the Rose & the Crane

by Clint Dohmen

  Simon recognized the peace offering and forced his mind to overrule his emotions, something Kojiro had been tutoring him on largely unsuccessfully up to this point. “Thank you for the kind words about my father,” Simon managed to say without heat in his voice.

  Kojiro shot Simon a look. It was not a look that anyone else would have noticed, but Simon felt the weight of the millisecond, millimeter shift in Kojiro’s eyes and knew he was receiving a sensei’s approval for his restraint. Between the presently related history and the man’s colossal size, Simon knew who the man was. There were not many six-foot-nine-inch knights who had fought for the Yorkist King Edward IV then switched to the Lancastrian cause.

  “I suppose that would make you Sir John Cheyne.”

  Cheyne nodded his head slightly in confirmation. “Though your father was a Lancastrian of renown, you have not fought for the red rose in any battle that I am aware of,” Sir Cheyne more asked than stated.

  “That is correct; I have not. To honor my father, I have sought to not have his family name end in a pauper’s jail. I first seek to provide for my own. Only after that could I give thought to kings and thrones.”

  “Yet you are here,” the noble next to Cheyne commented.

  “I am here because assassins chase me across all four corners of the Earth, and were they successful, it would severely hamper my ability to continue the family name.”

  “Allow me to introduce you,” Cheyne interjected quickly to forestall the ill will that appeared to be creeping back into the conversation. “This is William Brandon, and next to him is his brother Thomas. Their family has ever been servant to the Lancastrian cause.”

  Both Brandon brothers eyed Simon and his odd compatriots with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity, but they bowed their heads in greeting, knowing that Cheyne the Giant did not force introductions lightly.

  Before Simon had a chance to respond to the introduction, William Brandon spoke again. “Richard III has sent men to kill you?” he asked with a hint of disbelief in his voice.

  “I’m afraid so,” Simon replied. “It’s got something to do with my great-uncles or great-great-uncles, or first aunts twice removed. I don’t really know the entire lineage, but I seem to be very unimportant to everybody but Dick and his brother Eddy before him.”

  William Brandon liked the terms ‘Dick and Eddy,’ the use of which was terribly amusing and would soon join his own vocabulary, but as a lifelong warrior for the Lancastrian cause, he found it hard to believe that the person standing in front of him, whom he’d never met before, had enough royal blood to interest the Yorkists. Of course it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility since Dick’s paranoia made Eddy’s paranoia seem perfectly reasonable. The man did not appear addled in any way, and William, like Cheyne, had heard of his father. He was startled out of his contemplation by the interesting newcomer.

  “So, can you write my name down please?” Simon asked again. “I am not a part of Henry’s complement as you can tell.”

  The registrar again looked at William Brandon who shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose so. He’s not one of our men.”

  “Simon Lang of Exeter, though I use that title in a very liberal sense at the moment, plus two for the sword competition.”

  The registrar looked back at William Brandon again because he had been given very strict instructions by the queen regent to obey the Englishmen in regards to their own kind.

  “Fair enough,” William Brandon replied. He switched his casual gaze at the registrar to an intense gaze at Simon. “Be forewarned, though, as the only Englishman in this tournament you will be carrying the hopes of five hundred or so of your drunken countrymen. They will support you loudly of course, but I would not want to be the cause of their disappointment. Make a good showing of it, Lang.” And with that, William Brandon bowed politely.

  “I shall endeavor to persevere to the utmost of my capabilities, sir,” Simon replied and smiled. He then verified that his name had been recorded properly, and he, Aldo, Kojiro, and Neno led their horses back to see which of Aldo’s delectable Venetian culinary treats had survived the voyage. Kojiro was allowed to lead Kuro in front, of course.

  After Simon rode off, William Brandon turned to his brother Thomas and Sir John Cheyne. “I think we should tell Lord Henry about our new acquaintance.”

  Kuro was not happy at all. He could hear fighting, he could smell fighting, and he could even see fighting when his master took him riding, but he wasn’t doing any fighting. It was frustrating, and he let his master know.

  Before the tournament started, Kojiro had asked Simon if he wished to use Kuro for the jousting tournament, but Simon had politely declined saying, “First, I don’t think Kuro would allow anybody but you to ride him, and second, I’m not here for the showy personal glory that comes from jousting. I’m here to show Henry Tudor that our services would be valuable to him on the battlefield.”

  That conversation had sealed Kuro’s fate. They initially put him in a camp corral that had been purposefully built for the tournament, but by the second day of the tournament Kuro had bitten three other horses and Simon had been forced to pay for a stall inside the walls of Paris. This reduced the exercise Kuro was getting since Kojiro had to walk all the way into Paris to exercise him, but it was financially necessary because Kojiro was no longer paying damages to aggrieved knights.

  Chapter 28

  THE SHIELDS WERE hung for the first round of the three-person foot combat. Colorful coats of arms were nailed to posts by squires and pages, although this pageantry went largely unwatched due to the much more popular jousting taking place next door. The nearby sound of cheers and pounding horses’ hooves would have drowned out all sound on the sparsely attended combat arena but for the volume put forth by the few Englishmen who had gathered to watch their only countryman in the competition. The English fans’ audible contribution lent an air of excitement to the normally spectator-dearth competition.

  In addition to the English fans, most of the other spectators for the team sword fighting were French peasants. Overjoyed to be granted time off from their mundane, labor-intensive, painful, dirty, degrading, thankless lives, they sprawled out on the open field on the south side of the staked-out combat arena. It was not that the peasants were anxious to see the sword fighting, it was more the fact that they had no access to the jousting and they’d take what they could get. Across the combat arena from the peasant field, raised, covered viewing stands had been erected for the upper classes and nobility.

  Though the stands were less than a quarter full, this was still a major accomplishment, since the event was taking place at the same time as the jousting. Aldo and the English knights sat in the stands while the common English men-at-arms and archers milled about the field with the peasants. Henry and Jasper sat in the box seats reserved for royalty in the middle of the stands with Henry’s bodyguard John Cheyne. No other royalty joined them as the rest of the royalty were all preoccupied with the jousting. A few French nobles—friends of the French knights who would compete with the Englishmen in the first round—sat on the benches as far away from the English knights as they could get. It did not save them from the odd bit of partially consumed foodstuffs that occasionally flew at them from the English side.

  On the east side of the arena, three stout, five-foot-high wooden poles held the blue shields, decorated with golden fleur-de-lis, of the French competitors. The French knights stood next to their shields in shining head-to-toe plate armor, waiting for their opponents.

  Simon walked to one of the poles on the west side of the arena and, no longer needing to hide his identity amongst his fellow Englishmen, hung the shield bearing the Lang coat of arms. The shield had been magnificently crafted by the finest armorer in all of Venice, and at no small expense. The Lang coat of arms was divided into four quadrants by the red cross of St. George, denoting the family’s loyalty to England. In the upper left and lower right quadrant, the red, arrow-tongued dragon of Wales on a green
background paid homage to the family’s Welsh ancestry. The upper right and lower left quadrants were decorated with the red rose of Lancaster.

  As Simon hung his shield, the overwhelmingly English crowd roared their approval, causing the French knights to look around in mild dismay. Next to Simon, Neno hung a shield with the Venetian coat of arms; a winged golden lion on a red background.

  Lastly, Kojiro hung the shield that Aldo had gifted him in Venice: a blue winged crane on a black background. Kojiro did not intend to ever use the shield in combat, but he had to admit, it was an eye-pleasing decoration. Once the preliminary rituals were out of the way, all six combatants stepped forward into the arena.

  Kojiro did not like the blunt longswords that he had to wield for the competition, but they would have to suffice. As much as Simon tried to convert him to the use of sword and shield, he steadfastly refused, insisting on the use of two swords, clumsy, dull, and unbalanced though they were. As they approached the Frenchmen in the center of the arena, Kojiro singled out the biggest one directly across from him and moved in. Kojiro spun his two swords at his sides in a 360-degree windmill as was his ritual and stepped forward.

  “What the devil?” Henry jumped up from his seat in the viewing box as the man in jet-black armor darted forward with two blades flashing.

  “I do believe he’s using two swords and no shield,” Jasper commented.

  “Well, he won’t last long that way,” Henry opined.

  Immediately after stepping forward, Kojiro used his left sword to fend off a powerful overhead blow from the Frenchman. Then, in one swift movement, he stepped to the left side of his opponent and swept his right sword backwards into the back of the man’s right knee. The Frenchman had been about to step forward onto that leg, and the force of the blow caused the Frenchman’s right leg to swing forward into the air. The French knight landed with a huge clanking of armor squarely on his back. Kojiro rested the tips of both his swords on the man’s neck, and his battle was over.

  “Well, he’s bloody good with them, isn’t he? I stand corrected,” Henry remarked to Jasper as the largest of the Frenchmen went down to uproarious applause from the heavily partisan crowd.

  Neno’s French opponent barely had the speed to fend off the relentless blows that Neno brought down about his shoulders and head. The Frenchman was taken completely by surprise at the speed of the blows coming from such a large man.

  More important than the speed, however, was the fact that the Frenchman was severely overmatched in strength. As Neno backed the man up nearly to the French shields at the eastern end of the combat arena, Neno dropped his shield, moved that hand to form a double grip on his sword, and brought a thundering blow down squarely on the man’s head, knocking the man unconscious and bringing another round of resounding cheers from the gallery. The English crowd had no care for the Republic of Venice, but if this man was fighting alongside an Englishman and they were beating Frenchmen, that was all that mattered.

  Simon maneuvered to a position where he could see his teammates and grinned inside the fully enclosed armet that covered his entire head and face as he watched Neno’s opponent crumple to the ground. He had already seen Kojiro make short work of his opponent, but Simon had toyed with the clearly inferior swordsman he was facing until he knew it was his show alone.

  After Neno’s opponent fell, Simon dodged a clumsy lunge from his own opponent and cracked the man on his head with the hilt of his sword. The stunned man moved backwards, and Simon proceeded to land sword strikes all about his torso. The Frenchman was unable to respond quickly enough to defend himself. Simon backed the man all the way up to the viewing stands, and when he stood squarely in front of Henry Tudor, Simon thrust his sword forward into the Frenchman’s armored neckpiece and pinned him against the wooden wall of the viewing stands.

  Simon opened the cheek piece of his armet, clearing half his mouth to open air, and asked politely, “Do you yield?”

  The dejected Frenchman muttered a sullen oui, and the contest was over.

  The English crowd in the stands jumped to their feet and cheered. Opposite them, on the other side of the combat grounds, the English yeoman archers and men-at-arms yelled so loudly that spectators from the jousting grounds came over to ask what had happened.

  “Who did you say this man was again?” Henry asked Sir Cheyne.

  “He’s a noble from Exeter. His father served the Lancastrian cause and died valiantly at Towton. I personally witnessed his father fall. He was one of the few that did not turn and try to run. His father took some killing.”

  “What do you know of him, Jasper?” Henry turned towards his uncle after receiving this information from his bodyguard.

  “I heard the same about his father from a stout docker at a pub in Exeter. I have investigated, and his family actually has royal blood, though severely diluted. They have no claim that would cause any concern to you, and they’ve always been loyal to the Lancastrian cause. Their lands were taken by Edward and given to Lord Percy Blythe, a minor Yorkist noble. Simon’s mother had her head chopped off in front of the young Lang on the orders of Blythe. He’s got Welsh lineage much like you, but I don’t think he’s spent much time in Wales personally. Apparently he’s a skilled ship’s navigator, like many of the men from Exeter, and has been traipsing about the world for the last few years, including an outlandish story about him traveling to the far eastern lands discovered by Marco Polo.”

  Jasper finished his speech and settled back against his chair.

  “You seem to know quite a bit, then, don’t you?” Henry winked at his uncle. “He is clearly good with a sword, as are his teammates. What do you know about them?”

  “The big fellow from Venice is apparently just a ship’s officer, but as you know, Venetian sailors are also soldiers by necessity. I don’t have any idea who the knight with the blue crane insignia is. They say he has the looks of an Eastern barbarian, yet doesn’t quite look like any Easterner that anyone has ever seen before. The whole camp whispers about him.”

  “Find out what you can. And make sure we are available to watch his future competitions.”

  “Of course, my lord,” Jasper replied.

  Chapter 29

  SIMON AND HIS retinue did not have to buy any drinks at the feasting that night, nor for the next four nights as they made short work of opponents from across the continent. Huge knights from Germany barely removed from their barbarian ancestors; agile swordsmen from Aragon; blond-haired, blue-eyed Nordic warriors from Denmark; and a staggering number of Frenchmen all fell victim to the trio’s swords. And with each day’s display of swordsmanship, the crowds got bigger and their reputation more outlandish, until finally, on the last day of the tournament, the jousting competition was scheduled for a later time to ensure it would still have spectators.

  On the fifth and final day of the tournament, extra stands were erected on the east and west sides of the arena to accommodate all the noble spectators who came from throughout France to see the dual sword-wielding wonder, the brute from Venice, and the English lord of no land. The peasants crammed into the field that they had been allotted, jostling with English yeoman soldiers for viewing space.

  Henry and Jasper sat in their box seats while Sir Cheyne along with the Brandon brothers ensured the drunken English knights and soldiers did not start fights with their French hosts. On this day, however, Henry was not alone in the box seats. The thirteen-year-old French boy-king Charles VIII and his older sister and regent Anne of Beaujeu were also in attendance, as were the most privileged members of their court.

  The regent spoke with Henry. “Bonjour, Lord Henry, comment allez-vous?”

  “Très bien, Madame Beaujeu, merci.”

  “It seems your English knight has been putting on quite a show. It’s being talked about at all the parties. I thought I’d come see it for myself,” the regent of France switched to English.

  “We are honored by your presence, Madame, and of course by that of his Majesty.
” At the mention of his name, the young king glanced briefly at Henry, smiled, and then turned his gaze expectantly back towards the arena where the combatants were placing their shields. “Unfortunately he is not my knight at the moment, although I do hope to remedy that situation.”

  “But his shield bears the Lancastrian red rose.”

  “Indeed, and his family has a history of loyalty to the cause. It seems this Simon fellow, however, has been out adventuring. As much as my sources have been able to determine, that fellow with the blue crane on his armor comes from somewhere east of Marco Polo’s voyages.”

  Anne of Beaujeu had not maintained her regency by happenstance. Although she was Charles’ sister and due the honor, there had never been a shortage of powerful men eager to usurp her position and rule France. But “Madame la Grande,” as she was known, combined common sense, intelligence, and practicality with an unmatched adroitness in political machinations to maintain her preeminence in all matters related to France. “How very captivating! Now, since the final contest will be against three men in my service, you must humor me with a wager,” she said with a trace of mischief in her voice.

  Henry was quite aware of the regent’s guile, but also completely at the mercy of his hostess. “I live by the courtesy of your generosity, Madame; though I don’t know what I could possibly offer against your vast riches.”

  “If my French knights prevail, you will assist me in the annexation of Brittany.”

  “That is a steep price, Madame. Francis II, the Duke of Brittany, has always treated me well.”

  “Yet he would have sent you to England to be beheaded. And I understand dear Richard is doing far worse than simple beheadings these days.”

  “I believe that was purely the doing of his ministers. I bear Francis no ill will.”