I cannot
recall the circumstances.”
“You will, soon enough. Just be patient for a
while longer.” Redmond lifted his broadsword again, ready to
continue this first lesson in the use of Frankish weapons.
Michel was not paying attention to his new
friend. Lowering his own blade, Michel looked around the practice
yard. Bounded on two sides by forest, this warriors’ territory
opened on its third side to the roped-off corral where the horses
were kept, and on its fourth side to meadow and river. Within the
practice yard several groups of men were testing their skill in
friendly combat. One of those men was strikingly tall and obviously
had the strength to match his height, for he was holding off a
cluster of young warriors, doing it easily and with much laughter
on both sides.
“Pay attention,” Redmond ordered, touching
Michel’s side with the point of his sword. “Were I an enemy, I
could have killed you just then. You must concentrate.”
“Like this?” Michel met Redmond’s blade with
a movement familiar to his hand and arm if not to his conscious
mind. At once Redmond countered the attack and the two of them
moved back and forth through a long series of blows and feints
until both were drenched with sweat and Redmond called a halt.
“Well done,” cried a cheerful voice. The tall
man whom Michel had noticed earlier came up to them, putting out a
huge fist to grip first Redmond’s offered hand and then Michel’s.
“I am Charles. You can only be the stranger I have heard so much
about. Welcome to Duren.”
“Thank you, sir.” Michel was taller than all
of the Frankish men he had met, but Charles was a good five inches
taller still. Like most of the men at weapons practice on this warm
May morning, Charles had stripped to the waist, exposing massive
arms and a broad chest covered with golden hair. His shrewd blue
eyes searched Michel’s face. Apparently approving of what he saw
there, Charles nodded, then swept out an arm to indicate the
encampment with its tents arranged in haphazard rows.
“Let our temporary home be your home, too,
Michel, for as long as you wish,” he said. Lifting his face and
drawing in a deep breath, Charles continued, “I smell our next meal
in the making. Join us at table, Michel. The hunting has been good
today, so we will be eating spitted game birds, my favorite dish. I
also smell newly baked bread, and onions and cabbage. Hildegarde
mentioned fresh greens. After the efforts of this last hour, I am
hungry. And hot,” he added.
“So am I.” Redmond grinned at his king with
easy familiarity. “And you, Michel? Has your appetite returned now
that you have had some exercise?” Redmond slung a friendly arm
across Michel’s shoulders.
“There is nothing like good food eaten in the
open air among friends,” Charles put in. “I much prefer such a meal
to a boring official banquet.”
They stood together, all three of them bare
chested, Michel and Redmond still holding their swords in their
hands. All of them looked with interest toward the open space
before the royal tents at the center of the meadow, where they
could see servants setting up trestle tables. The odors of roasting
birds and simmering vegetables and herbs drifted their way from the
fires where the cooks were hard at work preparing the meal. The
companionable moment among the three men was interrupted when one
of Charles’s servants came up to speak to him and, after a word to
excuse himself, the king turned aside from Michel and Redmond.
“Why don’t we swim before we eat?” Michel
suggested. “We can wash the sweat away in the river.”
“You are cleaner than a woman.” Redmond
chuckled, slapping Michel on the back. “Let us swim, by all means.
If I am freshly bathed and sweet-smelling, perhaps Danise will like
me better. She spent too much time with Count Clodion last
evening.” Redmond’s smile turned into a scowl. “I do not like that
man, and not only because he and I are rivals for
recall the circumstances.”
“You will, soon enough. Just be patient for a
while longer.” Redmond lifted his broadsword again, ready to
continue this first lesson in the use of Frankish weapons.
Michel was not paying attention to his new
friend. Lowering his own blade, Michel looked around the practice
yard. Bounded on two sides by forest, this warriors’ territory
opened on its third side to the roped-off corral where the horses
were kept, and on its fourth side to meadow and river. Within the
practice yard several groups of men were testing their skill in
friendly combat. One of those men was strikingly tall and obviously
had the strength to match his height, for he was holding off a
cluster of young warriors, doing it easily and with much laughter
on both sides.
“Pay attention,” Redmond ordered, touching
Michel’s side with the point of his sword. “Were I an enemy, I
could have killed you just then. You must concentrate.”
“Like this?” Michel met Redmond’s blade with
a movement familiar to his hand and arm if not to his conscious
mind. At once Redmond countered the attack and the two of them
moved back and forth through a long series of blows and feints
until both were drenched with sweat and Redmond called a halt.
“Well done,” cried a cheerful voice. The tall
man whom Michel had noticed earlier came up to them, putting out a
huge fist to grip first Redmond’s offered hand and then Michel’s.
“I am Charles. You can only be the stranger I have heard so much
about. Welcome to Duren.”
“Thank you, sir.” Michel was taller than all
of the Frankish men he had met, but Charles was a good five inches
taller still. Like most of the men at weapons practice on this warm
May morning, Charles had stripped to the waist, exposing massive
arms and a broad chest covered with golden hair. His shrewd blue
eyes searched Michel’s face. Apparently approving of what he saw
there, Charles nodded, then swept out an arm to indicate the
encampment with its tents arranged in haphazard rows.
“Let our temporary home be your home, too,
Michel, for as long as you wish,” he said. Lifting his face and
drawing in a deep breath, Charles continued, “I smell our next meal
in the making. Join us at table, Michel. The hunting has been good
today, so we will be eating spitted game birds, my favorite dish. I
also smell newly baked bread, and onions and cabbage. Hildegarde
mentioned fresh greens. After the efforts of this last hour, I am
hungry. And hot,” he added.
“So am I.” Redmond grinned at his king with
easy familiarity. “And you, Michel? Has your appetite returned now
that you have had some exercise?” Redmond slung a friendly arm
across Michel’s shoulders.
“There is nothing like good food eaten in the
open air among friends,” Charles put in. “I much prefer such a meal
to a boring official banquet.”
They stood together, all three of them bare
chested, Michel and Redmond still holding their swords in their
hands. All of them looked with interest toward the open space
before the royal tents at the center of the meadow, where they
could see servants setting up trestle tables. The odors of roasting
birds and simmering vegetables and herbs drifted their way from the
fires where the cooks were hard at work preparing the meal. The
companionable moment among the three men was interrupted when one
of Charles’s servants came up to speak to him and, after a word to
excuse himself, the king turned aside from Michel and Redmond.
“Why don’t we swim before we eat?” Michel
suggested. “We can wash the sweat away in the river.”
“You are cleaner than a woman.” Redmond
chuckled, slapping Michel on the back. “Let us swim, by all means.
If I am freshly bathed and sweet-smelling, perhaps Danise will like
me better. She spent too much time with Count Clodion last
evening.” Redmond’s smile turned into a scowl. “I do not like that
man, and not only because he and I are rivals for
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