Chapter 1: Coming of Age
Aurel heard the thunder of hooves disperse into a faint murmur. The sun was shining and the air was fresh over the sea of grass. The faint glow of adrenaline faded slowly in his veins, and he felt the wind bristle by his thin brown beard. It was in the morning that they were able to find the marauders; a band of thieves and brigands. The poor fools, he thought, were ill-equipped for what they met. Renegade farmers and criminals. It had been a slaughter from the beginning, and his heavy lance rested lazily on his shoulder now. The other chevaliers had already turned back to loot the overrun bandit camp. The clanging of chain armor receded as Hermes came to a slow trot. The old horse wheezed and whinnied. It was an unexpected ending to his last day of service for the year.
Aurel looked back to find Klaus catching up to him. The young man’s shield bounced clumsily from his arm, and he slowly sat upright. He had a habit of leaning down on his horse. He had a rather unkempt head of black hair that he needed to keep wiping from his face. They had called him Klaus because he had the traits of a man from the Holy Roman Empire, but in truth nobody knew what he was. He was a young orphan when Aurel had taken him in. It was guessed that he was about seventeen years old now, though they could never tell.
“How are you?” Aurel called back. He felt lethargic.
“My first real battle, sir,” Klaus said as he caught up to him, “How should I be?”
“Scared, probably.” Aurel said, and shrugged.
“Well, I’m not scared.” Klaus asserted quickly.
“Well, this wasn’t a real battle.” Aurel said, and started to turn back towards the camp. Bodies floated in the wild grass, marking their way back. Battles and slaughters, he thought, looked rather similar at the end. The good things were taken, and the rest were the remnants of men. Aurel always thought it was a strange and mysterious thing that people should melt away when they die. Hamlin, the priest of his village, had once explained to him that our bodies are made of dust, but that our soul is of God. When we die, he said, our bodies melt back into the soil, and our souls melt back into God. But Aurel didn’t know very much about melting. It was all rather iffy business.
Aurel looked over at Klaus. The young man was inspecting his shield. As a squire, Klaus formed the ranks of the lighter cavalry. For the most part they carried padded leather vests and light spears, which was all one truly needed for the main function of the lighter cavalry: running down the fleeing enemy. For the most part Aurel knew it as butcher’s work, given to children.
“You lost your spear,” Aurel said.
“Oh I got one, boss,” Klaus said. His lips formed a proud, nervous smile. “We should be coming up to it right now.” He gestured at the patch of grass ahead.
Sure enough, there was a man in the tall grass. He had fallen face first into the field with his arms rather neatly at his sides. The spear stuck out of his back crookedly and wobbled a little in the breeze. Aurel leaned from his horse, trying to get a better view.
“That was straight through his heart,” Aurel said, and pointed to the body. “But you shouldn’t have let it stick. It’s sloppy form.”
Klaus nodded.
“Well, it’s still yours,” Aurel said. “Take it out.”
“Sir?”
Aurel lifted an eyebrow.
“I said to get your spear back, and let’s get going.”
Klaus dismounted from the horse and approached the corpse. He placed a wary foot on the man’s back. After straining a moment with one arm, he gripped it with both, and with some effort he ripped it out like a weed. It was a wet, tearing noise. Aurel noticed a cringe cross Klaus’ face and disappear. Klaus wiped the spear point in the grass.
“Feeling sick?”
“No, sir,” Klaus said. His voice wavered.
“They won’t always be running away.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It won’t always be that easy.”
“I know that, sir.”
“Do you?” Aurel said, and tilted his head a little to the side. “Why don’t you turn him over.”
“Sir. . .?”
Klaus hesitated a moment before wedging his foot under the dead man’s shoulder and rolling him onto his back.
“Get a good look,” Aurel said.
The man’s neck made an awkward stretch as he turned over, and his head rested limply on his shoulder. He was neither young nor old. He had a scruffy brown beard and tangled hair. The eyes were open and stared at the grass indifferently. His mouth leaked blood.
“So, how did you kill him?”
“This guy was running away pretty quick,” Klaus said. He stared at the dead man from the corners of his eyes. “Sir Adalbert gave the signal, and we all went off. . . that’s when I stuck him with the spear. He made a loud noise and, well, I kind of lost my grip on it.”
“I see.”
The equipment rustled noisily at the bandit camp some ways back. Birds chirped and the wind was fresh, save the stench of that one man. Aurel studied Klaus carefully. Seeing the young man, he was remembering the feeling himself. A strange and unreal sort of feeling. Triumphant and disgusted and astonished all at once, it was the sort of thing you couldn’t put your finger on. It was a long time ago and he was a little over the hill but, like many first things, he could remember. He wondered if Klaus had it the same.
“Feeling good?”
Klaus shook his head.
They rode back to their own camp with the spoils of war. The other men clamoured excitedly. Even easy victories were savory ones, and for most men, they were the most preferable. They were a few dozen lowly knights and their squires if they had them, all vassals of Lord Bertrand, sent out to clean the nearby lands of bandit activity. The men set up in cloth tents and tied their horses together. They gathered around stick fires lit by striking flint. The mumble of old and new stories filled the air while the fires crackled in the night, illuminating dancing swarms of gnats.
“Spoils of spoils, so to speak,” Sigemund said. In his hands he played with an intricately engraved knife he’d found. He was a younger knight than Aurel, but still quite seasoned on the field. He was a sturdy man with dirty blond hair and a large, rather imposing nose that had been broken perhaps a few too many times. “Second degree. I wonder if they took this from a church.”
“It was somebody rich, whoever it was,” Aurel said. “We managed to bring back a lot of junk. It seems like those guys were busy for a long time.”
“Well, they aren’t busy anymore,” Sigemund chuckled. “It wasn’t even a proper scrap. Broke and ran right when our lances hit. Speaking of which, I heard your squire finally got his hands dirty today,” Sigemund said. He grinned and pointed the little blade at Klaus. “How did it feel, runt? All grown up now at last?”
“Huh?” Klaus jumped, startled. “I don’t know. It uh, it didn’t really feel like anything, I guess.”
“Good,” Sigemund said. He gave his wooden cup a tip. “Good. There’s no sense feeling bad about any of that. Just killed a bunch of rats, that’s all. Ticks that drink the blood and sweat of good folks. You did a good thing today.” Sigemund guzzled down his mead.
Klaus nodded as if he were learning a lesson.
Aurel prodded the small fire with a stick before throwing it in.
“If you learn something, just realize it’s very easy for us to do these things. That’s why we have to know exactly what we do.”
“Tch, a knight’s only duty is duty,” Sigemund said with a playful smile. “Don’t get yourself all confused listening to this old guy.”
Aurel shrugged.
“What exactly do you want as a knight, Klaus? Maybe it’s time I asked you that.”
“To be strong,” Klaus said. It was a conditioned response. “Uh. . . is that right?”
Aurel gave a quiet chuckle.
“Listen here: of all the sorts of men in this world, we were given the most power.”
“Oh, here we go,” Sigemund said. “What power is that?”
“The power to end lives, among others,” Aurel said, and shot a glance at Sigemund. “And people who’ve been given that kind of power have an unspoken kind of duty towards the ones who don’t have it. That’s how it balances out, if you ask me.”
“Maybe you should’ve been a priest.”
“And if you want to become a knight under me,” Aurel said, ignoring the other man, “then you’ll become my type of knight.”
Sigemund gave a toothy grin. “The type of knight that gets stuck under his wife’s foot.”
Aurel grunted.
“You know Elaine, Sir Sigemund?” Klaus said.
“His wife’s got a pretty forceful reputation,” Sir Adalbert chimed in. He was stouter than the average soldier, but another competent veteran who Aurel knew. Adalbert wiggled his black moustache as he approached them in the darkness.
“Hey there,” Aurel said with a smirk, “watch your mouth.”
“Anyone who knows this old guy knows that,” Adalbert walked by and pat Aurel on the back. “I’ll bet she’s back in Saint Helene ruling with an iron fist, just you wait. Women like that are usurpers. They topple empires.”
“You remember the time she smacked Chlodric for killing that serf?” Sigemund chuckled. “I think he lost a tooth.”
“Fearsome,” Adalbert said. “Like a Nordic berserker.”
Aurel rolled his eyes.
“I guess it makes sense,” Sigemund said. “You’re both pretty weird folks, you know that?”
“And what about that charming daughter of yours, Aurel? Going to
marry her off to the runt here?” Adalbert said.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they haven’t had a little fun already,” Sigemund said. “She’s getting pretty big now, huh?” Sigemund punched Klaus on the arm and winked.
“Wh-what?!” Klaus said, red-faced.
“Olive is eleven years old,” Aurel muttered.
Sigemund nodded. “Almost a grown woman.”
“I’d watch out, though,” Adalbert said. “That sort of ferocity gets passed down.”
“Say, remember the time I smacked Adalbert and Sigemund?” Aurel said dryly. “With the sharp end of my sword?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sigemund chuckled, and drained the last of his mead “No need to get all feisty, old man. It’s getting pretty dark,” he said, and rose to his feet. “Sleep well, eh?”
The two knights ambled off to their tents. Klaus sat staring into the fire, biting his lip. Aurel stood from the little rock he’d been sitting on and dusted himself off.
“The real trash, Klaus,” Aurel said, his voice lowered, “are men who only know their contracted ‘duty.’ They might as well just be dogs. Always remember what you do.”
The young man scratched his chin as he watched the dying flames.
“The more I hear from the other knights, the stranger you sound sometimes, boss.”
Aurel smiled faintly as he watched the other tents.
“Those guys are too preoccupied with their names. With loot. The truth is people are just. . . like the rings on our armor. Each one is just as necessary. Understand, Klaus? Never let your head get bloated enough to think otherwise.”
Klaus gave an uncertain nod.
“The sword and the lance are weapons,” Aurel said. “That’s all they are. And a knight’s duty is to kill. To some it sounds ridiculous, but I like to think we can do what we do for something good. . . because at the end of the day, I think we have to answer to somebody. Does that make sense, Klaus?”
Klaus gave the same nod.
“Do you mean answer to God?”
“Or maybe just yourself.” Aurel shrugged. “And anyhow, we’re the modern people. It’s about time we started acting civilized, wouldn’t you say?” Aurel turned back into his tent and went soundly to sleep.
The next morning they packed their things and rode for Saint Helene. Eighty days of service a year, and on the last one they found their real target. Aurel cursed his luck; he would be late. It was a few days ride east. The land passed the same way just about everywhere. It was southern Frankish territory. There were streams and rivers, great fields of wildflowers, and hills that seemed to never end. They rode through the bladed plains and near the heavy forests. Passing through over a long field, Aurel reached into an equipment sack and extracted from it a small, stuffed cloth doll with a needlework face. He hadn’t looked at it since he bought it.
“What’s that, sir?” Klaus said.
“It’s for Olive,” Aurel said. “Do you think she’ll like it?”
“You don’t know much about kids, do you, boss?” Klaus smiled. “She’s a little too old for stuff like that now, don’t you think?”
Aurel shrugged and put it back in the sack.
They passed a few friendly villages before making the stretch to the isolated outpost of Saint Helene.
This was their little home in the world. The world was vast, vaster than one could imagine. Here, there were hills and there were valleys, too. To the east, there were meadows of tall grass and further than that, there was forest. Deep, mysterious, impenetrable forest. The people dug themselves into the grassy valleys. They scratched and scraped out their little worlds between the great forests, beside the rolling hills. Aurel had seen many of these places in his travels as a young man. In their own way they could be very different; he had been to nearby villages that almost spoke entirely different languages. Yet at the same time they were very much alike. People were people, wherever you went. But home was home, too: a place always by itself in one’s mind. For Aurel, that place was Saint Helene.
The men working the fields waved to them as they finally reached the village on the sixth afternoon. There were less workers, Aurel noticed, than usual. He wondered if they were slacking off, but dismissed the thought. At times it was his responsibility to make them work, but he didn’t enjoy the feeling.
In Saint Helene the people had made a village of gnarled timber and earth. Barely-beaten dirt roads ran through the town in a cross, with wooden hovels and housings spread down the way. At the very center stood the church, regal and impressive amongst all. Spread around the town was the humble farmland, and beyond that the grassy hills of the countryside. People lived in their homes, passed on their seed and their trade, and died. Time moved timelessly. They worked the land, foraged the woods, and hunted. They told stories and sang, they huddled together in winter for warmth. It was toil that scarcely changed, but it was necessary. This was how one lives, for living certainly must have been worth something. Amongst sickness and sores and filth, there were smiles and laughter more precious than anything they had. That’s how Aurel liked to think of it, in any case.
One of the men dropped his hoe and ran over to the pair.
“Sires!” his voice yelled out as he jogged over. He was a limber young man with messy brown hair, the son of a ministerial. In simpler words, his family had a long history of being levied into wars and surviving. “You’ve come just in time for the trial.”
“A trial,” Aurel sighed. “What’s happened this time, Adzo?”
Adzo scratched his head.
“Heh, well, I was never too good at explaining stuff. You two should just hustle over to the church, that’s where they’re having it. I can tie up your horses if you’d like.”
“Please,” Aurel said, and nodded.
The two men dismounted and left their mounts with Adzo. He walked with them for some ways into the village.
“How’s your new son by the way, Adzo?” Aurel said.
“Ah, he’s doing just fine, sir,” Adzo said, and nodded a few times. “We had a few scares, you know, but who doesn’t? I’m just glad that winter’s ended. We can finally relax about that a bit.”
Aurel smiled. “There’s always good news somewhere.”
Trials in Saint Helene were held in the church, presumably under the eyes of God. As far as Aurel knew however, it was under the eyes of the priest, the manor lord, and the jurors. In a village as small as Saint Helene, your jurors were your brothers, your sisters, your friends and your enemies. It was on them to make the judgement, and to rule on the punishment if there was one. Despite his general seat of power, Aurel was simply a voice of suggestion, albeit a strong one. Stolen food and broken tools were the most common issues to make their way to the court, and they were uncommon occurrences in truth.
Aurel made his way up the small stoop and through the worn double-doors of the building. That familiar scent of old wood filled his nose, and as he took a step in, he heard the collective creaking of people turning around in their rickety pews. About twenty or so jurors sat in their seats, looking back at him. At the very front of the room sat the “involved,” who were on opposite sides of the row, and beyond them, the small, bald form of Hamlin the priest. He stood on a slightly elevated part of the church, and behind him some ways was a rather ornate wooden cross. To Aurel’s surprise, Elaine was seated next to Hamlin, looking rather surprised herself. Seeing her gentle face, he already felt a little at ease. Her skin had already been somewhat tanned and freckled from the outdoors. She was wearing a modest overtunic that skirted her legs, much like any common woman. Her wavy golden hair hung loosely past her shoulders. They had been married for some time, but he still had eyes for her. She was not much younger than him, and the few graceful lines on her face showed it.
He walked briskly down the aisle to her. People mumbled greetings that he quickly nodded to, but he had only one concern.
Elaine stood and looked up at him. There was shock and relief mixed into the dark blue of her eyes.
“You’re late,” she said quietly. She grabbed him and put her head on his shoulder.
“Sorry.”
“I thought something bad might have happened.”
“I’m fine,” Aurel said, letting her go and backing up. “And so is Klaus. How’s our little girl?”
“Olive is– ”
“Ahem.” The sound of a hand rapping on wood interrupted her. “My apologies, Sir Aurel,” Hamlin said. He dipped his head politely. “But we do have to get on with the proceedings here. The new season has arrived and we can’t be sitting here all day.”
“I understand,” Aurel said. “Would you mind telling me just what this is about?”
Hamlin gracefully motioned to the two men in the front row. “Perhaps you gentlemen can explain the issue to our good Sir Aurel?”
“Sure can,” said a man Aurel vaguely recognized. He was one of the few capable hunters in the village, and he often shot game in the nearby forest. He had been slumping casually against his pew in the front until now. A limber man with a dirty mop of curly brown hair and dark eyes that were lit with fire at that moment, he cracked his neck and spoke in an annoyed voice:
“My name’s Raoul, in case you didn’t know, sir,” he said, and dipped his head. “So anyway, I woke up to a loud sound late last night. I put on my pants, saunter out the door, and to my surprise I find this piece of **** rummaging through the meat stores outside my house.” He pointed an angry finger across the aisle.
The other man gave Raoul an antagonizing grin. He was an
enormous man, taller than any man Aurel had met. He was dressed in a tunic that barely seemed to hide his bulging frame. A powerful, almost beak-like nose jutted out from his face. Tangled black hair had been tied back taut into a long pony-tail. He had a bull neck, and despite his size appeared rather trim, with skin pulled tight across his weathered face. Despite his savage appearance, he sat somewhat hunched over now with his hands folded politely in his lap. He looked rather amused.
“Out of curiosity,” Aurel said, “Just how did you stop him?”
“I took out my bow and let one loose. It got him right in the hindquarters, and he tripped over.” A satisfied smirk crossed Raoul’s face. “Caught him after that.”
“I’ll remember that one, Curly,” the hulking man growled. “Ya got a lucky shot right there.”
Aurel turned to the other man.
“And what’s your name?”
“Pierre,” he said.
“Pierre? That’s a pretty common name.”
“Seems pretty likely that I’d have it then, huh?”
“I can’t say I recognize you at all, Pierre,” Aurel said. “And
somehow I feel like I would. You don’t live here, do you?”
“Can’t say I do, bud.”
“Then where are you from?”
“Ah, you know. Here and there, there and here.”
“If you’d rather not cooperate, then I’d be willing to make a quick settlement,” Aurel said, and drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword.
“Aurel!” Elaine stood up and grabbed his arm, but he shook her off and stepped forward.
Pierre let out a deep roar of a laugh.
“Oh, ya got me there, bud,” he said. He leaned on his elbows and stared at Aurel straight in the eyes, grinning. “Truth is I come from Dijon, up north.”
Aurel arched an eyebrow.
“You’ve come a pretty long way just to steal some meat.”
“Well, I get a pretty powerful hunger, ya know. Besides, I think there’s a whole lot of fellas coming a long way to Saint Helene. I’ve seen’em myself.”
“You’re doing a bad job at convincing me, Pierre,” Aurel said. He felt a twinge of anger and annoyance in the back of his head. “I’m going to have to warn you that I don’t deal well with liars.”
Aurel drew his sword this time. It was a wide-bladed, one-handed war sword of fair length and good balance, effective at cut or thrust. Though it was rather aged, he kept it sharp.
“What are you doing?”
He felt Elaine’s hand grab his shoulder and he turned around.
“What are you doing?” he said through his teeth.
For a moment her eyes flitted to Hamlin and the jurors, who had
broken into a murmur. Elaine folded her hands at her waist, then bent her head down as though she were staring meekly at her husband’s boots. Her eyes, however, looked straight upward to his.
“Is this how you perform a trial?” she said, her voice low.
“It is. And it works, if you’d just let it.”
“Aurel, anyone will say anything if you threaten them like that.”
“They’ll say the truth.”
“I’ve heard the whole story. He’s just a lost hunter. You should
just have him leave his coin, and find his own way home.”
“Right. I see you have it planned out. What do you know about this kind of thing, anyway?”
“What do you think I do every time you leave?”
Aurel furrowed his brow.
“Look, woman. . . just because you take this place over every damned time I’m gone, doesn’t mean you actually know how to run it.”
Elaine’s hands tightened on themselves.
“Well actually, Sir Aurel, if I might interject?” Hamlin waddled over towards them a little and leaned in. “I’d say most of us think Lady Elaine does a very nice job watching over things.” The little man smiled meekly and nodded a few times towards them.
Aurel swiveled his head around. The entire jury was silent, their eyes fixed on him.
“Yep,” Pierre nodded. “Heard everything.”
“Elaine, just leav– ”
“Excuse me.”
Elaine shoved her way past Aurel and glided out of the church without looking back.
Aurel sighed and rubbed his temples. Sigemund and Adalbert were right, perhaps. It was more than a knight should deal with. This sort of embarrassment could make him lose respect in the village.
“Where were we?” Aurel said, and turned back to Pierre.
“Well, I think I was about to leave old Raoul here my coin, and my sincerest apologies, and head on back home.” Pierre turned to face the jury. “What do you guys think?”
The mass of people mumbled in their pews. Aurel blinked, somewhat surprised. Suddenly, a middle-aged serf stood up.
“We think that’s a fair settlement.”
Aurel’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Raoul?” Aurel said.
Raoul shrugged and gave a nod. “Yeah, sure. Sounds fine to me.”
“What? You’re just fine with this?” Aurel said.
“Sir Aurel, may I remind you of your place in the court?” Hamlin said in a hushed tone. “We must let the people decide these things.”
Pierre stood up and stretched luxuriously. In one easy motion he took a pouch from the inside of his tunic and threw the jangling bag onto Raoul’s lap.
“Get yourself somethin’ nice, ahright? I’ve had a great time with you guys,” Pierre said. He began walking down the aisle. Thundering feet on wood, the jury stood up with him.
“Take care of yourselves, huh?”
As the people filed out, Pierre disappeared. Klaus, who had been sitting far in the back of the church, walked up the aisle to meet Aurel.
“Do you think we should follow that guy?” Klaus said.
“Forget it. He’s just some vagabond, I’d say. There’s other things I have to sort out.”
Aurel was not looking forward to dinner.
