Chapter Forty-Seven
By the sixth week, Christopher was able to stand without assistance.
But stand was all he could do; walking was painful and still and it took both Rob and Jonathan to help him.
But he was driven to stand and walk alone, and almost exactly two months from the day of his injury, he was able to stand and walk from the hut unassisted.
He had gotten to know Rob’s people bit by bit over the past weeks, and was pleased when he was able to meet them standing on his own feet.
They, of course, knew exactly who he was and he found himself the object of worship.
The people knew that the Defender would help them regain their stolen lands and possessions and they were as determined as he was to help him regain his strength again.
Christopher had no shortage of assistance.
Rob and some of the other men had built Christopher his own little hut and he was grateful.
Also, he knew that Marianne would be glad to have him out from underfoot, and he and Jonathan had laughed about that.
His hut was complete and he was able to at least hold his own weight on his legs.
His attention then turned to regaining his fighting form and he knew without a doubt that he was in for the biggest challenge of his life.
Christopher had lost a great deal of weight during his infirmary.
At six feet and six inches, he usually carried about two hundred and seventy pounds on his big frame, but he was well below his fighting weight.
His muscles had atrophied a bit from sheer disuse and he set forth the very day he could walk without shaking to get himself back in shape.
He knew that he would have to build up to swinging a sword again, so his first order of business was to chop wood.
It would help loosen the damaged muscles in his torso and begin to strengthen him.
Every day, he would chop enough wood for the entire encampment. From dawn to dusk, he chopped and chopped. Rob and his men would go out on “errands”, as they called them, and Christopher would watch them go with envy, wishing he were strong enough to ride a horse all the way home.
His heart, his mind, his body ached for his sweet wife and he had many sleepless nights wondering what had become of her.
Had David returned to marry her in his absence?
What of Richard; had he married her off to someone else?
Or, his worst nightmare would come to light and he would wonder with agony if she had taken her own life.
God only knew what Dustin had gone through over the past months and he shuddered to think of her reaction when she saw that he was indeed alive.
Would she hate him for being such a cruel prankster?
Christopher’s injury had been so severe that he wasn’t surprised when his stamina did not return quickly.
But it did, eventually, show itself and within three weeks of starting his new regime, he could already see a marked difference.
His muscles were beginning to resume their natural shape and grow, and he began taking long walks in the forest to strengthen his big legs.
The walks turned into runs, and every child in the camp wanted to join him.
He thought he looked rather like the Pied Piper with dozens of children running after him on leaps and bounds through the forest. He began to enjoy his runs a great deal, delighting in the innocence of the children who accompanied him.
He could not even remember his childhood, yet these children somehow brought him closer in touch with it.
Yet with every step, he drew closer to Dustin and prayed to God that she hadn’t forgotten him.
He truly had no idea what to expect. He hoped, of course, that nothing had happened and everything remained as it was.
But somehow he knew in his heart that the great Lion’s Claw’s wife would not be left alone.
There was no one to blame, of course, so he tried to prepare himself for any situation, yet he knew with deadly certainly one particular fact.
Dustin was his wife and his alone, and no man, nor king, would keep them apart.
He liked the nights in the camp best. Christopher had mingled with kings and nobles, yet with the salt of the earth, he found a likable peace.
Their life was hard, no doubt, but they were a happy bunch without the political turmoil he was so accustomed to.
They had an easiness about them, a simplicity that he found comforting.
True enough, Rob was the Earl of Longdon, but he did not act like it.
He was much more in his element with these outlaws than in the trappings of his title.
Christopher envied the man that he had the ability to relax and accept his situation, waiting for the time to present itself to reclaim what was his, in the interim, making life as miserable as possible for John and Ralph.
Christopher would have liked nothing better than to help Rob and his hoods antagonize the prince and the sheriff, but he lacked the strength yet and was bent on focusing his entire attentions to his recovery.
And he furthermore had suspicions that if John and Ralph knew he were alive, they would stop at nothing to get to him.
He could be Rob’s greatest strength, or his deadliest weakness. He suspected Rob knew that, also.
One morning, early, Christopher was distracted by his wood chopping by Rob’s young son, Simon. The boy was ten years of age, impish and quick, and was a great admirer of the Defender. He’d been fishing with the boy a couple of times and liked him.
Simon was fairly shaking with excitement as he watched Christopher rip apart a large stump, and even when Christopher stopped chopping the boy continued to twitch. Finally, Christopher leaned against his axe and eyed Simon.
“What is it with you?” he asked, not unkindly. “You are dancing around here like you have termites in your breeches. What is it?”
Simon flushed and kicked at the ground. “Sire, I was….well, I mean, we were all….I was wondering when you were going to practice with your sword?”
Christopher fought off a grin, trying to look stern. “Is that why you are as jumpy as a rabbit? Because you want to be the first in line to fight me?”
“Nay!” The boy looked terrified, but recovered with a hard swallow. “I was wondering…if… well, if….”
“Speak out, Simon, for Christ’s sake,” Christopher said. “I cannot understand you when you mumble. Knights of the realm do not mumble.”
Simon stiffened and he fixed Christopher in the eye. “I want to see you practice with your sword, sire.”
Christopher did smile then, and he put his huge hand on Simon’s shoulder and nearly swallowed up half the boy in his grip.
“You do, do you?” he said. “Well, I was thinking about working with my sword today, as a matter of fact. Do you suppose that you read my mind?”
Simon smiled eagerly. “Shall I go fetch it?”
“Wait,” Christopher admonished him as he tried to dash away. “We need to prepare the field if I am going to practice. It will take time between the two of us to accomplish this, for I need a thick log, and preferably a quilt or some batting, and….”
“We all will help,” Simon announced and, on cue, there were suddenly a dozen boys coming out of the trees toward them, all smiling like fools.
Christopher grinned at the boys. “Why am I not surprised?” He tousled Simon’s hair. “Very well, Simon. Retrieve my sword and send your knaves to find me suitable dummies to practice against.”
“How about my Dada?” one boy called, and they all screamed with laughter.
Christopher shook his head. “Nay, not that kind of dummy,” he snorted. “Two or three logs, about my height, if you can find them. Waste no time, lads. Go.”
By the time Simon returned with Christopher’s sword, the entire camp was made aware that the Defender was preparing to bear arms again. When Simon returned to the clearing, he did not return alone.
Christopher was a little embarrassed at all of the people who had turned out to see him practice for the first time. He wasn’t sure just how good he would be and he wished Simon had kept his excitement to himself, but he could understand the thrill.
Lugging thirty odd pounds of broadsword, Simon could barely lift it to Christopher’s outstretched hand. But the moment Christopher took hold of the hilt, he felt the familiar magic and raised it as if it were made of feathers.
Rob and Jonathan turned out to see Christopher, smiling broadly and commending themselves on doing a fine job of healing.
The day was surprisingly warm and Christopher stripped off the rough linen tunic he had been wearing, revealing his magnificent body.
His skin was faintly tan and smooth, his muscles well-formed even if they weren’t quite as bulky as they once had been.
He was sweating lightly and the newly-warm sun glistened on his skin.
The only flaw in an otherwise perfect form was the puckered, purplish scar just underneath his ribcage on the left side of his torso.
It was the size of an apple, and even then it had shrunk considerably.
“Sir Christopher, do you intend to show us ignorant wretches what true swordplay should be?” Jonathan quipped.
Christopher rubbed the blade with a rag. “Can you swing a sword, man? If so, you will be my sparring partner.”
Jonathan guffawed loudly. “Me? Go against the Defender of the Realm, the Lion’s Claw? Never!”
Christopher snickered, rubbing out a few faint marks on his blade.
He needed a rougher polishing cloth for the others, but this would do for now.
Christ, he hadn’t realized how much he has missed having his sword in his hand until now.
Standing underneath the warm sun preparing for a practice bout made him realize just how lucky he was to be alive.
“And you, my lord?” he addressed Rob. “Surely you are skilled with such an instrument?”
Rob shrugged. “Of course. But I won’t fight you, either.”
Christopher raised his eyebrow at the two of them. “Well, somebody should or else you will have a camp full of disappointed people. They are expecting a battle.”
Jonathan turned away as if he had better things to do. “They will not get it from me. No, sir; not me.”
Rob chuckled, watching as Christopher became reacquainted with the grip on the sword. “Jonathan said that when he found you, you had that sword clutched to your chest as if you were fearful someone would take it. It is a beautiful piece, indeed.”
“It was my father’s,” Christopher said, inspecting a nick closely. “And it survived three years on the quest with me. It means a great deal to me.” He lowered the sword and focused on Rob with a twinkle in his eye. “Are you still going to play the coward, my lord? Even in front of your son?”
Rob glanced over at Simon, eagerly helping his friends steady one of the logs Christopher had asked for. “Are you trying to provoke me, sir knight?” he cocked an eyebrow.
Christopher snorted. “Not at all,” he said. “By the way, I am a baron by title. Not as great as an earl, but I consider it an accomplishment beyond a mere knight.”
Rob looked stricken. “God’s Bones,” he said. “We have been sorely insulting you all this time by calling you ‘sir’ instead of ‘lord’. I must certainly practice with you to make up for our lack of manners.”
Christopher smiled and lowered his blade. “A pleasure, my lord.”
Rob shot him a fearful glance, knowing Christopher was going to take advantage of the situation. Leaving the clearing, Rob returned shortly bearing a blade. It was a magnificent piece of work with a gilded pommel and jewels set into the hilt. Even Christopher was impressed.
“Where did you get this?” he said, carefully examining the sword.
“Stole it from one of John’s elite troops after I killed him,” Rob replied, not particularly proud of the fact. “I lost my own sword in his chest, so I took his.”
“A fair trade,” Christopher handed it back to hm. “Sire, if you are ready, I believe your son is waiting most impatiently.”
Rob blew out his cheeks as if to summon courage and followed Christopher into the clearing.
“Be easy on me, my lord,” Rob pleaded with a smile. “I do most of my fighting these days with a crossbow.”
“If you aggravate his wound, I shall take a switch to you,” Marianne yelled from the edge of the trees.
“Do not listen to her, Rob,” Jonathan hollered in response. “Cut a few inches off those tall legs.”
Rob, who had just assumed a defensive posture, suddenly stood up straight and glared back into the crowd. “Will you kindly shut up? How do you expect me to survive this bout if you distract me like that?”
The group tittered and Rob returned to his defensive position. He grinned at Christopher. “Whenever you are ready.”
“After you, sire,” Christopher replied lightly.
They were both out of practice, but it was obvious in the first minute or so why Christopher had earned his considerable reputation.
He was toying with Rob, but in truth he was glad he was not going against anyone more seasoned.
To start slowly was the best thing he could do and he could feel seldom-used muscles coming back to life again.
Rob concluded the match before any more harm was done to his pride and Christopher thanked him graciously for demeaning himself. But already establishment had been made that, indeed, he was who he said he was.
The Defender was on the road to recovery.