Knight and Dae

By Siobhan Lake Beachy

Set in the days of the early Renaissance, Knight and Dae is a slice of life in a small hamlet in England. From a murder, albino, kidnapping, a joust, and a rude house steward, Dae must overcome all to save her family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Dec 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490861449

Siobhan Lake Beachy

Siobhan lives in northern Arizona with her husband. She has two daughters, one granddaughter, three cats, and two dogs. She is active in her local church.

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 Siobhan Lake Beachy.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Author photo by Elaine Greene

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4908-6143-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-6144-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014921100

WestBow Press rev. date: 11/21/2014

Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Dedication

This book is for:

Bill, my husband, who bought me my first computer so I could write easier.

Elaine & Jennie, for Always being there with support and encouragement.

Crystal, Dixie & Sasha, my daughters & granddaughter - I have to mention them.

Duchess, my dog who curls up by me when I’m writing

Jumper, my cat who loved to sit on my arm while I am writing.

Jay & Amy, my bosses who let me have Saturday’s off so I can write.

All my friends from the Renaissance festival east of Phoenix, Arizona:

Adrian and Tartanic, drums and bagpipes - enough said.

Ginger, who encouraged & saxophones

John, for all the wonderful pottery & talk

And everyone else my brain just is not remembering right now.

Thank you all SO much.

Chapter 1

G eoffry watched the battle rage below him. With quills, dyes and paper before him, he was ready to record anything he saw. It was his duty. Nay, his privilege.

The noise of the battle threatened to overwhelm him on that hot day, as did the stench from the field. Those were the worst parts of his job. Duty came first.

He had been a King of Arms for many years. His duty to his King, his Lord and to the Knight he served, was his whole life. Duty came before anything else. Right now his main duties lay in watching the battle before him. He was up in a slight hill some distance away from the main action. However, he was close enough to see what he needed to and what he was required of him.

Geoffry was a portly fellow, with a medium length brown to greying beard. He dressed more or less in peasant type clothes when working to keep others from thinking that he was royalty. Besides, he didn’t really want to get paint over his good clothes. His keen brown eyes caught all the action at a distance. His vision close up was not what it used to be which is why he was training his apprentice, his nephew, Peter.

Peter was good, however, it would be a very long time before he was as good as I am, Geoffry thought. To some, that sounded pretentious, but to him, it was truth.

Peter was off getting himself a midday meal while it was still hot, the food not the weather.

The knights that he watched belonged to his King and Lord. They kept the kings lands safe. That, above all else, had to be done. He must record any who acted in a cowardly manner. Any knight who acted in such a way was no knight and didn’t deserve to even go into battle, let alone wear a coat of arms, in his humble opinion.

All of a sudden, out - it seemed - from nowhere, an enemy knight drove his sword at Sir Humphrey. Up to this point, the knight had been a bit of a coward in his book. Humphrey never sought out an enemy to attack; they had always come and challenged him. The other knight was the one that was attacked. Geoffry wasn’t sure if that was a good strategy or just plain cowardice. A knight with a sable, or black, shield with an argent, or silver, sword on it continued to attack his knight. That was Lord Gilbert. He wasn’t known as the ‘Black Knight’ but as the ‘Silver Sword’.

That should be ‘Argent Sword’, Geoffry corrected himself. The general peasant populace didn’t know that much about coat of arms either.

Lord Gilbert thrust his sword just as Sir Humphrey fell. Gilbert’s sword plunged into Humphrey. Geoffrey saw the knight go down and it didn’t look good.

Grabbing a paper, fresh quill and some dye, Geoffry made sure that he would be ready when death came. There was no priest nearby, so he would have to make sure that everything was recorded properly.

Erik, a page boy of thirteen years, was dragging Sir Humphrey’s body off the battlefield.

Erik had finished recording the wishes of Sir Humphrey, who had died bravely by sword in hand to hand combat. During to short fight the face plate of the helmet had been smashed onto his head, that was a common occurrence if you didn’t have armour that was properly made. There was nothing he could do. Sir Humphrey, he recorded, died facing the enemy bravely and with honor befitting a knight of the realm.

Geoffry wiped his brow with his sleeve. It was another warm day. Warm. That was an understatement. It was hot. Sweat dripped from every orifice of his body. He was sweating in places that he didn’t know he could. He didn’t even want to imagine how hot is could be in all that armour and in the heat of battle.

Geoffry did have one advantage though. He was sitting on a barrel under a tree with his table in front of him and he had to remember that. At least he didn’t have fifty pounds of armour on and fighting in the hot sun.

The knights that were still on horseback swung their swords at their enemy like a knife cutting through butter.

Steady on, Geoffry, the cook said, coming up behind the King of Arms. I have your food for you.

At least, that is what Geoffry had hope he said. The cooks accent was so bad the Geoffry hardly recognized it as the King’s English language. Geoffry was thankful he didn’t have the cooks job. On this day, it would have been extremely hot, he thought.

There be very little meat in your soup. I’m saving it for the knights that returns, the cook continued.

This will be fine, Geoffry said, taking the bowl. He drank a sip from the edge, glad that it had cooled a bit. I’ll eat in a bit. I need to concentrate on the battle, mind you. He hoped the cook would just go away.

Then he remembered. Isn’t my nephew, Peter, with you?

But, there was no such luck. The knights that had been pulled out of battle, or were to injured to fight, must not have given the cook all the juicy details that he wanted.

No, no nephew.

So, what was his wandering nephew up to? He had taken the boy on for his brothers sake and was sorry for it. He held so much hope for the boy, he could draw well, however, his mind wasn’t alert for the details of the battle as they raged.

So, how’s it going down there?

That depends on whose side you’re on. He needed to record another death. Sir Elan had met his doom.

The cook made a face. That must have hurt, the cook replied. Erik was pulling the body off the field again as the fight kept going on around him.

Erik, Geoffry noticed, took Elan’s last wishes down.

Is that little guy supposed to be doing that?

Yes, he is. Please, clear the area. I need to record his final wishes. Erik came running up the hill to where Geoffry was and gave him the written words. Quickly the boy ran back down, watching the battle carefully. As you go back to the main camp, he paused, hoping the cook would understand. Geoffry hoped the cook would take the queue. Please, send someone for the bodies.

Things are bad here. I thought the mess was bad. The cook did stumble out of the way and down the back side of the hill toward the main camp. The swarm of flies that seemed to follow him, left with him.

Tents were everywhere on that side of the hill. Most of the knights had their own tents for themselves and their squires. The ones that had fought most of the night, during the sneak attack, were sleeping now. Most of the had wounds so severe that it would take a miracle for them to recover. Would their wives want them now, if they saw them with missing arms, legs or eyes?

The battle went on and on. Or so it seemed. Geoffry recorded more acts of bravery, deaths and act of cowardice.

The ones he was watching now was Sir Jonathan and Sir Kain. Both had done well for his Lord, but Sir Jonathan was outstanding. Sir Kain was a coward and tried his best to ride the coat tails of his friends.

Once again, Kain turned and ran when an opposing knight was behind him, not turning to fight as he should have done. Another knight was running towards Kain, who was now pined in the middle. Kain ducked as the knight in the front swung his sword. Any knight would have done that, however, Geoffry knew that for Kain it was sheer cowardice. The other two knights fell over, having killed each other.

This was not good, Geoffry decided. The result of his decision may have killed two enemies, however, he noted, the act of running away was cowardly. He did not stand up and face his opponent the way he should have.

Geoffry wrote down the act of cowardice as little Erik again rushed out to drag the dying knights off the battlefield. If only Kain could be as brave as little Erik.

1.jpg

Kain looked up at the King of Arms after the two knights exterminated each other. Two for one. That should get him noticed. He glanced over at Jonathan fighting another knight with his sword. Parrying and thrusting at all the right moments, he made it look so easy, Kain thought, his mouth curling up into a sneer. Then, going in for the kill when his adversary least expected it.

Jonathan made it look way to easy. He always was a stupid bugger to beat. But then, Jonathan always had the best of everything anyway. He, Kain, had to work for everything he had, no matter how small it was.

Kain glanced up to the tent on the hill and saw Geoffry writing. Probably something about how brave that simpleton Jonathan killed that last knight. Anyone could do that. Shrugging off the memory of the two dead knights rushing him, Kain sat for a moment. He took off his helmet and wiped the sweat from his face.

Come now, don’t hang about all day. There’s more for us to campaign with, Jonathan said to Kain’s unprotected face. Put your helmet on and let’s get to it. For King and glory.

Kain put his helmet back on.

For King and glory, Jonathan shouted as he rushed off to face another one, who wanted to bravely meet his match.

King and glory, Kain muttered and stood.

The day was too hot and the armour way to heavy for him to even care. Reluctantly, Kain glanced to the top of the hill and saw Geoffry watching him. Kain saluted him with his sword. The King of Arms bent and wrote something.

An anger came over Kain at that moment. He knew that the glorified heralder was writing something about him in that book of his. Praising Jonathan and ridiculing him. That’s how it always was, ever since they were squires together. Jonathan always got all the breaks, all the good ones at least. And he, Kain, was handed the worst. The horse with the lame leg. The lance that broke easiest at contests. The sword that was not well made. The ladies choose Jonathan. All for Jonathan and nothing for him.

He looked behind him as the battle raged on. Slowly, Kain crept up the hill. Geoffry had his back to him as he entered the King of Arms tent.

So, what bad things are you writing about me in that there book of yours, Kain said, pointing to the book with his sword. An evil gleam came into his eye and he re-aimed his sword.

A startled Geoffry turned and saw the man’s sword pointed at him, spilling some of the soup the cook had brought earlier. I was writing about the battle, as is my job. Yours is to be on the battlefield for your king. In case you have forgotten.

I know my job, herald, Kain said, snarling.

Then kindly get back to it or, Geoffry left the rest of the sentence dangling.

Or what? You’ll write me up in your little book?

It is my job. The king and lord trust me.

An increased anger surged through Kain and he ran his sword through the King of Arms.

Geoffry clutched his wound, looked up surprised at the knight and fell over.

1.jpg

Peter walked up the hill. His uncle had taught him a lot about heraldry. He really didn’t like it, but it was a trade and a good one. One with a title, eventually. He would prefer to paint. To bring to life, on canvas, the landscapes that he saw or people he had met. But his father, Geoffry’s brother, thought it best he have a respectable trade.

The cook had brought his uncle a meal earlier. Why, he didn’t know. Maybe he just wanted out of the hot, fly infested place. He had told the cook that he could take it up to him. But that for whatever reason was frowned upon.

Peter could just see the top of the hill; his uncle was falling to the ground, clutching his side. Kain was there holding a bloodied sword.

Peter stood still. He was out in the open and didn’t really want to be seen. Kain had just killed his uncle. He had to remember so he could later put it all in his uncle’s, now his, writings.

Now another knight was there, defending his dead uncle. He drew out his small booklet that he kept with him. How stupid I am, he thought, I should have been doing this all along. He began to write and draw best he could.

Then it occurred to him. If he had been there as his uncle wanted, he, too, would now most likely be dead.

1.jpg

Oh, what a nasty piece of work that was, said a voice behind Kain. Is that how you treat all the King of Arms where you’re from? The man had a French accent.

Kain turned on the stranger with an inferno in his eyes and slashed out with his sword. The two fought around the tent that Geoffry had his things set up in. Tables crashed to the ground with ink of all different colours playing together and running into the green grass and eventually, the brown earth.

The other knights sword crashed into the tree. He lost his balance and tumbled backward down the slope. Kain followed him to make sure that he would not survive this last battle.

Finally, the knight lay still. Kain stood over him, waiting.

Exhausted, the other knight finally turned over to see Kain’s sword pointed at his face.

Well, kill me then and be done with it, he said, waiting for the final moment.

Kain looked at the other man. To kill him would put a quick end to it and him. However, to have this man at prisoner - to hold him for ransom - could make him a rich man. Rich enough for him to buy his own home. He wouldn’t have to stay in the kings castle. He could buy some things that he normally couldn’t afford, like the respect of his peers.

No, I shall do no such thing. You are me prisoner.

Chapter 2

J onathan sat astride his horse. He and the poor beast had fought together for quite awhile. The two of them had been in battle many times, riding into charges and slaying the enemy for the king and the country. A lot of times the poor old nag was left on the sidelines, most likely guided there by some page, when he had fought hand to hand. They had come many of thousands of miles together, traveling over sea anxious for the war ahead, and during the war traveling from site to site looking for the glory. And now home. For the journey home, he chose to go the long way across the land. It would take longer, however, he needed a chance to relax and forget. His mind and body needed a chance to heal.

Jonathan looked over at the grey and white beast of burden that carried his armour. The donkey walked slowly beside him and the horse. Not wishing to make himself a target for every bandit from the Holy Lands (and more recently closer to home) to home, he took off his armour. He had talked