“Nor I!” returned his youthful companion, quiet for once.
Demonstration over, the trainees then paired off, each with leather helm, wooden sword and shield, and sparred for most of the afternoon. This is where Don and the others really began to learn the fundamentals of the broadsword. The shields were round with a center handgrip covered by a metal boss. An obvious, but painful lesson was the shield. It was a wonderful source of protection, but if lifted too high, it blinded its user, leaving the opponent the initiative. Several times Don so blinded himself then lowered the shield just in time to receive a sharp thud on his head.
Forehand and backhand blows were also possible, they learned, preferably made parallel with the ground and with sword hand held high to clear one’s own shield. Diagonal cuts were effective against the leg, and a high downward blow was also effective in going over another’s guard.
These lessons were drilled over and over for the next two days. The periods of sparring with sword and shield, and spear and shield were interspersed with workouts with dull steel swords against a row of wooden stakes. Don raised blisters on both hands from sword and shield grips, but in this he was not alone.
“Put some muscle behind it, Lore-man!” shouted a voice in Don’s ear. “Knock some chips off!” Don clenched his lips and aimed a vicious cut at the battered post. Splinters flew! Don heard a grunt that may actually have been a sign of approval.
The last day of the week finally came. All the different drills were tied together into a two-ranked shield wall with swordsmen on the front rank, each paired with a spearman behind. Each spearman thrust his weapon over the shoulder of the swordsman to his front. Then the instructors attacked the shield wall with wooden swords. The attacks were slow at first, to give the trainees the idea, and time to practice. When they declared themselves ready, a full-speed attack was launched that speedily broke the wall.
Afterward, the now-exhausted instructors and trainees sat in a circle and talked about what they had learned that week. They were coached on all that they had done, well and ill. Then the day came to a close. Before the group dispersed, the chief trainer stood and spoke:
“Hear me!” he began, speaking firmly and clearly. “You have done well this week. But you should know by now that weapon skills cannot be learned in one short school. Those of you that join a levy near your home will be expected to practice one day a week for the rest of the summer. But even this will not be enough. If you wish to survive your first battle, you must develop fighting skills, and then hone them to a fine edge.”
He paused, looking Don and his fellows, one by one, in the eye, then continued: “You may take one wooden shield and practice sword with you when you leave. Find someone to practice with. Your weapons of war will be given you when you are assigned to your place of duty.”
“Now, as you know, the levies are not often called out. If things go as in the past, three times per year is about what to expect. Yet, this depends on the Prophet. Some of you will serve with a horse troop. Men who are good horsemen and skilled bowmen are needed and you teenagers can serve as scouts. If you have an interest, remain here after the session ends. There will be delegates here from troops needing men. Any questions? None? Very well! You are dismissed!”
The group began to break up, drifting back toward the center of town. Don picked up a practice sword and shield and started to go. Daniel grabbed his shoulder and shook his hand.
“Stop by the lore-house when you are in town,” said Don, with a smile.
“I will,” returned Daniel. “But what are you going to do? Where will you serve, I mean?”
“Well,” answered Don, somewhat surprised at the question. “I have never considered anything but the Stonegate levy. I plan to join them within a week.”
“I think we should at least talk to the troop leaders,” urged Daniel. “They can tell us what to expect should we join, and if they will have us or not.”
“Why would I want to join a horse troop and ride all over the mountains for weeks at time?” asked Don. “It doesn’t sound pleasant to me, and they take a great risk each time they leave, I’m sure. I would rather drill once a week right here on the citadel lawn.”
“And march to war on foot with the poor and untrained!” finished Daniel. “What will you do for decent armor? A helm and shield are all you will be issued. And a fair mail shirt costs about thirty mills. Can you afford that? If not, a chance arrow or spear thrust will mean your end.”
“But, I am no horseman,” sputtered Don.
“You are a bowman, I hear, and I know that you can ride a little,” returned Daniel quietly, but persistently. “I hate to see you make a mistake. Why not talk to the troop leaders? Remember, if you are accepted, Stonegate will provide the armor. Good armor!”
While they were talking, a grey-bearded man of medium height with a prominent scar across his weather-beaten cheek walked up and addressed them. “Good day,” he said. “My name is John. I command the Red Axe Troop.”
Don and Daniel shook his hand. John’s eyes were the color of his beard, and his broad hand was as hard as horn. Muscles in his sword arm bulged beneath his woolen tunic. A medallion marked with a blood-red battle axe hung from a chain around his neck.
Daniel spoke first: “My companion, the lore-man, and I are interested in joining a horse troop. I have heard of the bloody axe and know that it is only fair to call it one of the best.”
“Actually,” broke in Don, hastily. “my first thought was to join the Stonegate levy and defend the city in time of need. I am not sure if I can even meet your entrance requirements …”
“To give answer to both of you, then,” returned John, slowly, “We are short about five men in my troop, and five more scouts would also be very useful. But I will not take a man that I do not select myself.” He looked at Don. “The levy here in town will take four to five weeks of your time every year—a day or two at a time. Most of the time you will drill, or maybe something as interesting as standing guard at Weeping Gate, or counting arrows. I would find it dull and unrewarding, but perhaps lore-men see things different. Finally, any levy, until seasoned in battle, is a dangerous spot in a fight. You will not get any armor unless you buy it yourself. Because of that, casualties in any levy will be high, in case of a war.”
“Unless protected by Stonegate walls?” asked Don.
“Aye, these walls will give some protection, but you may be marched off who knows where, depending on the need.”
“Tell us about the Red Axes,” urged Daniel.
“Aye, gladly,” returned John, with a brief ghost of a smile. “Enough talk about levies and their problems, I quite agree. If you wish to join my troop or some other horse troop, you will have to train with us for a week. After that time, we will let you know whether we want you or not.”
“If we join,” asked Don, “How long will we have to stay with the troop? Can we ever switch to another group?”
“There is a rule that you must stay at least one year,” returned John.
“What about weapons?” asked Daniel. “You mentioned armor, also.”
“You are right to be concerned about weapons,” returned John. “Stonegate provides good quality swords, axes, spears, and bows and arrows to all horse troopers. The arms are plain, blacked or blued, without engraving or mountings, but the steel is good. I personally select mail, horses and saddles for all new men. If you own suitable arms, armor or horses, you certainly may use your own. Stonegate will provide feed for man and beast while on patrol. You receive no pay for your service, but will be given your arms, armor and horse after one year or ten patrols. Losses in battle will be made good by Stonegate. Any questions on this?”
“Will we be given our mail coat?” asked Daniel.
“Yes, after either ten patrols or a year at your option. The mail maker and I will make sure your mai
l fits you properly, and mail is not easy to alter, once the rivets are hammered. That is why we are willing to give it to you.” John had a hint of a smile as he concluded: “Stonegate will still have the use of the mail, anyway.”
Don saw the point and smiled wryly as well. “Once we earn a coat of mail, can we keep it and earn another?” he asked. “How much is a coat worth?”
“About fifty mills and up,” returned John. “They can be bought more cheaply, but not if you want quality. James Harrison has the best mail shop in Stonegate, and we use only his armor. But if you are given a coat of mail, you will not get another, unless the first is lost in battle at no fault of yours. It costs about 160 mills to fully equip and mount a trooper, about five year’s pay in these parts.”
John gave them a stern look. “Well, what say you? Will you stay home with the old men and fat merchants and doze with the levy, or will you try and see if you are good enough for us? Frankly, if you really feel that the levy is for you, I doubt you are the kind of man we need.”
“I would like to try for a place, Sir John,” blurted Daniel excitedly. “What do I need to do?”
“Be here at dawn tomorrow, and be ready to be gone for a week,” responded John. “How say you, Lore-man?”
“I have another question,” returned Don, feeling pressured. “I have duties to perform for the lore-master. With the levy—”
“With the levy,” cut in John, “You will be away from the lore-house for four to five weeks a year, a day or two at a time. With me you will be gone on about four long patrols of about ten days, each year. There are also small patrols of less than a full troop that take less time, and you must also go out on one or two of these per year as need arises. The difference in a year’s time is only two or three weeks, and I am sure that your lore-master would not be greatly upset, either way. Of course, even if you try out, you may well not be accepted.”
“Well, with the lore-master’s approval, and with that understanding, I would also like to try out,” returned Don. There was a note of surprise in his voice since he had not supposed that John would even consider him.
John nodded. “Very well. Be here tomorrow as well. Bring a heavy cloak, warm clothing, and stout boots. Those things are not provided.”
As John walked on to speak to another small group, Don and Daniel looked at each other. “I am glad you are coming, Lore-man,” said Daniel quietly. Don nodded. He was not at all sure that he had done the right thing. But since he doubted that his horsemanship would be good enough to pass, he had little fear that this would amount to anything. He would probably end up in the levy. After shaking hands, they went their separate ways.
†
The next week was quite long in the living, but in retrospect, time never passed so quickly. Don, Daniel, and three younger men all journeyed the next morning in the back of a wagon to a farmstead, perhaps two miles northwest of Stonegate, south of the river. There were barns and a barracks, and many warhorses were pastured there. The training started immediately.
Dawn to dusk it lasted, without letup. Horses were rested, instructors were rotated, but other than brief meals and a few grudged hours in the blackest night, the five did not rest. Their teachers did not hurry, but they had a passion for absolute accuracy. Items were given to memorize, such as their gear, the parts of a horse, the troop equipment. Then there were the names that they had to know—the names of the troopers, the commanders, the rivers and mountain peaks.
Don’s regular instructor, a husky man in his mid-thirties with reddish hair and an even-redder beard, named Blane, had a strong will and an abusive tongue. Don had to saddle his horse “Hardtack” at least twenty times the first day before he could do so quickly and accurately enough. Then, in the black of night, a few hours later, Blane shook him awake and ordered him out to the parade ground where he was forced to recite horse anatomy while saddling Hardtack in the dark for the twenty-first time. He worked feverishly, his numb brain groping for the phrases, and his fingers fitted tack by feel. He repeated the drill, carefully making sure that the cinches were not twisted, and that every part of the gear was securely strapped in place. Then Blane produced a light and inspected his work.
“Not bad, Lore-man,” he said, finally. “Now, unsaddle your mount and get back to bed. You really should not be up so late! Tomorrow will be a busy day.”
In the days that followed, Don and the others learned what real exercise was. They jogged a mile in full armor every morning, leading their mounts, and then cantered two more. Don learned how to ford rivers, use the kite shield (the horseman’s shield, as opposed to the round shield of the infantry), the basic commands for maneuver of the troop, the trumpet calls, care and feeding of his horse. It seemed that they poured a week’s worth of new information into every day. Finally, the last day of the training came. It was devoted to sparring with wooden sword and padded spear and shooting a bow from horseback.
Don made a number of mistakes in the sparring practice. He was even unhorsed by an opponent on foot, to the laughter of all. Finally, he was bruised from head to toe in a mock mounted sword fight. Don held his temper in check and simply tried to do his best. He had noticed “Gray” John (the commander’s nickname) watching him from a distance, but they had not talked. As the sun sank over the top of the mountains to the west, the “Western Wall,” Don finished grooming Hardtack. Then he cleaned and oiled his saddle and tack and hung it into place in the barn. Gray John walked up.
“We will meet to decide if you will be allowed into this troop, Lore-man,” he said, somewhat stiffly. “This training is over for now. Go home. The wagon is waiting. Come back the day after tomorrow, and we will let you know the decision.”
Don nodded agreement, and was shortly bouncing in the back of the wagon on the way back to Stonegate. He looked forward to a hot bowl of stew in his favorite inn, the “Sword and Quill,” across the street from the lore-house. He knew his father would be appalled at the thought of a lore-man bearing arms. Then he thought about the sweet joys of pens and smooth parchments and discussions with colleagues before a warm fire in a cheerful room. Why would any man give that up for the hard world of cold mail, sharp steel, aching muscles, sour sweat—and hot blood? Daniel and the others chattered all the way to town, but they found Don even more distant than usual—lost in thought, apparently.
Chapter 6
†
The Patrol
For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. Ephesians 6: 12 KJV
He awoke at the first light of dawn to feel a brusque shaking of his shoulder. “Come on, Lore-man,” a low voice whispered. “They’re bringin’ up the horses now.”
He struggled stiffly to his feet, brushing mechanically at the spruce needles clinging to his cloak. Black shapes moved among the trees, but the natural sounds of the night were stilled. In their place metal rang, brushes rustled, a horse snorted, and an occasional low voice could be heard. Following his companion’s example, he armed himself. Over his padded war-tunic came the cold, heavy coat of mail. He donned the armor with a bit of a struggle, then buckled on his helm and belted his newly-sharpened sword at his side. Carrying a spear and kite shield, he moved down the hill to the saddles.
†
Gray John had accepted him into the troop two weeks earlier. The final test had started easily enough. The troop leader had told him to prepare for a ten-day patrol. He was to catch and saddle his horse and draw from the armory and supply room whatever he thought he would need.
Don had simply followed his earlier training to the letter. He drew a provision sack (designed to be tied behind the cantle of the saddle, but which could also be carried as a knapsack). Into the sack he had put a leathern flask filled with water, hard biscuits, cheese, dried fruit, jerked meat, salt, te
a, and a nose bag full of oats. The last was for his horse, Hardtack, but could be used to make a porridge in case of need. Don added a small kit that included leather thongs, needle and thread, soap, a razor, liniment and bandages. This was for repairs to equipment or first aid to man or beast. At the fork of his saddle, he tied on a picket rope and hobbles. A cased bow rode on the right side of the saddle, together with a quiver full of arrows. When Don mounted, clad in armor and carrying his other weapons, Hardtack was carrying a heavy load, but the horse bore it lightly without apparent effort.
When Don had said that he was ready, Gray John inspected his equipment, checking all fasteners, ties and buckles. Then Don was asked to ride at speed through an obstacle course, which required several low jumps and ducking under bars hardly higher than Hardtack’s withers. He then had to negotiate a mock combat course involving the spear and sword. Finally, as a final test, Don had to simply gallop in a circle on the parade ground. Fortunately, the equipment was well packed, and the only sound heard was the thud of hooves on packed earth. Rattles or jingles would have been fatal to his chances since Gray John insisted on moving lightly and quietly.
Finally, the old warrior had nodded beckoned him to dismount. When Gray John shook his hand, there was nothing more to say or do. He had been accepted. In fact, that day had been a good one. Of the four trying out, three made it through the deceptively simple tests. Daniel was one of these.
To cement the recognition, the armorer had immediately taken away Don’s helm and soldered a silver disk on its front, bearing the sign of the scarlet axe. Daniel slapped Don on the shoulder and they grinned at each other. “See,” said Daniel, “I told you we should do this.”
The Stonegate Sword Page 8
