The Dragon's Prophecy
Author: David Noel
Date: 2019-07-19 22:00:00+00:00

The Centurions:

The Dragon’s Prophecy

By

D.W. Noel

Explore the world further at:

The World of the Centurions

Copyright © 2019 David W. Noel

Alethe Publishing

Our Website

Dedicated to:

Everyone fighting a spiritual battle in their life right now.  Put on the full Armor of God so that in the end you may stand.

Soli Deo Gloria

Special thanks to:

My daughter Melody who got to put her English degree to work helping me revise and edit this book.

Leonardo Guinard who created the book cover and dramatic artwork within the book.

Husni Bramantyo who created the maps and technical artwork in the glossary.

Explore the world further at:

The World of the Centurions

Contents

Preface

Maps

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Appendix A: Glossary

Armor and Shields

Gambeson

Chain Mail

Lamellar

Mail and Plate

Round shield

Scutum

Weapons

Bow, Self:

Bow, Composite:

Francisca

Gladius/Gladia

Glaive

Messer

Seax

Centurion Steel

Centurion Medicine

Castle Parts

Preface

Inspired by the Chronicles of Narnia, this book is first and foremost an adventure book written for young people.  Set in 946 A.D., near the end of what would be considered the "Early Middle Ages", it is a time of knights and castles, mythical creatures and foreign and invaders.  Technological innovation is once again advancing and Christianity has been established throughout Europe.

The Order of the Centurion is a Christian, military order created by Charlemagne's Twelve Peers to protect Christendom.  It is built around families so that both men and women serve as knights and shieldmaidens.  The story is told from the perspective of its Christian characters and asks questions about faith in times of crisis as the characters try to head off an invasion and defeat a dragon.

If you enjoy this book please consider writing a review on Amazon.

Thank You!

Maps

The World of the Centurions: 946 A.D.

Charlemagne’s Empire of the Franks is falling apart. His vision of recreating the western Roman Empire under the leadership of the Frankish people has faded in the century since his death and Francia has split into smaller kingdoms.  Moors to the west, Vikings to the north, and Hungarians and Bulgarians to the east all threaten the Christian kingdoms of central Europe and the Eastern Roman Empire. Technology is advancing and trade with China is thriving on routes that pass through Constantinople and India.  Pirates infest the seas, knights fight battles for conquest and glory, dragons rule the wild places, werewolves haunt the forests, and darker things prowl the edges of civilization.  This is the world of the Centurions, a Christian, military order founded by Charlemagne's Twelve Peers to protect Christendom from all that threatens it, both human and monstrous.

Castle Warrick: Home to Sir Gerard, Lady Evelyn, Miss Portia, and Miss Marcia.  It is the headquarters for the Order of the Centurion in the Eastern Marches.  It is a technical marvel that is centuries ahead of its time.    It is one of the first stone castles built at a time when nearly all other castles were made of wood.  It has running water and a simple sewer system.    Most of the time the castle has a complement of 20-25 knights and shield maidens, 25-30 squires and handmaidens, and about 100 men-at-arms.  Add 50-60 support personnel and the castle's normal population is about 200-220 people.  It has an extremely large bailey that can serve as a staging ground for over a 1,000 troops when the Order prepares for major military operations. It would be a very large castle in any era but it is enormous by the standards of the 10th century.

Chapter 1

“Never underestimate the patience of the Black”

The Centurion Book of Beasts – Folio IV: Dragons

She lay in the darkness waiting with the terrible patience of her kind; her thoughts were cold and hard.  The faintest sound of scratching came from within one of her eggs and she uncoiled to examine it.  A tilt of her ear and a sniff through her nostrils confirmed what she already knew, it was hatching.  She allowed herself the tiniest spark of joy.

The first egg cracked as the tip of a claw broke through it from the inside and began to rip it apart.  Its scent was spicy and potent, she knew it well, it was the Red.  That was to be expected, hatching first was the way of the Reds.  Another moment of thrashing and tearing and it had freed itself from the last remains of the eggshell.  It blinked at her in the dim, bluish light and tried to focus on her face.  She purred at it with the incredibly deep purr that only a dragon could produce.  Satisfied, it turned and began to stumble clumsily around the cavern, sniffing and flapping its wings.  The other eggs began to break open one by one, each in its own way and time.  Next was the Orange, then the Yellow, the Green, the Blue, and the Violet.  She inspected each one happily, watching them crawl over and snap at each other.  All were healthy.  That was a good sign, it showed that the fates were with her.  She watched the last egg hatch.  It was the Black of course; this was the way of the Black, to be the smallest and the last, the weakest and the craftiest.  She inspected it closely and was pleased to see that it too was healthy; it would make an excellent meal for the rest.  She crushed it beneath her great claw, ripped it apart, and began to feed it to its brothers and sisters who fought over each morsel hungrily.

There were those on the Council who had called for allowing every newborn to live.  Too many dragons are dying at the hands of men, they said, our numbers are declining.  But the Black held to the old ways, only a fool allowed a competitor of one’s own color to grow up under one’s own feet.  Besides, the other’s needed to eat.  She smiled to herself, the waiting was almost over; it was time to begin planning.

Chapter 2

“The difference between retreating from a battle and withdrawing from one depends upon which side you are on when it happens.”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 1: Proverb 7

Brendan saw the tree root just in time.  In the gathering twilight most people would have missed it but he was used to working in the shadows.  He brought his right foot down short and leapt for a low hanging branch, his left foot barely clearing the root as he swung over it.  The rough bark tore the skin off his hand but he had more important things to worry about at the moment.  He landed in a large patch of mud on the far side of the root and slipped but managed to avoid going down.  Somehow, he was able to keep his feet under him and keep running.  His heart pounding, he sucked in a breath.  He wasn’t dead yet. He heard a sharp thud and a string of curses from behind him.  At least one of his pursuers had not cleared the root. A moment later there was the sound of a branch breaking then another hard thud followed by more grunts and cursing.  It was impossible to say for sure, but Brendan guessed that a second pursuer had tried to jump over the fallen body of the first, grabbed for the branch, and then landed on his companion when it broke under his weight.  With a little luck, whoever was on the bottom would be out of the chase for a while.

“You better say your prayers now because I am going to kill you when I catch you, boy!” Came a gasping shout from behind him as Brendan sped on.

Right, thought Brendan, like I’m going to waste my breath on prayer.

The voice sounded like Marcus, so maybe luck was with him.  Marcus was the only member of the gang with any brains and if he was one of the two who had gone down then Brendan just might be able to escape into the encroaching darkness after all.

Brendan rushed on.  Anger fueled their speed, but desperation fueled his.  Marcus, like the rest of the toughs, was only a year or two older than Brendan but he already fancied himself a man, so he took any insult to his shadowy manhood very seriously, especially when it came to money.  His little gang was only capable of rolling drunks and robbing old women on their way to the market but in his mind, they were a band of cutthroats that nobody in the town dared to cross.  Nobody, that is, until a wandering thief who was just passing through saw them being sloppy with their money. Brendan had separated them from their meager collection of silver and copper coins and would have gotten away with it if small towns weren’t so good at noticing strangers passing through.  Marcus and his gang had jumped to a conclusion which, in this case, had turned out to be correct.  This was the problem with having no home, no family, and no honest skills, he was always on the move and the worst kinds of people were always trying to teach him respect.

The sun was setting, and the shadows cast by the trees were getting longer and deeper.  Outside of the forest it was still twilight but within the gloom of the woods, nightfall had already arrived.  Brendan knew that he couldn’t keep running, he would trip over another root or run into a tree in the darkness and that would be the end of the pursuit.  As soon as he was sure that he was completely enveloped in the shadows of the trees he ducked to the right and stopped hard.  Silently, he eased his way through the deep pools of twilight to the next tree over and squatted down to reduce his profile.

Brendan’s clothes were both dark and non-descript, perfect for blending into a city crowd or forest shadows.   He shrank back even deeper into the gloom, pulled the wide brim of his hat down over his face, and disappeared.  His lungs were screaming for air, but he had been in too many situations where the difference between being silent and being almost silent was the difference between being alive and being dead.  He mastered his lungs and the quiet was complete.

He could hear his pursuers blunder past him deeper into the woods, but he dared not look up.

“I think we’ve lost him!” called one of the boys. It sounded like Rizzo.

“Keep on looking!”  Yelled Marcus.  “He must be around here somewhere; we’re only about a couple of furlongs from the river.  He can’t go back, and he can’t go forward, he can only go north or south.  Giovanni, take Albi and Simon and go north, Thomas and Pipp, head back the way we came, the rest of you come with me and we’ll catch him when he comes out of the woods.  Do you hear me, boy?” Marcus asked in a loud voice, “there’s no escape!”

Brendan had been holding his breath the entire time that the gang had been standing there, barely five yards from his hiding place. Now his lungs were screaming at him trying to explode. Through sheer willpower he forced himself to slowly breathe out and take the quietest of breaths.  A mosquito landed on his neck, but he had to be still and let it sample his blood since any movement could give away his position.  He could hear the thugs moving off in their assigned directions, slapping and cursing at the swarms of mosquitoes that were beginning to come out in abundance in the approaching twilight.   Eventually, he was sure from the sounds of their movements, that the gang members were far enough away for him to be safe. Brendan relaxed and let his lungs drink in the air that his body so desperately needed.

“There you are!” Marcus crowed.

Marcus had fooled him and Brendan cursed himself for his stupidity, he was not the only one who knew how to stay silent and hide in shadows.  It had all been a ruse to flush him out of hiding.  Marcus was head of his little gang of thieves for a reason.

Brendan took off straight ahead as hands grabbed at him.  Marcus had a strong grip, but a desperate twist of his entire body managed to free Brendan’s arms momentarily from the bigger boy.  Rizzo, Marcus’ lieutenant, lunged for him and missed.  Brendan was off in a flash with Marcus and Rizzo only steps behind him.

On the positive side, there were only two young men pursuing him now as the others had moved off to make Brendan think that he was safe. On the negative side, both toughs were fast enough to catch him.  One-on-one, Brendan thought he could take either boy in a fight, he was even willing to take his chances in an unarmed fight against both together. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be an unarmed fight since both gang members had their daggers in hand while Brendan’s dagger had been lost in Venice and his throwing knives were packed in his bag.  Besides, Marcus was no fool, he had seen Brendan fight, he would simply stay out of reach and stall for a couple of minutes until the others came back and when that happened it would all be over.  Brendan knew he was better off trying to escape.

He caught a glimpse of light through the trees and ran toward it.  Travelers oftentimes camped by the river as they made their way through this territory and while his odds of getting help from a complete stranger were small, they were better than his odds of getting mercy from Marcus and his gang.  At the very least, they might be a useful distraction.

The young thief tried to put on one last burst of speed from his exhausted legs but there was nothing left. Luckily, Marcus and Rizzo were in the same position.  As Brendan came out of the trees, he saw a road and a small camp set up between it and the riverbank.  He made a beeline for it, but the longer legs of the older boys began to close the gap in the wide-open space of the clearing.  Brendan had almost made it to the road when he felt a hand grab him by the collar.

“At last!” Marcus huffed as he dragged Brendan to the ground, landing on top of him.  Marcus tried to stab the younger boy with his dagger, but Brendan managed to grab his wrist and deflect the blade into the dirt.  Brendan’s ground skills were pretty good, but he was exhausted and the other boy’s size and weight were a big advantage.  Marcus grabbed Brendan’s throat with his other hand and began choking him.  Rizzo began kicking him in the ribs.

“Here now! What’s going on?” An old man barked as he came trotting over with a staff in his hands. Rizzo stepped back, keeping his dagger in his hand and a wary eye on the stranger.

Marcus lifted himself partway off of Brendan but kept him pinned to the ground with a knee in his chest so he couldn’t get away.  “None of your business, you old warthog! This is between him and us.”

Just as Marcus finished speaking, he was hit in the chest by the end of the old man’s staff.  The thug found himself lying flat on his back with a look of total surprise on his face and the wind knocked out of him.  Before he could catch his breath, another flick of the staff knocked the dagger out of his grasp.  Rizzo tried to parry the staff with his dagger and rush the old man but a counterstrike with the staff knocked the dagger out of his hand as well.  The traveler sidestepped his charge and tripped him as he ran by.

Rizzo rolled to his feet but a jab from the old man’s staff to his jaw, bloodied his mouth and knocked him down again.  He could see now that he was no match for the old man without his dagger so he leapt to his feet and ran off into the darkness as fast as his exhausted legs would carry him.  The old man watched him go for a moment and then turned his attention back to Marcus who was still struggling to breathe.

“Be thankful that I didn’t put my staff up alongside of your head and lay you out until morning,” he growled.  Brendan saw his own chance to escape and rolled to his feet ready to take off running in the opposite direction until he suddenly found himself lying face down in the road with the old man’s staff in between his ankles. “Whoa son, you’re not going anywhere either until I hear the full telling of this story. I know that he was attacking you, but I don’t know that you were innocent.”

Marcus struggled to his feet and looked like he was trying to decide what to do.  The looming presence of a very large man walking up who looked like a block of granite but moved like a wolf seemed to answer the question for him and he bolted for the woods.  Brendan had never seen such a large man move so quickly but in three steps he had caught up with the tough, grabbed him by the neck, and effortlessly directed him toward the campfire with a grip of iron.

“Well Father, it seems that we will have a little entertainment tonight,” said the big man.

“So it would seem, Centurion,” the old man replied with a chuckle.  “So it would seem.”

Chapter 3

“A woman with a bow can be just as deadly as a man with a sword, provided that she knows how to use it.”

The Centurion Handbook of Combat – The Value of Shieldmaidens: Chapter 1

Portia drew her bowstring back until it touched her cheek.  She slowly let out her breath, held it for a moment, and then released the string.  It twanged and sent her arrow toward the target, another bull’s-eye.  The young woman was bored but there was nothing she could do about it.  The use of a light bow against a target that was only 20 yards away was a skill that she had mastered long ago.  Sadly, many of the other girls training with her had not.

In a Centurion castle everyone was a Centurion from the lord of the manor to the scullery maid’s assistant, so everyone was trained to fight, even the scullery maid’s assistant. There was, of course, a full time warrior class in the order, the knights and the squires and their female counterparts the shieldmaidens and handmaidens, but since there were never enough Centurions at any one time it was necessary for everyone to be able to pitch in and defend the castle when necessary, regardless of their place or position.  So, if these were maidservants or cooks whose archery skills were weak it would be understandable, but these were handmaidens! Young women who would someday become shieldmaidens!  This was the problem, as far as Portia was concerned, she was a handmaiden ready to become a shieldmaiden while too many of the other girls were handmaidens ready to become cooks.

“Can we please use the crossbows?” One of the other girls pleaded.

“Master your craft, Priscilla!” Barked Portia, “Stop being lazy!”

“Portia! I will deal with it, not you,” snapped the older woman in charge of the drills.  She was Lady Evelyn, wife of Lord Gerard, the Count of Carinthia and Warden of the Eastern Marches.  He was away and when he was gone, she ran the castle with an iron hand.  “You already know how to use the crossbow, Priscilla,” she corrected, “the crossbow is easy to master and an excellent weapon to defend a castle with but it is a poor choice to use from horseback which is why you need to  master them both.  Now get back to your training!”

Portia angrily snapped off another shot without even bothering to aim.  It barely missed the bullseye and she grunted in disgust.

“What’s the matter?” The Gray Lady gruffed as she limped over to Portia.  Nearly everyone in the castle called Lady Evelyn the Gray Lady behind her back.  It matched both her solemn, serious, rainy day disposition and her gray eyes and graying hair.  Her limp was due to an old war injury that she refused to discuss but it definitely added to her no-nonsense air.

“I keep trying to split the arrows I’ve already put in the bullseye, but I keep missing by a fraction of an inch.”

Lady Evelyn gave a grunt of her own in response.  "Go get my hunting bow," she finally said.  “I keep it in your father’s weapons locker.”

“Yes, ma’am!” exclaimed Portia.  She looked almost nothing like her mother.  She had inherited Lady Evelyn’s blond hair but that was it.  She had her father's green eyes, his chiseled, athletic build, and his relentless energy.  She was quick with a smile or a frown and was prone to loving life one moment and hating it the next.  And she was left-handed, nobody had a clue where that came from.

Portia turned and took off at a sprint toward the family's quarters in the keep.  Her mother's hunting bow was a self-bow, basically nothing more than a carved stick with a string on it, but it was made out of real yew wood, looked like a small longbow, and had a draw weight of 60 pounds instead of the 30 pounds the girls were using.  It felt like a real bow instead of a training bow and Portia desperately wanted to use it.  Of course, her mother's war bow was a 120-pound composite bow, but Portia knew there was no way she was getting her hands on that one any time soon.

Portia glanced back at her mother as she neared the dining hall and saw that she was facing the other girls.  Impulsively, the young handmaiden decided to use her shortcut, it was just like running her homemade obstacle course but more challenging.  Stronger, faster, better, that was her personal mantra and she found it coming unbidden to her mind even now.

In a single fluid motion at a full sprint, she leapt for the side of the watering trough and used it to launch herself to the top of the hitching post.  Without slowing in the least, she sprang from the top of the hitching post toward the edge of the dining hall roof, caught it, and easily vaulted herself up onto the ceramic shingles.  They were steeply slanted so she had to be careful, but she didn’t hesitate since slowing down would actually make it harder to reach the top.  A short sprint up the sharp incline brought her to the top of the roof which was built up against the sheer cliff that formed the back of the castle grounds. Just as she came to the cliff face, she bounced upward toward a narrow walkway carved into the cliff face that led up toward the watchtower at the summit of the peak.  She had to fully extend herself to catch the edge of the walkway with her fingertips. She hit the wall with the flat of her stomach, but it barely registered against the slab of muscle that was her abdomen.  She kicked off the wall and pulled up as hard as she could.  She caught her elbows on the narrow path and swung her legs up onto it.

She flashed a smile at a man-at-arms coming down the path from his shift in the watchtower and squeezed past him. She pressed her body against his harder than was appropriate for a teenage girl trying to get past a young man but there was no room to spare and no time to waste, besides, he didn’t seem to mind.  Most of the soldiers had seen her pull this stunt before but they kept their silence.

Thirty feet up the walkway she came to where the keep backed up against the cliff face.  Without hesitation she jumped off the walkway and down toward a balcony that extended from the 4th floor of the keep.  This was both the easiest and most dangerous part of her shortcut.  The easy part was that she was jumping downward at a large open target, the dangerous part was that it was at least fifteen feet away and a thirty-foot fall if she missed it. She landed cleanly on the nearest side of the balcony, rolled to the other side, and popped up smiling proudly to herself.

A balcony would normally be considered a major design weakness on a keep, but her mother had asked for it, her father had relented, and Portia loved it.  She looked down into the bailey, the large open area in the middle of the castle grounds, and watched the other handmaidens practicing with their bows.  Ha! Let any of them try to do that!  Their slender builds, and fair skin might be considered beautiful to the boys but none of them had the strength or athletic ability to do what she had just done.  They wanted to be shieldmaidens, but too many of them also wanted to look like beautiful noblewomen with their willowy arms and tiny waists.  Meals were secretly skipped, and training exercises avoided due to a lack of energy.  Portia, on the other hand, worked herself ten times harder than the others and had absolutely no problem eating. Her face began to burn as she remembered a few snickering comments about both her eating habits and her physique.

“Portia!” Cracked her mother’s voice from below.

Portia realized with a start that her mother was looking at her.  Portia tried to assess the damage done based upon her mother’s body language.  Everyone in the castle knew how driven she was to be stronger, faster, better.  Before she had even taken the vow and made the decision to serve as a shieldmaiden she had been pushing herself.  She would lift buckets of water for hours at a time when she was ten and she built her own obstacle course of wooden beams, barrels, and bales of hay to improve her speed and agility.  Her route up to the watchtower path would not even raise an eyebrow from her mother, but the jump to the balcony?  That was probably crossing a line since a thirty-foot fall could kill her.  Her mother studied her for a long moment.

"Get my bow and come back to the balcony," called the Gray Lady, her voice firm but without anger.

Portia silently thanked God while she ran through her own bedroom and down the hallway to her parents' bedroom.  She opened her father's weapon locker and pulled out the bow and a bow string.  She strung it with a bit of effort, grabbed a quiver of arrows and then ran back through her own bedroom and out onto the balcony.  She held up the bow and looked down on the bailey waiting for her mother's next instruction.  Her mother pointed at the farthest target, "Hit it from there!" She called.

Portia considered for a moment; she had never fired a sixty-pound bow before so the trajectory would be a little flatter than what she was used to.  The target was closer to sixty yards than the twenty she had been firing at and she was firing downward instead of from level ground. She made a mental estimate taking all these things into account and then tried to draw the bow.  She could draw it, she had the strength, but her arm trembled, and her fingers started to slip before she was ready to fire.  She quickly eased off on the bow.

What to do?  She needed to find a way to focus, to put steel in her arm and fingers.  She paused at that thought.  Her little sister enjoyed books far too much and used to tell her stories about the people of the ancient world that she had read about.  Portia thought most of them were incredibly boring but there was one that had caught her attention, Heron of Alexandria, an engineer who built marvelous machines. She had loved the stories about the different things his machines could do.  She wondered if he could design a machine to fire a bow like an archer and then it struck her, she could pretend to be just such a machine.  She cleared her mind and visualized herself as a female archer, cast in steel, her arms and eye controlled by levers and fulcrums, pulleys and counterweights.  There was no thought, as her arm drew back the bow.  Action and reaction.  The bow felt like it was part of her hands, cast as one piece of steel.  She found her spot, relaxed her fingers and let the arrow fly.  It hit the target with an audible 'thwock' well above the bull’s-eye.  Portia drew an exultant breath.

"Good! Keep shooting until you hit the mark," commanded her mother.

Portia smiled to herself, she fired at Priscilla’s target and put an arrow closer to the bullseye from sixty yards than the smug, pretty-little princess could do from twenty.  Priscilla glared at her as Portia, satisfied, went back to shooting at the farthest target.

Chapter 4

“The Black is the easiest to kill of all of the dragons, but it is the hardest to catch.  It uses dreams, nightmares, treacheries, and deceptions as its most potent weapons.  Do not underestimate its cunning.”

The Centurion Book of Beasts – Folio IV: Dragons

She stretched out upon her pile of bones. Different dragons collected different things for their nest.  Reds liked gold, Greens liked weapons and armor, Blues liked precious gems, but Blacks?  Blacks collected the bones of their enemies.  Laying upon the bones of her enemies soothed her and she wished to be comfortable while she dreamed.  Dreams were one of her most powerful weapons and she was going to need excellent ones tonight.  She looked at her children, who were already sleeping, and she knew she would be undisturbed.  She closed her eyes and slumbered.

In her dream she soared above the countryside toward the castle of her enemy. The feel of the cool night air under her wings was exhilarating! She would show that prophet that his words were not the final say, that his prophecies could be defeated.  She paused; where had those thoughts come from?  They had intruded against her will, pushing their way into her nocturnal brooding.  The Black pushed the words out of her dream, but the memory of the prophet would not be silenced as he entered her dream and changed it.  It went in a direction that she did not intend and could not change.  Her heart pounded within her as her dream became a nightmare that she was losing control of.

How could her dreams betray her like this?  They had always been under her control!  She used them to collect information, to sow the seeds of discord, to manipulate others, to instill fear.  But not this time, this time it was the dream that was manipulating her, instilling fear in her.

She saw him again, even more imposing and menacing than he had been in reality.  He stood in the entrance of the cave, his face shrouded in a dark cloak, leaning on his staff.  His entire person seemed to be wrapped in shadows.   She could not tear her eyes away from him no matter how hard she tried. He waved his hand and she saw once again the death of her mate as he had prophesied so many years ago.  She had thought him stupid and arrogant then, what kind of man walks into a dragon lair by himself to deliver a prophesy of doom?  His fearlessness had made her hesitate, but her mate laughed at him and ate him in a single bite.  They went on with their plans for the nest that they were going to build and the hunting they would do in this new, rich land but the man’s indifference to his own fate haunted her.  Her thoughts lingered over him, how does one strike fear into people who are not afraid of death?

She saw again the knight - that horrible, ghastly knight! - riding down the narrow, twisted canyon looking for the dragons who were destroying the countryside and terrorizing the villagers.  Her mate, a powerful red, saw him as an easy meal and dove down on him from above.  At the last possible moment, the man spurred his horse and it leapt forward around yet another twist in the ravine as her mate swept over the spot where the knight had been just a moment before.  The wise thing to do would have been to wheel around and get some altitude and attack again from above but Reds are known for their power, ferocity, and their fiery breath, not their wisdom.  Her mate flew down into the canyon after the knight expecting to catch him around the next corner but instead, he found himself in a well-planned trap.  Ooooh! The hateful cunning of that knight!  His plan had been perfect.  The walls were too close together for the Red to spread his wings and fly out or even to turn around, he couldn’t maneuver, and he couldn’t escape.  The knight, on the other hand, had plenty of room for what he was planning to do.  He wheeled his horse around in the blink of an eye and charged her mate.  She could still hear the thundering hooves of two thousand pounds of horse, armor, and man, charging at full speed. When all that power is concentrated into the steel tip of a twelve-foot battle lance it can strike a devastating blow even by the standards of a dragon.

Her mate did the only thing that he could do, he whipped his head around and tried to breath fire upon his attacker, but it was too little, too late.  The knight ignored the momentary flash of flame and drove his lance home. The steel tip pierced her mate's wing and entered deep into his side before snapping off.  The Red’s flank was immediately drenched with blood and his wing was pinned in place by the broken lance until the great dragon ripped it free leaving a gaping hole in the membrane. The wound was mortal, and both the knight and the dragon knew it but still her mate fought bravely on.  With his lung pierced he couldn't use his fiery breath and the narrow walls of the canyon prevented him from fully extending his forelegs and slashing with his claws.  He tried to crush the man in his terrible teeth, but the horse was too quick and the knight was too skilled, every attack was dodged or parried.  Her mate began to move slower and slower, his attacks becoming more and more feeble as his steaming blood poured out from the wound in his side. Finally, the knight saw an opening and charged in again.  His sword, made of that accursed Centurion Steel, penetrated deep into the neck of her beloved, and her mate fell dead on the spot.

In her mind’s eye, she could still see it, that evil knight sitting on his horse, leaning over the body of her beloved, covered in bright armor wearing a black tabard with a large red cross over the top of it.  It was the sign of the Order of the Centurion, just as the prophet had foretold.  The old fool had been no fool after all.

Humans had killed dragons before but only in large, well-armed, and well-trained groups.  Any local nobleman wishing to kill a dragon that had invaded his lands brought a group of 20 or 30 knights, twice as many retainers, and a few ballistae and tried to catch it by surprise in its lair so that it couldn’t take flight.  Even then he understood that most of his men would not come back.  If it could get out into the open and use its wings, he could easily lose the entire company.  But THIS?! This was a single man killing a dragon on his own, armed with nothing more than a lance and a sword.  All the pain and humiliation of that day came rushing back into the dragon’s heart as she began to weep and grind her teeth in frustration.

Why was she reliving that day again in her dreams?  This was the first nightmare of her entire existence and still the dark dream moved on.  The prophet waved his hand again in her dreams and she was reminded of the rest of his prophecy, the part that foretold her own doom.  She raged against him in her dream but could do nothing to him.

She awoke suddenly to find that her children were all huddled away from her in the far corner of the chamber.  She wanted to destroy the prophet all over again but he was already dead, her mate had eaten him.  He was DEAD! Why did he still have this power over her?  She sniffed around in her bed of bones until she found a skull that reminded her of him and then crushed it to dust under her claws.  Clearly, destroying her enemy and his family would be more difficult than she had thought.  But she had to do it!  She had to if she was going to beat the prophecy and live.  And the revenge? Yes, the revenge would be sweet as well.

Chapter 5

“Never underestimate the power of stupidity to deliver you from the hands of your enemies.”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 1: Proverb 6

Centurion?  Brendan knew that was a term used for officers in the Legions of Rome, but the Legions had disappeared from the world centuries ago.  Was that a title or a name?  Probably a title.  He looked at the larger man closely.  He was a warrior’s warrior. His gray mustache, gray hair, and even the gray shadows cast on his rugged face by the firelight made him look like he was made of iron.  Brendan dubbed him ‘the Iron Knight’.

He looked at the other man with the staff.   He was old and tough and dressed in a brown cloak that looked a bit like a monk’s habit.  The Iron Knight had called him “Father” so maybe he was some sort of a priest.  He reminded Brendan of an old, tough oaken staff himself. He was older than the warrior but how much older was anyone’s guess.  He had an ageless quality that made it difficult to tell if he was in his 50’s or his 70’s so it was entirely possible that he really was the younger man’s father.  They were an interesting pair, and both seemed genuinely amused by the two youths who had barged into their camp.

“Is my Lord a knight of the Order of the Centurion?” The older boy asked with interest. The Iron Knight nodded.  “It’s a rare thing to see a Centurion traveling through Papal lands.”

"True," answered the knight, "Our duties usually call us elsewhere, but we offer our protection to the Papacy and to Lombardy as well as Francia and Germania.  The Pope doesn’t like us, but he tolerates us because we are useful to all of Christendom, even him."

Marcus nodded, "True enough.  At least I’ll be able to tell my friends that I’ve met a Centurion."

“Father Cardic is also a Centurion and was a knight before he took his priestly vows,” the Centurion said with the slightest of smiles, “so now you have met two of us.”

Father as in Priest, good, that was settled.  Brendan looked more closely at the priest who didn’t look like a priest.  Something clicked in his memory, talk around a campfire in Bulgaria over a year ago.  The Order of the Centurion was a military order of knights who were devoted to serving Christ and protecting Christians.

“We would hear your story,” said the centurion, with a hint of playfulness in his deep, baritone voice.  ”Tell us what brings two young men such as yourselves to be fighting in the middle of a country road at night.”

"My name is Marcus, and this lowlife is a thief who stole from me and my friends," he said, gesturing toward the younger boy while shooting him an evil look.  He paused as he saw something move in the darkness beyond the edge of the firelight and his whole attitude changed. "But I am afraid that you won't be hearing any more of my story tonight," said Marcus with a smirk.  Shadowy figures started rushing out of the darkness toward the fire and Brendan knew that Marcus' gang had returned.

"The old man is mine!" The gang leader shouted as he lunged toward the priest.  Father Cardic had somehow anticipated the attack and swung his staff with a flick of a wrist as if he were swatting a fly.  The blow connected with the young man’s jaw and laid him out cold.

"Get them!" One of the toughs shouted from the darkness as the gang surged forward, each one wielding a dagger.  Brendan knew that there were about a dozen gang members, but he also knew that his best chance of survival was to stand with the knight and the priest.  He leapt to his feet but as quick as he was the knight and priest were quicker.  Three charged the Centurion and three charged the Father while two circled around so they could come at Brendan.

The knight stepped forward as one of the gang members charged, slashing with his dagger. The warrior knocked the dagger aside with his left hand and then hit him in the face with his right fist so hard that Brendan heard bone crunch as the young man dropped like a rock.  The knight immediately stepped over his prone body and took a swing at the next youth, but the young man ducked under the knight's outstretched arm and tried to attack from the side.  He realized a moment too late that the knight’s attack had been a feint to draw him in.  Immediately, the warrior changed the direction of his swing and backhanded the gang member on the side of the head with so much force that it sent him sprawling.

One of the two that had circled around to fight Brendan saw an opportunity to attack the knight from behind and altered his approach.  Brendan had studied pankration during his time in Constantinople.  Officially, it was an ancient, but very illegal fighting style that citizens were not allowed to study because it was so deadly. Unofficially, it was widely studied in the dark places of that great city precisely because it was so deadly.  Without hesitating, Brendan’s foot lashed out in a heel kick into the side of the thug trying to rush past him.  He felt ribs break as the tough went down screaming.

Brendan’s other attacker charged him with a nasty looking dagger and Brendan sidestepped, dropped, and did a ground sweep, his leg hooking his attacker’s ankles and taking him to the ground.  Brendan jumped up and kicked the dagger out of his opponent’s hand.  The young man rolled to his feet, saw that he was all alone, and took off at a dead run for the woods.

Brendan grabbed the dagger laying on the ground started to go after him when the knight’s voice cracked like a whip, “Let him go.”

Brendan pulled up and stopped.  If you had your enemy on the run that was the time to finish him off!  But there was no disobeying the command from the knight.  He looked around, two of the gang members were fleeing to the woods while eight of their compatriots were lying on the ground either moaning or unconscious. Three unarmed men had just fought off more than a dozen armed youths in a battle that had only lasted about 10 seconds.

"My apologies," said Brendan, “I wish that I had been of more help.”

“You were helpful enough,” replied the Knight.

"There’s still plenty of opportunity to be of more help, lad" replied the priest, "You can assist us in tending to their wounds."

"Help them?" Recoiled Brendan in shock, "They were going to kill us, and you’re telling me that we should help them?"

"Yes," said the Iron Knight firmly.  "We are told to love those who hate us and pray for our enemies.  The least we can do for these misguided young men is to bandage their wounds and pray for their souls."

"Aye," the priest chuckled, "maybe one or two of these 'Christian' young men will actually meet Christ today and learn how they ought to act toward their brethren."

The whole scene suddenly struck the young thief like a lance to the middle of the chest.  He flashed back to his older sister, so many years ago.  One morning she had been up before sunrise feeding some of the chickens that wandered around their father’s smithy.  A young hoodlum who had clearly had too much to drink was walking home, saw her, and thought he would have a little fun.  He started grabbing at her and laughing while she yelled for help.  Brendan, who was barely nine, had come running to her rescue.  He arrived just in time to see her grab a hammer off their father’s workbench and lay the thug out with a single blow to the side of his head.

Seeing her torn clothes and disheveled hair, Brendan had been so angry that he had rushed over to the workbench to grab another hammer and finish the job.  Electra had stopped him with a commanding, “None of that!  We’ll tend to his wounds and bandage him up and then turn him over to the sheriff so he can’t hurt anyone else.  We need to pray that God will change his heart and cleanse his soul.  Maybe this will be the day that he meets Christ and puts his feet on a new path.”

Brendan had not understood her compassion then just as he didn’t understand it now from these two Centurions, but their faith reminded him of her so much that he couldn’t stand it.  His experience in life was very different, for him, life was brutal and short and being merciful to your enemies meant that you killed them quickly instead of torturing them death.  He stood and watched them for a moment as his heart felt like it was being crushed under its own weight.  He saw how earnestly and gently the two men were tending to their attackers, they had whatever his sister had, and it made him homesick for a family that didn’t exist anymore.  He had helped his sister bandage and tend to her attacker back then, so he finally relented and helped clean up and bandage the thugs now.

He saw that they had real expertise in treating the injured, expertise on par with a doctor.  What was it about these two?  Top notch warriors and doctors who were behaving like fools.  The worst part was that, as ridiculous as their actions were, he was HELPING them.  All he could do was shake his head at the mystery, he had to find out more.

“I am Sir Gerard and that is Father Cardic,” the knight said by way of introduction as he applied a last bandage.

“I’m Brendan,” the young man replied with a small bow.  "Are the two of you in danger by traveling through these lands?" He asked with interest.

"No, there is no love lost between our Order and the Italian Kingdoms but in times of war we support each other against the Moors to the west and the Hungarians and Bulgars to the east so we tolerate each other."

"Hungarians?" Brendan asked unsure of who Sir Gerard was talking about.

"You may know them as the Magyars," The knight explained. "Some say that they and the Bulgars are the descendants of the Huns. Maybe they are or maybe not, I don't know, but they are persistent raiders of the Frankish kingdoms and we have to deal with them far more often than I would like."

Brendan saw an opening for a more personal question.  "Have the Centurions ever fought the Vikings?" He asked trying his best to make it sound as if it was a matter of simple curiosity.

"’Vikings’ is not the name of a specific people,” Sir Gerard explained, “the word 'Viking' means 'raider' in Norse and they use it for anyone who goes out over the sea to raid others.  Being a Viking is more of a profession like being a man-at-arms. To answer your question, yes, we have fought Vikings a few times when Norse raiders showed up in long boats coming down the Rhine River.  They are a far-ranging people and if you’ve never faced them you probably will at some point. It’s my understanding that one of the branches of the Norse, the Verangians, have even moved east toward the Ural Mountains and the Volga River.  There’s no telling how far they might go in their longboats if they can get to the Volga."

"Truer words than you know," Brendan muttered bitterly, then instantly regretted it as he saw both men's ears perk up at his comment.

"It seems that you have a personal knowledge about this," the knight commented quietly.  "Please share with us."

“What? No, I don’t know anything personally, I’ve just heard…”

The penetrating looks on both men’s faces made it clear to him that they weren’t buying what he was trying to sell.  He took a moment to try and think of a plausible lie but couldn’t come up with anything that they would believe.  Then he stopped, why should he lie?  Telling lies had become such a reflex that he was prepared to tell a lie even when telling the truth was probably the smartest thing to do.  He hated giving out information to other people.  As he weighed his options, he finally decided that, in this case, the potential payoff was worth the risk.

"The Vikings..., I mean the Norse came down the Don River to the Black Sea, though it is said that they reached the Don by way of the Volga.  Once in the Black Sea they began attacking the villages along the coast all the way down to the Hellespont near Constantinople where my village was.  They called themselves the Rus, but they were Norsemen.  They destroyed my village, killed my father, and carried off my sister.  I tried to stop them, but I was only ten.  One of them just laughed and then kicked me into the corner of my father’s smithy before he set it on fire with a torch.  I was such a joke to them that they didn’t even think that I was worth killing.

“When the barbarian kicked me into the corner, he broke a couple of my ribs.  I could barely walk, and I didn't even know if my sister was alive or dead, but I knew I had to try and rescue her.  My mother died of the plague when I was five and my sister was the one who raised me.  She was my sister, my mother, and my best friend all rolled into one.

“I prayed harder than I have ever prayed that God would help me save her.  I followed them and got as far as the mouth of the Don when some different Rus coming down the river found me and captured me.  They were taking slaves in one of their longboats to be sold in the markets of Baghdad. So, I became just another slave to be sold.  So much for God and so much for prayer.”

Brendan's voice trailed off.  He was not an emotional person.  He prided himself on being clearheaded and logical and he hated it when his feelings began to force their way out. But thinking of his sister, feeling her loss all over again, and remembering his own enslavement he couldn’t help himself; tears came to his eyes and his heart was in his throat.  He didn't trust himself to speak so he stopped and just stood there.

Sir Gerard waited patiently for several moments before asking, “So what happened next?”

“I was sold at the market in Baghdad but when they got ready to transfer me to my new owner I broke my chains, grabbed a merchant’s coin purse and threw coins everywhere, hit a couple of people with a branding iron, started a riot, grabbed a lantern full of oil and threw it at some tapestries, and started the whole market on fire.  With all that going on I escaped in the confusion.”

Both men looked at him in disbelief, “How did you break your chains?”  Father Cardic finally asked.

“My father was a blacksmith, I grabbed everything that I could from his shop thinking I could trade it for something as I was traveling cross country.  The Vikings who caught me took everything except for a small file that I kept hidden in my shoe.  It took me over a week, working at night while everyone was sleeping but I was finally able to file through enough of one of the links that I could break it when I needed to.”

“And how’d you escape from Baghdad?  They must have had soldiers looking everywhere for a foreign child wearing a slave collar,” the priest pressed.

“They did, but they cover up their women pretty well, veils included, so I stole some women’s clothes that were hanging on a line to dry and disappeared.  They restrict the travel of women so it took me several days to slowly work my way to the gate and then to sneak out by pretending to be part of a caravan, but you’d be surprised at how little attention men will pay to a plain peasant woman who shuffles along looking at the ground, carrying a basket on her head.”

“Clever AND resourceful,” nodded Gerard appreciatively, "So why did you come to the west?"

Brendan drew a long deep breath and forced his emotions back down before he continued.

"With no mother, my father dead, my sister missing, and my entire village destroyed there wasn’t any reason to return there.  After I escaped from Baghdad, I made my way back to Constantinople…”

“A ten-year-old boy traveled from Baghdad to Constantinople all by himself? That’s over a thousand miles on foot,” Father Cardic interrupted suspiciously.

“I shadowed caravans, learned to thieve and gamble, pretended that I was touched by a spirit and told the fortunes of the gullible.  I picked up a fair amount of Arabic in the six months it took me to journey back.

“Greetings, I hope you are healthy,” the priest said in broken Arabic.

“I am doing much better now, thank you.  Your Arabic is terrible, by the way,” Brendan responded in the same language.

“He speaks it far better than I do but that is really Arabic,” Father Cardic confirmed.

“To continue, I went to Constantinople and lived in the city for a couple of years but… that’s not a good place for a boy with no family.”  Brendan hesitated, “It’s a city where someone who is willing to earn a dishonest living can learn a lot of skills that honest men don’t learn.  So, I learned a lot and I survived.  But that was never what I wanted to do.  My father was an honest blacksmith and my sister was very devout in her faith so I knew that they wouldn’t approve of the things that I was doing.  What I really wanted to do was to rescue my sister and kill as many Vikings as possible and that wasn’t going to happen while I was running around in the back alleys of Constantinople.”

Brendan stopped his story as if he had reached the end.  Everything that he had said was true, but he chose not to tell them about the final events that forced him to leave the Queen of Cities a couple of years earlier than he had originally planned.  He had said enough to play upon their sympathies, too much more might cause them to sour on him.

“So why head west?” Sir Gerard asked, clearly sensing that there was more, “Why not join the Emperor’s army?”

“The Emperor was busy fighting the Bulgars to the north and the Persians to the south, he didn’t have the troops or the time to chase Vikings up the Don.  Besides,” Brendan continued, bitterness creeping into his voice, “Constantinople’s walls would keep the city safe and he didn’t really care about the destruction of some meaningless villages along the coast of the Black Sea.  Since there would be no Roman armies marching out to face the Vikings, I went west in hopes of finding a Frankish army that might be fighting them along the coasts.”  Again, all completely true but not the complete truth.

"The Order of the Centurion is not interested in revenge," the knight said quietly.

“What are you interested in?” Brendan countered.  He needed as much information as he could get.

"We are very interested in making sure that justice is done, and that the innocent are protected."

"So even if the Norsemen or the Hungarians killed your family you wouldn't be motivated even a little bit by revenge?" Asked Brendan cynically.

"I am sure that I would, but I would do my best to surrender all such desires to the Lord before I made any decision or took any action. Pride and revenge are the worst guides for choosing your path, especially in war.  They lead you into rash decisions even while they lead you away from God.  The Centurions focus on being humble servants of the Lord, protectors of the weak, and defenders of the innocent, not destroyers of our enemies."

“How can you possibly protect innocent peasants from Hungarian raiders if you aren’t willing to destroy them?”  The skepticism dripped from Brendan’s voice.  They were hypocrites or they were idiots.

“Watch your tone boy!” Father Cardic barked.  Sir Gerard held up his hand to the priest.

“He doesn’t believe because he doesn’t understand.  Yes, we fight and kill the predators who would attack the innocent and the helpless.  But we do not set out to destroy our enemies, only to stop them from destroying others.  Sometimes, killing them is the only way to do that.  We were able to stop these young men and protect you without killing anyone, which is good, so now we will tend to their wounds in hopes that the Holy Spirit will open their eyes and help them see the error of their ways.”

“Does that ever work with the Hungarians?”  Brendan rolled his eyes mentally but managed to refrain from doing it physically.  He needed their help and he had almost ruined it with his last angry comment.

“Usually not, but we did have a Hungarian chieftain who once brought his dying son to us for treatment.  Centurion doctors have a very high reputation as healers, and he had lost all hope in the shamans of his people, so he felt he had nothing to lose.  Our doctor was able to save his son’s life and we let them go after we treated them.  He no longer raids our lands and has even returned some Frankish villagers he had captured to sell as slaves.  It may not seem like a great victory, but it meant a great deal to those villagers who were set free.”

Brendan chewed on that for a few minutes.  These men seemed to genuinely believe the truth of what they were saying.  He wasn’t sure what to do with that, he was used to manipulating people through their pride, selfishness, or worst emotions.  There didn’t seem to be any of those things in these men that he could get a grip on.

The knight stood up and looked over the local toughs. "It would be best if we stood watch over them tonight while they are still unconscious; it would not do for us to spend so much time and effort bandaging them up only for them to be eaten by wolves."

“Wolves?” One of the less injured thugs managed to gurgle through swollen lips.

"Aye," agreed the priest, pretending to ignore the thug and giving Brendan a wink, "they would probably prove poisonous to some unsuspecting predator. We need to protect the poor, helpless wolves from dragging chunks of toxic villain home to their sweet, innocent pups."

Sir Gerard shook his head in amusement.  "Who would have known? Father Cardic; Centurion Priest, Wolf Protector. The many facets of your personality never cease to amaze me.  This is why I enjoy traveling with you."

"No doubt because I am a source of endless inspiration," suggested the priest with a smile.

"I was thinking of a different word, but we can use 'inspiration' if you prefer."

Brendan had to admit that these two old campaigners were interesting company as they joked back and forth.  Deep down in the loneliest part of his heart he found himself desperately wanting the camaraderie and companionship that these men had.  He had been on his own for so long that he couldn’t remember the last time he felt truly safe.  Standing here with them made him feel profoundly lonely in a way that he had not felt in years.  Like the smell of his sister’s cooking or the sound of his father’s laughter, there was also something indescribable that felt like home when he was around these two.  He needed to distract himself from his own thoughts and the dangerous emotions they were stirring up.  Now was not the time to be weak and stupid.

"Why is your military order called 'The Order of the Centurion'?" He asked suddenly, "Was it founded before the fall of the Western Empire or are you trying to revive the old Roman military traditions?"

"Neither, our founders wished to create a military order that was devoted to serving Christ instead of men and encouraging the very best qualities of the warrior instead of encouraging the worst.  We take our name from the three centurions mentioned in the Bible, all three of whom showed humility, faith, and insight while maintaining the highest standards of the warrior.”

Brendan had let go of his faith long ago.  He shook his head.

“I don’t really think there is a God, but if there is one, he created the universe and concerns himself with other things instead of worrying about ants like us.  I’ve lost too much to believe there’s a God who actually cares.”

“Losing people you love is hard,” the priest said, stirring the fire.  “I lost my father when I was twelve and my mother when I was fourteen.  In fact,” he mused, “it seems like I’ve lived long enough that I’ve lost most of the people that I cared about.”

“How does God show you that he cares if he takes everyone from you?” Brendan asked.  He didn’t believe it was possible, but he found himself wanting to know.

“I don’t deny that God’s ways are sometimes mysterious to us, but the Order has become my family and he keeps bringing new brothers and sisters into my life to keep me going.  Do you let God bring new people into your life or have you shut them out because of your fear of losing anyone else?  I’ve found that the blessing of having people to love in my life outweighs the pain of losing them in the end.  Other people have other explanations but for me, that blessing is proof that God loves me.”

“Hmm, I expected some lecture about how ‘God showed us his love by Christ dying for our sins’.”

“While it is very true that God shows his love that way,” the priest explained, “you strike me as someone who is far more worried about his survival than his sins.  As such, I suspect that you feel the pain of your losses far more than you feel any guilt for your sins.  Each loss makes the world seem darker and your future more doubtful.  So, I shared another way that God shows us love, how he personally shows me love in spite of my losses. One could even say that he shows me love through my losses with each new person he brings into my life.”

These words, from this old man, felt real; he understood how life worked for people like Brendan.  Brendan wanted to call him a fool for such ridiculous thinking, but there was a solidity to the man’s faith that was built on something more than just fantasies and false hopes.  You can’t build a castle on a cloud. Father Cardic’s faith stood on something solid, his hope pointed to something real. Brendan desperately wanted something solid to stand on too.  He usually played the cynical tough guy, but the truth was that he was alone, homeless, on the run, and his path forward in life looked very, very dark.

"Can I join your Order?" The young thief asked impulsively.  He stood for a moment in shock, wondering where those words had come from. This was not like him, he normally planned things out carefully and was cautious with his words.  The world was not a very forgiving place and saying the wrong thing to the wrong person could get you killed.  Somehow, that deepest, loneliest part of his heart had just forced its way out through his lips.

Both men stopped what they were doing and took a long look at him.

"What do you mean by that?" Asked the knight.

Brendan’s first instinct was to laugh it off as a mistake but that deep, dark hunger for home refused to back down and wouldn’t let him deny the question.  Playing it safe had kept him alive but it wasn’t helping him to find a home or family, it wouldn’t help him to be the man his father would want him to be, or to rescue his sister.  He decided to push on.  The risk of telling the truth was getting bigger but so was the potential payoff.  The problem was, how to answer the knight?

"I want to join your order," he finally said.  "I want to protect others from what happened to me.  I may not qualify as a knight, but you must need men-at-arms as well."

“Anyone can join our order, but it is a commitment for life.  There are others who make a limited vow to serve for a time, villagers who wish to thank us for saving their families from raiders, parents who bring a sick child in to be cured and we cure them, penitents wishing to atone for their sins.  We do not require any of these people to take these vows, but they choose to serve of their own accord for a year, two years, or occasionally five years.  These are the people who become our men-at-arms, among other things.  We consider them to be our brothers and sisters in Christ, but we do not consider them to be members of the Order.  You are welcome to simply travel with us for a time, to take a vow and serve for a year, or to join the Order.  You may do what you wish, but make sure you understand what you are committing to before you make the commitment.”

“Aye, ‘Centurions do not die gently’,” Father Cardic quoted from somewhere.

“If I look at the life I’m living now, I would have to say that I’m not destined to die gently even if I don’t join the Order.  I want to travel with you both and learn more about what it means to be a Centurion.”

“Another mouth to feed, I’ll warrant!” Challenged the priest with a twinkle in his eye. “What can you do to pull your weight, besides lay on the ground at the feet of someone who’s about to box your ears?”

"Don't mind him, Brendan, I saw how you took out the young gentleman who was trying to attack me from behind.  Father Cardic is just frustrated because now he knows that I’ve won the bet and he will have to do all of the cooking and packing for the rest of our trip."

"Bet?" Asked Brendan, puzzled.

"Aye," answered the priest. "Sir Gerard was in prayer this morning about the success of our mission when the Lord told him that we would meet a young man today who’d want to join our order.  Knowing the, ah, nature of our errand I was far from convinced and thought that it was merely wishful thinking on his part.  We made a wager on it."

God “telling” people things?  That always set off an alarm in Brendan.  His cynicism came surging back only to be drowned out by the deep, rumbling laugh of the knight.

“God was very specific on these things and even you must admit that what he told me came true.”

The priest waved him off, “At any rate, Sir Gerard has won his leisure for the rest of the trip, but if you’re joining us then you’ll be helping me with the chores. Start gathering firewood so we can keep the fire going all night."

“Wait!” said Brendan, full of unanswered questions, “What was your mission?  What does finding someone to join the Order have to do it?  Was finding me your mission or was finding me just a sign that your mission would be successful?”

“Ah yes, about that,” said the priest hedging. “The less said about that right now, the better.  I’m afraid that if some of that information was heard by the wrong ears it might jeopardize everything.  Best if we don’t talk about it anymore.  Let’s get to work.”

Brendan started to ask whose ears he was worried about when he realized that a couple of the gang members were now awake.  It would just have to wait.  The young man forced himself to set it aside, he had a hundred questions, but he also had a strange glow of warmth inside that didn't come from the fire.  A glow that he had not felt in a very long time.

Chapter 6

“In battle keep your heart calm and your mind clear by trusting in the Lord.  Let your enemy waste his strength in rage or make mistakes in fear.”

The Centurion Handbook of Combat – Heart and Mind: Chapter 1

"Did you see that little monkey?" snickered one of the other girls in the barracks.  “’The Squire’ proved her manhood again.”

Portia blushed a deep red and stayed behind the door of the toilet and out of sight until she was able to get her emotions under control. That had to be Priscilla.

“Even her voice sounds like one of the squires, it is almost as deep as the boys.”

“And don’t get me started on her skin!”  A third voice chimed in.  “She’s outside training constantly so now she’s as tanned as the men!”

“It’s true,” added still another voice, “If she expects to marry someone of her own station she needs to learn how to act more like a Lady.  There’s not a nobleman alive who would be interested in a wife who could beat him in a wrestling match.”

“It’s worse than that,” Priscilla continued, “She’s up before dawn lifting her stupid water buckets and running her ridiculous agility course, then she eats like a horse, then she trains with every weapon in the castle until noon, then she eats like a horse, then she spends all afternoon in the saddle training with every weapon in the castle on horseback, and then she’s back to the dining hall to eat like a horse. Finally, she ends her evening reading a book on castle design or drawing a picture of some new siege engine she’s thought up. She looks like a man, sounds like a man, acts like a man, trains like a man, eats like a man, and even thinks like a man.  I’m telling you; she wishes that that she was born a man and she’s not going to stop until she turns into one.”

“Let’s just say that there’s a reason why I don’t change in front of her anymore…” another voice added.

There were a few more comments made by quieter voices that Portia couldn't quite hear and more laughter that she knew was at her expense.

The handmaiden fought back tears; she couldn’t let them see her crying.  She looked down at her body and her eyes burned with shame.  Why was she cursed with this shape?  Why did she have this relentless energy that kept pushing her to go, go, go?  This should be a good thing, the Order of the Centurions encouraged strength and vitality even from the smallest of their maidservants, a handmaiden with her physique and energy should be applauded by everyone not mocked by her peers.  And yet here she was, hiding in the toilet, embarrassed by her body.

Portia put her hands on her hips, lifted her head, and squared her shoulders.  She forced herself to take several deep breaths.  She was who God made her to be and she should be confident in that no matter what the others said about her.  His plan was best, she knew that.  It was Priscilla who was wrong.

Priscilla wasn’t raised in the Order; her parents were minor nobles who had joined when she was twelve.  Her parents and older sister all embraced the Centurion lifestyle but not Priscilla, she knew the outside world and clearly preferred it to the spartan world of the Order.  Her stories of fancy Lords and Ladies, handsome suitors, and court intrigue had found a hungry audience among some of the handmaidens who thought that their own lives were too hard and boring.  These things, along with her biting wit and air of worldly knowledge, cemented her position as the social leader of a large clique among the handmaidens.  She talked openly of finding a noble husband among the Franks and leaving the Order as soon as possible.  How she was going to meet such a man was unclear since noble outsiders rarely visited the castle but just talking about it got many of the other girls thinking the same thoughts.

Portia set her face to stone and walked into the room to face Priscilla and the others.  All the talking stopped, and all the giggles ceased.  Everyone had mistakenly assumed that she was outside as usual.  Several girls who had been getting changed for the evening suddenly covered themselves up in her presence.  Anger throbbed through her.  Portia pulled out her short sword and began twirling it dangerously in her fingers.  She knew that she couldn’t do anything to them even though she was the daughter of the Lord and Lady of the castle, that was not the Centurion way, but they all knew how impulsive she could be and the look of apprehension on their faces was gratifying.

"I overheard my mother talking to Sir Bertram,” Portia began, “she said that we would be working with the gladia tomorrow." Portia paused for a moment to let that sink in. "I look forward to sparring with each of you."  Several girls flinched, a couple turned white, and even Priscilla took a step backwards at the announcement.  Portia smirked, "What's the matter?  If we have to defend the castle you’ll be fighting against men, does sparring against another girl really scare you?"

“Sparring against another girl doesn’t…” someone muttered from the back of the room.  Portia felt a white heat flash through her body, and she knew that her face was turning red.  Priscilla smirked knowing that the remark of one of her cronies had struck home.  Portia tried to cover her frustration by flicking her gladia like a throwing knife at the frame of her bed, embedding it deeply into the wood.

“I think I need a bit more work today to get ready for our sparring matches tomorrow,” she said quietly, before turning to dig through her footlocker until she found her scuta and her francisca. She retrieved her gladia from the bed frame with a mighty heave, looked each handmaiden in the eye noting who was there and who wasn’t, and then stalked back out of the barracks toward the practice field.  Aurora was leading a group of handmaidens in from the practice field.  It was all too apparent who took their training seriously and who didn’t, those who stood around inside the barracks gossiping and those who put in the extra time working out.  It was reassuring to be reminded that there were a lot of handmaidens who were NOT part of Priscilla’s clique.

Portia nodded at Aurora and her crew as she passed them and gave the air a few practice cuts with her sword to indicate where she was going.  Portia loved her gladia.  The standard short sword of the Imperial Roman Army, the gladius had a well-earned reputation for deadliness because of its powerful hacking stroke and superior ability to penetrate armor when stabbing.  It was used in conjunction with the rectangular Roman shield known as a scutum.  A Roman soldier was well protected by their scutum so that they could get close to their enemy and then make lightning quick attacks with the gladius around the edge of the shield.  Even though the gladius and scutum were no longer used by Centurion knights, Centurion shieldmaidens had taken them up in a slightly lighter and smaller versions that they called the gladia and the scuta.  The girls would not be using real gladia in their sparring, of course, but the wooden versions could still leave a nasty bruise if one knew how to wield it properly, and Portia did.  Too bad she wouldn't really get to spar with the other girls.  Her mother had been talking to Sir Bertram about taking her training to the next level so she would begin working against one of the veteran men-at-arms instead of any of the handmaidens.

Portia found herself fantasizing about sparring with Priscilla and “accidentally” clubbing her on the side of the head with the practice sword, not hard enough to do a permanent injury but just hard enough to ring her bell.  She was running though the scene from different angles when her father’s voice suddenly came to her repeating his favorite paraphrase of scripture, "’Lord, how often shall I forgive my sister when she sins against me, seven times?’ and the Lord Jesus answered, ‘I tell you, not seven times but seventy times seven. Forgive freely, even as I have forgiven you.’"  He used it every time she got into a fight with her younger sister Marcia.  She muttered several swear words under her breath.  Good thing her parents couldn’t hear her now or they would permanently ban her from the stables so she wouldn’t learn any more interesting words from the grooms. She knew she shouldn’t hurt Priscilla, but she could certainly hurt some training equipment.

Next to the barracks were several pells for training with swords.  The tall, wooden post was about six feet tall and five inches in diameter, set into the ground so that it was completely immobile. Some were designed with a larger barrel shape for the top half to simulate the body of a soldier, a few even had mock heads and shoulders, but most were simply a post.  Normally one used a weighted, wooden sword when attacking a pell, but Portia wanted to do some serious damage to it, so she used her gladia instead. In a real sword fight the good warriors controlled their emotions because anger and fear wasted energy and caused you to be reckless or timid in combat. Good warriors also focused on thrusting attacks whenever possible instead of cutting attacks since a thrust concentrated the energy of the attack on the tip of the sword while the cut or slash attack spread the energy out over the entire length of the weapon, this meant that a sword thrust had a much better chance of penetrating armor and delivering a fatal blow. Cutting and slashing attacks had their uses, but thrusting was usually deadlier.

Portia knew all of this, but she didn’t care.  She attacked the pell with fury and let all of her resentment and pain flow through her.  She hacked and hacked and hacked without thinking and it felt good to see chunks of wood come flying off the post.  Why was she the plain one? Why couldn't she be tall, slender, and beautiful like the others?  Why couldn't she have the pretty face and the beautiful hair?  The full bust and the curved hips? Why did she have to have her father’s physique instead of her mother’s?  Why did she have such a low voice instead of pretty one, a higher pitched voice like the other girls?  Why weren’t the boys interested in her as much as she was interested in them?  Why didn’t they pay attention to her? Why did she have to be “The Squire”?

She would have to spend most of tomorrow sharpening her sword again and she would certainly get in trouble with her mother for all the damage she was doing to the pell right now but none of that mattered.  Larger and larger chunks of wood began to come off the pell as she continued to hack at it.  The Centurion steel of her blade was delivering what would be devastating damage if the pell had been a Hungarian.  After a dozen blows, she sheered the top foot off the post and kept going.  Another dozen of her strongest blows and she had cut the next foot off the top of the pell.  She was slowing down but she kept going.  Her sword was starting to lose just a bit of its edge and she was getting tired, but she wanted that next foot.  She set her teeth and when her left arm grew too tired to swing, she switched to her right.  Unlike most fighters of the day she had worked out a great deal with her sword in her off hand so that she was almost as good with it right-handed as she was left-handed. She even owned two gladia and sometimes practiced fighting with one in each hand, which wasn’t practical but was a lot of fun.  A dozen blows with her right arm and her dull blade and she took off another foot of the pell.  It had begun the day at six feet tall but now it was only three.

A feeling of victory surged through her, but it lasted only a moment.  She sighed; she would pay for this tomorrow.  Was it really worth it?  She looked over at the barracks and saw half a dozen pairs of wide eyes peeking out at her from between the shutters. All the shutters snapped shut when they realized that she was looking at them.  She laughed to herself, it was totally worth it.

Portia walked into the barracks trying her best to make it look like she had just gotten a good work out and not like she had been venting her anger.  The other girls glanced at her nervously as they climbed into their beds and pulled the covers up to their chins.  Unlike many people in the west, Centurions put a high premium on hygiene and regular bathing was a requirement, so Portia headed into the bathroom to bathe and found Aurora already there.  Two young maidservants began filling a bath of hot water for her as she stripped.

“Miss Portia, would you like your clothes washed?” One of the girls asked.

“Yes, please, Miss Gretchen.”

“Would you like your back to be washed, Miss Portia?” Asked the other girl.

“Yes, please, Miss Frieda.”

Portia climbed into the tub as the first girl picked up her clothes and left and the second girl came around behind her and began gently scrubbing her back with a rag. After several minutes Aurora spoke to Frieda,

“Thank you, Miss Frieda, Miss Portia and I can take care of the towels, you may go back to your quarters now.”

“Yes Miss Aurora, thank you.”

“Thank you for your service, Miss Frieda,” Aurora said with a smile.

“Thank you for the opportunity to serve.” The young girl curtsied slightly and left.

Aurora was the closest thing to a friend that Portia had in the barracks even though she was a year older.  Like Portia, Aurora was something of an outsider.  Her father was a Centurion knight who had traveled to India on a trade mission and met the daughter of a Chinese merchant.  They had been married and she had returned with him to serve in the Order.  Nian Zhen had become a doctor and added her considerable knowledge of healing herbs from the east to the already impressive Centurion medical expertise.  Being half-Chinese, Aurora had also felt the sting of Priscilla’s tongue about her appearance, but somehow, she was still able to keep her cool when dealing with the fake handmaiden.  They should have been best friends, but Portia always felt that Aurora was too quiet and too serious about everything and, even though she never said it, Portia suspected that Aurora looked down on her for being too impulsive and too emotional.

"You will be in trouble with your mother for destroying that pell," said Aurora quietly.

"True, but Claudia is my shieldmaiden, she’ll be in charge of my punishment and she’s not as strict as my mother."

“Yes, I know.” Aurora replied curtly.  Lady Evelyn was Aurora’s shieldmaiden.

“My mother’s worried about you.”

“Dr. Zhen?  Why?”

“I push myself very hard, but you push yourself like a woman possessed by a demon to be the strongest, the fastest, the most skilled.  Then you turn around and do incredibly reckless things like jump from the cliff path to the balcony on the keep.  You will be the next Countess of Carinthia and you worry us.”

“Huh.”

“Do you know why you do these things?  I asked my mom how I could help you and she told me her theory about you, do you want to hear it?”

“Please tell me,” Portia said sarcastically, “I’m sure that I have no idea why I am the way that I am.”

“Your brother.”

“You are not going to blame my brother for anything!” Portia jumped to her feet and stood dripping in the tub, ready to pound Aurora.

“I am not blaming Cyrus for anything.  When he died in the stable fire, what did you do?”

“I tried to rescue him and failed.”

“You were ten and you ran into a burning building to save your eight-year-old brother.  You found him, didn’t you?”

“I did, but I couldn’t get him out.”

“What actually happened?”

Portia sat back down in the tub, tears leaking down her face.  She had been trying unsuccessfully to forget these memories for six years and they still hurt.  She could still see her brother’s desperate face in the flames, hear the screeches of the panicked horses, smell the smoke in the air.

“I found him, and I was leading him out…”  Aurora waited patiently while Portia found the strength and the words to continue.  “The grooms were trying to get the horses out and some burning hay fell from the loft onto one of the horses.  Its mane caught fire and it panicked.  It broke loose from the groom who was leading it and bolted toward the side door that I was trying to lead my brother out of.  It almost trampled us trying to escape the flames.  Cyrus fell and I froze for a moment at the sight of a burning horse.  I can still smell its burning flesh and hear its screeching.  I finally managed to look away and I saw Cyrus laying on the floor a couple of feet from me.  I started to go to him when part of the roof collapsed and a rafter fell on him.  I tried with all my strength to lift it off him while he kept begging me to help.  I prayed with all of my heart that God would give me the strength of Samson and help me save my brother…”  Portia sat silently in the tub for several minutes. “The next thing I remember was my father was carrying me out of the stable without Cyrus.  They tell me that a rafter fell and hit my leg and burned me, but I don’t remember that.  All I remember is that we came out of the stable without Cyrus.”  Portia punched her own leg as hard as she could.  She needed the pain; she was not going to lose it and fall apart in front of Aurora.  She tried to crush the fear and frustration, the guilt and the shame.  “The bottom line is that I froze, and he got trapped under the rafter and then I was too weak to save him.”

“I remember how everyone praised your courage for trying to save your brother.  No one blames you for his death.  He went into the fire to try and save the horses and you went in to try and save him.  He was brave and you were brave, and nobody failed anybody.  The fact that you froze for a moment probably saved your life, if you had immediately run over to help him up, the rafter would have landed on both of you.  Don’t you see? This is why you push yourself so hard, so that the next time, you’ll be strong enough, or fast enough, or agile enough, or skilled enough to save whoever needs to be saved.  You don’t look like a squire and you don’t wish to be a squire regardless of what Priscilla says, you are simply a young woman who wants to be strong enough to lift the burning rafter the next time that someone needs you to save them.”

Tears were silently running down Portia’s face while the ache in her heart confirmed that it was true.  She pulled herself together.  She didn’t really know Aurora well enough to totally open up to her, but it meant a lot that Aurora cared enough to be asking her mother how she could help Portia.

“So, you really think that this is why I do the things that I do?”  She finally managed to ask.

“My mother does, and she understands people better than anyone else I know.”

“Really? Does she know why Priscilla is such a snake?

"My mother’s theory on Priscilla is that she picks on you because she’s scared to death and doesn't know how to deal with it."

"Scared? Of me?" Asked Portia, stunned.  Portia could intimidate the other girls physically and in the men’s barracks that might suffice but in the women’s barracks, power worked a little differently.  Everyone knew that actual violence would not be tolerated, and so Priscilla held all the social power cards among the handmaidens.

"No, not of you, of the Hungarians,” Aurora corrected, “The Hungarian raiding parties get larger every year while fewer and fewer join our cause.”

"We’ve always held them off before,” retorted Portia, irritated by the reminder of bad news that she already knew, “a Centurion knight is equal to five Hungarian horse archers."

"Perhaps, perhaps not, but even if that’s true it still means that when the Hungarians outnumber us ten to one, we’ll lose. Their numbers are growing much faster than ours are."

"Well, God’s on our side so we won't lose," responded Portia firmly, as if that answer trumped everything.

"God was on the side of ancient Israel and yet they didn't win every battle," countered Aurora.

The conversation was angering Portia more than she wanted to admit and it was these types of discussions that served to reinforce the differences between her and Aurora and why they weren't better friends.

"Okay, so what’s your point?  What has this got to do with Priscilla and how she treats us?  And I do mean us because I can remember some of the things, she’s said about your looks too."

An angry scowl passed over Aurora’s face, triggered by some memory of Priscilla’s words, as her hand fluttered toward her eyes.  After a moment of staring off into the corner, her calm demeanor returned and she continued,

"The knights have left the castle twice in the last two months to meet Hungarian raiders and such raids seem to be happening more and more often.  If a raid is large enough, all the knights and squires leave the castle and the shieldmaidens and handmaidens are left behind to defend the castle by ourselves.  If it is exceptionally large, we ride out with the men and face the enemy in the field alongside them.  Of all the handmaidens in our barracks, who would have the best chance facing Hungarian horsemen in the field or Hungarian warriors on the wall?"

Portia remained silent; the obvious answer was herself.  Aurora looked at her expectantly.

"I think you could defeat a Hungarian warrior," Portia finally answered.

"You are kind to say so," replied Aurora," To be honest, I probably have the second-best chance after you but that’s not saying very much.  Most of the girls would die very quickly in either situation.  Our best bet would be to use our brains and our bows to keep them from getting close or gaining the top of the wall, but if a few did, it wouldn’t go well.  You are the only one of the handmaidens who might actually survive such a fight.  This is what Priscilla fears and why she is so jealous of you.  She would rather be anywhere other than here.  She would gladly marry some ancient, drooling, feeble-minded noble in any other castle in Europe, than to be in this one here in the borderlands of Carinthia run by the Order of the Centurion. Here she is actually expected to fight and here she might die in battle.”

“Centurions do not die gently,” Portia mused, quoting an old Frankish proverb.

“It’s funny to me,” Aurora reflected, “You are so frustrated because none of the boys show any interest in you that you actually wish you had Priscilla’s body.  Priscilla, on the other hand, is so scared of having to fight the Hungarians and possibly dying that she wishes that she had your body.”

“Well, you’re finally wrong, I don’t want Priscilla’s soft body, I just want one that looks more like a shieldmaiden’s body than a squire’s body.  I’m also pretty sure that Priscilla doesn’t want mine, just a version of her own body with a little extra muscle attached to it.”

Portia sat in her bath water, thinking.  Aurora got out of her tub and began to towel off.

“Are you sure you want to be walking around in front of me without any clothes on?  You know what the other girls are saying about me,” Portia said with a chuckle.

“I’ll take my chances, besides, if we keep taking bathes at the same time, they’ll start talking about me too.”

Portia laughed, then got serious, "Aurora, when that day comes, and we face a Hungarian attack, I want to fight by your side."

"Thank you," the other girl said with a nod, "and you are the one I want to fight beside as well."

"Let’s make a pact that we’ll work together to get the rest of the girls ready for that day, whether Priscilla likes it or not, we owe it to them to do everything we can to help them survive."  Portia stood up and began drying herself off.

"Agreed. I’ll support you all the way.”

"Now you’re the one being kind," Portia replied. "You say that only because I am Sir Gerard's daughter. I may be the better fighter, but you’re the better leader.  You understand the girls far better than I do and you can stay focused and make great decisions even in the midst of battle, you’re the one.  You take the lead in this barracks and I’ll be your strong right arm."

“You mean my strong LEFT arm?” Aurora corrected her with a smile.

“Look at you! Making a joke!” Portia laughed, it felt good to really laugh, it had been a long time.  She continued, “Yes, I’ll be your strong LEFT arm,” she said lifting her left arm and flexing it to show off her biceps.  Aurora smiled and returned the gesture by lifting her own left arm and flexing her own, smaller bicep.

“If I have your full support, I’ll do it."

“We’ll make this work,” Portia said, nodding to herself as much as to Aurora.  “Now just pray that the Lord will help me to forgive Priscilla so that I don’t accidentally break her neck during training.”

Chapter 7

“Dragons are the most unpredictable of creatures...”

The Centurion Book of Beasts – Folio IV: Dragons

She had waited weeks to dream again after what had happened the last time, but it was still one of her most powerful weapons and not to be discarded lightly.  She soared above the countryside again, but this time she would not think about the past, she would focus only on her objective.

The castle was much larger and better designed than she had expected and unlike any other that she had ever seen before.  Its octagonal towers were of a type that was new to her and they projected from the walls, both inside and out, to provide overlapping fields of fire for archers and scorpions.  The bailey was easily large enough to land in but that also meant it was large enough for many knights on horseback with lances.  In a nod to the exhaustive planning that went into the castle’s design, there was even a small traction trebuchet standing in the middle of the bailey ready to fire over the walls at any attacking siege engines that might be brought to bear on the castle from the outside.  The gatehouse and keep were larger than any she had ever seen before and well built.  For some odd reason, the keep did have a small balcony on the north wall and another on the south wall but they were both too small for her to land on.  A large ballista sat on the roof of the keep giving it an impressive field of fire in all directions and reinforcing the idea that it would be bad to try and land on one of the balconies.  A tiny courtyard in the center of the keep would simply become a death trap for her like the narrow canyon had been for her mate.

She had not seriously considered attacking the castle directly, that was the act of a Red, not a Black, but she had toyed with the idea of making a nighttime visit to inspire a little terror.  Even that idea seemed ridiculous to her now that she saw the castle itself.  Flying into such a stronghold was beyond foolish and a fool she was not.

But a Black is known for its cleverness and an idea began to take form in her mind; maybe she didn't have to attack the castle herself to create a little chaos and terror.  She flew on in her dreams over the mountains of Carinthia, deep in thought, turning the budding plan over in her mind, one that would set the stage for an even larger plan that would bring the delicious revenge her dark heart craved.

She pulled up sharply and looked down into the dark forests below her.  What was this?  Something completely unexpected had turned up, something that she could use to her advantage.  Below her were Viking longboats that were exploring much further down the rivers of the East Mark than anyone would ever suspect.  Most of the crews were asleep so she looked into their dreams.  Most were dumb brutes focused only on killing and plunder but there were two who could be very useful to her.  Their aspirations were much greater and the loot and slaves that they had collected so far on this raid had been very disappointing to them.  Two Danes by themselves would not have been very valuable to the Black but these two had some very special pets that could be extremely useful.

She took a few moments to stir up their dreams.  Their greed, bloodlust, and arrogance made them extremely easy to manipulate.  In their dreams they became kings, surrounded by gold and slaves, blessed by Odin and striking terror into their enemies.  Their names would live on for a thousand years as the greatest warriors who had ever lived.  All they would have to do to claim these promises was to strike off to the southeast with their special pets and join up with some warriors on horseback.

The Black knew that she would have to find a suitable Hungarian warlord to ensnare with similar dreams but that would be easy to do, there were dozens of them.  With only the tiniest amount of effort she was putting together a raiding party that would be more than just a little distraction for Sir Gerard and his family.  This would be a very nice opening act to her grand tale of revenge.  She would need to keep Sir Gerard and Lady Evelyn as off balance as possible if she was to draw her enemy out of the castle, and the key lay in the hopes, dreams, and fears of the knight’s daughters.

Chapter 8

“It is said that ‘fools rush in where angels fear to tread,’ this is true so try to avoid traveling with fools whenever possible.  If everyone avoids traveling with you then you must be honest and ask yourself, ‘Am I the fool that no one wants to travel with?’”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 3: Proverb 11

The trip through northern Italy went by surprisingly quickly for Brendan. He would never have admitted it out loud, but he actually enjoyed the company of Father Cardic and Sir Gerard, even though the former insisted that he do at least half of the chores.  Both men were studies in contrasts.  The knight was both noble in his bearing and yet humble beyond description, patient and gentle and yet terribly dangerous to those who would do evil.  The priest was devout and unwavering, but he could also be profane when the horse balked or when he dropped something on his toe.  He had no problem braining you with his staff and then bandaging up the wound that he himself had inflicted.  They were comfortable traveling in silence, in talking about the nature of God, in joking about taking care of one’s business without a proper outhouse.  There was an openness and trust that Brendan had not seen since he lost his family.  And the best part was that neither man was a fool.  Brendan was very bright himself and not easily impressed by the intelligence of others, but in the case of these two he could listen to their witty, fascinating conversation all night.

The young thief even found that he could share most of the truth about his own past with the two old warriors.  There were a lot of things that he had done in the last six years in order to survive that he was not proud of, but it was his surprising talent as a thief that he found most embarrassing to discuss.  The priest, in particular, was very good at drawing the details out of him and the knight always looked like he had guessed the truth before Brendan had actually admitted to it.  Traveling in their presence Brendan realized just how cynical he had become, but he also felt that cynicism softening bit by bit.

"You will have to stop thieving, of course," Sir Gerard had told him after he had finally finished divulging most of his life story, "but do not be ashamed of your talents and skills, God gave you your talents and he always has a use for your skills.”

“Though I suspect that he will put them to work in a very different way than you did," the priest added sagely.

After they had crossed over the Alps they entered Frankish lands and it could not have happened soon enough for Brendan.  The Alps were beautiful in a cold, harsh, distant way but they were hard on people and animals and the young man found that he preferred the countryside of Francia far more.  Every day they traveled he felt as if he was a day closer to home.

◆◆◆

Brendan saw the cart beside the road before the others even though he was on foot since his eyes were better than either Father Cardic’s or Sir Gerard’s. There were two peasants beside it, a man and a woman, and they seemed to be arguing with each other.  They both stopped their furious debate as the travelers came up and looked at them with embarrassment.  As they drew closer Brendan could see a dead body in the back of the cart.

"What is this?" asked the priest walking over to take a closer look at what was inside the cart.  Brendan followed but he could already smell the faint odor of decay.  The girl had already been dead for a couple of days and was starting to decompose.

"It is our daughter," replied the man.  "I am going to take her to the Vouivre."  It was clear from the look on the woman's face that she wanted to say something but held back in the presence of the men.

"What is the Vouivre?" Asked Brendan, mangling the pronunciation.

"V-wee-vra” corrected the farmer. “The Vouivre is a magical creature with the purest of hearts who is said to be part human and part dragon.  She can heal with her breath and even restore life if the dead person is brought to her quickly enough.”

"But she is guarded by her brother the Wyvern and he is as evil as she is good!" Burst out the woman. "He is more dragon than man and tortures his victims before he kills them."

"And you don't want your husband to risk his life trying to take your daughter to the Vouivre?" asked Sir Gerard.

"No, my Lord, we are agreed, she is our only daughter and she is worth the risk.” The farmer said firmly.  “The problem is that my wife insists on coming with me and I have told her that she must stay here and remain safe.  She is being very stubborn today," the husband explained, shooting her a stern, reproving look.

"Will you stay here if we accompany your husband to see the Vouivre?"

"Oh yes, my Lord," the woman nodded her head excitedly; "I just could not bear the thought of my man facing the Wyvern alone."

"Your courage is to be commended," said Sir Gerard warmly, "We will travel with your husband and do our best to make sure that both he and your daughter come back to you."

Sir Gerard turned to Brendan, "Do you wish to wait out here with the Goodwife or do you wish to accompany us into the woods?"

Brendan was not yet a trained warrior and he knew that the knight would accept either answer without qualm, but he felt the need to step up and begin proving his worth immediately. "I'll come," he said simply.  The knight nodded.

"Father Cardic, would you remain here with the Goodwife while we seek out the Vouivre?  I would hate for us to return successfully only to find that she had been set upon by wolves or robbers."

"Oh! I'll be fine," she said, trying to sound reassuring.  She waved a sickle around, "I can defend myself well enough with this."

"Then perhaps it would be best for me to stay and protect the wolves and the robbers from you," said the priest, shooting a wink at Brendan and the knight.

"Where there are wolves in danger, Father Cardic will be there to protect them," said Brendan with a straight face and Sir Gerard stifled a chuckle.

"And robbers, let us not forget that he has now chosen to become a Defender of Robbers," added the knight.  Brendan couldn’t help but laugh while the priest did his best to look saintly.

Both peasants looked confused by these comments but said nothing.

"My lord need not be bothered to travel with a poor farmer such as myself," the man objected, but even a blind beggar could see that he was hoping for the company.

"No bother," replied the knight graciously. "Lead the way."

The peasant nodded in thanks and began to lead the donkey towards the woods.  Sir Gerard rode beside the farmer and directed Brendan to follow beside the cart.  As they entered the shade of the woods, the former thief looked up at the knight who seemed to be sitting relaxed in the saddle but whose sharp eyes were flicking left and right checking out every shadow.  Brendan noticed that Sir Gerard's hand seemed to be draped nonchalantly over the saddle horn, but it was, in fact, only inches from the hilt of his sword. He was battle ready but trying to project a calm and controlled exterior to reassure the frightened, grieving farmer.

"Brendan, are you experienced with any weapons?" The knight asked as if he were simply making small talk.

"I am pretty fair with knives and daggers, my Lord.  I have my knives with me, but I lost my dagger in Venice, I'm afraid."

Sir Gerard pulled out a wicked looking dagger with a darkly burnished blade that was over 18 inches long and handed it to Brendan.  "You may keep this to take its place.  It is called a long seax and it is made of altum steel. Centurion smiths are able to forge many levels of steel.  What most Franks, Norse, or Vikings would call steel, we call mollis or ‘soft’ steel.  They use it for armor and weapons, we use it for pots and pans.  Centurions make a much superior steel that we call durum or ‘hard’ steel that is used for most of our weapons and armor.  Above this is a special steel that we call altum or ‘high’ steel which we use for only our most important weapons and armor.  Altum is a special alloy forged by a secret process using secret ingredients known only to Centurion smiths and it is one of our most closely guarded secrets.  It is much stronger, harder, and sharper than any other steel known to man, and it never rusts or corrodes or loses its edge.  Carry it well, it was my father's."

Brendan took the weapon and its scabbard gingerly; it was practically a short sword and a good six inches longer than any other dagger he had ever used.  But then, he reflected, this was the dagger of a warrior, not a thief or a villager.

"Thank you, my lord," he said as he tucked it into his belt.

They came to a place where the path split into three and the peasant stopped.

"I do not know which way to go, my lord," he said in a hushed voice.  "They say that the Vouivre lives at the end of one of these paths but that they are enchanted and move around so that no one knows which path she is on from one day to the next."

"And the longer we spend looking for her, the more likely we are to be found by the Wyvern," muttered Brendan.

"I have found that the best way to deal with your fears is to face them, not to try to avoid them," said the knight. "When you face them you can defeat them and move on, when you try to run away from them they have a habit of chasing you down from behind when you are least prepared to deal with them."

Brendan stopped short and looked hard at Sir Gerard.  "Are you saying that we should go looking for the Wyvern?"

"No, that could take all day and we might not ever find him.  I am saying that avoiding the Wyvern should not be our focus.  We are here to find the Vouivre.  If we don't run into the Wyvern then that is good, if we do run into the Wyvern then we will face him and defeat him and that is good too."

"And if the Wyvern defeats us and kills us, I suppose that’s good as well?" Asked Brendan in a sarcastic tone that he instantly regretted.

The Iron Knight looked at him in amusement.  "Of course it’s good! If he kills us, then it will mean that our earthly trials are over and that we are beginning our heavenly adventures with Christ." Brendan found himself laughing and even the farmer smiled at this response. "Now, if the good farmer has no information as to which path we should take, then let us pray for direction."

The farmer dutifully bowed his head while Sir Gerard made a brief prayer for guidance.  Brendan still struggled with the idea of a God who cared enough to actually answer prayers, so he kept his head up and his eye open.  He wasn’t sure if the Wyvern or the Vouivre really existed, but he was not about to get himself killed by pretending that the woods were a safe place. Wolves and wild boars were also dangerous, and he knew that they lived in forests.

That was when he saw a large rabbit come out of the woods, look at him, and then bounce down the left path.  A rabbit as a sign?  Really?  Brendan had seen too many charlatans turn every conceivable event, from a splashing fish to spilled wine, into a sign from God so that they could manipulate others, heck, he had done it a few times himself.  At this point, however, any of the paths could be the one and the path on the left was as good as any. He shrugged and turned to the others.

"I saw a rabbit appear out of the underbrush and then head down the left path.  Maybe that’s the way that we should go."

"That was the path that the Lord directed me too as well," said the knight.

"And me as well, my Lord," chimed in the peasant.

"You saw the rabbit too?" Brendan asked in surprise.  He had thought the other men had closed their eyes during their prayer.

"No, I heard the voice of the Lord telling me to go to the left," answered the knight.

"I saw a vision of an angel on the left path beckoning me to follow him," said the farmer.

Brendan was instantly suspicious, "Why didn't God speak to me or give me a vision?"

"Are you open to such things or would you have doubted the message?" Asked Sir Gerard.  When the young man said nothing the knight continued, "You cannot doubt the rabbit or which path he ran down, you can only question what it means.  Either it is random and meaningless, or it was God giving you only as much as you can accept."

Brendan digested this idea for a moment.  It was true that with his skeptical nature he would have dismissed either a voice speaking to him or a vision in his head.  He probably would have convinced himself that either one was the result of an overactive imagination in a very strange situation.  On the other hand, Sir Gerard's “voice of God” or the farmer's vision of an angel sounded too easy.  If God spoke so clearly then why did everyone hear such conflicting messages?  He was about to say this when the knight cut him off with a hand gesture.

"Before you would speak again, let me ask you this, do you have any rational reason why we should take one of the other two paths?" Again, Brendan said nothing, he had no reason whatsoever to suggest a different path.  As far as he was concerned, the choice was basically a random one.  His only real objection was to their method of choosing.  Brendan shook his head “no”.

With this, the knight gently spurred his horse forward and started down the left path.  Brendan bit his lip and kept his mouth closed.  He had plenty of sarcastic things he could have responded with, but nothing with any substance. He respected Sir Gerard too much and this was his one chance to escape the dark underworld of thievery, he was not about to throw it away.  When you’re drowning you don’t reject the rope thrown to you just because you don’t understand the motives of the one who threw it.

The farmer followed the knight, leading his donkey and cart while Brendan brought up the rear.  The path narrowed briefly before opening up and becoming a wide and easy path that the cart could navigate without difficulty.  Brendan found himself breathing a bit easier with that extra space.  The Iron Knight seemed to be truly made of iron showing not even the slightest fear.  The peasant, for his part, kept his courage up with frequent glances at the body of his daughter, reminding himself that she was worth the risk.  Brendan fought his own fear by convincing himself that the Wyvern and the Vouivre were nothing more than old wives’ tales.  He kept his eyes sharp looking for wolves and wild boar instead.

For more than an hour they hiked deeper and deeper into the woods.  The forest on each side of them became increasingly impenetrable though the path itself stayed broad and open.  Faintly at first, and then growing louder as they moved forward, came the sound of running water.  The thick forest made it hard to judge how far away the sound was or even how large it might be, it could be a mighty river far off or a tiny brook around the next turn in the path, there was no telling.  Ten more minutes of walking showed them that the truth was somewhere in between.

The party came to a clearing with a large stream; on the other side of the stream was a cave opening.  On the near side of the stream was a beautiful pavilion with a tall, beautiful woman who seemed to be expecting them.  She was beautiful by any earthly standard, but there was an other-worldly quality about her that made her seem more than real.  Her hair was black and full, her eyes were a shade of violet that Brendan had never seen before, and her lips were a blood red that matched the large ruby that was set in the middle of her forehead.  Her skin was flawless and had just a shade more color than was normally seen in women in this part of Europe.  Brendan realized with a start that she wore no clothing.  Her figure was striking and yet he had not even noticed her nakedness at first.  There was a purity to her beauty that made it seem almost as if she were completely clothed even though she was wearing nothing.  Then she stretched out her large green scaly wings and flicked her dragon's tail and the spell was broken.  She was still incredibly beautiful but, in the way that a marble statue is beautiful, not in the way that a living woman is beautiful.  Brendan shook his head and rubbed his eyes, but the wings and tail remained.

"You have brought me a loved one to help," she said in a lilting voice that seemed to dance through the air.  Unfortunately, her obvious fangs ruined the effect of her captivating voice.  Brendan glanced at the knight and the peasant, Sir Gerard seemed unaffected by her, but the peasant was mesmerized by her beauty.

"Indeed," responded the knight, gesturing to the dead body within the cart.  "Is it too late to help her?"

"My power is limited by God’s will, not by time, despite what the legends say about me.  I can only try."  The Vouivre walked over to the cart and whispered a prayer in a language that Brendan didn’t recognize.  She gently lifted the young woman's body as if she was a small child and cradled her in her arms.  She quietly sang a hymn of praise to God as if she were singing a lullaby to a sleeping infant, then blew on her face.  "Wake up child!" She called and the girl's eyes fluttered and then came open.  Brendan felt as if he had been struck by lightning when the girl awoke, and his knees almost buckled.  The whole scene was so unreal that the young man had trouble believing any of it.  Part of him was sure that he was dreaming but part of him insisted that what was happening right before his eyes was absolute truth.  He had smelled the putrefaction of the girl’s corpse and now she was alive.

The Vouivre tenderly set the maiden on her feet and presented her to her father.  He gasped in delight and wrapped his daughter up in a hug of joy.  For her part, the girl seemed lost in her father’s arms, surrounded by strangers in a strange place.  The Vouivre put her hand on the girl’s head very tenderly.

“You were very sick and died, child.  Your father and these brave men brought you to me to see if I could help you.”

"How can we ever thank you?" He asked, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Give glory to God for what He has chosen to do this day," the Vouivre answered.  She turned to Sir Gerard, "What can I do for you good knight?"

He thought for a moment then answered, "Pray for the safety of my wife and daughters and all who share our home."  She nodded, obviously happy with his choice.

"Lady Evelyn, Miss Portia, and Miss Marcia await you."  She turned and faced the last member of their group, "And you, young Brendan?"

He hesitated for a moment, surprised that she knew his name.  Despite what he had just seen he found himself deeply suspicious of her and her motives.  Was she just another hoax?  Was she some sort of a demon who would twist his wish and use it to ensnare him in some evil?  The Vouivre saw his hesitation and chose for him.

“I see that you have many questions so I will give you some of the information that you seek.  First, you will have to commit to one of two paths, but the choice will not be as obvious as you think.  When you were in Constantinople you were faced with a choice to jump for the railing of a balcony and trust it to hold you or to stay safely on the ledge.  You had to choose between facing great danger to reach your goal or shrinking back in fear and giving up.”

Brendan felt intensely uncomfortable at the direction this was heading.  She was talking about the heist that drove him out of Constantinople.  He was hired by a political rival to break into the High Chamberlain's quarters to steal the man’s regalia, he had succeeded but his actions triggered a political hurricane that no one could have predicted.  It had been a major turning point in his life and the Vouivre continued as if she was only talking about a time when he had to make a choice about what to wear.

“It was all or nothing, you had to commit yourself to trusting in the railing and jump for it.  You could not keep your feet on the ledge and reach for the railing at the same time, they were too far apart.  Trying to do both would have caused you to fail at both and fall to your death.  You have a similar choice now.  You want to be a Centurion, but you have many doubts.  If you would be a Centurion you must commit to everything that means, you cannot simply go through the motions and pretend to be a Centurion.  You cannot accept part of the Centurion way while still holding onto some of your old beliefs.  Commit to being a Centurion with everything that you have or commit to staying the way you are, but do not try any half measures.”  She looked into his eyes searching for something.

“Know this, there is one difference between this choice and your choice in Constantinople; in Constantinople, the ledge was safe and you could have chosen to stay there but in this case staying where you are is just as dangerous as going forward but it has the illusion of being safer.  Do not be fooled, choosing to be a Centurion means choosing to walk on God’s path, you cannot be a real Centurion without being a true Christian.  Make your decision wisely.”

The Vouivre paused for a long moment and Brendan spoke up in an attempt to change the direction of the conversation.

“You said that you would tell me two things, what is the other?”

She smiled at him playfully, “"The other thing I will tell you is this, if you choose to commit and move forward, you are headed down a path that will test you more than you can imagine.  Your choice in Constantinople brought you here and your choice here will take you to your next destination.  If you choose correctly, the great trials that lie ahead will bring you the deep and abiding peace you long for, a new home and family to replace what you have lost, and a true love you didn’t even know you were missing.”  The Vouivre laughed, “but I must warn you that she will not come in the form that you expect."

"Umm, thank you, I think," he answered with a mystified tone in his voice.

"You are an answer to her prayers as well since you do not come from the west so you don't see things through western eyes."  The young man found himself blushing which was an unusual feeling for him; he was not used to having someone expose the secrets of his heart.  Sir Gerard shot him a thoughtful look that Brendan wasn't sure how to interpret.

"It is time for us to set off," the knight finally said. "We may well have to face the Wyvern on our way out of this wilderness and I would rather it happen while we still have daylight."

The young woman ran forward and hugged the Vouivre tightly.

“Thank you and praise God!” She said.

“You are welcome child,” the Vouivre answered as she held her close and gently stroked her hair for several moments.  “Now go and tell everyone what the Lord has done for you.”

The three men also said their thanks and goodbyes to the lady of the forest before turning and heading down the path that would, hopefully, take them out of the woods. "Trust your eyes, Sir Gerard," the Vouivre called after them, "Few men are able to see as truly as you though your young companion sees a bit more than most."

The peasant and his daughter both looked puzzled.  "What did she mean by that, my Lord?" The peasant finally ventured to ask after they were out of the Vouivre's earshot.

Sir Gerard hesitated for a moment and then spoke, "What did she look like to you?"

"She was a tall and beautiful maiden, strong as an oak and pure as a lily," the man replied wistfully.

“And her skin was as warm and soft as a lamb’s and she smelled of jasmine,” added the daughter.

"And you Brendan, what did you see?" The knight asked.

"A beautiful woman, but one with the wings and tail of a dragon.  When she spoke I saw fangs in her mouth," Brendan answered bluntly.

The peasant and his daughter stopped and stared open mouthed at the young man.  "You’re daft lad! There were no wings or tail or fangs."

"There were all those things and more," interrupted the knight, "now let us keep moving so that we can be out of the forest before dark."

“If she’s so good, why does she surround herself with illusion?” Asked Brendan.

“She doesn’t, she is who she is,” explained the knight, “it is we who see her the way we want to see her.  Learn the lesson and do not be deceived.  Evil does not always look like evil and good does not always look like good.  Too many times people are deceived because they see what they expect to see and not what is actually there.”

The group moved on in silence, every ear was turned to the slightest sound, every eye to the tiniest movement.  The forest, which had seemed dark and dangerous before, seemed to be nothing less than terrifying now.  When they had entered the forest the Vouivre and the Wyvern were still just mythological creatures but now they were all too real.

They continued down the path in silence until Sir Gerard pulled up abruptly and stopped.  "Brendan, look down the path and tell me what you see."

Brendan dutifully looked forward, the trail seemed open and clear but as he looked closer, he realized that it wasn't open and clear at all.  It actually dead-ended in a bog.

"I see the trap, though I must admit that I would have walked right into it before I saw it had it not been for you, my lord."

The peasant and his daughter clung to each other in fear.  Neither of them could see anything at all and a magical, invisible trap laid by an evil creature straight out of a nightmare was almost too much for them to handle.

"He is certainly nearby," said the knight thoughtfully, "he would be waiting to see us stumble into the bog so that he could attack us when we were vulnerable.  The bog, by itself, is not enough to kill us."

A horrible bellowing filled the air and complete darkness descended upon the group.  Brendan jumped in surprise.  The peasant began yelling and his daughter began screaming neither of which helped anything at all.  The young man's mind did what it always did in dangerous situations, all emotion shut down and he felt a beautiful, rational clarity descend on him as if he were made of ice.  He began to examine the situation coolly and logically.  First, he had to determine where the threat was coming from.  Brendan tried to shut the yelling out and focus his hearing to determine where the Wyvern was attacking from, but it was impossible. Why did so many people start screaming when they were afraid?  Between the roaring Wyvern and the screaming people and the echoes bouncing off the dense forest Brendan was surprised that he hadn't been driven completely deaf.  The noise made it hard to think but Brendan knew that rational thought was his only chance to survive this, so he forced himself to tune out the chaos around him.

Something bumped into him and instinct told him to start lashing out blindly with his dagger, but he caught himself and held his hand.  He could strike out and hope that he got lucky and hit the Wyvern, but this was probably exactly what the creature was hoping for since he was much more likely to hit one of the other people in the group instead of the beast.  Arms wrapped around him and he realized that it was the girl who had bumped into him.  Brendan breathed a sigh of relief; it would not have been good to kill the person that the Vouivre had just raised from the dead.  A part of him noted that her breath on his neck was warm and sweet, no doubt a lingering effect of the Vouivre's breath of life.  A crashing sound rang out from somewhere in front of him that could only be the sound of rock-hard claws smashing against a steel shield.

As she clung to him, he tried to think, though the feel of her body pressed tightly against his was very distracting to the young man.  Focus!   What were his other options?  He could try and sneak away in the confusion.  Surely the creature knew that Sir Gerard was the biggest threat to it and it was attacking him right now.  Unfortunately, with someone hanging on to him Brendan knew that he wouldn't get far before the Wyvern came for him and he would be stuck trying to defend himself with only a dagger and a girl glued to his side.  That would not be a fun fight.  Another crashing sound to the left told him that the fight was moving; the Wyvern was trying to drive the knight into the bog.

Brendan decided that if he stayed here, at least Sir Gerard would be around, so he probably stood a better chance of surviving. Besides, he desperately wanted to stop being the slinking thief.  He needed to stand up now and fight, he couldn't turn and leave Sir Gerard in his moment of greatest need.

Brendan heard a sickening thud like a meat cleaver striking bone and then the screeching of the beast.  Sir Gerard had hit the mark with his sword!  Brendan's mind paused at this.  How could the knight know where to position his shield to block the Wyvern's blows and where to swing his sword so that it would hit home?  Then it struck him like a thunderbolt.  How could the Wyvern blot out all the sunlight?  Maybe it hadn't, maybe it had just made them think that everything was dark.  Brendan looked upward and focused on seeing the sunlight.  Nothing happened.  Sunlight had to be there, why couldn’t he see it?  You lack faith, he thought to himself.

Wait, what?  Where had that thought come from?  Since when was he concerned about faith?  And yet he felt convicted by its truth.  The darkness wasn’t real.  That was the deception of evil.  He tried to focus and believe with all his heart that he was surrounded by sunlight.  Surprisingly, the darkness began to slowly melt away until everything looked like it was twilight in the forest.

Darting back and forth was a large creature that was roughly dragon-shaped but standing upright, almost like a man.  It looked like a dark green, scaly dragon with hind legs the size of tree trunks, and arms that ended in enormous claws.  It was at least ten feet tall and it was using its dragon wings to help it leap back out of the reach of Sir Gerard's sword and then dive back in to make an attack.  Its scorpion-like tail whipped back and forth seeking an opening in the knight's defense, its tip looking like the stinger of a gigantic wasp.  The huge claws on its hands were coated with dried blood while its fangs were several inches long and dripping with venom.

Brendan had no sooner made this assessment when the horse slipped in the mud at the edge of the bog and the Wyvern saw its opportunity.  It dove in striking with both claws.  Sir Gerard blocked one huge claw with his shield but the other struck him on the head and knocked his helm off.  The horse lunged forward to escape the edge of the bog and the knight made an off balanced swing with his sword that struck the creature on its shoulder.  The beast swung around as if trying to escape but Brendan saw its tail whipping around to strike the knight from the back side.

Brendan reacted without thinking.  He jumped forward dragging the girl with him and intercepted the tip of the tail with the edge of his dagger.  The blade neatly severed the gigantic stinger from the rest of the tail and splattered them both with Wyvern blood.  He sincerely hoped that Wyvern blood was not poisonous.

The injury did not seem to hamper the monster at all but only to enrage it further.  From the murderous look in it eyes it would have killed him on the spot, but Sir Gerard immediately began to press his attack.  The fight quickly turned from a fencing match of strike and parry, feint and dodge to a heavyweight boxing match where the two simply tried to bludgeon each other to death.  Blows rained down as fast and furious as the knight and the Wyvern could deliver them. The noise from those crashing strokes was thunderous and seemed to drive even the trees back from their fight.

Brendan reached for his throwing knives and then stopped.  Shouldn't he use his dagger?  It was practically a short sword and a much more substantial weapon than his throwing knives and he had already used it once to cut off the monster's stinger.  It was definitely a more knightly weapon than the throwing knives of a thief.

But the young man had no armor, and this was not the sort of hand-to-hand combat that he could wade into without it.  On the other hand, throwing knives was one of Brendan's skills and Sir Gerard had said that God had a use for his unusual set of skills. Brendan stopped hesitating and pulled out his throwing knives.  Someday he would be a knight, but he wasn't there yet.

He threw all five knives in less than two seconds, no small feat with a human being clinging to your chest, and they struck the Wyvern on the side of the head, catching it completely off guard.  The first four knives were deflected harmlessly off its scaly, armored head, but it had just started to turn to look at him when the fifth knife struck it near the eye and embedded itself between two of the creature's scales.  The beast recoiled from the strike and then whirled on him.  The injury was not fatal, but it was close to the eye and the monster lost control.  Brendan was braver than most and rarely felt fear but, in that moment, looking into the raging face of the Wyvern he was terrified as he had never been before.

Every muscle in his body tried to run but he clamped down on them all and that almost supernatural calmness came to his rescue again. All the fear that had been threatening to break through melted away, he was going to die but he wasn't afraid of dying.  He could at least save the girl before he was killed so he used all his strength to pull her loose and shove her behind him.  He had almost succeeded, but in her panic one of her hands managed to grab hold of his shirt.  She pulled herself back to him and grasped him in the ultimate bear hug but least now she was behind him hugging his back so he could face the creature and protect her with his body.

Brendan pulled out Sir Gerard's dagger and raised it to defend himself, but he knew that the beast was going to kill him as easily as he might kill a fly.  He saw its legs tense as it prepared to launch its attack. Whether by pure luck or by the hand of God, a flash of sunlight gleamed off his blade and hit the Wyvern in the eyes and it recoiled a single step, momentarily blinded.  It recovered just as quickly but then suddenly stopped short, just as it was about to crush him, the peculiar blade of a Centurion langes messer sprouting from its throat.  It seemed to look down with its eyes in surprise at the unexpected weapon that shouldn't be there before it dropped like stone, instantly dead.  Sir Gerard pulled his sword out of the back of its neck. He was bloody, muddy and looked like he had just been trampled by several warhorses, but he was still upright in the saddle.

"Thank you," said the knight, breathing heavily. "I see that you were able to shake off the darkness and see our enemy."

"Not completely, but enough," responded Brendan.

"Good, the first step in defeating your opponent, whether it is a Hungarian horseman or Satan himself, is to see him for who he really is.  You have earned the title of 'squire' today.”

"Squire?"  Asked Brendan in surprise, it was what he had been hoping for of course but he had expected it to take several years at best to achieve that rank.  "I am not worthy, my Lord. I am a thief and a liar, and I have none of the basic knightly training that someone my age should have."

"I know," replied the knight, "but you have the most important qualities that a squire requires; loyalty, courage, and intelligence. These are rare finds in the world today. I can train you if you can turn from thieving and lying."

"My lord, you barely know me," was all that Brendan could think to say in protest.  His motives in fighting the Wyvern had been more selfish than noble and the young man knew it, staying and fighting had been the smart play for survival, running away would have been stupid and futile, not just cowardly.  The young woman was still clinging to him with her face buried in the middle of his back.  He carefully unwrapped her arms, pried her loose, and pointed her toward her father.  The two ran to each other and embraced and Brendan silently thanked the Lord that she was hugging her father now.  His own ribs were so bruised from her desperate grip that it hurt to breathe.

"That’s true," replied the knight, "but I stand by my decision. First, I think that it’s clear that I see more than most men do," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "and that goes for seeing the true quality of a young man as well as seeing through the illusions of the Wyvern.  Second, the very fact that you feel unworthy of the honor instead of accepting it as your due helps prove my assessment of your character.  There are other squires that I deal with who are all too quick to point out their virtues and try to lay claim to honors.  I take it as a good sign that you don’t do such things. "

"Yes, sir," said Brendan bowing his head.  He was sure that he didn't deserve such praise, but he was not about to argue with Sir Gerard about it.  The knight continued,

“The real question is, are you ready to make the commitment needed to be a Centurion?  Do not answer lightly or quickly.  You heard what the Vouivre said, ‘Commit all of yourself or none of yourself’, the choice is yours, but it must be made at some point and you will be held accountable in the next life for whichever you choose.”

Brendan sighed, “I need to tell you the complete truth about why I left Constantinople.  I was hired to steal the official regalia of the Parakoimomenos, the High Chamberlain of Emperor Constantine VII.  One of his political rivals wanted to embarrass him so I was hired to make the theft.  After I pulled it off, the High Chamberlain, tracked down his rival and began tearing the city apart to find the thief. I decided that leaving was my best plan for survival.  I had always planned to leave at some point to go fight Vikings but stealing from the High Chamberlain drove me out of the city a couple of years earlier than I had planned to go.

“Where is the regalia now?”

“I snuck into a guardhouse by one of the city gates and left it there as I was leaving the city.  I knew if I took it with me they would be determined to track me to the ends of the earth to get it back but I hoped that by leaving it behind where it could be found they would be less motivated to continue pursuing me.  So, as you can see, I am not worthy, I am still a liar and I am not just a petty thief.”

“Why should this change my opinion of you?  The details are new to me but the general truth about who you are and what you have done in the past is not.  The Lord Jesus himself has a soft spot for thieves who turn their lives around.  He told the thief on the cross, ‘this day you shall be with me in paradise’.  Should I be more judgmental than Christ?  Christ died for the sins of the world, including yours, the question is, can you, in faith, accept his gift of grace?”

Brendan shook his head, “There are many things that I don’t understand, and I don’t know that I will ever be able to completely set aside my doubts.”

“I am sure that when you jumped to that railing in Constantinople you had doubts about whether it would hold you or not, and yet you still jumped.  You didn’t let doubts stop you when the prize was only a few gold trinkets so don’t let doubts hold you back now.”

Brendan closed his eyes for a moment and tried to pray.  God are you there? He thought.  A little voice or a vision would go a long way right now.  Nothing.  God doesn’t answer prayers.  He opened his eyes and looked at Sir Gerard, the most solid man he had ever met.  Faith as solid as his was built on a rock, not on empty promises.  There was something true and real behind him and his faith and Brendan wanted it.  You have just seen evil defeated by faith and the dead raised in the name of God, if you will not believe that, what will you believe? He asked himself in frustration.  Brendan stopped.  Again, with these thoughts that seemed to come out of nowhere!  Lightning shot through his body.  Was that God or was that his imagination?  He had always thought the voice of God would be far grander and harder to miss instead of such a quiet voice that sounded like his own, but the words were nothing that he would think to himself.  Either way, the words were true.  It was maddening!  He didn’t want to believe but he had seen the dead raised.  There was no doubt, the smell of putrefaction had already begun in the girl, but now she was happy and healthy in the arms of her parents.  The Vouivre had known things about him that nobody else knew.  And, if he was honest with himself, two Centurions had stepped in at just the right moment to save his life and save his soul.

Brendan looked up at the knight, his decision was made, he would leap for the railing.  “I will always have questions and I will struggle and fail but I will commit everything to Christ and to being a Centurion.”

Sir Gerard smiled, “Then henceforth you shall be known as Squire Brendan.  Now, let us hurry and get out of this forest before it gets dark,” said the knight pointing his horse back up the path.

“Yes, my lord,” responded Brendan as he quickly collected up his knives, “but if we have killed the Wyvern then is it really that important to hurry?”

The peasant’s daughter spoke up at this point, “It is said that the lives of the Wyvern and the Vouivre are tied together.  One cannot be truly killed as long as the other is alive.  To kill the Wyvern for good, you must also kill the Vouivre before the sun sets or her brother is reformed in the darkness.  Anyone good enough to defeat the Wyvern would never dream of killing the Vouivre, and anyone evil enough to kill the Vouivre would be a friend of the Wyvern.”  She paused awkwardly for a moment, “And thank you for saving my life,” she said and then rushed forward to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Brendan smiled at her and her father and then turned and followed Sir Gerard up the path.

◆◆◆

The expression on the mother’s face when she saw her husband and daughter both alive was beyond words.  To Brendan, her joy made the dangers worthwhile.  Sir Gerard introduced him to Father Cardic as “Squire Brendan” and the young man found himself blushing for the second time that day.  The priest grunted.

“Don’t let it go to your head boy,” he said.  “I better not hear you telling any stories about how you killed the Wyvern. Giving your vows in front of the order AND becoming a squire, we’ll have to have proper ceremonies for both when we get back to the castle.”  Father Cardic turned to Sir Gerard, “You might want to warn him about Miss Portia before we get there, she can be rather hard on new squires.”

“Miss Portia?” Inquired Brendan.

“My daughter,” answered Sir Gerard. “She is my pride and joy but at this point, I think the less that is said, the better.”

Chapter 9

“It is said that in the far north there lives a species of wolf called the winter wolf whose blood is colder than ice and whose breath can freeze a man where he stands.”

The Centurion Book of Beasts – Folio V: Assorted Other Creatures

Portia, Aurora, and the other handmaidens watched in silence as Sir Bertram readied all the knights and squires in the area for a quick reconnaissance in force.  A rider had come with word of a large Hungarian raiding party to the east but how many there were and where they were headed had not been determined yet.  Portia remained stoic on the outside even as her stomach did butterflies on the inside.  Her mother and Sir Bertram had discussed how to handle it before she made the decision to just send the knights and squires.  There was the strong possibility that the knights could find themselves heavily outnumbered, but doing nothing was not an option, and sending both the men and the women and leaving the castle unprotected was just as risky in its own way.  There was no good solution to the problem.

Portia knew her mother and Sir Bertram, they would do whatever was best for protecting the farmers and villagers in the region, even if it was risky.  The plan was to send the knights and squires out on horseback to track down the raiders while the men-at-arms fortified the village of Wicklin to the east to help protect it from attack.  If the knights thought they could engage the Hungarians they would, if not, then they would fall back to Wicklin.  The shieldmaidens and handmaidens would protect the castle to make sure it wasn’t an easy target for the raiders.  If necessary, they could be called upon to provide a flanking force to attack the Hungarians from behind if the raiders surrounded and attacked Wicklin.

“We might sit here and do nothing,” Aurora said, as much to herself as to Portia, “we might fight off an attack on the castle by ourselves, or we might ride out and face the Hungarians in the field.”

Portia did a quick count in her head. There were about two dozen shieldmaidens and a few more than two dozen handmaidens in the castle at the moment, mostly wives and daughters of the knights.  There was a local militia and a few more knights, squires, shieldmaidens, handmaidens, and men-at-arms scattered throughout the countryside that they could draw upon, but it would take several days to muster these reinforcements.

Portia nodded, “The next few days may be very exciting.”

An older man-at-arms walked up.

“Enough sightseeing, ladies,” Aurora announced to the other handmaidens, “time to get back to work. This is Master Kurt.  He has been fighting the enemies of the Order for longer than most of your parents have been alive.  He knows every fighting technique there is to know.  He has been working with Miss Portia to teach her the best way to fight a Hungarian.  You may thank him later for keeping her so busy that she couldn’t run sparring drills with us.  Master Kurt, Miss Portia, please show us how it’s done.”

Kurt nodded and began, “The first thing you need to know about real fighting is that there is no perfect fighting style and no ideal weapon.  Every fighting style and every weapon has its strengths and weaknesses.  I can’t teach you how to beat every warrior that you will ever face but I can teach you how to beat a Hungarian by attacking the weaknesses in his style.  Please remember that what I teach you today will beat a Hungarian, but it can get you killed against a Moor or a Norseman so keep that in mind if you have to fight someone else.  Let’s start by assuming that you are facing him on top of the wall, we can talk about facing him on horseback later.  The average Hungarian fighting hand-to-hand will be carrying a saber or a bow and wearing lamellar armor.  A few will be carrying round shields, but most won’t since a round shield is as much of a hindrance as it is a help to a horse archer.

The first thing you need to do is trust in God and know that his hand is upon you. The second thing that you need to do is trust in your equipment.  Your gambeson padding is reinforced with silk to make it stronger than most and your mail is made from durum which is lighter and stronger than any weapon your enemy has.  It is not totally impervious to all attacks, but you must trust it with your life, if you hesitate or hold back out of fear you will die.  Your swords are made from altum which is harder and sharper than anything he can even imagine so his armor is no match for your sword.  The third thing you must do is take the initiative, and then keep the initiative, keep the initiative, and keep the initiative.  He will be stronger and probably faster than you but if you keep him off balance and back on his heels trying to parry your blows then he can’t use those advantages.  So how do you do that?  Here is where the francisca and your fearlessness comes in…”

The training continued for hours as Kurt played the part of a Hungarian swordsman while Portia demonstrated the best attack techniques and then Portia and Kurt played Hungarians while the other girls practiced the attacks.  They drilled and drilled and drilled.  Kurt insisted that the handmaidens practice until every move was automatic.  If they could fight like a machine, then they would be the quicker fighter. Their opponent would be the one forced to think about their counter moves and always be a fraction of a second behind.

Aurora finally called for a break, “I think that it’s important to practice even when you’re exhausted because the further you can extend your limit the better it will be for you in battle, but now I am seeing that even Kurt and Portia are getting sloppy.  So, we will call it a day.  Any last words of advice for us, Master Kurt?”

“You have one more advantage over any Hungarian you will face on the wall,  You have now seen the different strengths and weaknesses of his armor, his weapons, and his style, he, on the other hand, has probably never faced a shieldmaiden in hand-to-hand combat.  He will assume that you fight like the knights, but the Order deliberately equips you and trains you differently from the knights so that if he attacks you like he would attack a knight, he will get himself killed.  You have one of the most important advantages of all, the advantage of knowledge.”  With that, the old warrior nodded and walked toward the dining hall.

All the girls looked exhausted.  Portia almost felt guilty when Aurora said, “Be ready, tomorrow’s training will be even worse.”

The other handmaidens grumbled and complained about it, but the rest all knew that they were no match for the self-appointed leaders if things got ugly.

“Lady Evelyn!” Priscilla called as the Gray Lady walked up.  “We are beyond exhausted, we need to rest tomorrow, we just can’t train endlessly and still be prepared to fight.”

Lady Evelyn raised a cool eyebrow, “Who do you think ordered Portia to start training with Kurt so she could teach you all what to do?  Who do you think ordered Kurt to stay with us while all the other men-at-arms went with Sir Bertram?  You will have the training grounds to yourselves for the next 3 or 4 days and I expect you to make use of them every minute.  I can see that Portia and Aurora train you even harder than I do, and I approve.  The more sweat you lose on the training grounds the less blood you will lose on the battleground.”  Lady Evelyn turned and walked after Kurt toward the dining hall.

Aurora faced the other girls, “You will each get into the best fighting shape of your lives.  Your own lives depend on it, the lives of the women fighting beside you depend on it, and every cook, maid, groom, and gardener who lives in this castle depend on it.  You can all defeat a Hungarian warrior if you work with all of your strength and use every bit of your training.”

“Portia makes it look so easy,” complained Priscilla, “but look at her biceps.” Priscilla reached out and poked Portia’s muscle with her finger.  “Hard as a rock.”

Portia almost punched her in the face but a warning look from Aurora stopped her.

Aurora stepped in, rolled up her own sleeves, and held her arm next to her lieutenant’s.  Her muscles were smaller than Portia’s, but they were well defined and just as hard.

“My build is the same as yours and you can see how much muscle I’ve put on.  God has blessed each of us with different bodies, but he has given us all the same duty to do the most that we can with what we have.  Hard work can do far more than you give it credit for.”

Portia said nothing but the reality was that, despite her encouragement to the other girls, there was no shortcut to a physique like Aurora’s.  The other handmaidens seemed to sense this, but they nodded in agreement.  Aurora led the handmaidens back to the barracks to put up their gear and then to the dining hall to eat.  Portia was going to personally make sure that there would be no skipped meals tonight.

In the dining hall the Gray Lady pulled her daughter aside, “Portia, I appreciate the way you have taken control of the handmaiden barracks.  It’s good to see some leadership rising up among the handmaidens.  We are making plans for the defense of the castle if it should come to that.  You know the girls best, make a plan for who will be stationed together on each wall and bring it to me tonight so that I can review it before tomorrow.”

Portia waved Aurora over, “Actually mom, you should know that I’m only in charge of running the combat drills, Aurora’s in charge of the handmaidens. Since she’s the real leader in the barracks, she should make up the plan.”

The Gray Lady raised an eyebrow, “Who decided this?”

“We decided together,” Aurora said, stepping forward.

“Why did the two of you decide that Aurora should be in charge?”

Aurora hesitated and Portia spoke up, “I’m the best fighter among the handmaidens but she’s second and she’s a much better leader.  She’s wiser, more patient and self-controlled, she understands how to deal with the other girls better, and she even understands tactics better than I do.  She’s the ideal Centurion shieldmaiden and she’s not even a shieldmaiden yet.  Who else among the handmaidens would be a better choice for captain?”

Lady Evelyn’s eyes grew moist, “Spoken like a true Centurion.  I can see that my daughter has become more mature than I gave her credit for.” She turned to Aurora, “I’m having dinner later tonight with my two lieutenants from the shieldmaidens.  You’ll be eating with us so bring your plan and whoever you choose to be your lieutenant from among the handmaidens.  Now get your girls into their beds and meet us within the hour.”

The Gray Lady turned and headed back to the keep.  She hadn’t told Aurora to select Portia as her lieutenant, but they all knew who the obvious choice was.

“I’ll get the girls tucked in while you work on the plan,” Portia said, giving her friend a quick hug, “and congratulations on your promotion!”

Getting the rest of the girls into bed had been easy since they were all exhausted.  Helping Aurora come up with a plan had been harder, but they finally had it and headed toward the Great Hall in the keep.  The Great Hall was designed to hold fifty people in a pinch.  Originally it had been both the dining hall for the castle and the main meeting room for conducting business, but as the castle grew a separate dining hall had been built.  Now it served a variety of other purposes including private meetings for the senior staff.  Lady Evelyn sat at one end of the main table, Baskins the Foreman, Dana the Doma, Nian Zhen the Doctor, and Garret the Blacksmith sat on her right while the two shieldmaidens, Claudia and Esperanza, sat on her left.  Two places were set beside the two senior shieldmaidens, so Aurora and Portia made their way to those seats.

“Good, we’re all here,” the Grey Lady began. “Forgive the cold meat and bread for dinner but I closed the kitchen after everyone else was finished and put the castle on restricted rations.  The harvest is months away, so I’ve decided to conserve the supplies that we currently have and prepare for a siege just in case.  Let us be clear on this, I am not expecting a siege so do not say such a thing to anyone, but neither do I wish to be caught unprepared.”  She glanced down the length of the table making sure that everyone heard her words on this before she continued.

“Master Baskins, Miss Dana, your workers and servants will keep doing their jobs as normal, but remember our first principle of defense, ‘In a Centurion castle, everyone fights.’  During their time off have them double their drills with their glaives to sharpen their skills, we may need your men and women backing us up.”  The Foreman and the Doma nodded their understanding.  “Doctor, I want all the medical supplies from the clinic in Warwick village brought up here into the castle.  There were also a couple of people in the village you were training to be nurses, bring them up here to supplement your staff for the time being. We will leave the supplies and nurses in Wicklin in case the men need them there.  Garret, I want the forge producing as many scorpion bolts and crossbow bolts as you can.  Everyone in the castle will spend some time practicing with the scorpions and the crossbows so they are ready if the need arises.” Both nodded their understanding.

The Gray Lady turned to the women on her left.  “I asked you each to prepare plans about where your people should be stationed.  I want everyone prepared to fight but, for obvious reasons the shieldmaidens and handmaidens are the first line of defense.  I know that I’ll get good counsel from Claudia and Esperanza so I would like to hear Aurora’s counsel first.”

Portia would have been petrified to speak in front of the others and voice her opinions.  She spoke up among the handmaidens but giving battle advice to these veterans was well beyond her courage.  Aurora seemed to hesitate for a moment.  She glanced at her own mother sitting across the table from her and Portia realized that she was more nervous speaking in front of her mother than she was about speaking in front of everyone else.  The Doctor gave her daughter a firm look that seemed to say, “You can do this, just do it.” Portia gave her friend’s leg a little squeeze of encouragement under the table.   Aurora took a breath, squared her shoulders and began.

“The castle does not have any obvious weaknesses but when I was trying to decide where to deploy the handmaidens two different scenarios stood out.  If an enemy were to try and attack us by stealth at night, then the castle’s weak spot is the north wall.  The postern gate is near the western end of that wall and large sections of the path that lead up to the gate are hidden from view by the shape of the cliff face.  These two factors make the north wall the best place for a stealthy handful of men to try and surprise us by rushing the wall and scaling it before we could react.  They could then open the gate and let more in.  Even so, the north wall is relatively secure from even such a calculated attack. The road that leads up to the gate is no more than a narrow path down a cliff face that can only be traveled in single file, so bringing any sizable force up that way is almost impossible, especially in the dark.  The gate itself is very small, barely large enough for a single man to lead a horse through and it’s protected by a reinforced door, and an outer portcullis.  Even if a couple of men were able to scale the wall and surprise the guards it would still be impossible to get a large group of warriors through the gates before we could drive them out.

“The other scenario involves the south wall.  It has the main gate in the middle of it and a large road leading up to it but it is all uphill for the attackers, the view is clear and open for miles, and the moon will be near full for the next few days so there is little chance of sneaking up on us that way, even at night.

“This may surprise you, Lady Evelyn, but I am actually more concerned about the day.  I think that it is far more likely that the enemy will try to use subterfuge to gain entry through the main gate during the day than to try and sneak up at night.  During the day, we generally keep the gate open to provide access for the merchants, guildsmen, and villagers who will be coming and going on legitimate business and the main road provides a ready-made approach for a force of Hungarians on horseback to try and take the castle quickly if they can get a few men inside to secure the gate.”

Portia looked at the adults in the room and they were all nodding at what Aurora was saying.  It was not news to any of them, they were well acquainted with the castle’s strengths and weaknesses, but they were impressed that Aurora could see them as well.  Aurora’s mother mouthed the words “Good Job” at her daughter.

“At this point,” the Grey Lady began, “I am expecting the Hungarians to pass us by; attacking a castle without a full army and proper siege equipment is a fool’s errand, but they may just be bold enough to think that they can catch us napping. I want to be ready in case they try a quick raid.  We will put the shieldmaidens on the wall at night when I think their greater experience will be the most important.  The handmaidens and a couple of the most experienced shieldmaidens will be on the wall during the day.  With a little luck we can keep a raiding party from reaching the top of the walls and avoid hand-to-hand combat altogether.  Now, let’s talk specifics, Aurora, where would you place the handmaidens on the walls?”

“I would place Portia, Fabricia, Julia, Carolina, the Merrick twins, Aquila, Justine and myself on the south wall by the gatehouse since that would be the main point of attack.  To the east I would place...” Lady Evelyn cut her off at this point.

“You have said that, in your estimation, the south gatehouse is the castle’s weakest point against a daylight raid.  What criteria are you using to make your choices?

“Because Portia, Fabricia, Julia, and I are our best fighters while the others are at least reliable and courageous.  I am sure that they will stand their ground and fight even if the Hungarians were to get inside the gate or gain the top of the wall.  I’m worried about the skill levels and reliability of some of the other girls.  I’m afraid that there are several who are not at their peak physically and who may run at the first sign of adversity.”  Again, the adults nodded their heads.

“An excellent evaluation,” said Lady Evelyn, “battles are won by fortitude and perseverance as much as they are won by skill at arms.  Nevertheless, you need to make sure that you have several reliable girls on the north wall to bolster defenses there just in case.  The east wall is not a concern so you may put your weakest girls there.  I will accept your decisions on where each girl should be assigned. Now head back to the barracks and get a good night’s sleep, you’ll oversee the placement of the handmaidens tomorrow.”

Aurora and Portia got up and left the Great Hall.

“How do you think it went?” Asked Aurora, once they were outside.  “I have to admit, it was nerve wracking to talk in front of everyone like that, especially my mother.

“It went great!” Exclaimed Portia, “You were fantastic! I think even your mom was impressed.  You were dead on about how the Hungarians are probably going to attack us.  I just have one question.”

“Really? What?”

Portia hesitated for a moment before asking, “What does the word subterfuge mean?”

Aurora laughed, put her arm around her friend’s shoulder, and led her back to the barracks.

◆◆◆

The morning was clear, bright, and warm as Portia looked down from the castle wall between the merlons at the one road that led up to the castle.  It had been five long days since the men had left.  Wicklin had been fortified by the men-at-arms while the knights and squires had scouted even farther to the east looking for raiders.  There had been no sightings, but the remains of a couple of burned out farms gave proof of their presence. The longer the Hungarians played hide-and-seek the surer that Aurora became that there would be an attack on the castle.

Portia watched closely as farmers and merchants slowly climbed up and down the road, bringing produce and goods to and from the castle.  Her overactive imagination kept spotting raiders hiding in every wagon.  It was enough of a problem that when she actually saw something unusual, she had to triple check herself to make sure that she was really seeing something out of the ordinary.

"Aurora, look at that group of merchants rounding the second bend from the bottom. I can't say for sure, but it feels like there are too many horses in the group."  Aurora studied the merchants carefully.  It was a larger group than usual, and they had several wagons with them.  What was most unusual was the number of horses tied to the wagons. Even a large group of merchants would only bring along a couple of extra horses, this group had more than a dozen.

"They could easily have ten or fifteen men hidden inside each of their wagons waiting to jump out as soon as they get to the gatehouse," Aurora said thoughtfully.  "They’re dressed like some of the merchants from east Francia and their equipment looks real.  Other than the horses, they look legitimate, but they may have ambushed some real merchants and taken their gear.  Better safe than sorry, I'll tell your mother."

Aurora walked away and came back a minute later with the Gray Lady who looked the situation over for herself.

"If we close the gate now, they may kill everyone on the road out of spite," said Lady Evelyn thoughtfully.  "We’ll keep the gate open and get the rest of the merchants and villagers inside first and then close the gate when everyone is safe.  Warn the girls to be ready and not allow anyone else to leave."

Aurora and Portia watched closely as the would-be merchants continued to toil up the road with their wagons.  As the last of the farmers came in through the gates ahead of them the merchants suddenly jumped up and threw back the covers on their wagons.  This seemed ridiculous to Portia; they were still fifty yards away and there was no way that the men could possibly run to the gate before the guards closed it, but what she saw in the back of the first wagon made the hair rise on the back of her neck.  Four enormous white wolves leapt out of the wagon and came bounding up the hill toward the castle.

They were the size of small ponies and moved like lightning, their fur was as white as snow and their eyes were as red as fire.  They drew back their black lips in snarls that revealed enormous teeth.  They howled in fury and their howls seemed to echo off the mountains and bring a chill as cold as the arctic to the air around them.  Two of the handmaidens were hurriedly trying to close the great doors of the gate when two of the wolves breathed and a blast of frost shot out.  Portia heard the girls’ choked yells and then silence.

"Target the wolves!" Aurora instantly commanded the handmaidens.

Portia took off at a dead run and yelled over her shoulder, "The guards are down, I've got to get the gate closed!"  The winch for the portcullis was inside one of the guardrooms and that should have dropped immediately. For some reason it hadn’t and Portia needed to find out why.

The gatehouse itself was three stories tall and projected above the top of the wallwalk.  It was basically a long, wide, stone hallway with a heavy portcullis and two reinforced, wooden doors that served as gates on the outside end facing the road.  Guardrooms on each side of the gatehouse had arrow slits that opened up into the gatehouse so that guards could shoot arrows at any invaders who got into the main entryway while being protected by the stone walls.  On the interior end of the gatehouse was another set of heavy wooden doors that served as a final barrier.

That gatehouse itself was taller than the wallwalk but the guardrooms on each side of it were shorter so Portia leapt from the wallwalk down ten feet onto the roof of the nearest guardroom and rolled across it.  She came to her feet and leapt again, this time toward the end of a support beam that extended a foot out of the corner of the guardroom. She grabbed it with both hands and swung around the corner of the building and dropped right in front of the doorway into the guardroom.

The handmaiden who was in charge of the winch had been looking through one of the arrow slits that allowed guards to fire from the guard room into the gate house when the wolf unleashed its arctic cold.  Portia found her crawling on the floor of the guardroom her face and hair covered in frost.  It was clear that she had been blinded by the blast.  The girl turned her head at the sound of Portia’s footsteps.

“I can’t find the release!”

“I’ve got it Anna,” Portia said as she ran past the other girl and yanked on the lever.  The winch drum started spinning madly as the massive weight of the portcullis dropped inside the gatehouse.  She glanced through one of the arrow slits and saw two frozen handmaidens standing like statues trying to push the heavy gate doors closed.  She watched as the heavy metal outer gate dropped like a rock right onto the head of one of the wolves as it tried to get into the castle.  The heavy thud of the portcullis was immediately followed by the shrill whining of the beast before it went still under the weight of the 2,000-pound gate.

“I’m sorry! I can’t see anything!”  Fabricia said, “I’m trying to help but…”

“Stay here and close the door,” Portia yelled as she sprinted past the handmaiden and back out into the bailey.

Two wolves were already on the move, looking for prey when the third went running past Portia.  It whipped its head around at the sound of its companion dying and saw the young handmaiden.

Portia grabbed for her crossbow and then cursed her own stupidity for dropping it on the wallwalk.  She sprinted back into the gatehouse and ducked behind one of the frozen handmaidens and used her body as a shield against the cone of frost that erupted from the mouth of the wolf.  Even behind protection she felt the skin on her legs go numb.  The beast finished its turn and charged back into the gatehouse after her.  Portia desperately needed a ranged weapon but had none. She glanced around the frozen statue trying to determine where exactly the wolf was when she noticed something tucked into the girl’s belt.  She had a francisca!  The other girl should have one too.

Portia grabbed the handles of the throwing axes out of the two girls’ belts.  Franciscas were not used as much now as they had been in former centuries, but they still had their uses whether it was fighting Hungarians or magical wolves and the young warrior loved them. Portia attacked the animal using traditional francisca tactics; she jumped out from behind the guard and hurled the axe in her left hand as hard as she could at the ground right in front of the wolf and then immediately charged it swinging the other axe in her right hand.  The francisca hit the ground and bounced up at a wicked angle, spinning like a demon possessed blade.  The animal tried to dodge it, but the axe struck it a sharp blow gouging a deep gash into its hip and knocking it sideways so that it stumbled. The wolf’s blood caused the air around it to become bone chilling cold.

Portia swung the other francisca with all her might at the wolf’s head as it struggled to regain its footing. She hit it in between the eyes and buried the weapon in its skull.  Instantly the wooden axe handle froze solid and broke in half leaving her hand tingling from the chill. As the animal died the handmaiden felt a wave of arctic cold slap her in the face.  Her cheeks and forehead went numb and an electric shiver shot through her entire body.

Portia glanced around for the other francisca that she had thrown but had no time to make a grab for it.  The second wolf had already identified her as the major threat and was charging down on her.  She ran toward the portcullis with the beast in close pursuit while pulling her gladia and a dagger out of their sheaths.  At the last moment she leapt up toward the portcullis and ran several steps up its iron grating just as the wolf cut loose with a freezing blast at the spot where she had been just a moment before.  The handmaiden kicked off the top of the portcullis, arched her back and did a perfect flip followed by a perfect landing right behind the wolf.  Its high speed and large bulk carried it into the portcullis where it smacked its head against the iron bars hard enough to make them ring.  Portia jumped forward, swinging her gladia at the wolf, but the beast twisted out of the way of her attack and then lunged at her in return.  Portia spun to one side and counterattacked stabbing it in the side with the dagger in her right hand even as she hacked at its nose with the gladia in her left.

The strike to the nose was a glancing blow but the full 18 inches of the dagger in her right hand struck deep and immediately froze.  The icy coldness ran up the metal of the blade and into her arm even as the creature’s blood spurted all over her right hand.  Everything from fingertip to shoulder went completely numb. She hadn’t realized how much the wooden handle of the francisca had protected her from the freezing effects of the animal’s blood but now that she couldn’t move her right arm at all she was in serious trouble.

The blow was a bad one but not immediately fatal and the wolf went into a frenzy of clawing and biting.  In its pain, it missed Portia with its teeth but slammed into her with its head. The blow knocked the breath out of her, threw her onto her rear, and sent a chill through her that was so cold it hurt even through her chain mail.  It could stop a sword or turn an arrow, but it was useless against this magical cold.  Fortunately, the head butt against her hauberk also seemed to stun the wolf for a moment as it stumbled and fell to the ground before trying to struggle back to its feet.  Portia couldn't risk striking it with her gladia.  Even if she succeeded in killing it there would be no way that she could close the inner gates with both arms paralyzed and, as far as she knew, there was still another wolf running around in the bailey. She had to get to the guardroom and grab Anna’s francisca.

A low earthy growl alerted her to the presence of the missing wolf.  She turned slowly and saw it looking at her in hatred.  It was much larger and meaner than the others and it had a long evil scar down the left side of its face from an old wound that had blinded one of its eyes. The blind eye had turned a milky white color, but far from making the wolf look weak or handicapped it made the animal look far more evil.  This one was clearly the alpha and Portia knew she was being marked for death.  The handmaiden tried to scramble to her feet and as she did so her hand came down on the handle of the other francisca.  Praise God! In the blink of an eye she dropped her gladia and grabbed the axe.  She needed room to maneuver and she needed to clear the gatehouse so someone else could get in there and close the main gates.  She sprinted for the opening into the bailey before the final wolf could block her in.

The alpha circled cautiously around as it locked eyes with Portia, sizing her up.  She didn’t know why it didn’t just breath frost on her but since it had just breathed on the girls at the main gate perhaps it took the animal a few moments to recover.  The young warrior really wanted the wolf to attack her, but it was not cooperating.  She couldn’t risk throwing her only francisca and not killing it and she didn’t like her chances of trying to charge it with one worthless arm.  The alpha made a strange growling noise and the injured wolf behind her snarled and attacked.  Only a twisting pirouette that would have been the envy of any dancer allowed her to escape its jaws.  She continued the spin all the way around like a whirlwind and buried the head of the francisca in the back of the animal’s neck.  Again, the axe froze and the handle cracked off in her hand, leaving her fingers numb.  The wolf went headfirst into the ground and lay still.

The alpha charged her while she was unarmed but an arrow from the wallwalk thudded into its shoulder.  About time! Thought Portia.  She threw the jagged axe handle and hit it in the head, trying to draw its attention back to her.  The wolf snarled and took a deep breath.  Portia snarled back and started charging it empty handed.  She didn’t know what exactly she was going to do but she had some vague idea of dropping her shoulder and plowing into it like she would if she was carrying a shield.

The beast exhaled a cone of frost at her as Portia felt herself being knocked off her feet and going numb all over.  For a moment she wondered if this was what it felt like to be frozen to death.  Her vision cleared after a moment and she realized that Aurora was lying on top of her trying to cover as much of Portia’s body with her own as she could.  Portia glanced up at her friend and saw that she was holding one of the scutas over both their heads.  Nose-to-nose, she could see that Aurora’s eyes were clamped shut as she fully expected to die protecting her friend.

More bows twanged and she heard arrows striking the ground.  Portia peeked out from under Aurora’s shield and saw the beast running toward the stairs that led up to the wallwalk with blood flowing out of the wound on its shoulder and another one on its neck. There was more yelling, and more arrows were fired but none were able to hit it.  The wolf ran down the wallwalk and then disappeared from her view.

“My stomach is not a saddle and I’m not a horse, please get off of me,” Portia said.

“Not until it’s dead,” replied Aurora, her eyes still clamped shut.

“Well, I don’t know if it’s dead or not, but it’s gone, so please get off, I can’t breathe.”

Aurora tried but failed to get up.  “I can’t,” she answered, “I can’t move my left leg or arm, they’re both completely numb from its breath.  I can’t even let go of the shield.”

Working together they managed to push Aurora off and Portia drank in the cold, wintry, June air.  Even after the wolf was gone the air was still so cold that Portia could see her own breath.  The two girls lay on the ground side-by-side, staring at the blue sky.

Portia could hear the other handmaidens calling for Dr. Zhen, it sounded like they were a thousand miles away.  For a strange moment, she found herself wondering who was injured before it dawned on her that she and Aurora were the ones who were hurt.  She took a moment to revel in the fact that they were both still alive.

“Good choice of shields,” Portia finally managed to say. “The wooden backing probably saved our lives.  Thank you.”

“Thank you for saving everyone’s lives,” countered Aurora.  “If you hadn’t killed the wolves, they would have killed most of the girls and if you hadn’t closed the portcullis the Hungarians would have gotten inside and probably killed everybody else.”  There was a moment of quiet before Aurora continued.  “Sorry it took so long for me to get down here to help.  I can’t jump around like you so I couldn’t take your little short-cut,” she chuckled.  “I had to go around the long way and run down the stairs.  Maybe we need to install stairways across some of the rooftops so the rest of us can keep up with you.”

“Sometimes it’s good to be a little monkey,” sighed Portia.  “You know we’ll have to spend a lot more time with the girls working on their archery. That was embarrassing.  It took them forever to get the first shot off.  Who hit it?”

“Your mother did, she put two arrows from her hunting bow into it.  When the portcullis dropped the Hungarians began scaling the walls with ropes and grappling hooks, so the other girls were too busy dealing with them to pay attention to what was going on in the bailey.”

“At least you saw what was happening.”

“Actually, I was fighting with a Hungarian who made it to the top of the wall. And guess what?  I did it! I beat him!  I did it just the way you and Kurt showed us!  As soon as I saw him, I went into machine mode.  I charged him and threw my francisca, he tried to shoot me with his bow, but my axe bounced right in front of him and messed up his shot.  He tried to dodge it, but it hit him in the shoulder and he dropped his bow.  I plowed into him at full tilt with my shield while he was trying to draw his saber and knocked him back on his heels, he kept stumbling backwards while I attacked and attacked with my sword. I finally managed to punch it through his armor the third time that I hit him and I put my sword into his ribs.”  Aurora held up her sword to show that it was covered in blood, “Then I saw another one attacking Priscilla - believe it or not, she actually came over from the east wall to attack the raiders and was almost holding her own - so I charged him from behind and knocked him off the wall with my shield.  It was after I killed those two that I saw you fighting down in the bailey…”  At this moment Aurora’s exultation began to falter as she looked at her blade.  She had just gone from excitement over defeating two enemy warriors to the realization that she had killed two human beings.

“It got away I’m afraid,” said a stern voice outside of their vision, “but maybe it will still bleed out.”  Both girls twisted their heads around to see who was talking.  It was Lady Evelyn limping toward them.

"What about the Hungarians? The portcullis won't keep them out, half a dozen men, working together can lift it and get in; we've got to at least close the inner gates."

Her mother helped her sit up and then held on to her. "Port, it’s okay, the shieldmaidens and handmaidens have driven the others off with crossbows from the top of the wall.  They’re fleeing back down the hill even as we speak."

A dozen shieldmaidens on horseback rode past the trio in the bailey and charged out through the gate in pursuit of the fleeing Hungarians.  They couldn’t risk letting a bunch of raiders run around in the countryside. There was no telling what kind of damage they would do as they tried to escape back to their home territory.  Dr. Zhen came running up with her medical bag and one of her assistants.

“Port, I’m very proud of you,” Lady Evelyn said, giving her daughter a hug.  “You were a true Centurion today.”

Portia breathed a sigh of relief and sagged against her mother, her mother didn’t give praise very often and it felt good to hear it.  Dr. Zhen dropped her bag next to Aurora and knelt next to her daughter, checking her arms and legs.

“Aurora, I’m proud of you too,” the Gray Lady said quietly. “I know it’s difficult to kill someone but what you did was a good thing.  You didn’t murder innocent men, you stopped two men who have almost certainly killed and enslaved more than their share of innocents. You stopped them from coming in here and killing your sisters on the wall and everyone else in the castle. Don’t take pride in killing but take pride in doing what you needed to do to defend yourself and everyone around you.  You are a warrior of God, a true Centurion, and he used you greatly today.”

‘Yes, yes, I am proud of you both as well,” Dr Zhen said in an almost dismissive manner.  Aurora raised an eyebrow at her mother while Lady Evelyn gave the doctor a wry smile.  Portia knew that Dr. Zhen meant it, but she was much more focused on taking care of the girls and not really paying attention to what she was saying.  The doctor looked up as they all exchanged glances around her.

“How about the three of you talk amongst yourselves while Bernard and I deal to the medical emergency?” She said sarcastically.  The three watched as she pulled a metal probe out of her bag and began touching it to her daughter’s numb arm and watching for a reaction.  Lady Evelyn decided to provide a distraction.

“Has your mother ever told you the story about how she went from being the daughter of a Chinese merchant to being the wife of a Centurion knight?”

“No, and I’ve asked her many times,” Aurora said, looking pointedly at her mother.

“Well the story begins in India…”

“Too late, your ride is here,” the doctor deftly interrupted as two young women came running up with a stretcher. “Take her upstairs to her old bedroom above the clinic.”  Two more young women came running up with another stretcher, “and take this one to my clinic,” she said, pointing to Portia.  She turned to Lady Evelyn,

“They both have a strong pulse in their frozen limbs which is a good sign, but I am still very worried about any damage the cold may have done.  I am going to check the handmaidens at the gate, but it is my fear that they are both dead.  They were completely frozen by the wolf’s breath.”

“Anna’s in the guardroom, she was blasted in the face through one of the arrow slits.  She said she couldn’t see anything so I told her to stay there.”

“At least she's still conscious, that’s something,” Zhen muttered as she grabbed her bag and led Bernard toward the gatehouse.

Portia looked down at the dead body of one of the wolves as she was loaded onto the stretcher.  "Mom, what are those things?"

Lady Evelyn's face darkened, and her voice took on a note of concern.  "They’re winter wolves, creatures from the far north that never come this far south.  They are very powerful hunters; the one that got away jumped from the top of the curtain wall all the way down to the road.  That’s a drop of at least 30 feet and even with two arrows in it the beast didn’t even slow down when it hit the ground, it just took off running.  Strange things are happening right now.  Two of the men with the Hungarians were tall and blond and looked more like Swedes to me than Hungarians.  I think they brought the winter wolves with them."

Lady Evelyn limped beside the stretchers as the girls were carried toward the clinic.

“How do you know so much about Swedes and winter wolves?” Asked Aurora.

“My father was Warden of the Northern Marches like Sir Gerard is Warden of the Eastern Marches.  I grew up in Castle Nordhaven near Hamburg.  We defended Christendom from the Norse and I have dealt with both Danes and Swedes before.  I have even seen a Winter Wolf once.  I moved to Carinthia when I married Portia’s father.”

“How did you two meet if you lived so far apart?”

“We didn’t.  It was an arranged marriage.  My father and Sir Gerard’s father were both prominent Centurions who held titles through the Frankish kings.  Having us marry helped keep the Centurion territories and titles in Centurion hands.  God blessed me with Gerard as a husband and I like to think that he got blessed as well.”

Portia had stopped listening, she had heard all of this before, but her forehead was wrinkled in thought. She knew that fatigue was affecting her thinking, but she just couldn't wrap her brain around it.  Vikings traveled everywhere in their longboats.  They could get pretty far inland by traveling up and down rivers in them but none of the rivers in Carinthia ran over the Alps into the northern lands so how did they get here?  The Swedes sailed or walked everywhere; they almost never rode horses while the Hungarians practically lived on horseback.  It was hard to imagine how two such different peoples could even travel together.

"Since when do Swedes and Hungarians cooperate?"  Portia interrupted.

"I've never heard of it happening before, Port, and I don't understand why it would be happening now, but it is an ominous sign.”

Chapter 10

“A lost opportunity is exactly that, lost.  Let it go.  Lift up your head and fix your eyes on what is before you.  Only fools walk around always looking backwards in regret.”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 2: Proverb 5

She lay in the dim gloom of the cave nursing her bitterness. She had not expected the raid to succeed; it had originally only been intended as a distraction.  But it had come so close to killing the brat!  What a waste! Of course, the attempt to take the castle had been doomed from the start but that part of the raid had always been irrelevant to her, what had mattered was the death of her enemy, and the winter wolves had actually come quite close to exterminating that cursed, little agent of doom.

Sadly, the Black was not able to witness the raid directly as she had to stay hidden during the day. She was only able to see it through the eyes of her sleeping enemies as they dreamed about it that night but in some ways that was better, some of the details of the raid were fuzzy but this way she was able to savor every little morsel of fear that the different girls had felt.

It was time for the next step in her plan.  She listened for a moment to the gnawing sounds of her children as they chewed on the bones of a bull that she had carried off from a farmer's field and brought back last night.  They would be all right while she dreamed.  She glanced up at the roof.  When her mate had died, she had crawled back into their cave and sealed the entrance behind her and slumbered with their eggs for twenty years.  Now that it was time to begin feeding her children and carrying out her revenge, she had been forced to create a new entrance.  She had made it in the roof of the cavern thinking that it would slow down any possible attackers as they would have to climb down with ropes to reach her, but part of the cliff face above the cavern had collapsed as well and it had partially filled one corner of her lair making a natural ramp down to the floor of the chamber.  She had looked it over from the outside and unless one knew exactly where to look the cavern was nearly impossible to see, but it still bothered her that there was a possible way in.  Humans had a nasty way of stumbling into things by accident.

She couldn’t let caution hinder her plans now, perhaps she could even find a way to use the cavern collapse to her advantage. She had waited this long and if she let caution rule the day she would never act.  At any rate, she would be safe enough for now while she dreamed.

Chapter 11

“Beware the mother of an unmarried daughter.  No further explanation is necessary.”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 7: Proverb 1

It took most of the morning to escort the farmer and his family back to their village and it was obvious that the girl and her mother kept glancing at Brendan while they whispered and giggled.  The farmer insisted that the Centurions accept his hospitality and he treated them to the best meal that he could provide.  He and his wife both kept apologizing for the simplicity of the fare but, to Brendan who had eaten scraps from the garbage at different times in his life, and to the knight and the priest who lived by the Centurion principle of moderation, the food was more than adequate.  The new squire found himself seated next to the farmer’s daughter at the dinner table, a maneuver carefully orchestrated by the girl's mother.

Her name, as it turned out, was Amelia, and she kept asking him questions about his background and about fighting the Wyvern.  It was the standard tactic employed by women across the centuries of playing up to a man’s ego in order to distract him from her real agenda.  Unfortunately for her, it didn’t work in this case.  First, Brendan was very familiar with the tactic having used it himself on numerous occasions to get close to a mark he was planning to pickpocket. Second, Brendan’s past had too many embarrassing events in it to share with these people.  They thought he might be marriage material, but he knew he wasn’t.

When the meal was finally done, he was ready to hit the road, until he saw the knight and the priest cleaning off the table and washing the dishes.  Brendan rubbed his temples in frustration.  Why couldn’t these two be more like most western knights?  Any other knight and priest would have seen washing the dishes as being below their station and left when the food was done.  The mother hovered around protesting that her guests should not be doing such menial labor, but the two men gently persisted in their work.  Brendan felt obligated to help which irritated him even more because he had been looking forward to NOT doing the dishes for once.  The priest shot him a questioning look and the young squire reluctantly stepped forward and began drying the dishes.  Amelia helped dry, an activity that she clearly enjoyed much more than he did.  He finished the chore as quickly as he could and the three said their goodbyes to the farmer and his family.

"It’s the Centurion Way," explained the knight as they made their way out of the village.  "Christ himself got down on his knees and washed the filthy feet of his disciples as an example of how even leaders should be servants.  No job is beneath you if God directs you to do it; we are all servants of one another. You will see for yourself when you get to the castle.  The highest take their turn serving the lowest.  I am the Lord of the manor and my duties and responsibilities are different from a serving girl or a groom, but my status is not.  Most of the time it is my place to give orders and it is their place to follow them, but I can honestly tell you that I feel no greater blessing than when I get to serve someone else.  It helps to keep me humble; it makes me more sensitive to the trials and difficulties of others, and it serves me as a constant reminder that we are all brothers and sisters in Christ and equal in the eyes of our Lord.”

Brendan shook his head, nobody else acted like this!  Except your own sister, he thought, she would have washed other people’s feet. He paused, where had those words come from?  Even the phrasing was a little weird, like he was talking to himself instead of just thinking the thought.  Of course, the thought was true, he had never seen his sister wash anyone’s feet, but he knew that was something that she would be perfectly happy to do, she was just that sort of person.  He shrugged it off, probably just his own thoughts.  Or maybe God is trying to teach you something.  That thought was both exciting and frightening to Brendan at the same time.  He needed to get out of his own head and continue the conversation.

"I’m used to seeing great men lord it over the rest.  No knight or priest of the east would ever dream of washing their own dishes, let alone someone else’s."

"It is very different from everywhere else in the west as well," chipped in the priest soberly. "Most of the great nobles and bishops of the west would agree with those in the east.  They hold the Centurions at arm’s length and grant us land and titles along the edges of their kingdoms.  They respect the military power of the Centurions and like to use us as a layer of protection from barbarians and aggressive neighbors, but they don't really want us living too close to them.  Our dangerous ideas of leaders who serve and equality with peasants make them nervous.”

As they got out into the countryside Sir Gerard reined his horse to a halt and turned to Brendan, "Enough about politics and history, it is time for your first lesson as my squire. How much experience do you have riding horses?"

Horses were for knights and nobles, or the occasional rich merchant, they were not for gutter snipes or back alley thieves.  And yet he had ridden a horse once, if only to try and steal it.  Neither the attempted theft nor the attempted escape afterward had gone well.  He had avoided the hangman's noose because of his youth and the mercy of the knight whose horse he had tried to steal.

"Very little, my lord. I have ridden a horse only once and the memory is not a good one," he finally said.

Father Cardic laughed, "I’ll not embarrass you by asking you why a former thief such as yourself would be riding a horse.  I also have a few embarrassing stories from my youth that I try to avoid discussing."

"Only because we’ve heard them so many times that we’ve threatened you with violence if you repeat them again," interrupted the knight with a snort.

He spoke again to Brendan, "Remember, you are no longer a thief, you are now a Centurion squire.  You must learn how to ride and handle a warhorse."  Sir Gerard swung down from the saddle and gestured for Brendan to mount up.

"Is it safe?" the young squire found himself asking even though he knew it was a stupid question.

"Safe?" Asked the knight in surprise.  "I should hope not! He is a warhorse after all; a 'safe' warhorse wouldn't do you much good in battle.  His name is Ballista."

"You named your warhorse after a piece of siege equipment?" Asked Brendan with a look of puzzlement upon his face.

"Like all good warhorses he is a knight's most powerful weapon.  He is very dangerous, but you don't need to worry, he has excellent self-control. Now mount up."

"He's very dangerous and self-controlled, that's something at least, very dangerous and out of control would be so much worse," Brendan muttered under his breath.  He looked up and realized that the saddle was at eye level. There was no turning back now.  He took hold of the pommel and put his left foot in the stirrup as he had watched Sir Gerard do before.  With difficulty he managed to swing his right leg awkwardly over the horse and pull himself upright in the saddle.  Brendan felt a little flush of pride at his success.

"Not bad for a first time!" Exclaimed the priest.  "You do realize that to become a knight you have to be able to leap from the ground into the saddle while wearing full armor and without putting your foot in the stirrup."

Brendan suddenly had a vision of himself leaping up and slamming into the side of the horse while trying to throw his right leg over the animal, followed by a slow slide down the side of the horse, and a landing in a pile of manure.  Not a pleasant thought.

He shook it off and forced himself to think about something else. His height above the ground was almost doubled and he was surprised at how much further he could see.  "The view is excellent up here," Brendan said with a laugh. "It must be hard to sneak up on a knight."

"It is a bit more difficult, that’s true, but it is still possible," cautioned Sir Gerard. "It is also very difficult for you to sneak up on anyone."

"Aye," enjoined Father Cardic. "Everyone for miles around can see a knight coming."

"Which is why you must keep your eyes and ears open for a knight's greatest enemy," continued Sir Gerard.

"Another knight?" Ventured Brendan.

"That’s what many knights will tell you, but the truth is that a knight is more likely to be killed by an archer or a crossbowman than another knight.  Sitting tall and proud on the back of a warhorse makes us excellent targets for a well-aimed arrow.  I think we will let you ride for a while; you might as well get used to being a target.”

Father Cardic cackled as the three continued walking down the road.

Chapter 12

“It is well said by the Lord that we should remove the plank from our own eye before we try to remove the speck from our neighbor’s eye, but we must first recognize that we even HAVE a plank in our own eye before we can remove it.  Pride feeds our self-deception while humility opens our eyes to the truth.”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 1: Proverb 14

Portia lay on a bed in the infirmary.  It was small but most castles didn’t have one at all, so it was luxurious compared to its competition.  Its very existence was a testament to Centurion principles of health, hygiene, and medicine.  Portia was looking down at her arms when Doctor Zhen came in to check on her.

“How is Aurora doing?”

“She is doing well, resting in her old bed upstairs,” answered the Doctor.  “Feeling and mobility are slowly returning to her arm and leg.  How about you, how are you feeling?”

Portia shrugged, “Getting better I guess.”

Doctor Zhen took hold of Portia’s left wrist, pulled her arm out straight and began checking the muscles in her arm, “Give me the other arm please.”  She repeated the check on Portia’s right arm.  “It’s a good thing that your limbs are so muscular, the muscle helped protect the nerves in your arms from being permanently damaged by the cold, Aurora’s recovery is going to take a bit more time.”

Portia sighed.

“What’s the matter?”

“Saved by my big, thick muscles.  Again.”

The Doctor rolled her eyes, “I am tired of your whining and complaining.  Your muscles are still not as big as most of the squires, they are just bigger than any of the other women.” Zhen paused for a moment, came to a decision, then spoke abruptly, “You remember the catalog of women’s health that I am writing, yes?”

“How could I forget?  You talked most of the women in the castle into posing naked for your anatomical sketches.”

“And many of the men.  I am writing a supplement to Dr. Gesicht’s comprehensive work on human anatomy.  His work is amazing but even he admits its limitations regarding women’s health conditions and their battle injuries so he asked me to produce a catalog of treatment that would fill that gap.  We are also working together to develop anatomical nomenclature for all of the structures in the human body…” Portia’s eyes started to glaze over so the doctor moved on quickly, “Let’s look at a few of those pictures.  First, who do you think has the most balanced, feminine figure among any of the handmaidens?”

“Priscilla.”

“Okay,” The Doctor pulled a large drawing out of a leather folio.  “Now, who do you think comes closest to the ideal handmaiden’s figure?  Someone who is strong but still feminine?”

“Aurora.”  The Doctor pulled another large drawing out of the leather folio.

“Let’s look at these two first and then we will look at yours next.”

Portia gingerly climbed out of the bed and walked over to the table where Doctor Zhen had laid out the drawings.

“They don’t have faces?” She asked in surprise.

The Doctor gave her a strange look, “Of course not.  Woodworkers will be making cuttings of these to be used in making prints for copies of the catalog.  Other Centurion doctors and their assistants will be seeing these pictures.  I need them to be able to see accurate representations of human anatomy, not be able to identify which of our handmaidens they have seen naked in a print.”

“Right, sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Now back to the task at hand.  Compare the pictures of Priscilla and Aurora, what do you see?”

Portia looked at the highly detailed, anatomical drawings of each girl in various poses, flexing muscles and stretching limbs to show the female body from different angles and positions.  Measurements and suggested names for the different anatomic structures were written in the margins of each picture.  She remembered the painstaking care Doctor Zhen had used in making her measurements and sketching her drawings to produce images that were as realistic as possible.  She looked in awe at the beauty and detail of each sketch.  There was a reason why Centurions were renowned across the world for their medical expertise.

“Hello?” The Doctor asked, “Are you in there?”

“Sorry, I was just remembering how much work you put into making these.  Okay, what do I see…Priscilla has the narrow waist and broad hips that everyone thinks is so beautiful, all of her proportions are perfectly balanced, from her shoulders to her bust, to her waist, to her hips.  She has more muscle than I gave her credit for, but she clearly has an ideal shape for a woman.”

“Good, now what do you see in the other drawings?”

“Aurora looks amazing.  She definitely has more muscle, but she still has a real waist that actually narrows, at least a little bit, instead of going straight up and down like mine.  Her hips are a bit narrower than Priscilla’s and her shoulders are a bit broader, but she still has a beautiful shape.  She is clearly a woman.  She’s not as curvy as Priscilla, but she still has just enough curves in all the right places.  I mean, look at her!  She is a beautiful woman who is also in excellent condition.  Why can’t I be like her?  Why can’t I have a body like hers instead of a body like mine that is one big rectangle like the men?”

“Are you ready to look at your picture now?”

“No, they don’t call me The Squire for nothing.  Who wants to look at a teenage boy who is missing a few parts?  Even my voice sounds like one of the squires.”

“First, it is true that you have a very low voice for a teenage girl, closer to the range of the boys than the girls, but your voice is still not as low as most of the boys.”

“Most of the boys, thanks, you know that at least Johann and Micha would trade voices with me in a heartbeat.”

“Stop talking, I’m not finished. The second thing is that I lied.  The second picture is you.”

“Wait, what?”

“You heard me, that is not Aurora’s picture, it is yours.  You are the one with ‘a real waist’ and ‘a beautiful shape’, you are the one with ‘just enough curves in all the right places’, you are the ‘beautiful woman who is also in excellent condition’.  In fact, I lied twice, the first picture isn’t Priscilla’s.  I laid your picture out next to someone else’s picture who has much more balanced proportions than Priscilla. And no, I am not going to tell you who it is, you don’t need to know.”

Portia looked back down at the picture of her own body.  Now she could see it when she looked closer, the shoulders that were too wide, the hips that were too narrow, a waist that went straight up and down like a block of wood, the muscles that were excessive…

“Stop it!” Doctor Zhen snapped.  Portia jumped. “I can see what you are doing, all of those features that you thought were ideal when you believed they belonged to Aurora you are now judging to be ugly because they belong to you.  You are barely 16, your body is still growing.  What you see when you look at yourself is not the truth, it is a lie that Satan has whispered into your ear through the jealous words of others and through your own self-doubts.  You must learn to see yourself as God sees you, not how you think other people see you.  This body that you hate, this is the body that God gave to you, the body that God used to defeat three winter wolves and save everyone in this castle.  You did things yesterday in defending the castle that no one else could have done.  Be proud of the blessing that God has given you with this body and use it to His glory.  If He had given you Priscilla’s body, or even Aurora’s body, we would probably all be dead or captured as slaves.  You are a strong, capable, beautiful, young woman no matter what anyone else says.”

A knock came at the door.

“Who is it?” Doctor Zhen asked as she shooed Portia back to the bed and put the pictures back in the folio.

“It’s Priscilla, may I enter?”

Portia made a face and shook her head ‘no’.

“Of course!  Please come in. What can we do for you?”

Priscilla stepped through the doorway and stood there awkwardly.  Portia and the Doctor waited expectantly, not helping her out.

“I was talking with my mother about the battle and she told me that most of what I was saying to her I should really be saying to you.”  Priscilla took a deep breath and stared at the floor for a long moment before continuing, “Thank you for all of the additional training that you and Aurora gave us.  I didn’t kill any of the Hungarians who reached the top of the wall, but your training kept me alive.  Thanks to you, I was able to stay alive long enough for Aurora to knock one of my attackers off the wall and for Julia to shoot the other with a crossbow.” Priscilla shook her head in disbelief, “Those two were a force to be reckoned with when a few of the raiders made it to the top.  I see the value of all the training now.  So, thank you.”

“Aurora told me that you actually came around from the east wall and launched an attack of your own.  I misjudged you too, I didn’t think you had the guts to take the initiative.”

Priscilla smiled awkwardly at Portia, “Can we call a truce and at least leave each other alone?”

“Truce,” Portia agreed, nodding her head.  A sudden flash of understanding hit Portia and her gaze snapped to the doctor, “The other picture was Julia, wasn’t it?”

Doctor Zhen continued to look at Priscilla, “I’m sure that I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Portia nodded her head appreciatively.  Julia could really bring it in training and was one of their best handmaidens both in her skill set and in her conditioning. So, Zhen thought that Julia had the best shape among the girls and not Priscilla?  Portia could live with that.  It also made her feel a little better about herself, her own shape wasn’t that far out of whack compared to Julia’s.

“Stop making comparisons in your head,” Doctor Zhen growled.  Portia’s eyes bugged out in shock; it was like the woman could read her mind!  How did Aurora get away with anything?

“Is anyone going to explain any of this to me?” Priscilla asked, Portia and the Doctor shook their heads in unison.  Priscilla shook her head in exasperation and stalked out.

“Maybe now she will stop calling you The Squire,” Doctor Zhen chuckled.

“No, she’ll still call me The Squire, but now she’ll act like it’s a compliment,” Portia laughed, “But I think I can live with that.”

Chapter 13

“Plans made in darkness end in darkness.”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 6: Proverb 7

The Black went to sleep, slipped into her dream state, and flew to the castle of her enemies.  She moved carefully through their dreams looking for useful hopes and fears that she could exploit.  Lady Evelyn saw herself as a statue of gray stone on the outside and a woman of passion and fear on the inside.  She showed nothing but strength and courage to others, but she burned with fire for her husband and daughters.  She loved them more than life itself but there was also a lump of icy fear deep down inside, fear that she would lose one of them, fear that she would die of grief if she did.  The Black turned this little knot of fear over and examined it but decided that she couldn't do very much with it yet.  As strong as it was, Lady Evelyn was stronger still and she would not give in to her fears.  Perhaps it could be put to use after she actually lost her daughters.

Next, she made her way to the bedroom of Marcia, Portia's little sister, and gently entered her dreams.  She began to look around and was mystified at what she was looking at.  What was this?  Most young girls dreamed of adventure, or unicorns, or parties, or boys, but not this one.

Marcia was dreaming about translating a Chinese scroll, it was very challenging and she kept checking her words against a Chinese-Greek dictionary and looking at jars of strange ingredients with Latin labels.  How intriguing!  Was the girl dreaming of performing some magic or alchemy?

The Black dug deeper.  The girl apparently saw herself as some great academic explorer, making discoveries every day.  Unfortunately, search as she might, the Black could find no fears that she could manipulate.  Marcia was a brilliant young girl of confidence.  Perhaps too much confidence.  She had never really been challenged or tested in her life, never faced any real adversity.  The Black smiled to herself, perhaps she could put that excessive confidence to use and draw the girl out of the castle on some fool’s errand chasing her deepest dream.  She would have to push the girl into revealing the deepest wishes of her heart but that could be done at another time.

Lastly, the Black searched until she found the dreams of Portia down in the handmaiden barracks. She had been through the girl's dreams before observing and planning but now she would begin to act, the others deserved to die, and the Black would enjoy killing them, but this was the one that had to die to stop the prophecy.  She paused for a moment, Portia’s dreams normally consisted of her being laughed at for outrageously big muscles or trying desperately to save her brother from a burning stable or being all alone in a desolated castle.  Tonight was different though, tonight she was training others and watching them get better and better.  Something had changed.

The Black mulled this over.  The attack of the winter wolves seemed to have made Portia stronger and more confident instead of more fearful about life on the frontier.  The Black knew that she needed to push Portia’s dreams in a darker direction, she couldn’t let this newfound peace stand.  She focused on Portia's fear of letting others down.  Portia's biggest fear was, fear itself. The girl was fearless to the point of recklessness when the only thing on the line was her own neck but when others were depending upon her, that was when she became afraid.  She was afraid that at a key moment fear would take control and cause her to hesitate, or miss a shot, or run away and cause someone else to be killed. It was, in some ways, a rather silly fear considering how brave she was in other situations, but it was a fear that the Black could most definitely work with.

The dragon settled into the girl's dreams and began to gently guide them into nightmares.  Suddenly, a hooded figure appeared in the Black's own dreams.  Fear and anger coursed through her as she tried to flee from him.  It was that horrible prophet!  He died twenty years ago and yet he still haunted her. Through sheer will the Black took control of the dream again and made him disappear into the darkness, but his appearance at this time left her trembling.  She focused on Portia's dreams again and was pleased to note that her own fear had transferred to the girl.  She had seen the hooded figure in her dream as well and had been filled with the dragon's fear of him.  She had heard his unspoken prophecy of death and assumed that it was meant for her.  The Black settled down again and began crafting nightmares for Portia, nightmares of her sister disappearing into the woods and Portia searching for her, nightmares of facing a dragon and freezing in fear as the dragon killed her sister, nightmares of hopelessness and doom.

Chapter 14

“Good companions make a long journey shorter, bad companions do not.”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 10: Proverb 4

Brendan and Father Cardic were packing up the camp as Sir Gerard took the last of his practice shots with his longbow.  He unstrung his weapon, recovered his arrows, and packed them away.  Brendan had, of course, seen archers before but he had never seen a knight practicing archery.

"I didn't know that knights carried bows."

"Most don't," answered the knight, "It isn't considered a knightly weapon.  Centurions are all trained in the use of longbows and crossbows because we fight too many enemies in too many different situations.  We do not have the luxury of a large army with a variety of different warriors specializing in different arms.  We do not have the luxury of picking the battlefield that best suits the strength of our forces.  We must be ready to fight with whatever weapon is best in whatever circumstances we find ourselves with whoever is available.   It is a rare thing when we get to fight a 'pretty' battle on a wide open plain, in broad daylight, with pennants flying and lines of knights charging against each other.  Most of our battles are fought in ugly places, on bad terrain, against enemies using a wide variety of tactics, who must be stopped as soon as possible before they devastate the countryside further. The longbow is only one of many different weapons that you will learn to use before you become a Centurion knight.  Now, mount up."

Sir Gerard had been making Brendan ride more and more.  Sometimes he would simply make him sit in the saddle and ride at a walking pace, sometimes he would practice galloping or trotting and controlling Ballista with his knees and his reins under different conditions.  It had been a couple of weeks and Brendan was finally able to ride for a couple of hours at a time.  When he had first started riding he had been so sore afterward that it had been hard to walk, let alone ride, but now he could push on longer and longer without too much discomfort.  He was finally starting to get comfortable in the saddle.

It was late afternoon and Brendan was taking another shift on Ballista.  Unlike most knights Sir Gerard gave everyone the opportunity to ride and they even gave Ballista long stretches without a rider.  Brendan was enjoying the view when he heard a couple of faint twangs and nearly fell out of the saddle as Ballista suddenly skittered forward and to the left a few steps.

“What was that?” He shouted in surprise, gripping the pommel to avoid falling off the horse.  The knight and the priest had already ducked down and were surveying the countryside when two arrows flew past where Brendan had just been.

“Get off Ballista, NOW!” Sir Gerard ordered.  Brendan tried to comply but in his momentary panic he got his foot tangled in the stirrup.  It was one thing to handle a horse properly and quite another to handle it properly while someone was shooting arrows at you.  Clearly, he was not nearly as competent as he thought he was.

Several more bow shots twanged, and Ballista skittered forward and to the left again.  Brendan’s eyes snapped to the right front and he saw several arrows streaking toward him.  Three were going to miss behind him, their aim spoiled by Ballista’s movements, but one of the arrows was headed straight toward him.  He had less than a second to react and he lacked the horsemanship to instantly spur his mount forward and out of the way.  Old reflexes kicked in and Brendan twisted his body out of the way while his hand lashed out and caught the arrow out of the air just before it hit him.  He had not had to perform that trick in over a year, but it is amazing how a threat to your life can clear your mind and sharpen your reactions.

He shook his foot free of the stirrup and threw himself off the horse just as he heard more bows twang.

“I thought we were almost home,” he muttered as he made his way to the cover of the wheat growing in the field next to the road.  “I wasn’t expecting to be attacked here.”

"Ah yes, if only we could get our enemies to attack us when we are completely prepared,” the old priest muttered back.  “I have written several letters to the Hungarian chieftains asking them to do this but for some reason they continue to refuse such a reasonable request.  They insist upon trying to surprise us because they feel that somehow it gives them some sort of an advantage."

Brendan looked down at the arrow that he was still holding in his hand, he had mistimed it slightly and one of the barbs on the arrow had sliced open his palm.  He dropped the arrow and let the blood wash the wound clean, he just hoped that there was no poison on it.  After a few moments he pulled out a handkerchief that he normally used as a mask and wrapped it around his hand.

“I’m not complaining about Ballista moving since it saved my life, but he has always been rock steady, why was he now afraid of the sounds of a bow?“

"The Hungarians are one of our major enemies and they are masters of the bow,” explained Father Cardic. “Like all Centurion horses, Ballista is trained to move at the sound of a bowstring.  He moves just enough to spoil the archer's shot but not so much as to move you out of position if you are in a cavalry formation.  It’s not fear, it’s training.”

Sir Gerard pointed to a small wooded hill set back about 150 yards from the road, “The arrows were coming from there.”

The attack made no sense.  If you wanted to ambush someone why would you take a chance on such a long-range shot?  Even a good archer would have missed a man-sized target half the time at that range and all they did by taking those shots was to announce their presence without doing any damage.  Why not wait until they got closer?

“The father and I will circle around to the left so that we are more in front of them.  Brendan, this is your chance to put your thieving skills to good use.  I want you to circle around to the right and try to get behind them while we draw their attention to the left.  Be careful and do your best to disappear, they will be watching for someone to try and flank them.”

His dark clothes would be easily visible among the light-colored wheat so he decided to make an especially large detour around to the back of the hill.  He quietly drew his dagger and began moving forward on his hands and knees.  He tried praying for protection, but it felt very awkward.  He wasn’t used to talking to God or asking for things he hadn’t earned.  Crawling through a wheat field made him feel exceptionally vulnerable so he kept praying anyway.

It seemed to take forever but he finally reached the back edge of the little glade and eased himself up behind the nearest tree.  Evening was approaching and it was getting quite dark in amongst the woods.  The squire and his dark clothes blended into the shadows and he disappeared.

Creeping forward silently he came upon four men hiding behind trees ready to ambush anyone who came into the woods.  They were spread out in a rough line about ten yards apart and facing toward the road which is why they had missed him sneaking into the woods on the far side.  The one on the end, whose job it was to watch for anyone trying to outflank them, wasn’t doing his job very well.  Most of his attention was focused on watching the wheat move back and forth marking the progress of the knight and the priest.  From this vantage point it was impossible to see them directly, so the bandits probably assumed that all three of them were coming up that way together.  The priest and the knight were certainly disturbing enough wheat in the field to make it look like more than just two people.

Brendan silently eased his way around the men until he was behind the one at the end of the line.  By the standards of the average person the four men were well hidden and very quiet, but by Brendan’s standards they were noisy breathers and easy to spot.  He also thought he heard a horse tied up at the other end of the line.  It would be best not to go down there, the horse might smell him coming, something that the Magyars would miss.

The squire debated about what to do.  On the one hand, to give away his advantage was tactically stupid, he should kill each one silently from behind.  On the other hand, a sneak attack from behind seemed to be exceptionally cowardly and not at all the sort of thing a Centurion would do.  He was not even sure who they were or whether they should be killed, they might even have important information.  Even in his thieving days he had tried hard not to kill anyone.  He had always refused to lower himself to the level of a pillaging murderer like the Vikings who had destroyed his village.  He knew that was not the Centurion way.  He made a decision and silently moved forward, dagger in hand.

Without warning, the squire stepped forward and hit the would-be ambusher at the end of the line on the back of the head with the pommel of his blade as hard as he could.  This was much riskier than killing him, but the gamble paid off as the man dropped like a rock, out cold.  The others heard the thud and started hissing at their compatriot trying to determine what had happened in the darkness.  Brendan immediately stepped back into the shadows.  The next one in line started creeping toward the fallen man trying to determine what had happened.  He looked around suspiciously, but Brendan was silent and invisible in the darkness.  The ambusher whispered something in a language that sounded like Magyar and poked the unconscious man, trying to rouse him.  He bent over to smell the man’s breath to see if he was drunk and the squire struck again.  Stepping out of the shadows, Brendan used the pommel of his dagger against the back of the second man’s head and the results were the same as the first time. Another loud thud and another unconscious man.

Brendan knew he had to move his position, so he stepped quietly back into the shadows but this time he kept backing up.  He wasn’t sure, but he thought the men were Magyars, he had heard Sir Gerard say that the Magyars and Hungarians were the same people, so this was his first contact with Hungarians, one of the main enemies of the Centurions.  The other two ambushers raced over to their companions only to find that the second one was slumped over the first, both mysteriously out cold.  Their eyes strained at the darkness as they looked around trying to see what had taken out their comrades.

Brendan had an idea.  He had once seen monkeys on display in Constantinople and the screeching sounds they made were unlike anything he had ever heard in his life.  He silently climbed a tree and then began screeching like a monkey and shaking the branches.  The two Hungarians began yelling at each other in fear and excitement.  They began firing arrows aimlessly into the darkness and one of them nearly hit Brendan, embedding itself into a branch near his left leg.  He redoubled his efforts trying to make his monkey sound completely enraged.  He began breaking off branches and throwing them at the men on the ground and then ducking behind the trunk of the tree.  The Hungarians began wailing and then broke and ran toward where the knight and the priest were.  Brendan chuckled to himself.

“Here they come!” Brendan yelled after them.

A moment later there were the sounds of battle which ended very quickly.  The squire lowered himself from the tree and eased quietly forward until he could see what had happened.  Sir Gerard and Father Cardic were at the edge of the glade, standing over the bodies of their two attackers and the priest was already starting to pull out the bandages.  Brendan stepped out of the woods as he breathed a sigh of relief and both men were gratifyingly caught off guard by his sudden appearance.

The priest reacted with blinding speed and swung his staff so quickly that even with the element of surprise in his favor Brendan was just barely able to duck out of the way and avoid being brained.

“It’s me! Brendan!” He called out before the priest could launch a second attack.

“It’s your own fault, sneaking around in the dark like that, all silent and invisible,” Father Cardic grumbled.  “I knew you were here in the woods somewhere, but I had no idea you were so close.”  He paused to eye the young squire suspiciously.  “Sir Gerard was correct when he said you probably had a few tricks of your own for us.  Are there any others?”

“Two more, over there about 10 yards,” the squire answered, “both unconscious.”

“Impressive again!” Exclaimed the knight. “You are indeed a young man of special talents.  How did you catch that arrow? I have never seen it done before.”

“I was a member of a traveling troupe of performers for a while.  I learned how to catch all kinds of dangerous things as part of my performance.  I can catch arrows, knives, axes, even broken glass bottles.  I used to juggle them and catch them when they were thrown or shot at me.  Of course, the bow that we used then was only a 20 lb. bow, but it was also fired at a distance of only 20 yards.  This bow was a lot more powerful, but it was also fired from a lot further away.”  Brendan tried hard to keep the pride out of his voice.

“That sounds like a more legitimate trade than thieving, why did you give it up?” Asked the priest.

“Legitimate is in the eye of the beholder, I’m afraid,” the squire replied.  “When some tax money went missing the local sheriff accused us of stealing it and started rounding everyone up and hanging them. I was one of the fortunate few to escape before being hung.”

Father Cardic pressed on, “Did your troupe steal the money?”

“Possibly, I don’t know.  It is just as likely that the sheriff stole it himself and found the troupe to be a convenient scape goat to blame it on.  I certainly didn’t steal the money and received no cut if someone else did.  Troubadours are often falsely accused of theft, but they are certainly not above thieving either, so it goes both ways.”

The priest grunted but asked no more questions, the knight merely nodded his understanding.

“Let’s get these raiders tied up properly and question them,” Sir Gerard said, “It would be good to know if they are on their own or part of a larger force.”

“And why they attacked us from so far away instead of waiting until we got closer,” Brendan added.

Brendan found the answer to his question when they got back down to the road.  The bowshots from the woods had been an attempt to scare them into getting off the horse and diving into the cover of the fields to avoid getting hit by arrows.  A raider lay in the road at the feet of the warhorse, a nasty wound to the head that was delivered by Ballista’s hoof.  The priest walked around and scouted the grounds.

“There were two of them, the other one is gone now, left his friend behind.  Something is up though, six raiders and only one horse between them.  They were desperate to get their hands-on Ballista and the four in the woods were only a diversion for the other two to steal our horse.”

“Why not put all six of them down here closer to the road and simply shoot us off the horse?  Why such a complicated plan?”  Asked Brendan.

“I am wearing altum mail and plate, which will turn almost any arrow and Centurion priests often wear armor under their habits so Father Cardic may also be well protected,” Sir Gerard explained. “Had they set their ambush close enough for their arrows to have any chance to pierce my armor they would have been close enough in open fields for me to easily spot them and ride them down.  They knew that a Hungarian on foot is no match for a Centurion on horseback.  I don’t know that their plan was the best one, but the alternatives were not much better.  Let’s question them and see what they will tell us.”

Thirty minutes of questioning didn’t produce any results.  Father Cardic’s Magyar was fair, but the Hungarians didn’t respond beyond throwing sullen glances and curse words at him.  One of the Hungarians reacted to a bit of Greek from Brendan but refused to speak after that.  It was decided that nothing more could be gained from the men so the four were delivered over to the local authorities in the nearest town.  It was there that they found out that Castle Warrick had been attacked and that these Hungarians might be part of that raiding party. Clearly the castle defenders had driven their attackers off but there was no telling what kind of casualties they might have suffered.  For the first time, Brendan saw anxiety on the face of Sir Gerard at the thought of his wife and daughters being under attack while he was gone.

Father Cardic continued to be his talkative self but Sir Gerard barely responded to him as they all pushed on harder to get home.  One good thing did come out of the encounter though; Sir Gerard kept the Hungarians’ only horse as a spoil of war and gave it to Brendan.  It wasn’t trained to Centurion standards, but it was used to battle so that was a start.  He renamed it Nightwind.

Early the next morning, Sir Gerard pulled up on the reins and brought Ballista to a stop.  He pointed to a black dot sitting on top of a mountain spur.

"This whole area is Carinthia and it sits in the middle of the Eastern Marches,” he explained to Brendan, “and that is Castle Warrick.  We are almost home.”

Father Cardic and Brendan gave each other meaningful glances.  They knew without a word being said that they would do whatever it took to get Sir Gerard home before nightfall. Brendan took to jogging when the other two were riding, and while the priest didn’t jog, he managed to maintain an incredible walking pace when it was Brendan’s turn to ride.  Together the three were able to reach the castle just as the sun was setting.

As castles went it was solid and defensible, but Brendan had seen the entire city of Constantinople protected by fortifications bigger than these, so he was not particularly impressed by its size.  As they came closer however, he noticed some intriguing innovations that made this castle unique.  The towers were octagonal instead of square, there were bastions that projected from the walls in between the towers to give overlapping fields of fire, and even the gatehouse was larger and better designed than anything else he had seen out here in the west.  Whoever the architect was he had created an excellent design.

A young woman came running out of the castle and Brendan found his eyes drawn to her.  She had a lean, athletic build that he found very striking.  In a land of slender, willowy noblewomen who looked like twigs that could be snapped in two by the wind or plodding, big-boned peasant women who looked like they could pull a plow as easily as they could drive one, this girl was a rare beauty.

And she knew how to run!  Her motion was fluid and perfect, her feet barely touching the ground.  Clearly, she had to be an acrobat or a gymnast to move like that.  He half expected her to start doing cartwheels and flips as she ran out to meet them.  Then he saw her yellow hair bouncing in the air behind her and his heart fell.  He hated yellow hair.  Vikings had yellow hair and he hated Vikings.

Chapter 15

“God works in mysterious ways, and He has a sense of humor too.”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 1: Proverb 1

Portia ran down the stairs from the wallwalk on the rampart to the main gate at a full sprint.  Her father was finally back!  She had watched his approach up from the valley for an hour and finally couldn't stand it anymore.  She ran through the open portcullis and down the road to meet him.  He swung down off his mount and she launched herself at him the second his feet touched the ground.  He was staggered by her impact but caught her in his arms and spun her around.  She clasped her arms around his neck and hung on.

"It’s good to see you too, Port!" The knight was finally able to gasp out.  "Let me introduce you to Brendan, my new squire. Brendan, this is my daughter Portia."

Portia suddenly felt self-conscious hanging on to her father's neck in front of this stranger.  Who was he?  She let go of her father and dropped to the ground.  Who was this squire, who didn’t look like a squire?  He didn’t have any equipment, rode a horse like it was the first time he had ever sat on one, and dressed like a vagabond.

"How do you do, Miss Portia," said the young man rather stiffly. He bowed awkwardly, unsure what exactly to do.  Obviously, this squire was unclear how to address her and that added to her suspicions.

"We are Centurions of the same generation, we are all equal in Christ," she explained a bit harshly.  “You don’t bow to me.”

She didn't know how she was expecting him to react but the cool, clinical stare with the slight raising of one eyebrow was not it. He made her feel like an unknown disease being diagnosed by a doctor.

Marcia came running out of the castle gate squealing with happiness. Oh joy, thought Portia darkly, my day is complete.

"Daddy!"  She cried running out and wrapping herself around her father.  She gave him a short but intense hug and then turned to face Brendan.  "I am Marcia, daughter of Sir Gerard and Lady Evelyn. It is nice to meet you."

Brendan gave her a smile, "I am Brendan, son of Egan, squire of your father.  It is nice to meet you too."

The squire gave Portia a smug look as if to say, That is how an introduction is supposed to be done.  The handmaiden shot her little sister a disgusted look.  Marcia saw the look and smiled.

"Centurions believe that it is always proper to show respect to everyone," the younger girl said as she curtsied to Brendan. He smiled and returned the courtesy by bowing to her.

Portia rolled her eyes.  Marcia was making her look bad, again.  Was everyone's little sister this annoying?  She was everything that Portia was not, Marcia was slender and pretty, where Portia was muscular and plain, she was graceful and charming where Portia was awkward and blunt. Marcia could make Portia look bad without even trying and the worst part was that she was four years younger!  In fact, the only place where Portia came out ahead in the comparison game was in combat.  Marcia’s Step of Faith would be coming up in a couple of weeks and Portia was praying that she would choose to be a handmaiden. Then Portia could be the one to teach the runt a thing or two for once.  On the other hand, Marcia was the brainy one and would probably choose to be an artisan like a doctor or a silversmith.  That would be the best choice for her, as much as Portia hated to admit it.

"Sir Bertram has taken the knights to go pursue the Hungarians," said Portia suddenly, trying to get the attention off Marcia.

Sir Gerard frowned at this news.  "We had best find your mother, where is she?"

"Asleep," interrupted Marcia, trying to get the attention off Portia and back onto herself.  "She’s been staying up all day and all night since Sir Bertram left.  She commands the handmaidens during the day and then commands the shieldmaidens for as long as she can at night trying to keep the castle safe..."

"Yes, and a Hungarian scouting party attacked the castle three days ago," interrupted Portia, "and they had two Vikings with them and some winter wolves. I killed three of the wolves and my left arm was paralyzed with cold for a whole day," she finished proudly.

Marcia made a face at her behind their father's back.  Portia smirked; she knew her little sister didn't have anything that could top that.

"We will let your mother sleep a few more hours then, and I would like to hear the complete story of the raid.  Marcia, tell the cooks to prepare an evening meal for everyone.  Portia, tell Claudia and Esperanza that I would like to meet with them in the Great Hall as soon as possible."  Both girls responded with 'Yes sirs!’ and started to take off.  Marcia pulled up abruptly and turned around.

"It was good to meet you Squire Brendan, welcome to our home," she said sweetly, and then took off running again.

Portia gritted her teeth.  SHE should have been the one to turn around and say that, but she forgot to.  Even now she could still stop, turn around and say the same thing but her pride prevented her.  She glanced backward once as she was hurrying through the gate and saw Father Cardic clap Brendan on the shoulder and say something while looking at her.  They were talking about her and she hated it but, at the same time, she was desperately curious to know what they were saying.

◆◆◆

Portia was thrilled that she got to be part of the official meeting with her father. Claudia and Esperanza had brought along a couple of the senior shieldmaidens and had invited Aurora and Portia to attend as well.  She was relieved to see that Brendan was not there.  After that look he had given her when she had corrected him, she had decided that she did NOT like him at all. Well, that wasn’t exactly true either, he wasn’t bad looking and she found herself terribly curious about what kind of a person he was to earn the title of squire from her father when he was clearly no squire.  Okay, so maybe it would be more accurate to say that she didn’t like him very much, as opposed to saying that she didn’t like him at all, but she had to admit there was something very intriguing about him.

She focused again on her father’s meeting and even tuned out Marcia who had managed to insert herself into the proceedings by taking charge of the refreshments.  The shieldmaidens, the doma, the foreman, Dr. Zhen and Garret each recounted their version of the events of the last couple of weeks to Sir Gerard. The best part was how everyone narrated the battle with the Hungarian scouting party from different vantage points and retold how Portia's bravery and skill had saved the day.  Portia was basking in the glow of everyone's praise when Marcia spilled a half empty water pitcher in her lap.  Portia jumped up immediately from her seat and Marcia quickly apologized for the "accident" but the little smirk on her lips made it clear that it had been anything but an accident.  The younger girl hurried off and Portia looked down at her clothing and realized that Marcia's aim had been perfect.  She looked like she had just wet herself.

"What else can go wrong today?" She muttered.

Brendan walked in at that moment and stopped and stared at the wet spot on her clothes.  Portia looked to heaven trying to think of something to say and then just shook her head, what was the point? God was clearly teaching her forgiveness and patience, maybe even a little humility.  She watched as her sister approached the young squire and said something very quietly before sauntering slowly back to the kitchen. Brendan snickered and then walked up, clearly trying to suppress a smile.

"Did you just talk to my sister?" Asked Portia in a harsh whisper.

"Well, yes," he responded.  She could swear that she saw laughter in his eyes.

"What did she tell you?" Portia continued quietly but insistently.  She saw him hesitate a moment as if calculating whether he would be better off lying or telling the truth.  That was one more strike against him as far as Portia was concerned.

"She said that you had difficulty controlling your bladder and often wet yourself, especially at night.  She suggested that I not bring it up so that I wouldn't embarrass you."

Portia clenched her fists and her jaw.  "Please excuse me," she was finally able to mutter, "I must go and have a discussion with my sister."

"Port," called her father from his seat at the end of the table, "please go and get changed and get your mother up while you are at it.  I will deal with your sister."  Portia stalked off to the family living quarters like a lioness on a leash.

An hour later Portia came downstairs to the Great Hall with her mother.  She had always felt just a bit awkward talking to her mother about most things and this time was no different.   She had tried to talk to her about Marcia and it didn't go well.  Her mother believed her about Marcia deliberately embarrassing her, her mother wasn't completely clueless about the rivalry between her daughters, but her mother's counsel was always the same; try to be understanding; try to be patient; try to be forgiving; blah, blah, blah.  She knew her mother gave Marcia the same advice when the little pest complained about Portia, but it never seemed to work.  She really loved her little sister and would die for her, but they were so different it was almost like they spoke two different languages.  And while they usually got along okay, sometimes envy reared its ugly head and things got a little out of hand, like with the water pitcher.

As they entered the Great Hall, she saw her father stripped to the waist washing the feet of each person who had come in to eat dinner.  It was an act of humble service, done in imitation of Christ, and was a common custom in Centurion castles. When Portia looked at her father's back, broad, muscular, and covered with battle scars, it made her feel safe and grateful to him.  He protected them all and his scars were proof of all the hardships he had gone through to do it.   Portia was surprised to see Brendan down beside her father and he was also washing people’s feet.  Centurions were raised to do such things, but most other people found it very difficult to make themselves do it.  She was more than a little surprised to see Brendan doing it since he struck her as a bit of a know-it-all, humility didn’t seem to be his thing.  There was more to him than she realized.  As she watched him, she had to grudgingly acknowledge that at least he was trying to be humble.  She also had to admit that he was surprisingly well built and not completely unattractive despite her earlier assessment of him.  What really drew her eyes though were his scars, they were worse than her father’s and he was only a third the age of Sir Gerard.  Clearly, he had faced a lot of hardship in his young life.

“Is it really appropriate to be staring that way at a young man with his shirt off?” Asked the Grey Lady in a stern tone.  Portia was mortified.

“No!  That’s not what I’m doing! I mean, that’s not why I’m doing it! I mean…” Her mother interrupted with what Portia would swear was a chuckle in her voice.

“Just go to your seat young lady and keep your eyes where they belong.”  Portia quit trying to explain and hurried to her seat.

Lady Evelyn sat down in her chair and Sir Gerard came over with the wash basin full of fresh water and a towel and began washing her feet.  In her case it was unnecessary since she had taken a bath before coming down, but he did it anyway and he must have done a little something extra because she giggled and then told him to stop in those hushed tones that parents use when they don’t want their kids to hear what they’re saying.

Portia watched with dread as Brendan came to her with a wash basin full of fresh water and a towel.  What was he doing? Was he crazy? He prepared to wash her feet and she began to panic.  Why was he doing that? She wanted to yell out but felt paralyzed; she didn’t know what to do so she did nothing but sit there.  She tried to speak up and tell him that he shouldn't but for some reason her throat tightened up and the words wouldn't come out.

For his part, he didn't say a word either.  As he carefully removed her shoes and stockings, she felt goosebumps race up her legs, she had to admit that it felt good to have someone pay attention to her like this. As soon as his hands touched her feet, she felt an intense shock like lightning shoot up through her legs, up her back, and into her shoulders and neck.  He was surprisingly gentle and thorough as he washed her feet and after the initial shock, she felt herself relaxing and actually enjoying it.  Portia felt herself blush and wondered if this was how Eve felt in the Garden of Eden when she ate the forbidden fruit.

"How was that? You have excellent feet by the way," Brendan remarked as he was drying her feet off.  “Interesting scar here on your calf.  I must say, I like it, scars are a sign of perseverance.  This one shows that you had a serious injury, but you persevered and you didn’t let it slow you down.”

"Thank you," she answered in a whisper, "You have excellent hands…, wait,” Portia gritted her teeth in frustration, “I mean, you did an excellent job, but we have a problem, men wash men's feet, they do not wash women's feet."

Brendan frowned, "Why?  We got off to a poor start and I was hoping this would help us to start fresh.  Besides, if the point is to show that we are all equal in Christ then it shouldn’t be beneath me to wash a woman's feet, I saw your father washing that woman's feet."

Portia preened just a little bit at being called a woman, but then went on with her explanation in whispered tones, "That woman is my mother, he is washing the feet of his wife.  I have also seen her wash his feet on many occasions, that is acceptable because he is her husband. Do you see the problem?"  She looked around and saw that all the young girls were watching them intently.  Brendan looked around and saw it too.

"I don't know if I will ever get used to being a Centurion," he muttered. "Life would be so much simpler if you all would just let the rulers rule and the servants serve.  Trying to figure out this "equality in Christ" idea makes everything complicated. So, what should I do now? Apologize to everyone in the hall for carrying out the ceremony wrong? Apologize to you for touching your feet?  Apologize to your father for touching his daughter?"

"I don't know.  Washing each other's feet is a common act of service in a Centurion castle, no one will be insulted that you washed my feet.  The problem is that there may be some who will see it as a sign that you have other intentions towards me."  Portia looked around for Marcia, she didn't see her but she knew there would be trouble as soon as her little sister heard about this. All the other girls had suddenly started talking, and it wasn’t about the weather.

“Other intentions?  Like what?”  Brendan asked.

“Like marriage,” she answered bluntly.

"I’m sixteen, you’re about the same, who could possibly think that I intend to marry you?" Asked the squire in surprise.

"Most people don't get married at sixteen, that’s true, but nobles often do it for political reasons or to ensure an heir."

"I’m not a nobleman of any kind and you are only the daughter of a knight, what kind of political reason could we have?" He asked in an angry whisper.

"My father is a good Centurion and does not use his noble rank to lord over others, but he is really a noble of high birth, he is the Count of Carinthia and Warden of the Eastern Marches to be exact. You will also notice that he has no sons to assume his title.  The Order would recognize my mother or me as his rightful heir, but we live in Frankish territories and hold our titles under the Frankish Kings.  For his part, King Otto doesn’t recognize the rights of women to inherit titles, run castles, or command armies.  If my father died, then I would be forced to marry some political ally of the king and he would become the Count of Carinthia."

"But I’m about as far from being of noble birth as one can get, there is no way that I could be considered an appropriate husband for you," Brendan countered.

"No one here knows anything about your background so that will not stop the rumor mill, don't be surprised if by tomorrow morning the gossips have anointed you as the crown prince of Austrasia traveling in disguise.  As for my father, his first concern would be whether you would make a good husband for me, not whether you were of noble birth.  Everyone knows that so even those who figure out that you’re not noble may still see us as a match arranged by my parents."

Brendan began to laugh and Portia scowled at him, "I’m sure that you made it worse, the way you were sitting there blushing and smiling at me the whole time I was washing your feet.  I’ll bet they would go completely nuts if they only knew what the Vouivre had said."

“Who is the Vouivre?  What did the Vouivre say?” Portia demanded as Brendan laughed even harder.

“Ask your father,” was all that Brendan could get out between gasps.  He picked up his wash bowl and followed her father back toward the kitchen.

Portia sighed and followed her mother back to the kitchen as well.  This next part was not going to make things any better, but she did find herself oddly cheered by the fact that she saw her sister Marcia washing all the pots and pans in the kitchen.  Apparently, that was how her father had decided to deal with her.

Brendan and Sir Gerard got cleaned up quickly and went back into the hall.  A few moments later, Lady Evelyn, Portia, and some of the other shieldmaidens and handmaidens followed them out carrying plates of food.  Portia saw Brendan watching her as she came out.  Lady Evelyn was the highest-ranking person in the castle after Sir Gerard and so she went to the lowest ranking groom at the end of the table and began to serve him.  As she was doing so, she gave directions to the other girls about who was to serve whom.  That was a bit unusual since normally they all just spread out and served whoever needed to be served but she probably did it since most of the handmaidens had made a beeline for Brendan who certainly didn’t need twenty girls bringing him food.  Portia also noticed that her mother didn't assign her to serve anyone.

"My lady, whom should I serve?" She asked in her most formal tone.

"Hmmm?" Her mother responded, "Oh yes, Portia. Well, serve anyone that I missed."  Portia surveyed the table and realized that yes, she knew it, the one person left to be served was Brendan. Really mother? Is that the best you can do? Her mother had tried to make it look like it was entirely coincidental, but the handmaiden didn't believe it for a minute.  Her mother was about as subtle as a catapult stone. But it wasn't going to work, she might have to wait on him, but she wasn’t going to enjoy it!  Again, all eyes were upon her and the young squire as she set about serving him his dinner.

"Should I see this as a sign that you intend to marry me?" He asked with a smile.

Portia's eyes flashed; he was SO incredibly irritating!  And yet, and yet... There was something about him that attracted her.  His eyes followed her instead of looking past her to check out the other girls.  He didn't seem to see her as the little monkey who didn't know how to talk to people.  He had even said that he liked the burn scar on her leg.  She knew her father would not want her to marry some old shark of a man in an arranged marriage but life on the frontier was rough and he knew that he could die at any time.  So, it was not impossible that he had brought this young man home as a potential suitor for her to consider.  From that perspective, she could certainly do worse than Squire Brendan. He wasn't bad to look at, he didn't just dismiss her as a bully or the village idiot, and he was willing to wash her feet.  He even acted like he thought she was attractive.

"I said, should I see this as a sign that you intend to marry me?" He asked again with a smile, interrupting her momentary reverie.

"Perhaps," she smiled mysteriously, "perhaps."

Chapter 16

“Many people consider curiosity to be one of the worst of vices but not Centurions. Wisdom comes from asking questions, BUT have a care when asking a question, for some answers come with a very heavy price.”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 8: Proverb 7

The Black crept through the dark shadows of Marcia's dream.  The girl was concerned about the growing presence of Hungarian raiders along the borders and what that meant for the Order.  Her plans were beginning to gain some traction with the girl.  Marcia would be the bait to draw Portia out, now she just needed bait to draw Marcia out.

The black saw her mixing ingredients in jars and taking notes about the results.  She was conducting some sort of experiment.  The Black saw the words “Fire Medicine” written in Greek next to a passage written in Chinese.  The girl’s curiosity was insatiable, she just had to solve the riddle of this mysterious substance.  Inspiration suddenly struck the dragon; Marcia was trying to figure out this Chinese Fire Medicine because she thought it could be used as a weapon against the Hungarians.

In her dream, Marcia kept glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching her, for some reason she wanted to keep her actions a secret.  Marcia had translated two of the ingredients as brimstone and charcoal, but she was struggling to figure out the third ingredient.  Her notes showed that she thought it was something distilled from bat guano, but she was far from sure about this translation.

The Black cackled with glee.  Bat guano was perfect!  Brimstone and charcoal would be available in the village, but bat guano could only be found in caves far from the castle, caves near the dragon’s lair.  The best part was that she wanted to keep it a secret for some reason so if the dragon played it just right, the little fool would keep it a secret when she left the castle too.

The Black began to encourage this interpretation, yes, it had to be bat guano, nothing else made sense.  Hordes of Hungarians were coming, and devastation would follow in their wake. Centurions would die by the thousands as all of Carinthia was overrun.  Marcia had to solve the riddle and make the fire medicine, but secrecy was the key; she was the only one who could do it and fire medicine was the only thing that could stop the coming invasion.  She gave Marcia a vision of standing in the watchtower looking out over miles and miles of burning fields and gutted villages.  She began to weep, and the Black knew that she had her.  There would be many more dreams to bring Marcia to just the right place to make the journey, but the dragon felt very confident that she could get her there.  Once Marcia was drawn out of the castle then Portia would follow.

The dragon reflected that she still had no clear idea what either girl actually looked like.  People rarely thought about their own looks in a dream, and if they did, those self-images were usually distorted. Most people dreamed of themselves as being more attractive or uglier than they really were.  Would the Black know that she had the right girls when she caught them?  She chuckled to herself, with the Hungarians on the move how many young girls would be wandering through the woods by themselves?  Marcia would surely be dressed in the best explorers clothing she could find, loaded down with sampling jars, and notebooks, and satchels for carrying it all.  Portia would doubtless be armed to the hilt, wearing her best hauberk and the tabard of a Centurion handmaiden. The dragon smiled smugly to herself.  By themselves in the woods, dressed like that? To her supremely sharp eyes, ears, and nose, Marcia and Portia would be very, very easy to find.

The Black settled in for a deep slumber, there would be a great deal of dreaming to do tonight.  First, she had to fill another Hungarian scouting party with dreams of gold and plunder if they would investigate the little village a few miles north of the castle.  Second, she had to weave an urgent dream of finding a cave full of bats in the foothills beyond the village.  Marcia had to do it on her own, fire medicine was too dangerous, no one else could be put at risk until she had mastered its secrets. Finally, the dragon would have to create a dream so dark and foreboding that she could convince Portia that her only hope of saving her sister and the rest of her family from a dragon and the Hungarian army was to set out in search of her missing sibling by herself.  If she really loaded that last one up with fear she could probably get the poor girl to freeze up completely when she came face to face with an actual dragon.  That would, of course, make eating her that much easier.

The problem was that she had to find a way to enter Portia's dream without that cursed vision of the prophet intruding.  It was always there, like her own personal nightmare, when she was trying to weave dark dreams into the girl's sleep.  If there was a silver lining to that vision, it was that it was as terrifying to Portia as it was to her.  She would destroy the prophet’s memory, his prophecy, and that little harbinger of doom with her master stroke, she was the Black after all, cunning plans were her forte.

Chapter 17

“Never trust someone who gives you a head start in a race or acts as if they are doing you a favor when they let you go first in a wager. They have a plan and it is probably better than yours.  This is where the phrase “A fool and his money are soon parted” originally came from.

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 3: Proverb 9

As a Centurion squire, Brendan was housed in the men's barracks, a few men from the surrounding villages had come into the castle in response to the raiders but the barracks was still mostly empty. This was fine with Brendan, it made it easier for him to settle in.  By most standards, the barracks were a very spartan place to live, but to a young man who was used to sleeping in back allies or beside the road it was the lap of luxury.  Unlike any other castle he had ever heard of in the west, Castle Warrick had running water and an efficient sewer system which extended to the barracks. It had well designed fireplaces that he was sure would keep the whole building reasonably warm in the winter and slotted windows that let in a breeze in the summertime to keep it cooler. The Doma, a woman who ran all the domestic services in the castle, had even assigned him his own bed, bed covers, and footlocker.  The list of amazing features went on and on.  Best of all, since Centurions insisted upon a high level of personal hygiene there was not nearly as much trouble with things like lice, fleas, and bedbugs as one usually encountered in a barracks.

Brendan awoke the next morning to the sound of roosters crowing in the pre-dawn.  He was surprised at how rested he felt, apparently being able to sleep without the worry of being attacked was good for you, who knew?  He got up, got dressed, and started walking toward the Great Hall in hopes of finding some breakfast.  In the bailey he saw about two dozen figures practicing their sword work on pells.  Brendan was a little surprised that such practice would begin even before sunrise.  He walked in their direction half-afraid that he had missed some unmentioned expectation that he should be up and working on his weapons training already.  As he approached, he realized that they were all young women between the ages of about 13 and 19.  The older ones wore a double link chain mail hauberk while the younger ones all wore gambesons, a sort of padded coat worn under armor for extra protection.

He recognized Portia as she gave directions on the best way to use a short sword and shield combination against the pell.  Her green eyes were sparkling, and her smile lit up her entire face, clearly attacking things with a sword gave her great joy. There was something very odd about her technique as she hit the pell with her shield and then made a lighting quick stab with her sword around the edge.  His brow furrowed; he had seen similar fighting styles before but what was wrong with her … Oh!  She was left-handed!  Left-handed warriors either learned how to fight right-handed so that they could form an interlocking shield wall with their fellow warriors or else they served as archers or slingers where consistency wasn’t necessary.  He didn’t know how it would work, but it was fascinating to watch.  Did they all fight left-handed?  That didn’t seem likely.  Did she switch hands when they needed to form shield wall?  Possibly, but if that was the case why work on fighting left-handed at all?  Then it came to him, consistency wasn’t necessary since they probably never formed shield walls.  You wouldn’t form a shield wall atop the rampart, and you wouldn’t use one on horseback, the two places where they probably did most of their fighting.

He settled down to watch.  He tried to imagine what it was like to face someone whose attacks all came from the wrong side.  She was used to facing right-handed fighters since she faced them all the time but how many of them were used to facing a left-handed warrior?  It must be very disturbing when your opponent’s sword is attacking your sword arm instead of your shield arm. Her hair was still Viking blond, but she wore it in a ponytail that made it easier to ignore.  Actually, it didn’t bother him nearly as much as it did the first day he saw her, maybe it was growing on him.  He was having fun and being educated at the same time.  Portia paused to yell at him.

“Like what you see?”

“Interesting technique,” he called back, “I like your angle of attack.”  She tried to scowl at him, but he was sure he saw a smile cross her lips as she turned back to what she was doing.

One of the other girls peeled off from the group and walked over to him.

"You are Sir Gerard's new squire," she commented.

"Yes, my name is Brendan," he replied with a small bow.

"I’m Aurora, head of the handmaidens; it’s good to meet you." She put her hand out to shake his.  He smiled broadly and shook hands with her.  He noted that she had a surprisingly firm grip.

"What was that?" Asked Portia watching the two out of the corner of her eye.

"It’s a handshake, a form of greeting that is common in Greek speaking lands and the Middle East," explained Aurora.

"It’s been a long time since I’ve shaken hands with someone," said Brendan, still smiling.  "Please forgive me for seeming to be rude or ignorant but you’re the first women that I’ve ever seen learning to use a gladius and a scutum.  Do all Frankish women train for battle or just Centurion women?"

"We actually call the sword a gladia and the shield a scuta because these are slightly smaller and lighter versions of the old Roman equipment that we have redesigned for women,” explained Aurora.  “And to answer your question, only Centurion women are trained for battle. We’re a military order that crosses all borders and all Christian peoples.  Many kings like to have us along their borders to provide security from raiders, but because we serve Christ and not the king they like to keep us spread out so that we don’t pose a threat to them.  Since there are never enough Centurions in one place to really do the job, Centurion women are also trained for battle.  This way the men can leave if necessary and go into battle without having to leave a large part of their forces behind to protect the castle."

“Why don’t other nobles do this?”

“Because they have the luxury not to.  Women have fought in wars across the centuries but usually only in desperate situations.  Women who are killed in battle can’t have children who will grow up to be taxpayers and soldiers in the king’s armies, so if your situation isn’t desperate you don’t train the women to fight.  We Centurions believe our first duty is to protect the people, not the nobles, so Centurion knights spend far more of their time patrolling in the countryside, intercepting raiders, and protecting the common folk than most Frankish or German armies do.  Our women fight because we need them to, theirs don’t because they don’t have to.”  Brendan nodded in understanding.

"What do the rest of the men in the Frankish kingdoms think of Centurion women who know how to fight?" He asked.

"Most do not approve," said Aurora with an edge to her voice.  "To be honest, most Centurion women marry Centurion men for that very reason.  Most Frankish and German nobles feel that we don’t know our place and that we’re just Scythians in chain mail.  Of course, their women have the luxury of living in areas protected by the Order, here on the frontiers we do what we must, in order to survive.” She paused for a moment before asking, “And how do you feel about women who can defend themselves?"

"I’m intrigued by them.  I grew up with ancient stories about the Amazons, warrior women who could stand toe-to-toe with the men and who fought on the side of Troy against the Greeks."

"Yes, but sadly for the Amazons, Achilles killed Queen Penthesilea," responded Aurora with a knowing nod, “and they were defeated.”

"And then he fell in love with her after he took her helmet off and looked upon her beauty," Brendan added with a laugh.  "So you know the old stories! I have never personally dealt with Amazons, but I must admit that I find them fascinating.  I suspect most Greeks do; we certainly have enough epic poetry about them.  I must also admit that I find you handmaidens fascinating."

Aurora's cheeks turned just a little bit pink at this.  He glanced at Portia and saw her glaring at him.  What had he done now?  He sighed, just when he thought he had figured women out he realized he still didn’t have a clue.

Portia turned around angrily and started yelling at the rest of the girls who had all stopped their training and drifted over to listen in on Aurora's conversation with Brendan.

"Let's go girls, back to work!"

"Portia!" Brendan called after her.

"What?" She yelled back at him in exasperation.

"May I train with you?"  The question caught her off guard.

"We are handmaidens, not squires, we train with different weapons and in a different style from the knights, why would you train with us?" She finally managed to ask.

"What’s a handmaiden?" He countered.  He knew what a handmaiden was in the rest of the world, but clearly the term meant something different to Centurions.

"You’re a Centurion squire but you don’t know what a handmaiden is?  How is that possible?”

“I met your father traveling through Italy, he helped me out, I helped him out, I said I was interested in joining the Centurions, and here I am.  I’m from the east and I have only heard the vaguest of rumors about the Centurions until I met your father.”

Portia shook her head, “You must have really helped him if he made you a squire that easily.”

Aurora intervened, “Just as squires serve knights and train to become knights themselves someday, so, among Centurion women, handmaidens serve shieldmaidens and train to become shieldmaidens themselves someday.  We are female squires, so to speak, and shieldmaidens are female knights."

Brendan shrugged, "It sounds like training with female squires would be a good place for me to start, since I’ve had no squire training at all.  I have very little experience with swords and no experience with shields, armor, bows, or anything else for that matter.  I need to start with the basics." He watched Portia's face as she tried to decide whether or not he was paying her a compliment or insulting handmaidens in general.  He saw Aurora out of the corner of his eye. He could tell she was doing a little bit of mental calculation.  Everyone had seen him wash Portia's feet the night before and had watched Portia serve him dinner.  Aurora was not a fool; she could guess why Portia's parents had provided opportunities for the two young people to get to know each other.  It was clear that she had made the choice to back off for her friend's sake.

"Please?" He continued, "You are a master with a sword and shield and clearly an excellent teacher."  This time it was Portia's cheeks that turned pink.

"And how would you know that I’m an excellent teacher?" She asked shyly.

"The fact that you’re the one teaching the other handmaidens instead of one of the shieldmaidens," he explained with an innocent look on his face.

"Very well," Portia said, turning a darker shade of pink, "I’ll train you."  She awkwardly put out her hand for a handshake.  He took it, guided her through the proper technique and then held her hand for a lingering moment.  Some of the other handmaidens made love-struck sighing sounds, one snickered.  He quickly let go of her hand.  Portia blushed so hard it looked like she was going to pass out.  Blond people turn really red when they get embarrassed enough.  She glanced at Aurora, whose face had a tight little smile on it.

"Change of plans girls,” Aurora called.  “Let’s give them a few moments alone.  Our training is done for now, breakfast is waiting."  There were disappointed groans from the other girls, but they turned to follow as Aurora led them toward the dining hall.

“No wait!” Exclaimed Portia, “It’s not like that!”

“No, it’s not,” added Brendan, a bit more calmly.

“Is that so?” Asked Aurora with a raised eyebrow that indicated that she didn’t believe either one of them for a second.  “Well it’s still time for breakfast and the rest of us are going to go eat.  You may come with us or not.” She turned on her heel and walked off with the rest of the girls in tow.

Portia gave Brendan an ugly look as if it was entirely his fault. Again, Women! He resisted the urge to sneer and looked calmly back at her.

“What should we do now?” He asked.  “It looks like everyone has already decided that we are supposed to be together.”

“Thanks to my parents,” huffed Portia. “I just can’t tell if they’re doing it on purpose or not.  I mean, my mom probably is, I’m just not sure how much my dad is trying to force things.”

“Portia! Brendan!”

Both young people looked for the source of the voice.  It was Sir Gerard calling from the balcony on the side of the keep.

“Come up here, please!”  He used the word ‘please’ but they both knew that it was not a request.  He turned and walked back into the building.

“We better get up there,” Brendan said.

“I’ll race you,” Portia challenged.

Brendan was instantly suspicious.  She was up to something, but he wasn’t sure what.  “Okay,” he answered slowly.

“Go!” She shouted.  Brendan took off toward the keep at a dead run.  He had seen Portia run and knew that she was very fast.  He glanced sideways to see where she was and was surprised to note that she had hesitated just a moment to let him get ahead.  Why?  He looked over his shoulder and saw that she had taken off in a completely different direction.  She had let him take the lead so he wouldn’t see her head toward the dining hall.  He didn’t know what that was all about, but he was sure that she had a plan to beat him.  Two could play that game.

Brendan changed direction slightly and raced directly toward the balcony instead of the front door of the keep.  He leapt up as he approached the wall and caught hold of the bottom of an arrow slit that was eight feet off the ground and pulled himself up. He planted his toe against the tiniest edge in the brickwork and pushed himself upward.  He caught hold of the top of the arrow slit even while his foot stepped up to the bottom of it.  He jumped as high as he could and caught hold of the bottom of the next arrow slit up and repeated the process.  His eyes were alert to the smallest of handholds and toe holds as he scaled the side of the keep like a gecko running up a wall.  His climbing skills had been in high demand in Constantinople and they were being put to good use now.  He paused right below the balcony and judged its distance carefully.  With a final leap he jumped up and caught the edge of the railing with both hands and vaulted himself up and over, landing on the balcony just in time to see Portia launch herself from the cliff face directly at him.

Chapter 18

“It is never a good sign when you see people flying through the air.  It means that they are falling from the wall, dark magic is at work, or you have had too much to drink.”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 4: Proverb 2

Portia leapt from the cliff path toward the balcony.  She saw something move out of the corner of her eye but resisted the urge to look.  She had to stick the landing just right and roll or she could break her ankle.  She couldn’t wait to see the look on Greek boy’s face when he went charging up the stairs of the keep only to find her already there.

She hit the balcony and rolled.  As she popped up at the end of her roll she ran into Brendan, knocking him over and landing on top of him. Portia was so surprised that she grabbed her gladia out of its sheath and had it to his throat before she realized who it was.

“Where did you come from?” She demanded.

He looked at the gladia in her hand.  “You really don’t like losing, do you?”  When she didn’t answer, he continued, “I came from Constantinople, the Queen of Cities.”

He gave her a cheeky smile which made her feel like he was mocking her.  She scowled at him.

“No, I mean, just now, where did you come from?”

“I came from the courtyard, just like you did.”  Again, with that smile, she felt like hitting him.

“Do you really want to play games with me when I’m holding a sword to your throat?  And we call it the ‘bailey’,” she snapped.  “You know what I mean, how did you get to the balcony?”

“Do you think we should get up before your dad catches us in this position?”

“Ohh, Lordy, Lordy yes!” Portia lifted herself off him in a flash by pushing down with all her weight, armor and all, on his chest.  He huffed as he tried to get his breath back.

“You weigh a lot more than you look,” he was finally able to gasp.

“Yeah, so I’ve been told, more than once, by a wide variety of people,” she replied, miffed. “Muscle is denser than fat and I have lots of muscle and very little fat, or so Dr. Zhen says.  Throw in the weight of my armor and I’m a real brick.”

She reached down and helped him up.  The look of shock on his face made it clear that he was surprised at the ease with which she pulled him to his feet.  She could tell that he was sizing her up, at 5’ 6” and a very solid 140 pounds of muscle, she was probably only an inch shorter and ten pounds lighter than he was, heavier if you counted her armor.

“Now, tell me how you got to the balcony so fast.”

“First, tell me how you got to that pathway on the cliff,” Brendan countered.

Portia looked at the young man for a long moment.  She didn’t know what to make of him.  He was her father’s new squire and had obviously helped him in some important way, but he had already admitted that he knew almost nothing about fighting or being a squire.  Even his knowledge of horses was suspect.  She had seen him when he came riding in and it was very apparent that he was still new to the saddle.  Why did her father choose him to be a squire?  He was years behind in the necessary training.  None of it made any sense.

She pointed toward the dining hall.  “I jumped from the hitching post to the edge of the roof,” she explained, pointing with her finger to different parts of her path as she continued her description. “Then I pulled myself up onto the roof, ran up the slope of the roof to the cliff, jumped up and grabbed the edge of the pathway, pulled myself up, and then ran up the path until I got to that point directly across from the balcony.  Then I jump from there to here.”

Portia turned and looked at Brendan and saw that he was speechless which made her feel more than a little pleased after his snarky answers to her questions.

“And you did all that wearing 20 lbs. of armor!” He was finally able to exclaim.  “I’ve known professional acrobats who would have struggled to pull that off without wearing the armor.  Impressive!”  On impulse he reached out and gently squeezed her left bicep, feeling the muscle in her arm.  Why did everyone want to feel her biceps?  Was he a critic of her physique too? She realized with a shock that she was still holding his hand from when she helped him up.  She was about to yank her hand free when he continued, “Muscle that is solid as a rock and yet you still look feminine. You would have made the Spartans proud!”

Suddenly his discussion with Aurora flashed through her mind.  He seemed to have a high opinion of women who could defend themselves so maybe he wasn’t making fun of her.  She felt a growing warmth inside and found herself smiling.   What was she going to do with this wandering Greek?  He could be infuriating one minute and then amazing the next.  He honestly admired her strength and she felt proud of her body for the first time ever.  He stopped squeezing her bicep and let go of her hand and she was surprised by the pang of disappointment that she felt.

Portia clenched her teeth and forced herself to look down into the bailey to keep from swooning over him.  She would not let him see her go all gushy.  She despised it when she saw the other girls doing that to the boys they liked.  She continued to stare into the bailey for several moments until she got her emotions under control for fear of saying something embarrassing.

“Your turn,” she managed to mumble with a bit of difficulty.  She was trying to act like that little scene was no big deal, but it was hard to keep the excitement out of her voice.

“My route was not nearly as challenging as yours,” He explained rather sheepishly.  “I just climbed up the wall.”

Portia frowned.  What?  Climbed up the wall?  How was that even possible? Was he mocking her with an obvious lie?

“The wall is completely smooth; how can you do that?” She asked suspiciously.

“Actually, the wall is not completely smooth though it may appear that way if you don’t know what to look for.  The arrow slits were a huge help, but you can use even the tiniest edges to climb with if you know how.” She gave him a doubtful look, so he continued, “I am a ‘young man of unusual talents’, as your father puts it.”  He proceeded to demonstrate by using tiny finger-holds and toeholds in the brickwork next to the balcony that Portia could barely see to start climbing further up the wall.  After he had ascended another five or six feet above the balcony he let go and dropped back down beside her.

It was Portia’s turn to be impressed.  He had to be exceptionally strong to climb a wall like that and he must have a grip of iron.  Partly because she was curious and partly as payback she reached out and squeezed his bicep.  She had already seen his muscles and felt his chest under her when she was laying on top of him, but this gave her a convenient excuse to check them out again.  He chuckled and flexed his arm obligingly for her.  She was surprised by the muscle she felt there, it was just as compact and solid as her own.  She realized that he must weigh more than he looked like as well.

Portia was used to seeing young, strong men; squires could not spend all day, every day, training with armor and weapons without putting on a lot of muscle; but Brendan was different somehow.  She was sure that, pound for pound, he was just as strong as the other squires, but he wasn’t really a warrior, so where did all his muscle come from?

“They are out here on the balcony, daddy,” called Marcia from the doorway.  “Portia jumped on top of him and had him all wrapped up in her arms and now she’s got her hands all over him.”  Portia instantly yanked her hand off Brendan’s arm.

Sir Gerard stepped out onto the balcony with an expectant look on his face.  He didn’t need to say a word; Portia knew he was waiting for an explanation.

“We decided to have a race to see who could get up here the fastest,” Portia began.  Then she stopped and smiled at her father hoping that would be enough to satisfy him. It wasn’t.

“Since neither one of you came up the stairs and through the antechamber, I assume that you took some other path,” prompted the knight.

Marcia looked at her smugly.  Her little sister had spent the entire evening washing dishes and so she was enjoying watching Portia squirm now.  When Portia hesitated, Marcia stepped in.

“While you were away, she came up with a new way to get into the keep.  She likes to jump up onto the dining hall roof and then climb up onto the cliff path.  Then she jumps from there to the balcony.  She thinks that nobody sees her do it but the whole castle knows about her little short cut.”  Sir Gerard eye’s opened wide in disbelief as Marcia continued, “Momma has told her to stop because she’s going to miss the balcony one of these days and break her neck, but she keeps on doing it…”

“Thank you, Marcia,” Sir Gerard finally interrupted.  “Go help your mother.”

Marcia started to protest but a look from her father changed her mind.  She gave it up and left.  The Iron Knight continued to look at his daughter and his squire, waiting.

“What else do you want to know?” Portia finally asked nervously. “I mean, what else do you wish to know, my lord?” She corrected.

“Who won the race?”

“He did, my lord,” Portia answered.

“Really?”  Sir Gerard said with a tiny note of shock in his voice.  He turned to Brendan, “I assume that you got up here the same way that she did?”

“No, my Lord, I climbed the wall.”   A startled look appeared on the knight’s face.  Sir Gerard leaned over the edge and looked down at the stretch of wall that Brendan had climbed.

“I am rarely surprised, but you seem to be making a habit of doing that very thing,” the knight finally said.  “I guess this also means that the keep is not as secure as I thought it was.  We may have to remove this balcony.”

“No! Please!” Portia blurted out.  Her father had always thought they were a bad idea, but he had relented and put one in on each side of the castle to please her mother.  Now Portia was putting that into jeopardy.

Her father’s face softened.  “Don’t worry, I won’t, but I will need to find a way to make them more secure.”  He turned to Brendan, “I see that you are getting to be quite good at taking the leap of faith and grabbing hold of balcony rails.” The two men chuckled at each other as if this was some private joke that Portia wasn’t privy to and it irritated her.  The knight led them into the family quarters and off the balcony. “I called you both up here because I wanted to talk to you.  Brendan, you will need some armor and a sword, we will look through my old gear and find something that you can use while you are training.   Port, you and I are going to go riding as soon as I’m done with Brendan so please go down to the stable and get our horses ready.”

“Yes, my lord,” she said.  Portia didn’t know whether to be excited or worried.  What on earth did her father want to talk to her about?  Ordinarily she loved spending time with him but something about “going riding together” sounded suspiciously like “we need to talk about something serious” and she had a bad idea what it might be.

“And Port, in the future, please refrain from jumping on the squires and putting your hands all over them,” her father said as she walked past.  She blushed crimson, yet again, and looked up at him in surprise until she saw the corners of his mouth smiling.

“Just for the record, Marcia was exaggerating, my hands weren’t all over him, only parts of him.”

Her father shook his head in exasperation.

◆◆◆

The talk was as bad as she was worried that it would be.  They rode along on their horses enjoying the countryside near the castle for half an hour, talking about inconsequential things.  Finally, he brought up the subject that they had both been avoiding.

“Port, what do you think of Brendan?”

“Why do you ask?” She replied evasively.

“The Frankish nobles are always looking for a way to gain some sort of control over our outposts while keeping us as a buffer zone to protect their lands.  Our order stands outside of the traditional Frankish hierarchy, but we still hold our lands and our titles through the king.  The Duke of Augsburg has coveted our castle and holdings for many years and word has come to me that he is trying to convince the king that you would be a suitable wife.  He hasn’t approached me because he knows my answer already.  The king will not initiate trouble with the Order but if he sees an opportunity to help out one of his loyal supporters, he will take it.  Every year there are more Hungarian raids and their raiding parties are getting larger and larger.  One of these days I will not come back from a battle.  When I die the king will view this as his chance to support a loyal crony.   He will do that by forcing you to marry the Duke against your will and your new husband will be the new Count of Carinthia and Warden of the Eastern Marches in addition to his current titles.  I am trying to protect you and prevent that from happening by finding someone for you while you still have a choice in the matter. The Duke is 40 years your senior and his last two wives have died under mysterious circumstances.”

“I was afraid that was why you brought Brendan home,” she muttered half to herself, half to her father. She stopped her horse and looked directly at him, “Why Brendan? What made you bring him home? There are plenty of other squires and young knights to choose from at the castle already, why him?”

Sir Gerard looked sharply at his daughter, “Are you interested in any of those young men?”  Portia remained silent; the truth was that she really wasn’t interested in any of them because none of them were interested in her.  She knew that many of them thought she was too masculine, too impulsive, and too awkward socially to be attractive as a wife.  She had even been told that they joked about her as much in the men’s barracks as the girls did in the women’s barracks. “I thought not,” the knight said as he directed his horse to start walking again.

“The fact is, Port, that I am your father.  I could find any number of good men with the proper social background who would be willing to marry you for your title.  I fasted for a week and spent that week in prayer and the Lord sent me to one of our Order’s castles near Trieste.  I went expecting to find a young man there who would be suitable, but it was as if I was Samuel looking at the sons of Jesse for the next king of Israel.  Each one seemed to be even better than the last, but the Lord kept telling me that none of them were his choice for you.

“We started home and the Lord spoke to me on the second day of our journey and said that before the sun set, a young man would come running into our camp and ask to join our Order.  God told me that he was the one I was supposed to bring home.  I was so sure that it would come to pass that when Father Cardic expressed his doubts that it was just wishful thinking on my part I made a bet with him on it.

“When Brendan came running out of the woods God told me that he was the one I was to bring home.  He did not have the background, education, or training of the young men in Trieste, but I knew that I needed to trust the Lord. When he asked to join the Order, that confirmed it for me in my heart.  I know that for many people he does not appear to be worthy of you.  And yet, I cannot escape the fact, that he is worthy enough for God, as mysterious as that may seem to me.  I love you and I want what is best for you and if he is God’s choice for you then he is truly what is best for you.  I want to find a husband who will treat you right and who will love you for you.

“Unfortunately, you are not free to choose as you wish like most young women, but I want to give you some choice in the matter while you are still able.  It is possible that he is not for you, it is possible that God sent him to me for some other purpose, but I know what I believe.  If you have at least a little bit of interest in Brendan, then we will leave things be and see what the Lord says to you and how you feel about him.  God calls to us but he does not compel us, so the choice is yours.  If you have no interest at all then I will start looking for someone else.”

“And what will happen to Brendan if I’m not interested?“ Portia asked apprehensively.

“He will continue to be my squire.  God sent him to me for a reason, he came as an answer to prayer.  He is a troubled young man with tremendous potential, and I know that God has great plans for him.”  Sir Gerard answered.

“Well, he is certainly very different compared to the other squires in the castle.  And, I’ll even admit that there are some things about him that I like, but I don’t know him well enough and I can’t possibly make a choice about who I am going to marry yet.”

“No, and I am not asking you to do that.  Also remember, it is not just you who gets a choice in this matter, he gets a choice as well.”

Portia felt confused and depressed; a tear leaked from her eye.  It wasn’t fair! She was only 16!  Why did she have to worry about these kinds of things now?  Why was her life ruled by politics?  None of the other 16-year-old girls in the castle had to worry about deciding who they were going to marry.  If her brother had lived, then he could be the heir and she would be off the hook!  In that moment she desperately missed Cyrus and her heart ached for him and, if she was honest, it ached for her own situation as well.  Her father seemed to sense what she was feeling inside.

“I know that it doesn’t seem fair to you right now.  Every one of us looks at different things in our lives as being terribly unfair.  Tonight there will be some poor village girl whose only place to sleep is in the hayloft of the barn with the animals, she will look up at the castle and feel that it is unfair that we get to sleep in our own beds with warm covers and fireplaces while she has to sleep in a barn.  Right now, you feel that it is unfair that even a poor village girl gets to choose who she will marry, and you can’t.  Each of us has a different lot in life that we must face.   We must learn to be grateful for the good things and ask the Lord for strength to deal with the hard things, it is how he trains us and makes us stronger.  I am trying to give you as much choice as I can.”

“I am thankful for you, daddy,” Portia finally managed to say.  “I have heard about some noblewomen who were betrothed as babies and then married off by their own fathers at 12 to men in their 60’s just to get a political advantage.  Thank you for trying to find the best husband for me and not the best political alliance for Carinthia.  Thank you for trying to give me some choice in the matter. Thank you for trying to find a man who would love me for me.” She remained silent for a long time before continuing.  “You and mom had an arranged marriage and that worked out well for both of you.”

“Yes, her parents and mine spent a great deal of time in prayer, told us of their plans for us and then arranged for us to meet.  I think that if either one of us had a strong objection to the marriage they would have released us from the agreement but, at the same time it was made clear to us that it needed to happen unless we had an excellent reason to say ‘no’.  But she was 22 and I was 26, which is very different from two 16-year-olds, so I truly understand your fears and concerns.”

“When did you actually fall in love with mom?”

Sir Gerard smiled at the fond memory, “She and her family and a dozen knights and shieldmaidens were escorting some Frankish noblemen and their retinue towards Castle Warrick to attend our wedding.  We rode out to meet them and escort them back to the castle.  A Hungarian raiding party attacked us before we could meet up.  They were harassing us with their bows, as is typical of their attacks.  They try to draw you into attacking them and then they pretend to flee.  If you aren’t careful and recklessly charge after them, you break your formation and then they turn and attack and destroy you in pieces.  We refused to break our formation and give chase to their fake retreats, but they kept swarming back and forth picking us off one or two at a time with their bows.  They were trying hard to get around our flank when I heard your mother’s voice, clear as a bell, yelling, ‘Cover their flank! Cover their flank!’ as she led her shieldmaidens in an attack on the flank of the Hungarians.  They managed to catch the raiders completely by surprise.  As the Hungarians tried to retreat from the maidens they ran directly into our position and we charged them with our lances and broke them for real.  Your mother was a sight to behold.  She took two arrows to her left leg while she was targeting the chieftain with her own arrows.  She got him AND his lieutenant before the remnants of their raiding party managed to escape.  After the battle she waved off medical help until everyone else had been taken care of.  That’s when I fell in love with your mother and that was before we got married.  She was clearly the woman for me and all of the wonderful things that I have discovered about her since that have just been bountiful gifts heaped upon bountiful gifts.”

Portia laughed and then got quiet again, “When must I marry?”

“The sooner, the better.  If you marry before I die, then the king will have to acknowledge that you married a man that was acceptable to me and that your marriage is legitimate.  He might try to claim that Brendan was not worthy, but he would not risk war with the Order by making you divorce Brendan and remarry someone else.  On the other hand, if you do not marry then he can legally claim that it is his responsibility to take my place and determine who is an acceptable husband for you.  The Order wouldn’t like it but I doubt they would go to war over such a situation.  The Order would pull most of the Centurions out of the castle and they would be replaced by the Duke’s men.  It would be a Centurion outpost in name only.”

“And I would be alone in a castle full of Germans, probably kept in the keep for safekeeping.”

Her father nodded, “Nevertheless, marriage is hard enough when you are married to a good person of your own choosing.  We will not rush you into marrying someone simply to get you married.  We will take as long as necessary to find the right person and trust the Lord to see us through.”

“Right, get married as soon as possible but no rush, whatever that means,” Portia responded.  She thought back to when Brendan was washing her feet and a sudden thought occurred to her, “Daddy, who is the Vouivre and what did she say?”

“Now there is a story worth telling!” Her father exclaimed happily as they continued to ride along.  “You may have already heard bits and pieces of the tale but now you will get to hear the full story of the Wyvern, the Vouivre, and how Brendan came to be my squire…”

Chapter 19

“Dragons exist on the edge of a razor, when there are too many, they over hunt the land and then die in large numbers through starvation, or battles over territory.  When there are too few dragons, they stay in hiding because they are vastly outnumbered by the swarms of humans that cover the countryside, or they struggle to find mates and find it challenging to breed.  But, when their numbers are in balance, they are a power to be feared.”

The Centurion Book of Beasts – Folio IV: Dragons

The Black raged as she flew home.  The High Council had forbidden other dragons to move into her territory while she slept with her eggs, but now they had required her to attend the Gathering even though her children were still unable to fend for themselves.  The Gatherings were tied to the solstices and this was the first summer solstice after the hatching of her eggs.  She would have preferred waiting until the winter solstice, but the council didn’t want to wait for six more months so they had arrogantly demanded that she come to this one even though she wasn’t ready.  They had made her justify her claim over the territory of Carinthia when others were greedily eyeing it for themselves.  How would she defend it?  How would she extend her control over it?  How would she deal with the humans living there?  The truth was that those weak worms on the council were getting desperate.  Human populations were expanding everywhere, human technology was increasing every year, and dragon populations were in decline.  She could see what they refused to see, that this new generation of dragons was soft, too soft to hold their own against the humans.  Some of the Blues had even begun allying themselves with human nobles.  In return for a regular supply of livestock and security for their nest, they would help the humans defend themselves from other human invaders.  The Blues always claimed that they were the most “pragmatic” of the colors, but the truth was that they were cowards and fools.  How long did they really think these alliances would last?  Twenty years?  Thirty?  Humans couldn’t keep their promises to each other, why should they keep them to a dragon?  What if the invader were another dragon?  Would they side with their kind against the humans and break their treaty or would they side with the humans and break faith with their own kind?

It was all idiocy!  She had wasted a night flying to the Gathering, a day making her case, and now another night was wasted flying back.  She had left plenty of food for the young ones and she had no doubt that they could handle any of the forest creatures they might encounter but she prayed to Tiamat that they had not done anything that might betray the location of her lair to the humans.  She could not have a mistake now, she was too close to breaking the prophecy and getting her revenge.

Chapter 20

“One must always be flexible when dealing with God, he has a way of changing your plans when you least expect it.”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 2: Proverb 11

Brendan stood naked before Sir Gerard in a small tent in the bailey.  He was preparing for his Step of Faith ceremony to enter the Order but first there was a private ceremony that struck him as being rather like a baptism.  He had been assured that it was a baptism for those who had not been baptized, but in his case, it would simply be a reminder of his baptism.  Brendan had been baptized as an infant, which was the way of the Eastern Church, but he didn’t remember it and wondered if it still counted.  He had reached a point in his life where he had no faith in God, Christ, or the church.  That had changed after he had seen the dead raised, heard the words of the Vouivre, and fought the Wyvern.  God was real and Brendan knew it. He still had a thousand questions, but that was okay.  It was impossible for a limited human being to understand everything about an infinite and eternal God, but he would keep working to understand as much as he could.

“Brendan, you stand now as Adam stood before God, naked and unafraid,” Sir Gerard began.  “Sin entered into Adam as sin has entered into you,” with this, the attendants began sprinkling dirt on him, “and you became unclean in the eyes of the Lord and your relationship with him was broken.”  Sir Gerard paused and looked at him, “do you accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and savior?  Do you wish to be washed clean by the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ and the baptism of the Holy Spirit?”

Brendan nodded his head, “I do.”

Sir Gerard lifted up a cup of wine, “This wine represents the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was poured out for you.”   With that he poured the wine over Brendan’s head.  Two attendants came forward with a pair of buckets full of fresh water and began pouring them over his head and body. “This water represents the baptism of the Holy Spirit.”  The attendants continued to pour water over him until all the dirt had been washed off.

The attendants came forward with a clean, white, linen tunic.  “Be clothed in the grace and mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ and enter into His kingdom.”  With this, the attendants pulled the tunic over his head led him out of the tent into the bailey where all of the people who lived in the castle stood waiting and watching.

Brendan looked around as a young woman, wearing a tunic similar to his, stepped out of a different tent where Lady Evelyn was presiding over a similar set of ceremonies for the girls.  He waited with the others for several minutes until three other boys and four more girls were standing together in a small group in the center of the bailey.  There was the young woman, who appeared to be in her mid-twenties, and then himself, all the others looked to be about 12 or 13 so he judged that they were probably the children of Centurions.  He spotted Marcia among the girls and she smiled and waved at him, he smiled politely and waved back until he caught sight of Portia in the crowd, glaring at him.  Sir Gerard and Lady Evelyn came out of the tents and made their way to a small platform in front of the keep.

“We are gathered here as witnesses for these young men and women who wish to join our Order here at the summer solstice Step of Faith ceremony.  They have renewed their commitment to serve Christ and now they wish to make a commitment to serve with us.  You may choose to serve in one of three paths; you may choose to serve as God’s Shield, as God’s Hands, or as God’s Glory.  Remember that ALL paths of service are honorable in the eyes of God and worthy of respect from your fellow Centurions.”

The assembled witnesses all said in unison, “We are all members of the same body and worthy of respect.”

Sir Gerard led the assembly in a prayer for wisdom on behalf of the applicants and then Lady Evelyn began calling applicants to stand front and center before the platform.

“Hespera,” Brendan watched as the woman in her mid-twenties stepped forward, “How have you been called to serve?”

“I have been called to serve as God’s Glory and be a smith.”

“Do we have a sponsor for Hespera?” Lady Evelyn called to the crowd.

“I will sponsor her,” said a lean man in his early 30’s.

“Master Garret, our senior smith will sponsor you, do you accept his sponsorship?”

“I do,” he walked over to her, put a smith’s apron on her, and then stood beside her.

Neither seemed surprised by the other’s decision so Brendan surmised that most of these sponsorships were worked out before the ceremony.

“Brendan,” Lady Evelyn called his name and he stepped forward.  God’s Shield was the military class within the order, the knights and shieldmaidens, squires and handmaidens, who carried out the primary work of the order by defending the people of God.  God’s Glory was the artisan class; the smiths, musicians, doctors, engineers, scribes, and other educated people who supported the work of the order. God’s Hands were the servant class; the cooks, brewers, bakers, grooms, and other workers who supported the other two groups.  Brendan had been told to select serving as God’s Shield if he felt called to be a knight, but Sir Gerard had made it clear to him that if God led him to some other decision, he should do it.

“How have you been called to serve?”

“I have been called to serve as God’s Shield and be a knight.”

“Do we have a sponsor for Brendan?”

Brendan waited expectantly for Sir Gerard to speak up but was surprised when he said nothing.

“I will sponsor him,” announced Father Cardic.

“Father Cardic will sponsor you, do you accept his sponsorship?”

Brendan was stunned, “Umm, I do,” he finally said.

The old priest walked forward with a kite shield and slid it onto his arm.  He saw the shock on Brendan’s face.  “Were you thinking it was going to be Sir Gerard?  He’s a busy man and I knew he would be too soft on you.  He planned to be your sponsor, but I convinced him otherwise.  And before you say I’m not a knight, I am a knight, I’m just a knight with a few extra duties.  And don’t worry, I’ll be able to give you much more of my attention than Sir Gerard would.”

Brendan groaned, why did extra attention from the priest NOT sound like such a good thing?

Chapter 21

“Women are more unpredictable than dragons.  This is part of their charm.”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 5: Proverb 8

Portia stalked around in the crowd, watching and waiting.  The knights, squires, and men-at-arms had all returned so there was a pretty large mob.  First, she had seen Brendan and Marcia smiling and waving at each other which had been irritating.  Naturally when she had been trying to catch his eye and wave at him, he hadn’t seen her, but as soon as Marcia starts waving at him, he notices!  How typical of boys!  Now she REALLY wanted Marcia to choose to be a shieldmaiden.  Both of her parents and her older sister were all serving as God’s Shield, she would have to pick that too, right?  But something told Portia that Marcia was going to make a different choice.  She was always reading and writing, maybe she would be a scribe.

Portia watched as they called each applicant until Marcia was the last one left.

“Marcia,” her sister stepped forward.  The handmaiden frowned, somehow her little sister even made a wet linen tunic and bare feet look good.

“How have you been called to serve?” Portia held her breath.

“I choose to serve as God’s Glory and become a natural philosopher.”

“What?” Portia yelled out and then caught herself as everyone turned to look at her.  Marcia smiled sweetly at her big sister.

“Do we have a sponsor for Marcia?” Lady Evelyn asked, more than a bit surprised herself at her daughter’s decision.  She glanced at Doctor Sheraton, a woman in her late 20’s who was the only person in the castle who could sponsor someone to be a natural philosopher.

“Oh, that’s me! Yes, I’ll sponsor her.  Sorry, I saw the sunlight sparkling off the crystals I’m growing outside of my workshop and it gave me an idea on how to solve my optics problem with the lenses I’m trying to make.”

Lady Evelyn sighed with resignation about her daughter’s choice, “Marcia, Dr. Sheraton will sponsor you, will you accept her sponsorship?”

“Yes!”  The Doctor stepped forward and put a heavy leather apron with pockets on it over her head.  It was not unlike a smith’s apron but seemed to have several stains and burned spots already on it.

Portia was not entirely clear what a natural philosopher did exactly.  They “studied the natural world”, whatever that meant.  The Centurions actively supported them and some of their discoveries had led to major breakthroughs in Centurion medicine and metalworking.  At least Marcia wasn’t taking the easy way out, Dr. Sheraton’s parents had been killed trying to recreate some magic powder from China that they saw mentioned in some Chinese writings.  It was called “fire medicine” but it caused a large thunderclap that blew apart their workshop and set the smithy on fire.  Portia’s grandfather, Sir Godfrey, had passed on what remained of their notes to other researchers in the Order, but had declared that there would be no more research on “fire medicine” at Castle Warrick.  Dr. Sheraton had then been raised by her older sister until her older sister accidentally poisoned herself about 10 years ago, so apparently accidental death was a real problem for natural philosophers.

Marcia wandered over to Portia.

“Did you see my apron?” She asked with excitement.

“Yes, I can see that the previous owner put some pretty good stains and a few burns on it.  I hope they survived, whoever they were.”

“Oh, I did.  This is my apron and these stains and burns are mine.  I’ve been secretly working with Dr. Sheraton for over a year now seeing if this was what God was really calling me to do, and it is!  You have no idea how exciting it can be.”

Portia looked at her sister in a new light.  She wasn’t trying to escape from being a shieldmaiden, she genuinely wanted to be a natural philosopher.  Still, Dr. Sheraton was the odd duck in the castle and most of the staff rolled their eyes at her eccentricities, Portia hoped her sister didn’t end up like that.

“Good for you!” Portia exclaimed, trying to act excited for her sister instead of worried. “What are you working on now?”

“We’re working on stringing lenses together to provide magnification.  The ancient Egyptians were the first to begin experimenting with lenses, but they didn’t have the quality of glass to work with that Lucinda and I can produce in her shop.  We can already make a tube with lenses on each end that will make things faraway look like they are four times closer than they actually are but the images are muddy so we’re working on  purifying the glass better, shaping it more cleanly, and trying to increase the magnification.  You must get the curved surface of the glass just right and we’re experimenting with different types of spherical curves.  The best curves are not quite spherical, more of a conic section, and we’re working on the mathematics to describe these, but we haven’t figured it out yet.  We’re getting better by trial and error though so…”

Portia cut her off at this point, Marcia had lost her halfway through the first sentence.  “I would love to come to your workshop sometime and see your tube of magrification or whatever you called it.”

“Magnification.”

“Right, magnification.  Go talk to mom, I can see that she has a bunch of questions for you too.”  Marcia walked dutifully over to their mother while Brendan walked up to Portia.

“Well, that went a lot differently than expected.  I got Father Cardic as my sponsor and your sister decided to skip being a shieldmaiden in favor of becoming a natural philosopher.  Aristotle would be proud.”

“Even if it didn’t go the way you expected it to, you should still thank God,” she said tapping him on the chest.  Partly she did it to emphasize her point but mostly she did it because his chest looked so good in his linen tunic and she just wanted to feel how firm his chest muscles were again.  “My Step of Faith ceremony was at the winter solstice and the water was absolutely freezing and then we got to stand in the middle of the bailey in the dead of winter wearing only a damp linen tunic while they lined us all up with our sponsors.  It was miserable.  The only good part is that the winter ceremonies usually go a whole lot faster than the spring or summer ones.”

“They couldn’t hold the ceremony inside where it was warmer?”

“Have you met a Centurion?” Portia asked sarcastically, “Would the Spartans hold the ceremony inside?”

Brendan understood, “No, they would hold it outside and use it as an opportunity to teach their young people character.”

“Exactly, Centurions don’t go out of their way to deliberately make things harsher like the Spartans did, but they also don’t make things easier just to make things easier. ‘Perseverance is the third pillar of the Order’s foundation’, and all that.”

“Time to go get dressed,” Father Cardic said briskly as he walked up.  “The nine of you are the guests of honor in the dining hall tonight.  The people who know you all best usually sit around and tell embarrassing stories about you to all the witnesses.  It may not be fun for you but the rest of us enjoy it. You know, ‘Humility is the fourth pillar of the Order’s foundation’.”

“I think the Order has too many pillars,” Brendan replied, “But I should be pretty safe, you don’t know that many embarrassing stories about me.”

The priest winked at Portia, “I think Lady Portia and I can make up a few, and if nothing else I can tell that little story that Marcia shared with me about the two of you getting into a wrestling match on the balcony.  You know, when she had you pinned to the ground and was having her way with you.”

“Hey! You’re supposed to embarrass him, not me!” Portia yelled.

“You’re embarrassed?  According to him, I was the one losing a wrestling match to a …” Brendan caught himself and stopped.

“To a girl?” Portia finished for him. “Don’t worry about it, my nickname is The Squire, so that story isn’t going to damage your reputation as much as you think.  In fact, now that I think about it, it would probably improve mine.  Please tell it.”

Brendan raised an accusatory eyebrow at her.

“Stop worrying about it,” she waved her hand dismissively, “everyone in the castle will know that it’s just an exaggeration anyway.”

“An exaggeration? So you’re sayin’ there’s some truth to it?”  The priest interrupted, feigning surprise.

“Father Cardic, please!” Portia responded with mock severity.  “I need your help with a far more serious problem. I need to pick out a story that I can tell about Marcia that’s really embarrassing but not too embarrassing, if you know what I mean.”

The old man smirked, “I think I have just the one…”

Chapter 22

“Plans within plans within plans, this is the mark of the Black, it is their greatest strength and their biggest pitfall.”

The Centurion Book of Beasts – Folio IV: Dragons

So far as she could tell, her children had not caused any trouble and no one had been alerted to their presence.  This pleased the Black very much since it meant that she could move forward with the next step in her plan.   The Hungarians were on the move and that was excellent news.  The Black liked them, they were violent and easy to draw into doing her will.  They were intelligent, but overconfident, saw every dream as an omen, and very focused on plunder and fighting.  Marcia was almost ready to play her part.  Portia was primed and ready to go.  When Marcia disappeared, Portia would panic and go out into the woods on her own, looking for her, scared to death but convinced that only she could save her sister.

The dragon nodded to herself, she would give Portia two days to follow the tracks and find the cave.  If the handmaiden failed to find the lair, which is what the dragon expected, then the Black would go looking for the stupid girl.  She had no doubt that she would be able to find her with the keen eyes and excellent nose of a dragon.  A lost, isolated, and exhausted girl would be an easy meal.  If the handmaiden actually succeeded in tracking Marcia to the cave, which was almost certainly beyond her ability, she would wander into the trap set by the Black and save the dragon even the effort of the hunt.  The taste of her enemy’s children would be so very sweet indeed, especially that little child of doom, Portia.

There was only the matter of luring Marcia out of the castle at the right time and to the right location and the Black had just the vision to do it.  The key would be careful timing and the dragon had even worked out that detail.  The only thing left was to spin the dream and then wait for the girls to come to her.

Chapter 23

“It is said, ‘Beware of Greeks bearing gifts’. This should be amended to, ‘Beware of Greeks’.  They are too clever by half and you should NEVER wager with them unless you enjoy poverty.”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 8: Proverb 2

At first, Brendan had enjoyed staying in the men’s barracks but after a couple of weeks living with the other squires it began to get rather tiresome.  His natural habit of walking quietly as well as his high degree of skill with knives and daggers, but not with knightly weapons, had clued in a couple of the more worldly squires as to what his previous profession had been.  Most were tolerant, forgiveness was, after all, an important part of the Christian faith and the Centurion creed, but not everyone was so understanding.  Some joked about the need to hide their valuables when Brendan was around.  Others felt the need to confront him over every little thing to drive “his kind” out of the Order.  A few even had their own shady backgrounds that they wanted to keep quiet, so they stayed away from him to avoid attracting unwanted attention.

The worst were the two or three who brought their own political agendas into the Order.  They came from situations in the outside world that provided them with no opportunities for advancement and they saw the Order as a gateway to better things.  They tried to position themselves as potential future husbands of Portia and, thanks to Marcia’s story, viewed Brendan as a serious obstacle in their path to becoming the next Count of the Carinthia.  Clovis was the worst of these and he was especially irritating to the former thief because of the way that he would mock Portia in the barracks and then turn around and try to play up to her in the Great Hall.

Brendan was tempted to say something to her, but he rarely saw her anymore, as if she was trying to avoid him, and when he did see her she was looking increasingly stressed and worn out.  He didn’t know if that was another consequence of Marcia’s story or not, but it had him worried for her.

Walking into the barracks after dinner one night Brendan was treated to the sight of his least favorite person addressing the rest of the squires as if he were beginning a lecture on the vices of man.

“What do you call someone who takes something that belongs to someone else?” Clovis asked the crowd that had formed around him.  He was not very popular, so no one helped him out by answering.  The other squires stood around watching, waiting to see where he was going with all of this.  Looking around, frustrated, Clovis addressed his intended target directly.

“Brendan, what do you call someone who takes something that belongs to someone else?”

“A tax collector?” The squire answered innocently.

“No! I mean what do you call someone who takes something that belongs to someone else without their permission?” Clovis pressed on.

“I have never had a tax collector ask my permission before he took my money, but I suppose you could also say that Hungarians and Vikings take people’s things without their permission,” Brendan did his best to keep up the air of someone who was innocently trying to answer a complicated question.  “Parents will also sometimes take things from their children without the child’s permission to punish or protect them so you can add ‘parents’ to the list.  You could even say…”

“No, no, no! What do you call someone who takes something that belongs to someone else without their permission or knowledge?” Shouted Clovis in exasperation.

Brendan glanced around the room and saw most of the other squires and men-at-arms smirking at Clovis’ predicament.  He decided it was time to give Clovis the answer he was looking for.

“A thief?” He replied.

“That’s right!” Clovis said with a nasty grin on his face.  “And someone took my most important possession, my father’s dagger with the large ruby set in the hilt.  I left it in my travel trunk under my bed, and now it’s missing!”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Brendan said, “Did you check under the bed? It might have fallen out when you were …”

“I didn’t lose it!” Snapped Clovis.  “You stole it! I know you took it, you’re a thief!  You pretended that you were hurt when you fell off your horse so that Sir Bertram would send you to the doctor while the rest of us continued our training.  Later I saw you messing around inside the barracks instead of coming straight back, what else would a thief be doing in a barracks by himself other than stealing something?”

“Well if you know that I took your dagger then I am not a thief.  We have already established that you are only a thief if you take something that belongs to someone else without their permission or their knowledge.”  Clovis frowned at this logic but then pressed forward.

“So you admit that you took it without my permission?” Clovis asked, pointedly.

“No, I don’t even admit that your dagger is missing, I’m simply pointing out one of many flaws in your argument,” Brendan stated calmly.  “For all we know your dagger is in your trunk and you are making this all up to cause me trouble.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Demanded Clovis.

“You’re calling me a thief.  Since I’m not a thief, that means that you are either a liar or a fool who can’t find his dagger in his own trunk.  Tell me which way you want to do this; do you want me to prove that you’re a liar or that you’re a fool?”

“You are insulting my honor!”  Clovis’ face was white with anger.  Everyone went silent at this accusation.  Centurions avoided duels of honor but then they also generally avoided calling each other liars and thieves.  The world around them, however, was filled with duels of honor that frequently ended in death.  Since Clovis and Brendan were both new to the Centurions no one doubted that this might well end badly.

Brendan didn’t want to kill Clovis; he had never actually killed anyone before even though he had been involved in some very ugly knife fights, but more than that he felt like it went against the Centurion way.  He decided to gamble that this was just a show for the audience.

“As the challenged, I would get my choice of weapons.  I would choose daggers and no armor.  Would you really want to fight me without armor armed only with daggers?”

Squire to squire with knightly weapons Clovis would have a clear edge due to his greater experience using swords, shields, and armor.  But without armor, using only daggers?  Suddenly, everyone was looking at Clovis to see what he would do.  Brendan was an agile and efficient infighter who knew every dirty trick in the book.  No one wanted to fight Brendan that way.  He saw the look of fury on Clovis’ face disappear and be replaced with a cool calculating one.

“I thought not,” Brendan said.

“But you are still a thief and my dagger is still in your trunk,” Clovis sneered.  He had already lost face by backing down to the younger man’s threat.  His only way out was to prove that Brendan really was a thief.  “I insist upon checking it without further delay.”

Clovis started to reach for Brendan’s trunk, but Brendan stepped in front of him.  “I don’t trust you; we’ll let someone else check my trunk.  Do we have someone trustworthy who can check my trunk for his dagger?”

For a moment, nobody moved, then Camden stepped forward.  Camden was a huge brute of a German.  Physically he was everything that made up the ideal knight; he was the biggest and strongest squire in the barracks and yet for all his size he was still very quick and reasonably agile.  On the other hand, he was not known for being the sharpest tool in the shed and his rough German accent didn’t help that image.  He seldom spoke, but when he did his comments were simple and honest and most of the other squires considered him to be only slightly smarter than the average warhorse.

“How about me?” He asked simply.  Both young men eyed Camden and each other trying to decide if someone was trying to pull something.

Brendan finally spoke first, “You are acceptable to me.  What do you say Clovis?”

Clovis eyed them both suspiciously as if this was a set up but Camden’s reputation for honesty was such that he finally agreed.  Camden opened Brendan’s trunk in full view of everyone and began pulling all the items out one-by-one.  He unfolded every item of clothing, checked it thoroughly and then folded it back up and put it on the bed.  Eventually everything in the trunk was laying on the bed and there was no dagger with a large ruby in the hilt anywhere in sight.  Clovis, who had been pacing back and forth impatiently, exploded when the trunk was emptied and no dagger had been found.

“What?! What do you mean there’s no dagger in there!  I saw him put it in there myself!”

“Wait a minute,” Brendan asked, “If you saw me steal your dagger and put it in my trunk, why didn’t you stop me then?”  Clovis said nothing but glared at Brendan.  The younger squire went on, “For that matter, where is my long seax?  It was a gift from Sir Gerard.  I left it in my trunk and now it’s missing!”

“Apparently, we have a dagger thief stealing daggers out of everyone’s trunk,” commented Clovis, looking around the room to see who he could blame this mess on.

“We should check everyone’s trunk,” said Camden.  “Since I checked Brendan’s, it is only fair that I start by checking yours.”

Clovis was aghast at this suggestion.  “Why? My dagger was the first one to go missing; somebody else must be doing it.”

“It is only fair that we check everyone’s, and I will begin with yours,” Camden repeated.  The big man went over to Clovis’ bed and Clovis tried to get in between him and the trunk.  Brendan found himself admiring Camden’s patient persistence.

“This is ridiculous! You have no right to search my trunk! I did nothing wrong,” Clovis growled.

“Brendan did nothing wrong either and we searched his trunk.  It is only fair,” Camden repeated as he picked the smaller man up like he was a small child and moved him out of the way.  He knelt down beside the bed and pulled the trunk out from underneath it.  A faint metallic clink could be heard when he did so.  He bent over and looked under the bed and then reached underneath and grabbed something.  He came up with a dagger in his hand.  Everyone looked at the hilt.  It had a large ruby set in the hilt.

“I guess Brendan was right, it did fall out of your trunk when you were doing something.”

“You said you saw me steal it and put it in my trunk.  I guess this means that you are a liar,” Brendan added.

Camden opened the trunk and began pulling things out.

“What are you doing?  We have found my dagger, there’s no reason to search my trunk,” said Clovis through gritted teeth.  He was seething but there was no one to take his anger out on and starting a fight with Camden would end in a humiliating beat down.

“We are still looking for Brendan’s weapon,” answered Camden, “we will keep searching until we find it.”

Halfway to the bottom of the trunk the big squire found a long-bladed weapon.

“Is this your long seax?” He asked lifting it up for Brendan to see.

“Yes! That’s my seax and Sir Gerard can verify it, if anyone doubts my word,” the young squire turned to look at Clovis.  “So, you’re a liar AND a fool?  I knew you had to be one or the other, but both? That surprises even me.”

All eyes were now locked on Clovis.  In a typical barracks with typical squires a challenge would have been made or a fight would have broken out at this point but this was a Centurion barracks and such things were usually avoided.  Clovis coolly met Brendan’s eye.

“I apologize for accusing you of stealing my dagger.  I didn’t see you steal it; I jumped to a conclusion that was wrong.  I am sorry for dishonoring you,” he said calmly.  “I honestly don’t know how your dagger came to be in my trunk,” but I can make a guess seemed to be the unspoken end of that sentence.

“I accept your apology,” the younger squire answered quickly, “And I forgive you.”

Sharp looks from Clovis at the other squires sent the clear message, “The show is over, move on.”  Most of the squires began drifting off to do other things.  A couple hung around Clovis to discuss the theft with him while Camden discretely made his way back over to Brendan’s bunk.

“How did you know he put his dagger in your trunk?” Camden asked quietly.  Brendan glanced at him sharply.

“You’re smarter than you let on,” he finally answered in a hushed voice.

“For some reason, people seem to assume that if you are big and muscular then you must be stupid,” replied Camden with a shrug.  “Throw in my poor Latin and thick accent and it completes the picture.  I don’t try to deceive people but if they choose to underestimate me that’s their problem.”

Brendan nodded approvingly.  “He’s been watching me for some time.  I’ve gotten into the habit of checking all my things just in case.  I found the dagger, assumed it was his and pulled the switch.”

“He is clearly trying to get you kicked out of the Order.  Do you think this is about Miss Portia?”

“Probably,” Brendan whispered.  “She’s been avoiding me lately and I have no idea where I stand with her, but Sir Gerard likes me and she let me wash her feet so Clovis probably views me as his chief competitor for her hand in marriage.”

Camden chuckled, “I notice that you conveniently omit the balcony incident.  Do not take it personally, Miss Portia has been avoiding all the young men lately.   I have noticed that she looks at you when she thinks no one is looking.  I’m sure that Clovis has noticed it too, he watches her like a hawk watches a newborn lamb.”

“Really?  She watches me when she thinks no one else is looking?”  Then Brendan shook his head, “The odd thing is, I don’t even want to be in the competition.  I really like Portia, at least when she’s not in a huff about something, but I’m not ready to be the Count of Carinthia, I’m not even ready to be a husband.  I’m still learning how to be a Centurion.”

“That’s probably one of the things that Sir Gerard likes about you, your ambition is simply to improve yourself and be the best Centurion you can be, not become the Count of Carinthia.  That’s why you may be the best husband for Miss Portia and a good Count as well.”

Brendan glanced over at Clovis and saw that he was sneaking little glances over at the two of them.  Doubtless he was trying to figure out what they were talking about.  “You might want to watch your back too,” he said to Camden.  “He probably thinks that you’re on my side now.”

“I am on your side,” Camden replied.  “It is true that God can transform men’s hearts and hopefully someday he will transform Clovis, but right now I think that Clovis would be the worst possible husband for Miss Portia and a bad Count of Carinthia.  I am on the side of every other potential suitor in this castle, especially you.”

Brendan smiled for the first time in a couple of weeks.  “We’d better get some sleep; we’re back on the horses again tomorrow and I don’t get along with them nearly as well as you do.”

Chapter 24

“Raising a child from the age of twelve to the age of twenty is like riding a horse, that is, it is like riding a wild stallion that has accidentally eaten nettles and been attacked by a swarm of bees all at the same time.  You hold on tight and hope that you both survive the ride.”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 11: Proverb 1

It had been several weeks since Portia and her father had talked about Brendan and her future and she had done her best to avoid the young squire since that conversation.  Unfortunately, castles are fairly small places so she was not very successful, but she tried.  Mealtimes were the worst, but Brendan had picked up on her awkwardness around him and didn’t force his presence on her.  Her mother, on the other hand, had no problem trying to put them together and that was why mealtimes were so bad.  She survived most meals by saying as little as possible and trying her best not to look miserable and then escaping as soon as she could get away.

The idea of getting married was incredibly scary to her and she didn’t want to deal with it.  There were a variety of reasons but the one she couldn’t overcome was her belief, deep down inside, that if she got married her father would die in battle.  It made sense to her, in a strange way, that if she just didn’t get to know Brendan better then she wouldn’t have to make a decision about him and she wouldn’t have to get married.  If she didn’t get married her father couldn’t die yet, because she wasn’t taken care of.  Her head told her this wasn’t true, that she was just putting off the inevitable and that her father living or dying had nothing to do with her marital status, but her heart kept clinging to the hope that the whole problem would somehow go away if she just avoided it long enough.  Her recurring nightmares weren’t helping her mental condition either.  Not enough sleep and concern for the lives of everyone in the castle was really wearing on her.

Portia couldn’t discuss her father’s plan, her feelings, or anything else with Brendan; she wouldn’t have known what to say even if she had tried.  This left the young squire very confused by it all but then, so was she.  Lady Evelyn was also clearly frustrated by Portia’s actions.  Her mom kept trying to talk to her about it, but Portia avoided all such discussions like the plague. Talking to her mom about boys and marriage was just too embarrassing, it was even worse than talking to her dad.  It got so bad that Portia started hiding every time she saw her mother coming or heard her voice.

“I do NOT know what do with that girl,” she overheard her mother saying one day from her hiding place under the bed.  “I came in here looking for her to talk about Brendan and she’s gone.”  Portia heard the door of her armoire open and close as her mother looked inside for her.  “I thought I saw her come in here but she probably jumped off the balcony and is running around on the ramparts right now while we’re standing here looking for her.”

“No doubt,” answered her father.  “She’s scared.  She’s scared about getting to know a young man.  She has always felt uncomfortable dealing with boys, unless there was weapons training or horseback riding involved.  She can fight side by side with Brendan against a thousand enemies, but it is scary to talk with him about personal things and perhaps develop romantic feelings for him.”  Portia had to bite her tongue, she wasn’t afraid to talk with him and maybe get romantic with him!  Okay, well, maybe she was a little bit afraid.  The thought of being held and kissed was both exciting and terrifying at the same time.

“I know,” her mother said as she sat on the bed.  The mattress sagged down onto Portia’s face and she had to breathe very carefully in order not to give her position away.  “It just amazes me that a young woman who has the courage to face winter wolves in hand-to-hand combat would run from a boy like a scared baby chick.”

“I don’t think she would run from a boy and that’s the problem, Brendan’s not a boy, he’s a young man.  The other thing that we need to remember is that when she faced the winter wolves all that she was risking was death, if she talks to Brendan and falls for him then she is risking a broken heart and public embarrassment.  For a sixteen-year-old, those things are a lot scarier than death.”  Portia heard her mother chuckle at this.

“Too true!  So, what should we do?” Lady Evelyn asked.  “Aurora is waiting her turn to snatch him up; I can see it in the way that she looks at him.  If Portia takes too long, she’ll lose the opportunity and we can’t blame it on Aurora because she finally did what Portia was too afraid to do.”

“What do you mean by that?  Brendan and Aurora wouldn’t get married anytime soon.  It can’t be an immediate problem.”

The Grey Lady continued, “You don’t know Aurora the way that I do, she is a young woman of exceptional ability and determination.  If Portia drags her feet too long Aurora will decide not to wait any longer and make her move on Brendan.  Once she gains the inside track with our young squire she will not let go of it and they will end up married, and that would be Portia’s fault, not Aurora’s.”

Sir Gerard sat down next to Lady Evelyn on the bed and the mattress sagged down onto Portia’s stomach.  Now she had to suck in as well as breathe carefully in order to stay hidden.  At least there was nobody else in the room to sit on the bed.

“She’s scared of even the thought of marriage,” her father finally said.  “She’s scared of the king’s political plans, she’s scared of the growing problems with the Hungarians, she’s scared of the future in general.  Portia has a lot weighing on her mind and heart right now.”

“I know,” her mother replied, “but things will not be better in another three months and they may actually get worse.  She is the daughter of the Count of Carinthia and will be the future Countess of Carinthia.  The time has come for her to step up and act like a young noble woman and not a child.  You’re doing your very best as her father to take care of her now and in the future and she’s going to throw all that away simply because she’s afraid.  She can step up, take the initiative, and choose who she will marry now, or she can wait, and have it forced upon her against her will if you die.”

“She hopes that I’ll stay alive so she can put off choosing.”

“We all hope for that,” Lady Evelyn interrupted, “that’s not the problem, the problem is, what if you are killed?  In a battle you would gladly lay down your life to save your troops or save our people, and that’s the way that it should be.  You cannot lead your men or protect your people if you are distracted, worrying about yourself and what will happen to Portia if you die.  At best it will be an extra burden on your mind at a critical moment in the battle, at worst you may be tempted to sacrifice your men or your people in order to save your own life so that you can protect her.  In the end, you can't even protect Portia that way.  If you are so busy trying to stay alive that you lose the battle then the Hungarians will overrun the castle and Portia would end up dead anyway; or worse, captured by some Hungarian warlord and sold into slavery.”

Her father sighed, “She must at least start talking to the young men someplace other than the stables or training fields.”

“Yes, she has developed quite a vocabulary from talking to the grooms,” her mother said archly.  “It might be best if she stopped talking to the boys in the stables entirely.”

Her father chuckled at this before continuing in a more somber tone, “If Brendan is not acceptable to her then there are several other young squires who might be.  If none of those will do then I will find someone else.  Even if she doesn’t get married yet she must at least start thinking about it now.”

Her parents got up and left her bedroom and Portia lay underneath her bed crying silently to herself.  She bit her lip and forced herself to stop crying.  It took a bit longer but she was even able to get her breathing under control and crawl out from under the bed.  She was not going to be a distraction to her father and get him killed.  She wiped her tears away and set her jaw.  It was time to start acting like a young woman and not like a frightened child.  She would do what needed to be done.

◆◆◆

Making her decision was one thing, putting it into action was another.  She forced herself to walk past Brendan and say hello in the hallways instead of turning around and heading the other direction when she saw him coming. There were occasionally opportunities at dinner for her to serve him without making it too apparent that she was going out of her way to do so and he usually made it a point to return the favor.  But as for actually talking to him and getting to know him? That was still an impossible task to her, and their training schedules did not give them very many opportunities to talk even when she tried.

Brendan had been training hard with the squires while Portia had been working hard with the handmaidens, so they were naturally separated, but squires and handmaidens trained on the same equipment and saw each other frequently in passing.  Portia tried to watch Brendan as much as she could from a distance without making it obvious that she was doing so, but the other handmaidens were watching her every moment, so she didn’t get away with much.  She caught Aurora watching him too and found herself feeling a little pang of jealousy.  Then Aurora caught Portia watching her watch Brendan and everything became really awkward.  Finally, Portia excused herself to go to the privy.

The next day it happened again except that it was Portia who caught Aurora watching her watch Brendan.  Again, things were awkward until Aurora laughed, “I guess it’s my turn to go to the privy this time.”  Portia laughed as well and the tension between them was broken.

“Why do you like him?” Portia asked finally.

Aurora thought for a long moment before she answered.  “I like his humility…”

Portia interrupted, “Humility? Arrogance oozes out of him.”  She paused thoughtfully for a moment, “though I will give him some credit, at least he knows that he has a problem with pride and he’s trying to get it under control.”

“That is exactly my point, we all have a problem with pride and most of us can’t even see it in ourselves.  How many people from outside of the Order would wash someone else’s feet?”  Portia’s back and neck tingled at the memory.  She felt herself blushing and Aurora looked at her suspiciously before continuing.

“Even more, he did it without even being asked.  Pride is when we focus on ourselves and act as if we are the most important person in the universe.  Even the person who mopes around talking about how sinful and incompetent they are is still focused obsessively on themselves and their own shortcomings.  They may not have a high opinion of themselves, but they can’t get their mind off themselves.  True humility is when you are not even thinking about yourself at all, you are only thinking of others and meeting their needs, or you are thinking of God and serving him.  Brendan understands that and, while he still struggles a lot with pride, as we all do, there are moments when he sets himself aside completely, and serves others without concern for himself.  I find that very attractive.”  Aurora thought for another moment,

“I like that he respects women.  Those squires who are raised within the order also respect women but many of the young men who join the Order from outside will say that they respect women when they really don’t.”  She paused again, deep in thought, “I like his intelligence and his sense of humor,” she continued.

“Whoa!” Portia held up her hands, “his sense of humor?  He has a good sense of humor I’ll admit, though sometimes he tells jokes that nobody else understands, but why would you care about that?  You almost never smile or laugh; you’re the most serious person I’ve ever known.”

“I am NOT serious,” Aurora objected, “I have a great sense of humor, it’s just that most of the people around here don’t know how to tell a funny joke.”

“Like Brendan’s joke about the pheasant?” Portia asked, nodding her head as if she understood what Aurora meant.

“That joke was hilarious! I laughed and laughed!” Aurora exclaimed.

“Yes, and you were the only one; the punch line was in Greek, nobody else got it but the two of you.  Other people began to wonder if you had been sneaking sips from the kitchen wine because you NEVER laugh, not even a little bit, you barely even smile unless Brendan’s around.”  Portia shook her head, “Okay I get it, he can tell jokes that only you understand.  I guess that goes back to how smart you both are.  But what about how he looks?”

This time Aurora’s face went blank, “How he looks?” She asked.  “I guess I never really thought about it, I try not to judge others by their outward appearance, it can be very misleading.”  She stood looking at him for several moments across the practice field as if she had never seen him before.  “He is not ugly but to be honest he is shorter than most of the other squires, in fact, I’m as tall as he is.  His dark hair and eyes are okay, but they look rather common to me.  I guess he is a little bit more attractive than the average squire, but his appearance is not that important to me, I am much more interested in his inner qualities.”

Now Portia felt both stupid AND shallow.  She wasn’t smart enough to get his jokes and she was more focused on his physical appearance than his character qualities.  This conversation was making Portia depressed; Brendan had a lot more in common with Aurora than he did with her.  Aurora deserved him.

“What do you like about him?” Aurora asked awkwardly.  Girl talk was not something that she normally did and she was clearly uncomfortable discussing Brendan with Portia.

“It’s complicated,” was all that Portia could mumble.

“Come on! I told you what I liked about him, be fair and tell me what you like about him,” Aurora insisted.

Portia chewed her lip for a moment.  “I like that my father approves of him.” She finally said.  “I like … I like that I’m not in this by myself.  It’s not just about me making my own wrong decision, my father is looking out for me and he approves of Brendan.”

After another moment of chewing her lip she continued, “I like that he is different from everyone else in this castle, just like I am.  I always feel like I’m out of place everywhere I go, like I don’t quite belong anywhere.  He doesn’t seem to quite fit in anywhere either.  “He even looks at things differently than everyone else in the castle.”  Portia looked down and began to blush, “I like the way he looks at me.  He makes me feel attractive because he looks at me instead of looking past me at all the other, prettier girls.  He doesn’t look at my muscles and the abilities that I have as if I am some freak to be made fun of; he’s actually impressed by my body and what I can do.”

“Greeks have always had a thing for Amazons,” Aurora laughed, “even if they don’t like to admit it.”

“What?” Asked Portia in confusion.

“Nothing, just me making a joke that no one else can understand.  Please continue,” Portia gave Aurora an odd look and then went on.

“I even like his sense of humor, maybe not when he tells a joke that only you understand, but the rest of the time I do.” She shrugged, “And, I know that it is very shallow, but I do actually find him attractive.  I don’t know if those are the sorts of things that can lead to love or not, but those are the things that I like about him.”

“Your father brought him home to meet you and your need is more pressing than mine.  I will stay out of the way until you make your decision,” said Aurora quietly.  “I ask only that you be firm in your decision whichever way you decide.  Please do not decide you don’t want him and then change your mind and try and get him back.  Are we agreed?”

Portia nodded, “We are.  But the choice is not just between us, he also gets a choice in all of this and he may choose you regardless of what I decide.  BUT, we will make sure that one of us ends up with him, and until then, we can both look at him without embarrassment.”

◆◆◆

Portia opened her eyes and saw a dark, murky sky and a dim red light along the horizon.  It looked like thousands of acres of land burning in the distance leaving a smoky haze that choked out the sun.  A man in a dark cloak and hood seemed to be watching her.  She couldn’t see his face, but he radiated danger and fear.  Something about him seemed very familiar to her and that was the scariest part, like someone she knew was stalking her.  The man in the cloak scared her as much as anything in these nightmares, even though he never did anything but watch her.

The nightmares were always the same.  She was standing on the same ridge that the castle sat on, but she was outside watching events unfold.  The Hungarians were pouring over the border and the local nobles were assembling their troops to face them.  Somehow Marcia got out of the castle and rode off into the woods.  Hungarians were tracking her into the forest.  A great cry went up from the castle and a messenger galloped at full speed to her father as he and his troops were riding off into the distance.  She saw her mother leading the shieldmaidens out of the castle looking for Marcia.  She saw her father’s troops turning back to look for Marcia.  Without Sir Gerard’s troops and his leadership on the battlefield the Hungarians destroy the other nobles and their armies.  Portia watched in helpless silence as they were all butchered.  The Hungarians followed her parents into the woods and without the benefit of more troops or castle walls; they too are overwhelmed and butchered.  Finally, the Hungarians turn their attention to the castle.  Without enough shieldmaidens and men-at-arms to protect it, the castle was overrun and everyone inside was killed or captured and enslaved.  She even watched as she, herself, was led off in chains behind the horse of a leering Hungarian chieftain.

A quiet voice came to her, as it always did, while she was standing there crying silently to herself. “The only way to prevent this is for you to go and get Marcia back by yourself.  If you can’t handle this by yourself then your parents will try to save her and everyone will die.  She is being taken to the dragon and only you can save her.” A huge shadowy dragon shape with glowing eyes and nostrils seemed to materialize in the air around her.  “You may die rescuing Marcia but only you can save her and everyone else.  You MUST do it by yourself because no one else can be spared.  If you fail…”

Portia awoke in a sweat and lay in bed for a long time trying to go back to sleep.  How many nights now had she been having these nightmares?  They left her exhausted, but she knew that she couldn’t tell anyone about them.  What if they were true?  She couldn’t let Marcia or herself be a distraction to her parents when the war came.

Chapter 25

“Never assume that you know what a Black is up to. Their hearts are shrouded in darkness and their minds are enigmas.”

The Centurion Book of Beasts – Folio IV: Dragons

She would be having visitors soon; it was time to prepare the lair.  A pit, she would need a pit.  Digging it would be easy enough with her claws, though as a general rule she tried to avoid such manual labor.  Perhaps a wall to hide part of the cave from view.  She could make a wall out of dirt dug up from the pit and some of the bones piled up around the cavern.  She looked around the cave with an eye to turning it into the perfect trap.

One of the corners had a small pool fed by a spring.  The water flowed through an underground opening out into a small stream that led down to the river.  The underground passage was wide enough and short enough that a little bit of sunlight filtered in through the water creating a dim, wavering bluish glow on that side of the cavern.  The Black debated about whether or not to fill in the pool and cut off all of the light in order to make the whole cave even darker.  But an idea occurred to her, humans were such simple creatures at heart, they would be attracted to the little bit of light in the midst of the darkness and go to it like moths to the flame.  She could use that to her advantage.

The Black laughed an evil laugh that made even her children cringe and back away from her.  The time for her revenge was close enough to taste!

Chapter 26

“’Put on the full armor of God,’ is a command that every Centurion should take as a sacred vow, for we fight in spiritual battles against an unseen enemy even as we fight in physical battles against the servants of that enemy.”

The Centurion Handbook of Combat – Heart and Mind: Chapter 1

The pounding of the horse’s hooves could be heard by everyone on the walls.  Brendan leaned out just far enough between the merlons of the battlement to see the rider approach the gate.  "In the name of Sir Mieder, call for Sir Gerard!" he shouted to the sentries.  A guard ran to get the master of the castle as the rider rode through the gate.  His entire body radiated fatigue and even his horse seemed more than a little unsteady.  Sir Gerard came running from the dining hall just in time to see the exhausted horse stumble and the equally exhausted rider slip from his saddle.  The Iron Knight stepped forward and caught the man before he came completely off the horse and helped him to the ground.

"We must talk," Brendan overheard the man saying.

"First, let us get you some food and drink," replied the knight.

"No, the talking must come first," corrected the messenger.

"Then the talking will take place while you eat and drink," corrected the knight.

The messenger gave Sir Gerard a severe look but saw an unbending gentleness in the knight’s face, finally he laughed, "Agreed."

Brendan started down the stairs from the top of the wall as the two walked into the keep, the messenger leaning on the knight for support.  He saw Portia making a beeline for the door only to be stopped when the door was closed.  A loud thud let everyone know that the door had been barred.  She hit the door in frustration and stormed off.

“Portia!” He called after her, but she waved him off.  A crowd was forming as people huddled together looking at the door and talking in low voices about what they had seen and what it might mean.  He understood the crowd, if the Hungarians had come over the border en masse, then whatever that messenger had to say could mean the difference between life and death to everyone in the castle.  What he didn’t understand was Portia.  He couldn’t put it into words but there was something very wrong about her reaction.  He wasn’t sure how he expected her to react but it wasn’t that.

Brendan watched as she slowed her pace and began looking around furtively as she slunk away and toward the far side of the dining hall.  Clearly, with the barring of the door, everyone was supposed to stay out, but, just as clearly, she was planning to sneak in. This bothered Brendan a lot.  Portia upset her parents from time to time because she was impulsive, but it was not like her to deliberately circumvent their will.  It was obvious that she was going to use her shortcut up to the cliff path and then jump to the balcony.  The squire didn’t know what was going on, but he was going with her whether she liked it or not.  If they got caught, he could take the brunt of the blame since he was used to getting in trouble.

Brendan jogged around to the back corner of the keep closest to the dining hall and began scaling the wall.  If anyone stuck their head around the corner and looked they would see him but no one bothered.  He got to the balcony just in time to see her flying over his head and hitting her mark.  He pulled himself up and over the railing just in time to see her pop up from her roll across the balcony.

“What are you doing here?” She demanded in an angry whisper.

“Helping you out, how often do you sneak around in the keep and eavesdrop on people?”

She gave him an ugly look, “That’s more of a Marcia thing.”

“That’s what I thought,” he whispered back, “now you have a professional on your side.”

“Don’t take pride in that,” she countered.  “Well, at least this time I beat you to the balcony.”

“I’m just trying to help you.  And for the record, I let you win, I didn’t want to get jumped on and pinned to the ground again.” She rolled her eyes.  He held a finger to his lips, “From this moment on we don’t make a sound, not even a whisper.”

The ex-thief eased open the balcony door, let her in, and then gently eased it closed behind them.  He picked up the oil lamp off Marcia’s desk and smiled at the curious look on Portia’s face.  If he needed to use it later, she would see what it was for.  He led her down the hall and carefully past a partially open door where they could hear Lady Evelyn talking to someone.  Brendan wasn’t sure who it was, but he thought it might be the nanny.  He didn’t know the woman very well, but it sounded like they were talking about plans for Marcia’s care over the next couple of days.

At the next door the hinges started to make the tiniest squeak and Brendan stopped immediately.  He poured a little oil from the lamp onto the hinges and rubbed it in with his finger.  Portia’s face lit up with understanding and she nodded approvingly.  Once they got through that door, they were into the antechamber that connected the family quarters to the rest of the castle.  Through the door to the antechamber was a storage area with spiral staircases in each of the back corners that led downstairs to the rest of the keep.  He looked to Portia for direction.  She pointed to the right-hand staircase and he led the way down into the darkness.

Brendan had to admit, for a non-thief she was moving pretty quietly.  They went down two floors from the fourth floor to the second floor of the keep using their hands against the stone walls for guidance.  Most of the second floor was a large room that served as the dining hall for the keep in case the castle ever fell and the keep was besieged.  At other times it served as a reception hall for guests.  The staircase actually came out into a small kitchen area at the back of the reception hall and a doorway in the kitchen gave them a view out into the larger room beyond it.  A cook was preparing food and they could see Sir Gerard sitting at a table with his back to them talking to the messenger in a low voice.  Brendan strained to hear what they were saying but couldn’t quite make it out.  He paused, debating what to do next.  Portia took the initiative and stepped past him like she knew exactly what she was doing.  She walked into the kitchen and picked up a tray of food.

"I will attend my father and our guest," she announced to the cook.  She turned without waiting for a response and walked into the dining hall.  For her part, the cook glanced over her shoulder at the staircase and then began shaking her head and muttering to herself.  Buried deep in the shadows of the stairs, Brendan stood back and watched. He could truly appreciate Portia’s fearlessness and initiative even as he wished it was tempered with a bit of wisdom.

Portia passed through the doorway and headed toward the table her father and the visitor were sitting at.  Sir Gerard turned to look at her and Brendan saw a plate of food in front of the messenger that had been blocked from view by the knight’s wide frame.  Portia brazened it out and delivered her tray to the table anyway.  The knight looked his daughter up and down, he was no fool, he knew what his daughter was up to.

"Hermann, this is my daughter Portia,” Brendan could hear Sir Gerard saying, “Portia, this is Hermann, a man-at-arms in the service of Sir Mieder."  Portia nodded in greeting.

"My Lord, I brought some more food for you and our guest," she said.

"Very good," he replied curtly. He turned toward his guest, "Do not speak with anyone about what we have discussed."  The messenger, his mouth full of food, nodded his understanding and Sir Gerard turned back to Portia, "Please attend to our guest's needs while I go and talk with your mother.  I am sure that he needs more drink and it is getting chilly; please stoke the fire for him."

"Yes, my lord," replied Portia.  Brendan watched as Sir Gerard headed toward the other staircase and started up. Her father had out maneuvered her.  He would be upstairs having the important conversation with her mother while she was downstairs taking care of their guest.

“Let me get you more drink,” Portia said with a strained smile.  As she walked back toward the kitchen, she caught Brendan’s eye and mouthed the words, “Follow him!”

Brendan moved quickly but quietly up the stairs he was on.  Sir Gerard was on the other staircase and was probably moving upstairs as well since he was going to talk to Lady Evelyn.  Brendan paused, out of sight, on the 3rd floor and listened as the knight continued past the third floor on his way up to the fourth. He moved quietly up to the fourth and watch from the shadows as the knight came out of the other stairwell, walked across the storage room and headed into the antechamber of the family quarters.  He closed the door behind him.

Brendan moved over to the closed door and tried to listen through it.  It was difficult but he could hear bits and pieces.  A Hungarian chieftain named Akros was coming over the border with thousands of warriors.  They had already destroyed some manor and Sir Gerard was going to join up with some other Centurions and try to stop them at the river.  There was a lot more that the squire couldn’t make out but he didn’t dare open the door.  He heard approaching footsteps and quickly ducked back into the stairwell.  He saw the knight emerge from the antechamber that led to the family quarters and then Lady Evelyn reached out from the doorway and pulled him back.   He watched, with concern, the whispered conversation between Portia’s parents, he was intruding upon a scene he shouldn’t be watching but he couldn’t turn away.  Lady Evelyn was always serious but there seemed to be something way beyond serious in her expression now.  For Sir Gerard’s part, the only word that could describe his expression was "grim" but even that didn’t really capture the darkness of his bearing.

Portia came running up the stairs at that moment and her father looked up in their direction.

“Brendan, come with me, Port, help your mother.”  He started to go but Portia rushed forward and gripped him in a bear hug with such ferocity that even the Iron Knight found himself unable to move for a moment.  He returned her hug, then kissed her forehead and pried himself loose. "I must be going, there is not a moment to lose."

Brendan followed Sir Gerard down the stairs.  When they were out of earshot of the women, Sir Gerard started talking in a low voice.

“There is something very dark going on Brendan, and I need you to stay here with my family.  Akros has invaded Carinthia with ten thousand warriors and they have already destroyed a small Centurion castle northeast of us.  The Hungarians never come in such large numbers for a simple raiding party and they avoid attacking Centurion outposts since such attacks usually cause them a lot of unnecessary casualties for very little gain.  Throw in winter wolves coming too far south and Norse appearing on the wrong side of the mountains and everything about this attack feels wrong. I believe that there are other forces at work behind these events.  I need for you to stay here with my family.  I know that Ev and her shieldmaidens can handle any of the fighting that needs to be done but I want you, with all your unusual talents and your different way of looking at things, to be here to handle the unexpected. I feel in my spirit that something very bad is going to happen at the castle while I am gone and that you need to be here to help deal with it.  My wife knows everything about Akros and his invasion and about the decision for me to join up with some other Centurion forces and face him.  She doesn’t know about this darkness that I sense, and I expect it to stay that way.  If I can’t even put a name to it, I don’t want to create more fear and stress for her.

“I apologize for putting you in this position, everyone else will see you staying while the rest of us ride out.  They will think that you are staying behind where it’s safe while we put our lives at risk, but I will know the truth and it is my firm belief that you will be risking your life just as much as we will be risking ours.”

Brendan nodded his head, “I understand.”  He really didn’t but for some reason Sir Gerard was worried enough about what lay ahead that he wanted some sort of assurance from Brendan that his decision made sense.  Brendan couldn’t imagine making a decision because of something that he “felt in his spirit”, but he respected Sir Gerard more than anyone else he had ever known, and he respected his faith, so Brendan was going to do whatever the knight asked of him.  God would sort it all out.

“I must leave now to prepare for our expedition, I want you to get your things out of the barracks and move into the ground floor of the keep.  There are several bunks in one of the guardrooms by the front door.  I will let Claudia know that you’re staying there.”  He paused and then pulled what looked like a blue piece of cloth out of a pouch on his belt.  “I have been trying to find the best time to give this to you, but none seemed right.  I carry something similar into battle and it encourages me greatly. Please carry this with you, it is my hope that it encourages you as well. Watch over my family for me and pray that the Lord will help me watch over all of the people in Carinthia.”

With that Sir Gerard was gone, and Brendan was left scratching his head, looking at the blue cloth, and wondering what had just happened.

Chapter 27

God’s help rarely takes the form that we expect, which is a good thing.  God delights in solving problems with the touch of a butterfly’s wing that we would solve with a pounding hammer.”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 9: Proverb 7

Her father strode off with such an air of finality that Portia wondered if she would ever see him again.  Centurions kept emergency travel supplies loaded and ready to go for just such a situation as this.  The Hungarians moved like lightning and if the Centurions couldn’t respond just as quickly, they would never be able to stop them.  Portia knew they would be gone within the hour.

"What’s happening momma?"

"Akros and thousands of his Hungarians have crossed the border, they have already destroyed Barstow Castle and they’re heading this way.  Your father is going to take our troops and try to join up with Sir Mieder, and Sir Casten.  They hope to catch Akros as he and his men are crossing the river west of Barstow.  If they can rendezvous and get to the river before the Hungarians, then they have a chance of turning the tide and driving them back.  If they don't succeed then all of Carinthia may fall."

Portia found her heart being crushed by fear; it was happening just like her dreams.  If she didn’t change something her father and the other knights would be overwhelmed and slaughtered, and the castle would be overrun and destroyed.  Every village and farm for a five hundred miles would be burned to the ground.  She forced herself to speak calmly.

"Wouldn't it be better for father to stay here with the troops and defend the keep?  Wouldn't he stand a better chance of defeating Akros behind these walls?"

Lady Evelyn studied her daughter carefully before answering, Portia’s use of the word “father” instead of “dad” was not lost on her.  “Centurions do not make their decisions based upon fear.  The decision was made based upon which plan had the best chance of successfully protecting the most people.  This is it.”

Portia wondered how much of her fear her mother could detect. She was trying so hard to control her facial muscles that they hurt.

“But this decision wouldn’t be based on fear; it would be a smart decision.” Portia explained.  “The castle is easier to defend, it would give us a much better chance of winning and the very presence of a full company of Centurion Knights that could ride out and strike them from behind would surely cause the Hungarians to leave as soon as possible before they could do a lot of damage.”

"It’s possible that we could hold out for a time," her mother finally answered.  "But you don’t win battles by hiding behind walls, at best you can only hope that some disaster befalls the enemy before they breach your walls.  Walls have their purpose in preventing a defeat, but they seldom play a part in winning a victory.  Even if we were able to hold out here, think of the devastation that would be brought down upon the rest of the Eastern Marches.  These are the very people your father and I have sworn to protect; he must go out and defend them.  The job of defending the castle will fall to us."

Portia bit back the torrent of words that welled up inside her.  They would do no good here.  Lady Evelyn's lingering look and impassive face shared nothing and left Portia wondering how much her mother really guessed about the feelings of fear that whirled inside of her and threatened to drag her under.  Portia felt exhausted from the nightmares that interfered with her sleep and the suffocating fear they inspired.  The young woman desperately wished that she could rush to her mother's arms and pour out everything that was in her heart and have her mother make everything okay but she knew that she could never do that, her mother was too strong and fearless, she would never understand.

Portia saw her mother's expression soften, "You are much stronger than you know," the Gray Lady said as she tenderly touched her daughter’s cheek.  "Courage is not the absence of fear, courage is going forward and doing what needs to be done despite your fear."

Tears welled up in Portia's eyes and her whole body began to tremble.  Her mother took her into her arms and held her tightly.

"But you and Daddy never feel fear," she sobbed.

"I feel more fear than I can possibly tell you," her mother said gently. "I fear the Hungarians and what they will do to us if they get past the river. I fear for your father and all the men who are going with him. I keep those fears inside where no one can see them but God.  Well, no one but God and your father.  I learned long ago that showing fear to others when they are looking up to you to be strong can be disastrous."

"But isn't that kind of like lying?" Portia snuffled through her tears.  "Pretending not to be afraid when you are?"

"That’s why I did not say that courage is the absence of fear, everyone feels fear at one time or another.  Are you confident that the Lord will carry out his will in all of this and that his will is best?"

"My mind believes that but my heart struggles with it."

"Many a woman has allowed herself to be led down the path to destruction by following the feelings of her heart.  Your heart and your feelings will lead you astray if you let them.  I know that you and I have not always agreed; that we have, in fact, butted heads like two stubborn goats on many occasions.  I know that there have been days when you did not feel loved, but your feelings do not change the truth and the truth is that I have loved you with all of my heart every moment of your life.  God has given you a heart and feelings for a reason, but you are not to follow your heart or be ruled by your feelings, you are to follow God and be ruled by what you know to be true."

Portia tried wiping away the tears that stained her face.  "Then what’s the point of having feelings?" She asked.

"If we had only a brain without a heart, we would see only the tasks that needed to be done without seeing the importance of the people around us.  If we had only reason without emotions the world would be a dreadfully dull place made up only of black and white, and shades of gray, checklists, chores, and duties to be completed.  Joy and love, and even fear and sorrow, give color and texture to our world.  They help us to see the beauty of a butterfly flying over a meadow, the value of a baby in her mother’s arms, the tragedy of a dead soldier lying on a battlefield.  We are far better off with feelings that push us forward and pull us back than we are without any feelings at all."  Lady Evelyn smiled rather sheepishly, “I must admit though that they can make life a lot more challenging even while they are making things more interesting.”

Portia hugged her mother tightly for several long moments before she asked the question that was really in her heart, "Do you think we’ll ever see Daddy again?"

Lady Evelyn returned her daughter's fierce hug before she finally answered, "He is in God's hands, and I trust that whatever happens, God's will is best." She knew this was not the answer her daughter wanted but it was the best that she could give.  She held Portia for several moments before finally pulling away.  "I must go now and begin preparing the castle's defenses.  We probably have a couple of days before Akros arrives with his main force, but the Hungarians are well known for the speed at which they travel so we may only have hours. Remember what I said, you are stronger than you know.  You can do all things through Christ who strengthens you.  Believe it."

Portia nodded and watched her mother go down the same stairs her father had gone down only minutes before.  It was just like her nightmares.

The handmaiden walked into the antechamber and sat down before the tiny altar built into the corner of the room for devotions and prayer.  It contained a simple bench for sitting and a couple of pillows on the floor for kneeling.  It faced a Centurion cross hanging on the wall with a tiny shelf next to it holding a votive candle and a favorite verse -Psalm 46:1- carved into the wall above it.   Portia looked at the cross and tried to find inspiration.  A Centurion cross looked like a sword pointing down at the ground with an over-sized guard and a crown of thorns on top around the hilt.  Usually it was deeply meaningful to her but this time it just reminded her that her father was going off to war and would probably die.  She read the verse; “Deus noster refugium et virtus adiutor in tribulationibus quae invenerunt nos nimis” God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in the midst of trouble, she translated to herself. She got down on her knees and began to pray, Where are you Lord?  I am in the midst of trouble and I need your help.

The sound of wailing suddenly filled the room and Portia leapt to her feet.  Greta, the governess, came rushing out of the family quarters and into the antechamber.

"Marcia is missing!" She sobbed.  "I’ve looked everywhere for her." Portia's heart leapt into her throat again, a position that it had finally vacated only a few minutes before.  My dream is coming true! Portia put her hands on her head and tried to will herself to calm down, the other woman's panic was infectious, and Portia knew that giving in to it would only make matters worse.

"Lord, please be my refuge and strength. Please, please, please! Send me your help in the midst of this trouble!" She shouted at the ceiling in desperation.

A knock came at the outer door of the antechamber.  Its unexpected suddenness was like a clap of thunder and both women looked at it for a moment in stunned silence. Portia wasn’t sure what she had been expecting when she yelled her prayer at God, maybe a sudden feeling of peace or an inspired idea.

“Umm, thank you Lord?” was all she could think to say.

Greta flew to the door and threw it open, only to find Brendan standing out there.  The nanny rushed past him out into the hallway looking for Sir Gerard or Lady Evelyn but saw neither.

“What are you doing here?” Portia blurted out.  “Why aren’t you gone with the rest of the knights and squires?”

“Your father told me to stay here and look after you and your mother.  That’s why I’m here, I’ve moved my stuff into the ground floor of the keep and I came up to see if there was anything I could help your mother with.”

“Why would my dad ask you to stay and help us?”

“He feels that something very strange is going on right now with the Hungarians, the Norse, and the winter wolves, and he believes that the castle might benefit from my ‘unusual talents and different way of looking at things.’ Either that or he’s leaving me here because he doesn’t think I can handle myself in battle and he’s just being very polite about it.  Of the two possible explanations, I prefer the first one,” Brendan said with a smile.

"We must find your parents immediately and tell them what has happened!"  Greta begged frantically.

"And what has happened?" Asked Brendan in a calming voice.

"Marcia has disappeared!" Wailed Greta, "She’s been taken by Tauschung, I know it!"

"Tauschung?  Who’s Tauschung?"  Inquired the squire, refusing to rise to Greta's desperate panic.

"The dragon, you buffoon!" Came her biting response.  “Many years ago, Sir Gerard killed Feuertod, the red dragon, but its mate Tauschung, the black dragon, was never found.  It has come back for revenge!”

"A dragon invaded the castle and carried off Marcia without being seen?" Brendan asked dryly.

"Maybe he was seen! How would you know he wasn't seen if we haven't asked any of the guards?" Greta retorted angrily.

"I don't know how things are done here in the west but in the east if the castle guards saw a dragon invading their castle and carrying someone off, they would all be running around yelling, 'Dragon! Dragon! Stop him! Stop him!' at the top of their lungs.  Perhaps here in the west, dragons are so common that guards only make casual remarks to each other about it. 'Now take a look at that Jerry,'" said Brendan imitating a guard on duty pointing at the sky, "There goes another dragon flying over the walls with a young girl.  That's the third one this week.”

Greta stopped in mid-tirade, stunned, "Are you really such an insensitive brute that you would make a mockery of Marcia's disappearance?"

"On the contrary," Replied Brendan very curtly, "I am taking the disappearance of Marcia very seriously, it is the suggestion that she was carried off by a dragon that I am making a mockery of."

Portia intervened; this was getting nowhere.

“Tauschung means ‘Deception’ in German. More people in this area speak German than Frankish.  We usually speak Frankish in Centurion castles since our foundations were laid down by Charlemagne and his Twelve Peers, but we also speak German.  There are old stories among the local peoples about the mate of the red dragon that my father killed twenty years ago.  It’s a black dragon and black dragons use treachery and deception to achieve their goals.  Greta is saying that a black dragon, who is a master of deception, might have been able to get into and out of the castle without being seen.”

Brendan pursed his lips to stop himself from saying anything.  He was clearly skeptical about it all.  Dragons preferred the wild places to live in, and Brendan was from the well settled and very civilized east, they probably never encountered dragons there. Portia suspected that he didn’t believe in their existence at all.  He turned and looked at the handmaiden.

“Do you believe any of these stories about dragons?”

“I know that my father killed a red dragon about twenty years ago.  It was terrorizing the people for a hundred miles around.  I’ve never encountered a dragon myself, but I believe in them.  I don’t know that the red dragon had a mate but if the locals say that he did I have no reason to doubt them.”  Brendan shook his head and looked back at Greta.

“Okay, apart from the revenge motive, why do you think a dragon took her?”

“Because she was in her room and then she was gone.  I was in the antechamber spinning some flax to make linen thread.  She could not have walked past me to get out the front door without my seeing her.  I was being very attentive since I was tasked with watching over her during this troubling time.  I went to check on her to get her ready for bed and she was gone.  I checked the rest of the quarters and she was nowhere to be found.  If she is not in the quarters and she didn’t go through the antechamber, then the only other way out would be off the balcony.  She must have either flown from the balcony or was carried off by a flying creature big enough to carry a person.  I can feel dark forces are at work right now. The stories say that Feuertod’s mate was never found so, either Tauschung has come and carried her off for revenge, or she is learning dark magic from Dr. Sheraton and has taken to flying,” Greta finished with some sarcasm of her own.

"Where is the last place that Marcia was seen?" Brendan inquired.

"In her bedroom," Greta replied, with a sullen note in her voice.

"Then let us begin our search there," Brendan said crisply. "Portia, would you please lead the way?"

Portia led the way, muttering a prayer under her breath, Please Lord, let him be helpful.

Chapter 28

“It is truly said, ‘Broad is the path that leads to destruction’.  For every truth from God there are a thousand lies from Satan and a thousand ways to get off of God’s true path.

The Centurion Handbook of Practical Advice – Chapter 1: Proverb 1

The Black slept well.  In her dreams she was watching her unwitting servants bring Marcia to her.  Of course, they thought the brat was going to bring them a great ransom, but the Black had other plans for them.  She was going to ensure that their greed got the best of them.  Greed was such a wonderful emotion; it could drive a human to so many different actions.  It was her second favorite after pride.

The plan was going perfectly.  Marcia would be brought to her in the next few hours and Portia, that little cancer, would be following a couple of hours after that.  Then, after spending a day and a couple of nights lost in the woods, alone, and exhausted, she would make the perfect snack for the Black.  Then the dragon could begin working on her larger plan.

The High Council was divided and would always be so as long as it contained representatives of every color. Putting an end to this plague of humans was something that she would have to take into her own claws.  The humans were like a swarm of locusts, they ate or destroyed everything that they encountered.  The great beasts were domesticated or eaten, the great forests were chopped down to build homes and weapons with, even the wild beauty of the land itself was crushed underfoot and turned into rows and rows of crops to feed more humans.  Mankind was an invasive species that was destroying the world and she was going to find a way to stop them.  Dragons were the true masters of the world and she would do whatever it took to and make the world safe again for her children and her children’s children.  But first, there was the problem of the girl who was prophesied to kill her.  Portia was her death sentence if the Black didn’t destroy the brat first.  There was no point in planning out the next decade if you weren’t going to live out the next year.  But she would succeed, the plan was working to perfection and she wouldn’t have to expose herself to any danger at all to accomplish it.

Chapter 29

“The wise man asks the right questions before he starts his journey while the fool jumps in and starts his journey and then keeps asking the question, ‘Why is everything going wrong?’”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice –Chapter 8: Proverb 2

Portia led the way down a side corridor that brought them to a simple but comfortable bedroom with two beds, a small fireplace, an armoire, and a small bookcase.  It had a door that led out onto a large balcony.  He realized that was the balcony that Portia liked to jump to.

"Does the other bed belong to you?" Brendan asked, turning to Portia.

"Yes, but I don’t normally use it. Now that I’ve become a handmaiden I usually sleep in the women’s barracks.  It’s not required but it is encouraged, it’s supposed to help us to build loyalty to each other."  Brendan nodded.

“I notice that this is the balcony that you like to jump to from the cliff path, do you think you could make the jump going the other way? From the balcony back up to the cliff path?” He asked.

“Probably not,” she answered.  “It’s a good fifteen feet from here to the path.  It’s a challenging but make-able jump from the path down to the balcony because the path is four feet higher than the balcony, so you’re jumping downhill.  It would be an incredible jump going the other way and it would be completely impossible for Marcia.”

“Do you think someone else could make it?” He asked.

“Possibly, if they were an exceptional athlete and traveling very light.  There is no way that anyone wearing armor or trying to carry someone else could do it.”

“Climbing down a wall is harder than climbing up one so I would have to say the same thing about climbing down,” Brendan remarked quietly, more to himself than to the two young women.  “Nor is there any rope tied off to the balcony that someone might have used to repel down with.”  Brendan stood looking at the balcony for several long moments.

"How long ago was it when you last saw Marcia?" He finally asked, turning to Greta.

"Just after dinner, she said she wanted to do some reading, so I walked her back to her room and then sat outside in the antechamber working on my spinning.  I was worried about her, since she has been sleeping very poorly of late, so I came back to get her ready for bed about an hour later and she was missing."

Portia felt a pang of guilt at these words, she had been so focused on herself and her own nightmares that she hadn’t even noticed that Marcia was going through something similar.  How could she let herself get so wrapped up in her own problems that she didn’t see what was happening to her own sister?

“Look around the room carefully, do either of you see anything missing?”

“I’m almost never in here anymore, I don’t really pay attention to Marcia’s stuff.”

“Her travel clothes and her satchels.  She has two of them, a smaller one with her notebooks and papers and a bigger one that holds her “sample” jars as she calls them.”

"That’s interesting.  The only way out of the family quarters is through the antechamber where you were spinning.  Is that correct?"  Greta nodded agreement.  "And you double checked all the other rooms in the family quarters, looking under beds and in trunks in case she was hiding for some reason?" Brendan continued.

"Of course!" Yelled Greta, "The only way that she could have left without being seen is through one of the balconies.  I even hung out over the edge of each of the balconies so I could look below them to see if she fell.  She wasn’t there, she’s gone! That is how I know that Tauschung took her. Only it could have flown in and carried her off.  I am not a fool."

“In the interest of being thorough, Let’s look through the other rooms again,” Brendan suggested.  Greta threw her hands up in despair but turned and led the way.  Brendan could see that Portia was deep in thought.  He hadn’t realized just how exhausted she looked until that moment.  Something had her deeply worried, more worried than about a little sister who might be playing hide and seek somewhere, and it had clearly been going on for some time.  There was no telling when was the last time that she had gotten a good night’s sleep.

Greta led them through the rest of the family quarters, looking under beds and in wardrobes.  Brendan noted that the quarters were arranged in a big circle around the top floor of the keep with a small central courtyard to let air and light in.  In addition to the two bedrooms there were a couple of storage rooms, a treasury room, a small study, a small library, and the antechamber that served as a living room and personal chapel.  Marcia was nowhere in any of the rooms.

“I’ve got to go find Marcia, myself,” Portia said quietly to Brendan. “My parents don’t need to deal with this distraction right now.”

“No, we’ve got to go find Marcia together.” He corrected.

“No! This is something that I have to do by myself,” she replied crossly.

“No, we will do it together or not at all.” Brendan said firmly.  “I am not giving you the option of going by yourself.  Your father left me here to help take care of you and your mother because he suspected that something like this might happen.  I will come along.”

“You’ll ruin everything!”

Something very strange was going on and Brendan didn’t understand it but somehow her father had anticipated it.  He paused, that was it, that was the key.

“Do you trust your father?”

Portia looked like she had just been slapped when he asked that question.

“Yes!”

“Then trust your father.  He pulled me out of all of the knights and squires to stay here and help you because he felt in his spirit that my ‘unusual talents’ would be important.  Trust his judgment and let me do what he asked me to do, let me help you.”

Portia glared at him and clenched her fists but then she forced herself to take several deep breaths and relax.  She turned to the governess.

"Greta, you will say nothing about this to my parents for now.  Hundreds of people inside this castle are depending upon my mother to make the right decisions to defend us from an attack that may be coming very soon.  Tens of thousands of people are depending upon my father to be focused in his defense of the Eastern Marches.  Neither one needs to be distracted with this right now; neither my father nor my mother can spare any troops to look for her.  Every single sword and bow will be needed to deal with the Hungarians.  Brendan and I will find my sister.  My father is leaving even as we speak but you may tell my mother about Marcia if we have not found her by tomorrow evening."  Greta looked uncomfortable with the idea of delaying.

"Who will be held responsible for Marcia's disappearance?" Brendan asked quietly as he looked out over the balcony.  Greta swallowed hard knowing that she was the one who would have to face the Gray Lady for what had happened. "Perhaps then, giving us a single day is not too much to ask.  She may just be playing a game and how would it look if we interfered with the defense of the entire region by crying wolf over a child playing hide and seek?  If we can find her quickly it works out the best for everyone."  Greta nodded.  "Why don't you go back to your room and leave us to plan what we should do next."  The governess lingered for a moment, looking at both of them, and then turned and left.

After she was gone Brendan turned and faced Portia.  "Where is the other exit out of these quarters?"

“How did you know there was another exit?"  Portia asked with a frown.

"This castle is built in a frontier area where attack is to be expected.  No noble family would trap themselves in quarters with only one exit.  Since there is no obvious second exit, it follows that the second exit must be secret." Brendan answered very matter-of-factly.

Portia shook her head in wonderment. "I will never understand how your brain works."

Brendan looked at her sharply for a moment trying to determine if he had been complimented or criticized before deciding that it didn't matter.  "Where is the secret exit?"

She led the way into her parents' bedchamber and over to the armoire.  She pulled on a hidden latch on the inside and the back panel pulled forward revealing a small staircase leading down that was somehow squeezed into the wall space.

"My parents only told me about it last year when they felt sure that I could keep a secret.  Apparently, they are of the opinion that the more people who know about a secret the less of a secret it is.  I don't know how Marcia knew about it, she probably discovered it by accident sometime when she was playing in my parents' bed chamber."

"Where does it go?" He asked.

"Down to the loft above the stable."

Brendan nodded, "That’s a very good spot.  Who designed this castle?"

"My great grandfather started building it, my grandfather expanded it and was the designer for most of what you see now, and my father renovated and upgraded it by adding scorpion mounts in the towers and the running water and sewer system," Portia said proudly.  “We are a family of knightly engineers.”

She stepped into the stairway and started to descend, Brendan followed and tried to imagine her father squeezing his large frame down the narrow passage. He suddenly realized that the stairway had never been designed with Sir Gerard in mind.  If their quarters were ever attacked the Iron Knight fully expected to die defending the antechamber as long as possible to give his family time to escape, the stairs were designed with women and children in mind and to slow down any soldiers who might be in pursuit.

The stairs were dark and unlit, the only light coming from the open door into the bedroom above. They followed the curve of the stairs down far enough that Brendan could no longer judge how far they had gone.  They reached the bottom of the stairs and Portia found his hand in the darkness and guided it to her shoulder.

“Hold on to me and follow me exactly.  There are a couple of hidden obstacles in this passage that are meant to slow down pursuers, they aren't deadly, but they are painful, so you’re going to have to trust me on this.  He gave her shoulder a little squeeze.

“Lead the way.”

She led him in what felt like a slight zig-zag pattern through the blackness of the corridor before pulling up short.  His hand on her shoulder was the only thing that kept him from plowing into her.

"There’s a covered peephole," She explained as she fumbled around looking for it.  After a moment Brendon saw a tiny shaft of light appear in the darkness.  Portia peeked out, "All clear," she announced as she gently pushed the door open.

Brendan noticed that a heavy bar that was normally used to secure the door from the inside was leaning up against the wall.  Somebody had gone out this way recently and left the door unsecured.  Still, the bar looked heavy and would have been difficult for a twelve-year-old child to remove from its place barring the door. Marcia had either been highly motivated to get out or else she had not gone out alone.

Portia slipped quietly out into the dim loft, moving like a ghost.  For the hundredth time Brendan marveled at the catlike smoothness of her movements.  He moved like that, but he had spent years learning how, she did it naturally.  Here and there Portia stopped, knelt, and peered down through the floorboards into the stable itself.  In one spot she stopped and knelt, looking down.  After a moment she signaled to Brendan to come.

"Marcia's horse is missing," she whispered pointing at an empty stall that was barely visible through the space between two floorboards.  The two took a long look at each other.  This was bad.  Up until now he had assumed that Marcia had simply snuck out to explore the stairway or run around the castle.  If she took her horse that meant she was going somewhere outside of the castle.

"Maybe one of the grooms saw her leave," suggested Brendan quietly.

"Let's go find out," replied Portia.  She went back over to the stairway and indicated that he should wait there.  She quickly climbed the stairs and he heard her shutting the door at the top.  She came back down the stairs, shut the peephole and then carefully closed the door.  Brendan saw that from this side it looked like a wooden rack for hanging ropes and tools on.  Portia led the way to the ladder that would take them down into the stable.  A quick peek showed that the stable was momentarily clear so they both climbed down the ladder and went to investigate the horse's stall.

"The horse is missing and so is the bridle, saddle, and saddlebags," muttered Portia.  She chewed on her lip trying to figure out what it meant.

"She packed for a trip somewhere and not just a little ride through the countryside around the castle."  Brendan said, thinking out loud.  This hardly cleared things up for Brendan however, in fact, things were muddier than before.  This was not just a young girl off exploring, nor was it a simple kidnapping. None of the pieces seemed to fit together in this puzzle.  Brendan had started off thinking that there was a simple explanation behind Marcia's disappearance, but now he had a growing concern that this was a much darker and more complicated event than it had appeared to be at first.  Sir Gerard might be right.

One of the grooms walked in and stopped short when he saw the two of them standing in the empty stall.  He took a long look back at the open stable door as if trying to figure out how they had slipped past him and gotten inside.  He finally turned back around with a puzzled expression.

"May I help you Miss Portia?"

"Yes, where is Lilly Belle?" Brendan's eyebrows rose.  Portia shot him a dark look as if to say, “Don't look at me I didn't pick that name”.

"We were trying to figure that out ourselves miss.  It was here an hour ago.  Miss Marcia must have taken her out when everyone was watching the rider come in.”

"We need you to prepare our horses for us.  We will be back in a few minutes."  She and Brendan walked out of the stable.  The grounds inside of the castle were large enough to ride a horse around in, but not so large that something the size of a horse could go unnoticed.  Brendan was genuinely impressed at how quickly the knights and squires had packed up and left but this was not unusual for them.  The lack of people in the bailey just made it that much more obvious that Marcia and Lilly Belle had left the castle.

Chapter 30

There is a time to stand alone and a time to seek help and it is wisdom to know when to do which.  Do not be slow to seek help when it is needed.

The Centurion Handbook of Combat – Heart and Mind: Chapter 4

"We must get our equipment together quickly and leave, the sun will be setting soon and the gates will be locked," Portia said with a desperate tone creeping into her voice.  Brendan nodded and, without saying another word, headed off toward the guardroom in the keep where he had just stored his belongings. Portia turned and hurried back up to the family quarters.  She was still convinced that she was supposed to do this alone and that bringing Brendan along would just get him killed.  Her brain was desperately trying to find a way to escape from the squire and get out of the castle alone, but her heart was desperately wanting him to come along so she wouldn’t have to face her nightmares alone.  His words kept ringing in her ears, “Do you trust your father?”  She did, so she knew that she needed to trust his wisdom now as well.

She ran through the antechamber from the storage area as Greta was stepping out of her own room.

"What? Wait, where... how...", she heard the governess trying to ask in surprise as she rushed past.  Portia didn't bother to try and explain.  She ran into her parent's room and slammed the door behind her.  She crossed over to her mother's ancient chest in the corner.  She pulled out her mother's old armor that she had worn in her youth; it was triple linked, mail and plate, forged by the legendary Master Gunderson from the very best altum steel, and as such, was far better protection than Portia’s own double linked hauberk.  If she had to face a dragon or a horde of Hungarians, she desperately wanted that extra protection.  The problem was that Portia didn’t have her mother’s slender frame.  Master Gunderson had created this unique design that contained contoured steel plates attached to a chain mail backing shaped to fit her mother’s body in her youth.  Lady Evelyn at 24 did not have Portia’s shoulders, arm muscles, or torso, heck, she didn’t even have as much bust as Portia did, which wasn’t much.  The armor was also designed to be worn over thin gambeson padding and she already knew that she wouldn't fit into the armor wearing a gambeson.  Portia’s hope was that she might fit into her mother's armor if she didn't wear the extra padding but try as she might she couldn’t squirm into the armor even without the gambeson.  She cursed her body for the thousandth time, completely forgetting Dr. Zhen’s lesson.  Why couldn't she have that slender, graceful build that all the other shieldmaidens had? That her mother used to have?  Portia grunted in frustration.

She had to have the armor and it didn't fit. She savagely crushed the useless complaints that were filling her mind and the dark fears that were beginning to well up in her heart.  She needed an idea and she needed one quickly.  Suddenly, one came to her though her natural modesty recoiled from it.  It took her a moment, but she pushed it aside and forced herself to strip until she was completely bare.  Naked, she was just able to slip into the cold armor, though it chilled her in private places she didn't want to think about and pressed her bust almost completely flat.  She was finally protected, and she could still move pretty well. The next problem was that now her regular clothes wouldn't fit over the armor. She started walking to Greta's room before she saw Brendan, tying something to the back of his shield, waiting in the central family room.  She pulled up short and stepped back behind the door to the bedroom before he noticed her.

Portia thought for a moment, there was no way to get to Greta's room without walking past Brendan and that was a problem.  The armor hid most of what needed to be hidden but it hugged her form closer than was proper and you could see through the chain links if you looked close enough.  Portia had never been terribly modest before, but now, after that major struggle putting on the armor, she did NOT want to be seen by anyone like this, especially a boy.  A question occurred to her; why was she headed to Greta's room? Greta was bigger with the stockier body shape that most of the peasants had so Portia had assumed that Greta would have clothes that would fit over the armor.  But Greta wouldn't have any clothes fit for fighting in.  Shieldmaidens wore gambesons under their armor.  On top of the armor they either wore a white tunic called a tabard or a white knee length dress called a chiton that shieldmaidens had redesigned for wearing on over armor.  Greta would have had neither of these. Brendan, on the other hand, might have something that she could wear.

"Brendan," she called from the bedroom. "Do you have some clothes that I could borrow?  I don't have anything that will fit over this armor.”  The young man hesitated, then finally answered.

"Yes, but I’m wearing my traveling clothes, and this is Friday."

“Which means?”

“We wash our clothes on Saturday, the extra clothes that I have still smell of my sweat from the last two days’ workouts.”

"That's fine,” she sighed resignedly, “your extra clothes will do." She glanced around the door and saw him still messing with his shield.  He was rolling something blue up tight and tying it to one of the arm straps.  “What are you doing?” she asked irritably.

“It’s just something your father gave me; he said it might come in handy.”

“What?” She asked, puzzled at what it might be.

He didn’t answer.  Instead he pulled his work clothes out of the pack and reached around the door to hand them to her without looking.  “Do you need the underwear as well?

That was a frightening thought!  “No! No, I’ll make do without,” she replied hastily.

“Well, hurry up and get dressed, we’re wasting daylight if she’s left the castle.”

Portia didn’t say a word; deep down in her heart she was sure that Marcia was outside the walls.  She started to put on the clothes and was surprised by his smell.  She was used to smelly grooms and stinky squires whose body odor reeked, but for some reason Brendan’s body odor didn’t stink to her, it didn’t smell like roses, but it didn’t smell bad either.  She had once asked her mother how she knew that her father was the man for her and she had jokingly replied that their body odors were compatible, when Portia had asked what she meant by that she simply said, “we don’t stink to each other.”  Portia had dismissed it at the time as her mother trying to make a joke but now she wondered if there was some truth to it.  She refocused and continued to get dressed.

Brendan’s tunic fit fine over the top of the armor, but Portia began swearing under her breath when she tried to pull on the pants.  Brendan was an inch taller than she was and at least 10 pounds heavier and yet her hips were an inch too wide for his pants.  Why were girls’ hips bigger than boys’ hips?  She would ask God when she got to heaven.  All that mattered now was making the pants fit, she was not about to let a pair of tight pants prevent her sister’s rescue.  With a huge effort and a lot of wiggling she finally succeeded in pulling them up, though she still couldn't fasten them at the top.

She decided that would have to do, her hips were wedged into the pants tight enough that she wasn’t worried about them coming down and the tunic was long enough to cover up the fact that the pants were open at the top. As a final precaution, she tied a cloth belt around the top of the pants just to make sure that they didn’t start slipping down at an inopportune moment.

She finished getting dressed by setting her mother's old helm on top of her head. At least that fit.  Portia reached for her mother's hunting bow, but it wasn't there.  She dug all the way to the bottom of the trunk and found her mother's war bow.  It had a draw weight of 120 pounds which was more than any other woman in the region could draw but in truth, even her mother hadn’t used it in years.  Portia knew that by the men's standards 120 pounds was a fairly powerful bow, but many used war bows with draw weights up to 180 pounds.  Portia had rarely trained with her mother's hunting bow; she didn't even know if she could draw the war bow.  Not knowing what else to do she grabbed the war bow and three quivers full of arrows that were with it, one quiver of Centurion altum tipped bodkin point arrows for piercing armor and two quivers of durum tipped broadhead arrows for cutting flesh.  She grabbed her mother's old bedroll, stuck her feet in her boots and ran for the door.

"Come on, we've got to hurry," she snapped, as if he were the reason that she was taking so long to get ready.  He shook his head and ran down the stairs after her.

They ran to the stable and surprised the groom who was standing ready with their horses.  He gave Portia a long, sideways look, dressed as she was in Brendan’s clothes, but said nothing.  Portia, for her part, volunteered nothing.

Brendan spotted something next to the gate of Lilly Belle’s stall and walked over and picked it up. it was a thin leather satchel.  Inside of it was a leather-bound notebook, some quills and ink, and a long tube with lenses on each end.

“I wonder what this is?” He asked, holding it up to look at it.

Portia sucked in her breath, “I think that’s the magnification tube she was working on with Dr. Sheraton.  She must have dropped it when she was trying to hurry out of the castle.”

“What does it do?”

“Look through it, she says that it makes things look closer.  They were trying to find a way to make the glass clearer, she said that it made things look closer, but it also made them murky and hard to see.”

Brendan looked through it, “Incredible!  I think they fixed the clarity problem.  I can actually look down to the eastern end of the castle and tell who is standing in the tower at the far end.”

He took a moment to flip through the notebook, “Your sister’s Greek is excellent, I’m impressed.  It also looks like she’s written something in another language that I don’t recognize.”

Portia peered over his shoulder, “I think it’s Chinese.  I’ve seen Aurora write her name in Chinese and it looks a little bit like that.  Now come on, let’s go!”

“Wait!  This was important enough that she wanted to take it with her, it may give us a clue to where she’s headed.”

Brendan could see Portia fuming, but she held her tongue and let him continue looking.

“I think she was headed for some caves north of Wicklin, she’s drawn a map locating some of them.  She seems to be looking for…” Brendan was suddenly confused, “The Greek words are for bat droppings, why would she want that?  Maybe it’s a mistranslation.”

“Probably not, she’s always been curious about weird stuff and you said her Greek was excellent.  She’s always used it to write secret notes because hardly anyone in the castle can read it besides her, Dr. Sheraton and the old priest who was here before Father Cardic.  I think he was the one who taught her.”

Brendan flipped through a few more pages, “Your sister is brilliant.  I’m a pretty smart guy but she’s on a whole other level.  She has notes in four different languages, detailed drawings, lists of observations and evidence, geometric proofs of her mathematics, and logical arguments for her all of her conclusions.  She quotes Aristotle and Archimedes.  I’ve never seen anything like this, and she’s only 12.”

“Yes, my sister is a complete genius who is stupid enough to go wandering across the countryside all by herself while Hungarians are invading.”

“Just like you were planning to do,” Brendan said, thoughtfully.  There was a very dark plan behind all of this, just as Sir Gerard suspected.

He slung the satchel over his shoulder, “I’ve seen enough, we’re heading to Wicklin and we’re bringing this.  She’s clearly stressed and distracted, or she would have noticed that she dropped it, it may give us more clues to finding her.”

"Here are your horses, Miss Portia, Winter Storm and Nightwind," the groom announced, leading the two horses up to the waiting pair.   Portia vaulted smoothly into the saddle while Brendan mounted slowly and deliberately.

“We need to hurry; she’s got at least a two-hour head start.”  She wheeled her horse around and headed toward the main gate.

"You are headed in the wrong direction," Brendan called out as he caught up to her.  "The messenger came in the main gate and everyone went to see him come in.  She could not have gone out that way without being seen, she must have gone out the postern gate toward the village."

The look on her face made it clear that she wanted to argue but she held her tongue.  He knew what she was thinking, going out the main gate was a slightly longer route, but the road was easy to travel while the path down the cliff from the postern gate was very narrow and dangerous, especially on horseback.  He watched her purse her lips without saying a word and turn her horse in the other direction.

Brendan’s turn around was not as smooth as Nightwind tried to head back into the stable instead of turning toward the postern gate.

“Ride like you’re the one in charge, not him,” she encouraged.

“We had an agreement; he would let me pretend to be in charge and I wouldn’t ride him any more often than necessary.  He’s breaking his side of the deal.”  Brendan finally managed to get the horse headed in the right direction and he caught up with Portia.  They reached the postern gate and were hailed by the two guards who were preparing to close it.

"Did you see Miss Marcia ride out this gate?" Portia asked cutting off their questions.  Both took a long look at her odd clothes trying to determine if it really was Miss Portia.  Finally, one of them decided that she really was who she seemed to be.

"No, Miss Portia," he responded.

“And you have been here the entire time?” She continued.

“Yes ma’am, doing our duty and protecting the castle,” answered the other man-at-arms firmly.

"Oh well," said Brendan with a smile, "Did you see the crazy horns sticking out of that messenger's helmet when he rode in?  He looked like a Viking."

"He wore no such helm," the guard replied sarcastically, "you must have been drinking like a Viking."

"That’s true enough," the other guard replied, snickering, "he wore no such helm."

"And you know this because you left your post at the postern gate to see what was causing all the excitement in the castle and then hung around the main gate long enough to watch the messenger come in.  You didn't see Miss Marcia ride out because you weren't really at your post."

All the sneering humor in both men's faces disappeared as they saw the danger of their admission.  Both stood, staring sullenly at the two young people. Finally, Brendan guided his horse past the two guards.

"We need to hurry, Miss Portia," he said, "She has at least a two-hour head start, and we have only the vaguest idea where she’s going."

"I forgive you for not doing your job," Portia said to the guards as she rode past them.  "Do an excellent job guarding this gate and I shall have nothing to tell my parents about when I return."

"Yes ma'am," both men said in unison.

"Are you sure that was wise?" Asked Brendan after their horses had trotted far enough down the road for them to be out of earshot of the guards.

"I don't know if it’s wise, but I know that it’s the right thing to do.  It’s my hope that they’ll be more attentive guards now," she replied.

Chapter 31

A small tear in a girth strap can cause the saddle to fall, a fallen saddle can cause the messenger to fall, a fallen messenger can cause the entire kingdom to fall.  Do not neglect small details simply because they are small.

The Centurion Handbook of Practical Advice – Chapter 3: Proverb 7

The Black knew that she should dream about Portia and check on her progress but dreaming about Portia was such a painful affair.  The prophet intruded every time and the scars of his visits burned a little deeper into her mind with each of his visits.  The plan was moving forward quickly, and she couldn’t afford distractions or mistakes.

She shooed her children out of the cavern.  She was going to move them deep into the woods of Eastern Carinthia, far from their cave.  She knew that they could easily handle any bear or solitary hunter that they might encounter, and she would be back in a few days to check on them.  Besides, it was time for them to start learning how to fend for themselves, no good would come from pampering them further.

The Black turned her mind back to preparing her trap as she guided her children east.  The problem was that Marcia would be arriving this evening and the dragon knew that she would be dealing with that brat all night, curse the short hours of a summer night!  She could fly out and check on Portia tomorrow, but it would be daylight by then and the Black didn’t want to risk showing herself during the day just yet.  She decided that it could wait, she could use her dreams to check on the handmaiden tomorrow afternoon and then fly out and eat her tomorrow night.   That would be the best, with any luck that would be the last time she would have to dream about that little viper, the last time she would have to face the prophet in her dreams.  The Black allowed herself a chuckle of pleasure, everything was going according to plan; Marcia was about to be delivered to her and Portia was on the way.

Chapter 32

“Do not make important decisions when you are hungry, exhausted, angry, or fearful.  These feelings are friends of Satan and enemies of wisdom. Eat, sleep, and go to the Lord in prayer, then make your decision as the Lord leads.”

The Centurion Handbook of Combat – Heart and Mind: Chapter 5

The sun was low in the sky when they left the castle and both knew that it would be setting within the hour.  It would have been smarter to wait until morning to set out on their journey, but Portia could not stand the thought of waiting another moment to try and find her sister. For his part, Brendan was sure that they would not have been allowed to go looking for Marcia at all if Lady Evelyn had found out what they were planning.  It was good that they left when they did.

"We won't make it to the village before nightfall," Brendan announced. "Do you want to push on in the darkness and hope that we can find a place to stay in the village in the middle of the night?  Or would you prefer to stop and set up a campsite before the sun has set completely?”  The young squire knew which one he would prefer but it was Portia's expedition to save her sister, not his.  Brendan could tell she was torn; she didn’t like either option.

"What do you think we should do?" She finally asked.

"I can think of no good reason to travel at night.  Getting lost or having an accident are much more likely to happen if you travel at night.  I also find it exhausting, your mind has to focus harder and you strain your senses to pick up every tiny little detail in the darkness.  Whatever time we might save is lost because we will be sleeping later in the morning."

"Don't you think it would be safer to spend the night in the village?"  Portia suggested with the tiniest quaver in her voice.  Brendan looked at her curiously, she was absolutely fearless when it came to facing physical danger, but this was something different.  Something much deeper was scaring her and that actually scared him a little.  But it didn’t change the fact that trying to push on through the night was still a bad idea.

"A fire will keep the animals at bay and my experience with robbers and brigands is that they like to carry out their work on more important roads than this one.  They are looking for rich merchants or easy marks with a few gold coins in their purses.  This road only carries poor peasants or well-armed soldiers between the castle and the village.  None of the highway men that I have ever..." Brendan almost said 'traveled with' but managed to catch himself, "None of the highwaymen that I have ever heard of would risk fighting soldiers in order to steal filthy clothes off the backs of penniless peasants."

This time it was Portia who regarded the young squire with curiosity for several moments.

"Then we’ll make a camp," she finally said.  "Where would you recommend?"

"According to Marcia’s map, there’s a spot where the road comes close to a small stream about halfway in between two sections of forest.  It’ll provide us with water and open countryside so that it’ll be easier to see if anyone or anything is trying to sneak up on us."

"I thought you said that we had nothing to fear if we camped out in the countryside," Portia snapped.

"I said, there is little to fear if we camp out, that is not the same as having nothing to fear.  But then we wouldn’t be safe if we continued to travel in the dark, nor would we necessarily be safe even in the village.  Making a camp by the stream is safer than the other options, but none of them is completely safe."  Portia said nothing but edged her horse closer to Brendan's and kept riding.

The two came to the top of a hill and looked down into the valley where the road lay.  Ahead was a small arm of the forest that crossed the road.  The road came out the other side and ran for a distance of about two miles until it disappeared into another branch of the forest on its way to the village.  Brendan watched her shudder slightly at the sight and then glance at him, again, there was that fear that was so unlike her.  Brendan tried to project an air of confidence to reassure her as he continued into the semi-darkness of the forest without hesitation.

"Please have your sword at the ready," the squire asked quietly as he drew his own weapon.  He could hear her sudden intake of breath at those words, she quickly drew her gladia.   The Centurion short sword was a poor weapon to use from horseback since it didn’t have much reach, but it was the only thing that she had, it would have to do.

It was a nerve-racking passage through the woods.  Portia’s fear was beginning to affect him as he wracked his brain trying to figure out what could be causing it and he found himself looking for some unnamed evil hiding behind the trees.  The deeper they went into the forest the closer she crowded to him, which was no easy feat since the horses kept trying to space themselves out.  It probably only took twenty minutes to ride through that little arm of the forest, but it felt like hours to Brendan, and Portia looked thoroughly drained by it.  Something was slowly breaking one of the most intrepid people he knew, and he had to find a way to stop it.

Chapter 33

Good counsel is more precious than gems, seek it out, collect it, listen to it, use it.  Whatever you do, don’t ignore it, many an opportunity has been wasted and many a problem has been made worse because good counsel was ignored.

The Centurion Handbook of Combat – Heart and Mind: Chapter 1

As they came out of the woods, they were confronted by a hooded figure on horseback who seemed to materialize out of nowhere.  Without hesitation, Brendan charged forward with his sword raised. Fear stabbed through Portia’s heart like a spear of ice.  It’s the hooded figure from my dreams!  The nightmare is coming true! Her mind went completely blank and she felt consciousness slipping away when suddenly her mother's voice barked in her mind. 'Cover his flank! Cover his flank!'  She felt electrified.  Combat was something that she understood.  Without another thought she spurred Winter Storm forward and charged with her own sword raised high.  Something dark and evil is about to die!

"Stop!" Commanded a voice that she instantly recognized. Both young people pulled back on their reins immediately.

"Father Cardic?" Asked Brendan in surprise.

"Aye," came the reply as the old priest pulled his hood down to reveal his smiling face.

Portia’s chest exploded in a whirlwind of emotion, joy that he was a friend and not the dark harbinger of death from her dreams, anger that he would scare her so badly, and shame that she had nearly fainted with fright.  At least she hadn’t soiled herself.  She silently thanked her mother for the endless drills in the saddle that had kept her upright on the horse.

As her emotions began to unwind, she found herself crying, she felt completely overwhelmed.  Brendan rode over to her and awkwardly put his arm around her shoulders. She threw her arms around him and nearly stabbed him in the back with the forgotten gladia that was still clenched in her fist.  Fortunately, his hauberk deflected the blade and prevented a serious injury.  She didn't seem to notice the blade and he chose to say nothing as she clung to him and cried.  Eventually, the squire managed to get his own sword sheathed without stabbing Portia and put both arms around her.  This seemed to comfort her and she was finally able to rein in her emotions.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been having nightmares every night for weeks and I’m exhausted,” she managed to explain.

“What kind of nightmares?”  Brendan asked in concern.

“That Marcia disappears when the Hungarians are attacking.  I have to find her by myself or the entire Eastern Marches will be destroyed if I don’t.  There is always a dragon and a man in a dark cloak whose face I can’t see.  The nightmares always end in death and destruction.”  Portia sagged against Brendan, completely spent.  They held on to each other for several long moments until the forgotten third member of their party gently cleared his throat to get their attention.

"I suggest that we make our camp over there," said the priest pointing to almost exactly the same spot that Brendan had suggested.

"OUR camp?" asked Portia, rousing herself and sitting up in her saddle.

"Yes, OUR camp," replied the priest testily, "you didn't think I was going to let you two go off on your own to rescue Marcia, did you?"

Portia wasn't sure how to respond to this but Brendan spoke up.  "Does Lady Evelyn know?"

"Of course not," snapped Father Cardic, "She and Sir Gerard are VERY busy right now and neither one needs to be worrying about this, they have thousands of people to save."

Father Cardic led the way to the stream bank and Brendan helped Portia down from her horse.  Since the priest and the squire were both accomplished travelers, they began to set up camp while Portia watered the horses.  She tried to help the two men but quickly realized that she was just in the way so she lay down on her bedroll and watched them work.  She was bone tired and had no energy left at all and both men seemed to understand this without her having to say a word.

She was so thankful for both of them and she thanked God that Brendan had not let her leave by herself.   She had been so focused on trying to rescue Marcia and prevent the destruction of everything that she had not thought to grab food, a cloak, or anything else necessary for traveling beyond the clothes she had on, her weapons, and her mother's bedroll.  In fact, she probably would have forgotten even that if it had not been in the same trunk as her mother's armor and bow.  Fortunately, Brendan had presumed that she would forget these things and he brought extra food, an extra cloak, and even an extra bedroll.

Father Cardic collected rations from Brendan and insisted on cooking them some hot stew, "Never pass up the chance to eat a hot meal," he said, "When your on the road you never know when you’ll get your next one."  Brendan nodded knowingly but Portia struggled to wrap her mind around that idea. She could not remember ever going an entire day without at least one of her meals being a hot one.  She looked at the young squire, he rarely talked about his past but she knew there had been many days when he had not eaten a meal at all, let alone a hot one.

"You two make an excellent team," the priest commented as he worked on getting the campfire lit.

"What do you mean?" Portia asked, still wiping the odd tear from her eyes.

"Brendan instinctively took the initiative and attacked," he explained, "You charged forward on his left side and protected his exposed flank.  With his sword in his right hand and his reins in his left there was no way he could have protected himself properly if I had attacked him from the left."  This was true, in battle a knight carried his shield on his left arm and directed his horse with his knees, but they had not been expecting a battle so their shields were still slung on their backs.  Besides, there was no way that Brendan had the skill to control Nightwind with his knees even if he had wanted to try.

"Well, the only reason I charged forward on his left flank is because I’m left handed.  That leaves me free to swing my sword without hitting him," she said dismissively.

"That’s exactly my point," Father Cardic said, "You naturally cover each other's weaknesses.  You naturally protect his left side where he is unprotected while he naturally protects your right side where you are unprotected."

Portia smiled at this, "Perhaps, in this one particular situation we cover each other's weaknesses..." she started to argue until the old priest interrupted her.

"No, I have watched you both over these last few months; you cover each other in many areas.  I simply used the example of your coordinated attack because it was straightforward and obvious.  But what is true in this obvious example is still true even in other areas of life where it’s less obvious, the two of you make an excellent team."

Portia found herself blushing and stared down at her boots rather than take the chance of meeting Brendan's eyes.

“How did you know we were looking for Marcia?" Portia finally managed to ask, trying to change the topic of conversation.  Brendan started to roll his eyes but a piercing glare from the priest stopped him in mid eye roll.

"A fair question,” the priest graciously acknowledged.  “Greta is in a tizzy but refuses to talk to anyone.  That alone made me suspect that something was going on with either you or Marcia, most probably Marcia.  You appear out of nowhere in the stable, probably using the hidden stairs behind the armoire.  You no doubt noticed that Marcia's horse was missing along with her saddle bags, somethin’ she wouldn’t take if she was just going for a ride, and then you asked the groom to prepare two horses.  It was pretty clear that Marcia was missing and that you had gone to look for her.  Apparently, I got prepared more quickly than you did and left first.  When I realized that I must be in front of you instead of behind you I stopped and waited for you to catch up."

The old priest paused for a long time before finally choosing to say what was on his mind.

“I think the two of you’ can learn a lot from each other.  You’ve both suffered great loss.  After he lost his older sister, Brendan blamed God for letting it happen and for not giving him the strength to stop it from happening.  Portia blamed herself after the loss of her little brother, that she wasn’t strong enough and fast enough to save him.”  Father Cardic looked at the handmaiden, “Maybe Brendan could help you understand why you’re not to blame for your brother’s death and you could help him to understand why God’s not to blame for some evil men kidnapping his sister.”

“You sister was kidnapped?”

Brendan nodded, “Vikings raided our village, destroyed most of it, killed my father, and carried off my sister.  My father’s death hurts a lot but my sister basically raised me after our mother died.  She was my sister, my mom, and my best friend all rolled into one, the thought of her, out there…” His voice trailed off.  After a moment he spoke again, changing the topic.  “I’m sorry to hear about your brother, what happened?”

“I promise that I will tell you everything tonight, but I want to focus on somebody other than myself for a while,” she felt the pain in her heart begin to ease.  It felt good to focus on someone else’s needs instead of her own fears and she thanked God for the opportunity.

“Okay, but you promise to tell me tonight, I am not letting you off the hook, got it?  Her name was Electra.  Her birth was a very hard one and my mother named her Electra saying, ‘That girl will be the death of me yet!’.”  Brendan smiled at some joke she didn’t get, probably some Greek history or mythology thing.  Portia smiled back, pretending to get it.

“I’m going to sleep now while you talk.  Don’t keep her up too late, Brendan, she needs her rest.  You take the first watch and I’ll take the second, Portia can have the third.”  With that, the old man rolled over and went to sleep.  Portia laughed for the first time in a long time.

“He can fall asleep on a rock slab in the middle of a hailstorm, I envy him that ability,” she explained, “Please continue, I want to hear more about Electra.”

Chapter 34

“There is no such thing as a stupid question, there are, however, aggravating questions, embarrassing questions, and convicting questions.  They can be very effective weapons when used correctly.”

The Centurion Handbook of Practical Advice – Chapter 7: Proverb 1

The Black seethed.  The brat would NOT shut up!  The simplest thing would have been to eat her immediately and be done with her but the dragon had decided to collect more information from her about Warrick castle and its inhabitants to help her prepare her plan for its downfall.  She had originally thought that she could question Marcia and trick her into revealing the desired information and, if that failed, she could enter the girl’s dreams when she slept and terrify her into revealing what the dragon wanted to know.  When the Black had wrung every last bit of information out of her, then she would be lunch. And if Portia did find her way to the cave?  Marcia would be a useful piece of bait to draw her into the trap.  She had thought there would be no need to hurry the brat’s death, but now she was rethinking that idea.

Rather than yielding information, Marcia was an endless source of questions.  The Black could smell the fear in her, but she seemed to view this as a unique opportunity to collect information on dragon culture and life cycles.  It was obvious that she was deliberately using her curiosity to distract herself from her fear, she was a surprisingly intelligent girl, but she was also completely dedicated to her passion for collecting information.   She was not afraid to ask any question and had asked some very aggravating ones, how do dragons choose their mates?  How do they actually mate to produce offspring?  Are their babies born live or hatched from eggs?  How long do they live?  Is it true that they all breath fire or does each color have different abilities?  If dragons get into arguments, how do they resolve them?  Who rules the dragons?  On and on and on.  The Black had answered the first couple of questions hoping to lead Marcia into answering her own questions in turn.  It had failed, the girl had answered every question with a question.  The Black had decided to wait until the exhausted girl fell asleep BUT SHE WOULDN’T GO TO SLEEP!  The brat had been up for almost 36 straight hours, the sun was already rising, and yet she jabbered on.  She wanted to be a natural philosopher, whatever that was, and apparently asking a lot of questions was part of her craft.  The Black had to grudgingly admire her dedication to her craft even as she found it incredibly annoying, most humans would be begging for mercy or resigned to their fate but this one was going to continue carrying out her personal investigation into dragons until the bitter end.

The girl had to eventually fall asleep and when she did the dragon would get the information she wanted but she would be using her dream time to pry into Marcia’s mind instead of checking on Portia.  She didn’t like that idea, but it was necessary.  She was not going to keep the brat alive another day if she didn’t have to.

Chapter 35

Two are not twice as strong as one.  Two, who will stand shoulder to shoulder, committed to each other and their cause, are a hundred times as strong as one.”

The Centurion Handbook of Combat – Heart and Mind: Chapter 1

Brendan looked down at Portia, wrapped up in his cloak, sleeping in her mom’s old bedroll.  He and Father Cardic had split the watches during the night so that she could sleep all the way through.  The two men had even packed the entire camp to give her a few more minutes of rest but the time had come to get her up and get on the road.  Brendan shook her gently and then watched her stretch before she suddenly sat bolt upright.

"What happened?" She asked, afraid of the answer.

"You slept child," responded the priest gently.  Portia’s face flushed in shame.

"So, you both stood your watches and I failed," she said angrily, as much to herself as to them.

"You needed the rest a lot more than we did," said Brendan.

“I’m going to be a shieldmaiden someday and I need to pull my weight. Just because I need sleep is not an excuse to shirk my duty.”

“I have no doubt that you’ll return the favor someday, and it’s more important for you to be at your best today than to be exhausted because you ‘did your duty’ and ‘pulled your weight’.”

That answer seemed to mollify Portia somewhat.  “At least I didn’t have a nightmare last night.  For the first time in weeks I slept the whole night through.”

Brendan listened to her sing a song of praise while she packed up her horse and got ready to travel.  He could tell that she felt fully rejuvenated by a good night’s sleep and he was willing to bet that she was happy that she didn’t have to face this trial alone even if she didn’t want to admit it.

What was it about her?  He couldn’t explain it even to himself.  He knew that in the eyes of most people she was boyish and plain, blunt and awkward, but he had always found her to be very attractive, he loved her athletic ability and strength, and the way she moved with agility and precision. What was surprising to him was how her personality was growing on him too.  Why was that?  He didn’t know but he found himself being impressed by the depth of the young woman behind the awkward social graces.  She was real, and dedicated, she wasn’t his equal intellectually, but he admired her moral compass and the wisdom and strength that it gave her.  He was learning something new every day from her and her relationship to God.

Brendan continued to watch the handmaiden, catching her little glances in his direction.  She needed him now a lot more than she wanted to admit but why did she need him?  Obviously, he was an extra sword but, he suspected that she needed his emotional stability to lean on and she probably needed his insight.  Something was definitely going on.  Dark magic?  The whispers of Satan?  He thought the power of dark magic was grossly exaggerated, if it existed at all.  He had seen too many fake magicians performing fake magic tricks in his life to believe it could actually change reality.   But he had seen the dark power of illusion with the Wyvern and Vouivre, the power of lies to deceive people into seeing something other than the truth.  He had been able to see partly through the veil of the Wyvern’s deceptions, maybe that would be important here too.

As they continued to ride, Brendan tried to lag behind slightly so that he could follow behind the other two and cover the rear but Portia wouldn’t allow it.

"Please ride next to me.”

"Why?"

Portia eased her horse right next to his and put her hand on his arm.

“After we talked last night about Electra, I saw a darkness come over you and I realized that we are both under attack and I don’t know how or why,” she said simply.

“I’ve noticed it too,” he answered.  He disliked attaching too much meaning to vague feelings that didn’t have any evidence or logic to give them validity or meaning, but he couldn’t deny that something very strange was going on.

“Please understand, I do NOT say this lightly,” she continued, looking earnestly into his face, “but I feel that we must commit to stand together, or we will die separately.”

Brendan returned her look.  This was a big step for her, it had not been that long ago when she was trying to ditch him and take off on her own.  He nodded.

“I’m your man; I’ll stand by your side till the end.”  He felt it was his duty to carry out Sir Gerard’s directives to watch over his family and she needed a commitment from him to lean on, so he gave it.  It felt surprisingly good to give it.

“I’m your woman; we’ll stand together, come what may,” she replied firmly.

Electricity ran up Brendan’s back at these words.  He had assumed that she meant to stand side by side during this adventure.  He had meant that he was her man like a fellow soldier, like her strong right arm on this mission, like a squire following his knight into battle.  She sounded like she meant far more.  Part of him loved the thought that she was “his woman”, but part of him was scared speechless at the implication of her words. He could tell by the way her face seemed to relax that she felt some of her fears subside, at least a little.

“You know, your words could be interpreted to mean you are asking for a more extended arrangement…”

“I know. Are you still willing to commit?”

Brendan knew her situation and he had no illusions about why Sir Gerard had brought him back to the castle.

“I’m not worthy.”

“Yes, you are, are you willing to commit?”

Brendan thought about Clovis and some of the other young men looking for the chance to marry up, he thought about Portia and who she had come to be for him.

“I’m still not the best choice, but I’m willing to commit if you’re still interested in having me.”

“You are the best choice and I am willing.”

“I’m a witness to your agreement,” said Father Cardic from his position in the front.  “Now keep talking, the two of you still have a lot to learn about each other.”

Portia laughed, “Yes Father,” she turned to Brendan, “Last night when we talked about Electra, I shared with you how God gives us the right to choose, but with that right comes the right to choose sin.  We can’t blame God when someone chooses to do something evil.  The only way that God could prevent all evil would be for him to take away all choice. He would have to make us all like Heron’s machines, only able to do what each lever and pulley allowed us to do.  We wouldn’t be human, I don’t know that we would even be animals, we would only be machines.”

“I remember the conversation,” he said quietly.  What she said made logical sense but his heart still hurt deeply over the loss of his sister.  He couldn’t blame God but that didn’t make him feel any better, if anything it just made him hate the Vikings even more.

“I didn’t tell you about Cyrus because I just didn’t have it in me last night, but I want to talk about him now and I want to learn from you as well.  Let me tell you about the little brother that I adored…”

Chapter 36

“Knowledge is the key to victory, leave no pathway unchecked, no question unasked, no stone unturned when seeking to understand your enemy, his strength, and his plans.”

The Centurion Handbook of Combat – Winning the Victory: Chapter 1

They rode on for several miles through forest and hills until they came up over one last hill and looked down into the valley where the village of Wicklin sat. The sight took their breath away.

Below them was a scene of mass destruction. A handful of people were moving amongst the damaged and destroyed buildings trying to clear the debris and find the wounded.  Homes were burned to the ground as was the grain mill where it had sat astride the river, even the watchtower was knocked over so that it lay like a broken snake across the road.  Only the old stone church was still intact, but even it had suffered some damage from fire.

The priest pushed past Brendan and Portia and spurred his horse to a gallop toward the village.  The squire and handmaiden spurred their own horses to catch up.

"What happened?" The priest called as soon as he was into the village proper.  He swung down off his horse as a dozen different villagers converged on him and began telling their stories all at the same time.  Portia also dismounted and began listening to the villagers tell her what had happened.  She asked questions and they responded, they showed her injuries they had sustained and property that had been damaged.  These were her people and she felt compassion flowing through her.  For his part, Brendan remained upon his horse and sat listening to everything that was said.  Eventually, the talking began to slow down and the priest immediately threw himself into the work of helping the injured who were currently being housed in the church.

Portia turned to speak to Brendan but found that he was no longer listening.  He had tethered his horse to the pommel of her horse and was walking along the banks of the river.  She ran over to him, exasperated at his callousness toward the tragedy of the villagers.  As she came close, he called out to her without even looking up.

"Please stop where you are and don't come any closer."

"What? Why?" She asked sharply, her resurging fear putting an edge on her voice that Brendan either failed to notice or chose not to acknowledge.

"I am making observations of the ground.  The soil is soft over here near the riverbank and there are a lot of interesting tracks."

"Do you see dragon tracks?" Portia asked, her voice catching.

"No, why should I see dragon tracks?" Brendan answered coolly without looking up.

"Because the villagers all said that they saw Tauschung moving around the village!" The handmaiden snapped, her anxiety over the death and destruction coming through in her tone.

"No, that’s not correct.  Most of the villagers talked about their houses catching on fire.  Some thought they saw men running around in the shadows, a few thought that they saw something big moving in the darkness.  You were the one who brought up Tauschung."

"What else could possibly be big enough to knock over a watchtower and set most the town on fire with its fiery breath?"  Portia said as if her evidence and logic ended the debate.

"A band of Hungarian raiders," Brendan replied calmly.  "Here are the prints of at least a dozen men wearing war boots, which are clearly different from the work shoes worn by the peasants.  The watchtower is not strong, it is too tall for the width of its base and can only hold up one watchman at a time.  It could easily be pulled over by a dozen men with ropes who do not want to leave anyone with a convenient watchtower that might be used to spy upon their current whereabouts.  The Hungarians like to use flaming arrows to burn anything that they can't kill or steal so they certainly used flaming arrows here to destroy the village after they left."

"If Hungarians did this then why didn't they take anything?"  Asked Portia trying to find a hole in his argument.

"How do we know they didn't?  Many people are missing right now and the villagers are still trying to find all of the wounded buried in the rubble.  Others almost certainly ran into the woods to escape or have been taken captive.  Livestock may be dead in the fields, fled to the woods in the chaos, or been taken by raiders.  It will be days before the villagers have accounted for all of the people and livestock and only then will they know for sure who was taken captive or what livestock has been stolen.  Besides if this is a raiding party sent out by Akros before his main force crosses the river, they must travel light and fast and only take the food or horses that they need to keep them moving on their mission."

"There is more at work here than just Hungarian raiders.  How did they know to attack at this time when my sister was coming in this direction?  I’m sure that Tauschung is behind this."

"Why are you so insistent that this must be the work of a mythical dragon that may or may not exist?” Brendan asked in exasperation.   “The timing of the raiders' arrival may be pure coincidence, or it may be due to some darker plan, but we don’t have enough evidence to say that yet.   We DO know that they are in the area and we knew that before your sister disappeared.  We don't even know that your sister came in this direction, we know only that she left by the postern gate and that she made a map of this area."

Portia was unsure how to put her convictions into words.  Somehow it was all wrapped together into her family history.

"Look," she said trying to find her way through her jumbled thoughts, feelings, and beliefs. "I know that you doubt the existence of dragons. You haven't laughed in my face about Tauschung simply because you don’t want to hurt my feelings. I know that dragons exist because I believe my father’s story.”

“He told you this story about a big red dragon that could breathe fire?  Or did someone else tell the story about him?”  Brendan would believe Sir Gerard, but he also knew how these kinds of stories could spread and grow all out of proportion when told and retold by others.

“It was laying waste to all of the farms and villages for miles around until he found it and killed it.  When I was young, one of the village elders came on the 10th anniversary of its death and thanked my father for saving his village.  The villagers gave my father a gift of a beautiful tapestry that it had taken the women of the village 10 years to make.  After the elder left I asked my father about it and he told me the story of how he had killed Feuertod and showed me a great bronze urn that contained all the dragon’s teeth.  They are said to be very dangerous and he felt like they needed to be protected.  My father is not a man to dwell on past victories, especially those that Satan can use to puff up his pride, so he never told me the story again, but I know that it’s true.  His one regret was that he was never able to find the lair and destroy its mate or any eggs that it may have laid.  Red dragons are big and powerful, full of fire and strength and they destroy their enemies directly with flames and teeth and claws.  But his mate was said to be a black dragon and black dragons are smaller and craftier; they use fear, jealousy, and hatred to destroy their enemies.  They can whisper in your mind and play upon your fears and doubts. They can deceive your eyes and ears...", Portia came to a stop when she saw the thoughtful look on Brendan's face.

The Handmaiden took a deep breath.  Her mother had told her that she relied too much on her heart, that her heart could lead her astray.  Portia did not want to admit it, but she had no proof that Tauschung was behind this, in fact, she had no proof that Tauschung existed at all, even her father had admitted that the dragon’s mate was only a rumor.  Her mother had told her to use her head more and think things through, God had given her a brain and he expected her to use it.  The problem was that Portia wasn’t really sure how to do this, following her feelings, taking blind steps of faith, and jumping to conclusions was pretty much how she handled all situations.  She might not know how to use her brain, but Brendan did.

"Very well," she said carefully, working hard to suppress her pride, "My mother says that I rely too much upon my heart and my feelings and not enough upon my intelligence.  My intelligence says that you know far more than I do and can read the signs far better than me.  I will follow your lead.  Where do we go next?  What does your intelligence tell you?"

Brendan looked at her with a stunned expression, then he looked up to heaven and muttered several sentences that Portia couldn't make out.  For all the handmaiden could tell he was praying to God, but from the angry expression on his face she figured that he was arguing with God about something.  She was ready to jump in and defend the Lord but a gentle voice inside her head reminded her that God was perfectly capable of defending Himself in a situation such as this.  She pursed her lips and waited patiently.

Brendan shook his head and then looked back at her.  "I had a similar conversation with your father.  He told me that I trust too much in my own intelligence and that I needed to use my faith more.  God has quite a sense of humor and He seems to be having a little chuckle at my expense."

Portia nodded wisely at this as if she understood what he was talking about even though she had no clue.  "Do you often get into arguments with God?"  She asked.

The squire smiled, "Yes, but I always lose.  Moses and Jeremiah also argued with God so I’m in good company.  It’s actually a step forward for me.  For most of my life I didn’t talk to God at all because I didn’t really believe that He existed. Now I believe in Him enough to argue with Him.  I’m making progress.  I guess the point is that He gave us all of our abilities and He wants us to learn to use all of them, our hearts, our minds, and our faith.”

"So, God led my sister into being kidnapped to make me use my intelligence and make you rely upon your faith?" Portia asked.

"I don't think that God causes evil to teach us a lesson, but I do think that he sees opportunities to teach us lessons in the midst of evil. You are trusting in my intelligence to read the signs and lead the way; and I’m trusting in your faith to know the truth and hear His voice.”

He paused thoughtfully before continuing, “I find it hard to believe in Tauschung but I find it easy to believe in you so I will keep an open mind about the dragon.  If Tauschung does exist then I don't think that the arrival of the Hungarians here, at this moment in time, is a coincidence.   They may be taking her to the dragon even as we speak.  Even if Tauschung is not behind this and their arrival is purely a coincidence then we must assume that they’ve captured Marcia and taken her with them. If Marcia is not with them then she may still turn up safe but if she is with them then our chance to catch them and rescue her is getting smaller by the minute, we must set out immediately."

Without further comment Brendan grabbed the pommel of Nightwind and leapt into the saddle, or at least that’s what he tried to do.  His right leg didn’t quite clear the horse’s rear end on the first try and he nearly fell backward.  He managed to kick his leg over the horse on his second attempt and settled into the saddle.  It was far from the smooth, knightly manner of mounting a horse which he had been aiming for but at least he avoided falling off and completely embarrassing himself.  Portia, for her part, leapt smoothly into the saddle and tried hard not to smile at Brendan.

“I’ll get it one of these days,” he sighed.

"Where do we go first?" Asked the handmaiden trying to get Brendan's mind off the horse and back on to the problem at hand.  "The tracks look very muddled to me."

"They are, but since there are only tracks approaching the village and none leaving it, we may assume that they rode in the river for a while to cover their trail. I think that, originally, they came with Akros’ army from the east and then split off. The question is, did they head downstream to the south east toward Akros, or upstream toward the north?"

Brendan sat on his horse deep in thought.  Portia considered briefly trying to find something more appropriate to wear in the village. She had gotten use to the smell of Brendan on the clothes, but they were still his unwashed work clothes.  She needed clothes that would fit her better since these were too tight in those places where a young woman needed more room and they gave her too much room in those places where a young woman needed more support.  All in all, they were a terrible fit that chafed her where she did not wish to be chafed and made her look even more like a boy than she already did.  Wearing Brendan's cloak simply completed the stylistic disaster though at least it was warm and not too tight anywhere.  She stuffed a few strands of blond hair under her coif.  It was beginning to look very dirty and she didn't want it to show.

"We should head north," Brendan announced abruptly and turned his horse in that direction, Portia spurred her horse and caught up to him so that she could ride next to him.  “They wouldn’t head south because that would take them toward the castle and if Tauschung really is behind this then they wouldn’t be headed east toward Akros, so North is our best bet.”

"Father Cardic would not approve of us riding off without him," Portia said in an offhand manner.

"Father Cardic is desperately needed here," replied Brendan curtly.  Portia glanced at him and saw a dark expression on his face.

“Something is troubling you, what is it?”

“If Tauschung is NOT real then they are probably heading east back to Akros.  If that’s the case, then I don’t think we can catch them since they’re all expert riders with a head start of several hours. I hate the thought that we are betting Marcia’s life on the existence of a legendary dragon, but it seems to be our best hope.”

Portia reached out and took hold of Brendan’s hand as they rode along.

“Don’t ask me how I know, but as soon as you said we should head north I knew that was the correct direction.  It was like God confirmed your decision in my heart.”

Brendan gave her hand a squeeze, “Thank you.”

They continued riding beside the river for several miles until they came to a section of the forest covered foothills that extended across to the eastern side of the river.  The road continued north through progressively larger and larger mountains that seem to mock the little human built road.  Across the river the tree-covered foothills seemed to be even wilder.  Brendan pulled out Marica’s notebook and began looking through it carefully.

“Perhaps the dragon was manipulating her dreams the same way it was manipulating yours.  It may have been trying to lead her out here to these caves in order to use her as bait to draw you and your family out of the castle.  It somehow convinced her to take this journey on her own just as it convinced you that you needed to rescue her on your own.  Maybe these caves marked on this map were the bait for her.”

He pulled out the magnification tube and spent some time scanning the hills until Portia finally asked him what was wrong.

"This is a marvel,” he said holding the tube out to Portia.  He pointed to a cliff face in the distance where one of the larger foothills abutted one of the smaller mountains. “There is something about that cliff face that is wrong somehow, but I can’t figure it out for the life of me.  Take a look and tell me what you think."

Portia looked through the tube and was amazed at the view but after several minutes of looking at the cliff she had to admit she had no idea what looked unusual to him.  She shrugged.

“Sorry but it all looks normal to me,” she said as she handed the tube back.

"Come on, if we don't see something soon, we'll cross the river and double back and check the other side, they may be up in those hills somewhere.” He shook his head, “Something about the face of that cliff is off."

He started to ride forward and then suddenly pulled up and whipped out Marcia’s tube and looked again, "That's what's wrong with it!" He exclaimed, "Look at the center section of the cliff.  There are plants growing in other places on the cliff but not there, I can't tell for sure from here but that rock looks fresh like the face of the cliff has sheared off recently." Portia nodded but she knew that cliffs collapsed sometimes and wondered what was so unusual about it. He handed her the tube, "If you look at the base of the cliff face, what do you see?"

She shrugged, "Trees, just like every place else on the hill.”

"Exactly!" Brendan replied with a note of excitement in his voice, "If that cliff face had collapsed recently, we should only see rock and dirt at the base of the cliff, all the trees would have been buried.  Even if the collapse happened a year or two ago there would not have been time for full grown trees to take root and grow there at the base.  Where did all that rock go?  There’s something strange up there, the only question for us is whether or not that something has anything to do with your sister's disappearance."

"What would be the smart thing to do?" Portia asked patiently.

"Cross the river and look for tracks on the other side, we would have to do it eventually, we may as well do it here."

She unslung her scuta from its position across her back, put her right arm through the straps, and then nudged her horse into the river, "Follow me," she said.

"Wait," Brendan called after her hastily, "I should lead, we don't know if the river is fordable here or if there are enemies on the other side watching us right now."

"I know, but I’m the better rider, I’m used to handling a shield while riding, and Winter Storm is the better horse.  I trust her to find a way across the river if there is one and I trust myself to stay in the saddle if things get dangerous.  I can keep myself covered if we’re ambushed before we get across and I even have the better armor thanks to my mother’s mail and plate.  I’m the better choice to lead.  Do you have that much faith in Nightwind or yourself to get across the river safely while holding onto your shield?" Portia asked without taking her eyes off the woods on the far side of the river.

"No," Brendan answered after a long moment.

“Then trust me, we are in this together, our strengths cover each other’s weaknesses.  You have led up to this point, let me lead now.  Get behind me and use my shield for cover.”

He nodded and nudged his horse to follow hers as she began to guide Winter Storm out into the river.

No attack came as the horses and riders threaded their way across the river.  The river was wide, but it was also fairly slow and not as deep as Brendan had feared.  As they came out on the other side the squire spotted a flash of sunlight off metal in the woods ahead of them.  He pointed and motioned for her to dismount.  They both got down and stood behind their horses for protection for several minutes, but no sound came from the trees.  Brendan pulled his own kite shield off his back and cautiously led the way back to where he saw the flash of steel.  They found two dead Hungarians, one with a spear in his chest and the other with saber slash to his throat. A few yards deeper into the woods they saw another dead Hungarian with an arrow in his eye.

It soon became clear that there was a trail of at least a dozen dead bodies leading in the general direction of the hill.  Brendan and Portia led their horses on foot and picked their way silently through the destruction as they followed the path of corpses to its end.  Each apparently killed with his comrade's weapon.  Finally, Portia could take it no longer.

"What do you think happened to them?" She asked in the quietest of whispers.

"They killed each other," the squire whispered back. The handmaiden rolled her eyes at this statement of the obvious before she realized that he was already thinking about something else. "Look there," he said, pointing at the forest floor several feet past the last body.  "Someone tried to run away and, judging by the size of their footprint, it might have been your sister."

Portia saw Brendan's whole body tense up, without a word, he pointed to a spot about ten feet past the last of the footprints.  Portia looked and felt a wave of fear wash over her so strong that it crushed her chest and left her unable to breath.  There, in clear view, were gouges dug by an enormous, clawed foot.  Whatever happens, whether we live or die, God will prevail, she told herself, God WILL prevail.

The young squire carefully moved forward and studied the prints.  The track itself was nearly five feet across with claws that extended over another foot farther than that.  He looked in the direction of the cliff which was still above and ahead of them.

"There are two more tracks heading in that direction," he said quietly with a nod of his head, "then nothing.  If those are dragon marks, and I must admit I can think of no other explanation for them, then it would appear that it landed and then took off again toward the cliff."

"With Marcia?" Was all that Portia could force out.

"Probably.  I don't see any more of her footprints, nor do I see any sign of her body.  If the dragon exists it is an evil master,” Brendan commented as he surveyed the trail of bodies.  “It tricked them into serving it and then discarded them like trash when it was done with them.”  He shook his head in distaste and then turned back toward the cliff.

“The time has come to investigate that mysterious cliff," he said with determination.  He drew his sword, a traditional Centurion langes messer, settled his shield on his arm, and began leading his horse uphill.

Portia couldn't make her legs move until Winter Storm came up behind her and began nudging her forward in the back.  Even her horse knew what needed to be done and had the courage to do it. The strange thing was that she didn’t fear her own death at all, she feared finding Marcia’s half-eaten body and knowing that she had failed her, she feared her parents being distracted by their missing daughters and being overrun by the Hungarians, she feared the dark, unnamed dreads that called to her from the depths of her dreams.

She drew a deep breath; she was the daughter of the greatest Centurion knight of this age, a handmaiden, trained for battle, and her sister’s life was on the line, she could do this, she would do this. Portia forced her legs to move and she climbed the hill behind Brendan.

At the top of the hill it became apparent what caused the unusual appearance of the cliff.  There was a deep but narrow chasm right at the base of the cliff.  The face of the cliff had sheared off, but it had not buried all the vegetation at the bottom because it had tumbled down into the chasm instead.  Brendan tied Nightwind to a tree branch and eased closer to the edge of the deep, ugly gash into the earth.  Portia forced herself to do the same thing.

The stench that rose from the chasm was like nothing that she had ever smelled before.  She had to focus on something to keep from throwing up so she pulled out her mother’s war bow and tried to string it.  It was almost impossible, finally succumbing to a herculean effort on her part.  Portia knew of no other woman besides her mother who could draw this bow and even her mother hadn’t drawn it in over a decade.  How could she possible shoot it?  She thought that she was probably stronger than her mother had been even in her prime so technique must have played a big part in her mother’s usage of the bow.  The problem was that her mother wasn’t here to teach her the technique and she didn’t have time to figure it out on her own.

Portia shook her head, muttering to herself.  She had no idea what she was going to do with the bow, but it was the only weapon that she carried that had even the tiniest chance of hurting a dragon.  She began praying to God for strength.

Brendan pointed to one end of the deep crevice.  "I think we can work our way down over there.  This rift seems to open into a large cavern below.  I’ll lead the way down while you cover me.  I'll signal you to come down when I’m sure that the entrance is clear.  We'll move in and explore the cavern.  If we run into the dragon your job will be to find a vantage point, preferably as high as possible, and use your bow.  If it focuses on me it may leave an opening for you, if it gets distracted by your arrows that may create an opening for me.  Agreed?”

Portia nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak.  She knew that they would probably both die but she couldn't stop now and leave her sister in the claws of Taushung.  She looked down at herself, she was only a 16-year-old girl wearing mail and plate armor that was too tight for her, covered by stinky clothes that didn’t fit and a dirty cloak borrowed from a squire, carrying a bow that she couldn't even draw.  She slung her shield on her back, her gladia would be useless here, and she would need both arms free to fire the bow.  The heft of the arrows in her quiver was the only thing that reassured her at all, their long, solid shafts and heavy, armor piercing heads gave her a faint glimmer of hope.  She glanced at Brendan; he wasn't much better.  It was true that he had a kite shield and chain mail, but they didn’t hide the fact that he was also a 16-year-old boy whose beard was only starting to come in and who still had growing to do before he could properly be called a man.

He saw her doubts, “’We can do all things through Christ who strengthens us’, remember?  We can rescue Marcia.”

She put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze, “Do NOT get all macho and try to protect me by leaving me up here and wandering off in the cavern by yourself. I swear before the Lord that if you do that, I will still come down looking for you and then we will simply die separate and alone.  Wait for me to come down after you.  We are in this together, we live or die together, okay?”

He smiled, “Got it, but I still get to be the first line of defense for you.”

She smiled back, “And I have your back to the very end.”

Brendan took a few practice swings with his sword.  She could tell that he loved his sword, single-edged with a razor sharp tip and the perfect heft, it was a Centurion version of a sword type known as a langes messer, or a long knife, but the Centurion version had a 30 inch blade made of altum steel so that it was actually a little bit lighter than a traditional messer despite being longer.  It was an ideal slasher and stabber that fit him exactly.  She caught her breath.

"Where did you get that sword?" She asked in disbelief.

"Your father gave it to me when I first came into the castle a couple of months ago.  You must have seen me using it before now.”

“Not up close, not in bright daylight, I always thought that he had given you one of his old training swords, I didn’t realize that he had given you that sword.”

“During training, none of the other weapons really felt right for me.  Your father said that it is very important in battle to have a weapon that feels like it was made for your hand, so we kept trying different weapons until he went and got this one out of some old storage room and gave it to me to try.  It felt perfect, I loved the engraving on the blade and the faint reddish tint to the blade. I asked him how the smiths had given it that color but he just smiled and told me it was a secret.  Since I liked it so much your father gave it to me to keep.  Why? What’s so special about it?"

"It’s the sword that my father used to kill Feuertod.  The tint comes from dragon blood.  It’s a sign from God.  He’s with us."

Brendan nodded.  He looked at her rather awkwardly and then put his hand on her cheek, closed his eyes and prayed, "Father Almighty, open our eyes to what is real and help us to see through each deception. Fill our hearts with courage, give strength to our arms, and guide our weapons to their mark as we stand together and fight against evil. Amen." He looked at her, "Not much of a prayer I’m afraid but I’m still learning.  Now we need to get going."  She nodded and followed as he moved toward the end of the crevasse.

Chapter 37

“Make plans but be ready for the unexpected, it is a rare thing for even the best plans to go perfectly.”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 2: Proverb 5

The Black’s head whipped around.  The sound of voices?  Outside of her cavern?  She had been dreaming, working her way through the brat’s mind, trying to collect information.  What had she heard?  Tiamat’s breath!  She couldn’t have anything unexpected happen now!

“Hello?”

Great, she had pulled out of Marcia’s dreams so quickly that she had woken the child up.  Perhaps that was just as well.  She could use her as a lure for Portia.  She moved silently over behind her wall to hide herself from sight.  Portia was supposed to come alone, so who was she talking to?  It sounded more like two young men talking.  Where was Portia?  Had she brought help?  Two young men and Portia meant that there were at least three at the entrance to the cave.  How many more might there be?

She drew a long breath through her nostrils to familiarize herself with her prey.  She should smell something like Marcia, the girls were sisters after all, but she didn’t smell her, which was strange.  Where was she?  She heard voices but none of them sounded like a teenage girl.  The plan had been to gobble up Portia as soon as she entered the cave but now the Black would have to wait and see what was going on.  It wouldn’t do to eat the wrong person while Portia waited outside of the cave and give the little viper a warning about the trap.

Chapter 38

“Do not let fear keep you from standing up against impossible odds to protect the innocent but also do not let pride drive you to stand up against impossible odds to protect your reputation. The first is courage, the second is folly.”

The Centurion Handbook of Combat – Heart and Mind: Chapter 2

Portia held her bow tightly and watched as Brendan scrambled down the steep pile of rubble that had fallen from the cliff above and partially filled one end of the cavern.  He could see her white knuckles on the bow, but he had to stop worrying about her and focus on his own descent or he was going to take a tumble all the way to the bottom.  He was trying to keep his shield and sword at the ready, but it was impossible, it was all he could do just to hang on to them and keep his feet. Fortunately, nothing attacked him before he finally reached the bottom and looked around.  After several moments of cautiously peering through the darkness he gestured for Portia to come down.  She hastily scrambled over the rocks and made her way to the bottom.  He had to admit that there had been a strong temptation to go on alone and leave her at the top. Unfortunately, the truth of the matter was that, she was clearly the better warrior and if they had any chance at all of saving Marcia, it really was for them to be fighting together.  Besides, if he had tried to go on alone, she would have kept her vow and followed him down anyway.

Brendan surveyed the cavern and saw that it was enormous.  The floor of the cavern was littered with bones, some human sized and some from much larger animals.  There was a faint haziness inside that made everything appear to be blurry and indistinct, but he could see a great crack in the floor and far wall that was lit up by a faint bluish glow that reminded the squire of the glow of the moon.  The odor quickly became so overwhelming that his nose had ceased to smell it (or anything else) anymore.  A very faint, indistinct sound, rather like air blowing from a bellows seemed to come from all directions.  Either there was a great forge at work down here or else...  Or else that was the sound of something breathing. They stepped from the light of the opening into the gloom of the cavern and felt momentarily enveloped by complete darkness and chilling cold. A suffocating fear gripped Brendan as his legs turned to jelly.  It took every bit of strength that he had left to keep from collapsing on the floor.  He began praying soundlessly, his lips moving as he prayed for every sort of blessing that he could think of.  He forced himself to continue forward and after a few moments his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he was able to see again.

He looked at Portia and saw that her eyes were wild as she looked at him and he could tell that she was terrified.  He looked down at the arm that held his shield.  The blue cloth was still tucked into the arm straps, remembering what it represented, it encouraged him to lift his head and push deeper into the cavern.  He began to carefully pick his way across the debris covered floor toward the great crack and Portia forced herself to follow.  There were little skittering sounds in the shadows which Brendan took to be rats, at least that’s what he hoped they were.

"Help me!" a shrill voice echoed out of the darkness.  Portia charged forward, sure that it was Marcia.  Brendan blocked her path with his shield.

"Stop!" he called. "With all of the echoes in here I'm not sure that was her voice.  Even if it was, it’s most certainly a trap."

A deep silky voice spoke out of the darkness from the other side of the cavern, "Things would have been so much simpler if you had both simply charged forward to the rescue."

Both the squire and the handmaiden whipped around so fast that the blink of an eye seemed slow in comparison. A dark bulk moved forward from behind a shadowy wall and blocked their exit.  Despite its size there was an eerie silence to its movements, and it was surprisingly hard to see clearly.  More than anything it reminded Brendan of a gigantic black cat hiding in the darkness.  Its scaly skin reflected no glint of light and revealed no details.  Its eyes seemed to shine with a faint greenish-yellow light and there was a dim reddish gleam to its mouth and nostrils.  Other than this, it seemed to be defined less by what could be seen and more by what couldn't be seen.  Brendan saw Portia lock up out of the corner of his eye, this was straight out of her nightmares.

"Where is she?" asked the voice that seemed to be almost disembodied from the black shadow that was its source.

Where is she?  The dragon had to be referring to Marcia since Portia was standing right there in front of it.

"So, Marcia has escaped you!" Crowed Brendan. "Well, I certainly can't tell you where she is but with a little luck she’s far from here and getting farther by the minute."

"No, you fool!" Growled the dragon, "Where is Portia? I set this whole trap to draw her out of the castle, is she hiding in the forest? I hear no one else outside the cave.”

“No,” was Brendan’s only response.  He prayed that Portia would remain silent and thankfully she did, she was a lot smarter than she gave herself credit for.

“Interesting,” the low, silky voice continued, “I wish that I could call you a liar, but I sense that you are telling the truth.  Still, something remains hidden behind what you say.  I knew that she was a fool, but I was sure that she had the courage to at least try and rescue her sister.  I am disappointed both for her and her parents that she is such a coward that she wouldn’t even ride out here with the two of you.  Instead, she sends two boys to do the job of two dozen men.  You are barely able to shave and that one over there has yet to touch a razor to his face.  A pair of brothers, from the smell of you, fresh from the fields.  Sadly, the two of you are probably the best of what is left in the castle after Sir Gerard took all of the able-bodied fighting men with him."  Tauschung paused for a moment to consider what to do and Brendan spoke up.

"Why do you care about Portia? If it’s revenge you’re after then why isn't Marcia good enough?"

This was clearly not going according to the dragon’s plan and its irritation showed in its voice.  "If revenge was the only thing that I was after, she would be, but revenge is only part of what I seek."  The Black looked at the two of them thoughtfully and Brendan and Portia waited.  Clearly after twenty years alone tending dragon eggs Tauschung felt like telling its story to someone, even if it was only someone that it was going to eat in a few minutes.  "When my mate and I moved into this area to build our nest and lay our eggs, we naturally fed on the local prey, including the humans.  A man who claimed to be a prophet of God came to our cave and told us that if we did not leave immediately then God's judgment would fall upon us. He foretold that my mate would die at the hand of a Centurion knight and that I would die at the hand of his eldest daughter.  We thought he was a fool and ate him and thanked Tiamat for sending us a delicious meal.  I thought he was a fool until a Centurion knight killed my mate a month later.”  She seemed to brood on this for several long moments.  “I knew then that…"

"Let me jump ahead and save some time," Brendan interrupted, "you fled in fear back to your nest, like a chicken fleeing to its chicken coop, sealed up the cave and tended to your eggs for all these years while plotting your revenge against some little girl you didn’t even know.  Now you’ve decided the time is right to trap the Centurion’s daughter and kill her before she can kill you, right? The only real question is why you thought that this stupid little scheme of yours would actually work."

Portia gave him an incredulous look, as if to say, Are you trying to make it angry?  Then a look of understanding came over her face, of course he was trying to make it angry.  They were here to kill the dragon and it was planning to kill them so making it angrier couldn’t make things any worse.  In fact, they might even make things better; an angry dragon was more easily distracted and more likely to make mistakes.

The dragon snarled and then caught itself and laughed; it was a deep menacing laugh that sent chills up Brendan’s spine, "You are not as stupid as I thought!  It is too bad that she’s not here with you; if she were, I would have killed you instantly the moment your backs were turned. Your deaths would have been quick and painless.  As it is, since she is not here, I am quite safe from two half trained squires whose knees are knocking so badly from fear that they can barely stand.  I have waited for twenty years to take my revenge upon Sir Gerard and his little child of doom and her absence here means that I will just have to take my frustrations out on the two of you.  Your deaths will be slow and painful for you and very amusing for me."

"So, all of this was just a lucky coincidence?  Your eggs hatching, the Hungarians jumping the border, Marcia riding out of the castle, all conveniently happened at the same time?”  Brendan was trying to stall, looking for a chance to strike.

"You have already shown me that you are not a fool, though I must admit that I have reservations about how intelligent you actually are if you came to fight a dragon on behalf of someone else.  You know that I am behind it all.  It was I who entered the dreams of Akros and induced him to attack so that Sir Gerard and Lady Evelyn would be pinned in place by their duty to their subjects.  They would gladly sacrifice themselves to save their daughter, but they cannot sacrifice their people for her."  The dragon began to chuckle to itself again with an evil glee.  "I entered into the dreams of Marcia and induced that brat into leaving the castle with visions of bat guano.  She has such strange dreams of using brimstone, charcoal, and bat guano to create some sort of weapon to destroy the Hungarians and save Carinthia.  Such a curious child, very intelligent and very foolish at the same time.”

“Hello! I’m right here!” An angry voice echoed out of the pit.  “I can hear what you’re saying about me!”

The dragon growled, “That child is insufferable! Her parents should be thanking me for taking her off their hands!”

“I can still hear you!”  She yelled.  “Didn’t your mother ever teach you any manners?”

The Black chuckled darkly, “Perhaps the best way to punish her parents would be to give her back.”

“Oh yeah?” Responded Marcia defiantly, “Well I…”

“Enough!” Bellowed the dragon so loudly that the walls of the cave shook.  “You will be silent, or I will kill you by drowning you in the blood of these two idiot squires!”  Several moments of silence passed before the dragon was satisfied.

“Now to continue my story,” it said.  “I entered the dreams of Portia and convinced her that this was all a trap to destroy her parents and that her only hope of success was to sneak off by herself and try to catch me by surprise.  It would seem however that she is not made of the same mettle as her parents.  It is sad, really, that two such worthy enemies as Sir Gerard and Lady Evelyn are only able to produce a coward and a fool for offspring.”

“I am NOT a fool!” Came the angry voice from the pit, “And Portia is NOT a coward!  You can just shut your lying mouth right now!”

The dragon roared and whipped around to deal with the pest in the pit and Brendan attacked.

“Get to that ledge!” The squire barked as he waved his sword toward the near side of the cavern. Instantly, Portia snapped out of her daze and sprinted for the ledge.

Chapter 39

“There is a time in battle to think through every action to ensure that it is the right one, there is also a time to not think at all and let your body do what you have trained it to do.”

The Centurion Handbook of Combat – Heart and Mind: Chapter 3

Adrenalin coursed through her veins and broke the dragon’s spell.  It was a good 30 feet up the side of the cavern but there were numerous large hand and footholds for her.  She dropped her shield and slung the bow over her shoulder and launched herself up the wall as the stout, sinewy muscle that gave her body such unladylike lines proved its value now.  Her strength and agility shot her up to the ledge in less than two heartbeats.  She flipped herself onto it and immediately leapt to her feet with her bow in hand.  She uttered the briefest of prayers for God's strength as she knocked an arrow to her bowstring.  She looked down and saw Brendan charging, trying to get around the left flank of Tauschung.  There was blood on its leg; somehow, he had already managed to draw blood while she was climbing to the ledge, but the creature seemed far more angry than injured.  In slow motion she watched the dragon's head whip around and she knew that Brendan would die if she did nothing.

Portia suddenly found herself in the grip of a terrifying calm.  He is MY man; you will NOT harm him.  It was like when she was fighting the winter wolves.  She remembered Heron of Alexandria and his amazing machines. Portia became one of his machines.  There was no fear, no nervousness, not even anger or excitement, there was only lever and fulcrum, pulley and counterweight, action and reaction.

Effortlessly, she drew the arrow all the way back, 120 pounds of war bow bent as if she had done it all her life instead of doing it now for the first time.  The touch of her left hand and bowstring against her left cheek felt perfect.  Her vision down the arrow shaft was sharper than ever.  She sighted in on the faint orange and green gleams that marked the most sensitive parts of the dragon.  She shouldn’t even be able to draw the bow, let alone shoot it accurately, but she wasn’t Portia anymore, she was one of Heron’s machines.  Firing down on a target from above with an unfamiliar bow would have been an almost impossible challenge but now she was back at the castle with her mother, practicing her shooting from the balcony down into the courtyard.  The height and distance she had practiced at then was almost identical to the height and distance she was shooting at now.  She heard her own voice inside of her head, speaking as if she was giving targeting instructions to someone else.  She could hit this target, God be praised.

The tiniest relaxation of her fingers and the arrow was away, her eyes stayed locked on its course even while her hand went about its business of grabbing the next arrow and putting it to the bowstring. The flight of the arrow was true but the continued movement of the dragon's head as it reached for Brendan amongst its own feet caused the arrow to miss its eye and glance off the side of its head with an audible thud.  The massive, shadowy head snapped up looking for this new threat. Her next arrow was already knocked and drawn, the bowstring against her cheek.  She saw two glowing, green orbs and two burning, orange slits as the dragon zeroed in on her location.  For just a moment, the head was still, and she fired.  She was already drawing her third arrow before she saw the second missile embed itself, deep into the monster's left nostril.  It reared back and screeched in pain.  The noise was so thunderous that Portia found herself idly wondering if the roof of the cavern was going to collapse and finish them all off.

Down below, Brendan threw all his weight behind the point of his sword and drove it deeply into Tauschung's left rear knee.  His angle of attack seemed odd until she realized that he was stabbing from behind and upward to get in between its overlapping scales.  The dragon tried to back up and put some distance between itself and its attackers, but the injured leg gave way and it overbalanced causing it to fall awkwardly on its right side.  The squire started to charge forward but then pulled up short at the last moment.  The beast slashed at Brendan with its front claws and would have disemboweled him if he hadn't stopped his attack.

The dragon quickly rolled back onto its feet and it was instantly clear that its injury was only a minor one.  A passing thought went through Portia's mind; had Brendan seen something that tipped him off to the dragon’s deception?  Or had he just guessed that it might be up to something sneaky?  She would have to ask him later, if they got out of this alive.

Tauschung suddenly lunged forward several feet and slashed again, its black talons almost impossible to see in the dim light.  Its injured left leg couldn’t push the creature quite as far forward as its right which caused it to swerve slightly away from the squire.  This probably saved Brendan’s life, but the dragon still slashed out at him with its right claw.  He ducked, but the tip of one of the talons impaled his shield and ripped it off his arm, knocking him to the ground at the same time.

Portia fired again; she didn’t have a clear shot at any of the creature’s soft targets, but she needed to distract it.  The arrow bounced off the side of the dragon’s head near where she estimated its ear hole probably was.  The beast turned and snarled at her, rage pouring out of it.  She fired at it again as it tried to charge her perch.  The dragon slid sideways when its front claw came down on Brendan’s shield which was still impaled on its talon.  Portia fired again, this time at its eye.  The dragon recoiled and the arrow hit it in the corner of the eye instead of in the center. Blood began pouring into the eye partially blinding the dragon.

It shook its head trying to clear the blood from its vision while backing away from Portia’s ledge.  It breathed its dragon breath at her and a cloud of total blackness enveloped her.  Numbing cold and paralyzing fear washed over her like an ocean wave but she was a mighty rock that broke the wave, she was one of Heron’s machines and immune to fear.  There was no emotion, no thought, only action, take the initiative and keep it, that is how a weaker opponent defeats a stronger one.  She drew another arrow and prepared to fire as soon as the darkness cleared.  She wondered why the dragon had not breathed on them before, then realized in a moment of crystal clarity that it had.  It had breathed on her when she first stepped into the darkness, that was why she had been so overcome by fear.   But now she was pulleys and levers, steel and wire, there was no more fear, she had to protect her man, he needed cover fire.

The darkness cleared and Portia saw the dragon trying to scrape the maddening shield off its claw.  She began to rain down arrows on it, praying a verse over each one as she fired.  In frustration at her unrelenting barrage, it gave up on trying to remove the shield and charged her position on the ledge with its jaws opened wide.  She would die if she didn’t move.  The ledge she was on was only about six feet long but there was another one about 15 feet away.  She ran and jumped like she was jumping for the balcony.  She hit and rolled and somehow managed to avoid landing on her bow or losing her quiver.

The dragon crashed into the ledge that she had been on just half a second before.  Portia came up on one knee and fired again.   The arrow shattered against the side of the beast’s head with a loud thud, right in its ear hole, it didn’t pierce the dragon’s scaly armor, but it was a dead-on blow that stunned the beast for the briefest of moments and Brendan saw his chance.  He rushed forward and thrust his sword hilt deep into the thick muscles of the monster’s right hip.  This was a much more serious wound than the first two and the dragon responded by snapping at Brendan with its jaws.

Brendan dropped to his knees and ducked under the eight-inch teeth that were trying to chomp on him.  Portia shattered another arrow against its skull.  They might not be penetrating the scales but based upon the dragon’s reaction she was sure that they were hurting it.  It was like hitting a knight on the helmet with a war hammer, the hammer might not penetrate the helmet, but it could still knock the knight senseless inside.

Brendan tried to get back to his feet just as the creature recovered from the latest blow to its head.  It slashed desperately at him but again the shield came to his rescue.  As the dragon swung its claws the shield hit him before the tip of the talon did and knocked him out of the way.  Tauschung’s claw missed him by inches instead of ripping deep into his body.

Brendan lurched to his feet and stumbled toward Portia’s ledge and began to climb.  For a moment Portia didn't understand what he was up to but then the dragon turned and lifted itself up with its two front legs to snap at him.  For the briefest of moments, when it saw the opportunity to kill the one who had crippled it, hanging like a piece of ripe fruit on the cavern wall right in front of it, the dragon forgot about Portia.  It turned its face back toward the handmaiden, opened its mouth wide, and gave her a clean shot.  Such a moment might not come again and the machine in Portia didn't hesitate at all.  As it prepared to chomp on the exposed squire, she fired her last war arrow right down its throat.

With the twang of the bow, Portia knew that the dragon was dead.  Three feet of arrow tipped with a durum steel broadhead flew down its throat before it could snap its jaws closed.  An expression of complete surprise passed over the monster’s face.  It looked her right in the eyes and in that moment the dragon finally recognized who she was; Lady Portia, eldest daughter of Sir Gerard, Count of Carinthia, Warden of the Eastern Marches.

The beast reared up on its hind legs determined to take Portia down with it but only succeeded in falling over on its side when its injured right leg collapsed underneath it.  It continued to twitch and thrash around for several minutes but Portia, Brendan, and Tauschung all knew that the battle was over.  The arrow had pierced the carotid artery and ripped it open.  Blood that should have been pumping to its brain was pouring out of its mouth.  The death of the great beast was a surprisingly quiet affair compared to the noise it made during the battle.  No bellowing escaped its throat in its final moments, not even the sound of heavy breathing.  Its shadowy scales that somehow seemed to help it move quietly when alive muffled even the sound of its spasms as it died.  Eventually it was still.

Portia climbed down from the ledge and stood next to Brendan surveying the dead dragon before them. He put his arm around her shoulders and she put her arm around his waist.  She had felt completely energized while they were fighting the dragon, now she felt completely depleted.  It was easy to lean on him and draw from his strength. Considering how the dragon had beaten on him, she was amazed that he was able to stand at all.

"You took a huge risk climbing the wall right in front of it to draw its head back around to me.  If I had missed my shot you would be dead," she said without looking at him.  He shrugged.

"I knew you would make it," he said simply.  He trusted her ability more than she did.  She felt both pleased and embarrassed by that and the mixture of emotions filled her heart to bursting.  She wanted to kiss him so badly! She thanked the Lord that the light was dim and he was focused on the dragon instead of looking at her.

Chapter 40

“The only thing worse than fighting a battle is cleaning up afterward.  Since this is especially true when fighting dragons, earnestly pray that you never have to fight a dragon.”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 9: Proverb 4

As Brendan looked at the still form of the dragon, his overwhelming feeling had been one of relief.  It was dead.  They had killed it.  Deep down inside was also a feeling of shame.  He had been sure that somehow, someway, there would turn out to be a reasonable, logical explanation for everything in the end.  In the Eastern Roman Empire, things were much more settled, dragons were mythological creatures used to scare rural hicks.  Even with Portia’s insistence he had only half believed in the dragon.  And yet, here it lay, its monstrous corpse mocking him and his arrogance.

"Is anyone out there?" Came the impatient cry of a young girl from the back of the cavern.  “I’m still in this pit!”  Brendan shook his head in disbelief.  For a moment, in the wake of killing the dragon, he had actually forgotten about Marcia.

Brendan cleared his throat, "We'd better go find her," he said.  He forced himself to turn and look at Portia, ready to apologize for doubting her but stopped when he saw the deep crimson of her face and neck. "Are you all right?" he asked in concern.

"Yes, I'm fine," she responded, forcing herself, with great effort, to look into his eyes.  "It is just all of the, uh, excitement from the battle."

He studied her for a moment; her green eyes blazing out of her bright red face.  She flashed a very odd sort of a smile at him, one that seemed to be both forced and sincere at the same time.  There was a fiery sparkle in her eyes that made her whole face radiate with joy.  Brendan concluded that whatever was going on was an emotional thing and that she would be just fine once she got her emotions back under control.  He also had to admit to himself that she had never looked more beautiful or more alive than she did right now, in fact, he caught himself staring at her even as she was staring at him.

“Still in the pit!” Yelled Marcia irritably.  Brendan shook himself, first things first.

"Where are you?" He called out hoarsely.

"I'm near that blue, glowing hole in the wall but be careful, I'm in a pit and you'll fall in if you aren't looking for it because it’s hard to see."

Forewarned, it took them only a moment to find Marcia.  As they looked over the edge, they saw a disheveled but healthy twelve-year-old girl a dozen feet below them at the bottom of a smooth walled pit.  Water was slowly leaking into the hole and it was already up to Marcia’s waist.  Brendan pulled a small coil of rope out of his knapsack and used it to pull the young girl out of her prison.

"What's with you two?" asked Marcia immediately upon being rescued.

"What? Not even a 'thank you'?" Asked the squire, pretending to be taken aback.

"What do you mean?" demanded the handmaiden sharply.  "We just got done fighting a dragon to save your little hide."

"Yes,” Marcia responded, standing up very straight and taking a very formal tone, “Thank you for saving my life, I am very grateful, I can never repay you both but please let me know what I can do to show my deepest appreciation for all that you have done to save me.”

“Stop trying to show me up and embarrass me,” Portia replied without hesitation.  “I love you, but I don’t like being around you.  We are sisters, it shouldn’t be that way, we should enjoy each other’s company.  Everyone already knows that you are brilliant, beautiful, and a thousand times more charming than I am.  I don’t need you to make me look even dumber, uglier, and more awkward than I already am.  You are mom and dad’s favorite, the darling of everyone in the castle.  Please, you’ve already won the competition, just leave me alone.”

Marcia was taken aback, “Me? What makes you think I’m the favorite?  Mom and dad are Centurion warriors and you are already one of the best warriors in the castle.  You are honest, courageous, dedicated, faithful, and willing to sacrifice your life to save people you don’t even know.  You are the ideal Centurion Shieldmaiden.  You are everything that our parents could possibly want in a child.  You make me look fake, sneaky, gutless, and weak.  YOU are the favorite, not me.”

“If you both think the other one is the favorite then your parents are probably doing a pretty good job of not showing favoritism and neither one of you is the favorite,” Brendan suggested as the two girls looked at each other in disbelief.

Marcia sighed, “Okay, I will do my best to not embarrass you, and be more supportive of you in the future.  Now, back to what I was saying, what’s up with you two?  You," she said pointing at Portia, "look just like that scullery maid right after momma caught her and one of the grooms fooling around in the hay loft.  And you," she pointed at Brendan, "keep looking at her like she’s the most beautiful woman in the world even though she's dressed like that, smells like a barn, and you can't even tell she's a girl."

Brendan glanced at Portia to see if she had noticed his admiring looks but she was busy staring at the floor of the cavern and turning even redder, if that was possible.  She looked like she was about to either pass out or explode.

"Actually," Brendan said in a conspiratorial tone, “you know how uncomfortable Portia is about accepting compliments.  She made the shot that killed the dragon, so I was praising her abilities as an archer.  The next thing I know she starts blushing like crazy and staring at the floor.  I think I embarrassed her without meaning to.”

"Uh huh," grunted Marcia with a dubious look on her face.

Portia put her hand on his shoulder to draw his attention back to her.  He watched as she forced herself to look him in the eye and speak.

"I appreciate you more than you know.  You trusted me when I didn't trust myself.  You came ready to fight a dragon that you didn’t believe existed.  You put your life in my hands because you knew I could make the shot.  You may not have had faith in my stories, but you had faith in me and that means everything.”
Portia wrapped her arms around Brendan and hugged him so hard that he was afraid she would leave bruises. Tingles shot through his entire body and he returned the hug, though a bit more tenderly.  Portia couldn’t resist any longer and began kissing him with all her strength, which was considerable.

“Not appropriate!” Barked Marcia.  “First, you’re not even betrothed and second, I’m standing right here watching it all!”

“Then go stand someplace else and look at something else,” Portia commanded.

“Still not appropriate,” Marcia mumbled as she rolled her eyes and began examining the body of the dragon.  “I can’t believe the two of you killed this thing all by yourselves. Must be a pretty wimpy dragon.”  She paused for a moment and then ran over to Brendan’s shield. “Lordy, Lordy, look at this!” She crowed.  She bent over the shield and began untying something from the back of it.

Portia reluctantly stopped kissing Brendan and turned to see what Marcia was carrying on about.  Wrapped around one of the arm straps on the back of the shield was a blue, silk scarf.  The dragon’s claw had neatly penetrated it, just missing Brendan’s arm.  As the shield was yanked out of the squire’s grip, the silk had become tightly twisted around the tip of the talon and held the shield in place.

“This looks like some pretty girl’s favor!  And who exactly does it belong to?”  The younger girl asked, arching an eyebrow.  “If you’re running around on my sister, I will make you regret it.”

“Yes, who does it belong to?”  Asked Portia, arching an eyebrow of her own.

“You,” he replied.  “Your father gave it to me.  He keeps one of Lady Evelyn’s scarves wrapped around the arm strap of his shield.  He said that it gives him strength and courage in battle by reminding him who he’s fighting for.  He gave it to me in hopes that your scarf would inspire me in the same way while I was protecting you and your mother.”

He finished unwrapping it and held it up so that the girls could see it.  The embroidered letter P was clearly visible in the corner of the scarf.

Portia felt a rush of emotion that she didn’t really understand.  “I haven’t seen that scarf in ages. My father gave it to me back on my eighth birthday.  I don’t ever wear pretty things, so it’s been sitting in the bottom of my trunk for years.”  She felt thrilled that it had saved Brendan’s life, and saddened that she had forgotten about such a beautiful gift from her father.  Tears came to her eyes.  Where were all these emotions coming from?  Clearly, being almost killed by a dragon made you an emotional wreck.  Brendan just stood there, stoic as ever.  She wanted to hit him and hug him at the same time.

“Your father gave it to me when he told me to stay and watch over you; he knew something important was going to happen while he was away.  He wanted to stay and protect you and your mother himself, but he knew that he had to go and defend the thousands of people who live in eastern Carinthia.  He made a very hard decision.”

“But he made the right one,” Portia said with tears of pride now running down her face.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to hold on to the scarf, at least until your father returns.” Brendan said quietly.

Portia nodded, then suddenly added, “Actually, I want you to keep it.”  She took the scarf and wrapped it around his neck and tucked the ends down into his hauberk next to his heart, “Will you do that for me?”

“Of course.”

Portia hugged him again with her head on his shoulder.

“What I really need is my journal, I could be doing something useful like drawing pictures and taking notes about this creature instead of listening to the two of you carry on.  Unfortunately, I lost it somewhere along the way.”

“Actually, we found it in the stable.  It’s outside with the horses.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up at Brendan’s words, “Thank you Lord, and thank you Jesus!”  She started to sprint up the pile of rocks to the exit when she was stopped by a looming figure.

"T’is good to see that everyone survived!"  Boomed a voice.

Brendan tried to grab his sword out of its scabbard, but Portia was still hanging on to him a bit too enthusiastically and he almost slung her to the rocky floor of the cavern trying to turn and face the new threat. He relaxed when he saw that it was Father Cardic.

"What are you doing here?  We left you to help the villagers!" Asked an exasperated Portia, who seemed to be miffed that her hug was interrupted.  The old priest trotted over to them and hugged them both so fiercely that Brendan thought he was going to crack a rib.  Did all these Frankish people practice bear hugging trees?  They needed to learn the beauty of a good handshake.

When Father Cardic finally released them, the squire saw Portia gasping for breath, and he shot her a look of concern. She waved that she would be okay, but it would obviously be a moment or two before she could talk again.

"Hey, don't I get a hug too?" Asked Marcia.  For a moment Brendan thought Father Cardic would snap her in two like a twig but he was far gentler with her than with the squire and the handmaiden.

"So why are you here?" Brendan asked, "The villagers needed you."

"Aye, so they do, but the first order of business would be to take care of the Hungarians and Tauschung before any more villages get attacked and even more people need my help.  When I went to collect the two of you so we could continue our journey I found that you had already left." The old warrior priest shook his head, "I'm afraid that my language at that moment was not the sort that would make the Lord proud and I’ll need your forgiveness for the names I called you two. Anyway, after I recovered my temper, I set out to catch up with you.  It seems that I’ve arrived a little too late to be of any use though."

“I’m not sure that everything would have worked out the same way if you had been here," Brendan said, “So it’s probably for the best that you didn’t catch up with us.

The priest nodded sagely, looking at the dragon, "Aye, it was God's will that the two of you faced Tauschung alone."  He paused for a moment and looked at them thoughtfully then he continued, "Did Tauschung curse you before it died?"

"No, Portia shot it in the throat and it couldn't make a sound," Brendan explained.

Relief washed over Father Cardic's face, "Good! Good! A dragon's Deathcurse can only be uttered by a powerful dragon as it’s dying but such a curse can be potent and very difficult to deal with.  God has blessed you in more ways than you know by preventing this. Now, have you looked around the rest of the dragon's lair yet?" He asked.  They all shook their heads in the negative, so the Father led the search of the cavern.

The four surveyed the rest of the cavern and found a great pile of human bones, some with scraps of armor still attached to them.   Near it, to the west, was a great pile of gold and jewelry. On the east side of the bone pile they found the remains of seven large eggs.  The eggshells were jet black on the outside but different colors on the inside and looked like they were originally about three feet in diameter.  Unfortunately, the eggs had hatched, and the dragons were gone.  They also found something else curious near the broken eggshells; bits and pieces of a dead dragon.  It had been ripped apart leaving only bits of bone and tattered pieces of black, scaly hide.  One of them had been eaten by the others.

"It was to be expected," nodded the priest, "A clutch of dragon eggs will always include one dragon of each color no matter what color the parents were.  There can only be one dragon of each color in a given region, so the parents kill the baby that is the same color as themselves to head off any future competition with their own offspring.  If Feuertod had still been alive then he would have killed the red one as well.  Still, six have survived, the red, the orange, the yellow, the green, the blue, and the violet have all escaped into the world and we will need to hunt them down before they kill others."

The priest led them over to the pile of gold and jewelry. "Here is where Feuertod slept.  Red dragons are the biggest and hardest to kill of all the dragons.  They can breathe fire, hence the name 'Feuertod' which means 'fiery death' in one of the old German dialects," the priest explained to Brendan.  "They love gold and precious jewelry; they collect it all and sleep on it."  Father Cardic moved over to the pile of bones, "This is where Tauschung slept.  Black dragons are the smallest of the dragons but they are also the most intelligent and devious of all, hence the name 'Tauschung' which means 'deception'.  They can enter dreams and lead people to their destruction and they can radiate a fear that is so strong that it can drive a weak mind insane. They love to collect the bones of their enemies to sleep on."

"How do you know so much about them?"

"The Order has collected a great deal of information over the centuries about many such creatures.  Dragons are of special interest because of how destructive they can be.  Speaking of which, we had best pull its teeth and take them with us."

"My dad said that the teeth of a dragon are very dangerous and need to be protected.  Why is that?" Asked Portia with interest.

"Well now lass, I don't claim to know the truth for sure, but the legends say that when dragon's teeth are planted in soil and watered with blood, undead warriors sprout up out of the spot.  I can't say I believe it’s true, but I can't reject it as false either and it’s better not to risk it.  While we’re about it, we might as well take some of the dragon hide.  It can be fashioned into boots, gauntlets, and armor.  It’s said that the hide of a red dragon is the toughest and best for armor, but all dragon hide is very tough, and each color has its own special properties that make it useful."

Father Cardic showed them how to pull the teeth, a chore that took so much effort that Brendan was the only one who could do it.  There was also a trick to skinning the dragon without getting any of the blood on you that the old priest knew about so Portia and Marcia went to work on that job with the use of Brendan's sword and a discarded hand ax that they found on the cavern floor.  It was foul work handling bloody dragon parts and trying not to gag at the smell of the dragon itself (a smell that was not improved by cutting it open).  The old priest carried in numerous loads of firewood from the nearby forest to burn up the body.  Apparently, animals that ate dragon meat would be poisoned by it, but they would take days to die and would poison the woods around the cavern as they decomposed. Brendan wondered if this was a story made up by the priest just so that he would have an excuse to leave the cavern to get fresh air but Father Cardic seemed to know everything else about dragons, so the young squire let it pass.

The one who surprised Brendan was Marcia who seemed to have no problem stepping in and helping to skin the dragon.  It was the natural philosopher in her that made her curious about the anatomy of a dragon.  Her biggest complaint wasn’t the smell or the mess, it was the fact that they would only allow her a few minutes here and there to make sketches and take notes.  Portia had to do most of the actual cutting with Brendan’s sword since it was the only thing that they had that was sharp enough to cut the dragon hide, but Marcia was enthusiastically swinging the ax to clean the meat off the back of the hide.  She kept muttering things to herself like, “Mess with the Centurions and this is what you get,” and “I told you they would rescue me, looks like the ‘brat’ is getting the last laugh now you ugly lizard.”  The other three stayed well clear of her until she was done with her job.

Eventually there was wood stacked all the way around the stinking corpse of the dragon and large sections of the hide that had been peeled off were laid to one side.  Brendan had the teeth piled up in an overturned helmet that he held in his hands.  Father Cardic produced a tinderbox and, in just a few minutes, had started a small fire which he carefully fanned into a full flame.

"Wave the sword in the fire, it’ll burn off the blood on the blade," he directed Portia.  The priest picked up one of the many thigh bones that littered the floor and used it to hold sections of dragon hide over the flames to burn off the little scraps of meat that were still attached to it.

"The fire doesn't seem to affect it, is all dragon hide fireproof?" Brendan asked.

"So far as I know only the dragon hide of a red is truly fireproof, but I figure that if a black was a mate to a red it must be fairly fire resistant itself.  It wouldn't do for your mate to roll over in his sleep and snore a blast of fire in your direction and burn you up," said Father Cardic with a smile.  "The fact is that we don't know very much about blacks, they are very wily and usually manage to avoid being killed."  The priest looked at Portia and Brendan thoughtfully, "I must admit that I am curious how the two of you managed to slay it.  I can only assume that it set a trap for you, that would be a Black's way of dealing with you.  How is it that it didn't kill you instantly when you came into the cavern?"

"It was a combination of a prophecy, arrogance, and God at work in the midst of our trials," Responded Brendan cryptically.  The priest raised an eyebrow.  Portia hurried to explain.

"Apparently, there was a prophecy made twenty years ago that Sir Gerard would kill Feuertod and that Sir Gerard's first-born daughter would kill Taushung.  They both thought it was silly and ate the prophet.  Then my father showed up and killed Feuertod.  Now Taushung knew that the prophecy was true, so she laid low until her eggs hatched and then decided to go on the offensive and lure Sir Gerard's first-born daughter - me - to her lair to kill me."

"Ahh! I had forgotten about the prophecy; it was my uncle who delivered it.”

“Your uncle?  That’s why he seemed so familiar in my nightmares! He reminded me of you!”

The priest nodded, “That makes sense, we did look a bit alike.  He told it to the local villagers to encourage them before he went and delivered the message to the dragons. I forgot about the prophecy because the black was never seen again, and you were not born until several years later.  But, back to your story, if her plan worked, why didn't she kill you?"

"Because she believed that it had failed,” Brendan explained.  "She was sure that because of the prophecy, she couldn't be killed by anyone other than Portia, 'Sir Gerard's firstborn daughter' was the only thing she had to fear.  Taushung has never seen her so she was looking for some dainty young noblewoman dressed in fine clothes or at most a young handmaiden in fancy, ornamental chain mail with gilded weapons and a silver tabard.  Does Portia look like any sort of a young noblewoman to you right now?" Father Cardic's face began to break into a smile.  Brendan continued.

"The only way she could fit into her mother's armor was to wear it underneath everything else, a situation that I am sure she finds very uncomfortable but one which hides both the noblewoman's armor and her feminine shape.  On top of that she is wearing my dirty work clothes and one of my cloaks because she couldn't find any other clothing that fit over her armor.  Not only does she look like a young soldier-in-training, but she smells like one too.  Taushung thought we were two young men trying to rescue Marcia on our own.  Being the arrogant dragon that she was, she decided to amuse herself before she killed us since, of course, we were no threat to her.  Marcia played her part in the attack by being so annoying that she distracted the dragon. It started bellowing at her, I attacked with my sword, and Portia made at least two dozen of the greatest bowshots I’ve ever seen, every one of them was bouncing off its skull or hitting something sensitive. Then she finished it off with the greatest shot of all.” Brendan took a small bow as if finishing a performance on stage.  “And that is the story of why we’re alive and Taushung is dead."

Father Cardic's laughter rang through the cavern.

"And all of those inconveniences, all of those little things that you found so aggravating when you set out, the very things that made you feel like God had abandoned you just when you needed him most, those were the very things that God used to save your life!”  The priest had to stop and breathe and laugh some more.  Portia was far less amused.  “Surely God is able to use all things for the good of those who love him,” the priest continued as he wiped a tear of laughter from his face.  “Bless Him and bless you!"

"Well, we must make a decision on where to make our camp,” began Father Cardic after he had caught his breath again.  “We have light and protection here in the cavern or we can go outside and sleep out there, but it’s already dark and there may be Hungarians in the woods," he pointed out.

"Our light is coming from a burning dragon body; the stench makes me want to vomit and who knows what may still be crawling around in all of these piles of bones.  I vote for outside in the clean air," said Portia quickly.

"There are also young dragons out there in the woods," pointed out Marcia, "Or did you forget about them?"

Portia gave her sister an exasperated look, "You don't really want to sleep down here; you just don't want to agree with me.”

"What do you think Brendan?" The priest asked looking at the young man.

To his own mind it made more sense to spend the night in the cavern, but he completely understood why Portia wanted to sleep outside.  He also felt like he should support her because of what they had just gone through.  Whatever the future held they needed to stand together.  He looked at Marcia and realized just how tired they all were.  Everyone was in desperate need of sleep and those two were more afraid of both options than they wanted to admit.  Brendan decided that everyone needed a change of scenery.

"Our horses are outside at the edge of the woods so, at the very least, we must do something to protect them so that they don't get eaten by dragons or stolen by Hungarians.  I don't think that bringing them down here is practical.  The path down is very steep and even if we could somehow get them down here, we might not be able to get them back out.  I suggest that we spend the night on the top of the hill above the cliff.  It’ll be a bit of a hike to get up there, but we’ll have a clear view on all sides if anything chooses to come after us."

Portia's exhausted but grateful smile made it clear to him that he had made the right decision.  Even Marcia grudgingly accepted the plan.

Fortunately, no one, and nothing, had bothered the horses while they had been fighting the dragon.  Undoubtedly, the rest of the Hungarians were to the east doing battle with the Centurion forces and all the larger predators in the area had either left from a lack of prey or had become prey themselves for the dragon.

It should have been the work of a few minutes to get the horses and gear collected and up to the top of the hill above the cliff, but it was dark and everyone was beyond tired.  Brendan figured that it took closer to an hour before they were able to start setting up a camp.  Father Cardic took the lead and Brendan let him do it.  Somehow the old priest still had some energy left even after a full day of travel and carrying at least a dozen loads of firewood down into the dragon's lair.

Brendan didn't even remember falling asleep, but he woke up the next morning stretched out in his bedroll with the sun high in the sky.  Somebody had gotten him out of his armor and gambeson.  He looked around and saw the priest asleep in his own bedroll.  Marcia and Portia were up making some breakfast.  Brendan started to sit up and then realized that every muscle in his body was screaming at him.  Slowly, he forced himself upright, but he had no idea how he was going to travel that day.

"So, you can sit up!" said Portia brightly.  "I was afraid that we might have to carry you home on a litter.  I took a good look at your armor and shield, the armor will need a lot of repair and the shield is ruined; it’s a miracle of God that you’re still alive.  You really took a beating out there, the dragon hit you a lot harder than I realized."

“I was so tired last night that I don’t even remember Father Cardic getting me out of my armor.”

“That’s because he didn’t,” Marcia chimed in.  Portia tried to rush over and shush her, but Marcia fended her off and plowed ahead, “Portia and I did it.  Portia said that we had to check you for broken bones or serious injuries and clean you up, so we checked you over from head to toe.  Of course, Portia did all the best parts herself and wouldn’t let me watch.  She was very thorough.”  Marcia gave him a wicked smile.

“Ignore her,” Portia snapped as she threw a stick at her sister’s head, “We had to make sure that there wasn’t even the tiniest spot of dragon’s blood left on you anywhere.  I only did what was necessary, it’s very corrosive.  I was just being a good nurse…”

“You’re overexplaining,” the priest grumbled from his bedroll, “We trust your motives.”

“Just wait until I tell daddy you had your hands all over his squire again,” Marcia snickered.

“You promised not to embarrass me anymore, remember?”

“Killjoy.”

“At least that would explain why all of my clothes are on crooked.  Did you find any broken bones or spots of dragon’s blood when you checked me out?”

“No broken bones, but lots of little splashes of blood. They left red spots on you and a couple of the bigger spots started to blister before we cleaned them off,” Portia said, blushing a dark red.  Brendan felt himself blushing too.

“Yeah, good luck riding a horse today,” Marcia interjected, “Some of those spots are in very inconvenient places.”

“Which explains all of the little holes in my clothes, now that I am looking at them more closely.”

Portia hurried to clarify, “But don’t worry, I was just checking you over for medical reasons, I wasn’t, you know, looking at you for other reasons.  Besides, it was dark, and …”

“Overexplaining!” Gruffed the priest again, “You were being a good Centurion and treating the injured, we trust you.”

Brendan tried to get out of his bedroll but it hurt too much.  "I feel like one gigantic bruise.  How about you?"

“I just stood on a ledge and shot arrows; I’m doing great.”

“You did a lot more than that!” Brendan corrected.  He smiled, “Do you need me to check you for broken bones or spots of dragon blood?”

“No really!  I’m good.”

“She made me check her while you were sleeping, sorry you missed out on all the fun,” Marcia chimed in.  “No spots on her.”

“As long as you’re okay,” Brendan said, “That’s what really matters.”

“I’m fine too,” Marcia added from the other side of the fire as she continued to work on breakfast, “Thanks for asking.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” replied Brendan encouragingly.

“I too, am glad to hear it,” said the priest from his sleeping roll, “though to be honest, I would rather hear it later and in a softer voice.”

“We should try and get going,” Brendan said.  “It was a night and a long day to get to the dragon’s cavern.  We’ve already spent the night and it is now late morning.  Even if we travel hard, we won’t make it before nightfall.  Your mother is going to be very worried about you both.”  It was agony to get to his feet but with Portia’s help he finally made it.  He had to admit that he really appreciated Portia’s strength in that moment since she was the one who actually lifted most of his weight.

Marcia put a bowl of hot soup and a hunk of bread in his hands.  Brendan hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until that moment.  He thanked her and began eating ravenously.  Marcia waved food under the priest’s nose and he roused from his semi-slumber to fully awake.

“Thank you for standing my watch,” he said to Portia with an appreciative smile.  “I told you that you would get the chance to pull your own weight.”

“It may not sound like much compared to fighting a dragon,” the priest interrupted, “But collecting and carrying two cords of firewood down into that cavern has given me a powerful appetite.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, never underestimate the power of a warm meal when you’re traveling.”  He inhaled his food and then patted his stomach when he was done.  “You heard the squire, let’s get moving.”

Brendan made a quick check of his armor and sword to make sure that they were clean.  He didn’t want his sword to be ruined by some bit of dragon’s blood that was allowed to sit and corrode the metal because he had missed it.  When he pulled the blade from the scabbard, he was shocked at what he saw.

“Portia, did you take a close look at my sword last night when you were using it on the dragon hide?”  He asked.

“No, the light in the cavern wasn’t very good and it was covered with dragon blood.  I tried to wipe it off and then held it over the flames for a moment to burn off anything that I missed.  After that I just put it back in its scabbard.”  She walked over and looked at the blade with Brendan.  “Whoa, what happened here?”

“I don’t know,” he replied.  The steel blade was a deep purple unlike anything that he had ever seen before.  The etching in the blade was easily visible as a much lighter shade of purple.  He ran his hand up and down the flat of the sword.  It felt perfectly smooth and dry so whatever had happened this was not something coating the blade but rather the steel itself that had been stained this color.

Portia reached out and touched the blade. “It feels different somehow,” she said, “and it doesn’t feel as cold as I would have expected it to if it was sitting outside all night.”

He swung the sword and hit a piece of firewood lying next to the fire.  The sword easily split the wood.

“The sword seems to be just fine,” he finally commented, taking one long, last look at it before putting it in its scabbard.  “I guess we’ll find out soon enough if it starts falling apart on me.”

Brendan was honestly surprised at how quickly the camp got packed up, especially since he was of little help.  There were only three horses, so Marcia started off riding behind Portia, but she changed places from time to time to keep any of the horses from getting overworked.

They rode as hard as they could without killing the horses.  There were Hungarians in the area, and they didn’t want to spend another night outside the protection of the castle walls.  When it was Brendan’s turn to carry Marcia on his horse, he caught a glimpse of Portia giving her sister a meaningful look that clearly carried some sort of private message between the two, but the squire wasn’t quite sure what.  For her part, Marcia sat far enough away from him that he was afraid she was going to fall off the back of the horse, especially with the way Nightwind balked and skittered over every little thing in their path.  In desperation, she finally grabbed onto his waist to keep from being thrown off completely when the horse was working its way down one side of a gully and then up the other.

Dangerous lightning flashed from Portia’s green eyes.

“I have to hold on,” Marcia said defensively. “If I don’t, I’m going to fall off and break my neck and then your whole expedition to save me will have been a worthless waste of time.”

“Well then ride with me on my horse!” Portia countered.

“What’s this all about?” Demanded the priest, reigning to a stop.  “Portia’s horse cannot carry two riders all day even if it’s two girls.”

“Portia says that she and Brendan have ‘an understanding’.  Is that true?” Marcia asked the squire.

“I’m from the east, not the west.  Please explain exactly what you mean by ‘an understanding’,” asked Brendan in exasperation.  He had an idea about what she meant but he figured he better make sure before he made a wrong assumption and messed everything up.

“You know, ‘an understanding’.” Marcia repeated as if that made everything clear.  “When a boy and a girl are interested in each other they have ‘an understanding’.  It means that they are both agreed that they want to court but they are waiting until they can get approval from their parents to make it official.  It’s supposed to be a secret, but it almost never stays secret.  Sometimes though, girls just say that they have ‘an understanding’ with a boy to try and keep other girls away from him.  So that’s the real question, are the two of you really going to start courting or is she just saying that?”

“They have an understanding,” interjected the priest, “I’m a witness.  In fact, it will be a betrothal when we get back to the castle.  Let’s try a different solution to the riding double problem.  Portia will ride with Brendan and we’ll just move the two of them from horse to horse to give each animal a break.”

“Great idea!” Portia exclaimed.

“Works for me,” Brendan laughed.

This time it was the priest’s turn to give a meaningful look when he made eye contact with Portia. “Listen up, young lady, just because you are a woman with ‘an understanding’ does not mean that you are married yet or even betrothed so NO hanky-panky!  You put your hands on his hips and nowhere else!  Do I make myself clear?  Your parents could still say no to the two of you courting so don’t jump to any conclusions just yet.”

“Considering Brendan’s skills with a horse, shouldn’t Portia be the one in front guiding Nightwind while Brendan holds on?” Marcia asked, trying to keep a straight face.

“Hush!” Retorted Portia as she scooted up next to Brendan as close as she could and wrapped her arms around his waist.  “We’re good.”

“No, you’re not,” corrected the priest. “You’re too close to him.  I said put your hands on his hips not put your arms around his chest.  I need to see lots of daylight between the two of you.”  Portia scowled at him, but he scowled back and won.  She scooted back an inch.

“More!” He barked.  “I will not play this game with you all the way back to the castle.  If you cannot maintain an appropriate distance, then you’ll be riding behind me instead.”  Portia quickly pushed herself further back.  It was clear that riding behind the priest was not an option in her mind.  Father Cardic shook his head and looked to heaven, “Lord, I never dreamed I would see the day when Portia would need a chaperone to be around a young man, and now that she needs one, why did it have to be me?”

Chapter 41

“Always keep in mind that the end is not always the end. Do not be like the Centurion who, after winning a victory over a terrible enemy, began to dance in celebration, tripped over his own feet, and fell on his sword.”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 7: Proverb 7

Dusk was approaching as they continued to push on toward the castle.  Nightwind was very tired and very balky so Portia and Brendan had traded places.  Neither was particularly happy with the new arrangement but Portia’s superior skills as a rider dictated that she be the one in the saddle while Brendan sat behind her.  Portia felt a creeping uneasiness as they began to enter the last stretch of forest before reaching the village and slowed the horse to a stop.  Forests were often good hiding places for highwaymen and robbers and while they didn’t usually have such problems this close to the castle anything could be happening right now with the knights gone and the Hungarians raiding in all directions.  It was dusk outside of the forest, but it was midnight inside.  Portia sensed in her spirit that something was wrong with the forest.  Brendan, with his hands on Portia’s waist, picked up on her tension.

“We should go around,” he stated, matter-of-factly.  “There are Hungarians on the prowl and there’s no telling who or what may be hiding in the darkness.   Even if the way is clear there’s too much risk of injury if one of the horses stumbles in the dark.”

“It will add at least an hour to our trip to go around this little stretch of the woods and I do have a small lamp that I can light to help us see the way.”  Father Cardic pointed out.

Brendan seemed to consider this for a moment and then dismissed it.  “A small lamp won’t provide enough light to help us very much, but it will make us a lot easier to see for any enemy waiting to attack us.”

The priest nodded his head, “Very well, we’ll go around.”  He turned his horse and began to head to the west.

“Wait!  Since when is the squire in charge?”  Demanded Marcia.  “I don’t want to waste an extra hour.  I want to go straight home.  You’re the oldest one here, if anyone should be in charge it’s you.”

“I’m giving him the opportunity to lead.  If I felt very strongly that we should go through the forest, we would.  But I was debating this very question with myself even as we were riding up and I’m still undecided.  There are advantages and disadvantages either way and one choice is not clearly better than the other.  Since Brendan may someday be the Count of Carinthia and be expected to lead Centurion forces in the field against the Hungarians, I have chosen to let him practice leading.”  With that Father Cardic urged his horse forward and started westward again.

Marcia groaned at this but turned Winter Storm to follow.  Portia turned Nightwind to follow and bring up the rear.  She took a long parting look at the dark hole that was the road through the forest.  She stiffened suddenly; she could have sworn that she saw something white move back in the shadows.  Was it her imagination after everything else that had happened on this trip?

“What is it?” Brendan asked, instantly alert, sensing her reaction to something.

“I thought I saw…”

A blood curdling yell came from the woods interrupting her.  Two Norsemen and a huge white wolf came running out of the dark roadway that the travelers had just chosen to avoid.  Brendan slid off the back of the horse, clearly preferring to fight their attackers on foot rather than on horseback. Nightwind balked but wheeled around as Portia yanked at the reigns.  She grabbed her gladia out of its scabbard.  The gladia was almost useless on horseback but it would have to do, there was no time to unpack and string her bow.  It was at that moment that the winter wolf began to howl and Nightwind chose to panic.

The horse shied away from the wolf and tried to escape in some other direction.  It started running in a circle and slammed into Winter Storm.  Had Portia been riding Winter Storm it would have responded to its master’s sure hand but Marcia was not the accomplished rider that Portia was and she lost control of the horse.  Marcia was desperately trying to rein it in but Nightwind’s panic was infectious and the lack of a sure hand at the reins caused Winter Storm to panic as well. Portia pulled Nightwind’s head around sharply and squeezed it as hard as she could with her knees and was finally able to establish some control.  She thanked God that she had been in the saddle and not Brendan or it would have been a complete disaster.  Winter Storm began galloping toward the Norse in its panic, carrying Marcia into danger.  Portia spurred Nightwind forward trying to put herself in between their attackers and her sister.  Brendan was a couple of steps in front of her sprinting toward the enemy when the Norsemen both threw their axes at her and then drew their swords to face him.

Portia saw the axes coming at her in slow motion.  She could duck out of the way but if she did, they would almost certainly hit Marcia.  It was an easy decision since she was wearing armor and Marcia wasn’t.  Portia would probably be injured but Marcia would dead if she was hit by one of those wicked looking blades.  Besides, what had Master Kurt said? Trust your armor, it is made of Centurion steel and stronger than your enemy’s weapons.  The handmaiden sat up in her saddle, brought her arm up over her face to try and block the closest axe, and braced herself for impact.

In the blink of an eye she saw first one and then the other axe get snatched out of the air right in front of her.  It was almost like a magic trick, the disappearing axes.  She glanced down; Brendan was standing in front of her with an axe in each hand.

“How did you…”

“Here, use these,” he interrupted, tossing them up to her, “they have a bit more reach than your gladia.  Kill the wolf.”  He picked his sword up from where he had dropped it on the ground just in time to parry the attack of a charging Norseman.

Portia dropped her gladia and caught the axes.  Norse hand axes were similar to Franciscas with one important distinction.  Franciscas were designed to be excellent throwing axes that were still very good for fighting with, while Norse hand axes were designed to be excellent hand weapons that were still pretty good for throwing.  The distinction was not a big one but it meant that the length and balance was a little different than what she was used to.  Still, they were better from horseback than her gladia.

She glanced around; she was sure that she had seen a giant wolf come running out of the forest with the Norsemen but now it was nowhere.  Where did it go?  It must be circling around them right now.  Winter Storm had pulled up short when Nightwind had cut in front of it, blocking its way but now it was thrashing around trying to find a safe direction to run.  Portia rode a quick circle around Marcia looking everywhere for the wolf.  Marcia squealed and Portia reacted instantly.  She threw herself sideways and knocked Marcia out of the saddle and off the horse.  Both girls landed on the ground just as a blast of frost flashed over the back of Winter Storm.

The horse reared up on its hind legs trying to get away from the threat beside it.  Portia grabbed her sister and rolled away from the animal as fast as she could, which turned out to be an excellent decision.  Just as she had anticipated, the terrified horse slipped in the grass and fell over on the spot where they had just been a moment before.  It rolled to its feet and bolted off.

Portia grabbed the axes and jumped up.  She saw the scar across its eye and the ugly scowl on its lips.  It was the same wolf that had attacked the castle all those weeks before.  The wolf and the handmaiden stared each other down for a long moment.  She was sure that it remembered her, and it knew that she was a dangerous opponent with axes in her hands.  There was a gleam of human-like intelligence in its eyes and she knew that it was used to fighting humans.  Maybe she could use that to her advantage.

Portia stepped forward with her left foot and began to throw the axe in her right hand.  The wolf instantly reacting by sliding toward her left and out of the path of the incoming axe.  This was exactly what Portia was hoping it would do.  It was reacting to a right-handed opponent.

Portia faked her throw, holding on to the axe.  She continued her forward momentum and stepped forward with her right foot while throwing the axe that was in her left hand with all her strength.  In classic Frankish style she immediately charged forward with the other axe ready to attack an off balance or injured opponent.  She watched as the spinning blade impacted with the wolf’s head.  Her aim was true but the different balance in the weapon caused it to hit the beast with the top of the axe head instead of the blade.  The blow was still hard enough that the wolf was stunned for a moment and Portia’s charge brought her within striking distance before the wolf could recover. She swung the axe with both hands as hard as she could and immediately let go.  The axe froze when it contacted the blood from the winter wolf and the wooden handle shattered just as it did before, but this time she wasn’t holding on to it.  The cold of the wolf’s blood was a slap to her face but at least her hands were still working.  She ran to the other axe and grabbed it from where it had landed.  She turned around ready to attack again, but it was unnecessary, the wolf stumbled for a moment and then fell over and was still.  She had killed it with a single blow.  Compared to the dragon, this had been almost too easy.

Chapter 42

“Pride and revenge are terrible reasons for battle, they blind you to the truth and lead you into folly.  Earnestly go before the Lord before going into battle and let Him lay bare your motives.”

The Centurion Handbook of Combat – Heart and Mind: Chapter 8

Brendan rushed toward the Vikings, rage exploding in his heart and blood pounding in his temples.  Now was his chance to get revenge, now he would finally get the chance to kill some Vikings.  He suddenly heard Sir Gerard’s voice in his head, “The Centurions focus on being humble servants of the Lord, protectors of the weak, and defenders of the innocent, not destroyers of our enemies."   Brendan was so stunned he actually pulled up short and stopped.

“Surely Lord, this is the time to be destroying our enemies,” he said to God as the Norse charged him.

“There is a time for every action under heaven, even waging war on your enemies, but this is not that time.  This is the time to show me who rules your heart, Jesus or Hatred?  The voice in his head was his own but it was saying things to him that he would never say to himself.  It had to be God speaking to him.

Brendan screamed in rage; this is what he had been waiting for all these years! But he knew that the Order was not interested in revenge, and neither was God.  “Jesus rules my heart,” he was finally able to say, “Lord take away my hatred.”   A peace came over him that he couldn’t explain and, in that moment, the Vikings were upon him.

Brendan’s opponent rushed at him with his shield in hand trying to use it to knock the squire off his feet, but pankration had the perfect counter for this move. Brendan pulled his knee up to his chest and kicked straight forward into the middle of the Norseman’s shield with the heel of his foot.  The heel kick was so powerful that it was routinely used to shatter enemy shields and it worked to perfection here.  The other Norseman swung at Brendan’s head with his sword and Brendan parried with his own.  The smoky purple blade in his hand cut through his opponent’s sword like butter, leaving him with a hilt but no blade.  He tried to charge Brendan with his shield while the other Viking attacked with his sword.  Father Cardic had finally arrived as quickly as his old legs could carry him and he used his staff to deliver a ground sweep that took the legs out from under the shieldbearer.  The squire parried the sword attack of the other Viking and again, severed his blade from the hilt.

The priest engaged the other Viking, staff against shield, while Brendan took on the first attacker who was now reduced to using a knife.  Brendan sheathed his sword and drew his own knife, the long seax that Sir Gerard had given him when they faced the Wyvern.

“I’m going to capture you alive,” he told the Norseman in Greek.

The Viking was almost a foot taller than the squire and probably close to a hundred pounds heavier, but he was wary of Brendan.  He had learned never to underestimate a Centurion and he was smart enough to recognize that the squire had something up his sleeve if he was willing to sheath his sword and face him with a knife of his own.  Each made several feints with their weapons until the Viking suddenly lunged forward in a real attack.  This was what Brendan had been waiting for.  He grabbed the bigger man’s right wrist with his left hand, dropped his own weapon, and stepped inside of his opponent’s reach.  He pulled the wrist hard while turning his hip into the Viking’s pelvis and flipped the man over his shoulder.  Brendan held onto his wrist and moved into an elbow lock with the knife blade pointed away from himself and his foot against his opponent’s neck for leverage.

“Drop the knife or I will break your elbow,” he commanded in Frankish.  The man refused to comply and continued to try and break free from the squire’s lock.  “Suit yourself,” the squire replied and broke the elbow.  The Norseman grunted in pain and dropped the knife but continued to fight.  “You’re tough, I’ll give you that.”  Brendan released his arm and when the Viking tried to roll away the squire jumped on his back and put him in a choke hold until he passed out.

The squire looked around and saw that the Winter Wolf was dead.  Looking in the other direction he saw that the priest had completely befuddled his opponent with his quarterstaff, which was like a living thing in his hands.  When he saw the opening he wanted, he drove the end of it into his opponent’s jaw, knocking him out.  Father Cardic walked over to the squire and he could see a little moisture in the old man’s eyes.

“I’m proud of you Brendan,” the priest said.  “I know how hard it was for you not to exact some revenge.  God is proud of you too.”  He patted him on the shoulder.  “Now we’ve got to get these two tied up before they wake up.”

Chapter 43

“Kill an enemy when you must but spare him when you can, as Christ himself instructs us, ‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy’.”

The Centurion Handbook of Combat – Heart and Mind: Chapter 10

Portia had seen the last part of Brendan’s fight and was very impressed.  She had never seen some of the fighting moves that he had just use to capture his opponent even though the other man was much larger.  She saw the shattered shield on the ground and the broken swords and wondered how that had happened.

“That was quick,” Portia said.  “Are they dead?”

“No,” Brendan answered with a little smile on his lips.  “I wanted to kill them more than I can tell you.  I wanted revenge so badly that I could taste it.” He paused before continuing, “But God made it clear to me that this was not the time for killing and revenge is never an acceptable motive for anything.”

“Still, this guy was really big, strong, and fast and he had a lot of experience in combat, how were you able to knock him out so quickly?”

Brendan held up his weapon.  “My sword sliced right through their swords, and since they had already thrown their axes at you, that left them both with just knives and shields.  I shattered this one’s shield with a kick and then I introduced him to the ancient art of pankration.”

“Pan what?” Asked Portia.

“Pankration,” corrected Father Cardic.  “It’s a style of ancient Greek unarmed combat.  It uses many different types of attacks; hand strikes, kicks, throws, take downs, choke holds, and many other moves.  I have, of course, read about it but I have never actually seen it being used.  I didn’t know that anyone still practiced it.  Your demonstration was most impressive; you really must teach it to me sometime.”  Brendan nodded his head in acceptance of the compliment before explaining.

“Me too!  I want to learn, it sounds very useful,” Portia added.

“I’m just as impressed with your use of the quarterstaff,” Brendan said, “I always considered it to be just a stick to hit someone over the head with but now that I’ve seen it in the hands of a master I must admit that it may well be the best weapon of all.  You’ll have to teach me how to use it sometime.”  Father Cardic nodded his head accepting the return compliment.

“Are we done flattering each other yet? Can we go home now?” Snapped Marcia as she dusted grass off her dress.

“I’ve saved your life twice now!” Crowed Portia.  “You owe me big time.”

Brendan was surveying the situation.  “I am afraid that we’re down another horse,” he said.  “Winter Storm took off and I don’t see her anywhere around.  We’ll throw these two over Nightwind and Jack and tie them down so that they don’t get any ideas about escaping.  I think it’s best that we take the road through the woods now.”

“Wait,” interrupted Marcia, “I thought you said the road through the woods was a bad idea just a minute ago.”

“I did,” agreed Brendan.  “But these three have been eating something or living off of somebody for the last couple of months.  So I’m pretty sure that they’ve cleared any bandits or predators out of the woods for miles around.  We’re also all on foot now so our chances of stumbling are smaller.  On the other hand, if we go around it will now take us at least two hours longer since we’re on foot, and it will be well after dark for the last part of the trip.”

No one disagreed so Brendan and Father Cardic pushed one of the Norseman over the back of Nightwind.  The other Viking was so large that it took Portia as well as the two men to get him over Jack and tied down.  Portia put Marcia to work looking for the gladia that she had dropped in the grass and Brendan’s long seax, while the other three were loading up the Vikings on the horses.  The priest’s lantern turned out to be very helpful in the growing dusk as the glint of the blades in the lamplight made them easy to spot.  When everyone was ready the priest took the lantern and led the four into the woods.

Chapter 44

“The best part of going on a trip is coming home.  The best part of coming home is sleeping in your own bed (assuming that you have a comfortable bed to sleep in).”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 12: Proverb 2

“Who goes there?” Came the traditional call from the old guard on top of the walls as the little party struggled up the hill toward the small postern gate in the back of the castle

“It’s me! Father Cardic!  Squire Brendan, Handmaiden Portia, and Miss Marcia are with me.  Now let us in before I march around these walls seven times and call on God to knock them down like he did the walls of Jericho.”

The gate flew open and Lady Evelyn herself came rushing out and grabbed both of her daughters in hug that seemed to last forever.  Finally, she turned to Brendan and Father Cardic and hugged them both, “Thank you so much for bringing my daughters back to me, I can never repay you both.”

“You shouldn’t be thanking Brendan and me for bringing your daughters back, you should be thanking Brendan and Portia for bringing Marcia back.  She and Brendan were able to track Marcia all the way to the northern hills and rescue her.  They killed a dragon and saved Marcia’s life several times in the bargain.”

“You killed a dragon?” Her mother asked in a stunned voice.

“Yes, the Black, it was the mate of the Red that Dad killed many years ago, Brendan and I killed it together.”

“The two of you really killed a dragon,” said Lady Evelyn, still in disbelief.

“Yes, momma, they really did kill a dragon,” said Marcia.  Portia glanced at her suspiciously but there didn’t seem to be any sarcasm or hidden put down.  What was her sister up to?  Marcia caught her sneaking sideways looks at her.  “I owe you my life, remember?  You said so yourself.  The least I can do is give you a little support at a time like this.”  Marcia turned back to their mother, “Two more things, first; Portia and Brendan have ‘an understanding’ now so all you need to do is give the word and they can be betrothed. Second; when can we eat?”

The handmaiden looked at her sister in surprise.  “I wanted to tell mom about our understanding.”  The two girls glared at each other for a moment before Portia continued, “And how can you ask, ‘When do we eat?’ Don’t you care about Dad?”  She turned back toward her mother, “Mom, have you heard anything?”

“Not yet,” the Gray Lady responded, concern etched into every line in her face.  “Let’s get inside and feed you some dinner.  I want to hear your story and I definitely want to hear about your ‘understanding’.”

It was hours later after several recountings of the tale from different perspectives with a great crowd listening and asking questions at each point before the evening began to wind down.  Everyone examined the dragon teeth, dragon hide, and Brendan’s altered sword, touching each one and remarking on them all.

“What will you call it?” Lady Evelyn asked as she ran her finger down the dark, smoky purple blade of the sword.

“Call it?” Brendan mused.  He hadn’t really thought about it, it was simply his sword, even now that it was different.

“You must call it some great name.  This sword has become a unique weapon that has been used by God to do great things.  It has been used twice to help kill dragons.”

“I know!” Interrupted Marcia, “You should call it Dragon Bane.”

“This sword may have been involved in fighting two different dragons, but it was not the weapon that actually killed either one.  Sir Gerard’s lance struck the killing blow against the Red; it just took it a little bit longer to die so he helped it along with this sword.  As for the Black, Portia killed it with her bow and the war arrows, this sword really just served as a distraction.”  Brendan thought for several minutes.  He was not comfortable with the idea of treating the sword as if it were some magic trinket that could be waved around to defeat your enemies.  He suddenly smiled.

“I think I’ll call it Sword Breaker.  I’ve never seen a sword actually cut the blade off of another sword until tonight so that is a unique ability that it has.  Also, when it broke the Viking’s weapon it gave me the chance to spare the man’s life without getting myself killed.  I needed that chance.  I don’t think that I could have faced myself as a Centurion if I had given in to my hatred and killed them.”

Lady Evelyn nodded her head, “That’s a good name with an excellent reason behind it.  Sword Breaker it shall be.  We should head to the chapel to confirm your vows and then everyone should get to bed.  We’ll know in a day or two if my husband was successful in turning back the Hungarians and if he wasn’t then the first warning that we may get is a Hungarian army assaulting our gate.  We need to be ready just in case.”

Brendan suddenly felt very nervous about confirming vows in the chapel.  He felt like he was being swept along by a raging river completely unable to control any of the things that were happening to him.  He could jump up and say ‘no’ but what if he did?  If Sir Gerard was killed what would happen to Portia and her mother and sister?  Saying ‘no’ would be the selfish act of a child but saying ‘yes’ would really just mean that he was giving up and going with the flow instead of standing up for himself.  Be the helpless sheep and let himself be lead along to whatever others had chosen for him or be the selfish little pig who only worried about himself?  Neither option seemed to be acceptable.

On the other hand, it occurred to him that he had followed along and allowed himself to be led into a dragon’s lair and the result then was that he had helped kill a dragon.  He hadn’t felt like a sheep being led around then, he had felt like Portia’s protector helping her carry out her mission to save her sister.  He realized that the difference was that he didn’t just fall into the decision; he had not passively allowed himself to be led into the dragon’s lair.  The fact was that he had stepped up, made the decision to do what needed to be done.  Father Cardic had called him a man.  If he could face a dragon in a battle to the death he could face becoming betrothed to Portia.

Brendan paused, that didn’t sound right, he was soooooo glad that he had only been thinking that in his head and not talking out loud.  He looked at Portia, she had washed her face and changed into a simple linen dress.  She was the most beautiful woman in the castle, a woman he could count on to stand by his side through anything.

“Let’s go,” he said standing up.  “It is time for our vows.” He looked at her as he held out his hand to help her up.  She was under a lot of pressure to act like an adult as well.  Getting married at 16 happened, especially to nobles, but that didn’t mean that it was easy or common.  He wondered how she felt about getting betrothed tonight without her father being here.  She was avoiding eye contact so she was clearly nervous about it too.  He watched as she tensed the muscles in her neck and forced herself to look him in the eye.  A crooked, self-conscious but genuine smile spread across her face.  He smiled at her.  She would be his wife.

“At least this is the west and not the east,” Aurora commented as she and the other handmaidens stood up.

“What do you mean?” Asked Portia.

“In the Eastern Orthodox tradition, the betrothal ceremony and wedding ceremony usually take place on the same day, here in western lands the betrothal can last months or years before you finally get married.”

Brendan nearly fell over.  “So, we’re not getting married today?” He managed to gasp out.

Portia laughed, “You dodged that arrow, Greek boy!  No, we’re not getting married today.”

Lady Evelyn spoke up, “But a betrothal is still very serious, it is legally binding and can only be broken by a divorce so do NOT enter into it lightly.  In fact, it is as legally binding as marriage, which is why it will protect Portia from being forced to marry someone else, but it is not quite the same as actually being married.”

“So, we can wait awhile and get to know each other better,” Portia said, putting her arm around Brendan’s waist.

“Eh, eh, eh!” Interrupted Father Cardic, “None of that until you are betrothed!”

“But we are walking to the chapel now!” She complained.

“No arguing! Get your arm off his waist until you are betrothed.” Brendan laughed as the priest led the way out of the dining hall toward the chapel.

The ceremony was a surprisingly simple affair to Brendan considering how complex and formal ceremonies usually were in the east.  The two simply held hands and made their vows in front of witnesses and Father Cardic recorded it in the chapel records.  A copy of their betrothal documents would be sent around to the other Centurion castles and recorded in the Church records of Frankfort, Paris, and Rome to make it very clear to all concerned that Portia was no longer on the market.

There would probably have been a celebration afterward if the situation had been more normal, but as it was Brendan and Portia went back to their own beds and fell asleep.

Chapter 45

“Having two suitors for your daughter’s hand is trouble but having no suitors for her hand is worse.”

The Centurion Guide to Practical Advice – Chapter 12: Proverb 5

Portia found herself awakened the next morning by a great cry from the castle walls. Either her father was returning home or else the Hungarian army had arrived on their doorstep.  She dragged herself out of bed and pulled on a dress so that she could go see what was going on.  It felt odd to be wearing a dress when she wasn’t on her way to the chapel, but she didn’t feel like putting on all of her handmaiden equipment.   She looked down at her sister who was still sleeping despite all the noise. Portia considered letting her sleep but realized that her motives for doing so were more selfish than thoughtful, so she pulled her out of bed and helped her get a dress on as well.

The two sisters stumbled out into the bailey curious about what was going on.  They stopped when they saw the main gate swing open and Centurion knights come riding in.  Portia scanned the men looking for her father.  It was immediately apparent that there were a lot of knights and squires missing.  Her fear for her father grew until finally Sir Gerard entered the gates.  He was one of the very last ones to come riding in.

Portia and Marcia ran to him as he was dismounting from his warhorse.  His face was tired and grim so Portia decided not to be the silly little girl squealing for her daddy.

“My Lord, how did the battle go?” She asked rather formally.

He looked at her with a tired smile.  “We won, we stopped Akros and his army at the river but the battle was far from being the complete victory that we were hoping for.  We bloodied his nose and he was forced to withdraw, but his army is far larger than we expected and most of them survived.  We lost a lot of good men; at least a third of our troops were killed or injured.  Akros has left Carinthia for now, but he will be back.”

Portia hugged her father and he returned her squeeze.  Marcia waited until Portia was done and then ran forward and hugged her father as well.

“Waiting your turn?  That doesn’t seem like you Marcia,” her father said with a loving tone, “but I am very glad to see it.”

“I’m just trying to be a better sister; I owe it to Portia to try my best.”  The knight raised an eyebrow at Portia, but she simply smiled in return.

Clovis rode up and dismounted.  “My Lord,” he began, addressing Sir Gerard.  “I hope that my actions at the river have given proof to my qualifications in battle.”

Sir Gerard nodded, “You fought with great bravery and skill.  I am proud to call you a Centurion.”

“Indeed, it might even be said that our entire right flank would have collapsed if I had not stepped in and held the high ground,” Clovis continued.

“Possibly,” Sir Gerard answered.  The look on his face made it clear that he knew where this was going and did not like it.  Clovis knelt in front of Sir Gerard and Portia.

“Lord, I have shown you my courage and my skill in the face of overwhelming odds and you already know that I am a young man of intelligence and character.  If you and this noble band of knights who have fought by my side think that I am worthy, I would like to ask for permission to court your daughter.”

A great cheer rose from the knights and squires in the bailey, many of whom owed their lives to Clovis and his bravery in the battle.  This was exactly what Clovis wanted, with everyone cheering that he was worthy, Sir Gerard would find it very hard to say no to his request.  The Iron Knight was not so easily manipulated, and Portia could see it by the firm set of her father’s jaw.  Before he could speak, and possibly cause a rift within the barracks, Portia spoke up.

“I am afraid that would be very awkward,” she started to explain.

“It would not be awkward at all,” Clovis countered.  “Everyone knows that your parents are looking for a suitable husband for you.  I have shown that I am a worthy suitor for your hand by my actions in battle.  With your father’s approval I will begin courting you and you will soon see that I am worthy of your love.”

“No, that is not what I meant; I meant that it would be awkward because I’m already betrothed.”

The bailey was filled with a shocked silence.  Clovis finally recovered as Sir Gerard began to smile.

“Who…?” Then Clovis caught sight of Brendan as he walked up.  “Of course, the squire who bravely stayed behind to protect the women and children.  I should have known that you would make good use of your time while you were sitting around here staying safe.”

“Whoever said that he sat around here staying safe?” The old priest interrupted.  “You were not here and know nothing about what happened at the castle while you were gone fighting Akros.  Squire Brendan and Miss Portia had to go and rescue Miss Marcia who wandered off from the castle and got captured.”

“So, they fought a Hungarian raiding party.  How many were in it, perhaps a dozen?  Impressive but not as impressive as fighting an entire army,” Clovis sneered.

“We didn’t fight the Hungarians; we fought the dragon who took Marcia from the Hungarians.”  Brendan turned and looked at Sir Gerard, “It was the Black, the mate of the Red that you killed all those years ago.  We have the teeth and some of its hide to show you.”

For the second time in less than a minute the bailey was filled with a shocked silence.  Father Cardic waited for that to settle in before he spoke again.

“I think that two young people against a dragon is at least as impressive as a small army facing a large one.  I also think that he has shown that he is at least as worthy as you are for Miss Portia’s hand in marriage.”

Sir Gerard was smiling broadly, this was the best news that he had received in a long time.  He smiled at his daughter.

“I did tell you that he was a young man of unusual talents and an exceptional way of thinking.  Now tell me about how the two of you killed a dragon.”

“Now there is a story worth telling…,” she began happily as she put her arm around her father’s and led him toward the dining hall.

Appendix A: Glossary

Armor and Shields

Gambeson

A thick padded armor that was very common in the Middle ages.  It was cheap and easy to make which made it the armor of choice for the common man.  It was made from coarse flax which was turned into a heavy linen.  The natural waxy coating of the flax was often left on it when making it into linen to make it tougher and gambeson was surprisingly durable.  A thinner version of gambeson was often worn under other armors as a layer of padding and an extra layer of protection.  Gambeson that was NOT going to be worn under other armor was usually thicker to provide better protection.  Centurion gambeson has silk woven into it to improve its ability to stop arrows.

Chain Mail

Chain mail is a type of armor that is made of rings of metal that are linked together like a chain.  Different versions of chainmail have been used throughout the centuries.  During the setting of the book (946 A.D.) the most common version worn in Europe was a long shirt of chain mail called a hauberk.  A hauberk typically covered the arms down to the middle of the forearms or the wrist and it covered the legs down to the mid-thigh or knee.  It was usually split from the crotch down to the bottom of the shirt so the wearer could easily straddle a horse.  It was a very flexible armor.  It was usually worn with a heavy belt so that the hips could help carry some of the weight.  A thin gambeson was usually worn underneath.  Centurion chain mail is normally made from their durum steel.  A hauberk is worn with a conical helmet and chainmail hood called a coif.

Lamellar

Lamellar is a type of armor made by attaching metal plates directly to each other either with leather ties or with metal rings.  The plates could be attached next to each other or, more commonly, slightly overlapping like fish scales.  Lamellar was widely used in eastern Europe, India, and the far east.  It provided better protection than chain mail but was less flexible and hindered movement a little more.  For this reason, lamellar armors were often sleeveless and if they were worn by horsemen they often stopped at the waist.  In this sense, the lamellar armor worn by horse archers such as the Hungarians, was usually more of an armored vest than an armored shirt like chain mail.  Hungarian helmets were typically bowl shaped with a lamellar fringe hanging down to protect the neck.

Mail and Plate

Plate Mail and Full Plate Armor are the armors that most people think of when they think of a knight, but these don’t appear in Europe until the late 12th century (Plate Mail) or the late 13th century (Full Plate armor).  The intermediate step in between chain mail and plate mail was an armor type known as Mail and Plate.  It is made by attaching individual metal plates to a chainmail shirt.  It is an attempt to provide the greater protection of lamellar with the greater flexibility and mobility of chain mail.  The Centurions are leaders in this particular armor innovation.  Their Mail and Plate armors are made using their altum steel and are nearly impenetrable to any of the weapons of the day.  Because of the difficulty in working with altum steel and its high expense, only elite Centurion knights and shieldmaidens have it and it is often passed down from father to son and mother to daughter.

Round shield

The most common kind of shield in history, used from ancient Greece into the middle ages by many different peoples around the world including the Germanic tribes, and the Norsemen (Vikings).  The Hungarians sometimes used round shields but they are not as effective from horseback so many horse archers chose not to use a shield at all.  Round shields were usually constructed of wood with a metal boss in the middle, sometimes they were covered with hides. Metal shields were rare because of their weight.  Round shields were usually held with a single hand grip underneath the boss so using them for long periods in battle was very tiring.  A common tactic for infantry was to form a shield wall where the shields overlapped each other down a line of men to form a wall, spears were then extended out of the wall above and below the “joints” in the wall.

Scutum

The standard shield of the Roman Legionnaire.  The scutum was used as much for attacking as for defending.  It provided better coverage than a round shield and was much more versatile in the many different ways it could be used.  It was made from gluing together three layers of wood with layers of canvas and leather in between each layer of wood and then formed into its distinctive curved shape.  It had a large metal boss that covered the primary handle and made the shield a punching weapon as well as a shield.  It had a metal edge to make it more resistant to hacking attacks.  It was lighter than the typical round shield but covered more of the body and provided superior protection to arrows and other projectiles.  There is some evidence that there were other strap configurations used on the back that would allow it to be carried on the shoulder and used in different orientations.  It was not widely adopted despite its superiority as a shield because it was considerably harder to make than a round shield.  Shieldmaidens use a slightly smaller and lighter version they call a scuta.

Kite shield: Developed during the early medieval period, the kite shield was created for use by cavalry.  The traditional round shield provided very poor coverage to someone on horseback and had limited usefulness.  The kite shield was designed to provide coverage for the rider’s entire side and their leg.  The shield was held by straps that were set up in different configurations so that it could be held in different ways.  It was commonly worn on the shoulder so that the rider’s left hand was free to handle the reins while the right hand wielded a weapon.

Weapons

Bow, Self:

A traditional longbow or a simple hunting bow are examples of a self-bow.  A self-bow is, in its simplest form, a stick with a string attached.  Yew wood is preferred for making long bows but almost any strong, springy wood can be used for making smaller bows.  Sinew is generally preferred for making the string but bow strings were also made from flax, silk, and hemp.

**A note about bows: the front of the bow (also known as the belly of the bow) is that part that faces the archer while the back of the bow is that part that faces away from the archer and toward the target, this can be confusing to people who are not familiar with bows.**

Bow, Composite:

A composite bow is a bow that is made out of multiple materials.  The core is wood but the front of the bow facing the archer has a layer of material that is strong in compression, usually horn or bone, while the back of the bow facing away from the archer has a layer that is strong in tension, such as sinew.  These three layers are then glued together.  This makes a very powerful bow that can be just as powerful as a longbow but with a much smaller size.  They longer to construct than a self-bow and must be cared for since excessive moisture can cause the glue that holds it together to come apart.  They are commonly used by horse archers who need a powerful bow in a smaller size.

Francisca

A throwing axe invented by the Franks.  It was designed to be thrown at the ground in front of an enemy, this would cause it to bounce up unpredictably and spin very fast.  This made it hard to block and when used this way by a line of warriors it could disrupt enemy formations.  It was heavy enough to break shields and to kill with a single blow and long enough that it was still an effective hand weapon if the wielder chose to swing it instead of throwing it.  It was so effective that a slightly longer version used primarily as a hand weapon was adopted by the Vikings.

Gladius/Gladia

The standard sword used by a Roman legionnaire.  In battle, legionnaires led with their shield (the scutum) and then used this short sword when they got in close by making quick stabbing attacks around the shield.  It was extremely effective in stabbing attacks, even against armor and was very good in hacking or slashing attacks.  It had no crosspiece or guard and was not used to parry or block an opponent’s attacks (the scutum was used for that).  Centurion shieldmaidens use a slimmer, lighter version of this weapon that they call a gladia.  The gladia has a blade 20-21 inches in length and a weight of 1.5-2.0 lbs.  They use it with their own version of a scutum (a scuta) in much the same way that the Roman legionnaires did.

Glaive

The glaive was one of the first polearms used in Europe.  It is similar to a spear.  It is a long pole with a heavy blade on top.  It can be swung with two hands and used like an axe or used in stabbing attacks like a spear.  The heavy blade is capable of piercing most kinds of armor.  Most glaives have some sort of hook or spar on the back of the head for hooking riders and pulling them off their horse.  It was an ideal weapon for a soldier on foot and was considered one of the most effective handheld weapons of all time.  Its only real drawback was its size which made it inconvenient to carry when not in battle and challenging to use with a shield.

Messer

The German word messer means knife.  Messers are a class of swords that can be thought of as “big knives”.  They are single edged swords similar in shape to larger butcher knives.  They are excellent for hacking and slashing and very good for stabbing attacks.  They are different from normal single edged swords because of their hilt construction and the inclusion of a nagel or a small metal projection from the side of the crosspiece to help protect the wielder’s hand.  Sir Gerard uses a langes messer (long knife) that is slightly bigger than the typical messer.  His has a 30“ blade and an extended handle so that it can be wielded with one hand or two.  Not all messers have pommels (a knob on the end of the hilt used to help balance the weight of the sword and to allow a striking attack with the hilt) but Sir Gerard’s does to help balance its weight.  Messers could be even larger with a kriegsmesser (“war knife”) being a two-handed weapon with a blade over 36” long.

Seax

The seax (pronounced “sax”) is a type of knife invented by the Saxons, an early Germanic tribe who, along with the Angles, migrated to/conquered England after the fall of Rome (hence the term Anglo-Saxon for Englishmen).  It is noteworthy for its drop point.  Most knives have their point in line with the spine or nearly in line with the spine.  The seax has its point either in line with the middle of the knife (in its earlier versions) or in line with the cutting edge (in its later versions).  This makes it excellent for slashing attacks and very good at stabbing attacks.  Seaxs come in various sizes and designs but Brendan uses a long seax.  A typical long seax was between 20” and 24” in total length and could be used as a short sword (Brendan’s was 24”).

** A note about knives: The difference between knives and daggers is that knives have only one cutting edge on one side of the knife while daggers have two cutting edges, one on each side.  Daggers are primarily weapons of war while knives are generally considered to be tools.  Some knives, such as the seax, also happen to be very good for fighting with.**

Centurion Steel

Centurion smiths and natural philosophers have made many important discoveries in the area of metallurgy making them centuries ahead of the rest of the world.  Steel is made by smelting iron from iron ore and then adding carbon to it, usually in the form of charcoal.  Most of the world cannot get iron hot enough to turn it completely into a liquid, they get it very soft, like chewing gum, but not actually into liquid form.  Because of this it is impossible to completely remove all the impurities and inclusions within the iron and to thoroughly mix carbon all the way through it.  Centurions have discovered smelting methods that allow them to smelt iron at very high temperatures and turn it into a liquid which produces a very pure iron and allows for a complete mixing of carbon all the way through the metal.  Centurions have also discovered some rare metals in some of their mines in East Francia that can be added into their steel during the smelting process to produce exceptional steels.  Centurion Steel is one of the most closely held secrets of the Order and part of their cultural identity.  It also gives them a clear technological edge that makes them formidable warriors despite their relatively small numbers.

Mollis: mollis refers to “soft” steel.  Low quality iron with many impurities and inclusions and a low carbon content would be considered mollis by Centurion smiths.  This is the standard steel used for weapons and armor by the rest of the world.  The Centurions will sometimes produce mollis while training new smiths because it is easy to make and easy to work with.  They use it for pots, flatware, and farming implements, not weapons or armor.

Durum: durum refers to “hard” steel and is the standard steel used by Centurions for most weapons and armor.  It is a very high quality, high carbon steel that is much stronger and harder than mollis.

Altum: altum refers to the “high” steel.  This is the legendary Centurion Steel that most outsiders are referring to when they speak of Centurion steel.  It is durum with small amounts of tungsten and vanadium added.  The addition of tungsten and vanadium into the steel alloy makes it even stronger and harder.  It is resistant to corrosion and will hold an edge like no other metal on earth.  The tungsten makes the steel denser but also stronger so the blades can be forged thinner to compensate for the slight increase in weight and thinner blades cut better.  Adding tungsten and vanadium increases the cost and makes the metal much harder to work so altum is used sparingly in Centurion castles.  Swords, some select weapons, and Mail and Plate armor for elite knights and shieldmaidens are its primary uses.

Centurion Medicine

Centurions have traveled around the world in their quest to learn the best medical practices and they have uncovered an incredible breadth of knowledge both ancient, domestic, and foreign.  They are also among the leading medical researchers in the world (Nian Zhen among them).

They grow and use a variety of potent herbs and advanced treatments including:

Willow leaves which have salicylic acid (aspirin) in them and are concentrated, distilled, and used as a pain reliever.

Opium which is highly restricted but is available for the most severe pain and injury.

Spanghum moss is used on wounds for its antiseptic qualities.

Green Beer - Streptomyces is a soil bacteria that is carefully maintained in a small hot house and then used to ferment beer.  Discovered by the ancient Nubians, this sour beer has a greenish tint and a golden colored foam on top.  It is laced with tetracycline and used as an antibiotic medicine. One batch can be used to ferment the next batch if it is kept warm.  It must be dosed carefully, it cannot be overused or it leads to iron deficiency.

Silver is antimicrobial and powdered silver and silver foil can be placed on wounds to help kill bacteria and prevent infection (it is NOT effective when taken orally).

Obsidian is used for medical tools, especially scalpels.

Distilled alcohol is used to disinfect equipment and wounds.  (The ability to distill alcohol is a major medical innovation by the Centurions, it is done by burning wine and collecting the alcohol vapors in copper tubes).

Silk is used for sutures to stitch up wounds.

Clinics are established in the village nearest the castle to provide free medical care to the villagers.  These also serve as training facilities for Centurion doctors and nurses.

Infirmaries and Apothecaries – each castle has a dedicated space for dealing with the sick and injured and for mixing medicines and managing medical supplies.

Sanitary conditions. Nian Zhen discovered by accident the value of washing one's hands between patients using alcohol and water and wearing a "body apron" which she changes between patients as well.  She originally did it because she is obsessive about personal cleanliness, especially around sick people.   When she discovered that her patients had lower mortality rates than some of her fellow Centurion doctors whom she knew were excellent, she made the connection between extreme cleanliness and reduced infection rates (they do not have any concept of germs yet but they know that dirty wounds can get infected and lead to death).  When her fellow Centurion doctors began following her cleanliness regimen the mortality rates in Centurion clinics and infirmaries fell dramatically.

Centurion medical texts are centuries ahead of anyone else.  Even internal organs are drawn and described (though the purpose of many is still a mystery since the Centurions do not practice vivisection).  The Centurions understand the value of studying the dead in order to help the living so Centurion doctors and nurses have a tradition of "leaving their bodies to science", that is, specifying that their bodies may be used for dissection and study purposes.  The bodies of those who are studied are then stitched back together as completely as possible afterwards and buried with full military honors as a sign of respect.  Centurion doctors have even begun developing protocols for autopsies.

Castle Parts

Castle Wall: The wall around the castle is called the curtain wall.  If the top of the wall is crenellated (has open sections called crenels for shooting through and raised sections called merlons for protection) the top part of the wall is called the battlement (a wall with a battlement on top is said to be “embattled”).  The pathway on top of the wall for the defenders to walk on is called the wallwalk or the parapet.  The entire defensive front of the wall, from the bottom of any moat to the top of the battlement is called the rampart.

Armory: A place to store all the weapons and armor that the smiths have made.

Bailey: The bailey is the main courtyard of the castle and is used as a training ground and as a staging area for troops getting ready to make a sortie out of the castle.  A bailey is specifically the courtyard surrounded by the curtain wall of the castle and its primary purpose is military.  Some castles had other kinds of courtyards (surrounded by buildings instead of the curtain wall) that served non-military purposes so referring to a bailey as a “courtyard”, while technically true, was potentially confusing and generally avoided.  For many castle dwellers the bailey was the bailey and everything else was a courtyard.

Ballista: A ballista is a large piece of siege equipment operated by a crew of 3-4 people.  It looks like an oversized crossbow set on a wooden frame.  It fires bolts that are up to 6 feet (2 m) long.  Early Roman versions used twisted ropes to provide the torsion to fire the projectile, but by the Middle Ages ballista were being built that used large steel arms as the limbs of the bow like a crossbow.  It was powerful enough that it could only be drawn by a winch attached to the frame.

Bakery: A place for baking bread.  Every castle has its own bakery and in Castle Warrick it is attached to the kitchens next to the brewery.  Bread was an important staple and part of every meal in medieval times.

Barracks: The building where troops are housed, it contains their bunks, lockers or trunks, and gear.  Bunk beds were invented during the Middle Ages (though their exact date of origin is hard to determine).  Castle Warrick is an early adopter of bunk beds in their barracks because in war time the population inside the castle can more than quadruple.

Brewery: A place for brewing beer.  In Castle Warrick it is attached to the kitchens next to the bakery.  Beer was a common beverage for most people in the castle (even teenagers) but it was by no means the only thing that people drank in the middle ages.  Water was often drunk if it was fresh and clean (which it is in Castle Warrick) and milk kept in silver jugs could remain drinkable for a week or more.  In Carinthia wine was also drunk but was imported from other regions rather than being fermented in the castle.  Alcohol was consumed in strict moderation in Centurion castles, beers and wines were frequently watered down, and drunkenness was not tolerated.

Chapel: The church building for the castle.  Early chapels were small and multiple services were sometimes necessary to accommodate a large castle population.

Keep: The main building in a castle is called the keep.  It served as both the home for the noble family living in the castle and as the final defensive fortification if the rest of the castle should fall.  The French word for the keep was don jon which developed into the English word dungeon.  Early castles didn’t have dungeons since keeping someone a prisoner for a long period of time as a punishment was unknown to them (lawbreakers were typically fined, whipped, pressed into service, or executed).  High ranking prisoners held for ransom would often be given nice quarters and allowed to roam around, they just weren’t allowed to leave the keep. It was not until much later when people began to see the advantages to holding on to political prisoners for long periods of time that the modern idea of dungeons began to take shape.

Privy: The toilet, it was also known as a garderobe when it is built inside of a castle (sometimes it was euphemistically called the jardin – French for “garden”).  If the privy was built outside in the bailey it was usually just a small wooden shack built over a pit.  If the privy was built inside of a building the waste dropped down through a chute into a cesspit that had to be cleaned out periodically.  Castle Warrick’s privies are stone buildings that dump the waste into sewers.  Still smelly but much better than a traditional privy.

Scorpion: A scorpion is essentially a small ballista designed to be operated by a crew of 1-2 people.   It looks like a large crossbow mounted on a wooden stand and fires bolts that are 4+ feet (1.5 m) long.

Smithy: where the blacksmiths work to make and repair weapons and armor.  It would contain a smelter, multiple forges, a large supply of coal, anvils, tools, and metal ore.

Stable: The building where the horses are kept, cared for, and fed.  The stables at Castle Warrick are extensive and can house up to 100 horses when necessary.  Temporary stables can be built in the bailey if needed to house additional horses when the Centurions are gathering troops for war.

Workshop: Centurion castles normally have workshops where natural philosophers are encouraged to experiment and make new discoveries.  It is usually built near the smithy and frequently has its own forge.