The Knight

I said, “You’d know all about that, I bet.”

“Do it myself you mean, sir? Not I.” (As well as I could judge, his denial was entirely serious.) “Can I ask why you’re bound for Forcetti, sir? Not that it’s on my watch, just friendly like, sir?”

“To take service with Duke Marder, if I can. He’ll need another knight, and if he doesn’t want me he may be able to suggest somebody who might.”

“Right there’s Mori’s, sir.” Pouk pointed to a long dark shed from whose several chimneys smoke issued. “You could get a good sword there—”

“No.”

“Or a ax, sir. Or whatever you fancy. Did you see somethin’, sir?”

I shook my head, not knowing whether I had or not.

“You jerked around, like.”

I pretended I had not heard that, and went into Mori’s front room. It was big and dim, full of tables upon which weapons and armor were displayed. More covered every wall—swords, daggers, and knives of every kind, war-axes and half-axes, war hammers, morning-stars, and studded flails. Helms that covered the entire head, and helmets that left the face bare. Hauberks, gauntlets, and other mail. Buff-coats of wild-ox leather, byrnies of brass-studded leather, gambesons of quilted canvas, and much more—far too much for me to name even if I knew all the names. Bundles of lances, pikes, spears, bills, and halberts stood in corners. Through a wide door at the other end of the room I could see two brawny men in leather aprons working at a forge, one holding a glowing brand with tongs while the other hammered it.

After a time, an old man who had been watching them noticed us. “A knight, I see. We are honored, Sir ... ?”

“Able of the High Heart. May I ask how you knew me for a knight, sir? By my clothes?”

The old man shook his head. “By your bearing, Sir Able. By the set of your shoulders, particularly. I confess there are some called knights these days I wouldn’t have known.” He sighed. “Knights used to guard the fords in my time. They’d help poor travelers, and fight any other knight who wanted to cross.”

I said, “I don’t believe I’ve heard of that.”

“It went out, oh, thirty years ago. But ’twas a fine custom while it lasted, for it weeded out the fakers. A good custom for me, because they’d bring me the swords and armor.”

Pouk chuckled. “Claimed th’ salvage did they, sir?”

“Indeed they did, sailor. As is still done, in knightly combat. The wi

“I’m wit’ Sir Able. His servingman, like. Thing is, Master Mori, I want him to get a sword. He don’t have none an’ says he don’t want none, so I steered him to you.”

I explained that I was expecting a sword from another source, and needed another weapon I could use until I got it.

“It ain’t th’ same! Th’ skipper o’ the Western Trader won’t never believe you’re a knight without you got a sword, sir.”

Mori said, “Not all my swords are costly, Sir Able. I can show you a fine arming sword with a good plain grip—”

I raised my hand to cut him off. “Let’s say I’ve sworn not to carry a sword.” The next was hard to get out, but I managed it. “An ax might be more useful on a ship anyway. Isn’t that right?”

Mori looked thoughtful. “Does this oath preclude the use of a falchion? I’ve a very fine one just now.”

“There isn’t any oath. I made it up. I just wanted to make you and Pouk here understand how I feel. I—if I take a sword now, I won’t ever get the one I’m hoping to get, and if I don’t get that one, I won’t see the person who might get it for me. So no swords. Not any kind. Can’t you show me some axes? What about that double-bitted one with the yellow tassel?”

“There ain’t no ax that’s a sword!” Pouk insisted.

Mori’s eyes gleamed under his shaggy brows.

“What about this?” It had a long handle and a narrow blade. I picked it up: and swung it over my head. “A cutting edge on one side and a hammer on the other, so it’s an ax and a mace, too.”

“If I say you’re a knight an’ th’ skipper sees you with that, he’ll laugh us both ashore!”

Mori laid his hand on my shoulder. “Will you listen with patience, Sir Able, to what an older man has to say? I am no knight, but I’ve had years of experience in these matters.”

I said that I would be glad to hear him, but that I did not want a sword.

“Nor will I ask you to take one. Hear me out, and I’ll tell you of another weapon which, though not a sword, is as good in some respects, and in others better.”

I nodded. “Go on.”

“Let me first address the utility of swords and axes. The ax is like the mace in that it finds its best employment against heavy armor. It will split a shield—sometimes—in the hands of a man as strong as you are. But let a man in light armor, or a man in no armor, fight an axman, and he will kill him inside a minute or two, if he has a good sword and knows the use of it. As for that war hammer, it would be valuable indeed on horseback against another rider. But for a man afoot—a man aboard a ship, for example—well, you might be better off with an oar or a handspike.”

Pouk grunted with satisfaction.

“Socially, too, your man is quite correct. A sword is preeminently the weapon of a man of gentle birth. A man who bears one, who meets another similarly armed whom he thinks no gentleman, may challenge him, and so on.”

I tried to nod as if I had known it.

“May I introduce a hypothetical? Say for the sake of argument only that your man and I conspired to introduce a sword among your baggage. A sword so cleverly concealed that neither you nor anybody else could see it. What good would it be to you, do you think, when you boarded your ship?”

“Not any. When I found it I’d drop it in the water.”

Pouk groaned under his breath; Mori said patiently, “Before you found it, Sir Able.”

“If I didn’t know I had it, it couldn’t be of use.”

“Would not captain and crew acknowledge you a knight?”

I shrugged. “They will. But not because of a sword they never saw.”

“Now we come to it. It is the seeing of the sword—the perception of it—that matters. Not the sword itself. Look here.” Mori limped across the room, and from the table farthest from the door picked up a richly trimmed scabbard of white rayskin holding a weapon with a hilt of hammered steel. “What have I here, Sir Able?”

I knew there was some trick, but I was clueless about what it was. I said, “It looks like a sword. It’s on the short side, I’d say, and from the way you picked it up it can’t be very heavy. The blade’s probably narrow.” I waited for him to say something, and when he did not, I asked, “How are you fooling me?”

Mori chuckled. “As to its weight, I’m not as feeble as I may look to a man your age, and I’ve spent many a busy day forging blades.”

Pouk had gone to check it out. “You’re sayin’ it ain’t a sword at all?”

“It is not.” Mori carried the weapon, still sheathed, back to me. “It’s a mace, a mace of the Lothurings who live where the sun sets. I doubt that there is another on this side of the sea. Will you draw it, Sir Able?”

I did. The heavy steel blade was four-sided, only slightly wider than it was thick; its edges had never been sharpened.

“When it came into my hands,” Mori said, “I thought it the strangest thing I’d ever seen. But I dug out an old great helm, one that was dented and had lost its clasp but was still good and strong. I set that helm on the end of a post and tried the mace you’re holding on it, and came away a believer. Two ceptres’ weight in gold, if you want it.”

Seeing my expression he amended his price. “Or a ceptre and ten scields, if you’ll promise to come back and let me know how it served you.”