by David Noel
“How have you been called to serve?” Portia held her breath.
“I choose to serve as God’s Glory and become a natural philosopher.”
“What?” Portia yelled out and then caught herself as everyone turned to look at her. Marcia smiled sweetly at her big sister.
“Do we have a sponsor for Marcia?” Lady Evelyn asked, more than a bit surprised herself at her daughter’s decision. She glanced at Doctor Sheraton, a woman in her late 20’s who was the only person in the castle who could sponsor someone to be a natural philosopher.
“Oh, that’s me! Yes, I’ll sponsor her. Sorry, I saw the sunlight sparkling off the crystals I’m growing outside of my workshop and it gave me an idea on how to solve my optics problem with the lenses I’m trying to make.”
Lady Evelyn sighed with resignation about her daughter’s choice, “Marcia, Dr. Sheraton will sponsor you, will you accept her sponsorship?”
“Yes!” The Doctor stepped forward and put a heavy leather apron with pockets on it over her head. It was not unlike a smith’s apron but seemed to have several stains and burned spots already on it.
Portia was not entirely clear what a natural philosopher did exactly. They “studied the natural world”, whatever that meant. The Centurions actively supported them and some of their discoveries had led to major breakthroughs in Centurion medicine and metalworking. At least Marcia wasn’t taking the easy way out, Dr. Sheraton’s parents had been killed trying to recreate some magic powder from China that they saw mentioned in some Chinese writings. It was called “fire medicine” but it caused a large thunderclap that blew apart their workshop and set the smithy on fire. Portia’s grandfather, Sir Godfrey, had passed on what remained of their notes to other researchers in the Order, but had declared that there would be no more research on “fire medicine” at Castle Warrick. Dr. Sheraton had then been raised by her older sister until her older sister accidentally poisoned herself about 10 years ago, so apparently accidental death was a real problem for natural philosophers.
Marcia wandered over to Portia.
“Did you see my apron?” She asked with excitement.
“Yes, I can see that the previous owner put some pretty good stains and a few burns on it. I hope they survived, whoever they were.”
“Oh, I did. This is my apron and these stains and burns are mine. I’ve been secretly working with Dr. Sheraton for over a year now seeing if this was what God was really calling me to do, and it is! You have no idea how exciting it can be.”
Portia looked at her sister in a new light. She wasn’t trying to escape from being a shieldmaiden, she genuinely wanted to be a natural philosopher. Still, Dr. Sheraton was the odd duck in the castle and most of the staff rolled their eyes at her eccentricities, Portia hoped her sister didn’t end up like that.
“Good for you!” Portia exclaimed, trying to act excited for her sister instead of worried. “What are you working on now?”
“We’re working on stringing lenses together to provide magnification. The ancient Egyptians were the first to begin experimenting with lenses, but they didn’t have the quality of glass to work with that Lucinda and I can produce in her shop. We can already make a tube with lenses on each end that will make things faraway look like they are four times closer than they actually are but the images are muddy so we’re working on purifying the glass better, shaping it more cleanly, and trying to increase the magnification. You must get the curved surface of the glass just right and we’re experimenting with different types of spherical curves. The best curves are not quite spherical, more of a conic section, and we’re working on the mathematics to describe these, but we haven’t figured it out yet. We’re getting better by trial and error though so…”
Portia cut her off at this point, Marcia had lost her halfway through the first sentence. “I would love to come to your workshop sometime and see your tube of magrification or whatever you called it.”
“Magnification.”
“Right, magnification. Go talk to mom, I can see that she has a bunch of questions for you too.” Marcia walked dutifully over to their mother while Brendan walked up to Portia.
“Well, that went a lot differently than expected. I got Father Cardic as my sponsor and your sister decided to skip being a shieldmaiden in favor of becoming a natural philosopher. Aristotle would be proud.”
“Even if it didn’t go the way you expected it to, you should still thank God,” she said tapping him on the chest. Partly she did it to emphasize her point but mostly she did it because his chest looked so good in his linen tunic and she just wanted to feel how firm his chest muscles were again. “My Step of Faith ceremony was at the winter solstice and the water was absolutely freezing and then we got to stand in the middle of the bailey in the dead of winter wearing only a damp linen tunic while they lined us all up with our sponsors. It was miserable. The only good part is that the winter ceremonies usually go a whole lot faster than the spring or summer ones.”
“They couldn’t hold the ceremony inside where it was warmer?”
“Have you met a Centurion?” Portia asked sarcastically, “Would the Spartans hold the ceremony inside?”
Brendan understood, “No, they would hold it outside and use it as an opportunity to teach their young people character.”
“Exactly, Centurions don’t go out of their way to deliberately make things harsher like the Spartans did, but they also don’t make things easier just to make things easier. ‘Perseverance is the third pillar of the Order’s foundation’, and all that.”
“Time to go get dressed,” Father Cardic said briskly as he walked up. “The nine of you are the guests of honor in the dining hall tonight. The people who know you all best usually sit around and tell embarrassing stories about you to all the witnesses. It may not be fun for you but the rest of us enjoy it. You know, ‘Humility is the fourth pillar of the Order’s foundation’.”
“I think the Order has too many pillars,” Brendan replied, “But I should be pretty safe, you don’t know that many embarrassing stories about me.”
The priest winked at Portia, “I think Lady Portia and I can make up a few, and if nothing else I can tell that little story that Marcia shared with me about the two of you getting into a wrestling match on the balcony. You know, when she had you pinned to the ground and was having her way with you.”
“Hey! You’re supposed to embarrass him, not me!” Portia yelled.
“You’re embarrassed? According to him, I was the one losing a wrestling match to a …” Brendan caught himself and stopped.
“To a girl?” Portia finished for him. “Don’t worry about it, my nickname is The Squire, so that story isn’t going to damage your reputation as much as you think. In fact, now that I think about it, it would probably improve mine. Please tell it.”
Brendan raised an accusatory eyebrow at her.
“Stop worrying about it,” she waved her hand dismissively, “everyone in the castle will know that it’s just an exaggeration anyway.”
“An exaggeration? So you’re sayin’ there’s some truth to it?” The priest interrupted, feigning surprise.
“Father Cardic, please!” Portia responded with mock severity. “I need your help with a far more serious problem. I need to pick out a story that I can tell about Marcia that’s really embarrassing but not too embarrassing, if you know what I mean.”
The old man smirked, “I think I have just the one…”
Chapter 22
“Plans within plans within plans, this is the mark of the Black, it is their greatest strength and their biggest pitfall.”
The Centurion Book of Beasts – Folio IV: Dragons
So far as she could tell, her children had not caused any trouble and no one had been alerted to their presence. This pleased the Black very much since it meant that she could move forward with the next step in her plan. The Hungarians were on the move and that was excellent news. The Black liked them, they were violent and easy to draw into doing her
will. They were intelligent, but overconfident, saw every dream as an omen, and very focused on plunder and fighting. Marcia was almost ready to play her part. Portia was primed and ready to go. When Marcia disappeared, Portia would panic and go out into the woods on her own, looking for her, scared to death but convinced that only she could save her sister.
The dragon nodded to herself, she would give Portia two days to follow the tracks and find the cave. If the handmaiden failed to find the lair, which is what the dragon expected, then the Black would go looking for the stupid girl. She had no doubt that she would be able to find her with the keen eyes and excellent nose of a dragon. A lost, isolated, and exhausted girl would be an easy meal. If the handmaiden actually succeeded in tracking Marcia to the cave, which was almost certainly beyond her ability, she would wander into the trap set by the Black and save the dragon even the effort of the hunt. The taste of her enemy’s children would be so very sweet indeed, especially that little child of doom, Portia.
There was only the matter of luring Marcia out of the castle at the right time and to the right location and the Black had just the vision to do it. The key would be careful timing and the dragon had even worked out that detail. The only thing left was to spin the dream and then wait for the girls to come to her.
Chapter 23
“It is said, ‘Beware of Greeks bearing gifts’. This should be amended to, ‘Beware of Greeks’. They are too clever by half and you should NEVER wager with them unless you enjoy poverty.”
The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 8: Proverb 2
At first, Brendan had enjoyed staying in the men’s barracks but after a couple of weeks living with the other squires it began to get rather tiresome. His natural habit of walking quietly as well as his high degree of skill with knives and daggers, but not with knightly weapons, had clued in a couple of the more worldly squires as to what his previous profession had been. Most were tolerant, forgiveness was, after all, an important part of the Christian faith and the Centurion creed, but not everyone was so understanding. Some joked about the need to hide their valuables when Brendan was around. Others felt the need to confront him over every little thing to drive “his kind” out of the Order. A few even had their own shady backgrounds that they wanted to keep quiet, so they stayed away from him to avoid attracting unwanted attention.
The worst were the two or three who brought their own political agendas into the Order. They came from situations in the outside world that provided them with no opportunities for advancement and they saw the Order as a gateway to better things. They tried to position themselves as potential future husbands of Portia and, thanks to Marcia’s story, viewed Brendan as a serious obstacle in their path to becoming the next Count of the Carinthia. Clovis was the worst of these and he was especially irritating to the former thief because of the way that he would mock Portia in the barracks and then turn around and try to play up to her in the Great Hall.
Brendan was tempted to say something to her, but he rarely saw her anymore, as if she was trying to avoid him, and when he did see her she was looking increasingly stressed and worn out. He didn’t know if that was another consequence of Marcia’s story or not, but it had him worried for her.
Walking into the barracks after dinner one night Brendan was treated to the sight of his least favorite person addressing the rest of the squires as if he were beginning a lecture on the vices of man.
“What do you call someone who takes something that belongs to someone else?” Clovis asked the crowd that had formed around him. He was not very popular, so no one helped him out by answering. The other squires stood around watching, waiting to see where he was going with all of this. Looking around, frustrated, Clovis addressed his intended target directly.
“Brendan, what do you call someone who takes something that belongs to someone else?”
“A tax collector?” The squire answered innocently.
“No! I mean what do you call someone who takes something that belongs to someone else without their permission?” Clovis pressed on.
“I have never had a tax collector ask my permission before he took my money, but I suppose you could also say that Hungarians and Vikings take people’s things without their permission,” Brendan did his best to keep up the air of someone who was innocently trying to answer a complicated question. “Parents will also sometimes take things from their children without the child’s permission to punish or protect them so you can add ‘parents’ to the list. You could even say…”
“No, no, no! What do you call someone who takes something that belongs to someone else without their permission or knowledge?” Shouted Clovis in exasperation.
Brendan glanced around the room and saw most of the other squires and men-at-arms smirking at Clovis’ predicament. He decided it was time to give Clovis the answer he was looking for.
“A thief?” He replied.
“That’s right!” Clovis said with a nasty grin on his face. “And someone took my most important possession, my father’s dagger with the large ruby set in the hilt. I left it in my travel trunk under my bed, and now it’s missing!”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Brendan said, “Did you check under the bed? It might have fallen out when you were …”
“I didn’t lose it!” Snapped Clovis. “You stole it! I know you took it, you’re a thief! You pretended that you were hurt when you fell off your horse so that Sir Bertram would send you to the doctor while the rest of us continued our training. Later I saw you messing around inside the barracks instead of coming straight back, what else would a thief be doing in a barracks by himself other than stealing something?”
“Well if you know that I took your dagger then I am not a thief. We have already established that you are only a thief if you take something that belongs to someone else without their permission or their knowledge.” Clovis frowned at this logic but then pressed forward.
“So you admit that you took it without my permission?” Clovis asked, pointedly.
“No, I don’t even admit that your dagger is missing, I’m simply pointing out one of many flaws in your argument,” Brendan stated calmly. “For all we know your dagger is in your trunk and you are making this all up to cause me trouble.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Demanded Clovis.
“You’re calling me a thief. Since I’m not a thief, that means that you are either a liar or a fool who can’t find his dagger in his own trunk. Tell me which way you want to do this; do you want me to prove that you’re a liar or that you’re a fool?”
“You are insulting my honor!” Clovis’ face was white with anger. Everyone went silent at this accusation. Centurions avoided duels of honor but then they also generally avoided calling each other liars and thieves. The world around them, however, was filled with duels of honor that frequently ended in death. Since Clovis and Brendan were both new to the Centurions no one doubted that this might well end badly.
Brendan didn’t want to kill Clovis; he had never actually killed anyone before even though he had been involved in some very ugly knife fights, but more than that he felt like it went against the Centurion way. He decided to gamble that this was just a show for the audience.
“As the challenged, I would get my choice of weapons. I would choose daggers and no armor. Would you really want to fight me without armor armed only with daggers?”
Squire to squire with knightly weapons Clovis would have a clear edge due to his greater experience using swords, shields, and armor. But without armor, using only daggers? Suddenly, everyone was looking at Clovis to see what he would do. Brendan was an agile and efficient infighter who knew every dirty trick in the book. No one wanted to fight Brendan that way. He saw the look of fury on Clovis’ face disappear and be replaced with a cool calculating one.
“I thought not,” Brendan said.
“But you are still a thief and my dagger is still in your trunk,” Clovis sneered. He had already lost face by backing down to the younge
r man’s threat. His only way out was to prove that Brendan really was a thief. “I insist upon checking it without further delay.”
Clovis started to reach for Brendan’s trunk, but Brendan stepped in front of him. “I don’t trust you; we’ll let someone else check my trunk. Do we have someone trustworthy who can check my trunk for his dagger?”
For a moment, nobody moved, then Camden stepped forward. Camden was a huge brute of a German. Physically he was everything that made up the ideal knight; he was the biggest and strongest squire in the barracks and yet for all his size he was still very quick and reasonably agile. On the other hand, he was not known for being the sharpest tool in the shed and his rough German accent didn’t help that image. He seldom spoke, but when he did his comments were simple and honest and most of the other squires considered him to be only slightly smarter than the average warhorse.
“How about me?” He asked simply. Both young men eyed Camden and each other trying to decide if someone was trying to pull something.
Brendan finally spoke first, “You are acceptable to me. What do you say Clovis?”
Clovis eyed them both suspiciously as if this was a set up but Camden’s reputation for honesty was such that he finally agreed. Camden opened Brendan’s trunk in full view of everyone and began pulling all the items out one-by-one. He unfolded every item of clothing, checked it thoroughly and then folded it back up and put it on the bed. Eventually everything in the trunk was laying on the bed and there was no dagger with a large ruby in the hilt anywhere in sight. Clovis, who had been pacing back and forth impatiently, exploded when the trunk was emptied and no dagger had been found.
“What?! What do you mean there’s no dagger in there! I saw him put it in there myself!”
“Wait a minute,” Brendan asked, “If you saw me steal your dagger and put it in my trunk, why didn’t you stop me then?” Clovis said nothing but glared at Brendan. The younger squire went on, “For that matter, where is my long seax? It was a gift from Sir Gerard. I left it in my trunk and now it’s missing!”
