When Alfred asked the son about his father, the son reminded him that his father was no good, lame as it were, ready for the next life. In truth the old man, gaunt, unable to control his shaking, looked as if he had seen better days. He was sitting near the warm furnace and appeared to be waiting for his inevitable end.
When Alfred set down a pile of goblin bows in front of him, the old man suddenly came alive. He focused his eyes intently on them and picked one up, bending it with surprising strength and then putting it between his knees. He untwined some rope, cut an appropriate length and re-twined it, adding oil and tightening it further. Then, deftly, almost surreptitiously, with sudden quick movements he tied and strung the bow. He held it up, pulled on the string and sighted it as if he were back on the field of battle. His son, axe in hand, stared with amazement. The old man strung another bow just as quickly. His eyes watered, remembering the glory of days past. He smiled and giggled to himself.
Picking up one of the strong bows, Alfred tried to copy the stance of this old warrior preparing to launch an arrow. The old man slapped at Alfred’s legs and pulled him and tugged him into the right position.
His son apologized over and over for his dad’s impetuous behavior before the king. Alfred ignored this. He wanted to learn the craft of archery. Many children gathered to see what was happening. Once the old man strung a few bows, Alfred realized that they were much too small for the men to use. He looked at the children, many near his age. When he handed a bow to a girl, she backed away, frightened. Then Alfred showed her what to do. He took a proper stance and pulled on the string. Then he handed the bow to the girl again. She took it with glee. The other children stepped in closer to see if they too would get something from the king.
Alfred and the children found many old and broken bows from the scattered remains of the goblins and ratkins. Taking over part of his son’s work area, the old man repaired dozens of small bows for them to use. For the first time in the dreary world they had been exposed to all their short lives, the children were excited and had high spirits. Most had brothers and sisters or other close relatives who had died from disease or famine or worse, goblin attacks. With Alfred the King learning to shoot the bow with them, they were filled with courage and a new spirit of hope.
Alfred sharpened his spear as the children took turns with the small bows. He had found several ratkin and goblin spears. Most of the peasants would not touch them. Alfred noticed that Cory, son of Derhman and busy in the fields, was always watching Alfred when he passed along the road.
One day when passing by Alfred stopped, went out to Cory in a field and showed him a ratkin spear. Cory took it in his hands and thrust it forward as if he were a warrior. He was almost showing off, but in a mean bully sort of way.
Alfred couldn't help but flinch, “Wow, show me how you do that!”
Derhman came up, “Boy, leave the king alone. We have a field to finish.”
Cory stopped and handed the spear back to Alfred with disdain.
“It's yours, Cory. I have more,” Alfred returned to his traveling cart. Cory looked at Alfred with wide incredulous eyes, then at his glorious spear. Alfred waved goodbye. Cory impulsively waved back.
As time went on, with activity in the castle, Alfred spent less time in the fields. Craftsmen were busy repairing under the watchful eye of Abedeyan the Steward. His raspy voice echoed from sunup to sundown, keeping every able adult in the castle busy. Hammering and sawing could be heard all day long.
Lady Nihan conscripted every able-bodied woman to clean and repair the inside of the Keep. The women spent the evenings sewing. Many farmers' wives had brought gems of fabric that they had kept hidden, considering them treasures too valuable for their downtrodden lives, hopefully awaiting the return of a king to give the cloth a more exalted use. One of Lady Nihan’s first jobs was to sew a respectable Steward garment for Abedeyan. It consisted of a clean tunic, tight pants, and a cloak. Abedeyan looked small in it. He brushed Lady Nihan aside as she kept tightening and adjusting while he was still in it. He thought of himself as being too busy for such frivolity. Those two were at each other’s throats constantly it seemed.
As much as Alfred wanted to help around the Keep, he found his knowledge of how to do detailed work required in the castle was lacking. Most of the castle laborers would ask Abedeyan for orders. Abedeyan did not ask Alfred for his permission or help. He instinctively knew what needed to be done and where things needed to go. As old and feeble as he looked, he filled his days herding families to appropriate places, pushing workers into assigned tasks, gathering small portions of food from hunts and forages, and giving directions to peasants delivering loads of their goods. Alfred felt more like a symbol of a king than a king.
Alfred regularly visited Tirnalth in the tower to give him updates of the daily events. Tirnalth was always transfixed in his books.
“What you doing, milord? Reading?” Lady Nihan stood at the low entrance, broom in hand, ready to enter and clean.
Alfred looked at her, then at Tirnalth. Apparently, she did not see him. The books were visible, and when Tirnalth turned a page, the Lady saw it. “Oh, a draft! We’ll have to get that roof covered.” She pointed high up. “And these floors fixed!”
“Lady Nihan, I’d like this to be my reading area. All the books should remain here, okay? Leave everything here as it is.”
“Oh, don't you worry about that. This was once a great wizard’s room, you know.” Lady Nihan swept briskly. “Perhaps one day you’ll get to meet him.”
Alfred smiled. She smiled, bowed and went on her way.
Alfred became frustrated. No one needed his help, it seemed. He found himself lacking in day to day skills. He tried smithing, hammering away at rings and making nails. Eventually the old man who made the bows and his son took the hammer away from him to get the nails made more efficiently. Alfred also tried tanning, but the steam and stench of boiling dead rabbit and rat skins was too much for him. The tanner was working with what was available.
He tried working alongside Abedeyan. This too was fruitless, as the Steward would wander off to the next task without so much as a word or nod. Alfred would look up from sweeping to see he was in the midst of a bunch of busy peasants bowing each time they passed him.
“I don't know how to be a king,” he thought to himself. “I don't even know what it means. I've read about kings and played kings on a computer game, but...”
“Computer game?” Verboden the Cleric muttered. Alfred was sitting with him one evening in front of a small fireplace in the sparsely furnished kitchen. He was sipping a gray soup as Verboden smoked a pipe.
“Well, a game. I don't understand why everyone accepts me as king. I'm just a boy. I can't fight or lead anything.”
“King's don't always have to fight, Alfred. That is why they have lords, vassals... knights.”
Alfred sat up, mouth agape. Grey soup dripped off his lips. Verboden stared into the fire, puffing his pipe. Alfred, wiping his lips, stared at Verboden. Finally, after squirming, Verboden looked at Alfred, who was mouthing the charmed word... knights.
“There are no knights around? We have no soldiers or men-at-arms. How do we make knights?” Alfred finally asked.
Verboden coughed out a puff of smoke, “Make? You do not make knights.”
“Oh yeah, right. This isn’t a computer game. Shoot!”
Verboden gently puffed on his pipe. “If there are any still left in the land, sooner or later, they will come.”
“And if they don’t?” Alfred loudly sipped.
“Then we must arm the able men.”
“Able men? You mean the older men? There don’t seem to be very many. Most are old farmers and peasants. The craftsmen don't seem like the fighting type.” Alfred tipped his bowl up to get every last drop. “There’s like hardly anybody here.”
“We must do the best we can.” Verboden puffed gently, remaining motionless, looking at the small flames of the fire.
Alfred sta
red at Verboden.
Verboden shifted in his seat and glanced at Alfred.
Alfred continued to stare.
Verboden shifted again.
“I will search the lands, then, to see if any knights or warriors are in need of a king,” Verboden sighed.
Alfred nodded a smile and slurped up the last of his soup.
There was a small chapel with a praying room in the Keep. It was up on the balcony overlooking the Great Hall. Its one window, once glazed, was now covered with a worn tapestry. Verboden lit a small candle and prayed, “Father of Light, I know we forsook you long ago, but many of us have tried to keep the Light. Many of us have tried... and when you left us, never to return, we kept the faith... so few... so few... I pray you give me, give us, this Land... this.. that... king... a chance... a ray... of your great Light...”
The next day Alfred saw Verboden off. He traveled on foot, for the few ponies they had were all needed for plowing and hauling loads. As Verboden passed out of sight, Alfred felt profoundly alone.
Chapter Thirteen: Defending the Defenseless
One day, Alfred stood in the tower gazing across the once barren land. He saw plowed fields taking shape and peasants building small hutches along hillsides. He sensed that hope was filling the realm. Lives were being remade, souls rejuvenated. To Alfred this was overwhelming joy. He felt content in helping these people – a sensation he relished.
Then something hit him in the side. He felt a pain. Turning, he saw several young boys and girls playing and giggling. One had shot him with a padded arrow from her small bow!
This enraged Alfred. He picked up the arrow and broke it. Then he rushed at them. As he chased them down the stairs and around a corner, a young girl shot off another soft-tipped arrow. It hit him squarely in the stomach. Ouch! Now he was really angry. The girl giggled and ran off.
He picked up the arrow in anger. Before he broke it he noticed it was a small stick with chicken feathers fletched at one end and cloth padding on the other to soften the impact. It was a toy! Days before this he had shown the children how to make these harmless arrows. He made a few of the arrows and tried shooting them at a target but kept missing. He then tried to run around with the children pretending there were goblins about and shooting at make believe targets, but the children became scared and ran away. So he reluctantly put the bow and arrows away, ashamed of his idea. They must have gathered up enough courage to steal the bow and arrows and figured out the game themselves!
He found them huddled inside the Great Hall behind the rubble, laughing hysterically. Several popped up and shot more arrows at him. On the one hand, he was very annoyed because most of their shots hit him. On the other hand, he couldn’t help but smile since it was an enjoyable idea after all.
Several of the larger boys had his spears, the ratkin spears. “How dare they go through his stuff and take things?” he thought angrily. As he approached, all the children cowered in the rubble surrounding the giant spider hole. The larger boys held him at bay with the ratkin spears, jabbing and hollering. Alfred tried to get through but could not. They poked at him while arrows kept popping off of him. His initial annoyance turned into admiration for their tactics and coordination. The boys were able to keep him at bay as the girls launched arrows. The children were having a great time at this new game.
Alfred suddenly stopped and looked down. “Do you all know what that is!?” He crouched in mock fear and pointed to the large tunnel behind them. Many froze, while others ducked down and peered back.
“Ratkins came through there! Rat critters rushed in and took the castle while the knights were defending the castle walls!” Alfred projected his booming big boy voice.
The children jumped from their side of the rubble to Alfred’s side and set up a defensive perimeter with the larger boys encircling Alfred. That gave him an idea.
He stood upon the rocks above the children. “Do you want to defend this castle from the onslaught of the rats!?”
“Yes!” they all shouted.
“First, you must train like a knight trains!” Alfred posed with an imaginary shield and sword.
The children stood, lowering their weapons and, like sponges, absorbed whatever Alfred said.
“We must set up some sort of classes,” he declared. “You know, training.” Alfred strutted about in the rubble. “What I want is for you to set up targets and practice firing arrows at them. And you big boys, find more of those spears and get other boys, like Cory, to come here. Wait! Okay!” Alfred rubbed his hands. “First, the girls with the bows, find as many arrow heads from that pile of goblin debris as you can. Take them to the old man and have him make us arrows. Then bring all the bows and arrows here into the hall. This will be our practice or training place. Okay? And I will make all of you warriors of the king!” Alfred lifted up his fist. It glowed in a ray of sunlight slanting through the boarded windows.
The children, stunned, frozen in awe, had never heard of such a thing. As a matter of fact, they never heard much of anything. To hear this boy, said to be the king, though they had heard of him only in legend, connect and interact with them in this way astounded their little grimy young ears. They screamed and hollered, creating an uproar heard throughout the castle.
Lady Nihan noticed Alfred and several children dragging old wood barrels, boxes and buckets into the castle for target practice. She immediately ordered them to clear it out. “This is the King's Hall! It is for the king! There will be no frolicking in here!”
“Well, I am the king!” Alfred stepped forward into the hall carrying a wooden box. “I want this stuff in here.”
Of course, this stunned Lady Nihan. She immediately left and returned shortly with Abedeyan the Steward. “Kind sir, tell our king that this is most improper behavior for a king, – to frolic with the children!”
Alfred and several of the smaller children had already begun target practice and were shooting arrows. Arrows bounced off stone walls and rubble with a few hitting their mark. Alfred, the least skilled, was impressed that the children took to the endeavor so wholeheartedly.
Abedeyan stared wide-eyed for a moment. Lady Nihan nudged him. Then he cleared his throat. “Sire, you are king of Grotham Keep. There is no need for this activity, especially in the Great Hall or King's Hall.”
Alfred shrugged his shoulders, fired a shot, and missed.
A sudden bustle of noise came from the makeshift front door as more boys entered, Cory in the lead.
“What is this!?” Lady Nihan fluttered about, lifting up her dress so she could more easily hustle from spot to spot. “What are you boys doing here!?”
“Ma’am, the king sent for us.” Cory raised the spear Alfred gave him. He looked to Alfred who nodded in return.
“Sire, this is most inappropriate.” The Steward sighed, cringing at the twang of fired and ricocheting arrows.
“I don’t care!” Alfred pointed to the Steward and Lady Nihan. “You fix the castle. You clean the castle.” He pointed to himself. “I will defend the castle.”
“Knights defend the castle, my Lord!” Abedeyan proclaimed, straightening and facing Alfred head on.
“Well, where are they?” Alfred asked.
Abedeyan and Lady Nihan looked at each other. The lady had pleading eyes. Abedeyan looked away, rubbing his scrunched up chin.
“We don’t even have a garrison,” Alfred said.
“You expect children to fight?” Abedeyan shouted in dismay.
The children all stopped what they were doing to look. They had been running about the rubble, gathering their spent arrows.
“I expect everyone to fight,” Alfred said, “including me, including you. Don’t worry. Everyone will have an opportunity. I have figured this all out – well, sort of.”
Initially the farmers did not understand why Alfred and Abedeyan were asking for their children from ages six to fifteen to come to the castle. There was still much to do on the farms. Many of the children cried out of fear. When they s
aw the group of children already with Alfred, all sporting bows or small spears and looking rather dashing, they wiped their tears and ran after them.
Alfred was amazed that both the old smith and his son diligently worked on arrows, spear shafts and small shields. The old man was alive again, barking enthused orders to his smithy son. Both worked late into the night, each and every night, as if they had a purpose. And they did, Alfred realized.
Alfred rewarded them with fresh rabbit. He and the kids had advanced their skills such that now they were hunting in the nearby forests where rabbits were plentiful. Both the boys and girls had become skilled at using the goblin bows. They were made for small hands. Practicing diligently, the children became stronger and stronger and more accurate.
The hard working fathers and mothers would hug their children as they left for a few days to the Keep and to their king. Parents eagerly waited for their return. A few complained to Abedeyan, but when their children returned with rabbits, pheasants, squirrels, and other roasty type critters, complaints ended – with a feast, that is!
The old man and his son were called the weapon makers, for they made all sorts of tools for war using what they found in the pile of goblin scrap metal. The old man took the goblin daggers and blades and added elongated wooden handles so they were more like small halberds, great at keeping enemies at bay. He started making bowstring from the wild game. The gut and sinew of the animals the children brought made for stronger string than what the goblins used. Alfred loved every weapon and shield the pair made. They armed the farmers with small swords or spears and shields and commanded them to participate in practices with him twice a week.
Alfred finally knew why he was there. With all of his computer gaming and knowledge of medieval times, he could help the people rebuild and defend themselves. While they were bolstering their farms, he realized they needed also to rebuild the Keep's defenses as well. It was just a matter of time before they were attacked. Ratkins would attack from under the Keep. Goblins would soar in from the outside.
Alfred: The Boy Who Would Be King (Alfred the Boy King Book 1) Page 10
