Brede gets a lesson

Brede found the building empty when he arrived. He laid down his sword and shield and strolled out into the center of the ring. The shield on the far wall caught his eye, as always. It was magnificent—and it was his honor to carry the King’s shield.

Sigefrith was affable enough that was it easy to forget that he was a lord, if an outlaw, or, if one preferred, a king of a small kingdom, such as there had been in olden times before England had been united under one king. Whatever he was, he too was magnificent.

Brede had grown up with nothing of which to be proud, aside from the blood of his ancestors—his father had been a drunken knight who had gambled away their estate and brawled away his life, his Norse mother did not speak of her own family. His only close relative was his father’s brother, a priest, and more distant family did not care to trouble themselves with the widow and orphans of a man who had thrown away everything he had. Brede had inherited only the sword of his father; they were not wealthy enough to send him away to be trained as a knight.

Thus the death of his distant cousin the King of Denmark had been one of the most fortunate things that had ever happened to Brede and his family, for it had brought his close cousin Sigefrith to Denmark, where he sought out the relatives of his mother. It would seem that he had not been only looking for allies, since a friendship with Brede’s Norse mother and his young and penniless self could have been of no advantage to him. Brede could not explain why he offered to make him his squire—generosity, or pity perhaps—but pity or not, outlaw or not, it was the finest chance Brede would ever have.

Of course, since he had only the sword and not the training in it, he had been less than useless as a squire in the beginning. He had started lessons with Alred and Sigefrith at once, already in Denmark, and even on the deck of the ship when the sea was calm. He was still unable to beat anyone over the age of ten, but Sigefrith assured him that there was plenty of time to learn.

Lately, after the deaths of little Prince Harold and then the Queen, Sigefrith had not had the heart for their daily exercises, and Alred had sons of his own to train, but Sir Sigefrith had been pleased to come to his aid. Brede liked him very well—he had some of the king’s affability, and he still occasionally made an ass of himself with his shield when he forgot it was there, which was always funny. And Sir Sigefrith knew how to laugh at himself, which was quite endearing.

He was often late, however.

But today Brede had not been waiting long when he heard a pair of boots come crunching up the frosty path. He was just about to turn to greet him when he heard an unmistakable voice say with an unmistakable Norse accent, “Good afternoon, Brede.”

Oh, what would his poor mother say if she knew how he had come to hate the sound of a Norse accent!

Brede whipped around to face Eirik.

Good God, what a giant he was! Brede was older than Eirik by several months, but Eirik was half a head taller than he, and disproportionately broader.

“Where’s Sigefrith?” Brede asked at once.

“Sigefrith is busy this afternoon. He sent me in his place to give you your lesson.”

Now this was a poor joke to play on him. He had thought that Sir Sigefrith knew that he and Eirik did not get along. But then, Sir Sigefrith never seemed to notice that Eirik terrorized Eadgith, either. Perhaps the young knight had an enormous blind spot where his squire was concerned.

“Well, it’s getting late already,” Brede said.

“We have time,” Eirik smiled. Brede knew that he was thinking that it would take no time at all to beat him. “Don’t worry, Brede. We shall fight with short swords and shields today. You know I am a beginner so.”

What Brede knew was that Eirik was only saying that to make his inevitable humiliation all the greater.

“So, we begin?” Eirik asked, waving at the swords and shields by the door.

Brede went to arm himself, grumbling under his breath. He wondered whether Eirik was merely angry at him for the attention he paid to Eirik’s sister. But so far the only word he had heard from Eirik on the subject was a complaint that Brede had not brought his own sister with him, to share. As if he would have that monster touching Sigrid!

But it did seem a shame to give up Estrid if he wasn’t even certain that it bothered Eirik. She certainly was fun to kiss, and she did occasionally pretend not to notice his hands…

“You stop watching my sword now,” Eirik said. “Sigefrith says. You watch my sword, it is over here,” he demonstrated, holding his sword out to the side, “now you don’t see my shield come in over here, to knock you on the head.”

“I know,” Brede muttered.

“Very good, now don’t forget,” Eirik said with a smile, but as soon as he lifted his sword and shield his eyes went vicious and his smile died.

Brede saw at once that Eirik did not intend to teach him anything about swordplay. This meeting was meant to put Brede in his place.

Well, Brede had his hatred on his side, and he would endeavor to keep it out of his mind, where it would distract him, and let it into his body, where it would give him strength.

He was pleased to last as long as he did. He nearly stumbled twice—Eirik was so big that the mere weight of him behind his blows was nearly enough to knock him over—and he almost lost his sword once, but he kept fighting.

Then, somehow, miraculously, he managed to wrench Eirik’s shield from his arm and send it flying across the floor. He nearly laughed aloud in triumph. Even Eirik looked surprised for a moment, although he easily parried the stroke that followed.

But he then did something that surprised Brede greatly—he lifted one leg and swung it around in a high kick directly to Brede’s chest, which sent Brede, his sword, and his shield all flying in three different directions.

Brede sat up at once, but he could not bear to lift his head to look at his opponent.

“You thought you had me, didn’t you?” Eirik chuckled.

“I certainly did not think I had won,” Brede muttered.

“That’s right, you didn’t. Oh, when I tell Sigefrith how I beat you with my foot!” he laughed. “I wish he had seen.”

Brede thought the only thing for which he might be grateful was that there had not been any witnesses.

“Do you need help getting up?” Eirik asked sweetly.

“No.”

“Very well. Since it gets late, as you say, I shall go. Next time, don’t watch my sword,” Eirik laughed. “Watch my foot!”