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Posted on Thursday, 29 April 1999
In the age of chivalry and knights, of kings and damsels and dragons, there were many whose names have lived on through the century through legendary feats of bravery and valour. Names like Arthur, Lancelot and Galahad, Perceval, Bedivere and Gawaine. But there is one name, one knight brave and true who has been forgotten in the mists of time. A knight more chivalrous than any other, more steadfast and loyal to the crown of King Arthur. A knight who once sat at the Round Table and was warmly welcomed into the company of Britain's most revered and respected warriors.
But why is this good knight uncelebrated today? What could have transpired to erase this majestic soul from the history books? For a knight of such magnificent deeds and impeccable deportment should surely be proclaimed in every text imaginable.
The explanation is simple. It lies in the true story of this brave knight. A story that had lain untold for centuries.
The story of Sir Eli...
Part One
The young page stood in the entry of the tavern, his nose wrinkling in distaste. An overwhelming stench emanated from within the depths of the premises. He nearly turned back, but upon recalling what would await him should he fail to perform his duty, he took a deep breath of the cleaner outside air and plunged through the doorway.
Allowing his eyesight to adjust to the dimly lit interior, he was forced to expel his breath and draw in the fetid odors of his immediate environs. Almost instantly he was able to discern the figure he sought. The man was huge, loud and currently seated at a table with four other men of dubious ancestry.
The page quickly navigated toward his object.
"M'lord Beringer?" he ventured at a suitable interval in the conversation.
The man in question peered at the boy before him with glassy eyes. "And who's askin'?" he slurred.
"I bear a message for you from Lord Welton." He delivered his message quickly and succinctly, thinking what a waste of his time to enquire personally of this buffoon a request that could just as easily been carried by a stable boy.
Beringer nodded drunkenly. "What's your name, boy?" he asked, fishing in his purse until he pulled out a coin.
"Darcy, m'lord." the page replied, silently wishing he could just get out of this wretched place.
"Darcy?" Beringer's voice boomed out. "Any connection to George Darcy of Pemberley?"
The boy inclined his head slightly. "I am his son." Just dismiss me now and let me go!
Beringer leaned back and looked him up and down critically, then laughed. Tossing the coin at Darcy he said, "There you are, boy. Don't spend it all in one place!" He winked lewdly and gestured over the boy's shoulder.
Darcy couldn't stop himself from looking in the direction indicated. A woman was leaning across a neighbouring table, her offerings amply displayed, right down to the wriggling spider creeping up from the recesses. However, what Darcy noticed with disgust was the filthy rags that passed for clothing, her stringy, oily hair, and the sparse teeth on view as she laughed.
He shuddered in revulsion. Why do I always end up in these places? Couldn't I just once get sent to a proper Lord's home to deliver a missive?
A slap on his back brought his attention to Beringer again.
"Thank you m'lord, but I must be on my way." he said as politely as he could manage, then made good his escape.
As he slipped out into the fresh, clean air of the street, Darcy paused to close his eyes and take several deep breaths. Feeling his stomach settle back into place, he opened his eyes once more. He lifted the fabric of his doublet to his nose and sniffed.
Oh, lovely! It will probably take a week to get the stench out of these!
He shook his head in resignation. Glancing around, his eyes suddenly came to rest on a woman not ten feet hence. She was young, her gown fashioned of the finest materials he noted. As his gaze traveled upward admiring the cut of her figure he was startled to discover the deepest, most expressive eyes he had ever encountered. He saw them because she was staring at him, too. Expressive they were; filled with disapproval and disgust!
Darcy was taken aback for a moment. What had he done to warrant such a scathing glare? He was sure he'd never met this young woman. Then he recollected where he was; standing in the doorway of the most disreputable brothel in town.
The sudden, hasty exit of one of the brothel's patrons sent Darcy sprawling into a nearby puddle. When he had managed to extract himself from the muck, the young woman was gone.
Gazing down at his ruined garb, Darcy shook his head and set off for his quarters to change before the evening's court would begin.
They came from miles away, hundreds of peasants, nobles, and members of the clergy, to see this court of Arthur, King of the Britons. Here He would present his brave and steadfast knights to the assemblage. Knights whose loyalty and heroic deeds had earned them places at the Round Table.
The noise which arose from the crowd was near deafening as it echoed off of the stone walls. Even the height of the ceiling did little to lessen the intensity.
Darcy stepped into place near the dais just as the fanfare sounded announcing the imminent entrance of the King. He murmured a small prayer of thanks that he was able to effect his change into court garb so quickly.
His gaze now swept over the faces of those nearest to him for any familiar ones. Alas, even after four months at court, there was no-one that Darcy would call a friend.
"Here they come." whispered a voice behind him.
Every head in the room turned to watch the procession as the standard bearers led the way, followed by the Herald in Charge. When the two knights serving as the honour guard appeared, like a ripple through still water the people sank to their knees and bowed their heads. Only when the King, the Queen and the remaining knights had traversed the hall and taken their places on the dais did the people rise once more.
The sharp rap of a staff on the floor preceded the "Oyez, Oyez" of the Herald. His voice rolled over the heads of the crowd and into the remote corners of the room. "All pay heed to these words of Arthur, rightful King and Sovereign of Britannia. Here opens the court of His Majesty, King Arthur Pendragon." Then the Herald stepped back to stand between Arthur and his Queen.
The King's first words were familiar. Darcy had heard them far too many times in the past months to listen with any attentiveness now. He allowed his thoughts to wander while his outward appearance remained in keeping with his place.
When the knights were brought forward one at a time, Darcy was aware of the craning necks behind him and stepped back to let the others come forward for a better view. He had no interest in witnessing the pompous ceremony unfolding on the dais.
Knights! Glorified soldiers! he thought bitterly. This was something he was destined never to experience. The third son of a nobleman, he was foreordained to the church.
Darcy glanced at the awed expressions around him with impatience. Awe of whom? he asked himself. Gawaine, Lancelot, Eli. He sighed as he contemplated the heroic potential of his own life. His future held pens, not swords; paper, not armour; dark, quiet monasteries instead of cheering accolades.
"Wassail!!" came the cry from the assemblage.
Darcy was relieved when the court ended soon thereafter and he could return to his regular duties.
When he saw her again a few days later, she was in the market examining bolts of cloth in a merchant stall.
Darcy pretended to peruse the goods in an adjoining stall as he watched her surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye. Her fingers moved with deliberate efficiency over the silks until they came to rest on a dark green sample. He saw her pull it out and begin to haggle with the merchant.
"Set your sights a little lower, boy."
Darcy started and his head snapped around to see Gareth, one of the palace guards, at his shoulder. Darcy quickly looked at the dagger in his hand.
"It is a fine blade, but perhaps you are right. The price may be too dear for my purse."
Gareth laughed. "I meant the wench over there!" He nodded his head toward her. "Don't deny it. Although I agree she is fine to behold! She comes from a well-placed family."
Darcy's interest was aroused. "You know of her, then?"
"Too expensive for you, boy." Gareth nodded as he continued to eye the young woman appreciatively. "Elizabeth is her name. Her father is Thomas Bennet of Longbourn. A pretty price for her hand, too, I'll wager."
Darcy pursed his lips and said in an irritated tone, "It is of no concern to me anyway. There's no wife in store for me."
Gareth looked at his companion. "Ah yes, the church for you is it?" Darcy nodded morosely. "Well, that doesn't mean you can't appreciate what's on offer. Although, I hear tell that as long as she keeps her tongue still, the offerings are very enticing!" He laughed loudly and Darcy saw Elizabeth's head turn toward them.
She looked away in a disinterested manner, addressing the merchant once more.
Darcy looked enquiringly at Gareth, eager to hear more despite himself.
"I wouldn't be surprised should the King himself be envious that Excalibur 'tis not as sharp as that lady's tongue!"
The lady in question looked in their direction yet again, and Darcy realized with acute embarrassment that she had likely heard every word his companion had uttered. Her expression was one of annoyance, but as their eyes met across the intervening distance, Darcy could not help noticing the spark of anger in the depths of hers.
"You see?" Gareth continued, making no attempt to lower his voice. "Note the way she's looking at you in utter defiance for her place. I pity the man who ends up with her as his wife. Her father had best quickly find some unsuspecting noble in need of an heir before she reaches an unmarriageable age. Or before her reputation becomes more widely known."
The sparks in Elizabeth's eyes flashed brighter at this, and try as he might, Darcy could not look away. Fortunately for him, she did. But it was to speak to someone on her right, someone who had, until this time, been hidden from Darcy's view. Elizabeth held a whispered conversation with the young man in the liveried surcoat bearing a familiar coat of arms.
As Darcy puzzled over these arms; sable, a broadsword pointing chief, proper, surrounded by five roses, slipped and leafed, argent; he heard a gasp of surprise from Gareth.
"God's feet!" the guard said in a hushed voice. "Do you recognize those arms? That's Sir Eli's man-at-arms!"
Darcy looked at Gareth's ever-widening eyes in his deathly pale face, then back to the man beside Elizabeth. Both had now turned their gazes on the two horrified men.
"Do you realize what this means?" Gareth nudged Darcy's shoulder. "For a knight's man-at-arms to be escorting a lady?"
Darcy was shaking his head but not for lack of understanding. No, this isn't happening to me!
"She is obviously looked upon with favour by Sir Eli!" Gareth was slowly backing away, his intent to lose himself in the ebb and flow of the crowded marketplace. "We'll be tied to the pells for the next round of training!"
"But he wouldn't do anything so extreme, would he?" Darcy said doubtfully as he looked over his shoulder at the empty space that Gareth had recently occupied. "Gareth?" he hissed, his heart beginning to pound wildly in his chest.
Panicking, Darcy's eyes swept the surrounding crowd for the guard's fleeing form, to no avail. Gareth had made good his escape. Darcy's mind raced to formulate his own salvation.
As he swung his head to the fore he was presented with the opportunity to closely inspect the fine craftsmanship of a richly worked black surcoat. He raised his eyes slowly, past the tip of the embroidered sword, up the neck of the wearer, stopping at the firmly set, disapproving mouth of the lady Elizabeth's escort. Darcy dared look no higher, his heart had sunk into his boots.
"What might your name be, boy?" The low voice vibrated in the pit of Darcy's stomach.
"D-D-D-Darcy, m'lord." he stammered in a voice that barely moved the wind. He stared at the point of the sword on the surcoat.
"'Tis a fine day for market shopping," the man's voice continued ominously. "Did you stop to admire the merchant's wares..... or my sister's?"
Darcy closed his eyes. I may not have been looking forward to my future, but it now appears that I shall not even be living it. "How would you have me answer that m'lord? Be it yea or nay, I am bound to give offence." Wait a minute.... his sister?
"Then answer me this. What do you think a fit punishment for the man who uttered such a slur against my sister's character?"
"I could offer an apology on behalf of the man who would otherwise be punished for his inexcusable behaviour." Darcy ventured hopefully.
"Not good enough!" the other man intoned. "The insult was much greater than a mere apology warrants." Resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, he said, "How do you intend to satisfy my sister's honour?"
We'll be tied to the pells for the next round of training! Darcy's mind raced with the possibilities. Better to die like a man than a human target, he decided. He drew himself up straight and raised his eyes to meet his challenger. "I can think of no other way than to meet you on the field of honour. When m'lord?"
"Tomorrow, one hour after first light near the town well."
Darcy nodded his acceptance of the terms and turned quickly, leaving the marketplace behind.
Elizabeth, who had watched the entire exchange, now came forward to stand beside her brother. "Warin, he was not the one who insulted me."
Warin grinned wickedly. "Oh, I know that Elizabeth, but he looked in need of a bit of excitement in his life."
"Excitement, perhaps," she replied. "But how are you going to avoid killing him tomorrow, and then explain why you let him live?"
Warin patted his sister's hand. "Don't worry, my dear. I'll slip him from the hook before we do battle!"
Author's notes:Sir Eli's arms in plain English are as follows: On a black background, a broadsword point up, a white blade with a brown grip and cross-guard, surrounded by five white rosebuds with stems and leaves. White was used to signify silver in heraldry.
Pells are the practice targets used for training in the art of combat. They are usually made of straw. Although not officially recorded, it is rumoured that occasionally condemned prisoners were given the option of dying on their feet.
Part Two
Darcy grabbed the collar of the gambeson and sniffed, immediately reconsidering the wisdom of that action. He briefly fought, and won, the struggle with his stomach to supply its own opinion of his choice of attire.
If only the coming battle could be so easily secured, he mused to himself. "Gareth, has this gambeson ever seen water, let alone soap?"
Gareth's eyes went blank for a moment. "It rained on me last month," he offered helpfully.
Darcy scowled. "Not only will my body be sent home in pieces, but the stench will reach there well before me! How can you put this on, Gareth? How can you stand to be near it? Do you have to cage it at night?"
Drawing himself up indignantly, Gareth replied, "You're wearing my best gambeson you ungrateful wretch!"
Spinning around, Darcy pointed a finger at the other man. "Ungrateful?! If it wasn't for you I wouldn't be in this mess!"
"Well, you didn't have to accept the challenge. Now, put your arms up so I can put the chain mail on you."
Darcy lifted his arms over his head and slipped them into the mail jerkin that Gareth held up. Gareth slid the jerkin down to his shoulders and let it rest there, turning around to retrieve the surcoat.
"This surcoat," Gareth began as he turned to face Darcy once more, "will protect your armour from - Darcy?" He looked right and left. "Darcy?" he called louder. A groan from the region of his boots drew his eyes down. "Oh, get up, man!" he laughed.
"I can't." came a mumbled reply from the floor.
Gareth reached down to grasp Darcy under the arms and pull him to his feet. Darcy staggered and swayed under the weight of the chain mail.
"Haven't you ever worn armour before?"
"No. My father thought there was no need to waste the weapons master's time since I would have no use for the skill." Darcy panted. "Wipe that smile off your face, Gareth!"
The guard turned to retrieve his sword and hand it to Darcy. "Let's see how you handle this, then." He stood back, keeping well away from the range of the blade as Darcy hefted it. "No, no! Not like that! Have you no sense at all?"
Gareth started to reach for Darcy's sword arm to guide the stroke, but the younger man glared at him.
"Why bother? My death will be quicker if I can't even ward off the first blow!"
"Oh, stop your whining, Darcy!" Gareth threw the surcoat at him. "Put this on. It's nearly time to leave."
Darcy eyed the garment apprehensively. "It's not going to move on its own, is it?"
"Oh shut up. I washed it just last autumn."
Morning light was creeping along the streets as Darcy and Gareth made their way to the centre of the town. Gareth carried the weapons as the younger man was having enough difficulty keeping himself from falling forward with every step. The guard shook his head in disgust as he realized that he wasn't likely to be getting his armour back in any useful condition once Sir Eli's man was through with Darcy.
"Watch where you step, boy. I don't want to have to clean every piece of that armour tonight!"
"It's a good thing for you that you're the one carrying the sword, Gareth. As pitiful as is my skill with it, I'd still manage to skewer you to the wall." Darcy said irritably.
As they approached the open area around the well, two other men appeared from the shadows on the opposite side. Involuntarily, Darcy's feet stopped moving but he somehow managed to keep himself upright.
Gareth noticed his hesitation and pulled him forward unceremoniously, all the while hissing in his ear "Don't go embarrassing me, Darcy! That's my armour you're wearing you know!"
The clank of sword against shield caused Darcy to jump. He looked across the open space at the armoured figure advancing on him.
"Don't you go bolting on me, now," whispered Gareth. "I don't relish the thought of having to face this fellow in your stead."
"It should be you facing him in the first place, you swine!" Darcy squeaked. He watched with saucer-like eyes as his opponent came to a halt three feet in front of him.
"Darcy?" It was the same voice Darcy remembered from the previous afternoon.
"Y-y-yes?"
A low chuckle emanated from inside the other helm. "I come prepared to defend the honour of my sister, Elizabeth of Longbourn. Are you ready to defend your worthless hide?"
Darcy attempted to swallow the rock that had lodged in his throat. "May I first enquire as to the name of my honoured opponent?"
The reply was instantaneous. "Warin of Longbourn. I see you have brought your witness. Is there anything you feel must be said before we begin?" He waited a moment until he was sure of Darcy's silence. "Very well. Take you place upon the field." With that, Warin spun around and walked away fifteen paces before facing Darcy again.
Gareth handed Darcy his sword and fitted the shield to his other arm. Then he pushed the reluctant warrior in Warin's direction. At Darcy's approach, the other man raised his shield and brandished his weapon.
When Darcy reached a point within striking distance he heard Warin's voice quietly address him.
"You have no idea how to use that, do you?"
Darcy saw no reason to admit his lack of experience. He was here to die with honour, and he would appreciate it if his foe would just get on with it. Darcy said nothing.
"Who is your father that he would send his son out into the world unable to properly defend himself?" Warin persisted, but still Darcy said nothing. "Come now, I asked you a question. At least grace me with an answer."
"I had no need to learn these skills." Darcy finally said. "I shall be wielding a quill."
"I see."
"May I ask you a question?" Darcy couldn't believe he had just said that.
"Certainly," Warin replied.
Darcy hesitated, then decided that he had nothing to lose. "Does your sister approve of us being here?"
Warin laughed. "What concern is that of yours?"
"I just -."
"Of course she doesn't," Warin answered nonetheless. "She was afraid I'd kill you." He tilted his head at the sorry looking page and lowered the point of his sword. "Why did you accept my challenge when you were not the one who uttered the insult?"
"Your sister's honour was at stake."
"My sister's honour was not compromised by you. You have no obligation to be here."
Darcy drew himself up as straight as he could under the weight of the chain mail. "I am no coward."
"Just stupid."
A wild swing of Darcy's sword made Warin quickly step back. "And inept! At least hold that pig-sticker properly." He raised his shield to deflect another swipe of the blade, a needless gesture as it appeared that Darcy's target was actually two feet to Warin's left.
Without an object to act upon his sword, inertia made itself felt, and Darcy followed the arc of the weapon until he was contemptuously flouting his backside in Warin's direction. Darcy squinted at the empty space before him wondering where his opponent had gone. He was quickly informed as the flat of Warin's blade tapped him on the shoulder.
"I'm over here, boy."
Darcy immediately raised his sword and turned around. Warin interposed the edge of his shield with Darcy's to prevent him from completing the circle.
"Shall we try this again?" Warin said mockingly. "To your guard." He raised his shield and cocked his sword arm preparatory to a rising snap. He waited for Darcy to mirror his stance. And he waited. "Get into your guard, boy!"
Darcy hefted the shield and held his sword aloft for an overhand strike. Warin swiftly brought his own blade forward to rest the tip against the hollow of Darcy's throat.
"Is that your guard position?" he enquired as he slid the blade down Darcy's chest to his waist, neatly severing the belt holding his surcoat in place.
Darcy's eyes nervously followed the progress of the blade. When he felt his leather belt desert him it was too much for his injured pride. How dare he toy with me like this! Who does he think he is?
The blood started to pound in his ears as he watched the other man step away from him, and with a frustrated cry he charged toward Warin, his sword pointed straight at his opponent.
Warin effortlessly stepped aside, using his foot to apply more momentum as Darcy flew past him to land in an undignified heap on the ground.
Darcy's ears burned with the sound of laughter from the two observers. Spitting dirt from his mouth, he ungainly got to his feet and faced Warin once more. His rage increased twofold upon the sight of the other man leaning on his sword, shaking with laughter.
"I'll make this a bit more fair," Warin offered. "I'll put one hand behind my back." He promptly moved his sword arm behind him and shoved his shield forward.
This infuriated Darcy. He leapt toward his antagonist, swinging his weapon at Warin's head. Warin sidestepped again, this time in the opposite direction, and brought his shield up to bash it against the upper edge of Darcy's shield, also catching his helm in the force of the blow. At the same time, Darcy tripped over Warin's outstretched foot, spinning him around to fall on his back in the dirt.
Darcy's world went black. He blinked several times to no avail. There was only darkness. He waited in dreadful anticipation for the coup de grace. Instead, he heard a feminine voice speak in an irritated tone.
"Would you kindly remove yourself from beneath my skirts?"
With a sinking feeling he realized that he recognized the voice. His heart sunk even lower as he perceived that it was he whom she had addressed. Darcy briefly toyed with the idea of feigning unconsciousness.
"Don't tell me that such a minor blow has rendered you insensate?" came the voice once more. There was a swishing noise, and suddenly his eyes were blinded by light.
Darcy's eyes travelled past the hem of her skirts, up the bodice of her gown to discern the disapproving frown upon the face framed by her capacious allurements.
"Oh do get up. I can where your eyes are directed." Elizabeth turned her own gaze on her brother. "I thought you were going to let him go. If anyone should be on the ground at my feet it should be that worm over there!" She pointed at Gareth, who blanched and looked nervously from side to side in the vain hope that she had perhaps meant someone else.
Warin looked at Gareth. "You've had two entertainments in two days. Perhaps you'd care to entertain me now."
Gareth's thoughts raced desperately. "Alas, I would like to indulge you, but I am unprepared to accept. As my unlikely friend is in possession of my armour, I must decline. I'm so sorry."
Elizabeth's eyes bored holes into Gareth's hide. "It seems you have escaped your just punishment once again."
"Again, m'lady?" Gareth said innocently.
"While my tongue may be sharp, my ears are even more so. I have heard about your legendary powers of observation and oratory skills. You appear to have a talent for escaping rewards that your tongue has earned you."
Gareth put on his most disarming smile, the one that worked on every other lady of his acquaintance. "M'lady, you mistake me for some other misguided individual. This happens to me quite often, unfortunately."
"Not often enough, apparently," muttered both Darcy and Warin.
Elizabeth quickly glanced toward her brother before returning her gaze to Gareth. "Your charm has no effect upon me." She abruptly turned her back to him and addressed Warin. "Warin, at least help this wretched creature to his feet."
As Warin reached out a hand to assist Darcy, he said in a low voice, "You are not injured in any way, are you?"
Darcy wobbled on his feet and removed his helm. Rubbing his slightly unfocussed eyes with one hand, he replied "I fear my pride may never recover. Other than that I appear to be unscathed."
"Good man!" Warin laughed. "I knew you were made of sterner stuff than you appeared." He slapped Darcy on the back and walked away.
A muffled thud accompanied by Darcy's forced exhalation of breath announced his impact with the ground yet again. Gareth hurried over and rolled him onto his back.
"Oh, that was excessively diverting!" Gareth said enthusiastically. He puzzled over his friend's hostile countenance. "Darcy, you look like you didn't enjoy it? You're not going to be petty and pretend to be affronted by that fool toying with you?"
"It's a good thing he was only toying with me, otherwise I would be dead!" Darcy grabbed Gareth's arm and pulled himself to a sitting position. "How will I ever face that lady again?" he muttered to himself in disgust.
Author's note: a typical suit of chain mail with full helm weighed between 100 and 150 lbs. and severely limited mobility.
Part Three
Two days of quiet reflection and avoidance of Gareth was enough to put Darcy in a frame of mind to venture out into public again. A warm, sunny day brought the knights and other hopefuls to the courtyard for some lessons in swordplay.
Darcy picked his way across the space en route to the kitchens. He caught sight of a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye. Hoping Warin would not spot him, Darcy increased his pace.
"Darcy!"
Darcy visibly cringed, then turned to face Warin with an appropriately blank expression. "How may I help you, m'lord?"
"Are you interested in a lesson?" Warin asked. His face was serious, but his eyes twinkled.
"Perhaps another time. I cannot forsake my current obligations." I'll not give the likes of you a second chance to embarrass me! "If you will pardon me, I'll take my leave."
Turning back toward his opponent, Warin chuckled as he said "By all means. Do not allow me to delay you in the performance of your duties."
Darcy continued on his way.
"You delight in tormenting that boy, don't you?" said Warin's opponent. "It is conduct unbefitting a squire of mine."
"'Tis but a bit of harmless fun." Warin replied.
"Fun for whom? Remember we are defenders of the weak and helpless."
Warin laughed. "Aye, and he certainly fits that description after his performance the other day!"
"On your guard!"
The tone was unamused and Warin knew better than to have less than total concentration. He prepared for a grueling training session.
Darcy, by this time, had reached the relative safety of the kitchen door, where he stopped to look back at the action in the courtyard. With shocked surprise he saw who Warin's opponent was, and realized that he had been fortunate to have escaped the notice of Sir Eli. He shifted his gaze to the other pairs as they sparred with their wooden swords. The King had devised this method of training after losing far too many of his men in mere practice sessions. Once more he turned his eyes on Warin and Sir Eli.
Warin lifted his sword and shield into a hanging guard defence.
"Your mind is still on our young friend, isn't it?" Sir Eli commented.
"Why would you say that?" Warin enquired as the knight reached out almost contemptuously and touched Warin's elbow with his sword.
"Because that is one of the sloppiest guard positions you have entered into yet. Tuck your elbow behind your head like I showed you, or it will become a lot more sore as the day wears on." Sir Eli gestured with the end of the sword and stepped back a pace to await Warin's compliance. "Are you ready?"
As Warin nodded, the knight saluted him, dropped down into a standard attack position, balancing on the balls of the feet with knees bent, and moved toward him. Sir Eli straightened his legs bringing his shoulders up. Warin anticipated a high attack and raised his shield up, crying out in surprise as his legs were swept out from under him with one blow.
"How do you like the taste of the dirt? I told you to watch my sword, not my body. Now on your feet and let's begin again."
Warin picked himself up, brushed the grass from his visor and faced his sparring partner once more. He assumed an open shield fence this time. Sir Eli moved into a hanging guard, closed slowly and made as if to thrust him in the face. At the last second the point of the knight's sword moved off to the right of Warin's head, then swung around as Sir Eli's knee pinned the shield against Warin's body. The knight's shield came up to block Warin's sword arm, while he turned to bring the back of his sword to tap the left side of Warin's helm.
"Do you remember how to use that sword?"
Warin's good humour was beginning to fade. "I thought this was a combat lesson?"
"It appears that there are many other lessons that you have yet to learn. Now, just to be fair, I will let you attack me."
Grinning inside his helm, Warin entered into his ready stance. Sir Eli prepared with a standard open shield guard. Warin approached cautiously and attempted to throw a rising snap. The knight easily deflected the shot with his shield, at the same time stepping forward to Warin's left and using the flat of his blade in the man's back, accelerated his forward momentum.
When Warin finally came to a stop, he heard a teasing voice from behind him.
"Oh, squire? I'm over here. There's no time for dancing. Save that for after court."
As Warin straightened up, he caught sight of Darcy leaning against a wall in the distance, a huge smile on his face. This was almost too much for him to bear. With great effort, he managed to turn around and attempted to salvage his pride. But his mind wasn't entirely on the task.
Sir Eli was watching him closely. "I see you noticed your friend over there. How does it feel to be humiliated in front of others?"
Warin made a valiant attempt to rein in his temper, knowing that his anger would do him no good, and a great deal of harm in the current situation. "You have made your point."
"Good. Now let's get back to the lesson at hand."
When Warin next attacked, the battle looked much more balanced. Darcy watched for a while longer, but when no more entertainment presented itself, he remembered his purpose in coming to the kitchens. He sighed and disappeared through the doorway.
As the light began to fade in the courtyard, the sparring sessions came to an end. The clank and clamour of armour announced the dispersal of the knights and their students as they made their way back to the armoury.
Darcy observed their exit wistfully from the shadows at the far end of the courtyard. His duties were done for the day, at least until court later in the evening. He waited until the yard was nearly empty, then slowly walked across the open space in the direction of the front gate. To the right of the entry there was a raised walkway where he liked to stand and look over the town below. From here he could watch the townfolk as they went about their simple lives.
The air was cool, a slight breeze wafting over the battlements carrying the scent of the ocean on it. Darcy closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He could feel the tension of the day begin to loosen its grip on his body and drain from him. As he recalled the earlier scene in the courtyard, and the spectacle of Warin, a smile returned and he chuckled softly.
"There he is." he heard, and then the sound of footsteps on the stairs behind him.
With a vague premonition of dread, the tension in his body stopped its outward flow and returned in all its former glory. Darcy held his breath and hoped whoever it was would continue past him.
"M'lord Darcy?"
Oh, Lord! Is there to be no peace for me in this lifetime? Darcy turned around. "Yes?" He suddenly recognized the man before him as Henry, one of his father's favoured servants.
"I have a missive for you, m'lord." Henry said in a solemnly respectful manner.
Darcy's feeling of dread increased. His father had never sent a personal servant to deliver a mere letter to him in all the time he had been at court. He leaned toward Henry and in a halting whisper, asked "Is it my father?"
"No." The expression on the servant's face suggested, however, that he was not far from the mark. From his satchel Henry withdrew a parchment. One glance confirmed to Darcy that it bore his father's personal seal.
Breaking the wax, Darcy unfolded the parchment and scanned the contents of the letter. The colour drained from his face as he read. When he reached the end of the letter, he fell back to lean against the wall and stare at Henry.
"How did it happen?" he asked in a quiet voice.
"His horse took fright at a shadow, he fell and struck his head upon a rock." Henry replied steadily. "He was dead when his lady reached his side."
Darcy spun around to silently stare out over the wall.
The servant placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. "It was a quick and painless death," he offered.
Darcy said nothing for some time. Then he lowered his head and turned toward Henry. "My father offered me the choice of continuing on the path to the church or returning home to take my place as second son."
Henry nodded his head. "I was instructed to await your reply, and to accompany you should you choose to come home."
"I cannot make a decision at this moment."
"That is understandable." Henry looked at Darcy in silence. This youngest son of his master had always been his favourite. 'Tis a pity he is the youngest. He has more spirit and sense at this age than the other two put together. He could have brought fame and fortune to his father's house, if that man had ever given him the chance. A real pity his father could not see it in him and simply packed him off for the church. "I shall leave you to your thoughts and return in the morning."
Darcy conjured up a faint smile. "Thank you Henry. I'll have an answer for you tomorrow."
The servant bowed and retreated the way he had come. At the bottom of the steps he nodded at the two men in armour who had earlier pointed Darcy out to him. One of the men waved a hand to stop him.
"'Twas not bad news, I pray, that you had to deliver?"
Henry looked from one man to the other. The man who had addressed him hurried to take off his helm, the other had not as yet removed his. "I regret to say that it is bad news."
The young man looked concerned as his gaze drifted upwards to watch Darcy staring silently over the wall once more. "I thought I heard you say that someone had died."
"Yes, the boy's elder brother fell from his horse and was killed."
"That makes him the second heir now, does it not?" the second man enquired. "Warin, we had best get out of this armour. I think you should at least extend your condolences to him on his loss."
"Yes, I agree." Warin nodded his thanks to the servant and let him go on his way. "I rather like that Darcy fellow despite his shortcomings." He looked at Sir Eli with a thoughtful expression. "I think you do, too."
As the people began to file out of the hall following court, Warin kept an eye out for Darcy. Finally spotting him amongst the assorted pages and servants, he thought the boy looked like someone who had lost his favourite dog.
"News has reached us of your loss, Darcy. Would you like to join me for an ale?" Warin said in a sympathetic tone.
Darcy looked at him vacantly for a moment, as if numb. Well, it couldn't hurt. "Thank you, Warin. I shall join you."
Warin clapped a hand on Darcy's shoulder and led him from the hall.
Darcy was pleased to see that Warin had a far better taste in drinking establishments than most of the nobles Darcy had served at court. The tavern was relatively clean, as taverns go, and the serving wenches free of roaming insects. They chose a table in a corner of the room, away from the loud laughter of several villagers.
Warin immediately sat down, placing his back against the wall. He looked to Darcy expectantly. Darcy blankly stared at Warin, then grabbed a chair and swung it around so that his back was also to the wall. Warin nodded in approval and waved a hand to a passing wench.
"Two ales." he said and watched her walk away to get their drinks. "Now that's a fine example of the human race. The kind that will inspire you to great feats!" He glanced at Darcy to see if he agreed.
Darcy's gaze shifted from Warin to the wench and back again. "She's not worthy of any particular note. Rather plain I would say."
"Come now," Warin scoffed. "How many charms must a woman possess to capture your interest?" At Darcy's embarrassed expression, he changed the subject. "Is the church still your destination in light of your recent news?"
Darcy looked up in surprise, as if just realizing that the church was no longer his only option. At that moment the serving wench returned with their tankards. She placed them on the table, pausing to let her gaze linger on Darcy. Catching his eye, she smiled at him as she turned away. As if to prove a point to his companion, Darcy said, "She does have some redeeming features. Her teeth are tolerable, I suppose, but not out of the common way."
The table was immediately covered in a frothy spray. Warin put his tankard down and stared at Darcy in amazement. Again, he picked up his drink and muttered into the depths, "I didn't think he had it in him." before taking a long pull.
"I thought this was one of the better ale houses," Darcy said, indicating the mess before them.
Warin chuckled. "You are full of surprises this day. The next thing you know you'll be wanting me to teach you how to fight!"
Darcy's eyes widened as he contemplated the suggestion. A life in the church had never been attractive to him. He had merely resigned himself to his fate. But with the death of his brother, and the offer that his father had given him to return home, this could be a third possibility! Darcy was in two minds about taking up his rightful new place. He did not wish to return home since he had found something, or someone, of interest in town. But he currently had no skill in arms, and needed training in order to fulfill his new role. If Warin could be persuaded to supply that training, then Darcy might stand a chance of success in becoming a more acceptable candidate for a lady's hand. As is stood now, he had nothing to offer. If only the women would notice me.
Darcy reached for his tankard and took a drink. He looked down into the liquid in surprise. "That's not bad!"
"Then drink it down and I'll get you another." Warin drained his and waved a hand to gain the attention of one of the wenches.
When the woman arrived bearing two more full tankards, she plunked them down on the table and herself on Warin's lap. She wasted no time in planting her lips on his while Darcy looked on in amazement. Just as quickly she stood once more, but before leaving winked at Warin and said, "Who's your friend?"
Warin turned to his companion and patted him on the back. "Congratulations, she's interested in you!"
"In me? But she was kissing you!"
"You really know nothing about women, do you? She was trying to make you jealous." Warin watched Darcy carefully.
"Really?" Darcy asked doubtfully. "Are you sure? She didn't even look at me."
"Just because you didn't see her watching you doesn't mean she wasn't." Warin leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Women can be devious creatures. Trust me on this."
Darcy gazed into the contents of his second tankard of ale. Trust him? I don't know about that. "I'll just wait and see."
Warin laughed. "I see you don't trust me. Well, that's your loss if you won't take advantage of an opportunity." He put down his drink and nodded to a man across the room. "Excuse me for a minute, Darcy. Sir Bedivere's squire is over there and I need to have a quick word with him."
Before Darcy could voice any opinion, Warin was striding away. Darcy lifted his ale to his lips and drank. A thump on the table brought the drink away from his mouth and his eyes opened wide as the serving wench sat herself down on his lap. His eyes opened wider still as they were faced with the expanse of her generous bosom.
"Don't let me stop you from enjoying your refreshment, m'lord."
Darcy coughed and had to take another drink to soothe his throat. At the same time, the woman's fingers began pulling at the lacing on his tunic. She slipped her hand under the fabric to lay it against the bare skin of his chest.
It's getting awfully warm in here, thought Darcy.
"Ah, I see you're getting acquainted." Warin sat down and reached for his fresh mug of ale. "Don't let me disturb you, or shall I leave?"
The woman extricated herself from Darcy's clothing and stood up. With a suggestive smile in the direction of both men, she went about her business once more.
Warin cast a look at Darcy's bemused expression. "You see? This is one of the best ale houses."
Darcy let out his breath and finished his drink. "All right, I trust you." He looked up and met Warin's gaze. "Will you teach me how to use a sword?"
"I can instruct you in the use of many weapons," Warin said, then added with a mischievous grin, "but I'm sure that wench could supply you with instruction on the use of another."
Darcy blushed. "Surely you don't think me a complete novice!"
Warin sipped his ale, hiding his smile. "Of course not. But this is not the place to discuss a commission of training. I propose that we meet tomorrow when our heads are clearer." Darcy nodded agreement. "Drink up, then. It's time we were off. I have an early training session with my knight in the morning."
They finished their ales and got up to leave. Warin was halfway to the door when he heard Darcy laughing.
"Warin! I can't move. My legs won't work!"
"You are jesting! How many ales did you have?" Warin began counting the empty tankards in front of Darcy. "Four! How did you manage that? You drank one of mine, you knave!"
"I know. They were so good I couldn't help myself."
Warin grinned at his friend. "That's not all that's good in this tavern, but you won't find that out tonight." He placed Darcy's arm around his shoulders and lifted him from the chair. "Oof, when did you gain so much weight?"
By the time they made it to the entrance to the servants' quarters Darcy was able to support himself more or less unaided. Warin watched as he staggered and stumbled his way up the darkened stairs before continuing on his way to his own bed.
The dream was so realistic that Darcy was reluctant to awaken. He kept his eyes closed, relishing the images of the masses of dark hair, and the warm feel of her body next to his. So potent were these images that he would swear he could still feel her in his arms, and smell her hair next to his face. Her face he could never forget.
There was a stirring next to him, and Darcy's eyes flew open. He immediately regretted it as the light caused an intense pounding to start in his head. Closing them again, he held his breath and waited.
There it was again. There was definitely someone beside him. Darcy cracked open an eye and peered to his left. All he was a dark mass of hair.
Dark hair! Am I still dreaming?
The warm body beside him moved again as the woman rolled over and looked at him. "Good morning, m'lord. Did you enjoy your rest?"
Darcy's heart nearly stopped in his chest. With herculean effort he managed to compose a civil reply. "Yes, thank you. Might I enquire as to what you are doing in my bed?"
"Your bed m'lord?" she said, wide-eyed. "Do you not recall the circumstances of your admittance into my bed?"
Gazing around, Darcy was suddenly struck by the feminine appearance of his room. A panic began to percolate within the pit of his stomach.
Noting his growing unease, the woman snuggled closer and whispered, "No need to leave now. What's done is done."
What's done is done? What have I done? Darcy now noticed his clothing strewn about the room. He leaped from the bed, instantly noticed his state of undress, and grabbed the first article of clothing within reach. A giggling from the direction of the bed made him look down to examine the material he clutched.
It was a woman's chemise. It was her chemise!
Darcy stared at it, realizing that it meant that she was not wearing it!
"My lord, I should think that after your lusty performance last night there would be no need for bashfulness." She smiled at him as the bedclothes began to slip from her shoulders.
"L-l-l -," Darcy drew a deep breath. "Lusty performance?"
"I should think that would require no explanation," she said coyly.
Darcy frantically cast his mind back to what he remembered of the previous evening. The last thing he could recall was Warin taking him home. At least, he thought it was home. "How did I get here?"
The woman sighed. "You mean to tell me that you remember nothing of what happened between us?"
"At the risk of causing offense, I must admit that to be true."
"I'm not surprised," she said laughingly, "with the way you stumbled into my room, tore off your clothes and fell into the bed without a care as to my opinion on the matter. Then you promptly began snoring most enthusiastically, preventing me from getting a moment's sleep until the wee hours of the morning."
Darcy felt a great relief settle on him, until he remembered Warin's words to him in the tavern. Women can be devious creatures. Trust me on this. His thoughts were interrupted by the lady's voice.
"Do you intend to stand there all day with my chemise wrapped around your waist?"
Darcy looked at his scattered clothing and located his breeches. "If you would be so kind as to turn around so that I may dress myself, m'lady?"
She grinned. "Oh, no. After the pleasures denied me last night when I was so filled with anticipation after your unexpected arrival, you could hardly expect me to honour that request."
Darcy's cheeks were scorching as he clutched the chemise tightly to him while retrieving his breeches from the floor. He was unable to maintain his hold on his dignity, however, and had to release the chemise in order to pull on his own clothing. He tried to ignore the commentary from behind him as he struggled with the unco-operative article.
Snatching up the rest of his things, Darcy paused with his hand on the door. He turned back to the bed. "I apologize for any distress I have caused you and shall not inconvenience you any further. I pray I did not offend you."
"M'lord, the offense is in covering that body once more." She smiled as the colour rushed to his face again. As he pulled the door open to leave she called out, "Dawn!"
Darcy stopped. "M'lady?"
"My name is Dawn." She giggled. "By the way, I like the dimples in your cheeks!"
Darcy raced from the room and did not stop until he reached the safety of his own chamber.
Part Four
Darcy lay on his back on his bed. He had discovered that this was the only way his head didn't threaten to explode, as long as he didn't move.
He mulled over the scene in Dawn's chamber this morning. Apart from being mortally embarrassed, there wasn't much more that he could recall of the last eight hours. What exactly had she meant by her comments? She seemed to contradict herself several times. First she had intimated that they had been, well, intimate. Then she claimed that nothing had happened! Once again Darcy remembered Warin's words in the tavern.
Could he trust Dawn?
Warin! Oh, Lord, I was supposed to meet him this morning! Darcy bolted upright in his bed and instantly fell back again, clutching his head. He slid his feet over the edge and gingerly placed them on the floor. Slowly, he got to his feet. He swayed slightly, unsure whether he could maintain his balance. All of that was moot, however, in light of the awareness he had of the sudden rebellion of his stomach.
He was still collapsed over the chamberpot when Gareth entered the room.
"Oh, what's this?" the guard chortled. "Feeling a little under the weather, today?"
Darcy would have glared at him if his eyes could focus that far. Instead, he managed to drag himself to his feet and stood, unhappily facing Gareth. "What do you want?"
"I came to offer you my condolences on the loss of your brother. Word travels quickly around here." Gareth did look rather sympathetic, much to Darcy's surprise. "You weren't by any chance drowning your sorrows last night?"
"Yes. No." Darcy sighed. "Warin took me to a tavern last night."
Gareth laughed, making Darcy wince as the sound reverberated between his ears. "That Warin is a tricky one. Ye'd best keep your wits about you when you're with him!" Gareth suddenly looked at his young friend closely. "Ah, I see. Now that you are no longer headed for monastery life, you've set your sights on that sister of his!" He laughed again at Darcy's change of colour from pasty white to a bright pink. "Well, I won't keep you from your quest. Warin is at the gate, asking for you."
Darcy's colour returned to the pasty shade of its former state. He was nowhere near properly attired to venture out of his chambers. "Would you tell him I'll be with him shortly? I need to finish dressing."
"That you do, my boy." Gareth said with a grin. "By the by, I've arranged to have you removed from the duty roster for the morning."
Once again Darcy was surprised. "Thank you, Gareth."
"Think nothing of it. I'll just leave my boots with you tonight, and you can return them to me in the morning after you've polished them."
Of course. Darcy grimaced. "Thank you, Gareth." he said again, but sarcastically this time.
After he finished dressing, Darcy carefully made his way through the passageways to the front gate to find Warin leaning against a wall, waiting for him.
"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me." Warin smiled when he saw Darcy approach. He peered at the boy's pale complexion. "A bit too enthusiastic last night? Never mind, I'm sure you didn't miss much. Did you sleep well at least?"
"So I've been told," Darcy mumbled.
Warin chose to ignore that remark. "Have you breakfasted? You should get something in your stomach." Darcy shook his head dismally. "Come with me, then. I'll fix you right up."
Darcy followed Warin through the winding streets of the town until they came to a door which Warin opened. Gazing blearily behind him to determine approximately where he was, Darcy ducked his head to enter the darkened space beyond the doorway.
They were in a kitchen, and the smells emanating from it were tempting even to Darcy's queasy stomach. Warin motioned for him to sit down at a table on the far side of the room, then called for one of the servants to bring a plate for him.
A plate of sweet-rolls appeared almost instantly. Warin helped himself to one and nodded at Darcy to take one as well.
Munching on the bread, Warin sat down next to his friend. "I've given some thought to your request for training. Are you sure this is the route you wish to take in your life? It is not an easy one. If you do choose this path, however, the rewards can be great as well. Choose your path carefully, for once you start, there is no turning back."
Darcy pondered Warin's words. "Today is not the day for such deep thoughts." Warin chuckled. "So it's good that I've been thinking about it for a long time. Are you willing to help me train?"
"Yes," Warin replied. "I must inform my knight of my intentions before we begin any formal work."
Why am I suddenly feeling like I'm going to regret this? Darcy shook off his momentary misgivings, attributing them to his current condition. "How soon to you think we may start?"
Warin smiled at his new student's eagerness. "First we need to find you some armour. Have you any of your own?" Darcy shook his head. "Well, I may know where to get a set. You have resources to pay for it, don't you?" He suddenly wondered if Darcy's family was as well off as he had first thought.
"You need not worry on that count. I shall send word to my father of my intentions and request a stipend to cover any and all expenses."
Better and better, thought Warin. "What say we meet tomorrow at ... when are you free?"
"I'm usually not required during feast."
"Then I'll meet you in the courtyard after feast begins. I'll bring the armour with me. You can pay me for it later. Agreed?"
Darcy nodded his head. "Agreed."
The other door in the kitchen suddenly opened and a voice said, "My that smells delicious, Celeste! I simply had to come down and pilfer one of those sweet-rolls."
Darcy hastily scrambled to his feet when he saw Warin's sister enter the kitchen. For a moment he wasn't sure of his balance. The room was spinning slightly, but it lasted only a few seconds. He stared in her direction, but she had not yet noticed the other occupants to her right.
"I thought those would bring you to the kitchen," laughed Warin, drawing her attention around at last.
Elizabeth took in her brother's companion with a sweeping gaze. She tipped her head slightly. "Good morning Warin. You are up early this morning."
Warin grinned. "You expected otherwise?" He brought a hand up to indicate his companion. "You remember my young friend, Darcy, don't you?"
Elizabeth looked him over once more and raised an inquiring eyebrow at her brother. "I remember the face, but I don't recall you naming him as a friend before now."
Darcy watched her every movement, anxiously hoping that he would experience no unfortunate act this time to offend the lady.
"Ah," Warin was saying. "I have just agreed to take him on as my man-at-arms. That is, subject to the approval of Sir Eli."
Darcy saw Elizabeth frown at this. "Don't you think you should ask your knight before agreeing to take him on?"
Warin leaned back in his chair. "Oh, I have no doubt of my good knight's approval."
"Do you know your knight so well that you can predict his thoughts?" Elizabeth said with narrowed eyes leveled in her brother's direction.
"But, dear sister," Warin countered, "as you well know, I can be very persuasive."
"You would argue with your knight?" she persisted. "Some would consider that disrespectful."
For a moment, Warin looked a trifle hesitant. "I would like to think that my knight trusts my judgement." Then he grinned. "But we shall know when next I see him."
"For your sake," Elizabeth said, turning away from him, "I hope your knight takes kindly to your suggestion."
Darcy had silently observed the conversation, but he now spoke up. "Do you really think Sir Eli might reject Warin's petition?"
Elizabeth looked over her shoulder at him. "I hear tell that proficiency at arms requires a less...distracting lifestyle." Darcy looked puzzled by her words. "But if you think you can spare the time from your other activities..." She left the words hanging in the moist air of the kitchen.
He still seemed perplexed. A moment later Darcy blushed deeply as he realized what she meant. "I assure you that my duties as page will allow me time to pursue what I desire above all else." At Elizabeth's raised eyebrow, he quickly amended, "Skill in the art of combat."
"That remains to be seen," she said ominously. With that, Elizabeth picked up the sweet-roll that had lured her to the kitchen and departed without a backward glance.
Darcy watched her leave, sighed softly, and turned to Warin who looked at him with a knowing smirk on his face.
"Is there anything else I can help you with?" Warin asked, arching one eyebrow. Darcy had the good grace to blush. Warin's chuckle sounded from deep in his throat. "Don't let it distress you. I know my sister is an attractive young lady. We are twins, after all."
"And modest, too." Darcy added, a trifle peevishly.
"But of course. An aspiring knight must learn to speak nothing but the truth." Warin gestured at the table. "Now, eat up. Then we'll find you some armour."
Having cobbled together a suitably fitting first set of armour, Darcy headed for his rooms, fearful of the time. Gareth had arranged for his exemption from morning duty, but the morning was fast fading.
Once he had deposited his burden upon the floor of his chamber and effected a change into his service tunic Darcy left the room. So intent was he on inspecting the arrangement of his garb that he came to an abrupt and painful halt as he walked into a serving tray and upended it against the lady who had been carrying it.
The tray and its contents clattered to the stone floor as the lady cried out in dismay at her now sodden garments. "Oh, and it's cold, too!"
"Oh dear lord!" Darcy whimpered. "Pray, allow me to assist you." He retrieved one of the fallen cloths and reached out, intending to pat dry some part of the lady's ruined attire, but paused, suddenly overcome with indecision as to where, or if, to begin.
The lady looked up at him and unexpectedly smiled. Darcy was puzzled. She looked vaguely familiar but he was unable to place her. Still he stood, waiting for some hint from her as to what he might do to help.
"It's cold, m'lord."
Darcy nodded. "Is it?"
"I'm soaking wet, m'lord," she continued patiently.
"Yes, you are. I'm so very sorry."
"I'm soaking wet and there is a dreadfully chill breeze in this passageway!" The lady was looking at him with a most amused expression.
It suddenly dawned on Darcy that he should offer the lady the use of a blanket. After all, his room was only a few steps away. "I'll get something to cover you. My room is just here." He gestured with his arm and almost immediately was through the door, whisking the cover from his bed.
"Oh, m'lord," came her soft voice from behind him, and Darcy whirled around to see her close the door and lean her back against it.
"Oh, no," he groaned as he finally recognised her. Dawn!!
"Oh, I feel warmer already," she sighed, an impish grin appearing on her face.
"Do you?" he gulped.
"I do." She stepped closer to him. "And judging from the perspiration on your brow, you do too."
Darcy took an involuntary step backward and promptly fell onto his back on the bed.
With a swish of skirts she was beside him. "You left in such a hurry this morning. I didn't offend you, did I?" Her big brown eyes widened in enquiry. "If I did, I would beg that you allow me to make it up to you."
"You couldn't make it up," Darcy began. "I mean you don't need to make it up to me! I mean..." he cried, scrambling off of the bed. "You did nothing to offend me!"
Dawn watched in amusement as he hurried to the door and pushed unsuccessfully on it. A sharp tug and it opened. Darcy waved a hand toward her.
"Please, feel free to take the blanket with you." The door's handle slipped from his grasp as he turned to step through, bringing the wooden structure conspicuously to his notice. Rubbing his nose, Darcy pulled the door open once more and before disappearing into the passageway, called over his shoulder, "Don't trouble yourself to return it. I'll get another one."
Clang!!
"You need to bring your guard up and more to the outside. I nearly got you, there." Sir Eli frowned within the helmet. "Is there something on your mind? You seem preoccupied."
Ching!!
"I am a little." Warin changed his stance to present his left side. "It's the changing seasons." He rested the edge of his shield on his left thigh, eyeing his opponent.
"The changing seasons." The knight could almost be imagined to raise an eyebrow under the steel helm while altering position to counter Warin's pose.
"Oh yes. Another year comes and goes without notice. How the time does fly!" Warin's sword arm surged forward.
With an economy of movement, Sir Eli deflected the blow. "And this occupies your mind to distraction? A most dangerous practice my dear Warin."
"It is not merely the passage of the year that concerns me," Warin continued, blocking the knight's return strike. "We're all getting older."
Sir Eli laughed.
"But it's my sister that concerns me most in that regard." Warin confessed.
The knight's guard wavered, pausing to ask, "How so?"
Warin's sword flashed out and struck true. "Aha!" he crowed.
"Point," Sir Eli acknowledged. "Now what is this concern of yours regarding your sister?"
"I cannot discuss it in the midst of a bout. A break?"
Sir Eli nodded and they relaxed their stances, moving closer together for more easy conversation.
"Well?"
Warin tossed his shield to the grass. "I have been speaking with my father. We have agreed that the time has come to find my sister a husband."
Sir Eli was silent for a moment. "You believe your sister incapable of finding a husband on her own?"
"I believe," Warin laughed, "that my sister is more inclined to scare the prospects away than to encourage them."
"That, Warin, is a rather cruel comment upon your sister's character."
"It is true nonetheless," Warin grumbled. "I have yet to witness my sister to encourage the attentions of any of the lords who have admired her. She will soon be past the age of marrying."
"That's a load of -. Look, Warin," the knight said in a quiet voice. "You aren't serious."
"Regardless of my sincerity, my father is determined. Elizabeth will be married before the close of another year." The young man picked up his shield once more. "It just remains to be seen who the lucky man will be."
Part Five
The hall was crowded. Everyone was in attendance at this feast of St. Augustine. Servers bustled between the rows of tables, jugs of ale and water lifted over the heads of guests to prevent spillage.
"Your sister tells me you've taken on a man-at-arms, Warin!" The Baronet Bennet reached for the chicken and tore a leg from it. Sampling the tender meat, he looked enquiringly at his son.
"That is indeed correct," Warin replied. "Although he's a bit rough around the edges, he means well, despite the tendency to get himself into some rather embarrassing situations."
"Not without a little help, I'd wager!" the Baronet chuckled, giving Warin's ribs a nudge with his elbow.
"Oh, and who among us cannot do without a little help?" Warin glanced at his sister, sitting quietly beside him.
Bennet caught the direction of his son's gaze and smiled. "And is this young man in need of a bride?"
"Oh no!" cried Elizabeth vehemently. "His indiscretions and habits of consorting with harlots make him a most undesirable match. Why, just the other day -."
"Come now!" laughed her brother. "You know that you jumped to conclusions when you saw him outside the tavern, and as far as the other...well, the mindless tittle tattle of gossiping servants! Elizabeth, you should know enough to pay no heed to that!"
"Hmph!" she retorted, turning away from him and muttering "Not to mention the way he stares at me all the time."
Her remark was lost in the rumbling laughter of the two men.
"We know you would do nothing to lead him astray, right Warin?" Bennet raised his goblet for a passing server to refill. "Have no fear, Lizzy. You need not trouble yourself on that young scamp's account. I have a man in mind for you."
She looked up quickly at this remark, a hundred questions on the tip of her tongue, but her father's attention was diverted by the loud cry from a neighbouring table and a lord in burgundy velvet leaning back to entertain him with some tale of recent bravado.
At a table in another part of the castle, Darcy was picking at the remains of a roasted chicken as the door opened and Gareth came striding in. He flung his cloak down and pulled the bench out to sit opposite Darcy. Leaning across the table, he gave a dramatic sigh and lifted the younger man's tankard to his lips.
"I fear I have some rather disappointing news for you, me lad." Gareth wiped his mouth with his sleeve and poked a finger at the chicken, pulling a sizeable chunk of meat from it and popping it into his mouth.
Darcy said nothing, knowing that Gareth had every intention of relating the details of his unfortunate piece of news. However, he removed his tankard from Gareth's grasp and leaned back on his bench seat, bemused.
Extracting another piece of chicken from the carcass, Gareth waved it in the air to emphasize the importance of what he was about to say. "Have you had the good fortune to make the acquaintance of His Excellency the Baronet Bennet?"
Darcy shook his head, confused. "No, what of him?"
Gareth chewed for a moment before answering. "He's just arrived in town early this morning and I saw him in the market. He was speaking to that knight, the one your friend is squired to." He paused long enough for Darcy to prompt him to continue. "Oh, did I mention he's your friend's father, too?"
Darcy started at this bit of information. "Warin's father is a Baronet?" Elizabeth's father is a Baronet?
"Ah, I see what you're thinking!" Gareth cried. "And I thought the same thing, too!"
Darcy's eyes widened in apprehension as he watched Gareth lazily pick more meat from the bones. He seemed to take forever before finally licking his fingers clean of the grease and wiping them on his tunic. Then Gareth motioned for the tankard and when Darcy handed it over, took a long pull.
"Ahhhhh," he sighed, plunking the vessel down on the table. "Where was I?" At Darcy's chilly reception of that comment he amended, "yes, now I remember. His Excellency was engaged in a very serious discussion with Sir...er..."
"Eli," Darcy muttered.
"That's the one! And the subject of their conversation I wager you would find of interest."
Immediately suspicious, Darcy leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and fixed his intent gaze on Gareth's eyes. "You have my attention."
The older man's eyebrow rose, his lips turned upward by a sly grin. "Not that I was able to hear all of their conversation, but bits and pieces made their way to my ears."
"Go on. What bits and pieces of Sir Eli and the Baronet's exchange could possibly interest me?"
Gareth licked his lips. "Gold. Property. Pledges. Negotiation. Dowry. Betrothal." Sure that he saw a spark of unease in Darcy's expression, the guard added in a whisper, "Elizabeth."
Darcy looked away, then just as quickly met Gareth's gaze once more. "Are you suggesting that the Baronet was arranging a settlement of marriage between his daughter and Sir Eli?"
"Of course that's what they were doing! Can you think of anything else that would involve property, gold, a dowry and Elizabeth?"
"The Lady Elizabeth's matrimonial affairs are of no concern to either of us." Darcy forced a smile to his lips. "Now quit gossiping and get to that piece of disappointing news you have for me. Don't tell me that His Majesty has plans for leaving already?"
Gareth frowned. "That was my disappointing news for you, lad. Now you can just come back down to earth and quit dreaming of what's beyond your reach. There's plenty around here within your reaching distance. As a matter of fact, there was a young lady asking about you -."
"I hope you told her nothing!" Darcy said, horrified. He knew perfectly well who had been making inquiries. She had been asking the same questions of half the guards in these quarters, and spreading tales to twice as many of the ladies of the court.
"You could do much worse, Darcy!" Gareth laughed. "I wish I had a woman such as Dawn interested in me."
Darcy glared at him. "You wish you had any woman interested in you!"
Offended, Gareth rose from the table and looked down at the young page. "I see that my news has overwhelmed you. You obviously need some time to yourself to deal with your disappointment." He crossed to the door and swept through it without another word.
Darcy suddenly felt in need of fresh air. He downed the last of the tankard's contents, grabbed his cloak and fled.
"...and there I was, dripping wet, in his chambers."
Gasps of surprise and amusement greeted this part of the tale.
"When he turned around and finally recognized me," chuckled Dawn, "I feared that I wasn't to be the only one with soaked garments!"
Laughter broke out amongst the ladies, loud enough to draw attention from the diners at the next table. One of the ladies next to Dawn leaned toward her to say in a hushed whisper,
"And then, pray tell, what did he do?"
Dawn leaned across the table to meet the others in a conspiratorial circle. "I know not what flight of fancy entered his mind, but I dared fear it might strike him dead! The sudden lack of colour in his face did not bode well for his continued health."
"And you," giggled a young lady in a pale gold cote-hardie, "felt urgently compelled to minister to his obvious distress."
Dawn drew herself up primly. "But of course. It is, after all, a lady's duty to render aid however she is able."
There was a second or two of silence before they all broke into laughter once more. When a Lady passed near their table the group regained their composure and waited until they judged she had moved out of earshot before continuing the questions.
"Truly, Dawn," asked a pretty doe-eyed girl. "When are you going to stop torturing the poor boy? Surely he's given you enough sport?"
"But Darcy's so cute! And he blushes." Dawn grinned as she recalled their first encounter and how much he had blushed. "Besides, every young man could use a bit of guidance...especially in the beginning."
Their laughter was interrupted by the Lady who had passed by them moments ago.
"And you fancy yourself just the woman for the task?" The tone was dry and unamused.
Dawn looked up at the raised eyebrows of the woman standing behind her. She nodded and said, "Why yes, Lady Elizabeth, for there is nothing so repugnant about him that a little bit of exposure wouldn't correct. He is, after all, quite pretty, and he comes from very good stock. He's just a bit green. With a little more confidence in his abilities he might pluck up the courage to pursue a lady he fancies."
Elizabeth studied her with narrowed eyes. "And you intend to be that woman."
Laughter was Dawn's reply. "Gramercy milady! What use would I have for a husband, for a wife he will certainly be after. No, I leave matrimony to those better suited to the profession. Perhaps a Lady of Stature who has been bred for that crusade."
"How about Lady Esmerande?" piped up one of the other ladies with a giggle.
"Oh, no. Not with that horse face of hers," countered another.
The group excitedly began to name prospective hopefuls.
"Then Lady Anne? She's rather sickly, but she just might manage to give him one heir."
"Lady Elaine! You know, the one with the -."
"I've got it! That lady who sang at the MidWinter's feast this year...what was her name?"
"Mary, and she won't do at all. She could kill a flock of hens with that voice of hers!"
"Ah, the Lady Rosalind. She's perfect."
"She brays like a donkey when she laughs! Spare the poor boy that at least!"
"Boy? For shame, Kayla! Have you not been listening to a word Dawn's said?"
Elizabeth had been listening to this prattle in silence. Suddenly she said bitterly, "It matters little how you speculate. He'll pick whom he'll pick, and she will have no say in it! A woman never does."
She abruptly turned and stalked away, leaving the merriment and the hall behind. With a thoughtful expression, Dawn watched her go.
The night air was brisk. Darcy inhaled deeply and made a decision.
I must know. Am I on a fool's crusade? He snapped his fingers. "Warin!" Swiftly turning on his heel, Darcy set off across the wide grassy courtyard. He reached the door and grabbed the handle, pulling it toward him forcefully.
Before he could step through the opening he was nearly bowled over by another body punctuated by the sound of rapidly escaping air.
"Ooof!!"
Darcy reflexively extended his arms to support this unfortunate victim of his haste from falling to the damp ground. "Pray, excuse me..."
The figure moved in his arms as a voice mumbled from within the recesses of his cloak. "Oh, I beg your...pardon?"
Darcy stared at the upturned face, her chin resting on his chest. Her eyes blinked in momentary confusion before turning away, and his gaze slipped from her face until, horrified at his indiscretion, Darcy averted his eyes. Both realized the awkwardness of their position and moved to separate. Darcy released his hold enough to allow Elizabeth to push herself away from him and stand.
As she rearranged her skirts in silence, Darcy had an opportunity to breathe and be thankful for the forgiving darkness of the evening which concealed his face, which he was sure was flaming in his embarrassment.
Tentatively he asked "You are not injured, are you?"
Elizabeth hesitated before answering and, just when Darcy would have repeated the question, she said "No, I am quite well. I am quite well." but she seemed plainly distracted.
Sudden concern prompted him to say "I beg your pardon but you do not appear to be well. Perhaps I should escort you back inside. You need to sit down and rest and I will get you some wine."
Flinging herself away from him, Elizabeth burst out in exasperation "Oh, why does everyone insist on telling me what I need??"
Surprised and confused at this unanticipated reaction, Darcy paused to reassess the situation. "It's been my experience that most women need to be...looked after." Upon seeing the glare fixed on his face he added hurriedly, "But I've noticed that you are not one of these women. You are definitely a lady who knows her own mind."
Elizabeth visibly relented, but only slightly. "I thank you...I think. However, I remind you that I was on my way outside to get some air and that is precisely what I am going to do!" She stared at him defiantly.
"In that case, please allow me the honour of accompanying you, for no man of gentle birth would allow a lady to walk unescorted at night." Darcy gave her no option of refusal.
Allowing her annoyance to show, Elizabeth acknowledged his offer and the two of them made their way across the courtyard. But if she'd been honest, would Elizabeth have admitted even to herself that she was pleased at the opportunity to become better acquainted with this man under a less embarrassing occasion?