Sword of the Crown

3. Respect

Three

Respect

Autumn 940 MC

Beverly grew accustomed to the saddle rather quickly, and now it was common that when the baron left the Keep on horseback, she tagged along on her pony. It was Gerald's duty, as Sergeant-at-Arms, to look after the safety of the baron and his family, and so, whenever Beverly rode out with her father, an extra contingent of soldiers followed.

Bodden had a variety of soldiers within its walls, far more than usual for a Keep of its size. It was an important stronghold on the border; the guardian against the raiders that came from the north. There were the usual footmen, mostly armed with spears, but some with swords and shields. Then there were the archers, whom the baron prized. Most used a regular bow, but a small number of them were armed with longbows that would pierce the breastplate of a heavily armoured knight. Lastly, were the horsemen, of which there were two types; soldiers of common birth, armed with swords, shields and mail, and the knights, who were a mixed blessing.

Of the knights that came to Bodden, some were outstanding, particularly the ones that the baron had trained, but more often than not, they were sent by the king with little training and no discipline. Most of them resented Gerald, for the baron had made it clear to all that his Sergeant-at-Arms was to be obeyed as if the baron himself had given the orders. This didn’t sit well with the spoiled nobility of Merceria, they knew full-well that Gerald was a commoner; worse, he was a farmer.

On this day Gerald had decided to assign two new knights to the escort. The baron was riding out to examine the grounds where the great ‘earth move’ was going to take place. Beverly was trotting along beside him, with two knights, Sir Barston and Sir Leyland, filing dutifully behind.

As they headed out the gate, Beverly turned in her saddle. “Good-bye, Gerald,” she shouted, waving her hand.

The two knights, witnessing this, turned in their seats to look at him. “Yes,” said Sir Barston, “good-bye, Gerald.” Both men snickered.

They were suddenly jolted forward as their horses halted. Baron Fitzwilliam had stopped his mount and the smile on his face from watching his young daughter suddenly turned into a scowl.

Beverly looked up at him, “Did I do something wrong, Papa?”

He smiled down at her, “No my dear, you did nothing wrong at all.”

“Then what’s wrong?” she innocently asked.

He looked down at her, leaning slightly in his saddle so that he could talk in a softer voice. “In an army, my dear, it’s important to maintain discipline and the chain of command. A soldier must always respect their leader, and when someone fails in that respect, they need to be reminded. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Yes, Father, I shouldn’t call the sergeant by his name.”

“No, you misunderstand, my dear,” he said kindly. “You may call him Gerald whenever you like, just as I may. But the men under his command…” he pointed to the two knights who were oblivious to what was coming, “must treat him with respect.”

“If I was a soldier, would I have to do that too?” she asked.

He thought about that carefully before answering. “When performing your duty, yes. But at home, in the Keep, he is a friend, and you should call him by his name.”

“One day I’m going to be a soldier,” she stated.

He looked at her in surprise. “Indeed?”

He heard a snicker coming from one of the knights.

“Do you find something humorous, Sir Barston?”

Sir Barston, not being the brightest of knights, decided to speak frankly. Gerald stood by, waiting to see the man sink himself with his own words. “Well, my lord, the idea's quite funny, don’t you see?”

The baron was not amused, and his face displayed his displeasure. He was a fair man, however, and believed it best to give the knight the opportunity to speak his mind.

“I mean,” Sir Barston continued, laughing in between talking, “a female knight? I’ve never heard of such a thing, it’s absolutely preposterous!”

The baron turned his horse around carefully and rode up beside the man. As he moved, he looked over to Beverly, “My dear,” he said, “would you be so kind as to ride over to the sergeant, and wait there?”

“Yes Papa,” she said, guiding her pony back through the gate. As she rode past Sir Leyland, she looked up at him and stuck out her tongue. The young knight hadn’t a clue how to handle it and just sat there with a stunned look on his face. She rode over to where Gerald was standing and turned her pony skillfully to face the same direction as he.

“Saxnor’s balls, Papa’s about to give it to them,” she said.

Gerald looked at her in surprise. “Such language, from one so small,” he scolded.

She returned the look, “It’s the same language that you and Papa use, isn’t it?” she asked with her innocent eyes.

He coughed to cover up a laugh, “I suppose it is,” he admitted, “though it seems strange coming from one so-”

“Female?” she interrupted.

“No,” he corrected, “I was going to say from one so young. I’ve certainly seen my fair share of cursing women over the years, take Cook for instance.” The cook’s penchant for cursing was legendary.

She chuckled, then turned back to watch the performance in front of them.

The baron, now beside Sir Barston, was looking the knight's horse up and down. “Your horse looks particularly well-groomed, Sir Barston,” he said in a friendly tone.

The knight, confused by this turnabout in the baron’s tone merely said, “Thank you, my lord?”

“What type of brush do you use?” the baron asked.

“Brush, my lord?”

“To brush your horse, what type of brush do you use?”

“I don’t know, my lord,” Sir Barston looked confused. “I don’t brush my horse.”

Gerald knew where this was going and turned his head slightly to speak to Beverly, still keeping his eye on the drama unfolding before him.

“Watch this closely, Beverly,” he said, “you’ll learn an important lesson.

Baron Richard Fitzwilliam was a soldier’s soldier. He believed that if a man looked after his horse, the horse would serve him well in battle. The mere thought that a knight, who relied on his steed far more than an ordinary soldier, should not even know how to brush his horse, was unconscionable.

“Dismount, Sir Barston,” the baron said evenly, “you too, Sir Leyland.”

The two knights dismounted. The baron called over to his sergeant, “Sergeant, would you be so kind as to come and take these two away?”

“Yes, my lord,” he responded and walked over, ready to march the knights away.

“No, not those two,” he said looking at the knights. “I’d like you to walk these two magnificent beasts back to the stable, please. At least I know YOU understand how to treat a horse.”

Gerald kept a straight face as the baron added, “And when you return we’ll discuss extra duties for these two…” he paused as if deciding on the best words to pick, “soldiers.”

Gerald walked the horses back to the stables and handed them over to the stable boys.

He marched back to the baron, deciding it was best to play this as professionally as possible. Walking up directly in front of the baron, he stood to attention. “Horses returned, my lord,” he said in an official tone.

The twinkle in the baron’s eye told him that Fitz had appreciated the performance. “I believe Sir Barston here, has something he wants to say to you, Sergeant.” He looked at the older knight with a stern countenance. Sir Barston still looked confused. It was a wonder, thought the baron, that these rich nobles’ sons didn’t seem to grasp even the basic aspects of life. By and large, they were incredibly stupid, or lazy, or, in this case, both.

“Sir Barston here,” the baron continued, beginning to relish this tactic, “has decided that he’d like to learn more about looking after his horse. Would you kindly see to it that any spare time he might have be put to just such a purpose? Perhaps start with the basics, you know, mucking out the stables and such?”

“It would be my pleasure, my lord,” Gerald replied, “and what of Sir Leyland?”

“Oh I think his horse skills are quite adequate,” the baron said. Then, as Sir Leyland began to relax, he added, “He’s volunteered to lend his strength to cleaning out the waste pit. I think you’ll find that our intrepid engineer is overseeing that operation. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the extra help.”

Beverly watched the entire exchange, absorbing it all. The baron observed them head off, each in their separate directions, and then turned to Beverly, “Come along, my dear, we still have to ride out.”

“My lord,” Gerald burst out, “you cannot go without an escort.”

“Oh, very well. Go and get your horse, Gerald.”

He ran over to the stables, rushing to saddle up his horse and returned shortly, out of breath, but ready to go.

“We’ll need another guard, my lord,” he said.

“Just how many guards do you think we need, Gerald?” he asked.

“At least two, my lord.”

The baron looked around the courtyard, then turned his horse, riding over to the smith, who was oiling some weapons. “Master Grady,” he said, “pass me that sword and scabbard there,” pointing to a short sword.

The smith passed it up to him, and he rode back to where Gerald and Beverly were waiting. He pulled his charger up beside Beverly and leaned toward her. “Put your arms up, my dear,” he said, and as she did so, he took the scabbard and buckled it around her waist.

“There,” he said at last, “now we have two guards, Gerald and Beverly.”

They rode off through the gate, Beverly’s grin bigger than it had ever been before.