Warrior Knight

3. The Joust-2

Ludwig"s thoughts were interrupted by a warrior standing in the middle of the road as he adjusted his belt, leaving scant room for Ludwig to pass.

“Out of the way,” he ordered.

The man looked up, revealing the face of a youth. “In a moment.”

Ludwig shook his head, for the voice was obviously that of a female.

“For Saint’s sake,” the woman cursed. Clearly she was having trouble with her buckle, but Ludwig had little concern for such things.

“Can’t you do that elsewhere?” he demanded, a sharp tone to his words.

“Hold on to your horse,” came the reply.

“Do you know who I am?”

“No, nor do I care. You don’t own this road”—she looked around—“not that it’s much of a road.”

“I have the right of way.”

“What makes you figure that?”

“I am a knight,” he announced. “Sir Ludwig of…” He struggled to remember his false identity.

She finished fiddling with her belt and looked up at him, hands on hips. “Having trouble with your memory, are you?”

“That’s none of your concern,” he snapped. “The fact of the matter is I’m clearly a knight, and you should show proper respect.”

“Respect has to be earned.”

“Just get out of the way, woman.”

“Woman, is it now? Didn’t anyone ever teach you manners?”

“Who do you think you are, lecturing me?”

“Me? My name"s Cyn.”

“Cyn? What kind of a name is that?”

“It’s short for Cynthia. I’m a mercenary.”

Ludwig was overcome with amusement. “You? A mercenary? Don’t make me laugh."

She stepped closer, moving to the side of Ludwig’s horse. “You think that’s funny?”

He stared down at her. “You don’t look much like a warrior to me.”

“And how many warriors do you know?”

Ludwig waved his hand, indicating the nearby tents. “Look around. This place is filled with them.”

Cyn took a quick glance. “Those are nothing but the spoiled sons of nobles. They wouldn’t know a battle from a privy.”

Ludwig turned in the saddle, bending lower to make sure she heard him properly. “You should watch your tongue. It could get you into trouble.”

“Trouble, is it?” She reached out with lightning quickness, grasping his forearm and pulling him from the saddle. He landed in the mud with a splash.

“It’s not me who should be minding my manners,” she added.

He stared up at her, unable to come to terms with his present circumstance. “How did you do that?”

“Merely something I picked up in Braymoor.”

“Never heard of the place.”

“It’s one of the northern kingdoms. Now, have you something to say to me?”

“I’m sorry?”

“There, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” She extended her hand. “Here, let me help you up.”

He took the offer, getting to his feet.

“You’re obviously new here.”

“I am,” he confessed.

“I’m guessing you lost your first fight.”

“How did you know that? Were you watching?”

“No, but the mud on your armour speaks volumes.”

He felt his face burn with shame.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’ll get better. Few knights win their first competition.”

“It’s not only that,” said Ludwig. “I lost my armour.”

“Not necessarily,” she said, “just pay your ransom. It’s bound to be cheaper in the long run.”

“I lack the funds.”

“Well, don’t look at me. I scarcely have enough for drinks at the Hammer.”

“The Hammer?”

“It’s a big tent over yonder, a makeshift tavern of sorts, where a lot of the competitors go to drink.” She paused for a moment, looking him over. “Well, maybe not your lot, but it"s good enough for us common folk. Then again, if you’ve lost everything in a joust, perhaps you are one of us now. I tell you what, if I see you over at the Hammer, I’ll buy you a drink. How"s that sound?”

“I’m already spoken for,” said Ludwig.

“I wasn’t offering anything other than a drink. Shame on you.”

“Sorry, this is all so overwhelming.”

“I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got to meet Siggy.”

“Siggy?”

“Yes, a good friend of mine.”

“And is she a mercenary as well?”

Cyn laughed. “Yes, as a matter of fact, HE is.”

“Siggy"s a man?”

“Yes, his real name is Sigwulf, and only I get to call him Siggy, but I’ve already said too much. I’m late now, thanks to you.”

Ludwig managed a nod of his head. “Then good day to you, Mistress Cynthia."

She managed a clumsy curtsy that looked ludicrous in her armour. “And a good day to you, Sir Knight.”

Ludwig climbed back into the saddle and sat still, thinking things over. He would soon find himself bereft of his trappings, and with few coins to his name, what was he to do? His spurs kicked back, urging his mount forward while he pondered his situation. He hated admitting it, but Kurt had been right all along.

His tent soon came into view, but it was not what he had expected, for the poles that held the top in place had failed, leaving little more than ripped canvas and broken wood.

Ludwig dismounted and tied off his horse, then meandered over to examine the ruins, but there was little that could be salvaged from the remains.

He cleared away some debris, exposing the pallet that served as his bed. Miraculously it was dry, and he gave a silent prayer of thanks to the Saints. Taking a seat, he began pulling off his gauntlets, tossing them to the ground, no longer concerned about their upkeep. If Sir Galrath were to take his armour, then to the Afterlife with them.

Ludwig sat for some time. Off in the distance, he heard the roars of the crowd, but each cheer reminded him of his own disgrace. Slowly, he unbuckled his vambraces, then began the laborious task of removing the rest of his armour. It was a difficult task without an assistant, and he briefly thought of seeking out Brother Vernan, but the Holy Man had been quite insistent he was needed elsewhere.

So slow was his progress that it was mid-morning by the time he was done. He stared at his sword, fondly remembering the day he had received it. It had been a gift from his father, but it was the dark-haired woman who had delivered it that had caught his attention.

“Charlaine,” he muttered, feeling the word caress his mouth. He had known a few women in his time, but she was the only one who had somehow captured his heart. His relationship with her had led to his current circumstance, yet, try as he might, he couldn’t fault her. He knew, deep inside, he would carry her memory with him for the rest of his life. The thought gave him a sense of satisfaction. He stood, taking in the discarded armour.

“This won’t do,” he said. “What would Charlaine think?” He began picking it up.