Footsteps in Time (The After Cilmeri Series Book 1)

Footsteps in Time (Chapter Four)

David

"Keep your guard up," Bevyn said.

Dutifully, David raised his wooden sword above his head, two hands on the hilt, ready for another attack by Dai, a boy bigger than he was (as most of them were), and nearly two years older.

"Now!" Bevyn said, and they met in the middle of the practice ring, set in the courtyard of the castle. The courtyard sloped in a northerly direction, and as Bevyn had taught, David tried to maneuver onto the higher ground

Anna might have been having difficulties with the whole sewing thing—she'd spent the last twelve evenings complaining about living here: having to spend all day in the women's solar, the gossip she didn't understand, the lack of showers, the lack of Mom, which David could appreciate—but David didn't see how it could compare to what he had to deal with every day. Not only was he having to learn three new languages at once: Welsh, French, and the god-awful Latin, but he actually had to fight boys every day—and have the adults in authority think it was perfectly fine.

So, David was a black belt in karate. Okay, yeah—that was really helpful. David knew how to fight, both fairly and unfairly, and he wasn't having trouble holding his own in hand-to-hand combat. In fact, nobody wanted to fight him anymore and Bevyn was having him teach the boys a few things. It was the sword fighting and the quarterstaff that were another matter entirely.

"Thwack; thwack; thwack." Their swords met, little splinters flying off as they hacked at each other. David had done all right that first session around the fire on the road to Castell y Bere, but in the daily grind of squire practice, his inadequacies and inexperience were bare for everyone to see. There were rules for how to swordfight, attacks and counter attacks and strategy, none of which he knew.

Dai's weapon smashed into his fingers. "Merde!" David swore in French and dropped his sword. Despite his exertions, his hands were freezing in their fingerless gloves and only more painful now that Dai's attack had nearly severed them. Once he became a knight—Ha! If I became a knight, as if the thought wasn't entirely ludicrous under the circumstances— David would wear gauntlets to protect the back of his hands, but no one had issued him any yet, the worse for him.

"You became distracted by your footing," Bevyn said. He gestured to the ground where David's sword lay and David bent over to pick it up. "You were not attentive."

"Yes, sir," David said, resisting the temptation to roll his eyes, knowing that Bevyn was right. Every one of these boys had at least five or six years of experience in sword fighting on him—lightsaber fighting with his friends didn't count—and David was woefully behind.

"Try again," Bevyn said.

Dai and David faced each other. Dai was sweating despite the cold, and perhaps because he so badly wanted to beat David. Dai was the boy David had dropped to the ground that first day at wrestling and he'd not forgiven him.

They hacked away at each other for another ten minutes, ending in a draw this time. Finally warm enough, David pulled off his woolen jersey and stood in his linen tunic. It was soaked with sweat and steam came off his torso.

Bevyn gave David a quick nod of his head and slapped his hand on David's left shoulder as he passed, heading to the keep. "Good."

David turned to watch as Bevyn strode across the courtyard.

"He said 'good'?" Owain, a tall lanky boy, came to stand next to David. "He never says 'good'! The best I've ever gotten is a grunt. Christmas must have gotten the better of him!"