Warrior Knight

by Paul J Bennett

  “You’ve certainly earned it,” said the baron.

  “Very well.” Ludwig knelt, bowing his head.

  Lord Wulfram moved closer, holding the sword to his front and speaking in a loud, clear voice. “Gather all, and bear witness this day.”

  Lord Gebhard glared from across the courtyard, but his mercenaries and a good number of his own household warriors drew near to watch the proceedings.

  “Since the days of our forefathers, we have bestowed titles and accolades to those who we deem worthy. The greatest of these has been that of knight: a warrior sworn to uphold the ideals of chivalry and honourable combat.” He paused, letting the words sink in.

  Ludwig kept staring at the ground, his heart feeling as though it would burst from his chest.

  “As a noble sworn to the service of Lord Deiter Heinrich, Duke of Erlingen, I am empowered to award such titles and honorifics as I deem suitable. Normally, such rewards would be more fitting for a time of celebration, but due to the constraints of time and the threat of invasion lingering on our borders, I shall make an exception.”

  He placed the blade flat on Ludwig’s right shoulder.

  “Do you promise to be brave and upright that the Saints may look down on you with favour?”

  “I do,” said Ludwig.

  “And will you always speak the truth,” continued Lord Wulfram, “even if it leads to your death?”

  “I shall.”

  “Do you swear to protect those who cannot protect themselves and to serve your lord faithfully until he releases you from your vows?”

  “I do so swear.”

  “Then by the power invested in me by the Duke of Erlingen, I dub thee Knight of the Sceptre. Arise, Sir Ludwig of Verfeld.”

  Ludwig rose, overwhelmed by the ceremony. Lord Wulfram took his hand, giving him a heartfelt handshake.

  “Congratulations,” he said. “You’ve earned it.” He looked around the courtyard, noticing the others nearby. “I’ll let you talk to your friends now. Come and see me when you’re done. We have work to do.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The baron backed up, taking his daughter's hand and leading her away. Cyn was the first one to congratulate him, giving him a lingering hug. She then held him at arm's length.

  “Look at you,” she said. “A real knight. Who would have believed it?”

  Next in line was Sigwulf. He put out his massive hand, but Cyn gave him a light shove. “Not your hand,” she said. “He’s family. You’re supposed to hug him.”

  The sergeant moved in close, awkwardly placing his arms around Ludwig, who returned the motion. They patted each other's back, then withdrew, both looking slightly embarrassed by the display of affection.

  Cyn looked at Sigwulf. “Really? Is that the best you can do?”

  He cleared his throat. “We have work to do.”

  “Very well.” She winked at Ludwig, then followed Siggy to where the rest of the company was gathering.

  Ludwig noted another’s approach and turned to see someone in the livery of Lord Gebhard. It wasn’t until the man spoke that he realized it was Karl Dornhuffer.

  “Congratulations, Sir Ludwig, and well deserved if I may say so.”

  “Thank you,” said Ludwig.

  “It looks like we’ve both had a rewarding day.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  “After the losses here at the keep, the baron promoted me to sergeant.”

  Ludwig smiled. “My compliments to you. Keep up the good work.”

  “I only wish it had been under different circumstances. I don’t know what possessed the baron to go after Lord Wulfram.”

  Ludwig held up his hand. “Don’t worry over things you can’t control, my friend. You must pride yourself on doing your duty. That's all anyone can ask in the long run.”

  Dornhuffer smiled. “Perhaps I’ll see you on the battlefield? It would be nice to fight alongside you, instead of against.”

  “I didn’t fight for Lord Wulfram,” Ludwig insisted.

  “Of course you didn’t,” the sergeant replied with a smile. “Just as I didn’t tell you about the warriors moss.”

  Ludwig laughed. “I’m glad we’re on the same side.”

  “As am I.” Dornhuffer glanced over his shoulder. “It looks like the baron’s men are almost ready to march. Good luck, Sir Ludwig.”

  “And the same to you, Sergeant.”

  Ludwig watched as the man rejoined his new command. Soon afterwards, they marched off, passing through the gatehouse. The new knight looked around the courtyard, noting the damage. It would take months of work to repair the walls, and the top of the keep was in a frightful mess. Exactly how long would he be stuck here, he had no idea. As if reading his mind, Rosalyn approached, halting before him and curtsying.

  “Sir Ludwig,” she began, “may I offer my congratulations?”

  “Thank you,” said Ludwig, “and the same to you.”

  “To me? For what?”

  “It would appear you have escaped the fate you so feared. Master Hagan has left, and you shall never have to see him again.”

  She gazed at the gatehouse to where the last of Baron Stein's troops were making their way southward. “I must admit Master Hagan was not quite what I expected.”

  “Don’t tell me that after all you’ve been through, you’re changing your mind about him?”

  “I never had an opinion on him,” she defended. “Remember, we were never acquainted.”

  “And now?”

  She smiled. “He’s very different from his father. Are you sure they’re related?”

  Ludwig laughed. “I only know what I’m told, although you must admit they bear a remarkable similarity from a physical point of view.”

  “You never told me he had manners.”

  “You never asked. I can’t read your mind, Rosalyn.”

  She chuckled, and for the first time in weeks, it didn’t sound forced. “It appears your Saints watched over us after all.”

  “My Saints?”

  “You’re the one who doesn’t believe in fate. How else would you explain all of this?”

  He looked around one more time, shaking his head at all the damage. “I don’t mind the Saints interfering,” he said, “but maybe next time they could do so BEFORE the place is completely destroyed.”

  “Come now, it’s hardly destroyed,” said Rosalyn. “Admittedly, the wall needs some work.”

  “And the keep,” added Ludwig.

  “Yes, all right, the keep as well.” Her mood sobered. “I think the truly tragic thing about all of this is all the needless deaths.”

  “Let’s not fool ourselves. Conflict leads to death. I’m afraid there’s no way around it.” He gazed skyward, possibly seeking some kind of sign.

  “What is it?”

  He brought his eyes back to hers. “There’ll be plenty of fighting in the coming days, my lady. I’m afraid where the army marches, death will follow.”

  She reached out, touching him on the forearm. “Then I pray it shall not be yours.”

  29

  Command

  Summer 1095 SR

  * * *

  Ludwig stood atop what was left of the curtain wall, gazing off to the south.

  “Your friends are well on their way,” offered Lord Wulfram.

  “Yes,” agreed Ludwig. “I’m surprised Baron Stein kept them on the payroll. I imagine that was quite the expense.”

  “It is, but Gebhard is attempting to curry favour. More troops means more influence with the duke.”

  “Is influence so easily bought?”

  Wulfram barked out a laugh. “No. Lord Deiter is not a man easily swayed, so it's most likely the other nobles who Stein’s trying to impress. He’s always thought of himself as a great man.”

  “He didn’t look too happy about the arrival of the marshal.”

  “And why would he be? He'd just had victory snatched from his grasp. It'll take some time to get over that.”

>   “Lord Gebhard has around two hundred men if you include the mercenaries. How does that compare to the other nobles of Erlingen?”

  “About average, I would presume. The duchy is divided into twelve baronies, with a smattering of baronets thrown in for good measure.”

  “We don’t have those in Hadenfeld,” said Ludwig. “How do they work?”

  “They're similar to knights but are hereditary titles. A baronet typically has a much smaller domain than a baron.”

  “Does that mean they’re addressed as sir or lord?”

  “As sir. In a sense, they’re not true nobles, and the duke certainly doesn’t consider them as such.”

  “Then why have them?”

  Lord Wulfram looked at him in surprise. “To look after the land, of course. There are many small villages and hamlets that are far too remote to rule efficiently from afar. Mind you, most of the men who are made into baronets are mere courtiers, so I suppose you could say it’s used to reward the duke's followers.”

  “It seems like a waste of time to me.”

  “It’s the way of things, I’m afraid.”

  “But it doesn’t have to be,” said Ludwig. “The duke could use them to effect change.”

  The baron smiled. “There you go, thinking again. It’s an admirable trait, my young friend, but your energy is better spent on things you can affect, like my soldiers.”

  “Of course, I was merely—”

  “Thinking. Yes, I know. Now, I’ve had what's left of the men assemble by the gatehouse. I would suggest you get down there and see what you can make of them. After all, you’ll be marching them to the duke's aid.”

  “Don't you need some here?”

  “I have decided to form a militia for that exact purpose.”

  “Won’t you need people for that?”

  “Yes, I will,” said Wulfram, “but I’ve called in locals from the countryside. They’re also going to help rebuild the wall, although that will take months. Your immediate concern, however, is looking after that bunch.” He pointed towards the gatehouse.

  Ludwig saw a sorry-looking collection of men, tired and hungry, the result of being on half rations for weeks on end, but they represented his first command.

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” said the baron. “Get down there and get to work, Sir Ludwig.”

  Ludwig smiled. “Yes, my lord.”

  He walked along the curtain wall, heading for the stairs. All of his life, he had read of knights and armies, yet now, confronted with his own small command, he suddenly felt overwhelmed. Here he was, a man of only twenty-six years of age, trying to lead a group of seasoned veterans. Would they see through his bravado? He was determined to put on his best face.

  Down the stairs he went, his footsteps echoing into the courtyard. The men, who milled about in a knot, looked up at his approach. Ludwig recognized most of them, for it was hard not to after spending so much time confined to the keep, but although he knew their faces, he did not yet know all their names.

  “All right,” he started. “Get into a line so I can have a look at you.”

  They shuffled into the semblance of a line, and Ludwig began examining them one at a time. They were, for the most part, well equipped. The foot soldiers had padded gambesons and kettle helmets along with a motley collection of swords, axes, and even a mace or two. Of the two dozen present, only six were archers, but their bows looked to be in good repair from what he could tell.

  “Let's get you bowmen together over there,” Ludwig said, pointing. He waited for them to move, then returned his attention to the footmen. “Do you have shields?”

  “We do,” replied an older man standing to his front, “but they’re in the keep. Not much point in carrying them at the moment.”

  “Fair enough. Are you trained in spears?”

  “To some degree.”

  “Have you a sergeant?”

  “He died in the assault, sir.”

  “Then I’ll promote you to sergeant. What’s your name?”

  “Krebbs, sir.”

  “Very well, Sergeant Krebbs it will be. How long have you served the baron?”

  “Getting on twenty years, sir.”

  “Then you know these men well?”

  The new sergeant grinned. “Better than I know myself, sir.”

  “Good. I’ll expect you to name your successor come nightfall.”

  “My successor, sir?”

  “Yes, the man who'd replace you should you fall. We can’t have the men leaderless.”

  “And what do we call him, sir?”

  “I suppose deputy sergeant will have to do.”

  “And will that involve more pay, sir?”

  Ludwig was caught off guard, for pay was something he hadn’t considered. “That's beyond my authority,” he replied, “but I shall bring it to the attention of the baron.”

  “All right, sir.”

  “Follow me, Sergeant, while I inspect the other men.”

  “Inspect, sir?”

  “Yes. We need to make sure everyone’s equipment is up to scratch.”

  “I’m not sure I follow?”

  “It’s simple, really. Weapons become damaged, gambesons torn, so we need to make sure any repairs are complete before we march.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  Ludwig made his way down the line, looking over each one. The weapons were all in fine shape, a sign that these warriors knew their business. There were some rents in armour and tears in their gambesons, but nothing that couldn’t be quickly dealt with.

  As he reached the end of the footmen, he turned to Krebbs. “Have the men fetch their shields, Sergeant.”

  “To what end, sir?”

  “I’d like you to pair them up and have them practice with their chosen weapons.” He turned to the men. “I don’t care what weapon you use in melee,” he said, “so long as you know how to use it. For battle, you will be armed with spears, but once contact is made with the enemy, it may be necessary to discard them in favour of something else. That choice will be up to you.”

  One of the men held up his hand, and Ludwig spotted his new sergeant rolling his eyes.

  “Not now, Arturo,” said Krebbs.

  Ludwig ignored the remark, looking instead at the man in line. “Yes?”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but why do we need spears? They’re awfully awkward to carry.”

  “You’ll be thankful for them when enemy horsemen approach.”

  “I doubt I’d be able to do much damage with a stick.”

  The other men chuckled.

  “You don’t attack with them,” explained Ludwig. “Rather, you plant the butt in the ground and hold the tip out. It keeps the horses at bay. Have you never learned such things?”

  Arturo looked at his fellow soldiers. “Prior to the attack here, few of us have ever been in a battle, sir.”

  “I thought you all veterans?”

  “No, sir,” said Krebbs, “although most have served the baron for years.”

  Ludwig felt light-headed. He had assumed these were seasoned warriors, but it now appeared he had vastly overestimated their capabilities. How, then, could he whip them into shape?

  He turned to Krebbs. “Take the men to the armoury. I want each one back here with a shield and spear. I’ll lead the training myself.”

  “Training, sir?”

  “Yes, I’m going to show you lot how to properly use a spear.”

  “Don’t you just poke the sharp end into the enemy?” suggested Arturo.

  Ludwig smiled, pondering his own training under the tutelage of Kurt Wasser. He wondered what his old mentor was up to these days, a recollection that was soon spoiled by the sergeant's cough.

  “Shall I dismiss the men, sir?” asked Krebbs.

  “Yes, but leave the archers here. I have yet to take their measure.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Krebbs led the foot soldiers away as Ludwig walked over to the archers.

  “I
remember you,” he said. “You were on the top of the keep.”

  “I was, sir. The name's Simmons."

  Ludwig looked over the small group. “I must admit I’m not much of an archer, so I’ll let your skill impress me. Have you any targets?”

  “We do."

  “Good. Set them up on the field between the keep and the village.”

  “Range, sir?” asked Simmons.

  “I suspect a hundred paces would be a good indication of your skill, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good, then make it so. Before you go, however, what do you carry for melee?”

  “We’re archers, sir," said Simmons. "We don’t mix it up with footmen.”

  “True, but there’s always the possibility the enemy might not co-operate. For that reason, we should always be prepared. Let each man carry a hatchet or short sword, depending on their preference, along with a knife. I’m sure the armoury will have any weapons you lack. Any questions?”

  The men all looked at him, eagerness in their eyes.

  “Very well, then. I’ll see you on the archery range.”

  He watched them go, wondering if he should appoint them a sergeant of their own, but with only six of them, it would be an exorbitant cost for the baron. Instead, he decided he would let Krebbs take care of them.

  * * *

  The footmen were the first to assemble. Ludwig led them out in double file, crossing the drawbridge to enter the field beyond. A couple of his archers were struggling to set up a target to the east, so he led his footmen west, giving them ample space to manoeuvre. Finally, he called a halt, then took a spear from his new sergeant.

  “This,” Ludwig said by way of introduction, “is your first defence from charging horsemen.” He drove the butt into the ground, angling the point away from him. “The trick is to anchor the end. Do that, and it'll keep the riders at bay. Trust me when I say no rider wants to bring his mount into a wall of spear tips. Of course, it works better when there’s more of them.”

  “How many more?” asked Arturo.

  “Ideally, enough for two ranks, but with our numbers, we’ll only form one. After all, there’s not much point in forming a line if the enemy can simply ride around you.”