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Squire's Secret (Benny and Gunner)

"No wait..." she tried to stop Friderick and the herald, having no wish to be announced. Too late. The man's booming voice rang out with both their names and titles. Jacqueline hunched her shoulders as she felt thousands, at least it felt like that, of eyes turn on them. If there was any time for prayers it was at that moment. Please dearest heavenly father let no one be the wiser. Let no one know of Jacque. Surely there would be a good many that knew the name of Lancaster even so far away, but hopefully none were in attendance that had ever known her or Jacque.

Well Friderick said she could go eat. Honestly she was utterly famished and more than ready for some good food. Though Jacqueline barely got a step when Friderick spoke again. Internally she groaned. So close to all that delicious food but no. Had to go fetch wine. With a slow, very quiet sigh she nodded. "Right away," she said before turning off to find a servant with some wine. It took her a moment to realize it was odd for him to ask for wine. She tried to recall their conversation at the tavern. Was it that he thought wine was for fops or that it just wasn't too common for him to consume? She needed to learn to pay attention more.As she headed off she glanced back to see him striding elsewhere. Green eyes followed his forward path to fall on, of course, Lady Featherbrain. A burning illness roiled in her guts, a low growl rumbling in her throat. He really didn't tire of embarrassing himself before the woman did he?

It wasn't hard to find a servant pouring wine. "Wine m'lord?" The man asked and Jacqueline gave a sharp nod. "Yes, two cups if you please." The man nodded with an amused grin. "Extra celebration this night m'lord?" Jacqueline frowned a little in annoyance and surprise. "No, one is for me and one is for my master." Her tone was short but not unkind. "Apologies m'lord, no offense meant," the man said with an apologetic grin. "Though be wary m'lord...there are hungry eyes upon you." He kept his voice low as he finished pouring two cups. Jacqueline warily glanced over her shoulder to catch three women, two blonds and a brunette, all staring. The moment she caught their eyes they turned away, erupting in giggles. Her eyes rolled with a scoff. Women. "Thank you," she said with a final nodded and took the cups. Now to find Friderick.

It was hardly difficult. He was easily one of if not the tallest man in the room. The dopey expression on his handsome face gave away where he still was. Trying to speak with his even dopier lady love. "Oh Friderick..." she said with a light sigh and headed forward. Being small was both boon and burden. She could easily weave through crowds but was often over looked. Twice she was nearly run over by exuberant nobility, just barely managing to duck out of the way without spilling wine. Though before she could make it back to Friderick the group of three women materialized before her as though the devil himself had summoned them.

"My Lord of Lancaster," all three said at once, dropping to low curtsies. Jacqueline froze a moment before giving a small bow in return.

"How delightful for you to have come all this way," one blond with blue eyes tittered.

"Oh yes, such a backwater compared to your home isn't it? Did you come to watch the tournament? It was marvelous," the brunette said with a wistful sigh.

"I would hardly call this a backwater, but different from my home yes and no, I did not come to watch, I serve Baron Friderick of Alnerwick as his squire," she said, unable to keep annoyance from her tongue. "Now if you please-"

"Oh! The big handsome one? He did so well until...well...he didn't," said the blue eyed blond.

"Why is the son of a Duke serving a Baron?" The blond with dark green eyes suddenly asked. Though still a bubbly as a brook she seemed the sharpest of the lot.

"An agreement between the Baron and my father. Now ladies please do excuse me..." Jacqueline said as she tried to move away from them. "I need to bring this to the Baron." She started to walk away but paused. It was a foolish idea but maybe it might help. "Would you ladies like to meet the Baron?" The elated little gasps were enough to confirm the answer.

Jacqueline was followed by a trail of inane tittering as she made her escape. Honestly, women! She made it to Frierick just in time for Aurainne to speak of 'playing' with sticks and shields. The idiotic comment made Jacqueline's mouth fall open. The woman was a fool but could she really be so stupid? Besides she was clearly well on her way to being drunk if not so already. Openly she invited Friderick to the Count's estate. Unable to refuse the woman the Count appeared to agree, much to his chagrin. The group started up their nonsense chatter. Jacqueline watched as Friderick just stood there. Dejected, rejected, awkward in the mewling rubbish of the aloof aristocrats. Why did he pine for such an awful person? Jacqueline wanted to weep for him and, at the same time, slap him silly. There was far finer women out there. Ones who would appreciate his prowess on the fields. Behind her she could hear the quiet, curious, but excited whispers of the ladies.

Finally Jacqueline stepped forward to his side. "Ser? Your wine," she said in a tight voice, eyes a little narrowed. "These ladies wished to meet you," she said while backing up to gesture to the three women. Maybe a gaggle of attractive women fawning over meeting him might cheer him a little bit. Of course it gnawed at her that she was unable to do so herself. The women rushed forward to cluster around Friderick. They curtsied politely, tittering about how it was ever so delightful to meet such a bold, strong knight. There was, indeed, something poetic about a knight who rose from near nothing to a lordship. Such as the stuff of myth and songs.

"Oh do save a dance for me," the blue eyed blond asked.

"Me as well!" The brunette chimed in.

"And me! But you as well my lord," the green eyed blond said, turning a mischievous smile on Jacqueline.

Jacqueline froze in the middle of a sip of wine. Slowly she lowered the cup glancing at Friderick. "Oh...I thank you but...I am just a squire..."

"Oh no, squire or not you are a Duke, are you not?" The green eyed blond asked.

"I...uh...well no, not yet..." Jacqueline stammered to the high giggles of the women.

"But the son of one and as such you should dance. It is only proper." The brunette chimed in.

"I...I am sorry I do not dance...well..." Needed a real excuse. Had to get away.

"We shall not take no for an answer," the blue eyed blond said with a high giggle.
 
The Fates continued to laugh at him when Jacque reappeared with wine in his hands. Perfect timing, for it was about that second that Friderick would call upon Lady Aurianne once more, to try his luck and earn her favored attentions with renewed promises of victory, when that girlish voiced fool showed up. And what was worse, the distraction he hoped that would keep the Esquire occupied seemed to show up after they were needed. Moreover, the boy didn’t seem to realize his own opportunity and profit when he expressed his desire to introduce those girls…to him. Are you trying to share one with me out of pity, young lord? How very kind of you he thought dryly, turning towards the four.

He was forgotten by Lady Aurianne and her little circle. Did she even take note of how he now had his own? What he wanted, he couldn’t get. And what other men would love to have, he had, and didn’t want it. He could only nod and smile politely as the women chattered over each other to speak with him. Truly, he did not understand their fascination. Had they never met a knight before? And he considered himself one of the least of them, his small little Barony struggling even to maintain him with workable and maintained equipment. And dances! How they desired them. He didn’t think it wise for him to have his first dance with no one other than Lady Aurianne. And he must beat out that Count Theodore. He couldn’t fathom how Aurianne would want her hands around that fool and not him.

Surprising, given how he couldn’t comprehend why these three clucking hens wanted their hands around him, and not Jacque Lancaster, a young man destined to become a great Lord and Duke.

They took notice of him and the idiot had the nerve to throw his military rank as refusal. This was a social setting. Technically Jacque outranked even Friderick! “And as his resident knight and teacher, I would command him to not say no either.” Friderick added in, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder. If he wanted to use his rank as Esquire, fine. His loss. “He is a fine dancer and his footwork is remarkable. He will dance with each of you in turn, as is befitting a polite, young Lord. They speak the most splendid stories of a Duke’s hospitality and generosity.” He reminded Jacque with a smile. He had seen his footwork too when he dueled Fabien. That young boy was here too, across the hall, with Ser Hermmanus.

But what was Jacque’s problem? Did he not know his good fortune? He did not have to court them but the opportunity and prize of being propositioned by three women to dance was rare and astonishing indeed. Friderick had never such fortune. “Now choose, young Lord, which shall have your privilege of being your partner first? I do not doubt that these three young maidens are seasoned in the art so each would be a skilled partner. But fear not to who he chooses last! They have a dance with me in the wait.” Friderick said with a charming smile, very pleasing to the three girls. He drank his wine and hid his tiredness behind the cup. He didn’t resent it though. He hoped Jacque would come around and enjoy his time with the women. Yet he too had to assure both the women and Jacque retained their…virtue.

Especially Jacque. These girls seemed a lot more capable and cunning than he was.

The dancing took up to a half hour and Friderick did not think it all a waste. The women, despite their enthusiasm and fawning, were admirable dance partners and he was able to detach himself from them without much rancor or push. Jacque was the true prize to them. Young, with a great family name and all the prestige and riches that came with it. And the boy wasn’t too bad looking himself, if not a little feminine around the eyes and lips. He did have such nice eyes though. But women seemed to enjoy that aspect about him. For what reason, Friderick could not really comprehend. Lady Aurianne saw the same in Count Theodore. I bet he puts kohl around his eyes like a prostitute.

The dance went on, though Friderick had backed out. He stood there with a cup of wine, waiting for Jacque to be finished dancing with the girls. He did some research and talking with some others, discerning that the girls were but the daughters of Counts, a rank lower than what Jacque was or what he deserved. When Jacque finally did come to him, Friderick had a cup of water ready. He was ready as well to be done with this place. “Well? How was it?” He asked the boy.
 
Jacqueline’s eyes shot wide as Friderick threw down his order. Her ears burned in resentment and slightly behind the gaggle of women she glared at Friderick. Though as soon as the women turned about she was all awkward smiles. What now? There would be no escape from the dances and fawning admiration. Jacqueline rubbed the back of her neck, still all shy and awkward smiles. At least she didn’t have to fake that. “I am sorry ladies, where are my manners,” she said with a small laugh. The women just giggled and tittered at, what they thought, was adorable embarrassment. Friderick only made it worse announcing all three would have their turns. At least he would keep them occupied in the meanwhile. There was no escape, no hope. Her hope had been to distract him from his doleful attempts with Aurainne then be off for food and sweets. Lord above she was hungry.

“It is…so difficult to choose between you, ah, lovely ladies.” Jacqueline to a slow breath as she glanced between the group. Had to relax, she was going to have to dance regardless, might as well make a little show of it, right? “We shall make a game, I shall close my eyes and first to take my hand we shall dance.” The squealing giggles were reassuring that the ploy worked well enough. Good Lord women were stupid; she was nearly ashamed to be counted as one of the sex. Squeezing her eyes shut she stuck out her hand. A pained hiss sucked through her teeth as claws dug into the lightly calloused flesh. When she opened her eyes it was the blue eyed blond who hand sunk her talons in. “Very well then, shall we my lady?” Just like she had seen men do she offered an arm. The woman giggled again and snatched up her arm, clinging like a vine. More awkward, so close, uncomfortably close and uncomfortably aware the woman was a couple of inches taller.

The first dance did not go as perfectly as it could have. Jacqueline had never learned the steps for a man in the dance. Lucky it was a slower tune, nothing high energy or raucous. She spent more time watching the movement of the men in the room to mirror their motions rather than looking at the woman. The young lady did not seem deterred and giggled joyously at the occasional misstep and awkward changes. She even whispered the occasional direction or encouragement.

“My lord it is as though you never learned to dance,” she said in a giggling whisper. These women sure giggled a lot.

“Well…it has been quite a while…too focused on training. Baron Friderick is a hard master,” she replied with a small, rueful grin.

“I can tell, your arm is quite firm,” the woman said with a sly smile turning Jacqueline’s ears hot.

“Th-thank you,” was all Jacqueline could reply.

Jacqueline caught on quick enough to the steps of the men though they were nearly finished with the tune by then. Despite all she was still light on her feet and passably graceful. The next dance would be better. The music drew to a close. The partners bowed and curtsied gracefully to one another. “I thank you for the dance and the kind instruction,” Jacqueline said as they left the floor to change partners.

The woman grinned another mischievous grin. “Perhaps such instruction warrants another try, after the other ladies of course.”

Inwardly Jacqueline cringed. One dance with each then food. That had been her plan. Though she couldn’t fault the mild kindness of the woman for her discreet instruction. “I would be my pleasure.”

Three more dances with the women. With more confidant steps Jacqueline was as light and graceful as the women. Though she did her best to maintain eye contact with her partners, the other two closer in height to her than the blue eyed blond, she couldn’t help but look about for Friderick on the occasion. Each time she spotted him, an easy enough spot given his height, with one of the women a little roil of fire lashed through her guts. This was folly. Each time she looked right back to her own partner and the whip of flame died down.

As promised she danced again with the taller blue eyed blond. A faster song but Jacqueline was able to keep up and perform the right steps. She had to admit it was a little enjoyable. Maybe just to herself she could admit to liking dancing. It was also world easier in breeches and a doublet rather than a skirt and corsets. After that dance more were begged and Jacqueline managed to bed back a reprieve for refreshment. The women dogged her steps and they all ate, talking volumes and yet saying very little. Jacqueline spoke little, mostly just enjoying the good food and a little wine. She glanced across the room, watching the swirling dancers in their reverie.

“Well, not that we’ve had a small break for a bit of food how about one more dance?” The taller blond woman suggested, her two friends immediately perking up. Jacqueline groaned inwardly. She was going to smother Friderick in his sleep.

Surprisingly the tall blond allowed her friends a dance first. Jacqueline obliged as politely as she should. She knew why the women were so attached all of a sudden. Son of a Duke. Even she recognized what a catch that could be. That fact didn’t make it chafe any less and bring down the stark realization that she could easily have been just like them. Their only purpose in life was to wed well, produce heirs, likely die an early death in the birthing bed. A waste of a life in her opinion. After her friends the tall blond took her place for a dance. Jacqueline was weary of dancing at first, enjoyed it for a little, but grey tired of it again. Tired of pretending to be polite and gentlemanly to the women. At least they were well enough charmed by the awkward demeanor and the title to think of little else.

The song came to a close with curtsies and bows. “It has been enchanting my lady but I see my master is without and I should attend him,” Jacqueline said politely but firmly. It was time for escape.

“Yes though it is a shame to see you go. Perhaps we will meet again Jacque of Lancaster,” she said with a bright but devious smile. The woman descended before Jacqueline even registered what was happening. It was a light peck, technically on the cheek but just hair close to the lips. Jacqueline was rendered a statue. What in God’s holy heavenly earth…? She vaguely heard the woman giggle before she pranced away to her equally giggling friends. It took her a solid two minutes to regain composure and turn away and skirt to Friderick’s side.

“Awful,” was the simple, sharp reply as she aggressively rubbed her cheek. “Women are strange creatures.” She was rubbing her cheek nearly raw. Gross. Maybe pretending to be a boy was a stupid idea if equally stupid women were going to slobber all over one’s face. “Can we go?” She asked wearily. So much for getting the women to distract Friderick from his pathetic attempts at wooing his lady love.

Jacqueline was more than thrilled to leave the feast behind. Too many people, too many crazy, burbling women to pretend to make happy. She had stopped trying to scour her face with her sleeve, the soft skin already painfully raw, though couldn’t help an occasional swipe now and then. Still gross. Who did that lady think she was kissing a random other lady? Well, a man, sort of. To top it all off she hadn’t even made it to the sweets table and the women were so elated with dancing that she had barely eaten enough to just stave off any hunger. Stupid other women. “I never entirely cared for feasts and balls before and now I am quite certain I do not care for them. Ladies are so terribly needy. Hardly even got to eat,” she groused with another swipe at her cheek.

The camp was relatively quiet, only a few had returned already from the festivities. Some didn’t even deign to attend. Foolish them. Outside, in the quiet of the fields and woods Jacqueline felt far more at ease. No crazy woman would dare come out their way. Just as the thought danced through her mind the whirl of burgundy skirts caught her eye. One of the men had brought back a lady from the feast to his tent. Jacqueline’s eyebrows quirked in curiosity.
 
Even though Friderick had known Jacque only a short while, he felt a measure of pride at the sight of the young Lord receiving probably what was their first real kiss. Not one of ceremony or in greeting. Not from a relative or a cousin. A real kiss, even if it were upon the cheek only. At least Jacque didn’t respond impulsively and knock the woman to the floor, which could be taken as an improvement in behavior. It was the duty of a knight to train and prepare a squire for the rigorous duties and responsibilities of knighthood but there was also an unspoken dictate that knights should also help the squires go from boyhood to adulthood. Jacque had taken a step up the ladder to get closer there.

He couldn’t believe however that Jacque found the entire ordeal to be awful. Was the boy…different in that regard? Orientation-wise. He could not possibly be a young boy though in heart and mind, thinking girls were icky and disgusting. “It is only the natural state of things, for men and women to desire one another. Have you never been desired before by a girl from your home? I find that hard to believe.” Friderick said to Jacque, finishing off his wine. “You don’t have to be humble. It’s okay to enjoy their attentions, while it lasts.” He cast one final look to Lady Aurianne. He couldn’t even get near to her. Theodore and the others were like an intrusive shield. He couldn’t speak to her without them being present, having all his words and actions scrutinized. That was no way to charm and flirt.

“We can go.” He consented softly. He could do no good here. But he did get one piece of useful information. Duke Tancred of Archensheen was holding another tournament within a month’s time. More resources, wider range, bigger scope, better competition, and the best prizes.

They walked back to their camp and Friderick was disconcerted by how much Jacque kept wiping at his cheek, like the kiss the pretty little lady gave him might be poison or anathema. Something’s not right with this boy. He didn’t want to think about it though. It could just be his noble upbringing made him weary of such affairs and not the girls themselves. He could hope at least as Jacque complained forthright about such events. “Like them or not, you can’t refuse to acknowledge that they are an important social institution for us nobles. They are useful for making arrangements, discussing serious matters with neighbours, hearing the latest news, or even just a way to unwind with dance and song. You just have to focus on the silver lining, little lord. You’ll be expected to host a few in your lifetime I do not doubt.”

It wasn’t his place to instruct Jacque how to live his entire life. There were some things he must leave to be taught by the boy’s parents. Being but a lowly Baron, Friderick could not speak on what it meant to be a Duke. But he didn’t think it wise to let Jacque build up a demeanor of apathy to his social duties either. They were not the only ones back at their camp. Wise men would have taken advantage of the solid roof over their heads, with good wine, good food, and all the mirth one could enjoy. The roads and wilderness did not provide such luxuries. But some more wise would have used the silence to pursue other goals and Friderick was not deaf to the womanly laughter he heard from one of the tents of his companions. They were interrupting something.

Where before he had been encouraging Jacque to reciprocate the courting of women, he also did not want to turn the young lord into a lustful little beast either. A fine line needed to be maintained. Instead he had Jacque fetch their training swords after a quick change of clothes and took the boy to somewhere well illuminated by torch light for a bit of practice. After an hour, it was safe to return and there was little speech as most were inebriated and exhausted. They slept and morning soon came again, starting with another hour of sparring between Friderick and Jacque. He left the boy with a fresh new shiner on his cheek for not having his guard up. It wasn’t Jacque’s fault. Friderick pushed the boy to his physical limits before inflicting it during one session, as a way to remind the boy he still had a long way to go in many respects. He would get there though.

The tournament was over though. Now their merry little troupe had to decide what they were going to do next. Go home? Find a new tournament? Be actual knights of chivalry and hunt down crime and banditry? They laughed at the last one.

“Lord Alberic the Count of Haling Cove is having a tournament, in the north eastern part of Swadia somewhere.” Ser Hilduin suggested. “A journey of two and a half weeks through Swadia, across rivers and towns, half of which I can’t pronounce.”

“Meagre pickings,” Friderick pointed out, “for I heard that the Duke of Archensheen is hosting one too, just due south of here. Eight days or so of travel. Less wilderness, but-“

“But far more intensive competition, Ser Baron of Alnerwick.” Ser Hilduin answered. “I barely got past the qualifying round. The Duke will no doubt have the best knights and warriors in all the Empire at his town, whereas little old Alberic of Haling Cove shall draw only the uninspired locals. More suitable, I reckon.”

“More suitable to you.” Friderick answered back. “But if you do win Lord Alberic’s tourney, the majority of your prize winnings will barely cover your travel costs.”

“At least the chance of winning is feasible. Not all of us have glory under their belts like you, Ser Friderick.” Ser Waiofar said to him.

“The Duke’s town shall have more amenities as well.” Ser Hermannus said.

“Let us put it to vote then. Splitting up would just be foolish, as the dangers of the wilds would easily pick us apart.” Friderick suggested. The knights took a vote and Duke Tancred’s tourney won by a vote of four to two over Count Alberic’s town. The squires didn’t get a say in the matter. All they knew is that they would be doing most of the packing in dismantling their camp and stowing away their gear on the single wagon they had. The knights made their decision though. To Duke Tancred’s castle-town of Archensheen!

No one knew anything about it. Following milestones would be easy enough though. “But wait,” Ser Waiofar chuckled, “we have our own resident little Duke with us. Little Lord Lancaster.” He said, the name rolling off the tongue as all eyes were on Jacque next. “Tell us what you know of your colleague, Duke Tancred. What’s his family crest and all?” He quizzed the boy, a challenge allowed by Friderick, as a squire was supposed to know these sorts of things, especially a well read and educated one like Jacque Lancaster.
 
“Yes I know,” Jacqueline huffed from Friderick’s lecture about social events. Always with the lectures. Friderick really missed his calling to be a nun. That brought an amused grin to her face. Imagining Friderick in a habit and wimple. Even more amusing if he was borrowing one. Sleeves too short, hem line too shorts exposing hairy, muscular legs. Perhaps she shouldn’t be thinking about that after all. The sounds of a woman’s laughter, high and excited, grew more pressing until it suddenly halted. Honestly Jacqueline was a little relieved when Friderick ordered her to fetch training swords. Quick to change and grab the unsharpened blades she trotted after Friderick just as deeper, huskier sounds started drifting from the tent. Did these people have no shame? After an evening of irritating frivolity it was good to spar once again. Just an hour so they wouldn’t disturb the pair in their tent, but it was a good hour.

By the time they returned the sounds were over. Snores from a couple tents could be heard. Most had returned by then, tired and drunk from the feast. At least she didn’t have to see Fabien that evening. Either he was still at the feast with Ser Hermanus or already sound asleep in his tent. Despite the general ordeal of the feast Jacqueline felt the day hadn’t been a total waste. Getting the chance to spar for a little while helped lift her mood somewhat.

The next morning they were up early again. More sparing. A little sleepy and grumbly but more than happy to spar again. Training was where she felt comfortable. Not dancing silly dances with sillier people, making silly small talk or find the right silly words for inflated compliments. She was elated enough to be out and fighting again she ran through her energy quicker than usual. While there was more pep in her step the endurance was lacking and her strength quickly waned. Enough so she caught a hit right to the cheek bone. It didn’t split the skin but it made her vision burst with stars and darkness a moment, a throbbing headache hard on the heels of the pain. “Careful, the ladies already like me well enough. Imagine the gaggles of them if you give me any scars,” she joked as they walked back to the encampment.

Breakfast was being cooked and Jacqueline jumped into the help cook and keep fires going. Nearby the squires listened as the knights discussed their next destination. They knew better than to toss in their own thoughts but amongst themselves most agreed Archensheen sounded like better prospects. Not that they cared about winnings at a tournament but the potentials of such a big town. Jacqueline kept her thoughts to herself, frowning and chewing her lip as the boys discussed. That was until Ser Waiofar called out. Jacqueline perked up and looked over to the knight. For a moment she pondered, a small grimace plastered on her face.

“Duke Tancred…a striking serpent, gold on black. Not…really gold, dark yellow, but they like to say gold. ‘Strike swift, strike true,’ their family motto. Three sons, two daughters, their primary resource lay in fruit harvesting groves and vineyards. Their last harvest was blessedly bountiful, I imagine the winner’s purse will be very large,” she said with thoughtful tap of her chin. “Last I had heard of them, however, is the eldest son, Archibald, has already taken over the estate and title as Duke Tancred has been quite ill.” A shame the man fell ill but the turn of circumstance had greatly benefitted her.

Traveling there didn’t worry her much. Even if word spread that Jacque of Lancaster was there it shouldn’t trouble her. It wasn’t as if they expected Jacqueline of Lancaster to be there.
 
Everyone looked on Jacque with either approval at his knowledge or with disdain at it. Reading is for priests and women. Such an effeminate interest. And he was already looking like a girl so it didn’t help Jacque’s case much. The knights though were interested in what the young squire said about the politics of Archensheen. With a young and ineffectual Swadian boy-Emperor on the throne, the vassals were essentially pseudo-independent to do as they please. If a son wanted to take his father’s place while he was still alive…who was to stop him?

When Jacque finished speaking, the knights exchanged some looks. “So this tournament is probably Archibald’s way of consolidating his position. Let the world and empire know he is the one in charge of Archensheen now.” Ser Waiofar mused.

“As long as he pays, who cares if its proper or not?” Ser Hermannus shrugged. No one said thanks to Jacque for the information.

“The wine will be good though.” Said the black-bearded knight, the one who hated gingers.

“Little Lord Lancaster.” Friderick said, the nickname catching on. It was better than being called a girl though. Even though Jacque outranked them all, they loved to pick on him regardless. It would be the only time they could before he got the Duke title himself eventually. “I want our tents dismantled and everything stowed before the noon hour. Have the horses fed and watered. Well, get to it boy.” He said, rising to his feet, as the other knights gave similar orders to their squires. Meanwhile, the knights would go into town to buy food and other supplies for their journey.

That left Fabien, as the senior squire, in charge of the camp. And the moment the knights were out of sight, him and another lad approached Jacque. “This little girl thinks he knows everything huh? You just had to go and get their dicks hard over Archensheen. Who the fuck wants to go to Archensheen?” Fabien sneered.

“Maybe the little girl thinks he can impress other girls with his fancy titles, while the rest of us have to sleep in ditches again.” The other boy remarked, a burly lad named Sigeric.

“Hey, leave him alone-“ another squire started to say but Fabien did a backhanded swing, which missed, but enough to cause the interloper to move back.

“Shut up Brice. You should have pushed for Haling Cove. Doesn’t your uncle live along the way? We could have stayed in a castle and slept in a bed for once!” Fabien snapped. “How else do they know about Archensheen? Obviously because Little Lord Lancaster” he said in a mock girlish tone, “told them all about it.”

“And now Little Lord Lancaster gets a nice bed in Tancred or Archibald or whoever the fuck’s castle while we don’t!” Sigeric hissed, resentful and angry. Why should Jacque get special treatment?

Without warning, one of the other squires, Abrahil, came up behind Jacque and seized his arms, holding the redhead in a full nelson lock. Fabien and Sigeric grinned, suddenly removing their sword scabbards from their waists. Wooden sheaths, some tipped with metal. They each stood in front of the immobilized Jacque, wielding the scabbards like clubs. “Remember, squealers never get to see the healer.” Fabien winked. And then they gave the haughty Little Lord Lancaster, in their view, a good beating on his abdomen, taking turns to smack him. After about ten, Abrahil let Jacque go and they laughed, leaving him there. Sigeric kicked sand and dirt over Jacque’s head. A few more kicks followed to his midsection.

“Show off.”

“Kiss ass.”

“Arrogant cunt.”

They sneered and went to go to their duties. It would be a full hour before the knights returned, a whole hour that Jacque would be stuck with those mean bullies. Brice and the last squire gave him sympathetic looks but they didn’t help. They had gotten the beat downs too and had fallen into line. They only hoped Jacque learned soon so the beatings wouldn’t continue. Friderick and the others returned, with sacks and satchels of food which they placed on their shared wagon. Turning, Friderick saw Jacque’s disheveled state and quirked an eyebrow.

“What happened to you?” He inquired.

“We were sparring.” Fabien quickly answered, though he shot Jacque a smirk from behind Friderick. Go on, tattle. Squeal. See what happens.
 
Despite the odd looks from some the knights seemed to latch onto what she said, especially about the purse and political implications. They were quick to turn in on themselves to talk, effectively ignoring her. She turned back around, hiding an amused grin at their excitement. Like children excited for gifting holidays. Though she cringed as Friderick addressed her with the inane alliterative nickname. Cute, very cute. Pack, stow, tend to the horses. She didn’t really need to be told to do those things. Maybe she hadn’t been there nearly as long as the likes of Fabien but she understood the routine well enough. “Aye ser,” she said with a small nod. Even still it was good to hear and see the others treat their squires like they were new, stupid children. Maybe they just weren’t used to squires who had the capacity to actually use their brains.

Jacqueline got to work first with Friderick’s tent. She had only gotten one pole out when footsteps tromped behind. A low groan escaped her throat. This was the last thing she needed, dealing with this buffoon and his lackeys. Slowly she turned as he snarled about going to Archensheen. A red eyebrow raised at him. What was his problem with Archensheen? It took a while for the oversize infant to spit out his hatred for the idea. Jealousy. A simple enough emotion but still too complicated for the oaf. She glanced at Brice as he tried to stand up, only too glad he avoided a blow. Jacqueline made a mental note to thank him but tell him to keep to his own business.

Green eyes rolled hard enough to cause a momentary headache. There was no point in trying to argue with them. She would have better luck convincing a stump to move. Anger and resentment. It was a sad life these boys lead. Then again most were second or third sons of lesser houses, not entitled to much anyways. Part of her wanted to understand where they came from, why their hatred was so strong. The other part wanted to punch them all so hard it might knock loose some sense in their constipated brains.

“Oh yes you’re so…Hey!” Jacqueline’s words cut off as she was grabbed from behind. Bulky arms around her shoulders, neck pressed forward. Jacqueline struggled against the hold but it hardly did any good. The lock was impressively effective and she wasn’t the strongest of the squires. Her teeth bared in a snarl at the boys as they approached, removing their scabbards. For just a moment a different sort of attack came to mind. A boy, not a girl, there was no worry on that account. The first swing rippled across her body causing her breath to still a moment. Jacqueline clenched her teeth together, sucking in a tightening her stomach muscles. The subsequent hits stung the flesh but the vibrating ripple of her innards was halted. Holding her breath and the odd weight on her neck was making her vision darker and blurrier.

The hits ceased and she was let go. Her legs gave way and she collapsed to the ground. A couple more hits, kicks rather, and dirt kicked at her head. Their final slurs rolled off. They didn’t matter. Once they were gone Jacqueline laid there for a moment. Her stomach ached and her eyes stung from the dirt and sand. Slowly she managed to stand, cringing from the bruising. They’d better hope no organs were ruptured. More so from the kicks. Their arms needed work for their swings. Once she was able to recollect her breath she went about her tasks, a little slower than before.

When the knights returned she didn’t say a word and had brushed the dirt from her hair and face. Clothes were a little dirty and her motions were a little off but she thoughts nothing of it. Boys being idiots. So long as they didn’t break anything or actually kill her she would be alright. Jacqueline paused when Friderick questioned her well being but shot a glare at Fabien and his quick, oh so innocent answer. “Ah yes…sparring,” she said as Fabien smirked behind Friderick. “Not with swords of course,” she said as she went back to ensuring the horses were tacked and ready to go. “Fabien said squires spar with their cocks…A strange game really, lots of wrestling involved. Shame about the odd, deformed angle though.” She untied wingfoot and passed the reins off to Friderick before grabbing William’s reins. While she knew it was stupid to goad Fabien the look on his face was well worth any future beating. She would just have to be more careful. Also she might have to pray later, she had never said such vulgar things in her life.

“Are we off then?” She asked, her hop onto William a little awkward, not wanting to whack her bruised stomach on the saddle. It would be a long ride and longer still given the soreness of her stomach. No slouching off in the saddle, she would have to sit proper and upright thanks to Fabien and his goons. Thankfully William was a steady gelding, unlike a feisty or ferocious stallion, and walked easy for her. Who knew, perhaps the horse sensed something was amiss with his mistress and made his steps gentler for her. With her not-so-mild quip at Fabien she knew she would have to be more careful and wary with the other squires. She wouldn’t rely on Friderick for protection, she could handle half-wits herself.
 
Friderick had no idea what the hell Jacque started to talk about. Was he anticipating the sort of jokes Friderick and his ilk would have said? Sparring with their cocks, a very apt and often used phrase anytime any one used swords for anything. He gave only a half bemused grunt of acknowledgement to Jacque and Fabien, accepting their sparring. He remembered Jacque had proven himself better than Fabien. Had Jacque lost a rematch then and was being bitter? Sore losing wasn’t a good trait for a knight or a Lord. In any case, something had happened, but Jacque didn’t want to speak of it and therefore Friderick assumed it was some stupid inside joke among the squires.

“We are.” Friderick said, taking the reins of his own horse and mounting up, everything stowed and saddled. Taking his banner, he wheeled up beside Jacque and practically tossed the thing right at the boy. “Don’t forget. Keep it up, keep it high. And trade it on your shoulders. You don’t want to work out one arm and look like a deformed monstrosity.” He told the squire, no doubt adding extra pressure and exertion on whatever pain Jacque was going through. But Friderick didn’t know. This would be good for the boy’s muscle development and endurance though so it needed to happen.

That first day of riding was simple and quiet among the group, for they were not alone on the roads. With the tournament over in Archmouth, lots of people were hitting the road in all direction, to return home or visit other lands. They had plenty of company on the road, ahead and behind, with some riders passing them by at some intervals. But soon enough, as many took twists in the road and rode on ahead, they eventually fell alone again among the wilderness. Just six knights and six squires. By day’s end, Archmouth was far behind and they were near the borders of the County, about to head into new lands ruled by different folk of Swadia.

And all were not as friendly as others.

Their campsite was erected for the night and there was some song and merriment as supper was prepared in a large pot. Friderick and Jacque were not assigned to cooking or hunting duties that night, which gave them time to spar. There was a wine ration, prepared by the so responsible knights, which took up half their wagon though it would be gone through pretty fast. Ten flagons, one for each knight but the squires had to share only four among them. Not enough for even a proper buzz, especially with Fabien, Sigeric, and Abrahil taking a generous share for themselves. A few other squires went off to train as well with their knights after supper, as did Friderick and Jacque.

“Today we’re going to work on your ripostes. Do you know what that is? I’ll be making broad strokes and all you have to do is make a successful return parry.” Friderick instructed, swinging his practice sword with sharp cuts through the air. “What’s the matter with you? Back straight, come on.” He needled Jacque. Legs bent. Find your center. Jacque didn’t want to spend another boring hour learning posture and stance now did he? Otherwise this was supposedly a fun lesson, as Jacque would be hitting back against Friderick, learning how to find chinks in one’s defense. Actual fighting knowledge.

“You ever hear of robber barons?” Friderick asked Jacque during their training. “They are cruel Lords, greedy and unfair. They’ll try to take and tax anything from you. Using a dead log on their ground for a fire? That’s a fine. Using their roads? You pay a fine for that privilege. Even walking on their land without permission? You better believe you’ll be paying. Illegal really, but who’s here to enforce it?” Friderick said, referring to the state of lawlessness that came about with having a weak boy-Emperor on the throne. Vassals did as they pleased, acting like pseudo-independent states.

“We’ll be journeying through one of these lands, in order to reach Archensheen in time. And no, we’ll not be stopping to pay for the privilege of using a common road. That will make us criminals, Little Lord Lancaster.” Friderick said with a smirk. “Well in the Barons eyes. Think you can live with that?”
 
The journey was bearable though the rolling motion of riding caused the bruising on her stomach to ache fiercely. Holding Friderick’s banner made her arm and shoulders burn until she realized she could place the end of the staff on her foot as they rode. A boon to being so short, her legs did not hang as far as the others’. The other squires had to hold the flagstaff their entire ride, unable to rest their weary arms. Of course they had been at it far longer and had the muscles to support. For a while they seemed to have a great deal of company. Bands of travelers leaving for home or even the next tournament. Something Jacqueline came to realize: some merchants found better profit following the tournament trail, able to sell their wares town to town, having new sets of customers every month or so. A brilliant scheme if a bit lonely. Soon enough, however, it was just their group of twelves. Knights and squires, heading for unknown lands. Unknown to some of course, for most it was their home.

By the time they reached camp Jacqueline was more than ready for a decent rest. Though once the camp was set up Friderick, a harsh master, had other plans. He was the most diligent with training it seemed. Only a few others went off to train their squires. Meanwhile Fabien and his ilk loafed about and drank the smaller ration of wine. Jacqueline would hardly care if they drank it all. Wine was pleasant but she was not overly fond of getting drunk. Even more so with this group. It would risk discovery or, worse, risk a vulnerability to Fabien and his goons. She was not going to be caught by them again and needed to stay on guard.

Of course she knew what a riposte was. Her aching belly and weary limbs made her a little grouchy for their training session and thus simply tight lipped. She knew her movements were slow, her stance poor. Every little nip and bite from Friderick was received with an annoyed growl. It was hard to stand erect when her stomach was so bruised. For the life of her she couldn’t figure why it smarted as much as it did. As though the bruising went deeper than the skin. It hadn’t felt like they hit hard enough to injure her insides. Even with Friderick’s remarks and her sore body the training stood out among previous sessions. Before it was all stance, footwork, strikes. It was more like actual fighting though Friderick projected his strokes far wider and more obvious than a real fight would allow. She managed to at least block his strikes and returned about half, perhaps a little less. It was slower and so neither would get too winded allowing some chatter between them.

Jacqueline had never heard of robber barons, not by such a title anyways. She had heard tell of lords who levied such petty fines on their lands and the roads that swept through. His smirking questions of flouting the law these petty lords made her roll her eyes. “Why should I care about breaking false laws in another country?” She asked as she blocked and turned his sword away for another strike. “Perhaps, should they come to arrest us, I should demand payment for the glory of being in my presences.” The comment came with an amused smirk. “I’m sure none of these little men have ever been in the presence of a Duke,” she added with a small laugh that quickly turned into a cringe as it irritated the bruising. Something was certainly off and it was more than just the bruising. Then it dawned on her, hit her as hard as the sweeping blow she failed to block. “Ow! Shit….” She said and rubbed the spot. Another fresh bruise.

Jacqueline knew she would have to wait until dark and that would make it difficult to see if her guess was right. Why her guts ached and throbbed as though Fabien and his monsters had damaged her organs. At least all of her britches were black, that was a plus. Jacqueline was distracted for the remainder of the training, wondering and worrying. She knew it would happen eventually and had brought the necessary items. Even still she would have to use them sparingly, pray spots wouldn’t appear on the saddle, and discard the clothes discreetly.
 
There was something off about Jacque and it certainly wasn’t Friderick’s talk of Robber Barons. Was the boy scared? Jacque’s bravado about Barons engaging in banditry was humorous, though he’d rather the boy prove himself in combat before he make any such claims to majesty and prestige. Or not at all. Humility and patience were good signs of a strong knight and warrior, whereas arrogance and pride tended to blind oneself and make them prone to mistakes. Maybe the reason for the boy’s distraction was simply exhaustion after a long day of riding, carrying the banner and all. And now this. It was meant to be work. But Friderick thought the boy had a natural talent for sword fighting that he would be eager to develop. Maybe that was just a one day event as well.

There was much he didn’t know yet about Jacque Lancaster, heir to the Duchy of Lancaster. Time would tell of course.

But his head wasn’t in the game and Friderick was determined to make Jacque suffer for each little distracted look or move he made. “You’re thinking too much. About the future or the past, about those girls in Archmouth or what might hit us in the days to come. Stop it.” Friderick snapped, delivering a particularly powerful blow that would knock the blade out of Jacque’s hand. “Bring your ass to the present. Here and now. You let yourself get distracted, you’re going to make mistakes. And in this game, a mistake could cost you your life. Got it?” Friderick said and to drive home the lesson, gave Jacque a whack on his shoulder. It was supposed to hurt but not that much. Something was ailing Jacque. Did he injure himself? Well the boy was old enough to be responsible and either speak about it or not. As long as it doesn’t affect his condition as a Squire.

“That’s enough for the day. Go lick your wounds. You better be in bed within the hour and not half drunk by the fire like those other boys. You’ll see the difference in quality when you all finally attain knighthood.” Friderick explained, giving Jacque a clap on his upper back to nudge him back to camp. He had cut their sparring early by about twenty minutes. They got back to the campsite and once all the knights were back, they passed their ration of wine around and discussed the roster for the night’s watch. One knight and one squire per shift. Friderick nominated him and Jacque as the last, meaning they would have a very early morning. Good time to continue sparring, since they were the only ones who did morning sessions and there probably would not be time given they would be departing an hour or so after dawn.

The tents were erected in a semi-circle around the fire, with the horses tethered nearby and the wagon parked. There were six tents, again shared by each knight and their squire. Smaller than their tournament camp too, meaning Friderick’s sleeping mattress was right beside Jacque’s. Good luck trying to sneak out while lying next to him. With that handled, Friderick was also one of the first ones to head off to bed as well. He shed his garments down to his usual nightwear, which was just his boots and trousers, before crawling onto his cot, using his cloak as a blanket. They were men, soldiers, bedding down for the night, sharing a tent. Nothing out of the ordinary. But for a girl for whom virtue was supposed to be their prime trait, it might be something else.

“Is there something on your mind, boy? You don’t want to drink with the others?” Friderick asked Jacque, not opening his eyes as he spoke. The others were still about the campfire, drinking and chattering lightly. Wine was one of the few commodities that helped make the journey and hardships of life better. Did the boy not want to have his share with the other lads? Maybe he just wasn’t used to getting drunk. The shyness would pass, he hoped. “Or are you just missing home? Next town we reach, you can send a letter home. I’m sure your father is waiting for updates on your progress. Not much to say in that regard yet.” He gave a bemused snort. Friderick on the other hand…had no one to write to. Lady Aurianne wasn’t a woman of letters. And his one sister had long ago immersed herself in her new life and family.
 
Friderick’s reprimands on her state of mind was met with scowls. Especially when those women from Archmouth were brought up. Between her increasing discomfort and worry of her body his lectures grated on her nerves. The strike to her shoulder brought a pained, snarling hiss. It wasn’t so much the new bruise that hurt but the irritation at being disarmed and whacked like some misbehaving servant. Not that her family ever beat their servants unless the rare, heinous, transgression occurred. Jacqueline was about to retrieve the sword that had been unceremoniously knocked from her hands when Friderick called their training to a stop. For a moment she looked at him in surprise but that wore down to a bit of gratefulness. She gave an amused snort at his suggestion she would even want to get drunk with the other squires. “No worries on that account,” she said after the sharp clap to her back that forced a stumble forward.

With the squires drinking and the knights discussing watch rotations Jacqueline took the opportunity to grab a cloth and find a decently distant, hidden spot. A small difficulty given the terrain but she managed to find a small copse of bushes to duck into. A bit prickly and uncomfortable but it would serve her needs. A shame about the darkness, the moon was little assistance, but she reasonably tell her monthly “blessing” had arrived. The woes of femininity. Once her ablutions were finished she headed back to camp, not even bothering to join the other squires. She was tired, her belly hurt from the bruising, and her insides were waging a bloody war. Sleep was what she needed. A warm cup of Nan’s “woman tea” would be nice as well. Shame Jacqueline never learned what was in the brew. Peppermint and rosemary were obvious, ginger too but she knew there was more. Maybe even just those would help, not that she was likely to find any out in the wild.

Jacqueline was curled on the mat before Friderick arrived, nestled under a woolen cloak and curled into a ball which eased the pain only marginally. Her back faced where his mat was and she didn’t even look up as Friderick crawled into the tent. A shame to miss such a sight but she was more than passably miserable. Even through the nauseating waves of cramps the questionable morality of laying in such close proximity to a man made her heart clench. It wasn’t as though they were doing anything and he was still under the impression she was her brother. There shouldn’t be a thing to worry about. Even still she recited prayers of forgiveness in her mind. She just wanted to sleep. Say her prayers and sleep. Yet peaceful, releasing, repose staunchly refused to come to her. It didn’t help the hulking mass of Friderick, Baron of Alnerwick, was scare a foot behind her back.

His question broke her out of her prayers and attempts at rest. Her eyes opened and she frowned into the semi-darkness of the tent. There was, of course, something on her mind. Nothing she could, for obvious reasons, speak of openly. Though before she could formulate an answer he quickly followed up asking after homesickness. His suggestion for a letter was met with a small, scuffling snort of laughter. While her father might very much appreciate a letter from his son Jacqueline was painfully aware of the fact that, despite being twins, their handwriting was exceptionally different. “The boys are obnoxious prats,” she said after a little, an irritated bite on her tongue. “Besides, if we are to wake early to keep watch it seems wiser to abstain. I don’t care for drinking overmuch anyways.” For a little she stayed quiet, ruminating on home. A quiet guilt creeping in for the deception. Her parents thought her at a convent not dressed as her brother, lying next to a nearly naked man.

After a couple of minutes she turned over in the cloak, still mostly curled up. The drape of it fully covering the short crop of red hair leaving only her face exposed. By the grace of God Friderick was well covered in his cloak. “I don’t think a letter necessary, barely a fortnight has passed. Hardly anything to report really. I do…” She stopped herself though. An outpouring of emotion wouldn’t be helpful in the least. She missed her brother terribly. Of course her parents but her brother more so. There was something to be said for twins, even ones of different genders. A bond, a closeness, not seen in other siblings. Some said there were sets of twins that knew when the other was in danger or died even while being leagues apart. “Bah, never mind,” she said with a grumpy huff. “I don’t think I’ve asked: do you have siblings? What of parents, are they still around?” Though his rise to Barony was a tale well told she had learned of nothing else. Where he had actually come from, who his parents were.
 
Beyond their tent, only the crackling of the fire and the occasional howling of the wind was a reminder that there was an outside world. The knights had ceased their own conversation, while the squires had been pushed towards slumber. The watch was alert, but quiet. Each tent though provided some luxury of privacy and eavesdropping, unless one stood directly beside the canvas. Others were asleep or talking quietly. Knights with hope, squires with fear, there was always something to discuss. Gossip even. He only gave the faintest of grunts of acknowledge to Jacque’s remarks about not drinking. Wine could be a decent aphrodisiac, helping one to slumber. One just had to find the middle ground between overdrinking and numbing oneself sufficiently.

The Baron was lying on his back, one strong arm bent as usual behind his head, the other resting across his chest and abdomen. The cool airs was refreshing to his naked flesh, a way to freeze the hot running of his blood sometimes. “Still, a letter stating your whereabouts would mean something. Parents worry, more than you know.” Friderick said, during Jacque’s pause when he refuted the need to write at all. Even then, it would be a kind gift for parents perhaps not used to sending their son and heir off into the wilds with a stranger knight. Friderick had only met the Duke once in person and written a few other times in arranging this. The pay was good. And it would be nice to have a patron among the Dukes of the realm.

He looked over to Jacque when the boy cut off his own line of thinking. There was a lot going on there and Friderick didn’t know whether to push on or let it go. This was all still relatively new for the squire. He perhaps just needed some space and time. Homesickness was not unnatural. Friderick was surprised though when Jacque inquired about his family. He gave a bemused snort at the audacity of it, closing his eyes. But he still answered the question. “My father passed over a year ago. My mother before that, from complications of childbirth. She was the only daughter of Lord Harald Beaumont and inherited his estate. I have an older sister and a younger brother. They are both wed, with families, out there in the world. When my father died, as was custom with succession law, I got the Barony and my brother got my mother’s estate. My sister is happily wed to Berengar, the brother to Count Erkembald.” He explained casually. A minor and not uncommon family history for a noble.

He missed them terribly as well. His sister often wrote he could rectify this by having his own family, whenever he got around to it. Of all their father’s children, Friderick as the eldest son should be foremost wed and with children. Yet he was not. He’d rather play at lances and tilts than at the wedding bed. “Family is important, Little Lord Lancaster. You should appreciate them, because you won’t know when you might be able to. Your father, your mother, your sister, you should write them, even if to say you’re okay and such. Do you understand? One day you’ll have a family of your own. Who knows, you might even meet your intended on one of these trips.” Friderick snickered a moment, before giving a yawn.

Friderick allowed any last remarks but finished it off there. “That’s enough questions for the night. Get some sleep. I’ll rouse you for the morning watch.”

It was uneventful, as most nights were. It was the twilight before dawn and the first ray of light when Friderick was awakened for his watch and he shook Jacque awake, his hand inadvertently on the boy’s chest as the Baron himself, half asleep, with the gesture. He didn’t think much of it, even when his fingers brushed the padding where a boy shouldn’t have padding to begin with. The watch consisted of them sitting next to the fire and keeping it warm while keeping a look out. Some of the other knights couldn’t sleep though, as there was some news to be shared that had been garnered through the night. So most awoke a bit earlier than usual. And as they gathered for their morning meal, counsels were taken.

“Someone dropped in on us last night.” Ser Waiofar informed them. “They didn’t approach and I don’t think they know that we know, but we know they were there.”

“What do you think they were doing?” Ser Hermannus asked.

“Spying probably. Or thinking of thieving from us and got discouraged.” Ser Waiofar said. It was soon collaborated by Ser Hilduin and the tall, bulky dark bearded knight who hated gingers. No one really said his name but it was Ser Anchetil.

“There are tracks.” The two knights informed them. “I say about two or three of them. They came, they looked, then they veered off. How long, I don’t know.” Ser Hilduin shrugged.

“Let us just hope it was a chance encounter and nothing more.” Friderick mused himself.

“Is this the sort of thing you do on your land?” Ser Waiofar asked him with a grin.

“I assign people to watch the road leading in, yes.” Friderick answered. “But that wouldn’t make sense here. There are no castles or towns for days yet. And Archmouth is only a day behind us and in the opposite direction.”

“Stay on your guard then, boys.” Ser Hermannus said and that was it for the council.

“Esquire Lancaster, my horse and armour.” Friderick called to Jacque.
 
Jacqueline had to know Friderick would pursue the notion. For one, in his mind, he was always right. She could possibly understand that. All he could see was a petulant boy who didn’t want to write home. He wouldn’t know that her handwriting would give away her secret just as fast as being caught naked. How beautiful and flowing her brother’s handwriting was while hers…well she had not the patience for fine scripts. Her writing was more akin to a chicken holding a quill. Just one of the many ‘feminine’ pursuits she was ill suited for. He was also oddly caring in his way. How much that was about actual contact with her family or for the coin he was paid to train she wasn’t sure. Poor Baron that he was Friderick didn’t strike her as a greedy man. He seemed to, in his own way, actually care about the lessons he was supposed to be giving. Training a young Duke in the ways of war and, to an extent, manhood. There was no use arguing the point. With luck he would simply forget about it. It would be some time before they arrived in Archensheen.

She made no comment or retort, letting him ease past letters and to his own family. His snort made her eyebrows quirk up. For a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer, say to mind her own business. Instead he actually answered. Father and mother already gone, siblings scattered and married. So Friderick was utterly alone then. No wonder he pursued Aurainne so fervently. Maybe he was just tired of being all alone. One fragment of the past he still clung to. Of course she was making a lot of assumptions. Aurainne was beautiful, she would concede that point, even if she was an idiot. She was also decently wealthy and nobly ranked. There were a lot of reason she might be desirable as a wife. Jacqueline disliked her with a viciousness she had never truly known. She was jarred from visions of yanking the woman’s hair and dragging her through mud as Friderick brought up her own family. Of course he couldn’t help adding in another jab about that. Her hopes of him forgetting about writing a letter were slim.

“Perhaps I shall write them. At least my sister,” she said. She knew which monastery Jacque had gone to and could write to him. Trouble was someone possibly reading the contents. Perhaps she should write it fully pretending to be him. People might be a bit confused that he somehow wrote himself a letter and sent it to a monastery. They would hardly guess anyways. “But I doubt I will meet an intended. I don’t even have an intended,” she grumbled a little and curled back up. She did not want to meet with women at all. Though Friderick was quick to announce their need for sleep so no more was said. Jacqueline snuggled down into the folds of her cloak and willed sleep to come.

Jacqueline was sound asleep when she felt something pressing on her. Stomach and chest a little tender, she gave an uncomfortable, sleepy groan. Just a short one before her eyes snapped open with Friderick’s hand on her chest. The jolt of adrenaline woke her faster than any energizing tea. Jacqueline’s body twitched to smack Friderick’s hand away but she held fast. He was barely awake and didn’t seem to notice anything. Just as quick his hand pulled away with him none-the-wiser he had just groped her breasts. Jacqueline let out a shaking breath before sitting up, very much wide awake for someone who was not much of a morning person. Calm, she had to find her calm. She glanced to Friderick as he dressed himself and followed him out to the fire they were meant to tend. Her head jerked in surprise to find more than just the knight and squire they were meant to relieve. Clearly wine didn’t help all men fall asleep.

As was the squire’s duty Jacqueline stirred the fire to keep it flaring and hungry. She tossed on a bit more wood, listening to the knights discuss their nocturnal visitors. Her eyebrows pulled into a wary frown. She knew very little of such matters. Lancaster did not have much trouble with brigands on their roadways. It helped that her father afforded a sizeable force of men who traveled, quite regularly, between the villages. While never informed of trouble in their duchy she kept keen ears out for such discussions, finding them wildly more interesting than the latest fashions or how fine the weather had been.

Her head jerked up at Friderick’s demands for armor and horse. For a moment she glanced at him, more than just a little puzzled, before spurring into motion. First she grabbed his armor and associated padding. Even in the semi-dark of predawn she had learned the pieces well enough and helped him with ties and straps. Once the parts he would need assistance with were done she trotted off to prepare Wingfoot. No dramatic trappings needed she gave him a quick brush, picked his hooves clean and got him saddled. Jacqueline led Wingfoot over so Friderick could mount the stallion. “You think there will be trouble?” She finally asked, wondering if she should saddle William as well and grab her sword. Her real sword that Friderick had confiscated on their second day together. Odd how that somehow already seemed a life time ago.
 
It was quick to get armoured now and Friderick could not deny how helpful it was to have an Esquire to assist with that. Especially Jacque, with his small fingers, able to knot and unknot the straps that joined his shoulder paudrons, vambraces and graves to his chainmail and such. Polished and greased with fat, it was like a second skin and Friderick felt like he adorned a whole new personage when he did, with new thoughts and desires. There was rumour of battle to be had. The Baron couldn’t help but feel that tingle of excitement. Its what they as knights were trained for. Peacetime was not their forte.

He took the reins of his mount from Jacque when the boy brought it over. He double checked the saddle and stirrups when his Esquire voiced the obvious thought and question. “Yes and no,” he said as he mounted, casting Jacque a glance. Aren’t you forgetting something? My banner… If there was trouble, that was the one thing that should be present. It would be unwieldly though in a fight, especially for a boy with no experience of battle or how to carry a standard much. Speaking of which, he pulled up his saddle blanket on one side and took out the sword and sheath he had taken from Jacque when he threatened the other squires. He tossed it to the lad, knowing he might need it. And finally use it how it was intended.

“Grab a whetstone from the cart. You might want to sharpen that when you can.” He told the Esquire, giving him a chance to grab his banner as well. “If there is trouble, you stay behind me at all times. Got it? We nobles might think of ourselves as lions and stags and all sorts of ferocious beasts but always remember this, Little Lord Lancaster. Twelve measly dogs can still kill a beast, bear or wolf or tiger or anything. Don’t get separated from me in a fight.” He told Jacque with a serious tone. They’d all be fucked if Jacque Lancaster was captured…or slain. He couldn’t let that happen. He needed Jacque to understand that no matter how good he might think of himself, numbers will overcome valour one way or another. The boy would be something one day. Brigands and thugs were no one. The tradeoff was not worth it.

The party of knights and squires rode in silence yet for most of that day, they encountered nobody. Nor any signs of anyone. A night, a day, and another night went by, with some even beginning to doubt the findings of Ser Waiofar. They camped and the watch was doubled and it was not recommended anyone venture far from camp until they were out of sight of it. Friderick still trained with Jacque but mostly he pressed on Jacque using his shield and never teaching or practicing any offensive maneuvers. But maybe it would be for nothing. Perhaps they could get through to Archensheen without trouble.

Or not.

It would be the third morning after the discovery of tracks when the news came. Ser Anchetil, who had been looking ahead, came running down the forest road in a hurry. The woodlands were thick here and one could barely see more than a short distance either side of the grass grown road, which made it perfect ambush country. If someone had a reason to. But ambush and death would raise questions. Gold was the objective here. And ransoms and tolls were the way to get it. When Ser Anchetil came back, any element of surprise for any would-be attacker would be gone.

“I see them!” He hissed to the others. “Up the road. They didn’t see me, I’m sure but I saw them and their camp. They are all across the road, one ravine to the other. Waiting for us.” He huffed.

“How many?” Ser Hermannus inquired, flicking his fingers to Fabien and the other squires to prepare their mounts and gear. Friderick gestured to Jacque as well.

“Two, maybe three dozen.” Ser Anchetil said.

“Give or take twelve bloody men, what sort of fucking counting is that?” Ser Hilduin snapped.

“Well I didn’t stay to have tea with them.” Ser Anchetil hissed.

“Who are they? Any banners or flags?” Friderick asked.

“None. They are armed but don’t seem like soldiers. Soldiers wouldn’t be out in the open like that.” The knight explained.

“And they wouldn’t be unmarked. Waylaying anyone is forbidden by law. They’ll want to disguise their identities and which Lords they are taking their spoils back to.” Ser Hermannus added.

“They’ll greet us as friends no doubt.” Friderick concluded, mounting up, with shield and sword ready. The others were doing the same. “We’ll ride right up and they’ll greet us and make some story of what Lord they serve. Then they’ll surround us while we engage in polite discussion and then rob us blind. That’s the ploy I’ve heard they use.”

“So what, we ride out there and give them our swords and our cocks?” Ser Hiduin said.

“No. We go in their full tilt and scatter them. Then pass on by before they can regroup or get help.” Friderick answered him, a suggestion most to the liking of the knights, though some of the squires looked terrified. What would be their part in this?

“Leave the wagon here. Take only what you need for battle.” Ser Waiofar said to them.

“Mount up. Everyone.” Friderick said, being the natural leader because of his rank. “We’ll go six abreast, two lines. And once we hit, we’ll split into three flanks. Left, right, and center. Drive them off, mind you. Don’t pursue into the woods!” He said specifically to the squires.

“We know what to do.” Ser Anchetil rolled his eyes.

“I’ll be on your flank, Ser Friderick.” Ser Hermannus said with a drawing of his sword. The squires would follow their knights.

They formed up, the six knights in front with their lances and swords, shields at their sides or backs. The squires had to be behind, bearing the six banners of their knights. The word was to either hold it in hand and fight with the other, or get lucky and impale it on a foe. There was a brief pause, as some of the knights wanted to pray. The enemy would expect them to come trotting around the bend, in a broken column, with a wagon to protect. Instead they would coming roaring around at full charge, maybe even break into their camp before a battle line could be formed.

“Esquire Lancaster, remember what I said.” Friderick said to Jacque, before looking forward.

“Yeah, Little Lord Lancaster,” Fabien snickered, as he was right beside Jacque. They were the right wing of the line. “Remember what he said. Ride off and hide, you little shit.” He hissed in a whisper, unheard by the knights.
 
Yes and no. A fantastic response. Perhaps he was just deciding to be cautious. Yet she saw the others mimicking as well as they rose from their sleep. Squires helping their knights don armor. When she turned her attention back on Friderick a jolt of excitement coursed her. He took out her own sword he had confiscated. It felt like years had passed since that had happened. She caught the sword, its weight and design delightfully familiar in her hands. Already she was buckling it to her belt as he told her to grab a whetstone from the cart which she was quick enough to do, putting the fine little stone and an oiled rag into a pouch on her belt. There wouldn’t be time to sharpen it as they rode but when the stopped, assuming they weren’t attacked. She looked back up at the knight as he went on, ordering and lecturing to keep behind him at all times. At first it made her eyebrows raise in curious amusement. More so when he went on to speak on how lords thought themselves as mighty as the animals on the sigils. He own was a badger. No particularly intimidating if she was honest. “I understand,” she said with a sharp nod. Well she wasn’t about to go off and do something stupid but she didn’t feel she needed to be babysat in the middle of a fight.

They were off again. Friderick’s banner fluttered over her shoulder as they rode. Wielding a sword and banner seemed impossible. How the hell was she supposed to fight with both? She could drop the standard if it came to that though she imagined Friderick would pitch another fit and lecture until her ears fell off. He could give her mother a decent run for lecturing. Yet as the day wore on and her arm tired from the banner nothing happened. At night things were more quiet, subdued. When they weren’t sleeping or training she ran the whetstone and rage over her sword, honing and sharpening the edge to give strength to its bite. Her heart seemed to keep a steady thrum, every moment like the edge of a great cliff. Waiting for ambush, for a fight of some sort. Jacqueline couldn’t honestly say if she was more excited or more afraid. The sensible part of her knew battle was not something to look forward to yet the less sensible part was yearning to try her hand. Friderick’s training didn’t seem to help matters, only focusing on defense. It was bordering on infuriating. Matters weren’t helped as it proved difficult to hide herself for daily ablutions. Gone for too long and her massive, muscular, mother hen would worry and come looking. She couldn’t have that.

Three days at the edge of that cliff. Three days of dealing with Friderick’s mothering and lessons of defense. It drove her mad. Hell, why not just curl up under a tower shield for the fight like some scared turtle? The only silver lining was her guts seemed to have steadied. The bruising didn’t ache and the painful cramping had subsided. Just as things seemed to settle down, the worry of attack dissipating, Ser Anchetil came running back to camp with news. The knights spurred into action, gesturing for their squires to prepare. Jacqueline was as quick as the rest of them, smugly grinning as she armed Friderick far quicker than Fabien armed Ser Hermannus. The knights quibbled and argued until Friderick stepped up and laid down plans. Jacqueline had a decent idea of strategy but listened intently to the plan, curious about the role of the squires.

Armed and armored the entire party mounted up. There was hesitation to pray and Jacqueline joined in with a bowed head. She prayed for victory, for safety, for God to watch over Friderick and the other knights and squires. Yes, even Fabien she supposed and his goons. Jacqueline urged William behind Wingfoot as Fabien walked up beside her. She groaned quiet, gripping the banner staff as hard as she wanted to squeeze Fabien’s neck. Especially with his little quips. “Aye sir,” she said back to Friderick through clenched teeth. “We’ll see who is hiding when the fighting starts,” she hissed back to Fabien. She wondered if she could take back the prayers for Fabien.

Blood thundered in her ears and everything seemed to still. No wind, no animals in the woods. Nothing but the furious pounding of her heart. With the signal all sight and sound came back with a jarring swiftness. Hooves pounded the dirt as the lines charged, bright banners soaring above. Jacqueline focused on Friderick’s back, glancing at Fabien to her side. Just had to stay in formation, follow right behind. Right around the bend to the lightly camped foe with the element of surprise on their side. Jacqueline couldn’t see them well with the knights in front. They barely had time to rise and draw weapons before the line of knights drove at them. It seemed so simple, almost too easy, as they rode down the brigands. Fabien ran a little ahead of her, his horse’s nose nearly into the ass of Hermannus’s horse.

Something shot before of her face with a hissing whiz. She jerked back causing William to sit back and slow up. A shoft, crunching thunk to her side followed by a curdling, gurgling scream. She looked up in time to see the specks of blood fly from Fabien’s neck, the arrow pierced right through. He slumped and fell, his horse breaking and darting for the woods. Jacqueline’s blood ran cold as she forgot to stay right on Friderick. Then the world up ended with a high, squealing scream from William. The banner was lost as she hit the dirt on the flat of her back. For a moment the world darkened, breath driven from her lungs. A faint ringing in her ears, the church bells were sounding? She gasped but no air came, a second gasp with no success. Finally she sucked in a third breath and managed to roll to her side. William was bucking wildly, an arrow lodged in his flank. Jacqueline coughed hard, still sucking air that had been driven from her lungs on the hard landing. She managed to push herself to her feet and draw her sword. So much for staying behind Friderick.
 
They formed up quietly and diligently, the twelve riders. Six abreast, two deep. It wasn’t much of a line but it would have to do. With nothing left to do or decide, the six knights glanced at one another and nodded. In unison, they urged their mounts forward, first into a few trotting steps then as once, broke into a gallop. Maintaining the formation as they rounded the bend was probably the hardest but they cleared it without much break. With nothing but perhaps fifty or sixty yards of straight road to their foe, they came charging down, swords unsheathed and shields at their side.

The brigands had grown too comfortable with their pickings. They had never expected a sudden onslaught, when for the past few years they had only unarmed travelers and refugees to fight. They had been lounging, weapons near at hand, mostly of crooked spears, pitchforks and billhooks. They wore rough leather padding and some had bows. When the gallop of horses came rushing down the road many were stricken with astonishment and surprise. Having so long preyed on the weak, they never once imagined they would become the victim of an assault. A few had decided the battle was already lost and fled eastwards, while some tried to rouse the others, scattering across the road as best they could to make a perimeter. Bows twanged and arrows flew, past Friderick and beyond. He heard no cries. No hits, he could only hope.

But the knights were all veteran fighters. They were well armoured, as befitting their rank, and possessed chain mail and castle forged steel weapons. The six of them barged right into the line and immediately discomforted them, slaying many in the opening clash or knocking them aside. Friderick upon Wingfoot was borne right through the mass, deflecting one blow with his shield while bringing his longsword down upon a foe. The downward strike cracked the man’s skill, straight through his cowl, and blood spurted up like the gush of a fountain. He felt little to no regard to it, who it might be that he killed or what his story was. Friderick steeled his mind, for he was in the midst of the battle now.

Horses whined and strove to avoid the strange attackers, while their knights hammered and hacked at their foes. None took hurt in the charge, the quality of their fighting skills evident over these paid thugs of robber barons. Ser Anchetil had pursued a trio right into their camp and cutting their horse lines, sent many more of the steeds in a mad, crazed gallop into the fray. Friderick was beset by more foes, parrying one blow to his right, while his horse pressed forward to avoid an attacker to his rear. He brought his shield up before him in only mere seconds before one thrusted spear nearly stabbed into his face, deflecting the blow as he might a lance in a joust. He drove his heels hard into Wingfoot’s flanks, trying to escape the current onslaught and get some distance, to fight one on one if he could, and take what stock he could of the battlefield.

But he broke free, clearing the small ravine aside the road and onto the embankment of the forest around…he realized that Jacque Lancaster was nowhere to be seen!

Another foe leapt across the ravine to challenge him. Friderick urged Wingfoot onwards, meeting the attacker’s axe with his blade, before unleashing his own onslaught to prevent his attacker from reeling back. He pressed an opening, took it, and jabbed his sword through the brigand’s neck. It was then that he spotted William and Jacque down the road from where they came, alone and unhorsed. And three men were rushing the lad. The squires were no doubt easier to fight. Armoured, but not as experienced and grim as the knights were. They handled their swords like paintbrushes upon a canvas, painting with vivid reds and crimsons.

The foremost wielded a small hatchet as he charged at Jacque, intent on severing the boy’s head from his shoulders. One other bore a spear and another a pickaxe and wicker shield. It was easier to swing an axe than sword, and the man hacked wildly and savagely at Jacque while his comrades moved to surround the lad.

Friderick, gritting his teeth, urged his mount back onto the road and tried to race to get to the boy, but was suddenly stricken cold…as an arrow pierced the side of his abdomen.
 
Alone and a little afraid. Jacqueline was just barely regaining her breath as she surveyed the chaos of battle. It was nothing like the stories and song. The screams of men as they were hacked and impaled. The knights grim and ruthless with the brigands. The smell of shit when the men died. Yet it was strangely exhilarating to watch, shoved into the middle of such chaos. Her limbs shook and her back ached from the hard dismount. William was still whinnying in pained panic, bucking and running with an arrow sticking out of his flank. Painful but not fatal. She moved to grab him and pull the arrow out but stopped as a man charged wielding, oddly, a simple hatchet. Two more on his heels with spear and, again oddly, a pickaxe. These were certainly not well armed men.

The strokes of the hatchet were wild and clumsy but quick and incredibly erratic. At first all she could do was defend herself, block and turn the hatchet away as he tried to cleave into her. The others surrounded the wild fight. She had to move, keep the spear wielder away from her back. One, easy thrust and it would be over. It took a moment to get her feet going, the fluid dance of a fight not coming as easily all of a sudden. Of course she was terrified. These were not wooden swords or dull tournament swords. One wrong move, one misstep and it was all over. All she could remembered were the defense lessons. Block, parry, move. Block, parry, move. Keep away from the spear. Jacqueline’s breath came in short, sharp pants as her arms rang with every blocked swing of the hatchet. Block, parry, move. Her heart pumped in a steady, thrumming rhythm, ringing the flow of blood through her ears. Block, parry, move. A searing pain lanced her arm causing a pained shout to leap from her throat. She had forgotten the spear and pain for it with a gash to her arm.

Like a thunderbolt from heaven it truly struck her. She could die, then and there. Her arm sang in throbbing pain, blood oozing down her arm. It was her or it was them. Jacqueline snarled and blocked the hatchet. Just as Friderick had shown her she turned it aside and swung. Her swing a little unwieldy it struck the man across his face, slicing through his nose and right eye. The man screeched and howled in pain, the hatchet forgotten as he clasped his hands to his face. He back away from the fight still screaming his pain to the world. Jacqueline turned to face off with the spear. It lashed out like a viper, a lazy viper though. Yet the strikes kept her at bay, kept her dodging the pointed edge. Her legs moved freely as she ducked and dodged, keeping herself at a distance if she could. In a move of sudden desperation the man lunged. Jacqueline turned and swung as hard as she could. The honed blade sliced and snapped the third of the spear off, leaving the man with a useless stick. Unwilling to face a foe unarmed he threw down the stick and ran for the treeline.

Before Jacqueline could give chase the third man rushed in. Such a small weapon was little match for the reach of a sword. His whicker shield split and damaged as Jacqueline pressed the attack. The tides had turned in her favor. The shield began to fall apart and the man grew desperate. He ducked and swung for her hip. Jacqueline blocked and turned the pickaxe aside, flinging it from the man’s hands. Without a paused she turned and drove her sword forward. A damaged whicker shield was no match for the honed point. Through whicker and cloth the point slid into the man’s gut. A brief moment of resistance until the sharp blade cut through flesh and entrails with each. The man gave a short, grunt of pain, doubling over. Jacqueline froze with her blade stuck deep into him. Her limbs trembled as a cold sickness washed over her. Slowly the man sank to the ground, taking her and her sword with him. Her breath came in a short, sharp staccato as she watched the man die. Color left the world as she stared, her ears filled with a buzzing ring. Her guts a sudden torrent of nausea. Don’t throw up.
With a shaking breath she rose up again, sliding the bloodied blade out of the dead man’s gut. His life blood glimmered in the sunlight, wet and shining on the cold steel. Don’t throw up.

Jacqueline shook her head violently. There were more of them, there was William still bucking frantically. Where was Friderick? She looked about frantically, looking for Wingfoot. There, with Friderick. His posture was not one of a fighter. It took her a moment to see the arrow in his side. The cold sickness returned. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted movement. Another man with a spear running at Friderick. No thought crossed her mind. Her feet carried her swiftly towards the man. Her legs might be short but she had never run faster in her life. The spear drove right for Friderick. He didn’t even see the small, red hair squire run up to his side. The spear head halted not a foot from Friderick. The man gave a startled gasp. The edge of the sword sunk into his belly, gripped with white knuckles by the smallest warrior on the field.

The cold sickness was gone, replaced with boiling anger. Jacqueline tugged the sword, slicing open the man’s belly. Grey, slimed in red, the man’s entrails slipped from the gaping wound. He collapsed to the ground, twitching only a moment before falling still. Jacqueline inhaled a slow, shuddering breath as she stood upright. For the moment they were clear. Her sword lowered as she turned to Friderick. “Friderick! Are you…” She started to ask if he was alright. Of course he wasn’t alright. He was feathered with an arrow. “Just…just hold still…” Honestly she didn’t know what to do. Nothing except keep at his side. Rather than him protect her she needed to protect him. Though it seemed most of the brigands were being routed already. The man whose face she sliced open was dispatched as one of the knights rode him down. Most appeared scattered or dead but she wasn’t about to start demanding to look at the wound or leave his side until all was calm.
 
A cold shrill had flushed through Friderick’s body when he had been struck by the arrow. For a moment it seemed as if he couldn’t even move his right arm, paralyzed in place. The sounds of combat, its smells and sights, all seemed to fade away from a moment. He hissed and gritted his teeth, his eyes searching for the perpetrator of this attack. Luckily it wasn’t a crossbow bolt or it would have pierced clean through his abdomen to the other side. He laid eyes on the bandit with a bow, who was stringing another arrow. But he saw too that Friderick saw him, turning his mount. Without taking his eyes off the archer, Friderick was able to shift his arm to the side…and he broke the feathered shaft in him.

Wrong move. The arrow broke two inches from the head, leaving the arrowhead embedded in his side, while he threw the end part to the side. His shield was before him, as well as the strength of his chainmail at the front. No arrow would pierce that. The archer seemed to guess it and turned to flee or find a better spot for defense. Friderick was ready to ride after him. His back was to the road…and the attacker with the spear who had the drop on the Baron, unbeknownst to Friderick. But luckily, a second later, he remembered the boy. Jacque!

Forget the archer. Yet of all the surprises in combat, his expression immediately loosened from one of grit and snarling teeth to one of astonishment when the Esquire himself came up to his side. Jacque fretted over is wound and even deigned to give him a command to stay still. “I am fine. And you…” he began to say, noting he recalled just a moment before that Jacque had been confronted with at least three attackers. Where were they? Yet Jacque stood, alive and well it seemed. It didn’t matter. All this occurred in under a minute. The clash of metal and the cries of men still rang out. The bandits were still fighting, though some had fled. They were all heading eastwards. Their hideout and camp must be that way.

One of the squires, a younger one, was knocked to the ground with only his shield, desperately defending himself as a larger man hammered away with an axe, battering the poor boy’s defenses. Friderick didn’t wait, spurring Wingfoot forward. The arrow in his side made it hard to move his arm but he was able to angle it and drive it into the man’s neck.

His action though left Jacque behind several paces. And it was clear to the bandits that the younger squires were the easier target. One, who only pretended to be dead, sprang to life and seized one of Jacque’s boots, holding her in place with a yellow tooth grin. He had a wicker shield, able to deflect any blows that Jacque might throw to dislodge him. That’s what he wanted too, to distract the boy. At the same time, a bandit with a spiked mace came right at her. Her face wasn’t going to survive a direct hit from that.

The one on the ground managed to grab with his other hand at Jacque’s belt, tugging him aside to ruin his footwork and fighting posture, making it easier for his comrade to score a direct hit. But just as he was about to deliver the finishing blow…a sword plunged through the maceman’s chest. Fabien rose up behind him, sweating terrible, bleeding from his neck where an arrow was pierced clean through. Not in the center but to the side of his windpipe. He had saved Jacque’s life, despite hating his guts, but they were on the same side at least, weren’t they? The maceman collapsed, with Fabien falling after him, as the simple move to save Jacque’s life had taken all of his energy. He was probably at death’s door himself very soon. The bandit at their feet scrambled away suddenly, picking up a large axe.

He eyed both squires down. Boys! They should be easy targets. He at least decided Fabien was, on his knees, barely able to breathe without choking and spitting up blood. The thug decided he would kill the boy first, then Jacque after. That would be the last fight, as this particular thug chose fighting to the death over retreat or surrender. His axe raised high, intent on splitting Fabien’s head in two. But he was ready for Jacque if the squire intervened. “Fuck you, ginger cunt.” He snarled at Jacque, fighting savagely and furiously with powerful swings of his axe. But he had no form or technique to his method. And Friderick, who returned upon Wingfoot, decided to hold back and observe for a moment whether Jacque could do this on his own or not.
 
For a second Jacqueline blinked up at Friderick and his stoic response to her fretting. Though the surprises blinks turned a small, annoyed frown. Well fine if he thought he was alright with an arrow lodged into his side. Though the moment of respite quickly passed as Friderick looked up and over. Jacqueline turned, following his gaze to another squire being battered down by a brigand. Friderick was gone in a moment, ridding down the bandit with ferocity. Maybe the arrow hadn't hurt him too badly after all. "Men..." she quietly grumbled as she watched the distant scene, fully unaware of anything behind or below.

"Gyah!" Her ankle suddenly grasped she wheeled around to find a man grasping at her ankle. "Let go!" She yelled and swung her sword only to be deflected with a whicker shield. Jacqueline kicked out trying to dislodge the man as she swung the sword, any grace or elegance gone as she tried to dislodge him and hack away at his defense. The fool grasped further, lunging up and grabbing at her belt. The hard leather bit into her hip as the man pulled, making it had to move or swing her sword with any force to get him away. Distracted enough she didn't see the other at first. "Get off!" She screamed at the man only to catch a glimpse of motion out of the corner of her eye. A mace, spiked and wicked, swung with full force for her face. Jacqueline froze. It was the end. Her sword came up to try and block but such a weapon and strong swing could hardly be blocked by her weaker arms and thinner blade.

With a startling lurch the man stopped, a guttural groan slipping from his lips as the point of a blade erupted from his guts. Everyone froze, the air suddenly still. Jacqueline's heart pounded a furious rhythm as she stared at the sword point. Slowly her green eyes lifted and she jerked in surprise. "F-Fabien?" He was...alive? Alive and protecting her? The man fell and Fabien followed, the arrow protruding from his neck. His breathing painful and hacking. What angel had been watching over him to stop the arrowhead from slicing through anything vital in his neck? While she felt her belt released she continued to stare down at Fabien. Barely hanging on he had used the last of his strength to save her life. Perhaps there truly was still something decent in the boy.

Enough distractions. The bandit returned with a heavy, lethal ax, fully intent on sinking it into Fabien's head. "No you don't!" She yelled and charged the man. Instead of her sword she slammed into him, burying her shoulder into his gut. Given her stature and weight it wasn't much but enough to knock him off balance. Jacqueline scurried back to avoid a wild swing of the ax. His swings were easy to dodge with how slow the weapon was, how much the man projected his motions to swing with as much force as he could. There was no need to deflect with her sword, risk breaking or pitting the sharp blade. Jacqueline danced out of the reach of the ax with ease. She waited him out, letting his arms weaken with each swing of the ax. His fury grew, making him sloppier. Her eyes rolled and she snorted at his attempt at insult. "Funny you should say that..." she said as she dodged once more. She took her chance and stepped right into the reach of his arms. Both hands on her blade she drove the point home with all the strength she could muster. As before she felt the resistance at first but once through the blade glided through his body like a hot knife through butter. She sunk the blade to the hilt, her body nearly pressed against the man's. "Because I am, most certainly, a ginger cunt," she hissed at him.

His life blood flowed hot against her hands, his body shuddering as death came for him. As he fell she stepped back and drew the blade from his guts. She took a long, slow breath before giving her sword and hands and flick to get rid of some blood. Definitely would need a bath. First thing though. Jacqueline turned to Fabien and knelt down next to him, rolling the boy onto his back. Her lips pursed as she looked at the wound, the arrow sticking straight through his neck. She wasn't certain he would survive such a wound but they would have to try. Jacqueline looked up and around to survey the scene. While it seemed safe enough all the medical supplies were at the wagon. William was somewhere with an arrow in his flank, Friderick with an arrow in his side. So many arrows to remove. First she used her boot and blade to cut off the arrow head and feathers, not ready to remove the shaft just yet. It would be easier to move him without a massive length of wood through his neck.

Jacqueline slipped her bloody sword into its scabbard making a note to ensure to clean and oil it later. For the time being they had wounded that needed attention, a sword could wait. At first Jacqueline tried to get Fabien up but not only was his weight too much for her she couldn't move him by herself back to their camp. While plenty had wounds, some more grievous than others, Fabien was the most injured of the lot. It took a while to gather up horses again, William was especially hard to calm down enough to be led back to camp even if the arrow had, fortunately, struck some bone and hadn't lodged fully into flesh though it might be a little while before he could be ridden again.

Camp would be a flurry of activity and Jacqueline pushed herself into the center of it. Uncertain if any of the men had any decent knowledge of properly tending to wounds she threw herself into Fabien's care first. Once he was settled she recruited assistance to boil herbs, mash pastes and prep bandages. While she let another pull the arrow from the wound she was first back in to pack the holes with a poultice and wrap a bandage. With some luck it would be enough to stem the worst of the bleeding and keep ill humors from entering the blood. Fabien was given just a little wine and herb tincture to help him sleep and a watch put over him. Jacqueline rinsed off her hands and found Friderick, not forgetting the arrow in his side. "Suppose you'll let me fret over you now?" She asked with a tired but amused grin.
 
The battle was over and their noble company of knights and squires had prevailed.

A dozen of the bandits had fled, though their direction was noted, and once the knights had organized themselves on this field of battle they would pursue. That much had already been decided. Fabien was on death’s door, barely able to speak, concentrating only on his raspy breathing, never knowing when the next might be his last. It would take some diligence to heal him and his knight, Ser Hermannus, was quick to his side when the fighting was done, whispering soft words to the boy, praying that he might live. For many squires, it was their first taste of combat. For the knights, it seemed yet another day. And by their actions and demeanor, there were many unspoken rules of combat that were in effect.

All of the knights had charged into battle horsed, yet some dismounted to fight in the old fashion, on foot, face to face. Their skill at arms had been the only reason they could overcome their opponents, for the bandits were thugs and not trained in any form of higher combat. And the knights were armoured, able to withstand blows or strikes that otherwise would have been fatal. Some of the bandits were still alive, wounded and prone. One grasped his guts which were spilling from a horrendous cut across his abdomen. Another crawled after losing half his leg, whereas another lay twitching from a horrible head wound. Some were dispatched though a few were ignored until later. Ser Anchetil stepped over another, uncaring as he sheathed his sword, for it had not been his kill. And it was dishonorable to finish off a fighter whom one had not downed themselves. Nor was it appropriate to loot a body that one had not killed themselves either.

But they all found death eventually, as the knights returned to finish off the wounded. And looting was what the knights were doing next, riling through pockets and satchels for anything of use. Friderick had yet to check the ones he had slain. There might be trinkets or other tools of use to take. Something to sell perhaps for some coin. Ser Hilduin booted their only prisoner against a tree, warning him to stay still. The bandit had surrendered when the last of his fellows had fallen or fled, unscathed himself. They could interrogate him later. There were no rousing cries of victory or glory among the knights though. Friderick could see why, frowning as he sat atop Wingfoot still.

Ser Waiofar knelt over the body of his dead squire, weeping quiet tears, praying to the heavens for the safe keeping of the boy’s brave soul. Not all had passed through unhurt.

Ser Reginard, also another ginger hating individual, was kneeling to a dead bandit and beating out his gold fillings from his mouth with the hilt of a knife. The wounded would need taking care of and Friderick was included in that. He tried to dismount but pain shot furiously through his side with the movement, keeping him momentarily mounted. A temporary camp was erected on the remains of the bandit blockade. The horses were gathered up, as well as some taken from the bandits. Fabien was made comfortable, unknown if he should live or die, and the squire of Ser Waiofar was given a decent burial, buried the weapons of the slain in honour of his deeds. Friderick, taking the role of watchman, noted that Jacque took over much of the healing and camp logistics. Some of the prouder knights in the world thought being handled by surgeons and doctors was dishonorable, as blood should only be shed in combat and not by these…specialists. Some moreover though such professions were the domain of women only.

Ser Anchetil and his squire went to bring up their wagon of supplies. The wounded could ride in that. Friderick noted as Jacque came over to him finally. Again, the boy’s comments, had they been heard by anyone else, might have been taken the wrong way. Fretting was for women only as well. “You should clean the blood off your blade first before you sheath it. It’s bad superstition to get blood on the insides of your scabbard.” He simply responded at first but then stretched out his arm to the boy. “Help me dismount.” He requested and with Jacque’s help, getting down from Wingfoot was easier, though still painful. He winced and could not conceal it, panting hard even as he stood on his feet. He wiped his sword clean on a dead man’s cloak before sheathing it.

“Draw out the arrowhead and make it quick. No time for stitching fancy dresses. Just make sure the wound doesn’t bleed. We aren’t out of danger yet. Those who fled might bring reinforcements. Or, if they are truly vanquished, might try to flee. In any case, we are pressed for time and should scout ahead where they fled. Maybe we’ll find their hideout and put an end to their brigand behavior once and for all.” Friderick explained as he allowed Jacque to tend to him, remaining standing. “And you are unharmed? Very good. And lucky. Many earn worse in payment for the slaying of their first man.” He complimented Jacque.

There was another scene about to begin first, before they could depart from this place. The knights were gathering again, all on foot, and the squires about them. Friderick and Jacque were on the edge of this semi-circle. And the one prisoner they had taken was in front of them, flanked by the taller Ser Reginard. The bandit was forced on his knees, though he did not seemed trouble. “My father is a tanner and my mother a clothmaker. They will pay very handsomely for my ransom.” He said to the knights, looking at each in turn in hopes someone would take his offer of gold. That’s what they had been doing, kidnapping and ransoming. That was fair, right?

No one said a word. They all just looked at him, then began to disperse to wrap up their tasks and healing. Again, there was an unspoken agreement among the men who had seen combat before. Ser Waiofar, eyes red but his face serious, moved to talk to Ser Reginard. But instead, behind the bandit, drew up his sword and cleaved it right down on the man’s head, severing it in two. It was a gruesome execution, for revenge and honor. Ser Waiofar drew out his sword and the bandit’s dead body collapsed. One of the squires vomited at the sight. “We move out in a quarter-hour.” Ser Waiofar said, or rather demanded of them. He sought revenge and no one was going to deny it to him.

Friderick just waited for Jacque to finish up on his wound.
 
Jacqueline couldn't help a small scoff. Superstitions were peasant nonsense. Faith was in the lord and he brooked no silly hearth magics or fancies of ill omens. "The sword will keep for a few minutes. Wounds are a more serious matter," she said as she reached up to help him down from his horse. It was a bit of a struggle to ease him down without causing too much more pain. Foolish man, breaking off the arrow while it lay in his side. How was she going to get it out? With luck some of a shaft was still left. He wasn't about to sit for minstrations so Jacqueline had to lift up his clothing to check on the wound. "Unarmed for the most part, a small scratching, nothing more." She said as she examined the wound. It wouldn't be the easiest of tasks but she might just be able to grip the bit of steel and draw it out.

Though her attempts were futile as the knights gathered in a partial circle around a single prisoner. The man was younger, begging for his life. His parents could pay a handsome ransom. Jacqueline's eyebrows quirked. What would make a man with clear potentials as an artisan turn brigand? She looked around at the hard faces surrounding them, especially Ser Waiofar with his red eyes and steely jaw. Jacqueline watched, transfixed as they seemed to start moving away to leave the man be. The strike was swift and she felt a jolt race through her as Ser Waiofar's sword buried into the man's skull. She felt her stomach roil and fought to keep the bile down, especially hearing another squire retch from the sight. With a slow, shaking breath she turned back to Friderick, a little paler than before.

Fixing the wound was difficult. It needed stitching and a decent poultice. Jacqueline grumbled some as she poked and prodded the steel that barely protruded from his side. "I understand the need for haste, the want for revenge but we have a fair few wounded who need tending too. This pales in comparison to Fabien's wounds." Jacqueline stopped a moment with a tiny, irritated frown. She had never thought to ever feel anything but annoyance and hate for the other squire. Yet here they were. He had, after all, saved her life. Of course she would have to repay it in kind even if it was simply ensuring he saw the next sunrise. "I think I can get it out but it won't be pretty..." She said with a long, heaved sigh. It was lucky her fingers were so small, tiny pincers that could grip a tiny corner of the arrowhead. Her other hand pressed around the steel and she gave a swift tug, then a second. On the third it came out, blood seeping across her fingers. Jacqueline let the steel tumbled to the ground as she scrambled for what was left of the poultice she had made for Fabien and smashed it on the wound.

"It'll still bleed some. It needs a better wash and stitching," she grumbled once more. "But who am I to tell you? Just have to hope the poultice with keep the bleeding a bit more at bay." With the poultice caked on she wrapped it as best as possible, stretching to get her short arms around his waist with several passes of a length of linen. "That will do it...for now...if you take it a little easy." But she knew he wouldn't and helped him redress anyways. If he lived through the counterattack she would be able to tend to it better. With Friderick redressed and ready she took out her sword to give it a quick wipe down. Likely there was blood in the scabbard which would have to be cleaned later in the river.

Finally she was able to tend to William. The arrow had glanced off bone and was easy to remove. His steps were tender but he would heal up well enough. She patted and loved on him with the small bit of time allowed. "I just need you to hold on for a little bit brave boy. Then we will rest and you can heal up properly," she said as she stroked his neck before gingerly mounting. He groaned and grunted, his gait off from his sore flank but he would be able to do this last journey before getting proper rest and care. Jacqueline went easy with him as she walked him back to the group who would go off to find the encampment and put a swift end to the brigands. More on her mind than petty revenger were the wounded. Those too wounded to join but still somewhat able left behind to guard Fabien and the wagon. She wasn't certain this course of action was wise. She thought it would be better to go on, tend to their wounded, and get out of the area. Still she wisely kept her mouth shut even as she kept furtively looking over at Friderick, expecting him to collapse at any moment.
 
At first he didn’t mind Jacque pondering aloud their situation. It allowed him a glimpse into the boy’s tactical thinking, which was quite adept for a young boy. But the naivety of inexperience was still abound in Jacque’s words and when he paused in his thinking, his brow knitted and all, Friderick turned to look at him. “Do it.” He simply told her, careless of pretty or not. It never was. Now, to distract himself from the coming pain, he decided to share some wisdom. “We aren’t out of danger yet. They’ll never be able to rest and heal if there’s still fighting to be done. They could still follow and ambush us later. Best to settle it now, all at once. Besides,” Friderick said, holding back his wince as she tugged out the bits, “often in war, a real war, stopping to help your buddy is just as liable to get you killed too. It’s one thing to be kind, another to be stupid and get yourself killed. You won’t be helping anyone then.” He informed her.

The metal was out and soon Jacque added a healing poultice he made to conceal the wound. Such knowledge of medicine! Wasn’t this boy better a doctor or cleric? Friderick only scoffed at Jacque’s grumbling about his wound. Still, it was better to hear this than any sort of bellyaching or bouts of fear. For having killed not only his first man but several more, the boy was doing remarkably well. Or just really good at holding it in. It was smart to keep busy. Best way to avoid those thoughts. The poultice and wrapping was sufficient enough and he had nothing bad to say about it. “You are my squire, that’s who you are to tell me anything.” He simply told Jacque, leaving it to him to figure it out whether that was praise, acceptance, or a complaint. “There’ll be time. Look to your horse.” He said as he stood, dressed and armoured once more. There was still work to be done.

Everyone moved with purpose and determination. The dead were checked or ensured as being dead. Any valuables or useful gear taken. The wounded were accounted for. Two squires could stay with Fabien, the cart, and pack animals while the knights would pursue in the direction of the retreaters. “You can stay, if you want.” Friderick told Jacque, coming over with Wingfoot. Despite the pain in his side, he managed to crawl himself atop the saddle and adjust himself with sword and shield. They were going deeper into the forest, a few hours, then they’ll return to the road. No one wanted to leave this unfinished. And some rather enjoyed the bloodshed.

They went off, guided by no other point than the direction in which the survivors had gone. For some time, it didn’t seem as if they might strike upon any hideout or lair. That is until through a break in the trees a plume of smoke was seen. Some type of settlement evidently. It could be smelled. And soon heard as they came nearer. In a clearing were several hovels and pitched tents, no doubt where the bandits rested when not prowling the roads. Cages of wooden bars could be seen near the end. And other wagons packed with hurried supplies. The bandits were in the midst of fleeing and abandoning the post. The knights didn’t give them that opportunity.

There wasn’t much of a fight. When the knights came galloping, the bandits simply upped and fled with whatever they could carry, scurrying off in every direction this time. Some went after them, cutting them down. Others, like Friderick, entered into the encampment and dismounted to have a look around. One of the squires was told to check the belongings and stack any useful stuff, like grain or metal, onto a wagon. Friderick gestured for Jacque to follow him as they went near the pens.

There were a half dozen, two empty, one that had a mournful bear in it, and three others with people. Friderick sheathed his sword. “No point looking for a key I imagine. Little lord, go and see if you can find me something heavy to bash the lock in. Or cut the wood.” He instructed Jacque, while coming to look into the pens. Two seemed full of ordinary folk, separated by sex, and Friderick hoped the women hadn’t been too badly abused. The third had one prisoner in it, with stained and muddy clothes, though Friderick could tell they had once been rich garments. A noble it seems!

The man, upon realizing Friderick wasn’t one of the bandit tormentors, leapt to his feet and gripped the wooden logs that encaged him. “Good Ser Knight!” He called out. “Please, help me. You won’t believe the horrors these fools tormented me with. Set me free! My mother is a rich woman. She’ll reward you. Please!”

“Easy there, Lord.” Friderick told him. “We’re looking for a way to bust these locks open. Patience.”

“Well,” stammered the noble, “use your sword to cut them!”

“Aye, and what would be the need for axes then if I could do that?” Friderick scoffed. The wooden logs were too thick to be sliced through with a sword. More likely he would wedge it in and notch the blade. And there was no blacksmith around for some days. The man was desperate though, thinking in this few minute delay that he might die somehow. There were plenty of axes around, including the heavy wood chopping kind. When Jacque fetched it, Friderick took it and moved to break open the peasant women’s cell first. But the noble was aghast.

“Never mind those wretches! Gold, Ser! I promise you.” He barked but Friderick ignored him. First he broke open the women, then their menfolk, and many were happy in their reunion. Another knight came and helped those people find food and other stolen belongings among those left behind. As for the noble, Friderick set him free…only for the dirty creature to embrace and even kiss his hand. “Thank you, thank you! My name is Gilbert of Audoneus. I promise you a rich reward if you can take me to my family.”

“Audoneus?” Friderick said. “Yes, I heard of your family. You’re related to the old Duke then?”

“Yes, he is my grandfather.” Gilbert said.

“Audoneus is back the way we came. We are going to Archensheen for the tournament.” Friderick replied.

“No matter. My family will be there. They never miss an event!” Gilbert said, nodding many times, speaking fast and excitedly to be free. He looked like he was in his early twenties, a scrawny figure, and not very tough. Or brave. No wonder he was taken captive.

“Very well then. You are under my protection.” Friderick shrugged. “My squire here, Jacque of House Lancaster, will be your escort. I have other matters to attend to. You probably know his father-“

“Yes, yes, big man, great man.” Gilbert said dismissively. Friderick, looking to Jacque for a moment, then shrugged before going to find the other knights to talk to, leaving Jacque with their new companion. Gilbert of course only saw a squire. And squires…served. “Can you find me some food? And maybe a blanket. And some good boots. Go on, be a good lad.” He waved Jacque off, while Gilbert just sat there, wiping mud and dirt off his face and hands like it was poisonous.
 
Friderick seemed difficult to read at times. As she waited for the others to ready themselves she pondered his return about her opinions. He could have meant anything by his comment. She honestly wasn't sure if her opinions were valued, disdained, or just simply ignored. In the end it shouldn't really matter. Her job was to serve and to learn. She shouldn't let Friderick's opinion of her matter. Even still, as she watched him tenderly mount and adjust himself with the wound hindering him, it did matter. At least he thought she was a boy so her thoughts might matter a little more. Lord above if he knew she was a girl and gave her opinion so readily it would be a different matter entirely. The ease and joy of being born the right gender.

Finally they were off into the woods. There was little to go on besides general direction and sheer determination. Jacqueline followed along near Friderick's side, unable to keep worrying glances away from him. If there was another confrontation like the one they just survived she wasn't confident in his ability to fight while so hindered. With little more than a scratch herself she figured it would be her job to protect him if need be. Oh but if he only knew the thoughts of his squire. The idea made her smirk a little.

The search seemed futile at first. How could they have gone so far on foot so quickly? Every minute seemed to drag by as the group search the woods for any signs, any clues. Jacqueline couldn't name herself a proficient hunter or tracker. She'd never felt the drive to try and join in on hunts with her brother and father. It surprised her that none of the men seemed to be great trackers of any sort. They followed on pure hope, not pausing to check for trails or whatever one looked for when tracking quarry. Dogs would have helped too. Jacqueline had possessed misgivings about the drive for revenge but as the seemingly fruitless search continued those doubts grew ever stronger. Stronger and stronger until the plume of some was spotted, the smells of a camp wafting their way.

Just through the thickets they could see the camp. Jacqueline's breath caught at the sight of the cages. It seemed like something out of a bad hearth tale. These sort of people and places really existed? It always seemed for far fetched! She got in line with the others and joined in with the charge into camp, though William lagged behind a little. It wasn't much of a fight. The bandits were quick to try and flee, gathering what they could in time. Jacqueline stayed near Friderick as he entered the camp, glancing off at the others who gave chase to cut down the bandits. William groaned in relief as she dismounted with Friderick to inspect the camp. Her stomach roiled with a mix of revulsion and anger at the sight. Men and women kept in those awful cages. They seemed like common folk! What good did it do to keep them in such a way? Her fists clenched as she looked at them, green eyes passing over the downtrodden bear. That seemed vastly out of place. Why a bear?

"This is vile," she growled as they approached the pens. While she was a lady of fine upbringing she could only imagine what the women might have endured. Yes, even such vile matters were known to her. Always a cautionary tale for women. Friderick's command for tools was met with a sharp nod. Jacqueline turned and glanced around the camp before she trotted towards the fire. Behind her she could hear someone talking to Friderick. A few words were lost as she gained distance between them but she was certain the other man must have been high born of sorts. Near the camp fire a good, sturdy axe lay by the wood pile. "Perfect," she said as she snatched it up and jogged back to Friderick, handing it over. She couldn't help a small smile as Friderick went to free the women first. Hard to read but good hearted at least. When the bars were well broken Jacqueline stepped in to help pull them apart and helped the women all. All of which to the serenade of the noble man demanding he be liberated first.

By the time they got to the man Jacqueline was tempted to just let him rot in there. No wonder the cowardly creature had been caught. He should have insisted the common folk be freed first. Clearly he knew nothing of leadership and the roles their kind were meant to play. Jacqueline stood back as the man scrambled free and nearly tackled Friderick in a frantic hug and kissed his hands. Red eyebrows quirked in bemused disgust. Weakling. Well he was free to go, why wasn't he leaving? Though her mouth dropped open a little as Friderick offered the man his protection. He wasn't serious. No, he was most certainly serious. She looked up at Friderick incredulously as he looked down to her after the dismissed introduction. "Hey hold...on," but he was already gone. Off with another knights to discuss...whatever they intended to discuss.

Jacqueline cringed as the man, Gilbert apparently, attempted to give orders. She stared at him, utterly incapable of believing what she was hearing. After nearly a minute of incredulous staring she threw back her head with a laugh. "You must be joking or utterly out of your head. I don't serve you, you pompous pampered peacock. Find your own food and blankets you wanton waste of the Almighty's design." She gave the lordling an equally dismissive wave before walking off into the camp with the others. There were some things that could be taken but she immersed herself with the common folk first, ensuring they found all they could to take back home with them. Hopefully there was still home to go to. Anything left after the common folk were seen off homeward she helped gather. It wasn't entirely much but she did find a nice enough blanket. Fabien could use more blankets as he healed up, assuming he was still among the living.

Before they were set to depart Jacqueline hesitated before the cage with the sad bear in it. The creature didn't seem to have much fight left in him. Or her. "Poor thing....why do they even have you in there?" Of course she expected no response from the creature. Utterly foolish but her mind was quickly made up. Surely she was not as big or strong as Friderick but she could wield an axe. Jacqueline set to making cuts in the wooden bars. It startled the bear enough for it to give a confused for of chuffing noise. Nothing shy of bodily force would deter her from opening up the way for the creature, however foolish it might be. She didn't intended to help it out like with the common folk but give just enough space for the creature to finish freeing itself while their group left
 
Gilbert only stood with a look of astonishment and indignation when the squire mouthed him off. House Lancaster the knight said? This must be a black sheep of the family to talk and act so impudently towards another nobleman. He could only watch as the squire displayed the same type of madness as the knight as the boy went and began to weaken the cage around the bear. That bear was likely to rip all of them apart, making no distinction between the humans who captured it and those who freed it. Gilbert however got up and stamped his foot in outrage. “Y-You can’t talk to me like that! Squire, I demand you attend to my needs as your knight offered! You can’t have me trudging along in my bare feet. I’ll simply die!” He still managed to whine. But then decided he would take it up with Ser Friderick himself instead.

Friderick and the others had congregated in the center of the camp. No prisoners and some of the knights were cleaning the blood of their blade. “That should bring some measure of peace back to these lands.” Ser Anchetil said but Ser Reginard only snorted.

“These wretches are poorer than the poor sods they rob and waylay. Hardly compensation for the day’s effort. Or much fun.” He scoffed.

“In any case let us return to our wagon and be gone from here. Who knows if there are more.” Friderick suggested.

“As if the hills are swarming with these maggots.” Ser Reginard stated. “We’ll die simply because our arms got tired, not because they are any credible threat to us.” But the consensus was the same. There was nothing for them here. They would escort the group of rescued peasants and the one nobleman back to the road. Friderick only agreed to offer his service to Gilbert of Audoneus because he thought it would be a good learning experience for Jacque, to see what the knights were all about. Safeguarding the helpless, protecting the people. It was meant to be selfless. So as the knights and their squires prepped themselves to depart, Gilbert came marching up right to Friderick.

“You! Ser Friderick!” Gilbert stammered, in his outrage his voice cracking a little as if he were no older than Jacque. “Is this how you conduct yourself? Your squire refuted your offer of service with the most heinous insults! I will not bear it and I charge you to do something about it!”

Nearby, one of the knights chuckled at the scene but Friderick only sighed. God damn it, what had the boy done now? “Calm down. What exactly did he do?” He inquired.

“Not his duty!” Gilbert accused. “I asked for a simple request in finding good footwear for the road and something to eat! I’ve been starving for days. And he called me a…a…” Gilbert shook up like he might explode from anger. “…pompous…pampered…peacock!” He exclaimed angrily. Ser Hermannus took a step back as if Gilbert might explode, though his look was skeptical and bemused.

“Fine, fine, I’ll have words with him.” Friderick consented. “But though as a squire he is duty-bound to perform basic services, he is not your slave.” Turning his back on Gilbert, his eyes sought Jacque. Striding over to the boy, Friderick grabbed him by his shoulder and took him a few paces away, though Gilbert watched them with heaving breath, as if his outraged demands took all his energy.

“What’s the matter with you? You got this one chance to explain to me your side.” Friderick asked of Jacque, giving the boy a moment to speak. “Yes, he looks like a weasel. But I have offered this man, a noble like you, my services and protection. And that includes you too. Keeping him alive is your priority. I will not have him starve or peel over from blistered feet.” He put his hand on Jacque’s shoulder, bending down a little to look the boy in the eye. “This is to teach you the meaning of selfless sacrifice for the greater good. It is especially important not to lose focus on why you do it, even when the ones you do it for don’t appreciate it properly. You don’t do it for their respect, praise or glory. You do it because that’s who you are as a knight, as a person. A good person. It’s between you, yourself, and the Almighty.” Friderick explained, before leaning back and sighing.

“Or if that is too much for you to be a good knight, go back to your rich daddy and tell him to pay some other knight to educate you. I’m sure carousing through all the brothels and taverns from one side of the Kingdom to the other will teach much of the virtue of adulthood. That’s not the knight I’m going to teach you to be. You’re going to be selfless patron and protector of all the weak and innocent in the world, or you’ll end up another aggressor and tormentor. Which do you want to be then, huh?” He challenged Jacque.
 
Jacqueline hadn’t given the noble a second thought as she hacked the wooden bars. Not enough to grant release that moment. Just enough so the bear could break out when it wanted. The last thing they needed was an angry bear coming after them. Of course that was placing a lot of faith on a wild animal no matter how beaten it looked. “Don’t worry…you’ll be able to break out soon enough. Go out, find some berries, maybe a nice lady bear.” She was nearly satisfied that it wouldn’t take the creature much effort to break out of its confines when she felt a heavy hand fall on her shoulder. “Wh…gyah!” Suddenly hauled away from the task and the group of knights.

They stopped only a few paces away and she turned to look up at Friderick as he suddenly laid into her. Green eyes wide in surprise she wasn’t entirely sure what he was demanding. Her mouth opened to question what he was on about but he went on. On and on like usual. Another lecture from the mother hen. Though she quickly caught on what the issue was. Lord fancy britches had gone complaining to Friderick. Jacqueline huffed some as Friderick went on about what it meant to be a knight, to help those that were helpless and so on. Though her face fell into disbelieving shock at the accusations of cavorting in brothels and the challenge of the type of knight she wished to be. For a little she just stared up, mouth slack from beguiled surprise. Did he really think she was like that? Refusing to cater to the silly whims of a pampered brat equaled becoming a terrible knight?

Red ran across her face as offended surprise turned to indignation. “Protecting the weak and innocent does not include fetching boots for a man perfectly capable of finding his own boots and food. There is plenty to choose from. He marched to you with his whining complaints easy enough. In the time he could have gotten his own boots and something to eat!” Jacqueline didn’t bother to keep her voice down. She wanted Lord Gilbert to hear every word. “Pampered nobility or not he is a grown man and perfectly capable of finding boots of his own here. You offered him protection which it is very clear he needs.” She shot the petty lord a scathing look. “I doubt you’d be so willing to lecture about this if he were Count Theodore,” she hissed quietly so only Friderick would be able to hear. “But very well. If you wish for him to be coddled whilst in your care, then I can hardly argue against it. Right? I will find the pompous peacock his boots and his rations because Lord forbid he keel over from starvation due to ineptitude.”

Jacqueline sunk the head of the axe into fresh bars of the cage, startling the bedraggled bear some. She turned to march off and find the little lamb his silks and his vittles. Her guts boiled in fury, in sheer indignation over Friderick’s comments. Did he really think so low of her? So low he had to give such a lecture? She stopped and turned to Friderick again. “And he is nothing like me. Noble in birth maybe but that is where our similarities end. I’m shocked you’d even think that.” Her voice was laced with poison in the hissing comment, deeply offended Friderick would even compare them. Clearly Friderick harbored his own prejudice about highborn folk and it still spilled over to her despite her better efforts.

It wasn’t hard to find boots, there were enough dead bandits about. Jacqueline yanked pairs off a few of the fallen so his high and mightiness might have a selection to try on. Without a single word she dropped four pairs for him to take from and went off again to grab a small bite to eat. There was plenty of food with their wagon and he could be fed properly then. The villagers had taken the vast majority of the food for their travels back home but she managed to scrounge up some hard chest and part of a crusty roll. Oh she knew they wouldn’t be to his taste of course. “There, eat this. It’ll tide you over until we make it back to camp.” She stuffed the small meal into his hands before moving away again, more than ready to be back at camp to properly tend to the wounded. Jacqueline gathered up William’s reins but would walk him back. He needed proper care as well and not having a rider would help him. She loosened his saddle as the rest prepared to head back to camp.

It was a long walk but Jacqueline didn’t mind. William needed the rest and she could see him favoring his leg. At least he could carry some of the blankets and bundles they had taken from the camp to ease up the burden on the other horses. If Friderick wanted to let Gilbert ride double that was up to him but she was painfully adamant that William needed to be rested and she intended to hand walk him for the next few days. Finally back at camp she helped Gilbert settle in with pursed lips. She found him a change of clothing and a bed roll to sleep on. Just to make Friderick happy she offered her space in the tent willing to sleep outside. The weather looked favorable enough. After Gilbert was settled in she went to check on Fabien. Of all surprises, and despite their history, she was more worried about her fellow squire than she imagined she ever would be. He had stepped in and saved her life after all. More impressive given an arrow was stuck through his neck. Thus far he was doing well enough. She changed his bandages, packed a fresh poultice, and made up a brew to help with any pain. It would be nice if they were better stocked with herbs but she made due with willow bark and wine mulled together, some thyme to help stave off infection. More potent herbs would be preferred but she had no scales to measure and a mistake could prove deadly.

With Fabien cared for she dug out needle and thread to go find Friderick. She had threatened to find him and sew up his wound. Of course if it had clotted on its own she might not need to.
 
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