The Dragon's Prophecy

by David Noel

  "And how would you know that I’m an excellent teacher?" She asked shyly.

  "The fact that you’re the one teaching the other handmaidens instead of one of the shieldmaidens," he explained with an innocent look on his face.

  "Very well," Portia said, turning a darker shade of pink, "I’ll train you." She awkwardly put out her hand for a handshake. He took it, guided her through the proper technique and then held her hand for a lingering moment. Some of the other handmaidens made love-struck sighing sounds, one snickered. He quickly let go of her hand. Portia blushed so hard it looked like she was going to pass out. Blond people turn really red when they get embarrassed enough. She glanced at Aurora, whose face had a tight little smile on it.

  "Change of plans girls,” Aurora called. “Let’s give them a few moments alone. Our training is done for now, breakfast is waiting." There were disappointed groans from the other girls, but they turned to follow as Aurora led them toward the dining hall.

  “No wait!” Exclaimed Portia, “It’s not like that!”

  “No, it’s not,” added Brendan, a bit more calmly.

  “Is that so?” Asked Aurora with a raised eyebrow that indicated that she didn’t believe either one of them for a second. “Well it’s still time for breakfast and the rest of us are going to go eat. You may come with us or not.” She turned on her heel and walked off with the rest of the girls in tow.

  Portia gave Brendan an ugly look as if it was entirely his fault. Again, Women! He resisted the urge to sneer and looked calmly back at her.

  “What should we do now?” He asked. “It looks like everyone has already decided that we are supposed to be together.”

  “Thanks to my parents,” huffed Portia. “I just can’t tell if they’re doing it on purpose or not. I mean, my mom probably is, I’m just not sure how much my dad is trying to force things.”

  “Portia! Brendan!”

  Both young people looked for the source of the voice. It was Sir Gerard calling from the balcony on the side of the keep.

  “Come up here, please!” He used the word ‘please’ but they both knew that it was not a request. He turned and walked back into the building.

  “We better get up there,” Brendan said.

  “I’ll race you,” Portia challenged.

  Brendan was instantly suspicious. She was up to something, but he wasn’t sure what. “Okay,” he answered slowly.

  “Go!” She shouted. Brendan took off toward the keep at a dead run. He had seen Portia run and knew that she was very fast. He glanced sideways to see where she was and was surprised to note that she had hesitated just a moment to let him get ahead. Why? He looked over his shoulder and saw that she had taken off in a completely different direction. She had let him take the lead so he wouldn’t see her head toward the dining hall. He didn’t know what that was all about, but he was sure that she had a plan to beat him. Two could play that game.

  Brendan changed direction slightly and raced directly toward the balcony instead of the front door of the keep. He leapt up as he approached the wall and caught hold of the bottom of an arrow slit that was eight feet off the ground and pulled himself up. He planted his toe against the tiniest edge in the brickwork and pushed himself upward. He caught hold of the top of the arrow slit even while his foot stepped up to the bottom of it. He jumped as high as he could and caught hold of the bottom of the next arrow slit up and repeated the process. His eyes were alert to the smallest of handholds and toe holds as he scaled the side of the keep like a gecko running up a wall. His climbing skills had been in high demand in Constantinople and they were being put to good use now. He paused right below the balcony and judged its distance carefully. With a final leap he jumped up and caught the edge of the railing with both hands and vaulted himself up and over, landing on the balcony just in time to see Portia launch herself from the cliff face directly at him.

  Chapter 18

  “It is never a good sign when you see people flying through the air. It means that they are falling from the wall, dark magic is at work, or you have had too much to drink.”

  The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 4: Proverb 2

  Portia leapt from the cliff path toward the balcony. She saw something move out of the corner of her eye but resisted the urge to look. She had to stick the landing just right and roll or she could break her ankle. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Greek boy’s face when he went charging up the stairs of the keep only to find her already there.

  She hit the balcony and rolled. As she popped up at the end of her roll she ran into Brendan, knocking him over and landing on top of him. Portia was so surprised that she grabbed her gladia out of its sheath and had it to his throat before she realized who it was.

  “Where did you come from?” She demanded.

  He looked at the gladia in her hand. “You really don’t like losing, do you?” When she didn’t answer, he continued, “I came from Constantinople, the Queen of Cities.”

  He gave her a cheeky smile which made her feel like he was mocking her. She scowled at him.

  “No, I mean, just now, where did you come from?”

  “I came from the courtyard, just like you did.” Again, with that smile, she felt like hitting him.

  “Do you really want to play games with me when I’m holding a sword to your throat? And we call it the ‘bailey’,” she snapped. “You know what I mean, how did you get to the balcony?”

  “Do you think we should get up before your dad catches us in this position?”

  “Ohh, Lordy, Lordy yes!” Portia lifted herself off him in a flash by pushing down with all her weight, armor and all, on his chest. He huffed as he tried to get his breath back.

  “You weigh a lot more than you look,” he was finally able to gasp.

  “Yeah, so I’ve been told, more than once, by a wide variety of people,” she replied, miffed. “Muscle is denser than fat and I have lots of muscle and very little fat, or so Dr. Zhen says. Throw in the weight of my armor and I’m a real brick.”

  She reached down and helped him up. The look of shock on his face made it clear that he was surprised at the ease with which she pulled him to his feet. She could tell that he was sizing her up, at 5’ 6” and a very solid 140 pounds of muscle, she was probably only an inch shorter and ten pounds lighter than he was, heavier if you counted her armor.

  “Now, tell me how you got to the balcony so fast.”

  “First, tell me how you got to that pathway on the cliff,” Brendan countered.

  Portia looked at the young man for a long moment. She didn’t know what to make of him. He was her father’s new squire and had obviously helped him in some important way, but he had already admitted that he knew almost nothing about fighting or being a squire. Even his knowledge of horses was suspect. She had seen him when he came riding in and it was very apparent that he was still new to the saddle. Why did her father choose him to be a squire? He was years behind in the necessary training. None of it made any sense.

  She pointed toward the dining hall. “I jumped from the hitching post to the edge of the roof,” she explained, pointing with her finger to different parts of her path as she continued her description. “Then I pulled myself up onto the roof, ran up the slope of the roof to the cliff, jumped up and grabbed the edge of the pathway, pulled myself up, and then ran up the path until I got to that point directly across from the balcony. Then I jump from there to here.”

  Portia turned and looked at Brendan and saw that he was speechless which made her feel more than a little pleased after his snarky answers to her questions.

  “And you did all that wearing 20 lbs. of armor!” He was finally able to exclaim. “I’ve known professional acrobats who would have struggled to pull that off without wearing the armor. Impressive!” On impulse he reached out and gently squeezed her left bicep, feeling the muscle in her arm. Why did everyone want to feel her biceps? Was he a critic of her physique too? She realized with a shock that she was still holdin
g his hand from when she helped him up. She was about to yank her hand free when he continued, “Muscle that is solid as a rock and yet you still look feminine. You would have made the Spartans proud!”

  Suddenly his discussion with Aurora flashed through her mind. He seemed to have a high opinion of women who could defend themselves so maybe he wasn’t making fun of her. She felt a growing warmth inside and found herself smiling. What was she going to do with this wandering Greek? He could be infuriating one minute and then amazing the next. He honestly admired her strength and she felt proud of her body for the first time ever. He stopped squeezing her bicep and let go of her hand and she was surprised by the pang of disappointment that she felt.

  Portia clenched her teeth and forced herself to look down into the bailey to keep from swooning over him. She would not let him see her go all gushy. She despised it when she saw the other girls doing that to the boys they liked. She continued to stare into the bailey for several moments until she got her emotions under control for fear of saying something embarrassing.

  “Your turn,” she managed to mumble with a bit of difficulty. She was trying to act like that little scene was no big deal, but it was hard to keep the excitement out of her voice.

  “My route was not nearly as challenging as yours,” He explained rather sheepishly. “I just climbed up the wall.”

  Portia frowned. What? Climbed up the wall? How was that even possible? Was he mocking her with an obvious lie?

  “The wall is completely smooth; how can you do that?” She asked suspiciously.

  “Actually, the wall is not completely smooth though it may appear that way if you don’t know what to look for. The arrow slits were a huge help, but you can use even the tiniest edges to climb with if you know how.” She gave him a doubtful look, so he continued, “I am a ‘young man of unusual talents’, as your father puts it.” He proceeded to demonstrate by using tiny finger-holds and toeholds in the brickwork next to the balcony that Portia could barely see to start climbing further up the wall. After he had ascended another five or six feet above the balcony he let go and dropped back down beside her.

  It was Portia’s turn to be impressed. He had to be exceptionally strong to climb a wall like that and he must have a grip of iron. Partly because she was curious and partly as payback she reached out and squeezed his bicep. She had already seen his muscles and felt his chest under her when she was laying on top of him, but this gave her a convenient excuse to check them out again. He chuckled and flexed his arm obligingly for her. She was surprised by the muscle she felt there, it was just as compact and solid as her own. She realized that he must weigh more than he looked like as well.

  Portia was used to seeing young, strong men; squires could not spend all day, every day, training with armor and weapons without putting on a lot of muscle; but Brendan was different somehow. She was sure that, pound for pound, he was just as strong as the other squires, but he wasn’t really a warrior, so where did all his muscle come from?

  “They are out here on the balcony, daddy,” called Marcia from the doorway. “Portia jumped on top of him and had him all wrapped up in her arms and now she’s got her hands all over him.” Portia instantly yanked her hand off Brendan’s arm.

  Sir Gerard stepped out onto the balcony with an expectant look on his face. He didn’t need to say a word; Portia knew he was waiting for an explanation.

  “We decided to have a race to see who could get up here the fastest,” Portia began. Then she stopped and smiled at her father hoping that would be enough to satisfy him. It wasn’t.

  “Since neither one of you came up the stairs and through the antechamber, I assume that you took some other path,” prompted the knight.

  Marcia looked at her smugly. Her little sister had spent the entire evening washing dishes and so she was enjoying watching Portia squirm now. When Portia hesitated, Marcia stepped in.

  “While you were away, she came up with a new way to get into the keep. She likes to jump up onto the dining hall roof and then climb up onto the cliff path. Then she jumps from there to the balcony. She thinks that nobody sees her do it but the whole castle knows about her little short cut.” Sir Gerard eye’s opened wide in disbelief as Marcia continued, “Momma has told her to stop because she’s going to miss the balcony one of these days and break her neck, but she keeps on doing it…”

  “Thank you, Marcia,” Sir Gerard finally interrupted. “Go help your mother.”

  Marcia started to protest but a look from her father changed her mind. She gave it up and left. The Iron Knight continued to look at his daughter and his squire, waiting.

  “What else do you want to know?” Portia finally asked nervously. “I mean, what else do you wish to know, my lord?” She corrected.

  “Who won the race?”

  “He did, my lord,” Portia answered.

  “Really?” Sir Gerard said with a tiny note of shock in his voice. He turned to Brendan, “I assume that you got up here the same way that she did?”

  “No, my Lord, I climbed the wall.” A startled look appeared on the knight’s face. Sir Gerard leaned over the edge and looked down at the stretch of wall that Brendan had climbed.

  “I am rarely surprised, but you seem to be making a habit of doing that very thing,” the knight finally said. “I guess this also means that the keep is not as secure as I thought it was. We may have to remove this balcony.”

  “No! Please!” Portia blurted out. Her father had always thought they were a bad idea, but he had relented and put one in on each side of the castle to please her mother. Now Portia was putting that into jeopardy.

  Her father’s face softened. “Don’t worry, I won’t, but I will need to find a way to make them more secure.” He turned to Brendan, “I see that you are getting to be quite good at taking the leap of faith and grabbing hold of balcony rails.” The two men chuckled at each other as if this was some private joke that Portia wasn’t privy to and it irritated her. The knight led them into the family quarters and off the balcony. “I called you both up here because I wanted to talk to you. Brendan, you will need some armor and a sword, we will look through my old gear and find something that you can use while you are training. Port, you and I are going to go riding as soon as I’m done with Brendan so please go down to the stable and get our horses ready.”

  “Yes, my lord,” she said. Portia didn’t know whether to be excited or worried. What on earth did her father want to talk to her about? Ordinarily she loved spending time with him but something about “going riding together” sounded suspiciously like “we need to talk about something serious” and she had a bad idea what it might be.

  “And Port, in the future, please refrain from jumping on the squires and putting your hands all over them,” her father said as she walked past. She blushed crimson, yet again, and looked up at him in surprise until she saw the corners of his mouth smiling.

  “Just for the record, Marcia was exaggerating, my hands weren’t all over him, only parts of him.”

  Her father shook his head in exasperation.

  ◆◆◆

  The talk was as bad as she was worried that it would be. They rode along on their horses enjoying the countryside near the castle for half an hour, talking about inconsequential things. Finally, he brought up the subject that they had both been avoiding.

  “Port, what do you think of Brendan?”

  “Why do you ask?” She replied evasively.

  “The Frankish nobles are always looking for a way to gain some sort of control over our outposts while keeping us as a buffer zone to protect their lands. Our order stands outside of the traditional Frankish hierarchy, but we still hold our lands and our titles through the king. The Duke of Augsburg has coveted our castle and holdings for many years and word has come to me that he is trying to convince the king that you would be a suitable wife. He hasn’t approached me because he knows my answer already. The king will not initiate trouble with the Order but if he sees an opportunity to help out o
ne of his loyal supporters, he will take it. Every year there are more Hungarian raids and their raiding parties are getting larger and larger. One of these days I will not come back from a battle. When I die the king will view this as his chance to support a loyal crony. He will do that by forcing you to marry the Duke against your will and your new husband will be the new Count of Carinthia and Warden of the Eastern Marches in addition to his current titles. I am trying to protect you and prevent that from happening by finding someone for you while you still have a choice in the matter. The Duke is 40 years your senior and his last two wives have died under mysterious circumstances.”

  “I was afraid that was why you brought Brendan home,” she muttered half to herself, half to her father. She stopped her horse and looked directly at him, “Why Brendan? What made you bring him home? There are plenty of other squires and young knights to choose from at the castle already, why him?”

  Sir Gerard looked sharply at his daughter, “Are you interested in any of those young men?” Portia remained silent; the truth was that she really wasn’t interested in any of them because none of them were interested in her. She knew that many of them thought she was too masculine, too impulsive, and too awkward socially to be attractive as a wife. She had even been told that they joked about her as much in the men’s barracks as the girls did in the women’s barracks. “I thought not,” the knight said as he directed his horse to start walking again.

  “The fact is, Port, that I am your father. I could find any number of good men with the proper social background who would be willing to marry you for your title. I fasted for a week and spent that week in prayer and the Lord sent me to one of our Order’s castles near Trieste. I went expecting to find a young man there who would be suitable, but it was as if I was Samuel looking at the sons of Jesse for the next king of Israel. Each one seemed to be even better than the last, but the Lord kept telling me that none of them were his choice for you.