The Count of Castle Rock

Chapter LII- The Border Camp

Thaddeus Hunt waits quietly beside the closed tent flap as the two knights argue. His breeches and tunic are a bit tight and his tabard is in need of cleaning. He stands at attention, attempting to ignore the shouting noblemen and his overall discomfort. His commander, Sergeant Irene Hawk, gave him orders to wait for a response. So he waits.

"My banner was in clear display and my standard bearer waved it up and down the road. You ordered your men to engage just to slight me for the tourney of Elkwood." Sir Carmichael is a squat and rotund man whose ill-fitting armor makes him look like a walking pot-bellied stove. Thaddeus imagines the man's blond handlebar mustache bobbing as he shouts.

"The Tourney of Elkwood? That was four years ago," Sir Rattermont is the opposite of Carmichael. He is scarecrow thin with armor too large for his frame. His sly features make him appear to always be scheming.

"Yes. Four years and you still begrudge me for unseating you!"

"Unseat? You cheated by using that monstrosity of a Mount in the final tilt!"

"My starting mount was unwell, and the rules allowed for a switch. It was not my fault that my gaming stallion is on the beefy side."

"The creature is fat, Carmichael." Rattermont sighs. "It is obscene."

"He is perfectly suited for a man of my size."

"I disagree. You and that fat horse are in need of a diet." The tent flap flies open and both knights step out into the sun. "It is of no matter. Your men traversed a road I was ordered to secure by Lord Lawson personally. If they'd properly presented their livery, this misunderstanding could have been avoided."

"Misunderstanding? You've injured my nephew and killed my standard bearer."

"Your nephew failed to identify himself and his ruffians were mistaken as bandits."

Sir Rattermount takes a seat upon a field stool beside a wide barrel and pours himself a glass of wine. He sniffs the bouquet, ignoring Sir Carmichael's reddening face. The squat knight grips the battle axe in his hand so tightly his knuckles turn white. Thaddeus notices that while the skinny man seems unbothered, his hand rests on the hilt of his dirk.

"I've already explained this mishap to the Lord Marshal. Will you now attack me for an honest mistake in his service?" The look on his face says this is exactly what he wants from the fat knight.

"I will not dishonor myself with such an act..." Sir Carmicheal growls between clenched teeth. "But this isn't over." Furious, the pot-bellied knight storms off.

Thaddeus watches the nobleman go, flabbergasted by the exchange. It doesn't seem like the kind of behavior one should expect from his allies and leaders.

"Did you enjoy that, boy?" asks Sir Rattermont as he sips his wine.

"En... Enjoy what, my lord?"

Rattermont smirks. "You're clearly smarter than you look. You would be wise to stay out of the business of your lords. Whose squire are you, fat one?"

"I am not a squire, sir."

Rattermont sputters, spraying his lap with crimson stains. "Dentworth sent a random soldier to get my response?" He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "He must trust you."

"Actually, my lord, Sergeant Irene sent me," Tad corrects.

"Irene? Oh, Irene Hawk? She still serves at his side? She is loyal, isn't she, boy?" Rattermont laughs at his own private joke. "Tell Dentworth that I will provide a dozen horses to replace those lost," he says after sobering quite a bit. "Now be on your way. Your slovenly shape reminds me of a certain fat knight and it is upsetting my wine. "