Children of the Fountain Page 9

  “Thank you, my lady,” said Matthias. As he sat down opposite her his eyes caught the shape of her womanly body and her perfume swept over him – it was a smell of sweet fruits, fresh forests and spring blossoms all rolled into one.

  She proceeded to serve tea in a meticulous and precise fashion. First a silver jug poured milk into the cup. Then, the pot delivered a wonderfully smelling golden red tea which tanned as it hit the milk. Finally after the offer of sugar, which Matthias duly accepted, he picked up the cup.

  Her short intake of breath was directed at Matthias’s hands. He felt sure he was doing something wrong; but what? He looked down at his hand holding the impossibly thin china cup before looking back at Lady Taylor. Her fingers caressed the handle of her own cup and the smallest pointed directly into the air away from it.

  Matthias had seen Mr Hardy drink in the same fashion. He adjusted his grip, spilt some tea, but finally managed to point his little finger into the air in triumph!

  He brought the cup to his lips and drank, or rather, slurped. The lady raised her eyebrows and this time she placed her own cup back on the saucer in front of her.

  “Am I to understand you have never taken tea before?”

  “I’ve drank tea?” said Matthias.

  Lady Taylor tilted her head to one side in sadness and held her hands together. “My dear boy,” she said, “I mean taken tea. At a formal occasion such as this; in a parlour, with china and a lady or a gentleman.”

  “Oh I see,” he replied. “No, I haven’t. Am I doing something wrong?”

  She tutted quietly under her breath and looked awkwardly at him. “Posture, for one. Not only the way you are sitting but the way you are holding the cup and of course your feet.”

  “Too far apart?”

  “Too close together,” she replied, tapping the table with each syllable. “All this can be worked on; all of these things can be taught. But that noise dear boy, that frightful noise. That must be undone.”

  He blushed and looked at his feet. They were tight together and he was sitting rather awkwardly but to be fair this was more out of genuine nervousness than any bad habits. True, if he was relaxing in his room with Harry he may well have had his shoes off and his feet firmly under the table, or on it.

  “Cake?” said Lady Taylor. He looked down at the impossibly small piece of sponge cake offered to him on a plate alongside a tiny silver fork with only two prongs. What must he do with this? Which hand should he accept it with? Was that even a fork?

  He smiled and politely refused. Lady Taylor raised an eyebrow in what he could only assume to be disapproval but said nothing.

  “Tell me, Matthias, something of your background.”

  He happily recounted his days at the abbey explaining the less formal upbringing he had had compared to that of his classmates. He told her of his simple life of Bible lessons, work on the land and play in the orchards. Then, the day Alonso arrived; as was usual when people asked him about his past he left out the events surrounding the fate of Rebecca and the others at the abbey.

  Lady Taylor revealed little of herself throughout the exchange, but Matthias did gather that although she spoke perfect English she was originally from France. She had come to England to assist the duke in tutoring his young students in etiquette and also wooing. He blushed slightly when Lady Taylor explained what this last part meant.

  “Matthias, you may be called upon to charm young ladies or even spinsters in your work. Knowing not only how to speak to a woman, but how to truly understand her, may be as important a weapon as any gun or dagger concealed about your person.”

  He instinctively looked at the blade sitting on his belt. “If this bothers you my lady I’ll take it off,” he said, getting to his feet and starting to unfasten his buckle.

  “No, no. Not at all,” said Lady Taylor. “I am quite used to the sight of arms and, sadly, far worse.”

  He seated himself again. Looking down at the dagger he realised now that he wore it almost everywhere without even thinking. Maybe this was part of the ‘moulding’ Father James had told him about. Everywhere, all about the castle, it was not unusual to see children armed with knives, rapiers or even pistols.

  Lady Taylor must have read his thoughts because when she spoke her voice was gentle. “This is all so very new to you isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “Do not worry,” she said, “you are in very capable hands here. I have a good feeling about you.”

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  She smiled at him and he felt his insides warm. “Matthias. Such an unusual name. Tell me, are you of the house Cortés?”

  His eyes scanned around the room, “Erm…”

  “Of course,” she said, “how silly of me. Mr Hardy insists on no surnames until you’ve earned them. Such chivalry. I believe when the academy was set up there was a good deal of in-fighting.”

  “It seems strange,” said Matthias. “I only found out my family name recently.”

  “How odd for you.”

  “Are you a part of one of the houses?”

  She spun her back to him and started to adjust the pins in her hair. “I was once.” For a few moments Matthias wasn’t sure whether the conversation was over, but she eventually turned back and smiled.

  He beamed back, picked up his teacup and drained the remaining contents with a mighty gulp. Lady Taylor raised one eyebrow and forced a smile.

  “It would seem we have a lot of work to do. I shall contact Mr Hardy to arrange our next session. For now, I would like to thank you for a delightful tea, Matthias. It has been a pleasure making your acquaintance.” She held out a silken gloved hand, her fingers dangling loosely from her wrist.

  A cold sweat appeared on Matthias’s head. Did he kiss it? Shake her hand? Was she asking for assistance out of her chair? His eyes darted from the hand to her eyes and then back to the extended hand.

  “It is traditional to kiss a lady firmly on her hand,” she said, softly.

  Matthias did so, apologising as his lips bumbled into her knuckles. He stood up smartly, almost to attention, bowed and made his way to the door. As he arrived he turned around, bowed one last time and said, “My lady,” then left without looking back.

  Chapter 11

  The following morning Matthias decided to get up early so he could take a look at the turnout for the tournament. He noticed Harry’s bed was already vacant as he made his way to the mustering hall to help himself to some porridge. The hall too was empty. Even though lessons normally didn’t begin for another hour it looked like all the other children had similar ideas. Everybody, it seemed, wanted to see what was going on.

  He made his way outside and even before he emerged he could hear the cheers. Out in the courtyard a space had been transformed into an arena with the students gathered on all sides. At the far edge Mr Cook was standing in a leather coat, whilst in front of him two boys were fencing with tipped foils. Matthias recognised them; Gerard, whose knife he had snatched on his first day and Alexander.

  He spotted Sophie and Harry standing near the action and made his way to them. Just as he arrived a large cheer went up as Gerard, landed a blow. The tipped foil bent up but the impact still sent Alexander stumbling back.

  Mr Cook held up his arms, “End of contest.” More cheers followed and as Matthias got Harry’s attention another boy entered the ring and started to stretch.

  “You’ve missed all the action!”

  “I didn’t realise it started so early.”

  “Mr Cook doesn’t beat about the bush,” said Sophie. “These idiots are going at each other like animals. I think Edgar has possibly lost an eye.” She stifled a yawn.

  Alexander trudged past them rubbing his ribs. He stopped near the edge of the ring, turned back to look at Gerard who was practising his thrusts before swiping at the floor with his own foil in anger.

  He caught Matthias’s eyes as he went past, his face looking like thunder and his fists clenched.

  “Unlucky,” said Ma
tthias.

  The blue eyes looked back blankly. “I’m a little out of practice.”

  “Too much time in the chapel, perhaps?”

  Alexander smiled, and a lock of blond hair fell over his eyes which he brushed back. “How are your classes?”

  “I’m starting to enjoy it.”

  “That’s too bad,” said Alexander, before striding off.

  Matthias watched as he walked away, kicking at the dirt before turning to Harry. “Have you been up yet?” he said, trying to sound encouraging.

  Harry turned around with a sour look on his face and pointed to a neat fresh cut on the top of his forehead “Gerard took me out in the first bout.”

  Sophie scoffed, “You were lucky he didn’t take your head off!”

  “I slipped!” said Harry. “Have you seen this surface? It’s dusty and dry. I was wearing the wrong shoes!”

  There was a loud roar as Gerard despatched another; this time a girl lay on her side holding her ribs. Even though their padding stopped any serious injury the children were clearly feeling the blows.

  Matthias noticed Mr Cook was working his way down through a list and was stood next to O’Grady. It appeared as if the flame haired solider was studying the names in detail and asking O’Grady questions about the combatants.

  Back in the arena Gerard strutted around the ring like a cockerel on a farmyard. His chest swelled and he lifted back his head to acknowledge the cheers. Matthias remembered the sneering comments the boy had made when they first met and felt his fist clench.

  “You’ve got to hand it to him,” said Harry, “he’s taking no prisoners.”

  “I could teach him a lesson,” said Matthias.

  “Don’t be silly,” said Sophie. “He’s about a foot taller and has the strength of five men!”

  He picked up Harry’s leather jerkin off the floor. “What are you doing?” said Harry.

  “Skipping a school year!” said Matthias, and he started to make his way around the ring. This was his chance. To show what he was capable of and start to get the real training he deserved. As he approached Mr Cook looked up from his paper with a smile.

  “Matthias? What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to put myself forward, sir,” he said, with just a hint of shakiness in his voice.

  “The contest is only for apprentices or journeymen. I believe you are still a junior?”

  “That doesn’t bother me. Unless Gerard has any objections?” He looked over at the older boy who merely shrugged.

  “Very well then,” said Mr Cook. “Matthias please choose your weapon.”

  Matthias picked up one of the tipped training sabres from a pile on the floor. In all his lessons so far the slashing strokes of the sabre were his strongest attack. A foil or rapier required balance and height. Being shorter, Matthias realised this would be too much of an advantage for Gerard. He practiced a few swift strokes and the blade whistled through the air around him. Finally he walked to the centre of the arena where Gerard was waiting.

  As they stood apart only now did a slither of fear trickle into him. Gerard was a good foot taller than him, stronger and with a longer reach. Matthias realised he was going to have to use his speed and agility to outfox the boy. Attack from the sides and underneath but don’t try and take him head on.

  Mr Cook called for silence and then shouted, “Take positions.”

  The two boys stood to attention and saluted each other with their blades before adopting their relative stances. Gerard with one foot placed behind him stood sideways; the foil resting at an angle from his front thigh, his back arm slightly outstretched with fingers pointing to the rising sun.

  Matthias stood facing front; his feet a shoulder width apart and crouching slightly. The blade was pointed high and directly in front of his face; a stance he had been taught by O’Grady. From this position he could bring the blade up or down with equal speed and then direct it at his opponent with a slashing motion from either above or the flanks. All he had to do was make contact with Gerard’s torso to score a point and win the bout.

  “I’m going to enjoy this,” said Gerard, with a sneer.

  “En garde!” shouted Mr Cook, and his voice was followed by a roar from the gathered students.

  Gerard attacked first. The lunge was straight and true but predictable and Matthias was already prepared to glance the boy’s blade sideways with his own. This gave him the opportunity to strike but he suspected Gerard was feigning imbalance and held back.

  Sure enough another lunge followed immediately and Matthias stepped sideways as it probed near his stomach. Now was his chance and he brought the sabre down and across Gerard who was momentarily off balance. The blade caught his foil with a clang sending the boy a couple of steps back.

  “Still having fun?” said Matthias.

  Gerard sneered back and took his stance once more. This time there was a feint and a thrust. The boy’s height helped him as Matthias was too far back to retaliate and it was all he could do to parry. The sheer force of steel upon steel sent him staggering backwards as Gerard’s infamous strength hit him like an ox.

  Breathing, he left himself open for only a second but Gerard had spotted it and lunged again. Matthias dived to his side and rolled onto the floor. When he looked up, thankfully, Gerard was still recovering from his lunge and pulling his foil out of the dirt. Matthias could see from the fire in his eyes that the ‘first point’ scored might mean more than a scratch.

  As he got on to one knee Gerard lunged again. He heard the boys breath grunt out of his mouth and the foil passed within an inch of his ear. He knocked it aside and returned a blow to the boy’s legs. His strike was quick, cool and true. Matthias saw his black leggings split open to reveal the creamy skin below, shortly followed by a widening red line where his blade had nicked him. The contest was over...or so he thought.

  “First blood! End of the contest!” bellowed Mr Cook, amidst the sounds of cheers. Matthias looked up and saw Mr Cook regard him with a wry smile from the other side of the arena. His two friends stood nearby and he noted with satisfaction that even Sophie was grinning. Harry looked as if he was going to positively explode!

  Sophie’s warm grin suddenly froze and he saw her eyes dart behind him. Perhaps it was the movement of air or a sense of something but he immediately dived to his right and rolled on the ground again. It was Gerard! He had tried to strike after the contest. The boy’s face was red and his eyes blank and lost.

  “En garde!” he screamed, and then lunged.

  The power completely took Matthias by surprise and he was sent hurtling backwards onto the ground. He felt a sharp pain in his ribs and as his hand touched the area he felt the wetness of his blood. He didn’t have time to collect his thoughts as he saw the foil come down at him from above, the flat point catching the sun’s rays. Gerard screamed as again Matthias rolled away.

  He could see Mr Cook and Mr Hardy running over but it was too late. As he tried to bring his sabre up he felt Gerard’s foot crash into his hand. Screaming in pain he had no choice but to release the sword and when he looked up Gerard loomed over him. One foot was crushing his wrist as he held his foil tight, point first, against Matthias’s throat.

  “Yield!” he shouted.

  The blade dug into Matthias’s windpipe. “I yield,” he croaked.

  Footsteps soon followed and he heard Mr Hardy bellow, “Stand down!”

  Matthias looked into Gerard’s hateful eyes. Was he going to stand down? He thought he saw him grin and his shoulders tense as if preparing to make a final thrust.

  But he didn’t get the chance. There was a whipping sound of a sword and suddenly the foil was no more at his throat. Both Matthias and Gerard turned to see Mr Hardy wielding his own sword, Gerard’s bouncing away to his right. The master took a step toward Gerard and hit him a mighty blow with the back of his hand across the boy’s face. Gerard flew to the floor and crumpled near Matthias’s feet.

  He had never seen the normall
y calm master so outraged. Mr Hardy breathed heavily and looked around at the gathered crowd. “I believe you all have lessons to go to?” he shouted, with such authority that Matthias struggled to get up himself.

  “You stay, Matthias,” he said, “and you Gerard.” The murmuring and chatter of the children soon quietened as they dispersed to whatever class they were supposed to be at. O’Grady followed them in but Mr Cook stayed behind and walked over to stand next to Mr Hardy. The two boys got to their feet and dusted themselves off.

  Matthias tried to stop the flow of blood from the wound to his ribs with little success. He looked across at Gerard who stood in silence, rubbing his face.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Mr Cook said to Gerard.

  “H-he had no r-right to be in the contest,” said Gerard, still surging with fury. “He’s not an apprentice!”

  “I decided he could enter,” cut in Mr Cook. “I made the rules.”

  Gerard looked at Mr Cook with a sneer. “Well one Cortés aiding another is hardly surprising.”

  Instantly Mr Cook’s face turned white. He regarded Gerard with something approaching disgust.

  Mr Hardy sheathed his sword. “How dare you use a family name!”

  Gerard gathered himself up to his full height and eyed Mr Hardy with disdain. “Everybody knows. They say he’s the image of his father, the traitor.”

  Matthias tensed his body and had to hold himself back from attacking the boy there and then, a feat made somewhat easier by the sharp look Mr Cook cast him.

  Mr Hardy spoke again, but in a more controlled manner, “The house of Pizarro has long held animosity to the house of Cortés, but why you Gerard?”

  Gerard looked harshly at Matthias, “He dishonoured me, sir.”

  “You dishonoured yourself,” said Mr Hardy. “Report to my office at four o’clock today for your punishment. Dismissed.”

  The boy looked at each of the men in turn and finally at Matthias before walking away. As he disappeared into the building Mr Hardy spoke. “You have proven yourself today, Matthias. I will be making the necessary arrangements to have your classes progressed so that you may join your friends as I know you wish to. You are now an Apprentice.”