Crossed Swords: A Tale of Maid Cordelia

Ch 7: Cordelia Runs the Gauntlet

On the third day, Cordelia rose early, and from the arched window in her cell, gazed out on the early dawn. The morning light was pale and the air was clean, as though still unused. Into the heavy stone basin that stood by her cot, she dipped her hands and bathed her face in cool water. She splashed the water through her hair and over her shoulders, and then spied the large wooden chest that stood in the corner against the stone wall. She lifted its heavy lid. Inside were the treasures of a knight: her weapon of choice, a stout halberd with its sharp curved edge made of shining brass; the cuirass of hard nickel and tin that would cover her chest and back; greaves for her legs; the stout tunic, called the hauberk, that went under her armor; and of course the heavy brass helmet that would protect her head and eyes.

She rummaged further in the chest and found the anklets, the soft leather slippers, and the wimple that Lord Ebro had provided her. It was this latter that she admired most; it was a stiff linen veil that would cover her hair and head, and protect her ears. She had seen Dame Lady of the Sorrows wearing hers during the Challenge of Swords, and Dame Calyx, too, whose wimple bore the pale blue of her house; now Cordelia could join the other women knights in wearing her wimple. Its stiff linen fabric was strong, like the sails of boats, and she felt the ribs of cloth carefully folded in upon one another, sewn with strong cord, to strengthen it. It was a deep yellow, a color she had chosen herself, to honor the bright sun, for that star nourished her and her father and sisters, and she was grateful for it.

All these that she gazed on: they were the garments of war, and they were also the protection she would need in the coming day's events. Her heart swelled with pride and confidence. They were the garments of a knight! Lord Ebro had prepared her well, and she remembered his instructions. As she put on each article of clothing, she said the litany of the sacred words, the sign she was already on the way to attaining full knighthood.

First, on Lord Sangfroid's instructions, she donned the leather britches; they were soft and shaped to fit the outline of her legs. Then she shod her feet with the thin leather slippers, which would strengthen and protect her feet when she put on the heavy boots Lord Ebro had made for her. Next she put on the grey hauberk, a short linen robe with narrow sleeves that did not sway or buckle, because it fit around her torso tightly, before tapering to her waist and hips. As she belted it around her middle, a fresh breeze drifted into the cell and bathed her cheek. She could smell the pure moistness of newly-mown hay, which the farmers on Dame Esa's estate must have just cut and brought into the barn. She thought of her father, who would also be at work so early, shaping iron for his blades and sharpening them, because business must be kept up, even on a festive day; but she knew that by noon, Farrant, Pierce, and Fira would be assembled in the front row of the arena when the trials began.

From the corridor, Cordelia heard a soft but insistent knock on her cell door. A raspy voice whispered, "If you are awake, Maid Cordelia, let me in." Mlava, Dame Calyx's beldame, squinted at Cordelia as she opened the door. "I have with me the boots you must wear for the joust and the gauntlet," she said. "They will protect you better even than the chainmail and the hides you will wear, no matter how tough those might be." Mlava grinned sheepishly as she entered, and bowed before Cordelia. "I also bring a message from your father," she said. "He has observed you all through your trials, and is pleased and proud of what you have done. Look, he sends you this." Cordelia accepted the small but heavy package, carefully wrapped in a light muslin cloth.

She took off the thin gauze. There, in a leather sheath, on which Farrant had embossed a lacy pattern, almost like filigree it was so fine, was a large hunting knife, with a beveled blade. Cordelia had never seen such a keen, sharpened edge, polished until it gleamed like silver in the morning sun. At the hasp was the heavy, perfectly-balanced handle, carved from the antler of an elk, on which Farrant had engraved a short text in small, yet elegant letters. It read,