22 Training
The sun was well on its way into the morning sky when Tristan spoke with Balan in the practice yard.
"Listen, if I always hold back when we spar you could end up losing your caution in battle. Therefore I will fight you for real today. It will be your job to stay out of my way, or to keep me at sword's length."
Balan grasped his wooden sword firmly, his eyes sparkling with eager anticipation.
"Can I try to wound you?"
Tristan smirked. "You may try, but your main task will be to stay alive."
They took a few steps backwards and faced each other.
Tristan charged.
Balan moved aside and brought his sword up in defence. In one fluent motion Tristan knocked the sword out of Balan's hand and pushed the boy down to the ground, his curved sword against the boy's throat.
"You die," Tristan shrugged.
He lifted his sword and Balan got back to his feet.
"The defence was good, boy. But you will have to gain strength before this move will be of use to you against a grown man."
Balan's cheeks turned red.
"Not recognizing your own weaknesses is the worst weakness of them all," Tristan chided kindly.
"You're almost twelve. No-one expects you to be as strong as a fully grown Saxon or Woad. Do not rely on weakness. You must use your strengths if you want to survive."
Balan picked up his sword from the dirt and they stepped back, staring into each other's eyes.
This time Balan kept a little more distance from Tristan.
When the scout charged, Balan ran away as fast as he could, forcing Tristan to run after him. Suddenly Balan turned and swung his sword at the scout's abdomen. Tristan deflected his blow and placed his sword against the boy's throat with precision.
"Better," Tristan nodded. "You still die."
Dagonet watched as Tristan and Balan sparred.
The scout and the boy got along incredibly well. Tristan seemed to respect the boy's resilience, his keen but humble mind, and his determination to learn and get better at what he did. Balan simply doted on Tristan.
It didn't stop amazing Dagonet to see these two together. Tristan was very firm with the boy. And yet the boy seemed happier than ever to be with the stoic scout. Balan was an obedient child, and Dagonet believed that Tristan felt relieved about that. When Tristan had been told he was to be a trainer, his main objection had been the ongoing effort required to keep young boys in line. But Balan was predominantly docile and Tristan had a very easy time with him.
Except…. on those occasions when the boy decided to disobey.
Dagonet chuckled. As kind and friendly as Balan was, the boy could be extremely head-strong if he chose to be. If he was merely being too boisterous or impertinent, a flick to his ear or a stern look from Tristan sufficed to make him stop. Every once in a while Tristan would take the boy across his knee and use his belt or a piece of wood on the boy's backside for a longer lasting effect. But as long as Balan knew that he deserved it, he took his beatings without a fuss and conformed to the rules thereafter.
How different those occasions when the boy did not believe that he deserved his beating. Or worse even: If Balan had broken a rule on purpose, believing it to be the right thing to do! For then no beating could change the boy's mind or make him feel remorse. It had taken the knights a while to discover that convincing Balan was the easiest way to make him obey. As long as Balan believed that what he did was right, he refused to back down.
Luckily for Balan, Tristan could be just as strong-willed and unyielding. It would do no good for a strong spirit like Balan's to develop from boyhood to manhood without a firm hand to keep him in bounds, Dagonet mused.
And yet Tristan knew not to smother the boy's fire. The scout always knew exactly which tone to take with Balan. Even if none of the knights managed to make Balan obey, Tristan could.
Dagonet chuckled. Fortunately for the rest of the knights, the promise to take the boy across their knee often served as a sufficient threat. Being the youngest of the Sarmatians at the fort, Balan was very sensitive to any treatment that hinted at his young age.
Tristan noticed that Balan's movements slackened as he grew more and more tired. The boy was bleeding from several little cuts. Tristan had purposely nicked the boy's skin in order to teach him respect for the sword.
Balan half-heartedly attempted an attack. Tristan easily parried Balan's blow, pivoted and hit the flat of his sword across the boy's stomach. Balan's eyes widened. He dropped his sword and sank to the ground breathlessly. Tears began to stream down his cheeks.
Tristan knelt down beside Balan. He knew that he had hurt the boy. But he had meant for this strike to hurt.
"Hey," he said kindly.
Balan gagged and crouched down on his knees, one hand on his stomach and the other on the ground to support himself. A long wisp of saliva dripped from the boy's mouth to the ground.
Tristan placed a hand on Balan's shoulder to stabilize him as the boy began to retch a second time, groaning in agony and pain. When the boy rolled to his side, Tristan lifted the boy's tunic to assess the damage.
A red welt ran across Balan's stomach and bruises were beginning to form.
"In a real battle you would have died, boy," Tristan spoke calmly.
Balan glanced up at Tristan with a pained look in his eyes.
"I won't do this to you often," Tristan reassured him. "But you have to learn to defend yourself better. You should not try to attack if you stand no chance."
He lifted Balan up in his arms and carried the boy to the infirmary. There he washed out the boy's cuts and let the healer have a look at the boy's stomach. Then he took Balan to their room and sent him to bed.
Balan protested that it was not even noon yet, but Tristan shook his head.
"Rest, boy. Sleep a few hours and then you may spend the afternoon as you like. Tonight I will take you to the tavern. I will begin your training to become a scout."