The High Road (On Hold)

Chapter Ten

          "Sounds like you had quite the adventure last night. Well done, brother" said Meriadoc after breakfast.

"I like to think anyone else would have done the same. You would've, Meri" responded Stéaphan. He rubbed his warm fingers over his sore thighs.

"What happened after she fell? You took her in?"

"I carried her to her chambers. One of the servants had told me where it was when she first arrived. Though I think he told me with different intent in mind."

"Either way, you've done well by your creed and served your king also. Now come ye on. Let's get back to the men."

The two stood up from their table and marched to the courtyard to brief their men on the task ahead. It was, after all, only the day before that King Malcolm had charged his unit with the task of escorting the princess to Edinburgh.

Stéaphan and his companion walked on the wooden platform to address their men.

"Form up, soldiers!" Stéaphan called. "I've got a message for the lot of you!" The men gathered in a rectangle in front of the platform; all ears were on their captain.

"Our beloved Malcolm, King of Scots, has given this unit an important task to perform. Today and tomorr-"

The young officer was cut off by one of his men shouting aloud. "Another task?!" he yelled. "Oi, can the bonny king give us a rest, eh?" Some of the nearby men responded with a few mutterings of "Aye."

Meriadoc stepped in. "Quiet down, ye louts!" he yelled.

Stéaphan continued: "Now. For the remainder of today and tomorrow we will be preparing to escort a noblewoman that recently arrived at the castle to Edinburgh. Every man is to prepare his kit for a week's travel. In two days' time, we will be away to the capitol. Am I understood?"

A general mumble of "Aye" spread throughout the group.

"Right then. Be ye off to your quarters and ready yourselves. We march in two days. Dismissed."

All but one of the soldiers in the huddle began shambling away to their camp. Iohn Forach, one of the sergeants of the unit, approached Stéaphan and Meriadoc. He spoke:

"Sir, may I ask ye who be this woman we are to escort?"

Stéaphan responded, "Just a noblewoman coming south. She has business to attend in Edinburgh. Nothing your men cannae handle."

"Yer not getting soft are ye, Forach? Yer legs cannae take a little walking through the glen, eh?" Meriadoc joked and Forach smiled. He was a somewhat shy man, but he was a good soldier and a leader amongst his troops. He could get the job done and not expect the attention of the masses as a result.

"Never, flag sergeant. Ye've got enough leg for all of us!" retorted the young sergeant letting his guard down only a little.

Meriadoc laughed at the joke with genuine enjoyment. Such is the work of soldiers. On the drill ground, they mock and chide each other. On the battlefield, they protect and respect each other.

Stéaphan, too, had work to do. His job was to ensure every other task was completed properly. After Meriadoc left to prepare his own kit, Stéaphan drifted to the blacksmith to have his spearhead and sidearm sharpened. Soldiers often carried a secondary weapon along with their primary. In spear militia units, the sidearm of choice was a plain dagger used for extra close combat. Stéaphan, however, carried a shortsword. About twice as long as a standard dagger, the blade measured the length from his fist to his elbow. It was a gift from Stéaphan's father. It was a crude weapon fashioned from an old farming tool, but it made for a decent practice sword for a young Scottish boy.

Running his hand across the dull blade brought memories of childhood to the young captain. He recalled cool spring days training with his father on how to wield a sword as the noble knights did.

"Remember Stéaphan, your wrist controls where the sword will go. If you hold your wrist firm, even a strong stroke of an enemy sword won't knock it away." Déirdach held his son's hand against the handle of the sword, if you could even call it one. An afternoon of hammering turned an old sickle into a decent sword for the young boy.

"Yes father", Stéaphan said in his boyish voice befitting an eleven-year-old. He held his sword firmly and swung at his father's shield. The impact left only a small nick in its wooden face. "Ach", said Déirdach, "The old thing is blunt. Don't worry yourself, I'll take it to the smithy later today."

"You two had better not be harming each other out there! You haven't any other sons, Déirdach. If you disfigure this one the next might not come out so well just despite you", called a voice from behind.

Standing in the doorway of a modest wooden home was a thin, mildly attractive woman holding a basket in her arms. "Dear Laiach, I haven't the faintest hope of harming our little one." The father tugged on his son's ear as he said this; Stéaphan swatted his hand away as he did. "I'm not so little!" Stéaphan protested.

"Oh nay, of course ye aren't. You're a big, strong lad who is doing quite well with his new sword. Did you hear that, Laiach? The boy shows talent!"

"Oh aye", she said. "It must've come from my side of the family", she said with a wink.

"Ah come ye here!" Déirdach called as he rushed towards his wife, swinging her around to embrace her from behind. She giggled in the womanly way she does when her husband displays his playful side. She cupped her hands around his hands now locked around her belly. Stéaphan looked on and smiled. One day, he thought, I'll find a woman I can love like that.

The midday sun shone high in the sky. Christelle ought to be waking now. Quickly, he rushed to his quarters to don his officer cape, a thick woolen cloak dyed blue with white spearhead symbols painted on the left breast. This was formal dress in the Scottish army, the only thing he had befitting a visit to the princess.

Stéaphan arrived at the door of her chambers. Two guards stood watch. One of them spoke: "What business have you with the Princess?" He made no effort in hiding his English accent now.

"I need only to see her in private for a moment. This is about the journey south", Stéaphan answered. The guards looked at each other, then back at the Scot. The left guard nodded and opened the door. Christelle sat on a stool, peering out her window to the streets below.

"Good day, my lady. I hope you are feeling well."

She turned to face him. "Well enough, good master. I never did get the chance to properly thank you for last night. I know not what would have happened should you not have come to my rescue. I may not even be here today if you had let me slip out the gatehouse alone."

"I have sworn to my king that I would protect you. Street thugs are not fitting company for a princess. I left one of them a knife wound that I am certain will dissuade them from doing this again. I am only too glad I arrived in time."

The Princess rose from her seat. "Well, good sir, I once again thank you sincerely." She approached him slowly as if trying not to frighten off an animal seen in the wilderness. She kissed her fingertips and pressed them against the soldier's cheek. Stéaphan lowered his eyes as if to prevent eye contact with the Princess. "Any other soldier would have done the same, my lady. But shouldn't you be getting ready for the journey? It's almost midday."

"By the Lord, you speak true! Surely I must prepare for the trek to Edinburah!"

Her English way of pronouncing Edinburgh amused Stéaphan. "Well then, I will take my leave. Good day, my lady."

"And you, noble Scot", replied Christelle as Stéaphan departed.