The Honorable Knight

by Patrick John Donahoe

  “I was going to wear that tunic myself,” complained Jacques.

  Ian considered Rosemarie for the first time. She was a spoiled French girl, somewhere between plain and beautiful, but closer to beautiful, wearing a natural pout that morphed into a pixie smile on demand, smooth skin, fine features, lips somewhere between thin and sensuous, eyes of the clearest blue green, and pencil thin eyebrows.

  “The tunic will look better on Ian, trust me.” Rosemarie winked at Ian, left the room, and closed the door behind her.

  Ian thought, Rosemarie is much too old for me, even though we’re about the same age. She is a perplexity, an enigma, a mystery, or in other words, a French girl beyond my capability to comprehend.

  Luc was in his glory. His home was full of family, friends, good wine, and everyone was having a wonderful time. He smiled to himself as he thought about how his wife, Gabrielle, loved to entertain, and how she would be especially frisky when the guests, after congratulating her on her party, had all left. What more could a man ask for, besides to live forever.

  Luc watched as Jacques danced with Esmeralda, the beautiful daughter of an old family friend. He noticed Esmeralda exchange looks with Peter, the eldest son of the Earl of Cuers behind Jacques’ back, but Jacques would flirt with every attractive young lady at the party during the course of the evening. Luc knew Jacques and Esmeralda enjoyed taunting each other with the possibility that they might wed others, even though each knew their families expected them to wed when the time was right.

  His delightful daughter, Rosemarie, was focusing her attention on Jacques’ new friend, Ian. Luc liked the boy, who reminded him of his lost son, Jean, humble, strong, and more mature than expected for his age. Although Ian was ten months younger than Jacques, Ian seemed more mature than Jacques in many ways, perhaps due to his unprivileged life. Had Jean lived he would have been eleven months older than Jacques, and the inheritor of Luc’s estate.

  Luc blamed himself for not going along with Jacques and Louis. The three of them might have been able to hold off the four robbers, but then again maybe not. Ian, the humble boy, had saved Luc from certain financial embarrassment if Jacques had lost the tax money to brigands. Jacques desperately wanted to show he was strong and responsible, and Louis was a capable fighter, but Luc knew the outside world was a dangerous place.

  Ian would have been content to be a wallflower and watch the dancers, but Rosemarie would have none of it. She tugged on his arm and said too loud for Ian’s comfort, “I don’t attend dances to watch others dance.”

  Embarrassed by her insistence, he strolled onto the dance floor with her. She led and he tried not to step on her feet. Fortunately, Rosemarie led and danced well, helping Ian to not look as foolish as he felt.

  “How can a man with so much coordination with a sword on horseback be such a clumsy lummox on the dance floor? I think you’re being a two left-footed ox on purpose,” Rosemarie complained.

  Ian tried harder to make his feet move smoothly with no great success.

  “Listen to the music. Don’t think of anything else. Hold me and feel the way I move. Relax.”

  Ian listened to the music for the first time. There was a rhythm for his feet to follow. He focused on the rhythm, letting it permeate his feet and legs. Slowly he managed to relax and feel the mood. He even tried to hum the melody. He began to move with Rosemarie as though they were one body with four feet operating together. Ian felt pleased with himself.

  Ian felt Rosemarie loosen her grip on his hand and shoulder. She stopped pushing and pulling him. Surprised, he took the lead.

  “I knew you could dance. Were you just playing me for a fool?” she demanded.

  Ian leaned back and looked into her face. “No, Rosemarie, I’m only now learning the ebb and flow of dancing.” Ian listened to the harpist and flautist as they played like angels filling the hall with heavenly notes.

  Ian looked over his shoulder at Luc, who was standing at the hors d’œuvre table selecting a variety of cheese samples. He watched Luc pop two cheese chunks into his mouth, then swallow them after only a couple of chews. As Ian turned Rosemarie, he lost sight of Luc, but heard someone gag. He looked in the direction of the choking sound, and saw Luc bent over, choking.

  “There’s something wrong with your father!” Ian shouted. He broke free of Rosemarie and crossed the room in four bounds. He wrapped his arms around Luc’s waist from behind, made a fist with his left hand, gripped his left hand with his right hand, and gave a quick upward thrust on Luc’s abdomen above his belly and below the breastbone, once, then repeated the hold again.

  Luc coughed up a slightly chewed chunk of cheese and spit it out onto the floor. Luc coughed twice again until he regained his composure enough to stand erect. Ian held him steady until Luc was able to stand without assistance.

  Everyone in the ballroom stared at them. After a brief pause, one person clapped and suddenly everyone in the room clapped their hands.

  Ian peered into Luc’s eyes and asked, “Are you alright, Monsieur?”

  Embarrassed, Luc wiped the sputa from his lips with his handkerchief and behind the cloth replied, “Yes . . . yes, thank you, Ian.”

  Ian continued to stare into Luc’s eyes to confirm he could be left alone and, satisfied the crisis was over, sighed a deep sigh of relief. “My pleasure.” Feeling emotionally drained and embarrassed at the attention, Ian strode back to Rosemarie.

  Rosemarie stood on her tiptoes and kissed Ian lightly on the lips. “Thank you, kind sir. That was amazing.”

  Whether it was a pure kiss of gratitude or a heartfelt kiss of more, Ian couldn’t tell, but the night’s events were taking their toll on his emotions.

  Gabrielle, dragging Luc behind her, joined them and embraced Ian. Tears streamed out of Gabrielle’s crow’s feet wrinkled eyes. “Merci, Ian. The old fool is in such a hurry to gobble down his food, he doesn’t bother to chew. We owe you so much.”

  Rosemarie held Ian’s hand and smiled up at him.

  “I’m pleased I was able to help.”

  “How did you know the way to make me cough up the cheese cube?” Luc asked while wiping the perspiration from his sweaty forehead with a linen napkin.

  “My mother taught me many healing techniques including how to use herbs and make salves and ointments.” Ian stood straighter as he spoke with pride in his mother’s healing arts capabilities.

  “Useful skills for a warrior,” Luc commented.

  Six

  The rest of the summer’s nearly perfect days passed in rapid succession. Ian’s and Jacques’ original stated intentions to go on a pilgrimage were always in the back of Ian’s mind. Jacques seemed to be in no hurry to leave, and Jacques’ family had taken Ian so completely into their circle that Ian felt at home. After his mother passed away, Ian chafed at the bit to leave Ireland, but now he was enjoying his new-found family and became complacent about the time of departure.

  Ian and Jacques practiced their warrior skills every day except Sundays, when the whole family attended Mass. Jacques flirted with Esmeralda on the chapel’s back pew, while Ian sat with the family on the LeFriant family-sponsored second pew.

  Luc let Ian use his favorite horse, Tonnerre Noir, or Black Thunder, for training, in exchange for walking and grooming all six of the family’s riding horses. Ian enjoyed taking care of the horses.

  Louis was the estate’s resident blacksmith, farrier, veterinarian, carpenter, and Jack of All Trades. He taught Ian how to operate the forge and fabricate metal objects, like horseshoes, and how to build and repair wooden furniture and cabinets for the estate. He also taught Ian enough about horseshoeing to be a journeyman farrier.

  There weren’t any tasks that Louis couldn’t or wouldn’t tackle, including bodyguard. Louis didn’t elaborate on where, or when, or under what conditions he had learned his warrior skills. Perhaps his earlier alliances were not Frankish, so Ian respected Louis’ privacy and didn’t ask.

  While Ian was learning trades, Jacques s
pent his spare time learning mathematics and mechanics. Jacques felt the future of warfare was in advanced weapons and machines. Jacques studied the designs of trebuchets, catapults, siege engines, and all manner of weapons, devising on paper his notions of new and improved versions. He shared his ideas with Ian and Louis who were always polite and attentive to his concepts. He enlisted their assistance to build scale models of his favorite designs, which they tried out on the estate’s vast lawns, much to Luc’s chagrin when they damaged grapevines with misguided missiles.

  Jacques also had his own ideas for knight’s attire and equipment, including helmets, visors, gambesons, hauberks, and shields. Ian and Louis would often suggest their own improvements and modifications to Jacques’ concepts.

  One day, Jacques asked Luc, “Father, can I have Louis make a new set of knight’s equipment for myself and Ian, without letting Ian know.”

  “That’s very generous of you, my son. How could I refuse?”

  “Thank you, Father. I will ask Louis to keep Ian’s set of equipment a secret from him. It will be a grand surprise.”

  “Indeed, it will.”

  Part of Ian and Jacques’ warrior training used a pell, a six-foot-tall one foot in diameter wooden post. Luc insisted that they work as hard at not injuring themselves or each other as they did in showing how proficient they were. They attacked the pell with wooden swords that weighed twice that of a real sword to develop arm muscle strength. In one-on-one competitions, Ian bested Jacques at swordplay and wrestling, and Jacques outdid Ian at foil and archery, but both defeated anyone else who competed with them, except with the foil.

  Luc beat both of them fencing with the foil, and said, “Maturity and treachery will best youth and skills every time.” Luc insisted that Ian learn chess to understand strategy. In the evenings. Luc would soundly beat Jacques in chess after Jacques had soundly beaten Ian.

  Rosemarie often served as an audience for their competitions. She suggested, “Why don’t you try the new royal competition from England called jousting?”

  Jacques took up her challenge and asked Luc, “Father, can we have Louis fabricate a few lances so we can practice jousting?”

  Luc frowned his non-approval frown and replied, “Jousting can only be a source of injury for you boys, riding at each other at full gallop and trying to knock each other off your horses. It’s too dangerous. I’ve heard that even the English are making rules to reduce the number of injuries their own knights are suffering in their infernal contests.”

  “Father, we’ll be careful.”

  “I’ve seen how careful you two are with each other, constantly bruised and battered, with black eyes and limps. Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you are trying to kill each other sometimes.”

  “We’re knights, Father; at least I will be, and Ian wants to be a knight. The bruises are the price for training, right, Ian?”

  “Yes, sir. Training causes bruises.” Ian said with an ear-to-ear grin.

  Luc, failing to see the humor in the proposal, said, “I know how important this new nonsense is to you two idiots, so here’s what I’ll permit. Both of you and Louis can design and make the lances, out of soft wood, and you will both promise to practice only under my direct supervision.”

  “Yes, Father, whatever you say,” Jacques answered.

  “You have to promise me you’ll be careful. If either of you is injured, I will never hear the last of it from your mother.”

  “We understand.”

  Jacques, with Luc’s oversight, had Louis fabricate two lances of soft pine with tips of balled cotton to make the lances as safe as possible.

  Luc, Jacques, and Ian conferred back and forth on the best way to hold the lance, near the end, gripped by the right hand and resting on the right forearm, where to attempt to strike their opponent, in the chest, not in the face, and other details since they didn’t have an expert to question.

  Luc suggested, “Face each other in armor on your horses at lance distance and study how high to hold the lances.”

  Ian raised his lance to point directly at Jacques chest, “I think our strike zones should be in this small area.” Ian drew an imaginary circle on Jacques’ chest with the point of his lance.

  “Let’s try to avoid hitting each other in the face at least,” Jacques replied.

  The horses impatient with standing still, sidestepped away from each other.

  “We will have a difficult time hitting such a small target at a full gallop,” Jacques added.

  “If Englander knights can do it, we can,” replied Ian. “I have an idea. What if we install a ring at the right height on the wall between us and practice capturing the ring with our lances until we feel we can hit a small target?”

  “Brilliant, as always.”

  Luc said, “Practice running your mounts slowly at first to get used to carrying the lance, then at trot, then at full gallop as though charging an opponent.”

  After a few days of practice trial and error, Ian and Jacques were both able to lance the ring most of the time. Jacques informed his father they were ready.

  Luc declared a jousting tournament on the next Saturday afternoon, and Luc, Gabrielle, Rosemarie, and Esmeralda would be the audience.

  Both Ian and Jacques wanted to impress the family and were anxious to do well, requiring each one to unseat the other.

  The family took their seats under a tent set up near the horse corral, except for Luc, who first handed Jacques his lance and then Ian his. “I wish you idiots both good luck. Try to not kill each other,” Luc ordered in his sternest voice.

  Tonnerre Noir shook his head and tossed the ribbons attached to his mane, stomped his forelegs and snorted seeming to sense the excitement of the day. He loved to run at a full gallop down the rail Ian and Jacques had set up to keep the two horses from crashing headlong into each other.

  Luc no sooner arrived at the family tent than Rosemarie and Esmeralda ran out to join Ian and Jacques, respectively.

  Rosemarie tied her red scarf onto the end of Ian’s lance while Ian tried to keep Tonnerre Noir from treading on her by whispering calm words into his ears.

  “For luck,” she said.

  Esmeralda tied her blue scarf to Jacques’ lance, and said, “Make me proud.”

  Jacques and Ian took their positions at each end of the run. Their horses stomped their forefeet and wagged their heads up and down in anticipation of the charge. Tonnerre Noir did a 360 degree turn before Ian could get him headed in the right direction. “Settle down, Tonnerre Noir,” Ian whispered to his horse, “I’m more scared than you.”

  Ian and Jacques nodded at each other, lowered their helmet visors, and waited for Louis to lower the flag in the center of the run. Louis hesitated for a second and brought the flag down.

  Ian spurred Tonnerre Noir, who needed no encouragement, and he charged ahead.

  Ian mumbled, “God protect us,” under his breath.

  Both horses ran at full gallop before they reached the midpoint of the run. Ian and Jacques pointed their lances at each other. Each struck the other full force in the chest close to the heart with the tip of his lance. The two lances exploded in sprays of splinters. Both combatants were knocked backwards off their horses, flipped heels-over-head, and landed like broken dolls, crumpled in the dirt.

  The whole family ran to the young men and checked to make sure they were still breathing. Both moaned and groaned as Luc and Rosemarie rolled them onto their backs. Luc helped Jacques to his feet, and Rosemarie helped Ian. Ian had a difficult time catching his breath, as did Jacques. Ian felt like his chest had been caved in. Jacques threw up on Luc’s shoes. Rosemarie and Luc assisted the stumbling combatants to the tent.

  Jacques removed his vomit-laced helmet and laid it on the ground.

  Once they were seated and Ian and Jacques could breathe properly again, Luc said, “My boys, I call this joust a draw and declare this contest as your first and last joust. You two have other more important skills to master. Con
gratulations.”

  Ian removed his helmet and said, “What say you, Jacques? It was fun, wasn’t it?” with a goofy dazed expression.

  Jacques spit a gob of vomit onto the ground and replied grimacing in pain, “It sure as hell was. But, oww, my chest aches.”

  “Big baby,” Ian chided.

  Ian awoke to someone shaking him in his bed.

  “Wake up, Ian. Mother is not well. She needs your healing skills.”

  Ian followed Rosemarie to her mother’s bedroom, where Luc was sitting on the edge of Gabrielle’s bed holding her hand.

  Rosemarie pulled a chair up beside the bed and said, “Ian, sit down.” Luc scooted back away from Gabrielle to make room for Ian.

  Ian sat on the chair, took Gabrielle’s hand, and asked, “Dear Lady, I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. What seems to be the problem?”

  “My abdomen aches . . .” she looked into Ian’s patient blue-green eyes, and continued, “And I feel like I need to urinate all the time . . . and when I do, it burns.”

  “Anything else?” Ian gave her hand a gentle squeeze of sympathy.

  “When I urinate it’s cloudy and smells dreadful.”

  “Gabrielle, you have a female infection.” Ian turned to Rosemarie. “Have cook simmer one cup of fresh parsley in two cups of water for ten minutes, remove the leaves, and give the tea to Gabrielle to drink six times a day . . . and Gabrielle, you must urinate as often as possible. Place a hot water bottle on your lower abdomen for the pain. It will provide relief. I haven’t seen any bilberries on the estate, but if some are available, eat them with your food and they’ll help with the healing . . . Do you wear linen undergarments?”

  Gabrielle face turned bright red. She replied, “During the day, of course.”

  “Go without undergarments day and night until you feel better. Oh, and this may be difficult; no wine until you’re well again.”