finest armourer in the kingdom.”
He began explaining the details of his sketches, and she soon lost herself in his voice.
She was glad things had improved for him, and remembering what the cook had explained, she resolved to visit more often to keep an eye on him. After all, one day she would need her own smith if she was going to be a knight.
In the end, it was quite late when she returned to the Keep. Her father, sitting in the great hall, watched her enter.
“Where have you been, Beverly?” he queried politely. “I’ve missed you.”
“Oh, I was down in the smithy, Father,” she said, “getting my hammer balanced.”
“Really? How interesting, let’s have a look then.” He waited for her to hand it over.
She reluctantly gave it to him, “Well,” she admitted sheepishly, “we never actually got around to playing with the weights.”
Nine
Lightning
Autumn 945 MC
Summer made its way to autumn, with the weather turning into the cooler days that typically precede the coming of snow. Beverly, who once she made up her mind about something carried through, found her days to be busy. She had work to do in the stables every morning, weapons practise every afternoon and visited Aldwin almost every evening. At these visits, she noticed that Aldwin was growing at an alarming rate, so she started bringing him food. Her father suspected that he would be a large man when he finished growing; the makings an excellent smith. The evidence appeared to support it, for word of his work had spread, and now the smithy found more warriors coming to have the grips replaced on their weapons. Old Man Grady was pleased with the influx of new customers and began to give Aldwin more responsibility and training. He was not yet ready to pound steel, but he pumped the bellows while Grady hammered and even helped with finishing the tangs of weapons that Grady had forged.
On one of the last warm days of autumn, she was in the practise yard with her new shield. Gerald had found her a light shield, suited to her size and she was trying to become familiar with holding it as a counterweight to her weapon. Her skill with a sword had grown, but she tended to favour the hammer. She wasn’t sure if it suited her better, or if she was just more attached to it. Voicing her desire to learn everything, Gerald had demonstrated how to use axes, maces, various clubs, and even some polearms. No weapon, no matter how rare or difficult to use, escaped her eagerness, and she began to amass quite a collection of proficiencies. The only weapon that was beyond her present abilities happened to be the great sword, but she was convinced that was only due to her small stature. Although she was still quite young, she had already developed muscles from her constant training and felt that it would not be too long before she could add it to her arsenal. She was sure she was stronger than anyone else her age, with the possible exception of Aldwin, of course.
Gerald arrived at the training yard to find her standing with shield and sword, ready. “We’re going to do something a little different today,” he announced.
Her interest was piqued. “A new weapon?” she hoped.
“No, a new way of fighting.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Come with me, and I’ll show you,” he said mysteriously, leading her through the gate into the village. There, she saw two riders; her father and her Uncle Robert, the Baron of Hawksburg.
“Is she ready?” Fitz asked Gerald.
“As ready as she’ll ever be, my lord,” he replied.
“Well, bring her over then.”
As Beverly walked toward the two of them, they shifted their mounts to reveal a stunning black stallion. The creature was massive, one of the famed Mercerian Chargers that her Uncle Robert was renowned for breeding. The creature was beautiful, she thought, with a glossy black shine to its coat, and a long mane and tail. She walked over to the beast and put her hand on its muzzle, feeling the creature nuzzle her hand back.
“Nice, isn’t he?” offered her uncle. “His name's Lightning. He’s yours, happy birthday.”
She looked at him in wonderment. “But my birthday isn’t for a couple of months.”
“Well, yes, that’s true, but I have to be back in Hawksburg before winter sets in, so I didn’t think you’d mind. Give him a try.”
The horse was already saddled, and she recognized it as a fighting rig similar to her father's. She stepped into Gerald's cupped hands and hauled herself up into the saddle, in one smooth motion. Lightning didn’t budge, standing calmly as she reached forward to pat him on the neck.
“Grab a mount and meet us outside the gate, Gerald,” the baron directed. “I believe my daughter would like to stretch her horse's legs.”
The three of them trotted through the village, and by the time they reached the outer gate, Gerald had caught up with them. Beverly was enjoying the smoothness of the ride, and how much easier it was for her to sit tall in the saddle when she realized that the saddle had been made specifically for her! Her father had been planning this gift for some time to have a saddle custom fit for both her and Lightning. She surveyed her surroundings and observed how very high up she was, for her new horse was a good deal taller than most of the mounts around Bodden, taller, in fact than even her father's own warhorse. They cantered out into the pastureland, then Beverly, letting Lightning have his head, sprang into a gallop, and she felt the exhilaration of flying through the air at a tremendous speed. The horse was well named, for he was full of energy. She charged across the field, and then made a gradual turn to loop back. Returning to her father, she slowed to a trot, but Lightning didn’t even appear winded.
Lord Robert smiled and looked at her, “He seems to like you Beverly, make sure you treat him well.”
“I will,” she promised. “Thank you so much, Uncle.”
* * *
Spending most of her waking hours tending to Lightning, she ensured she was the one to feed him at mealtimes and mucked out his stall herself. She worked with the stable master to finish off his training; the horse was already suitable for riding but did not yet know her commands. Being only ten, she found he was difficult to mount, so they trained him to kneel with his front legs allowing her to grab his mane gently and pull herself up. It didn't take long for her to discover she loved riding a horse much more than a pony, and it soon became a difficult task to find someone to ride with. If she had things her way, she would ride all day long.
Lightning was as adept at learning new skills as she was. Over the past weeks, she had trained him to respond to her commands, while in the practise field she mastered all the basic techniques that Gerald could teach her. In an effort to keep her engaged in training, he introduced her to fighting on horseback. The manoeuvres were much more challenging, but to her delight, she never fell from the saddle. Mercerians had invented the stirrups many years ago, and she learned to employ them to her advantage while leaning into a turn, or setting herself up for a charge with a spear.
Her father, a master horseman, taught her to control Lightning with only her legs, freeing up her hands to use weapon and shield. He told her the neighbouring Kingdom of Westland had also adopted stirrups and held tournaments where warriors tried to unhorse each other for entertainment. Beverly found that hard to believe; practise was one thing, but fighting for pleasure was barbaric.
* * *
It had become the custom in Merceria for knights to take on an apprentice; a squire. The squire would perform the menial duties of looking after the horse, cleaning the weapons and such, and in return, they would receive training in the knightly ways. Beverly thought this custom was strange, for it encouraged laziness in the knights. Bodden, of course, had an assortment of knights, and many of them had squires who were commanded to look aft
er their mentor's horse.
On a cold day, late in the year, with winter threatening to envelop the land soon, Beverly was just finishing cleaning out Lightning’s stable while the creature nibbled on a bale of hay. She heard voices in the next stall, and not being able to stop herself, she crept up to the wooden wall between them and listened.
“Have you seen Lady Beverly with her horse; it’s so pathetic,” said a voice she identified as Reginald Somersby, squire to Sir Augustine. “She dotes on the beast like it’s her long lost lover. I’ll never understand why they persist in giving her hope that she could become a knight. The whole idea is simply ridiculous.”
“I don’t know why she’s constantly training her horse either,” said a second, unrecognizable voice. “What else can you train a horse to do?”
“Agreed,” Reginald said, “the creature will probably get killed in the first battle anyway, and then all the training will go to waste.” They both laughed at this while Beverly’s face reddened with anger.
She made a show of finishing up the work in the stall, deliberately creating noise to get their attention. She hung the rake back on the wall and began saddling up Lightning. I'll teach them to mock me, she thought, I'll show them what a true warhorse can do. She finished with Lightning, and then walked out of the stall, leaving him inside for the moment. The two squires, their conversation interrupted, looked on, trying to gather what she was up to.
Beverly strode to the other side of the stables, picked up a shield and drew her sword. She then began going through the practise exercises that she had been drilling for the past six months; pivot, thrust, block, all the while subconsciously using the footwork she had learned.
The two squires looked at each other, completely confused by her actions. They moved through the stall's door, the better to see the crazy redhead who was apparently out of her mind.
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