Sword of the Crown

2. Child

Two

Child

Summer 939 MC

Baron Richard Fitzwilliam rode through the gate, followed by his soldiers. They had been patrolling the countryside on the lookout for raiders, which were common this time of year. He dismounted, and while he would normally tend to his own horse, today he handed it off to the stable hand, his mind already working on the next task he had in his busy day. Walking across the courtyard, he heard a familiar cry, “Papa!” He turned just in time to see his daughter, red-haired like her mother, charging across the courtyard without a care in the world, her arms held out, waiting for the embrace of her father. Fitzwilliam grinned, it was hard to keep a stern expression where his daughter was concerned, and so he knelt down, waiting for her hug. She jumped into his arms, and he held her tight, standing up to spin her legs through the air. He held her close, not wanting to let her go, enjoying the moment and forgetting all his troubles. He looked down at her, and she smiled back at him. “Well, what have we here?” he said to her. “Lady Beverly Fitzwilliam, I do believe.”

She laughed, and the sound was like magic. He was enjoying the moment immeasurably when he caught sight of his sergeant nearby. Still clutching his child, he turned to face him.

“My lord,” the man said, “did you get a chance to check in on the Claytons?”

“Yes, Gerald,” the baron replied, still wearing a smile, “they’re fine, though why they wanted to farm way out there is beyond me.”

“It’s the dirt,” Gerald explained.

“The dirt?”

“Yes, it’s very fertile, excellent for growing crops. Far better than what we have here.”

Fitz looked thoughtful for a moment while holding on to his daughter. “You were a farmer once; just how good is this dirt?”

“It’s very good, actually. It’s near a river, and the runoff brings all the good soil to the area.”

The baron looked around at the outer Keep. The village was growing, and soon he would need to expand the outer wall, to ensure the people’s safety. Perhaps they could put this dirt to good use. “How difficult would it be to move the soil?” he asked suddenly.

Gerald was taken aback by the unexpected turn of conversation. “Move the soil?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, it’s just soil, we should be able to dig it up and move it. It would be much better to have the farms nearer to the Keep, keeping the farmers safe. How many have been killed by raiders in the last five years?”

“Too many,” Gerald answered, "and we have few enough as it is. As you know, it's hard to convince them to come out to the frontier when it's so dangerous."

“Precisely! We’ll need to mark out some areas. We’ll give each farmer a plot and then draft some people to start hauling the soil while we build the houses.”

Though taken by surprise, Sergeant Matheson reacted quickly, setting his mind to this new task. “We’ll need to build some more wagons first."

"How long will that take?" the baron asked.

"We only have the one wagon maker, so it’ll take at least a year, and then we’ll have to relocate people in the spring before the crops are planted."

"So we're looking at spring of '41 for the great soil move?"

"Aye, my lord," Gerald agreed.

The baron continued moving towards the Keep, his daughter still tucked securely under his arm, while Gerald followed along. She played with her father's beard and moustache as they walked, a chuckle escaping from him. They made their way up to the top of the Keep. The baron referred to this as his map room, for a large map was spread out across the table in the centre of the room, weighed down by various rocks. He sat Beverly in a chair by the window, and then he and Gerald turned back to the map to start discussing their plans.

Not content to sit idly by, Beverly walked over to the table, peeking over its top. The map had always enthralled her, and now she watched with great excitement as Gerald and her father discussed things beyond her comprehension. She could just see the edge of the map, but from her angle it was indecipherable. She began pushing her chair towards the table.

The baron turned around at the sound of the chair scraping along the floor. “What’s this?” he said, smiling in amusement. “Does someone want to see what we’re doing?”

“Yes, Papa,” she chimed in.

Gerald lifted the chair and brought it to the table, then picked Beverly up and placed her standing on the chair. “How’s that?” he asked.

The young girl smiled brightly, “Thank you, Gerald.”

He tried to correct her, “Thank you, Sergeant.”

It was Fitz’s turn for a correction, “Don’t be silly, Gerald. You might be a sergeant to the men, but you’re like family to us. Let her call you by your name; I can’t see it would do any harm. It’s not as if she’s one of the troops.”

“Very well,” said Gerald, resigned to his fate. He turned to Beverly, “You’re most welcome, m’lady,” he said with an exaggerated bow.

Beverly, now with a better view, began casting her eyes about, seeing the room from a whole new perspective. "Papa, I can see out the window from up here!"

Fitz understood her sense of wonder; one of the reasons he liked this room so much was the location. Here he was, at the top of the Keep, and by opening the shutters, he beheld the whole barony. The vista was magnificent, and on a day like today, the fresh air and light breeze brought a pleasant scent to the room.

Fitz walked over to the west window and gazed out upon the land, his land. “Ah, the fresh smell of roses, it so reminds me of Evelyn. She always loved roses, you know.”

Gerald walked over to the window, to stand beside him. “She would have been proud of you, my lord. You always do what’s needed for the people. Not too many lords would be willing to haul dirt.”

The baron kept gazing out the window. “You know, Gerald, I’ve always believed in the nobility, but not the way most believe in it.”

“What do you mean, my lord?”

“Well, most people, most nobles, believe it’s the right of the nobility to be served by the people.” He detected a look of confusion on his sergeant’s face.

“Isn’t that how it works?” Gerald asked.

“No, at least it shouldn’t be. Nobility bestows the duty of the noble to look after the people. It’s their obligation. Do you understand?”

A small voice chimed in from the table, “Yes, Papa, the nobles must look after the commoners.”

Fitz smiled at his daughter, “That’s right, my dear, remember, we serve the people. Oh, we’re in charge, but if we lose the support of the people, we are nothing.”

Gerald wondered at the keen mind of the baron. He would never consider himself a scholar, but he had learned so much from his mentor.

“There are many in the capital that would disagree with you,” Gerald warned.

“Hah!” the baron snorted. “I dare say you’re right. But we know better, don’t we, Beverly?”

“Yes, Papa,” she chimed in again.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I digress; let’s get back to this map. I was thinking the north field might be the place to start.”

They migrated back to the table and began discussing the situation in more detail. Beverly watched them, as they examined the map and talked. Her eyes fell on some wooden figures. Bodden Keep had been attacked on numerous occasions and kept a fairly substantial number of troops. The baron had found it expedient to represent these troops with wooden figures, which he would then place on the map when giving orders. Now these figures fell into the eye-line of Beverly, and she was spellbound. She looked up at her father as if she was guilty of something, but he was busy pointing at the map. She reached across and grabbed a soldier, holding it up to the light to see it better. It was supposed to represent a knight, though the carving was somewhat crude. She detected the likeness of a horse and decided it was interesting.

Gerald was deep in discussion, “…and then the north wall could be extended, but we’d need another sally port.”

“I thought about that,” the baron continued, “but the problem is the amount of stone we’d need.” He took a breath to continue with his discourse and was interrupted by a strange sound. They looked across the table to see Beverly, playing with the knight, making horse noises as she galloped it across the table.

“I think,” said Gerald, in the sudden silence, “that it’s time your daughter learned to ride.”

“So it is,” the baron agreed. “Well, that’s enough planning for one day. Come along, my young dumpling,” he said picking her up, “it’s time we get you on your very own horse.”

Gerald followed them down to the stables where the stable master suggested a pony for Beverly. Some time was spent selecting tack, and Gerald watched as the baron, with great care and patience, led her around while she sat in the saddle.

He had only gone a few steps when the stable master interjected, “My lord, she must ride side saddle.”

The baron stopped the pony and looked at Beverly, then back at the stable master. Gerald saw his lord wrestling with the problem. At last, Fitz turned back to Beverly and asked, “How would you like to sit? Like this?” he lifted her off, placing her back on the saddle sideways. “Or like this?” he returned her to her previous position.

“Like this, just like you, Papa,” she quickly answered.

“But that’s no way for a lady to sit, my lord,” the stable master protested.

“This,” he said, turning politely on the man, “is no ordinary lady. She is the Lady of Bodden Keep and if she wants to ride like a man, so be it.”

Gerald smiled. This wouldn’t be the last time the baron would be at odds with his servants where his daughter was concerned, of that he was sure.