The New Life

a novel by Mark Robert Whitten

Chapter 17

Leslie smiled in warm greeting but Jess stood still as stone. He wanted to ask Miss Edmunds what she was doing in their classroom, but as the truth sank in, he didn't need to ask.

Miss Edmunds was their teacher.

"Why, Leslie, Jess, how nice of you to join us," she said in gentle reprimand.

Leslie gave her a sheepish grin. "Sorry, Miss Edmunds—I was showing Jess around."

Jess sank back, not wanting to be the cause of Miss Edmunds aggravation. He wished Leslie hadn't blamed him for their being late. It was mostly her fault anyway.

"Well," Miss Edmunds said in that wonderful voice of hers, "Try not to be late again. It's not fair to the others."

Jess looked at the room, noticing for the first time how full it was. There were many desks with children their age sitting at attention. Leslie slid behind a desk and called for him to join her. He did so reluctantly and tried not to stare too much at Miss Edmunds.

"Now," Julia began, "Since you're late and you've missed more than a month of classes, would you please begin the next chapter, Leslie?"

She glanced down at the open book and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

As Leslie cleared her throat and began reading aloud, Jess let himself take in the sight of the beautiful creature in the front of the room. Her black hair shined like a raven's wings. She smelled sweet, like lavender flowers. Her lavender dress was slender, like her form, her voice as soft and smooth as she appeared. Jess watched, entranced, as she moved with delicate grace, like a bird in flight.

He didn't even notice Leslie had finished reading until she nudged him.

"Why don't you paint a picture?" Leslie whispered in delight. "It'll last longer!"

Jess looked away from her smirk. Leslie couldn't understand; she wasn't in love.

When they left the classroom, Jess allowed himself a long look at Miss Edmunds. She smiled and turned those lovely, light blue eyes to him. "I know it's your first day, Jess, but try not to be late anymore, okay?"

Jess wanted to apologize, but his tongue felt thick so he nodded instead. She smiled then and the world seemed wonderful. Jess had just worked up the courage to tell Julia how beautiful she was when he felt an insistent tug on his arm. He turned to see Leslie motioning for the door and as he glanced at Miss Edmunds, he saw that she was busy gathering books from her desk.

Jess wanted to offer his help but Leslie wouldn't allow him the privilege.

"We're going to be late again," she whispered and shoved him through the open door.

Jess stumbled along, snatching a fleeting glimpse of Julia before looking ahead. He had trouble concentrating on where they were going; he just kept thinking about Julia's beautiful eyes.

Leslie led Jess to a large training hall. As he entered the room, he flinched at the clash of metal and the grinding of stone. The place was huge. Its walls were bare of decoration; he found none of the paintings or tapestries displayed in other parts of the castle. What he did find were many soldiers practicing the warrior's craft. They trained themselves with a variety of weapons and Jess found he recognized several from the stories, including the battle-axe, halberd and quarter-staff. He was given simple tasks at first, such as polishing helmets, and sat at a long bench watching the soldiers and several of their sons and daughters practicing with wooden—and many times, metal—weapons. Jess was eager to join in, but the instructor told him that learning to maintain the equipment was just as important as learning how to use it. Jess had accepted the instructor's words, knowing from his father's lectures that it was true.

As intimidating as it was to be around the grunting and shouting of people twice his age, Jess was comforted to know that he wasn't the only young fighter; there were boys and a few girls, some older than Jess and some younger and although everyone partook of the maintenance work, the younger boys were only allowed to polish helmets. Jess often heard them whisper above the clash of weapons that they looked forward to the day they could graduate to more exciting tasks and although Jess would get his chance to train with the older boys soon, he still relished the opportunity to hold real helmets and work at new tasks. He knew that the things he was learning mattered and would one day be of use to him so he polished without complaint, stopping only occasionally to observe the fighters in their intricate dances.

Seeing the women fight was a revelation. Jess knew women only as domestics—except for Leslie. He never knew other girls could fight and be so good at it.

Leslie admired them as well, often leaning over from her seat next to him to comment on the way they held their swords, or swung an axe, pointing out various techniques and predicting which woman would fall on her behind because she held her weapon wrong.

"Balance," she said, "is the key in a fight."

Jess nodded as he went back to polishing. He tried not to laugh as a woman fell on her bottom—just as Leslie predicted. After he finished he set the helmet down between them. They had the whole bench to themselves for although Leslie was respected as a fighter in the training hall, she was still a noble and still feared by many. Jess was glad they could be alone but he kept feeling a pang of sorrow for Leslie every time he imagined her sitting on the bench, all alone before she met him. He was glad he could be with her now.

On the third day, they were allowed to train with swords. Leslie met him in the hall and when he saw her, he felt his spirit soar. She wore a training outfit, the same kind all the others wore: red hose covered her slender legs and led up to a padded leather tunic that protected her from the blows of the training swords. Her fall of blonde hair was pulled back and tied in a single thick braid—a cat's tail she called it. Women wore it when they fought to keep their flowing locks from blinding them at a critical moment. Jess liked how it looked on her. Turning shyly away from his open stare, Leslie cleared her throat, asking him as she straightened the sleeves of her white shirt, how she looked.

"Great" was all he could think to say. Jess knew she owned one of those outfits but had refrained from wearing it in front of him; she didn't want to flaunt it while he was stuck polishing helmets. Since Leslie wasn't training, she had stuck by him for three days, and now that the instructor agreed, they would at last begin "the real training."

Leslie plucked up two wooden swords and tossed one to him. He caught it, surprised by its weight and detail; it looked like a real sword. The blade was a solid piece of carved oak; the handle, the cross-guards, even the pommel all looked authentic.

"Leslie," he asked, his eyes roaming the length of the blade, "where did you get this?"

"I had a carver make it when I found out you were coming to live with me."

He smiled his thanks. "Where do I get one of those outfits?"

"I had one made for you a day ago. It's in my dressing room."

All the fighters dressed in a common room—one for girls, one for boys. Being a noble Leslie had her own private dressing room and being Leslie's best friend, Jess had told her of his mutual desire for privacy. She had respected his wishes by lending him her room.

When Jess came out, all dressed for combat, she was waiting on the bench. He called out to her. "Stand challenged, woman!"

Leslie smiled as she stood. "Don't worry, little boy," she laughed, "I'll try not to embarrass you in front of all these people."

Jess gripped his sword tight. He didn't want to take his attention from Leslie, but as he listened, he realized the room had gone quiet; everyone wanted to see their duel.

An empty space was cleared and as she raised her sword, Leslie spoke something in another language. When Jess frowned at her, she translated: "Prepare to die, little boy!"

Their fight began slowly, each walking around the other trying to get a feel for their opponent. They hadn't sparred in a long time and Jess wasn't sure he could defeat her.

Suddenly, Leslie came in hard and fast and Jess barely had time to block before she swung again, going for his leg. He deflected her next blow only to be met with a stab to his middle. Leslie scored the first point and although Jess felt nervous with everyone watching, he remembered well Leslie's instructions. He soon managed to get a point of his own. They each gained another point, putting them on even ground with two each.

The instructor called out that the next point would decide the match.

Without a single word of bravado, Leslie charged. The sharp crack of wood echoed throughout the great room as their swords clashed. Jess was forced back and as Leslie continued her twirling assault, he gave ground until their fight spilled out into the hall.

They moved swiftly, sometimes fighting, sometimes running, dodging servants and staff as they shuffled their feet and tried not to trip over carpets. No one stopped them and Jess hardly heard the shrieks of the fleeing servant girls as they rushed to get out of the way. He was so focused on the fight he barely had awareness of those around him as they continued out into the open ground of the inner courtyard.

Jess felt his muscles burning but he could see that Leslie was tiring as well. Her face was slick with sweat and her braid was starting to come undone. They had fought for almost half an hour and were reaching the limits of their endurance.

Jess knew the fight would soon end and he was determined to be the victor.

With a battle cry that gave even Leslie pause, he charged, swinging with all his might. She barely deflected the blow and tried to return the stroke but he dodged and launched a counterattack. They both jumped back, wary of each other. In spite of his determination, Jess sank to his knees, gasping for breath. Leslie was down too and leaning on her sword for support. Clutching the hilt of his own sword, he panted and asked if she wanted to call a truce. She nodded and let her sword fall so that the handle faced him. Jess briefly considered using the opportunity to finish her off, but he was in no position to take the advantage. Every bit of him ached and Jess doubted he could even stand, let alone swing his sword. He let it slip to the ground; he didn't want to win by deception anyway.

As they both sat back, Jess wiped his face. He looked about then, noticing for the first time the crowd they had attracted. Everyone was talking or pointing, most arguing about who should have won the match. Jess didn't care. He was too tired to wonder about anything and at that moment as Leslie started to laugh, Jess realized he was the winner because he had Leslie as his friend.

They soon bathed and were dressed for dinner, Jess trying to stretch the cramps out of his sore muscles as Leslie led him through a familiar set of halls. Soon they entered the dining room, a grand hall even larger than the training area. Jess saw a large table where sat Judy and Miss Edmunds, laughing as they spoke. He strode confidently towards the table. He knew what was expected of him and as he took his seat next to Leslie, Jess remembered the first day he had entered the dinning hall.

It was the first day of his new life and he was starving. Upon seeing the size of the dining hall, he felt his hunger replaced by apprehension. Jess was accustomed to a single table, unadorned, with a family surrounding him as they ate, talked and argued about all manner of things. Supper in the Aarons home was always a personable event and he never felt truly uncomfortable. Leslie informed him of some of what he could expect at her table but as he shuffled through the grand dining room, he felt completely unprepared. Soft music played from the side as servants brought dishes of fine foods and bottles of wine to the three tables. Jess didn't expect anyone else to be eating, but he saw three grand tables, arranged on different sides of the room. He looked about at the people in their fine clothes, Barons and Judges and Magistrates—important people all. He hoped he remembered all his manners.

As he stopped himself from wiping his nose on his sleeve, he followed Leslie like a stray puppy and recalled her admonishment to do as she did when he was unsure of something. Her presence was reassuring, but as they made their way to the head table, Jess still felt like he was being led to his execution.

Every bit of uncertainty fell away as he looked across the room and saw who was waiting for them.

Jess felt the world fall away. The main table was raised above the other two where the noble family and the lovely Julia Edmunds waited for them. As the music reached its crescendo, Jess was already gliding to her. Julia looked their way and he stopped short. His heart was pounding. He barely noticed Lady Judy rising to greet them and as she said something Jess didn't hear, he saw only Julia, heard only her soft voice as she gave a gentle reprimand about their being late.

He felt a jab in his side that made him grunt. Leslie was motioning for him to follow. She led him up a raised platform and behind the grand dining table. Jess continued to stare at Miss Edmunds. She didn't see him, just listened to Judy and delicately sipped wine, hearing to the Lady's concerns. Jess was aware that he should pull out Leslie's chair for her—he was her valet after all. He gripped the high-backed chair and slid it out for her but still he couldn't take his eyes off Miss Julia Edmunds.

Even when he heard the thump of Leslie's bottom hitting the floor, it took him a minute to realize that he had pulled her chair out too far. Blushing intensely, he stooped low to help her up, feeling mortified that Julia had witnessed his blunder. Leslie accepted his and Judy's hands and as they lifted her to her feet, she waved away their concern, all the while directing a hot glare Jess' way. He hid his blush with a lowered gaze and, keeping his mind to the task this time, positioned the chair properly. Leslie tugged it firmly into place and gestured for him to sit. As he did, he took Leslie's napkin and placed it in her lap, as he had been instructed. He had much more to learn about table manners, he knew, but Leslie would teach him. For now he watched as the servants glided about bringing in more food than Jess had ever seen in one place.

He watched the other guests, some he knew as captains of the guard, officials and even Mr. Bailey, eating and laughing and talking.

The only person missing was the Duke.

Jess leaned over and whispered his question to Leslie. "Where's your father?"

"Away on business," she whispered back. "He's gone most of the time."

Jess felt a sudden sorrow for Leslie. She had spoken with a wilt in her voice that told him of her regret. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, but Julia spoke to him. "So, Jess, how are you finding life at the castle?"

In his mind, he said: Why, with Leslie's help, of course. In his mind, everyone laughed at his wit and charm. In his mind, Leslie graciously patted his arm and Julia even smiled.

But all that came out of his mouth was, "Oh, I-I'm good."

Julia did smile, but no one laughed. He felt unworthy of her smile and noticed that Leslie wasn't too impressed either. He was just a peasant after all.

Jess occupied himself with his supper, feeling solace only in that it was the finest food he had ever tasted. He watched Leslie carefully, making sure not to slouch and choosing the forks and spoons Leslie used for the corresponding dishes. He had never in his life encountered such fine flatware; all of it looked to be polished silver and the plates were white with a gold rim, while his goblet seemed to be made of crystal. Everything at the duke's table spoke of wealth and opulence and while Leslie seemed at home in her finery, wielding the delicate instruments as easily as she had her sword, Jess fumbled with the flatware, dropping more than a few forks. Leslie assured him he would master the uses of all the fancy things, but Jess didn't think he would ever get used to them.

Fowl was common with the river and lake nearby, as were dishes of fish and Jess didn't often find foods he didn't enjoy. None of it was the simple meals he grew up eating but as time went by he discovered he had a taste for fine meals. As he took a bite of his supper, he tried to forget his first fumbling meal at the castle and concentrated on the present. He couldn't relive the past but he knew he could do better this time. Miss Edmunds could teach him about manners but he decided not to ask, as Leslie was his guide and he didn't want to offend her.

The meal went a little more smoothly than most and after almost putting his hand in a dish of sauce—and dropping only one fork—Jess decided not to look at Julia again for the rest of the evening, only glancing her way when she asked him a direct question.

It was difficult, but by the time he went to bed, his thoughts were almost completely free of the lovely Miss Julia Edmunds.

Almost.