The High Noon (Part 1)
Loan Books took off his helm.
It was a plain thing, solid steel plate with a slit visor, and the house insignia, a golden book, pages open in a field vert, adorning the left cheek of the facemask, beneath the eye slits.
Not that you could see any of the detail underneath the caked mud and blood.
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs as though it was for the last time.
Then he threw the helm clear across the tent.
-‘My Lord?’ called Theobold, his squire, a lad of fifteen, but already nearly a head taller than Loan.
Lord Books slammed his gloved fist against the oak table in the tent, sending all the pieces in the war map trembling and tumbling.
-‘Is anything the matter, My Lord?’ Theobold enquired, though he knew better.
Loan took another deep breath, though this time he exhaled slowly.
-‘Frustration, Lad. That is all.’ He began to remove the mailed glove from his hand. ‘Help me out of my armour, Theobold.’
The young squire helped his Lord remove the heavy and sodden black leather armour and the mail shirt underneath. His silk shirt was drenched in sweat and blood where two wounds were still bleeding; one on his left shoulder and the other under his right ribcage.
-‘I shall get maester Archiel to come see to your wounds, My Lord.’ said Theobold once he had helped his Lord out of his armour. He departed the tent.
Loan walked over to the table once more, and reached for a cup and a bottle. He poured himself a cupful, and slumped into a chair.
He took a drink and closed his eyes. He wanted it all to go away, even if for an instant. He wanted to be back at Random House. Fields needed harvesting and stores needed filling. Winter was coming and he had to look after his small folk.
But even in the darkness, death refused to let him go. Closed though they were, his eyes saw only blood and battle; glinting blades dancing the deadly dance of steel. He saw fear in faces familiar and unknown, young and old. Grown men crying, screaming, wanting to go home; pissing themselves in uncontrollable panic. More steel and more blood. He saw himself wielding his sword, drenched in crimson. He was drowning in blood. He could not breathe.
-‘Lord Books! Lord Books!’ There was a shout in the distance.
He awoke suddenly, gasping and sweating. He was still in the pavilion. Maester Archiel sat next to him, cleaning his wounds with boiled wine and wrapping them in fresh bandages. He was a small, round man, with a smile always on his face. Perhaps that was why Loan liked Archiel more than he did most Maesters.
-‘I…how long was I asleep?’
-‘Not long, my Lord.’ He smiled that infectious smile as he pressed the bandages against Loan’s ribcage. Loan let out a sharp wince.
-‘Apologies, my Lord. You took a few rather nasty hits. Nothing serious provided they are looked after properly, mind you. I have cleaned and dressed the wounds as best as I can.’ He glanced at Loan’s face, the smile wavering for a moment. ‘I have been instructed by Lord Weaver to remind you of the evening’s festivities, my Lord. ’
Loan stood up from the chair. He frowned.
-‘I realise these matters of etiquette are not within my remit, my Lord, but you are very much esteemed by the Lords and Ladies of the Regiment, it reflects well upon you and Random House to be present at the King’s honours.’
-‘I am well aware of my duties, Arch.’ Lord Books reached for the cup and refilled it, only this time with water. ‘There was no honour in what transpired today. It was just carnage for the amusement of the King. I should just take my leave and return us all to Random House within the hour.’
-‘It would do the reputation of your house and of your own name damage to do that. You know this, my Lord.’
Loan lost himself in thought for an instant in the reflection from the water on his cup.
-‘Aye. I know this. I just wish I didn’t. Must you always try to be my bloody conscience, Arch?’
The smile returned to the maester’s face.
-‘I only do what any maester would do, my Lord. Pray excuse me I have more of the men of Random House to tend to. Shall I send for young Theobold?’
-‘Aye, I shall have to ready myself for this… celebration. Tell him to fetch some water so I may wash some of the battlefield off me.’
-‘As you command, my Lord.’ Arch paused ‘My Lord, if I may enquire: how did Theobold fare today?’
-‘He did well, Arch. Very well, in fact. His skill at arms is grows by the day. I have asked Lord Weaver to Knight him tomorrow before we depart. But do not tell Theobold, Arch. I’m sure he will appreciate the surprise.’
The smile grew even more on the maester’s face.
-‘I will, my Lord. Err, that is I shan’t.’ He said as he exited the tent.