by Shutta Crum
Yet it seemed to Thomas that he might never have a chance to do anything useful at all—until finally, one day, he was told to appear on the green before the castle to begin his sword training. The “swords” were only blunted pieces of wood with padded tips, but they were long and heavy like real two-handed fighting swords. Thomas knew this was just a first step—to get used to the weight and feel of a sword. What a surprise it was!
He could hardly lift the piece of wood. They’ve weighted it with lead, he thought. In addition, it was too long for Thomas’s short arms. He could not lift it from the hilt end but had to grasp it farther up the shaft. Thomas grappled with it. Finally, leaning back a bit, he managed to raise the heavy tip from the ground and steady the whole thing against the front of his body. He had no idea how he was supposed to pick up a buckler as well. The small round shields were piled in a mound before the boys, and as Thomas struggled to bend down and get a buckler, his eyes rose to meet those of the bigger boys standing around the arms master. Several of them were trying not to laugh out loud. One tall blond boy named Edwin was shaking his head as if Thomas was a pitiful sight.
Thomas felt a tightness in his chest. Heat rushed to his cheeks, and he heard throbbing in his ears. He lowered his eyes. All his life he’d had to make up for his size. He knew he had more difficulty mastering some skills than others did, and he tried never to let that bother him. He thought it very unfair to be made fun of when he was doing his best!
The only ones not laughing were a couple of younger boys who were having the same problem. Even the arms master seemed to be biting the inside of his cheeks to keep from chortling. What more do they want from me? he wondered. I’ll show them!
He grasped the training sword toward its middle and violently jerked upward on the heavy piece of wood to settle it across his shoulder, where he might be able to handle it more easily. Instead, it flew up and cracked him on his forehead.
Thomas staggered from the blow.
Edwin and the older boys burst out laughing.
“Master Thomas,” said the instructor, “were that a real sword, you would have just saved me the futility of training you by splitting your head atwain.”
Thomas nodded groggily as tears came to his eyes. His head did feel as if he’d split it in two. It hurt so much that he threw the training sword down, clutched his head, and stumbled from the field. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” he muttered to himself as he staggered beyond the whoops of laughter.
One of the last things he heard was Edwin’s haughty voice saying, “Well, it seems Sir Gerald’s little pity case is trying to knock some sense into himself. I doubt it will work.”
After which there followed more laughter, and then a barked command from the arms master. “All right, you younger page boys tuck the hilt as far up under your arm as you can!”
Later, Sir Gerald called Thomas in to speak with him. “The arms master has spoken with me about difficulties in your training,” he said.
“Yes,” said Thomas. “I …” He swallowed hard, not wanting to admit how foolish he’d been. He’d slunk away like a dog with its tail between its legs; now he’d never be able to go back without getting laughed at again. The other boys probably thought he’d been pouting all day. What if it meant he’d have to leave? He couldn’t become a knight, or a squire, or even a champion of any sort, without knowing how to handle a sword! He continued, “I … I had a problem with the practice swords.”
“Hmm,” said Sir Gerald, pushing back Thomas’s hair to see all of the large, ugly bruise on the boy’s forehead. “I can see that. Did you have this tended to?”
“Yes. Cook put a poultice on it.”
“I understand you were mocked by the others?”
Thomas looked down at the floor. He nodded.
“And you left the practice field?”
Again Thomas nodded. “Yes.”
Sir Gerald paused thoughtfully and then told the boy, “It is good to have pride. But what weak knights we would make if, whenever invaders scoffed us, we threw our arms down and walked away.” He let Thomas think about that for a time while he paced the room. He returned to stand before the boy. “And you let anger get in the way of your purpose. Who has lost the most thereby?”
Thomas’s voice caught in his throat. He’d disappointed Sir Gerald. And certainly his father would be disappointed in him if he heard of this. Da! Thomas groaned inwardly. His da, who’d wanted to be a knight himself …
For as far back as he could remember, Thomas had wanted to go on adventurous quests so he could come home and tell his father stories about the wondrous things of the world—things his father had never gotten to see—things Thomas knew were out there. He could not imagine going home and telling Da he’d failed! If he got sent away in shame, he wouldn’t be able to go back home—not like that. Thomas took a wavery deep breath. Sir Gerald was right, and now he wanted to hear it from Thomas. Who has lost the most by this foolish behavior? “I … I have,” he answered.
“No!” shouted the knight.
Thomas jerked up his head to stare wide-eyed at him.
“It is the kingdom that loses. We stand to lose much if we are not prepared—if we do not have trained pages and skillful squires who will become knights to protect our homes and our families. It is only by the thinnest thread that we make our homes in relative peace with our neighbors. To do this takes skill in all areas of training, and wisdom to know and do one’s duty despite laughter or pain. Here, you train for the kingdom, not for yourself! Never forget that.”
Thomas’s mouth dropped open. He’d never thought about the gravity of the duties a member of the King’s Company took on. He had to be given another chance. How could he live with himself if he failed his kingdom, too? “Please—”
Sir Gerald interrupted him by laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder. In a kinder tone he said, “You are young yet. These are lessons that need to be learned. Remember this—anger has its purpose, but never let it keep you from doing what you must.”
Thomas gulped and nodded. He started to say how sorry he was. Sir Gerald waved him away but then stopped him as he turned to leave. The knight added, “Also, I’ve talked to some of the training masters. We will be increasing your weapons training, and you will be starting dance and music along with religious studies soon. I would not have them keep you too long with the youngest of the pages.”
“Da-a-ance?” Thomas squeaked, slowly coming around to face the knight. His face was pale.
“Dance,” said Sir Gerald, looking at Thomas with a smile. “A squire or a knight must be ready for any eventuality. We pride ourselves on being well versed in all the arts, social as well as military.” Then Sir Gerald laughed and clapped Thomas heartily on the shoulder. “Do not fear, Thomas. I am sure you’ll be light on your feet and do quite well.”
The next day, Thomas returned to sword practice. He could see the others peeking at his forehead. Edwin seemed particularly pleased by the sight of Thomas’s injury.
Thomas tried not to think of their stares or to hear the low twitters and chuckles as he slowly, over the weeks that followed, became used to the ungainly training weapons. It was difficult—especially when the larger boys ridiculed him. He still got angry, but he never let it distract him from his training again.
Besides, the other boys soon learned there were times when being small was to Thomas’s advantage. He was a much quicker and more difficult target to hit when practicing with padded staffs. In addition, he was the best at ducking out of the way of the whirling quintain when stabbing the dummy with a lance.
The other boys were hit repeatedly by the dummy’s sand-stuffed arms and knocked off the wooden “horse” that was pushed at the quintain. But not Thomas. Thomas could jab and then duck low enough along the back of the wooden sawhorse that he avoided the dummy’s arms. This made Edwin and some of the larger boys cast dirty looks at Thomas when they limped from the field. Thomas was light on his feet.
And Sir Gerald was right�
��he was light on his feet during dance lessons with Princess Eleanor’s ladies-in-waiting as well. Thomas had hoped to see the princess during these lessons, but she seemed so busy that there were only a few moments when he was able to glimpse her from afar.
Nevertheless, Thomas attended to all his studies as a page and served Sir Gerald faithfully and well. Until one day, upon a return visit by Sir Gerald to the castle, when Thomas was asked to wait upon his knight in the chapel.
Thomas found Sir Gerald in the small chapel off the great hall. He was on his knees, praying. At his side lay a small scabbard and a shield, not Sir Gerald’s own magnificent sword and shield. Thomas studied a faded painting in the chapel as Sir Gerald prayed. It depicted a dragon terrorizing a village, and reminded Thomas of Da’s many stories of knights and dragons. He was suddenly homesick.
He’d been at the castle for some months now and had managed to make it home a few times. Still, he often wished he could visit more. Soon, he thought.
Sir Gerald rose and approached him. “Thomas,” he said, “I have had good reports from your instructors. You are an apt pupil, even managing to ride one of the castle ponies with some agility. And the ladies tell me that your dancing is above adequate.”
Thomas blushed.
“Also,” continued the knight, “though I was in a hurry to get here, I did stop to share a meal with your father on my way.”
“How is he? And the family, sir?”
“They are well. The new baby is healthy and hungry all the time. Your little sister Isabel is very vocal. She has apparently learned a good many new words. And Peter seems to have acquired another layer of dirt, which he was happy to share with me.”
Thomas smiled, despite a twist of pain in his stomach. He realized how much he missed them all. However, he forced himself to turn his attention back to Sir Gerald, who was studying Thomas thoughtfully. It was obvious the knight had more about which he wished to speak.
Finally, Sir Gerald cleared his throat and said, “You’ve got more than thirteen years now. This is a little young, but it’s not unheard of for a squire to be thirteen, provided his studies have been successful.”
Thomas jerked upright. A squire? His eyes grew wide as he listened to Sir Gerald.
“I am, perhaps, rushing things along a bit,” the knight said. “You have not had the benefit of years of study, as most pages have. However, I have faith in your ability to learn quickly. These are dire times, and mayhap the days ahead will grow even darker before we see some relief. I have need of a new squire to accompany me, to aid in dressing Eclipse and me for battle, to see to the replenishing and repair of my weapons, to care for Eclipse in the field, and to run errands as I require them. The other boys I have trained have long since been stationed on our borders, for the king is employing every able hand he can. Therefore, I would have you now take your place by my side. Do you understand what I am saying?”
Thomas nodded. A squire! He could hardly wait to tell his family.
Sir Gerald was not finished. He added, “These are not easy tasks and require fortitude, and loyalty to me, your knight.”
“I—I understand.”
“Good. Then I have for you some things you will need.” The knight picked up the scabbard and shield. “As my squire, you have earned the right to carry my coat of arms.” He handed Thomas the small shield, upon which was blazoned a field of blue, quartered. In one quarter was a lion rampant, which was the symbol of the king. In another was Sir Gerald’s House of Wellsford arms, a red rose above a silver sword. In the top two quarters were a burning castle and two fleurs-de-lis representing the families of the king. “It may be some time yet before you will need a full-sized shield.”
Thomas ran his fingers lightly over the shield. He didn’t care that it was small, like the castle’s practice bucklers, and he was about to say so when Sir Gerald had in his hands an even more wonderful gift. It was the small scabbard, inlaid with intertwining vines rising from a pool and topped by starflowers. In the morning light from the chapel’s window, the hilt glinted with silver.
Thomas pulled the sword from its scabbard. It was short, but a perfect fit for him. The two sides of the blade were thin and sharp, and the tip curved a bit. Around the hilt was a knotted cord of silver, but the most unusual part of the sword was the hilt itself. It was carved and old, and looked to be made of ivory. Thomas could make out a lake and clouds in the carvings, and—he wasn’t sure—something else that looked like a cave or tunnel entrance. It was all so mysterious and beautiful. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Sir Gerald smiled down at the boy. “There’s an interesting story about the blade,” he pointed out. “I think it’s important that you know it.” The knight sat down upon a bench. “I’m not sure what to make of it myself. You see, the iron of this sword was forged across the eastern ocean and, through various routes, made its way to our land. But the sword had no hilt. Apparently, a swordsmith kept it displayed above his wares but would not sell the blade to any who asked about it. Always his response was that one day the blade would be given a hilt of great antiquity, and then he would know what to do with the sword.
“One morning this swordsmith went to the wharves to purchase a fish for a special dinner. When the cook sliced into the fish—lo and behold!—he found a large ivory tooth. It was very old, and none could tell from what sort of creature the tooth came. But upon seeing it, the smith knew that an ivory hilt must be carved from the tooth for the blade that hung in his shop. This he did, he said, in a dreamlike daze. When he finished carving, he joined the hilt to the blade with a rope of silver. As he worked, he heard a phrase repeated in his head: not made for taking, but for giving. So he never sold or bartered the finished sword. He had it for many years.
“Well, a fortnight ago I was traveling through a village when I happened to pass the swordsmith’s shop. I was quite surprised when the fellow ran out into the road and gripped me by the arm, saying I was just the person he’d been waiting for. And then he gave me this sword! I wanted to give him something in return, for as you can see, it is exquisite. He would not hear of it. It was a gift, he said. He was very emphatic about that—repeating that it was not meant for taking, but for giving. He finished by saying that I would know the brave heart whose hand it would fit.”
Thomas gulped. He asked, “Do you think I have a brave heart?”
Sir Gerald smiled again. “I’m certain you do. See, it fits your hand well! At any rate,” he added, scratching his beard, “I have spent the morning praying upon it, and I feel the sword was meant for you. It was given to me, and now I give it to you. Treat it with great care. The swordsmith called the blade Starfast. Do you like that name? You can change it if you wish.”
“No … I mean, yes. Yes! I like that name. And no, I don’t want to change it,” spluttered Thomas. “And I do promise to care for it. Do you think the hilt’s made from a whale’s tooth?” He’d heard of those beasts of the water, though he’d never seen one.
The knight shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps it is made of the stuff of stars. But,” he said, “I do know that I have other duties to attend to today. As do you. We leave tonight, and Marshal Wattley must be told. Well, Squire Thomas—for so I hereby dub thee—keep safe your new blade, Starfast. It is short, but sharp and finely made, with a hilt carved from the tooth of an ancient being. May it ever serve our king, and thee, and me.”
Thus did Thomas become a squire.
Squire Thomas had no time to return home to see his family. He barely had time to strap on his sword and scurry to the stables to inform Marshal Wattley that all must be prepared for Sir Gerald to leave that evening.
He did take a few moments to find Jon and tell him the news.
When Thomas pulled Starfast from its scabbard, Jon’s eyes grew large, and he whistled. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Jon said, “except for Heartwind, of course.” Then he quickly added, “Or the princess.”
Thomas nodded.
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br /> “And the hilt is carved from a tooth?”
“An ancient tooth,” Thomas said. “Maybe a whale’s—”
“Or a dragon’s!” Jon exclaimed.
Thomas caught his breath. He hadn’t thought of that.
Jon touched Starfast gingerly. “It’s the blade of a champion,” he said. “And now you’re going off to the borderlands with Sir Gerald. It’s just like the princess said, conspirators and champions.”
When they left that night, Sir Gerald and Eclipse led the way. Despite proudly wearing Starfast, Thomas followed behind on a cart with the supplies.
They visited many of the camps in the North Country, delivering supplies. Sir Gerald also met with other knights, repositioned men along the front, and carried out the king’s instructions.
When he found time from his chores, Thomas listened to other squires he met in the North Country. He heard their hair-raising tales of battles and bloodshed. Secretly, he was glad that he and Sir Gerald had not yet encountered any troops from across the border. In fact, he would have been happy to return to the castle without having seen a battle.
However, that was not to be. Thomas’s first skirmish as Sir Gerald’s squire took place high in the mountains. The knights were fighting on foot in a deep pass. The ground was rocky and uneven, so the horses were held on a plateau below the pass. Thomas spent the whole of the battle holding on to Eclipse’s reins and soothing the horse. The clashing and clanking sounds of steel, drifting down to him from above, frightened Thomas, too. Mingled with those sounds were the cries of men. He strained to hear individual voices. What if Sir Gerald was injured?
