Note: The title of this story has been changed, thanks to an
excellent suggestion from Meg. Cheers mate!
*******
He looked down at her, though that was not as easy as it once had been – more pretense than anything else. Elizabeth had grown to a fine height for a woman, while he had not added more than a few inches. Mistress Rackham, looking at his hands and feet, assured him that he would yet grow more, and he should not worry. Most of the time he did not. Working at the forge had strengthened him, and practice with the sword had made him limber and quick over the past year. He could hold his own against any of the lads his own age and those three years older, even if he was not so tall or broad as they.
"Yes, Miss Swann?"
Her brows drew together in a faint frown. "You used to call me by my name, Will."
"It would not be right, now, Miss Swann." He could be as stubborn as she.
She sighed impatiently. "Oh, very well. I want to get Father a knife for Christmas. Something he can use to open letters with, or parcels, not one for cutting meat."
"I see. Let me show you what we have." Will laid out blade after blade in front of her, until there were fifteen arranged neatly in a row, each blade facing at attention in the same direction. Her hand hovered over them, fingers barely brushing the handles of each, and then she lifted the one with the ebony handle.
"This. I will take this one."
"Very well, Miss Swann. Let me wrap it for you." He took her coins and the knife, binding it about with a long strip of linen and tying the parcel with a length of coarse string before returning it to her.
Elizabeth glanced around the shop. As was usual these days, Master Brown was taking a lengthy noontime meal over at the tavern, and Will was on his own to make and mend and tend to business.
"You must get lonesome, here by yourself," she remarked, "with only the donkey to keep you company."
"Not really," he replied, glad that his face was browned enough from the sun not to show his blush. He was rarely lonely, for when he was working or practicing he had no time to miss human companionship, and he spent the solitary hours of the night thinking of her. But that was not something he could tell the daughter of the governor of the colony. Kind as she had always been to him, she was far beyond his reach. He had to exercise tight self-control, though, when she touched his hand.
"No, but you must be," she insisted. "You should come up to visit me sometime, Will."
"I'm afraid I couldn't do that."
"Whyever not?"
"I'm an apprentice, Miss Swann," he reminded her patiently. "The only free time I have is what Master Brown gives me."
She brushed that aside. "I could send for you, Will. He would let you come then, surely."
"It would not look right," he said. "Your father would not approve."
"Father would not object," she said, but he saw a shadow of wariness in her eyes.
"He would," Will repeated gently, "and he would be right to do so. It would be unsuitable, you know that."
She sighed. "We are both apprentices, Will. You to be a smith, and I to be a lady. At least you had some choice in the matter."
"Very little," Will smiled. "Had Governor Swann not spoken to Master Brown, and paid a good part of my indentures, I would have likely ended up as a stableboy – or perhaps a cabin boy on a ship, if luck were with me. No one asked me if smithcraft was my choice, or if I would prefer woodworking or weaving or something else instead. I do like it, but that is my good fortune."
"Oh," Elizabeth said. "I never quite thought of matters in those terms before. Boys have so many more possibilities open to them overall, that I forget that a particular person might not have so many options. But still, at least you have something worthwhile to do. The most useful thing that I have done this month was to mend my own dress where I had torn it, rather than giving it to Mary to sew."
Will thought to himself that a girl like Elizabeth had no need to be useful. Just being there before him was enough.
"I wish," she said, and stopped.
"What do you wish?"
"Nothing. Nothing that matters." The bell of the town's clock tolled one. "I must go. Thank you for your help, Will, I am sure that Father will like his gift very much indeed." Despite her assertion, she lingered a moment longer. "Did you make it?"
"I did," he admitted. "The blade, that is. We buy the handles from Ned Barker over the way."
"Good, I'm glad that I chose this one then. Well – good-bye."
Will stood in the doorway and watched Elizabeth walk across the square, a slender upright figure to whom everyone seemed to give way automatically. Then he heaved a great sigh and turned back to the hot forge, hammering at the iron for a new blade until the sparks flew like a cloud of midges around him.
That evening he made his way as usual to meet Rhys Jones for a lesson. It went badly from the first moment. Each swing he tried to make was blocked, each thrust parried. Finally Will threw up his hands and said in disgust, "It's no good tonight."
Rhys stepped back and looked at him in the dim light of the half-moon. "That's when you need to work hardest, Will. Why d'you want to learn to fight, anyhow?"
Will shrugged. "I started because someone suggested I'd make better swords if I knew how to use one. But now – I suppose for the challenge of it."
"And here's your challenge, and best you keep on with it, no? So again."
Half-an-hour later, panting, they stopped. "That was better," allowed Rhys. "If you ever have to fight someone for real, they won't let you off just because you're not at the top of your form. Now, let's go find us a mug of something, shall we?"
"I can't, Rhys. I have to be back soon."
"Oh, old man Brown is probably already drunk and asleep. He won't even know, much less care, if you're a bit behind your time."
"All right, but just one."
They stepped into the tavern and Rhys called for two glasses of rum. Will tried to refuse, but Rhys said, "Don't think I don't remember what day it is, lad."
"What day it is?"
"Your birthday, isn't it? You told me last year. And you sixteen now – you can handle the rum. Drink up," he added as it arrived.
Will spluttered a bit when he first drank, but soon grew accustomed to the strong liquor. "I was distracted tonight," he confessed to Rhys. "Mind not on the sword."
"I know," said Rhys. "Can't let that happen. That's what happened to me, you see, and look at me now," he indicated his game leg. "Have to pay attention."
"Yes." Will was silent, turning the glass around and around in his fingers. At last he drank off the last of it and stood. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."
*******
He looked down at her, though that was not as easy as it once had been – more pretense than anything else. Elizabeth had grown to a fine height for a woman, while he had not added more than a few inches. Mistress Rackham, looking at his hands and feet, assured him that he would yet grow more, and he should not worry. Most of the time he did not. Working at the forge had strengthened him, and practice with the sword had made him limber and quick over the past year. He could hold his own against any of the lads his own age and those three years older, even if he was not so tall or broad as they.
"Yes, Miss Swann?"
Her brows drew together in a faint frown. "You used to call me by my name, Will."
"It would not be right, now, Miss Swann." He could be as stubborn as she.
She sighed impatiently. "Oh, very well. I want to get Father a knife for Christmas. Something he can use to open letters with, or parcels, not one for cutting meat."
"I see. Let me show you what we have." Will laid out blade after blade in front of her, until there were fifteen arranged neatly in a row, each blade facing at attention in the same direction. Her hand hovered over them, fingers barely brushing the handles of each, and then she lifted the one with the ebony handle.
"This. I will take this one."
"Very well, Miss Swann. Let me wrap it for you." He took her coins and the knife, binding it about with a long strip of linen and tying the parcel with a length of coarse string before returning it to her.
Elizabeth glanced around the shop. As was usual these days, Master Brown was taking a lengthy noontime meal over at the tavern, and Will was on his own to make and mend and tend to business.
"You must get lonesome, here by yourself," she remarked, "with only the donkey to keep you company."
"Not really," he replied, glad that his face was browned enough from the sun not to show his blush. He was rarely lonely, for when he was working or practicing he had no time to miss human companionship, and he spent the solitary hours of the night thinking of her. But that was not something he could tell the daughter of the governor of the colony. Kind as she had always been to him, she was far beyond his reach. He had to exercise tight self-control, though, when she touched his hand.
"No, but you must be," she insisted. "You should come up to visit me sometime, Will."
"I'm afraid I couldn't do that."
"Whyever not?"
"I'm an apprentice, Miss Swann," he reminded her patiently. "The only free time I have is what Master Brown gives me."
She brushed that aside. "I could send for you, Will. He would let you come then, surely."
"It would not look right," he said. "Your father would not approve."
"Father would not object," she said, but he saw a shadow of wariness in her eyes.
"He would," Will repeated gently, "and he would be right to do so. It would be unsuitable, you know that."
She sighed. "We are both apprentices, Will. You to be a smith, and I to be a lady. At least you had some choice in the matter."
"Very little," Will smiled. "Had Governor Swann not spoken to Master Brown, and paid a good part of my indentures, I would have likely ended up as a stableboy – or perhaps a cabin boy on a ship, if luck were with me. No one asked me if smithcraft was my choice, or if I would prefer woodworking or weaving or something else instead. I do like it, but that is my good fortune."
"Oh," Elizabeth said. "I never quite thought of matters in those terms before. Boys have so many more possibilities open to them overall, that I forget that a particular person might not have so many options. But still, at least you have something worthwhile to do. The most useful thing that I have done this month was to mend my own dress where I had torn it, rather than giving it to Mary to sew."
Will thought to himself that a girl like Elizabeth had no need to be useful. Just being there before him was enough.
"I wish," she said, and stopped.
"What do you wish?"
"Nothing. Nothing that matters." The bell of the town's clock tolled one. "I must go. Thank you for your help, Will, I am sure that Father will like his gift very much indeed." Despite her assertion, she lingered a moment longer. "Did you make it?"
"I did," he admitted. "The blade, that is. We buy the handles from Ned Barker over the way."
"Good, I'm glad that I chose this one then. Well – good-bye."
Will stood in the doorway and watched Elizabeth walk across the square, a slender upright figure to whom everyone seemed to give way automatically. Then he heaved a great sigh and turned back to the hot forge, hammering at the iron for a new blade until the sparks flew like a cloud of midges around him.
That evening he made his way as usual to meet Rhys Jones for a lesson. It went badly from the first moment. Each swing he tried to make was blocked, each thrust parried. Finally Will threw up his hands and said in disgust, "It's no good tonight."
Rhys stepped back and looked at him in the dim light of the half-moon. "That's when you need to work hardest, Will. Why d'you want to learn to fight, anyhow?"
Will shrugged. "I started because someone suggested I'd make better swords if I knew how to use one. But now – I suppose for the challenge of it."
"And here's your challenge, and best you keep on with it, no? So again."
Half-an-hour later, panting, they stopped. "That was better," allowed Rhys. "If you ever have to fight someone for real, they won't let you off just because you're not at the top of your form. Now, let's go find us a mug of something, shall we?"
"I can't, Rhys. I have to be back soon."
"Oh, old man Brown is probably already drunk and asleep. He won't even know, much less care, if you're a bit behind your time."
"All right, but just one."
They stepped into the tavern and Rhys called for two glasses of rum. Will tried to refuse, but Rhys said, "Don't think I don't remember what day it is, lad."
"What day it is?"
"Your birthday, isn't it? You told me last year. And you sixteen now – you can handle the rum. Drink up," he added as it arrived.
Will spluttered a bit when he first drank, but soon grew accustomed to the strong liquor. "I was distracted tonight," he confessed to Rhys. "Mind not on the sword."
"I know," said Rhys. "Can't let that happen. That's what happened to me, you see, and look at me now," he indicated his game leg. "Have to pay attention."
"Yes." Will was silent, turning the glass around and around in his fingers. At last he drank off the last of it and stood. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."