Faerie Knight 174

174 - Honors

Back home, the old men used to give a general a laurel wreath, when they won.  Always seemed stupid to me.  I’d rather have gold, wine, and women.

• The Life and Times of Legionary Titus Nasica

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4th Day of Deep Summer’s Moon, AC 297 

Henry was halfway through a sip of wine when the king said his name, and at first the sounds didn’t make any sense to him.  The knights at the table all looked at him, and he had the sudden and overwhelming urge to hide, or to sneak out of the courtyard.  Instead, he simply froze, with a goblet still raised to his lips.

Etoile’s elbow poked him in the ribs, and she hissed, “That’s you.  Put the goblet down and get up.”  It hurt, but he was just grateful that she was well enough to attend: Ettie’s recovery had been slow and painful.

He lowered the goblet, but his hand was shaking so badly that Henry spilled wine all over the trestle table.  He had the sudden urge to mop it up, but Sir Florent, Sir Erec and Dame Ettarre were all pushing him out into the center aisle between the tables, which was even worse because now he couldn’t even hide behind them.  Wiping his hands against each other to get rid of the wine as best he could, Henry stumbled forward.

On the one hand, he couldn’t look from side to side, because then he would be seeing all of the people who were watching him.  On the other hand, looking straight forward to where the king was waiting at the high table wasn’t any better.  Finally, Henry got close enough that he figured he should either kneel or bow, but wasn’t certain which to do.  “Your Majesty,” he croaked out, and even though he’d just had a drink his throat was almost too parched for talking.

“You may kneel,” King Lionel said, his tone mild, so Henry did.  It let him lower his eyes to the ground, at least, so he didn’t have to think about where to look any longer.  “You came to Falais with Sir Trist, your liege, and have fought bravely from your mission in the Hauteurs Massif, to your fight against the Plague Dancer in the Tomb of Abatur, and then to Rocher de la Garde, where you led a raid on the enemy siege-engineers at the edge of the Ardenwood.”

Henry couldn’t help but look up, and flinched when he met the king’s eyes, looking down again immediately.  “Surprised that I knew?” the king asked, with a smile.  “I have spoken to Sir Trist, and his Squire, and others.  From there you accompanied Lady Clarisant to Raetia, where you fought against the daemon Forneus.  Here at Lutetia, you fought a third daemon - this time Loray.  Henry, very few men - men who are not Exarchs - fight a single daemon and survive, let alone three.”

Henry hunched his shoulders against the murmuring that rose around him from dozens of tables spread across the castle courtyard.  “It wasn’t ever me that got us through any of that,” he spoke up, finally.  “I was mostly just along to help where I could.  Begging your pardon, Your Majesty.”

The king shook his head.  “Would you consider joining the Cheverny Palace Guard, Henry?  I could do far worse than to surround myself with men brave enough to help where they could, even against daemons.”

“I’d rather not, if that’s alright with you, Your Majesty,” Henry said.  “I’m a hunter.  My Da’s a hunter.  I’m not really comfortable in high castles with noble-born barons and knights and what have you.  If it’s all the same to you, I’ll say thank you for the offer, and take myself back to the Ardenwood.”  If Trist hadn’t told him over and over what a good man the king was, he might never have dared to say it.  There were some men that, once they got a taste of power, would have your head for refusing them.

“I suspected you would say that,” the king said.  “But I regret it all the same.  You leave me with no other option, then.”  There was a ring of steel on leather, and the king’s boots approached, halting in Henry’s vision, just in front of where he knelt.  Henry flinched, but the sword came down in front of him, tip into the earth, held vertically by the king’s own hands.

“Place your hands on the hilt,” Lionel Aurelianus said, and the crowd stirred.  Henry put his hands up, and the king took them in his own and made sure both men were gripping the sword together.  “Henry of Camaret-à-Arden, I charge you to never commit outrage or murder, always to stand against  treason, and to give mercy to those who ask for mercy, upon your honor and the honor of your family, forever more. I charge you always to help ladies, and never to commit rape, upon pain of death. Finally, I charge you to never take up a battle in a wrongful quarrel—not for love, nor for any worldly goods.  Do you so swear, by your hope of salvation under the Angelus?

Henry’s mind wasn’t working right, and none of what was happening made sense, but he couldn’t imagine doing just about any of that in his life, so he said, “Yes.  I mean, I do.”

“Let go,” the king whispered, and Henry dropped his hands.  The king lifted the sword and touched it once to each of Henry’s shoulders.  “For your unfailing valour and loyalty, Henry of Camaret-à-Arden, I hereby name you a Knight of the Kingdom of Narvonne.  Your baron will provide you a knight’s fee, and you will provide yearly service as is your duty.  Now rise.”

Henry stood, and before the king spun him around to face the crowd, he caught sight of Sir Trist and the Lady Clarisant raising their goblets.  Theirs were the first voices to shout huzzah, but not by any means the last.  The king clapped him on the back, and sent him back to his table, but the entire walk was more of a stumble.

“Congratulations, Sir Henry,” Ettie told him, with a grin, and then caught him in a one-armed embrace that had the other knights at the table thumping their goblets against the wood.  There were other men honored, but Henry didn’t hear who or why for several minutes.  Sir Florent poured him a new cup of wine in time for him to get his head together for the squires, but Henry had missed every other common man’s turn.

“Did you know they were going to do that?” Henry asked Ettie, as the young heir to Falais, Isdern, was called forward.  The king was pledging gold from the royal treasury to fund repairs at Falais, but Henry only half paid attention.

“Lady Clarisant might have mentioned something,” she said, eyes sparkling and grinning.  “Here, look, it’s Yaél’s turn.”

Indeed, when Henry returned his attention to the high table, Yaél had joined Isdern, and both squires knelt before the king, side by side.

“I would knight you both,” King Lionel began, “if you were older.  As it is, I do not wish to ruin the future I see ahead of these brave young people by ending their training before they have been able to learn everything they can.  Yaél du Havre de Paix, as you are not yet heir to any lands, I hereby bestow upon you a pension of forty silvers annually, to be paid from the royal treasury, for the remainder of your life.  Until you have come of age, each year’s sum will be held for you by the Crown.  Additionally, I have a gift for each of you.”

The king’s own blacksmith, Clovis, stepped forward at the signal, with two sheathed longswords, and handed one to each squire.  “These are good steel,” the burly man told the two young people.  “Take care of these blades, and they’ll take care of you.”

“Thank you, Clovis.  You may be seated,” the king told the two squires, who returned to their table with wide grins and their swords clutched to their chests.  The honors and rewards continued, and Henry observed that the king continued to proceed in order of rank.  After moving through commoners, and then through the squires, he got started on the knights.

Etoile was called forward, though she moved gingerly, and she received a pension as Yaél had, as well as forgiveness from her duty to provide yearly service as a knight for the remainder of her life, in recognition of the loss of her arm.  The king also gave her a letter, signed by Baron Urien, that released her from her oath of fealty to him.  Other knights that Henry did not know by name followed her, but her turned to Ettie for a moment, putting them out of his mind.

“You look like you don’t know whether to be happy or upset,” he pointed out, once she’d settled back into her seat.

“I spent years training to be a knight,” she admitted, leaning in so they could hear each other over the occasional roar of the crowd.  “It’s kind, what His Majesty did.  I won’t ever starve.  And I know that I’d be no good in battle any longer, so that’s a relief.  But I don’t know what to do now.”

“I thought you were coming with us back to Camaret-à-Arden,” Henry recalled, and took a drink.  His hands were sweaty.  “To be the new master at arms.”

“I originally thought I would continue to serve as Lady Clarisant’s guardian,” Ettie said.  “But I won’t be any good at that either, now.  I know they want me to be master at arms, but I’m certain they could find someone better to do that.  Someone who can still fight.”

“They asked you,” Henry pointed out.  “That means they want you.”

“Or that they feel guilty,” Ettie said.  “They are both kind people.  But I don’t want to be a burden to them.  Another mouth to feed, useless.”

“You aren’t useless,” Henry told her, frowning.  “Don’t talk about yourself that way.”

“I’m still not certain it wouldn’t have been better for you to just let me die,” Etoile said.  “Tithed my soul to the Queen of Winter.”

Henry clenched his hand into a fist, but he wasn’t angry at her - not really.  He was angry at the monster that had nearly killed her, and left her so torn up over being crippled that she didn’t know what to do with herself.  He was no good with words - not like Sir Trist - but he had to say something.

“I couldn’t,” he said.  “If you don’t like that, I hope you can forgive me.  But I couldn’t let you die.  And I couldn’t-” Henry broke off.  The very idea of driving that frozen sword into her body made his stomach roil.

“Look,” he continued.  “Don’t make any decisions right away.  Come back with us, and see how it is. Yaél’s a good girl, and I’m sure you can teach her a lot.  And hey,” Henry said, forcing himself to smile, and nudging her with his arm.  “You said you liked my stew, right?  You have to come try it the way my Da makes it, at least once.  I can never get it to be quite as good as his.”

Etoile looked at him as if she might break into tears at any moment.  “Do you actually still want me around?” she asked.  “Even like this?”  She waved her remaining hand at the space where her missing arm should have been.  “I’d hardly be out of bed yet, without Trist’s magic - nevermind sitting here.”

“Of course I do,” Henry said.  “Who else is going to tell me how good my cooking is?”  He reached out to wrap an arm around her, and carefully pulled her close against his side.  To his surprise, Etoile leaned her head in, resting it against his shoulder.

“Sir Florent du Rive Ouest,” the king called, and the tables erupted again in cheers as the old knight stood, then walked up the center aisle to kneel before the high table.

It was an odd feeling to have a woman snuggled against him, Henry realized.  Odd, but pleasant.  He’d never been good with girls, and Ettie was nothing like the ones he’d pictured himself with, back when he was a young man.  But something about it felt right, and he wanted her to know that he wasn’t going to abandon her.

Perhaps one day, he would have better words for what he was feeling, but for now, Henry hoped silence and an arm was enough.