lll: The Silver Lance

Chapter Three
The Silver Lance

BACK IN THOSE DAYS, IT was common for the king’s herald to declare throughout the streets, by trumpet, a fortnight of jousting and celebration. In answer to the king’s invitation, archers would come to try their skills, and knights would prove their strength in different games, such as jousting or in a tournament. Squires attended knights, and some of the more prominent pairs were called as second-in-command for the mock-battles. That was quite rare, however, and to do it one would have to either own great riches or be very skilful in arms. There were commonly two weeks (called a fortnight) of this kind of thing; the first week for archery, wrestling, and other show of arms, and the second for the most important thing, jousting or mock battling.

It was on one of these days that Gadahin awoke. Loud cheering and trumpet blasts intruded into his sleep, so much that he was forced to rise and look out the window. The sun was just coming up as Gadahin threw open the wooden shutters, and the hilltops that lined the edge of the horizon were pink with the glow of the dawn. Looking out of the window, Gadahin observed the king’s herald making his way with difficulty through a milling crowd. After watching the herald’s vain endeavors to disperse the multitudes, Gadahin pulled himself away from the window and departed to the room across the hall.

At that time, young Gadahin was much more excellent with the lance than any in Krona. No one knew that important fact; nay, not even Gadahin himself knew it. Even if Gadahin had, he would not have believed it. Only the Knight Paresis, an old, wise knight that loved the young squire like a father, knew this fact. Paresis was a frequent guest of the great manor, and with delight he often watched the young baron display his skills. He had been a close friend of Lady Evangeline before the plague had come to snatch her life away. Besides him, the only man that knew this same fact was Lord Percy, the lord under whom Gadahin had served as page. This noble individual would frequently converse with his learned friend, Paresis, and even some days he himself would undertake to privilege the castle of Elziver with a glimpse of his illustrious presence. But other than those two, no one knew that Gadahin was steadily rising into the empty place, left by his dead father, to become England’s greatest Champion.

“His Royal Highness declares a tournament to be celebrated this fortnight, as the yearly festival for His Majesty’s subjects, calling all knights, archers, and such as have skill to come to the tournament grounds. Under the royal command of King Richard the First, with His Majesty himself as witness, the Scots and English knights will try their might against one another in a…tourney!”

As Gadahin heard the ringing shouts, a plan formed in his mind. He, Gadahin, would attend a knight as squire and draw his own arms if the knight fell. But one problem arose. What armor would he wear? Also, he had no trusty lance.

Dismally he went to the dining hall of his manor, and sat down to eat, with a crease on his brow. Throughout breakfast, the problem occurred to him more than once. Johánnes, a trusty French servant, who loved his young master with all a servant’s simple love, noted Gadahin’s thoughtful look and boldly spoke up, his words bespeaking a French accent and his English sadly broken.

“Bonjour, Monsieur, may I be of help in any way?”

“I know not, Johánnes. There is a question which I trow not how to solve in such a short while.” He paused, and Johánnes turned to leave with a gloomy nod. Gadahin raised his hand. “Nay, stay awhile.”

Johánnes obediently leaned forward to catch Gadahin’s words.

“Have you no thought of where armor might be in this manor? My good mother had no time to tell me any of this before the plague took her. I’m thinking of going to the tournament.”

“O!” Johánnes nodded. “Oui, monsieur. The Knight Paresis should know. For he ’twas your mother’s confidant. To the Tournament? C’est la vie. Monsieur may try his skills there. Excellent Angleterre, only broken Francais, oui?”

Gadahin smiled at the latter sentence with some amusement. “Nay, you have not mastered our language yet, monsieur.”

“Sir knight, tu as ete en Angleterre, et tu parles bien le langage.”

Gadahin raised his hand to stop the eager chatter of the Frenchman “Un peu, Johánnes, but not now. Nay, I cannot teach you now. But Sir Paresis—be you sure he ’twould know?”

“Oûi, monsieur.”

“Then go to, and fetch him. You may depart now.”
With a meek nod the faithful Johánnes trotted off, well pleased at successfully mixing some French words into his rather broken English. Gadahin watched him go, wondering if the knight would even come, and if he did, if he would know.

Sure enough, the triumphant Johánnes brought in quite shortly afterwards the old knight Paresis. The white-haired and venerable paladin greeted Gadahin with kindness.

“And you wish to go to the Tournament? Aye, I commend you for that. It would be a good thing to try your skills. We all must, sooner or later, try our wings, and you are wise to start now. As for armor—aye, Gadahin, I know where it is. Your excellent mother confided to me the exact whereabouts.” He rubbed his forehead, and nodded at Gadahin’s surprised look. “There is indeed armor in this castle. Come, we will go and seek it out.”

The old knight led the young baron up a steep hallway and down a long hall without further hesitation. There were many outlets and secret nooks in the manor, and as yet Gadahin was not sure of them all.

“You have a fine manor. Know you all its’ chambers?” Paresis asked as the two men turned to climb up the second pair of stairs.

“My mother showed me nearly all there was to see.”

“Good. ’Twas I who was your mother’s confidential friend, so you must call on me if ever you need another thing.”

The stairway, which the companions were now mounting, was one not often frequented. Lacy cobwebs, thin and delicate, hung uncertainly on tiny silken strands from the cracked ceiling, and in the thick stone walls a few holes had broken through.

“Now come, my son. Here is where we shall find your armor.”

As they were speaking, the old knight had come up to a heavy oaken door well barred and shut. The strange carvings that crisscrossed all over the door added yet another gloomy touch to the dark halls, the thick, bare walls, and the uncarpeted floors.

“Ah—my mother’s storage room. I never thought it would be in here,” said Gadahin, as Sir Paresis pushed with all his might on the heavy door.

“Aye, you would think not. But it is, my son, and you shall soon see.” He rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. “It feels just as if I were in the old days, when I was a younger man, and your mother but a pretty, young lady. It seems to me that she would appear any minute now.” He paused, and Gadahin could tell his thoughts were away in a world of which the young squire knew nothing.

Sir Paresis abruptly interrupted both his and Gadahin’s thoughts. “Now come, and I will show you a wondrous weapon and a handsome hauberk laid away many years ago here. Unless,” he added frowningly, “the rats have pilfered it.”

Gadahin added his strength to the weak old man’s attempts at opening the door, and between them the heavy obstacle gave way instantly. With a low groan it opened into a dark and dingy-looking room, cluttered about with many things. Gadahin looked around him as if he had never seen it before, but the old knight made his way confidently to a small door in the further side of the room.

“In here you shall find what you seek.” Sir Paresis’ voice sounded far away from the corner of the room. “Come, did you ever know of this room?”

“Nay, I ne’er guessed what lay behind it, though I knew it was there,” Gadahin said.

The squire had known the door was there, but always assumed it a storage area for unusable items. When he was still a boy, his mother had always locked the storage room door, and it was only she who ventured inside it. He did not wonder much about it then, except perhaps once when she had strongly ordered him away from it. Now he found it rather strange that he had never entered it before.

As the door to the little room slowly creaked open, Gadahin took a step forward and peered inside the gloomy darkness that lay beyond the doorway. To be sure, one would have no idea that the armor, much less any armor, would be laid there.

“Come inside, my son.” Sir Paresis touched Gadahin on the shoulder. “I will now show you the wondrous armor laid away here. Mayhap it is still in good condition. From the knowledge of the artful craftsman who formed it, I trow that it yet looks as good as new.” The old knight moved inside the room, ducking his head to escape the long, brushing cobwebs. Gadahin followed a little less confidently, for he was not sure what varmints inhabited the dark room, nor what enormous spiders might be hiding in the cobwebs that were all too frequently brushing against his head.

“Ah, a torch. One minute, and I will light it.” As he groped along, Paresis’s hand reached a small recess in the wall, finding the stub of a torch clinging to the plaster. It burst into flame as he rubbed it vigorously against the cemented wall.

There were no windows in the old room, except for one small square in the far wall. It was as dark as a dungeon, and very quiet. Purple draperies, faded and torn, hung from the walls, giving an air of lost wealth to the ancient chamber; and chests that had once been a marvel of workmanship were now rotting away far in the hidden corners of the room.

“I should like to know all that is in this room,” Gadahin said at length, when his companion had lighted the torch.

“Aye. You may find very many valuable things in this room. Now look about you while I find the armor.”

Gadahin eagerly agreed, and proceeded to look about him. The room was not as small as it looked when the door first opened into it. All sorts of trinkets and old collectibles were clustered about the walls, too old and rusty for any use, falling into near-oblivion from the years they had hid away unknown. There was an enormous chest laid away in the far shadows, and a crooked picture of a severe-looking Trojan on the left wall; carpets had been bundled away in the back, old chairs sat near the little window, and charred books sat disconsolately on a rotting shelf. Gadahin noted that everything, whether rotted or starting to rot, had been placed by an artful hand. Every single article was of the best quality that could be bought. The old cellar had been a handsome room long ago.
“Why would the armor be stored in here?” Gadahin asked, as his eyes grew accustomed to the light, and his mind recovered from its shock.

“Once, this room had been your mother’s favorite banquet-hall, so beautiful had it been. You may still see the remains. It was large, too, even larger than it is now. The chamber leading to it had been part of it, and the hall beyond. I say, messier, it was a stunning sight to see, when it was in all its glory—a dining hall fit for King Richard himself, long may he live. But the masons were ordered by your mother to build walls around it and encase it in. Later, its name was changed to the ‘storage-room’. Your mother allowed it to decay for several reasons, one of which was the fear of thieves. For there are some things hid in this room, my son, which are worth a king’s ransom. When your good father married, the country was as honest and simple as it could be, and there were but few bandits. But at the time of your father’s death, many rogues and knaves learned from unknown sources of the wealth that your father owned, which awakened their roguish greed. The only thing that stood between them, they thought, was a weak baroness and her infant son. But she was not what they thought, for she withstood them all. Even His Majesty the King, good Henry Vll, stood behind her to help her prove her power. For the law commands that those who own a manor must be no woman, but only a man. However, the king discovered several obscure laws that could prove the cause of your father’s wife. So, she locked up this room, comman-ded that no one enter it, and let the valuables drown in obscurity. The thieves were comp-letely outwitted and drifted away to a far-off country after a few vain attempts at securing the treasure. No one supposed this room anything more than a storage room. I saw that e’en you yourself thought so.”

Gadahin nodded. Paresis continued.

“She brought me hither one day, shewed unto me all her house, and asked that I would tell her son of this hidden room, should she die.” Many things had been entrusted to this great man—for a man who could keep such a thing, and keep it well and quiet for many years, was indeed great. “That is all. Do you understand it?”

Gadahin answered in the affirmative.

“Good. Now let me search yet more, for I know not the exact place of the armor.”

The old knight swiped his forehead with a piece of torn brocade and commenced his searching without further comment. Gadahin mused on the unusual tale and wondered where the valuables were, and if he could find them. In this old, rotted room, jewels worth a king’s ransom had lain for years—and now they were his! His head reeled at the thought and he pulled at his hair frowningly.

“I did misremember one thing. The valuables are in yonder chest.” Paresis’ words startled Gadahin out of his musings. Following Paresis’ pointed finger, Gadahin walked over to a chest lying against the wall on the right, hidden far back in the shadows. It was the same chest his sharp eyes had pierced as he had walked in.

The heavy chest, carved in the same way as all the ones lying near it, was very enormous and remarkably sturdy. Gadahin noted that it had not rotted away like any of the others, and as he stooped to look at it he observed that the wood exterior held a fragrant, woody scent, which he recognized instantly as cedar.
Kneeling on the dusty floor, he pulled at the heavy lock that kept the chest shut. Suddenly it emitted a shrill squeak, and the lock fell away. Nothing was left to bar it.

The top of the oaken chest was carved with so many strange faces that it made one dizzy to look at it. The faces seemed to leer at Gadahin as he pulled at the lid, and from the way they were carved, it appeared as if it all told a strange tale.

Gadahin tugged harder at the lid and it flew open, just as the lock had. In the dim light he saw a few chunks of wood lying in the bottom, but nothing else. Disappointedly he gazed at them.

But it did not take him long to observe what a common viewer would never have seen. The chunks of wood lying in the chest were long, narrow pieces of oak, and there were thin, dark lines around all their sides, which hinted a mere possibility of something. Gadahin sat on his knees, picked one up, and found it very heavy. He pulled at the top, and found it resisting his hand. He pulled harder and instantly discovered that each piece was a cleverly constructed box, formed to resemble the shape of a useless piece of wood.

“Ho! You have found it, have you? Messier squire, you have the observance of only a few!” Sir Paresis said. “Inside those pieces of clumsy wood lay jewels worth a kingdom. Now come, and lay those toys down. I have found your armor.”

“Toys?”

“What else do you call something that people strive for, play with, shout with joy over and cry over? Toys, I tell you, as all earth’s products are. Rich men buy them to play with. Another, poorer, steals it and plays with it. Then the rich receive it back by force. It goes on and on. I tell you, my son, strive not for these things. Toys of time—bah! I would name as good, real, and true, something that shall never leave you, which you will never lose. Those things, my son, are real and true jewels. Now come and fetch your armor.” Paresis spoke in a stern voice.

As Paresis spoke, Gadahin was remembering similar words of his mother on a long-ago November evening, near a fireplace in the great hall. How she had impressed this in his mind! He did not even hear Paresis’ command to fetch his armor. As a result, the old knight was forced to tug on Gadahin’s shoulder, and bring him back into earth with a sharp reprimand.

“Let us come out in the light. You may see the armor better yonder. Gadahin, my son, I tell you, you have some excellent, sturdy, handsome armor here. I had thought it was rotting quite away by now, as every other thing here did. But nay, it was too well made to do so.” He brushed his forehead thoughtfully. “Yet all other armor would have been so much rotted by now that one could not e’en put it on. It is a true marvel, my son.” After a moment of ponderous silence, he handed the light, handsome hauberk to the surprised Gadahin, and turned towards the chest again.

“There is yet one thing missing,” Paresis acknowledged slowly. “I know of a lance your father owned, a great lance, a marvel of sturdy silver. Aye, solid silver it was, too, yet unbreakable. Many a knight coveted it.”

Gadahin looked up. “Why have I not heard of all these things ’afore?”

“I have told you. This room was locked up and the memory of these wondrous things faded away as the years passed. Your mother died before she could tell you all, and e’en if she could have, you would have been too young. Now, try it on while I look for your lance.”

Gadahin opened the door of the little storage room, and brought the hauberk next to the window of the larger chamber, where rays of golden sunlight were flooding through the sill with a pretty effect. He was surprised to see how new and unused the glistening hauberk appeared, shining gloriously as he turned it in his hands. The storage room had not been opened in about nine years and in that time any other object kept away in that lonely room would have rusted well away. Yet the silver mail Gadahin held in his hand was gleaming so brightly that it could easily have been mistook as new.

The squire slowly pulled it over his head, and allowed the shining rings to slide over his head and arms. He emerged, as it were, into another world. No longer was he Gadahin the young squire, but Gadahin the knight. His hands, feet, arms—all except his eyes, nose, and mouth—were quite covered by the steel. As he slowly turned around, he imagined that the clink of his armor was the clink of a golden sword at his side, and the tightness round his chest as the belt whereon the sword was buckled. It was the first time he had ever worn such a thing, though he did not move awkwardly in it, but wore it as if he had used it all his life.

Perfectly did the beautiful hauberk fit him. Gadahin looked as noble as a squire could possibly look inside it, and even more so, for he looked the picture of a perfect knight. A faded, dingy belt still hung loosely around the waist, and the surcoat that was supposed to hang gracefully around the shoulders lay on the armor like shreds of past finery.

Just then Sir Paresis came out, empty-handed and sorrowful-faced.

“I have not found the lance. I have no thought of where it may be.” He paused, then turned again to the squire. His eyes lit up at seeing the armor upon Gadahin. “Ah, my son, you do look as knightly as your father did! You now appear more knightly than e’en myself, when I was young and in such health as you.” The knight stared in admiration, then suddenly raised his hand. “But wait. I remember seeing a belt and surcoat that would go well with your armor in the morning-room. Stay yonder, my son, and I will bring it shortly.”

Gadahin nodded, afraid to break the magical world he had first entered when donning the hauberk. Sir Paresis fled down the stairs as if his life depended upon bringing the surcoat, and Gadahin’s astonishment was lost in amusement. The old man was over three-score years old, but he seemed to lose all his age and frailty when he had something in his mind.

Quite soon the old knight came up again, triumphantly bearing a handsome purple surcoat and a silver belt. A sword, heavy and handsome, hung from the belt.

Sir Paresis was panting heavily by the time he reached Gadahin. “Ho! There—buckle…it on, my son, tightly… Fine you appear, indeed! But what about the silver lance? I cannot believe that it is not in that room.” Paresis scratched his head concernedly. Silence reigned in the hall for a few minutes as Gadahin waited for the knight’s answer, surveying himself from the corner of his eye in the cracked mirror that stood in the old chamber.

“Ha! Wait here. I may know where it is. Nay, stay, my son. I can fetch it.”

The old knight disappeared back into the room that led to the storage room. Gadahin heard a loud rustling, then a frustrated snort.

“I know not where the thing is,” came in a muffled tone from the room. “Ho! What is this?”

There was a great banging, than a faint whistle that indicated great excitement, and a sudden exclamation of pleasure.

“We have found it, Messier! And yet in fine condition! Ah, a handsome piece of skill, this!”

Presently the old knight came out, bearing the glinting silver lance. As Gadahin turned his eyes toward it, he saw that the handsome weapon the knight held was like none other he had ever seen in his life, or would hope to see. It seemed to glisten and sparkle like a magic thing. As Sir Paresis turned it in his hand, a ray of light from the window caught it, making it seem like a piece of work from the fairylands.

The young baron was silent for a while. Then he turned to Paresis with an awed face.

“That is mine?”

“Aye, messier, it is,” the old knight responded.

Gadahin sighed unbelievingly. Then he stretched out his hand.

“May I take it?”

“Aye, hold it. Feel its weight. I tell you, Gadahin, I would prefer that to a thousand of your jewels. Be you in battle, you should never want a lance.”

“And it is pure silver, too! Aye, good knight, this is one heavy weapon! How shall I handle it?”

“You shall handle it, my son, for the makers of it thought of that too. You must learn to handle it rightly, and then you shall find it a true defense. What with your great skills and this weapon, you should never be overcome.”

Gadahin’s answer was a blank stare.

“Aye. You did not know of your skills—another proof that you, my son, have them. I have watched you, my son, and you have learned well. Now let us go downstairs. We have no time for staying.”

“But how shall I attend a knight as squire in the jousting, if I am to go in this? Men would not think me a squire. Perhaps I could attend Lord Percy?”

“Aye…” The knight looked up at the young squire, his eyes speaking the words he left unsaid. “You shall attend him, but not in the way you suppose. Come, my son. It is time something is done. Let us ride unto Lord Percy’s manor.”

End of Chapter Three