The Honorable Knight

by Patrick John Donahoe

  Holding Fiona while she slept, Ian felt he had found a soul mate. Fiona, a teenager like himself, was going out into the world seeking her fortune, not knowing what each day might bring, but welcoming whatever came as a bright new adventure.

  Ian stared up at the stars. He hadn’t noticed so many stars in the sky as he saw that night, each so bright and intense like individual rays of the sun poking through black velvet. He began to name the stars he knew and counted the rest until he drifted off to sleep.

  The next morning Ian was embarrassed to find his manhood aroused, but fortunately, Fiona had risen to prepare breakfast. Ian mumbled a morning prayer until it was safe to leave the blankets.

  They breakfasted, cleaned their cooking utensils, doused the campfire, and continued on another day’s uneventful journey toward Cork.

  During a short break by a stream, Fiona said, “I’ve never been this far from home. Eire is so green and beautiful; it takes my breath away.”

  Ian stared at the countryside, the green rolling hills, the farms laid out with stone fences, the streams and ponds dotting the land made Ian homesick for Killarney, but for Fiona’s sake he held back a tear.

  That evening as they were making camp, Fiona asked, “Are we parting company tomorrow?”

  Ian replied, “Yes, after tomorrow our paths will have to diverge, or you’ll be traveling away from Dublin rather than toward it.”

  “I understand,” Fiona answered and became quiet.

  After they finished their meal, Ian added more twigs and broken branches to their small campfire and warmed his hands. Fiona took the cooking and eating utensils, both Ian’s and hers, to the stream and washed them, then attended to her evening toilet. Ian walked away from the fire, found a large tree, and emptied his bladder. He then returned to the camp, laid out his horse blanket, and waited for Fiona’s return. Fiona’s clothes seemed less ragged in the campfire light, and the flickering flames made her face and hair glow.

  “Aren’t you going to join me?” Fiona asked.

  “Aren’t you afraid I’m going to bother you?”

  “No. I’m afraid that you won’t.”

  Ian gathered his blanket and carried it to Fiona’s. Ian hesitated, but Fiona’s ‘what are you waiting for’ look broke down his shyness. He crawled under the cover and snuggled against her. She felt warm and smelled lovely with a pleasing lavender scent. She had brushed out her unruly hair and apparently scrubbed her teeth with dogwood bark and chewed on some mint leaves to improve her breath.

  She lay on her back and Ian lay on his side studying her face in the semi-dark of a partial moon. She snuggled up against him.

  Even though he had held her through the previous night, he still felt awkward having her so close. Her firm little body excited him beyond his ability to keep his emotions in check. He wanted to say, I love you, but before Ian could get the words out of his mouth.

  Fiona whispered,” You’re such a nice boy.”

  Flummoxed at being called a boy, Ian blurted out, “I think you’re wonderful, too.”

  She gingerly took his left hand, placed it on her breast, and kissed him long and deep. She then pulled his left hand down her belly and beyond beneath the blanket. His manhood reaction was instantaneous. Embarrassed by what she might discover, he shifted slightly away from her, but she turned onto her side facing him and scooted forward.

  They kissed again, soft and tender.

  Ian blurted out, “I love you.”

  “Love you, too,” Fiona whispered.

  The next thing Ian knew she was on top of him, lifting her skirts and adjusting her position to take him in. After a few mighty up and down movements, Ian spent his manhood, but she kept up her efforts until she muffled a small scream against his chest, then lay down beside him. He wrapped his arms tight around her, kissed her again, and held her close until he fell fast asleep.

  Ian awoke to the delicious aromas of campfire cooking. Fiona was stirring some fresh catch in her small skillet over the campfire. Ian studied her for a few moments. He had had his first experience with sex and realized that the companionship and the hugging and kissing afterwards made up for the brevity. With more experience he felt he could extend the joy of the act itself. He would never look at a girl the same way again.

  Ian rose from his bed and rolled up his blanket. “I’ll be right back,” he said and walked a few trees away. As he relieved his bladder, he thought, Fiona could probably use a little money to get started, at least buy a new dress and shoes so she can be presentable in Dublin. He took one of his silver ingots from the pouch around his neck to give to her and walked back to the campfire.

  Fiona smiled at him and said, “Well, sleepyhead, it’s about time. I fixed you a special going away breakfast of fried rabbit strips and bird’s eggs.”

  Ian rubbed his eyes and sat beside her on the ground as she split the meal in two and placed the portions in his old chipped bowl and her cracked porcelain bowl.

  Both kept silent during the meal, until finally, Fiona said, “Today we part ways. I’ll be going to Dublin to find my fortune, a rich widower.”

  Ian wondered if her announcement was to convince him or to convince herself of her intentions. To be polite he said, “I have no doubt you can achieve whatever goal you have in mind, Fiona.”

  “Thank you,” she replied.

  Ian considered mentioning the night’s ecstasy, but decided she would have to be the one to say something.

  When they had their fill she went to the stream and washed their bowls and utensils. By her return, Ian had rolled up Fiona’s bedroll and repacked his saddlebags and necessities sacks.

  Fiona strode up to Ian and said, “You’re fine to be rid of me, I see. Here’s your bowl and spoon.” Scowling, she handed the items to Ian, then placed her utensils into her burlap pack with her bedroll.

  Ian reached out to her and pulled her toward him until she snuggled against his body.

  “This might be goodbye,” she said, “but you must kiss me first.” Fiona turned up her face, closed her eyes, and puckered her lips, inviting Ian to kiss her, and he did, a long, soft, passionate kiss.

  He wrapped his arms around her and, afraid to squeeze too hard, hugged her gently in a cocoon of love. Finally, he released her, looked into her eyes, and confessed, “I will miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you more.” She hesitated, and with a tremor in her voice, said, “W . . . when you’ve returned from your pilgrimage, I want you to visit me in Dublin.” She stared at him with a mournful look in her eyes. “Don’t be too long on your adventure.”

  Ian asked, “Do you want to go to France with me? You might have better luck finding a rich widower. I’ve heard French men are great lovers and treat their women well.”

  “I considered asking you if I could stay with you, but I don’t know the Frankish language and would be alone and helpless in a strange country once you’ve continued on to Jerusalem. I’m better off in Ireland.” She smiled a sad little smile. “Thank you for the kind offer.”

  Ian held out his hand with the silver ingot to Fiona.

  “What’s this?”

  “A gift . . . to help you get started in Dublin.”

  “I’m not a whore you can have your way with and pay off with money!”

  “Fiona . . . Fiona.” Ian reached out to hold her again, but she backed away. “I don’t think of you like that. I want to help and this is something I can do. Please accept my help.”

  Fiona folded her arms across her breasts, glared at Ian, and tapped her right foot. “You don’t think less of me because of last night?”

  “No, of course not. I’ll always remember you with fondness. Please, don’t be stubborn. Accept my gift.”

  The fierceness in Fiona’s amber eyes softened. She uncrossed her arms and before she could say anything else, Ian reached out, grabbed her, pulled her close, and hugged her again. “We can’t spoil our grand adventure with angry parting words, Fiona.” He kissed her again and she relaxed agains
t him. Running his fingers through her dark brown tresses, he said, “I want you to buy the prettiest dress and shoes you can find in Dublin and be the prettiest girl in town.”

  Fiona lifted onto tippy toes and gave Ian a butterfly kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. I want you to remember me fondly.”

  Ian relaxed his hug and said, “We must go our separate ways now. The sun is rising, and I want to make Cork before dark.” Ian strode over to Old Dun waiting patiently beneath a large oak tree and clambered aboard. “I’ll look for you in the richest house in Dublin.”

  “You’ll find me there.”

  “By the way, what’s your full name?”

  “Fiona Flannery.”

  “Mine is Ian O’Donoghue.” Ian turned Old Dun twice around, waved goodbye, and unsure of his emotions at maybe never seeing Fiona again, rode off slowly eastward toward Cork until he had gone about a furlong. His curiosity overcame him. He looked back to see Fiona headed northward into the grove of trees toward Dublin. He hoped he would be able to find her when he passed this way again.

  Four

  Upon arrival in Cork, Ian inquired at several ships for passage to France. The French had more experience conducting pilgrimages to the Holy Land than the Irish, and Ian hoped to join like-minded French pilgrims. A dock worker told Ian that The Rose Blanche, a Frankish owned Dutch built Cogue, had brought paper and ink from France for the monasteries and was to be loaded with Irish linen and whiskey for the return trip. Large stacks of crates and casks sat on the dock near the gangplank.

  Ian hitched Old Dun’s reins to a piling, walked up the gangplank to the main deck, and asked the sailor on duty, “May I speak to the Captain?”

  The deck watch replied, “Wait here. I’ll fetch him,” and left Ian to wait.

  After a few minutes, a man Ian assumed to be the Captain approached with a slight rolling gait, as though he’d spent many years at sea. He had a full black beard and a ridiculous turned-up-at-the-ends waxed mustache. He had long, oily black hair. He was dressed as Ian would have expected if the captain was a pirate, wearing a loose fitting, to-the-knees, tunic, tight to-the-ankles pantaloons, and a long sword sashed at the waist. When they were face to face, Ian was impressed with the man’s piercing clear, light blue eyes and intense demeanor.

  “What business do you have with the Rose Blanche?” the man asked as someone who had no patience for fools.

  Startled at the abruptness, Ian replied, “I . . . I’m looking for passage to France for myself and my horse in exchange for work.”

  “What can you do?”

  “I can load all that cargo you have sitting on the docks and whatever heavy manual labor you need done.”

  “What’s your name, son?”

  “Ian O’Donoghue.”

  Another man, also looking more like Ian’s notion of a pirate, rather than a regular sailor joined them.

  “Well, Ian, I am Captain Pierre LeBeau.” Pointing at the man standing next to him, he said, “This is my First Mate, Lucas. Lucas will direct your placement of the cargo on board. Show me how hard you can work and I’ll consider taking you aboard. Start loading.” Captain LeBeau turned and walked away.

  Ian ran down the ramp, gathered a cask under each arm, and ran back up the ramp.

  Lucas held up a hand to stop Ian and said, “I know the captain is scary, but don’t kill yourself right off. You have all day to load the ship. Take those casks down that ladder and store them where you see several others. When you get to the crates I’ll show you where they go.”

  Ian carried casks of whiskey and crates of linen up the gang ramp onto the ship, then below deck for storage until he was exhausted and the sun was setting.

  Captain LeBeau appeared when Ian sat on the main deck after the last cask and crate was loaded. “You’re good to your word about working hard. One of my deck hands, the only one who knows anything about horses, has been injured and will have to remain in Cork until we return, so you’re in luck. You and your horse can sail with us to Arcachon in exchange for deck hand labor. Also, you are to look after your horse, Lucas’ horse and my horse.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Ian was grateful to find passage in exchange for work. Working hard would help keep his mind off being at sea. Feeding and caring for Old Dun and the crew’s horses would be a labor of love.

  “Go down to the galley and have some grub. You’ve earned it.”

  Ian, perked up at the prospect of food, gathered his bowl and spoon and rushed to the galley where he found one other sailor eating supper.

  The sailor grumbled, “What kind of slop is this for a Frank to eat?” as he dumped half his stew out the porthole.

  Ian held his bowl out for the cook, who ladled a heaping dipper of stew into the bowl and handed Ian two large crusts of bread. “Eat hearty, my lad,” he said. “Don’t mind that old grouch.”

  Ian observed the cook must have liked his own food, due to his large girth and pleasant demeanor. He sat at the tiny galley table and was somewhat bemused by the grumbling sailor’s disparaging remarks when he found the tender lamb stew with cabbage, carrots, and onions in a savory broth, to be both hot and delicious. The bread, although not fresh from the oven, was hearty and perfect with the stew.

  The meal reminded him of his mother’s cooking, and for a moment made Ian homesick for her, and Dylan and home. He shook off the melancholy, wolfed his first portion, and asked the cook for another full bowl.

  The cook, grinning from ear to ear, several missing teeth adding to his colorful appearance, ladled out another full portion and said, “Have your fill. You’re the only one onboard who appreciates a tasty lamb stew.”

  After two more bowls and a whole loaf of bread, stuffed and feeling drowsy, Ian made a necessary head visit. He checked on the horses and filled their troughs with fresh hay and water. The first mate had rigged a hammock on the main deck near the horses for Ian. Ian turned in for the night and slept like the dead.

  Once they were at sea, Ian spent his time scrubbing decks, assisting with letting out and rolling up the sails, and caring for the horses. The left behind crewman, who usually took care of the horses, had not been trained in their proper care. Ian cleaned the stones, dried mud and manure out of all three horses’ hooves. He wasn’t a farrier, but Dylan had taught him how to use clippers and rasp to trim, scrape, and resurface horse’s hooves, so he did. Ian groomed and brushed the horses’ coats and manes until they gleamed in the sunlight. He shoveled the used straw bedding overboard and found the only fresh straw bale the ship had onboard and made fresh beds for the three horses.

  The captain and first mate thanked Ian profusely for the obvious improvement Ian had made in the condition of their mounts. The Captain and mate used the horses to conduct business when the ship was in port, but had no talent nor interest in caring for them.

  The morning the Rose Blanche was due to pull into port, Ian had a moment to relax. The First Mate had instructed him to be ready when called to help with the sails and assist with tying up to the pier. It was a glorious sunny day, with calm seas and a brisk enough wind to fill the sails.

  Jonas, the sailor who had grumbled about the food the first day Ian was aboard, approached Ian with two jewels, a ruby and an emerald, and asked, “Matey, would ye be interested in buying these two jewels? They’re uncommon grand.”

  Ian looked at the two stones in the sailor’s palm and said, “They’re not grand in size.”

  “Put in nice silver or gold settings and strung on pretty chains and you could have two necklaces to make your girlfriends swoon.”

  Ian accepted the two jewels from the sailor and examined them in the sunlight. They sparkled red and green. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “You will have, Sonny, and these stones will help you when you do, if you get my drift.”

  Fortunately for Ian, the first mate walked up to them and said, “Jonas, are you trying to sell those stones again?”

  “Yes, Lucas, I’m giving this young man a bargain, and the
y’re jewels, not stones.”

  Ian took a silver ingot out of his pouch and asked the First Mate, “Are they worth this silver ingot?”

  Jonas said, “They’re worth two silver ingots that size,” and reached out for the jewels.

  Ian looked at the first mate and said, “I’ll give him one silver ingot for the two stones. My final offer.”

  “Jonas tried to sell them to me. If he’ll let them go for one silver ingot, you have a bargain. Now quickly, both of you decide. We have sails to tend.”

  Ian held out the ingot and Jonas, grumbling, handed the two jewels back to Ian, who put them into his pouch.

  Jonas took the ingot and strode away in bad humor.

  “Ian, help Jonas take down the main sail. We’re pulling into port.”

  “Aye, Lucas.”

  Ian assisted the crew tie up the ship at the pier in Arcachon. In addition to staying busy every day all day, the voyage had been all calm seas and enjoyable.

  Captain LeBeau approached Ian as he gathered his belongings to go ashore. “I have a berth for you on the Rose Blanche if you’d care to sign aboard. You fulfilled our agreement, and I’d be proud to have you as one of my crew. In short order I could train you to become a mate, and someday with study and hard work I think you could become captain of your own ship.”

  Ian blushed and replied, “I appreciate your kind offer, sir, but I have to continue on my pilgrimage to Jerusalem.”

  “I can offer you many ports of call and grand adventures if you reconsider.”

  “Perhaps on my return home to Ireland I could work my passage again.”

  “You’re welcome aboard anytime you decide to claim a berth and sail with me. I must get the crew busy offloading our cargo. It’ll take three of my lazy sewer rats all day to do what you did by yourself in a matter of hours.” Captain LeBeau shook Ian’s hand and said, “May you be blessed with fair winds and following seas,” and turned to confer with the first mate.