The Red Knight

Edward had a girl, but she worked, too. She would have to understand, because a chance to work with the master was every apprentice’s dream.

The master mixed the powder differently this time. Edward didn’t see how. But he moved a heavy iron pitch-bowl for repousse work into the yard, and cleared a lot of old rubbish – bits of ruined projects and soft wood for making temporary moulds and hordles – out of the way, in case they should catch fire. It wasn’t skilled work, but he was still working for the master.

The smoke was thicker this time, and the flame burned whiter.

Master Pyle looked at it, fanning his face to get the evil smelling smoke to clear. He had a bit of a smile.

‘Well,’ he said. He looked at Edward. ‘Are you ready for your examination, young man?’

Edward took a deep breath. ‘Yes,’ he said. And hoped that didn’t sound too cocky.

But Master Pyle nodded. ‘I agree.’ He looked around the yard. ‘Clear all this up, will you?’

That night in the loft, the apprentices whispered. The older boys knew when the master was making progress. They could tell just be the way he held his head. And because rewards suddenly emerged from the master’s purse, and boys got new work, and apprentices were suddenly tested to be journeymen. Lise, the eldest female cutler, had gone to the masters the week before. She’d passed.

And so Edward Chevins, senior apprentice and sometime shop boy, found himself up for journeyman. It was so sudden it made his head spin, and before the next morning was old enough to drink his beer, the Guild Hall had checked his papers, the Guild Masters examined him, his nerves were wracked, his hands shook – and he was left to sweat, alone, in a richly decorated room fit to entertain a king. It was plenty to overawe a seventeen-year-old blade smith.

Edward was a tall, gangly young man with sandy red hair and too many freckles. Standing under the stained glass of Saint Nicholas, he could think of twenty better answers he might have given to the question: ‘How do you achieve a bright, constant blue on a blade with a heavy forte and a needle point?’

He groaned. The other four boys who’d been tested with him looked at him with a mixture of sympathy and hope. It was too easy to believe that someone else’s failure raised one’s own hopes of success.

An hour later, the masters came into the hall. They all looked a little red in the face, as if they’d been drinking.

Master Pyle came and put a ring on his finger – a ring of fine steel. ‘You’re made, boy,’ he said. ‘Well done.’

Lorica – Ser Gawin

Gawin was awakened from his nap by the sound of men shouting in the courtyard. Angry voices have a timbre to them – especially when men mean violence.

Adam was at his bed. He had a heavy knife in his hand. ‘I don’t know who they are, m’lord. Men from overseas. Knights. But-’ Squires didn’t speak ill of knights. It was never a good idea. So Adam shrugged.

Gawin rolled off his bed, wearing only his braes. He pulled a shirt over his head, and with Thoma’s help got his legs into his hose and his torso laced into his pourpoint and his hose tied on.

Down in the courtyard one voice sounded clear above the others. Accented, but powerful controlled, elegant. The words ended with a long, clear laugh that sounded like bells.

Gawin went to his window and threw it open.

There were a dozen armoured men in the courtyard. At least three were true knights, and wore armour as good as Gawin’s own. Their men-at-arms were nearly as well armoured. It was possible they were all knights.

They all wore the same badge – a rose, gules, on a field d’or.

Not anyone he knew.

The leader with the magnificent laugh had silver-gilt hair and fine features – in armour, he looked like a statue of Saint George. He was beautiful.

Gawin felt ill-dressed and somewhat doltish in comparison.

Master Blodget stood in front of this saint with his hands on his hips.

‘But,’ the knight had a smile on his face, ‘But that is the room I want, Master Innkeeper!’

Blodget shook his head. ‘There’s a gentleman in that room – a belted king’s knight, in that room. First come, first served, m’lord. Fair is fair.’

The knight shook his head. ‘Throw him out, then.’

Toma had his master’s doublet and helped him into it. While Adam did the laces, Toma fetched his riding sword.

‘Follow me,’ Gawin snapped at the scared boy, and sprang down the stairs. He went through the common room – empty, because every man in the inn was in the courtyard watching the fun.

He stepped through the door and the knight turned to look at him. He smiled.

‘Perhaps I don’t wish to leave my room,’ Gawin called. He hated that his voice wavered. There was nothing to fear, here – just a misunderstanding, but the kind wherein a knight had to make a good show.

‘You?’ he asked. His tone of disbelief wasn’t mocking – it was genuine. ‘You are a king’s knight? Ah – Gaston, they need us here!’

Closer up, the men in the courtyard were huge. The smallest of them was a head taller than Gawin, and he was not a small man.