Medieval Times

by Sylvia A. Donalson

*Updated* Based on the events so wonderfully portrayed by the knights and staff of the Dallas Castle's Medieval Times Dinner Theatre, this story tries to fill in the storyline's "holes," or at least the ones discovered after multiple viewings.

4. New Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The years passed, and Javier felt that his young ward was thriving. He had moved him to the garrison and stood aside. He kept an eye on him from afar, but he let the others handle his training. The boy was doing all right, but Javier knew he had a few problems with some of the other boys, but that was to be expected. He was after all a bastard, and not just any bastard—he was the bastard son of the enemy. He did not interfere with the situation. He knew it was important for the boy to learn to stand up for himself. No one would or should fight his battles for him. As a young man he had learned this lesson. He had learned to depend on no one. His ward would learn this sooner, and it would be better for him, even if he currently spent much of his time battered and bruised with no real friends. The boy was strong and smart. He would learn to survive. One day, he would get mad enough to decide he wasn't going to be trampled on anymore, and until that day, Don Temple was determined to leave him be. He just wished his wife would do the same.

He was looking for her at the moment. She had never shown up for dinner. It was not uncommon for her to miss a meal. Or at least, it used to not be uncommon. While they were desperately trying to have children, Isabel would go into the small chapel and pray, sometimes spending all day cloistered away with no sense of time. Javy hadn't found her there in a long time—not since young Carlos had come to live with them. But now she was missing, and it seemed the most likely place to find her. Maybe now that Carlos was in the garrison she was feeling lonely and depressed again. He eased open the door, and there she was. He almost hated that he had been right. She sat at the foot of the altar sobbing. He felt his own heart break a little as he slowly approached her. He knelt beside her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She looked up and saw him. She rested her head against his chest, and he held her while she cried softly. She whispered his name. He kissed the top of her head. "It's all right. I know."

"No," she said wiping her face.

"It's okay. Come on. We're going to bed," he said lifting her off the floor. He carried her to their room and set her on the bed. She said nothing. Only clung to him. "You'll feel better in the morning," he said as he removed her slippers.

She leaned over and touched his face. "You don't understand. I'm not sad."

He smiled softly reaching up to wipe a tear from her cheek. "You sure fooled me."

She wiped all the moisture from her face. "It's not what you think."

"What is it then? Is it Carlos?"

"No. . . But I think God may be rewarding us for taking him in." She smiled. "Or maybe rewarding you. He knew all along I'd raise him as my own."

Javier grinned. "I'm not following you, Is'. What reward should I be expecting from the Almighty?"

She caressed his face. "How would you like a child of your own?" she asked.

He looked away. "Is', we've talked about this."

"No, Javy, I'm trying to tell you. . . . Javy, we're going to have a baby—a baby of our own."

He leaned back on his heels and stared at her confused. "But . . . after all this time . . . are you sure?"

She nodded. "I wouldn't have told you if I wasn't sure."

Javy thought for a second. He then jumped up and pulled her into his arms feeling a few tears on his own cheeks.

Philippe sat in his own courtyard staring up at the starry sky. His father had died almost three years ago, and the responsibilities of being king weighed heavy on his mind. He dreaded the return of spring knowing it would be the return to battle. He knew what his father would say—that he was just being weak, but he had had enough of war.

Just after the death of his father, he had a son. He wished his father had lived long enough to see that. Maybe he would have received one word of praise. But not long after, the newly crowned queen died leaving Philippe with a kingdom at war and an infant son, and he wasn't sure which one scared him more. Tristan had become a sort of pet of the knights in the garrison. He was a likeable, happy child, and Philippe worried about him. He did not want his son to see what he had seen. If it were up to him, Tristan would reign in peace. It might take years, but he would conquer Leon. And if he could not, he would sue for peace. The current King of Leon would only settle for a complete and embarrassing surrender, but he couldn't live forever, and he was no longer a young man. Perhaps his son would see reason. Philippe had just seen so many sons die on the field of battle. He had no desire to hear of the death of his own son, much less witness it. He also kept in mind young Carlos. It had been several years, but he hadn't forgotten him or his family. War had destroyed that boy's life. He had destroyed that boy's life. And he knew there were others like him. His own armies were full of them. The Carlos situation unnerved him more so because it was closer to him, and if only to make things worse, they had sent him to Temple. He was a more than capable knight but stern and harsh. He had killed many of those sons, and the King of Leon continually rewarded his faithful service. He knew Temple hated his own father for tolerating his stay all those years ago. The man hated his whole family, the boy included, and they had sent that poor, traumatized child to a harsh man with no mercy who hated him. Philippe sighed. Now that his father was dead, if he had the chance, he'd save that boy and bring him back where he belonged. He let out a long breath. He needed rest.

Philippe walked back into the castle on his way to bed. Tristan ran up the hall and greeted him. Philippe grabbed him into his arms and tickled him. "Why aren't you in bed yet, huh?" Tristan laughed. Philippe sat Tristan on his shoulders. He held on by handfuls of Philippe's hair, but he did not seem to notice the inconvenience. He carried him to his room and set him down. Tristan grabbed his hand, or rather, a couple of his fingers.

"Horse," he said tugging him toward his toys. "Knights."

"No, Mejo, it's time for bed." He picked up Tristan and tucked him in. He sat with his young son until he fell asleep. He smoothed his dark hair and kissed his forehead. He would find peace. Yes, he would find peace if it killed him.

Carlos had heard the news about the new baby. He had been excited at first. But then the months passed, and he had time to think. They told him he was going to be a big brother, but he knew better. When the baby arrived, they would have a child of their own, and he would be forgotten. He would be back to having nothing—just the bastard of an enemy knight. But he reminded himself that he was being trained as a knight. He could make a name for himself just like his uncle had. He stood in the stable brushing the mane of the horse as he tried to make plans for his future. He knew he was good, but he also knew that wasn't enough. He would have to be great. He would just have to work harder that's all. There was a knock on the wall of the stall. He looked out. His uncle stood there smiling. "Come and see, Boy." He followed his uncle down the halls to his room. Isabel sat in their bed holding a small bundle.

"There's my little man," she said upon seeing him. "Come here, Carlos." He stepped slowly toward her. She smiled at his hesitation. "Are you afraid? It's only a baby. See." He looked down at the little face. "Carlos, I'd like you to meet your sister, Aracely."

"My sister?"

"Yes, here," she said handing him the baby. "Watch her head." Carlos watched her grunt and squirm. As he held this tiny person in his arms, he was almost relieved. A girl was no real threat to him, but he also felt guilty for the feeling. "You're a big brother now. It's part of your job now to watch out for her."

Carlos held the baby for a few moments until Javier took her from him and handed her to her mother. "Come along, Boy. Let's let them rest."

Javier led him through the halls and to the door. "You can make it back to the garrison, can't you? It's late. You should be in bed. Tell your master I said you are not to shirk any of your duties. Isabel wants to celebrate, but all in good time. There is work to be done."

"Uncle?" he asked.

Javier saw the boy had been thinking on their walk and wanted to talk. "What is it?"

"Aunt Isabel said I have to look out for my sister."

"That's what brothers are for. Is that a problem for you?"

"My mother was your sister."

Javier was silenced by the question, and he thought long before answering. The boy didn't speak of his mother much—in fact, not since before he was made a page. And when he did have questions, he directed them to Isabel—not him. At the very mention of his sister, Javy felt his anger rising, but he wasn't sure the ten year old would understand why he was angry. He didn't know how to answer the boy. He finally shrugged. "She betrayed the King of Leon. After that, I couldn't protect her and Isabel too. She made a choice, and I couldn't protect her anymore. . . . Is that all?"

Carlos shifted nervously, staring at the floor. Javy inwardly hoped that it wasn't because he had heard and understood the bitter edge to his voice. "Are you disappointed?" the boy asked so softly that Javier barely heard him.

"What do you mean? Disappointed about what?"

"The baby."

"Carlos, I've wanted a child for so long—since before you were born. Why would I be disappointed?"

"Did you want a boy?"

"What?"

Carlos still wouldn't look at him. "If you had a son, you'd have an heir. You'd—"

His uncle now understood what was bothering him. He interrupted him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Look at me, Boy. Let's get one thing straight. You are my ward. I have a son."

Carlos bit his lip and thought for a moment. "You don't want me here."

Javy was surprised by the statement. "Of course I want you here. Why would you say something like that?"

"When I first came here, you told that man to take me back. You only kept me because you had no children."

Javier was stunned that he not only remembered that but had correctly interpreted his feelings on the matter. He knelt down and looked his nephew in the eye and didn't mince words. "You're right. I did. I thought you should be with the man who was responsible for you. And if you remember what I said, you must remember that they didn't want you either. But their loss is Leon's gain. We will make Philippe and his kingdom pay. That was my family that died too. And all because of him."

"You still think I'll be a good knight?"

"Boy, if I have anything to do with it, you will be more than 'good.' Now, I have to get back to Isabel. You go on to bed. Get some sleep. Training starts early."

"Unhand him!" the old knight ran into the group of boys and started pulling them off each other trying to get to the one he knew would be at the bottom of the pile. The last one he pulled toward him so he could look him in the eye. "I'll see you punished for this." He tossed him aside and offered an arm to the boy who was being tormented. Poor Carlos. He had been nothing but trampled on since his uncle moved him to the garrison four years ago. His face was red, and the old man knew it would be bruised in the morning. His nose was bleeding all the way down his chin onto his shirt. Carlos took his hand and stood even if he was a bit unsteady. "You all right, Carlos?"

"Yeah," he said softly.

The old man noticed the boys had gotten quiet. He turned and saw his master Don Temple. He just stood there sternly, staring down everyone there. The old knight began to tremble. He feared and respected his master even though he was almost twice his age. He knew he would have to answer for this. He began to think of an excuse for why the situation had gotten out of hand again, but it was Temple who spoke first. "Carlos, come with me," he said flatly and turned and began walking out to the fields.

The boy, staring at the ground, followed his uncle. One of the others shoved him as he walked past knowing that Temple's back was turned. Carlos took it and continued walking away. "Good luck, Kid," the old man whispered, hoping that his master wouldn't be too hard on the boy.

Javier Temple paced along the fence while Carlos stood before him silently awaiting his chastisement. He finally sighed and swore. "I can't talk to you like this. Wipe the blood off your face." Carlos wiped his nose and chin on the sleeve and hem of his shirt. "What was it this time?"

"They call me names. They always call me names."

"Like what? Bastard?" he replied angrily. "Why does that surprise you? In case you haven't noticed, you are a bastard, Carlos. And you're gonna have to square with that some day." His uncle continued to pace fitfully. "Look, you should understand. I'm not angry that you get into fights all the time. There comes a time in every man's life that he has to learn to stand up for himself. I'm angry that you lose. What do you think you're gonna do on a battlefield?" Carlos shrugged. "You fight under my colors, and I'll not have you shaming my good name," his uncle said with a slight grin. He knelt before his nephew and held up the palm of his hand. "Hit me. Strike my hand like you do those hooligans." Carlos threw a punch into his palm. "That's it? No wonder you're losing. Again. Hit me." Carlos tried harder, but his uncle used his free hand to slap the side of his head. After several minutes of such teasing, Carlos finally blocked the blow of his uncle and threw a stinging punch into his uncle's palm. "That's more like it. Again. From your shoulder. Put your weight behind it." Carlos continued the exercise, blocking his uncle's blows, protecting his head, and sending punches into his uncle's palm while his uncle gave him more advice. "Good. Now, look at me. I don't want to hear of you losing another fight. Stand up to them, but pick your battles, and do it wisely. Be smart. You prove yourself, and they'll let you be. Understand?" Carlos nodded. Javier stood and brushed the dirt from his clothes. "Now, since we're having this conversation, never strike a woman or a child."

"But, Uncle, I am a child."

"Right. Never strike a woman or someone smaller than you. It's not a fair fight." The boy nodded. "Now go get your things. We'll go for a hunt. Yeah?" The boy nodded again and scampered off. Javier saw one of his older knights approaching. As he hesitated, Javier nodded giving him permission to approach.

"What do you want me to do with the others?"

"What do you mean?"

"What punishment should I give them?"

"Don't worry about it. Leave them be."

"Sir?" the old man asked confused. Some of the names those boys called that lad's mother made him turn red with rage, and he didn't even know the girl. In his time, boys that size didn't know words like that. And now his master was going to let them get away with it without even the slightest reprimand? Or even acknowledgement of wrong?

"I hope I took care of it. How is Carlos doing with his other duties? You don't treat him special because he's my nephew, do you?"

"No. Same as everyone else. Just like you said. He does fine. He's generally pretty quiet. Obedient. He has potential. I'd consider him one of the best if I didn't have to keep him under my thumb for fighting all the time."

"Well, there'll be at least one more good fight. Then it should quiet down a little out here."

"What did you tell him? I mean, the boy can take a punch. God knows, he's been given plenty. But you can only take so much before you're beaten down."

"Just do me one favor."

"Anything, My Lord."

"They fight again, and I want you to keep it fair. Don't let 'em gang up on him. And don't cheat in his favor either. Keep it fair. He has to learn to stand on his own." The old knight looked away. "What is it?"

"It's not my place, Sir."

"It's all right. Whatever you say won't leave this field. Tell me."

"Your wife?"

Temple sighed. "I know. I'll deal with that too."

"Javy? Those squires of yours attacked Carlos again. You said you were handling it. I want those boys disciplined. Carlos said they weren't punished. Why do you hate him so? Have you ordered your squires to beat him to keep him in his place? Just to torment me?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn't expected the attack this soon. He sighed. "You know I haven't. I don't hate him. They're not squires; they're other pages. And I am taking care of it."

"How?"

"You have to trust me."

"But . . ."

Temple cupped her face. "Darling, Isabel, you have to trust me."

"I just don't want to see him hurt."

"Well, you might better get used to it. He is training to be a knight."

"That's not what I meant. It's not the bloody noses. They're bruising his spirit."

There was a moment of silence. "Look, I'm not treating him any different than my father treated me."

"Do you even hear what you're saying? You hated the man!"

"Because he was a traitor! Not because I thought he was too hard on me." She turned away. He walked up behind her and put an arm around her and kissed her neck. "Just trust me to handle it."

He felt her sigh. "He's in your world now. I trust you."

After a few days, Javier Temple sat at the head of his table finishing off his afternoon meal. His steward was reading off figures while he commented absently every so often so the man would think he was listening. He watched his squires and pages as they served him, his knights, and his guests. One of Carlos's frequent agitators was wearing a busted lip as well as a black eye. Carlos approached carrying a pitcher. Temple could tell that the only bruise Carlos had on his face was a few days old due to the yellowish color. When Carlos reached for his uncle's cup, Javier grabbed his wrist and studied his knuckles. They were red and bruised.

"I did what you said," Carlos said softly with a grin.

"I see." He released him. "They still give you a hard time?" He shook his head. "Good."

"They still call me Carlos the Bastard. But they're not teasing anymore."

Javier smiled. "They know your name and fear it. Good. Back to your duties."

Javier saw his wife watching the interchange. He sighed. She did not look pleased.

"He got into another fight again, didn't he?" she asked when they were alone. Temple didn't answer. He walked past her into the room and began getting dressed for bed.

"Where's Aracely?"

"She's asleep, and don't change the subject. You said you were taking care of it!"

"I did. He won this fight. They'll leave him alone now that he's not fun to pick on."

"That's how you 'handled it'? You taught him to fight?"

"What do you think I moved him to the garrison for? He's training to become a knight. What do you think I'm teaching him?"

"You should have punished those boys."

"I let Carlos do that."

"They should learn to respect their fellow page."

"They have. I can't make them respect anyone. I taught Carlos how to earn it."

Tearing up, she shook her head. "You don't love him. You never did."

"What?" he asked stunned. He didn't see how love was relevant to this discussion.

"You promised you'd treat him as your own!"

"I do! I'd do the same with a boy of my own. Just because I don't baby him like you do does not mean I don't treat him as I would my own. I'll spare you what takes place on the battlefield, Woman, but I will say that if I could, I'd have him grapple with anyone he could get his hands on. It's good practice and an important skill to learn."

"But you don't even touch him. You don't hug him or . . . or anything. He repulses you."

"I'm not going to baby him! I'm teaching him to be a man."

"He's just a little boy."

"And he always will be if you don't let him grow up!" She made for the door. "Where are you going?"

"To see him. He needs me."

He grabbed her arm and kept her there. "Oh, no, you are not leaving this room. The last thing he needs is for you to go to him and kiss his wounds, rock him to sleep, and tuck him in. You think he was teased before? . . . He's had a victory. Let him enjoy it."

She jerked free and slumped down into a chair. "You've corrupted my sweet little boy."

His voice softened. "He's still your boy. But he's not so little anymore. . . . You used to say I was sweet."

"I'm beginning to wonder. . . ." Javier's tone had calmed her. She tried to smile with her comment, but it was obvious that she was still upset.

"I've given Philippe's soldiers more than bloody noses and busted lips. You do realize what I will be asking of Carlos? When I take him onto a battlefield . . ."

"He's just a boy!"

"When I take him, I'll need him to take his sword and run another man through. Men with families—wives and sons of their own. Men he knows. Men he's seen and competed against at tournaments and the like. I need him to kill without hesitation. To hesitate is to be killed. I need him to do that, and if he can't, he will be worthless as a knight."

"Maybe we should have had him join the church."

He chuckled. "You know you don't want that. You want him to marry. And have children so you can have grandchildren to play with."

"Then I shall pray for peace. This war has gone on long enough."

"Perhaps your little Carlos will be the one to end it." He reached out and stroked her arm. She brushed him aside. "You can't still be mad at me." She said nothing. "Your Carlos is fine. I'll bring him to you myself in the morning. . . . His voice is changing. Have you noticed?"

She smiled in spite of herself. "He called out to me a few days ago, and I barely recognized him. He's starting to sound so grown up. He showed me a hair on his chin. He thinks he's growing a beard."

"You should be proud of him. He's a good boy."

"Are you proud of him?"

"Yes. Yes, I am," he said realizing that he was proud to call the boy his nephew. The boy had heart and skill. He was raising a little knight that was going to absolutely decimate Philippe's forces. And he was proud of that.

"You're proud that he beat up another page?"

"Not really. I'm proud that he stood up for himself."

"They still treat him like a bastard. So do you."

"They always will because that's what he is. They'll learn to respect him. Just like that page."

"Will he have to beat up every man in Leon?"

He laughed. "I hope not. That's what reputations are for."

"Like yours?" She sighed in frustration and got up. He grabbed her wrist.

"Why don't you stay?"

"Not tonight."

Javy woke up alone. He crawled out of bed and dressed. He found her watching their daughter sleep. He wrapped his arms around her. "I'm sorry," he whispered kissing the side of her head.

"Are you?" she asked softly.

He paused. "I'm sorry that you're hurt."

"Why are you so hard on them?"

"'Them'?"

"Carlos and the rest of your family."

He sighed. "I took that boy in when nobody else wanted him—even his own father. I've raised him as my own just like you wanted. I don't know what else you want from me."

"He's only a boy. You threw him into that garrison as soon as he was old enough and left him to fend for himself. You're supposed to protect him."

"I am. But I'm also teaching him to protect himself. I won't be around forever."

She squeezed his arm. "I thought I told you not to talk that way in front of me."

"But it's true. You know it is. And if something were to happen to me, I want to know I've left you in good hands. He'll be fine. I promise."

Javier rode back into camp from the fray. He removed his helmet and jerked off the chainmail coif and shoved it inside. "Squire!" he called. Carlos ran up to him. He was thirteen now and growing into a knight. Temple was greatly pleased with his progress. He tossed him his helmet which he caught and slid off his horse. Carlos took the horse.

"How did the battle go?" Carlos asked.

"Fair. We lost a few swordsmen. We'll need to replenish their numbers when we return home."

"I'll take their place."

Temple sat and, with aid from another squire, began removing the rest of his heavy armor. He felt he was getting too old for this, but he still chuckled at Carlos. "Your aunt would kill me. Besides, you're still too young."

"I can fight!"

"I know. You can fight squires in a practice ring. And you're very good. But you're still too young for this."

"Don Temple!" Recognizing the voice of his liege Don Reyes, brother of the King of Leon, Javier stood. Carlos politely excused himself in order to see to the horse. "Excellent work today. I believe we shall call today's exploits a victory for Leon."

"My pleasure is always to serve you, My Liege," Javier bowed.

"Yes, and your prowess in arms has not gone unnoticed. Perhaps an advancement of your fortunes is in order. What would you like? Gold? Horses? A larger fief perhaps?"

"Actually, I would like to request a favor of you. It concerns my ward."

"Your ward? You adopted a child?"

"Yes, I'm the guardian of a rather able squire."

"I had no idea."

"Well, strictly speaking, he's my nephew. My sister's son."

Don Reyes remembered what had happened to the rest of Temple's family. "He survived all those years ago?"

"And been living with me since—fighting Philippe ever since. He blames him for killing his mother. Always has. Anyway, I thought that maybe you could take him on. It would be a demonstration of my loyalty and give the boy a chance to train with the best."

Don Reyes studied his vassal. "Is there another reason you're so eager to give him up? Something wrong with him? A troublemaker?"

"No, no. He's the best squire I've trained in a long time. Better than I ever was. And I apologize. I should have sent him to you long ago. But now, I worry, you see. It's my wife. Since we went so long without children, she sees Carlos as her own and is extremely over protective. Before, I was worried that sending him to you so soon would break her heart, but now, I think getting them apart will be good for both of them."

Don Reyes nodded. "How old is this squire?"

"Thirteen. Turns fourteen in the fall."

Reyes thought for a moment. "Consider it done. When the season is over, take him home. Let him celebrate the harvest with his family. Say his good-byes. Then send him to me after Michaelmas."

Isabel walked slowly through the gardens. She understood why Javy was sending him away. It would be good for him. But it still hurt to know he would be so far away where they wouldn't be able to look out for him. She heard his energetic gait and smiled to herself. He came around the corner smiling at her. He was almost grown, and he was growing into a handsome man. His short brown hair was slightly disheveled by the breeze, and there was a light in his light brown eyes. As much as Javier thought he was, he was not an exact copy of his father. And he was much like her husband. He had his smile and his temper. He was a knight at heart with a strict sense of justice, but he was a perfect gentleman too. "You wanted to see me?" She could see the excitement in his expresssion. He was ready to leave in the morning. She just wished she was more ready to send him off.

"Yes. Will you walk with me awhile?"

"Sure."

They walked side by side through the gardens. She wanted time, but she could feel his impatience even though he would never have admitted it to her. He may have had few friends, but on the eve of his journey, the young man had other plans besides entertaining his aunt. "I may not see you for awhile, and I wanted to speak with you alone." He didn't reply but allowed her to continue. "You don't speak of your mother anymore."

He was taken off guard. He thought a moment before he replied. "She died. All my memories of my life before I came here . . . well, they are less than pleasant."

"Are you not curious about her at all?"

"I've heard enough about her," he said, unsuccessfully disguising his bitterness.

"Carlos, I was her friend. You shouldn't believe everything you hear."

"I know. I don't. I just . . . it doesn't matter."

"And your father? Are you not curious about him?"

"Even if I was, no one knows anything. She probably didn't even know who he was."

"That's why you shouldn't believe everything. There was one man," Isabel replied sternly.

"It wouldn't matter anyway. She took that secret to her grave."

Isabel took a deep breath and stopped walking. "No, Carlos, she didn't. You and your mother stayed with me for a few days when you were very small. She told me everything."

"What?"

She nervously began wringing her hands. His expression was intense. She would have to tell him now. "I thought you should know . . . when you were old enough . . . you are still so young, but I may not see you for a long time, and . . . Carlos, if I tell you what I know, you must swear not to tell anyone. Not even your uncle. He doesn't know that I know. And if he did . . ."

"Tell me."

He was curious and eager, but she was still unsure. He would have sworn his life away for the information she had, but she would not risk Javy finding out. If he knew, it would be the death of him. "No, Carlos, you must promise. You should know the truth, but not at the risk of destroying our family."

He put a hand on her arm to calm her. "I swear. Please. Tell me what you know."

"This way, Squire." Carlos followed the large, aging knight. The knight, Sir Valentine, led him into the garrison and turned and assessed his new charge. Carlos stood taller meeting the challenge. Valentine only shook his head. The boy was lanky, and at that awkward stage where his arms and legs were disproportionate to the rest of his body. Despite his age, he already had stern features. Maybe he was just trying to hide fear. He was tall, but Valentine would have been surprised if he made it over six feet. At least his appearance was neat and clean. His complexion wasn't overly dark or overly fair, and his brown hair was cut short. There was an intensity in his eyes that concerned Valentine. He recognized it. Rage. Stubbornness. Ruthlessness. Strength. This was a boy that needed to be controlled. He wasn't sure he had it in him anymore to train such a one, but it was a task that had been given to him, and he would do his best. The boy would need to be humbled but not too much. He didn't want to crush or even curb the boy's power. He wanted to unleash it on Philippe and his armies. The boy would be valuable if trained right. He ran a hand over the stubble on his cheeks as he thought. "Roldan!" he called. Another squire walked in. Roldan was an older, taller squire that had been serving Don Reyes since he was a young page. "This is Carlos Temple. He's new. Show him around."

Carlos was given the tour by Roldan. He was trying to contain his excitement. This place was larger than his uncle's. There were more men—squires and knights. It was different. He knew his uncle was keeping his promise. This is where he'd be trained to be the best. He saw a girl. She smiled at him. He smiled back. Oh, he was gonna like this place.

"Who's your friend, Roldan?" she asked.

Roldan walked over to her and put his arm around her—sending Carlos a clear signal to stay away. "He's nobody. Just some ward of some poor country knight that Don Reyes took on as a favor." Carlos was wounded by the remark, but he would not have commented on it had it not been for what he said next.

"Ward?" she asked. "What about your parents?"

Roldan answered for him. "He's the bastard of some whore . . ."

"My mother wasn't a whore. No more than she is," he said bitterly.

Roldan left the teenage girl and approached Carlos angrily. "You watch your tongue, or I will personally rip it from your throat."

Carlos was being challenged. He did not glare back, but he did keep a steady gaze without backing away. His uncle had told him to be smart about picking his fights. This was not smart—not here in the dark, on his first night, with Roldan's friends milling about. "What? Not so brave now? You gonna talk like that you better be able to back it up, Carlos the Bastard."

"I can back it up. Just not here and not now."

"You were hot stuff back home, weren't you? The best squire in a bunch of stupid country bastards like that isn't saying much. You are on my turf now." Roldan had a point. He was a few years older, a head taller, and twice his bulk, but it would take more than that to intimidate Carlos.

"We'll see," Carlos said with a smirk and walked away.

Sir Valentine wanted to get a look at his new squire. He had shown some skill in the morning's exercises. Now, he wanted to see him in a real melee. He told young Temple to get ready. The other squires began to form around him ready to watch. He approached Roldan. "Humble him," he said quietly.

"Gladly," he said smirking, and he drew his sword. Valentine shook his head and handed him a wooden practice sword. "You're making this too easy—taking away all the challenge."

"Just humble him."

They began, and Valentine studied his new squire. He was impressed that he even had time to study the boy, but Roldan was probably toying with him. Then, he realized that wasn't the case, and he swore under his breath. It was the other way around. Roldan was stronger, but Temple was fast. Roldan may have been older, and they were both arrogant, but Temple had a quality that he didn't expect to see in one so young or cocky. He fought smart and with patience. While Valentine was assessing Temple, he was doing the same with Roldan. Valentine pinched the bridge of his nose. Watch this not go like he had planned. Roldan hit the dirt, and he swore again. Temple stood with his sword resting on his shoulder with that cocky grin on his face. Valentine walked over and jerked Roldan up by the arm. "What did I tell you about being too arrogant?" he whispered. He turned his back to Temple and faced Roldan. "Do what you have to do to beat him," he said softly enough that only Roldan heard him.

"You want me to cheat?"

"Do what you have to do to beat him."

"My pleasure."

He watched Roldan cheat and still not beat him. He rubbed his chest. That boy was gonna kill him. He walked back over, jerked Roldan up, took his sword, and shoved him back toward the others. If Roldan couldn't humble him, he would. He knew he wasn't as fast as the boy was. At least, not anymore. But he was stronger than even Roldan and far more experienced. For the first round, he knocked him to the dirt easily. "Get up," he said coldly. The boy followed his command. The second, he knocked him down again. This time, knocking him in the head—giving him a cut near his hair line. He leaned down. "Let's get one thing straight, Son. You're not nearly as good as you think you are." He stood, turned, and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Neither is he," Carlos said.

He turned back. The boy had stood and stared at Roldan. "What?" Valentine said.

"He's not as good as he thinks he is either."

Roldan shoved his way through the crowd and was forcibly making his way to him, but Valentine grabbed him and threw him back. He looked back at Carlos Temple who stared at both of them, not at all bothered by the blood dripping down the side of his face. Valentine rubbed his chest again. That boy would be the death of him.

Late that night, Carlos made his way to his bed. Valentine had assigned him plenty of extra duties because of his insolence. He wasn't afraid of hard work. He was used to a little abuse. He was a survivor. He could take it until he was able to prove himself. He was conscious of and even a little pleased that he had upset the balance of power. Don Reyes, brother to the king himself, would have to take notice of him and his abilities. He was in a perfect position to make a name for himself. He looked up to see Roldan blocking his path. He stood waiting with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Carlos said nothing. He stopped walking and stood firm. He watched the shadows from the corner of his eye. It appeared they were alone.

"Carlos the Bastard returns from his labor."

"My name is Temple."

"It's dangerous to have your attitude and walk about alone at night."

"I don't need an escort. I can hold my own. Even against a coward and a cheat like you."

Roldan rushed him, but Carlos easily blocked his blow and shoved him to the ground. Carlos was about to ready himself for a fight, but before his attacker had even landed, Carlos was rushed from all sides by Roldan's allies. They held him back while Roldan stood to his feet. "Coward!" Carlos called struggling to free himself.

Roldan walked over deliberately. He backhanded him across the face. "That's for your insolence earlier today." He struck him again. "That's for just now." He kneed him in the groin. "And that's for the way you looked at my girl." Carlos was allowed to sink to his knees where he remained doubled over. One of Roldan's blows had reopened his wound and blood flowed down his face. Roldan pulled out a dagger and grabbed him by his hair. "It's time you were taught some manners."

Don Reyes looked up when Sir Valentine entered. "You wanted to see me?" Reyes asked.

"Do something else with that kid."

"What? The Temple boy?"

"I can't do anything with him."

"Why? Discipline problem? I've seen you deal with some real problem cases. You can't handle this one?"

He sighed heavily. "It's not that. He does what I tell him, follows the rules."

"Then what's the problem?"

"He's an arrogant little snot!" he sighed. "He's good. Really good. And he knows it."

Reyes shrugged. "So you humble him a little."

Valentine slumped into a chair. "I tried. He beat Roldan. I even let him cheat. Carlos still beat him easily."

"Really?"

"Yes. And some of the other lads shaved his head. As a punishment. To shame him. Gave him a pretty good beating too. I think all they succeeded in doing was pissing him off. He has that look in his eyes. He's lying in wait. I have no doubt he will get revenge somehow. He's just waiting for an opportunity."

"Where is he now?"

"Mucking the stables. And when he's done, he's polishing my armor until I can see my face in it. And when he's done with that, he's gonna do it again. If you don't assign him to someone else, I just might kill him."

Reyes thought for a moment. "Which one's better? Who would you want beside you in battle? Temple or Roldan?"

Valentine sighed in defeat. "Temple. Not that Roldan is bad. In terms of skill, they're almost equals. I think this is a game to Roldan that he plays well. He'll be knighted, get a few years experience, retire, and run his estate. Carlos Temple is a soldier. There's a fire in him. And an iron will. Do you know when Roldan beat up Temple, he cut his hand while trying to shave his head. He didn't show up for his duties. He was 'hurt.' Temple had one eye so swollen he could barely see. Not to mention the other injuries he was hiding, and he was at work before dawn."

"Other injuries?"

"Boy's too stubborn for his own good. But turns out he had a few bruised ribs, and the surgeon was also worried about the blows to his head."

"He's all right though?"

"Yeah, I didn't push him too hard today."

"And Roldan?"

"I haven't said anything about last night. In part, because neither have they. Everything I've told you, I've just assumed. If it happens again, I'll have to say something. He's just threatened by Temple. I'm hoping Temple will inspire him to be even better. Keep him around fighting once some blood is spilt. If only to save face."

"See. They're good for each other. Give it a few more weeks. If you're still of the same mind, we'll move him. Even if we have to send him back."

"Don't send him back. The boy's too good to lose."

"I think you like Temple more than you're saying."

"Boy has some spunk."

"Don Temple was that way for awhile—after he left his family. Once he earned a little respect, he wasn't as difficult to live with."

Valentine rose to leave. "Well, if I kill him, it's your fault."

"Temple! Mount your horse and meet us in the lists!" Valentine called.

Carlos's face broke into a wide smile. He hadn't been allowed to touch a weapon all week. "You're gonna let me joust!"

"No. Roldan needs practice with a human target. You're the target. You are not to strike him. Understand?"

"You hear that, Squire?" Roldan called out.

Carlos heard him. Roldan's teasing him hadn't stopped. He was practically begging Carlos to do something he would regret later. So far, he had kept his mouth shut. He knew Roldan would get what was coming to him, and he didn't want Valentine any more angry with him than he already was. He and his new friend Teo were waiting in the lists for Roldan and Valentine. Don Reyes stood nearby watching. Roldan raised his lance to signal he was ready. Teo handed Carlos a lance, and he did the same. They charged, and Carlos, no longer willing to swallow his pride, saw his opportunity. He disobeyed Valentine and struck Roldan squarely in the chest.

"Temple!" Valentine called running at them. Carlos tossed the broken lance aside. "What did you do that for?"

Carlos shrugged. "Oops."

Valentine turned red. "Another lance. Another pass," he said angrily. The two squires returned to their posts, and Valentine walked over to Don Reyes. "You see what I mean?"

Don Reyes smiled. "Why the hell did you give that boy a lance in the first place?"

Valentine shrugged helplessly. "You're right. I swear, if I thought he'd survive it, I'd take that shield from him too." He walked over to Carlos and Teo. Roldan signaled he was ready. Teo picked up a lance. "No. No, Teo." Carlos turned his head toward him. Valentine looked through the slits in the visor at the boy's eyes. "You think you're funny, don't you? Now, I'm the one laughing."

Carlos rode toward Roldan and took a shot right on the shield. "Again!" Valentine called out and watched as Carlos was hit repeatedly. He couldn't deny that there was some sense of satisfaction watching that boy get put in his place.

The next few days, Valentine watched Carlos carefully. Something had changed about the boy, but it was not a change he liked. He was suddenly losing to squires his own age. He no longer had the stamina or the focus he had before. Another knight approached him. "Temple? Your squire?"

"Yeah, have you figured out what's wrong with him?"

"I'm not sure. But you were right. He is favoring that arm."

"Thanks." The other knight walked away. He watched the boy. He and Teo were sitting on a fence laughing. "Temple!" he called. The boy ran over. Valentine offered him his sword. Confused, Carlos reached for it. "No. Other hand." Carlos switched hands. He gripped it with his left hand and held it. Valentine saw him flinch, but he did as he was asked. "Can you swing it?"

"Yeah."

"Do it." Carlos swallowed hard and began to sweat. He swore under his breath and dropped the sword. "What's wrong with the arm?"

"It's fine," he said shortly staring down the older man.

"What's wrong with the arm?" Valentine repeated more forcefully. That boy was hurt again and was too proud to admit it. He was going to get killed one of these days if he didn't learn to recognize his limits. Carlos rolled up his sleeve and offered it to his master. Valentine pulled his arm closer to examine it up close. He heard his sharp intake of breath. He looked at the arm which was swollen and bruised badly. "What happened?"

"Oh, I don't know," he said sarcastically. "Apparently being a target doesn't agree with me."

"How bad is it?"

"I haven't shirked any of my duties," he said defensively.

"That's not what I said. Does it stop at the elbow or go all the way up to your shoulder?"

"The bruising at the elbow. But sometimes the pain shoots all the way up."

"Go see the surgeon."

"I'll be fine."

"Go see the surgeon, Squire," he said smiling. "We both know if Roldan had a bruise less than half that size he wouldn't get out of bed. I wouldn't worry about anyone thinking you're weak. Look, I want that arm healed right so you can best Roldan on another day. You can't beat him with only one good arm. You're good but not that good. Okay?"

"Okay."

A few years had passed, and Carlos had distinguished himself, but he was having trouble ignoring some news he had heard, and it was effecting his skill. His mistakes were making him increasingly more frustrated. He rode his horse full gallop at the flag, but when he reached down to snatch it, it slipped through his hand. He rode over to the knight overseeing their exercises. "It's too low. Did you see that?" The knight virtually ignored him as he tried to blame the squire who had set up the challenge. He was so frustrated that he missed the small joust ring as well. His first attempt clanged into the metal support, breaking the lance and sending the shard into a crowd of pages. His second attempt, he flat out missed and threw the lance in frustration.

"Squire!" Valentine called.

"What?"

"What did I tell you about letting your emotions get the better of you? You lose focus."

"Sorry," he said flatly.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I heard you were knighting Roldan."

"You heard right."

"You're knighting Roldan? It's not fair. He fights only when he has the advantage. It's why he won't fight me in a fair fight anymore. He only fights when he knows he'll win. I'm twice the squire he is."

"He's older than you and ready. You're not."

"I am!"

"No. For one thing that attitude of yours. Lose it. And as punishment for your insolence, I'm making you his squire."

"What? You can't do that. He hates me."

"I think serving him for a while will be good for you." And Valentine secretly hoped that once Roldan got on a battlefield, despite the blood and the wounds and the dying, Roldan would stand firm—not wanting to be outdone by his squire, Carlos the Bastard.