The Dragon's Prophecy

by David Noel

  Brendan and Sir Gerard got cleaned up quickly and went back into the hall. A few moments later, Lady Evelyn, Portia, and some of the other shieldmaidens and handmaidens followed them out carrying plates of food. Portia saw Brendan watching her as she came out. Lady Evelyn was the highest-ranking person in the castle after Sir Gerard and so she went to the lowest ranking groom at the end of the table and began to serve him. As she was doing so, she gave directions to the other girls about who was to serve whom. That was a bit unusual since normally they all just spread out and served whoever needed to be served but she probably did it since most of the handmaidens had made a beeline for Brendan who certainly didn’t need twenty girls bringing him food. Portia also noticed that her mother didn't assign her to serve anyone.

  "My lady, whom should I serve?" She asked in her most formal tone.

  "Hmmm?" Her mother responded, "Oh yes, Portia. Well, serve anyone that I missed." Portia surveyed the table and realized that yes, she knew it, the one person left to be served was Brendan. Really mother? Is that the best you can do? Her mother had tried to make it look like it was entirely coincidental, but the handmaiden didn't believe it for a minute. Her mother was about as subtle as a catapult stone. But it wasn't going to work, she might have to wait on him, but she wasn’t going to enjoy it! Again, all eyes were upon her and the young squire as she set about serving him his dinner.

  "Should I see this as a sign that you intend to marry me?" He asked with a smile.

  Portia's eyes flashed; he was SO incredibly irritating! And yet, and yet... There was something about him that attracted her. His eyes followed her instead of looking past her to check out the other girls. He didn't seem to see her as the little monkey who didn't know how to talk to people. He had even said that he liked the burn scar on her leg. She knew her father would not want her to marry some old shark of a man in an arranged marriage but life on the frontier was rough and he knew that he could die at any time. So, it was not impossible that he had brought this young man home as a potential suitor for her to consider. From that perspective, she could certainly do worse than Squire Brendan. He wasn't bad to look at, he didn't just dismiss her as a bully or the village idiot, and he was willing to wash her feet. He even acted like he thought she was attractive.

  "I said, should I see this as a sign that you intend to marry me?" He asked again with a smile, interrupting her momentary reverie.

  "Perhaps," she smiled mysteriously, "perhaps."

  Chapter 16

  “Many people consider curiosity to be one of the worst of vices but not Centurions. Wisdom comes from asking questions, BUT have a care when asking a question, for some answers come with a very heavy price.”

  The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 8: Proverb 7

  The Black crept through the dark shadows of Marcia's dream. The girl was concerned about the growing presence of Hungarian raiders along the borders and what that meant for the Order. Her plans were beginning to gain some traction with the girl. Marcia would be the bait to draw Portia out, now she just needed bait to draw Marcia out.

  The black saw her mixing ingredients in jars and taking notes about the results. She was conducting some sort of experiment. The Black saw the words “Fire Medicine” written in Greek next to a passage written in Chinese. The girl’s curiosity was insatiable, she just had to solve the riddle of this mysterious substance. Inspiration suddenly struck the dragon; Marcia was trying to figure out this Chinese Fire Medicine because she thought it could be used as a weapon against the Hungarians.

  In her dream, Marcia kept glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching her, for some reason she wanted to keep her actions a secret. Marcia had translated two of the ingredients as brimstone and charcoal, but she was struggling to figure out the third ingredient. Her notes showed that she thought it was something distilled from bat guano, but she was far from sure about this translation.

  The Black cackled with glee. Bat guano was perfect! Brimstone and charcoal would be available in the village, but bat guano could only be found in caves far from the castle, caves near the dragon’s lair. The best part was that she wanted to keep it a secret for some reason so if the dragon played it just right, the little fool would keep it a secret when she left the castle too.

  The Black began to encourage this interpretation, yes, it had to be bat guano, nothing else made sense. Hordes of Hungarians were coming, and devastation would follow in their wake. Centurions would die by the thousands as all of Carinthia was overrun. Marcia had to solve the riddle and make the fire medicine, but secrecy was the key; she was the only one who could do it and fire medicine was the only thing that could stop the coming invasion. She gave Marcia a vision of standing in the watchtower looking out over miles and miles of burning fields and gutted villages. She began to weep, and the Black knew that she had her. There would be many more dreams to bring Marcia to just the right place to make the journey, but the dragon felt very confident that she could get her there. Once Marcia was drawn out of the castle then Portia would follow.

  The dragon reflected that she still had no clear idea what either girl actually looked like. People rarely thought about their own looks in a dream, and if they did, those self-images were usually distorted. Most people dreamed of themselves as being more attractive or uglier than they really were. Would the Black know that she had the right girls when she caught them? She chuckled to herself, with the Hungarians on the move how many young girls would be wandering through the woods by themselves? Marcia would surely be dressed in the best explorers clothing she could find, loaded down with sampling jars, and notebooks, and satchels for carrying it all. Portia would doubtless be armed to the hilt, wearing her best hauberk and the tabard of a Centurion handmaiden. The dragon smiled smugly to herself. By themselves in the woods, dressed like that? To her supremely sharp eyes, ears, and nose, Marcia and Portia would be very, very easy to find.

  The Black settled in for a deep slumber, there would be a great deal of dreaming to do tonight. First, she had to fill another Hungarian scouting party with dreams of gold and plunder if they would investigate the little village a few miles north of the castle. Second, she had to weave an urgent dream of finding a cave full of bats in the foothills beyond the village. Marcia had to do it on her own, fire medicine was too dangerous, no one else could be put at risk until she had mastered its secrets. Finally, the dragon would have to create a dream so dark and foreboding that she could convince Portia that her only hope of saving her sister and the rest of her family from a dragon and the Hungarian army was to set out in search of her missing sibling by herself. If she really loaded that last one up with fear she could probably get the poor girl to freeze up completely when she came face to face with an actual dragon. That would, of course, make eating her that much easier.

  The problem was that she had to find a way to enter Portia's dream without that cursed vision of the prophet intruding. It was always there, like her own personal nightmare, when she was trying to weave dark dreams into the girl's sleep. If there was a silver lining to that vision, it was that it was as terrifying to Portia as it was to her. She would destroy the prophet’s memory, his prophecy, and that little harbinger of doom with her master stroke, she was the Black after all, cunning plans were her forte.

  Chapter 17

  “Never trust someone who gives you a head start in a race or acts as if they are doing you a favor when they let you go first in a wager. They have a plan and it is probably better than yours. This is where the phrase “A fool and his money are soon parted” originally came from.

  The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 3: Proverb 9

  As a Centurion squire, Brendan was housed in the men's barracks, a few men from the surrounding villages had come into the castle in response to the raiders but the barracks was still mostly empty. This was fine with Brendan, it made it easier for him to settle in. By most standards, the barracks were a very spartan place to live, but to a young man who was
used to sleeping in back allies or beside the road it was the lap of luxury. Unlike any other castle he had ever heard of in the west, Castle Warrick had running water and an efficient sewer system which extended to the barracks. It had well designed fireplaces that he was sure would keep the whole building reasonably warm in the winter and slotted windows that let in a breeze in the summertime to keep it cooler. The Doma, a woman who ran all the domestic services in the castle, had even assigned him his own bed, bed covers, and footlocker. The list of amazing features went on and on. Best of all, since Centurions insisted upon a high level of personal hygiene there was not nearly as much trouble with things like lice, fleas, and bedbugs as one usually encountered in a barracks.

  Brendan awoke the next morning to the sound of roosters crowing in the pre-dawn. He was surprised at how rested he felt, apparently being able to sleep without the worry of being attacked was good for you, who knew? He got up, got dressed, and started walking toward the Great Hall in hopes of finding some breakfast. In the bailey he saw about two dozen figures practicing their sword work on pells. Brendan was a little surprised that such practice would begin even before sunrise. He walked in their direction half-afraid that he had missed some unmentioned expectation that he should be up and working on his weapons training already. As he approached, he realized that they were all young women between the ages of about 13 and 19. The older ones wore a double link chain mail hauberk while the younger ones all wore gambesons, a sort of padded coat worn under armor for extra protection.

  He recognized Portia as she gave directions on the best way to use a short sword and shield combination against the pell. Her green eyes were sparkling, and her smile lit up her entire face, clearly attacking things with a sword gave her great joy. There was something very odd about her technique as she hit the pell with her shield and then made a lighting quick stab with her sword around the edge. His brow furrowed; he had seen similar fighting styles before but what was wrong with her … Oh! She was left-handed! Left-handed warriors either learned how to fight right-handed so that they could form an interlocking shield wall with their fellow warriors or else they served as archers or slingers where consistency wasn’t necessary. He didn’t know how it would work, but it was fascinating to watch. Did they all fight left-handed? That didn’t seem likely. Did she switch hands when they needed to form shield wall? Possibly, but if that was the case why work on fighting left-handed at all? Then it came to him, consistency wasn’t necessary since they probably never formed shield walls. You wouldn’t form a shield wall atop the rampart, and you wouldn’t use one on horseback, the two places where they probably did most of their fighting.

  He settled down to watch. He tried to imagine what it was like to face someone whose attacks all came from the wrong side. She was used to facing right-handed fighters since she faced them all the time but how many of them were used to facing a left-handed warrior? It must be very disturbing when your opponent’s sword is attacking your sword arm instead of your shield arm. Her hair was still Viking blond, but she wore it in a ponytail that made it easier to ignore. Actually, it didn’t bother him nearly as much as it did the first day he saw her, maybe it was growing on him. He was having fun and being educated at the same time. Portia paused to yell at him.

  “Like what you see?”

  “Interesting technique,” he called back, “I like your angle of attack.” She tried to scowl at him, but he was sure he saw a smile cross her lips as she turned back to what she was doing.

  One of the other girls peeled off from the group and walked over to him.

  "You are Sir Gerard's new squire," she commented.

  "Yes, my name is Brendan," he replied with a small bow.

  "I’m Aurora, head of the handmaidens; it’s good to meet you." She put her hand out to shake his. He smiled broadly and shook hands with her. He noted that she had a surprisingly firm grip.

  "What was that?" Asked Portia watching the two out of the corner of her eye.

  "It’s a handshake, a form of greeting that is common in Greek speaking lands and the Middle East," explained Aurora.

  "It’s been a long time since I’ve shaken hands with someone," said Brendan, still smiling. "Please forgive me for seeming to be rude or ignorant but you’re the first women that I’ve ever seen learning to use a gladius and a scutum. Do all Frankish women train for battle or just Centurion women?"

  "We actually call the sword a gladia and the shield a scuta because these are slightly smaller and lighter versions of the old Roman equipment that we have redesigned for women,” explained Aurora. “And to answer your question, only Centurion women are trained for battle. We’re a military order that crosses all borders and all Christian peoples. Many kings like to have us along their borders to provide security from raiders, but because we serve Christ and not the king they like to keep us spread out so that we don’t pose a threat to them. Since there are never enough Centurions in one place to really do the job, Centurion women are also trained for battle. This way the men can leave if necessary and go into battle without having to leave a large part of their forces behind to protect the castle."

  “Why don’t other nobles do this?”

  “Because they have the luxury not to. Women have fought in wars across the centuries but usually only in desperate situations. Women who are killed in battle can’t have children who will grow up to be taxpayers and soldiers in the king’s armies, so if your situation isn’t desperate you don’t train the women to fight. We Centurions believe our first duty is to protect the people, not the nobles, so Centurion knights spend far more of their time patrolling in the countryside, intercepting raiders, and protecting the common folk than most Frankish or German armies do. Our women fight because we need them to, theirs don’t because they don’t have to.” Brendan nodded in understanding.

  "What do the rest of the men in the Frankish kingdoms think of Centurion women who know how to fight?" He asked.

  "Most do not approve," said Aurora with an edge to her voice. "To be honest, most Centurion women marry Centurion men for that very reason. Most Frankish and German nobles feel that we don’t know our place and that we’re just Scythians in chain mail. Of course, their women have the luxury of living in areas protected by the Order, here on the frontiers we do what we must, in order to survive.” She paused for a moment before asking, “And how do you feel about women who can defend themselves?"

  "I’m intrigued by them. I grew up with ancient stories about the Amazons, warrior women who could stand toe-to-toe with the men and who fought on the side of Troy against the Greeks."

  "Yes, but sadly for the Amazons, Achilles killed Queen Penthesilea," responded Aurora with a knowing nod, “and they were defeated.”

  "And then he fell in love with her after he took her helmet off and looked upon her beauty," Brendan added with a laugh. "So you know the old stories! I have never personally dealt with Amazons, but I must admit that I find them fascinating. I suspect most Greeks do; we certainly have enough epic poetry about them. I must also admit that I find you handmaidens fascinating."

  Aurora's cheeks turned just a little bit pink at this. He glanced at Portia and saw her glaring at him. What had he done now? He sighed, just when he thought he had figured women out he realized he still didn’t have a clue.

  Portia turned around angrily and started yelling at the rest of the girls who had all stopped their training and drifted over to listen in on Aurora's conversation with Brendan.

  "Let's go girls, back to work!"

  "Portia!" Brendan called after her.

  "What?" She yelled back at him in exasperation.

  "May I train with you?" The question caught her off guard.

  "We are handmaidens, not squires, we train with different weapons and in a different style from the knights, why would you train with us?" She finally managed to ask.

  "What’s a handmaiden?" He countered. He knew what a handmaiden was in the rest of the world, but clearly the term meant something diffe
rent to Centurions.

  "You’re a Centurion squire but you don’t know what a handmaiden is? How is that possible?”

  “I met your father traveling through Italy, he helped me out, I helped him out, I said I was interested in joining the Centurions, and here I am. I’m from the east and I have only heard the vaguest of rumors about the Centurions until I met your father.”

  Portia shook her head, “You must have really helped him if he made you a squire that easily.”

  Aurora intervened, “Just as squires serve knights and train to become knights themselves someday, so, among Centurion women, handmaidens serve shieldmaidens and train to become shieldmaidens themselves someday. We are female squires, so to speak, and shieldmaidens are female knights."

  Brendan shrugged, "It sounds like training with female squires would be a good place for me to start, since I’ve had no squire training at all. I have very little experience with swords and no experience with shields, armor, bows, or anything else for that matter. I need to start with the basics." He watched Portia's face as she tried to decide whether or not he was paying her a compliment or insulting handmaidens in general. He saw Aurora out of the corner of his eye. He could tell she was doing a little bit of mental calculation. Everyone had seen him wash Portia's feet the night before and had watched Portia serve him dinner. Aurora was not a fool; she could guess why Portia's parents had provided opportunities for the two young people to get to know each other. It was clear that she had made the choice to back off for her friend's sake.

  "Please?" He continued, "You are a master with a sword and shield and clearly an excellent teacher." This time it was Portia's cheeks that turned pink.