by Brad Beals
Part IV
The Soldier
"And then what happened?" It was William this time, Joshua’s brother. He'd heard a dozen versions already, but he enjoyed a good story more than most. He sat across from Joshua, between the peddler and the red-bearded fellow. All of them sat on logs around a few glowing coals, all that was left of the evening fire.
"Then he called for the armorers," said Joshua, "and gave to each of us his own sword, helmet, shield, and anything else we thought we needed."
"I got a new breastplate," said red beard, and he thumped his chest.
"Now if you'd only dull those new blades on the enemy, why, I'd be grateful." It was the old man, the honer of knives. He sat to the right of Joshua whittling chips of hickory onto the coals.
The big man who'd laughed at him in the stable was on Joshua's left. He'd sat down early in the evening and muttered something like, "About earlier…back at the stable…er…milk and cookies…well…," and then he grunted and Joshua shook his big hand.
The story of the King and boy with empty hands was told over and over, in a spiraling kind of way. Soldiers would wander to the fire, see Joshua there and begin the story again from their memories of it. And Joshua would listen and nod and laugh, and then just as it was winding up, another would stop by to start it all again. It was a fine way to spend a night.
The stars in the sky wheeled about, the moon ran its course through the treetops, and the glow of the coals disappeared in the ash. Then sky in the east began to brighten. But Joshua and William sat there still. A year's worth of talking had to be made up.
"Hand me your sword," said William after he'd finished a very long story about a three-legged dog.
Joshua pulled the new sword from its scabbard and gave it to his brother.
"Oh, it's fine," said William. He stood and passed it slowly through the air in front of him, feeling its weight. "Well balanced." He stood and made a few thrusts, a few slashing moves. It was in the middle of a parry that he stopped.
"What's the matter?" asked Joshua.
William stared at the sword, squinting hard in the twilight. "This sword…" he said in a wondering voice. "It feels familiar."
"Of course it does, it's a King's sword just like yours."
"No, that's not it. It's an old kind of familiar." He held it in his open palms, the blade in one hand, the grip in the other. Joshua had seen his mother check the weight of a fish this way and more often than not gotten a penny or two back from the butcher. William was hefting it in his hands, checking its weight and balance.
Suddenly William's face changed, and his whole body with it. He was no longer a soldier but a boy who's just found the X on a treasure. He held the sword up to catch the early sun, but it was still deep in the woody horizon, so he kicked at the fire to stir the coals to life again. Then he crouched low so that the swords pommel was just above the brightest of the embers.
"Look!" said William. "Look at that!" Joshua got to his hands and knees and looked to where William was pointing. At the very tip of the pommel, he could just make out a small, strangely shaped S gouged roughly into the metal.
"I see an S," said Joshua. "So what?" William stood up and rubbed the spot with his thumb. He had an expression on his face that Joshua had never seen before. "I did this," he said, and he looked up at his brother. "When I was younger than you are now I carved an S into this very sword."
Joshua took the sword from William and looked it up and down, but he still could not see it in the early light. Then he ran his fingers over the hilt, and he sucked his breath in quick.
"What's wrong?" asked William.
"I hadn't noticed it before. I've looked over every inch of it, but I didn't notice. One of the crossguards. It's twisted." Slowly, he ran his fingers up the flat of the blade. "And the fuller wanders all over. How can this be?"
It was the sword Joshua had lost to the satyr by the riverside. And yet it was not at all the same sword.
The boys sat there, the new and familiar sword across their laps, until the sun came up. They looked at the images on the blade, and at one another, and at the sword again. And in those looks were all the questions and mysteries for a lifetime of talks by the fire. In fact, the questions came to Joshua so quickly that he was sure he'd never remember them all, and after a long silence, he asked, "The King will be here tomorrow?"
"That's right," William's eyes were strangely fixed on one part of the sword. "Tomorrow," he added absently.
"Good," said Joshua.
Then William nudged him with an elbow. "Look," he said. He was pointing to the image of a satyr. It held a sword in one hand, what could have been a coin in the other, and had a cruel smile on its face. It seemed to be running. But it was Joshua who noticed the satyr’s tail. He put his finger on it and rubbed the spot slowly. The tail in the image was caught, held fast to the ground under the booted foot of a great king. "How strange," he whispered, happily amazed.
“Serving this king,” said William, “You'll see even stranger things.”
Joshua held the sword out and turned it over, front to back, again and again. His eyes wandered up and down both sides, but he seemed unable to take any of it in. "Tomorrow seems so far away," he said dreamily.
But he was forgetting that the sun was up, that his tomorrow had already become today. So he was quite astonished, naturally, when a great shadow swallowed up the early light, when he looked up to see the King standing over them.
And without a thought as to what he was doing, without a trace of that shame he knew at their last meeting, Joshua stood and let the sword slip from his fingers. Then he fell next to his brother at the King's feet. Again, he had nothing to offer but empty, obedient hands, which of course are everything.
