A long, long time ago, in the countryside that
surrounded Smallvillage in Britain, there was a young boy named
James. This happened upon a time when knights rescued fair maids from
the wrath of horrid dragons, upon a time when there were kings and
princesses and glorious castles, when Robin Hood and his men made the
woods of Sherwood dangerous for the rich, and when the world was full
of Heroes.
 Heroes and knights were all chivalrous, brave and kind-hearted.
These men had noble names like Richard, Edward, George and Wilfried,
while men christened to Benjamin, Matthew, Thomas and James practised
farming, trade or fishing.
James's father, grandfather and great grandfather had plowed the
earth and bred sheep. James's brothers would all follow in their
ancestors' footsteps whilst James's sisters connected themselves to the
neighbour farms through marriage.
James, however, had always been different. A Hero hid underneath
his outer appearance of dutiful farmer's son. Great deeds awaited him
out there, and he was ready to follow the demands of his heart at any
time. But he needed money. Money to armour and horse. And he needed a
knighthood, for to what good would it otherwise do to defeat monsters,
rescue young ladies from named monsters or gain awesome victories over
evil men? It would only result in somebody else's taking the credit,
somebody baptised Richard, Edward, George or Wilfried.
Alas, that he had been named something other than James! Had but
his name been noble and of ancient line, the difficulties had never
arisen. He would have been on top of the world.
Time passed. One day, not long after he had celebrated his
fourteenth birthday with his family, James' father had sent him to
Smallvillage with the old cart to buy seed. A small notice on the
door of the village tavern then caught his attention. James halted the
stout mare and approached the board.
SITUATION AVAILABLE:
Squire, who art accustomed to Horsemanship and
who hast, mayhap, also knowledge of Armouring, wanted.
Employment canst speedily take place.
Sir Roderick Wilfried Knightley,
Villagestreet 2,
Bigcity. |
James carefully read the placard twice. Squire... mused he. As
squire he would gain both experience of knighting and money to buy his
own knight equipment when that became necessary. Of course, his title
was still troubling him, as he did not have it. But, thought he
optimistically, that would probably sort itself out too.
The following day he took leave of his family, and begun the walk
to Bigcity with a bundle on his back.
Sir Roderick W. Knightley lowered his visor, and took the shield
and the lance that his new squire offered him. James was a fine sort
of boy and the knight had hired him on the spot. Maybe he was somewhat
uncultivated and rustic, but both strong and able. He had a good way
with horses too, thought the knight satisfied. Taking employees from
the country always turned out successful, they were simple,
hardworking people.
Time passed. One day, not long after he had celebrated his
sixteenth birthday, James knew the time had come. He had learnt all he
could use from Sir Roderick, and the purse had a reassuring weight to
it. He had saved every penny. He had also practised fencing and
riding every day in his small lodge on the master's attic. Of course,
he had to put up with a stick for sword and a stool as horse, but he
was convinced that, whenever he could get his hands on the genuine
article, he would be able to complete his knowledge speedily.
The following day he took leave of Sir Roderick Wilfried Knightley
and went out among all the shops and stands of Bigcity.
James proudly straightened in the saddle. His image was now
complete. The picture was perfect! It had not cost much money
either. He had obtained the second hand armour almost for free from
Matthew, the smith, and the dents on the breastplate and on the
shoulder were scarcely visible if he pulled his cloak together. He
had painted the shield in blue and gold with a great dragon in the
middle. The horse was very important, and had cost a lot more, but
this was an extraordinarily fine mount with the best of pedigrees.
What its name, Evil, suggested was a minor and quite insignificant
detail, thought James.
In spite of all beginner's difficulties, like mounting a biting
horse that refuses to stay still, fully armoured and without the
aid of a squire, did the resolute young man improve continually. The
dents in his armour were accompanied by more, some that came from the
countless somersaults he made from horseback height during
exercise (he had heard, however, that you must fall off the horse
at least a hundred times before you are a good rider, so he did not
worry too much), others that were oddly horseshoe shaped.
Time passed. One day, not long after he had celebrated his
eighteenth birthday in the small room he rented, James happened to
see a notice when he passed the tavern The Mean Mount. He halted
Evil and dismounted.
TOURNAMENT
Tuesday until Saturday, two Weeks ahead, the by Tradition yearly
Tournaments art held, on the Meadows beyond the City. Participants art
requested to apply at least one Week before the Ewent. Applications
canst
by Preference be given to one of the Arrangers; i.e. Sir Bartholomew
Dandelion and Sir Francis Daffodil, King Street 8, from Thursday.
The
Victorious One obtains Service as a Knight for His Majesty, the
King; the Honour which he mayst
exchange for 10 Pounds if he so wishest or such a Title already
possessest. |
James' face brightened. This was his opportunity! He only had to
win the tournament. The knighthood was almost in his grasp! He
immediately went to the arrangers' office on King Street and made an
application with the last of his savings.
The big day arrived. James sat straight and proud on his mount. He
was not nervous, for he knew he would succeed. He had exercised so
much!
The signal sounded. A herald solemnly read the rules for the first
part, which chiefly consisted in picking rings off the ground with the
lance. James smiled inwardly. He could do this with folded eyes. When
it was his turn everything went smooth, his performance was both fast
and flawless.
Next part was similar to the first one, though this time you
picked the rings from a tree arm attached to a pole. The rings hung
in a row and you had to catch the one painted in your own colours.
James spurred Evil and easily caught the blue ring on the tip of his
lance. With an elegant gesture he threw it to the cheering
audience.
The tournament lasted five days. The knights' contests were
accompanied by comic jesters, agile acrobats, skilful archery
performances and both a competition in crossbow and one in longbow,
shouting traders, solemn announcements and other things that could
catch the interest of the audience. James did well. On the last day
he was among the few who had been selected to the grand finale, where
the chosen ones were to compete man to man.
Evil snorted and tramped nervously. He chewed on the bit and
sprinkles of white foam gleamed like stars on his black, muscular
chest. James calmly observed the wooden fence through the apertures in
the visor. On each sides of it would the both opponents chase towards
each other at a gallop and try to push the other off the horse with
their lances. Although he had never encountered another knight
before, James confidently believed he would do all right in that
too.
The signal sounded and he pressed his heels in Evil's ribs. He
aimed at his opponent. Then the lances hit the shields with a crash.
The force was enormous, greater than James ever could have imagined.
He was thrown out of the saddle head over heels, while his opponent
expertly parried the strike and rode away unharmed.
It was a miserable young man who slowly rode home that evening. He had
lost his first encounter. He still had no title. His purse was
empty. He had to accept fact: you cannot be a knight if you are named
Benjamin, Matthew, Thomas or James.
The following day old Ben, the butcher, hired him as errand-boy.
Time passed. One day, not long after he had celebrated his
twentieth birthday in the small chamber in the inner regions of the
butchery where he lived, he decided to return home. He had not become
a knight, but nevertheless earned some money, probably more than most
people in Smallvillage would ever own. He was now assistant butcher
and very popular both among the customers and the butcher's other
employees.
The following day he took leave of old Ben. He put on his armour,
mounted the mean horse and turned towards home.
A couple of hours later he heard a scream. He looked about in all
directions, but could not see anything unusual, and continued
ahead. Then he heard it again. It sounded as if it came from the
forest on the right side of the road. Irresolutely he turned the horse
around and nudged it to a reluctant trot. After riding through the
forest a short while he entered a crest. Ahead of him was a vale and
the view was terrific. He could distinguish the ocean far away if he
strained his eyes. For the third time the sound echoed, much closer
this time, and closer features caught his attention. In the middle of
the vale was a lake, in the middle of the lake was an island and in
the middle of the island stood a tower made of stone. A white face
could scarcely be seen in a window far up in the tower.
Without hesitation he galloped down toward the tower. It was a
beautiful girl that was trapped! He was just about to rip off his
armour, throw himself into the lake and swim across it when he heard
a dreadful roar immediately behind him, followed by a hissing noise
and an unpleasant heat. Smoke poured on the ground when he slowly
turned around. It was a huge dragon, a scaly, fire-breathing beast! It
flapped its wings menacingly and stared at him with eyes as large as
teacups.
James held the reins with a steady hand and lowered the lance. He
shut the visor with a final click. He spurred Evil. Now there was no
turning back...
The battle was short and nasty. The dragon was large and
powerful, but James was small and fast and the horse was mean. While
the horse bit the dragon in a wing, James thrust his lance straight
into its heart. Then he removed his armour, tied his wicked horse to
a tree and swam to the tower with quickness and ease. He picked the
lock and the fair maiden fell in his strong arms. She turned out to be
no less than a real princess! James set out toward the castle in a
cheerful mood and with the princess in front of him in the saddle.
|
1998 Jemima & Carl-Henrik Hammarlund. All rights reserved.