Chapter Eleven
It had been two weeks since Brogan had left Avalyn, two weeks since they had traveled north and found haven at the small village of Rugeley.
It wasn’t far from Guerdley Cross; perhaps a day’s ride.
St. Alban remembered a friend who owned fortified manor house called Slitting Mill that was situated near the town, but when they finally came upon it, the friend was long dead and the structure was abandoned.
It had been enough for St. Alban to set up house.
Brogan had little time in order to learn to become a proper knight and St. Alban was determined to teach him.
They were in the small ward of Slitting Mill on a cool, blustery day.
Brogan had spent the morning learning to don St. Alban’s old armor, heavy pieces that were outdated yet functional.
For a man who had spent his life in mail and leather protection, the introduction of the armor was something alien.
St. Alban made him put the armor on over and over, repetitively, until he could put it on swiftly and competently as if he had been doing it all of his life.
More than once, Brogan grew frustrated when the armor refused to cooperate but he persevered.
Eventually, he was able to put it on like any other knight.
The second lesson was the art of combat from the back of a horse, which was a bit trickier considering Brogan was infantry and was used to fighting on his feet.
St. Alban had the man practice on the back of the old charger, teaching him how to gain reach with his broadsword without losing his balance, or how to guide the animal with pressure from his knees rather than the reins.
In battle, that was imperative. As Mama Starke and little Lake watched from the sidelines, Brogan struggled with the concept of battle on the back of the horse but kept his temper because Lake was watching him.
He found distraction with the blond little angel, who seemed to constantly have food in her mouth.
Mama Starke saw to that, and within those two weeks, Lake had filled out and was starting to look like a little cherub.
She was a truly adorable child, waving happily at Brogan from the sidelines as she stuffed her face with bread.
He couldn’t help but grin at her, thinking of her as his daughter as if she had always been.
He was attached to her. When he saw her, he saw Avalyn and everything he was preparing to fight for. He saw his life.
Now, at the end of the second week of training, Brogan was growing impatient.
As the cool wind blew and he climbed off the charger after having practiced jousting all morning with the trunk of a sapling, he approached St. Alban as the man stood vigilant next to Lake and Mama Starke.
The ready-made audience was Brogan’s constant companion, but today, he didn’t feel much like performing anymore.
He wanted to go north, to Avalyn. His patience with everything was at an end.
“I am finished with this,” he announced to St. Alban as he adjusted one of his gauntlets. “I have learned what I need to know. Now it is time to move forward.”
St. Alban lifted an eyebrow. “There is more to learn, Brogan.”
“What more can there be?” Brogan asked, impatient. “You have taught me how to dress like a knight and ride like a knight. I can already fight better than they can. Now I know what it is to be a knight with all of these fancy trappings. What more is there?”
“More indeed,” St. Alban crossed his arms. “I suppose there is nothing I can teach you about combat; you have learned your lessons well. But the essence of a true knight isn’t fighting; it is chivalry. Listen to me, Brogan. You cannot be a convincing knight based upon brute strength.”
Brogan didn’t look convinced. “What else is there?”
St. Alban held up a finger. “Much more,” he said firmly.
“To be chivalrous is to defend the weak and enforce the laws of the church. It is not settling a dispute with a blade; it is using your reasoning and your mind. It is handling each situation with wisdom and calm and, if need be, with your sword. Do you understand what I am saying so far?”
Brogan continued to fuss with the old gauntlet that was chaffing his wrist; he looked down at the glove as he loosened the strap. “I understand that you are asking me to show weakness. I will not do that.”
St. Alban shook his head. “Nay, lad, that is not what I am asking at all,” he said. “I am asking you to grow up, to learn something beyond mere killing. Do you not think that would please Avalyn? Does she not deserve a man who is wise and compassionate, not merely a killing machine?”
Brogan looked up from the glove and stopped fussing. “I am doing all of this for Avalyn. She deserves a strong man who can protect her.”
St. Alban knew that he wasn’t going to get far in trying to explain chivalry, but he knew he had to try. The concept was extremely foreign to Brogan. After a moment, he simply shook his head.
“You are a strong man and an excellent fighter,” he said, sounding rather defeated.
“But if you are to be convincing as a knight, you must show something more, something I cannot teach you. You must show calm and wisdom in every situation. If you do not agree with me, then at least understand my words, because if you do not, you will give yourself away. True knights do not act rashly and are not mindless killers. All I ask is that you think before you react, Brogan, especially when we go to Guerdley Cross. If we are to pull off this charade, then you must not think like Brogan d’Aurilliac. You must think like a knight.”
Brogan sighed heavily, struggling with the concept of something beyond fighting and killing.
He glanced at his mother, who was holding Lake on her knee, and then fixed on the baby as she licked her fingers of a sticky bun.
When Lake saw that Brogan was looking at her, she grinned and slithered off Mama Starke’s knee.
Running to Brogan, he picked her up and tried to avoid the sticky fingers that were coming at him.
But he couldn’t dodge them completely and they ended up on his face as she gave him a messy kiss.
It was sweet, warm and wonderful, enough to melt his heart.
St. Alban watched he interaction, astonished that his serious young friend had the capacity to show such compassion.
Over the past few weeks, the man had show complete and utter joy and gentleness with the little girl.
St. Alban knew that in spite of Brogan’s resistance to the concept of chivalry that the man indeed had the capacity to not only learn the qualities but display them.
Little Lake had proven that. There was hope.
“Just a few more lessons today, Brogan,” St. Alban said. “That is, providing you can separate yourself from your daughter and pay attention.”
Brogan lifted a reproving eyebrow at St. Alban for the comment but dutifully put Lake on her feet.
As Lake began to run around and play, with Mama Starke in very close attendance, Brogan tried to follow more instructions on chivalry and knightly honor.
More than once, he grew frustrated, but more than once, St. Alban was able to help him understand.
Things that didn’t come naturally to him were going to have to become second nature if he wanted to make a convincing knight.
As the day passed in to night, Brogan drew closer to the man who would slip Avalyn away from Aubrey.
*
Guerdley Cross
May, 1469
Merseyside was a lush land with rolling hills and herds of livestock dotting the landscape.
May was a particularly lovely month, as the spring chill was just starting to wear off and the temperatures were becoming more moderate.
Green lands stretched to the horizon and the brisk sea breeze blew in every evening, filling the air with the scent of salt.
It was a beautiful place if one was inclined to that sort of pleasure, a land of peace and tranquility in a country that had known little of both.
The castle of Guerdley Cross was an exceptionally wealthy establishment in a populated fiefdom that stretched to the sea.
The castle was a massive structure with twenty-foot thick walls, four squatty towers, and a three-storied keep that sat atop a forty-foot tall motte.
Several outbuildings sat in the enormous bailey, including stables, barracks, and a variety of other trades.
Built by John Stone Aubrey more than one hundred years before, it was a busy, functional castle that protected a heavy population of peasants.
With the beauty and wealth of it, Avalyn should have been at least moderately content.
There was nothing she wanted for. Charles, having demonstrated himself a true gentleman during the weeks of their association, had been inordinately kind and patient with her since their arrival.
Aside from asking when she wished to set a wedding date, he never asserted himself and was always quick to obey her wishes.
It had been clear from the onset which one of them was in control of their relationship, and it wasn’t Charles.
All Avalyn had to do was say a word and he would move heaven and earth to do her bidding.