Red

Child

Six year old Bartholomew  was sitting on his knees and was leaning against his window frame, his elbows folded under his head. The knights were training right outside his uncle's palace. He was fascinated by the movements and the gleam of their swords. The way the knights moved when they fought. It was amazing. Bart's father told him that at age seven he would be sent to train to become a knight. Bart couldn't wait.

The guest room he and his parents were staying in was a decent sized room. The queen sized bed was the only bed in the room. He was thankful, if he slept in his own bed he would freeze. The windows were small. He didn't know why the lord didn't order his workers to make the windows bigger. His mother grabbed Bart's hand and pulled him to the door.

"Let us go, Bart. For it is dinner." His mother said in a slight British accent. They lived in England with his mother and father.

"Yes, Mother." Bart said, walking up by his mother. His mother opened the door and walked out into the hall.
"Where is Father?" Bartholomew asked.

"He is already at the cafeteria." His mother said, looking down at him briefly. The halls had an arch on them, with pillars sticking half way through the wall. The walls had banners on them with the knight insignia on it, a red cross. He walked down the hall with his mother. His mother opened the door to the cafeteria. The cafeteria was like the halls except much bigger, not in length, but in width. It had the same banners flowing from the walls, the table was filled with the noblemen and the lord and queen.

His father was sitting beside them both. They did not visit very often, so that's why the lord was focused on his father. His father was the lord's brother. There were empty seats by his father, and his mother walked over to them. He sat down in one while the servants brought in the food.

Bartholomew packed his plate with food. Bart was a very independent child, and surprisingly intelligent. He started to eat, but his mother slapped his hand lightly. He looked around and everyone was bowing their heads with their hands folded. The Lord started praying. "Dear, Lord, bless the food before us, the family beside us, and the love between us, amen." The lord spoke in a deep voice.

The room was quiet, except the clatter of forks and knives scrapping the plates. He grabbed his fork and started cutting his steak. He took a bite of it and it was delicious. Maybe if it didn't stink so much in the castle and the smoke was gone, it might've been better, but no-one had that luxury.

He ate all the food on his plate and drank his water. He quietly waited for everyone to finish, he didn't like being the only one leaving the table. His uncle started talking to him. "Bartholomew, you will be seven in 2 weeks, then you will start training to become a knight." For Bartholomew, excited was an understatement, but he kept a straight face.

"Yes, milord." He said formally.

"You do not have to call me milord, I am your uncle, I prefer you to call me that."

"Yes, uncle." Bart said.

"That is better, nephew." Uncle said."I might start your training a bit earlier." Bartholomew was getting so excited he couldn't contain it anymore.

"Really, when?"  He practically yelled, smiling like an idiot.

"How about next week?" Uncle asked and Bart was nodding furiously. "Good, you better get ready." Uncle said, Bart was jumping up and down in his seat. His mother had put her hand his shoulder to make him stop.

Later in the guest room, Bartholomew was working out his upper body. He would grab sticks outside and practise sword fighting. He would watch how the knights moved, how they held their sword, and how they swung. He watched how they moved, he was working on the movement of his legs when a knight came over and brought him to the training area where children, seven through fourteen trained. He was starting his training, Bart was overly excited. But he pushed that down and acted like a soldier. 

The room was bigger than the cafeteria, it had weapon racks pushed up against the walls, dummies on stands by them. The instructor started talking.

"For those who are fourteen you will graduate this year. For those that are new bloods you will training with me for the next Eight years. Do not think that because your young I will be going easy on you, because I will not." He said in loud, deep voice. Bart stood up straight in my spot. He walked up and down the line of the seven year olds. 

He started talking about how to stand and since Bart had already been working on it, he already knew how to stand. The the instructor gave Bart and the other kids a wooden sword. He showed them how to hold the sword, and how to stand with the sword, how to move. The kids started practising on the dummies. The instructor corrected everyone who was doing something wrong.

For the rest of the year, the children practiced what they learned on the first day and more. Bartholomew trained at home, he would watch the knights train. A knight walked over to him when Bart was sitting under a tree, watching the other knights. Bart looked up at the knight and stood up.

"What do you need, sir?" Bart asked the knight.

"You are training to be a knight are you not?" The knight asked Bart.

"Yes, sir." Bart was getting confused as to why the knight was asking these questions.

"When I was in your position, I almost dropped out. I just wanted to make sure you did not drop out like I almost did. If you follow this motto, you will be the best. Be the best and nothing less. Remember that." The knight walked away and went back to training.

Bart stood there and thought about his words.  Be the best and nothing less. He had to admit, it was catchy. Bart stood up and walked to the barracks. He put his stuff in a trunk at the end of his bed and laid down on his bed and went to sleep.