This idea has been floating around for quite some time and I only recently got around to starting it in earnest. I've always been passionate about the time period and wondered how a young teen from nobility might explore sexual attraction in such a religious, rigidly-structured society. What do you guys think about this first segment? I call it Uncommon Valor. --- Stephen jolted awake. He had practiced sleeping through the smith's clanging morning rhythm, but today the noise was added to outside his bedroom door, which rattled under frantic thumps. Bianca, the housekeeper, cried to him, "Stephen, out of bed with you this instant!" "Mhmh," he replied, buried above his ears in the covers. It was not uncommon for servants of lower houses to speak to their employers as such. But Stephen was the youngest d'Aubigne, a name his family inherited from a famous conquerer at Hastings. He would not like to tolerate her treating him as if their stations were reversed. On the other hand, she had attended his birth and scarcely left his side after fourteen-and-a-half years. The haze of sleep he struggled to maintain was enough to drive away offense at the scolding. Replacing his anger stood irritation. Why should I wake now? Sunday was yesterday and my tutor won't return until tomorrow. He tried to shut out the pounding at his door. Perhaps another servant would have enough of it and stop her. "We have guests and you will appear to greet them!" What guests could she mean... Heavens above! Stephen's family employed one of the greatest trainers of knights in southern England. The guests she mentioned must be students and their entourages. And Stephen was meant to join them to graduate from page to squire. Today. He threw back his blankets, dressing like a boy possessed. He unlocked the latch on his door to let Bianca in to help him. She entered with a jabber of admonitions, not ceasing while she picked up the broom in the corner and struck him on the backside with as many blows as would land. "This will not be the only limb to bruise you if you attend to your training as lazily! Expect many a stick to play a tune on your scrawny ribcage! "Mercy, Bianca, I pray you!" he begged. She let up once he had gotten into a defensive posture and turned her attacks. He groaned, rubbing several swelling lumps. "Is it too late to attend the ceremony?" Her demeanor changed from assailant back into caretaker when she drew out a comb to straighten his bed-hair. "See what your father in the hall has to say. Run, child." He thanked her and raced out of the room. Perhaps his father, Calvin, lord of Shepherdswell, would look more kindly on him. He had observed well the sort of treatment Bianca imposed on his son, but only when deserved. He would not add to the punishment, especially with important duties to attend to, such as playing host to students from abroad. The fact that Stephen did not wake with the rest of the house should not matter. It's not every day that a boy enters squireship, the point of which is to grow beyond the weaknesses of youth into a knight fit for service to his lord. And that's just what he intended to do. Stephen wound his way through the narrow passages of the manor house to the hall. His father rested in a chair before the crackling hearth, his velvet cloak thrown back to let in its warmth. Orange light flickered on his figure, glinting off his necklace and sharpening the deep wrinkles around a mischievous smile brought on by his son's arrival. "Good morning, son," he boomed, adjusting his posture in the chair, "Come. We've company who were told a lad lives here. I was beginning to doubt the claim myself." "Good morning, sir," Stephen replied, as proudly as he could muster while reminded of his fresh shame. He smoothed his tunic and hosen, and ran his hands through his hair one more time to stand before the guests. Across from his father on a simple bench were seated two boys, behind whom stood their armed escorts. The one nearer to Stephen rose and bowed with narrow eyes regarding him deliberately, introducing himself, "Richard Rosewarne, at your service." He returned the bow. "Stephen d'Aubigne, at yours." Learning Richard's name did little to reduce his discomfort. The blonde boy loomed over him in height, and the added bulk from his forest green gambeson only further broadened his muscular silhouette. Stephen hoped this new peer's greater physique was not the model by which his own strength saw judgment. Surely Richard imagined already the beatings he would deliver to his inferior opponents. Stephen shifted his attention to the other page who would train with him. This second boy was blessed in sharing nothing in common with Richard, sitting straight with his porcelain fingers interlaced in his lap. He did not jump to introduce himself as the first did. Until prompted, he glanced wide-eyed from his accompanying soldier to Stephen and back. Upon the soldier's command given in a vaguely familiar language, he sharply stood and bowed low, his straight dark hair just long enough to slip in front of his eyes. He replaced the errant locks upon straightening and said, "Elliott Deering, at your service." Stephen had difficulty understanding the boy's strange accent, not that he paid quite enough attention to the words. The way Elliott ran his fingers through his hair had Stephen's mind stuck on the act. It took his father's call of "Stephen?" to remember to bow in return. He did, with heat in his cheeks after Richard sniggered at his faux pas. "Very well," Lord d'Aubigne announced, standing with a sweep of his cloak, "Let us make for the chapel. The master-at-arms awaits, alongside the knights with whom you will serve. I've also sent criers to gather the townspeople there so they might observe their future protectors. You may better acquaint yourselves summarily." Stephen's heart had scarcely stopped its rapid thumping since Bianca's spirited hammering on his door. Now, his day entertained a flurry of activity, none of which he properly understood save that his actions would now bear greater consequence. That he too battled an odd fixation about his peer-in-training added to his distress. For now he contented himself with focusing on the task at hand-- completing the ceremony and accepting the title of squire. A marshal led out a rouncey for his father to ride. He and his mother, along with the other pages participating, rode in a cart flanked by the accompanying footmen on their own mounts. The procession exchanged no words on the way. Richard in particular squinted and shielded his eyes from the brilliant sun. Elliot sat content, from what Stephen could tell. The foreigner's skin shone so fairly in the light. Only now the scattering of tiny freckles across his nose became properly visible. Elliott turned and caught Stephen's entranced gaze. He looked away as fast as his eyes moved, regretting having indulged as he did. A small hope remained that perhaps Elliott did not notice as they arrived at the chapel. The bright-skinned boy finally broke the silence by speaking to Stephen, "I wish luck to your instruction." His words came out slowly and without refinement, tinted near to unintelligible by his late and far-flung study of the tongue. But when punctuated by such a grin as he gave, Stephen received his sincerity. The chance for courting a lady in the near future remained, but how thankful he would be merely to share his forthcoming trials with this newcomer. Villagers began to trickle into the sanctuary. The whole place held a festive air, bedecked with ribbons and baskets of flowers hung in the alcoves for the occasion. Lord Calvin took his place by the priest beside the altar. In the first row knelt the master-at-arms and three knights in full battle dress with heads bowed in prayer, the steel of their mail and spaulders shimmering beneath richly colored tabards. Only two of the devices embroidered on the knights' raiments appeared familiar to Stephen; the first showed the crisp ermine of Sir Ambrose Highmoor, his elder cousin who lived with him in Shepherdswell. The arms of the second incorporated a blue field harboring three gold lions, borne by a family near to the southwesternmost peninsula. The third displayed heraldic elements and complementary colors familiar to him, but arranged in such a way to remain all but entirely unknown. Each guess at the third man's household garnered no more confidence than the last. The boys found their places in the front and the priest cleared his throat, silencing the congregation. The ritual began as many did, with the Paternoster and a psalm. After that he continued in melodious Latin, "Lord Calvin has gathered us here to bear witness to these three young men, who seek the respect of landed warriors. The title of squire, the last before knight, is conferred upon those high-born sons who prove their worth." Stephen squirmed, the pit entrenched in his stomach now that his moment was at hand. The priest motioned to the boys, "Alight, my sons." He and the others filed into places shown to them near the altar, on display for the village and the proud knights to teach them. Stephen resisted the urge to wipe the beads of sweat forming on his temples. Their clergyman's address continued, "Today, these three among us who have long sought the title shall see it granted. Their sires, and some of us here, have watched eager boys grow into men. By the oaths of their tutors, and before the grace of God, they have demonstrated over this seven-year period their diligence of study, strength of arms, meekness of manner, and righteousness of motive. As each receives the token of his new rank, may God thenceforth guide his hands." A chorus of "Amen" swelled from the audience as the priest relinquished the floor to the western knight introduced as Sir August Fowler. He commanded, "Kneel, Richard Rosewarne." The boy obeyed. The knight before him pulled from his belt pouch a silver chain made of lengths of three or four links interchanged with leather thongs. He held the chain aloft and recited, "Upon this squire's token rests the expectation of your services to the lord of Taunton by your conditional concorde with myself, and by extension, to the English people by my fealty to His Majesty, King Edward. Before God, do these burdens you swear to uphold with honor?" Richard met Sir August's gaze and thrust out his ample torso, declaring, "Upon my honor I swear." Sir August placed the chain around the boy's neck and announced, "Arise, then, Richard Rosewarne, squire to Sir August Fowler of Taunton." A smattering of applause rung from the peasants in attendance as Richard returned to the pew, his expression solemn and stoic. Sir Ambrose took the other knight's place and called for Stephen to kneel. He fell to his knees with all eyes upon him, at the same time proud as he was ready for the whole business to be over. Sir Ambrose's repetition of a similar oath arrived muddled to his ears, as it had to wait for his own torrent of thoughts to pass through. His old routine as a page for his father's small force of knights would no longer do. Rather than learn letters and maintain equipment, he may be expected now to compose poems, or defend himself from the same swords he polished a week prior. He looked back at the boys. Richard knelt at the pew, looking out the window. Elliott met his eyes, beaming and waving at him. Seeing his new friend's enthusiasm lent him a shot of courage. He returned his attention to Sir Ambrose, who presented a similar squire's chain and asked for his oath before wearing it. "I swear it, sir," he stammered. His new leader draped the chain around his neck, ordering, "Arise, Stephen d'Aubigne, squire to Sir Ambrose Highmoor of Shepherdswell." Stephen tried to maintain the stern demeanor Richard did. But while feeling the cool heft of his new treasure, gazing out at the people cheering for him, and receiving Elliott's frantic clapping, his knightly bearing crumbled and a wide smile spanned his face. Elliott's promotion followed. The knight he was to serve, Sir Philip, spoke with a sharp Spanish accent. But when it came to identifying the fief of his liege, he named "Bordeaux." What business could a Spaniard have serving a French lord and training his squire in England? Stephen dismissed his wondering for Elliott's sake when he received his token, returning the same energy in his applause the boy gave him before. Lord Calvin wrapped up the ceremony by thanking the knights for choosing to train with his master-at-arms, and bid the party to return to the house in preparation for a feast later. Never in recent memory had Stephen enjoyed riding a cart as much, with his cousin Sir Ambrose as a teacher, and Elliott radiating warmth to him by sitting so closely by his side. Not even Richard's off-putting attitude put a dent in his light spirit on the way back. ---
