Thread: Squire's Secret (Benny and Gunner)

In times of peace, it was an unfortunate obstacle that many knights and warriors had to find other outlets for their martial spirits and vigor. The Long Peace, as it was dubbed by some scholastic monk, had settled over the varied kingdoms, duchies, and principalities of the Mynesian continent for almost a decade now. That peace could have lasted for even a year was remarkable. Ten years seemed a miracle. A period of warmth too seemed to have added to the prosperity. Longer summers, shorter winters, greater harvests and a boom in birth rates caused an economic upswing across the lands. Peasants added colour to their ragged garments. Clergymen took on long pilgrimages to distant sites. And nobles and high lords across the land indulged a most favored sport, second only to war. Every few months, word of a great tournament of joust, archery, melee, and skill was held. For Ser Friderick, Baron of Alnerwick , the Long Peace and the increased warmth did not help him in either way. Lord of the castle and estates of Alnerwick, he was but a step or two higher on the rung than any well off peasant. His castle was degrading, a structure that stood for many centuries in the distant corner of the Swadian Empire, which was nothing but a patchwork of free cities, duchies, bishoprics, and some minor petty kingdoms that agreed to work together for a common cause. Under the esteemed guidance of Emperor Eugene the Third, a six year old boy, the prosperity of the central provinces did not extend to those on the frontiers like him. Frankly put, Ser Friderick was poor. His lands were unproductive. And the heat only exacerbated the swamplands around his home and seeped salt into the earth. He needed money, for more than just rebuilding his castle. His peasants were starving. Farmlands were unworked. Young men were turning to brigandage. He had sold his mothers jewelry already to float grain supplies another year. He needed to win a tournament. And he needed to win a big one. He had won before. A regional tournament, hosted by the Prince-Bishop of Helmfirth and a more famous victory at the Regnal tournament for the birthday of King Godfrey of Frankia. That had brought a fat purse and a vicious splinter cut under his left eye. He had used the money to try and vitalize his failing economy, which in turn only unveiled deeper, root-cause issues of the failure. Everyone was enjoying the prosperity except him. It burned in his mind and stung deep in his heart. He had to win again, which is why he was currently on the road to Archmouth, where Count Liudhard Adalhards son was hosting one in the coming days. With other knights from the lands and fiefs around Alnerwick, they journeyed along the trodden trade routes to the County. Right now, they were stopped over at the market town of Rutherglen. And Rutherglen was where Ser Friderick would be meeting his new squire. As squires aged and moved on to knighthoods themselves, he was obligated to find another. The one he had during the tournament of King Godfrey had been superb, keeping his gear polished, his weapons sharpened, his horse fed and looked after. Wingfoot was a powerful charger, unbroken, and often wild and fussy. It took a measure of patience to handle his horse. It took even more to now serve under Ser Friderick, who had his standard of squires set pretty high after his last. After a month, he had received an offer from the Lord of Lancaster, seeking a position for his son, Jacque Lancaster. Though the boy was an unknown in knightly circles, a good service as squire and eventually a knighthood of his own could mean a good bonus for Friderick at the very least. But he wanted a victory. It was not a good sign that the boy was late. Perhaps high nobility had made the lad a pompous ass before his time. Friderick wondered too if the boy would come with more comforts and oddities for his camp life than he possessed in his entire castle. The other knights, of which there were six including Friderick, all had theirs in order. At the tavern they rested at, called the Prancing Peter , he was currently sitting alone. Some knights sat together as befitted their social class while squires were regulated to stand in the back, waiting hand and foot. Some kind knights at least let their squires drink and eat. The women here were loose, which for some of the younger squires, fifteen or sixteen years of age, was completely a novelty to them. The knights enjoyed that, poking at their lack of worldly experience. Friderick, sitting alone with a mug of cheap ale and stale bread, could only shake his head. His squire should know better than to be distracted. And hopefully not because he was drawn to the other sex, theirs . Next he heard his name. Im looking for Sir Friderick of Alnerwick, could you direct me to him? God, not even a please . Pompous. One of the other knights, all of whom were well acquainted with Ser Friderick and especially his victories, exchanged looks at the squire and then laughed. Why, are you here to kill him boy? One of them asked the newcomer with a laugh at the boys tone. Or to serve him a notice of the collection of his debts? A fuckin ginger. Great. I fuckin hate gingers. Another growled, a thick limbed man with a long black beard. Here. Friderick said, raising his hand. The man sat with his back to the wall, legs not under the table but to the side of his chair, as his powerful arms rested upon the table and over the back rest of the chair. He was dressed in a long sleeveless surcoat, checkered in black and white, down to his knees. Beneath was a similar tunic of chain mail, though that did cover his arms. The hood of the chain mail rested behind his neck, where it could be pulled over his head and still fitted with a helm. He had gauntlets and mud-crusted boots, dark breeches tucked in. Beside him against the wall was a longsword. He had another knife on his waist. His lances and other gear were stowed with his horse, currently stabled. Friderick waited for the boy to present himself. Not even fuzz on his upper lip yet either. Hes pretty than my daughters, Friderick. Another knight remarked. You better guard your daughters then when I finish with him. Friderick said, before gesturing to the seat in front of him. He didnt waste any time, focusing entirely upon the boy. You must be Jacques Lancaster. I said to be here at midday. Its evening, almost night. He simply said. Eat something. I hope your esteemed father sent you with some coin. You can use this bread. He said, grabbing his and slapping it onto the table in front of the boy. No plate. No utensils. Just flat on the table. But they were men and they ate, not asking where the food came from. Next though, a second later, he stabbed his knife into the wood of the table next to the bread. Time to see his knife handling. Youll need this. Its stubborn. Make some rolls. He ordered, never breaking his deep ocean blue eyes off the boy. Tell me now, what you expect of your duties as a squire. And dont you dare quote to me any chivalric novels or songs. No one here reads and if youre going to sing, you better sing well, in which Ill know you dont have any balls. So speak up, Jacques and tell me what you think youll be doing. Friderick said, ignoring the rest of the tavern and the laughter of women while he looked at his new squire. At least he didnt seem distracted by the low cut gown of the bar maid, milky white cleavage as relishing as a cup of milk at night.