Punishment

Gideon discarded his shield and hucked his spear at Friedrick, scrabbling to pick up the wooden sword. He heard the spear shatter and barely managed to raise the point of his weapon before sucking in his breath in terror; Friedrick was already in range for a strike, cold condescension in his eyes, sword swinging down. Gideon barely parried the blow and stepped outside of Friedrick’s range, holding his weapon with a two-handed grip, which his opponent mirrored.

They both circled each other, probing with the points of their swords in a middle guard. The old veteran shifted the position of his sword slightly, and Gideon realized too late that Friedrick’s sword was above his! Friedrick advanced with liquid grace, forcing the point of Gideon’s sword down with the strongest part of his; the section of the blade near the hilt. It was no contest, leverage was working against him, Gideon could only backpedal as the slash skidded across his sword and delivered a sharp impact to his ribs. He grunted and staggered back, clutching his chest.

“Again!” Friedrick shouted.

Over and over again, similar scenes repeated. The two would briefly circle, Friedrick would employ swordplay that bordered on witchcraft and Gideon would receive another bruise, only for Friedrick to call for another bout. Gideon was given no quarter; he could barely get in strikes of his own! The other men stopped what they were doing to watch.

“Gods have mercy! It’s like taking candy from baby! Strike me if you can!”

A few of the dumber men chuckled, Gideon’s face burned and he began to steadily progress from the strikes that he could throw to the ones that he probably shouldn’t as his frustration mounted. No matter how he attacked or what tricks he employed, Friedrick’s defense was utterly impenetrable. Eventually Gideon finally managed to bat his opponent’s sword to the side. He didn’t waste the chance and threw an overhead strike.

Perhaps it was too easy; Friedrick’s blade gave far too readily, his footwork far too deliberate for him to have been forced into a disadvantageous position. He sidestepped Gideon’s blade and raised his sword at an angle, so that the blow slid down and struck the dirt, like rain flowing off of a roof. Gideon was off balance and there was no time to recover. Friedrick delivered a thrust to his sternum so forceful that Gideon feared it broke bone. He wasn’t even allowed to gasp for breath on the ground; Friedrick picked him up by his gambeson and held him up in the air. How could an old man be so damn strong?

All traces of that smile he had before vanished like it hadn’t ever been there. Friedrick whispered, quietly enough that the others couldn’t hear, “You’ve been getting a little bit full of yourself, boy. Cozying up to the captain and his lieutenant is all well and good, a man should have ambition; he is worthless without it.”

Somehow, the grizzled sergeant was all the more terrifying when he didn’t shout. He continued, “Frankly, I’m disappointed. Are you satisfied trouncing these hooligans? You’d better not be. Against anyone who really knows what they’re doing, you’re an open book and the day you encounter somebody like that, you’re dead. You think you’re much better than the whelp that came crawling to our doorstep three years ago? Ah, I see the look in your eyes, shut up and save yourself some effort.

“Think it’s unfair that I thrashed you after you were already panting for breath like a dog? On the battlefield, your opponent won’t wait for you to catch your breath to run you through, and you’d better not be so courteous yourself or I’ll gut you first. The only thing preventing me from doing it right now, your sole saving grace, is that you weren’t so dumb as to assume I would wait for you to grab your weapon. You’re a good man, a loyal man, but there are plenty more of those we can get in the next town over, and the next after that. And there are many, many, more dead men. Men who were like you before they died and rotted on the battlefield. Do you understand?”

Gideon groaned and replied between gasps for breath. “Yes. Sir.”

Friedrick let go of him and he fell onto his bottom. By the time he had finished with Gideon, the men who had laughed were already rounded up. Clasping his hands behind his back, he regarded them and snarled, “So you lot think you can do better than Gideon here? I wasn’t aware we had such prodigies in our ranks. Which one of you geniuses will face me first?” The handful of them stiffened and trembled, then Friedrick waved his hand in front of his face and wrinkled his noise. “Have mercy! You all positively reek! What have you been up to? The rest of you louts go wash up in the creek before you eat breakfast. Except for you, Gideon. You go muck out the latrines first.”

Gideon suppressed a groan as he staggered to his feet. For a good amount of time now, the tantalizing scent of breakfast had been wafting over to the field. Having undergone what amounted to light torture since they woke up, nobody missed their chance to get away from the field. Gideon staggered over to the latrine, which was just a tent that covered some holes in the ground, just far enough from the camp to keep the stench away. The sun had risen well above the horizon by now, which gave the excrement plenty of time to warm up and make the odor unbearable.

He retrieved a nearby shovel and bucket, stripped down to his tunic and trousers, then got to work. The sewage had to be shoveled into the bucket, then carried and dumped somewhere it the wind wouldn’t waft the odor back to the camp. He found a spot behind a hill some fifty paces away and slaved through the disgusting work with mechanical motions for over an hour. Once Gideon finished, he washed up in the cold stream alone. During this time, he checked the condition of his body and found that while he was left with a several nasty welts, no bones had broken. What a terrifying level of control that old man had.

By the time he returned to the camp for breakfast, most of it had gone cold. Considering the summer heat, it was probably a blessing in its own right. Gideon settled for a hunk of bread, cheese, jerky and a pint of half ale. He ate at a table with Paz and few of his other friends. They had just settled into a game of dice when they were interrupted by Josef, a man with short, straw-colored hair who sported a neat curled mustache and beard. He was the second in command of The Sons of the Sword.

Smiling, he spoke, “Gideon! I’ve been looking around for you. Where’ve you been?”

Gideon grimaced. “Mucking the latrines.”

“Ah, so Friedrick, the old fox put you up to it, eh?” a look of sympathy crossed his face before he continued, “captain wanted me to let you know, you’re to accompany us to Ivenholf to meet Lord Alberche.”

Fuck.