Something hit my back, hard, and I cried out in surprise, straightening from my work in the fields. I turned around quickly, expecting to see Lord James or one of his men, but instead Charlie stood with his hand on his hip, his face grim.
"You should have heard me Isabella." He scolded. I dropped my head and clasped my hands behind my back. Father had taught me since I was a little girl that I was to address anyone of power like this. Including him. As my eyes instinctively faced the ground, I saw the very familiar, worn wooden sword just a foot in front of my feet. Charlie must have tossed it at me.
I waited for instructions even though I already knew what they were.
"Pick up your sword, Isabella." He said.
"Father, the crops—" I started, motioning to the vast field around me, ripe with wheat.
"Isabella." Charlie interrupted, and I kept quiet, reaching down to pick up the sword and held it in both of my hands, feet spread shoulder width apart. "Back straight Isabella. Must I tell you every time?"
I straighten my back further and lift my head to look at Charlie. The lessons have been too close together lately. It worried me. In the barn when I was tending to the Lord James' horses, Charlie had interrupted me for a lesson. And not five hours later he stood before me, his own sword in his hand. Charlie had started using a metal sword last year. Obviously it was a lot more painful than the wooden sword he used with me growing up.
He stood maybe five feet away, his sword hanging loosely in his hand, eyes scanning over my form. He smiled, approving, and I fought my own urge to smile. I hated fighting more than any of my other chores on the field and barn, and Charlie knew, but he appreciated my participation in every lesson and especially when I remembered it the next day.
Without warning he charges. That first thrust of the sword is the only one that scares me. My body is tense and waiting before and it gets me every single god damn time. Charlie does not miss the tiny jump of my feet that lands me on the tip of my toes, and gives me a look. I hate that look. I side step the thrust he jabs at me, but his sword is already where I was moving, anticipating my moves.
Rule one: expect their moves then move accordingly.
I only have split milliseconds to run through my steps and then even shorter to go through with them. I should have known that Charlie was setting me up for a defensive position. My sword instinctively moves to the side so his sword down not cut into my hip. Instead it hit my wooden sword and I tense my muscles so it doesn't knock back into my anyways. I push his sword away with a huff and bring it around to his opposite side.
Rule Two: Play offense only when their defense is down.
Charlie is fast though and he twists his sword to hit my hand away and the slice my arm. I hiss in pain.
"In battle, your sword hand would be lying on the ground right now." Charlie says, disappointment in his voice. I feel the blood spill down my arms but I ignore the pain and push the sword back at him with more force.
He blocks my blows, first to his right side, his left side, his front.
Rule three: make them expect your moves. Do not show you're true fighting form from the beginning until you know there is no other option.
To the left again, just blind slices. Charlie hits my sword away. He looks bored. I inwardly smile. Suddenly he hits my sword away and swipes his sword around, tears my shirt but only grazes the skin. I come with an upward swing, hitting Charlie's sword up into the air. He manages to hold onto it, but he is caught off guard and I am able to bring the sword to Charlie's neck, keeping the same angle I had. I stop, panting, with my sword resting on his neck.
Rule four: You have a chance to kill, you kill.
I have never killed anyone. Obviously, when I am only fighting with Charlie, we do not actually fight until the death. We always end in the position death would have taken.
Charlie is breathing heavy and he drops his sword to his side, smiling. He reaches forward and claps me on the shoulder, almost knocking me over. "Good job kid."
I smile back and drop my sword from his neck. He hands me his. "I'll finish up out here. Go dress your wound."
I nod and jog back to the cabin, set right up against the dirt road. I toss the swords onto Charlie's loft and grab a ceramic bowl from the corner, along with a cloth and some bandages.
The well outside was quickly drying up. The gods were punishing us wickedly for some sin we must have committed. The crops, dried and withered and not nearly as full as we need for the Lord, are behind me. I hear Charlie, cutting the wheat as I had been doing before he interrupted. I grab just drops of water and place them into the bowl. I wet the cloth and wipe the blood from my arm before I wrap the cotton bandages tightly around the cut, an inch below the crease of my elbow.
I turn my head to enter the cabin once more when I see the carriage moving over the hill in the distance.
The bowl shatters at my feet.
"Ch—father!" I shout, stuttering out the proper title. "Father the Lord approaches!" Charlie's head lifts in the distance, above the swaying rows and he motions franticly for me to enter the cabin. I do. I move as fast as I can, pulling the string that hold my pants up so they fall to the floor and then pulling the shirt over my head. Charlie lets me use his clothes for the field work only, and they smell and are dirty by the time I return them to him.
Naked, I run to the corner of the one room cabin and grab the peasant dress from the floor, flinging it onto my body and lacing it up the front, tying it in a messy, horrible looking bow at the top, above my breasts so they were completely covered. I straightened the sleeves; made sure my wrists were covered and then felt my hair. It was pulled up with some twine and I ripped that out easy, combing my hair with my fingers. Charlie came charging into the cabin, the shattered remains of the bowl cutting his fingers.
"You're face." He said in a tight, panicked voice. I touched it instantly, feeling the dirt and grime. I yelp and run out to the well, filling the bucket inside and splashing my face, using the clean corners of my bloodied cloth to dry my face. I can hear the horses stomping along the gravel now and my heart threatens to burst through my chest. Panicking, I throw the towel into the well.
"Blasted thing!" I curse, instantly trying to catch it as it fluttered down, down, down, into the blackness and then the water. I stare at it with wide eyes, and then back towards the black horses slowing to a trot outside the cabin.
Oh, how stupid I was! I had just dirtied the wretched water with blood!
Charlie came out of the cabin and I rushed over to him. Together, side by side, we stood in front of the cabin as one of the four horses walked in front of us. My hands, clasped behind my back, and my head bent, I was met with the massive feet of the Lord's steed.
"Charlie." Sir James said, his voice flat.
"Lord James, I had not known you were coming to see the crop—"
"Did I ask you to speak, peasant?" Sir James spat out, effectively quieting Charlie. I stopped myself from flinching as the smell of wheat took over the air. I Heard Sir James inhale and hold it before letting it out in a whoosh of air.
"The drought has destroyed our fields, has it not peasant?" Sir James said. "Speak!"
"Yes, my Lord, it has." Charlie said in his gravelly voice. How he made it not quiver in fear was beyond me.
Sir James made a scophing sound in the back of this throat and was quiet again. "Girl." He said finally. I looked up, knowing how he addressed me every time he visited. "What has your cheeks dirtied?" he asked.
Sir James sat atop his black horse, clad in armor as he was so inclined to wear around his village. His sword hung in its holster, his black gloved hand resting atop the hilt. I stared into his blue eyes, and I tried to hide my panic.
It was unheard of, woman working the fields. Especially to Sir James. He felt woman should be in their place in the house, cleaning, cooking, and lying still as their husbands bedded them. He felt they should bear their children, raise them, and let them go while maintaining the same tasks. If a woman were to take the man's job, were to help the man, in Sir James' eyes, that was blasphemy and the man would me hung after watching the female raped and brutalized for however long he felt like doing it.
"I had been clearing the floor, my Lord." I stuttered out, blushing wildly. "The dirt must have soiled my face, Lord."
"Hm." He said, gazing at me endlessly until I could not take it and stared at my feet. I hear the faint sound of metal sliding against leather and suddenly something sharp sticks into my throat, applying pressure until my neck is raised.
Eye wide, with Charlie tensing beside me, I stare at Sir James with his sword held tight to my throat. "Do not," he hissed, "look away from me until I tell you to." I stare at him, my eyes wide, the color blossoming in my cheeks earlier vanishing instantly. "Do you understand?"
I nod my head, feeling the sword cut the skin and blood leak down my collar bone and soaking into the fabric of my dress.
He stared at me with what felt like forever until he made a noise of disgust and sheathed his sword. I felt my shoulders slump, not realizing just how tensed up I had actually been, and went to looking at my feet once more as he shifted his gaze to Charlie.
"Peasant," he said, sounding bored. "My crops are important to me, yes?" Charlie nods next to me. "Speak to me, peasant." The Lord hisses.
"Yes, my Lord, the crops are very important." Charlie answers robotically.
Sir James nods, satisfied. "And I find myself incredibly disappointed upon seeing what is supposed to be my main crop source this harvest."
I gulp. This is not good in any means. Lord James is displeased. Which means a death is sure to be warranted. Oh Charlie. Oh Charlie couldn't die, he couldn't. I would be thrown into the brothel with the other peasant whores and raped until I could no longer feel.
"There is no trade if there are no crops, peasant." He spits at Charlie's feet, and I watch the offending liquid sit on Charlie's tattered field boots. "I want it harvested and bundled by the end of the week, peasant. If I am not satisfied, if it is not completed, if it is not worthy of my liking, then you shall be beheaded, and your daughter shall be soiled by my hand."
I shivered under the hot blazing sun.
"Do I not speak clearly, peasant?" Sir James says, spitting once again at Charlie's boots.
"You speak clearly, my Lord." Charlie says. He does not argue. He knows what happens when he argues. My mother's grave, sitting idly next to the other side of the cabin, proves it.
"Good." James says, nodding to himself. "Well, go on with your work."
Charlie starts to walk away, and I follow, but Sir James stops me. Charlie looks over his shoulder, worry staining his gruff face, but I nod and he goes on, for my own good. To defy the Lords commands would be punishment for him, and punishment for me.
I turn back to the Lord and stare at him atop his horse. He smiles down at me. "You are too beautiful to be working on this farm, Girl." He says. I say nothing. He did not ask a direct question. "I would graciously allow you to work within my castle, as a servant. You will work through the day, and I shall even grace you with my attention once the day turns to night."
I swallow thickly and try to speak, but something is blocking my throat. To deny his request would seem rude to him, and I could be beheaded on the spot. Then how would Charlie get through the crop? But to agree would to say I was willing to be his slave, practically, and that I would be willing for him to bed me every night, as he pleases, and that disgusts me.
"Speak, Girl." Lord James snaps. "I have graced you with such an offer and you remain silent? I should mount your head on a stake just from the rudeness."
I swallowed again and attempted to stutter out a response.
"Sir James, I had hoped to stay with my father at leas until the crops have been handled to your likes, Lord. Charlie has no way of keeping the house or means of food without me, Sire. I mean no disrespect, my Lord." I bowed my head, biting my bottom lip and waiting to see if I would feel the blunt edge of the sword cutting into my neck. I felt nothing.
"I shall be speaking to you shortly then, Girl. Until then, do not let that peasant forget the consequences of disappointing me."
"Yes, my Lord."
I lift my head only to watch him and his three guards take off down the road, their horses grunting under the heat, their flanks flexing as they pushed across the dirt road.
I shudder and collapse onto my knees upon the gravely ground, resting my head in my hands. A hand is placed on my shoulder and jump, a scared squeak coming from my throat. I jump to my feet and turn around, only to see Charlie.
"Oh father." I said, my lip trembling, and he grabs the sides of my arms, pulling me into a tight embrace and lets me cry into his chest.
"Isabella." Charlie says, petting the top of my head, moving through my hair that fell to my waist. "My sweet, sweet Bella. I believe we must speak about some things."